Tumgik
#I COULD speak Scots but I don't
lierdumoa · 2 years
Text
This evening, over the dinner table, my mother was reminiscing about that time her neighbors got in a cutlass fight when she was a small child growing up in Trinidad in the 1960s.
Me: Like an actual cutlass? My mom: Yes. Me: Your neighbor just ... happened to have a functional pirate weapon lying around. My mom: Oh, everybody had a cutlass. Me: ...what? My dad: My father had two cutlasses. There was no Home Depot when we were growing up, you know. You couldn't just pop to the store and buy tools the way you could in America. If you needed to chop something, you used your cutlass.
I think this is the first time it really hit me that Trinidad is an island in The Caribbean. Like, the same Caribbean that Black Sails and Our Flag Means Death and Treasure Island take place in. You know, that Caribbean.
102 notes · View notes
Text
They have a crush on you (HC's) - Team 141 + König
Requested by Anon
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Tumblr media
*Honestly I could write an essay on this complicated man, he's such an interesting character - but I've summed up some HC's below*
This guy is so hard to read, but at the same time he's not.
At first glance, he's a hardened man who keeps his cards close to his chest and never lets his guard down around anyone. And that's true.
Given everything he's been through in life, that amount of trauma is bound to have a long-term effect on every aspect of his life - not to mention the fact that he's probably learned to repress all of that shit for most of his life.
So I reckon that even if he did have romantic feelings towards you, it would take him a long, long time for him to even process what he's feeling - he's not stupid by any manner of means, more so he doesn't know what to do with this newfound information.
He would probably try and be mean to you - not that he was ever truly sweet on you in the first place, he couldn't let people know he had a soft spot; a weakness.
If you were part of 141, he would probably try to completely ignore you - unless he physically had to speak to you, like if you were on a mission together ((ngl I think Price probably would put the pieces together and would try to push you both together by sending you off on the same mission - fulfilling his Dad Captainly duties)).
You'd probably have known Ghost for a while before he starts to open up to you - it's superficial stuff, like maybe when his birthday is or his favourite food, little details that didn't really give any crucial information away, but you knew better than to pry as it would probably just make him shut himself away more.
He'd probably be protective of you - like if the team were out at a pub after a mission gone well, and there was a creepy guy bothering you, he would loom over you to scare the guy shitless with piercing, cold eyes.
We all know that as soon as Soap figures out that Ghost has a crush, he's going to absolutely want to take the piss out of him for it...he just needs to pick his words carefully, since he chooses life :))
It's hard to tell when or if he would actually confess his feelings to you - I can see it happening in one of two ways:
1 - You almost died on a mission, and he deeply regretted not telling you before when he thought you weren't going to make it back to base in time; he visited you every day while you were in hospital, and ended up bluntly just coming right out with how he felt because he needed you to know.
2 - Soap tells you before he can. With this scenario, I don't see Ghost blowing up in a fit of rage - it would be the silent death stare with the promise of an arse-kicking in the training room, maybe even making the Sergeant clean the bathrooms with a toothbrush for a few months for good measure. Ghost probably wouldn't even deny it, and would wait for you to come to him... and whatever happens next is a mystery ;))
Johnny "Soap" MacTavish
Tumblr media
*Ahh my fellow Scot - just to preface, Scottish slang and dialects vary across the country and I'm not 100% sure where Soap is originally from, so I'm just going to improvise and use local slang from where I'm from ~*
My guy wears his heart on his sleeve - he's naturally very flirty with you from the get-go, so it wasn't hard to figure out that he fancied you.
"Hello, Darlin', if yer wantin' a tour of the base, don't be feert* to gie me a shout ;D" [feert = afraid] [gie me a shout = ask me; gie = give].
With his flirty nature, it was difficult to discern if he was actually being serious about liking you, or if he was just flirty with everyone.
He'd probably realise that he was going about things completely wrong, and would make normal, friendly conversation to get to know you - he just wants to prove that he's a good guy and not a raging hornball :(
The longer time goes on, he starts to tell you more about his life outside of the SAS - he comes from a big family, he's the youngest sibling, his favourite colour, etc.
I can absolutely see his chest puff up a bit with pride when you compliment his skills - he disposes bombs and risks his life all the time, its his job and he doesn't expect praise other than a curt "good work" from his superiors; but from you, the tips of his ears are turning red, and a smile is practically splitting his face ~
Definitely doesn't use the excuse of training to get some time alone with you - not in a creepy way, he just likes spending one-on-one time with you.
If he really trusts you, he asks you to help trim his hair - he did do his mohawk mostly by himself but trying to do the back of his head on his own was an actual nightmare.
Likes watching the look of concentration on your face as you make sure that his hair is even - winks at you when you catch him staring~
(Y/N): There we go - a job well-done, if I do say so myself.
Johnny: *just admiring your smiling face, smitten*
Would probably ask you out then and there, a hopeful glint in his eyes.
Certified Best Boy™.
Captain John Price
Tumblr media
This guy doesn't fuck around - he's older, mature, and knows what he feels, and straight up tells you.
He'd call you into his office for a "chat" - queue you absolutely shitting yourself, being called for a chat with your superior in any circumstance automatically has you going through everything you've ever done prior to this moment to see what he could be mad about...
If you were a Private or any rank beneath him, he probably might hesitate to tell you a bit; HR really wouldn't like it but then again they wouldn't need to know... ;))
If you were a medic, nurse, doctor or civilian, he wouldn't hesitate to tell you.
The Team wouldn't know he even had a crush on you - even if you were on base, as a soldier or medic, they wouldn't have a clue.
The only time they grew suspicious was after they had all been to the pub and after a few too many drinks, one of the new recruits started talking about you and how he thought you were fit; Price's eye twitched slightly, eyeing the recruit with a poker face but with a slightly flash of anger in his eyes, cigar between his teeth.
"Bit inappropriate to speak of a comrade like that, Private, don't you think?" The Private sheepishly let out an apology.
Gaz and Soap gave each other a knowing side-eye; Soap looked to Ghost, who stared back blankly - he'd figured out that the Captain liked you ages ago, he was just waiting on everyone else catching up.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Tumblr media
I see him as another guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, so to speak.
I think he's the silent type though - while Johnny will flirt with you openly, regardless of where he is or who he's around, I think Kyle would be more discrete about it.
At first, it would be the little things like making you your favourite tea when he's making his own cup - sometimes he'll just make you your own, delivering it to you with a little smile.
He even offers to spar with you during training - he wouldn't go easy on you but he would be missing the usual fire that he has when training with other members of the team, he doesn't want to hurt you :((
As he gets more comfortable with you, and you with him, he absolutely loves to wind you up.
I think he'd be a genuinely funny guy, so be prepared to laugh until your sides hurt.
He'd probably express his feelings for you in a cheesy but still down-right cute way; probably shows up at your door with flowers and asks you out on a date.
((Proud Dad™ Price is just around the corner))
König
Tumblr media
Another certified Best Boy™.
Honestly, he probably didn't speak to you at all for the longest time - not because he was intentionally trying to be rude but because if he feels like he has nothing good to say, then he just won't speak at all.
His social anxiety probably fluctuates day-to-day; one day he feels alright, can make small talk with others on base and do whatever he needs to do. But then the next day, he won't leave his room unless he has to, and when he does he's just this hulking mass of poorly concealed anxiety.
I think his anxiety would probably accidentally be projected outwards and would make him appear more intimidating, especially when all people can see are his eyes underneath his hood. Poor baby :(
He definitely knew that he had a crush on you - he's anxious in social settings, crowds, and he knows what that feels like - but with you? He gets full-on butterflies and he's scared to speak in case he says something embarrassing.
You'd most likely have to make conversation first, keeping it casual as to not scare him off - ironic, since the man is over 6ft and is built like a brick shithouse.
It would take time but he'd slowly open up bit by bit.
The first time you saw him out in the field - completely different ballgame entirely.
Who is this guy and what has he done with Konig??
He probably confesses his feelings on the way back from a mission, still high on adrenaline and confidence.
Oh he absolutely full-on panics when the adrenaline wears off and the penny finally drops...but he meant what he said. He really likes you, Maus.
3K notes · View notes
lovinpelova · 4 months
Text
prove them wrong | j. fleming
summary; the chelsea girls believe jessie is too innocent to fuck you, she proves them wrong. [SMUT]
🎵 private landing - don toliver
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
jessie had always acted differently around you. around others she was quiet, shy and reserved with a blush adorning her cheeks out of embarassment alongside a soft tone of voice you could listen to all day. she made sure to keep herself toned down even around her best friends. when it was just the two of you she grew confident, louder even, and although she still reserved a quiet side for you sometimes she was mainly a completely different person.
that's what led you right here, your arm around the canadians shoulders as she pushed her body further into yours whilst you watched your teammates dancing drunkenly and sat with some others. you were in a comfortable silence whilst listening to the conversation, jessies hand finding yours as she smiled up at you and you kissed her forehead in response, content in your own little bubble until guro popped it with her tipsy rambling.
"speaking of people who don't have the confidence to do things, what do you reckon jessie doesn't have the confidence to do when it involves y/n?"
sam sat with her in silence for a moment, erin also joining in on the thinking as you and jessie readjusted yourselves to listen properly, interested in where drunk guro would be taking this next.
"definitely doesn't tell her when she's mad at her."
"no, she definitely does everything y/n tells her to."
jessie blushed at the comments as you snickered, knowing only half of them were true whilst sam and guro bickered back and forth with erin joining in to share the occasional opinion, her eyes suddenly lighting up to break apart the two sad beside her.
"i got it!"
sam and guro stopped arguing, the drunk norwegian taking another sip of her rum and coke as you all listened to what the scot had to say.
"you can't tell me sweet little jess has the confidence to top someone!"
"holy shit you're so right! she's way too shy."
the three of them agreed in laughter as you joined in, chuckling and refusing to confirm or deny it whilst they continued bickering about how they strongly believed jessie was a pillow princess. the canadians hand found its way to your thigh, making you look at her and smile like usual, thinking she just wanted some form of physical contact to ground herself from the embarassment- only to find her eyes blown out and staring back at you lustfully.
the midfielder made sure the others didn't see, turning towards them with a blush on her face and sinking back into her chair with the occasional argument when she was called 'too precious' to even think about having sex. as much as jessie loved the girls and the way they spoke about her timid nature it could get annoying sometimes, they thought just because she was quiet that she wasn't a grown woman with needs and her own experiences. when they first found out you were dating they were shocked, understandably, but they were even more shocked when they learned jessie wasn't a virgin.
i mean, she's a twenty-five year old grown woman, why do they act like she's never had sex before?
the thoughts made jessies hand tighten on your thigh quickly, feeling herself grow more furious by the second at the constant misinterpretation from her teammates (and sometimes public eye) before she excused herself and headed towards the toilet without an explanation. the four of you looked up in shock at the sudden movement she used to back away, your instincts immediately figuring out she wanted you to follow her as you excused yourself to check on her.
as soon as you opened the door an inch and peeked your head in to check if she'd actually gone to the toilet a rough grip tugged your wrist and pushed you against the sink, not bothering to wait for the door to close as you felt your lover push her lips onto yours in a needy manner. it took you a second to kiss back due to the unexpected action but you eventually gathered your thoughts, feeling jessies hands move to your waist as she picked you up and placed you on the counter before standing between your legs.
as soon as you started wondering why jessie wanted to do this here and now it clicked like the final puzzle piece. you had no doubt in your mind she was going to fuck you until the girls heard you moaning her name out- not the other way around. she wanted to prove their assumptions wrong without having to argue, she was going to give them an undeniable piece of evidence and shut them up.
before you had a chance to even think about slowing jessie down her hand slipped into your underwear as she bit down on your lip roughly, slowly sinking her digits into you with a smirk at the needy moan you let out. your fingers found purchase in her hair with a tug, relishing in the groan that fell from her lips for a moment before she started moving her fingers at a rapid pace.
"jess what if they hear?"
you whispered against her ear breathily as your hips grinded in time to her thrusts, the canadian grunting in response whilst leaving sloppy kisses along your neck and curling her fingers. she was eager to get you to your high and she wanted it now.
"get louder."
she demanded gruffly, one hand holding onto your hips to keep you still before she started abusing your g-spot, not even needing to search for it because she remembered everything about you so well.
"but-"
"i said, get. louder."
she emphasised, watching you nod in response to her sudden rough aura before you started to really focus on how good she was fucking you. not long ago she was curled up into your side and in awe of the way your fingers looked laced together- now she was demanding you moan out her name with her fingers pistoning in and out of your pussy at a god-like pace.
"feels so good jess, keep going. 'm almost there."
"gonna scream my name like i want you to? gonna be a good girl and let everyone know who makes you feel this good?"
"yes, jessie! yes- fuck baby! keep going jess!"
she hummed in content at your response, continuing to push against your g-spot until your fingers tugged at her hair one final time as you let out a guttural moan the girls outside definitely heard, your release spilling all over her digits with your thighs shaking around her waist. she held them open with her hips whilst slowing down her thrusts and eventually pulling her fingers up towards your mouth, watching with dark eyes as you sucked them clean without her even having to ask.
"good girl."
she mumbled, leaning in to kiss you softly and continue doing so until you'd fully recovered from your orgasm. the canadian helped you down and out of the bathroom after you both fixed your appearances, a smug smirk on her face whilst your cheeks grew bright red at the amount of eyes you now had watching you.
"have fun in there you two?"
erin asked sarcastically, the girls who heard bursting out into laughter as jessie wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to kiss your forehead. the team were never gonna let you live this down.
639 notes · View notes
meaningofaeons · 10 months
Text
Tumblr media
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ mr. cold feet
⊹ character(s) - sampo koski ⊹ word count - 1.8k ⊹ notes - gn!reader, spoilers for belobog museum event (opportunity makes the thief p4), reader is NOT trailblazer!!!, but they ARE part of the silvermane guards!, reader and sampo are implied to be in a ... complicated relationship, suggestive? making out ig counts as suggestive but obviously still sfw within reason /ᐠﹷ ‸ ﹷ ᐟ\ノ
I am once again here 2 apologize for no majesty update... I just finished the event as soon as I was well enough to get up and I... had to. I love hate love to hate and love sampo (=^-ω-^=) enjoy! also sorry this got more suggestive than I expected it to.... (=♡ ᆺ ♡=)
Tumblr media
"Oh... I mean, oh! Oh, haha! If it isn't my favorite Silvermane Guard in the entire world, my dear Y/N~"
"Cut the chitchat, Sampo." You crossed your arms, unimpressed. "Really? I thought you mentioned a 'new lease on life' after the whole saving Belobog thing. You're still running cons?"
"Come, now, no need for that! I daresay it was fate that brought us—"
Sampo trailed off weakly at the sight of you bringing out a pair of cuffs, sweat visibly dripping down his temple.
"—...together... again..."
He chuckled warily, opting for a wisecrack.
"Well, I'm certainly open to hearing you out on your bedroom preferences—after all, Sampo Koski is nothing if not flexible, if you catch my drift—but don't ya think this is a little sudden, sweetheart? I mean—"
You advanced on him, scowling, and he visibly leapt back, arms up.
"W-Woah, woah, cool the jets! I know you've got your duty to do, all of that, hehe, and believe you me I know how dedicated you are! 'S one of the things I love about you—"
"I'm not being bought this time, Sampo Koski. Arms behind your back."
"Come on, just hear me out! Please, Y/N? For old time's sake?"
"What old times?" However hostile your tone, Sampo noticed the way you slowed just a bit, giving him a chance to speak. Then, in fake-contemplation, you placed a finger thoughtfully to your chin.
"Oh, you mean the time you snuck ten crates of Geomarrow out from under my platoon's noses, and got us all in deep shit with Captain Landau. Or, no. Perhaps you were thinking of the time you forced me to go on a 'date' with you, only to trick me into meeting your cronies at a handoff point for your stolen goods? Oh, or maybe—"
Sampo shrunk in on himself with each story, grin growing more and more sheepish and catlike with every word.
A small correction, he realized: You hadn't slowed to allow him to defend himself, but rather, to rag on every inch of his schemes and stoke what little remained of his guilty conscience.
He only acknowledged that you were finished with your story time when you began tapping your foot, brow raised. Sampo reached for you, taking a seat at the small table to move ever-so-subtly closer to your touch.
"Honey? Darling..." Your lip curled at his puppy-dog eyes, yanking your hand away. Despite the malice he could hide in those emerald irises, he was damn good at making himself appear vulnerable, too.
"Don't call me that! Especially not in public!"
"We're in a hotel room..." he pouted, tapping his fingers together. "Listen. I've got an idea that could be beneficial to us both...? I get away, and you say you lost me, and you get a little something-something? Eh?"
You were about to say no. As you should've, as you usually did, but those eyes...
"Ugh!" you slammed the handcuffs onto the table, causing Sampo to start. Even with all his wiles and exit routes, he couldn't quite escape the mild fear he had of you.
Or maybe what he feared was more so upsetting you than anything else.
"Spill! What lame deal have you cooked up in that dumb, pretty little head of yours?"
"You think I'm pretty?" The blue-haired man batted his eyelashes, but toned down the theatrics only at your frosty glare. "Um, so, hear me out. I made quite the pretty penny off of this deal, and I can offer you a whole third of what I made! In exchange, you... let me go? Scot-free? No strings attached? ...Please?"
You sighed heavily. Why did you even bother sometimes...
"Sampo, I told you, I can't be bought. I don't want stolen money, and besides, I make plenty."
You placed a free hand on your head, sliding your cuffs back into your belt. "And what's the miraculous secondary offer Sampo Koski has concocted today?"
You seemed to open slightly, and that gave the man all the push he needed.
As though flipping a switch, Sampo's contrite expression morphed into a wicked smirk, fingers dancing across the table until they reached your hand. This time, you did not pull away, much to your own chagrin and the conman's delight.
"Well... if there's one thing Sampo Koski is, it's reasonable."
"You just said the one thing you are is flexible."
Sampo chuckled, taking advantage of the absence of venom in your tone as he rose from his seat, allowing his gloved hand to run up your arm. You tilted your head away, refusing to look him in the eye.
"I can be both," You couldn't stand the look on his face. Cocky, like the cat that ate the canary.
"You know," he murmured, voice suddenly low and breathy—and, of course, right beside your ear. "If you wanted a 'lil love from your dear Sampo, all you had to do was say so."
Before you could cut off his husky words with an indignant shout, he was swift in taking your chin in his hand, pushing his lips onto yours with a self-satisfied smirk.
Your legs felt reminiscent of jelly as you clutched onto his arms, but you did not fight off the kiss he deepened with each passing second—though they felt more like hours.
Sampo Koski is flexible, indeed. He can also be reasonable, though you'd argue more against that than for it.
But above all, Sampo Koski is annoyingly, infuriatingly, irritatingly astute. Especially when it comes to you.
Your brow relaxed as you felt his tongue slip against your mouth, your grip on his sleeve loosening as he practically manhandled you. His prying hands were quick to move down your arms, your sides, and you only gained enough clarity in the single moment he brushed your rear to give his wandering hand a smack.
He only rumbled a low chuckle again, sending shivers down your spine as he settled on your hips. Sampo pressed on further, nibbling your lower lip before invading your mouth with his tongue, eager to taste every inch of you.
That was another word for him, you thought. Eager. He could never take two seconds to stop and think about anything, as always, especially not when it came to you.
But while Sampo Koski was quite prone to causing (unpleasant) surprises to those around him, so wily was he that he never quite expected them to happen to him.
As a Silvermane Guard, you were by no means weak, and certainly not weaker than even the shockingly well-built conman.
You snatched his wrists from their place atop your hips, pulling back just enough to relish the shock in his eyes as you slammed him against the wall opposite, shoving your lips back onto his before he could make even a sound.
That didn't stifle his noise afterwards, a soft groan humming into your mouth as you kissed him with new fervor.
If he wanted to play dirty, you'd dish it back out twofold.
You shifted his wrists, clasping one hand around his two arms while your other began to roam, dipping beneath his hip windows and sliding along his side. This elicited more small whimpers from the Sampo Koski, his squirming picking up.
Even though he never expected them, you knew how much the man just adored surprises—especially yours.
Your tongue swiped over his lip, and you slowly pulled back, giving him no reprieve as you latched onto his neck. The blue-haired man groaned again, making no moves or effort to fight back against you as he angled his neck to give you better access. You had to fight the urge to release his wrists and slap a hand over his mouth from how loudly he was beginning to whine for you.
"Y/N..." he keened.
Just as you were about to nudge your knee between his thighs and give him a nice, vibrant mark on his pretty pale skin, footsteps echoed loudly in the hall.
Pela.
"Y/N hasn't been answering their phone. Prepare to search each room. If Mr. Cold Feet got to them—"
Shit!
You pulled back at once, Sampo being too dazed to even really listen to what the voices just outside were saying. He chased you immediately, face flushed and eyes teary.
"Aw, c'mon, Y/N... Feels good, keep going? Yeah? Please? I like it when you—"
"Sampo, those are the guards!" you hissed under your breath, emphasizing each word carefully, watching the slow snap to reality that dawned on the man's face. He paused inquisitively, as though waiting for you to call your comrades in to arrest him, but you only placed a hand to your forehead.
"Go."
You had to barely restrain your yell of annoyance as Sampo grinned wildly, planting a big, sloppy kiss on your lips before vanishing out of the hotel window. His whisper-shout was the last thing you heard from him.
"I'll pay ya back big time for this one, honey!"
The remaining seconds you had were spent trying to fix your clothing and rub at your lips, trying to scrub away any hint of puffiness. Before long, Pela entered the room herself, raising a hand for the other guards to stand by.
"Y/N, are you okay?!"
"Fine," you tried to answer as coolly as possible. Luckily, your friend didn't seem to notice, poking about the room.
"And Mr. Cold Feet—"
"Gone before I got here. Left the room a mess, and the window open."
She raised a brow. "You weren't answering my texts."
"Sorry. I got caught up in investigating, trying to find leads... He couldn't have gone far."
"Right... Well, let's get back. We got the film, so... no harm, no foul. We can try again."
"Right. Let's go."
You tried to ignore the subtle stare of one of the guards, trying to let the mortification of your state swallow you whole.
Were you that obvious?
Still, you grumbled about it to yourself all the way back to the museum, trying to rid yourself of the floaty feeling in your chest and your mind.
This was the last time, you swore to yourself. The last time Sampo Koski gets away with his cons! The last time he goads you into an impromptu make-out session!
You knew that was a lie, and so did Sampo, who gleefully watched you from the shadows, a museum volunteer application perched in his hands.
After all, you two would have all the time in the world together if you were coworkers...
...that is, more specifically, after hours at the museum.
He couldn't wait for you to finish what you started.
667 notes · View notes
itsmoonpeaches · 3 months
Text
On Medusa from the PJO TV Show: A Survivor and complicated antagonist
I'm not the only one obsessed with the version of Medusa and I know it.
She's beautiful, she's eerily calm, she says, "I am a survivor," and you feel that. She is the symbol for women out there who don't want to be bullied anymore, and more recently Medusa's head has become a symbol of women fighting back with the #MeToo movement.
But I'm not writing this to talk about Medusa as the Gorgon from the Greek mythos. I'm here to talk about how she was written in the PJO TV Show. So let's get into it, shall we?
Note that some ideas from this meta are expanded on from this Variety article where the writers of the show and Rick and Rebecca Riordan, speak about the changes they made from the book to show adaptation.
A victim of an abuse of power
In the Variety article, Rick says, “There are many versions from ancient times of what happened in that temple with Medusa and Poseidon and Athena. Who’s to blame? Who’s the abuser? What’s the real story? It’s fiction, but it certainly is important to acknowledge that there is abuse involved here. Abuse of power.”
Like in all Greek myths, there is never exactly one "correct" version of a story. In many, Medusa and Poseidon basically have a one-night stand. In some, they have a mutual affair. In others, it's Poseidon who seduces Medusa into Athena's temple, and in others still, Medusa is a victim of assault.
What most versions of the myths do have in common is the fact that Medusa and Poseidon had some sort of relationship that produced at least two children (Pegasus and Chrysaor). Most versions (both Greek and Roman) also depict her as a tragic figure and a beautiful maiden.
Athena is involved in earlier myths as the goddess who put her head onto the shield that averts the gaze of enemies. In later myths, she is the one who curses Medusa to transform into what we know of her today after Athena discovers her relationship with Poseidon on her sacred ground. Poseidon, of course, gets let off scot-free.
Depending on how you read into the myths, there could be a variety of different things happening here. So, I like what the show did. They made it vague enough that this is still middle-grade level like the books, but they also expanded on what the books couldn't because they are originally written from 12-year-old Percy's POV.
They basically keep nearly all aspects of the story and original myth possible. But in the end, Medusa is indeed a victim of abuse.
Her real curse is not that she is hideous and turns people who look into her eyes into stone, but that she is made invisible by the curse and she is not heard. Not one person can look her in the eye and live to tell the tale. She can't show her beauty, so she chooses to live with what she has. Even with a slanted hat covering half her face and eyes, you can tell she's statuesque (see what I did there?) and a beauty.
She chooses elegant clothes, pretty jewelry, a neat hairstyle, a hat that accents what you can see of her features, and red lipstick that makes you think she could be desirable.
But it doesn't change the fact that Poseidon had his way with her, told her he loved her, and then she was the only one left with the punishment for what happened between them. Athena cursed her out of anger.
Medusa revered Athena who is a virgin goddess, and of course, Athena would be upset when one of her devout followers is suddenly not a virgin too. Yet, Medusa mentioned earlier in her narrative in episode 3 that Athena never answered her prayers at all and never gave an indication that she was listening. So out of all the times she pays attention, it's to curse her for something she doesn't like?
Athena paid attention to Medusa when it was convenient to her and Poseidon left her when Medusa was no longer useful to him after she was cursed.
This version of Medusa is left to the wolves to defend herself and live with herself, a victim of abuse of power from multiple ends and from gods she thought she could trust.
Medusa and Sally Jackson
What I found the most interesting in episode 3 was the fact that Medusa sprinkles the seeds of doubt into Percy's mind that maybe the loving relationship he thought his mother had with Poseidon was not what actually happened.
In the Variety article, Rebecca Riordan says, that Percy has to think ‘What has my father done? Has he changed? How do I see myself in relationship to that?' while Rick says that “Percy can only judge his father by the wreckage he has left behind."
The fact of the matter is, Percy is 12. The book series is for a middle-grade audience, and the show is too. So people out there thinking "This could've been darker!" need to calm down and take a back seat. The books always did a good job of introducing deeper, darker topics to children. The show should stick to the same strategy to keep what made the original story so good.
But, what the show does here is make you think. If Poseidon could abandon Medusa like that, use her like that, then maybe Sally Jackson was abandoned and used too.
Her show story does a good job of connecting two women who had a relationship with the same god, connecting women who thought they could trust someone but were left to fend for themselves.
Look at where Sally Jackson is now at this point in the story. Not only was she forced to marry Gabe Ugliano to use his stench to protect her son who attracts monsters, but he is an abusive man both to her and to her son at least verbally. In the books, it's not suggested until the very end of The Lightning Thief that Gabe has been hitting her outside of Percy's POV. I've seen people forget that and immediately write off that Gabe wasn't "abusive enough". C'mon people. Just because Sally fights back verbally doesn't mean he wasn't still abusive in his actions in the first two episodes. Even if they decide not to suggest that he was also physically abusive to Sally, doesn't make him sneakily using her phone, demanding to ask why she has to use his car, and demanding for her to make food for him any less abusive.
Sally chose that life because the most important person in the world to her is her son, and even though Gabe is a total jerk, she convinced herself that she could take what he gave her because what he did to her was better than having her son being hunted and maimed by a bunch of Greek monsters because of who he is. To top it all off, now Hades stole her away into the Underworld.
Medusa, in a similar way, was left to fend for herself. She chose what was best for her, and lived in her new form because she could not change what had happened. She wants to save Sally too because she sees Percy as a boy whose mom was abused the same way she was.
Medusa's brilliant role as an antagonist
Now we're here, the main reason I wanted to write this giant thing. I saw a weird take on Twitter saying that Medusa in the show should not have been beheaded like she was in the books because then that negates her whole story and what she stood for.
Well, in my opinion, that is a shallow take on what the show's Medusa is trying to portray.
Medusa is an antagonist. In the myths, she is an antagonist. In the books, she is an antagonist. In the show, she is an antagonist. She gets in the way of Percy's path for his quest, she suggests that he doesn't need Annabeth and Grover, and that only she can save his mom with him.
In both the books and the show, there are hundreds of statues of people she had turned. Sure, some of them could've been attacking her, but there were a lot of people there who were victims too. I'm sure that screaming lady didn't mean to do something to Medusa, and Grover's Uncle Ferdinand? He was the only statue who appeared calm and collected and there was nothing to suggest that he was out to get her. He was only on his journey to find Pan.
Medusa has killed people, and innocent people at that. For thousands of years. And not just people she had to, and not a small amount. Then, she suggests that Percy let her kill his two friends who are children.
To her, Annabeth and Grover are dead weight because of their loyalty to the gods. Annabeth wants to be noticed by her mother. Grover wants to make sure the world doesn't end. I mean, they all don't want the world to end but I digress.
Medusa hates the gods. She wants to save a woman who is like her. She will protect that woman's child. But she will do anything and destroy anyone to get that end result.
A victim is still a victim even if they are a villain or an antagonist. Her methods don't make her any less of a victim of abuse. But that doesn't mean they are right.
So yes, when Percy runs away from her to keep his friends alive and she takes off her hat to stalk them around the room to turn them into stone, she does indeed need to be beheaded. There is literally no other way to defeat her. They can't look at her or they die. So they have to make her stop moving.
Unfortunately, a person like her with deep and complicated motivations would never change their mind when they feel they are betrayed. So, Percy did what he could to protect himself and his friends from dying.
Still, it's a poetic death as it is in the books. He mails her head to the gods and mentions Athena specifically for her punishment of Medusa. He's impertinent.
Medusa didn't deserve to be punished. But it's been millennia and she made her choices. The abusers did not get the punishment they deserved, but maybe now they will. Medusa's head in her (temporary) death, will be a testament to her victory, but also a testament to her downfall.
225 notes · View notes
cowyolks · 4 months
Note
Ok so I've never actually put in a fic request before. I don't even have a specific idea! I would just love something were the reader is rescued by Gaz. He's our knight in shining armor, literally or metaphorically! Gaz is my favorite and I bet he'd do a great job helping the reader after whatever scary ordeal they went through <3
Tumblr media
OUT OF ELEMENT
Tumblr media
Pairing: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x Female! Reader
Prompt: Gaz didn’t notice the loose Polaroid of the two of you that fell from his vest, focusing instead on not being shot. He didn’t think anything of it, until his whole world came crashing down.
Words: 3.1 K
Warnings: Blood, Graphic Torture, gore, suicidal thoughts, it’s heavy, but Gaz saves us!
Tumblr media
He knocked harshly upon the wood of his favorite sergeant’s door, an irritable look on his face. It wasn’t often Kyle was angry at anything, always the level head when it came to his missions and time on the field.
Not the last mission.
It had been a close call, he’d taken a bullet to the thigh, making him stumble despite his Captain telling him to move his arse. He made the team swear not to tell you after he was wrapped and bandaged. Soap had previously let loose about his helicopter mishap, resulting in you not speaking to him for weeks, settling upon giving him an earful when he returned to your shared home.
So here he was, angrily wondering what made Soap think he could flap his jaws after he swore he wouldn’t.
“I know you’re in there, MacTavish!” Gaz called, noticing the faint glow of light shift from under the crack of the door. A loud groan echoed, before the door swung open to reveal a tired looking Scot.
“Why’d you tell the Missus about my leg? I know it was you.”
Soap looked puzzled, already sluggish due to being woken at such a late hour. “Oi piss off, I knew better than to squeal this time.” He grouched.
Unease settled in Gaz’s throat, clogging his esophagus and making the tips of his fingertips numb in loathing shock. Soap didn’t take notice at first, “What? She get cold feet after you proposed or somethin’?”
You hadn’t answered his calls in three days. Which was practically unheard of, especially knowing that you were in fact, oblivious of his previous injuries.
“Don’t know why she’s not answering, mate.” He nervously aired, clenching his fingers into his palms. His phone felt heavy in his pocket, and for the fifth time today, he clicked upon your name and watched it dial.
Soap hovered carefully, his own eyes widening when the phone went straight to voicemail.
“Something’s wrong.” Gaz choked out, barely registering the comforting hand placed on his shoulder. “Did ye’ try calling your neighbor? Maybe they can check in?”
Gaz nodded his head frantically, thankful for the advise as he dialed Ms. Annie, a sweet old widow that loved to bring over cookies after Kyle mowed her lawn in the summer months. Soap ushered him into his room, pushing him into the old wood chair near his desk.
The phone dialed once, twice, before slow breathing picked up, “Hello?”
“Annie, hello. It’s Kyle, can I ask a favor?” Kyle attempted to not let his nervousness show.
“Oh course, what is it, honey?” Her sweet voice clipped with a tad of worry.
“I need you to go to my house while staying on the line with me. I haven’t heard anything from my fiancé in a while and I’m worried.”
“Well, hold on let me grab my slippers.” She mused, a small shuffling coming from the line before she hummed in satisfaction. “I’m sure she’s okay, Kyle. I saw her on Tuesday when she brought me lasagna and discussed the book we read.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his lips at the mention of you, how sweet and caring you were.
“Okay, I’m at your front door.” Annie announced.
“There is a loose brick on the left side of the mailbox, if you lift it there should be the spare key underneath.” Kyle bit his lip, growing even more nervous. Soap nudged his shoulder, signaling him to put the phone on speaker so he could listen. Gaz clicked it without hesitation, thankful for the listening ear.
“Okay, I’m in.” Annie informed, she called for your name. “She’s not home, but her car isn’t here.”
Kyle’s heart dropped to his stomach. You could be out shopping for groceries, or at the local library— yet he couldn’t stop the unease from eating his insides.
“Could you check our bedroom, second door on the left? Just to be sure.” He had blamed his constant paranoia, but he made sure you knew about the safe in the closet, a loaded pistol among the contents.
A loud gasp, “Oh my…”
“What Annie? What is it?” Kyle asked, standing from his chair in a blind panic.
“There’s blood, lots of it, Kyle.” Annie’s frail voice shook in fear. Kyle swore loudly, eyes clouding over that he could barely hear Soap speak.
“Answer this video call, We need to see what’s there.” Soap ordered, kicking chair out of the way to get a better look at the phone. Both men looked down, locking on the video call that shook under Annie’s grip.
His home, a place that had once been such a safe haven, was now destroyed. The walnut stained nightstands you had picked were tilted over and broke, the carpet stained with blood, too much for a single person to not need a transfusion. The closet lay open, bullet shells spilled over the floor, but no gun to be found.
Then, Kyle’s near dead eyes hooked on a flimsy piece of film, the once shiny photo covered with loving smudges of his fingertips. Through the video call, smiling back at him was his girl, your eyes crinkled with a smile, laughter escaping your lips as you beamed up at him. The photograph was so immensely special, a piece he carried everywhere in his vest— away on missions he would often find his thumb tracing across your face, pressing a gentle kiss where your cheek was.
Now the picture haunted him, scared him to his very core. It was always in his pocket, but here in a lifeline connection it made his heart stop.
It wasn’t supposed to be there, corners covered in blood as it mocked him like a biting snake.
“Steaming Jesus…” Soap connected the dots, hand on Gaz’s shoulder.
“Annie, call the police.” Gaz spat, already fleeing with no regard whenever she was calling the authorities. Instead, his feet hurried down the dull halls of the base, making his way towards Captain John Price’s office.
Tumblr media
Whoever came up with the theory of an out of body experience must have never been tortured, you had decided.
If you saw yourself in the mirror, you wouldn’t recognize yourself, that was for certain. A deranged smile had made its way across your busted and swollen lips, your clenched teeth leaving sores against the flesh to suppress your screams. Now, you didn’t see the point, you’d rip your own lips off at the rate they were torturing you.
You weren’t sure what day it was, just that you were scared and you wanted Kyle.
Vomit clung to your neck, long dried and crusted, along with the mixture of blood slipping from the many blunt wounds on your head. You were certain you had a concussion, because whenever you saw the masked men come in with a weapon of choice, there was always two weapons blurred together. Or perhaps, they have gotten more creative with the torture.
You couldn’t cry anymore, far too dehydrated and starving for the shed of tears. Now you felt numb, fingers no longer shaking from the several breaks they’d performed so they could get information from you.
Information you had no way of knowing.
Where is the 141? What weapons did they confiscate? Where are they storing them?
You had babbled that you didn’t know, that Kyle never discussed his work with you, but they had taken it with a grain of salt, quite literally.
You were woken from your half conscious state by the absolute burning of salt placed on the infected laceration of your thigh, a knife wound they had produced several days before.
“Wake up, girl.” You didn’t want to, knowing that if you did wake, it would only bring you more pain. You wanted to sleep forever, to dream instead of live in this nightmare. A slap to your cheek startled you further, allowing one eye to open with a struggle.
“You’re little hag of a neighbor found the present I left for the Sergeant. It’s a shame, I wanted him to find it so I could see his face.” Accented English flooded your ears, although it sounded too far away. A retaliating groan worked up your throat, the mere rattle causing your muscles and bones to ache.
“You’re running out of time, so tell me where the guns are.” He demanded, fingers squeezing upon your neck blotted in angry bruises.
“Fuck you.” You hoarsely gritted, eyes falling shut in preparation for whatever pain awaited. The burning pain of electricity was far worse than any burn caused by fire, it singed your hair and the smell of your burnt body had you sobbing with no tears.
“Please. Please, just kill me.” You begged, no longer able to hold your body up, everything was limp, your nervous system shutting down and allowing numbness to take over.
Another shock, and you saw black.
You dreamt of Kyle, the soothing touch of his rough and calloused hands, his obsession with history and the mini dates he’d make out of it, the crewneck sweaters he’d wear around the house. The scent of cardamom, cigarette smoke, and something sweet that had you bury your nose into his neck.
You hummed at the phantom smell of him, the thought blinding the pain as you abruptly entered consciousness again.
Salt rubbed into your wounds. The combined smell of Kyle and the excruciating pain awoken something in you— steel claws, hoarse breath, seeing red.
You screamed, so loud your ears rang. It wasn’t your typical scream of pain, no— this was unadulterated rage. Rage that you were still being tortured for something you couldn’t control, for any Gods in the heavens that would listen— You needed to die, or you needed to escape. If you didn’t, you’d damn the whole world and spit on the surface until it crumbled in wrath.
“Kill me, you bastard!” You screeched as your sight adjusted on the tall masked man from before. How his hand was leant just too close to your bloodied mouth. Without even thinking you leant in like a caged animal, clamping your teeth down on his fingers with all the force you could muster. You bit into cartilage and bone, breaking skin and tasting the irony flavor of blood.
Even more satisfying was the absolute bloodcurdling howl he released, attempting to wriggle his hand out of your jaws, only damaging more.
But nothing good ever lasted forever.
You didn’t catch the sound of rattling until the metal piece of a pipe hit your jaw, a loud crack breaking your jaw with so much force you could only gurgle. Your body didn’t give you a choice, no longer able to clamp your jaw so you had to release him. You let out your own howl in pain, realizing now this was the last straw. If you weren’t saved, you’d bleed out and rot in the cold chair they strapped you to.
Vision blurred, you didn’t see the captor grab a knife with his non dominant hand, little whines leaving him as his hand lay mutilated and cradled to his chest.
He shifted behind you, holding the knife out, looking to strike upon your hunched over spinal cord, a horrific and painful death.
“Drop it, or I fuckin’ swear to god I’ll blow a hole in you.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to look up, knowing if you did you’d likely pass out from the pain. But you knew that voice, and if you were hallucinating, so be it, at least you could have heard Kyle Garrick’s voice one more time.
“She’s already dead.”
Then there was white hot pain, and blackness.
Tumblr media
It’d been around the eighty-three hour mark when there was finally a hit on your potential location. Gaz hadn’t slept in days, and neither had any of the rest of the one-four-one. His worry was contagious, and it set a fire under all of them, scorching if the group came close to dozing off.
“John, we’ve got a pin, it’s not 100 percent, but it’s our best chance.” Laswell’s voice broke over the comms, halting Gaz’s pacing for a moment.
“Send it.”
The heli to the frigid frontier of Siberia was far too long, even as the the four had made quick work of the pathetic guard posts and ambushed the barrack. Still, they didn’t find you, and it was taking a toll on his mental health.
That was until he heard the horrific sound of a scream.
He took off fast, the barrel of his gun still smoking from the rapid release of gunpowder. His team followed behind, being his flank and support as they have for the most miserable week of his life.
An anguished cry, feminine—sounded from below a latch under a misplaced rug, his fingers grasped the handle, pulling silently to allow stealth. He’d need to be quick, as most kidnappers killed their victims within the first 48 hours. It’s been long past that.
Oh, how his heart bled when he looked beyond the shadows and into the spotlight where you looked dead. You were disfigured and bleeding, scared and wild. A caged animal subjected to a butcher while still breathing.
Anger was all he felt.
A man, dressed in a Konni uniform, a black shawl covering his face was seething, clutching a hunting knife just above your neck, where spinal cord met the soft skin.
“Drop it, or I fuckin’ swear to god I’ll blow a hole in you.” He found himself growling, aiming his weapon right between the man’s eyes. He’d kill him, despite the orders he’d receive, despite the gurgling of blood that fled your mouth. All Kyle Garrick felt was rage as the blade plunged against your neck, missing the viral artery due to the bullet now in his skull.
It wasn’t enough, never would it be.
“Oh God, Sweetheart.” Kyle found himself mumbling, panic sparking and erupting through every nerve in his body. You were dead, you had to be, so much blood, so much torture.
He rushed to you, catching your limp form that was practically glued to the seat they had tied you to. His hands were sticky with blood in mere seconds, attempting to plug the wound with his own flesh.
“I can’t feel a pulse.” His captain called close, Gaz not even noticing him as his fingers moved from your carotid.
“Med Evac is on the way, Soap start compressions, Gaz keep her airway clean,” Ghost ordered calmly, used to the blood and guts of innocents.
Gaz’s hand caressed your face, his other still securely planted on your wound.
In the first time in a while, he prayed.
“God, take me. Not her, not her.”
Tumblr media
It’d been weeks.
Weeks since you’d medically been induced into a coma. They told him you’d go into shock from all the extensive injuries and infections, and it was for the best. He’d left only to shower and relieve himself, the rest of the time Gaz’s thumb drew careful circles on your palm.
Bandages covered your fingers, hard casts forming them back in place where bone had broke. Your cheeks were sunken, nutrition being forced into you through IV. Some of your wounds had healed, bruises now a pale yellow and lacerations now scabbed over.
Still you couldn’t get yourself to wake, even when you regained your sensation and could hear the gentle snores of someone next to you. The beeping of the monitor is what made your heavy eyes peel open— the sound close to that of an alarm clock.
Then you could feel. Fell the excruciating pain beyond your neck, the ache in your fingers, the warmth of the treated infection on your leg. But, the pain all dulled in comparison to the steady hand that rested on your open palm.
You were angry, angry he hadn’t shown up earlier. Angry that you were captured, upset that you now had plentiful scars.
Your eyes opened wider, and when you glanced at him, all the pain and anger and hurt flew away, only replaced with relief. He looked peaceful, eyes shut and soft exhales indicating he was asleep. But if you looked closer you could see the bags under his eyes, the bitten lip that indicated he was anxious, and the grown out stubble he typically hated.
“He just fell asleep.” A deep voice startled you, making you wince before attempting to silently sit up. You attempted to speak as well, but no sound came out. The man seemed to understand, for he was standing with a hmph, extending a pitcher of water to your dry lips. You tried to part them wider, so the straw could be placed, but your jaw burned at the movement and almost made you yelp. Instead, he tipped the pitcher, allowing it to pool. You tapped his arm after a moment, notifying him you were done.
You observed his boonie hat he wore, as well as the famous chops and blue eyes that held so much concealed loss. Kyle’s captain, John Price.
“Glad we found ya’, love. For your sake as well as his.”
You had so many questions. How long were you gone from home, where had you been, how many days were you in a coma? Then others, had I left the stove on? Stove? I’m hungry. Did the bill get payed this month? Will Kyle still love me with all these hideous scars?
It’s as if Price could hear all your thoughts, see the turmoil and pain laced in your eyes that welled with tears.
“Whatever your thinkin’, it’s going to be alright. Everything’s taken care of. That man hasn’t left your side, lord save em’.” He pointed at Kyle, who wrinkled his nose at the noise of his captain, slowly stirring awake.
“Told ya to not let me fall asleep.” His voice snarked, making your lips curl in sweet affection. It was good to know he hadn’t lost his sass. Your hand slowly trailed to his own, not quite able to close around his fingers.
The movement made him shift, surprise dancing in his eyes as he glanced at you. A million emotions fluttered across his face, but in the end he settled on concern. “Do you need the nurse? Are you in pain? What can I do?”
You barely heard the click of the door as Price left the room.
“Hold…me.” You choked out. If you could, you’d pinch yourself, making sure you were awake and feeling the warm and gentle embrace of Kyle, his forearms cradling your abdomen, and lips gently pecking against your face.
“Thought you… weren’t coming.” You choked again, painfully holding your chest while you coughed. There was a million things you wanted to say, thousands of things you needed to do, hundreds of doubts.
But oh, when he kissed you, you forgot about the pain, the anxiety, the anger for a simple moment.
“I’ll always find you, always.” He held you, knowing he’d have to nurse you back to health. Physically and emotionally. But he would. Oh, he would.
349 notes · View notes
sprout-fics · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
Ruin
König x 'Maus' F!Reader
(Part 7 of Little Mouse)
Word Count: 4.8k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Hints of yandere König, Stand-offs, Hostage Scenarios, Ambushes, Price Whump, Injury mention, Kidnapping, Capture, Angst, Violence Warnings: Violence
Tumblr media
You don't like this.
The truck rumbles over the back country roads as you, Soap and Price pick your way through the rolling hills of the Serbian countryside. The wheels grind over the dirt road, and with every bump you feel your joints creaking, groaning with a barely contained, taut energy. Price and Soap are quiet in the front of the car, seeming to mirror your unsteady, fidgeting silence. You can barely see their faces in the twilight darkness, strange shadows cast only by the headlights against their stiff expressions. There's an air of taut apprehension none of you seem to address, a mysticism that leaves the two men ahead of you quiet, hesitant to speak. In the silence you find yourself untethered, shifting listlessly, trying your best to contain your tumbling thoughts and focus on the mission at hand.
Your destination was a warehouse at the edge of a remote town in the southeastern part of the country. No helicopters this time, no armored vehicles. Laswell was specific that some of the Serbian military had a hand in the weapons trade she sent you to investigate. Stealth, subtlety was the emphasis of this mission. No backup, no overwatch. If any of you were injured, you were walking out with the same wounds, one way or the other. Price's brief had been quick, relayed as you three gathered your gear and immediately started making preparations to leave.
"It could be scuttled at any moment." He barked at you both as you piled into the car, gear and supplies packed neatly and efficiently into the back. "It's our only lead after the death of our contact in Mozambique."
Mozambique.
Maybe that's why you were so unsettled, by the memory of a huge, hulking shadow with a red, dripping knife in one hand, and Gaz's throat in the other. Gaz's scream, choked as he was hoisted further up the wall, seems to ring ceaselessly in your thoughts, urging you to run, flee-
Yet when König's eyes had turned to you it wasn't malice that painted his gaze, it was surprise, a pleased interest that briefly had him forgetting about the man in his hold. Compulsive, keen, fixated on you, like a cat with a small, tiny bird fluttering in the trees. Just out of reach, tantalizing, mouth-watering. You can still remember his eyes, glinting like waxing crescent moons under the dark of his mask, a forbidden penumbra that has you falling into the eclipse of your thoughts.
"If I run, will you chase me?"
"If you run, I will catch you."
It shudders a sinister prophecy in you, feeling for all the world like this is the game you're destined to play with him, of running and fleeing from your thoughts, from the truth of your attraction, to the ends of the earth- only for him to find you, corner you, engulf you in his fastened hold.
Why then, did you want to run? For him to chase you?
"Everything ok?" Soap asks from the front, having noticed the shiver of your shoulders as you sink further into the depths of your rumination.
"Fine, why?" You ask, and your deflection is anything but convincing, throat a little tight, eyes not meeting his.
You cast a glance at him from where you sit, see the taut line of Soap's mouth as he purses his lips, doesn't answer. It seems...vaguely displeased, which is odd coming from the Scot, usually cheery and teasing. Now he doesn't bother to fill the car with any type of conversation, leaving you reeling in his absence.
It's the mission, you tell yourself. He's just nervous. Price too, is quiet, and you think it's because he's just focusing on the road ahead, navigating the pits and bumps of the remote hillside.
It's not because of you, you try to reason. It's not because you came back from Mozambique different, quieter. The team was used to your cheery smile and teasing, friendly banter. Yet instead, you had hidden yourself away at base, secluded yourself to your room, refused to talk except for briefings. Lost in your thoughts just as you are now, trying to find excuses within yourself, trying to find the person you were before all of this began.
You continue to lie to yourself, like you have been doing for some time now. Creating a false raft of hypocrisies on which to save yourself, to keep yourself from drowning in the truth.
They're concerned for you, that much is clear. No doubt they heard from Gaz about your most recent encounter with the man who is supposed to be your enemy. From what Gaz has said before, your actions are all the more reason for them to be convinced there's things you didn't say about when you disappeared, when König captured you. Your refusal to tell them what really happened that night seems to only be further, damning proof of their suspicions. You can't correct them, can't confess to them the truth. How are you supposed to say you might have feelings for the enemy?
Caught, in a web of falsehoods of your own design, the silvery threads ensnare you further as you continue to struggle, to free yourself.
"Do you want me to take you, Maus?"
You rub a hand over your face, trying to smear away the lingering sound of his voice, like dark oily clouds that blot out the moon in the night sky.
"Rookie."
You snap up instantly at the sound of Price's voice, at attention, back straight. His eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror- stern, steely.
"Don't get distracted, soldier. We have a job to do."
"Yes, Sir." You answer immediately, voice clipped in your reply.
"Good, because we're here."
You blink, looking out the window. If by 'here' Price means a dark, pitch-black set of woods with what could hardly constitute a road, then...yes. You suppose you were. Before you can ask, however, Price is shutting off the car, the headlights blinking dim and plunging the three of you into the dark.
"Warehouse is two kilometers east. We're walking there. Get your gear." He issues, voice measured, rough from years of tobacco that grows thick against the back of his throat. "Stay close, stay quiet, understood?"
He pauses then, and even in the dark you can sense his eyes have turned to you.
"There may be enemy operators inbound to our position." He goes on, voice dipping now. Stern, a warning. There's a murmur of something there that's unfamiliar to you. It's quiet, restrained, but paces at the corner of his thoughts like a caged animal, eyes glinting with a feral, untamed anger.
"Rookie."
"Captain." You reply, voice quieter now, easing into the resolve of a soldier, one who's mission stands before them.
"If you see König, I want you to exfil, do you understand?" He states, and that animal inside him growls with a distant, ominous thunder.
"But Sir-" You try, for once trying to argue against him, brow furrowing. It doesn't make sense. There's only three of you. You need every person you can get. To bench you doesn't suit the needs of the-
"Understood, corporal?" He asks again, voice harsher now.
A pause. Anxiety roils in your stomach. That same trepidation from earlier, the unease that clogs your throat like black smoke rises once more. It's as if you can see the murky, shadowy shapes of something imminent, gliding smooth underneath the surface of the reality before you before vanishing into obscurity. Something isn't right. Yet there's nothing you can do except walk forward willingly, into the night, waiting for fate to inexorably descend upon you all.
"Understood."
---
It takes less than an hour for the three of you to get fully geared and make your way up the hill towards the warehouse. The forest around you is cloaked in darkness, misty at the edges, entirely silent except for the distant, troglodytic calls of owls within the canopy. It feels much too like your dreams, the ones where König rises from the darkness like he did once upon a memory. When you had gotten separated from the team in the hills and he had risen from the darkness like a primordial phantom, looking down at you from the cliffs, his eyes reflecting the scant moonlight in the trees.
You shake the thought, once more earning a stern look from the captain ahead of you.
Keep it together, Rookie. You remind yourself. No room for error on this job.
The three of you pick your way through the trees like hunters of old- silent, still, fatalistic with every breath, every step and sweep of your scopes. It does nothing to assuage the asphyxiating paranoia in your chest, winding it tight and tighter until you hear your heart flutter against your ribs like a frantic, trapped bird. You’ve always been able to discern smoke on the wind, a shift in the breeze before anyone else. Now, however, you push it down deep into your chest, certain it’s only the remnants of your thoughts that pull your mind taut like a bowstring, ready to snap and send shockwaves cataclysmic through your form.
Price clears the path ahead, his form lit green by night vision goggles. Soap stays tight to your flank, more so than usual, and seems to match your every step, to watch your six more than his own. He doesn't speak. None of you do, radio silent as you approach the dim lights of the warehouse. It's only once you're there that Price holds his hand up in a silent gesture for you and Soap to pause.
He withdraws his scopes, and the air feels too cold, thick around you as he catalogs the exterior of the building, noting the scant few sentries that pace the perimeter.
Three guards. He signals to you both. Armed.
You hold your breath, looking through your own scope to confirm the captain’s observations, noting as well the freight truck in the asphalt lot of the warehouse. Several more figures walk between the vehicle and the loading dock doors. It’s at the entrance of the truck that you see a figure vanish behind the edge of the doors, and you blink, feeling a pull of recognition at the woman before Price taps your shoulder.
There's a pause before he puts away his goggles. You prepare to set up your rifle from this vantage point, provide sniper fire so the captain and Soap can infiltrate, but instead Price signals for you to follow him.
You and Soap exchange a silent look.
Soap is a sniper too, of course. You two have had more than one go at it to see who's the better shot and come up close every time. Still, it's Soap who's the demolitions and arms expert, not you. If anyone should be in there to examine the weapon's cache, it should be him. Still, you've learned your lesson from earlier, to not question the captain. So, silently, you nod in confirmation, offer Soap a fist-bump, and begin descending the hill down to the warehouse.
The three sentries are dead by the time you cut through the wire gate, slumped on the ground in an ooze of red you don't pause to look at, courtesy of the Scotsman hidden on the rise. You pass them, following as Price takes point, moves interior to the back hallways of the warehouse.
You take out two more guards as you go, pausing over each with a confirmed kill before you both make your way towards the main storage area of the warehouse.
Yet you signal Price's attention as you pass one of the offices, noting the ledger of goods and its origins that lays in plain view, not yet tucked away. You stuff it into your pack as Price hovers by the door, reminding yourself to offer it later to Laswell for intel.
It's only once you're inside the dim, musty storage floor that Price dares to speak.
"Bravo seven one, this is Bravo six. We're interior. Searching for payload, stand by."
"Copy Bravo Six." Soap's voice comes across the comms- hushed, focused.
Price motions for you to fan out, so you do, the world shades of black and green through your goggles as you navigate the shelves of crates and boxes. You step over one aisle from Price, eyes roaming over the vast collection of possible items in the warehouse. Your first few attempts yield little, nothing more than repair parts or work tools. Most of the boxes are conspicuously empty, and the more of them you discover the more you begin to feel that knot of stifling anxiety coil further within you.
There should be more boxes, clues, leads, something that may yield answers. In fact, for a place that is supposed to offer intel like Laswell promised, it's noticeably unguarded. You’re supposed to find indications of ties to enemy organizations, foreign suppliers with which to track down KorTac. However, this feels for all the world like a standard warehouse filled with various bits and bobbles used only for farming in the surrounding area. It’s almost like someone is trying to hide the evidence here.
You stop where you stand, hands tightening on your weapon in realization. Like scenting blood in the air, you feel your shoulders tighten, your heart thrum louder.
We need to leave.
You find Price at the end of the next aisle, his face hidden behind his goggles. Yet you can tell from the way his shoulders scrunch, his mouth set taut, that he feels the same. There are no answers here, and the scent of iron seems to only thicken at the back of your throat as realization slowly, horrifyingly begins to wash over you.
It's a trap.
No sooner do the words enter your mind does the world suddenly grow bright, blinding you. The clunk of a switch greets both your ears, and your goggles flood with piercing light that makes your head throb sharply. You grunt, tearing them from your face and rubbing your eyes, instinctively hunching down to hide from whichever enemy decided to ambush you.
"Soap!" You whisper urgently into the comms, trying to find your vision. "We've been made, I repeat, it's an ambush, we-"
A hand settles over yours, and you flinch hard, blinking up at Price. The captain settles a finger to his lips, gesturing for you to be silent.
"We need to move." He tells you, voice grave, hushed. "Now."
You nod, eyes wide, startled, clutching your weapon like it's your life support. Your lips purse into a tight line, following as Price turns back in the direction you both entered from.
You freeze when you hear it then, the heavy footsteps that echo through the aisles, predators in search of prey. Distantly, you feel the heavy weight of recognition press down on your shoulders, muted by the consuming dread and panic of your situation.
He could be here. He could be only feet away from us and we won't even know until it's too late.
Your heart thumps loud, loud enough you're afraid that he might hear it, trace it to the source, hunt you down like a shark scenting blood. Yet your next thought feels like a flash of lightning that cracks the sky open, cleaves apart the heavens and leaves you with the earth-shattering remnants.
Price could kill him.
Your brain blinks in radiant, fluorescent light, trying to find the balance between two diametrically opposed rationales. The asymmetry of it makes the world around you haze over, tightens the breath in your chest until you begin panting, overwhelmed by it all as you try to discern the truth lost in a haze of lies.
You need to get out of here.
You need to kill him.
You can't watch Price murder him.
You don’t want him to die.
Panic rises swiftly within you, untamed by the paradox of your uncertainty, and even as Price hauls you to your feet with a hiss you can barely hear him, blinking, eyes unfocused-
"Rookie!" Price snaps at you, voice grating, teeth cracking, and that manages to ground you, and you look at him with wide, glassy eyes.
Only to see the shadow looming behind him.
Price notices a moment too late, raising his weapon, trying to aim. Yet the shadow raises one massive, brawny arm, and swats Price straight in the face with a sound louder than thunder.
The impact sends him flying.
The crack against Price's jaw is harsh enough to rattle your bones, shaking at the creaking, unsteady foundation of you. There's a moment where Price sails through the air, his feet barely skimming the ground and then there's silence, dreaded and suspended on all sides until the moment where the arch of his momentum apexes, races back towards earth.
Your scream is muffled by the sound of your captain's body crashing into the dismantled, empty crates.
"PRICE!!
Yet your captain's body shifts, then falls still, the dust around him lifting, settling around his twisted, fallen form.
He doesn't move.
You can't breathe.
The shadow falls over you, blotting out the light from above.
It's...it's not him.
No, it's someone else. Tall, but not as tall as König, maskless. A beard grazes his jaw, massive, brawny arms hanging at his sides, eyes dark as he advances on you. The distant, still functioning part of your brain reaches for the information Price gave you, tries to recall the face on the folder.
Aksel.
Aksel, the one to hit Price so hard he could have snapped his neck, Aksel, the one who towers over your smaller figure as you panic and try to back up, forgetting the weapon in your hands as your previous panic multiplies, climbs up your throat in a heaving, shuddering gasp. Aksel only continues to move forward, footsteps like the impact of a war drum as he closes the distance, reaching a huge, gloved hand for you.
Your heart threatens to burst from your chest, terrified, paralyzed, the air in your throat frozen as you shake, trying to will yourself to move.
Then, movement from behind him. You watch as a pair of hands reach around, looping a chord over Aksel's neck and then pulling, pulling until the soldier's face contorts and he grunts for air, falling backwards. His hands fly up, trying to dislodge the rope from his neck, writhing violently. Yet all he gets in return is a pair of legs wrapping around his arms, pinning them to his sides.
It's only once he's on the floor that you see him. That you see Price.
There's blood gushing from a cut in his forehead, leaking down into one of his eyes. Yet the other remains open, and you nearly gasp at the violence there, the pure atrocities he threatens with his rage alone. The anger you heard constrained in Price's voice earlier seems to bleed into his stare, promising complete, and utter violence. The fury in his eyes seems to speak of divine retribution, a vengeance so unholy you briefly think he may be the incarnation of the fallen angel Lucifer, sworn to an eternal damnation.
"Keep your. Bloody. Fucking. Hands. OFF my sniper!" Price snarls, feral, untamed, each breath a cracked inhale as he struggles to contain the man in his hold. His hands rub and chafe at the rope, twisting brutally into his skin as he yanks it tighter, tighter.
"KILL HIM!" He roars at you, voice hoarse, bellowing the order like it's his final, ultimate act of defiance. He doesn't bother to look in your direction, intensity entirely focused on the enemy in his grip who thrashes violently, feet scrambling as he tries to buck off the captain to no avail.
It startles you from your reverie, jolts you back into the presence as you lift your weapon, take aim-
A blade at your neck.
"I wouldn't, Maus."
You freeze, heart stopping, breath halting, your entire body rigid as warmth crowds into your back, an arm wraps around your front and drags you back, backwards until you meet the uneven, uncomfortable surface of a tac vest.
König.
"Let go of the gun, kleine Maus." He purrs in your ear, and you can't- not when you can squeeze off a shot, could kill Aksel right here. Yet the blade presses further into the bare flesh of your neck and you blink, trying to understand how he of all people could threaten you like this, could force you to abandon your captain.
Nothing prepares you for his next words, as he leans down, and the fabric of the mask traces the edge of your face even as you lean away, eyes wide, horrified, confused, panicked at all that seems to be happening around you.
"You were supposed to be outside."
You blink, lips parting as you try to speak, try to ask him how he knows-
In your shock your hands loosen on your weapon, and it takes little effort for König to divest you of it, clicking on the safety and placing it to the ground, kicking it somewhere far behind him.
One huge arm wraps around your front, and it isn't until it does that your brain kicks on and you begin to struggle, arching away from the blade and thrashing. It does you little good, for within seconds König has you restrained against his front, arms pinned to your sides.
"Captain." He states, and you look frantically to Price, who's stopped actively trying to strangulate his opponent and instead now focuses on both of you. There's fear that flashes across his eyes, bright and quick as lightning, and it pierces into you. Your captain was never afraid. Resolute, concerned, angry, yes. Fear, however, was not something he displayed, and never in front of an enemy.
"I have your sniper." König goes on, and you again try to thrash, but the man has the advantage of not only size but also strength, keeps you immobile with one, bulging arm. "If you don't wish to see her bleed to death, I suggest you release my comrade."
He wouldn't
Would he?
No, this is all just a mistake. He...he said he'd never hurt you. He's bluffing.
"Let me go." You whisper, voice hoarse, starved of air.
König shifts then, and you feel him stiffen at your voice until he finally replies with his voice almost too soft to be heard:
"I can’t, Maus."
You look at Price, thoughts reeling, hands shaking, trying to find which way is up, to untangle yourself from the cobwebs inside your thoughts that prevent you from thinking clearly. The world tilts around you, the ground shifting under your feet and you realize this was a mistake from the beginning, to come out here. You weren't ready, too ill-prepared after what happened in Mozambique, when König had crowded to you just as he does now, had offered you a single request that even now echoes in your thoughts ceaselessly, tormenting you.
"If I ask, you'll come with me?"
"Let her go." Price rasps, and you stare at him, as his arms bulge with the effort it takes to contain Aksel.
"After you, Captain Price." König practically purrs, keeping you glued to his front, the sharp end of the blade pressed barely into your skin.
Price pauses, and you can see him thinking, processing, trying to find a way out of this where you both survive unscathed.
"Price. No." You manage, again trying to free yourself. Yet König's other hand snaked upwards, covering the lower half of your face in one huge, gloved hand.
"Quiet, Maus."
It doesn't stop you. If Price frees Aksel, Aksel will kill him, and you can't allow that to happen, can't witness the death of your captain in front of your eyes while you're able to do nothing. Not when it's all your fault.
"Our commander has been very eager to meet you, captain." König goes on. "If you release Eriksen, I may be inclined to let your sergeant here meet him as well."
You still, König's words sink into you as you do into terror, realizing exactly what the enemy soldier's threat entails.
Capture.
You thrash in earnest now, heedless of the blade at your throat. Your voice echoes into König's palm, a cry of fear, of outrage at the prospect of being taken again, of Price, your captain being taken alongside you. Somehow, you wiggle your arms free and try to claw at König's forearm, your gloved fingers scraping uselessly against the metal of his bracers. The blade in König's hand nicks against your throat, and you're certain you feel a red ooze from the source, but you pay it no attention.
You could endure capture, shameful though it was. You were trained to withstand interrogations, to not crack under pressure, but the idea of Price, of Price being captured, of them possibly using your own captain against you, or worse, trying to use you to crack him-
You reach for your vest, one hand fumbling for your blade there, trying to withdraw it in a desperate attempt to free yourself, to save Price, anything-
Yet König's hand releases your mouth and twists your wrist as soon as you find the blade, and you grunt as it is twisted free of your grasp, clattering uselessly to the floor.
"Let me GO!!" You scream, panic now forcing up your throat and through your limbs in an uncontrolled, untampered frenzy.
König shifts with you in his arms, tries to lean down to you, and you hear his voice dip in an almost soothing murmur, tight and barely audible. You don't hear him, focused entirely on your captain.
"Price!" You scream, voice shrill. "Kill him! Run! Get out of here!"
Price seems taken aback by your outburst, his single open eye glinting as he takes in your wildly thrashing form, eyes feral, untamed, afraid.
Slowly, Price unwinds the rope.
You have just enough time to scream, to shout "NO!!" Before Aksel twists, seizing one of Price's arms and bending it down in a harsh motion so abruptly and severely you hear a 'Crack!' at the motion. Price shouts, a harsh grinding sound, yanking the arm back automatically and trying to grapple himself away from the Norwegian on pure instinct. Yet when his eyes land on you, he pauses, just long enough for Aksel to stand and launch a heavy, booted foot right into the man's ribs.
Price crumples back with a shout that's dwarfed by your own. You scream, your entire body surging forward, only for König to wordlessly catch you, his entire form rigid, stiff at the sight before him.
"Leave her." Aksel barks at König, his voice cracked, hoarse from Price's murderous attempt. You barely pay any attention to the Norwegian, your eyes focused on the form of your captain. He’s curled on his side, blood oozing from the laceration in his hairline, his hat crumpled and tossed to the side. He writhes slowly on the floor, choking on a ragged inhale, and you call for him, voice thick with despair.
"Price, John, please- look at me."
He does. He turns his head and there's anger there, hard enough to make you flinch. Pure ire seeps from his gaze, one eye mottled with blood that continues to seep from his head. His shoulders heave as he tries to gather his breath. No doubt Aksel's kick, harsh enough to dent metal, was enough to fracture a rib. The pain only feeds the fury, your captain's teeth bared in a feral, gnashing snarl. Yet it isn't directed at you, it's focused instead on the man who holds a knife to your throat, the one who you feel shift with you pinned against his front.
"No." König's voice startles you, makes you flinch against him. Yet the hand clasped across you eases just a touch, his thumb grazing reassuring circles into your skin you barely seem to feel. "O'Conor wanted him alive. We can use her as leverage."
Aksel shoots König an annoyed look, but there must be something in the Austrian's stare that makes him pause, consider.
"Fine." He bites at last, clearly displeased. "You take her. Roze is expecting us outside."
With that he reaches for Price and you snarl, thrash in König's grip like a wild, rabid animal.
"Don't you fucking touch him." You grind out, but Aksel has the audacity to shoot you a look akin to amusement, as if he doesn't really believe the unspoken threat in your words. So, you turn to the captain, who stretches on the floor, seeking your weapon that was kicked uselessly to the side. When Aksel's foot lands on his hand with a sickening crunch, John grits his teeth and only offers a grunt. His enraged stare fixates on the Norwegian standing above him, reaching down to grasp him by his tac vest, and haul him upright.
Then, in a brutal, dizzying move, Aksel cranes his head back and then forwards, connecting it with Price's hard enough to severely stun the man. John’s eyes roll hard enough to make your stomach turn with a putrid, sour taste.
"John-" You try again, voice terribly small, broken at the sight of your limp captain's body now hauled over Aksel's broad shoulders. "John, please."
"Let's move." Aksel barks to König, and soon your world shifts as well. You're too startled to offer a reaction, not until you're slung across König's shoulders in a similar manner to Price, both hands caught in a single, strangulating grasp.
"König." You try once you're sure Aksel can't hear you. Your voice is tight, caught in your throat. "Please- please don't do this."
König doesn't reply, not at first. You can tell he's thinking, considering, his shoulders tense under you as he absorbs your plea.
"I won't let them hurt you, Maus." He murmurs back, voice hushes, raspy. "I'll...keep you safe."
Yet he doesn't sound convinced by his own words, and you only struggle in response, trying vainly to free yourself.
"Let me go." You plead a little louder, voice cracking. "Please, don't...don't let them use me against him. König."
König flinches. Yet he doesn't respond, not as his mind continues to churn and yield only fruitless solutions. You feel panic rise within you again, and as you struggle König only offers small, hushed assurances that do little to deter the building terror inside you.
They're going to capture you. Yet this time it won't just be König. As much as he says so he can't guarantee your safety, can't ensure you won't be tortured, used as fodder to break your captain.
The cool night air billows across your face as you exit the warehouse. There's cars now that you didn't see before, and among them is an armored truck that Aksel makes for with long, unbroken strides. Horror wells in your stomach, the back of the truck yawning open like a black maw, threatening to take you down, down until you choke only on ichor and darkness.
You struggle then, air rising hot and suffocating in your throat, made worse when König's distant murmur of "Maus, Maus, it's going to be okay-" filters through the smoggy haze of fear. You can hardly breathe, mind conjuring images of being tied to a chair in a dark room, of Price, bloodied and beaten across from you-
BOOM-!!
A deafening, catastrophic explosion shakes the ground under you, and the darkness of the warehouse lot is suddenly illuminated by a fiery, orange glow that casts König's gigantic shadow in a looming, phantasmic stretch before your eyes. You twist your head just in time to feel the heat of flames cast brightly against your face.
"ROZE!" Aksel bellows furiously over the roar of the conflagration, and you hear a female voice in the distance yell something back, voice rising sharply in alarm, words indiscernible.
König spins, entire form radiating tension under you. When you twist you catch a glimpse of his eyes- wide, frantic, searching for answers.
You already know. If it wasn't them, there's only one person it could possibly be. Your mouth forms the name, calls out to him amidst the fire and flames, seeking purchase on the only lifeline you have left.
"SOAP!!"
No sooner had you cried out did you feel König's body lurch under you, so abrupt and severe his balance falters. The sound of something sinking into his tac vest is enough to make your heart stop, and he grunts, something akin to pain. Too top heavy with your body slung across his shoulders he teeters, and then goes down like a mammoth tree falling in a forest. You spill from his grip, on your feet in an instant.
König grunts with pain when he reaches for you, manages to secure one foot around your ankle.
Yet then, mysteriously, he pauses.
The Austrian catches sight of your eyes, sees your stricken, terrified gaze looking down at him. A rabbit in a snare, staring into the jaws of a predator, the glint of fangs reflecting in your irises.
He lets go.
You pause long enough only to blink at him, wanting to say something, anything, to speak to him in this moment not as enemies or allies, but something between. Something that feels strangely like trust.
Instead, you fling yourself in the direction of the gunshot, hearing a bellow of anger behind you as you sprint for the fence line in search of freedom.
Only to skid to a halt once you get to the edge of the burning building, against the not yet consumed office spaces, sparing a horrified look behind you.
Price.
No sooner did you turn back in the direction of the truck where you captain was being held did you trace the glint of a scope, reflecting the burning haze of the building.
You duck just in time, absent of a weapon to return fire, getting behind the exterior wall of the building. Heart racing, you barely hear your own thoughts above the sound of the inferno, growing closer to your position at every moment.
You need to get Price, need to find a weapon, to return fire, to-
Hands seize you around your middle.
You scream on instinct, reaching for your knife no longer in your vest, searching for one of your other weapons, for something-
"Rookie, it's me!"
You twist in your attacker's arms, seeing the wide, blue gaze of Soap peer down at you. In his eyes you see the orange of the flames, see your own horrified stare, see the ashes of catastrophe falling around you like omens from a cursed, skyward pantheon.
"Soap-" You breathe, voice clogged with smoke. Your relief is short lived, because soon another bullet pings against the wall and Soap is ducking you both down, his face grim, brow drawn in frustration.
"Th-they have Price." You supply, voice cracking. "In the truck, they said they needed him alive. We need-"
Another bullet, and you flinch. You look to Johnny, who peers over your head with growing dismay, face falling open at whatever he sees.
"Soap." You try again, voice tight. "You need to return fire, to get Price-"
"Can't." Soap tells you, and he looks at you then, his eyes wide, afraid. "I can't risk hitting the captain."
The next bullet pierces the wall above both your heads, but you feel rather than hear it, blood rushing in your ears, the fire roaring so loud you feel the vibrations of it in your feet.
"We need to leave." Soap yells over the chaos, voice stern, issuing an order and still somehow failing to contain his utter anger and grief at the situation. He doesn't wait for your approval, doesn't wait to hear you respond. Instead, he seizes your arm, begins dragging your stunned, paralyzed form with him in the direction of the fence.
"S-Soap." You try, but your voice is hoarse, barely able to be heard. Soap doesn't look back, doesn't try and release you, hauling you along as you stumble behind him.
"GO!" He tells you, shoving you at the hole in the fence and turning to spray his weapon wide, long enough to cover you ducking through the wire. In the time it takes to force himself through, whoever's scope has you in its sights fires in your direction once more, shots barely missing you.
"MOVE!!" Soap yells at you, hands shoving, and you've never heard his voice like that before. Terrified, shaking, trying to somehow maintain a grasp on a situation that's spiraled far beyond his control.
"PRICE!!" You scream, voice shrill, cracking in your throat. You reach for him, try and shove Soap off of you, but the Scotsman has an arm secured around your middle, dragging you backwards from the line of fire even as you shriek. "Soap- Johnny, let go!! Price- we need to-!"
"We can't." Soap interjects, and you can hear in his voice the devastation, the complete and utter despair. "We need t' get out of here, right fuckin now-"
Yet it only makes you thrash harder in Soap's grip, watching as the injured form of your captain is tossed, thrown, into the back of the truck. You watch the wheels bounce with the impact, a cry of utter anguish tearing raw from your throat, enough to be heard over the fire of bullets that rain down on your and Soap's position.
"Leave him." Soap hoarses into your shoulders, even as your fingers try and pry his arm from you. "They need him alive- we...we can get him back." Johnny's throat cracks on the promise, as if he doesn't believe his own words. "We will die if we stay here, corporal. We need to leave. That's an order."
You sob then, at the reminder of your rank, at Soap using every method he has to get you to retreat away from your captain. It doesn't make sense. He's right there, so close you can almost see his eyes as the back of the truck closes, and he vanishes from sight.
"C'mon, lass, move." Soap grunts then, none too gently hauling you further into the shadows of the woods, away from the line of fire. "Yer no use to him dead."
You don't reply, allowing Soap to haul you further into the forest even as your wails leave a trail of anguish behind you.
----
You leave him.
You leave Price.
Both of you, you and Soap, flee into the Serbian forest. The blaze of the warehouse burns brightly behind you, casting a red glow upon the horizon in the absence of dawn. The smoke clings to the back of your throat as you pick your way through the forest, jumping at every twig snapping underfoot, every rustle of the canopy. It's unclear if you're being pursued, or if your attackers are too preoccupied with their own exfiltration to even bother.
You and Soap make it back to the van with record speed, and it's only once you're there that you seize him, use all your force to corner him against the side of the truck.
"Why!?" You gasp, hot tears blooming in your eyes. "You could have gotten him, not me!"
You bend your head forward, voice choking on a wail, knowing still there may be enemies in the trees just beyond sight. Fists clench on Johnny's chest and you shudder with a sob, uncontrollable guilt bubbling searing and viscous up your throat.
This. This was your fault.
You should have told Price something was wrong, should have reacted sooner to the ambush, shouldn't have gotten panicked in your own head because of him-
Soap's hands land on yours. Firm, comforting. He doesn't snap at you to get back in line, doesn't scold you for your tears in the face of defeat. Instead, he murmurs two words, his voice broken, choked with emotion that mirrors your own.
"I'm sorry."
You look up at him through a watery gaze, ashes smeared across your face, hair coming loose from under your helmet. Soap's eyes are miserable, face contorted as he tries to contain the guilt, the grief that sinks deep into his chest like the carve of a dull, serrated knife. It's enough to make you pause, blink your eyes free of tears.
"I-I had to." He goes on, voice thick with emotion, laced with despair that fractures at the brittle inside of you, threatens to send the foundation of you crashing down. "It couldn’t be you. Not...not again."
Again.
After the first time. After König had marched away with you into the night, had begun this winding, ensnaring tale of irrevocable magnetism, two planets in asynchronous orbit destined for a ruinous collision of destruction. After you had come back different, shaken, trying so hard to hide the truth that your teammates, your brothers had no choice but to assume the worst.
You understand now, how they must have felt when you were taken. The grief, the despair, the all-consuming outrage that now festers inside of you like molten glass, dripping and scorching over your form.
Your face crumples at that, and like a child you weep against Soap's front, feel the warm wetness of grief trace paths through the ashes on your cheeks. You bang a fist weakly against him, and it only summons another cracked apology, arms closing around you as he gathers you to him in your combined grief.
"We'll get him." He murmurs. Over and over again, a litany of promises that you try to find solace in, try to hide from the guilt of your own ruinous emotions.
Slowly, as the sun rises, you try to bury him in your heart.
Tumblr media
(Reblog this post to be included on the taglist for future updates!)
Taglist:
@fatedeniedhope @gio-gio007 @glassgulls @sednonamoris @ohgraywardens @greatlydelirious @guyfierriii @wanderingisobel @nijiluvbot @deceiverofgodss @xasement @zwiiicnziiix @bloodyknucklesforme @kkinky @imkumichan @fluidthoughts @secre-flower @sandinthemachine @starlitnotes @00mogars @adorephina @cowanonofficial @dhns-stuff @kgbtardis @kaitlynisinfinite @thisperspective @darlingcyare @rk1v35 @classickook @smoggyfogbottom @cass-andor-junkie @uroldall @whore4dilfs @beeslythebee @the-queerpoet-collecterter @artbythedarkside @deepdreamerbouquetsworld @scatter-mind001 @emrzennn @cuckoo-on-a-string @sednonamoris @azzoka @tinykaka @amp-0000 @imalovernotahater @ramadiiiisme @akir4a @ddiamondsdancing @kroowonderemporium @fuckimhere @xespresso-depressox @imtherain @fatedeniedhope @bythe-waterfountain @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @brainlessgf @mionacaped @wltneko9006 @snarkygentile @blvkwondaland @shinyportalsandthings @lilpothoscuttings @tzipora-art @nowaydin @ihatesunfl0wers @4-est @xdarkcreaturex @beesandpollen @frazie99 @kamino-mermaid @wildechildwrites
655 notes · View notes
forestshadow-wolf · 5 months
Text
Cw: implied homophobia, drinking and smoking as coping mechanisms, angst
Part 1 || Part 2
Soap was always so put together. Ghost always admired that, just a bit.
Which is why is was so shocking to see soap drunk off his ass, alone in the rec room, in the small hours of the night.
Ok, saying he was drunk off his ass was an overstatement, but he was clearly a bit further than buzzed. Didn't even acknowledge ghost when he walked, just continued idly running his finger around the rim of his glass, staring sightlessly into the amber liquid. Where he even got the bottle of scotch was a question ghost didn't bother to think on.
Ghost took it upon himself to situate himself next to soap, pressing his thigh into the scot's.
"How much have you had, Johnny?" He asked softly, something colored his voice that he didn't wish to look deeper into — that's why they worked. Soap toed the line between too much, and ghost let him, laughing it off when it circled too close, and soap always followed.
"Enough. I should pack it up." Soap said equally soft, solem, but he made no move to do so, simply continuing to cradle the glass between his hands. — so that's it, huh. That's how he stays so composed. He's self-aware. Maybe too much for his own good.
Soap pulled the cup up to his lips to take a sip of the warm liquid. Ghost's hands gently guided the glass out of his hands before it reached its destination. Soap let it happen. He still hadn't even glanced at ghost, and he was being unusually quiet. Ghost didn't like it.
They sat in silence for a moment.
Or ghost thought they did. Then a moment later he hears the flick of a lighter, and he turns his head to see soap lighting up a cigarette. Simon frowns behind his mask. Soap takes a delicate pull off the cigarette, and lets the smoke steam out of his mouth slowly. Still, it's like he's looking anywhere but ghost. It's like he's looking through ghost. Ghost sighs — he doesn't like this johnny. — his fingers automatically itch for a cigarette of his own, his body so used to sharing one with the man beside him. He doesn't. There's no real need for one at the moment, just a desire to share something.
"Tell me?" Ghost offers. It's gruff, and hardly sounds like a question at all, but an offer all the same.
Soap doesn't answer. He's eerily quiet. The only sound is their breathing, and the occasional pull of the one lone cigarette.
It's quiet for a long time. Ghost doesn't force anything, just sits with him. Then–
"My da's dyin'." It's small, quiet, as if saying it too loud will shatter whatever's in the air between them. "I should take some leave, be there... but... I won't." The cigarette's almost burned down to the but now. He takes one last drag off it, then snubs it out.
Simon stays quiet, letting johnny think, it's not his place to speak. It's not what Johnny needs right now.
"He'd be furious, I think. He'd tell me to go to hell, maybe in a few more words." Johnny chuckled darkly. "Mum will be devastated if I don't go. And my sisters will never forgive me if I'm not there — mum will though, she's too kind — but... I can't go." He said wistfully, the words come out slow — it's probably the alcohol — he spoke like he didn't know how to stop the words from coming out, and wasn't sure if he even wanted to stop them.
"Why not?" Simon prompted gently, he could almost see the words burning a hole in Johnny's throat.
"We can forget about this come morning, act like this never happened." Soap answered instead, like the words were stuck, but still seared with a need to come out. Or maybe it was the alcohol making him hare-brained
"Johnny..." It was soft, too soft. Soap laid his head on his arms and began tracing formless shaped on the table with his finger.
"... haven't seen him in over a decade, and he was so... angry then. He caught me an- an a boy..." the words seemed to get caught in his throat. "Barely even let me pack my bags before shipping me off. He was so nice before... before he knew. He was so amazing. I always thought I'd be like him when I grew up." Johnny's eyes were wet now, instead of the eerie dryness from before, but that's all it was, no tears. "I should see him one more time for that at least... but I won't. I-..."
"Johnny." Ghost felt like he was intruding, he was seeing something he wasn't meant to see. But johnny plowed on.
"I-... but I don't think I can- that- that I'll-... I don't know h-how I'll survive if- if he tells me to- to go to hell or- or t-to get dead again. I can't- I can't do it again." Johnny's voice shook as he spoke, and the words seemed to trip and stumble uneloquently from his lips.
He seemed to burn out after that, and it was so quiet, like they'd gotten sucked into space. Or maybe it was just simon who was in space, and Johnny was cast adrift in the ocean. He didn't know.
"Lets get you to bed, Johnny." The words were gentle, pillowed in all the corners. Johnny let himself be guided easily, searching for any kind of life raft.
189 notes · View notes
jkloserdazai · 11 months
Text
☁️soapghost x male reader(sfw)
☁️genre: fluff
☁️warning(s): your in a hospital(?)
☁️a/n: mmmm look at me giving yall content yall prolly don't want
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
your eyes slowly start to open, the bright lights around you shining almost blinding you even. a groan slips from your lips as you try to look away and close your eyes from the light.
after a few seconds you start moving your body, or small portions of it moving your toes slightly, scrunching your nose, and lastly moving and squeezing your hands and fingers.
it wasn't until later you realise your felt both of your hands occupied by someone else's hands. "see? i told you he'd wake." a scottish like voice rings through your ears causing you to wince as everything felt sensitive.
"shut it johnny, let him gain his consciousness more." a british sounding voice came along with the other. the light that shined through your eyes started to adjust to your vision as you slowly started to see the two 'voices' more clearly.
the one on your left was a man, he was tan skinned with a mohawk like hair style. you guessed he must have been the one wit the scottish voice. you could just tell. the one on your right had a type of mask on like a skull mask on, you could see that his eyes were somewhat cold but had a softened look of worry when he gazed at you.
besides you being in the hospital the only thing you could think of was; 'wow...these guys are really hot.' for now, you weren't sure who these men really were because of the side effects of the medicine, it would wear off soon though.
"oh my.." you mumble. both of their hands tighten as you speak. "you alright love?" the man with the skull mask spoke to you slightly leaning foward.
even though you heard the nickname 'love' clear as day you couldn't help but ask the both of them, "are you single?" you look over to the male at the left of you. "both of ya i mean." your voice sounded lazy and slurred with your eyes hooded.
the scot next to you couldn't help but chuckle a but same as the skull masked man. "no neither of us are single." you slightly whined making an 'aww' sound. the both of the men found it a little funny how clueless your seemed medicine or not they'd be laughing their asses off if they weren't in public.
"the both of us are married as a matter of fact." ghost stated, your face getting a bit more upset. "what do 'ya mean your married? to who?" you said this almost like you were going to fight whoever the person they were both married to.
"ha, look at your fingers lad." you look down at your hands the both of them. "yeah? what about 'em?" you feel soap bring the hand he was holding close to your face. "a little closer." you squint your eyes seeing two rings on your ring finger.
"what is this?" you wiggle your fingers in the hand that held yours, the rings seemed to have some type of diamonds on them, the top one was a little thin, with a diamond in the middle of the holder.
the second one on the bottom had small little rings holders with small little diamonds holding in them. "why are there two of 'em also?" jumping a little at the cold pair of lips on your right hand, seeing that the man with the mask had lifted it up to kiss your fingers.
"we're your husband's." he said still litering small kisses on your fingers. your eyes slightly widened as wide as they could go. these two men were your husband's? like, you married them, had a whole relationship with them?
"what..so..im your husband? to the both of yall? b-both?" you smirk to yourself. "oh my gosh, i'm so damn lucky to have these two really hot dudes to me." you chuckle to yourself then you start to wonder.
"hey hey, did we fuck?" the both of them stop what they were doing to look at you. ghost having fingers to the bridge of his nose while soap tried to not laugh.
"oh lord (m/n) i can't with you."
Tumblr media
wooooo more cod cause i literally read all of them out even the cringe ones cause i was desperate @gaybitchfx @reallyromealone / @rome-alone @bloodyfennec (ill bring you leon soon dw but please enjoy these buff military men) @secretivemessenger @vyloy @devilswhore-emrys @lostsomewhereinthegarden
634 notes · View notes
thetravelingtyper · 5 days
Text
Our Shattered Heart Interlude (Part 2.25) SR (GN! 'Heart' Reader x Taskforce 141)
Loading Track 1 - Work Song by Hozier (SImon RIley One Shot) Kept awake by Soap, Simon takes the time to recollect on a few things close to his Heart.
Warnings: Possible OOC of Simon, Suggestive Content, Cursing, Jealous and Possessive Simon, Konig being slightly unhinged lol
Part 1, Part 2, Part 2.50, Masterlist
As decided by the poll! Here is Simon. You don't need to read the other two parts for this I think but I recommend you do for context! Enjoy - Ash :D
Tumblr media
Boys, workin' on empty
Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?
I just think about my baby
I'm so full of love I could barely eat
There's nothing sweeter than my baby
I'd never want once from the cherry tree
'Cause my baby's sweet as can be
She give me toothaches just from kissin' me
Simon Riley was a light sleeper if he got any sleep at all. Johnny helped but the Scot tended to talk in his sleep, disturbing him. Price had left that day to return to base but you and the men needed to remain for another two weeks. That day you gave the men an earful about their treatment of you.
You turned to Simon with a simmering fire in your eyes. You walked up to him, poked a finger into his chest, and cursed.
“You! Big trouble mister! You were the worst of you lot! Price got away for now but he’ll hear it soon!” 
Simon nodded, giving a gruff apology and taking your hand in his. You blinked and looked into his eyes. There you found a swirl of emotion restrained by his nature. He set a hand to your face and tilted your head up.
“I’m sorry dove. I was angry at you, more myself, for not being able to protect you. I should not have left you.”
Johnny sets a hand between Simon’s shoulders. 
You lean into his hand.
“It's ok Simon.”
And with that you let him be.
Simon shuffled out of his room quietly, making sure not to disturb Soap who rolled over, pulling into himself without Simon there. Stretching his neck, Simon red the clock, 2:46 am, he sighed, he was going to feel this tomorrow. The man padded down the hall, passing the sound of Gaz snoring in his room. He turned the corner into the kitchen. Opening the cabinet he reached for a glass and a bottle of bourbon. Sighing he poured himself a glass and leaned against the counter taking a sip. His memories kept him company.
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her
He and Heart were on a duo mission in the Alps running intel for a botched mission. Everything had gone to shit when Ghost got shot. The shot went clean through, nicking nothing important but he collapsed with a yell from Heart.
“Shit Simon!.” Heart yanked him up and fled. 
The night was almost on you. You rushed to pad the wound the best you could, heart quivering. The kiss had changed things between you two but he didn’t speak on it. You had to think fast! Wait! Kortac! 
You grabbed your emergency phone and dialed the only person you could quickly reach. König. 
The operator had a safehouse in the Austrian Central Alps and you tried your luck…with success. König had picked up with a kurt, 
“Who is this? How did you get this number.”
“König it's me! Heart, I need help!”
His voice changed immediately,
“Schatz! Where are you?”
You responded with your coordinates and set Simon down against a tree, his groaning sharpening to a gruff laugh. You turn to him with wide eyes, his bandage having bled through. You curse, putting your phone in his hand to hold while you repack the would, burying the bloody bandages as it begins to snow.
“Schatz!” Königs voice echoes from the phone drawing Simon's sharp eye.
You try to take it from him but Simon grips the phone tighter.
“You called the Austrian?”
It's sharp, venomous even, his eyes trying to focus on you. You just gape at him, the sting of his voice carrying something you couldn't identify. You yank the phone from him while König confirms your location, he could be there in an hour. You praise him with thanks and try your radio again as the weather worsens. Nothing. You pace before you hear a gasp of pain. You turn to see that Simon has pulled himself up to lean against the tree.
“What in the fucking world are you doing LT?!?” 
He just glares at the phone. Arms reaching forward to jaggedly pull you to him.  The tactical vests kept you inches apart but the glower of his combat mask took up the entirety of your vision.
“You called König?” Simon hissed, having set your rifles aside he cusps your neck and pulled your face as close as he could with your helmets on. You pause before you simmer,
“You’re bleeding like a stuck pig Ghost!” 
You want to throw your hands up but his form entraps you. With strength you didn't know he could manage, he turns you both and pins you to the tree, breath heaving from the exertion. He grips the back of your neck with a gloved hand. 
“I don’t like him.”
You gawk at the man who’s form starts to sway,
“You got freaking SHOT! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? 
He chuckles deeply, caressing your neck, and his free hand reaching to lift his mask above his mouth. 
“What is this about Ghos-” You are cut off when he slams his lips against yours for the second time. 
Boys, when my baby found me
I was three days on a drunken sin
I woke with her walls around me
Nothin' in her room but an empty crib
And I was burnin' up a fever
I didn't care much how long I lived
But I swear I thought I dreamed her
She never asked me once about the wrong I did
You gasp into the kiss, Simon pinning you further and taking the moment to open the kiss. You shove against him and he grunts, parting with heavy breaths and dilated pupils.
“Simon! What, how, why? You've been shot this is not the freaking time!”
His head staggers to your neck, lips parting with a deep chuckle that reverberates against you. He presses a kiss to your exposed neck that has your legs quaking. Your hands push against him with a little more success, but he is stubborn.
“Stop.” It is a deep-voiced command you push anyway.
“You need to sit down Sir.” He groans at that, but your phone rings again igniting something fierce in Simon. You go to pull it out but he uses his free hand to pin yours back.
“What the fu-” He bites your neck and your head knocks back against the tree neck as the phone continues to ring. He tongues over the mark before tracing up your neck. You give a breathy whimper before looking into Simon's eyes. His pupils are blown but his face cripples in pain as the phone rings. You push him, finding he gives with, stumbling, his bandages reddening. 
You dash for the phone, grabbing it as Simon reaching for you collapses, clutching his side. You rush to grab him, answering Königs questions. 
“Simon!” He blacks out.
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her
König arrives in 30 minutes, dressed in winter gear, and helps you to rewrap Simon and take him back to the safe house. You both rush into an open area with two single beds. König and you set Simon down and you are panicking. König grabs medical supplies while you work getting Simon’s equipment off. You strip his top off peeling the bloody compression shirt off and leaving his scarred abdomen open. You rewrap his wound and lean him back against the pillows.
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her
Simon faded in and out, lured to moments of almost consciousness by your laughter. His eyes momentarily open, muddy eyes from the shot you have given him earlier. As he comes to, unable to move he sees König and you close together, sitting at the table and eating. Something deep in his gut, not nausea nor pain, burned as he saw König reach an arm around you. 
My babe would never fret none
About what my hands and my body done
If the Lord don't forgive me
I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me
When I was kissing on my baby
And she put her love down soft and sweet
In the low lamplight I was free
Heaven and hell were words to me
Night fell quickly as you rewrapped Simon and then used the shower, reappearing in a spare one of König’s shirts and your winter pants. You checked on Simon who was still out cold. Under the eyes of König you run a hand down his masked face, eyes tracing firm and scarred muscle. König then sees your neck his eyes darkening.
“Schatz”  
You turn to him in question.
“Are you and the Ghost together.” 
The question startles you and you look to the taller man with wide eyes. He takes the moment to stand, and to your surprise pulls off his sniper’s hood. Underneath was a handsome face, pale eyes, and dark brown hair. He reached back and undid his bun letting his hair fall. He steps forward, towering over you.
You stutter a no, a “I don’t Know.” 
König nods looking almost sagelike. He reads your body and eyes.
“It's complicated ja?”
You just sigh and nod, a hand running through your hair. You then sit down on the other bed and he joins you as you just spill it out. Everything, Soap, Gaz, Ghost and then Price. You go on for an hour just talking with König listening. As you end he sets a large hand on your knee in comfort as you collapse onto the bed with a huff. Your eyes turn to you and he smiles, making your breath hitch. 
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her
Something in Simon's mind stirs, he shifts and feeling exposed his eyes open. He shifts up against the pillows he is propped against and his eyes seek you. What he sees makes him freeze. Your back is on the bed with an unmasked, lessly dressed König leaning over you. Your laughter chimed out. Simon's heart freezes seeing Königs hand on your knee before it lifts to hover over you. Ghost tears through him then something black and vicious. Simon practically throws himself up with a grunt, then he's on his feet. You shoot up, knocking into König whose eyes fly to the standing Lieutenant. 
“Back the fuck off of them.”
He barks the order as he steps forward rage balling his fists up and tensing his muscles. König chuckles and stands, putting himself between you and Simon. 
“What will you do Geist?” He says calmly, something in Königs brain raising in glee at a challenge. You wrap an arm around König and pull but the man doesn’t move.
“König! Stop!” But the man continues tempting Simon, like baiting a wolf.
“You can’t protect them, what can you and your team do if I..” König spins around and gives you a knowing look,
“Wha-” 
He grabs your face and presses his soft lips to yours. With you in shock, he deepens the kiss in a mock way. Simon snaps, lunging forward and tackling the bigger man as you step back in shock. König is strong but Ghost tears through Simon as rage and pent-up emotional adrenaline rush through him. He flips himself on top of the man, falling on top of him to the floor. His hand grabs for his knife and he pins König to the floor with a growl and a knife to his neck.
“Simon!” You yell it out but the man doesn’t move, dark eyes staring into König as then König laughs, a hearty sound that rumbles under Simon. His ice eyes gleam with delight. He had been wanting to test the famous Ghost. Simon, mind clear and now awake sees this then and stabs the knife into the wood floor next to König. You rush forward then wrap your arms around his bare chest.
“Simon that's enough.” Those possessive eyes then shoot at you in Königs shirt. He surges up off of König and crowds you, backing you up until you fall back onto the bed. He follows, his knee bracing on the other side of your thigh and hands, arms, and chest caging you in. König stays sprawled out watching the show. 
Simon's eyes burn into yours, something hot and possessive burns there. You gulp unsure what to do, but the position does something, sending a simmering heat to your belly. Simon breaths heavily, rage dissipating, his eyes catch the spot he marked on your next, and pleasure surges through him. His eyes flicker to König who watches with a smirk, he realizes then. It was a test. Simon’s eyes meet yours and you find your hands reaching for his face to try and comfort him, but he does something a lot more intimate. After pulling his mask up, His lids droop and he dips his mouth into you in a languid kiss. You moan into the kiss and he chases the sound, lowering his weight onto you. 
His hands run at the edges of Königs shirt possessively, Jealousy burning at his fingertips as they skim your skin but don't go under. No. Simon parts from your lips, tracing a kiss down your jaw and then to your neck as your arousal builds.
“Si-” He sucks at the junction of your neck that has you arching your back under him. He pauses then kisses there and hums against your skin as his arms work their way around you. 
König stands, turns, and enters the bathroom and Simon relaxes fully. 
He then, grabbing you, rolls so you're on his chest. The position allows you to finally take a deep breath and still your wildly beating heart. Simon runs a hand through your hair as you stare at him in wonder. His eyes soften before he tisks in pain, You try to get off him but his arms shoot out, muscles pulling you back to him.
“No, please stay.” 
His voice is soft, something tender and sweet. You look down at him and feeling a push from your heart, clenching so tightly it takes your breath, you kiss him. SImons eyes widen before closing as your hands brace his wound before traveling up tight muscle. You echo him earlier by then parting and tucking your face into his next in embarrassment. 
“No Dove, let me see you.” 
Simon murmurs and you pull back as he cradles your cheek. You see the adoration then, in a brief flash before the bathroom door has Simon's eyes becoming guarded again. You take the moment to roll off him and sit up. König reappears with the knife, standing with a smirk regarding you as Simon sits up. You stand to approach König but Simon stands and wraps you in his arms, pulling you flush against him. The Skull glowers at König but the man waves Simon off, offering his knife back by the blade. Simon reaches and takes the blade in silent agreement with the Austrian. You relax then in SImon’s hold as König flips off the light and gets into bed. 
“Goodnight Schatz,” he says as he turns his back to you too. 
Simon huffs, releasing you to lie down on the bed, pulling himself tenderly under the covers. To your surprise, he pulls his balaclava off. You go to get a wipe for his eye black but he just takes your hand and pulls. You sigh, murmuring a good night to König, and shuffle into bed minding Simon’s wound. He quickly pulls your back to him and engulfs you with his arms. You blush but as the actions of the day finally catch up to you you find yourself nodding off in your Simons arms. 
He presses a final kiss to the side of your head and after you fall asleep he murmurs a deep,
“I love you.”
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her
SImon finishes his glass of bourbon as there is a noise. There is a quick light as you shuffle out into the kitchen. You then notice Simon.
“Si,” you yawn, “Why are you up?” 
He sets his glass aside. He opens his arms and you immediately come forward into them. You press a tender kiss to his jaw and he embraces you. 
“Just thinking Dove.”
He pulls you in for a secret kiss, fingers dancing down your arms and intertwining your hands,
“Just thinking.”
End Track
Taglist:
@ghostlythots, @00ops1e, @rafaelacallinybbay, @iloveslasher, @character---obsessed, @ashy-kit , @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @my-amazing-nerdyness , @star-struck-universe , @br0ken-rec0rds , @buckysjuicyplums , @cod-z
80 notes · View notes
natelia-aldelliz · 1 year
Text
Drunk 141 & friends headcanons:
Price : complains a lot : "Nik is way too romantic, can you believe I'm gonna have to learn how to waltz to surprise him for our anniversary? How fucked up is that?" or "These two assholes are so annoying, like they think I'm blind or something, do they know how much effort it takes to not tell them to get their heads out of their arses?" or "Did you know Nik forced me to confess when we were young? He kept looking at me with his eyes, so I told him to stop or I'll kiss him and he blushed so I did. Asshole. … I'm gonna ask him to marry me."
Laswell : falls asleep where she is. Price can keep talking to her for hours, doesn't actually care if she listens or not. Gushes about her wife when she's awake.
Ghost : likes to drink but rarely gets drunk, doesn't like the loss of control. When he does, he gets anxious and cuddly but won't ask for it, will just stare at Soap in silence (Roach moves too much, too overwhelming). Is happy even if just Soap's or Roach's thigh is touching his own, but prefers when Soap is using him as a pillow or backrest, or Roach is climbing on him. Tears up when Price pats him on the head.
Roach : takes any bet anyone is telling him, climbs on any surface available just to see if he can. They once found him asleep on top of a pub's cabinet.
Gaz : rambles and forgets how to talk. "Yeah, I was head down in uh that green shit, y'know, uuuh grass! And there were… they… fuck. Whazzit called… Lullabies. No. Butterflies? Mmmno. Like little choppers, y'knoooow… I don't like choppers. They're mean to me."
Soap : forgets what 'inside voice' means, aggressively whispers for thirty seconds when people tell him to be quieter before going back to shouting instead of talking, giggles at everything, his accent in English gets thicker and he'll also just start speaking Scots.
Rodolfo : looks at Alejandro with hearts in his eyes, never stops smiling. Ale could be telling the dumbest story ever, he'll still look absolutely enamoured. (doesn't change much from sober lol)
Alejandro : tells all his friends he loves them, gets very emotional in Spanish, randomly starts to sing songs going through his head.
Nik : needs a lot more than what they generally have to get drunk, will get tipsy at best, keeps an eye on all of them and pretends to not remember what Price says, especially when it's supposed to be a surprise.
Alex : either laughs about absolutely nothing, starts crying in the middle of a sentence, or stares unblinkingly at the wall, nothing else. Might say afterwards that it reminded him of frat parties when he was young, that's a lie, he's never been to one, he was a shy nerd before the army, he only looks like a jock.
Farah : probably doesn't drink tbh, religion and all that, but she keeps an eye on them with Nik. Gets second hand embarrassment about them sometimes, but will get angry if anyone else makes a remark.
742 notes · View notes
gazs-blue-hat · 7 months
Note
Hi! :) you wanted requests love ?
Soap interactions with reader who he has a major crush on, but can’t flirt with since she’s shy and he will scare her away
Thanks so much for the request! I never expected people to actually ask. Lowkey highkey inspired by convos had with @sprout-fics Summary: Johnny struggles to find out how to woo you. Frustrated with his lack of success, his two buddies Gaz and Ghost play matchmaker Word Count:
Tw: Canon Typical Language, suggestive comments, idiots in love (LMK if I missed any)
Tumblr media
For three years you had been friends with Johnny "Soap" MacTavish and for each of those three years, Johnny has pined after you like he was poisoned and you were the only cure. You had joined TF141 as the medic and language specialist. It was strange to Johnny to watch you work, speaking to people in foreign languages like you had been friends for years, but the SECOND he tried to talk to you, you were a skittish and nervous puppy.
He had thought you were afraid of him, but you didn't act afraid of him. When the team would go out for drink, you would always sit next to him. Your knee always bumped against his when you sat next to one another. He did his best to respect your space, scooting away to provide you more room so you were comfortable You two would sit at lunch and dinner together, not speaking but just being next to one another. Whenever Johnny tried to speak with you, you only listened and never really...reciprocated the conversation. "I don't know what to do Simon! Every time I try and talk to her, she just..." he made some gestures with his hands, exasperated. He was running on the treadmill next to Ghost who was doing pull ups on the bar next to him. "Have you ever thought that she's just shy?" Simon asked while lowering himself slowly, legs crossed under him as he worked on himself. Johnny rolled his eyes and nodded. "Aye, I've thought of that already. She only acts like that around me! She never talks, never makes conversation. She just...sits there!" Johnny was sprinting now on the treadmill, trying to work his frustration out. Simon finished his current set and landed softly on the floor next to Johnny.
“Why don’t you just..tell her how you feel? It’s not that complicated sergeant,” He grumbled after taking a sip of his water bottle. Johnny didn’t answer and Simon rolled his eyes and pulled the little cord connecting Johnny to the treadmill. The machine whirred to a stop and Johnny stood, glaring at him while sweat slipped down his forehead.
“The hell you do that for?” The Scot scolded while moving to grab the little clip back from Simon. Simon held it over his head, smirking.
“I’m not gonna let you run yourself to death MacTavish. You need to get into gear and tell that woman how you feel, before she decides you’re not worth her efforts.”
Johnny scoffed and grabbed his water bottle from the floor.
“Right bastard you are,” He muttered as he pushed the gym doors open. Simon rolled his eyes and opened his phone, texting Kyle.
Ghost: Solid copy on the package, you’re up.
Gaz: Copy that
Ghost: Think this will work?
Gaz: fuckin’ hope so. I bet Price twenty quid we could get them together by the end of the week.
Simon scoffed and locked his phone again, pressing play on his podcast he was listening to. Kyle didn’t know it, but Simon had bet Price the same amount that the pair of them would remain oblivious to one another.
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Kyle put his phone down and sighed softly as he handed you another little cookie.
“I don’t know Kyle! He just…whenever I try and touch him, even a little, he scoots away.” You sounded so upset earlier and Kyle had immediately invited you to his quarters to vent have some tea. Price jokingly called these little venting sessions ‘Tea Parties’ and soon, you two started calling them that as well.
“Perhaps he just doesn’t like being touched?” Kyle offered, sipping at his tea after dunking a little sugar into it. You shook your head.
“But that’s not true! He touches literally everybody else! Even Simon! He constantly taps his shoulder or jabs his ribs. Heaven forbid I put my knee against his, he avoid touching me like… I’ve got the plague or something…” You looked down at your cup, the tea doing nothing to soothe your wounded heart.
“Perhaps…he’s nervous. Having a pretty girl touch you sometimes make a man…think certain things. He probably wants to be respectful and not freak you out or something.” Kyle shrugged, knowing full well that their resident Scotsman had often had to excuse himself from functions to…relieve some tension. The men had all given him shit for it before they realized how down bad he was for the linguist.
“Stop teasing Kyle! I’m serious!” You puffed out your cheeks and crossed your arms. Kyle shook his head and placed his hand on your shoulder.
“Have you tried..talking to him?” He asked genuinely. Your face fell and you shook your head.
“I have tried. Every time I try and say something to him…it all gets jumbled. I’ve left him little notes and stuff but the message always gets lost in translation.”
Kyle remembered when you had written him a note in Arabic that basically said ‘I like you a lot’ and being the fool Johnny is, us used google translate rather than calling Farrah or even Alex.
When Kyle had showed the note to Alex and Farrah, they laughed like fools.
Gaz: (Image:click to expand) What does this say?
Farrah: The word used means ‘life friend’ but the internet decides that it only meant friend.
Alex: I assume this note was written by your linguist. Meant for Johnny? He is so down bad, he’s blinded himself. The poor idiot.
Farrah: Who’s gonna tell him?
Alex: Not it
Gaz: Not it
Ghost: Not it
Price: You all are acting like children. Literal children.
“Well love, I dunno what to tell you. Johnny talks, he likes talking. You don’t like talking, you like touching. Perhaps…just. Talk to him. The worst thing he can say is ‘no’ right?” His words were meant to be comforting but your smile fell and you nodded.
“That’s what I’m so afraid of…”
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
You had decided to tell him. Tell him straight up how you felt about him. You held your script in your hand tightly, almost crumpling the paper in your grip.
“It’s fine…it will be fine…If he says no, you have a whole case of wine and spy romcoms to cry about.”
Johnny was coming back from a mission today and after a week apart, you were able to find the courage to write your script and prepare it. Kyle had been ever so patient in listening to you rehearse and he even gave you advice so things wouldn’t be confused.
Meanwhile, Johnny had decided he was just gonna go for it. reputation be damned he was gonna kiss you today. He was going to stand his ground and feel your warm cheek under his lips. Simon knew next to nothing about kissing (that he was willing to share),, and he was little help to Johnny. So…he used his pillow for practice. Once he thought he would preform somewhat decently, he was sent on the stupid mission that separated you two.
Once the heli hit the tarmac outside, he marched his way back into the base.
“Man on a mission then…” Price grumbled softly, lighting a cigar and shaking his head. He made sure he still that the money in his pocket if things finally worked out between the two fools.
You and Johnny collided with one another in one of the hallways in the base. You had been reading your letter again and again, memorizing the words over and over again. When you were looking down, you crashed into the object of your affections. You would have slammed back into the ground if it hadn’t been for his swift reflexes. His left hand was holding your waist gently but with enough force that you held still. His right had had gone to the back of your head, just to be sure your head wouldn’t slam against the floor if his grip faltered.
“Easy lass, get your head on straight,” He joked as he helped you get back on your feet. Your face was flushed and your breath came quickly.
“S-sorry Johnny. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You words were soft, almost a whisper. Whatever wind you had in your sails had been shoved away by the stumble. Your note had dropped to the floor and was being crumpled underfoot. Once you straightened everything out, you turned sharply and made your way back to the mess hall, scurrying away like a scared mouse.
“Wait lass! You left your pa…per.” His sentence ended once he saw his name on the top of the sheet. He picked it up and read the words, his heart racing in his chest. Pure poetry was on the paper. Your heart had been spilled in obsidian ink and flowing words.
You liked him.
You loved him.
You loved him.
The paper fluttered down as he dropped it and sprinted in the direction you had left in.
————-
“Well lads…guess Simon won this round. Despite your best efforts, the idiots have yet to realize they belong together.” Price joked as he sipped at his drink. Kyle frowned and shook his head.
“Still have three hours before lights out…there’s still time.” Kyle had taken off his hat and placed it on the table, worrying it out of frustration. Simon only chuckled and crossed his arms.
“Just admit you lost Garrick. Nobody likes a…” his sentence was cut off by mess hall doors bursting open. There you stood, blushing red as a tomato. Johnny came from behind you like a rocket, grabbing you and spinning you to face him. He slammed his lips on yours, holding you tightly so you wouldn’t let go.
“Shit…” Simon grumbled while sliding money over to Kyle who was slamming his fist on the table and cheering. Price chuckled and slid the money over to Kyle.
“YES! FUCKIN FINALY!”
All of these words fell on deaf ears as Johnny kissed you like you were the center of his world.
That’s because you were.
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
215 notes · View notes
gurugirl · 1 year
Text
The Doctor & the Psychopath | A check-in*
Tumblr media
Summary: You get a visit from someone you were not ever expecting to see again.
A/n: This is a check in to The Doctor & the Psychopath. If you want to understand this check-in you'll need to read the first one shot. BUT, you can read this as a standalone if you don't want to read the darker original one shot (this check-in isn't really that dark - but it's connected to the original so by default it is...). As always, read all warnings. And I'm sorry to all you who asked for this ages ago. I've neglected my lovers of the dark but here you are, a little something just for you. 2.7k words
Warning: Smut, violent cop interaction with mention of a gun, psychopath!harry x doctor!reader
Tumblr media
Walking into your apartment feels so good after your long day. You’ve been having many long days since your incident with Harry Styles.
Somehow you got lucky when his brother-in-law never mentioned your indiscretion and you put in a request to send a new psychiatrist to take over. And that was that.
It had been the biggest mistake of your career. It could still come back to bite you somehow. You knew it would be quite hard to explain what had happened that day. You could say you’d been coerced and manipulated but then how do you explain everything else that went with it? His brother-in-law heard you moaning Harry’s name as you came around his cock, and all that led up to it… you knew better. You were still partially at fault and if you ever lost your license for what you’d done with a subject it would be warranted.
Pouring yourself a glass of red wine and linking your Bluetooth speaker to your playlist on your phone the stress begins to wash away.
You move your hips back and forth to the music as you walk into your living room. Setting your glass down on the coffee table you unzip the back of your skirt and shimmy out of it so that you're left in your panties and silk blouse. You put your arms overhead and stretch before going to flip on the light. You pad your way across the living room and the moment the light illuminates the room, you see something from your peripheral. Someone is in your home.
You turn slowly toward the offending intruder and your eyes widen and your heart races when you make eye contact with him. He's gotten into your home somehow. You've kept up with the case. He's still on house arrest at his sister's so you know he can't be here. He's breaking the rules.
"Harry. What are you doing here?" Your mouth goes dry. This man is dangerous and he's far stronger than you are.
Harry chuckles as he swings his leg to the ground so both of his feet are flat on the floor as he stays seated in your armchair, "Just coming to see you. I missed you and you haven't answered any of my calls since you ran out on me. Broke my heart." Harry spoke in nonchalance. Of course, you hadn't broken his heart. Harry was much too cold and unbothered to like someone enough to get his heart involved. He only loved himself.
"You shouldn't be here." You speak plainly. You are worried he's going to hurt you. You look down to his left foot and notice he's still wearing his house arrest bracelet.
Harry drops his gaze to where you're looking and he kicks his leg up before settling it back down again, "Oh yeah. They're probably trying to locate me now. I've been sentenced you know. It's official. I'm going to prison for being a cop abuser. Not because of any of the women, just because of the cop. If I hadn't touched Officer whatever-his-name-is then, I'd probably be off scot-free. Don't you think, Doctor?"
You shake your head and try to calm yourself. Harry had called you night and day for two weeks after you left and had another psychiatrist take over for you. The first time you answered was because you were curious about who was calling. If it was his brother-in-law or his sister and they were giving you a heads up that they were telling people about your indiscretions.
But when you heard Harry’s voice come through the receiver and the tone he used was casual, you hung up immediately.
“If you still have that on, that means they’re going to find you. Here,” you pointed toward the floor.
Harry pushed himself up and made three long strides toward you. You backed up and looked upward at him until you were bumped up against a cabinet. Harry put his hands on the wood frame of the cabinet near your head and caged you in with his body.
“S’okay. I just wanted to say goodbye to you. Was hoping you could give me a proper sendoff,” his smirk was quite frankly maddening. But he was hot. You swallowed down your thoughts and shook your head.
“How did you find out where I live?”
Harry dipped his face next to yours and bumped his nose to your temple, “Easy. You basically told me. And then I have your phone number so a google search with your number and your name gives me an address,” his proximity was once again making your head spin. He had something that was difficult to pinpoint but it was something that turned you on. You had clearly lost your mind.
“But how did you get in here?”
Harry moved one of his hands to the side of your neck, his knuckles brushing over your skin, “Also easy. Joe downstairs let me in. Told him I was your brother and I wanted to surprise you on your birthday. He was easy to convince so he got the spare key and let me right in.”
You scoffed. Goddamn Joe. He was the nicest doorman slash security guy but that was a problem when he was letting dangerous criminals into your apartment, “You shouldn’t be here, Harry.”
Harry’s soft knuckle on your neck turned into a palm wrapped around your neck, “There you go, calling me Harry. You know what that does to me. I let it slide the first time you said my name because I imagined you were in shock when you saw me here. But to say it again, when I’m this close to you? You want me. Don’t you?”
You closed your eyes. You tried not to imagine how nice he felt when he took you on his bed at his sister's house. You dreamt of his cock after and you hated yourself for it. It was dirty and it was wrong but it was all you could think of lately when you got off.
“That’s a yes if I’ve ever heard one,” Harry squeezed the sides of your neck and moved his face so his lips were covering yours. Your body reacted before your brain had a chance and you were slipping your hands into his hair as he licked into your mouth. Harry rutted his hips into yours and it caused the cabinet to rattle behind your back.
Harry suddenly stood up straight and moved his hand from the front of your neck to the back and then pushed you toward your bedroom. You complied. What else were you going to do?
“Get on the bed,” Harry ordered and you climbed up to your bed and sat on your bottom, waiting for his next move.
Harry took his pants off and then moved over your body, pushing you down to the mattress by your neck. He had his palm over your throat when he crushed your mouth with his. You were pushed up, further onto the bed, with Harry hovering.
When he backed away from the kiss he put his fingers into the slots of your shirt buttons and began to undo them, but he was struggling to get the first one done so you brought your hands up to help him. You didn’t know why. This was wrong.
With your shirt open and your bra-covered breasts exposed, Harry pulled the cups down from your boobs and pulled your tits out. He ran his tongue over the flesh and kept looking up at you but you could do nothing but moan and close your eyes. When he began to bite you a little you jerked your head up and pushed at him but he only went in harder, making you yelp, “H… Harry!”
Harry stopped his nibbling and lifted his mouth from your nipple and shook his head, “You do want this cock. Jesus, baby. It’s coming,” he smiled down at you as he dragged a hand down your body and into your panties, pushing his fingers into your crease. He started to slowly circle your clit and then he put his mouth back on your breasts, one by one. With his other hand, he held your left leg down and groaned when he finally felt you wetting his hand.
He brought his lips down until he was at your hips and then pulled the material of your panties away from your crotch. He dipped down and kissed the top of your mound and you gasped but spread your legs to give him room. You really were losing it. Harry groped your tits as his mouth softly kissed your pussy, but then he began to lick into you and, his lips came into contact with your clit.
“Oh god…” you moaned and bucked upward into his mouth. Harry laughed but didn’t stop what he was doing to your pussy.
He pushed himself up a little and moved his hands down to hold both of your thighs down as he looked at your center, “Didn’t get the chance to taste you last time. Want more? Or are you ready for my cock now, doctor? I don’t know that we have a lot of time left, me and you.”
You turned your head and looked at the clock and squeezed your eyes closed again. Fuck this was not how you imagined tonight going down. You pulled at his arm and opened your eyes, “Fuck me, Harry.”
You wanted to feel it one last time. Harry’s big cock dipping into you. You knew he was going to go in raw again and you panted when you saw him pull out his dick from his briefs. Long and hard and just as pretty as you remembered. Harry was pretty in general, though. Harry adjusted your legs and he put himself in between your thighs, dragging his cock through your pussy lips just before he rocked forward and pushed himself in through your vaginal muscle, opening you up for him. You groaned and watched Harry’s mouth drop open.
“Better than I remember. Fuck… that’s good isn’t it?” He spoke as he began to hasten his thrusts. Little by little reaching deeper inside. Harry’s cock was long enough that it took a minute for him to get fully sheathed in you, but when it happened, when he was slipping into the hilt, you keened and moaned Harry’s name into the room. That deep ache was brutal inside of your body but Harry wasn’t going to be going gently with your pussy, you knew that. You didn’t want it gentle anyway. Not with Harry at least. Gentle could come with another man, maybe someone who was nice and who could be a good boyfriend. But Harry was not nice and he’d never be your boyfriend or your lover. Just a crazy man with a big cock who wanted to fuck you until you were drooling and coming. That’s all he wanted and that’s all you wanted.
Harry’s body was a work of art. His muscles moved and worked himself into you, his thick muscled thighs flexing and pushing him deeper and deeper into you. Harry’s hips were smacking into yours with brute force. Pat-pat-pat the sound almost in time with the music playing from your blue tooth. Harry’s breathy gasps were nice to hear. It made him seem more human. Harry was just a human deriving pleasure from your body and his noises were evidence of how good he was feeling.
You panted softly and winced each time Harry rutted his cock as far up into you as it would go. It hurt. It was poking into your cervix and you could tell you were going to be sore for a couple of days after this. Which had you smiling for some reason.
Harry readjusted your body again until he had your knees pressed into your chest and he began pressing himself down hard into you.
“Ahh! Harry! Ohhh…” you yelped. You could feel him pushing and pulling into your walls as he pounded away. You closed your eyes and let your mouth hang open wide. It hurt but it felt just like what you needed. A good hard fucking with a big long cock. Probably something you’d never experience ever again. Most guys were too scared to go so hard, and certainly, most of them weren’t as hung as Harry.
“Jesus fuck that feels good…” Harry groaned as he rocked into you.
You couldn’t form words to speak. You had your mouth dropped open and could only breathe with each heavy thrust of his prick.
Suddenly your cell phone began to ring. You turned your head and Harry’s hand came down over your neck as he yanked your face back toward him, “Pay attention to me… and my cock… that can wait,” Harry panted his words.
Soon your phone stopped ringing and Harry only went in harder and deeper until you were shrieking and trembling under him as your orgasm started to take over.
“S’right… fucking come, doctor. Yess…” Harry threw his head back when his hips got out of rhythm as he started to come inside of you.
When you heard pounding at your door just as you were moaning Harry’s name with your pussy clenching over his thick cock, Harry groaned as he spurted into you, stilling his hips. More pounding at your door as you both heaved in your breaths and came down from your orgasms.
“Harry… I have to get that. I don’t want them breaking it down,” you spoke to him as he laid heavy over your chest.
Harry pushed himself off of you and pulled out of your pussy. He held your thighs apart as he dipped down and put his tongue flat along your pussy from your entrance upward and then he let go of you and put his trousers on, a closed-mouth smirk on his face. You were quick to jump from your bed and throw on your robe. You felt Harry’s come dripping down your thigh as you quickly made your way to your door. Harry slid his shirt on just as you opened up. Your cheeks were red and your mascara was running down your face. Your hair was messed and you were still breathing heavily. Harry looked similar. He was breathing hard, sweat beaded up along his brow, and his hair was messed up from how you’d run your hands through it over and over again.
“On the ground!” Two police officers burst into your apartment and aimed a gun at Harry. He put his hands up and silently dropped to his knees and then laid on his stomach as they surrounded him and cuffed his hands behind his back. He turned his head and looked at you, that smirk still on his face as they lifted him to his feet. A third cop approached you and pulled you aside, “Are you okay?”
You nodded and smoothed your robe down. You knew you looked disheveled. They probably imagined he attacked you.
One of the cops asked Harry something but Harry just stood up straight and kept his mouth closed.
“I asked you a question,” the cop said as he stepped in closer to intimidate Harry. Harry smirked, his mouth kept closed and he jerked his head, motioning for the cop to step in even closer. The moment the cop was an inch from him, Harry leaned in and pressed his mouth to the cop’s. You watched Harry open his mouth and stick his tongue out and the cop jumped back and then punched Harry in the face.
The cop spit onto your floor and then looked at Harry, who now had a bloody nose, “What the fuck was that you piece of shit?!”
Harry laughed and licked his lips before he spoke slowly and clearly, “That was my come. Tastes pretty good doesn’t it?”
The cop gagged and bent forward before looking back at Harry and lunging toward him but the other police officer grabbed the offended cop and held him back, “He’s lying to you! He’s just trying to get a rise out of you. Stop!”
The two cops escorted Harry out of your apartment but not before Harry turned back to you and winked, “I’ll see you around, doctor.”
Feedback/Thoughts | Support Me! | Main Masterlist
Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕
Tags: @victoria-styles @michellekstyles @ssaama @sombrioinvernoemveneza @golden-hoax @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @yousunshineyoutempter @the-gardener-31 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @dancinsunflowerkiwi @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @harrys-foxy @dirtytissuebox @closureesny @lhharrylilpumpkin @evelynlarue @chaptersleftunwritten @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysmimi @itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lllukulele @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge @damnasstyles @malwtilda @theroosterswife24
618 notes · View notes
maryangelex · 2 months
Note
Hey Loveeee🫶🏾
maybe you could write something typically classic like: How would the cod characters react if (Y/n) is harassed at a party.
(doesn't matter who you write about, but please don't forget Soap 🤭)
hello my lovely thank you for your request!!
how could i forget soap?!?! in fact, that man is going first!!!
Soap would be the type to pretend to be your boyfriend to save you from some weirdo at the bar. he'd spot you across the bar with some pea-brained bloke all over you, practically slobbering on you and spitting out drunken words at you. you're so obviously in distress that even a handful of beers deep, and soap couldn't be more furious. the next thing you know, you have a burly arm wrapped around your shoulders, a warm palm holding your shoulder with a reassuring grip.
"made a new friend, hen? didnae think to introduce him to your boyfriend?" the scot's eyes are meeting yours with a knowing look. normally you'd think someone like this would be even more of a creep, but soap's look let you know he was on your side. and if pretending to be this stranger's girlfriend would get this perv off you then so be it.
Gaz, however, has a more skilled approach. canonically gaz has expertise in vip protection, and he'd treat you as such. the minute he spots you with a drunken creep harassing you he's on the move. he'd step behind the guy, giving him a few rough pats on his back.
"right, bruv, think's time for you t'get goin', yeah?" and when the guy doesn't budge, his grip on back of his shirt tightens to drag him out of the pub like a mangy dog. of course, just because gaz is tactical doesn't mean he isn't suave. he'd have those charming brown eyes on you, making sure you know he's there to keep these flies from buzzing around you, and he'd make sure to shoot you a wink before escorting the fucker out like he's telling you "no worries, i'm right here."
Price has a similar strategy, he's a gentleman after all. he'd see you struggling to slip away from the fucker, whose hands are against the wall with his arms caging you in place. in no time he's next to you, using his tall stature and bulky body to interject. a firm hand is on his chest as he's pushing him back away from you.
"think i heard 'er tell you to fuck off, 'right mate?" his voice is like gravel and thunder, but the look and the comforting smirk he gives you as he looks over his shoulder to you lets you know you're in good hands. you hate when a man speaks for you but if it's john price, he can put more than words in your mouth, phew!!
Now, Ghost, is a man of few words compared to the other three. a man his size doesn’t really need to do much talking to get the point across anyway…so when he sees you being harassed across the pub, he appears like a specter behind the guy bothering you. the man is so large he casts a shadow over you like a cloud full of rain and thunder. you’re honestly a bit terrified yourself because now you have this massive black-clad man towering over this and yourself! all it takes to get this guy tucking his tail between his legs and running is a rumbling growl deep in ghost’s chest. but the gentle giant isn’t gonna let you carry out your night thinking he’s as evil as he is big, he’s a good guy and that why he buys you a drink, politely of course ;)
75 notes · View notes
Text
Rhaenyra and Feminism
I find it so funny how TG stans go on and on about how Rhaenyra wasn't a "feminist", when they're supporting team male progeniture. Like sure, Rhaenyra wasn't out there reading/writing feminist literature and manifestos against the patriarchy, but who was? Definitely not their beloved Alicent, their rapist king, or their misogynistic kinslayer/war criminal.
Let's do a quick history lesson, shall we? Queen Elizabeth I, the second ruling queen of England and one of the greatest rulers of that country. One of her most famous acts was the execution of Mary Queen of Scots. Does that make her an evil person who is a sign that her father and the other supporters of the patriarchy were right, that a woman isn't fit to rule? Now, we also have no records of Elizabeth interfering with the succession choices of her lords or making laws that women should be treated equal to men. Does this mean her reign was meaningless or even harmful to the feminist movement?
The answer to both these questions is fuck no. Elizabeth simply ruling was a huge step for the feminist movement. She showed that a woman could rule just as well if not better than a man.
Now a greenie could argue that Rhaenyra wasn't a good ruler, to which I answer, she never had a chance to properly rule. Had Rhaenyra ascended undisputed there would have been no need for any of her unpopular decisions (i.e. the heavy tax, Nettles' execution, etc.) Her reign would have set a precedent that a female heir is acceptable and the change would ripple out from there, much like it did with early female rulers in the real world.
As for why Rhaenyra didn't support Baela and Rhaena, that wasn't her decision, it was Corlys'. Corlys had decided that Driftmark would pass through Laenor's line not Laena's and he rejects any of Rhaenys' suggestions to the contrary in the show. Lucerys had been accepted by Laenor, Corlys, and Viserys as Laenor's legitimate heir, so that's the end of it. Corlys even had the chance to name Baela or Rhaena heir after Luke's death, but instead he chose Addam and later Alyn, two bastards who were, supposedly, of Laenor's line. Now, am I saying that I agree with Corly? No, in fact I really don't like him, but who his successor would be is his decision.
For Rhaenyra to step in and force him to change his mind would not only destroy what's left of any goodwill between the Targaryens and Velaryons (which her father put the responsibility of on her by forcing her to marry Laenor) but also would make the lords of Westeros a reason to revolt. Aegon I allowed the lords to exercise almost the same amount of power they did before the Conquest, part of that is the choice over who would succeed them. As for Luke being heir, Rhaenyra never forced Corlys to acknowledge him and affirm him as heir, that was, once again, his choice. He could have chosen to speak out against her and declare the boys bastards, with the support of Rhaenys, which would force Viserys to either remove Rhaenyra as heir or at least remove Luke from the line of succession. Or a much easier move would have been to remove Laenor as heir to Driftmark and give the position to Laena, yet Corly never did either of these things.
Yeah, Rhaenyra chose to embrace the opportunity this gave her, why wouldn't she? That's a political move that strengthens her claim in the face of the Greens' constant undermining and plotting. Literally every ruler in Westeros does shit like that, that's how the world works, if you want to rule, you need to play political games of some kind.
And before any of the greenies try to bring up the time when some lords brought a question of succession before Rhaenyra during the Dance, let me cover that real quick. Rhaenyra was in the middle of a war and knew full well that most of the lords would be willing to turn on her quickly, something she couldn't afford. So yes, she chose to support the male heirs over the lords' daughters, because she knew that was what the lords wanted and she needed their support. Again, had she not been at war, she wouldn't have had to make this choice and we can't know what she would have done.
Now, to conclude this rant: Rhaenyra wasn't a modern or suffrage era feminist, but that doesn't make her an anti-feminist tyrant. She would have been the beginning of a shift in the misogynistic ideals set so steadfastly in Westeros as her reign would set a precedent for future ruling queens. How could she have our ideals of feminism when the roots of them had barely begun to develop? That's an impossible expectation to put on her and the most hypocritical argument anyone could have. TG usurped Rhaenyra because they wanted to further uphold the patriarchy and none of them cared about the women of the realm or even the people. Maybe you should look at your precious team before you try to defame the rightful queen.
73 notes · View notes
octopiys · 2 months
Text
The Screaming, Heaving, Fuckery of the World
Relationships/Pairing(s): eventual John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, Rodolfo Parra/Alejandro Vargas
Warning(s): Violence, Blood, Religious Imagery, Phillip Graves
(I wrote this over a year ago, but the chapters do get longer as we go. Thank u for reading!)
Chapter 1
Alejandro opened the door quickly and got out of the transport truck, sizing up the Shadow officer in front of him. It had been raining, and Soap had ignored the way the puddles soaked the bottoms of his pant leg, making the denim material slightly uncomfortable, wondering how the humidity would fray his hair in the morning. The rain was washing the gel out of his mohawk.
"What's this?" Alejandro had asked, slamming the door behind him. The Colonel fixed his vest, and Soap noticed his hand twitch subconsciously towards his weapon. The skies flashed in the rain overhead, thunder booming as the water pattered down from the clouds, softly puddling around their feet. The air was thick, but it wasn't the humidity.
Graves noticed their arrival, and quickly ended his conversation with two other Shadows to speak to the newly arrived group. "This is the immediate future." He greeted, a hardness in his eyes that Soap doesn't think he's seen before. "Step away from the gate." Graves' voice was cool, collected, and Soap could only feel how it made the Colonel's temper boil in front of him.
"What?" He had asked, taking his place to the behind left of the man, bewildered at Graves' sudden behavior.
"You heard me."
"You're crazy, this is my base." Alejandro glowered, all but raising his voice.
"This is not a base. This is a sizeable covert facility, and I admire it-" Graves paused, looking around as if to exemplify his words. "...So, I'm taking it. You boys have been relieved. Thank you for your service."
"No, no, no. I don't take orders from you." Alejandro's rage had turned to bewilderment, his brows furrowing, although the majority of the anger was still there.
"Didn't Valeria say that?" Graves snapped, adjusting his stance; as if they were a threat. Soap felt Ghost materialize out of the corner of his eye, a Shadow planted directly behind him. It was instinct to take inventory of his surroundings, something telling the Scot that this situation was.... Wildly off-putting, but he would have to wait for the outcome to reveal itself before he made any rash decisions. Graves continued. "Now, that makes me wonder what else I don't know about your affiliation with the drug-lord?"
Alejandro looked back at Soap, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Soap felt the same. There was something... Something about this whole situation made him uneasy. It was like Graves had pulled a 180 in his attidtude towards them. The same kind of cockiness was there, but something had.... shifted. In the darkness, only illuminated by the artificial light of the gates, Soap could see wild rage running rampant in Alejandro's eyes. He'd have to stop this, but Graves was....
"What the fuck did you just say to me, pendejo...." Vargas started forward slowly, his boots crunching on the wet gravel, leaving Soap enough time to place a hand on his shoulder and follow.
"Ye're out o' line, Graves." Soap warned in a thick accent.
"Don't do that." Graves glared at the three of them, Ghost still off in the shadows of the truck. "Don't.... do that. No one needs to get hurt here." He waved his hand, as if he was giving a speech to a loving crowd. This was not a crowd, nor was it loving, but Graves couldn't seem to differentiate between the two. Maybe it was for the best.
Ghost spoke up for the first time since they had loaded into their transport. "Are you threatening us?" His deep voice rumbled across the hood of the truck, collected as he had already run through every possibly situation that this could turn into. He was cautious, but his shoulders had bowed up at the same time.
Defensive.
This couldn't be good.
"Soldier," Graves addressed, a note in his voice making Soap's blood boil. "I don't make threats.... I make guarantees. So let's not do this." It was no longer a command. It was definitely a threat now.
".....I'm calling Shepherd." Soap said, disbelieving, turning away to do as he spoke of. He raised his hand to his radio before Graves interrupted.
"General Shepherd sends his regards." Graves said coldly. Soap froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as Graves continued. "He told me y'all wouldn't take this well."
"He knows about this?" Ghost asked, now sounding more tense than before. An angry ghoul is never one to prod at, and Graves had just mounted a bucking bull.
"He put me in command of this operation from here on out. So y'all need to stand down, and let the pros finish this." Graves shifted his stance, looking Alejandro and Soap up and down. Ghost shared a glance at Soap. Something was going to go so massively wrong.... "And why the hell are we talking about this like its a negotiation? It's not. I've got my orders, and now you have yours." Graves let his anger slip into his voice, only barely. A weakness. A mistake.
"And who the fuck do you think you are, cabrón? My men are inside!" Alejandro raised his voice, no doubt worried about the rest of the Vaqueros, especially Rodolfo.
"I'm afraid not. Your men have been...." Graves pursed his lips, like he was deep in thought. He wasn't. He clicked his tongue. "Detained."
That was all it took for Alejandro to snap, springing forward before Soap could give him the forethought not to, or even another hand on the shoulder. Two of Graves' Shadows grabbed him, shoving him against the side of one of the transport trucks, before zip tying his hands together.
Soap's hands shook as he approached. "Graves, what the fuck?!"
A Shadow lifted their gun and fired, Soap's last minute thinking saved him as he pulled a spare Shadow to use as just another body to deflect the bullets. He wasn't the youngest SAS in the branch for nothing. From the mirror on the tactical truck, Soap sees Ghost do something similar, unsheathing a knife with a sharp shing and shoved it deep into the nearest Shadow's throat, before pulling it back out, and throwing it into the throat of another. Blood spurted in the rain.
"Get your fucking hands off me-" Alejandro protested before being hit by the butt of Graves' rifle, sending him crumbling to the ground. This distraction was Soap's downfall. A Shadow fired towards his left, and he used the armored body to deflect, but Graves had taken his blindspot as an opportunity to fire.
The knockback is what hit him first, pushing him flat on the ground. As much as he wished it was gradual, a searing heat of pain stabbed its way through his shoulder, already going numb. The rain hit his face, flat and heavy and cold, and he let out an exclamation of pain without knowing any different. He was momentarily stunned, muted noises barely filtering through the sudden roar in his ears and the agony in his shoulder.
"Johnny-....-of there! Soap- Go!" Ghost hadn't ever sounded more worried than he was then. That wasn't right. Ghost is... never worried. Never nervous. Never- anything....
Soap pushed the body off of him, slowly processing that the blood in the rainwater wasn't just the Guard's. One of the Shadows must've thought he was down for the count, as they snuck around the back to cover Graves. It was an opportunity. Before he knew it, Johnny had heaved himself over a concrete barrier, sliding down the slick embankment, firing back at the Shadows that had slowly started to swarm the bridge, vaguely hearing Graves yelling orders above, before the rain in the trees muffled his words. He fired once more, before cursing to himself and stumbling back into the comforting cover of the foliage.
His shoulder was agony, the water that filtered out the dirt and mud from sliding stinging the fresh wound.
He hoped Ghost had made it out. If he didn't, then there wasn't any plan of action. Silence, from the other radios, no hope, no-
He cut himself away from that train of thinking. Ghost didn't have a choice. If he was dead, Soap would find him, resurrect him, and beat the shit out of his Lieutenant.
Why, why, why was now the time that the pang of worry, of feeling in his chest lit up like lights on a Christmas tree when he saw Soap hit the ground, unmoving, but the scottish accented noise uttering from his mouth was enough telltale sign of life that Ghost took it and ran.
"Go, Johnny, get out of there!" He watched the other man move slowly, numb. He felt himself slip into an adrenaline rushed panic. "Soap- Go!" He shouted, trying to ease himself over there, but realizing that he'd get ambushed for a second time along the way. He watched as Soap struggled to push himself over the concrete barrier, before disappearing below. Ghost did what ghosts do, and he disguised himself in the darkness and ran.
"You there, Ghost?" Graves' voice echoed down from above his hiding place beneath the crossway. His chest heaved as he breathed through his nose, trying to stay quiet. "That was a big mistake, brother. It did not have to be like this." There was a brief pause in time, and Ghost's heart thundered in his chest. Outside, he was utterly silent, nothing but a wisp of who he was before. This is what always happens.
Careful who you trust.
"Sonovabitch." Graves cursed, slinging his gun. "Find em!" He barked the order, and his footsteps trailed off. Ghost waited before slinking off into the night, towards the light of the town that was more welcoming than whatever he had left behind.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the roofs of the town beneath them. In the distance, steep chapels rose in a church, but Ghost felt like there would be no God with them tonight.
Ghost was not a religious man, but he was praying Soap had made it there too.
Masterlist | next
44 notes · View notes