#just that all the selflessness was lost long ago

[slytherinshua]

YOUR WOUNDS WRAPPED WITH MY LOVE

genre. fluff. tiny bit of angst. mafia au. warnings. descriptions of a stab wound. blood. knives and guns. some profanity. kissing. they kinda argue but very mildly. i researched a little on how to treat wounds but pls don't expect it to be too accurate 😭. pairing. fiancé!jeno x reader. wc. 1.5k. request. no. a/n. so ever since the concept trailers this jeno has been the only thing on my mind I swear 😔 and nursing trope is one of my fav tropes ever so I joined the two together and was very delulu 👍

read part 2 here !

“Again?” You asked, less than happy at the sight of the tall man who stood against the doorframe, one hand clutching his side painfully. Lee Jeno always disappeared without warning on another mission only to return, usually injured, for you to patch him up. You had urged him to hire an actual medic for the job, but he refused, saying he didn’t trust anyone but you to get that close to him. That was a few years back when the occasions for it were still rare. You were alarmed at how often he seemed to be going out, and returning with increasingly worse injuries.

Your knowledge and skill with patching up wounds— dagger wounds, bruises and scrapes from physical altercations, hell, even gunshot wounds— was a lot better than years ago. You were confident in your ability to get your fiancé back to health, but you weren’t pleased with how often you had to. No matter how much you pleaded with him to let his body rest, he would more often than not, be out again just hours after you had tended to his bleeding body.

“I’m sorry.” He grumbled out. You would have been shocked by how hoarse his voice had become if this was the first time, but you were all too used to it. Your heart still clenched painfully seeing him in that state.

He could barely walk, blood dripping a little from where his hand pressed tightly to his left side, his face scrunched in pain as laboured irregular breaths left his mouth. 

“Come here. Sit down. Tell me what happened.” You said quietly, already having gotten out the box of medical supplies. You were ready with the bottle of saline already, but it wasn’t anywhere near the top of Jeno’s worries. From the tone of your voice, he could tell you were mad at him. Or maybe it was mostly disappointment? A touch of worry, perhaps.

He made his way towards you, carefully limping towards the bed until he could gently lower himself onto it with his weight supported by the bedframe. He sat still as you gently took off his shirt, eyes assessing the dark red spot that stained the side of his stomach and up his ribcage. You glanced up to his face, and he met your eyes for half a second with a slow breath out.

“Knife. It’s not that deep, I stopped their hand before they could push it in very far.” He whispered, and then shut his eyes tightly when you dabbed a little at the wound with a soft wet cloth soaked in saline.

“Are you staying for long?” You asked, guarding your heart for what his answer would be. You loved Jeno— you loved him more than anything, and you tried to be as selfless as you could regarding him and his job. You never put up a fuss about having to patch him up, and you only ever gently tried to persuade him to be more careful. But it was hard, really hard. You couldn’t help but be hopeful that he might be able to stay for a bit longer with you. You hated how you only seemed to be seeing him to treat his wounds for the past month.

But it only reminded you of how he was by far the most selfless person you knew. 

Countless threats had always been looking for Jeno’s weakness. And you happened to be the most vital one. You were unspeakably precious to him, and unfortunately, his rivals knew that. Of course, he did everything he could to protect you. You trusted him with your life. There was no one else who you would ever trust as much as him. And he had never lost your trust. You had never even had a scratch delivered to you. But the tradeoff of the protection that Jeno made sure you had was his own life being put at risk almost every day.

Every cut, stab, or bruise that littered his fair skin were marks of how determined he was to keep you safe. The least you could do was treat his body in return with your gentle hands, wiping away the blood, wrapping the wounds carefully, and stitching them up when needed.

Jeno answered your question with only a silent nod yes. Although relief filled your body that he wouldn’t be out again immediately, you still focused on the more important task at hand. You could enjoy his company once he wasn’t bleeding.

“Are they still after you?” You rummaged around in the box for the antibiotic ointment, dabbing a bit on your finger before leaning closer to apply it. “This’ll sting.” You muttered as a warning before dabbing the wound as carefully as you could. Jeno tensed up, his fingers bunching up the sheet of the bed as he did his best to stay still.

“Talk to me. It’ll help distract you.” You told him, pausing your application of the antibiotics to rest a hand on his shoulder, providing a small bit of comfort.

“They’re… They’re after you, not me. You know that.” He whispered out as you continued to treat the wound. “They can’t take me by themselves— they’d be fucking stupid to try. I made sure that they won’t bother us for at least a month. I’ll have to talk to Renjun and Donghyuck about our next course of action.” You hummed in understanding, grabbing the roll of gauze next. 

“You need to rest your body, Jeno.” You said quietly. You could tell he was about to protest, so you interrupted quickly, “Doctor’s orders. Don’t pull anymore dumb shit.”

“It’s not dumb shit. It’s to protect you.” He argued back, clenching his jaw.

You sighed, starting to wrap the white cloth around his waist, “I know. But you said yourself that you have a month. At least for a week of that month, you need to rest and recover.” 

Your fiancé seemed unsettled at the thought of a whole week of rest; a week of letting his guard down. It was almost unheard of for him. He knew from experience that as soon as he let himself relax, something unexpected would happen. But maybe you were right. Maybe a week of rest is what he needed.

You secured the wrap tightly, and mumbled out how you were all done. Jeno just stared at you while you cleaned up, soaking up the face he hadn’t gotten a chance to study for the past month. He felt incredibly guilty for how often he had been gone, and even more so for how often he had let you see him like this. He knew you hated it, but you never complained. He didn’t deserve you.

“I love you.” He spoke suddenly, interrupting the cold silence of the room. You shut the metal drawer slowly, back still turned to him as you let a small smile grow on your face. You hadn’t heard those words from him in a while. You turned back to sit down next to him again, your eyes staring into his.

“Won’t you say it back?” He whispered, reaching for your hand; your left hand, the one that adorned that diamond ring he had given you months prior. You let him pull you closer as his right hand enclosed over your left. His fingers felt a bit rough, but they were warm and comfortable. With his left hand on the back of your neck, he gently guided you forward until his lips closed over yours.

You could just barely taste the metallicness of blood from the slight cut to his bottom lip. But you didn’t focus on it, too absorbed in the gentleness of his kiss and how perfectly his lips felt against yours even after years had passed. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed as he caught his breath. 

You pecked his lips again, “I love you too. Always.”

He visibly relaxed at your words and dropped his head to your shoulder. You sighed, threading your fingers through the hair at the bottom of his neck, holding him closely. He shuddered quietly, and you frowned.

“Cold?” Your hand ran up and down his back slowly, feeling goosebumps rise from the chill. You traced one of the many scars that marked him, stopping at the dip of his scapula and muscle. You reached behind your back, feeling around along the mattress for a blanket. You caught hold of it and gently draped it around Jeno. 

You smiled fondly at the way he nestled his head a little closer to the crook of your neck. From his breath, you figured he was already almost asleep. You didn’t want to disturb his sleep, but you knew the position would quickly get uncomfortable, so you shifted his head down to your chest and laid back until you hit the mattress. He didn’t protest at all, but shifted into a comfortable spot in his half-asleep state. With his head on your chest, his arm around your waist, and his legs tangled with yours, you found the new position to be much more promising for getting good sleep.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead and made sure the blanket covered his body before you closed your eyes as well.

↳ nct dream taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,,

[ninibeingdelulu]

Seeing you comforting a child…

ft. leon kennedy, cloud strife

Leon Kennedy would never dare admit it openly, but the stoic, badass exterior melted away ever so slightly at the sight of you tenderly comforting a lost child.

That time in the ransacked village, when the haunting wails of a youngster pierced the air amidst the carnage - Leon instinctively tensed, jaw setting grimly as his grip tightened on his rifle.

But then he spotted you already racing ahead unhesitatingly. Dropping to one knee, arms outstretched in a gentle beckoning posture as the little one startled then sprinted straight into your protective embrace.

Your soothing tones murmured comforting assurances while cradling their trembling form close against you. Fingers carding soothingly through tangled hair with the utmost tender care.

And Leon couldn't tear his widened eyes away from the tenderhearted display. Throat constricting over the unexpected lump suddenly materializing there.

That million-watt smile radiating from your features as you rocked them patiently until whimpering quieted was like the first vibrant blossom peeking through the ash after a nuclear winter.

An oasis of affectionate nurturing shining through the oppressive bleakness suffocating them both for far too painfully long.

Leon found his calloused finger-pads unconsciously drifting up to caress his own chapped lips as if wishing to physically absorb the tranquil serenity you effortlessly exuded.

Eyelids momentarily fluttering closed while permitting himself to just bask in the warmth emanating from your very presence like a soothing balm against all the harrowing darkness poisoning them both.

A tremulous sigh escaped between those parted lips as the barest ghost of a smile tugged at their corners for the first time in...Christ, had it really been years since he last felt anything even remotely resembling that fleeting glimmer of unguarded optimism blossoming in his chest?

The peaceful tableau you presented with the now-placid child tucked securely in your arms struck Leon deeper than any physical combat wound ever could.

Worming past every steel-plated layer of defenses, countermeasures and failsafes, straight down into the most vulnerable core of his humanity he'd sworn died an agonizing death ages ago.

It terrified yet entranced him in equal measure just drinking in the serene display. Eventually those narrowed steel-blue irises regained some of their piercing guardedness while surreptitiously cataloging every nuance etched upon your expressions and ministrations.

As if desperately searing the moment into his consciousness to be revisited and clung onto later through whatever hell awaited them next.

Thank Christ for your influence and the inexplicable balm it provided against the miasma of torment clouding Leon's withered soul more with every passing abyss they navigated together...

The uncompromising mask remained solidly affixed in place by the time you finally lifted your eyes to meet his guarded gaze, the child nestled peacefully into the crook of your neck.

Not a single flicker of that momentary softness penetrated the hauntingly chiseled granite of his features now.

Yet behind that shuttered and fortified thousand-yard stare, the barest ember pulsed with renewed tenacity suffusing Leon's frigid disposition with almost undetectable glimmers of warmth.

All because of your natural radiance and selfless compassion reminding him why they fought on through each grueling gauntlet.

Sure he'd never verbalize sentiments that unbearably raw and guileless aloud. But that infinitesimal spark continuing to miraculously smolder despite all efforts to smother it was enough to propel them onward through any escalating onslaught yet to come.

This time with a renewed fervor steeling Leon's adamantine determination from the inside out.

The desolate, mako-tainted wastes proved no place for a child's cries. Yet the haunting echoes still pierced straight through Cloud's calloused defenses when tiny lungs unleashed their heartrending wails upon the barren landscape.

His gloved grip instinctively clenched tighter around the battered Buster Sword's hilt, jaw tensing as those predatory ice-blue irises immediately snapped towards the source of the disturbance.

Fully prepared for whatever fresh horror emerged after the merc caught fleeting movement through his peripherals.

But the cautious sweep revealed only your slender form already hastening ahead. Moving with fluid grace directly towards the sobbing bundle tucked against a crumbling wall.

His firm chapped lips tightened into a grim line witnessing you unhesitatingly drop to one knee before the distressed child without any apparent armaments at the ready.

From this distance, Cloud glimpsed your gentle features soften with bottomless compassion wholly separate from the usual battlefield ferocity.

Small hands unfurled in placating gestures exuding profound warmth and sincerity instantly easing some of the fractures riddling his own battered soul simply by proximity.

While you deftly coaxed the tiny thing into your embrace with susurrant tones and infinitely patient ministrations, Cloud suddenly found himself robbed of breath altogether.

Those glacial spheres wide and stunned at the exquisitely tender vision you presented cradling their fragility so reverently. A profound ache lodged behind his breastbone at the maternal aura emanating from your whole being.

He swallowed convulsively over the sandpaper abrasions rasping along his windpipe.

Gloved fingers betraying the slightest tremor disturbing his usual uncompromising stoicism while still drinking in every indelible detail of the intimate scene unraveling.

From the tender flickering caresses smoothed across tangled russet locks to your honeyed vocals humming soothing melodies of consolation.

All suffusing the stale, mako-saturated atmosphere with vibrant healing essences Cloud found himself instinctively gravitating closer towards.

Feather-light brushes scritched lovingly along the whimpering child's back forming hypnotic ellipses mirroring your unguarded smile radiating all-encompassing warmth across those cherubic cheeks now drenched in tear tracks.

Until finally after an eternity, the miniature form stilled in your arms. Body unlocking from its terrified rigor mortis into the very picture of youthful tranquility tucked securely against your heartbeat.

Cloud hadn't even realized he'd been holding his own respiration captive until the soft sigh expelled in a shuddering rush between lax lips.

A full-bodied flinch rattled his broad shoulders at its sudden harsh volume intruding upon the sacred tableau before him.

But thankfully, your features remained beautifully serene, wholly undisturbed while continuing to rock the now-quieted bundle in gentle rhythms.

Only then did molten sapphire pools drift up to lock with his widened stare burning with intensity across the slender lacuna separating you. A tremor not wholly attributable to anxiety skittered down his whip-cord musculature watching your radiant smile intensify directed solely towards Cloud.

As if silently communicating your infinite gratitude for him bearing witness to such an intimate and precious moment blossoming in this scorched hellscape...

Whatever parched recesses comprising the haunted mercenary's core still retained the capacity for absorbing nurturing warmth - it suddenly flooded within the confines of his barrel chest when those infinitely compassionate irises shone their benediction upon him.

Unknotting every rigid sinew and ligament hardened into a battle-tempered carapace purely through the power of your tender, life-affirming essence.

Almost imperceptibly, Cloud's chapped lips softened around the faintest half-curved suggestions budding there.

Posture unconsciously opening to welcome your pure light into his long-shadowed world while holding your loving gaze in mesmerized thrall.

As if determined to thoroughly archive this oasis of serenity and unconditional love in his consciousness so it may fortify whatever grueling battles destiny demanded they wage next.

Then in a single blink and a slight dip of your chin, the spell abruptly dissolved back into hyper-vigilance.

Yet even with the mercenary's legendary ice reformed across those exquisite Nordic features, perpetually braced for the next onslaught - a spark continued flickering in the hooded caverns of his stare.

A faint ember of something intangible yet transcendent now eternally kindled behind his armored exterior.

All because you'd reminded Cloud one of his most precious intangible dreams had been manifested into cherished reality...even under the most desolate conditions.

[buckyalpine]

Ex!Bucky fluff

I’m about to break hearts rn but I’ll mend it with a mini life saver. I promise. I was in a silly goofy mood for angst but I can't just leave the ending like that.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regulate his breathing while practicing the grounding methods you had taught him, your soft voice guiding him through his panic attack.

"Tell me what you see around you"

"I-I see the curtains, the coffee table, the bookshelf- uh- the couch" You nodded, encouraging him to continue while his glassy eyes flicked around the living room. He looked at all the things you had hand picked for the space when you moved in together; the empty box he used as a shelter finally became a home after he met you.

"How about something you can smell"

"I-I can smell the laundry detergent on the blanket" It was Bucky's favorite scent because it smelled like lavender and lavender smelled like home. Home was you.

"What else my love" You cooed, "What can you touch"

"The pillow- it feels soft" Bucky's fingers dug into the sofa as he stayed frozen in place but he knew how soft the couch cushions were. After all you had picked them because you were obsessed with how plush they were.

"What is something that's real"

“You’re here with me”

"Oh, Jamie"

"You're always here" Bucky's voice cracked with emotion, the tears he had been holding in falling down his cheeks and staining his Henley.

You smiled sadly, shaking your head.

"I'm not, baby" Your voice was a gentle whisper, wishing you could reach out to cup his scruffy cheek, wiping the steady stream of tears that continued to pour down his face "But I wish I was"

-

Now I had planned on stopping here, insinuating reader had died. however if you don't stand for that, you may continue to read below.

-

Bucky couldn't take it.

6 months.

6 months he'd gone without you, hoping one day it would get easier but the day never came. He hoped the guilt of breaking your heart would balance with the fact that you'd be safer without him but not having you by his side was worse than any kind of torture he'd endured. He didn't think he was worthy of your love but now here he was, craving it more than ever.

He thought his love for you would make him selfless enough to carry on alone just to keep you out of harms way but his walls were crumbling further each day.

He needed you so bad.

He wanted to be selfish.

For his luck, you hadn't gone far. He'd made sure to keep tabs on you long after you left, anxiety eating him alive on days where you did something differently from your routine. Even if you were not together, he'd make sure you were protected.

****

You put away your groceries for the week, shuffling around the tiny apartment you'd moved back into 6 months ago, going through the motions as if your heart hadn't been split into two. No amount of convincing allowed him to believe he deserved you. You shook away that train of thought, a gentle knock at the door breaking you away from the small kitchenette.

You hesitated, debating on reaching for the knife you had hidden under the cupboard, something Bucky had taught you when he insisted on also teaching you self defense. The gentle knocking continued as you unlocked the handle without undoing the chain, gasping when you opened the door.

There he was.

The man you still cried over each night.

The man who still owned your entire heart.

The man who you adored with your entire being to the end of the earth and back. You shakily undid the chain, letting him inside, still too shocked to say anything.

"M'sorry" His voice came out a broken whisper, bottom lip already trembling seeing you wrapped up in a hoodie he thought had lost. "I'm sorry darling"

You didn't realize you'd broken down into tears until you felt him wrap you up, hugging you tightly to his chest, his own emotions overwhelming him.

"Please don't cry" Bucky wept into your hair as he clung onto you, rocking you in his strong arms, "Please baby, not over me, don't cry angel"

"I-I-al-already-c-cried-so-much" You choked and hiccupped between sobs, clinging onto Bucky harder as if he'd disappear into thin air the same way he did each night when you woke up from your dreams. The bed would feel cold and empty, the room too quiet and your heart all alone. "I'll-cr-y-if-I-w-want-t-to"

You let out a shaky huff, your brows knitted together into a pouty frown, trying hard to be angry with him, angry at the fact that he didn't allow you to love him the way he deserved, angry that he pushed you away instead of trying to workout a different solution. Bucky couldn't help but let out a wet chuckle between sniffles, giving you a soft squeeze and tilting your face up to peck your bottom lip which had been jutting out.

"I never want you to cry again love, I'll never make that mistake again" He swore, looking deeply into your eyes, cradling your head against where his heart was hammering against his chest. "Never again sweetheart, I'm so sorry I pushed you away baby, I can't do this without you, I love you so much"

You whimpered at his words, allowing him to lift you up, your legs moving on their own to wrap around his waist, burying your face into the crook of his neck. Bucky carried you all the way back and straight to the bedroom. He wanted nothing more than to hold and cuddle you, craving more with each passing minute until he was as close as he could possibly be. He stayed inside you, smiling against your sweat slicked skin, not bothering to pull out once the entire night.

"I'm finally home" He whispered against your skin, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks while you looked at him quizzically, giggling at his lips continues to dance across your lips, "It's not home without you"

[azrielstaylorsversion]

To remember

Azriel x reader | Angst

Warnings: death, grieve, murder

When Feyre asks Azriel about a certain ring around his finger, the whole room turns quiet. But none of his family members expect him to reply to the question.

Coming home to my family gathered in the living room of the River House was always going to be my favorite thing.

The last week hadn't been a particular easy one, but I had managed to live through it, like I always would.

Cassian passed me a glass of wine, telling me that I needed it. I knew he meant it as a joke, but his sympathetic smile told me enough.

We didn't really speak about it anymore, since it had been decades. None of us did. But the weight of the ring around my finger of my left hand weighed more than usual this week.

I felt Feyre's eyes on me. When I looked at her she smiled, but I soon noticed that her eyes weren't on my face. No, they were on my hand. My left hand.

She was probably just looking at my scars. Most people did. It did bother me a bit, but with my family it was different.

"Azriel, can I ask you something?" Feyre asked. The entire room turned quiet, everyone's attention on me and Feyre.

"Of course." I answered, even though I was not sure I wanted to answer it.

"I keep noticing the ring on your left hand. You seem to play with it a lot. What does it stand for?"

If the room could've turned even more quiet than before, it would.

Feyre looked around in confusion. "Oh sorry, I-..." Rhys put a hand on her arm.

"Feyre, I don't think-"

"No, it's okay." I cut him off. Rhys looked at me.

You don't have to talk about it. He spoke into my mind.

I gave him a tight mouthed smile. I would rather tell her the story myself. She deserves to know about her.

I knew that I wasn't the only one having a hard time with telling this story. Mor had lost her best friend. Cassian and Rhys had lost their best friend. Even Amren had lost a friend that day, if she could even have friends.

And I lost a mate that day.

Feyre looked at me with curiosity, waiting for me to start talking.

"It belongs-.. belonged to my mate." I told her, my eyes on the beautiful ring.

It was gold with a blue stone inside of it. The color of my siphons, like she had requested.

"I'm sorry." Feyre said quietly.

I gave her a sad smile. "I had it altered so it would fit around my finger. I have my own matching one in my room."

Feyre hesitated before speaking. "When did she... pass away?"

"Around 50 years ago." I answered. "51 years to be exact. Just a few weeks before Rhys went Under the Mountain."

"How long were you two together for?" she asked.

I twisted the ring around my finger, smiling to myself. "For a long time. Close to a century." I thought I might go crazy at some point after losing her while having been together for such a long time. But I didn't eventually.

The first few years were super hard. Even harder since I had lost my mate and brother within the span of a few weeks. I remember Cassian and Mor being helpless all the time, not knowing how to help me from going mad.

I blocked everyone out. I didn't talk or sleep for months.

Eventually I got the courage to go into our old room in the Town House, where we would stay most of the time. I found her ring there. The ring she had purposely left there the day she was killed. She had left it there for me along with a note, telling me that she knew she was going to die. That she wanted me to live a happy life.

Something changed after that day. I immediately took the ring to a jeweler who made it fit my finger so I was able to carry a piece of her with me at all time.

I was able to talk again. To sleep, even though the nightmares haunted me.

"What was she like?" Feyre questioned softly.

I had to keep myself from smiling again. "She was the best. She was kind, smart, hardworking, and always selfless." I told her, adding a sad smile at the end.

The rest of my family smiled at the memory of her.

"The selfless part was one of her best qualities, but also the one that..." I hesitated before speaking. But I wanted to tell Feyre. "That got her killed."

Everyone around the room stiffened, but I decided to continue. Maybe it was time I would say something about it. To tell her story.

"She volunteered to go on a mission for us. To check out the next plans of Hybern. Of Amarantha. She knew that there was going to be a possibility of dying from the moment she volunteered, but decided it was best to not tell us." I started. "She knew that if I knew about it, if Rhys knew about it, we would offer to go ourselfs. But still she decided to go. When the bond closed off I got so worried. At one point I stopped feeling her."

"We got a message from the Hewn City the next day that there had been a body found on their doorsteps. We immediately went to look." I swallowed hard. "I will never forget what I saw." I decided to spare Feyre the details.

I had to blink back the tears at remembering the memories of all those yours ago.

"I'm sorry that happened to you Azriel." Feyre spoke softly.

I sniffed. "Not only to me. She was important to all of us. To many people in this court." I said. "She would've loved you." I smiled at Feyre.

Feyre's face lit up at my words.

Rhys raised his glass. "To our beloved friend." Everyone raised their glasses.

The rest of the night was spent talking about her. Everyone shared their favorite stories about her.

It was late when I finally retreated to my room again. My mind kept wandering to her. I kept twisting the ring around my finger until the weight of sleep took over.

I could've sworn I saw a star shine extra brightly into my room.

[mymarifae]

every time someone says "an should have been vbs's leader" or "saki should have been leo/need's leader" i want to . slam my head through concrete. oh you missed the point so bad

1. the "leader" thing is kind of really fucking insignificant outside of where each group's story begins and promo materials. it doesn't mean one character is the "main character" of the group. project sekai doesn't HAVE a main character in the first place it's not that kind of story. each individual character is equally important to not only their group's story but the over-arching story of the whole game

2. leo/need's story begins with ichika because she is ultimately the one that brings them all back together. not saki. it is ichika's determination and frankly stubbornness that gets through to shiho and honami. like, saki was literally ready to give up on reconnecting with honami! (out of love and respect for her choices but like) if she was the focus leo/need would have been honami-less!! but ichika refuses to let it go. much like she refused to let go of their friendships throughout all of middle school.

when the story begins, we see ichika burnt out and hopeless. but that's only after years of trying and trying and trying and trying again to reconnect with shiho and later honami. this fandom does not understand ichika's character well . she's not meek and she doesn't back down easily she's not some like... fumbling "girlflop" she's incredibly driven and strong-willed. she lost some of that due to depression and isolation but as of leo/need's most recent arc ender she has pretty much regained her fiery spirit. she's leo/need's lead singer and MC for a reason

3. vivid bad squad's story opens with kohane because she's the only one who hasn't grown up/partially grown up on vivid street. if an or akito had been the "leader" we would have lost the magic of getting to know vivid street and its people and unique culture. it's all average every day life for them, but kohane is experiencing it all for the first time. it's only through her eyes that the audience can understand just how very special vivid street is

4. one more thing: you could say that the "leaders" represent the themes of each group and the general direction of their story arcs. vivid bad squad, among several other things, is all about improvement and growth and overcoming challenges and creating something new and finding a place to call home within a community. who better to represent that but the socially anxious newbie who never felt like she belongs anywhere and would never do anything with her life?

leo/need is about love and the ability to endure all hardships and preserve that love . it's about having a heart big enough to hope for the impossible and the willpower to make it reality. ichika, in all her hard-headed stubborn painfully persistent glory, is perfect for that.

similarly, mafuyu isn't nightcord's leader because nightcord is ultimately about healing. hope. finding a way to make life worth living again. these aren't paths he would have chosen on his own. he gave up on himself a long time ago. as did ena and mizuki, in their own ways. the best person to represent hope is the one who refuses to give up on anyone and stubbornly believes she can save them all

wonderlands x showtime is about moving forward to a brighter future and not letting the past keep you shackled in place. it's also about having lofty dreams and the selfishness to pursue those dreams. both of these things are why emu Isn't wxs's leader; she lacks that selfishness (i'm not using this word in a negative sense btw; i think being selfish can be a good thing. and sometimes being selfless is a bad one) tsukasa (and rui) has, and she often clings to the past.

and as far as more more jump and all their own themes of hope and never giving up go, of course their leader has to be minori. she brought three disillusioned, jaded ex-idols hope and reignited their passion! she's the walking embodiment of hope itself

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag. 

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had. 

God, you’d never have friends like that again. 

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen. 

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up. 

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment. 

A city now filled with killers. 

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil. 

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US. 

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air. 

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed. 

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy. 

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.” 

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been. 

So that was where you came in. 

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.  

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.” 

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty. 

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back. 

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips. 

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple. 

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses. 

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing. 

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured. 

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper. 

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same. 

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come. 

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder? 

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death. 

Your mark has been met. 

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow. 

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze. 

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman. 

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times. 

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all. 

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries. 

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete. 

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling. 

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set. 

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group. 

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching. 

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

 Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–” 

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different. 

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances. 

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow. 

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit. 

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys. 

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant. 

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat. 

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate. 

Price grunts under his breath. 

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask. 

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?” 

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over. 

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves. 

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion. 

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’. 

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand. 

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all. 

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.” 

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell. 

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate. 

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.” 

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer. 

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?” 

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in  – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book. 

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit. 

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over. 

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted. 

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm. 

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before. 

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows. 

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture. 

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.” 

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head. 

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant. 

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.” 

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow. 

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.” 

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time. 

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered. 

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague. 

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim. 

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes. 

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.” 

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders. 

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now! 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.” 

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do. 

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping. 

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself. 

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission. 

And Ghost. 

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks. 

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt. 

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work? 

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky. 

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.  

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch. 

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens.  He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.” 

“Sir!” 

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been. 

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back. 

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself. 

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest. 

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly. 

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily. 

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time. 

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen. 

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market. 

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.” 

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks. 

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters. 

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky. 

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull. 

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean. 

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

 Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt. 

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant. 

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice. 

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked. 

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point. 

If I had known…you frown. 

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.” 

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it. 

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you. 

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you. 

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver. 

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins. 

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch. 

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days. 

Your Captain scurries after. 

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type. 

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude. 

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle. 

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case. 

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth. 

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement. 

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?” 

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.” 

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms. 

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?” 

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’ 

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat. 

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’ 

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves. 

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report. 

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued. 

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom. 

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat. 

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race? 

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute. 

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted? 

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound. 

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.” 

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights. 

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore. 

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you. 

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?” 

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how. 

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left. 

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely. 

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath. 

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets. 

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles. 

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare. 

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious. 

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.” 

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh. 

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow. 

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around. 

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you. 

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around. 

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led. 

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–” 

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it. 

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after. 

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you. 

Boxed in. 

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it. 

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you. 

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it. 

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you. 

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps. 

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious. 

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah! 

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!” 

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs. 

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement. 

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.” 

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant. 

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that. 

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow. 

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee. 

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time. 

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter. 

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant. 

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now. 

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip? 

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side. 

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate. 

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years. 

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated. 

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks. 

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet. 

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should. 

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors. 

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth. 

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong. 

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you? 

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[thatsatricky1]

𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 || 𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐜𝐤

It was like a punch to the gut. He never thought he’d be able to see you again. Not in his wildest dreams could he have imagined that fate could be so cruel yet so beautiful, a bittersweet scene to behold.

But there you were.

Fate testing his own patience with her very presence. It was a punishment, that was clear. To be able to watch but never touch. To be in her presence but never up close. To faintly smell that floral scent yet not be able to get a proper taste.

Her head was tilted back as if the moon that illuminated against her face was actually the sun that she could soak Victim d into her soft supple skin. Leaning ever so slightly backwards, hands gripping the metal railing tightly with her fisted hands as to not lose balance.

He remembered the day he’d lost her. Due to his own selfish power crazed hunger. How she has tried her best to hold him back from it, but he just couldn’t control the feral rage pitted inside of himself.

Not a day has gone by without the guilt and regret plaguing his mind. No matter how much time passed by he would not forgive himself for the actions he had taken part in and therefore consequences he would have to live with.

In that moment it has been worth it. That taste of pure unfiltered power he had held. Then it all crumbled only one mere second later. Not allowed to enjoy the chaos that had occurred only to instead deal with the nightmare that would follow him instead.

At first he thought his punishment was to live an eternal life without her, to roam the earth alone without her by his side. But then came the night terrors, replaying her last words over and over again.

Had she not been so selfless, her life would have been able to continue existing, yet she offered herself up with no complaints in order to balance the world out and put structure back into it. All because he had wanted too much. His greed has exceeded its limits.

For two decades Donghyuck continued life without her, never aging, never forgetting. The constant reminder of her absence was not just through those wicked nightmares but through the mundane life. No longer filled with her aura, her thoughts, her gestures or her touch.

So it was cruel to see her there sitting on the metal ledge of a bridge swinging her legs back and forth not a worry or negative emotion in the air, eyes closed in content. Yet for twenty years he had roamed without her, only for him to see this sight in front of him.

His eyes burned, desiring just one second to be able to close, yet he did not allow the itching dry ache to disappear in favour of continuing taking in her presence just on the other side of the bridge.

Many words clogged up his head and throat preventing him from calling out to her. His beloved. The one he had foolishly let slip between his fingers in return for glory.

And in that moment it was as if time itself slowed, moving at such a deliberately timed pace. The way her body stayed facing the water's edge and scenery, yet her head turned.

Those sweet eyes that held what he felt as though was the sun itself in them, locked on to his own. She looked exactly like twenty years ago, not having aged just like himself. He thought to himself maybe fate has taken pity on him. Understood that he would never do what he had done in the past ever again and decided to gift him with the only thing he truly wanted, craved, no, the thing that he needed.

However, fate was cruel.

One moment he was soaking up the eyecontact he was receiving from the love of his life and the next he watched her hands raise up towards her face. Motioning with her hands in a silent gesture.

Thought it all clicked too late for him. Her hands had left the railing and he watched her lips form a soft gently smile, her eyes looking back at him with longing mixed with disappointment.

Her body, her presence was with him, and then it was gone. Falling at an inhuman speed downward into the shallow water filled with jagged rocks. Plummeting to her second demise.

A scream rolling through the air filled with agony and torment. His fingers tearing and scraping down his face in order to wake up from the hellish new night terror, only for the pit in his stomach to expand as he realised. His head snapping upwards to look towards the now empty railing.

What a fool for him to think he'd only receive night terors as punishment. His beloved had been real, and he had watched her life disappear once again.

Fate was not done with supplying punishment to him. It would happen every twenty years on the same day, same time.

Donghyuck, punished to witness the one he loved most die over and over again, for it was his own hands that took away her life in the first place. For just a moment of glory, for his greed had become too much for others and his own self.

His chaotic nature had gifted him immortality in that moment of time twenty years ago.

Yet fate punished him swiftly by taking the one thing he loved most. Over and over again.

Y/n who was supposed to finally find peace in her eternal slumber was forced to die repetitively. All for his sake, to remind him of his choices and the consequences that always followed.

Fate was cruel, but it was deserved.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @rotinyzen @wonyoungmywife @snflwrhaerecs4u @thegreenlynx @serinebsblog @delululi @bubusebu @hanniehq @molensworld @morkiee @marvelahsobx @kaciebello @kgneptun

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𝐊𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

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[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 4 - Don’t mess with the red haired barista!

Summary: Some idiots decide to rob your coffee shop. They don’t know they are fucking with the wrong person, though.

Kirishima.exe had stopped working.

Warnings: Swear words, blood, mentions of injuries, but it’s literally a few words.

First Chapter Master List

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You can’t lie to yourself anymore; you have an absolute massive crush on Red Riot, or to be exact, on Kirishima Eijirou who’s the sweetest, most oblivious himbo the world has ever seen.

Every time Kirishima has the day off, your day is ruined. Every time the clock hits 10AM and the redhead haven’t come in for a coffee, you know it will be one of those days when you do nothing but mope around, giving all the annoying customers a half smile, thinking about leaving early because there is no fucking reason for you to be here when you can’t see your favorite customer.

Okay, that’s a lie, you do need to pay the bills, plus you are alone today because Wednesdays are always quiet and there is no need for two people after 10 AM, so your boss went out to sort some shit out until the second rush starts.

You stare out of the window for several minutes, deep in your head when the bell rings.

All you can say when you see the three suspicious individuals is…

“Fuck.”

“What a weird way to greet a customer, little kitten.” One of the three murmurs, you are not sure which one; they are all wearing masks. You slowly try to get behind the counter for some safety and for your surprise, they let you do it; well, it’s not really surprising to be fair, someone will need to open the counter-cache for them and that someone is you.

“What would you like to drink today, guys?” You fake nonchalance, but your legs are shaking; it has been a long fucking time since you had to fight with anyone.

It’s not like you can’t defend yourself; oh, you certainly can. Your quirk is something between hardening and elasticity; it’s a combination of your parents quirks. The hardening bit is quite similar to Crimson Riot’s but in your uncle’s case, he can only harden his hair and use it as a weapon but in yours, thanks to the evolution of quirks, you can move your hair and harden it, use it as a weapon or a shield or whatever is useful in the situation. Use it as a chopstick. Whatever, really.

There is a reason why you decided to live a boring, normal life though; you lost a lot of people during the Great War that happened 10 years ago. Family, friends, people you did not know well enough but always wanted to. Even before you got admitted into Shiketsu, you knew you don’t want to be a hero; you don’t have it in you, you are not selfless enough to jump in front of people and hurt yourself just to save a random weirdo on the street but at the same time, you really wanted to be able to save the people you care about; hence why you finished the hero school, got a license but decided to leave it at that. It’s selfish as fuck but you can’t help it.

“Oh, come on, little kitten, you know we ain’t here for a drink. Do we need to spell it out for you or will you just do what’s needed to be done so we can fuck off before that obnoxious, red haired idiot comes here to save the fucking day?”

That’s it. That was all they fucking had to say for you to see red. (No pun intended.)

“Don’t you fucking dare to talk about him like that.” You sneer, your face red from the anger.

“Oh no, you made the kitten hiss. How fucking scary.” One of the guys makes a dramatic move, swaying back and forth with his hand on his heart like he’s “scared”. “You two fucking or something? Wow, what a scandal! Red Riot fucks the barista next door. I’m not even surprised, of course the fucker likes people who look like him. Disgusting.”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” You sneer again, ready to attack. You can’t bare people talking shit about those who are close to you. It’s your biggest pet peeve.

“Actually, fuck the money, let’s leave that Red haired bitch a little present instead.” Things happen really quickly afterwards; the three guys come closer, one of them with a needle in his hands and they are just about to yank you out of the counter when something red jumps out of the staff room.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Red Riot sneers as he jumps right in front of the guy with the needle and almost gets shot with it but that’s when you come along; with a swift move, you move your hair right between the two as a shield and move the rest of your hair; you shaped it to resemble arrows; and pierced it through the three guy’s arms and legs to render them motionless. It will be a pain in the ass to clean all that blood, but that’s a problem for the future.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?!” You yell into Red Riot’s face who stares at the pile of blood on the floor with nothing but distress. “You haven’t even hardened yourself before you jumped in front of a fucking needle full of whatever drug they put their hands on!”

Kirishima.exe has clearly stopped working. He looks between the three bloody guys rolling on the floor, shrieking from the pain and your angry face, mouth opening and closing several times as he tries to remember his own name. After a while Red comes closer and cups your cheeks with his MASSIVE FUCKING HANDS, assessing your face with a worried look.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

This guy is an idiot.

“Do I look hurt or distressed to you?” You ask incredulously, a little bit flustered by the closeness but not enough for you to loose your sassy edge. “Also, first fucking lesson in hero school; don’t turn your back on the enemy.” Your hair barely catches the needle that was thrown towards the hero. Damn, the guy used his broken arm to throw the needle as a last resort. The guy has balls, for sure.

“We need to… we need to do something.” Eijirou is not fine. He’s in the middle of a meltdown. He’s not listening, he’s not aware of his surrounding at all, he’s just running around like a headless chicken with no plan at all. “They’ll know I didn’t do this. You’ll be in trouble. Fuck. Fuck!” He yells while he rakes through his hair with his fingers and grabs into it, tearing the poor strands out of his skull with how hard as his fists clench around it. “You need to go before the police arrives. Please. I can’t… I can’t let them get you for this.” Kirishima tears up, completely broken.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” One of the guys speaks up, looking at Red Riot like he grew two heads. “A good fucking hero you are.”

“Eijirou, calm down. I have a license. Also, don’t you fucking dare to put your hero career in danger because of me. Have some respect towards yourself.” You sigh, moving closer to the distressed hero now squatting on the floor, far away from the three idiots bleeding out on the marble. “Once the bozos are out of the shop, we need to talk.” You sigh. Some other side kicks arrive with the police just a few seconds after, the medical team right behind them and things get hectic; they ask you hundreds of questions, asks you for your license and of course, you get a massive smack on your head from the police woman for all the damage you’ve done to the villains.

“You know I have all the respect for your family, kid, but this is your last warning. Next time, you are coming with me.”

“I know, Auntie…” You mumble under your nose which earns you another head slap.

“I’m not your Auntie, stop calling me that. A real pain in the ass you are.” She rolls her eyes fondly. By the time she finishes your scolding the three bozos are already being put in the police car, healed and really angry. “Yuri, clean up the mess, will ya.” Yuri only nods at that and makes the whole mess disappear with the snap of her fingers. Thank fuck for that. Thank fuck. “Last warning, you cheeky sod. Send me the fucking paperwork as soon as you can, Red Riot.” She yells after the poor guy who’s sitting on the bar chair, completely zoned out.

After the door closes you try to approach the frightened animal, your steps quiet and careful. You go into the staff room to retrieve an old throw you guys brought in for the sofa to make it a little bit more cozy; you step in front of the distressed hero and put it on his back, while you keep the two corners in your hands to pull him closer.

“You are such an idiot.” You sigh as you put your chin on the hero’s head. His body tenses at the sudden closeness for a second, but it doesn’t take him long to get out of it; his arms snake around your hips, slow and careful while his head rests on your chest. “Speak.” You command after you leave a small kiss in the redhead’s hair. His arms tightens around you and takes him a few seconds to start talking but eventually, he gets there.

“When Katsuki freaked out over his girlfriend going back to hero work, I didn’t understand why.” Kirishima admits. You have no idea what he’s talking about but it doesn’t matter; he needs to calm down now and if talking about random stuff helps, you are more than happy to listen. “I mean… Katsuki and I are best friends and we get hurt all the time but I never felt like I want him to change his lifestyle or anything. But… after today… I understand. When you see someone you care about, someone who’s not a part of your cruel world get hurt and fight for their lives, it hits different. It felt like a part of my heart was ripped out of my chest. My mind went blank. My soul wasn’t in my body. All I could think of was that you are about to get hurt because of me.” You can feel his tears soaking through the T-shirt you are wearing, bless his little heart.

“They came here to rob the shop. I would’ve fought them either way. It’s not your fault. I also lost my cool after all the shit they said about you. I made a mistake and let my emotions get the best of me. We both failed today, but it doesn’t matter because by the end of the day, we are still alive.” You mutter weakly. “But Eijirou…. Don’t you fucking dare to throw your dreams out of the window and become an accomplice, hell, a villain… because of me. My mistakes are my own, if I hurt those people without a license and get arrested, that’s my own problem. Never lose your path because of another person, even if they’re a friend, a family or a lover. You are worth so much more than that. Fuck, Eijirou, I…” Your voice shakes as the tears start to fall. “I might be an asshole to you but fuck, you are… important to me. So fucking get your shit together and keep your head high. Respect yourself. Become the man you always wanted to be. Crimson Riot would never let anyone get away with crime. Trust me, I know.”

“I’m sorry…” Eijirou mumbles, his face hidden between your breasts.

“Let’s make a deal. Once you learn to respect yourself… I’ll let you marry me. What about that?”

Eijirou looks up at you so quickly you are surprised he didn’t get dizzy from it.

“What?!”

Oh my god, he looks so confused. He’s so fucking cute, goddamnit.

“You heard me. You don’t believe me? Let me give you a little taste then.”

You definitely didn’t think this through at all. It’s probably the most random thing you’ve ever done. But fuck it, who cares?

You take the hero’s cheek in your hand first. You caress his soft skin and your heart is about to explode inside your ribcage. He looks so surprised but so-so happy, like a little puppy getting a head pat after being called a good boy. You leave one kiss on his left cheek then one on his right, one his forehead and one on his nose. Then finally, fucking finally, you steal a little taste of his lips, just one chaste, barely there kiss in the corner, but it’s enough for you to feel all the fucking butterflies erupt in your stomach, to feel your chest sinking, to feel the want inside your heart; the kiss was so tiny and so quick yet you feel like nothing can go back to normal after this, not now that you know this isn’t just a stupid little crush but something else, something deeper, maybe fondness and care or god forbid, love.

“Now get out and let me close the shop. I’m going home.”

It’s awkward. You have no idea why you’ve done that. What were you thinking?! What about consent?! Fuck, he’s probably never gonna come back…

“Y/N… I’ll… I’ll get stronger and I’ll marry you. We will have a big wedding and I’ll ask Crimson Riot to be the wedding officiant. See you tomorrow.” The extremely flustered hero almost headbutts the glass door on his way out. “Was this door always here?” He mumbles and you can’t help but laugh.

“I really fucking adore you, you himbo.” You smile to yourself after the door has closed behind him. He got so flustered he even forgot to ask you about your license. What a himbo.

Ladies and gents and everyone in between, from today, you are 120% fucked.

Thank you, Red “Fucking Adorable Face” Riot.

… next chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Sorry if you guys wanted to be saved by the big Red Riot. I know it’s a well-loved troped, but it doesn’t work with this story. 😂

- Tell me your thoughts in the comments! Feel free to ask questions! Or just say something, whatever, how’s the weather in your country? I’m going through an extremely tough time and I need the distraction ❤️ thank you!

TL: @porusuniverse @sixxze @unofficialmuilover @cheesenmax @readingfan @sammmm29 @pwinglez1 @happydragonfrog @magicalhandsherringclam @lovingnightharmony @theequeenofcurses @kirishima-eijirock @nerinefy @selfindulgenthoe @fierysplash213 @woofwoofwolf @touyasprettydoll @confused-smol-fan

[antianakin]

What's most interesting to me about the Spy Dancer in this rewatch is how similar it is to Andor. It's a story about regular people (no Jedi or Sith involved) during the Imperial Era, but it manages to keep all of the same themes from the Jedi/Sith conflict and give it a different perspective.

Loi'e has lost hope almost entirely. She's helping the rebels on her planet, but she's doing it because it's necessary. There's no real joy for her, no real emotional connection to the people around her. She lost her son twenty years ago and so she refuses to make new emotional connections to anyone else ever since, no matter how much they love her. Hétis and the other workers would clearly do just about anything for Loi'e, they'd die for her if they had to, and she inspires them as a leader. But Loi'e is convinced she has to do everything alone and keeps pushing everyone around her away, even if it could mean her death as a result.

In the end, Loi'e finds her long lost son and it gives her hope again, but she still has to walk away from him and leave him behind. She COULD stay with him, but she'd die as a result and then he'd never have a way to escape the Empire. For both their sakes, she has to let him go, even if just temporarily. She doesn't give up on trying to save him in the long run, and this renewed hope gives her the ability to keep fighting and to choose to trust the family she's built around her and connect to them in a way she never has before.

And it's that selfless love that seems to get through to Loie's son, long after the two are separated again. Loi'e gives him a CHOICE to make, to follow the path she's left for him even when it's painful, or to continue to ignore the truth about himself. We'll never know what his choice is, but the fact that she intentionally gives him a choice he's never been offered before hits so hard and so good. Choice is SO important in Star Wars, and while Loi'e's son obviously has an immensely tragic story that led him to being an Imperial, it's important to recognize that he does HAVE a choice and is still capable of making it. The lies the Empire has told him have kept this choice from him before (he would have had a choice still, it just would have been to abandon the only family he knew in order to help the local rebels or stay with the people he believes raised him and loved him and help protect their cause), but his mother has gifted him with knowledge that puts this new choice in front of him.

And that's at the heart of Star Wars, that is the heart of Anakin's story, that he's ALWAYS had a choice. Luke offers his father assistance down this path, but only Anakin can actually make the journey. Similarly, Loi'e offers her son assistance but she can't force him to make this choice.

[ageofevermore]

ACCIDENTAL

SUMMARY — after a battle, you begin to wonder if all you’re meant to do is suffer, or if maybe, it was all accidental

AUTHORS NOTE — i forced @cuinaminute229 to give me a prompt (what if i told you none of this, was accidental), and then incorporated a road trip into this so enjoy the mess that it is! i wrote this in a lecture so if there are any minutes, no there aren’t

The lavender haze that settled around the compound brought peace to your mind. The days had only been getting longer since the last alien invasion you’d save New York City from, and despite the medals you’d won and magazine articles describing your heroics and praising you for your bravery, nothing felt lived up to enough to even calm your mind and save you one night of traumatic nightmares that wake you up with panting and cold flashes routinely.

You’d not been affected by a battle like this since Sokovia. Then, for almost an entire year, your nights were plagued with the echoing screams of Wanda calling for her brother. You jumped at every slammed door and couldn’t wash your hands or take a shower without thinking the water you dipped your body in was the blood everyone lost. Fury retired you from combat for seven months, Maria called your personal cell three times a week just to make sure your head was above water at the bare minimum, Natasha didn’t leave your side. For an Avenger, you were entirely human. But for a human, you were entirely too selfless. You were the heart of the team, the one who bore the most emotion, who thought of the innocence lost every time an invasion struck and children lost parents, parents lost kids, and those who were just lucky enough to lose nothing watched as everyone else lost everything. Nobody ever won, and you took it upon yourself to feel that hurt for them, because maybe, if you’d done something differently, if you’d acted quicker, or with more clarity, you might’ve been able to save somebody a funeral, or a house, or a car. Maybe if you’d been different, things wouldn’t be so bad.

Outside of being an Avenger, Natasha Romanoff was many things. She was careful, incredibly so, but even more than that, she was adventurous. After battles like Sokovia or New York, the first thing the Widow made priority of doing was submerge herself in change. When asked, she would never be honest about how much these battles left her wounded inside, but you knew the truth. You knew her like the back of your hand, and you knew the reason she was so eager for something different was because she didn’t want the remnants of who she was before a war suffocating how much she’d changed after it. If it was anything from dying her hair another color or cutting it all off, she was completely erasing who she was before from her appearance. She was all about new beginnings, and with all she’d overcome, you had no qualms about getting used to blonde hair, short hair, red hair, long hair.

This time was different though. Although her hair had been chopped a few nights ago, something in Natasha still craved for a new beginning. Her skin itched with the thought of how many lives had been lost, but mostly, her heart bled watching you suffocate in this city. The both of you needed out for a little, the both of you were so destroyed by selflessness that it left you nothing more than empty shells of lovers. Devoting your life to everyone else left so little time for devoting life for yourself and her, and maybe it was time to reclaim the moments you had left. If being an Avenger had forewarned you of anything, you’d learned how fragile life is.

Natasha left the bedroom hours ago, muttering something beneath her breath in russian. It was endearing, but you were too sedated by sadness to smile the way you would’ve under lighter circumstances. The sunset was lavender around the compound, and something about the gentle purple sky with impulsive strokes of blue and pink painted around the clouds let your mind wander from bloodshed to warmer days. It was the first time in weeks you hadn’t been paralyzed by PTSD.

The hinges on the door creaked as Natasha came back into the bedroom, arms adorned in blankets and snacks. Your eyes creased, watching her silently scramble around the room until she found the two duffle bags that stayed folded in the bottom of your closet until there was a mission that pulled you away for weeks. The white embroidering of ‘Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement Logistics Division’ is beginning to fray from the long term heavy duty use, but you have no idea why Natasha would need them now. The both of you had been laid off pending clearance from your appointed trauma counselors. If Fury didn’t play with two things, it was his favorite girls, albeit Maria, but she was usually safer off then you both.

She rustled through your closet and dresser drawers, folding odd articles of clothing and placing them in the duffle bags without consulting you on her motive. When she moved onto her clothes, you saw her brow pinch. She looked over you with flushed cheeks, nodding silently before moving on to grab shoes and chargers and shoving them into the duffles as well.

“You have my favorite hoodie on.” She mumbled neither to you or to herself, just stating what she’d discovered now that she’d finally come out of her head enough to analyze you. The both of you had been on autopilot for weeks, right next to each other but not even in the same room. “Let's go.”

You frowned, hugging the white comforter tighter around you while pulling your knees into your chest in a protective ball. “What?” You cocked your head to the side, a horrible habit that you’d picked up from Wanda after so many nights playing card games and cooking in the Tower. You hadn’t done so much of that since moving into the compound, but things had changed exponentially since then. It seemed one of you was always traumatized.

“We’re going on a road trip. Then Yelena’s picking us up. Melina renovated the cabin. We’re getting out of here.” Natasha didn’t give you any room to pose an argument. Her words were clear, and the direct edge to her words meant she wasn’t about to let you object. Just like you knew her, she knew you. Maybe you weren’t as inherently outgoing as she was, but you were always down to tag along.

“We can’t just leave.” You rebutted, grabbing her hand overtop of the duffle bag. Her skin was clammy, cold to the touch, trembling with anxiety that would’ve been untraceable had you been anyone else. You read her better than you read a third grade level chapter book.

She cocked an eyebrow, matching your curious head tilt that was meant to be threatening but came off as nothing but almost childish innocence. You could never be threatening to her, despite wielding knives and guns, and being marked with scars from battle where you’ve killed. She could never see you for any of that, just like you could never see her for an assassin. You were just Y/N and Natasha when alone together, and maybe that’s why you worked so well. “Why not?”

“What if-”

“They need us? The world ends? Haven’t we done our part, Y/N? Don’t we deserve a few weeks away from a city that's painted with blood?” Natasha climbed onto the bed, sitting on her knees in front of you. Tears filled your eyes, your heart hammering in your throat, it was like the world faded around you. What if something happened when you were gone? What if somebody needed you? They’d blame you so easily if you weren’t there. All your work in saving the city once would be undone in seconds. How did you get here? In a circumstance that left you paralyzed between choosing yourself and your girlfriend and choosing the lives of innocence?

“What if this is all we’re meant to do, Nat. What if none of this is accidental.”

“We’re meant for more than laying in bed unable to sleep because all we can hear is gunshots, because when we close our eyes all we see is people dying. We’re meant for more than panicking anytime our skin gets wet and thinking its blood, for mentally preparing for an attack anytime we turn a corner, for being scared of the dark in our twenties. We’ve done our part. We’ve made up for all the wrong we’ve been forced to do in life. You have to forgive yourself at some point. The world has forgiven you. I’ve forgiven you. You were never meant to be treated so harshly by the world, this was never meant to be your full purpose.” Natasha reaches out to brush a tear from your cheek, smiling her own watery smile at you as she tries not to cry. She’d never have forgiven herself if it weren’t for you, but she’d go to great lengths to make sure you understood how much nobody blamed you for your past.

“What if i’m not ready to forgive me?” You leaned into Natasha’s hand, grabbing onto her wrist to keep it there, comforted by her skin on yours, despite it being clammy and cold.

Natasha shook her head, tears falling from her eyes despite trying to keep them at bay. “I’ll do it until you’re ready.”

[shinyprobablynonedible]

Timmy's Secret Wish alternate plot/ending

Warning: kinda long

Everything goes the same until time is forwarded 50 years and all of Timmy's wishes are reverted. Then reality or the magic or both start to destabilize in some way and no one at fairy world can relate it to Timmy because everyone perceives that to have happened decades ago.

On earth Timmy notices something wrong but doesn't understand why he feels it has to do with magic. Maybe Crocker makes him remember, maybe something else, but he remembers and tries to get to fairy world to ask what's happening.

Instead of a convenient out of nowhere portal, Timmy uses the destabilization going on and his memories of magic shenanigans to get to fairy world and find Cosmo, Wanda and Poof, who recognize him and together they figure that something went wrong while undoing his wishes as Jorgen catches up to them.

They go to that undone wish place to search for answers and the persecution goes similarly. Jorgen concludes that undoing the secret wish specifically is what messed up reality/magic which doesn't make sense, and only then Timmy realizes what's happening, but before he can explain he does that sacrifice part from the special and is poofed to the magic court.

There he explains that the destabilization happened because the magic got all glitched from trying to undo a wish that actually never happened. They ask what is that supposed to mean and he reluctantly confesses: he lied about his secret wish, hoping his true wish could go under the radar.

He didn't wish for everyone to stop aging. He wished for everyone to forget that Poof is a wish of Timmy's. He wished to Cosmo for everyone to forget the events of fairly odd baby so Poof wouldn't fade from existence once Timmy lost his faries and then wished for Cosmo to forget. And then at court he panicked and came up on the spot with something so messed up to wish that no one would suspect he was lying, which involed time and space and brought this whole ordeal.

Everyone finally questions how Poof (and Foop but I couldn't fit him in this new plot) is around despite the no-babies rule and are shocked

But if that was the real wish, shouldn't Cosmo have remembered it after the undoing if Timmy didn't lie about whishing he forgot? Everyone looks at Cosmo who's sweating buckets and breaks in tears in a second at Wanda questioning him in dismay.

It turns out to be one of those rare moments where Cosmo manages to think fast enough to protect his family, like in school's out or abra catastrophe, so after remembering the real secret wish, he still chose to stay quiet and file Timmy's made up wish instead of the real one to protect his son from disappearing (maybe show a flashback of Cosmo remembering as the wishes are being undone and Cosmo and Timmy sharing a pained knowing look before Timmy's taken back to earth).

Cosmo and Wanda have a tender moment that they haven't had in a while in the show from what i remember, with Poof and Timmy joining. Everyone's moved to tears from Timmy giving up his faries and even his youth for his fairy godbrother, emotional speech about family, yadda yadda yadda, time is restored, Timmy has his fairies back and Poof's existence becomes an exception to Da Rules.

Maybe this version is too convoluted but I think it at least doesn't make Timmy ignore the growing up lesson from channel chasers and the plot twist has a more selfless intent, as it's meant to keep his fairy family together even if he's separated from them one day instead of keeping his fairy family at the expense of trapping everyone in a time bubble of sorts, it also makes Poof more relevant by making him a secret catalyst of the plot of the secret wish instead of a victim of the consecuences of it and also gives him the safety of no longer being subjected to Da Rules in order to exist, though I don't know if that last part was already solved later in the show or just ignored.

[sanzu-sanzu-sanzu]

Hungry Hearts 2

Itoshi Sae X F!Reader

You are Itoshi Sae’s Manager. Fielder of dumb reporter questions and keeper of his schedule. Among many others.

Timeskip. Sae is 24 and is officially a representative of Japan.

slowburn + idiots in love + romance + friendship/gen

MASTERLIST

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Chapter 2: But it’s a Valentine event 

If Sae’s morning had been a little more eventful than he would’ve liked, it wasn’t because of a back-to-back training/errands schedule he’d booked himself into, nor was it the very brief mishap he’d had so early in the morning involving a pair of cufflinks—no, he’d woken up at 5AM to his phone blaring from over hundreds and then thousands of mentions and tags on social media. It took him more than a couple of posts, however, from random users and then a headline from one of those verified celebrity news accounts for him to finally understand what had happened, and once he did, Sae had tossed his phone far across his bed and went back to getting some more much-needed shut-eye. What little of it he could still salvage from the morning.

It turned out that a popular idol, 22, got asked who her celebrity crush was in this American show and said his name. His precious sleep was interrupted by some lame-ass paparazzi fodder the world would likely move on from in the next hour. How irritating.

Or maybe he’d thought too soon. Because awaiting his car at the entrance to the Tokyo Sports and Arts gala this evening is a significant crowd of reporters ready to steal an answer or two from him regarding the online buzz. It could be said that Itoshi Sae has yet to understand more of the world, then, perhaps. His years’ worth of cross-continental football triumphs and tribulations, notwithstanding.

He braces himself before stepping out of the car. One, two—no, these aren’t defenders he would’ve had far better chances of getting past through. He doesn’t dally much because efficiency always comes easy for him, and as he exits through the other door, he tries—really tries—to make a power-walk for it. But, what the hell.

A lot of these clout-chasers could really give some forwards a run for their money.

“Sae! Itoshi Sae! What did you think of—“

“Have you heard of what — had said in the—?”

“I’m sure the world would also love to know—who is your celebrity crush, Itoshi-kun?”

There’s a little convention that journalists, talk show hosts, sport announcers and the like have somehow collectively agreed upon over the years, in that everyone would just simply refer to them as Sae and Rin to easily refer to one or the other. That one, stray question actually makes him look up for a quick second, if only because it’s so unlike the usual. Rin isn’t attending tonight’s gala, after all, so there isn’t going to be any other Itoshi around, is the first thought that his mind compartmentalizes in an effort to get to the fastest, most benign solution to the dilemma at hand: how does he escape this throng of reporters and safely make it inside the building?

His answer comes in the form of Oliver Aiku, standing by the entrance, himself engaged in a friendly banter with a female reporter, only to perk up at seeing Sae and then politely disengaging—before smoothly tagging alongside him, this 6’2” form of a man, effectively (albeit, not so deliberately) blocking whoever tries to stick to Sae like a gnat.

Always the reliable defender, this guy, although Sae is never one to dish out compliments for whatever’s the bare minimum.

“Boy genius. What’s up with you trending on social media earlier today?” Sae has to inwardly sigh.

“None of my business.”

The Center-back laughs, eternally unperturbed by the midfielder’s blunt detachment.

“If you say so. Guess I’ll just have to get the scoop from one of those guys over there, then.”

“You could. I’m sure they have all my answers already.”

Aiku, turns out, has a little too much to say about the ladies in the guest list (and ladies, in general) and Sae deliberately tunes him out. Inside, at the receiving hall, there’s already a growing line for the welcome drinks and cocktails and his focus is momentarily caught by the handful of familiar faces he spots. Just not the one familiar face he’s looking for. The defender, however, steals his attention back upon the mention of your name.

“So, as you may or may not have known, I kinda asked your girl to be my date for tonight.” Somewhere on his right and not too far from them, Sae catches the very moment Meguru Bachira slaps the living shit out of Barou Shoei’s shoulder as a form of friendly greeting, earning him the immediate response of an explosive succession of death threats that manages to get a couple of security nearby on instant alert. Chigiri Hyoma and a few other witnesses to the event seem to take it as very normal behavior, though, a brief commotion they all take in stride, if Bachira’s delighted laughter isn’t already indication enough.

This is what Sae gets for paying attention. He knows you’re here somewhere because you always arrive at the venue earlier than him when not together. Always.

He can feel Aiku’s eyes on the side of his face, like he’s trying to gauge his response. “I did think of informing you first, mind you,” he continues. “Felt like I just had to. But, well…I mean I already have her number and just asking directly was easy enough.” His expression turns sheepish; embarrassed, almost. “I might’ve forgotten to state my name in my text, though. Should’ve called.”

“She’s not my girl.”

There’s a minuscule smirk on Aiku’s face, and as he opens his mouth to respond, a woman slides up beside him. In the quick second she’s come into view, she’s coiled an arm around Aiku’s arm, flashing him a rich smile. “Shall we? Oh. Oh.” She easily realizes it’s Itoshi Sae right in front of her and her eyes slightly widen. “Hi.”

“My lovely, where were you?” Aiku’s automatic question comes a little too automatic, his expression just a little too sweet, as the woman’s gaze now flickers between the two men, as if anticipating to be introduced.

“Well, so yeah,” Aiku exhales in conclusion. “Obviously, negative. Or rather, null.” He grins rather affectionately at the woman around his arm, who is now eyeing him with an agreeable expression plastered on her face like she understands what is being discussed. There seems to be no plans of her and Sae being introduced. “Catch ya later, then, Sae.”

Women clearly are the bane of Oliver Aiku’s existence, but fuck it if the man likes having a terrible time, right? Well, not that Sae’s about to lose sleep over it.

You’ve told him once that, in theory, he should be able to very easily navigate through crowds on his own because the Do-not-interact aura he exudes should be enough. He responded by saying that that’s surely not something you say to your boss, and that if this were your roundabout way of suggesting he better smile more, then nice try. He forgets what you’d said after this; all he remembers is that you were laughing as you said it.

It’s in the adjacent hall with the similar entrance doors where you must’ve thought he’d be entering that he finds you. You’re standing by the wall farthest from him, away from the larger crowd but easy for anyone to spot, holding what looks to be a compact mirror to your chest, like you just came from the bathroom and this is a state of afterthought, but then Sae also knows better. It’s like having a tray of paperclips on the boardroom meeting table, or tapping one’s fingers rhythmically on any hard surface, or having another hand to hold on to and squeeze in intervals—you always try to find something to do or hold with your hands, after all, when in a state of quiet apprehension.

And you do look a little lost, but at the same time attentive, your eyes taking stock of every person that comes into view, in search of a face.

He is closer now, close enough to call out your name and ease the quiet worrying. Close enough to confirm your solid touch, what with your skin looking translucent in this light. Despite the cascade of your hair being solid against your shoulders. He has not seen you in person in over a month, and as he places one foot after the other, one word plays like a melodic motif at the back his head—

“BREATHTAKING.”

Sae’s hand shoots out halfway to grab (or block) the source of the voice right by his head, a reflex of a body fine-tuned to crushing the possibility of someone in such close proximity stealing the ball from him. He stares at the back of Shidou Ryusei’s head as said Demon emerges from his side, turning to see the brief surprise and confusion on your face at the outburst.

“Lovely. You look very lovely.”

One thing about Shidou is that there’s not a single insincere bone in his body, that even though Sae himself is admittedly tired of the guy’s frequent, sudden bursts of love for every single thing he finds beauty in, he gets a pass for the authenticity and zero bad faith. No matter how brash he expresses himself. 

You are prompt and subtle, of course, at schooling your expression to a state of calm that nobody would think otherwise, and you give him a polite smile. “Thank you, Shidou-kun. I hope you caught Orihime-san on your way down? She’s been looking for you.”

The wild striker’s date seems to have stopped being his date after a few good glasses. As of now, it could be anyone. “Ah, fortunately no. I do wish you’d said yes to me, though. You would not have lost me.” You tilt your head a little in confusion.

“I don’t think you asked.”

“That’s ‘cause I don’t have your number.” And there he goes. Shidou turns his head slowly to smile sweetly at Sae—now standing directly behind him—a very proud look on his face as if he’d just said something very clever and convincing. The midfielder is already rolling his eyes, deciding to give the antennae’d freak just half a minute more, see if he’s learned to improve past the punchline.

You have a very kind laugh. “That’s a good point.”

Shidou’s eyes are expectant. “I know, right?” He brings both hands up like he’s about ready to forgive you of any misgiving. “Think we can maybe do something about that? Talk about it over dinner, or whatever?”

You squint your eyes in thought. “Maybe if you score five goals in your next game.”

Okay, that’s too kind.

“Hah! You’re on, babe—“

He gets a whack on the head before he even finishes. “That’s enough, demon.” In an instant, Shidou’s face is erased from your view, Sae roughly tugging him to the side via his collar. “Now move along.”

“Sae-niichan! Did you witness that—?”

“Unfortunately. It was hard to miss.”

“She’s finally agreed to go on a date with me.”

“That’s not—“

“Come drop by training whenever,” Shidou purrs, turning back to you. “I’ll show you your hat-trick,” accompanied by a very suggestive wink, before finally turning on his heel to walk back the way he’d slithered in.

There’s a moment of lag in your brain before you catch the distinct whiff of Sae’s perfume as he approaches.

“You know five goals is nothing to him, right?” you hear him say—his first words to you in person in over a month. In spite of the initial haze, his voice, now no longer filtered through phone static, is enough to clear your head. When you look up, he’s momentarily distracted by the person walking by and you catch the light tensing of his jaw. You smile when you finally catch his eye.

“Any chance you get to be on the opposing team?”

Sae has sidled up to the wall to avoid the sudden stream of people passing through, so now he’s right beside you. Close enough you can feel the fabric of his sleeve brushing against your arm. He gives your question a moment of thought.

“Not likely.” The corner of his mouth curls ever so slightly as he crosses his arms. “And what makes you think I’d keep him from scoring that date?”

His amusement at whatever expression you’re making at the prospect of his disloyalty is betrayed by the soft chuckle that he doesn’t mean to let slip.

“Goodwill?” you ask in a small voice. “You could cut 50% off my pay for a month.”

He shakes his head, turning his face away so you only catch a glimpse of what might be humor in his eyes. However humor exists in Itoshi Sae.

Out of your peripheral view, you see a gala committee member entering the hall and then stopping at the top of the stairs, seemingly relegating last-minute instructions to security. The PA system does a quick fine-tuning, before a female voice starts to speak over the classical music. Thirty minutes.

There always seems to be something unsaid—and necessary—hanging in the air. You always grab the first and most important.

“Did you get Rin’s gift?”

It takes a second before he realizes what you mean, and as he raises an arm to show you the emerald cufflinks holding his shirt cuffs closed, he catches your eye. There’s a bit of a joke in there between the two of you and you smile.

This particular Christmas gift had gotten lost in the international shipping waters for over a month, likely had gotten its supposedly straightforward France > Spain route convoluted amidst the post-holiday confusion, who knows. Upon receipt, you realized they were these exact same emerald-cut diamond cufflinks that Sae had also gotten for himself in Paris a year ago. ‘Picked these for Shitty-bro. Hope you manage to get him off your hair. Happy holidays.’ went the younger Itoshi’s handwritten card, and you thought it was the sweetest, most selfless, most thoughtful gift anyone could’ve given. ‘Thoughtless,’ Sae had corrected you, his voice lacking its typical bristle. You consider it very telling, though, the way he’d very carefully placed the precious items back into their foam box, and on his bedside table, too, (not in the closet) where he could easily see them everyday, and not to be mixed with his exact original green ones which had, by then, practically lost their former value—nothing in comparison to a gift from someone he holds dear.

The way he’d called you up way too early this morning to confirm that Rin’s cufflinks weren’t sent back to Madrid by accident, were they?

(You’ve told him no twice before 7AM.)

“Too bad Rin couldn’t make it to the gala,” you muse, “he would’ve been glad to see you wearing them,” amidst Sae’s silent protest of disagreement via frowning. Itoshi Sae and Itoshi Rin might not have had shared tables tonight, but, regardless, you know the brothers would’ve been pleased seeing the other in such a long time. Sae, for one, is always in a less melancholy mood when he and Rin share the same time zone, though he’d sooner fling himself into the ocean than admit anything close, you know.

Doesn’t matter; you could keep a secret safe.

“Well, he’ll need the extra training for scoring only 3 goals against Barcha last month.” You shake your head at his constant, stubborn resolve to epitomize Scrooge, at his stubborn refusal to even acknowledge that he had pumped his fist with each of his brother’s headline-worthy goals at the PxG and FC Barcha match last month, in the privacy of his living room—if you were the sole witness, indeed, who’s to say he even did such a thing?—but you also understand why he’s not so easily fazed.

Rin, after all, will be coming home in a week to join the national team, as well. Another win for Japan.

“Oh, you missed this one, let me—” Your hand automatically reaches out to fix something in his hair, and there’s a very brief moment wherein half his view is blocked by your forearm and all he can perceive is the light scent of perfume on your wrist. The subtle shimmer on your cheeks. But then you’re also quick to realize your sudden impulse, quick to recover your reflex, and Sae finds himself glued to how you recoil just as instantly, your fingers curling close, your lips pursed tight in quiet apology at the breach of personal space. You blink twice as if to clear the air. “You, uhm, missed a little there,” you say with a small smile, gesturing vaguely with your hand.

There’s a moment where Sae is looking into your eyes and you’re not sure what he sees, nor what he’s trying to say, but you don’t get the chance to figure it out. He reaches for the compact mirror clasped in your hand, looks into it to see what you mean and smooths the anomaly out himself. When he looks into your eyes again, an eyebrow is raised in question.

“Better?”

You have not heard his voice this close in so long and you try to remember if it’s always been just as quiet, just as personal. But you don’t give yourself time to think. Not about how his voice is sounding like, and not about how it’s warmed your cheeks and the tips of your ears that when you say your next word, you consider yourself lucky you do not fumble.

“Handsome,” you say with a genuine smile.

The PA system has now started calling again for everyone’s attention. In the interim, there’s a very quick discussion about work and his earlier schedule, as well as your reminders for him about tonight’s program. At one point, on your way up the stairs, he inches you closer by your elbow to avoid the crowd and you let him. There’s a promise to link up at the post-program socials because god knows at that late hour he might end up saying something vile and possibly become the media’s Villain of the week. Or Favorite of the week, whichever way you look at it. You tell him, though, that the media loves him; remind him, too, that all you ever really do is give him a look of either disappointment or of pride from a safe distance. He does all the answering. He does not tell you, though, that it still makes all the difference.

.

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.

“So, how was the welcome crowd? Did you get them to leave you alone?” 

Ah. He remembers it now, what you’d said while you were laughing. It wasn’t nearly as funny, he realizes, to warrant laughter. But, then again, you were always laughing anyway. Something about this inevitably makes him smile.

“Not quite. I met up with Aiku and he didn’t seem like he cared. In fact, he talked and talked you’d think you were there with us.”

You chuckle quietly. There’s a joke in there too that only you two know. “Oh, that’s too bad.”

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next >>

MASTERLIST

ao3

taglist: @kunikame​ @ac-koryu-13 @dioscuridios @kiyohdasimp @ririgards @saeitoshithoughts 

[buddieswhvre]

Requested by @buddiesmutslut here's number 9 the lawyer Eddie and innocent Buck fic! I tried my best to make things clear but still keep the air of suspense lol. Also, yes Buck is going through it right now.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, the hands of the clock continued moving but Buck was frozen still. This was a warning, this should be a warning, right? He may act as if he wasn't scared but in reality, he was losing his goddamn mind. Coming home to his place being absolutely trashed was a big wake-up call. He needs to stop this. Yes, his loft wasn't his home, never was, but still, it was a place that gave him shelter for so long, and seeing it like this was painful.

There was a time when he was his own person, and had no one who could suffer the consequences of his actions but now it was different. He had Bobby, Chimney, Hen, and Eddie, oh my god Eddie.

It was as if Eddie had some special power when it came to Buck and suddenly his loft opened to reveal Eddie.

“Hey so Bobby was doing some research and I think-”

“I'm withdrawing the case.” Eddie looked at him as if Buck had lost his mind but in reality, today was the first time ever since this all started that he was really thinking.

“What are you talking about and why are you cleaning the loft?” Buck needed the previous Eddie who didn't care about him so much. He needed him to ask less questions and do what he was asked to.

“Because it doesn't matter. It's not like I can practice after this so why even bother?” Some time ago they were standing at the exact place where Buck screamed about how important his job was to him and how he needed Eddie to trust him and today at the same place he's asking, no begging Eddie to leave him alone.

“Buck-”

“No Eddie, maybe I deserved it. I mean it was my fault, right? I took an oath to save people and I couldn't so maybe I do deserve it. Or what do you know, maybe I did kill him? Maybe-”

“Buck! If there's one thing I know about you is that you'd never hurt anyone on purpose-”

“What do you even know about me? Nothing. I just want you-” Buck needed Eddie to just go away. If Eddie said anything else Buck would completely break down and tell him everything that happened. And that's what Buck didn't want. He didn't want Eddie to put himself and in turn Chris in more danger because of Buck.

“I know how you act like you like dark coffee when your favorite is oat milk vanilla frappuccino. I know how you feel bad for killing a moth, a literal moth because it did nothing wrong. I know how you give your whole heart for someone without anything in return because that's how selfless you are, Buck. So yeah, I know you. I know you to the core and that's how I know that something is wrong.” One side of Buck wanted to cry in front of Eddie after everything he just said. There was finally someone who saw his whole existence and still thought he was worthy of something and yet he couldn't.

Christopher, the absolute treasure of his life would be in danger and Buck would literally walk through fire alone if it kept Chris safe. And if the fire was Eddie's disappointment and hurt, then so be it.

“Eddie, I want to withdraw the case”

Tags: @smilingbuckley @wikiangela @theotherbuckley @cinematics123 @honestlydarkprincess @cal-daisies-and-briars

Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed🩷

[that-spider-fan-over-there]

Oh yeah, I was also holding myself back, but now that the official is here I can say:

"I THOUGHT WE'D BE COMPETING AND BEING IN EACH OTHER'S HEELS FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES"

KATSUKI REALLY THREW IN THE "TSUKI GA KIREI DESU NE" AT IZUKU I NEED IZUKU'S OWN "SHIN DEMO II WA" I THOUGHT IF SOMEONE WAS GONNA DO IT WAS HIM BUT THAT WAS A HEAD CANON- Oh my god it's not a head canon anymore I am In Disbelief-

WE BASICALLY GOT A WONDER DUO PROPOSAL ON THE DAY IN THE PERFECT MIDDLE OF THEIR BIRTHDAYS I AM DYING XD

"Being banged up must be making you emotionally vulnerable" no you freaking emotionally repressed dingus now he wants the same thing you do, where's the memo I know you had 139 chapters ago stop downplaying your suffering and trying to convince everyone you're fine because "it's over now"-

Oh my god we are so getting the opposite of Deku vs. Kacchan 3- DvsK2 was Katsuki venting to Izuku before he lost it now is Katsuki beating Izuku for seemingly giving up on his dreams for others and/or being so selfless he keeps hiding what he wants, like he gave up on his goals, a la Final Exams and Izuku is finally being forced to open up his heart and both of their own One For All embers will act up and force them to clear up all misunderstandings once and for all- I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS GUYS XD

... WHAT IF THE "SHIN DEMO II WA" RESPONSE IS IZUKU RESPONDING HE WANTED TO BE A HERO WITH KATSUKI FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES TOO BUT HE CAN'T BECAUSE HOW COULD HE WASN'T WORTH ANYTHING WITHOUT HIS QUIRK AND KATSUKI'S GOAL IS TO ASSURE HE IS AND WE GET A MUTUAL "CAN'T IMAGINE A WORLD WITHOUT YOU IN IT MOMENT"- I am entering headcanon territory jeez I've been holding this in for too long already-

IZUKU COME ON YOU'RE LOOKING AT HIM CRYING HE'S DEVASTATED FOR YOU AND YOUR DREAMS JUST ACCEPT HIS LOVE DAMN IT YOU'RE CIRCLING AROUND THE IMPROMPTU PROPOSAL THEN THAT'LL BE HALF OF YOUR DREAM FULFILLED THEN WE CAN WORRY ABOUT THE OTHER STUFF-

[meimostar]

Hiya there! Hopefully tumblr doesn't eat this ask😭

So technically; Lovesick

Y/N Cookie reunites with their long-distanced childhood friend, hangs out with them more, and then it makes the other cookies they've known jealous of the amount of attention received

cookies of your choice btw :3

Your request has been passed through the fog.

Cookie writing to day is 'Knight Cookie'

Far ago, you met a cookie at your age in your humble village before anything could happen. He was courageous and kind to other even if it's slightly selfless in its own right, he have good intentions as a child would have but you couldn't help the thought theres more with how close you two gotten in a short amount of time with the cookie. Whenever you're down, he would be the first to contact you and cheer you from the feeling of sadness, when theres something off. He would be the one who notice it immediately. It felt like two children being so close and the concept of 'love' was something foreign to you and them.

It was a sweet little childhood and a distant memory you would recall everytime a bad day would occur, wishing that cookie came back and continue living beside you. Its wishfull thinking, but you couldn't help but get reminded of the cookie everytime. He was there when you're down at you're lowest, when the dragon took both of your homes in the sea of fire and seizes to exiet from earth realm. You lost some friends, some family but he also lost them. You've found comfort in the cookie and sympahtize, you wished you could turn back time for a moment and met them again.

" i'm.. going to be a knight, to Holyberry castle." Those words of departure, it was a shocking revalation. " I'll defeat the red dragon, i promise." You don't care about the creature that destroyed you're home, you just hoped he is in good health. " please.. don't cry, i'll come back. I promise." A promise yet he didn't came, you wait everyday at the village gates if he came back. Always everytime with a gift that you could hope he would come.

Waiting...

Waiting...

Waiting...

Its been how many years? He departed when you two were pre-teens. Young enough to be a disciple of the knights, you pray every night that wherever he goes that he is safe from any upcoming danger.. he should've been married now, with a wife or husband and a dog. You've talked to him if he plans to get married some day if their gotten older, he always response the same.

'I want to marry you.'

A cute one, the way he immediately says it with no hesitance and the way he brightened up at your chuckle. You wonder if he even remember it, you look at the photo beside your bed ontop of a drawer.

It's a photo of you and knight. Smiling, it was an old photo albeit abit burnt but it still usable. You wonder if he remembers you. You look at the poster you have on your hand, a poster of a parade for princess cookie happening on Holyberry kingdom. A march across the kingdom to show victory of a recent knight recruits.

You've been catching up with some news of the Holyberry kingdom for some time, it was pricey since the village you're living in isn't too well off but it does the job. Your planning to come to the parade, perhaps knight is in there too?.

You sighed with an unknown expression on your face, putting the poster aside as you fall asleep on your bed. Tomorrow would be a busy day for you.

.

.

.

Today, you woke up earlier than you usually do. Brushing your teeth, took a quick shower and looking your best. You glance at the poster ontop of your drawer as you remind yourself that it's for him. You want to see him after all these years of seperation, perhaps you still have a chance?.. its only a wishful possibility as you look at yourself in the mirror before taking off to the Holyberry kingdom.

As expected of the rich fruity kingdom filled with merchants and nobles trading their supply for something even more better. Ladies and gentleman chatting and bickering before the bell chimes on signalling that the parade about to start. You overheard some of the ladies talking about the knight and a princess being best friends or even more than friends. It tugs at your heart as you try to digest the implications of the words that they said.

You walk aimlessly at the crowd before another chime rolls around, signalling the parade is beginning. The large castle doors swung open slowly as carriages and knights lined, walking as well as marching bands with trumpets, drums and plenty of entertainment lined. You can hear the music, confetti falling and the excitement of people shouting with joy.

One perticular carriage caught your eye, it embedded a sigil, specifically. The Royal Sigil, you kept your eye on it as you squish yourself through the crowd to the front as you saw him. Knight with the princess as tears swell up in your eyes, smiling as you finally saw how grown he has been. He seemed more mature now, not cute like the past childhood you have.

You waved at him, hoping he would see as you two caught eye contact. The world felt slow down as the only thing you could focus on is knight.

"... [Name]?"

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

Thank you for reading, there will be a part 2 for knights P.O.V and the ending.

[whosthere54]

Hiiii I have some food for you guys 🥞🥞🍓🍓

Also I have a old thing I wrote about Icarus so you can have that too, not really happy with it but I like the concept :)

(This was in my notes app)

-=+=-

Basically, I read I know that I lost you [one or two forevers ago] by liminalAugustus and saw a quote and really thought about it.

“I have a brother again. His name is Rae.”

What if Icarus wrote a letter to themself to remember after he found out Rae was his brother?

———

They stared at the cover of their notebook as if it had wronged them. They glared at the intricate purple and yellow design, at the pair of golden wings depicted in the center.

They opened it up again to reread over the letter they had written, starting to pace once again.

╔════ ❀•°❀°•❀ ════╗

[The letter looked like it was written hastily. There are also some spots of blood staining the pages, as well as some dried evidence of tears. The first time they said their name is what looks to be “glitched” with many different colors obscuring the ink only in that spot.]

To whoever find this,

My name is Ì̸̳͙̳̇c̸͇̽a̵̭̕r̴̙̒͛̚ù̷̖͘͝s̶̼͓̔͒ and I wrote this book to remind

me of things before, to see if I can remember again. If you are not me who finds this, please try to find me. I don’t know how much I’ll remember, but I may possibly go by the name “Sherbert”. You will be able to tell it’s me from the yellow and purple wings and jacket I wear.

To myself,

I don’t want to make this too long just in case pages glitch out like before.

Your name is I̸c̸a̷r̶u̶s̷ Morningstar, you are the child of Fable and Isla Morningstar.

You have a brother again. His name is Rae.

He loves science and research, his favorite flower is a blue orchid the same as yours. He is so selfless and kind and nothing like you but treats himself like you do all the same. You need to make sure he knows nothing bad that happened is his fault, it isn’t. You need to make sure he knows that he is loved, and that he can ask for help and doesn’t have to know everything. He will have his boyfriends, but he doesn’t always think of going to them first. Make sure he knows that he can, and should. Make sure he knows you care about him, and make sure he knows that you are so incredibly sorry for everything. You were a horrible brother, but you are trying to be a better one.

Athena is your cousin. They care too much about others and don’t worry enough about herself, make sure He’s aright. She will have Jamie and Rae, don’t push yourself too much into his life. Remember what happened last time.

You love them. Don’t let yourself hurt them again.

You are not alone, you have friends now.

Centross is your best friend, though we haven’t told him. (Don’t want to boost his ego too much now do we.) He is happy now, don’t ruin it for him and bring up things that should be left in the past.

Wolf is your friend.

Ocie and Momboo are your friends.

Jamie and Easton are your friends.

Caspian and Aax are your friends.

Seven is your friend.

Ven is… complicated, but he doesn’t deserve to be alone. Make sure he is okay.

I don’t know if Will will be there, and even if he is, he will go his own direction. Don’t forget him.

Remember Haley. You killed her, she didn’t deserve that. Don’t disrespect her death by letting her go forgotten.

Remember Chaos. You didn’t know them that well, and they didn’t trust you, but she does not deserve to be forgotten.

Remember what you have done before, you do not deserve the forgiveness that these people have given you. Don’t forget them. You love them, and I think they love you too.

If the portal fails… I can only hope you find this in the next reset.

You are not alone.

You are not alone.

You are not alone.

From yourself,

- Icarus Morningstar

╚════ ❀•°❀°•❀ ════╝

Icarus rips the pages out of the book and folds them up, sealing it with golden wax and a blue orchid. With shaking hands they pull out their flint and steel, and head outside their house. They look up to the sky and breathe for a moment.

They just let themselves feel. They feel the wind tousle their hair, the sun against their face. This may be the last time they feel this until the next reset. They turn back towards their house and look at it with a small smile.

They set a piece of the ground alight, just looking at the burning flame for a moment before throwing their letter in. They watch it burn and disappear, and put out the flame.

Hopefully it wouldn’t be needed, but even then…

It would be nice to remember they aren’t alone.

-=+=-

Yeah so there’s that. I had thoughts.

Anyways go read “I know that I lost you [one or two forevers ago]” by liminalAugustus it’s a longish one chapter hero AU fic and I enjoyed it a lot.

Remember to get some food and drink some water and take any meds you need to. You are loved <3