miscfandomwrites

[miscfandomwrites]

Monarch

task force 141 x accused! traitor reader

word count: over 2k

tagging: @tyler-t0t (this is why I didn't go to bed until 4 lol)

trigger warnings: mentions of torture and being left for dead.

~

"No mercy for traitors." was what Ghost snarled at you as he helped Soap push you off the boat.

Arms tied behind your back, legs tied together with a large cinderblock weighing them down, a bag shoved over your head, you were plunged into whatever body of water they dragged you out on a boat to.

Thing is, you weren't a traitor.

Far from it, actually.

You caught wind of something that they didn't. You brought it up-mentioned how the new medic wasn't fully fledged and flighted; they didn't even know how to properly stitch up wounds.

You were ignored.

Just for being the youngest.

The only female on the team.

Just because they didn't like the idea of you to begin with.

Perfect plan, actually. Initiate a new member to the Task Force, add in a new apprentice medic, and slowly turn the tables.

When they got the information and found out that vital safe houses were destroyed and supply chains were disrupted, they were very quick to point fingers.

Not on the 'golden child' of a medic who could seem to do no wrong, no, on you.

Didn't matter that you'd barely been back for a few hours from a separate mission where you were solo. Of course.

Grabbing the wet bag from your face, you gasped in the salty air, realizing that they'd dropped you several miles offshore of some sort of coastal town. You could faintly see the lights, and thankfully, see the circling light of the lighthouse.

Better get to swimming.

Pulling off your tactical vest and starting to pull off any unessential parts of your outfit that was weighing you down, you started swimming back to shore.

Thankfully, they hadn't dropped you closer to the poles, otherwise you would've been dead from the shock and hypothermia within minutes. A small mercy.

Starting towards shore, you started to go over a checklist in your head of everything that went wrong. How you were set up. What evidence you could show, and at this point, there sure wasn't a hell of a lot.

Didn't help that the traitor was on the boat that dropped you off. You could still hear their voice, clear as day. And what they said shook you to your core, because it meant that they knew. They knew that you knew all along.

"Night night, butterfly."

One of the photos you had seen while you were trying to dig up anything you could find on this medic led you to another photo, of a member of the Russian KGB. They had a very distinctive butterfly tattoo on the left side of their lower torso. A monarch.

And what did you see when the medic was stitching you up horribly? His shirt lifted just enough to see that tattoo. You could've sworn he caught you staring, but you dismissed it too easily.

Bad mistake.

Grabbing fistfulls of wet sand, you dug your hands in, using the last of your strength to pull your body up onto the shore, away from the waves.

You barely remember what happened next, but you woke up in some sort of brick building. Lying on a bed in front of a fireplace that was almost stifling with heat, you groaned faintly and that caught the attention of a man sitting in a chair just out of your sight.

"You're alive!"

"....barely." Your voice hoarse from swallowing so much saltwater.

"Don't speak, sit up carefully and drink this."

Carefully sitting up, you realized you were naked underneath the blankets-where there seemed to be at least six piled on you-and an IV in your arm. Hooked up to an actual IV pole, with several bags of empty saline and blood. The man handed you a warm mug with a tea bag in it, and you took a tentative sniff.

"If I wanted to kill you, I would've already."

You nodded in agreement.

In the mug was a mixture of bitter tea with a good amount of honey, enough that it helped soften your throat for you to be able to speak.

"You drag me out? Put in IV? Clothes?" Quick, to the point. You barely had energy to stay conscious, let alone form words.

He nodded as he took the now empty mug from you and went about to refilling it.

"Dragged you off the beach. You were blue and shivering so I took your clothes off - They are hanging outside to dry." You took a second to look around the room again and noticed your boots by the fireplace, soles taken out and laces completely undone.

As if he had practice with doing this sort of thing.

"I used to be a medic in the wars, yet now I just tend to this here lighthouse, and rescue people who get washed up on shore, apparently."

Handing the now piping-hot mug back to you, he dragged the chair into your eyesight near the foot of the bed.

"Tell me what happened."

Considering how weak you knew you were and how exhausted you felt, you decided to tell him everything. To the task force, you were technically dead, so nothing really mattered at this point. Except killing the actual fucker who did this to you.

It took several days until you were able to be steady on your feet again and recover from the majority of your injuries. They tortured you for a bit before Price gave the order to toss you into the sea, and your ribs were still crying out from that.

The man said you were crying in your sleep. You didn't doubt it.

You helped him cook and clean, in turn he patched you up. He took out the old stitches from the fake medic and cussed them out the entire time he did so.

"Fucker knew what he was doing. Meant to make it get infected and scar...."

"Then blame everything on me while I was delirious and in the medbay. Plant my room."

"He did. That's why you're here, hun."

You nodded solemnly. You weren't ever given a chance to explain yourself; it was if they were happy to finally torture you.

Two weeks later you were saying your goodbyes to the man, who you now came to know as Cian. (Kee-an)

He told you to visit anytime, especially after what you were planning on doing.

"Go kick some ass."

You were in more common clothes, a black shirt, a pair of beat-up jeans and sneakers, with an old baseball cap of Cian's that he put on your head just before you left that looked like it'd seen better years decades ago.

You took off. Into the village, you got a ride to the nearest city with a embassy. And a friend.

Said friend, known only as 'Miriam' was very excited yet also extremely confused to see you.

You'd been reported dead two months ago. It was across all networks of agencies that dealt with taskforces or things that were supposed to remain quiet.

It was odd, as you had only been at the lighthouse for a little under a month, and then it hit. The torturing.

They kept you in a windowless room for over a fucking month.

Pulling nails, cutting into your skin, burning cigarettes and cigars into your stomach and arms. Whipping your back and then pouring seawater onto the fresh marks, making you take 'truth' serums that after you didn't tell them what they wanted, said were fake and didn't work. (They did, you were telling the truth...just not the one they wanted to hear. One you didn't know.)

Miriam promised she wouldn't tell anyone you were alive and gave you a new code name to use. Baba Yaga.

The boogeyman.

Fitting, as you were about to become the task force's worst nightmare.

It took months to track them town. They were good, clever. But you ran with them for two years, and you knew how they worked and operated. Knew where they'd likely be stationed at.

And you were right.

Port of Spain. They were in a small military camp with high fenced walls topped with barbwire, well-armed troops with dogs, timely reactions to threats. It was almost laughable how easily you were able to slip though the defenses.

Dressed as one of the guards, you joined a rotation where you would be patrolling the outside of the fence for four hours and then switch to inside for the next four, before being switched out. It was easy to make friends with the guards, chatting in the local dialect of Spanish that you'd perfected over the course of a week. Picking up on local slang and various shops and restaurants with history around town, you were easily added into the folds. Becoming chummy with a Lieutenant, even.

That led you into said Lieutenant's quarters that night, right next to the warehouse where you've caught sight of the traitor along with your old team. Price stepping out for a smoke break with Ghost. Gaz talking shit with Soap. It all felt...normal. But you knew that it wasn't.

You had been secretly gathering evidence again the traitor for months. Photos, videos, papers, texts, everything. It laid out exactly what happened, and how you were (supposedly) killed as the traitor, when all along, it was the fucking medic.

One night, you saw the medic laughing with them at a local bar, in your spot, right between Soap and Gaz. You had enough.

You took the file and set it on the main table in the room where they were gathering intel on their next target, noted by a half-burnt cigar and some timers for a bomb you knew Soap was building.

You also might've paid the waiter handsomely to slip something in everyone's drinks. Not enough to drug, but enough to become pliable. And you laid your trap.

They came stumbling into the warehouse later that night, while you sat in the rafters. Dressed in your old boots and now dyed-black kit, you pulled a black balaclava to cover your face from the nose down.

Watching. Waiting.

As the doors closed behind them, they didn't notice as they locked. Or that all of the doors to the warehouse were locked and barricaded. No way out. At least, not easily.

Price saw the folder first. Confused, he opened it and sobered up real quick. Spreading the pictures, printed messages and screenshots, and lastly a flash drive onto the table.

Ghost took it and hesitantly put it into the computer.

Big mistake.

The screen flickered once, then it emitted a high-pitched noise before it shattered, plunging them into darkness.

Shouting ensued, and you dropped the smoke cans.

Even with them grabbing their flashlights, it did nothing with the smoke flooding the building,

They called out to each other, and soon enough gathered with their backs to the table, handguns and flashlights drawn. They didn't realize they were missing someone vital, however.

After two minutes the smoke mostly cleared and the emergency generator kicked on, flooding the building with blinding light.

You anticipated that, they didn't. Fools.

You stood facing towards them as the smoke cleared, with an arm around the neck of the fake-medic. He was grabbing at your arm fitfully, yet he was already turning pale.

"Let him go!" rang Ghost's voice as he spotted you.

"Wait," Price started, squinting at you before turning pale himself.

"It's her-"

"It can't be-"

"She's supposed to be dead-"

You shouted, voice cutting through the chaos.

"ENOUGH!"

You pulled your handgun and aimed the muzzle at the traitor's head.

Everyone stared at you, eyes wide.

"You wouldn't kill him-" Soap started.

You nodded towards the table. "Check those papers again."

They took a second to look back down at the table and finally came to the same idea.

"You didn't betray us."

"Never did. But you all were all too happy to tie me up and started pulling my molars out."

Ghost winced. You had barely seen this man flinch, yet now he seemed to be physically regretting everything that was done to you.

"Put him down, I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement, right?" Price was trying to bargain. They needed the traitor for information. That they'll never get.

You laughed dryly as you clicked the safety off the gun.

"You already made it perfectly clear where you stand."

"Please, (Y/N)-"

You pulled the trigger.

"No mercy for traitors."

With that, the building plunged into darkness.

[miscfandomwrites]

hi! If y'all would like to support me and my works you can buy me a coffee!

I'm currently about to start some college courses this summer and will be attending online college in the fall, so any support means a lot!

[miscfandomwrites]

141 x 141! reader who was sent out on a mission and got captured.

Reader who was drugged and given some weird, mysterious substances.

Reader who's team thought they were dead for months-

Until you come back.

First, it's all normal, all smiles and regular visits to the med bay and psych doctors, until you realize they're keeping things from you.

"...blood count is abnormally low, almost non-existant...."

Then things start happening.

Nightmares, unsurprisingly, considering the lengths in which you were tortured to get information, yet...

These aren't your memories.

You're not the one being tortured, no you are the one doing the opposite.

Suddenly you're starting to sleep less, and going to the gym more. Some reason meat sounds better than the salad bar. You know you need to eat a balanced diet or you'll feel like shit yet....

You're growing stronger.

Easily dead lifting Ghost's max on the barbells,

Outpacing Kyle on your runs when you were always behind,

Outdrinking Soap when you're at the bar, yet at the end of the night, you're not even tipsy,

The worst was when you managed to spot some snipers on a rooftop blocks away baresighted before Price could, in his binoculars.

That made things stir.

You started tracking how long you slept, finding it was less than half your normal time and was steadily decreasing.

The team, on the other hand, starting tracking other things.

Like how you were able to easily dodge attacks and manage to barely get touched in training, seeming as if you almost pass through them as if they're made of air.

You got grazed by a bullet on your bicep on the most recent mission, barely a week ago, yet last time Ghost checked, wounds don't scar over that soon...and they especially don't scar over black.

You notice that suddenly any new mark you've gotten is healing rather quickly. Bruises you got in the morning's training were faded and gone by supper. Scratches and cuts were absent within the matter of days.

Gaz swears he sees you almost float when you're fighting. Your feet barely touch the ground.

Soap notices your teeth and eyes next, especially because you tend to sit right across from him at tables.

"Teeth are sharp. Not 'jus the regular ones, no, all of 'em"

"Eyes are odd, look, they're dark, almost as if...there's nothing there."

Then a different teams captures the place where you were held hostage for a few months- you expected photos and films of your torture but not like this-

Photos of you strapped to a table, naked, with odd drawings all over you.

Photos of you screaming, covered in various marks, then more photos of you passed out, the marks faded to scars, faded to black.

"...they're timestamped....only hours apart...."

Suddenly you grow more skittish. As more and more photos and even videos are found, you find reasons to hide.

They find needles, and bottles upon bottles of unknown liquid written in a script not even the best translator Laswell can find recognizes.

All the bottles were empty, and when the medical staff ran the liquid they could salvage from them, all they got were error messages.

More photos, more strange symbols and this time there's photos of you cut open,

Seeing your lungs, and heart, intestines-hell, they even cut open a part of your skull from what it looks like.

You start to wonder if that's really you in those photos.

You don't remember any of this.

You remember being strapped to a chair, having your nails and hair pulled, cigarettes burned out on you, getting stabbed in the arms and sliced on your chest-but not this.

The team is starting to give you looks everytime you're around, ones that make your skin crawl. It seems whenever you go even slightly close to anyone they find an excuse to go away from you.

They all have this one distinct look in their eyes too,

One that says, you shouldn't be alive.

After days of barely seeing anyone, you decide to slice open the back of your arm. Because you were curious. All your other wounds healed easily, so this one should too, right?

After not seeing any blood for a couple of seconds you decide that the healing must have already kicked in,

Until you notice that the wound is dripping black.

You smear it across your fingers, realizing it was almost watery, yet was pitch dark. Like blood.

You wrap it up and continue on with your day, people dodging out of your way, and you intend to find Price to ask for medical leave, yet when you walk into the office you're greeted by....

A wall. The entire back wall of his office was not only bare as the bookcases and photos had moved, but photos were pinned on it. All featuring you.

Photos of the symbols, drawn more clearly, photos of your hands and feet, oddly enough, yet when you look closer you realize they're turning black.

Not necrotic, not dead, just pitch black.

There's photos of your back, in which the largest symbol is on, along with several dozen black dots along the sides of your spine. In one of the photos you see needles filled with the strange black substance that, oddly enough, looked like what came out of your arm earlier.

You turn and decide to call it a night, despite the fact you haven't slept in weeks, you just lie there.

Only to be met with the team. They're all standing outside the door to your room, and after almost a month of barely catching glimpses of them, you're rightfully pissed that they're waiting for you outside of your bedroom.

You can't even get two words in until Price overruled you, asking to see the inside of your room.

Knowing these men, you decided it would just be easier if you gave them what they wanted.

What you didn't expect was that there was this black...mold? Growing everywhere. On your couch, walls, the ceiling, it was the worst on your bed, where you 'slept' every night.

Okay, so maybe you haven't been to your room in a couple days, but that shouldn't have caused this...right?

[miscfandomwrites]

Kind a big fan of the 141 advisors from this post helping newly queened! Reader learn various skills-

Namely Price, Mactavish, and Riley teaching her fighting skills but it turns into:

"You're going easy on me!"

"No, I'm not, you're just getting better-"

"You haven't even touched me! We are learning hand combat! We are supposed to be touching and trying to hurt each other!"

"My Queen I don't know if-"

"How am I ever supposed to learn to defend myself if you take it easy on me! The enemies will touch me and not only will they try to hurt me they will try to kill me. I am not some delicate thing that will be hurt by you punching me- hit me already! "

"Mactavish, my turn."

[miscfandomwrites]

Royal advisors! 141 x Newly Queened! Reader

You were crowed early. Really early. Most Kings and Queens are in their late thirties and forties when they are crowned, but you unfortunately took the throne at 27 years old. Your mother died while you were just a babe, giving birth to you, and your father never seemed to truly get over it, always blaming you for it and it left you with no real connection to him.

So when he suddenly is killed while he is out traveling to another Kingdom, you're barely given three days to mourn before his royal advisor comes to you, voice soft as he spoke, "My Lady...I do know this is a very difficult time however we need to start talking about your coronation."

Within the week you're being coronated- after all, you can't leave a kingdom without a ruler. By the end of that day you're told you have several diplomatic meetings coming up, and you have no idea what they are or how to act in them. This leads you to seek out several people-

Your father's royal advisor, Sir Kyle Garrick, who kept in touch with the couriers and the various happening throught not only the kingdom but the surrounding ones, keeping the King updated with the comings and goings of the royals and anything interesting going on in the letters or kingdom.

Sir Jonathan Price, your father's personal guard who unfortunately was with him the night your father passed-but he was one of the best soldiers in the kingdom, in the end of it, you had no choice but to seek him out. He was now the Head of the Royal Guard, training soldiers and going over battle plans and old war history, trying to gain and edge he wasn't sure he had.

Sir John MacTavish, who was one of the handful that had gone into the battle of Two Holds and had returned-holding up the letters in which the other kingdoms were found implicit in illegal human trafficking. Those letters were only rumored to exist, so when they were given to you father he had right idea to crown him as Knight MacTavish, who remained on his personal guard-and advisors-until his death. Unlike Sir Johnathan however, he had previously taken an arrow to the ear before the trip so he did not attend the slaughter of the king.

You did not know why it was called the 'slaughter of the king' and you were unsure if you should find out.

And the last one- Sir Simon Riley but known mainly by his war name of Ghost. You've only seen him around the castle less than a handful of times, and all of those were when he was coming back to your father carrying someone's head. In the case of the the battle of Two Holds-he came back with the warring kings head and his crown.

You shivered. You hated the sight of blood, you didn't know why, but on some deep, primal level it made your skin crawl and breath shorten. Your handmaiden said it was likely just a reflex of your body but you knew better. Knew there had to be a reason.

You summoned them all together, meeting with Sir Kyle to create your own meeting in one of the the many meeting rooms with large tables in the castle.

Dressed in just a pair of simple trousers and a tunic, sturdy boots that you haven't broken in yet, you opened the doors with your faithful handmaiden, Morgana, at your side.

All but Sir Simon bowed as you entered, you didn't bother taking offense to it, he didn't know you so he had no reason to respect you and there were much, much more important things at hand.

"It is no suprise I've gathered you all here today-and that is because I cannot rule this kingdom alone. Father did not allow me to know the history behind the sieges or battles as far as the wars go, he did not allow me to learn about are trade access-Hell, he did his damn best to make sure I would not be a worthy heir. However....I am his only heir. I come to ask for knowlege, and for all of you to be granted as my personal advisors so you may help me run this kingdom in the best possible way...and to win the oncoming battles and wars."

Sir Johnathan blinked. He'd seen you around the castle, sure, but thought you were a reclusive child, and now realized the king-former king had purposely hidden you away so you were not taught or raised like an proper heir to the throne.

He cleared his throught. "My Queen....I do belive I speak for all the men in this room when I say we'd be honored." He had purposely sought out the others the day after your coronation due to the fact he had a hunch this would be someone you might do. You were a smart women, which meant you'd make a smart queen.

The others nodded as you each looked at them, seeking signs of any issues.

Finding none you nodded. "I have next to no knowlege of well, anything related to being a a Queen, so please forgive me if I mess something up or do no behave in a 'Queenly' way. I know there is unrest within the kingdom and within these very walls- let us take care of that first, then we will start on the other Kingdoms." With that, you turned and walked back out, pausing just outside with Morgana.

"They didn't teach her anything?!"

"Her father still-used to-blame her for her mother's death. He has never gotten over it so thus he does not trust or want to be be near her. The only reason she wasn't sent away was because I told him it would put his crown at risk."

"Bloody fool. Even kings fall."

[miscfandomwrites]

Hear me out: coach! Miguel x single parent reader.

Coach! Miguel! Who has a new kid joining up for his soccer team, and while he's watching the kid play he realizes that this kid has potential- a lot of it.

Coach! Miguel who starts wanting to do more practice outside of regular play hours so he can help strengthen and teach this new kid

Coach! Miguel who ends up meeting you when you go to pick your son up from practice only to be met by the walking wet dream of

Coach! Miguel who stops in his tracks upon seeing you, not because you're hot, well you are hot... really hot....but because he can tell just why this kid has potential.

Coach! Miguel who gets invited over to dinner at your place when a soccer match runs particularly late, and after your son is sent to bed you and him stay up talking on the couch

Coach! Miguel who realizes after a couple months that your son is doing amazing and he's definitely looking forward to helping him grow- he's growing more invested into you.

Coach! Miguel who lets you join the teams out-of-state match (their first one!) because he needed another chaperone... no other reason

Coach! Miguel who 'accidently' books only one room for the two of you... with one bed. As you're struggling trying to find accommodation for you-a couch, a spare bed, anything, Miguel turns to you with a grin and says

"Looks like you'll be sleeping with me then, princesa"

[miscfandomwrites]

Shifterverse! 141 x Rabbit Shifter! Reader who's going into heat while they're at a safe house.

(Price-Bear, Gaz-Leopard, Soap-Wolf, Ghost-Direwolf(? Creepy motherfucker))

"Did any of you put the white bottle of meds in your pack before we left?" I asked as I started digging though my kit, looking for my own bottle.

"Sorry lass, didn' get a chance ta" Soap replied, tucking away his own medkit as the others were digging through theirs.

Ghost forgot to pick it up from the medbay, Price was too busy with mission prep, and Gaz did have it in his bag but considering said bag currently laid in the ocean a couple thousand miles away....

"Godfuckingdammit!" I snapped as I went into the kitchen, opening cupboards trying to see if I could find something, anything that would help me.

"Mind telling us what the issue is, carrot?" Gaz asked from behind me, nearly causing me to yelp. Never got used to him being that quiet.

"Not particularly." I growled out as I stalked towards the back of the house, grabbing my bag and my jacket, heading towards the door. I managed to get halfway through it before a hang grabbed my pack, tugging me back inside, spinning me around and slamming me into the wall besides it.

"And just where the fuck do you think you're going?" It was Ghost, glaring down at me.

"...I... honestly don't know. I just need to leave."

I saw him pause, then he pulled down his balaclava just under his nose.

It took all of two seconds before he let go of me, staring back at me with an expression I couldn't place and honestly wasn't sure I wanted to.

"You're going into heat," this time it was Price, with concerned look on his face.

"Wha' the bloody hell is your plan when you get outta here, just run an' hope no one gets't ya? Fuckin idiot." Soap now was besides Ghost, arms crossed over his chest as he also glared at me.

"I was going to get someone and take care of this, I'm certainly not staying here with you guys-"

"You're not fucking going anywhere."

[miscfandomwrites]

Konig is definitely anxious in some way. Someone doesn't wear a mask constantly just to look cool or scary (that's definitely part of it), and I do believe the headcannons about him have some severe facial scarring, especially the ones across the face and messing with his mouth a bit.

Does lead me to think that he definitely does not want to go out into public, so when you somehow manage to drag him out he has a medical mask on and his hood up, walking right behind you the entire time as you're wondering why the mall in suddenly less crowded than earlier.

Don't get me wrong though, he's happy when you're in his sight and reaching distance, yet the second he can't find you in the mall he panics.

You're his person, his safe place, and he's got more than enough enemies that would happily take advantage of you just to hobble him in the field.

Besides anxiety, he's got amazing self-control. He's got anger issues, he's cocky, his work personality is much different than his home because he needs to build the walls back up so he doesn't get hurt, so you don't get hurt.

So when you're kidnapped right out from under his nose in the mall by 141 trying to see if you know anything, he's well past anxiety and self-discipline.

He's a Colonel for a reason, after all. He'll lead armies into hell if it means getting you back in his arms.

[miscfandomwrites]

Laswell definitely is some type of gay. Can't be anything other than that. Lesbian, bisexual, pansexual- she likes women. And sure, physical attractiveness is part of it, something about being with men and being about to not have to deal with yard work or killing the random spider that crept into the kitchen while she was cooking is great,

But women.

Something in her just clicks. It feels as if a puzzle piece she didn't know was missing was finally put into place. Being able to be both soft around them and have her domineering side makes her feel like she can finally breathe.

Coming back home to a girlfriend waiting oh so patiently for her with their cats in tow as she opens the front door, greeted by the smell of her girl's perfume, the candle burning on the coffee table, food cooking away on the stove and something inside her heals just a bit.

Being able to do her lover's hair since she always seems to make the perfect buns and can style bangs easily, cooking in the kitchen and laughing when she accidently gets covered in flour, stealing kisses in between bites of freshly made cookies, having wine nights while they binge watch some early 2000's TV series, their feet on her lap as she makes an occasional comment about the show. Smiling softly at her when she thinks they don't notice (they do) and imaging their future together.

Crawling into bed finally, tugging the covers over her soon-to-be wife's shoulders as she softly smiles at her, admiring the person that she's fallen hopelessly and honestly in love with. Knowing that the ring tucked into her work bag will finally see the sun the next day when she asks her to be her person, forever.

[miscfandomwrites]

141 spice tolerance headcannons:

Price can tolerate some spice and does like a bit of a kick, but his tolerance is medium to low. He suffers through hot wings and will eat jalapeño poppers but cannot eat more than a few bites of Gaz's chili or he will be taking the milk jug hostage when he goes to the bathroom. He is slowly building up his spice tolerance so he can actually eat the meals that Soap cooks, if he's lucky he might be able to get away with quickly eating it and then suffering a bit but lately he's been able to sit down and enjoy the meal with Gaz and Soap, while Ghost has his balaclava on and is on the complete other side of the table.

Ghost has a medium to low tolerance. Like...c'mon he's a British white guy. He can't even handle most hot sauces, and just the smell of Gaz's chili will make his eyes water. Occasionally he tries one of Prices's wings but can't tolerate more than like three bites before he calls it quits. Can barely be in the kitchen while Soap is cooking lest his eyes start watering and his asthma kicks up. Soap managed to find a really mild hot sauce for him that he can tolerate and he secretly really likes it, yet tells Soap it's still too much for him

Gaz grew up in a huge family and you just know this man can cook. Maybe like three or four things, but he can cook! And his main specialty is his chili, which was created during a dare with Soap to make the hottest chili possible. Soap's chili was decent, but Gaz got his hands on some ghost peppers and some dried California reaper peppers.... so his chili is to be feared. That said, he has a surprisingly high spice tolerance, but it does come with the drawback of most food not being 'good' unless it's spicy in some way.

Soap also has a decently high spice tolerance, especially for a Scottish man, which he tells is inherited from his father. "Aye, he could'a eaten Gaz's chili and called it piss-poor!" And while he can cook decently (he makes the best stews and steaks you'll ever have, just don't tell him that) he tends to make most food too spicy for anyone but him and Gaz, maybe Price can suffer through it but Ghost certainly can't even be in the kitchen while he's making it.

[miscfandomwrites]

A/N: I am sorry if your name is Elizabeth. I used a name generator and that's what I got.

Pairing: Konig x Anger Issues! Reader

Series name: Butcher Part one, Part two

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

Words: around 900

Warnings: Blood, violence, language, etc

~

“Oh please, you only have the callsign because you gave it to yourself to look cool.” She hissed out, limping around the mat, being cautious to keep out of my grabbing distance. 

“Says the one with the callsign Angel.” 

“That was given to me unlike you!” She cried as she rushed towards me, well, as fast as someone with a busted knee can rush. 

I dodged, kicking her in the ass as she rushed past me, making her stumble.

She made a sound of frustration as she tried again, and this time I took the brunt of the attack, letting her run into me. I slipped to her right slightly, sticking out my leg so she tripped over it. She didn’t fall over without a fight, sinking her nails into my scalp and yanking on my hair as hard as she could. 

Oh, she wanted to fight dirty? I can fucking fight dirty.

My head throbbed and I felt something warm sliding down my ear and onto my forehead. Fuck, she made me bleed. Fucking head wounds. 

I felt it before I saw it, a left hook right across the face, causing me to bite my tongue, forcing  me to spit out some blood. 

I’m fucking done with her. 

“That’s the thing, Elizabeth,” I growled out, clutching my arm to my side as I looked up to her across the mat, blinking against the viscous blood dripping into my eyes. She was swaying, and struggling to breathe since I had kicked her on her side, no doubt breaking a few ribs in the process. 

I slowly, painfully made my way to her, and for every step I took, she took a shaky one back, until she was at the edge of the arena, barely an inch away from forfeiting the fight. 

“My callsign isn’t Butcher because I kill animals or because I kill for fun, no…” I straighten up in front of her, grinning with a mouthful of blood and malice. Leaning in close, I whispered to her, “It’s because I’ll break you down bit by bit until there’s nothing left” 

With that, I shoved her out of the circle causing her to land flat on her ass making her forfeit. 

Konig walked over, lifting my uninjured arm into the air. “The winner is Butcher!” he yells out, causing a series of cheers and applause to erupt across the gym, making a soft smile break out across my face. 

With the adrenaline finally wearing off, my vision started to go spotty. Thankfully Konig noticed and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, helping me across the floor to where the medic was sitting with her kit, awaiting me. I barely sat down across from her before she started yelling at Konig in what I assumed was German. 

I was exhausted from the fights, going up against fifty-six of the best fighters in each team over the course of a couple hours meant that my body was more colorful than a crayon box of both blood and bruises. 

I’m fucking tired. 

I let out a yawn, causing both of them to look at me, and the medic to start her assessment, shining her penlight into my eyes making me wince. 

I barely remember anything that happened after that, as I was helped to my feet and taken to the medbay and laid down on a cot. I groaned as my back started to relax and I felt the last of the adrenaline leave my body leaving me limp and breathless. 

A warm, rough hand slid into mine and I looked over to see Konig sitting in a chair besides my bed, rubbing my knuckles with some sort of cream that was probably an antiseptic. 

“The medic says that you will be okay, just need to rest a lot. So no more training for a bit, ja?” He muttered to me as I noticed his English was improving since the last time I saw him a couple weeks ago before I started the training for the arena. 

I nodded a bit as a curtain besides my bed was pulled back and three different people with scrubs approached my bed, one pushing what I knew was an x-ray machine, another pulling a blood pressure cart and the last ones pulling a tray with syringes and various bandages. 

“Would it be better if we just gave you a sedative while we worked or do you think you will be okay without one?” The girl with the blood pressure cart said as she wrapped the cuff around my upper arm, jostling my shoulder. 

I looked over to Konig and squeezed his hand lightly twice, telling him that I would be fine without a sedative. 

“She’ll be fine without the medicine. She is very tired so she will probably just sleep while you work.” 

“Works for us, however we do need to remove her clothes and put her into a gown if you’d like to help or leave that is up to you.” She told him, starting to undo my boots as the cuff tightened on my arm making me wince. 

“I will help.” he replied as he took one of his knives and carefully cut away my shirt and bra, knowing it would hurt too much to force me to move. 

That was expensive. He’d better get me a new bra. I thought as I started to fade out of consciousness.

[miscfandomwrites]

LOVE THIS, WILL TAKE INSPO IF THAT IS OKAY @boowritess

notsobaddasssoldier!reader who is kinda a cunt

reader who just doesn't give a shit about the 141 rank or title.

"you think just cause your captain of some lil task force i'm gonna bend over backwards for you? be serious."

"cool you're lieutenant...and.... anything else interesting? like how you think halloween is 24/7, or...?"

"oh so it's a big accomplishment you're sergeant at your big age? tell someone who cares."

you're just so... eh about their ranks. but they get some power trip when you call them said rank. makes them feel some sort of way that depsite your snark, you still call them by rank. showing the clear difference of inferiority and superiority between you and them.

till you notice and shut that shet down.

"your so fucking stupid. it's like if i met The Pope. I'm gonna call him Pope because he's The Pope. I still don't give a shit though."

"or like meeting a Doctor and calling them Doctor. I don't give a fuck that the persons a Doctor. I'll still call em it."

"better yet. hate the king. hate the queen. but i still call them the queen and king. because their dumbassary is just linked to their 'ranks'. if you keep annoying me the same is gonna go for you."

you have so much sass and snark that it becomes a truly humbling experience. and it's like - damn. they could put you over their knee and really put you in your place but reader takes things from 0-100 real fucking quick.

"you wanna what you fucking freak?"

"excuse me-?"

"you're so fucking dumb. get a braincell dumb bitch. do it and fucking find out what happens."

"shot me in the head and watch my corpse not give a fuck because I don't."

and when the guys get a lil too fucking serious about putting reader in their place. reader suddenly has a gun pointed at their face. you see what I mean by taking things to 0-100 real quick?

"dummy. really tryna fuck with me when we're surrounded by guns? fuck outta here with that bullshit."

"matter fact I'd just kill myself-"

"NO!" *141*

it's obvious you may be young and perhaps a little too mouthy for your own good but it's clear you're not going to be pushed around.

but it's obvious you ain't here for the 'greater good' and just doing the work to get the paycheck. while the guys find your snark to be really fucking annoying.

it turns out that you definitely have some perks.

you may not be able to hold yourself very long in battle, just a very basic solider with basic skill sets- your mouth and attitude can really work wonders on people.

in particular, the egotistical rookie who things they're all that. taking their sweet time with basic tasks, belittling other recruits who can do the bare minimum. just in general, an asshole. that's when you step in.

"you ain't shit bitch cause at the end of the fucking day turdface, you ain't bullet proof. i can shoot you right now, and all your running and yapping will cease to exist. your corspe will rot. people will stop knowing you as the loudmouth rookie, and you will just become nothing. infact. you are nothing."

*the recruit opens their mouth. you interrupt.*

"Nothing."

*recruit tries again.*

"Nothing."

it's an endless cycle that ceases when your hardened glare doesn't stop and you pick up a rock intending to throw it at the recruit. the blank, dead, serious look in your eyes showing you are more than fucking serious.

what really works wonders though, is they way you aren't worried about putting a superior in their place. the other 141 have basically been beaten in and to not question anything. they have been made to believe they are weapons more than human.

that gets shut down real quick.

you all have just come back from mission, that was grueling. a couple of you were injured. everyone looked worse for wear. dirts, scratches, blood. someone no longer had their vest. a few lost weapons. barely had any inventory. needing food, sleep, and then a long shower shower.

but instead waiting for the task force, was a superior officer, holding the next mission file. a mission they were supposed to be getting ready for and practically leave as soon as they got back.

before price could grab for it, you intercept. grabbing the mission file and throwing it at the superior officers face.

"you giant fucking anal peice of dried solid dog shit. we're not fucking doing that. we just got back from hiding in a fucking forest for three weeks with enemy surrounding us to get intel from a camp- THAT WASN'T FUCKING THERE. so you better turn and take those pretty polished shoes to another task force."

"what is your name, soldier?" *superior officer growls.*

"Dolly Parton. Now Dolly has just worked longer than a nine to five and Dolly ain't got the patience for dealing with a man like you. i got two bullets left. one for you and one for me. and if you think i won't do it- well we can put it to the test now-"

perhaps it was the utter dead look in your eyes, or the gentle yet seething venom in your tone. the superior officer simply growls and turns on their feet, leaving the task force.

it's funny cause you do get the respect, you are barely a good soldier but dang you can get shit done when need be. so price doesn't transfer you. he still keeps you close.

ghost is the one who loves the feral little shit you are. gaz and you talk mad shit about everyone on base. soap just absolutely adores you, you're the little sibling he's always wanted.

a/n: inspired by the feral nature of gen z.

[miscfandomwrites]

A/N: From my old account, miscmarvelwritings. I don’t experience paranoia nor do any of my close friends or family, so I resorted to medical websites (.edu, .org only) so I’m going to try and make this as accurate as possible. If there is something I should change, or is incorrect, please let me know so I can edit this. 

Pairing: Avengers x teen! (gender neutral) reader with paranoia 

Warnings: none?

Words: 1.3k

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

~~

“All I can offer are antipsychotics. There’s no approved drug on the market to help, I’m sorry (Y/N).” Doctor Wellburn told me. 

I sighed, kicking my feet back and forth as I sat on the table, looking up at the ceiling and considering my options. 

“Are there any trials I can join? Anything like that?” I asked, focusing back on him, hoping there was at least something that would help. It’d be nice if I wasn’t constantly doubting myself or feel like I’m being threatened. 

“Well…I’ll take a look and get back to you if there is anything. But since you are a teenager, and most drug trial options are for those eighteen, even twenty-one and above, there’s not much I can do for you sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart? What’s with the nickname? Is he lying to me? He must be lying to me, he wouldn’t call me that, he doesn’t like me, does he? He’s a grown man and-

“(F/N), I can see the gears turning in your head with those thoughts again.” he told me, my attention snapping back to him.

“I will do my best to look for trials, but I believe the best route to go right now is therapy, and probably a few months away from active missions. I know you are talented and want to help people, but you cannot help people if you do not help yourself first. This is necessary, so I will be bringing this up to the directors and suspend your active duty status until you can show me improvement and have better coping skills than self-isolating.”

“What?” I jumped up from the table, facing him. “You’re not serious? Are you? Please, please don’t suspend me!” I angrily stated, eyes full of shock and slight betrayal. I knew the paranoia was bad, but was it really bad enough to cause all of this?

“Yes, it is necessary. I want you to be able to get better control over your thoughts so in the heat of a battle you don’t hurt yourself or someone else.” Wellburn explained.

I huffed and crossed my arms, leaning against the examination table. He had a good point. And I couldn’t argue with it. 

“Fine. Only because I’d just make it worse for myself if I didn’t follow through.” I finally agreed. 

Wellburn only took out a pen and wrote something on a pad of paper before ripping it off and handing it to me. I took it, reading that it was a prescription to go see a therapist a little further into the city, roughly a ten minute walk from the tower on a good day.

“I do have to warn you, however, about that therapist. She can be a bit…intense, and I really only send people who I know can handle it.”

“Intense how? In a good or bad way?” 

“Good, you will be doing an immense amount of self healing as well as learning to cope with your paranoia. She’s one of the best I’m aware of. And as far as I’m aware, she only talks to the Avengers specifically.”

“So I’m basically getting referred to the team therapist?”

“Pretty much.”

“Alright then, I guess that’s that…” I said with a sigh, grabbing my jacket and sliding it on, putting the note in my pocket. 

Wellburn went and sat at his desk, logging into his computer. “I’m going to send her an email about your referral and the basics of why you’re seeing her, nothing else besides that. She will have basic access to your files, and as the same with me, and HIPPA laws, none of that information unless you are going to harm yourself or others will be shared or talked about outside of conversations directly including you.”

“Okay. I should probably head back.” 

He turned in his chair towards me, tapping a pen against his mouth. 

“When do you want to come in again? Four weeks, or six?” he asked. 

“Depends on if you find any trials for me to participate in.” I replied.

“Five it is, and of course I will inform you, (F/N), that’s basic human decency.”

“See you when I see you then, Doctor.” and with that last statement I headed out the door and out to go back to the tower. 

~

Exiting the elevator, I headed to the kitchen for some dinner, a bottle of water, and a (favorite drink) to keep me company while I did more research and notes for my anatomy class. 

Turns out dinner was already made, and since the kitchen was open and right beside the dining room, the entire team was sitting down and eating. 

“Oh hey, (F/N)! Why don’t you come sit with us? We made you a plate!” Pepper told me as I was halfway into the kitchen. 

It looked like a basic spaghetti, salad, and garlic bread dinner, yet my usual seat was empty and my plate had seemingly untouched food on it. 

What if they did something to it? It’s probably the parts that no one wanted to eat. The bread is rock hard, the sauce is no good, the lettuce too gross…

I paused, before putting on a small smile, trying to speak calmly with the thoughts roaring through my head. “Thank you, it means a lot, but I actually ate before I got here.” I bluffed, going and getting an unopened water and (favorite drink) before heading back to the elevator despite the protests of just sitting down and socializing with everyone. 

After getting to my room, I immediately set my drinks on my desk and locked the door, sitting on my bed and going over the appointment and everything else in my head, my throat drying up as my eyes started watering. 

A knock on my door paused my oncoming breakdown, and I quickly got up to unlock it. Surprisingly, Natasha stood there. Her and I didn’t speak much beyond basics, and even then she was relatively distant from almost everyone. 

She walked in as I sat down at my desk, keeping my body posed towards her. 

I watched as she sat down on my bed, glancing around the room before turning to look at me. 

“I know you lied about eating before you got here.” she spoke, her voice soft yet strong as her bright green eyes held mine. 

I winced, going to scratch the back of my head. “Yeah, I didn’t.” I replied. 

“Where did you go then?” She questioned. 

“Doctor appointment. I’m scheduled for one between every four to six weeks.”

“Anything different about this appointment?” 

I sighed, taking a deep breath before explaining how I was off active duty and how I need to go see a therapist now. 

“Is this due to your paranoia?” She asked, crossing her arms in front of her. I paused, my body going still. 

“How did you know that I have paranoia?” 

“I just figured due to your actions and such you did…” She tried to bluff, but I knew that I covered my actions with the team well, you’d either have to be well versed in mental health, have paranoia yourself, or have read my files. And I know she doesn’t have the first two.

“Where the fuck did you get access to my file? Why would you do that?” I yelled, standing up from my chair and facing her, my breath coming unevenly as I tried fighting off the panic attack. 

“Well I look over everyones every once in awhile to see if there’s any changes or-”

“GET OUT! GET THE HELL OUT OF MY ROOM!” I roared at her, the shelves on the walls starting to rattle and the paper behind me wiping around, the energy in the room becoming tense, volatile.

She opened her mouth to try and say something but thought better of it, heading out of the room. My energy slammed the door behind her, locking it and shoving my dresser in front of it.

I fell to the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees, trying to control my breathing as the energy got tenser, but slowly relaxing as I calmed myself down, getting tired from the strain of it. 

I didn’t even realize that I had fallen asleep until the inky blackness took hold of me.

[miscfandomwrites]

A/N: This is from about two years ago, from my old account. I know this was requested by someone yet I don't have anything saved for a name besides 'anon' so. There's not much to this but figured I'd post it anyways.

Pairing: Avengers x Widow! Reader

Warnings: Flashbacks, food based and major trust issues, reader self-isolates from everyone, everyone is kinda mean, natasha and yelena nearly kill half the avengers, language, angst, fluff(ish) ending

Words: 1.4k

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

Summary: Reader escaped the red room with more than just physical scars. At Fury’s request she joined the Avengers for ‘Rehabilitation’ back into society, which led to an awful prank played on her that caused her to lose all trust with them. She hasn’t met Natasha or Yelena yet as they’ve been away on a deep undercover mission..but once they return and learn what has been going on with the reader and the team, and what it’s making the reader relive through, all hell breaks loose.

~~ “It’s a cinnamon poptart, not the blueberry one, I swear by it.” Thor told me as I held the shiny silver package in my hands, debating on whether or not to open it. I was reminded back to last week, when Clint tried the same thing on me. I glanced back up at the god-and he was giving me the puppy dog eyes.

There was a history of the avengers giving me the wrong food. It started out as a joke that made me physically sick enough to the point where I couldn’t eat for almost a week because of it and turned into a joke for them. Well, it wasn’t a joke for me.

I sighed, glancing at the generic wrapper which didn’t tell me shit about what flavour it was. Looked back at Thor and his puppy dog eyes and decided that maybe it was worth a try.

Of course, when I tear open the package it’s the blueberry one. I stared at it for a good minute or so as Sam and Bucky started losing it at my deadpan facial expression, and I just dropped the poptart on the table and turned on my heel and walked away, trying not to remember what happened and blocking out my brain from trying to kill me again.

Steady walking turned into a fast-paced stride, which turned into a jog, then into a full on sprint. I had no idea where the hell I was going, I was too far into my head to tell beyond me descending the back staircase down several flights of stairs. I kept going down,

Down,

Down,

Until I hit a wall, and realized I was at the very bottom of the tower. I didn’t even know that there even was a bottom to the tower until now…and knowing already that it had almost two dozen floors, and the kitchen was almost at the direct top…

I must’ve ran down at least ten or maybe even fifteen flights…

My head was still spinning as I leaned against the wall, the sweat from my body making my clothes stick to me and my legs started to shake slightly. Being a supersoldier had its benefits when it came to fights and physical activity, but even then it had its limits.

My breathing came hard and fast, and I closed my eyes tightly as I turned around, pressing my back against the cold, solidness of the concrete wall and slid down until I could rest my arms on my knees and sucked in one breath, held it for seven seconds, then slowly breathed out through my mouth for ten. I kept repeating the pattern, six, seven, ten, until everything stopped spinning and I felt less light headed.

~

I don’t know how long I was down there, and only took my head off my arms to answer my phone’s consistent buzzing, alerting me to a call. I slid it from my pocking, wincing at the slight protest of my muscles and the phone screen that was still slightly slick from my sweat. I wiped it off on my pant leg and answered it, not bothering to check the contact info.

“Agent (L/N), please do inform me why you are not present at the meeting right now.” a deep voice which I recognized as Fury’s sounded through the speaker. Shit. Meeting. That must mean…

It was six in the evening-I’d left the kitchen around two-

I have been down here for four hours.

I quickly scrambled up, heading to the elevators and pushed the up button as I told Fury I’d be there in less then ten minutes and ended the call. The elevator shot up to my floor as I sniffed my shirt, smelling the sweat and slight mustyness of the basement on it. My body smelled physically fine, but my clothes reeked. Still need deodorant however.

Once on my floor I quickly threw off my clothes as I rushed into my room, grabbing some of the first clothes I saw and changing into them then heading to the bathroom to look semi-presentable. While sure, it probably wasn’t necessary for me to ‘freshen up’ I didn’t want any comments about my appearance or smell, better yet I didn’t want any mention of me and didn’t know why Fury was bothering me to join the avengers since I wasn’t a ‘main’ member.

I finished getting presentable and glanced at what I was wearing, a pair of grey faded jeans that I tucked a black tshirt into and had pulled on my olive green converse, and right before I left my bedroom I grabbed my green button up jacket and slid it on, hoping it’d pair better with the shoes. Thankfully I left my bow gloves on the small bookcase next to the elevator and decided to get those on a whim as I rushed into the elevator and told FRIDAY to take me to the meeting floor.

I pulled my hair up into a slightly messy bun and called it good, soothing any wrinkles and tucking in my shirt more and just fidgeting with my clothes in general.

The avengers, or at least the ones who I’ve seen since I started living in the tower-Thor, Sam, Bucky, Tony, Steve, Bruce, Peter, and a few others whose names I didn’t bother to remember, I did not trust at all. And that was putting it lightly. Ever since the incident when I first started living here-which was not my choice mind you, Fury told me to live here so here I am-I tried my best in avoiding them at all costs. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck one on one with any one of them…especially the males.

Natasha and her sister, Yelena, have been on a almost eight month mission and I haven’t met them yet, but there was one thing the three of us had in common: The red room.

Memories I’d rather not remember were thankfully interrupted by FRIDAY chiming at me and opening the door of the elevator, and I walked out into the conference / meeting room.

~

“Look what the cat dragged in, finally.” Tony stated as I walked to the meeting table, taking a seat at the end of it. I glanced around noticing two new faces-females, and from the red and yellow hair I guess Natasha and Yelena.

“Took you long enough.” Steve glared at me as I tried to remain indifferent.

I did notice both Yelena and Natasha stiffen when they saw me, and even more so when they saw my slight reaction to their comments. I didn’t bother introducing myself, figuring they probably damn remember who I was.

Of course, I had a different nickname in the room, but those days were long gone.

Fury nodded at me and explained what the two had dug up from their reconnaissance mission, explaining how there was a series of various drug cartels that had access to a substance that not only was highly illegal, but magical in nature.

I turned out during the last half of it, upon hearing Sam and Bucky having their heads together and snickering, occasionally glancing my way. At some point I heard whispers of what would happen if they caught me alone, and at that point I was done-black creeped on the edge of my vision as I rolled the chair back and I remembered that I hadn’t eaten in awhile. Suddenly a loud slam echoed through the room, caused by Natasha slamming her hand on the table, standing up.

“Will you two shut the fuck up before I decide to kill you?”

I stared in shock as she glared at Sam and Bucky, Yelena also standing with her, glaring and had a knife palmed in her hand already.

“You have no fucking idea what it was like for her, for us going through that room and all you’ve been doing is making her fucking miserable. I’ve been getting reports on what you two’ She turned and glanced around the entire team at this ‘on what everyone has been doing to her. You’re lucky I was too deep into the mission or I would’ve come here sooner.” She turned to Fury and he nodded at her, and then spoke up.

“Natasha and Yelena will be taking care of the black listed missions from now on, and they will be taking care of miss (L/N) as well. Upon their wishes, they are no longer a part of this team.”

Both the girls turned to me, Yelena sliding her knife away and Natasha holding out a hand to me.

“Come on, Серебряная Лиса, we’ve got you.”

We’ve got you.

(Silver fox)

[miscfandomwrites]

I'm fucking wheezing this is great, even better if you acknowledge that tac vests are a bit rough and are holding a lot of gear, meaning she held him tight against her 😂😭

"Tell me again why Strays got Ghost's head crushed to er chest?" Price asked as he rubbed his eyes.

"Well... we're not sure how he lost it, but his mask got knocked off, and she kinda just panicked, I guess. Don't worry, though! Soap's looking for it as we speak." Gaz couldn't help the laughter that leaked out when explaining.

Panic indeed, as soon as Ghost had turned around with his hand clutching his bleeding forehead, Stray had dropped her pack and practically threw herself at him. Dragging him to his knees and squishing his face into her tactical vest.

"Don't worry, L.T! Soap's gonna find your mask!"

"Uh...Bonnie he's got-"

"Don't just stand there, go get it!"

Soap had walked away to find it, laughing his ass off the whole time.

"He hasn't told her?" Price lights his cigar with a chuckle.

"No Cap, he hasn't done anything. Think she broke him." Gaz said, watching Soap return with Ghosts hard mask.

"Here ya are L.T."

Ghost's hand reached out, and Soap placed it in his palm. Stray retracted her arms from around his head and placed her hands over her eyes as he stood up.

Turns out Stray was so panicked in fact that she didn't register that Ghost had a blavanca on under his hard mask. She saw skin and thought his whole face was exposed. Soap wouldn't let up the entire plane ride back to base. Laughing and picking fun at her, much to her frustration.

"Sorry, L.T...." She had muttered once they were entering the base, quickly escaping to her room.

"Why didn't you say anything about it, Ghost?" Gaz nugged his side.

"Was warm." Was all he said.

--------

The post about helping hide the maskmans identity hit the brain hard 🤣

[miscfandomwrites]

Marvel Masterlist (Non-Avengers)

Bodyguard: x Bodyguard! Reader

Chapters One, Two