#also descs of wounds-

[sparks-chaotic-cove]

The mix of the artistic urge to draw the more horrendous gorey scene ever versus the want to write or draw the cutest fluff imaginable

[just-sticks-and-beats]

Extra beneath cut. Get fucked, idiot.

(rbs > likes)

[wild-battlebond]

because the sky is there

[theirnamesarekiklo]

Cold

Tired and damp, the sweet sweet girl could only hold herself

pairing: !Twin Sister! Reader x Sully Family

a/n: this is kinda like at the end of the movies where the whole battle takes place also this was not corrected at all I literally js pulled this out of my ass 😭 (LITERALLY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE LIKES I CANT BELIEVE THIS)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: a lil talk abt suicide, very faint injury desc

⋆★⋆★⋆

Deep pants all around, the only thing on their mind was that they were safe and together. But something deep and churning kept place in Lo’ak’s stomach.

The most common thing between twins in Na’vi culture was that they were more connected than most. They had this special bond that most siblings didn’t obtain. Ever since Lo’ak and his twin sister had been born under the same light, they could feel one-another. They felt each other’s losses, wins, and they especially felt eachother’s heart. So imagine how his heart dropped as soon as he felt alone.

So utterly alone and cold, he felt.

“Dad, where’s y/n?” and everyone’s breath hitched.

— ⋆⋆ —

Gasping for air, she had managed to drag herself on the rough rock, but she couldn’t care less now that she had bigger wounds to tend to. Wheezing out raspy breaths, her shaking hand rested softly on the edge of the blade, the same blade that had pierced her heart. The wound was the biggest one there, despite the bullet hole lodged into her skin.

She wasn’t sure how she felt exactly. Her legs were numb, one of them clearly in no condition to walk with, her face had been covered in dried gore that not even the water could wash off, and her arms were covered in several deep gashes, bruises, and burns. Swallowing the rising blood, she took one more deep breath before her hand gripped the knife, obviously not being enough as the removal was simply worse than the actual wound.

The gruesome scene was surely something, and she was sure that the other guy (who she hadn’t bothered to even learn the name of) had looked worse when she was done with him, but that didn’t stop her from meeting the same fate as he did.

Letting out a scream that truly screamed bloody murder, the girl could only sob and heave and clutch her torn skin that she was sure would get infected if she had even managed to get out of here. What would take her first? Dying of blood loss or dying of infection? Taking a peek at the sky, Her vision was already clouding over. Wincing as she tried getting just a tad bit comfortable on the rock, blood started pooling at the edges of her lips.

Was her older brother okay? She was sure the bullet only grazed him, she took the bullet for him before getting dragged back by the same guy she killed. Most importantly, was her twin brother okay? Was he breathing better than her? Did he carry the same feeling she did at this moment? At this moment, she could recall all the sweet memories she and him shared. They were born together, and she sure was hell glad they didn’t leave the same way, although she wished more than anything that they were right there with her.

Choking out a sob, the girl felt a chill of acceptance run through her. She wouldn’t make it out of this. Even though she was still young and hadn’t completed her Rite of Passage, she knew she was going to die. Curling up into a ball, she felt cold and as if all the thoughts in her head were simply vanishing, the only thing repeating itself were comforting nothings. Clutching at her chest, her slightly parted lips were releasing slow, tiny gasps. Taking one more look at the looming eclipse, she choked back a cry and whispered one last promise to ewya, leaving the world the same way she came into it.

— ⋆⋆ —

“No No No Y/N!”

As the wailing begun, Jake couldn’t help but want to simply shoot himself in the head right now.

Taking one look at her daughter once more, he turned around and crouched down. Taking some shaky gulps of air, he felt as if his world was suddenly closing in on himself. He’s been through this before, only he wasn’t experiencing it directly. Turning his head to take a look at Lo’ak, his heart broke into a million pieces right then and there.

Bringing her hand to his heart, his hands were already covered in her drying blood, trying to gain that silly warmth that everyone felt cover them if they had ever been around her. Whimpering tiny delusions to himself, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sick joke or some type of revenge for all the wrong doings he’s caused in his life. Meeting the eyes of his father, he could tell this was taking somewhat of the same toll on him too.

Trying to let out a few words, only a squeak could be heard before he ran his hand over his face and his his face away from the rest of the grieving children. He had let her die cold and alone.

He had let the sweetest person he had possibly ever met, the one who could do no bad, die stuck in her head and fighting. He wasn’t there to comfort her, caress her face as a distraction from the pain, nothing. If only he had been there sooner, if only he hadn’t betrayed Miles, if only he decided to follow the rules. His babygirl was gone, and the only thing he could do was cower and cry into his hand.

Kiri, who was simply sobbing to herself, truly not even there at the moment, held spider’s hand so tight that he was sure she would break it, but he wasn’t paying attention to that as he shed a wave of tears himself. She was one of the first people to truly accept him into their family and made him feel as if he belonged. Tuk, that poor child, tried laying her head on her older sister’s chest, trying to find a heartbeat, something, to prove that she wasnt really gone forever.

Neytiri, at this point blubbering thing to herself, only calmed down as she took in the peaceful expression on her daughter’s features. She had always been calm, but sometimes the way shadows hit her face showed nothing but a mask. Her eyebrows were always a little tense, but now they rested easily. Her baby, My baby, she thought, was gone. Bringing her face closer to hers, she laid her other hand right onto her cheek. They’ve held each-other like this many times, and to believe that this would be the last was a punch to the gut.

Tsireya, who was weeping right next to Lo’ak, couldn’t help but remember how sweet she was. She had a heart for many, even her brother, who had gone to extreme measures to simply make sure that they hadn’t felt welcome. She recalled the funny and heartwarming, sometimes sad memories that her twin had shared with her, and that only brought more tears to her eyes.

— ⋆⋆ —

The clan was silent.

Both y/n’s ilu and ikran had gone wild, suddenly scurrying off but not without a tiny fight with a few of the men, trying to keep them stable.

Ao’nung, who had seen the whole thing go down, was sure of his reason as to why these things were happening, but he didn’t want to believe himself. He was cruel, desperate to relive himself of these feelings he felt around the doe-eyed girl. Now, as he stood there, rigid and hardly breathing, let out a gasp as he could see a group in the distance.

As people started whispering, they were cut short as his mother let out a tiny noise at the sight of them. Peeking around a shoulder, he felt his heart drop down to his stomach. She was there, only not in the condition he hoped and prayed for. She was limp, pale, and completely rid of life as her father carried her in his arms, obviously not ready to accept the fact that she was dead.

Huffing out a “no”, he ran off, shoving people out of his way as his parents focused more on the sobbing daughter that was shown possibly the first heartbreak she had ever experienced. Her oldest brother didn’t know. How would he possibly react to the news that the girl he promised to protect since the moment she was born, was gone?

—…

[siameanee]

take your time 🎸 hobie brown x fem!reader

DONT OPEN UR WINDOW FOR HOBIE BROWN AT 3 AM 😱😱‼️‼️💯💯 (REAL) (NOT FAKE)

i don't post. or write fanfictions. this is the first and last fanfic ill write - there just isn't enough hobie brown fics out there. hopped on and said fine ill do it myself 😞 !

also i didnt proofread this 😭

wc: idk might be long tho

tags or desc or whatevr: hobie brown x fem!reader smut, hobie smut, hobie x fem!reader, fingering (r receiving), riding, kinda slow burn (i think), friends to luvas

shmut unda the cut ‼️

-------

you sat idly in your bed, scrolling through tiktok and giggling every once in a while. you twisted and turned until your gazed lifted from the endless videos and you saw the time: 3 a.m., causing you to plug up your lit up rectangle and turn away from it, hand under the pillow and the other reaching to pull up the covers in an effort to warm your shivering body.

however, your best friend, hobie, had other plans. minutes later, your phone lit up and you flipped back over angrily, trying to get used to the flash of light in your darkened room. 

hobs 🎸

open ur window? got hurt need sum help :)

3:45 a.m.

you furrowed your brows as you leaned up to be able to type. 

hobs 🎸

open ur window in a min? got hurt need sum help

3:45 a.m.

it's 3:45 hobie ... 😭

3:46 a.m.

you waited for his response, letting out a frustrated huff when he didn't respond for a full 4 minutes. as you rested your head on the pillow once again, you heard another ping from your phone as it lit back up one more time. 

hobs 🎸

open ur window in a min? got hurt need sum help

3:45 a.m.

it's 3:45 hobie ... 😭

3:46 a.m.

*Attachment: 1 Image*

says right here 3:46 ? 

3:49 a.m.

you were about to comment on his witty remark until you heard repeated knocks on your left window. as you got up, you discovered a tall handsome male clad in a spidersuit and some plaid trousers leaning down and grinning back at you, pointing to the windowsill. opening the window, he crawls in, lifts up his mask, and lands on your desk chair, groaning.

"what ha-" you started, but you saw his face riddled with wounds and the gashes zigzagging his chest. you closed your mouth and pointed your finger to him. "stay right there, hobie. don't snoop around. i'll be right back with the first-aid kit." you ran out of the room, hearing him shout back at you.

"won't!" hobie shouts from your room, and you can hear the smile in his words.

you return with the first aid kit, and true to his word -- surprisingly, or so you think -- hobie is in the same spot. you settle in between his long, manspreaded legs, tending to his facial wounds. you try not to notice his burning gaze on you as he tilts his head up for you to tend to his wounds. you can see his adams' apple in your peripheral version and you're trying oh so hard to mind your business. to do what he asked you to. to focus. he's your best friend, and all he asked of you was to tend to his wounds.

but when your fingers start to fumble on his face and you drop a bandaid, you're forced to bend down. you're forced to bend down in between his manspreaded legs, and when your cheek accidentally grazes the tent in his trousers on the way down, you realize how difficult this is going to be and you swear you can hear something -- a sound -- emerge in his throat before he clears his throat.

you decide to ignore it however, resurfacing and continuing on his face, trying to ignore the new grin he's wearing and the telltale half-lidded eyes on display for you.

"hobie, stop." you gnaw on your lip, trying not to look at his eyes. 

"stop what?" hobie speaks, causing his grin to widen. 

"whatever the hell you're doing." your eyes flicker to his lips as his tongue darts out to lick his lips, and you pray he didn't notice.

he shrugs and lifts up his hands in faux surrender. "haven't done a thing luv." he smiles.

however, when hobie goes to put his hands back down, they don't land back on his thighs. instead, they land on your hips. your breathing quickens and hobie seems to take notice of this because you notice his grin widens. 

after getting sidetracked and going to his chest wounds so that you wouldn't have to look at that annoyingly pretty ass face of his, you finish tending to his chest wounds and return to his facial wounds to finish sewing them back up too. but when you travel up, hobie's hands do too. his index fingers -- that were hooked under your shirt-- slide up, and he reveals your pink panties, and you catch him looking down to see the gold he's dug up.

"hobie, hands to yourself." you shakily breathe out, trying to focus on his face. you said all this, but you also made no effort to remove his hands off of you, and he seems to have realized.

"yeah? should i really now? you can remove 'em at any time, luv. but you're not. why is that?" he tilts his head to the side to give you better access to a particular wound. you refuse to answer his question, so his deep voice dripping in a cockney accent emerges from his throat once more to ask the question again. "hm?" he asks, his right hand traveling to your back to arch your back and push you into him, so you can feel his boner in between your legs, and this elicits a short, cut off whimper out of you that he obviously takes pride in, as his smile is now handsomely toothy.

"fu-- hobie, please," your hands falter as you continue flimsily working on his face.

"please wha'?" hobie says. "gotta tell me what you want. use your words, huh?" and with that, he hooks his long fingers under your pretty pink panties, tracing the rim. 

his eyes never left yours as he did all of this, and it was apparent to you that he had no shame. 

but you didn't either, because when his fingers were removed from the band of your panties, you whined for him. for the loss of his touch where you needed it most. 

"do you need something?" hobie questions, innocently raising his eyebrow, hands traveling to graze your stomach.

you shake your head, biting your lip, scared to open your mouth just incase anything unwanted slipped out.

"good." he says, grinning from ear to ear as his hand dips to your pooling cunt, nearly dripping on the floor as he pulls your panties to the side, leaving you hissing and your hands fumbling on his face.

"oh no, can't have that doc. pay attention baby. i like how my face looks," he says cockily, rubbing tight circles around your clit.

"mh', hobie, please..." you say, starting to lose feeling in the cold tips of your fingers. 

"told ya to use your words luv." he says, dipping one nimble finger into your dripping hole, eliciting a moan out of you and he seems to swallow it as it leaves your throat.

it wasn't long before he slipped another finger into you, fucking you on his fingers slowly, refusing to curl his fingers up to hit that spot of yours that you needed so badly. you set your tools aside and he stopped moving completely, tutting at you before you picked the tools back up, and he resumed his slow, torturous pace in your cunt. 

"jus' like that baby," he coos after you finish closing up another wound, struggling to keep your composure as his pace starts to go at a cut-throat speed, his digits expertly doing a 'come here' motion against your gummy walls, making you drop your tools once more. he returns to your clit and picks up his pace -- as if it wasn't fast enough already --, making you moan and squirm on his deft fingers. "hobie--" you start, getting cut off by a moan as your grip on his shoulders tighten. "fuck-- please, please, please, please.." you chant. you noticed his gaze wasn't on yours anymore, it was on the way your slick pooled in his palm so mesmerizingly. 

"fuck... that's it baby." he said as you broke apart on his fingers after one more thrust up into your dripping cunt, causing you to cum all over his fingers, all for him, on him, leaving you moaning and shaking on his fingers.

his gaze returned to yours, your face furrowed and your lips glistening from spit, hobie looked you in the eye, making sure you saw him lick all of your taste off of his long fingers, leaving his mouth with an overly lewd 'pop' sound. he then reached for you and pulled you closer to make out with you, exchanging spit. you could taste yourself on his tongue, causing you to moan into his mouth. 

you thought you were done, and you were in bliss, making out with hobie brown, forgetting all about his boner. he was going to make sure you took care of it just like he took care of you, which is why he unzipped his trousers and let you feel his cock spring up rubbing against your stomach. 

you looked down in shock. there was no way that was going to fit in you. he was crazy. "hobie, that's not gonna fit," you say, gaze fixated on his angry red tip.

"yes it is luv. jus' sit on it, yeah?" hobie says, motioning to it. 

you lift your hips, folds grazing the head of his dick. you start to sink down on it, and you let out a loud moan when the tip entered you. you refused to move anymore, looking at him with furrowed brows before he tore his gaze from where you two conjoined and looked at your facial expression.

"fine... gotta do everythin' me fuckin' self don't i?" hobie mumbles, before grabbing onto your hips and slamming you down onto the base of his cock, causing a loud moan and mixed in whimpers to rip out of you. 

"shit... hobs..." you say, resting your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes and indulging in the full feeling. 

this only lasted for a couple of seconds due to how impatient your best friend was. soon, you heard a laugh followed by an "i know. fuckin' mesmerizin' innit?" hobie says, lifting your hips on his cock, before pushing you back down, eliciting a whimper out of your chest, causing you to reemerge and start bouncing yourself on his cock.

"fuck yes..." hobie says, groaning. "jus' like that baby. c'mon."

this made you bounce faster and start moving your hips around. hobie started to meet you in the middle with thrusts, the air becoming hot and steamy and filled with the mixture of your moans.

"oh my.. ha--...hobie..." your nails dug into his back as he thrust up into you. he didn't respond, but he started to trace circles around that pretty little nub of yours. "gonna cum for me baby? cum for me yeah? come on, all over my dick. cum for me please, i want it so badly. need you to cum all over my dick for me, please luv," hobie shamelessly whined in your ear.

and fuck, did he get what he asked for. his words sent you over the edge, making you cum all over that long-ass dick of his, forming a pretty white ring around the base of his cock as your cum dripped and followed the winding paths of his bulging veins. he noticed your eyes were off of his and on the enchanting scene in between you both, and with that he took your jaw in his hand and forced you to look him in the eyes. "keep ye fuckin' eyes on me, yeah?" he said in between heavenly groans that made you wonder if you could get wetter than you already were.

as he fucked you through your orgasm, stars formed in your vision and tears clouded your eyes as hobie groaned into your ear. with one more jerk up into your dripping cunt, hobie -- your 'best friend', need i remind you -- spilled his seed into you, slipping out of you, carrying you to your bed and fucking all of his escaping cum right back into your cunt with two digits, sticking the same two down your throat. 

"suck." he ordered, and you followed. 

he pulled your panties right back over your slick folds and laid beside you like he didn't just take your soul from you, fuck it, and return it to your body. 

"i think i like you," is all that british motherfucker says, facing you with an annoying -- but incredibly attractive at that -- shit-eating grin.

-------

authors note:

i did this in under 3 hours dont criticize anything please ill cry

hobie brainrot is going crazy rn!!!! give him more love so i dont have to anymore!!!

hobartholomew needs to be put in jail 😞😞

[ghostheartfelt]

*:･｡☆ warnings: heavy gore, torture, hurt/comfort, whump, s/a towards reader, men being gross, gunshot wounds, stab wounds, blood and violence, branding (torture method), waterboarding (torture method), reader (thaye) is a badass, first kiss, dismemberment of fingers, eye trauma, protective!ghost, implications of smut/sex, aftermaths of torture. (there is probably a lot i missed, but idc lol all the other shit should b enough warning!!) 〔☆〕 desc: you and the 141 are deployed to austria with the intel of a drug boss known as rolmuth who is harboring romanian soldiers to the east coast to smuggle illegal mercenary personnel into america. what happens when a rapid snowstorm picks up and you (callsign 'thaye') are separated from the others then further captured and interrogated alongside your lieutenant?

—✩ PHANTOM TOUCH ✩—

word count —15.6k

a/n: sorry for my inactivity! the entire time i was workin on this shit... let me tell you.. this is 51 pages on google docs LMAO so i hope the length and word count makes this fat fucking hurt/comfort one shot worth it.

VIENNA, AUSTRIA.

“Move, move, move!” Price yells.

Snow fell and blanketed the ground beneath you, you were dressed in white camouflage tactical gear. 

Your movements were slower as you trudged yourself through the snow, you turned in every direction searching for your captain. 

Your lieutenant. 

Anybody. 

Rapid snowy winds smacked you in the face, nearly forcing your eyes shut as you traveled through the gusts. 

“Soap?!” You shout, planting your feet below into the patches of snow, 

Your arms raise to cover your face. 

“Fuck!” 

“Thaye!” A voice echoed through the snow that encased you in a blanket of long silence. 

Snow nestled into the ground below—everything around you seems to just slow down.

You traipse yourself heavily through the thickness around you as you snap a clip into your M4 carbine, swinging it behind you like it had been previously.

Thump.

Your head droops down and you feel your heart drop into your stomach seeing the body of one of the men you were deployed with face up.

His head four inches deep in the snow and his right eye completely destroyed, his chest marred with several bullet wounds.

The root of his nose is fractured to the point where it’s flattened into what’s left of his skull. 

You swallow the knot in your throat that might have also been barf trying to make its way out of you, kneeling down to peel the soldier’s dog tags off of his corpse.

Hudson “Scooter” Wheeler. 

It makes you smile slightly, your thumb dragging over the metal tag to wipe off the thickness of blood that had coated the carving of his name.

“I’m sorry, Wheeler.” 

The loss of fallen soldiers leave footprints and engravings on one’s heart that never allows them to be the same, again. 

You wished sometimes you could just be without the worry about who you have to lose and who you have to save. 

Restless nights followed by mornings and afternoons full of nothing but unpromised resolutions. You nearly felt as if insanity would be a better route than going through the pain of losing the people you stood side by side with, enduring the effects of grief, bloodshed, and war.

Although there were moments of bonding and camaraderie that were forced to turn into utter gore and distrust due to the change of the objective that deemed those to turn against one another in hopes of survival and success. 

Pride; a fickle sense that could drive an individual to the depths of madness and create a staked claim to prove more power then they own or deserve.

You didn’t understand it. Nor did you want to. 

You were left in a society where the drabness of gray ruled the world and pain of loss clenched to the soldier’s  hearts almost desperately. 

And yet that perpetual colour of gray; a colour so dull but so compelling, it still lights the depths of hell you lived in by merely a petite dose.

Your mouth had begun to feel tacky with your muscles stiffening as the weather conditions intensify by every fleeting moment. 

Inside your combat boots, you feel your feet begin to grow numb; similar to the feeling of stepping on fresh-cut grass and grazing dull needles. 

Now, you wonder what hypothermia would feel like. You weren’t used to this sort of weather. 

Even under your white half-face balaclava, you felt your lips and their absence of moisture. 

Still, you trekked forward, squinting eyes searching for any sign of life around you.  

Your face lights up at the sight of a shadow-like movement through the blistering storm and rapid winds once you wipe off the frost lingering on your goggles. 

They moved closer—it seemed to be one person. 

There’s a tree to your left—your legs manage to jerk themselves through the snow until you're beside it.

You cautiously lower your body into the snowpack below you, clutching your rifle in your grip while your eyes fixate on the moving figure ahead of you. 

Your finger grazes over the trigger of your carbine rifle.

A leg comes before the torso, then the face. 

The skull mask.

Ghost.

Relief washes over you immediately—raising to your knees.

“Lieutenant!” You call. 

His head immediately snaps in your direction, and the time spent staring at each other seemed everlasting, though in reality it was just a few seconds before his large hand was squeezing your shoulder and he was right in front of you.

“Thought we lost’ya,” Ghost rasps.

“What’s the sitrep?” 

“Enemy force has ordnance on standby—Price ordered all units to the West Safehouse,” he says.

You nod softly. 

“Why’d you hang back?” 

His eyes widen under his balaclava and you open your mouth to speak—Ghost tugs you by your vest, pulling you to the side.

“Gh—“

There’s a person behind him.

Sounds muffle around you, complete silence surrounding you as Ghost’s head is slammed with the butt of a rifle. 

Your hands reach down to pull your handgun from off of your hip, pointing it towards his attacker, squeezing on the trigger and unhesitantly dropping him to the ground before he can double back and finish him off.

No words leave your mouth as you turn in one quick jerk, the barrel of a L1A1 being aimed between your eyes. 

Not even seconds later was the thick handle of a bowie knife met with the back of your head. 

Immediately, your body meets with the snow, and you feel the coldness of the snow over your mask. 

You struggle to pick up your head, pain surging in the back of your head enough to blur your vision. 

Keeping your eyes open was a challenge—they constantly blink shut as you watch the enemy force yell at each other, manhandling Ghost by ripping his weapon sling off of him and dragging him by his fur-lined parka. 

His body was dragged up into a Humvee and roughly thrown in before you were picked up by your ankles and wrists and tossed right on top of him.

Your head slumps against Ghost’s bicep as you're washed up by incapacity, your mind fogging against your will. Enervation holds you captive and sweeps you off your feet. 

You’re met with blackness, next, yet the only thing you could think of was your failure to protect your superior.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

You awoke to the sounds of struggling—something teetering on the floor. 

It takes a moment for you to come to your senses and stir from unconsciousness, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings.

The ever-present smell of waste and deteriorated flesh smacks you with reminiscence, the overbearing cold, the taste of grime, blood, and bile in your mouth. 

When you go to move your hands, they’re immobile; binded by thick ropes that with your state of exhaustion and physical weakness, would be impossible to escape from. 

Your heavy head manages to shift for oneself to observe the room—your gear was purloined, leaving you in your cargos and a tank-top.  

Below you, the ground was concrete and stained with blood that led to the large metal door that had a closed hatch. 

Vaguely, you recall in short and brief flashes why you were there, your eyes shutting for a few moments before opening once again.

Ghost.

Where was Ghost?

“Lieutenant,” you cough. “Ghost, wh—“ 

“‘M here, kid.” Ghost wheezes. “To’yr left.” 

Your head turns, stopping at the sight of his mask on the concrete, blood smeared across the maw of the skull, over the eye socket. 

“Ghost, are you injured?” 

“No.” 

Slowly, your eyes trace up the ground beneath you until Ghost’s boots are in view. 

His soles skid against the ground as he attempts to drag the dentist chair he’s strapped in. “Fuck!”

You shift in your wooden seat in an attempt to reach your hand down to pull up the velcro flaps of your cargos. You couldn’t reach.

Ghost’s boots stop skidding against the floor as the metal door’s rusted hinges creak, the door being flung open to welcome a man inside—three other men were behind him holding military grade rifles with drum magazines.

The man inside the room raises his hand, offering departure in the Hindi language, to which his men shut the door behind him.

His arms were wrapped behind his back, the sound of his heavy boots echoing off of the thick stone walls. 

He walks around the room for a while, allowing you to raise your head to take in who he was.

A European man that’s approximately 184 centimeters with long pushed back shaggy dark hair; his eyebrows arched, a bushy beard. 

On his cheek, a nasty deep laceration scar that reaches the end of his eyebrow. Under his left eye, another scar reaches the bridge of his nose. 

The man is inches from your face, now, a tilt in his head. 

“We see how long it takes to break you, Sergeant.”  His eyes crinkled as his lips upturned in a depraved smile. 

He lifts himself from his bent position, grips the crest rail of the chair, and pulls you farther from Ghost.

“Who is your commanding officer?” He asks, feet spread apart as he looks down at you to assert his dominance.

“Fuck you.” You bite back.

The man’s hand roughly takes hold of your chin, tilting your head up towards the dangling ceiling light. 

“I eat boys like you for breakfast.” 

Ghost chuckles beside you.

His eyes narrow as he releases a choked scoff, his head swinging back before bursting into laughter.

“My drug ring reigns across the entire country—my men swarm all city.” 

His accent is thick, though his English  isn’t terrible. 

“It is either you tell me now and you and friend die quick, or you die slow of bleeding until we find on our own.” 

“Good fuckin’ luck,” Ghost grunts.

You swallow thickly, groaning as the man pulls your head back by the scalp of your hair. 

You purse your lips as you collect saliva from the walls of your mouth, spitting just above the man’s eyebrow and watching as the gob runs down over his eye.

He snarls, dragging an open hand down his face. Using that same hand, the male flexes his hand into a fist and socks you in the jaw. 

“Hey!” Ghost shouts. 

You hear it pop and you immediately outstretch your neck and slam your forehead into the bridge of his nose, arms jerking in an attempt to escape your restraints. “You motherfucker!”

He lets out a groan, his head flinging back as blood streams down his nostrils, his hand trembling over his nose.

“Bitch! Madarchod! Bevakooph veshya…” He hisses through clenched teeth. “Broke my nose!” 

His palm smacks you across the face so hard, a pinkish red hue starts blossoming across your cheek. He repeats it again, then again, and again. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself as numbness circles inside the flesh of your cheek, a similar feeling to those static electricity globes that you’d get for your twelfth birthday and press all five of your fingertips against.

“Hey! This is between you an’ me, a’right?” Your lieutenant gives a sharp nod, trying to reason with the man. 

He stares at Ghost for a few moments, squeezing his fingers in his fist before leaving the room, the door slamming loudly behind him.

You take the moment to actually look at Ghost, your eyes taking in his features entirely.

From his long and messy dirty blonde undercut, to his shade and stubble. 

To his bruised and bloodied lips and the thick scar running from his top lip to the underside of his chin.

To his thick and beautiful eyebrows, the scar on the start of his left eyebrow, running down to the bridge of his nose.

To his deep and all familiar brown eyes—long and light eyelashes accompanying their shape.

To the scar that spread out from the right inner corner of his lip and across his cheek as if it was the engravings of a smile line.

There were several scars littered across the male’s face; each one of vast distinction from the other. 

Once again, the door thrusts open and the man returns, cotton wads up his nostrils with another male by his side, pushing in a rolling mayo stand with different tools and items you assumed were torture devices.

“Hey! Hey! What’re y’doing?” Ghost jerks in his seat, his eyebrows furrowing as the man picks up a syringe, flicking the glass and squeezing out a droplet of the liquid inside. “What th’fuck is that?”

“You will have your answer soon enough,” he simply replies. 

“Agarwal—blade.”

The second man grabs the rotary tool from off the tray, a saw blade in the other. 

Your hands tug against their bindings enough to chafe your wrists, it feels as if your skin is being shredded with a cheese grater. 

“Paip rinch, ab.”  The taller man holds out his arm, to which the man who was now identified as Agarwal hands him a pipe wrench.

“English, asshole.” You grunt.

He slings it over his shoulder and slowly walks towards Ghost as he whistles. 

Ghost’s eyes don’t avert from his gaze, even as the pipe wrench drops from off his shoulder to clatter on the floor, hanging from his wrist and dragging along the ground.

“Who…is…your…superior?” His voice is grim, each word coming out as he takes a step.

Using the hook jaw of the wrench, he lifts Ghost’s chin.

“Piss off,” the blonde huffs.

Not even seconds later does the man swing the wrench around and belt it into his stomach. Ghost lets out a wheeze, his body lurching over in reaction to the sudden pain coursing through him. 

“No!” You yell. 

“Who.” He asks again with spite in his tone—he was demanding, it no longer was a question in his favor.

“You’ll know who when he comes’a knockin’ ‘n blows lead thru th’lot of ya.” Ghost says with a slight raise in his head.

The wrench is swung back into his stomach, causing Ghost to hurl and expel vomit onto his boots.

“Leave him the fuck alone!” You kick yourself forward a bit using your boots. Agarwal’s hands grip the slat of the chair and pull you back towards the tray.

“No, no,” he nearly coos, yanking your head back by the thinner group of hairs on the nape of your neck. 

You clench your jaw and subside, lifting yourself up with your hips to help avoid the pain.

His eye’s strain, beads of sweat rolling down the end strands of his hair regardless of how cold it was inside of the formidable room.

“Get me my player,” the bearded man says as he trails his 12” redwood handle knife across Ghost’s jawline.

Agarwal’s hand releases your hair to your relief and he leaves the room. 

“Disgusting—“ the male snarls. “Making mess of my floor.”

Your eyes narrow as you watch a pool of blood start to form as he slashes Ghost’s cheek, a groan spilling from your lieutenant’s throat.

“Fuck you ‘n y’r floor,” Ghost coughs. 

He drops the wrench to the floor, then uses a rag that was hanging out of his pocket to swipe off the blood from the knife’s blade.

Two men walk in, one pushing in a record player and the other holding a tactical vest and a book.

Your vest and your book.

His name patch reads “Gamble”, the one who throws your vest and the book onto the floor. 

“Rolmuth, the woman—she has had access to our radio frequency and has been writing down our shipment codes and locations.” 

Ghost’s head raises, his pupils shrunken as he takes in the sight of the morse code book. 

The man holding the knife cracks his head in your direction before proceeding towards you.

“Thaye…” he susurrated.

You don’t flinch when his arms raise to swing the knife over towards your temple, a maniacal laugh escaping through the barriers of Rolmuth’s teeth. 

The knife lowers to release one of your hands, though before you can reach for anything, he slams your arm backward against the back leg of the chair, the feeling of your bones snapping beneath your skin causes you to let out a sharp, excruciating cry as your now-broken arm falls limp to your side.

“Thaye!” Ghost shouts. “Fuckin’ bastard…” 

“How?!” Rolmuth yelled through his teeth, lips drawn back in a snarl as he nearly foamed out of his mouth. 

His fist meets with your cheek and your eyes squeeze together in grimace to the pain as he punches you again. 

Ghost calls out your name and you can hear the metal of his chair scrape and grind against the ground. 

You feel your cheek begin to swell, the tender flesh on your face blooming into purple and blue bruises.

He walks to the record player and takes a record out of its sleeve that was resting on the shelf of the small table the player was brought in on. It has wheels on it—similar to the mayo tray.

Rolmuth blows on the record, though the sleeve looks too clean to hold any dust, then places the record on the platter. After pressing play, he drops the tone arm down.

The record scratching sends chills up and down your spine before the music almost beautifully fills the room.

Why does the sun go on shining?

You watch Rolmuth pick up a pair of pliers.

Why does the sea rush to shore?

You wonder if he’s going to try to rip out your teeth.

Don’t they know it’s the end of the world,

He clasps them around one of your fingers on your broken arm.

Fuck.

The cold metal around your finger makes you nearly want to cry.

‘Cause you don’t love me anymore?

He was going to rip off your finger.

“Who is your captain?” His hand squeezes the pliers, applying pressure to your singular finger. 

“Go…to hell—“ 

A scream rips itself from your throat as you feel your sinew and flesh tear, the pliers tearing your finger from off your bone.

“Tha’s enough!” Ghost jerks and flails in his seat, there’s a sip of panic in his voice. “Get th’fuck off of her!” 

Why do the birds go on singing? 

Rolmuth wriggled the rest of your finger off, your eyes daring to skim down to look at the bone sticking out from your knuckle. 

Blood spews out of the gore, coating your entire hand and dripping from the crevices of your skin into your lap, staining your cargos, turning their white color into several distinct shades of red.

Rolmuth sets the finger—your finger down lightly on the standing metal tray besides you. 

Why do the stars glow above?

A penetrating ringing fills your ears; one so loud it felt like it’d be the cause of your tears instead of the pain surging through the entire left side of your body.

Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?

You’re in shock, unable to speak. Your jaw is locked, your teeth are clenched so hard it feels as if you might shatter your teeth. 

It ended when I lost your love. 

Ghost’s voice echoes in the back of your mind, when he calls out your name, you’re pulled out of your trance. You jerk your slumping head up.

You want to call out his name, but it seems like your throat is swallowing every little word that is being screamed inside of your head. 

The room is spinning and you can’t feel your arm, you can’t feel the finger move that was just severed from your hand.

“Look at me, look at me, love…” your lieutenant simpers. 

Your eyes search the room until they land on Ghost’s, he sounds far away. You feel your eyes widen as cold metal wraps around another finger once again. 

Why does my heart go on beating?

Rolmuth’s lips close in near your ear as he tugs lightly at your middle finger. 

“You don’ want to lose this finger, do you?” You feel the man’s hot breath run up the side of your face and brush past your ear.

“Who…is…your...captain?” 

Why do these eyes of mine cry?

Every nerve in your body seized, your spine stiffening with every urge to kill the man standing beside you. 

Ghost coughs up blood; internal bleeding. 

“I’ll fu…cking…skin you…” you croak, your words finally becoming coherent.

He laughs. Rolmuth’s single arm raises in a humorous gesture of surrender. 

Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?

Your eyes squeeze shut, though shoot open at the rush of heat, the pliers applying clutched pressure to your finger before Rolmuth started ripping off the second finger, wiggling it until it broke off skin and sinew. 

It ended when you said “goodbye.” 

“Look at me, Thaye.” Ghost’s voice sounds desperate, so you offer him a short glance as your jaw slacks and your body retracts.

Your strained eyes snapping to the bearded man as he places down your middle finger on top of your pointer finger.

A gag surfaces in your throat and your body twitches as you watch your finger fall and roll almost as if it’s the most natural thing. 

Ghost yells your name again.

You finally focus on him, your eyes welling up, reddening and puffing against your will.

“Jus’ look at me, angel,” Ghost’s silked voice calms you, although in a manner you can’t hear him as well as you want to. 

Every muscle and ligament inside of you feels tense and stuck.

Why does my heart go on beating?

You had three fingers on your left hand—three fingers.

Thumb, pinkie, ring. Thumb, pinkie, ring. Thumb, pinkie, ring.

“Y’ll kill her, she’s losin’ too much blood—she’s goddamn delirious!”  

Gamble’s fist barrels into the side of Ghost’s head, you hear a feral groan leave his gullet.

At least I can still put a wedding ring on my left hand. You thought.

Those three fingers trembled and twitched, it was the only movement on the left side of your body besides for your left eye—is he going to take one of my eyes? Your head is swarming with thoughts.

“Ghost…” you slur, still locked onto the blonde’s eyes. 

“I know, love,” he says as gently as he physically can. “So proud of’y…” 

His speech comes out as a garble, but you’re still able to understand him. 

“‘M gon’ get us outta here…alive, a’right?” 

Your head slumps at the attempt of a nod. 

“Save y’r energy, lovie.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Agarwal grips Ghost’s earlobe, pulling him closer. You’re not able to cognize his words, but you’re aware of the vexation in his countenance. 

You flinch once Rolmuth drops the pliers on the metal tray. He removes his latex gloves that were blanketed in your gore and throws them onto your lap. 

“Clean them up—she still is of use to me.” His voice grows more distant as he leaves the room.

Gamble injects Ghost with a syringe that was hanging off of his waist, casting him with drowsiness, his eyes struggling to keep open before he’s blacked out.

“What did you do—…what did y’do to him?” Your eyebrows stitch together. “What did you do?!” 

They unstrap his arms from the chair, then his ankles.

“Answer me goddamnit...” You seethe, tears warping in your eyes.   

“Shut the bitch up,” Gamble nudges Agarwal in the shoulder before he pushes Ghost further out of his restraints, his body still and unconscious allowing the scarred man to bind his wrists with zip ties. 

Agarwal simply nods and paces toward you. The stock of his gun smashed into your jaw before you could react.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY TWO.

The woman in the doorway was bedraggled; tired eyes and shrunken tear-stained cheeks. 

There’s a light illuminating from the pulled-back curtains—a light so bright it could dry the shining tears that spill out scarlet fluid over the eyes of the miserable.

You feel only patient while waiting for the morning sun to rise over the horizon line of the ocean side.

It’s deteriorating yet caliginous frame of murky grey stone and vast sorrow of an arched entrance sat in disposition from harrowing memories filled with bloodshed, grief, and war.

Your face relaxes at the distinctly ravishing but delicate overcasted ray of light shot down from the amidst along the ruins, the melancholy ambiance nearly sent chills down your spine.

Heavenly cries of forgotten mothers begging for forgiveness of their past sins, children's playful and beatific screams, although it was nothing unknown to you.

Screams were usually followed by split rib cages and bullet wounds—tears, blood, those screams and sweat, you went through it all just for it to lie unheard and forgotten.

You searched the odd and seemingly afterlife-like realm with your eyes, you could only wonder where you were, and why you were there.

Why the flowy white dress draped over your body oscillated with the wind in a gorgeous motion.

You're lifting your head out of the water now. 

The taste of salt seems so thick, heavy. Like you could drown in it. Like you could get drunk off of it.

The waves crashing onto shore sound so loud atop the eerie silence, their white crests phasing through your body as if your presence was unknown to them.

You loved the ocean because as opposed to the ones who were supposed to; the ocean loved you and was never afraid to come too close, even at your worst.

As you move farther from shore, the water slowly travels up your body, submerging your frame. 

You close your eyes as your head is the last thing the water consumes. You feel the water bubbles tickle your skin and elevate themselves up to the surface. 

It doesn’t take long for that familiar burn inside your lungs and that familiar feeling of being gagged by the water to swarm your senses.

Your head jerks up and you let out a loud gasp as you fade into consciousness, slipping into colored imagery instead of just monochrome. 

Waking up felt like hell; your mouth was dry and most of your limbs felt unresponsive. 

Only when you see Ghost curled up on his side, laying on the floor in front of you, are you able to register where you are and what’s going on.

His knees bucked up into his abdomen  with his hands zip tied behind his back and his face battered and bruised. 

Specks of dried blood ran from his scalp down his face reaching his compression undershirt. 

He was asleep.

There was a gentle rise and fall with his chest—you could still hear his labored breaths from where you were. 

It felt colder. 

Your eyes wander down to your left hand that was wrapped in bandages that were stained red, your two fingers missing and replaced with nubs that were uneven from each other.

If your arm wasn’t broken, you could use it to break the leg of the chair and wield  it against the next person to walk through that large metal door that made you wonder if it was life or death upon you.

If your fingers weren’t missing, you could use them to untangle your restraints on your other hand.

You could barely move your wrist—the pain that swells your entire arm makes it nearly impossible.

Ghost stirs on the floor, his body curling into itself further before his legs straighten out. 

“Lieutenant,” you mumble. “What did they do to you��?” 

His eyes flicker to yours. 

“‘M alive, aren’t I?” Ghost says.

His voice is so hoarse and weak—he sounds dehydrated.

“You are.” 

Your eyes close a moment to allow yourself to breathe in the air around you.

The single door breaking up the dull room that held them hostage creaks open on rusted hinges allowing Rolmuth to enter.

Two different men from the day prior push in the same record player and the same rolling metal tray that was stained with your blood. 

“Rise and shine,” one says, his boot meeting harshly with the lower section of Ghost’s back.

 The blonde’s eyes stay intent on the movements of Rolmuth as he lifts up different record sleeves to read their names. He slides one out and places it on the platter.

That familiar sizzle fills the room before the gentle hum of the music begins.

A short gasp leaves your mouth as Rolmuth kicks down your chair by the back stile, your head immediately jerking forward before it slams down onto the cement floor.

He dismisses the two of his men.

Rolmuth’s hand levitates over the tray and he grasps an old tan hand towel, draping it over your face.

You can hear the buckle of Ghost’s pants tink lightly on the floor as he jerks himself. “Fuckin’ bastard!” He yells.

I don’t want to set the world on fire. 

It was going to be okay, you told yourself. You trained for this. Truthfully, you were one of the best swimmers on the task force. You can hold your breath—but if that rag manages to cave in, you’ll most likely panic and lose focus.

I…just want to start a flame in your heart.

“Are you ready for talk, now?” Rolmuth arches over you. 

In my heart, I have but one desire…

Your voice muffled, you call him something along the lines of an asshole and a prick, which is quickly silenced by the pressure of water that smacks you in the face.

And that one is you, no other will do…

Ghost watches the man pour a jerry can of water over your face. His breath hitching in his throat watching your body twist and turn trying to evade from the water. 

I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim

Your body arches up in protest, head jerking side to side as if it would make it any more easier on you.

I just want to be the one you love…

Focus on the music, you tell yourself. You can barely hear your own voice. 

And with your admission…that you feel the same,

Rolmuth’s smile is ear to ear as he continues tipping the canister over your cloth-covered face.

I’ll have reached the goal I’m dreaming of, believe me…

You violently thrust your body, panic surging  through you as you feel water invade and swallow your lungs. 

I don’t want to set the world on fire…

Involuntarily you gasp and choke in more water, you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head.  

I…just want to start…a flame in your heart.

Your throat was burning like scolding lava, your heart throbbing inside your chest threatening to rupture. You don’t dare to make noise. 

You’re gagging, gasping, sputtering. That you can’t handle. But you don’t let yourself cry. Not like this.

I don’t want to set the world on fire, honey,

The music is starting to garble. 

Why is it starting to sound so distorted? You ask yourself. 

I…—you too—uch.  

“Stop, y’ll fuckin’ kill her! Bloody tosser!” Ghost grits his teeth before spitting out words.

Now that you have the chance to think about it, that song reminds you of someone.

I just want to start…

Your grandfather—you’d sit on that circular crocheted rug and listen to that song as him and your grandmother baked apple fritter.

A great big flame…

He loved that woman more than life itself; when she’d started to get sick with bone cancer, he helped her bathe, he helped her eat, get dressed. 

Down in your heart.

Your mother told you about how he had asked her doctor to keep the fact that she only had three weeks left to live just between them. 

You see, way down inside me,

She was still happy. So happy. He wanted to spend those last three weeks with her. He retired from his job and took her to all the places she’d talked about visiting. 

Darling, I have only one desire. 

She passed away, and he spent every day doing all her favorite things. He watered her plants, he baked. He listened to her favorite songs. 

And that one desire is you, 

He adopted a puppy—a beautiful Australian Shepherd which he named after her. Your mom would say that your grandma’s being was reincarnated into that dog. 

And I know nobody else ain’t going to do. 

Would that happen to you too? Who would you want to belong to? What kind of dog would you be? 

A deafening ringing fills your ears, you finally stop fighting. Breathing.

“She’s not movin—“ Ghost wheezes. “She’s not fuckin’ movin’!” 

He was trained for this. He couldn’t break. He couldn’t.

“Enough!” The blonde yells again.

They could crack him, but they can’t break him. They wouldn’t kill her. 

Rolmuth finally puts down the canister and removes the rag from off your face, his body bends over to lift your chair back up. 

Your body twitching, struggling to release the water clogged in your gullet

“Wake up, bitch,” he snaps and his open palm cracks against your cheek. Your eyes shoot open.

Your mouth opens, your strained and bloodshot eyes widen with horror as you vomit out water, sputtering between your lips as you hack and gag. 

The taste of bile is sickening to your empty stomach. 

Ghost calls out your name, catching your attention as you stabilize from your state of stupor. 

“So proud of’ya, Thaye,” he groans. “Y’r strong, ‘lright? We’ll kill these bastards, all of’em.” 

You can hardly spare the man a small nod before your chin is grabbed by Rolmuth’s uncut nails—blood and dirt caked underneath them.

“You tell who you are work for, I consider sparing life.”  Rolmuth runs a blade across your cheek, increasing the pressure slightly to slit your skin—a feeling similar to a paper cut. You moan in pain. “Your friend I can not speak for.”

Blood trickles down from the incise, slowly flaring through your cut and pushing from the barriers beneath your top layer of skin. 

“F…uck…—“ your silenced by sudden metal on your tongue, scraping gently like a threat. 

“I will carve out ur pretty little tongue, cut it in bits, and feed it to you.” Rolmuth coos. “Would you that, yes?” 

“Y’sick fuck, get th’fuck away from ‘er!” Ghost attempts to jerk himself up, the bonding on his ankles not allowing him to, his bruised ribs protesting in pain as he lets out a sharp breath.

Your eyes burn into his, your neck flinching as he slowly pushes the blade farther down your throat, his hand prying your mouth open. 

He chuckles lowly, small “ah’s” leaving him as he slowly opens your mouth farther to allow the tip of the knife farther down. You salivate, drool racing down your chin and over the creep’s knuckles. 

Ghost’s eyes divert from your face to the man’s hands. Disgust laced in his features. 

He swallowed thickly, he could feel his skin boiling. He wasn’t angry. 

Pissed.

He was incensed. 

More than that. 

“G..host…” your slightly muffled voice trembles.

His gaze fixes back on yours, watching as your left eye twitches at each of Rolmuth’s motions. 

“I know, love…J’s look at me, ‘lright? J’s look at me.” 

It presses onto the skin of your tongue, it’s curved edge digging into the fragile skin and tissue causing the metallic taste of iron to taint your sense of taste.

You still bore into your lieutenant’s gaze.

Saliva and blood dribbles down your neck, the sight no doubtedly arousing the male in front of you—his tongue leapt out to slowly trace along his bottom lip.

You might drown in your own saliva at this rate.

Your lieutenant purses his dry and cracked lips, but he doesn’t look away. 

He takes the blade out of your mouth, rubbing it against the cloth of his pants to clean it. 

Rolmuth raises the knife and pierces your thigh, the feeling of cold metal hitting you first along with the shock, the sound of cloth tearing.

“I want names!” The man hollered, spit landing on your face just below your eyes.

Ghost watches your pupils shrink, his own eyes widening and slowly shifting to your thigh. 

An intense tingling sensation swarms your entire leg, then a heat. A heat that felt unbearable. 

Ghost searches for your eyes again, his mouth moving, though you can’t hear anything he says.

He broke through skin and sinew, twisting the knife inside of the laceration.

“Talk, bitch!” Rolmuth’s eyes darken. 

It takes a few moments for the pain to surface, and when it does, it’s scorching. Your jaw slacks open as your eyebrows pinch together, a shrill whimper escaping you. 

“Don’ look, don’t.” Ghost pleads with you. Even he was struggling not to look at your thigh.

It didn’t take eyes to tell there was blood bubbling from the wound and dripping down your pants and trembling leg. 

A narrow vertical split across the midsection of the flesh of your thigh. Your eyes didn’t leave Ghost’s.

Was his hair bleached? It seemed like such an unnatural shade of blonde. Brunette underneath. He must bleach it himself.

Rolmuth gave it one more twist, releasing a thin, raw, scream from your throat. 

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them get the satisfaction of that from you. Especially not you. 

“They’ll b’ere soon, Thaye.” Your lieutenant says.

“You are weak,” Rolmuth spits. “You will break.” 

He rolls his shoulders before gripping your pointer finger and holding a jab saw above it.

Your eyes flicker to Rolmuth’s and Ghost calls your name. 

“I want a name!” Rolmuth’s scream makes your head spin. 

“Fuck y—“ your voice is replaced with a high pitched cry followed by gasps and whimpers as Rolmuth’s new blade carved through sinew and bone. He lifts up your finger against the blade and with one swift movement, your finger falls onto the floor. 

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you, y’bastard!” Ghost’s lips twitching in pain mixed in with a whole lot of anger. 

Your body jumps up, an animalistic noise escaping your throat as you swing your head back and wince loudly, the pain in your thigh 

“Name! Or I take another!” Rolmuth yells just inches from your face. 

You couldn’t handle it—your vision is swarmed by black spots and your head is killing you. Your body is in so much pain you feel so much, but so little all at the same time. 

When your eyes roll to the back of your head and lolls, you can faintly hear the man yell ‘shit’ before you’re unable to comprehend what is happening.

Everything fades into a subtle blackness, and the last thing you hear is Ghost yelling your name. Screaming your name. 

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 4

You wake up to the sound of loud groaning and thumping. 

It takes you a few moments to register that you’re awake and you can actually move. 

So you do—you upheave your head and take in the light spilling in the room from between the iron barred vent. 

It stings your eyes, blotchiness surrounding your peripheral before you’re able to adjust to the light. 

Ghost is on the floor taking blunt forces into his lower abdomen—the blonde sputters out a cough as his entire body jerks at the contact. 

The man grips the neckline of Ghost’s shirt, lifting his head from off the ground as thick red paste runs down his split and swollen lips.

His legs lift themselves up in an attempt to propel his body up and out of the man’s grasp, but he falls flat as his neck is slammed back onto the cement. 

Before Ghost can gasp for air the moment his neck is released, a closed fist slams into his cheekbone, knocking the wind out of him. 

“Stop,” you rasp. “Let’im go…”

Ghost is twitching on the floor, blood spilling from his mouth. His entire face is caked in red flakes and black and blue blemishes—the entire left side of his face is fattened with knots.

“No…” you snarl.

The man whirls his head and glares at you, an amused expression of disbelief stamped onto his face.

“No?” He says cockily.

The man paces towards you and cuts off your bindings, bundles your hair in his fist and drags you over towards Ghost, you whine and raise your unbroken arm to try and pry his hands off, but he only tugs harder. 

He pulls your hair up until you're positioned on your knees, chin raised up and neck tilted.

You hear a click, it wasn’t a gun. 

He unsheathed a pocket knife. It was a fairly decent size. You were tired of seeing knives.

Ghost watches the man’s hand lower to your abdomen, fingers pirouetting across your delicate skin, it sends a shivering fear throughout your entire body like electricity. 

“Please…” you meekly whisper, attempting to pull yourself away, your body is so weak from lack of use. Your voice came out as a croak. 

His other hand holds a knife that teases the neckline of your shirt. 

Ghost thrashes against the floor attempting to wrestle out of his bindings. “I’ll skin you,” Ghost’s voice is hoarse.

“How would you feel If I just…” His fingers trace along the scars on your stomach. “Touch her, ever so lightly…Right in front of you?” The man snickers.

You yelp as his knife cuts a thin line down your blood-stained neckline until your cleavage is exposed. 

Tears surface the corners of your eyes. 

No, no, no, no…

“Keep y’r eyes on me,” Ghost whispers weakly. “That’s it, love.”

You feel your shirt tear entirely down the middle and fall down your arms, pooling around your wrists. 

Your vision blurs and your mouth starts to feel dry, teeth chattering in unison with your trembling lips. 

When the knife rests over the center gore of your bra, your breath hitches in your throat and tears bead down your cheeks. 

The blade slices through the cloth and immediately your hand rises to cover your nude chest.

Ghost’s eyes stay locked with yours, one half-closed from being beaten beyond his control.

You feel his facial hair scrub raw against your skin, sipping in your fear and vulnerability.

“Team Delta en route for seaside, Corbin, what’s your report?” 

His radio.

The man pauses and takes his hand off the midline of your ribcage to grab his radio.

“Delta, this is Pooch on standby—hostages are stable, the woman is awake.” 

You release a choked sob, causing the man to release the talk button and bash it against the side of your face, sending you straight onto the floor. 

“Thaye…” Ghost croons.

You clutch your chest with your one hand as you feel the right side of your face swell. 

“It’ll ‘b over soon,” you tremble, releasing a shaken breath. “They’ll find..us…”

“Shut the fuck up,” his voice is slicked with spite. “Both of you.” 

“Pooch, this is Delta, rog that. Don’t kill our intel—0-7, signing off.” It crackles.

You lift your head and turn it slightly, blinking causes the pain on your cheekbone to burn like acid. 

“Go to h—“ the radio is bashed into your face again causing your vision to swim and make your head stumble. 

The sound of blood trickling and hitting the floor fills your ears, your left palm flattens against the cold floor. Missing fingers wrapped to keep you alive, not because they care.

He punches the radio into your right eye. You keep your head down in submission.

“You wanna act tough? Get treated like you're tough!” He yells.

His hand tugs your head back—you can see your own blood splattered against the communicator before you’re met with the same fate.

Ghost watches as the man beats the right side of your face in with the butt of the radio until it’s practically unrecognizable—caked and blistered. Bruising and swelling so tender on your skin. 

He can’t do anything.

He can only watch. 

You whimper and cry, hissing through your tears while your jaw clenched, the radio mercilessly landing on the same spot allowing more blood to cascade from the wound. 

The last hit is the hardest, sending your numbing cheek staggering back down onto the ground, you wheeze. 

If Ghost’s hands weren’t tied behind his back, the man standing above the two of you would be a mangled corpse. He knew that. 

Your breaths are shallow and rasped. It feels like hell to breathe—to move your face. Crimson just pools beneath you as Pooch flicks off your gore from his communicator.

He grunts in disgust as specks splatter onto the ‘cleaner’ side of your face. Like water spots on a windowpane or glass shower door. 

When you hear the door slam behind you, it makes you flinch. 

Your body has broken into tremors now, maybe it’s not tremors—but your spasming. 

And your hand is still covering your scar-ridden chest, but you feel like you might pass out again. 

Ghost’s own breaths are ragged—you wonder if lunderneath all the blood on your face if you’d look just like him. 

“Sleep,” he rasps. “I’ll watch ya.” 

You relax as much as you possibly can, your single eye twitching shut in favor of your other one. 

All you’ve had these past four days was sleep, yet it didn’t replenish. It didn’t make you feel any less tired or exhausted. 

With your bones feeling brittle and sore, it was hard to shift yourself into the mindset of falling asleep, but you tried. 

You felt Ghost scoot himself towards you, possibly just to shield your unclad chest and give you a taste of comfort. 

Your eyelids feel heavy with pain and fatigue, your body stilling as you allow yourself to sleep.

☆════━���━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 5

Your hands are tied above your head, a gag set between your teeth which you gnaw at in an attempt to drag it down to hang around your neck.

Ghost is a few feet away from you—both of you hanging on metal piping with rope around your wrists. 

Ghost’s boots were on the floor, he was too tall to hang like you, where you could swing your feet. Did they take your shoes? 

You watch the steel poker ignite in the industrial furnace; the end of it glowing all shades of red, yellow, and orange. 

It was two different tools Rolmuth was holding, now. They had two different symbols on each one that you were unfamiliar with. He was choosing.

Rolmuth spun the branding irons with his thumbs and pointers, chuckling dryly to himself as he approached Ghost, setting one of them back inside the boiler.

His boots were so loud, they echoed off the walls of the room they were in—It looked like some sort of boiler room, but you weren’t too sure. 

You two must’ve been in a warehouse of some sort. 

Rolmuth has to look up to look your lieutenant in the eyes. 

When they’d woken you up, they threw you a gray tank top, so you weren’t as exposed as you were before. 

The Hindi man pulls down Ghost’s gag. 

“460 degrees of heat on metal…” he says as he lifts the hem of Ghost’s shirt. “You talk, I spare you more scar.” 

“Go fuck y’self, y’manky twat…”  the blonde snapped.

An open mouthed yell left Ghost’s throat as the metal is lanced firmly over the middle of his stomach, tugging at his flesh and skin.

Ghost’s eyes squeeze shut as loud whimpers escape from him, ragged winces. 

“Stop!” you cry.

God, you’d never heard him in so much pain. You never thought you’d ever hear him scream in agony, in physical pain. 

You're forced to watch the smoke trailing up the rod, Ghost’s back arching in tormentation. 

“You piece of shit!” You twist and turn your body causing the rope to shred through layers of your skin. 

His muscles tense and his knuckles go white from how hard he’s gripping the pipelines holding him up. 

Rolmuth removes the metal from Ghost’s skin—it could be described as a flesh eating parasite; the way that his skin sticks to the rod as if it’s desperate for that contact.

A hitched gasp manages to make its way past his lips as he feels a tinge of relief, his body twitching and pained moans and hisses filling your ears.  

You jerk your body weight down, kicking your bare feet until you feel the metal start to dent. 

Rolmuth sets the iron back onto the furnace over a rack, he’s bending over to adjust the heat, the fire is roaring.

You tug your arms down and you let out a strained whine at the feeling of your wrists starting to bleed.

When the metal gives in above you, it creaks and drops you down.

You slide down the metal and Rolmuth’s body swings up from fidgeting with furnace levers and knobs. 

His arms are immediately reaching for his gun while you lift your legs up and kick the heels of your feet into his shoulder blades, hard. 

Rolmuth’s head slams back into the brick base of the furnace, he lets out a groan, his form dragging down and slumping against the floor.

Your body lands harshly on the ground, an excruciating response coming from the back of your head.

Black spots cloud your vision as you slowly try to regain your composure. Your vision is blurring, everything sounds far away and echoed. 

The gun slides across the floor.

Your jaw clenches as you pick up your heavy head, your eye searching for the gun regardless of the pounding that distracted you.

When you spot the muzzle, you lurch yourself forward and reach, finger grazing the trigger guard before your pulled back by your hair, earning a yelp to leave you.

Your lungs refuse to cooperate in your chest as your scalp is nearly torn from your head. 

Rolmuth growls with clenched teeth, pulling you away from the gun and towards him as he kneels himself over you.

This was the first time you were able to get a decent look at his face—if it weren’t for your messed up eye—but you only can see the rage dispersed over his face as his hands gather around your throat.

He slams your neck down, adding onto the pain thrusting through the back of your head.

“Bitch!” Rolmuth snarls.

You suck in your gag, causing panic and adrenaline to rush through your entire body as your binded hands thrash and attempt to push him off of you. 

You duck yourself, bend your leg and kick it against his ankle to heave yourself up with all your weight upwards. 

He exclaims in his native tongue, some of which you can only recognize as insults and swears.

Ghost calls your name weakly.

Rolmuth’s hands slip from your throat allowing you to breathe and sit yourself on top of him, you tug your body and maneuver yourself until you're behind the man, pulling the knot of your bindings against his throat and crossing them over. 

His neck lifts to try and give himself access to air, though you tug and hold his waist steady between your knees. 

You yell with your clenched teeth, the fabric between your lips making the muscles in your jaw ache. 

Him wheezing beneath you, fingernails clawing at your split and abused hands before he shifts.

“Thaye!” Your lieutenant hollers.

Rolmuth’s hands reach down to his vest to pull another gun, aiming it at your foot and pulling the trigger causing you to let out an agonizing scream, pain racking your entire body. 

The bullet shoots clean through, you knew that for sure. It was too close. 

Your grip on his neck loosens so you can slap the gun out of his grip.

In three quick motions, Rolmuth’s back atop you with his hands grasping your hair again, dragging you towards the furnace until your face is close enough to feel the heat radiate onto your face.

You feel the thickness of gore engulf your foot and drip down your toes onto the floor. 

Your grunting, muffled, and loud breaths make your head pound as the man squeezes your jaw and forces your neck towards the mouth of the forge. 

“No…” you snarl with bared lips, kicking your legs regardless of the pain, throwing yourself towards him to keep yourself as far from the flames as you could.

Rolmuth laughs dryly accompanying his guttural breaths, his body stretching yet keeping a firm hold on your mandible as he takes hold of one of the branding rods. 

“No!” Your eye widens and your hands reach up to push his face away from you.

“Fuck!” He growls, shaking his face to keep your hands off as he pulls the iron out of the furnace.

He wastes no time pressing it into your side regardless of the thin tank covering your skin, and the cloth does absolutely nothing in regards to the sudden gut wrenching sensation that makes it feel like your entire body was drenched in gasoline and set on fire with a blowtorch. 

Your cry is deafening to the ears and the smell of burning charred flesh is quick to fill your nostrils. You feel and you hear your skin bubble up, sizzle, then pop, then stick to the metal and entangle itself around the start of the handle taking the appearance of something similar to chewed bubblegum. 

Even trembling and shaking, you manage to find a way to position your hands so you can plant your thumbs into his eyes and use some of the only fingers you have left to press them into his eyes, causing the man to yell. 

Still, your screams aren’t matchable as your fingernails gouge into his sockets and claw at his eyelids, shredding through flesh easily as blood began to dribble down his face and over his lips like tears. You still manage to scream louder in anger than the man can in pain. 

Your fingers shove deeper into the grooves of his eye sockets, the organs are pushed so far back that blood sprays across your face and he finally releases the rod.

It clangs to the floor, and he starts sobbing in his native tongue, convulsing hands reaching up towards his red-painted face as you pull your gag out.

“Go to hell,” You seethe wobbly as you lift yourself and steer yourself behind him, taking Rolmuth by the nape of his neck and forcing himself inside the mouth, against the grills inside the furnace. 

He shrieks and cries, moving erratically as his face is engulfed by the fire. Slowly, yet quickly, his skin is shredded by the blazes and the bottom rows of his teeth are exposed. 

It takes him a while to stop making noise before you pull his head out and throw his twitching body onto the ground, then you finally allow yourself to lean against a boiler tank and take pressure off your injured foot.

You propel yourself off the tank by your palms and drag yourself regardless of your ankle to the edge of the furnace, turning yourself around to scrape the rope against the brick.

A gasp releases from your throat at the sudden relief around your wrists, the rope falling to the ground. 

“Ghost?” You lift your head. 

“‘M here.” He replies. 

“I don’t know if I can get up.”

“I know you can,” Ghost urges. “Find…” he sputters up blistering coughs. 

“…Fin’a knife, ‘n get me outta these binds, yea?” He huffs. “‘N I’ll do the rest.”

Your eye blinks as you grip the ankle of Rolmuth’s corpse, pulling him toward you to start flipping up his vest and pant pockets.

He didn’t have a knife on him. 

Got to be fucking kidding me.

A door is swung open, a singular set of footsteps stepping into the room.

Your eye searches for a weapon—anything that can deal enough damage.

A metal fire poker is hanging off the wall to your right, so you swing your elbows back and lift yourself up by the palms of your hands.

As quick as you can, you hoist yourself up by using the support of a metal deaerator, your arm sliding against it as you limp and throw yourself towards the wall creating a subtle thud. 

“What the fuck…?” A man’s voice murmurs.

You silently curse to yourself under your breath as you grab the fire poker off the nails that were being used to hold it up.

Using the heel of your injured foot, you shuffle against some shelving, looking between the gaps for the man inside the room. 

He’s holding a Fennec, nothing you haven't dealt with before. 

He’s twenty seconds to your left, carefully skimming along the floor with his eyes down the sights of his gun.

You pinch a metal screw off of one of the shelves and toss it into the corner closest to you to lead him your way. 

“Fuck,” the younger male jumps slightly. He looked young and lanky, at least from his physique.

When you hear his boots start to rub against the floor, you lift your head slightly to watch him turn towards your direction. 

Your fingers and nubs flex on the thin metal, it’s hard to gain a clear grip.

The man comes around the corner of the shelves, the sounds of his tactical gear shuffling alerting you when he gets closer until his helmet is in sight.

You immediately thrust the fire poker into the gap below his collarbone and into his scapula, dampening the fabric of his undershirt in that area as it rips. 

Out of panic and shock, his finger grips the trigger and you have to jerk him away before any of his bullets are able to hit you.

“Please!” The boy pleads, gun dropping to hang around his neck as he grips the caps of your shoulders. You only glare at him before plunging the fire poker further into that same spot until it tears and mauls through his back, sticking out on the other end.

He’s gasping out, but it’s almost like no air is exhaling, mouth held agape as his grip on your shoulders releases. 

You shout and cry out at every thrust until the hole carved into his skin is able to suck in the hooked tip. 

The male’s head falls and you allow his body to slump down and forward, the metal rod holding his stilled body up. 

You heave dryly and press a palm on the wall to support yourself, your foot is killing you—literally.

The blown out flesh and puckered skin walls made you want to barf. You could stick a finger through your foot and feel your pulsating muscles just hug around your finger. 

You lean down and unclip the knife holster from the gun belt, unsheathing it then hobbling around the shelving towards Ghost who was still hanging from the pipes. 

“Okay, okay…” you breathe sharply, struggling to lift yourself up onto the brick platform of the furnace, nearly stumbling off before you catch your footing. 

“Keep still,” you say, arching your hand to start cutting at his bondings until he’s dropped onto the floor.

Ghost lets out a loud groan, his arms clutching his ribs. They’d broken one of his ribs, maybe multiple. You both were in bad shape.

It takes him a moment to get himself off the floor as you seat yourself and scoot off of the hearth. 

He grabs both of the hand guns that had been dropped onto the floor, holding one out to you.

You unclip the magazine, then snap it back into the chamber at the sight of one missing bullet. 

It was the same one that Rolmuth used to shoot your foot. 

Ghost’s hand rests on your cheek, gently. “Y’did good, ‘lright?” He spoke with a lilt. 

“Can y’walk?” 

“A little.” You nod. “Fuckers took my shoes…” 

He lets his hand fall to check his magazine, then he nods. “‘Don’t know if I can carry ya with m’ribs.” 

“It’s okay, just don’t wait for me.” You reply.

His eyebrows furrow. “Bloody hell, Thaye, I ain’t leavin ya.” 

“I know but—“ 

“No.” 

Ghost’s half-lidded eyes glare at you, giving you all the warning to stop.

“Stay behind me.” 

He starts walking towards the door, slowly peeking it before leaving with you behind him.

Walking hurt—even while you only applied pressure to the heel on your injured foot, the muscles contracted and the pain was torturous. 

One man entered the hallway holding a box from another room, which Ghost took care of by shooting a single bullet between his eyes.

The box had opened and dropped glass equipment, alerting four others who had been lingering in the room he came from.

They yell and communicate in their native tongue, one sticking his head out of the door threshold to aim his rifle.

Ghost fires his pistol and the man swings his head back into the room, still opening fire into the hallway.

“Fuck!” You hiss, dodging the bullets and moving quickly behind a filing cabinet, lowering yourself down. 

Ghost’s back presses against a door to your right, pulling himself out of cover to fire at the man.

Two bullets miss and the third causes his head to fling back and smear blood as his body arches and falls down to the floor.

You lift your head and aim your pistol, gasping when your throat is suddenly hooked back from behind you. 

When the combatant turns you around and attempts to make a slash at your throat, you manage to extract yourself by gripping his wrist and snapping his elbow out of place, the sounds of bones snapping as he yells.

His knife drops from his hand and you scramble to pick it up from the floor.

You groan as his boot digs into your bandaged hand before you're able to pick it up, then his hand grips your neck to lift you up.

He wraps his arms around you and squeezes you, locking his wrists over each other at your back. You clench your teeth and jerk violently in his grasp.

Ghost is fighting four other men, locking them in the crook of his elbow and smashing their skulls between the doors.

The man holding you in position crushes you in his grasp even with his broken arm. He tries dragging you into another room.

“Let me the fuck go,” you gasp, causing the man to laugh. 

“You will regret ever trying to leave your room,” he utters. 

You breathe a moment, heart pounding through your chest as you swing your head into the side of his neck and sink your teeth into his skin with all the strength in your jaw. 

Crimson liquid seeps into your mouth and down the front of your neck as you yank out the flesh of his throat. You spit out the skin and blood, wiping your mouth and tongue against the skin of your arm as the man’s grasp loosens

His shoulder blades and chest are glistening in red, gore spurting out of the torn spot in his throat as his body stumbles and he’s gargling on his own blood trying to speak.

“Fuck you…” You shutter weakly, eyes slowly skimming down to the knife lodged inside your waist. 

Shit.

He must’ve stabbed you before lifting you up, your adrenaline pumping so fiercely you couldn’t feel it until now.

You stumble on your feet slightly, shaking hands lowering to wrap around the handle and pull it out of the slit.

The runnel of red paste turns into a thick stream down as it drenches your tank top. 

You lift your head slowly and throw the knife overhead across the hallway, hitting a man who’s pointing a handgun at the back of Ghost’s head. 

It’s blade spades into the back of his skull and makes his body wriggle down onto the floor.

“Ghost…!” You gasp and press your open palm over your soaking top and open laceration. 

Ghost steps over both legs of a bloodied man before shooting him dead and advancing towards you.

“Shite…” He huffs, gently removing your hand and placing it back after gaining a clear inspection.

His hands grip the hem of his shirt and roughly tear at the fabric creating a long strip, then he moves your hand aside again to tightly secure it around your wound. 

You hiss and groan, hand gripping his shoulder as he tugs and pulls at your body while tying the knot of the fabric. 

“I’s ‘lright.” Ghost mollifies as he scoops his arm underneath your armpit.

It offers you some support as he guides you both out towards a staircase.

It wasn’t a warehouse—you and Ghost were just in a basement that was turned into a meth lab. 

Boxes and boxes full of lab equipment scattered along the floors. 

You’d never seen such a big basement, one with torture chambers and stonework rooms. 

Hell, in the corner of the room with all the steel liquid tanks and chemical barrels. 

A woman is in bright blue hazmat coveralls and a chemical mask standing on top of a metal stool. 

Ghost raises his pistol and you lower it slightly with your palm, his eyes glaring at you with his head kept facing forward. 

“You can’t miss, we don’t know what corrosives are in these tanks. Is it worth it?” You keep your voice low, personal between the two of you.

He doesn’t reply, instead he looks forward, then squeezes the trigger and picks the woman off by shooting her in the side of her neck.

You swallow thickly as her body spasms on the ground, the stool getting caught in her ankle as crimson fluid rises and bubbles inside of her mouth. 

Ghost guides the two of you up the cobble stairs, one hand dragging up the wall and the other across your lieutenant’s wingspan.

Your eyes flash at the sudden two objects being thrown down the stairs, the sudden silence as they roll down step…after step…after step before Ghost is swinging you up into arms and yelling.

He’s breaching himself through the door, into open fire before the staircase you had come up from explodes into the emitting heat compressed air and blasts behind the two of you sending you both flying forward. 

Smoke engulfs the room, giving both you and Ghost coverage to get behind cover.

You're pulled by the back of your shirt behind a deep freezer, bullets flying and hitting the metal.

“Fuckin’ pricks got us pinned!” His head lifts over to fire at three of the men who have ballistic shields covering those firing LMGs behind. “‘N I’ve got four left.”

You can’t see through the thick smoke—you can’t breathe while wheezing into the crook of your elbow. “Seven,” you inform him. 

“Cover me,” Ghost grabs your arm for a moment, letting go and serving around the freezer. 

You follow behind him with a raised pistol, shooting off at any glares you're able to see through the fumes.

Six…Five…

A man steps out from cover behind a wine cabinet, but before he can fire his rifle, you pop him in the eye.

Four…

Ghost quickly crouches down and shimmies the rifle out of the corpse’s grip, grabbing at a magazine and stuffing it into his vest he’d managed to keep.

You groan and push over a bookshelf behind Ghost once you’re both out of the smoke. He takes aim and opens fire at three men, blowing holes in their chests before he rams into the fourth with a loud yell and slams down the stock of his assault rifle into his face until his teeth and nose are finely pressed into the persian rug.

You finish off two more who try to walk through the threshold of the room, turning your head over your shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Two…

You jerk yourself away before you get slugged by a riot shield, ascending yourself and shoving your firearm past the barriers of his lips from behind. You pull the trigger and his head flings as the bullet rings out and creates a sizable hole in the back of his head.

One…

Before his body hits the tile, you take hold of his riot shield and deflect the hail of gunfire from the individual who came emerging from the threshold corner.

You walk forward until his clip is empty to drive the shield into his vest-covered chest, stunning him so you can push it aside and fire your last shot into the underside of his jaw. 

Zero.

Bullets continue spraying throughout the entirety of the house while you make sure you don’t pass out from the amount of blood you’ve lost.

You grab the TAQ-V from off the floor and click a new magazine into it, shoving a spare into your back pocket before pushing into the same room as Ghost.

He’s piling bodies on the floor, wrestling for dominance over a knife. 

You fastdraw another handgun you’d grabbed off of one of the bodies and shoot the man in his knee cap to allow Ghost to gain the upper hand and pierce the man’s temple with the weapon. 

“Thanks,” he says gruffly. 

You nod softly, inhaling sharply as you feel wet blood pool around your uninjured foot. 

They took your shoes for no reason, like they had a use for them.

Maybe it allows you to move around more quietly, but it still disturbed you that they took the time to even peel off your socks. 

“What intel did y’know that we didn’t?” His chest is against yours, head craning down to keep the conversation between the two of you.

“Lieutenant, we don’t…” You pause a moment, your head spinning. 

Hunger, thirst, the cold, the blood loss. There was so much holding you hostage and you weren’t even able to comprehend how you were still standing—limping.

“Well, Seargant?” His voice is low, still holding the same husky British drawl.

“We don’t have the time for this, for now—“ Ghost shoves you aside before you can finish, raising the muzzle of his rifle to open fire on the men entering the room.

“Fuckin’ riot shields!” He pulls you behind a flipped over tattered blue couch that had already gone through its fair share of bullets.

A bullet flies and hits the side of the couch a hair’s breadth from your face. 

“Goddammit,” he curses while replacing the magazine in his gun.

The men brandishing shields push further.

When one reaches close enough, you run in front of the shield and grab the sides before he crashes into you. 

You turn him until his body is vulnerable to Ghost, your teeth ground into each other.

“Ghost!” You yell to catch his attention, head snapping in your direction to fire a single round into the back of his head.

You throw the body off of yourself and yank the riot shield to cover yourself, ducking your head as you recoil your fist and punch one of the men baring LMGs hard twice in the jaw.

You thrust the shield into the next, throwing it into his abdomen as he topples, finishing him off by shooting him down in the chest.

One turns with his M4 raised, but you turn your gun around and bash the stock into the base of his chest, then again into his cheek, swiping your leg across the floor and knocking him down then picking his head up and slamming it down on a thick shard of glass sticking upwards to finish him off. 

Ghost drops the last body, finishing off a magazine into his vest and throwing the weapon aside. You toss him another one, which he catches with ease.

“We’ll force upstairs, look f’r our shit, ‘n leave.” He says as he picks up a frag grenade from off a vest.

“There should be Skimobiles somewhere around here, the ones they were using in the FFO,” you nod.

“A’right,” he groans while rolling his shoulders. “On my mark.” 

He trudges past bodies until he’s at the threshold of the staircase, stepping up slowly with the grenade in one hand and his gun in his other.

You follow behind leisurely, eye down the scope of your rifle. 

He pulls the clip and tosses it up, arm stretching behind to press his hand against your shoulder blade. 

“Oh shit—grenade!” A man yells from upstairs before detonation. 

“Go!” Ghost immediately backs up off the wall and skips over two steps into the corridor, prefiring as he loops around a wall.

There’s already bodies and limbs splayed across the room from the combatants who were hit by the frag.

Your back rubs against the wall as you lean to shoot down the hallway, whirring bullets firing past you.

After a few back and forths between staying flat against the wall and leaning to fire off your gun, bodies drop and you’re able to progress down the hall. 

Ghost is somewhere on the opposite side of the house, you still hear heavy gunfire.

You pause at the sight of another man at the end of the hallway and you recognize him immediately.

The look in his eyes and the scruffiness of his face made your lips stretch in almost the most feral look.

Corbin, that was his name. Callsign ‘Pooch’.

Anger burns in the depths of your lungs and stomach as you grip the wall for support, lunging yourself forward to lift your feet over each body that was littered across the hallway floors.

Sweat ran down the sides of your face and splotched down around the neck of your shirt with the blood.

You watch his face twist into a wolfish grin as he slings his gun over his shoulder and walks towards you. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” He purrs. 

White noise fills your ears.

All you can see through the glossy shine of your eyes is the man who humiliated you in front of your superior. 

All you can see through the blinding red rage is the man who beat Ghost and cracked his ribs, forcing you to watch him retract and twitch at every fleeting fist. 

Even the hail of gunfire is silent in your ears as you drag your injured foot. Everything sounds underwater, everything feels dull.

His fist intersects and meets with your cheekbone causing your head to shift to the left and your body to stumble where you stand. 

You grip his wrist and divert his second punch by lifting your arm and thrusting your knee roughly into his thigh to tamper his movements.

He groans, with grim chuckles following after. “I’m going to enjoy every last second of this,” he coos.

Your body shivers in disgust as you slide your fingers down to your waist, priming the knife stuffed beneath the hem of your shirt. “Go fuck yourself…” you hiss.

His eyes flicker down to your hand and his boot immediately connects with the middle of your torso, sending you across the floor with a loud thud.

Pooch steps between your legs and lifts your upper body by the neckline of your shirt, his knuckles slamming down to beat on your already swollen face. 

Drool and blood pour from your mouth, a strangled gasp leaving you at every punch before he releases you harshly back down onto the floor. 

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, the pressure and swelling in your face and head being all too much for you.

A boot is savagely kicked into the lower pit of your abdomen, making you gag on air.

“Get the fuck up.” Pooch spits. 

You clutch your stomach and turn, slowly feeling for the knife, then quickly lifting the edge trimming of your tank top and grasping the handle, pulling it out and sweeping your leg around and behind his ankles to knock him off to the side.

He yells out swears as you level yourself over him, his legs kicking out to make your chest rest on the soles of his boots. 

Both of your hands grasp the handle of the knife making it easier on your lack of fingers. His hands grip your forearms as you cry out and try forcing the knife down on him.

He kicks his legs up and backwards, upending you over him and sending the knife flying. 

You hiss and give yourself no time to recover, flipping on your stomach and army crawling with your forearms to grab the knife.

He topples atop your body, planting a piercing slap across your face before reaching for the knife and propelling it downwards into you.

Before you’re able to block, the knife breaks through the skin in your stomach, your hand managing to grab his wrist before he’s able to gut you open.

You seethe and let out a sharp whine followed by a croaked cry, your other hand circling his wrist in an attempt to push him away. 

Quickly, you roll your body off to the side and let go of him, causing the knife to pierce into the wood flooring as you grip a console table to succor yourself up.

Corbin abandons the knife and flings himself upwards, swinging his gun into his arms. 

“I’m done playing games.” 

You advance on him, grabbing the rifle and pushing it into his chest before he can aim it at you.

One of your hands grip the upper hand guard while the other grips the bolt and holds the muzzle up.

You yank his body over towards the window behind you, turning your body then grabbing the man by the back of his hair and smashing his head through the glass.

It shatters from contact and leaves cuts and shards in his skin, a loud yell clawing its way from his throat.   

His finger grips the trigger and bullets roll out into the floor as you pull his head back.

You pull the rifle sling from off his shoulder, tossing it aside and disarming him from the X12 tucked into the back of his pants.

He growls at every tug of his scalp as you shoot him in the back of the leg and force him onto his knees.

A loud wail echoes the hallway from the man below you.

 “Shut your fucking mouth,” you snap.

“You don’t get to scream.”

“You don’t get to cry and whine like a little bitch.”

There’s no remorse in your voice, no sense of mercy for the man being held on his knees and whimpering.

You smack the magazine onto the base of his nose, blood dripping it’s way down his nostrils as a struggling noise spills from his lips.

“You…fucking….” he chokes on his own words. 

His entire body violently trembles at the tortured scream he releases as you squeeze the trigger again, shooting Pooch in his shoulder then proceeding to stick your thumb into the ravage wound harshly.

“Bitch! Fucking bitch!” He strains and pants like a dehydrated dog trying to jerk away from you.

You replace your finger with your foot, lowering his back against the floor as you press your toe into the bullet hole.

Another scream tears out of him as you blow another hole into the other side—his chest convulses.

Blood seeps from his mouth, you hold the grip of the handgun with both hands and sob out loud as you empty the entire magazine into his head until his face is unrecognizable to the amount of bullet holes.

You keep pulling the trigger, even as the gun starts to click announcing its out of ammunition.

The entire floor below you is covered in gore; flesh, messings of brains, blood, skin. 

So much.

Your body snaps around as a hand abruptly drapes over your shoulder, your arm raising the gun ready to bash it into the skull of the next man to try and touch you.

“Thaye, Thaye—y’got him! Thaye, he’s dead!”

Someone calls your name trying to snap you of out haze.

Ghost—your eyes soften with glistening tears as he calmly disarms you after deflecting the hit with his forearm, tossing the handgun aside so he can push you into his chest by the back of your neck.

“‘S over, sweet girl.” Ghost says with intonation. “Can’t hurt ya anymore.”

Your eyes are wide with terror, hands bundling your lieutenant’s shirt as you exhale a shaky mewl.

It’s him who releases you first, handing you your custom rifle and radio.

His balaclava is back on his face, along with the skull mask.

“Y’r vest ‘n boots are in the room I came from,” Ghost jerks his head.

You nod softly and shamble towards the doorway in the direction he’d pointed out.

You pause.

A little boy walks out of the threshold—he’s holding a gun far bigger than his head.

Your eyes widen slightly. “Did these men take you from your family?” 

You turn your head over your shoulder to call for Ghost, the sound of a bullet whirring filling your ears.

Ghost wastes no time pulling out his handgun and shooting the little boy in the head before running towards you.

Your right shoulder is screaming at you as time seems to slow down to a crawl. You hear Ghost yell behind you and the gunshot ringing as the little boy falls back and you do too, hitting the ground hard.

The masked man is on his knees in front of you within seconds, lifting your head into his lap.

“Thaye! Thaye, don’t y’fuckin’ die, not now…” He growls, applying pressure down onto your shoulder with both of his gloved hands.

Your lips slant in a tired manner, eyelids feeling heavy. His bloody hand kneads your cheek, smearing gore along your already dirtied skin.

“Fuck! Fuck!” he curses loudly. “Stay awake, love, please…”

God, he was hurting, it hurt to have your head against the burns on his stomach, but he wouldn’t let you die.

“Babygirl,” he says weakly. 

All you can see is an uncleanable amount of red seep and cover your shirt.

Your lungs clutch together inside your chest, labored breaths escaping you with a strained noise.

“I know…I know—keep those gorgeous eyes on me, sweetheart.” He inhales a shaky breath, flipping up your blood-crusted hairs from sticking to your forehead.

You whisper an apology, catching his attention as you grip his waist. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow.

“Don’t. Don’t say sorry,” he says. “You did this, you saved our lives, love.” 

“‘M just finishin’ the job, ‘lright?” His split and bloody lips find a place on your temple, planting a raw and long kiss to your throbbing skin.

“…’least I got to see your face before—“ 

Ghost holds you, squeezing your hand as a slight warning. “Don’t talk like that.” 

It was a demand. 

“That an—“ you spur into a coughing fit, blood spraying onto the man’s vest. “…Order, Lieutenant?” 

“Spare y’r energy,” he huffs. 

“Simon—“ you slur.

“Stop.” He snarls.

Your ragged breaths start to stray, causing panic to surge through the man above you.

“No,” he growls, squeezing your smaller hand in his a bit tighter than before. “Don’t, Thaye,” he says through clenched teeth.

Your body falls limp in his lap, the grasp loosening on his shirt making his heart pound through his chest, a painful pounding that felt similar to acid reflux.

“No!” Ghost yells, desperately palming at your tangled hair in panic. “Fuckin’ massacre,” he exhales shallowly.

One arm scoops beneath the back of your knees, the other across your shoulder blades with his hand holding your arm. 

A loud strained groan claws it’s way from his gullet at the sudden pain inside his ribs as he lifts himself up and off the floor. 

His muscles tighten inside his body, a burning sensation in his abdomen as he clutches you close to his chest, feeling your blood seep into his shirt.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

The gentle rhythmic beeping and steady flow of air through your nostrils was something that felt unreal and forced.

You slowly flutter your eyes open to light slipping in between the beige curtains. Your eyes are half-lidded and threatening to close against your will as your bandage wrapped hands rests atop the metal railing on either side of you.  

It smells of strong floor cleaner and hand sanitizer, a scent that is slightly uneasy on you as you slowly slip back into consciousness. 

Your muscles feel tight in your body; pain racking your shoulder and neck as you crane it to take a look around the room. 

The walls are spinning and the ceiling above you is spiraling making you sick to your stomach. 

On the bedside table to your left—closest to the window—there’s flowers. They’re too withered to try and recognize what kinds, shredding to flakes in your fingers when you caress them between your pinky and thumb.

Your hand drags up to pull nasal tubes out of your nostrils. It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe air, throat tightening and lips so still from lack of moisture.

There’s a penetrating migraine in the back of your skull as you carefully swing your legs over the side of the bed, the thin baby pink and spotted hospital gown flowing down your sides leaving you slightly exposed in your thigh region. 

Bare and bandaged feet slide along the smooth cold tile, sending chills up your body as you grip the IV stand with your trembling hand, the other holding onto the bed railing for support. 

You groan and strain as you struggle to lift yourself up, propelling upwards with your palm and grip on the stand until your knees straighten and your standing up somewhat decently.

Where was Ghost? Is Ghost alive?

So many thoughts coursed through your head along with the punishing feeling of dehydration. 

You guide yourself using the wheels on the IV stand towards a counter, your hands gripping the handle of the sink and pulling it upward.

A choked moan manages to break from you as you scoop the water in your hands and swill the rich liquid. 

Water dribbles down your chin, which you wipe away before lifting your head to look into the medicine cabinet mirror. 

Your hand rests on the wall in front of you as you heave.

They cut your hair shorter, not too short but enough so that it was comfortable. Your entire right side of your face being bandaged, stains of blood being a faint copper color.

Bandages wrapped around your neck and reached down your shoulder you’d been shot in.

Your hair had been taken care of neatly while you were in a coma, that was obvious.

Ghost. Where?

You grip the IV stand and hobble towards the door, turning the knob and gripping the threshold with your other hand as you step out. 

A nurse pauses in her tracks, rushing to your side in an instant. “How are you up? Your injuries are critical,” she gasps, palm flattening against the small of your back.

“My lieutenant—…my lieutenant…” you say in an undertone.

“You need bed rest, you’ve only just woken up.” Her voice is gentle yet commanding.

“No,” you bark, shuffling out of her hold. “Please take me to him.” 

The woman bites her lip before nodding hesitantly, hand against your back again to guide you towards his room.

It was only a few doors down from you—when the nurse opened the door, allowing you into the room.

You see the back of Ghost’s head facing in your direction, his hair tousled from the bandages wrapping around his head.

“Ghost,” you call.

His head turns from facing the window to facing you, you hear him murmur your name in reply.

“Y’minx,” he breathes. “Hell y’doin’ out ya bed?”

You carefully walk yourself towards him, the nurse holding her hands atop her chest nervously. The sound of the plastic wheels of the stand makes his breath hitch in his throat, the sound of reassurance that you were alive.

“You okay, big man?” Your voice is hoarse from lack of use, but he’s able to that you perfectly.

“D’ya ever worry ‘bout y’self, love?” Ghost asks with a tinge of humor. 

Heavy casting was on his right leg, bandages and patches on practically every inch of his body—similar to you.

“Sometimes,” you smile softly and push strands of his hair out of his face, your heart slightly shatters in your chest at the sight of him flinching at your touch.

Ghost scoots himself over slightly, wincing at the sudden movement.

You seat yourself beside him on the large gatch bed and his hand pushes you down to lay beside him.

“Wait, Mr. Riley—“ the nurse takes a small step forward.

“I’ll ‘b fine,” he grunts.

Her eyes blink slightly as she takes a few steps back, her lips separating to speak though no words come out. She simply turns on her ankles and closes the door behind her.

Ghost secures an arm around your waist, pushing your back flush against his bandaged chest.

Your eyes trace his tattoos and the muscles of his arms, every scar and blemish.

“Where’s the force?” You ask quietly.

“Left recently,” he mumbles back tiredly, pressing his nose into your hair. “Y’smell like pomegranate—got y’self a damn spa crew while y’were out?”

You laugh dryly, breaking into a light fit of wheezes.

“Not too hard, Seargant.” Ghost’s finger tucks a loose strand of hair from your bangs behind your ear.

Your wet bandages on your hands rub against his knuckle as you hold onto his hand, he seems to pay no mind.

You turn your body slightly so you can get a better look at his face. “Odd seeing you without your eye black.” You quip.

His closed eyes open to look down at you. “Mm, might as well see m’down in me knickers then, eh?” He chuckles huskily.

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes lightheartedly. 

You catch his small glances to your lips, his hand leaving your chest to run his thumb down your bottom lip until that same hand is cupping your cheek lovingly.

His eyes narrow, he’s sleepy, but you still catch yourself propping your body up with your elbow and closing the gap between the two of you. 

Instantly, his head cranes and tilts to deepen the kiss, his fingers gently sliding down the side of your face to press his thumb into the underside of your jaw and drag his fingers along the nape of your neck.

Ghost breathes into your mouth, the taste of mint leaf and citrus enveloping your taste buds as his tongue laced over yours.

The kiss was passionate, you feel his eyebrows furrow showing his desperation as you both kissed softly at a gentle pace and motion.

Your eyes flutter open as you feel his warm lips leave yours with a quiet pop, both of you panting lightly with his forehead pressed against yours. Ghost’s eyes are unable to open for a few moments after you disconnect. 

When they do open, your eyes bore into his brown orbs, the dark purple hue circling under his eyes showing his deprivation of sleep.  

When he feels you buck gently back into his groin, he releases a small grunt, lips meeting yours again for a small chase kiss.

“Not like this,” he says quietly. “I’d take you on this bed right here, right now, but y’ve recently waken up ‘n we’re both still in r’covery.” 

You hum in agreement, his hand finding it’s place on your chest once again with the knowledge of your lower abdomen injury.

“‘N to b’honest—‘can barely feel m’damned balls, feels like ‘ve got whiskey dick.” He grumbles, and you bite your lip to suppress a giggle.

“Simon!”

“Don’ you laugh at me, woman.” Ghost lowers his head into the crook of your neck, biting the skin gently 

“My deepest condolences, Lieutenant,” you purr, catching his lips in another kiss when you jerk his head upward with your uninjured shoulder. He growls against your mouth in reaction.

There’s a long yet short line of silence as you turn towards his back again, your legs tangling with his as you hold your lips against his knuckles.

“Y’have no clue how strong you are.” He swallows the knot in his throat as he speaks. “God, Thaye, they…they told me there was a chance y’d never wake up.” 

“Hey,” you hum. “Stop that, I’m here now.” 

His eyes stare blankly at the wall ahead of you, maybe even the same wall you were staring at—if your eyes weren’t closed already. 

“I just don’ know what I would’ve done if I made it outta there ‘n y’didn’t make it with me.” He says. 

“Y’r the reason I made it out with you in the first place. If y’hadn’t pulled that barmy stunt—“ he pauses, and you feel the rise of his chest and the fall as he exhales deeply.

“Y’survived internal bleeding, trauma to the head ‘n eye, two broken ribs, second and third degree burns, asphyxiation, dismemberment, stab wounds and gunshot wounds..” Ghost squeezes his fist tighter against your chest. 

“So did you, Si.” You coo softly. 

“Christ…” he mutters. 

His fingers interlock with yours best they can, regardless of the most of them being numbs on your knuckles, and it wasn't until your hand rested on his chest and rubbed over the raised scars, that he realized he hadn't been touched so gently in nearly eleven years. It wasn't a new feeling, but it was a feeling that he had craved desperately. 

Never had fallen in love before, but he knew you had bad experiences with it—figuring out that your ex-fiancé had cheated on you while on deployment. Someone had to love you, and he was skeptical of it being him, but it was clear you loved him too and now he was scared you’d stop. 

But hearing your gentle breathing as you slipped back into sleep hunched into his form led him somewhere he’d never been. You cleared his mind and cleared away his thoughts. For the first time, he doesn’t want to look away from what he has the ability to feel.

[breedbun]

i want to strangle him.

warnings; possessiveness, obsession, not much more

desc; i cooked but im too damn lazy to actually write the sex part. lmk if y'all want the sex part later im too lazy :(

notes; im so gonna write howl, kaeya, and kaeya as howl fanfics after this istfg

"Did you really think you'd get away with this, comrade?" Tartaglia breathed down your neck, clutching your waist tight with his fingers digging into your skin. He's clearly angry, hostile, aggressive. And you know exactly why.

Getting used to the quiet, cold atmosphere of Snezhnaya when Tartaglia brought you all the way to his nation for a little public meeting between the Harbingers was an interesting time. Between watching Tartaglia eye you shamelessly, buy you endless amounts of lingerie and appealing clothing, you were also the subject of a few other of his colleagues.

Take Columbina, for example. She was teaching you the principles and needlework of sewing. Even if most Harbingers were absolutely insane and out of their minds, it's safe to say that some of them, too had.. normal hobbies. Whilst you accidentally pricked your finger with a needle, Tartaglia was just about to rush to your side and save you like he should as your prince charming, however.. Columbina takes the opportunity far too cheerfully. Gently holding your hand like a mother to her child, she'd lick your ever so small wound and taste your blood. You were just bewildered and you couldn't help but do anything except freeze up.. as usual.

The other day, Pantalone overheard your ranting to your dearest Tartaglia, words spilling out your mouth as if you had been holding these words in forever. What you endlessly and very passionately spoke about, was a rare flower that grew with gems growing naturally from the inside as it's nectar hardened. The flower's crystalline gem only lasted about 4 hours, before it'd start to mould and decay into nothing worth more than a speck of dirt. What did Pantalone do? Of course, since your beauty caught his eye, he had gladly offered this one of a kind, magnificent flora in amber, as it was preserved to keep the gem beautiful and shiny forever. As gorgeous, as unique and rare as the flowering diamond was, it wouldn't ever match up to your glowing self. To buy this, and see a smile crack from your face, would be the most utterly satisfying thing Pantalone could ever ask for. Delivering it in an exquisitely expensive jar, your little heart nearly burst out your chest, you even made a little jump and a squeak as Pantalone so kindly handed the precious treasure over to you.

Tartaglia had still been looking for that exact same flower, for you.. yet, he stood by a corner, silently glaring with blazing fury in his eyes. It was more than obvious, just how much the other Harbingers absolutely loved to see that envious look of possessive, unhealthy jealousy on Tartaglia's face. It was beyond amusing, his nose wrinkling, the way he'd barely be able to keep a poker face, the way he wanted oh so badly to rip them to pieces, yet he could never. Not when it'd risk not just him, his family, but you too.

Other small things, such as Dottore's disgustingly gruesome humour through presenting you with a clean, white, and very much real human heart in a special pink box.. that moment when Pierro had held your wrist in his large hand much too easily, kissing the back of your knuckles as a pink blush crept up your face.. when Arlecchino got the absolute nerve to invite you to be the House of The Hearth's "mother" as a male, to be her "wife" as a male, "jokingly".. when Sandrone deliberately called you a work of art, and she'd love to dissect—Pulcinella's special treatment with you!— He had absolutely ENOUGH. If he couldn't teach them a lesson, he'll just have to fuck it into you, then maybe your cute squishy pout can convince all of them to stop.

Maybe they'll find how envious Tartaglia was, knowing that they could flirt and pull moves on you all they wanted, but he was the one you would ALWAYS pick in a room full of their bunch. He was the one you stayed faithful to, he is the one you WILL marry, he is the one who will have children with you. He is the one you love. He is the one you will never forget. He will make sure of that.

@breedbun

[apollodarling-writes]

yan! catboy! worshipper! levi

desc : you picked up a stray catboy from the alleyway and you find that maybe he has more problems than you’re equipped to deal with.

word count : 812

cws : yandere themes, scenting, jealous levi, dubcon implications, smut implications, murder mentions but it’s levi killing his competition and bringing it back as a gift and to prove he’s better than them, slight delusional thinking, desperate clingy bf behavior but you’re not dating and he’s more of an estranged roommate, MASSIVE personality switch up, ooc levi but i genuinely wanna see this man desperate and begging, implied dissociation, this is kind of bad im ngl.

author note : someone requested this, sorry it took so long to get to it. also, here’s a little something i had in my drafts while i finish editing this commission.

you remember how pitiful levi had looked in that alleyway — his clothes torn and too big on his seemingly frail body. he was drenched from the rain, the mud that had been caked onto him softening as shivers wracked his body. the bags under his eyes were heavy and dark, and you’d noticed that he was bleeding… and badly.

you remember the way his ears perked up, his gaze sharpening as he regarded you with a mixture of apathy and contempt; the way his pupils had narrowed into slits and his tail swished in warning. he’d attacked you that night, the wound on your hip later scarring. the levi from that night was so similar, yet so different from the man in front of you.

you were frozen in place, your eyes darting between levi and the corpse he had haphazardly discarded onto your living room floor. his face was marred with blood, a subtle look in his eyes that screamed pride. it didn’t feel real — there was no way this was happening. not to you of all people.

“what the fuck—“ you gesture to the body, your eyes filling with tears. “— is this?

“what’s wrong? don’t you like it?” levi asks, his expression morphing into concern the moment he recognized your appall.

was he serious?

“levi, you killed someone and brought them back to my apartment!” you exclaim, feeling bile rise in the back of your throat as you tear your gaze away from the corpse. “my home has become a fucking crime scene!”

levi’s brows furrow, his ears flattening at your words. seeing him clench his fist, you instinctively take a step back — a feeble attempt to put distance between the two of you. he doesn’t like that.

levi knows he’d be able to catch you if you decided to run, but he wanted you to stay — willingly. he didn’t want to have to force you, knowing that would only put a strain on your relationship. sure, he was biologically much faster than the average human, but he didn’t want to have to resort to using his anatomy to his advantage again.

he doesn’t regret killing any of them — especially not this one. this man was weaker than all of the others, obviously incapable of taking care of you properly. how was that human boy supposed to provide for you? protect you?

“that just shows im better for you, doesn’t it? if they can be taken out so easily, they couldn’t protect you. not like i can.” levi hisses, his features tightening with frustration. “i did you a favor. they would’ve gotten you hurt.”

his tone takes on a more desperate edge as he scrambles to justify his actions, his hand latching onto your shirt in an attempt to keep you in place.

“why are you looking at me like that…? like i’m some kind of monster? i’m not — i did this for you! for us!” levi shouts.

you can’t bring yourself to say anything, your mind spinning as you try to wrap your head around everything. levi had never been like this before; he’d always been distant and put-together, keeping you at an arm's length no matter how hard you tried to grow closer with him.

“say something… please.” the man begs, his arms snaking around your waist as he buries his face in the curve of your throat. levi takes a shaky inhale, your scent doing little to calm his racing heart. usually, it worked like a charm, but the cortisol radiating off of you worried him.

“let go of me, levi.” you mumble, your shaking fingers pushing at his shoulders. he only sniffles in response, his tail curling around your thigh.

“please — please don’t push me away.” levi pleads, his voice cracking. “i—i need you! i’ll die without you! please don’t do this to me…!”

“get out.”

levi’s hold on you tightens, his touch slowly becoming painful. despite your squirming and growing fear, levi only pulls you closer, peppering kisses along your throat and shoulders, mumbling apologies and promising to never do it again. yet, despite the ache in your chest, you stand firm in your decision.

“leave.”

levi’s body goes rigid, his fingers gripping your waist harshly as his voice grows quiet. “we can do this the hard way or the easy way — your choice... but, you’re staying with me whether you want to or not.”

levi takes your silence as an agreement, lapping at and kissing the focal points of your pheromones to mask your scent with his own. “‘m gonna make sure everyone knows you’re mine.” he breathes, a quiet groan leaving his lips.

his movements become more frantic, nipping at your skin in between planting open mouthed kisses against any visible flesh. “i’ll fuck you until the only thing you can remember is my name — until the only scent on you is mine.”

[elliyoyo]

Algophilia (Astarion Ancunin/Reader)

I have no explanation. The vampire seduced me just like he seduced you, I am also horny. Here you go.

Desc: You get very aroused by biting and the concept of being bitten. Astarion reveals his vampirism, and you both see an opportunity.

Warnings: Smut, pwp, p in v, fingering, oral (m receiving), biting, blood mention.

Words: ~2k

There, in the dim firelight, you see him for what he really is: a vampire. A slave to sanguine hunter. And it stirs something within you in a way you haven't felt in a long time— since before the tadpoles, at the very least.

“So… when was the last time you killed someone? Days? Hours?” You try to keep control of your breathing, but the excitement is building and your resolve is weakening.

“I’ve never killed anyone!”

You give him a look of disbelief, crossing your arms with an eyebrow raised. A vampire? Having never killed anyone? In the time he’s likely been around?

“Well… not for food. I feed on animals— boar, deer, kobolds, whatever I can get… but it’s not enough. Not if I have to fight— I feel so weak.” His brow furrows and he glares off into the distance, said weakness beginning to get to him. If this is going where you think it’s going, this is going to be the best chance encounter you could hope for.

“If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer— fight better… please…”

Bingo.

“Why didn’t you just tell me, Astarion?”

“At best, I was sure you would say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs… No… I needed you to trust me— and you can trust me.”

“I do, and I do believe you. Out of everyone at camp, I know my back is covered the best when I’m traveling with you.” His serious look falters for a moment and you see him soften up a bit as he continues.

“Good… Good… Thank you. Do you think you could trust me just a bit further?” He tilts his head slightly before going on, “I only need a taste, I swear.”

“Fine, but not a drop more than you need— can’t be dying on everyone after coming this far.” Your words are much more contained than your thoughts, which are running wild and free, wandering off to the point where you honestly couldn’t care if he killed you. You knew he’d bring you back, especially if you were going to be the first humans he’s had the pleasure of tasting.

“Really?” His eyes light up, but also hold some suspicion as to why you haven’t reacted like he suspected everyone always would. “I… Okay, not a drop more.” He slowly comes in closer, nodding to himself, likely telling himself that this is finally it. “Let’s get more comfortable.”

He takes your hands and leads you to your bedroll, looming over you as you crawl up to your makeshift pillow. In a moment of quick thinking, you untie the top two laces of your nightshirt, giving him some more surface area to work with. You attempt to make eye contact, but Astarion is sizing your neck up and, no doubt, fantasizing about how delicious and sweet your blood will taste on his tongue.

“Go ahead, Astarion. I’m ready,” you gently declare, grabbing onto the ruffles of his own nightshirt.

“Ready? Just so you’re aware, this won’t turn you into a vampire, it’s just me feeding off of you…”

“No, I know, I just… Go ahead…”

And so he does, sinking his fangs into the soft flesh of your neck with no further hesitation. It’s like a sharp, pin-pointed icy explosion at the entry site, and you can’t help but clench your thighs together and yelp at the sensation. The ice soon turns to fire and you feel like you have alchemist’s fire coursing through your veins, igniting every nerve.

“Astarion, this is ecstasy,” you moan, tightening your grip on his shirt and bringing your hips up to grind against his leg for any friction you could get. “You can bite down more, please, bite down more!”

And bite down more, he does. It’s like you can feel your heartbeat throughout your whole body, rhythmic, pulsating, alive. Astarion also seems to be out of sorts, focusing on the sweet nectar of life pouring from the puncture wounds he’s made. Focusing on how powerful and rejuvenated you make him feel, especially in comparison to the fodder at the mansion or the wildlife he’d caught as of late.

“Would it— ah— can I have… I want you, Astarion,” you push out through quick breaths. “While you’re… biting me… if you would…”

He pulls back long enough for his eyes to glaze over and blood to start dripping down his chin. He seems to blank for a moment, but in the blink of an eye, he’s back to his normal seductive self with a, “Want me? Want me how, darling, what exactly do you want? Use your words.”

“Anything. Anything, anything, anything, please.”

His hand slithers up your leg and stops at the front of your pants, rubbing gentle circles right where you need it. You groan in relief and buck up against him, getting greedy off the bat. He smirks up at you from the nape of your neck and digs back in, relishing in the raw, sexual energy you’re exuding.

“In, please, Astarion, in me,” you whine out, putting a hand over his to give yourself a greater pressure to grind on.

“Oh, the only thing I adore more than your blood is the sound of you begging— I have no choice but to give you what you want,” he coos, giving you what you asked for and then some. His fingers work a mile-a-minute, dipping underneath your pants and undergarments to coat them in your slick before slipping in. You can’t help but yelp at the intrusion, but seconds go by and yelping turns to groaning, then groaning turns into bitten back swears escaping your mouth. Still toying with you, his fangs slip right back into the marks he’d left before. Overwhelmed by the mix of pain and pleasure, you have an instantaneous full-body religious experience type of orgasm that you’d never felt before.

“Astarion, where in the Hells did you pick that up?”

In response, he clamps down even harder, effectively shutting you up and eliciting a wonderful tightening around his fingers. Obviously, not a topic to talk about right now, but you weren’t looking to talk anyway, so you had no problem with shutting up. However, he retracts once more, feeling that soon he won’t be able to stop himself before he drains you. Who honestly knows if you’re trying to play him, use him, like everyone else, or if you’re genuinely out of your mind horny for him— but he didn’t care regardless. He was missing the touch, the feel, the pseudo-passion, and he never got to be the one in control anyway. This chance was a lonesome, steaming apple pie innocently left on the windowsill, and he was not beyond stealing.

“Lift your hips up for me,” he commands, and in no time, he’s got you in nothing but your underwear. He takes a moment, not quite admiring, but just watching the light from the fire drench your skin and illuminate your figure. Eyes drifting from plump lips to bloodied, open neck— marked by him, by him— to bare chest to rock solid nipples down to the curvature of your hips to sweet, soft legs. He can’t see himself, but you were a sight to behold. Nothing like anyone who he’d previously manipulated for Cazador, you were somehow special.

“Do you… want me to do anything for you? I don’t want this to be all about me.”

No one in who knows how long has ever asked him if he’d wanted to get in on the pleasure. He wasn’t allowed, as Cazador’s both favorite and least favorite spawn. He was happy to exercise the new freedom and finally, consensually get a mind-blowing blowjob.

“I would adore a little topping off, if you would, sweetness.” He traces his thumb from your bottom lip down to your jaw, tipping your head up to give him the space to kiss the now-dried shower of coagulated blood. He laps up whatever he can then presses one last kiss to your collarbone before sitting back to pop his trousers open and pull the seam at the top of his underwear.

You push yourself up and off of your bedroll and and move your makeshift pillow to use as padding for your knees. Before you touch anything, you press a gentle kiss to his the top of his tip and smile up at him, making sure he didn’t look uncomfortable.

“Return the favor afterwards?” You look directly up at Astarion, locking your eyes with his as you wrap your fingers around his base and begin suckling on his head.

“I could…” His head falls back and his hand finds itself on the back of your head, not pushing you down, just playing with the loose strands. “But I could also come to you in the middle of the night— surprise you, spring myself upon you and devour you. Would you care if anyone heard? The precious leader being lapped at and controlled by the evil, scary vampire?” As he continues his fantasy, you begin taking him deeper and deeper into your mouth, the bloodlessness helping with suppressing any gagging. “I’d wait till dark. Let everyone fall asleep, sneak into your tent… Then I’d taste, no… Ravage you.”

You look up at him, locking eyes as you take him completely down, desperately trying to convince him that he could have all that and more right now. He tuts and finally puts pressure on the back of your head, relishing in the feeling of you gagging and choking around him. “Don’t you worry, I’d leave enough of you to come back— ah, shit— for more.”

While it doesn’t last terribly long, it’s enough for him to reach his finish, where he pulls fully back and paints your face in ropes of heat. He puts a hand on your cheek, smearing his cum across your cheek and grinning down at you, completely breathless. He simply wipes himself off with his shirt, but he takes his time, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to give you a more thorough clean.

“Now you have to come steal away to my tent some night, after that.” You laugh, putting yourself back together as he does the same. You take a peek around, and no one seems to have been disturbed, leaving you two a rare private moment. “I’d… really like that. If my blood helps, it would be useful to keep meeting up like this.”

“Oh, I feel wonderful now— I got fresh blood that squirmed on my fingers and finished me off, I’m practically a new man,” he lulls, already starting to stalk off to his tent. “Ta ta, get yourself all rested and recovered for tomorrow.” With that, he disappears, winking and smirking at you as he retreats.

You could barely process what just happened. The wounds on your neck barely feel real, even as you skim your fingertips over them. And you were in for more, apparently, so you barely slept, just imagined how Astarion was going to deliver tomorrow.

[pullthehilt]

carrot at the end of a stick

Desc.: meet cute… but is it really

Characters: IMPLIDED RELATIONSHIP Jade Leech, Floyd Leech, Azul Ashengrotto

Reader: not explicitly yuu

t/w: implied non-descriptive cannibalism

why is it all in bullet points? idk :> one day i will flesh this idea out, but i just really wanted to get this out before my dreams for the next few days is just this lol.

"And… let's talk about your love life."

It was a quiet afternoon on the pier; a summer buzz blanketing the residences of the shore as the rumble of the rollercoaster in the distance groaned. One such man had taken shelter from the sweltering heat in the cloth-covered stall of the fortune teller.

The guy in front of him was… shady to say the least; the man was in a pressed suit in the middle of summer, gloves and jacket and all.

He was sceptical, but he was also incredibly bored. So, agreeing, he splayed his hand palm-side up.

He peered over his glasses frame. "It'll be extra for that."

Tsk.

"Aha, dear customer. It seems you'll be having an encounter that'll change your life very, very, soon."

“A man, oh it kinda looks more like a woman-- well the encounter will definitely be with a person. Hmm, well it seems to be on the shoreline. Perhaps heading north-- in the evening…” blah blah blah

Well he's killing time at least and it’s not the worst place to be rotting his summer away in.

Exiting the tent he revels in the sticky, salty air and heads down the steps towards the shoreline.

He'd like to dip his toes in the water, kill the heat some more.

And then he sees them.

He sees you.

You're certainly a sight for sore eyes. Flushed from the sun, digging your feet in the sand. You sway gently with the waves, rhythmically matching the seas tune. The sun behind you douses you in liquid gold. It's like your clothing is just artistically draped onto you, white silk against your skin. There are shells piled into your arms, cradled as you continue to collect, bend and gently poke into the ground.

He's a long ways from you but it's like the world around him silences-- enraptured. He can no longer hear the sound of mechanical enjoyment, the rollercoasters and man-ran stalls. No sounds of children crying or couples bickering. Just the sounds of the waves accenting you.

And you're getting further and further away, shyly toeing towards the half-submerged tide pools.

He has half a mind to not bother you. It's a bit weird to trail after you, isn't it? You hadn't even noticed him as you were minding your own business.

But the words come back to him, the same way the water laps at his shoes.

"An encounter…"

At first he's only walking towards where you've disappeared over the horizon. The leisurely pace he treads, a product of hyping himself up for conversing with you, if you're still in the area. But then he hears a short yell and his heart staccatos.

Chasing after you is easy, sand being flicked up with every gallop towards your direction.

There's butterflies in his stomach from how your voice was carried in the wind-- is that what you sounded like when you were hurt? Or was it a yelp of surprise? Even scared, you sound so...

He scolds himself for even thinking of the other sounds you'd make.

When he reaches you, you're drenched and sat on a sloped rock.

The tide pool itself is shaped like a crescent, the open mouth leading directly to the sea-- and the waves are really working up a storm, as the tide has gotten inches higher from where it was just a few hours ago. At the centre of the crescent shape from where you're sat is a small rock pathway.

Your face is contorted, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pressed to a thin line. Slumped over your leg, you clutch at the leaking wound at the side of your shin.

"Oh god, are you alright?" He calls out to you, body leaning in your direction. It's cute how you jolt to attention, dishevelled.

At first it looks like you're analysing him, and so he tries, "I'm not here to harm you." Palms facing up, showing that he had nothing of a potential threat on his person. "I… I just heard a shout-- a scream. I thought someone needed help and you…"

"I scraped my leg… But… Uh, I'll be alright."

Your voice is light, fluffy even. He soaks it into his system like a sponge and wishes you'd talk more-- god he'd do anything to make you talk more--

"Do you need help?" Dumbass, he thinks to himself, of course you need help. He'd reprimand himself further if his mind hadn't frozen at the way your lips curved to a smile.

"It'd be nice if you could help me," calling out to him you kind of beckon him with your hand. "Come. Come help me." Stumbling to the edge, he prepares to step.

"What's your name?" He's afraid of coming off a bit too strong, but he needs to know. He can feel the water seeping into the canvas of his sneakers, pooling at his toes, but he only steps closer with one foot on the first stone of the pathways towards you.

The shape of your name casts into your lips, but the waves at the moment steal your voice. What? What did you say? He can't hear you, and he says so.

Carefully, he commits his weight to the first stone before moving to the next.

It's a short way to you, but he's slow to make his way as the water spits and crashes against the pathway. Torn between you and the stone he’s stood on, his eyes flicker between the two. Your hand is still stretched, as still as a marble statue. Waiting for him. A heat filters to pool in his ears the closer he gets to you. There's a flicker of hope tickling his spine as he imagines the words he'd say when he gets you off this rock-- he'd ask further if you were alright and if maybe you wanted him to accompany you to the lifeguard's tower to get you patched up. You'd say yes and then he'd follow up with shy conversation leading to the eventual exchanging of numbers. Then he'd for sure ask you on a date, maybe visit the small restaurant overlooking the cliffside a short walk away. Circle back to the pier, win you a couple of prizes from the vendors there… Visit the fortune teller and give him an extra tip.

He's so close to you now. Balancing on the next rock is hard, and he focuses to where his foot nearly slips. It would be terrible to embarrass himself by falling into the water-- troublesome too from how his shoes would be waterlogged and maybe tangled in the seaweed he could see dancing below.

The next stone is even smaller and he gets why you could've slipped here because, he's swinging his arms to regain his balance. But he sees your hand just in front of him and he clasps his to yours, fingers tightening.

Your smile is so bright, stretching to your eyes as your cheeks squish and mould into something Cheshire like.

He winces, your grip firm.

"Thank you." And he's tumbling as you yank sideways.

Water fills his lungs, salt attacking his tastebuds and stinging his eyes.

No one hears you when you're drowning, especially in the sea. The water crashing against the rocks is already loud in itself, and the fact that you have to fight between sputtering out water and kicking your legs to stay afloat and shouting is a battle in itself.

He screams to you, help him god-damn it. Fucking wench, why did you do that-- he'll actually drown at this rate. You're a bastard for tricking him like that-- a whore.

But your eyes are vacant and unfocused. You don’t see him, but you’re looking at his direction.

And then he feels something squeezing his leg. He's kicking harder now, has the thought to untangle the kelp or something he probably accidentally tangled into—

When he looks down, he doesn't see a clump of black wrung around him. Instead, there is a pair of half-moon eyes peering from beyond the water, coloured a sandy brown and warning sign yellow.

-

The water starts to turn a beautiful pink reminiscent to the colour of the coral and anemones dotting around your home. He, the man, is quick to have been pulled under with a trail of bubbles popping to the surface; at first it stays in once place, before the shape of him thrusts forward-- he rushes through the water like a bullet, tearing to circle the rock you sit upon.

 A warm sensation spreads across your stinging wound. When you look down there are a set of eyes fluttering back at you.

"Jade, stop that..." His tongue slips back into his mouth.

He parts from your calf, propping his head by your thigh, smiling. Floyd surfaces for a minute, eyes peeking back at the two of you. There's little disturbance as he moves almost jerking back and forth before his head fully floats above the water with a satisfied sigh.

"Was that all of him?"

"Dunno,” he burps out. “Definitely not all of him though.”

“Can you check?”

“Will I get a prize for doing it?” Glaring, you flick droplets at him with your free foot. He splashes back, waving an arm at you.

Clasping the foot, Jade cradles it to his chest. "Then… what part did you eat?"

"Dunno. An arm?”

“Floyd.”

“Hmph.” He dives back down, body folding to flicker into the deeper waters. After a moment, he resurfaces carrying something by the way he sways a bit more unevenly. “It was an arm.”

[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

[presleyluvschris]

i got you.

pairing(s): mcu peter parker x fem!reader

desc honestly such a short concept. reader is whimpering/crying about seeing peter getting hurt on the news but he shows up perfectly fine, maybe a few scratches and holds the reader on the floor, wiping her tears.

a/n currently craving comfort like this so i wrote this specifically for comfort. hope you enjoy loves.

creds to @cafekitsune & @valenschmidt for the beautiful decor

warnings grammar, fluff. lmk if i missed anything.

requests | open 💌 masterlist

You took off your shoes at the door, tossing the car keys on the table nearby.

you sighed and went into the kitchen to get yourself a snack before your boyfriend peter came back from whatever he had to do. you always got worried sick about him when he was out at night for so long.

you sit yourself on the couch as soft rain drips down the window, crunching your cheap popcorn and shuffling to find the remote hidden beneath the cushion under you. You turn on the TV to the news of new york, watching all of the dramatic scenes of crime or new updates.

and then, it clicks to spiderman. spidermans news. you shfited your postion to sit up more, you always loved watching your boyfriend get fantasized and loved by the people of your city. But..this time it was different.

The screen flashed images of peter seriously hurt. you felt your stomach drop to the floor as your eyes filled with flashing images of deep wounds and him knocked on the floor. he looked pale, deep purple bruises matched on his face.

your eyes filled with tears and your throat felt like it was burning flames. you hated that peter had to go through this, the one you loved was constantly in danger and it shattered your heart into pieces.

this was the worst you had ever seen him.

tears streamed down your face and into your ears as you go into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. you couldn't bare to even look at the screen any longer. you feel yourself sink against the door, adrenaline rushing through your entire head. my peter.

you choke on sobs as you felt something pierce inside of you. you held your phone close to your chest hoping he would call you back. you needed desperately to know he was safe, alive.

Peter was always working. always. till' he nearly kills himself. You knew he was equipped with powers to sustain himself, and you also knew he was peter. you knew he was always strong and he always got up, no matter how hard he got smashed into the ground, over and over.

you close your eyes and matching tears peirce your head as they fall into the floor, choking on your own throat, resting your head on your knees tucked into your chest against the door.

you feel the bathroom door open from behind you and you nearly scream.

"is everything okay? i heard whimpering was that-"

Peter looks down at you on the floor. He was in his suit, holding his mask in one hand. His expression changed immediately when he saw your red eyes. you looked like you had been crying for hours. he knelt down next to you.

"im so sorry- did i scare you? whats going on?" His eyes were filled of worry as he held you in a hug.

you sobbed into his chest. "What the hell peter i thought you we're dead!" You whimper as you cling to his suit.

"What? No! Of course not- Why- Why would I be dead-" he breathes out, wrapping his arms around you as he feels his suit begin to get wet with your tears.

"You didn't anwser you phone.." you try to catch your breath, pulling away from him with a sniffle, checking him for any sign of wounds.

"Im so sorry y/n, i-i got out late." he rubs your back as he rests his chin on your shoulder, you crying into his.

your voice breaks, "i-i saw the photos on the news- t-they looked so terrible a-and-" tears roll down your cheeks.

"oh" he wipes your face, holding it with his hands as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "The news shows stuff like that all of the time, they probably edited it or something, i'm okay, i promise! Mr. Stark just needed some back up, everything is fine now.."

"I got you." he leans his head against yours and turns his face slightly to press a kiss to your lips, you breathe in and pull away, he wipes your tears with his hand.

you're chest feels warm with the same feeling of home again. your heart starts to swell.

he reaches for your pinky layed beside you on the floor, as he intertwines his into yours.

"i pinky promise, okay?" he pulls you in a hug as he caresses his thumb against your hand, still holding your pinky.

you nod gently, and rest the side of your face on his shoulder, letting yourself relax again.

he gently rests his chin on the top of your head. "im not going to leave you." he nearly whispers.

you nod slightly. "okay."

He helps you off the floor and leads you back to the couch, handing you a glass of water, sitting next you. you feel him wrap his arm around you.

"are you okay?" he asks slowly as he looks at you.

"yeah of course." you breathe out shakily as you take a sip of your water.

sighing, you set the water beside you and snuggle up to peter.

"im sorry you had to see that." he looks down. "i promise it wasn't real."

you nod and he holds your hand.

"what do you wanna do?" he looks at you softly. "i could get you something, or we could go out to a park." He holds his breath, making a puff in his cheeks.

you shake your head. "i just want you right now."

He nods and presses another kiss into your forehead.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" You ask gently, looking up at him from his chest.

His lips curve down as he shakes his head. "No, not at all." He smiles gently.

"Okay." You press your lips together and wipe your face.

You rest your head on his shoulder and he leans against the side of yours, folding his fingers into your hand.

[imsorryithurts]

Whumperless Whump Day 1

@whumperless-whump-event

Hello, friends! This is my first entry for the Whumperless Whump Event. I don't have much experience with formatting text on tumblr, so I hope it'll be legible. I am also not an experienced writer, I just wrote down what comes to my mind! If anything is too out of place feel free to tell me (nicely!).

This is set up in my "generic space adventure" setting, if you want a primer on the characters, you can read it here: [link]

Thanks to Seth for setting this up, and without further ado, here's my story.

-x-

Emergency First Aid:

Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.

Content warnings: Falling from heights, bruises, lacerations, and stitches.

-x-

“I’m fine, I promise.” Matt took a deep breath, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “It's just a scratch. I’ve been worse.”

It wasn't exactly a lie. He was fine. He has had worse.

He had to admit, though, calling it a scratch was quite the understatement.

“I swear to fucking god, Matt,” Rex’s voice rang distantly through the comm. “If we get there and your leg is missing, I'm ripping out the other one myself!”

“We’ve got your coordinates already,” Roye’s voice came through the speaker much clearer, without much background noise. Matt had to laugh at the possibility that Rex wrestled the comm out of Roye's hand just to threaten him. “We're trying to figure out how to get to you, just don't move, right?”

Matt could tell by his tone that he was serious. Roye was using his “captain voice”. He would be here in seconds, if he could.

“Matt, do you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he picked up his comm with his uninjured arm. “Yeah, I hear you.” He hoped to god this sluggishness wasn't from blood loss.

“Call back if anything happens. We're coming.” There was the noise of a finished call.

Matt sighed and slumped back against the sandy rock formation he was sitting against. The same kind of rock that crumbled under his feet at the mount above, sending him rolling god knows how many meters away. He only didn't curse it because it was providing some much needed support at the moment, and he didn't want to risk losing it because he offended it.

He gathered up some motivation to take stock of his situation again. He took his cracked mask off. The team always made fun of him for wearing the O2 mask even in breathable planets, but it very likely saved him from a broken nose and a couple of mouthfuls of dirt. He set it aside along with his comm, breathing in the fresh, even if slightly too humid air.

He was sore all over, but that's to be expected. His left knee hurt particularly badly, along with his foot that was caught in a root on the way down. Nothing was at a weird angle and he could move his toes inside his boot, so probably nothing was broken. He couldn't tell what was going on with the foot, it hurt way too much to bend his knee in order to remove the boot, and even if he could reach it, the swelling had already settled in, making it hard to remove it on his own. So he settled for leaving the leg outstretched for now, to be given attention once he was back in the ship.

The “scratch”, on the other hand, needed attention now immediately.

Somewhere along the way his right forearm had snagged on something, that something ripping a gash almost from his wrist to his elbow. He had spent the last couple of minutes pushing against it with his jacket to stop the bleeding while trying to relate his situation to the rest of the team. Now that nobody was listening, he allowed himself to groan loudly as he peeled the fabric away from the wound.

Like he said, he’s had worse. Still, it was not pretty. He was lucky enough that the edges weren't too ragged, but it was still long and deep. It had stopped pouring out blood and now it oozed lazily, red filling the entirety of it like a lake.

Matt pressed his jacket against it again, pushing against the sides, trying to mop up some of the blood.

Not pretty might not be a good enough description. Squeezing some of the blood out of it exposed the angry edges around a pit of bright red muscle, lumps of nauseatingly yellow fat tissue clumped around it. 

He poured half of the water from his canteen over it. Blood loss or infection was going to kill him before dehydration anyways. He fished the first aid kit from his backpack, working as fast as he could, if he hesitated, the pain would take over his brain and he’d be scared to do anything so as to not aggravate it.

He held his breath and poured as much antiseptic as he could over his arm. Even if he had been trying to be quiet, he wouldn't have been able to hold back the scream he let out as the liquid touched his exposed flesh, white hot searing pain burning all the way to his bones.

He sat back with his arm outstretched to wait the worst of the pain away and catch his breath. Once he could take a full steady breath in, he retrieved the little suture kit.

It was a good thing he was the one to take that fall. Matt wasn't sure any of his colleagues would manage to properly clean and stitch a wound. Even with guidance over the comm, some of them could have the dexterity to do the stitches, but not the ability to keep calm until more help arrived.

It wasn't until Matt had the needle, thread and hemostat ready he realized that, actually, he had no idea how he would do this either.

His dominant hand was useless to work on this two handed job. He could probably use it to hold something, but there was no way to use it on its own arm.

He better not have a fucking concussion on top of all this.

He steadied his arm between his knees, trying to squeeze it in a way to push the edges of the wound as close together as possible. He was determined to make it up as he went along.

He couldn't get the hemostat to work on his left hand, so he threw it aside and held the needle with his fingers.

He expected the sting of the needle to feel like nothing compared to the agony of the gash, but it aggravated it in a way he had to consider just leaving it alone and take his chances against dying right there. He shakily pushed the needle through the other side of flesh after a couple of deep breaths.

He stared at the thread crossing his open skin. The obvious part was over, now he had to focus to remember all the steps. It was like doing his first stitches on a sponge all that time ago.

Right. Cross the thread. This was the twisty part, right? He missed having the hemostat.

Come on, learning to do something one handed was good, rewiring the brain, keeping it in shape.

He made two loops, moving the thread with his thumb and index, holding it with his pinkie. He pushed the needle through the loops, pulling it with his teeth and holding the loose side of thread, the edges of skin meeting where the stitch tractioned it. Matt let himself whimper at the feeling, both the surface of the skin and muscles protesting at the movement.

He repeated the loops to the other side, cursing when they slipped away from his fingers, but completing the knots of the stitch. 

He snipped the ends of thread, completing the suture. He sighed in relief and admired his work. But then he had to laugh. 

That was one stitch down. There remained… What, about 20?

His comm beeped to life beside him. Isabella's voice came from it. “Hey, Matt, how are you holding up?”

“Fine.” He sighed, forcing his voice not to shake. “My foot is still messed up, so I’m-I’m just sitting here.”

“We're going to leave you bored for a while. We found a path around the bushes, should take a little less than two hours to reach you,” She said, apologetic, but hopeful. “Roye says he’d keep you company if we weren't worried about about battery.”

“Ha, thanks.” He swallowed the lump in his throat, looking at how much he still had to suture, the wound slowly seeping blood into his pants. “I’ll just enjoy a nap, maybe.”

“Sleep well, Matt. We’ll wake you when we get there,” she signed off sweetly.

Matt laid back against the rock, looking at his injured arm. He sighed and forced himself upright. He wiped the blood around it as best as he could. The gash wasn't going to close itself.

He struggled with the next two stitches, but then he blanked out, and when he realized, half of it was already closed up.

It was not a good sign, but he was relieved it was almost done before he noticed.

His hands shook as he completed the next ones, and the needle slipped out of his fingers more than once, but he got there.

He pierced the skin one last time, looped the thread twice, pulled the needle through. Looped twice to the other side, pulled it through. Helping with his teeth. His vision was blurry and his mouth tasted like copper. But he did it.

He snipped the last of the thread, finally. 

He slumped back against the rock, realizing he had been holding his breath. He had to pour some more antiseptic over it, but he couldn't get his non injured arm to move. Needed to drink some water, maybe, but his limbs fell heavily at his sides.

Well, fuck. At least people were already coming. 

His vision started to grey out, and he allowed the fog to take over.

-

He woke up being half carried already.

“I FUCKING TOLD YOU HE WAS HIDING SOMETHING,” Rex shouted beside him. “WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY, I’LL RIP YOUR OTHER ARM APART, YOU IDIOT!”

Matt chuckled. He would have thought the same if the roles were reversed.

He felt his consciousness drifting again. He took advantage of the light hearted moment and the safety of the arms heaving him up, and let it go. He was fine now.

[raymans-boyfriend]

Spoiling!

Gift for @ch4osm4ster !

AO3 LINK

Desc: Grand Minimus is spoiling you after a mission!

It was about 12 pm when you came back from your adventure. Hair is messy, bruises everywhere, your back aches. However it was all worth it to see your love, Minimus again after 3 weeks of fighting for the glade.

You step inside the stone castle, the rough grey naked walls being oddly comfortable under your fingers. The cold air enveloped you, it felt like a tranquilizing hug, but it wasn't unwelcome.

Meanwhile, Minimus was waiting for you in his robe. He had a warm bath prepared for you, with only the best of soaps of course. He had also gotten a grand meal cooked, its smells filling up the throne room, with your love sat at top of it.

"Make sure my love is only served the best of the best, satisfactory is a necessity when it comes to the sleeping quarters! They are profoundly fatigued, i am certain!" Minimus demanded a Lum, his voiced raised.

"Ok sir!" The fly went off to set up the bedroom just as you walked into the room.

"Ah, there is my beloved!" He threw himself off his chair to kiss your hand. Your body jerks slightly, falling on top of the velvet red carpet. Minimus realizes how he was maybe too forward.

"I apologize profoundly, Y/N.. i ought to respect my beloved's boundaries." He coughs, pulling away slightly.

He leads you to the dining room, where the most delicious meal you have ever seen. Your mouth drools at the lavish feast, he has made sure to include all your favorites.

"Now, darling, settle down, I am assured that your seat is comfortable and snug. Exclusive for my sweetheart." He kisses your cheek as he sat you down.

He sits on the luxurious chair next to you. As you eat, he looks at you lovingly. His eye brows lowering as his smiles widened, hes clearly so in love with you.

------

Minimus walks you to the grand bathroom, it was honestly ridiculous with how over top the whole thing was. The whole area had a mermaid and ocean vibe, the sinks and tub being in the shape of shells.

Speaking of the bathtub, the thing was made out of the finest marble, the faucet was sold yellow gold and it was filled to the brim with bubbles.

"It is my duty to guarantee that you, my love, are cleansed in a enjoyable fashion-" The king suddenly stops, his face becoming a deeper shade of blue.

"Not in THAT sense-"

You laugh, a bit flustered yourself. You knew his fancy English would kick him in the ass one day or the other.

"Anyhow, i shall be purging you of all the wounds and grime that has ended up on your... exquisite frame darling."

He was gonna bathe you, with his own 2 hands.

You gulp.

This was going to be something.

-----------------------------

He carried you this time to his bedroom. You were surprised about being man handled by an actual king, the king of the Teensie's no less.

Minimus' room was just as ostentatious as the lavatory. The walls were made out of deep brown planks, with hand crafted decor sprinkled into them. The only piece of furniture in the room was a bed, made out of gold.

You were placed into the bed, and you slowly sunk into the soft mattress. You have never felt something so soft in your life. The sheets are a deep shade of red, like the love Minimus felt for you.

Speaking of which, he laid down next to you and guided your head to his chest. He gently caressed your head with his fingers, the long blue limbs guiding you to sleep.

"Sweet dreams, my love."

[ghcstao3]

hi, hope you're well! so today I was thinking (bc ofc my brain's natural reaction is to lunge viciously for the hurt/comfort), what if the '09 game events still happened? Like, instead of AUs (where timelines branch off from a single event), it's a glitch in the timeline? So you have the '22 version of the 141 doing their thing, but they have nightmares & deja vu stemming from the '09 stuff. Cue (yes I'm shipping) SoapGhost where Ghost has all these bad feelings concerning Shepherd plus he has awful nightmares about burning & Soap's there to comfort him, but he's afraid that they're all losing it bc he keeps having similar dreams concerning how he dies--

i am well ty! hope u are as well!

anyway i tried my Best. however u may (will) have to pretend 22 141 doesnt know shepherd was part of the betrayal bc uhhh yeah👍🙂👍 also cw for kinda graphic desc of ghost’s nightmares

-

Soap couldn’t pinpoint when the dreams started, or why, for that matter—but what he does know is that it’s pure and utter torment.

It’s a unique fear that festers in their wake, in cold sweat and heart palpitations. It’s spine-chilling in a way Soap has never experienced, because while he’s confident he’s looked death in the eyes on too many occasions, never has he actually died.

But his dreams, these dreams—they tell him otherwise. And he isn’t the only one, either.

Gaz and Price have started to look just as sleepless. And Ghost—Soap has never seen him so afraid. When, for the first time in weeks, Soap sees his face, it’s harrowed. Haunted.

There’s a sense of familiarity that’s brought along with Soap’s dreams; explosions, gunfire, dilapidated buildings and someone screaming his name. His brain supplies him with the knowledge that it’s Price, but it isn’t, not really. At least, not how he knows Price. He feels old wounds tearing open and a searing pain in his side as his body is drained of far too much blood, and Price—not his Price—is shaking him. Begging.

In the end, it just makes sense to Soap. To die in the field. But the dream is too visceral to feel anything but real, and he starts to wonder just when he’d begun to deserve these sorts of taunts.

Gaz says his own nightmares are blunt, but just as violent. As fiery. Price doesn’t say anything, but there’s a new sunken quality to the bags under his eyes, and he just looks at his team so different, with a tortured gaze and a regret so profound he doesn’t seem to understand it himself.

Finally, Soap thinks, their mental states have deteriorated beyond repair. Until, in his arms, Ghost is screaming his throat raw in his sleep, a wail only ever sounded by those trekking their way through hell. Soap’s heard it before, from others, in their final moments, but never from the living.

And that’s when Soap begins to understand that these aren’t just some dreams, but some distant reality he hopes to never face.

Soap gently coaxes Ghost from his slumber, cutting through nightmare and imagination and whatever horrible thing could have Ghost in such pain. His face wets with tears as he slowly wakes, clinging to Soap like a child might to their mother’s leg in an indescribable fear. Ghost has never seemed so small.

“It’s not just you,” Soap whispers. He presses a kiss to Ghost’s temple, pulls the man closer. “Tell me what happened.”

As Ghost gradually forces out the words Soap begins to feel sick, nauseated not only by their contents but by the knowledge that Ghost had just lived through it, but he never lets go. Never asks for Ghost to stop speaking, just listens. Listens even as something gnaws away at his gut, as bile climbs his throat.

Hot, Ghost says. It was hot. A bullet had been lodged somewhere in his body but it didn’t matter—it was hot. He’d claw off his skin to get rid of the heat if it weren’t already melting flesh from muscle, from bone. Clothes and gear meld with his corpse and he feels it all, feels the bubbling, smells the burning, senses the way parts of his body slough off into ash.

He’s reaching for someone, and there’s the itch of betrayal, and a voice in his ear that he knows, instinctually, is Price, but there isn’t anything more he can do than lie there and accept his fate as his fleeting thoughts pester him about everything he’d done wrong. About everything he could’ve done—should’ve done to save… to save—

“I know his name,” Ghost murmurs, “but I also don’t. And I—“

“Don’t dwell on it, Simon,” Soap advises. “Please.”

Ghost shakes his head against Soap’s shoulder. “I can’t just—it’s not something I can forget, Johnny. Not when it keeps happening.”

“But you can,” Soap pleads. A terrible sense of dread has befallen him, growing in intensity and insistence. Something isn’t right, but he doesn’t know if he wants to find out just what. “We all can.”

Ghost is silent a moment. Shifts somehow closer to Soap. Soap can hear him thinking.

“I don’t know if we should be trusting Shepherd,” he finally says.

Soap’s face pinches in a tight frown. It seems such a random topic for this hour, after such terror. “Why?”

Ghost shrugs. “Can’t explain it. Gut feeling. Could be wrong, but—“

“When are you ever?” It’s meant to be teasing, but Soap does trust Ghost’s judgement more than anyone, perhaps even more than his own. Ghost just nods and clings ever tighter until his breathing evens out and tense muscles go lax.

Soap can’t find it in himself to fall back asleep.

Instead, he begins to wonder just how true these nightmares hold. And he begins to question how exactly Shepherd may fit into all of it.

Unfortunately, though, he supposes, there’s only one way to find out.

[poeticlilies]

♡ Grateful

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke x Reader

Desc: Akutagawa remembers what he is most grateful for. (fem reader)

TW/CW: spoilers for BSD, mentions of murder/violence, mentions of religious phrases (blessing from God, angel, etc)

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke had always been grateful.

Grateful for his sister; his companion, who had always been with him, whom he joined the Port Mafia for.

Grateful towards Port Mafia, for paying them wages (as low as they were) to be able to afford things like food and the bills.

Even grateful towards Dazai, his ex-mentor; whom he despised for being a traitor towards Port Mafia, but still taught him the combat skills and tricks he oh-so-frequently uses in his job.

However, there was one thing he cherishes the most; one thing that he grovels before, pride forgotten as he basks in it's presence and takes comfort from in dark days.

You.

Oh, the angel you, who has saved him; you, who comfort him on dark nights at an ungodly hour in the morning, when he stumbles in the front door with blood on his coat and he's not quite sure if it's his or not, you, who gently slides his coat off of him and sets it in the basin to soak with utmost care, knowing how much it means to him.

You, who tenderly scrubs his boney back, his thin arms, without a single speck of judgement in your soul. You, who speak in murmurs to him, comforting words flowing naturally like water does in a river, gently massaging the grime out of his hair and also his troubles.

You, who dresses him in the comfortable pajamas you had gotten him although he protested that you "shouldn't be spending money on unnecessary things like these" (though he wouldn't be yapping if it was for you) and you who askes him if it feels alright against the bandages you had gently and lovingly plastered on his wounds.

You, who wipes his tears when they fall from his eyes, who hushes him when he sobs and cries and rubs his back gently, telling him that it'll be alright and that tomorrow is a new day. You, who kisses his forehead and tells him not to worry when he apologizes for the tear stains he's left on your pajamas and you, who makes him take small sips of water before allowing him to rest his head and sleep.

And you, who does not mention a word to this in the morning, who smiles at him gently as you present him his breakfast and his lunch, before waiting with him although you've already eaten. You, who walks him to the door and gives him his usual good-bye kiss, who waves through the window and watches until the bus turns the corner and he can no longer see you in the glass because he can no longer see that part of the city.

And he is grateful, ever so grateful of your mercy. How you had the option to kick him, laugh at him, or simply shun him, but you don't. How you take the extra time and effort to take care of him, telling him you would run until your legs gave out if it meant he didn't have to be in discomfort.

And every day he thanks the stars and the heavens for the angel that is you, for the blessing from God, and he thinks of how he must've saved the world ten times in his past life to be gifted of your mercy, your kindness, and your love.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke is grateful for a lot of things in life.

His sister, Gin; his boss, Mori; his ex-mentor, Dazai;

but none of them come close to how grateful he is for you.

--

whew! first fanfic on here :). please let me know if i missed anything!