#who had not lived through the madness and the pain to see this other side of the suffering | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghostheartfelt · 11 months

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

—✩ PHANTOM TOUCH ✩—

word count —15.6k

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

VIENNA, AUSTRIA.

“Move, move, move!” Price yells.

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

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

Your lieutenant.

Anybody.

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

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

Your arms raise to cover your face.

“Fuck!”

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

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

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

Thump.

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

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

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

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

Hudson “Scooter” Wheeler.

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

“I’m sorry, Wheeler.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They moved closer—it seemed to be one person.

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

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

Your finger grazes over the trigger of your carbine rifle.

A leg comes before the torso, then the face.

The skull mask.

Ghost.

Relief washes over you immediately—raising to your knees.

“Lieutenant!” You call.

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

“Thought we lost’ya,” Ghost rasps.

“What’s the sitrep?”

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

You nod softly.

“Why’d you hang back?”

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

“Gh—“

There’s a person behind him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost.

Where was Ghost?

“Lieutenant,” you cough. “Ghost, wh—“

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

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

“Ghost, are you injured?”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you.” You bite back.

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

“I eat boys like you for breakfast.”

Ghost chuckles beside you.

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

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

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

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

“Good fuckin’ luck,” Ghost grunts.

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

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

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

“Hey!” Ghost shouts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Agarwal—blade.”

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

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

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

“English, asshole.” You grunt.

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

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

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

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

“Piss off,” the blonde huffs.

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

“No!” You yell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your vest and your book.

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

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

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

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

“Thaye…” he susurrated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does the sun go on shining?

You watch Rolmuth pick up a pair of pliers.

Why does the sea rush to shore?

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

‘Cause you don’t love me anymore?

He was going to rip off your finger.

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

“Go…to hell—“

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

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

Why do the birds go on singing?

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

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

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

Why do the stars glow above?

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

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

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

It ended when I lost your love.

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

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

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

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

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

Why does my heart go on beating?

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

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

“Who…is…your...captain?”

Why do these eyes of mine cry?

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

Ghost coughs up blood; internal bleeding.

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

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

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

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

It ended when you said “goodbye.”

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

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

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

Ghost yells your name again.

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

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

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

Why does my heart go on beating?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your head slumps at the attempt of a nod.

“Save y’r energy, lovie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY TWO.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was asleep.

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

It felt colder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes flicker to yours.

“‘M alive, aren’t I?” Ghost says.

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

“You are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He dismisses the two of his men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

In my heart, I have but one desire…

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

And that one is you, no other will do…

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

I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim

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

I just want to be the one you love…

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

And with your admission…that you feel the same,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The music is starting to garble.

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

I…—you too—uch.

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

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

I just want to start…

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

A great big flame…

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

Down in your heart.

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

You see, way down inside me,

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

Darling, I have only one desire.

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

And that one desire is you,

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enough!” The blonde yells again.

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

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

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

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

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

The taste of bile is sickening to your empty stomach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pissed.

He was incensed.

More than that.

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

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

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

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

You still bore into your lieutenant’s gaze.

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

You might drown in your own saliva at this rate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Talk, bitch!” Rolmuth’s eyes darken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop,” you rasp. “Let’im go…”

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

“No…” you snarl.

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

“No?” He says cockily.

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

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

You hear a click, it wasn’t a gun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears surface the corners of your eyes.

No, no, no, no…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His radio.

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

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

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

“Thaye…” Ghost croons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can’t do anything.

He can only watch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sleep,” he rasps. “I’ll watch ya.”

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

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

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

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

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

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Hindi man pulls down Ghost’s gag.

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

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

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

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

“Stop!” you cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The gun slides across the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bitch!” Rolmuth snarls.

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

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

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

Ghost calls your name weakly.

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

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

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

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

“Thaye!” Your lieutenant hollers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ghost?” You lift your head.

“‘M here.” He replies.

“I don’t know if I can get up.”

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

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

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

He didn’t have a knife on him.

Got to be fucking kidding me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can y’walk?”

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

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

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

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

“I know but—“

“No.”

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

“Stay behind me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six…Five…

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

Four…

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

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

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

Two…

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

One…

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

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

Zero.

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” he says gruffly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The men brandishing shields push further.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, sweetheart.” He purrs.

White noise fills your ears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get the fuck up.” Pooch spits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m done playing games.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut your fucking mouth,” you snap.

“You don’t get to scream.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Babygirl,” he says weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a demand.

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

“Spare y’r energy,” he huffs.

“Simon—“ you slur.

“Stop.” He snarls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where was Ghost? Is Ghost alive?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost. Where?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ghost,” you call.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll ‘b fine,” he grunts.

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

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

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

“Where’s the force?” You ask quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes lightheartedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Simon!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So did you, Si.” You coo softly.

“Christ…” he mutters.

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

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

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

#simon ghost x reader #ghostheartfelt #ghostheartfelt writing #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost mw2 hurt/comfort #ghost modern warfare #simon ghost x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley imagine

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xfiddlin-fishsticsx · 2 months

Text

Robin woke up slowly, he blinked through the green and opened his eyes to a warmly lit room, as he looked around he realized it was a library, and from the little couch he was asleep on it seemed endless. He got up off the couch and stretched, aiming to explore further, when he was hit with a sharp pain between his eyes, he vision went blurry and dark for a moment before it cleared up and he suddenly remembered where he was.

This was his library, his lair. He had died and now he lived here, he knew he had died so why did it feel so wrong? He began to walk around, eventually finding the door that led to his personal area, the rest of the library was public.

He looked in the mirror he had in the room and usually it was nice to see the Robin suit, clean and undamaged, but now it just felt…off, wrong somehow, like he wasn’t supposed to be wearing it.

He heard a door open and shut somewhere and soft, clicky footsteps that made him feel fuzzy and his head swim with familiarity. He cautiously slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him and walking back through the shelves until he saw him and froze.

Standing in front of him was a tall young man, he had soft features and kind, tired, eyes that seemed to glow softly. His hair was a celestial white and he was dressed like royalty. Maybe he was royalty. Robin felt another burst of pain as he tried to remember who this was.

When his vision refocused the man was closer, and looking at him like there was something very sad happening, Robin wasn’t sure why he was so sad but he wanted him to stop. There wasn't anything sad here.

“Jason.” The man spoke softly, he had a nice voice, smooth and sad. Why did that name make his head hurt again? Was that his name? Robin figured it was.

The man walked closer to him, and the logical part of Robin’s brain was telling him not to let the unknown man get any closer, however the rest of him was buzzing with warmth and safety. He knew he knew this man, he just couldn’t remember why, he felt familiar in a way that said he wasn’t someone Robin knew in life, but someone he knew in death.

The man stopped in front of him and kneeled down, cupping Robin’s face with his pretty hands, his rings felt cool againt his cheeks and Robin felt safer than he had in probably a long time. It was nice. He liked this man.

But he was looking at him all sad again and he didn’t like that.

“Jason, you’re not supposed to be here”

Robin pulled back slightly, of course he was meant to be here! It was his lair.

“This is my lair, where else am I supposed to be? Who even are you?”

The man smiled softly and moved his hands to robins shoulders, “I know this is your lair, but you’re not supposed to be here right now, you’ve still got a while before you’re supposed to be back here again, you have to go back Jay. They need you.”

Robin didn’t understand, he was dead, he couldn’t ‘go back’

“Please Jace, don’t you see how this is wrong, you’re not Robin anymore, you haven’t been for a while now, this isn't right. They’ve done something to you and I’m sorry I can’t do much more than try to remind you but your family needs help, as much as I miss you, you have to go.”

Rob— Jason felt himself drifting, to where he didn’t know but it was probably wherever the man was telling him to go, he didn’t want to, it was nice here, and he wanted to see the man again, would he get to see him again?

“I promise I’ll come check on you soon, but right now I need you to let go Jason, you’ll see me soon and your lair will always be here waiting for you. Now please, go. I love you, I’ll see you on the other side ok?”

Jason nodded slightly and the man kissed his forehead as everything faded back to black.

——————————

Jason woke up in pain, his head was pounding and his vision was blurry, he couldn’t hear anything but he knew he was mad, he was always mad though wasn't he? The pain finally subsided and his vision began to clear. Something felt wrong, so very wrong, his head was swimming and his body was on fire, itchy, it felt like he was being held under water.

As he got more awareness back he realized his body was moving without him, as his brain slowly caught up he realized he was likely being mind controlled, or possibly possessed? Whatever it was was an invasion of privacy and Red Hood wanted the feeling gone.

So he pulled from the only constant in his life, the rage. The anger that sat deep in his chest and ate away at him but by bit everyday, he pushed and fought against the force holding him down but it wasn’t enough, he let the green take over to try and push the unknown control out of his mind and body, but he only succeeded when his mid suddenly cleared to the image, the memory of a pretty boy with sad, bright, neon green eyes looking up at him.

He burst through the control and finally felt like he could breathe again, his vision was still green and slowly going dark.

He was prepapred to be consumed, to go on a rampage no less damaging than when someone else was in control.

But nothing came, he just froze, his vision stayed green but his body stopped, he felt himself collapse to ground and began to recognize the pain blooming in his limbs and chest.

Everything felt fuzzy and numb until a hand rested on his shoulder.

He followed the hand up an arm to— B, Batman. His dad.

His vision was slipping and his head still pounded, he tried to tell Bruce that he was going to pass out but nothing was coming out of his mouth intelligibly.

Jason felt himself lose control of his body and lurch forward, Bruce’s arms came around him before he could hit the floor and the last thing Jason knew before he fully blacked out was that he was safe. His dad had him.

———————————

Just a little snippet/wip of something I’ve been working on! This is just the first little half of the first chapter!!

#dp x dc #danny phantom #jason todd #danny fenton x jason todd #ghost king danny #wip #snippet #sneak peak #?#dead on main

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dontyouworrydaddy · 1 year

Note

First of all, let me tell you about how much I love your blog and your writing style. Your fics quality is top notch and I giggle like an idiot every time I see a new post from you. So, if it's ok with you can you write about our favorite COD men (including daddy Konig and Simon) whose SO keeps getting texts from her asshole ex - some of them begging to take him back and others borderline threatening, like "who's that dude you're dating now? You think you can replace me that easily?" etc. And our boys accidentally see these texts. How would they react to that situation? Thank you so much :)

𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒

Task Force 141 (+König) x fem! reader

You have no idea how much I appreciate these kind words. Like you literally just made me CRY because I‘m so happy to hear that. You guys motivate me to keep writing fr🫶🏻🫶🏻😭 I love you so much and I‘m so thankful to you! 🩷🩷🩷🩷

Also I love the idea oh my god. I can imagine them being super mad at him and be like as soon as she’s sleeping I‘m gonna haunt that mf and be super caring and not leaving your side until you’re okay again. AHHHH I have so many ideas I can’t put them all into words😮‍💨😫😫

I hope you enjoy this fanfic! Thank you again for the kind words, I really do appreciate it❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

➽───────────────❥

König

König found himself in a situation he hadn't anticipated. As he and you went about your daily lives, a series of text messages from your ex started flooding your phone. König couldn't help but catch glimpses of these messages, each one more distressing than the last.

I know you miss me

I still have that red dress from you…

You can stop acting like you don’t need me anymore and just come back ;)

You date insecure guys now? Wow Y/N… I mean I knew I was the best for you but I didn’t expect that low from you

I saw you the other day… You got a lot sexier ;))

I miss you so much baby. I love you…

They were filled with toxic words, attempting to undermine the happiness you had found with König.

Upon stumbling upon these messages, König's usually calm and composed demeanor wavered, replaced by a mix of concern and protectiveness. He couldn't fathom why someone would target you in such a hurtful way and it stirred a fire within him that burned with a fierce determination to shield you from harm.

His grip tightened around his phone as he confronted you, his voice laced with worry. "Schatz, what is this? Who is sending you these messages?" His eyes searched yours, a mix of anger and concern burning in their depths. But he wasn’t angry at you. He was more angry at himself because he feels like he failed as a boyfriend. His only mission is to make you feel comfortable and it feels like he failed at it. Because you didn’t talk to him…

You took a deep breath, realizing that the time had come to open up and share the painful truth. "It's my ex. He's been unable to let go and now he's trying to sabotage our relationship. I've been trying to handle it on my own, but it's becoming overwhelming."

The weight of your words settled between you, the gravity of the situation sinking in. König's protective instincts kicked into high gear as he reached out, pulling you into a comforting embrace. "Liebling" he whispered, his voice filled with determination, "You don't have to face this alone. I'm here for you and together we'll navigate through this storm."

His words were like a balm to your soul, offering solace and reassurance in a world that felt suddenly tumultuous. You found strength in his unwavering support, knowing that you didn't have to battle your ex's toxicity alone.

With each new text that appeared on your phone, König became even more resolved to protect you. He devised a plan to confront your ex, making it clear that his attempts to sow discord and threaten your happiness would not be tolerated.

But König's reaction wasn't solely driven by anger. It was driven by love and a deep understanding of the pain you were experiencing. He knew that these messages were more than just words on a screen…they were emotional daggers that pierced your heart. And he will make sure that your ex will never bother you again. Trust him.

Simon Riley

In the midst of it all the chaos he‘s been through, there was you, a source of light and solace that gave his dead life light. The two of you navigated the challenges of life together, an unwelcome presence lingered, threatening to disrupt the tranquility you had built.

But you were constantly tormented by text messages from your ex Josh. The messages were a relentless barrage of mixed emotions, ranging from desperate pleas for reconciliation to menacing threats aimed at undermining your newfound happiness. It was a constant reminder of a past you were trying to move beyond. It was always him trying to manipulate you into leaving Simon and go back to him.

One fateful evening, as you lay beside Simon, your phone illuminated with yet another message from your ex. Simon, ever vigilant and protective, caught a glimpse of the text and as soon as he read the words "I still think about you when I’m on my bed alone", anger flashed in his eyes. He knew about your crazy ex.

Concern etched across his face as he realized the torment you had been enduring in silence. You turn your phone around and looked up at Simon. So many emotions were written on his face that made you tear up.

Carefully, Simon pulled you into his arms, offering a comforting embrace. His touch was gentle, his voice soothing as he reassured you that you were safe with him. In that moment, he became your shield, determined to protect you from the darkness that lurked in your past.

As you drifted off to sleep, exhaustion finally claiming you, Simon's heart swelled with a mixture of tenderness and anger. He couldn't bear to see you suffer any longer. Resolute, he rose from the bed, leaving you in peaceful slumber and made his way to confront the source of your personal torture.

Due to his Job, it was easy for him to find out where he was living. And with determination etched upon his features, Simon found himself standing outside your ex's residence. He had no intention of resorting to violence, but his presence alone was enough to unnerve the cowardly individual who had been preying on your vulnerability.

As the door swung open, revealing your ex's face, a mix of surprise and fear washed over him. Before he could utter a single word, Simon's voice rang out with authority. "Leave her alone mate. If you ever come near her again, you'll regret it. And I‘m not a man to play fucking games with"

Josh felt the weight of Simon's unwavering resolve, cowered beneath his gaze. Fear clouded his eyes as he stammered out a half-hearted apology. Without further hesitation, Simon turned on his heel and walked away, leaving your ex to contemplate the consequences of his actions.

Meanwhile, back at home, you stirred awake, finding Simon by your side, his gaze filled with comfort and love. Wordlessly, he climbed back into bed, pulling you close, and kissed your forehead with a mix of gentleness and possessiveness.

"I won't let anyone hurt you," Simon whispered, his voice filled with a fierce protectiveness. "You're safe with me. Always."

In that moment, you knew that Simon was not only your lover but your guardian, a force that would go to any lengths to shield you from harm. And as you drifted back into a peaceful sleep, your heart swelled with gratitude, knowing that you were truly cherished by the man who would stop at nothing to keep you safe.

John MacTavish

You felt a mixture of frustration and fear as your ex continued to invade your life. The messages ranged from desperate pleas for reconciliation to thinly veiled threats, designed to unsettle and intimidate you. The constant reminders of your past were enough to make anyone's heart race and palms sweat.

One chance. Please baby.

Are you really dating a scottish man? You‘ve sunk so low.

One evening, as you and John were relaxing together, the barrage of texts became too much to bear. With a heavy sigh, you pulled out your phone, revealing the string of toxic messages that had invaded your peaceful sanctuary.

I will have you back, I‘m waiting baby.

John's eyes widened as he read the manipulative words that spilled across the screen. Without hesitation, John wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. He understood the fear and turmoil that consumed you and he was determined to be your shield, protecting you from the pain of your past. His voice, laced with a mixture of concern and determination, filled the room.

"Baby" John spoke softly, "I won't let him hurt you anymore. You're safe with me, and I'll do whatever it takes to ensure that."

His comforting words and his strong embrace provided a temporary respite from the torment. As exhaustion claimed you, sleep finally descended upon your weary mind and body. Unbeknownst to you, John's resolve had been steeled.

As you slept, John quietly slipped away, his footsteps echoing with purpose as he made his way towards your ex's location. The darkness of the night seemed to amplify the intensity of his emotions. Anger simmered beneath his stoic exterior, a force ready to be unleashed upon the person who had dared to threaten the newfound happiness he shared with you.

John's arrival sent a shockwave through your ex's world. The smug arrogance that had permeated his messages quickly evaporated as he realized the true extent of John's determination. Fear replaced bravado, and he attempted to escape from the formidable soldier who now stood before him.

But there was no escape. John, fueled by a protective instinct, pursued your ex relentlessly, his presence an indomitable force that left no room for evasion. "Text my girl ever again and oh boy you wish your mom never gave birth to you" Cornered and overwhelmed, your ex succumbed to his fear and fled, leaving behind the remnants of a broken ego.

As John returned to your side, a mix of relief and admiration washed over him. The confrontation had served its purpose: to ensure your safety and send a clear message to anyone who dared to threaten your peace of mind.

You awoke to find John by your side, his features softened by the moonlight that filtered through the window. His eyes met yours, filled with a blend of tenderness and determination.

"He won't bother you again," John assured you, his voice unwavering. "I'll always protect you, no matter what."

In that moment, as you gazed into the depths of John's unwavering devotion, you knew that you were not alone. With him by your side, you felt a renewed sense of strength and security.

John Price

You had tried to move on from the toxic relationship that had left scars on your heart. But your ex refused to let go, bombarding you with text messages that ranged from desperate pleas to borderline threats. Each message chipped away at your sense of peace and security.

One evening, as you sat with John, sharing the burden of your past, a notification flashed across your phone screen. The words that appeared before you were a cruel reminder of the darkness that still lingered.

Who's that dude you're dating now? You think you can replace me that easily?

Your heart sank as you realized John had caught a glimpse of the message. The look in his eyes, a mix of concern and anger, mirrored the tumultuous emotions raging within you.

John's voice was steady, but determination laced his words. "Baby, I can't stand by and let this continue. He needs to understand that his behavior is unacceptable and that he must leave you alone."

A mix of fear and relief washed over you, knowing that John would go to such lengths to protect you. You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "I want to move on and leave this behind. But it’s getting so difficult" All night he did nothing but hold you as you cried because the memories kept adding up. And John did nothing but kiss and hold you the entire night.

The next morning, as the sun painted the sky with shades of gold, John prepared to leave for what appeared to be a simple grocery shopping.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as you waited, anxiety and anticipation mingling within you. Hours passed and just when doubt threatened to seep into your thoughts, you heard the familiar sound of John's footsteps approaching the door.

His face bore the signs of a confrontation, his eyes filled with a mix of exhaustion and determination. John took you in his arms, holding you tightly, as if to shield you from the remnants of the past that clung to your spirit.

"He won't bother you again" he whispered, his voice filled with an unyielding resolve. "I made it clear that his actions were unacceptable. He knows the consequences if he dares to cross that line." and you knew that he went over and made it clear to him to never text you ever again.

Tears welled in your eyes, a mix of gratitude and relief streaming down your cheeks. You gazed into John's eyes, overwhelmed by the love and protection he offered so selflessly.

"I don't know how to thank you, John," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "You've given me a sense of safety and peace that I thought I had lost forever."

His grip tightened, his voice a comforting reassurance. "You don't have to thank me, my love. It's what love does. It protects and empowers. I won't let anyone hurt you, not while I'm here."

Kyle Garrick

You stood there, reading the text messages that illuminated your phone screen, each word like a dagger to your heart. The messages from your ex, filled with desperation and anger were a painful reminder of a past you desperately wanted to forget. His words were like poison, seeping into your thoughts and threatening to unravel the happiness you had found with Kyle. The man you want to share your life with.

Just as you were about to put your phone away, hoping to bury the unsettling messages deep within your mind, you heard a gasp from behind you. Turning, you saw Kyle, his eyes fixated on the screen, his face a mix of concern and anger.

"Love?" he murmured, his voice laced with sympathy and a fire burning within, "I didn't realize you were going through this. I'm so sorry."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, the pain of the messages threatening to overwhelm you. But Kyle, ever the steadfast protector, closed the distance between you, wrapping his strong arms around you in a comforting embrace.

His words, infused with a fierce protectiveness, resonated within you. As he held you close, you felt a sense of safety and reassurance wash over you, erasing the fear and uncertainty that had plagued your heart.

Days passed and Kyle prepared for his next mission, a dangerous assignment that would take him away from you for a while. But before he left, he made a promise to himself, and to you. He would confront your ex, ensuring that he never dared to disturb your peace again.

As he set out on his mission, he carried with him the weight of your trust and the burning desire to protect you from harm. And when the time came, bruised and battered, he sought out your ex, determined to make him understand the consequences of his actions.

Face to face, Kyle confronted the man who had caused you so much pain, his eyes ablaze with an unwavering resolve. Your ex, taken aback by the sight of Kyle's injuries, cowered before him, realizing the severity of his actions. He pleaded for mercy, promising to leave you alone for good.

Kyle’s voice filled with an authority that brooked no argument, made it clear that any further harassment or threat would be met with severe consequences.

When he finally returned home, weary but determined, you met him at the door. The weight of the past seemed to dissolve as he enveloped you in his arms, the warmth of his embrace erasing the remnants of fear and doubt. In that moment, you knew that together, you could face anything.

After seeing him all bruised up but with a smile on his face, you couldn’t help but jump into his arms. In his embrace, you found healing. The scars of the past fading into insignificance compared to the love that bloomed between you. Together, you would face the challenges that lay ahead, fortified by the strength of your bond and the knowledge that no matter what, you were not alone.

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vanteguccir · 2 months

Note

How do you think Chris would react if someone raised their hand to you?

no bc he would be SO mad!! 😭😭😭

I HAD to create a whole situation with this, so here you go:

Imagine that Y/N and Chris were at a party with Nick, Matt, and some friends, the music pulsed through the halls of the elegant ballroom, enveloping those present in a symphony of electronic beats. And then, in the middle of a lively conversation, Y/N decides to go back to the bar to get another drink for herself and a Pepsi for Chris, leaving her boyfriend with his friends, not wanting to interrupt him.

While patiently waiting for the bartender to prepare her own drink, Y/N felt a piercing gaze upon her, which made her turn around to find a tall, charming man smiling in her direction, his eyes full of interest.

She maintained her stance, politely declining any advances.

"Sorry, I'm not interested." She said as soon as the guy approached, keeping her tone firm but friendly.

The man's smile disappeared, replaced by an expression of disdain.

"Oh, come on, one drink won't hurt anyone." He insisted, inching a little closer.

Y/N took a deep breath, preparing to refuse again when the man rolled his eyes, roughly grabbing her arm. She let out a cry of surprise, moving her arm forcefully, wrenching it from his grip.

"Don't touch me! You're crazy!"

At that moment, Chris, who had raised his head suddenly after hearing the voice he knew by heart echo through the walls above the loud music, stood up abruptly, his eyes flashing with anger as he watched his girl suffer at the hands of another man.

He quickly advanced towards them, pushing everyone who stood in his way blindly, determination and hatred evident on his face.

With quick steps, he arrived in time to grab the man's right arm, who raised it while Y/N was still shouting at him, ready to hit her.

"Touch a finger on her, and I'll break your fucking hand." Chris growled, his voice echoing through the bar, his fingers taking on a pale color from the force he placed around the other's wrist.

The man looked at Chris with a mixture of surprise and challenge.

"And who the hell are you?" He snapped, trying to free himself from Chris's grip.

Y/N felt her heart race as she watched the scene unfold before her. She had never seen Chris so furious before.

"I'm her boyfriend." Chris responded, his voice low and dangerous, pulling the arm he was holding further away from his girlfriend, bending it to the wrong side, receiving a groan of pain in response. "And if you don't want to get hurt, I suggest you back off now."

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment, assessing the situation. Finally, with a sigh of defeat, he moved his arm as much as he could, a look of pain and relief taking over his face when Chris finally let go, shooting him a glare before turning around and walking away.

Chris let out a tense sigh of relief, his shoulders slowly relaxing as his eyes remained fixed on the male figure until he was out of sight.

"Back to your own business, people. There's nothing else to see here!" Chris shouted as he looked at the people watching them curiously, moving his right hand in the air in circles.

After making sure no one was looking at them, he finally turned to Y/N, his expression holding a mixture of anger and concern.

"Are you okay, my love?" The boy asked, his voice softening as he gently caressed her face.

Y/N nodded slowly, feeling emotionally shaken but grateful to finally be safe in Chris's arms.

"I'm fine, thanks to you." She murmured, leaning against him for comfort.

The brunette hugged her tightly, his heart beating against hers as his arms surrounded her like a strong haven.

#vante asks #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader

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satubby · 20 days

Text

•Daddy's girl Second part•

[See your face smile once again]

Here is the part before this (Maybe it doesn't even make sense but god, it was 2020, we still barely knew about Kenjaku)

♡ >>> 《☆》 <<< ♡

He hears through the gloom, the crunch of bones and the sound of the city… or maybe it was his hallucination?

Satoru feels like he is in a deep ocean, drowning... Darkness surrounds him, like deep waters that drag him out of his consciousness or perhaps drown him, he no longer knows anything and he doesn't want to keep thinking about it.

Death, the feeling of loneliness that has always accompanied him... even after Suguru Geto left him alone, you had never left him, you were his daughter and yet he ignored you until it was too late to realize. The only thing that made him feel happy, the only human that saw him as Satoru and not the strong cursed sorcerer that was the imbalance in this world of witchcraft. YOU WERE his daughter... but you couldn't be with him anymore, because you were dead and before that your relationship with him was distant.

He remembers that by the time he realized how much you had distanced yourself from him, his feelings no longer mattered to you, just as he once never cared about yours... By then you were an abandoned and alone girl, surrounded by death and a father who left her to not face his fears and blinded by the pain of losing a friendship.

So although he will try his best to repair it, you no longer wanted to know anything about him even when you lived in the same house, you didn't even give him a look or a word. Maybe that's why he tried to be a better father than when he was young and stupid.

You could call it a good thing, it's kind of cute, right? But for someone broken like you, their love was false and although Satoru could see that you really wanted to accept it, in the end the pride of both of you and your injuries prevented you from getting closer. He regrets having left you alone, when you barely knew about the world, and he left you in the hands of others, fearing that when you saw him you would ask for Suguru. That you complained to him for killing his own friend who was like your uncle.

It was stupid if he's honest, looking at current things...he shouldn't have pushed you away believing you'd be better off if he didn't confront you and instead showered you with material things. Satoru did not know how to really love and now that he was lying on the ground, smiling and trusting his students... He realizes again that despite the pride of both of them, you continued to love him as your father, moments before your death how you smiled at him by hugging him and dragging yourself towards him in your last minutes alive.

It may sound selfish on his part, but he really wishes he had said 'I love you' to you even though you were mad at him for leaving you alone, for yelling at you in his teenage and young adult days, at you, his precious little sunshine.

For once he wants to be selfish, he really does, just this once... Damn!! His heart has begun to stop beating, his half is split in two, he laughs coughing up black blood... This fight may be a loss but he smiles knowing that maybe it's karma for leaving you to your fate, saving so many lives but at the expense of yours and his, which if you think about it, wasn't worth it that much.

At this thought, something new crossed his mind: Your beautiful face had not left his memories. Your expression before being hugged by him... His beautiful baby, moments before he died.

He remembers every detail of you and when you played in the bathtub with the rubber ducks, you and Suguru smiling at him, but now those are just memories, of when you both lived and how Shoko used to hit him for heating the powdered milk too much. He misses his friends, you more than anyone...

Satoru wonders, would it have been different if he hadn't left you alone and stayed by your side? He regrets having pushed you away, that you should have made your decisions in the face of his emotional abandonment and all because he was still mourning Geto, forgetting about your existence, longing and lonely like him.

"Tired" was his only answer to that simple question. That's the obvious. Look at his current state... Time, time, Sukuna looks at him, whispers words that he honestly no longer cared about and didn't listen to... his time in this place is over.

"I'm sorry my dear students... I'm sorry my mochi" And although he became a wandering being of revenge until he ran into Sukuna in Megumi's body after having killed the elders, he finally found the peace he was looking for so much. Only the king of curses can kill him now that he himself has become the thing he most swears to purge.

Then Satoru stops breathing, being 'exorcised' and so he lets himself sink into the sea of blissful death.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

The abyss became deeper, his soul fell slowly, Satoru stopped feeling little by little and the only thing he thought while he felt currents of darkness passing through him... was that lullaby.

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please, don't take my sunshine away

The letters came and went, in the distance as if the water swallowed them, the former special sorcerer felt numb floating in nothingness, only the light of something peeking in the mist of the dark sea

The other night, dear, as I laid sleepingI dreamed I held you in my arms

When I awoke, dear, I was mistakenSo I hung my head and cried

Then he understood that that voice is his, Satoru smiles inwardly, that lullaby which he sang to you when you were distressed, to apologize for leaving you alone on dark nights.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please, don't take my sunshine away

And before the last syllable of the song, he felt hands grab his face, giving him a hug, Satoru cried in silence when he saw you there, his little sun and his beloved mochi—His abandoned baby...

"Come back, dad... Do it right this time, I'll forgive you for everything!" Your voice sounded in his mind as your soul enveloped him and you walked away, letting him fall into the abyss. And like a shock of reality, Satoru opened his eyes standing in front of the bathroom, on the other side you could hear tears and sobs, it was you, well you seemed younger.

He was surprised to see himself alive and— Younger, he looked like he was in his 20's and that meant that you were 4 years old. He was happy, but then memories ran through his mind, hitting him with headaches.

Moments before you had come home from school with your babysitter, you had shown him a drawing you made for him but he ignored you, saying he was busy and you complained to him crying because he also forgot your dance recital... Which leads to why you are locked in the bathroom.

Trembling, he approaches the lock opening the door, you were curled up with swollen eyes full of tears, uncomfortable, the albino approached you, crouching down and being clumsy when hugging you.

"Shh! Ota-chan is sorry for yelling at you earlier my little one, I was stressed and I shouldn't have said those things to you, will you forgive your fool Ota-chan?" Your eyes looked at him and despite your tears, you hugged him, of course you were still that lonely and vulnerable girl who begged for his attention.

"...Ota-chan is a fool, you left (Y/N) alone at the recital, it hurt a lot" You complained looking at him with a pout, Satoru hugged you getting up with you and kissing your cheek, this time you would have ALL of his attention.

"Ota-chan I'm sorry my baby, I promise that even if I'm busy, I'll come see you and we can go for a walk... What do you want me to do to make it up to you hmm?"

His voice softens as he speaks to you, he no longer dares to be harsh with you, after everything that will happen in the future, at least if he can't stop it, he will protect you.

"Are you seriously going to make it up to (Y/N)? W-well if you don't mind, (Y/n) wants to go to the park" You didn't even turn to look at him which he understood, after years of ignoring you and emotionally abusing you in cold ways, he understood your fear.

"Then it will be Tokyo Disneyland! But for that we must bathe you, and we will clean that beautiful face, it seems that you have a duck's mouth for eyes hahaha" Satoru mocked, playing with you and pulling on your baby cheeks.

"Ota-chan, don't make fun of (Y/N)'s beautiful eyes! You were guilty!" You sulked, grabbing his hair and pulling it, then you laughed when you saw his pained faces, but he didn't even say anything to you, you're still a girl, he must be a better dad for you.

♡ >>> 《☆》 <<< ♡

For the next few days he pampered and loved you, when before he would forget to go to your school projects with Nanami or Shoko going in his place, now he never missed even if he had to threaten the higher ups letting them know that their old asses were still alive because that's how he wanted it, if he killed them like he did before, it would bring a lot of chaos and the truth is he doesn't want to do so much paperwork and much less stay away from you.

He also made sure to spend hours playing with you, showering you or having bubble battles and even inviting Megumi over (well technically Megumi lived with you even though she spent time studying) He also bought you a polaroid camera, it seemed like you loved taking photos.

Little by little Satoru saw his relationship with you blossom and you opened up little by little, coming to love him as he loves you. He thought they would be happy until— What was supposed to happen happened, Yuta and all the events that came after he came under his tutelage.

Due to the many problems that his old friend caused him, Satoru did not want to see the scene where he had to kill him again, he did not want to and he even stood watching it. Geto smiled at him, saying that he sure looked pathetic, that he understood the path he took but that Satoru shouldn't feel guilty.

That night he came home reliving his memories and emotions, even though it has already happened twice he can't get over it, but unlike the past (future?) you were there hugging him, you were a very smart girl and you didn't ask anything, just hugging him.

"It hurts a lot right, Ota-chan? (Y/N) won't ask questions, she's there for you" Satoru smiled and cried, only you could comfort him, he clung to you and whispered a lot of 'I love you my baby', not this time he hid his pain under happiness and you simply decided to play to take care of him, but that simple game distracted him from his pain.

"Tonight, you will be a patient and (Y/N) the doctor!!" You laughed as you spent the entire night playing with him until you fell asleep. When he took you to the bed, he smiled softly, kissing your forehead and letting you sleep, little did you both know that your pure love would turn crazy and passionate.

♡ >>> 《☆》 <<< ♡

It was your 8th birthday, Satoru had made sure to give you the best party and although you had video calls with your acquaintances and his to congratulate you, something very deep inside him that had been brewing since he went back in time and killed his friend again, somewhat selfish and paranoid. Maybe that's why you didn't have many friends, only Megumi and those from the jujutsu technical school, maybe he was VERY selfish by monopolizing your time.

But Satoru loved having you close and his many past/future regrets made him act like this. For 4 years he has been isolating you, you no longer go to school and you have private tutors, he fears that you want to leave like in the past, that others will monopolize your time when you could well do it with him. What if it was excessive? He was, but he didn't care about other people's opinions and even if his coworkers and friends told him that it was bad to isolate you, Satoru only made them less worried, you were fine like that.

Not for nothing has he killed and sacrificed anyone who interfered with his plans with you, the elderly were the first and those who bothered you followed them, he has already lost count of how many he killed, many times you almost died and that is why he preferred to lock you up, and you as a malleable girl (as hateful as it may sound, he just thinks you're very sweet and innocent) You think this is normal, it's just your precious daddy taking care of you.

"Ota-chan!! I've grown up, I'm 14 cm taller than the table!" You laughed raising your arms, Satoru smiled hugging you and lifting you into his arms. Yes, you definitely don't need to leave the house with anyone other than him, your precious golden cage where no one can touch you, much less take you away from him, will no longer allow you to die at the hands of others or be used against him.

"Tsk, Tsk! My little baby is growing, do you want to catch up with your Ota-chan? First drink milk so you can reach me! My dwarfy!" His lips went to your belly and tickled you, left behind was that girl who was abandoned and resentful of him, but who waited until the end, loving him in silence.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please, don't take my sunshine away

The other night, dear, as I laid sleepingI dreamed I held you in my arms

When I awoke, dear, I was mistakenSo I hung my head and cried

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please, don't take my sunshine away

TAG LIST: @louismae, @byakuyasgirlfriendandwife, @moonymoons-blog and 831 people from the previous post

And I thank all the people for waiting for this, damn it took me 4 years hahaha ha... I'm really sorry, but I was depressed so I had no inspiration or head for this, it's just a hobby thanks for your support [UNEDITED!]

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queenshelby · 7 months

Text

Forbidden Desire (Part 18)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

Birmingham - Three Weeks Later

It was around 8 o'clock when you arrived at Arrow House, wearing a floor-length black dress that showed off your curvaceous physique and accentuated your statuesque presence. The dress highlighted your luscious cleavage and revealed tantalising flashes of your smooth legs whenever you walked.

Accompanied by your new partner Robert, you were rather late as your baby-boy did not want to go to sleep without you rocking him in your arms. Leaving him with your maid, who had travelled with you from Boston, made you nervous but Robert reminded you that an event like the one tonight was not one to be shared with minors.

As such, when finally arriving at Arrow House, you already found the estate buzzing with activity - people talking excitedly about the impending nuptials of Tommy and Lizzie.

The grand old house seemed even more majestic now than you had remembered. There was music playing in the background, creating a romantic atmosphere for the forthcoming wedding ceremony which was something that made you feel conflicted.

Out of all women in England, it was Lizzie who your uncle Tommy had chosen to marry and, whilst you knew why he had decided to tie the knot with this woman, you wished that he did not.

With a hint of disgust on your mind, you glanced at your reflection in a nearby mirror, adjusting your hair slightly before heading towards the festivities.

Robert held your hand lightly, leading you across the marvelously decorated ballroom where guests sat sipping champagne and enjoying live jazz music played by a talented band onstage. Your heart ached for Tommy, wondering if this marriage would truly bring happiness to him after everything you two had experienced together. In truth, a small piece of you yearned for him, craving the chance to explore those undeniable connections between you.

But then, the other part of you felt nothing but hatred for the fact that he never wrote to you in the past twelve months.

Hadn't he ever missed you? Did you mean less to him than the woman he was about to marry? These questions circled endlessly in your mind, driving you mad while making you question whether keeping your memories alive was worth the pain.

Although you had written twice to him, without a response, you knew that Tommy was unaware of the fact that you had his child and so was everyone else. Everyone but Ada.

You also had not seen anyone but Ada until now and whilst your father had written letters of nothing to you twice a month, it was Linda who caused him to be estranged, adding even more complexities to your strained family ties.

Seeing him standing there now with his brother Tommy, in the distance, sent waves of mixed emotion through you and, usurpingly, on seeing you enter, the room went silent.

Tommy's gaze locked onto yours, a mixture of surprise and curiosity warring across his features.

Lizzie, on the other hand, appeared irritated by your arrival. Her brow furrowed in annoyance as she realized that another potential threat stood among the crowd.

All eyes turned towards you as you approached the center of the room, radiating confidence in your sleek, high-slung black dress that hugged your curves perfectly. With each step taken, a sense of unease seemed to permeate the space, and the only sound heard was the heavy beat of your footsteps against the polished wooden floor.

Even amidst the chaos, you couldn't help but notice the way Tommy's gaze followed you relentlessly, like a predator studying its prey.

His hungry eyes bore into yours, sending shivers down your spine. The unspoken desire that flowed between you was palpable, nearly tangible. Lizzie's jealousy could be read clearly in her scowl directed your way, causing you to smile subtly to yourself as she noticed your acknowledgment.

Reaching Tommy's side, you greeted him coolly with a nod and a forced smile, determined not to let him see how affected you were by his magnetic pull even after twelve months of silence from him.

Glancing over at Lizzie, you offered her a polite yet detached nod as well, trying to maintain a neutral demeanor amidst the storm brewing within you before approaching her and her husband to be more closely.

"Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials," you stated calmly, feigning indifference as you spoke. Lizzie's expression remained frosty, refusing to return your gesture. "Thank you," she responded coldly, turning away from you as quickly as possible while Tommy assessed your companion.

"Who is this?" Tommy asked, casting a skeptic glance toward you. His tone betrayed the uncertainty he harbored regarding your unexpected presence at his home, which was something he clearly knew nothing about.

"This is Robert. My partner," you introduced calmly, hiding any trace of lingering attraction towards Tommy behind a veneer of composure. Giving Lizzie a wary once-over, you continued, "He is a doctor, in Boston. We met at a charity event there," you then continued before allowing your father, Arthur, to give you a hug.

"A doctor, eh?" Arthur interjected, smiling politely, before introducing himself as Arthur Shelby, your father, to him.

In turn, Robert shook hands firmly with him, seeming eager to impress him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shelby," he said, to which Arthur smiled approvingly, feeling impressed by the young man's enthusiasm while you, in turn, felt impressed by your father's attitude towards your newfound love. With his third child on the way, he had clearly softened a bit.

Meanwhile, your attention shifted back to Tommy, whose focus returned to you. The intensity of his gaze sent chills down your spine, stirring feelings buried deep inside you.

"It must be serious if you bring him here, to fucking Birmingham, eh?" Tommy retorted sharply, eyeing both you and Robert suspiciously. His sarcastic words stung, triggering hurt and confusion.

"For a matter of fact, it is. Robert asked me to marry him," you informed them casually, looking steadily at both Tommy and Lizzie, attempting to conceal the swell of anxiety building within you.

An awkward silence filled the air momentarily as your statement reverberated throughout the room. Tommy's face flushed red frustration.

"Is that true?" he snapped at Robert, challenging his credibility. "You proposed to her?" Tommy wanted to know, causing Robert to nod nervously.

"Yes, Mr, uhm, Shelby..." Robert began to say without a formal introduction, to which you informed him that his name was Tommy and that he was your uncle.

"That explains things," Robert commented before silently acknowledging the fact that there were some incredible physical similarities between your son and your uncle Tommy.

"Well, congratulations to you both!" Tommy exclaimed, raising his glass to salute you before taking a generous gulp of whiskey. However, you could tell that he was still struggling to process the news, his emotions bubbling beneath the surface. This wasn't what he expected or wanted, especially considering the tension simmering between you and Lizzie since you set foot into the hall. The last thing he needed right now was more drama, particularly involving someone connected to his beloved niece whom he secretly desired.

"Thank you, Uncle," you replied coldly as the tension grew thick around you and, luckily for you, it was at this point, that you were whisked away by your aunt Polly.

As you turned your back towards Tommy, his piercing eyes seemed to burn into you, leaving no doubt that he saw you differently compared to others present. The sight triggered powerful sensations within you that you struggled to control, prompting you to take a deep breath before joining Polly.

Walking beside you, Polly patted your arm comfortingly, noticing the slight tremble in your voice. As you stepped out into the hallway, she leaned closer, whispering softly in your ear, "it was me who sent the invitation."

The shock registered instantly upon your face, leaving you speechless for a brief moment. "Why?" you eventually managed to ask, confused by her decision, seeing that it was her who suggested you go to Boston in the first place.

"Because Thomas has been making bad choices since you left," Polly confided earnestly, her eyes gleaming with concern. She took a steadying breath, continuing quietly, "There is such darkness in him these days and it worries me."

Your throat tightened with a mix of sympathy and anger and you wondered how much your absence affected him.

"Polly, you made him send me away and I started a new life, in Boston, with Robert now. I am happy," you lied before continuing on. "So, I am not here to fix Tommy for you," your lips formed a thin line, showing disapproval for Polly's attempt to change your fate.

"No, sweetheart. You won't need to. The existence of your son will do that," Polly explained gravely, pointing out that you having had a child with Tommy would naturally draw him back to reason.

"You know about my son?" you demanded, surprised that Polly was aware of your baby's existence. It didn't escape your notice that she might have known all along, choosing to remain quiet about it, perhaps wanting to spare you further heartache during those early months when you hadn't heard anything from Tommy either.

Her eyes flashed with sorrow, and she gave a gentle nod.

"I knew that you were pregnant before you left Birmingham. It was one of the reasons I wanted you gone. But please don't think ill of me. I did what I thought best for everyone involved," Polly explained, her voice laced with regret. You listened carefully, trying to reconcile everything she told you tonight and how it tied together. Your head reeling with so many revelations and emotions flooding your system, your stomach clenched painfully.

"All you and Thomas ever thought about were these goddamn elections. This is why he is marrying Lizzie, isn't it? Because she had his daughter, and it would look bad for him if it was to be found out that he fathered a child with a career prostitute," you murmured aloud with anger and frustration.

"Yes. It was the plan all along until you came into the picture," she admitted sadly, confirming your suspicions. "Then he fell for you, and I should have let him, no matter the consequences," her voice cracked slightly, expressing regret over the mistakes they had made.

"He shot three men last night, without remorse, because of some feud with the Chinese. And, the illegal business activities are continuing after, just fourteen months ago, he was certain that, within the year, Shelby Company Limited would thrive from its legitimate business activities alone," Polly then went on to explain without giving you much context but the information was alarming enough to make you worry about what you were walking into.

"Like I said, I am not here to fix Tommy for you. You have to do that on your own," you insisted stubbornly, standing your ground against your aunt's manipulative plans. You weren't going to become part of another game you played second fiddle to the family's ambitions. That time had passed.

"Well then I can only hope that you continue to stay safe wherever you are because, clearly, you have no idea what Tommy is sending through to Boston next. It's not just fucking booze anymore," Polly muttered under her breath, her eyes searching yours with unspoken messages.

"What do you mean?" you questioned cautiously, wondering where exactly the situation was heading. Your curiosity piqued, your fingers drummed impatiently against your side. "Is it snow?" you then asked, but she shook her head.

She paused briefly, deliberating whether or not to divulge sensitive information to you. But then, finally, she decided to trust you implicitly, understanding your resolve to live independently of the crime syndicate.

"It's opium, Love, and you need to watch your back," Polly revealed solemnly, grabbing your hand urgently.

A mixture of horror and disbelief spread across your features.

"Opium? What does Tommy want with opium?" You couldn't hide your fear and uncertainty about the implications. Opium trade brought immense danger to anyone associated with it, not just legally, but also socially.

"Perhaps you should ask him yourself," Polly advised, although her tone indicated reluctance, likely knowing full well the outcome.

Feeling increasingly uneasy, you continued to walk alongside Polly, listening intently as she spoke candidly about your uncle's recent descent into what she called the "darkness" and how he was becoming even more dangerous than before. The thought terrified you, imagining Tommy turning against his very own kin, including himself. Yet, you also understood that people like Tommy couldn't simply cease being who they were born to be.

They were products of their environments, trapped within their pasts, bound by chains woven from their ancestors' decisions. And yet, amidst the chaos and violence surrounding him, there was always something undeniably appealing about Tommy's brutish charm, a magnetism that drew you irresistibly toward him, awakening a hunger you didn't fully comprehend.

When you looked at Tommy, your eyes locked onto his deep blue gaze, a reflection of the storm brewing inside him and, later in the evening, with Robert mingling in the crowd, you decided to confront him.

Without hesitation, you sauntered towards him, the confidence you possessed radiating off every step you took.

His attention immediately shifted to you, the intensity of his gaze burning hotter than before, sparking memories of countless steamy encounters shared. Despite his determination to ignore you, the connection between you two was undeniable as you spoke.

"A word, please," you requested casually, your voice deceptively calm as his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"If you want to discuss your wedding plans, Love, then I suggest you do this with Ada, not me, eh?" Tommy responded dismissively, attempting to brush you aside while focusing on assessing your partner Robert whom he clearly disapproved of.

"I want to talk about business matters," you clarified steadfastly, determined to confront him directly.

"My office then," Tommy agreed, leading you through the crowded ballroom filled with guests and servants, none of whom noticed you leaving together.

Once outside, however, the tension escalated palpably, causing both of you to exchange guarded glances. You felt an invisible force drawing you closer to him, a magnetic pull emanating from his raw masculinity which erupted completely as soon as you reached his chambers.

For a short moment, his eyes lingered on your form silently, absorbing every curve, every feature – your mouth, your neck, your hands… The room seemed to spin around you as he caressed your cheekbone gently, trailing downwards towards your shoulder.

Suddenly then, Tommy’s lips pressed firmly against yours, his tongue sweeping boldly into your mouth, catching you by surprise.

Much to Tommy's surprise, however, you pushed him away forcefully and slapped him hard across the face.

"How fucking dare you!" you seethed, struggling to maintain composure, unable to believe his audacity.

Stunned, he stepped backward, holding his reddened cheek as if uncertain how to react.

"Twelve months it has been, Tommy! You pushed me away. I tried to call you. I have sent you two letters and I got nothing in return until Polly sent me this fucking invitation, to your fucking wedding!" Your voice trembled with rage, tears threatening to spill over as you expressed your disappointment. Your sudden explosion caught him entirely off-guard, revealing a vulnerability hidden beneath his swaggering facade.

Tommy stood silent for a few moments, unsure how to proceed or apologise for his behavior. His eyes darted nervously around the room, avoiding direct contact with yours, betraying his guilt.

Finally, he cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Look, we both knew that this couldn't work. You are my fucking niece and I needed to distance myself from you," Tommy said and his voice held a hint of desperation, seeking forgiveness.

"Yes, and you did that, quite well if I may add. And now, I am with Robert and he is a good a man," you pointed out, raising your brow slightly, challenging him to argue otherwise.

"A good man, eh?" Tommy chuckled dryly, his eyes piercing straight through you, exposing the truth behind his words. "Is that really what you want, Love? A good fucking man?" he wanted to know and you bit your lip in annoyance.

"Well, yes, a good man is better than a man who will put me and my son into danger," you retorted defiantly, crossing your arms resolutely in anger.

"Your what?" Tommy asked, shocked and confused about you mentioning a child, before carrying on. "I can't believe that, within a few months of you moving to fucking Boston, you let this fucking yank knock you up," Tommy spat angrily, thinking that it was Robert who had fathered your son.

"Oh my god, Thomas..." you sighed heavily. "Robert isn't the father. I was already pregnant when I moved to Boston." There was a pause in your statement as you collected your thoughts, trying to discern how best to break this news to Tommy.

"But listen," you began slowly, feeling the weight of the secret growing heavier within you. "I didn't know at the time. I wanted to terminate, but it was too late. I was too far gone," you carried on and, as those words left your lips, you watched carefully for any change in expression on Tommy's face.

"Fucking hell," he growled, rubbing his temples, evidently lost in thought.

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mochatsin · 10 months

Text

WHEN MC COMES HOME INJURED

There are a lot of issues that you can come across as a human in Devildom and sometimes, the brothers aren’t really prepared for the worst case scenarios. One day they find you at home injured from other demons, how will they respond to this?

TW: Implied Bullying, Violence, Torture, Injury

sometimes I wonder if MC is a bit desensitized to violence (but not to a level where they’re no longer bothered by it). Think about it, the brothers have war-level fights all the time in the house. Plus MC lives in a realm full of devils.

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

Lucifer

His patience has never been so tested, all he can think about right now is going straight home. He heard that there was a commotion that happened in one of your classes, so everyone was excused to leave early.

He never heard any of the details, and he would’ve asked the teachers or anyone in your class but it was better to hear from you instead. The wellbeing of the exchange student is his responsibility after all.

Lucifer was about to knock on your door but he heard a sniffle coming from your room which made him start panicking. “MC? Pardon me, but I’m coming over.”

He found you by the bed, clutching your arm that’s poorly bandaged. Seeing the tears in your eyes broke his heart as he ran to your side.

You told him that things got bad during your potions class. You don’t know how it went wrong when you followed the instructions correctly, but the cauldron exploded and gave you a bad burn. The teacher even scolded you in front of the class despite being in pain, making you an example of a foolish student before dismissing everyone.

Lucifer knows you’re not one to make clumsy mistakes like this, yet he keeps quiet to himself about that. His focus for now is to treat your wounds properly. But boy, he could feel his blood boil through his veins. How dare they make a fool out of you?!

He promised to find something human-friendly for your skin as he applied a spell to numb the pain before going back to RAD.

On his way, he overheard two students snickering to each other. Lucifer recognized them from your class.

“Who knew adding fire newt tongues would’ve made it that explosive?” “You should’ve seen the look on their face when the teacher got mad. I knew the teacher hated them but it was hilarious when they looked like they were gonna cry!”

Lucifer had this sinister smile on his face as he walked up to the students. “Meet me in my office. We need to have a little talk.”

It takes him an hour before he can come back to you with a healing salve. Gently applying it to your skin, you were astonished at how it was instantly restored!

Before you can comment about your amazement, Lucifer brings you in for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry… I’ll make sure you won’t get hurt like this again. I promise.” He tries to act calm but with how his hands held you so firmly, you can feel that he really was worried.

You could say that Lucifer keeps to his word when you find the demons, even your teacher, hung up by their legs in the potions classroom. They were beaten beyond recognition, you can’t even tell if they were still alive because the brothers lured you away from the scene before you could inspect them further.

The whole school got the message, to never mess with the Morningstar’s human. The punishments are beyond what they could imagine, it’s not worth the few moments of satisfaction from making you cry.

Those people were dragged away by Barbatos to the castle’s dungeon, never to be seen again. Diavolo had to make arrangements for a replacement, and Lucifer ensured that you have at least one brother for every class to watch over you.

He was strict and a bit more overprotective to you than usual, so it took a lot of time for you to reassure him that you’ll be fine.

Mammon

To lesser demons, it’s a wonder how his denial with his problematic gambling and theft still made him think that he’s amazing and great.

The stacks of reports about Mammon in the student council room can break records. He would ask Grimm that he would refuse to pay back, steal things he considers valuable, and his money-making schemes have caused lots of problems for other students.

Despite the punishments from Lucifer, some demons think that it’s not enough. They want to hit him where it hurts.

Mammon has been waiting for you, spamming your D.D.D. with several messages. You both planned to spend the night watching a movie together once you get home, but you’ve been running late and he’s getting impatient.

When he hears the main door open, he rushes with the intention of complaining about what took you so long, until he finds you limping your way inside.

“HEY MC I– huh… MC? What’s up with you? HEY!” As soon as he realizes that there’s more injuries on you, he instantly carries you to the bathroom and treats your wounds as best as he can.

He doesn’t speak, but he can’t hide the trembling of his fingers when he applies gauze pads and disinfectants on your wounds.

You tried to explain what happened to him to the best of your abilities. You were cornered by some demons you didn’t even know on your way back home and they picked a fight. When you described what they looked like, Mammon instantly knew who they were.

“How about you rest first in the room while I go handle something yeah? Maybe report this to Lucifer” He lied of course. As if he’s going to waste a single second not hunting down these bastards. He lets one of his brothers tend to your wounds, he has other matters to attend to.

Mammon would send those demons a message, saying that he’s ready to repay them if they meet up. He was ready to give them back 10 times the pain they gave you. Break their legs for making you limp, even.

You wake up in your bed to find him asleep next to you, holding your body close. The small tear stains on his cheeks made you pout and… well, you don’t tell him about the red stains left on his hands.

He walks you back to your classroom only for you to find it trashed. Broken chairs and desks, holes in the black board and the walls, and the demons from yesterday looking so bruised and wounded that they could barely shrink back in fear when they saw you and Mammon together.

Lucifer would’ve punished Mammon for wrecking school property until you explained to him what happened. Given the nature of these circumstances, he didn’t tie up his brother from the roof like usual, but made him clean up the classroom he trashed.

Even with his goofiness around you, that incident was a reminder for the school that he’s still the second most powerful brother and the wisest thing is to never touch Greed’s treasure.

Levi

Levi noticed that you haven’t been yourself lately when you come home. You’re always too tired to watch his shows and when you do, he finds one thing odd.

When the anime he was watching showed a scene about bullying, you would flinch or turn away. You were never like this before and now Levi is suspicious. What has been happening in RAD when he’s not there?

Lucifer called him in to catch up on his classes since he’s been slacking off due to his games. He stayed a bit behind and when he finally finished, all he could think of was finally getting his hands back to his controller but then he stopped when he saw you in one of the empty classrooms.

You were being cornered by a large demon, probably the size of Beel, who taunted you. About how you’re nothing but a weakling without the brothers, and calling them here would just prove his point.

He was raising his fists to land another blow so you used your arms to protect yourself, but it never came. Instead, you find Levi kneeling down next to you with a sad look on his face.

He was in his full demon form, his tail holding onto the demon’s fist and won’t let go. “MC… why didn’t you tell me? Or at least any of us?” He seemed hurt because he didn’t know you’ve been in so much pain, especially when he saw the bruises on your skin as he tugged your sleeves down.

He wrapped his jacket around you and wiped away your tears, trying to calm you down. Though it’s hard when Levi’s tail now has a death grip on the wrist of the demon who’s now screaming in pain and begging to be let go.

“Shut up!” He hissed, his fangs bared out when he turned to the larger demon.

Levi snaps his fingers and the demon disappears. The demon finds himself in the depths of the deep sea, struggling to breathe and swim up. He was spared from the agonizing suffocation by the sharp teeth of Lotan who swallowed him.

He shifts back to his regular form and waits until you’re okay to be held. He tries to be gentle with you given the amount of bruises you’ve gotten. Since he’s not good at magic, maybe one of the angels can do something about this.

He doesn’t leave your side while Simeon tends to your bruises, all while he calls Lucifer to inform him of what happened.

“You’re my player two, we’re supposed to help each other out you know? That’s how the game works. S-so rely on me more MC!”

He didn’t want to let you watch some anime that has bullying in the story, out of fear that it might remind you of what happened. The last thing he wants is to accidentally make you upset.

Levi started attending school more, waiting for you outside your classroom every dismissal. You’d spot him gaming on his phone and if you’d ask why won’t he go straight back to the house, he’d just stutter way beyond comprehension.

His cute flustered look as he struggles with the slightest physical contact, no one would guess that he’s the reason for the disappearance of the biggest bully in your class. It’s all game over when you mess with the Grand Admiral after all.

Satan

Despite being just a new exchange student in a realm with little to no knowledge, you still somehow make it through the academic year and even get better marks than half of the demon brothers who lived for centuries.

Some demons in class find it infuriating to see a lowly human do better. ‘Maybe they’ve just cheated.’ ‘Perhaps they use spells to see the answers’ ‘the wizard knows some sorcery, maybe this one does too’ ‘how wicked.’

Those were rumors you hear when you enter a classroom before a lecture. You try to not let it bother you because they’re not true. It’s from the combined effort of your hard work and the brother’s teaching you from scratch.

Satan has been waiting for you in the house since you told him that your lesson from today was a bit difficult to understand, so you both set up a small study session for when you get home. But it’s been about an hour ever since your last message.

No amount of reading has calmed his nerves since you’re not one to be late for no reason. It’s been raining really hard so he thought that maybe you’re stuck in this weather, but the lack of messages is still concerning.

When he heard the door open, he closed his book with the intent of questioning why you were late, but he saw how soaked you were from head to toe.

He grabs your arm to help clean you up, but you hissed and yanked it away. He looked at you confusingly before he noticed the puddle of rain water was mixed with something… red.

Without haste, he sits you down in the living room and rushes to get the first aid kit. He’s thankful for learning about first aid, but never did he think that he would have to use it on you like this.

He focused first on calming you down, placing soft kisses on your head every time you’d whimper. It worried him a lot, but he didn’t want to ask you about your tears until he’s sure you’re okay.

It took half an hour, and a whole lot of pain relievers until you’re okay. Satan went to grab your things left at the door, only to see a lot of your books and homework torn to bits. Connecting two and two together, he knew what happened.

When you slept, there was only one thing racing in his thoughts. To hunt. He’s heard of the rumors about you, and he’s had enough of staying passive about it.

He practically interrogates every student he comes across until he gets his answers. When he finally has a name, he would turn each stone in the realm until he finds them.

The moment he does, the demons are facing the most agonizing cat and mouse chase of their lives. Satan would follow suit behind their tails, and each time they ran across him they would shed more blood and tears.

He would’ve killed them on the spot with one snap of a finger, but that’s too easy. He wanted them to feel the fear, let it consume their soul until they go insane and give up. Only then did he grant them the release from this torture by burning them in green fire that not even the storm can put out, until there’s only ash.

He comes home, covered in blood and ash. He smiles as he places a kiss on your head when he finds you still asleep. After that, Satan offered to help you get some spare books and do something about your ruined homework.

He became much more aggressive afterwards, no longer tolerating any ill intent directed towards you. Mutter something under your breath, he’ll make sure it’s your last. That’s how they’ll pay the price.

Asmo

Asmo has so many admirers that are not limited to adoring fans online, but even famous celebrities that had the luck of working with him in magazine gigs and product commercials.

To him it doesn’t matter what kind of attention he gets, whether it's healthy or parasocial, he’ll bask in all of it as long as he’s the object of their affections.

He wouldn’t normally care when his brothers would get crowded with his fans who wanted them to deliver their love letters and gifts, despite all of his brother’s complaints or protests. However, you’re the exception.

Asmo doesn’t really hide how he feels about you. He would post your pictures with him on Devilgram or brag about you online. It did harbor some jealousy, but there are some that dealt with this worse than others.

‘It’s unbearable to see him with such a lowly human!’ a demoness thought as she found a new post from asmo’s page with you in the background. Her nails could crack through her phone at the sheer rage and she plans to do something about these feelings.

Asmo has been calling you nonstop since you two were supposed to meet up at the house to go to a salon together, after your shift ends of course. However, you’re running late and the salon would close in half an hour.

He was by his room when he heard your door open and closed. Asmo had the full intent to be extra whiny about your tardiness when he went to your room and opened the door.

He was in the middle of complaining but trailed off when he saw you clenching your cheek and turned away quickly from his gaze. You were trying to make him leave, saying that you’ll change first, but he’s not buying it. “Let me see, please?”

He moved your hands away from your face and gasped at the claw marks that ran across your cheeks. It hurts him to see that you try to hide the face he finds so adoring, so pretty. And he wants to find out who dared to ruin it.

He sits you on his lap while he applies any sort of healing skin that can restore it. He’s not going to allow a single scar caused by some low blood demon to rest on your face. He looks at you with a pout on his lips as he asks “... who was it?”

You can’t help it, so you explain that the demoness that was also in the magazine cover with him the other week, stopped by your work and slapped you across the cheek. About how a human should not have her place next to the Avatar of Lust.

For a quick second, he was wrath and you felt it. But he gave you a smile and held you close “you know that’s not true right darling?” and whispered sweet words to you.

Asmo spent the next few hours asking Levi and Solomon for help. The demoness instantly lost thousands of followers online, each and every scandal anonymously exposed for the whole realm to see. He was hell bent on ruining her life with all the power he has as an influencer and a demon.

You never see the demoness again, you just know that she lost every connection and supporters she had overnight. If you ask Asmo about it, he’ll just shrug and smile “It’s just how it works honey. But don’t worry about that thing, why don’t we go to the spa like we should’ve done a few days ago? I booked a new appointment for us”

Only Asmo, and maybe Solomon, knows the truth. So if you see a pink toad at the side of the road, pay no attention to it.

Beel

Beel has been regarded as the star athlete when it comes to Fangol. Other than his towering height and unbelievable strength, it’s a product of all his hard work and training. He’s been doing more every time you promised to watch his games.

He treats you like your lucky charm, and every time you’re there he would always do so well in his games. The other team doesn’t like that, they’re tired of the constant loss. Maybe if they do something about Beel’s lucky charm, he would be demotivated to play.

They’re demons after all, so cheating is not exempted in their nature. They’re willing to do what it takes to get Beel down to his knees, even if it means they’ll get their hands dirty.

There’s two days before the big game and Beel wanted to get a family-sized snack as usual from the fridge to calm his nerves. That’s when he found you rummaging through the freezer.

Maybe you were trying to get some hellfire ice cream, so he thought. Until he saw that you pressed an ice pack against your head. “MC? Are you okay?” He walks in to check on you.

He gasped when he saw that you looked a bit roughed up. There’s a bruise slowly forming on the corner of your lip, and some dried blood from the side of your temple.

He knows that this was no accident when he found more bruises by your arm. Since he got a bunch of those during Fangol, he knows how to treat them. You’re no player though. After putting two and two together? He’s starting to get an idea what might’ve happened.

You did eventually open up about why you were hurt. You were going home and felt someone throw a Fangol ball to your head. You recognized that they were from the opposing team of the upcoming match and they continued to use you as target practice as you ran all the way back to the house.

Beel was holding onto a bowl of cold water with a damp towel to treat you and as soon as you finished your story, the bowl was nothing but shards on his palm.

His deathly aura must’ve alerted the whole house, especially Belphie who suddenly woke up from a nap as he came running towards the kitchen only to find his twin already in demon form.

You’ve never seen him this angry that was outside food (or Belphie) and you tried to calm Beel down, but he left you in Belphie’s care while he walked out of the house. There was no way he was going to let this pass, not when you’ve already gotten hurt.

It doesn’t take Beel a long while to find the opposing team, especially when they always wear those ridiculous jersey jackets. Despite their large sizes that almost compare to him, they’re nothing but flies to Beelzebub himself.

“Heard you had a bit of target practice earlier… I wanted to go easy on you, so if you drop out of the game and never show yourself again I'll spare you.”

One of them scoffed and tried to throw a punch at his face. Let’s just say… never aim so close to his jaw. That player was no longer capable of holding a Fangol ball anymore, and the whole team got the message.

You received a notification online that the upcoming Fangol game has been canceled, as the team captain is suddenly incapable of playing anymore.

Beel comes home with a smile on his face while he has takeout of your favorite food. Mammon would comment about how it’s a miracle that he didn’t eat it on the way home, and all Beel said “It’s okay, I already grabbed a bite somewhere else.”

Belphie

If demons would cower under the sights of Lucifer, the exact opposite can be said about the youngest. Not everyone can find the demon who does nothing but sleep to be intimidating, despite his status and power.

Belphie doesn’t really care about trivial things about that. As if the demon who was willing to go against the royal prince himself was actually going to get bothered by mere rumors, even though it was all true.

He wouldn’t mind being called ‘a heavy weight’ when it comes to doing work, since he’d rather exert the least amount of effort if that’s what it takes for him to sleep faster. Sometimes he would forget important meetings because of his 8-hour naps.

Today was one of those days where Belphie overslept while you were waiting for him in the library to do work together. He woke up and realized that he was almost an hour late so he was rushing towards the door but surprisingly bumped into you.

“MC! I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to make you wait so long…” He was a bit panicked because you looked upset, though you told him that you’re fine and tried to walk back to your room.

He grabs your arm and you wince, pulling it away from him. He looks at you confusingly, before he notices a slight cut on your cheek and how your clothes look a bit dirtier than usual. So he gets worried and asks what happened to you.

You explained that while waiting in the library, you overheard some demons talking so badly about Belphie and calling him names. You confronted them, trying to defend his name, and the demons gave you a certain lesson for trying to sermon them.

Belphie whines and pulls you in for a hug, trying to provide any sort of comfort he can give. “You didn’t have to do that for me MC… but thank you. Go get some rest, you deserve it more than I do.”

His touch with you is so gentle when he makes little circles on your back as he hugs you. He lets you rest on his chest, feeling calm and safe in his arms. But Belphie was far from that.

He could feel himself close to popping a vein, the only thing stopping him from shifting into his demon form was because he was holding you. When he puts you down on your bed as you sleep, he stares at you for a while before whispering “... I’ll repay you for your kindness, MC”

The demons were laughing as they left the library, talking about the human they just picked on earlier. Too busy in their own merry to notice the pair of eyes that’s been following them.

Such carelessness would be their demise when they ended up getting thrown down the alley by the very demon they’ve been speaking ill of. Belphie stares down at them with no mercy in his eyes, despite the blood and screams. Unlike his twin, he was not as merciful.

“I can tolerate the nasty things about me… but if you hurt my MC, then you deserve eternal sleep.”

He comes home and immediately after dealing with the trash and starts walking back to your room. He’s glad to see that one of the brothers must’ve healed your wounds since your skin has been restored.

‘... if they really see the best in me, maybe I should put in more effort.’ he thought to himself, hugging you close as he drifts off to sleep. You wake up only to find that, surprisingly, Belphie has done all the work for the both of you.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios

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morgansunflower · 4 months

Text

My Sweet Boy 2/2

Requested by @fanfiction-24824

Bruce Wayne X Wife! Kryptonian! Kent! Reader

Warnings:suggestive content, explicit language and angst

Words:1315

Arthur's notes! Part 2 of my sweet boy! Conner is a clone of Batman and Y/N. Early! Adopted Tim. Jason didn't die by Joker but was severely injured. Third P. O. V

Reader and Clark recover from Doomsday's attack.. During which Jason continues to struggle to feel he is not a burden and decides it's best he leaves the only family he's ever loved

Conner was now living on his own and married to M'gann. Dick was no longer in Gotham as he was in Bludhaven. A little boy boldly tried to steal Batman's tires which led to the Wayne's adopting him. Only a year after that did they adopt Tim after Jason befriended him and discovered the poor child was being neglected. Then soon thereafter Y/N was pregnant and had her first child Damian.

Jason had only recovered physically from the bombing and Joker's brutality.. He tried to be strong but felt fragile. He wants to fall apart and be held by his parents.. Though he buries his fears down once a threat arrives to hurt those whom he loves.

When Dooms-day came to earth and the mad monster finally fell to the ground. Bruce along side his family search through in the debris from the brutal altercation. They were looking for both Kent siblings. Deep inside Bruce's heart was in agony with a similar fear he did when he searched for his son.

.....

"Clark" she cried seeing her brother laying there only a few feet away, just as battered as she was.

Both the Kryptonians suits were torn and they both had been deeply bruised. The broken bones of the two siblings nearly mirror each other. She cries in pain, crawling to him and then tried scooting closer to him. He turned his head to her.

"Y/N" he gasps overcome with relief

He began to crawl to her wincing as he breathes heavily. They finally made it to each other as the twins both softly smile to each other.. Tears fall down both of their faces. He holds her hand listening the first heartbeat he ever heard.

"MOM!! UNCLE CLARK!!" Conner cried "DAD THERE OVER HERE!!" he shouts to Bruce

"LOIS THEY'RE HERE!!" Bruce shouts to his sister-in-law

Bruce began running to the Kryptonians along with Lois who was running behind him

.....

Inside Wayne Manor upstairs in the bedroom of Mr and Mrs. Wayne. On the large bed, Bruce's eyes begin to slowly open. The sunlight shun through the windows to their bed, to his wife's sleeping face. He looked to his wife who laid sleeping by him.

Her knuckles were bandaged from the thin layer of skin that had been damaged from repeatedly punching the tough skin of Doomsday.

Had it not been for both Kryptonians one of the the Kent siblings would have not made it out alive.

Back at the Kent farm Clark was recovering just as his sister is, from their near death experience. Lois doted to him in any way she could.

After checking on his mom which of course led to his hair being pulled by his baby brother. Tim carried a cup of hot chocolate for Jason, while walking to his big brother's room. He knocks on Jason's door.

"hey Jay. I got you some hot chocolate.." Tim waits.. "Jason?!"

He knew Jason would be furious if he just opened the door and let himself in.. Though what if he's having another panic attack? What if he's not ok? What if he needs help?

Tim accepted that angering his brother was worth it, just to ensure he's OK. He opened the door. He's not in his bed, not in his chair and he's not in his bathroom. He's not out on the balcony. He takes a deep breath and puts the mug of chocolate on his brothers nightstand.

Tim calls Jason.. Repeatedly as it continues going to voice mail. OK he can panic now. Tim runs to his parents room

"mom! Dad! Alfred!" he yelled

The door opens as both Bruce, Y/N and Alfred whom was holding Damian. Hurry to their loved one.

"son what's wrong?" Bruce asked him directly

"J-Jason's gone and he won't answer my phone calls" Tim blurted out his throat shaking

Y/N gasps "Tim don't panic baby we will find him" Y/N promised "he probably went out to get some fresh air" she ensures Tim, unable to even believe her own words.

She began to try to listen for his heartbeat that wasn't near her. She listened more carefully but unfortunately it caused her mind to race and her head aching to a harsh throb. The pain caused the injured Kryptonian to wince. Bruce looks to her face, studying her clenched jaw and weakened breath.

"you're in pain"

"...no I'm not...." she lied

"you are going back to bed to rest. We will find Jason without you overexerting yourself"

"dammit!" she cursed furious that he was right "please find my baby" she begged now in tears

Bruce gives her a sweet kiss and then bolts to the Bat-cave. Bruce called both his oldest sons. Dick quickly went to Gotham but not quite as quickly as Conner.

Conner knew his brothers well enough that he knew their Heartbeats individually. So finding his brother wasn't too difficult. He touches his intercom telling the family, that he found him. He sits next to his little brother. He needs to get him back home, but first they need to talk.

"you don't have to be strong all the time Jason.. I don't know if you're going to fully ever be OK.. But you can't let the fear run you or trick you into believing running is the right thing to do. You gotta let people in. You have let your family in.."

"I know.. I just hate being scared all the fucking time" Jason cried "I feel so small Conner. Like I'm back in that--" he sighed heavily Conner gently rubbed his back to comfort him "I know there trying to be there for me and I want to be OK but--" he lightly shakes his head "but I don't want to burden them or mom and I just want it to be over... She almost died Conner... How can I tell them how damaged I feel, when she is in pain to"

He softly sighed "it's OK that you're not OK and they will understand. Just so you know.. I know how you feel"

"it's hard to sleep.." he admits and then stammered by his, statement. He used his hand to dry his runny nose from his emotions "what are you talking about?" he looks to his older brother seeing his past reflection of trauma.. He, truly understands.

Conner takes a deep breath in and out preparing to express his pain "well back in.. Cadmus.. When I messed up or didn't do well enough in their eyes. They weren't exactly kind or understanding with my results. I still struggle with feeling like I'm back in that pod sometimes.. It helps to think about things that calm you down and when that, doesn't work listening to music.. And if even that doesn't work you can lean on Mom or Dad" he shrugged "or anyone of us. We're family we gotta stick together especially when we've been through so much. You are never ever going to be a burden to any of us. We, love you Jason don't forget that"

"I know I just thought if I left.. It'd be easier on everyone.. I'm sorry you go through this to.. I knew you went through shit but I didn't.. I didn't really get it"

"it's not your fault you didn't know Buddy..." Conner rubs his forehead and stands, offering his hand to Jason "c'mon let's go home everyone is worried about you especially Mom"

"oh no!!!" Jason exclaimed in guilt, he was so worried about burdening them, he didn't think of how much he worried them "I'm in such deep shit"

Jason takes Conner's hand standing onto his feet with his brother.

"it's alright and cool it down with the cussing kid" Conner said ruffling his hair as Jason snickered.

"thanks Conner" Jason softly said

"what are big brothers for?" he smiled hugging his little brother.

#Bruce Wayne X Wife! Reader #Kryptonian! Reader #conner kent(young justice)#Conner Kent is Conner Wayne #Batfamily #Early adopted Tim Drake #baby damian wayne #Conner Kent #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd didn't die #Jason Todd #near death experience #Doomsday #Death Of Superman #clark kent x lois lane #protective batfamily #Batman #Batmom #Batmom! Reader

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astaroth1357 · 1 year

Text

The Brothers are Damsels in Distress!!

I was flicking through my feed, saw something and went: "But what if Rapunzel??"

Content: Hints of Fairytale AU, but on crack

Scenario: One morning, through utterly inexplicable means, a portal opens up and drops one of the brothers into a cottage-style tower straight out of a fairy tale. The whole room is enchanted so they can't break out on their own. Their only means of communication are their phones and a crystal ball they can use to see what the MC and others are doing.

How are they taking this?

~♡♡♡~

Lucifer

This man is livid. Fuming. Almost apoplectic.

He has no idea what being has decided to put him in this position, but he's already planning on making them Cerberus' next chewtoy the moment he finds his freedom.

After establishing that he can't teleport out, break the walls, jump out the window, tunnel through the floorboards, or just blow up the room out of spite... he finally accepts his fate.

Lucifer... is miserable. He's doing his best to conserve his phone battery so he can still coordinate with his brothers from a distance, but watching them stumble around cluelessly through the crystal ball is honestly painful. He quite frequently shouts at the feed like a football dad screaming at a TV.

He puts all his hopes in MC and Dia coming up with something because everyone else is mostly useless... There were multiple instances where he just holds his head in his hands, resigning to the idea of being stuck there until he's just a dried out skeleton.

Even if they finally get to him, he won't be happy. He'll be humiliated by the whole affair and trying to anything in his power to save face and get out on his own as much as possible. Anyone who values their lives will forget that it ever happened in the future.

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Lucifer! Lucifer!! Let down your-gah!!

*they rub their head and feel something wet hit their fingers*

MC: Was... was that a tomato?!

MC: You know what, fuck you man!! Go help yourself!! 🤬

Mammon

He's flipping out.

An extrovert like Mammon trapped in a room like that all alone?? He'll go stir crazy in three days tops!

It took twenty minutes and 3 selfies for anyone besides the MC to believe that he was trapped in there. ... Then MC raking his brothers over the coals for them to actually start treating it like a priority. He really didn't do it to himself this time, dammit!!

Mammon's ADHD brain is already going mad after a few hours of nothing to do. MC gets piles upon piles of texts ranging from, "Are ya any closer yet??" to "MC, if ya can't get me out of here, take care of Goldie for me... my car too."

They have to reassure him multiple times that he would not, in fact, die in there if they could help it. Though after his phone goes dead from the constant spam, they do start to worry...

If there was any bright side to the situation, Mammon gets to watch his treasured MC absolutely tear his brothers a new one if any one of them so much as think about giving up or postponing the search. Their anger is truly frightening... so good thing he isn't there! Ha!!

When they finally find him, he's never lept for the MC so fast... Literally. He literally jumps. He wants out of there FAST.

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Mammon! Mammon!! Let down your-

Mammon: *leaps from the tower, knowing they'll find some way to catch him*

Mammon: FREEDOM!!!

MC: Oh dear God, don't just jump!!! 😫

Leviathan

Panicking like crazy and running around in circles. Can you even comprehend how many premieres he's going to miss like this?? The spoilers!!!

After the MC gets a hold of him through the phone and they tell him to hang tight and if he figures out where he is to let them know.

So uh... He had intends to keep his phone usage down to a minimum so he could conserve the battery life. However, he figures he could at least do his mobile game check-ins and the next thing he knows his phone dies during a weekly dungeon....

Honestly? His soul might have died along with it.

He spends a lot of time staring at the crystal ball, hoping in vain that one of his brothers will watch TV or something, anything that could give him something to do.

That was his only way of communicating with the others and, more importantly, the only source of entertainment an otaku like him could have in a room like this! Does he look like a cottagecore enthusiast?? No!!!

If anyone is in his bedroom, he'll try to zoom in on Henry's fishbowl and talk to him to decompress... He already feels like such an idiot for wasting his battery life. Henry, why is he so stupid...?

Yeah, he's going to be bored and moping until somebody comes to find him. But at least he won't mind the isolation as much so they're not too worried about him going crazy in there. He'll be fine... right?

Bouns:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Leviathan! Leviathan!! Let down your-

Levi: *scrambles to the window* MC, DID YOU BRING A CHARGER?!?

MC: PRIORITIES, LEVI!!!

Satan

He is naturally furious, but also weirdly intrigued. Is this like one of those escape rooms MC sometimes talks to him about...?

Much like Lucifer, he quickly finds that trying to break through stuff wouldn't get him anywhere... as the heavy countertop he smashed into smithereens again the wall shows him.

Tantrum out of his system, Satan is probably the most rational the seven. He does his best to communicate to the others where the tower is based on the landmarks he can see, but he also uses his phone sparingly to conserve the battery.

While they all work to track him down, he keeps himself busy by listening to their plans through the crystal ball or searching for any weak points on his own, because what good would just sitting around do him?

He's surprisingly flexible. If the group plans to look for him from above, he sets out cushions on the floor just in case of any falls. If they want to look for him on foot, he makes sure to light as many candles as possible to give them a makeshift beacon to guide them.

By the time that they actually find him, he's already figured out a couple ways to help get him out depending on the possible exit points and has prepared accordingly.

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Satan! Satan!! Let down your-eh?

*they watch as a looong chain of tied together sheets, tablecloths, and towels gets tossed from the window, followed by Satan using it to calmly rappel down*

MC: U-uh.... Never mind! I guess you got this. 😅

Asmodeus

Asmo would be living his best life if only anyone could actually see him up there!

Asmo is all down for playing the role of the helpless, beautiful victim in need of rescuing but how is he supposed to pull that off if he's trapped all alone?? There's no attention! No pageantry!!

After getting the situation across to his brothers, he also kills his phone battery by posting selfies and livestreaming the situation to his adoring public. They're so scared for him, but he's not worried. MC will come find him, after all!

By the time they actually arrive to come get him, Asmo has already dolled himself up to play his newfound role perfectly.

After his phone dies, he keeps himself busy in small ways... Like practicing his relieved expression in a mirror for a few hours. Or using the curtains and his sewing skills to make himself just the cutest gown!

MC: *stand under the tower*

MC: Asmodeus! Asmodeus!! Let down your... hair...?

Asmo: ✨️COMING~!!✨️

*the MC watches as yards and yards of beautiful strawberry blonde trusses indeed gets thrown from the window above, all connected to a very hammy Asmo standing on the window sill*

MC: ... It's only been two days, how did you even grow all that?!?

Beelzebub

Very confused, upset, and hungry. Somebody please help him!!

The minute that Beel sends the message that he is trapped somewhere, it was really all hands on deck. MC and Belphie were freaking out of course, but all of his other brothers were just as worried as well. This is Beel here! He's going to be so hungry out there!!

And hungry he is. He went through an entire two weeks worth of rations stored in the room within an hour. By the end of the day, he's so mindlessly hungry that he starts taking bites out of the tables, chairs, and even his phone...

Since he can't use half of a phone, Beel has to watch his brothers work through the crystal ball while he gnats on the drapery, feeling guilty about making them all so worried...

At least this time his brothers don't argue nor fight with each other at all. Everyone understands what the priorities are and they follow whatever roles they are to the letter. They want to find him ASAP and they even take turns comforting Belphie with MC while they search.

By the time they find him, the whole family is willing to bust through the walls with pickaxes if that's what it takes to get to him. He would feel really touched by all of their efforts, but he's just so hungry... need... food.....

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Beel! BEEL!! I BROUGHT BURGERS!!!

Beel: MC... s-so hungry.... 😓

MC: You stay right there, don't move a muscle! I'm coming to you!! 😫

Belphegor

... Deja vu, right?

So this isn’t Belphie's first rodeo. He's practically a "stuffed up somewhere he can't escape from" veteran now. Though this place was more... cozy than the attic.

Call it the cow in him, but he's always had a soft spot for cottagecore. It's so homey and comforting, just perfect for lazy naps under fruit trees! The atmosphere is so relaxing...

So he naps. A LOT.

He ends up communicating a lot more sporadically with everyone than the others. Largely due to the long periods of unconsciousness. But like, could you blame him? What was he even supposed to do in there? MC would figure something out again.

Whenever he goes over to check the progress, he shoots out sarcastic texts about his brothers' dumb ideas to pass the time. It's very apparent how unconcerned he is about this from the get-go...

Does he know when they are on their way to get him? Surprisingly yes. Does he manage to stay awake until they show up? Unsurprisingly no. Go figure...

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Belphegor! Belphegor!! Let down your hair!

Belphegor: .....

MC: ... Belphie?

Belphegor: .....

MC: Bitch, are you seriously asleep?!

Belphegor: ....zzzZZzzz....

MC: ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?!

#sleepy belphie with milkmaid braids~#cottagecore belphie lol #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me crack #obey me scenarios

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wakeup-wakeup-if-its-all-you-do · 29 days

Text

MHA S7 ED Analysis of the Official Music Video Part 2 [Part 1]

[Warning: manga spoilers]

You were always acting funny to hide your pain

This part is so sad! The boy in blue (Izuku's actor) is curled up and scared while all these hands are reaching for him- probably to represent the pressure of being the ninth/final holder and having to be the one face off against shigaraki + afo. It's a little hard to tell, but I played it back and I'm pretty sure there are exactly eight hands reaching toward him.

I was too dumb to realize it

And then it cuts to the boy in orange picking the green cape from the ground and blinking in confusion before looking back and forth across the field to see where the other boy went 🥺🥺🥺

I'm the one who made you wear that "strongness"

Y'all... I... I... 🥹🥹🥹

So are we all agreed this is about Katsuki bullying Izuku and his guilt for branding him with the name "Deku", later inspiring Izuku's reckless lack of concern for his own well being in order to prove that he isn't "useless" anymore? Cuz literally what else could this be about. It's so sad, there's a flashback to the boy in orange happily tying the green cape around the other boy's neck. The guilt and angst is on another level. Just... just... 😭😭😭

Searching for words to make the buds start to bloom

Y'all 🥹🥹🥹

The warmness you have continuously given me

Just... damn. It must be said again, the angst is on another level. The boy in blue runs away from the scary room he was in with the hands attacking him from what is probably a closet (👀👀👀) and goes back to one of their old hangout places to rebuild the dummy villain the boys destroyed earlier when they were playing. The boy in orange walks in and sees him and the stare at each other in surprise.

It planted seeds in my heart

Oh, Mr. Kacchan Bakugou, everyone but Izuku already knows!!

What's heartbreaking though, is the boy in blue turns around and lifts his arms up defensively over the dummy. Like he's afraid the boy in orange will destroy it. The boy in orange looks surprised but takes a small step closer without hesitation

Those flowers cannot bloom without you

Did I meant the angst hits HARD?!?! Because it's about to hit harder...

No matter what we do, we will never become one

We live each other's lives with different minds

Bakugou thinks that too many misunderstandings and conflicts have happened between them for him and Izuku to ever be close like they were before. He thinks he's hurt him too much in the past and irreparably mangled their relationship.

Nevertheless, my heart is crying with your pain

This reminds me so much of certain events in chapter 403 where a certain someone whose about to unintentionally explode his own heart from a quirk awakening thinks to himself about how the all the pain his body is going through is because he is now walking the same path a certain childhood friend of his had to walk when he was learning how to use OFA

Can I at least be by your side, even if we cannot understand each other

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Hoping that flowers will bloom side by side in the future

Ajejdjjdjdjsjjsjdj I feel like this just perfectly captures all of the "Izuku's" Katsuki says in his last moments (and even after resurrecting) and the yearning and how it's finally revealed he held onto the All Might card they won together even get all this time

My flower buds will never give up on the present

Ok there were just too many flashing scenes in this montage and I couldn't get all of them but here's one

Then it goes back to the two boys facing off in the shed and a close up of their faces. The boy in orange reaches out to the boy in blue

And then it cuts back to the band for a second before the video ends.

And now you too, can devolve into madness with me 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

#bkdk #bakudeku #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bkdk canon #bkdk soulmates

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3d-wifey · 7 months

Text

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 10

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 6.5k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12 A/N: a lot of yall are gonna be mad at me, but let me cook real quick. Trust 🙏🏾

Past (xi) - You

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

You tighten your coat around you, burrowing into the warmth as you walk.

To the left of you, dairy cows moo distantly, some grazing the open land while others stay tucked away in their barns. To the right of you, you pass empty victor houses. Once upon a time, District Eleven used to produce an immense number of victors. Certainly not as many as One or Two, but a strong contender right next to Four. It makes sense. Compared to what the citizens here have to face day to day, the arena is a welcome change. And tributes from Eleven develop a skill set that’s meant for survival at a very young age—one step away from being careers in your own right.

Eleven has always been incredibly rebellious. But after the Uprising a few decades back, which the citizens refer to as the First Movement, Eleven lost any good standing with the Capitol. In its place came droves of Peacekeepers and more oppressive rules than there were people. With them came the inability to train children, malnourishment, and conformity. They make sure to teach all about it in school, making sure students know just how far their district fell. Once a powerhouse worthy of rubbing shoulders with the best of them stands one of the most ‘primitive’ and militarized districts in the nation.

The remaining houses are left without any upkeep and are abandoned to fall apart.

As a victor, you're afforded some leniency by the Peacekeepers, but not much. Just enough that they won't find it suspicious that you’re carrying a blanket-covered wicker basket. Regardless, you keep it close to your side and it knocks into your calf with each step.

Winter is the worst time in Eleven, though it doesn’t last long. It doesn’t snow often, since it’s so far south, but the ice is just as bad—if not worse. Not many people can survive the subzero temperatures, let alone crops. So, though it seems impossible, what little rations they give the people are shortened even further. The only plus is that it isn’t harvest season—there are so many crops to collect that children are pulled out of school for weeks at a time to help.

You remember what it feels like to be hungry. To be forced into the orchards to harvest pears, apricots, and Mandarin oranges—some of the only crops that can weather the cold, small hands stiff and your stomach numb with pain as you endured the freezing winds. You had friends when you were younger, other children that worked alongside you. Very few of them survived through the winter.

They give victors more food and money than they have any right to. So once a month you pack up food that you, Chaff, and Seeder have gathered and journey to the poorest part of the district. You don’t take it all at once, that’s far too risky. You spread out the trips over several days at different times so the Peacekeepers on the clock don’t notice a pattern.

It’s not an easy walk by any means. You reside in the wealthy part of Eleven and you use wealthy in the loosest sense of the word. The mayor’s family, doctors, Peacekeepers, landowners, and victors. Your destination is almost on the complete opposite side of the district from the Victor Village. Far away so the rich don’t have to see the harsh reality that the citizens live in.

It’s never been explicitly said that you can’t give out food, but it’s certainly implied. You try not to think about what they’ll do to you if you’re caught.

You wave at the few people you pass and avert your eyes as you walk past the whipping post. There’s only one. The Peacekeepers line up anyone who’s committed an offense and thrash them one by one. Most of the time, the people are innocent. Everyone has to watch, no one can intervene. It’s stationed beside the deck they conduct the hangings on. People avoid the area if they can.

You pass open farmland and empty cotton fields. The further you walk, the more run down the buildings become. Until the houses aren’t much more than shacks guarded only by the hulking trees surrounding them. You relax. The Peacekeepers don’t patrol here. They’re certainly supposed to, but even they can’t stomach the squalor.

The kids spot you first, they always do. Little heads popping up from behind trees and shouting your arrival.

“She’s here!”

You laugh as they surround you, jumping up and down and shooting rapid-fire questions your way. You know that more would greet you if they could, but they likely can’t move. Huddled up in their homes and crippled by hunger or the cold, but probably both. The commotion draws adults toward you. An older woman with graying curly hair and sunspots on dark brown skin steps out of the gaunt-looking crowd. Elm, she's the de facto leader here.

A man, Maple, takes the basket from you with a smile and walks into one of the buildings in the far back to stash the food away. You pull more wrapped food out of the hidden pockets on the inside of your coat and hand them off.

You have a system in place. You’ve been doing these deliveries for a long time. You trust them to distribute the goods to those who need them the most. Everyone here looks out for each other. Even if the kids aren’t theirs, an adult won’t let them go hungry if they can help it. It truly takes a village. You would know. After all, you used to live here.

The Shacktowns mainly exist because there are too many people in the district, having reached overpopulation decades ago. Living here is preferable to having to pay for food, clothing, and a house that’s seen its fair share of price gouging. From what you’ve seen, the clothing in the Shacks is somehow worse than what Districts Ten or Twelve get to wear. It’s all ill-suited for the temperamental cold. So in exchange for working in the fields and forests under horrible conditions, the people get free housing and food. Clearly, both benefits are incredibly lacking.

It’s all the illusion of choice anyway. Only three percent of the population works outside of the fields, that’s including the Peacekeepers. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who doesn’t work on a farm, a grove, an orchard, or a plantation.

Elm pulls you into a hug once your hands are free and you lean into her warm embrace. She’s been as old as the dirt on the ground for as long as you’ve known her, but it feels like she’s rapidly declined every time you see her. She’s well and truly sick and she has been for a long time now. No one knows what it is or what effects it’ll have on her. Medicine isn’t readily available here. And you don’t think something that simple can help her anyway. Sadly, she isn’t the only one. You just hope this information doesn’t get out.

If anyone orbiting the elite circles found out just how many people were sick here, they wouldn’t send them to the Capitol to get help. They’d see it as a waste of resources. They’d let them suffer and die or have them put down if they’re feeling benevolent. Again, Eleven is heavily populated. The lives here have very little value outside their abilities to work. If they can’t do that, what purpose do they serve?

What use is a horse with a broken leg?

She pulls away, hands on your shoulders as she looks you over. “You look good, healthy.”

“I can’t say the same for you.” You raise a brow at her hunched frame. She’s a tall woman with the endurance of a mule. She’s a decade younger than Mags, but she doesn’t look like it. But, as you’ve learned after touring the districts, manual labor ages people.

“And you,” you lean back as she wags her finger in your face, “inherited that mouth from your daddy. It’s gonna get you in trouble one day.”

‘’You’re getting worse.” You note, ignoring her attempt at diversion. The kids disperse, running back to the forest they were playing in. You know they won’t go far enough to reach the thirty-foot-tall fence, but you still worry. The gate is guarded to the teeth with trigger-happy Peacekeepers who won’t hesitate to shoot on sight.

“I’m fine, honey. Don’t worry about me.” She waves off your concern and you frown, stuffing your hands into your pocket when a breeze comes through.

“My offer still stands, Elm. There’s plenty of room in the house. Me and Mama would love to have you.” She practically raised your dad, and she even made the broom your parents jumped over at their wedding. Hell, when you were born, she was the first person to hold you after your parents. She’s family and it kills you to leave her out here.

She shakes her head and you know this argument is going to end the way it always does. “You know that’s not fair. They need me out here.” She pats your cheek and finishes with no room for argument. She’s stubborn so going in circles about this will get you nowhere. You shift your jaw, agitated.

“And while we’re talking, I think you should skip next month’s delivery,” your jaw drops. “Let me explain before you start assuming. You know we appreciate everything you do for us, but you need to lay low for a while. You’re pushing your luck coming out here as often as you do, and if you get caught, you won’t be any help to anyone .” She states, making a convincing argument and effectively cutting off your protest before you even start.

You sigh. Seeder and your mom have been telling you the same thing.

“Please? Do it for an old woman’s peace of mind.” She pleads, squeezing your shoulders.

“We can’t afford to just stop coming out here entirely, but I guess it doesn’t always have to be me.” Chaff had offered to start delivering in your place, or to at least switch off who makes the trip each month.

You’re barely able to make ends meet for the people here, and this is only one Shacktown of hundreds.

“Just start looking out for yourself more, alright?” She asks and you agree with a scowl, you refuse to call it a pout though Finnick definitely would.

You don’t stay for long. You need to get back before it starts getting dark out.

On your way back, you stop by the bakery like you always do. It’s a good halfway point between your two destinations—you’ll have something to show for your trip as well as an alibi, just in case you get stopped.

You order two loaves of seeded rolls, another loaf of sourdough, and a blueberry muffin for your mom. Sage, the worker behind the counter, wraps the baked goods and pauses. “It’s dangerous, what you’re doing.” He murmurs under his breath, so quiet that you wouldn’t have been able to hear him if you two weren’t the only ones here. He hands you your stuff, waving off the tip you attempt to give him. “But it’s good. I don’t think I’d be brave enough to take that kind of chance.”

“It’s brave enough that you offer me food to give to them.” You say and mean it. What you do is only a secret to the people who aren't supposed to know. It's not just you, Seeder, and Chaff who contribute. Sometimes people give you food, and clothes, to donate—among other things. Sage has spent many nights making extra bread and pastries just so there’ll be enough left over for you to deliver to Shacktown.

Most jobs In Panem are passed down through families. Such as Caesar Flickerman, who took his profession from his father, Julius Flickerman. And Julius inherited it from his father before him, all the way back to Lucky Flickerman.

Old Mr. and Mrs. Pitsone never had any kids of their own so the mayor allowed them to adopt one of the many orphans running around the fields to train in the art of baking. They picked Sage.

He’s a meek boy despite his height, skittish and paranoid, but very kind. With light hair and even lighter skin that’s rare to see in Eleven, it’s no wonder he stood out amongst the other kids. He and his parents live above the bakery in a small home, though luxurious by Eleven’s standards.

You used to have a crush on each other when you were much, much younger. A kiss on the cheek here and there as you worked beside each other. Nothing special, but the most childish you were allowed to be. You were so envious when they took him out of the fields, you all were. He wasn’t one of you anymore, he got to work on the inside. Nobody wanted to be around him, so he was ostracized. You, angry and young, wished it was you. But now, you only wished it had happened sooner. You wished you had kept in touch.

He rings you up and you gather it all in your basket before he stops you.

“Oh, wait here for a second.” He goes through a door behind him that you know leads to storage. You lean forward and hide a handful of coins on the little shelf under the front counter where you’re sure he won’t find them until it’s time to close. You hear rummaging and boxes moving before he comes out with a wrapped parcel tied with string. “I saved a few chocolate croissants for you. We usually run out of those in the morning, but I know you like them.” He gives you a closed-mouth smile. Small, but real.

You try to picture a world where the two of you ended up together, running the bakery until you’re old and gray—maybe if you hadn’t been reaped. But you can’t imagine a universe where you aren’t in love with Finnick Odair.

“Thank you, Sage.” The bell above the door jingles as you walk out.

“Be careful!” He calls from behind you.

Walking back is always hard, having to leave them all behind to suffer while you’re allowed to go back to your stupidly big house. With its giant pillars and long, stretching brick walkway framed by old willow trees that curve into each other and make an arched tunnel. And it’s in the middle of this tunnel that you see Peacekeepers guarding either side of your front door.

Your heart stops and then starts again at a runner’s pace.

Did they…find out? You were so careful, how did they—

One of them spots you lingering a few feet away and waves you closer. You walk forward, closing the distance. And then you take hesitant steps up the old stairs, tensing up in preparation for rough hands dragging you to the whipping posts. Instead, one just opens the front door for you. That’s worse. That means your punishment is on the inside . You’d rather take your chances with the whips.

They shut the door behind you, but don’t follow you. You place the basket of goods on a nearby hallway table and walk into the living room to see your mom sitting on the couch by herself, flanked by three guards, safe.

“There you are, baby.” She tries to smile at you, a play at normality, but it creaks and shakes like a house in a tornado. “We have a very special guest. He’s waiting for you in your study.” She nods to the double doors further down the hall with even more Peacekeepers. You know who’s on the other side before the doors even open and you really would have picked the whipping post over this.

Coriolanus Snow sits in your office. Your office inside your home that’s almost seven hours from the Capitol. Snow traveling that distance? That's nothing to scoff at.

He sits with his back to you and turns when the doors shut behind you. You feel like you’re a guest in your own home.

Seeing him sitting behind your big mahogany desk is akin to seeing a fox in a chicken coop. It’s dangerous— foreboding. Nothing good can come from it. And for him to be so comfortable in the spot where you write your letters to Finnick makes your skin crawl. It’s wrong. He shouldn’t be here, in the one place that's truly yours.

“President Snow.” You say in greeting. You wrack your brain for any mentions of him coming to visit you and come up empty. Maybe there was a letter you missed, but you doubt it.

It’s dusk, the setting sun shines through the windows behind him—bathing him in golden lighting that would have made anyone else look angelic.

“You’re back,” he props his elbows up on your desk, steepling his fingers together. “Your mother said you were off to the bakery. You were gone for an awfully long time. Is it far?” Nothing on Snow’s face gives away his true intentions. If he knows about your little escapade, he’s doing a very good job of hiding it.

“Yes, it’s almost a day's walk,” You reply truthfully. When he does nothing more than hum in return, you’re quick to fill the silence. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“Oh, it’s no fault of your own, my dear. I’m sure if you knew I was coming, you’d have postponed your little trip, yes?” You nod like a bobblehead and he leans back, most likely confident that he has your full attention. Again, you can’t tell if he knows about the donations. If he does, he clearly doesn’t care enough to mention it. Surely, he didn’t come all this way just to sleep with you. But what else could he be here for?

“Your mother was a fantastic host in your absence.” He lifts his teacup in mock cheers to you and you clasp your hands together behind your back, nails digging into thin skin.

“I’ll…be sure to pass along the message.” You smile, pressing your nails deeper into your skin. Had they been any sharper, you would’ve drawn blood. It’s quiet as you silently observe each other. The only sound in the room is the tick of the grandfather clock and a few birds outside the window, happily ignorant of the cyclone forming inside.

He finally breaks and speaks, though break probably isn’t the right word for it. Rather, he allows you to breathe by saying something, “Do you know why I’m here?”

Under the weight of his unrelenting stare, you eventually shake your head no and it feels like admitting defeat. Like you’re not smart enough to catch on to his train of thought and you both know it.

“Of course, you don’t.” He tsks, disappointed. You lower your gaze, embarrassed. He stands and takes poised, measured steps to where your feet are rooted to the floor. He towers over you, literally and figuratively.

“I am here,” he circles you like a vulture, “to remind you of your standing. Hear me when I say this as there will be no room for misconceptions. You are incredibly privileged.”

You think you do a very good job of refraining from gawking at him like he’s grown a second head even though that’s definitely the reaction he deserves. What privilege could he possibly be talking about? You, who grew up in the poorest part of the most oppressed district. You, who’s been whored out for the safety of the people you love since you were sixteen. You, who’s lucky to see the man you love more than once a month.

You’re privileged?

"Now, I've allowed you a certain amount of freedom that not many are rewarded. Namely, your relationship with Mr. Odair," he nods to your desk where your letters from Finnick are hidden. Perhaps, not as hidden as you thought. "I’m sure you know communication between the districts is forbidden. You get away with it because I allow it. Because you are obedient, because you don't ask questions when given a task, because you have a value that many like to indulge in." Snow rubs his gloved thumb against your bottom lip. You know better than to flinch away.

"But you are not irreplaceable." He drops his hand and turns towards the room. Your lungs are cool with the breath you’re finally able to take. You should be used to his presence, and you usually are, but only when you can prepare yourself. He’s completely blindsided you.

You nod clumsily. “I know.” Really, you do. You knew Snow knew about you and Finnick, but not to what extent. You also wondered how long it would take until the both of you got pushback. You just—weren’t expecting it to happen like this.

He toys with the few picture frames you have set up on your shelf. He glances over the picture of your parents on their wedding day and a framed photo you took of Finnick in the Capitol, beaming a big grin at the person behind the camera—you. Instead, he goes for the magazine you have propped up. The first cover you and Finnick were on together. Life in the Spotlight as Told by Panem's Hottest Victors.

“Do you? It appears to me you believe yourself invincible. I assure you, you are not.” He turns to you, magazine in hand, and taps Finnick’s face on the cover. You bite your tongue so hard you taste blood. “And neither are the people you care about.”

Your throat is dry, tongue fitting uncomfortably in your mouth. You swallow and it goes down rough.

“I don’t think that at all, President Snow. I apologize if my actions came across that way. If there’s anything I can do to remedy that…?” You trail off rather pathetically.

He chuckles and cracks the first smile you’ve seen since he’s been here and it’s almost worse than his scowl. "Always so eager to please. This is not a reprimand, just a reminder. You toe the line, but as long as you do not cross it, we shouldn’t have any problems." The heels of his sensible shoes click against the wooden floor as he comes to stand before you again. "So long as you keep up your streak of good behavior, you’ll be permitted to carry on the way you have.”

“Yes, sir. I…I understand.”

He hums and goes to walk past, but stops.

"Ah, I almost forgot," he pulls an envelope from a pocket on his waistcoat and you know who it's from by the color alone, the color of sand. "You have mail." He smiles again, sharp and cruel in its kindness. It's still sealed, held between his middle and pointer finger, but you're certain he knows what the letter says already. You take it hesitantly along with the magazine.

He walks out without any farewell. The doors shut behind you. You hear shuffling and steps, but you only untense once you hear the front door open and shut. You wait there for what has to be at least thirty minutes before you even think about opening the letter.

My Star,

At the time that I’m writing this letter, it’s been two months since I’ve last seen you. I think this is the longest we’ve been apart in the past seven years. Only two months and it’s felt like a century. It’s been agonizing. It makes me wonder how I was able to survive without you for sixteen years.

I got the picture you sent me. I worry I’ll wear it thin with how often I touch it. In the absence of having you near me, I trace the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the slant of your eyes. I carry you everywhere I go.

My hands should be in yours, fingers laced together. Instead, I use them to write to you now.

I hope I can see you soon. Dreaming of you can only tide me over for so long.

-With all the love in the world and beyond,

Finnick O.

You lean back and slide down the door. You groan, knocking your head against the wood. You never thought Snow would go as far as to threaten Finnick’s life. Especially with all the popularity he’s cultivated. It doesn’t make any sense.

You lift the letter to your face, tracing his signature. You glance at the magazine. You were both so young here, couldn’t have been more than sixteen and seventeen. Your youth is encapsulated forever on a teen gossip magazine.

You rest your forehead against his, the glossy cover cool on your skin. Your body is still trying to disperse the rush of adrenaline Snow brought with him.

“You and me.” You sigh. You’re going to need all the strength you can get. For him though, it’s all worth it.

Past (xi) - Finnick

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT FOUR

Ocean water burns his eyes as he swims to shore, his muscles strain and burn as he pushes against the current. The hot sand sticks to his wet feet as he walks up the beach and he waves to a few surfers that call out to him. It’s getting colder and everyone wants to get in the water while they still can.

Finnick has always believed that good things come to those who wait. And he prides himself on being a pretty patient man. But, and there’s always a but, that patience is as good as dust when it comes to you.

It’s been four months, going on five, since he’s last seen you.

He’s been seeing you less and less over the last two years and at this point, he’d be lucky to catch a whiff of your perfume. He doesn’t get it. It’s not like he’s lost any standing in the Capitol, and based on your letters, you’re still in high demand.

It’s not like either of you can request to come to the Capitol at the same time.

He drags himself up the stairs to the Victor Village, wood creaking under his weight. When he gets to the top, he turns left instead of right—actually heading back to his beach house for once instead of Mags’s. After taking a shower, he plans on going into town with Annie. She hadn’t asked him to and she’s been doing pretty well, becoming more lucid. Yet, there’s no telling what’ll trigger her—whether it be some kind of commotion that sounds too much like a canon or someone’s outfit that too closely resembles what she wore in the arena. He’d rather be safe than sorry.

Plus, he’s expecting a very important letter any day now.

When he finally gets to the sand road in front of the village, he hears the horn of a ship in the distance. He glances behind him and spots the biggest fishing boat in the district. The Cod Be Ever in Your Favor . He scoffs. That thing’s been around longer than he has and it’s a rite of passage for everyone to go out to sea on her at least once.

His father was a deckhand and he adored the job like it was his lover. He was rarely ever home—something Finnick was very grateful for. He never inherited that passion for the high seas and he had to learn the hard way that he’s much more adept in the water than above it. He’s crossing his fingers that the old relic capsizes one day. He’s not hoping anyone gets hurt or anything, but he will be celebrating the day that hunk of junk gets turned into scrap metal.

“On your right!” Finnick jumps to the left as a man on a bike zips past him.

Cars aren't driven down here. It’s too close to the ocean and the cars manufactured in Six aren’t built to handle the terrain. But they’re substituted by the electrical bikes fashioned specifically for the coastal towns of Four.

Palm trees sway in the stiff wind before a line of three-story buildings. He has no immediate neighbors, the beach houses on either side of his lay empty and desolate. Tributes from Four aren’t that rare compared to lower districts—the latest victor being Annie. But, with being a wealthier district, comes access to more substances. Morphling overdoses are the leading cause of death for victors in districts one through six. Followed closely by alcohol poisoning and, well, the Capitol itself. Just in the past five years, the population dropped from seven to three.

He remembers them.

Emilia Killroy, found washed up and bloated on the shore. Rían Hugh, struck by a car further into the city after stumbling into the street. He was so drunk, he wouldn’t have felt it.

Lottie MacHale and her son, Lukas. Lukas left the games mentally and physically disfigured. His game was a disaster that led to the untimely death of the previous Gamemaker and the implementation of Seneca Crane. A winter tundra that froze two-thirds of the tributes. The frostbite took the entirety of Lukas’s left leg and all the fingers on his right hand. He was found by his mother with a needle in his arm sans a pulse. Truly, it was a wonder he lasted as long as he did.

It didn't take long for Lottie to follow him. Drowned in her vomit after drowning in her liquor, but everyone always said she died of a broken heart.

He remembers them all.

He slams the door shut behind him, eager to take a shower. His swim trunks are laden with water, getting dragged down his hips from the weight. Saltwater drips between his wet feet on the hardwood floor and weighs down his hair. He slicks it back so he can see where he’s going as he walks past the living room.

He pauses, taking a few steps back to see…President Snow sitting on his couch? Finnick leans to the side to glance down the hallway and yep, Peacekeepers are milling around his back door. He bets as soon as he came in a few sprang out from wherever they were hiding to guard the front door behind him.

“President Snow. This is a surprise.” And far from a pleasant one. Finnick smiles, mask slipping into place, but Snow has unbalanced him. “What’s this all about?” It can’t be anything good. He can’t say he’s ever heard of Snow making a house call.

“I apologize for barging in on you like this, Mr. Odair, but this is an urgent matter.” He crosses his ankle over his knee and Finnick hedges into the room. Cautiously, feeling like a wary animal walking into a trap.

Briefly, he’s reminded of something you told him. You had mentioned off-handedly that you’ve eaten frogs in Eleven. He couldn’t wrap his mind around how you’d get it into the hot water while it was alive and you said you have to trick it. You put the frog in the water while it’s still cool and then slowly you raise the heat without it noticing. Eventually, the water is boiling and the frog is trapped.

“And what matter is that?” Snow stares at him thoughtfully for a moment and in Finnick’s experience, that’s never good. He hums before speaking and Finnick imagines steam rising around him as Snow cranks the heat up.

“Are you aware of what purpose keeping the districts isolated from each other serves?”

“No, Sir, I don’t.” He lies, but he’s sure Snow will give him his own twisted, convoluted reason. Finnick is well aware that Snow enforces this rule because it keeps the citizens ignorant. Ensuring they only really know about their district means there can be no real unionizing.

“Panem as a nation runs on a very delicate balance of hope. Too little and the people become despondent. Too much and the people begin to think—the people begin to rebel . For the citizens to see two victors from drastically different districts have such an intimate relationship, that complicates things.”

“...You think we’ll spark a rebellion? Just by being together?”

Snow releases a raspy breath that might have been a laugh once upon a time and the water is getting hotter. “I think it will lead to people envisioning a future where such things are allowed. I know you will cause a rebellion. You see,” he sighs, “the civilians are as subdued as they will ever be. But this will have them questioning their circumstances. It will take them out of the ‘us vs. them’ mentality they have against each other. It will make them wonder just how much they have in common and that leads to them seeing each other as people. It doesn’t help that you are both such influential figures. They will rebel, from One to Twelve, and they will all share the same fate as Thirteen.”

“Is this…because she’s from Eleven?” He knows, thanks to you, that the people of Eleven are particularly defiant in the face of the Capitol’s oppressive ruling and always have been. Understandably so considering no one feels it more severely than they do. He holds back a scoff. To think he thought Four was rebellious. At most, Four has the privilege of throwing temper tantrums knowing they’ll face no real repercussions. Eleven, on the other hand, riots knowing they’ll be punished grievously.

Snow, again, takes a moment to watch him. “Her being from that particular district does make a rebellion far more likely, yes.” He pulls a forest-green envelope from a pocket inside his blazer. The exact letter he’s been waiting for. He doesn’t acknowledge it, so neither does Finnick.

“Of course, you can continue as you have and I’ll take it upon myself to handle it. Though, I doubt you’ll like the solution I come up with. She's one of my most popular female victors. And I can admit, I've grown rather fond of her." Snow chuckles and Finnick feels sick. He looks down at the envelope clutched in Snow's hand and pictures your arm in its place. He doesn't want to think about what happened behind closed doors to make Snow grow so fond of you. "It would be hard to replace her," Snow nods along to himself, "but not impossible." The room is quiet for a moment before Finnick asks, "What are you saying?" After working so closely with Snow for so long, you learn his language of non-speaking. You hear the silent threats in between the carefully crafted rebuttals. You feel the weight of his deliberate silence. So, Finnick knows exactly what Snow's saying. Snow knows this too, which is why he says, "Don't act daft, Mr. Odair. It doesn't suit you." He's twenty-two years old—a grown man, but, suddenly, he’s fourteen again—sitting in that chair, backed against a wall as Snow forces him to sign his soul away. He’s still that scared kid. He’s never outgrown him, because he never got the chance to grow up. Not if Snow had any say in the matter.

“As I said, this can only end in pain. It’s up to you to decide who will end up bloody. The lives of thousands over the life of one. Surely, you understand that.” He doesn’t. Finnick doesn’t understand it at all. It doesn’t matter what the other option is, he’s picking you every time without fail. He can’t imagine doing otherwise, he doesn’t want to.

“Unless you can think of something else, I don’t see any other way for us to proceed past this.” Snow moves his hand in a sweeping motion, the closest thing to a shrug that he’ll do. Finnick doesn’t understand why he came to him . He clearly favors you, so why threaten your life?

“Why me? Why are you making me choose? Wh-why,” he looks down to the floor, to the space between his feet, “Why not her?” If there was a choice on who would survive between you and him, he wants it to be you. Is that selfish? To wish you were the one given the choice instead of him. It feels unimaginable to live in a world without you, so is that cruel to expect you to do the same?

To love is to be human. To be human is to be flawed. And there’s no one more flawed than Finnick Odair.

“You’ve been around longer.” He shrugs as if it’s all so simple. “It only seems fair.” Fair. When the hell did he start caring about what’s fair? He didn’t even think that word was in Snow’s vocabulary, and, honestly, it still might not be because he isn’t using it right. There is nothing fair about this situation.

Snow uncrosses his legs and leans forward, a glint in his ghastly eyes. He looks worse every time he sees him and Finnick wishes he could get any satisfaction from it but he just feels as sick as Snow looks.

“It doesn’t,” Finnick shakes his head, “It doesn’t have to come to that. I’ll…I’ll handle it. I–I’ll end it.” The words are out of his mouth before he can even comprehend them, mouth moving faster than his brain and by the time it catches up, it’s too late to snatch the words out of the air. They float between them and they are terrifying .

Snow nods at the idea and…and he realizes it’s over. It’s all over. It was over as soon as Finnick sat down across from him, maybe even before that.

“See that you do. I trust you’ll take care of this issue without my stepping in.” As Snow stands, he holds the envelope up to his nose and takes a long, obnoxious sniff. "Hmm, it even smells like her." His smile is nauseating, Finnick’s stomach turns at the sight of it. “Spritz of perfume? A nice touch.” His steps are unhurried, taking his time to approach Finnick’s tense form.

“And Finnick?” He pulls away before Finnick can take it from him, playing with him even now. “Go easy on the poor girl. I imagine she’ll be quite torn up over this.” The water is boiling. The water is boiling and it’s too late to get out.

Finnick says nothing, but it seems like Snow isn’t expecting him to. He hands him the letter and walks to the door without a backward glance.

Two Peacekeepers follow him out, the door shutting behind them softly, and that nags at him. How dare they ruin his life and leave like—like this was just a social call? As if this isn’t crumbling his foundations, the same foundations that support the home he’s built with you.

Snow handed him a box of matches and told him to burn that home to the ground.

He looks at the envelope, wet with his fingerprints, and Finnick…

Finnick rushes to the bathroom to vomit.

A/N: why'd y'all let me cook 😕😕😕 come yell at me in my inbox!!! damn y'all were Peeta and Katniss b4 Peeta and Katniss 🤭🤭 and sage is such a peeta variant, all these Peeta variants falling in love with you uh, an actual lil author's note moment: when watching Catching Fire, I noticed the people in District Eleven dress like black people did in the 1950s and 60s while incorporating elements from the Antebellum South. Since most of the people that live there are black and indigenous and Eleven is the most oppressed district, it makes sense. It’s interesting what the clothing the people in different districts wear says about the culture there and what kind of culture Suzanne Collins based that district on. The Shacktowns are the District Eleven equivalent to the Seam in District Twelve, but even Katniss was surprised by how badly the people lived. She basically said it made twelve look like a paradise in comparison. When I mention the rich elites in Eleven, imagine them being around the same financial standing as Katniss was before she was reaped. So…not much.

#and they'd find us in a week #hunger games catching fire #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games smut #the hunger games #thg finnick #thg series #thg #the hunger games x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair smut #angst #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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