#even if its only to mask their pain in front of enemies

[bowiebond]

Thinking about Violent Gay Mentor Billy who teaches Will to punch homophones, spit blood in their face and laugh.

Just Billy being unhinged and Will screaming until it finally clicks and all that pent up self loathing turns to queer rage <3

[astarioffsimpmain]

Consternation

Astarion x F!Reader

Warnings: Explicit violence; gore; mentions of abuse

Synopsis: Astarion realizes that Cazador is no longer his worst fear

Author's Note: This is my first ever Astarion fic, and I have to thank the members of the Astarion fandom that I have met thus far. This fic would not exist without your encouragment. <3

It was foreign to him, this fear. This icy chill that rattled his bones struck him deep at the core and unsettled him in a way that had him desperate to both pace ceaselessly and never move again. Oh, he had felt fear. It had been his constant companion since he was taken by Cazador; often his only companion as he writhed in the dark, his eyes open but nothing behind them. 

But this… 

He watched as Karlach carried you back to the campsite. You were bloodied almost beyond recognition, your heartbeat barely reaching his sensitive ears. It was his fault. You and he had argued last night; it was petty. He had been petty. He used the words that he knew would hurt you, and you, too spent after a grueling day to see through his act, had retreated to your own tent to seek out sleep in painful solitude. But sleep had not come. He'd seen it in your eyes this morning when you emerged from your tent, squinting and glaring up at the sun as though it was your enemy, and not his. 

And when you, he, and Karlach had gone out in search of food and firewood, you had been too slow, too fatigued, and too distracted to guard yourself from the attack. Orcs. They were a vicious bunch, springing on the three of you from the thicket near the base of the mountain range where you hunted, and while he and Karlach had suffered several minor injuries before winning out, you took a blow far more damaging. One of the orcs had taken you by surprise and bludgeoned you in the side of the head with its club before gaining the upper hand and stepping down hard on your ribs. 

He'd been focused on the orc in front of him until he heard the crunch. The sound was so grotesquely familiar to him that time nearly stopped as he swiveled his head in your direction. No. You lay flat on your back, your body bent in several unnatural directions, as the orc stood over you triumphantly, raising its club to finish the job. Your head lolled to the side and your unharmed eye met his and he shuddered, his breath catching in his throat. You didn't look scared. You didn't even look angry. He knew that expression. He'd seen it on your beautiful face as the moon bathed you in ethereal glow, the night he confessed his feelings to you. The night he surrendered his mask of flippant indifference and let you see him for who… for what he truly is. You had looked at him with such- such love, that night, so much that he thought he wouldn't be able to bear it. 

But now? Now he would trade the air in his lungs and every day of freedom he had left to be there with you on that night again. He would rather surrender himself to his master than watch you die because of him, and still look at him with love. 

It wasn't even him that had managed to save you in the end. It was Karlach, who had all but rammed the orc off of the top of you before gathering you up in her arms and running back towards camp. He had stood in a useless, pitiful daze, and had your tiefling companion not been there to end the last of the orcs before saving you, he would have been quick to join you at death's door. He remained useless as he followed Karlach back to the camp where Wyll, Shadowheart and Gale rushed off in the directions of their tents to see if they had something that could help you. Lae'zel had let out a bloodthirsty cry upon seeing you, demanding the blood of whoever or whatever had attacked you. Once Karlach told her the story, she posted herself at the edge of the campground, circling to prevent any more surprises. 

Everyone was doing something. Everyone but him. All he could do was sit beside you with his cool hands running over your body, trying desperately to cool you down. Your face was marred nearly beyond recognition, and the blood from your internal wounds had begun to pool just below the surface of the skin on your abdomen, creating angry violet spots all over your soft and beautiful body; the body he had held bare against his not too long ago; the heart he promised to love as wholly and genuinely as he was capable, beating far too weakly inside your chest. Guilt twisted further inside of him. If only he was strong, like you believed he was. If only Cazador didn't haunt his every moment. If only he was truly as free as you made him feel. Perhaps if he was better, stronger, more, he wouldn't have said those things to you. He wouldn't have hurt you, and instead of a sleepless night alone, you could have been wrapped up in him.

But he was foolish; weak; less. And he let his pain seep out like a fresh wound onto you, and now you suffered for it. Up until this very moment he had been under the false illusion that being sent back to Cazador was the worst fate he could possibly endure. How many times did he have to be proven wrong by you before he would listen?! Losing you was the fear he never expected. Losing you was far worse than losing himself, and the realization of that only deepened the already gripping dread in his heart. 

"Please," he whispered softly, leaning over your unmoving form. "Please, gods, stay alive. Even if you hate me forever, please stay alive. Please." His voice cracked as a tear rolled down his cheek and collided with yours. His body trembled as he prayed to gods he wasn't even sure he believed in, wishing for a miracle he didn't really think could happen. What would he do without you? He always insisted that he was his own person, but… was he? Or had he just traded one master for another; the first a master of his body, and the second a master of his heart?

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Skud

Debut: Kirby 64: The Crystal Shards

SKUD!!!! Who does not like Skud!! This charming little rocket has been terrorizing the hearts of many a Kirby 64 player since 2000, and is not stopping soon. Just look at that smile!

Kirby 64, as you may know, is a game centered around mixing and matching abilities. It's kind of a whole thing! But there's only so many enemies that were introduced to represent the seven abilities that Kirby 64 actually uses, so to keep things fresh and never stale, they made sure there were four enemies per ability; usually, most of these enemies would be brand new! Bomb is the exception, with FIVE enemies to represent it, and four of them being new ones! Skud is one of these!!

If you hadn't looked at what Skud looks like, you might be wondering what it does to earn the title of a Bomb enemy. And to that I say, look at it again! In fact, look at it again even if you did pay attention to its design, because Skud is simply that wonderful. It's a cute little rocket that aimlessly walks to and fro on ground or blocks, but once it sees Kirby, it makes its attack!

As you can guess, rather than throwing bombs like its predecessors Poppy Bros. Jr. and Jungle Bomb (the latter of which doesn't appear in Kirby 64, rest in peace), it turns into a typical missile and launches full force at Kirby, exploding once it hits something! It's kind of like Foley, in that sense, but more homing missile-y.

It is no secret that I love Skud. You love Skud! Everyone loves: Skud. But what are Skud's origins? Are they man, or machine? You first find one in front of Dedede's Castle—did Dedede create them? After all, he made his own mechanical hammer as Masked Dedede. But Skud seems so lively, and is never launched from anywhere–he just minds his own business until he Doesn't.

So, does that mean he's not mechanical? Consider, though, other enemies that protect (another one of) Dedede's castle(s) include Moto Shotzo and Plugg, indisputably living machines! And I haven't mentioned this, but Skud loses his face and feet in favor of fins when he launches!

Personally, I think that Skuds are like ants–they're alive, they're organic, but they just love to self-destruct for fun! And what about how they lose their faces when launching, you might ask? Maybe they feel bad whenever Kirby cries out in pain and don't want to show it! After all, for them this is just playing around!

I feel it worth noting that Bomb is one of the few abilities in Kirby 64 that, when combined with itself, does NOT make an 'enhanced' version of the original ability! Instead, Kirby starts shooting homing missiles out of his mouth...which look VERY MUCH like Skud! While these are faceless, slim and long, there's no mistaking those striking white-with-red-details-colored rockets for anything else. It's a really cute detail, and makes Skud all the more special!

Please look at Skud

[xo-cod]

Holy Hell! Don’t leave us on a cliffhanger please?!

How did the 141 boys react when they got the call that she had been shot? How did they catch the guy who did it? And what are they going to do to him? 😈

continued from here

disclaimer: because they are what they are (highly trained assassins 🫣), heavy mentions of stabbings and beatings, proceed with caution lmfao ‼️ rushed/ooc

"we can go all night, when you give out from exhaustion and pain. when you're begging us to kill you, when you're cryin to end your life, we're gonna be here" pulling off the bag from his face, ghost examined his features. the man winced and grimaced, gasping a little as the light flooded his vision and finally looking at his captor. standing tall at 6'4, bigger than most men ghost was certainly not someone to be trifled with. his brown eyes hardened behind his skull balaclava, twirled a knife expertly between his fingers

ghost had no sympathy for the person in front of him, he had been hunting you down for days and very nearly coming close in succeeding in his given task. all he could remember is what soap had said,"one centimeter over and it would've torn right through her heart" and it only served to further anger him when he knew you didn't have any bad intentions at all, you weren't there to hurt anyone. you only thought it was an innocent date and you have paid the price for it at a grave cost. the thought of losing you tonight only fuelled his anger, his jaw clenched tightly as his eyes remained on the man

rules were rules, threatening the 141 was punishable by death. and simon had never been so glad for it

"listen i'm sorry man, i didn't know" the man tried to justify to which ghost scoffed, cold brown eyes glancing at the sharp array of weapons on the table opposite.

"choose a better excuse, that one is overused" his chest vibrates with dark chuckles and it causes the tension in the air to suffocate, this wasn't an amused laugh. this had brought on fear and pain and ghost hadn't even inflicted anything yet. still the man's determined attitude hadn't wavered, much to simon's displeasure.

"fuck you" the man hissed and then cried out in pain when a whip slapped his abdomen, undoubtedly leaving a trail of blood in its wake. his head was yanked back as ghost grabbed a fistful of hair, his face in close proximity of the other

"listen close you bastard, i've dealt with my fair share of bloody narcissists. but you hurt y/n, you shot her. so take your bloody time i'll get what i want from you, one way or another" ghost snarled, the tip of his sharpened knife trailing down her neck circling around the man's abdomen. he screamed when the knife was twisted into the first layer of skin, gaping down to where the blood was beginning to pool on his lap.

"now all you gotta do is give me a name. and this stops right here. but if not..." ghost pushed the knife a little more deeper into the body, grinning under his mask when the man whimpered trying so hard to not scream. to try keep his composture not wanting to bring any satisfaction to the enemy

but hell, it was hanging by a small thread at this point.

"any progress?" a deeper, gravelly voice cuts in and both heads look towards the door. the man lets a small gasp as the rest of the team pile into the room. it was as if they commanded respect, demanded to be listened to. their muscles straining against their shirt, scars littering their bodies proof of the business they were, of the lives they led

"he's stubborn" ghost stops, wiping the few drops of blood from his mask. he was getting rather irritated, wanting to be at the hospital with you but forced to take care of this problem.

"he's looking worse for the wear" soap chuckled but there was no humour in his voice. all he could think about was how fragile you looked after being shot and it made him want to tear into the man but gaz and ghost would hold him back, they already were eyeing him carefully. still it was rather amusing how many people tried to kill them and yet they always seemed to be on the receiving end of the blade.

"why not kill 'im, the poor bastard" soap scoffed with sarcasm, looking at the man with pure anger, his fists clenching as he sized the man up. desperately wanting to be the one to plunge the knife so deep into his heart and watch the life fade away from his eyes. just as he had done with you

"as convenient as that sounds, we'll never end up getting our information if he's dead" gaz leans back on the table, looking at the purple and blue blotches on the man's skin. the way his hair was matted down with blood and sweat, how he looked on the verge of passing out at any given moment. they'd bring him back alive though, none of their enemies ever did have a quick painless death here. ghost had a knack for making his prisoners suffer until they physically and mentally couldn't take anymore, testing each and every brutal limit in their weak bodies. it was only a matter of time until he spilled the dark secret.

but time was not on their side.

"y-you bastards, go to hell" his voice fluctuated angrily as he tried to keep his heartbeat normal, to keep those nerves at bay. to remember his training as a soldier but these men were different, for every step he took they already knew about. he was at their mercy this time.

placing a hand deep within his pocket, the captain of the team entered the room a pensive look painted upon his features. he shifted his bucket hat, looking down at their little victim tied up to the chair as his head tilted a little.

"we're all tired from your little reign of heroism, thinking you're doing well by serving your country and your organisation. for now, you'd do well to remember we're the ones who determine whether you walk out of this building alive. i suggest you start by giving us some answers. you see, myself..." price grabbed the knife from ghost's hand in a quick flash and plunged it straight into the muscle of the man's thigh, completely unfazed at his screams and the splatter of blood coating his cargos

"well, i am not a particularly patient man"

[insane-brit]

Royalty (Ch. 1)

Muzan Kibutsuji x Soulmate!fem!reader

Part links: Prologue, Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three

Tags/warnings: Dialogue, slow burn, dark story/themes, enemies to lovers (or maybe just enemies. who knows), spoilers for Mugen Train Arc, slight spoilers for Entertainment District Arc, slight jealousy, talks of death, worry, anxiety, past memory, some pain, masking worry with optimism. 

A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love on the Prologue. I am excited to continue this story and feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming chapters. This story will be a slow burn as I don’t want to rush it.

Also, I plan to stray from the canon story as this is a fanfic and AU, but will loosely have parts of the canon story incorporated.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word count: 2.5K

“That little girl is not even 8 yet! She shouldn’t be feeling this way Sakonji!” The older woman whispered.

“I know, but there’s not much you can do.”

“Not much I can do? Well, there must be something! I’m not going to stand idly by and watch my granddaughter’s mind deteriorate!”

Hina’s eyes drilled into the angry red mask. She was at a loss, and no one knew how to aid her. There weren’t many people she could go to, much less that she trusted, but out of anyone she thought Urokodaki would have something for her.

“What do you expect me to do Hina? Call upon the spirits and command them to give her a bond? I understand that this is devastating, but that is not how this works.”

The lantern burned low in the hut. A mere hour or two of fuel left before it would cast the room into darkness. The two adults sat next to each other, and farther in front of them, a little girl lay on a dark futon seemingly sound asleep. A lighter-colored blanket covered her form up to her neck, her back facing them. Hina lowered her head to her hand, palm raised to cover her eyes.

“Don’t take me for an idiot. I just don’t know what to do. How do I explain to her that she may never receive a thread?”

Urokodaki remained silent looking at the sleeping child. Turning his head barely to look at the woman.

“You be direct. False truths will only cause more pain in the end.”

She took a sharp breath in, letting the hand fall from her face and onto her lap with a faint smack. “You’re telling me what I don’t want to hear.”

“I know, but you already knew what I was going to say. Now it’s up to you to inform her. I refuse to be the one to do so.”

She paused, looking at her granddaughter before nodding her head.  

He gently put his hand on her back, an attempt at consolation. “Get some rest. You traveled a long way and need your energy for the journey home.” He stood up, walking over to the door before turning to look at her sitting form. “I won't be long. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.”

Hina lightly scoffed at his remark, rolling her eyes as he closed the door softly behind him. She scooted over to the little girl, leaning down and placing a kiss on the side of her head.

“I’m sorry sweetheart. I’m sorry fate has treated you this way,” She brushed some hair away from the girl’s face. “But I know in my heart you’ll do great things. Soul tie or not.”

Hina turned over, snuffing the lantern out before laying down herself. Unbeknownst to her, her granddaughter opened her eyes, gazing at what little she could see of the wooden walls. Her eyes were dull as the conversation between Urokodaki, and her grandmother circled in her mind. May never get one? Why? Did she do something wrong? Did-

“Hey… are you even listening to me?”

A hand waved in front of her face, knocking her from her stupor. Startled, she whipped her head to gaze at the white-haired man stationed next to her.  His fuchsia eyes glowered at her form, which was off in its dream world.

“Yeah,” she blinked a few times. “I’m listening.”

The former smile on his face was downturned. His eyes narrowed as he raised an eyebrow.

“You know, you're a terrible liar, and it’s not very flashy of you.”

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Tengen, I don’t need a lecture. Especially from you.”

Hands raised in defense; he leaned back against the stone in front of the Butterfly Mansion. The sun’s rays reached far into the sky as it lowered itself on the horizon. Igniting the land in warmth and an array of rich tones. It was almost blinding, and she raised her hand to shield her eyes. The Sound Hashira hummed next to her; eyes closed with a small smile on his face. Ever since the arrival of Tanjiro Kamado and his younger demon sister, Nezuko, tensions were high among the slayers. As much as she wanted to think she wasn’t wary at first, the Echo Hashira would be deceiving herself if she did. However, with the bittersweet victory of the Mugen Train, her judgment of the small slayers had shifted. She supposed Tomioka was right to have given them a chance, but it amazed her that it was him of all people. She would have to show her gratitude to him but at a different time.

The death of Kyojuro Rengoku following the defeat of Lower Moon One exhibited the harsh reality of their day-to-day life. She was cognizant of the dangers and death that danced in their shadows, but this was another kind of pain. A wound that wouldn’t stay closed and leaked as if weeping for the fallen Pillar. Which she did often alone late at night. No one was around to see her walls barren, unguarded and splayed for anyone to see the rising tide that was her emotions. While she wasn’t as close to the Flame Hashira as she would’ve desired, she knew him well enough to call him her friend. Tengen on the other hand, was closer to Kyojuro than anyone. On a handful of occasions, she had caught him mourning. She never approached him in these moments no matter how close they were. It felt too raw and private, and if he knew she had seen him, he never confronted her about it.

“Were you thinking about your bond again?” Tengen said cracking one eye open.

“When am I not?”

“So, you were thinking about it!” He teased, a wider smile gracing his features.

“Bold of you to assume that’s the only thing on my mind.” She grumbled massaging her temple. Tengen was the only person besides the Master, Urokodaki, and her grandmother to know that she didn’t have a soul tie. It is well known that bonds form in the early stages of life and it has never been heard of to have one materialize after 5 years of age. However, it has also never been heard of not having one at all. At least, until she never got one. She waited for years, staring intensely at her wrist to see the red thread assemble itself before her eyes. Stretching to the one that was supposedly meant for her, but it never came. Over the years she had wishful thinking that dwindled to a mere flame that had eventually snuffed itself out. There was no point in longing for one when she was now at the ripe age of 22. Her time had come and gone, but regardless of saying that, deep down she still hoped. Why? She had no idea, but it constantly plagued her. Even more so, she had no idea why she decided Tengen out of all people was the one to confide this information to. The Master, Urokodaki, and her grandmother made sense, but him? She’s surprised he hasn’t run that mouth of his. The anxiety she felt at anyone else knowing weighed on her mind daily. She did not doubt that people would find it taboo, no matter how progressive the world became.

Tengen sighed at her words. “I assumed nothing. I only made an observation and I have no doubt there are more worries in that head of yours.”

“And what about you? Don’t you have your own? What about Suma, Makio, and Hinatsuru?”

“I haven’t heard from them,” she turned to look at him as he spoke. “Their letters stopped coming a while back.”

Silence rose between the two of them. She could see the conflict in Tengen’s eyes. He cared greatly for his wives as they did him. She had met them a few times and saw first-hand just how important and beautiful their relationship was. Lucky bastard. Though his family was known for having multiple soul ties. She couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy, but happiness for all four of them.

“Will you be going to look for them?”

“Yes,” he grunted standing up from the cobble where they both were sitting. “You can come along if you want. I could use that breathing style of yours.”

She stood up alongside him, wincing, her back aching from the firm ground. Aoi and the others would have her head knowing that she wasn’t maintaining her health in light of recent events.

“That all depends on the Master, but I would be happy to lend a hand,” the corners of her lips upturned slightly as she looked at him and then at the darkening sky. “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

Despite his growing smile, the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. “Great! I need to gather a few more items,” he drawled, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “But then we should be ready to head out in a few days.”

She shook her head. Whatever was going on in that bare brain of his she sincerely hoped it was something good, but she didn’t pry.

“I think I’ll go on ahead of you. I can see if I can get any leads on those three and meet up with you in Yoshiwara.”

“Come on,” Tengen groaned. “I would like to have someone I like to talk to travel with me.”

She shook her head in defiance. “You know my breathing style does better when I’m alone. It’s not as big of a risk, and I don’t think the Sound Pillar”- she pointed at him- “wants to lose his hearing.”

They both smiled at each other, a few breathy laughs escaping from their mouths. Her style, Echo breathing, relied on high frequencies that were known to be a danger to group efforts. There have been more than a handful of accidents in the past, many she’s not proud of, which is why the executive decision was made for her to do missions alone. However, Master Kagaya occasionally granted her to travel in the company of others. It did get quite lonely at times, but she preferred the safety of others over satisfying the sociable aspect of herself.

Tengen hummed, “I suppose you’re right. Though, it would be a very extravagant way to retire. Having a comrade kill off my hearing.”

She kicked some stones his way. “I’ll let you know what the Master says. If granted, I’ll leave at dawn, but for now, I’m going to get some well-deserved rest.”

He let out a loud laugh and gestured some form of what she assumed to be a goodnight. “If not, I’ll drag you there myself.” He exclaimed before strutting off to who knows where.

She studied him as he disappeared into the estate’s shadows. He couldn’t fool her. Despite his optimistic exterior, he was terrified. She could recognize that kind of spirit anywhere as many of the same haunted her. And for his sake, she hoped that those three were alive. If they were to perish, she didn’t think he would ever recover. He would be a shell of a man and taper off into misery. She couldn’t bear to see his downfall.

 --------------------------------------------------------

Lying in her room in the mansion, the Echo Pillar was restless. Sleep evaded her and instead, her psyche was infested with dread. Shinobu had been kind enough to offer her residence temporarily following her previous assignment, along with Aoi and the butterfly girls helping her in any way they could. She was forever in their debt and thinking of them brought a smile to her face despite the growing pit in her stomach.

Earlier, her crow had returned with word from Master Kagaya. Said message permitting her to venture out to Yoshiwara, a red-light district all too familiar. It’s not that she had any history with the district, but rather passed through it on multiple occasions. Therefore, becoming acquainted more than she ever thought she would. Lucky for her, that will come in handy.

What she didn’t understand was why she was filled with apprehension. It was like her body and mind were working against her. This had only ever been a problem when she was a beginner slayer, but as she rose in the ranks she learned to deal with these sentiments. Fear was a constant. It never went away, but confidence and vengeance outweighed it in every circumstance. So why was it so prominent now?

Sighing, she turned her head to gaze at the aperture that granted the moon entry. Its rays highlighted every surface in a delicate glow. Night, despite its tendency to harbor barbaric creatures was a time she always looked forward to. The darkness leaked like ink and grasped at the innocent, but it provided comfort to those in need. She could never loathe it.

Her muscles ached. No position good enough to lull her into unconsciousness’s sweet embrace. Abruptly, what felt like a fire erupted down her arm. Its path licked under her pallid flesh and burned away at her veins. Sitting up faster than ever before, she clutched her forearm. Biting the inside of her cheek so hard, iron filled her mouth in a matter of seconds. Nails dug into tender flesh as something slithered through her arm. Confusion swarmed her mind. Was this from the previous demon she fought? There was no way, that thing’s blood demon art couldn’t have done this. It would’ve already taken effect and finished her off by now. Regardless, she was dangerously close to finding a solution to the rapidly growing pain. Tucking her arm, she hoisted herself onto her knees. Her head ducked low and her eyes went wide, her skin felt clammy. Under the palm of her hand that was grasping her arm, a deep red glow oozed out. Limbs shook as she slowly raised her hand away from the skin. The vessels excreted a scarlet substance under the complexion of her arm. Spreading agonizingly slow towards the wrist. Her breathing grew heavy as terror’s maw tore her insides, and through a clouded mind, she watched as a thread, red as wine, circled her wrist. It traveled through her fingers caressing them before pulling taught. The tightening in her arm caused her to clench her fist. The thread continued, creeping around her extremity before elongating to the slightly cracked door. Its length was ongoing. A feeling of bliss stroked up her arm replacing the pain and she let out a shuttering breath. The thread pulsed and she could feel it dilating under her skin.

Pure shock all but made her heart stop. “How…how is this possible?”

She gently rubbed the thread between the pads of her fingers. Its texture was coarse and some of the bristles pricked her skin.

She finally had the sanctified bond she had always longed for. 

Her other half.

Her soulmate.

[kastlequill]

i. beggin' for thread

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader word count: 3.9k synopsis: your first run-in with the not-so-friendly neighborhood spider-man as the black cat of earth-928 tags: whump/angst, first meetings, strangers to enemies, restraints (and not in a sexy way), unresolved tension, size difference, hurt no comfort, black cat!reader warnings: reference of past canonical sexual assault, dealing with trauma ao3: read here next → 

Your head was pounding something fierce—this was the first and only thought that entered your mind, still a bit dazed upon only just regaining consciousness.

Despite the fact that you could hear your own heartbeat pulsating loudly in the space between your two ears, it didn’t seem likely that the dull, rhythmic thud had roused you from sleep. As you gradually became more lucid, your awareness of the other parts of your body also improved. Then, the sudden sensation of blood rushing towards your head threatened to pull you under once again. 

That’ll do it, you thought, a small groan escaping your lips. 

You were upside down. Hanging by your ankles, which were tied to the neck of a streetlamp with the thickest, stickiest, weirdest rope you’d ever fucking seen.

The force of gravity on your entire blood supply had probably signaled your nervous system to implement its fight-or-flight response, causing you to jerk awake. You didn’t know how long you’d been hanging here, but you did know that the pressure was quickly becoming unbearable. 

A wave of dizziness hit, and you clenched your teeth to keep another pained hiss from slipping out of you. 

It’d be easier to come up with an escape plan if your brain wasn’t currently being compressed into mush. 

Think, think, think. 

What had your father always said? All you’ll ever need to get yourself out of a nasty situation is one free hand, sweetheart. 

Wiggling your hands around in your restraints allowed some blood to return to them, and with the feeling in your fingers back, you used the sharpened edge of your index claw to saw away at the ties around your wrists. This material was thinner in comparison to that of the other rope that bound you to the lamppost, but at the rate you were going, you’d nonetheless be stuck for at least the next hour. 

Several minutes of silent work passed until you couldn’t contain your frustration anymore. Although it would only waste your precious energy, you thrashed about in your confines, too angry to care much for logic. After a few more seconds of struggling, you felt your body go lax, truly spent. However, while you were physically exhausted, you’d only become increasingly riled up as time had gone by, and you were ready to verbally spar whoever had decided to play this dirty trick on you. 

“Ever heard it’s impolite to leave a lady high and dry?” 

You spoke the question into the dead of night, your intonation steady and unaffected. Something gave you the impression that whoever had tied you up would be able to hear your words even if you whispered them, so you didn’t want to debase yourself by yelling or appearing as though you had lost your cool. 

But oh, were you furious.  

“Little criminals like you are exempt from that rule, or haven’t you heard?” a male voice traveled with the wind, reverberating everywhere around you. “It’s a shame that you gave in so soon, I was quite enjoying those last ten minutes. Is that all the stamina you’ve got? Que decepcionante.” 

He emerged from above and landed smoothly in front of you, feet planted, knees bent, ground trembling. When he uncoiled himself and rose to his full height, you had to swallow a gasp.  

This man was a fucking tank. 

The form-fitting navy blue and red suit he wore did nothing to hide the definition of his infinite many muscles or the planes and curves of his body. So though he technically showed no skin, only his masked face truly left something to the imagination; unlike yours, which covered just the areas that bordered your eyes, he had complete anonymity. His broad shoulders blocked light from the other lampposts across the street, outlining his silhouette in a way that should have terrified you. 

It didn’t. It really, really didn’t. 

Rather preoccupied with appraising his physique, you didn’t notice him stepping closer and closer until he was now but two feet away. This was the moment you discovered that, in addition to being built like a tank, he was a giant. 

His shadow loomed over you, painting you in darkness. Hanging from a streetlamp ten-feet tall, you resigned yourself to awkwardly staring at the navel of his stomach, while he was level with your upper thighs. 

The unfair reality of being at a height disadvantage.

“Before we continue sizing each other up,” you started to say, releasing a puff of air that sounded more like a wheeze than an exhale. “I should warn you: if I’m down here any longer, my brain will explode. Maybe it’s just me, but I sure wouldn’t want to spend my evening cleaning that up.” 

In response, the man knelt on the pavement so that you both were finally able to at least somewhat look at one another for the remainder of this hopefully-short conversation. Even kneeling, he was still tall enough to look down his nose at you, probably scrutinizing your sweat-drenched face. 

Had his mother fed him horses as a kid? Why was he so fucking huge? 

You heard his tongue click and watched him tilt his head to the side, as if he was seeing you for the first time. “Bit dramatic, aren’t we?” 

“Easy for someone rightside up to say,” you grumbled, squinting at where the red details of his mask indicated his eyes. “Is this how you flirt, big guy? Bit old to be picking on girls we find pretty, aren’t we?” 

The growl that tore itself from deep within his chest warned you to tread carefully, but you were never one to turn tail and run when things were just getting interesting. 

If he wanted to be sassy, well, you’d show him sassy. 

“How about this: you free me, then we can play fair and square. No restraints necessary.” You accompanied the suggestion with a subtle pout for good measure. Sure, curiosity killed the cat, but your desire to know the limits to which you could push this man temporarily surpassed your self-preservative instincts. To contrast how your eyes widened in mock-innocence, you adopted a low, sultry tone of voice. “Unless, of course, you’re into that.” 

Faster than you could fathom, the man stood, unsheathed his talons, and cut a seamless line through your restraints, sending you straight into his awaiting arms. What might’ve initially seemed sweet quickly turned sour as he immediately pushed you against the pole of the streetlamp. Heedless of your protests, he rewrapped you in more of that strange rope. Except, the ‘rope’ projected out from his wrists. 

Who the hell—?

In your state of confusion, you failed to anticipate him clasping a hand across the lower half of your face, preventing you from saying another word. 

“Enough games. I have questions,” he spoke directly into your ear, the sarcastic humor he had previously addressed you with now completely absent, replaced by an eerily calm inflection. The hand over your mouth moved to grab your chin, tilting it towards his own face. “And you’re going to answer them. Nod if you understand.” 

You briefly considered biting his fingers just to teach the ass a lesson, but you held back. He had tensed each and every muscle in sight, his reflexes newly primed for a possible attack, which meant that the fun stuff was over, and all that remained of this interaction was the not-so-fun stuff. 

Reluctantly, you nodded. 

At your acceptance, his hand left you altogether and relocated to grab onto the bit of pole above your head to support the weight of his body as he leaned forward. The textbook intimidation tactic to accentuate a preexisting size difference between foes, evoking the feelings of prey, like fear and defeat.

You were feeling something alright. Intimidated wasn’t exactly how you would describe it. 

“What’s your name?”

A standard first question, and yet you hadn’t expected it in the slightest. Naturally, he wasn’t asking for your civilian name, but rather for your alias; the name that corresponded with the suit. 

Compared to his fancy, high-tech, synthetic suit, your all-black spandex accented with white fur was a joke. You couldn’t be too harsh on yourself, though. This—vigilantism, petty theft, getting superglued to a lamppost by some guy—was a new world to you. It was a given that you would have an adjustment period. 

Soon, you’d have your shit figured out; a name, a better suit, a concrete idea of what you were even intending to accomplish in the long run. 

“My name,” you echoed. “Would you believe me if I told you I still haven’t decided?” 

A few seconds went by of him presumably staring into your eyes, which were actually unclouded and unguarded for once. Perhaps he was searching for something particular, and perhaps he found whatever it was, because he continued on. 

“Did someone hire you?”

“Slow down there, mister. Don’t I get to ask you a question too? I scratch your back, you scratch mine, that type of thing?” 

He mumbled a string of words to himself that you couldn’t understand, but the annoyance he injected into whatever he’d said transcended language barriers. “You’re in no position to be making demands. Besides, I don’t negotiate with criminals.” 

“Not a criminal,” you huffed, tearing your eyes away from his invisible yet penetrating gaze. Or at least, you weren’t a criminal yet. “What’s your name?”

Through the conforming material of his mask, you could tell that the question had also surprised him. The material stretched upward as his eyebrows raised then lowered again, settling into a straight line, furrowing at the middle. “I’m Spider-Man.” 

The name rang a bell. You had read a number of morning newspapers that featured him as the headline, Spider-Man typed in bold lettering to entice prospective buyers. They usually contained editorials about his impressive résumé against an array of villains and interviews with people he had saved, but the only photos of him were always blurry shots taken mid-swing.

“Spider-Man? That explains the whole hanging me upside down thing. Is this how you court all your women? For future reference, you don’t need to knock me out just to lure me into your little web. I’m not usually a booty call type of gal, but you can be my special boy.” 

“Stop that,” he—Spider-Man—snapped. 

It was your turn to raise your brows at him. “Stop what?”

“You know what.” The red markings of Spider-Man’s eyes narrowed into a glare, and his voice dripped with disapproval. “Stop trying to flirt with me.”

Oh, you’d been terribly wrong earlier; there was still much fun to be had here. 

“I’m not trying to flirt with you, silly.” You made a great show of batting your lashes, stepping into the role of a lovesick fan infatuated with the superhero in front of you. “I either am, or I’m not.” 

He inhaled sharply, and his breathing quickened. The back that had captivated your attention from the get-go hunched further into you, caving in, as if he wanted nothing more than to encase you in the breadth of him. His movements were so incremental and inadvertent that you didn’t think he was even aware of how he’d closed the gap between the two of you.

Absolutely fascinating.

“If it’s working, then I am,” you teased, donning a sly smile, nudging your lips higher to brush against his neck, gaze lifting to where a slight dip in the mask revealed the curve of his mouth. “If it’s not, well. . .”

The sound of metal crunching startled you, and an upward glance confirmed the presence of a sizable dent in the part of the pole he had been holding onto; it now resembled a crushed soda can. When you redirected your focus from the lamppost to him, you were greeted by the image of him running a hand over his masked face in frustration. Whether he was upset at you or at himself, you weren’t sure. 

It sent a shiver down your spine regardless. 

Sooner than you had predicted, Spider-Man recollected his composure and resumed towering over you. He’d assumed a more reserved stance, both hands on his hips, nowhere near you. The placement drew you to the slimness of his waist, the large expanse of his upper body tapering to a defined V-shape—

“Be a good kitty and answer the question,” he interrupted your train of thought, punctuating the command with a condescending pat on the top of your head. 

As shameful as it was to admit, the combination of the pet name and the casual contact did you in. And judging by the arrogant uptilt of his chin, he’d known just the right buttons to push. 

“Alone,” you relented. “I’m alone.” 

Spider-Man gave a noncommittal hum and started to slowly circle the pole, and therefore you, like a shark honing in on its prey after scenting blood from a distance. Within the span of a few short minutes, your sarcastic remark about being ensnared in his web had manifested your current reality: you were the poor, unfortunate fly who had strayed into the territory of an apex predator, and he was the ravenous spider who was going to capitalize on your carelessness. 

Once satisfied that you were telling the truth, he ceased pacing and finally asked the question he’d been building up to all night. 

“Why did you attempt to murder an innocent civilian tonight?” 

Time itself came to a resounding hault. This inquiry was unlike the previous two in that hearing it felt akin to having a bucket of freezing cold water dumped onto your head. You were yanked from the false sense of security into which he had lulled you through his reciprocity of your banter. 

Blindsided by the enemy. A rookie mistake. 

Never again.

Your brain, slow to recover from the disillusionment, had to pick apart the sentence so as to even begin processing its implications. 

Attempt. Murder. Innocent. Civilian. 

Innocent. 

“Innocent?” The laugh that ripped from your throat was dark and bitter. “You think that son of a bitch is innocent?” 

Spider-Man recoiled, clearly not expecting such a vehement reaction. 

“Let me tell you this, Spider-Man,” you said his name like a curse. The direction he had decided to lead this conversation extinguished whatever fascination he’d initially sparked. “That trash deserves a fate worse than death, but seeing as he’s managed to avoid every punishment the universe has thrown at him thus far, death will have to do.”

“Who is he?” 

“A fucking rapist, that’s who he is. Another man who can’t take no for an answer, who thinks he’s entitled to a woman’s body. He—” 

The reflexive constriction of your airways forced you to pause and compose yourself before persevering. 

“There was a girl a few years ago. She trusted him to never hurt her, and he—” You couldn’t even say it. “The legal system failed that girl, has failed so many girls just like her. But I can get them their justice, I can bring them a bit of peace in knowing that the men who hurt them are no longer on this godforsaken earth. That those scum can walk among us freely, can go about the rest of their lives without consequence—it makes me sick.”

Acid coated your tongue, and the taste of your own venom inflicted further pain upon you. That was the thing about hate: it gradually poisoned its cultivator in addition to its target. Nevertheless, you would gladly sacrifice your health if it meant you could wield this double-edged sword and find comfort in its damage until the very end. 

“So no, me killing that maggot piece of shit isn’t murder. It’s what I’m owed,” you spat. The effects of adrenaline had faded, and an awful ache was spreading throughout your fatigued leg muscles as a result of the night’s physically-intensive events. Its searing throb reminded you of the fact that you were still tied up, at the mercy of this so-called superhero. “Though I suspect you don’t understand, and you probably never will. You men are all the same.” 

Spider-Man had ignited within you the familiar burn of betrayal; you had lowered your guard, and then he had aimed for where you were most vulnerable. Of course, he hadn’t been aware of your history with the target, but he had chosen words that would hurt you just the same. 

A sudden realization threatened to incapacitate you entirely:

Attempt. 

Spider-Man had said attempt.

“My turn.” Your voice was hoarse from the strain of choking back tears. “Did I get him?”

The most important question yet; you were at a fork in the road, and his response would determine which path you walked. Should it be the case that you had succeeded in your objective, then there was a glimmer of hope for you to have a normal, law-abiding life. On the other hand, if you failed to exterminate that vermin, this personal quest for revenge would morph into something much bigger and badder.  

The latter scenario would allow you plenty of chances to show Spider-Man why he shouldn't interfere with a kill that was rightfully yours. 

At some point, he had opted to give you your space by distancing himself from the lamppost that bound you. Not once had he spoken since asking you who and why; no reactions or comments, only intent, quiet listening. And though you had now posed him a question of your own, his masked features offered no hints as to what his thoughts contained. 

That just wouldn’t do. You needed an answer. 

“Spider-Man, did I get him? Tell me I got him. Please, tell me I killed him.” 

If there was anything you despised more than feeling helpless, it was groveling. However, despite the humiliation that blanketed you and brought heat to your cheeks, you were not above begging when necessary. 

This specific scrap of information was well worth the bruised ego. 

He inhaled deeply, held the air inside his lungs for longer than was normal, then exhaled. This process was repeated several times as evidenced by the rise and fall of his chest. Therapy had taught you that the intentional regulation of breathing helped clear the mind, so you speculated this was a method of meditation for him too as he mulled over whether or not to answer your pleas.  

“You got him. Already dead when I arrived.”

The confirmation triggered your shoulders to slump forward and collapse in relief now that they were relieved of carrying the weight of the world upon them. 

I got him. I got him. 

The sobs building in your core could no longer be silenced, and years of repressed emotions finally poured out of you, wave after wave. First was anger, then came sadness, then relief, and ultimately emptiness. Incrementally, each wave subsided, giving way to its successor; this final wave, however, mounted into a tsunami of insurmountable height, seeking to drown you in its depths. 

For the past many years, you had funneled the sum of your waking hours into the sole task of securing this kill. So who were you supposed to be now that the work was done? Where were you to go, what were you to do? 

Hollow of life, drained of energy, devoid of meaning. 

This was who you had become. 

Through vision blurred by tears, you noticed something sharp glinting in the moonlight—talons. They were all you could focus on as he stalked closer to the streetlamp and extended them towards you. 

You stiffened, readying yourself for the possibility of a fight, but Spider-Man continued to surprise you.  

He trailed the back of his hand along the side of your face, one talon wiping away a lone tear from your cheek, another catching on the skin at the edge of your jaw, nicking it. The cut stung, and Spider-Man pressed down on it with his thumb, either because he was a sadist who wished to witness you wince in discomfort, or because he found the sight of your blood troubling. Ironic, considering he’d been the one to spill it. 

Or maybe that was exactly why it troubled him. 

After ensuring the injury was superficial, his taloned fingers continued their exploration of you, traveling south to skim the base of your neck. There was nothing you could do to stop him from delivering your death then and there, and yet he didn’t seize the opportunity. Still, you couldn’t be certain that he had no plans to at last put an end to this dangerous game, of which you both had undeniably been active, willing participants. 

Except, rather than striking a killing blow, he sliced through your bondages with a solitary swipe then retracted his talons. 

“Go home,” Spider-Man ordered softly as he walked a few paces backward, his masked stare never straying from you. “Next time, I won’t let you off so easy.” 

Without another glance, he slung away into the night, leaving you to your own devices. But although Spider-Man was gone, the ghost of his touch lingered. 

You hated that you didn’t want your skin to forget his hands, wishing instead that he’d stay. You hated that you were glad to have met him, circumstances be damned. You hated that he had more of an effect on you than you on him. You hated that you wondered how things would be different between you if he weren’t Spider-Man, if you weren’t you. 

Most of all, you loathed that Spider-Man had witnessed you come undone. 

Everything culminated into a single, guttural scream, the kind that made you double over at the sheer force of it and dig your nails into your chest. It echoed, bouncing off the sides of nearby buildings and returning to you, its source. 

Unable to support the heft of your own body anymore, your shaky legs gave out from beneath you. Unlike earlier, no Spider was around to catch you in his arms, so your knees hit the ground, hard and unforgiving. Your already-sore joints protested upon impact, but that didn’t matter. 

I got him. I killed him. Years of training and preparing have led me to this moment; I can finally rest. 

Yet the emptiness and the hatred remained, latching onto you like a wound that had festered for too long and was now forever etched into your flesh. A scar that hurt when prodded despite having ceased to bleed ages ago. 

The pain refused to be erased. 

There on the concrete pavement of a random alley, you knew that your crusade was far from over. As soon as you recovered from the ramifications of tonight, to the streets you would return, prepared to take on the worst this city had to offer. And maybe you’d also make some money on the side by putting to good use the feline art of burglarizing, like your father had always hoped you would. 

Crossing paths with the Spider-Man again was inevitable. He’d warned you to stay clear of crime, but he had disappeared before you could warn him that, the next time he got in your way, you’d claw his heart out. 

tbc.

[buglord-isaac]

Part 2 of GhostSoap Softness

This one takes place after Ghost saves Soap from being thrown off the building.

Ghost immediately noticed how distant Johnny had become after returning to base after their mission. He knew the distant feeling all too well. It was the kind one gets after experiencing near death. Looking it straight in the eyes.

Ghost could still feel the adrenaline in his body watching Soap struggling as he was edged closer and closer to the edge of the building. When Ghost’s sniper had made contact and killed the enemy, Soap had been out of breath.

“Perfect shot, L.T…”

“You called it, Sergeant.”

When they had gotten back to base, Ghost had ultimately wanted to talk to Soap. To chat with him, to gossip about the mission and reflect on techniques. But when he saw the unfocused eyes, tight jaw, and frown on his friend, he knew Soap was in no mood for talking. These missions had taken everything out of Johnny…

He watched as Johnny walked off towards his room, looked around quickly, then jogged after him. He had decided he wanted to talk to him anyways. “Johnny!”

Johnny stopped in front of his door and looked at Ghost. “Oh-“

Before he could stop himself, Ghost pulled Johnny into a tight hug. Not even he knew what he was doing at this point.

“You did well, Johnny… you survived.”

“Yeah…”

Johnny’s voice sounded dejected. Defeated. Why? They had just won.

“Talk to me, Johnny. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“I…” he looked up at Ghost. “Can I wash my face first?”

Ghost nodded and let go of him, a warm sensation lingering on his skin wherever he had been touching Johnny. Johnny went into his room and opened the door a bit wider, looking to Ghost as an invitation. Ghost obeyed, closed the door behind him, and sat at the Sergeant’s desk.

From the next room, he could hear water running and deep breaths as Johnny washed off the paint on his eyes. He heard a little hiss of what he could only assume was pain.

“Shit..”

“Johnny?”

“It’s nothing..”

That sure didn’t sound like nothing. He stood up and knocked gently on the bathroom door.

“Mind if I come in?”

There was no answer, only the sound of the door opening and Johnny standing there with blood dripping down his face. A wound seemed to have opened on his eyebrow.

“Its from when I got hit by the back of a gun… the mask and paint must’ve hidden it..”

Ghost wasted no time in pushing his way into the bathroom. He pointed to the closed toilet and handed Johnny a hand towel.

“Sit. Keep pressure on it. It’ll hurt.”

Johnny obeyed and sat there while his own blood seeped into the hand towel. Ghost searched his cupboard for strips of wound tape that he could use to temporarily seal it until they got to a doctor. He then turned to Johnny and took the towel from him. With gentle hands, he cleaned, squeezed the skin together, taped, rinsed and repeated until the wound was sealed.

When he was finished, he took off his glove and touched Johnny’s cheek. He looked so sad… it was unbearable to see. He didn’t even have to ask Johnny what was wrong.

“Why do I have to keep being saved by you recently…? The church… the skyscraper… this wound… Am I losing touch?”

“No, Johnny. You’re not. They were hard missions. They threw their nastiest men and their nastiest tricks at us. It’s our job to help others in our team. That’s why we’re a team. You did the same. You guided me through the prison to save Alejandro, you told me where to shoot. You did what I told you. You survived.”

“Heh… never knew you as the monologuing type of guy…”

Johnny’s head rested into Ghost’s hand. It was a nice feeling. The stubble on his cheek scratched his skin in a satisfying manner. Ghost was really starting to appreciate the closeness they had.

“God… Simon… I have such a bad headache…”

“Come here.” Ghost pulled him into the fabric covering his midsection. Johnny slowly wrapped his arms around his waist and nestled into the comforting hug.

“You’re nice and warm, Simon. I could stay like this forever.”

“No one’s stopping you, Johnny.”

[dontyouworrydaddy]

Loving you is really hard

Simon Riley x fem! Reader

warning: angst and no happy ending hihi :)

summary: Simon loves you. He really does. But he doesn’t know how to show you his love…

‿︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・❉・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ‿︵‿︵

Simon stood in the dimly lit room, his eyes fixed on the figure before him. It was you standing in front of him. For months now, he had grappled with emotions he had long buried, emotions that threatened to consume him entirely. Love was a battlefield, and Simon was on the front lines, fighting a war he was unsure he could win.

It had all begun with stolen glances and lingering touches with whispered words of affection shared in the dead of night. Simon was a man of few words, and showing his love was a battle for himself and you. But he had tried, oh, how he had tried to let you know how much you meant to him. But however, you never felt it…

Yet, as days turn into months, he found himself unable to say those three simple words that had the power to change everything. "I love you." They hung on the tip of his tongue, like a secret waiting to be told, but each time he attempted to speak them, his voice failed him. And you were never mad at him for it. If only, you were understanding. But you’re human too and with no reassurance, not only through words but also actions, you can’t help but think he is slowly falling out of love with you.

One evening, after a particularly tense mission, the tension between you and Simon had reached its breaking point. The argument had started over something unnecessary, but it had spiraled into something much deeper. Hurtful words were exchanged, and you found yourself saying the words that had been weighing on your heart for so long.

"Loving you is really hard Simon! Whenever I try and show you my love you push me away. And when I‘m searching for yours, I don’t feel anything! Do you even love me? Or is it just me?" The admission was out before you could stop it, and the room fell into an uneasy silence. Simon's stormy blue eyes bore into yours, a mixture of guilt, pain, and regret reflecting in them. You could see the pain in his expression, the desire to say the words he had been holding back for so long.

But still, he said nothing. The silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating.

It was a silence that spoke volumes, a silence that shattered your heart into a million pieces. You turned away, tears welling up in your eyes, and left the room, leaving Simon alone with his unspoken feelings.

You kind of wished he followed you and stopped you from going away. But dreams will always stay just dreams…

In the days that followed, the distance between you and Simon grew. He withdrew into himself, burying his emotions deeper than ever before. And you too, found it hard to bridge the gap that had formed between you. It was as if a wall had been erected, a wall built from unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings. This was too much for you heart and you wonder how long you can hold on this way.

The mission's dangers seemed a welcome distraction from the pain that had settled for Simon. You threw yourself into your work, seeking solace in the hospital as a doctor. And Simon, he became even more cold, his mask of indifference firmly in place.

You both knew that something precious had been lost. The love that had once burned so brightly between you is dimmin, its warmth replaced by a chilling emptiness. There was no happy ending in sight, only the painful realization that some battles couldn't be won.

Simon continued to serve his country, a soldier on the front lines, battling not only the enemies he faced in the field but also the voices that haunted his head. And you, you moved on with your life, searching for a love that was easier to hold onto.

But deep down, in the quiet moments when the world fell away, you both knew that a part of you would always belong to each other, that love, no matter how hard, would forever be a part of your story. A story that only had an endless ache that lingered in the spaces between your hearts.

And when you lie in your bed when it’s dark outside, you want your old Simon back home.

[luvssemma]

Accident

Pairing- Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x afab!reader

Summary- Ghost has never been friendly towards you and when you make a mistake on a mission you understand why

Warnings- Angst, Mean Ghost, Smut, Fluff, pet names (baby,angel,princess) use of y/n because i couldn’t think of a call sign

W/C- 1k

Authors Notes- Hii this is my first time writing a Imagine so if its bad im so sorry! Also my first time writing smut so im sorry if its short but i can do a part 2!

You had been with the task force for a little over 6 months now and You’re lieutenant, Ghost, was still cold towards you like you were a stranger. You assumed he would warm up towards you, but it seemed like he hated you.

At first you were quiet around him. You were intimidated by his reputation, height, and sometimes his mask. You quickly started warming up to him and began getting curious about the masked man. You would try to talk to him and sometimes even joke around with him, but you quickly realized that he was not friendly towards you like he was with the rest of the team. He wouldn’t talk to unless necessary or he was yelling at you. He wouldn’t even give you a second glance.

The team tried to tell you that he was cold with everyone at first and that he would warm up to you eventually but as the months passed you became hopeless that he would ever like you and it made your heart ache with hurt and pain.

Simon would let the rest of them team call him Ghost but made an effort to remind you that you had to call him Lieutenant. He always would kids with the rest of the team and when you tried to join in he would roll his eyes. He always seemed to notice every little mistake you made berated and embarrass you in front of others. It made you wonder why he hated you.

The team had just finished a mission and you had made a mistake. You had accidentally fired your gun to early signaling the enemy towards you. Once you realized you made a crucial mistake your stomach dropped. After the team had fixed your mistake they were all irritated at you but Ghost looked at you with angry eyes. You immediately looked away from his gaze and heat went to your cheeks. “When we get back my office immediately” Ghost said with a stern voice. you simply nodded and kept looking down to embarrassed to look at him.

The ride to base was painfully quiet all you could was stare at the floor dreading going to your lieutenant’s office. You did as Ghost told you and followed him to his office. He slammed his office door making you flinch. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING BACK THERE SARGENT” Ghost yelled at you like you were nothing.

All you could do was look down and try to hold back tears “Lieutenant i-it was a accident” you said barely above a whispered.

Ghost just rolled his eyes and scoffed “That was a really big fucking accident soldier can’t even follow simple commands ” he seethed.

At this point you were so tired of trying to make him happy but never succeeding you broke down crying. His eyes softened as he watched as the tears ran down ur face. His heart aching at the thought that he caused you pain. “L-lieutenant why do you hate me” you said your voice cracking a little.

Ghost sighed and looked down at you “I don’t hate you y/n” he said like it was obvious. you sniffled and rolled your eyes “yes you do Ghost! I try and talk to you and you ignore me. Im the only one on the team that has to call you lieutenant all the time and the only time u speak to me is when you’re yelling at me” your voice filled with pain and sadness.

Ghost rolled his eyes “Im doing it for your own good y/n trust me” you were baffled by his answer “And whats that supposed to mean lieutenant” you asked irritated.

Ghost came closer and back you up against a wall and said lowly “If i let myself get close to you i won’t be able to control myself” Your eyes widen with surprise.

Ghost continues “Y/n i push you away so you’ll stay away from me im not good for for you but you just can’t take a hint” he said softly and caressed your cheek.

“Ghost please don’t push me away anymore” you said desperately and looked into he eyes.

All the sudden his lips crashed it yours. You immediately kissed back and wrapped your arms around his neck. Ghost gripped your hips like his life depended on it.

He left soft kissed across your jawline and whispered “Mm so beautiful baby” and started leaving a trail of hickeys on your neck that would be difficult to cover up.

“Ghost please!” you whimpered softly needing him. He smirked and whispered in your ear “Tell me what you want baby” his knee slightly rubbing against your aching core.

“Please Ghost i need you!” you moaned softly at the little friction he was giving you

Satisfied with your answer he slid your pants off and dragged your panties down to your thighs.

He slid his finger over your folds and he groaned feeling his cock throb at the feeling “Fuck Baby already so wet for me”

You blushed at his vulgar words and tried to look away but he grab ur chin making you look at him.

“Watch me fuck your tight little cunt baby” He slip two finger into your aching cunt and begin slowly moving his finger.

Quiet moans and whimpers flying from your mouth “Angel your falling apart and i’ve only got two fingers in how are you gonna handle my cock hm?” he teased and began moving his fingers faster and deeper.

“G-Ghost im gonna cum don’t stop please!” you begged him eagerly needing him to let you cum

Ghost smirked as you squeezed around his fingers “Come on baby come for me” he whispered in your ear

You moan loudly and chanted his name as you came around fingers. You felt like you were seeing stars.

Ghost watches you ride out your climax whispering praise in your ear. He slowly removed his fingers making you whimper at the loss of contact

“You did so good for me princess such a good girl” ghost mumbled and kisses your forehead

You look into his eyes and whispered “Ghost promise that you won’t push me away anymore” you said with a hint of hope in your voice.

He kissed your lips softly and held you in his arms. “I promise ill never hurt you again”

[saphirered]

Caged Birds Don't Sing

As promised Part 2 of this Fenrys x reader request! We're getting more angst but what do you expect from enemies to lovers? Hope you like it! 😘

You stood at her side. You stood at Maeve’s damned side on that beach. Of course she would have you stand there. You would look down upon them. Fenrys expected indifference if not betrayal for their disobedience, or perhaps satisfaction that they’d be punished for their actions. He expected you to laugh at Gavriel’s pain, to speak to them, tear at open wounds but you were silent. You made no move. He deigned to look at you, if only to assure you wouldn’t pounce at the first opportunity. He would have been ready to rip your throat out. He might not have thought  twice about it had Maeve severed his bond too but she knew his greatest torment would be to keep it in place. It’s in that image he notices your throat, how it’s tense and how you swallow, how your breathing is higher than it should be. He notices something behind that eternal gaze into oblivion and he realises, you are not the fae he holds in his memory. You are in pain. You’re in turmoil and you’re fighting so desperately to keep in place whatever facade you’ve put on.

You’ve never looked away from the abuse Maeve put them through but this time, you turn your gaze and bite the inside of your cheek. You clasp your hands together to keep the trembles from them or perhaps to stop yourself from taking reckless action. When you force yourself to look, when Aelin accepts her fate, you keep your eyes on her. Behind that surface mask so cracked and broken, one can see the pain, the guilt and regret and sense of failure. You mouth the words ‘I am sorry’ for none but them to see, for those who pay attention. The porcelain mask no longer remains in its perfect state. Everyone knows what Maeve does to broken dolls. 

————

When the screams have gone quiet and no longer echo through the halls of Doranelle Fenrys lays at the base of that damned throne. The clicking of footsteps against those damned floors are both blessing and curse. Blessing as a reminder he isn’t dreaming. A curse for who’s presence they announce. They stop not too far away. He knows exactly where you are even if he can’t bear to lift his head. 

“You summoned me, my queen?” Ever eloquently you speak but there’s a rasp to your voice he’s not heard before. It peaks enough of his interest to try and get a better look and blinking an eye open is enough to reveal the bruised marks around your neck. It’d been weeks since your altercation and you bore no marks of that. Whoever dared lay a hand on you, Maeve must want to deal with. He expected some kind of doting from the queen but found none. 

“You have served me well, my little pet. For many years I have kept you at my side. My most loyal of servants.” Maeve rises and slowly crosses the difference. She steps around Fenrys as if he’s no more than an inconvenient obstacle. “You’ve protected them for many years but finally you’ve given in. Know that it is your sacrifice that keeps them alive. For now. You’ve earned my mercy.” Maeve dances a sharp nail under your chin and lifts your head. She tuts at the marred skin as you bite back the discomfort when she lets her fingers glide against the tender bruises. 

“My allegiance has never wavered. I thank you for your benevolence.” Such carefully chosen words. When she retreats her touch you bow your head like some loyal subject. Maeve circles you but you keep your eyes front, not daring to turn and face her out of habit. 

“Your allegiance comes with a reward no less. After all these decades you’ve deserved as much.” She stops behind you and you fear the repercussions for a brief second. You see the broken and bloodied fae at the footsteps of that dais. He’s staring right at you. You cannot look away from him. At least he’s alive. At least he has allies that can help him. At least he can stay with Aelin. He might not know your involvement in all of this and he might never know, but that is your punishment for all those years you turned a blind eye to them, to him. You don’t deserve forgiveness for your actions nor do you want it. You just hope it was worth it, will be worth it. It’s then you feel something cold slip around your neck and dangle against your chest. A pendant on a chain. Your blood freezes in your veins. You freeze.

The pendant, the chain, you can still see the remnants of dried blood staining it. Murder enters your heart and it shatters. You want to scream and shout and cry but you don’t. You school your features blank and manage to hold yourself together as you hold the pendant. Maeve circles back around, back up the stairs and leisurely sits on her throne. She grasps the armrests lightly. 

“Let this be the price of your broken silence.” She promised you. She promised they’d be safe. You’d given it all. All those decades you’ve suffered through and she destroyed all you cared about. You played a dangerous game and you lost. You truly lost. You’d saved the victims of your actions but condemned the ones who lived thanks to your silence. Maeve takes great joy in watching you struggle to hold yourself together. 

“You have no idea how much this gift means to me, my most gracious queen.” Fenrys doesn’t know if it’s your injured throat or those cracks he’s noticing once more. He almost feels sorry for you, for whatever is causing this and for what Maeve clearly holds over you. You were all too selective in your words and he has not the strength to figure it out, dancing along the line of consciousness but he makes a mental note of it anyway should his mind think it important enough to pick apart.

“Take him out of my sight and clean up his mess. I want him back in shape by next morrow.” You miss a beat but with one last bow you are at Fenrys’ side. He tries to lift himself but is unable to despite his first instinct to refuse your help and protest. At least he can take some modicum of satisfaction in the knowledge he will bleed all over your pristine attire. With difficulty you support him and drag him out of the throne room. It seems that the moment those doors close behind each step is more difficult than the last. He notes that you’re not even entirely sure where you’re going, not aware of your surroundings and when he looks at your face Fenrys sees something he has never seen before; silent tears streaming down your cheeks. You can’t seem to stop them. You make no sound but still you cry. Those are the tears of someone who has only been able to express those feelings in complete solitude. Despite his feelings and opinions towards you, he finds it within himself holding some kind of remorse, of pity. 

You take him to an unfamiliar room. You don’t speak a single word. Neither does he. You follow orders; get some rags, clean his skin and take care of the injuries he sustained to speed up the healing process. Your touch is deliberate and practiced. You have the supplies at the ready. You’re no healer, he’s fairly certain an it’s then he notes the faint smell from you matching that of one of the ointments you set aside. The more you care for him, the further within your shell you retreat, as if you’re not but an animated body but your mind and soul have left. The way you move, like this is regular routine, it makes him wonder if this is habit. It must be. You’ve done this perhaps a thousand times before but likely never for another… Perhaps you have faced your own suffering at Maeve’s hand. Your loyalty was never to Maeve. It was to whomever that pendant belonged to- the sacrifice you had made and for what? Why now? Fenrys has many questions he cannot answer. 

“What did you do?” Fenrys croaks when you tie the last bandage and collect the mess to be disposed of. You freeze in your movement. You don’t look him in the eye. You don’t look at him at all. You are just curled within yourself; your shoulders slumped, and limbs heavy, your brow furrowed and still the occasional tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Why do you care?” You shoot back out of instinct. Your defences still sharp. If anything you remind Fenrys of an injured animal, lashing out at any who dare come to close. It seems you remember you’re the one that brought him into your lair. 

“I don’t but I’d rather like to know if I’ll be cleaning up your mess next time.” You know what he insinuates. He’s gathered you’ve fallen out of favour with Maeve and she has been known to get rid of those no longer of use to her in a manifold of creative ways. It’s a shame you still hold some value to her and she won’t let you go until she’s absolutely sure you have nothing left to offer her. She knows that even still, you haven’t shared all you had to share. You’ve kept the most important information to yourself for a reason and right now your heart is filled with enough hatred and recklessness to play the long game no matter the costs. Not like you have anything left to lose. 

“I sacrificed what leverage I had to spare others from bloodshed, to buy them more time.” You speak solemnly. The first words you’d said since all but dragging him out of the throne room. You truly are in pain. Though besides your bruises you seem fine and some bruising has never bothered you much before as far as Fenrys knows, the pain you feel is the world-shattering kind and he’s noted the blood on that pendant isn’t his. The way you hold onto it, it’s important to you. Out of all the jewels you adorn it is the most precious. He begins to piece it together. Those golden bracelets are chains in their own way. 

“Clearly that did fuck all.” Fenrys appears to have found his attitude again. You’re just too exhausted to face off with him. You can’t. You’re done. You’ve lost it all and for what? It was a failure in the end. You want this pain to stop, this carnage from tearing you apart from the inside but here he is claws and all tearing into you. As he deserves for all the pain you’ve caused him. 

“She would have made you kill each other. She would have made the others watch before disposing of the disobedient ones.” He understands well enough the implications of your words. His blood might as well have frozen in his veins. 

“And you can’t even speak our names- their names. Why? Why risk it all for the people you’ve been looking down upon ever since you’ve met them? Why give up your precious little life to save us? Should we forever be in your debt?” Once more his anger is directed towards you. It felt so good in the past. He simply feels horrible about it now, especially when he sees you clutch that pendant so tightly he thinks you might crush the metal with your bare hands.

“Because you don’t deserve to be a casualty to my silence.”

“We have all been casualties of your silence! What’s changed, sunshine? You grew a conscious? Get lost. You wouldn’t know right from wrong if it stared you right in the face.” He expected you to lash out against him, to seek out the confrontation but with each word he speaks you just look smaller and smaller. There’s no satisfaction. There’s no pleasure in tearing into you. Fenrys once thought that seeing you show remorse, any kind of guilt and recompense for your actions, or lack thereof would make him feel justified, make him feel validated, make him feel good. It didn’t. He just feels horrible. He feels his blood truly grow colder than the depths of winter and so his features blank. No more is there the fury. There’s only a chill silence and lack of any sensation. It’s terrifying. He catches a glimpse of himself in your mirror and sees a reflection eerily similar to the expression he’s seen you wear more often than not. Just the absence of emotion, of the attachment to this world. 

“You’re right. Fenrys. You’re right and I’m sorry.” Once upon a time he would have cheered and laughed at you admitting your wrongs, your defeat. He doesn’t feel anything now. You’re just some broken bird that can no longer sing those lovely songs. You’re just as broken as he is. 

[vivilingriphyn]

The Sham | Ch■■

[check tags at the end]

━━━━━━━━━━━

Jay was backed into a corner, few of the many criminals they were facing had isolated him and likely his fellow ninja as well, with no possible way to ask for backup nor any routes to escape.

The underling hanging from Jay's hand dropped to the ground unconscious as he let go of his grip, Just like those that came before they ended up here, Jay’s foes pause as they take cautious strides forward.

The one leading the underlings steps forward, his mask was off unlike the rest who hid their identities under their hooded masks, it was clear from his expression and the way he held himself, the extent of his loyalty to his cause.

His eyes shifted at his wounded comrade on the ground, then looked back up at Jay. “Jay Walker.” The man began, his amber eyes glared at Jay.

Anger was obvious in his expression, but what could have led that anger to surface? The conviction to his cause and to end his enemy that have been a roadblock to achieving such goals. Or perhaps… concern…. Concern for his fallen comrades, or thinking of the possibility of how many more will fall if they continue to prolong this battle?

“That's Impossible”

“You're in no condition to continue fighting, surrender now.”

The man said sternly. Standing tall in front of the wounded and worn out Ninja, yet he doesn't seem to boast nor mock Jay. The firmness in his words yet the slight plea to end this struggle.

“Ninja never quit.” The words came out like a broken record. Triggering for the man to look back at Jay sharply just as the man snaps. “Just give it up already! Do you even think that we want to fight? Most casualties would've been avoided entirely if it weren't for you Ninja intervening! We didn't want to fight! But you leave us no choice.”

The man said as his hand quickly raised that held his gun. A firm conviction in his eyes as if he had made his decision. “You know, even if you Ninja succeed. I'll make sure to bring at least one of their pillars down, for bringing everything we've worked so hard for to crumble.”

The barrel points towards Jay, the man’s finger tightly holding the trigger, yet his aim wasn't stable, his conviction was firm, the man was sure of it. Yet… why is his hand quivering? Was this what it felt like to hold one's life in your hands? How could anyone ever…

This brings back memories.

“I’ll make sure to show you what it felt like for them to die alone.”

The man eyed the Ninja coldly, hiding himself behind an apathetic mask, his underlings stiffened and on edge as they held their own weapons firmly. The air was heavy with the man’s declaration being met with silence.

Then came a bitter laugh.

Jay’s shoulders shook as he cackled. It sounded broken and mad. Like a string was snapped as the Ninja slowly moved to hold himself up once more from his hunched position, with his head still facing down.

His curls fall to cover his face, making it impossible to see his expression other than the strained smile on his lips.

“Oh, if only…” Jay said as he stood back up, with his words laced with animosity.

“What?” the man’s anger boiled at the Ninja’s response.

“How unfortunate.“ Jay sighed, sounding almost disappointed, his eyes shifting back to the man, his gaze darkened as the air shifted. His body moved to face the man and his underlings despite how worn out and bruised he was, like a broken marionette still forced to play and perform. It would’ve been admirable if it weren't for the pain and desperation in the Ninja’s eyes.

Rather than a soldier ready to fight once more with rekindled spirit… the man saw a broken captive wanting release from its prison even if that release meant death.

“You don't know just how much I'd kill for that…”

[poprock-gangsta]

𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖗

꧁༒༺ Flame’s only the doctor can fix ༻༒꧂

Summary : Following a guest speaker's appearance in your class, an unusual sensation washes over you. However, it's not a feeling of discomfort; rather, it's as if you've become entranced in a captivating trance.

Kinks : Choking, Degrading, Praise, and Breeding.

Tw: Hypnosis, Drugging, Cursing, Manipulation.

Word Count : 2.6k

Enjoy!

You got out of bed and started on your usual morning routine before leaving for the akademiya. You panic as you try to find your uniform, which you are sure you laid out last night. Finding it, you quickly change and run out the door so as not to waste any more time than necessary.

Once you get there, you look at the time and curse at your tardiness, certain that your teacher will give you a stern talking-to. Your professor gives you the side eye as you walk in and continues to do so as you make your way to your seat. Your professor resumes her lecture as you settle into your seat, and you tune her out. That is, until she mentioned an arriving guest, which immediately piqued your interest.

"Class, we have a visitor all the way from Snezhnaya coming today." You turn to your instructor, wondering what could possibly have compelled someone from Snezhnaya to travel all the way here. A million different possible questions to why the guest was here run through your head. A knock resounded through the classroom, and the air seemed to shift, as if everyone inside knew the person behind the door was someone who commanded respect.

You stare at the tall, pale man with the long, blue hair as he enters the room, trying to get a sense of who he is. Yet the only thing you could point to was that he was truly from Snezhnaya; his outfit clearly demonstrated this, as he was dressed in winter attire even in Sumeru's summer weather.

He seemed to notice that you were looking at him and shot you a glare, which, despite his mask, you could still feel. After a quick exchange, he approaches the podium, where he places his hands on it before casting a glance around the room. Soon after, he started talking, and it was like you were in a trance; you had no idea what he was saying, but you could feel its power.

By the time your consciousness returned, class was over and your unknown visitor had already left. Unable to let go of the inspiring man, you skipped the rest of your lectures and headed outside.

You found him outside the akademiya, talking to what you assumed were his subordinates because they were dressed similarly and were on one knee looking at the ground. "Excuse me, Sir, I was wondering if you would be willing to finish your lesson from just now," you say, clearly showing more excitement than intended. The man looked at you before a long grin spread across his face. "It appears you've taken a liking to my speech," the man says before walking away clearly leading you to follow.

I'm the Dottore, but my enemies call me Doctor," he says, looking back at you for an instant. You then ask , "So what brings you all the way from Snezhnaya," as you stare at the floor. He stops in front of a house and announces, "I've come here for a project of some sort," before opening the door and inviting you inside. "You see, I want to shape Sumeru into a place of wisdom," he says, turning his entire body to you. Coming right up to you and whispers, "Will you help me?" in your ear.

You say, "Of course!" as if in a trance, as if you're unable to say "no" but you don't mind the sensation and may even have come to accept it. Well, I can't wait to see you tomorrow," he says, leading me back with a grin on his face. You flash back a smile and then run off to your own house, where your happy expression lasts the entire trip. When you arrived, you noticed that the cloudiness in your mind began to lift, but you can't say that you don't miss its presence.

You get up and do your usual morning routine, packing your bag you head to the akademiya. Then a throbbing pain in your head serves as a reminder that you need to visit Dottore immediately. Your brain seems to be clouded.

You've made it back to the house where Dottore took you the previous day. You knocked, but there wasn't an answer; you kept knocking, but there still wasn't an response. You open the door and look around, but you didn't see anything until you look down and notice the passageway leading underground on the floor.

With the little courage you had left, you made your way down the seemingly endless tunnel. Once you got to the end, though, the view was spectacular. It was a laboratory with all sorts of strange crystals and machines. Dottore, however, was the most impressive sight of all as he sat at his desk, intent on his work.

You fiddle with your figure and say, "Umm Sir Dottore, I've come back," but he either doesn't hear you or chooses to ignore you. You browse the shelves, dragging your fingers across the glass jars and books, until you spot something interesting. Akasha Terminal Brain Waves, you place your hand on the book's spine in preparation to open it, but the forerunner suddenly says, "Don't touch that," without turning from his work.

Come here, he says in a voice as smooth and soothing as honey. You set the book back down and approach him. Saying "yes," though you felt like a puppy who's been grounded for roughhousing. Then, he says, "There's something I need to tell you," as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in, to were your lips gently graze his mask.

While sitting on his thigh, he says, "The truth is I need a little help." While slowly placing his empty hand on the middle of your back. You were so close to him now that you could feel his breath on your collarbone. You wouldn't lie and say the heat of his breath fixed with the coldness of the air wasn't sending shivers down your spine.

You ask, "How can I help?" without letting your gaze wander. He took his hand off your back and reached into the dresser, where he promptly produced a small pill. He runs his fingers over the pill tenderly and explains, "You see, for me to get a full understanding of this medicine I need a test subject.”

Staring intently into his eyes, you say, "So you want me to be your test subject. His hand now flat in front of you, and the pill in plain view. "Only if you want to," he says. At that precise moment, your previously presented headache suddenly dissipated, and you felt as though your mind was completely clear. For once, it seemed like you could make a decision without fear of repercussions.

"I'll do it," grabbing the pill out of his hand you toss it back without thinking twice about whether you'd choke on it or not. After what seems like an interminable round of "100 questions," Dottore finally pulls out his notebook and gives you a quick check up. You both return to the upper floor once he has recorded your answers to his questions. Looking over you one more time , he orders you to check in with him every day and report any adverse effects immediately.

꧁༒༺ Time Skip ༻༒꧂

You and Dottore have been getting along fondly, with daily checkups and his occasional request for your assistance with some of his experiments when you're both free. You're initial impressions were spot-on; he was an exceptionally bright man, the likes of whom you couldn't help but admire on occasion.

However, while you were at home performing your routine admiration ritual. You, suddenly felt off, as if a fire had been started in your entire body. You took this as one of the side effect of the Dottore pill and sprint out the door to get to his place as soon as possible.

When you got there and opened the door, you found the top floor empty. You then proceed downstairs to meet with Dottore. You felt like your legs were going to give out at any second after seeing him, and the heat that had been infecting you had only intensified. So you muster up what little energy you have left and make your way to one of the stools.

Your attention was riveted on Dottore the entire time you were there, and it seemed as though everything he did set you on fire. You grind against the stool slowly, so as not to distract the harbinger. As you sway your hips up and down you felt your cunt throb, you grind deeper into the stool in an effort to increase the friction between your body and the surface. Now that you've settled into a comfortable rhythm, you turn your head to check on Dottore to make sure he hasn't caught on to your good work. Once in the clear you rest your head on the table in front of you and bite down on your arm, trying to stifle a lustful moans.

As a knot forms in your stomach, you tighten your grip and bite down harder on your arm. You bucked your hips against the stool so hard that your leggings were giving out from under you. But just as you were about to unravel into two, a hand wrapped around your throat and jerked your head back.

“Dottore smirks,and says "So this is what you've been doing ," as he ghostly runs a finger across your throbbing clit. “M’ It's not what it seems like,' ' you mutter under your breath. Then which he replies , "So weren’t trying to fuck youself stupid on my stool," as his lips grazes along your ear. You purred a soft “Please “ as you felt your climax slip slowly away.

“Please what," he growls in your ear . You wiggle your hips and say, "P-please fuck me," hoping to generate some friction. After that, Dottore slowly returns to his seat and sits down, opening his legs. And says in urgent yet seductive command "Come here now,". You stand up and make your way towards him, but once you're in front of him, your gaze begins to wander.

“On your knees” he says while watching every inch of you squirm , once you 're finally in front of him, he unbuckles his belt, freeing his cock from the restraints of his pants. His tip was pink and leaking with precum. “Suck”

You nodded and leaned forward, shyly licking the tip of his cock. You collect all the pecuniary that was dripping out of his cock on the tip of your tongue before you taking the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. He groaned and grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing more of his cock into your wet mouth. You gagged around him and he groaned, hips sputtering. You pleasured him as much as you could, running your tongue against the vein that ran along the underside of his cock. “ M’ Fuck Angle… just l-like that “

He groaned, letting out ragged breaths and occasional grunts. He began thrusting into your mouth after a bit, using you as a pleasure hole. The sound of your lewd noises and gagging only spurred him on as he fucked your face, forcing his cock down your throat with each brutal thrust. He thrusted about seven more times before he halted and held your head down, making you deepthroat him. He held his dick in your throat for a solid ten seconds before he pulled out.

You immediately gasped for air, greedily sucking it into your lungs. “ Fuck… Angle that’s a good girl. Now get up and let your doctor take goood care of your “ You caught your breath before getting up and sitting on his lap. He flipped your dress up and revealed your drenched panties that outlined your cunt.

“You‘ve got such a pretty pussy angle. So beautiful “ he complimented, before leaning down to nibble on your ear. Then he hooked his fingers on the sides of your panties and tugged them down, his breath audibly hitching as he took in the sight of your bare, sopping wet cunt.

“You're such a slut. You're sopping wet and I haven’t even touched you yet” He says, dragging his finger along your pussy lips. He drew tight circles on your clit, you moaned and arched your back sinking deeper into him. “There, there my precious slut, I’m going to take such goood care of you”He assured you. He grabbed his cock and lined it up at your entrance, slapping his tip against it a few times.

Just then he slammed himself inside, not giving you anytime to adjust to his length and girth. You meow, as you gripped on to the sides of the chair. “Your so tight for me angle, f..fuck” He buried himself right in your cervix before he dragged his cock back out, leaving just the tip inside before he slamming back in, going so deep.

M’…S’ so deep doctor..f-

You whined, starting to feel in your tummy. He start to pick up his already animalistic pace, stuffing your cute little cunt full of his thick cock.Roughly squeezing your thighs each time he went balls-deep in your pussy.

“ M’ such a good slut, I’m going to fill you up so good”

He thrusted hard into you causing you to see stars . It was like nothing else was on your mind but getting him to cum deep inside you. Just then he pulled you by the waist and impaled on his fat cock making his balls slap against your ass x7.

He waited until your cunt started spasming and fluttering around him. Your moans echoed throughout the whole room blocking out every outside noise. “Gonna cum for me, huh? Gonna get you to cover my fat cock with your slutty cum? Gonna milk me dry? I bet you want my fat load inside, dirty fucking cum slut."He leaned down and whispered condescendingly into your ear.

You said nothing as your eyes progressively rolled back into your head as he continued to pound your weeping cunt, groaning into your ear and biting at your neck. “Cum for me angle, Go on cum on my cock like the dirty whore you are”

It only took a few more deep thrusts for you to unravel on him, your cunt squeezing him so hard it almost slowed down his pace. You came so much that some of it dripped out and fell onto the floor , but your cream left a pretty ring around the base of his cock

“Fuckkk.. gonna fill this pretty cunt of yours with my cum. Gonna put a fucking baby in here. You want that? Huh? Want me to fuck a baby into you?"

He purred into your ear, and you nodded brainlessly, feeling your eye roll to the back of your head once again.He groaned and gripped onto your hips with a force he hadn't used before. He slammed you on his cock a few more times before shooting a load of warm cum straight into your womb. You felt full like if you took one step you would completely undone.

He didn't pull out, instead, he stayed still and made sure that when he pulled out, very little of his cum would be wasted. You lay there, desperately trying to catch your breath as he gave little, gentle thrusts, pushing his cum further inside of you.

“I would call this experiment a success” he sang, placing one last kiss on your cheek.

After a wild night of festivities, you had finally woken up. However, you conclude that, Dottore was nowhere to be found. You make an effort to stand up but end up stumbling back down. Then, you see there's a letter that's lying on his desk, which reads.

Get back to Snezhnaya, rest up, and I'll send someone to get you as soon as possible.The other table has some clean clothes, if you can make it over there. Hahaha

[konigbabe]

little storm (part ii; hit and run)

Author: @konigbabe

Pairing: Keegan Russ x fem!OC

Word count: 4.2k

Tags/warnings: hurt/comfort; canon-typical violence; medical inaccuracies; military inaccuracies; violence; injuries; gunshot wounds; explicit language; keegan calls OC 'kid'; canon compliant; pre-canon; eventual smut [in the final part]

Summary: Keegan thought saving her and getting both of them out of the enemy lines was nothing but an easy job; that was before her true character shows up—and before the plan goes crumbling down.

masterlist • faq • AO3

little storm: part i • part iii [final]

He’s rarely worked with anyone outside Ghosts, outside his team, his family, and seeing this woman, so adamant to finish the task—to him, it’s like watching two sides of the moon; day and night.

Keegan strides in front of her. Casual as ever, his head occasionally turning to the side—to look around, to survey the environment. To look at her. Make sure she’s keeping up; though she tries to hide it, he’s aware of her pain, the discomfort her back’s causing her (even if she herself seems not to be).

“I’d say my luck walked out the door.”

The skull mask now replaced by a simple white balaclava, she still feels a tinge of disappointment that Keegan managed to change his face protection in a moment when she wasn't looking.

It’s been at least another hour; sixty minutes since they left the safehouse, got rid of any evidence pointing at them, and headed north. There isn’t much guarantee that Keegan’s intel is solid but they don’t really have a choice.

The white camouflage uniform allows them to blend with their environment with ease. Calculated steps, well-thought moves as they silently creep up the hostile surroundings; the enemy line searing their skin with invisible scars. The two of them heavily armed with lethal combat expertise as they advance, their weapons and determination like a shield against the danger that awaits them.

The eerie silence feels oppressive, almost like a heavy weight pressing down on her; the only sounds that break the stillness are the occasional howls of an owl, a twig snapping under their boots, and the light crunch of snow beneath their feet. The silence was unnerving, yet strangely comforting, like a reminder that all is safe in the darkness of the night, at least for her it’s been like that for some time.

Keegan’s steps halt the moment a tower comes into her view. Its height shooting to the sky, two black dots visible even to the naked eye thanks to the light emitting from the inside of the building. Three more guards walk underneath, all dressed in the same camo clothes as she and Keegan. Two storage facilities are lightened up by improvisatory street lamps; more soldiers walk in and out of the facilities, relaxed and visibly unbothered by the chilly weather. A fence wall surrounds the temporary compound; it’s small, smaller than she was expecting—still the foreign soldiers outnumber the two of them by way too much.

“Two armed guards at the parking lot,” Keegan’s voice is slow, casual as he peers through the scope, studying the guards, who stand like sentinels, their uniforms as immaculate as their weapons.

It’s when she follows his lead, the rifle's scope an extension of her eyes, that she notices the problem, “The parking lot is too far from the entrance,” she says. The parking lot is too far from the entrance, a great expanse of asphalt, a desert of distance between them and their goal.

And Keegan nods. He’s noticed it too, years of practice and experience written all over his maneuverism, the way he holds his weapons; with precision, softness as if he’s cradling a delicate porcelain object. Careful and meticulous while handling his own.

“We’ll breach by the entrance and make our way towards the vehicles,” he speaks, commands even with how stoic his tone sounds, “casual and calm.”

“Let’s make it quick,” she announces, securing her rifle behind her shoulder. There’s an uncanny excitement within her, and Keegan can feel it too. He’s rarely worked with anyone outside Ghosts, outside his team, his family, and seeing this woman, so adamant to finish the task—to him, it’s like watching two sides of the moon; day and night.

Once in the field, everything changes for her and having Keegan, someone more experienced, more accustomed to this, she feels a sense of duty to impress him; she wants to impress him. Needs to impress him.

Two fingers up in the air, a victory sign of sorts, she looks at Keegan’s confused look, “this means I’ve got it, ‘kay?”

“Why are you showing it to me?”

“Dunno,” she reveals, “it’s something we used to do in my old squad. You’re not really allowed to talk much on the field, have to stay quiet, so we would always show each other this sign to let them know that we don’t need any help; that we got it.”

He follows her. Steps quick and elegant, she waltzes to the side of the fence hidden in the darkness of the night, of her time. Keegan keeps his eyes on her form. Mesmerized by the way she carries herself; softness in her eyes, calming and carrying, but her stance flexed, ready to attack, fingers dancing around the apex of her thighs, close to her weapons.

She stops by a set of Jersey barriers with Keegan making his way in front of her. Close to the open gate, two guards situated on each side—her heart burning inside her chest, the adrenaline pumping in her veins.

“Stay behind me, kid,” Keegan turns to her, eyes wandering upon her expressionless face. She’s ready; more than that, she’s actually excited. It’s the pump of her heart, strong and steady, drops of sweat sliding down her covered temple, the white balaclava only allowing the skin around her eyes to breathe. Eyes wide, taking in the scenery before her.

Keegan gets up, adjusting his clothes, and walks toward the unsuspecting guard with her in pursuit. Walking by the windows, she can see the cameras, showing each and every corner of the compound and its surroundings, a man at the desk, playing on his phone, not a single ounce of attention on her and the Ghost.

The others notice them immediately, emerging from the shadows, dressed in the united uniform, with their weapons on Keegan’s shoulders and her thighs. To the unsuspecting eye, they do belong. Even the guards throw them a side eye in the beginning, Keegan’s broad form covering her smaller one. She remains in his shadow, letting him lead the way, keeping an eye on the computers.

With a quick flick of his wrist, the Ghost sends her inside the gatehouse as he struts to the guards. She walks with a sense of calmness inside her, greets the soldier who only hums in response. Too easy, she sighs, too dumb.

Keegan talks to the other two as she looks at them, fingers dancing along the edge of her knife, tucked safely in the holster on her thigh. She knows there’s no other way—at least not for entrance. The plan itself is faulty, and she still remembers her old captain’s words: “Nothing ever goes according to plan.”

She has a plan of her own.

Her eyes lock with one of the guards outside as the three men talk amongst each other, Keegan’s gentle Spanish mingling with the winter air. He speaks with equanimity, composure. With precision to each word. As he does with everything, she noticed before.

The guard to Keegan’s right watches her, noticing the differences in her form, the way her hips swayed as she walked inside the gatehouse, the curves; and he knows—being deprived of the attention of a woman, he can tell one when he sees one; even if covered head-to-toe in his people’s uniform. Looking back at the man that came with her, every second starts to count.

It’s the way her fingers curl over the handle of her knife, gloved hand gripping the leather handle, heartbeat picking up and adrenaline running through her veins like liquid lava that sends her on autopilot. Watching Keegan widen his step, these micro-movements that would escape even a trained eye if they weren’t looking for it; for any signs of imminent danger.

One hand swinging toward the guard’s Adam’s apple, blunt force against his larynx, Keegan’s moves are swift, calculated. Premeditated. And so are hers—unsheathing the knife from its holster, the guard sitting with his back toward her doesn’t stand a chance. The knife plunges into the side of his neck, the blade wedged right between the muscle and the bone, she can feel it scrape the hard tissue before pulling the knife out. Senses on high alert, hand catching the surprised yelp of the dying guard, her eyes move to Keegan once again; knife in hand, blood dripping from its blade, copying her own, he stands over the two bodies, red pooling underneath as he turns to look at her.

Sharing a reassuring nod, she helps him drag the bodies into the gatehouse. An unwanted familiar ache spread through her side and back as she strains the muscle, feeling the aftermath of the events that happened earlier in the day.

“We need to get to the cars before they find the bodies,” Keegan says; commands her. Making her way to the computer screens, she watches the guards—walking the routine path around the parking lot, rifles in hands, faces hidden underneath the plain white balaclavas, the same ones covering her and Keegan’s faces. The man stands next to her; she feels the way his arm presses against her, the hard muscle meeting with the soft tissue of her biceps while she remains bent over the now empty chair, studying the route. Keegan waits patiently for her, eyes subconsciously following the way her shoulderblades tend to stick out as she arches her back, body looking for a comfortable way to escape the itchy material of the uniform; to find relief from the ache of her back, the same ache he helped soothe hours ago.

“Got anything, kid,” he asks, making her look at him. Eyes hidden underneath the black glasses, she sees her own reflection in him; face covered by the white material, it’s itchy, making it hard to breathe. Putting her very own glasses off, her eyes follow the curve of her face, seeing a velvet splash on the side of her cheek. The guard’s blood painted her mask as if to mark her victory, even if all this was just the beginning.

“A possible route,” she motions to the screens. Using the computer mouse, she swipes the cameras to get a clear view of the whole path toward the parking lot, Keegan’s hand resting right beside her on the table as he watches her movements.

With her finger on the screen, she points at two guards heading their way.

“We need to go through these two. After that, we circle around the HQ. There’s a road heading straight to the vehicles, and no guards except those stationed directly at the parking lot. We take care of those, get a car and get the fuck outta here.”

Nodding, Keegan heads to the door, bloodied knife firmly grasped in his hand; he waits for his companion, the woman following shortly behind. Glasses left on the table, she adjusts the holster on her thigh.

From now on, it’s now or never. A simple hit and run.

Heartbeat ringing in her ears, she feels her every breath—the way her lungs expand with each inhale, flooding her blood with oxygen, and shrink with each exhale. It’s calculated, deliberate, purposeful; just like her every step. Staying on the pavement, avoiding unnecessary noise, heels digging into Keegan’s steps.

The biting chill of the air seeps through the fabric of her uniform, causing goosebumps to rise on her soft skin. Eyes glossy, her nose is starting to run. Mouth slightly opened, she struggles to inhale air that is warm enough to not sting her throat. It stings, biting at the soft gummy tissue of her trachea.

One foot after another.

Keegan strides in front of her. Casual as ever, his head occasionally turning to the side—to look around, to survey the environment. To look at her. Make sure she’s keeping up; though she tries to hide it, he’s aware of her pain, the discomfort her back’s causing her (even if she herself seems not to be).

Passing the guards is simpler than they both expected; too engrossed in their foreign heated conversations, all they see are the uniforms. White camouflage. One of theirs. Had the guards looked up, they would have noticed the blood staining their white masks. The red smears on her right arm and Keegan's upper body. But luck is on her and Keegan’s side today…

…to an extent.

The droplets escaped her attention before; she was concentrating on not getting noticed. But now, with her eyes on the Ghost, she takes notice—the red, thick liquid dripping from the tip of his fingers. Gloves off, another thing she failed to take notice of.

Frustration seers through her. Catching up with the man, matching his long strides with her shorter, swifter ones, her fingertips curl around his wrist. The quiet gesture doesn’t go unnoticed as he shoots her a disapproving look—they’re outside, without cover and she’s well aware of the danger her gesture could cause if seen by the enemy forces. The palm of his hand feels dry, rough against the chilled flesh of her fingertips. Her palm barely covers the length of his fingers; still, he lets her. Gently tugging his arm toward her, his eyes follow their route. No time for stopping.

The cut itself, hidden underneath the white and grey sleeve, doesn’t seem too deep. The chilly air cooling Keegan’s heated wound, adding a sense of comfort to his adrenaline-pumped body. They don’t exchange any words—they don’t need to. She knows that he’s aware of her disapproval of his decision not to tell, but at the same time, she knows that nothing would’ve changed. It comes with the job after all.

“You’re not hurt any—”

“No, kid,” he meets her halfway, “I’m fine. We’re almost there.”

Her eyes, boring into his glasses, turn to the front as he drops his hand from her grasp. A few feet from them, the guards walk along the edge of the pavement, not truly noticing the two intruders about to close in on their perimeter.

She can feel relief slowly creeping into her heart, like a runner entering their finish line. Pulse picking its tempo, her eyes lock on the vehicles. Keegan remains by her side, slowly but steadily taking her six; feeling the guards’ eyes at the back of his head, he’s aware that nothing is truly over until they cross the enemy lines until he gets them to the extraction point. The distance between him and her widens, inch after inch, he feels dread crawling up his arms, the feeling unnerving.

Multiple jeeps line up before them. Turning to her side, she takes notice of Keegan’s position—his head lulling to the side; not able to see his eyes, she’s sure he keeps watching the guards. One watches the other one, their attention is now on Keegan as well. Like a battle of stares, she knows they can’t really see the blood dripping from the Ghost’s arm or her mask stained in burgundy.

“Keep movin’,” Keegan’s voice is steady; so is his stance.

A loud blare of a siren.

“Fuck.”

“Run, kid.” He doesn’t scream it, rather opting to remain calm, deliberate. Demanding her full attention.

The muscles in her legs strain, back stinging in uncomfortable pain as she takes off, Keegan’s words echoing in her head like a cloud of haze; “Run, kid.” “Run, kid.” “Run.” Screams of orders, Spanish flies around her. It’s the sound of the loud bang that makes her upper body twist. Like fireworks, earsplitting blasts, the familiarity of it all rings in her ears. Keegan’s moved while she’s been running—now stationed behind the closest jeep, rifle in hand, his finger keeps pressing the trigger as he bends over the hood.

An invisible force pushes her forward, palm hitting the passenger’s door of a jeep. Red circles decorate the abalone grey of the car. Steadying her stance, her eyes fly to her own arm; the material of the uniform ripped at her elbow, the ruby red seeps into the nylon and cotton fabric. A hiss followed by a fuck escapes from underneath her mask. Twisting the car handle, she scutters inside, frantically opening the compartment before reaching the sun visor, the keys falling right into her bloodied and gloved hand.

The sound of the shooting never stops—she turns to open the door again just enough to scream for Keegan to hurry up. It’s that moment, the sound of her distressed voice, the split second when he twists his head to the side, just a little bit, eyes still on the guards running toward him. He stands up, body on high alert as a bullet makes contact, sending him to the ground with a shocked grunt.

He doesn’t feel the pain but his hand, flying to his side, gets covered in the crimson paint the second it touches his exposed flesh.

She screams his name in a blood-curdling matter, feels her blood drain from her face, the rational side of her brain shutting down as she jumps out of the car. Legs screaming in pain, the wound on her arm throbbing, head thoughtless; she runs. Sprints toward the Ghost, now using his elbows as leverage as he remains active, rifle aimed and shooting as blood stains the asphalt underneath him.

“Dammit, Keegan,” she hisses, throwing his arm around her shoulder. His other arm remains extended, expertly handling the rifle, providing cover as he allows the woman to help him. Undoing the safety on her gun, she grits her teeth as pain shoots up her wounded arm, the same arm that’s gripping the weapon, and she aims it. Frantically trying to stay on her legs, with the Ghost on her side, she keeps pulling the trigger—and he sees her, sees the determination in her moves, the look of a cornered wild animal that chose fight over flight, the storm in her eyes.

They move in unison, shooting repeatedly, dropping the hostiles as they move backward.

She leads him to the passenger’s seat.

He fights her over the driver’s seat.

She wins in the end.

Turning the ignition on, Keegan holds his side. The adrenaline covers the pain—for now but he knows what’s coming for him when it all wears out. Turning to look at her, he watches as her hand clutches the steering wheel, the other one gripping the gear shift, frenziedly changing the gear, basically drifting on the thin iced road with bullets digging into the car’s body, surely aiming at the wheels.

His blood stains her upper uniform, unaware that not all of the crimson red came from his body.

Hecticity engulfs her being as she hurtles through the compound, her foot pressing the gas pedal to the floor. Heart racing, adrenaline pumping through her veins; Keegan’s beside her, his hand pressed against the oozing wound on his abdomen. Her eyes keep flickering to his hunched form, attention torn between the awaiting enemy forces and the Ghost’s wellbeing. The air is thick with tension as her mind is filled with vivid images of what could be.

“Did the bullet go through?”

She can’t stop thinking about it; zig-zagging through the winding paths like a butterfly navigating a flowery meadow. Sweat dripping down her back, palms slick with perspiration, she knows that she has to stay vigilant and focused—her and Keegan's lives depend on it.

He sighs with a yes, ripping the foggy glasses from his face, the balaclava still tightly clung to his face while she, with a few swift tugs, rips the itchy material off her head, hair cascading around her face like a halo, the rubber band breaking with her jerky movements.

The gate in front of her starts closing as she drives onto the entry road, toward the same guardhouse they cleared on their way in—now swarming with at least a dozen men, weapons ready in their trained hands, aiming straight at the jeep. Dread fills her aching and bleeding body; if they manage to hit the wheels, it was all for nothing.

“Hold on.”

She isn't sure if the words were meant for her or Keegan, the sound of them slipping past her tight lips barely above a whisper. Fingers curling around the steering wheel, the force of the vehicle pushes her back into the seat like a comforting embrace. The way her heart thumps in her chest, strong and probably faster than the engine underneath them, a whirl of feelings course through her as her gaze remains fixed on the road ahead.

It’s when somehow, by a miracle or her driving skills (she doesn’t really know nor care), they drive past the flying bullets and the line of hostiles, that she releases a breath she’s been holding for a while now. Eyes shooting to Keegan’s quiet form, she watches him—eyes open, the skin around his eyes is rosy, glossy, signs of heat present as he navigates her to the exfil.

Hours pass by; that’s what it feels in her mind, even when it’s been less than an hour—she never took the foot from the gas, speeding through the road in the woods, only stopping when he tells her to. Hands pressing onto the bleeding wound, her fingers dip inside, nails scratching the open wound, resulting in a painful moan from the man and a shit, sorry from her.

When the chopper arrives and lands, doors to the car opening, she feels hands on her; gripping her, tearing her from Keegan. They’re trying to talk to her, demanding her name, unit, rank, anything to ID her. Except for those with red crosses over their arms, all eyes are on her but her eyes never leave Keegan.

The machine’s steady beeping wakes Keegan from his slumber. With a heaving groan, he tries to roll on his side, only to be stopped by a tug on his arm—in his arm; the IV securing him to the spot. Blinking away the blur once, twice, three times, his gaze follows the woman in white, facing him sideways as if not to look at him.

Feeling of familiarity falls over his worn-out form, recognition spreading through his numb system. The same hair that created a halo around her head back in the jeep, the same determined, wild look in her eyes; now narrowed, concentrating on the piece of paper in her hands, no longer frost-bitten. He watches as she takes the end of the pen between her teeth, biting on it slightly.

“You’re a medic, now?” his voice is rough, throat feeling like sandpaper as his mind forces the words out.

She looks up, a gentle smile forming on her face; she looks different than she did before, relaxed, mellowed. Content to be here, yet her eyes never turn to him, and somehow, a pang of disappointment aches in his heart, now beating steady and stronger than when he was still bleeding out onto his own hand.

“If you don’t blow my cover,” there’s an unusual softness in her voice, “then yes, Mr. Russ. I’m a doctor; your doctor.”

Mr. Russ…

“Since when,” he plays along, slightly entertained by her wit.

“Since,” she looks at the clock on the wall, “like twenty minutes ago. But don’t worry, I never looked at you. The guys that got us,” she motions to the door as if they’re standing there, “they demanded you get one of those screens. Apparently,” she puts the chart down, “you’re a big deal, sergeant Russ.”

“Also,” she continues, “you’re taller than I thought; and younger.”

It requires every ounce of her determination not to turn her head and look at him; the curiosity bubbling inside her is almost too much to bear. She’s aware that all she has to do is turn her head a few degrees to her right and she’ll finally be able to catch a glimpse of his face—but she never does it. Her self-control is a wall, a barrier she can't let herself cross.

No photo in his chart, nothing that she might be able to use against him if needed later on.

“Keegan,” he huffs out his name; a demand, correction for her.

His eyes follow the length of her body and to his slight delight, she seems to be in much better condition than he is; the healthy glow radiating from her posture.

As if she can intuitively sense his concern, she silences his worries, “don’t worry ‘bout me. I’m a tough cookie—unlike you; you’re more of a donut, y’know, ‘cus you have a hole in the middle—never mind.”

His beaten face creases into an amused smile, something she might never be able to witness, even at this moment with him by her side.

“You’re a terrible driver, kid, y’know that?” he keeps his eyes fixated on the side of her face, noticing the small scratches that she’s been carrying since the takedown.

“Did you notice that whenever you speak to me, and it’s not an order, you just tend to straight-up insult me? I just came to say goodbye and all I get is another insult and to my driving skills of all the things.”

The door swings open with a creak, making both soldiers turn to face the elder man who strides through the doorway; Keegan's doctor, his official doctor. She stands there like a deer caught in the beam of headlights.

“You’re leaving?” Keegan’s voice is laced with concern, unbothered by the doctor's attempts to usher her out.

“My team’s KIA,” it’s amusing to watch her fight the doctor while keeping up a conversation with the Ghost, “they’re transferring me to another unit somewhere southeast, near Florida. I’m leaving, ‘kay, no need to push me,” she hisses at the doctor.

It’s when his eyes lose sight of her after she closes the door that he finally looks at the doctor now examining his chart, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he reads over the doodles written rather recently.

“You’re lucky you are alive, young man,” the man turns to Keegan, eyes surveying the soldier’s face with the chart resting on his hipbone.

“I’d say my luck walked out the door.”

[part iii; finale]

[whump-in-the-closet]

“Even though I don’t want to waste my money on someone like you, I can’t have you scaring my customers with your nosebleeds and fainting spells, so get into my car, we’re going to the doctor.”

Hero had retired. In a last bit of irony, he went from saving humanity to rescuing animals, working at an animal shelter.

He had stopped following the news and hadn't heard from Villain since he put away his mask. He'd burned the mask, actually. He had (happily) shoved it into his wood-burning stove and watched as the flames reduced it to ash.

And now his shift was about to end. His back throbbed with a dull ache that was occasionally emphasized with a spike of pain-- a familiar hurt that served as a daily reminder of why he was no longer a hero. But the day hadn't been awful. He must have helped at least twelve excited kids and their families fill out forms for their new pet's adoption. In roughly forty-five minutes, he'd be on his way home and maybe stop at the new coffee place down the street-- a good day.

As soon as he had the thought, the bell on the door gave a solitary ring. He'd heard it a hundred times before but this time was different. It sounded wrong. He couldn't see the entrance directly, but he heard someone pause like they were gripping the doorway before letting it close behind them.

Hero stood, one hand on the counter for support. He knew, he didn't know how he knew, but he knew who had just entered. He knew it as a reflex, a warning bell, an alarm. His stomach twisted.

Someone shuffled into the store, each step dragging, until they reached the front desk.

Villain stood swaying on their feet. Their trench coat reached the floor and they had a hand pressed to their nose. Blood coated their face.

They both stared. Villain, at Hero's nametag and at the desk and at the shelter, in increasing confusion. Hero stared at the blood pouring from Villain's nose.

Villain drew away their hand and spoke first. "Hey."

"You...You're going to want to keep pressure on that."

Villain looked at their hands, dripping with scarlet. If they had killed someone, there would have been no less blood. They gingerly touched their nose again. "Oh. Yeah." Villain collapsed

Hero watched his old enemy hit the tiled floor and felt a brief flicker of satisfaction. Then-- oh fuck-- that was Villain on his shelter floor. Their nose was still bleeding.

He sighed and approached Villain. When they still didn't move, he slowly knelt down and with a heavy groan, pulled them into a half-sitting position.

From there, he picked Villain up in a bridal carry. "Come on," he hissed. "You can't do this to me." Their head rolled back and Hero noticed three tiny details at once. The small scars around Villain's uneven mouth-- like they'd been backhanded by someone wearing rings one too many times. The blood that continued to spurt from their nose was now staining his shirt. And the way the light hit their face, bright and cold.

Turning around, he called for Clarence to cover for him and without waiting for a response-- a bad idea-- carried Villain out of the shelter and to his car.

As Hero lifted Villain into the backseat, Villain coughed violently. More blood.

They looked at Hero in confusion. "W-what?" Their voice was slurred.

“Even though I don’t want to waste my money on someone like you, I can’t have you scaring my customers with your nosebleeds and fainting spells, so get into my car, we’re going to the doctor.”

Villain only stared.

Hero didn't smile, but his voice lost its edge. "Don't worry. Just keep a hand on your nose, will you?"

Villain clamped a hand over their broken nose. "Thank you," they whispered. They said it like the words were a prayer.

Hero turned the key in their car and it purred to life. "If you get blood on my seats, I'll end you."

He could have sworn Villain laughed at that, but he wasn't sure.

[gamesception]

Sception Reads Cass Cain #36

Batgirl (2000) #16 - July 2001 Writer: Puckett Pencils: Scott Inks: Campanella Colors: Wright

Another solo one shot, another resonant and memorable stand alone story that Cass fans from back in the day will remember clearly. Got a bit more time to work with, gonna try and pull some more images this time, because the art in this one is just really good. Honestly, this issue is peak early days Batgirl - the kind of story she was literally made to tell, and it's really well executed. If I had to pick a single issue of Cass's entire Batgirl run as sort of a 'this is what she's all about' encapsulation for someone completely new to Cass and her book, this would be on the short list. If you've never read her ongoing before, i strongly recommend you actually read the issue for yourself before the summary here.

The issue opens on a bunch of kids playing a mean game where they throw a rat in the air and get points if it lands in a circle they drew on the ground. The nerd in my has to point out that it's kind of unrealistic. Rats aren't quite as fall resistant as, say, cats, but while they could be hurt or maybe even killed by a fall from only as high as a grade school kid could throw them, most are going to scamper away and none are going to land so badly that they splatter like a water balloon.

Anyway, it's gross and its cruel but also kind of cute as the kids argue about the rules and 'nuh uh' each other, and Scott draws their faces really expressively, and the whole scene starts with a rat silhouetted in front of the moon mid toss in an image that's as aesthetically compelling as it is disturbing in context before plummeting back down

I could talk about how Cass is flying high through the city as Batgirl while her mental state is hurtling towards a painful crash, but that's probably reading too much into it.

Anyway, after the first splat there's this kind of cool sequence where the next kid throws the rat up and they all run back and look down at the circle...

Only the rat never comes down, and when they look up like 'where did it go?' there's Cass

The image of Cass swooping down from above with the kids all looking up is pretty cool, and the way the panels create a pacing for the scene is really good. Effective storytelling through sequential art.

Cass drops down, and the kids scatter. Not a situation that needs any more intervention then that, and we get a nice panel showing just her hands and feet as she crouches down to gently let the rat go. A pretty standard inverse kick-the-dog moment to establish Cass as the good guy by having her be nice to an animal, but for those who have been reading along from the first issues of her book it also reminds us of how Bruce once praised her for being 'gentle', and how despite everything that's happened that part of her is still in there.

As the other kids scatter, one stays behind to kick off the main plot for the issue. I like how awkward Cass is here, towering over this kid when she's used to being around allies and enemies taller than herself, not knowing how to talk to him.

Also, I haven't talked about it in a bit, but I just really love the way Scott draws Cass as Batgirl? Her proportions with her big head emphasizing her youth. The way you can make out her expressions despite the full face mask - and the way he gives her the same expressions that he gives Bruce. Her prominent jaw line making her feel tough and defiant and stubborn. The way you can make out her expression through the mask, the sleek lines of how her cape drapes from her neck to the point shoulders and then down, or the way the cape flows when he draws her in motion, all with an oil-slick feel that likely owes as much to Campanella's inking as to Scott's pencil work.

There are aspects of how others draw Cass in her batgirl suit that I like - most recently I love how Leonardo Romero draws the pointy ears on her cowl in the recent Birds of Prey run, it gives Cass a retro feel that really fits his vintage newspaper comic aesthetic. But Scott's version of Cass-as-Batgirl is always how I'll see the character in my mind.

The kid, Tim, takes Cass back to his home, a messy apartment with a mattress just dropped on the floor. You can feel the poverty, and start to form an image of this kid's dad in your head as, like, a decent man pushed into crime by desperation to provide for his kid.

An impression that Tim then explicitly reinforces.

The scene cuts to the bank mid robbery, and we meet someone who seems to fit the mold - Jake. The way Scott draws Jake's expressions, you can tell he doesn't want to be there, and when asked what he's going to do with the money they steal, he just says he's going to pay some bills. But when a security guard surprises them, Jake is startled and shoots him, almost by accident....

The boss, Chaco, compliments Jake on the kill, rubbing in how this isn't a guy who would normally do something like that with the 'didn't think you had it in you' line, and as they walk away you can see how horrified Jake is at what he's done.

In contrast, Chaco shows just how comfortable he is with killing by shooting one of his own guys point blank when he realizes the guy was stealing traceable jewelry from the vault, the way the panel suddenly goes red, and Chaco's calm expression just the panel before, emphasizing how sharp and sudden the violence is.

Chaco's a professional. Ruthless and dispassionate, about the job, about killing, even with his allies. He clearly didn't even feel any malice towards the guy he shot - he was downright friendly with all of his crew, even Jake, just a few panels ago, and that friendliness was probably even genuine. But this guy became a liability, and Chaco doesn't have any time or pity for liabilities.

It's around this time that they notice Jake is missing. More liabilities.

A couple of the crew find Jake in an alley, overwhelmed by guilt over killing that security guard, and again, I just have to say, the art in this issue is really good. The perspective in that first panel looking down, with the shadows stretching forward guns first, the expressions on Jake and the guy who has a gun drawn on him, the detail on the background cobblestones & brickwork. All really good.

Anyway, this is when Cass shows up, in terrifying shadow form, knocking out the two goons with the guns in as many panels.

Cass sees Jake, like us assumes he's Tim's dad, and takes pity on him. For Tim's sake.

But Jake is overwhelmed by guilt.

Guilt is one thing Cass understands.

Tim wanted Cass to stop his dad before he did something bad, something he wouldn't be able to forgive himself for, something Tim wouldn't be able to forgive him for. But Cass was too late. Once again, she's failed.

Only, Tim isn't Jake's son.

He's Chaco's son.

Chaco the remorseless killer. Chaco who can be friendly one moment and commit murder the next. Cass wasn't too late to stop Tim's dad from doing something bad, Tim's dad had been bad the whole time.

And bad dads are also something Cass understands.

I need to take a step out of the story for a moment here though to talk again about how Scott draws Cass, and in particular the bit about conveying her facial expressions through the mask. Scroll up a bit and look at the downcast resignation on her face when Jake says he has to pay for what he's done, then the surprise when he says he isn't Tim's father, and then the absolute fury here.

The expressions are so vivid, and carry so much of the load when it comes to conveying Cass's thoughts and emotions and personality.

Bringing back another old chestnut of this blog, Cass can speak now, and think in words and sentences, but there are no thought bubbles or narration blocks in the entire issue. The book just doesn't need them, not when Scott's Art is able to put everything going on in these characters heads right on their faces.

Cass lays into Chaco, stopping only when she realizes he's already unconscious, and you can feel the sharp snap of her attacks in how the panels are layed out.

Bringing back another old chestnut, the action panels are practically perfunctory. They're there, and they're good, but there's no back and forth, there's never any question of the bank robbers so much as landing a hit on Cass. Who will win in a physical fight was never where the story's tension was. It was all about the emotional stakes.

Tim arrives on scene just in time to see his dad carted off on a stretcher to the hospital, and as Cass takes him home he looks back, through the spikes on her gauntlet, as through through the prison bars that are going to separate him from his father for the rest of his life.

And the last page is this somber, heartbreaking moment of Cass trying to console Tim that just because his father is a bad person, doesn't mean he is too, and it's obvious that Cass is thinking about herself and David Cain here, but while I might be reading too much into the panel, the way Cass's shadow forms Bruce's symbol to me draws attention to the fact that Cass has two fathers, and just because one of them isn't a murderer doesn't mean he isn't also bad.

...

So yeah, this really is more or less the archetypal Cass Cain Batgirl (2000) issue. A somber, contemplative tone. Street level / no super-villains or over the top scenarios. A focus on the individual humanity of the minor characters, including criminals who would be faceless mooks in any other bat book. Story and characterization conveyed through expressive artwork and deliberate panel use rather than blunt narration, taking advantage of the specific strengths of the comic medium. Violence and action scenes sharp, short and snappy rather than heavily drawn out, with the main conflict grounded in personal and emotional stakes. Narrative themes - guilt, parenthood - that tie directly back to Cassandra's core themes, history, and character motivations. All concisely contained within a single issue episode that works as a stand alone story.

Although there might be a bit too much emphasis on the stand alone part. Sometimes Cass's stories do come back to be referenced again later, we'll have an example of that next week, but we never see Tim again, we never see Cass following up or checking on him which is kind of a shame.

[milkytheholy1]

Everything Ends: Part 12

Tmnt masterlist. Ultimate masterlist. Everything Ends masterlist.

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The final Battle 

"C'mon, the keys over here!" Casey yelled out, voice slightly muffled by his mask. You skidded around a pile of debris, sometimes you wished you trained more like April in times like these. Speaking of which, the teen beside you huffed out a breath of air, her mind going a mile a minute. April's eyes scanned over the land before them, looking for any enemies that may pop up over the horizon. 

Splinter stood in front of you all, ever the responsible adult, he vowed he would not be losing any more of his children today. You were on a construction site, you think? It was hard to tell when the whole city was near enough in ruin, jeez, the Kraang hadn't even been here for that long and the place already looked like a dump. 

Casey pointed a finger towards a pile in the distance, "There's the key! Let's go!" he cheered, sounding a lot more hopeful than he did earlier. The boy ran straight forward, ignoring his sense of survival as he made a mad dash towards the thing that would end it all. Unfortunately for him, something had beaten him to it. 

Casey was sent flying back towards you, Splinter narrowly avoided the oncoming body strewn his way. Your eyes widened as you took in the creature, it clearly wasn't human or even a Yoki for that matter. Its eyes were a glaring red, its teeth sharp and covered in saliva. It made a beeline for the key, you turned to look at April, she had a stoic expression on her face, "Like Casey said, let's go!" she then charged forward, a scream blaring from her lips. 

While your small fight raged on, you couldn't help but wonder what the boys were facing on the ship, there was no doubt it was worse than this. But you couldn't think about it for long as more and more creatures began piling up. With Casey now back in the fight you had somewhat more of a chance than before, "Dude, you've fought these things before, right? How do we stop them?" you yelled out over the sounds of violence. 

Casey was sent back a few paces but landed on his feet, pulling out his souped-up hockey stick, he began decapitating the creatures that were within reach. He was panting behind his mask, taking a moment to breathe and answer you, "That's the thing, I don't know. These things were always a pain in the future." 

"Stabbing seems to work!" April beamed, using some broken piping to embrace one of the creature's hearts. Splinter was stood on top of the partially built structure, swinging from beam to beam via his tail as he avoided multiple punches. He easily kicked the beast to the ground, watching as its arms flailed wildly, "We must stay strong and keep fighting, my boys are counting on us." 

You all nodded your heads, getting back into the swing of things; no matter how much your body ached. A lightning bolt shot from the sky, you only just avoided it but the electricity in the air remained, you could feel the hair on your arms stand to attention.

"So not only do we have to deal with crazy aliens but also extreme weather, nice." you moaned bitterly, racing away from one of the creatures as it leapt at your feet. You ran towards the structure similar to Splinters but larger in height. Dodging the monster's swings as you confused it by running between each beam.

The poor thing was so directionless it stood with its head spinning for more than a minute, though this was the perfect time for you to attack. Swinging a small beam in your hands, the ends of which were jagged and sharp, you sliced through the creature's head. Green blood and purple guts spluttered out of the seams, coating your hands in the alien substance.

"Ugh, grossss." you whined, dropping the metal to the ground. A loud cackling sound brought you back to reality, dragging you away from the rotting body in front of you. You soon joined the others, following their gaze to reveal the Sister Kraang perched where Splinter once stood.

"What a surprise to find you pathetic creatures here of all places." she mused, a snarl leaving her lips. April gave the alien a look up and down, smirking to herself with her hand braced against her hip, "I see you got yourself an upgrade."

The Kraang growled, placing a robotic hand over her missing eye before it formed a fist by her side, "You will pay dearly for what you have done to me!" she screamed, parts of her armour lifting up to reveal a multitude of weapons. Splinter rolled his eyes, his face clearly unamused, "The psycho routine is getting a little thin, where's the character development?"

The Sister Kraang sneered, her eyes full of hatred as she fired the weapons without hesitation. You evaded them as best as you could, but the ground beneath your feet shook with each blow, making you unsteady. Splinter charged against her once the smoke had cleared, he flew kicks and punches towards her, easily dodging her own swings of retaliation.

Yet it wouldn't take long for her to whack him against the beams of the work-in-progress construction job that had been plaguing the city after the defeat of the Shredder. Splinter struggled to stand, holding a hand to his chest as he quite literally had the wind knocked out of him.

"Leo's counting on us to get that key," Casey huffed, his gaze fixed on the artefact that sat snuggly behind the Kraang's form. April huffed, rubbing her chin in thought, eyes far off in the distance, she then clicked her fingers "I think I have an idea, cover me!"

You and Casey stood in a defensive stance, future boy cast a glance at you and offered you a weapon of your own. You had no clue where he even pulled it from, perhaps a secret future pocket that was bigger on the inside. You held it in your hands, it wasn't much, just a small stick with a blade attached to the end; it was awfully light. Casey smirked at you and pressed a button on the bottom of the hilt, watching you with excited eyes as the entire weapon grew in size.

It looked a lot like one of Donnie's bo-staffs, except this version was sharp and sleek. It clearly went through years of refined touches and tests to get it this perfect, future Donnie must have been pleased with his work. You gripped the device a little more tightly now, sharing a confident nod with Casey.

"Fight me you vile Utrom-loving skin sacks!" the Sister Kraang demanded. You frowned at the insult, who is she to call you vile, you happen to know many people who would say otherwise. Roaring a battle cry of your own, you and Casey leapt at the villain with your weapons raised high.

You both put up a good fight, you were surprised you were able to bypass the Kraang's swings for as long as you did. You jabbed the pointed sphere into the Kraang's metallic casings, hoping to pry the gooey insides out into the light. Casey on the other hand held a vengeance in his eyes, this was his chance to fight back and get revenge for everything that had ever happened in his life. 

With huge swings, he sent the Kraang skidding back bit by bit, "This is for my mother," swing, "This is for the fallen souls," whack, "This is for my master," hit, "THIS IS FOR THE FUTURE!" With one final swing, Casey sent the Kraang towards the ground with a gruff groan. By this point, Casey was panting, his shoulders huffing up and down in rapid succession.

You carefully placed a hand on his arm, unsure how he'd react, but the most he did was jump; you suppose he was too lost in his own world.

"You feel better for that?" you asked him with a warm smile, he turned to you with a grin of his own, tears budding in his eyes, "Yeah...Yeah, I do."

"How touching, but your fears will be the end of you!" The Sister Kraang hollered, standing to her full height and sweeping the ground from under you. She grabbed you both in her hands while you mindlessly scaled the air, dragging you closer to her face, so close you could smell her wretched breath.

"It's so very amusing that you, you of all things came back to stop us. I was expecting someone bigger, stronger even." she sent a shiver down Casey's spine. Her gaze then turned to you, "And you, you have been nothing but a pain in my side since I got to this planet. You and your little group. But once I rip your insides out, I'll go for your friends down there, then I'll kill those turtles you admire so much. Perhaps I'll make the blue one watch as I shred you to pieces."

You tried to wriggle out of her grasp, anger fueling you as you struggled. The Sister Kraang only laughed, whipping her robotic head back almost human-like.

"Let them go, Kraang." Splinter's voice called out, he looked a little weakened, that one swing must have taken more out of him than you thought. The Kraang beamed, her smile meeting her eyes, "As you wish," she mused, she launched herself into the air, and with a wicked gleam, she dropped you and Casey.

"NOO!" Splinter screamed, jumping from beam to beam to catch you in time. He managed to swipe you, but Casey hit the ground quicker than Splinter would have liked. Dust surrounded the poor boy, but once it settled a blue orb shone around him. As Splinter approached, with you out cold in his arms, he could hear rather than see Casey coughing. The boy rolled onto his back with his eyes closed, a gruff "I'm okay," rasping out of his lips.

Splinter let out a sigh of relief, carefully placing you beside him, "Protect them, Casey." he whispered. He then left the duo, walking calmly up to the Kraang, rolling the robes of his sleeves up and tightening the small ponytail on his head. The Kraang tilted her head to the side out of curiosity, it was rather amusing to her to see such a small creature hold itself so highly.

But Splinter was someone who you shouldn't underestimate too easily. His form began to flicker, and before the Kraang knew it, he was by her side in less than a second. Splinter delivered a series of fast-paced kicks and jabs to her build. Her body dipping and diving in different directions as he continued his efforts. The Sister Kraang was growing irritated, unable to land a single hit on him due to his quick movements.

But that came to an end when she pounded the ground beneath her, the force sending Splinter back, but not out for the count. He skidded to a halt, flicking one of his ears before rushing back to the fight. This time though, the third sister kept up with him, delving into some of her own moves against his withering, old form.

"You cannot stop what is destined to happen, old man."

"I may not be able to stop you, but my sons will." he spat out some blood after the Kraang supplied a swift jab to his jaw. The Kraang simply shook her head, "They won't even live to see us rule their world, much like how you won't live long enough to see them fail." the Kraang then rapidly produced punch after punch against Splinter's chest, watching with a smirk as his body hovered in the air as her punches kept going.

With one final blow, Splinter's bruised and battered body was hurled across the construction sight and slammed into one of the small in-progress buildings. The clash was so powerful he not only dented the surface where he made an impact, but the poorly constructed skeleton of a building began to shake. Piece by piece the building came down on top of him, bits of metal beams and concrete slabs covered his body and soon hid him from view.

Casey watched on with wide eyes, a hand stretching out in the same direction, "SPLINTER!" he cried. You were still next to him, your breathing steady and unaware what was happening, but your mind was racing, he could see the way your eyes were darting around under your eyelids.

Casey looked back over to the pile of debris, just waiting, praying Splinter would crawl out any second now. He'd make a silly little joke about his bad back and all would be fine. But that didn't happen, Casey couldn't see him at all, couldn't hear him.

"Aprilllll O'Neillllllll!" came a bellowing voice, followed by a loud sound of machinery. A huge wrecking ball crushed into the Sister Kraang's robotical side sending her along with the wrecking ball into a partially built building. However, she still got up. Slowly but surely, the beast wobbled on two legs, glaring at you all, "You'll pay for that." she seethed.

"I don't think so," April hummed, aiming another swing with the wrecking ball, this time hitting the structure. The small building began to shake and shudder, quickly coming apart and collapsing on top of the Kraang. The third sister bellowed out screams of help and the odd "No!" but her voice was quickly muted.

Casey watched from the sidelines with you still out in his arms, a tear trickled down his cheeks, "Payback." he spat out. Future Boy looked back down into his arms, watching you with worried eyes. He began shaking you, but you were in your own world.

The view would have been so pretty on the rooftop if it weren't for the harrowing screams that echoed through the streets or the giant space orb intent on demolishing anything it saw. You were looking out over the horizon, wondering if this was the life you were meant to live, perhaps the future was always meant to be destroyed and the city left in ruin.

A presence joined your side, Leo of all turtles. He remained silent, joining in your private viewing of the world falling apart. The quiet remained for a few more minutes, until his deep sigh broke the air, "Stay safe out there." he whispered. You then felt a tingling sensation from the tips of your fingers to the deep groves of the palm of your hand.

Looking down, you caught Leo's hand intermingling with your own. You smiled at the imagery.

"You too, leader in blue." you mused, but your tone was polite and full of love. He finally turned to look at you, he was radiant; but when wasn't he? His free hand travelled up the depths of your face, rubbing his thumb against the plushness of your cheek, "I love you." he hummed. You cherished moments like these, they didn't happen very often, only in moments of uncertainty. 

 The last time you remember having such a conversation was moments before the final battle against Shred-head and the dark armour. You nuzzled into his open palm, pressing a brief kiss against his scarred skin, "I love you more." He smiled at that, quickly leaning in to press chaste kisses against your cheeks, he leaves to join his brothers and carry out the daunting mission ahead of them. 

"(Y/N)! (Y/N), c'mon not you too!" Casey's voice rang out in your head, squinting your eyes your mind seemed to snap and suddenly you were pulled away from your tranquil thoughts and thrust into the real world.

You awoke to Casey shaking you violently in his arms, hands braced tightly against your shoulders. You batted his hands away once you regained enough consciousness, "Ok, ok, I get it." you mumbled, rubbing your head. April had finally managed to depart the wrecking-ball machine, who knew it would have so many seatbelts and safety precautions? 

"(Y/N)! Are you okay, are you hurt? Where are you hurt? Should I call Donnie? I trained as a lifeguard for six months, but I don't know if I can fix alien punches." she rambled, eyes scrambling over every inch of your form. You shut her up with a hug, grabbing on tightly to her jacket, "I'm okay," you whispered repeatedly.

"Um, guys?" Casey's wavering voice broke you apart, his head was downcast and his eyes were wet with tears. You and April gave him a questioning stare before April looked around noticing a member of your team was missing, "Where's Splinter?" Casey flinched at the question.

"Casey, where's Master Splinter?" you asked again, but from the guilt-ridden face and uncomfortable silence, you could grasp where this was going. Seemingly so could April with the small gasp released from her lips. Casey pointed over to the pile of rubble on the far side of the construction site, you all rushed over to it in an instant.

April fell to her knees, tears flowing freely from her eyes. You tried digging through the dirt, clawing at the rocks with your nails, but it was too damn heavy. Nothing would move. Casey stood behind you both, though he had not known this Splinter or any for that matter, he felt the loss and pain you were both experiencing.

Minutes passed until you tried to do anything again, offering a hand to April, you looked at her with grief in your eyes. Like an unspoken bond, she nodded her head and you both turned to the pile of dirt and concrete, bowing as a sign of respect. Once you stood to your full height, you tried to speak "W-we need to f-finish the plan." your voice cracking as you spoke.

April shook her head in agreement, "The boys are counting on us, the whole world is counting on us."

"No pressure then," you tried to smile, but it hurt too much right now. Casey looked between the two of you, unsure if he wanted to leave you alone, "We'll be fine, Jones. Go get that key." April hummed. Casey was reluctant but left anyway, he had his own mission to complete.

You turned back to the grave behind you, the only thought you could muster rattled around inside your head: What will the guys think?