lovethyauthors

[lovethyauthors]

Love love love

Overprotective!Simon my HUSBAND.

He's never been worried. Not at home, not when he could fight any assailants off himself. Hell, they'd be fucking loose in the head to think they could take him on. It's not like he had much to show either--he didn't have much in the ways of luxury, simply because he chose not to purchase it.

Until he met you. He was nervous then, suddenly fixing shit around the house he'd let slip by him--the broken security system, the hole in the ceiling where he'd ripped out the smoke alarm because of its incessant 'low battery' beeping. Sure it was dangerous, but he hadn't cared before.

What never changed was the fact he'd had guns all over the house. You told him before that you'd feel sorry for whatever poor bloke thought he could grab a quick check off of your home, and he'd laughed in response, told you not to worry about it. He'd deal with it, after all, should push come to shove.

So he's prepared when he hears rustling from downstairs, and the beeping of the security system he'd had installed beeping away beside his ear--quiet enough for you to never notice, loud enough for him to wake up. He slips out of bed, sooths the crease that forms between your brows when his warmth leaves from beside yours, and grabs the pistol under the bed.

Whoever's broken in is about to feel bloody sorry for even trying.

He's efficient. Makes quick work of checking upstairs, deems it all clear before he's creeping down the stairs--the perpetrator's back in immediate sight. He's rifling through the desk in the study, thumbing through cabinets for cash, or anything expensive.

He only notices Simon when Simon wants him to. It's a firm press of the gun to the guy's head, causing him to jump, flinching under the touch. "What the hell--"

“I’d shoot y’point blank right ‘ere if I could, but the missus is sleepin’ upstairs. So y’ve got thirty seconds t’fuck off before I turn y’into a stain on the carpet," Simon interjects, checking the clock on the wall absently. Like it's just an average weekday to him.

"Hey, hey man, I'm just--" he raises his hands placatingly, dropping the papers he had been holding.

"Aye. Don't give a fuck. Would rather not stain the carpet, though, missus really likes this one. Said it's real soft n' nice on 'er feet."

Simon catches the door as he practically sprints from the home, only to avoid it slamming--he wouldn't want to alarm you, of course. He hums, shuts it quietly, and goes to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

When he's back upstairs, shuffling into the bedroom, your wide eyes looking at him and quietly asking him where he went--how dare he leave you when you were cuddling, he smiles, places the glass on the nightstand and sneakily slips the gun right where he'd first gotten it.

“Nothing, luv, was thirsty, needed t’grab some water.”

[lovethyauthors]

Heheheheheheheheheheheeeheheheh love love love love love love love!!!!!

YOU GET MEEEE LIKE YES THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I HAD JN MIND FOR MAIL ORDER KONIG TOO 😩😩 and the dialogue was too good not to add, so thank you sm ☕️ anon!! <33

Reader x mail-order soldier könig

You weren’t proud of the choices that led to this.

In your defense, when your unhinged, narcissistic ex-fiancé decided to take “I can do better” as a personal threat and “leave me alone” as a flirtation, your options shrank quickly. Police were useless, restraining orders were suggestions, and the panic room catalog had a three-month shipping delay you really couldn’t afford at the moment.

So you did what any desperate, slightly unhinged person with Wi-Fi and a bottle of wine would do at 2AM: you shopped online.

Not for a therapist- you didn’t like being robbed more than once per month- and not for new locks, and not even for a machete and a training montage or karate lessons.

You shopped for a bodyguard. And not just any bodyguard- mail-order, military-grade, possibly-black-ops (you didn’t know exactly what that meant, but you knew black belts were the strongest in karate so it probably applied here too) bodyguard. Because you weren’t looking for subtle; yoh were looking for make him cry and question his choices.

The site was slick, you could admit. Black and red and sleek fonts, the kind of design that screamed we definitely waterboard people but make it ✨fashion✨. The site also billed itself as Elite Protection Services: Discreet, Deadly, Dependable. It might as well have been Bodyguards R Us. You scrolled past the profiles like you were picking out a toaster.

“Ex-Interpol, trained in Systema, bilingual in seven languages.”

Nope. Too smug-looking. Kinda reminded you of Johnny Bravo but without the appeal.

“Specializes in anti-stalking protocols. Former MMA champion.”

Too pretty. Psycho ex would take that as a challenge.

You scrolled past endless profiles: more ex-SEALs, ex-spies, people who listed training styles like they were personality traits. Everyone looked like they were auditioning for a movie about stopping nuclear threats with emotional damage and well-fitted tactical pants.

Until you found him.

KÖNIG.

That was it; no last name, no smiling profile pic. Just one blurry photo that looked like it was taken from a security feed during the purge. A massive man mid-stride, face obscured by a tattered executioner’s hood (does he like cosplay?), one arm casually holding what was either a high-powered sniper rifle or a small medieval ballista. Just the quiet threat of do not attempt to engage unless you are fireproof and have no dreams… and hopefully have a will.

His bio was just as minimal as his name, but thankfully not bolded and capitalized like he was the living version You-Know-Who: Former special forces. Classified background. Urban combat. High-threat asset protection. Temperament: Reserved. Languages: German, English. Hobbies: [Redacted]

And honestly? He was perfect.

You hit “Hire” with all the solemnity of pulling a lever on a guillotine.

The meeting, then, was scheduled at a “neutral location” (aka: a converted warehouse that probably used to be a meth lab but now boasted folding chairs and bulletproof windows and claimed to be state-of-the-arts just). You were told to wear neutral colors and avoid sudden movements like he was a military contractor-slash-deer.

He was lucky you didn’t have a driving license or car yet.

The facilitator, woman named Claire who radiated HR department energy and quiet terror, greeted you with a nervous clipboard smile.

“Please remain calm during the introduction process,” she said, like she expected you to run. Like he was a bull and she forgot to tell you not to wear red even though you were very sure bulls didn’t actually get bothered by the color. “Sometimes clients are… startled.”

You waved her off; you were not going to be startled. You were in charge. You were the employer. You were cool and rational. You were the man-

And then the door opened, and he walked in.

It wasn’t so much a walk as a tectonic shift, honestly. The lights dimmed- or maybe your brain flickered like a dying flashlight trying to process the sheer volume of the man now in the room with you because the damn profile and profile pictures absolutely did him no justice at all.

Easily built like a walking mini-cathedral, every step he took echoed with the weight of someone who didn’t walk so much as advance steadily like a cursed forest creature with war crimes on his résumé.

The hood was real, by the way. Not a vibe, not a metaphor, not a cosplay prop. A literal ragged executioner’s hood, like someone had looted a plague doctor’s wardrobe and decided to lean in (actually… were those shirt sleeves-)

Anyways, he said nothing, and so you stared with your mouth half-open and your neck craned and your buffering. There was a pause, the kind of silence that usually precedes a boss fight or a marriage proposal but without the music for both, and you weren’t sure which direction this was going to go.

Claire cleared her throat with the delicacy of someone trying not to disturb a sleeping lion.

“Well, if you’re not feeling a connection, we can always-“

“Don’t you dare.”

It came out louder than intended and far more desperate than you’s ever hoped anyone would hear you. You pointed at König like someone calling dibs on a rare Pokémon, and almost gave yourself a whiplash from how quickly you turned your head to glare at her.

“He’s perfect. Get your own!”

Claire blinked and König didn’t move. But you could feel him blinking behind the hood, probably wondering what, exactly, he had just been spiritually adopted into.

There was another pause.

König tilted his head, then slight nod that was just enough to suggest acknowledgment… or possibly pity. You’d need to peer into his eyes and make him do different expressions so you’d understand what he was thinking behind that hood, because you weren’t sure if his nod meant I accept this job, please never yell again, or you are an unhinged rat and I respect that, but either way: he was yours now.

You turned back to Claire with all the confidence of someone who had definitely just bought an armored tank off Craigslist.

“Where do I sign?”

Claire, likewise, slowly handed you the paperwork like she was passing off custody of a weapon of mass destruction. Something like an armored tank bought off Craigslist.

“…Please don’t antagonize him.”

“I would never,” you replied, already mentally redecorating your apartment to accommodate a seven-foot medieval cryptid with probably boundary issues. You couldn’t imagine anyone with those backgrounds not coming with built-in issues unless they were rich and old.

König, for his part, said nothing. Just stood there, looming like an ancient ruin that had wandered into a security job. But you swore- when you weren’t looking directly at him- you caught the faintest rise in his shoulders. Like a chuckle.

Or maybe a sigh.

Either way, you’d take it; you had a human mountain now. And your ex?

Was going to shit bricks and you’d be there to film and enjoy every. single. second. of it.

“C’mon, big boy,” you grinned at him, taking one of his big hands and tugging uselessly. “We have so much to do!”

[lovethyauthors]

Hehehehehehe Brandon spiralling because he didn’t think an open relationship mean that she was going on dates too? Love to see it!!

I cannot wait to see him CRUSHED and DESTROYED, best believe Price and Ghost are gonna fuck his shit up (emotionally) when they’re in the picture, and reader leaving him in the dust????? Hell yes sign me the fuck up!

Last Updated: 7/17/24

After proposing, your fiance "suggests" an open relationship before you two officially tie the knot. You're not keen on it at first - until you meet one Kyle Garrick. And then his friend, Johnny. And then their lieutenant, Simon. And then their captain, John.

Your fiance's given you one hell of an engagement gift - even if he doesn't know it yet.

Content: Unhappy relationship, (attempted) gaslighting, safe/sane/consensual intimacy, (healthy) polyamory

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[lovethyauthors]

Love love love love love love!!!!!!!! The YEARNING 😭 immaculate

Childhood Friend Simon Masterlist

Parts 1, 2, and 3 (one post)

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

[lovethyauthors]

I cannot put into words how in love with this I am 😭😭😭 the ending!!! Literally the most efficient stab in the heart I’ve ever seen.

The two times Simon almost killed Price and the one time Price almost killed Simon

First off yall blew up this post and I’m actually speechless 🥺 I’ve also hit 1,000 followers (SKDJJWDJJEJW) and will be working on the surprise fic shortly. I was working on some birthday posts and wasn’t expecting it to happen so quickly so might be a bit before it comes out.

Simon’s masterlist

1. When Simon was injured

Price called you to let you know that Simon was injured during an op and he would be fine but you should come get him from the base. Simon never lets you go to base and you knew if he was conscious, he would have an absolute fit and get a cab home. He’s a very private person and after what happened to his family, he’s not about to let you get anywhere close to work if he can help it.

You obviously know this but it’s Price who called you, not Simon. Price ends the call with ‘see ya soon, Mrs. Riley’ which simultaneously breaks your heart because you’re not his wife but also warms it. It also doesn’t give you a choice; you’ll be there whether you drive yourself or Price brings you.

The captain doesn’t tell anyone that you’re coming or who you are when you get there. He meets you at the entrance and escorts you in. Like a father might, he keeps you close to him as the two of you make your way across the base and to the clinic where Simon is resting. He wouldn’t let them send him off base to a hospital so they did what they could and he’s, of course, being difficult still.

The moment the others see you, their eyes widen because who is this? Why are you with Price? Why have they never seen you before? Are you his daughter? His niece? His controversially younger girlfriend? Who are you and why are you here of all places? You definitely scare the shit out of them let’s be real. You pull up looking like this and you’re with their captain.

You have an aura of unwavering confidence and a resting bitch face that rivals Ghost’s. They don’t get the chance to pester you because Price is quickly shoving you into the room where Ghost is at and giving them all the death stare.

Simon does a double take when he sees you with wide eyes but doesn’t make any other indication that he knows you. The poor nurse who’s filling out his release paperwork is petrified and he looks like he’s about to pass out. You narrow your eyes at Simon because clearly he’s been his usual asshole self and that’s why this nurse is about to pass out.

You give the nurse a small smile as you tell him your name and that you’re who’s going to be taking care of Simon. The man’s knees almost give out from relief and he word vomits all of the information you’ll need while handing you the paperwork in a shaking hand. You thank him and wait for him to leave before you finally look at Simon.

He’s got his mask on like you expected but you can still read his eyes. He’s pissed.

All you say is “You were shot.”

He nods once.

“I’m your emergency contact.”

He nods once again.

“You don’t get to be mad that I’m here. If anyone gets to be upset and act like a child, it’s me. I’m the one who had to find out from your captain that you got hurt so badly that you’re being put on temporary medical leave for 6 weeks.“

He doesn’t nod this time. He just stares. Eventually he sighs and looks at the ground.

“‘M sorry.”

You sigh as well and give him the hug he’s craving but won’t ask for. You press a kiss to the top of his masked head and rub his back.

“It’s alright, my love.” You murmur into his sweaty mask. “Let’s go home, yeah? The dogs have been driving me mental.”

Although it’s covered, you feel him smile. You feel it in the way his body relaxes under your touch and his arms tighten around your waist.

“Let’s go home.” He agrees.

The others are absolutely gobsmacked when they see you walk out with Ghost. He’s the same as he always is; guarded and on defense but there’s a softness in his eyes when he glances at you talking to Price. They have half a mind to ask about you but one sharp glance from Ghost keeps their mouth shut. Whoever you are, you’re the single most important person in the world to him and they’d be complete fools to even breath in your direction.

2. When Simon was home

Let’s just say that Simon was in a compromising position when Price called him to meet at the base in an hour.

Usually you’re the one in the restraints that are always on your bed butttttt you managed to convince him to switch places. Tonight he’s bound by the leather cuffs on his wrists and ankles. His eyes are squeezed shut and his head is buried into the pillow behind him. You’ve been teasing and edging this poor man for close to an hour. Kitten licks and light squeezes are all you’ve given him as you worship his strong body. Each scar on his body has been caressed, licked, and kissed by you. Every inch of him has been loved and adored by you…

expect for his cock.

You’ve been purposely ignoring it until you finally take him into your mouth. His release is fast approaching as you bob your head up and down. He’s moaning and whimpering. Then his work phone rings. The stupid phone he only uses when he’s working goes off and he’s never been so angry in his entire life. You pull off of him and he lets out the loudest groan known to man. You giggle at him as you fish it from the night stand and press it to his ear as you place yourself in his lap.

“Price the fucking king could be dead and that still wouldn’t be a good enough reason to call me right now.”

3. And the one time that Price almost killed Simon.

Ever since Price called you to base, he’s been keeping in touch with you. He’ll text you and call you every now and then to make sure you’re okay. Obviously you are; Simon is your…partner and you can handle yourself but he still likes to check in on you. He feels responsible for Simon as he’s his captain but also for you since you’re his whole world.

Moving on… the first deployment that Simon went on was rough. You were anxious as you usually were but this time was worse. He was hurt. He had been shot and even though he’d healed just fine, you couldn’t help but worry about him. On the other hand, Simon’s nightmares had made a comeback and he’d been waking up in cold sweats. One time you swore you saw Ghost rather than your adoring man. You’d told Price about it and made he swear to not say a damn word to Simon. He agreed but kept a watchful eye on his Lieutenant.

On the second night of their deployment, Price had gotten a rather short and strange text from you that read “keep him safe please.” It felt like a given that he did but something about this felt wrong. He called you and it took until the last ring for you to pick up. You were sobbing, hyperventilating, and wheezing into the phone when you answered. He couldn’t get a single coherent word out of you for the first 10 minutes but when he did, he saw red.

Apparently Simon had lost his mind and decided that it would be better if you weren’t together. You’d told Price that he told you some bullshit lie about how he wasn’t feeling it anymore and you should go find someone better. The captain was more pissed off that his Lieutenant had lied and immediately found him the moment you’d stopped crying.

“Riley!” Price shouts across from the landing strip. That sends alarm bells off in Simon’s head. It was Ghost or Lieutenant, never his name.

Price stalks over to him and grabs him by the front of his vest, not caring that everyone can see what’s going on. “You call and apologize to her right now, ya hear me? It’s unacceptable for you to lie to her like that and I should have your balls for it. You fix it before she does go off and find herself a better man.”

Simon can’t argue with him. He knows that what he did was wrong and Price is well within his right to act on his threat. Hell Simon was about to do it himself if it meant he could rewind time and take back what he said.

However he is still Lieutenant Ghost in this moment. He narrows his dark eyes at Price and slowly takes his hand off of his vest. Nothing but lethal silence fills the space between the two men. Bystanders are growing increasingly desperate for action, practically yipping like starving hyenas for a scrap.

“You have 30 seconds to get out of my sight.”

Price steps away and Simon disappears into the darkness. The hyenas howl in hunger around them, chattering about the unfairness of it all.

Simon calls you the moment he’s locked away in his room. He spends the next hour apologizing profusely to you and damn near begging you to wait for him. It’ll be a few weeks until he’s back but please…just wait for him.

[lovethyauthors]

Omg!!!!!! Ma’am I am BEGGING you for more!! I need to more protective!tf141 and some grovelling happening from ghost!!!

You’re literally amazing thank you for blessing us with this!

consider pt2 of puppy and simon but simon gets his shit together and theres a happy ending ORRRR one of the guys (price, gaz, soap) stops by and is actually APPALLED at how puppy looks and is being treated and they just get snatched up and taken to a better home while simon gets chewed out

i was going originally do a 2 in 1 but everyone got so excited so we'll do second first then MAYBE simon can get some redemption. anyway, this ones for u anon <3

PART ONE

Ghost had been home early that day for another reason as well: a two-week deployment that he’s supposed to be packing up for. 

Only once you fell asleep on the couch had he finally made his presence known and walked towards his bedroom. He doesn't tell you when he tightens the straps of his gear while his things lean against the door, a white sheet of paper left for you on the coffee table. He didn't bother telling you verbally, it didn't seem right to wake you—he couldn't if he tried nor did he have the courage to touch you either. Besides, he didn't want to deal with this right now, not having the energy for your whines, incessant questions or the pitiful look that you now wore even in your slumber. He’d handle all of this when he comes back, that’s right he’ll figure it all out after the mission.

You woke to a silence, again, and immediately noticed the shift of surroundings; by that, it was the note, the one that you couldn't read. 

So you waited, and waited, the day passing by slowly with little to no entertainment left for you to manage. At least when he was home he could navigate the apps like Netflix, putting on shows that make you want to giggle so hard that you had to stuff your tail in your mouth to ensure you made no sound. But no one comes home and so you spend the night alone, still waiting upon his return like the loyal dog you are. 

Thankfully, there’s an abundance of food for you in the fridge though you don't feel like you’re allowed to take any of it, afraid he’d appear out of nowhere and scold you. He never had before, and you still kind of hope he does one day, just to know he sees you. The third day is incredibly cold and despite the blankets you’ve swamped on yourself, your ears have flattened to preserve as much heat as possible. Huddling on the couch isn't doing much, and the thermostat buttons are near impossible for you to wrap your head around, left to shiver and wish that you had a bed to lay upon. Since he usually had no one else to worry about, he had it on an automatic setting so that his bedroom would be the only room heated during the night. It saved money in winter, and of course he never got cold, but now it was the bane of your existence. His room was off limits; he had firmly told you that, but there was only so much of the cold you could handle. 

You whined pitifully as you curled up on the floor in front of the bedroom door, desperate for a feel of the warmth seeping through the cracks beneath. Maybe this was all planned; perhaps some kind of loyalty test or to see how adaptable you were. The thought didn't comfort you though, well aware that you weren’t supposed to be an attack dog; you were far too weak for anything of the sort. Again, another night passed, alone and quiet.

The thunder was starting to scare you now, the great rumble haunting you every time the sun fell, and the sky began to grow darker. It made you hide beneath the dining room table, hands covering your ears as you sniffled quietly. It was too similar to the loud bangs in the facility, when one of you would be punished and the only sound heard was the slap of the whip against the metal pipe next to where the hybrid would stand. Likewise, it didn't help that the couple next door would argue more and more aggressively these days, screaming curses you couldn’t understand and slamming doors shut so loudly. Sometimes at night you’d hear the small patter of footsteps, a drunk walking through the flat, but you could only lay awake in the safety of the bathtub, hoping no one could get through the locked door.

It was only the seventh day when someone finally came by, the doorknob turning making your heart fill with relief knowing Ghost had returned, before quickly filling with dread when you realised it may not be him at all. You curl behind the couch, squashed to say the least but one of the best spots you can consider. Only a small glimpse of the door is visible from your hiding spot, a man entering only to reveal another following close behind. They’re both military men, strong and bulky, one with darker skin and velvety eyes and the other lighter, intense blue in his irises. As they approach the living room, you can see them better as they snoop around. 

“Where’s the pup?” The one with a mohawk says, eyebrows furrowed as he crouches to look beneath the table. You’re suddenly grateful you chose not to hide there. “Price said they should be here… maybe they’re in Ghost’s room?” They seem to know him which is a good sign, but you’re afraid now, wondering if this really was a setup, one to take you far away for good. You tremble as you think over it, unable to stop the tiny sniffle that escapes you. 

The brown eyes meet with yours, crouched at one end of the couch as you hide the best you can in the darkness that comes with it. “There you are. Are you going to come out of there? We just wanna make sure you’re doing okay whilst he's on deployment.”

Deployment? What’s that? You didn't understand the word, nor could you formulate much of a response to him, only staring back at him in return. He carefully reaches out, taking one hand to see if you’ll be okay with him touching you before using both of his hands to slip to your waist and gently pull you out. You’re light–or maybe he’s just that strong.  Shorter than him too, thanks to your crossbreed genes. He has no problem settling you on the couch cushions, the mohawk man approaching once he realises, but you’re caught off guard by the man who lifted you, who now had a hand outstretched towards you. You take it and he shakes it gently. “I’m Kyle, but you might hear someone refer to me as Gaz too.”

The other one is not as careful as Kyle, walking right up to you and eyeing your tail before crouching to meet your height, just so he isn't as tall and intimidating as he had been before. “Ye don't look too happy lass, bet you’ve been missin’ Ghost a lot, hm?” He reaches out his hand too, shaking yours a little more fervently than Kyle had, but you just look blankly back at him. “Johnny, or Soap, up to ya.” It’s weird, you had been begging for someone to come by, someone to fill the void in this apartment. But now you were silent, unknowing what to say, what to do, waiting for orders rather than the playful innocence you used to own.

Though Kyle is more concerned about the temperature in the room, seeing as you have goosebumps climbing up your arms. “Why’re you so cold? Did Ghost not show you how to change the thermostat?” You shake your head, showing your first sign of response before he picks up the note Ghost left. “Oh, there are instructions here though? See, Ghost wrote you turn it clockwise and then press the set button—”

“I can’t read.” Finally, you speak, sickness filling your gut when his eyebrows raise like that, the fur on your tail stilling as Soap’s touch. You don't have to look behind to see Soap’s reaction, the shame already thick as it filters through you, from your head down to the jelly feeling of your legs. 

The two of them excuse themselves, whispering quietly to each other in the kitchen. They keep nervously glancing back at you, murmuring things like ‘Shouldn’t Ghost have known she couldn't read?’ and ‘Price said she was a bubbly little thing, only a little shaken up. What happened?’ 

You’re not sure if you should tell them that your ears can pick up on everything they're saying, especially due to your hybrid genes. It seems a little rude to intrude, so you eventually just settle on holding your ears down with the palms of your hands instead.

Eventually they return, Soap gently brushing a finger over the curve of your ears and nudging your fingers away. The fluffy ears atop your head flicker up, perking once more as he scratches at the base. “How about you come with us, hm?”

He had expected gratitude, maybe even a hug for saving you from the perilous neglect you were clearly experiencing, but you don't, just stare back at them silently. This is it, you think. This is where you’re stripped away from the one you’re supposed to be loyal to, too useless to stay in line like you should’ve. “Did I.. fail the test?” You eventually murmur out, half expecting for Ghost to pop out and give you that absent glare, the one that makes you tremble more than this cold ever would. Gaz just quietly shakes his head at you, confused before gently sitting on the couch beside you. “No—no. You’re clearly not doing well, and Ghost is still on deployment so—”

“What is deployment?”

“He didn't tell you that either..?”

Soon enough you’re wrapped in Soap’s thick jacket as you ride in the back of their truck, eyes lost on the surroundings outside as they mutter amongst themselves. You had told them you could hear them, but they didn't seem to mind, and now they discussed quietly what they’d need for you whilst you stayed at base. After a bit of back and forth, Gaz explained to you that he wasn't taking you away from Ghost, just looking after you while he was out. He looked noticeably worried though about the idea of leaving you with him again. Something nags at you though, a little parasite saying it's because of the fact he deems you as annoying as Ghost does—if Ghost hadn’t told them already that is.

They lead you through the halls, Kyle’s gentle hand in yours that you just let him take; it’s not like you’d ever fight back anyway. People were staring though, soldiers who looked abnormal in their tight gear, dangerous weapons carelessly handled and yet you’re ogled at, watched and scrutinised. It feels like punishment enough, to be seen, and you’re starting to wonder if this is what it would have felt if Ghost really had talked to you. Your hand subconsciously squeezes Kyle’s as you step into Price’s office whom they had called up earlier, nervously explaining the situation to him. Now he greets you warmly, albeit looking a little too tired as it is. But he doesn't show it in his manner, gesturing for you to take a seat which you do, albeit very quietly. You remember him; he had been the one to leave you in front of Ghost’s door, murmuring empty promises that he’d warm up eventually, and you’d just ‘have to be good for him’. 

“Bet this deployment has been hitting you hard. Let’s have a talk, hm?” He takes a seat on the couch opposite you, your hand somehow still in Kyle’s who takes a seat beside you but not too close, allowing some space for you to breathe at the very least. “How’s living with Ghost?” 

You’re quiet, almost silenced, but he knows you can and will speak since Soap had told him so. There’s not much point in this conversation with them, at least that’s what you’re convinced. Forcing the wrong puzzle piece wouldn’t work, just like shoving you with an owner just because he has some issues to sort out. Sure, it was better than being on the streets, and you were excited at first, wondering if this was actually where those hybrid disappearance cases really ended up. A warm home, hot food and someone who treated you well, not as a princess but as a person. Now it only felt like a countdown, a series of stages to make sure you were given a fair treatment, but the end goal was always the same—you would return to the streets.

A warm hand on your shoulder snaps you out, blue eyes looking straight at you. “Lass?” They must’ve been watching you whilst you were lost in your head, swimming deep in your thoughts, because now they’re all staring intently for a response you can't give.

“Okay, how about yes or no questions? Price offers, and you slowly nod your head in response. Ghost was still yours though, or rather you were his. You refused to demonise him, refused to cry and wail about how he’s shown you nothing but misery, he wasn't that bad—but that was true, would you even have to bother defending him?

“Has he been feeding you?” Nod

“Bought you clothes?” Well, he tasked a soldier with the budget, and now you have a good few sets available to you. Nod

“Was your tail like this before he left?” Nod

The two younger soldiers share a glance, one that you can feel burn into your skin. 

“Did you tell him you couldn't read?” Shake.

He raises a brow, looks at the others and then back to you again. You’re getting bored by this now, the drag of this all, the inevitable end playing with your heart. “Did he not ever tell you how to change the thermostat then? Kyle said it was freezing.”

“He never speaks to me.”

It’s like a pin has dropped in this room, somehow the bustle soldiers that filled the halls grew quieter. Or maybe it’s because Soap hands have curved around your waist, pushing your face into his chest, the one that’s dripping with salty wetness. You don't remember your voice trembling the whole time, nor your hand squeezing Gaz’s so hard. But it hits you like a tidal wave, the realisation that comes with the silence, the hurt that comes with it. You knew, but you didn't really let it sink in– how you were treated, how he acted, how he hated you. And now you shake, hard, hushed voices of comfort fading as your eyes squeeze close, hands clenched near your broken heart. 

Taglist: @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @alyssajofreitas @asksergantdrift @pinkfqiry @gogeroni @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @thetastewassweeter @dreamtofus @milanriol @xsoftdead18 @zozo-spooks @calicocelt @kiwijustreallylovesfanfiction @ddaikko @softhandsofgingercat @iiriam

[lovethyauthors]

Ma’am 😩😩 I didn’t even THINK about scent blockers!!!! Literally amazing because yes she totally would, and yes it would totally hurt the guys and I love that - they deserve a little suffering, as a treat (to me at least).

Literally everything you write sets me off because wdym stressed? 👀 stressed enough to be distracted in the field? 👀👀 stressed enough to get hurt? 👀👀👀

Does that solidify her decision even more because now instead of just annoying them she’s responsible for them being physically hurt? All she knows is that she needs to put an end to this as soon as possible.

Hey friend. I've put off this ask a little while, because I'm sure you're tired of getting it by now, but... are there any updates on the neglected! reader (a/b/o)? I really liked that one, and though I have no issues with the second part not being done yet, a little progress update (if you want to add one) would be very cool! Thanks for writing :)

ugh i know i've been putting it off for a long time but i haven't abandoned it guys! just feeling very stuck with where the narrative is sitting rn 🥲 however, here's a little tease of the beginning of part two, keep in mind it may not be written exactly like this when i post it:

"what?" kyle mumbles, rising from john's lap to grapple with the sudden coldness that overcomes him. no one else says anything, but you can see how your words affect the rest of them: john stiffens in his seat, simon's dismissive glance has turned into a burning glare, and johnny's hand has slipped from where it was resting on his captain's shoulder, a look of confusion and panic twisting on his face.

your anxiety may have dissipated, but that doesn't make this any easier. the air feels too tense, too uncomfortable. you don't like how agitated everyone's scents became the moment you walked in, and it hurts even more knowing they didn't even try to hide it. you don't like seeing them all together here like this. you don't like that you're believing that spiteful little voice in the back of your mind jeering at you that they've been planning your departure, planning how to break the news to you that you're not worth the hassle anymore.

it only makes sense why they're all cooped up in john's office, whispering amongst themselves.

"darling, what are you talking about?" john's voice cuts through your thoughts, but you try not to find comfort in it. he stands from his seat, and you try not to reveal how much you've missed his scent despite how thick it is with stress. your omega has been quiet for a while, but now that you're gathered in one place like this, she's getting restless, simultaneously wanting to hiss at them and cling to anyone who will spare a scrap of affection.

"please, captain, just do it. i don't want to be a burden any longer." you'll beg if that's what it takes; you'll get on your knees and clasp your hands together if it means saving them from unnecessary stress and annoyance and you from further heartbreak.

the earnestness in your voice is so strong it bites at them because how could you even suggest something like that? how could they even consider their pack whole if you're not there?

but hearing his rank fall from your lips leaves a bitter taste in john's mouth and a knot forming in his stomach. it's unnatural to hear you call him that while sounding so defeated and miserable. it's scary to feel so out of control when he's supposed to be your captain, your head alpha.

to know he's let you down so much makes his alpha growl pathetically in shame; how can he even consider himself a leader?

[lovethyauthors]

AHH OK well now you’ve got me thinking, what if there is no one Reason, what if they’re just stressed and distracted from the day to day of their jobs and just don’t notice how she’s feeling? Or if they do notice they think she needs space to work it out herself? OR WORSE what if they are actually annoyed with how often she checks in on them? Not enough to not want to be with her but just needing some space?

She’d eventually drop the whole break the bond request, though not after some arguing / begging I’m sure, and pretend like it’s ok but would walk away from the conversation CONVINCED she needs to change to keep her team happy. So she sets out to be more like Johnny, minimizing her needs, trying to get by on the bare minimum.

OR she accepts that Price won’t break the bond now so she decides to distance herself to save herself the heartbreak, to make their bond weaker so next time she asks, they’ll be as ready to get rid of her as she thinks they already are.

Either way it’s not a fun time for anyone as the team starts to notice how she’s slipping away, how she’s not their sweet, comforting girl anymore.

Price is confused when days go by and she doesn’t pop into his office once, doesn’t come check on him, doesn’t remind him to take a break and eat if he hasn’t. When he gives in and just calls her to his office, he’s hurt by how she stands by the door, shuffling her feet like she can’t wait to leave, and avoids eye contact at any cost. He wants his warm and bubbly girl back who would walk into his office and plop herself down on his lap like it was her rightful place, who would steal kisses and snuggles while he was filling out paperwork and he doesn’t know what he needs to do to get her back.

Simon has never been chatty, content to always let her drone on about the little things while he listens and chimes in when needed. He doesn’t realize how much he misses her sweet voice and giggles, how much they make him feel normal instead of the monster everyone else assumes he is, until she stops seeking him out. Now, everything she says to him is monotone and soulless, and only ever related to work. She never sticks around for long after she’s said what she needed too, never rewards him with the beaming smile at the end of her words like she used to and he hates it!! He hates that she seems like she’s been turned into a shell of her former self!! He tried to remember what she used to like to talk about, tries to follow up on those conversations, asks her about the things she could’ve ranted about for hours, only to receive a shrug and short answer. Simon doesn’t remember being this anxious trying to have a conversation since he was a child, and after the third time being shut down, he decides he’s had enough and storms in to Price’s office because they need to fix this! It’s tearing their little family apart, even Soap and Gaz are feeling the effects, and he’s had enough!!

Soap and Gaz who’ve tried to be much more gentle only to have her recoil at their smallest touch, always slipping out of their fingers, always having an excuse for why she needed to leave. Soap and Gaz who are torn between watching her leave and following her, not knowing what the right thing to do is in this new world they’ve found themselves in. They look to Ghost and Price for guidance, for leadership, but they’re just as lost, only knowing that they’re loosing her piece by piece.

Mmmmmm I can’t decide if they confront her about her new behaviour and the clear effects it’s having on her (because surprise surprise sacrificing your needs to keep others happy isn’t healthy if her weak and tired state and constantly sad smell is anything to go off of). If they do, I can see her finally being angry, yelling at them that they need to make up their minds about what they want from her, and as much as it hurts them to think that she’s been acting this way because she thinks it’s what they want, they’re relieved that at least she’s talking to them again, at least she has her spark back.

Or maybe they’re too cautious, maybe they avoid saying anything for fear of making it worse, of upsetting her more so they just don’t. And then they’re sent on a mission, gone for two months as they try to save the world from certain doom, at least content in knowing their entire world is home, safe, even if she’s upset. Does distance make the heart grow fonder? Or is it a trial run for separation? Because as hard as it is, as much as each day away from them hurts her, it makes it even more clear what she has to do.

Finally they’re back home, all safe, all alive, minor injuries that don’t really mean much anymore, not in their field of work. And they’ll take her comforting presence over anything, no matter how distant, no matter how cold. What they can’t take however is her request for Price to break the bond again. Four elite soldiers, used to death and blood and war, reduced to tears because for the first time they feel hopeless. Simon secretly wonders if it would’ve been less painful to bleed out on the battlefield than come back home to this.

Hey friend. I've put off this ask a little while, because I'm sure you're tired of getting it by now, but... are there any updates on the neglected! reader (a/b/o)? I really liked that one, and though I have no issues with the second part not being done yet, a little progress update (if you want to add one) would be very cool! Thanks for writing :)

ugh i know i've been putting it off for a long time but i haven't abandoned it guys! just feeling very stuck with where the narrative is sitting rn 🥲 however, here's a little tease of the beginning of part two, keep in mind it may not be written exactly like this when i post it:

"what?" kyle mumbles, rising from john's lap to grapple with the sudden coldness that overcomes him. no one else says anything, but you can see how your words affect the rest of them: john stiffens in his seat, simon's dismissive glance has turned into a burning glare, and johnny's hand has slipped from where it was resting on his captain's shoulder, a look of confusion and panic twisting on his face.

your anxiety may have dissipated, but that doesn't make this any easier. the air feels too tense, too uncomfortable. you don't like how agitated everyone's scents became the moment you walked in, and it hurts even more knowing they didn't even try to hide it. you don't like seeing them all together here like this. you don't like that you're believing that spiteful little voice in the back of your mind jeering at you that they've been planning your departure, planning how to break the news to you that you're not worth the hassle anymore.

it only makes sense why they're all cooped up in john's office, whispering amongst themselves.

"darling, what are you talking about?" john's voice cuts through your thoughts, but you try not to find comfort in it. he stands from his seat, and you try not to reveal how much you've missed his scent despite how thick it is with stress. your omega has been quiet for a while, but now that you're gathered in one place like this, she's getting restless, simultaneously wanting to hiss at them and cling to anyone who will spare a scrap of affection.

"please, captain, just do it. i don't want to be a burden any longer." you'll beg if that's what it takes; you'll get on your knees and clasp your hands together if it means saving them from unnecessary stress and annoyance and you from further heartbreak.

the earnestness in your voice is so strong it bites at them because how could you even suggest something like that? how could they even consider their pack whole if you're not there?

but hearing his rank fall from your lips leaves a bitter taste in john's mouth and a knot forming in his stomach. it's unnatural to hear you call him that while sounding so defeated and miserable. it's scary to feel so out of control when he's supposed to be your captain, your head alpha.

to know he's let you down so much makes his alpha growl pathetically in shame; how can he even consider himself a leader?

[lovethyauthors]

OP I LOVE YOU

I’ll just be over here not thinking about how their hearts drop when reader says that and panic takes over. Definitely not thinking about how the confusion fades into heartbreak when reader refers to herself as a burden, and their minds are racing trying to figure out how she could possibly think that.

Not thinking about how Price was only used to reader calling him captain in a flirty way at home or on missions, always feeling grounded when she says it, and how wrong it feels now, hearing it dejected and pained and it’s his fault, it’s all his fault, he’s let his team down. Everything he’s done is to keep his team safe and this means he’s failed, spectacularly.

I’m also not thinking about ghost and how this makes him feel, growing up believing he wasn’t worthy of love but then she came into his life swinging, and knocked all his walls down, made him believe he was worthy! And good!! And deserving of the little family their team had become!!! And now feels his heart cracking at having it all ripped away from him, a persistent voice in his head taunting him, telling him he should’ve known it was too good to be true, telling him he didn’t deserve it, not after all the things he’s done.

And SOAP and Gaz who can’t stop thinking that they’ve known better, should’ve done more, when they smelled her sour scent, should’ve been more persistent when she slammed the door in their face. And now they’re losing her, they’re losing their family!

Don’t mind me, I’m not thinking about how delicious the angst will be when they try to explain that no she’s not a burden, they’ve been distant not because they don’t love her but because they’ve been so caught up dealing with a threat against her life, or whatever other reason they’ve been acting like assholes, and didn’t want to scare her. They’re not excluding her from the meetings because they don’t want her there, they’re just trying to protect her without scaring her.

I’m even more so not thinking about how long it’d take them to try to convince her they still love her, how much it’ll break their hearts that even after she forgives them, there’s still a piece of her heart that doubts them, because it’s not so easy to repair things you’ve carelessly broken. They’ll need to earn back her trust piece by piece and it’s like walking over hot coals to think that they’re the reason why she feels like this now, but by god they’ll do it like the good soldiers they are, nothing in their training has taught them to back down from a fight and they certainly won’t in the most important fight of their lives.

Yup, definitely not thinking of any of that at all, no thoughts, head empty. Excuse me while I go sob in a corner 😭😭

Hey friend. I've put off this ask a little while, because I'm sure you're tired of getting it by now, but... are there any updates on the neglected! reader (a/b/o)? I really liked that one, and though I have no issues with the second part not being done yet, a little progress update (if you want to add one) would be very cool! Thanks for writing :)

ugh i know i've been putting it off for a long time but i haven't abandoned it guys! just feeling very stuck with where the narrative is sitting rn 🥲 however, here's a little tease of the beginning of part two, keep in mind it may not be written exactly like this when i post it:

"what?" kyle mumbles, rising from john's lap to grapple with the sudden coldness that overcomes him. no one else says anything, but you can see how your words affect the rest of them: john stiffens in his seat, simon's dismissive glance has turned into a burning glare, and johnny's hand has slipped from where it was resting on his captain's shoulder, a look of confusion and panic twisting on his face.

your anxiety may have dissipated, but that doesn't make this any easier. the air feels too tense, too uncomfortable. you don't like how agitated everyone's scents became the moment you walked in, and it hurts even more knowing they didn't even try to hide it. you don't like seeing them all together here like this. you don't like that you're believing that spiteful little voice in the back of your mind jeering at you that they've been planning your departure, planning how to break the news to you that you're not worth the hassle anymore.

it only makes sense why they're all cooped up in john's office, whispering amongst themselves.

"darling, what are you talking about?" john's voice cuts through your thoughts, but you try not to find comfort in it. he stands from his seat, and you try not to reveal how much you've missed his scent despite how thick it is with stress. your omega has been quiet for a while, but now that you're gathered in one place like this, she's getting restless, simultaneously wanting to hiss at them and cling to anyone who will spare a scrap of affection.

"please, captain, just do it. i don't want to be a burden any longer." you'll beg if that's what it takes; you'll get on your knees and clasp your hands together if it means saving them from unnecessary stress and annoyance and you from further heartbreak.

the earnestness in your voice is so strong it bites at them because how could you even suggest something like that? how could they even consider their pack whole if you're not there?

but hearing his rank fall from your lips leaves a bitter taste in john's mouth and a knot forming in his stomach. it's unnatural to hear you call him that while sounding so defeated and miserable. it's scary to feel so out of control when he's supposed to be your captain, your head alpha.

to know he's let you down so much makes his alpha growl pathetically in shame; how can he even consider himself a leader?

[lovethyauthors]

Op the writer that you are 😭😭😭 this trope is god tier and so so well executed!!!!

The feelings! The self doubt!!!!! The oh I’ll deal with the problem for them by taking myself out of the equation!!!!

Cannot wait to see the team SUFFER when they find out what’s going on!!!

cw omegaverse, noncon touching, neglected!reader

you're slowly convincing yourself that your pack is trying to get rid of you. they've been acting off around you for weeks, and you aren't sure why you've been pushed to the side.

john snaps at you more often now, even during downtime when you're seeking comfort from your head alpha. the soft look he usually directs at you has been replaced by a scowl, and you're not sure if it's from the tedious amount of work and stress that weighs on his shoulders or if it's because you pop into his office every few hours to check on him. maybe you're just making it worse for him—you don't miss the way his face scrunches up whenever you appear in his doorway—so you visit him less often. hopefully he'll appreciate it if you take your sad, sour scent somewhere else.

which leads you to simon, who doesn't seem to notice you at all, not until you approach him first, and then you regret your actions when he greets you with nothing more than a grunt. there's that distant, eerie look in his eyes as he impatiently stares down at you, cocking his head to the side as your words get caught up in your throat. he's been easier to aggravate lately, and unfortunately his irritation doesn't evade you. you can't remember the last time you saw him this guarded around you—maybe when you first joined, although it wasn't this bad—but it still stings nonetheless.

"spit it out, peanut. i don't 'ave all day." your silly callsign rolls off his tongue less affectionately than usual, and you try to scrape up a reason to talk to him, as if being his mate isn't enough. when you finally ask if he's seen the other sergeants, he only scoffs and shakes his head, stalking right past you.

the blatant disregard from both your alphas has your chest aching uncomfortably and your throat winding up tight, but you walk off to somewhere else, wanting to find some dark corner so you can cry all of your frustration out.

you know you should be happy when you bump into your other two mates, grateful even. johnny crowds your front while kyle embraces you from behind, the two of them cooing at your weepy state and promising to make it all better.

but their touches are rougher than you want them to be, and kyle's grinding on you with more hunger than you can handle right now, and johnny's nosing down your neck, whispering promises of turning you pliant and brainless in a second, and you're growing more stressed each time they paw at your body as if you're just their little fuck doll—

you wrestle out of their grip and shove them both away before storming off to your room, leaving the two of them to simmer in the remnants of your stressed and upset scent, the sourness of it hitting them both at the same time. whatever heat they were feeling before is replaced with alarm, and when they try to follow you, you slam the door in their faces, choked-up sobs leaving your mouth as you slump down on your bed.

no one checks up on you that evening—not to apologise, not to see if you're okay, not even to ask if you're hungry. the smell of a distressed omega seeps out of the cracks of your door and wafts around your room, but no one comes. they must really not want you, then.

you tell yourself you're too needy. you're a strain on your alphas, always demanding their attention. you feel like an embarrassment compared to johnny, who, despite being another young omega, can get by with a simple pat on the shoulder, purring away in satisfaction. you're not levelheaded like kyle, or grounding like simon. obviously, if you were, your alphas would be all over you.

the nasty thoughts haunt your mind until you're quietly getting out of bed and walking down to john's office. you know you smell pathetic, but you keep your head down as you walk past other soldiers, who are no doubt pitying you right now.

still, you keep on walking. you need to tell john to break the bond, to rid the pack of you. it needs to be done, even as your heart squeezes painfully and you're close to letting out a sob.

you don't bother knocking, but when you walk in to the sight of kyle sitting on john's lap while simon and johnny stand on either side of their captain as they converse among themselves, you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you up already.

john notices you first, but you don't catch the way his gaze softens at the sight of your weak state. you know that they all can smell the distress on you, but you try to steady your voice and wipe the tears that are beginning to form again.

"i want to break the bond."

four pairs of eyes zero in on you, and despite the tension in the room and the seriousness of your words, despite your anger and hurt, you can't help but relax slightly as the anxiety gradually melts away. finally, they're paying attention to you.

[lovethyauthors]

Love love love love!!!!!!!!!! This makes me want to scream (in the best way possible), I want there to be 30 chapters of this, I want to inject this into my bloodstream

Thinking about how when you’re drunk—and I mean really drunk—you get it in your head to catcall men. They could use a little harassment. When you reach that point, your friends immediately know it’s time to cut you off, acting like the Secret Service as they usher you out of the bar and towards the Uber. But they couldn’t anticipate the group of men standing outside the bar swapping laughs and smoking.

Of course you pick the scariest one of the lot and:

“Hey!” you shout, half giggling. “Hey—you, in the mask!”

The man turns. You can’t see his mouth with the surgical mask in place but you can tell his eyebrows are raised. He’s fucking huge, towering over his counterparts (who are nothing to sniff at), thick and strong. His head cocks in silent question.

“Can I get your number?” you shout, licking your friend’s hand when she slaps it over your mouth. All your friends rush to brush the guy off, but he’s already ashing his cigarette under his boot, slipping his hands into his pocket, and crossing the street quietly.

He stays a healthy distance away, aware of how it looks: a man his size approaching a group of young, inebriated women. You think he’s come to harass you in return, or maybe just to mock you—either way you are stunned silent, mouth agape, eyes wide. He’s so much taller up this close.

“Got a pen?” he asks.

He only approaches then, shoulders hunched to make himself appear smaller and innocuous. He takes your hand in his own and writes his phone number on your forearm.

When you wake up hungover the next morning, his number is there on your arm along with a reminder that you hadn’t been able to see in the dim lighting of the parking lot: XXX-XXXX—S. Drink water.

[lovethyauthors]

This series is so fucking cute 🥹🥹🥹 I want this level of devotion or NOTHING

Wife at First Sight

A mini series of drabbles where Simon decides you’re his wife the moment he laid eyes on you

Part one (~800 words)

Part two (~300 words)

Part three (~900 words)

Part four (~600 words)

Part five (2k words)

Part six (2k words)

Part seven 18+ MDNI (2k words)

Main masterlist

[lovethyauthors]

Adorable, funny and pure fluff! Though take the warning to not read when you’re hungry seriously 😭

Midnight Snack Mystery (Simon 'Ghost' Fic) Part 1

Wife! Reader Pregnant! Reader Hungry! Reader Possessive! Ghost Possessive! Simon 'Ghost' Riley Possessive! Simon Ghost Riley Good Cook! Simon Ghost Riley Husband! Simon 'Ghost' Riley Hungry Wife! Reader. By this time he is already Captain or Major! or Lieutenant Col! Simon 'Ghost' Riley

 Part 2,  Part 3

Long, not so-long, but light hearted read. Warning: Don't read when hungry!! Summary: Pregnant with Simon's child, Y/N experiences intense late-night cravings. Her overprotective husband, Simon, keeps a close eye on her, ensuring she’s well taken care of. However, Y/N discovers a late-night noodle shop that serves her favorite foods—dumplings and noodles—and she can’t resist the temptation. She sneaks out in the dead of night for quick food runs, careful not to wake Simon. But Simon, ever the observant one, eventually catches her in the act and decides he’s not letting her sneak off again without a word.

----------

Midnight Snack Bust

Simon stirred slightly in his sleep, his instincts sharper than most even when off-duty. The weight on his chest—a comforting one—shifted, then disappeared altogether.

His eyes fluttered open in the darkness. Your side of the bed was empty, the covers pushed back, a slight chill left in their absence. Simon frowned. This wasn’t the first time.

He waited, still as a statue, listening for any sound that might tell him where you’d gone. The faint creak of the stairs gave you away.

Downstairs, you shuffled around the kitchen, carefully balancing a plate of toast smothered in butter, jam and honey. The thought of waking Simon was laughable—he was always in full protective mode, which meant no late-night snacks for you unless he hovered like a helicopter. Besides, you could handle it. The kitchen wasn’t that far from the bed.

Except, as you turned with your snack in hand, there he was.

Simon stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a shadowy figure of unimpressed authority. The glow from the fridge cast just enough light for you to see his raised brow.

“Really?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

You froze like a deer caught in headlights, the plate in your hands trembling slightly. “I was hungry.”

“You could’ve woken me.”

“It’s toast, Simon. I think I can manage toast.”

He stepped forward, his size practically swallowing the kitchen whole. “Not about the toast, love. It’s about the stairs. And you bein’ pregnant. You fall, then what?”

You rolled your eyes, but he plucked the plate from your hands, setting it on the counter. Without another word, he scooped you up—scooped, like a bloody princess—and started carrying you back to bed.

“Simon!” you protested, flailing slightly.

“Shush,” he muttered. “You’ve got enough on your plate—literally—without riskin’ your neck for a midnight snack.”

----------

Back in bed, Simon pulled the covers over both of you, his arm locking you in place like a human seatbelt.

“Next time, wake me,” he said, his voice softer now. “You want toast, noodles, a bloody roast dinner—I’ll get it. Just don’t go sneakin’ about.”

You sighed, nestling into his chest. “Fine. But I’m holding you to the roast dinner.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Deal.”

---------- A Wonderful Discovery

One sunny afternoon, you and Price’s fiancée (A/N: Same person from Papa Bear!! Material ;) ) decided to meet at a charming little tea house. It had become a bit of a routine—your way of catching up without the boys around to interrupt with their dry humor and war stories.

She was her usual lively self, flipping through the menu even though she’d already decided on her order. You admired how she could make even the simplest thing—like picking a biscuit—seem like an adventure.

“I’ve got to tell you,” she said suddenly, setting her menu down. “There’s this noodle shop. Open late. Best dumplings you’ll ever have. Like, melt-in-your-mouth, life-changing dumplings.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Late-night noodles? Around here?”

She nodded, leaning forward as if sharing a state secret. “Not just noodles—bao buns, dumplings, the works. I discovered it after one of those long nights when John was stuck at the base, and I didn’t feel like cooking. It’s a lifesaver. You’re lucky—it’s right near your place.”

Your interest piqued immediately. The thought of sneaking out for some steaming hot noodles had your mouth watering. “How late are we talking?”

She grinned. “Oh, past midnight. Maybe even 2 or 3 AM.”

----------

That night, as you lay in bed listening to Simon’s soft snores, the thought of that noodle shop lingered. You could almost taste the broth, the tender dumplings, the savory goodness of a late-night food escapade.

The idea began to take root.

----------

Late Night Escape

The idea simmered in your mind all evening. By the time Simon had brushed his teeth, pulled on his oversized sleep shirt, and settled into bed, it had blossomed into a full-blown plan.

You waited. And waited. Timing was everything. Simon’s arm, draped heavily across your waist, rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. His presence was solid and warm, a comforting weight—but tonight, it was your obstacle.

Carefully, you began to inch away, moving like a prisoner attempting to slip past a sleeping guard. His hand twitched, and you froze, holding your breath. After a long moment, he let out a soft snore.

Victory.

Sliding out of bed, you padded quietly to the wardrobe, pulling on Simon’s oversized hoodie and slipping into your trusty anti-slip slippers. The eco bag was stashed by the door, waiting. You slipped it over your shoulder, opened the door as quietly as you could, and stepped out into the cool night air.

The noodle shop wasn’t far, but with the chill nipping at your cheeks, it felt like forever. When you finally reached the warm glow of the restaurant, the smells of rich broth and freshly steamed dumplings greeted you like an old friend.

Sliding into a seat, you ordered a large bowl of noodles and a plate of dumplings. The first bite was pure heaven—warm, savory, comforting. This wasn’t just food. This was rebellion. A delicious act of defiance against Simon’s overprotectiveness.

You ate quickly, savoring each bite but keeping an eye on the clock. You couldn’t risk being gone too long, or Simon might wake up. When you finished, you wiped your hands, packed your leftovers into your eco bag, and headed home, feeling victorious.

----------

Simon hadn’t stirred when you returned. You slipped into bed, placing the bag under the bed for good measure. His arm instinctively found your waist again, and you smiled to yourself, utterly pleased.

But this wasn’t going to be a one-time thing.

----------

First Catch

It started feeling too easy. You’d mastered the art of sneaking out: the slow, deliberate slide from under Simon’s arm, the silent shuffle to the door, and the perfectly timed return. Your noodle escapades had become a nightly ritual.

But then, one night, your luck ran out.

You were tiptoeing into the kitchen, quietly opening the fridge to stash the leftover dumplings behind the unassuming bag of lettuce Simon would never touch, when a deep voice cut through the silence.

“Late-night fridge rearranging, are we?”

You jumped, spinning around with a gasp. Simon was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, his imposing figure illuminated by the dim light of the open fridge.

Your mind scrambled for an excuse. “Uh... just wanted some water.”

“In my hoodie? And with an eco bag?” His eyebrow arched, unimpressed.

You tried to tuck the bag behind you, but Simon’s sharp eyes had already caught the unmistakable sheen of takeout containers poking out from the top. He strode forward, plucked the bag from your hands with an annoyingly effortless tug, and opened it.

The aroma of noodles and dumplings betrayed you instantly.

“Water, huh?” He held up a dumpling with mock seriousness. “This what they’re calling it these days?”

You gulped.

----------

Minutes later, you found yourself seated at the kitchen table like a scolded child. Simon, clad in sweatpants and a scowl, had taken over the stove. The sight of him cooking—rolling up his sleeves with a tired sigh—might’ve been endearing if you weren’t on the receiving end of his disapproval.

“You could’ve woken me,” he grumbled, cracking eggs into a bowl with more force than necessary.

“You were sleeping,” you mumbled.

“I’d rather get up than have you sneakin’ around at night,” he said, his tone gruff. “What if somethin’ happened, eh? You’re waddling about in the dark like a burglar.”

You snorted at the image, which earned you a sharp look.

“Not funny,” he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ll make the bloody noodles if that’s what you want. Just stop sneakin’ out.”

You stayed silent, chewing on your lower lip. No way were you telling him about the noodle shop.

---------

Close Call

Old habits die hard. A few nights later, you were returning from the noodle shop, quietly slipping into the kitchen to stash your leftovers behind the condiments, when Simon stirred upstairs.

He came padding down the stairs just as you were closing the fridge.

“You were gone,” he murmured groggily, rubbing his face.

“Kitchen,” you lied quickly, holding up an empty glass of water as proof.

He hummed, unconvinced, and squinted at you. “Should’ve woken me.”

“For the kitchen?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“For whatever,” he grunted, his eyes scanning the counter before settling on the fridge. “Don’t like you wanderin’ about on your own.”

You gave him your best innocent smile and shuffled past him toward the stairs. Simon followed a moment later, his suspicion lingering like a shadow.

----------

Growing Suspicion

It started with a nagging feeling Simon couldn’t shake. You were always warm when you came back to bed, slightly out of breath, and he could swear he caught the faintest hint of soy sauce and sesame lingering in the air.

One night, as you slid into bed beside him, he cracked an eye open just enough to catch you pulling off his oversized hoodie. You were trying to be quiet, moving with all the stealth of someone trying not to get caught.

He didn’t say anything. Not yet. But his mind was racing.

The next night, he pretended to be deep asleep as you started your routine. The slow untangling from his grasp, the soft shuffle to grab your hoodie and slippers. He cracked his eye open just as you tiptoed out of the room, eco bag in hand.

Simon lay there for a moment, his jaw tightening. He didn’t believe in jumping to conclusions without evidence—years of military experience had drilled that into him. But this was his wife, and the secrecy was starting to itch.

----------

The Watchful Eye

The next few nights, Simon kept up his act. He watched you go through the same routine: hoodie on, bag in hand, slippers padding softly across the floor. Each time, he waited until you were out of earshot before sitting up and staring at the door.

He debated following you right then and there but decided against it. Instead, he lay back, staring at the ceiling, letting the suspicion simmer.

Until one night, he’d had enough.

----------

Caught in the Act

Simon Riley, a man known for his ability to track an enemy through any terrain in total darkness, cracked one eye open as he heard the faint creak of the bedroom door. His wife, waddling like a stealthy penguin in his oversized hoodie, had escaped once again.

He sat up, running a hand down his face, and muttered, “Bloody hell.” This was the third time this week, and it was starting to feel personal. He reached for his jumper, his movements slow and deliberate.

By the time Simon made it outside, you were already a good distance ahead, waddling down the street with your eco bag swinging by your side. He trailed behind, staying in the shadows like a proper ghost, his breath visible in the chilly night air.

When you entered the noodle shop, he stopped just outside, watching through the window. You were already at a corner table, your face lighting up as the server placed a steaming bowl of noodles in front of you. Then came the dumplings, and your joy was almost palpable.

Simon shook his head, muttering, “Unbelievable,” before pushing the door open. The little bell above the door jingled, but you didn’t notice—too engrossed in your noodles.

He approached silently, stopping just behind you. “Enjoyin’ yourself, are ya?”

You froze mid-slurp, a noodle dangling from your lips. That voice. You’d recognize that deep, gravelly tone anywhere.

Slowly, you turned your head to see Simon standing there, arms crossed and a single brow arched. His expression was equal parts amusement and exasperation.

“I, uh…” You scrambled for an excuse, your voice muffled by the noodle still in your mouth. “Toilet break?”

“Toilet break?” he repeated, pulling out the chair across from you and sitting down. “Love, the loo doesn’t serve dumplings.”

A/N:

Just a heads up—Captain Price’s fiancée in this story is the same lady from Papa Bear Material—Mama Bear! So, if you've read that story, you might recognize her. As for the characters of Y/N, both are technically the same person, so feel free to choose who you identify with!

Y/N’s been caught. And now, Simon’s not having it. And with that, stay tuned for Part 2. Simon’s not letting this go anytime soon…

Edit: Part 2 is here!----->

[lovethyauthors]

Eeeeep I love this so much!!!!

Thinking about Simon accidentally scaring the shit out of reader who has never seen him in his mask/gear

Simon has done everything he can to separate his home from his work. He can’t let you see the side of him that they call Ghost.

It’s around 10:30pm when you first hear something in the kitchen. You’re reading your most recent book in bed when your ears pick up the quiet *thump* across the house.

You ignore it at first. It’s probably just the foundations of the old house settling, or maybe even a book falling over in Simon’s study. As it’s not unusual to hear small noises at night, you pay it no mind as you go about your business, locating the right spot on your page.

It’s not until you hear the third thump when you become suspicious of the strange noises. You bookmark your page and roll out of bed, padding over to your bedroom door to investigate the noise. It’s probably a fox outside trying to get in the rubbish, or maybe a branch hitting a window.

As soon as you open your door, you notice a soft glow coming from down the hallway. Strange, you must’ve forgotten to turn off the kitchen light. No biggie, it happens every now and then.

As you turn the corner to the living room/kitchen space, you stop dead in your tracks as you stare at the large figure behind the kitchen counter.

No. No, no no. This can’t be happening. Fuck, who is this? How’d he get in?

You gasp as you step back, bumping into the wall. The figure quickly turns around right before you run back down the hallway.

“Shit-“ you hear the voice in the kitchen curse as he thumps after you. He calls your name right as you trip on the carpet. How the fuck does he know your name?

You scramble on the floor, pressing yourself up against a wall and shutting your eyes. Fuck this is it. This is what Simon warned you about. He’s going to take you and torture you for information and you couldn’t even get to Simon’s gun in the study in time.

He turns the corner, calling your name again.

“No, no please! I don’t-“

“Love! It’s me! It’s me.” He cradles your face, forcing you to look towards him. You thrash, turning your face away from the man. “Look, look at me.” He says softly, trying to calm you down.

You know that voice. Slowly, you open your eyes to see him kneeling in front of you on the floor. You know those eyes.

“Simon?” You breathe softly, scanning the hard shell of his skull mask.

“Yeah, love. It’s just me. I’m here.” He slips off his mask, wiping away a stray tear that falls from your eye. You look into his brown eyes. Tired, concerned and filled with guilt. There’s some kind of black makeup smeared around them.

You catch your breath, taking in the sight before you as you scan his face. “Simon, what the fuck!?”

“I know, I know I’m sorry, love. I came straight from work. I wanted to… I forgot…” He struggles to find the words, glancing at his mask on the floor.

How could you have known that was him? That mask brings out the fear in hundreds of trained military men every day. That mask haunts their dreams, a powerful death omen that’s the last thing most see before they die. If they’re lucky enough to live, they warn their comrades about the skull. The Ghost…

Of course you’re terrified. This mask is designed to scare. And yet here he is late at night waltzing into your dark kitchen, donning not only the mask, but in full tactical gear as well. How fucking stupid could he be?

“I didn’t mean to scare you, gorgeous. I’m so sorry.” He strokes your hair.

Fuck, he can’t have you being scared of him. Not ever. Not after how he’s seen his mother cower in the very presence of his father every day of his life.

“You’ll never have to see that again, I promise, Love. I promise.” He whispers.

“It’s okay.” You chuckle. “You’re home early.” You point out as you card your hand through his messy blonde hair.

“That I am. Come on, let’s go take a shower and go to bed, yeah?” He rubs his nose against yours, causing you to giggle as he squeezes you tight. Oh how he’s missed that noise.

—

(I’m tired and not too proud of this one but here you go🫠)

[lovethyauthors]

THIS SERIES!!!!!!!!! THIS. SERIES.!!!! So I binged the entire thing and I am ruined????? Destroyed?? In the best way possible???? So much yummy yummy angst, the pacing is perfect and keeps you in the edge of your seat, and I’m a slut for stories where tough man feels and instead of saying anything he does things to show it but he’s so subtle about it (I’m saying the flowers at the end there killed me is what I’m saying). Also, love the see tough man suffer 🤷🏻‍♀️. The 3 additional blurbs are mandatory reads.

Warnings for very minimal gore. Mild spoiler warning but a fingers gets cut so if you’re sensitive about fingers.

Also no happy ending but it’s as happy as it could actually be, it’s a satisfying ending for sure.

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

[lovethyauthors]

Love love love love love!!!! The writing is beautiful, the emotions are gripping, and a rollercoaster of a story! Amazing!!!

I like to think that Jake gets his due soon.

Come Find Me | Bucky Barnes x Reader

I am back back back again! I have missed writing so much, I just don't have nearly the amount of time that I used to. But I'm in my last semester of school! So hopefully I'll be back on a consistent fanfic grind once I'm done :) PS: If you know what the title is referencing, you get a big hug from me.

Word Count: 13,439

Warnings: blood, talk of violence, reader injury

Bucky checked his texts every few minutes. Initially, he lied to himself about the reason behind it. He told himself he must’ve opened his conversation with you accidentally, or that he mistook an email notification for a text from you. Simple, innocent mistakes. 

Either way, he always ended up staring at your side of the conversation, hoping for a gray ellipsis to appear. 

But after a while, he could no longer deny the truth- and why would he want to? You were coming home. 

You hadn’t been gone long, and your mission was projected to be a cake walk. But he couldn’t help it; he missed you. He missed you when you went on missions, when you visited your parents out of state, when you slept in your room down the hall. Missing you was part of him now, woven into the fabric of his being. It matched the material of his soul perfectly, like he was always meant to feel this way.

He fired off a quick “let me know when you land” message and waited, hoping you’d write back soon. 

Usually, you texted him when you were headed back to the compound. It gave him a countdown to your return and something to look forward to. It also signaled to him that you were, in fact, coming home alive. Even if a bit banged up, you were well enough to shoot him a message. And that always eased his worries.

Today, however, was different. No text, no call.

It struck him as bizarre and sounded Bucky’s internal alarms. But he silenced them as best he could. He wasn’t going to let himself get worked up, not when you had a perfectly good reason for not messaging him.  

This was your first time leading a mission with a new recruit under your wing. Bucky knew you devoted your full attention to your trainee, giving him absolutely everything you had. You took this position- as well as your pupil’s safety and success- very seriously. He knew you were probably busy helping your recruit learn a swath of new things, and who was he to interrupt?

Bucky opened the log and saw your jet had been marked as ‘incoming’ only minutes ago. A sigh of relief left his chest and eased his muscles. Sure, he would’ve rather heard that information from you, but it didn’t matter. Your jet would be here soon; he had no reason to worry. 

The moment he saw that your jet was homeward bound, he lost the ability to think about anything else. He counted the minutes, the seconds. You had to be close, right? The log wouldn’t have said ‘Incoming’ if you were still hours away. 

To pass the time, he folded laundry, answered emails, reread a few chapters of The Hobbit- but he couldn’t focus. He thought of you, only you. And no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he couldn’t hang around his room any longer. He couldn’t stand it. He needed to be there when the jet landed. He needed to meet you on the steps of the aircraft and wrap you in a bear hug. 

And there was no real harm in waiting near the hangar, was there? ‘If anything,’ he told himself, ‘It’s actually more convenient for her if I meet her there. That way, I can carry her bag- she’s probably tired.’ 

Anything to rationalize his desperate need to be near you.

He knew in his heart of hearts that you didn’t need him to carry your bag or help you off the jet. But this lie was all the convincing he needed. Without hesitation, he ditched his room and set off down the hall, your impending homecoming pulling him forward. 

It was in that moment he noticed just how far the elevator was from his room. The walk seemed to stretch on and on, the hallway growing longer with each step. And how had he never noticed how slowly the elevator moved? It slid downward at a glacial pace, toying with his patience. For such an expensive, state of the art building, the elevator moved like an ancient piece of turn of the century machinery. Bucky cursed Tony’s engineering. 

Everything seemed to add time, multiplying his moments without you. The universe liked toying with him, teasing him. And this was just another cruel joke. 

The moment the doors opened, Bucky sprang free out into the hallway. He knocked into Clint and his group of trainees and called an apology over his shoulder without stopping. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t waste time- not when you could arrive at any moment. 

His field of view narrowed into tunnel vision, only allowing for visualization of the path toward the hangar. He didn’t greet his fellow team members or allow for distraction. You were his one-track mind. That is, until something stopped him. 

“Shit, sorry, man,” your trainee, Jake, laughed as he bumped into Bucky. He took a step to the side and attempted to continue down the hall, but Bucky blocked his path. 

“Jake?” Bucky eyed a bloody gash on Jake’s eyebrow, “when did you guys get back?”

Jake gave a casual shrug and checked his phone, “I don’t know, five minutes ago?”

“Oh, okay…” Bucky reached for his phone, but found his screen void of notifications. If you landed five minutes ago with your trainee safe and sound, why didn’t you send him a message? It was out of character for you. 

“Well, where’s your partner in crime? Or crime fighting, I guess,” Bucky tried to joke, but his tone was strained. He eyed each person who came around the corner, hoping to find your face. “Did you see which way she went?”

“Nah, she’s not here,” Jake was scrolling through Instagram, only half paying attention.

Bucky’s disappointed sigh left his chest deflated, empty. “Oh, did she say where she was going? Or when she’d be back?”

Jake pulled his focus from his phone and stared at Bucky with confusion on his face. His brows pulled together, his mouth hung slightly ajar. But finally, he made sense of Bucky’s words. “OHHH, okay, my bad- I think there was a miscommunication just now.”

Bucky sighed again- this time, with relief. 

“Yeah, no, she’s not here,” Jake continued, “because she didn’t make it back.”

Bucky’s ears started ringing. 

The sharp, piercing sound blocked out voices. Footsteps on the tile. Maybe Jake was trying to speak to him, but Bucky heard only the shrill sound of shock. Seconds later, his nerves fell numb. The utter absence of sensation disconnected him from his body. He was lost in a liminal atmosphere with no stability, no purchase. His entire being was shutting down, one sense at a time.

Bucky told himself to focus, to compute what he’d heard. He did his best to make sense of Jake’s words, but to no avail. His mind simply couldn’t understand the phrase “she didn’t make it back”. The words had shed their meaning entirely and sounded foreign to Bucky as they rattled around his skull. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin, and a cold sweat created a sheen across his face. He feared he might get sick. 

“I- I’m sorry,” he forced himself back into his body, back to the present. “I don’t think I understand.” 

“Things got pretty hairy- this was not the easy mission they said it would be,” Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not fair, I definitely got a way harder assignment for my first mission than all the other new agents, and I think it’s-” 

Bucky’s glare could’ve sliced Jake in half, “get to the point.”  

“Right, um,” Jake continued, “I told her over comms that I was leaving. I gave her plenty of time to meet me at the jet, but she didn’t answer. And she never came outside.” He shrugged, “I had to leave for my own safety.”

“So, you just-” Bucky felt himself losing his grip. “You left her there? Alone?” He didn’t realize he was shouting, didn’t realize he’d drawn attention to himself- until Agent Hill showed up.

She placed a light hand on Bucky’s tense shoulder, but instantly withdrew. He was shaking, practically vibrating under her palm. “Is there a problem here, guys? I don’t want-”

“He left her behind,” was all Bucky could manage.

Maria stared at Jake in disbelief, “you did what?”

A strange mixture of rage and heartbreak seethed behind Bucky’s eyes, “You don’t just abandon your partner-”

Jake’s attitude disgusted Bucky. He was detached, irritated. He rolled his eyes like an insolent child. “Relax, man. Jesus Christ, this isn’t the army. I didn’t promise to ‘leave no man behind’ or whatever-”

Bucky had heard enough. He lifted jake by the collar of his shirt, twisting the material in his metal fist. Jake’s head sent a sickening thud resounding through the space as Bucky forced him against the nearest wall.

“What the fuck?” Jake squirmed in Bucky’s grasp, “There are casualties in the field all the time, why am I being punished for-”

Bucky released Jake at once, sending him crashing to the floor. 

His voice was quiet, hollow. “Casualties?” He swallowed hard, “Is she-”

Jake shrugged at he rubbed at the bruise forming on his neck. “I don’t know, I assume so. I didn’t stick around to find out.” 

And just like that, Bucky was gone. 

He took off down the hall, forcing himself forward as a soul-crushing panic swallowed him whole. No matter how many times he blinked, no matter how fervently he shook his head, he couldn’t rid his mind of the picture Jake painted for him. Each time he shut his eyes he saw you- alone. Your bloodied, broken body laying collapsed against a wall of a Hydra base. Your skin slick with blood. Your skin cold. Void of life. 

He moved quickly, but not quick enough. He simply couldn’t outrun the familiar feeling closing in on him. His heavy, well-worn cloak of grief wound its way across his shoulders and twisted itself around his neck. He knew the suffocating sensation all too well. It weighed him down but couldn’t dampen his pace, nothing could; not when your life hung in the balance. 

He was too well acquainted with loss by now, too familiar with mourning. There’d been a time when he wondered if he’d ever grieve again. He’d lost his family, his friends, himself- what else was there? What more could he possibly lose? But the moment he met you, he knew he’d one day mourn again. He just didn’t realize that time would come so soon. 

A startling cold prickled at his skin, his lungs refused to inflate. How much time did you have left? How long would it take him to get to you? Were you even-

Hill’s voice yanked him out of his spiral, “Barnes, hey-” She made a grab at his shoulder, but her feeble attempt was no match for Bucky’s pace. “Where are you going?”

“To get her back.” Bucky’s tone was firm, resolute. He was going to bring you home or die trying.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hill nearly tripped over her own feet as she tried to keep up with Bucky’s long strides. “You heard what Jake said, it’s a dangerous location- more dangerous than we thought. I think it might be best to wait it out for a few days, let things calm down and then-”

Bucky turned suddenly, stopping Maria in her tracks. “I’m not just going to leave her there.”

Maria shrunk away from the fierceness in his eyes, “I know you’re upset, but she might not be-”

“I don’t care.” His gruff tone dissolved, making way for the fear he’d so desperately tried to hide. “Whether she’s alive or-” he couldn’t bring himself to voice the alternative. 

Bucky knew what it was like to be assumed dead. He knew what it was like to be left in the field. 

“She deserves to come home,” he said.

Maria couldn’t argue with him. 

“Round up as many members of the med team as you can and have them meet me in the hangar. We’re leaving in ten minutes- sooner if we can.” Bucky turned and resumed his previous path, “I’ll be in the armory.”

Bucky grabbed as much weaponry as his duffel would carry without splitting at the seams and made his way to the hangar. He hoped to find ten, maybe fifteen members of the medical team waiting for him on the jet. He wasn’t sure of your condition, didn’t know how many breaths you had left. He wanted to give you the best possible chance at surviving the onslaught you endured. 

But when he turned the corner into the hangar, he found only three scrub-clad bodies. 

“Is this it?” Bucky boarded the jet and dropped his bag to the floor. He eyed the scant amount of medical support, their uncertain expressions. His hopes of bringing you home alive dwindled.

A nurse who’d stitched Bucky up more times than he could count gave him a nervous smile. “The med bay is swamped, the team could barely afford to let us come with you.” 

Bucky didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want excuses or rationalizations. All he wanted was to bring you home with your heart still beating. And three medical professionals, he decided, was better than none. 

The flight to your location only gave Bucky more time to worry. He obsessively checked his weaponry, hovered over the med team’s supplies. But no amount of double and triple checking could save him from the spiral. He traveled down the path of every possible “what if?”, leading him only to heartache. No matter where he searched, he couldn’t find a positive outcome. And though he didn’t want to acknowledge the odds, he knew yours were slim- impossible, even. 

And as the jet grew closer to your location, Bucky steeled himself for what he knew he’d find: you, his best friend, his reason for living, his everything- dead. Cold. Lifeless. None of the horrors he faced in the past could compare; no pain could ever be greater. Bucky knew he’d hurt for the rest of his life.

The clouds parted as the jet began its descent. Slowly, a large stone building appeared out of the fog like a monster in the horror movies you loved so much. It stood in an otherwise empty clearing, its shadow looming over the dying grass. Smoke billowed from holes in the roof, the walls. Whatever happened here was catastrophic. Disastrous. 

Bucky’s heart sat lodged in his throat as he imagined you trapped in there. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin as he stared at the looming structure. He had to get you out, even if he died trying.

Just before the jet touched down, an idea popped into Bucky’s head. It scaled the high walls he’d tried to erect to protect himself from thoughts of your demise and grabbed him by the throat. It was smart- brilliant, actually. He was shocked he could even think straight given the circumstances.

“FRIDAY,” Bucky called out, “is comm 1209 working?” He shoved his own comm in his ear and waited for a response. 

“Comm 1209 is on and in range,” Friday said. “Would you like me to connect you?”

He couldn’t say yes fast enough.

A few staticky clicks and pops vibrated against Bucky’s eardrum as his comm connected to yours. But he was too scared to speak. What if you didn’t answer? What if he heard you take your dying breaths? Just the thought was enough to make him sick.

He owed it to you, though, to at least try. He’d always said he’d do anything for you, that he’d risk it all for you- and he meant it every time. If reaching out to you over comms exposed him to something horrible, something traumatic and unforgettable, at least he tried. At least he attempted to keep his promise. And after everything he’d been through, what was one more life-shattering, soul-crushing nightmare?

“H- um…” Bucky swallowed the large lump obstructing his throat. “Hello?” He waited a moment, holding his breath the entire time, and tried again. “Hello?”

He waited. 

No response.

“Doll? It’s me. It’s Bucky…” 

The dead silence on the other end of the line dragged on. It seemed like his words disappeared into the air, unacknowledged. Unheard. Maybe the sound of his voice was reverberating inside your ear as you lay dying. Or maybe he was talking to your corpse.

 The thought made him nauseous.

“Please, sweetheart. If you’re there- if you’re able- just say one word. Say anything,” he pled. A long bout of silence followed.

He clenched and released his metal fist again and again, desperate to rid himself of the panic settling into his bones. He was stupid to think you survived, stupid to let himself be optimistic. He made it here as quickly as he could, but he couldn’t save you. He was too late. 

He wanted to take one of his many weapons and turn it on himself. 

But a small sound stopped him.

“Buck…”

He almost fell to his knees. At the sound of your voice, an overwhelming warmth banished the cold that infiltrated his bones. Against all odds, you were alive.

A deep sigh of relief seeped from Bucky’s lungs, “Sweetheart…” 

A hurricane of emotion rattled against the storm doors inside Bucky’s mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ‘almosts’. How he almost lost you, how you almost died alone in a Hydra base. But he couldn’t allow it to swallow him- not yet. There was no time for a breakdown. He needed to move, he needed to get to you. 

He shrugged off the grief that rested heavy on his shoulders and swallowed the impending sob that vibrated inside his throat. “I’m here- I’m gonna come get you. Just tell me where-”

A staunch refusal came from your end of the comm, “No- no…” You took a sharp, rattling breath, “no way.”

Bucky didn’t like the way you had to fight to get your words out. You were clearly struggling, doing everything in your power to stay on this side of consciousness. He wondered how much time you had left.

But still, there was a familiar strength to your voice. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the renewed hope of rescue; something was keeping you alive. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just tell me where you are. The jet just landed. I’m gonna get you out and-”

“I said- I said no,” you breathed. “You can’t c-come in here, it’s too dangerous… we were a-ambushed.”

Even in your condition, even when Bucky was your only hope of rescue, his safety was your first thought. You’d rather die alone than put Bucky’s life at risk; the thought made his cheeks pink and filled his chest with a fuzzy warmth. But he didn’t have time to enjoy the feeling.

“If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll just sweep the whole building,” Bucky said, using your worry against you. “That means more opportunities for me to run into Hydra operatives. More time inside the base- it’ll be way more dangerous.” He could practically see you rolling your eyes, “so it’s probably better if you just give me a direct route, don’t you think?”

Bucky smiled to himself as he envisioned you on the other end. He was certain you were arguing with yourself, cursing his rationale. 

He waited for you to come at him with a sharp retort or a sarcastic quip but heard nothing. The silence on your end of the line dragged on. And on. It lasted far too long for Bucky’s comfort. Surely, you couldn’t still be thinking about his proposition? He’d given you more than enough time to make up your mind, more than enough time to come up with a response. It was time you didn’t have. 

What if you’d fallen unconscious? What if, in those quiet moments, your soul vacated this earth?

Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He disembarked the jet, resolving to search every inch of the base. But just as he reached the dark, unsettling building, you spoke.

“F-fifteenth floor. Northeast… northeast quadrant,” you sighed, defeated. “There’s a- a room at the end of this hall, I think it’s maybe an office?” Again, you took a long pause. The energy required to think, to speak, was energy you didn’t have. “Just f-follow the trail of blood.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He shuddered at the thought of your blood leaving a path down the stark white, sterile hallways of the base. But he didn’t have time to focus on anything other than getting you out; this was a rescue. He owed it to you to keep his head level. To focus on getting you out as quickly as he could. 

“The power is… it’s out”, you said. “You’re gonna h-have to take-” 

Bucky wanted to save you from wasting any extra energy, “The stairs. Got it.” 

And while he normally didn’t mind getting a few extra steps in, he knew the time required to climb fifteen flights of stairs would push the limits of your survival. 

But he pushed the ever-encroaching sense of doom to the side and put on a brave face for you. For himself. “Okay, I’m coming to get you,” he promised. “Stay awake, and don’t move.”

“As if I h-have a choice,” you laughed a breathy, hollow laugh. A long groan followed. 

Your pain radiated through Bucky’s chest. He didn’t want to climb stairs or scour hallways- he just wanted to be there. To instantly materialize at your side. To bring you instantaneous comfort. He lamented the super soldier serum’s lack of teleportation abilities. 

“You know what I mean, doll. Just stay awake, okay?” Bucky drew his gun and stepped inside the building. “Don’t fall asleep. Do anything you have to do- just stay awake. Can you keep talking until I get there?”

“W-what am I…” You let out a raspy exhale, “supposed to talk about?”

Bucky cleared a long hallway and found the stairwell, “Anything, just keep talking.”

Another extended silence filled the air; it nearly drove Bucky crazy. Your silences held limitless possibilities, horrifying ‘what ifs’.

“It w-wasn’t supposed to be… to be like this,” you finally said. “It wasn’t supposed to be this dangerous. This was Jake’s first mission- it wasn’t f-fair to him.” Heartache coated your every word. Even after your partner abandoned you, even after Jake forced you to suffer and bleed all alone- you still sympathized with him. Still felt sorry for him. 

Bucky felt no such thing.

“I know, doll. Keep talking, okay?”

You sighed. “We s-split up for recon… that’s when they- when they came at me.” Your next few breaths were so shallow, your lungs barely inflated; the lack of oxygen left you dizzy. A thin veil of glittering spots sparkled and danced on the edges of your periphery. “It all h-happened so fast… there were so many of them. I just- I remember pain. And I hoped Jake was okay, w-wherever he was.”

Your heart was too good for this job. For people like Jake. Bucky admired your kindness, your empathy, your selfless nature. Even in the face of pain, of death- you thought about others. You often told Bucky how unfair life had been to him, lamenting his treatment at the hands of fate. Bucky found himself doing the same for you and your kind heart.

“I called out for h-him, I needed backup… I kept asking him to come help me-” A sharp cough rattled out of your throat. 

Bucky cringed at the sound. It was the only sound in the building. He hadn’t heard anyone else. Hadn’t seen one Hydra operative- at least, not a live one. He came across their bodies every now and again but didn’t see a single living soul. He was sure they deserted after the explosion. Just like Jake. 

The destruction, however, was everywhere. Bullet casings littered the floor. Blood stained the tile floors. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. He had to get you out of here.

“But he n-never answered. And then he told me he was leaving. He said he was- he was outside already. He gave me n-ninety seconds to meet him at the jet…” Your words were tinged with devastation, with hopelessness, with betrayal. “I tried- I did my best to make it down the stairs. But I was- I was dizzy… I was b-bleeding.” The memory stung like your fresh wounds. “I kept slipping on- on my own blood. I just c-couldn’t move fast enough. It hurt too much.”

Wrath burned inside Bucky like a raging forest fire. But his utter heartbreak doused it completely, extinguishing the rageful flames. He found himself unable to think, to breathe. It took everything in him to keep moving forward. Who could ever leave you behind like that? Who could ignore your suffering and sentence you to death without a second thought? The image of you stumbling, struggling to run for your life gutted him.

“And then- and then I heard the jet t-take off,” you sighed. “And I listened as it got farther and farther away… until it was g-gone. And I was- I was alone.”

He thought of you sitting alone in cold silence as the noise from the jet quieted. As your hope dwindled. The entire base must’ve felt like a tomb, like a massive, lonely grave meant just for you. 

Bucky almost fell to his knees. Sobs throttled the inside of his chest, begging for release. Tears burned inside his lash line. Jake didn’t just leave you behind, he marooned you without care. And in his departure, he sealed your fate. 

“I d-didn’t have a way to call for… for help. My phone was on the j-jet with jake.”

The sorrow that stained your words was all too familiar to Bucky. It was the same hopelessness that accompanied him every day that he was at Hydra. When he laid in the snow for hours upon hours after falling from the train. He never wished that kind of despondency, that kind of  misery on anyone. And knowing that you, the person who deserved it the least, experienced it for even a moment shattered him.

“I realized I… I didn’t h-have any options,” you breathed. 

A collapsed column blocked Bucky’s path as he tried to make his way from the sixth floor to the seventh. The concrete was too high, too precarious to scale. If he tried to climb it and got hurt, it would only serve to diminish your chances of survival. And he wasn’t willing to risk that. With a huff, Bucky exited the northwest stairwell in search of another route. This was a waste of time- time you didn’t have. 

He painstakingly checked every hall until he finally found another stairwell. His breathing came a little easier as he rocketed his way up the stairs, growing ever closer to you.

“So, I found this- this room. It’s quiet. It’s out of the w-way. I needed somewhere to hide. S-somewhere to…” A small crack of emotion cut through your voice, “somewhere to die.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Jake got to return home safe and sound while you struggled to stay alive. It wasn’t fair that you had to seek out your own deathbed. Bucky wanted to scream, to break things, to spill every last drop of Jake’s blood. But he was a soldier, and this was a rescue mission.

“This seemed like as g-good a place as any,” you choked on a weak laugh. “Beats dying in the middle of a h-hallway, I guess.”

Bucky’s automatic response was to swear that you’d make it out. To promise that you weren’t going to die. But he bit his tongue. He couldn’t make those kinds of assurances. He’d do anything to bring you comfort but swearing that you’d return home alive seemed almost cruel. 

He pushed himself to move faster. He couldn’t let you die alone, especially not in this godforsaken place. As he sprinted up the last flight of stairs and ripped open the door to the fifteenth floor, he struggled to orient himself. You were in the northeast quadrant, but where was he? He searched for anything to indicate his location- but found no signage. No directory. 

Everything inside of him rattled with dread, with anxiety. Any moment now, you were going to die. You were going to take your last breath. All alone. A thick, suffocating wave of panic crashed over Bucky as he realized- you were going to die disappointed. You were going to leave this world knowing that he hadn’t gotten to you in time.

It was then that he noticed a faded arrow painted on the wall, with “NEQ” painted below it in block letters. Northeast quadrant. He was closer than he thought.

“I’m gonna be there in just a second, doll,” he said as he followed the arrows.  “I think I’m right around the corner.” 

This was just his way of making you feel better, you were sure of it. The hallways were long and winding. Each floor was a maze of its own. Even with your vague instructions, it could take him a while to find you. Still, Bucky’s words brought you comfort in the way that only he could.

“I know, I t-trust…” A metallic taste filled your mouth. A warm ooze trickled down your chin and dripped onto your chest. The warm, fuzzy feeling brought on by Bucky’s assurances faded. Of course, you knew you were in bad shape. But as blood leaked from your mouth, you wondered if these were your last moments.

Instantly, you searched for the words to say goodbye to Bucky. Time was slipping through your fingers, life draining from your body with each passing second. But before you drifted off into a never-ending sleep, you had to tell Bucky what he meant to you. You’d use all your strength, your last few breaths- whatever it took. He just had to know. 

But how does one say goodbye to a soulmate? You didn’t have the energy or capacity to make a grandiose speech. And the blood filling your mouth impeded your ability to speak. You wanted to tell bucky everything- how he comforted you, cared for you, made your life worth living. How your life revolved around him as though he were your personal sun. But nothing quite encapsulated the things you felt for him. Every word in the English language, every sonnet fell short. And the lack of oxygen getting to your brain sabotaged your phrasing.

“Buck, I think it’s… I think it’s almost t-time,” you rasped.

But just as you opened your blood-stained mouth to proclaim every feeling you ever had for him, the door flew open. Alarm coursed through your veins at the threat. Surely, a Hydra agent had stumbled upon your hiding place and was here to finish you off. The severe blood loss was no match for your training, thought. And, on instinct, you pulled your gun on the tall, dark silhouette standing in the doorway.

“Woah, hey!” Bucky raised his hands in surrender. “It’s me, it’s just me.”

At the sound of his voice, your arm fell limp. Your gun clattered to the floor. Your head lolled back against the wall. It had taken everything in you to try and protect yourself one last time. And now that your energy reserves were nearly depleted, you allowed your eyes to close.

“S-sorry…” A barely-there smile pulled at your lips. “My… my bad, Buck.”

“No, don’t be sorry, doll.” 

Bucky knelt in front of you, taking in your broken, bloodied body. He’d seen carnage before, witnessed more death than anyone should. But this, you- it was different. It hurt in places he didn’t know he had. But he didn’t let it show. Knowing you, you’d spend your last few moments comforting him, trying to make him feel better. And so, he forced a warm smile and tabled his breakdown for the moment.

“I’m actually impressed. I mean, you might be hurt, but you were ready to take me out just now,” he forced a chuckle. “That’s my girl.” His cool metallic hand brushed against your blood-stained cheek. 

And in that moment, something within you changed. Your eyes shot open. You blinked a few times before forcing your eyes shut once again. You gave your head a few good shakes. Surely, this wasn’t real- it couldn’t be. 

You opened your eyes wide once again, taking him in. “Bucky?”

With one shaking hand, you reached for him in the most pathetic attempt he’d ever seen. You were weak, dangerously so; it scared him to his core. But you were alive. 

He leaned in, meeting you in the middle, and let you stroke at his stubble for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he kissed your palm. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“You’re…” you other hand reached for him, but made it only a centimeter or two before falling into your lap. Bucky opted to take it in his. “You’re here?”

He nodded, “I could never leave you behind, sweetheart.”

He may have continued speaking after that, but you didn’t quite hear him. The emotion you’d tried so hard to swallow came bursting forward, crushing your every attempt at remaining levelheaded. Your fingers smoothed over Bucky’s cheek again and again. His name fell from your lips in what resembled a prayer. Tears rolled down your cheeks and mixed with the blood crusting over your skin. 

A soft, warm wave of peace rolled in, covering you like a well-loved quilt. The pain disappeared; the sorrow evaporated. All that remained was Bucky. This was the warm spring that followed a dark, bitter winter. The first rays of sun after a vicious storm. The first taste of home after a long time away. You let the familiar warmth of Bucky’s presence drown out the rest of the world until only you two remained.

“Sweetheart, did you hear me?” With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Bucky called you back to the present. “I need to look at your wound, okay?”

A sharp rush of pain nearly blinded you as you lifted your shirt, exposing the bloody mess. But even as Bucky appraised the gunshot wound that turned your abdomen into horror scene, you couldn’t find it in you to worry. Your hands lazily found his shoulder, his chest, his face; you just wanted to touch him. To know, without a doubt, that he was there. That he was real.

“Hey, we… we need to t-talk,” you whispered as Bucky did his best to quickly bandage your wound for transport. “I n-need to talk- to talk to you…”

Bucky nodded, “sure thing, doll. Absolutely. We can talk about whatever you want. But right now…” he returned your shirt to its rightful position and met your gaze. “Right now, I need to get you out to the jet, okay? We can talk later.”

He guided your arms around his neck, lifted you into his arms, and moved as fast as he could through the winding hallways. His quick gait set your nerves alight with pain. Every bump, every jostle had you gasping for breath. And though it was a necessary evil, the guilt still sat in Bucky’s stomach like a rock. His repeated ‘I’m sorrys’ were nearly constant, doubling with your every grimace and groan. But he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t let the time slip away; you didn’t have much left.

Between pained sounds and twisted expressions of discomfort, you said the same thing on a loop. Again and again and again, you pled with him, using energy you didn’t have. 

“We need to… to t-talk.”

“I h-have to tell you.”

“Can I talk to y-you about- about something?”

And though Bucky would’ve loved nothing more than to have a long heart to heart with you as you two often did, you weren’t strong enough. He couldn’t let you waste your finite energy on a conversation with him. And so, he responded to each of your requests with an ask of his own, begging you to save your strength. He promised that the two of you could talk tomorrow, that there was plenty of time for a conversation later. 

But ‘plenty of time’ almost seemed like an empty promise. And ‘tomorrow’ felt like a lie. Would you have a ‘later’? He didn’t know. But he didn’t want you wasting your oxygen, not when he feared it might be your last breath.

Boarding the jet with you alive in his arms almost felt like a win to Bucky. Almost. Sure, he’d gotten you out with your heart still beating, but your condition worsened by the second. And the grave looks the med team wore as Bucky gently rested you on the treatment table dug a deep pit in his stomach. 

They sprang into action, placing IVs and delivering medications. Scissors glided through your shirt and exposed your broken body to the med team. Bucky knew they’d seen their share of gnarly injuries over the years, but he swore that they recoiled at the sight of your wounds. 

With a shake of his head, Bucky refocused. He had to get you out of there- to get you home. He headed for the controls and planned to set the jet in motion. But he made it only a step toward the cockpit before a hand caught his.

“S-stay…” you whispered. “Please.”

His heart shattered. “I’m not leaving you, doll, I promise. I just have to get us in the air, okay?” With great care, he placed a kiss to your hand and set it at your side. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Bucky’s body operated on muscle memory alone as he initiated take off. His mind was occupied, completely and totally, by the sound of your weak voice begging him not to leave. The sound played on a loop inside his brain, cutting him deeper each time. You’d already been abandoned once today; he was certain you feared it would happen again. 

With a deep breath and a quick reset, Bucky did what he had to do. He needed to be on his A-game for you, needed to be his very best. Only a few hours ago, you’d trusted someone with your life, and they failed you. Bucky wasn’t about to do the same. He worked carefully to chart the fastest route back to the compound, opting to forego FRIDAY’s proposed path. It kept him from your side longer than he would’ve liked, but less time in the air seemed like the best option. The sooner he could get you to the med bay, with its massive, brilliant medical staff and unlimited resources, the better. 

Just as he finalized the flight plan and asked FRIDAY to notify the med bay of your impending arrival, an unsettling sound pulled his focus. It was an ominous beeping, alarming your care team of a sudden, life-threatening change. 

Gloved hands moved at lightning speed; voices yelled medical jargon back and forth. And you laid there on the table. No heartbeat. No respirations. Deathly still. 

Bucky stood on the periphery, too horrified to get any closer. 

He thought it best, of course, to stay out the med team’s way. But knew deep down it was an excuse. He was simply too terrified to lose you. If he got closer, if he saw you struggling to stay alive, all of this would suddenly become real. And he couldn’t handle that. 

“Barnes!” A nurse screamed at him, “did you hear me?”

Bucky forced himself back to the present. “No… I, um-”

“She has no pulse- get over here, we need you to do compressions!”

Bucky’s desperate need to help you, to save you, overpowered his fear. And in an instant, he was at your side. He loomed over you, his hands locked together, preparing to help resuscitate you. But once again, his fear reared its ugly head. You were already so badly injured, so weak. And he was far too strong. What if he made your condition worse? What if he-

“Come on!” The nurse yelled at him, “start compressions- now!”

He did as he was told. He pressed into your body with a measured pressure, careful not to crush your chest. But his cautious compressions didn’t cut it. The nurses instructed him to push harder. To “actually compress” your chest- and Bucky followed instructions. 

But as he did so, a sickly snapping sound exploded from your body. Bucky recoiled instantly; his face contorted in horror.

“What are you doing? Keep going!”

“I can’t- I think I broke her ribs,” Bucky shouted at the doctor. “What do I do?”

“Keep going!” The nurse yelled, “It happens- just keep going.”

Bucky broke out into a cold sweat. His stomach turned at the thought of hurting you, of causing you even more pain; you’d been through enough as it was. But he did as he was told. With each round of compressions, he swore he created new fractures. He felt every splinter, every crack as he put pressure on your chest. 

He wanted to sever every last nerve-ending in his hand; anything to rid him of the sickening sensation creeping through his palm. But if doing this saved you, it was worth the nightmares.

He watched as the two nurses provided your supplemental breaths and tended to your endlessly bleeding wound. The doctor called ‘clear’ every so often, shocking you with a defibrillator in an attempt to restore your heartbeat.

Round after round of compressions, breathing, and shocks passed by without signs of improvement. You remained lifeless, unresponsive. A syringe of epinephrine delivered straight to your chest did nothing. And Bucky felt what little hope he had slipping through the cracks in your ribs. He couldn’t believe he was about to lose you; couldn’t believe he’d have to watch you die. Hot tears blurred his vision and streaked down his cheeks. His legs went numb. At any second, he knew his knees would give out, knew he’d crumble to the floor under the crushing weight of grief.

The doctor deemed the next shock your last, and Bucky almost doubled over. 

“Come on, doll, just-” He swallowed a sob, “just stay. Stay. Do it for me, I’m begging you. Please?”

The doctor called one last “clear” and delivered your final shock, only to be met with the rhythmic beeping of your heart monitor.

“Sinus rhythm restored,” announced the nurse to Bucky’s left. She appraised the waves on your EKG and gave a nod. “She’s stable.”

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky took a breath. He stretched his tense fingers and did his best to  relax the rock-hard knots forming in his shoulders. A new crop of hope bloomed cautiously inside his chest, but he couldn’t allow it to blossom and flourish just yet. You weren’t out of the woods; there was a very real possibility that your heart might stop again. And he wasn’t sure how many times the doctor could revive you before throwing in the towel.

Less than a minute after Bucky’s cautious optimism sprouted anew, a soul crushing sight dashed it completely. A sharp gasp filled his lungs, a shudder rocked his frame. Shades of deep, dark blue bloomed under the skin of your chest. Black and purple splotches stained your sternum. Some spots were already starting to swell. He extended a hand in your direction but recoiled in an instant, fearing he’d hurt you yet again. 

“Happens all the time,” one of the nurses said with a shrug. “Believe me, broken ribs are the least of her worries.”

Somehow, her words didn’t make him feel any better. He ached to hold your hand, to sweep a gentle caress across your cheek. But he didn’t dare touch you after what he did. Every glimpse of your bruised, swollen chest sent bile rushing into his throat. 

The three dedicated members of the med team worked tirelessly for the rest of the flight. They did everything in their power to keep your condition steady, to maintain the life they worked so hard to save. It brought Bucky comfort to see them staying so close, ready to jump into action if need be.  

Bucky, like the med team, hovered. He couldn’t bring himself to leave your side. You seemed too fragile, your condition too tenuous. He counted your every breath, took stock of every beat of your heart on the monitor. Stepping away for even a second felt wrong. He needed to be there if you crashed again, if the doctor needed extra hands. He needed to be there to help.

And if you woke up, he wanted to be the first face you saw. 

But you didn’t wake. A groan here, a muscle twitch there- that was all you could spare. And though Bucky wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, he thanked the universe for keeping you unconscious. He knew tsunamis of pain rippled in the wings, waiting to overtake you the second you woke.

Bucky held his breath as the jet landed. Every jarring bump, every vibration, forced his heart into his throat. He feared that even the slightest impact would send you into cardiac arrest. He flicked his eyes from the rising and falling of your chest to the rhythmic flashing of your heart monitor and back again. Nothing changed, no alarms sounded. And when the jet finally stilled, Bucky breathed a deep sigh of relief. He just needed to get you to the med bay for treatment, and this whole nightmare would be over. 

He didn’t like being optimistic. It felt like a set-up, like false hope. If he told himself you’d survive and you didn’t, the fall would be that much harder, that much more devastating. 

But being realistic wasn’t any better. Telling himself that you were too far gone, that you weren’t going to make it, felt wrong. To him, it seemed like he was cursing you. Like willing your death into existence. Like begging the universe to end your life. 

And so, he opted for a neutral mantra. “She’s home,” he told himself. “She’s home. She’s home. She’s home.”

The distance to the medbay felt longer than usual. The hallways seemed to stretch on forever, the double doors to the triage center seemed to grow farther and farther away. Bucky followed your gurney closely, only allowing a few inches of space between the two of you. He couldn’t be separated from you again. He wouldn’t. He needed to be with you every second, watching over you. 

A dark cloud of impending doom loomed over his psyche. It whispered to him, telling him that if he left your side, if he let you out of his sight, you’d die. You’d be gone forever. And it would be his fault. He knew it was nonsense, that this was just his anxiety operating on overdrive. But he couldn’t shake the fear. And risking it wasn’t an option.

“No visitors past this point,” a security guard placed an arm in front of Bucky as he tried to enter the triage unit.

Bucky tried to go around the man, watching as the medical staff carried you farther out of reach. “I’m not a visitor, I’m an agent-” 

“No agents past this point, then,” the guard rolled his eyes. “Only patients and medical staff. You can have a seat over there.”

A small table sat against the wall, flanked by two chairs. It was a sad, makeshift excuse for a waiting room that operated as a device to keep people from hanging around. But bucky couldn’t be discouraged. He took a seat in one of the chairs, determined to wait there as long as he had to. He knew he’d missed a number of important phone calls by now, and probably several meetings. But he didn’t care; all that mattered was you. 

Dread circled Bucky like a buzzard as he waited. It was taking too long- why was it taking so long? How much time did the medical staff need? You were stable when the jet landed, the nurse said so. Why were there no updates? All Bucky needed was a nod, a bit of information. But he remained in the dark, wondering if you died on the operating table.

Maria found Bucky slumped in a chair with a zombie-like air about him. He was expressionless, his gaze hollow. His palms traced the same track up and down his thighs in a never-ending cycle. One look and she knew: something was very wrong.

“Hey,” she called softly, hoping not to startle him.

But Bucky didn’t respond- he didn’t even react. He just sat there, his unblinking stare burning a hole in the tile. An uneasiness enveloped Maria. She’d never seen Bucky so empty, so despondent. As she stared at him, she found herself fearing the worst. ‘Maybe he just received terrible news’ she thought. ‘Maybe he’s grieving’.

“Hey,” she tried again, nudging her foot against his. 

He came back to life with a start. A sharp inhale filled his chest, his eyes blinked wildly. But his palms never stopped moving in their endless cycle against his tactical pants. And he never actually looked at her.

“Hi…” he breathed. 

Hill took the seat opposite him. She conjured the gentlest, warmest tone she could find, “is everything okay?”

Bucky balled his hands into tight fists and stretched them out again. Maria noticed blood- your blood- crusting under his fingernails and staining his skin. But before she could get a good look, he grabbed the arms of the chair. His palms rubbed fervently against the plastic handles for a moment until they moved to his face. He ran his hands along his jaw, his spiky stubble poking into his skin.

“Barnes, what happened? Are you-”

Finally, his head snapped in her direction, “I can still feel it…”

“Feel what?”

Bucky’s head fell into his hands. He pressed his palms against his eyes and dragged them down his face. Maria watched him fall apart in slow motion. He seemed to be unraveling, one cell at a time. And when he finally spoke, shame made his words almost unintelligible. 

“She crashed on the jet…”

“Oh...” Maria did her best to keep a calm, even tone. Her concern for you vibrated in her chest, but she didn’t dare let it free- not when Bucky was moments away from a meltdown. “Is she-”

“The med team needed help. There weren’t enough of them- they needed me to do chest compressions,” Bucky said, his voice low. “And I broke- I crushed her ribs.” 

A sharp shudder rocked his entire body. Just thinking of that moment, when his too-strong hands destroyed your chest, was enough to make him sick. To scar him for life. To haunt him. Of all the horrible things he’d done in over the years, this was the worst. He gave his hands a quick shake, hoping to rid his nerve endings of the sensation.

“I felt her bones snapping under my hands,” Bucky’s words dripped with shame. “And I can still… I still feel it.”

“Okay,” Maria said gently. “Well, if she-”

“She was already in such bad shape,” Bucky swiped a tear from his cheek. “And I… I hurt her. I made it so much worse.” 

His head fell into his hands once again and did not reemerge. 

“Hey, look at me,” Maria gave his arm a gentle touch. 

Bucky only shook his head. 

“Come on, Barnes, just look at me for a second.”

Again, he refused. 

Maria abandoned her chair and sat instead on the small table. She never got this close to Bucky. Usually, she preferred to give him his space. He wasn’t the touchy-feely type- unless you were around. But he was lost in a shame spiral, adrift with no hope of return. And he needed rescuing. She placed her hands on his and gently removed them from his face. 

“You saved her life,” Maria said. “Twice. You rescued her from the base, and when the med team needed help, you came through.”

“But I-”

“Did it work?” Maria asked, her tine almost stern. “Did the chest compressions work?”

Bucky nodded. 

Maria gave him a shrug, “That’s all that matters. She can recover from a few broken ribs, but if you hadn’t been there-” 

Bucky averted his gaze as his eyes filled with tears. 

“Hey,” Maria grabbed his face, bringing his focus back to her. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead.”

Maria’s words fought hard against the demeaning voice that lived inside Bucky’s head. It screamed at him, telling him that he shouldn’t believe her, that he was a monster, that he almost killed you. Usually, Bucky allowed his inner demons to run free. He listened to them without pause, believing anything and everything they told him, no matter how vile. But Maria was steadfast and unshakable in her sentiments; she truly believed what she was saying. And by some miracle, Bucky did, too.

“Thanks…” He granted her a hollow smile and a small nod. 

Hill sat in silence with him for a few hours. She didn’t try to make small talk or ask what was going on inside his head. She simply existed near him, sharing the space so that he didn’t have to be alone. She ignored important texts and sent every call to voicemail. She knew it was exactly what you’d do for him, if you were able. And she did her best to fill your shoes.

Abruptly, Bucky’s head snapped in her direction. His pulse thrummed against his skin as a new wave of anxiety crashed over him. “She kept saying…” he sighed. “She kept saying we needed to talk. She wanted to talk to me about something.”

Maria cocked her head to the side, “About what?”

He shrugged. “I told her we could talk later because there would be plenty of time,” Bucky’s words grew shaky. He found himself near tears for what felt like the millionth time that day. Guilt sucker punched him. “What if… what if there isn’t more time for us? What if that was all we were ever going to get? What if-”

“You’ll get more time,” Maria said with certainty. “The universe has a way of evening things out. You were robbed of time once; it won’t happen again. Plus, you’re deserved some fucking karmic retribution- you’re owed this.”

Bucky wondered how she could be that sure of something so ethereal. But she was steady, solid as a rock. She didn’t waver in her words or add caveats at the end. She, somehow, knew it to be true. And Bucky couldn’t help but believe her.

But when Fury called her for the eighth time, she knew quiet time was over.

“I have to go, okay? Fury can’t do anything without me, he’s hopeless.” She stood from her seat and rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Call if you need anything.”

Bucky thanked her a million times over and, for the first time, gave Maria a hug. She would never know how much her reassurances helped him. She’d pulled him from the ledge and gave him what he desperately needed: perspective.

In the hours that followed, he let her words play on a constant loop inside his mind. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead,” he heard her say. “You’ll get more time.” The sickening feeling of your bones snapping under his strength never faded, and the fear of losing you still had him in a chokehold, but Maria’s words quieted his mind. 

In the sad, empty waiting room, time seemed to mutate. Some of the hours dragged, others whizzed by. Bucky wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. Was it ten hours? Or twenty? He didn’t really care. He’d wait lifetimes for you. 

He saw the security guards change shifts once, twice. It was the only thing alerting him to the passage of time, as part of him believed it was standing still. On the third shift change, they told him to go home. 

“They’ll call you if there’s an update”, said one of the guards. “It’d probably be a good idea for you to go get some sleep, or something.”

Bucky knew he looked like hell. Your blood left crimson streaks across his face and neck. And the dark circles he usually wore under his eyes were a deep shade of plum. But he couldn’t leave, he couldn’t sleep. Not when your life hung in the balance. Not when you needed him. 

A few more hours passed with no news, and Bucky found himself teetering on the edge of insanity. An angry, desperate voice bellowed inside his head. It told him to bust through the doors and find you, no matter what it took- even if it meant hurting people in the process. The gun secured to his hip and the knife strapped to his ankle became eerily attractive. His hands itched to reach for the weapons, to hold someone at gun point until they allowed him to see you. But he couldn’t to give in to the fear, to the violence. It took him years of therapy and long talks with you to stop seeing himself as a monster- and he refused to destroy the progress you helped him make. 

A doctor stepped out of the double doors and looked in Bucky’s direction, “Sergeant Barnes?”  

Bucky was on his feet before he knew what hit him. This was it. After what felt like an eternity of not knowing whether you lived or died, he was about to have an answer. Sweat dampened his palm, his brow as he stood in front of your doctor. 

He didn’t know he was even capable of this kind of fear, this kind of agony. And though he was an impossibly strong physical specimen, Bucky knew he’d never be able to lift the weight of the grief that followed your loss. He knew that, if you died, he’d spend the rest of his life dragging himself from place to place, unable to stand, unable to push back against the overwhelming, oppressive force of losing you. 

Your doctor spoke quickly and professionally about your condition, but the words turned to mush the second they reached Bucky’s brain. The combination of medical jargon and pure panic made their meanings imperceptible. But one phrase managed to cut through the fog of Bucky’s anxiety and exhaustion: “you can see her now.”

And just like that, Bucky took off. His fatigued body did its best to carry him through the halls, stumbling every now and then on the smooth tile of the hospital floors. But he didn’t dare slow down. He had to get to you. 

By the time he reached the door to your room, he found himself shaking- almost shivering- with anxiety. He knew you were alive, of course. Knew that the doctors had been successful in saving your life. But something in him doubted their handiwork. Something in him swore that if he didn’t get to you in the next half second, you’d flatline. Again. 

He could practically feel his brain rattling around inside his skull, his teeth chattered against one another. And the sharp tremors in his hands made it nearly impossible to get a grip on the door handle. Panic and frustration coursed through him as the he tried again and again to gain entry to your room with no luck. A strangled sob forced its way out of his chest and caught the attention of a nurse- one of the nurses who helped keep you alive on the jet. 

“Hey…” Her eyes drifted to Bucky’s shaking hands. “Need some help?” Before Bucky could answer, she’d abandoned the medication she was prepping, discarded her gloves, and made her way to his side.

“Here, let me.” Her soft, sympathetic tone was almost too kind; Bucky’s eyes blurred with tears. She turned the door handle and gestured for Bucky to go inside.

His “thank you” was for more than just the door. 

Bucky took a few steps inside and drew in a sharp breath; he’d never seen you in such severe condition. Over the many hours that Bucky waited for you outside, all of your bruises grew darker, more menacing. They stained your throat, your face, your arms. He didn’t even want to think about the ones on your chest- the ones he caused. Dried blood crusted in your hair and formed a path down the side of your face. It sat caked under your fingernails and rested in the creases of your palms. Thankfully, your gunshot wound was covered by gauze and concealed by your gown. But knowing it was there was enough to make Bucky sick. He, of course, witnessed and inflicted, his fair share of carnage over the years. But he knew your wound would haunt him for years to come- simply because it was yours. 

All he wanted was to be near you. To sit at your bedside and hold your hand. But he didn’t dare to get any closer. Electrodes attached a dozen wires to your chest. IVs sat lodged in the crooks of your elbows, in the backs of your hands. Machines and monitors kept track of your vitals. And who was he to disturb this fragile, vital ecosystem? What if he accidentally pulled out one of your IVs? What if he detached a wire by mistake? He’d already hurt you once today, he wasn’t about to do it again. 

He, instead, opted to stand at attention. A few feet away. For your safety. He didn’t touch you, didn’t even say your name. He simply stared at you, counting your every breath. 

An hour- or maybe two- passed by with him like this. Nurses checked on you, doctors poked their heads in. And every time, they told him he was permitted to sit by your bedside. But he just shook his head. Sure, slipping his hand into yours, being close to you- it would provide him with incomprehensible comfort. But he couldn’t, not when you were so severely injured. 

After the third hour, Bucky feared his sanity was slipping. A wicked voice lodged deep in his psyche suddenly awakened. It whispered to him, taunted him. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe he was asleep in the waiting room. Maybe you didn’t survive. Maybe…

And he would’ve believed it, had you not snapped him out of the vicious spiral. 

“Buck?” He feared he’d never hear you voice again, but there it was. Hoarse and weak- but yours.

Bucky flew to your side. He cradled your face gingerly in his hands, completely consumed by the need to touch you, to feel you, to know that you were real. His palms laid flush against your cheeks, his thumbs sweeping over your skin. And in an instant, the sickly sensation of your snapping bones vanished.

A hurricane of tangled thoughts and emotions crashed over him. He had so much to he wanted to say, so much he wanted to confess to you. But the words refused to arrange themselves properly. Suddenly, Bucky wished he’d used his ample time in the waiting room to better organize his thoughts. He wished he’d sought out a pen and a scrap of paper and used them to plan and articulate his sentiment. But even if he’d found the supplies he needed, he wouldn’t have been able to jot a single thing down. Not with his shaking, unsteady hands.

Anxious words and broken sobs got stuck in his throat and formed a garbled, unintelligible mess as they left his mouth. But it was the best he could do. He stared at you, waiting for your response.

“I, um…” you looked at him for a long moment. The haze of head trauma, blood loss, and pain killers made you foggy. You did your best to trace your steps back through Bucky’s words, certain that your condition was the cause of your confusion. But after a significant pause, you came up empty. “Sorry, I- what?”

Bucky slid one of his hands into yours and gave a soft laugh. “Sorry. I tried to say-” He sat quiet for a moment. What had he tried to say, exactly? He wasn’t sure. With a small shake of his head, he re-rerouted. “Um, it doesn’t matter. Here, how’s this:” He cleared his throat and spoke with the sharpest pronunciation possible. “How are you feeling?”

Your laugh- Bucky’s favorite laugh- bubbled up to the surface. But regret swallowed you whole as pain shot through your head, your chest, your side. The hurt radiated through your entire being. It rendered you breathless, and left your face twisted in an agonized grimace.

Bucky didn’t like how long it took you to recover from the small chuckle you shot his way. A pang of worry shot through him.  “Don’t exert yourself, okay?” He swept a thumb across your cheek, “you don’t wanna tear your stitches or...” He cleared his throat, “aggravate any, um, broken bones.” Bones that he broke.

“No, I’m…” you squeezed your eyes shut for a long moment before opening them again. The pain slowly receded. “I’m good, I’m okay. I just- breathing is hard. I forgot how shitty it feels to have broken ribs.”

Bucky nodded. His teeth sunk into the smooth flesh of his cheek. A metallic taste coated his mouth. He didn’t want to tell you the truth. Didn’t want you to know that he was the cause of your severe pain. But you deserved to know, didn’t you? With a deep sigh, he opened his mouth, intent on telling you what really happened. But you cut him off. 

“Thank you, Buck. For coming to get me. I really thought I was…” Hot tears stung your eyes and blurred your vision. “I thought that was it for me, you know? And I just want you to know how-” you sniffed, “how grateful I am.”

Bucky left your side for only a second, retrieving a box of tissues from the counter across the room. He was back in no time and swept a tissue across your cheek to catch your tears.

“I know we always say that we have each other’s backs but you… you meant it,” you said. A small smile pulled at your lips, “thank you for meaning it.”

Bucky nodded. He did his best to keep his breathing steady, to stop himself from falling apart at the seams. He knew exactly what it felt like to be left behind, to wait for your last moments- alone. 

“I wasn’t gonna leave you there, doll. I couldn’t.” 

You gave a small nod. “Yeah, I- I wish my partner had felt the same way…” The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. It sliced though Bucky’s chest. “I didn’t think he would ever do something like that. I mean, I thought we were friends.”

The mere thought of Jake brought a familiar rage to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. He didn’t understand how anyone could be so callous, so uncaring- so indifferent to the well-being of others. The part of him that swore off unnecessary violence remained quiet as the rest of him imagined Jake’s demise. He wanted your disloyal partner to suffer. To squirm and squeal and regret that he ever left you behind. But that could wait- you were the priority.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect him to be that kind of person,” Bucky sighed, “he seemed like a stand-up guy.”

Silence filled the room as you thought over Jake’s desertion. His abandonment hurt. It stung in places you didn’t expect. You’d taken Jake under your wing and did everything in your power to be the best leader possible. All you wanted was to help him. To set him up for success. 

And after working alongside Bucky for so long, you’d forgotten that disloyalty to one’s partner was even an option. 

“He probably panicked,” you tried to rationalize. “And then once he realized what he’d done, maybe he…”

There was no rationalizing this. 

An ugly realization slithered into your mind. “After he left, I think he probably hoped I’d just die… that way I wouldn’t be able to give my side of the story.” The weight of Jake’s actions hit you like a train. Rivulets of warm tears rolled down your cheeks, only to be swept away by Bucky’s gentle hand. With a small shake of your head, you did your best to banish the feelings of abandonment and betrayal. Wallowing would only make you more miserable. And you didn’t need emotional pain on top of the physical agony that already plagued you.

“Well, joke’s on him,” you shrugged, “cause I’m still alive.” Pain radiated through your chest, bringing a grimace to your face. “Kind of.” 

Bucky didn’t understand how you could just dismiss the bad feelings. Couldn’t understand your propensity for levity. Your partner left you for dead without a second thought- and yet, you found a way to joke about it. It was something he’d always admired about you, something he wished he was capable of. 

You gave a strained laugh, “I can’t wait to see the look on Jake’s face when he finds out that I didn’t die.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what prompted him to say it. It left his mouth without his brain’s authorization.

“But you did.”

He wished to take the words back, but it was too late. They hung in the air, just out of his reach. 

“I…” you struggled to grasp Bucky’s words. “I what?”

This was not the time- or the place, or the way- to tell you the truth. But he didn’t have a choice. His clumsy words made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. 

“You, um…” Bucky didn’t want to think about what happened, let alone say it out loud. But he owed it to you to be honest. Especially after Jake had lied to you about being a trustworthy partner. Bucky scratched at the stubble on his face, ran a hand through his hair. Anything to delay the inevitable. But he couldn’t put it off for long. “Your heart stopped- you died. On the jet.”

Only one word fell from your lips, “Oh…” 

“And while I’m at it, I might as well tell you that…” Bucky took a deep inhale. He was in too deep now. And keeping this from you any longer felt like lying. “That your ribs are broken because of me.”

A quizzical look crossed your face, “what do you mean?”

“I mean… the med team was short staffed on the jet. There were only three of them. And when you crashed, it was- it was an all hands on deck situation.” He flashed back to the moment when the alarms sounded. When your EKG flatlined. A shudder ran through him. “They needed me to do chest compressions. And I- I didn’t want to hurt you, but the nurse said I wasn’t pushing hard enough to actually help you. And when I pushed harder- I broke your ribs.”

Bucky searched your face for something- anything. Anger. Fear. Betrayal. But he found nothing. Your expression was as neutral as they come. He feared that something lingered just below the surface. That once you fully processed his words, you’d erupt into a perfect storm of disgust and disappointment.

He told himself to wait silently until you made up your mind. But the outburst exploded from his lips before he could stop it. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You know I’d never want to hurt you, I would never do anything to hurt you. But I… they told me I had to push harder. Or it wasn’t going to work. And I just wanted it to work, I wanted you to be okay, and-”

It took almost all of your strength to raise your hand and place a finger to Bucky’s lips. He fell silent.

“Buck, it’s okay.”

He tried to form a rebuttal, but you cut him off. 

“You didn’t have to rescue me, but you did. No questions asked, no hesitation. You saved my life by getting me out of there. And you saved me again by helping the med team.” Your hand drifted from Bucky’s face and landed in his palm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your palm. His eyes fell downward. You could almost see the shame eating him alive from the inside.

 “Hey,” you intertwined your fingers with his. “I can handle a few broken ribs.”

“No, I- I know you can. I just…” A sad smiled flickered across his lips. “I feel terrible. You went through a lot. And I just don’t like knowing I made it worse.”

A long silence filled the room. You’d seen this side of Bucky more times than you could count. And you knew him well enough to know what followed. He was going to feel bad- terrible, actually- about this for a while. There was no accelerating the process or absolving him of his guilt. No amount of reassurances could save him from it. He just had to sit with it. One day, the weight would diminish. But it was going to take time. And that was okay. 

You gave his hand a squeeze. “I thought your voice was a hallucination, you know.”

Bucky lifted his head.

“And when you came into the room, I actually thought that was a hallucination, too.” A smile stretched across your face, “I mean, I thought I was losing my mind.”  

Bucky gave a half-hearted chuckle. He didn’t want to think about you in that room by yourself. About you struggling to tell what was real.

“But then you touched me…” You raised your hand and brushed it across your cheek, mimicking him. “And that’s when I realized that you were real- that you were there.” You fell quiet for a moment, lost in the memory of Bucky’s rescue. “It was like, in that moment, I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t scared of the pain. I wasn’t scared of dying. I was just scared that…”

“What?”

“You have to promise not to laugh,” you told him with an authoritative tone. “Cause I know it’s corny, or cheesy, or whatever.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky drew an X over his heart. “I’m not gonna laugh at you.”

You stared at him with narrowed eyes, sizing up his promise. But, of course, you knew Bucky would never tease or ridicule you about something like this. 

“Okay, fine, I um… I was scared that I’d never see you again. If I died, I mean.”

Bucky’s lungs emptied. He couldn’t remember how to breathe, how to speak. A sudden ache ripped through his heart as it splintered and shattered into a million pieces. To know that you thought of him in what you believed were your last moments somehow ripped him apart and put him back together all at once.

Your voice cracked. Tears filled your eyes. “I was afraid that we’d already run out of time. I was afraid that we weren’t going to get any more.” A few soft sobs escaped from your throat, followed by a pained groan. But you pushed passed the throbbing in your chest. “But I was so relieved. Because I got to see you one last time. It was the most intense sense of peace I’ve ever experienced.”

Bucky struggled to hold on to his composure. He felt himself crumbling, weakening under the weight of your words. 

“But then I realized- I realized I’d never get to tell you. And you kept saying we could talk later, but I didn’t know if there would be a ‘later’. And when I blacked out, I was so full of…” You shook your head ever so slightly, sending a few tears dripping onto your cheeks. “I had so much regret. Because I needed you to know.”

“To know what?” Bucky leaned in close, searching your face for any inkling, any clue. “Doll, it’s ‘later’. Tell me- whatever it is. You can tell me now, it’s-”

Your lips met his in a soft kiss. In it, everything you’d ever felt for him came rushing forward. Admiration. Longing. Lust. Obsession. Adoration. Love. 

A sting of pain jolted through you as your split lip brushed his, but you didn’t care. His hands found your face, your fingers curled into the collar of his shirt. It was always supposed to be this way. 

When the two of you finally separated, Bucky simply stared at you. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he knew how. 

“I love you, Buck. I’ve loved you- for so long.” A huff left your chest, “So. Long.” 

Still, Bucky remained silent. Nerves began crawling through you like vines, twisting their way through every fiber of your being. But you owed it to yourself, and to Bucky, to tell him the truth. 

“And I just… I know how you see yourself. And I know you don’t think you’re even worthy of my friendship, let alone love. But I was so anxious, cause I thought you’d never know the truth. I thought I’d die without getting to tell you. And you’d live the rest of your life thinking that you’re not worthy, that no one could ever love you. But I- I love you. I just needed you to know.”

The silence made your ears ring. Bucky’s face still wore a mask of bewilderment. And you feared you’d ruined everything. 

“You don’t have to say it back, though,” you said. “I’m not gonna stop being your friend if this is an unrequited thing.”

Finally, Bucky came back to life. He rolled his eyes and let a scoff escape his lips. He leaned in close, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours. “Unrequited? I broke every SWORD rule and policy. Abducted medical staff. Stole a jet. And went on an unauthorized mission. All to get you back. I didn’t even know if you were alive, I just- I had to bring you home.” 

He closed the small gap that remained between your face and his and granted you warm, gentle kiss that tasted like home. “I did all that- and you thought there was even a chance that I didn’t love you back?” Bucky gave a playful roll of his eyes, “you don’t know me at all, sweetheart.”

You returned his eye roll. "Well, you're a really great friend to me. And you always have been. So, I didn’t take a rescue as a proclamation of love,” you gave a strained chuckle. “I just thought-”

“I’ve loved you for…” Bucky thought back over the course of your friendship. The day you first met, the first time you helped him through a panic attack, the time he made you the ugliest cake in the world for your birthday. He saw his life in two parts: before he met you and after he met you. And he so preferred the after. 

“I don’t even know how long,” he shrugged. It was almost automatic. His feelings for you didn’t need a slow, gradual build up. They descended upon him all at once, like the world’s most beautiful avalanche.  “It’s been a long time- an embarrassing amount of time, probably,” he laughed.

“Oh, so we’re both cowards then,” you shot him a wink. “Too afraid to tell the other how we feel.”

Bucky nodded, “It seems that way…”

“But you weren’t too scared to steal a jet and run into possible gun fire?” you quipped.

“Nope. Didn’t even think about it,” he said matter-of-factly. “I just wanted to find you.”

You’d never experienced a love- a commitment- like that. It sent a rush of warmth into your cheeks and somehow eased the pain plaguing your body. You knew in your heart you would’ve done the same for Bucky without a second thought. But knowing that he was so fiercely determined to bring you home felt almost unbelievable. You had the proof, though, right there in front of you. This man, who you loved, loved you too. And loved you enough to risk his life for you. It wasn’t something you’d ever ask him to do, and you knew you’d never have to. He’d do it without hesitation. Without reservation. He’d walk through fire for you if it meant bringing you home. 

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[lovethyauthors]

I think you might’ve blocked my main since I didn’t have my age on there (have since fixed and added it). I don’t post nsfw things onthere but all my likes show up as that blog. Anyways was loving going through your masterlist 🥵 amazing amazing amazing.

A little short

A/N: Just a short little something inspired by this lovely little interaction... This was written in, what... an hour? (It was 2, I checked. I shouldn't lie, I'm sorry.) And hardly beta'd... Still pretty pleased with it, though. Anyway enjoy the porn.

Pairing: August Walker x reader (you)

Summary: You try to prove August Walker isn't the boss of you. Turns out he is, and you're screwed.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI, Angry August (that's a warning in and of itself), (semi-?)public sex, teasing, exhibitionism, voyeurism(?), unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks), use of pet names, creampie... Tell me if I forgot any.

“It’s a little short, isn’t it?” Here we go again, you thought. You looked at August, who sure seemed to appreciate the skirt he’d called too short not five seconds ago. And he always did this. With everything. And you always listened, what the fuck was up with that? No, this time, you were so goddamn tired of his bullshit that you weren’t going to change because of him.

“It’s not,” you said simply, and you walked away to put on your shoes. You were already late for drinks with August’s friends, you really didn’t have the time to rethink your entire outfit. Besides, you reminded yourself, you wanted to wear this skirt. It made your ass look good. 

The boys were meeting up in a bar a town over, about an hour away, so you walked to the car with August behind you. You should have found that strange -he was usually more the type of guy to walk in front of you - but you didn’t.

“Not that one,” August said with a devilish grin on his face when you made your way to the car he usually drove. He walked past you to the other car in the garage - a gray Porsche 911. The choice surprised you; as much as he loved that car, there was no good reason for him to pick it over the Audi. It was fast and pretty, but uncomfortable, and very hard to get in and out of… Bastard, you thought to yourself. Was he really picking this because of the low instep? You looked at your heels - seven inches, what were you thinking - and skirt. Fuck it, you thought, August Walker wants a show? Let’s give him a fucking show, then. When getting into the car - August just insisted on closing the door for you - you made sure to spread your legs as wide as they would go, causing your skirt to ride up. If flashing him your panties while getting in didn’t get him worked up, the fact that he’d be sitting next to you for an hour while almost being able to see up your skirt certainly would. A voice in the back of your head asked repeatedly if you were really sure about antagonizing August, but you shoved it down. You were done with his shit, you were going to show him, you were going to make August Walker your bitch. 

The drive was fun. You could shift around in your seat enough to give him little glimpses of the black lace between your legs, and from his sighs and low growls you could tell that he was getting perfectly worked up. After a while, you got bored of that, and you had an idea. Again, that voice in the back of your head spoke up, this time to tell you just how terrible that idea was, but the devil on your left shoulder cheered you on, and you went ahead with it anyway. Slowly, you dropped one hand to your lap, in between your legs. It was casual enough at first, not attracting any attention from the man next to you, but after a while you saw his eyes drift to your almost entirely bare legs often. A finger lazily trailed the fabric of your underwear. You shivered at the touch; just thinking of doing this was incredibly exciting, and your pussy was swollen and aching already. A soft hum escaped from your throat as you slowly pulled the fabric to the side and sank back into the chair, letting your legs fall to the sides a little further. You knew he could see you: The moan that he tried to hide in a conspicuous cough, the growing bulge in his pants, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard you thought it wouldn’t withstand the force… Again, you made sure to turn in your seat in such a way that you switched between granting and denying him a glimpse of your fingers as you played with yourself. The low growling and groaning next to you egged you on, the feeling of control overwhelmed you. You didn’t look at him as you started dragging your fingers around your clit, your moans becoming louder - sometimes exaggerated, but he didn’t need to know that - as you worked yourself to your climax. When you came down from that, August’s hand was on your knees, slowly sliding up your leg, its destination more than obvious. You pushed it away determinedly.

“Please,” he said, his voice hoarse, “I just want to feel how wet you are, baby.” When you refused him again, he whimpered. The sound was that of a man who had suffered a grave injustice - August had a habit of being a baby that way. You figured you’d toy with him a little more, and with one remarkably fluent movement, you yanked the black lace garment down your legs and dropped it in his lap theatrically. 

“There, feel all you want,” you said triumphantly, “you’re not touching me.” God, you felt powerful and in control, and the feeling was making you even wetter. The thought of August enduring this whole night, knowing you had no panties on turned you on immensely. In the corner of your eye, you saw him drag his thumb over the soaked material before tucking your underwear into his pocket. The last part of the drive went by quietly. 

Getting out of that car was a menace - it always had been, but in your seven-inchers, it was nearly impossible. 

“Baby,” you cooed, eyes wide with clearly feigned innocence - not that the tooth-rotting sweetness in your voice was fooling anybody, “I need your help getting out.” He growled, clearly annoyed by your games, which made you feel very proud, yet he walked around the car to help you nonetheless. When you looked him in the eye as you put your naked pussy on full display for him, he looked down on you with a furious look and clenched jaw. Apparently, he thought you were dragging this moment out too long, because he practically yanked you out of the car and slammed the door shut. You were trapped between the Porsche and his body, and he pressed his hips into you. He was rock hard, which made you laugh a little louder than you wanted. August didn’t find it funny at all. 

“Pleased with yourself, princess?” He growled in your ear. His eyes moved through the parking garage and when they finally moved back to you, you saw it. The sadistic grin, his hungry eyes… He pulled you behind a pillar in the garage, next to the car and pressed your chest against it. Fuck, you thought, as the voice inside your head threw you annoying and repeated ‘told you so’-s. Your hips were pulled back and your skirt shoved up further to expose you completely. The air in the garage was cold, your legs were covered in goosebumps, your cheek was pressed against the hard, cold concrete of the pillar and someone could walk in and see you like this at any goddamn moment. It was all incredibly uncomfortable - at least, that’s what you figured your thoughts about this situation should be. Instead, you were absolutely dripping. 

“Now, you’re going to need to keep quiet, can you do that, baby?” August whispered as he dragged two fingers along your slit. You nodded and pushed back into his hand. Without warning, he pushed both fingers into your core. They were met with little resistance, yet the abrupt intrusion made you shriek. August clicked his tongue disapprovingly. 

“I guess not. Open up.” You knew that if you didn’t do as he told you, there’d be hell to pay - if not now, then when you got home, so you obeyed his command. August had found an excellent way to keep you quiet through whatever he was about to do to you, and now you found yourself with the panties you had handed him so confidently - back when you believed yourself to be in control of this situation - stuffed in your mouth. You whimpered when you heard the zipper of his trousers. The feeling of his cock pressing against your entrance turned it into a moan. You were so wet that he had no trouble at all sliding the full, throbbing length of his cock into you - so wet he couldn’t stifle an ecstatic grunt as he did. August chuckled at the shriek that came from your throat. 

“This soaking little cunt is begging me to tear it apart, babygirl,” he moaned as he pulled back slowly, “it would be rude to ignore that.” A few slow, shallow thrusts followed; he stretched you out lazily, relishing the feeling of the warm wetness of your body, while at the same time teasing you. You mirrored his movements, throwing your hips back to get him to go deeper. There was nothing in this world you wanted more right now than to just have more of August inside of you. 

“No no, baby, not so fast,” he chuckled and the playful slap on your bare ass echoed through the parking garage, “you teased me for an hour. You got yours, now I want mine.” You wanted so badly to tell him to just fuck you hard, but you couldn’t. Luckily, August had run out of patience during the drive, and it wasn’t long before he sank into you completely again and set a relentless pace, slamming his hips into yours with every thrust, working his cock so deep inside you that it hurt just right. You knew he wouldn’t last long going like this, not after the past hour, not after having been away from you for a week, but when he didn’t stop you got worried. 

“No,” you tried to say through your improvised gag, “not inside.”

“What?” August asked in a low voice with a diabolical undertone to it. “You want me to come inside this wet little cunt?” He laughed at your largely inaudible protest. A few hard thrusts later, he finished inside of you. He pulled his cock out first, and then he freed your mouth of your underwear. 

“You dick,” you hissed at him. The fact you couldn’t yell made you even angrier than you already were. “Give me those!” You reached for your panties, but August caught your wrist. He held up the flimsy garment with a wicked smile on his face. 

“These? They’re soaked. So even if I were to give them back to you, you couldn’t wear them.” 

“August, seriously?” You shrieked before lowering your voice again. “You want me to meet your friends with your cum dripping down my leg?”

“That hardly sounds like my problem,” he said before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Come on, princess, it’s a five minute walk to the bar.”