#like let my green boy get that number one spot now

[gglitch1dd]

Oh how I loved him

Past Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Context: You reminisce about your time with Katsuki

Note: Reader is currently married to Dilf Izuku but was with Katsuki in the past. Kane is Katsuki's son who is living with the Midoriyas.

"Did you love my dad?"

You paused at your crotcheting as you looked up at Kane. The blond boy held the TV remote as he sat on the couch near you, Koda sitting on his lap. You blinked, surprised that he would ask such a question.

Kane quickly got pink in the face, his ears glowing, realising what he had just asked you. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ask that. I-"

"I did." Your answer silenced him as he turned to look at you, his crimson eyes, so much like Katsuki's, wide and innocent. Beautiful and passionate. You smiled gently as you set down your needles in your lap. You sighed. "Your father wasn't a bad person. Not at all. He was loud sometimes, petty as a donkey, grumpy at least half the time, always complaining about something, would never shut up about wanting to be number one but..." You leaned back in your husband's recliner as you smiled as you stared up at the ceiling, old memories about your ex-boyfriend flooding you. "Oh... how I loved Bakugou Katsuki."

"You... you did?" You turned to look at Kane who looked eager to know but was keeping himself seated for the sake of the little four year old green haired boy that napped in his lap.

You nodded your head. "He was a good boyfriend, a good man, despite how he seemed." You started. "And I've actually been meaning to show you something." You motioned for him to pass the TV remote, which he did. You easily caught it as you connected your phone to the TV and easily moved to your Cloud storage trying to find something. "Where is.... Ah! There it is." You tapped a photo.

On the screen was a picture of you much younger than you were now. A huge smile was on your face as you were dressed in Katsuki's large black skull t-shirt as he stood behind you shirtless. The both of you were a mess of flour but a huge smile that one couldn't have known possible, was on Katsuki's face. You caressed his cheek as you leaned against him.

"Your father has such a small heart, but when he gives it to you, its the warmest thing you'll ever feel in your life."

You lay on the bed, your phone facing down as you sat with a book in your hand. You heard the front door of your apartment open but you didn't bother to get up off the bed and go and see your boyfriend who had just arrived. You flipped the page as you tried to resubmerge yourself in the story.

With a heavy sound of his feet, Katsuki pushed open the door to see you sitting on your shared bed. The blond ProHero frowned as you didn't even look up at him. He held the strap of his work bag on his shoulder tighter as he settled his crimson eyes on you. "Y/N." His gruff voice came out.

"Hm?" You let out with a hum, only glancing up at him for less than a second before looking back down into your lap. "Hello Katsuki."

Katsuki's frown deepened. "Come on Y/N, I'm sorry." He apologised. "Is that what you want me to say?" You didn't answer him as you flipped the page of your book. Katsuki let out a frustrated groan as he moved to drop his bag inside his closet before walking into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Admittedly, Katsuki had had a bad day at work (and everyone in the DynaRiot agency could feel it). The reason for his bad day was because you were mad at him. Katsuki had spent another overnight shift when he had promised to spend time with you. By the time he had come back home at an unholy hour of the night, candles were burnt out, your favourite shared snacks were still on the coffee table and you were nowhere to be found but in bed, far away from Katsuki's side.

Katsuki admits, he had been so focused on chasing the Number One spot on the rankings, having just entered the Top ten with Deku, that he was putting time with you in the back burner. He would also admit that he had promised you multiple times this month to spend time with you but hadn't put in the effort.

You had every right to be mad at him.

Hell, Katsuki was mad at him.

Which was why he decided to try.

Katsuki wasn't sure half the time what he was supposed to do as a boyfriend, but he tried. Which is how he found himself in the kitchen setting things up and putting on an apron around himself. You hadn't move from outside the bedroom, no matter anything that Katsuki did, so now he was determined to try and spend time with you.

With the counter having everything you would need, Katsuki marched to the bedroom to where you were.

The door opened and Katsuki made a bee-line to you. You looked up from your book, a raised eyebrow coming onto your face. Before you could even speak, you felt large hands grab at you and hoist you up from bed. "KATSUKI!" You shouted as he hauled you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and marched straight out of the room. You wiggled, trying to get him to put you down, beating against his back to do so. "PUT ME DOWN! WHERE ON EARTH ARE YOU TAKING ME!" You shouted.

Katsuki went down the stairs and walked to the kitchen. He put you down on the tiled floor on your own two feet. He grabbed your apron, tying it around you before motioning to the counter.

You noticed eggs, milk, sugar, vanilla essance, everything you would need to make.... "Katsuki, what-"

"We're making cupcakes." He told you with a serious look on his face, not a hint of a joke on his lips. Then again, Katsuki was never good at joking.

Your face fell as you looked at him, not pleased by his attempt of bridging the gap between you. "And who said I want to make cupcakes with you?"

"Me." He stated as he grabbed the whisk and handed it to you. He moved over to the counter. "Now do you want vanilla or chocolate cupcakes?" He asked, minding himself as he grabbed two eggs and began to crack them.

You rolled your eyes. "I don't want cupcakes, Katsuki."

"Chocolate it is."

"Katsuki, are you listening to me?" You asked as you put your hands on your hips.

Katsuki moved to grab the milk and butter. "Pass me the flour, babe."

"Katsuki!" You frowned as you looked at the stubborn blond that seemed set on spending time with you this way. You looked at the open bag of flour. You grabbed a fist full. "Here's your stupid flour!" You shouted as you threw it at him, making Katsuki pause as white cake flour landed on his face and shoulder.

Your face fell as you realised what you did. You quickly slapped your other hand over your face as he slowly turned to you. He stared at you unblinkingly making you snort. You couldn't help the giggles that went through you as you tried not to laugh.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. "Oh so you think this is funny huh?" He asked unamused.

"Katsuki I-" You giggled. "I'm so sorry. I-" You were interupted by a egg yoke landing straight at your chest making you freeze.

Katsuki stood with a wet hand that scooped up the eggs he had put in the bowl. He stood with a smug face as he stared at you. He tilted his head to the side, blond tufts of hair letting sprinkles of flour fall. "You know, I think I like you like this." You glared at him. You quickly lunged to the flour but Katsuki saw your plan. "Oh no you don't!"

You managed to grab a handful before he grabbed more. You threw it straight at his hair, making his hair more pale than blond. He threw the flour right back at you, making you gasp in shock. He quickly grabbed you and held you in his arms to stop you from grabbing more flour. You couldn't help but giggle as you took his hands and tickled your middrift.

"AH! Katsuki! KA- TSUKI LET GO OF ME! HAHAHA! OW! LET GO!"

"It's not funny now is it?" He asked with a loud laugh as he tickled you and held you in his strong big arms, lifting you off the ground so that you felt helpless. He managed to find the spot that had you squealing and squirming.

"AAHHHH!"

He laughed at you as he held you. "Say it! Say it!"

You tried to hold back but the tears in your eyes said otherwise. "I'm sorry! I'M SORRY!"

"and..."

"I FORGIVE YOU! AH- KATSUKI!"

He chuckled as he stopped tickling you, leaving you a giggling mess in his arms as he spun you to have your chest against his. He had a broad smile on your face as he watched the restless giggles and snorts leave your mouth.

He bent down to put his forehead against yours, allowing you to calm down as his thumb brushed at your hips. You opened your eyes to look into his own. You could tell his was sorry, you could tell that he was apologetic. You smiled as you cupped the side of his face, kissing his nose making him hum as he leaned in to kiss your lips.

Katsuki sometimes didn't have the words to say what he wanted to say. But his eyes and actions spoke enough for him.

He hummed as he leaned back. "You're my everything." He let out lowly.

You giggled as you nodded. "I know. You can't live without me."

"I can't."

"I'm glad we both agree." You grinned with soft giggles stumbling out of your chest making him laugh as he pulled you into his arms again.

You chuckled as you leaned back. "He was so petty! I honestly don't know what is up with me and falling in love with petty men." You recalled making Kane laugh.

"What about petty men?" Izuku stepped in, dressed in home clothes but holding his work bag as he was now in sight.

You smiled. "Izuku! How was work? I was just telling Kane some stories about his father." You told your husband.

You watched your husband's eyebrows raise. Kane hadn't spoken a word about his father or how he was feeling towards Katsuki since he had moved in with your family after being kicked out. He glanced between you and the blond boy on the couch. He smiled easy, not feeling worried at all. "Let me put down my things. I should tell him about the time me and Kacchan got caught fighting in Delta in the middle of the night for the fourth time by Sensei Aizawa."

"Fourth time!?" Kane asked shocked.

You giggled as you leaned back. "Izuku was a problem child."

"Hey! I wasn't a problem child I was just..." He walked over to you, leaning down. "Different." He offered up. You looked at him not convinced making him chuckle as he leaned down and kissed your lips. He smiled as he walked over to Kane ruffling his blond hair, making the blond scowl. "To be fair, your father started it."

-Glitch1d

[epickiya722]

If there's gonna be another popularity poll... LET MIDORIYA GET #1! JUST THIS TIME!!

Like, it's the NINTH popularity poll, right?

Wouldn't be awesome if Izuku, the NINTH OFA USER, gets #1 this time?

This is the one time I will probably disappointed in the fandom over a popularity poll because that would be a missed opportunity right there.

[lazycats-stuff]

I'd like to request batfam x male reader, who crotchets a lot. He has some medical issues, so he doesn't go on patrol, he helps out with information gathering though.

When Damian got added to the strays, the reader tried being a good older brother, and he crochets him a little stuffed animal for him as a welcome gift. Everyone in the family has one, even Alfred. Let's say, Damian had a bad day, and coincidentally the reader just finished the crochet animal and goes to his room to give it to Damian. Damian snaps and destroys the stuffed animal in front of the reader, also saying some pretty hurtful stuff. The reader cries because it took a lot of time to male it. You can end it however you want

Take your time <3

Sure. Oh Damian is so dead. Nobody messes with (Y/N).

Summary: Damian messes with the wrong brother.

Warnings: angst, fluff, reader is a sweetheart, everyone loves the reader, unspecified medical problems...

(Y/N) sometimes envied his brothers. If it weren't for his medical problems, he would have been out and running, fighting crimes. But he was still happy with his position as Oracle number two, helping Alfred out when it came to patrol and information gathering.

" Can I get you some more tea, master (Y/N)? " Alfred asked him, standing up.

" Please do. " (Y/N) said, giving Alfred his favorite mug.

(Y/N) turned his head back to the computer, rubbing his eyes. He yawned, putting his hand over his mouth.

" Tired? " Alfred asked as he poured some tea.

" A little bit. " (Y/N) answered.

" Guys, we need access to GCPD data base. " Bruce said through the comms.

" You have an access to it, why do we have to? " (Y/N) asked, confused. Alfred came back with tea, also confused.

" Something is jamming the access. " Bruce explained further. (Y/N) put the tea aside, trying to get into the said database.

" Hmm. Something is happening with the network. It's down... " (Y/N) said, confused.

" I would go to GCPD and check it out. " (Y/N) said, taking his tea.

" Alright, will do. "

With that, it was quiet and they knew that this was in one way or another it for the night. (Y/N) glanced at the crocheted bat he made for Bruce.

(Y/N) had a little bit of tradition for everybody. He makes little stuffed animals. Every single member has one, even Alfred. He would make it for everyone who would come into the family, just to feel welcome.

And it did work. It made all of them feel nice and welcoming. And it made them like (Y/N) and it made everyone more protective of (Y/N). Jason took the number one spot at the amount of protectiveness he had for (Y/N).

Everything changed when Bruce announced he had a biological son. With Talia al Ghul. (Y/N) didn't know what to think about it. Bruce was always saying to use protection, so how did it happen? As a playboy, you are supposed to be a careful person when it comes to sex.

" I'm sorry, how did Damian happen? You are usually the one telling us to watch ourselves, you know, use protection amongst other things. " (Y/N) asked, taking a sip of his tea.

" Talia spiked my drink. " Bruce said, making Jason snort. (Y/N) smacked him on the arm.

" I'm sorry, but how didn't you notice it? " Jason questioned, trying not to lose control again.

" Jason not now. Damian is in the cave, Alfred is going to bring him up. Please be nice. " Bruce said, sighing as he heard Alfred coming.

Everyone turned their heads to see Alfred walking in with a small boy with green eyes and who eerily looked like Bruce at that age. (Y/N) knew because he saw the pictures once. Alfred showed him the photos.

" Everyone, this is master Damian. Master Damian these are master Jason, master (Y/N), master Tim and master Dick. " Alfred introduced Damian to everyone.

Damian didn't say anything, instead he turned back to Alfred to ask him to show him his room.

" I don't know about you, but this is going to be interesting. " Jason said to (Y/N).

" I think he just needs to adjust. It's never easy to come somewhere new. " (Y/N) replied, taking another sip of his tea.

" Will he get a stuffed animal too? " Jason asked, standing up.

" Yup. It's a tradition here so... " (Y/N) said, trailing off.

" If you say so. " Jason said, watching as (Y/N) took last sips of his tea before putting the mug into the sink.

" Any chance I can ask you to help me with a case? " Jason tried as they were going to their rooms.

" Nope. I need my sleep. " (Y/N) said, opening his bedroom door.

" You are mean. " Jason said, chuckling. " Good night. "

" Good night Jay. "

It has been a couple of weeks and (Y/N) finally finished up his stuffed animal for Damian. He made a Robin stuffed animal in his colors. Well, the suits color. Green and red with a R to symbolize the Robin. He was happy with his creation and was now actively looking for Damian.

What (Y/N) didn't know however, was the fact that Damian had a very bad day. To put it bluntly, everything went to shit. Absolutely everything that Damian had planned went to shit. Absolutely everything and there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.

Coincidently, (Y/N) decided to gift the stuffed animal to Damian. He knocked on Damian's door, entering after hearing a harsh what. (Y/N) entered the room, holding his bird in his hands.

" So, we have a tradition here where I make newcomers stuffed animals. So here is yours. "

" I don't need that right now! And I don't need something from someone so worthless to the family! " He yelled grabbing the stuffed bird, ripping it apart.

(Y/N) was heartbroken. He slowly stepped out, closing the door before he started crying in the hall.

" (Y/N), what's wrong?! " Jason asked, confused. He just came from the dining room and seeing his favorite brother sad was something that should be illegal. (Y/N) shook his head, running to his room and slamming the door shut.

Jason scowled, wondering what made (Y/N) upset. Well, who made him upset... He looked at Damian's door and went there. He opened the door and his eyes feel down onto the remains of (Y/N)'s stuffed animal. He looked up at Damian before he jumped at him.

The two started fighting. Jason was blinded with anger and rage, punching wherever he could. Bruce heard the commotion and when he saw what was happening, he had to tear Jason off of Damian.

It was difficult to separate them, but once he did, he was pissed. Beyond angry.

" WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?! " Bruce yelled, mad now.

" He took (Y/N)'s animal and tore it apart! He is heartbroken! You didn't saw him when he started crying! " Jason yelled back, face bloody. The kid can definitely punch.

" Out. I will talk to Damian. " Bruce said calmly. Jason wiped his nose, going straight to the bathroom in his room to clean it up.

He can't allow his brother to see him bloody. He really can't. He washed his face and once he made sure that he has stopped the bleeding, he went to (Y/N)'s room. He opened the door and his heart broke.

(Y/N) was still crying on the bed, curled into a fetal position.

" Oh (Y/N)... Come here. " Jason said softly. (Y/N) sniffed and turned to face Jason. Jason sat down on the edge. (Y/N) moved closer and put his head in Jason's lap.

" Why did he do that? I just tried to be nice... " (Y/N) asked and Jason gently scratched (Y/N)'s scalp.

" I know that. Damian is just Damian... " Jason said, knowing that (Y/N) doesn't like when they are talking negatively about Damian. Or any of them.

Jason stayed like that for a couple of hours and (Y/N) fell asleep during that. Jason didn't mind, but he had to move. He gently put (Y/N)'s head on a pillow. He covered him and left the room.

He didn't expect to see Damian in the hall.

" What do you want? " Jason asked quietly, not to disturb (Y/N).

" I wanted to... Apologize. "

" Did Bruce make you do that? " Jason said, not believing a single word that came out of Damian's mouth.

" No. I just had a bad day and I let it out on the wrong person. " Damian said, meaning every word of it.

" Well, don't wake him up now. You know, everyone has a stuffed animal made by (Y/N). Even Alfred. " Jason said. " Bruce has one near the Batcomputer and sometimes takes it with him somewhere important. He took it to outer space once. " Jason wasn't sure why he was telling that to Damian, but it felt important that he knows. " Again, don't wake him up. " Jason said, leaving Damian.

Damian had no plans on doing it.

[bluerosefox]

Our Well Deserved Break

Its

Shenanigans (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Time again!~

-x-x-

Danny, our boy the Ghost King, looking over a small team going over relic's given or 'offered' to Pariah Dark over the years both before and after he was sealed away. As they're taking inventory of the chaotic offering room, they stumble across a certain artifact.

This artifact is able to summon a set number of people (it does have its limits) of the users wishes to them and it sets up a barrier around the surrounding place so no one summoned gets out. You know, those kinds of artifact's certain people use to summon heroes and or villains into a room and have them fight to see whose the strongest or for a tournament, Yeah that kind of artifact!

Danny, who found the item, takes a look at after being told what it does. Then out of the corner of his eye he spots himself in a mirror in the room and see's his crown floating above his head and feels the full weight of his responsibility since before and after his crowning. Yes he had help with his advisor, despite how cryptid he can be at times, and of his council but still the weight was a bit too much for a teenager like him.

An idea struck his mind when he hears the ticking of a clock behind him. Without saying a word Danny looks back and raises an eyebrow at Clockwork whose staring at him in silence as well. He glances at the item, tilts his head a bit before...

Smiles in only the way CW knows would both be good for Danny and amusing for him. He nods and says "One weekend should be fine. All timelines will be paused for them. I suggest telling your friends to help prepare for your guests. Enjoy and have fun my King."

"YES!" Danny's voice echoing in the offering room made many ghosts in the room jump for a bit.

This was totally going to be fun!

-x-x-

When the following weekend arrived, young and very stressed teen heroes from across the multiverse are suddenly pulled from their worlds and are summoned into the Infinite Realms. Before any of them can panic or start fights a voice rang out above them and when they looked they could see a young teen, with a crown floating above his head, white hair, and glowing green eyes sitting on a throne.

He smiled and said

"Welcome fellow stressed out Heroes and Heroines to Phantom's Keep! I'm King Phantom, recently crowned fifteen year old, and this is the Infinite Realms! The birth and ending of the multiverse afterlife! Now don't worry none of you are dead or anything like that. I summoned you all here for one reason and one reason only..."

Here Danny paused, just to troll a tiny bit, and could see some of the more tense heroes readying up for a fight or at least argue to let them go. He grinned though and then said.

"And thats.... TO HAVE FUN!"

After that he floated out of his throne and with a flourish in the air he waved his hands and his throne room changed with party decor all around. Tables off to the side appeared with food and drinks from well everywhere and anywhere the multiverse, balloons rose from the ground and floated upwards, streamers flew across above to attach themselves to the other sides, the castle lights shifted to a dim and music began playing from somewhere.

Danny grinned brightly down at them and their shocked faces. oh that's funny, thank goodness Tucker is recording this and Jazz is gonna scrapbook this party for him (she plans on making them for all the guests as a party gift later, you know to remember how fun the party was)

"Now all of you are stressed out teen heroes with a lot of responsibilities on their shoulders! Believe me, I know that feeling, been there done that still doing it even now! But! My advisor says this will be both fun for me and good for you guys to spend one whole weekend here to de-stress and have fun! I do have some ground rules though. One your timelines are in fact PAUSED, you don't have to worry about calling your parents or if you got mentors to let them know where you are at. Two you are all heroes here, many of you are from different worlds and if you are from the same world they already know or CAN be trusted with your real identities but you are NOT required to remove any masks or de-transform or anything like that, if you wish there are masks on that green table over there you can stick on if you want to keep your identities hidden and are spelled to stay on and fuzz the minds of anyone trying to remember your looks once its on, even if they catch a good look at you right now it'll fuzz their memories of you once the mask is on and even after the party don't worry we thought of the time. Three, boys and girls rooms will be at different wings within the Keep! Just ask any of the maid or butler ghosts that will be joining us shortly and they will guide you to the rooms! Fourthly! There are sparing rooms if you wanna test your strengths with others, I only ask please don't get too carried away. We are here to have fun not make enemies! and lastly PLEASE DO NOT try to leave the castle, we are in the very afterlife of the multiverse people, its like the ocean and even I find it hard to navigate it sometimes. Portals can open up to any and all worlds, different timelines, etc etc. I have key items here in the castle that can pinpoint YOUR timeline and world so when the party is over I can send you home no problem, so again please do not attempt to leave."

Danny paused to take a breath, okay ground rules set up and warnings given. He could see the absolute bewildered looks on all the heroes faces and held back a laugh. He smiled however when one of the teens, mask on his face already and dressed in green, yellow, and red asked 'Why?'

"Why? Well... I think its time us teens get to have some fun without worrying about the next big bad or world ending event. Even if just for a weekend, we do deserve a break. So... Lets have some fun for once!" Danny responded.

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Run Free

art by me!

Price, Gaz, and Ghost visits the MacTavish Estate baring the news.

Word Count: 2.1k words Warning: Major character death, angst and comfort. Note : I wrote this fic a few days after I finished the campaign. I've always thought it weird why the 141 boys had Soap's ashes when I've always seen Soap as someone with a family and a had good relationship with them, especially since it's canon that Soap's cousin brought him to the SAS base several times as a kid. Here's my interpretation of that fact, on how Soap's urn ended up with the boys.

Price, Gaz, and Ghost wore their dress uniforms from head to toe, finding themselves in front of the MacTavish Estate in Glasgow. It was… big, to say the least. Soap’s family was known not only because a number of people from the family are serving in the British Royal Armed Forces, but also the fact that they are 7th generation furniture company - MacTavish Furnitures. Lots of members of the family are veterans turned businessmen, carpenters, or woodworkers. It is a common cycle of life for them.

As Ghost and Gaz stood, Price climbed the stairs and wore his beige beret, breathing deeply through his nose before letting the air out to prepare himself, lifting his hand to knock on the wooden door. The captain heard faint noises of multiple footsteps from multiple people and some voices of heavy Scottish accent from inside the house. He waited for a moment, until the door finally opened, but he found no one in front of him. 

“Who are ya?”

A little voice spoke from under him, prompting Price to look down. He found a little girl with blonde hair no taller than his knees. She’s absolutely drenched from head to toe in a blue swimming attire and had to bend her neck so high to see him. He bent down to his knees to match her height, before saying,

“Hello. I’m… My name is John.” 

“John? Like Uncle Johnny?” Her little voice said, face gleaming with happiness at the name.

“Yes. Like Uncle Johnny.” Price smiled, chuckling lightly. The girl grinned at his smiling face. “May I see your dad? Or mum?”

“Phoebe MacTavish! Get your wee feet here before I pick your legs off of that floo–! Oh, Hello there.” A new voice came from in front of him, revealing herself to be an old woman with dark brown hair, though with white strands and the same quizzical brow that reminded Price of Soap. She looked strong, nonetheless, wearing a green shirt and knitted vest with a towel hanging from one of her shoulders, obviously to dry the little girl after a session of swimming in their estate’s pool. 

Price stood back up, greeting the lady. “Mrs. MacTavish.” 

The old woman looked at his attire up and down, and Price swore that he saw the gears rotating inside her mind. She looked down at the girl and gave her the white towel, “Phoebe. Go inside and dry yourself. Find your Da, Aunt Rachel, and Uncle Hugh, too. Tell them to meet me at the front door, yeah?” The little girl nodded and ran inside, disappearing into the house as Price heard a faint yelling from the same child, calling for the stated family members. 

Now, the lady in front of him walked closer to the doorway, face to face with him. She’s undoubtedly no taller than 5’7”, a height that might have been receding as time went by, but you could spot a proud MacTavish wherever you see one. Price offered his hand for a handshake as she accepted. “Captain John Price from the 22 SAS Regiment.” 

“Joan MacTavish.” She replied. Price noticed the name as the name on Soap’s file as his guardian, with the relation being marked with ‘Aunt’. “What brings you here, Captain?” Her face looked neutral like it wasn’t the first time a soldier with a full dress uniform knocked on this wooden door. 

Just before Price could say what he wanted to say, a deep voice called to her. “Mum?” One woman and two men with a frame similar to him showed up from inside the house. One man was around Ghost’s age, one was around his age, while the woman in a bun looked older than him, though looking very vibrant and professional. All of them had the same thick eyebrows – Family traits, he supposed – and clearly looked like honourable but firm Scottish people. Upon seeing Price, though, their faces changed from confusion to realization. 

Price remembered that Soap was not the first MacTavish in the SAS. In fact, there was another member of the family, Oliver MacTavish, who died in the line of duty a decade ago. Price remembered the way Soap had told the story of Ollie, his cousin, bringing his little arse to the SAS base  - however unpermitted it was – and how Price had busted Soap multiple times for applying with a fake age. 

“Rachel MacTavish.” The eldest one spoke.

“Hugh MacTavish.” The elder man said, followed by the younger.

“Scott MacTavish. That was my daughter, Phobe.” They all shook hands with Price. 

He repeated his greeting, before Rachel started,

“I've seen the likes of you before. I recognize that beret even from a mile away." She said firmly. "Out with it."

The captain's breath hitched as he cleared his throat, preparing himself to deliver the news. And so, he began.

"On November 21st, our target had placed an active bomb inside the underwater tunnel that connects the UK and France. During our attempt to defuse the bomb, the target sneaked from behind our line of sight…"

The whole family's face changed, Joan's eyes looked glassy with tears seeming like she knew of the incoming words.

"And I regret to inform you… that Sergeant John MacTavish has died in the line of duty."

Ghost, without his mask and black face paint around his eyes, and Gaz with their dress uniforms and beret could only stand from the base of the stairs, watching and hearing as Joan's cry of anguish tear through the morning sky. 

"Oh Lord. Johnny. Johnny. My baby, Johnny." Joan repeated his name like a chanting to the sky. "Why must You take him so soon? Why must he join Ollie so soon?"

The whole family hugged their mother as she wailed, her knees looked like it was giving up. Gaz gritted his teeth to strengthen himself, not wanting to break down to cry himself. 

As the family cried, Price could only stand still, letting the news sink in for the family. His job as the leader of the team was done, at that point. He delivered the news to his family. 

"The bomb…Did he defuse it?" Hugh questioned in the middle of his sobs. 

"He–" Price swallowed, remembering the way Makarov had killed him. "We were both defusing the bomb, John guiding me along the way as he was the demolition expert."

"He protected me, Sir. Our target was about to shoot me, before John stopped him - and got killed instead. The target ran away, but me and Sergeant Garrick managed to defuse the bomb thanks to his prior guidance, saving thousands of lives underneath the 30-mile underwater tunnel." Price answered as Rachel looked up at his face, anger and denial filling her in an instant. 

She raised her hand in such a way that Price knew that she was about to slap him. Price still opened his eyes, fully welcoming the slap before her hand stopped. 

Rachel bit her lips so hard that it might bleed, lowering her arm.

"...Why does it have to be Johnny? Why do you get to live and he doesn't?" She barely whispered in a shaky voice, going back to wiping her face again. “Why Johnny…?”

And Price asked that question every single hour ever since his death. 

Why Soap, and not him?

—

The MacTavishes requested for Soap's body to be sent to Scotland, where they held a memorial at the MacTavish estate to which they promptly honoured. The number of family members participating was not that many, considering only the immediate family attended. Price, Soap, and Ghost joined them, and even escorted the family as they travelled to the crematorium.

After the whole procession finished – that took the entire day – the family finally had possession of the urn containing Soap's ashes, and they invited the three back to the estate, where they now sit inside the guest room and tea in front of them with Joan and Rachel, his urn placed on a table beside Joan.

That was the day they learned that Soap was actually the son of Joan's late husband's younger sister. Soap's mother – her sister-in-law, died when she birthed Soap, while Soap's father died during an accident in a factory before his own birth. 

Soap had been raised by his uncle's family since his infancy, growing up in the MacTavish house as a strong and firm Scott under the wing of the eldest brother, Oliver. 

"He's always wanted to be like Ollie, that wee kid," Rachel told them after holding a photo album containing photos of Soap when he was a baby in his late uncle's arms, a photo of him and his older cousins playing with mud, photos of his graduations from school, and photos of him passing the test to be a part of SAS along with his cousin, Oliver. "Said he didn't want to go to school. Just visit the army base every day. It's what he dreamed of."

Ghost, still in his dress uniform, felt the most vulnerable in that room - Without his mask, in front of Johnny's family. He also had been in agony for the past day, because he'd failed to cover Johnny's back. He had one job at that time, and he failed, catastrophically. He only sat there with his hands joined in his lap, not daring to look at the family in the eyes. 

"We're very thankful for John's service with us. He was the best there is." Gaz spoke, "John's memory will live with us."

"Thank you, Sergeant Garrick." Joan smiled as she looked up. "I heard you share the same quarters with him in the barracks. I hope he wasn't too much of a naughty boy."

The sergeant chuckled lightly at that, "Well. Soap wasn't someone who could stay away from mischief too long, but I assure you that he's an absolute joy and inspiration to be around." Hearing Joan's laughter cured a little part in Gaz, as the only thing he'd heard from her was the sound of her cry. He could at least pride himself in knowing that he could share Soap's merry nature.

As they share memories, Price finished his tea before he stood up from the sofa, followed by the other two. "Well. We must take our leave, Ma'am. Thank you for the tea."

"Anytime." Joan spoke as the soldiers started to leave the sofa, heading towards the main room and front door. 

"Which one of ya’s is ‘LT’?"

Rachel’s voice stopped the men in their tracks, particularly Ghost’s. All three men turned around, finding the woman holding Soap’s urn in her hands. Price saw how Ghost's face turned to that of a deer in a spotlight, so he put his hand behind Ghost’s back to lightly push him towards Rachel, but Ghost’s hesitancy was apparent in the way he slowly walked. 

“...That would be me, Ma’am.” Ghost’s deep voice rumbled softly as he looked down to Rachel’s height. The lady herself observed him up and down with a negative face that she could convince him that he was standing there naked. 

“Yer tryin’ so hard to make yourself look small for such a big man. It’s almost dreading.” She started, her hips shifting. “I’ve been the CEO of MacTavish Furnitures since my da’ passed away and Ollie decided to go to the army, and I read people like a book. For someone whom Johnny admired the most – and repeatedly spoke about – you don’t look like the LT I heard from him.” Ghost was starstruck at the statement. Soap, talking about him to his family? “I expected you to be cocky and exude pride in your steps, but all I’m seein’ is just a pathetic, sad bloke.” 

Ghost stood still at those comments. No one practically had ever roasted him this badly in front of his teammates. He wondered if he showed up in his other attire, she’d dare to say all this. But then again, if someone got to do it, he was glad that it came from an honourable woman of the MacTavish bloodline. 

What caught him off guard was her hands stretching towards him, holding Soap’s urn in front of his chest. Ghost looked down at the metal container, looking confused as he looked up again to face Rachel. He thought the MacTavishes were going to hold on to Soap’s urn, and they get to keep Soap’s dog tags. However, clearly, the current head of the family had other wishes.

“Take Johnny with ya. Being trapped inside this urn for eternity in this old house would be the last thing he wanted.” The woman started with a shaky voice, her eyes starting to brim with tears again. Seeing Soap’s character, Ghost could understand that completely. 

“He’s… the proudest he could ever be when he’s with ya’s." Rachel continued. 

"So I ask you, as our brother’s comrades, to hold on to Johnny – and free him.” 

Ghost’s eyes opened wide in surprise, still couldn’t fathom how fondly Soap must've talked about his teammates, especially him, to his family that they’d give him his ashes. Ghost lifted his hands to carefully receive the urn. 

After breathing deeply, Ghost stood straight, holding Soap firmly. 

“We will, Ma’am.”

—

The three of them walked towards the car parked just outside the MacTavish estate with Ghost holding Soap’s urn in his hands. They all took off their berets and entered the car, Price the designated driver, Gaz riding shotgun, while Ghost sat in the backseat. 

“So what do we do with him, Sir?” Gaz rotated his body to look at Soap’s urn on Ghost’s hands, same as Price.

Ghost contemplated in his mind, staring at the metal urn, before speaking, “Where’s Johnny’s place of birth?” 

Price answered immediately as he’s the one who took care of Soap’s documents. “Isle of Skye.” 

“Soap said there’s a beautiful cliff where he and his cousins used to go to play. Endless sea where the eyes could see.” Gaz added.

“Then that’s where we’re goin’.” Ghost spoke with finality. “And then we’ll let Johnny go.”

Price and Gaz nodded to each other. "Alright, Soap. Let's get you home." The captain started the car and stepped on the gas, beginning their journey towards the Isle of Skye.

---

I'm not okay. Thank you for reading! (T_T) reblogs and comments of your thoughts are much appreciated!

[phantom-dc]

A deal with the Ghost King

Part1 Part3 AO3

Bruce was concerned. Last night, the world had been on the brink of destruction. A flaming, Kryptonite meteorite had been on a collision course with Eart. No one was able to handle it, and the League had grown desperate. Many, Bruce included, had brought their friends and families in an attempt to save them. It was then they had agreed to let Constantine summon the mighty Ghost King.

But they had failed. The Ghost King had rejected their offer of souls, and demanded a better offering. The League had scrambled to come up with something valuable enough to please it. But before they could try again, the King had vanished, and the meteorite had been destroyed. After the initial shock and relief had worn off, Constantine had demanded awnsers. Someone had made a deal, but no one knew who. While Batman checked the camera's, Flash asked around if anyone had seen anything. No one had, and the Ghost King's presence interfered with the camera's. A deal had been made with the God of the dead, and no one knew what had been offered. Constantine made it clear that if anyone of the League noticed anything amiss to call him immediatly, and it was well known how much Constantine hates being on call. So Bruce decided to patrol a bit earlier then usual, right after dark. He had been on his balcony, as the sun had just set, casting the city in darkness.

Then the sky was filled with familiar green/blue lights.

----

Red Hood was following the Aurora Borealis on his bike. Jason had been worried when he realised he and Phantom had forgot to exchange phone numbers, but it seems he has no trouble making his presence known. Jason was sure the whole city could see it! Noticing the light rippled from Gotham cemetery outward (because of course a ghost-themed hero would pick that spot) Jason got there so fast he doubted the Flash couldve done better.

When he parked his bike, Phantom had noticed him and waved. When he floated closer however, he seemed confused. 'Wait, you're the Red Hood?' Jason realised he hadn't been wearing his iconic helmet in the Watchtower, and got a bit nervous. Had Phantom been unaware of the blood on his hands? Suprisingly, Phantom got excited: 'That's amazing! You're my favorite hero!' Jason was suprised: 'Really?' 'Yes! So many ghosts found peace because you avenged them. You're like a celebrity in the Realms!' Not used to the praise, Jason switched topics: 'So where do you wanna go? Honestly, it's kinda late and I don't think much is open now.' Phantom apologises. He wasn't certain his aura would have been visible in the sun. But he came prepared! Holding up a picnick basket, he suggest they visit the park chat so they can get to know eachother a bit better. Jason liked the plan. 'Let's go then, ghost boy.'

----

Looks like I'll have to split the date up in different parts! Enjoy the wild goose chase!

Edit: I am no longer tagging as I teached the limit and the story is on AO3, sorry.

@alice-hazelwood @spookytragedyshark @vythika96 @willak @sjrose1216 @shorterthanadverage @bruh-incoming @desertbogwitch @bun-fish @anon-ymous22 @overtherose @dracotheghostdragon @treepainting @the-church-grimm @emotional-otter @zelabee @smilingfox22-blog @vampiredp94 @leftmiraclechaos @impulsiveasshole @babbling-babull @wordsgohere95 @theamazingfox @regressor-marina @raspberry-muffin @scribbiesan-main @satanicrutialspecialist @meira-3919 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @terzatheunderscorerima @some-rotten-nest @wrenofthedumbasses @is-this-even-relatable @olivethetreebitch @my-mom-calls-me-rat @darlingatlas @blazeart @gunebugfic @chaos-n-kindness @elvesandlanterns @asphyxia778 @fantasticbluebirdfan @mj-arts-n-stuff @nappinginhell @slapphapp1 @undead-essence @seraphinedemort @enderglace @wildbacon-blog @mark-the-snark

[sagaduwyrm]

Yo, I wrote something.

It Matters to Have this Ghost Clan Near (This Family I Never Knew)

Held prisoner by an alien god-monarch, the only way the Justice League is getting out of here is by proving they have family waiting for them. This is easy enough for Clark and Bruce, but of Diana's family her mother isn't exactly easy to contact, and her relationship with the rest of her family is... complicated.

Luckily, just because he's dead, doesn't mean Kronos doesn't still care about his granddaughter.

"Clark. Bruce. Leave me here." Wonder Woman snarled the words as fierce as her heritage had taught her, and it only made Bruce more furious about the entire situation.

"Well? Have you made a decision yet? We won't wait forever." The alien monarch lounged on their throne, an ugly, amused glint in their eyes. It made Bruce want to break something, but the trio were outnumbered and far from home, and they were only getting out of here at all by the grace of the monarch's will.

He hated foreign gods. The ones on earth were tolerable, some, like Diana, he even liked, but gods from other worlds didn't push his buttons so much as they stomped on them with soccer cleats.

Wonder Woman was becoming visibly panicked. "Friends. Shield-brothers. Leave."

Bruce ignored her and tried to think of a way past this. The mrydonians and their god-monarch were fond of keeping people they found interesting. Anyone with any kind of power who stumbled into their lonely corner of the universe tended to find themselves stuck. They had even managed to trap gods before; the god-monarch reigned over the very concept of mrydonian space, and it allowed them to win out over gods of lesser or more distant domains. Diana, as the goddess of heroes, was below such a powerful genius locus, and the sun wasn't the kind that could fully power Clark up, preventing them from fighting their way out.

Thankfully, there was one loophole. The mrydonians held family sacred, even above their only god, and if they could prove they had family waiting for them they would be let go.

A quick call back home had settled the matter for him and Clark. His kids had answered the phone immediately, as had the Kents. Unfortunately, what little of Diana's relatives she considered true family were out of contact. They just needed one person who could claim her and mean it, but although she was close with a number of people, including his family, they had always labeled it as a friendship. He was kicking himself for that now, but how was he supposed to know—

"You can not find family for her then?" The alien's smarmy voice interrupted his thoughts as the being's smile widened. "She will just have to stay here then. We are so glad to host her—"

The doors, enormous and more literal incarnations of the god's power than physical objects, slammed open with a bang that echoed through the room. The god's head jerked around and they began standing up. One of the priests screamed, "Who dares intrude upon this sacred space?"

Between the open doors stood a boy. A teenager really, with floating white hair and inhuman green eyes, wearing a black and white suit. He waved. "Hey. I'm Danny." His bright smile was incongruous with the tense atmosphere, and every fiber of Bruce's being screamed with wariness. "That's my cousin over there. You know, the one you're planning on keeping prisoner."

"What. Diana—"

Clark was turning to her as Diana kept her eyes on the new threat, and she hissed back. "I don't know Clark. You've met all of my family. I don't know this boy."

The teenager in question stalked forward down the court, stopping between the god and the three justice league members. He moved oddly, too flexible and not as affected by gravity as he should be, and Bruce carefully took notice of what he saw. Oftentimes, when a being was non-human, the weak spots Batman depended on in a fight were in different places, so close observation was necessary if things dissolved into a battle.

The monarch's next words were an affronted rumble that did not lower Bruce's worries about a fight. "She does not know you, boy."

"No," Danny agreed. "We haven't met. Old family disagreements, you know the drill. Grandfather didn't want to impose, and I followed his lead." He tilted his head like a cat. "Doesn't mean I can't claim her, though."

"Grandfather?" Diana muttered next to Bruce in confusion.

The boy turned to her. "Mmhmm. He would have come himself, but by the time he saw what was going on, he was in the middle of something that would be dangerous to put down. He couldn't get a hold of your father, so he sent me instead." His face morphed into something bashful for a moment. "Sorry, I'm so late."

"It does not matter that you are late," the alien monarch snarled. They were fully standing up now, holding a dangerous-looking spear in their hands. It didn't look like the rest of the mrydonian weaponry Bruce had seen. He wondered if it was stolen just like they stole people. The god continued, "She does not recognize you as family, it is not mutual, it does not matter."

"See, that's where you're wrong," Danny exclaimed cheerfully. "By your own words, you 'respect other cultural understandings of family than your own.' Well," the boy bared his teeth in a grin. He had far too many of them, and they were far too sharp to fit in the reality Bruce knew, making him wonder which branch of Diana's family tended towards the Eldritch. As the boy spoke, the words began to gain a hint of static. "In the culture of my people, one can claim another as family without it being mutual and it still holds up in a court of law as long as the other does not outright refute the relationship." He swiveled towards Diana. "I assume you're not?"

She shook her head even as her eyes remained hawk-fierce on him.

"So, I may not be her cousin, but she is mine, and since that would be accepted in my culture, you have to let her go, by your own rules."

"Do not patronize me in my own domain, boy." The ground shuddered with the god's words.

The teenager snarled right back, a deep rattling thing that reminded Bruce of an avalanche, and he lifted off the ground. He had a cloak that looked like someone had woven the night sky into armored cloth and a sword of black ice on his hip. Neither were there a couple of seconds ago, yet they felt like they'd been there the whole time. "Try me," Danny snarled. "My own domain isn't as far as you think."

The air grew tenser and tenser before it finally snapped. "Fine! She is your family. You may take her. Leave now or my generosity may not hold." The alien god stormed out with their head held high, but there was a definite sense of loss in the way they retreated.

Danny turned back to them. He landed on the ground in front of Diana, missing his war regalia again.

"Sorry that took so long! He was surprisingly stubborn."

"It's fine," Diana said warily. "Thank you… cousin."

The boy's eyes widened before he started to beam.

Diana continued. "Can I ask who is the grandfather we're related to?"

"You know him as Kronos."

All three of the Justice Leaguers froze. Diana's mouth gaped open and closed like a fish, but Clark at least managed to keep his wits about him. "Kronos is dead."

Danny turned to him curiously. "So?"

"So he's not alive," Clark stressed. "He couldn't have sent you."

Danny looked at him for a moment and burst out laughing. When his laughter calmed he said, "A god is still a god when they are dead, and the soul of a god is not nearly so easy to destroy as the body. Who do you think has been repairing the time stream after all the time travel you heroes do?" he asked wryly.

"If Kronos was still existent," Diana said firmly, "we'd know. He'd have already tried to take the cosmic throne again."

The teenage… being's gaze was inscrutable. "Would he? Really? Where are you getting that information?"

Diana sputtered. "It's common knowledge!"

Danny said dryly, "So you don't even have a first-hand account?"

"Well I certainly haven't seen any evidence to the contrary," she snapped back.

Danny was suddenly the most serious Bruce had seen him since he entered the palace. "He likes baking. He makes amazing persimmon cookies, and he's been trying to figure out a cinnamon roll recipe he likes. One time when I was upset he tricked the Observants into dying their capes rainbow. None of them ever figured out it was him, but he still brings me back to that moment when I need cheering up." The boy's expression softened as he looked at the woman who he had claimed as a cousin of his own accord. "When he realized he wouldn't be able to come himself to help you, he was furious. He had to use a lot of power to get me here on time, but he would have thrown away twice as much if it was for family."

Diana's face was working its way through a series of emotions, and Danny seemed to grow embarrassed by everything he'd said. "I should go so you can get home. I hang around in Illinois if you ever want to find me." He lifted off the ground, reaching out to tear some kind of portal open in the air. He turned back for a moment before he left. "Grandfather goes by Clockwork, nowadays. He'll answer to that if you ever need him." Then the boy was gone.

[sapphire-writes]

The Campaign (modern!HOTD)

Part 1 of The Campaign

pairing: modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: Your support for Rhaenyra Targaryen's political campaign takes an interesting turn when you find yourself face to face with your arch nemesis (enemies to lovers trope).

warnings: NSFW 18+ (explicit sex, fingering, p*ssy slapping, degrading language, oral m-receiving, finger sucking), general language

word count: 3.5k

note: I just really wanted some Aemond filth on this Monday afternoon, I hope you enjoy my loves!

You casually sip on your second glass of wine for the night, letting the soft sound of low-playing jazz roll over you. You used to love events like this. Getting dressed up and smiling for pictures, pressed between your parents. The picture-perfect family.

It was easier when the elections were local, the politics of your backyard. You played the role of the good girl next door well, but it grew tiresome as you grew older. But your family’s role in politics became greater and suddenly you found yourself at another reelection campaign dinner, surrounded by sharks. 

Your parents were smiling now, enraptured in conversation with Rhaenyra Targaryen, a popular candidate they were backing. This election was supposed to be historic, Rhaenyra was running against her half-brother, who was not present this evening, though very well represented. You take another sip of wine, watching the show in front of you. 

You know he’s here somewhere. 

Jace Velaryon walks up to you, planting a gentle kiss on your temple. Not who you were talking about. He wraps a hand casually around your waist, playing the part perfectly. You and Jace aren’t really dating, just putting on a little show to gather some publicity for your parents. Works like a charm. 

Good girl next door dating the perfect boy next door.

A story for the ages. 

Your eyes flicker around the room. He has to be here. 

Aemond Targaryen rarely misses an opportunity to support his family. 

And to annoy you. But who’s counting? 

You and Aemond have known each other since grade school; both funneled into private school when your parents became more well-known. You quickly began to hate each other, both of you top students always battling back and forth for the number one spot in classes. He was such a pretentious ass. 

You finally spot him across the room, next to his grandfather of course. Everything is a learning opportunity for Aemond. He’s dressed in a dark suit, a green pocket square the only pop of color. Your eyes flicker to the dark-haired beauty on his arm, dressed in a deep blue cocktail dress. 

Floris Baratheon. 

The drama of the evening. Her family notably always supported Rhaenyra’s campaign, but when the tabloids spotted Aemond on a trip to Storm’s End, everything turned upside down. 

Quite the scandal. 

You meet Aemond’s eyes, blue and violet, his gaze reminiscent of a shark. Dating my ass, you think to yourself. Everything in this world is a game. 

Aemond looks away, not acknowledging he’s seen you. Typical. You’ll peruse the crowd for a while, circling each other until the opportunity comes to lunge at each other’s throats. The usual game you two play with one another. 

It comes sooner than you expect when you peel yourself from Jace’s grip to get a third glass of wine. They’re being stingy with the pours, it’s barely a sip. You thank the bartender when you hear his voice. 

“If we look at the numbers there’s really no chance,” he says to Jason Lannister, motioning to the bartender for another drink.

Jason acknowledges you first, not without a quick scan of the black cocktail dress you wear. You can hardly blame him, you know you look hot. You force a tight smile. 

“Good to see you,” Jason says nodding. 

“Nice to see you too Jason,” you lean forward, politely kissing his cheek, “Aemond.”

Aemond returns your tight smile with one of his own, taking a sip of the new glass of whiskey in his hand. The ring that bears his family crest catches the light as he swallows. 

“Y/N,” he says.

“Ah! Ms. Y/L/N,” Jeyne Arryn says, sliding up to the bar and smiling, “I thought I recognized you, but I had to come over to make sure!”

You smile brightly. Lights, camera, action. 

“So nice to see you Ms. Arryn,” you tell her, kissing her cheek. 

“Please, call me Jeyne,” she insists, “I’m so happy you are here, I find these events terribly dull.”

“As do I,” you tell her, earnestly, “but that’s what I love about Rhaenyra Targaryen, you know? She makes these events so worth it, it's really time well spent.”

“Is that so?” Jeyne asks.

“Oh yes, she really understands the need for addressing critical issues while also not wasting anyone’s time,” you glance around the room, “Not to be a gossip, but you just don’t see other politicians making that effort.”

“I see,” Jeyne says nodding.

Aemond lowers his head beside you. God you fucking annoy him. Your fake sweet voice that floats around the room as you continue to talk to Jeyne, the smell of your perfume. Good Girl by Carolina Herrera. The exact opposite of what Aemond knows you are. You flash him a look, eyebrow raised as you escort Jeyne Arryn to Rhaenyra to converse. Aemond knows you. You’re a predator just like him.

Entertaining Jeyne Arryn is easy enough, but you put on a good show reeling her in. The rest of the evening is exhausting, spent campaigning for Rhaneyra and biting your tongue. Politicians can be such dicks. 

Aemond finds you once more when you’re returning your glass.

“Well done,” he tells you.

“You could have tried a little harder,” you tell him, taking out your lipstick, “Where’s Aegon anyway? Scared?”

“Yeah right,” Aemond says, finishing his drink, “These things aren’t important to him.”

You use a small mirror from your purse to adjust your lipstick. 

“Funny,” you tell him, pouting, “I could have sworn Aegon loves a good party.”

It’s low-hanging fruit, but it riles Aemond up all the same. You know exactly what buttons to push. He hums, staring you down, but you can tell he’s pissed. Aegon’s a retired party boy, you haven’t got your hands on all the stories yet but you know there are juicy ones. Ones to ruin political careers. But that’s the hard thing, dealing with families with money. It buries things. 

You smile sweetly at him, as Jace finds you once more. 

“Almost ready to go?” he asks, draping an arm over your waist. 

You stare at Aemond a moment more, before turning your gaze to Jace and nodding.

“I just need to get my coat,” you tell him, “Then we can start saying our goodbyes?”

“Sounds good,” Jace tells you, smiling at Aemond.

You walk quickly out of the ballroom, toward the coat closet. To your dismay, a small card that reads back in a moment rests on the counter, the window shut. You tap your foot impatiently waiting for the coat checker to return. Minutes tick by and your impatience grows. 

“Fuck it,” you hiss to yourself, and try the door to the side. 

Luckily, it's unlocked and you walk inside the spacious closet, full of different coats. You paw through the expensive fabrics searching for your own. 

“Impatient,” Aemond’s voice is behind you.

You don’t bother turning around as you continue searching for your coat. 

“Need some help?”

“Not from you,” you snap, continuing your search. 

Aemond chuckles and you freeze, turning to face him. 

“Could you be any more insufferable?” you ask your annoyance at a tipping point. 

“Probably,” he answers with a shrug.

You roll your eyes, humming.

“Go away, Aemond,” you tell him, but he doesn’t leave. 

“I don’t think you really want that,” he says smoothly, causing your brows to furrow.

“Trust me, it’s all I want right now,” you think for a moment, “well, that and going home having a hot bath, and saying goodnight with my vibrator. This evening has fucked me enough already, might as well get off.”

“Velaryon not doing it for you?” he asks with a tone of curiosity. 

You smirk at him. 

“You want to know how my boyfriend fucks me?” you ask.

Aemond scoffs.

“Boyfriend? Please,” Aemond chuckles, “That little show out there might fool everyone else, but not me sweetheart.”

You stare at him for a moment, mouth twisting into a frown. You don’t like being called out, let alone by Aemond. 

“Doesn’t mean he’s not fucking me,” you tell him.

Aemond merely chuckles again.

“He’s not fucking you,” Aemond says, hands in his pockets, “You’d be much more pleasant if you were getting off more frequently.”

“Is that why you’re such a peach?” you ask him, causing his eyes to narrow, “Floris must be sucking you dry on the daily, huh?”

You watch as Aemond’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek. Gotcha. You laugh slightly, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“And here I thought you were all over that,” you tease, “Maybe I should go out there, and see what you’re missing out on.”

“Whatever,” Aemond says, shrugging, “Be my guest.”

“Maybe I will,” you continue, “She seems pretty unsatisfied.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Aemond snaps, a muscle in his jaw twitching. 

“Please, I am just getting started,” you counter, ignoring his rising anger.

It feels good getting a rise out of him like you’re flexing a muscle you haven’t worked in forever. 

The party was just a warm-up compared to the fights you and Aemond have gotten into. 

“Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you,” you tell him, “Did you call TMZ yourself on your way to Storm’s End?”

You walk closer to him.

“You pay some photographer to take those raunchy photos on her family’s yacht?” you ask, standing right in front of him now.

“Got any more tricks up your sleeve, Targaryen?” you ask. 

“You don’t even know,” he says smirking, “What about you and Velaryon? You expect me to believe you were just careless?”

You know what he’s talking about. The photos that revealed your ‘relationship’ a month ago outside a little coffee shop.

“I was careless,” you answer, making a pouty face, “Jace and I are in love.”

“Bullshit,” he says, barking out a laugh, “Got to hand it to you, you’re a good actress.”

“Fuck you,” you tell him, the sweet facade dropping, “I hate you so much.”

Then his mouth is on yours, his hand securely on the back of your neck, the other painfully squeezing your waist, dragging you flush against him. You gasp against his mouth in surprise as he shoves his tongue into your mouth. His hands move down to grab your ass, squeezing the soft flesh painfully. 

You moan as he does so and he takes the opportunity to bite your lower lip, dragging it outwards. Aemond wrestles his hand underneath your dress, parting your legs, dipping his fingers below the waistband of your lace panties. He lets a long finger stroke through your dripping folds. 

“You’re pretty wet for someone who hates me,” he taunts, slapping your pussy, “Fucking pathetic.”

You twitch against him as he delivers another painful slap to your throbbing clit. Your hands tangle in his silky hair as he sinks two long fingers into you, crooking them against your spongy walls. The tips of his fingers press into the rough spot inside of you that has you gasping against his hot mouth. 

“Oh, is that good?” Aemond asks, thumb circling your clit.

“Fu-fuck you,” you manage, biting your lip as continues to fuck you with his fingers.

“I plan to,” he answers, “After we put those pretty lips to better use.”

You slam your head back into the wall, the blow is cushioned by a fur coat that got pinned between your back and the wall. Aemond lowers his head to your neck, sucking and kissing the smooth skin. Aemond’s fingers work magic inside of you, creating a wave of pleasure in your abdomen about to crest. Your legs begin to shake and Aemond lifts his head, a sly smile on his face. 

“Don’t you dare fucking cum,” he scolds, but he continues thrusting his fingers, swirling his thumb around your sensitive bud.

Tears well in the corners of your eyes.

“I can’t,” you whine, feeling helpless as your orgasm washes over you. 

Your vision goes white as you clench around his slender digits, a rush of wetness coating your inner thighs. Aemond makes a tsking sound as you come down from your high, before removing his fingers from you. His face is disapproving as you regulate your breathing, feeling flushed.

“As I said,” he shakes his head, “Pathetic.”

“Fuck you,” you snap, dropping to your knees. 

Aemond smiles down at you as you begin to unbuckle his pants. You can feel how hard he is through the fabric of his pants. You try to keep your face neutral as you release him, but you’re shamefully impressed by his thick length, how he’s already twitching and leaking precum. You spit on your palm before you take him in your hand, wrapping your fingers around his length. You pump your hand around him, once, twice, and lean forward when he stops you with a hand under your chin.

You look up through your lashes, momentarily confused before he’s shoving his fingers between your parted lips. You can taste yourself on the slender digits and gag slightly as he presses them deeper into your mouth. Aemond smirks down at you.

“Show me how much you want to suck my cock,” he tells you, “And clean up the mess you made.”

You feel a new rush of desire between your legs at his instructions but do as you’re told, greedily sucking on his fingers, while continuing to pump his cock with your hand. Aemond hums with approval.

“I guess you do know how to listen, who knew?” he taunts, yanking his fingers from your mouth.

A string of saliva connects you to him before he wipes his hand on some unfortunate person’s coat. You look up at him, watch his lip curl and know another smart-ass comment is about to be hurled your way, so you lean forward quickly, engulfing him in the wet heat of your mouth. 

Effectively shutting him up.

Aemond lets out a breathy moan, he quickly silences by biting his lip. His hand finds the back of your head as you bob your head around his length. You want him whimpering, you want him shaking as he made you, so you remove your head before spitting on his pulsating cock making it as sloppy as possible. 

It works, eliciting a whimper from the tall Targaryen as he hits the back of your throat. Your eyes beam triumphantly as you let him slip through your lips, wrapping them around his tip and sucking hard. The salty taste of him lingers on your tongue and you hold back a moan as you flatten your tongue over his slit. He hisses through his teeth as you take him fully once more, raising a hand to fondle his heavy-set balls. 

“Fuuuck,” he moans, before gripping the back of your head and pulling you from his length.

You laugh breathlessly, mascara beginning to run, your mouth a puffy ruined mess. 

“Pussy,” you taunt, as he drags you to your feet. 

He turns you to face the wall, pushing you through the coat racks and pressing you against it.

“You were so much prettier with my cock shutting you up,” he tells you, lifting your dress and dragging the lace panties you wear down to your ankles. 

You step out of them to assist him, listening as he pulls a condom from his wallet. He tears the foil with his teeth, rolling the condom on his hard length. 

“Better shut me up then,” you challenge. 

Aemond chuckles, bunching your panties in his hand before shoving them in your mouth. Your eyes widen slightly as he angles himself behind you, pushing the head of his cock through your folds. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction but he feels so fucking good stretching you open; you squeeze your eyes tightly shut to focus on anything besides the pulsing ache between your legs that matches your thundering heartbeat in your chest. 

Aemond rolls his hips and your eyes roll back into your head. You whimper against the lace in your mouth as the sound of wet slapping fills the small space. One of Aemond’s hands clings to your waist, pulling you toward him to meet his brutal thrusts and the other wraps around your neck. You can feel Aemond’s breath near your ear as he continues his unrelenting pace. 

“Keep making those sounds, I’m only going to fuck you harder,” Aemond says in your ear, increasing his thrusts to make his point perfectly clear.

You try to retort back something along the lines of ‘I’m barely making any noise you prick’ but it comes out a muffled moan as he sloppily kisses the side of your neck. 

A noise distracts you momentarily, as the door to the coat closet opens. Aemond and you freeze, your walls clenching around his cock as he stills. You turn your head, meeting his eyes. Aemond purses his lips, silently shushing you. Your eyes are wide as you hear the coat check move around. 

“Sorry ma’am, we’re a bit short-staffed tonight. I need to be in two places at once!” the coat check says, rummaging through the coats to your left.

You close your eyes, hoping you’re hidden enough behind the coats that you won’t be found out. Your heart pounds, matching the pulsing of Aemond inside you. The bastard is still rock hard, warming his cock inside of you. 

“Here you go ma’am,” the coat check says, “Thank you for your patience.”

The door opens once more and closes with a click as the coat check leaves. Aemond and you are still for a moment longer, and then he chuckles. 

“Fuck, I could stay just like this,” Aemond teases, “make you my personal little cock sleeve.”

You glare at him and he begins his thrusts once more, easily sliding in and out of your slippery folds. 

“I think that made you even wetter, huh?” he taunts, balls slapping against your ass, “You like that idea? Getting caught being my little cockslut?” 

Aemond moans at the thought, a shiver rolling through you as he pounds into you. He’s so deep, you’re sure you feel him in your stomach as you clench around him. The wet squelching of your soaked cunt is humiliating, but he feels so fucking good you can’t find it in you to care at the moment. 

You whimper, feeling the familiar wave of pleasure build in your abdomen, a pleasurable burning coursing through your veins like you’ve been dipped in fire. Aemond’s hand tightens around your throat and you babble against the panties in your mouth. He lifts a finger, plunging it through your lips and tearing the material from your mouth. 

“I’m going to cum,” you whimper, free from the gag.

“Are you?” he asks, a cocky grin on his face, “What do we say?”

You bite your lip as he angles his hips, thrusting his cock perfectly against your sweet spot, and your legs begin to tremble.

“Can I cum?” you ask through gritted teeth, heat flooding your face.

Aemond’s answering grin is sadistic. 

“Is that any way to ask?”

You glare at him, lips set in a tight frown. 

“Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please can I cum, Aemond?”

“Go ahead,” he says, “Soak my cock like the greedy, little slut you are.” Each word is punctuated with a thrust of his hips slamming into you. 

With a final strangled moan, you’re trembling, falling over the edge and taking Aemond with you. Your mind turns to mush as he thrusts a final time before finding his own release with an elongated groan. 

For a moment, Aemond rests his head against your back as you both regulate your breathing. Then he’s unsheathing himself, removing the condom and buttoning his pants, as you shimmy your dress back over your ass, reaching for your discarded panties. You step in them quickly, smoothing them under your dress. Aemond tosses the used condom in a trashcan.

You fix your hair, and blot the corners of your eyes with the tips of your fingers, trying to fix the ruined mascara. You wipe at your lips too, certain your lipstick is completely gone, most likely staining Aemond’s cock. Aemond wets his own lips, before wiping them with his hand and smoothing his hair. He clears his throat before reaching forward, grabbing your coat from a hanger. 

You snatch it from his hand, before leaving the room, heading back to the ballroom not looking back. You spot Jace and plaster a smile on your face, despite the ache between your thighs, and your trembling legs. 

“Hey! They want to take one more picture,” Jace tells you before frowning slightly. 

You look into his eyes.

“What?” you ask.

“You have-uh,” he motions to his neck, “Is that a hickey?”

His comment gathered some attention, and a woman turns to look at you. You smile, laughing brightly, pressing a kiss to Jace’s cheek.

“Honey, what did I tell you about leaving marks?” you tell him, wrapping a hand around his waist, “We’re not a couple of teenagers.”

“I think it’s adorable,” the woman says, smiling now, “You two are clearly crazy about each other.”

You smile, and give her a polite laugh, spotting Aemond reappearing on the other side of the room. He meets your eyes before Floris joins him, beckoning him toward his grandfather’s table.

Crazy is one way to put it.

Note: Teehee I hope you enjoyed this! As always, likes, comments, & reblogs are greatly appreciated, I LOVE hearing your thoughts! Until next time besties 💖

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AEMOND TAGLIST: @warmfieldofgrass

BOLD MEANS I COULD NOT TAG

[mvskedxrtist]

Under the Sea

Wᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: PwP (Porn with plot), Tentacles, Mommy Kink, Overstimulation, and Praise

Nᴏᴛᴇ: I saw a lot of people actually liked the first one I posted so I'm doing one of my favorite first years from Twisted Wonderland! Please enjoy and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I'll also say for this one specifically, NRC is co-ed for this to work.

Azul Sister!Reader x Deuce Spade - Under the Sea

Another day, another deal, another contract. That was normal between you and your younger brother Azul. He had done his usual routine of offering his help with finals, and the numbers were definitely increasing than what happened last year.

"225 new contracts, huh little brother." You asked him with a smile while leaning against the office wall, watching him look over what he gathered. "Much more than last year, dear sister." He told him with the same sadistic smile you had on yourself. The initial idea of offering their help was your idea anyway since your first year which lead to Azul doing it when he joined.

The next day while Azul was talking to a client in his office, you were observing the Mostro Lounge for him. Sitting by the counter, you were ordering some of the people with anemones on their heads, looking into the kitchen now and then so nothing bad happened. When you heard the doors open and saw the Tweels, you got up from your chair and walked over. "Well well well! So these are the new people that got trapped as well.. How hilarious!"

Dᴇᴜᴄᴇ's Pᴏᴠ

Oh we had really gotten ourselves into trouble. And ouch do these anemones hurt. Me and Ace were getting dragged into Mostro Lounge during lunch which I had to deal with Ace's complaints about the pain. When it did stop and we were in front of the Tweels, I had shifted slightly and turned to see the most beautiful girl leaning against the counter.

She was dressed in the same Housewarden outfit Azul would wear but with some things adjusted so students didn't think she was the Housewarden. The pants seemed a bit tighter on her than everyone else, it really showed how thick her thighs were in the pants and- NO! I shouldn't be thinking about my upperclassman like that! I have to stop staring.

Nᴏʀᴍᴀʟ Pᴏᴠ

You had smiled and rested your body against Jade, knowing he'd keep you steady before giving them all a cocky smile. "Finally you showed. Ok Tweels, you can get back to work. As for you two new people.. I'll just have you serve tables for today!" It was a simple task indeed, but anything could be turned complicated in an instant.

Seeing the dark orange haired boy ask his other two friends without anemones to help them with the task was funny a bit. So desperate even though it was easy, just how you usually liked it.

So where did you land when Azul pulled you into his office and explained the deal of a lifetime. And all you had to do was stop the small group not get that picture from the Atlantic Museum? It seemed simple enough.

It was simple enough. Way too simple. So you decided to have some fun. Especially with the boy you caught glancing at you. While you were in your merform (a dark and muted green cecaelia), you had spotted the group of Yuu, Jack, Ace, and your lovely target Deuce along with the Tweels who were also in their merforms messing around with them.

You had stepped back slightly while watching the Tweels play around with them before letting your tentacles wrap around Deuce's arms and pull him back towards your looming figure. "H-huh?! Wait... [N-name?!]" The boy looked in shock by your merform as you chuckled and leaned closer to him.

"You're absolutely correct, cutie~" You whispered in his ear before letting another tentacle take Deuce's pants off. "I've noticed you stare at me a few times when you're called for your job in the Mostro Lounge... So why not fulfill your fantasy?~"

Right after you said that, Deuce started squirming when he felt a tentacle go inside of his ass. This was such a new experience for him, it felt a bit weird but maybe he'd like it. The tentacle inside of him started pump in and out of him like a makeshift cock while you actually did grab his cock an started jerking him off. "W-wait no! Nghhh~" He groaned softly from the pleasure of both sides, looking up at you while he couldn't do much in your grasp.

Another tentacle had slid inside of Deuce which made him moan out softly for you. He was excited for what you'd do next, the pleasure felt amazing to him. "M-mommy~" He moaned out while you kept jerking him off, going fast as your tentacles inside of him matched your speed. "Aww, is my good boy close?~" You teased him an chuckled, leaning forward to kiss his neck and leave your mark on him while stimulating him.

"H-hahh— I'm gonna-!" Deuce shuddered before he came all over your hand, the boy already looking exhausted from his orgasm. "Good job dear!~" You cheered for him and kissed his neck again, seeing the second hickey on him. He thought that you two were now done sinc he had came, but he could still feel the tentacles inside of him move faster, making him whimper and whine for you.

You shook your hand slightly, watching the cum instantly get washed into the ocean before turning to look back at him. "M-mommy..~ I-I'm so sensitive—" Deuce whined and panted softly from pleasure before he had came again in the ocean, feeling hypersensitive of pleasure.

"Oh but we've just begun, baby boy~ and isn't this nice to lose your virginity Deuce? Under the sea?~"

[salstray]

An Arrangement ((Ghost x Reader))

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Warnings: 18+ Content, NSFW, Smut, p in v, AFAB reader, established situationship, very little plot, also my first time writing x reader smut so let me know if its ass k thanks

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Summary: Ghost and Reader are co workers, of sorts. You work under Laswell, helping with intel and information while the boys are in the field. During the months you work with Ghost, you and him figure out an... arrangment that helps you both relax a little in the midst of all the chaos of war. When the job comes to an end, you give Ghost a letter and a choice. End it here or extend the stress relief beyond work. You get your answer when he shows up at your door in the middle of the night.

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Note: As I said before, first time writing x reader smut.... or really any smut at all! Usually I get to blushy and ashamed when I get to this point in a work, but this one wormed its way out into the pages anyway! Tell me if it sucks, K? Rad. Thank you!

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    The letter is so professional, so clinical, it almost makes him laugh. 

     Your slanted handwriting against perfectly lined paper, calling this whole thing an 'arrangement' between the two of you. Like it was a trade deal or a transaction and not like he'd been fucking you stupid every time he got you alone. It was all for secrecy, he understood that, but it was still funny. 

     At the bottom of it all, the clipped and emotionless words and flowing business speak, was your address and your phone number. 

     In case you'd be interested in a continuation, it said. Ending in your name. Just the first one. The only hint anyone would have that this was anything other than work, should any unwanted eyes find their way onto this page. They wouldn't, Ghost was far too careful to let that happen, but still. The only slip you’d made.

-

     It takes a surprising amount of courage to end up at your door. More, he feels, then it takes to stare down the barrel of a gun.

      The apartment building is smaller than what he would have expected from someone with your salary, but he wasn't one to judge. His own flat was barely more than a shoebox. Just enough space to keep the walls from closing in when he stared at them too hard and enough to hold what few possessions he had to his name.

     He's not sure if you'll be awake when he finally knocks. One glance at his phone tells him that much. Ghost had decided not to text you before he showed up, either. Somehow that felt more intimate than anything else. A trapdoor in his walls that he wasn't willing to address just yet. Or open.

     When you appear through the doorway, he nearly collapses on the spot.

     Your in a fucking skirt.

     Maybe it shouldn’t have been such a shock but in all the months you'd worked together you'd always dressed practically, more or less. The leggings you favored would probably be considered less, but it was always trousers of some sort. Dress pants, a button down shirt, hair pulled back. Ready at a moment's notice, as you needed to be to survive in this life. A perfect mirror of Laswell. The person you worked under and the reason you two had met in the first place.

     But here? Now? In your own home with the only danger being bad TV and loud neighbors you looked so much different. 

     You favored black in your style, something that drew Ghost in, something Johnny would relentlessly tease him about, and it showed even outside of work. The skirt was that color. Solid black, flowing gently around your thighs, topped with a simple forest green tank top with thin straps and no bra. Your hair was loose and your glasses were nowhere to be seen, leaving your eyes wide and shining.

     The way you gasped snapped his gaze from your body, your thighs and your hips, up to your face.

     "Simon?" You ask softly, like you weren't sure it was really him. Like you expected anyone else to show up in the dead of night with a skull print balaclava covering their face.

     "Evenin', love." 

     You curl in on yourself. Bashful. Shy. Looking up at him through fluttering lashes, hands tucked up by your breasts. The way you always looked when he approached you with sinful intentions. 

     Heat pooled low in Ghost’s stomach as he leaned forward, his hands tucked away in his pockets, his eyes dark and heavy. 

     "Gonna invite me in?" He breathes, knowing damn well what his voice does to you when he speaks like that. The reaction in you was instant. The rapid blinks, the shaking breath. The little nod as you took a few steps back, opening the door wider to let his massive form through the frame. He steps inside slowly. Letting his eyes roam the walls and furniture. Cataloging every little knickknack and art piece and surface he'll be able to bend you over once he finally puts his hands on you.

     Your voice draws his gaze back to you.

     "I… I didn't think you'd show up," you say, trying to sound casual. Trying to sound like this was planned and not simply offered a few weeks ago with no reply given. 

     He doesn't give you one now, either. Instead he takes a step closer to you. Closing the distance in one swift motion, causing you to press your spine into the half wall that separates the kitchen from the living room. You're blinking again, trying to gather your thoughts as his hands settle on your waist, palms warm and fingers strong. Ghost’s digits press into your flesh as he hums and leans back, clearly enraptured by the outfit you chose for your quiet night in. 

     "Look good in this," he mutters. His right hand shifts, sliding lower over your thigh, just enough to slip under the skirt and start a slow, teasing trail back up to your leg. 

     "Y-you think?" You ask, biting your bottom lip when his hooded eyes meet yours. 

    "Yeah." His fingers slip up and behind you, pulling you forward, chest flush against his with his hand now cupping your ass. "I do. Think you should wear it more often." 

     He feels the shiver that rolls up your spine as he speaks. Smirks when your hands reach up to grab at his jacket. Pulls the hand still on your waist away just long enough to push back his hood and tug up the end of his mask. He settles it on your shoulder instead of your hip, however, and slides it up along your neck and into your hair, taking a fistfull and using it to tug your head back.

     Your breathless gasp makes him rumble low in his chest. Something between a growl, a hum, and a grunt. Ghost leans forward, his tongue slipping through his lips and marking a wet trail up your pulse. 

     The little whine you let out makes him shudder and he sucks in a hissing breath through his teeth as his mouth reaches your jaw. 

     He'd never tell you, never admit it, but he missed this. Missed you. Your reactions, your sounds, the taste and feel of your skin. He'd been in this apartment for less than five minutes and already felt like he was gonna split apart at the seams if he didn't have his cock buried in you in the next two. 

     The next breath he takes is punctuated by a groan and he uses the hand on your ass to lift you off your feet. He lets the other take hold of your thigh to keep you steady as you make a noise of surprise and wrap your legs around his hips.

     "Bed. Where?" Is all he says, his lips parted and panting against your cheek as he speaks. 

     Moments later your back is hitting the mattress. Ghost is already reaching under the skirt by the time you push yourself up onto your elbows, yanking away your panties and tossing them somewhere into the room. He crawls over you, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, lifting them into the air so your skirt flops up against your stomach, revealing your newly naked sex to him. 

     He groans again, low and slow, head tilting as his right hand slips away from your leg and down towards the slick heat that had been torturing you for hours.

     "So wet already?" He teases. Ghost chuckles when his touch makes you jerk, his fingers just barely grazing your clit and making you whimper.

     "I…," your gaze slips away from him, your flushed cheeks only getting hotter as you confess, "I've been… thinking about you… all day." A startled cry leaves you when he plunges two fingers in without warning. There was no resistance at all. Just a loud, wet noise as he slowly drags them back out and presses in again.

     "Aww… thinkin' bout me? How sweet," he purrs, leaning in close to watch your face twist with pleasure. "To think that's all it takes to get you so worked up." Your eyes, which had twisted shut at the pleasurable stretch of his fingers, peel open just a bit to look at him. Plead with him. Beg him silently for more.

     Luckily he's always been able to read you like a book. That's what led to this arraignment in the first place. 

     "Want more, love?" You whimper, nodding weakly. "Want my cock?" 

     "Y-yes." 

     "Yes what, sweetheart?" 

     "Yes, sir."

     You didn't take orders from him. He wasn't your superior in the field and, in all honesty, he was totally fine with that. There was no way he'd be able to keep focus with that sweet voice calling out to him. All it would take was one little 'sir' over the comms and he'd be done for. That's why he made you use it here. Where only he could hear it. 

     Both of his hands leave your body and you'd have protested if you didn't push yourself up farther to watch him work at his belt. In one fluid motion it joins your panties across the room and you sink your teeth into your lip to hide the moan that draws out of you. The sight of his dick, fully hard and already leaking, pulls another free. One you don't hide from him. 

     Ghost crawls over you again, tucking his thumbs into the straps of your tank top and pulling them down your shoulders. He tugs just far enough for your breasts to be freed. Another shiver rolls through you when he licks his lips. 

     "Simon," you whimper, reaching up to dig your fingers into his biceps. "Please." His newly shining mouth twitches into a smirk and he tilts his head for a moment, brows raising with the motion.

     "Since you asked so nicely." 

     You'd hate how cocky he acted if he wasn't so fucking attractive and if his actual cock wasn't pushing into you. 

     Your eyes flutter shut again as you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as the solid heat of him fills you. Ghost takes the opportunity to slide his arms under you and pull you close, his face hidden in your shoulder, his breathing short and shallow as you stretch around him. It takes a few careful thrusts to get him all the way inside. Slow drags a few inches back, then a steady roll of his hips until his pelvis is pressed against yours. 

     "Ffffffuck, sweetheart… fuckin' hell-" 

     He only gives you a few short seconds before he's thrusting. Filling the room with the harsh slap of his skin on yours, the wet squish of your slick, and the echoing moans you can no longer contain. 

     "Si-Simon! Fu-ahhh! Fuck!" 

     He's not quiet either, to your surprise. In the past, you'd both been at risk of being caught. On base, hidden between paper thin walls, surrounded by other soldiers. Ghost's self control was honestly impressive, but he had to silence you in anyway he could. Either with his mouth on yours, his fingers down your throat, or just his palm slapped over your lips.

     Yet here, in your own home, he's just as bad as you. Moaning freely, cursing and whining along with you, groaning deeply as he sucks at the soft skin of your throat. His teeth sink into your flesh and you clench around him, making him pull away with a gasp. 

     "Ffuuu… fuck… like that, do you?" He leans forward again, lower than before, leaving a harsh red mark over your collarbone. 

    One of his arms wiggles free from under you and his fingers appear at your clit, making you nearly sob at the sudden friction. Before you know it your panting and moaning, nearly falling to pieces as heat coils in your abdomen, threatening to toss you over the cliff and straight into oblivion. 

     You grunt, gasp, curl your legs up around Ghost's waist, then throw your head back with a hoarse cry, eyes shut tight as you cum. 

     Ghost only stops for a handful of seconds. Long enough to lean himself back on his knees with a grunt, his hands taking hold of your hips. Then, before you've even come back down to earth, he's fucking you again. Deep, hard strokes that have your already muddy thoughts washing away in bliss. 

     Your orgasm drags on and on as he chases his own high, leaving you a weak, whimpering mess as he manhandles you back into his thrusts. Not much later, he's curling over you again, his eyes clenched shut and lips parted. He rolls his his again, two, three more times. Then his shoulders shake and he moans lowly, his face suddenly slack with relief. You finally fall limp a few trembling seconds later. Utterly boneless beneath him. 

     The pair of you stay there for a while. 

     Ghost lets himself lean into you, laying mostly on his side, still buried to the hilt in the mess you both made. One of his arms found its way under you again, holding you close to his chest as he breathes slowly and evenly. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was asleep. But you did know better and you grunted softly as you tried to shift your legs.

     "Alright, love?" He calls softly, his head raising just enough to look at you through the darkness. He hadn't turned the light on when he'd carried you in here. It would have wasted time.

     "Y-yeah… feel like jelly…" you say, still sounding and feeling breathless. You swallow, throat dry, and twist in his grasp, making him groan quietly as his soft cock finally slips free of you. 

     He twists as well, moving you until you're curling against his chest, sweaty and sticky and satisfied.  

     "Gonna be able to make it to round two?" He asks teasingly. 

     You groan. "There's gonna be more?" It's playful. You know perfectly well how much it takes to satiate him. Ghost chuckles and you can't fight back the grin that bunches your cheeks in response. 

     "I just got here, sweetheart. Maybe if you hadn't worn a skirt…"

     "Maybe if you'd given me a warning I could have changed." You wouldn't have, both of you know that. "My number was on that page too, Riley. Use it next time." 

     You couldn't see the way his jaw clenched when you said that. The way his eyes shifted through the shadows, wondering… thinking… considering the consequences. 

     Luckily, your hand trailing down his chest, over his jacket, pushes thoughts ever present fears away. 

     "You should take this off." 

     "You just wanna see my tits." He speaks before he thinks and it makes you laugh. A full, bright laugh that he's never heard from you before. Not that there's much place for laughter when he's got a gun in his hands and you've got lives on the line.

     It makes him smile. Just a little. Not where you can see. The sultry smirks and teasing grins were easy, this kind of smile was different. Softer. It's gone as you tilt your head back to beam at him, not a single worry behind your eyes.

     "Well, you saw mine. It's only fair."

~

[katsukikitten]

Bakugou Katsuki wasn't supposed to fall in love.

He long ago claimed it wasn't for him and he sure as hell wasn't supposed to fall in love with his neighbor in a shitty apartment complex after a suspension, more like a fucking exile, to the United States.

The argument and reprimanding fresh in his mind even after the grueling fourteen hour red eye. He was the only man awake on the plane, leg shaking as he hates anything that puts him in a position to trust someone else.

"I told you, he was in my fucking blind spot!" Bakugou shouts for the fourth time and the head of the hero commission shakes her head.

"So you didn't see him. What if he was a civilian? You nearly killed him. The public demands consequences."

"Since when do you give a fuck about my public image?" Bakugou snarls, staring her down. One eye a clouded garnet and the other a burning ember, "Ya sure had a good time trying to show off my disability. Cause the hero commission is so fuckin inclusive."

"Kaachan."

"Shut the fuck Deku!" Bakugou snarls, facing the mop of green curls, fisting the man's shirt. He hadn't lost his cool like this in nearly a decade but everything was grating to the nearly thirty year old. Especially today.

The pair, despite being the top heroes of Japan, were in over their heads when the syndicate they were breaking up had an unexpected ace up their sleeve. Temporary quirk silencers and strong ones at that. The hit Izuku who normally flanks Bakugou's now 'weaker' flank. And when someone much smaller than Izuku stepped into his blind spot his quirk acted out on its own. Igniting from the scar tissue on his arm and hitting the random Yakuza point blank in the face.

"Enough! I would be thanking Izuku if I were you. He's the reason you haven't been formally asked to step down. He's the one who found a happy middle ground. You're to train with a Hero in the states, if she sees improvement within two years you'll come back to Japan to continue your career. If not then you'll have to hang up your grenade belt for good."

"Yea cause sending me where the crime rate is practically tripled sounds like a great fuckin idea."

"Shitty fucking Deku." He hisses to himself as he grips harshly at his luggage, the plastic starting to melt from his grip.

He looks up at the apartment complex he's meant to stay in. It's worse for ware and every window on the first to the third floor has iron bars aside from the ones lucky enough to be snug against a rusted out fire escape.

He can feel it already. The eyes, all the fucking eyes that greedily drink in his cloudy eye and deep fissures that snake from his finger tips around his wrist and thick forearm. Dancing along the curve of his elbow and the veins of his shoulders. Even into his hairline, damaging it so deep that his sideburn never did grow back, his ear still gaged but the cartilage at the top split and jagged.

But eyes always lingered on how it branched up his throat, splashing onto his cheek stopping just before his nose but reaching the edge of his eyebrow.

He was considered a handsome man, once.

Eyes that burn him like a brand and he follows the weight of the gaze to a kid, a little boy. Patience far too thin he bares his teeth before growling out in perfect English.

"Fuck ya lookin?" The kid rounds the corner again, choking a sob before Bakugou lugs his one suitcase into the rotting complex. Taking the stairs, since there were only stairs, letting his big hero combat boots sink into the damp carpet. Each step brings a fresh waft of mildew to his nostrils, further souring his mood with each floor he rises.

"No tenant's laws in this bitch?" He growls in his mother tongue, agitated.

Getting to the sixth floor of the old brick building sandwiched between two identical dying residences. Finding his door 6C by the ware of the wood alone, the letter and number had long since fallen out of the stripped holes in the door.

He fishes in his pocket for the key, trying to shove it in. He flips it around once, twice, back to the original position and the goddamn thing won't fit. His palm pressed to the thin wooden door, the wood smoking from his touch and he has half a mind to blow the goddamn door off it's cheap hingest. It wouldn't take much.

Hell he was sure he could just open it with one rough shove of his shoulder and the door would fall flat into the foyer, if there even was one.

"Oh. Door trouble?" You've snuck up on him, on his right side in his goddamn blind spot and he turns just as his quirk hisses and pops to life. Caramel scents the air and his black skull shirt sleeve is fried.

"Ah M sorry." You smile sheepishly, "I don't mean to sneak up on you. Bad habit. I'm your neighbor, 6D."

You give him your name and he forgets it before you even finish shoving out the syllables. Snarling at you with disgust but his animosity either doesn't bother you or it went over your head.

"Do you mind?" You don't give him time to answer as you slip the key from his right hand with ease, ignoring the hot to touch metal of it before you wiggle the key in. Shimming it just right, listening with your perked ear and jiggling the handle, lifting before hitting the door with your shoulder.

A soft oof leaves your pretty lips and Bakugou's chest tightens. He's about to berate you out of habit until you turn around, opening the door wider for him without stepping over the threshold.

"Welcome home.♡" You say it so sweetly that it costs his tongue, dripping down the back of his throat where it forms into an unexpected lump.

He can't remember the last time he'd been welcome home by anything other than an angry reporter or a screaming cellphone demanding answers for his actions. His correct actions.

Because the fuck did those dumb ass pencil pushers know when it came to being out in the field?

Jack fuckin shit that's what they knew.

That's why he was standing in the USA, in the middle of winter, in one of the coldest fucking states and biggest fucking cities.

Why he was standing in this apartment that reeked of cheap cigarettes.

Why he was standing in this hallway, facing a woman he'd nearly blown up by accident, daydreaming about you opening that door every day for the rest of his hellish 730 days.

Swallowing thickly, unable to alleviate the tightness of his throat forcing him to grunt out "Thanks."

Shoulder checking you as he shoves into his apartment. But you were in a city full of rude assholes, so your neighbor being one would be no surprise.

"See ya around, hot head."

Bakugou slams the door on your words and it rattles the whole floor from the force. Dark eyes boring holes into the dingy, nicotine stained walls.

Kitchen, small and open to the living area, a sagging couch and groaning refrigerator. Katsuki was sure the oven being simply plugged in was a fire hazard on its own. Hardwood floors were thin, showing scuffed nail heads indicating it had been sanding three times too many in a poor attempt to save money and a portion stained a suspicious ruddy brown in a massive organic shape.

The bedroom and bathroom were no better, cleaned in a rush if at all and on the window sill there is a fresh coat of white paint forever trapping dead flies in the latex.

"What the fuck…" He swore he'd find a convenience store, getting cleaning supplies among other things but first he needed to lie down. Exhaustion hits him as he thinks of how difficult it was going to be to find another apartment and to break this lease. This place being the only complex with a last minute opening and for an astronomical price just for it to be another shit hole in his life.

He doesn't even bother with the stained mattress, picking it up and shoving it into the hallway to lean against the other, knowing full well all of this furniture was found the same god damn way. Shoved in and dressed up for shoddy pictures with half the view of the room blocked my wrinkled white finger tips.

He throws his two towels on the floor of the bedroom, using his bag for a pillow getting the worst sleep of his fucking life.

Even worse than when he and Deku had to share a single sleeping bag on an undercover mission in the middle of a snow storm.

But not before he orders absolutely everything that he can to make this place semi liveable, even if he didn't think he'd be here more than a month.

Morning comes with the loud slam of a door and a heated argument, making him sit straight up, both palms burning bright orange. Remnants of his dreams that always lead him astray.

Of eighteen years ago, his puncture scars ache from the memory before the one along his face and arm grows numb. Tingling numb and yet it feels as if fire ants let their pinchers sink into his tender flesh and root around in his eye socket.

Before the one on his sternum heats, expanding as he takes a deep calming breath making the cartilage crack from the inhale. It does little to qualm it and he just cracks his neck, forever used to waking up with adrenaline in his veins, threatening to explode his fragile heart.

The thought makes his stomach churn, normally a cold shower would do him good but the idea of standing under the stagnant shower head made it far worse. Skin crawling as he rises to grab supplies for his apartment before his evening would be eaten up by whoever the hell he was meeting.

His phone chiming with a reminder of unread messages, several in the group chat of well wishes and hoping you made it before he replies.

Fuck all of you.

He locks his phone after putting it on do not disturb before killing his entire morning, getting almost lost in a city very much like his home.

He's thankful he was studious growing up. That he can read and speak English well. His face covered in a mask and his spiky blonde hair shoved under a dark beanie makes navigating the city after one missed stop easy.

People left him well enough alone and he found his way back to his apartment on the first try. Most would call it luck but Bakugou would call it skill. Obsessive observation more like it.

Scrubbing at the hardwood and apartment felt as if he was scrubbing away the grime that stuck to the edges of his mind. Some parts of the floor he could get so shiny they reflected his own smug scarred smirk and others, like that blotchy stain, blood stain, just wouldn't come out no matter how hard he tried.

No matter what solution or tool he used.

Nothing worked, leaving him frustrated, covered in flaking wood stain and smelling like rust.

He checks his phone to see his shipments will be late and growls, asking himself what's the point of scheduling a time before he showers and heads out again.

The rundown warehouse he finds himself in front of gives him a dreadful sense of deja vu. As if he's transported back to yesterday, standing outside the apartment complex. He can feel eyes on him again, to the right of him.

But he knows no one is around, nothing but a stray cat that runs away from the old building to chase the flock of seagulls.

He double checks the address in the email sent from the hero commission and rolls his eyes. Shoving his hands with his phone in his pockets as he figured they let some lacky type out the address instead of concerning themselves with the hot head anymore.

He's about to turn on his heel and leave when the metal door swings open.

Curiosity was a deadly thing.

Slinking in, quiet as a cat, despite his brash and bold quirk. Having learned the hard way that sometimes subtlety is the only way. His eye adjusts quickly to the dark, sunlight bleeding in through the rotted roof and the windows that weren't boarded up. His ears perk as he listens, willing his heart to quiet and slow before that odd sensation settles in his bones. Hairs standing on end as if something were breathing on his neck.

But the puff of air never comes.

They say your body always knows when someone lays eyes on you, even when you're asleep.

It only took Bakugou losing one of his eyes to believe it.

Someone was standing in his blind spot.

Instinctively he turns, over and over in a circle and nothing ever comes into sight. He cannot hear what is there and he cannot see it but he knows something stands right outside his field of vision.

Like trying to meet face to face with the shadows that only grow in the corner of one's eye and when you look directly at it is when it disappears.

Sure as he's fucking breathing someone loomed and stalked just within reach although fully out of sight.

Each turn clenches his jaw tighter and tighter. More and more pent up anger as his hand glows on its own.

Once known as the best in the game for quirk control was now actively, and often, experiencing quirk failure.

He hears a pillar crack and then another and another until he's standing in the middle of the room with groaning concrete slabs compromised long before he came in.

"Fuck." He hisses, watching the trap reveal itself in real time before the building caved in from its own weight.

Subconsciously Bakugou knew there was symbolism in here somewhere. It felt a lot like he did, holding up a crumbling career for what he didn't know.

He only had his mother and father as family. His friends were successful and no longer needed his help in anything aside from maybe dating advice. Which was stupid, Bakugou was always the one getting broken up with but in his defense he didn't even know they were dating. He always assumed they knew he needed nothing more than to get his dick wet.

As the building collapses he sends out small bursts to keep himself from getting crushed and from sending debris flying out within a ten mile radius.

It's only when the dust settles does he feel someone in his blind spot again, except this time they step out of it before he can react.

"Let fear and anger be a source of power without consuming you." A woman shorter than him and only five or so years older, stood before him. Long graying hair placed up in a neat, smooth bun, contrasting against her dark jumpsuit. More notably are her milky eyes that hold onto his gaze without seeing anything at all.

Her demeanor and voice make his scars burn. Makes him think back of his first therapist he had to see twice a week until he was 22 to keep his gnawing anger in check.

The very one that laid at his feet in the form of bent rebar and heavy concrete.

"Fuck was that?" He dusts off his shoulders, "If I wanted vague advice I could have read it in a fuck all subreddit."

She says nothing, just listens to him shuffle as he moves around, knowing exactly where he is from the sound and the feel of her bare feet on the solid concrete floor.

"And how much is this fuckin building gonna cost me?" He growls to himself, only the third he's EVER unintentionally damaged. His first day as a hero in America already wasn't looking so great.

"Nothing."

"Haaah, ya get brick and mortar blasted into your ears? Buildings don't cost nothing."

"Normally yes, it would cost something. Even one as dilapidated as this. But the city had plans to tear it down, I just saved them money on the explosives." She smiles, knowing that now Katsuki would catch on. She read his file, the braille didn't lie, he was quick to catch on but faster to temper.

"So you knew I'd blow this shit hole to hell?" He snarls, hates being so predictable, it was as good as being fuckin stupid when it came to a fight.

"I did. Your file said you react when people stand in your blind spot. Why is that?"

"Isn't that fucking obvi-" His complaint dies in his throat when his gaze meets hers.

"You've had more than a decade to adjust, in fact it was as if you hadn't even lost vision in your right eye when you got out of the hospital. Only those close to you could see it bothered you."

"Yea like fucking who?"

"Like Izuku and Kirishima. Although it was subtle then it seems to be a bigger issue now. More than it was when the injury was fresh." A tremor of rage runs through his thick frame, his mind bringing him back to putting the stinging eye drops into his dying eye, hoping he could keep some semblance of vision but soon those blurry blobs faded into nothing but inky black.

He can practically feel the stinging now, and the gauze pulling at his fresh skin, of the fish scales they tried to use to help with the decay.

How the doctors murmured they might have to amputate his crushed and twisted arm, sedating him after his violent outburst. Unwilling to give up half his quirk so young.

Although some could argue a misfiring arm was far more dangerous than a little chrome.

He scoffs, looking down at his right palm from what was at one point his non dominant eye.

"So fuckin what. I'm Dynamight. I always bounce back." He lets the I have to lodge in his throat.

"Hmm so they say." She hums, tapping her foot twice before she speaks again, "You're a good size you know with a great range. Not to mention your sixth sense is phenomenal for someone who shoves things down."

"I don't shove shit down."

"Then why do you explode? Why does it seem that your fresh nitroglycerin is at half life? So volatile so quickly." She presses on when he doesn't speak, "You know I wasn't always blind either. My quirk grew in strength at the price of my sight, however it seems your body is more adaptable than mine. Your hearing is excellent despite the deafening explosions you create but you never know when that could be lost. So your homework is-"

"Homework?" He interrupts, turning to face her before he feels something in his blind spot again, turning quickly to be greeted with a hissing cat from his sudden movement. Back arched and swiping before it runs off.

"Yes, homework."

"M here to do hero work." He stalks closer to her, standing well within her personal space.

"No, you're here to heal." She doesn't even flinch, just tilts her head up towards him out of habit to keep eye contact.

"Cut this sappy bullshit. This ain't a Hallmark movie where I come to a new country. Get yet another fucking mentor that talks to me in riddles that I somehow get and then fall in love with my next door neighbor." He growls, "Wake up this is fuckin reality. I'm here to do hero shit, you're here to send me back in three months."

She laughs at that, "Three months is impossible even for you, overachiever."

He glares down at her, holding his breath to count down from ten and then up when his temper still burns in his veins.

"Your homework will be to listen. Not with your ears but-" She taps her finger over his old scar that sits over his heart, "Here."

Bakugou thought it was a bunch of bullshit. Listen to his body? His fucking heart? Didn't she hear of him before? The media was sure to remind Bakugou that he was nothing but a heartless, selfish asshole. So what the fuck was listening to his heart going to do?

But what other choice does Bakugou have?

[slafkovskys]

Oh oh oh Angel getting personalised lingerie for each of the boys and when she wants to tease one of them she decided to wear the pair that isn’t theirs

“oh, angel,” she hears jack sing as he walks through the front door of the apartment. she adjusts the waistband of her thong on her hips as she hears him setting stuff down on the counter. based off the only one set of footsteps she heard, she assumed luke had found something else to do for the afternoon since she was jack’s first. he calls out again, this time confused, “angel?”

“back here, jacky,” she calls and his footsteps pick up as he suddenly appears in the doorway. she grins, holding her arms out for the boy who freezes in the doorway. his smile falls as his eyes trail over her exposed body and she lets a faux frown play on her lips, “do you not like it?”

“those aren’t my colors and that,” his eyes zero in on the digits that sat atop her breast, half of his own, “is not my number.”

“oh?” she keeps up her charade, running her hands over the blue and green lace as she stares at the 43 on the strap of her bra. she sends him a soft smile, “i guess i forgot where i was going. sorry, jacky.”

“you forgot, did you?” he questions as he takes a full step inside of his bedroom. she watches as he approaches like a predator to prey, “well maybe we should make you remember, then. what do you say to that?”

even luke was suprised to see the handprints on her ass when her sweatshirt lifted as she tried to grab her favorite cereal from the cabinet for a late night snack. he chuckles, “now how did you get those, angel?”

jack only smirks from his spot on the couch, scrolling through his phone as she tries to explain to the youngest hughes how handprints that would match his brothers perfectly wound up all along her sit spots.

[atinylittlepain]

Only Lovers Left Alive

vamp!joel miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

He offers her another option between life and death. How could she refuse?

warnings | 18+ smut, gore, blood, organized crime, smacks the hood of this fic this baby has it all boys

a/n | back with another installment - we're visiting the roaring 20s this time babies

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

“Do you think they’re going to build them taller?” 

“I don’t see how they could, darlin. Already called skyscrapers for a reason.”

“Always something new, isn’t there?” Joel huffs at that, patting his jacket pocket before seeming to remember that his watch is on his wrist now rather than a chain, glancing down at the time before circling his arm around her waist to keep her moving along the sidewalk.

“Come on, I’d like to get this done sooner rather than later.” 

Chicago, the perfect city to shore up their funds for a quick decade before they move on to their next spot. Though she isn’t too keen on the method Joel has decided on to accomplish this, she supposes there aren’t many ways for them to make a quick dime in the dark. This will do.

They’ve become all too familiar with what a green door means in this booming, buzzing city. The underground, the slip through the cracks, the underbelly of a politic perfectly corrupt. They fit right in amongst the flowing liquor and downturned fedoras, a culture of anonymity and discretion. Joel keeps his arm tight around her sequined waist as they slip into the back of the bar, a cozy table of suits and smoke grinning at them as they come near.

“Miller! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Now why are you bringing a nice broad like that into an establishment like this, huh? A beautiful girl like that shouldn’t step foot outside the Magnificent Mile if you ask me.” The men all erupt into a gruff chorus of laughter, and though Joel’s face stays schooled and still, she can feel the way his fingers curl just a little tighter around her hip.

“Jones, we’re just here on business, if that’s alright with you.” Jones, the man sitting in the middle of the ring of men, takes a long puff off his cigar, squinting at Joel as he huffs the smoke out through his nostrils. Her stomach churns with the smell and the sight.

“Ah, Miller, always so serious. Do me a favor and lighten up, would ya? Laugh a little every now and then.” 

“Ha. Ha. I took care of the business you asked me to and I’d like to follow up on the payment we discussed.” The easy grin on Jones’ face finally slips into a stony grimace as Joel pulls a handful of rings out of his pocket, throwing each one down onto the table one at a time.

“Carmichael.” He had a sour taste, too much booze in his veins for her liking.

“Stilson.” He cried like a baby, begged her to convince her lover to spare him. Joel let her have the first taste.

“Matthews.” He was a runner, all that stress turning him bitter on her tongue.

“And Ricci.” Sweet and unsuspecting, he had been her favorite. 

“Well, Miller, you sure know how to get a job done. What was the number we agreed on? Two per head?”

“Three, Jones. It was three.” Jones lets out a clipped laugh, stubbing out his cigar and snapping his fingers, one of his men scrambling out of his seat and through a back door, ostensibly to get them their money. 

“Nothing gets by you, eh, Miller? You know the offer still stands, someone as capable as yourself would do well under the family name.” The man is back in a flash, setting a leather briefcase down on the table while Jones continues to eye her man.

“Just the payment is fine, Jones. You mind if I?” Jones shrugs as if to say be my guest, Joel’s arm leaving her waist as he steps forward to snap open the briefcase. It’s a breathtaking thing, seeing all that money stacked up inside. 

“Always true to my word, aren’t I? Now that business is handled, why don’t you and your lady sit down and stay a while? Share a drink, a smoke, after all it’s only polite.” She can see the tick in Joel’s jaw, the way his knuckles turn white at his sides. But she also knows that they need to keep this man and his grunts happy, at least for now, so she steps in before he can get them in trouble.

“That is awfully kind of you, isn’t it, baby?” Her hand on his chest, a soothing circle as she looks up at him. Keep your mouth shut and follow my lead. Mercifully, he does, letting her tug him into the booth, Jones on her left as he slips in on her right.

“You certainly are a sweet thing, aren’t you? Tell me this, honey, what’s a nice gal like you doing with a man like Miller? No offense, son.” Jones huffs out a wheezing laugh, his jowls shaking with it as Joel’s face sets into a dark scowl. She lets out a bright peel of laughter from somewhere high in her throat, her hand slipping under the table to grip Joel’s thigh tightly, steadying and stilling the impending storm brewing beneath his brow. 

By some stroke of luck, they make it through a polite drink, she doing all the talking, bullshitting as Joel broods beside her. She thinks they’re going to make it out of it without a hitch, but that comes crashing down as they’re slipping back out of the booth, a hand that isn’t her man’s coming down hard on her ass, making her yelp and stumble on her feet and right into Joel’s chest.

“I’m sorry, honey, just couldn’t help myself when you look so–” Jones doesn’t get to finish that thought, cutting himself off with a gut wrenching scream as Joel closes his fist around the man’s hand until a sickening crunch can be heard. 

And then it’s a flash. These things always are. Perhaps the one good thing about places like these is that most folks skip out fast when shit hits the fan, leaving her and Joel with only a modest meal when all is said and done. 

“I ain’t drinking from him. Fucking bastard.” Crumpled over in the booth, what had been Jones's face is now a broken mess from being slammed against the table repeatedly. She clicks her tongue at the sight.

“Baby, you shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t worth it, and now we’re going to have to move because of him. And my dress is ruined.” Joel traces his fingers along the delicate beading of her slip, now stained and soaked red. 

“I’m sorry, my darlin. But any man who disrespects you deserves exactly what he’s got coming to him. Besides, we’ve made enough money here, can get out of this damn town and go wherever you like.” She hums at that, thumbing away a trickle of red on his chin and sucking it into her mouth. 

“Italy?” His face screws up, but he eventually nods with a huff, draping an abandoned fur coat around her shoulders to hide the mess that’s been made of her dress.

“Fine. Suppose getting out of the states for a while could be a good thing.” Liking the sound of that, she smacks a quick kiss to his lips before grabbing his hand that isn’t holding the briefcase and leading them out of the bar and onto the humming Chicago streets. 

Still not used to it, they startle with every passing pair of headlights, Joel tipping the brim of his fedora down and tucking her under his arm. A miracle to most, all this light in the night has been nothing but a nuisance to them, though they manage to slink through alleyways back to their hotel relatively unscathed. 

“I need a bath, I smell like smoke and liquor.” One invention she can appreciate, hot water at her fingertips any time, day or night. She watches the clawfoot tub fill up, steam rising against the window, muddling the blinking lights of the city outside. His palms skate along her bare arms, up to her shoulders, thumbs digging in just right to the muscles there, unraveling her with a sigh.

“All this skin on display. The times have certainly changed.” 

“You don’t like it?” She turns in his hold, finding him out of his suit jacket, suspenders hanging loose around his hips, tie undone and shirt unbuttoned.

“Oh I like it just fine. But I’m pretty sure every other man on the street likes it as well.” 

“It’s women’s liberation, baby. Get used to it. First the right to vote, next, the world.” He chuckles, a sound soaked in fondness as he tucks his knuckles under her chin, a small tilt to slot his mouth against hers. 

“I am sorry, darlin. Lost my head back there. Just never want anything bad to cross you like that.” 

“I know, Joel. And I forgive you. But I’m a tough girl. I can hold my own just fine.” Another kiss, her hand cupping his jaw, thumb stroking along his cheek when he rests his forehead against hers.

“Oh I know. Tough as nails, darlin. One of the things I like most about you.” The curve of his grin, quick and close against her skin. She tugs on his slicked back hair, bringing his gaze back to hers.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get cleaned up.” Quiet, reverential hands peel away each piece of clothing, Joel paying particular attention to her stockings, kneeling down to slip them off her feet, a kiss to each thigh as he does. He sinks into the bath first, water already tinging pink with the remnants of their soured night as he holds out his palm for her. She groans as she sinks down in front of him, the warmth kneading out any residual tension in her muscles, her head tipping back onto his shoulder as she settles against his chest. 

“You didn’t have much to drink, darlin.”

“Hmm, that’s because they all tasted like that hooch they brew in bathtubs. And I thought it was bad when that stuff was legal.” Joel hums, a low sound she can feel through her spine as his lips drop against her shoulder.

“Could order room service, if you want.” 

“I wouldn’t say no to it.” They get cleaned up, scrubbing away what’s left of the night, skin staying warm and damp as they putter about the room, Joel dialing the lobby to order something up. One of the perks of these swanky hotels, champagne imported from overseas, not brewed in bathtubs.

She sits on the edge of the bed, dressing robe tied loosely around her waist, drawing open in the front just a little too much as Joel lets the bellhop in with a bottle and a bucket of ice. The tips of the boy’s ears pinken when he looks at her, quickly averting his gaze as Joel directs him to set the things down on the coffee table in the corner. She smiles brightly at the boy, though she’d rather be looking at her man, his hair still damp and slicked back, dressed only in that dark green robe of his, only a sliver of his bare chest on display with the way it’s tied.

“She’s pretty, ain’t she?” Caught staring at her, the boy jumps when Joel claps a large hand to his shoulder. She can see the nervous bob of his throat.

“I– yes, sir, very pretty. Now if you don’t need anything else I’ll be–” 

“If you think she’s so pretty, why don’t you take a closer look?” Not giving him any time to answer, Joel’s already shoving the boy forward to stand in front of her, his hand on his shoulder forcing him to bend over so he’s face to face with her.

“Tell her how pretty you think she is, boy.” She can practically see the jump of the boy’s pulse in that soft hinge beneath his jaw, her mouth starting to water at the sight.

“You– you’re very pretty, m-miss.” Pink, pink, pink, a perfect flush blooming in his cheeks. She can’t help but smack her lips looking at him.

“That’s very sweet, honey, thank you.” She leans forward, her robe opening even more as she presses a fluttering kiss to the boy’s cheek, feeling that beat, that pump beneath her lips even there, like a bird battering against its cage. A sweet drag of her mouth down finds that flickering spot, tendons jumping beneath her lips. Joel still holds the boy still for her, though she doesn’t think he’d stray far with the way he’s ogling her. Teeth, all teeth, that sweet snap of skin, and then a deep, warm pull. 

“Good?”

“Mm, sober. You want some?”

“That’s alright, darlin. Have your fill.” She does, her limbs going languid in the satisfaction of it, sitting back with a sigh when she’s finished as Joel drags the body into the bathroom.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to leave that in the bathtub all night. Joel, the smell.” He sighs, shaking his head, though he’s already reaching for the telephone. One of the only benefits of the work he’s been doing, no one bats an eye when he needs a body disposed of.  

Rolling back her shoulders and licking her lips, she stands with a contented hum, pulling her robe closer around her as she picks up the bottle and steps out onto the balcony. Lights in the sky, loud dazzling explosions of color every night. She has to admit to herself that she’ll miss it, just a little. 

“There’s a ship leaving from New York to Venice in five days. We’ll catch a sleeper tomorrow night and stay in the city until then.” She hums at his words, popping open the bottle of champagne with an easy snap and pouring into the two glasses he holds out for her.

“To Venice then.” A clink of delicate crystal, his grin over the glittering rim of his glass, lighting up in the bursting flashes of fireworks in the sky.

“To Venice.” She leans her hip against the railing, watching him watching the lights, quick pinpricks of gold bursting in his dark eyes. It’s impulse, instinct to reach out for him, taking his chin in her hand to coax his gaze onto her. 

“We’ll be okay, won’t we?” He sighs, setting his glass down on the railing to cup her face in both his hands.

“Of course we will, darlin. Gonna make sure of it. It’s just– it’s a different world. Always changing. Gotta learn how to change with it.” A simple press of his lips to hers seals his words, and suddenly, the boom and burst of the fireworks seems far away, muted as they look at each other. 

“It’s certainly more complicated. Sometimes I miss it, you know? Just us and a pair of horses and nothing but the plains.” 

“I do too, darlin. But those days are gone. The west ain’t the west anymore. Reckon there’ll be skyscrapers even in California before too long.” It’s a small, bitter pang, the way time passes around them, though what remains, him and her, is enough to soothe that ache in her chest. 

“But it’s you and me forever, right?” 

“That’s right, darlin. Forever.” The kiss he pulls her into demands a little more, his tongue sliding along her lip, opening her up to him as he presses her back against the railing. Her elbow knocks the bottle clean over the balcony, sending it sailing down to the street below with a startling crash, people shrieking at the surprise. Joel just laughs, looking over her shoulder to watch the bodies slinking by in the night.

“Look at them all, darlin. Not too long ago not a soul would be out at this time of night. And now it’s all lit up and everyone has somewhere to be.” Before she can crane her neck over her shoulder to take a look, he’s spinning her around by her waist, pressing her front up against the railing, her hands gripping the banister as he nips at her neck.

“But we know the night better than any of them, don’t we? Me and my angel and the moon.” He must be drunk, just a touch. Off the men he drained at the speakeasy no doubt, his words loose and his hands grabby, rucking up her robe to let it pool over her hips, leaving her bare from the waist down. 

“My darlin, all mine, watch all those people for me. All those people that would die to have you. But they can’t, huh? Only me, you and me.” His one hand slips around her waist, palm coming to rest heavy over the swell of one of her breasts, holding her steady as his other hand guides his cock through the heat of her cunt, a slick, simpering drag that makes her preen into his touch. Her moan is silenced by another shattering boom in the sky, Joel’s hips pressing against the curve of her ass in one languid stroke, fractured stars crumbling in the inky darkness. 

“Fuck, Joel, so good. Fill me up so good, baby.” His teeth, that sweet slip of pain sinking into the muscle wrapped over her shoulder, holding her still as he grinds his hips against hers. It’s fast and hard, his groans silenced into her skin, her eyes wide and glinting with the continued rain of fire in the sky, fizzles and pops so bright. His hands everywhere, squeezing at her breasts, slipping down to grab her ass to fuck her hips back onto him, and all she can do is dig her nails into the banister, pleasure pooling and flaring up her spine. 

“That’s it, darlin. Always so good for me. Taking it all, huh? You want it, don’t you?” He tilts her chin around to steal a slanted kiss, teeth nicking each other’s lips, swallowing up each other’s sighs.

“Yes, Joel. Want all of it. Give it to me, baby. Let me have it.” He must be drunker than she thought, because just as soon as the words whine from her throat his hips are stuttering stop against her ass, his groan flushing out against her neck. Usually so attentive, so careful to snap up her pleasure before his own, he doesn’t leave her disappointed for long, sinking down onto his knees behind her, his palms gripping her ass to spread her open and let his tongue drag a harsh line through her cunt. 

“Taste so good together, darlin. Open up for me, just like that, let me have you.” He’s already dipping back in, lips wrapping around her clit and sucking hard as his nose notches at her fluttering entrance. She can only feel the thrum of his satisfied groans, the sound getting drowned out by the endless smattering of fireworks still crackling in the sky. He takes and takes and takes, tongue insistent and sloppy in the way he laps at her. And as the pleasure starts to snarl a little brighter, her spine curls, hunching over the railing, her eyes glazing over the street below. Glittering girls glinting in all that flickering electricity and men hidden beneath the dark brims of their hats, the world passing by as she unravels on her lover’s tongue. 

His palms smooth up and down her spine, mouth resting hot and open over the swell of her ass before his teeth sink in, making her laugh as she reaches around to tug at his hair, pulling him up and up until his arms are wrapping around her waist and his chin is hitched over her shoulder. A slow sway side to side, the last fizzling lights in the sky followed by the slow peel of sound from a sorrowful trumpet in the folds of this sleepless city.

“So tomorrow night?” “Mmhmm. We’ll get packed up and head to the station at dusk. But let’s get some sleep first, darlin. Sun’s gonna be up soon.” One more kiss before she turns in his hold, both of them slinking back inside, shuttering the balcony door tight, closing the drapes to darken and dampen the world outside. She glances into the bathroom, body already taken care of, just like Joel said. They leave their robes in a silken slump on the floor, slipping into bed, bodies bare and slack, sleep finding them easy.

And down on the streets below, morning begins to cut through the smog, the sun filtering through alleys and onto the sidewalks. A young boy, clothes and face ashen with soot, sets down a crate on the stoop of the hotel, worn shoes stepping on top, a bundle of newspaper tucked under his thin arm. He clears his throat, once, twice, taking off his flat cap and waving it in the air, a herald for the dawn. 

“Extra extra! Top mob spot hit by vicious animal attack! Another body dredged from the river! Police puzzled by pernicious puncture wounds! What evil lurks beneath the streets of Chicago and will it strike again?”

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

taglist (folks who asked and folks I think would like to be) : @xdaddysprincessxx @wannab-urs @toxicanonymity @beskarandblasters @tieronecrush @swiftispunk @northernbluess @lahooozaherr @wineygoddesss

[cboffshore]

with very little respect to that one feral Chima-purity-defender: here's that thing I was talking about the other day I now formally present THE SLOG THEORY.

obviously, this is STUPID rough. In order to make this way more accurate, I'd have to know how many normal days each season of Chima and Ninjago takes, which... not happening. I ain't doing that. This is very heavily rounded and largely for illustrative purposes.

(@ghostwalloper said I was cooking. It's dinnertime, pal.)

The original joke was that, since Chima is such a pain in the ass to watch and feels like it takes forever, obviously time in that realm must be WAY slower than in Ninjago, and only equalizes when The Merge happens and throws everything into a blender. Hence the name Slog Theory. I'm building on the time slowness thing here, because it's FUNNY. I could be entirely wrong - maybe everything in Chima happens in the span of five Ninjago minutes during the first season and they're just sitting around for the rest of the time.

Reading the chart: Blue side is Chima, with season chunks numbered. Red is Ninjago. Please note that the Ninjago season numbers are off to the side, ABOVE their related chunk, due to space. The purple V shape is when the Merge happens well after the end of N15. I drew this on my phone over breakfast, okay? Don't come at me for that. With that being said, I kept all of the time chunks on each side approximately the same just for ease of drawing, because - once again, for the people in the back - there is no way I am going back and doing the math to figure out exactly how many regular days each season takes. That's impossible. There are clues, sure, but WAY too many cuts. Just roll with it, please.

See those green zones on the blue Chima side? Those are our KEY POINTS. There are three, each correlating to some spot on the Ninjago side. They are:

The infamous Possession cameo. My brief research shows that this is an edited scene from EP 15 of C1, which leaves us two possibilities: either the cameo scene with Lloyd and Morro present is canon to BOTH sides, or history repeated itself on the Chima side after the original Eris/other bird iteration, and they all went to hang out on that hill again, hoping to see another fight. And boy did they deliver! Besides that scene EXPLICITLY being an edited version of one from C1, we also know that character lineup is consistent with C1.

The Beaver Portal thing from the second have of N11. It's trickier to place this in the Chima timeline because it doesn't have any of the main characters involved to indicate what season it happens in via armor or lineup, so I just let it fall where it may, which loosely suggests it happens somewhere off to the side between C2 and C3.

The final cliffhanger shot. Following with the time line I've already established with the other cameos, approximately 4-5 seasons have passed since the last one, which puts this after the end of N15 - right around where the Merge would kick off DR. Which would explain why we never see the Chima characters go have adventures down there - reality gets shredded first! Like, right after that shot!

Anyway! It's ultimately all pretty pointless - we're over here fighting over a toy commercial, after all - but I thought that drawing and writing it out a little more thoroughly helped me out, so I hope it helps you all, too.

[strawhatsoraya]

Hiii! So, we've been talking about Shuuhei… what about a little scenario with a female soul reaper who's from another division but has had her eyes on him for a while because, well, he's HOT. Maybe she even already realized that his bad boy look isn't really true because in some small interaction he was super nice and polite? Or perhaps she's still convinced he's a total womanizer/bad boy based of his looks and kept her distance? Either way, one evening, she gets nice and tipsy (with Rangiku?? Or somebody else?) and goes all "You know what? Look at him. LOOK AT HIM. He's so underappreciated! Fuck it, I'll go for it." So she tries her very best to seduce Shuuhei and is a) surprised he's so gentle and soft-spoken and b) flusters him completely? :D Or something along those lines.

Random scenario-thought, in case it strikes a cord, I'd love to read your version of it :D Have a great day!

how long has it been??? don't answer, this question is rhetorical I don't even wanna know. i wrote some shuhei uh fluff? yes...fluff with some suggestive content but nothing explicit. you get drunk y/n making a fool of herself and shuhei being cute.

SHUHEI HISAGI X FEM READER / SFW WC: 2.7k CW: alcohol consumption, horrible attempts at humor and seduction, second hand embarrassment, badly timed boners, and equally badly timed confessions

You didn't know what it was about him that made you so crazy. 

Rather, the truth was, you couldn't decide on a single thing. Maybe it was that dark bold stripe across his face. The same that made you stare at his profile, that squinted intense gaze that rooted you to your spot wherever you were. Maybe it was the numbered tattoo on the angular bone of his cheek. Maybe it was the mystery of not knowing what any of it meant.

Or maybe, just maybe, you liked that you couldn't figure him out. You liked the danger that came with the unknown, the quiet variables that leave your formula incomplete day after day.

Although you had yet to see him entangled in somebody else's arms you were convinced he was as emotionally unavailable as the rest of the men clad in black. Tomorrow was a flimsy promise that nobody dared to even touch but you tacked it on the front of your shinigami robes, like a stupid participation ribbon.

Tomorrow you'd take the first step. Tomorrow you'd confess. Tomorrow, always tomorrow.

Those days came and went, and you were nowhere closer to unraveling the secrets Shuhei Hisagi kept. Tired of your cowardice, and tired from that day's training, you find yourself commiserating over drinks with Rangiku. Her tolerance for alcohol was beyond measure. It was a terrible idea to pair up with her, but she was always willing to lend an ear or two.

Right now, you didn’t want logic or common sense. Right now, you need someone to make you feel a tiny bit better about your cowardice. 

Rangiku does it well. She makes sympathetic noises, as she fills your sake cup repeatedly. It is quite a skill,  you think to yourself amongst the clouds, the way she never lets your cup be dry. Not even for a minute. You’re gathered with members of different squads for one of Rangiku’s badly coordinated mixers. The numbers between female and male guests was never even–assuming people even showed up in the first place.

“Is it really my fault?” you start feeling indignant. In the back of your mind you know you have no right. You were not the victim of the cruelty of the Fates, or unchangeable circumstances. The truth was, you were merely scared of rejection. “Is IT my fault?” You ask again, as Rangiku sways slightly next to you, a tiny smile on her lips.

She looks content with her lot in life at the moment, and your indignation is slowly replaced by green envy.

“You just don’t understand do you?” you ask her as your head bobs. The movement is mostly involuntary but you find yourself too tired to control it. The alcohol has steeped itself in your veins, and you know now would be the time to cut yourself off. Instead, you bring the cup of sake that Rangiku just refilled to your lips once more.

“I do understand, actually,” Rangiku insists, gathering your shoulders in an one armed embrace. “I do. Men are so DENSE. In fact, like that one,” she slurs as she points her chin towards the familiar pallid appearance of one Izuru Kira. “Look at him!”

Her voice is loud, and the scent of sake is sweet coming from her moistened lips. You look away to watch Kira perk up in his seat. His cheeks are pink, a bright contrast against his pallid skin. The stupefied expression on his face is slightly endearing. Perhaps you had too much sake after all.

“You see him?!” Rangiku prattles on, steamrolling over the din of stranger’s conversations. You sway in tandem with her, still trapped in her arm. Her strength was not completely unknown to you but there was something about drunk Rangiku that made her at least three times stronger. “Look at him! So dense. So stupid. So cute.”

You smile apologetically at Kira. It almost feels like the sudden verbal attack was incited by your poor inability to be honest with your feelings. There’s an attempt to free yourself from Rangiku as you press a hand on her chest and push. Rangiku squeals in your ear and lets you go, only to bring her hands to her chest. Her smile is crooked, and she flutters her eyelashes at you.

You swallow a groan.

“Have you moved on to me already?” she asks you in a shouted whisper. You glance sideways at Kira waiting to be saved but he avoids your gaze and instead greets the new arrival to the table.

The last person you expected  joins your table. At the sight of the stripe across one of his cheeks you feel your blood turn to ice. A  chill passes over you, making you shiver where you sat. You almost wished Rangiku would twist herself around you once more. Anything to return the heat back to your body and away from your sweltering face. You can’t see it, but you feel it–the flush that ridicules you; burning your shame on your cheeks until you fear it’ll become a permanent tattoo. 

Shuhei Hisagi, as usual, seems ignorant to your struggle. Aside from a casual glance and nod of acknowledgement he gives no indication of knowing your discomfort. The sake threatens to come back up, and you swallow. The acid burns your throat on the way back down.

“Well,” Rangiku’s voice comes in like artificial sweetener–it overcompensates and leaves a terrible aftertaste in the back of your mouth. “Look at what the dog dragged in.”

“It’s cat,” you interject with a quick sideways glance. Rangiku places her arm on your shoulder.

“Whatever.” The blond woman is unfazed. She smiles at Shuhei. “The point is, the man of the hour is here.”

You feel your heart drop to the bottom of your stomach. If possible, you could have feared it slipping right out of your body. You wouldn’t doubt for a second that if it could preserve itself by abandoning the vessel of your pathetic body that it would. Instead, you feel it speed up again, at an alarming rate. It pounds frantically against your ribcage as Shuhei turns his slanted gaze at you. 

“You were waiting for me?” he asks. He is looking at you. You know this because you’re staring right back at him, slack-jawed and in a daze. Yet, it feels as if his question was aimed at Rangiku instead.

“Of course!” she chirps, leaning forward. You glance down and see her breasts threatening to spill out of her uniform. Clumsily, and quickly, you try to gather the fabric and bring it to a close across her cleavage. Rangiku glances down at you, perturbed, at your clenched hands keeping the opening together. Gently, she pats your whitening knuckles. “Now, now…” You don’t let go so she pries your fingers off before continuing the conversation. “I was waiting for you because I need you to take Y/N to her room for me.”

You blink, and sway on the spot, suddenly lightheaded. You have no idea what Rangiku is planning and you consider losing yourself in a temporary moment of dread. That is, until you realize the wonderful opportunity that is being presented to you. Here was Shuhei Hisagi in all his hardened edges, cool demeanor glory. If you could have a moment alone, with your cowardice drowned in alcohol, perhaps you’d find the courage to make a move.

You stand up suddenly, slamming your hands on the table. Kira jumps startled but Shuhei remains calm. He follows suit, and you watch him stand up, taking in his height, his broad shoulders, his imposing gaze. He nods his head at you and gestures quickly.

“Come on then,” he mumbles as he turns his head quickly. You try to find the strength in your jelly legs to walk around the table. So focused in your efforts to remain upright, you almost miss the pink on the top of his ears. His hand is covering half his face when you reach him. The way he chose to wear his uniform was unique. Some might say he barely had it on. As you walk besides him, you notice a rosy flush on the top of his cheeks.

“Are you cold?” you ask him, placing light fingers on his bicep. Before you can register the difference in your body temperatures he’s jerking away, startling you. You never thought you could be criticized for lack of coordination, but inebriated you became a person you didn’t quite know. 

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbles as he turns his face away from you.

The sake must be really doing its toll on you, because if you didn’t know any better, you’d start to believe that Shuhei was being shy. It didn’t suit him. There was such a large gap in his appearance that it just couldn’t possibly make sense but still his ears grew redder and redder, especially when you decide to tuck your hand in the crook of his arm.

You feel him jump even as he tries to keep walking, your fingertips gently brushing the inside of his elbow. He starts to say something, stuttering over his words.

“C-c-careful,” he says, his eyes on the ground. There’s a furious flush on his face, threatening to obfuscate the tattoos on his face. “The ground is lumpy.”

You can’t help it. Even as you bite down on your lower lip, there’s a giggle that bubbles out of you–free and weightless. 

“I’m holding on to you,” you tell him, leaning into him playfully. He sways as you bump him. “I think I’ll be fine.”

It becomes quickly apparent to you that your miracle opportunity could very well lead to nowhere if you don’t take it further. You’ve managed to press your breasts against his arm, in hopes of stirring something wild and untamed inside of him. Instead, he starts to walk stiffly as if he had a metal rod placed in his back. Although you begin to feel more sober, you decide to amp up the theatrics a little, stumbling here and there in your walk.

“Shuhei~” you chirp coyly, syrupy and addictive. “Why don’t you come inside?” you tug him along, struggling with his big frame. If Shuhei is surprised at your strength he doesn’t show it much, except for a careful raise of his eyebrows.

“I really shouldn’t be going into a woman’s room like this,” he mumbles as you finally shove the rest of his big body inside. Shuhei looks around the small room quietly. There’s a futon on the floor in a corner, books littered here and there and wrappers of snacks you promised you’d get rid of weeks ago. 

“Nonsense. That’s way too old fashioned thinking,” you tell him, lowering yourself to the futon. You wave a hand at him repeatedly. Shuhei stares at it apprehensively—like the fluttering wings of a death butterfly, but still heeds its call. He lowers himself awkwardly onto the futon and sits cross legged next to you. His skin feels as if it was tinling, your presence making it worse every time you pressed yourself against him.

You slither one hand over his knee, and Shuhei feels the back of his neck heat up. Your breath tickles his ear when you speak next: “Shall I help you relax? You seem tense. I’m very good at massages.”

He stiffens at your touch. Shuhei knows your touch means more than it implies. He knows that your soft smile is promising him more than just a massage. He also knows that the rouge on your cheeks and the glassy look in your eyes is due to alcohol; that which you consumed a little too much. He knows that to let you keep skimming your hand upwards his leg, as you are doing now, is very ungentlemanly of him.

He presses his shaky hand over yours.

“I’m fine,” he says sternly, lips drawn thinly on his face. “I don’t need a massage right now.” What he needed, perhaps, was to swan dive into a cold lake. His nether regions weren’t getting the picture. He felt himself stiffen, and Shuhei adjusted his legs as discreetly as possible. He didn’t count on your keen observational skills, and your lack of decorum all at once.

“Then what’s that!” you whisper shout, pointing at the sudden rise of cloth between his legs. Shuhei stutters as he feels heat swallow his head whole.

“Never mind that,” he shakes his head, feeling embarrassed and angry to be in this situation with you. “Just go to sleep. That’s what you should do.” He holds you by the shoulders, as you try to peek around his arms. He pushes you back on the bed, as you hold on to his wrists, dragging him down with you. Shuhei, holds his weight up by slamming his hands on either side of your head against the bed. You look up at him, startled, heart racing in your chest.

“Are you going to sleep with me?” you ask him, your fingers still curled around his wrist. “Is this what this is?”

“No!” he shouts, turning bright red. He pushes off of you. “That was an accident because you pulled me down with you.”

“I was hoping to seduce you,” you tell him plainly. Now that you were on your back, you rethink your entire plan. You thought you had sobered up but as the room started to spin slowly, you realized quickly that it had been some kind of delusion. 

“I’m not someone that will just sleep with a drunk woman,” he mumbles, gathering the blankets and pulling them over your body. He tucks you into them, pushing the blankets deep under your body with his fingers, until you become a human burrito. “So please stop.”

“So, you’d sleep with any woman if she wasn’t drunk?”

“No,” he pats your hands which he trapped under the blanket. “I didn’t say that either.”

“I like you,” you confess. You meant to look and feel braver than you did, but being wrapped in blankets unable to move as the room spun slightly, seemed to have stolen all your earlier bravado. Shuhei stares at you silently, before he looks away abruptly. You can see his ears reddened again as he loosens up the blankets slightly.

“I tucked you in too tight,” he mumbles, ignoring your confession.

“I said I like you!” you state a little louder, and bite your lower lip. “Shouldn’t you say something back? Anything?”

Shuhei sighs, and finds your hand under the blankets. He lightly traces the shapes of your fingers, sending goosebumps up your arm. 

“You should say that when you’re sober,” he mumbles softly, finally looking back at you. “Do that, and I’ll give you a proper answer.”

There’s a pout that sticks your bottom lip out. Shuhei stares at it for a bit too long, and feels the back of his neck catch fire. He sighs heavily as he pushes himself up.

“Go to sleep,” he says gently, even as your eyes start to flutter closer. 

He looked shy and awkward as he stood there undecided. His feet shuffled, as he wanted to leave but was torn. You stifle a giggle. He was nothing like you had imagined. Not very cool, and not very smooth. You’d be lying; however, if you didn’t like this gentle part of him.

“What if I don’t remember?” You ask him quietly.

“I’m sorry?”

“What if I don’t remember,” you repeat yourself. “What if I forget I’m supposed to tell you I like you?”

Shuhei rubs the back of his neck, and you see his cheeks color. Your fingers twitch under the blankets. You want to trace the splotches on his cheeks, feel their heat under your fingertips. 

“Then I’ll remind you,” he mumbles shyly, eyes downcast and fluttering from corner to corner of the room; anywhere and everywhere but on your face. “I’ll just have to remind you until you do.”

There’s a heavy silence that falls between you; thick and flammable. A simple spark could cause it to ignite. You hold your breath in anticipation 

“Now, seriously, go to sleep!” he nags, stomping towards the exit. “And drink water when you wake up. Goodnight, Y/N.”

He leaves you there, tucked warmly under the blankets. The room spins slowly, so you shut your eyes to stave off the dizziness. A groan floods your mouth, and you swallow saliva that pools on your tongue. When you’d wake in the morning, you know you’d be full of regrets. You’d regret drinking so much, and regret making a fool of yourself. 

That is, if you even remembered that last part.

[yaminobean]

Sick Day for Freddie

Eden’s autoimmune disorder: Hemolytic anemia(Since we never get a cannon health issue for cannon Frederick.)

A little ficlet from when Edie still went by Freddie and was eight years old.

Lucifer cracked open his eyes as Hell’s red light shone through the cracks in his curtains. The angelic demon let out a yawn and lifted his heavy head from his pillow, drowsy gaze catching the red numbers of his clock.

11:35am.

Those stark numbers slapped away his grogginess as he leapt out of  bed and rushed through his morning routine of brushing his fangs, using a quick enchantment on his toothbrush as he brushed his hair.

“Shit! It’s almost the middle of the day! How did I sleep this late? I usually get up when-”

It was then that Lucifer noticed that something wasn’t quite right. He paused his frantic grooming, straining his ears for noise. Other than the little clacks of imp hooves running around cleaning the massive palace, there was a very specific noise the fallen seraph couldn’t hear.

“Huh, how come I don’t hear Freddie? He’s supposed to be having lunch by now but… it’s so quiet.”

Lucifer spat out the toothpaste and walked over to his bedroom door. He opened it and was greeted to more of that silence that settled heavily in the air like an overpowering perfume.

“Weird.”

An imp walked past his room holding some sheets. When she caught her employer standing in the doorway in his pajamas, she stopped and smiled.

“Good morning, your majesty. I hope you slept well.” she said, bowing her head.

“Yeah, it was fine. Do you know if Freddie is up yet?”

The maid pondered this for a moment.

“I don’t think so, sir. I haven't seen him around and when I knocked on his door, there was no answer. Strange though, isn’t it? The little prince is usually quite the early bird.”

He furrowed his brow, spines of unease beginning to prickle at his nerves. He made his way down the hall and when he came to its end, he turned left and strolled past four more rooms before he finally reached his son’s room. He knocked on the door.

 “Apple pie, are you awake?”

He was greeted by that same unsettling silence. He tried again; a little harder this time.

“Freddie? Are you in there?”

The silence ringing back was starting to grate his nerves, having gotten so used to the squeak of sneakers and the inquisitive voice of his adopted son chatting with the staff or his tutors. Right then, a pained moan rose from behind the demon king and he snapped his head towards its source.

It was coming from the bathroom.

 Within seconds, Lucifer dashed towards it and threw open the door. The first thing he saw was Freddie slumped onto the white tile floor, leaning against the wine red wall. His arms were wrapped tightly around his knees and he shook like an overheating tea kettle; the dark sweat spots dotting his sky blue cloud patterned sleeping shirt gave the king the impression that he was probably just as hot as one. The sight combined with the boy’s painful sounding whimper brought the king’s heart into his throat.

“FREDDIE!” he cried, dashing toward him. He brought the boy’s head up, feeling the heat radiating from his pale damp skin.

“Shit! Shit! Freddie! Hey, Freddie! What’s wrong? Honey, can you hear me?” he pleaded as he gently shook the boy’s head

The child let out another moan as they cracked open their eyes; bright greens had been dulled to the cloudy glare of a dirty street lamp.

“Mr Lucifer…. Stop doing that….. My head hurts.”

“Oh, thank Satan. What happened? I didn’t hear you this morning and went looking for you and- Fuck, your burning up really bad.”

Freddie's dull eyes glazed over as he slumped forward. Lucifer’s arm shot out to keep him from hitting the tile floor.

“Honey!”

He held them in his arms, listening to their breath which sounded like a crinkling chip bag.

This is bad. Their fever is so high and his breathing sounds horrible. Shit, he must have caught some kind of Hell bug but how? I was so careful. Oh, who am I kidding. He’s a kid for fucksake! They all get sick eventually, even Hellborns. But this is different. He’s a human! I have no idea what Hellborn viruses and bacteria will do to a human! What if it kills him?! He could be dying in my arms right now and I can’t-

 Lucifer squashed that thought, mentally refusing to even go there.

Easy, Luci. You can’t spiral now. Freddie needs you to be calm and level headed. Just take a deep breath and handle it.

He put Freddie in his arms, noticing that he felt a little too light to be healthy, and waved a portal into existence. When they stepped through, the maid he met outside his room was in the middle of straightening up his bed. When she saw the king come in with the pale child, she gasped.

“I know. Go downstairs and call the doctor. And please, bring up a washcloth and some more blankets.”

The maid nodded and scrambled out the door. Lucifer gently set the child down on the bed. He went about setting up the pillows around him, poofing in more when needed, like a bird's nest. Just as he covered him with one of his warm blankets, Freddie’s eyes fluttered open again.

“Mr. Lu…. What….. What are we….. Doing in your room?” he asked, looking around in confusion.

“You just relax, apple pie. I’m right here. I just need you to stay awake for a few minutes.”

Lucifer snapped his fingers again, bringing a thermometer in one hand and some bottled water in the other.

“Hold this under your tongue, ok?

Freddie gave a murmur of agreement and took it. As they waited, the maid returned with the supplies Lucifer asked for along with some others.

“The doctor said he’ll be here in a few minutes and to apply a cold compress to keep his fever down. Though… and I hope I’m not overstepping when I say this, your highness, but I think you should call Lady Carmine. She might have some insights about illness in humans with having been one herself.”

“That’s actually a great idea. I’ll call her a little later. You can go now. I’ll take it from here.”

The maid left and the thermometer beeped, signaling it had its reading. He took it out and looked.

104.5.

Worry sunk its claws into him. When Hellborns got sick, their fevers reached boiling temperatures and  the worst symptom that occurred was usually a migraine. But what was the standard for humans? Lucifer looked at the sickly child in front of him who was taking tentative sips of his water, remembering another odd symptom aside from the weight loss. While his body was burning, his hands were like two blocks of ice. But this was something he noticed in his son before he got sick. Could it be related? 

Could he have stopped this sooner if he had been more attentive?

The last question settled heavy in Lucifer’s chest, bringing a familiar sense of guilt and shame within the Fallen One’s heart.  

“Mr. Lucifer?” The child’s horse voice brought him out of his thoughts. 

“Yes, sweetie? Do you need something?” Lucifer replied

“Am I…. going to the hospital?”

“Depends. Can you tell me what happened that led you to pass out in the bathroom?”

“I…. woke up with this… really bad headache and my body was hurting. So, I went to get the pain medicine from there but… I guess I had another one of my dizzy spells and passed out”

Lucifer sat on the bed, his concern growing.

“What do you mean by another dizzy spell? You mean this has happened before?”

The tow headed boy became very interested in the red bedspread.

“Frederick.” Lucifer said, taking on his serious-dad tone. The boy in question winced, preferring the devil’s cute nicknames for him then his birth one.

Still staring at the bed, the boy replied in a small voice.

“I-I don’t know wh-what it’s called but the d-d-doctors back…. then said I have some kind of permanent anemia. That the good germs in my body are constantly fighting and killing my blood which is why I get sick really easily.”

Lucifer felt his mouth drop.

“Bun bun, why didn’t you tell me!? You can’t just keep something like that to yourself! You’ve been with me for over a year and…. Fucking hellfire, who knows what kind of state your body’s in now! It’s a miracle you haven't killed yourself yet!” Lucifer yelled, not able to keep the panic out of his tone.

Freddie jumped back toward the head of the bed, eyes shining with fright and raspy breathing becoming  shorter.

Seeing that, Lucifer mentally kicked himself. 

Great job, Luci. You're freaking out your potentially chronically sick kid. Dad of the Year, right here.

The seraph squashed down his cynical inner monologue. Now was not the time for self-loathing.

When he spoke to him again, he made an effort to keep his voice level and his body language as loose as possible.

“I’m sorry, Freddie. I didn’t mean to scare you and I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I’m not angry with you, I’m….. just really scared and confused on why you didn’t say anything. ”

The boy kept his gaze low, hiding his eyes behind his lengthy bangs. When he responded, he couldn't keep the tears out of his voice.

“I….  th-th-thought if I told you ab-about it….. You’d g-get rid of me. When I…. got sick before…. Da-Leland kept me in my ro-ro-room and told me to stay there u-un-until I got better. He always said it was because….. It grossed him out to see me looking like a half-dead corpse.”

It took every ounce of self control for Lucifer not to create a portal to the human realm and collect that bastard’s soul early. How could someone say such a thing to their own child? 

“Freddie, I would never-”

He was cut off by his bedroom door opening and a mosquito demon stepped inside.

“Sorry, I’m a bit late, your highness. I couldn’t find my home visit bag. So how’s the patient?”

The Lord of Hell was about to reply when he was again interrupted by a gut wrenching retch followed by a muffled splat. Both demons looked to see that the boy had just vomited on the bed spread.

The doctor sighed. 

“Question answered.”

------Later-------

Lucifer finished typing up his message to Carmilla on why he wouldn’t be in his office for the next few days and placed his hellphone on the nightstand. The doctor had left thirty minutes ago and both the demon and his child were relaxing in Lucifer’s freshly remade bed, watching one of Charlie’s old movies, Monsters Inc. Earlier, the doctor had done his test and concluded that Freddie’s problem was chronic. 

Hemolytic Anemia. 

A type of autoimmune disease where your immune system attacks your own red blood cells, leaving you with a very limited supply of oxygenated blood which explained Freddie’s cold hands and low body weight. The doctor actually wanted to bring him in for observation but Freddie didn’t take it well when he heard and almost passed out again from his freak out. When Lucifer had calmed him down, the doctor supplied him with some plasma and anti-anxiety pills; the plasma, he said, should keep him stable for today but he’d still need to get checked in tomorrow. He advised Lucifer to give him the pills before coming in so he could be somewhat sedated. Apparently this type of anemia affected the heart and since his condition hasn’t been treated for a year, it was possible that any sort of stress could cause either an arrhythmia or heart failure.

Needless to say, Lucifer had focused his sensitive ears on his son’s heartbeat, listening in for any misbeats.

Freddie was wrapped up in Lucifer’s red wings, enjoying the warm soft feathers cradling and caressing his skin. The plasma drip was fixed firmly into his left arm and he was already starting to feel better. His headache was ebbing away, muscle pain was starting to lessen, and his fever had gone down, but he still felt groggy. Lucifer felt him scootch towards his chest, trying to get close to him without pulling on his IV.

He smiled warmly and adjusted himself so he could fully embrace Freddie, who gave a content sigh as he nuzzled his head into Lucifer’s chest.

“How are you feeling, apple pie?”

“Ok….. Little ‘it….. ‘Eepy.” he replied, eyes drooping with exhaustion.

Lucifer let out a snort, floored by this sudden cuteness.

“That’s good. Do you want me to turn off the movie and leave you to rest?”

Lucifer felt the kid tighten his hold on him.

“No….  Papa…. Stay.”

This was the moment Lucifer’s world froze. Freddie’s words sunk into his chest and blanketed his soul with a warmth that reminded him of the universe’s first light. He couldn’t stop the stream of happy tears coming from his eyes. He stooped his face down toward his head, letting his forehead rest on the crown of Freddie’s head. For a long time, Lucifer kept his worries and cynical voice at bay by running repeats of that voice saying those three words through his mind.

Luci's hellphone:

Luci: Carm, you’ll have to lead the meetings for a few days. Freddie woke up with a fever and I found him passed out on the floor. Doctor checked him out and said he has a severe kind of anemia where his own immune system is killing its own blood cells. We were going to go to the hospital today but Freddie had a panic attack and things got bad.  I’ll be staying at the hospital with him and hopefully I’ll be back when he’s checked out.

Carm: Bundle him up and keep that fever under control. I’m on my way.

Ozzy: What!!!???😱😱 Our little Didi is sick!??? 🥵🥵🥵🥺🥺🥺I’m coming over too!!!!

Bee bee: Me too!!! 🥺 🥺 He needs emergency sweets and smooches stat!!!!

Carm: Bee, whatever you get him can't be too rich or sugary. Usually humans don't have much of an appetite when we're sick. So bring something like ice pops or pudding.

Bee: So something like this? ( Pic of the most decadent looking chocolate pudding.)

Carm: Are you trying to kill him??? Something like this. 

( Pic of a normal pudding cup.)

 I'm going to bring some chicken soup and maybe some yogurt smoothies if the soup is too much.

Ozzy: Hey, does Freddie have any plushies? Cause I see this cute penguin one out here. 

(Pic of a penguin plush wearing a red scarf. Its head has horns and its back has little black stuffed bat wings.)

 Think he'd like it, Luci? I thought if he had something to squeeze he’d be a little calmer about being in the hospital. Poor little bean🥺🥺

Big green: WTF! Brat gets a cold and u guys wanna bail outta work and play nurse!!!! U fucks don't give a dick when I'm sick!!!

Bee: Bitch 😤😤 do u have 2 make everything about u!!?!?!? Plus Autoimmune anemia beats out getting a cold sore😡

Big Green: Those fuckers hurt ya sugar hyped twat!!! 

Ozzy: Mammon r u just here to whine or u cuming too?

Big Green: Fuck no. But I’d like to point out that whatever the little shit doesn’t eat, I’ll gladly take it.

Bee:🙄

Ozzy:🙄