gamels

[gamels]

The Five Times You Meet Phillip Graves

Author: @konigbabe

Pairing: Phillip Graves x fem!reader

Word count: 5.6k

Tags/Warnings: cod mwii campaign spoilers; swearing; enemies to those who tolerate each other; kissing; blood and injury; minor violence; cursing; pet names; gunshot/knife wounds; inaccurate military procedures/terms; inaccurate cia procedures; use of codenames/callsigns

Summary:  The five times you meet Cmdr. Phillip Graves and the one time he surprises you.

Inspired by the book The Five Times I Met Myself by James L. Rubart.

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01 ˚✧ ┊ The first time; he irritates you.

A guttural grunt escapes your throat, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as the car before you speed up. A series of fucks and dammits leaves your mouth; foot on the accelerator, you follow the asset on the dirty road.

Where the fuck are they, you curse internally, barely missing the rotten fence as you near the end of the farm; this is the only chance to stop the asset with air support Shepherd sent to help you—that be if they were actually here.

The car never slows down, drifting through the abandoned farm, away from you. A static cracks next to you, before an unknown, rather casual voice comes through, “Echo 3-6, this is Shadow-1. Engaging the silo north of your position.”

Finally, you reach for the transmitter next to you, “Shadow-1, you’re free to fire but do not engage near the car, I need him alive.”

“Roger that,” the man says before all hell breaks loose; and to your dismay, you watch in horror as your asset’s car turns right towards the silo, intended to drive right past it the very same second the Shadow Company opens fire. A loud explosion blinds you momentarily as you slam the brakes.

Almost none of the men manage to exit the plane before you storm into the vehicle, rage surging through your veins; the red lightning matching your emotions.

“Which one of you is Shadow-1?” you stop a masked man about to leave, hand on his shoulder as you look around; and your eyes land on the only man without a mask and uniform—dirty blond hair, narrowed eyes shining with blue ice, lips pressed tight. He stays leaning against the side of the aircraft, hands clutching the top of his vest; and you know, even without anyone answering, that this must be the commander.

“Commander, you have a visitor,” the man next to you announces, shaking your hand off his shoulder.

“I can see that,” his voice is vexed, displeased. His men flow by you, leaving only the two of you in the confined space. Face to face, you feel a mix of frustration and confusion while he walks toward you.

Hand tugging at the side of his vest as he nears you, he takes it off.

“You must be the officer, echo 3-6.”

“And you must be the jerk that disobeyed my order and killed my asset,” the words come out like a hiss, voice laced with venom.

With a whoa, his hands shoot up in a defensive gesture, eyebrows raised, “but you gave me good to go, officer,” the commander takes a tentative step towards you, “I can’t foresee the future.”

Standing before you, his gaze sparkles with a mischievous twinkle, only inflaming the boiling rage that churns within you.

“You should’ve double-checked before firing, commander,” you remark, a touch of poignancy in your voice.

Opening his mouth to answer, his radio abruptly interrupts, calling out his name. As he strides past you, he adds, “I’ll remember your sage advice for the next time, officer.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” he stops by the opening, hand gripping the loose rope on the side, “the name’s Phillip Graves, not the jerk.”

 02 ˚✧ ┊ The second time; he offers you a helping hand.

The tight bindings on your wrists sting, the beige material becoming stained with your blood as you squirm in the corner of the small, stuffy room. A moan escapes your lips while you try to find some reprieve from the uncomfortable position, only to be reminded of the dire situation you are in by the fresh wound on your leg opening up; more wet, sticky red substance turning the white camo pants into violet.

Foreign voices can be heard outside the room; malicious content behind the words. Ears perked for potential incoming, you attempt to stay alert; the soft light of the dark room and the throbbing pain in your leg makes it difficult to do so.

The sound of gunshots ricocheted through the building, reverberating off the walls; the voices behind the door go quiet for a split second. Air stills as tension fills the room. There’s a distant sound of a helicopter flying over your head. Someone starts throwing commands; three men to the rooftop, two to the north of the building and—

—the door is bashed open. Back pressed to the wall, your eyes follow a masked man, white camo matching yours. All you can see is his eyes; young, too young to be in this situation, the forest green projecting his worry; something isn’t going according to their plan.

Breath hitched, he strides toward you, handgun pointed right between your eyes. It feels like your heart is pounding so hard that it's going to burst right through your ribcage, his finger dancing dangerously close to the trigger.

“Who did you call,” he barks, accent thick, voice shaky, “tell me!”

“First you tell me who sold the weapons to your boss,” it’s a shot in the dark but there isn’t any other way now; you need to find out and this man—this boy might have the answer.

His hand isn’t steady, he’s hurried, impatient. Restive.

“I’m gonna die anyway, who does it matter if I die knowing or now,” you press further. Gunshots grow louder, closer. Multiple boots hit the hardwood. Ash and dust raise as men keep running around, shouting and shooting.

Eyes flickering between the soldier and the door, you keep pressing, urging him to answer. Both of you are aware of the fate awaiting you; just a matter of time and the right (and wrong) decision.

Through the smoggy air, a dark figure creeps into the room, the crimson beam slicing through the fumes with the precision of a sniper; a killer. Within a second, the no, stop makes it just to the tip of your tongue before a click is all that could be heard.

A warm, wet substance splatters over your cheeks. Clenching your eyes shut in revulsion, you let out a moan of displeasure. The soldier's body collapses to the floor with a heavy thud, his vacant eyes gazing up at you.

“Bleeding all by yourself, sweetheart,” the shadow nears you. Blue pools of larimar running over your sitting form before Graves crouches before you. His gloved fingers touch the tender skin around the open wound, examining the damage in the dim light.

“Seriously,” you hiss at him, “what’s with you and killing my intel? And don’t—”

A groan cuts you off as Graves presses a gauze against the oozing gash, applying more pressure than needed while wrapping a bandage around your thigh; the pain radiates through your body like a searing fire, teeth clenched and putting on a stone-cold face in front of the commander himself.

“—don’t call me sweetheart, Graves.”

“Well,” he finally looks up at you, tying the last knot of the bandage securely, “you didn’t tell me your name, and I gotta call y’ something.”

Standing up, his form looms over you, enveloping your figure in his shadow.

“Think you can walk?”

Your eyes burn into his as you raise your still-tied wrist, silently demanding him to free you.

A corner of his lips turns up, knife still tucked up in his vest as he says, “I think I prefer you tied up.”

“Not funny,” you remark but it gets him to bend down to your level again; the cold of the blade grazes over your irritated skin, gloved hand enclosing one of yours in his, steading your wrists. Few slices later, pain shoots up the whole length of your arms upon the freeing; soothing the wrists for a moment, Graves gets up and with a “Let’s go” walks toward the open door. It takes some willpower to stand up.

Once you steady yourself, just a simple step throws you off balance as you put your body weight onto the wounded leg. A hiss alerts Graves, who turns his head to look back at you. With an annoyed huff, he offers you a hand to help you get balanced again before throwing your arm around his shoulders.

His grip around your ribcage is firm but somewhat tender, fingers splayed over your side like a protective shield while he guides you to the door; the other hand grasping his weapon as he walks you out of the building.

03 ˚✧ ┊ The third time, he takes away your breath; quite literally.

Months of rehabilitation and a psychological evaluation later, you find yourself at a military compound. Shadow Company’s provisional base, covered in snow, in the middle of nowhere as the European winter fell upon all of you.

Simple intel mission, that’s your job; what makes it harder is the utter finesse skill of avoiding the commander by all means—so far successfully.

Since the last time you saw him, back when he killed your intel (again), managed to burn down a whole building just to get you out and almost pushed you out of a Shadow company’s helicopter while taking off (which you firmly believe was on purpose), you haven’t stopped hearing about him, especially from general Shepherd. It’s evident that he’s taken a liking to the company, to your dismay.

The hard mat underneath your bare feet squeaks with each slip, hard thuds and thumps spread through the room with each blow. The heat of the room is stifling, sweat dripping down your back, hands wrapped in tape to protect the knuckles.

Focusing on your breathing and the moves, letting the rhythm of your body drive you through the kata, every movement precise and each strike purposeful, you can feel the energy of the room around you and the strength of your own presence growing within.

With each repetition, you take down the imaginative opponent with more ease. A dull ache pulsating in your leg, the gush already healed but your subconsciousness still bringing it up.

Eyes close, focusing on each move, feeling every muscle in your body flex and contract, the silence is cut short by someone clearing their throat. With only the ceiling light above you being lit up, the intruder steps into the light only for you to huff in annoyance.

The man you’ve been successfully avoiding for days has finally found you.

His blonde hair is ruffled as if someone was running their fingers through it, cheeks tinted with a pinkish hue, Graves stops at the edge of the mat with raised eyebrows, lips tightly shut. Jacket open, the combat shirt outlines his dog tags, exposing the taut body hidden underneath; arms resting in his pockets, he takes a look around before his eyes land on you again.

“Most people spar during the day,” he notes, “and with a partner.”

Nearing where Graves stands, you glowered, “I don’t need a partner. I’m done anyway.”

Graves takes his hands out of the pockets, arm extended in front of your body like a tollgate, firm and unyielding. Looking at him, his eyes stern but form relaxed. It’s admittable that even at this moment, him being less than a foot away, he radiates an air of authority, his commander showing.

“I can show you a move,” he says, losing his arm back to his side, “one that’ll take your breath away,” he specifies.

A huff leaves your lips, “That’s childish.”

He sighs, hand running across his cheek as his eyes stay focused on you, “I’m serious. It might come in handy in combat for you.”

It takes a silent moment for you to think; to weigh whether to give in or not. Graves doesn’t show any signs of making fun of the situation as your eyes scan his face, eyes heavy-lidded, tired; but still, he offers to give you a piece of his knowledge—and even if your dislike to the commander outgrows your sense of authority, he still possesses more field experience than you and who are you not to take advantage of his offering.

When you accept the proposal, he nods in return; jacket and shoes off, the mat narrows as the man walks to stand in the middle of it, motioning you to stand before him. Face to face, he directs your body into the appropriate position.

“Pretend to kick me in my side,” he pats his ribcage, feet apart and ready to defend. The moment your leg is in the air, his hand grips the back of your thigh, just behind your knee, the other gripping your shoulder to firmly stop you in motion.

“When you push against here,” he squeezes the leg twice, “you squat down a little,” his body follows his words, “and the other hand goes for either the knee,” the hand on your shoulder leaves the moment he’s sure you can still stand and listen before gripping your other leg, still on the mat, “or the ankle, depending on the size of your opponent,” his cold fingers wrap around the exposed flesh of your ankle, “and you go back into the standing position, pulling your opponent’s body up and forward.”

This time, he doesn’t follow his words; instead lets go of your body, stepping back.

“Sometimes it’s better to not only pull but slam into the opponent as well, disrupt their center of gravity,” he adds, “it’ll send you both down but you’ll still have the upper hand.”

A mental image of his words replays in your head. Nodding along his words, you reposition yourself and motion for him to come closer, “I need to see it in full force.”

Looking at your leg, where the healed wound left its scar, Graves makes sure to understand your demand, “You want me to take you down?”

“I want you to throw me against the mat, yes,” you reassure him, “my leg’s all healed up or I wouldn’t be here, commander.”

Even with doubt painted on his unshaven face, he steps closer to position himself as well.

“I’ll probably hurt you if I do it.”

“Like you haven’t dreamt about that before,” you snark.

“My dreams tend to differ.”

His words send a jolt of electricity through you, resulting in a leg high up, aiming straight at Graves’ ribcage, the same place he patted before. It’d be an admirable attack if all this wasn’t prepared beforehand.

The commander does exactly as he described earlier; all you manage to do is yelp as his fingers sneak around your ankle. Strong pull forward, up, and back. The next thing you know, the heavy mat feels like an unforgiving surface beneath her.

Using enough force, the air pushes out of your lungs completely, throat closing when you try to take a breath as if a lump blocking the airways. Muscles tight, you sit up. Graves stands over you, starry eyes following your movement as you finally inhale, short and shallow but the air fills your lungs delightfully.

“Told you I’ll take your breath away.”

04 ˚✧ ┊ The fourth time; he saves your life.

The embassy is in flames; searing hot, ever exploding, and growing with every passing second. The sound of gunfire and shrieks of terror echo through the halls, smoke billowing out of the windows. Passing multiple bodies, your group moves in unison. Scouting each hall, each room and every single corner for the target—nowhere to be found.

Passing a windowed hall, glass shattered all over the marble floor, your eyes take in the outside scene, the utter chaos; crowds of people, shouting, crying, fighting. Praying. Their families might still be in this hellish building and as much as you wish to help, the diplomat remains the priority number one. You notice the familiar hooded figures of Shadows exiting multiple cars and heading towards another entrance, clearing other sections of the embassy as you work.

Reaching the end of the hall, all of your team stops next to the stairs as one of the soldiers clears the remaining room, returning to you with empty hands; nothing.

“Echo 3-6 to Watcher-1,” you turn on the mic when the last room is cleared, “target’s position unknown, moving the fifth floor. Over.”

“Negative,” the mechanic voice cuts through the static, “regroup with Shadow-1 and move back to the rendezvous. Over.”

The men around you remain still, their eyes fixed on you as you stand there resolutely, gaze trained on the top of the stairs; the flickering flames of the fire dancing like a sinister symphony. A heavy sense of dread clings to you, the crackling of the fire cutting through the momentary silence before you speak again, “What if the target is there?”

“Negative,” another refusal, “fifth floor’s completely taken over by the fire. Regroup and fall back. Over.”

“Roger that, over and out,” you nod to the group. Turning around, a step behind everyone, a sound pulls you back; silence follows before a distant Help! reaches your ears. It’s weak, merely audible but still enough confirmation that someone is still there.

Eyes on the group, none of them seem to notice you falling behind. Fingers tightening around the handle of your gun, a mere second passes before your body turns around on its own accord; one leg follows the other, and stairs pass by as heat envelopes you in its scourging warmth.

Flames kiss up your skin as you move through the remains of a hall, fire closing you in; stupid, stupid idea and stupid me. The heat is unbearable, each crackle sends shivers down your spine. Dread settles in your bones over the realization that this might be the way you go.

Another Help! throws your thought away. Stopping by the closed door, you bang your hand on them, eliciting a shout from the other side; no matter who’s there, you already know you’re gonna get that person out. Going through all this inferno, it’s the least you can do.

Bashing the door open with the butt of your gun, a figure rams straight into you, slamming your back against the burning wall for a second.

“Oh my god, thank you,” a man bellows straight into your face; the target. Before you notice what’s happening, he reaches towards you and snatches your mask from your face, holding it to his face to inhale.

“Wait,” you try to stop him but it’s too late, smoke and ash fill your lungs upon the unexpected moment. The radio on your neck crackles but nothing comes through. Frantically gasping for air, you focus on the mission; bring the target to the rendezvous, that’s your only way out of here—preferably still alive.

The air is thick with the smell of acrid smoke. Gasping frenziedly, hand wrapping around the target’s thick arm, you drag the diplomat towards the staircase. Heart racing, head becoming dizzy, it doesn’t help that the man slips through your weakening hold, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

“Fuck,” you curse; breathing shallowly, nausea and headache start to creep on you as you try to move the mass of a man on your own. Everything spins, the flames licking and nipping at your skin like fiery fingers, the heat of it all pressing down on you.

The smoke clogs your lungs, air deathly still; your consciousness gives up on you, darkness succumbing you to the all-consuming fire. Eyes watering, swallowing feels like drinking molten lava, the roaring flames devour all in their wake.

A sharp slap jolts your eyes open. A masked man hovers above you, the larimar blue shining through the mask; Graves.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” he hisses, tapping at your cheek harshly, “not dying on me today.” The blonde turns his head around. That’s when you notice other Shadows hovering around, two of them carrying the hopefully unconscious (and not dead) body of the target while Graves stays by your side; hand on your shoulder blade, he helps you sit up.

“Don’t kill this one or I’ll shoot you,” a guttural cough creeps up your throat as his gaze bores into you. Wrapping a piece of clothing around your lower face, a makeshift mask, his arm sneaks around your waist, effortlessly lifting you up to the point your feet don’t even touch the ground.

“What, he’s intel?” he remarks; one hand guiding your arm over his shoulders, his fingers securely wrapping over your wrist to keep your weight onto him while the other arm stays around your waist—basically carrying all your weight on his side, he adds, “if yes, might shoot him them.”

05 ˚✧ ┊ The fifth time; he kisses you.

Everything is going smoothly, too suently to your comfort, causing a shivering sense of unease creeps up slowly on your spine. The pungent smell of cigarettes and alcohol fills your nostrils, chatter surrounding your lonely form in a dull hum as you sip at the drink in your hand.

A group of men and women sit across the confined space, closer to the exit door than you, talking in hushed voices; the deal going according to the plan, except they don’t know about the closeness of sneaky ears encompassing this place.

Observing the ongoing deal, another man joins the group, whispering to one of the men; your eyes firmly on them, fingertips dancing on top of the full glass, you watch as—

—”Echo, your cover’s blown,” a static voice of a Shadow comes through the second two more men enter your peripheral vision, eyes scanning the area; for you.

“Roger that,” you whisper, earpiece barely picking up. Taking one last sip of the drink, feeling the cold liquid cool your burning throat, the chair squeaks as your feet touch the ground.

Before the men manage to look in the direction of the noise disruption, you slide into the shadows of the nearest hall; too bad the only exit was behind them. Now it’s time to come up with plan b. Swiftly moving along the building, you look out from the window, too high. No stairs. No escape route. No fight; instruction clear—don’t get caught, don’t cause a scene.

Heavy footsteps echo from behind you, enclosing you like a wild animal being cornered; slight panic starts settling in your abdomen. You’re a professional, pull it together. Pull. It. Together. Deep breath in, shallow breath out. Looking to your right, then to your left; first doors locked, second as well.

Footsteps growing heavier, closer, faster; deep breath in, sha—

—hand over your mouth.

A firm figure pulls you backward, calloused fingers wrapping over your mouth, digging into your cheek as he drags you into the third door. The smell of suede, the taste of leather, hot breath fanning over your earlobe as a quiet Shhh echoes in your ear; Graves.

The commander guides you into the guest closet; turning you around, you’re faced with the same wide, larimar oceans of eyes, finger over his tightly shut lips as his hand remains over your mouth. With a reassuring nod from your side, he drops it, looking at the open door, the sound of incoming footsteps filling the confusion and tension surging through your body.

“What’re you doing here?”

What are you doing on this mission? In this city?

“Graves,” you hiss, finger digging in the middle of his chest, feeling the metal of his dog tags beneath the fabric of the blue shirt that only enhances the color of his eyes.

“Check the second room, I’ll check the third,” a man’s voice orders. The third—the third, the third where you are currently stationed, hidden.

Graves’ jaw twitches, eyes fixated on the door; a shadow is cast over the light from the hallway. It feels as if time has stopped, and your breath hitches as the anticipation of being discovered takes hold of you. Heart pounding, breath bated—

Lips on yours; rough, wet. Needy. Hands enclosing your face, covering every inch of your head, fingertips diving into your hair. Graves’ body presses against yours, hips flushed together, a leg between yours. A whimper escapes your bruised lips as his tongue swipes along the lower one before biting, tugging at it, drawing a desperate, humiliating moan out of you.

A hum reverberates in his throat, tongue pushing inside you. It’s wet, sticky; messy. His tongue explores the depths of your mouth. He’s aggressive and impatient. Hunger seers through your touch-starved body, jolts of electricity awakening your desire. Bringing your leg up and around his hip, you push him into you, hips grinding into yours.

Groans, grunts, moans; a mess of two people, air filled with desperation.

Your brain goes completely blank, kiss drunk and empty. The heat of his flesh is searing through the material of his shirt; squeezing his bicep, you feel the muscle flex as he angles your head for better access.

He’s the first one to pull away, your lips following his for a split second before the realization hits you; breathless, confused, and way too eager, you shake your head. Eyes staring at his flushed face, the darkness of his pupils overtaking the blue oceans of his eyes like a stormy night, you can feel the raw tension between the two of you. Not good, not good at all.

Graves’ hands slide from your cheeks at the same time you put your hands on his chest, the tight muscle contracting, heart racing; and you push, leg falling from his hip.

“Why did you kiss me?” you hiss at him. The pink hue that decorates his nose and cheeks only adds to the allure of his pale skin; and if it was anyone but Graves, you'd be finding it hard not to reach out and brush your fingers gently against his flushed cheeks. You’d even say it looked slightly adorable (and immensely attractive).

“Why did you kiss me back?” he bites back gruffly. He takes a step back, his gaze shifting towards the door as if he's trying to make a run for it.

“Why did you use tongue?” Not letting him win this, you continue to press into him. He stands at your arm's length, fingers wrapping around your wrist that still rests against his chest, fiercely putting it away before he shoots you a smug look.

“Why did you moan?”

“Stop it,” pushing him one last time, Graves takes a step to the side, letting you go and head toward the door; the hallway clear.

01 ˚➶ ┊The time he surprises you; and it hurts.

The car ride is silent, a sense of relief settling inside you while you return to the Los Vaqueros’ base. That’s before your phone starts ringing, and Shepherd’s code name appears on the screen. From the peripheral view, you notice Graves shifting, the two shadows at the front seats sitting quietly.

The call is rather informational, Shepherd impatiently collects your report before you even arrive at the base to follow the proper procedure.

“What about the third missile, did you manage to locate it,” he asks, voice calm but concerned. Graves’ eyes meet yours, conveying a strange mix of fear and guilt.

With an exhale, you say, “no, sir, but I’m getting close to identifying the source.”

“Say again,” Shepherd’s voice turns stern.

“I have a meeting with an asset of mine, after that—”

“I did not give you the order to search for the source, officer,” he cuts you off, “give me Graves.”

The man next to you watches with confusion as you hand him your phone without much question. Eventually taking it, he talks with Shepherd for a brief moment; eyes flickering to you, you notice his rigid posture and hand lowering to the zip ties in his vest.

Something is off.

Hanging up the phone, Graves’ attention is now fully on you, freeing the zip ties from their restraints.

“I’ll need you to extend your arms, officer,” he commands formally. As the realization hits you, a chill of dread creeps up your spine. Everything after that happens in less than a minute; from reaching for the radio to inform Ghost and the others (who are currently obliviously riding the car behind you) to inform them of the situation to Graves’ fingers wrapping around your wrists, tugging forward. With your face a few inches from his, you kick up your leg, fighting not only the commander but the confined space of the back of the car.

The element of surprise and strength isn’t on your side as Graves takes out his handgun, one hand gripping both of your wrists.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” the bitter words grate through his clenched teeth.; taking his handgun out, the handle lands harshly against your temple, sending a dull pain throughout your body as he knocks you unconscious.

A loud thud jolts you awake, shaking you from the depths of darkness. Eyes heavy, your head spinning and a throbbing ache radiating from the side of your face; a low groan escapes your chapped lips.

Heaving a groan, you muster all of your strength and spin to the side, outstretched arms seeking the door handle. With a click, the door opens. Pushing forward, the rain pelts your skin, eyes squinting to protect themselves from the onslaught.

As you stumble out, the hard thud of your body hitting the wet asphalt sends jolts of pain through you. The echoes of voices seem to linger in the air, blending with the night as it pours down. A dark figure slumps against the car - a shadow. Reaching for his pulse, you can feel the sickly warmth of the blood that’s already soaked through his mask.

That’s when you notice the man looming before you. Back facing your crawling form, hunched, gun ready to fire as he walks to the side of the car; Graves keeps talking, his voice taunting Ghost (who's nowhere to be seen).

You know what you have to do. Heart pounding, you slowly raise your hand to the shadow's thigh, groping for the handgun in the holster.

It takes you a moment to stable your stance and focus your gaze to aim at the back of Graves’ head, pouring rain blurring your vision but this moment, this second is all it takes for a nearby shadow to notice the imminent danger of his commander, to aim his weapon and pull the trigger.

Like a powerful force, a sharp impact sends you crashing to the ground with a pained groan erupting from your throat. The handgun clatters to the asphalt with a hollow click, Graves turns around sharply; eyes wide, finger on the trigger.

Lowering the gun, he walks over to your groaning figure. Calloused fingertips brush back the wet locks of hair from your face, he crouches down; the butt of his weapon resting over the oozing wound on your chest, face solemn, eyes dull and lethargic.

“Now that was a big fuckin’ mistake, sweetheart.”

BONUS ˚✧ ┊

The heat of Adal’s sun burns into your clothing, seeping through the thin layer of fabric and biting into the skin of your arms. Throat dry, licking your lips, you walk in Ghost’s footprints, the city of Al Mazrah behind you.

Snatching a bottle from Ghost’s backpack, the feeling of cool water running down your parched throat brings a wave of relief.

Reaching the cliff, Ghost stands a step before you, looking through his scope; handing it to you the moment he pinpoints the target’s position.

As you search the area with his instructions, your eyes fall upon the familiar face. Commander Ghorbrani stands surrounded by both Quds Forces and Russians, the ongoing deal going according to plan it seems.

Five words; that’s all it takes for you to get involved in taking the lives of dozens of men - “Visual on General Ghorbani confirmed.”

With Laswell’s last confirmation and Shepherd’s orders, you hand Ghost his weapon back. Securing the sunglasses on your face, you listen to the communication; crouched down, barely reaching Ghost’s mid-thigs as the lieutenant hovers above you, providing the much-desired shadow.

“Echo 3-6, Ghost, you are danger close to the zone,” Graves’ voice whispers into the earpiece, “this arrow’s gonna pack a punch.”

Veins thrumming with adrenaline, looking up at Ghost, an affirmative nod is sufficient enough for him to respond, “Copy. Approved.”

“Send it,” you state into the mic around your neck mic before holding onto the top of the body armor Ghost basically bullied you into wearing.

“All stations, Shadow-1. Missile is ready for immediate delivery, stand by for launch,” Graves continues talking as you hold the mic frequency open for possible communication.

Ghost straightens his back the moment Graves announced that the missile is loose, both of you mentally bracing for the impact as the Shadow commander continues informing about the missile’s actual coordinates.

The blinding light fills your vision as the missile strucks its target, the deafening roar of the impact overpowered by an immense shock wave; grains of sand stung your exposed cheeks like tiny droplets of glass; the sensation of the sharp needles nicking at your flesh rather awakening.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Ghost’ voice cuts through the sound of destruction. Both of you watch as pieces of metal and flesh fly in the air; a dance of death. A pungent, sweetish smell fills your nostrils as you get up to stand next to him again.

“Direct,” you confirm, “target destroyed.” As you watch the last remains falling to the ground, you add, “one would say it’s raining men.”

“Fuck sake, Echo, keep it professional,” Graves’ voice echo in your earpiece, a hint of amusement present in his tone. Ghost shoots you a look of disapproval.

Shrugging, arm extended to what was a meeting ground just seconds ago, you state, “What? It’s true.”

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Viventes Enim

From Control - Full Story in Progress on AO3!

Graves x Shadow!Reader After deciding to break things off with your commander for the sake of your jobs, a new mission has you two having to move on faster than you both can pretend to be over the situation. But how long can the act last? No Explicit Warnings, Some Swearing, slight mentions of smut from previous chapter Tags: Angst, Slow Burn, Romance, Pining, Break Ups, Melodrama, slight Tension, Plot heavy, Build-Up, Longing, Light Banter, Kinda corny Word Count: 3.5k A/N: Switches between Reader and Graves POV. I'd read the last part if you're just coming in. I thought about making this longer, but I decided to split it up into two parts, so the next chapter will continue off from this. I'm sorry if this is boring because of that, or if Graves is OOC... Please enjoy ( ɵ̥̥‸ɵ̥̥) Also, to the people who've been reading this story, I love you all so much, and I really appreciate you giving this story a chance. I hope you continue to enjoy it, and again I love you, I wish to continue to try and entertain you all ❤️ (•́ ω •̀๑)

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven

Chapter Twelve - Viventes Enim

Graves meant it when he said he wishes he’d met you at some other time in his life. In some other place far away from here, that didn’t require him to be so cold, and play such a heartless role.

Then you could see the good parts of him, instead of all the bad you’ve come to know him for.

“So this is it then?” You stand a few feet from Graves now, sliding your top back over your head. He hasn't seen anything beyond your back for the past five minutes now; too busy with fixing yourself to look presentable for the others outside his office. Graves stood a few feet away, doing the same, listening to you speak. “We’re done now?”

Your question comes out of the blue somewhat, seeing as you haven’t spoken a single word to him since you two finished. And not since you’d broken down in his arms either. 

Graves’ has never seen you cry before.

It's all he can bring himself to think about right now. You may not be in his arms anymore, but the solemn sensation of you shaking against his body remained ingrained in him, almost as though you’ve emptied all your sorrow into him instead.

It had unsettled the man when he first realized your tears weren’t from pleasure, nor just for show. You hid them as best you could, embarrassed to have even let yourself appear so vulnerable to your commander, as you’d buried your face in his chest, hoping he wouldn’t notice it growing damp from your tears. 

But how could Graves not noticed?

Graves had thought about stopping when he’d caught you crying; sex would be the last thing on his mind if he were you. But anytime he’d so much as attempt to let go and allow you to remove yourself from him, you’d only cling tighter, almost fearful to part.

You continued to ride him elegantly, almost swan-like, despite your sudden pang of sorrow. Graves would have been locked in a trance, were he not so concerned.

And selfishly, when you did not leave him in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to hold you regardless. Graves couldn’t think of anything more to do, other than embrace you, letting his fingers trail soothingly up and down your spine, as he placed light kisses against your neck.

His lips had traveled up to your ear, his other hand still cupped to your cheek, as he slowly guided your face to him, trailing along your jawline. Your tears were wet against his nose, mixing with his kisses; and you kept your eyes closed, as though the sight of him would make things worse. 

Graves kissed your cheek, letting his thumb brush the tears away, before his lips found yours again. There you sink into his kiss, allowing him to take up more spaces of your mind. Your lips remained locked until you two had both finished with each other. By then the memory of your mouth had been seared deep.

It took having to let you go again for an epiphany to finally hit him.

If that night at the bar made him realize that you truly haunt the deepest recesses of his mind, then tonight has only shown Graves the absolute worst case of that realization. That at some point, he had fallen in love with you, and it couldn’t have come at a worse time.

So this is it then?

Graves stews on your question, letting the seconds drag on almost purposefully. You still haven’t looked at him, even as you finished buttoning up your uniform. He needn’t see your face to know what you’re thinking; how you were waiting to hear him answer you.

He sighs to himself, moving back over to his desk, where a stack of papers and emails still sit waiting for his attention. He wants to take back his words, he wants to keep things going. In a perfect world things would, yet he’s already let the ship sail out too far. Going back now would only make you two look even more foolish.

“We’re done.”

You turn to look at him, taciturn and drained. Your lips grow tight. His words seem to do little for you, and Graves can’t really blame you for that.

There's no further comments, not even on the tears you previously shed. At some point between then and now, you must have had a conversation with yourself, and come to a similar conclusion. Because he's never seen your eyes so walled off before.

“OK.”

And then you walk out of his office, without so much as a goodbye.

Graves hopes you got the reaction you wanted from him, because watching you go in such a way crushed him like no other heartbreak ever has before.

He waits for the door to shut before sinking into his chair. Graves buries his face in his hands and simply breathes, trying not to think about the moment he was currently living. In this empty office, now silent and cold, the commander sits to himself, thinking. Caught up in another idle thought.

Indeed, he truly wishes he could have met you someplace else. Where things were normal, and the weight of his responsibilities didn’t weigh on his shoulders so heavily. He found himself that night, daydreaming of what a life like that could have been like.

Perhaps Graves could have met you back home.

He’d come upon you one day, sitting outside, maybe in front of your house or on the concrete step to your apartment complex. Some little elm tree would stretch over you, its colored leaves casting soft shadows amidst a sunny day, and the sky would be as blue and clear as a clean pool of water.

You’d sit there, probably playing that guitar you liked to hide in your room, giving all who passed by a warm smile and subtle nod on their way onward. And then your eyes would find his along the way, and that’s all you two would need. 

Graves would come in suavely, always having a way with his words when needed. Of course, his cocky demeanor wouldn’t charm you so easily. You’d most likely tease him, poke at him playfully just for the silly banter. Finding him rather corny. 

But when he’d ask you for a coffee later, you wouldn’t say no.

When he finally walks away, something would pull at Graves to look back. And he’d find your eyes already watching him; the same thought crossing your mind as well.

You wouldn’t look away when your eyes met. You’d only smile and wave goodbye, and Graves would return the gesture. And as he finally walked away, he would feel himself fall in love with you all over again. The right way this time.

Graves always imagined he’d make a fine partner for someone, in another life. A life in which love could stand above duty. He’s never been much of a hopeless romantic, though he knows he can come close to it; if he ever were to meet someone who truly draws that out of him. 

As the days continue to pass Graves by, he finds that life to be but a far-off reality, as things only seem to become less than loving as time passes. Though lately, he’s caught himself thinking of it more so, from time to time.

He thought of a love strong enough to take him away from his work. That kind of love would have Graves fly to the moon and back for them, if they so desired it.

He would want his lover showered with gifts and extravagance; anything at all. You would only need to say the word, and Graves would have it there for you before it even crossed your mind as a thought or longing. He’d swaddle you with furs and jewels and gifts, proud to show you off to the world and proud to have you along his side.

The world was ugly and unfair; you didn’t have to tell Graves that for him to know it. Yet still he has seen some beautiful things too.

He’s always had this fleeting desire to share that beauty with someone, living life to its absolute fullest. If only to see how your lips moved when you smiled, or hear the melodic pitch of your laughter, getting lost in the wonder and joy that twinkles in your eyes, and what words of yours he could etch into his mind next.

There’s so many wonderful things which could have come from a life like that. One not strife with so much death and misery. Graves truly wishes he had met you someplace else.

But instead, he’s met you here.

...~o~O~0~O~o~... The Following Day ...~o~O~0~O~o~...

“Any visual on our target, Canary?”

You continue peering through your binoculars at a tall, rundown apartment buildings across from you, skimming the street level for a red Sedan to park nearby.

You occupy an empty, upper floor apartment room adjacent to your target location, using the window to scout for Onyx. You and Graves had a small squad from Shadow Company camped out in the room with you. With the high ground advantage, you had a good view of the city below.

The streets of Kavala are tightly compacted, the narrow roads littered with various parked vehicles, bicycles, and trash cans. It almost stretched out like long, maze-like alleyways, easy to lose someone in if they so much as rounded a corner, as the cobblestone streets grew more empty with the setting sun.

Had you not been here on a mission, you would have found this place beautiful, history and culture engraved in all its architecture. Their people seemed happy and carefree, not a concern in the world for many of them, beyond their own personal qualms.

If only they knew of what lurked in their dark corners.

You sit posted with your elbows resting against the window frame. With the sun getting lower, the room grew dark around you, all the lights having been shut off so as to not tip off anyone of your current location. With night approaching, you'll be able to use it as cover, once you head out.

You Shadows always did work better in the dark.

It helps that you’re all clad head to toe in black tactical armor, the entire squad dawning black balaclavas and goggles. Even Graves was completely covered for this one. Wouldn’t want to be too identifiable. The patches you wore were message enough for those need-to-know.

“No eyes on them yet, Commander,” you say.

You feel a shift in the air to your left, Graves’ presence shading over you as he peeked out the window himself.

He stares off for a moment, completely silent. It makes you uncomfortable not knowing what he may be thinking right now. Graves was already a hard man to read as is, and a liar to boot. Adding a mask into the mix was a deadly combination.

You hear Graves grumble a little. “He sure is taking his sweet ass time.”

“Could be traffic,” you joke.

“Yeah, well that ‘traffic’ better pick up soon. I can’t stand wearin’ this fuckin’ thing,” he whined.

“What?” you ask. “The mask?”

“Yeah,” Graves said. “I’ve got too much hair for this; I’m losin’ it right now. I don’t know how Ghost can do it…”

You roll your eyes and giggle. You disagreed with him personally; you thought he looked rather alluring with the mask. It kind of suited him. “You’re such a diva, Graves.”

“That’s Commander to you, lieutenant,” he teases.

You tease back. “Yes Commander.”

Graves pushes away from the window, turning back to the rest of the team in the room. You keep your gaze through your binoculars, having been tasked to do so. 

It seems you both have found it rather easy to go back to being "just" coworkers. Merely pretending everything before now didn’t exist. Not that either of you had much choice.

Still, you found it was much easier to ignore these tiny urges to check him out when he wasn’t right beside you, talking to you like how he does. All magnetic and so on.

“I’m gonna get in contact with the General about our status,” Graves informs everyone. “Y’all just holler if you need me, but keep it down. We don’t need everyone on the floor knowin’ we’re in here. Oh, and Canary’s in charge!”

“Hooray.” You say sarcastically.

You hear a door shut, guessing that Graves went into the other room to speak with Shepherd. A lot of the others in the company weren’t aware of all the details regarding Black Bag; some weren’t even aware of it at all.

The less people who know about it, the less likely that it'd get out. In a way, your men are a lot safer believing this is just a snatch and grab job for some AQ asshole. It's not like it would be a complete lie either.

The Commander must also be in another room, because Jeremy was immediately on his shit again, the second Graves was out of earshot.

“Ah, Canary,” you hear Jeremy start to coo behind you mockingly. You don’t bother turning to face him, he’s probably got some smug expression beneath his mask anyway. Like he has all week now. “Not 'Songbird' anymore, L/N?”

You roll your eyes to yourself. Of course he’s not over the whole drink thing. You could have sworn Graves said he had a chat with him. Seems that was only good for about a week.

Jeremy’s not as easily frightened by being reprimanded as you’d thought, when given a week to cower and lie about it at least. You choose to ignore him though. It’s not like he was worth the effort of crafting a sentence for. You’re on watch right now as is.

“What,” he starts to huff behind you. “Touchy topic?”

“Would you give it a rest, Adams,” another member of your team starts to speak. Shadow 3-1, Percy. He sits a few feet from you by the other window, thumbing a spare clip in his hands, before looking up at Jeremy.

Though you’re all masked, making it impossible to tell what expressions everyone was making, you could tell he was as annoyed with Shadow 2-0 as you were. “That whole drink thing was nearly a fuckin’ week ago. Canary got you down that bad, man?”

You hold in a giggle at his comment. “Careful Percy, his ego bruises easily.”

"That much is obvious," Percy replies. The two of you chuckle to yourselves. 

You've always gotten along with Percy, personally. He often liked to de-escalate tensions, both with his work and his associates. He could be to himself at times; truth be told, you didn't know him very well, beyond the fact that he was from someplace North of Chicago and he had a steady aim with a sniper rifle. He was also tall as shit too.

But Percy never gave you a hard time about anything, and would actually converse with you when you'd strike the conversation. So that made him OK in your book.

Jeremy laughs to himself suddenly. "Yeah, right," he says. "'Cause you're just some great catch, right Canary?"

"And don't forget it, boo." You blow a little kiss to yourself, loud enough for him to hear.

This sets Jeremy off. "You know what-"

"Yo," Percy cuts in between you two. "Didn't the commander just fucking say to keep it down?"

You don't say anything. Jeremy doesn't either. However, he does see the finger you give him casually, never taking your eyes from your binoculars. You hear him grumble to himself and shuffle off, taking that as a small victory.

Right on cue, you suddenly catch glimpse of a red Sedan driving down the road -- the only red car you've seen since you've posted up. It veers off to the side of the road, before parking at the entrance to the apartments across from you.

You wait before confirming, watching as all four doors to the vehicle open, a small group of darkly attired men slowly pouring out.  Their hands are tucked in their pockets and coats cautiously. They look around, speaking few words, before the driver steps out of the car. He wears a black tracksuit and gold chain, his hair buzzed, with a long bullet graze scar cutting across the right side of his head.

Onyx.

"I've got visual on our target," you say to the others in the room. Percy posts himself at the window beside you, using his scope to keep an eye on the men below. "Someone go grab the commander."

As you hear the door behind you open, awaiting for Graves to approach, you continue to watch Onyx and his men linger by the car. You're reminded of the files you read.

There wasn't much to know, beyond the fact that he used to work with Ghorbrani, and has a lot of ties with Russia. The man's day job seemed to be armsdealing. Why that had extended to AQ, as well as what that could mean, is what your team is here to find out. And who better to send, than the group needing to know these connections the most.

Graves approaches your window again, and without asking, he takes the binoculars from your hands. You almost make a joke, but you bite your tongue.

"About damn time," Graves comments, peeking down at the target through your binoculars. When Onyx and his men head inside the apartments, the commander passes them back, turning to face the rest of the team again. 

“Alright Shadows, let’s get this show on the road,” Graves starts. “We’ll split into teams of two. Alpha Team -- Baxter, Weaver -- you’re with me. We’ll provide cover from here and watch for trouble, while Bravo Team -- Canary, Adams, and Percy -- infiltrate the building and nab our target.

“Now we’re here for Onyx, and Onyx only. You get in there and you bag ‘em; anyone else is considered nonessential. We’ve got execute authority, so if you gotta drop someone, just keep it quiet. Once you’ve apprehended the target, radio back and we’ll go from there. That clear?”

The entire team responds with some form of a “Yep-Yep!”

Though you can’t see Graves’ face beneath the mask, you just know he’s smiling at everyone, guessing from the little happy shuffle he makes in his step. “Let’s earn those paychecks, boys!”

“Hell yeah, Commander!” Jeremy cheers. “I’m already lookin’ at gettin’ a new Camaro.”

“I love to hear it,” Graves daps fist with Shadow 2-0, before pointing at you suddenly. “Canary, you’re team lead.”

“Oh boy,” Jeremy comments.

“Ah, don’t be like that Adams,” you tease. “I’d offer to buy you a drink after this, but… you seem like you can’t handle your liquor.”

“Why don’t you shut up L/N-”

“Alright, knock it off,” Graves cuts it. “We’ve got shit to do. Now let’s get movin’.”

You nod at the commander and watch the members of your team begin to enter the hallway. However, when you go to exit with them, you’re stopped suddenly by Graves' arm, extending out before you.

You look up at him confused, peaking back into the room at the others. They didn’t seem to pay any mind to you two at the doorway, giving you both a few short seconds of privacy.

Graves brings his arm down, but leans in a little closer. Thank God you had a mask on, because the proximity made you blush a little.

You have to admit, there was an aura around him which felt different with a mask on. Something more dangerous and enigmatic. Graves always looked good in uniform, but something about his face being concealed made the man feel so much more alluring. An infinite guessing game with him, it was.

“Keep me posted, yeah?” he said, his voice low so only you could hear him. “Radio in at the first sign of trouble, and we’ll be down there in a flash.”

“Worried, Commander?”

“I’ll be less worried once this is done.”

He pauses, and for a moment you thought he was done speaking. However, he didn’t budge, his head somewhat pointed at you and to the side. Like he wasn’t trying to meet your eyes. 

“I…” he takes a second to think of his sentence. “Just stay safe.”

You can’t help but start to lean on your leg casually, placing your hands on your hips. If he could see you, he’d know you were smirking at him. As you should. Aren’t you two done? You lift a hand and gently pat the commander on the chest, giving him a light shrug. “Glad to see you still care, Commander.”

As you go to pull your hand away, Graves stops you, taking your gloved hand into his, as he squeezes it affirmingly. Your eyes dropped to your locked grip, feeling your heart beat.

“I care about all of you.”

Though you knew he meant that, you also knew what he meant by that. It seems some things never changed, even as you two tried to make it so.

You squeeze his hand back, before slipping it out and giving him a thumbs up, stepping out the doorway. “I’d hope so, Commander.”

You feel his eyes on you until the door shuts, and the rest of your mission lie before you.

...To Be Continued...

[gamels]

THIS IS SO GOODDD

How I Wish

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Summary: Everything was going so well until it wasn’t.

Warning/s: Angst. A little fluff. Jerk Steve. My writing because of grammar/spelling.

Word count: 1.7k words

MY MASTERLIST

A/N: I finally made it! This was really nerve wracking to post because I made this for a friend, she gave me this idea and I was very nervous while making this but I hope ya’ll like this especially you, @evanstush​​, the one who gave me this wonderful idea! Visit her blog for more amazing stories!

You can just read but your reblogs, likes, feedback and comments are welcome and very appreciated!

credits to the owner of the gif! thank you!

Keep reading

[gamels]

Mend - Epilogue

Author’s Note: I must deeply apologize for how long it’s taken me to post this. My life got crazy and I was just too busy to write. I really appreciate your patience. I hope is worth the wait. 

Story Description: Reader has terrakinesis and going through a lot of emotional personal issues when Steve brings back Bucky.

Pairing: Bucky x Fem/Reader (enhanced)

Words: 7,726

Set after Captain America: Civil War. Contains Civil War spoilers!!!

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7

2 Months Later

Y/N was always anxious before Bucky went on a mission. At first, the U.N. was weary of using The Winter Solider on any of their mission requests. But Tony finally threatened to murder Bucky if they didn’t let him out of the house soon. Despite the route Tony took, Bucky still appreciated the action. Now Bucky went on almost every mission that Tony required extra muscle or even a sniper.

Keep reading

[gamels]

THIS IS PERFECT

Recommendation Masterlist

Hello my loves! An incredibly smart anon suggested I make a Masterlist of my fic recs, and I thought, why not! I know thats why some of you are here, so I might as well make it easier to find them :)

FIC RECS LISTS:

FIC REC 1- Insecure/Soft!Bucky

FIC REC 2 - Feel Good Stories

FIC REC 3 - Enemies to Lovers

FIC REC 4 - Birthday Fics

FIC REC 5 - Cop!Bucky

FIC REC 6 - Biker!Bucky

FIC REC 7 - Merman!Bucky

FIC REC 8 - Hades!Bucky/Persephone!Reader 

FIC REC 9 - Mobster!Bucky

FIC REC 10- Boxer!Bucky and Western!Bucky

FIC REC 11- Royal!AUs

FIC REC 12 - A/B/O dynamic - Extra List

FIC REC 13 - Single Parent

FIC REC 14 - 40’s Bucky

FIC REC 15 - Soulmate AUs

FIC REC 16 - CEO!AUs

FIC REC 17 - Bodyguard!Bucky

FIC REC 18 - Baker!Bucky/Reader

EXTRAS:

Favorite Authors and their work

Angst to Fluff

Fluff/Soft Bucky

Sugar Daddy Small List

Favorite AU’s

Anastasia AU’s

Three Stories That Changed How I Read

[gamels]

YASSS BRB GONNA READ THEM ALL

any recs for some good bucky Angst? you know I love me some Angst and I adore bucky 😏

OOF. There’s so many! But here are a few of my favsies. Also check out this list from @searchingforbucky

A Love That Never Leaves @bitsandbobsandstuff - OG Bucky angst. An incredible crafted series full of emotion. Can’t believe this is free it’s so damn good. I cried reading this one.

Lavender by @wkemeup - I cried reading this one, too. Bucky wakes up during a nightmare not as the Soldier, which makes it so much worse.

To Build a Home @tropicalcap - Themes of home … my weakness.

Museum Policy @evanstarff - So much longing. Oh it’s so sweet.

barba à papa @until-we-fall-in-love - Pretty, pretty writing. Pre-war Bucky. Broke my damn heart.

Darlin’ and Honey in June @nacho-bucky - 40′s Bucky. War-Time Love. Nobody writes it like Cait writes it and it hurts.

[gamels]

Can we like, not support circuses like that anymore?

[gamels]

CHOPIN IS A WHOLE MOOD

My 14-year-old sister keeps saying to me “Why are you so obsessed with Chopin? He’s old and dead!”

Reblog if you are obsessed with Chopin despite him being “old and dead”

I want to prove to my sister that I’m not the only Chopin fangirl out there

[gamels]

The true deadly sins

Lust

Not a sin- feeling sexual attraction, sex with consenting partners, masturbation, consuming pornographic media, having several sexual partners, sex before mariage. IT’S A SIN WHEN- the person projects lust onto an unwilling recipient person and does not take into account their wants or consent. Rape, harassment, sexual assault, catcalling, dick pics.

Gluttony

Not a sin- food, enjoying food, cooking, eating sweets, eating meat. In the larger sense, accumulating material things you enjoy, like books or collectibles or whatever.  IT’S A SIN WHEN- It deprives other people of what they need.

Envy

Not a sin: Wanting things you see other people have, like money, power, fame. IT’S A SIN WHEN: This is how you define people, and stop respecting them as humans. It’s a sin when you use them for what they have and what they can bring you.

Greed

Not a sin: Wanting financial security, working hard for the things you want.  IT’S A SIN WHEN: Your own financial growth depends on keeping other people impoverished and suffering.

Pride

Not a sin: Being proud of your accomplishments, liking your looks, dressing up IT’S A SIN WHEN: It stops you from accepting your faults and seeing how you can be wrong, not admitting that you can better yourself. 

Wrath

Not a sin: Righteous anger at situations, being mistreated, seeing other people suffer, at the injustice of the world. Self-defense. Revolution.  IT’S A SIN WHEN: Violence towards defenceless people, hitting your partner or your kids,.  Violence fuelled by intolerance and bigotry. 

Sloth

Not a sin: Resting. Sleeping. Taking a day or a year off. Being unproductive. Playing videogames. IT’S A SIN WHEN: You stay inactive when action is required. When people need you and you’d rather do nothing.

[gamels]

Reblog if you are a classical musician, enjoy classical music, or wish to be friends with the ghost of Frédéric Chopin

[gamels]

THIS IS ME TONIGHT

[gamels]

In The Morning

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Warning: Angst. Character’s death

A/N I AM SAD TONIGHT

This is also part of classical pieces prompt for Frédéric Chopin Prélude in E minor, Op.28 No.4, which you guys can listen to it here

***

You’ve always loved the morning. The time before you and your husband have to face the world and its problems. You love how serene it is, the gentle sunlight shyly peeking from the curtains. The soft snores coming from your husband in times where you awake before him. You love how the sheet got tangled up and the wrinkles at your pillow case.

This morning you feel tired, but you have to wake up to face the day. You slowly open your eyes, only to be greeted with your husband, looking at you already. You notice that soft-gentle-full of love stares, signature of your husband and only reserved for you. He smiles at you, his soft long locks of dark brown falling a bit on his face. You love this long-haired Steve with his beard.

“Hey” He softly speaks, you love how he sounded when he just wakes up.

“Hey” You slowly answered him, while rubbing the sleep from your eyes. For a moment you just take the sight of him, etching it forever in your brain, God, how you love this man. But slowly, the feeling of sadness and grief overwhelmed you.

Tears slowly cascading down your cheeks into your pillow. He still keeps his smile on his face, so you start to smile too.

“I miss you, Steve” The tears continue to falling down. You choked up; you feel like your heart being crushed by the hope of him returning to your side.

“I know babe, I miss you too. But you can’t stay like this forever. You need to let go of me. I need you, and I want you to be okay”

“I can’t. I don’t want to, Steve. I can’t do this alone. I can’t”

“You can. You can do this without me. I’m sorry that I’ve left you behind, left you alone. But you need to let go. You have to let go of me. Can you do this for me, (Y/N)?”

"But you are here with me, I can't let you go"

"I am not real (Y/N). You know that, doll. Its time to let go"

You look at him, how he looks perfect, how he looks alive. You know that he didn’t. But you just can’t accept it. He promised you to be back, so why he didn’t?

It was the worst day of your life. It feels like part of you also died and buried with him. He said that the mission is a simple one, just a recon mission, consist of Steve, Sam and Nat. But it turns out to be an ambush by hydra and they outnumbered so bad Steve didn’t make it, while Sam and Nat also narrowly escape death at that time.

You didn’t look at his body when they arrived at the compound morgue. You refused to look at him laying on the cold metal table. You think that if you didn’t, then everything didn’t happen. Your husband would be somewhere, or still on a mission, and alive. But he didn’t.

“I love you, Steve. Please come back to me”.

You close your eyes and starts to sob. Everything came crashing down on you. You are alone now, all that left is just his aftershave smell on his pillow that you hug tightly close to your heart. You continue to cry until the familiar sense of tiredness washed over you.

You open your eyes slowly, hoping that he would be there, lying with you on the bed just like the other morning, before all of this. But he didn’t.

“You’ve promised to come back, Steve. Why didn’t you?”

***

“Grief is a house

where the chairs

have forgotten how to hold us

the mirrors how to reflect us

the walls how to contain us

Grief is a house that disappears

each time someone knocks at the door

or rings the bell

a house that blows into the air

at the slightest gust

that buries itself deep in the ground

while everyone is sleeping

Grief is a house where no one can protect you

where the younger sister

will grow older than the older one

where the doors

no longer let you in

or out”

― Jandy Nelson, The Sky Is Everywhere

[gamels]

The Art of Detaching One's Heart

Helloo, this is inspired by a song called The Art of Detaching One’s Heart by Phim Vipurit and Jenny & The Scallywags. You guys can listen to their song here

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: none?

Lost in space, we flew astray, I'll find my way, To get to you.

Bucky sensed it. From the subtle changes in the way you talk to him and the way you see him. How your attention seems diverted whenever he asks you about your day. By no means Bucky is an ungrateful man, he knew his place and the fact of having relationship with you is something that he will forever cherish. Maybe its his own self-pity that seems to drag down anyone close to him. He knew sometimes he’s too much to handle, between missions, his past and his nightmares, and it won’t be easy to deal with it, even after his time in Wakanda.

He remembers the first time he met you. A gentle smile adores your face when you shake his hand. He wondered how someone can be that beautiful. He was in awe that he didn’t realise his hand still hold your until you speak to him to ask it back.

He’s well aware of the consequences of having someone to care about. Both of you being an avenger means constant missions and less about personal life. Both of you thought that you can do this, balancing between work and your small safe haven. But both of you were wrong, the distance between you two no longer able to be salvaged. Bucky senses it but he didn’t do anything to it. But instead he feels relieved. He didn’t know that he isn’t ready or is it just his self-pity talking, but he feels that he no longer burdening you.

He’s been thinking about this for a while. And after he gathered his courage, he finally contacts you. So here you are, in front of him, looking beautiful as always. You both exchanged a small smile and talk about your recent mission. But Bucky knows that this wasn’t the time to run away, to pretend that everything’s is fine.

“I,uh, I want to talk about us, (Y/N). Uhm, I think we should end this”.

Bucky notice how small reaction on your face, like you’ve already predicted and anticipate this. But still he hates the possibility of hurting you with his words, he didn’t want to put the blame on you, because to be honest, this is no one’s fault.

“I don’t want to make you feel miserable by being with me. And to be honest, I think this will be good for us, for you and me. I loved you, and I still care about you, but I didn’t think we’re going to make it, (Y/N)”.

Bucky waits for you to say anything, to say whatever goes on your pretty head. He didn’t miss how you start to pick on your hands whenever you feel nervous or those long sighs that escape from you before you talk.

“Bucky, I uhm I’m sorry. I don’t know what happen to us, we just drifting apart and I also didn’t do anything about it. I just want you to know that this is not your fault. Its just circumstances aren’t in favour with us. So yeah, I think… I think we need to stop seeing each other. I want you to be happy Buck, don’t beat yourself on this okay?”

Bucky offers you his soft smile. He loves how you still care about him even after this whole turmoil with you.

“I want you to be happy too, (Y/N)”

“So, this it”.

“Yeah, this is it”.

Both of you back to the silent again. You stare at your hands and picking at the nail, not sure how to end this conversation. Your phone suddenly vibrates, signalling a certain message about your next mission.

“I have to go Bucky. Thank you for everything and take care, okay?”

“Okay Doll, you too, take care”.

Bucky stand up and hugs you for the last time. He’s glad that somehow this whole conversation provides relief for both of you despite the nature of it. He saw you stepping out from the coffee shop, the very same coffee shop where you both have your first date. Bucky knows that he loved you, and you him, but this is for the best of both of you. Maybe you’ll find someone and he will find someone too.

 I, thought we were happy.

I, fell out of love.

It's not like before.

[gamels]

i’m not ready for the return of short hair bucky guys, i’m actually gonna die 

[gamels]

Ombra Mai Fu

So this is the first one shot inspired by classical pieces prompt. I think this song is very beautiful and romantic, and I LOVE it.

You guys can hear the song in this link :  George Frideric Handel - Ombra Mai Fu (Serse)

Warning: None

Word Count: 685( I know, its my first time writing non-angsty stuff, so please forgive me)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Ombra mai fu

Di Vegetabile

Cara Ed Amabile

Soave più

Never was the shade

From any plant

Dearer and more lovely,

Or more sweet.

His Laugh

You love it when you hear his laugh. You wish that you can immortalized it in a form where you can hear it every single time. You love how his head slightly tilt to the back when he is laughing, how the fine line at the side of his eyes become visible. You love how his eyes sparks when he hears his favourite jokes. You love his laugh.

His Voice

His voice is the gentlest you’ve heard. How it signifies his strength, his kindness, and his vulnerability. How it hugs and calm you when you have nightmare. His voice is warm, like gentle cares of sunlight. You love how his voice cracks in the morning when he wakes up. You love how his voice changes when he sees something he’s excited about; you love how his voice slightly goes higher when he speaks to a baby or a dog. You love how it changes to captain voice, full of authority and concern for his teammate during the mission.

His Eyes

You love how blue it is. You love how it shines whenever he sees you. You love how it portray endearment and sincerity when he says that he loves you. You love how his eyes never stray from telling the truth, exposing him as a human, yet he’s never afraid to show it to you. You love how his eyes reminds you of a calm shore, a safe place to you, your home.

Him

You Love Him

You’ve never experienced this intensity with someone. From the first moment meeting him, you knew he would be the one to share the rest of your life with, despite you being such a sceptic toward love and relationship. And lucky you, he reciprocates your feeling. He is your home, your person. And by Gods your relationship isn’t perfect, a bit fight here and there. But it doesn’t make both of you to give up on each other. After the whole fiasco with accords and Thanos, finally you are here.

25 Steps to go

He’s standing there, watching you. Wearing a black tux, his hair no longer in dark brown but instead in the shade of golden. He keeps his hands in front of him, occasionally wiping his tears that cascade down his face. He’s perfect, how can someone be this perfect? All his flaws and edges only make you love him more.

15 Steps to go

You can’t stop smiling. Seeing him in front of you, you can’t help but feeling grateful that somehow the universe put you together. That both of you have a chance start a new chapter together.

1 Step to go

You put your hands in his. His happiness radiating from his face but also giddiness. And you feel relieved. Both of you facing each other, can’t wait to say the vow you’ve been making in the past month. Making promises to be with each other until the death, or the end of the line, making devotion to love and to each other, as husband and wife.

“Do you, Steve Rogers, take (Y/N) to be your wife, to cherish in friendship and love today, tomorrow, and for as long as the two of you live, to trust and honour her, to love her faithfully, through the best and the worst, whatever may come, and if you should ever doubt, to remember your love for each other and the reason why you came together with her this day?

“I do, absolutely”.

Do you, (Y/N), take Steve Rogers to be your husband, to cherish in friendship and love today, tomorrow and for as long as the two of you live, to trust and honour him, to love him faithfully, through the best and the worst, whatever may come, and if you should ever doubt, to remember your love for each other and the reason why you came together with him this day?

“Yes, I do”

You kissed him and everyone cheered. His kiss promises you an eternal love, of a better days and future, of happiness and sincerity. And you promise him the same.

[gamels]

So I have a list of my favourite classical pieces that I want to use for this project. If you guys want to add something, feel free to let me know~

Ps. Im gonna add link to the music tomorrow, since I cant deal with tumblr app

Frédéric Chopin

Prélude, Op. 28, No. 4

Nocturnes, Op.9,No.2 in e flat major

Nocturne, Op. Posth, in C-Sharp Minor: Lento

Valse A minor op.34 no.2

Waltz in C-Sharp Minor, Op.64 No.2

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Requiem :Lacrimosa

Erik Satie

Gymnopédie No.1

Camille Saint-Saëns

Danse Macabre

Valse Nonchalante en Ré-Bémol Majeur, Op.110

Franz Lizst

Liebestraume No.3

Consolation No.3

Ludwig Van Beethoven

Piano Sonata No.8 in C minor, Op.13 - Pathétique: 2. Adagio cantabile

Edward Elgar

Salut D'Amour Op.12

Johann Sebastian Bach

Goldberg Variations, BMV 988: Aria

Alexander Scriabin

Valse in A-Flat Major , Op.38

Dmitri Shostakovich

Jazz suite No.2: VI. Waltz II

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

The Seasons, Op. 37a: VI. June - Barcarolle

Six pieces, Op. 51, TH 143 : 6. Valse Sentimentale

Gregoric Frideric Handel

Serse: Aria "Ombra Mai Fù" (Atto 1, Scena 1)

Claude Debussy

Arabesque, L.66: No 1 in E major

Sergei Rachmaninoff

13 Preludes, Op.32: No.10 in B minor: Lento

Gabriel Fauré

Sicilienne, Op. 78

I have an idea to write one shot based on classical pieces. It will be like a prompt or writing challenge idk. I think it would be fun since I can share also several favorite classical piece of mine. But idk tho

[gamels]

I have an idea to write one shot based on classical pieces. It will be like a prompt or writing challenge idk. I think it would be fun since I can share also several favorite classical piece of mine. But idk tho