#SEAL Team Whump

[wonderwhump]

wonderwhump / november_1 fanfiction list

Hi guy's I hope you're all doing fine :)

This is a list of my fanfics. I'm a huge fan of reading and also writing fanfiction of all kinds of fandoms. My AO3 name is november_1.

If you like, check my them out. They are all whump stories with various degrees of emotional and physical whump. If anything triggers you, please check out the tags before reading.

I'm happy about any feedback you might give me. Kudos and comments make my day (yeah, I'm desperate and attention seeking 🤣 But aren't all writers...)

I will add to this list as I write more stories.

FANDOM: Jedi Fallen Order / Star Wars

Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground

After Zeffo, after barely escaping Ordos Eris with his life, Cal is hurt. Physically, but also mentally. He should have listened to his master's words. "Trust in the Force alone." Now he's paying the price for letting his guard down and people in - and this stupid, childish notion that anybody might care about him in this vast universe.

A Cal Kestis whump story.

Endings and Beginnings

An explosion on Bracca and Cal and Prauf are in the thick of it. Hurt and comfort ensue…

FANDOM: Slow Horses

Operation Escapegoat

The force of the impact spun River around, slamming him backward into a tree, his back pressing into the rough bark. Then came the pain—a sharp, blinding sensation radiating from the point of impact.

The clamour from a few seconds ago had come to an abrupt halt. A brutal silence settled over them, broken only by a quiet, “Shit.” Blinking a few times to steady himself and grasp reality, River looked down. “You … you shot me!” he gasped.

FANDOM: Lockwood & Co.

The dread of undying love

Lucy had been keeping a close eye on Lockwood for days. Something was off, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Yet. He was quiet. And pale. Big dark circles under his eyes. She knew something was wrong, but he didn’t talk about it. Of course he didn’t.

Will Lucy and George find out what's going on and be able to help their friend before it's too late?

A Lockwood & Co whump story with lots of angst and pain but also friendship and some undeniable more-than-friends-tension between Lockwood and Lucy.

FANDOM: Chicago PD / Chicago Med

Duty & Obligation

“You want what?!” Voight’s voice came loudly from the office. Way quieter, but loud enough to understand, Halstead said “I need a few days off, Sir, because-“ But Voight didn’t listen. “Are you kidding me, Halstead?! You fuck up the op, let Harris get away and the next day you have the audacity to come in here and ask me for a few days off? What for? Too stressful for you around here? Need a holiday or some relaxing spa days while we are trying to fix your fucking mistakes? Are you out of your mind?”

Jay Halstead is having a tough time. But nobody knows just how tough...

The wrong son

A party. An argument. A car crash. And a dead brother...

Lots of angst and emotional whump for a young Jay Halstead.

Survivor

"What are you supposed to do when somebody calls you out of the blue one beautiful summer evening and tells you, that your husband is missing?"

This story is set some months after 10x3. Jay and his team are captured on a mission in Bolivia. What will happen to them? Will they get out alive?

Brothers

Jay and Will Halstead take a car trip together. It doesn't go that well...

I'll give it to someone special

Jay is out Christmas shopping. But the day doesn't go as planned.

Into the abyss

They find Jay in his apartment, unconscious, unresponsive... dying. Pills and alcohol. A suicide attempt obviously. But was it really?

A week of bad luck

It was one of those days you wish you just hadn’t gotten up at all. That you’d just have turned over in bed, pulled up the sheets over your head and ignored the world out there. It had been a whole week of those days for Jay Halstead and he desperately wished to be able to crawl back into the safety of his comfy bed and hide from the world.

But the world had some more bad luck from him in store.

Life and Death and Baseball

Jay gets injured during a Baseball game. But that's just the beginning and the day gets from bad to worse rather unexpectedly.

Camping is fuckin' dangerous, man!

Jay stumbles into the bullpen and collapses to the ground unconscious. He's seriously injured and drugged up to his eyeballs. Everybody thought he was out in the woods camping and fishing for the last week... But did he even get there? What happened to Jay and who did this to him?!

The bar fight

A good looking stranger steps in to protect a woman in a bar.

Sacrifice

It was Jay's fault that they were in this mess. Now he'd do anything to protect his unit. Even if it meant torture and death...

Pain & Purpose

"The mornings were the worst. The nights were pretty bad too, to be honest. But the mornings made him feel so lost, like he had forfeited the grip on the world. Like the world, and Jay in it, had lost all meaning."

Jay Halstead is a broken man - physically and mentally - when he returns from the war in Afghanistan as the only survivor of his unit. How will he deal with the pain and the trauma?

Remember me

Hailey is 37 weeks pregnant and she and Jay are excited and happy to be parents soon. But one day they are kidnapped right off the street... and suddenly happiness turns into fear, pain, suffering and despair... What will happen to Jay and Hailey and their unborn baby girl? Will they survive this dire situation unscathed?

Beautiful day gone south

The blood felt warm and sticky. It gushed out between her fingers and colored her hands in bright red. She pressed down as hard as she could and he groaned. But how ever hard she pressed down on the wounds, the blood kept on flowing. With every passing second, with every drop of blood, she could feel the life leaving him.

Burning up

Jay knew he was getting a cold. He had been feeling off for the last couple of days: sore throat, beginning cough, headaches, maybe even a fever. But he just ignored it. It would pass. He didn’t have time for a common cold, no time for feeling like shit. And just for the record: Halsteads didn’t get ill. End of discussion.

Shaken

"There was a sharp jolt and then the earth started shaking. From one second to the next the lovely sunny day turned into chaos and destruction."

Will and Jay Halstead are in Los Angeles visiting their friend Connor Rhodes who moved there a year ago to work at UCLA. It was supposed to be a vacation! A little escape from Chicago with sun, beach, fun and drinks. But somehow everything turns out quite differently when an earthquake hits the city and Will and Jay are buried under tons of debris.

Trust and betrayal

Connor's day starts out perfect - until he is wrongfully accused of sexually assaulting a young woman. Suddenly everybody hates him, nobody believes in his innocence, he is suspended and arrested. Who is this woman that accused him of raping her? And what kind of game is she playing? Will Connor be found innocent or stumble deeper and deeper into this mess?

It should have been me

Terry's death hit Jay really hard. It triggers his PTSD and he's spiraling down. But before he can hit rock bottom, somebody from Jay's past turns up and something even worse happens. Something that Jay and his brother Will may not get out of alive...

This story is set right after 3x17.

Shallow waters

If anybody had told Jay that morning that he would drown in thigh deep water in the middle of Chicago, he would have laughed. But right now, he didn’t feel like laughing as the water swashed over his mouth.

FANDOM: Seal Team

Broken

Brock’s last conscious thought was „Oh, fuck – that was it!”. He didn’t feel the shuddering of his body when it impacted with ground. Didn’t feel the bones splintering. Didn’t feel his limbs go slack. He didn’t feel the blood seeping from his nose and head wound, forming a little pool on the forest floor. He also didn’t hear his brother’s screaming. Didn’t hear Cerberus whining.

Wake up, sleeping beauty!

Clay still lay on his side, as he had before, eyes closed and fast asleep. He looked pale. Stella crouched down in front of him smiling, gently stroking his hair. “Hey, wake up, sleeping beauty.” She kissed him, first on his forehead, then on his lips. He didn’t move. Why didn’t he move?

Clay just doesn't wake up the morning after they came home from deployment in Afghanistan. What happened? Will he be ok?

Cold as ice

Sonny Quinn’s right leg was on fire. Well, obviously not literally, as he was lying on his back on the icy ground - in the snow of a dense larch forest. He was sure the leg was broken. He had sneaked a peak down his leg – and no leg should ever be bent in such an angle. But that wasn’t his top concern at the moment. Clay, his best friend, lay about 5 meters from him, his body curled around the tree trunk that had broken his fall down the steep slope - as if he was hugging it. Lifeless.

Too much blood

Brock felt something impact with the back of his head. Hard. His head, and with it his whole body, flew forward and stars exploded in front of his eyes.

Brock is mugged on his way home from the bar.

FANDOM: Six

8 weeks later

Did you ever wonder what happened to Joe "Bear" Graves and his team after the show's last episode (S2E10)? This is my take on that story never told...

Joe „Bear“ Graves was in pain. 8 weeks since the day that had shattered his life to pieces. 8 weeks since the day he had destroyed the life of the people he loved. But now it would be over soon.

[justhere4thewhump]

This shot is one of my WEAKNESSES. A gurney + unconscious/barely conscious wounded fella + oxygen of some sort + worried loved ones?! 🫠😮‍💨

[mostlywhump]

concept ii

thinking about flipped car whump. ignore realism concerns hear me out. 

[mrsreadalot]

I didn't swoon

It has been a long hot day full of training. Jason made them sweat all day long, all of them nearing exhaustion now. The last torture of the day was the O-course in full gear. They all made it, not near anyone’s best time, but they still reached the finish line.

Finally, Jason is satisfied and tells the team to go get rid of their gear and take that long overdue shower. Arriving in their cage room, they all grab one of the cold waters from the fridge, gulping them down while discarding their gear in their cages.

Sonny and Clay are the first ones out of the door, heading for the shower room, closely followed by Jason and Ray.

“You coming?” Trent looks at Brock in his cage, who only packed his gear away but doesn’t look like he is going to the showers.

“In a moment. I have to check on Cerberus first, make sure he has enough to drink and to tell the kennel master to check his paws for blisters.”

Trent gives a short chuckle. “Sure. But remember, you have to drink, too. And you need that shower. You reek.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Brock waves him off, closes his cage and follows Trent out of the door of their cage room. He turns in the opposite direction and heads for the kennels to make sure his K9 partner is well taken care of.

Trent just shakes his head. He knows his best friend; knows he won’t relax or look after himself before he is satisfied that his dog is ok. Even before entering the shower room, Trent can hear the laughter and bantering from his teammates, Sonny being the loudest of all. Entering the room, the other four are already in the different stalls, water running in all of them, joking loudly with each other. He is surprised that they have enough energy to fool around. He himself feels utterly exhausted and just wants to soak in the water to loosen his muscles.

Entering one of the stalls, he slowly undresses, letting his dust- and sweat-soaked fatigues drop into one crumpled pile on the floor. He turns on the water and steps into the spray, savoring the warm stream running down his body, feeling his tight muscles relax while he listens to his brother’s banter.

When the water starts to cool, he makes quick work of shampooing and washing off the rest of the grime. Stepping out of the shower, he towels himself dry. All of his brothers have finished their showers, all in various states of undress, and already discussing evening plans.

Sonny is talking Clay into coming to the Bulkhead with a little help from Jason. Ray has already excused himself for the evening, having to be home to look after the kids for Naima to go to a school thing he can’t remember. Finally, Clay agrees to come and Sonny turns his attention to Trent.

“You coming, too, right?”

A beer at the Bulkhead is not out of the question, but an early evening on his couch sounds tempting, too.

“I don’t know…” Trent looks around for Brock’s opinion, not seeing him in any of the showers. “Where is Brock?”

Sonny looks around, so do the others.

“Huh.” Clay looks concerned. “I haven’t seen him in here.”

“He wanted to look after Cerb before showering, but that was…” Trent checks his watch. “Wow, nearly 45 minutes ago. He should be here already.”

They all share a concerned look and as if on an unseen signal they all rush to the door. Trent reaches their cage room first. Pushing the door open with more force than he meant to, he scans the empty room for his missing brothers. He already starts to turn back to head for the kennels, when Clay’s shout has him stop and turn back.

“Brock! Oh, shit.” Clay rushes past Trent, pulling him along, the other three a little slower but following.

Brock sits crumbled in the corner of his cage, eyes closed, unmoving. Trent slides to his knees next to him and tries to wake him up.

“Brock, hey buddy.” Trent gives him a firm sternal rub that gets him a low groan. He taps Brock’s cheeks, checks for a pulse and breathing. “Skin is hot and dry, pulse is fast and faint, breathing is shallow and fast. Clay, grab my bag. Sonny, help me get him out of here so we have more space. Ray call medical, tell them to bring a gurney.”

His brothers all rush to heed his orders. Sonny takes Brock’s feet while Trent grabs him under the arms, and they drag him out of his cage. Clay drops Trent’s bag next to him and Trent gets everything to start an iv-line and push fluids in.

“Jason, Clay, strip him to his boxers. Sonny, get water, cold if possible, we have to cool him down."

While the others work, Trent connects the first bag of fluids with the iv-line and lets the fluids rush into his brother. Working hand in hand Jason and Clay take only a few minutes to get Brock’s clothes off of him. Trent exchanges the already empty first bag of fluids just as Sonny arrives with a bucket of water and a few towels. Jason and Clay have already stripped Brock of his fatigues and start to help Sonny wet the towels and cover him with them. As the cool towels touch the hot and dry skin, Brock starts to stir, slowly trying to remove the uncomfortable cold against his skin.

“Easy, brother.” Trent squeezes Brocks shoulder softly, gently holding him down, making sure the iv-line stays in place.

Brock opens his eyes, blinking several times before he can focus on his brothers.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Trent holds his thumb and index finger in front of Brocks face.

“At least two. Where am I?” Brock’s voice is dry, cracked and he lifts his head a little to look around, trying to find out why he is lying on the floor in their cage room. “What happened?”

“You swooned in your cage, princess.” Sonny’s drawl betrays how worried he still is about his brother.

“Didn’t swoon.” Brock closes his eyes again, letting his head fall back to the floor. “Might have passed out.”

Trent chuckles. “Whatever you want to call it, you scared the living shit out of us. Don’t do that to us again!”

Brock just nods, still not opening his eyes again.

“Brock, how much did you drink today?”

At Trent’s question, Brock furrows his brows, trying to think back over the day. “Not sure… Probably not enough.”

Ray arrives with two paramedics and a gurney, and with the opening of the door Brock finally opens his eyes again.

“Hell, no.” Brock shakes his head when he sees them entering, sitting up a little, but already feeling dizzy.

“Hell, yes.” Trent answers. “You passed out in your cage. You have had a heat stroke. You need to go to the infirmary and probably stay there overnight for observation. No point arguing.”

“Oh, come on. I’m just a little dehydrated.” Brock tries to argue but he is cut off, this time by Jason.

“No, Brock. Go get checked out. Or I’ll sideline you.”

“Fine.” Brock gives in, lying back down.

The medics have watched the argument with amusement. They already know the guys from Bravo, know they only agree to go to the infirmary if ordered. Just like all the other Tier One operators. Trent gives them an update on what happened and how much fluid he has already given Brock. They help an embarrassed Brock to the gurney, leaving him covered in wet towels, and make their way to the base infirmary.

The rest of Bravo watch them leave with Brock, all shaking their heads.

“I need a drink.”

They all look at Trent, not believing that statement came from him. They all expected him to follow Brock, not letting him out of his sight.

“I need a drink. Then I’ll get him some fresh clothes and check on him at the infirmary.”

They all agree, smiling. Jason slings his arm around Trent’s shoulder and guides him out of the cage room.

“Let’s all finish dressing first and then we head to the Bulkhead. First round is on me.”

[alidravana]

Fandom: SEAL Team

Ship: Mandy/Jason/Brock

Length/Rating: ~1.3K, Teen

Tags: Muzzled, Flashbacks, Panic Attacks, past captivity, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Injuries, Supportive Partners, Best doggos, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hugs

Summary:

Mandy struggles to deal with the aftermath of her captivity.

Really enjoyed writing this ship!

Please enjoy reading (here on A03)!

[whumblr]

Find them!

Good whump words in all variants. So have some prompts you can hear :) from calm and collected to most desperate.

- Whumpee hiding in a darkened room. They hear the door open, hear multiple sets of footsteps enter, getting closer, walking past. Then a calm "Find them".

- Whumper bending over, picking up the remnants of cut rope. He straightens back up, looks around. A click of the tongue. This is an inconvenience.

- A blood trail leading to the woods (Whumper: calm, with a smile. Caretaker: a little less calm)

- The captives have escaped, but the building is sealed anyway.

- The (snow) storm is getting more extreme and Whumpee hasn’t come back yet. "We have to find them!"

- Whumper has been signalled nearby and Whumpee (oblivious) is out.

- Caretaker realising in the midst of chaos that Whumpee isn't among them anymore.

- Whumper who has just been shot (bonus if sniper) or punched to the ground screaming in rage, "Find them!"

- Caretaker crying, pleading with the rescue team.

- Whumper slamming the door to their office open. Surprise :) the precious thingamajig / important documents / hostages are missing.

- Whumper finding the cell empty. And the bigger badder Whumper is waiting for them.

[buddierecs]

hurt/comfort buddie fics.

all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut) make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

a leaf falls on loneliness (highly recommend this fic!!) by: iimpossible_things "buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “i’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. really, he doesn’t. the 118 has too many good, kind people for that. but every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to eddie or bobby or hen or chim, he hears eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.” —you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting— so each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence." word count: 11k important tags: angst, fluff, happy ending, orginal male character blue skies by: spaceprincessem "buck meets another savior baby and everything comes crashing down" word count: 36k important tags: my sisters keeper au, original characters, ptsd, nightmares, emotional whump, evan buckley break down, getting together and i'm not good at winning fights anymore by: spaceprincessem "five times buck needs to feel eddie's heartbeat and the one time eddie needs to feel his" word count: 24k important tags: 5+1 things, whump, protective!eddie diaz, getting together, soft boys in love, ptsd give your heart and soul to charity by: 42hrb "eddie dumps god, gets some more therapy, accepts parts of himself he was taught to hate, loves his best friend, and loves himself" word count: 12k important tags: emotional hurt/comfort, pov eddie diaz, character study, catholic guilt, therapy, pining, getting together i could find you darling, in any life by: justhockey "buck and eddie meet in afghanistan. it changes everything." word count: 27k important tags: diferent first meeting au, army!eddie diaz, navy seal!evan buckley, emotional infidelity, slow burn, hurt/comfort, love confessions catharsis by: rogerzsteven "it only takes one minor inconvenience for buck to have his long overdue breakdown" word count: 5.3k important tags: emotional hurt/comfort, mental/emotional breakdown, bobby nash as evan buckley parent, multiple pov stay by: soft_satan buck’s voice was soft and hesitant, but full of patience when he finally spoke again. “did I do something to upset you, chris? i can leave—” "no!” chris whirled on him, a complete shift from the standoffish vibe he had been giving a second ago. the tears he bravely held back finally broke free from his eyes, sliding down his rosy cheeks from behind his glasses. he shook his head vehemently, the yellow crayon falling to the table. “no, I’m not mad. please…” his words turned to whimpers, his lip trembling. “please don’t leave me too.” word count: 31k important tags: whump, angst, family feels, found family, getting together, team as family

habits by: whileyouresleeping "buck's not sure what's going on when eddie starts kissing him on the head after a rough call, only now it's a thing, and it's a thing buck would very much like to continue if he knew what it meant." word count: 4.9k important tags: tooth-rotting fluff, mild hurt/comfort stick with you by soft_satan "eddie licked his dry lips as he reached for his radio, trying to keep his movements slow and delicate to prevent any more damage to himself or buck. “diaz to captain nash.” “go for nash,” came bobby’s quick reply. “you two okay? where are you?” “we’re in a bit of a sticky situation here…” “we’re a shish kabob, cap!” buck chimed in. eddie rolled his eyes" word count: 5.9k important tags: impalements, whump, getting together, love confessions, hurt!buddie still by: brewsrosemilk "for the first time, buck longs for a bullet wound to treat. dirt to dig at. a door to break through. something. there’s nothing. “your guess was correct, diaz,” the bomb technician tells them, as he gestures to the orange circle. “you’re standing on a large sensor plate, wired to a detonator. It’s incredibly important that you don’t move. don’t shift. when you put your weight down, it was like cocking a gun - you take your weight off, this thing is powerful enough to take the entire house with it." word count: 9.3k important tags: near death experience, love confessions, happy ending, first kiss

be my baby (i'll look after you) by: youdrewstarsaroundmyscars118 "buck finally breaks down after fixing everyone but himself" word count: 1.5k important tags: nightmares, ptsd, panic attacks, pet names, cuddling, pre-relationship, almost love confession i was made for you by: youdrewstarsaroundmyscars118 "buck’s taking care of christopher while eddie is in texas when chris gets sick and has to get surgery." word count: 5.3k important tags: sick!christopher diaz, parent evan buckley, hospitals, bobby nash is evan buckley's parent, getting together, 118 crew as family i know you're hurting (but so am i) by: justhockey "eddie understands better than maybe anyone else ever could, how it feels to have everything unravel in the palm of your hands. he knows frustration - he knows fury. he’s painfully familiar with that burning rage that crackles in the tips of your fingers, that makes your skin hot and chest tight, and makes you want to punch anyone that dares to even look at you. but that doesn’t give chim the right to lay a damn hand on buck" word count: 3.7k important tags: ptsd, feelings realisation, protective!eddie diaz, communication, 5x04 coda of bikes and concussions by: datleggy "buck gets into an accident on his way to work in the morning, and before he can explain why he's late, he gets thoroughly chewed out and the rest of his day goes way downhill from there." word count: 7.6k important tags: injured!evan buckley, misunderstandings, father-son relationship (buck and bobby), team as family it's okay by: itsmylifekay "buck gets hurt on a call and doesn’t tell anyone." word count: 11k important tags: injury, dissociation, buck needs a hug love language by: whileyouresleeping "eddie's love language is acts of service, and buck doesn't totally get it." word count: 6.4k important tags: mild hurt/comfort, pining, fluff, friends to lovers don't go without me by: ingu "there was a snap, and a crack, and buck was suddenly weightless. the car, the tree, eddie, everything was falling. buck was falling. falling." word count: 31k important tags: major character injury, pining, team as family, whump, love confessions, getting together accidental (please check tw!!) by: rosefield "post lawsuit, buck accidentally cuts his arm. he decides that maybe not getting help is best for everyone." word count: 36k important tags: depression, suicide attempt, post-lawsuit, worried!eddie diaz, happy ending

check out the recs for mature rating hurt/comfort fics :) explicit rating hurt/comfort fics

[whumporama]

Whump trope I like is Whumpee succumbing to mind control.

When it's the trance like type, they can feel themselves lose control and desperately try to fight back before losing control, bonus is whumper is either eerily calm or outright taunting them.

Possession with them fighting back until they are either imprisoned in their own mind, helpless, or sealed in something else.

Puppetry where they slowly lose control of their body, all that remains are things you wouldn't actively think about (heartbeat, breathing, etc.) And their eyes. They can talk unless a certain string is pulled. Completely conscious, watching their body act not of its own accord.

Oh yes, I love some good mind control, especially if the Whumpee is still conscious, but just can't control their body. They're just a passenger, watching as they do awful things.

Especially if their friends/family knows they're mind controlled, and begs them to fight it, but they just can't. And Whumper taunting them, 'oh you can try begging all you want, they just listen to me now. Isn't that right, pet?'

What if they're forced to fight their friends, and the team has to choose between dying or letting Whumpee die. And when they stab Whumpee, the mind control is broken for a moment, but Whumpee scrambles back, telling them to just let them bleed out, saying they can feel to control get stronger again.

And even as they're dying and bleeding out, they fight for their mind, wanting to be themselves in their final moments.

[mothervvoid]

Kakashi's Birthday Recs

since it's our beloved boy's birthday, I thought I'd take some time to rec a few of my favorite fics (and a few of my own)!

The Pack Survives by ihopethelightwillshineuponus

genfic | 97k / 25/25ch | Kakashi & Team 7-centric When a simple C-rank mission turns into a straight-up nightmare, the members of Team Seven narrowly escape with their lives. They end up stuck in the middle of nowhere, each of them injured and forced to rely on one another for help.

A++ whump & team bonding, it's great!

Like You'd Get Your Knuckles Bloody For Me by mabledonut

genfic | 37k / 10/10ch | Kakashi & Team 7-centric Kakashi was in hell, or something close to it. a.k.a. Genin Team 7 goes bananas after their sensei gets kidnapped and tortured.

another A++ whump fic, with some really great team bonding moments. kakashi defies hiruzen's decree a little and spills a bit of knowledge about naruto's dad + team ten cameo & mednin!shikamaru!

The Last Time I'll Abandon You by mabledonut

genfic | 300k+ / 78/120ch | Team Minato-centric | Ongoing “Hatake Kakashi, isn’t it…?” Kakuzu asked as he emerged from underground, as the black strings or wires or whatever they were retracted back into his body, catching Kakashi from behind along the way, tugging him down, once again laying him prone on the hard rocks and roots of the forest floor. “It’s been some time, but yes, I do remember you…” Shit, we are in a bad way, Kakashi thought to himself as he struggled to get up. Who’s gonna…

an absolutely SAGA of a story, a must-read. though it's a genfic it DOES have some background ships like asukure, and features TEENIE TINNYYY allusions to ships like kakarin, obikaka and obirin. some top-tier whump, nauseating, will have you reading through your fingers at times, i honestly cannot recommend this fic enough!

Uneasy Lies the Head by Hiiraeth

genfic | 130k / 27/27ch | Kakashi & Team 7-centric “Shikamaru,” He began, trying to stay calm. “I’d like for you to get Sakura." Kakashi swallowed thickly and swayed on his feet. "Because I think I've just been poisoned."

POISON FIC!! kakashi has been poisoned! will he and co figure out a cure IN TIME? take a look and FIND OUT!! stunning whump, wonderful team dynamics. this was one of the first fics i ever read in the naruto fandom and it did NOT disappoint!

Just Leave Me in Two Pieces by @perpetuallyuneloquent

genfic | 12.5k / 3/?ch | Kakashi & Team Minato-centric | Ongoing Kakashi kept his eyes closed as the world came into focus around him. The stale air smelled vaguely like old sake and burning kerosene, the ground beneath him gritty and cold. His mind was too sluggish for him to process more, however. I just want to go back to sleep, honestly. Well, that was concerning. Usually, he couldn’t sleep. …Where am I?

exciting and deliciously upsetting fic as team minato goes through the recycling wheel of miscommunication. featuring some grade A whump and a side of people not saying what they should when they need to, and a very interesting original villain!

And Of Course, I'm throwing a couple of my own fics:

red clouds, white wings, silver hair, dogteeth by Mothervvoid

Kakashi/Konan | 2.8k / 1/1ch | Kakashi & Konan-centric When she goes to him she must shed her red clouds and become something else. White wings, dark clothes; bright like an angel as she was when she first made her descent into the ravine where she found him. She could have left him of course, leaf seal on his headband and red spiral flak jacket. This man is her enemy.

in this fic i dare to ask the question: how would this ship work? feat some kakashi whump!

Pebble Brain by Mothervvoid

Kakashi/Obito | 20.7k / 6/6ch | Kakashi & Obito-centric Communication is king.

my obikaka magnum opus.

[soullessdianthus]

𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘

Summary: Reader's everyday life had been turned upside down since she had been recruited to Ghost's team. As a young, but prominent soldier she had to face many obstacles, but there was one in particular that made her blood boil ━ Commander Phillip Graves of Shadow Company. Little did she knew, that the blonde man with angelic was face going to make her suffer and bleed, wishing for the embrace of Death to swallow her whole. Y/C ━ your callsign Also posted on my ao3 ⟶ 𝕏

A/N: Basically, a whump where Graves is torturing the Reader after trying to frame her for a federal crime. Then Ghost finds out. Dark themes ahead.

Warnings: graves, canon typical violence (blood, guns, implied sexual harrasment), gore (desc. of tortures), angst, some sprinkles of comfort at the end

Word count: 7.6k

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐄

For as long as you could remember, the commander of Shadow Company made you feel uneasy. At first, you couldn’t precisely determine what was wrong – with him or you. There was this strange feeling, an odd hunch regarding Phillip Graves. Thank God, you didn’t work for him. 

The whole collaboration thing that General Shepherd had with them was bizarre. A private military company? As far as you knew, they were called mercenaries, not some elitist soldier group. Their commander was oddly loyal to the general, it almost seemed like their bonds were far more complicated than a paycheck. 

Soon enough you realized he was his executioner, a war criminal literally. 

But your colleagues kept chastising you for making such hideous assumptions about higher ranks. You rather quickly learned not to share too much of your personal opinion with the other cadets. 

Thereby, your voice of reason and concerns were sealed within your own mind, left to take roots. Particularly when you sat on your own on the side of the training grounds just after lunch break. Your gaze was focused on the fellow soldiers battling with the obstacle course, although your thoughts kept spinning in a never ending cycle – analyzing the latest mission, what happened step by step, what went wrong, what you had done poorly. 

That was your key to survival – repeating the excellently executed tasks and never letting yourself slip up. Because there won’t be a second chance. 

Some may say that you were an overthinker. That such shredding of each event into smaller pieces might mess up with your brain or worse – sanity. 

But who the fuck cared about your sanity in a military? All of them had their hands tainted with blood, all of you had done some things that a perfectly ordinary person would find atrocious. 

And sometimes you were ashamed of that. There was a time, at the beginning of your service where you couldn’t face your God at all. The evening prayers ceased, as the shame pooling in you forbade you from reciting the lines. 

In spite of that, what wise people used to say that “time heals wounds” became your truth. You reconciled that death would be following you no matter where you would go. And each day, over and over you tried to omit feeding her greedy pit of a stomach.

Until you met Graves –  in many ways he resembled your friend reaper.  But he was far from being a friend. Mowing the fields of living, leaving corpses behind – “claw one’s way” was his motto. But there was a charming shell of a man that many seemed to fall for. 

A soft, rounded face covered with shallow frowns and not so many scars. Short, yellow hair kept impeccably brushed to the side, beard usually trimmed or shaved. And those piercing eyes of his. Phillip’s glance balanced on the edge of calmness and hatred. Only thanks to his brows could you tell the difference.

Some of your colleagues from the cadet group stalked behind you into the shower room as soon as you returned from the latest mission, still drenched in sweat and the scent of war. Pestering, but not about you of course. 

Since you passed all of the tests, you were amongst the few lucky ones that got introduced to the lieutenant's team. It wasn’t just any ordinary lieutenant, it was Ghost. Infamous man who wore a skull mask. Belonging to his division felt like joining some exclusive special forces. Which, in a way, was true. 

But at the end of the day, you were just a private. You have heard from your current superiors that you might have the potential to make it to sergeant in the next few years. Only if you stay alive, that is. So therefore it became your priority. 

Another week began, but you stopped counting days in the calendar. Every morning when you woke up, you checked the temperature and the schedule for the day. The decision of not tracing the days of the week seemed more… soothing. You were not counting the days until your demise, so what was the point of knowing if it was the third or fourth of the month?

Within the short period of time you have spent in the army you learned that time is the most precious thing in the world. The minutes, the seconds of you breathing in and out, devouring the essence of living. 

Time was fleeting and you were ready to do everything, not to let it slip away. 

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈

As the new week started, a new mission was approaching. All you knew was where to report, in what type of gear with what kind of weapon. You were just a private after all. So when you happened to find yourself, sitting on the bench amongst the fellow soldiers, his raspy voice echoed like war drums. The thuds of Ghost’s steps synchronized with the beating of your heart and the loud sways of helo’s propellers.

There it was – the adrenaline. The sweet hormone that kept you going. 

Tonight’s objective was crystal clear – ambush, then break in the building and search through it, looking for a man called Barnet. He was a federal agent, yet allegedly he was involved with illegal weapons dealing in and beyond the country’s borders. Now, he hired some mercenaries to protect his ass. Your group, with the help of Shadows, was supposed to capture that man alive for further investigation.

After another happy landing, you abandoned the helo and walked toward the gathering point where some Shadows were already standing. To your misfortune, Phillip was standing beside them.

And until your last step, you tried to manifest that he wouldn’t notice you this time. Well, the universe wasn’t too indulgent for you lately. 

━ There she is! 

“Oh, fuck me, everything but not him again”, you thought to yourself, making your way to the rest of the group. Your fingers clenched tightly over the M4 rifle you were carrying. 

━ Commander. 

You tried to keep a professional facade, referring to him with his rank. There was no time for a small talk as the clock was ticking. 

━ It have been a while, wasn’t it? ━ Graves turned his body towards you, causing a dozen of eyes landing over your frame. Somehow, the tactical vest and your equipment began weighing on under their curious looks. The lieutenant’s was the heaviest of them. ━ Let me tell you something, doll. I’ve never thought I’d meet someone colder than Ghost here. Are you always like this, huh?

━ I’m not cold. Just focused on my job, sir. 

He kept drilling a hole into your soul by looking a little too long to your liking with his blue eyes. They were the color of the ocean, of the sea you missed so much. God, how long was it since you last let the waves splash over your ankles?

━ That’s appreciated, soldier. 

Only then he returned to evaluating the situation with Ghost. In a matter of seconds you were supposed to enter the battlefield. Therefore you had to get your act together.

Breath in and breathe out. Try to focus on the commands, but count the prime numbers in your head at the same time. The simple mathematics helped you in distress.  At least the technique helped with your panic attacks through the years prior.

Within the next twenty minutes you found yourself with one of your teammates, callsign Omen, on their way, clearing out the second floor, left wing of the building. Since he was physically bigger than his partner, it was you who was going first. In case of need, you would quickly disappear behind the corner – you weren’t as easy to spot as he was. 

The building itself seemed to resemble a school or some sort of city council – the countless hallways and rooms made it an ideal layout for a shoutout with the enemy. Apparently, from what the two of you heard through the radio, Ghost was right after the target. It meant the mission was about to end.

Mrs. Laswell was right, calling it an “in and out” type of operation. All that was left to do was to keep your position until your lieutenant captured the objective. 

Because there was no sign of the opponent’s forces nearby, you and Omen split to sweep through the rooms departing from the long hallway. Perhaps, hiding some mercenaries?

You found yourself standing in front of the locked doors. Your heart slowed down by now, your body wanting to refuse to stay in combat mode. With a few firm kicks, you broke down the blocked doors to find yourself facing… an office or an archive.

The room had no windows and it was almost dark inside, the light from the hallway illuminating the interior. An uneasy sensation creeping up your spine. Plans and stacks of files laying on the table’s surface, pulling you closer. Hanging board, closed laptop still plugged in and a pot of recently brewed coffee. 

In that moment, as you stepped inside the room, you sealed your fate. Your curiosity became your doom, but you didn’t know that yet.

As your gaze wandered through some handwritten notes on the board, you heard a clunking sound of a metal bin rolling next to you on the ground. For some time you couldn’t register what exactly happened. 

Suddenly you began to run through the hallway, before “the bin” exploded. The recoil of the grenade made you stumble forward until your knees and fists hit the concrete ground.

For a moment there was silence. Blissful silence. 

Then the muffled thuds of someone’s steps blended with the squeaking noise ringing in your both ears. The fear pooled in your stomach, causing you to gasp for fresh air. You only noticed their presence as you saw the tip of their shoes right in your face.

The vision in front of your eyes was blurry, the image shaking uncontrollably. It felt almost like you were drunk, but you were clearly not. You were very much sober. 

The tight straps of your helmet dug into your head and temple like they were squeezing your brain out. The helmet weighed down on your poor head, so you tried to take it off – fingers awkwardly struggling with the straps.

The person standing in front of you grabbed you by your arm and helped you get on your feet. Then another set of arms wrapped around your back, but this touch was different – you knew this one belonged to Omen. A colleague, a friend.

Your heart was swaddled with warmth for a minute, until the other person decided to open their big mouth.

━ Come on, doll, we’re leaving. ━ A familiar, southern accent almost made your blood boil.

If God was real, he was clearly turning your life into a comedic spectacle of misery. Of all the possibilities it had to be him. 

━ Can you walk? ━ Omen asked and it was the first thing you registered correctly. The buzzing noise finally freed your eardrums, now leaking with blood. You nodded, but his hand was still belaying behind you. ━ What was that?

━ Some pre-installed grenade, I think. 

“Or someone rolled it beneath my feet”, you thought about that being a possibility too. You always considered other scenarios. It wasn’t your first encounter with an explosive, you knew the pre-installed ones usually weren’t rolling down the ground and you hadn’t nudged any cord. 

Besides, how come the Shadows and Graves suddenly happened to be there? 

Maybe your friends were right and you have already lost your sanity. Perhaps you went absolutely crazy, but that madness made you want to place together the sequence of events. You needed to understand what happened, because something was off. 

And there he was, walking on your right – Commander Graves, the reaper. It seemed that him and his Shadows were escorting the two of you to the gathering point as you were still numb after the explosion. He walked with his chin high, eyes sparkling with confidence after a successful mission. The aura that surrounded him made you feel like a prisoner of a warhound. 

Why?

Everything following “your salvation” blended together into one mush. Omen was a good friend of yours and he made sure you were not seriously injured. Only when the two of you sat on the bench inside the helo, you told him the whole truth.

━ There was something in that room. Something important. Papers. 

━ And they secured the evidence by destroying it with that grenade? ━ He was quick to follow your pattern of thinking, but it still wasn’t enough. You had a feeling it wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

At the end of the day, Barnet got arrested and by this time he should be escorted by the Shadow Company to the FBI associated facility, meanwhile Ghost’s team was on their way back to the base. Everything from now on should have felt steady. 

But it didn’t.

━ Wounded? ━ Lieutenant interrupted the conversations that were being held between the teammates. 

━ Survivor of grenade here, sir. ━ Omen pointed at your bloodied earlobes, the dried liquid staining your neck. As the tall Britishman approached, you sent your colleague a death stare – you didn’t need his attention like this. You were alive, therefore no one should worry. 

━ Can you hear? ━ Ghost leaned over his knees to reach your level, his dark irises looking over you to search for far more serious wounds. You nodded after making sure your hearing was intact.  ━ Then you’ll be fine, Y/C. 

He patted your shoulder before turning around to take his own seat. How lovely of him, a very worried superior he was.

During your way back to the base, you tried to calm your own thoughts. There was a need to stop them from crushing over you, your head still hurt like hell. For the first time in a good while, the thoughts felt overwhelming rather than helpful. You tried to brush them off, but it was unsuccessful. 

You really needed to lay down and rest. A cup of tea would be lovely. 

When the helo landed on the grounds of the British Army’s facilities and everyone slowly was walking away to take a shower and rest, you stayed behind going at your own pace.

And so did Ghost. A lone wolf.

━ Sir? ━ The masked man hummed, joining you on a walk to the barracks. ━ Would you find some time for me tomorrow? I really need to talk to you about the operation and the explosion. 

━ It’s related?

━ I think so, yes, sir. 

━ You think? Are you sure, you’re not wastin’ my time, Y/C?

It took a moment for you to reply, but now you were entirely sure. Your gut feeling never failed you before. 

━ I would never waste time of a lieutenant, sir. I’m sure about that. ━ You tried to conceal the smirk twisting corners of your lips, but it became almost impossible with Ghost’s stupid questions. So you played along.  

━ Alright, we’ll figure somethin’ out. Now, take a good rest and watch that head of yours, private. Don’t lose it. 

Ghost could be funny sometimes, if you got to know him a little better. And of course, if he didn’t eat you earlier on – he could be an incarnation of a Behemoth himself sometimes. Even you were afraid of him at first, but that fear grew into a familiarity. 

Little did you know that you were being watched by a shadow as you spoke with your superior. The all-seeing gaze already began consuming your poor, oblivious soul. You already were a victim of his mischievous plan. 

Yet, you still had a chance for an absolution.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈

A warm shower, good sleep and a few pills of paracetamol was all you needed to regain most of your strength after the latest mission. Despite a new day beginning, sun hovering over the horizon, your head or rather thoughts were coming back to the events of last night. Nervously picking up the cuticles and pinching your own skin, trying to let go of that obsession. 

Yes, obsession. It became pathetically weird at this point, you had no physical evidence to show your superior. Perhaps, you were just overreacting or your mind got to the breaking point? 

None of that. You shook your head to the sides, brushing the fragility and doubts away. 

You were not weak, if you happened to be in his team. Ghost’s team. You were observant, noticing the smallest details – the superiors commented, after the successful recruitment to special forces. 

A voice of reason led you to the women’s bathroom and straight to the sinks. At this time of the day, the facility was empty, so you enjoyed the silence and loneliness. You turned on the tap, before splashing your face with cold water. 

“Breathe in and out, soldier”, you instructed yourself. 

As you calmed down a little, you dried off your face with paper towels. Soon after, you found yourself on the way to Ghost’s office. While you were walking down the hallway, you noticed the presence of Shadows. They were still sticking around. Just, you didn’t know why and probably won’t even know – you were only a private after all.

So to ease your curiosity, you decided to believe they were here for another collaboration. You shouldn’t be so nosy – that’s what your mother used to tell you, when she caught you eavesdropping on a conversation you were not supposed to hear.

━ Good morning, sunshine!

Graves suddenly placed his palm onto your shoulder, causing you to flinch. Fuck, you almost never flinched. Its weight felt abnormally heavy on your body, just like he was pulling you down hills with him – back to the gates of hell. 

━ Jesus Christ ━ you murmured quietly, barely audible. Your eyes shooting up to him, smiling like an idiot  ━ are you scaring everyone like this? 

━ Not particularly, no ━ Phillip grinned, exposing his pearly white teeth. ━ Would you mind going for a walk with me, soldier? There is… a matter we have to discuss. 

━ To be honest, I was on the way to my lieutenant’s office.

━ Why?

When he asked you this simple, one-worded question, you knew Graves was playing a sort of game with you – trying to squeeze as much information out of you, before you realized. But you were far from naive, you were an equal player in the game of shadows. 

There were no obligations towards the commander, he wasn’t a part of the army. So therefore, you decided to bluntly lie.

━ I don’t know, he called me in this morning. 

━ Bet he can wait a lil’ longer. Come on, I’ll take the blame, sugar.

For a couple of seconds you stayed behind, rethinking the decision you've already made. But then your legs aligned with the pace of his steps. The bold curiosity drove your actions. You decided to follow him outside of the building for a walk. 

It was quite a nice day outside. Clouds covered the blue sky, but it didn’t seem to be raining until the evening. It was pleasantly warm, a little too dry to your liking as the dust floating off the ground dirtied your trousers. 

The two of you followed the path near the fence between the storage buildings – armory, garages. Captain Price liked to call it a dumpster and he was right about that. 

The silence that fell between you two wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the pure anticipation of the other person’s next move – will he start a small talk? Because you wouldn’t. Or maybe Phillip would be straightforward with you? But about what exactly? 

━ So ━ you finally spoke out, letting your hands collapse at your sides ━ what was so important that had my superior to wait?

Your gaze landed on his face, searching for any tiny spasms of facial muscles. You needed something to work with. To figure him out.

━ I could have asked you the same question. 

━ I already told you, sir – I don’t know why the lieutenant called me in. 

━ No? ━ Graves suddenly stopped and turned his whole body towards you. A truly natural response was to face him too. ━ Weren’t you two talking in private yesterday? Following the return to the base, no? 

━ Ghost was worried about my ears, I was bleeding after the explosion. You saw it yourself, sir. Why does it matter anyway? 

He had the audacity to speak freely, to admit, that he had kept an eye on you yesterday. The arising question on your mind was: why? Why was he monitoring you?

━ You two seem to be quite close. ━ Graves continued poking the hornet’s nest.

━ He’s my lieutenant.

It took every inch of your willpower to withhold the fastened beating of your heart. You couldn’t be delusional, not right now. Ghost was just your superior.

━ Is he though? You make me wonder ━ he turned his head to the right, before clicking with his tongue. On purpose Phillip was keeping you on edge, waiting before you finally snap ━ if he plays a part of this venture. Is Ghost also involved?

━ What the fuck are you talking about? 

You finally raised your voice at Graves, annoyance flooding your veins. Nothing coming out of his mouth made sense, he was wasting your time here. 

━ I’m afraid you’ve been caught red-handed, sugar. Trying to destroy the evidence of your contribution to illegal weapon trafficking. Some money on the side, huh?

You snorted, amused by this sickening accusation. And until now, you thought your deductions were childish and foolish. Until Commander Graves opened his mouth, spilling more nonsense.

━ You think I planted the grenade? That’s bullshit, Graves. You ━ you took a step forward and your pointing finger dug into the material of his tactical vest, just above the dip between the collarbones ━ were there. You saw everything.

The last sentence came out more of a whisper, carefully threatening him that you knew he was fucking around with you. But he had orders to complete. The commander of Shadow Company would do everything for the sake of good fucking show. 

━ ‘m afraid I have to take you for further interrogation, soldier. 

Graves suddenly grabbed your forearm with a force you would never expect he would bare. At that moment you were confused, standing between a rock and a hard place – should you obediently follow him for “a talk” or should you resist his actions? Phillip was not your boss, he wasn’t in place of authority.

But, there was a hesitation if you should punch him or not. 

━ You can’t do that without my superior presence. ━ You struggled against his grip, looking around and searching for any witnesses. To your misfortune, again, there was none. The training grounds were empty.

━ See ━ he managed to pull you with him, while he made his way to the magazine nearby ━ this is a military rule, princess. It has nothing to do with me.

Graves was playing dirty, when he finally dragged you inside the empty hall. You clung to the both sides of his vest, before smashing your forehead against his face. The blonde man stumbled backwards, cursing loudly, calling you all sorts of names. It had to hurt like a bitch, if all might Phillip Graves was whining like a little boy kicked in the balls. 

━ You little– Fuck!

You tried to pass by him, before one of his Shadows revealed his presence, standing between you and the doors. Then another man emerged from the darkness, until you counted three of them in total. 

“Great”, you thought. 

A deep breath of not so fresh air filled your lungs. A hint of moisture hit your nostrils, while your sight was still getting accustomed to the dim lighting of the hall. Slowly you began to worry as you happened to be cornered by the Shadows with no one by your side. It made you vulnerable – like a wounded animal to a vulture.

━ What is this really about? ━ A simple question was asked, when you carefully tried to back out as far from the reach of his loyal soldiers. The situation was getting far more intense than you thought. 

━ You’re related to Barnet’s scandal or at least you're messing up the evidence, all I have to hear is a confirmation.

Commander, whose hands were dirtier than anyone you knew, wanted you to confess. Ironic, wasn’t it?

━ Don’t make this harder than it has to be, doll ━ Graves wiped his bloody nose with a material of his sleeve, slowly walking in circle around you, a lamb to the slaughter ━ just face the consequences of your own actions. 

━ You know it’s not true. I have nothing to confirm, sir. 

If you were the same person you were years ago, you would fidget with your silver medallion. Praying for courage in a situation like this, facing the personification of evil. But that necklace was laying forgotten in the abyss of your drawer. 

The painful truth was, you were left all alone in an uneven fight. 

━ I was afraid you would say so. 

With the slightest nod of his head you noticed the change in soldiers’ stance. They were about to charge at you and that familiar, eerie feeling in your bones. So you did all that you could to prepare for the upcoming attack. 

When the first soldier swung with his clenched fist towards your face, you swiftly managed to avoid it. Then, you succeed another time. But by omitting the hits you wouldn’t last long, so the next strike had to be blocked. 

Your forearm acted as a shield, when you tried to charge forward the Shadow. The second soldier joined the brawl, kicking you in the back of your knee. The punch in the joint made you stumble.

You decided to push away the first opponent and then with all your body mass, pin the second Shadow to the ground. Your arms wrapped around his thighs and you fell onto the soldier with a thud, punching his jaw with your clenched fist. 

The adrenaline made your nervous system numb to the pain you inflicted upon yourself. If not for the blood staining his jawline, you wouldn’t notice when your knuckles began to bleed. 

As soon as the pinned Shadow’s hands gripped your waist tightly, trying to push you off, you knew the outcome of the fight. Even if you had an upper hand for a split moment. There was no magical foreseeing – a simple conclusion told you, that you against the three of them was an already sealed result. 

But you had to put up a fight – you wouldn’t allow yourself to cross the gates of heaven or any other sort of afterlife if you hadn’t tried.

A sudden yank on your hair, made you cry out and fall off the soldier laying on the ground. Before you managed to get up, the third Shadow, until now standing still and watching, kicked you in your ribs. And then another time.

And another.

You stumbled to the side of your thigh, gripping the aching side of your bones and flesh, blood spilling beneath the surface of your smooth skin. Breathing, such a fundamental ability to live, became harder with each passing second. 

Your mouth fell agape, greedily trying to swallow some air, searching for a boost of energy. 

The three demons abused your position on the ground as they began kicking you around – aiming for your stomach, ribs, arms. It almost felt like you were their soccer ball. 

Graves stood tall near the raging chaos with his arms crossed over the tactical vest. Only when one of his puppets smacked you across the face, causing you to fall onto your stomach, he intervened. 

━ Not in the face, idiot! She’s quite pretty, isn’t she? Would be such a waste to permanently mutilate such a face. 

The blonde man crouched down and gripped your jaw, taking a closer look at the red mark pulsating on your cheek. It seemed that he was savoring the hurt look on his victim. The commander smirked, finally acknowledging the fear in your eyes. 

The taste of copper spreaded over your tongue, it felt disgusting and made you lightheaded. Only then the pain they inflicted on you began to sink in, causing all of your limbs to become extremely warm. Almost like the tongues of flames were dancing over your skin. 

If the Shadows kill you that night, will you become a martyr? Or would you be remembered as a traitor as Graves wanted to?

They swept you off the floor, upholding your fragile body by hooking under your armpits. Your head craved to hang low, but your consciousness needed to follow their movements, trying to predict what they would do to you next. 

 ━ I don’t like repeating myself, soldier, but I’ll give you another chance ━ Graves leaned in front of you, his hands resting upon his thighs. He became irritated that you hadn’t broken already ━ were you involved with Barnet or his partners in smuggling the federal weapons? 

━ I’m just a private, you fucking fuck! ━ You spat out the truth, brows narrowing close to your eyelashes. ━ I. Did. Not. 

His blue gaze wandered somewhere behind your back. Graves nodded and a sudden wave of stabbing pain spreaded around your kidneys. You cried out, spine arching, pathetically trying to escape the ache. 

Then they would give you a few seconds of break, you trying to breathe through the pain. But the cycle would continue as the Shadow behind your back kept electrocuting you over and over and over. 

The motherfuckers tased you. And they would not stop until you were a panting mess, limp within their hold. Poor mind of yours fried, barely holding onto the debrises of sanity. 

When your body reached some sort of limit and your vision became blurry, you really began to think you were to die tonight. In a matter of hours, you would have to face your friend – death and let her mock you for such an early encounter. 

But at least, you would not die untruthful to yourself.

Within the next couple hours, when your consciousness was wandering between the limbo of the Sandman’s realm and the reality, you gradually managed to understand the truth. 

That night during the operation Barnet, you saw something you never should have. The office and the crumbles of it. There was something inside so fragile and precious that made a person in a position of power command Graves to frame and torture you. As you were the only witness of it.

And for whom Shadow Company worked for?

The picture became crystal clear and you laughed like a madman. A trickle of blood dripped down the corner of your mouth, when they kept inflicting pain onto the poor soul of yours. And your young body too, staining it forever.

General Shepherd’s hands were not as clean as everyone thought so. He had to have something in common with those weapons being smuggled to the terrorists. Shepherd might have been afraid that you knew that, so therefore he needed you dead. Even though you hadn’t managed to read any of the notes before their destruction.

He wanted you buried six feet under the ground with no gravestone. No monument. 

And you know what they say – if you don't know what it is about, it’s probably about the money.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Although the pieces of puzzles fit together perfectly, their borders clinging tightly to each other, you hadn’t experienced satisfaction at all. 

The exhaustion became helpful at some point, separating your body from all the pain you’ve endured during the last couple of hours. The blood on your cuts dried up, but the smell of it made your stomach turn. 

You couldn’t believe that the scent and sight of blood would make you lightheaded, ever in your lifetime. Not as a woman of course, they see much more blood than the average man. 

But all of the beatings that those demons inflicted upon you was bearable. Painful obviously, but bearable. If your assessment was correct, they hadn’t broken any bones till now. The split skin on your collar bones, separated with the sharp blade of the knife could be stitched up. With good care the scars would eventually fade. 

If you survive this interrogation. 

Your grunts and whines filled Phillip’s ears, yet he still craved more than this. He hadn’t heard you scream and he would extort those sounds from you pretty soon.

The Shadows dragged you to sit at the wooden chair near the old table, your shoulders slowly sinking to the furniture’s backrest. They gave you a break as their knuckles were bloodied and scratched. Perhaps, they were thinking of another way to push you into the Behemoth’s maw. 

The time between your interactions passed quickly. Your eyelids closed loosely, but you heard the surroundings very well – the gravel crunching beneath the soles of their shoes, the way they shifted their weight. You noticed that, all of it. Your mind was alerted and aware. 

━ Have to give that to Ghost, he trained you well ━ Graves dragged another chair near yours and sat comfortably in it. Too close to your liking though. ━ But you must be tired, don’t you?

━ I’m fine.

A whisper hummed in the storage hall, filling the silence between your breaths. Those which might be your last ones. 

━ You look shit to be honest ━ the commander put his hands in the air, just like he didn’t want it to sound like an insult. ━ It didn’t have to come to this, doll. You wouldn’t have suffered if you just confessed when I asked you to. 

You scoffed, raising your head to face him with a look full of disgust.

━ That false confession is a death sentence. 

Graves shifted in his seat, getting closer to you as he leaned to your ear. One of his hands pushed the loose strands of hair behind your cartilage, while the other rested on your thigh.

Your whole body tensed, when his palm squeezed the soft flesh of your inner thigh. It wandered far too close to the crotch, even through the material of clothes. 

When your hands shoot to grab his, the Shadow standing beside grabbed your left arm and pinned it to the table’s surface. Your other hand’s fingers were entangled around Graves’ wrist, trying to stop him from moving any further. 

You had heard that he was wicked and unpredictable, but not to this extent. 

━ Listen up ━ he said so quietly it might have eluded from you, if you didn’t pay enough attention ━ I’m being generous here and giving you one, last chance, princess. Confess and you’ll be under my arrest. No further harm will happen to you, if you behave, that is. 

The audacity of this sickening man never stopped surprising you. You knew perfectly well what he meant by being under his arrest, what it meant to be Phillip Graves’ prisoner. It was a fate far worse than death. 

Your eyes were locked on his mischievous smile, twisting soft cheeks and underlining the wrinkles on his forehead. He was abusing his power and was perfectly aware of that. It was you against the devil. 

━ Come on, be a good girl. ━ He tried to persuade you with the sweet words and empty promises. It was kind of insulting, Graves thought he would convince you to change your mind. ━ Just say it was you, hm? 

But little did he know, your pride and stubbornness was far greater than his. 

You hung your head low again, before chuckling softly, shoulders trembling. It caught him off guard, you noticed. Graves probably thought you’ve gone far from sanity. 

Naturally you were weary of the pain, of the constant soreness in your muscles, the painful stretch of dried up blood. Yes, you were scared of upcoming tortures, you already admitted to that before yourself. But you would never forgive yourself if you weren’t true to the beliefs that got you here in the first place. You couldn’t let them frame you. 

Not this motherfucker in particular.

━ Go fuck yourself.

Then it was you who spilled out some words coated in pure hatred, almost an exorcism to make him go away. Your faith in your truth was strong. Graves’ hand released your thigh with a disappointed look on his angelic face, instead forcing your right forearm into his chest. He was keeping your limb too tight, while the other one was still pinned to the table.

Another Shadow appeared in the corner of your eye, slowly making his way towards your splayed out hand on the flat surface. Only then you noticed the thing he was holding. 

“Fuck.”

━ Alright, the hard way it is. ━ Phillip said, savoring the building fear in your eyes as your shrinking pupils were following the outline of the drill. A simple machine you would put your furniture together.

But in the right hands it would be a torture device.

━ You can’t be serious. You c-can’t– Y-You–

He shushed you, cradling your right arm within his hold. One of the Shadows stood on the other side of you, squeezing the elbow and your wrist so roughly, it almost made the bones pop out of the joint. 

Your instinct was to try and wiggle away, but the two men held you steadily. The third one flicked the power button and you looked at the small, but pointy drill turning with a mechanic sound. 

━ No, no, no, no, don’t, DON’T! 

The panic and fear overtook your stoic strategy. Only then you began being truly scared of their sinister games. You pleaded, you fought back, you begged until you screamed so loudly, there had to be someone hearing you from the outside. The pain of your flesh getting twisted and ripped off, made you want to vomit, if not the screaming tightening your throat muscles.

Then the drill stopped. You estimated it hadn’t even reached your bone, yet. But the crimson, syrupy liquid climbed up the length of the metal part and trickled to the sides of your assaulted forearm. 

You were breathing loudly, gasping for air. A droplet of sweat rolled down your temple. Every single finger of yours was trembling, muscles spasming from the pain. 

Graves reached one of his hands and forcefully squeezed your jaw and cheeks. He forced your pretty face to stare directly at him. Then, when he noticed how salty tears were overflowing your waterline, he grinned.

━ Look at me, soldier ━ Graves gave an order, but you were not his subordinate. He had to yank your head and dig his digits into your flesh again. ━ Look. At. Me!

The Shadow continued the assault, turning the power back on. This time, he expected resistance from the hard tissues so he pushed harder. 

Your shrieks filled his ears like cathedral music, a gospel of his liking. The tears streaming down your face finally reached his palm that was squeezing your face. Graves wanted to have a good look at all the scowls of ache. 

You swore you had heard the bone cracking, a muscle perforated already. White, blunt pain blinded your senses, only the warm embrace of the commander sitting across you kept you aware that you were still in the land of living. 

Your stomach was hurting – God, you were going to puke. 

━ What’s the meanin’ ‘f this?!

The voice of your savior, echoed somewhere in the back of your consciousness. The mechanical drill stopped its work and you actually felt it when it was ripped off your forearm. You whined, letting your eyelids shut. Blood splashed across the table. 

The two Shadows remained by your side, meanwhile Graves stood up from his seat and took a walk towards the intruders. 

You felt the familiar smell of tobacco, a very specific species of tobacco used only for cigars. 

━ Captain, I can assure–

━ Assure what? ━ John Price said, venom and hatred rolling down his tongue. He was pissed and dear God, you don’t want to anger this man. ━ That you mutilated one of my soldiers? Who gave you the order? 

Graves pressed his lips into a thin line.

━ General himself.

━ Why? ━ Ghost raspy voice sounded next to your limp form and it made you feel protected.

When you opened your eyes, you saw him towering over you even when he slouched to reach your level. You forced yourself to form a subtle smile, because somehow, the fight was over. You were being taken away from the monster that Graves was. 

━ She destroyed the only fucking evidence, trying to cover her own ass.

The lieutenant took a quick look over your body, you felt his gaze roaming on yourself. He was looking for serious wounds, but the one on your forearm seemed to be the nastiest one. 

Ghost helped you rise up from the chair, securing you in the straight line by holding onto your shoulders. Before he did that, he seemed to ask nonverbally with his dark eyes if you could walk. You nodded weakly. 

━ She’s a private under my command ━ Captain Price kept lecturing the blonde man, standing still like a tree. ━ If she had been accused, I’m the one to take her for questioning, not you. This is my team, my base and you will follow my rules, is that clear? 

You couldn’t exactly point to the moment where you walked past Price and Graves. Your eyes were so heavy and the main focus was to keep walking forward. If not Ghost upholding your posture straight by holding onto your arms, you wouldn’t be able to stand by your own strength. 

Despite the stories you had heard about him being rough, he wasn’t with you, at all. His grip was firm, but no digit of his calloused fingers dug into the beaten flesh of yours. Should a soldier ever feel comfort rather than dread in the presence of their superior? Was this normal? Were you? 

━ I had my own orders, the intel pointed out she was a suspect. Apparently ━ he took a deep breath in, keeping his anger on a leash ━ there was a misunderstanding. I apologize for any… inconveniences. 

━ I’ll talk to Shepherd about this one, you stay out of it ━ Price stated, before turning around on his heel. He was walking behind the two of you. ━ Oh, and you owe this lady an apology. Better be a good one, boy.

No. 

You wanted to scream that word over and over. If Graves ever bothered you again, you would gouge his blue eyes out – gladly looking at the soft tissues getting stuck under your nails, Phillip’s blood staining your hands. Ghost felt when your body tensed under his grip as he led you out of the storage hall. Of all people, he could sympathize with you the most. 

You walked in silence, only the echo of the gravel mixed with sand echoed in your ears. The chilly, evening breeze awoke your senses, although it didn’t give you more strength. Your hand clutched to Ghost’s, when you felt your stomach shrinking.

━ God ━ you leaned over your own knees, gasping for air ━ I think, I’m gonna… ‘m gonna puke.

He followed your poor soul to the side of the road. Before you could deny his help, Ghost was collecting your loose strands of hair and holding it firmly behind your neck. 

━ That’s alright. Take your time.

He wasn’t angry or disappointed with you. Ghost wasn’t rushing you as you tried to catch your uneven breath. The lieutenant just stood there, holding the hair out of your face in case you would vomit.

But you hadn’t thrown up at all. You just crouched there gasping for air, pressing your wounded forearm to your chest, blood staining the military shirt. Your limbs began to shiver, but not from the low temperature. Only then you allowed yourself for a display of any weaknesses, for a way to express your pain and exhaustion.

━ I d-didn’t do any-anything. I promise.

Your tone sounded broken and he couldn’t bear it. His stone cold heart couldn’t withstand the look in front of him. Ghost pulled you up from the crouching position, before pressing your forehead into his chest. He could still hear your quiet sobs, your blood surely staining his clothes too. But he didn’t care about some piece of cloth. 

━ I know.

Ghost was already soaked with blood of all the lives he ended miserably, but to be stained with something that belonged to you? That was something different. To him your blood could be the red wine that turns into the blood of Christ during each mass.

The lieutenant wrapped his arms around your back and kept one palm on the back of your head. Ghost caught the glimpse of your tired eyes and all he could see was himself. A reflection of sort, only a shard perhaps. When everything he had held dear to him – the dignity and humanity of Simon Riley, was taken away from him all those years ago, all he needed was a solace. 

The man didn’t have to say much, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to hear him pity you. But Ghost’s presence was enough, his warm and gentle touch made you feel somehow protected. 

Perhaps it was the exhaustion causing you to melt into his embrace, because how could you feel any special, different from your teammates in his beautiful, dark eyes? He was your lieutenant for God’s sake.

Would he console the others if needed? Or maybe he sees you as weak? A fragile package that needs to be handled with care? Why was he so sympathetic with you of all the people? 

You stopped thinking and sank into the feeling of his soft and clean shirt that covered the man’s sternum and chest. You brushed the idiotic thoughts away, because you deserved that kind of affection. 

You deserved to be held close and to feel safe. 

And in his arms it all became very real. 

Even for a moment.

━ Come on, moppets ━ Price’s now calm voice, broke the heated thoughts and raging emotions as he got closer to them. ━ She needs to see a doctor.

A/N: The end of this fanfic has an open sort of ending so therefore I can write more comfort with Reader/Ghost in the bonus chapter if you would like to. ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I have been rotating factory/industrial whump in my mind, but I can't find any prompt. can you conjure some?

whumpee with their hand stuck in a machine or a propeller — which led to caretaker having to fetch a makeshift tourniquet to stop the bleed, it could then lead to an on-field amputation.

whumpee getting trapped in a warehouse during the night, bonus if it’s dark inside and they’re afraid of the dark.

or, whumpee getting trapped in a warehouse during the night, with whumper or caretaker? your choice.

a malfunction occurred which caused the cold room (a walk-in-freezer)’s electric door to automatically shut and lock on its own, with whumpee trapped inside. caretaker and the team have to try to find a way to open the door in time before hypothermia causes whumpee’s body any permanent damage.

whumper stuffed whumpee inside a package box and sealed it as "a prank", they didn't know (or didn't care) whumpee was a claustrophobe.

chemical spilled. whumpee is exposed to it; the symptoms can be nausea, headache, blurred vision, fatigue, fever, shortness of breath, rash, burns — if you want to take it up a notch, you can add seizures, respiratory failure and/or internal hemorrhage as part of the symptoms.

[cepheusgalaxy]

The WRU customer’s guide

Chapter 2 - Product receival

(Distributed by WRU ©)

Your Boxie arrived! And now what?

Congratulations on getting your new Pet! The WRU staff thanks you for your preference. 

We assure your new Pet is suited to attend all your necessities and wishes thanks to its top-tier training with WRU’s most brilliant teams of professional handlers. If your experience is enjoyable, please consider leaving a feedback on our site! Your opinion matters a lot to us.

Your pet's serial number and designation can be verified at its register that was printed and shipped alongside the product, and also sent to your online mail. If there is a mistake and you can't find it, please refer to custome service on the nearest WRU store or our site, wru.com.

What's included in your product

Inside the box that you received is one (1) WRU Box Boy, which is wearing a basic WRU shipping uniform and collar. Alongside it is your Pet's Owner’s File that includes its designation, medical record and further information.

If there is any damage or parts of your delivery missing, please don’t hesitate to call the WRU team (DDD xxxx-xxxx) that will promptly resolve your issue.

Unboxing your Boxie

Unboxing your new Pet should be very easy. However, if this is your first time unboxing a Box Boy you might ask your deliverer to assist you.

[ID: A loosely drawn pet box with the WRU logo on the side as well as two handles instead of one. Below the box is written "Box lol". /end ID.]

Please check if your package is an WRU Pet Box.

The Box was sealed during the shipping process to avoid opening up and damaging your Pet on the way. To unlock it, remove the bolt of the door and pull the six locks arranged as 2 on the top, 2 at the bottom and more 2 on the left side. This should be enough to unlock your box.

Your new Pet is awaiting inside! It might be curled up awake or sleeping, in which case you can press the button under the red compartiment on the right side of the Box, which will send a quick shock to awake it.

Depending on the delivery, your boxie might have stayed in there from two to nine hours. Give it some time to come out of the package, and it should kneel in front of it. If you think your Pet is taking too long to come out or is not taking the supposed position, it might be hurt or confused, in which case, you can demand a self diagnostic by asking it if there is any damage. If that is the case, do not worry; You can acess the Pet First-Aid guide on our site or refer to the nearest WRU store, that will promptly take care of it for you.

Tip: You can keep the Box until you have arranged a proper enclosure for your Pet.

Settling your new Pet

After taking your Box Boy out of the package, look for a green sheet that contains its information and history. That is your Pet Owner’s guide. Be sure to verify it is indeed your Pet and that it has not been any mistake in the shipping process.

Your Pet is now ready to serve you, but it needs you to state the boundaries and rules of your house, so it may act accordingly. You can let them in some room as you put the shipping package away.

Once you’re done, show your house to the Pet and tell it what its duties are gonna be. You might name it or assign a room and belongings to it, if you so wish, but be assured it doesn’t need any accomodations besides the basics to be in its best behavior.

If you have any doubts about accomodating your new Pet or how to handle it, please check our site for more information.

Thank you for trusting WRU with your comfort! :)

Did you know?

WRU © not only cares a lot about our customers, but also we care about the environment!

In order to fight climate change, we in WRU adopted the Tip for a Tree project, in which every dollar you donate goes to WRU’s partners who are working for a greener future!

Acess more information at wru/tipforatree.com.

[ID: The WRU logo, a grey W with a V crossed over it. /end ID.]

--

lmao what do you guys think

credits of the logo to @endless-whump

[ireadwithmyears]

Hello~

May I get "It's not your fault." Or "Just hold on to me. I have you." For Fox please?

(Or Dogma, or Jesse)

❤️ - @vodika-vibes

two truths and a kiss

Pairing: Dogma/gn Reader

Requested by: @vodika-vibes

Prompt: “Just hold onto me, I have you

Tags/warnings: Jedi reader, whump, descriptions of blood and injury, mentions of death, needles, hurt/comfort

Summary: When a rash decision leads to you getting injured during a search and rescue mission with your favourite trooper/you’re very secret crush, Dogma, a concoction of slightly too much painkillers, your subsequent loss of having a filter, and a childhood game conspires to bring certain feelings to light. Only problem is, you’re very much convinced that he doesn’t, and couldn’t, feel the same way.

authors note: So originally, I had a whole outline drafted for this, a completely different idea with commander Fox. However, as things tend to do, the story started spiralling and was getting too big to be contained. I had to take a step back and shift my focus towards something much more manageable. I hope you like and enjoy this just as much. I had a lot of fun writing it.

“I’m telling you, there’s someone in there.”

You turn, an already stubborn slant to your shoulders as you address the helmeted trooper at your side. He’s cautious, an equally stubborn rule follower at his heart as you are, and you, well...

You’re just a newly minted Jedi knight who is still learning the ropes of command, which is why, instead of being assigned your own battalion upon your knighting ceremony, you had been sent off with the 501st to gain some much-needed field experience. 

But regardless of how fresh out of the creche and clumsy you feel, you are still a Jedi, and the call of a presence—a human life resonating within the Force—still rings as clearly as if it were a bell, the insistent nudge that you must go to them threatening to pull you forward if you don’t reign yourself in.

This is exactly why you were sent to scout this village with Dogma, command ordering small search-and-rescue teams to recover civilians after a recent bombing by the Separatist forces had caught everyone by surprise. Your ability to easily identify signs of life and help guide troopers who had been assigned to clear out debris and medics to their locations was valued, and without a doubt often made these trips operate more efficiently.

“And I’m telling you that these houses were already badly reinforced before the Seps  up.”

Dogma sounds exasperated even through the modulator of his helmet, and despite being unable to see his face, you can tell he’s making an effort not to be, always wanting to be respectful of the chain of command but equally loyal and steadfast to his own instincts. You like that about him, always have. His uncompromising devotion to what he believes is right and true has attracted you to him ever since the moment you met, even though he, to your disappointed but grudging acceptance, has never indicated that those feelings are reciprocated.

You won’t push it. In fact, you would consider it to be taking advantage of your position if you did, since technically you are still considered a general. Dogma is so loyal to rules and order, who knows what someone could get him to agree to if they were to possess ill intent towards him.

The very thought of abusing his loyalty like that makes you feel somewhat sick. So you keep your mouth shut, and that’s that.

“Are you telling me that we should just leave someone who might be injured trapped inside there?” you ask, folding your arms across your chest.

“That isn’t what I said,” he sighs, and there’s a soft hiss as the seal of his helmet releases and he removes it from his head. “I’m just saying maybe we should find a better way to get to them.”

“We can’t wait for backup,” you protest, ashamed by the tightness that suddenly constricts your throat. You’re not a Padawan anymore. You should be able to handle yourself and get a more solid grip on your emotions. But it’s hard.

It’s hard when you close your eyes, taking a breath to recenter yourself and instead are unable to pull your focus away from the life form. One of your first classes as an initiate had been learning what you can discern simply from observing different presences in the Force. Master Yoda would say something like “Words you may have to describe this being within the Force. Tell them to me, you should.”

If you were still one of the younglings sitting cross-legged in that circle with his eyes intently focused on you right now, the first words that come to your mind would be helpless, fearful, and almost...small.

“Dogma, please?” Your voice is quiet and pleading, and though you’ve never seen this happen before, at least when it comes to Dogma, there’s a flicker of hesitation followed by an almost imperceptible softening of hard edges that takes you by surprise and instantly catches your notice.

You notice everything about him though, and that’s only made you—impossibly and with a naivety that is so unfitting of a Jedi—fall for him a little bit harder.

You had noticed the first time you had set eyes on him the way he was so reassuring with a shiny trooper, his eyes wide and looking distraught after an admiral had sharply reprimanded him for a minor infraction.

“They’re, they’re gonna decommission me, vod,” he had stammered. “They’re gonna pack me up and send me back to Kamino and they’ll...”

“Easy, trooper, look at me.” Dogma had taken the kid by his shoulders, waiting for his eyes to meet his. “They won’t decommission you. I promise. General Ti put an end to that as soon as she arrived on Kamino, remember? You’re not going anywhere.”

The trooper had nodded, unable to stop the shudder that had run through him at the lingering mix of fear and overwhelming relief that had spiked through him.

“Now, it was the artillery data logs that were cataloged incorrectly, yeah?” Dogma had asked. “I want you to show me what you did, and then I’ll help you figure out where you went wrong so this doesn’t happen again.”

The innate compassion that he didn’t even seem to be aware of possessing paired with his logic and determination to problem solve and combat fear with facts had drawn you to him even before he knew you had existed, and to your frustration, it had never stopped luring you in even when you knew you should cut the line and pull away, which would have been the smart, pragmatic choice he would have made if he were in your position, which he’s not, and would be much safer for the both of you.

You’re quick to squash any impulse to think that maybe, just maybe, his inexplicable softening in this moment is because he has a soft spot for you. Stupid, you scold yourself. Stay on task and just be glad that you’re getting through to him at all.

“Their presence within the Force feels like that of a child,” you continue, your words picking up in speed as your desperation urging you to move forward grows. “Maybe even that of an infant. I can’t be sure. But we, we need to—”

“Alright, General. I understand your concern,” Dogma raises a hand, silencing your worried rambling.

He lets out a breath, tilting his head as his eyes intently scrutinize the small, rundown two-story house that is miraculously, at least for the most part, still standing in front of you.

“Just…” There’s a slow exhale of breath followed by the sound of him placing his helmet back on his head. 

“We need to be very careful in there. Let’s not give the medics more casualties to worry about.”

As soon as he finally agrees to search the house, you’ve stopped listening, immediately walking ahead to find a way inside just in case he takes it back.

You can hear his irritated huff in the distance, but sure enough, the sound of his heavy boots against crushed pavement follows you an instant later.

*

Despite only half listening to Dogma’s concerned directive that you need to be careful, you do try, at least at first, to listen to it. This starts easy. The discovery of two adult bodies trapped beneath the crumbling interior wall sobers you considerably, and it’s easy to pause and slow your steps after that.

This lasts for about five minutes into your search. 

Then the presence that sits at the edge of your consciousness like a beacon slowly begins to become restless, unsettled, and afraid, and you grow the distinct feeling that whoever it is—child, toddler, or Force forbid, a baby—is just beginning to wake up and is discovering that it’s all on its own.

The spike of fear that hits you square in the chest feels like it’s your own for a brief moment, and that’s all it takes to send you running up the cracked and splintering flight of stairs that you find in the back hallway. Closing your eyes, you allow the Force to guide you.

You’re up the stairs before Dogma can even call your name, and by the time he has, you’re in the room. You hear the distant, put-upon sigh he lets out before his reluctant footsteps begin to follow you, but you don’t focus on it. You’re too fixated on the nursery and on the hand-painted teddy bears on the wall. Did his mother, with so much love and patience, delicately create each one? Did his father, with so much optimism and hope for his child’s future, set up the crib in which he now sleeps?

Did the bombing, quick and fast and merciless, strike them down before they could even make it halfway to the staircase that separated them from their sleeping child? 

It is nothing short of a miracle that the downstairs wall that had caved in on both of them hadn’t started a chain reaction throughout the rest of the house. You are grateful that the second floor, by some Force-given stroke of luck, didn’t crumble down with it. And yet, all you can feel is grief stabbing like a piece of broken glass twisting in your heart, and upon taking a breath to steady yourself, you attempt to discern if it’s your own, or if it’s the child’s. The little boy in his crib is just beginning to stir and look up at you with big, watery eyes and an already trembling lip that instinctively causes you to take a step forward and reach out towards him.

Crack!

The sound rings unsettlingly loud, screaming of “something is wrong” just beneath your foot. It registers within your body, danger flaring up within the Force like a brush of wild fire against your skin an instant too late.

Because by the time you’re comprehending it, by the time your muscles tense as they prepare to react to the oncoming threat, your foot has already gone through the cracked and breaking boards of the old wooden floor beneath it, punching through the boards in what feels like a final, vicious jolt as it pulls you downward.

A sharp cry escapes your lips, arms and upper body flailing in a desperate, perilous attempt to pull your leg free, which only results in a further dissent through the floor, your leg precariously dangling in the air.

“Dogma!” you manage to shout, your word being half cut off by a gasp that seems to punch all the air from your lungs as you feel the snap of something tugging, something breaking within your leg as gravity fights to pull it down further than it can go through the hole.

Your ears are ringing, and distantly you think you can hear the child’s helpless, distraught wailing through the pounding of your heart, but the blurry fingers that tantalizingly brush over the corners of your eyes make it hard to differentiate past anything other than the pain.

“C-can you hold the floor?” 

Dogma’s voice, sure and steady despite its waiver, cuts through your pain and fear as it comes from just behind you. You swallow, biting back a whimper, your eyes still squeezed shut as you nod your head, reaching out a hand and letting the Force flow through you, reinforcing the floor that surrounds you so that he can make his way towards you without fear that he’ll fall through as well. It takes all your concentration to keep holding it up, and even then the stars are still fluttering beneath your tightly closed eyelids.

Hands guide your flailing ones to strong shoulders, your fingers curling and instantly trying to find purchase within the ridges of his cool, plastoid armor.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Deep breath.”

That’s a big ask. Your heart is still racing too quickly, and you don’t think you can. But you must, with as much effort as you can muster, give a pretty good attempt.

“Good,” Dogma’s tone is warm, encouraging despite the tension that is pulled tight beneath. “Again, and when you do, I’m going to pull you up, alright?”

You nod, fear spiking through you but adrenaline doing its best to silence its protests.

You breathe. 

He tugs.

You must make some ungodly noise, because when the blinding, all-consuming pain loosens its iron grip, your throat feels slightly raw. Dogma’s voice is muffled, speaking to you in soft, soothing tones, and you realize with a start that you’re in his arms, holding tight to his shoulders as he carries you from the room to more stable ground.

“Wait, the...the baby. We can’t—”

“We’re going to wait for backup to get here so he can be safely retrieved,” he cuts you off smoothly, undoubtedly already working two steps ahead of your pain-addled brain. “He’s in the safest place he can be right now. We need to get you a med evac.”

It’s then that you make the mistake of pulling back slightly, glancing down at your leg uselessly dangling as he holds you up.

It’s a mess. 

You can still feel the blood that trickles down your leg, see the cuts, broken wood, and splinters that surround your upper thigh digging into your skin, and you swear you can clearly see where it’s broken. 

“Dogma!” Your voice comes out in a choked cry—a panicked and childlike whimper as adrenaline finally abates and fresh, overwhelming fear takes hold in its place.

“Shh, I know, I know. Easy, adika, easy.” 

You’d normally protest the endearment. Coming from the troopers, it’s usually meant to tease. But falling from his lips, so softly and so easily, instead it makes you feel soothed, and you're unresisting as he cradles the back of your head, tugging it away from the ugly wound and pressing it against his shoulder, holding you there. 

“Just hold onto me. I have you.”

You sniffle, swallowing a sob as he maneuvers you, slow and careful as he guides you onto the ground, his hands remaining on your shoulders as he props you against a wall. 

“See?” he murmurs, his voice reassuring as he takes your hand in his, the press of his fingers warm, even through his gloves. “I have you. You’re safe. Everything‘s going to be okay, I promise.”

You nod, raising a trembling hand to wipe tears away from your cheeks and he smiles, releasing his grip. 

You immediately long for the comfort of his warmth to return. But you don’t ask.

“I’m going to call the medic in charge of evac. See what can be done while we wait for them to get here,” he says, pulling out his comm. “Sit tight, hm?” he says, his voice serious and completely deadpan, his only giveaway being the slight twinkle in his eyes as he turns away.

“Dogma, that is not funny,” you burst out, your voice incredulous as you glare at him.

“Really?” he asks, raising a skeptic eyebrow at you as he leans forward, tapping against the persistent twitch in your cheek as it fights to pull your lips upward. “Then why are you smiling, mesh’la?”

You let out a sigh, your head thumping back against the wall and briefly wishing that your leg wasn’t broken right now, because if it was working, you’d surely take the opportunity to kick him for that.

He gives you a knowing smirk, turns away, and before you can respond, raises his comm to his lips.

*

“Alright,” Dogma says, already swinging off his pack. “If it were just a break, I would have to splint it. But the medics want me to leave it alone because of all the splinters. So lucky for you, we can just skip to administering painkillers.”

“Sounds great,” you say sardonically, summoning a small thumbs-up. All your energy is focused on breathing through the sharp, prominent pains that stab through your leg, now being the only thing to center your attention on.

“I’ve only got a hypo dose equipped for a standard clone trooper, so, uh...” he shakes his head, staring down at the injector in his hand with preemptive indecision.

“Too much is better than not enough,” you say with a dismissive shrug. “What’s the harm at this point?”

He fixes you with a look that you’ve come to recognize promises a lecture. 

“The harm is that there’s always a possibility you could overdose and die if I give you too much,” he says, sounding somewhat horrified at your easy agreement.

“I won’t,” you say, giving him as much of a reassuring smile as you can muster. “If worse comes to worst, I’ll be high as a kite for a couple hours, that’s all.”

“But we don’t—”

“Dogma.”

The soft utterance of his name gently cuts him off, and you reach out a hand, lightly touching his, his fingernails stilling their nervous drumming against the floor as he looks up at you. 

“I trust you,” you say, your voice completely earnest. He looks down, and you’re slightly surprised to see the shadow of pink that’s crept into his cheeks at the unquestioning sincerity of your words.

“Now please give me the hypo before I’m tempted to find more strenuous means to knock myself out so that I don’t have to feel this anymore.”

He lets out a soft huff, but there’s an upward tilt to his lips that he can’t quite hide as he leans forward, acquiescing with a silent nod before he presses the hypo to your neck. 

“Deep breath,” he warns. His voice is a low murmur, so close to your ear that you have to fight the urge to shiver. There’s a pinch, your lips pressing into a tight line as you fight the urge to make a sound, and then he’s pulling away, quickly discarding the used material.

“Perfect,” he mutters, hands swiftly repacking the small medkit. “You let me know if you start to feel dizzy or nauseous, okay?” 

You hum a soft agreement, your eyes closed as you take a slow, deep breath. The medication is fast-acting, and you can already feel the heaviness, the gentle and warm numbness that creeps into your bones as you lean your head back against the wall.

“Hang tight,” he says, and there’s a warm pressure against your uninjured knee as he briefly rests his hand there, fleeting and gone too soon. “We just have to wait for evac. They’ll be here soon.”

“So much waiting,” you sigh, your head lulling against your shoulder. Your mind has already wandered, lingering on that one word and bringing you back to memories of being an initiate lined up outside of large training rooms anxiously waiting for your turn to be assessed by the Council. 

“We would always play games as younglings while we were waiting for our turns for stuff,” you say, and your voice sounds far off, even to your own ears.

“What kind of games?” Dogma asks, and a part of you in the back of your mind thinks that he’s asking just to keep you talking, just to keep you here. You don’t really care, though. You’re happy to oblige.

“Like...talking games,” you shrug, blinking up at him slowly. The medication that was in the hypo made you feel like you’re thinking through some sort of fog. “Like ‘two truths and a lie.’”

“What’s that?” he asks, and now you can’t resist rolling your eyes, tilting your head in consternation.

“It’s pretty self-explanatory,” you shrug, and he gives you a slightly rueful grin in return.

“Humor me,” he says, moving to sit beside you and lean against the wall. “If we were playing, give me an example.”

“Okay,” you agree with a smile, because this game is fun, and you’ve forgotten how much fun it can be having not played it in years. “I’ll give you three facts. You guess which one the lie is.”

“Alright,” he says. “Hit me with them.”

He leans back on his heels, intrigued as to what you’re going to say. 

“I once saw Master Windu doing an impression of Master Yoda for a group of younglings.”

He nods, a small smile creeping onto his face. He knows this one. He has heard you recounting the story to a nervous shiny who was worried about working with him and one of his squads.

“I’ve never been kissed before.”

Your next words take him by slight surprise, even though they really shouldn’t. You’re a Jedi, and Jedi don’t typically engage in that kind of thing, though privately, he thinks that that’s quite a shame, at least when it comes to you. Of course, this could also be the lie. But judging by the somewhat dejected look on your face, he has a hard time believing that it is.

“And now I’m—”

His head snaps up, hearing the tiniest waver and break in your voice, startled to find your eyes peering back at him, filled with tears.

“And now I’m going to d die here, and no one’s even ever wanted to kiss me,” you sniffle, the tears now freely falling onto your cheeks.

“Hey, no, that’s not true,” Dogma murmurs, catching one of your hands in his. “You’re not going to die here, I promise. Kix’ll have you feeling good as new in no time. Please don’t cry, mesh’la. Everything’s okay.”

Logically, he knows that it’s just an adverse reaction to the medication, the side effects tending to cause emotional instability, especially, he reminds himself, because the dose he had given you wasn’t properly tailored to your height and weight. But he still can’t help the way that his heart breaks a little at the sight of you, looking up at him with such a pitiful, lost expression. 

“But, but I feel so strange, like I’m dying,” you say, tripping over your words a little. You don’t know why you keep talking. You can’t really think of why there would be a reason to continue and don’t even anticipate or think through your next words. “And, and I’ve liked you for so long, and I wanted you to kiss me, but it would be selfish for me to ask because,” you hiccup, reaching up to swipe at your eyes with a sleeve. “Because you don’t, you don’t like me like that, and I’d never, I’d never want to make you feel like you had to.”

Silence stretches so long that you dip your head and stare down at the ground, watching the path of an ant as it walks along the cracked floorboards.

Then, “I know what your lie is.” 

You blink, confused. Your lie? What lie? You don’t remember a...oh yeah, the two of you were playing a game of “two truths and a lie,” and well, everything feels so fuzzy and warm, and for a minute your body felt so numb that you thought you were dying, and you forgot that you were supposed to think of a lie to tell him. Oopsies.

“Wha,” you mumble, brain foggy as it tries to follow and discern the thread of his words and the conversation.

“You said I could never like you like that,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “That’s a lie.”

You blink, completely taken aback. Downstairs, you can hear the sounds of boots against the floor, troopers and another voice that makes you think it might be Ahsoka conversing as they make their way through the house.

“It is?” You ask, slightly startled, even as your lips pull into an unbridled and triumphant smile and you fight the urge to giggle because he likes you. He actually likes you.

“It is,” he agrees, giving you a small smile as he takes your hand and gives it a brief squeeze before letting it go as the voices draw nearer and the boots clatter up the stairs. “And when this is all over and you’re not high on pain meds, I promise I’ll prove it to you.”

You smile, nodding up at him, feeling content. You turn your head sensing a presence to find Kix standing above you, a seemingly permanent look of concern etched on his face.

“Kix,” you say with a smile, giving him a wave. “Did you know that Dogma likes me?” 

“It would be impossible not to, bud,” he says with an easy smile as he drops to his knees at your side, though you swear you catch him giving Dogma a strange look.

Oh, right. You must be injured, and if you had the energy you would look down and check. You know this because Kix reserves things like calling you “bud” for when you’re hurt. So, you reason that you must be, considering that and the small wince he gives you as he looks down.

“Have you been crying?” he asks, newly concerned as he gets a good look at your face, taking your chin in his hand. “That leg must hurt a lot, huh?” 

You nod and shrug, though the fact that you’ve been crying is news to you. You’ve been crying? You can’t remember why. 

“Before we move you onto the stretcher, I need to remove the splinters from your leg and examine the break,” he says in that calm and matter-of-fact way of his. “I know you’re on some pretty substantial pain meds right now, but it still might hurt a lot when I touch it,” he explains, giving you a sympathetic look. “How would you feel if I were to give you something that’ll let you take a little nap while I get you fixed up?”

“Sounds great,” you agree immediately, beaming up at him with enthusiasm. “I like naps. Naps are great.”

“Dogma,” Kix turns, speaking to your companion. “Ideally, I’d want her in a fully reclined position when I administer the anesthetic. “If you take your thigh plates off, she can put her head in your lap, and it’ll be a bit more comfortable than it would be if she were on the floor.”

You don’t hear a verbal response, but you look over to see Dogma, and is it your imagination or Does he look, eager? As he nods his head.

A second later, there’s the sound of armor releasing, clattering as it’s neatly stacked to one side. Kix carefully maneuvers you, helping you shift so that you’re lying down. You can feel Dogma’s warmth, so close to your cheek through the material of his blacks as you lie your head on his legs.

One of his hands moves, gently touching your hair before he hesitates, looking as if he might pull away. You tilt your head, making a small noise of protest as you nuzzle into his hand and he gives you a small smile, hand returning to gently stroke your hair.

“This okay?” he asks softly, and you nod your head, a contented smile on your lips.

“Perfect,” you agree softly, your eyes drifting shut, coaxed by the gentle and soothing touch, and really, it is.

So perfect, in fact, that you barely register the slight pinch in your shoulder as Kix, taking advantage of the distraction, smoothly administers the anesthetic.

*

“Hey, mesh’la. Open your eyes for me?”

“No.” Your response comes out in a tired mumble, feeling so warm and comfortable despite the persistent pinching of something in your arm that you don’t feel inclined to listen until…wait. That was Dogma. He’s calling you “mesh’la.” And the pinching of something in your arm? What is that pinching?

Your eyes fly open, snapping your head up from where it’s resting on a pillow to find the source of the discomfort, quickly becoming dizzy at the sudden movement but not before your eyes catch on the tape that’s securing the IV line at your inner elbow. Your leg has been put in a cast, and judging by the generous coating of something sticky and cool beneath it, you have to assume that it’s bacta soaked.

Everything hits you at once—the injury, the hypo, that stupid game of “two truths and a lie,” the utterly embarrassing way you had confessed your feelings to Dogma, and…oh, Force.

“Hey.” 

Dogma’s hands are on your shoulders, easing you back down, a concerned expression on his face as he contemplates you.

“Take it easy,” he continues. His hands are light, but they remain where they are, the touch warm and grounding.

“The, the baby?” you ask, the sight of his face reminding you of how you had even gotten into this mess to begin with.

“He’s fine,” he reassures you, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Commander Tano was able to pull him from the room without incident.”

You smile, relieved, but it’s fleeting, replaced with fresh shame and guilt as you avert your eyes from his, worriedly biting your lip.

“Dogma, I am so, so sorry about all that,” you say, waving your hand as if that would explain what all that means. “I didn't, I wasn't thinking straight and I just, I wanted to say that I don’t...”

You stop, words trailing off into nothing because he hasn’t pulled away. In fact, he’s lightly stroking your cheek before cupping your chin, eyes bright as he leans forward and cradles your face, his thumb gentle as it smooths over the hollow of your cheek.

“W-what are you doing?” you ask, your voice coming out breathless.

“Keeping my promise,” he says simply.

He leans down, slow, delicate, and wanting as he brushes his lips against yours. He lingers there, long enough for you to notice that his lips are slightly chapped from countless instances of anxiously being worried between his teeth beneath the shelter of his helmet. But they’re warm, tender, and despite your donning confusion, at this moment, they are just for you.

When he pulls back, your eyes are fluttering, and he smiles down at you as you try to comprehend. 

“You, I, what?” You stutter, and apparently he has rendered you unable to form a complete sentence.

“Shh,” he soothes, his voice soft as his thumb brushes along the outline of your lips. “That’s the truth, mesh’la. It’s my truth.”

“You, you like me?” You ask timidly, for some reason feeling the need to verify.

“I thought we pretty obviously established that,” he says, and there’s no hiding the smirk that’s on his lips. “But just in case you need clarification, yes, I do. I like you very much, and I hope that your whole speech wasn’t just the painkillers talking, because you’ve made me hope that you might perhaps feel the same way.”

“I do,” you say quickly, your cheeks feeling like they’re on fire at the reminder. “But, but I couldn’t ask. I know how important following the rules is to you, and I couldn’t.”

“And if you want me,” he says, ending your rambles with another gentle brush of his thumb against your lips. “If you’ll have me, I would bend every single one of them.”

Oh.

Well, you really don’t know what you could adequately say in response to that declaration. So instead, you settle on a single, quiet request, looking up at him with soft, pleading eyes.

“Stay?” you ask, your voice just above a soft whisper.

“Of course,” he says, features softening at your tone. “Always.”

He takes your hand, gently lifting it to press his lips to the back of your knuckles, closing his eyes as he holds it to him for a moment. 

“Besides,” he says, a roguish grin appearing on his face as he sets your hand back down on the blanket, keeping your fingers lightly twined with his. “Someone has to make sure you follow the bedrest requirements and don’t sneak out of the medbay before they’re up.”

“What,” you say in a snort, unable to stop it as you look up at him. “You don’t trust the medics to be able to keep me here?” you ask, sounding skeptical.

“Oh, considering that they have to deal with Skywalker and Tano on a daily basis, I fully trust their abilities,” he says, his voice light and amused. “I just happen to think I can be a little bit more persuasive.”

He raises your hand, turning it so he can press his lips to the inside of your wrist, feeling your pulse jump and skip beneath them, causing him to smile, his eyes bright as he looks up at you.

Well, when he puts it like that, it’s easy for you to see his point. 

“C-come here and kiss me again,” you murmur, and there’s no hiding the breathlessness in your voice as you look up at him.

He obliges, shifting to take your face between warm, calloused hands, his fingers brushing against your jaw, softly cradling your cheeks as he leans in. His lips meet yours in a warm, tender caress as he lets out a soft, contented noise that hums against your skin. You sigh, letting your eyes close, now fully able to bask in the feeling of him pressed against you. The way his broad shoulders completely dwarf you from view. The way his tongue just barely brushes against your parted lips, causing you to shiver in response. His warm chuckle, and the smile that lights up his eyes as he pulls away.

And well...it becomes pretty easy to see his point, because you think if he keeps kissing you like that, you might just do whatever he asks of you, just in the hopes that he’ll give you another.

Is it bribery? Sure. But he’s made the reward so sweet that you don’t have any qualms about taking it.

So, when he looks down at you and asks, his fingers idly stroking through your hair as he does, “Do you think you can get a little bit more sleep for me, cyar?” all you can do is nod.

“Keep doing that,” you mumble, the medication going through your IV already making you feel drowsy, sleep becoming a relatively easy thing to surrender to. “And I think I’ll do whatever you want.”

•Thank you to @lornaka for the amazing art on these dividers. And thank you all so much for reading. If you enjoyed, please consider leaving a reblogg. You might help someone else discover something that they enjoy, too😊

[whumpsday]

(edit: turning reblogs off because my post has been found by a small number of conservative pro-life macgyver fans and spread through their gross circle, i know this likely doesn't speak for the macgyver fandom at large but i just wanna nip that in the bud)

went through some ao3 statistics and came out with a list of the whumpiest fandoms based on the amount/percentage of fanfic on ao3! the full spreadsheet is here, including every fandom with at least 100 whump works (that i could find).

top whump fandoms by percentage (what percent of total fics are whump fics)

MacGyver (2016) - 18.02% (976)

SEAL Team - 16.75% (187)

Magnum P.I. - 13.70% (204)

Prodigal Son - 10.71% (417)

Endeavour - 8.68% (132)

Thunderbirds Are Go - 8.63% (312)

The Witcher (TV) - 8.05% (1,643, books at 7.27%, games at 4.92%)

Chicago Med - 7.98% (142, PD at 7.82%, Fire at 3.62%)

Psych - 7.05% (267)

How to Train Your Dragon - 6.64% (734)

top whump fandoms by amount of fics (anything below 2% is kinda just a popular fandom tho so it's just sheer volume of fics in general)

Marvel Cinematic Universe - 5,349 (1.06%, Spider-Man has 2,352 at 3.24%)

DC Universe - 3,279 (1.14%, Batman has 2,296 at 2.25%)

Star Wars - 3,229 (1.50%)

The Witcher (All) - 2,458 (6.12%)

Boku no Hero Academia - 2,310 (0.85%)

Video Blogging RPF - 1,731 (0.74%)

Supernatural - 1,617 (0.62%)

Voltron: Legendary Defender - 1,570 (1.96%)

Lenkov-verse (MacGyver, Hawaii Five-0, Magnum P.I.) - 1,435 (6.24%)

Original Work - 1,174 (0.56%)

[alidravana]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Got tagged by @breannacasey for seven sentence Sunday!

Here's a small snippet from a SEAL Team fill for Februwhump:

Mandy woke up groggily, her mind cloudy with sleep.  Sighing loudly, she rolled to the side of the bed, wincing from the lingering bruising all over her body.

She had shifted into the middle of her King sized bed, normally accustomed to sleeping in that position, with Jason on one side, Brock on the other.  But there was no Brock, no Jason, no one but herself and a handful of pillows, in a piss poor attempt to make up for the empty space.

Squinting at the clock, she inwardly groaned at the time.  It was still the middle of the night.  For once she hadn’t been dreaming of her days of capture and yet something still managed to interrupt her sleep.

Tagging @tokillamockingbird427, @quality-on-a-patch-of-awesome, and @morganaspendragonss to play along!

[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.”