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Chapter III | Beneath the Mask | Simon Ghost Riley Fanfiction

Chapter 3: Capture or Kill

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The first light of dawn filtered through the small window of Y/N��s quarters, casting a soft glow across the room. The silence was broken only by the low hum of the base’s electric fan and the distant sounds of soldiers moving through the halls. Y/N’s eyes flickered open, the adrenaline of the upcoming mission already buzzing beneath her skin, despite the stillness of the early morning.

She lay still for a moment, letting the quiet wash over her before swinging her legs off the bed, the coolness of the concrete floor sending a jolt of alertness through her body. The mission was only hours away, and she knew that once the briefing started, the clock would be ticking. She had to be ready—physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Without a word, she moved toward the small bathroom, the familiar routine helping her center herself. 

The sound of water running as she splashed her face was soothing, and as she looked at her reflection, she saw a woman who had seen far more than her years should have allowed. Yet, in the mirror, she saw only resolve, no room for doubt. Today, she couldn’t afford to let anything slip—especially not now, not with everything on the line.

After dressing in her tactical gear, she checked her weapons—each one precise, each one ready. The weight of the rifle felt familiar in her hands, comforting almost, despite the tension that seemed to seep into her bones. She couldn’t afford to overthink. The mission had to be executed flawlessly. She could hear Ghost’s words echoing in her head: “Focus on the mission. We get in, we get out. Simple.”

Once ready, Y/N checked the time. It was still early—too early for most of the team—but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep any longer. She grabbed her gear, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and headed out.

The base was still quiet as she made her way to the briefing room, the hallways empty save for the occasional soldier preparing for the day ahead. As she approached the door, she noted the stillness in the air—a sense of calm before the storm. She made to sure to always arrive early. There was something about the stillness of a room before everyone else showed up, the anticipation of what was to come. It gave her a moment to mentally prepare, to ground herself before the chaos of the mission fully kicked in.

When she entered the briefing room, the fluorescent lights flickered to life overhead, casting a sterile light across the walls. The mission board was already up, a detailed map of Al Mazrah sprawled across the surface, red markers showing key locations, objectives, and possible threats. Tactical plans were carefully laid out, and in the center of it all, Y/N stood, absorbing every detail.

She wasn’t just looking at the map, though. She was already mentally running through the strategies, planning each movement in her head. She’d memorized every piece of intel, every possible outcome. Her thoughts raced ahead, predicting enemy movements, thinking through the best possible ways to neutralize threats.

The sound of the door opening pulled her out of her thoughts. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Ghost moved in like a shadow, his boots heavy but silent on the floor. As usual, he didn’t speak right away, instead just studying her for a moment, noting the tension in her posture, the readiness in her stance.

“Surprised to see you this early,” Ghost said, his voice low, carrying its usual calm authority but with a faint undercurrent of amusement.

Y/N didn’t turn, though a fleeting smile ghosted across her lips. “Someone’s gotta make sure we’re squared away.”

Ghost leaned against the wall, his arms crossing casually over his chest. “Overachiever, are we?”

“Just thorough,” she replied, her tone light but tinged with focus.

Ghost grunted, a noncommittal sound, and folded his arms across his chest. He leaned against the wall, still watching her, but his presence was steadying, like a weight anchoring her down when the mission details tried to pull her in every direction at once.

Y/N’s gaze remained locked on the mission board, but her thoughts were anything but focused. The reality of the mission weighed heavily on her shoulders, and despite the grounding presence of the man behind her, a knot of nerves began to form in her chest. This is it, she thought, the magnitude of the operation settling in like a cold, heavy weight. The intel, the lives at stake—it all hinged on their success.

Soap’s voice broke through her internal monologue. “Oi, you good there, Falcon?” His teasing tone had a more genuine edge now, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in her still form as he enters the room. “You’re lookin’ a little too focused.”

Falcon, huh? she thought to herself, the call sign still feeling more like a joke than a badge of honor. It hadn’t taken long for the other recruits to slap it on her, a not-so-subtle jab at her connection to her father’s infamous call sign. They’d smirk and say it like it was some great honor, but she could hear the undertones—the mocking edge, the way it hinted she’d only gotten this far because of her name. Falcon was meant to remind her that no matter how hard she worked, she’d always be flying in someone else’s shadow.

Y/N shifted, the tension in her shoulders evident, but she didn’t look at him. Instead, she spoke without missing a beat. “Just going over the plan. We need to get Hassan.”

Ghost, who had been silently observing the exchange, pushed off the wall and approached her. His presence was steady, a calm contrast to the buzz of uncertainty that was beginning to take root in Y/N’s mind. He knew what she was feeling—he could see it in the subtle way her hands flexed, the way her jaw tightened as if she were holding something back.

“Hey,” Ghost said, his voice low but steady, a reminder of the grounding force he always seemed to be. 

She still didn’t meet his gaze, her mind too far ahead of the present moment. But he didn’t press. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence close enough that she could feel his steadying influence without even having to look at him.

A pause, before-

“How much do you trust yourself right now?” Ghost’s voice was low, purposeful, cutting through the quiet like a challenge.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”

A heavy silence followed. Ghost didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze bore into her, unreadable behind the mask but heavy with scrutiny. 

Y/N shifted on her feet, suddenly hyper-aware of his presence.

Finally, Ghost spoke, his tone blunt but without malice. “We don’t get the luxury of ‘what if.’ That’s not how this works.” As if he knew the raging thoughts in Y/N’s mind. 

Y/N’s breath hitched, and she glanced at the map again, her mind racing. She wanted to push back, to explain the pressure that knotted her stomach, but Ghost wasn’t the type to entertain doubts.

He stepped closer, just enough for his presence to loom. “You’re thinking too much,” he said flatly. “This isn’t about fixing everything in one mission. It’s about doing your job, staying sharp, and trusting the team.”

Her jaw tightened. “I trust the team. I just—”

“Then trust yourself,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through her protest like a blade. “You’ve got the skills. Use them. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

Y/N clenched her fists tighter, forcing herself to meet his gaze. She didn’t need to see his face to know his expression hadn’t softened. “I just don’t want to be the one who screws this up.”

Ghost tilted his head slightly, his tone still distant but laced with finality. “If this goes south, it won’t be on one person. It’ll be because we all missed something. That’s why it’s a team.”

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly, but she didn’t respond right away. Ghost, true to form, didn’t wait for thanks or acknowledgment. He turned, his hand resting briefly on her shoulder as he passed. It wasn’t a comforting gesture—it was grounding, a quiet reminder to pull herself together.

“Focus, Falcon. We’ve got a job to do,” he said, his tone softening just enough to pull her back from the spiral in her mind. “The rest will fall into place.”

Y/N stared at the map a moment longer, his words circling in her head. By the time she turned to follow him, the tightness in her chest had dulled, replaced by a sharper resolve. Ghost didn’t offer reassurances for the sake of it, and that made his words stick.

Soap was still watching them, clearly having caught the shift in the air. “Alright, you two, enough of the sweet talk,” he said with a grin. “We’ve got a manhunt to start. Let’sb save the romance for later.”

Y/N chuckled, the sound light and genuine, before straightening and turning back to the mission board. The plan hadn’t changed. They were still going after Hassan, but now, there was a new layer of confidence in her movements. She knew what she had to do—and more importantly, she knew the team had her back.

“Let’s get it done,” Y/N said, her voice steady once again.

Soap slapped her on the back with a grin. “That’s the spirit.”

Ghost gave a small nod, as the rest of the team enter the briefing room. 

-

The landscape of Al Mazrah had shifted from tense stillness to chaotic urgency. Dust swirled in the air, kicked up by the sounds of distant gunfire, and the constant hum of helicopters was almost deafening. As the team moved through the rugged terrain, the harsh, arid environment contrasted sharply with the pressure mounting on their shoulders. The sun had long set, and the only light came from the soft glow of their night vision goggles, which painted the world in varying shades of green.

The air felt thick, as if it held the weight of every decision, every order. Y/N’s senses were on high alert as she scanned the horizon, trying to anticipate the next move. Ghost’s voice was calm over the comms, but there was no mistaking the urgency in his tone. They had no time to waste.

"Airstrikes are hitting enemy positions, and intel confirms a concentration of AQ fighters in the valley," Laswell's voice crackled over the comms, sharp and efficient, cutting through the tension like a knife. 

"They’re guarding three structures. Hassan may be holed up inside. You’ll be leading a Marine Special Operations unit to kill or capture him. All shooters have execute authority, but we want Hassan alive for interrogation. Be advised—Hassan is AQ’s lifeline. If he’s there, they will die for him. Good hunting." Laswell’s briefing echoed through Y/N’s mind over and over. 

This was a critical mission. They had to bring Hassan in alive—or they would have to kill him to prevent a catastrophic threat from being unleashed.

Ghost's voice sliced through the air again, directing the team’s movements. "Bravo team offloads here. Alpha team stays onboard to land downrange. Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill." 

The roar of the helicopter blades was deafening, vibrating through Y/N’s bones as the aircraft descended into the valley. Her gaze was fixed forward, her grip tight on her weapon, her breath shallow. 

As Soap fist-bumped one of the Marines beside him, Y/N stood rigid, the anticipation of what was to come settling in like a weight. The thrill of combat coursed through her veins, but she also felt the burden of responsibility. This wasn’t just about taking down terrorists. This was about stopping something much larger—something that could have global repercussions.

The chopper touched down a kilometer from the target structures, kicking up dust and debris. The world outside was dark, shrouded in a blanket of night, but their night vision cut through the darkness. 

Ghost’s voice came through the comms, steady as always. “Keep up, Falcon.”

Her name was a steady reminder to stay focused, and Y/N nodded, pushing herself forward. There was no time for doubt. They had a job to do. The team moved as one, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth, and their weapons at the ready as they advanced through the valley. The ground was uneven, and the scent of dry desert air filled her lungs, sharp and bitter.

They approached the first structure cautiously, the night stretching out in every direction. The air was thick with tension, each of them scanning for movement, for any sign of enemy presence. The only sound was the subtle crunch of gravel beneath their boots and the occasional crackle of the comms.

Then, without warning, the silence was shattered.

“Razor 1 is bracketed, we’re getting lit,” the chopper pilot’s voice cut through the comms, frantic. Gunfire erupted from the distance, sharp and aggressive, punctuated by the screaming whistle of a missile cutting through the air. 

Y/N’s body went rigid as she recognized the sound of an incoming missile—a weapon designed to tear through the sky with terrifying precision. The missile whistled by, narrowly missing the chopper, its tail of smoke a clear sign of just how close the strike had been. All seemed well until-

“Second Missile!” 

"Razor 1 going down! We’re going down!" The pilot’s voice was ragged now, the fear evident. The sound of the chopper crashing was deafening, an explosion that rattled the ground beneath their feet, sending plumes of smoke and dust billowing into the air.

“Hold up,” Ghost barked, raising his fist. The team froze in their tracks. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as they watched the wreckage of Razor 1 spiral to the ground, the violent explosion a cruel reminder of how quickly things could go wrong.

The air grew thick with smoke, and shots rang out from the structure ahead. Ghost’s voice snapped through the comms again. “Alpha, what’s your status?”

The response was immediate, but it was far from reassuring. “Alpha’s immobile. Multiple critical!” came the reply. “We’re taking effective fire!”

Y/N’s gaze shifted from the downed chopper to Ghost, a sense of urgency building in her chest. “Ghost, we need to secure that crash site now!” she urged, her voice tight with frustration.

Ghost’s expression didn’t change, though his voice softened. “We clear for Hassan first. That takes the heat off Alpha. Then we secure the crash site. Clear?”

Y/N hesitated, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. There was no time to waste. But Hassan could be the key, she thought. Still, she nodded, her voice steady as she replied, “Clear, Lieutenant.”

The team advanced with precision, their movements calculated, but the weight of the situation felt like a crushing pressure against her chest.

As they neared the structure, the sound of gunfire intensified, and the faint glow of explosions flickered on the horizon. They stormed the building, weapons raised, ready to clear whatever was inside.

Y/N’s heart raced as she sprinted up the stairs, scanning each corner. The building was eerily silent except for the muffled sound of her own breathing and the rush of adrenaline that was pushing her forward. “Second deck clear! Negative on Hassan,” she reported into the comms, her voice tight.

Ghost's voice came through again, cold and commanding. “Move to building two.” The tension in the air was palpable, each of them aware that Hassan could be holed up somewhere in the complex, waiting to be found—or waiting to be eliminated.

The rest of the night unfolded in a blur of chaos. Gunfire, explosions, close calls. The realization that they were not just fighting AQ fighters, but an entrenched, organized enemy that was willing to die for Hassan, only made the mission more perilous.

The battlefield was chaos, but Y/N’s mind was clear as Alpha 0-2’s frantic voice crackled through her comms.

“Alpha, crash site is taking RPGs from building two, second deck!”

“Falcon, clear the second floor while we clear the first deck!” Ghost barked, his voice calm despite the urgency.

“Roger that, sir!” Y/N replied, adjusting her grip on her rifle. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she sprinted across the debris-littered field, Soap flanking her. They moved in tandem, practiced and precise.

The second floor loomed ahead, its windows dark and foreboding. Y/N scanned for movement, her pulse quickening as she and Soap breached the stairwell. They moved quietly, boots crunching against broken glass as they advanced.

“Keep moving!” Soap urged, his voice pulling her back to the task at hand.

They cleared the floor quickly, their movements synchronized like clockwork. As they pushed down the next corridor, rapid gunfire erupted ahead.

The sharp cry from Bravo 7-2 over the comms pierced through the chaos. “I’m hit!”

Y/N’s heart jumped, but her training took over. In one swift motion, she grabbed a flash bang from her vest, pulled the pin, and tossed it into the room ahead. The deafening explosion of light and sound disoriented the enemies inside, giving her the opening she needed.

She moved in fast, her weapon sweeping left and right. Each shot was precise, neutralizing targets with cold efficiency. Her gaze locked on the RPG-wielding soldier at the far end of the room. Without hesitation, she squeezed the trigger. The soldier fell, the RPG clattering uselessly to the ground.

“Enemy rocket’s down,” she reported, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

“Good work,” Ghost’s voice came over the comms. “Clear the deck” 

Instead of moving on, Y/N turned toward Bravo 7-2, who was slumped against a wall, clutching his side. Blood seeped between his fingers, staining the fabric of his uniform.

“Hold tight,” Y/N said, rushing to his side. She dropped to one knee, her medical training kicking in. “You good?”

He grimaced, shaking his head. “Took one to the side. Can’t tell how bad it is.”

Y/N’s hands moved with practiced precision as she assessed the wound. She peeled back the blood-soaked fabric to inspect the injury. The bullet had gone clean through, missing any vital organs. Relief flickered through her, but there was no time to waste.

“You’re lucky,” she said, her tone brisk but reassuring. “It’s a through-and-through. Painful, but you’ll live.”

From her med kit, she pulled out gauze and a hemostatic bandage. Working quickly, she applied pressure to stem the bleeding, then secured the bandage tightly around his torso.

“Hold that in place,” she instructed, guiding his hand to the makeshift dressing. “You’ll need proper treatment when we’re out, but this’ll keep you stable for now.”

Bravo 7-2 grunted, his face pale but determined. “Thanks, Falcon. You’re a lifesaver.”

Y/N gave him a tight nod, her focus already shifting back to the mission. She stood, scanning the room once more to ensure all threats were neutralized before switching back to comms.

“Bravo 7-2 is stable for now. Injured but good to move,” she reported.

“Copy,” Ghost replied. “Bravo 7-3, get him out of there. Falcon regroup on me.”

Y/N helped Bravo 7-2 to his feet, slinging his arm over her shoulder for support. As they moved toward the rendezvous point, her mind stayed sharp, scanning their surroundings for any lingering threats.

Behind the calm exterior, a small sense of pride bubbled. Her expertise had made the difference here, saving a teammate’s life. But there was no time to dwell—there was still a mission to complete.

They regrouped outside, the team on edge. Ghost assessed the situation quickly, nodding toward the crash site.

“Soap and I will move to the site. Falcon, hold here and cover us,” he instructed.

“Roger that.” Y/N took up a defensive position, her eyes scanning the horizon. Her grip on her rifle tightened as the rumble of approaching engines filled the air.

“Ghost, you’ve got four armored vehicles coming your way!” she warned, her heart pounding.

Before the rows of armored vehicles begin to fire, “Kilo 0-1 is inbound hot. Danger close,” came the pilot’s response over comms.

“Copy,” Ghost said. “Falcon, clear your position and meet us at the third building.”

“Roger!” Y/N responded, her voice steady, though her pulse quickened. She moved swiftly, darting across the open terrain, every step calculated to avoid enemy sightlines. The air crackled with the distant roar of missiles and the sharp staccato of gunfire.

Sliding behind a large boulder near the rendezvous point, Y/N crouched low, her rifle at the ready. The tension was palpable as she adjusted her goggles and scanned the perimeter. Through the green haze of her optics, she spotted four hostiles guarding the front entrance of the building.

Too exposed, she thought, her fingers tightening on her weapon as she shifted slightly to stay out of sight. Her scan moved upward, toward the rooftop—

A crunch of dried grass behind her.

The sound hit her like a gunshot, adrenaline flooding her veins. She whirled around, rifle raised, her finger pressing against the trigger—

“Check fire!” Ghost’s bark shattered the moment, his voice sharp and unyielding.

Her breathing was ragged as her eyes locked onto him, his imposing figure partially shrouded in shadow. He didn’t flinch, his gaze fixed on her.

“You’re twitchy, Falcon,” he remarked, his tone as calm as it was cutting. “Keep your focus, or next time it won’t be me stepping on a twig.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her grip loosening slightly on the rifle. “Noted,” she muttered, forcing herself to steady her breathing.

“Good. Now stay sharp,” Ghost said curtly before stepping past her, his presence a reminder of the razor-thin margin between control and chaos.

Soap clapped his shoulder as he caught up. “Come on, let’s get this bastard!”

The team pressed forward, ready to breach the third building with military precision. 

But before they could reach the stone fence, the crack of a sniper's rifle cut through the air, and Bravo 7-6 crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain.

"Sniper on the roof! Get down!" Ghost’s sharp order rang out as the team scrambled for cover.

Y/N darted behind a stack of crates, her breathing steady despite the rush of adrenaline. She peeked out, scanning the rooftop through her gun’s scope. 

The glint of the sniper’s scope gave him away, and she didn’t hesitate. One precise shot, and the enemy dropped.

"Sniper down," she reported, her voice calm but firm.

"Good shot," Ghost replied, already strategizing. "Soap, keep us covered; we’re moving up. Falcon, check on the wounded. Let’s regroup after.”

Y/N nodded, holstering her weapon as she sprinted to Bravo 7-6’s side. He was sprawled on the ground, clutching his chest. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and ominous, soaking into the dirt. Her heart sank, but she forced herself to stay focused.

“Can you hear me?” she asked, dropping to her knees beside him.

He groaned weakly, his breaths shallow and labored. Y/N’s hands moved with practiced efficiency, pulling her med kit from her vest. She tore open his shirt to expose the wound—a clean entry point, but the exit wound on his back was ragged and bleeding heavily.

“Fuck-,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing gauze and applying firm pressure to stem the bleeding. “Hold on, you’re going to be fine.”

The man’s eyes fluttered, his grip on her arm weak. “Am I…?”

“Don’t talk,” Y/N interrupted, her voice steady but urgent. “Save your strength.”

She worked quickly, applying a hemostatic agent to slow the blood loss and securing a pressure bandage over the wound. But the more she worked, the clearer it became. The amount of blood he was losing—it was too much.

Y/N glanced at his vitals, her jaw tightening. His breathing was becoming erratic, his pulse faint.

“Come on, stay with me,” she urged, her voice soft but firm.

Bravo 7-6’s eyes met hers, filled with pain and something else—resignation. “Tell…my family…” His words were a whisper, fading fast.

“No,” Y/N cut in, her hands pressing harder against the bandage. “You’ll tell them yourself. Stay with me.”

Suddenly-

His body went still, the faint rise and fall of his chest ceasing. Y/N froze, staring at him as the reality settled over her like a crushing weight.

She bowed her head for a moment, her blood-streaked hands trembling before she forced herself to move. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed her comms. “Bravo 7-6 is KIA,” she reported, her voice tight but steady.

A heavy silence followed on the line before Ghost responded. “Understood. Regroup when ready.”

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, her jaw clenched as she fought back the sting of failure. She reached out, gently closing Bravo 7-6’s eyes before standing and grabbing her rifle.

War didn’t allow for mourning, not now. She pushed the emotions down, compartmentalizing as she always did.

As Y/N reached the group, the team pushed through the building, clearing each floor with careful precision. The first deck yielded no sign of Hassan.

“Move to second deck,” Ghost directed, his voice steady but laced with urgency.

As they ascended, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from the room next door. Y/N’s heart pounded as she instinctively raised her rifle, her eyes locking onto the figure that appeared at the top of the stairs—an AQ soldier.

In a flash, his weapon swung toward her, the muzzle glinting in the dim light. Y/N froze for a fraction of a second, her breath catching as she prepared to pull the trigger—

Bang. Bang.

Ghost’s pistol barked twice, the sharp reports ringing in her ears. The AQ soldier crumpled to the ground, his weapon clattering uselessly beside him.

Y/N exhaled sharply, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she glanced back at Ghost. “Thanks, LT,” she muttered, her voice tight.

Ghost’s gaze was steady, his tone colder than the air around them. “Pay attention, Falcon. Hesitation gets you killed.”

Her jaw tightened, the sting of his words hitting harder than she expected. “Won’t happen again,” she replied, her focus snapping back to the mission as they moved forward.

They pressed on, moving deeper into the building, each corner turned with meticulous caution. The air grew heavier as the minutes stretched on, the silence between them thick with unspoken tension. It wasn’t until Y/N’s eyes caught something—a discarded uniform—Hassan’s.

“Look Hassan’s uniform,” Soap says as he throws the garment towards Y/N.

“He was here,” Y/N said quietly, her fingers gripping the garment tight, her chest tight with frustration.

Ghost’s jaw tightened at the sight, his gaze flicking over the fabric before he spoke, his voice sharp. “We lost him at the crash site.”

The frustration that had been simmering inside Y/N finally boiled over. “Are you saying we shouldn’t have helped?” she shot back, her words sharp, her pulse quickening as anger mixed with doubt.

Ghost’s gaze snapped to hers, his expression hardening like stone. “Choices have consequences,” he said, his voice low but commanding, a warning that cut through the air between them. 

The tension was cut short by Bravo 7-2’s urgent call. “All Bravo, we’ve got movement out here!”

The team quickly regrouped, weapons raised, and made their way to the warehouse. The large metal doors groaned as Soap pushed them open, revealing pitch-black darkness inside.

“Stay sharp,” Ghost ordered, his voice low but commanding.

They stepped in cautiously, their boots crunching against debris-strewn floors. The faint smell of oil and metal hung in the air. Y/N’s grip on her rifle tightened, her eyes scanning every shadow.

Suddenly, a series of bright lights blazed to life, blinding the team.

“Contact!” Ghost shouted as the warehouse erupted into chaos.

Gunfire burst from every direction as AQ soldiers emerged from hidden positions. Bullets ricocheted off metal walls, the deafening sound of the ambush overwhelming. Y/N dropped to one knee, her vision still adjusting, and returned fire, taking down two attackers with quick, precise shots.

“Cover! Find cover!” Soap yelled, diving behind a stack of crates and opening fire.

Y/N scrambled behind a steel column, her heart pounding. The AQ soldiers were relentless, pushing the team hard. Ghost’s voice cut through the comms, calm but firm.

“Soap, flank left! Falcon, with me—clear the center!”

“On it!” Y/N replied, her voice steady despite the chaos.

She moved in sync with Ghost, the two of them working as a seamless unit. Ghost provided suppressing fire as Y/N advanced, picking off enemies with deadly accuracy. The soldiers were well-trained, but their ambush had flaws. Y/N exploited their lack of coordination, taking out one after another with calculated shots.

An enemy darted toward her from the shadows, a knife glinting in his hand. Y/N reacted instinctively, sidestepping and slamming the butt of her rifle into his face. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Across the room, Soap let out a triumphant shout. “Got ‘em on the run!”

The tide began to turn as the team pressed forward, clearing one section of the warehouse after another. The last of the AQ soldiers fell, and the room fell eerily silent, save for the team’s heavy breathing.

“Clear!” Soap called, his voice echoing in the vast space.

“Clear,” Y/N confirmed, scanning the room one final time.

Ghost’s voice was firm as he assessed the aftermath. “Good work. Let’s secure the area.”

As the team converged, the tension gave way to another discovery. In the far corner of the warehouse sat a series of large metal crate.

Her voice was low but sharp. “This… this doesn’t feel right.”

Ghost moved closer, his tone grim. “No, it’s not.”

Soap swore under his breath. “What the hell are they protecting here if Hassan’s gone?”

Y/N’s stomach churned as the reality of their discovery set in. “We’re about to find out.”

As the team moved circled the warehouse, finding any clues a discovery made the blood drain from Y/N’s face. The three entered the large blue metal crate only to be met with… missile controls, bearing English writing.

“What the hell” Soap says as he looks around. 

“It’s all in English…,” Ghost muttered darkly.

“Ballistic Missiles” Ghost says as examines the room. “It’s a mobile launcher” Soap responds 

“These’ll go a thousand miles,” Y/N whispered, her stomach twisting.

“At least,” Ghost confirmed grimly.

Soap cursed under his breath. “How the hell did Iran get their hands on this?” He says, as the two men exit the crate. 

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the missile controls, her mind racing. The discovery sent a cold chill through her veins. The implications were catastrophic. Hassan wasn’t just hiding here. He was orchestrating something much bigger, she thought, her gaze shifting from the missile controls to the other members of the team. They had stumbled upon something far beyond a simple terror cell.

Ghost’s voice came through her earpiece, low and deliberate, as if he could sense the same growing dread creeping through the team. “Bravo 7-6, get us through to Laswell. Now.”

“Roger. Stand by,” came Bravo 7-6’s reply, his voice calm but tense.

“This is Watcher-1, send traffic,” Laswell’s voice crackled through the comms, clear and sharp.

“Laswell, this is Ghost. We got something.” Ghost followed Soap as they circled the metal crate, both of them eyeing the missile perched above it. Soap climbed the plastic weapons crate for a better view, his eyes scanning for anything unusual.

“Ghost, tell me you found Hassan,” Laswell added, the urgency in her voice unmistakable.

“Ghost, take a look at this,” Soap’s voice was grim as he stepped aside, revealing an American symbol etched onto the missile. The sight made the air in the room grow thick with tension.

“Ghost, do you have Hassan?” Laswell’s voice came through again, a little more insistent this time.

Ghost looked up, his expression turning grim as he absorbed the gravity of the discovery. He responded with barely a pause. “Negative. We found a weapons cache. Hassan’s got missiles… they’re American.”

The comms crackled before General Shepherd’s voice cut through, cutting the tension like a knife. “Zero-Seven, this is Gold Eagle Actual. Repeat your last.”

Ghost stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning the crate once more before answering with unwavering clarity. “I’ll say again… Hassan’s got American missiles.” His voice was steady, but the weight of his words hung in the air, each syllable carrying the gravity of the situation.

She was still processing the situation at hand when General Shepherd’s voice cut through the comms, sharp and authoritative. “Gold Eagle Actual to Ghost—move your team and call for fire. I want those weapons destroyed.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at the order. Destroy it? Everything they’d uncovered—American-made missiles in enemy hands, a lead that could unravel Hassan’s network—was about to go up in flames. The frustration boiled over, and before she could stop herself, she turned to Ghost, grabbing his arm.

“But sir,” she said urgently, her voice firm despite the chaos in her mind. “This is valuable intel. We’ve got proof right here! If we destroy this, we lose our chance to figure out where Hassan is. We lose answers!”

Ghost stopped mid-step, his gaze dropping to her hand gripping his arm before shifting to her face. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was sharp. “And if we leave it, they’ll use it. This isn’t leverage if it costs lives.”

Y/N’s grip tightened, her desperation spilling into her voice. “This could lead us to Hassan, Ghost. Isn’t that the bigger picture? We’ve been chasing ghosts—no pun intended—for weeks. This is our chance to get ahead of him!”

For a moment, his gaze softened, just enough to show he understood her frustration. But it vanished as quickly as it came. “The bigger picture,” he said evenly, “is making sure those missiles never see the light of day. We’ve got our orders, and orders don’t leave room for debate.”

She stared at him, heart pounding, unwilling to let go. Ghost’s tone shifted, quieter but no less firm. “Y/N, I get it. But this isn’t about what we want—it’s about what needs to be done.”

Y/N released his arm, her frustration tangible in the way her jaw clenched. “Understood,” she muttered, her voice tinged with bitterness.

“Good,” Ghost said curtly, turning back toward the cache. “Now, let’s finish this.”

“Roger that,” Ghost answers General Shepherd as he starts ordering the men to destroy the weapons cache. 

The finality in his words hit her like a punch to the gut. Y/N couldn’t argue with that. The mission had gone sideways in too many ways, and now they were being forced to destroy the very thing that could unravel everything.

The team began to set up the explosives, moving with practiced efficiency, but Y/N remained still, her mind running in circles. Her eyes were fixed on the crate, still open in front of her, the missiles and their controls lying in front of her as though mocking her inability to do anything about it.

As the team prepared for the final stages of the mission, Ghost moved closer to her. His steps were quiet, but his presence felt heavier with each passing second. 

She didn’t look at him as he stopped next to her, her gaze fixed on the intel right in front of her. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, but when he did, his voice was low, almost a whisper. “Snoop around with whatever you can find inside the crate while the others are distracted. Collect all the intel you can. This mission might be a bust, but that information could be a game-changer.”

Y/N glanced up at him, her frustration barely contained. His hand came down on her shoulder, a reassuring squeeze that felt almost out of place given the gravity of the situation. She met his eyes, but the tension between them was thick, unspoken, and heavy.

“Keep it discreet,” He says before walking over to help Soap move a large crate. 

With a fueled determination, Y/N turned back to the crate. She wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip. Not when the stakes were this high.

She methodically began collecting every piece of information she could find—encrypted files, military documents, a set of coordinates that made her heart race. The intel was even more crucial than she had first realized. It was the key to understanding what Hassan had been up to and what the AQ forces were planning.

Y/N didn’t waste time. 

She stuffed everything into her pockets, her movements quick and precise, her focus razor-sharp despite the chaos unfolding around her. With every document she gathered, the gravity of the situation pressed harder against her chest. This intel wasn’t just valuable—it was vital.

As she finished collecting the last of it, she stood up, the weight of the vest and pockets now resting heavily on her back. She glanced around, hearing the faint crackle of comms and the sound of distant explosions. 

Ghost was from afar, watching her closely, his face unreadable as always. She met his gaze for a moment, her breath steadying. She could feel the tension in the air, but there was something else, something unspoken. She could feel it between them, this heavy weight, this understanding that neither of them had wanted to address.

The moment passed quickly, and Ghost stepped forward, inspecting her eyes. His voice was a low murmur. “Good work, Falcon.” 

She nodded in response, but her mind was still reeling. She looked at the intel in her hands, her mind running through the possibilities. This could change everything—if they could get it back to Laswell, if they could make sure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands. The consequences were too big to ignore.

“We need to get this back to Laswell,” Ghost said, his tone softer now, though still carrying that same weight of authority. “Stay sharp.”

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. She knew how important this moment was, how important the mission still was, despite the setbacks. She tucked the documents safely into her gear, ready to move out with the team.

The mission wasn’t over. It might have been a failure in some respects, but they still had a chance to turn it around. They had the intel. Now, all they had to do was make sure it got to the right hands before it was too late.

As they left the site, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission was only the beginning. The real questions were just starting to surface, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face them. But with Ghost and the team at her back, she knew she had no choice but to push forward. The stakes had never been higher.

-

The shooting range was dimly lit, the scent of gunpowder thick in the air. Y/N stood at the far end, her focus razor-sharp as she emptied her magazine into the target. Each shot was a desperate attempt to channel her frustration, but the tension in her chest refused to dissipate.

The mission had been a failure. Hassan had slipped through their fingers, and now the fallout loomed large. The discovery of American missiles in enemy hands made it worse—a complication that left her questioning every decision made that day.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reloaded, the memory of the mission replaying on an endless loop in her mind.

She didn’t hear him at first-

“Your form’s off,” Ghost’s voice cut through the quiet, low and calm but carrying that edge that made her hackles rise.

Y/N turned sharply, glaring at him. “I don’t need your critiques right now, Ghost.”

He stepped closer, his movements deliberate. “I’m not critiquing. I’m pointing out the obvious—you’re not focused. Which is quiet dangerous for someone holding a gun”

Her grip on the pistol tightened, knuckles whitening. “I am focused. Maybe I just can’t let today’s mess slide like you can.”

Ghost’s gaze sharpened. He didn’t back off, his tall frame and quiet intensity filling the space between them. “You think this was easy for me?”

Y/N’s voice cracked under the weight of her anger. “We lost Hassan! We had one job—to get him—and now we’re dealing with a goddamn nightmare. This is on me. I should’ve pushed harder, fought for better options—”

Ghost stepped closer, cutting her off. “Stop.” His voice was low, commanding, but with an edge of something softer. “It wasn’t your call. It was mine.”

She shook her head, her frustration boiling over. “Doesn’t matter. I should’ve seen it coming, done something—”

“Enough,” Ghost said, his tone firm as he stepped into her space. “You’re blaming yourself for something that was out of your hands.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but Ghost’s hands were suddenly on her arms, grounding her. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was steady enough to make her pause. His eyes locked onto hers, his voice quieter now, deliberate.

“Listen to me, Y/N. We make the best call we can with the intel we’ve got. That’s all we can do. Blaming yourself won’t bring Hassan back, and it sure as hell won’t help us move forward.”

Her breath hitched. His touch, his closeness—it was too much and not enough all at once. She didn’t pull away, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze fully either. Her pulse thundered in her ears, the anger inside her colliding with an overwhelming vulnerability she didn’t want to face.

“I—” Her voice faltered, her words caught somewhere between defiance and defeat.

“Breathe,” Ghost said softly. His voice was almost a whisper now, but it carried the weight of a command. 

“We’ll get another chance. But right now, you need to let this go.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air between them was heavy, charged with unspoken emotions that neither seemed willing to address.

Finally, Ghost released her, stepping back with deliberate slowness. The space between them felt like a chasm, though the tension still clung to the air, thick and unresolved, suffocating in its silence.

Y/N fought to steady her breath, her pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with the shooting. The intensity of the moment pressed in on her from all sides. She could still feel the heat of his hands, the weight of his presence like a heavy coat wrapped around her shoulders.

“Take a break,” Ghost said, his voice steady but carrying an undertone that made her pause, making her heart stutter. “Clear your head. You’ll need it for what’s coming next.”

“Thanks for the advice, Lieutenant,” Y/N grunted, her words cutting through the tension, though her voice was tighter than she intended. She turned away, desperate to put some distance between them, but it didn’t help. Her heart was beating louder now, faster than usual, and her fingers trembled as she picked up the gun she'd left behind.

She raised it to the target, trying to center her focus, but the tension in her chest wouldn’t fade. Every shot felt like a misplaced action, the weight of her failure pressing down harder with each pull of the trigger.

But Ghost didn’t move away.

She felt his gaze on her—sharp, calculating, like he was dissecting every inch of her stance, analyzing every shift in her body. She could almost feel the weight of his eyes boring into her back.

“You’re overcompensating,” he said suddenly, his voice low and cutting through the air like a blade. The weight of his scrutiny settled on her like a thick fog.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her body instinctively stiffening as she glanced over her shoulder, startled. 

The words, the presence—they hit her like a gut punch. “Excuse me?”

Ghost didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved closer once more, each step measured, deliberate, his presence like a shadow that closed in, making her breath hitch. His proximity was suffocating.

Her fingers twitched around the rifle, but she refused to let her guard drop. She was too aware of him now, the tension between them palpable, suffocating.

His voice cut through the silence again, this time lower, almost too close. “You’re too tense. Your grip’s too tight. You’re not focused.”

Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure if it was from the frustration or the growing awareness of how close he was. She didn’t need this right now—not this, not him, not the heat of his presence lingering in the space around her.

“I’m focused,” she shot back, her voice coming out harsher than she intended. She turned fully to face him, her stance defensive, as if bracing for something more.

Ghost’s gaze never wavered. He stepped even closer, until the space between them was almost nonexistent, his eyes never leaving hers, scrutinizing, analyzing. The air was thick, almost too thick to breathe.

“You think you can just muscle through this?” His voice dropped even lower, the gravel in it sending a shiver down her spine. “It doesn’t work like that.”

Her pulse was pounding in her ears now, every word, every movement magnified. His proximity made her feel exposed—vulnerable—and the tension between them was undeniable. His voice, his touch—everything about this was too much.

Y/N’s chest tightened, her grip on the rifle faltering for the briefest moment. Her breath caught, a flicker of hesitation crossing her mind before she steadied herself again. “I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice strained.

Ghost remained silent, but his gaze never left her. He reached forward, his gloved hand brushing against her arm once more, the contact sending an involuntary jolt through her.

"You're not fine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper now, but it was enough to unsettle her. "And you’re not listening.”

Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. Every part of her screamed to break the silence, to pull away, but something about the way he stood there, so close, so unwavering, kept her rooted in place.

"Relax," Ghost murmured, his voice soft but commanding, and she felt the pressure on her shoulder again, grounding her in the moment. "This isn’t a fight you win by forcing it."

His touch lingered too long, enough to make her heart race even faster. And for a brief, unbearable second, she was caught in the pull between wanting to step back and being drawn closer to him.

He released her finally, but the tension in the air didn’t dissipate. It hung between them, thick and unresolved.

Y/N exhaled sharply, trying to regain some composure, but she was still reeling from the exchange. She shifted uncomfortably, keeping her eyes away from him. “You always this hands-on with everyone?” she asked, her voice forced, trying to mask the discomfort she felt.

Ghost didn’t answer right away. His gaze was unreadable, his posture still tense. His lips barely twitched beneath the mask—half smirk, half something deeper, something harder to decipher.

“Only when they need it,” he finally said, his tone unreadable.

Before he left, he patted her back once more, his hand firm, deliberate. It lingered there for a moment too long, enough to make her skin prickle, enough to leave a lingering sense of unease.

“Keep practicing, Falcon,” he said, his voice steady, but the words left a strange weight hanging in the air. “You’ll get there.”

And with that, he turned, his footsteps fading, but the energy he left behind refused to dissipate.

Y/N’s grip on the rifle tightened again, her heart still thudding in her chest. She stood there for a long moment, feeling the weight of his absence just as much as his presence. Whatever had passed between them—it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

As the door closed behind him, she stood there, gripping the edge of the shooting stall for support. Whatever had just passed between them—it was far from over.

[madewithlove-sophie]

Chapter II | Beneath the Mask | Simon Ghost Riley Fanfiction

Chapter 2: Legacy and Lies

Previous | Next | Masterlist

The air in General Shepherd’s office was thick with tension. Y/N stood at attention, her boots clicking sharply against the polished floor as she faced her father’s desk. He sat behind it, staring at her over a stack of files, his face hard and unreadable. She had seen that look before—the one that meant trouble was brewing.

“I don’t care how good you are, Y/N,” Shepherd growled, his voice low and commanding. “This is a bad idea. You don’t belong in Task Force 141.”

Y/N's jaw tightened. She had expected this, but hearing it from her father, of all people, still stung. She had spent years proving herself, working her way up through the ranks, sharpening her skills. But nothing was ever good enough for him. He was always the General first, her father second.

“I don’t need your permission,” Y/N replied, her voice calm but firm. “I’ve been offered a position, and I’ve accepted it. This isn’t about you, Dad. It’s about what I can do—what I need to do. Task Force 141 handles the missions no one else can. I want to be part of that.”

Shepherd leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the desk. His steely eyes never left hers as if searching for any hint of hesitation. But there was none. Y/N had made up her mind.

“You think you can make a difference?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You think you’re ready for that kind of pressure? Those men—they’re not like the others. They far from what you're used to at the Shadow Company with Graves."

“I know that,” Y/N replied, her voice steady. “And that’s exactly why I want to be there. I want to be part of something that bigger. I've been personally requested by the Captain, that means my skills are needed.”

Her father’s gaze softened, just for a moment, but the hardness quickly returned. He stood, walking around the desk to stand in front of her. He placed a hand on her shoulder—a rare gesture of acknowledgment—and gave her a look she couldn’t quite place.

“I won’t be there to protect you, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But I’ll be watching. Don’t get yourself killed.”

Y/N nodded, a mix of determination and apprehension swirling in her chest. “I won’t, Dad. I’m not the same kid I used to be.”

As Y/N stepped out of her father’s office, she felt the weight of his words heavy on her shoulders. But she had already made her decision. General Shepherd might not agree, but that wasn’t going to stop her. She didn’t want to be defined by her last name or her father’s legacy. She wanted to make her own path, to be part of something bigger than herself.

-

Y/N arrival at Task Force 141’s base was met with a mixture of wary glances and low murmurs. She had known this would happen. Being the daughter of General Shepherd, a man whose name carried weight—and not the good kind—wasn’t something easily overlooked. But Y/N wasn’t here to live in her father’s shadow. She was here to carve out her own path. To prove she wasn’t just the General’s daughter.

As she stepped into the briefing room, her boots echoed against the cold concrete floor, sending a brief shiver down her spine. She straightened her posture, eyes locking with Captain Price’s. His authoritative presence was unwavering, yet there was a warmth in his handshake when he greeted her. His piercing blue eyes gave her a brief once-over, as if measuring her up.

“Sergeant,” he greeted her with a nod. “Glad you could join us.”

Behind him, the rest of the team stood—Soap, Gaz, and Ghost. The first two shot her curious glances, sizing her up with an almost casual interest, but Ghost’s unreadable expression hid whatever thoughts he may have had. He didn’t even acknowledge her at first, his gaze never leaving the wall as if he was already deep in thought, or perhaps just uninterested.

Soap couldn’t resist. “So, the General’s lass, huh? We’ve got royalty in the house,” he said with a grin, his tone light, but tinged with the usual banter he liked to throw around.

Gaz, however, was quick to elbow him in the ribs. “Lay off, mate. Let her settle in first.”

Price raised a hand, silencing the room. “I know who your father is, Sergeant,” he said, locking eyes with Y/N. “But that doesn’t bother me. You’re here because you’ve earned it. And you’ll be expected to do the same as everyone else. I don’t care about your last name. I care about your results. Understood?”

Y/N gave him a firm nod, her back straightening even more. She could feel the weight of her father’s reputation bearing down on her, but Price’s words were a small comfort. She had no intention of living up to anything except her own standard.

“Understood, sir,” she replied, her voice steady, betraying none of the uncertainty she felt beneath the surface.

-

As the briefing wrapped up, Captain Price dismissed the team with a simple, “Gear up and be ready for mission briefing by 0600 tomorrow.” The group began to disperse, each moving with a sense of purpose that made Y/N feel like an outsider. This was their territory, their dynamic. She was the new piece trying to fit into a puzzle that already seemed complete.

She lingered in the room for a moment, glancing at the current mission board on the wall. It was covered in maps, photos, and notes scrawled in shorthand she didn’t recognize. The weight of her decision to join Task Force 141 pressed against her chest, but she pushed it aside.

“You’re staring pretty hard at that board,” a Scottish accent broke the silence, and Y/N turned to see Soap leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed and an easy grin on his face. “Trying to memorize it already? Or just lookin’ for your name?”

Y/N smirked despite herself. “Just getting a feel for how you all work,” she replied, her tone light but measured. “Don’t worry, MacTavish. I’ll catch up.”

“Call me Soap,” he said with a chuckle, pushing off the doorway and walking over to her. “And you’ll do fine. Just don’t let the big man over there scare you.” He nodded toward the corner where Ghost had been standing quietly, his face hidden behind the skull mask that made him as intimidating as his reputation suggested.

Y/N glanced at Ghost, whose posture was as rigid as ever. His arms were crossed, and he seemed content to stay in the background, watching but never engaging. She wondered what kind of person he was beneath the mask. The others were open, their personalities easy to read, but Ghost was a fortress. A part of her was curious about what lay behind those walls, though she quickly pushed the thought aside.

“You mean the one who hasn’t said a word to me?” Y/N asked, arching a brow. “He doesn’t seem like the chatty type.”

Soap laughed, shaking his head. “Aye, that’s Ghost for you. Don’t take it personally. He’s like that with everyone—well, except Price. But give it time. He’ll warm up.”

“Doubtful,” Ghost’s deep, gravelly voice cut through the air, startling Y/N. He hadn’t moved from his spot, but his words were sharp, precise, and unmistakably directed at her. “This isn’t a social club. Focus on the job.”

The room went quiet for a moment, the air thick with tension. Y/N held her ground, refusing to let him intimidate her. If she was going to earn her place here, she couldn’t back down. “Noted, Lieutenant,” she replied evenly. “I’ll stay out of your way.”

Ghost didn’t respond, his unreadable gaze fixed on her for a beat longer before he turned and walked out of the room. Soap gave her a small shrug, as if to say, That’s just Ghost, before following after him.

-

As Y/N placed her last few belongings into the narrow locker, the muffled conversations from down the hall grew louder, her sharp ears picking out snippets of chatter. The tone was casual at first—lighthearted banter and jokes—but then her name came up.

“...did you see her? Shepherd’s kid, strutting in here like she owns the place.”

“Shepherd must’ve pulled strings to get her on the team. No way she made it here on her own,” another voice scoffed.

Y/N froze, her hands tightening into fists as the voices continued.

“Bet she’s never seen real action. Daddy’s little princess, playing soldier.”

“You think Price actually wanted her here? Probably had no choice. Orders from the top.”

A wave of anger surged through her chest, but she forced herself to take a slow, steadying breath. She wasn’t naïve—she had expected skepticism. Despite her expertise and experience, it was inevitable with her father’s reputation looming over her like a storm cloud. But hearing it said out loud, so dismissively, stung more than she cared to admit.

Grabbing her jacket, she made her way toward the common room, her boots heavy against the concrete floor. If they wanted to talk about her, they could do it to her face.

As she stepped into the room, the conversation abruptly stopped. Three soldiers—none she recognized—sat clustered around a small table, a deck of cards spread out in front of them. Their expressions flickered from surprise to discomfort as they noticed her standing in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting something?” Y/N asked, her tone deceptively light.

One of them, a wiry man with a sharp face, straightened in his seat, trying—and failing—to look unfazed. “No, Sergeant. Just…talking.”

“Right,” Y/N said, her gaze cool and unwavering as she stepped further into the room.

“You’re entitled to your opinions,” she continued, her voice low and steady, “but don’t let them get in the way of staying alive when the bullets start flying.”

The wiry man opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then thought better of it. The others exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado evaporating under her steady glare.

Without waiting for a response, Y/N turned and walked out, her shoulders squared and her head held high. The weight of their stares lingered on her back, but she didn’t falter. If they wanted proof, she would give it to them.

-

The rumors echoed in her mind as Y/N walked to the shooting range. The words were like a distant hum, relentless and sharp, cutting through her thoughts. "Shepherd’s kid," they had said. "Doesn’t belong here." "Daddy’s little princess."

It was nothing she hadn’t expected, but hearing it in hushed whispers behind her back made her blood boil.

Y/N felt the heat rising in her chest as the words from the soldiers echoed in her mind. Was she really just a legacy, a shadow of her father’s reputation?

The weight of her last name pressed on her like an invisible hand, threatening to squeeze the air from her lungs. But she refused to let them see her falter. She wasn’t just General Shepherd’s daughter. She was Y/N Shepherd. And she would prove it.

Determined to shake it off, Y/N made her way to the shooting range entrance. She needed to focus. She needed to feel in control again. The steady rhythm of gunfire was her escape, each shot a way to drown out the voices in her head.

As the pistol’s weight settled into her hands, the anger morphed into precision. She lined up her shot and fired, the crack of the gun sharp in the silence. One shot, then another, each round hitting its target dead center. The rhythm of the shots was meditative, almost calming, as she allowed herself to disappear into the routine of practice.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“You’ve got good aim,” a deep voice rumbled behind her.

Y/N turned to see Ghost leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. His mask made it impossible to read his expression, but his tone carried a grudging note of approval.

“Thanks,” she replied, lowering her weapon. “Comes with the territory.”

He studied her for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. “Heard about what happened in the common room.”

“Let me guess,” Y/N said, her voice edged with frustration. “You think they’re right?”

“No,” Ghost said bluntly. “But I know how soldiers think. New blood, famous last name—it’s easy for them to jump to conclusions. Doesn’t matter if they’re wrong. What matters is how you handle it.”

“And what do you think I should do?” she asked, her tone more curious than defensive.

“Show them,” he said simply. “Not with words. Out there. They’ll respect you once you prove you can keep up. Or better yet—leave them in the dust.”

Y/N turned, her fingers still tense around the pistol, his presence had made her uneasy, but there was something oddly reassuring in his presence now.

His words, though few, seemed to cut through the noise in her head like a blade, simple yet profound. 'Show them. Not with words.' She considered his advice, weighing it in the quiet of the range.

Was he telling her she didn’t belong here, or that she was exactly where she needed to be? Either way, the message was clear—walk, not talk. It was something she could understand. It was something she could do.

A sense of relief washes over her as she lets out a breathe.

Y/N smirked, a flicker of amusement breaking through her frustration. “That almost sounds like advice, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Ghost replied, pushing off the wall. “You’re here to do a job. Just make sure you don’t give anyone a reason to doubt you. Including me.”

Y/N watched Ghost leave, his footsteps heavy and confident, a part of her still unraveling his cryptic words. Was he challenging her, testing her resolve, or simply reminding her of the reality she’d already accepted? Either way, she couldn’t afford to second-guess herself—not now. She had a mission to complete. And she wouldn’t back down.

[madewithlove-sophie]

Beneath the Mask | Simon Ghost Riley Fanfiction

Teaser 1: Bleeding Hearts

Chapter 1: Dangerous Territory

Chapter 2: Legacy & Lies

Chapter 3: Capture or Kill

Chapter 4: Coming Soon

[madewithlove-sophie]

Chapter I | Beneath the Mask | Simon Ghost Riley Fanfiction

Dangerous Territory | Previous | Next | Masterlist

The café buzzed softly with the murmur of conversations and the occasional clink of porcelain. Laswell sat in her usual corner, a steaming cup of tea resting on the polished wood table.

She glanced up as Price slid into the chair across from her, his cap casting a shadow over his sharp features. Without preamble, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small stack of files, setting them on the table between them.

“General Shepherd pulled the files you asked for,” Laswell began, taking a measured sip of her tea before placing the cup down softly. “What’s this about, Price?”

Price leaned forward, his voice dropping low. “A task force.”

Laswell arched a brow, her tone skeptical. “We already have loose ends.”

Price smirked, the hint of conviction in his eyes. “And I’ll tie them.”

Laswell shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. “I fund assets, not outlaws.”

Without a word, Price stood as if ready to leave, tipping his cap slightly. “Enjoy your tea, then.”

She exhaled sharply, narrowing her eyes as he turned away. “We need you to get Makarov”

Price froze mid-step, turning back slowly. His expression was unreadable as he lowered himself back into the chair, this time leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Then get me what I need.”

Reluctantly, Laswell reached into her bag again, pulling out another slim folder. She slid it across the table, her hesitation evident. “Here.”

Price opened the folder, flipping through the pages with a practiced ease. His sharp eyes scanned each detail, his lips pressing into a thin line of thought.

“Who’s your crew?” Laswell asked, studying him closely.

Without looking up, Price answered, “Sergeant Garrick.” Handing her the file.

Laswell tilted her head slightly. “Kyle?”

“They call him Gaz,” Price said, smirking faintly. “He’s sharp, adaptable, and quiet where it counts.” He slid a file across the table. Laswell glanced at it briefly, nodding in approval.

“John MacTavish, SAS sniper—demolitions expert, Goes by Soap” Price continued.

Laswell arched a brow. "Why?”

Price’s smirk widened. “That’s classified.”

Laswell chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Of course it is.”

Sliding another file across, Price’s chuckles lightly. “There he is. Simon Riley.”

Laswell picked up the file, flipping through it. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the sparse details. “There’s no picture.”

“There never is,” Price said simply.

Laswell closed the file, placing it back on the table. “You’ve got your three. What’s next?”

Price leaned back in his chair, his voice steady and commanding. “Now the rest. That’s need-to-know. Unless we have a deal.”

Laswell crossed her arms, her gaze sharp as she studied him. “What are you calling this task force?”

Price’s faint smile returned. “141.”

Laswell picked up her tea again, sipping as she evaluated him. The silence between them was filled with the hum of the café’s ambiance. Then her eyes drifted to the manila folder still resting by Price’s hand.

“And the fourth file?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity and caution.

Price paused, his hand hovering over the folder.

Laswell’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t part of the General’s list. Who is it?”

Sliding the folder toward her but keeping his hand on it, Price met her gaze steadily. “Y/N Shepherd.”

Laswell froze, her expression tightening as the name sank in. “That’s dangerous territory, John. You’re talking about General Shepherd’s kid.”

Price didn’t flinch, his voice calm and deliberate. “She’s under Commander Graves right now. A Shadow soldier.” He leaned forward, his tone unwavering. “But she’s more than that—a wild card. An experienced sergeant. Skilled sniper. Quick and deadly.”

Laswell’s eyes remained fixed on him, her skepticism clear. “And she’s tied directly to Shepherd.”

“Exactly.” Price’s voice dropped, his words deliberate. “Her connection provides unique training—black ops protocols, leadership under high-pressure scenarios. Shepherd shaped her into a weapon, but she’s not his anymore. Her insight into his operations, his mindset—that’s gold, Kate. We can use it.”

Laswell’s fingers tightened slightly around her cup, her skepticism cutting through her next words. “Or she could be playing both sides. Have you thought about that?”

Price’s jaw tightened as he leaned back, his gaze unwavering. “If she wanted to stay in Shepherd’s shadow, she’d still be there. This isn’t loyalty to him—it’s survival. And if we bring her in, she’ll fight for us. Her father’s influence can be exploited—for infiltration, misdirection, psychological advantage.” His voice hardened, carrying the weight of conviction. “She’s a soldier, Laswell. Not a pawn. We can’t ignore that potential.”

Laswell exhaled sharply, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her cup. “And her skill set?”

“Tactical intelligence,” Price continued smoothly. “She spots patterns most miss and predicts enemy movements on the fly. Psychological warfare—breaking morale or negotiating under fire. She’s got Shepherd’s training, but she uses it to outthink and outmaneuver.” He slid the file closer. “We don’t have a medic. She can stabilize a squad under fire, keep us moving.”

Laswell hesitated, glancing at the folder. “And what happens when Shepherd catches wind of this? He’ll come for her.”

Price smirked faintly, his voice low. “Then we'll see what true loyalty means”

Laswell leaned back in her chair, the weight of Price’s argument settling over her. She hesitated for a long moment before finally picking up the folder. Her eyes scanned the first page, her frown deepening as she read.

“If this backfires,” she said quietly, setting the folder down, “it’s on your head, Price.”

“She won’t let us down,” Price said confidently as he stood, adjusting his coat. He tipped his cap slightly, his voice steady. “Enjoy your tea, Kate.”

Laswell watched him leave, the folder still open in her hands. Her tea had gone cold. The child of General Shepherd, a Shadow turned soldier for Task Force 141—if she truly was a wild card, the stakes had just been raised.

[madewithlove-sophie]

Beneath the Mask | Simon Ghost Riley Fanfiction

Teaser: Bleeding Hearts | Next | Masterlist

Amid the chaos of a world teetering on the brink of war, Y/N Shepherd and Simon "Ghost" Riley share a connection that neither can ignore, yet both are reluctant to fully embrace. Their bond, forged through shared battles and unspoken understanding, runs deeper than either of them is willing to admit. The tension between them crackles in the silence of the night, in the moments when their hands brush or their eyes meet, both haunted by the weight of their responsibilities.

One night, as they find themselves alone, the barriers they've carefully built around their emotions begin to crumble.

"Are you sure this is the right choice?" Y/N asks, her voice low, but laced with doubt. She stands close enough for Ghost to feel the heat of her presence, yet far enough to keep the distance that they both know they need.

Ghost's mask hides his face, but his eyes are sharp, watching her every move. "We don't have the luxury of second guesses," he replies, his voice gruff.

Y/N shakes her head, frustrated. "It's not about second guesses, it's about trust. And you don't trust me."

Ghost’s posture stiffens, and for a moment, the distance between them feels suffocating. "I trust you more than you think," he murmurs, his voice almost betraying a hint of vulnerability.

The air between them shifts, and for a fleeting second, it seems like the world could disappear, leaving just the two of them. But the moment is broken as she takes a step back, her gaze faltering.

"I can't do this," she whispers, more to herself than to him, her voice a mixture of desire and doubt.

Ghost watches her, his gaze intense, eyes hidden behind the mask, but the tension between them is palpable. Every muscle in his body screams to move, to close the distance between them, but he stays rooted to the spot. He can feel the heat of her proximity, the silence thick with unspoken words. His voice comes out low, almost a growl.

"You think you can just walk away from this?" he asks, the edge of frustration clear.

Y/N hesitates, her breath catching, but she doesn’t take a step back. "I’m not walking away. I’m trying to keep my damn head on straight. We both know this is dangerous."

His eyes narrow, his jaw tightening beneath the mask. "So, what? You think I’m just supposed to forget what’s between us? Forget that every time I turn around, you're there—getting in my head, making me wonder what the hell I'm doing?" His words come faster, sharper, the rawness of the truth slipping out.

Y/N’s chest tightens, her fists clenching. "Maybe you should. Because I’m not here to be another distraction. I have my own demons, Ghost. And you’ve got yours. This—" She gestures between them, her voice trembling. "This isn’t the place for whatever this is. We’re supposed to focus on the mission!"

Ghost steps forward, closing the gap just enough for Y/N to feel the heat of his presence, but still keeping his distance. "I can’t just shut it off," he spits, his voice thick with frustration. "And neither can you. Stop pretending like this isn’t real."

Her eyes flicker with something—anger, fear, longing—but she refuses to back down. "You think I want this? I didn’t ask for this. I’m not a fucking liability."

He steps closer, their bodies nearly touching now, his voice barely a whisper. "Then stop acting like one." His tone is cold, but beneath it, there's a hint of something deeper—something he refuses to acknowledge.

The air between them is thick, the weight of their unspoken emotions hanging in the balance. Y/N can feel her breath catch, and just as she's about to respond, her phone vibrates in her pocket.

She freezes, the moment between them shattering instantly. Ghost notices the phone, his posture stiffening immediately. His eyes narrow, instinctively on alert.

Y/N sighs deeply, a mixture of frustration and resignation in her voice. She pulls the phone from her pocket, her gaze falling to the screen. The name staring back at her sends a chill down her spine.

General Shepherd.

Without thinking, she answers the call, her fingers trembling just slightly. "Yes, Dad?" she asks, her voice steady but betraying a hint of strain.

Ghost watches her, his breath caught in his throat, every instinct telling him to leave, to get out of this mess before it gets any worse. But he stays rooted to the spot, the distance between them suddenly feeling insurmountable.

Y/N's expression tightens as she listens to her father on the other end, her jaw clenching. Ghost can see the weight of the conversation unfolding in her eyes, the shift in her demeanor as she reluctantly listens to her father's commands. The air is thick with the lingering tension of their earlier confrontation, but it feels like it’s been overshadowed now by something darker, something that neither of them can ignore.

As she listens, her eyes flicker over to Ghost—barely a glance, but enough to speak volumes.

[madewithlove-sophie]

Chapter 2: Hero in Training | Aizawa Shota Fan Fiction

Twisted Heart Series

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It had been a few weeks since Y/N Haise joined Kato’s hero agency, and life had quickly settled into a monotonous routine.

Kato, the #10 hero in all of Japan, was known for his impressive offensive and defensive capabilities, his quirk allowing him to manipulate sound waves. He could create shockwaves strong enough to knock opponents off their feet while also using them to enhance his hearing, making him a formidable presence on the battlefield.

However, for Haise, the past weeks had felt less like a hero's training and more like a prison sentence.

Her days were spent either patrolling alongside a quiet Aizawa or trapped in endless reports that detailed their activities. The thrill of being a hero seemed to elude her, lost in the mundane tasks of paperwork and silence.

But today was different.

Today, Kato had called Aizawa and Haise to join him at the training center. As they descended the stairs to the fourth basement level, Haise felt a flicker of excitement mixed with anxiety.

“This is where my sidekicks and partners hone their quirks,” Kato explained. “It’s equipped with high-tech simulations that change based on the scenarios we set. Today’s exercise will be focused on teamwork.”

As they entered a room bustling with activity, Haise’s heart raced at the sight of the high-tech equipment surrounding them. The anxiety gnawed at her as Kato presented the day’s scenario: “Today, you’ll be saving a girl trapped under rubble.”

"You two communicate and strategize based on the situation." Kato explains looking at the two young heroes in training.

"You have 15 minutes." Kato continues. "And, start-"

The simulation began, and the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The lights dimmed, and the sound of crumbling rock filled the air, causing Haise’s heart to race again. Memories flickered back: screams, destruction, and the feeling of hopelessness.

A girl’s robotic voice echoed, “Help me! I can’t breathe!”

“Teamwork is essential when saving civilians,” Kato instructed, but before he finished, Haise rushed toward the simulated disaster, leaving Aizawa behind.

She focused, activating her quirk, Molecular Transmutation, tuning into the vibrations of the ground. The muffled sounds of the world faded, replaced by the rhythmic pulsing of life beneath her.

With ease, she began moving the rubble, transmutating the heavy objects into air and revealing the trapped figure.

“Found you,” she murmured, and with a swift motion, she transformed the molecules of the heavy rock into water. The water splashed against the robotic girl, who blinked at her with lifeless eyes.

“Thank you for saving me, hero—” the robotic voice sputtered, but a glitch distorted the end, “Hehero hehero heheroo-…”

Suddenly, Haise was thrown back to a dark memory. “This robot never listens to me!” she shouted in frustration. “It’s because you’re too impatient,” a faded voice chuckled from the depths of her mind, morphing into painful laughter that echoed inside her head.

Stumbling back, Haise shook her head, trying to dispel the memory, but the laughter seemed to envelop her, squeezing the air from her lungs.

Aizawa, witnessing her fall but not the cause, clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Tsk” he muttered. “It’s called a team activity,” he grumbled before turning and walking back to their mentor.

Haise breathed heavily on the floor, relieved that Aizawa hadn’t seen her vulnerability. But Kato had. The way her demeanor shifted piqued his interest—what could possibly affect someone so powerful?

Returning to Kato, Haise braced herself for praise, but instead, she received an earful.

“Y/N Haise, teamwork is vital in the real world,” Kato lectured, his voice firm. “You need to communicate and strategize with your partner. You can’t act alone. In a crisis, hesitation can lead to dire consequences.”

Haise nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry.”

Kato sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, onto the next activity.” He paused, a glimmer of excitement crossing his face. “This one will be a strategic one-on-one battle between you and Aizawa.”

Haise’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I don’t even know his quirk,” she raised a hand, uncertainty creeping into her voice.

Kato’s smile was broad. “Neither does Shota here know yours. But that’s the reality you’ll face in the field. You must always keep a level head. This is how you learn and adapt.”

As Kato explained the rules, Haise felt a wave of apprehension wash over her. “Your job is to avoid being captured by Eraser Head while keeping the captive—” he pointed at a lifelike robot dressed in an exaggeratedly girly outfit—“secure. Aizawa, your task is to either capture Haise or free the captive. Simple enough?”

“Why am I the villain here?” Haise asked, irritation creeping into her voice.

“Because it’s important to learn from others,” Kato explained patiently. “You’ll never know what strategies your opponents might employ. Watching and adapting is key.”

With reluctant nods, the two young heroes took their positions.

As Haise glanced at her ‘captive,’ she sighed at the ridiculousness of the scenario. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she muttered, creating a circular dome of earth around the robot.

However, the moment it was halfway up, the robot squealed, “SAVE MEEE!” in a loud, obnoxious tone.

Surprised by the sudden noise, she quickly reinforced the barrier, hoping it hadn’t been heard outside.

Feeling restless and overwhelmed, Haise simply stood guard in front of her dome, her mind buzzing with thoughts. “Only two minutes left…” she thought, frustration boiling beneath her calm exterior.

“So much for a hero in training,” she scoffed, mentally dismissing Aizawa as a boring hero who couldn’t find her location.

With only a minute remaining, she stretched and walked toward a window, glancing outside to see if her opponent is nearby.

But before she could reach it, she felt a sudden tug around her waist. Looking down, she saw ropes binding her to a pillar.

“What the—?” She looked up to find Aizawa hanging from the metal roofing, holding the rope that tied her.

“Looks like your captive will have to wait,” he said with a smirk.

Panic surged within her. She raised her hands, attempting to shift the metal railing beneath him. Nothing happened. Confused, she tried again, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“I was observing you during the first activity,” Aizawa remarked coolly from his perch. “Your quirk has something to do with reconstructing materials. But unfortunately for you, that won’t help now.”

With a swift motion, he swung down, diving into her dome, and quickly freed the robot captive. “That’s the difference between you and me,” he said, his expression unreadable as he deactivated his eraser quirk.

Haise fumed silently as he pulled back the ropes, determination surging within her. She quickly activated her quirk and dropped a small pebble onto Aizawa’s head. Giggling at the small win the girl had.

“Annoying, aren’t I?” she smirked, unable to contain her irritation.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, his expression unchanging. “You have no idea,” he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might have been amusement.

Kato sighed, as he watched the two in the observation room. “These two are going to be a lot of work,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he prepared for the upcoming training.

[madewithlove-sophie]

Chapter 1: A New Beginning | Aizawa Shota Fanfiction

Twisted Heart Series

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Y/N Haise sat on the train, her gaze unfocused as the world outside blurred past her. The rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks faded into a dull roar until it came to a sudden stop, the metal screeching against metal. The sound sliced through her foggy thoughts, triggering a flood of chaotic memories that surged unbidden into her mind.

Smoke choked the air, thick and acrid, mingling with the screams that echoed in her ears. Shadows of figures twisted and writhed in agony, their faces contorted in terror as the chaos of a failed mission replayed in vivid detail. She saw her partner—brave and determined—surrounded, the enemy closing in from all sides. The devastation struck her like a lightning bolt, a gunshot ringing out like a death knell that silenced the chaos, leaving her in an empty void of despair. Y/N’s breath quickened, her heart racing as she gripped the seat to steady herself.

The noise of the train faded into an echo, her senses overwhelmed by the haunting memories. She felt like a ghost, trapped in a life she couldn’t escape, each passing second deepening the weight of guilt pressing heavily on her chest.

Suddenly, she found herself on the sidewalk, disoriented and confused, unsure how she had gotten there. The bright sunlight struck her like a dagger, forcing her to squint against the brightness. She shook her head, trying to dispel the shadows clinging to her mind, but they lingered like a dark cloud.

With a deep breath, she focused on the imposing building ahead—the Hero Agency. As she crossed the threshold, her gaze fell to the polished floor, her footsteps echoing in the vast lobby.

Just as she entered through the revolving doors, she collided with someone.

“Watch where you’re going,” Aizawa muttered, his voice low and edged with irritation.

Y/N didn’t bother to look up or apologize; she simply brushed past him, feeling like a stray cat tossed into unfamiliar streets. The lack of response puzzled Aizawa, annoyance flaring in his chest. Most people at least acknowledged their mistakes, but this girl—what was her deal?

Inside, the lobby buzzed with activity. Heroes and trainees exchanged information, their voices a cacophony that felt overwhelming to Y/N. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she was led to an office by a cheerful mentor who introduced himself as Kato.

Kato sat behind a sleek desk, his laptop open and humming softly. He glanced up as Y/N entered, a bright smile spreading across his face.

“Welcome! I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” He gestured for her to take a seat. As Y/N sank into the chair, Kato reviewed her profile on the screen.

“Your quirk, Subatomic Atom Control, is impressive. You have such a unique ability to manipulate matter on a molecular level. I’m excited to see how you’ll use it in the field!”

Y/N offered a half-hearted nod, her mind elsewhere. She felt dead inside, the relentless hum of anxiety swirling around her. The muffled voices in the background turned into a chaotic symphony, drowning out Kato’s enthusiastic chatter.

He paused, looking at her with a furrowed brow. “But…” He hesitated, a hint of concern creeping into his voice.

“I see you have extensive experience, yet your transfer here… It’s unusual. Why would someone with such potential choose to join a starting hero agency?”

Y/N’s gaze flickered away, lost in the chaos of her thoughts. As the world around her faded into a dull noise, she felt trapped—suffocated by memories she couldn’t escape. Kato closed his laptop, the snap pulling her back to the present.

“Alright, last question.” His voice softened, curiosity lacing his words.

“What keeps making you choose to be a hero every day?”

The question struck Y/N like a physical blow. She had never really thought about it. All she wanted was an escape from her abusive parents, a way to find herself outside the shadows of her past. The answer eluded her as she opened her mouth, the words dying on her tongue.

“I want to…” she started, but nothing more came. She felt like she was drowning, the weight of her past closing in on her.

Kato observed her, his expression shifting from excitement to empathy. “If you don’t have an answer right now, that’s okay. We’re here to help people every day. Although it is a hard job, it’s the job we choose. It’s the job we want.” He leaned forward, sincerity in his eyes. “I hope your time here with me will help you find your why.”

Just then, the door opened, and Aizawa walked in, his expression unreadable.

“Ah, Eraserhead,” Kato greeted him with a bright smile. Aizawa’s gaze landed on Y/N, and his eyes narrowed. She was the rude girl from earlier—the one who hadn’t even apologized for bumping into him.

“Here’s the report on the mission the other day,” Aizawa said, handing Kato a file.

“Let’s deal with that later. Meet your new partner, Y/N Haise.” Kato’s smile widened, clearly enjoying the moment. “I hope the two of you will get along nicely.”

Y/N and Aizawa exchanged shocked glances, disbelief evident in their expressions. This was not how she had envisioned her first day. It’s going to be a long year, Y/N thought to herself, bracing for the challenges ahead.

As she locked eyes with Aizawa, a mix of irritation and curiosity passed between them. She wasn’t sure what to expect from him, but one thing was certain—she was already questioning her decision to be here.

[madewithlove-sophie]

Twisted Heart Series | Aizawa Shota Fanfiction

In the throes of an intense, drawn-out mission, Y/N Haise—a former spy with a painful past and a quirk that pushes her to the edge—fights alongside Shota Aizawa, the rising hero known as Eraserhead. Both exhausted and battered, they struggle to hold the line as tensions rise. Aizawa sees through Y/N's defiance, recognizing the quiet pain she hides behind her determination.

As the battle around them intensifies, so does the unspoken connection between them. Each moment draws them closer, their bond deepening through every shared glance, every word of quiet understanding. But Y/n's refusal to show weakness may push her too far, and Aizawa—tired, wounded, but watching over her—may be the only one standing between her and a devastating fall.

Teaser i. Diving Deep

Teaser ii. Beneath the Surface

Chapter 1: A New Beginning

Chapter 2: Hero in Training

[madewithlove-sophie]

Beneath the Surface (Teaser ii.) | Aizawa Shota Fan Fiction

Twisted Hearts Series | Prev

Y/N stared down at her hands, feeling the vibrations of every atom around her. Her quirk was second nature, sensing the subtle shifts in the ground, the hum of energy in the air, and the faint echoes of movement nearby. But exhaustion weighed on her—she had been pushing herself for hours, the mission dragging on far longer than expected.

It was supposed to be a straightforward operation: subdue the villains, secure the area. But things had spiraled out of control, and now their team was scattered, worn thin, and Y/N could feel the weight of her limits pressing down.

"Five more closing in," she muttered, clenching her fists as she tuned into the vibrations around them. The villains were regrouping, drawing closer. Her arms ached, every movement sending sharp jolts of pain through her body, but she couldn’t stop. Not now.

Beside her, Shota Aizawa—Eraserhead—stood quietly, his eyes flickering between the alleyways ahead, his usually calm demeanor touched with weariness. His scarf was frayed, and he had a cut running down the side of his face, but his focus was unwavering.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, sensing the strain she was under.

“If it’s too much, we can push back,” he said, his voice low but steady. There was no judgment, just quiet understanding. He had seen it—how her hands had started shaking, how she’d been holding herself together for too long. "We’ll regroup."

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his tone. Her eyes flickered toward him, her breath shaky, but she shook her head. “No. We’re close… I can keep going.”

The truth was, her body was screaming for a break. Every time she used her quirk, the pressure on her arms grew, each movement amplifying the pain. She didn’t need Aizawa’s quirk to erase her abilities; her body was starting to do that on its own.

Aizawa studied her for a moment, his tired eyes sharper than usual. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, the tension of the mission wrapping around them both. He could see through her calm facade—see the weight she carried.

"We don’t need to prove anything to anyone," Aizawa said quietly. "If you’re hurt, we pull back. That’s the priority."

Y/N clenched her jaw. His concern, though practical, struck deeper than she expected. He was offering her a way out, a reprieve, but she couldn’t afford to stop. Not now. She had been discarded once, left to fend for herself, and she wouldn’t let herself be seen as weak again—not by him, not by anyone.

“I’m fine,” she lied, forcing herself to stand straighter, the pain in her arms throbbing. “Let’s finish this.”

Aizawa didn’t press her further, but his gaze lingered, as if he could sense more than just the exhaustion. He gave a subtle nod, acknowledging her choice, though she knew he wasn’t convinced.

With a flick of his scarf, he stepped forward into the shadows, ready for whatever came next. Y/N followed closely, her hands trembling despite her best efforts to steady them. The vibrations of the approaching villains grew louder, and she braced herself, knowing that this battle wasn’t just against them—it was against her own limits.

And Aizawa, as always, would be watching, waiting to step in when things got too close to breaking.

[madewithlove-sophie]

Twisted Hearts | Aizawa Shouta Fanfiction 

i. Diving Deep (teaser i.) 

The cold shower hits the aching wounds behind me. Ribbons of red surround my body and dance onto the floor. 

My hands splayed on the wall in front of me. I stare at the hands. Blood appears and disappears between my fingers. The horrors of today’s mission, still haunts me. Am I really a hero? Is this what a hero does? Who decides what is righteous or not? What makes me different from villains? Do I even deserve-

Knock. Knock. 

Before I could spiral any longer, I glance at the figure by the bathroom door. 

A beautiful handsome man leans on the bathroom door as he watches me. Studying the pieces of myself I don’t even know deserve- 

“You’ve been in the shower for more than hour.” The man states as he slowly walks towards me in a catlike ease. Slowly yet sure. 

I sigh as I close my eyes, trying to make sense of the thoughts burrowing its way in my mind. 

“You’re going to catch a cold showering in this temperature.” I hear the voice say. Nearer this time. Just a foot away. 

I open my eyes to see Aizawa Shouta standing beside me, arms reach. 

Shouta sighs and enters the confines of the shower and turns off the faucet. 

I did not notice the towel he was holding only until I feel it wrapped around my form. Shouta guides me outside the shower and leads me towards our shared bedroom. 

I numbly sit down on the desk. Avoiding to look in the mirror. Afraid of what monster looks back at me. 

I hear Shouta hum as he starts fiddling through our desk until he found what he was looking for. I glance up and see he was holding my favorite lotion and comb. 

He wastes no time as he starts massaging the lotion onto my body. It’s powdery scent filling the room with his warmth spreading over my neck, shoulders, and back. 

He continues to hum as he begins to kneel. Massaging my thighs in circular motions. Slowly, up and down. 

As he continues down to my calves, I moan in satisfaction over the relief he provides. Shouta looks up at me, a slight smile paints on his face. I look away, blushing. This man. 

Once he finishes, he lifts my foot near his chest and examines my body with those beautiful tired eyes. Slowly he closes the distances and kisses my calves in a gentle manner. I watch the man before me as he looks up at me with those eyes. Those eyes. 

Slowly, he lowers my foot and rises to stand just enough to meet my eyes. Shouta leans in towards me and I close my eyes in anticipation. 

Kiss. 

I feel his lips over my forehead. I open my eyes only to see him pull away from me. He stops a foot away only to slightly smile at me, making me feel waves crashing and meeting in my stomach. 

He continues to hum as he stands upright and walks behind me. I feel him touch the ends of my hair as he starts brushing the strands. 

“Your hair is getting longer.” He says. 

I hum in response. Feeling the sleep cave in. 

“I like it.” He says as I feel him by my ear. I turn to peek at the man-

Kiss. Gentle. Soft. 

Shouta kisses my neck but before I could react he moves away and continues to brush my hair. 

The turmoil of my mind long forgotten. I slowly relax into the chair, feeling the weight of the world lift away. 

“All done.” Shouta says satisfied. He returns the items he took out the cabinet back in its place before he stands in front of me. A hand offered. 

“Let’s get to bed.” He says. 

I accept his hand and we walk towards the bed. The long days exhaustion creeping up on me, wanting nothing more but to put me to sleep. 

I lie down on my side of the bed facing the wooden ceiling above me. 

Shouta lies down beside me and closes the bedside lamps consuming the room in darkness. The moons glow as it’s companion. 

I turn to the beautiful man beside me. He has done nothing but care for me. I love him so much. 

Shouta shifts his body as he faces me. He wraps an arm around me, bringing me closer to his warmth. 

I close my eyes and bring a hand around his waist. 

Before sleep could consume me, I utter the words I have always told the man. 

“Thank you.” I whisper to his heart. 

Shouta hugs me a little tighter before he responds. “I love you, Y/N.” He says. Sure. Safe. Firm. 

I squeeze his torso in return before the sleep of today overtakes me. 

[madewithlove-sophie]

What Did Love Do? | iii. | JJK Fanfiction

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Chapter iii. Bound by Destiny, Blessed by Friendship

Two children, born under the heightened scrutiny of their clans. One considered blessed by the heavens, the other cursed by fate.

In the lavish, traditional Japanese home of the Gojo Clan, with its sliding paper doors and meticulously maintained gardens, these two children lived intertwined lives.

Despite the grandeur of the Gojo estate, Satoru and Y/N surprisingly found solace in each other's company, away from the watchful eyes of their elders. Who would have known that these two children, seemingly so different, were bound by destiny? Yet, their kindred spirits found each other, and a friendship blossomed, pure and untainted by the prejudices of their clans.

-

It was breakfast time. The maids of the Gojo Clan scurried about, diligently serving their masters an array of exquisite dishes.

Plates of eloquently grilled salmon, its aroma filling the air, and bowls of savory miso soup were placed carefully on the table. Shiny, perfectly seasoned vegetables added a splash of color to the spread.

All these delicacies were prepared and presented with the utmost care, fit for the distinguished Gojo Clan.

As one of the maids, Aiko Tanaka sets the final plate onto Satoru Gojo's breakfast table, the small child suddenly grabs the maids Kimono and tugs the fabric.

"Where do you hide the mouse?" he whispered with a mischievous grin, his playful tone barely audible but still carrying the spirit of a spoiled child enjoying a game. A new toy.

Aiko, careful not to react conspicuously, merely glances at Satoru as she pours the child his drink.

Aiko Tanaka was rather protective of the child her sister had hurriedly given her. Clear as day, she remembered that eventful night.

-

The flickering light of the oil lamps cast dancing shadows on the walls, creating an atmosphere of secrecy and urgency.

"She is to be killed. I can't let that happen to an innocent baby!" Her sister's words echoed in Aiko's mind as she recalled the frantic urgency in her voice. Her sister, a passionate and caring nurse, had burst into the room, disheveled and blood-spattered, as if she had raced there straight from the scene of some terrible event.

"She's the child of Shiro Akayami," her sister had explained breathlessly as she handed over the softly sleeping baby. Aiko unwrapped the white cloth that enveloped the infant, revealing a few strands of black hair peeking out. As she inspected the baby's features, she was greeted by the innocent gaze of two crystal rubies, shining like beacons of hope amidst the chaos.

Aiko Tanaka cradled the infant closer, her heart sinking as her sister's words sank in. The weight of their predicament bore down on them in the dimly lit chamber, shadows dancing eerily around them.

"I'll have to report back to the clan head of the Akayami Clan," her sister said, her voice heavy with resignation.

"Aiko," her older sister paused, exhaling deeply, "Shiro Akayami will probably kill me."

Aiko's eyes widened in horror at the bleak possibility. She reached out, gripping her sister's shoulder in disbelief. "All for a baby? Let's run away, Naoko!" Her worry for her sister overwhelmed her.

But Naoko shook her head, her expression resolute. "No. He will ensure that I do not share any of the details I saw spread, but I can't let this baby die just because of some wild beliefs." With a heavy sigh, she rose to her feet, leaving Aiko with the baby.

"On the way here, I named her Y/N. Although she's an Akayami, it would be nice for her to be a Tanaka for a while," Naoko said with a defeated laugh before looking at the dark night at the window.

"Please. I know this may seem a lot but I instantly felt-" Aiko cuts of her sister in understanding.

"I will take care of her, Naoko," she declared, her determination unwavering.

Naoko nodded in gratitude, then turned to leave, disappearing into the darkness of the path she had come from.

"Thank you," her voice floated back to Aiko before fading into the night.

-

Aiko's thoughts were abruptly pulled back to the present as she felt her kimono being tugged once more. She glanced down to see the bored child looking up at her expectantly.

"Master has instructed us that if we were to bring our children into his home, he does not want them wandering around, Satoru-sama," the maid whispered quietly, her voice tinged with apprehension, wary of any prying ears that might be listening.

Satoru snickers in arrogance. "Want me to tell father about the two of you wandering the garden a few nights ago?" The child says wanting nothing more but to probe the two.

This kid! Aiko sightly laughs in annoyance over the bothersome child before relenting.

Aiko's shoulders sagged in defeat as she addressed Satoru, her voice resigned. "What is it you want, Satoru-sama."

Satoru's lips curled into a smug grin at Aiko's submission. He hummed in approval at the maid's words before issuing his command.

"Bring her to the garden later this afternoon," he instructed, his tone dripping with entitlement as he crossed his hands across his chest.

A heavy sigh escaped Aiko's lips as she processed Satoru's demand. What a way to start the day, she thought to herself, her heart heavy with the weight of her responsibilities. Despite her reluctance, she nodded in agreement, her sole focus on protecting Y/N.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Satoru declared, "That will be all," already bored with the conversation as he turned his attention back to his breakfast, leaving Aiko to contemplate the daunting task ahead.

-

"Whoa!" Y/N squeals in excitement as a red aura appears in her hands. She wiggles her fingers, and the red stuff follows, making circles around them.

The red color keeps popping up whenever Y/N thinks really hard. Aiko-chan says not to play with it, but it's just so much fun!

Giggling with excitement, Y/N keeps playing with the aura. Her hands move faster, making it go up and down. She pushes it to her side, and it follows her, but then it comes back to her hands. She tries pushing it the other way.

Then, Y/N gives it a big push forward, but it was a little too hard because suddenly, she's on her back. Flipped by the force of her unknown power.

"Ow!" Y/N whimpers, feeling a bit teary and shocked as the aura comes back to her.

Before Y/N can stand up, Aiko enters the room, surprise and worry evident on her face.

Aiko rushes to Y/N and helps her stand. "Y/N! You were playing with your technique again, weren't you? I told you not to play with it while I'm gone! What will you do if you get hurt?" Aiko exclaims, her voice filled with concern as she begins examining the child, checking for any injuries or cuts she might have.

"I'm sorry, Aiko-chan," Y/N says softly, her ruby eyes filled with tears as she looks at the ground and crumples the front of her shirt in guilt.

"There, there, let's see if you're okay," Aiko murmurs softly, gently inspecting Y/N. She brushes off any dirt from Y/N's clothes and wipes away any tears that may have welled up in the child's eyes.

Gently, Aiko lifts Y/N's chin so their eyes meet. "I know you didn't mean to. But you have to promise me you'll be more careful next time, okay?"

Aiko's voice is gentle, comforting, as she reaches out to wipe away the tears from Y/N's cheeks. "You're okay now. That's what matters most. Just remember, I'm always here to look after you," she reassures, giving Y/N a warm hug to comfort her.

Aiko gives Y/N a moment to collect herself before she shares the news about a certain boy who wants to meet with her.

"Do you remember the white-haired boy we met at the garden?" Aiko asks Y/N as she starts to carry her to the bed.

"You mean the one that looks like a frog?" Y/N says, recalling the boy who bullied her.

Aiko sets Y/N down before she places her hands on her hips, looking at the young girl expectantly.

"I know that boy bullied you, but he's the master's child. Promise me you'll stop calling him that," Aiko says, but the only response she got from the young girl in front of her is a grunt of annoyance.

"He said he wants to play with you," Aiko says as she starts fixing Y/N's clothes, making them look neat.

"I don't wanna! He's mean!" Y/N says in frustration, her voice echoing softly in their small, quaint bedroom.

She recalls the boy's hurtful words, feeling the sting of them. Y/N looks away from Aiko and crosses her arms in defiance.

Aiko expected and was concerned about Y/N's reaction. Instead of reprimanding her, Aiko considers another approach to encourage the child.

"Satoru-sama was just cranky from not having chocolate that night, Y/N," Aiko says gently as she settles beside Y/N on the small bed they both share. A small lie wouldn't hurt.

"Well, I would be too..." Y/N says, her voice carrying a hint of understanding as she finally starts to relax.

"Will you give him a chance, Y/N? Please, for me?" Aiko asks, a playful twinkle in her eye as she starts to tickle the little girl.

"Okay, Aiko-chan. But if he bullies me, I'll pull his hair!" Y/N says excitedly, raising her hands as if ready for action.

"Please don't," Aiko says gently, her tone tempered with a hint of admonition.

Y/N lowers her hands at the reprimand, her gaze wandering thoughtfully around the room. Maybe next time! she tells herself with a mischievous grin.

-

It was the afternoon, the golden hour when the sun bathed the garden in warm, amber hues. The soft light filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and the gentle rustling of leaves played a soothing melody.

Y/N holds Aiko's hand as they walk together inside the garden.

There in the middle is a child with white ugly hair waiting for his new playmate.

Aiko pauses as she and Y/N stand in front of the boy. Aiko bows her head, "Master Satoru, here is Y/N as you requested."

Satoru merely grunts in superiority over the child who seems to be hiding behind the arm of her beloved guardian.

Before Satoru can begin teasing the shorter child, she peeks out from the comfort of her shield and hands Satoru a small paper bag.

Out of curiosity, Satoru takes the paper bag and opens it, finding a few chocolate desserts inside. He glances at the girl in front of him, trying to decipher any plots she may have against him.

"It's for you..." the young child says as she steps away from Aiko and faces Satoru directly. Two three-foot-tall children stand face to face, the tension between them palpable. Y/N’s small hands tremble slightly as she clasps them together, her eyes flickering with a mix of apprehension and determination.

"I'm sorry for calling you names," she says hesitantly, blushing in embarrassment. "You are very handsome, Master Satoru," Y/N finishes, her voice barely above a whisper. An internal conflict plays out in her mind, torn between pride and the desire to make amends.

Satoru's initial expression of skepticism softens slightly as he processes her words. The boy's icy demeanor cracks just a bit, revealing a hint of curiosity and perhaps a touch of understanding. He takes a moment to consider her apology, the chocolate desserts still in his hand.

Aiko watches the exchange closely, her heart swelling with hope that this small gesture might bridge the gap between the two children. She gently places a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, offering silent support.

Satoru finally nods, accepting the apology in his own way. "I guess you're not so bad," he mutters, barely audible but clear enough for Y/N to hear.

Relief washes over Y/N as she sees a small smile tug at the corner of Satoru's lips. The internal conflict eases, replaced by a budding sense of accomplishment and the possibility of new friendship.

"Now, what do you say to Satoru-sama?" Aiko asks as she brushes Y/N's hair a few minutes before their meeting.

"I'm sorry. You don't look like a frog?" the young girl hums, enjoying the feeling of her guardian brushing her hair.

"No! You say, 'I'm sorry, Satoru-sama! You are very handsome!'" Aiko says with a mix of exasperation and amusement, her eyes twinkling as she continues to gently work through Y/N's hair. She pauses for a moment, looking at Y/N in the mirror. "It's important to be polite and kind, even if you don't feel like it. It helps us make friends and keep peace."

Y/N pouts slightly but nods, understanding the lesson. Aiko finishes brushing her hair, smoothing down the last few stray strands. "There, all done. You look lovely," she says, giving Y/N a reassuring smile. "Remember, you can always come to me if you need anything."

Y/N takes a deep breath and looks at herself in the mirror, trying to muster some enthusiasm. "Okay, Aiko-chan. I'll try my best."

Aiko gives her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. "That's all I ask. Now, let's go meet Satoru-sama, shall we?"

Although Gojo Satoru did not notice Y/N's words weren't entirely genuine, he could not stop the sudden quickening of his heartbeat. Embarrassed and surprised by this new feeling, he looks away, blushing.

"It's no problem... I'm sorry for calling you names too," he said, brushing his hair—a nervous habit of his.

Y/N nods in agreement and turns to Aiko. "I'm bored. Can we go now?" she says, not caring about the white-haired boy in front of her.

Satoru, irked by her dismissive attitude, scowls. "THAT'S NOT HOW YOU PROPERLY APOLOGIZE, YOU UGLY MOUSE!" he says, suddenly grabbing her cute chubby cheeks and stretching them playfully.

"YOU UGLY FROG, STOP THAT!" Y/N retorts with the same energy, pulling his white hair in return.

The two children engage in a comical tug-of-war, their faces scrunched up in exaggerated expressions of mock anger. Satoru's grip on her cheeks and Y/N's hold on his hair make for a comical sight, their bickering more akin to a lively game than a real fight.

Aiko, initially surprised by the sudden outburst, steps forward to intervene but then notices the playful nature of their banter. She pauses, a smile spreading across her face as she watches the two.

Satoru's grin widens as he teases, "You're lucky I like mice, otherwise, I'd turn you into a froggy!"

Y/N wrinkles her nose, playfully defiant. "Nuh-uh! I'm too fast for you, froggy boy!"

"You wish you were as cool as me," Satoru declares with a smirk, puffing out his chest, "but everyone knows frogs are the best!"

Y/N sticks out her tongue. "You're just jealous 'cause mice are cuter than frogs!"

Satoru, still holding onto Y/N's cheeks, grins mischievously. "You're lucky I'm letting you off easy, mouse."

Y/N, her cheeks stretched but her spirit undeterred, scoffs. "Yeah, right! I could beat you in a race any day, frog boy!"

Satoru releases her cheeks, pretending to be offended. "A race? Please, I'd leave you in the dust!"

Y/N sticks out her tongue. "Dream on, frog prince!"

Their laughter and childish insults echo through the garden, a stark contrast to their earlier tension. The golden afternoon light bathes them in warmth, making the moment feel timeless and full of innocent joy.

Aiko exhales in relief, glad her child has someone she can play with now. Her heart swelling with happiness at the sight of her child finding companionship and laughter in the garden.

Who knew this playful rivalry would continue for years to come?

[madewithlove-sophie]

What Did Love Do? | ii. | JJK Fanfiction

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Chapter ii. The Fated Pair

A warning for those squeamish with blood and s/h at the beginning

The birth of the honored one shook the Jujutsu World, shifting the balance between chaos and peace.

A child born with the six eyes and limitless technique. A child blessed by the heavens.

It is due to this event that people of the Jujutsu World did not know of the birth of another child just 7 months later.

The birth of the unworthy child. Upon her birth, cursed the fate of her clan.

Thrown away by her own clan at birth and taken by a mere maid. Y/N Akayami was a child cursed by the God's.

Yet who would have thought, these two were destined to cross paths and disrupt the world of Jujustu.

-

"Get that wretched thing away from me!" A woman, beautiful yet terrifying shouts.

Upon feeling the shift of cursed energy, seeing her child's eyes. Red. Beautiful. Dangerous. A Curse. She knew her child she gave birth to a few minutes ago was not hers. A monster.

A chilling scream echos in the hospital room. The newly made mother, throws her child to the ground and attacks the crying baby with her technique.

A barrage of invisible slashes scatter the room, harming the doctors and nurses.

A minute passes. Pause. Silence.

The mother looks around as the dust settles. The window panes shattered. The smooth wooden floor riddled with large jagged splinters.

Before the dust could lay back on the ground. A wailing cry.

The baby is unharmed. On the floor. Wanting the warmth promised by her mother.

A sinister aura of red protects circles the child.

The doctors and nurses unable to move watch helplessly as the baby cries for its mother.

A laughter echoed maniacally through the room. The mother stands and grabs the nearest object that would bring her relief.

A scalpel used for the operation.

Suddenly there are two bodies on the ground. One of the lifeless mother. One of the wailing baby.

The doctors unsure of what to do watch. Unable to move.

Yet one nurse, rushes to the crying baby. The red aura long gone.

"Shhhh it's okay." The nurse coos at the baby, calming her down.

Red. Crystal Red.

Two beautiful rubies stare back the woman. How could this baby be a monster? The nurse thinks as she starts wrapping the baby in white cloth.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Footsteps heard from the corridor enters the disheveled room.

Shiro Akayami, the head of the ancient and powerful Akayami Clan, walks in.

He looks around and sees the scene before him.

A woman called his wife lies on the floor. A scalpel on her hand.

A baby softly crying held by a worried nurse.

"Akayami-sama, it happened so fast we didn't-" Before the doctor could finish, a deafening slash tore through the room, silencing his words and claiming the lives of the doctor and two nurses standing nearby. Their bodies splat on the ground as if rags were thrown on the floor.

The nurse gasps in surprise as she witnesses the gore before her.

Shiro Akayami slowly turns to the nurse. Dark evil eyes stare at the woman on the floor holding his child.

He leans over the two. Sinister. Dark. Evil.

"Kill the child. I do not care how gruesome," he declares, his voice devoid of emotion, as he stands tall and resolute. With hands clasped behind his back, he strides toward the door, leaving an unsettling air of determination behind him.

"Make no mistake." he states icily, his gaze fixed ahead as he exits the room, leaving his ominous directive hanging in the air.

- 5 Years Later -

A small child walks hand in hand with a maid, their footsteps echoing softly on the polished wooden floors of their master's traditional Japanese house. The dim glow of lanterns casts flickering shadows across the tatami mats, while the moonlight filters through shoji screens, painting patterns of light and shadow on the walls.

Her beautiful ruby eyes peek out from beneath her long bangs as she rubs the sleep from them.

"Are you sleepy, Y/N?" A gentle voice asks the child.

"A bit," the child yawns as the two make their way across the lavish garden of their master's home, unaware of another child watching them from across the garden.

"Hey! You there!" A young child shouts from his chair, pointing at the two.

The maid stops her steps and turns to her master's child, bowing respectfully as the young girl hides behind her.

"Satoru-sama," she says, mimicking the deferential tone she uses with the child's parents.

"Who's the kid behind you? You're always in a rush to hide her," he points accusingly at the young girl cowering behind the comfort of the maid's skirt.

"She is my child, Satoru-sama," she responds, her voice strained with a hint of urgency, eager to leave the uncomfortable situation behind.

You're a kid too, you know. The maid says to herself, aware of the boy's somewhat superiority complex.

Satoru, with a sneer, comments, "She looks like a scared little mouse. Can she even speak?

The maid, filled with a motherly protectiveness over the child, reprimands Satoru. "Satoru-sama, have you—" but before she could finish her reprimand to the rude child, the young girl behind her leaves the comfort of her shield and yells.

"Yes, I can! And you look like a frog!" she shouts in defense.

The maid, shocked by her child's outburst, gasps and covers the child's mouth with her hand.

"She did not mean that!" the flustered maid says, her voice tense with worry about the repercussions the child's words might have with his parents.

Young Satoru gasps in surprise and points at the young girl. "You're rude!" He shouts in defense.

The maid laughs in embarrassment. "She doesn't mean that." The maid repeats.

The maid removes her hand over the child's mouth and slightly pushes her head down in a bow.

"She's sorry about what she said, Satoru-sama," the maid says, wanting nothing more than to leave the young boy and head to their room. "Apologize to Satoru-sama, Y/N." The maid whispers to the child.

"I didn't meant it," the young girl mutters in apology.

Satoru laughs at the young girl. "It's 'I didn't mean it,' stupid mouse," he says confidently, reveling in his perceived superiority over the girl.

The young girl fueled with anger suddenly stomps on young Satoru's. "You're a meany!" She shouts in frustration over the annoying ugly boy before her.

Satoru gasps although not in pain but surprise at the young girl's defiance. Before he could say anything the maid laughs in embarrassment.

"Ah, young Y/N is cranky for not eating any chocolate this evening for dinner. Please forgive her rude behavior, Satoru-sama," the maid says, her voice tinged with a subtle hint of concern as she carefully chooses her words, hoping to deflect any suspicion or ire from the young boy.

The maid rushes to pick up the young girl and carries her over her shoulder. The child's dress frills in the air as the evening air chills the night.

"I'm not cranky," the girl mutters before turning to look at the young boy at the center of the garden, teasing him as she stares at those big, blue, ugly eyes.

Before the two disappear inside the house, she sticks her tongue out at the young boy in playful retaliation.

Young Satoru sneers in mock annoyance at the girl's antics. What an annoying girl!

Satoru walks to his bedroom, his footsteps softly tapping the ground as he considers their exchange.

Eventually, young Satoru lies on his bed, about to sleep. Before he could succumb to slumber, he exhales loudly, thinking about the encounter. "Red," he murmurs, remembering the peculiar crystal rubies of the girl he encountered.

-

Editor's note: A the start of childhood romance ~

[madewithlove-sophie]

Writing Masterlist

Beneath the Mask | Simon Ghost Riley Fanfiction

What did love do? (On-going) | JJK Fanfiction

Twisted Hearts | Aizawa Shouta Fanfiction

[madewithlove-sophie]

What did love do? I. (Teaser)

The sea breeze was calm.

The water cold at my feet.

And the hand I hold, grips mine in a gentle and endearing manner. I almost feel guilty holding his hand as we walked the calm shore.

"You're doing it again." A deep voice. One I am familiar with since we were teenage kids studying the ways of the Jujutsu world and its cruelty.

Suddenly, a gentle hand brushes my cheeks and lifts my head, coaxing me to look into his hazel eyes. I exhale.

Comfort. Love. Warmth. and... Pain.

"Come back to me, love." Kento's warmth. I could feel it all over my body. What did love do to me? Weak. I close my eyes and breathe. In and out. Slowly.

A warm hand holds mine, lifting it to an unknown darkness.

lub-dub. A beat. and another. and another. and another.

I slowly open my eyes to see my hands over the chest- no the heart of the man I love dearly. The man who has beaten the odds of the Jujutsu World. It's cruelty. It's chaos. It's-

"I'm right here, love." A gentle voice said.

I suck in a breathe. As if all this time, it was my first gulp of air. I look up and see his hazel eyes. Shinning. Love, Comfort, Warmth, Pain- no... it was Strength.

Slowly, I exhale.

"Kento." I said with as much strength as I can. I finally look at him. Frown lines appearing and disappearing in its wake as he looks at me. As he finds pieces of me and puts me together in the best way he can. I love you. Thank you. I-

I take one big breathe and exhale.

"We're safe." I said looking at the horizon.

A hand holds mine. Gentle. Warm. One that conveys: I love you.

"We are safe." He repeats. Strength. Warmth. Comfort.

A pause.

"Thank you, Y/N." He says with such certainty it shakes my insides. Twisting and turning.

"Kento, I didn't do-"

"Your heart. Thank you for giving it to me." He turns to face me slowly and smiles. His eyes. Hazel. I love you. Strength. Warmth. Comfort.

I blush at his endearing words. Before I could pull away in embarrassment, a kiss.

His lips every so him, kisses me gently, lovingly.

His hands found its way on my hips and pulls me in.

I love you.

Slowly, we pull away. A gold band shines in the sun. I look down and see his large hand over mine.

It was now my turn. I take his hand and bring it to my heart.

"It's yours, Kento." I say with all my strength. I look up at him. His face lights up in love. His eyes shines with the setting sun.

He kisses me again. "I love you, Y/N."

[madewithlove-sophie]

The Birth of the Damned | JJK Teaser

"Piece of Trash"

"Why were you even born?"

 "Go to back being the obedient bitch you are""

The clan never wanted you!"

These words have been a constant in my life. Being born with the special and very powerful ability to use my curse technique to warp space and reality should've been considered a blessing.

  It  was  a damning curse.  My clan saw my birth as a premonition- the return of the King of Curses, Sukuna Ryomen.

The moment my mother saw the shift in cursed energy within my body, she threw me on the ground shouting and demanding the doctors to get rid of me. She even tried using her cursed technique to kill me but my cursed energy saved me from the wrath of my mother, creating a protective sphere of red as I wailed, frightened.  Frightened. Angry. Confused.

My childhood was then spent hidden from the world. Alone. I was only given glimpses of what the outside was. Playing only with my ability to use my technique. No one was allowed to see me, I wasn't allowed to see anyone.

  However, one day that all changed after meeting a boy my age with eyes so beautiful you could drown in them.