The Devil Knocks On My Door. A Dadler And Graveson Angst Oneshot

John: I really like this whole 'good guy, bad guy' thing you guys have going.

William: It’s not an act, it’s just that I’m evil and Sherly isn’t.

I will hunt you down, watch your back Cap.

(I don't mind it's public for a reason)

Really luv? Fine I turned my anon off. When can I smack that ass then?

Find yourself an opportunity, enjoy.

(also ignore me stalking your blog)

This is reminding me to sit myself down and make the notes of The Chronicles of Death Foretold that I have been piling up for a week.

the most fun a girl can have is finding parallels, noticing patterns, making connections, contemplating

those baby blues..

Everytime Graves goes to Price or Nik to complain about Soap being mean to him. Soap reminds them the "HE SHOT AH FCKING TANK AT ME!!??"

If that doesn't work he goes to, or Ghost who will then follow Graves around while glaring at him a whole day.

Or Laswell who then spoils him, and Gaz, while telling Price and Nik that she can't believe they're treating the sergeants like that, after everything they've gone through. Laswell is extremely disappointed. This will make both of the men feel upset, because no one wants Laswell to be disappointed in them.

Selfish

Graves centric, PriceGravesNik

TW: angst

(my friend called me an emotional masochist for this lol)

___

It felt like everyone was against him. He couldn't blame them with the shit he pulled, but Graves felt like he earned a tiny bit of leeway by this point. Hasn't he proven himself to the others by now? Nik and Price keep telling him they're proud about how much he's changed but judging by how everyone else treats him... he doesn't feel like he's changed at all.

Soap was always fucking him over, getting Nik and Price to turn their backs to Graves (normally only for a few seconds but it still hurt). If Soap didn't succeed in getting Nik and Price on his side, he turned to Ghost. And Ghost never passed up on a opportunity to fuck over Graves. He never physically hurt him, but that man was a master in verbal abuse and had a glare that could kill a god.

It didn't take much for Gaz to get on the Graves hate train and it happened very suddenly. Graves had three against him and felt like he couldn't turn to Nik or Price about it. He was afraid if he said anything that they would realize that everyone was right. That Graves wasn't worth it, that they could do so much better, that him trying to change was laughable and he will never be more than what Shepherd had him do.

He will always be that person, no matter what. It was only a matter of time until they realized it. Graves could hear the clock ticking, there was a constant countdown in his head. Every time Soap said something to them, every time Ghost said something to Graves and berated him, every time Gaz went along with whatever was being said about Graves--

It felt like the countdown sped up, like it would drastically jump to lower numbers.

Graves felt on edge the entire time. Felt like everyone was looking at him, waiting. It was too much. It made his head spin, his heart race, made him lose his breath. Graves kept thinking about what Shepherd told him, that he was nothing more than a walking plague, infecting those around them all while wearing a grin.

He hadn't spoken or seen Shepherd in a long time now but those words were becoming more prominent in Graves' head. He was starting to think he was right. He was a walking plague and he was infecting Nik and Price because they stood too close to him. He was hurting them. Hurting their relationship with everyone. They were taking a leap of faith with him, trusting him to prove to everyone that he has changed and was trying to do good.

It was only a matter of time before that faith and trust blew up in their faces.

Graves couldn't talk to them about it, to anyone. He didn't need to, he knew already. This was a mess waiting to happen, and Graves wasn't sure if he could handle watching it. He was clinging onto the blindly given love and affection from Nik and Price. Their addictive trust, their warm hugs, sweet kisses--

He was being selfish by sticking around as long as he has.

Graves knew he had to leave after overhearing what Laswell told them. He knew Nik and Price cared about her and valued her opinion. They were very close friends, practically family. Graves had always tried to avoid her, he knew she didn't like him and will probably never go beyond tolerating him for Nik and Price's sake.

"You're throwing away your relationship with the boys over him."

Graves heard the venom in her voice, it made him feel sick. He didn't mean to eavesdrop and had stumbled by at the wrong time.

"Kate-"

"No, John. I don't want to hear it. You both have been acting like lovesick teenagers, caring more about a temporary fling than the more important relationships in your lives! Every day I get calls from Soap. Texts from Ghost. Guess what they're both saying?"

Graves leaned heavily on the wall, heart pounding and ache spreading through his chest.

"You're prioritizing a relationship that is going to end in flames. People are going to get hurt and I want you to guess who those people are."

He couldn't stick around. He just started walking. The silence from Nik and Price was loud, suffocating. It said everything that Graves had been telling himself was going to happen: They were finally opening their eyes. The countdown had reached the end and Graves needed to leave. He couldn't bear facing Nik and Price telling him to fuck off, it hurt to think about it. But he knew that they were done with him. After that talk from Laswell? Keeping him around afterwards would be stupid.

Graves could feel everyone's eyes on him. It was too much. He couldn't look up, he didn't want to meet anyone's gaze. He just focused on the floor and walked, trying to keep the ache in his chest from being too much. But that was hard when everything was too much. People talking, their gazes, their very presence made him feel on edge, under attack. Graves needed to leave, needed to disappear.

Graves accidentally ran into someone.

"Fuck- Graves?"

He wanted to scream at Gaz's voice. He couldn't look at him as it became harder to breathe.

"Phillip?"

He bolted. Ran as fast as he could. He couldn't find a door, an exit into the outside world. He found a window instead and climbed out it. He took off after hitting the ground, not caring anymore. He had to leave. Had to run before Nik and Price found him and got rid of him in a more forceful manner. Graves just ran, managing to get off base. He was surprised how far and long he managed to run with how fucked up his lungs were after the tank accident. No, not accident. Soap tried to kill him but failed. Graves was wishing he didn't fail.

Finally, he couldn't run anymore. He collapsed to the ground, breathing hard. His lungs were screaming and he felt even more panicked by his inability to catch his breath. Graves was told to not push himself too hard, that his lungs couldn't handle it anymore. Nik and Price usually watched him, kept an eye on him and made sure he didn't overwork himself. Well, no one was here looking out for him and now he was on the ground, wheezing with black edging into his vision.

He was kneeling on the ground, trying to breathe. He felt himself tip and fall onto his side, staring ahead of him. Sound became muffled, everything started to slow down. He heard something attempt to push against the barrier. He felt someone grab him but he couldn't understand what was being said. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't breathe--

Graves felt himself drift in and out of consciousness, unable to focus on anything, not even a thought. He felt himself be moved, a pressure going up and down his back. Graves felt air slip into his lungs, little by little. After some time he could feel himself breathe better, hear better. He had his eyes shut because the sun was too much. He didn't know where he was or who was with him, but they were trying to keep him alive.

"-to be okay. Breath in... and out..."

Graves slowly followed their instructions, still unable to determine who it was. It couldn't be anyone that knew him, they would've left him to die. Graves felt himself tilt and the person leans against him, a hand going up and down his back, matching his breathing. Sound was returning and Graves could hear the person, a man, speaking calmly in his ear. Though there was a panic behind the calmness, his voice was soothing.

The sound of a vehicle pulling up, rushing footsteps--

"Fuck, what happened to him?"

Soap.

Graves feels panic wash over him again, trying to move away. The man holds him, cursing before he tries to get Graves to stand.

"We have to get him to medical!"

Graves was hauled into the vehicle, the person who saved him holding him while Soap drove (he assumes Soap was driving, unless there was a third, silent, person there at the wheel). Graves felt exhaustion hit him like a truck and he just leans heavily on the man holding him upright. Graves couldn't bother to react to the voices that were maybe talking to him. Didn't react when some grabbed him, held his face. He felt himself get picked up and get carried somewhere. And that's when he finally lost consciousness.

And while he was having difficulty holding onto a coherent thought, he did manage to have one thought that he could actually understand.

I hope I don't wake up.

And just like that, everything stopped being too much.

THEN // if (then) FINAL PART

Johnny is so pretty :(

reunion :)

(heavily inspired by “all that’s said in the low light”)

Hii I'm a new one here in your blog! How are you love?

Can I request a tooth rooting fluff of fatigued Mycroft from work (Moriarty The Patriot)x overprotective fem!reader?

Thank you have a nice day <33

a/n: hellooo❕ forgive my late welcome but i really hope you enjoy your time here. i'm good, thank you :) hope you're just as well ! ALSO AAAA i think i went ahead of myself and typed way more angst than fluff 😭😭

##: angst, fluff, maybe implications of depression if you squint ??

MY KIND OF WOMAN 𓍢ִ໋ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ myc. holmes x f!reader

tonight the moon was far too dipped into the shadows of the dark to come out; too tired, too weary. mycroft seems to deeply relate as he trudges his way in, head throbbing and utterly exhausted.

his younger brother, sherlock, was being investigated for homicide of the media mogul charles augustus milverton but thankfully no proof had risen. yet.

that, atop the stress he's facing with the people of the nation complaining and pressuring that the lord of crime be caught and punished to death—not that he could life a finger, though. he'd already been bound to the moriarty's by the contract and his vow.

“haaa..” he exhales gruffly, taking off his shoes—he barely has enough energy to crawl himself towards the couch before plopping down on it. it's quiet, utterly quiet. and dark; like his current state of mind. dark, yet a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

mycroft's thoughts drift to the weight he carries—the responsibility of his work, the burdens of a brilliant mind constantly analyzing and strategizing for the sake of the nation. it was a relentless pursuit, one that often left him feeling isolated and exhausted, tired and battered. wrecked. he's tired, utterly so.

“....” mycroft pops open the abandoned whiskey on the coffee table, drinking from it. were you drinking? he wishes he could share a glass with you.

it's been too long, hasn't it?

it's been days since he's properly even had the time to look at you. he leaves for work at the break of dawn when you're still asleep and returns in the middle of the night; a perpetual, tiring cycle.

he feels like crying for the first time in a while—the weight is too heavy, too harsh on him. and he dips his head low, ducking his chin, even in the dark. as if someone would or could see him like this, so vulnerable and exhausted. he's glad you're sleeping in your shared bedroom — at least you won't have to see him this way, weak and pathetic.

“mikey?”

mycroft freezes, neck of the whiskey bottle still touching his lips. “...(name).” he croaks out and instantly regrets it. his voice is hoarse, cracked at the end, almost whiny. he hates being this way.

“you okay? how was work?” slowly you tiptoe your way to him—the atmosphere was heavy and you could sense it from miles away. your fingers rest themselves on his shoulder, standing behind him and you realize just how tense his muscles feel.

“the same as always.” he replies plainly—the same neverending work. of course he'd like to say more than just that one sentence to you but he worries that if he starts, he won't stop, and that once he starts, it won't end in a simple complain—it'll end in a breakdown, tears and all.

so he sits there quietly. still as a rock. not facing you.

clack. he says the whiskey bottle down.

“i see.” you mumble. you know he hates being perceived as weak and vulnerable so don't force him to face you either. instead your fingers begin to slowly knead his shoulders, massaging him.

and mycroft swears he feels a lump grow in his throat. he leans back against the chair in silence, further back against you. it feels good, he thinks. to be cared for and loved as much as you do to him.

“...thank you, (name).” he whispers earnestly. he recognises he became so accustomed to shouldering the weight of the world that he had almost forgotten the simple joy of being cared for. “truly.”

plop.

a tear falls down onto his lap.

“..of course, honey. anytime.”

but neither of you say anything.

plop. another tear.

he's embarrassed—the tips of his ears are red but he's also grateful that you're not saying anything further. he likes that you're respectful of him and his boundaries and that you're not forcefully prying it out of him. he would tell you himself, anyway.

“i thought i'd lose my little brother today.”

mycroft says it so suddenly that it makes you pause—and it makes your heart ache painfully. he seemed to be going through a lot these past few weeks.

“i thought that he'd end up behind bars, that we'd never be able to bicker again,” he continues slowly, as if spoken too fast and he'd overwhelm himself with his own words. “the constant demands and pressures placed on me... they never cease.”

your hands have gotten softer on his body, more gentle and kind. “i can see the toll it takes on you, mikey. it's okay to feel overwhelmed.” you press a faint kiss to his nape. “you're only human, after all.”

a small silence. and then he breaks it: “i'm...afraid, (name). i'm afraid of failing. of disappointing everyone. and most of all, i'm afraid of losing you because of this— this darkness that surrounds me.”

he's at last allowing himself to feel infront of you.

and this time mycroft turns his head to look at you; you're faced with a grief stricken mycroft, heavy tears dripping down his face. you are strong. stronger than you give yourself credit for. but even the strongest of people need support and love. let me be there for you. share the burden with me." you cup his cheeks and he nuzzles himself against your warm palms.

“i love you.” he whispers softly. weakly.

“i love you too, mickey. i'll always love and stand by your side. no matter what happens to either of us.”

“even if i were to be brandished a traitor the next day for conspiring with the lord of crime & keeping silent even after i became aware of their true identity?”

“even then i would love you.”

“and if i were to be executed the next day?”

your heart hurts for him—you realize this is one of his genuine fears that he's been constantly wracked with. “then i would follow you wherever you go, mickey—even after death, i will forever be yours.”

a mix of emotions flicker across mycroft's face! fear, longing, a glimmer of hope. he takes a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "promise me you won't give up on me, no matter how difficult it gets."

“i promise.” your voice is filled with determination and he breathes a sigh of relief—something he desperately wanted to do for a long time now. “you're not alone, mycroft; you never will be. as long as i'm alive you will always be well and protected.”

mycroft nods silently, lets himself be embraced by you—he'd allow himself this much of respite. he could face all the horrors the world has to show tomorrow. as long as he can rest in your arms tonight.

there were still a lot of thorns and you were certain there'd be more along the way, but you would never allow even one of those to graze him. you were dead set on clearing a better, smoother path for mycroft and make sure that no one would stand in his way.

you look down and for the first time you feel him softly sobbing into your chest. you kiss the crown of his head and hold him tighter.

yes, you think to yourself as you pat him. the scheming and mind wracking can be set aside for tomorrow. all you want to do is be with him right now.

and you're sure mycroft feels the same.

Soap💔💔💔

This is the type of brainrot that keeps me awake at night. Because I 100% love to believe Ale atleast knows some shit about Simon. And during their mission he must've picked something here and there. And I mean, he's a colonel for god's sake. He has access to things if he wants right?

bit of an open lore discussion here. i know its not confirmed reboot ghost ever actually experienced the whole schtick in mexico but for my own sanity i kinda stitched og ghost's lore to reboot ghosts and i consider that canon to him. most know he was buried alive, broke through the casket and clawed his way to freedom and i personally headcanon that running on adrenaline he made it maybe a couple miles or so before he was found by mexican border patrol.

considering I Consider this all to be reboot, do you think theres a chance that alejandro and rudy heard about the whole thing? i mean, some heavily injured white guy was found on the side of the highway just Walking and the whole situation was almost immediately covered up with lots of red tape. do you think the rumors would have spread wide enough to reach ale & rudy (although they def wouldn't recognize simon just from his name alone) before they were given strict orders to stfu? & then said white guy in skull face paint absolutely slaughters manuel roba & his men, doing the mexican army's job for them? that must've been some scandal 😭