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angstyaches · 2 years

Note

Hello!

So for the crying prompts, I was thinking about what if Shayne and Charlie were spending the night at Mulberry together and end up getting into an argument? It could be about whatever, but essentially general miscommunication and misunderstandings between the two boys. And they don’t resolve it immediately so Shayne ends up sleeping on the couch since it’s not like he has anywhere else to go, but he ends up getting sick in the middle of the night, and tries to be as discreet as possible since he doesn’t want to disturb Charlie even more than he already feels like he has? But then he starts crying and is so out of it he just goes and seeks comfort from Charlie by climbing into bed with him, and Charlie kinda susses him out after Shayne denies having cried and gotten sick. And then maybe Shayne could be like “I’m sorry I ruined our evening,” to which Charlie could respond by denying this, and basically inadvertently admitting the depths and details of his feelings to Shayne, which causes Shayne to start crying even harder than before, but maybe they could be happy tears?

Ahhh I’m sorry this is so long and for if it doesn’t make sense ugh 😩 ~ <3

Hi, anon! I hope I included everything you asked for. It's pretty dialogue-heavy, and the actual sickness is sort of secondary.

Word Count: 3,234

Note on where this falls on the timeline: late summer, before Charlie starts college, at which time he lives at Mulberry.

CW: very brief emeto, crying, angst, stomach ache and nausea from stress, misunderstandings, general anxiety, relationship anxiety, brief (relatively vague) references to when Shayne was psychologically manipulated/gaslighted.

___

“This is so perfect, isn’t it?”

Shayne was so comfortable that he immediately nodded in agreement, cuddling further into Charlie’s embrace. He’d never known safety or comfort like this before he’d known Charlie, and he’d never known how relaxed he could be until they had the house all to themselves. Ingrid and Trevor were completely moved out and working on their next project, and Elliott and Felix had gotten an Air B and B after dropping Shayne off.

His whole body was tingling.

“I missed you so much,” Charlie whispered, pressing his face into Shayne’s neck, so that his hair tickled the side of Shayne’s face. Charlie’s cheek was smooth, and the scent of his aftershave lingered on his skin.

It was so intensely familiar that it made Shayne’s stomach flip.

In a nice way.

“I missed you, too,” he blurted out, even though his mouth was buried in Charlie’s shoulder, meaning his hoodie muffled his voice. It didn’t seem to matter though, because Charlie attempted to pull him even closer, as though their bodies could somehow absorb each other’s and become one. Shayne didn’t mind, for once. To say he’d missed Charlie had, in fact, been an understatement. Charlie’s absence in his life for the past few weeks had been like a thirst.

“God,” Charlie said softly. “I could seriously defer college for a whole year so I can stay here. With you. Just like this.”

Shayne’s eyes flickered open so that he was looking out over Charlie’s shoulder, following the direction of his collarbone. The movie that neither of them was watching continued to play on the TV. He scoffed, but the trickle of cold on the back of his neck softened the sound. “Seriously? As in…seriously?”

“Yeah. Seriously.”

The cold feeling reached Shayne’s throat, making the back of his tongue feel heavy. “Y-you – you can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Charlie shrugged. “Plenty of people defer college, all the time. Sometimes even halfway through their degree, and I haven’t even started mine yet, so…”

Shayne put a hand on Charlie’s chest and lifted his head. Charlie’s arm resisted the movement for a moment, before he lifted it from Shayne’s shoulder. “No, I – I-I really need you to tell me you’re joking.”

Charlie blinked once, twice, three times, his brain clearly struggling to keep up with the sudden shift in the atmosphere. “I’m not joking, Shayne. I’ve… I’ve considered this.”

Shayne’s heart started to sink. No. No, no, no…

“When we’re apart, I spend so much time worrying about you,” Charlie admitted, chuckling beneath his words as if this was some kind of comedy sketch.

No…

“And I know. I know staying with your aunts is the best thing for you right now, but if I was more available, we could at least spend a little more time together. And eventually, maybe, you could gradually…” He paused, audibly swallowed, and lowered his gaze to their joined hands. “Basically, at least I’d be here, if you needed me.”

When he looked up again, Charlie was smiling. He was fucking smiling. It made Shayne clench his teeth so hard that he could have bitten right through his own cheek.

“No,” he muttered.

Charlie half-laughed at that. He turned his head, shifting his gaze over towards the TV screen. He seemed to watch the movie for about five seconds before he looked at Shayne again, this time without the smile. “No?”

“No.” Fuck. Shayne felt like he was going to throw up, right there and then. “‘No’, as in ‘no fucking way’. You’re not doing that.”

“God, you sound like my parents,” Charlie said. “Minus the bad language, obviously.”

Shayne had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. He slunk further back, out of Charlie’s embrace completely. His skin felt like it was burning now, the tingling pleasantness receding to the back of his mind. “You told your parents about this idea? Before you told me?”

“Yes, I talked to them first, because they’re paying my college fees!” Charlie exclaimed. “And honestly, when they said they didn’t want me to defer college and be with my boyfriend, it made me want it more! It was kind of exciting, in a ‘forbidden romance’ sort of way, you know? But this? This is –” He gestured towards Shayne in a way that made him feel even sicker. “It’s not as exciting when my actual boyfriend says he doesn’t want to spend more time with me.”

“I never said that, Charlie,” Shayne seethed. “I said I don’t want you to put off going to college.”

Charlie blinked. “You didn’t say that.”

Panic fluttered in Shayne’s throat. “Well, I fucking thought I did!”

“Alright, alright, okay –” Charlie shook his head and pressed his hands to the sides of his head. He shut his eyes and sighed. It was a very different sigh to the ones he’d let out while they’d been embracing. “I can’t – I can’t do this right now, Shayne. I’m so – I’m so tired. The drive here really took it out of me, I think. We should just go to bed and talk about this tomorrow.”

Fear thudded in Shayne’s chest as Charlie got up from the sofa and went about turning the movie off. As soon as the room was plunged into darkness, Charlie asked, with a hint of hardness, “Are you coming?”

Shayne got to his feet and followed, nodding silently. Of course, he was coming; he wanted to be with Charlie, wanted to be as close to him as possible. If Charlie thought otherwise, then maybe he was even worse at communicating that he’d thought.

___

Charlie was starting to snore. Meanwhile, the only part of Shayne that was asleep was his arm, and that was only because it was being crushed under Charlie’s pillow. He’d cuddled up behind him, hoping the thumping in his chest and the ache in his belly would ease up, but neither had. If anything, the further Charlie drifted into sleep, the further Shayne felt he was drifting away from him.

He didn’t know – or care to know – how much time he spent trying to fall asleep. But if it wasn’t his tangled thoughts drawing him back into consciousness, it was the deep, pulsing pain in his stomach. It was going to be a night of tossing and turning, and the thought of disturbing Charlie’s sleep only made the guilt and the panic worse.

After wrangling his arm free, Shayne slipped out of the bed. He pulled a jumper on over his t-shirt, the wool sleeves irritating his arms. Charlie’s red hoodie was slung across the desk chair, taunting him. It’d feel so much softer and swallow him up, and it would smell just like Charlie, too…

No. No way was he taking anything of Charlie’s right now. He glanced towards his sleeping silhouette. Stupid fucking idiot.

___

He dropped down onto the sofa and turned the TV back on. No movie this time. Just the regular middle-of-the-night channels that were mainly home to shitty news programmes and marketing shows.

A middle-aged man in a teal jacket was showing an over-enthusiastic blonde woman how to use a vacuum cleaner with a digital control pad. Shayne couldn’t make his brain focus long enough to figure out why a vacuum would need digital controls. If Charlie had been there, he’d probably have been voicing his opinions on it right about now.

He sighed.

It was so devastating that it was almost amusing. He’d missed Charlie so badly when they’d been separated by hours of road, to the point where he went to bed feeling nauseous most nights; and now he was missing Charlie while they were separated by a staircase and Shayne’s inability to express himself.

And he was still fucking nauseous.

“… sucks up everything!” the woman on-screen exclaimed happily as she watched the man pushing the vacuum cleaner around the floor.

It sucks up everything, Shayne thought dully, just like that relentless black hole inside of him that sucked up everything good and drained every single person who came close to him.

He breathed deeply against a slow curl of nausea and rolled over, hoping to crush and suppress the ache spreading through the pit of his stomach. Acid gurgled in his throat, but it was nothing he couldn’t swallow against. Nothing he couldn’t manage.

“– express delivery if you place your order before midnight –”

Fucking hell, this ad was driving him crazy! With irrational force, he grabbed the remote and clenched his teeth together. He didn’t hold out much hope for the other channels, so he hit the off button, plunging the front room into darkness again. He let the remote clatter to the floor in a moment of pettiness and stared off across the room until his eyes started to close.

He fell asleep without ever fully relaxing, and twitched himself back into consciousness at least every ten or fifteen minutes. Snippets of conversations haunted his dreams, occasionally accompanied by a flash of Charlie’s face, but mostly, he just felt the dread in his stomach like a lead weight. Every time he drifted into consciousness, he desperately tried to drop off again, until the voice in his head hissed a little too loudly for him to ignore.

Devourer. The word made him physically flinch. You take up so much space, so much of everything.

You’re going to take him away from the outside world, too? You’re going to gobble up the years of his life and destroy his dreams...?

He whimpered and dug his fingers into the cushions. He felt sick. Was it Madelyn’s voice in his head, or his own? She’d said some of those things in the past, but some parts didn’t make sense…

A black fucking hole, all you do is consume –

“Shut up,” he whispered to the darkness, turning his face the rest of the way into the sofa cushion. The lump of pain in his belly throbbed in a way that was much too familiar. He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was sinking -

Let me out, Shayne.

He gulped at the echo of a recurring dream, fighting a bubble of pressure in the back of his throat. His stomach lurch and gurgled. He was – he was actually going to be sick.

He got up to try to get to the downstairs bathroom, and almost dropped right to the floor. His lungs felt like they were filling up with water. He gripped the edge of the sofa to keep his legs from collapsing.

A wave of dizziness washed over him and his knees almost buckled in the dark. Muscle memory alone allowed him to reach the door handle of the downstairs bathroom – its position hadn’t changed during the renovations. He had to scramble slightly for the light switch before he was able to see the toilet, before he could buckle under the force of the retching that started in the seemingly endless abyss that resided inside of him.

___

He didn’t remember deciding to go back upstairs once he’d finished throwing up. He didn’t remember if he’d been crying the whole way up, or if the tears only started when he reached the bedroom and saw Charlie’s sleeping face. He considered waking him up to talk, just in the hopes of receiving a little bit of reassurance that everything was going to be okay, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth.

He held his breath as he crawled under the duvet and pressed himself up alongside Charlie. Charlie shifted, hopefully not lifting too far from his sleep. He shuffled his hips closer to Shayne’s. His back felt warm where it touched Shayne's belly, but just the thought of gleaning comfort from him like that almost made him flinch away.

“Mmm,” Charlie hummed, like he was suddenly uncomfortable. “You okay?”

Shayne bit his lip and tried to keep still. Charlie asked if he was okay twenty times a night, sometimes without even fully waking up. He just needed a few seconds to drop back off, and then –

“Shayne?” A spike of panic made Charlie’s voice louder.

Fuck. “Hmm?”

“You’re cold. Where’d you go?” Charlie finally started to shift, lifting his head and trying to turn over. “Are you okay? Are you sick?”

“Mmm…” No. Do not tell him you threw up. “I'm fine, I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for… being an asshole.” Shayne groaned and pressed his face harder into Charlie’s shoulder. “A-all I wanted to do was s-see you, and I ruined our evening.”

“Shayne, you didn’t ruin anything." The heavy slur in Charlie's voice was beginning to lift as he became more lucid. "What are you talking about?”

Shayne's teeth chattered together. “This – this week, I didn’t – I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m – I wish I was stronger, Charlie, I really, really do. I don’t want you to worry…”

“Hey, whoa. Wait a second,” Charlie whispered. “Is that why you got up? You couldn’t sleep because you were stressing about this?”

“Mmm. I went downstairs for a while.” He felt his voice breaking. His lips trembled.

“This was barely a fight, I don’t...” Charlie’s mouth bobbed open. He cupped the back of Shayne’s head. “You’ve been crying. Talk to me, lovely. Please.”

Shayne inhaled slowly, trying to relish the sensation of Charlie’s fingers slowly curling and unfurling through his hair.

“I…” he whispered. He forced himself to look right at Charlie, drinking in the colour of his eyes and the way a single streak of moonlight could make his round face look angular and hollow on one side. There were so many sides to Charlie’s beauty, and the fact that they could all be taken away was more than Shayne could bear.

He looked down, towards the bedsheets.

“Charlie,” he said again, in spite of every nerve in his body that screamed for him to shut up. “Don’t defer college. Don’t take a year out.”

A breathy sigh escaped Charlie’s mouth. His hand drifted down from Shayne’s hair and dropped heavily onto the mattress. As if he was impossibly tired.

I’m tired, too, Shayne thought. I’m tired of taking from you.

“If you don’t… If you don’t want to spend that much time with me, here…” There was a distinctly broken quality to the assertion. “If you feel like it’s too soon, I won’t – I don’t want to pressure you. You can keep living with Ryan and Nancy, and – and I’ll be here, and you can come and see me whenever, and I’ll give you space whenever you need it –”

“No. Charlie, it’s not that. It – it’s…”

Shayne drew a slow, shivering breath, grateful for the patient nod that Charlie gave him.

“There’s a black hole inside of me.”

Charlie frowned and nodded again; not in understanding, but in an attempt – a desire – to understand.

“All I’m… all I’m ever going to be good for is – is taking, consuming, destroying –” Shayne gulped as nausea rolled in his stomach. “And I’ve taken so much from you already, so please, please, don’t give me a year of your fucking life. I can’t take a year of your life.”

“Shayne,” Charlie said. “Lovely, you must know that’s not what this is.”

Shayne exhaled slowly, certain he knew what was coming next.

“This is just Madelyn talking –”

“That,” Shayne interrupted him, wishing his voice wasn’t trembling and that tears weren’t streaming down his face, “doesn’t make it any fucking easier to deal with!”

Charlie shrank back.

“Sorry,” Shayne whispered. “I’m – I’m sorry that I’m like this, Charlie, I’m trying –”

“Hey. Stop that.” Charlie squeezed Shayne’s hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I promise I’m listening to you. Whatever you’re feeling, or whatever reason there is, it’s - it’s important.”

“I just... wish you’d think about yourself, and not me.”

“I do think about myself,” Charlie exclaimed softly. “Honestly. Maybe a bit too much. I'm so selfish that I just want to be around you all the time.”

In spite of everything else, Shayne had to shake his head upon hearing Charlie call himself 'selfish'. He wondered if he could be considered selfish too, since he also wished he could be close to Charlie all of the time.

“What you said, about – about 'taking' a year of my life?” Charlie said. He paused, perhaps waiting to see if Shayne would correct him, before he went on. “College is important, but it’s not my whole life. You’re my life, too.”

Shayne’s chest fluttered. His gaze was fixed on the back of Charlie’s hand as it continued to envelope the back of his own.

“Truth is, lovely,” Charlie said, “I’d do anything on this earth for you. I’d do anything to make you feel happy, do you get that?”

Shayne did, only because of the burning certainty that he’d do anything to make Charlie feel better right now. Anything to ensure he wasn't feeling as shitty as Shayne was. He nodded, and Charlie let out an easy chuckle.

“And if me taking this year out is going to make you this unhappy, then we’ll figure out something else.”

The relief slithered along Shayne's spine and made him shudder. His throat ached, choked up with a fresh bout of tears.

"And maybe it's better this way anyway," Charlie added. "The sooner I start, the sooner I can graduate and... and we can start our lives properly. If you want to.”

Shayne didn't have to think. Behind the mess of shit that his brain had given him to deal with, there was a flicker of certainty. A clear image of the two of them. “I do."

“With a dog?" Charlie teased, rubbing his thumb against the side of Shayne’s hand. "Or maybe even two?”

Shayne scoffed in between gentle sobs that continued to make his ribs jump. “How – how about a cat instead?”

“We’ll see,” Charlie half-chuckled. He brought a hand up to touch the side of Shayne’s jaw. His skin tingled where it was touched. “Hey…”

Shayne sniffled, continuing to stare down at the bedsheets. “I don’t know why I’m still fucking crying.”

“It’s okay to cry, but please look at me. I need to see those gorgeous, gorgeous eyes.”

Shayne let Charlie’s hand guide his chin upwards. His eyelashes felt impossibly heavy, but the sparkle in Charlie’s eyes was worth the effort of keeping his eyes open.

“You don’t have a black hole inside of you.” Charlie’s thumb brushed over a damp patch near the corner of Shayne’s eye. He smiled slowly, carefully, as though he was demonstrating how to smile. “Everything I give to you, I give to you because I want to. Because I love you so much. There’s absolutely no other reason.”

I love you too. It was stuck in his throat, tangled in a knot. Instead, he let out something that sounded like a sob, but felt like a laugh. His eyes welled up again as he observed Charlie’s face. How was it possible that someone so beautiful, someone who knew all of the right words, to love him like this? The shift from intense sadness to this, it was dizzying. Shayne had the vague sense of needing to throw up again, but it wasn’t nearly as urgent this time.

Charlie shuffled across the mattress and leaned his torso towards Shayne’s, as if going in for a hug. His arms didn’t cross at his back, though; his hands just rested lightly on his waist while his chin was propped on his shoulder.

"I know I'm intense," Charlie murmured, "so thank you for telling me how you feel. That was pretty brave."

Shayne was preparing to be brave one more time. He sighed as he pressed his forehead against Charlie’s shoulder, feeling himself melt into the embrace.

“Fighting with you makes my stomach hurt.”

“Yeah? I bet.” One of Charlie's hands was in Shayne’s hair again, fingers scratching lightly. “Mine hurts a bit, too."

A silence crept over them then. A comfortable silence, with just enough awkwardness to keep the anxious ache in Shayne's gut engaged. As he inhaled the smell of Charlie's skin and pyjamas, though, he found his mind circling back to the couch, where all that mattered was the fact that they were together.

They were together. He was with Charlie. And he fucking loved Charlie.

“I know it’s the middle of the night, but shall we go downstairs and have some tea?” Charlie asked. “I don’t think I can get back to sleep right now anyway.”

“Sure." Shayne gasped against a rogue sob that racked his chest just as Charlie was pulling away from him. "Oh, actually, there’s an ad for a, um, a hoover...”

Charlie raised his eyebrows as he scooted towards the edge of the bed. "An ad for a hoover?"

"Mmm. I need to hear your – your thoughts on it."

"I'm intrigued." Charlie grabbed Shayne's hand again, this time as an invitation to join him. "Let's do it."

#StW Shayne #anon #ask #sickfic #emeto fic #angst fic #whump fic #emeto #emetophilia #OC emeto #OC sickfic #OC angst fic #OC whump fic #stomach ache #stomach ache fic #stress stomach ache

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meraki24601 · 2 months

Text

Sleep

Whumpee was awake.

They didn’t know when they woke up, but they were awake.

They hurt.

Tremors echoed from their head to their toes as Whumpee pushed themselves up onto their elbows. A fire burned under their skin, and their head was pounding. Something bad had happened to them. Something they couldn’t remember.

A hand filled Whumpee’s vision. The palm was cold as it pressed against Whumpee’s forehead. It felt nice until it began to push.

“Lay down. Go back to sleep.”

The voice sounded tired. Whumpee was tired. They should go back to sleep. Yeah. Sleeping was a good idea.

#whump fic #whump #whump scenario #whumpee #whump writing #whump ideas #whump tropes #oc

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sleepyconfusedpotato · 1 year

Text

More of You, Pt. 1

Direct continuation from the fic Wildflower! I'd recommend reading it first before this one (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ

Part 2

One month since Ghost got deployed, one month since their 'date' got postponed, until Laswell called Jade to tell her that he'd gone missing in action.

Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Charlotte “Jade” Le Jardin (OC)

Word Count : ~ 7.8k words (I overdid it but idc lmao)

Warning : some angst with flufff don't worry, some whump, light gore, hurt/comfort, and good ol’ cursings.

Prompt : There's only one bed oop

Title and story inspired by the song with the same title by JP Saxe!

*****

“Ghost, give me a sitrep now!”

“Watcher-1, things are not lookin’ good-- They found me.”

“We cannot get you an exfil in that area. You need to lose them first. Get out of there right now!”

“My ammo’s runnin’ out… I can’t lose them—”

“Ghost, do you copy?!

“Ghost!”

---

It's been two months since Simon told her that he's going out of the country to go on a mission. It's honestly crazy how much she missed him already, considering the fact that they were not even a couple yet. Jade couldn't even fathom how much his presence, or at least his mere existence in the same country, meant to her. Two months felt so long. Too long.

No one to call her names, no one to ask her to go explore London culinaries, no one to go thrifting with (for Ghost's lack of variety of wardrobe), no one to have a drink while stargazing.

And no one to hug.

Well, not that she ever hugged him for more than 2 seconds anyway. Ghost was certainly not a hugger. The only times they hug were after each… 'date', they'd come in contact for a short hug, before Ghost took off.

He must've hated hugs.

Jade sighed, resting her chin on her palm at the Le Jardin floristry counter.

It was a slow day. There were a few pre-orders, but there weren't even 15 clients that came in. One hour until the shop closes, and Jade was the only person at the shop. Her employees had left, while her parents were on a trip to Asia. Honestly, it miffed her, because now her mind was full of Ghost and Ghost only.

Where is he?, she wondered.

The ringtone of her phone snapped her out of her thoughts. Jade reached for her phone on the counter, and Laswell's name was written on the screen. She raised her eyebrow at the sight, thinking of what else the CIA agent had in store for her after Jade clearly told her that she was retired.

Rolling her eyes, Jade tapped the green button and put the phone on her ear, "Kate, you can't just call me whenever you run out of people to send out–"

"Ghost is MIA."

Not even a second later, her legs brought her to the front door before she flipped the tag from 'Open' to 'Closed'. "For how long?"

"Yesterday." Laswell's calm voice continued on the phone, "Ghost going dark is not an uncommon occurrence. He's used to it, and all this time he always comes back, but the situation was awry."

"What happened before he went MIA?" Jade switched the light off, climbed the stairs to reach her room and quickly opened her drawer to change into 'proper' clothes.

"We had an intel about a hidden drug stash in South America. There was a suspicion that it might be related to the Las Almas drug cartel. After months of tracking, Ghost then found a hidden facility. He went to investigate, but it appeared that his position was compromised, and the last thing we know, he was being chased by the Narcos before the radio cut off." The CIA agent explained, her tone was stable, yet there was a tinge of guilt in them. "I fear he might be in a dangerous situation, or worse."

Zipping up her turtleneck, Jade then walked to her father's study, obtaining the key to open the discreet stash of weapons behind the shelves.

"Price and Gaz are with Farah in Urzikstan, while Soap is halfway around the globe on another mission."

She took her plate carrier, her karambit knives and their holsters, plus her firearms along with the ammo.

“I apologize to you, Jade. I truly do. But you're our best tracker, and I know what he means to you, so I notified you first.”

Putting all the necessary pieces of equipment into a duffle bag, Jade then lifted the bag downstairs, moving fast to the backdoor and made her way to her sedan, sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Your wheels are up in 3 hours and I'll brief you more on the way. Are you up for this?”

“Brief me now.”

-----

The facility was deep in the middle of a rainforest. Made of cement, hidden by the tall trees of South America, it was a well-hidden building, obviously far out of the public eye.

Hiding behind the tall bushes and her steps covered by the pouring rain, it was relatively easy for her to take a tour around the building to scout the area. Jade could at least count 12 armed guards outside, guarding the many sides of the building. They rotate the place constantly every hour, occasionally talking into their radio for reports.

Twelve was a ton of people for the building’s size, almost too much. They were in the middle of a rainforest and far from any city. The only reason they need this much guard out would be a whole pack of hungry jaguars.

However, judging by the number of Narcos' dead bodies that Jade had encountered in the mud along the way, the reason for the many guards was definitely not big cats.

Ghost.

He must’ve stealthily killed his way in, and somehow he got noticed by a guard, and they started to hunt him down with guns blazing.

Jade swallowed. The only thing she was relieved about was the fact that none of those lifeless bodies was Ghost’s. It had been 4 days since Laswell lost contact with him. Ghost being captured had the highest possibility at this point, as the guards might not be placed to guard against who’s outside.

But to contain who’s inside.

"Watcher-1 this is Sierra-4, twelve armed guards on the exterior. I'm thinking of infiltrating them from the south side of the building." Jade spoke with a low voice to her PTT, preparing herself to go in, picturing every single step of her feet towards the building, every motion of her limbs to reach the point of entrance.

"Copy that, Sierra-4, you may proceed. Keep updating me on the situation."

Just after Laswell’s confirmation, sounds of gunshots rang from inside the building. That shocked and confused Jade as she lowered her scope which she had used to scout the area. All the guards turned around to face the building as more shots were fired from the inside. She could hear their loud chatters and shoutings through their radios, panic was written all over their faces as most of them ran inside to check the situation.

Jade couldn’t quite hear what the guards were talking about as their voices were muffled by the rain, but one thing she could clearly hear in Spanish was,

‘The prisoner escaped!’

Ghost was fighting his way out.

"Watcher-1, I hear gunshots from the inside. I suspect it's Ghost." Jade spoke with urgency in her voice.

"Copy that, Sierra-4. It's your move. You need to go in and help him." Laswell replied.

"Way ahead of ya."

"Good luck."

She scoffed, half-afraid and half-amused, taking aim with her rifle again as the guards were lowered to five. It was equipped with a suppressor, and taking out the dumbfounded guards outside was an easy fit. Their heads exploded upon impact with her bullets before collapsing to the ground, leaving the exterior unguarded. It was finally time for her to get inside.

To finally see him.

'See you tomorrow, Lottie.'

Ghost had said before he softly kissed her on her cheek, promising to ice skate and eat Korean barbecue with her on the 15th of February, only for her to be left disappointed when she received a text from him the next morning that he’ll be going on a mission. This mission.

Jade gritted her teeth at the memory, "I'm going in."

Rushing forward to the entrance of the building, She used her feet to silently press herself to the cement walls, the sound of gunshots was still going, albeit muffled. It’s like the sounds were coming from below.

Basement.

Loading her HK416, Jade infiltrated the area. She perceived at least four armed people in the main room, all looking towards one particular hallway while muttering nervously in Spanish, which she immediately suspected was the way to where Ghost was. Throwing a stun grenade inside, five bodies quickly fell to the ground from her shots.

Suddenly, another group of armed narcos came out of another room from the northern side, opening fire towards Jade while she was reloading. A bullet went past her shoulder, the sound of it ripping the air around it left a ringing sound on her ear. She could do nothing but quickly hide herself from the incoming rain of bullets behind a wall. The narcos emptied their mags like their fingers were glued to the trigger. It seemed like they were not properly trained.

When they were reloading, Jade took another flashbang and threw the can to the middle of the group. Quickly canting her aim, her rifle couldn't pick a better time to be jammed, prompting her to curse and switch to the pistol on her hips on the right and picked up her karambit blade with her left.

While the guards were stunned, it became muscle memory from there. Taking out three front-most people with the gun, using another as a shield from the incoming aimless fire, slitting the throat, and then another Narco in the face with the butt of the gun before forcing her blade up to the under jaw.

Having cleared the main room, Jade huffed, quickly fixing the jammed rifle, and proceeded by silently going even further into the building.

There was a long hallway with a number of doors along them. Jade smacked one door open, only to see white-coloured blocks of drugs on a table, and judging from the colour, cocaine must be the identity of the drug. She checked each and every one of the doors and found the same things. This building was a drug warehouse; a place where the drugs were stored before their export or distribution for sale. At first, she couldn’t discern for sure if this facility was indeed owned by the Las Almas drug cartel, but when she looked upon the notable stamp of El Sin Nombre’s skull, her doubt vanished.

Jade then moved further into the hallway and reached an intersection, where another set of gunshots and screams found her ears. Her legs brought her closer to the noise, finding a stairway downwards to the basement area. She quickly descended the stairs, finding herself surrounded by a dirty, poorly dug tunnel. Nevertheless, the ex-MI6 focused on her objective and ran to the source of the sound, when she finally reached the source of all the ruckus.

She turned from a corner with her aim up on an intersection, finding Ghost with his mask on, fighting four men at once, below them were the bodies of Narcos that he had killed prior. With a knife in one hand and his own pistol in the other, he stabbed a Narco in the neck and used his body as a shield from the incoming bullets. He then threw the knife straight at his assaulter’s face as Jade saw the other two taking aim at him. Upon reflex, Jade shot down the remaining Narcos, leaving Ghost the one standing alone in the tunnel seemingly dumbfounded at what just happened right in front of him.

With relief washing over her, Jade rushed towards Ghost, finding him still standing, still fighting, still alive. “Ghost!”

Only to be welcomed by the barrel of his gun aiming straight at her.

Before Ghost could pull his trigger, Jade’s reflex kicked in and defeated her own sadness and sorrow of not seeing him for more than two months, and leapt to his side, grabbing the barrel of the firearm away from her. She then used her speed and abundance of energy to kick his ankle strong enough to push Ghost off his balance. He fell down to the ground with a loud thud on his back. Jade kicked the pistol out of his hand, before putting her whole weight to press on his entire figure.

Still, Ghost was known for his superior combat ability and survival instinct. His hand found another knife on his hip holster, ready to stab the person who was holding him down.

“Simon!”

The sound of his first name stopped his knife on its track, stopping right beside her neck – a few mere inches before blood could’ve been spilt. And just after he heard his name, he felt a soft touch on his uninjured cheek.

Jade had opened his mask, revealing his face in the open. With how skilled and lethal Ghost was as an operator, she never thought she’d ever see Ghost in this state. His left cheek and eye were swollen, and there were traces of blood running down his temple. Even though black in colour, his clothes had darker spots where only blood could stain them. He had his plate carrier and his knife holsters on, but they too were stained with blood.

And his eyes, it was filled with rampage, pure anger and wild want for blood. Yet it was unfocused, like a blind beast ready to get rid of anyone standing in his way.

Imprisonment. Torture.

“It’s me. It’s me. I’m here for you. You’re okay.” He blinked a number of times, and the red fog that had been clouding his vision disappeared, finding the face of the woman he loved right above him.

“You’re okay now. I’m here. Please, it’s over, Simon.” Her shaky voice continued, desperation filling her tone. Her green eyes were already brimming with tears threatening to fall down. “It’s over.” She breathed, hoping that somehow, her voice could bring him back.

“...Midget?”

Hearing her nickname in his deep, hoarse voice was all the sign she needed. Ghost lowered his knife, and before he knew it, Jade dropped down to hug Ghost tightly, burying her face in his shoulders. She sobbed into the side of her neck, grasping his clothes with her fingers in relief. Finally, finally, he’s back in her arms. After days of anxious and dark thoughts about losing the only man she’s ever allowed herself to love, he’s finally here, in her arms.

However, that relief was short-lived as Ghost grabbed her shoulders and lifted her smaller figure away from him. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOIN’ HERE?!”

That response startled her, “WH– I’M HERE TO SAVE YOU, YOU BIG BOZO!”

“YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE!”

Jade then wrestled her way out of Ghost’s weak hands, “YOU WENT MIA FOR DAYS!”

“FUCKIN’ HELL–” Trying to sit up abruptly turned out to be a big mistake as a sharp pain burst out from his side, making him grunt out loud. Noticing this, Jade held him up before he fell back down to the floor. She then glanced to his side, and there, she caught sight of a fresh graze wound on his side. Observing him further, she found a crudely tied, blood-stained bandage wrapped around his right shoulder. Judging by the sight of it, this might be the lucky shot that had subdued Ghost and made the Narcos manage to capture him.

Nevertheless, they needed to get out of this building before reinforcements arrived. Seeing the condition he was in, he'll need some assistance to even stand now. fighting off the reinforcement would be impossible. “This warehouse – where’s the supervisor?”

“I gutted him.” He growled, hatred filling his voice. She could easily deduce that the supervisor was the one who had been inflicting these wounds to him.

And so, she used all her strength to lift and help Ghost stand up. "Can you walk?"

"I can–" he stumbled to the wall, using his pained arms to support himself up. "Fuck…" It had been four days since he went MIA. That meant four days of badly treated wounds, blood spilling from the tortures, and no food. Still, he managed to escape and fight his way out, leaving dead bodies as his footsteps.

Such mental fortitude was something to be feared indeed.

"Alright, come 'ere, Big Man." Jade sneaked her hand behind his back and circled his arm around her shoulder before assisting him to quickly walk out of the damned warehouse. To hell with these drugs and the people inside.

"Watcher-1, this is Sierra-4.” Pressing the PTT, Jade contacted the CIA. “I've secured Bravo 0-7. I repeat, Bravo 0-7 is secured."

—------

Prior to arriving at the warehouse, Jade had located a rickety old cabin inside the forest. It was placed near a river far away from the warehouse. Though it’s not fully hidden, it worked well as a resting place for the night as it was pretty deep inside the forest, and of course, because there’s no way that the man that she was currently holding up could walk all the way to the nearby city.

Stepping into the wooden floors of the cabin, Jade glanced to the side where she found a single bed placed on the edge of the room. “There’s a bed there. Let’s get you down.” Straining her voice from holding Ghost’s weight for the entire 30-minute walk there, she finally sat Ghost down on the bed before he collapsed to his back, panting heavily and clearly out of fuel.

“Fuck… I’m beat.” He managed to breathe out with his sore voice.

“Here, drink some water. Drink all of it since we have a river in front.” Jade gave her own canteen to him, to which he chugged down to the last drop while still lying down.

In the meantime, Jade tinkered with her radio, pressing down on her PTT to contact Laswell.

“Watcher-1 this is Sierra-4 do you copy?”

Not long, the radio buzzed, “Sierra-4 this is Watcher-1, send traffic.”

“We’re currently holed up in an old cabin near a river about four clicks northwest of the warehouse. His radio was destroyed by a bullet, so that might be why his comms suddenly disappeared.”

A loud sigh of relief could be heard on the radio, “That’s great news. How is he looking?”

She took a glance at Ghost, who was still laying back while covering his eyes with the back of his hand. “Beat. But alive. Very lean. Injuries and wounds all over. He’d worn his mask when I found him, but…” A thought had been weighing on her mind the whole way they walked to the cabin. “If he got captured, then the first thing the Narcos did was obviously to take off his mask. Is his identity compromised now?”

“No. It’s still the same as ever. Even if they saw his face - as long as Ghost didn’t give out his name - there’s no record of his face anywhere. Every earlier visual identity had also been redacted.” Jade raised her eyebrows. So that’s how he maintained his anonymity all this time.

“That sounds like him. Anyway, we’re pretty deep in the woods. Sun’s going down, and the nearest town is around 15 kilos from here. I think we need to lay low for a while.”

“Copy that. I’ll see what I can do for your exfil, I’ll be in touch. You guys should rest for a while.” Laswell finally said, a tone of calm in her voice. “And thank you so much, Jade. I’m sorry for dragging you back again.”

Jade could only scoff at that. “It’s fine. Besides, if you’d sent out anyone else to find him… I’d be a wee~ bit offended.”

“Oh? Is this what I think it is?” She could clearly hear the wide smile on the CIA agent’s face.

“I’m gonna go patch the big man up now. Sierra-4 out.” Finally finishing her report with Laswell’s chuckle as the last thing she heard, Jade sighed, watching the strong and steady flow of the river below. It was freezing, but at least they had shelter. Now all she needed to do was keep Ghost alive and comfortable while keeping tabs with Laswell.

—

"Lottie, why are you here."

Ghost’s strained voice pulled Jade’s attention from the wound that she was currently treating on his shoulder. That crudely-tied bandage was not replaced at all after his capture and left a terrible-looking injury, which by the look of it, was obviously infected that when she’d pulled it, the skin that already tried to heal got pulled along with it.

"What? I thought I said to you already. Your radio cut off abruptly, so Laswell sent me out to find you." Jade answered, still dabbing cotton onto the lacerated skin caused by the bullet.

"Fuckin' hell…"

That tone irked her. "You sound like you don't want me here."

"That's right! I do NOT want you here!" Ghost yelled to her, making her lean back on the chair she was sitting on and stopped what she was doing. His angered face was a new sight for her.

"What?! Are you telling me to just stay back while I know you were captured?!"

“Laswell knew for a fact that this was not my first time going MIA. She did not have to tell you about it because as you could see, I got out on my own.” He told her harshly, that tone starting to aggravate her.

“You were missing! Can’t you see that I was worried for you?!” Jade countered, trying to keep her composure while he palmed his face in visible frustration, “More than two months you’ve been gone for a mission alone, and now that I finally have news about you, I was told that your radio cut off with gunshots!”

“You should’ve just stayed home and get on with your days. I never asked for you to come here.” Gravely he told her as he saw Jade’s eyes start to turn sombre. Those words came out of his mouth on their own.

Deep inside, Ghost knew what was coming – He needed to stop himself.

“I found you battered and bruised, Simon! You can’t just expect me to–”

"I don't need you to save me!” He raised his voice harshly, shocking her.

No. That was not what he wanted to say.

He knew; he truly knew it was the opposite.

He didn't want her to get hurt.

"I don't need you!”

Her face was everything he needed to know that he fucked up. Ghost saw her face turn to dread like her heart just got stabbed a thousand times over, that after everything she did, after everything she felt – it was only for him to tell her those words.

For a moment the only thing they heard was the pouring rain outside.

Before Ghost saw the woman in front of him grit her teeth, seeming like she chose to not believe what he just said.

“There were at least a dozen armed guards outside! What did you think you could do with those wounds?!" It was her turn to raise her voice, “If I hadn't been there to find you, what could you do with a gun an a knife?!"

It was the last thing that snapped him. Ghost ignored all the pain in his arms to grab onto her shoulders,

“I CAN’T LOSE YOU!”

And just like that, Jade gasped as she blinked. His grasp on her shoulder felt firm yet shaky, and she couldn’t tell if it was because of the searing pain or from the emotion he felt, as this is the first time she saw Ghost with that expression. Maskless, bruises all over, bloodshot eyes brimming with tears, and a face that had desperation and sorrow painted all over it.

He started with a low voice, but the emotions in his words still remained, “You’ve left this life for a reason, Lottie. And for a good one. Think of your mother, your father, your friends, who love you and care for you! What if you get hurt alone inside this fucking rainforest?! What if you die, huh?! What do I say to your parents?!"

"What if you die?!" Jade countered, trying to make sense of his words.

"I don't fucking care if I die!"

"You say that as if no one is waiting for you to come home! I DO!” Jade grabbed both of his hands from her shoulders, gathering them with her own. ”I love you!"

Her action surprised Ghost, but more than anything, the last three words felt like an epiphany.

"You think Kate should've just shut up about it and left me in the dark?! Well, that's just fucking stupid, Ghost. If you think that you did this for me, then you're wrong!” She shouted bitterly, her scowl taking over her face in such a way that it looked out of place, tears already brimming in her eyes.

"You think I didn't know that your missions are dangerous? I know that! That's why I can't just stand back while I know I have the full capability to find you! If it means that I can finally have you back, then to hell with my retirement! Great, now I'm crying!" All that stress and frustration of finding him these last four days came out of her in the form of tears streaming down her cheek. The thought of finding him beaten up, all bloody, or even worse, lifeless on the ground had been eating her mind. Nevertheless, she moved her body to find him, clinging to a desperate hope that he was still alive somehow.

Ghost could only watch as Jade buried her face in her palms, her sobs muffled by her hands. "We had a date, Simon…" That sentence felt like a thousand knives impaling his heart. He remembered being very excited that early morning, anticipating the ‘date’ with her. He remembered himself being so happy and delighted for the date, heck, he even fucking looked through his wardrobe to find the best fit for the occassion, only to be left feeling empty when he suddenly got a call to go on a mission. He could still recall how shaky his hands were when texting Jade that he couldn’t make it for the date.

"I was waiting for it. It's my first date, ever. So I'm sorry if I'm a little excited to see you, alright?" Jade raised her head to face him again, revealing her messy hair, red eyes, and cheeks smeared by tears. “I can’t lose you too."

Ghost didn't know if it was because of his courage or something else, but he moved his hand and put it right above hers, gently enveloping her hands. "I don't want you to get hurt, especially because of me." He started, looking softly into her eyes, "I'm sorry."

Hearing that broke something in him, as for once in his life, someone waited for him to come home. Someone wanted him to be fine, and it felt… foreign.

Now, that person was sitting before him. The woman he loved, and the one who loved him back, more than he deserved.

The fact that Ghost initiated the touch made butterflies fly wildly inside her stomach. The temperature of his skin was quite alarming though, so she kept that in mind. "Well thank you, for your consideration, but please,” Jade lifted her arm to wipe her face from the tears aggressively, sniffing her nose. “I can't have you just promise me a date one day and then disappear the next. I won't let you ghost me." Her lips pouted in a way that made him chuckle. He might go crazy if she kept doing this. "If it means finding you, then getting hurt is nothing. If you went MIA again, then I will go out and find you again."

Ghost still felt the pain all over his body, that argument took all the spare energy that he got. Meanwhile, Jade took the sewing kit from the side table, getting them ready to close Ghost's laceration.

"Also, put some credit on my name, alright? You know I can take care of myself, Ghost." Jade muttered while taking the forceps.

"I almost stabbed you though." He replied.

"Ah." That only occurred to her now. When he was fighting off the Narcos, he thought she was an enemy and launched a knife straight to her neck. "You were in full survival mode since the whole warehouse was trying to kill you. I understand."

"Shit… what would I say to your parents if I'd killed you?"

"Hmmm. 'Sorry, Sir, Ma'am. I killed your daughter by accident.’, and then your body would never be seen ever again, perhaps."

That got a light laugh out of him, "We're a crazy lot aren't we?"

"Damn right we are."

There was barely any alcohol to hold the pain as Jade sutured his wounds close, and even though she had mastered the medical suturing techniques, the searing pain was going to be there to stay.

All the while her hands work, she started again, "What did they do to you?"

Ghost flinched at the question. She really hoped it wasn't something too bad. From her observations, he was badly injured on the left side, which meant he must've been punched and kicked quite a lot by the Narcos. The right side had way fewer injuries, but the little lacerations on his head looked like something sharp.

He took a deep breath, "After they caught me, I was brought to the basement and they tied my hands on my back to a pole with a rope. My feet as well. They interrogated me about who I am and my ties with Alejandro Vargas. Of course I shut my mouth the entire time."

Jade still looked at him, sending him a signal that it was not was she was asking about. Ghost sighed, before answering again, "It wasn't much, just punches and kicks, splashed water on me. The leader was a huge twat though. He smashed a bottle of alcohol on my head." Ah. There's the answer to her questions.

"And I'm assuming you used the shards to cut the ropes to escape?" She inquired, her hands still working.

"Yeah."

"...You okay?"

He always hated the question, but coming from her, it felt different. Ghost knew how she had experienced the same things before considering they work on similar grounds. And if he wanted to be honest on the answer, she won't get much. "I'm mostly annoyed at their leader the whole time. Just thinking of how to get out of there." Ghost finally answered, "I've experienced far worse. If anything, they lacked creativity."

Jade sighed, not the worst answer. Either he was hiding the mental trauma or he's just that dulled to tortures. From the outside he looked fine and he acted like this was just another business day, but she could never guess what's going on inside his mind.

That last sentence made her chuckle though. "What do you think they should've done to make you speak?"

Ghost looked like he really considered it, "...To make me speak? No idea. Probably your favourite method."

"My method?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Nail-pulling."

"I--" Oh good heavens, he'd set 'nail-pulling' as her favoured method of tortures. "Okay, if and only if you have the right tools, alright."

He let out a chuckle, prompting her to laugh as well as she finished the suture on his wounds.

—---

Cleaning up Ghost's injuries was relatively easy, as he didn't have any lethal wounds that required urgent care and deep medical knowledge. Still, watching him hiss and grunt as she sewed his lacerations was hard to do. She kept mumbling soft "Sorry, sorry." to him in a vain attempt to soothe his pain. At some point, it appeared that Ghost was completely out of fuel and dozed off sitting up while she was cleaning his skin from the blood and dirt. Closing his wounds was only the first step of first-aid care because what came after could be harder to treat since he had that infected wound on his shoulder.

He hadn't eaten in days, was completely out of energy, had a significant blood loss, bruises all over his body, and that infected wound had finally shown its damned effect: fever.

Jade sighed. As much as he needed the rest, he needed to eat. She'd brought some antibiotic meds, but in order to have them he had to eat first. Her legs brought her to the cabinet near the end of the bed, fortunately finding a good clean sheet of the blanket. Though, it wasn't thick enough for her liking, plus it was pretty small in size and would barely cover his large frame. Beggars can’t be choosers, so she draped the cloth onto his shoulders and his legs, making sure his figure was covered.

Opening her backpack, Jade fished out two sets of MREs, along with a ration heater. With his wounds finally dressed up and he's sleeping soundly, she walked out of the cabin to the riverside, filling her canteen with fresh river water. Pouring the water into the ration heater along with the MREs inside, Jade walked back to the doorway to avoid the rain, waiting patiently as she wiped the rainwater off of her skin.

While she was letting the heating pack do its job, she sat back on the wooden floor, slowly untying her braids that had gone messy from the actions and the rain. Fully getting the braids undone, her hair finally became loose completely, falling on her shoulders, back, and chest in the most chaotic way possible that Jade had to run her hands through her thick hair to detangle the mess.

"Lottie?"

Ghost's weak voice startled her, making her turn around and saw the man himself standing right behind her, blanket around his shoulders. “Ghost?! What– you should’ve just slept! You can’t stand just yet–”

“Relax,” He said softly, sitting down beside her with visible struggle. “This isn’t my first rodeo. I won’t die from moving 10 steps.”

Seeing how he coughed wetly made her pout in disagreement. She still thought he needed to stay in bed. “How are you feeling though?”

"...like death.”

“I thought so. Your temp was concerning. May I touch your forehead? I have to feel your temp." Ghost nodded, still, her soft touch on his forehead and neck caught him off guard, as she stared at him trying to concentrate on measuring the heat of his skin. “You’re burning up! Dammit.” Jade exclaimed upon feeling the rise of his fever, it baffled her how he still had the energy to stand up with all those wounds.

Out of nowhere, Ghost felt pressure on his chest, before realizing that it was Jade pressing her ears to his thorax.

He froze right there and there, turning into stone like Medusa just stared him down. Ghost sucked his teeth and looked up to hold in his blush. He knew a hundred per cent that she was checking his breathing for that terrible wet cough he let out, but his brain had turned into a mush, his heart beating so fast like he just ran a fucking marathon. She definitely could hear his racing heartbeat, but no matter how much he tried to tell his heart to stop fucking beating like there's a whole damned carnival inside his chest, it was proven futile.

“Take a deep breath.” Her voice was the only thing that snapped him out of his thoughts, doing what she told him to do.

After hearing the air going in and out of his lungs a number of times, Jade finally leaned back again. “Yup. I’m no medic, but I can hear pneumonia coming when I hear one. You need to go back to bed.” She stood up and tried to pull him up, which was to no avail as he was still dumbfounded on the event that just happened. "The sun's setting down and the rain won't stop anytime soon. It'll get colder than this."

“I just got here–”’

“Back. To. Bed.”

Has she always been this demanding? He never liked being told what to do when it's not from someone of higher rank, but he could surely get used to this one. Ghost couldn't help the small smile on the corner of his lips as he stood up, walking towards the hard bed slowly before sitting down again. She gathered the steaming rations on her hands and sat back on the chair, his heart swole in a way he never thought it could.

"I brought chicken sausage and… pasta bolognese. You can choose whatever and I'll take the other one." Jade said, opening the lids to let the heat out while waiting for Ghost's answer, but when he didn't say anything, only gazing at the foods, a thought clicked in her mind. "Or or or, you can have both of them, if you want. I'm sure you're starving."

"...What about you?" Yep, she guessed right. He wanted both of them. Big man needed a big meal.

"Don't worry about me. You haven't eaten in days. I already had mine before coming to the facility, so I'm good, I promise."

A gulp, "Can I have both?"

"Sure."

----------

He’s back under that suffocating, smothering coffin under the ground. Trapped alone in the dark, he felt his heart beat racing, pounding against his chest that he could hear it on his ears.

He couldn’t breathe.

He’s afraid.

Ghost tried to bang his fist against the roof, but it wouldn’t budge. Even until his arms were bruised, until blood came out, he felt that the earth would swallow him whole any second, before Ghost felt the wooden base of the coffin disappear into dust, which made his body fall into a deep, bottomless void, getting farther and farther from the coffin.

Just as he thought that he’d forever fall without end, his back hit the ground with a great force, waking him up from his nightmare. Ghost opened his eyes with a jolt of his entire body, breathing fast and laboured as if he’d just gained back his ability to take air in.

"Hey."

The familiar voice called to him, prompting the man to focus his blurred vision, finding Jade. He’s finally awake enough to register that this is no longer inside the coffin where he was buried alive, but inside a wooden cabin deep in a rainforest. The rain still falling outside, the sun long gone, only the moon to accompany them. His surroundings were dark, save for the soft yellow lighting from a portable bonfire on the bedside table. Ghost was laying on his side facing her, nothing to support his head from the absence of pillows.

He then saw that his hand was grabbing Jade’s wrist in a death grip, almost shaking. She looked like she was startled by the sudden grip of her wrist when she'd just been wiping the sweat off his face with a handkerchief, but she didn’t show any sign of panic or daze, just calmness inside her eyes. "Nightmare?"

Ghost released his grip and answered with an alarming wet cough, his breathing starting to sound difficult, before weakly muttering, "Why aren't you asleep?"

"You can have the bed, I'll sleep on the floor–" He tried to wake up before being pushed down back to the bed on his side.

"Your fever got worse, you were sweating, and shivering as well. That infected wound on your shoulder added to the problem." Ghost might not be in his best condition, but he could hear her worry as clear as day.

She looked messy with the very long red locks of hers undone, contrasting with her usual tidy and orderly appearance. And to be frank, she’d had that worried tone since the second she found him in the warehouse, since she heard that he was missing, and probably since the day he texted her that he’d had to go on a mission.

"That is total nonsense! I'm not the one who's beaten up right now!” The logic must have left him because of the fever. Did he really want to sleep on the hard wooden floor with those bruises all over his body?!

The usual Ghost would retort some sarcasm towards her, but all he did right now was to stare at her. Jade would've thought that he's completely out of it from the illness, until he mumbled,

"...You should let your hair down more often."

"...wHaT?” her voice cracked at his words. Why was he talking about her hair all of a sudden?

A light cough, “I said you should let your hair down more.”

“Wh– Why?" She chuckled, half amused and half confused. "Look at them. My hair's a mess if I let it down. It's really hard to take care of, especially in the wind. Let it touch the rain, and air drying it is basically a recipe for disaster." The ginger said while rubbing her heavily tangled hair. She had intended to brush them when Ghost was asleep earlier, but she must admit that she didn’t have the energy to do it. Days of tracking and helping him had taken more of her than she’d expected.

"That's precisely why." Ghost started, still eyeing her face softly.

"...What do you mean?"

"Beautiful.” He confessed, "You're beautiful when your hair's a mess, so let it down."

A pause as he tried to rack up an answer in his jumbled brain. "It's not sudden. I've always liked it."

The sentence baffled, perplexed, and shocked her. Why did he say that? Why was he doing this?? What kind of dream or nightmare did he have?? Jade’s jaw dropped to the floor, her face turned almost as red as her hair because of that particular sentence. Ghost had never been one for talking, let alone compliments. That was the normal, healthy Ghost, then. So if he's on the opposite condition…

"I– What's with the sudden flattery??"

No one ever complimented her hair. Since she was a baby, a child, a kid in the orphanage, she kept being skipped by potential parents because of her striking red hair.

Jade recalled how she would see a couple shake their heads as they whispered among each other, quickly looking at the other orphans. Her brothers and sisters come in and go to their new parents, while she stayed. And for that reason, she grew to dislike – hate her hair, only until recently did she ever see a good in them.

And now, this man just admitted that he had always liked her hair since the day he met her, albeit… in a feverish, delirious state?

"T-thank you for saying that, Simon." Finally finding the courage to react, Jade continued, "but anyway, how are you feeling? Dizzy? Nauseous?"

"...cold." Ghost mumbled.

For sure that thin blanket would be doing anything in the cold rain. There was no more piece of clothing or any blankets left inside the house to use. She had started a little portable bonfire on the bedside table to give the room some form of luminescence as the sun was long gone, but it wouldn’t be enough to stop his shiverings.

Holding his eyes open was already a heavy task for him, but this cold felt like a thousand knives on his skin. He wanted to sleep, God, he wanted to sleep. He’s exhausted, except getting trapped in that coffin and buried alive inside that dream was the last thing he wanted to experience right now. Getting air into his lungs was also a burden to his chest. Even with the painkillers and antibiotic Jade had given him, his wounds hurt all over.

However, this is nothing.

Ghost had experienced this before, far, far worse than this, and he was still alive. He’ll tank through the cold, he could endure any pain.

It’s the same as ever.

Nothing’s different.

Had he ever heard that kind of sentence before?

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

Jade softly muttered to him, looking at him not with a look of pity, but of compassion and willingness to help.

"Do you mind a– um… A cuddle?” The woman sitting beside his bed said nervously, prompting him to look at her face. "Shared body temperature. I suppose it's effective in this situation."

He took that back.

It's different now.

“...No.” He replied shortly.

"Really?”

“Yeah.”

“O-okay! The bed’s small, can you face the other way?” She asked, to which he nodded before he used all the energy he had left in his body to lie on his other side. With heavy clumsiness, he finally faced the wooden wall. The light of the moon shone through the window, hitting his face softly. Not long, he felt a dip on the other side of the bed. Jade had climbed on the bed and fixed the thin blanket to cover his figure properly. Ghost could feel her presence on his back, looming behind him. He didn’t know what to do, obviously. He never really shared a bed with anyone in a long time, let alone a woman. It’s almost pathetic.

“Can I… wrap my arm around you?” Jade asked hesitantly to the back of his head. “I–I don’t mean anything weird, just to warm you up! Like I said I love you and all – and I do mean that – but in case you’re not comfortable with me hugging you I will totally understand and—”

“I said I don’t mind it.” Ghost cut her off before she could blabber more.

“Okay… I’ll just. Put my left arm above you. Like this.” Lifting her arm, she then gently put her wrist on his shoulder, just barely beyond his side line. “This okay?”

“...Hm.” She’s pressed to him. She’s affirmatively pressed to his back. Her warmth instantly traveled to his entire figure, pleasantly so.

“Good. That’s really great, yeah. Your shoulder is really high, wow." He couldn’t say anything to that. Is that a compliment? “While we’re at it, lift your head up a little bit.”

Even though it confused him, he did what she told, and an arm sneaked its way past his cheek and placed it firmly there, and before he could ask her what was she trying to do, he got his answer. “I’m your pillow.”

Ghost let out a chuckle at her retort, and to be honest, he didn’t have any strength left to refuse the offer. His neck hurt and his head felt dizzy without a pillow, so he dropped his head right then and there on Jade’s bicep, and what she didn’t expect was the fact that he deliberately scooted back even further, finally clinging to her figure – a relaxed huff leaving him.

And just like that, Jade’s assumption that Ghost didn’t like hugs went down the bloody drain. She had to bite her lips in order to hold in the scream inside her. God, he must’ve felt her racing heartbeat on his back. He sounded like a literal puppy with that last huff. If she has a third arm she would’ve loved to pet his hair.

------

The rain hadn’t stopped since they arrived at the cabin. The cold seeped through the woods, piercing through Jade’s skin as she made Ghost have the blanket. Other than that, the woman couldn’t deny the soreness on her arm as his head was pretty heavy. She didn’t mind it at all though, as long as he was comfortable, a sore arm was nothing compared to what he must be feeling.

It’s been about an hour since she climbed the bed to cuddle with him. Jade could really tell a lot about his condition from this distance. He’s really hot to the touch, his shoulders moved up and down in a quite fast pace. Still, it seemed that the shared body temperature worked as his shivers stopped. Was he already asleep?

Jade moved the hand that was on his shoulder to the front of his face – waving it up and down.

"I'm still up." His deep voice startled her.

Shit. He’s still awake. "S– Sorry. Just checking."

Meanwhile Jade was waiting for him to sleep, Ghost couldn’t even bring himself to sleep, for fuck’s sake. And not because of the nightmare, but because of her presence on his back was all he could think about. He felt relaxed, but not relaxed at the same time. It’s like his entire being felt safe in her arms and presence, yet his mind thought that he didn’t deserve this. Because she had searched for him, she had to leave her home, family, and friends again, and even though Jade had told him that she would always go and find him – and the things he said to her – he still felt like an arse.

"Lottie."

Jade noticed the name, prompting her to blink. "Mm? You okay?"

“Thank you... for saving me. And about what I said,” A brief pause, “I've hurt you. I'm sorry."

She stayed silent, looking at the back of his head. Ghost was always a blunt person, and it wasn't the first hurtful thing that he'd said to her. Calling her a midget was one thing, but saying that he didn't need her?

She knew he was in immense pain and under heavy mental duress from the imprisonment, but if what he said was true…

"Did you mean it? What you said?" Jade finally replied back, questioning him about the words he'd said. She wanted to know if he really mean what he said. She needed to know.

It took a few seconds for Ghost to answer, seeming like he was preparing himself. "No. Quite the opposite."

Hearing those words from him felt like a earning medal, prompting a smile coming from her lips. "Thank you, Simon. For staying alive.”

“Will you forgive me?”

“I forgive you, because..." Jade lightly sighed behind him, "I need you too.''

And he thought he had a cold heart. That one simple sentence coming out from the one person he allowed himself to love after such a long, long time, made his heart - no, his entire being melt right then and there, in her arms.

A mosquito decided to land on Jade’s hand, making her sway the bug away. “Oof, there’s some bugs here.”

"...What's the bugs' favourite band?"

Oh great heavens. A pun at a time like this? "...what is it?"

"Bee Gees."

"Oh that's goooood." She must admit that his timing was immaculate. "You ever watch Bee Movie though?"

"...Only bee I know in movies is Bumblebee in Transformers."

"Yeah well. Suits you I guess. And good for you for being oblivious about the Bee Movie."

"What kind of movie is that?" He asked.

"A movie. About bees suing humans."

"The fuck?"

"Yea yea yea we'll watch it when we get home. Now sleep." Jade chuckled. "Good night, Beanpole."

"Goodnight, Midget."

"I'm right here if you need me."

*****

"I know."

It's finally here!! To be continued in Part 2!

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mj-iza-writer · 3 months

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Whumpee peaked into the living room and saw Whumper playing on their phone.

"What do you need?", Whumper didn't bother to look up.

Whumpee sighed and stepped into the room.

"May I wrap a blanket around myself while I work? I'm freezing", Whumpee visibly shook.

"How are you cold? I haven't changed the temperature", Whumper eyed the thermometer, "it's at the normal setting."

Whumper looked at Whumpee who seemed to be standing their practically dead.

"Are you feeling alright?", Whumper studied them.

"I don't feel great, but I can manage. May I please have a blanket?", Whumpee pleaded as they sniffled.

"I don't care", Whumper sighed and continued to study Whumpee until they disappeared into the hallway to get a blanket.

After a few minutes Whumpee could be heard in the kitchen practically choking on a cough.

"Geesh Whumpee", Whumper stood up and went to the kitchen.

Whumpee leaned on the counter, trying to hold themself up from the violent coughing.

Whumpee shook as they tried to catch their breath.

"Ahhemm", Whumper watched from the doorway.

Whumpee turned slowly to see Whumper with their arms crossed.

"I-I'm alright, just a cold", Whumpee sniffled.

"Couch now", Whumper pointed.

"But.... chores, I'll have more work to do later if they don't get done now", Whumpee pleaded.

"No buts, go to the couch", Whumper frowned.

Whumpee held their head in shame as they walked past Whumper to the living room.

Whumpee waited beside the couch until Whumper came out.

"Why aren't you sitting or laying down", Whumper set a cup of water on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Um, I-I'm not normally allowed to sit on furniture. You just said to go to the couch, and I did that", Whumpee looked at the floor.

Whumper sighed as they rubbed the sides of their head, "Whumpee lie down on the flippin couch" Whumper spoke through gritted teeth.

Whumpee fell onto the couch and scooted around until they were comfortable.

Whumper rolled their eyes as they knelt beside Whumpee.

"I'm going to make you some food, and have you take some medicine", Whumper stroked Whumpee's forehead comfortingly, but really just feeling for a fever, "do not get up, if you are up, you better have a good reason. Am I clear?"

Whumpee blinked slowly, "y-yes mas-master."

After a few minutes, Whumper carried out a sandwich and some medicine.

"Here, sit up so you can eat this", Whumper handed over the plate, "after you eat, you can take the medicine."

Whumpee nodded as they started to eat.

"This is tasty and it's scratching my throat when it goes down. That feels good", Whumpee excitedly took another bite.

Whumper smiled as they went to the kitchen to get a napkin.

Whumpee was surprised when they were handed a cup of juice.

"Master, I get juice?", Whumpee looked at the cup.

"It will help your body replenish electrolytes", Whumper went over to another chair and sat down.

"When did you start feeling this way?", Whumper watched them chug the drink, "and why didn't you tell me you didn't feel good? I'm not that heartless to make you work while you're sick. I don't even work when I'm sick."

"Last night, my throat started to hurt while I was going to sleep. I tried to muffle the coughs as much as I could", Whumpee looked at the empty plate sadly, "I didn't know if I should tell you or not. I figured you wouldn't care or something, so I just went about my chores. It was getting harder to work though, with all of the shivering."

"Next time you get sick, you need to communicate it with me. Because you are also spreading it around the house", Whumper stood, "take the medicine, then you can take a nap."

Whumpee nodded as they took the two pills Whumper had given to them.

Whumper took the plate and cup and went to the kitchen.

Whumpee started to lay down until they heard Whumper loading the dishwasher.

Whumpee got up quickly, clutched the blanket around themself, and went to the kitchen.

Whumper looked up at Whumpee in surprise.

"Why are you up?", Whumper put another dish into the machine.

"Yo-you are doing the dishes?", Whumpee looked at Whumper in panic.

"Yes, I know how to do this stuff, I just have you do the chores because I don't feel like it", Whumper grinned, "the chores still have to be done, so I'm going to do them."

Whumpee still watched in shock.

"Go back to the couch and lay down. Get some rest", Whumper started to do a few other things in the kitchen.

Whumpee nodded and slowly walked out to the living room again.

They plopped on the couch and wrapped the blanket around themself.

'Master is actually doing my chores', Whumpee thought to themself.

Whumper came out a few minutes later and sat down. Whumpee watched them scroll on their phone for a few minutes before their eyelids grew heavy.

Whumper heard a couple of tiny moans come from Whumpee, followed by some stuffie snores.

Whumper grinned.

"Get some sleep, you little sickie", Whumper whispered before going back to their phone.

Guess who may have gotten sick again, I think it's just a cold this time. I am a-okay though, no need to worry. 😁 -MJ

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee

#whump community #whumplr #whumblr #carewhumper #sick whumpee #sick whump #sick fic whump #whumpee #whumper #caretaking #caretaker #whump stuff #whump writing #whump ideas #whump #whump scenario #oc #original story

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spirit-whump · 4 months

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The whump fandom usually prioritizes male characters, so tell me in the tags your favourite female characters to whump! OCs or canon characters, whumpees or whumpers - name some women.

#whump #emotional whump #lady whump #women whump #i don't remember if there are other tags but #spirit whump #for my ocs my whumpers are usually rose joan and marianne. literally all but one of my joan fics have her getting hurt.#canon characters though...#alicent hightower #sersi #lucy preston #rebecca welton #keeley jones #society if either of the ted lasso ladies got proper therapy-

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whumpsday · 8 months

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K&J: Kane's Whumptober Bites #3

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, torture, gore, burns, captivity, begging, death wish

@whumptober Day 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.” / Solitary Confinement / “Make it stop.”

takes place during section four of chapter 15, Hunger, when the hunters leave Kane outside for a week.

The sun finally, finally set. Kane was used to having little idea of how much time was passing, but he was excruciatingly aware of it now. Day two of his punishment done.

See you in a week.

Five more to go.

For now, he had the night. It didn’t help much, not anywhere close to enough time for his broken body to heal the deep burns traversing his whole body, but at least he wasn’t actively burning under the sun anymore. The silver of his restraints barely registered against the giant mass of charred flesh his body had become.

His face melted together, his eyelids and lips each sealed shut. He could not stare wistfully at the night sky offering him a moment of refuge, nor could he cry out for mercy. There was no one he could call out to, anyway.

He’d never hurt more than he hurt right now. They’d never left him out for two days before. Kane had no idea how he was going to survive a whole week. He wished he wouldn’t. He wished he would die, could die.

But he couldn’t. He had to keep going, taking all the pain the hunters decided to hoist onto him, no other option available.

The night felt as short as the day felt long. Kane needed more time than it gave him, but despite his desperation, the sun rose come morning. He tried to scream as it licked his mangled skin once more, the sound caught in his sealed-shut mouth.

Make it stop! Please, please, I’m sorry! I’ll do anything, please let me back inside!

No one came.

#whumptober2023 #no.3 #like crying out in empty rooms with no one there except the moon #solitary confinement #make it stop #oc #fic #gore #death wish #torture #burns #captivity #kane and jim drabbles #kanes whump bites #whump #my writing #vampire whumpee #vampire whump #begging

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mottinthepot18 · 4 months

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Chapter 11. Jar

#breezys ocs #whump art #g/t art #cyoa fic #hamster interactive story #soap scrub #breezys oc

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generic-whumperz · 9 months

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The Aid: Prologue (Meet The Whumper)

TW: whumper POV, alcoholism, drunk whumper, talk of captivity/enslavement

Additional warning: Prologue follows the Whumper at first. This is not to foster sympathy; this is to make you understand what kind of Whumper he is and understand just how much of a piece of shit he is. I am not endorsing Whumper and/or Whumper behavior, HE IS A BAD GUY AND WE ARE SUPPOSED TO HATE HIM.

P.S. This was edited, but that doesn’t mean things can’t slip through the cracks! I apologize for any typos, grammatical errors, and/or inconsistent tenses; I am working on it!

Enjoy :)

Word count: 760

Masterlist | Next->

Today had been a really shitty day.

That, of course, called for—begged for—a long evening of Wyatt Sullivan’s ritualistic practice of self-inflicted liver damage. Not like he ever needed an excuse to drink himself close to alcohol poisoning, he always did, but he felt self-righteous if he thought he had a “reason” to do so.

And today was more than “reason” enough.

The day’s series of bad happenings began long before the predestined afternoon binge began—to start, his lemon-of-a-car wouldn’t start in the morning, causing him to miss a day of work. Now instead of making (much-needed) money, he had to inform his boss that he wouldn’t be coming in (which earned him a stern warning and ding on his record) because he would be spending the day dealing with that bastard, no-good, money grabbin’ thief calling himself a mechanic who told him that the transmission went out and would cost him $4,500…like hell he would pay that! He promptly told the burglar mechanic to fuck himself and stormed off.

Fuming, he walked to the nearest liquor store where he picked up his beloved 12-pack of IPA, a jumbo bag of low-sodium sunflower seeds, a can of tobacco chew, two beef jerky sticks, a party-sized bag of Chex Mix, and a few scratchers for good luck (lord knew he needed it), and then Ubered home.

He’d deal with the car tomorrow; the rest of the day was dedicated to cozying up with that 12-pack and licking his wounds in the form of consuming a copious amount of his favorite junk foods.

He was dropped off at his home’s curb in typical Uber fashion. Here, where side-walk meets property line, he came face-to-face with his neglected mailbox that he often ignored and avoided—only people who ever sent you mail were the IRS and penny-begging non-profits. But once he realized that he hadn’t checked it in a couple weeks—okay, nearly a month, he fished out a fat stack of envelopes, ads, sales papers, and the like that was crammed to the rim in a forceful u-shape, nearly impossible to pull out.

Extracting the brick of mail was like trying to get a can of refried beans out in one, smooth, perfectly cylindrical mass—success was rewarded with a satisfying schlick sound as the beans left the can in total unison.

Today, the metaphorical beans would not come out in one smooth schlick.

He unloaded his loot on the kitchen table, ardently ripping open the cardboard box that cradled his precious IPA and couldn’t crack open that first glorious can fast enough. He downed can number one in a few chugs before cracking open can number two and pawing through that menacing stack of mail. Besides junk mail, he was met with nothing but various over-due bill notices, a note from the bank that he missed a mortgage payment, and a letter from the courts regarding his third month of delinquent child support payments.

This did nothing but add fuel to his ever-burning fiery indignation.

Can after can, sip after alcoholic sip, hours passed.

Each drop aided his efforts of working himself up to a fit of violent rage caused by no other than his long-time friend, Drunken Stupor. He knew that the liquor always exacerbated his cruelty; it was easier to let the red consume him and to let go of any semblance of a moral compass he (no longer) had when he had something else, something he was impuissant against, to blame his transgressions on.

His (bitch) wife took their daughter and left him years ago since he couldn’t get his temper and drinking under control. There wasn’t much that he could control; his anger ruled his thoughts and actions- he was but a sad, detestable marionette being controlled by the hand of ill will.

He drank because he felt sorry for himself, even if that exact phrasing dared not cross his mind. Because he thought of himself as anything but pitiful, because pitiful men were charity cases, and charity cases were a leach on society and not respectable.

Drinking. That’s all he could do—his wife reminded him that he wasn’t good for much besides downing a 12-pack, after all.

Wyatt Sullivan was cold, callous, reactionary, and above all else, lonely (besides the sorry-sack servant he kept locked up in the basement, but that didn’t count for company). What he could control, however, was his fists, and that sad-sack under the floorboards, and better yet, his fists striking said sad-sack…

The Aid.

Masterlist | Next->

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comfort-questing · 6 months

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tfw you really want to write whump for a character but they don't have any good caretakers around :( which is the worst of it! nobody is going to hug them! this is the true tragedy of it all.

#whump #hurt comfort #listen. my wants is simple. a platonic and medically detailed aftermath fic for Childe post fontaine #if nobody's making it I guess I have to #am I seriously gonna have to invent a Fatui OC to give this kid some sympathy

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meraki24601 · 2 months

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Ring

“Whumpee, where did you get that ring?”

Caretaker had gotten used to Whumpee flinching. It seemed they hadn’t stopped since they were released from the hospital. Or, maybe it had started even before that. Before Whumper had taken them, or even further when they had first gone to file a restraining order. But they hadn’t expected them to flinch away from the curious question.

That was all the answer Caretaker needed. “You know, Whumper is dead. You don’t have to keep wearing their ring.”

“I can’t take it off.” Whumpee’s voice was small. They kept their head down as they stirred the pot of soup nearing boiling on the stove.

Caretaker blamed the fumes from the onion Whumpee had chopped up earlier for the tears forming in their eyes. “You’re safe now, Whumpee. I know I can never make it up to you for not believing you sooner, but I swear I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. You can take off the ring.”

“It’s stuck. I can’t take it off.”

“Oh.” Caretaker’s hands stilled as they placed the last spoon on the table. “Would you like some help?”

“Yes, please.”

Whumpee held very still as Caretaker approached and guided them to stand beside the sink. They didn’t shy away from Caretaker’s touch as the ring was slowly worked from their swollen finger but curled in on themselves and took three giant steps back the moment they were free. The mark left on the skin where the ring had sat dragged a whine from Whumpee’s throat.

The inside of the ring had been engraved. Imprinted into Whumpee’s skin were four letters:

Whumpee fell to their knees, holding the finger away from their body. “I’ll never be free.”

Caretaker wrapped a bandage from the kit under the sink around the possessive letters. Kissing Whumpee’s knuckles, Caretaker whispered, “You are free. Whumper is dead. I killed them. I swear on my life, no one will ever touch you again.”

#whump fic #whump #whump scenario #whumpee #whump writing #whump ideas #caretaker #whump tropes #oc #rescued #mentioned whumper #recovery whump #rings #stuck #possessive whumper

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sleepyconfusedpotato · 2 years

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Take Care of Yourself

After their escape from the Shadow Company's looming hunt for their heads, Ghost, Soap, and Jade headed to the Los Vaqueros safehouse on the outskirts of Las Almas. Soaked by the rain, the Scot needed some help with his wound on his shoulder.

Soap isn't the only one who needed help, though.

Pairing : Simon "Ghost" Riley x Charlotte "Jade" Le Jardin (OC) Word Count : ~ 2700

Warning : Fluff with a slight bit of angst, a touch of hurt/comfort, and good ol' cursings.

Title and story inspired by the song Take Care of Yourself by Maisie Peters

"Soap, where's your wound?" Jade asked the sergeant as she rummaged through her gears. Ghost, Soap, and Jade were standing near the truck they found in front of the church, currently just a kilometer away from Alejandro's safe house on the eastern side of Las Almas. However, now that the Los Vaqueros had been under the Shadow Company's custody, they cannot trust anyone. The three of them were all that they've got.

"Do you have the equipment?" Ghost, who's standing leaning onto the side of the truck asked.

"Here, fuck… I think the adrenaline shot is finally wearing off." His finger pointed at the bloody makeshift bandage on his right shoulder, sitting on the grass with his back on the side of the wheel. Their whole bodies are wet from the rain, but at least the cold helped with the blood clotting.

Jade knelt down to the ground, observing the wound. "That thing served its purpose, you did great, Soap. Now the bullet's still in there, and we need to get it out and sew it in order to let it heal properly."

"Don't worry." The MI6 zipped out a roll of cloth, putting them onto the grass field to reveal a series of stainless steel tools that Soap could tell were definitely not medical tools. "I can make do."

"Wait, Jade. Isn't that…" Soap nervously glanced back and forth to her and her equipment.

"Torture devices, yes. But it doubles as a medical kit for emergency situations, which is now." The woman lifted up a scissor, cutting the bloody bandage from Soap's shoulder, revealing the gunshot wound that Graves had inflicted upon him. Soap hissed as she gently peeled the cloth from his skin while staring at the wound underneath.

"The bleeding has mostly stopped. Now I just need to get it out." She put down the scissor, took her canteen and rinsed the bloody area with water.

"Aww! Aw aw SHIT!!"

"Don't be a baby, Johnny." Ghost retorted from beside him.

"I just got shot, Lt., and it fucking stings like a bitch. Have you ever been shot?" The wounded man grumbled to his superior.

"Many times." He answered, shrugging his shoulders.

"Beanpole, how about you help me get some lights over here? Don't wanna pull out healthy skin." Jade gestured at the masked man. If he wants to be chatty then at least he could help a little.

Ghost knelt down as well, pulling out his flashlight and directing it towards the wound. "Now that's better." Jade finally got a good visual clarity, prompting her to touch the skin surrounding it, and opening them up with her fingers. "Alright, Soap. Get ready. No alcohol unfortunately so grit your teeth real hard."

"Yeah." After the Scot's shaky response, Jade used her forceps to enter the wound, exploring the outsides of the bullet, and took hold of it.

"Got it. Stay still." As she very, very slowly fished out the bullet, Soap closed his eyes and rested his head on the car, a grimace on his face as he tried to hold in the pain. Ghost only watched in silence as he still held the flashlight up.

"Aaand it's out." The bullet is finally out of the wound, leaving a little blood trail running down his shoulder which Jade immediately covered with a gauze.

"Seems intact. You're lucky the bullet didn't burst and broke inside." Ghost reacted to the bullet on the tip of the forceps. "Or it'll be a pain in the arse to find all of them."

"Yeah. All those muscles double as a meat shield I guess." Jade joked as she put the bullet down on the cloth rolls, making Soap let out a broken chuckle.

"All that workout finally pays off."

"It certainly did." The MI6 then used forceps on both hands to carefully stitch the wound. The wound was not that big, so it only required around 3 stitches.

As she rolled the bandages around Soap's arm, Ghost started, "We don't know whether the safe house is empty or not. We're on our own."

The ginger responded, "We are. Anyone who points a gun at us, they're hostile. Can't trust anyone unless…"

"Unless?" Soap noticed her pause.

"Unless someone's still not compromised and corrupted. And if there's one, it's Alejandro." She finally finished rolling the bandages, tidying up her equipment on the floor and putting them back on her gear.

The three of them stood up, led by the lieutenant, "Alright, let's get inside."

***********

After discussing about releasing Alejandro from the Shadows, they were now preparing their gears for the battle that was yet to come. Rodolfo had given them all some Mexican Army rations to fill their empty guts. Hours and hours of running and being hunted by Shadows took their energies out to flat battery. Rudy, Soap, and Jade sat together on the wooden crate inside the warehouse, eating away their meal.

Jade was right, if there's someone who is not corrupted, it's Alejandro, and someone close to him.

Much to their surprise, they found Rodolfo hiding in the darkness of the building. He did point his rifle at Soap, but at least he was still vigilant and didn't take anyone as a friendly considering the dreadful situation at hand. The warehouse was packed full with guns and ammunition in all varieties. It's like a second base for the Los Vaqueros. Surely it's smaller in size than the one Graves and his Shadows occupied at the moment, but it would do.

"Where's the lieutenant?" Rudy started.

"Outside. Probably doesn't want us to see his face." Soap answered as he ate the dried beans.

"Why does he wear that? The first time I saw him in the car, I was truly scared." The Mexican remembered saying that he's afraid of ghosts in Spanish to his superior upon seeing his mask.

"Then the mask served its purpose. It's psychological warfare. The less human you look like, the more fear you can strike upon the enemy" The only woman in the house told them, "Imagine a big, hulking man with a skull face, coming at you in a full on black attire, with a full sets of skills that can end your life in seconds. I would be scared."

Hearing that, Rodolfo sighed, "Glad he's on our side."

"Right. Or probably he just wants to hide his ugly face." Soap retorted, making the three of them chuckle.

As she finished her rations, Jade tidied up the plastic containers before standing up, "I'm gonna check on the beanpole. You guys eat away." She patted both of the man's shoulders, which were replied with nods from both men, before she headed out of the warehouse's wooden door where Ghost had headed ten minutes prior.

As she stepped out in the dark of the night, Jade looked up at the Las Almas sky. This will be a long night.

Got betrayed by Shepherd and The Shadows, Soap got shot, they had to survive a town full of people trying to hunt them, and now after only one hour of downtime, the four of them were about to storm the prison to try freeing Alejandro and the Vaqueros.

Taking on a whole garrison of Shadows in the prison compound with just four people? Sounded suicidal of them indeed, but Jade had seen what these people could do. They're trustworthy.

She's not alone anymore.

She's got people to cover her back.

She had him.

Taking a deep breath, she looked around to find out where the man in black went. She looked side to side to see any big, black shape sitting down, but he's nowhere to be seen.

And so, she started to walk to the side of the warehouse, finally finding the big man sitting down, his back to her. Accompanied by a single lamp above him that barely gave any sort of luminescence, she could see that his mask was lifted up, the skull plate sitting on top of his head, indicating that he's indeed eating.

One thing she realized, though, she could see him a little bit stiff on the left shoulder. What confirmed her suspicion was the fact that he touched his left shoulder, before rolling them very very slowly like it's painful to move.

Guess even the Ghost himself wasn't invincible from a bullet.

"Beanpole." Jade softly called to him. Her feminine voice instantly made the man flinch, but not turn around.

A pause, "Midget. Why are you here?" He said, for once his deep, raspy voice was not muffled by the mask.

"Checkin' up on you. You really do like sitting alone in the dark."

He didn't respond with anything. The woman decided to step forward, making the grass crack. Ghost immediately put his hand on his mask, ready to pull it down to wear it, before Jade stopped him, "It's fine. You can keep eating. I promise I won't do anything." Ghost halted his actions for a good five seconds, before putting his hand down again.

Seeing that he's finally relaxed, Jade closed in on his back slowly to where he sat down on the wooden crate. She could see the back of his neck and a little hint of his hair like this, and of course, there's a tint of blood on the junction between his neck and shoulder, just shy away covered by his black collar that was also ripped apart in the area.

"You're injured." Jade spoke slowly to avoid startling him too much.

"...Just a bullet graze. Bloody shadows."

"May I?" Jade asked, and she could see him contemplating, before he lightly nodded. Upon his confirmation, she lightly pulled away his torn collar, finding blood still running down the grazed wound. It's angry red in color, especially being covered by his clothes and his gear the entire time.

Hearing Jade’s huff, the man inquired, "Is it bad?"

"Bad. Even though Soap had a whole bullet lodged in his shoulder, at least the wound was open to the rain to wash it away. Yours were covered by your collar and plate carrier. Infection will suck." He grumbled in response. He surely thought it was nothing, but it definitely needed some attention.

"You can keep eating while I take care of this. Put off your gears first." Jade spoke to the back of his neck, and seeing that he sighed, it seemed that he didn't mind. Ghost took his gear off, as he tried to lift the plate carrier above his head, Jade could see him struggling to fight the pain on his shoulder and decided to lend a hand. Without a word, Jade helped lift them up. Judging by his groan, it must be a major relief after carrying that much weight on his injured shoulder.

After putting the gear down, she started by pouring some water to a cotton wool, pulling the collar away, revealing that the wound is even longer and deeper than she thought. It’s almost half his trapezius. This definitely required some attention. "I'm gonna clean the wound. This'll sting a little.” As she lightly pressed on the wound, Ghost's neck tensed, but he didn’t make a sound, albeit him grabbing his plastic spoon harder that it might snap.

“It’s supposed to be painful, Beanpole. It’s okay if you make a sound.” Jade said with a low tone, not wanting to surprise him, still going on in cleaning the angry red wound. This man is a hard ass sometimes. “At least Soap’s not here to tell you you’re a baby.” the woman retorted, making Ghost scoff involuntarily as he remembered telling Soap the exact same thing earlier.

“Fine,” He finally relented. “It bloody hurts. The only thing that made it right was that I put a knife on the bastard’s neck.”

“Hmm. And were you planning to let this thing be a secret?” She gestured at the wound she’s currently tending to.

Ghost only sighed, "I was going to take care of it myself."

Jade huffed softly behind him, “If you fell down from fever because it's not treated properly, I’m gonna have trouble hauling you up, Beanpole. You’re huge.”

“I’m not gonna fall.” He denied.

“You will if you let this open wound be, which was your plan, isn’t it.” Jade told him off with a slightly louder voice, stopping her hands from cleaning the wound.

“I’ve been shot many times before, Midget, and I’ll take care of myself just fine.”

“But that was when you were alone, Ghost.” Hearing her call his call sign instead of the bastard nickname quite surprised him.

“I know you can take care of yourself just fine. I know that. I think so about myself too. But we’re a team here.” Jade didn’t even realize that her voice sounded more like a worried mother than a colleague. “You’re our commanding officer, and I know you need to take the lead. All this shite happened on your watch, but despite all of that, I need you to tell me if you’re wounded. I will help. We will help.” Ghost had stopped eating now. She’s talking to the back of his head, but he could totally imagine her worried face. From the tone in her voice, he could also tell that she’s not angry. Concerned would be a better word.

“I’ve been in this thing as long as you, Ghost, and God knows how it fucks someone up, but we’ve got each other now.” She finally got back to cleaning his wound, “You said it yourself just now, ‘no one fights alone’, and that includes this. So don’t fight alone, okay?”

Ghost took a deep breath. He did say that, didn’t he. She used his own words to get back at him.

Not hearing any answer, Jade pressed the cotton with slight pressure onto his wound, prompting him to flinch his shoulder and exclaim in pain, “Ow! What the fuck!?”

“Okay??”

“Okay! Fine, Mum!” Ghost finally yielded. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Jade couldn’t help but to scoff at her new nickname, “Don’t ‘Mum’ me, Ghost. I’m just a concerned friend, that is all.” She retorted, fishing the antibiotic cream from her med kit.

“Oh, so now we’re finally friends?”

“Yes. What, were we enemies? I’m gonna apply some antibiotic cream, your wound is very long. Sheesh.”

“Tell me something I don’t know…” He got back to eating his rations. He didn’t like pep talks, but hers actually alleviated some of his burdens. Knowing that someone’s got his back, that he has someone to rely on, that he didn’t have to do this alone… it somehow comforted him.

As Jade pressed a little of the content out of the tube, she thought about the man who’s having his back on her. Hearing that he’s been through a lot of things like her, deep in her mind, she’s glad that someone understands her. And all that she did was understand him. If Jade was in Ghost’s position, who has a lot of responsibilities and burdens on his shoulders, she’d want that reassurance too. The MI6 started to lightly rub on the wound, taking note of covering the entire area.

“Thanks, for having my back.” He continued, “When I heard Johnny’s coming, I thought I’m gonna need to babysit him for a while. But having you here… It makes things easier for me.”

“...Jade.” his deep voice called to her name, not the bastardized nickname, making her flinch in response.

"hm?"

The woman behind him smiled, “A pleasure, Ghost. Cut off a little slack for yourself, alright? You look like the kind of guy who doesn’t take his own advice.”

A chuckle, “Seems so.”

After a while, Ghost finally finished eating his rations, just as Jade finished closing up his injury with the adhesive plasters.

“Abracadabra, you’re healed~!” The woman covered the wound with her warm palm, touching his skin lightly, before covering the area back up with the collar.

Ghost pulled down his mask, before standing up and turned around to face the woman who patched him up. Lifting her head to see the towering figure, she could see his dark eyes looking back at her.

“Thanks, Midget. I owe you for this one.”

She never heard him speak with such sincerity and tenderness before. She swore if not for the dim lighting, he’d caught her cheek turn as red as her hair.

Well, there’s always a first for everything. “You owe me nothing. Anytime, Beanpole.”

********************

“Soap?” Rodolfo called to the man in front of him.

“Hm?”

“Did, uh… Ghost and Jade have something between them?” Hearing the Mexican sergeant’s question, Soap couldn’t help the laughter from his mouth; he had to cover them from spitting his food.

“You see it too, don’t you?” Soap responded with a chuckle, “To answer your question, no, I don’t think they had something. We’ve only known Jade about three years ago, during the conflict for Verdansk.”

“Three years ago?” Rodolfo questioned.

“Yes. The lass were called in by Laswell. She’s fierce, I’ll give her that. However, Ghost wasn’t the kindest person at the time, and there were… trust issues among the group. So he’s the one who started the Midget thingy, and Jade responded fairly by calling Ghost Beanpole.”

The Mexican cooed in acknowledgement, getting back to his rations. “They’re very… compatible together.”

“You’re right on point on that, Hermano.”

------- FIN -------

Hope you loved it! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

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mj-iza-writer · 3 months

Text

Rough grumpy Caretaker... how I love them. -MJ

Warning.... swear words used.

Caretaker peaked in to check on Whumpee, they had just put them down for a nap.

They slightly opened the door and caught Whumpee darting into the bed.

"You better have a really good reason for being out of that bed", Caretaker opened the door further.

"I'm sorry Caretaker, I....", Whumpee started to violently cough.

"Oh Whumpee fuck off and give me a break", Caretaker slipped into his old British sailer accent.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to grab my book, and then you came along", Whumpee pleaded.

"I didn't put you to bed to read. You are very sick and need to sleep. That temperature of yours could freaken cook an egg", Caretaker sighed as they started to tuck Whumpee back into the blankets.

Whumpee groaned as the blankets were violently shoved under them.

"Ouch, can we be a little gentler please", Whumpee winced, "I am sick after all."

"Oh hush", Caretaker held a cup of water and offered Whumpee a drink, "now if I come back to this room again and you are up, I will tie you to the bed. Am I clear? I better hear happy Whumpee snores."

Whumpee grinned.

"I mean it, unless you are getting a drink or going to the bathroom do not get up", Caretaker sighed as they set the cup down, "work with me here. Your complexion is horrendous, I mean, white paint has more color. Plus, your trash bin is overflowing with tissue for the second time today."

Whumpee nodded, "I'm sorry Caretaker."

Caretaker ran his hand through Whumpee's sweaty hair, "that's better. Now, we need to focus on you getting better. Please try to get some rest, I'll have some food and medicine ready for you when you wake up... okay?"

Whumpee nodded again, "thankyou."

Caretaker waited thirty minutes before checking on Whumpee again ... thankfully Whumpee had finally listened and was snoring away.

"My happy little chainsaw", Caretaker marveled at how loud Whumpee was as they stepped into the room.

They grabbed the thermometer and tucked it under Whumpee's tongue without disturbing their sleep. Even the ding didn't wake Whumpee.

"Temp is a little better now", Caretaker looked the thermometer over, "not where I'm wanting it to be though."

Caretaker sighed, "shit", he whispered, "I might have to take you in for some better medicine. What I have might not be cutting it."

Caretaker was fixing some soup for Whumpee when they heard them moving around.

"Dinner's almost ready if you want to come down here", Caretaker called.

Whumpee struggled down the hall.

"I just woke up and puked", Whumpee frowned.

"Let me guess, you didn't get to the bucket in time", Caretaker sighed, "where did it end up?""

"I did get to the bucket, but some got on my blanket to... sorry", Whumpee looked down.

"Okay", Caretaker sighed, "go ahead and eat, I'll clean it up."

Whumpee was hunched over when Caretaker came back.

"Whumpee?", Caretaker panicked, "Whumpee?"

Whumpee jumped up and started to mumble.

"You're going to the hospital... now", Caretaker hurried.

"No, no. I'm fine", Whumpee mumbled with a slur.

"Don't argue, you're fucking going to the hospital. You're beyond fine", Caretaker went to help Whumpee stand.

"Okay, but I can walk", Whumpee started to get up.

"Oh, you want to walk by yourself. Okay, that sounds fun to watch. Okay, let's see", Caretaker crossed his arms.

Whumpee started to walk, but fell forward.

"Shit", Whumpee moaned.

"That's what I thought. Alright come on, work with me. I'm not dragging your ass, but you won't make it by yourself", Caretaker threw one of Whumpee's arms over his shoulder and led them to the car.

Whumpee's temperature was checked on arrival at the hospital. It had jumped back up again.

Caretaker helped Whumpee into a chair and followed the staff as they rushed them back.

Caretaker sighed as they started to fill out the forms, "Whumpee", Caretaker muttered to himself, "pain in my ass. You're lucky I love you... at least a little bit."

Whumpee squinted their eyes open, the morning sun met them.

They jumped up realizing this was not their bedroom.

"Easy", they felt Caretaker's hand grab them, "you're okay, your fever got really bad. I had to bring you to the hospital."

Whumpee rubbed their head, "I've got a major headache", they looked around the room, "the last thing I remember was sitting down at the table, I don't remember anything else."

"Well, the staff here has been very helpful in getting your fever to break, they got you on some medication and fluids", Caretaker sighed.

"That's good", Whumpee leaned back again, "I still don't feel great, plus, this headache."

"We'll get you better", Caretaker pressed the call button, "I promise."

Whumpee nodded as they laid down, "thankyou Caretaker."

#whump community #whumplr #whumblr #sick whumpee #sick fic whump #sick whump #whump stuff #whump writing #whump ideas #whump #whumpee #whump scenario #whumper #caretaking #caretaker #caretaker and whumpee #oc #original story #rough caretaker

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ilasknives · 11 months

Text

INK BLACK AND BLUE (A whump fic introduction).

hello and welcome to my newest whumpee! I swear I'm writing my other stories but for now you can have him :)

CW for: BBU/BBU Adjacent, pet whump, brief mentions of non-con touch, non-consensual drugging.

1: Hand to Hand to Hand

Pet practically belonged to the casino by now. He was here more often than not, these days, tucked uncomfortably under some table in the back corner with his head down and his knees underneath himself, hands bound tightly together and chained to a table leg. It was a small place compared to most, low-lit in the yellow wash of the dying lights on the ceiling, hidden in some back alley somewhere. The kind of place people went when they didn’t want much competition, or when they’d been kicked out of every bigger casino in the area. Pet could find his way here from any corner of the town in his sleep.

Most days he’d be dragged in the doorway to a handful of pills shoved down his throat and a hand - or several - blocking off his breathing until he swallowed, then he’d be shoved down to his knees on the moth-eaten carpet to wait.

Today was no different. He couldn’t see much beyond the shoes of the players and the table legs around him, but by the force of the poker chips being dropped on the table and the anxious shifting of the pair of legs beside him, it was going to be… a long night. It had already been a long night. His owner - current owner, anyway - was losing, and badly.

A hand dropped down to rough up his hair and Pet gritted his teeth, curling his fingers into the carpet fibres and hunching down lower. Every muscle in his body drew tense, the urge to bite swelling in his chest, raging and painful, dulled only by the drugs in his system. Somewhere else, he would thrash and turn and sink his teeth in. But he didn't bite here. He'd learned that lesson well and truly by now. He worked his teeth into his bottom lip instead, and the hand drew away to throw another card down on the table.

The game dragged on. Poker chips slammed on the table above him, a kick to his side, yelling from the men who were losing, yelling from the men who were winning. A hand in his hair, more chips on the table, more yelling. Cards, chips, hand, yell. Teeth into lip. Cards, hands, yelling. Nausea, climbing his throat. Drugs and swimming vision. The urge to fight, stuffed somewhere back behind his teeth. He didn't bite here.

The table cleared slowly as time wore on, players running slowly out of cash as it piled in the centre or finally deciding to escape with their winnings before they lost them again. His owner kept reaching down to pet his head – something that only this owner did, really, and Pet didn’t know if it was a nervous habit or if he thought it was some odd form of good luck. Pet had never asked, too focused on keeping his teeth in his mouth and ignoring the way it made his skin crawl. He’d never be seen like that, anyway. At worst he was bad luck, at best he was nothing to them at all.

He gritted his teeth together under the table and dug his fingers into the carpet. It was worn, here, from how often he did this. His table, his spot. Casino property, or whatever. He didn’t want to mean anything to them.

It was some time before the sound of the door opening drew his attention and he lifted his head to see a new pair of shoes stepping across to the table.

“You have time for another round?”

The newcomer’s voice was not one that Pet had heard before. He stilled, listening. The men here were all violent and mean, slurred voices, rough hands. Pet knew them all personally. Intimately. He’d been to each house, each bed, each basement floor many times over but this man – he didn’t recognise him. There hadn’t been a newcomer to this casino in months.

“Just packing up,” said his owner, but there was an edge to it, like he was hesitating. The newcomer shifted his feet.

“Are you sure?”

“… You play cards?”

“I’m quite good at cards, yes.”

His owner sat up straighter and laughed. None of them could resist a challenge. This was going to drag out into another few rounds of back and forth, and his legs were already numb. It was a goddamned miracle his owner had kept him this long as it was, but he was quickly running out of money and Pet knew he didn’t know when to stop. This owner was always more hesitant to give him up, for whatever reason, but he’d done it many times before. He’d do it many times again.

There were three of them at the table now – his owner, another regular, and the newcomer. The cards shuffled, and someone started tossing them out. One fell, fluttering down to the floor, and the newcomer leaned down to pick it up. He glanced up when he did, face-to-face with Pet as he reached for it. The man blinked at him, picked the card off the floor and straightened. That was fine. He’d prefer to be ignored, anyway. Above him, the conversation continued.

“You have a pet here?” asked the newcomer.

His owner huffed out a laugh. “He’s not worth much, if that’s what you’re wondering. A pain in the ass, more than anything. Aren’t you, pest?” He reached down to rough up Pet’s hair again. He gritted his teeth together and refused to respond, which earned him a smack up the back of the head. “See what I mean?”

“I didn’t know they were allowed this close to the tables.”

A scoff. “You think this place cares? You’re not in a big city anymore, mate.”

The newcomer hummed in agreement. “Guess not.”

Pet glared at the floor, tearing carpet threads up with his fingers, bottom lip worked painfully between his teeth. He’d bitten it raw, but no one cared, least of all himself. It’d just be a point of mockery later, of wow, pest, had to try real hard to keep your teeth to yourself back there, huh? and rough hands holding his face still so someone could lick the blood away. He told himself he’d smash his face into theirs.

Bad pet. Pest. Fucking menace. He revelled in it.

Just not here, he reminded himself when his owner shifted his leg to press it against his side. The contact made his stomach turn.

The game went on.

“Not as good as you said, huh?” Someone said, late into the game, late into the night. “Bet that hand you got dealt isn’t looking as good as you thought.”

A laugh. A shuffle of cards. “I guess not. You’re doing well, though.”

“You’re too fuckin’ polite for this place, mate,” his owner laughed. More chips dragged over to his side, piled so dangerously close to the edge that if Pet craned his neck, or shifted just a little too much, he’d be able to make them fall. Somehow they didn’t when his owner leaned across the table. “Got another round in you? Or are you gonna tuck your tail between your legs and run home? Easy winnings from someone who claimed to be good at this.”

The newcomer sighed and shifted, a hand coming down to pat at his pockets. Pet had been here long enough that he understood what was happening, the desperate search for something else to put up, the draw to the game even when he’d done nothing but lose.

“… I’ll put my car in.”

The owner laughed heartily and accepted. The other regular had left, by now, and it was these two alone, nothing but Pet and the casino staff behind the bar to watch them. This game, another. The tide turned, and his owner started losing, the newcomer’s skills seeming to come through for him.

His owner was scrambling, now, the wins he’d been gloating about ripped right from underneath him.

Pet felt the tug on his leash before he heard the words.

“Throw him in, too.”

“Your pet?”

“His attitude isn’t worth shit, but a pet’s worth a lot of money, you know that.”

“… Sure,” shrugged the newcomer. “My dad could use another pet.”

If his owner had been any decent kind of person, he might have mentioned that Pet was not the kind of pet that anyone would want. He was disobedient and angry. He didn’t get passed around the casino because he was good. They all just wanted their shot at breaking him – it’s all he was good for, anyway. A bargaining chip, a game piece, something to be taken and given up. Just a monetary value and a source of bragging rights.

But his owner was a bitter, arrogant kind of man, just like the rest of them. He was a desperate one, too. So Pet became part of the betting pool once again, and the cards were shuffled above him.

In the end, no matter how hard his owner had tried, no matter what cards he played, it hadn’t mattered. He lost the money. He gave up Pet.

At some ungodly hour of the morning, after a scuffle between the men - over one claiming the other had cheated, or scammed him, or something like that - that the casino staff had to break up, Pet’s chains were taken off his wrists. He heard one of the staff mutter a recommendation for a muzzle.

The newcomer wrapped Pet’s leash around his fist and dragged him outside.

The world swam, and his legs barely had feeling back, and he didn’t fight when he was pushed into the back of a car, still too close to the casino.

He didn’t bite here.

But almost. Soon. When the drugs weren’t making him so tired, when he wasn’t trying to figure out what this new owner would be like and how hard he’d have to fight.

He didn’t answer when the man asked for his name. He’d stopped keeping track of those a long time ago.

They drove the rest of the way in silence.

Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!): @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whumpinthepot

#whump #whump fic #bbu #bbu fic #box boy universe #pet whump #whump series #whump series introduction #box boy universe fic #whump writing #whump oc #tagging things on tumblr my beloathed #writing: ink black and blue #writing: ib&b

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oddsconvert · 10 months

Text

Shattered #9 - It's Cruel To be Kind

Previous / Masterlist / Next

Apologies for the wait!!! 🥺❤️

CW: Whumpee thinks Caretaker is new master/whumper, vampire caretaker, bloodbag whumpee, reference to vampire whumper/previous abuse/captivity, bloodbag whumpee, recovery whump, aftermath of nightmare, emotional breakdown/self doubt (August going through it!!!) [Pls lemme know if I missed any! 🫶]

---

The wind is swept from August’s sails. It feels as though he’s adrift in the open ocean. Lost at sea with no waves or wind to carry him to shore. A storm rages overhead, lightning splitting through the pitch-black sky, dark clouds rolling in. There’s an island on the horizon, a glimmer of hope. It calls August - it beckons him. And he tries with all his might to paddle there, waiting for the gust of gaia’s wind to propel him towards salvation.

It never comes. The ferocious ocean waves sway August further away. Totally stranded and utterly helpless.

August skulks out of Declan’s bedroom in bruised defeat. The desperate screams for mercy and freedom fade until they’re nothing but a distant echo, swallowed up by the silence of the house. This isn’t working. This isn’t fair. They’re getting nowhere. The road they are paving for the human’s recovery is nothing more than them blindly stumbling in the dark and feeling their way around, and it’s to Declan’s detriment. At his expense. Torturing the already tortured soul.

It’s cruel, August thinks. He took an oath when he devoted his life to medicine; he swore to alleviate pain and suffering, to do no harm, and uphold ethical practices. This cannot be ethical. Surely. What he’s doing feels downright criminal and inhumane. Is it worth the healing of Declan’s body only to terrorise his mind? Leaving him in perpetual anguish and dazing confusion day in and day out. Keeping him hidden and isolated far away from his loved ones.

August slides his back down the wall, head buried in his hands. He can still hear Declan’s shrill cries ringing in his ears, piercing through his heart. Honestly? He always hears them. Day and night. Since that first day Declan woke up and nearly burst his eardrums with his terrified screams. August’s conscience won’t let him forget them, it’s harrowing.

Because Declan is scared half to death of August. The screams are because of him.

Home might just be the best medicine for Declan. That is the true cure August is searching for. Declan may not be held here with ropes and chains or kept under the lull of persuasion; but he is wholly and unwillingly dependent on August for his survival. Declan has no choice now but to rely on the vampire for his entire humanity - he’s too weak to fend for himself, let alone chase his own heart's desire. He is reliant on the vampire for his nourishment, for his health, safety and protection and even his communication. His whole way of life. The only way Declan can exercise his own free will, is if August helps him to.

And well…Declan keeps asking for home. Who is August to deny him that?

“He’s going to try some sleep again,” Lucas whispers across the hallway, careful to slowly and gently pull the bedroom door to. No loud or sudden noises. They’ve learned that the hard way. “I’ve promised him we’ll leave him to it for tonight. He just needs space to breathe.”

And then what? Declan jolts awake an hour later in floods of tears and hiccuping sobs again? Do they ignore it this time? Leave him be and let him cry it out? Or send Lucas back in…he likes Lucas. August knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s so envious of that. He’d never harm a hair on Declan’s head, he’s fought tooth and nail to save him. Why must he be branded the bad guy?

August knows the answer. That doesn’t make it any easier.

“I have never seen fear like that in my life,” Lucas slumps beside August on the floor, a far-away look on his face like he’s just seen a ghost. He stares blankly, dead ahead, at the floral wallpaper across from him, and shakes his head in disbelief, “What the hell do you put a man through to make him scream in his sleep?”

Hell. Exactly that. That’s what you put him through. You turn him into a zombie, living dead. A body forced to live when its mind is melted to a puddle. You send him to tango with death and live to tell the tale. Hurt him until he can’t feel it, and even then still hurt him some more. It’s impossible to comprehend the horrors Declan suffered, or fathom why or how someone could do that to another living, breathing being. But it happened, and August can’t change that no matter how hard he tries.

“Lucas? Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

It’s a question that’s been rattling inside August’s skull for a while now. Guilt and sympathy fighting each other to the death. He only ever wanted to help Declan back on his feet, bring him completely back to himself and, help deliver him home all in one piece. August could never live with himself if Declan went home to his family, lifeless and comatose. They may as well have sent him with his casket too. And he can’t send him back as he is now; the tattered man weeping himself into another dread-fueled nightmare.

Or can he? Should he?

“Without a doubt in my mind,” Lucas asserts, certain as can be. He says it with his entire chest, and he seems almost offended by the question. He straightens himself from his slouched slump on the floor, sitting up against the wall and crossing his legs underneath him, “What makes you ask that?”

August opens his mouth, but no words come out. His jaw clicks shut before he can even dare try. If he says it, it makes it all real, doesn’t it? Every worry springs into existence, everything he’s frightened of is brought to life. August will have to face all his mistakes and misdeeds, every foolish mis-step he’s taken in Declan’s care. But he has to own up to it sooner or later. Face the music. So he can do what’s right by Declan.

“I fear… I fear we’re doing more harm than good to the boy.”

“August-”

“W-What if I’m getting this all wrong?” August falters, his voice thick with shameful, threatening tears. As Lucas shuffles closer to console him, August crumbles even more into the floor and wishes the ground would swallow him whole. “What - What if we’re hurting him, and sure maybe not hurting him like that vile monster who stole him but... in a different way?”

Declan still thinks and feels like a prisoner. He was trapped in Vince’s basement, and then he was trapped in his mind, his body and now trapped all over again. This time as August’s patient, stuck helpless in bed.

But Lucas shakes his head passionately, giving a reaffirming squeeze to August’s knee. Lucas is too good to August, too kind and forgiving. It’s more than he could ever deserve in this life or the next. But right now his words of encouragement fall on deaf ears, August needs to be told how it is. And it's plain as day that his presence is damaging Declan, not helping him. Declan is still suffering. He’s supposed to be free and thriving, and he’s still hurting.

“Were it not for you, Declan would have taken his last pained breath that first night you brought him home. Even worse, he could have died a broken shell of a man in that basement, alone and suffering. You revived him. You gave him a second life.”

It doesn’t feel like it. What kind of life is jumping at shadows and cowering behind blankets? Terrified of what’s around the corner. A thousand words trapped in his mind that he could never say.

“I bought him. Like livestock…he thinks he’s my property-”

It’s time to call it a day, and let him give up the fight and lay down his sword.

“He’s just scared, August. He’s so scared, and all alone and horribly confused. He’s been through hell and back. It’s not you.”

“It is me, Lucas,” August disagrees, “It’s what I am.”

A blood-sucking monster that stalks the night looking for its next prey to feed from and drain dry. August has spent his whole life trying to break free from that mould, to run far away from what he’s supposed to be and never look back. Somehow Declan sees right through him, right down to his core. He sees what August refuses and tries to hide from. His own blood, his very nature.

“How could he ever heal at the hands of something he fears the most?” August asks, disgusted with himself. He should rip out his fangs and run outside to bathe in the sun’s agonising rays. It sickens him that he is associated with the brute that did this to Declan. That August’s kind hunt and kill humans for food… for sport. Who could blame Declan for being scared of vampires. August is scared of vampires.

“He deserves better-”

“-Declan deserves you,” Lucas’ tone was clipped, as if his word was final and there was no possible room for discussion. But August had known him so long, he could hear the affection underneath the terse words. “You are the best thing that could have ever happened to him. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Lucas once looked at him the same way Declan looks at him now. With nothing but fear and disdain in his eyes. Backed into the corner like a scared small animal. August remembers the way he felt when they both locked eyes for the first time, terror meeting terror; it felt like he wasn’t worthy of breathing the same oxygen. That he was a monster, and should whittle the stake himself and hand it to Lucas with an apologetic bow.

Has August always mistook help for harm? He must be doomed to repeat the same cycle of pain. Maybe it’s just in his cold-blood. His vile, worthless blood. Vampires hurt humans. That's how the story goes. There’s nothing he can do to escape that fate.

“My friend,” August chokes up, grabbing Lucas’ hands to squeeze in his own, and stroking his thumb over his wrists. “I wronged you. I hurt you. Just like I’m hurting Declan now.”

A thousand apologies could never make up for what he’s done, the hurt he inflicted. Years down the line the shame and regret still plagues him, festers inside him deep down. Over and over he’s told he’s forgiven, more times than there are drops in the ocean. Again, it doesn’t change the fact it happened.

“You saved me,” Lucas gasps in awe, astounded by August’s confession. Something they’d both long agreed was water under the bridge. “ Just like you’re saving Declan. Would you have given up on me?”

“Never.”

“Then why give up on him? When he needs you more than I ever did?”

A fire lights inside of August, determination burns within him. This isn’t throwing in the towel, this is him fighting. Doing what’s right, even if it feels wrong. If it means letting go-

“I’m not giving up on him. I would never give up on him. I want to do what’s best by him.”

“I trust you, August. And I think if you just hold in there, Declan will learn to trust you too. It just needs time.”

Time does heal all wounds, as they say. And maybe Lucas is right. Maybe if they just play the waiting game, Declan could make it through to the other side, unharmed and unafraid. Yet August knows that these aren’t fresh wounds - not anymore - they’ve turned to ugly, withered scars. A permanent mark on the boy’s mind, body and soul. There’s no curing that. But could Declan learn to live with that?

“Tell yourself what you tell him. He’s not a captive. We’re going to take him home, yes?” Lucas quirks an interrogative brow, and August nods miserably in response. Declan is starting to feel like a captive against all intent and promises. “I think if we drop him off in human territory now - lame and pain-riddled, scared of everything that moves - that is what would be cruel. Us looking after him and building him back up for a little bit longer; that’s the mercy he’s begging for. Even if he doesn’t realise that right now.”

“How do I know which path to take?” August whispers with a wince, like the daunting thought threatens to implode inside his mind.

“Humans know so little of vampire persuasion, how it affects the brain and body. He could be stuck like this forever. His family will get half their son back at best. Who knows if his state will deteriorate? If he’ll ever walk or talk again. We can help him, August. You know that we can help him feel human again.”

“I don’t want to cause him any more unnecessary pain,” August laments, “He’s been through enough.”

August was never under any illusion this would be easy. He was prepared to weather the storm from the second he first laid eyes on Declan. Down in that basement; knelt and bound, small and fragile, unreachable and lifeless - drowning in Vince's power. August can help Declan, he’s got him this far already, he’s nearly out of the woods. They could do it, this could work. But at what cost?

“Whatever you decide, I’m with you,” Lucas promises, “Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Always…”

August had saved Lucas before, hadn't he? Perhaps there is still hope. Perhaps he can still save Declan.

---

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for beta-ing this chapter!!!!

Next update will drop on Monday! (7/8) 🫶 Time for a lil flashback to how August and Lucas met... 🤫

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