#both of them are NOT night people and are suffering

[shuenkio]

Zero o'clock — 니키 🎆☄. *. ⋆

Paring: Ex-bf Ni-ki X M!reader

Synopsis: Will he ever be here again with you, on the new year countdown at the same spot? When both of you already broke up? Would he? Genre: Angst but happy ending. Cw: curse or more? Non proof read | English is not my first. This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

It has been months ever since you broke up with your so-called boyfriend. And the reason behind this was the right person wrong timing however there was a hint which you never noticed that NIKI still longing for you no matter what the cause, even though both of you knowing that no one had the time to even spare one attention or affection,

Let alone suffering to this point where everyone part ways.

Where was home when you wanted him? Then there he was, out there busy with whatever project schedule he had with his friends, at first all he says was it only takes a few weeks nevertheless the week turns into months, months. And why is that? You caught him red hand where he's hanging out freely in the club, but that's not enough, the fact there was girl and boy by his side, both of his hands clinging on their shoulders? it's not even funny at all when you found him there when you were there for running errands. It was a suffering sight to encounter that could make you tear blood. The first time you thought your first love was meant to be last yet it was wrong. Heart ache is not a strong word to even describe how bad you felt it more than that.

And when he asked why would you break up with him? Simple,

"we're not the right one"

At the campus, the new year's countdown celebration. There were people, countless students presence to celebrate together. The night filled with the blank less cloud that let the full moon shine through the earth.

You were there, the same spot again where you used to stay close with your lover but it was all in the memory now. Something really did not stay the same despite how good it was, never meant to be ?. Your friends asked you if you'd come along with them so you won't feel lonely but you politely decline, need time for yourself though you were not alone anymore, this is a festival after all, definitely feel lonely.

Little did you know, Ni-ki were already there, from a distance not so far away. He'd determine that you'll never spend this memories year alone. He will make a change tonight.

It hurt him the day both of you decided, he begged, asking for forgiveness, mercy, spare for time to be a better boyfriend again but it was never that easy, a broken glass can't be pieces with glue easily. Earning back your trust that could cost more than just words, is the only way.

And he knows that, seeing you with somebody else only to make him jealous, furious, does not sit right. That person will never be anybody but him only. The love that he built for God knows how long a waste will never be — He was such a selfish person for love. Stupid crazy in love with his ex-boyfriend.

"Hey" a familiar voice utter. You know instantly who he was, didn't even bother to turn around. It was awkwardly silent. Playing hard to get on his nerve, Ni-ki palm grip on your slump shoulder as he turns you to face hum.

"You do not have the right to ignore me" his finger points at your face like a threat, he was true to his words and there was no more funny business in him anymore — which makes you unsure and not a single word left your lip. You stood there with him hover, like a shield. The same spot, the same jacket he wore that day, nostalgia hit you in the gut that drew tears to your eyes, you couldn't control any longer.

On the other hand, Ni-ki knows you too much to the fact he wasn't even surprised, and was expected you would be a cry-baby, forever his cry-baby.

"I fucking hate you, why can't you just leave me alone? You always bother me so much when I am trying to move on" the dawn has fallen, but you were so strong that nobody can read your expression to assume.

"Hate me all you want, because hear this M/n! I don't A no as the answer, hm? "

I will apologize, make it up to you till the day I die if I have to, but our relationship never ended since that day you decided— *sigh*

say it, I need you to say what is on your mind hon, you don't have a choice, no one will understand you like I do, go grab your sack and explore the world, you will never whether you like it or not we stuck" Ni-ki manipulate again, he will always use this card and it always work. You want it, want to say that how toxic this relationship or him was, you will still be too deep, drowning in his love that can't be surface — and the fact he also did the same but the once time mistake, killed your trust.

This time you no longer hold in anymore, you cry in his face, salty tears streaming down on your beautiful cheeks that can only be seen by him, one and only. They say you only show your true color with your lifeline and here we are.

"Fine... You won me again, you moron"

Ni-ki won. The only victory that he feels like he won in life. He'd vow from the earth to heaven he never made his boyfriend carry the weight of pain again. As Ni-ki slid his fist down and grabbed you by the waist and held you close into a warm embrace, while he covered you in his long jacket, nobody would see your vulnerability. Your head against his heart, just feels right than the cure of cancer.

"M/n you will always love me and will always, say yes to me and I will kill for you, I'm sorry I make you went through shit, this time I'm pinky promise you, yaksokkhae?"

"Yaksokkhae" (promise)

His hand was tight in yours; fingers intertwined like a promise. He knew you knew he’d never let go. Not now, not ever. There was a feeling in the air not quite peace, not quite ache, something in between. As fireworks bloomed against the midnight sky, painting color into the dark, the moment etched itself into something permanent. This place wouldn’t become just a memory. He was here. He would always be here. And you would never have to stand alone again.

That’s zero o’clock love — the kind that starts again and again when everything else resets.

A/n: It been a while since i write angst, but never real angst but now it here with my love- Ni-ki san... I know some parts may be awkward but i hope you can understand ever single sentences, and for the cover thank to my love @angelsfat3 mwah. Also, happy 1 year's writer debut on tumblr... May 1st.

[mybworlds]

The rescue

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: use of you, you’re a mermaid, I won't give any details except for nice long legs and very long hair, nudity, violence (a little?), use of both pov. If I missed smt please let me know.

Summary: You and Marcus face death, but something unexpected happens to everyone, including the power of Rome.

Masterlist

A/N There’s one chapter left and I’d like to thank you for all the support you have given to this story, thank you, thank you so much 😊 Likes, comments and reblogs are not mandatory, but very appreciated! ❤️

You spend the night sitting, your hands clasped, your head resting on his shoulder. You talk, talk, talk.

You also ask him about Lucilla's fate and he remains silent for a long time, almost as if he hadn't heard you, then he answers you in a whisper telling you that they had no mercy on her, they executed her like any other criminal in the arena so as to show the people what it means to go against them. At his words you cling even more to him, you know he wasn't in love with her, but you imagine that knowing that a person you knew is dead could be upsetting and you imagine that even a strong and hardened person like him could have been shocked by it.

“I wasn't in love with her,” he clarifies, “but… losing her, it upset me. I should have done more for her.” He confides in you, you stare at his profile so masculine so pronounced and you like him more and more, if possible “But what really shocks me is that there’s nothing I can do to get you out of here, to save you.”

“I chose my destiny long before we were even here in this place,” you remind him.

“I know.” he murmurs turning slightly towards your face “Why me?” he asks you.

“Because I saw beyond your war-scarred face, because I saw you and understood that you were not cruel like the others, because you give importance despite this unjust world to feelings like pity and love and because all of this makes you a wonderful person, Marcus.” you answer him, intertwining your fingers with his.

“You are such a pure soul..” he tells you, but he can't finish the sentence as you hear footsteps getting closer and closer, then the prison door opens and finally two soldiers come to open the door to your cell. A soldier drags you away without saying a word or telling you anything about what might happen to you, “NO, LET HER GO!” Marcus shouts as he tries to get up and escape the warrior's grip, but the other one pushes him to the ground again and there you see him punching your beloved in the face, kicking him in the stomach, then in the midst of this violence the man who had grabbed you by the arm, drags you away. As you walk away you only hear the muffled moans of your Marcus.

“Hold on,” you yell at him, almost making a move to turn back to him.

The soldier yanks you violently again, throwing you against a wall and pulling out a dagger aimed at your throat, the man looks you in the eyes for a long time and then hisses through gritted teeth, “Stop fighting, there's not much you can do for General Acacius anymore. There is for you. Give them what they want and save yourself more suffering.” His words seem to be an advice, a terrifying advice rather than a threat.

You look at him in disbelief, as if you don't understand the nature of that suggestion, how can a man who dragged you away from your beloved try to help you in some way?

“Listen to me,” he insists, looking at you with his dark eyes.

“Please help me.”

“I can't do more.” he replies. “My life and that of my family are at stake.” He adds in a grave tone. “Do as I told you,” he tells you before continuing on your way to a place unknown to you for the moment.

You think back to the man's words, you don't know if Marcus was killed down there in that dungeon, if you won't soon come to a horrible end. No one will save you this time, it's the thought that most often pops into your mind.

The soldier then leaves you in the hands of another man who looks decidedly creepy and evil. Those small, dark eyes scare you, as do his big, stubby hands that grab you forcefully and drag you away.

The prison guard leads you along a very long, narrow and steep corridor, the light becomes increasingly blinding as you get closer to what you imagine is an exit, then someone opens the door and you find yourself outside in a forecourt that to your eyes appears to be very large and full of sand stained with fresh blood. Horrified, you try to escape, but the monster that led you up there grabs you even more violently and pushes you outwards, making you hit your head violently on the ground. For a while everything is muffled, everything is reduced to a pale buzz, your eyes are closed from the pain and confusion you feel.

No one feels sorry for you, you think. No one tries to protect you or reaches out to help you stand up.

Slowly you begin to hear the voices of the crowd again although you can't make out what they're saying, it almost seems like thunder because what you hear is so loud, it feels like you're in the middle of a tornado, everything seems to be spinning senselessly around you.

“Behold what happens to a flower torn from its meadow!” you hear someone shouting in the distance, it seems to you to be Geta's voice, but from there you are not at all sure, it could also be Caracalla or someone else, impossible to say for sure.

You try to stand up, but it's so hard. You can barely sit up and look at the hundreds of faces watching you.

“A flower that could have borne much fruit and which instead was incinerated by the madness of those who did not believe in the goodness of that field, a flower whose seeds could still be sown and could bear flowers and fruit and instead...” you don't really understand the meaning of his words, you just know that you’d like to escape and instead you can barely stare at the sky covered by timid clouds above your heads.

“I’ll give it one last chance, but not before I give it one last watering!” you hear again, while this time you clearly hear someone laughing.

Do they laugh at the words they hear?

Are they laughing at you?

Do they laugh at your misfortune?

The doors of a gate open and when you turn around you see Marcus being dragged there in chains. His gait is decidedly limping, he has a swollen and purple eye, and there is a cut on his forehead, cheek and lower lip from which blood is gushing.

“The two lovers and traitors of the Empire.” presents you the same voice.

“Death to them!” someone shouts, “Long live the emperors,” someone else exclaims.

You search Marcus's eyes, barely lifting a hand as if you wanted to touch him even though you know you're too far away for any kind of contact. He's watching you, you see him open his lips as if he wants to talk to you, but he's too far away for you to hear him, you see him mouthing something like don't be afraid, I love you, but you're not sure.

“Kill ‘em!” you hear someone shouting again, but now you focus on his face, you observe it as if enraptured, as if you knew deep down that that was the last face you’d ever see. You are calm, you know that at least in another life you and Marcus will be together, happy; when suddenly your loved one's face contorts into an expression full of fear and then all of a sudden something or someone drenches you completely and you seem to come back to the present.

The crowd laughs. They laugh, they laugh a lot. They are loud. You, on the other hand, realize that the water has touched you and that is when you realize that there is no hope for you. You look at Marcus scared, your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes widening in terror, but then you realize that apart from fear, nothing has happened.

Did your aunt make fun of you?

Marcus also looks confused, you are happy, but both confused.

“My beautiful flower, you still have the chance to bloom, I’ll show you what happens to traitors, for them there is no chance, no redemption” Geta sentences “bring him here before us,” orders the emperor.

The men do as told and Marcus is carried almost to the centre of the arena, in line with some stands occupied by the twins.

“General Acacius, you’ve been found guilty of high treason against the crown. Therefore, the punishment is death.” Geta adds solemnly, the crowd is buzzing and you are not sure if they are in favor of this sentence or if they are against the man's words “Do you have any last words to say?” asks the man, looking down at the prisoner with an air of superiority.

You watch with eyes wide open in terror as Marcus observes his people, you hear them grumbling, some in his favor, some against him. You wonder how his own people do not react towards Geta and Caracalla and how they can allow a brave man who was always in favour of the people to die and stand there and watch without reacting.

His gaze falls on you, his dark eyes search yours, you are afraid, you feel a sensation of cold, deep terror, you observe his face distorted by the beatings he suffered, blood at the corners of his mouth, a bruised eye, then Marcus speaks “I’m a soldier. I am and I will always be. I hope that one day my death can..”

“Keep it short, traitor,” Caracalla interrupts him, rising from his seat as if to speed up the execution.

“Save her.” he says in a deep, resolute tone of voice as if he doesn’t allow for any reply to what he said and he says it while looking the twins in the eye and then looking back at you.

You shake your head in terror, you hear a noise like something stretching in the distance, you run towards Marcus as if to shield him, sensing what is about to happen to him. You hold him tight, terrified of letting him go. Marcus, however, pushes you away from him abruptly, making you fall. You are shocked by that gesture, you want to protect him...

You are even more surprised when you see him moving even further away from you, right in those moments you hear many hisses in the air and then these hisses materialize into arrows. Arrows pierce Marcus repeatedly in the chest, back and legs.

“NO!” you scream at the top of your lungs. Marcus has his back to you so you don't know what his expression is right now, but you see him fall to his knees, as he continues to be mortally wounded “STOP,” you shout “STOP, PLEASE!” you continue, somewhat awkwardly reaching Marcus who has fallen onto his back. The arrows have finished hitting him, “Marcus, Marcus,” you call as you lift him up and lay his head on your thighs, his eyes are closed, his lips parted, “Marcus,” you whisper, caressing his bleeding and swollen lower lip.

Your eyes fill with tears knowing that you can't help him, knowing that your loved one's life is slipping away through your fingers and that you can do absolutely nothing to hold it back, you can't do anything.

“M - Marcus,” you moan trembling, his breathing is getting weaker and slower. He’s dying, you can't do anything for him. The man you did all this for, the man you risked everything for, including your life, is leaving you forever. The expression on your face contorts in pain, tears stream down your cheeks and fall onto your beloved's face.

You place a trembling hand on his chest, an arrow is right there next to his heart, a sob escapes you and you squeeze your eyes shut, a scream escapes you along with more tears that copiously wet his face, his neck, his chest. His breathing stopped.

Slowly you remove the arrows that pierced his chest, his back, his legs. Marcus has left you. He's dead. The thought is unacceptable, but the situation is like this, he's gone.

You pull him with difficulty until his face rests on your chest, you caress his cheek ruined by the tortures he previously suffered. “MARCUS!” you scream in pain, looking up to the sky, you don't know which gods of the sea to pray to, who to ask for help. Everything around you seems to have stopped, you hear nothing but your own screams of pain and your copious tears that wet the face of the man still pressed to your chest.

Then something totally unexpected happens. Marcus moves, it's almost imperceptible, but he moves. You lower your head in total disbelief. You see his eyes start to move from under his lids, slowly his chest begins to rise and fall, then he opens his eyes.

“Marcus,” you coo trembling, your hands shaking from the strong emotion and with equal joy mixed with confusion you bring your hand closer to his cheek which seems to be healing second after second. You are incredulous and absolutely speechless, you had no idea that what you read years ago in a manuscript, jealously guarded by your father, was real.

When your eyes meet again, he smiles at you, reaching out a hand to your face, “You saved me…” he whispers, caressing your cheek with his thumb “..again.”

You close your eyes and place your hand on his, then take it and kiss it softly.

But in that sweet bubble, slowly everything around you takes shape, color and noise again. The crowd is buzzing in disbelief at the scene they have just seen, someone points at you, then you hear Caracalla again and this time his words are directed at you, “She's a witch! The woman is not only his accomplice, but also endowed with mysterious and dangerous magical arts!” he exclaims, pointing at you. “Only the gods know what such a creature would be capable of!” he continues, inciting the crowd by continuing to define you as a sneaky, treacherous creature, capable of who knows what atrocities. Geta stands there silent, perhaps shocked by this part of you that is completely foreign to him.

Marcus slowly sits up, as three soldiers of the Praetorian Guard enter, fully armed and heading towards you, the man next to you starts to stand up, but you turn to him, holding him by the arm. He looks at your face with a questioning expression and then you shake your head weakly as if to tell him not to do anything and then he’s still very weak and above all you don't want anything bad to happen to him. Now the focus is no longer on him, but on you and you are ready to die to protect him and know that he's alive.

The guards drag you away from him, Marcus despite your nod not to move, does the same to try to save you from their grip and so, noticing the movement, one of the three guards steps back and violently places a foot on the man's chest, who, grimacing in pain, forcibly lies down again.

The two emperors descended into the arena and you were dragged before them. Geta seems shocked and as if he saw a monstrous creature before his eyes, he follows his brother almost by force. He barely glances at you, it's Caracalla who instead appears amused by you saying that you will entertain them, you don't know what he means nor do you care. You're ready to die for him.

“Oh, he will look.” It's Caracalla again speaking, he's in front of you and you don’t know what to expect. He smiles at you, but it's a crazy smile, it's a scary one.

Before you can register in your mind a possible move of his, the man with a quick and violent movement tears your clothes revealing you in your nakedness in front of everyone. You scream in surprise and shame, covering as best you can. You curl up in a ball, before hearing voices getting louder and louder, then another cold shower. Guards, supposedly on Caracalla's orders, continually throw water at you, causing you to fall back and slip several times.

Your skin feels like it's on fire this time, it's burning.. your screams of pain echo in the amphitheater, Marcus' voice screaming your name is so far away, that pain is so piercing, so sharp, it takes your breath away.. maybe you're dying.. you're dying knowing that Marcus will live. You hoped you could live with him, but that's not how things will go..

The voice of Caracalla telling the people “Here is a monster who is revealing her true nature.” you can barely hear him.

He sees you fall apart. Your strength is abandoning you and once again General Acacius can do nothing to save you, to wrap you in his arms and whisper to you that everything will be alright because it wouldn’t be the truth.

He tries to get up, but is continually knocked down by a kick, now by a push. Acacius has not yet regained his strength after... what he lived.

He's watching you lose consciousness and he can't shield you with his body to defend you, he knows, you told him what would happen to you if the water touched you, but why did nothing happen to you before and now it does?

He now sees you lying on your side, the water flows over your naked body and your long hair and as it passes it seems to set your skin on fire which becomes swollen.

Marcus is about to try again to reach you, when a horn in the distance interrupts the barbaric spectacle. Acacius recognizes them, they must be the men of the Praetorian Guard and the men loyal to him that he, Lucilla and some members of the senate had convinced to overthrow the power of the two tyrants.

The arena almost begins to shake, the people flee from the stands, the two emperors are carried away for their safety. There are only the two of you left in the arena and Marcus can finally come over and lift you slightly into his arms.

He calls your name, stroking your cheek with the back of his ruined hand, “Please, open your eyes. Talk to me.” He begs.

Your skin is getting colder and swollen second by second, your lips are parted, he sees them so parched.

“What should I do?” Marcus asks in a desperate whisper before kissing you on the lips.

You open your eyes with a confused expression as if his kiss had just saved you from death.

“What should I do?” he asks you again, holding you gently in his arms as if he wanted to give you his warmth.

“My father..” you murmur, struggling to keep your eyes open. “The sea..” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“What's it got to do with your father? Please, tell me how I can help you.” he insists.

You open your eyes again, “We have to.. get to the beach.. call my dad.. he.. he will hear you, scream.. scream loudly.”

“What’s his name?” he asks, leaning his face close to yours. You barely open your eyes and manage to whisper his name.

Marcus lifts you into his arms with great difficulty, what happened to you has greatly weakened both of you. The battle rages around you and Marcus would have rushed to fight under other circumstances, but not now, not when you are in this condition. The journey proves tiring and desperate, but Marcus doesn’t give up until the sand and gravel touch his feet.

There, Marcus shouts out the name you whispered in his ear. Once, twice, ten times, he has lost count of how many times he has shouted your parent's name.

He sinks to his knees in the gravel, his face contorted with fatigue and pain and fear of losing you. You're leaving him, he feels you.. he feels your body weakening in his arms and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

“My love,” he whispers, moving a lock of hair stuck to your temple, “I was completely incapable of protecting you… I should have done more… I – I…” all his words get stuck in his throat as he sees your head bowing more and more, your strength abandoning you completely.

Marcus screams that name again at the top of his lungs and this time something happens, out of nowhere the sea begins to ripple, the wind begins to caress your skin and suddenly out of nowhere a massive figure slowly emerges from the sea holding a trident.

Marcus doesn't know what to do or say, he’s completely stunned and amazed by such a sight. He doesn't know how to behave, he's not afraid, but he really has no idea what he should do or how to explain how to help you.

The figure emerging from the sea reveals himself even more imposing as it approaches Marcus. So you too came from the sea like this?

The man kneels down holding the scepter with one hand and with the other he touches your face with great sweetness, then he looks up at Acacius who doesn't know whether to be worried or calm about the look your father is giving him.

“My daughter,” he says in a barely audible whisper, then turning to Marcus he adds, “I will now cast the counter-spell that will save her.” Acacius nods “But in doing so she will return a mermaid in the depths with me. This whole story has proven that yours are two incompatible worlds. She will always be in danger and you... you seem like a strong man, but not strong enough to protect both of you from the dangers that she especially would run.”

Marcus still has one arm around your shoulders, caresses your face with his other hand, kisses you tenderly on the forehead and then says to your father, “Save her. If she has to be away from me to live, then take her away and save her.”

Your father nods and then lifts you into his arms and carries you with him, you become smaller and further away, then where you dived into only small ripples remain.

Acacius collapses to his knees, the pain of the sharp contact with the gravel barely registering, now he wonders if you will actually survive or if you will end up dying down there far away from him.

You saved him today, and he? What did he do?

He didn't even say goodbye to you, he didn't tell you I love you every time those three words were on the tip of his tongue, he didn't hold you close enough.

He didn't..

The noise and echo of the raging battle are barely perceptible. He who has taken part in dozens and dozens of battles, he who has always been on the front lines, today feels completely empty.

He lost everything.

His name, his home..

You..

Marcus Acacius feels lost and even the idea of fighting is completely indifferent to him, what's the point of fighting if he doesn't have the right motivations and ideals to do that?

Even taking away power from Geta and Caracalla no longer matters to him.

Cui prodest? (Who benefits from all this?)

When you open your eyes again, you feel completely dazed.

There are your sisters and even a nanny you haven't seen since you were just a few inches tall, are you dead?

You try to get up, but you realize that you are without strength and above all that you are a mermaid again.

But what..?

“Don’t worry, little girl. You’ve lost a lot of energy and blood,” the woman informs you, tucking the seaweed blanket around you.

“How long have I been here?” you ask confused, looking for your sisters’ faces.

“You slept for almost ten days. We were starting to fear the worst,” your sister Acqua replies.

“Why am I here? What happened?” you ask, closing and squeezing your eyes tightly as if to quickly register the fact that you don't know if Marcus is okay, how you survived, what you're doing there, and how you got here.

“Easy, little sis,” Melody, another of your sisters, replies, “daddy will be here soon and will tell you everything. In the meantime, let her rest.” she adds, inviting your other sisters and your nanny to leave the room.

“Melody?” you call her when it’s just the two of you. She comes over and sits next to you, “Am I dead?” you ask her bluntly still feeling very dizzy.

She takes your hand, “No, baby. You’re here, you’re with us, in your world.” Melody is silent for a moment, then looks into your eyes, “I love you and I would do anything for you because your happiness is the most important thing for me. But... I'm afraid for you, I'm afraid that you could be in serious danger being... up there.” you nod weakly “Well, what happened to you, happened when you were there.”

“It didn't happen because I was there, but because I accepted a dangerous potion. It could have happened here too.” you reply, trying to sit up, but you're still so weak, so you give up. “I love him, Melody. The feelings I have for him will never end.”

She sighs, “What do you think you’re doing?”

You are about to answer when you hear your father’s voice behind your sister, “This is not the time to think about this, my daughter. Now you just need to rest.”

Your sister Melody kisses your cheek and swims away, your father stays. When he’s sure no one can hear you anymore, your father approaches you, “How do you feel?”

“Tired, but fine.” You reply, “Father, what happened to Marcus?”

“Don’t you want to know how you got back here?”

“First I’d like to know about him. Is he alive? Is he okay?”

Your father smiles, “Yes,” he caresses your cheek, “he’s fine. He’s the one who called me. He loves you. He really does, you know?” Your heart pounds in your chest at the thought of Marcus, of how you feel about him, of how even your father understood it “He loves you so much that he gave up on you. He preferred knowing you were safe even if far away from him rather than keep you there and watch you die.” he tells you, caressing the contour of your face.

Your eyes fill with tears, “I wish I could tell him how loved I felt by him, how safe I felt with him. Always.” your voice trembles “I will never forget this.” you add “If I have to marry a newt you want, I will.” shy tears fly down your cheeks.

“Oh, my daughter…” your father lowers his head for a moment “I want you safe, you know that. But I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

You give each other a long, silent look full of unspoken words.

[prettydaisygirl]

can’t wait for part 3 of rafe x reader zombie xoxo

Here you go, my love! It's actually technically part 5 (I can't get these two out of my head) but I made it so the parts are in chronological order on the masterlist! Hope you enjoy <3

zombie au with Rafe Cameron x fem!reader who comforts Rafe after a nightmare ✿ 1.5k words

cw: zombie apocalypse, fem reader, blood and guts, established relationship(ish?), Rafe has a nightmare, reader helps Rafe this time, discussion of Rafe's past violence and behavior (not in detail)

rafe cameron masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

Rafe grunts as he tugs the sharp end of his crowbar from between the zombie’s eyes, foot braced on the monster’s stomach. It comes out with a loud squelch, and you watch with your hands on your hips, lips puckered in disgust. You should be used to it by now, but can you ever really get used to the smells and sounds of rotting corpses?

Rafe shakes the remnants of blood and guts from the end of the crowbar and onto the pavement, turning to you. He looks different now, you think, older and firmer than he was at the beginning. You’re sure you are too, the end of the world changes people.

“Is that the only one you saw?” Rafe asks, sliding the crowbar back into his backpack like a sword, easy to grab. You step closer to him, hand naturally reaching to wrap in the fabric of his shirt as you glance around through the trees.

“I think so,” You say, eyes scanning around. But there’s no movement. 

“Fuckin’ things.” Rafe kicks the zombie’s body again and you flinch. You hate that part of you that thinks maybe the person is still in there. 

Rafe shakes his head, hair swishing around his face. It’s getting long now, and you reach up to brush some of it out of his way. His features soften and he slides a hand around your back, his eyes turning up to look at the sky.

“Storm’s comin’ in.” Rafe’s voice is low and raspy, and you find your gaze following his to look up at the dark, ominous clouds.

“It’s always storming.” You say, eyes squinted before you lower your gaze from the sky to Rafe’s face. 

“C’mon,” Rafe tilts his head back toward the farmhouse. He takes your hand in his, interlacing your fingers as you both make the short trek back to your base.

The two of you check the inside of the house too, even though you already did once this morning. Rafe’s been diligent, especially recently. When you check the last room and call it all clear, Rafe returns to the living room to light a fire in the fireplace.

Tonight’s dinner consists of old cans of Spaghetti-o’s and a stale granola bar that the two of you split down the middle. You eat with your head on Rafe’s shoulder, and he doesn’t shrug you off like he used to, he leans back into your side and lets himself relax.

Rafe is taking first watch tonight. He always does, letting you sleep first unless he is tired and drained enough to admit he needs it. 

“Goodnight, Rafe,” You whisper to him, the light from the setting sun vanishing quickly. He sits by your side, brushing a hand over your cheek. His fingers trail back and tangle into your hair as he lowers his lips to yours for a lingering kiss. You still get butterflies when he kisses you, you think you always will. 

When he pulls away, your lips chase after his and he smirks a bit, just a slight raise on one side of his mouth. Rafe doesn’t kiss you a lot, mostly at night when you’re both tired and he lets his guard down for just a moment. You cherish each and every one of them. You know suffering and death like the back of your hand nowadays, and this… whatever this is with Rafe is something to give you joy. 

“Goodnight.” Rafe whispers back to you as the last light from the sun fully disappears below the horizon. 

He wakes you up in much the same way. A soft hand sliding over the back of your neck, your shoulder. Lips pressing gently to your cheekbone, then the corner of your own.

“Wake up.” He whispers, and your eyes flutter open. You smile tiredly and sit up. Rafe leans in to place another kiss to your lips and you wonder what has got him feeling so affectionate. You don’t complain, though. 

You take your place on the chair at the window as Rafe settles down to get comfortable. He was right, you think, as you watch the storm rage outside. It’s hailing, and the rain is heavy enough you’re surprised it didn’t wake you. 

About an hour into your watch the storm changes. The loud rain is now accompanied by low, rumbling thunder and short flashes of lightning. You almost find it soothing, flipping slowly through the pages of your book. 

It starts with a whimper. 

You think you imagine it. Eyes lifting from the page to scan over Rafe’s sleeping form. He’s exactly where he was when you looked at him a few minutes ago, he hasn’t even shifted. You continue to read. 

Rafe lets out another whimper, this time louder and his brows push together in a frown. You raise your head again, tilting it gently as you watch him. Your eyebrows match his as you frown too. 

Another rumble of thunder has you closing your book and setting it aside. You jump when you hear Rafe’s voice.

“No,” He says, but it’s muffled like he can’t fully open his mouth. His body jerks, legs twitching,  and you pick up the flashlight, moving by his side in an instant. 

“Hey,” You say quietly, unsure of what to do. Your hands hover over his body, nervous of his potential reaction.

“No!” He says, stronger this time, and his legs jerk again.

“Hey, Rafe,” You say, brushing a hand over his shoulder lightly, ready to pull away if he should lash out in his sleep. “Rafe.”

He wakes with a gasp, sitting up quickly and you lean backwards to avoid getting hit by him. 

“You’re okay,” You assure him, rubbing a hand over his back and you can feel him trembling, his shoulders shaking. 

“Fuck.” Rafe grunts but it’s choked. He brings his hands, sweating and shaking, up to his face. You aren’t sure what to do, so you just continue to slowly rub his back. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him, trying to keep your voice soft and soothing. He shakes his head for a moment before he takes a long, heaving breath. His body relaxes a bit and he looks up at you.

“That was fuckin’... scary…” His words shake almost as much as he does and you wrap your arm around him, encouraging him into a hug. You two have hugged but never like this. 

Rafe’s body is tense as you pull him close, but he doesn’t pull away. Neither do you. You just sit there, holding him and rubbing his back, listening to the storm. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask him quietly after a while, but he tells you he doesn’t. You wonder if you were in it. You decide to talk about something else, then, maybe to get his mind off of it.

“Rafe?” You say his name softly.

“Yeah?” He asks, head against your chest.

“Do you think we would’ve been friends? If you had met me before?” The question is innocent. You don’t know much about Rafe’s life before the End. You know he had two little sisters and a dad who you can guess wasn’t very nice to him. He doesn’t talk about friends or school or anything else, and you don’t usually ask. Today is the exception. 

Rafe snorts loudly, and you don’t know whether to feel offended or pleased. “Hell no,” He pulls away from your chest to look at you. His eyes are rimmed red and you feel your heart clench even as his cocky smirk comes back to his handsome face. “I would not have talked to you.”

Okay, now you are a little bit offended. “What do you mean?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I was… a spoiled brat. And a dick.” 

“You’re still a dick.” You remind Rafe and he shoots you a playful glare. 

“I’m just saying,” Rafe says as his heart finally calms and he lays back against the mattress. He brushes his hand up and down your arm and you sit beside him, watching him from above. “I wouldn’t have given you a second look. And that’s not to say you aren’t…”

You raise your eyebrows and Rafe clears his throat.

“You’re beautiful. But I wasn’t looking for beautiful, I was looking for… revenge. Violence.”

The last words surprise you but Rafe doesn’t elaborate. You shouldn’t be surprised to hear he has experience with violence, given how he handles the zombies. You thought maybe he did karate as a kid or something. 

“Well, I would’ve talked to you,” You say, and Rafe chuckles. “You’re rude.” Your tone is playful.

“I’m not being rude, I’m being honest.” Rafe says, and you soften. He smiles and brushes his thumb over the inner part of your elbow. “Thanks for waking me up.”

“Will you be able to sleep again?” You ask, and Rafe nods. “Do you want me to read to you?”

“Please.” Rafe says, and you stand, taking your place in your chair again. You open the book, clear your throat, and start to read. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[insomniaruler]

💛☀️Duke Thomas Headcanons ☀️💛

1. He’s super awkward with the whole butler thing, he ends up helping Alfred because he doesn’t like the feeling of not having to help

2. Closest with Damian because they’re the ones who live full time at the manor

3. Worst sleep schedule in the group. I stand by this because he’s a student, he’s the daytime vigilante. He probably has so much homework and is probably like on call/called out on heavy traffic nights. I bet he’s gone days without sleeping

4. Never gets over the sound of laughter bringing him back to that night.

5. He has weekly visits with his parents. He brings cards and flowers and chocolate. He cooks his dad’s favourite food and does his mom’s hair so she doesn’t wake up feeling changed. He tells them all about his life, about Izzy and how much he loves her. He reads to them.

5b. On the bad days Damian finds him in their hospital room, and he hadn’t moved in nearly a day. Just sitting there with their laughter piercing his ears

7. He has bad days. Where he can barely get out of bed. Where the thought of school where people do nothing but stare at him and whisper behind his back makes his skin crawl. Let alone face going out as Signal. On these days he doesn’t seek out his family, afraid to burden their problems with his own.

8. He sometimes wishes he’d never was born because then his parents would be healthy. He blames himself for their suffering.

9. It’s usually Alfred who coaxes him from his room to the kitchen with promises of a quiet cup of tea or chai and some soup.

9b. Sometimes it’s Damian, when he’s home sick, realizes Duke hasn’t left his room in a while. Alfred finds them curled up on the couch both asleep as some trash television plays.

10. He still gets his hair done at the same shop in the narrows his mom got hers done at for “special occasions”. The familiarity is calming.

11. He doesn’t see a lot of the Batfam due to conflicting sleep, work and school schedules. He ends up with a group of friends at school because they’re so Normal.

12. Maybe a little bit of Chronic Pain? As a treat?

13. He’s very self reliant on patrol, Barbara has other things to do besides supervise him. She needs to sleep and work and have a little bit of a life. So what if he ends up sewing up his wounds himself, or needs to work through civilian casualties alone, or sometimes is a little too reckless when he fights. That’s the risks of the job

14. Gift giver, he knits, he crochets, he makes little gifts for Christmas’ and birthday’s. He’s proud to say he weaseled Damian’s birthday in the second year of him living there.

15. Given Dukes mostly normal (for Gotham) childhood he makes an effort to give Damian those chances. He steps into the big brother role at the first chance he gets.

15b. Maybe he also reminds Bruce that Damian is still a child, who despite being trained is still a fourteen year old. Who might need a bit of grace.

15c. Maybe quietly when Damian is benched they patrol together to make the lonely days a bit brighter

[traumacatholic]

I don’t believe God is love anymore. I’ve started thinking of him as some detached uncaring cosmic entity that’s going to delight in torturing me in hell if I don’t want to spend eternity doing nothing but worshipping him. Which I don’t, and I’m wondering if that makes me like a demon, because I thought their whole thing was that they didn’t want to worship God. But I’m scared to death of hell and now I’m scared of heaven too because I just don’t believe eternal happiness and contentedness is possible no matter what. I can’t fathom it, I can’t fathom existing without suffering. I’m angry that God created me just to be part of a cruel game with no good ending and I’m scared that there’s something evil in me that’s making me angry at God. I’m just so confused and angry and scared all the time I’ve ceased to be able to function in day to day life. On some level I’m aware it’s not normal to feel this way but I genuinely believe the conclusions I’ve come to are reasonable given what I’ve been told and what I’ve read.

There is a book called 'On Job: God-Talk and the Suffering of the Innocent' by Gustavo Gutiérrez that I think you would benefit from reading. Further to this, I think you should read the poem 'Dark Night of the Soul' by Saint John of the Cross and the two commentaries that he has written for that poem. Another book that would be beneficial for you is 'The Catholic Guide to Depression'.

On Job and The Catholic Guide to Depression both try to understand the meaning of pain, how there can be pain and a loving God. And I think that they both present their arguments very well in a deeply comforting way. And they both by far would do a much better way of talking about suffering than I could ever hope to do. The Dark Night of the Soul is a poem more or less about tangibly feeling the absence of God. That God has withdrawn from you. That separation from God. And what the soul goes through when it experiences it.

I think having books to read can be helpful because they can often stop our mind from spiralling into anxious circles. In order to progress through the book, we need to be focusing on the author. And when our mind wanders, we can draw ourselves back to the words of the page and for some people this can be very helpful at stopping mounting anxiety. These works should hopefully be able to offer you some fresh perspectives that you might not have come to, or that you might have heard from other people but not in a level of depth that was helpful enough to you.

Further to these works, I think it is very important that you speak to a doctor about this. As well as a Priest. Both of these people can help with your troubles, and both of these kinds of people should be consulted. If you are concerned about bringing up faith to your doctor, don't be. It is entirely normal for people to bring up in doctor's appointments how their faith is impacting them or how their mental or physical symptoms are impacting their relationship with their faith. Your doctor can work with you to address any physical or mental troubles that might be making you feel this way and your Priest can help with the spiritual side of things.

You are not a demon for being angry with God. Many great Saints have been angry with God. Have expressed frustration. Have been outraged at their circumstances. Demons are not upset about feeling angry at God, they do not feel guilty about being angry at God, they do not try to address their problems with God. Humans can not be demons. By the very fact that you are a human being, you are made in the image of God. You are a living Icon of Christ. And although sin may muddy that image at times, remember that repentance and confession washes that clean. And no matter how muddy the image might be or might feel, that does not change that you are made in the image of God.

If you were the only person on Earth at this moment in time, in the past Christ would have still chosen to be Incarnated, to suffer and to be Resurrected in order to redeem you and your relationship with God. To heal that wound that happened in the Garden of Eden. Christ suffered too. When we weep, God weeps. God freely and willingly enters into our pain, our suffering, our isolation. God went to the Cross for you. He suffered for you. Your pain and suffering is wrapped up in the mystery of the Cross. The Cross is above all a message of hope.

“How can Jesus say that those who mourn are fortunate? What does he mean? Leiva-Merikakis suggests that the disciple of Jesus who mourns is blessed because he is viewing death, the ultimate cause for sorrow, from God’s point of view. In a way, precisely on the path of mourning, he is stepping in to share God’s vision and life. The one who mourns is being faithful to a particular love and expressing the conviction that life is stronger than death and that death should not be. The mourner who perseveres in his non-acceptance of death as the ultimate reality becomes makarios — blessed. In other words, the follower of Jesus in the Beatitudes is hopeful within sorrow and grief, even if it feels like despair. He is hopeful because Jesus is there with him. The phrase “shall be comforted” literally means, “to be called to someone’s side.” The sorrowful are called close to Jesus’ side; they are not abandoned. Leiva-Merikakis comments, “God does not console us by abolishing our solitude but by entering it and sharing it.” The disciple of Christ has a hopeful sorrow because Jesus is with him. And this hopeful sorrow — this sorrow of love — is indeed a Christian virtue.” - The Catholic Guide to Depression

“On the Cross and in his agony, our Lord suffered not just our physical afflictions, but our mental anguish as well. Out of the depths we cry to him. And he reaches down into our depths to raise us up with him. God knows the depth of our suffering; he knows our fragile heart. And Christ’s own heart — a heart of flesh, a heart both human and divine — is merciful beyond measure. It is in this mercy that we place our hope.” - The Catholic Guide to Depression

“Even a cursory walk through the Gospels shows that the Lord experienced the range of human emotions, including profound sorrow and anguish of soul. This can be of great solace for those suffering depression. God is no distant figure. He enters fully into human life and redeems nature from the inside. […] These events [of suffering] in the life of Jesus take up the Old Testament themes about sorrow and anguish, expanding and concretizing them in the sorrow of the Incarnate God. Jesus willingly takes this suffering unto himself. Sorrow and mental pain is no longer something foreign to the life of Gd. The heart of the depressed person can find a connection with the profound sorrow found in the Heart of Jesus. When human suffering encounters the Sacred Heart of Christ, the result is life and hope: a withered hand is restored; an only son, a precious daughter, and a good friend are raised from he dead. Jesus points us to the future full of hope.” - The Catholic Guide to Depression

God is on your side. No matter how angry you are. No matter how scared you are. God calls you continually to Him. God does not want your suffering. He does not want your destruction. Fear of Hell, and uncertainty about Heaven can be very normal. Both are wrapped up in a fear of death. We may hate the life we are living, we may hate what events we have went through, but those things are still known to us. It is equally hard to wrap our minds and hearts around Heaven as it is to wrap our minds and hearts around Hell. But when these feelings overwhelm us, it is better to speak with a Priest. Even if we feel silly. Even if we feel that we know the answers. God does not want our despair. But the adversary that wants us to tempt us away from God, does. The adversary does not want us to bring our sufferings to God for love and comforting. He wants us to fall further away into despair and that despair leading to outright anger. Where we do not want repentance, where we do not want a relationship.

But it is important to note that even if we ever do get to that stage, God still loves us. God still calls us back. No matter how far gone you are, as long as you are still living and breathing there is hope. There is repentance. We are always called to repent and come back. Speak with your Priest, and speak with your doctor. And know always, that God loves you. There is nothing you can do to take away God's love for you. God loves you even when you don't want Him to. I will be praying for you.

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thy intercession,  was left unaided. Inspired by this confidence I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother. To thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me.  Amen.

[treef-greef]

[oddogoblino]

I don't think I've said it before but despite my absolute adoration for s*n*d*w, I genuinely enjoy just any depictions of Sonic and Shadow that's not just "grrr I hate you an unreasonably high amount". I love when people depict them just getting along in general.

Them having cool down moments where they maybe make fun of each other and quietly bicker about who won their last battle, them just enjoying a carnival or festival and deciding to compete on who can win the most games there, or just smth simple as them just enjoying the same sky together.

And it can be platonic or romantic idrc. Ofc I love the romantic interpretation more noticeably but I just love their more friendly-ish dynamic in general. I'm losing words to describe what I mean but I hope I got my point across.

[vaguely-concerned]

god but gideon really is just malcolm graves if graves met tf for the first time after he came out of prison so there wasn't the whole feeling of intense betrayal and psychosexually charged rage along with the homoerotic under/overtones huh

[hollow-vok]

Ohh im obssesed

[saintobio]

THE COLONEL'S KEEPER.

in a war-torn world where survival is a privilege, you never expected to become the object of a feared colonel’s obsession. but as whispers of his lost love haunt your every moment and bullets become the least of your worries, you realize that falling for him might be the most dangerous battle of all.

➤ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

➤ genre. heavy angst, smut, historical au, 18+

➤ tags. colonel!caleb, nurse!reader, non mc!reader, ooc, war times, unrequited love, profanity, violence, loveless sex, explicit smut, mentions of sexual assault (not from caleb), obsession, possessiveness, jealousy, injuries, blood, killings, morally gray dynamics, death. themes contain material that are heavy and disturbing—reader discretion is strongly advised.

➤ notes. 8.3k wc. divider by thecutestgrotto. this is heavily inspired by my other gojo fic s.o.s and the manhwa my beloved oppressor :) couldn’t stop thinking about this au for caleb that i had to just write it :’D reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

➤ next. 002 the colonel’s saint | colonel caleb playlist

The world above was long dead. Ruins of cities stood as monuments to a past civilization, swallowed by the aftermath of World War VI. Beneath the surface, buried in a labyrinth of steel and stone, was where the remaining humanity clung to survival. Here, Colonel Caleb was both a savior and a nightmare—a man whose presence alone sent shivers down the spines of even the most battle-hardened soldiers.

But he was not just any soldier—he was the fleet’s best fighter pilot, a legend in the skies before the war even forced them underground. Even now, when the remnants of humanity relied on aerial supremacy to hold off their enemies, Caleb was the one they turned to. The one who led the most dangerous missions, who never failed, who returned even when others didn’t. 

You have loved him for as long as you could remember.

You were a humble nurse, stitching together broken bodies, whispering soft reassurances to the wounded. Your duty was simple yet relentless, saving as many lives as you could with the limited resources and skill at your disposal. You weren’t the best, nor did you claim to be, but you were one of the few who refused to surrender to despair, even as the war bled your world dry. While others faltered under the gravity of endless suffering, you endured. And after a year of tending to fallen soldiers and civilians, you remained steadfast. You were the only one among your female colleagues who hadn’t lost herself to the horrors of war.

That was how you met him. 

Caleb was the fleet’s toughest and most formidable leader. He was unyielding and merciless to those who dared cross him. Even with his own people, he remained strict, and his resolve never wavered even in the face of devastating losses. But the night he staggered into the private ward, wounded and bleeding out, you were the first to reach him. You ensured he was cared for, your hands steady as you fought to keep him alive. 

“You’ll make it through the night, sir.” You could still remember the desperation in your voice as you tightened the tourniquet around his broken arm, fighting to stop the bleeding. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He lay there, teeth clenched, body tense with pain, every breath labored. “If I die, I die.” 

“No!” you shot back, your grip firm with determination. “Not tonight. You will live. We’re rooting for you, sir. The people need you.”

They said falling in love during wartime was a surefire path to heartbreak. Yet, meeting Caleb, seeing beyond his striking exterior, and loving him despite the battles—both on the field and within—was a fight you willingly embraced. You surrendered yourself to him without hesitation, and in return, the hardened soldier who was weary from war found solace in you. He called you the prettiest nurse in the ward, but to him, you were far more than that. You were the one thing he never saw coming. 

You were the apple of his eyes. 

But, of course, the other nurses didn’t take kindly to that. They resented how you had unknowingly ruined their chances with him, and even more so, how an undeniable favoritism began to surface. While they were left to sleep in rusty bunk beds, you were the one Caleb brought to his private quarters, where the sheets were soft, the air was warm, and food was abundant.

It was easy for them to judge. After all, rumors spread like wildfire about the nurse who shared the colonel’s bed. The gossip wasn’t confined to just the nurses; it reached the soldiers who eyed you whenever you passed, their gazes lingering with knowing smirks as if fantasizing what their colonel saw at night. Even the older civilians bore disapproving glances whenever they saw you. Their silent verdict was clear as day. You were seen as a woman who had traded her virtue for privilege. A harlot draped in a white uniform. A disgrace hiding behind the pretense of care.

You weren’t sure if Caleb knew about it, but it was impossible not to. He simply didn’t care because he had an entire nation to think about. Clearing your name was the least of his concerns. And you knew it. After two years of serving as a war nurse, when night fell, you were simply the woman Caleb claimed as his. A common-law partner, nothing more. He never made promises, never told you that you were the only one in his heart. Because you weren’t. That space belonged to another—the woman he had truly loved. The woman he had lost to war.

His wife.

You tried. You tried to live with the ghost between you, tried to endure the way his fingers sometimes trembled against your skin, as if remembering someone else. You tried to pretend that when he held you, it was because he wanted you, not because he needed something to numb the ache inside him.

But love, when unreciprocated, was a slow and agonizing death. 

And all you could do was live with it for as long as you were with him.

Because one day, you knew he could love you the same. And one day, when the war ends, you would be in his arms, building your life together with your kids playing freely and no longer living in fear. 

For now, you had to endure what came your way. There are no saints in war times, and patience was a virtue at times like these. 

The sharp scent of antiseptic filled your nose as you moved swiftly through the underground ward, checking pulses, changing dressings, and murmuring reassurances to the wounded who groaned in pain one after another. It was just another day in the relentless cycle of war, patching up soldiers only to send them back out to die.

Then you heard him.

Colonel Caleb’s commanding voice felt like an alarm to everyone in the ward as he strode down the hall, flanked by his army of men. You weren’t even looking, but you could picture the way they walked, with Caleb at the front, exuding effortless authority, and the others keeping pace just slightly behind him.

“The turbine failed mid-air,” one of his officers reported. “Preliminary analysis suggests a mechanical fault. Possibly a lubrication issue in the main rotor bearings.”

“Or sabotage,” another interjected grimly.

Caleb didn’t slow his steps. “Has the wreckage been recovered?”

“Scouts are en route, sir. We should have an assessment within the hour.”

“Too late,” Caleb muttered. “If they hit us now, we’ll have one less bird in the sky. Reassign Squadron Echo to cover the eastern perimeter. Deploy anti-air artillery in sector four, and keep the missile launchers primed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Just then, a distant explosion rumbled aboveground, rattling the dim lights overhead. You even had to hold onto one of the cabinet doors to steady yourself. A fighter jet had gone down.

“Damn it.” One of the officers pulled out a small tablet, scanning over the mission logs. “Pilot’s confirmed dead. They’re already moving in on the wreckage. We need reinforcements at the north trench.”

Caleb barely hesitated. “Send Private Halloway to the front lines.”

“Roger that.”

His words were sharp and clinical. No emotion. Just another name spoken into a void, another body to be thrown into the fray. 

Your hands stilled over a soldier’s bandages. Halloway. You recognized that name.

The same Halloway who had leaned a little too close when you handed him his rations. The one who had brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and smirked, murmuring something about how the battlefield could use more beauty like yours. The kind of beauty that he fantasized at night. 

And now he was being sent to die.

A strange thrill coiled in your stomach. Caleb had heard about it. Or he might even have seen. It was a foolish and delusional thought, dangerous even, but you clung to the fact that this was surely his way of claiming you.

As his group passed, your pulse quickened. You turned slightly, letting your gaze linger on him. Tall. Unshaken. Unreachable. This was your man. He was yours and you were his. 

You smiled as soon as he saw you, just a little, as if sharing a secret only the two of you understood.

But Caleb didn’t stop. He simply looked away. His eyes remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, and in a matter of seconds, he was gone. Nothing more than the cold air that he often carried. 

~~

Steam curled in the dimly lit room as you stepped out of the shower, water forming in rivulets against your skin. The underground base was always cold, but in Caleb’s quarters, the warmth always stayed. Not just because he had his own luxury of a fireplace, but because the warmth also included faint traces of him in the air, in the sheets, and in the ghost of his presence.

Not that it mattered. You were just emotional because he hadn’t been here in three days.

Sighing, you wrapped a towel around yourself, already resigning to another night alone. But just as you reached for your comb, the door swung open with a slow and deliberate creak.

You froze.

Caleb stood in the doorway, his uniform dusted with dirt and gunpowder. His sleeves were rolled up, veins prominent on his forearms and tension coiling in his stance. His gaze flicked over your damp skin, bare shoulders, the towel barely clinging to your body.

You let a small smile play on your lips. “You finally remembered where your bed is?” you teased, stepping closer. “I was starting to think you found another.”

He didn’t respond. Just shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

And the thick, suffocating silence stretched as he began removing his shoes. You took this moment to clear your throat. “I heard about Halloway,” you murmured, tilting your head. “People are saying you sent him to a death sentence.” A pause, then a knowing smile. “Did you do that for me?”

The shift was instant. And it wasn’t what you pictured in your head. 

Before you could react, Caleb was in front of you, his body pressing you back until your spine hit the cold wall. His hand gripped your jaw firmly, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. They were dark, smoldering, and unreadable. This was the version of Caleb that everyone was afraid of. 

“You worried ‘bout him?” His voice had a dangerous edge lacing each word.

While you, your breath hitched, fingers curling into the towel. “N-No.” 

“You think I didn’t hear?” His grip on your jaw tightened just enough to make you gasp. “The way he talked to you? The way you smiled at him? Handsome guy, isn’t he?”

You denied everything he was saying. You knew one of his officers had been feeding him information, but they seemed twisted to make you out as someone you weren’t. Were they trying to turn him against you? “No, darling. That’s not true. In fact, I can’t even stand him.” 

His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. “I have eyes and ears everywhere, Y/N.” He leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. “And if I catch you entertaining anyone else again, I won’t just send them to die.”

A shiver ran down your spine—fear, thrill, or perhaps something darker twisting deep inside you. His warning did what it was supposed to do: to scare the hell out of you. But the most dangerous part was how much you enjoyed it all. 

And then, before you could even form a response, he pushed you towards the bed. 

By the time you looked back at him in surprise, he was already unbuttoning his shirt, looking at you merely as an object of his desire. “Strip off,” he growled, face rigid as ever. “The past few days were damn stressful. Been thinkin’ of you naked all day.” 

And so, your nightly duties began. Caleb demanded his reward, and you were too foolishly in love that you surrendered to him without hesitation. 

Because as unhinged as his obsession seemed, it ignited something deep within you. The thought of Caleb claiming you as his prize, something he craved at the end of each brutal day, sent the most passionate fire through your veins. That the same man who barely spared you a glance in daylight was the one who burned with desperation to have you all to himself at nighttime.

“I missed you,” you whispered as you slowly unraveled your bare body in front of him, dropping the damp towel on the floor. Not once did you break eye contact, and it was the sexiest thing you had ever experienced in your life.

As for him, he had already rid himself of his clothes. They were a pile on the floor, discarded lazily as he pinned you down. First, he went for your lips. Completely devouring, savoring your taste, and dominating every inch of your mouth. The moment his tongue connected with yours, he deepened the kiss—a little too rough, too desperate that you could barely breathe. 

“M-My love,” you gasped, the only time he allowed you to catch your breath was when he was positioning himself between your legs. And then he crashed his lips onto yours once more, enjoying how you moaned against his lips, exchanging warm breaths as he explored your mouth. The kiss was so intense that you barely noticed the feeling of his hardened member pressing against your leg. It felt huge and hard as a rock, a clear sign that he had been wanting a good release for the past few days. And you? You were crazy about it. You had seen his member plenty of times before, but nothing excited you more than feeling it inside. 

That wasn’t his agenda for now, though. He took his sweet time trailing kisses along your collarbone, leaving purple marks around your neck, before he feasted on the same breast he had been kneading for more than a minute. You could feel your back arching as your body naturally responded to his touch, with your own hand guiding him to massage your other mound. He nibbled on the nipple, sucking and licking around the nub, then moving to give the other the same amount of attention. 

He was like a hungry beast that hadn’t eaten for weeks. With the way he squeezed your tits together and running his tongue along the cleavage, you could already feel yourself dripping down there. 

“C-Caleb.”

“Hm?” He didn’t pull away. Instead, he crawled down, spreading your legs apart, and eyeing the swollen lips that he was about to demolish. “Wet already?” 

You nodded, looking down at him and watching as he pressed his fingers along the slit, sliding and circling his digits on your entrance. “Mmh—that’s…” 

“Be patient now,” he mocked, “Aren’t you so needy?” 

That was true, but how could you help it? How could you not want him inside if you could see him stroking his pulsing cock while he was using his other hand to play with your clit? Just when you thought you couldn’t go crazier, he eventually sucked his digits to taste your slick, then he returned them back to your entrance, only this time, entering without warning. 

“A-Aah!”

His fingers alone could make your legs shake, and whatever he was reaching for inside you was making you weaker by the second. You were a moaning mess under him, hands clenching on his sheets for dear life as he fingered your cunt like there was no tomorrow. It was only a matter of seconds until you disintegrated in front of him—your legs trembling as your fluid released itself in a series of squirts. 

Embarrassed as you may be, it was what Caleb wanted to see. 

And he didn’t let you rest before he was already positioning his crotch on your face, his hand holding his cock in place as he slapped his swollen tip against your lips. “My turn,” he spoke in a low voice, smirking as you wrapped your shaky hand around his shaft and let your tongue swirl around his bulging pink head. You could taste the precum on his tip, licking every corner and every ridge under, from his balls back to his tip before you swallowed him entirely. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, pulling your hair as you bobbed your head on his cock, enveloping the warm walls of your mouth around his member as if you were milking him of his cum. Your eyes welled with tears as you fought the urge to gag despite feeling the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting your throat. Each and every moan he released made you more determined to please him, to be called a good girl, to be wanted. 

You could feel it. With how his cock was twitching inside your mouth, he was about to explode. But he didn’t let it happen. Everything happened in a span of a second when he pulled his member from your mouth before opening your core and slamming his cock into your pussy. 

His thick, hard cock stretched you open without mercy. And he didn’t slow down or savor the time. He was ramming into you, hands holding your hips in place while your tits bounced wildly. Caleb’s sweat was starting to trickle along his toned upper body, his abs now glistening as he continued to pound into you endlessly. 

“I’d fuck you everyday like this if I can,” he grunted, each word came out raspy. “You like that?” 

“Y-Yes! A-Aaah!” You struggled to form coherent words as he hit your sweetest spot at each hard thrust. “C-Caleb.” 

The walls were thin. But surely, the colonel’s private quarters would have some sort of soundproofing, otherwise it would be embarrassing how loud the skin-slapping and squelching noises you two were making. It didn’t help that you were practically screaming as Caleb started increasing his speed as he chased his climax. Your walls were clenching around his girth, milking him of his load that he soon spurted inside of you. 

You were in a battle of catching each other’s breaths as he pulled out, watching his cum seep out of your cunt before he plopped on the bed next to you. 

“Take the pill as soon as you wake up,” he ordered, laying on his back as he closed his eyes. His chest rose up and down as he eventually caught his breath. 

But you remained a ragdoll beside him, your lower body still twitching from the intense orgasm and muscle memory. “O-Okay.” 

The night was supposed to end romantically. It was supposed to be you and him cuddling and declaring your love for each other, but the thought of him only using your body to relieve himself was torture to your mind. You convinced yourself it meant something more, something deeper. 

But the hard truth was, you were only there to fill the silence.

You traced lazy circles over his bare chest, your voice soft yet full of devotion. “I’m all yours, Caleb. Only yours.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”

~~

The next morning, the bed beside you was cold.

You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing against the empty sheets where Caleb should have been. But there was nothing—no warmth, no lingering presence, just the stark reality that he hadn’t even stayed.

But you told yourself you just had to get used to it and that Caleb would come wanting you again at night. Like he always did. And so, biting back the hollow ache in your chest, you forced yourself up, got dressed, and headed to the mess hall for breakfast. 

The moment you stepped in, you felt it.

Eyes. Watching. Judging.

The low murmurs didn’t stop as you walked past the rows of civilians, soldiers, and nurses, pretending not to notice the whispers that followed you. You kept your chin up and sat down with your tray, forcing yourself to eat the stale bread despite the tightness in your throat.

You had no illusions about what they were saying. They all thought they knew what you were or what you did. Caleb’s woman. His plaything. And after last night, they had even more reason to talk.

But you had work to do.

By midday, you were back in the ward, slipping into your role as if nothing had changed. Patients needed tending to, and you weren’t about to let their petty gossip stop you.

At least there was something to occupy yourself with. They brought in a new soldier to the base, barely back from the front lines if you could add. His face was gaunt, sunken with pain, sweat beading on his forehead as he lay on the cot. His leg was in ruins—shattered bones, torn muscle, the kind of injury that didn’t fully heal in wartime. 

You approached him carefully, offering a calm, practiced smile. “I’m here to help—”

His reaction was instant. It was as though you were the trigger to a ticking time bomb. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, snapped to you, and before you could blink, his hands already shot out, grabbing at you with a strength you didn’t expect.

“You—!” he snarled, his fingers digging into your arms, nails raking against your skin as he yanked you forward. “You whore—you whore!”

You gasped, struggling against his grip, but he was fueled by pain and rage, his voice hoarse with accusation. “Ow! P-Please!” 

“You ruin men like us! You—you—get innocent soldiers sent to die!” His nails scratched at your cheek, his grip tightening as he shook you. “You’re the reason Halloway’s gone—!”

The words hit like a slap, but before he could do more, hands were on him. And on you. Other soldiers rushed in, prying him off you, restraining him as he thrashed against the cot. 

“Stand down, soldier!” one barked.

You stumbled back, breath coming fast, your skin stinging where he had just scratched you.

But the worst part wasn’t the pain.

It was the way the nurses across the ward just watched. Their gazes were cold, as if saying you deserved it. Not a single one had moved to help.

You couldn’t understand the hostility. Couldn’t fathom why people looked at you with such disdain. If it had been another woman in your place, would they have treated her the same? All you had done was love a man—nothing more, nothing less. You weren’t trying to hurt anyone. You simply fell in love.

But as you locked yourself in the bathroom, staring at your reflection while washing the bloody scratches from your cheek, that was when the realization struck.

They didn’t respect you because Caleb never had.

Not once had he claimed you in public, never shown his affection where others could see. He had never treated you like someone worth honoring, never given you the respect you deserved. And if the leader of this war-torn world didn’t respect you—why would anyone else?

The thought alone made your eyes well with tears, but you quickly washed them away. No. You refused to doubt. He loves me. He’d even kill for me.

A sudden knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. You opened it hesitantly, only to find Simone standing there. The only female soldier with a rank high enough to command real respect. At first, you assumed she was just waiting for the restroom, but the way she looked at you said otherwise.

“You got a minute?” she asked, her tone cool and unreadable.

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah… sure.”

~~

The storage room was cold and dimly lit by the single flickering bulb overhead. Dust clung to the forgotten crates, and the faint scent of metal and oil lingered in the air. Hardly anyone came here as it was a place for old supplies and broken equipment, not whispered conversations.

And yet, here you were, in the only room without surveillance. 

Simone leaned against one of the crates, arms crossed as he narrowed her eyes at you. “You need to end things with Caleb.”

You stiffened instantly. “Excuse me?” 

She sighed, rubbing her temples as if she had already anticipated your reaction. “This thing between you and him, you know it isn’t healthy. Not for you. Not for him.”

You scoffed. Who does she think she is? “You don’t know anything about us.”

“I know more than you think,” she shot back. “I know what kind of man Caleb is. What he’s become.”

You folded your arms, defensive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I know is that he cares about me.”

“Cares about you?” Simone let out a humorless chuckle. “Do you even know what he’s done? How many men he’s killed just for looking at you?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

“Five soldiers. And counting,” she continued coldly. “Some he sent straight to the gas chambers. Others? He had them tortured in ways I wouldn’t even wish on our enemies. And all because they made the mistake of mentioning how beautiful you are.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “B-But that’s because he wants to protect me. That’s just how he loves.”

Simone watched you carefully before she sighed again, her voice softening this time. “This isn’t love, Y/N. You don’t know Caleb… I don’t even know if he’s capable of loving again.”

What does she mean?

“He wasn’t always like this,” she continued, almost nostalgic as if he had seen another version of Caleb that you hadn’t. “Before the war. Before his wife died. He was kind. Gentle. A man who knew the difference between power and cruelty.” She hesitated, then admitted, “She was my colleague. And my friend. Caleb’s childhood sweetheart, his true love, and his whole life. He loved her sincerely, so much so that he was fighting to make the world better for her. Not destroy it. But seeing him right now, she would’ve hated what he’s become.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. Everything she had just mentioned shot a bullet straight to your heart, but you refused to let it kill you. You refused, denied. No! 

“You can’t replace her,” Simone added, her words cutting through you like a knife. “No matter how much you try. So I suggest you leave him before it destroys you.”

~~

The door to Caleb’s private quarters slammed open as you stormed inside, your blood boiling, your mind a haze of rage and betrayal. You couldn’t stop Simone’s words from echoing in your head even if you tried hard enough. You can’t replace her. She’s his true love. His whole life. 

“No.” Adamantly did you shake your head. “Stop.” 

He loved her sincerely. And still does. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you yanked at the blankets, overturned chairs, kicked over the table. The frustration inside you was begging to be released, and destruction was the only thing that made sense. How could you get extremely jealous over a dead person? You laughed in your head. She was dead. She was gone. Good for her. But despite the constant reminder to yourself that the woman you were jealous of didn’t exist anymore, you knew that you could never erase the fact that you would still never amount to her. And you hated it. You hated her! 

In your rage, you didn’t even realize you had grabbed one of his jackets from the pile of discarded uniforms until something tumbled out of the pocket.

A necklace.

It landed with a soft metallic clink against the floor. It was a simple chain, worn with age, with two wedding bands strung together. Your stomach twisted as you picked it up, seeing the engraving was delicate but unmistakable. It had Caleb’s name and hers.

Your hands trembled.

She was still here. She had never left. Not in his heart, not in his mind. He carried her with him, even now, even after all the ways he had made you believe you were his.

Something inside you snapped, as though you were a madwoman who had finally lost her sanity. Like Caleb always said, that ‘there are no saints in wartimes’. So, what was stopping you from going all out? She needed to be destroyed. She needed to be forgotten. In your desperation to search for more pieces of her, you lurched toward his drawers, pulling them open and shoving things aside. Your promise to never touch his things? Forgotten.

That was when you saw a wooden box, hidden beneath neatly folded uniforms.

You yanked it out, prying it open with shaking hands—only to find it stuffed with letters. Some yellowed with time, others crisp as if he had reread them over and over. Her handwriting. Her words. Her love, immortalized in ink.

My Dearest Caleb, If I close my eyes, I can still see you standing on the shoreline, hands in your pockets, pretending you’re not waiting for me. But I always knew. You were never good at hiding how much you loved me. Are you eating well? Have you been sleeping? I know you’ll lie if I ask you in person, but in a letter, you can’t hide from me. And I worry, darling. I always do. I miss the way you hold me before you leave. I miss the way you kiss my hair, thinking I don’t notice how long you linger there. I miss the way you look at me like I’m the only thing in this world worth coming back to. Sometimes I wonder… do you know how much I love you? Do you feel it, even when we’re apart? I hope you do. I hope it’s enough to keep you warm when the nights are cold, to keep you safe when danger is near. Come back to me soon, my love. The house is too quiet without you. And when you do, I’ll be right here, waiting. Just like always. Forever yours, Your wife

A strangled sob tore from your throat.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t. You just couldn’t. 

Through hot tears and reckless fury, you grabbed the box and flung it into the fireplace without regard. All her letters spilled out, each and every one of them catching flame within seconds. And you didn’t hesitate to throw the necklace soon after, letting it vanish into the fire with a dull shimmer.

You stood there, watching the flames devour every trace of her. Of them.

“You’re gone,” you let out a mirthless laugh, wiping the tears that followed after. “You’re gone! Leave him alone!” 

Your entire body trembled at the thought, your chest undulating in heavy breaths. Then, as if realizing what you had done, you collapsed onto the floor, staring blankly at the fire.

The anger was gone.

Replaced by the terrifying thought of what Caleb would do when he came home. 

~~

The FY-26 cut through the sky like a phantom with its sleek titanium frame reflecting the nautical glow of the setting sun. It was the most powerful fighter jet in the fleet; faster, deadlier, a mechanical beast designed for war. And only one person from the DAA was given the honor to pilot it. 

Caleb gripped the throttle, voice steady as he spoke into his comms. “Specter-01 to Specter-02, enemy reconnaissance spotted at 2 o’clock, altitude 15,000 feet. Adjust trajectory and prepare for engagement.”

“Copy that, Specter-01,” came the reply of his fellow fighter pilot. “Visual confirmed. Awaiting further orders.”

Caleb’s gaze flicked to the horizon, where a lone aircraft hovered in the distance. He could hear the chatter of enemy comms scrambling to react, but for a moment, his focus drifted.

Below him, a small, crescent-shaped island came into view. His grip on the controls instantly tightened.

He knew this place.

The memory surfaced like a ghost from another life—of a time when war wasn’t all he knew. When he had taken her here, flying low so she could see the crystalline waves shimmering under the sun. He had told her to look down, to read the words he had carved into the sand earlier in the day.

"Will you marry me?"

He could still hear her laughter, the way it had crackled through the radio before she screamed yes over the comms, her excitement drowning out all other noise. His adorable pipsqueak. Her beautiful smile, her sparkling eyes… 

Caleb exhaled sharply, forcing himself back into the present. “I miss you, my love.”

That was a lifetime ago. She was a lifetime ago.

His eyes darkened as he thought of his new reality—you. You weren’t her. Not in the way you spoke, the way you carried yourself, the way you looked at him with that foolish devotion. But maybe… maybe he should stop pretending that it mattered.

Maybe he should just settle with what he had left.

You were still there waiting for him. A woman who, despite all odds, loved him with reckless abandon. The same woman who cried on the night he was on his deathbed, doing everything in her might to make sure he lived. And though he could never give you what he once gave another, he knew you’d still smile, even just from the smallest things.

A glance. A touch. A mere kiss from him, and your entire world lit up.

His hands flexed against the controls.

“Specter-02, engage the target. I’m circling back to base.”

Because tonight, maybe he’d give you something to smile about.

~~

The moment Caleb stepped into his quarters, he could tell something was wrong.

The air alone was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, an unusual warmth persisting as dying embers crackled weakly in the fireplace. His gaze swept over the room—furniture askew, drawers flung open, papers and personal belongings scattered across the floor. His gut twisted. It was like a crime scene. Like something vital had been gutted from this space.

Then, his eyes landed on you.

Curled up on the floor, body trembling, and your arms wrapped around yourself like a feeble shield. Your shoulders shook through stifled sobs, but the moment your tear-streaked face lifted to meet his gaze, everything inside him snapped.

His heart slammed against his ribs, a foreign pressure crushing his chest as his vision tunneled straight to the fireplace.

No. No, no, no, no!

It was as if his vision blurred, as if there was a deafening ringing overtaking his ears as he stormed forward, shoving past the mess to get to the source of his rage. The flames had long since died, leaving behind nothing but fragile wisps of ash. But even in its destruction, he recognized what it used to be.

Burned letters.

A melted necklace, the twisted remains of two rings fused together.

The last pieces of her.

His wife.

His breath left him in a sharp, ragged exhale, his lungs refusing to pull in air as scorching rage flooded every nerve in his body.

“You,” he seethed. Your name didn’t even make it past his lips. The word was a knife, laced with something lethal, something beyond fury. His boots pounded against the wooden floor as he closed the distance between you, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. “I’d fucking kill you! What the fuck have you done?!”

You flinched, your body recoiling as if his voice had physically struck you. “Caleb—”

“Shut up!” His hand shot out, gripping your arm down to the bone, yanking you up with enough force that your legs nearly gave out beneath you. “Do you have any fucking idea what you just did?” 

“I—I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t thinking straight—” you choked out, shaking your head frantically, eyes wide with panic.

“Didn’t mean to?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, the sound so devoid of warmth it sent chills down your spine. Before you could react, he was already shoving you back against the nearest wall, his arms caging you in, his breath hot with rage as it fanned against your skin. His eyes were cold, piercing, murderous, menacing.

“You burned her letters, our rings,” he said, each syllable aiming to intimidate you. “Destroyed the only damn thing I had left of her! And for what?!”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you tried to shake your head, tried to explain, but your throat was too tight, your breath too uneven. Caleb’s gaze alone was enough to make your entire body tremble. But you had to try. “I was hurt, Caleb,” you finally sobbed, the words tumbling out like a plea. “I—I just wanted you to forget her. I wanted you to see me!” 

“Forget her?” His jaw clenched. His grip tightened on your wrist, the pressure just shy of bruising. “You think you could ever replace her? You think you have any fuckin’ right to want anything from me? That you could be anything more than a pathetic substitute?”

The words sliced through you like a blade, carving through every delusion you had ever let yourself believe.

Yet… you had nothing left to lose.

“I love you,” you whispered, broken, desperate. “Caleb, I love you… Please. I’ll be everything you need. I’ll offer everything I have and more. Just… just forget about her.”

For a terrifying second, you thought he might actually hit you.

But then, just as fast as it came, he wrenched himself away from you, staggering back as though you were the thing poisoning him. It hurt. It hurt like hell to see the way he rid himself of you as he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers itching to wreck you. 

“...Caleb.” 

“...I’m sorry, Caleb.” 

“...I love you, Caleb.”

No matter how desperately you fought to win his heart, his voice remained eerily calm when he finally spoke.

“Get the hell out of my sight.”

You stood frozen, barely able to process the words. “B-But—”

“I said GET THE FUCK OUT!” His roar thundered through the room, rattling your entire being like an insect in a heavy storm. 

You swallowed down the sob threatening to rise up your throat, willing yourself to move—to breathe—as you staggered toward the door. Your fingers curled around the handle, and for a split second, you let yourself hope for him to stop you. To say something. Anything.

But all he did was stare at you with a gaze so cold, so hollow, it made your heart cave in on itself.

And then, his final words were more merciless than you thought. 

“You wanna play with fire?” he muttered. “Fine. I’ll throw you out into the front lines soon enough. See how much you really want to be a soldier’s whore.”

A strangled gasp left your lips, your vision blurring with fresh tears.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t think.

And for the first time since you met him, you realized that no matter how much love you poured into him, Caleb had none left to give.

~~

He stayed true to his words. 

The front lines were nothing short of hell. Explosions tore through the sky, painting it in hues of orange and black. The ground trembled beneath relentless bombardments, screams of the wounded and dying mixing with the fusillade of gunfire. It was chaos. It was pure, unfiltered war.

And you were in the heart of it.

Thrown into the battlefield as nothing more than a discarded afterthought, yet you worked tirelessly, tending to the broken, the dying, the ones who begged for mercy even when there was nothing left to give. Blood soaked your uniform, stained your hands, and for the first time since you had arrived at this forsaken place, you realized Caleb was never coming to rescue you. That this wasn’t as simple as temporary punishment where he could rescue you back to the base the moment he saw that you had already paid for your sins. 

You had been foolish to think otherwise. Because the punishment was greater than the crime. 

Day after day, you watched the planes soar overhead, wondering if one of them carried him. If maybe, just maybe, he’d glance down and remember you. That he’d order someone to retrieve you, to take you home.

But no one came.

Not even him.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse—the enemy arrived.

You barely had time to react before the camp was raided, soldiers storming in with brutal efficiency. Screams filled the air—nurses, wounded soldiers, no one was spared. You tried to run, but hands—so many hands—gripped you, dragging you with them.

“No, please!” you sobbed, thrashing, digging your heels into the dirt. “Someone, help me!”

But the only response was the harsh, guttural laughter of the men dragging you away. You didn’t understand their language, but you understood them. The way their dark, hungry eyes lusted over your trembling form. The mocking smiles curling their lips. The way they spoke to each other, like you weren’t even human.

Like you were property.

One of them cupped your chin, tilting your face up with a sickening grin. “She’ll do nicely,” he murmured in a thick accent. 

Another joined in on the amusement. “A fitting pastime for the long nights ahead.”

A fresh wave of panic crashed over you, bile rising in your throat as you began to foresee your fate in their hands. Your fate as the enemy’s new plaything. 

“No—NO!” you shrieked, thrashing harder, your nails clawing at their arms. “Caleb! S-Someone, please!”

But no one came.

No one ever came.

That was when your real nightmare began.

They dragged you to their camp, a place so desolate, so devoid of mercy, that it made your previous suffering look like a fleeting dream. There was no hope here. No salvation.

Just pain.

The foreign army passed you from one to the next like you were nothing more than a worn-out relic of war. Their touch was greedy, using your body at their convenience, their grip bruising as they took what they wanted. They stripped you off everything; clothes, dignity, sanity. Sanity. Where is God in all of this?

Your mind drifted, escaping to anywhere else but there. You imagined a different life, a different fate. But the pain kept pulling you back. The jeers, the mocking laughter, the cruel hands that touched every inch of your skin reminding you over and over again that there was no escaping this. You felt dirty, felt disgusted of your own flesh, felt sick that you had to wake up each day living for only one and one purpose alone. 

You stopped counting the days.

Stopped screaming when they came for you.

You had nothing left.

Their cruelty settled deep within your bones, your spirit breaking piece by piece until all that remained was a hollow shell of who you used to be.

And the worst part?

He never came.

Caleb, the man who once whispered possessive threats in your ear, who swore no one else could have you, who claimed you as his prize—had abandoned you to this.

It was almost laughable. Truly spectacular. 

As you lay on the cold, your body too battered to move, you allowed yourself to accept the truth.

He never loved you.

He never would.

~~

Before you were a war nurse, you once interned as a nurse at Akso Hospital. Life was peaceful then. Even as whispers of an impending world war grew louder, there was an unshaken belief that your nation was too powerful to fall. No one dared to wage war on the strongest nation in the world. 

That was the world you knew—quiet, bathed in golden light. You stood in the familiar white halls of the medical facility, the place where it all began. Where you trained. Where you dreamed of making a difference.

Dr. Zayne stood before you, his crisp uniform as pristine as ever, his silver-rimmed glasses reflecting the medical abstract he had on hand. He had always been composed and steady. A true professional that you looked up to. He was the best cardiac surgeon there was, and everyone in the same field dreamed of working with him. Of becoming like him.

“You're ready for this,” he said, adjusting his gloves. “The war will test you, but your hands—” he reached out, taking yours in his own, running his thumb across your palm—“were meant to heal.”

You gripped his hands a little tighter. “What if I can’t save everyone?”

He thought for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “You won’t,” he agreed. “But you will save someone. And that will always matter.”

You felt your chest tighten. “Thank you for being a good mentor, Dr. Zayne. I hope to see you again someday.” 

The golden light around him began to fade, his figure growing distant, hazy, slipping through your fingers.

“Good luck, Y/N.”

It was the chilling air that woke you up from your dream. The icy breeze seeped into your bones, deeper than any wound, any bruise, any violation. Every inch of you ached, skin marred with purple and black, lips split and dry. Your body was no longer your own. It was something broken, something discarded.

You barely had the strength to keep your eyes open and every breath was a struggle as your ribs protested with each inhale. The faint scent of blood and sweat lingered around you, suffocating you. Killing you.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard voices—a noise.

A sharp crack split through the air, followed by a scream—short, cut off, wet. Then another. And another.

Gunfire.

Shouting.

The heavy thud of bodies hitting the ground.

You tried to move, but your limbs wouldn’t obey. The exhaustion of everything they had done to you pinned you down. Your pulse was sluggish, your vision swimming, but you could hear it—him. And the distinct roar of his rage. Perhaps it was your hallucination. After all, you had already lost your mind from this war. 

But one of the soldiers outside, his voice barely rising before it was cut off—a sickening gurgle of a sound, as if something sharp had torn straight through his throat. Gunfire erupted in rapid succession, followed by panicked shouts, orders barked in a language you barely understood, only for them to be silenced just as quickly. A storm was tearing through the camp. A massacre.

Then, the door was kicked open. A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the moonlight.

You held your breath. 

The familiar combat boots. The bloodied gloves. The cold, murderous gleam of his eyes.

Caleb.

Your lips parted—half in disbelief, half in something uglier. Because now, after everything, after you had finally accepted that he was gone, he was here. His gaze was fixed on you, and something in his features cracked as he took in your state. Bruises. Cuts. The torn remains of your uniform that barely covered your violated body. His fingers twitched over the trigger of his gun.

Slowly, he took a step forward. And when he finally reached you, he knelt, his bloodstained hands brushing against your trembling form as if to confirm that you were real.

Why? Why now, Caleb?

You let out a broken sob, your body giving out as you collapsed into him, while his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly and desperately.

It was for the first time since meeting him where he genuinely, unselfishly took you in his arms with fragile care. “I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m here now. I’ve killed every single one of ‘em for you,” he said in a tone so affectionate you almost wondered if it was a dream. “I’ll take you home. No one’s gonna touch you ever again. I promise.”

The irony, however, presented itself the moment Caleb touched you. Because rather than feeling a sense of relief in his own way of apologizing, a deep, all-consuming dread wrapped around your bones instead.

Because this wasn’t salvation. This wasn’t a rescue. This was a return to a different kind of prison.

Your battered body trembled in his grip as his presence, something you once ached for, now loomed over you like a cruel joke. You thought being here—being dragged through hell, used, and discarded—was the worst fate imaginable.

But, no.

The true horror was returning to Caleb.

Because you knew now. You finally understood. There was no future for you. Not in his arms. Not in this world. And the look in his eyes, that dangerous, unhinged gleam that he would never let you go. You were only going to submit yourself to a never ending cycle. Of pain. Of being unloved.

So before he could react, before he could drag you back into the nightmare of his possessive grasp, your trembling fingers wrapped around his gun.

His own gun. His own weapon.

For the first time, his cold, calculating gaze faltered, widening in shock as you tore it from his holster with the last of your strength. “Y/N—”

The barrel was already pressed to your temple. His hands lunged for you, fast, too fast—

BANG!

The world stilled.

Your body swayed before a slow, almost gentle descent to the ground. Caleb caught you before you could hit the dirt, but warm blood seeped between his fingers. His hands, the same hands that had killed and destroyed, now shook as they cradled you. “No! NOOO! Y/N!”

But it was too late.

You smiled with your red-stained lips. “You deserve to live a life where the women you love—” you coughed, blood bubbling at the edges of your lips as you said your last words, “leave you.”

[tokoyamisstuff]

I know you only write for dilfs usually, but could you make an exception? I'm starved for Invincible content🥺

so many perfectly fine dilfs /gilfs in this series, smh...but for you I'll make an exception. 💌

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Second Chance At Love

...in which another version of Mark invaded your world to claim something he once lost.

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, yandere adjacent, blood, kidnapping, murder, not proofread A/N: I didn't specify which variant, pick your poison

This is it. That’s how you’ll die.

One of innumerable casualties in the wake of this surreal destruction, caused by no one else than the man you were still helplessly in love with. Well, at least the people responsible for this chaos all wore his stupidly handsome face, though the innocence in his eyes despite everything being long since absent in theirs.

You’re cowering in a corner of the nearest safehouse, huddled in there with countless other civilians as you start to reminisce and regret in the face of doom.

Maybe you should have told Mark about your feelings after all. Not that there ever was an appropriate moment to do so, between his relationship with Amber and Eve seamlessly afterwards. Both were amazing women in their own right, and you could never think of comparing yourself to either of them. But damn it you couldn’t even be mad at those wonderful two, even through all your jealousy.

Mark and you had been childhood friends ever since you had moved into the same neighborhood as a preteen. It was a storybook-like friendship that eventually turned into a one-sided infatuation as you grew older, but not wanting to ruin your friendship you cowardly suppressed them until it was too late.

And when your friend's powers finally awakened, you found the perfect opportunity to end this bond once and for all.

You remember it as if it was yesterday: His face, so full of shock and hurt as you broke out in tears and told him you couldn’t do this anymore. It wasn’t a complete lie.

Being this close to a literal hero made you a walking target, you claimed. Even if you as an individual are insignificant in the greater picture, even if villains wouldn’t try and hurt you to get through to him, conflict seemed to follow him everywhere, so you’ll most likely get into harm’s way at some point.

It was a cheap excuse to hide the pitiful truth that you couldn’t stand to see him build a life with someone else. And in hindsight you hated yourself for having done this. Invinc- Mark had gone through so much already, suffered great losses and was carrying guilt that weighed so heavy it astonished you that he hasn’t yet broken down under all the pressure.

And to add insult to injury, you - one of his closest and most trusted friends - abandoned him out of a selfish hurt that didn’t even make up a fraction of what he felt on the regular.

Enough self-pitying. You’re not the victim here.

If – by any miracle – you survive this, the first thing you’ll do is make things right. Contact him immediately, explain yourself, and promise to overcome this silly crush to be a friend he deserves this time.

But just when you made up your mind, a loud, grating noise cut through your pondering…

…and when you looked up, you were horrified to see the view of a bright night sky.

That meant someone had not only found this place, but also effortlessly tore off the rooftop which was made up of strengthened steel.

For the fraction of a second, when your eyes met all too familiar ones, a naive hope inside of you thought it was your Invincible that had arrived, worried for your safety. But the vastly different costume – covered with blood and viscera - reminded you painfully that again it’s just wishful thinking. A dream that would never become reality, no matter how long you refuse to acknowledge it. This world’s Mark is probably fighting alongside Eve right now, not wasting a single thought about you, and you couldn't blame him.

The Viltrumite scanned the crowd for god knows what, his face falling flat as his gaze fell on you. A flash of recognition flickered in his eyes, just to be replaced by an almost predatory glint.

“Found you!” his tone was oddly cheerful, yet sent a shiver down your spine as you could barely perceive him lunging at you with his sheer inhumane speed. You were sure that now you’ll experience pain beyond your greatest imagination, praying he'd make it quick...

...but much to your surprise the impact never came.

Instead you found yourself high in the air, fighting the nausea rising in the pit of your stomach due to the way too fast ascend. Beneath you the outline of the collapsing safehouse became blurred by darkness and distance, the dust driving tears in your eyes even long after the rubble drowned out everyone's screams.

“He’ll drop me” is the only thought present in your mind, feeling tremendously selfish for not caring about the others whose death you just witnessed. Yes, soon this sociopath will make you fall to your death and laugh at your misery like it’s some kind of wicked game.

And you deserved it either way, didn’t you?

Maybe you disappointed Mark in other realities as well. That must be it, that’s the reason he went out of his way just to find you – to get his revenge for you abandoning him in his darkest hour.

Your first instinct was to scream and lash out at him, and yet you knew trying to oppose a force of nature like him was to no avail. So with no other options you cling to your captor like a lifeline.

Clutching the fabric of his costume in tight fists, you hide your face in the crook of his neck, desperately trying to shun out the reality of your situation. Your behavior earns a low chuckle from the villain, who in return wraps his arms a little tighter around you as he carries you through the sky nearly bridal style.

“Don’t tell me your Mark never brought you flying with him?” he asked nonchalantly, as if any of this wasn’t an absolutely terrifying concept for you. Concerned at your lack of response, he slowed down in midair, gently squeezing your sides. “Hey, it’s okay. I got you. We’re almost there.”

You wanted to ask where to exactly, but your voice failed you each time you tried. So you stayed cradled against his muscular chest like this, trying your best to ignore the way you felt his gaze burning into you even though you refused to open your eyes.

“There we are” he announced, carefully letting you down. And still, as soon as your legs touched solid ground again they gave up and you fell to your knees right away. Initially this foreign Mark wanted to help you, to catch you in his arms once again and reassure you that everything was gonna be alright - but upon seeing tears dwelling in your eyes he knew he had to stop himself, hands falling loosely to the sides and balling to fists in mild frustration.

For a while you remained like this, staring at each other in awkward silence while a storm of conflicting emotions was raging beneath.

“You’re safe here” Mark ultimately spoke, and looking around this place really did seem rather peaceful compared to what you've seen in the news. “The others won’t attack rural areas. We were ordered to destroy main cities and crucial infrastructures mainly.”

“By whom?” The question was burning on your tongue but it died right there, because what does it matter? Knowing wouldn’t make any difference since you couldn’t change the outcome anyways. So instead you ask “Why…why did you bring me here?”

You were already dreading the answer as your mind conjured concerning possible scenarios, however the variant merely gave you a confused puppy gaze that almost made you forget the threat he posed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He sheepishly rubs the back of his head, avoiding your eyes. “I wanted to get you before the others would."

That sounded more like a subtle threat than a honest reassurance.

“Please…don’t hurt me…” you beg and whimmer, overwhelmed by all the recent events. You’re shaking violently, tears now wettening your cheeks. The mere sight of it - and knowing he’s responsible - shatters what’s left of his rotten heart.

“Wha- of course I won’t-" He nervously paces around, wildly gesticulating as if he's struggling to put his thoughts into words - seems like they all do have similarities after all. "Oh man, sorry. You know I suck at comminicating! Shit, I fucked up the first impression already..."

Continuing to mumbles inaudible ramblings under his breath, he grips a pillar so harshly that it's combined to dust, making you shuffle even farther away from him.

“Nonononono, please don’t be afraid of me!" he yells so loud that you wince, and the fact that he keeps making things worse upsets him even more. "I could never hurt you, I swear!"

The man in front of you looks utterly devastated, and you can't put your finger on why that is or what you have to do with it.

After all, you're no one important, especially to him. Right?

At first keeping his distance, he hesistantly approaches you while simultaneously trying to appear as harmless as possible. Hands raised in a placating manner, voice calm and quiet, he whispers "I'm so, so sorry...I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's- it's okay..." you stammer feebly to appease him, your body still paralyzed by fear. A small squeal escapes your throat as you feel his palm stroke your cheek, the blood sticking to his gloves drying on your skin.

The former hero was watching you intently, face contorting through a mixture of relief and despair. But there was something else about him - the Mark you knew never acted like this. It's probably only your imagination, but he's so...

Before you could finish your line of thoughts, he closes the gap between you and his lips crashed over yours in sheer exasperation. You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he pulled you close, the barely contained strenght of his grip both frightening and thrilling.

"Damn...I keep fucking up" he blurts out, an enamored smile playing on his lips nonetheless. "Sorry for...well, this...got a bit carried away."

It was such a bizarre view: Someone possessing an indescribable strenght, unmatched on nearly the whole universe, being reduced to a stuttering, blushing mess in the presence of a pathetic human.

He was still holding you, without any intent to let you go any time soon, blissfully unaware - or rather ignorant - of how insane this whole situation actually was.

"I always wanted more than friendship, you know?" He confessed this so casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world - and opposed to all logic you felt your heart flutter at his words. "But in my world I never had the guts to confess...I was too afraid to lose you completely in case you don’t reciprocate."

You shouldn't feel guilty that you briefly thought back about the Mark you once knew, wondering if he ever felt the same, and yet you did. As if you owed the one in front of you right now some kind of loyality just because he was currently pouring his heart out.

No. Stop. What are you doing here? This isn't right!

The man in front of you is a homicidal maniac who did god knows what to his homeworld, and caused mayhem and suffering across the whole globe without any remorse, just to...

...yeah, why exactly?

As if your thoughts were clearly written on your forehead, he tries to explain himself, expression turning somber as he spoke.

"Back at my world I made some mistakes- no. I did so many irredeemable, atrocious things...and I only understood what truly mattered after I already lost it...after I lost you because of my actions. But I won't repeat those errors again, I swear. I promise I'll keep you safe and sound at my side to cherish you forever..."

You shouldn't feel anything but hatred and disgust at his display, yet you couldn't help but pity this forlorn, broken shell of a man that clutched you like a child would cling to their soothing blanket.

"This world's Mark, he...doesn't appreciat you." His eyes were manic, bordering on pure madness and you felt his fingers possessively digging into your flesh just shy of being painful. "But me, I would erase as many planets as it takes if only it meant being able to hold you like this for another day."

This man was truly a wolf in sheeps clothing - a vicious, instable monster that could snap any time shall your reaction not appeal to his delusions. All that's left for you to do is playing the part and hoping that the remnant of his humanity was enough to postpone a horrible fate.

So instead of answering you quietly sobbed in his vice-like embrace, tears mixing with the stains of death on his costume. You felt him rubbing soothing circles on your back, so tender and tentative you wondered just how long it's been since those hands had inflicted anything but pain.

Who would've thought that getting the one thing you had wished for an eternity could turn into a literal nightmare?

[Next Part]

[pythonmoth]

cw: implied torture. body harm mentioned. reader thinks of price as a father figure. reader is unreliable and inconsistent. military inaccuracies.

» conviniences bc this is a fanfic. unimportant oc, don't ask me background. oc is a plot device, never mentioned again, probably. it's just for fun.

simon x f!reader. poly tf141. father figure price.

First part | Last | Next

Surely, if you asked him, he wouldn't even blink and would tell you it was an order. He couldn't do anything. Had his hands tied. He's sorry it happened to you.

Because it was easier.

In this line of work, he's seen half of his teammates die because they were reckless, because there was an idiot who thought knew best and ended up getting killed, or decided to sell out the others for money. Also killed, or in jail.

There's no such thing as a good or bad side when the guns and the bombs go off for both. There's only dead or alive, and you must kill whoever is against you for you to survive. That's how it's always been.

You don't matter in the battlefield if innocents are in danger back home. You do that for them.

Price fought fiercely for his nation. He had passion, he loved defending it with his blood and sweat, but he was nothing. Just another number in the end.

What he could do was try to be someone for his team. These men needed him. And he couldn't fail them.

After so many years in this world, he realized it's easier to just accept orders.

So when the higher ups sent him information and evidence, he clenched his jaw and spent the whole night going through it.

You've been part of the team for years. Nearly a whole decade he's worked with you, saved your ass, and you've saved his. He remembered every single one.

He didn't want to believe it, but the order had been given, and he couldn't refute the evidence. Not when it was slapped to his face like this and he had nothing but his instinct.

For the first two hours, he'd been pissed to his core. You've been everybody's confidant since day one, always listening. You knew secrets.

When he found out you were dating Ghost, he couldn't deny that he thought you wouldn't last, that it would be messy. Ghost's a troubled man, filled with secrets not even you could unveil, but Ghost was completely smitten by you; not that you were any better. He didn't even want to think how Johnny was added to the mix.

He'd seen so many things already, that it just made him blink and nod. It was nobody's business, anyway.

And it was an entertaining pleasure to witness.

However, now it just felt like he's been a fucking idiot. Opening up to somebody wasn't a good idea, he knew this, but if he couldn't trust his team, who the hell was he supposed to trust, then?

His cigar wasted away while he stared at the evidence in front of him. It was too easy, too... fitting, but it was impossible to ignore.

"Make sure she confesses. That's your order" they told Price. Just that. Simple as that.

According to the evidence, you've been selling information on other teams' missions, making copies of documents and entire files. They had your fingerprints somehow, but he couldn't buy it. Price had insisted they continued the investigation at first, because why were you the only person involved? Where were the people that definitely helped you? Why not sell information on your team as well?

"Shut the fuck up and do as we say" they ordered. "Your career is in our hands".

Pretty much.

He genuinely despised the higher ups, taking shitty decisions from behind their desks and fancy suits. Still, orders are orders. He couldn't ignore them or the whole team would suffer from it one way or another.

Price had to think.

If he couldn't just ask you, because, goddammit, he's not stupid, he would have to force it out of you.

How the hell was he supposed to do that?

He couldn't possibly cut your fingers off, or cover your body with permanent scars, because he really didn't believe you were a traitor.

But he could not be accused of insubordination.

And you could very well be lying. You could be making a fool out of everybody.

With a heavy sigh, he rubbed his face, exhaustion making his shoulders slump. He grabbed his cigar from the ashtray and took a long, deep drag from it. His lungs burning, he made up his mind.

Nails grow.

They would be raw for months, but it would not make you lose your normal mobility forever and, if he was right and there was something else going on, he could give you a temporary discharge so you could recover. Away from them.

Or you would be rotting in jail. One or the other.

Price put his cigar down again and stood up from his chair, tapping the desk with his fingertips; a big plan was forming in his mind and he didn't like it.

If you were truly a traitor, he was following orders. If you weren't, he was also following orders. Still, he had something he'd learned a few years ago, when Johnny first started hanging out with Ghost and you.

Johnny had a big mouth when drunk, and he had told Price you were scared of the ocean after a few drinks. He didn't mention a reason, but that didn't matter. He would have to use that.

He couldn't take risks.

He was fond of you, but if there was evidence that could be used against you, he could not afford to hesitate. Not for you. Not for anybody.

For the team's sake, he had to do as he was told.

Price prepared the basement himself.

It made his stomach wrench with guilt, but he kept reminding himself he had no right to ignore orders. He knew you, but...

Obey orders.

That's been drilled into his mind. And he had given an oath.

He knew you could understand that. Every soldier could.

The salty water, the disgusting rags and that bloody chair was ready by the time the sky turned of dark ink. Soon the sun would come out, but he had yet another decision to take.

He knew what had to be done. He knew the best option for you. Still, it was not going to be even a little bit pretty.

All or nothing. They would have to understand.

He came out from the basement, the stairs seemingly infinite for a moment, and quickly ordered Ghost and Johnny to be called in to his office.

He forced himself to imagine it wasn't you. He pictured a different face, a different person begging and screaming in the chair.

He knew Ghost would ignore his command. He was smart enough to ignore his ridiculous order of making you suffer longer than necessary. He was counting on it.

Price couldn't tell Ghost, and he couldn't tell Johnny. No matter what he did, he couldn't put them at risk.

If this went wrong for him, he would be the only one paying the consequences. Nobody else would be involved but himself.

He regretted kicking you the day before, but he got too into his own head, into the character he forced on himself, that only when he was back in his office did he realize what he'd done.

To see you passed out on the chair after enduring so much pain was really just a breaking point for him. He had stormed out and gone straight to his office.

Just as he reached out to grab the phone and call the higher ups, to yell at them to do a fucking proper investigation, to do their job and leave his team alone, someone opened his door without knocking. He was so upset that he actually flinched in surprise.

"Sergeant Garrick" Price said, his eyebrows furrowing, standing up from his chair.

Kyle's face was visibly angry, expression hard. It took Price a moment to realize the sergeant was dragging someone unconscious by their ankle like a sack of potatoes.

"What's the meaning of this? Who the hell is that?" Price questioned, walking over to Kyle, staring down at the man on the floor. "Weren't you supposed to be back tomorrow?"

"Finished earlier. Got here like five minutes ago" Kyle explained, waving his free hand as if to dismiss Price's questions. "He was sneaking out from the storage room. I asked him what he was doing, and he tried to gut me so I put him down. Interesting things in his backpack" he said, letting go of the man's leg. Kyle crossed his arms and looked at Price.

"What things?" he asked, moving to take the backpack from the passed out man, and quickly torn it open. A scoff left his chest. Copies of documents.

"I was gone for five days and all I heard on my way here is that you're going insane and that the Lieutenant wants to gut you. What the hell is happening?"

It had been a goddamn mess.

The man confessed when he woke up, no resistance at all. A soldier Price hadn't seen much before because he wasn't under his command, but as soon as he heard his last name, he knew they were absolutely fucked.

All it took was a call not even five minutes later and Price had to let him go.

Of course the higher ups wanted you to confess. Of course they ordered Price to make you confess, not bring out names of buyers nor more traitors.

That's why there wasn't a proper investigation.

Price stood there as the soldier raised an eyebrow at them, amused, and walked past Price and Kyle, soldiers from another team escolting him away.

Deployment. To South Korea.

A slap on the wrist for the son of one of the higher ups.

It wouldn't take a day for the rumors to fly, so they announced his deployment quickly. The fact that he had tried to gut Kyle apparently wasn't important, either.

Price didn't receive a single call after that. He understood the order to be silent and pretend that never happened.

Couldn't they have done that since the beginning, instead of making you go through this? Maybe it was time to retire.

This only left him with a much bigger problem, though.

He felt guilty for making Kyle work when he had just gotten back, but he asked him to go and make sure the medics were prepared to receive you, while he gave himself a little pat on the back as encouragement, and told Ghost and Johnny to come on up to his office.

He didn't stop Ghost from punching him. He knew he deserved that punch.

It had been his fault to be so careless. If he hadn't thought you could be the traitor, he would've continued with the rags and the gagging instead of hurting you. He had orders and he let them get to his head. And that was his mess to deal with.

"Garrick caught him trying to escape" Price raised his voice again, doing his best to be heard over their yelling. "He's been detained and already confessed. The problem is that—"

"I don't fucking care!" Simon snapped, gripping his desk hard enough to break it in two. "Bring him here, goddammit. I'll put a bullet through his brain".

Johnny was quiet, staring daggers into his head. Price growled deeply, rubbing his face tiredly. "I'm trying to explain why I fucking can't do—"

"The fuck am I here for, then? I'm done with this fucking shit hole" he yelled, not interested in whatever Price had to say anymore.

Johnny and him rushed downstairs, leaving him alone. He didn't leave his office, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes.

In his need to protect the team, he'd fucked up. If Ghost didn't want to listen to him, if Johnny was so angry he seemed ready to stab his guts, he could only rely on you.

It was unfair, he knew. But it was his best shot.

The rumor of the son of an important man causing trouble for Price's team quickly spread, but nobody would dare saying anything out loud. Not properly, at least.

As far as Price knew, it didn't leave the base.

For the whole two days it took you to wake up, Price let the men cool off. He knew it would be useless to try and talk to them when they wouldn't leave your side, and visiting you was out of the question with the two of them guarding you so jealously.

Besides, you weren't awake yet.

He heard the commotion from his office. He knew you had woken up, if Ghost and Johnny's hurried footsteps was anything to go by, so he got up and walked directly to the infirmary, his arms crossed as he waited outside.

He heard Ghost trying to talk to you, your laughter, then your sobs, and he didn't miss the way Johnny was staring at him. As if waiting for a moment to strike.

"Spit it, MacTavish" Price said, sighing deeply. He didn't turn to him, didn't want to meet Johnny's eyes.

"You fucked up, Capt'n. This wouldn't have happened if you—"

"It's not an excuse, but I had orders. You know damn well how this works" Price reminded him, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll explain everything later".

"Fuck this, I'm going in" Johnny mumbled, moving towards the door, but they both froze as Ghost came out.

Ghost looked defeated. His shoulders slumping, his eyes downcast, his balaclava hastily pulled over his head. The wet spots on the mask were easy to catch, but Price decided he would never mention that.

"Simon? How's she?" Johnny whispered, reaching out to grab his arm.

Price gave them a little moment and looked inside the room. He noticed you were on the floor and the sight made him close his eyes tightly for a moment. He didn't give himself a moment to think and walked in.

Ghost didn't try to stop him.

You flinched when you saw him, your eyes wide as he gently shut the door behind him. You didn't start sobbing as you did when Ghost was inside, so he took that as a good sign.

"Morning, lass" he mumbled, speaking softly. Not wanting to scare you, he slowly sat down in front of you, a respectful distance between the two of you. "Isn't the floor cold?"

"No".

"Are you hungry?"

"No".

"Do they hurt?" he asked, nodding at your hands.

"Yes" you mumbled, looking down at your bandaged fingers, then your feet. "Both".

"I know, lass. How about we get you to the bed then, hm? The floor is cold".

He didn't move until you looked up at him and nodded. He made slow, big moves. Price gripped your arms and managed to get you to sit down on the bed without much but a hiss from you. He grabbed a chair and sat in front of you so you could look down at him.

He's had his share of dealing with traumatized soldiers, so he decided to let his soft, parental side take the lead.

"Are you scared of Simon?" he asked you gently. Your shoulders tensed but you shook your head. "Of Ghost?"

"Yes".

"Are you scared of Soap?"

"... Yes".

"Are you scared of me?"

"Yes".

No "John", no "Captain Price". Him. As a whole.

"Do you want me to leave?"

You didn't answer. You looked at him, as if torn between saying yes or not, swallowing thickly. Price sighed and leaned back, giving you space.

"I'm gonna explain what happened, won't miss a single thing. Then, you'll decide. Deal?"

"Okay".

Explaining how he'd fucked up, how he'd followed orders he didn't want, blaming himself for the situation and owning it up, was not something he learned from his superiors. Before, his superiors would stand in front of him and wouldn't even blink, would tell him it was an order. They couldn't do anything. Had their hands tied. Would tell you they were sorry it happened to you, if you were lucky.

When he became a captain to the team, he refused to be like that. Even if he knew it would be easier, even if he lied to himself and promised he'd be ruthless and tough... this was his team. In a way, they were his kids.

Ghost was just ten years younger than he was, but fuck, that reckless, stupid idiot was like a son to him. And he failed him.

He'd failed them all.

By the time Price was done explaining, up to the point of that cocky bastard walking out free, now getting his little things to go on a little trip to South Korea, his throat was dry.

You were silent as he explained how he had to force Ghost and Soap's hands, how Simon and Johnny were completely against it and how Simon had punched Price for making Ghost and Soap hurt you.

They all had orders, and even if they didn't want to hurt you, they did.

His eyes didn't leave yours for a moment, barely blinking, not paying attention to the way his eyes would water from time to time, and was heavily aware of the way you just sat there, staring at him.

"What now?" you questioned after a few minutes of being silent.

"I'll see that you get a discharge for temporary disability. You need to heal first" he assured you. "That's what matters right now".

You nodded.

For a long moment, there was silence again, but he realized it wasn't so bad. You were calm, so he didn't push you. He sat there for nearly half an hour, both of you just processing it all. Until the grumbling in your stomach made him look up at you.

"Hungry now?"

"Yes. A little" you mumbled, sighing as you used the heel of your hands to rub your face.

"I'll ask Dr. Wilson to bring you something" Price offered, standing up from the chair. He didn't miss the little flinch in your shoulders, but you didn't move away so he decided not to mention it.

He turned around, his hands on his sides at all times. As he gripped the door handle, he turned back to you. "Listen, I... can't ask you to give Ghost and Soap a chance, but I can promise you they will do anything you ask. You like cats, right? Tell them to bring you one. They'll make sure to sneak one in, Wilson be damned".

You cracked a small smile, looking down at your hands. After a heartbeat, you looked up at him. "I'm angry, John".

Price turned properly, giving you his full attention again. It took all of him not to flinch at the way you said his name. No teasing, no smile.

"I feel like... I can't trust any of you. I don't know if I can keep on working with you".

He understood. He really did. Still, it would be easier to bear if you were screaming at him instead of looking at him as if there was nothing. As if you hadn't accidentally called him dad more than once, for fucks sake.

In the back of his mind, his eyes burned.

"Do you want to be transferred?" he asked anyway, not voicing his discomfort. "I can't promise you the request will go through, considering they were using you to cover their arses, but there should be something I can do, if that's what you want".

You looked down at your hands, staring at your bandaged fingers. "I don't know yet".

Price hoped you'd stay. He didn't want to lose someone who added so much to the team, and someone so dear. He'd rather go to hell than try and convince you to stay if you couldn't trust them anymore, but he wanted you to stay.

"That's okay" he reassured you. "Tell you what. I'll tell Garrick to bring you something to eat, and I'll work on getting you that discharge, for now. Deal?"

"Deal".

Price saw your lips trembling slightly, moving as if you had something else to say so he waited. Then, you sighed.

"When I get better, I'm gonna wipe the floor clean with you. I'm pissed at you and I'm tempted to kill you myself. I can't believe you put me through that shit, and didn't trust your instincts. Could've talked to me" you snapped, the words flowing from you.

Maybe it was because it was easier to swallow down the misery than to keep on dwelling on it, but you looked relieved after all the explanation he did.

Price's lips trembled slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

"I've been in this long enough to know the higher ups are bastards, but your decisions were poor, and if you try to convince me to forgive those idiots I swear I'm gonna stab you in your— are you fucking smiling?"

Price couldn't help himself, his eyes nearly falling shut with how big he was smiling. He raised his hand gently, not wanting to startle you, and placed it on top of your head.

"You have to forgive no one, sweetheart. I will live with this for the rest of my life, and it will be something that's gon' keep me up at night, same with the other two" Price mumbled, his smile slowly dimming down into a soft glare. "But this is, unfortunately, something you'll have to heal on your own".

Your eyes were wide, your lips tightly shut. Price was struck once again with how much he genuinely cared for this team.

"You don't owe us anything. Not your forgiveness towards us, nor the situation being forgotten in general" he added, his hand gently gripping your head, his eyes warm. "You have my explicit consent to stab me, even if that doesn't change how you feel".

"Deal".

Price couldn't help but laugh, glad to see you crack another smile.

He gripped your shoulder firmly and walked out of your room. Ghost, Johnny and Gaz were there, the three of them standing up immediately.

"Sergeant Garrick" he called, surprised to hear how actually happy his voice was. "She's hungry. Would you mind bringing something? She's okay with you being there".

Garrick nodded and gave the other two a sympathetic pat on their backs before rushing to find you something to eat.

Price turned to them and sighed again, scratching his mustache. "Well... give her time. I explained the whole situation, and I'll give her a discharge for temporary disability".

"Why is she okay with you, and not me?" Ghost asked directly, his voice rough. Johnny was silent, probably going through a few things in his mind.

"My guess? I didn't actually physically hurt her" Price told them, his face suddenly serious. "She said she's scared of Ghost, and Soap. But not Simon, or Johnny".

"What?" Johnny asked, his expression falling.

"It's a trauma response, you know this" Price reminded them, rubbing the back of his head. "Give her time. She's gonna be okay".

"But what am I supposed to do then?" Ghost grumbled, his eyes tormented behind the mask.

"Leave her alone" Price ordered. "You need to leave her alone".

-ˋˏ✄————————————————���—

am I projecting my own needs on Price bc I have a rocky relationship w my father? mhm. if you cry, let me know.

» where was gaz? on a secret mission. do I know what he was doing? no. it was v secret. /lh

» we're back to reader's pov in the next part. ♡

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @dorothy-rainbird @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @remus-holt @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821

[celibibratty]

bullying is such a fuck up type of phsychological abuse(i hate that people don't take it seriously to call it an abuse but it is a type of abuse), you don't know what to do, is helpless, when we were kids, everybody used to say(mostly our mother) "just ignore them, they will eventually stop, they will lose interest if you show no reaction", but don't do anything/show no reaction also makes things worse(i hated it, it never helped), it only proves how much of a victim you are, it shows that it won't have any consequences, they can do anything with you whenever they want CUZ YOU ALWAYS WILL DO NOTHING, but if you do react things can go two ways round (or you intimidate them in a way that they will stop trying messing with you(very difficult) or will make worse cuz they will find entertaining), is a no escape situation, you feel stuck, theres nothing to do, every little move or word makes things worse(the advice that i hated the most and mom always used to suggest was "just play along with it, smile, find it funny too", i never bought it that bullshit, they werent my fucking Friends, i not gonna let myself/ourselves being a joke,what they do it/say it hurted me, i can't just pretend it doesnt upsets me)

[reignpage]

The Other Man

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3

Your worst nightmare is avoiding your eyes. 

Still sweating and slightly out of breath from the sprint you made from your home to the hospital, you try to wipe your hands down the material of your jeans, and you’re mortified to find them shaking. 

Is it from adrenaline or from fear? 

When they said they found your husband, alive, and he’s been fixed up all brand new, you thought everything would be fine, that things would go back to normal. Your home will finally stop being so stifling, you won’t burn a hole through your carpet from all the pacing like your friend tried to joke, and you no longer have to hold yourself at night just to stop from hyperventilating.

But when you look at his eyes and see only confusion and a drop of anxiety, you know something’s gone terribly wrong. 

“He suffered trauma to the head and we noticed no signs of it during surgery, so the symptoms only showed up now. We’re sorry we hadn’t been able to warn you ahead of time,” the doctor says. 

Maybe now your hands are shaking from anger. 

You step towards the doctor, the sterile smell of latex gloves and death stinging your nose, and you splutter out, “What are you talking about? What’s wrong with my husband? Why is no one just telling me straight up?”

He flinches. 

They both do. 

You don’t feel bad, can’t feel bad. 

The doctor opens his mouth and he’s explaining, rambling about all sorts of medical terms you don’t know and it’s likely he’s doing it to distract you, or punish you, but you do hear one word. It registers and sends a static ringing through your ears. 

“It would seem your husband has developed retrograde amnesia.”

Amnesia. 

When he finishes, a silence takes over, filling up the room and pressing you to the walls, daring you to suck in a breath. A beat or two passes whilst he wait for either one of you to say something, ask something, anything. But no one does, so he leaves and immediately you wish he stayed. 

“Hi.”

His voice breaks you out of your internal panicking. It has a slight quiver, perhaps from the deep sleep he had been under, or the exhaustion that had built up, the price to pay for saving so many people in one night. The reports said, on the night he disappeared, that there had been many curses, strong ones, gathered in an organised attack, an ambush. They had backed your husband in a corner and pushed him to his limits. 

They did this. 

You try to smile. 

“Hi, baby, how you doing?”

There’s a blush forming across his cheeks and you smile for real, finding his embarrassment adorable, but then it drops just as quick when he clears his throat, as if setting a boundary. 

“So,” he drags out, “you’re my wife, huh?”

What’s the procedure for losing your loved one to an internal injury so bad you feel it cut deep? What’s the etiquette? Because you’re so sure screaming at him to stop playing this cruel joke is probably not a good idea; you already know what the doctors would say.

It would be unwise to push him.

Your steps are hesitant but you push through that invisible force keeping you back. You need to touch him, need to feel that, despite it all, he’s warm and real and breathing — at least one of you has to be. 

He looks up at you from your position beside his bed and watched your hand lift towards his face. He doesn’t move, he steels himself for your sake, you know it, because your husband has always been the kindest, most empathetic man you’ve ever met. 

Then you cradle his slightly cut up cheek and tears stream down before you even know it, a laugh bubbles out and you sob it out. He’s really alive. 

“I’m so happy you came back.”

He smiles, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s still a genuine smile and your heart leaps. If he can smile at you like that even without the pull of the shared memories of his time with you, then surely there’s hope. Because through his dazzling eyes, always dazzling, you believe there’s a huge box of everything he had filed on you, on his love for you, his wishes and desires for for you both. It’s just locked away at the moment, but you’ll find a key. 

You have to. 

“I must have been pretty great to bag a gorgeous woman like you.” 

“The greatest.”

He laughs in surprise. He did that every time you played along, because no one else ever had, not his own family or his friends, and not even himself. 

And the hours pass by with him asking questions and you answering patiently, despite the stab at your chest from every moment he forgot, every special occasion he doesn’t remember, and you both relive the bad times, the terrible times. 

Except he’s going it through for the first time. 

All the nurses and doctors filter in and out, changing this, emptying that, wiping here, walking there, and throwing all sorts of information at you. Eventually, they give you a care pack full of pamphlets filled with numbers and websites for support, letting you know he’s free to leave, but that check-ups will have to be frequent to monitor his progress. 

You can tell he’s getting tired; you don’t blame him, it’s been too much too fast. So you tell him, “Alright, handsome, it’s time to go home.”

He cheers up at that, eagerly packing and hobbling out of the hospital and into your car. The car ride home isn’t quiet like you had dreaded, it’s loud, bustling with more questions and excited remarks. 

“No way. He ate that finger? That’s so funny.”

“Oh, his hair is really that spiky? And she puts up with both of them? Wow.”

“He’s still teaching? That’s great.”

When you pull up to the house at the end of the street, all the lights are off and you feel a little embarrassed that it doesn’t look inviting, and  of course you forgot to clean up the dishes and vacuum the carpet. Maybe you should have gotten balloons and streamers, maybe invited his friends. You know the doctor said don’t overwhelm him, but they’ll definitely come knocking sooner than later. 

That’s how loved your husband is. 

You have a bashful smile when you finally glance up at him, both walking up to the door, and it plummets at the disappointed look on his face. He doesn’t care about the lights, only that the home he had been expecting is the one across the city, the one you had made him move out of years ago so you could live together as a soon to be wedded pair. 

Now, he’ll have to live in your home as a guest, borrowing your cups and plates, and wearing clothes he didn’t buy but the other man did, and then he’ll be sleeping next to you. 

A stranger. 

You gulp the horrified scream down and, with shaky hands, you unlock the door, ignoring the overwhelming feeling that you’re losing an uphill battle, that things will never be the same, and he’ll never love you, not like he did. 

Your husband is loyal to a fault; he won’t leave you, not because he loves you, not because he can’t imagine being anywhere else but here, with you, but because there’s a ring on his left finger that he keeps playing around with like it feels wrong to have it on. 

And the realisation that you don’t care, that you have enough love for the both of you, that you want, need, to have him in any way he’ll let you, creates a dull ache in your stomach.

You don’t try to smile when you turn to him, even when he does. 

All you say is,

“Welcome home, Satoru.”

[cheapshrimpysheep]

My Heaven's Light

SUMMARY: Rollo managed to kidnap you before sending the NRC students to Fleur City's Waterways, believing he was saving you. Malleus and the others reach the tower, ring the Bell of Solace and rescue you. Malleus expresses his protective side and Rollo apologizes for kidnapping you.

CHARACTERS: Rollo Flamme VS Malleus Draconia (x Reader)

TAGS: GN Reader; Angst to Comfort; Jealousy

WARNING: Spoilers from Glorious Masquerade; Kidnapping

WORD COUNT: 4.220 Words

COMMENTS: Thinking about the fact that Rollo is the twisted version of Frollo and thinking of MC as Esmeralda, it is inevitable to imagine Rollo kidnapping MC. But not for the same reasons!

Rollo is a really complex character, but one I've wanted to write about for some time now. I plan to try writing more with him in the future.

Until then, I hope you enjoy this one. 🐲🦐🔔

By the way, do you have ANY idea how many times I've looked up synonyms for common words just to get as close as possible to Rollo's way of speaking? One thing is for sure: I am greatly expanding my English vocabulary with this.

.

Amidst the panic that the firelotuses were causing, both your colleagues and Professor Trein end up paying more attention to the flowers than to you.

As you move away from the flowers, you end up approaching one of the pillars. That's when you feel a hand covering your mouth and another holding your arm behind your back.

You are carried away through the shadows as you try to free yourself, but these attempts only make the hands hold you even tighter and run the risk of injuring your arm.

The person who is taking you leans over and whispers in your ear. “I beg you not do make this more complicated that it needs to be.” It's Rollo!

He takes you to a room adjacent to the hall and pushes you inside, making you fall into an armchair. Just before he closes the door to lock you inside you hear Grim's voice.

“[Y/N]? [Y/N]?! MY HENCH-HUMAN DISAPPEARED!”

No matter how loud you scream, or how much you bang on the door, the chaos outside is too loud for anyone to hear you. Eventually you realize something is going on, so you stop to listen to the conversation. Rollo had revealed himself and was talking to your NRC colleagues.

“My, my.” You hear Azul say. “That was quite a predictable villain line, you know.”

“Silence!” Rollo's voice echoed. “YOU'RE the villains here! And what's more, you flaunted your magic and mesmerized our good citizens with it... Just like you did with your prefect. You imprisoned them with you and poisoned their mind. The poor thing became numb to the absurdity after spending every day swimming in it. Mages use their magic to lead people astray and cloud the eyes of the virtuous public. It's sad state of affairs, but it's devastating when the victim is someone like [Y/N].”

“What have you done with [Y/N]?!” Malleus's powerful voice demands to know.

“For now, I am keeping them safe. But once I engulf the world in the fiery crimson of these flowers and strip every mage in Twisted Wonderland of their magic, then I will have saved them, and all those like them who suffer at your hands!”

“You have no idea of the atrocity you are insinuating, Flamme!” Not only does Malleus’s voice thunder, but the sky outside does too.

“And there he is, folks! The secret mastermind who was controlling the ‘final boss’ all along!” Idia says. “But what kind of mastermind jumps the gun and shows up this early? Dude has like, zero patience.”

“Could you not right now? You're ruining the moment.” Azul complains.

The discussion continues with Rollo revealing that his plan is already well underway. When the Bell of Solace rang for an unprecedented fourth time that night, it suffused the city with magic. The firelotuses aren't only in the school. They've spread throughout the city, and are sapping the energy from every mage living there. And after that, he opens the floor for everyone to fall into a pit.

“And those accursed mages, with Malleus Draconia foremost among them... They'll all be finished! Enjoy your time down below. Though I think you'll find it quite...draining. At long last... I shall finally mete out my justice.”

Some time later, the door opens and Rollo enters, extending his hand to you.

“Come. We must go to the Bell Tower. It is safer-”

What he didn't expect was for you to attack him with a tall candlestick. And you discover that in addition to being a promising mage, he also has excellent reflexes. He manages to dodge your attack and grab your wrists so you let go of the candlestick.

“I do not aim to harm you!” He says very seriously. “Please don't turn it into something I have to do.”

“Then what are you doing locking me here?”

“Preventing you from falling for the tricks of those magic-addled fools once again.” He comes closer, still grabbing you by the wrists. “You poor thing. Blinded by villains who wear an elusive mask of companions. But worry not, that tragic state of affairs shan't last much longer.” He brings his face even closer to yours. “Now, I will provide you with a choice. You will accompany me peacefully to the Bell Tower, where you will be safe by my side. Or you will make me forcefully assure your safety. Which one will be?”

If you choose to resist, Rollo will pin your arm behind your back again and place a handkerchief over your mouth and nose. Whatever is in that handkerchief, will render you unconscious. And you will wake up on the top floor of the Bell Tower, lying on a blanket.

You see Rollo with his back to you, looking down at the bright scarlet below. You stand up.

“For the Righteous Judge's sake, don't try to go against me again.” Rollo says, without turning to you. “Even without the use of my magic you will not be able to overpower me.” Still without taking his eyes off the outside he calms down to invite you. “Would you be so kind as to join me in gazing out over the city?”

If you choose to accompany him peacefully to the Bell Tower, Rollo will release your wrists with a smile and give you his arm for you to intertwine with yours.

“I'm glad my judgment of you is aligning with the truth.” He says calmly as he guides. “To remain so virtuous amidst the chaos of magic, you must surely be one of heaven's lights.” You see now a new smile, a peaceful one.

The climb up the tower was silent, as you needed to breathe to climb all those stairs. When you finally reach the top, Rollo extends his hand to you. If you give him yours, he will guide you like a gentleman to a point where you can both see the ominously lit city below.

After your choice:

“Ahh, the city's turned a marvelous shade of crimson... How cleansing it is. I've never felt so at peace before.”

“Why are you doing this, Rollo?”

“Once magic vanish from the world forever, no one will have to suffer with its consequences. Magic is not something to be lionized. It is an evil temptation that, behind its illusory wonders, only causes pain and suffering. If it wasn't dangerous, it wouldn't be like a toxin in your body... However... I wonder how much you actually know about it.”

You look at him as if to ask what he means by that.

“Are you even from this world [Y/N]?” He finally looks at you. “I don't know what it is, but there's something about you that's different from every non-magic user I've ever met. And the circumstances surrounding you are quite... abnormal.”

You choose not to respond.

“I see you have your secrets. I have mine owns as well." He takes his handkerchief to his face. "If you don't feel comfortable talking about your past, then allow me the right not to talk about mine either.”

He puts the handkerchief back in his pocket, and you observe the city in silence for a moment, until he speaks again.

“They will come here. I don't know which students will be strong enough to reach the tower, but Malleus Draconia will certainly be one of those who will be able to reach me. And when that happens, I will guarantee that he will be the first to fall.”

“Why all this obsession with Tsunotarou?”

“Obsession is a very strong word, I simply...” He stops to process what you just said. “I beg your pardon, but am I correct in assuming you were referring to Malleus Draconia just now?”

“Of course, he was who you were talking about just... Oh, I called him Tsunotarou didn't I? Sorry. But yes, I was talking about Malleus.”

“T-Tsunotarou?” He takes the handkerchief back to his face. “Is it some kind of mocking nickname?”

“No! I mean yes, it's a nickname, but no, it's not to mock him. It's a long story but that's what Grim and I call him.”

“Does he know about this... name?”

“Oh, yes. He even likes me calling him by that, he thinks it's funny. Or at least that's what it seams. He smiles every time he hears me say that name.” Just like you were smiling talking about him. “He calls me Child of Man.”

“You have a playful nickname for each other.” Rollo whispers with the handkerchief covering his angry (jealous) expression. “Soon enough you'll feel disgusted by it.”

“Sorry, I didn't understand.”

“No, nothing. Pay me no mind.” He takes the handkerchief away from his mouth. “Ah... I hear the firelotuses rustling... Those wretched Night Raven College mages are making their way up the tower, aren't they? Villains are always so stubborn.” Before you could complain about his words, he puts his hand on your arm and continues. “I must get you in a safer place. Those monsters won't give up without a fight.”

“Who do you think we’re calling-”

He ignores your reprimand and takes you by the arm to a small room that they will not have access to without first going through Rollo.

“I am deeply sorry for what I'm about to do, but I need to make sure you do not alert them to your location.” With his magic, he makes ropes appear to tie you up and a piece of cloth to silence you. “See how despicable magic is? An atrocity like trapping you is completed in seconds. But I will release you as soon as the danger has passed.” And he closes the door.

“Here we are.” You hear Malleus’s voice. “The very top floor of the bell tower.”

“The Bell of Solace stands out even at night.” Azul comments. “Look how it glints in the moonlight.”

“Now to ring it, wipe out the flowers, rescue [Y/N] and finish this stupid pop-up quest for good.” Idia points out.

“But to do that...” Malleus returns. “We must first pay our respects to the host of the party.”

This was Rollo's cue to reveal himself. Which he does.

“At long last, you've arrived. The greater the villains, the more they insist on stopping around. Deplorable.”

“Where are they Flamme?” Malleus demands to know.

“Safe, of course, away from you and your wicked lies.”

“Okay, I really need to ask.” Idia says. “What does our magic-less Prefect have to do with this flower plan and ending magic thing? Why kidnap them? They have no power to stop you. Unless you kidnapped them to keep them for yourself. Good taste tho. But you only met them literally today! That’s like the ultimate desperate creep move.”

“My actions involving your Prefect have nothing to do with personal motives. Innocent victims must be rescued from your evil hands! And that is exactly what I did.”

“I don't know if you would use the word ‘Innocent’ like that if you actually knew them.” Azul comments with a smirk.

“If this is true, it will be proof of your corruption!”

The flowers reach the bell and the exchange of words follows a course that ends with the three fighting Rollo after Malleus said:

“Regardless of your reasons, you will not have your way. I shall stop you for all the fallen in this city... For the wonderful person you kidnapped... For the people awaiting us at school... For Briar Valley... And for myself. You see, I harbor a particularly potent animus toward you. A feeling aggravated by the disrespectful actions you had towards  who is dearest to me. I shall eradicate the firelotuses and put all to rights. With the Bell of Solace itself!”

They lose the first fight against Rollo. And it's after that that Idia reveals what they read in Rollo's diary that they found in the fireplace. About his brother. About him not being able to do anything to save him... And you hear Idia going down a not so empathetic path, to which you would react with a facepalm if your hands weren't tied.

You hear Rollo getting angry and starting to lose his composure, Azul attacking him with Deuce's signature spell, with whom he had made a deal, the astonished reaction when seeing that Rollo is still standing, and finally, you hear Rollo use his signature spell and the sound of flames bursting forth.

A new fight, even more violent, until the sound of the flames died away and...

“Rollo collapsed, and his flames went out...” Azul says. “That means Malleus won, right?”

“Dude, Malleus is out of breath.” Idia says “I can see why he wanted us clear. We could've easily been collateral damage.”

Rollo says he accepted his defeat, but only to try to attack Malleus one last time when he turned his back on him. He failed, and Malleus rang the Bell of Solace, making all the flowers wither.

“The firelotuses...” Rollo was sobbing. “My flowers, my salvation, they're all withering away... You VILLAINS. What have you done?!”

“More important than that.” Malleus approached, his figure towering over Rollo's on the ground. “What have YOU done to [Y/N]?”

“Why do you show yourself so worried? A being like you would never truly care for someone like them. Admit your true intentions! You want to see them suffer on the long term.”

You finally manage to get your feet close to the door. You hear the worried voices of Azul and Idia telling Malleus not to succumb to Rollo's provocations. And you knock on the door with your feet so they can hear you.

You hear hurried footsteps coming your way, see Malleus opening the door, and look down in horror.

“[Y/N]!” He quickly reaches down to free you, breaking the ropes with his own hands and untying the piece of cloth around your mouth. He would have preferred to use magic to ensure he didn't hurt you, but he was relatively weak in that regard. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

You say you're fine, but that doesn't stop Malleus from picking you up in his arms.

“Is [Y/N] hurt?!” Azul asked, worried.

“They say they're fine. But just in case.”

“Something tells me that Malleus just really wanted to live the scene of the hero who picks up the princess in their arms after saving her from the clutches of the villain who kidnapped her.” Idia comments, just between him and Azul. “Hey, no judgments. This is what I call sense of opportunity.”

Rollo was furious, but he would never admit how jealous he was. Not even to himself.

You watched the shows that your NRC colleagues prepared. The music was beautiful and they sang so well! Especially Malleus. After that, you all talked for a bit in a group before Malleus disappeared. Only for you to see him dance with Rollo. Seriously? All that and he's still going to dance with Rollo before he dances with you?!

You dance with the others, until Malleus appears to bow to you and invite you to dance with him. However, to his surprise, you look sullen.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks you. “Did I do something that displeased you?”

You answer yes, that after everything, the first person he danced with was Rollo. He chuckles, and you get even more sulky.

“Forgive me, but I could not resist provoking Flamme one last time. That, and warn him never to even come near you again.” He says with a smile, which makes it a little scary. “I jest. Well, partially. I did threaten him if he did anything to you again.” He pauses to see if you would cheer up a bit, but you still didn't seem completely satisfied. He smirks. “I must admit, a little jealousy can actually be charming and cute.”

Other people wanted to dance with Malleus, but he asked them all to, please, wait a little longer.

“You are creating a quite long waiting line you know? I will not dance with anyone else until I have my desired dance with my beloved.” He smiles smugly when he sees your reaction.

You give him your hand, he kisses the back of it and brings your body closer to his, placing his other hand on your waist. And you dance together.

“Please be careful.” He says as you dance. You look down at your feet, confused. “Fufu. No my dear, I wasn't referring to your dancing.” The sweet smile becomes more serious. “I was referring to Rollo Flamme. I have reason to believe that, after just one day, he has already recognized your charm. He does not convince me that he did that to you just because he believed he was saving you. But worse than that...”

His expression turns sad and you feel his hand pull you closer.

“He still have hatred towards me and wants to get read of all the mages. Under different circumstances, I would not fear his attacks. I would even invite him to try. But with you... If he realizes how much you mean to me... Despite what happened, I don't believe he has that kind of character, but if he reaches a state of despair where his hatred for me is stronger than the attachment he might feel for you...”

There’s a pause. His expression becomes more peaceful.

“I learned an expression that the citizens here have. Heaven's Light. We don't know what this place called heaven is for sure, but according to some records from the past, it would have been such a wonderful place that it was not even located on land. It was somewhere above the clouds. I believe even the stories of the Lord of the Underworld spoke of a similar place. They say that the name ‘Heaven's Light’ was given by the Kindly Bell Ringer to the woman he fell in love with, for being such a caring and kind person to him.”

He caresses your cheek with one of his hands.

“I understand him perfectly. From the story I was told, I can only believe that I too was blessed with my own Heaven's Light. And just like the Kindly Bell Ringer, I will do whatever it takes to protect it.”

You didn't even realize that Malleus has led you to a more secluded place. Only when you saw that the two were hidden by the shadows and a pillar and he began to bring his face closer to yours. “My Heaven's Light.” He whispers before kissing you.

After your dance with Malleus, he went to dance with the other people who also wanted such an honor and you went to dance with some of your other colleagues.

You were finishing dancing with Sebek when Rollo approached you. Both you and he startled when Sebek quickly placed himself between the two of you.

“What are your intentions?” Sebek inquired with hostility.

“My intentions are not vile.” Rollo replies, hiding his displeasure at the way Sebek is talking to him with his composure. “I would only like to be able to invite [Y/N] to dance.”

“I cannot allow it! My orders are to keep this human safe and away from you.”

Rollo takes his handkerchief to his face, holding back the urge to respond to his audacity and insulting words. However, you tell Sebek that it's okay and that you would like to accept Rollo's invitation. Both he and Sebek are surprised.

“B-but...” He had those sad puppy eyes, eager to fulfil his duty. “My liege told me... he entrusted me to protect you.”

And you say he can still do it. He can watch you while you dance with Rollo. And if something really happens, he can intervene.

“But what if it's too late?”

You say that Rollo wouldn't do anything like that in front of all those people. And that Sebek could tell Malleus that it was your fault for telling him not to stop you.

“But... *sigh* Why are you humans so stubborn? Fine. But I won't take my eyes off you. Even if I have to stop myself from blinking!... Be careful.”

Rollo extends his hand to you and you place yours in his to accept his invitation to dance. He guides you very gently.

“I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you.” He tells you while dancing with you. “I never meant to be rude to you. And regardless of what the students of Night Raven College tell you, at no point did I intend to harm you.” Your expression shows your suspicion. “I don't intend to apologize for doing what I concluded was the best way to save you at the time. I only apologize for the... atrocious way in which I did it. I shouldn't have forced you to come with me. But I feared what those spiteful mages might do to you in a moment of desperation.”

“They wouldn't hurt me!” You say, with certainty in your voice.

“How could you be so sure of that?”

“Because, unlike you, I know them.”

He looks you intently in the eyes, and sighs. The music comes to an end, as does your dance. You bow to each other.

“I find it pitiful seeing someone magic-devoid like you stuck in that villains' lair.” He tells you when you both straighten up. “I am inclined to make my utmost efforts to have you reside in Nobel Bell College instead, however I've already come to the sorrowful realization that it is your heart that keeps you hostage in that island. But before we part, I insist that you know that if you ever find yourself overwhelmed by those circumstances that involve magic, do let me know.” He gives you that subtle smile of his. “I will be glad to provide you with my support and assistance at any moment.”

You give him a smile back, accepting his offer.

“But, just to guarantee that you don't forget my heartfelt offering...” He reaches into his pocket, takes out his handkerchief and extends it to you. “Here it is said that handkerchiefs are powerful guardians of the memories of a loved one. It is common to offer them when we don't want to be forgotten by someone. Despite my mistakes, I would still like you to have the most pleasant memory of me possible." You accept his gift. "I confess that my biggest wish at the moment was to have one of yours too.” Without his handkerchief, he covers his mouth with his hand. “But that is just a mere whim of mine.” He takes his hand away from his face and smiles again “Not even in my wildest dreams did I think I would have so much pleasure in meeting someone from Night Raven College.” He gives you one last bow. “May the Bell of Solace allow our paths to cross again.”

He turned to walk away, but you wanted to do one last thing. You had also bought a handkerchief just like his when you were doing your tour of the city, and you wouldn't need two. You ask him to wait and he turns back to you.

“It doesn't have to be a mere whim.” You say, handing him the handkerchief you had kept with you. Perhaps the sign of a second chance.

He receives your handkerchief and looked at it with his natural smile, but his eyes were different, they had a small, almost imperceptible sparkle.

“I will keep it as one of my most cherished possessions. Thank you, [Y/N].”

“Should I assume this was some sort of revenge?” You hear Malleus's voice say suddenly as you step away from the dancing crowd.

You didn't know he was there, and so close. You look at him and he's smiling wryly.

“I didn't give him any gifts, though. Should I have bought a souvenir too? Perhaps make a bouquet of those crimson flowers he is so fond of.”

“It seems you were right, Tsunotarou.” You say with a sly smile. “A little jealousy can actually be charming and cute.”

Malleus makes that cute pout.

“I told you to be careful.” He says, not as a scolding, but as a concerned request.

You tell him that nothing bad happened, that Rollo wanted to apologize for what he did to you and for him not to blame Sebek because you were the one who accepted Rollo's invitation.

“Don't worry, I know Sebek is a loyal guard. And that you are the one with a kind heart. I told Sebek that I believed him when he told me that it was of your own free will that you were dancing with Flamme. It is in your character to give others the opportunity to explain and apologize. I know this well because it's one of the things I love most about you.” His pout comes back. “However...” He smiles smugly. “I would be more reassured if you spend the rest of the ball close to me. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what, exactly?” You ask.

“Just in case someone else becomes so captivated by you that they want to lock you up in a tower. Which reminds me that in some tales the kidnapper arrange a dragoon to guard the kidnapped.” His smile becomes even more smug and slightly threatening. “Fu fu fu. I would like to see them trying.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[cherryblossom-heart]

Devour me (2.5/?)

modern!Sukuna x Reader

Sukuna's selfishness reaches a breaking point, forcing you to finally talk to him.

Content Warning: ANGST, apologies, confessions, violence, uncomfortable confrontations and agression, Sukuna is his own warning. Not proofread. I am not a native English speaker so please do forgive all the spelling mistakes or grammatical errors 😔

W.C: 5k

A/N: Hi besties! Finally, new chapter is here. Thanks for being so patient, life was a little too busy this week but hopefully everything is over now. I listened to a song basically on repeat while I made this. It´s Night Shift by Lucy Dacus so bestie @lizatonix, maybe we should add it to the playlist.

TAG LIST is CLOSED. But you can catch my updates here @cherrys--blossoms.

We have another addition to the chapter memes 😂❤️

<Part 2 Main masterlist. Part 3>

“She looks pissed.” Uraume remarked as she nursed the cup of soda Jin had brough to them.

Jin, his ever so innocent and naïve brother had welcomed him with open arms, a stark contrast to the welcome he had received from his father or even you. Perhaps it was the weird brotherly love, or the unconditional loyalty Jin always demonstrated towards Sukuna, no matter how many times he said hurtful remarks, how many times they fought or how many times Sukuna came in crashing like a meteorite, Jin would always welcome him back.

Unfortunately, Jin thought people were like him. That’s why he didn’t have a problem inviting him and Uraume to Yuji’s birthday party.

“When is she not?” he scoffed.

“More than usual.”

That would be an understatement.

Ever since Uraume and him had arrived, you hadn’t even bothered to look at their direction. Sukuna expected your anger to be loud and thunderous, he expected punches and screams, he expected cuss words, and he expected violence and rage a rage that could burn the entire world.

Instead, he found quietness and distance.

You hadn’t even spoke in his direction, the simmering quietness of your anger only showed through stupid text messages and angry looks in his direction. He had hoped coming to this birthday party would crack the walls of distance you had built. He hoped his presence would force you to talk to him, to say his name as you cursed him and his mother for even daring to come here.

God, when was the last time he had heard you say his name?

Both him and Uraume had only received a quick glance, too quickly he thought he had imagined it. Could he even call it a glance when his eyes hadn’t even made contact with yours?

Coming to the party had been a mistake as he now was stuck watching you prance around with your group of human dildos. Sukuna wondered if it had been intentional, the way you had casually gathered all of them in a group right across him as all of them laughed at something you said. Your hands would sometimes travel round, a light touch on Toji’s bicep here, a small pat on Nanami’s chest there and he knew for sure it had been a calculated move from your part.

Perhaps he had forgotten how vindictive you were, how much you enjoyed the pain and suffering of people that had hurt you. How you reveled in the anger your revelation of sleeping with his cousin had brought him, the intense sense of betrayal and sorrow he couldn’t get rid of.

But you had also forgotten how much of an asshole he was, and he was about to remind you.

Without a second thought he walked over to the little group conformed by five men and you. Choso’s face was still covered in purple and green shades along with a small but painful cut in the bridge of his nose. Sukuna chuckled at the memory of his cousin holding his face in pain as blood leaked through his fingers.

You saw him coming from the corner of your eye. The confident stride, the oh so punchable smirk that adorned his face, the fire in his eyes as he looked at you. He was daring you, daring you to confront him, daring you to explode.

Toji was the first one to notice him, his shoulders tensing as he prepared himself for the show Sukuna was about to pull. The group fell quiet as the now black-haired man joined them, standing right beside Choso and Kento.

“How’s the nose, cousin?”

Sukuna’s arm went behind his cousins back, giving him an almost too hard of a pat.

“By the way, how’s your car Kento? Heard it got trashed.” He sighed sarcastically. “Can’t think why anyone would do that shit, I mean look at you.” Carmesí eyes swept Kento up and down. “Plainer than wonder bread.” He wrapped his arm around him. “You wouldn’t even hurt a fly, would you? Unless…” Sukuna chuckled to himself. “…when it comes to fucking someone else’s girl, right?”

Choso, completely taken aback by his question, began choking on his drink.

“Careful there, don’t die on me now or my girl is going to have to find a new replacement.” He turned to you, his eyes almost dark as he gave you a smug smirk. “Isn’t that what you do, brat? You needed all five of them to replace me?”

You rolled your eyes at him, hoping his little temper tantrum was over but he had only just begun.

“I have to say, I’m curious how it works. Do you guys have a designated day, or does she just fuck all of you at the same time? I know for sure these guys do.” He nodded towards Satoru and Suguru, both their faces turning slightly red at the distant memory of him walking in on you three a few years ago. “I always thought you guys were too busy touching each other to ever actually touch a pussy but it makes sense even that you do together, fucking freaks.” He spat.

Neither of the men answered but that didn’t deterred Sukuna, he was as relentless as always. Jealousy, pent-up anger and sorrow coursed through his veins, fueling the already explosive personality he had. He knew this could only end up in you being hurt but he couldn’t stop, not when he missed the way his name left your lips. If anger was what it took for you to finally speak to him, he would bring your wrath like never before.

“Alright, man. I think you should–” Toji started.

“And you. You fucking joke.” The sarcastic, playful tone Sukuna had was now gone, only venom left behind. “I leave and you come sniffing around like a goddamed rabid dog. Can’t fucking find a pair of tits your age you fucking decrepit bastard?”

He walked over to Toji, standing face to face to him. Toji was a giant, not only in height but in volume, his muscles always easy to spot even in oversized clothes. Sukuna in the other hand had a slightly slimmer build yet equally toned but perhaps not as strong.

Toji’s eyes remained calm at Sukunas words making Sukunas anger boil over. He wanted to erase that fucking façade, and he knew exactly how.

“What would your wife say if she saw you’re already replacing her with a younger, better model? She’s barely even cold in the ground and you go fuck around anything that mo–“

A punch, square to the jaw, finally silenced him. Chaos ensued right after.

Toji pounced on Sukuna, pinning the tattooed man bellow himself. Punch after punch landed on Sukuna’s face, his jaw aching the more hits he received but the adrenaline in his body was a temporary painkiller. Emerald eyes looked at him, all signs of calm and composure were long gone, now replaced by anger he had never seen Toji display.

It made him laugh.

Loud enough to distract Toji at least.

Sukuna grabbed Toji by the neck of his shirt, pulling him down so his nose made contact with Sukunas forehead. Was a head butt necessary? Obviously not. Did he enjoyed hearing the crack in Toji’s nose as soon as his head collided with his? Absolutely.

Sukuna overpowered him, this time being the one to deliver hit after hit. The metallic taste in his mouth increased and he spit it out, landing in Toji’s face. The crazy frenzy of violence somehow helped sooth the inner turmoil he had, choosing to focus instead of hurting whoever was in his way as much as possible.

So, he kept punching, again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

“SUKUNA! STOP!”

His fist stopped midair, his senses overwhelmed by your voice. He turned around, your face swimming in fury as you walked towards him. You looked beautiful, three years of dreams hadn’t done any justice to you. His dreams weren’t as warm as your skin, or as peaceful as the sound of your voice, or as alive as the hatred in your eyes.

Choso and Ken pulled him away, holding him by the arms as he fought against them. Suguru, Satoru and you ran to Toji’s side, both men helping him get up. Toji’s lip and eyebrow were busted, scarlet liquid oozing slowly down his face.

“Dad?” a small voice broke through the crowd of people.

Toji’s runt and his nephew stood between the crowd, eyes flashing between Sukuna and the green-eyed man. You looked at both kids before sending Sukuna a death stare that almost scared him.

You knelt in front of the kids sending them a small, comforting smile. “Why don’t you take Megs and your friends and open your presents, Chucky?”

Yuji, as sweet kid as he always was, was also very intuitive. How the kid managed to always be a rain of sunshine for himself and others no matter how sad he was, you would never understand. His eyes opened wide as he pulled little Megumi along with him, distracting the little black-haired kid.

“C’mon, let’s go! I want to see if I got my LEGO set!”

When the kids were far away enough, you stood up, an apologetic smile in your lips.

“I’m so sorry about this, I’ll handle the situation. If you guys could please go with Yuji and his friends, I would really appreciate it.” You walked to Sukuna, Gojo and Suguru finally releasing him only to be grabbed by you. “Again, I’m really sorry about all this but let’s not let this ruin Yuji’s party. We’ll bring the cake in a minute.”

Your apologies kept coming, the words slowly muffling as he focused on your touch. Everything else disappeared the moment your fingers closed around his arm, your skin against his. Something that he could only compare to electricity traveled all along his body, making him shiver as it traveled through his spine.

He realized he was being pulled by you when his feet stumbled across a branch, almost making him fall. Sukuna’s face remained neutral, almost uninterested except for his eyes. His eyes had a storm brewing as they followed you while you guided him to a more private area in the park.

After crossing a couple of lines of trees you finally stopped, releasing his arm. You walked a couple of steps ahead of him, but you didn’t turn to face him. Instead, you remained in place as your hands shook with anger.

He whispered your name, so delicately you almost fell for it.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Your voice broke in the end, and you weren’t sure if it was out of pain or out of anger. Perhaps they were both the same.

“What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?” The words barely came out of you, your jaw clenched as you tried to find the strength to not murder him on the spot.

“You’re not talking to me.”

The indignation involuntarily made you turn around, your hands now turned into fists as you stared incredulously at him. You looked as if he had given you the most offensive answer ever, and he might’ve as well have.

“I’m not fucking talking to you? That’s why you’re behaving like a fucking Neanderthal? Have you lost your fucking mind? I’m not even surprised you did this; three fucking years and you’re still the same egotistical, selfish psycho you’ve always been. You couldn’t even control yourself for your fucking nephew’s party?” You scoffed, walking away from him only to come back and shove him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Push.

“You fucking–“

Push.

“–piece-“

Push.

“-of shit!”

Push.

Your breathing was ragged, your chest pumping up and down as your screams took away the heaviness on your chest that you had carried around ever since he came back.

You had a plan. If you ever saw him again you would scream, you would yell at him to get lost, you would punch and kick and you would make him suffer the same way you had suffered for the past two years. And you tried to, when you first saw him again at Toji’s –and yours– bar the words had formed in your mind, but your voice had died in your throat.

The same had happened once you saw him at the club, his eyes burning in you as Naoya Zenin whispered something on your ear. The barriers you had built up from scratch were buried too deep down withing you that you knew the moment you even spoke to him every feeling, every emotion, every ounce of pain you had put away would come back, crashing like a wave and drowning you within.

But now, as you both stared at each other, Sukunas eyes still looked at you with the same love and tenderness from three years ago. His fingertips burned with desire to touch you, his heart hammering in his chest as both of you stared down each other, waiting to see who was the first one to break.

It was Sukuna.

When it came to you, he was always going to be the first one to break.

He walked cover to you, and you weren’t sure if it was your ego, your own need selfish need to having him close or how intoxicating his presence was but you didn’t back away. Sukunas hand traveled to your face, his fingertips barely caressing your face. He was asking for permission because no matter how strong his own desires were, he would never force even his touch on you.

You didn’t slap him away, so he took his chance.

Strong arms enveloped you, constricting you in a desperate hug with little to no room to escape. Your hands remained to your side as your body entered a state of shock you hadn’t experienced before. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t talk, you could barely even move your eyes as you stood there with Sukunas face digging in the crook of your neck.

He was in heaven once again. Your attitude, your personality and perhaps your feelings towards him had changed but your smell didn’t. He could still smell the same shampoo and perfume you always wore, the combination of aromas making him relax for the first time in years.

The hug lasted for an eternity, and it still wasn’t enough, not when he had deprived himself of you for too long. Was he losing his mind? Was his fascination for you reaching a dangerous level of insanity? Maybe it was but it didn’t matter, his thoughts were already overcome by you.

You felt it coming, the tears in your eyes forming the longer he held you. You were right, everything came back as if it was fresh. The pain, the betrayal, the anger, every ounce of suffering was drowning you under the weight of his presence. You had expected that and somehow prepared for that, unfortunately they didn’t come alone. You felt your affection, your love and your adoration coming back. The memories of being in love, trusting and allowing yourself to love, you have shoved them down your heart you weren’t sure they still existed.

They only made the pain hurt more.

You pushed him away, breaking away from his grasp.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You spat at him, venom and resentment making him shiver.

He called for you again, hoping to get you to listen to him. “I’m sorry”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m really fucking sorry.” His voice broke.

“Fuck you and your ‘sorry’s’, you fucking asshole.” One tear escaped your hold, and it was all it took for the dam to open. “You lied.”

“I know.”

“You said you’d be back, and you didn’t.”

“I know”

He knows you probably are tired of the same response, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else when the ache in his chest couldn’t even let him breathe.

“Is that all you have to say? After three years all I get is ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I know’? Be a fucking man and say something else!” You scoffed again, but the angry front you displayed for him was long gone, exhausted after years of masquerading around because you would rather have people think you were angry than hurt. After they left, there was only three people that had seen your tears for Sukuna and Uraume and one of them was a child.

But Sukuna had always known how to break you.

A little too well.

His hands held your face, forcing you to look at him. You didn’t fight. You didn’t have the energy to keep pretending. His eyes, his god forsaken eyes could always read you like a book. There was no point in trying to masquerade everything with anger anymore.

“Why did you leave?” You cried.

“Why did you abandon me?”

Sukunas heart broke, each crack becoming bigger and bigger the more tears fell from your face. He hadn’t noticed he himself had begun to cry, his eyes prickling as he fought the uncomfortable feelings of guilt and self-hatred mixed with his usual load of sadness.

“I thought you would be better without me.” He finally the exhaled the words that ate him alive. “I thought you’d be safe if I left. I thought I was protecting you.”

“You… what?” You asked, the words barely coming out.

Your face contorted in an expression he wasn’t sure he had seen before. Anger? Sadness? Compassion? Sorrow? Maybe it was a mix of all or maybe none of them. As much as he prided himself with knowing you like no one else, he couldn’t deny something had changed in the yeas of his absence. As much anger, sadness or happiness you displayed, there was always an emptiness behind your eyes that always lingered around. Even now, as you finally allowed yourself to feel, that darkness remained, eating you from the inside.

The only time he had seen it was years ago, when those bastards had broken into the bar and attacked you. But now you coexisted with it, almost as if you didn’t even notice it anymore. As if you were used it it.

Was it his fault? Was he the one that made you like this?

How could he do this to you?

Your laughter broke him out of the self-pity spiral he was about to go down. Confused, he looked around, perhaps something funny had happened while he was stuck in his own thoughts but no, everything seemed normal. Then, he really listened to your laugh. He listened to the same misery his own voice had.

“You’re… you’re so fucking stupid.” You barely got the words out between breaths.

You struggled to get air in your lungs, backing away from Sukuna as you tried to calm down. You had to find it hilarious, right? You had to find the humor in this situation. You weren’t even sure why you were laughing but what was the option? More rage? More sadness? More of what? For what? Not like anything was going to change.

So, you laughed. You laughed at how idiotic he was. You laughed at how he had ruined both your lives in the process. And you laughed at how, as fucked up as it was, maybe you could understand it. If you could, you would run away and bring all your problems with you so the people you care about were safe. Maybe Sukuna was just ahead of the curve.

Sukuna waited until your howls winded down. You were bent over, finally being able to gasp for air as you held to your side, sharp pain between your ribs slowly fading away. A few second later you stood up, eyes watery as you stared back to Sukuna.

“Thanks for that. I haven’t laughed like this in a long time.”

You began fixing your hair that was now a mess thanks to the laughing fit you just experienced, not wanting to look like a lunatic coming out of the woods. You began walking towards the party and Sukuna panicked.

This was it? This was the big reunion he was waiting for?

No.

He couldn’t let you go. Not like this.

You walked in front of him, about to cross the trees to go back to the party when his voice stopped you.

“We did come back.”

You stopped in your tracks.

“We came back when we promised.”

Your head snapped at him.

“I wanted to surprise you.” He started, his right hand nervously scratching the back of his head. “I told Uraume not to contact you, I thought you would like the surprise.” He let out a sad, pitiful laugh. “I went to our apartment, the one you’re renting to those fucking weirdos.” He remarked, snarky. “I knocked but you weren’t home. I thought you were working late or some shit, so I went to the bar.”

He exhaled, looking down to his shoes. He couldn’t face you anymore.

“You weren’t working, it looked like you guys were celebrating a birthday or something. I don’t fucking know. Everyone was there, even Shoko.”

“Suguru’s birthday.” You whispered.

He looked up. “What?”

“It was Suguru’s birthday.”

You remembered that day. You remembered feeling like someone was watching you, the shiver that went down your spine as you thought you saw him.

Sukuna scoffed, of course it was because of one of your reversed harem fuck toys. “Yeah, whatever. The point is you were there. You were laughing and cheering a-and celebrating with everyone.” He stopped and you saw it. The pain in his eyes from that night. “You seemed happy. Happier than the last time I saw you at least. You were so full of life, and you seemed ok, like you didn’t go through all the fucked up shit I put you through. And maybe that was for the best.”

“So you fucking decided for me?”

The anger was back.

Hotter. Redder. Stronger.

“What the fuck did you wanted me to do, huh? You wanted me to come back and kept ruining you? You wanted me to drag you down with me into this fucked up world? You wanted me to bring you back into this-this fucking bullshit and hope nothing else happened to you?” Sukuna’s voice rose above yours, his short fuse not helping the situation as usual. “You could’ve fucking died!”

“And you decided for me!” You screamed back. “It wasn’t up to you to make that fucking choice, but you did. You fucking left!”

“I was trying to keep you safe! You know the life I live, you’re not fucking stupid. You know how things could end for me, forgive me for not fucking wanting to drag you along to your fucking death!”

“And that was still not your choice to make! It was mine!” You came back and you shoved him, barely moving him. “It was mine and you took that away from me! You took yourself away from me, you fucking asshole! Not a fucking goodbye, not a fucking ‘hey sorry, I’m not coming back’, nothing!”

“I couldn’t do it. I knew the moment I saw you, and your fucking sad puppy eyes I wasn’t going to be able to leave.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit.” You sneered. “Say you didn’t have the balls to face me. Say that you’re a fucking useless coward that was too much of a pussy to tell me you didn’t want to me with me anymore.”

Tick.

His right hand flew to your neck, holding you tightly as his left hand grabbed the back of your head, pulling you towards him. Your words were venomous, their fangs sinking down in his soul releasing their pain within him, infecting him with the same resentment you carried.

To anyone else seeing the pair of you, they would think you were in danger. The redness in Sukunas eyes, the frenzy in his eyes and the boiling, hot and scaling fury behind his voice not convincing anyone else otherwise until they saw you. It was a battle of wills and pain, who had hurt who more, who was angrier than the other.

Who had loved more than the other.

“You think I fucking wanted this? You think I fucking wanted to leave you?” His fingers dug slightly deeper in your neck, but never enough to actually hurt you. “You think it didn’t pain me thinking of you making a life for yourself without me?” The last words came out broken out of Sukuna’s chest. “It killed me thinking that you would forget about me, that you would find someone else and you would move on but I forced myself to endure it to make sure you were ok.”

“Then why did you come back?”

That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? Why did he return when he vowed to keep you safe, away from him?

“Because…” his eyes traveled to your lips for a second. “Because I’m fucking selfish. Because I can’t stay away from you any longer.”

Sukunas selfishness was always his downfall. The man who prided in his strength, not only physically but mentally, found himself breaking because of you, his best friends little, annoying, slut of a sister. For two years he had drowned himself in alcohol and drugs, trying to erase every memory of the two of you. It was for the best, he told himself every time his mind wondered to you. It was for the best, he reminded himself every time he picked up his phone, his fingers typing your number. It was for the best, he repeated to himself as he forced himself to wake up and face another day.

Every day for one thousand, one hundred and sixty-nine days he repeated the same mantra and for one thousand, one hundred and sixty nine days he missed you.

“You have never, once, in three years left my mind.” His closed his eyes, his forehead touching yours. “And I can’t stand it anymore. Not when I could be here, with you.”

With you.

He still loved you, you knew that much. As much as it pained you, maybe deep down you stilled loved him too.

But too much had happened.

Too much had changed.

You couldn’t risk it.

You couldn’t let him hurt you again.

You peeled off his hand from your neck, putting some distance between you. “You’re wasting your time here, Sukuna. Go back to whatever hole you came from and don’t come back.”

“I–“

“Hey”

Uraume’s voice cut through the argument that was about to ensue.

The once white hair was now completely covered in a dark, brunette tone, shorter than they usually sported it but everything else remain the same. Did they really think that was enough to cover up who they were?

Idiots.

Standing next to them there was Toji, whose face now was clean off from blood but had several cuts and bruising all over.

Another sin to add to Sukuna’s list.

“What?” You asked, your tone sharp and angry but your question was only directed towards your business partner.

The tension around his eyes made you worry.

“Naoya is here.”

Sukuna saw the shift. A complete 360-degree change. He saw your posture change, the broken down, angry demeanor long gone replaced by a coldness that almost made him shiver and the scowl that covered your face as soon as you head the name. He also saw the worry in the long look you exchanged with Toji, a silent conversation happening the longer you stared at each other.

That fucking old, decrepit bastard knew what the fuck was going on with you and his cousin.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to face the owner of your nightmares.

Uraume, unaware of the emotionally draining conversation you and Sukuna had just been on, decided to step on your way and look for explanations.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Why is Zenin here?”

You didn’t answer, trying to get pass them.

“Hey, don’t fucking ignore m-“

Your fist colliding on Uraume’s face shut them up.

You grabbed your hand, not yet used to the pain of punching someone in the face. Fuck did it hurt but you wanted to do this for a long time. Sukuna took a step forward, trying to intervene but a furious side eye from you told him to not intervene.

Uraume turned back after almost falling from the hit, the shock still in their eyes.

“What the fu-“

“Listen to me. Both of you.” You spared one last glance at him. “Whatever it is you guys are looking for here, you’re not going to find it.” You turned to Uraume. “You’re dead to me. So, stay out of my fucking way.”

Your words were cold, calculated and distant, each one of them an icicle stabbing them in the heart.

You were only able to take a couple of steps before Sukunas arm stopped you, forcing you to face him one more time.

“I don’t know what the fuck you got yourself in or what the fuck is going on between you and that sadistc bastard but… let me help you.” He begged you.  “Whatever it is, I can fix it. You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to go with him.”

Sukunas demeanor surprised you. Years ago, he would’ve rather been dead that caught being nice to you, let alone begging in front anyone, especially Toji. Now, he hadn’t spared a second thought pleading with you. You even though he might’ve gotten to his knee if you asked him to.

He was desperate.

Maybe if you still had any hope or trust left in him, you would’ve accepted his help.

For a second, Sukuna saw another layer slipping away, faltering at his insistence. He saw fear and desperation as you considered his words. Whatever it was that Naoya held over your head, you were too scared to even let him know.

And as quick as the fear came, a melancholic look replaced it.

“Did you really think all my problems ended when you left?”

You ripped your arm away from his grasp, his fingers shaking as you made your way to Toji. Before you were too far out of reach you stopped in your tracks and Sukuna hoped you miraculously had changed your mind.

“And, Sukuna…” You looked at him over your shoulder. “Don’t try sending any of your men to sell your shit in my club.

It’s Zenin territory.”

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Taglist pt 1:

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