#[cw sniper gunshots]

[oblique-lane]

Pale

[casdeans-pie]

I just still think it's funny how Naomi had Cas kill only Dean clones. Not even a single Sam.

Why is that? Hm??

Why would it possibly need to be that Cas needs to practice killing only Dean clones specifically??

Because Cas was already in lo

[vaginadentatacas]

Famine made Cas so hungry for raw meat because he's a fa-[GUNSHOT NOISES] who likes it ra- [EVEN MORE GUNSHOT NOISES]

[theorist-fox]

Good Luck

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

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Word count: 5.2k

Summary: There’s only so much you can endure for love. Simon’s avoidance takes him one step too far, and this time, there’s no turning back.

18+

CW: angst, arguments, canon typical violence (GSW, surgery, medical talk), a drop of smut.

I listened to this song while writing!

Masterlist 🦊 | Series Masterlist 🦊

The treadmill runs underfoot when it shouldn't. 

You shouldn't be here—when the lights in the base are off, and curfew has clocked in. Not when your side is still aching, and your injury is still mending.

One would think that after ages in the special forces, you'd get used to gunshot wounds. 

Truth is—you never do. It's always the same burning pain that makes you piss yourself and throw up your guts. How you survived is still a big, fat question mark—sniper rifles are made to kill, not to neutralize. If that bullet had hit a little higher, you'd be six feet underground, not doing some cardio in the HQ gym.

Even now, two months after the incident, the stabbing ache in your gut still lingers. Granted, it's not fully healed, so any pain you feel is your fault. But sitting idly, twiddling your thumbs, feels far too passive for you. So, you decide to resort to the simplest training—cardio, light weightlifting—anything that might help the rage simmering in your chest subside.

Because yes—the worst thing festering in your guts, right in the broken sinews and ripped flesh, isn't the mending hole of a .308 round, but a growing anger that's making it hard for your limbs to sit still.

And it's that anger that's slowing down the healing process, it must be. 

You're running—not too fast. No headphones on, because you want to hear your breath panting and your feet thudding against the moving treadmill. You want to taste copper down your throat. 

Overexertion. Salivating tongue. The wonderful ache of sore muscles. 

Alive, strong, fast, reliable.

A friendly reminder that even though there is someone else occupying your spot in the team, you're still as fan-fucking-tastic as ever.

A friendly reminder that their role is only temporary. That when you're back on your feet, you're going to be the fifth member of that task force again. 

Breakfasts with Soap, early morning runs with Gaz, cigars in the evening with Price.

Ghost, on the other hand, can go and fuck himself. Hard. 

You don't blame him, really. Or, well, maybe a little. A smidge. 

Because that's just who he is. You can't blame someone for being who they are—and what he is, is a bastard. 

You should've known the moment you met him, the second he introduced himself as Ghost instead of Simon Riley, all those years back.

Instead of giving in, instead of acting kind, caring, and giving him your time—instead, instead, instead—you should've bit the same way he bit you. Ravaged you. Gave you hot and cold, push and pull, sunk his teeth until the bone, until you were nothing more than a rag doll in the maws of a rabid dog.

Surely, you couldn't have expected him to visit.

You couldn't have expected him to knock on your hospital room door, cuppa in hand, and have him give you his precious, precious time.

What you should've done was expect him to treat you in person like he treats you in bed. 

A whore: warm enough to fit his cock in, wet enough to stroke his ego. You being out of commission for anything remotely related to sex meant you being out of his life—plain and simple. 

A hard pill to swallow, but a true one.

And so, you run. 

You run and stare deadly holes into the wall in front of you. 

You run and ignore how the forming scar on your side tightens at each movement. 

You run and try your damned hardest to focus on yourself: on your body feeling alive even when unhooked from cables and machines, on the fog in your brain finally dissipating, on your chest filling and relaxing even without oxygen pumped in your nose.

Ten minutes turn into twenty, until you can feel your thighs chafe and your calves cramp, but still you push through. Because the alternative, the only other thing that would make your stomach finally loosen, would be to have that bastard within reach. Punch him until he hurts like you did.

Alas, God seems to have heard, for the next thing you know, is that Simon is standing, jaded as always, at the threshold of the gym to your left.

As soon as you spot him in your periphery, you punch the big red button on the treadmill. Your run slows to a walk before you stop completely and get down. 

You don't even look at him as you collect your water bottle from the floor, grunting softly when your injury folds and aches.

You don't even lift your head when you reply with a caustic, "Look what the cat dragged in."

He snorts. How dare he.

"See you got your wit back."

It's been two months since you last heard his voice. 

When you got shot and blacked out, the last thing you registered was his voice roaring over comms—but judging by the distant behaviour he assumed right afterwards, the complete absence during your hospitalization, you convinced yourself that the anguished cry of your name you've heard was imagined altogether.

One last attempt of your brain to find some comfort in the pain.

However, a treacherous shiver still runs down your spine when he speaks. The thickness of his voice, the rasp that scratches a nice spot in your brain. 

You shake your shoulders to get rid of it.

It's only then that you clock his form with your eyes. You tongue your cheek.

"Never left," you say, uncapping your water bottle. "Not that you'd know anyway, mh?"

As you drink, the balaclava shifts at his jaw as if he's running his tongue over his teeth. Thinking which approach to take—tactical and measured or absolutely ballistic and corrosive.

"You shouldn't be 'ere." He drawls with that grating tone that makes you believe he knows something more than you do.

Measured it is.

"Got cleared."

"Doc said otherwise."

"As obsessed as ever, uh?"

How his eyes sharpen tells you you've cut deeper than any razor blade could. A smug smile blooms on your cheeks because small things feel like huge victories when there are too many losses to count.

"You're under my command." He says bluntly, "Had to keep myself updated."

"Normal people would ask."

He tilts his head. "M'sure you gathered I'm anything but."

"Right," you say with a wry grin. "What was the doctor's diagnosis, then?"

"Lucky your liver got out of it intact," he replies, "Exit wound clear, no fragments. Minimal internal dam—"

"Oh no, I know that." You cut in, sickly sweet, like poison more than honey. "I meant yours."

His eyes darken, with a warning glint that should be enough to pierce through your resolve—shame for him that you're bulletproof and sharp like a knife. You don't care if it'll hurt—let it. After all, there is little left to lose, and you're sure that whatever is left will soon be lost.

"Abandonment issues? Does it stem from your childhood? Are you projecting something on me, Simon?"

"Sergeant," he says, lower than a growl. 

"What?" You snap, tongue riddled with bitterness. "Isn't that what's happening? Takin' my life apart 'cause you couldn't sort out yours?"

Simon rolls his shoulders and straightens his neck. He often does it when he wants to appear taller, broader, scarier—though you know better.

And right now, he's just as tense as you are. 

Both of you are teetering on the edge, walking a fine line that could lead to resolution, but you're afraid it won't. Not this time.

Each step he takes bends the thin rope under his weight. You wobble—precarious, afraid, a gust of wind is all it would take for you to fall and lose it all in one breath: the earned, mutual trust, the fragile love—no matter how disjointed and uncertain at times.

Reluctantly, you know that it has been tender, too.

"I'd watch my tongue if I were you,” he says. A measured threat.

Your eyes are sharp, and you don't dare to breathe. The space between your faces is tense—a ticking time bomb, something preceding destruction.

"And I'd stay the fuck back." You scowl. "If I were you."

There's a sneer painting his face; you're sure of it, even if it's out of sight. Something heavy and dark, hidden under fabric. 

"Aye, I have," he says at length. "For two months. But looks like you didn't enjoy that much, did ya now?"

Your brows fly to your forehead. Utter disbelief at the sheer audacity of him. Apparently, today isn't one of those days in which you can take what you dish out. 

Fuck it, you'll live.

"You think this is funny?" You scowl, cocking your head.

You watch his jaw shift, perhaps trying to reply, but you don't give him time. He's had plenty of it and wasted it all.

"You think it's alright, what you did?"

Your teeth grit until your head hurts. 

"Not even a knock, Simon." Your voice rises in volume and anger alike. "Two months. Not a call, a text, a wordpassed through Johnny."

Your chest grows tight, and those vines climb upward, closing in on your throat and head all the same. The pressure in your skull threatens tears.

You'd rather get shot again than cry now, of all times.

You thought he'd carved a path specifically for you. Instead, he was only covering your eyes in gentle kisses and cottoning your ears with sweet words—perhaps some remorse, if he could feel it at all. Treated you like a hungry dog, throwing a bone so you'd turn into a more docile pup, whimpering and asking for pets.

And still, you kept clinging with your fingernails to the scraps of tenderness he offered, even when unsure of their authenticity.

There is no trace of that naivete now embedded in your eyes. You're as hard as he's portraying himself to be.

Simon now studies the switch. He must see the sadness in there, even if it's buried under a thick layer of anger and spite. 

"Figured I'd leave ya to it," he says at last, pressing his thumb between his brows—a subtle gesture betraying his calm facade. "Give ya time to recover."

What a poor fucking excuse.

Oh, you want to make him hurt like he did you. 

Make him feel two months' worth of staring at the plain white door of the hospital room, waiting for it to open. Waiting to see him duck under the doorframe, holding a pack of Marlboros in his hand. 

Make a joke about smoking in hospital rooms and how irresponsible that would be, how insensitive, only for him to tinker with the smoke alarm and turn the orange butt of a ciggie your way. 

Bring you tea. The book you still haven't finished. Tell you about his day. 

More than sixty days spent pining, waiting, hoping like a helpless lunatic, with Johnny's pitying blues glued on the lines between your brows.

"Oh, spare me." You scoff. "At least have the decency to do that much."

His eyes narrow. You inhale, challenging him with your glare.

Fuck, he doesn't have to love you—to even like you—if that's the barrier he wants to put up.

But basic human decency doesn't seem much to demand. Especially knowing that you were so much more before this ordeal began. You were a colleague, a friend. A shag here and there doesn't cancel that. How can occasional sex erase years and years of carefully built partnerships, in and out of work?

How can he so easily change his view of you just because you parted your legs for him?

It hurts when you realize it. When it hits you right in the head like that bullet pierced your side. That you're done giving him excuses, that you're done giving him time.

That it's now or never again.

It escapes your mouth like something strangled, fighting its way out with elbows and fists. Thrashing through your throat, guided by better judgment and self-preservation, even as your heart begs for a moment more. 

"You know this doesn't work, right?" You gesture in the space between you two. "You and I."

That seems to be what wakes him. His eyes look alarmed, even if only for a moment, and it's a flash so brief you're not even sure it happened at all.

"We talked 'bout—"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." You cut in, exasperation showing in the way your voice rises. 

He jolts. Freezes.

You sigh a shaky breath. Your body burns hot, like the feelings brewing at the bottom of a much too-deep pot are finally spilling out. Skin lighting up, all too aware of everything, from the blood rushing to your cheeks to the throbbing ache of your healing wound.

"Yeah, we had that chat—no feelings, no strings attached, or whatever rubbish you tell yourself to sleep at night."

Your heart feels heavier, like someone's poured cement over it, and it's about to be tossed into deep waters.

"Doesn't mean you've got the right to treat me like this." You say in a single breath. "Like I'm not even a person. Like I don't matter unless I'm naked."

Something in him hardens like he's looking at you through his scope: squinting his eyes, steeling his shoulders. You struck a raw nerve, casting him in a light that even he wouldn't dare to face, self-critical as he may be.

Or you're just describing what you see. What he's shown you. Given you. Not who he is.

But how are you supposed to know that? Discern the mask from the man when he guards the latter so viciously.

"I'm not just someone you fuck," you say through gritted teeth. "I'm a person. I'm your sergeant—I'm your friend. I deserve your respect."

You slam a finger to his chest. The impact is not as strong as it is shocking.

Simon stumbles back.

"I had your back long before we started fucking, and when I get shot, you don't even bother knocking?" You exclaim. "You hear how fucked up that is? And you think I'll let it slide without consequences?"

You retreat your hand, trembling like a leaf. It falls at your side limply, surrendered as you are.

"You don't know me if you think that."

You gulp down something heavy stuck in your throat, but your voice remains abrasive and sharp.

"And I don't know why I ever thought otherwise."

You step back, holding his eyes a moment more—daring to bite back at your words. Daring to fabricate an excuse.

But you don't waste energy to gauge his thoughts this time. You have tried—so strenuously— to discover Simon Riley, but there are walls too thick to climb, gates too rusted and too old to be opened.

And, for once, you forgive yourself for having failed.

Simon stands stock still under the yellow lights of the gym, hands curled into fists at his sides, fighting an invisible enemy. A statue of a man, stone cold and so awfully far, far away.

You walk past him, water bottle clutched in your hand so tight you think your knuckles might snap.

The doorway's left behind you. Your steps quicken the farther you get from the gym, watching the light from the door give way to the darkness of a sleeping headquarters. 

You don't hear his steps, and you're unsure whether he's following. Hard to tell—the man's a ghost in more ways than just his name. Silent and prudent even when wrapped in tac gear up to his head.

When you reach your room, you think you're safe from further arguments. No more raising your voice, no more putting your heart through the meat grinder. It's gone and done, and you only want to get in your bed and not think about it until you wake up tomorrow. 

Still, your hands shake. You test for your keys in the tight pocket of your leggings and curse under your breath when you pluck them out and they fall from between your fingers.

When you're about to bend down, cussing further because your side still aches, a hand steals them from your sight. You follow the tattoos up to the face of the owner, even if you don't have to do so to recognize him.

He's not wearing the mask anymore. He has it tucked in a pocket of his jeans; you see the dark cloth peeking from the light blue. His shoulders are slouched, hair tousled and messy, likely due to his fingers running through it. Pale cheeks and sunken eyes, darker underneath, like he hasn't caught a wink in a while. 

A certain sadness in them, too. But that might be what your eyes want you to see—rationally, you would put all that much, much past him.

"Careful," he murmurs, handing the keys back to you.

You snatch them from his hands and practically punch them into the keyhole.

"Sarge—"

"No."

He calls your name.

"No."

You slam the door behind you once you're inside, but you don't hear the closing thud. When you look over your shoulder, you find him holding it open. Without further questions or waiting for you to rebut, he steps inside. 

You glower to deter him. It's useless.

Simon closes the door behind him and leans against it. His hand effortlessly finds the switch at the entrance and flicks it on. 

As you blink to adjust to the sudden light, your eyes naturally focus on him: a mountain of a man clad in onyx with the pale cream backdrop of your door. 

"Out," you bark.

He looks at you with eyes so horribly tired. Exhausted. Upset.

"Fuck's sake, jus' listen."

And his voice is not so different.

Then, there's nothing you can do. 

Those boots have been here without your frank permission more times than you can count. You're aware of the impossibility of redirecting them outside. 

You scowl, fingers tightening around the water bottle in your hand because his nerve could bloody well be the last straw.

But still—

You nod. Jaw locked tight.

"Make it quick."

He spares not a second more.

"Day o' the surgery, after they cut you open," he says. "I came."

He points at his neck. 

"Had a tube shoved down your throat, a thing around your chin to keep ya mouth open."

Then, to his face. 

"Beaten black an' blue, you were—swollen an' all. Reckon it was probably the fall after the shot—dunno, couldn't fuckin' think when I saw ya like that."

He licks his lips. Bows his head as if the floor might lend him the strength he needs to pull himself together.

He looks up again. Dark eyes tender unlike anything you've ever seen, and yet one corner of his mouth is downturned, like he's about to say something he's very disappointed with.

Your body is gelatin. Flaccid. Cotton ears, foggy sight, clammy palms. 

"You looked dead," he swallows something thick. "And I wished you were."

Your bottle slips from your hands and falls to the floor. A metallic thud. Water sloshes back and forth as it rolls on the linoleum until it stills.

Suddenly, you feel like a kid who's looking for her ma. 

There's a sadness so deep and suffocating you can't quite explain it if not by digging up childhood memories—a sense of loss, of being small and helpless and alone.

You fought tears all this time, and now it feels fruitless even to try. It's written all over your face anyway. 

You taste their salt before you feel your eyes swell with them.

"Fuck. You." You tell him, voice hoarse but no less spiteful.

"Wished you were dead—"

He walks to you.

"You're disgusting—"

"Because—"

Closer.

"Don't want to see your fucking face again—"

"I didn't know wha' to do."

Until he stands with his boots bumping your trainers. Until the cold wall touches the sweat on your back.

He holds your face in his hands.

You pull back. He doesn't let go.

"'Cause I don't know, love—" He breathes tenderly, like his voice is not his, while your nails claw at his wrist so he lets go.

He doesn't.

"I don't know how to mourn the livin'," he says, "Only the dead."

He gulps. You fall still.

"You said ya wouldn't put me through that again, but you did," he croaks. "Made it worse this time. I couldn't take it."

He thumbs your tears.

"Would've been easier f'me to bury ya with the others an' let the guilt finish me off."

Simon leans in until his lips brush your forehead. When he realizes you won't fight back anymore, his hands slide to your shoulders, then down your arms.

Gingerly, his fingers twine with yours. He doesn't tighten his hold; he merely tests the thin skin of your knuckles.

You pull back a step, burning eyes drifting up at him through the tears clumping your lashes. Truthfully, you weren't expecting him to cry with you. You don't think Simon can—maybe he's already shed one too many tears.

But his cheeks are glowing red. His eyelids are heavy, eyes cast down to you. He's just as affected as you are, but he shows it differently in those subtle ways you've learned to read.

After fighting the tremble of your lips, you steady yourself. Fingers warm within his own; you don't pull them away. 

"I don't deserve what you did to me."

Your voice is so tight you hate yourself for it, but if you don't speak your mind now, you're afraid you never will.

He shakes his head slowly, never straying from your eyes. 

"You don't."

Leaning down slowly, giving you ample time to move away if you wish, Simon kisses your shoulder. 

You sigh.

"Don't deserve a ton o' the shite I put ya through," he whispers.

His ear is right next to your lips. You're sure that no matter how much you try to control yourself, he'll quickly gather your feelings by the way your pulse thunders beneath his kiss.

So why hide it at all?

"And yet you never apologized for a single one of them."

Simon gulps. A subtle sound, as subtle as the man who made it. 

He pulls back. Smooths back your hair, sliding a hand from your forehead to your scalp. 

You lean into his touch, exhaling a breath that trembles like your hands.

"Never did, did I." He breathes. 

He leans in and presses a kiss between your brows, then down the bridge of your nose, to your cheek, the corner of your mouth. You close your eyes so he can navigate this new level of intimacy he's never initiated nor shown at all.

And then he captures your lips. 

His shoulders soften.

A long, drawn-out sigh from his nose. 

He pushes forward, forcing the back of your head against the wall. His hands travel to your stomach, hesitant and curious. He skims over the thicker patch of fabric, where the surgery scar is mending under soft, fresh bandages. 

A slight hiss in your breath because it still feels sore to the touch is what makes Simon pull back. Just enough to have the tips of your noses graze.

Suddenly, he kneels at your feet. 

Big hands envelop your waist, touch gentle but still present enough to rip the air out of your lungs. His thumb brushes over the bandage, causing you to shift uncomfortably.

You look down. Your eyes touch.

The silence around you cracks when he speaks, softness in his breath.

"M'sorry."

Chest tight and sore, like he just punched it. 

He keeps his eyes on you, not to study your expression but to convey his own. The earnestness you catch in there ripples through you like a shockwave ready to shatter you whole.

He leans in and buries his nose right above your belly button, in the rougher fabric of your shirt.

His thumbs hook at the hem, lifting it up so that his face meets your stomach.

"Tell me to fuck off, an' I will," he whispers to your skin. "Know I deserve it."

He kisses your belly, carefully navigating around your bandaged injury. 

"But fuck," he sighs. "I hope you don't."

His lips travel lower, where the waistband of your legging cinches your hips. His kisses turn open but unhurried, like he just wants to savour what he's denied himself for too long.

You roll your lips between your teeth, unsure of how to behave.

"Fuckin' hope you don't," he murmurs.

Your hands land on his head, then, hesitant and trembling, fingers threaded through his hair. Simon sighs like you took the weight off his shoulders and got rid of it entirely.

His fingers curl at the hem of your leggings. 

Slowly, he rolls them down, and he follows their trail, drawing his tongue and his lips down your thighs to your knee. His hand slips to your shoe, and he helps you take it off. Then to the other. Your socks, your pants, until your legs are bare, fabric tossed aside in a heap on the floor.

Simon never stands up.

He holds you by your hips with a covetous grip, but still soft enough to not hurt, almost mimicking the way his mouth moves over you: with smothered hunger, with gentle greed, one that feels somehow oppositely selfless.

Like he's doing it because it feels good for you and not because he desires to have it.

Simon's nose dips in the crease of your thighs. A kiss there, one to the seam of your labia, one on your mound.

His eyes flicker to you.

The lights in your room are a soft yellow, casting a gentle glow on his kneeling body that feels somewhat wrong, like there's too much being shown under the sun when only the two of you should witness it.

Gingerly, you slide your hand along the wall until you find the bump of the switch. With a flick of your finger, the lights go off.

The room is pitch dark now. Moonlight laps at the lines of Simon's face like it's trying to make him glow despite how dim everything around him is. 

It takes a while to adjust to the darkness, but you finally see him when you do. The downturn of his eyes, the telltale signs of sleepless nights, wrinkles of exhaustion and endless battles fought within himself.

Utter, devastating regret. 

You wonder if he can spot the heaviness in your eyes. The uncertainty, the fear of falling right back into the cycle, a trap of yours and his making. 

He's going to tell you the nicest things, pull you in until you can only stick to him like glue, and then he's going to vanish from your life. Treat you like you're strangers until you'll somehow find yourself wrapped around his finger again.

And then it'll all start over. Again, and again, and again.

You brush your thumb on his temple.

Simon leans into it like a dog starving for attention.

He hooks his fingers at the thin straps hugging your hipbones. Slowly pulls your knickers down to your ankles as he holds your eyes.

Gently, he coaxes your knee to bend, lifting your leg off the floor. He kisses the side of your foot, your calf and upward, until your knee is draped over his shoulder. 

Slowly, his nose nudges your clit. The muscles in your thighs twitch.

You're not wet; you're not aroused. He isn't either, you can tell. Otherwise, you'd have had his face buried between your legs hours ago.

The tip of his tongue draws a stroke there. Like waves, it reaches the base of your skull. Tips you off balance, almost. Makes your head spin.

Another tentative lick. The tender fingers in his hair turn into claws, and you grip it tighter. 

Another, another, until you're breathless and inevitably dripping. Simon collects it with his fingers, drawing circles at your entrance.

The flat of his tongue meets your clit in a tortuously slow dance, holding you still with an arm encircling your thigh. And then his finger slides in. You're forced to bite your cheek, muffling a moan that only manages to break free as a sigh.

But when you look down, even in the darkness, you see his eyes, glossy and charged. But still so very tired. 

Like yours.

Because maybe he's navigating through this exactly like you, and you hadn't considered it—too absorbed in your own heartache to notice his. And maybe he's even more afraid because when you have nothing to lose, and something's suddenly given to you, you don't know how to behave.

And maybe Simon thinks that doing this is the only way to keep you.

You exchange a look that holds more pain than lust, shaking your head at him so, so softly it’s almost imperceptible. And Simon sighs, surrendered—he takes back his hand, his tongue, and sits back on his heels.

Carefully, you unhook your knee from his shoulder. He doesn't put up a fight, doesn't tighten the hold on your leg. Instead, he drops his arm limp on his thigh. 

You slide down the wall behind you until your knees bump against his. Simon's fingers reach out, almost shy, and trace mindless patterns on your skin. 

He's hunched over, head bowed in what you venture might be shame, or perhaps that grief he said he doesn't know how to carry. 

Your hand touches his cheek. Dark eyes look at you through paler lashes with reluctant understanding.

That it's over, isn't it?

"Doesn't feel right anymore, does it?" You offer gently.

His chest swells. Shoulders taut and suddenly straight, like something's hit his spine and forced it upright. 

He tongues his cheek. Looks away.

"Don't think so, no."

Your lips quiver. It's okay, it was bound to happen. 

It should've happened so long ago. You should've taken the leap and pulled away from him much, much earlier—when your heart wasn't woven to his yet.

"Maybe one day," you say in the darkness, thumb brushing his cheekbone. "When we're not so…"

With your free hand, you gesture at yourselves. 

"…Fucked." You finish with a hint of a breathy laugh in between. 

Simon huffs too, and then deflates.

It's long before his hand comes to cup yours on his cheek. He keeps it there momentarily, while finally giving you the privilege of meeting your eyes.

And he looks so tender, even when he gently brings your hand down, away from his face. He holds it as it lands on his knees.

"Eloquent." He remarks.

You scoff. Roll your eyes with a pathetic sniffle. "Obviously."

He shakes his head softly. A big hand reaches up, and he flicks your nose. You scrunch it up, smiling in a way that doesn't feel forced for the first time since you met tonight.

Simon's thumb brushes your knuckles.

"One day," he repeats. "When we're not fucked."

Your smile feels wet and shaky. Tears are staining your cheek, but it's freeing instead of reluctant, this time.

His eyes are gentle, allowing you to peek through the curtain for the first time. Perhaps it's too dark now to see, but you're hopeful one day you will.

"Good luck to us, then." You say softly.

Simon breathes a chuckle. Brings your knuckles to his lips and holds your hand there.

"Good luck, love."

Biggest thanks to @/void-my-warranty for helping me out, you're a gem 🧡

[heartilywrites]

je t'aime, je t'attends ; c. hyunju

request guide | masterlist

summary: where you found your girlfriend participating in a series of deadly games.

cw: angst ; a bit suggestive ; a shit ton of narration and little dialogs, cho hyunju x fem!reader ; reader is a triangle guard 🗣 ; no use of y/n

wc: 2.3k

a/n: i love joining new fandoms, HI GUYS i've been simping for hyunju ever since i saw her and i needed to write for her or i'd die. hope y'all like it <33 feel free to request if you want, i'm a bit behind my rqs now bc of work but i'll do my best to write more for hyunju !!

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ Player 450

The robotic voice order, with your scope you looked for the poor soul, shooting without a second thought. When looking at the rest of the players, a familiar face was recognized by your orbs.

You knew that profile like the palm of your hand, you’ve spent way too many hours looking at it that it was burnt into your memory like your life depended on it. You had to be dreaming, licking your lips after a shaky sigh made the only sound in the small room you focused again on the woman. The number 120 was distinguishable on the back of her sweater as you made sure to memorize it, she was covering people behind her and a small sour smile painted on your lips, Hyunju didn’t change.

Your mind couldn’t concentrate anymore, what was she doing there? You’ve asked her time to get the money she needed, did you take too long? Did the salesman find her after you left? You were sure that was the case, if you knew she had been invited you’d done everything in your power to stop her from participating. A last gunshot was heard, you were quick to look over your scope; your heart stopped for a moment when you saw blood staining Hyunju’s face, but when your eyes concentrated on her and the kill was confirmed to be another player, you allowed yourself to relax a little bit.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ Soldiers who have completed your mission, please line up outside the sniper rooms.

As if your own hearts were able to feel the presence of the other blindly, while you were putting away the gun given to you, your body began to tremble just like Hyunju was down at the play arena. Both scared for the woman’s life now, you didn’t know what to do moving forward.

You thought back to when the Masked Officer had recruited you offering a generous sum of money that could solve all your problems if you did a couple of tasks and your first thought was your girlfriend, on the future that could be forged for the two of you after receiving the money, you had imagined the two of you living a quiet life in Thailand as per request from Hyunju, you didn’t care what the job could be about or if it meant blotch your hands in blood. You’ve done it before, you were a very well trained defense guard who was struggling to find a stable job, most people didn’t care about your time in the korean military force or if you were one of the best snipers from your battalion they all ‘needed a man for the job’. You couldn’t rely on Hyunju either as she had been facing unemployment too for quite some time now, you had reassured her that you’d take care of the bills however you could.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I’ll go back to being a guard for clubs if I have to,” you said to the woman while preparing dinner, a small sigh was heard from her that made you turn. You walked over to where she was sitting and took her face in your warm hands thanks to the fire of the stove. “It’s okay, Hyune, I got this. We’ll make it out of here, trust me.”

One of her hands looked to rest on your wrist, a sad grimace painted on her face. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone. I should be able to help you, to help myself… I want to contribute too.”

‍Your lips left a small kiss on her forehead. “We’ll be fine, my love, I promise.”

The mere memory made your heart ache with anguish, you had to get her out of there, you had to make sure she wins these games. You had to… You had to let her know you were there, didn't you? Maybe in that way she could feel more protected… Or maybe she would hate you for being there, maybe she’d break up with you, call you a monster, question how could you do that to innocent people?

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hey, twenty-three, can you believe what eleven is doing?” a distorted voice asked behind you.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Couldn’t care less,” you said back, your voice sounded completely different too. After leaving the briefcase you were carrying back into place and taking a different gun you walked over the entrance. “I’m not part of the business and I don’t care what happens with it, I told you.”

‘I have more important things to worry about’ you thought to yourself while following one of the square soldiers and accommodating the strap of the gun on your shoulders.

You saw all the players grouped at the back of the big bedroom, you thanked the gods you were wearing a mask as your eyes looked desperately for Hyunju while the soldier was speaking, you didn’t care what was being discussed at all. Even when the so famous player 456 was talking you couldn’t force yourself to pay attention until a specific line that came from his mouth caught your thoughts.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Let us take our vote right now.” your eyes looked at the man with hope, your heart filled with gratitude, at least someone was sane enough.

Without turning your head upwards, you saw the prize being announced and a sigh left your mouth, your full attention was now on the room and each player as well as your superior.

You were asked to be beside the podium, you walked a little too quick for your taste. You positioned yourself while looking forward at each player and counting on your head the x’s, hoping they would win. And then Hyunju was called over, when you noticed your hands shaking you held tighter to your gun, you noticed she doubted for a second and then voted the circle. Your eyes shut and a shaky breath came out your mouth, you had to stay composed, you couldn’t break down there.

And when the circles won the poll, the players were told they needed to rest and feast for tomorrow’s games. The group walked out leaving a couple of triangles and the circle soldiers who were handing the food. After being instructed to leave for the night, you walked over to your small room and allowed yourself to break down once the door closed behind you. Leaning against the door you let your tears roll down on your face, how could life be so cruel to you? You just wanted to make your girlfriend happy and now she was condemned to die on an island away from home, you wouldn’t be able to even take her home with you.

No, you couldn’t think like that, you wouldn’t release that energy into the universe, you had to take care of her now. It didn’t matter if it cost you your own life, you would ensure Hyunju won the games. You would be like a hawk, watching over her as much as you could. The officer was more than pleased to see you ask for more responsibility, you tried to be where the players were at all times. Behind the triangle mask you were constantly watching Hyunju, following her discreetly on the six-legs game arena and cursing people who looked at her bad under your breath. You found yourself almost celebrating your girlfriend’s win with her group, thankfully you stopped before. After seeing Hyunju win, hope began to occupy your heart fully, convincing yourself there was a chance she could win this games, that she would be free.

At night you stayed to cover for a little, after all, you weren’t that sleepy now. Leaning your back on the wall you saw your colleague deny a permission to go to the bathroom and at first you weren’t against it, you knew the rules too, but when the older woman began to ramble about her bladder issues, you stood up again.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I got this, I’ll take them.” you said to your company before they opened the door, a small thank you was said from the other guard.

When the door was opened and you saw the woman smile a giggle almost escaped your mouth, but any trace of a smile faded when Hyunju let herself show asking to go too. Your breath got stuck on your lungs as you watched closer now, forcing yourself to guide them to the bathroom, that was your time, you had to talk to her now.

You stayed outside for a few minutes to allow them to do their business and after a couple of minutes you turned to look everywhere hoping not to see anyone approaching, you knew the bathrooms didn’t have cameras so you took advantage of it to walk in.

Hyunju was watching her own reflection, it made your heart pound hard against your chest, she was as beautiful as ever. Brown eyes turned to look at you with a confused frown on her.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Do we need to-” she began to speak, being interrupted by your distorted voice.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “At ease, sergeant.” you said making her freeze on the spot, blinking a couple of times, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

You two had met back when she was in the military forces, before she came out as the Hyunju you’ve been loving for some time now. At first you were just really good friends, but as time passed you couldn’t help falling in love with each other. You were there for her at every step, inviting her to live with you when everything was just going from bad to worse for her, losing her job, gaining debts one after the other, having everyone turn on her… But you, oh you were her rock, her place to rest from the crude world and now there you were, in a pink suit with that horrible symbol on your face that has been taunting her dreams for the last couple of nights.

Your name fell from her lips on a small whisper that could almost go unnoticed if you weren’t paying your full attention to her, you released your gun and took the mask from your face, tears wetting your cheeks and she held the bathroom sink tighter under her hands.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hyunju…” you whispered back, breathing in deep to calm yourself.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “What are you doing here?” the two of you asked at the same time, she shook her head. “You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be in that suit… What are you doing?”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Trying to get the money to flee this shitty place.” you answered, taking a step towards her that she took back. “Hyunju, please.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Why would you accept to do this?” she asked now, you bit your lower lip for a moment.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Because I want you to be happy, I want us to start from zero, to have the life we deserve.” you started to answer, walking slowly her way to not scare her away. “We deserve to be happy, don’t you think, my love?”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You shouldn’t have come here, you shouldn’t have accepted it, we shouldn’t be here.” she began to speak a little faster and when you let your hands rest on her face she looked directly into your eyes.

Warm hands thanks to the gloves you were required to use made her feel at ease, made her feel like home. Troubled eyes were looking at each other, but you can sense the love and strong connection in them. Even in such a dangerous place with death itself roaming in every room, the love Hyunju and you shared had such power that could make any other emotion drown.

A silent discussion was held and not even a second later, your lips met each other with such hunger like you’ve been starving for so long, like you were far from the other for years. Without distancing from Hyunju you pushed the gun to your back so you could get as close as humanly possible with her, your right hand pulled her closer by the neck making Hyunju whimper for a small second, you smiled over her lips.

Aching hands looked to sneak under her shirt while her own hands clumsily tried to undo your suit, it was the sound of a flushing toilet that made the both of you jump and stopped grudgingly. Hungry eyes just looked at her as she was composing herself, Hyunju left a small sigh sound before looking again your way.

 ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “We have to get out of here,” she whispered, now Hyunju was the one holding your face in her own hands, you closed your eyes for a moment. “The two of us, safe and sound.”

 ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You need to win the games.” you said back, opening your eyes again. “Do you remember our signal?”

Hyunju thought for a moment before taking away one of her hands to show you the sign you two had come up with back in your military days, you giggled and nodded.

 ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I’ll be in every game watching over you, okay? When you see a guard doing it, know it’s me.” you whispered, she nodded too and stole another kiss from you. “We need to go back before the other guard comes to check, tell them, I’ll wait outside.”

The woman nodded again and as you were rearranging your suit, Hyunju pulled you in for a last kiss making you giggle like a teenager, almost giving in, but lastly stepping away and pulling your mask back on. You didn’t know how you’d make her win, but you had to go back home with her alive, you’ll figure it out in the way, but for now the only thing you could do was protect her.

[feralforfrank]

── NOTHING'S GONNA HURT YOU, BABY.

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X FEM!READER

summary reader gets injured while looking out for the team and simon riley worries.

cw descriptive scenes of reader getting injured, cod canon violence, stab wounds & blood loss, worried!simon riley. angst!!!!! hurt with tiny bit of comfort (from simon to reader) NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER. tell me if i missed anything!

note is this deserving of a part two? does it feel rushed? is THIS really how i want to enter the cod mw2 fandom!?!! so many questions.

part two | 1,3K | masterlist

"Ghost," you spoke his name in a hushed tone, mainly to hide from the enemy but also to hide the shake in your voice.

"I'm here, Owl. I'm coming to get ya." You could hear Ghost running, and you tried to focus on the sounds he made instead of the stinging pain on your thigh and side.

It was your fault. All of it. You were supposed to be on the roof, not on the goddamn ground. You're a sniper, for fuck's sake. But being above ground, you spotted two men making their way to where the team's getaway car was. You weren't allowing them to steal your vehicle, but if you shot at them, it would alert the others, and your position would've been compromised.

You knew how to fight. Although you never liked engaging the enemy face to face and your eyes were better used above ground, thus why you were a sniper and why they called you Owl, Ghost and Soap trained you to take down men as big as them. 

The first man went down quickly, he was skinny, and you surprised him. He was gurgling on his one blood in seconds. The second guy pinned you to the wall. You took your second knife from your right thigh strap and pierced his stomach twice. He was slipping from your grasp when you felt the knife you'd used on him puncture your thigh. 

You screamed. A shriek left your mouth before you could stop it. Your thigh throbbed as you landed a final blow on the side of the man's neck. You stumbled off the wall, blinking the tears and black dots away. You heard someone call your name through comms, but you didn't have time to answer.

The third man came behind you. He must've heard you scream. He circled his buff biceps around your throat and squeezed. Fight and flight kicked in. Andrenaline was pumping in your bloodstream, and, without thinking twice, you bit his bicep. Hard.

He cursed and moved away from you for a split second, and you got a chance to suck in a breath. You stumbled forward, but he caught you, spinning you around and pulling you so impossibly close. 

At first, you didn't feel it. A shot rang out, and his body slumped forward, distracting you. The man was dead in your arms, and his blood had splattered on your face and continued spilling on your shoulder. Your head shot up to your station—that's where the gunshot had come from. Gaz asked you if you were okay. You tried to nod, and that's when you felt it. 

Your ears started ringing. You stepped back, the man falling completely from your grasp and onto the ground. You choked on your breath. Your hand instinctively fell to your side and then rose in front of your face. You were bleeding from two places now.

Gaz called for you again, but you didn't answer. You felt dizzy, and as much as you tried blinking those black spots away, they just wouldn't go. You leaned against the wall. Ghost ordered your whereabouts, and Gaz answered him hurriedly, adding that he could see you losing consciousness. So, that's who shot from your position. Ghost confirmed that he was coming your way.

And that's how you ended up in this position.

"Please, hurry." Your cry of pain made the lieutenant's pace pick up.

Ghost always had some sort of a soft spot for you. Your kind-hearted, friendly nature and bubbly personality didn't help his growing infatuation. You were too sweet for your own good, and he swore your sarcastic comments directed mostly at Soap always managed to melt his heart.

The guys weren't oblivious—they could see how Ghost always stared at you. His hard eyes seemed to soften when looking at you. Actually, his whole posture changed when you were around. Ghost was always near you, a soft hand placed on your lower back and guiding you when you were in the dark during missions, and glances were thrown at you when you were too quiet to make sure you were doing okay.

Soap and Gaz had joked about his fascination with you, asking him why he never made a move. He'd shut them down and called them inappropriate before lowering his head to hide how flustered he felt. He thought burying those teenage sentiments at the very back of his mind would be the best. He's never been good at expressing his feelings, and for fuck's sake, he was your superior.

But as he heard your breath come out in gasps and Gaz telling him to hurry up through comms, he felt panic inside him. His steps became more urgent, and his grip on the gun tightened. He was almost there.

"Don't move. I'm coming to get you." Ghost's voice was filled with utter panic and anxiety, and he took a breath to get rid of the shake in his tone. "I'm almost there, darlin'."

Fuck. 

He hadn't meant for that to slip out. He heard your breath hitch. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

He turned the corner, and there you were, slumped on the wall, holding your side with your palm and breathing heavily. He placed his gun in its holster and ran toward you. You collapsed with a groan, your forehead touching his vest.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I'm so sorry. They were—They were trying to escape with our c-car, and I couldn't let—I couldn't let them—" You gasped for breath as Ghost looked around at the dead bodies.

It was dark, but he could make out three silhouettes, definitely larger frames than yours, and they all lay dead in a puddle of their own blood. 

"It's okay, it's alright, love. I'm here now. I'm not goin' anywhere." A soft whimper escaped your lips, and he felt your body give in to the fatigue caused by the blood loss. 

Ghost picked you up, requesting the rest of the team to meet him at his location. The car was unlocked and untouched, and his heart swole with pride. You'd taken out three soldiers to protect the team and secure their getaway transportation.

You mumbled his name as he placed you in the backseat. He quickly got in, and pulled you in his arms again, one palm pressing on your wounded side and the other on your bleeding thigh. 

Soap slipped in the driver's seat, Gaz following right behind him. "How's she doing, Lt.?" The former asked, glancing behind him once.

"She'll be fine if you move this goddamn car!" Ghost's tone was sharp, but Soap didn't take it personally.

"Where to, Ghost?" John asked.

"The safe house. Make sure no one follows us. As soon as we're in the clear, Gaz, you call Price. Tell 'im to send evac." Gaz nods curtly, followed by a yes, sir.

"Simon." You shift, snuggling closer to his body.

The frown on your face deepens. Simon looks down at you. His heart hasn't stopped its rapid beating, and worry mixed with panic is still swirling in his blood. He wants to tell John to hurry the fuck up, but he knows the soldier is going as fast as possible.

You whine in distress, your eyes blinking ever so slowly. Your ears ring, your gaze is unfocused, and your eyes are glassy with tears ready to fall. 

"Shh, it's alright, love," Simon whispers. "You're goin' be okay."

"Am I dying?" You speak in hushed panic.

Simon shakes his head quickly from side to side as if your words burned him. "No, you're fine. Nothing that can't be fixed, okay? I can fix it." He's trying to convince himself more than he's trying to convince you.

"Are they after us?" He shakes his head again. "So, we're safe? I'm safe?"

"Nothing's gonna hurt you. As long as I'm here, no one's hurting you again, ya hear me?" The finality in his voice is the reassurance you need to soothe you.

You feel your eyes drooping again, and the ringing in your ears finally fades out. "Thank you, Simon."

› part two

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 protector: chapter nine

synopsis: " you were supposed to stay a crewate, just another back to watch, " he tightened his hold, " i didn't even notice the change until i woke up one day and realized i'd take a bullet for you "

cw: violence, gore, fighting, mature themes, profanity, MAJOR/MINOR ANIME SPOILERS, follows the plot of the anime, slowww burn.

a/n: reposting from another account

The crew was back at the Merry, except for Luffy, who was still doing chores, and you were sitting on the railing of the Baratie, when you saw something approaching in the distance.

You squinted your eyes to really look at it and saw the hourglass flag.

That was all you needed to see.

'Crap!'

You flew over to the Merry and landed on the deck, where everyone looked shocked.

"I'm guessing you guys saw it too," you sighed.

"HOW COULD WE NOT?!" Usopp shouted, terrified.

"Look at the sheer size of that galleon!" Nami exclaimed.

"Let's hurry up and get out of here while we still can!" Usopp hurriedly stated.

Just then, all the customers of the Baratie ran out, going back to their ships.

"What do you think is going on in there?" you asked, stretching your arms.

"Don't know. Let's go in and see," Zoro answered.

"What?! Are you serious?!" Usopp shouted.

"Sure am. You sound scared," Zoro smirked, turning to the long-nosed sniper.

"I'm not scared!"

"It's strange. The ship looks almost abandoned. And the the damage doesn't look like anything you'd see from canon fire or a storm," you stated quizzically, squinting at the galleon.

Suddenly, an explosion came from the Baratie that blew out the windows, and gunshots sounded off not too far after.

"What the hell is going on in there?!" Usopp nervously asked, his knees shaking.

"Let's go. Now," you said in a serious voice, taking off for the Baratie.

You, Zoro, and Usopp came down the steps from the kitchen to get to the dining room when you saw Luffy and Don Krieg were standing off.

"What's goin' on, Luffy? Need a hand?" Zoro asked, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.

"If you don't need help, that's okay, too!" Usopp shakily added.

"Oh, will you knock it off," you rolled your eyes as you sat on the rail, smacking the sniper upside the head for his cowardice.

"Oh, hey, guys. Appreciate the offer, but I think I can handle this clown," Luffy smiled.

"Aw, too bad. But if you say you don't need any help, who am I to argue? Us awesome fighters are gonna sit this one out. Holler if you need us," Usopp smiled.

Zoro elbowed him in the rib.

"What'd you do that for, Zoro?!"

"Shut up already, you weirdo," the swordsman scoffed.

Don heartily laughed.

"Are those guys part of your crew? That's a pretty small group you got there, kid," he smirked.

"Oh, yeah? Well I got two more!" Luffy hmphed, holding up two fingers.

"I'm not a part of your crew!" Sanji called from the floor.

Don's smirk fell and his shoulder guns retracted.

"I'll deal with you later. Right now, I'm going to go feed my men," he stated, hoisting this large bag over his shoulder.

"Those of you who don't wish to die, can leave the restaurant now and escape that fate. The only things I'm after are the logbook and this ship. However, if you wish to stay and be slaughtered, I have no problem burying every last one of you at sea."

And with that, he walked out of the restaurant.

"If he's going back out I need to make sure the Merry stays safe. I'll go out with Nami, Johnny, and Yosaku. You boys can handle this, right?" You asked.

"Yeah." "No!" Zoro and Usopp said in unison.

You rolled your eyes at Usopp's answer and flew out the front door, heading to the Merry.

Before you landed at the Merry, you did a quick and covert circle around Don's flagship and saw that his crew was back on their feet.

"I gotta make sure the Merry's gonna make it through this fight," you stated, turning around and flying back to the Merry.

But the sound of wood breaking made you turn around, your mouth gaping at the sight. 

The flagship was falling apart, and it looked like it was slashed, too.

'What on God's green earth could have cut a ship like that?!' 

You knew you had to get back to the Merry.

You flew as quickly as you could and found Johnny and Yosaku in the water.

"Big Sis (y/n)! Help us!" they called.

You quickly flew down and grabbed their hands, making sure not to touch the water, and flew them over to the Baratie, where Luffy, Zoro, and Usopp were standing on the balcony. 

"Yosaku! Johnny! Are you okay?!" Luffy frantically asked, as you put them down.

"What happened to the ship?!" Zoro asked as well.

"Where's Nami?! Is she okay?!" you added.

"I'm sorry, Big Bro! I don't know how to say this, but... she's gone!" Johnny shouted.

"Big Sis Nami! She took all the treasure and sailed away!" Yosaku exclaimed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Your eyes went wide.

"SHE DID WHAT?!?!" You, Luffy, Zoro, and Usopp shouted.

"For real?! Nami took off with the Going Merry!" Luffy sadly asked.

"I need a straight answer! Now, what happened!" Zoro ordered.

The two went on to tell the story about how she tricked them, kicked them off the boat, and then took it.

"Dammit! She just had to make a bad situation worse!" you exclaimed, slamming your fist on the rail.

"The heartless thief! Kaya gave us that ship!" Usopp pouted.

"Wait! I see a ship! It's the Going Merry! Tell me where your boat is!" Luffy ordered.

"We have it moored to the restaurant," Yosaku answered.

"Zoro! Usopp! (y/n)! Don't just stand there! Take their ship and go get Nami!" Luffy stated.

"Calm down. Let her keep the ship. Trust me, that woman is way more trouble than she's worth," Zoro sighed.

"She's the only person I'll accept as the ship's navigator!" Luffy shut down.

"Fine. I'll do it," the man sighed, "You're one high maintenance captain, you know that? Alright you two, let's go."

"Alright," you and Usopp agreed in unison.

You were getting ready to board the boat when Zoro caught sight of this man who was in this small boat in the shape of a coffin.

"That's him," he stated.

"Who is that?" you asked.

"That's the man I've been looking for. Hawk-eye Mihawk. The greatest swordsman," Zoro answered, his voice dangerously low.

Your breath hitched.

'THE Mihawk?!?!'

Suddenly, Zoro disappeared and managed to get to the broken piece of ship adjacent to Mihawk.

Your eyes bugged out, and you gripped the rail so tight, your knuckles turned white.

He began talking to Mihawk for a moment before tying his bandana on his head.

"Hey, Luffy! (y/n)! We better hurry! C'mon! The Going Merry is about to sail out of sight!" Usopp called.

The two of you completely ignored him.

Mihawk suddenly jumped from his boat and landed on the piece of ship Zoro was on, his arms crossed.

They talked again before Zoro placed his sword in his mouth, and drew the other two. 

"There isn't a person alive who can defeat Big Bro! He's already the best in the world!" Yosaku cheered.

Mihawk suddenly ripped off his necklace, unsheathing the top to reveal a small knife, if you could call it that.

They stood there for a moment before Zoro began running at Mihawk.

He performed his Onigiri move but it was completely stopped by the tiny knife.

Your hands gripped the rail even harder, to the point where you were making marks.

The swordsman broke off from the block and began attacking like crazy, but Mihawk kept blocking, as if Zoro were a child compared to him.

"C'mon, Zoro! What're you doing?!" you whispered to yourself.

"Big Bro!" Yosaku and Johnny exclaimed in unison.

They continued this for a few more moments but Zoro got distracted and missed, giving Mihawk the chance to karate chop him in the back of the neck.

You winced.

It had to hurt. Bad.

He got back up and continued to fight, but his slashes became sloppy, and he ended up flopping to the floor. 

Mihawk looked like he was saying something to him.

"Speak up, weakling!" he shouted.

"How dare you call him weakling!" Yosaku shouted.

"We'll teach you a lesson!" Johnny agreed.

They were about to attack but Luffy grabbed them, holding the two back.

Zoro got back up, about to do his Tiger Trap when Mihawk stabbed him with the knife.

Your breath hitched and you gripped the rail so hard, your palm started to bleed.

They stood there for a moment before Mihawk removed the knife and took a few steps back.

He put away the pocket knife and drew the gigantic sword from his back.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

'These emotions. Why am I feeling them here? Why am I feeling them now? Why am I feeling them for him?'

They stood off for a moment before Zoro began spinning his swords and Mihawk jumped for him.

They both slashed and stayed still for a moment. 

Suddenly, both of the swords in Zoro's hands shattered, and a big squirt of blood shot from his front.

A few tears began to roll down your face.

Zoro sheathed the sword in his mouth and stood up, turning around to face Mihawk.

He stretched out his hands to his sides, opening himself for an attack.

Mihawk made a clean slash on his front and a gigantic squirt of blood painted the wood they stood on.

Your heart stopped.

"ZORO!!" You screamed, jumping on top of the railing.

You watched as he fell into the sea and unfurled your wings as fast as you could, flying over to him.

You grabbed him by his hand before he could completely sink and slung it over your shoulder as the two of you flew.

Usopp managed to get the boat close and you placed him down on the floor of it.

"I got some medicine! Here!" Usopp handed the pack to you.

You got on your knees and placed his head in your lap, tears streaming down your face as you opened his mouth to give him the medicine.

'Dammit! Why am I crying!?'

"It's still far too early for you to die. My name is Hawk-eye Mihawk! You're strong, but there is much for you to learn. No matter how many years it takes, I will hold this title as the greatest in the world, and wait for you! Until that day, you must hone your skills! Then...seek me out! Roronoa Zoro!" Mihawk called.

"He's still alive! He was just unconscious!" Usopp exclaimed. 

"Big Bro! If you're alive, then say something!" Johnny cried.

Zoro unsheathed his sword and held it up in the air.

"Luffy. Can you hear me?" he asked, grunting from the pain.

"Yeah!" Luffy answered.

"I'm sorry for disappointing you. I know that you need nothing less than the greatest swordsman in the world... I've let you down... Please forgive me."

He suddenly coughed up a big spurt of blood.

You gasped.

"Okay, okay! You can stop saying things now!" Yosaku frantically pleaded.

"I solemnly swear... from this moment forward... that I will never lose again! Until the day comes..when I defeat him and take his title... I will never be defeated! Is that okay... King of the Pirates?!" Zoro shouted, tears coming down his face.

Luffy smiled.

"Yup!"

As Mihawk began walking away, you  started ordering the boys around

"Get me some bandages, towels, and clean water! Now!" You barked as your boat began to sail away, turning to Usopp and Johnny.

Yosaku disappeared somewhere.

You looked back down at Zoro and saw he was smirking at you.

"The waterworks just for me?" He grunted with a smirk, spitting up a little more blood.

'Unbelievable. He's making jokes at a time like this.'

"Shut up. You keep talking and you're not gonna heal," you scoffed, rolling your eyes and looking away from him.

You could still feel his smirk.

"I'm glad you're okay," you mumbled, a hot tinge of red growing on your cheeks.

His signature chuckle weakly rang through the air, his hand giving yours a reassuring pat.

"Got what you asked for right here!" Usopp and Johnny exclaimed in unison, placing everything next to you.

"Alright. I'll do my best," you sighed.

[deanwinchesterwebsite]

goodnight hellers and destielles goodnight tumblr girlies and misha collins . goodnight jackles' tapes. goodnight rogue translator, goodnight sniper, goodnight gunshots. goodnight CW, goodnight supernatural. goodnight the last great american queerbait. goodnight dean and castiel!!!!!!

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Tentative (Soap/Reader)

CW: pegging, rimming, anal fingering, anal plug, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, cunilingus, dom/sub undertones, "good boy"

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader

WC: 2.4k

The sky was a dusty pink. Splatters of purple and red colored the clouds. Tucked away behind the towering skyline, the sun slowly fell beyond the horizon. It was a cold night, cold enough that I threw on my vest over my tactical gear. 

I shifted, my leather boots creaked as I turned. My eye was sore after nearly an hour of squinting, and the cold concrete made my hips ache. The barrel of my gun rested atop a line of loosely laid bricks. There was still no sign of the target, and I cursed at myself for not bringing a pillow to lie on. The location was drab too. Block after block of soviet style apartment complexes dotted the sector. Through the alleyway, just at eleven o’clock was the target building. It didn’t stand out, but beneath the brutalist facade was our target.

“Target spotted heading east towards your location, Soap.” A gruff British voice spoke from over the radio. Soap was stationed a block over. Through my scope I could just barely see his Mohawk peeking out over a pile of sandbags. He had a straight shot to the front door. Ghost was the one to give him the title of sniper. Soap accepted without another thought.

The radio was silent. I glanced over at the Scot through my scope. He wasn’t moving an inch. I squinted, trying to get a better look at the situation. He propped his gun up on a stand. I could see his baby blue eyes looking through the scope.

“Johnny, how do you copy?” The voice repeated. 

Silence.

A single gunshot rang out through the alley. I watched as soap stood, slinging his gun over his shoulder with a smirk. 

“Done,” he mumbled into the radio.

The ride back to the base was quiet. Idle chatter played over the radio, barely audible over the hum of the engine. I sat in the passenger seat with my elbow propped up against the window. The sun was long gone. Only the occasional streetlight, and the bright LED headlights illuminated the gravel road before us.

Soaps' leg was bouncing wildly. I watched in the rear-view mirror as he chewed on his fingernails. Simon shot angry glances at him in the mirror every few turns. 

This was unusual. The sarcastic, perky Scot with a tendency to crack jokes over the radio was now silent. His jaw was clenched tight, lips pursed into a thin line. His blue eyes darted around the car.

The car rolled up to the gate. A group of uniformed soldiers unlatched the gate and pushed it to the side. Simon nodded to the guards and pulled forward into the driveway. He shifted the car into park.

The back door slammed open. My head whipped over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of Soap as he threw the door closed and stormed off toward the dormitories. I slowly turned to look at Simon. His lips were parted as if he were about to speak. His brown eyes flicked toward the dormitories, and then back to me. He stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak. I had nothing left to say, I was as baffled as him.

“I’ll talk to him,” I reassured. 

I softly rapped my fingers against his door. The floor creaked from inside as he approached the door, soft footsteps growing louder. He pulled the door open just enough to see one of his blue eyes. I shoved the door open, pushing him to the side. With a kick from my heel, the door was shut. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” I asked, grabbing his chin. His cheeks were flushed a shade of red and his baby blue eyes were deepening as his pupils dilated. 

“I don’t-” 

“No, you’re being a cunt is what you’re doing. Shooting without confirmation? You understand the shit you could’ve gotten us in?” I stepped forward. He took a step back, knocking into his own heel and plummeting to the floor. 

His chest heaved as he panted. The shade of red on cheeks spread to his neck. My eyes traveled down his body, sprayed out in front of me, until my gaze landed on his thighs. His cock was straining against the confines of his jeans. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I stepped forward, nudging my foot against his thigh. His brows furrowed. A moan slipped from his lips, only to be muffled by the palm of his hand.

“I’ve been so stressed- I just need to relieve all of this-” he sputtered, propping himself up with his elbows. I reached forward, gripping his hair between my fingers. 

“What do you want?” I spoke bluntly, pulling his face close to mine. 

“Fuck me.”

I yanked on his hair, signaling for him to stand. With a whine he rose to his feet. I pushed my hand against his shoulder. He fell forward onto the bed. My boots clicked as I stepped forward to stand between his legs. Soap pushed up onto his wrists, only to be shoved back against the mattress. 

“You want me to fuck you? I will, but I’m not going easy on you.” I smoothed my hand over his back. “Strip.”

I stepped back, watching as he quickly pushed his jeans down over his hips. He stepped out of the denim and began working on his shirt next. I stepped toward his nightstand and gripped the little brass nozzle. The drawer rolled out. Sitting beside a stick of deodorant was a leather strap on and a clear silicone dildo. They were right where I left them. I pulled the pair out, along with a half empty bottle of lube and a prostate massager. Soap looked at the items in my hand, and back up to me. He turned to face me, hand reaching out to brush against the button on my jeans. I swatted his hand away. 

“You don’t get to see me naked,” I spat, slipping the strap over my pants. The dildo bobbed as I fastened the belt to my hips. “Sit.” I commanded. He did so without another word. I sunk to my knees in front of the bed. His blue eyes flicked across my face, watching as I pulled his thighs over my shoulders. His muscles felt tense under my touch, and his breath quickened as I pushed him to lay. 

With a firm grip on his thighs, I pulled his hips off of the mattress. I spat onto his hole, spreading the saliva with my fingers. He pouted as he watched me lean in and flick my tongue against his hole.

“Fuck!” He grabbed his cock and began stroking himself in sync with my mouth. I pulled back and began kissing along his thighs. My teeth gently nipped at his soft inner thighs. I swirled my fingers around his hole, slowly dipping inside. I curled my fingers upward, gently hitting his prostate with every thrust of my hand. 

“Harder-“ Soap sputtered. 

“You’ll get what I fuckin’ give you.” I mumbled as I brought my mouth to his balls. My lips wrapped around his soft skin. He groaned, gripping tight on my hair. I pulled away, rising onto my feet. His brows knitted and his plush lips pouted. I grabbed the bottle of lube nestled in the sheets. With a soft click, the cap popped open. I squirted a long stripe over the length of the dildo. With a thud, I stepped forward. Johnny gently stroked his cock. His blue eyes locked onto my strap. I pushed one of his knees to his chest and slowly pushed forward. His jaw went slack as my cock slowly sunk inside of him. He stroked his cock faster. Short, whining moans fell from his lips. I rested a knee on the mattress. The springs creaked underneath the added weight. I leaned forward, using the leverage to push deeper inside of him. 

“Please- fuck! Please move” his blue eyes were half lidded. A deep rosy blush settled over his face and neck.

I pulled out just enough to thrust back inside him. My rhythm was fast, rough. The mattress squealed below us. His thighs were slick beneath my grip. I pulled my hand away. His brows knitted as I came down with a hard smack on his ass. 

“Fuck, do that again,” his cock twitched in his hand. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I spat, gripping onto his hips. I pulled his ass back onto my strap with every thrust of my hips. He threw his head back against the pillows and cried out my name. Tears spilled out of the corners of his eyes and began running down his flushed cheeks. I leaned in, licking the salty drops. 

“Baby, you look so pretty like this,” I cooed by his ear. He whined. “I bet I can make you even prettier,” I spoke in a sing-song tone. He looked at me with unfocused eyes, following my hands as I pulled out a collar from underneath the pillow. I looped the leather around his neck and buckled it tightly against his skin. I gripped the leash tight, pulling him to lean on his elbows.

“Tell me you love my cock,” I said through gritted teeth. His response was a jumbled mess of slurred vowels. “You gonna cum?” I asked. He nodded his head erratically. My hand landed on his ass with another hard smack. His thighs shook as cum spurted from his cock. Splotches of white soaked his chest. I traced my finger through the mess and brought it to my lips. His eyes locked onto my as I slid the digit over my tongue. 

“Good boy,” I said as I slowly pulled out. Lube leaked from his twitching hole. Without another word from me, I slid the prostate massager into his ass. The remote sat quietly on the nightstand. He glanced at me from between his legs. I slowly stepped out of my uniform, shedding the strap and my heavy cargo pants first. I then worked on my vest and my undershirt, discarding the fabric among the pile of camo in the corner. His eyes locked onto my bare body as I slowly sauntered over to the bed. I laid on my back against the headboard and tugged on the leash. He didn’t budge. With a sigh, I slowly spread my legs for him, grabbing the remote with my other hand. 

“Come on, make me cum,” I said with a tug to his leash. He kneeled between my legs, palms soothing over my heated skin. His hand guided his cock to my entrance. I was already wet enough that he slid in without much friction. I hooked my legs behind his back and hit the power button on the remote. Johnny moaned , sinking to his elbows. 

His hips rocked fast, in sync with every thrust of the plug in his ass. 

“Fuck y’r pussysogood,” he slurred as his hips rapidly thrusted. I could see my stomach bulge with every thrust against my cervix. I felt dizzy. My breath came out in short, noisy huffs. He slid one hand beneath our sweaty bodies. His fingers circled my clit in tight, quick circles. 

I tightened my grip on the leash. Johnny responded with a whine and an extra sharp thrust from his hips. I was close, I could tell by the way my stomach was clenching. Heat wrapped around my limbs. My muscles tensed under his touch. 

“Fuckfuckfuck!” Warmth flooded me. He’d cum before I had the chance to. Maybe I set the vibrator too high?

I loosened my grip on the leash, just enough for me to shift onto my knees. 

“Clean me up like a good boy,” I said, looking over my shoulder. If there was one thing that could push me over the edge, it was Johnny eating me out. He licked his lips before quickly diving in, licking thick stripes up my cunt before focusing on my clit. I tugged on the leash, pulling him closer to my messy cunt. He moaned into my cunt. 

My teeth sank into my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. My chest dropped to the pillow. The cotton case gathered my saliva as it poured from my parted lips. 

“Fuck Johnny!” I moaned, rocking my hips against his face. Another flash of pleasure jolted me as he moaned against me. 

His broad palms gripped my ass, pulling my hips back against his face. If the thoughts weren’t dissipating from my mind, I’d be worried about him suffocating. I couldn’t think about anything but the way he ate me out. 

His lips wrapped around my clit and sucked. My fingers dig into the sheets, gripping tightly. I choked out a whine, followed by a sob as my voice broke. My stomach tightened as I approached my orgasm. 

“Mgonnacum,” I slurred, drool pouring from the corner of my lips. 

My thighs quivered as the tension in my stomach snapped. My limbs went limp as the fire in my legs subsumed me. Pins and needles danced across my sweaty skin. Haze clouded my senses just enough for me to not realize he was still eating me out with fervor. He slid two fingers inside me and began thrusting them in and out at the same pace as his tongue, fast and erratic. Tears welled in my eyes as the overstimulation made my clit throb in his mouth. 

Another wave of pleasure soon washed over me. My aching back arched. I pushed my hips against his face, grinding myself on his tongue as I rode out the high. Burning tears streamed down my cheeks and onto the pillow. My knees grew unsteady, wobbling as I road out the high. 

Calloused fingers pulled me to lie on my side. His chest was warm and sticky against my back, and his digits traced along my stomach, lingering on every sore muscle. 

“Can I take the collar off now?” He asked, kissing along my jawline. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t…” my words trailed off. The letters couldn’t arrange themselves in my scattered mind. 

We sat in silence, the whirring of the fan like a rhythm-less melody. His kisses were soft and caring, a drastic shift in tone from before. As the tender moments like these grew long and longer after every one-night stand, I couldn’t help but look forward to times like these. Tonight was no exception. The way strands of his sweaty hair stuck to me felt welcoming, like a cup of cocoa on a frigid day. 

“Let me run you a bath.” He said, breaking his hold on me. I reached out, placing my hand over his. The corners of his lips curled into a smile. 

“Take one with me, Johnny.”

Masterlist

[give-bucky-his-boyfriend-back]

The real reason they killed off Crowley

Crowley: *points at Cas and Dean* Two best friends in a room. They might ki- *gunshots as the CW sniper strikes again*

[kana-daydreams]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞

[ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ]

cw: violence, mild swearing wc: 2.2k

You stand amidst your marine comrades who bustle around you in a Navy battleship which you boarded after your escort ship was stolen, forcing your group to escape in a smaller boat; Cutty Flam and Robin, the culprits of the crime. 

Apparently, the machine man hadn’t drowned like you thought after the explosion and was able to save Nico Robin from being riddled with bullets after you were forced to leave the scene.

Other battleships flank either side of your own, their cannons firing at what was once a prideful Judicial island, now an island reduced to be one of mass debris engulfed in a sea of flames.

To your right is Spandam, in other words, rotten scum, whose face is heavily swollen from what you’ve heard from one of your comrades was Nico Robin’s doing. 

You glance over at him when you hear him arguing with a navy nurse who attends to his injuries, and you smirk watching as he winces in pain every time she touches a cotton pad to his bruised face. 

Another cannon fires garnering your attention, and your eyes follow it as it charges across at yet another one of Enies Lobby's infrastructure.

Suddenly, the PA system sputters on and a voice announces for all ships to surround the Bridge of Hesitation and your former escort ship as more pirates have been spotted at both locations.

The ship you're on moves in the former route where you see three individuals, their faces sporting determined expressions and weapons prepped and ready for battle.

You recognise them: Zoro and Cutty Flam, and the other, the sniper from the tower of law who ambushed your group with explosive missiles earlier back on the bridge.

Before your comrades can indulge their thirst for a fight, the PA system makes another announcement, this time shouting directives for only the marines ranked higher than Lieutenant commander to engage the pirates, which meant you had to stay put, on board—with Spandam.

How unfortunate.

"Get them!" One of the captains command and dozens of marines shower down like ants from their nest when provoked, from their respective ships to surround the three, but most of them before their feet can take refuge on the bridge, are blown away by an explosion.

You observe the pirates and your fellow marines as they fight, a symphony of cannon fires, gunshots and clashes of swords consuming the atmosphere.

You lean against the railing of the ship, propping a hand under your chin, your expression bored as you continue to watch the chaotic scene that unfolds below you, the marines clearly the losing party.

However, when your eyes happen to randomly land on a green hair individual with a sword in each hand and another which he strangely wields in his mouth, you can’t help but trail his every move in awe.

The former pirate hunter, Roronoa Zoro.

You watch as he easily and with precision, defeats his opponents two at a time, three and sometimes too many for you to count.

"Is there no one with backbone?!" You hear him challenge after he sends one of your squadrons flying away like leaves in the wind with a wave of his swords. 

A male marine three times his size steps forward, brandishing a giant broadaxe and an impressed grin stretches across the swordsman's lips.

The marine attacks him with powerful and consistent strikes and even with what seems like his ace in the hole, but like the rest of his squadron, he is sent plummeting into the ocean in a matter of seconds.

Your heart aches, and the hand which reaches to rest on the hilt of your sword, itches.

A strong yearning begins to overwhelm your senses. One which you eagerly desire to satiate.

Unfortunately for you, you’re not permitted to leave the ship. 

You heave a resigned sigh. "The curse of being demoted." You mumble, reluctantly remaining but a simple spectator to Zoro wrestling the other marines with his swords.

During his fight, you perk up when you notice his figure become motionless, his features mirroring one of pain from one of his hands being imprisoned in a marine’s tight grasp.

Closer inspection allows you to see his hand changing from its tan colour into a rust brown, gradually travelling up his arm and spreading across the rest of his body.

He’s turning him into rust! You gape at the realisation and your eyes glance quickly to your left and right. 

Safe.

Gripping your fingers tightly around the ship's railing, you hoist yourself over, jumping down into the chaotic mess below.

When you land, your feet immediately race towards the direction of the captive swordsman.

There was no way you were going to let him—the man you eagerly yearn for—die. 

Not before you got your chance of crossing blades with him.

Zoro groans from the pain of his body being gradually consumed by decay, his dark eyes darting down with a deathly stare at the musty, rusty piece of shit responsible for his state and who destroyed one of his beloved katanas. 

He swears to avenge his lost Yubashiri…as soon as he’s able to break free from the marine’s tight grip around his arm, or rather his rust.

For the umpteenth time, he tries tugging himself free, but his attempts are futile as the rust has already claimed half his body, rendering him unable to move. 

The marine bursts out in hysterical laughter as he watches his prey wither away slowly, but his grip on Zoro is ripped off when he is sent colliding into a trench mortar beside them, immediately falling unconscious.

Zoro massages a hand over his stiff neck, feeling the rust inside his body recede; the tan colour of his skin returning.

He presumes that Usopp or Franky were the ones to come to his rescue since they were fighting alongside him, but instead he finds in front of him, standing a few feet away, a young woman.

His eyes scan over her marine attire. Was she the one who saved me? Zoro quirks a brow, puzzled at why a marine would injure one of their own to save a pirate.

His eyes suddenly become wide as his senses are overshadowed by an eerie feeling radiating off her. One he was definitely not a stranger to. 

"Ah, I see." He grins and reaches for his swords, the woman’s eyes flickering down to his hands at the movement. 

She reaches for her own sword beside her, brandishing it in his direction and neither bother exchanging pleasantries as they charge at each other with alarming speed.

When your sword clashes against Roronoa Zoro’s, an exhilarating rush consumes your entire being—a sort of high you haven’t felt in years.

His fearsome reputation as a swordsman was common gossip among you marines, one you could now attest to after witnessing for the first time, his skills in action when he defeated several squadrons of high ranks.

You’re grateful to the gods that you finally get the opportunity to fight the former pirate hunter. And no you didn’t have a personal vendetta against him nor were you as interested as your associates in capturing him; you weren’t even interested in finding out who was the strongest between the both of you. 

Your intention was simple, and that was to quench your need for excitement.

You dodge to the left, barely managing to escape one of his swords as it aims for your mid-section, and return the favour with a swift swing of your own.

Zoro raises a sword, blocking your attack. ‘Finally, someone worth fighting!’ His voice brims with excitement, a hungry glint in his eyes and a devilish grin etched into his expression as you both exchange a flurry of hits, the force of your attacks causing clouds of dust to billow beneath your feet.

Boisterous laughter bordering hysterical rips out your throat. "Glad, the feeling’s mutual, pirate."

As you continue to fight, you notice the swordsman's attacks become gradually weaker and to your surprise, it is you who draws the first blood when your sword manages to trace over the exposed skin of his stomach. 

You weren't sure what to make of it. Was it the side effects of the rust or…was he going easy on you because you were a woman?

You frown. 

A chivalrous pirate? Strange. 

You watch as droplets of red trickle down from his cut onto the ground. "Is it the rust, pirate? Or you're easy on me because I don’t have balls between my legs?"

The muscles in Zoro’s face twitch slightly at your words. "Man or woman—my swords know no gender when it yearns for blood."

He lunges at you with his swords raised and you hiss slightly when one of them comes into contact with the right sleeve of your shirt, staining it crimson red.

You soon find yourself exerting more effort to deflect and evade his attacks, but nevertheless, your eyes gleam and your lips subconsciously upturn into a cheshire grin giving you a slightly deranged look.

"That's more like it!"

Zoro is taken aback when you start matching the force of his strikes and soon finds his feet buckling under the weight of your sword; the pressure forcing him down onto his knees and breaking into the stone beneath him.

She's strong! Zoro groans, both your swords humming a metallic harmony as their blades grind against each other.

To his far left, Zoro notices Usopp preparing to attack you with one of his gadgets, but warns him not to intervene with a gesture of his head.

In a blink of a second, you stumble back when he pushes you off him.

He doesn't give you time to recuperate and you're unable to brace yourself for his aggressive strings of attacks.

You fall.

Your sword is knocked out of your grasp and Zoro's blade is aimed at your neck.

"I guess you really are the best swordsman."

"Not yet, but I will be." He smirks.

Robin’s voice suddenly comes from behind you, grabbing both your attention.

"Stop Zoro, don’t hurt her!"

"I wasn’t gon–" Zoro is cut short, falling over with a grunt when you swiftly sweep a leg across at his feet.

"Hey, pirate!" You tower over his form on the ground. ‘Let’s do this again, if you’re still alive.’  

You don't give Zoro time to respond and his eyes follow your figure as it retreats in the direction of one of the marine ships.

Having returned back onto the ship without anyone noticing your absence, you watch in anticipation at the cannons preparing to fire at the straw hats particularly at the dilapidated building where their captain lies paralysed after defeating CP9’s number one sociopath, Rob Lucci.

"Three seconds!" You hear the Vice-Admiral of your ship roar.  

You sigh. There’s no way he’ll escape this one. 

The Vice-Admiral bellows out the remaining seconds and all cannons aim their fire in Luffy’s direction, though it only targets stone when he’s unexpectedly tossed into sea, and his crew follow suit, leaping off the bridge with who you assume are their hostages and Cutty Flam in tow. 

"They jumped?!" You stare wide-eyed as the group dives into the ocean, the thought of the pirates having suicidal tendencies never once having crossed your mind.

"There’s no way they’re gonna survive that." Someone gasps beside you. "They’ll be swept into the current of the whirlpool!"

However another surprise awaits you when you see them pull themselves onto the deck of a smaller ship whose presence you hadn’t noticed before.

"Huh? Where’d that ship come from?" You mumble.

Spandam’s voice, laced with anger and annoyance, suddenly rings across the ship. "All ships prepare to fire your cannons!" 

No one moves at his command, hesitating since their initial order is to capture Nico Robin alive. They only comply when Spandam mentions Admiral Akoji’s name, and unlike the rest of the marines, you know he uses the Admiral's authority as a pretext for his revenge.

You watch them as they buzz around, Spandam continuing to bark out commands, thankful that he’s seemingly forgotten your existence in his pursuit to kill the straw hats.

You however weren’t so keen on letting them die just yet—for personal interests.

You walk further out to the deck where you notice the straw hats themselves occupied, bustling about their ship preparing to set sail to escape being blown into smithereens.

I’ll help you one more time. You make a wide gesture with both arms which goes unnoticed by your crew too concentrated on the pirates, and when all ships fire at them they aim at each other instead. 

It also didn’t help the marines' situation when the gates of justice had unexpectedly begun closing, creating multiple whirlpools below the ships; the strong pull of their currents causing the ships to collide into each other.

Shortly after, you keep a tight grip onto the railing of your ship as it struggles to stay afloat, explosive projectiles zipping in every direction and Spandam's painful cries engulfing the entire atmosphere.

The final thing you notice before your sight is clouded by thick, dark smoke is the straw hats’ ship propelling into a sky of endless grey; your lips quirking into a satisfied smile.

Till we meet again, straw hats.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Part I - Part II

© 2023 kana-daydreams

[painful-pooch]

Captain Down

The time for waiting is over! Here is the debut to the Hostage Arc! I hope this is a fun little chapter to start things off with. Please enjoy!

Part 2 (An Impromptu Farewell)

Bru Bru tag list: @cpt-winters, @redd956, @straight-to-the-pain, @technom0ose, @actress4him, @whumperofworlds, @i-eat-worlds, @inscrutable-shadow, @gala1981, @thethistlegirl, @ocean-blue-whump, @noirineverysense, @steelandblood, @crash-bump-bring-the-whump

CWs: military whump, war, gunshot wounds, blood, injury, bombing and explosions, gunfire, death of random soldiers

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you have your eyes on the target, Kieran?” Bruno asks, leaning against the wall, huffing from the quarter mile sprint he just had to do after he was spotted. He tilts his head back, groaning while the heavy gear he has on makes him sweat unbelievable amounts. He doesn’t have time to wipe the sweat dripping from his brow or nose, his fingerless gloves gripping his weapon tightly. It wasn’t even a terrible run, but with the sun burning them from above, it makes it more unbearable to even be out. A mission is still a mission, however, and it makes the man even more committed to getting the job done. “Kieran, you better not be napping on me. Respond.”

He hears the crackling of a mic coming to life, followed by a sarcastic, “You know, Bruno, it’s kind of hard to find a target when a bunch of Tangos (targets) are all after your ass. Give me a minute.” Kieran has a smart mouth on him, but that’s what you get when the Navy has to give away one of their best SEAL operators, especially one so skilled with a sniper.  

“A minute? Wow… seems like you are losing your edge, Navy boy,” Valdemar’s voice comes in, gravely like an Army Sergeant’s voice would be after screaming nonstop. A chuckle or two later, he continues, “I am surprised Bruno over there can even run as fast as he did. Fuck, he left a cute little plume of dust in his way. How are the joints doing, old man? I think I could hear them creaking all the way over here. No wonder everyone was on you.”

Bruno can’t help but growl back playfully into the mic, “Valdemar, you damn asshole. Shut your mouth unless you have something important to say. What have I said about keeping the channel clear of any unnecessary bullshit? Keep your vest on, your ears clear, your eyes open, your head on a swivel, and your mouth shut.” 

Kieran’s humming is all Valdemar gets in response from the prideful Naval operator, instead Miranda’s voice coming in. “Leave Kieran alone, Val. The man has better eyesight than your Army ass. Shit, give me a second-“ the sounds of gunfire and a thud on the ground made Bruno’s heart pound loudly in his ears. 

“Miranda,” he breathes out, taking a moment to check his surroundings. She was always so ballsy and trying to prove her worth on the team. It doesn’t matter how many times they all told her, she just has to work unbelievably hard while putting her own life at risk. It came with the territory and the occupation. They are the ones making the real changes in the world, and yet their names will never be entered into the pantheon of the greats. 

They are destined to remain in the shadows and only be seen by the select few that were granted the right and clearance to even know who they were. Out of the entire military, they are the small crew that felt like a real family. They ate out together, lived together, laughed together, cried together, and so many other things. They have his back and he will make sure they are safe in return while offering them the best leadership he can impose.

He can’t deny that Miranda is good at her job, but his worry keeps rising until she laughs, “Damn, the bastard almost had me. Kieran, what’s the sitrep (situation report)?”  

Bruno sighs to himself, his helmet digging into the bricks of the building he is using as cover. He takes a chance to peek around the corner, but the whizzing of bullets launched his way forces him to take cover once again, the next volley of them chipping away at the corner of the building. “Fuck! Okay… just breathe. You have been in these predicaments before. Come on Kieran…” He doesn’t bother saying anything into the comms, waiting for his sniper expert to handle the mess.  

“Sitrep isn’t too great, guys. They are holed up real good at their vantage point. I know where they are at, but I can’t take the shot without giving away my position. I can move and get a better angle at them. Guidance, Bruno?”

Shit. That’s not the answer Bruno needed, but it is what it is. He clears his mind of all the noise around him, trying to get to the part of his head where he can think out of a problem. He’s a sitting duck where he is at, but maybe he can get lucky. “From where you saw them firing, do you think I could mask my location with smoke?”

“What the hell are you thinking of, Bruno?”

He can’t help but smirk in response, a small weight off his chest when he laughs, “You heard me, Kieran. Can I use smoke or do you think a flash bang can do the trick? I am trying to get to the next few buildings but I need your help.” While he is waiting, he takes his canteen of water, taking a swig to then spit out the dirt and dust coating his mouth before finally drinking a few gulps. He needs to be hydrated if he’s going to really be doing something half crazy.

“Bruno,” Miranda calls out from the comms, “I really hope you aren’t about to pull your usual stunt of risking your life. Maybe just sit tight and call Lukas in for an airstrike, yeah?”

“That’s a lot of gall coming from the girl that plays with explosives and death on a daily basis. Also, I am not wasting a good airstrike on just me. Kieran, you better give me an answer or I am going to get fucked real good by the tangos,” Bruno huffs back, reaching into his pouch to grab a smoke grenade just in case. 

“Alright. I got it. Bruno, I need you to throw the smoke as close to them as you can. Then use the thermal scope and pick out a few. I can handle some of them too to take the heat off. Other than that, I don’t see another way out. What’s the verdict, Sir?” Kieran sounds like he played out a few scenarios and picked the one with the best outcome. That’s what he needed from the man.

Bruno flips the switch on his assault rifle’s scope, seeing the blue haze on it to show it’s on. “Perfect. On my mark, Kieran.” He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and getting his body ready to react fast. He takes off the pin from the ‘nade, counting off, “One. Two. Mark.” He rolls around the corner, throwing the smoke grenade as it sends out a smoke screen to obscure everyone’s vision. There’s a gunfight going crazy now, Bruno on the ground firing away at all the blips coming into view on thermal, the blasting sounds from the mountain near them giving away Kieran’s position, whether he liked it or not. 

He can hear shuffling over the comms, Kieran’s voice quick and short. “Position compromised. Running two klicks eastbound. Approximate time to wait ten mikes. Copy?”

Valdemar grunts back, “Copy, Kieran. I’ll be the closest to you once you’re there. We have a few more people here than we thought. Possible intel miscount, Bruno. What now?”

He just finally got to cover, the barrel of his rifle turning to a reddish hue from the heat building up. Bruno barely has a chance to breathe when the news comes in and his eyebrows furrow. “Wait… The count shouldn’t be off. This was validated plenty of times via the NSA, STRATCOM, and the folks over in DC. Oscar, what the fuck is going on?” He busts his way into the building, aiming around and clearing the vicinity prior to making his run up the steps in the stairwell, getting to the fifth floor and getting into a rundown office. He better make his nest now, flipping a desk on its back to press up against a window, using it as both cover and a thing to lean back on, his eyes on the door to the stairwell in case anyone followed him. “Oscar, I need something, now.”

There is frantic typing he can hear, and that is never a good sign. He sets up his gear where he needs to, taking the chance to wipe the sweat and dirt off his face, his eyes on the tablet he has set out. There’s a grid map showing his position in relation to the others and where the main target, who is the main reason why they are there, is. He keeps his composure though, waiting for Oscar to explain himself and the faulty data compiled from multiple three letter agencies. 

“Sir… something isn't right. There's more movement from the enemy. ISR (intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance) operations are alluding to a possible betrayal," Oscar breathes out, the clicking and typing starting up again. It's so quiet now, almost as though a pin could drop.

The waves are crashing in Bruno's head now, the man needing to come up with a solution. His options are either to continue pursuing the main target or fall back and go back to the drawing board. He stares up at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the fallen wires while he attempts to strategize. With that, he glances back down at the tablet and with a gruff mutter, he announces, "We aren't letting these people get away with what they've done. They've killed too many innocent people. If I let them slip through my fingers again, I'm going to lose my shit."

"Alright, Captain America, so what's your plan?" Miranda shoots at him, and he can feel as though she's staring right at him, even if she's so far away.

Bruno snaps his fingers and goes to type in the tablet, each tap another step closer to the end goal. "The plan is to aim a barrage right down the middle of their forces. Force them to split up and we rip through them like nothing. Lukas, can you handle helping us out from up there?"

The voice of the young and cookies pilot Bruno's ever heard of comes through the earpiece, "Oh I can handle just about anything, Bru Bru. General Kane got me a nice Reaper MQ-9 drone for Christmas. Have you seen what that baby can do? I'm talking about Hellfire missiles and whatever other toys I requested. What are the coordinates?"

Bruno manages a small grin and laugh, the corner of his lip rising. He remembers what it was like to be a real fighter pilot, and he knows how long Lukas has been working towards becoming a drone pilot as well. "Good. I'm sending them over now. Fire when ready. Those in quadrants three and four need to take cover."

He puts the tablet away the second he's done sending the location, taking a few more to drink away some of his water and prepare for the long haul as they won't be making it back for dinner. Things seem to be going his way and then his earpiece screeches in his ear. He jumps in surprise and rips it out, grumbling about stupid technology before placing it in his pocket, replacing it with the backup headset. It takes about another minute or so, but yet he hasn't heard the sound of explosions or missiles. "Did I miss anything?"

What Oscar comes through with doesn't sit well with him: "Sir? Nothing happened, but Lukas is having some trouble from his end getting the coordinates, but he just got them. Thank you for revising them for him."

There are alarm bells ringing, and his heart starts to pound to the drums of War. He scrambles to his feet and starts running towards the stairwell, his voice rushed and full of worry. "I didn't revise a damn thing. I sent him the right thing already. Oscar? Lukas? What the fuck is goi-" 

The blast cuts him off as he holds onto the railing, barely keeping himself from tumbling down them. His eyes widen when looking back at the office, now engulfed in flames. That missile was aimed right on him, and he can hear the whirring of the drone closing in again and he returns to his attempt to make it out of the building, concrete pieces and debris falling on him. "Stop the airstrike!" He roars in retaliation, reaching the ground floor of the building.

The door is blocked from the other side and he's attempting to bash through it, but it refuses to budge no matter how hard he tries. No one is on the comms anymore, and he feels as though everything is falling apart around him. His eyes are now darting around the building, seeing the stress of the bombardments cracking the walls, the lines zigzagging to the ceiling.

"Of fuck," he huffs, realizing that if he doesn’t get out soon enough, the building is going to collapse right on top of him. To hell with the mission and to hell with the comms being down; this is survival. He turns away from the door and runs down the hall, coming to a halt when he sees a window inside a room flooded with fire. “You gotta be kidding me.” The building shakes again from the next blast, and it forces Bruno to grit his teeth, his own fire burning inside of him. He’s not ready to die yet; not to a building. It’s not a fitting end for a man like him. “Here goes nothing.” He locks the rifle to the chest plate’s hooks, ripping his pistol from the side holster. He aims it straight and true and pulls the trigger, launching the bullet right through the window, shattering it upon impact.

He jumps over the flaming debris of the desks and fallen file cabinets, thankful that he has enough gear on to keep him from getting too burned, the sweat now freely flowing down his face. Still rushing to the window, the final blast hits the floor above him, parts of the ceiling crumbling down just as he vaults through the broken mirror, not bothered by the glass cutting away at his uniform and face. The stinging from the sweat, fire, and glass just pushes him over the edge, and he catches himself on the dirt floor, coughing. Just in time to see the drone pass by him one more time, but nothing comes from it thank the heavens. 

He stands up and moves away from the building, his heart still pounding away in his chest. Hiding away in one of the alleys, he groans and wipes away at the slick red coming from his face. “Someone. Better. Have. An. Explanation.”

His comms are only returning static until finally there is a voice beside his own: “Sir, I think there's enemy interference. Someone is trying to get in and find our locations. I am trying to scramble the signal, but they got a hold of you. I don’t know about the others.”

Bruno tenses up at that and it hits him that someone ratted on them. No one should have known they were there. No one should have prepared reinforcements so quickly. No one should have tried to murder him with his own drone. It was a trap, and he had to get everyone out before things could get any worse. “Everyone, head to the second emergency rendezvous point. We have been compromised. If there are signs of adversaries there, make it to the third point. Move it!” He reholsters his pistol and rearms himself with his trusted rifle, treading along.

When he makes it to a major street, something doesn’t feel right to Bruno. It’s this weird feeling someone gets when they are in a room, but they can sense another person in there. It only gets worse the closer he is to the edge of the alley. He has to sprint across as fast as he can, and so that’s what he does. He dashes as fast as his legs can carry him and the extra hundred or so pounds of gear… and that’s the second an immense searing pain hits him right in the calf, making the man fall to the ground. Only then does he hear the crack and boom from the sniper rifle. He just got hit, and he’s still in the open. He forces his body to act fast, pushing himself to get to cover, his back leaning against the wall. They know where he is. It’s only a matter of time. He rips off his helmet and looks down to see the damage. His right leg is the one that feels as though there’s a small fire inside of the gunshot wound, blood already seeping through his fatigues. 

“Hit. I’ve been hit,” he groans, but there’s nothing on his comms again. He reaches into his shoulder pocket, pulling out a small pouch. Using his teeth, he tears open the sterile tourniquet, reminding himself of the steps Khrystyna taught him. He gets the belt strapped and then using the stick on the tourniquet, he begins to twist it, cutting off his blood flow. The pain is getting worse, the man clenching his jaw so hard when he cuts away at his pants to find the wound. 

To his dismay, he sees both an open and exit wound, and he takes a deep breath. “Okay… there’s a big ass hole in your leg. Time to pack it. Dammit, why me? Move faster…” He rolls up the cut fabric, rolling it up and proceeding to bite down on it before he takes the gauze from the first aid kit he had, shoving it into his wound without waiting. He screams into the fabric, the back of his head digging into the wall to distract himself. He wants to cry, but he instead just pounds at the ground with his free hand. Just as he’s done, he can hear the sound of someone rustling near him. He takes his pistol with one hand, his body trembling from the shock and anger ripping through him. Waiting for the person to come around the corner from his left, he doesn’t catch the person to his right rounding the corner and firing into his side. Bruno gasps and turns quick enough to fire a few rounds into that soldier, returning his attention to the one he had initially heard, taking them down as well when the opening presents itself. 

His breathing is ragged, his hand reaching to where he felt the slap of a bullet. Wincing, he pulls his hand back to see that there’s now a bullet lodged in him, finding the one part of his torso that wasn’t shielded by the vest, plates, and gear. It’s getting hard to breathe, and he stares up at the sky in search of an answer to his problem. It takes him a few minutes to patch up, getting up while using the wall to lean against, limping his way towards his team. The corners of his view are blurring and turning to black, almost like the beginning of tunnel vision. He trips over some broken stone and slabs of brick, screaming silently when one of the pieces digs right into his side. Struggling to his hands and knees, his head snaps up when the one person he couldn’t have near him speaks. 

“Bruno?!” 

Khrystyna runs up to him and helps him sit against the wall, her eyes so calm and yet her voice is full of worry. “Hey, you are going to be okay. We are really close to where we need to be. I need you to tell me what’s wrong and what you need me to do, Sir?”

Bruno isn’t fully there. His mind is on the fact that this entire time, he was leaving specks of blood and a trail for his enemies to follow. If he dies, and they find him, they are going to take Khrystyna and do the most awful things to her. If he doesn’t die and they both get caught, they will use her against him, and he would be responsible for her dying due to his loyalty to secrecy.  Even though she is one of the strongest women he knows, she won’t be able to carry him the entire way, and he’s only getting weaker by the minute. The answer was there the whole time.

He knows what he has to do, and so when he coughs up a bit of blood, he reaches over to take Khrystyna’s pistol, aiming it at her with tears in his eyes. “You need to get away from me right now if you know what’s good for you.”

[diejager]

Chapter 2

Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Cw: canonical violence, blood, death, injuries, Soap throw boom boom, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 994

Series masterlist

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The flash grenade Soap threw into the room left a ringing in his ears, lasting while he stormed into the room in duos to shoot down the - momentarily - blinded AQ soldiers hiding within the small, mountain village. Walking in a line, Price - Bravo-06 - led the way through the windowless, mud houses and out on the streets.

They spread into two when Price sent half of the squad to the other side of the village, wanting to infiltrate the place on both ends from the darkness of the night. Laswell had briefed them that the villagers were driven out, fearful as they left everything to the invading AQ cell in the Urzikstan village. It made their duty simpler, not having to watch out for civilians or hostages.

Ghost directed the second squad, left to the one Price led, into a house, kicking down the door with his rifle raised as he quickly shuffled through the entrance to let Soap and Roach follow behind him, along with the five other corporal and sergeants. Swiping left and right, they moved quickly around the space, taking down men - double taped in the torso or once in the head.

He called over whenever they cleared an area, Price doing the same to let them know his progress. Over the sound of gunshots and screams, he realized that he hadn't heard you once since they started. It was radio silence, but he wasn't worried, he'd seen you train with them the first few days of your arrival. Though silence was expected from you, being the assigned sniper in this mission instead of Ghost.

You jumped off the carrier, sniper slung over your shoulder as you saluted, smiling at them. You'd have to trek up the mountainside from what Laswell and Price told you. Ghost watched you walk off, steps strong and steady up the rocky terrain at sundown. His eyes followed your figure until it disappeared behind a wall.

"I'm all set up, Cap," you called after a while, letting them know that they could leave.

Giving Nikolai the signal, they took off. When Ghost gazed through the window, he saw your position from the corner of his sight. You laid stomach first, one leg straightened and the other bent to stop any recoil, elbows supporting your upper body and hands around your sniper. A sleek, black bolt-action sniper rifle that you called your “Baby” before you boarded the aircraft.

They met back before the walled mansion, probably the house of a rich family that decided to live on the farther side of Urzikstan. Ghost walked behind Price's group, rifle cocked and alert, they made their way through the open gate.

Bang!

A body fell from the roof.

Bang!

Another one crashed to their feet, weapon clanging to Gaz's left.

"Winter, how copy?" Price rasped, his eyes - along with the others - straining through the night vision goggles.

"Cover, Cap, there are two more 'round the corner," you finally spoke, voice low and monotone.

If it weren't for their current situation, Ghost would've been shocked, the change in your tone drastic. Your shots were unpredictable, and random at times but they always made their mark. If you weren't talking to them, you were sniping off men, quick and efficient, opening up a passage for them to bust into the house.

"Asset's on the second floor, sir, east wing, " your voice entered the line, scope focused on the man they wanted to capture. "Four guards, armed to the teeth."

They spread out, one on one while they stalked down the hall and up the stairs in a concentrated frenzy, arms ready to shoot down armed guards in the base. Reaching the last door, Price counted down before he pushed in, the guards clamoring to protect their boss.

Bang!

The window cracked, shattering around the entry when the guard standing before the window fell. Your shot made their target more panicked, fumbling around for his gun. Within a few minutes, it was over, the AQ target slumped down after being shot in the thigh.

"Target acquired, " Ghost announced, head tilted to his right. "Meet at exfil, Winter."

"Rog, Lieutenant."

When they reached your location, Ghost watched your stiff figure, keen eyes steeled for any movement outside of yours and the aircraft. The usual soft calmness was replaced by an uncanny state of indifference and coolness - how fitting, Ghost thought, your sudden change and actions were unpredictable, all changing as winter, from mild to freezing in a day, changing winds drastically even after being warned.

Your head bobbed at them, sitting on the nearest seat, which happened to be left of Soap and Roach, not too far from Ghost's little corner in the dark. Once the hangar door closed, Nikolai flew up, back to their safe house until they were able to go back to the British Isles.

"Quiet, aren't ya, Winter?" Soap suddenly pipped up, facing you with a lazy grin. "All cold and dead, 'ts almost like L.T.," his shoulders shook with a loud chuckle that he shared with Gaz.

Ghost grumbled lowly, sending a glare at the Scot and Brit that were jabbing you about your resemblance to him, however, when you blinked, lashes fluttering, light drifted back into your eyes, bright and gleaming as a teasing smile reached your lips.

"Don't be an arse, Soap, L.T still has feelings."

"She's right, Soap, don't be an arse, " Gaz returned your mischievous look, snapping at Soap who sat between you both.

He gasped, whipping his head from you to Gaz, squinting his eyes with a mock of a whine: "Aye, ya gangin' up on mae!"

Ghost closed his eyes, sighing silently as you returned to your previous energy, smiling and chuckling with the rest of TF 141, ignoring the disapproving frown from Price, Roach's attempt to hide his laugh, and the rest of the momentary team.

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[sugolara]

All together

ft. Katsuki Bakugo x Shoto Todoroki x Izuku Midoriya x fem! reader

Synopsis: After a deadly virus leaks all over the world, every country is forced to close down it's borders and airports to prevent anyone from coming in and out. Though, it's to late for some people. The dead has rose and is looking for revenge. Cw: gore, quirkless! au, apocalypse! au, zombie! au, weapons, death, angst, lots and lots of blood, cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, slow burn

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he walls being pounded into and the sounds of terrified cries. If they had time, they'd let them all out, but their safety wasn't their priority as Izuku and F/n could be dying any second.

They passed by the guards using the plants that began to harvest fruits. Their large bushes hid their figure and the thunder definitely helped as the guards had left when their radio signaled for backup. Faints of snarls could be heard, so it was no doubt that rotters had found their camp.

They hadn't even seen any rotters up until now and with the hills hiding the camp, it was no wonder why anyone hadn't even heard of this place.

When they made it to the building where they last saw F/n being dragged into, they used a staircase that led up to the window of the warehouse, most likely a tower for snipers. Quietly, Shoto climbed up, his shoes kicking against the metal made a clinking sound, but with the sky rumbling it overpowered the noise.

While Shoto went up, Katsukis stayed down next to the stairs, using his rifle that he had stolen from the males that he held captive earlier. He stayed in one of the corners, ears listening on anything that could be identified as footsteps. He'd peek around, spotting a few men walking by with their cigarettes lit. When they left, he reached into his bag to pull out firecrackers, waiting for Shoto's signal.

Squinting, the scar male peeked down and finally did he see her with Izuku as well. At their sight, he gave a signal and Katsuki lit up the firework before throwing it to building B. The comotion had caused for the men around to go look and while the butchers inside the warehouse confusingly gave each other a look, Shoto took it upon himself to fire his sniper, successfully hitting the one with a machete.

As thunder came back, the door to the warehouse was opened and at the sight of Katsuki, Izuku felt relieved. The other innocent people were scared, especially when the next butcher was shot, falling directly in front of one of them.

"How the hell did you get caught up in this shit, Deku?" The blonde mumbled as he removed ties. The cloth around his mouth was next and Izuku let out a sigh of relief, "Oh, I'm so glad to see you, Kacchan."

The blonde scoffed before moving to F/n. Another set of firecrackers were heard just as Shoto entered the building. He closed it behind him as he looked at the three with an eager look, "Hurry up. That won't distract them for long."

"Wait!" Izuku grabbed a gun from Shoto as he looked at the others, "What about them?"

"What about them?" Katsuki mumbled as he dragged F/n, who refused to get her senses back.

"We can't just leave them here!" Izuku yelled as he went to one of them before untying them, "They're a victim in this too. Get F/n to wake up, I think they hurt her badly!"

Shoto and Katsuki shared a look, before the scar male quickly went to help Izuku. While he did so, Katsuki shook the girl, hoping it would wake her up, but she'd just let out incoherent mumbling with eyes twitching, "Wake the fuck up!"

Hearing men arguing outside and gunshots firing, Katuski impatiently looked at her, his eyes looking at her face, then to her lips that would twitch ever so often, daring to pull into a smile. At the sound of the doors banging, Katsuki raised his hand, before slapping her awake and while his heart sped, so did the girl as finally woke up, hands touching her cheek as she mumbled out a groan.

"Seriously?" Shoto said, giving him a look.

"Whatever." Katsuki let her go as she was able to get up.

She held onto her cheek as she looked around, "How long was I out?"

"Long enough." Shoto shoved her a gun, pointing at the other terrified people, "They're on their own, just like we are. We need to get out before things worsen."

"...Agreed." Izuku did not want to leave them, but he had no choice as gunshots were being fired. If luck was on their side, they'd live.

Finding a backdoor, they all headed for it and while Shoto gave the occasional glare when someone would cry, Katsuki took a peek out and to his surprise, rotters had infiltrated the place. Strangely enough, they used it to their advantage as he quickly gave them a signal when to run, then did they run.

They didn't worry about the rest as the main three followed after Katsuki. They came to a stop where they took down rotters and when the first male of the camp came, F/n did not hesitate to shoot, "You guys know what's going on with this place?"

"I think it's pretty obvious, F/n." Izuku pointed out, "They kill people."

"Yeah, and among other things." Shoto eyed her, ignoring her confused look.

"Hurry up." Katsuki said as they headed for one of the buildings that stored guns. Thankfully, the rotters were their distraction as they entered the building. It was quiet, different from the chaos outside. The people that were behind them had gotten lost, but it's not like the group was their ticket out.

"How long has this been going on?" Izuku asked as he reached for one of the tables, picking up a dirty teddy bear. Next to it was a frame of a family. When he saw his stuff, he wasted no time in taking it back.

"Since the beginning." Shoto said as he wasted no time in grabbing the weapons. F/n also helped him out, despite the fact that she wasn't allowed to hold more than two guns, but she knew that they didn't have time to argue.

Just like the two, Katsuki filled his bag with ammo, however, at the sight of a grenade as well as smoke grenade, a grin pulled to his lips. Picking it up like a feather, Katsuki turned to them, "I just found a way out."

The freckled male widened his eyes in fear for his friend as any mistake they could all blow up, "Kacchan, you don't know how to use that."

"Should be easy, right?" A thunder was hit, making F/n grit her teeth as she stared at the blonde. "If this was a movie, it'd be easy."

"Don't blow yourself up." Shot pulled his bag over his shoulders, reaching for another one. Though before the blonde could bite back, yelling could be heard on the other side. It sounded to many, but F/n couldn't tell as it had begun to pour down.

"Kacchan." Izuku uncertainty said, "If you're going to use it, be careful. We'll give you a signal."

Although even holding the grenade had him feeling nervous, he nodded as the others placed themself away from him, dumping tables of items as their cover. Looking back at Izuku who gave gum a thumbs up, the blonde quickly removed its pin before throwing it at the main doors and running to his friends.

With the ground rumbling, he threw the smoke grenade, causing the yells to get louder. Using the smoke, they cleared their way out, following Katuski once again. It had gotten pretty close that Izuku had gotten shot, but thankfully F/n had shoved him before another wound could impale him.

Finally did the fence of where the blonde had cut came into a view. Annoyingly, with the rain coming down it had caused for the hills to be muddy, having Katsuki trip multiple times. When they reached the top, they looked down to see the camp and while Izuku did feel bad about leaving the innocents to die, he had to tell himself that not everything in life was fair. And he knew all that too well.

"Over here." Shoto called out to them as he got into the vehicle that they had stolen from the men. Speaking of them, it seemed they managed to get away as their bodies were gone. It did not worry Shoto as they soon left, leaving the camp to drown in its revenge.

"Damn it." F/n let out a frustrated sigh as she pulled to the side of the road, before the car came to a stop. It's been a while, a long while, since they had escaped and the gloomy sky had turned dark.

Nexto to her, Izuku worriedly eyed her. Her jacket that was supposed to be on her, but instead she placed it on him to keep warm, "No more gas?"

"Yeah." She looked ahead, the dark road displaying nothing but acres of trees, "Now what?"

The freckle male glanced at the backseat where Shoto and Katsuki slept. He then glanced outside though it was too dark for his eyes to see, "Maybe we should sleep it off here."

"That's a stupid idea." She mumbled, but realizing what she let out she shook her head to herself, "I didn't mean tha-"

"I get it." He offered her a smile, almost like he was reading her. She was tired and so was he. Any plans of being out in the open was a ridiculous one and he knew that, but he wanted to make the best out of a situation. Besides, they escaped what could have been a painful death, "We need to be somewhere safe instead of being stranded and with the rain still coming down hard, we'll be drenched before we even reach a place."

She stared at his smile before looking away. How he could smile in a situation like this will always be a thing she admired of him, "Actually, it's starting to sprinkle."

He hummed, "Oh, yeah."

She was thankful that the thunder died out hours ago, "Did you reopen it?"

"Huh?" He looked at her and she pointed to her shoulder. He pulled the neck part of his short down, looking at the bandage, "it's just a little dirty. Doesn't look too bad. And your nose?"

"Nothing new." She nodded at that, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel as silence washed over them. Surprisingly, it was a comfortable silence, but enough with wasting time. She opened the door, confusing Izuku, "Wake them up."

He quickly followed after her with her jacket in hand, looking at her with a frantic look, "Y-you're not really going to look by yourself, are you? You'll get sick!"

She looked at him like he grew two heads, "You kidding? Even I know I'm not that dumb enough to go out. I'd probably die."

His heart eased a little, "But, still, if we go out now, we don't know what we could be heading for. We could be getting far from...Sorston."

"Izuku." She narrowed her eyes, and he'd be lying if his heart did not speed up at her tone, "It's better than being left out here. Besides, I have a map and I've been following it since we left that shithole."

"You could have mentioned that first." He mumbled, but her words still did not relief him. The door to the backseat opened, startling Izuku as Shoto came out, glancing at them both, not missing his friend holding her jacket, "What's going on?"

"Car ran out of gas." She opened the trunk, grabbing the bags.

"Is Kacchan awake?" Izuku asked after he handed the girl her jacket back. He had forgotten he was holding onto it until he saw Shoto's eyes flicker towards it.

"No." He shook his head, "He's drooling."

"Oh." he mumbled out, before leaving to wake up his childhood friend.

"Where are we walking to?" Shoto helped her, leaving the bag of guns to her. Their trust was slightly getting there.

"To a town not too far from here." She looked at him, "It's the best plan I got."

"Best plan?" He raised a brow at her, expecting she had come up with something else.

"Well, it's either that or we sit here and wait for a horde to come up and kill us all before we get to live our happily ever after that leaves us driving off to the sunset." She shrugged "Quite frankly, I'm not ready to die, yet."

He gave her a deadpan look before staring at an angry blonde. "If you had let me drive I would have got us there quicker."

"Without a map?" Shoto crossed his arms when the blonde rolled his eyes at him and pointed at Fn. "That she fucking stole from me."

He then yanked her bag of guns, "Which way are we going?"

"Up your ass is where we're going." She glared at him, grabbing her guns back.

"Please, I'm tired." Izuku croaked out as he looked at Shoto, hoping he would deescalate the situation, but he instead looked with an amused face.

The blonde threateningly pointed at her as she walked off, the rest shortly following. They stayed close as anything could come out from the shadows.

Hugging himself, Izuku shivered as a chill crawled up his spine, "Maybe we can find a clothing store. It's starting to get cold."

"Winter's coming." Shoto hummed out.

"I don't feel jack." Katstuki said with his eyes staring ahead.

"That's 'cause you're wearing a thick ass jacket." F/n replied.

"You are getting on my last fucking nerves." The blonde angrily muttered as sleep was getting to him. 

[thewhumpcaretaker]

♥︎ Whump Dating Sim: Longing for Flight - Part 1 ♥︎

Current Heart Level: ♡♡♡♡♡ (0/5)

Masterlist | Image Source

CW: dead bodies, gunshot wound

It’s an uneasy evening for you. Working undercover is always difficult. But this is a unique opportunity. There’s reason to believe that The Operator plans to take out a rival tonight. If that’s true, his best sniper will be at a business conference in an office tower across from that rival's hotel room. So that’s where you are too, in uncomfortable dress clothes, mingling with financiers and scrutinizing their faces for any sign that this one could be the assassin.

The assassin will have seen The Operator face to face. They'll know how the business works and maybe even where the top dog can be found. They're your best chance at taking this asshole out once and for all, so you have to take them in. Alive.

It’s shortly past midnight when the screaming starts. Shots have been heard, on the 20th floor. You get a text that the target in the adjacent building is already dead.

Security guards swarmed the sniper immediately, but it’s mostly over when you get there. The hallway is eerily quiet. Deserted. You follow a trail of bodies towards a lounge lined with picture windows, overlooking the city. They must have taken out every security guard in the whole place. There will surely be backup coming, but for now, you two are alone. And you have the upper hand. Based on the amount of blood trailing through the doorway, they're in bad shape.

Before you reach the doorway, you hear ragged breathing. Best not to surprise someone with a gun.

You lean against the side of the doorway, out of sight, and speak loud and clear. “There’s a friendly on the other side of this wall. I’m unarmed.”

The breathing hitches and you hear a gun cock in response. They'll need a little more convincing than that.

“I’m coming in,” you say. “I’m going to help you. Is that okay?”

“…No.” Their voice is deep and gruff, but it sounds very small right now.

You laugh quietly in spite of yourself. “Alright, um…How do I make it okay?”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then, “Hands over your head. Move slowly.”

You walk out with hands over your head. Now you can see him - a muscular figure, silhouetted against the pulsing red-orange glow of city nightlife. It sets his long golden hair on fire with light. You weren’t expecting him to be this beat up. Taking him in might be the easy part. “Alive” might be the hard part. And you weren’t expecting them to have this…look about them. Not the hardened eyes of a killer, but something scared and miserable. Too hopeless even to plead.

He must know how close to death he is. He’s collapsed on the floor with a rifle discarded next to him (probably empty of rounds) in favor of a handgun. He’s just barely propping himself up against the window a little, leaving a horrific red smear behind his back. He must have multiple bullet wounds. Blood is pooling rapidly around him. In a better state, he might be able to do first aid on himself, but you can see that he was trying to tie a tourniquet over his leg before you distracted him and he hadn’t succeeded yet. Probably shaking too badly. Their face is bloodless and their eyes are utterly wild with terror. Every part of him is shaking except the gun. That’s a steady, trained arm if ever you’ve seen one, the kind of training that teaches a person how to put aside everything else they’re feeling and focus on the weapon. Attack is the best defense, after all.

“Don’t come any closer.”

“I’ll get straight to the point. You’re dying and I need you alive. I have medical supplies – “

“I SAID DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!” A warning shot chips the black marble of the column to your left, making you jump and drop the med kit. It hits the floor with a bang.

“Please. I’m your only chance and we’re running out of time.” He doesn’t answer.

Tag List (comment/contact me to be added!): @bluelolblue

[evita-shelby]

Love's a state of mind

Robert Fischer x Eva Smith

Cw: mentions of murder

Prologue

Her totem is a gold Mexican peso from the year 1896 with a gunshot near the middle. For extra measure, she keeps her family dead as they are in real life to keep herself from attacking his subconscious.

If the peso is in perfect condition, she is dreaming.

If the peso is rusty as hell and with a 9 millimeter hole, she is awake.

Tonight, as she plays cat and mouse with Robert Fischer, it is as if it had come fresh from the mint.

“And what will you do now that you’ve caught me, Mr. Fischer?” she asks the billionaire beside her.

She’s managed to make it impossible for him to catch up to her until now, made the sidewalk just a hint longer, had her taxicab change when he tried to get into it and even changed the city they were in until they were in Los Angeles, where he runs his father’s empire from.

She created this dream and yet his subconscious pays her no notice and takes the changes she makes as if they had been made by him.

His projections do not attack as he has trained them to do ---and it won’t unless she tells it to.

Robert believed that because he knows he’s dreaming his subconscious hasn’t her killed twenty times over the moment he found himself chasing after her through twenty different cities.

Eva has a unique ability that allows her to create dreams and make you believe she is part of your subconscious. In fact, she has also been able to take over dreams created by others with it.

Not a single extraction has been successful on her, something Eames had said as he and Yusuf put her to the test in Morocco.

“I thought I’d never catch you, Miss. Smith.” Robert is winded and yet looking as perfect as he wants the world to think he is.

In this dream he is not under anyone’s shadow, his insecurities have been shoved aside as he plays her games and best of all, he believes he is the one in control.

Well, he was until Eva decides enough is enough.

It had been done as a whim, a couple of drinks, a few suggestions to break the monotony of his life and he had agreed to share a dream for a night.

When they woke up, they’d be in the same hotel room, wishing to make what they saw a reality and he is asking himself where Eva had been his entire life.

It was not a true inception, but it works the same without needing three levels of dreaming.

The witch heightened his desire in the real world by getting him to play her games in what he thinks is a field rigged in his favor.

You can do anything in a dream.

You could kill, fuck and live a life you want in it.

Fischer wastes no time in giving his all fantasies a try.

He has her on the elevator that is suddenly empty and full, on his desk, on the conference table and when he realizes he can do more, he grows bolder.

Places he’d been before, never been to and then suddenly, time slowed down.

Robert started with a perfect date, then a perfect relationship culminating with a family dinner hosted by his dead mother where his father loves him, and they adore her just as much as he does.

Eva panics when she sees herself in a designer wedding dress being walked down the aisle by her dead father. In the next second, she fashions a machine gun out of thin air and guns down her groom and their guests just as his snipers riddle her with holes.

“That was an experience.” she said as he looked embarrassed at how it went.

He looks at his wallet and she looks at her fucked up coin to remind themselves they are back in the real world.

His wallet doesn’t have five one-hundred-dollar bills – it is six hundred with the last hundred divided in twenties, a ten and a fifty---- nor the photograph of him and his father.

Robert has, aside from his own totem, an ultramodern militarized subconscious.

Eva has a similar defense, although hers is more about horror and the supernatural because she went through a goth phase as a teenager (and was still goth deep down)and now the macihuatli or horse-faced woman comes and drowns those who try to perform extractions or resurrect her dead family.

No extractor has been able to get past her yet, nor forger can replicate her, and she’s broken about every dreamcade she’s ever taken part in thanks to her secret weapon.

Had she not murdered her lover, he would’ve discovered a Mexican folk monster behind him about to drown him in a puddle.

“Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.” He apologized thinking it was his fault, and she dismissed it because it was hers.

Still Fischer looks like he’s ready to run, but she needs him to stay.

Eva hates herself for this, but the only way to stop Fischer Morrow from absorbing Riley International's energy companies was through him.

She needs him to want her and make her Mrs. Eva Fischer. Hence why she suggested dream sharing when they hit it off at a boring conference in New York.

“Don’t be sorry, besides, I enjoyed it.” The woman gave him a reassuring smile while removing the monitors that attached them to the dream sharing device. Somehow, she never breaks her own PASIV device.

His eyes are even more striking up close, so expressive, so clear and so blue. Eva isn’t even sure a paint that color exists.

Adds to the beauty of him, she thinks.

So insecure, so desperate for his father’s approval, and oh so beautiful even in his most pathetically vulnerable state. “And I have to say, your defenses are the best I have ever seen. I can’t even control mine as well as you do with yours, Bobby.”

You couldn’t even tell by looking at him that he had a subconscious military so efficient that it could conquer a mid-sized country in days. In the second she fired the machine gun; his snipers had given her more holes than a wheel of swiss cheese.

Eva had been more turned on by his militarized mind defenses than his delicious appearance.

And because her praise is genuine, he hesitates as he makes up an excuse to leave and return to his suite.

Robert Fischer is halfway to the elevator when he turns on his heel and returns to her room. “Last person who called me Bobby was my mother.”

“Nice woman, made me feel so welcome I almost thought it was real.” Eva comments as she offers him a chance to make those fantasies real in many ways.

“Is that why you killed me, Evita? It became too real for you.” He asks using the nickname her father had used.

“If it starts to feel like a better reality, neither of us would ever want to wake up. You’ve heard about what happened to that woman the Frenchmen told us about, went batshit insane after her husband woke her up.” she answered, returning his vulnerability with hers.

And it works, Robert stays, and Eva shoves her guilt for using him by making some of those fantasies a reality.

By morning, Eva’s checking out of the hotel on the arm of Maurice Fischer’s heir, by the end of the year, she is Mrs. Fischer.

The guilt never leaves, even when she builds a real life with him and comes to love him more than anyone else in the world.

“If you want me to go with you all you have to do is ask.” She says as they parted ways at the private airport.

“No, he said I must go alone. Uncle Peter said it’s best if I do as he says just this once.” Rob shook his head and she wished he had a bit more of a backbone.

Those two could tell him to jump and he’d ask how high. A wonder they didn’t get him to break up with her after he introduced her as his girlfriend and future wife.

“Gonna dream of you every night I’m away, baby.” Rob assured her with an almost pained smile.