#i went down a rabbit hole so intense | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lizzieisright · 10 months

Text

At least I got you in my head (8) (end)

(7)

Summary: Abby is straight. And then you move in with her.

Tags: modern au, fem!reader, straight!abby (she is doing some comphet bullshit), pining, idiot in love and it's abby, reader is gay and tired.

Notes: finally, you both figure your shit out.

Taglist: @abbyily @lillysbigwilly @gravygranules @blairfox04 @frogtits1 @ccinnamongrl @ninazenuk @urmomsgirlfriend1 @sunkissedbibi @couchgarbage @nil-eena @inlovewithelliewilliams @st4rluvrr @mai5mai @machetegirl109 @azelmawrites @rhae-blackqueen @vea-vea-vea @mnim58e @chubeline @strgrlxox @chrry1ovr @littletinyladybugs @shaemonyou @luvrmunson @saffronssapphic @zootedhoe @2012wannabe @elcantsleep

Thank you guys for reading this story and enjoying it! I was very excited when I wrote this chapter and I hope you'd like it too. For some reason Electric love by Børns was playing in my head the whole time as I wrote the reunion part. And the last lines are reference to the Sleepover by Hayley Kiyoko.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Abby spent her Sunday thinking and thinking and thinking. Even if she wanted to stop she just couldn't, spiralling into the rabbit hole of "does she like me? Do I like her? No, she doesn't like me. I do like her." on repeat. It was still hard to wrap her head around it - in two days her whole perception of herself just turned upside down. And it was good - it always feels good to get rid of this amount of guilt and shame - but it also left Abby in front of metaphorical crossroads and the obvious “what’s next?”.

Abby jumped from being so sure in her feelings to backtracking into “I just figured out my sexuality I need more time”, which was well, true - she did need more time to just..let the knowledge settle.

But you still weren’t home, and her thoughts were too focused on you. Yes, Abby just figured everything out, but the dam that kept her feelings unnoticed broke and now Abby felt everything. The itch she had in her hands before because she wanted to touch you? It was constant now. The desire to call you and just talk? Relentless. She never felt this way about anyone - which was understandable, it’s hard to fall in love with people you’d better be friends with - and the intensity of her feelings was scaring her at times.

Abby spent the first half of Sunday moping around while Ellie provided her silent emotional support and just played games with Abby to keep her occupied. But now and then she’d drift back into her spiralling.

“Abs, until you talk to her all your thoughts have some probability of happening. And it means you’re wasting time, okay? You need to chill.”

“Ellie. Two days ago I learned I’m gay and yesterday I realised I like my roommate. What chill are you talking about?”

“Okay, yeah, my bad. But this spin cycle won’t give any kind of results. Reflect all you want or whatever, but until you talk to her you won’t have an answer.”

“I’m not even sure I want one.”

“You want one, dude. Believe me.” Ellie said somehow menacingly, and Abby didn’t argue.

After Ellie left Abby tried to pick her thoughts apart again, but there was nothing new in her poor brain. Abby felt tired and not lost, but definitely in a dead end. So she decided to use one of her favourite coping mechanisms and hit the gym. The gym always helped, especially with emotions - Abby could box if she was angry or do compounds to concentrate on her form instead of her thoughts, she could stretch just to torture herself and concentrate on physical pain.

Abby packed her bag and went to the gym, hoping for some kind of relief and honestly? A fucking break. She was extremely tired of constant anxiety that changed to sweet memories of you and then changed back to anxiety. Abby wasn’t used to this, so it was taking a huge toll on her - a toll big enough to gain courage to tell you everything. Ellie was right - she needed an answer if she preferred to stay fucking sane.

And the gym helped. Abby did her safest routine, worried she’d get stuck in her head and hurt herself if she did something different, and while Abby was counting reps and measuring time for the rest period, she didn’t think of you. Her only concern was her form and the mental maths of how much weights she needed to place, how to breathe properly and how to place her feet correctly for the squats.

But the moment Abby left the gym, her thoughts were back. Maybe you already came back home? All your books for tomorrow were at home, you needed them, right? Did you have spare clothes at Cait’s? (where else you’d be? At Vi’s? Abby didn’t even want to entertain the idea, and really, it didn’t seem like you) Abby wasn’t sure if texting you would be a right move right now - she needed space and you probably needed it too. But fuck she missed you.

Abby checked her phone in case there are any messages from you, any messages, even if you'd call her a bitch or something. Just. Any indication you were still in her life.

But no. There was nothing, and the apartment was silent and empty when Abby came back.

Monday went over Abby's head, she couldn't concentrate on her classes which was very surprising: she could go with no sleep and still be present during lessons, but today all she could think about was you. The guilt and shame mixed with excitement and hope and it was driving her insane, being pulled apart by polar emotions like that. Now all these stupid stories from how painful it was to be in love finally made sense to Abby - before you she was never really in love with anybody, but now? Now all these tears and desperation and grand gestures made sense. Coming back to exes? Made sense, because she’d crawl back to you without a question. Forgiving anything? Made sense too.

Fuck, people were really right when they said how powerful love was and what things it made them do for it. And even if it was painful and confusing, Abby felt happy about it, as if her unbearable feelings were a proof of her own humanity. A lot of people before told her she was cold and heartless - Ellie joked about it a lot when Abby didn’t hesitate to tell someone who liked her to fuck off - and sometimes it got to her. Now though? Feeling the sharpest needle going through her heart when she thought of you telling her to fuck off? This pain made Abby feel alive.

Later at practice Abby saw Vi - they didn’t train with each other, different weights, but the days were the same - and Abby expected Vi to be angry at her, but not only Vi wasn’t angry, she actually looked at her sympathetically, as if she knew what was happening in Abby's soul. The guilt and shame were back - yes, Abby was still jealous and yes she still wanted to break every knuckle on Vi’s hands for touching you - but she was self-aware enough to understand that Vi wasn’t a part of this. It wasn’t Vi’s fault that Abby had issues.

And the thing was - Vi was actually fucking nice. Abby didn’t talk to her a lot, but she knew Vi’s story and she admired how hard-working she was and how she stayed herself after all the shit she’s been through. Ellie called her cool, and Ellie didn’t call anyone cool, so Abby felt like she fucked up here too.

But the stakes weren't that high - it wasn't like they were friends in the first place - so Abby decided to make amends. She braced herself for the uncomfortable conversation and went over to Vi's locker when they were changing.

"Hey." Vi looked at her, surprised, but she didn't seem hostile, so Abby continued. "I wanted to say sorry for the other day. I was an asshole for no reason."

"Don't stress." Vi smiled. "I wasn't offended."

"Yeah well. I still said some shit. Sorry again."

"It's okay." Vi seemed to hesitate before speaking next. "(Y/n) was really upset."

"Yeah. I know." Abby nodded, trying to conceal her hurt.

"Do you plan on talking to her?" Vi asked carefully again as she put her shirt on.

"Yes."

"Cool."

It seemed like the conversation was over and Abby went back to her locker, taking her bag out and putting her sweaty uniform inside. She felt relieved after that - if this went well, maybe it will go well with you too. Vi put her things in her bag and walked to the exit while Abby was still changing, deep in her thoughts.

"Have you figured it out yet? Why you got so angry?" Vi asked cautiously, stopping right before leaving.

Abby froze, surprised, as she stared at her t-shirt.

"Was it really that obvious?"

Vi shrugged.

"Kinda. You know, the spidey sense. It's not about your looks, it's just… you can tell."

"Gay aura." Abby smirked, remembering Ellie’s words.

"Gay aura." Vi chuckled. "Good luck, Abby."

"Thanks."

And her words were genuine.

You were still pretty shaken up after the fight - not because of the fight itself or Abby’s words, but because it felt like you were hit with reality in a way that broke your stupid rose coloured glasses. And for some reason it was hard to come to terms with the fact that you overestimated yourself: how you acted based on your emotions instead of using your fucking brain - which is understandable, people lose their brains when they’re in love - and the result was the same. You weren’t planning on confessing at all, instead trying to get over Abby, and it led to the same outcome - you two weren’t talking.

You kept thinking about if you made the right choice by never bringing up the “maybe you’re not so straight” topic with Abby - maybe you should have? Just very carefully? Just nudge her in the right direction? Was it too late to do that now?

Huh, what a fun conversation it could be “hey, maybe you were so angry at me not because I made you uncomfortable in your own home but because you’re gay and jealous?” (which was in fact Cait's entire point about this fight). Even if this would go well, Abby being gay didn’t equal Abby being gay for you.

God, what if Abby would start bringing girls over once she would be out? “Thanks (y/n) for helping me figure out my sexuality, now I’m going to fuck every gay girl on campus because I’m hot as fuck and they all drool over me”. Fuck.

At this point it was hard to differentiate between your rational thoughts and irrational thoughts: where did your concerns end and overthinking started? You felt confused and all over the place, and even though you knew the only way to fix it was to come home and face Abby, you were too much of a coward to do it.

Obviously you'd say you were sorry. And you would stop bringing girls over because she was uncomfortable with it and you weren't an asshole. But you felt like this talk would be only the cover of the real problem - this situation happened not because you were selfish (not entirely), but because you wanted to get over Abby as fast as possible. For some reason you felt like you had to tell Abby you were in love with her - otherwise you had a feeling you were taking advantage of her with the amount of touch and care that was between you. For you these hugs and cuddles and small kisses on your cheeks weren't platonic or friendly, and now when you finally admitted your defeat, you couldn't pretend it was something else.

So you had two choices: tell Abby you were in love with her and let her decide how to change her boundaries or distance yourself from her as far as possible. And if you were younger you'd probably choose the second option - it was way easier than being honest and getting rejected. But this way you'd lose her as a friend and leave both of you with hurt and anger towards each other. And Abby would probably call you out on this and you'd have to tell her what was wrong with you anyway.

So your only option was to confess and face whatever would come out of it. And it was scary.

That was the reason why instead of going home on Monday you still came back to Cait - you couldn't lie to Abby but you couldn't tell her the truth either, so, as one of the cartoon characters said, there was a third option: doing nothing. And you chose it.

Caitlyn wasn't happy with your choice, staring you down as you took your shoes off.

"You're running away from your problems."

"I'm doing nothing about my problems. There's a difference." You sighed tiredly and put your coat on the clothing rack.

Cait stared you down, frowning, but you didn’t have energy to argue with her, so you went straight for the shower. It didn’t help much with your thoughts, but the weight of your anxiety got smaller.

from: Vi

Abby just apologised to me

You stared at your phone as your feelings flooded your chest - Abby was stubborn but she was good. She was doing what was right, she fucking apologised to Vi, and here you were, too scared to face her. If Abby said sorry she felt guilty, and it meant she was hurting while you were hiding from her. You could wallow in misery all you wanted, but the thought that you were dragging Abby down with you made you feel sick. You loved her too much to let your fears hurt her.

to: Vi

How is she?

from: Vi

She got hit in the face

Three times

shitty

The guilt washed over you. For Abby to be this unfocused? It meant she was really worried and upset, and you needed to stop it. Fuck it if you couldn’t confess yet, but you needed to resolve this situation and stop indirectly torturing Abby.

to: Vi

Can we reschedule our lesson tomorrow?

from: Vi

Yeah no problem

You locked your phone and went over to Caitlyn, who was reading.

“I’m going home tomorrow.”

“Thank god.” Caitlyn rolled her eyes.

“She apologised to Vi.”

“Amazing.”

“By the way, can I give Vi your number?”

Caitlyn stopped reading and you noticed her pink blush. It was faint, but after years of friendship you knew what it was - you weren’t surprised, Vi was hot and Caitlyn thought she was smart, so of course your question got a reaction out of her.

“Aren’t you two involved?”

“We’re friends. If it’s a no it’s okay. I can totally see why it’d bother you.”

“It doesn’t bother me. I’m not an idiot, I’ve noticed how she looked at me.” Caitlyn was creepily observant and awfully honest. Thank god she didn’t embarrass Vi right then and there, because Cait was unhinged like that. “Give me her number, I’ll text her myself.”

“Cait, you’re terrifying.” You said honestly. “She is sweet, don’t hurt her.”

Caitlyn stared at you like you were an idiot and you just silently showed her Vi’s number so she could copy it.

Three days. It’s been three days since the fight and Abby was exhausted. She couldn’t even sleep, creeped out by the silence in your apartment, twisting and turning the whole night, and if she fell asleep she dreamt of you - either the fight played out differently (you didn’t leave and Abby confessed) or it was 100 and 1 scenario of your reunion.

But then Abby woke up and you weren’t there. She hated how quiet the place was.

At least Abby could concentrate during her classes, even though she opened her dms every 10 minutes trying to gain courage to text you. Why was it this hard? By the end of the day she chickened out and decided to text you if you wouldn’t be home today too. And for some reason Abby was sure you wouldn’t be home when she’d come from classes today. It seemed like you were still pretty mad at her - oh, that was why she was too afraid to text you. Abby - now calmed down, guilty Abby - was not prepared for your wrath if it was still there. And she’d prefer to have it fall on her in person than over a stupid text.

Abby opened the door to your apartment and froze right in the doorway. She could hear the TV from the living room, she saw the lights faintly lightning the hallway and fuck, there were your shoes.

You were home.

Abby took her shoes and her coat off in record time and stormed to the living room. You were sitting on the couch, your legs under you, and you smiled at her sheepishly, as if you weren’t sure that Abby’d be happy to see you. Abby took a deep breath as her heartbeat went absolutely crazy.

“You’re home.” Abby sighed, still so shocked she thought she was dreaming again, her bag falling from her shoulder to the floor with a thud.

“Hi.” You said in a small voice and Abby couldn’t take anymore - you were there and you were smiling at her and she missed you so fucking much.

Abby almost ran to you, scooping you in her arms as you yelped in surprise - fucking hell Abby was strong to pull you up like that.

“You’re home.” Abby murmured into your neck, breathing you in, the same spice and mint as always. You hugged her shoulders and breathed her in too - you missed her crazy. Abby was solid against you and her hand on the small of your back kept you pressed into her as if she was afraid you’d disappear. You clung to her, as you became aware how much you missed her warmth - how did you survive these three days without Abby?

“I’m sorry, I was so selfish.” You told Abby while she pressed you flush against her.

“God, I’m so sorry too, I didn’t mean a word of what I’ve said to you.” Abby said into your hair, her voice soft and quiet and full of remorse. You hummed, comforted by her arms around you, her blonde hair tickling your nose. Abby smelt like home, like someone who would protect you from anything and whatever she said to you on Saturday didn’t matter anymore.

Abby inhaled your scent and closed her eyes, basking in you. She physically couldn't let you go now when she's got you, knowing now why it felt so good to hold you and not being ashamed or anxious about it. Fuck. To hell with it, Abby's never been a coward.

"I figured my shit out." Abby's voice was steady, but her heart sounded like drums in her ears.

"What do you mean?" And your heart was not any better.

"You told me to figure my shit out. I did. I wasn't angry because you were disturbing me or something." Abby pressed you even closer, grounding herself in your presence. "I was jealous."

It was suddenly hard to breathe and you froze in Abby's arms. Did she mean what you thought she meant? God, please, let it be what you so desperately wanted it to be.

Abby moved away a little so she could look at you, because if Abby would get her heart broken now she at least could get it broken looking into your eyes.

"I like you." Abby breathed out and the wave of painful relief hit her. It was good to let it out, as if someone cut open an aching injury and yeah, she was bleeding, but it felt better.

Your brain fully shut down as your ears rang from her words - was it even real? Was it your Abby or another dream? But it was real, and Abby was looking at you, she was waiting for an answer and your own confession ripped out from your chest before you could stop yourself.

"I like you too." You felt your face heat up for some reason, but the way Abby’s eyes lit up made it all worth it.

Abby's eyes grew wide with surprise just before all her restraints crumbled. She took your face in her hands and did what she was literally dreaming about the past few nights - she kissed you. And everything exploded.

Your hands flew to Abby's face and you kissed her back desperately, pressing into her with all you had. Abby locked her arms around your waist so hard your back arched, she needed you close as badly as you needed her.

Abby never felt like this, like every move of your lips on hers set her alight and the hunger she never had before was suddenly making her greedy and desperate to touch you. As if under a spell, Abby pushed you to the couch until you hit it with the back of your knees and sat down so Abby could press you into the seat as you opened your mouth and let her tongue slip inside, making you both groan. Abby felt high from kissing you, the way you were all soft and gentle under her, but not delicate at all, she wasn’t afraid to hurt you because you were real and solid and your fingers on her neck were warm.

And it wasn't enough for Abby, she needed more, she needed to touch your bare skin - so she pushed her hand under your hoodie, kneading your side. You were warm and soft and your scent was all around her, and it was still not enough. She wanted to hear you make the same noise that you made that night for someone else - she wanted you to sigh and whimper and moan for her, she wanted to-

You pressed on her shoulders and Abby backed off, confused.

"We need to slow down." You panted, looking into Abby’s shiny eyes. She was blushing and panting as well, her hand was still on your naked waist, riding up your hoodie enough for her to see your lower stomach. Abby’s eyes went dark as she flicked her eyes from your face to your stomach and back.

"Yeah."

You both didn't move, staring at each other. Abby didn’t want to stop, she wanted to kiss you and touch you and if someone would move away first it would definitely not be her. And then you kissed Abby again, bringing her as close as possible, giving up on any rational thought in your head. You were weak, so when Abby pushed you down on the couch you happily spread your legs for her, getting wet in your pants from how delicious it felt to be opened like that. Abby’s hands roamed across your sides and your hips, groping and kneading your body as if she couldn’t get enough - and she truly couldn’t, appreciating every soft fold she made, every hard ridge digging into her palm. You sighed into her mouth and Abby just needed to press you down into this couch, moving one of her hands to caress your thigh and pull you closer. You felt dizzy, high on Abby's confident, hungry touch, the perfect balance of gentle and rough, so deliciously Abby. No one could touch you like that, like you were hers, your body and your soul, without a hesitation. Abby took what she wanted and you drank it all up.

Abby kissed your jaw and moved down to your neck, leaving an open mouthed kiss just below your ear and you let out a surprised sigh - and Abby’s brain fucking melted. She left more kisses, all shamelessly open, her hot tongue brushing over your skin just to hear you sigh like that. Abby pushed your thighs up so you could close them around her waist and slipped her hand back under your hoodie, getting dangerously close to your tits. That broke the spell on you, bringing you back to reality.

“Abby, wait.” You asked, not comfortable with how fast it was going. Abby looked up to you, waiting for what you wanted to tell her. “We really need to chill.” You caressed her cheek, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down.

Abby wanted to protest, but the horny fog started leaving her head and she understood how overboard she went just now, jumping you like this the moment you reciprocated her feelings. It was too fast.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Abby chuckled and tried to move away, but you didn’t let her, pressing her back to you.

“Just.. lie down.”

Abby listened to you, her hands still under your hoodie, but now she was just caressing your sides gently with her thumbs, sending goosebumps.

“I’ve missed you so much.” You told her as you stroke her hair.

“I’ve missed you too. The worst three days of my life.”

You laughed quietly.

“How did you figure it out?” You asked, curious. Abby sighed, but you waited.

“Oh man, this is embarrassing. I thought I was homophobic, because I hated that you were bringing girls over. Talked to Ellie, figured out I was homophobic to myself.” Abby laughed, and even though you could see the comedy in her words, you couldn't imagine what she had to go through.

“This is such a mind-fuckery.” You said sympathetically. “It must’ve felt so good to realise that.”

“It was. And then I saw you with Vi and what happened happened.”

“Oh god this is fast. Like, did you even have the time to properly process that?”

“Three days with myself would do.” Abby chuckled and you felt the guilt poking your heart.

“Sorry. I felt like I couldn’t just say sorry and move on without telling you about my feelings. But I was scared.” You admitted and Abby hummed, seeing your point. It must've been more scary for you as you knew what was happening in your head and the time turned your fear into full blown terror.

"How long have you known?"

"That I like you? Pretty much from the beginning, but I tried really hard to stop it."

Abby laughed and you tilted your head to look at her, not understanding what was so funny.

"Remember when we hung out for the first time? When we watched that horror movie that offended you so much?"

"Yeah?"

"I was very confused why you were so far away from me. I was already into you by that point."

"I can't imagine what kind of mental somersaults you had to do to keep it hidden from yourself." You sighed and hugged her harder. “I’m very happy you’re free of the straight curse.”

Abby snorted and looked up to you, just staring, unashamed - everything about you was perfect.

“You’re so pretty.” God it felt good to say it freely, say it without shame, without broken syllables and mumbling.

You smiled and looked away, flustered, and Abby watched you with fascination - she’s never seen you like this.

“Thanks.” You tried to stop smiling but you couldn’t, and Abby’s curious and teasing gaze just made you smile more. “No, stop it.” You said, playfully stern.

“Nah, I’ll do it even more now. Seeing you crumble like this is even better than kicking your ass in Mortal Kombat.”

“Oh yeah? I still cook your food.” You threatened.

Before Abby could answer her stomach rumbled and you laughed.

“Let’s go eat.”

And everything was back to normal, but it also wasn’t. You chatted, catching up on these days you spent apart, telling each other the last gossip and complaining about classes - that was normal. But now Abby could hug you from behind and steal a kiss, her high making her bold, and you could abandon whatever you had on the stove and wrap your arms around her neck, kissing her back. Because now you didn’t have to hide from each other, second-guessing motives and actions. Now when you ate and talked you could hold hands and smile bashfully at each other, and the teasing could end in millions of short kisses. You finally let yourself hug Abby from behind while she washed the dishes and tell her what was happening with Caitlyn and Vi.

Later you did your usual cuddle time, and Abby held you in her arms exactly like she wanted to. A few months ago you both sat on that couch - awkward and distant, too afraid of each other - to watch a movie, and now you were lying on it, kissing and cuddling, basking in each other as you gently and innocently explored what was an unattainable dream before, caressing sides and hips and ribs without heat but with a desire to get to know.

Abby swore she started to believe in magic when you touched her.

to: els

(the photo of you and Abby, Abby kissing the top of your head while you lie on top of her with the dopiest, lovesick grin on your face)

from: els

FUCK YEAH

you lucky bitch

You laughed when Abby showed you Ellie's texts and nuzzled into Abby's chest.

"Let's do a sleepover today." Abby said as she kissed your temple.

"Where?"

"In my bed."

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #aligyinmh

478 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

Hi!

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

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

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

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

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

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

Word Count: 12.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A city now filled with killers.

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

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

Not good.

Shit. Karver, where did you go!?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So that was where you came in.

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

Mostly because of situations like this.

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

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

None of this was going to plan.

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

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

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

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

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

A man, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

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

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

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

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

Have they seen murder?

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

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

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

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

Your mark has been met.

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

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

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

The Reaper.

Oh, what would they think of you now?

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play.

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

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

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

“Hm,” their command affirms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brows furrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Price grunts under his breath.

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

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re right. It’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room is more silent than Ghost is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Ghost.

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

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

Mutt was the worst of them.

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

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

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

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

Your ears twitch.

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

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

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

“Sir!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

But there were ups to this constant downward slope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If I had known…you frown.

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

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

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

Like blood lining the street.

You force yourself to run faster.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t look away.

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

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

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

Your Captain scurries after.

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

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

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

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

I need new intel. Badly.

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

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

Your cheeks heat.

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

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

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit?

“Now that’s dark.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

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

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

They had died a long time ago.

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

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

Stop that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

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

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, where are we–”

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

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

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

Boxed in.

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

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

You don’t bother watching him drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A wide grin is stuck on you.

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

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There were few people worthy of that.

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

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

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

You’d never had sex before.

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

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

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

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

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

You could forget about it. You should.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did they do this to you?

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

Tags:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @serpahic, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9,

@anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @john-pricee, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora217, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce, @ruby-saves, @vynz0ne, @blackstar9005, @faerienotfound, @legallymentallyillfuckers, @audrefleur, @urfavsunkissedleo

(sorry that some of these don't work! I have no idea why!)

1K notes · View notes

howtodolife · 6 months

Text

Luv You

summary: Reader says the safe word during a scene and Jungkook takes care of her.

Jungkook × f!reader

genre: smut (initially), fluff

Dom!Jungkook × sub!reader, descriptive smut in the beginning, rough sex, dirty talk, vaginal sex, sexual innuendos, light insecurity, Jungkook calls reader "doll", reader calls jungkook "kook", (I'm new to this idk now 😭) overstimulation, aftercare, sweet talk, reassurance.

"Oh my god", you barely managed to get out as Jungkook thrusted inside you, fast-paced and sharp. You tried to keep them in, but your moans reverberated in the room, loud and unmuffled, in addition to the groans that Jungkook let out every 2-3 thrusts. He had an expression of pained pleasure painted on his face, trying to keep his pace even and stable as he tried not to lose his mind over how beautiful and ethereal you looked, even with your hair disheveled and your mascara almost running down your face, he loved this sight, which caused him to go harder. "Jungkook", you finally managed to say. "Yes, doll? He answered "is too much", you whimpered, already exasperated due to work and even more overwhelmed from coming two times during this session, one managed solely by his fingers. You were too overstimulated and hypersensitive to every touch of his, your whole body aching, it was overpowering. "Just a bit more love, you're doing so well, you look fucking perfect", he heaved. But it was too intense, you couldn't see nor think straight, so you blurted out. "Kook- red please, no more". All of the rustling and shifting ceased; movements suddenly came to a stop. You shivered at the sudden loss of contact there and felt his grip on your body loosen, leaving bruises you knew he'd take care of.

You tried to catch your breath as the rough grips were now replaced by feather-light touches, as if he were treading on glass shards, afraid one mis-step could ruin it all. "Babe?" He hesitatingly asked "You okay?". He put his boxers on and caressed your thighs, giving you the time to settle down and regain your cool. He wiped you with a wet cloth, got the two of you cleaned, changed the soiled bedsheets and the other rituals that follow afterwards, all while enquiring about whether you were all right or not. He grew more concerned with each passing moment, nervousness going through the roof, wondering what's gonna come after this.

After everything was done and cleaned up, you finally got the chance to snuggle up to him. You were sitting on his lap in a foetal position as his back rested against the headboard. He felt warm and cozy, which made you wind back and feel utterly at ease, he smelled good and his skin felt soft, making you scoot even closer, if that was possible. Jungkook held you in his arms, one hand caressing your back and thighs, offering reassurance. "I'm sorry I went too far, Y/N-" he rambled and you stopped him before he started going down this rabbit hole again "it's alright, Kook, I was already tired and exhausted from work. I know you'd never do anything to hurt me", you reassured. He sighed loudly at that and you could feel that he was extremely jittery and afraid that he messed things up. He would never do anything to sabotage this relationship he has with you and tries his absolute best to be the perfect person for you. You are the girl who makes him want to be a better person and Jungkook wanted to wake up next to you his whole life. You are the love of his life, his muse, and he'd beat himself up forever if he lost you. "Kook?" You reached out, snapping him out of his thoughts, "hmm, doll", he answered, looking eager to hear out what you had in your mind. You lifted your head from his chest and put your hand on his face, looking into his eyes, a determined expression on your face "It's alright, love, I promise you didn't do anything to hurt me and nothing bad happened.I was just already overwhelmed. I love you and I trust you, Jungkook. I hope you know that. Really, it's not because of you." Jungkook's face visibly relaxed at that, and he smiled, letting out a deep breath. "Okay, I understand."

You laid your head on his chest and he peppered your head with soft kisses, hands finding their way here and there, tightening around you sometimes. You would sometimes let out a giggle and he swore he felt his mood uplift at the sound. "Was i good, though?" You enquired, curious. Jungkook chuckled at that, "You were beyond good, y/n. You looked so fucking amazing, the day i get into some sorta trouble because of how you look is not far. I swear you're made for me" You smiled, heart fluttering, but at the same time, bewildered. "I came back home after a full day of work, Kook, I couldn't possibly have looked that good", he nodded at that, smiling, "nuh uh, you always look pretty, as a matter of fact, you look even prettier when I have my fingers inside of yo-" "Oh my god, babe, what the fuck" Your eyes widened and you panicked due to his crude language, not expecting it. He laughed at that, his face scrunching up, you loved hearing this sound, it made you feel euphoric, though you would've cherished this scene more if it wasn't for him teasing you "I love all of your moans and whimpers, and the fact that you have those pretty sounds coming out of your mouth because of me makes it even better. goddamn, you're so perfect, doll" You were rendered quite speechless so you just hid your face in the crook of his neck, snuggling into him, letting out a hum. "Hm okay, I'll stop now since you decided to act all cute" he heaved out. You could feel him smiling against your head, though.

A few more hours passed, all of them spent in pampering you, the night grew darker and more silent, tiredness finally taking over as you felt drowsy in his arms.

"I love you, doll."

"I love you, Jungkook"

Writer's note: OH MY GOD GUYS, there goes my first imagine sksksk please please tell me how it was, any criticism is welcomed (be nice though) reblogs and replies are appreciated. 😭💗 <3

Don't repost (stop being an asshole)

181 notes · View notes

malewifeharem · 2 months

Note

YK I WAS TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT OM STOOD FOR.. ANYWAY CAN WE GET BELPHIE IN THE YAN ALPHABET HOUSE PLEASE :3 ☁️

yandere!belphegor alphabet

彡- ,, yandere om! belphegor alphabet (template from @dear-yandere eheheheh)

cw ⁞ OMSWD CHAPTER 16 SPOILERS, death threats, violence, manipulation, just general yandere behaviour??? not proofread.

an ⁞ lmk if there are any other warnings i should add!

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

he loves cuddling and napping with you. it may not seem like he loves you — the only sign of affection you receive, being cuddles and naps. but trust me, his love for you is INTENSE... he has slaughtered many people for you. past lovers, bullies, any and all who have wronged you.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

he's willing to eliminate anyone for you. it can get very messy... lucifer has had to call for help to clean up evidence before. although his older brother tries his best to clean up after him, word still got out about the youngest's aggressive tendencies — simply because he leaves too many crime scenes behind, it's almost impossible to clean them all in such a short time. he's probably thought of eradicating the whole of purgatory hall and diavolo's castle too.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

100%. you've heard him call you the meanest names before. he will always remind you of your place as a human —you'll always be inferior to him, like his little pet.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

putting you to sleep when and wherever he likes. arguing with him? go to sleep, maybe you'll start talking sense when you wake. out in public? he suddenly feels like you've spent too long outside, go to sleep, he'll take you home.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

he doesn't tell you much, other than reports of only some of his victims. he keeps most of his carnal, deranged thoughts to himself. you're still well aware of his mania through his actions but you'll never know how deep his violent rabbit hole goes.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

if he's in a good mood, he might play along, just don't take it too far. if he's not, he'll lazily warn you first. if that doesn't work, he'll threaten you — reminding you of what he's done, what he can always do. if you decide to continue being a 'brat', he won't hesitate to wring your neck — not too harshly, he still needs to keep you around.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

he thinks it's amusing. he forces you test his limits and wear skimpy clothes out and visit the dangerous places he's warned you about. he'll let you go out and 'have your fun' but he's stalking your every move — like you're his prey. he likes feeling jealous of the other people around you so he can 'reclaim' you back at home. (read N for what happens at home hehe)

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

you went too far with your 'teasing' one night and it ended in him strangling you with his tail again. you were seeing all black, your struggling limbs almost giving out on you. you genuinely thought you were going to succumb to the same demon again, but he eventually let go of you. it took you awhile to recover — laying on the floor, having a coughing fit and your vision still barely coming back. he stared down at you before letting out a satisfied "hmph." maybe you'll learn your lesson this time.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

believe it or not, he does imagine marriage with you. you, walking down the aisle in a beautiful wedding dress, towards him. he'll prepare a ring for you once you've settled down with him and stop fighting back. (he won't be doing any chores in the rs)

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

he stirs up his own feelings of jealousy so it's kind of his fault. he likes possessing you and claiming you as his. whether or not its by punishments or marking you physically. (should i make a nsfw continuation of this...?)

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

he loves the scent of you —stealing pieces of your clothing to smell and sleep with. he'll stick his nose as deep into your neck as he can to get the essence of you into his system. this is part of why he loves cuddling and napping with you too — holding you closely and wrapping his tail and limbs around you.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

he does get broody if you hang out around other people other than beel. anyone else from HoL, purgatory hall and especially diavolo and barbatos are completely off limits to you. before he started acted aggressively, he would defensively lurk around you to make sure no one got too affectionate with you. when you notice him, he has to clutch his shirt to stop his thumping heart from beating out of his chest. surely this means you appreciate his protection!

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

nope. he acts aggressively towards everyone but beel. everyone close to the brothers are aware of his hostility and have tried reasoning with him before but has basically given up. diavolo has tried restraining the youngest brother again but lucifer has promised to keep his violence at bay.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

oh... he's cruel. if he's lenient, he'll give you nightmares in your sleep. if you've been disobedient, good luck... he'll wrap his tail around your neck, giving it a tight squeeze — reminding you of your previous end. you never know if he'll actually take your life again — that's what's most scary. he knows how much it terrifies you but he's a demon baby, it's what they do.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

your health is constantly at risk after your body has had to endure multiple chokings but proper healthcare isn't available to you. the only medication you'll get is some ointment meant for demon burns.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

it depends on his mood. he's very unpredictable, with his patience levels fluctuating very often — making him all the more dangerous.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

he would be in a state of pure disbelief for months, hallucinating and dreaming versions of you. then, he'll move onto finding ways to bring you back or pray that you'll return back to him in hell. (we all goin to hell for even reading this bffr)

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

although he lets you roam around devildom somewhat freely, he'll never completely let go of you. you're his to keep and possess.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

being locked up in the attic created attachment issues in him. he finds a need to claim you and feel wanted by you. when you come running back to him, he feels euphoria — even if you're forced to.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

he feels uneasy, not knowing how to confront the situation directly so he uses the only method he knows. putting you to sleep is the easiest way for him to sedate you and calm you down. isolating yourself breaks his heart but he'll try his best to break your defensive stance and get you to come and cuddle to ease the tension away.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

(i'll skip this since i still dont't know the definition of a classic yandere TT)

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

if you could somehow find a way to possess a spell book, you could try finding a way to create a clone of you while the real you goes to find diavolo or barbatos. they have the authority and power to guard you from him and lock him back in that attic. lucifer will definitely be disappointed that he's failed to protect you again but you've had enough.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

yes. (read F and N)

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

he treasures whatever affection you spare him and he secretly worships the ground you walk on. he doesn't try to win you over because there is no one for him to compete for him the begin with! none of them can fight him if they're all six feet below ground.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

he could only stand watching you from afar for a few months before snapping. he couldn't go on any longer without you in his room, in his arms, under his control and claim.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

yes yes yes and yes. he doesn't care if you lose your mind, then you'll be even more susceptible to his manipulation. you'll be much more obedient and finally stop whining and struggling all the damn time!

59 notes · View notes

some-anonymity-preferred · 6 months

Text

all the good takes on that arc, part 2

I’m that meta bitch.

These were collected a few days post-season 2 finale. There is a Part 1 from before the finale, when a lot of us were deeply struggling with the arc. And I’ve added individual thoughtful posts afterward as I come across them. Follow the [#good takes on Izzy’s season 2 arc] tag down the rabbit hole for more good soup.

Takes on why Izzy got unsought rehabilitation when the show required atonement of Ed

@areyoudoingthis on how stede's influence on everyone raises izzy up with the tide, and how izzy had to change before ed could hear him verbally release him from his old life

@bookshelfdreams on Izzy as the embodiment of "A lot of what we're taught about being a man is wrong," and how that had to change in order to give Ed catharsis

@thetardigrape and @asneakyfox back and forth on how, emotionally, Ed and Izzy's redemption arcs feel backward, but swapping them would have given Izzy even more narrative time and weight than he already took up in season 2

Takes on the father figure idea and other familial aspects of Ed and Izzy's relationship

@teeny-tiny-revenge framing izzy's arc as a family member who initially rejects your coming out and later comes around to it

@asneakyfox on how Ed's imprinted idea of a father figure is an angry white man

@starlithumanity on Ed keeping Izzy around precisely because he is an angry white man--a figure that Ed is used to

@tfemteach on the familiarity of Izzy's treatment of him for Ed, and why Izzy's words affect Ed so deeply

@happyfeetfuryroad and @sarucane on Ed's reaction to Izzy's apology, and how the whole thing reads as a fantasy of getting the apology you never expected from a bad parent and feeling like you have to even the field when they give it to you

@elapsed-spiral further on the intense closure of izzy's arc

Izzy's arc as only one of many possible queer stories

@bookshelfdreams on how the self discovery arc is neither unique to izzy in the show, nor is it the only queer story available to tell

Other

@asneakyfox hypothesizing that the writers were nervous about the redemption arc not landing, so they went too far in the direction of making it obvious that now Izzy is a Good Guy

@sabra-n on the theme of quiet (stillness/slowness) in the death scene, izzy as a wire mother, izzy’s use of “eddie ,” and the crew's love for ed

@forpiratereasons on izzy's full season 2 arc as one of hope and possibility

#ofmd #ofmd season 2 #izzy hands #izzy critical #ofmd meta #good takes on izzy’s season 2 arc

80 notes · View notes

dema-heart · 9 months

Text

Just a little reminder

Hobie x fem! reader

Sfw

Totally not a self-insert story

Use of pet names and innuendos

Mentions of a birthday because my birthday was August 6th, and I got my piercing right before it as a gift to myself!

Was inspired by the song below and my imagination running right after I got it♡

"Even when the sky comes falling

Even when the sun don't shine

I got faith in you and I

So put your pretty little hand in mine

Even when we're down to the wire, babe

Even when it's do or die

We could do it, baby,

simple and plain

'Cause this love is a sure thing"

"So" Hobie smirked, raising a hand to grab your jaw so he could get a look at the silver that looped your lip. "Went through with it did ya...looks good on you"

"yeah...does um...do you like it?" Your voice was shaky as your eyes shifted away, his gaze too intense for your insecure state of mind. The hand on your jaw squeezed lightly in warning, careful of the possible sorness it could bring to your lip.

"look at me, doll. So I can tell you how absolutely wicked and sexy that piercing looks on your lips" He said playfully, tone teasing but firm.

Your eyes shift back to his face, first making contact with his lips, then up his defined cheekbones,past his nose, and finally on his eyes. You gave a small laugh before wincing. "please don't make me laugh it hurts" you whined, smiling regardless of the pain. Hobie smiled, eyes locking with yours to make sure he had your attention.

"Now then, pretty girl... it looks amazing on ya. None of that bad mouthing my girl, yeah. Especially when her birthday is so close... and I can't even kiss away the bad thoughts" his smirk never fell but his words were soft bringing tears to your eyes that you tried to blink away nodding to the best of your ability with his grip on your jaw.

Sniffling, you looked up at him. "You can try? There's more than just mouth kisses, hobie...." You pleaded softly, looking up at him with teary eyes. Kisses sounded nice, but there was no way he could kiss your lips without hurting you.

His smirk widden as he got that mischievous sprakle in his eyes. "My my didn't think you'd ask to get freaky so cutely! If that's what you wanted...all you had to do was ask,luv." He chuckled as your face flushed.

"Not that,you perv! You know what I meant." You swatted at his chest playfully as he snickered. The smile on your face was worth the hit. As the sparkle in your eyes came back, tears fading.

"There she is," he smiled. The hand holding onto your jaw, gently turning it to place a kiss on your left cheek, then the right, next your nose, and finally your forehead.

"Love ya ,sweetheart...love your new look, loved your old one, love ya regardless of either, m'kay" He mumbled as he leaned down, dropping his hand from your jaw, to place them both on your waist instead as he leaned his forehead against yours looking into your eyes.

Your hands came to rest on his cheeks as you stared up at him, smiling softly. "I love you too..." You give a relaxed sigh the anxiety from earlier, fully leaving your system. "I'm sorry, i don't know what came over me... i just...Mm..nevermind... just... thank you for..." You mumbled cut off by hobie shaking his head against yours.

"Don't thank me for taking care of you,luv. It's what I'm here for. Making sure that big brain of yours doesn't run ya into a rabbit hole" He said before rubbing his nose against yours in an Eskimo kiss casuing your eyes to flutter closed as small giggles left you.

"Okay okay i get it!" You chuckle, heart swelling with affection. "Now get off so I can clean my piercing. Someone's had their hand on my face too long." You tease playfully, smiling softly before squealing as hobie picked you up, sitting you on the counter.

"I've got it for ya,doll" He grabs the saline and a q-tip as you nodded grabbing your phone to play some music. 'Sure thing' plays and you hum along as hobie cleans your piercing and tells you some tips about taking care of it. You nod along, falling further for him as he goes out of his way to be careful but thorough in cleaning it.

"There all done" He goes to move away and you wrap your legs around his waist, yanking him closer. He has to use his hands to catch himself placing them on either side of your hips. He looks at you bewildered as you move to place your arms around his neck.

You look into his eyes, blinking in false innocence. "You said earlier all I have to do is ask right...well i'm asking..." You give him a sweet seductive smile, hobie watched the sliver ring on your lip fall to the side and felt the way your hands tapped gently at the back of his neck.

"well aren't you feeling cheeky ,huh. Me taking care of ya tip you over the edge, or were you planning this from the start." He asked, smirking.

Hobie leaned in kissing the side of your lip before lifting you off the counter quickly, hands tucked under your thighs as he halled you off to the bedroom, practically running.

Your laughter filled the place as you squealed.

Kinda wanna do the nsfw part, but we'll see🤭

I did it!!! I got my lip pierced last Thursday😭. Thank you to @the-kr8tor and @hobieswifyy for the encouragement through your stories and kind words. (I totally read them twice for motivation before even stepping into the shop ;^;♡) Everyone should totally go read the stories(and all their other works)! If you haven't yet i have them rebloged on my page a lil lower)

Also, the pics are me! That's what my piercing looks like!

#atsv hobie #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie x you #hobie x reader #spiderpunk x y/n #hobie brown x fem!reader #rainbow's bookshelf #i totally wrote this as a self-insert #thank you so much for the support and encouragement!!!#i wish i had a hobie ;^;#Spotify

104 notes · View notes

marragurl · 2 months

Text

Idk what it is about HSR but I am so much more attached to the MC’s compared to Genshin’s.

Like don’t get me wrong, Lumine and Aether’s story is compelling, I’m always a sucker for separated twins who just want to be reunited (that’s the only child in me crying to have a sibling)-

But like… idk how HSR did it, but I adore Caelus and Stelle so much? Like they really went and made it so the MC’s aren’t related, they’re just male/female version of the same character AND YET

I keep wanting to see more content of them! Both separate and together!

I went down a small rabbit hole yesterday of Twin!Trailblazer content AND THERE’S NOT ENOUGH

I want to see Caelus and Stelle together being chaotic gremlins so much it’s kinda insane??? Not even for any ship related reasons, heck I don’t even really ship either with anyone- I JUST WANT THEM TO HAVE EACH OTHER

Idk how the Stellaron situation works, they can yo-yo it back and forth for all I care

(Stelle: Kafka said it’s MY turn with the stellaron today!

Caelus: You can’t use that excuse every time!

Stelle: MOOOOOM

Caelus: OK OK HERE TAKE IT DONT ACTUALLY CALL HER)

Maybe it’s because they AREN’T related that makes the want so much more intense?

Idk, I just wanted to talk about how we need more Twin!Trailbalzer AU content ok? 🥺

#honkai star rail #hsr #stelle #caelus #trailblazer #stelle hsr #caelus hsr #twins! AU #twin trailblazer #Caelus and Stelle as siblings!!!#I keep thinking of Stelle being the older twin #something about that is just so hilarious to me #I have so many headcanons about them as siblings hnnnn #maybe a different post one day #raccoon siblings my love #they’re so ride or die but would sacrifice the other for a corn chip #DO U SEE MY VISION

48 notes · View notes

reallyromealone · 2 years

Text

AGEGAP 🎃 OBJECT INSERTION/ TOYS

DAY 11

AGEGAP + toys

WARNINGS: sex toys, begging, male reader, smut, gay, age gap, use of the word "boy pussy", sir kink, baby boy, overstimulation

He was a cute little thing, second year in university and oh so sweet.

It was no surprise that Takeomi whisked him away.

The two had been dating for several months, the sweet university student awakening Takeomis hornier side once more and loved playing with his boyfriend.

Taking a drag of his cigarette he watched (name) fuck himself on a dildo as an egg vibrator was taped to his leaking cock.

(Name) was moaning and panting as he fucked himself vigorously, hands gripping the expensive linens as he did so "'omi!" (Name) cried out as he tried bringing himself to completion but it just wasn't enough, ever since the first time he got impaled by Takeomis cock nothing else could compare.

"P-please..."

"Please what?" Takeomi asked as he took a drag of his cigarette, eyeing (name) intensely "come on use your words"

"P-please sir, fuck my boy pussy..."

Takeomi butted out his cigarette and walked over, undoing his belt and removed his pants and underwear and his cock sprung up, hard and begging to plunder (name)s ass.

"Lay down baby boy"

(Name) was very compliant as he lay on his back, vibrator still on full blast and dildo deep within him as Takeomis large hand went between his legs and grasped the toy and slowly pulled it out and watched (name)s flushed face filled with anticipation only to shove the toy back in deep and watch (name) choke back a sob and throw his head back, most definitely fucking his prostate head on.

The strength that Takeomi used to fuck (name)s hole with the toy was enough to make the poor baby climax.

"Came already? Guess you don't need my cock afterall"

"Nonono! Please sir! Fuck my guts with your cock please!"

"So polite..." Takeomi said finally removed the toy and stared at (name)s gaping ass for a moment before aligning his cock and thrusting in hard, watching (name) shake and grip Takeomis arms as the older man had a tight hold on (name)s waist.

"How the fuck are you so tight after fucking yourself with that fucking toy?" Takeomi grunted out as he began pounding into (name), licking his lips as he looked down at (name) who was completely debauched and crying pathetically.

"god I can fuck you over and over and you won't get tired huh? You little rabbit"

"M-m-maybe iss 'cause ur oolld~" even slurring and moaning he still had time to be cheeky and bratty but takeomi payed him no mind as he bent his lovers legs and began fucking into him.

God he loved (name), the sweet angel never asked for anything other than his love and sometimes his cock.

And he was more than happy to give both.

"Fuckfuckfuck!" (Name) cried as the sensation of the vibrator and his man's cock made him oversensitive and forced another climax from his body.

"Fuck baby, and I thought you had the higher stamina!" Takeomi barked out a laugh as he continued fucking (name) the two not ending for hours, by time they finished takeomi came in one big load to (name)s four times.

"Thank you sir..." (Name) mumbled out dazed as he kissed takeomi sweetly, the two relaxing in the tub as (name) lay on his boyfriends chest.

#tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers x reader #takeomi x male reader #Takeomi x reader #takeomi smut #smut #kinktober

552 notes · View notes

garbinge · 1 year

Text

In the Midst of Chaos

Javier Peña x F!Reader

Prompt: Bandaging them up while you both tell each other about your day

A/N: okaaaaay, so first time posting this year but I have some stuff in the works I hope to get out ASAP! Enjoy my first ever Javi fic. Watched Narcos last year, indulged in way too much Javi fic and then went back down my Pedro Pascal rabbit hole because of TLOU so a Narcos rewatch happened and now, well, this happened! Please be kind as it’s my first time writing for Javi (and Narcos!).

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Cursing, light angst, mentions of bullets + blood, canon-level mentions of violence, guns, shooting, etc.

Narcos Taglist: @drabbles-mc (Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

The swarm of people in and out of the clinic on a normal day was enough to give anyone anxiety, but the buzz around the space currently was a little more intense. The shooting happened in the blink of an eye. One minute you were treating a wound infection on a young woman and the next you both were diving under the exam table for cover.

The window was high and the building was made from thick concrete which made it hard for stray bullets to graze you or your patient but the glass shards made their way down to you. Your face was covered in cuts, nothing too serious but your arm needed some tending to, maybe a couple stitches.

But that was your last concern. You made sure your patient was okay first, instructing her to stay under the table until the police arrived, and immediately went to find Connie.

Chaos. That was the best way to describe the atmosphere in the clinic, but you kept your cool. Living in Colombia all these years had taught you that a clear head was the best way to survive. Your eyes scanned around to see the blond hair woman who was a little more frantic than you. You couldn’t blame her, though. This was her first month being here and after experiencing a hold up at the airport, a dead cat, and now a shooting…there wasn’t much less you would expect from her in this scenario. In all honesty, she was holding her own pretty well.

She turned to you and ran, you brought her into the room you were originally in, expecting to see the patient under the table still but she was gone. In the midst of the chaos you let out a disappointing sigh, you knew your best bet was to stay in one place, with the way the bullets had been shot it was likely a drive by and no threats were in the building, but the anxiety of it all was that you couldn’t be 100% sure.

Connie was sobbing at this point, her cries were silent as you both sat huddled together on the ground. You were thankful for that at least, you didn’t have to add tension to the situation by quieting her down. What felt like hours had passed, but as you kept your eyes focused on the clock you knew it was barely 15 minutes… you heard tires squeal outside, more clear than ever before since the window was non-existent now. You heard the voices outside, you could tell they were the police just by how they spoke, less slang and franticness in their tones but more purpose and firmness.

Even with that knowledge, it didn’t make the door opening to your exam room feel any less daunting but when you saw his face you let out the exhale you had been holding the entire time.

Connie was out of your arms in seconds when she saw her knight in shining armor’s face, engulfing Steve in an embrace with no concept of letting go. Steve was looking her over immediately, asking her questions. His eyes glanced over towards you when Connie mentioned your name in her mile a minute explanation of what was happening. Javi was already moving over to you, but just before he was standing in front of you, you noticed Steve had given you a nod. His way of thanking you before bringing Connie to the medic for a full check.

Moving your stare back to Javi, you could see his shoulders slump in a bit of relief when you offered him a look to let him know you were okay, your face softening and your breath starting to inhale and exhale properly versus just minutes before. Part of him was happy you weren’t dead or bleeding out but another part of him was distraught you were dragged into another situation like this.

“I’m okay.” You whispered as he guided you up off the ground. No amount of facial expressions or body language would match the relief of actually hearing those words. Despite that, there was no embrace or hug or urgency in his moves as he guided you to the table that you had been hidden under just minutes before. It wasn’t like him, his main concern was to make sure you were physically okay which is why his eyes scanned over yours and then continued over the rest of your body.

“Shit.” His eyes stopped at your right arm, his touch was light as he moved it around to get a better look.

“We match.” You said nodding to his shoulder. His shirt was ripped and the blood from the cut was seeping onto his shirt. The bullet proof vest sitting only inches from the cut.

Javi’s head dropped and when he picked it back up there was a small smile on his face. “You or me?”

“You talk first, I patch up.” You were moving to the counter where all your medical supplies were. Your luck must’ve not completely run out because despite there being glass everywhere the area of the counter where the gauze and bandages were was untouched. You jimmied the draw open that always was getting stuck and pulled out the antibiotic cream, saline, and alcohol.

You turned around to place the items on the exam table to see Javi had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt button up. A laugh left your mouth at the site of it.

“Shirt off and start talking, Peña.”

Javi laughed as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“It’s not that serious, I jumped off a balcony.”

You rolled your eyes as you poured saline over the wound and touched up the edges with gauze.

“Who were you chasing?” The question rolled off your tongue like you weren’t asking something extremely classified. Peña didn’t answer right away which made you ask a different question with a little more worry in your tone. “Who was chasing you?”

He looked up at you as you asked, you were now grabbing the alcohol and getting ready to pour it on the gauze to disinfect the wound.

“Sureshot.”

Your eyes darted to him when he said it, you expected him to say no name at all, but when you heard the nickname of one of Pablo’s closest men, you were shook to your core.

“and you had it right the first time, we were chasing him.”

“We?” You asked as you moved his shoulder in preparation of the sanitizing to come.

“Okay, I.” Javi corrected himself.

You patted the alcohol soaked cotton against his open wound without warning and he hissed.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He surrendered.

It was your one rule. Never be alone. Either of you. With the targets you both had on your back, it was a piece of comfort you both had in the midst of all the crazy shit always happening.

“Don’t apologize, just fuckin’ do it Javi.” The tone you used wasn’t mean, just exhausted.

“Baby, I’m..” He wanted to come up with an excuse but he stopped himself and nodded in agreement.

You were starting to put a few butterfly bandages on the cut when you saw the bruises on his side.

“A balcony, huh?” You softened your tone even more.

“Still hurts less than you yellin’ at me.” He said that sentence with a full texan accent and it warmed your heart.

“It’s because I care, mi amor.” The pet name rolled off the tongue, it had been years of you calling him that, years of you two being in what felt like groundhogs day in Colombia. You moved here for mission work looking for purpose and ended up finding love. Meeting Javi was luck but marrying him was fate. Going to that little chapel in Cartegena, one day you were celebrating a wedding, and the next you were both back in the front lines of your lives. Haven’t looked back since.

“Speaking of caring, I really would like to take a look at that.” The cut on your arm looked worse, it definitely needed to be stitched up, and there was a chance there was still glass stuck in it.

“I can have Connie fix me up, don’t you have to get back to work?”

Outside the exam room it was bustling with people, members of the search bloc, regular street cops, more DEA members and CIA from what you could tell.

“Carrillo is here, he can handle it with Steve. My priority is you.” He was sliding his shirt back on as he stood up, nodding at the table for you to take a seat.

“Steve is going to be tied up with Connie, she’s a little shaken up.”

Javi turned to look at you, a little shocked by what you said. He knew Connie could hold her own which just made the reality of what happen really sink in more him. He could have lost you.

“Bottom left drawer.” Now, you were sitting where Javi just was, back to the medical supplies as he searched for what you assumed to be your stitch kit. You didn’t need to be looking at him to know what he was doing. Making his way over, he decided to sit across from you instead of leaning over you, patting his thigh so you could rest your arm there as he treated the wound.

“What happened?” The tweezers were picking at the glass shards that were still lodged inside.

While you weren’t flinching, your face was scrunched up as he picked at the wound. “One minute I was seeing a patient, the next we were being rained on by bullets and glass. It had to be a drive by, I didn’t hear anyone inside.” You gave him all the information you had.

“It was the cartel.” Peña was now dropping the tweezers into the petri dish. “Grip my hand.” He ordered you as he picked up the alcohol bottle. Your cut was much deeper than his and yours was way more likely to be infected so pouring the rubbing alcohol on it was the only way to be sure you were killing off any unwanted bacteria and Javi knew that.

“The cartel?” You questioned, ignoring his request.

“Cariño, por favor.” He begged you now with glistening eyes and an extended hand for you to grip. You obliged, taking his hand and gripping it tight. “Deep breath,” he said calmly and breathed in with you, “on the count of three,” he began to count down the numbers, “1,” and the minute the last syllable hit the roof of his mouth the alcohol was being poured on the wound. It was like him to have you prepare for 3 and go on 1, even though it hurt more, you knew it was smart. Your body tensed, you flinched back, but your hand got caught in Javi’s grip and his eyes glued to yours. “Deep breaths, baby.”

“I’d rather have you yelling at me.” You referenced him from mere moments ago. He laughed at the comment and grabbed gauze to pat the wound dry and clean up any blood he could.

“I think the cartel knows the girl is here.” Peña’s voice whispered. That context was enough, you knew he was talking about Elisa, Steve had been extremely upset with the appearance of the guerrilla communist, and while Javi was too, he was a little less forthcoming about it. Now with what happened, Steve was going to shout his opinion from the rooftops and Javi was going to be forced to pick a side.

“Javi, that means this entire place is compromised.” Your voice had stress behind it, this was your career, your life and life’s work. Javi had his and you never took that from him, another thing that made you two just work, you understood the importance of it all.

“Not if we get her out.” Javi was now getting ready to stitch the cut back up. “2 stitches?” He asked before you had a minute to take in what he said.

“2 is fine, 3 is better.” You looked down to assess it again.

“You want a painkiller?” Javi asked as he set the sutures up in the forceps.

The look you gave him was almost laughable, and that’s practically what he did. “Let me at least put numbing cream around it?” Javi negotiated with you not wanting to add any more pain to your day.

The look you gave him was enough of an answer and he threw his hand up in surrender and began to thread the suture through your skin. Your face stayed brave, your jaw might have chiseled out at points as you clenched your teeth to fight through the sting. Javi checked on you when appropriate, not enough to prolong the process but just for a second after each stitch. When Javi finished the second stitch and looked up to read your face, you spoke up.

“How do we get her out?” Your brain was trying to wrap itself around the idea he mentioned earlier.

“You aren’t going to like it.” That was one thing about Javi, he kept it straight with you. It wasn’t always like that, in the beginning there was a sort of a bliss to your relationship, but it didn’t last long. Javi called you from his apartment at 4 in the morning, telling you to come over. Walking into a room with him a bloody mess wasn’t what you were expecting but it’s what got the walls to break down between you. It’s also what made it real, it wasn’t just a fling, something to pass time, it was then where you realized you both supported each other's purpose.

“Do you?” You asked him. “Do you like the plan?”

“Less like and more that there’s no other option.” Javi got ready to thread the last stitch through.

“You want me and Connie to bring her out.” It was easy to read the situation.

Javi offered a small nod and looked up at you, it was to get a sense of your thoughts but also to check on you as he finished the last stitch.

“I think that you don’t like that plan.” A smirk filled your face.

“You’re right, I don’t.” The gauze wrapped around your arm as he was bandaging it up.

“What’s Texas like?” You asked him, sincerely. There was nothing more to discuss. Whether either of you liked it, it was happening. You and Connie were going to have to help Elisa escape, there was only one other option which was to deal with more of what had just happened…and that was an option you both liked significantly less. Instead of dwelling, arguing or giving Peña a chance to do the same, you changed the topic.

“Beautiful,” he reminisced, “like you.”

“Ahhhh, Agent Peña, the smooth talker. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You smiled up at him as he stood up from the exam table. His hand was now intertwined with your injured one, bringing it up to press a soft kiss to the back of it. You had mere seconds before the both of you were about to reenter the chaotic investigation that was happening outside. He’d pull you into questioning with other members of his team, you’d have to treat people who were likely trampled on in the flight to escape bullets, and you’d have to tell your story of events likely 50 times over so Javi stood there with his lips on the back of your hand making the seconds feel like hours before the both of you were up and standing at the door of the exam room.

You both stood straight ahead before Javi looked to where you on his right and squeezed your hand to get your attention back on him.

“When we catch Escobar, I’m getting us a first class ticket to show you all over Texas.”

With a nod, you responded. “Then let’s catch that son of a bitch.”

#javier peña #narcos #Narcos Netflix #narcos fanfiction #javi peña #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #javi pena #javier pena #hurt and comfort #narcos hurt and comfort #javier peña hurt and comfort #javi pena hurt and comfort #pedro pascal

184 notes · View notes