#insomniac task force | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

callie-the-creator · 1 year ago

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insomniac

sfw. warnings: reader is fmab, mentions of kira and his murders, l can’t sleep, etc.

author’s note: i miss l so much. :(

l sat in his characteristic crouch on the edge of his chair, fingers entwined, eyes intently focused on the monitors before him. the task force headquarters was dimly lit, the flickering screens casting a bluish hue across the room. he had spent countless hours reviewing evidence, piecing together clues, and trying to identify kira, but the elusive criminal mastermind continued to evade him. l won't rest or, at the very least, he refused to. his main focus consisted of two things: keeping y/n— his girlfriend— safe and away from any danger and catching kira (l had dedicated the past few years to the investigation pursuing kira), a figure known to kill those whom he deems morally unworthy of life.

so many criminals have died.

his mind raced with possibilities, tracing and retracing steps, connecting and disconnecting dots. his suspicions often circled back to the same few individuals, but without concrete evidence, he was trapped in a maddening loop of speculation. he needed proof, something tangible that could lead to an arrest. the gnawing uncertainty kept him awake, denying him the rest his body craved.

as the hours dragged into the early morning, l's eyes, bloodshot and weary, drifted to the cot where his girlfriend, y/n, lay sleeping. her presence had been a rare comfort in his life, a steadying force amidst the chaos. she stirred slightly, her breathing deep and rhythmic, oblivious to the turmoil that raged within him. "y/n...?" he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. he wasn't expecting an answer; he just needed to hear the sound of her name, something to anchor him to reality.

she groaned softly, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. "hmm...whaaaat?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. it was clear she wasn't pleased about being woken up, but she tried to focus on him nonetheless.

l hesitated, his mind teetering on the edge of a precipice. he knew what he was about to ask could shatter the fragile peace they had, but he couldn't suppress the question any longer. "would you betray me?" he asked.

y/n blinked, her drowsiness giving way to confusion. "what are you talking about?" she inquired, pushing herself up on one elbow. "why would you ask something like that?" she added.

l’s gaze remained fixed on her, searching for any hint of deceit, any flicker of guilt. but all he saw was a concern, her eyes wide and earnest in the dim light. "i’ve been thinking…” he began, his voice steady but laced with tension, "about kira, about the people who might be capable of such things. and it occurred to me that...i don't know if i can trust anyone anymore." he said, sadly.

she sat up fully, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, her hair all messy. "l, you know me," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. "we’ve been through so much together. how can you even think i would betray you?" she questioned, despite knowing very well that l had every right to not trust her. after all, he was the head of the investigation and thus the arch nemesis of kira. he must remain vigilant, it is all he can do to ensure his safety.

"i don't know what to think anymore…” he admitted, his tone betraying the depth of his internal struggle. "i just…can't afford to make any mistakes. you know that.” he sighed. this was the last conversation that he wanted to have with y/n, despite it needing to be addressed.

y/n reached out, her hand covering his. "listen to me," she said firmly, her touch grounding him. "i am not kira. i would never do anything to hurt you or anyone else. you have to believe that." she partially pleaded with him. if they wanted to put their relationship on ice because of this minor bump in the road, then so be it, but y/n is sure that it would only result in hurting them.

l’s eyes softened, the storm within them momentarily calmed by her words. he wanted to believe her, to cling to the hope that at least one part of his life remained untouched by kira's darkness. "i want to believe you.” he said quietly, "but i can't let my guard down. not even for you,” he said matter-of-factly. “i’m sorry…”

y/n sighed deeply. she then slid out from under the warm blankets, her bare feet meeting the cold floor with a shiver. standing beside him, she gazed down at him, his hunched form bathed in the eerie glow of the computer screens. leaning down, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, her lips lingering there for a moment before she ran her hands through his unruly black hair. "can you at least come to bed then?" she asked softly.

the night had stretched on for far too long, and the first light of dawn would soon pierce the gloom. l shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling almost imperceptibly. "don’t know," he replied, his tone detached and distant, eyes never leaving the monitors.

y/n let out a small, plaintive whine, her worry for him bubbling to the surface. she wrapped her arms around him from behind, pulling him into a tender embrace. "please?" she murmured, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. "you need to rest. just a little while…”

l felt the warmth of her breath against his skin, the comforting pressure of her body against his back. for a moment, he allowed himself to be still, to feel the weight of her concern and the depth of her affection. he glanced at her, then at the clock on the wall, the numbers blurring slightly in his tired vision. his gaze returned to her, meeting her pleading eyes. "fine," he said finally, his voice tinged with reluctant resignation before mustering a small, almost imperceptible smile. "but five minutes is all you’re getting."

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chimera-dreams · 28 days ago

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This Tiny Thing Called Entropy

Chap 5

Task Force 141 x fem!reader

wc: 5k

Read full tag list on Ao3 here (registered users)

CW: fluff

You jolted awake with a start at the sound of knuckles oh-so gently rapping on your door.

Groaning, you rolled over onto your side, and nearly fell off the bed entirely when your hip slipped off the edge of the mattress. It was then that you realized you had fallen asleep as soon as your head hit the mattress, arms spread out wide, legs hanging precariously off the edge.

You grumbled swears to yourself as you slid into a squat on the floor, then stood up, and trudged to the door. Opening it in a swift tug revealed one Mister John Price, who was just this side of disheveled, like he hadn’t slept well, or at all, for that matter. He still had that ridiculous hat of his on (it was growing on you, you noted in horror), and smelled of freshly burnt tobacco. His beard could use a good brushing, though. He was probably stroking, scratching, and overall messing with it all night.

“Good morning,” he said, casual at the arse crack of dawn. The sun hadn’t gone much further than peeling her sleepy eyes open, the midnight veil yet to lift. And still, he seemed ready to take you to brunch by the jovial tone of his voice.

“What happened to waking me up for dinner?” You groused, recalling his earlier promise, feeling simultaneously drained and supercharged.

He smiled sheepishly. “I came to get you last night, but you didn’t answer. I looked in to make sure you were alright, but you were already asleep, so I decided it’d be best to let you sleep.”

You were more depleted than you thought you were. Shaking your head, you ran a hand over your hair. “What time is it?”

“Five AM.”

“Freak,” you grunted, your voice lacking any venom. He chuckled in response.

Blessedly, he gave you time to prepare for the day – a whopping 5 minutes to get your shit together before he hauled you to breakfast at the mess. According to him, he was being gracious, as the rest of the boys had woken up at 4 AM to work out and shower. When you prodded him about how much he slept, he gracelessly dodged the question. Wonderful weather we’re having today, eh?

John, the sun is barely up.

Doesn’t mean we can’t have lovely weather.

In England?

Fair point.

Damned insomniac.

You walked behind him to the mess, the muffled noise of active soldiers growing louder until it burst to life through the bend of the hallway.

Despite the ungodly hour, it was packed with hungry soldiers. Trays and utensils clacked, the chatter loud and rambunctious. Laughter bounced off the off-white walls periodically, echoing like a cracked whip. Though the morning air was starkly cold, this communal area was toasty, cozy, from the excess bodies and boisterous spirits.

Home away from home, for most.

Home where there was none to return to, for the others.

You wondered which category the members of the 141 slotted into.

You stepped in line, copying Price as he retrieved a tray and began loading up on food. Nothing stood out as particularly appealing, but you had seen worse, and who were you to complain? As a guest, it was in your best interest to smile graciously at the dead-eyed cook behind the counter and take the most mid-looking selections available. Respect for your hosts by not taking the best, respect for yourself by not taking the worst.

Didn’t stop John from muttering incoherent gripes about it as he swapped out the bowl of sliced fruit you took with a better, fresher looking choice.

Respect for your hosts by keeping your pretty mouth shut and accepting the trade (like hell were you gonna decline, fuck no, you wanted the good shit).

The squad’s personal table was situated at the back of the mess, off in the corner, against a wall. Already, you spied Ghost and Johnny, both facing the entrance with Ghost at the end of the table, while Kyle’s back was to you and Price, an open seat waiting to be filled.

“Oi, lass!” Johnny called as soon as he spotted you, waving a long arm high above his head as if you weren’t already staring directly at him. “C’mere, saved ye a spot!”

You slipped behind Ghost (who didn’t bother to scoot his chair forward as he leaned back casually, thighs spread as wide as possible, arms folded over his chest) and Johnny (who did scoot in his chair…an inch), and plopped down into the open seat on the Scot’s other side. Pleased with your compliance, he grinned, sparkling cerulean hues keen to stay on you.

You set your tray onto the table, and spied how he had three empty bowls and plates stacked up on his empty tray. For all you knew, he licked the plastic clean alongside the ceramic, too.

Kyle sighed. “He eats like a horse.”

Johnny shot him a glare. “Ah dinnae eat like a horse.”

“Would you prefer a mule?”

“Awa’ an’ bile yer heid,” he scowled. Kyle only smirked in response and pointedly took a slow, moderate bite of food, chewing leisurely.

Snorting, you scooped up some porridge into your mouth, munching through its soft sweetness. Contrary to what you expected, it wasn’t horrible. That didn’t mean it was incredible, but it was perfectly serviceable. Wholly edible. You supposed that while the military wasn’t very keen on pampering their soldiers, they were also trying not to kill them with atrocious food.

“What’s the plan for today?” You asked.

John hummed, wiping a napkin across his mouth and beard. “Laswell’s working on following the leads we found. For now, we train. You’re more than welcome to join us as an observer, if you’d like. I don’t imagine you’d enjoy sitting around with nothing to do.”

“I won’t have to do any training myself, right?”

“Only if you want to.”

You sank your teeth into the firm flesh of an apple, juice dripping onto your tongue as you tore off a chunk and chewed, considering his proposition.

“I’d rather watch,” you admitted.

He merely shrugged. “Fine by me. Soap’s doing weapon basics with some recruits first, and Ghost’ll be teaching another group hand-to-hand. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

You raised an amused brow. “Watching rookies get the shit beat out of them, sir?”

John’s lips spread into a cheeky smile, head tilted in a way that reminded you of a quokka. You’d never say that out loud, though, knowing he’d rip you a new one for giving his subordinates new material to torture him with.

“Precisely,” he confirmed. “I, personally, find it quite relaxing. Nothing like seeing a cocksure, macho muppet get put in his place.”

You snickered. “Glad I’m not on the receiving end of your training.”

He pointed a fork threateningly at you. “Yet. Give me attitude and I’ll have you running laps ‘round the base ‘til you collapse.”

With your free hand, you gave him a mock salute by tapping two fingers to your temple and swiping them forward. “Sir, yes, sir.”

A round of chuckles circled the table, and you beamed internally.

Yet, as you opened your mouth to push the bit a little longer, your other hand cramped, causing you to cringe and drop your spoon back into your bowl with a dull splat so you could grasp your wrist and rub at the tender soreness within. Though you wished it didn’t, the action caught the attention of your little group, unfortunately. Understandably so, you weren’t exactly subtle with your reaction, but embarrassment flared within you regardless.

“You broken?” John asked, visibly worried.

You gave him a pacifying smile. It might have appeared more like a grimace. “Just an old ache acting up, nothing to worry about.”

He eyed you disapprovingly, and you knew what kind of scolding you’d be in for if he decided you were hiding an injury. After any mission, it was his responsibility to ensure his ilk were in one piece, and recovering if wounded.

You pushed on your inner wrist, into the divot between your bones, and massaged the spot until there was a dull click.

An immediate sigh fizzled out of you, and you wiggled your fingers, relieved at the lack of tension. As proof that you were fine, you gave him a fluid wave with your digits. “See?” You pointed at your wrist. “All good, no worries.”

Once concerns were assuaged and they all went back to eating (inhaling) their food, you let your smile slip.

It’s getting worse, you thought morosely, staring at your arm.

None of them mentioned it again. You knew they wanted to.

Price trained them well, taught them to keep their mouths shut where it didn’t concern them. Head on straight, eyes on the prize, blinders strapped to their heads to make sure they never lost sight of what was important.

You did feel guilty that the rest of breakfast went by with less chatter. They politely waited until you finished eating, then John took your tray – “it’s fine, lass. Go on ahead with MacTavish.” – and Soap hooked an arm through yours, practically skipping through the base to the gun range specifically, amidst a few different weapon training stations.

“Are you only teaching gun handling today?” You prodded.

He grunted. “Aye. Ghost handles the knife trainin’, he’s right braw with ‘em. Cannae compare. Ah focus on wha’ ah’m guid a’. In this case, mid-range firefights.”

You hummed in understanding. “Anything else you’re good at?”

The man lit up like a sparkler, lips splitting into a massive smile. “Bombs!” He shouted eagerly, vibrating with hype. “Nobody be’er a’ bombs than me. No’ a bomb ah cannae defuse. My own personal puzzles, how ah see ‘em.”

“Doesn’t it get stressful?”

“Naw,” he denied. “‘S excitin’! Ken, ah see it this way: either ah defuse the bomb an’ save the day, or i’s no longer my problem. And,” he leaned in close, lips brushing the curve of your ear, “ah always defuse the bomb.”

A shudder wracked your system, breath hitching at his proximity. His fervid breath on your nape, the faint sensation of the lightly-chapped skin of his lips remaining.

He gave you no time to process his actions, drawing your attention to the mass of bodies that had gathered in the outdoor gun range, illuminated by a rare spot of early morning sunshine.

“Awl-right!” Soap shouted across the field, clapping his hands twice, already prepared. The noise echoed loudly, effectively shutting up any chattering recruits as he entered their view. “Welcome to weapons handling. We’re gonna go over some basics, first things first.”

Right off the bat, you noticed him softening his accent to be more comprehensible to the group of newbies. Shame, you liked his accent.

Some recruit near the front of the group groaned. “Can’t we just start shooting the guns? What’s there to know? You point and shoot.”

You cringed internally – and a little externally, too, knowing the shithole the kid dug for himself.

In two strides, Soap crossed the gap and planted a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder, hard enough to stagger him.

“It’s attitudes like this that get people killed,” the sergeant hissed, cheery disposition exchanged for brutal, cold honesty. Making an example of the boy. “Guns are not toys. You’re not here to play airsoft. You’re here to learn that a weapon is a weapon first and foremost. If you want to get yourself killed, be my guest, but it will not be on my field. I will not let you risk anyone else’s life. Understood?”

The kid’s – E. Jacobson, his tag read – Adam’s apple visibly bobbed, and he nodded stiffly.

“Say it,” Soap commanded.

“U-Understood, sir.”

Soap patted his shoulder twice, once in approval, and once to be degrading, and stepped away. “Very good. Now, let’s get to it, aye?”

In fairness, you weren’t exactly certain what weapons handling entailed. How to aim, safety, ear protectors, but that was the most you could picture. A lot more went into it than you realized. Soap didn’t start them off anywhere near the guns they would be using. Instead, he retrieved a pistol (if someone held you over an open pit full of spikes and told you to name the gun’s maker, you’d tell them to cut the rope and send you falling) for demonstration, pointing out its anatomy, disassembling it to teach them how each individual piece worked, and how they worked together.

“Ya have to know your gun ‘fore you get to use it,” he said. “If it jams in the field, you need to know how to unjam it. You need to keep your gun maintained and in pristine condition, because your life depends on it.”

His warning cowed the rest of the newbies, including you. Guns were not your forté, and you knew gun safety, but he made you feel like a stranger to the things all over again. Probably a good thing, if you thought about it. Never hurt to be safe and have a reminder of the rules, spoken and unspoken.

To your chagrin, he gave you princess treatment. Busied up his ‘students’, got them learning the intricacies of how guns were made, disassembled a few and had them figure out how to put them back together, then turned to you. Personal trainin’, he called it. Cannae have our best girl lackin’, aye? Need ye ta keep up wit’ us.

A charmer, the man. Unfortunately, it worked on you, and you let him set you up at the range. Plopped ear protection on you, tenderly set some safety glasses on your eyes, handed you a pistol with the barrel facing off into the distance.

At his instruction, you took your stance and raised the gun, aiming at the paper dummy in the middle of the range, safety still on so he could study your positioning.

He looked you over, and came behind you, tapping the inside of your right ankle with his toe. “Legs further apart, hen. Aye, like tha’, there ye go. Ye need a sturdy base. Not all terrain will be even and stable like this, so ye need ta be prepared ta rely on yer legs.”

The pointers he gave you all felt like such simple things, stuff you should have thought of, really.

Johnny was kind, though. He didn’t make you feel stupid, mentioned it was what he learned from experience. Things he wanted to prepare you for, seeing as you’d be working with them for the time being. You never knew what kind of op you’d be sent on next, never knew what kind of knowledge you’d need.

“Better safe than sorry, hen. Cannae go losin’ mah favorite lass.”

You were grateful he was at your back, preventing him from seeing how flustered his easy comment made you.

His chest molded itself to your shoulder blades as he helped adjust your grip and aim, attentive to the smallest details. Elbow loose, shoulders set, core engaged. His hands flitted across your body, nudging things into place here and there until he was satisfied. Only then did he flip the safety off and step back, finally giving you the chance to suck down a greedy gulp of air, free from the scent of his sweat and aftershave.

What instructions you were able to glean in the midst of your distracted state, you leaned on heavily, hoping you weren’t about to make a fool of yourself.

The shot lined up, your lungs filled, and you pulled the trigger.

The bullet whizzed through the air, striking through the paper a couple inches to the right of your intended target, hitting one of the rings of the bullseye on the paper dummy’s head. Soap whistled, nodding approvingly.

“No’ bad,” he praised. “Could use a wee bit more work on yer aim, but ye hit the target. Tha’s be’er than most.”

You flipped the safety on and placed the gun onto the counter in front of you, raising a brow at him. “Most? What, most people miss the target entirely?”

He sighed, longsuffering. “Ye’d be surprised,” his admittance came with a roll of his eyes. “Tried ta trade oot weapons for hand-ta-hand wit’ Ghost, but the mangy bastard snorted at me an’ walked away.”

“Training rookies can’t be that bad.”

Soap jerked his chin to the rookies situated in groups, and you turned to see one of them trying to jam the slide into the magazine well. You cringed and sucked on your teeth, rubbing the back of your neck. You weren’t an expert on guns, certainly not at Johnny’s level, but you were fairly sure that’s not where that part was supposed to go.

He grumbled something indiscernible under his breath, likely calling the men idiots, and knocked lightly on the middle of your spine with two knuckles. “Go oan, bet Ghost’s started his trainin’. Ken where the gym is? Ach, s’tha’ buildin’, jus’ go straight through the doors, ‘n’ it’ll be right ahead o’ ye, impossible to miss.”

“You’ll be okay with them?”

He grinned, pearly whites in straight rows. “Aye, dinnae worry about me, hen. Off ye get.”

You smiled back. “Thank you, Johnny.”

At hearing you say his name, his chest puffed up with pride and he beamed at you. “Dinnae mention it, bonnie.”

True to his word, as soon as you entered the building, a second set of double doors greeted you, one of them partially propped open. You carefully opened it further, slipped through, and made sure to leave it as you found it, not wanting to disturb the…class? Whatever you’d call training like this.

Nobody turned towards you, all locked onto the wrestling match taking place on mats lining the floor.

Well, all but Ghost.

He noticed you instantly, head barely turning to peer at the intruder. When he recognized you, he went back to supervising the match he set up, wholly uninterested in your presence. It would have stung if you weren’t already aware of his aloof personality, his aversion to socializing.

You made your way to take the open spot on his left, observing the sparring duo. From your position, the two attempting to wrangle each other resembled arguing school children more than they did potential soldiers, snarling and grabbing at one another with sordid, weak hands and unguarded postures. Like watching a grown man panic in a kiddie pool, you thought.

Clearing your throat, you decided to strike up a conversation with the frightening lieutenant, wanting to feel less intimidated by his presence. “Going well?”

He grunted in dissent. “Like watchin’ bloody cats fightin’. Hissin’ ‘n’ swipin’. Oi!”

Everyone jumped at his shout, the spar put on halt as Ghost approached in two long strides, the slight give of the mat sinking marginally under his weight.

“Larson,” the man straightened up at his name, gray eyes growing wide with fear at the giant looming over him.”Y’r askin’ to get y’r ribs smashed to pieces. Widen y’r legs.”

Larson did as he was told – barely. Slipped his feet a mere inch further apart.

Disliking this, Ghost reached out suddenly, shoving the younger man’s shoulder. Said man went tumbling like a water bottle that had been set on its cap, unbalanced and uncoordinated. He hit the ground, the thwump of a sack of potatoes, and groaned from where he lay.

“What was that for?”

Ghost ignored his whining. “If ya don’t got y’r feet on the ground, y’r gonna get knocked over by stray wind. Fix y’r core strength first. Michaels, you’re next.”

A short boy, freshly picked, scampered over, his ashy-brown hair already plastered to his forehead from nerves. Scrawny, hardly fit to lift a feather, let alone challenge the guy waiting for him, who was twice his size.

He went down in about two seconds flat.

You winced, hiding your mouth behind your palm, because ouch.

Their trainer sighed through his nose and pushed Michaels aside with his boot, helping the poor kid roll limply off the mat. Then, to your dismay, he turned to you.

“Y’ any good at hand-to-hand?”

You awkwardly shrugged. “I have some experience,” you answered. “Prefer it over guns.”

He tilted his head, motioning for you to take your place across from him. “Think they could do with a demonstration.”

Oh, you should have insisted on staying with Johnny.

Curious eyes pincered into you, pressuring you into taking your spot. Ghost cracked the knuckles of his left hand, then raised his fists, fingers curled, thumbs wrapped on the outside. He spread his feet shoulder-width apart, crouching to adjust his center of gravity, and it gave you an odd sense of relief. To see that he was treating you no different, giving you the same respect as he would have others.

‘You’re one of us, now,’ Price’s words echoed in your head.

One of them.

You could be one of them, for a little while.

Breathing out, you let the tension melt off your shoulders, forcing your overactive thoughts into the dark corner of a dusty closet.

“Won’ go easy on ya, girl,” Ghost warned you, and you smirked, shaking your hands out as you bounced on your toes.

“I’d tattle to your captain if you did.”

You lifted your arms, and he lunged towards you, a single step more than enough to cover the distance. He swung fast and hard, and you narrowly avoided receiving a blow to your jawline, body shifting in the nick of time for the punch to land on your forearm. Pain zapped up and down the length of the limb, causing you to gasp.

Something in his eyes flickered, but you had no time to decipher it before he was striking again.

He went for your ribs, and you twisted to avoid, but that opened you to his other fist. He hit your stomach, and you choked, body tensing at the impact. It rippled through you, shivers stretching over your body, nerves coming alive in the wake of his offense, the eagerness with which he approached this mock battle with you.

It shocked you right into fight-or-flight mode.

At the next bash coming your way, you ducked and swatted at him, aiming for bones. You knew all that muscle would only act as padding for him, years of training and countless fights leading him to focus on key vital points. You? You didn’t have the advantage of strength or height, didn’t have the thick musculature that Ghost cultured over the lifetime and a half he’d spent in the military.

On top of that, your fighting habits weren’t formed by the strict rules of the army, nor some honor-bound teachings of a master. You were taught firsthand, learned from past mistakes. Your rules were different, and what you found was that pain was an excellent distractor.

And bones made for excellent sources of pain.

Your knuckles thumped against his iliac crest, startling a hiss out of him. You took that and ran with it, hitting the lowest part of his linea alba at your estimate, below his navel.

He groaned, and you felt victorious – up until he kicked out your legs, knocking you flat on your ass.

You stared at the ceiling, semi-dazed, processing the speed at which he took you out.

“Again,” Ghost ordered.

The temptation to remind him that you weren’t one of his soldiers flickered to life briefly, but smoldered under the rush of excitement you felt, the high of being treated as an equal. He meant it when he said he wouldn’t go easy, despite knowing this likely wasn’t near the full capacity of his power. Simply a demonstration, after all. It gave you what you desired, though – to be seen, heard, felt, alive.

Rolling over onto your knees, you pushed yourself upright and took your position, practically vibrating with anticipation. Not waiting for the whipping wave of a green flag or the echo of a gunshot, you pounced, arms latching around his waist, head to his chest. In fairness, you weren’t sure what your gameplan was here, but a fight was a fight.

He grappled onto the back of your shirt, tugging where he could. You had the thought to suplex him, but when you bent slightly and tried to hoist him off the floor, you very quickly realized that you did not possess the brawn to sweep him off his feet.

Given your lowered position, knees no longer locked, Ghost planted his hands on your shoulders and shoved you downwards. You lost your grip, and he moved his leg between your body and his, pushing you away from him. You wheezed from it, reaching to hug it and perform your best imitation of an opossum baby. He evaded, and you slipped forward onto your stomach, his heel landing on your upper back to restrain you.

Jostling you a bit, he leaned down, questioning. “Done?”

You slapped the mat. “One more. Gimme one more.”

He made a noise and released you, giving you time to sit up and brace yourself – mentally and/or physically, whichever came first.

Trainees forgotten, the world narrowed down until it was only the two of you.

You rose, eyes closed to tune your focus.

‘Survive. You must survive, promise me. Promise me you’ll keep running, and never stop. You have to promise me.’

Her voice rings in your ears, bouncing off neurons, packing the fissures of your wounds with dense fibers, willing your blood to stem.

‘Fight, if you have to, but survive.’

Your lashes fluttered open, and you were isolated, Ghost taking up your entire vision.

Whatever it took to survive, to live another day, you would do it. Rip out your nails, break your teeth, bleed yourself dry, whatever it took.

Ghost knew when you were ready, mercifully patient for the hours and seconds it took for you to gather yourself together. He looked at you like he knew, like he understood, privy to the war that waged unendingly in your core; steam that forever hissed, the valve it escaped never to be turned off or covered. Nerves that felt too much, hands drenched in oil-slick blood.

Nothing alike, and one in the same.

He moved first, feigning right. You ducked under his swipe, wind tousling stray strands of hair at the top of your head. You struck his knee, fist skimming past it as he slid his heel to narrowly avoid it. The world blurred, a series of flying hands and feet, arms and legs, twisting bodies and panting breaths. You knocked him down, and he took you with him.

In the descent, you dropped on top of him, and he rolled you onto your back, catching your wrists and pinning them to the ground as he straddled your lap.

“Yield,” he commanded.

If there was one thing you learned in all the years you lived, it’s that fighting dirty was the only way to survive. Your opponent, your enemy, attacker, wouldn’t care about silly, meaningless things like honor and dignity when it came to getting their hands on you. Code of ethics didn’t exist out on the streets, in shadowed alleyways, under a lightless moon. Boundaries didn’t matter when not using every trick in your arsenal could spell your doom.

Which is why you didn’t feel the slightest bit bad when you opened your maw wide, latched onto Ghost’s shoulder, and bit down.

Hard.

It took a considerable amount of strength to dent through the rough material of his fatigues, but when your teeth reached his epidermis, the result was immediate.

He hissed and released your hands, a large paw shooting up to tangle into your hair at your nape and grip, but you took the opportunity to grab his sides and pull out, perhaps, the most dastardly trick you knew.

You started tickling him.

The behemoth of a man choked, his body tensing up, squirming at the sudden dichotomy between the pain of your jaw hanging onto him like a rabid dog whilst you tortured his waist with agile, mischievous fingers. He huffed out a strangled laugh, a sound drawn from him unwittingly, his focus shifting to fighting the ticklish sensations.

Using all your strength, you flipped him onto his back, straddling his chest. You both stared at each other, panting heavily as the adrenaline of the spar began to wither away, processing the unexpected turn. One moment, he was dominating you on the mat, sure to maintain his unbroken win streak. The next, you had caught him off guard, reversed the tides, instincts kicking in when your mind screamed that it was time to give it everything you had.

The silence lasted only a brief second, then there was an eruption of cheers from the rookies surrounding the mat, whooping and hollering for the girl that managed to one-up the notoriously feared Lieutenant Riley.

“...Not bad,” he eventually admitted, and it felt like the best praise you’d received in your life.

With your victory secured, you got off of him, allowing him to sit up and prop himself up on his palm. You brushed off your knees, then reached out a hand to him.

He stared at it, then slid his free hand into it, rough digits curling into a secure grip.

It felt like a far greater victory than managing to beat him in a combat demonstration.

You hefted him up, making sure he was steady before you released him somewhat reluctantly. For the first time since you’d met the withdrawn, mysterious geist, you felt as though the distance separating you had shrunk.

“Let’s go get some grub, yeah?” He chuffed. “Sick o’ these muppets.”

You laughed. “Could get somethin’ to eat, yeah.”

“Good.”

banners by saradika-graphics ♥

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a-wolfs-bad-moon-rising · 8 months ago

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Can't Sleep

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Insomniac Reader *Fluffy*

*I jumped on the COD bandwagon HARD. So I'm going to try and write for them. I'm sorry I lost my inspiration and want for the others. I'm trying to be a better fic writer. Let me know what you think!

Love, Wolf*

My eyes open for the millionth time. I groan frustrated and roll over. “Come on!”

I call out. This is getting to me. I've always struggled with insomnia but this is ridiculous. I look at the texture of my ceiling, willing myself to fall asleep. I've tried teas, nature sounds, sleeping meds, name it and it hasn't worked. I whine.

“Why? Can't. I. Fucking. Sleep???” I was new to this base, transfered to be a chemist for Task Force 141. I did a lot of behind the scenes work for the members. They were all nice enough. Price was about business. Ghost was a smart ass but his teasing and insults were more directed to everyone else. Especially Johnny. Johnny was super friendly to me. He’s who I'm closest to of a the Task force members. The least intimidating and leering of all the men. I liked Keegan and Konig enough. It took a lot for me to break them out of their shells. They were super quiet around me. Gaz was pretty friendly too. Honestly I like all of them. They're not the problem. Change of scenery? Tough work? Inhaling too many chemicals? I DON'T KNOW! All I know is I can't fucking sleep and I'm losing it. Well my job is quite stressful and it hasn't helped. I've been trying to push it down but it's hard. Being a chemist in the civilian world had its stresses but in the military? It's a different animal. It's been the root cause of my numerous sleepless nights.

I whimper and give up sitting up in bed. I hear my joints creak as I make my exhausted body work. I stand up and pace my room, the pads of my feet meeting the cold tile and my eyes open more. Ugh, yeah this was gonna be. Long one. I sit at my desk and turn on my PC. The bright screen immediately blinding me. Dammit (Y/N) that definitely made it worse. I sigh and log on.

I search through my games, settling on a shooter game and put my headset on. I look at the time.

2am

Fuck alright here we go. I settle into gaming bitching at the shitty late night players. Are they also insomniacs? Who the hell knows. We have two things in common. We're on the same team. And we're up at 2am. I get particularly irritated when someone who sounds suspiciously like a 10 year old mauls me. The hell with it. I unleash a barrage of insults not meant to be heard by children. Wanna play with adults better grow tf up. In my anger I barely notice the ping on my messages.

ThatScotSoap: Aye lass what're you dooin up so late?

I look at the message and smile before typing back

(YourGamerTag): how do your messages have an accent?

ThatScotSoap: call it a skeel, didn't answer my question though lass

(YourGamerTag) couldn't sleep

ThatScotSoap: sorry to ere that. Any idea why?

(YourGamerTag): eh stress but who doesnt have it? And I've always had insomnia so that's not helping

ThatScotSoap: oh sorry lass. I sleep like a wee baby

(YourGamerTag): Gee way to rub it in 😶

ThatScotSoap: Haha sorry lass. Well I can't sleep ayether want me to come by and bug ya?

I hesitate a moment my stomach flipping. Okay Soap MacTavish is a huge heartthrob. Ghost is too for a man most people don't see without a mask. But Soap??? Women throw themselves at him. I would too if I had less shame. I blush and type back.

(YourGamerTag) sure why not?

ThatScotSoap: on my way lassie

After about 10 minutes and waiting for my blush to go down Soap knocks on my door. I let him in.

“Hey there lassie.”

“Hi Johnny” I smile at him

“You look awfully appy.”

I blush.

“I look like a corpse.” He laughs and sits down on my bed

“what do ya wanna do lass to kill time?”

It. I think shamlessly. I wanna do it.

I shake my head and breathe.

“Movie?”

Soap nods. “aye there's a few I've been curious aboot.”

We settle on a movie and I sit next to him. The movie drawls on. I don’t pay much attention. Thinking of work on Monday is creeping into my head. I distract myself with Soap. He’s so intoxicating, his cologne and his close proximity I just want to….

“Lass?.”

“Yes?” I squeak snapping myself out of it

“Yer not watching are ya?” He asks. I cringe and shake my head.

“I….I can't take my mind off work.” I admit. He nods.

“Aye I've been there myself once r twice. What's botherin a sweet Bonnie like you so much?” I sigh and look at him. I unload all my stresses with the job and worry about my ability on the team. That I maybe bit off more than I could chew. I sniffle by the end and hold back tears. Soap notices and wraps his arms around me. He pulls me into his chest and I'm stunned. I allow him and bury my face in his muscular chest. He gives me a squeeze.

“There there lassie. No on tinks yer not good at yer job. Yer dooin amazin.”

I sniffle and nuzzle his chest. He chuckles.

“Yer okay lassie”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. He's really respected. He's super nice but he wouldn't put on airs.

“It's been really bothering me and it's making my insomnia worse.”

“Don't worry yer pretty head Bonnie. Yer doing great even that stubborn bastard Ghost and Price think so.”

“Really?”

“Course they do.”

I smile and keep hugging him.

“That's it Bonnie. Relax”

I nod only I start to relax a bit too much and while the movie is playing and start to fall asleep on Soap. I wake up suddenly. He looks down at me and my heart flutters

“Enjoy yer wee nap lass?”

I nod sheepishly.

“S-sorry” Soap shakes his head.

“Nothin to be sorry for lass. I'll admit. It's been a while since I had someone to sleep next to. Forgot how comfortin it be.”

“It…is nice” I admit.

“Want me t'stay?”

I blush and look at him.

“R-Really?”

“I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it lass.” I look stunned and slowly shake my head.

“Good I was aboot t’fall asleep myself.” He stands up and crawls onto my bed. I laugh at how comfortably he takes over my bed. He lays down and opens his arms.

“C’mere lass it's been awhile since I had a good cuddle” I giggle like a school girl and lay in his arms. I feel his strong arms encircle me and his chest press my back. I turn off the lights and lay against him. He softly hums and feeling his chest gently vibrate relaxes me.

His fingers come off my waist and he gently plays with my hair and rubs my head. I moan softly and close my eyes.

“That's it lassie. Let Johnny take care o ya.”

I mumble and my body starts to feel heavy feeling his warmth against me. I slowly drift off but not before I feel a gentle kiss to my head.

“G’night sweet girl.”

~Soap: Goodnight to all you lassies. Those who can and those who can't sleep. Just know Johnny loves you. Mwah.

(Wolf): Alright Scotsman it's my turn for sleepy cuddles tonight

Soap: Alright alright I guess you were good, you wrote a story the first time in what? Years now?

(Wolf): Shush I'm trying to make up for it

#johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #cod mw2 #cod #soap x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #fluff #call of duty #soap x insomniac reader #soap cod

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shootingstar3 · 1 year ago

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Max Caulfield x insomniac reader

gender neutral reader :D short story fluff and sfw

You had unbearable insomnia keeping you up at night, preventing you from getting shut-eye. Therefore, it caused you to preoccupy yourself with other tasks.

At 3 in the morning, tossing and turning, unable to acquire some rest, you grab your phone from the bedside table with the goal to aimlessly scroll until your body forces itself into sleep.

Your girlfriend, Max Caulfield, places her hand on your shoulder as she looks over at you. "Another restless night?" she asks, a small pleasant smile on her beautiful face. Her voice is velvety and calm, welcoming a feeling of comfort. You look up at her, a smile of your own on your face as you admire her, like always. "Yeah," you reply, looking at her affectionately.

You find every single feature of hers endearing. You could stare at her day and night without boredom striking you. Her soft features carry a wave of calmness and adoration into your heart. The expressive eyes she owns bring upon you a plethora of emotions.

You turn your phone off, placing it back on the bedside table, and turn around to face her. The moonlight is the only source of light illuminating through the window. Max places her soft hand on yours as she takes in your features, admiring them. Both of you enjoy each other's presence for a while before she speaks, "We can listen to music or watch a movie, or we could just stare at the ceiling together." She makes many suggestions for you to choose from, hoping that one of them would put you to sleep, as she cares deeply about your well-being and always wants you to get a good night's sleep. You frown slightly at her suggestions. Max has to get up in the early morning for an important class she can’t miss, and you don’t like the idea of her staying up late with you just so you wouldn’t be on your lonesome battling the great evil, insomnia.

"Hey, you have an early class tomorrow…get some sleep." Your voice is gentle yet has a hint of sternness to it. You don’t like it when she sacrifices important tasks just to be by your side. She gives you a warm smile and shakes her head. "Nope, sorry, staying by your side tonight." Regardless of how mad you want to be, her radiance combined with the tenderness of her voice makes you lose all simple anger you had over this situation. Damn...how selfless You think to yourself a big grin covering your face.

She leans over you to reach her phone placed next to yours on the bedside table with some wired headphones. "What’re we gonna listen to?" you ask, smiling at her actions. She ponders your question for a moment before answering, "How about some Adrianne Lenker, Jim Croce or Mojave?" she says, plugging in the headphones. "Yeah, okay, that’s perfect, baby." An enormous, endearing smile on her face at the nickname you called her.

You both share the headphones, being close to one another, finding solitude in each other’s aura. She holds you close as calming music plays in your ear. Not long after, Max is deep asleep, wrapped around you, softly breathing. You close your eyes placing a caring soft kiss on her forehead. Content with the moment, as you slowly manage to drift off into a deep slumber.

A/N: Thank you for reading loveliesssss ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ hope you enjoyed...if you did drop a request i will be more than happy to write something have a wonderful day and thank you for reading. ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

/)/) ( . .) ( づ♡ TAKE THIS HEART!!!

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#life is strange #max caulfield #lis1 #max caulfield x reader #music #gender neutral reader #fluff #x reader #cute

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fly-boy-in-the-sky · 10 months ago

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Banana Fish & Films PART 1

Recommendations based on aesthetics, themes, decade etc…

These are just my personal recommendations for movies similar to Banana Fish. Most of these films from 1960-90s revolving around some sort of street culture gangs, prostitution, trafficking, drugs all that good stuff…also a few of these I haven’t watched in years so the description may be a little off LOL

TAXI DRIVER 1976

“All the animals come out at night. Whores, skunk-pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies. Sick and venal.”

Taxi Driver follows a former Vietnam solider insomniac 26-year-old Travis (Robert De Niro) who takes night shifts as a cab driver in NYC. The story is mostly told through his inner monologue, where he talks about his his loneliness and depression along with telling stories of his interactions with his customers. He crosses paths with a 12-year-old prostitute Iris, (Jodie Foster) whom he tries rescuing from her situation.

This film was recommended by Yoshida.

THE WARRIORS 1979

“Since when the fuck are you a diplomat?”

After being blamed for the killing of a rival gang leader in the Bronx, the Warriors have dozens of New York City street gangs are out for revenge battling over turf that ranges from Bronx to Coney Island where the Warriors reside.

STREETWISE 1984

“No one to tell you where to go or what to do.”

A documentary on Street Kids in Seattle Washington 1984. Many of the teenagers do dangerous hustling gigs to survive on the streets.

There’s a story about a girl who is a prostitute with her mother’s knowledge, though her mother is against the idea she doesn’t stop her since it brings in money. Similar situation with Ash and his father..I have seen people say “I can’t believe his father would do that!” or that it’s totally unrealistic. Unfortunately these terrible things do happen, and even though Banana Fish is fictional and exaggerated, the crimes featured are really not far off for the time. Child exploitation human trafficking was huge, that’s one of the reasons how the milk carton missing persons started back in the eighties, especially through mafia/politicians in Europe.

PLATOON 1986

“Any way you cut it, Barnes is a fucking murderer.”

This movie was recommended by Yoshida.

Chris Taylor (Charlie Seen) leaves university to enlist in the Vietnam war. His experiences in combat fades his idealisms of what war is really about and what the troops are fighting this war for. His two Sargents, Barnes (Tom Berneger) and Elias (Williem Dafoe) are constantly arguing together over their morals. Barnes has violent approaches and believes the villagers are harboring Vietcong, while Elias has a more sympathetic view of the villagers and the war. Their disagreements began putting soldiers up against each other, as well as the enemies.

CRUISING 1980

“They told me that there was some... special assignment... and that I was right for it.”

Steve Burns (Al Pacino) is tasked to go undercover cop as a gay man infiltrating New York’s S&M clubs for a psychopath who’s been violently killing homosexuals. Steve begins immersing himself in the subculture and club hopping. While this is going down, he becomes increasingly distant with his girlfriend and the police forces homophobia becomes more apparent as the case goes on.

KING OF NEW YORK 1990

“ I spent half my life in prison. I never got away with anything, and I never killed anybody that didn't deserve it.”

The biggest Kingpin of the underground Frank White (Christopher Walken) just got released from prison. He’s different from most gangsters though. He shares his benefits with the poor, opening children’s hospitals and protecting the wellbeing of underprivileged citizens. Though the streets are much tougher than before. The mafia, Chinatown and Colombian gangs are running the streets partaking in child human trafficking and prostitution, unnecessary killings and racketeering. Frank’s not a fan of how they do business, and puts an end to it.

One of my favorites..the ending even ends similar to Banana Fish and there’s these two gay ass cop partners that the one kisses him towards the end (no spoilerrr) Frank is a super morally grey gangster and very similar to Ash in his beliefs. Film features many famous 90s actors. Must watch.

THE OUTSIDERS 1983

“I used to talk about killing myself all the time, man. But I don't wanna die now. It ain't long enough. Sixteen years ain't gonna be long enough.”

Based on the novel of the same name, an American classic most of us had to read in middle school.

A teenage gang in 1960s Oklahoma, the Greasers have constant clashes with another rival gang the Socs. When Ponyboy (C. Thomas Howell) and Johnny (Ralph Macchio) get into a brawl that leads to the death of a Soc member, they are forced to run away into hiding. With help from their friend Dally (Matt Dillon) he tells them a place out in the rural part of town they can hide until the situation dies down. They are eventually forced to return back to their town after a tragic incident with Johnny happens, and they’re subjected to the consequences of their violent lives once again.

#80s anime #80s manga #ash lynx #banana fish #eiji okumura #asheiji #internet archive #mitcharchivebf #akimi yoshida #90s manga #movies #movie review #80s movies #90s movies #gangster #film #crime #thriller

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rolandtowen · 5 months ago

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oh - my - god - keep - me from going lunatic: chapter ten

In which the author is not immune to the Avengers Tower movie night trope. And also gives the readers the Pepper & Helen friendship we all deserved. Pure fluff.

Read on Ao3 or under the cut!

Pepper Potts knows far too much about Bucky Barnes for not having met the man face-to-face. As CEO of Stark Industries, she's been flexing her bureaucratic muscles to get him the care - and legal help - he desperately needs. She knows him down to how many carbohydrates he needs in a day, thanks to Mandi's emails. Knows him down to holes in his brain, thanks to Jason's. And while Rebecca has been keeping whatever they discuss in session under wraps, Pepper knows it's not great.

Tony hadn't let her get anywhere close to the Winter Soldier files. It isn't like him anymore to hide things from her. Then again, she knows more about Bucky than any reasonable person should - she'll let the the soldier keep at least some secrets.

The legal front is...tricky, to say the least. The US Army has damn near created its own task force to assess their options. At least they're committed to cleaning up their own messes, Pepper thinks. Even if no US charges stick against Bucky, they can't say the same for all of the other countries that have been wronged by the Winter Soldier. There's a high probability that if Bucky ever leaves the States, he'll be arrested.

The Army has assured Pepper that extradition is out of the question though, and that calms her nerves a little. Someone powerful is looking out for Bucky. He's as safe as he can be in New York, in the legal sense anyway.

Pepper's also pretty certain that Bucky hasn't left his apartment for anything other than his stint in the medical wing and that fateful team meeting. She's going to have to change that. There's only enough room for one shut-in insomniac under her care, and Tony claimed it first.

She's delighted when Steve informs her that Bucky has accepted her invitation to movie night. She hasn't been able to plan anything fun in ages. Normally when she's calling a meeting, she's trying to keep the world from ending. Now her only imperative is to not retraumatize a hundred year-old super soldier. And maybe make sure he smiles, just a little bit.

Surely this could not be harder than covering Tony's ass.

Easy decision: a movie. Not too long, no war or violence or death or brainwashing. Alright. A kid's movie.

Lion King . Absolutely not. Mufasa falling to his death is going to make not one but two super soldiers cry.

WALL-E. Maybe. The whole robot thing might be toeing too close to the programming line, but it's not off the list yet.

Up. No chance. It'll make her cry.

Spirit. Amazing but hits every single red flag. Another time.

Ratatouille. It takes Pepper an ungodly amount of time, but this feels like the one. No peril, lots of whimsy, and delicious looking animated food to top it all off. She picks WALL-E as a backup, just in case Bucky's terrified of rats for some horrible reason.

Keeping with the French theme, she places an order from one of Tony's favorite date night spots. Salmon grillé for her, cabillaud au champagne for Helen, two orders of beef bourguignon for Steve, and after much consideration, potato and leek soup for Bucky. Everything would be pureed, and Pepper is almost certain the change of flavor would be most welcome after three weeks of nutrition shakes, oatmeal, and the occasional buttered toast. Mandi has just cleared Bucky to start eating cooked vegetables, so this'll be a good trial run. At any rate, it'll also be an easy enough recipe to make on his own if he likes it.

At 6pm on the dot, Pepper begins preparing the Common Room. This early in the spring, the sun still sets quickly, but she still has JARVIS draw the shades anyway. It feels cozier, more secure once the lights of the city have been blacked out. She pulls a plethora of blankets and pillows out from their hiding places, throwing them haphazardly on and around the couch in what she hopes is an inviting scene. The food arrives and it makes her mouth water instantly as she hurriedly sets out paper plates alongside plastic utensils, reserving a ceramic bowl for the soup. Tony would be able to find a joke in here, fine French dining on disposable plates. Her heart clenches, and she hopes he's okay.

The team had decided on radio silence, at least until they arrived at the Siberian base. That way it'd be harder for HYDRA to track their movements, anticipate where they were headed. Pepper knows it's for the best, but still. Can't blame her for worrying, not with Tony's track record. Still, if nothing’s exploding, that must mean everything is going alright.

The elevator chimes softly and Helen steps into the Common Room. She's traded her lab wear for jeans and an oversized sweater, and her hair brushes her shoulders. "Oh, Pepper, this is lovely!" The younger woman looks delighted at the spread of food, her eyes lingering on the cod dish she’d picked out over text. She reaches out and swipes her finger through the butter and wine sauce, and Pepper playfully bats her hand away. “We have to wait for our guest of honor!” She scolds, no heat in her words.

Pepper and Helen have developed a bit of a friendship, born out of living in the Tower, surrounded by testosterone and super soldiers and secrecy. Pepper treasures the soft, quiet moments she gets to have with Helen, when she gets to feel a little bit like a normal woman eating brunch with her friend instead of the CEO of a former-weapons manufacturer dating one of most visible, most stupid superheroes –

She’s getting sidetracked. Point is, she’s really freaking grateful to have Helen in the Tower, in her life. She hopes that Helen finds the same solace in their friendship, being so far from home. Tony had seen the promise of Helen’s technology, the Regeneration Cradle and everything that went along with it. He’d practically begged her to come to New York, to use his resources to advance her research – Pepper wonders if some part of him is still trying to make up for his past, investing so heavily in innovations that create and give life, rather than destroy and take life. It’s not a bad thing to support such endeavors, but – Pepper hopes he’s not doing it out of some sense of self-loathing or guilt.

The elevator chimes again, and Steve steps out, trailed by a nervous looking Bucky.

"Thanks again for putting this together, Pepper. Bucky, this is Pepper Potts, she's the CEO of Tony's company, and also Tony's girlfriend."

Bucky sticks his right hand out, robotic, like he'd been coached how to do so properly, but his shy smile is genuine. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

Pepper takes his large hand in hers and returns his smile. "It's nice to meet you too, Bucky. Please, call me Pepper." She can feel his hand relax in hers minutely before she draws away. She gestures to the set table. "Shall we?"

***

Bucky sits at the table with the others, the food spread out before him is – beautiful. That’s the word. Steve portions himself a large helping of some kind of stew, that smells – God , how it smells. It makes Bucky’s mouth water involuntarily, and he thinks – it's beef , he can't, can't remember the last time he'd had beef –

Steve catches him staring, because of course he does. “I don't think Mandi's cleared you for meat yet, but –” he grabs a slice of baguette, soaking it in the stew. “Do you want to try?”

Bucky does, and it – there aren't words for it. Fat and salt linger heavy but welcome on his tongue, and something – garlic – lights up his taste buds. He eats the whole slice, chasing the droplets of flavor that escape onto the pads of his fingers. He hears Steve chuckle. “That good, huh?” He nods vigorously. He glances up at the rest of the table, and Pepper is placing a nutrition shake and a bowl in front of him. Is – is that for him?

“I wasn't sure what you'd like,” she admits. “But this shouldn't upset your stomach. It's potato and leek soup.” Bucky's hand shakes around the edge of the bowl, warmth bleeding into his skin. “Th-thank you,” he says hesitantly. An indulgence like this at HYDRA, it would cost…so much. Service. Maybe, maybe a reward for an important mission well done.

“You don't have to eat it all,” Steve says next to him, recognizing the hesitation, mistaking it for anxiety about his body's reaction to the new food. “You can try a few spoonfuls and wait a couple of minutes, if that helps.”

The head knows, it knows that they wouldn't take the food away, just because he hesitates. But the body does not know, and Bucky's heart thumps wildly in his chest at the mere suggestion that he won't eat the whole bowl. If it tastes as good as it smells – and it smells, just as good if not better than Steve's beef stew – then Bucky, Bucky wants – to finish it all. Still, he nods at Steve's suggestion. It's a good suggestion. Steve's smart like that.

Bucky tentatively tries the first spoonful of soup, and –

“Girls, get in here and help me with these potatoes!”

“Coming mama!”

“James, honey, can you cut these onions up for me? The small cuts, how I showed you – yes, that's wonderful, baby.” A woman with brown curly hair brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Getting kinda long, maybe we'll cut it this weekend, huh?”

“But, mama,” he protests. “I like it long. I can still cut things with it long, I ain't any less helpful,” he says petulantly.

The woman – mama – tuts at him. “Sure, James, but what'll the neighbors think?”

“I ain't messy with it. I slick back, nice and proper,” he argues, not taking his eyes off of his onion. The – mama sighs. “I know, sweet boy. It ain't the mess I'm worried about. It's just –”

–uck. Bucky, you okay? You hear me?”

“Sure, Stevie, I hear ya,” Bucky says almost automatically, the phrase foreign and yet familiar on his tongue. He looks from his bowl of soup to Pepper, and then to Steve, who looks like he might cry. “S-sorry. I'm sorry.”

“No, no, you – you didn't do anything wrong, Buck. It's just – did you have another memory?”

“I think…I think I just remembered my…my mother,” he says, like a confession. “She had brown hair, curls?” He grips his hand tight around his spoon, ready to be lectured about how weapons don't have families, that he's just malfunctioning again, needs the Chair again, and –

“Sounds like her,” Steve affirms, and Bucky tries to let go of the anxiety pounding in his chest. It doesn't make sense, he'd been told so many times that he doesn't have a family, and yet – he remembers calling a woman ‘mama'. What's even more confusing is that Steve knows who he's talking about, in a memory from however many decades ago. Steve ain't a kid but he's definitely not that old. Maybe he's seen photos of her somewhere. “Her name was Winnifred. I –” Steve cuts himself off before stealing a glance at Pepper and Helen. He tries again. “I'm really glad you got that memory back, Buck. You alright to keep eating?”

Bucky is. He finishes the whole bowl, plus his regular nutrition shake and a few more slices of buttered baguette. By the time they move to the couch, Bucky feels like his whole being is warm, satiated, and safe. Pepper briefly explains the advancements in movie animation over the years, but Bucky can't bring himself to absorb any of it. The movie starts, and despite the utterly ridiculous plot, Bucky is at peace, his senses occupied by the music, colors, and the press of a soft blanket against his left side and Steve's solid warmth on his right.

Halfway through the film, Helen pulls out a ball of yarn and a wooden hook, working a series of complicated knots in a spiral pattern. Crochet, Steve had called it. Bucky, briefly hypnotized by the repetitive movements of the needle and yarn, wonders if Helen would ever consider teaching him, but before he can open his mouth to ask the question, sleep sweeps him away.

***

“Is he…?” Pepper trails off, smiling at Bucky. Steve looks to his left and grins. Bucky’s curled over the arm of the couch, his breathing deep and even, left arm curled into a blanket, cushioning his head.

“Oh my God,” Steve breathes, not daring to raise his voice above a whisper.

“Awh, he’s like a cat,” Helen murmurs, putting down her crochet. “Should we…?” She gestures to the screen, where Remy the rat is busy fixing Linguini’s soup.

“Nah, let him sleep,” Steve says. He knows from too many nights watching the surveillance from Bucky’s apartment that deep sleep is far too rare for the soldier. Even super soldiers need at least a consistent five hours every night – and while Bucky’s been sleeping, he’s always restless, always tossing and turning, even without nightmares. So to see Bucky slumbering on the couch, content and damn near purring, makes Steve’s heart soar a little bit. It means even more to realize that Bucky feels safe here, not just with Steve, but with Helen and Pepper too. Safe enough to let his guard down, enough to sleep. “I’ll show him the ending another time. Lord knows he needs it.”

Pepper nods in agreement. Movie night had been an even greater success than she could have hoped. Not only had she gotten Bucky out of his apartment, she’d gotten a little smile from him, gotten a hot meal – a real meal – into him. And to top it all off, it looks like he’s going to get some rest too. Real rest. When the movie ends, Pepper sighs, already reaching a gentle hand out to wake Bucky, but Steve stills her. “I can get him.”

“You sure?” Helen asks, rising from her chair.

“Yep,” Steve sweeps one arm around Bucky’s back and another under his knees, effortlessly picking up the super soldier. “He ain’t that heavy. All I gotta do is hold him.”

#bucky barnes #the winter soldier #captain america #steve rogers #catws #helen cho #pepper potts #avengers tower #stark tower #stucky #steve x bucky #steve/bucky #pepperony #ratatouille #avengers movie night #ao3 #fanfiction #omgkmfgl

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scrivbloingsblog · 28 days ago

Text

small drawing of the insomniac task force's uniform

#call of duty #cod oc #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mw2 #call of duty mwii #itf team #insomniac task force

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copperboom82 · 9 months ago

Text

Something

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (female)

Word Count: 3.9k

Prompt: "Just please don't say you love me." - Gabrielle Alpin

Title credit: Something by The Beatles

Summary: A late-night conversation forces Katrina and Dean to deal with the things they've left unspoken for years.

AN: Hello! This is my first submission for @jacklesversebingo and my first story for this OC. It's just a one-shot for now, but I have some other ideas for this pairing, so we'll see. I think this falls into angst/fluff territory

Warnings: Mild cursing, mentions of alcohol. Please let me know if I missed something - I don't think I did, but I'm also very new to posting my writing.

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

Katrina Black had never been a good sleeper.

She’d never considered herself to be a true insomniac… but it was close. Falling asleep, regardless of how tired she may or may not be, was always an ordeal. Whether it was normal life stress, adrenaline from a hunt, a combination of the two, it didn’t matter: turning her brain off was, without fail, a herculean task. Then staying asleep? Forget it. Growing up the way she had, the instinct to keep one eye and ear open at all times was impossible to shut down. Every noise seemed to register and set her on edge, big and small, and God forbid there be any light. That was the fastest way to jolt her out of a dead sleep.

It had been that way as long as Katrina could remember, and by now, in her early thirties, she was quite used to it. Instead of dreading the nighttime, she’d even come to appreciate the solace of it. It was quiet when the rest of the world was sleeping, and peaceful in a way that was hard to recreate in other circumstances.

What she wasn’t used to was having company. But as of late, company was what she had.

“Can’t sleep again, huh,” she remarked quietly as she slipped out onto the back porch, two steaming mugs carefully cradled in her hands as she gently shut the door with her foot. Dean’s head swiveled in her direction, his green eyes finding her in the low lighting, a tired smile making its way onto his face… a humorless chuckle slipping past his lips.

“Not so much.”

In the weeks since Dean had gotten back from Purgatory, there’d hardly been a night that Katrina hadn’t run into the elder Winchester brother in the hours she’d gotten so used to spending on her own. He’d even gone so far as to co-opt her spot – not that she suspected he realized that when he’d started coming out here.

Katrina wordlessly settled into the porch swing next to him, shivering against the chilling air and passing one of the mugs to Dean. He accepted it, but looked between her and the mug, his expression growing skeptical when he realized what it was.

“Hot chocolate, Kat? Really? I’m not five.”

Kat.

That stupid nickname made butterflies swarm her stomach like she was a damn teenager again. No one else called her Kat, only Dean. To everyone else she was Trina, or Katrina. It had started as his way to annoy her, in those early days when Bobby had introduced them, and they hadn’t been able to go ten minutes without bickering about something. Then somewhere along the lines when neither of them had been paying attention they’d become friends, and he didn’t try to annoy her anymore, but the nickname had stuck.

And her fondness for the moniker had grown with the idiot hunter that used it.

“I know,” she scoffed, a wry smile forming on her own face as she went to take a sip from the mug still in her hands. “That’s why I put vodka in it. And maybe some Bailey’s.”

His skepticism turned to amusement, and Katrina watched from the corner of her eye as he made a face that said what the hell before following her example and drinking.

“Not bad,” he admitted as he lowered the mug.

“You should know better than to doubt me by now, Winchester,” she quipped, and Dean rolled his eyes, though they both knew he was only being dramatic.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Black,” he griped back, though the fondness in his voice was unmistakable. Silence fell over them as they both settled further into the swing, and Katrina took another sip of the hot chocolate, savoring the warmth that spread through her body as she swallowed it down.

It should have been comfortable, and in many ways it was. She’d known the Winchesters for years now – hunting with them often, researching for them when she couldn’t, housing them when they weren’t off doing their own thing… the three of them, barring Dean’s year in Purgatory, had been practically inseparable since the Leviathans had burned Bobby’s house down. Sam and Dean were her closest friends. Her family.

But with Dean, it was never comfortable. She was too stupidly hyperaware of his presence for anything involving being around that man to be comfortable. The heat of his body, the way the smell of gunpowder and leather always seemed to cling to him, the aggravating truth in that his solid presence made her feel safe in a way nothing else did.

No, being around Dean never failed to put her on high alert. And he was a goddamn distraction to boot. No matter how much Katrina tried to keep her mind on the night sky and quiet her thoughts so she could make another attempt at sleep, her eyes kept darting to her left. She didn’t often see Dean out of his normal jeans and flannel combo, except for these late-night stargazing sessions. Tonight he was clad in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that should have been illegal for the way it showed off his arms and the broad lines of his shoulders. His green eyes gleamed in the moonlight, hair adorably mused from whatever futile attempt he had made at sleep, and the stubble littering his face made her mouth water in a completely inappropriate way.

Inappropriate because Dean was her best friend, and best friends didn’t have the kind of thoughts about each other that she was having right now. Thoughts that the year apart had apparently done nothing to quell. Which shouldn’t have been surprising. It had done nothing to dampen her not-so-friend-like feelings for him either.

To say nothing of the fact that with the kind of lives they led, there was no room for that sort of thing. She didn’t believe that loving a Winchester was the death sentence that Sam and Dean had both, at times, claimed it to be. But she knew enough to know that loving a hunter was always a risk, always invited complication… and all of their lives were complicated enough.

“How’s that shoulder doin’?” he asked after a few minutes, breaking the silence and completely oblivious to the turmoil in Katrina’s head or the fire his gravelly voice, rough from lack of sleep, lit inside her.

“It’s fine,” she dismissed, unconsciously rolling the shoulder in question. Earlier in the day, the two of them and Sam had taken care of a vengeful spirit an hour or two south of her house. It had been a simple enough salt-and-burn, but the thing had lashed out like a cornered animal in the last few minutes they were digging, doing what it could to stop them from reaching their goal. In the mele, Katrina had gotten flung at one point and crashed into a nearby headstone hard. She’d been mostly fine, but of course, Dean had immediately clocked the way she was suddenly favoring her left side.

And now, hours later, he seemed as equally unconvinced of her dismissal as he’d been then if the way he was studying her was anything to go off of. His brow furrowed in concentration, and the intensity in his gaze left Katrina trying not to squirm.

“Really, Dean, it was –“

But for all the good her words did her she may as well have saved her breath. Dean, it seemed, wasn’t even listening. He was too busy setting his half-drunk mug of hot chocolate on the little table next to him and then reaching out for her. His touch was gentle but firm as he maneuvered her to lean forward so he could run his hand over the tender area. Katrina willed her breathing to stay steady, even as her heart felt like it was beating a mile a minute.

“Well nothing’s swollen,” he murmured, the concern still evident in his voice. Katrina rolled her eyes and arched an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, because I’m fine.”

Dean paused in his movements and caught her eye, sending her a look that was both exasperated and affectionate.

“And stubborn,” he pointed out. Katrina snorted.

“Pot, meet kettle.”

Dean sighed but let her go.

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed, eyes still glued to her form. They both stayed there, frozen in place for a moment, until he frowned. “You look cold.”

She was perhaps a little cold, but Katrina suspected what Dean was actually noticing was the tension that came from the nerves being in such close proximity to him created. She shook her head.

“I’m fine.”

This time Dean rolled his eyes, and before she could do anything, he was wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her against him, enveloping her in his warmth.

“Yeah, yeah,” he repeated, “I know. You’re always fine. C’mon, Kat. It’s not a big deal.”

It was a big deal, if the heat rising in her cheeks was any indicator. But Dean couldn’t know that.

“My hero,” she muttered, injecting as much sarcasm into her voice as she could manage, and Dean chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest.

“At least I’m someone’s,” he scoffed, that self-deprecating tone of his bringing a frown to Katrina’s face.

“Don’t do that,” she chastised, and Dean snorted.

“Do what? Be honest?”

“Put yourself down like that,” she corrected firmly and Dean sighed. Despite herself, she found her body relaxing into his more fully.

“You weren’t there, Kat. I’m no hero.”

She didn’t need to ask to know he was thinking of Purgatory. He’d been tight-lipped about the details, but whatever happened had left him rattled.

“You wanna talk about it?” she ventured softly. Dean stiffened for a moment, but then relaxed back into her as he exhaled, shaking his head as he did.

“No.”

It was the answer she expected, and Katrina nodded against his chest.

“You know I’m here though? If you do?”

There was no pause that time. Dean nodded.

“I know.”

And then he dropped a kiss to the top of her head that had her stomach doing somersaults as if it were the most natural in the world for him to do.

The silence settled over them again, and Katrina tried not to hyper fixate. Dean’s fingers started tracing circles on her arm, sending pleasant shivers down her spine, and the sounds of the night washed over them – crickets, she thought, somewhere in the distance, and the occasional howl of an animal.

Eventually, against all odds, it was the steady thrum of Dean’s heartbeat that started to lull Katrina back into a state of… not sleep, but rest, she supposed. Her senses dulling and her consciousness allowing her to enjoy the peace of the moment. But it was just that – a moment – and before long Dean was speaking again, his words breaking it apart and filling her chest with a strange mix of hope and fear.

“I missed you, you know. While I was… gone. I, uh… it’s nice. Having you around again.”

He doesn’t mean what you want him to mean, the voice in her head hissed at her. Friends miss each other. Don’t make more out of it than what it is.

But somewhere, Katrina knew it was more than that. Dean didn’t just say shit like that. Still, letting herself ruminate on it too much was risky.

“I missed you too,” she admitted. There was a beat of silence, and then the words were slipping out before she could stop them – quiet, but impossible to miss in the stillness of their surroundings. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

She caught herself as much as Dean by surprise, so much so that she hardly noticed when he moved, shifting them so that, while his arm was still around her, she was no longer leaning into him, and they were instead facing each other. His eyes were wide, betraying how much she’d caught him off guard with the admission, and Katrina felt as though she were being x-rayed the way he was searching her face. She found herself unwittingly holding her breath, waiting for the inevitable fallout, or worse, the teasing.

But instead, his features softened, and a small smile formed on his face. The kind he seemed to reserve only for her.

“C’mon, Kat,” he murmured, his free hand coming up to brush some stray hair out of her face. But instead of dropping back to his own lap, it stayed, cradling her face. “I always find my way back to you, don’t I?”

In what seemed to be a single breath, the air between them turned charged. On their face, the words themselves were innocent. The way he was looking at her, however, was anything but, and his tone carried a weight with it that the words alone didn’t.

They’d been here before. In this space of almost and on the verge… but one of them always pulled back. Katrina wasn’t totally sure of Dean’s reasons, though she had a list she could guess at. Her own were complicated and multi-faceted. Chief among them was a strong disbelief that whatever Dean did feel for her couldn’t possibly mirror the feelings she’d been harboring for him. And if it were only her own heart she was risking? It might not have worried her so much – she could deal with pain. But the idea of opening herself up, giving things a shot and having them crash and burn… she knew what would come next, and the idea of having to cut ties with him and Sam was unfathomable. Aside from her younger sister, they were the only real family she had left. And Jenna, as wonderful as she was, didn’t understand the life Katrina led. It had been one of the many things Katrina had worked so hard to shield her from.

This time, however, neither of them seemed ready to heed that invisible line. Katrina noticed the way Dean’s eyes flickered down to her lips, and she unconsciously wet them while her own heart beat impossibly faster. At first, neither of them moved. And then all at once Dean leaned down and captured her lips with his in a kiss that nearly made her heart stop.

Despite the fact that it was something she’d wanted for years, it took her brain a few seconds to catch up with the reality of what was happening, and Katrina found herself frozen. But then, just as Dean seemed to be thinking he’d made a mistake, beginning to pull back, she jolted back to life. All of her normal reservations about why this was such a bad idea flew out the window, forgotten in the heat of the moment, and she kissed him back with fervor.

Her own mug of hot chocolate was quickly deposited next to her on the bench, her hands eagerly seeking out Dean instead. The arm he’d had around her shoulders dropped lower, securing itself around her waist and pulling her closer. Hi tongue dipped past the seam of her lips, tasting and learning her all at once and letting her do the same, while her fingers found purchase on the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

Katrina wasn’t sure how long they kissed – it could have been seconds or it could have been minutes – but by the time they broke apart they were both slightly breathless. They stayed close, Dean pressing one last soft, chaste kiss to her lips before resting his forehead against hers, while Katrina sat there, her head spinning. For awhile it was still just the two of them that she was aware of – Dean’s warm breath against her skin, every point of contact, her own heartbeat so loud she could feel it in her ears, the taste of him still lingering… the spiked drink she’d made them mixed with something uniquely Dean she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

But then reality slowly began to intrude as the rest of her senses returned to her. All the reasons she normally held herself back started screaming at her, and the panic began to set in.

“What was that?” she asked carefully, taking care to keep her voice steady. Dean, still cradling her face in his hand, smirked slightly.

“A kiss, Kat. I believe you’re familiar with the concept based on what I’ve seen from you before.”

It was such a Dean thing to say. And under other circumstances she might have laughed, or come up with her own quip back, but she was still having trouble with rational thought.

“We don’t kiss,” she pointed out. Dean shrugged, his thumb swiping over her cheek.

“Yeah, well maybe we should change that.”

Before she could think of anything remotely reasonable to say, he was kissing her again. And for just a moment, Katrina let herself get swept up in him once more. But this time when he went to deepen it, Katrina pulled back, the panic overwhelming the more pleasant sensations Dean had sparked.

“Dean, I –“ she started, her voice catching in her throat, embarrassingly choked by emotion.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked, the teasing tone from before switching to one of genuine concern, and Katrina swallowed hard, willing herself to get her shit under control. This wasn’t her, she didn’t get emotional over guys, or anything, really… but then, Dean had always had a way of making her break even her own rules.

“I can’t do this,” she managed to get out, ignoring the confusion mixing with the concern in his expression. “It’s a bad idea. I can’t… I can’t just be a way for you to blow off steam. That’s not gonna work for me, and…” she trailed off, only dimly registering the look of abject horror on Dean’s face.

“Kat,” he said slowly, his voice gentle but tinged clearly with pain. “Is that really what you think is goin’ on here? That I’m just trying to blow off steam?”

Katrina closed her eyes, focusing on taking a breath. Somewhere in the back of her mind she half wished that when she opened them again it all would have been some sort of fever dream. But, of course, it wasn’t, and when she opened them again Dean was there waiting.

“Isn’t it?”

His face fell and he pulled back, his frown deepening while Katrina found herself already missing the proximity.

“Hell no. Look, I know I’m not Mr. Touchy Feely here, but I really thought we were on the same page about this.”

This was dangerous territory. Territory that Katrina both wanted to and dreaded entering.

Because Dean was… not right, but not wrong either. There was something between them, something more than friendship, evident alone from how different their relationship was from the one she had with Sam if nothing else. But whatever that something more was, Katrina couldn’t be foolish enough to let herself believe that Dean felt the same way about her. She loved him, she knew that. And sure maybe his feelings weren’t strictly platonic… but he didn’t love her. Not like that.

And if even if he did? Dean Winchester didn’t do relationships. She’d been there for the aftermath of Lisa and Ben… watched him struggle through the wreckage… and she knew better than anyone that he’d sworn off the idea of ever letting himself get involved like that again.

“I don’t know what to say,” she mumbled, and Dean looked at her in slight disbelief.

“You can say whether I’m wrong or not.”

Katrina opened her mouth to do just that, but the words wouldn’t come. She tried a second and a third time too, and after that last attempt a smug expression worked its way onto Dean’s face, some of the tension easing from his body.

“So I’m not wrong,” he theorized. “You want to be with me too.”

“Except you don’t do relationships,” Katrina pointed out quickly, “and I’m not looking to get my heart broken.”

Dean softened, the corners of his lips tugging down again, and Katrina could practically see the gears turning in his head.

“Why don’t you let me worry about what I do and do not do?”

“Are you actually suggesting what I think you are right now?”

“Depends,” Dean asked, some of that devil-may-care attitude of his making an appearance again. “What do you think I’m suggesting?”

Katrina wasn’t having any of it, though. Mind still reeling, she huffed and moved further back from him, turning to grab for her mug.

“I swear,” she started to complain without really knowing where she was going with it. “God forbid you be serious for just one –“

Dean’s hand shot out almost immediately, cutting her off mid-sentence as he pulled her right back where she’d been, his arm coming around her even more securely than before. He kissed her again, this time slow and purposefully, breaking away while her brain was still going fuzzy.

“I am being serious, Kat,” he said. “Look, I get it, you’re scared, and people in our line of work don’t get happy endings. But c’mon. It’s been here, whatever this thing is between us, for too long, and I’m tired of pretending it isn’t. You said you were afraid you weren’t gonna see me again? Hell, I was too. And I was more afraid that I’d never get a chance to figure this out. I want to be with you, and not just for a night or for while it feels good. This is what I want… I’m ready to fight for it.”

“Dean –“ she began, but he cut her off, shaking his head.

“And, say what you want, but as long as you’ve known me, I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me. So if I’m telling you how I feel, you should know I mean it.”

By the time he was done speaking, Katrina’s eyes were uncharacteristically watery, and she quickly blinked back the tears, refusing to let them spill over. Dean noticed anyway, and frowned, cradling her face once more and smoothing his thumb over her cheek.

“What are you thinking, Kat?” he prompted gently, and she let out something that was somewhere between a cry and a laugh.

“I’m thinking this is insane,” she admitted, which pulled a crooked smile from Dean and her own watery chuckle.

“Yeah, maybe a little,” he allowed. “But that doesn’t make it any less real.” She let out a puff of air, and he sighed. “C’mon, Kat. I lo –“

“No,” she cut across him firmly, and Dean blinked back in surprise.

“No? No what?”

Katrina bit her lip, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her again, and she looked down at her lap, unable to meet his eye.

“Just please don’t say you love me.”

Her words hung there between them, until Dean tilted her chin up, forcing her to look back at him. It was impossible to miss the earnest expression on his face.

“But what if I do?” he asked. Brain short circuiting, Kat blinked back stupidly.

“Then you’re crazier than I am,” she finally said, and at her words a genuine smile cracked Dean’s face, his laughter sounding almost inappropriately loud after their conversation colored by whispers and murmurs. It didn’t last long though, and before Katrina could make sense of any of it, Dean was dipping his head again, pressing a short, sweet kiss to her lips and returning his forehead to its previous resting place against hers.

“Sweetheart,” he began, managing to maintain his sincerity despite the laughter still underlying his voice, “I’ve always been crazier than you.”

#jacklesversebingo24 #supernatural #spn fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester x ofc #spn #supernatural fanfiction #annie writes #long winding roads

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