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#if he makes a mistake. if he's a second too slow. if his intel is even just slightly off. his friends die
scattered-winter · 2 years
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the sheer amount of angst potential in carmen sandiego is INSANE
like. they’re fighting against a criminal organization that is so secret and covert, literally nobody knows about it (except ACME but they’ve been trying to find them for 20 years and turned up with nothing, so without Carmen’s intervention they probably never would have defeated them), but its roots are in LITERALLY every country. there are canonically VILE operatives that run nations and supercompanies. like. when you really get into it, VILE is ASTRONOMICALLY powerful. and the only people who both know about it and can actively fight against it are a handful of teenagers.
also like. the mindwiping thing??!!? it’s a kid’s show so it wasn’t really explored in depth but the implications are HORRIFYING. if they can wipe someone’s mind, they can completely rewrite a personality, or create sleeper agents left and right. they could kidnap random people off the streets, brainwash them, and then have an army of drones with the drop of a keyword. they manipulate and train their operatives to steal and kill without remorse or hesitation, and honestly the only reason why all the main characters made it through the show alive and unscathed was because of the rating because if it was a tv-14 or tv-ma rating, there’s no way everyone would have survived that shit
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fandomxpreferences · 1 year
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Caught In the Crossfire
Masterlist
Pairing: JJ Maybank x female!reader (both over 18)
TW: violence and guns, blood, injury, angst, I think thats it
Summary: JJ has sworn to protect you no matter what, but sometimes you give him a run for his money.
Word Count:2.6k
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Ever since you were kids, JJ has been protective over you. But since the two of you started dating, it only amplified. He's been in more fights than you can count just because a man looked at you wrong and he almost drove you to the hospital over a stubbed toe one night because he was that worried. 
He insists that it's not just his job to look out for you, but his privilege. Truthfully you're not complaining. However, that's not to say you can't take care of yourself. Anyone who really knows you knows that you're not to be fucked with. 
When it comes to your friends, and especially JJ, you've been known to make reckless decisions if they're in danger. You and JJ only have each other, and there's nothing that either of you wouldn't do for the other. 
He's been a constant in your life since you were four years old, and the two of you have found solace in each other over the years amid your shitty home lives. It's no secret that you'd take a bullet for each other, he stepped in front of a shotgun that was pointed at you once. 
Which is exactly why you're in your current situation.
This whole thing is stupid, honestly. Barry got some bad intel, now convinced that one of you stole from him again. You may not be the brightest group, but you're not dumb. You wouldn't make that mistake twice. 
"Give me my fucking money, or somebody is going to die." 
Barry's voice is hoarse as he screams and your wide eyes lock with Sarah's. Everyone has their hands up defensively, and you stand helplessly next to Kie and Sarah as John B tries to de-escalate. 
"Barry, we didn't do it. I swear." 
The man isn't willing to listen to reason and time moves in slow motion as he pulls out a black handgun and points it directly at John Bs chest. You vaguely register Sarah screaming to your right but you're frozen in place as everything unfolds. 
That is until you see JJ step up. He puts his body between the barrel and his friend, standing less than ten feet away. A wicked smile overtakes Barry's face and your stomach drops.
"Looks like we have a volunteer." 
It's like a movie as the world seems to stop spinning, and that protective instinct takes over. You see the switch in Barry's eyes and your gaze darts to his finger twitching on the trigger. He's going to pull it this time. 
Your fight or flight takes control, and you've never been one to run. Within seconds you're shoving JJ behind you. He's taken off guard, unable to stop you despite his notable size advantage. Turns out that when you're flooded with adrenaline you have hulk strength. 
Barry chuckles darkly and tilts his head to the side. 
"Makes no difference to me." 
You're fighting JJ now, the two of you shoving against each other. He's about to pick you up and move you, but it's too late. It's only a span of maybe twenty seconds between you stepping forward and the flash of the muzzle. 
Everything happens so fast, it takes you a moment for your brain to catch up. There's a loud bang that causes your ears to ring, followed by a searing pain in your abdomen. Everything stops for a moment as Barry speeds off and the group processes. 
Nobody realizes you've been shot you realize; they're all breathing sighs of relief and talking about how scary it was. In their defense, you're standing still like you're okay and not screaming the way you always imagined you would if you were shot.
"Thank god his aim is shit." John B jokes, and everyone but you laughs.
Sarah and JJ seem to notice at the same time, their eyes widening in concern as they stare at you. It's only been thirty seconds, not enough time for the damage to fully reveal itself to them. 
Your hand comes down to your stomach as you feel something warm and you stare down at your blood-covered fingers. Your brain is struggling to keep up, unable to formulate a response to your now panicked boyfriend. 
"Baby, are you okay?" 
You're turned sideways, angled just enough that he can't fully see you. You always thought something like this would be more dramatic; maybe take more time. Turns out, it only takes about two minutes. 
JJ hasn't even had a chance to lovingly scold you for putting yourself in harm's way. You feel like you've been standing still with warm blood seeping through your shirt for hours, but in reality, it's only been a minute and a half. 
Sarah goes to reiterate the question, but you're not listening. Your ears are ringing; from the gunshot or blood loss, you aren't sure. JJ watches as you sway a bit and his entire world comes crashing down as your knees give out and you collapse in a heap. 
JJ is on the ground next to you in an instant, the rest of the group quickly following when they realize something is wrong. 
His eyes are swimming with fear as he looks you over and bile creeps up his throat when he sees the crimson liquid pooling on the ground around you. 
What ensues next is nothing short of chaos as JJ cradles your head and starts barking orders. 
"JB put pressure on that! Sarah, call 911 and tell them we need an ambulance. Pope, Kie, go find anything we can use to slow the bleeding!" 
Everyone scrambles to do as he says, not daring to question the man or hesitate for even a second. You've never seen JJ in such an intense situation, and the way he completely takes control with an even voice takes you by surprise. 
You cling to the thought as you try to stay awake and wonder how much worse this will hurt when the adrenaline wears off. 
You feel your eyes getting heavy, and despite your best efforts to pry them open they still start to flutter. You're hit with the realization that you're dying in the arms of the man you love, and a tear slips out the corner of your eye.
There's so much to do; you're not ready to go.
"Hey, I need you to stay with me, baby. Keep your eyes open for me."
You blink a couple of times, trying to fight off the blackness encroaching on your vision. 
"I'm trying."
Your voice is weak; JJ can tell you're using all your strength just to mutter out the two simple words. He gives you a watery smile as salty tears drip onto your face. 
"I know, you're doing so good." 
Your lip quirks up a bit and his heart soars, false hope filling his chest. 
"I'm gonna miss you. Will you miss me?"
Despite being only half conscious, the words come out crystal clear and JJ kisses the back of your hand. 
"I'd miss you so much, but we don't have to worry about that okay? You're gonna be fine and we're gonna live a long happy life together. They'll kick us out of the nursing home."
Your sight is blurry now as you stare up at him, and your body is trembling violently. 
"I'm scared."
JJ chokes down a sob and kisses your sweat-covered forehead. 
"I know, sweet girl. I'm right here, you're going to be okay. I'll keep you safe."
He can barely speak now as his throat closes up and he notices you go limp. 
"Y/N? Baby squeeze my hand, give me something. Anything."
He's begging and when you don't respond, all his composure falls away. Kie is back with a hand full of towels and JJ checks the pulse on your neck, barely feeling it against his fingertips. 
"Kie, do CPR!" 
She does as she's told and JJ can faintly hear sirens approaching. He watches your face for any sign of life and shoves Kie to the side when he finds none. 
"You're not doing it hard enough!"
All of his training from being a lifeguard two summers ago comes rushing back as he puts his weight on your diaphragm. 
"JJ, you gotta stop man."
Pope and Sarah are trying to pull him off as he openly sobs now, every muscle in his body straining against their hold. 
"I can't lose her!"
His arms cradle your body as he holds you to his chest, wails ripping from his lungs. 
"Please wake up. I still need you."
He doesn't even register the ambulance pulling up before he's ripped away from you. He watches as they work on you and load you up into the back before speeding off. 
Everyone is quick to hop in the Twinkie, taking off like a bat out of hell in the direction of the hospital. 
JJ is crying into Kie's shoulder in the backseat, everyone battling their own sorrow and tears. 
His hands feel sticky as your blood dries on them and he's suddenly painfully aware of the rust-colored stains littering his entire body and clothes. He can smell the metallic scent of iron and it makes his stomach turn.
JJ doesn't even wait for the car to stop before jumping out and sprinting into the ER. He's sure he looks like a madman with crazed eyes and blood-stained skin, but he doesn't care. 
If you die, you'll have sacrificed yourself to save him. That's simply not knowledge he's capable of living with, and he needs to know you're going to be okay. 
The receptionist looks like a deer caught in headlights as her eyes rake over his form and he skips the niceties altogether. 
"I'm here for my girlfriend, she was just brought in with a gunshot wound."
His words slur as he blurts them out and after a second she puts it together and gives him a sympathetic look. 
"She's in emergency surgery, sir. There's no update yet, I'm sorry." 
His hands slam against the counter and the woman who looks to be only a couple years older than him flinches.
"That's not good enough!"
She's about to respond when he feels a pair of hands on his shoulders yanking him back. 
"I'm sorry about him, he's under a lot of stress."
She nods with a weary smile and John B forces him over to a chair. 
"You're not doing anyone any good if you get kicked out."
It's dark by the time a doctor comes with any news, several hours having passed. 
As soon as he hears your name called, JJ leaps to his feet and rushes over. 
"Are you the boyfriend?"
JJ nods and the doctor sighs. 
"She lost a lot of blood. The bullet just barely missed an artery, a millimeter to the left and this would be a different conversation. We did a transfusion and were able to repair the damage. She's got a long road to recovery, but she'll be just fine."
JJ nearly collapses at the revelation and he feels four pairs of hands holding him up. 
"Applying pressure to the wound and providing CPR saved her life. You did good, son."
JJ nods, unable to speak and John B asks what they're all thinking. 
"Can we see her?"
The doctor ponders for a moment before nodding. 
"It's after visiting hours but given the circumstance, I'll make an exception. Only one of you though. The rest can come back at 8 am during regular hours."
It doesn't even need to be discussed and JJ follows the man silently. Nerves claw at his throat as he nears a door and he mentally prepares for what's on the other side. 
Part of him thinks this is a cruel joke and that you're really gone. He won't be able to breathe until he sees you with his own two eyes.
"She's still unconscious. She'll probably be disoriented when she wakes up, but we've got her on heavy painkillers. She shouldn't feel much discomfort."
The doctor pats him on the back before leaving and he takes a deep breath while pushing the heavy door open. 
Relief washes over him when he sees your sleeping figure on the bed. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he just walked into your room while you were napping. 
His eyes take in your appearance and fresh tears sting his waterline.
Your face looks peaceful but there's oxygen in your nose and IVs sticking out of your bruised arms. 
All things considered, you don't look too bad but his heart still breaks. Guilt eats at him and in typical JJ fashion, he blames himself. 
He should have known you'd try to interfere and stopped you. He failed at his one-sworn duty, and it almost got you killed.
His hand laces with yours as he sits in the chair at your bedside. He lets his head rest against your arm and just memorizes your scent and the feeling of your soft skin. 
Even though the strong aroma of iodine and hand sanitizer you still smell like cotton candy. 
He almost lost this. And he can't fathom never hearing your laugh again or seeing the way your nose scrunches when you get frustrated with him. 
He dozes off and a few hours later he's awoken by your body shifting under him. He wipes the drool from his mouth and looks up to see your eyes moving rapidly. 
He's watched you sleep enough times to know you're about to wake up and leans up to kiss your forehead. 
You blink a few times trying to place your whereabouts. The room is still dark because of the curtains, but you know it's foreign. 
The sterile tinge of alcohol burns your nose and your face scrunches up when you feel all the wires attached to you. 
"Am I in the hospital?"
Your voice is raspy from lack of water and JJ nods. 
"Yeah, you gave us quite a scare."
You roll your eyes playfully, and JJ thinks that even in the pale light coming from the machines you look ethereal.
"You know me, I've got a flair for the dramatics. Gotta keep it interesting."
JJ lets out a laugh and you smile brightly at the man you love. 
A thick air covers the two of you and you squeeze his hand. 
"I was so scared. I thought you were going to die."
Your heart clenches at how small he sounds and your hand reaches up to cup his cheek. 
"I'm sorry. I don't regret doing it, but I do regret causing you pain."
His head turns to press his lips to your palm and he lingers for a moment before pulling back just slightly. 
"I'm not mad. It's my job to protect you, just maybe don't give me so much overtime."
He has a teasing smile on his face and you can't help but laugh. It's silent for a beat before you speak again. 
"This place is definitely haunted."
JJ stares at you for a moment and chuckles.
"Oh, for sure."
He pauses for a second then lurches forward. 
"Boo!"
You gasp and slap his arm, playful disapproval on your face. 
"Don't do that!"
You're interrupted by a knock on the door and look over. 
"Hey, there she is!"
You're greeted by the rest of the pogues and open your arms for a hug. They each take turns embracing you, being careful of your injuries, and take a seat. 
"So, did you see a white light?"
Sarah kicks John B with a scolding glare and you giggle.
"It's okay. No, mostly just blinding pain and then darkness."
JJ looks down and you can tell it's hard for him to hear. 
"Enough about that, tell me something funny."
The group dissolves into conversation and laughter, a smile on your face as you look at your found family. 
"I'm so happy you're okay." JJ whispers and you look over at him. 
"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Maybank."
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weskin-time · 1 year
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Rest
Captain John Price x GN!Reader
youre a prideful idiot who wont take a break even when their body is screaming at them to heal and rest, and Price humbles you.
not beta read
i know more about the air force than i know about the army. i used to be in ROTC so i have very faint ideas on how the military works im also still loopy on pain meds so i apologize for any mistakes this also just fuckin sucks ass im sorry.
I took the saying "fuck the military" too literally and now im writing fics for old british army men
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You were the definition of exhausted. For three weeks you were deployed out to a frigid Russian forest trying to find the location of some worthless man. You were sent out with a team of men to lead this mission, you knew you could handle it, you knew Gaz and the other men who came with you could handle it, but no one can handle Russian winters better than Russians.
It had been a useless hunt at first, slow and steady making your way through bases and killing dozens of men before you got intel on where the man you were looking for was hiding. After three weeks in Russia, you finally arrived back home with new intel and the man in question captured.
Your bones ached with chill that never left you, as if the snow had sunk itself into your flesh and kissed your bones, your fingers ached the most, even through heavy gloves you could never shake the numbing chill. Your body felt heavy as if your collar bones weighed 40 pounds, every breath you took was deep and sore, you legs were made of lead as you limped from the helicopter pads to the weapons bay. Your eyes strained in the darkness of the night and you tried your hardest to not close them as you walked the path. You didn't have time to sleep or rest you had to clear and turn in your guns before even thinking of rest, you had paperwork to fill out, reports needed to be made to be processed, a meeting with Captain Price and Laswell needed to be scheduled, you didnt even want to think about the paper work you needed to fill out for capturing a man, and you told Gaz you would take his weapons to the bay to clear them for him so he could get some much needed rest. He looked the worst out of the two of you and you couldn't just not help him and his puppy dog eyes, the two of you were very close even though you were a higher rank than him, which he hated the hell of and you teased him for it.
You did sustain a few injuries over the three weeks, sprained left ankle, you were stabbed in the same leg in the thigh, and a bunch more cuts and bruises but those were minor, Gaz helped you patch up your stab wound as you tried not to punch him out of reflex when he got out a needle and thread. Gaz took a few scrapes here and there but he mostly was just exhausted from the cold, probably more than you were, or maybe he flashed you his puppy dog eyes knowing your heart couldn't say no to him, either way he was probably already resting up in his warm bed trying to sleep away the cold ache.
You noticed you were slightly swaying when you entered the weapons bay, your limp wasn't the only thing causing it, you were exhausted, but there was no time to rest. Not surprising that the bay was empty, it was almost 1am and almost everyone from your squad was sound asleep in their beds, lucky them. You didnt know or care at the moment with what they do with the Russian captive, youll figure it out after the meeting with Price and Laswell.
Setting down Gaz's sniper you began to de-arm yourself taking the M17 from your thigh holster and the M4 off you back, unloading the clips and mags from them and began to take them apart for cleaning. Cleaning guns was always fun for you, taking them apart and putting them back together, the little clicks and sounds they made were satisfying. Your eyelids felt more like lead as you took apart the pistol, you swear you blinked for a second and when you opened them back up again your head was almost on the table, you knew you were tired but you didnt think you were that tired. You exhaled and scrunched your eyes closed before opening them wide as if that would help you. Youre so sore you can feel the muscles in your shoulders straining as you picked up Gaz's rifle and began to clear that. There was no time to sleep you needed to get so many things done before you even had the idea of resting, you wondered if Ghost ever got this way and you wondered what could keep him up for so long and maybe you could pull the answer out of him.
"Master Sargent Y/L/N!" Rang a deep British voice, husky like whiskey and cigar smoke, Captain Price has entered the building.
You stood up fast from where you were sitting, shooting up straight and turning around as you stood at attention and saluted your commanding officer, the little surprise woke you up enough to jolt you fast enough. You took him in as he walked to you, why the fuck was he still wearing that dumb bucket hat at 1am? He was without his gear, just wearing an army green tight cotton shirt that was tucked into his light sand camo cargo pants and held up with a belt. You tried your hardest to keep your eyes straight ahead of you at attention but it was very hard not to stare at the way the shirt hugged him way too well. It was still loose enough to leave some idea of what was underneath to your imagination but tight enough to shift and move over his muscles as he walked to you. Gaz and you one time joked that he looked like a cranberry farmer or a dad who got into fishing after retiring with that bucket hat on his head. He was in his late 30s but you swear he was one of the most attractive men you've ever seen in your life, even his weird beard was hot on him.
"At ease kid." He stood next to you and watched you slightly relax out of attention and sit back down to work on the guns again.
"What're you doing up this late Captain?" you asked him as you began to finish up Gaz's gun to avoid his blue stare.
"Just got done talking to Gaz about your mission, wanted to check in to see how things went with you." you were grateful you could have a small debriefing now to get one thing out of the way before you had to work on the rest of everything else. He placed a large hand on your shoulder, putting some weight on your sore body and asked about the mission to which you tried your hardest not to slur your words in a sleepy haze as you gave a simple report of everything, keeping in the story of your injuries and how you got them.
His hand was so big his palm alone covered your shoulder by itself and they were so warm too, it almost unfroze your aching bones just by his touch alone, and the warmth lightly spread to your face, which tickled your eyes making them even more sleepy. You wondered why he put it there in the first place and why he was slightly leaning on you.
"I wanted to have a small word with you." he announced after you finished up the short debrief. your interest was peaked quickly at his words and you sheepishly looked up at him in confusion. He took a small breath in before sighing, "I'm putting you on leave Sargent."
That peaked something that wasn't pleasant in you. Call yourself stubborn because you instantly began to drag your heels into the conversation, "Price I cant go on leave!"
"Just for a week at most y/n." His voice was that of a parent telling their child that they couldn't get Maccas on the way home.
"I have so much I have to do, I cant just sit on my ass while everyone else gets on with it." You argued although your brain was a tad fuzzy from how his hand was on you and the lack of sleep so your arguing wasn't very good in the slightest.
"You're exhausted, I can see it in your eyes kid-"
You cut him off, "Im not-"
"Let me finish solider."
You fell quiet.
"You do this every time you get back from a mission that you're commanding." He explained. "You get back on base and while everyone else takes a few days off to heal and rest you run around like a bloody chicken with its head cut off trying to get work done. I'm helping you out here y/n."
Your ego didn't like that. "Sir I'm fine, I'll get sleep tonight and I'll be chipper by morning, good as new." You tried to be polite with your arguing back.
"And what? Walk around on that healing leg of yours?" His eyes flicked to your left thigh before meeting your eyes again. "I saw you limping when you got off the helo. I think you're the first solider that's fought with me about getting a break."
"I'm alright Captain, really, I'll just finish up here then go to bed and I'll be back to myself in no time tomorrow and get all the reports and paper work ready and done." If you weren't so sluggish you would have felt more anger bubbling in your throat then the little spark that you felt now. Your words were slurring slightly and you knew deep down he was right but you didn't want to hurt your pride and admit it.
"Stand up." He ordered.
Confused you tried to push your body up but was completely halted by his hand on your shoulder. He wasn't even leaning his full weight onto you and your thighs shook at you trying to stand up against him, this should have been easy but it felt like your body was shutting down, you were being provided proof in what he was saying was true and even then you still tried to fight it, but nothing came of it. Were you really that weak? You weren't weak. This should be nothing compared to what you can do normally and yet you felt a sting on your ego. Your whole body protested trying to get up again.
You hung your head in a sign as you stopped trying. A very very tired part of your brain popped up with the thought of liking this weird imbalance of power being displayed, it liked the way he looked when you had to crane your sore neck up to see him, loved the way his eyes felt as they looked down upon you. You need to shut that part of your brain off before you eat your own shoes.
"It's an order Sargent." his voice was firm.
Some dumb part of you had one weak last attempt at an argument in you as you slurred, "I'm not even that tired." and as soon as it left your mouth you cringed at how fucking stupid you sounded.
"Oh come on that was pathetic." he was right it was a very pathetic last attempt.
Your eyes trailed up his toned arms and to his eyes, "Fine."
"Good cause you had no choice. I already had it approved." He blew out some air from his nose in a small laugh.
A break did sound nice, the thought of your shitty cot and thin blanket sounded like heaven to you, like the thought alone lifted your bones of some of the deep ache. You knew your past actions labeled you as stubborn, stubborn enough to warrant this entire situation. You probably were the only solider in the world who protested a vacation. You sighed as he removed his hand from your shoulder, the anger you once felt sloshing away down the drain as your head began a dull thrumming.
"Cant have one of my best men running around like that sweetheart." his voice was course and sent a shiver down your spine, you closed your eyes and mulled over the pet name in your head, you loved the way it made your heart flutter and your chest tighten. If only would call you soft names all the time, you dont think you could get tired of hearing him talk ever.
Your eyes opened wide when you felt a thumb and a finger pinch your chin and force you to look up, your eyes looked into his blue ones in tired confusion mixed with shock. Your face felt even warmer than before, it spread from your face down your neck and seeped into your aching bones and began to thaw them out, the warm that you so missed in those weeks settled into your flesh.
"Hey, how about i take you out tomorrow? There's this new pub Soap wants me to try and since you're not doing anything might as well come with me for a drink or two."
You have to be so very tired with how long it took to register in your mind that your captain was asking you out on a fucking date. You just sat there for a second in shock before your brain caught up to your ears and sent your heart into overdrive. You were defiantly not tired anymore.
"I-, wha- uh, yea sure! i mean." You were so flustered that you fumbled over your words which made you even more flustered. "Yea I would love that, it would be fun Price." you coughed out finally.
"Good. I'll come by your flat in the afternoon." He leaned down to you and he pulled you closer to him by your chin. "Now please go get some sleep, kid. Youll need it for tomorrow sweetheart." and placed a kiss to your forehead before turning away and leaving you as if he didnt just ask you on a date, call you pet names, and kiss your forehead. His beard was scratchy and the skin still tickled after he departed but it felt nice, comforting. You totally didnt stare at his ass as he walked away and left the weapons bay. How the fuck are you going to be able to sleep now??
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octopiys · 4 months
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I. a partridge in a pear tree
Wordcount: 3.2k+
Pairing(s): eventual Soap/Ghost, Price/Nikolai
Warnings: blood/violence, traumatic injury, chronic pain (written by someone with chronic pain), ptsd, hallmark Christmas
(Yeah, here's your stupid little hallmark Christmas fic. Find the masterlist here)
Here's to @bringinsexybackk69 , @impossibletopronounce , @phasing-through-walls , @rai-to209 , and @lemonwrap for encouraging me to write this lol
In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't that bad. Worse things have happened to him, and he knew that he'd snap back from it immediately right?
The gunfire was loud in his ringing ears, the young captain clearing the building quickly. One body, a second, a third, the room was clear. His sergeant followed behind them, the antennae of his radio sticking up above his helmet like a little bug.
"Room is clear, no sign of intel. Moving to the next room." He radioed, and his Sergeant, Roach, nodded in affirmation. Three more bodies to add to his report. God, he hated paperwork.
He stepped out into the hallway, messing with his throat mic some, distracted.
Being distracted in this field gets you killed. It was his first mistake in years.
The hallway was alight with gunfire, and before he knew it, he was firing back, a roaring pain ripping up his leg before a pair of gloved hands pulled him back by the vest, back into the room from before. Adrenaline was rushing in his ears, muting his senses, dulling his sight to a pinpoint. His hands were still on his gun at the ready, having slammed the door shut.
Then....
The door had been barricaded, and he wasn't sure when that happened. There was a face in his vision, almost too close.
"Sir- sir! Captain, stay with me, sir-" Roach's hands were moving frantically around his pants, and a few jokes crossed his mind, but his tongue felt like lead. Had he been drugged? He didn't recall any-
The young Sergeant pressed against his leg rather harshly, and a sharp yelp left his lips, pained and surprised. Roach looked worried, the lower half of his face visible underneath his heavy goggles, mouth pursed in a worried frown.
His sight was tinged with black, and it sounded like he was underwater. Slow-moving and muted, he tried to assess his surroundings. Gradually, he came to the conclusion that he was injured, a sharp pinch wrapping around his upper leg by a pressure formed as Roach wrapped a tourniquet tightly. Somehow, he processed that the wound was grisly, narrowly missing the bone.
Words like 'artery', or 'blood', or 'cornered' found themselves in his ears, often countered by 'pressure', or 'pack it', or 'back up' from the radio.
Worse things had happened, sure.
But it hadn't occurred to him at the time that he was bleeding out from a missed enemy in the hall. It hadn't occurred to him until Roach had taken off his blood smeared goggles, until Roach tried to get him to stand but he *couldn't*, until his vision swam and tipped, and the last thing he saw was Kate Laswell getting out of the helo, rushing towards him, looking scared-
It didn't occur to him until he was in the hospital, leg propped up with crutches at his side, staring at medical discharge papers, that this was worse than MacTavish thought.
It turned out that he couldn't snap back as well as he thought he could. He had no choice but to sign the papers, leaving his Sergeant, his best friend, and the rest of his task force behind.
But it didn't come easily. Recovery wasn't easy. Roach was there when he could be, under watchful eyes of Laswell. And when he was on a mission, or he couldn't make it, Soap did it all by himself. He stayed on the base hospital, unable to secure much of a place anywhere else.
PT was hell. They talk about it some in the movies or the shows, but they never really go through what it's like. They show the successes, and they don't show the failures. And believe him, he failed. A lot.
The first time, they had him propped up between two balance bars, using all of his upper body strength to keep himself upright. It was the pins and needles that hurt the most, starting at his hip, traveling down through his thigh, knee, and ending in his heel. And it hurt, like thousands of tiny bugs were crawling, climbing, gnawing through his skin like he was made of marshmello. The first step he took it worsened, the feeling angry, and it angered him. The second step was worse, the beams shifted, and he slipped, his legs completely giving out beneath him, and he hit the ground on his elbows. Hard.
The second time he did it, he made it four steps without falling.
The third time, he refused to get between the bars. Flat out denied the pitied looks from the nurses, the ones who didn't really care whether he made it through or not. Viewed him as another statistic, another job, just a patient they wanted to get out of the facility. He was so angry all the time, the inconsistent throb of pain shooting up his leg any time he moved, his medicine not being enough, the nagging feeling that he might be better off with just not going to physical therapy, that it wasn't really helping him.
After a week, Roach forced him to go back, threatened to break his crutches if he didn't abide. With a considerable amount of insistent pressure, he made it again.
The bruises on his elbows weren't worth it when he finally made it the entire length of the bars. Even if Roach was there to celebrate him, even if he's never seen the Sergeant so happy, even if he did make it, he kept telling himself he should've made it earlier than he had.
Roach stayed with him and attended more sessions since then. Claimed he was the emotional support sergeant.
Come the seventh session, or maybe it was the eighth, they began working on his upper body and balance once he could stand on his own. Tossing weight balls above his head, bouncing them on the wall, then catching them himself.
Roach was more of a help than his nurses, sitting with him when he needed a break, or when he was too frustrated to continue. He was like a caged bird, too cooped up, and he was going to go insane. Someone needed to throw a sheet over his cage to slow him down before he exploded into a mass of feathers and irritation.
The sandy haired Sergeant began doing his treatments with him, too. Up, down, jumping jacks, walking laps, weight balls up above his head. It was... beneficial.
He saw improvement. There had still been days where he couldn't leave his bed, the pain meds doing nothing to ease the ache that was so deep in his muscle that it was embedded worse than the bullet that put him out of commission. He could walk on his own. He couldn't run, not as fast as he used to without falling and hurting himself worse, but he could.... shuffle quickly.
"Roach, ah swear tae everything ye call holy-"
The Sergeant only laughed. "I'm sorry- really, sir, but have you- oh gods, have you seen The Walking Dead? You look like a-" He paused to take a breath, his entire body shaking with laughter. "You look like one of the Walkers from the first season, bloody hell, I'm sorry-"
Soap rolled his eyes, but a smile found itself on his face somehow because he did know what Roach was talking about, and he couldn't even deny the accuracy.
When he was officially discharged from the hospital, Roach threw him a celebration at the local bar. It was a small thing, but a few members from his force showed up, clapped him on the back, thanked him, and drank the night away. Even Kate showed up, which he was grateful for, until he figured out why.
"John," she starts slowly like she's making sure he knows that this is important. It's snowing outside, he notices, and finally it's the end of November.
"Och, Kate. Dinnae gimme that look." He hummed, nursing his drink, glancing a side eye at her. "Bad news?"
"Depends on who you ask." It's always refreshing to hear an American speak. Not that it was a bad thing. He liked the diversity. "I secured you a new location while you recover." He knew what she meant, and she was telling him to rest without actually saying it.
"Kate-"
"It's not far from here, actually. A while to drive, but we'll send you on a plane to save yourself from the pins and needles. It's a small town, pretty conspicuous. No one'll recognize you, if that's what you're worried about." She brushed a strand of hair out of her face as a bartender slid her a glass, and she accepted it with a smile of thanks. "A few old buddies of mine live there too. They like it well enough. They're old military too."
At her words, he imagined a bunch of gnarly old dudes, scarred from war and injury, and suddenly he felt like this was more of a retirement plan than a wait it out situation.
He scratched the scar on his chin, shifting in his seat to allow the brace on his leg to be comfortable. It never really was.
Kate reached for her hip and he reached for a weapon that wasn't there, mumbling a soft apology as she pulled out her phone to show him his new placement.
The city was small, more of like a mountain village. It was picturesque, like it was out of one of the old Christmas movies his Ma used to watch. The bakery seemed to be a main community point, as was the general store, and some form of petting zoo for.... elk?
"People are relatively kind too. Pretty accommodating, very.... accepting." There was another meaning there that went unsaid. "All you could ask for in a recovery town." She kept swiping through photos, and he took a larger swig of his drink this time around.
A small cabin showed up, a little off the main road near the outside of the town. Isolated enough, but if he needed to get anywhere in town he could do it quickly enough. Well, that is if he wasn't-
"It's small, but nice. I pulled some strings so the force paid for everything, and there's a training facility a few miles outside the city for your appointments. One bed, one bath, and the living room has a Murphy bed in case you have any need for guests. The kitchen works, but the sink is a little iffy on water pressure, so if you're looking for a project then-"
"It's great, Kate." Soap cut her off with a tight lipped smile. He caught Roach's eye down the bar, and the man gave him a concerned look before Soap stood, winced, and glanced at Kate again. "Really, it is. Thank you." He said, before limping off to the washroom.
Later, he might feel bad for being brisk with her, especially for everything she did for him.
The sink was on and the door had closed before he knew it, running his hands under cold water. A minute hadn't even gone by before Roach joined him, albeit almost hurriedly.
"Cap? You alright there?" Roach said, joining him at the sink side.
Soap, in the meantime, was naming five things he could see, four things he could hear-
"Ah'm doon good, Roach." He huffed, scrubbing his hands without soap, just using the cold.
"Bullshit, sir." Roach leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "I mean, at least it's only temporary."
Soap paused, his hands stilling. "Laswell tell ye?"
"I heard enough." The Sergeant hummed softly, turning off the water for him. "Could be a nice change in pace for you. Gods know you won't put yourself in for vacation, think of this as as mandatory break, sir."
Soap dried his hands off and glared at him, but there was no malice behind it.
"Landscape is pretty enough, too-"
"I'll send you a postcard-"
"-You'll have a white Christmas by the looks of it." Roach continued as if he hadn't heard him. "And it could be worse. You could be relocated to... I don't know, somewhere with nothing. Like Illinois. What's in Illinois? Nothing."
Soap breathed a laugh through his nose, leaning against the sink. "Yer welcome tae stay if the family gets rough."
"I'm sure I'll take you up on that, sir."
It turned out that the airport didn't even have a commercial flight to the town, so he had to take a private plane. It was cold already, and he barely had a shoulder bag of things to bring with him, so he wrapped himself tighter in his windbreaker (which was definitely not enough) and made his way towards the gate.
A text came through his issued phone, from Laswell.
'My guy's in the blue jacket, should be getting out of the red chopper any second now'
Then a second one,
'Looks suspicious, I'm sure. But it's his pride and joy. I swear it's safe'
Soap scoffed and scanned the tarmac, looking for a red helo. Sure enough, he found one halfway down, and sure as shit a man in a blue jacket was stepping out of it, taking his headset off.
Soap begrudgingly began to hobble his way towards the chopper, meeting the pilot halfway. The man had shoulder length raven hair, and he was clearly built out, physique wise. His eyes were hidden behind aviators, and his face held a decent amount of stubble, but not yet a beard. With his blue jacket, he wore a black and white striped shirt beneath it, and a gold necklace.
"Are you Nikolai?" Soap shouted over the roar of the rudders.
"Laswell's man!" The pilot shouted back in a distinct Russian accent. Despite the ops they had been working on recently, Soap knew he could trust him. Laswell's friend and all. Nikolai stuck his hand out, shook Soap's, then took his bag and threw it in the cabin of the helo. "Are you afraid of heights, my friend?'
"Nae... why?"
But Nikolai only laughed in response.
They landed and Soap was never rmore glad to be on the ground than at that moment. Military trained his arse, he thought he was gonna die more times in that helo than the entire time he had to figure out how to pilot in enemy airspace after his original pilot had been shot in the throat.
Another hearty chuckle from Nikolai as a goodbye, but Soap supposes he'd met worse people. The Uber took him directly into town from the frosted over field where they had landed, and dropped him off in the square.
Very few people were milling about, the cold wind nipping his nose and turning his skin flushed red. His windbreaker was not sufficient enough for him, which meant he'd probably have to find some off the wall clothing store. His bag still over his shoulder, he decided to explore some.
Okay, he might not've gotten that far. The impromptu change in weather and atmospheric pressure made his leg act up, especially after being cramped in a plane, then a helo, then a car for so long. His brace was stiff, and really, he just needed to sit-
Which is how he ended up in a cornerstore bakery with a donut or two sitting next to his sketchbook, waiting on a mug of freshly brewed coffee. He's gonna swear by them now, best damn things he's ever eaten.
The bakery was a cute, quaint little thing that barely stuck out, but it, like the rest of the town, had been decorated to the nines for the holidays. The white brick of the back walls were washed in a warm yellow light of Christmas lights, hung around the corners of the room. Wreaths and garland lined the countertops, a little bell dining when one walked in. The large windows in the front weren't ignored either, fake snow and little jelly stick ons had been pressed onto the glass in preparation for Christmas. Soft music played from a speaker in one of the corners, and Soap had scored himself a two seater table, propping his leg up on the chair across from him and sighing from relief.
'Dinnae warn me how bloody cold it would be, Kate' He texted her.
Also, it was much warmer in here than it was outside.
He didn't get a response back.
The man from behind the counter brought him his mug, lingering around the table for a moment for any other questions.
Soap, for one, still had barely any idea what was going on, so he decided to take a shot in the dark.
"Er- this might be odd to ye, but do ye ken where Chestnut Road is? Haven't been able to find it from the streets-" Given, he hadn't looked much, however, he doubted he'd be able to find it in this- oh would you look at that, it's snowing.
The man pauses, before backpedalling a few steps. He flashed Soap a warm smile, and he noted the bits of frosting stuck to the man's face, along with some powdered sugar that had settled on the rim of the old blue baseball cap he was wearing. The man was very obviously cleaned up, his coiled hair tucked beneath his cap, his mocha colored skin practically glowing, and Soap could fail to find a single imperfection. "Chestnut Road? That's just right up the street, mate. You hit the light and take a left, follow it up the hill. You here to visit?" The man asked curiously, leaning on the table.
"Och nae, ah'm no tourist, just moved here this morn' from the air base a few hours southwest o' here." He tried to haphazardly explain.
"Oh, military too?" The man, who's name tag read 'Kyle' in a handwritten flourish, asked, like he wasn't that surprised.
"Are we an exotic breed, lad?" Soap joked, sipping from his mug with a kind of hesitancy behind his words.
"Nah. Get a few of em every couple years. I quit to take care of my dad when 'e got sick, then took over this place afterwards. Lots of baking skills to learn, y'know." Soap felt a bit of shock at that. Townspeople here are pretty open. And he was talking to the owner of this wonderful bakery-
"Wait, yer tellin' me ye made these yerself?" Soap gestured to the donuts with a grin.
"If you're gonna tell me they're bad, then no it wasn't me." Kyle joked back to him.
"Nae, I'd never!" He feigned a hand over his heart. "Best damn things ah've ever had!"
The baker's face flushed with pride, his chest puffing up a little. "Thank you, I appreciate it.... Uh- I'm Kyle, by the way."
"Johnny." He greeted smoothly.
"Gaz, the coffee machine is broken again!" A woman's voice called from the register, a shorter woman with tanned skin, a patterned scarf wrapped around her neck, and Kyle jumped to attention.
"Uh... I gotta go fix that, but I'll see ya around, yeah?" Kyle lightly punched Soap's shoulder. "If you need help moving in, let somebody know!" He called over his shoulder, before he sprinted back to the kitchen.
Soap gave a two finger salute, smiling, and went back to his sketchbook.
A fresh start. Something new. Huh.
How about that?
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vumming · 1 year
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alice in borderland — sunato banda “house”
contents : angst, violence, suicide, implicit descriptions — non official act of banda
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“He's a murderer. He killed four women, doesn't that makes him a serial killer?”
Doesn't matter.
Banda exits the game with his head held high, though the intel that he had managed to acquire was quite piss poor, it will still do for survival.
This world, borderland, is not something to be taken lightly after all—many games had already plainly stated it, like a blinking red light flashing right in front of every player's face. It seems these games are more than they show.
There's a slow drag of smoke emitting from his lips, alone in a dimly lit apartment building where he temporarily lives. Japan has become something so separately to what he had once lived in.
Freedom.
Banda wondered if this is a temporary escape, is this what they all claim to be paradise? He huffs, the light grey puff of air hooked by the wind and out the window. Life are precious or are they not? His head lightly tilt to the side, cigarette hanging inbetween his fingers as he exhaled.
This reality he lives in, makes him feel free.
Games. Adrenaline pumping every veins. The call of death and life, a tug of war in every victory is something to relish. Right, this is merely something to chase the rushing feelings.
Conquer.
A goal that he keep repeating to himself.
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Without it, he has no purpose.
Power is a major thing in any worlds, it is the pillar of how it works. Banda despise it at the same time desires it. With it, you decide who lives, your happiness and create your own world.
‘I wonder, if I can correct my wrong.’
The first one was the fruit.
“Sunato” There's a voice. “Welcome home!” Familiar, who are they?
“Are you tired? You can rest for now. You're safe here.” Banda, shut close the heavy lids.
There they stand, a smile on their lips as they greet him with such enthusiasm. There's an ache that pricks him like million of needles. He knows. It hurts, to look at his spouse, the golden band you wore is now on his.
He will always recognize that beautiful and charming grin. “Yeah, I'm home.” That blazing kiss you shared back then, the heat of the intimacy is certainly something to take note of—it left a burning trail in their wake; red.
“Were you waiting too long?”
“Heh, then shall we start dinner?”
The second was a mistake.
She lay—asleep, so it seems.
Hurt is all he could cry, over and over and over. So that's what he did, bury it and let it mellow down but the opposite emerged. One night stand, let all the worries be washed away.
When did it start? That bubbling feeling of pure rage within as he starts to see the purple that paints his spouse's skin?
“Tell me.” His grip tight on your wrist, you struggle to get out of his hold as you twist and turn. Banda is persistent however.
Brows knit together, you stubbornly held on, “I told you, Banda, I just knocked a few furnitures. It's nothing serious so let go.” There was hesitation to admit—were they ashamed of him? Because he has no power in a world where social structure is a thing?
He didn't mean to!
I didn't mean to!!
The ooze; drip, drop, drip, drop, repeat—they terrorize him. He didn't mean it, rage bought it and guilt turned it. A woman, face etched in a silent horror— Sunato Banda felt his conscience scream.
The third one was intentional.
Maybe it was a grudge. Laid on the cold concrete floor, painted in beautiful rose red, a woman he has known of for years. “It's all your fault..”
“It's all your damn fault that everything fell all apart.” Banda kneeled down, grabbing the woman's hair by the crown as she howl in pain, “We could've been living.. together.” His grip tighten. “If it wasn't for you.”
“Say hello to the devil for me.”
The fourth one was an illusion.
“Why do you not leave me alone?” He cries, gripping the neck of the person dearly to him. “For what shall I do to make you be in peace?”
“Haven't I done enough?”
“Welcome home.” like a mantra, the voices chants it over and over again. “Leave me!!” He begs.
Yet the voice listens to no one, labored breathing fell from red lips and choked calls for mercy, desperately.
He sobs, looking at the woman who resemble his beloved. Tears drip down from his eyes and falling to the woman's cheeks.
“Die.”
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Home.
Banda has a million of buildings he now claim as his house but none of them are home. When he close his eyes, blood pumping hot and mind clear, for once can he only call something a home.
“Why is it that whenever I don't want to see you, you come?” a whisper, his eyes open and all he could focus on was the ever so sweet and gentle gaze directed towards him. So much love, adoration—for a monster like him.
“Have you come to end me for good..” He croak with his voice failing him, broken, hoarse and tight. “my love?”
There are minute reasons to give in to the temptation of borderlands but each and every human has a hand to return to. Dead or alive.
“Welcome home, Su.”
His eyes starts to get blurry.
“I'm home.”
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the-vixen · 6 months
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𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥 : 𝙀𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙃𝙪𝙣𝙩 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
PART 1 PART 2 -------- MASTERLIST
When you are sent on a mission to rescue Ethan Hunt from prison, the events that domino will force you to face the ghosts of your past and your guilt tied to Ethan.
This takes place throughout the events of ghost protocol. There will be a change in the story and the events of the mission impossible 2 and 3. Ethan and Julia never got married, a certain amount of information will be changed that will be revealed in the story. 
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"Uh.."
you stopped your work as Benji's voice crackled in your ear. Jane looked at you from her position opposite to you. "what is it?" you asked, pressing a finger to your comms. 
"we have a passenger." he followed up. 
Jane shook her head and resumed the set up, you shook your head. "just get him here on time." you spoke softly as you continued to work with Jane. 
when the song ended, you pressed the button on the machine, before Jane sent up the wire. A larger man yelled as he came clumsily down the wire, before Ethan allowed suit. He helped him up as you and Jane pulled the tools away. You stayed silent when Ethan's gaze landed on you.
It had been months since you last saw him. Memories and guilt flooded back into you as strong and forceful as the day you found out he went into the prison; taking the blame as a cost of your mistakes in the field. Your breath caught in your chest as you looked over the expanse of his chest and biceps, watching him heave slightly from the effort of the escape. His eyes bore into you briefly, looking over your face and body. 
"Ethan hunt?" Jane spoke 
His gaze ripped away from you harshly. 
"and you are?" he looked at her. 
"agent Carter." she introduced, watching him nod before grabbing his companion. 
"Okay." he took a breath and went ahead, leaving you and Jane to follow after him.
-----  
You watched Jane verify Ethan's identity in the van as Benji drove. "I don't mean to bring up the elephant in the room but what's with the big hairy Russian?" he asked. 
Ethan looked away from Jane, "who? bogdan? he fed me intel..if I left him there they would've killed him..so we're gonna give him his freedom." he briefly looked to you before back to benji, "did you call in the sweepers?" he asked. Benji nodded, "yep on their way." he chirped. Ethan stared at him for a few seconds, "good.. good....Benji....how is it you're here?" he asked, perplexed. 
Benji smiled, "oh I passed the field exam. crazy right?" he grinned, "y/n got reinstated too!" he added. You swallowed and looked away preparing the sedative gun for Bogdan. Ethan watched you, "you're back in the field?" he asked carefully. 
You were about to respond before Bogdan looked at Ethan. "Sergei? are you..not russian?" he asked confused, to which Ethan responded by only telling him to relax. "Sweepers  approaching...brooms are out!" Benji announced as he slowed down. 
"Roger that-"
"Sergei. are you not...sergei?"
Ethan took the gun from your hands and shot Bogdan, making him groan. 
Ethan moved next to you and cupped Bogdan's face. "You'll be fine. Bogdan... I always take care of my friends." He spoke. you pushed open the door as he became drowsy. "my....friend..." he muttered before he was transferred to the other van. 
Benji drove off as Ethan looked at you. You shifted in your seat before grabbing the bag of clothes for him. "Messy bringing him along." You said softly. "I thought it went rather well." he gave a small grin, a teaser of his true trademark smile of mischief. 
Jane looked at him, "you mind telling us what you were doing in a Russian prison?"
"mind telling me why you broke me out?" Ethan immediately shot. 
Jane looked at you before looking back to Ethan as doubt covered her features. "this wasn't a rescue mission?" she asked both you and Ethan. 
He settled next to you as he spoke, "let me put it this way. if the secretary wanted me out of there....it must be pretty bad out here." he looked at her. Jane watched him for a few seconds before recounting the events that took place in Budapest, the events that led to the death of agent Hanaway. 
As Ethan and Jane discussed details of the IMF suspect investigation, Cobalt and Sabine Moreau, your attention fogged as you watched him.
His hair was longer, almost as when you first met him in sydney. The memory bloomed in your mind as you remembered how you teased each other, challenging each other. You were sure that he didn't see you as anything more than a rival, till the two of you had to go recruit Nyah. A budding friendship and partnership developed quickly as you two found trust in desperate times. 
A friendship and partnership that's now dissolved because of your actions. 
----
Infiltrating the Kremlin.
Sounds exactly like the kind of job an Impossible Mission Force would take on. Sounds like the job Ethan would obviously take on. 
And yet, yet it seems impossible to be alone with Ethan. Let alone for a mission where he'd need to rely on you. 
As Ethan suited up, Benji synthesized the mask for him while Jane scouted the area. You pulled at your uniform, uncomfortable by its fitting before tying your hair up into a bun. 
Ethan looked at you, watching you as he pulled on his jacket. "your hair's longer.." he said softly. You looked at him, "so is yours.." your voice tinged with a tease. "look..Ethan...i.." you began, watching his piercing gaze fall onto your figure. Your heart pounded as you took a deep breath, urging yourself to form the right sentences and spit them out.
Years of training to be an IMF agent, and yet it was so difficult to form words around the man you cared for.  
Cared for. 
That's the right word isn't it? your time with Ethan made you close to him, all the missions you went on with him and Luther, it'd be obvious that you cared for him.
As a colleague.
A partner
A friend.
Any feelings beyond that were wholly and utterly unprofessional. Any affection would be unreciprocated. Any expression of endearment would be and should be rejected. Especially when costed him his future with Julia.
It wasn't as if you didn't have feelings for him before he went to prison. A small part of you thinks if Ethan hadn't fallen for Julia then maybe...maybe there could've been...
Something.
Maybe.
But you don't blame Julia for it. 
Not when she was the ideal match for him. 
"i..um.." you stumbled to form words. "I just...I just wanted to say..." you took a pause, unsure if you should even bring it up considering how hard his gaze was. "Mask's ready." Jane walked over, handing Ethan his mask. She looked between you both, "everything alright?" she asked softly. Ethan looked down and clenched his jaw, his voice tight. "yeah. let's get moving." he took it and went over to benji. 
Jane looked at you as you put your boots on, waiting for you to adjust yourself before she handed you your comms. "is there something you want to talk about..?" she asked softly. A part of you knew she was genuinely concerned, but a part of you knew this was also a soft warning of making sure you're in the right headspace not to screw the mission up. 
Your first official mission since Ethan went away
You couldn't mess up. 
"Yeah..yeah lets just....go."
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captainjimothycarter · 10 months
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okay but peggy accidentally calling phillips "dad" one day asdfhdjfjdhs
Okay, I imagined that scene from Brooklyn 99 where Jake calls Holt dad but instead, this came out from Phillip’s POV and it’s just a hot mess. I have no idea what this is, lmao.
But I absolutely love this idea, it just slips and they just run with it. This took me longer to write than it should've, but damn my sinuses.
It's on AO3 Too! 
--
“Carter, this needs your lookover before I approve of sending your boys out lollygagging in California for two weeks.”
Lord knows he’d send Rogers and Barnes to Alaska if it get them out of his hair for two weeks. Some quiet and...well, he might miss the buggers. Carter on the other hand, she never minded time away, but he knew her focus would be on breaking down the intel that they’d so generally taken from the last raid of an underground Hydra base.
He didn’t even see Carter get up from the desk, felt the file tugged from his hands as he turned to focus on the next bunch. File after file, that’s all his job had become. Safer behind a desk where he wasn’t signing letters telling parents their poor son had died in a worthless war.
“They’re not lollygagging,” Carter told him, gently chiding him for the tenth time. “They’re pulling Stark out of whatever the hell he’s doing to get his ass back here. We’re close to finishing Project Playground.” 
“The Playground,” Phillips mumbled, shaking his head. “Who comes up with these ridiculous names? Here, make sure they get this too.”
“If I remember correctly,” she hummed, snatching the black bag from his hand. “You do, Dad.”
Did she - 
No, no there was no damn way that he heard that correctly. There was no way on this God Green Earth that Carter had called him dad.
It must’ve been the years he’s spent next to the artillery that caused his ears to ring, for him to lose his hearing. There was no damn way he’d heard Carter of all people call him dad. Sure, he could see one of Rogers’ posse doing this as a joke or even Barnes while laughing his tail off but not Carter.
Carter might’ve been the closest thing he had to a daughter and unfortunately, that meant came with Rogers technically being his son-in-law and whatever the hell Barnes was to either of them, but Carter knew her father. Her mother might’ve been a piece of work and Rogers’ mother had adopted her right up as a ‘daughter she never had’ but the point still stood.
Well, all logic went out the window the second that he looked over to her, after what must’ve been a mistake, a slip of the tongue, and well - the pure panic in her expression said it all. He would’ve let it go, brushed it off as a slip of the tongue, a mistake they all made but it became impossible to ignore when he heard Barnes’ terrible attempts at stifling his laughter.
To give him some credit, the man was trying to cover his mouth but the longer he tried to stop himself from laughing, the harder he started to laugh until he was doubled over, hands on his knees and the sound of his laughter echoed around them.
At least Rogers had some sense to not laugh and throw Barnes a look, not that Barnes could see either his or Carter’s look. Damn, that woman knew how to give meaning to if looks could kill. There was certainly a venomous quality to her look. 
“I’m going for some fresh air,” Carter announced before promptly marching out of the room.
The silence left behind was tense, at least Barnes had caught himself and stopped giggling, clearing his throat. He looked between them and where the door Carter had just marched out of.
“I should...” He started to say, throwing a thumb towards the door, Rogers stopping him mid-sentence with a slow shake of his head.
“You two should do the job I pay you for,” Phillips grumbled at them, rising to his feet. He brushed off their concerned look, following after Carter’s mumbling.
It didn’t take long to find her pacing the hall, hearing her mumbling only growing louder as he stepped closer. He leaned into the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and watched her for a while. It was the embarrassment of the situation that got to her, amongst he knew, but as he watched her struggle to light a cigarette, thinking better of it before shoving the objects hidden underneath the false brick in the pillar, he couldn’t help but smirk.
“Y’know, I would be proud to call you my daughter,” he told her after a minute, making sure that brick wasn’t in her hand. He knew her tendency to swing when startled and her impeccable aim with any projectile in her hands.
“Sir, I didn’t-”
Phillips shook his head and smiled at her, those rare types of smiles that showed past the chiseled walls the old colonel had built around himself to protect himself. Those very walls that these three damn idiots, the ones responsible for his stress and anyeriusms, he swore, had chiseled away at overtime.
They got on his nerves, they drove him to the brink of insanity. They annoyed him. They disobeyed every damn rule he’s ever laid in place but he knew their reasoning. Beyond all the white collar, bureaucracy, and political bullshit that was their jobs, he knew at the end of the day those three would do whatever it took to do the right thing.
He knew from the very first day that he’d met Carter, she was different. She had a spark, a flame of life that no white-collar asshole could ever tame. She needed to prove herself time and time again, no matter what it took.
That's what he admired about her and, unfortunately, for him, that spark just only grew by the time she met Rogers. They both carried that damn fire.
“Peggy, listen,” Phillips said in a soft tone that asked her to just listen to him. “I’m honored that you see me like that. It was a slip of a tongue but I couldn’t be more proud to see you as my daughter. You’re everything I would’ve wanted to call my own kin.”
“You’re not getting soft on me, are you?” Peggy teased, blinking hard to fight back the tears. “I-” 
She stopped and cleared her throat, trying to find the right words to say. There were none, of all the words in the English dictionary, none could be summoned to describe the feelings rising in both of them. Instead, he acted first. He pulled her into a tight hug, feeling her arms wrap around him.
“I’m proud of you, Peggy,” he told her as they pulled away, gently wiping away the stray tear from her face. “I’m proud of all that you’ve done and all that you will do. Even if you did bring those two numbnuts into my life.”
“Y’know we can hear you!” Bucky called down the hall. “You have to admit we made your life better, Chester!”
Barnes was the only damn one who was brave enough - no, stupid enough to ever call him by his first name. Yet, all he could do was laugh softly at Carter’s eyes sparkling as she laughed. 
“You made my life a living hell!” He called back to Bucky.
“No,” Peggy corrected. “We made your life more interesting, Dad.”
13 notes · View notes
waywardxrhea · 3 months
Text
Part One - Welcome to New York
[slow burn romance between Steve Rogers and SHIELD agent Emma Baker]
Warnings: 18+, contains humor, fluff, mental health, family trauma, romance, angst, language, violence, (potentially smut later on).
installment list
Word count: 3.3k
Steve Rogers wakes up in a modern New York City and SHIELD agent Emma Baker is assigned to help him acclimate.
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“Baker, where’s the report on our latest intel on the Whiplash tech?” asks a SHIELD agent in a suit and tie.
“It’s on Director Fury’s desk as requested,” Emma Baker replies promptly. She shuffles some papers and hands the man a small stack. “This is what I have so far on my interview with Jane Foster. Get a copy to Tellez ASAP, I need her to proofread what I have and make sure it will be article ready by the time I finish my interview with her today. Please and thank you.”
“No problem,” the agent says with a nod as he parts ways with her, heading down the hall to the newsroom in SHIELD HQ to find Tellez. Emma takes a pencil out from behind her ear and begins writing down where she sent all of her reports for the day. As she is about to turn into a conference room to try and get a hold of Jane Foster, she hears her name being called.
“Agent Baker, you seem to be a busy bee today,” came the voice. The voice of Nick Fury.
Emma straightens her back and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and says respectfully, “Yes sir, but I don’t mind. All in a day’s work.” She turns to the voice and is met with the stern face of Director Fury as well as the face of the Deputy Director of SHIELD and her close friend, Maria Hill.
“I see you were already heading into that conference room, perfect. Can we speak privately there?” he asks, pointing toward the room.
“Of course sir,” Emma replies quickly. As they walk into the room, she racks her brain trying to think of any mistake she could have made as of late. Did she not get enough intel on a takedown? Did she leave out critical information in a newsletter article? Did she ask the wrong questions in an interview? She couldn’t lose her job at SHIELD, it was everything she had worked so hard to get…
Maria can tell Emma is stressed, so when Fury has his back turned, she mouths, ‘It’s okay. It’s good news!’ With this sentiment, Emma relaxes a bit and releases the tension in her shoulders as Director Fury turns around to speak with her. “Agent Baker. You must be wondering why I asked you here today.”
“The thought may have crossed my mind, yes,” Emma replies which earns a slight laugh from the Director. Director Fury pulls up a tablet and enables the projector feature. What he pulls up and projects onto the wall is an article she wrote, only it wasn’t one of her SHIELD articles, it was a personal one. From her blog.
Emma cringes inwardly and mentally kicks herself as he starts speaking, “With just a brief look at your blog’s homepage, I can see that you have done almost all there is to do in New York City since you moved here. You’ve seen Broadway shows, toured Central Park, took multiple trips to Coney Island just for a food tour, among many other things.” After he examines the look of sheer embarrassment on her face, he asks, “You may now be wondering how I know about this blog of yours.”
Emma nods and avoids eye contact, saying, “That thought may have crossed my mind too.”
“Look me in the eye when you talk with me Agent,” Fury tells her.
Emma returns eye contact with him and nods, telling him, “Yes sir.”
“Now, as I was saying. You may be wondering how I know about your blog, Baker. Well I have three reasons. One being that I try to keep eye and ears on every one of my agents, that includes some aspects of their personal lives. The second being that your blog is...all the rage as the kids put it. Your website has more views than some articles covering The Olympics. The third reason being that Miss Hill here informed me of it when she missed three of my calls while out on an adventure with you for said blog.”
Emma’s eyes widen in horror and she apologizes profusely, “Director Fury, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to take Maria away for so long. Please, you can put all the blame on me. If a mission was compromised because of m-”
Fury puts up his hand to stop her rambling and laughs, “Agent, I’m not here to punish you nor Miss Hill. If it had been a major concern, you would have already been fired. That night I had actually just forgotten where I put my takeout menu in my office. Hill usually has a knack for finding it for me.”
Emma closes her eyes and lets out a sigh of relief, saying, “Thank you, Director. Seriously though, it won’t happen again. Ringers on when we’re out from now on.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He pauses before continuing, “What the situation brought to light though was that you are the perfect candidate for the assignment I’m about to give you.”
“Oh?” Emma asks, raising her eyebrows. “What may that be?”
“Well you see, today some of our men discovered a frozen Captain Steve Rogers in the Arctic Ocean. When he wakes up, he’s gonna be in for quite a culture shock from the 1940’s to now. That’s where you come in. I want you to help ease him into the modern world.”
“That seems like quite the task, are you sure you want me in charge of this assignment?”
Maria speaks up, telling her, “Emma, you’re probably the most qualified of anyone at SHIELD for this job. Captain Rogers will need a guide through all of this if he’s gonna figure this world out. You’re great with tech, you know the ins and outs of the modern city, and you’re extremely easy to get along with. You’ll be great.”
Emma smiles at the vote of confidence from her friend, saying, “Well thank you, Maria.” She turns to Fury, and asks, “So when does this assignment start, sir?”
“Well my men just got Rogers here and are setting up a hospital room to look like one from the 40’s as we speak. Who knows how long it’ll be before he wakes up. When he does though, that’ll be when your assignment starts.”
“Will I still be on my normal reporting duties as well?”
“If you want to be a workaholic as I presume you will, yes. I will lighten the load on you a bit though because you have 67 years of tech and culture to catch Rogers up on. I imagine you’ll be a very busy woman, especially if you and Miss Hill here intend on having your little adventures still.”
Maria and Emma share a look and a smile before Emma nods, saying, “Sounds great! Is there any sort of file I’ll need on the assignment?”
“What, are you saying you don’t know the story of Captain America, Baker?” Fury asks with a laugh.
“N-no sir, not saying that at all, sir. I just wasn’t sure if there was anything SHIELD specific that needed to be covered,” she replies quickly.
“I’m just kidding you, of course there will be a file. I’ll have it sent to your box in the mail room by the end of the day as well as onto your computer. Thank you for accepting my offer, I think you’ll find the assignment to be quite enjoyable.”
“I’m looking forward to it!”
Director Fury leaves the room, leaving Emma and Maria alone. “See, I told you it wasn’t bad!” Maria tells her.
Emma smiles and relaxes her body once more, telling her, “Maria, any time The Director asks to talk privately I freak out. You know that.”
Maria laughs, saying, “I know, I know. But even if it was something you did wrong, nobody’s perfect. You can’t not make mistakes.”
Emma gives Maria a look and tells her, “Some days I think you forget what line of work we’re in.”
“I’m just saying, not everyone is perfect and for your end of things, one missed fact for the newspaper isn’t gonna be the end of the world or your career. There have been far worse mistakes made at this agency.”
“Well thanks for the vote of confidence,” Emma says with a sarcastic roll of her eyes, laughing all the while. As she starts setting up her computer for a video interview with Jane Foster she adds, “You know, Fury was wrong about me having done everything in the city. There’s a sushi house tucked into a corner of Times Square that I have seemed to overlook. How’s about meeting for dinner tonight?”
“You had me at sushi,” Maria replies as she walks from the room. “I get off at around six, maybe seven depending on how long it takes to get that file of Rogers made up for you.”
“I’ll text you the address.”
“I’ll be on the lookout for it.”
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After a few days of nothing happening on the front of Captain Rogers waking up, Emma is coming back from her lunch to check in, hoping that some progress was made while she was out. She opens the door to the room where the fake hospital is set up and sees the wall explode, with two men flying through it and onto the floor. A third man, Captain Rogers, jumps over the rubble and runs out of the double doors past her, shock freezing her body in the process.
After regaining her composure, Emma quickly checks on the two guards before running in the direction Captain Rogers went. She sees Maria and Fury jump into an SUV to catch up to the super soldier and hops in behind them. “I’m gone for one hour and all hell breaks loose,” she says between deep breaths. “I was supposed to be the one there when he woke up.”
“Well there’s always Broadway auditions if you so desperately want to do some acting,” Maria jokes from beside her.
The SUVs catch up to Captain Rogers in the middle of Times Square and they all jump out. When they do, Director Fury calls, “At ease, soldier.” When the man turns to look at him, he adds, “Look, I apologize for that little show back there, we just thought we’d break it to you slowly.”
“Break what?” Captain Rogers asks.
“You’ve been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years,” Fury replied, ripping the bandaid off in one go.
While saying this, he motions for Emma to step forward. She smiles warmly at a bewildered Steve Rogers and says, “This isn’t really how I pictured your first time seeing the big city again would go. I’m Emma.” At her words, he doesn’t respond, he just looks around at their surroundings while breathing hard from his run. After a few seconds of silence, Emma asks, “Are you okay, Captain?”
“Yeah,” he replies wearily, “yeah, I just...I had a date.”
Emma nods and asks him after a few seconds of silence, “You ready to go back in? The city can be overwhelming for a first timer.”
“Yeah,” he says absentmindedly. With this confirmation, they all load up into the SUVs and make their way back to the SHIELD HQ. Once they reach the offices, everything is back to business as usual. Fury, Maria, Rogers, and Emma all make their way to an empty conference room once inside so he can become acquainted to Emma and get a brief on what exactly was happening. Everyone besides Captain Rogers sits down in a chair when they get into the room, instead he paces back and forth, asking, “What is going on here?”
“Well like I said, you’ve been on the ice for-” Fury tries to say but is interrupted.
“How is that even possible? Are you HYDRA? What kind of games are you playing here?” Captain Rogers asks, losing his temper momentarily and getting up in the Director’s business.
Fury puts his hands up in surrender before saying, “We aren’t HYDRA. We’re called SHIELD. We’re a US government agency that deals with international security.”
“Where am I?” Rogers asks.
“You’re in New York City,” Maria informs him. “More specifically Manhattan.”
“No, no, no, no. New York City? That isn’t here. The city I know-”
Fury interrupts him, saying, “Was phased out decades ago.”
“Decades?”
“The year’s 2012, Cap,” Fury tells him. “Don’t believe me? Baker, take that newspaper out of your bag and show him.”
“Yes sir,” she responds while pulling out the newspaper from her bag. She slides it across the table to show Captain Rogers. He studies the paper and Emma says quietly, “See, we’re not lying.”
After seeing the paper, Rogers finally sits down in a chair, not sure of what to do with himself. Emma stands up and grabs a cup to fill with water from the cooler in the room. She gives him the cup and he gives her a small smile, telling her, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Emma sits in the chair caddy corner to him and tries her introduction again, “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Emma, Emma Baker. And if you wouldn’t mind, I’m here to help you navigate the craziness that is the world you just saw out there.”
Captain Rogers finishes his water before saying, “It’s uh...nice to meet you.” He is quiet for a second before asking, “And who are they?”
“That’s SHIELD Director Nick Fury. He runs this place. And the other is Deputy Director Maria Hill, she’s his right hand man in all of this.”
“And what do you do here?”
“Oh, well, I run articles for the papers both privately within the agency as well as for the general public. Besides writing, I go out on missions with agents and film everything that happens for documentation, intel, training, the works. I do it all with a drone and control tablet, and wow I realize this is probably all gonna go right over your head, I should stop.”
Emma’s rambling earns a bit of a smile from Captain Rogers although he does look overwhelmed at all the information. Fury speaks up once again after Emma’s fumble, saying, “What Baker’s trying to say is that she’s got a lot to catch you up on, Cap. The two of you can start now if you like while we set up a place for you to stay.” Fury and Maria stand to leave and Fury tells Emma, “I’d start with a cell phone considering he’s gonna need it if he wants to communicate with all of us. I’ll have one delivered ASAP.”
“Yes sir. Thank you,” Emma replies as the pair walk out of the room.
Once they’re gone, Rogers asks, “So what happened? I assume we won the war?”
Emma nods, telling him, “We did. Hitler and his accomplices killed themselves before they could get punished for it all. You’ll hear a lot of conspiracy theories surrounding that though. Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“Got it,” he responds slowly. “Now what was Fury talking about a…cell phone?”
“Oh, right!” Emma says and then fishes hers out of her bag. She shows it to him as she says, “This is a cell phone. It does all the stuff a normal phone does and so much more.”
“Like what?”
“Well you can text people, video chat, take pictures, play games, watch the stock market, listen to music, and there’s a lot more I just don’t want to overwhelm you,” Emma tells him, stopping herself from listing every feature of a smartphone to him. As she stops talking, her phone starts ringing with a video call from her grandmother. Emma looks at the door to make sure it’s closed before saying, “I’m sorry, I have to take this. It’s my Gammie.”
“Go ahead,” Rogers says. As Emma takes the call, he watches her and the device in her hand intently, trying to wrap his head around the concept of it. Right as Emma ends the call, the door opens to reveal an agent delivering an activated phone for Captain Rogers.
Once the phone is in his hand, he holds the object unsure what to do with it. Emma giggles and says, “Here, let me help you.”
The two spend the better part of the next two hours setting up the phone and getting the basic functions of it down. After they’ve gone over the basics, she tells him, “Let me give you my numbers real quick.”
“Numbers?”
“Well I have a work and personal phone. I can be reached at either, but I’ve found out it’s just easier to have both.” She shows him how to add and save a contact into his phone before going to her messaging app and sending him a smiley face and a greeting. She smiles as she tells him, “There, your first text message.”
“Now how do I respond?” he asks. Emma shows him and as he watches the message go from his phone to hers, he whispers, “That’s amazing. Emma’s heart warms at the smile she was finally able to get on his face.
She checks the time and says, “It’s getting late, I wonder if the place they’re setting up for you is ready…” She pulls out her work phone and sees a text from Maria detailing where his apartment is located. “Oh hey, here, your place is gonna be just up the block. I can drive you there.”
Rogers nods and stands as Emma does. She leads him out of the office and down into the parking garage to get to her car. He looks around as they walk and asks, “So this is what cars are like now?”
“Yes, they’re a lot more compact, lighter weight, automatic transmission. A lot have tons of gadgets in them too,” Emma informs him as they approach her car. She unlocks the doors and they get in. Captain Rogers looks at the dash and the radio while Emma connects her phone to the speakers. “I prefer classic cars, but they’re impractical in the big city. Compact sedans are easier for parking.”
Rogers nods, once again at a loss for words as Emma shifts into gear and starts driving. Music plays quietly as they drive and make small talk, Captain Rogers asking questions as they go. After a few minutes, they pull up to the assigned apartment complex and Emma walks him to his new place.
“So I have to ask,” Captain Rogers says as they approach his door, “from what you’ve told me so far, it seems like you have an extremely overwhelming job. How do you deal with all of the stress of that plus trying to navigate city life?”
“See, that’s my secret Cap, work isn’t what stresses me out. I throw myself into work so I don’t have to deal with other stressful aspects of my life. My Grammie calls me a workaholic.” Emma laughs at the comment and adds, “That woman is really what keeps me stable though. She’s been there for me since I was a teen and she’s always got my back no matter what. I don’t know what I’d do without her really.”
“So a strong support system and distractions from it all is what I’m hearing,” Rogers sums up for her.
“Pretty much. At least that’s what works for me,” Emma nods.
Captain Rogers nods his head in consideration before reaching for the door knob. As he opens the door to walk in, he thanks Emma for helping him out. “It’s no problem, Cap. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he replies, closing the door.
“Wait, one more thing!” Emma calls before the door shuts all the way. Captain Rogers opens the door back up and Emma hands him a mini notebook, telling him, “Keep this with you so you can jot down things you want to learn about and I’ll show them to you.”
“I will do that, thank you.” Emma smiles and nods, saying goodnight one more time before heading out, hoping that this experience will be all that she is hoping for and more.
link to the next part
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christycurlswrites · 3 years
Text
Safe House
Rick Flag x Reader
Summary: Reader has important intel. Rick is tasked with protecting her. He hates every second.
Warnings: Badass Rick, Smart ass reader, Angry smut. Please let me know if I've missed anything
Please do not steal, plagarize or repost my work on any other site. Likes and reblogs make me happy.
I do not have a beta reader. All mistakes are my own.
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
@iamdbcooper it's here!!!! Well part 1 is here. This got away from me in the best way! I'm excited for Part 2 next week!
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Part 1
Rick slowly climbed the steps, gun at the ready. His eyes sweeped the porch, checking all the obvious places. He had checked under the porch and the perimeter around the house. He knew Waller would not have sent him had this place not been secure. But his training would not let him be until he checked it all with his own eyes. He checked all the nooks and crannies of the porch before entering the house.
It was a small ground floor house. The outside suffered from years of neglect- paint peeling off the sides, bits of the porch succumbing to mold and he was sure the roof would collapse if it rained too hard.
Inside was slightly better. Waller had sent people ahead to make the place livable. They had cleaned, brought fresh clothes and blankets, made sure they had internet and television and stocked the home with enough food for three weeks. Not that they would be stuck for three months.
God he hoped they weren’t stuck for three weeks.
He eased his body as he finished his check. Standing to his full height, he stalked to the car outside, opening the back door and ripping the blanket off of the floor. Y/N held her hands up in defense, a scowl crossing her face when she recognized Rick.
“Get up.” Rick snapped, rolling his eyes as he made room for Y/N to stand. “Get moving! The sooner we are inside the better.” In Y/N’s defense- it was awkward to get out of the backseat of the car when you are laying on the floor while trying to make yourself small. “I’m coming…” She grumbled as she stood. “You have to give me a minute.” She turned and grabbed her backpack. “I’m not elastic you know.”
Motioning for her to go inside Rick did one more sweep of the perimeter. He bolted the door shut, thankful for all the locks. “Stay away from the window.” He pointed at her with raised eyebrows as he checked said windows as well as the backdoor. When he was satisfied he turned to her with his hands resting on his hips. “Ground rules. One- you stay away from the windows.”
“You already said that.” She plopped on the couch.
Ignoring her snark Rick continued. “Two- you do not leave the house.”
“But how will I work on my tan!” She fake protested as she rested her backpack against her feet.
“Three- you do exactly as I say when I say it. When I say jump, what do you say?” “I’m not wearing the right bra for jumping.”
“Take this seriously!” He snapped, anger present on his face. “I am the only thing between you and a slow painful death! I’m here to protect you! My rules are in place to keep you safe! If you do not listen to me you will get caught, tortured and killed! Is that what you want?!”
Looking at him with what little defiance she could muster Y/N shook her head.
“Four-” Rick held up four fingers for emphasis. “I go where you go. That makes my job easier if you don’t leave the house. There will be consequences if you break these rules. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Do you have any questions?”
“Will there be a pop quiz?” Y/N crossed her arms as she asked. “I didn’t bring a pen and paper to write all those down.”
Growling Rick stormed out of the back door. He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. He shook his head. He would never get over Waller giving him this assignment. He should be out with his unit. Instead he was stuck babysitting this woman. Waller told him Y/N was important. The information she had in her computer would bring down the biggest government the world knows. With it she would bring down the most powerful politicians. They needed time to get more information to make sure this would be executed flawlessly. For that to happen, Y/N needed to disappear for a while.
Now he was playing babysitter.
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It had been a week and Y/N was going stir crazy.
She was used to the life she had in the city. She had her own place. She came and went as she pleased. She loved eating out at restaurants, meeting friends for a movie, grinding on a stranger in a club. It wasn’t her fault that she stumbled on the drive with what was deemed as precious information. She brought it to the attention of her boss, Curtis. She trusted Curtis so she did not have a problem going to him.
It was a problem.
Curtis had notified someone else which had snowballed. Before she knew it she was being followed home, propositioned at restaurants and threatened on her lunch break at work.
A woman named Amanda Waller had contacted her offering protection in the form of a bodyguard. Naturally she thought the bodyguard would adapt to her everyday life. A form of protection as she went about her day. She had felt secure when she met Colonel Rick Flag. He came highly recommended and decorated with countless awards for his service.
Little did she know. Rick claimed to have received intel suggesting Y/N was not safe where she was. With Waller’s help he promptly moved her to the safe house she stayed at now, in the middle of nowhere. Just her and Flag.
Y/N understood the rules were put in place to ensure her safety. She knew Flag meant well. But the way he went about it scratched her nerves. He seemed to be cold, closed off and only spoke when spoken to or barking about rules and orders to her. He implemented a schedule that told her when to bathe and sleep. It had only been a week and Y/N didn’t know how much more she could take.
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Rick woke before the sun, body naturally waking on it’s own. He had trained himself to wake and check the perimeter. He found this was easier to do if Y/N was sleeping. He would argue checking the perimeter was necessary, a way to ensure nothing could surprise him during the day. He found doing the check while Y/N was awake made her nervous. She would wait in the same spot for him, eyes wide with fear until she was told it was clear. Then the questions started- did he check under the porch? What was the creaking happening on the porch? Will the electricity be ok for the day if it rains? How can you be sure we are secure when it’s pitch black at night?
“Any time frame as to when this will be over?” Y/N’s voice broke his thoughts as she entered the kitchen. Grabbing a cup she held it out as a silent ask for coffee. She winced as she drank. “God do you know how to make anything else but sludge?”
“It’s good for you.” He patted her shoulder as he moved to sit at the table. “Will put some hair on your chest.” He joked.
“Lovely.” She rolled her eyes as she sat across from him. “You never answered my question.” “Because there is no new information.” He pulled out his phone to check. No messages from Waller.
“How long am I expected to stay here?” Y/N threw her hands up in frustration.
“Until the job is done, Your Highness!” Rick gave a fake bow before taking another sip of coffee.
Looking at Flag with disgust on her face Y/N snapped “Why do you do that? Why do you have to be such a dick?”
Leaning forward Rick shot Y/N a threatening look. “You can think whatever you want about me. Won’t affect how I sleep at night. But let’s get one thing straight.” He banged a finger on the table for emphasis. “I’m here to do a job. Nothing more. If that makes me seem like a dick to you then that’s your right.” “I just call it like I see it.” Y/N sat back and crossed her arms, pretending she didn’t hear what Flag had said. “But you are being a dick.”
Letting out a small chuckle Rick couldn’t help but ask “What makes you think I am a dick?”
“Look at how you treat me.”
“How do I treat you?” “Like a prisoner!” Y/N yelled as she held her arms out for emphasis. “I can’t even look out the fucking window without you yelling at me. You won’t talk to me, you won’t interact at all. You just sit there all day cleaning your guns and checking your phone.” She took a deep breath before she continued. “We are stuck together. I understand that. But you need to give me something.”
“Your Highness.” Rick kept his voice level. “I treat you a hell of a lot better than I have treated my prisoners. The rules are in place to keep you safe. Whatever information you have on that drive of yours is damning enough that people want to kill you for it.” He looked into her eyes as he spoke. “The people who want that information are not the kind of people you can negotiate with. Nor are they the kind of people who will kill you quickly. I get that you want out. I want out too. But until then we are stuck together. I have no interest in what you feel or how you think you are being treated. I’m here to do a job. Right now that is babysitting you.” He sat back in his seat, arms crossed over his massive chest. “Any other complaints I need to know about?”
Y/N was angry. Angrier than she ever remembered being. He had dismissed her. She felt hot tears begin to travel up her throat. She swallowed them down, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You’re an asshole!” She spat as she stood and walked to her room, slamming the door behind her.
“First I’m a dick. Now I’m an asshole.Glad to know I’m getting an upgrade!” Rick gave a small chuckle as he heard the slamming of the door. Who the fuck did she think she was? Shaking his head he took another sip of his coffee as he shot off a text to Waller. A simple word- ‘update?’
Less than 5 minutes later Waller sent her response. ‘Nothing yet. Keep her inside.’
Slamming the phone on the table Rick blew his frustrations out in a hot breath. He was getting antsy. He needed this to be over so he could get back to his unit. He knew there were other missions he could be leading. Staying in this safe house was going to drive him to drink.
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Three weeks. Three long weeks of barely speaking to one another. They had come to an uneasy agreement. They would talk if needed. Other than that they both stayed silent. They had learned enough about each other’s quirks that they knew how the other preferred to live.
Y/N knew Flag loved his sludge coffee. He woke before her to check the perimeter every morning and did so when he thought she was in bed at night. He looked at all the windows at least once an hour. He read at night before the perimeter check. He would always let her pick what they watched. Y/N thought he secretly liked her baking shows.
Rick had noticed quite a bit about Y/N. He knew she was awake before he left the house in the morning. She would begrudgingly swallow the sludge coffee. She had a ravenous sweet tooth that was worse after watching a baking show. She was a shit cook but she tried. She was prone to puns. She always had a smart ass comment ready for him no matter what he said. She liked to mock him after he spoke. She watched a comedy before bed each night and filled the house with her laughter. She loved baking shows and baking competition shows. Rick found he loved them as well.
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“We’re out of milk.” Y/N whined as she opened the fridge. “And eggs.” She looked at the top of the fridge. “And chips!” She exclaimed.
Walking to the front door with his jacket in his hand Rick nodded. “I know. I’ve made a list.” He produced it from his pocket. “Need anything else while I'm gone?” He saw the flicker of hope in her eyes, ripping it before it could take root. “You are staying here.”
“Come on!” She protested. “It’s just the fucking grocery store. What could possibly happen to me there?”
“We are not having this conversation again.” He held up two fingers. “What was Rule #2?”
“Do not leave the house.” Y/N groaned as she crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “You do realize I haven’t had fresh air in almost a month!”
“Not my problem.” Rick shook his head. “Stay here. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He put his jacket on and slammed the door.
Bouncing on the balls of her feet Y/N waited until she couldn’t hear the car anymore. Running into the kitchen she began to make a cup of tea. Grabbing her book, and cup, she made her way out the back of the house. She sat on the steps outside of the back door, making sure to keep the door unlocked.
She took a deep breath, allowing her eyes to close, as she basked in the warmth the sun provided. She saw pink collages behind her eyes as a smile crossed her face. She swore she would never take any of this for granted again. The cup of tea warmed her hand against the brisk morning air. “Hello world.” She whispered.
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“Fuck.” Y/N whispered as she dove back into the house. She locked the door and sat on the couch, placing a blanket over her legs. She took a deep breath as she adjusted herself and grabbed the cup again. Book opened, she looked up in surprise as the door opened. “Back already?” She asked as innocently as possible.
Freezing in the doorway Rick narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?” He asked as he put the groceries down on the floor.
“What are you doing?” She repeated in a mocking tone, sticking her tongue out at him. “It’s really fucking rude to accuse me right away. I’ve literally been sitting on my ass, reading and enjoying a cup of tea.” The annoyance was clear in her voice.
Rick smirked as he began to unpack the groceries. “Alright, alright.” He didn’t apologize. Instead he offered “Breakfast?”
“You cooking?” Y/N asked with raised eyebrows.
“Sausage, egg and cheese sandwiches.”
“I guess I’ll take one.” She said as her stomach betrayed her. Shooting to her feet she added “But I make the coffee!”
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Y/N’s eyes shot open, scream caught in her throat as she felt a hand covering her mouth. She met Rick’s frantic glare. His hand held a gun that he held to his lips to warn her to be quiet.
Moving with a silence Y/N did not know he possessed, Rick pulled her into a sitting position. “There are people around the house. I’m not sure how they found out about this place but we have to leave.” He pointed to her sneakers. “We are going to get out of the bed, grab those and your backpack. Stay behind me at all times.” He kept his voice soft as he spoke. “Do not try to move away from me.” He rested the gun on his lap, using both hands to hold her head. “Look at me. Look at me.” He could see the panic begin to set in. She would have time to freak out when they were safe. Right now he needed Y/N to be present. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Understand?” He waited until she nodded her head. “This is what I’m good at. I’m going to get you out of here and keep you safe until everything is over. Ok?”
“Promise?” Y/N squeaked as she swallowed tears down.
“I promise.” Rick spoke without missing a beat. “I’m going to protect you with everything I have.” He motioned to the sneakers and backpack. “Ok. We are going to pick those up and you are staying behind me.”
Y/N nodded as she tried to keep her breath under control. She tried to move as quietly as Rick was, sure she was failing miserably. She put the backpack on her back, cradling the sneakers to her chest. She stayed behind Rick, one hand fisted in his shirt.
Positioning the gun in front of him Rick kept to the shadows of the house, feeling her hand in his shirt. He made a point to stay away from the bodies he had taken care of. He didn’t want Y/N to see them. She was doing so well and keeping up with him. The last thing he needed was her falling apart. He was sure there were men outside waiting for them. He needed her to be present and listen to what he said.
He stopped for a moment, ducking them both behind the kitchen island. “Once we get out the back we are going to make our way to the car in the front. Keep yourself as low as possible.” He whispered instructions as Y/N put her sneakers on.
“And stay behind you.” She whispered back.
“Stay behind me.” He repeated with a smirk. “We’re almost there.” He positioned himself, waiting for her to grab his shirt again, before he moved.
They made it to the back door without any issue, Rick unlocking it and pulling it open without a sound. He let Y/N go in front of him, eyes scanning outside as they made their way out.
Y/N made it outside, squatting next to the house, making sure she was under the window. She looked at Rick as he made his way out. She smiled at him as their eyes met, relief beginning to break through the fear. “We made it.”
A shot broke the air, landing on the house next to Y/N’s back. She screamed and curled into herself, holding her knees to her chest as she covered her head. She heard a few shots from far away, all in succession one after the other. She was too afraid to look, too afraid to move. She heard one shot close to her, as if it was next to her. She assumed it was Rick. She felt his hands on her arms as he pulled her up.
Before Rick could give any instructions bullets began to litter the ground. He looked behind him, seeing one man make his way to them as he continued to shoot.
Eyes wide Rick jumped from the back steps, one hand grabbing Y/N as he began to run, dragging her behind him. He heard the back door open, heavy footsteps not far behind them and the cock of a gun. He turned his head, adrenaline running through his veins as he saw the rifle in the man’s hands. He must have thrown his other gun down before the rifle made its appearance. “Shit!” He cursed as he pushed Y/N in front of him. Producing the keys from his pocket he shoved them into Y/N’s hands. “Get to the car!” He shouted, turning his body and pointing the gun at the man.
“You said to stay behind you!” Y/N spoke, fear taking over her senses. She was frozen, hands clinging to the keys as if they anchored her.
“Rule #3!” Rick yelled as he began to fire.
Y/N ran, rule #3 (Do what I say when I say it) ringing in her ears. She could see the car, fingers fumbling to find the right key. She didn’t see the second man, nor did she have time to react when he tackled her, forcing her to land hard on her side, pain spreading through her temple and hip.
The man ripped the backpack off of her, violently gripping her shoulder to turn her over.
Using the keys in her hand Y/N reached out and slashed the air, not realizing how close she was. The man yelped as the key came away bloody. She saw the scratch begin under his eye.
The man growled as he used his weight to pin her hips to the ground. He used one hand to hold both of hers, feeling the keys bite into his skin, sure it was biting her as well. He used his free hand to get the backpack, fingers opening the zipper.
“No!” Y/N yelled. She pulled the man’s arms towards her and bit as hard as she could, satisfaction filling her ears at his yell. Using her now free hands she pushed one hand under the man’s shirt and raked the keys down his bare chest. Her free hand grabbed the backpack, pulling it to her as she held it closed.
“Bitch!” the man yelled as he wrapped his fingers around her throat.
Y/N didn’t feel any pain. Instead she felt warmth spray her face and throat before the man slumped on top of her, his head resting on her shoulder. She stayed like that until the man’s body was pulled off of her. Hand pulled her to her feet.
“You’re ok.” Rick whispered out of breath. “Most of this blood isn’t yours.” His eyes raked down her as he checked her as best he could in the moonlight. He grimaced as he spoke “I don’t think any of this is yours.” He was glad to see she had the backpack in her hand. He grabbed her forearm and led her to the car, taking the keys from her hand as he placed her in the passenger seat. He grabbed a bag from the trunk, eyes constantly scanning as he moved. Sitting in the driver’s seat he started the car and drove off.
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Rick didn’t stop for an hour, hand tight on the steering wheel. He kept getting off at certain exits, taking weird turns, stopping for short periods and parking for a few minutes. Eyes constantly scanning. He made sure to look at Y/N when he could, surprised she had not had a breakdown yet.
Y/N became sticky. She could feel the blood staining her skin. She wondered if it would be permanent. She had never seen anyone die like that. She had never been a part of a killing. Sure the man was going to kill her. But that didn’t make her participation feel any better.
Once Rick felt safe he stopped on the side of a quiet road. It was after 1 in the morning. Pulling the bag from the backseat he moved his body to face Y/N. “You ok?” he asked as he pulled a bottle of water, a towel and a first aid kit from the bag.
Turning her head to look at Rick she scoffed. “This isn’t normal.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” She snapped. She was aware of Rick cradling the side of her head as he wiped it with a towel. She felt the cool brush of water as it removed the stain from her skin. “This may be normal for you but it sure as shit isn’t normal for me.”
“I know.” He said as he continued cleaning her face. She continued to rant as he moved to her neck.
“How can you be so nonchalant about this? You are cleaning blood off of me. Blood that belongs to a man you killed!” She moved her head to the side in an effort to meet his eyes. “I’m sure the other men are dead aren’t they?”
“They are.” Rick answered as he kept his eyes on his work. He had moved to her arms, staying silent as she continued to rant.
“Again you say it like it’s nothing!” She was close to bursting. She felt the sting of tears as the weight of what happened began to suffocate her. “How can you say you killed people so easily? Like you are saying you enjoyed the coffee this morning!” She hated the tears as they ran down her cheeks. “How is this so normal for you?”
“It was them or it was you.” Rick said it matter of factly as he folded the towel and added more water. He stopped to meet her eyes. “I made a promise. I promised to protect you and keep you safe.”
“Job fucking well done!” She forced herself to stop crying as the silence engulfed them. “Will it always be like this?” She whispered.
“Until the intel you have is put into the proper hands then yes it will always be like this.”
“When the fuck will that be?”
“Not soon enough.” Rick muttered as he checked the rest of her. “Does it hurt anywhere?”
“No.” She muttered, refusing to tell him about her shoulder and hip. She knew it hurt from the tackle. It would be fine in a few days.
They sat in silence, each lost in thought. “Do you ever think about them?”
“About who?” Rick asked as he repacked the bag.
“Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy killing people.”
“Unfortunately that is a necessity in my line of work.” He sighed. “I try not to think about it.”
“You’re too good to not enjoy it.” She side eyed him.
“You know what?” Rick was losing his patience. “Yes I killed those men. No, I will not apologize for it. I’m here to do a fucking job. I did that.” He looked at her with anger in his eyes. “You can sit there and make assumptions about who I am but the fact of the matter is you would be dead without me.”
Y/N sat for a moment as she collected her thoughts. “What am I supposed to think?” She snapped. “All you do is bark orders and kill people. How the fuck am I supposed to think anything good about you? I’m convinced you bark out orders when you fuck.”
Rick laughed in spite of himself. “You wish you knew what it was like to fuck me.”
“I may be left disappointed.” She crossed her arms as she looked at him, eyes flitting to his lips.
“If you say so, Your Highness.”
Y/N scoffed. Who the fuck did this man think he was? She was equal parts angry, tired and frustrated. He knew how to push her buttons. He knew exactly what to say to make her angry. So why not? “Fuck it.” She muttered as she moved and crashed her lips to his, hands holding his neck as she found her balance in his lap.
Rick pulled away, confusion in his eyes. He kept his hands out, making sure to not touch her. “The fuck?”
“Shut up and fuck me.” Pulling him back to her, their lips met again. She swallowed his surprised gasp as their tongues met. She felt his hands as one rested on her hip, the other dipping under her pants. His hips bucked as his fingers grazed her folds, her wetness coating them.
Rick found her clit, chuckling at her moan as he began to circle it. He pulled his lips away from her, attaching them to her neck. Her wetness began to pool in his palm. Without warning he moved his hand to push two fingers into her, his thumb still working her clit.
She threw her head back, opening her legs wider so he could scissor inside her. “Fuck” She whined as the pressure began in her abdomen. She could feel the orgasm climbing up her spine. Digging her nails into his shoulders she closed her eyes, hips flailing as he found her spot.
Sucking a bruise into her skin Rick bit her and sent her over the edge. He continued to work her as she moaned, body seizing in his arms. He pulled his lips off of her, watching her body twitch as she came down. She slumped against him as he pulled his fingers out and licked them clean.
Taking a moment Y/N met his eyes and licked her lips. She pushed him back on the seat, removing her pants and pulling his down, before she sat in his lap. She grabbed his cock, pleased it was standing at attention, and pumped a few times before she sank down. She loved the way his face contorted in pleasure, sure her own matched his. She stilled, waiting to feel all of him.
“Taking my cock so well.” He groaned. He moved his hands to her ass, grabbing it aggressively, needing her to move. He thrust into her when she didn’t, smirking at the whine as it escaped her throat. She began to bounce, each bounce bringing him closer to the edge. She was on edge quickly, her first orgasm lingering as she moved. She grabbed his shoulders and began to move faster, seeing Rick chase his own as well. “Come on.” She rasped.
“Look at you.” Rick chuckled. “A fucking cock drunk slut for me.” He grabbed her hips and took control, moving her impossibly faster. She was squeezing him, making him feel pleasure in his toes. “I can tell you are close.” He pulled her up again, watching her face contort as he slammed her back down.
Her body let go before she could answer. Throwing her head back she screamed her release, body alight with electricity.
Rick came right after, digging his face into her short as he moaned, painting her walls. He sat back as she slumped against him, both catching their breaths.
As they came back down the same question plagued both of their minds. What happens now?
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mellowyandere · 3 years
Text
One Hell of a Logical Ruse Part 1
Reader: F
Characters: Aizawa Shouta (Eraserhead) 
Summary: Shouta loves a good game of cat and mouse, unfortunately for you the game’s a little rigged. This is somewhat of an experiment to try and write a smut scene from the male POV. Disclaimer I am not a man so uh yeah lmao. 
Based off the pre-established fic You’re Ours to Protect. 
Length: 4.5K
Warnings: non-con, yandere themes, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, praise kink
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Aizawa Shouta was a rational man. He did his best to adhere to logic, and to never waste time with unnecessary action. And yet despite this, he absolutely loved watching you try to escape. You were pretty clever, even without him “accidentally” forgetting to lock the second story window that just so happened to be above some forgivingly soft shrubbery. 
You probably would have figured some way out on your own, but something feral inside him didn’t want to wait around for you to act. Normally it was his ever-loud husband Hizashi that fell flat when it came to the notion of patience, but today he would relent to his own selfish desires. 
Toshinori would have been utterly distressed had he been aware of the sleepy pros scheme. The number one was a man of swift action, seemingly never thinking twice before charging fist first into danger. He would not be happy Shouta was playing with you like this, but Toshinori and Hizashi wouldn’t be made aware of his little game with you. After all they had no idea he set this up, so they might genuinely try to punish you. He’d keep it quiet once he caught you and pretend it’s your little secret. Maybe you’d even be a little grateful if you believed he was saving your skin.
He rationalized his behavior by telling himself you seemed so bored, truly this was the perfect way to stimulate your mind and body. So when he heard the telltale sound of a body landing in bushes on the back side of the house he simply started a timer for 20 minutes to give you a bit of a head start. 
Was it cruel to get your hopes up like this? Perhaps, but he’d make sure to fuck you senseless to alleviate the disappointment. After all, if you were a good girl you’d have settled into your life with them already. But you really did enjoy testing them, which brought out the side of him that wanted to put you in your place. 
Giving himself a once over he made sure he had everything he would need for your inevitable return home. Well, now that you were basically quirkiness, all he needed was his capture weapon just in case you put up a struggle. He hadn’t decided yet if he was going to fuck you when he caught you, or if he was going to haul your cute ass home first. 
Thinking about plowing into you with adrenaline still pumping through his veins from the hunt had some blood rushing below his belt. Well he could always just do both.
The shrill ringing of his phones alarm brought him back from his wandering thoughts. With a sadistic grin stretching wide across his face he headed for the front door.
-----
Three weeks. Three fucking weeks trapped inside that house with three insane men. Sure they might not beat you or starve you, but the constant belittling, undermining and infantilizing was about to drive you to insanity yourself. You almost jumped for joy when you noticed an unlocked window on the second floor in Hizashi’s and Shouta’s room. The blond man had a bad habit of using too much cologne, and his dark-haired counterpart was always having to air out the room when the radio star went overboard. 
Eraserhead was normally very diligent about ensuring the window was sealed tight, but last night Toshinori had come home in a flurry of smoke and blood, sending his blond junior into hysterics. It was nothing serious, unfortunately, but Shouta had been the one to calm Hizashi and tend to the number ones injuries. Amidst all the ruckus he had left the window unlocked. 
You knew Shouta would soon realize his mistake and lock the window down tight, leaving you with a small time frame to enact your grand escape. It wasn't ideal, but the best you had been able to do was wait for both blonds to leave, trapping you in the house with Shouta. Normally he let you be during the day, opting to nap and grade what appeared to be homework. Hopefully today would seem like just another day, and he wouldn’t think to check on you until dinner approached. 
You found yourself perched on the window sill, ready to take flight. All you had were the clothes on your back, not wanting to make any suspicious noises that would tip you off. On the count of three you braced yourself and pushed off from the ledge, landing on the bushes below with a thud. 
Fuck, that was a bit louder than you had anticipated. Ignoring your growing anxiety, you made quick work of escaping the clutches of the now flattened bush and took off into the woods on the back half of the house. 
Your heart was hammering like mad in your chest as you sprinted as fast as you could. It was hardly fair that it was your first time outside in three weeks and you couldn’t even slow down to take it all in. Thankfully it was spring, meaning you wouldn’t have to worry about the cold. All you needed to do was find someone to get this stupid quirk canceling collar off and then you could safely recede into the background, making sure the three pros never found you again. 
Easier said than done when one of those pros was All Might, and the other two were just as formidable, but you’d be damned if you didn’t try. You did your best to not leave a trail behind, but knew once Shouta figured out you were gone he’d have no trouble tracing your tracks. It was the unfortunately shitty reality you were dealing with. 
Were you really going to be able to escape? Even now as you ran as fast as you could it felt like a fruitless endeavor. There were too many variables that had to line up perfectly in order for you to pull this off, and as you ran directionless through the woods no viable solutions were coming to you. Hell, even now your lungs were burning from exertion, legs begging you to stop. 
But if there was one thing that you were it was stubborn. Stubborn to a fault sometimes, and so you pushed onwards. After what felt like an eternity of non-stop running you slowed to a walk. The forest seemed never ending, taunting you with its sprawling army of trees and shrubbery. You decided to be more mindful of the tracks you were leaving, veering off course in a way that would hopefully go undetected. 
Now no longer running you simply kept your steps quiet and ears alert in case Shouta had already discovered your absence. He was good at his work, but even he had limitations. 
-----
Shouta had to give credit where credit was due, you were better at this than he thought you’d be. If you were his student he’d be proud, but you were his prey so he was a bit annoyed. At first your tracks had been sloppy, easy to follow and incredibly straight forward. At some point though you had changed your approach, footsteps almost vanishing as you adopted a new tactic. 
He found himself crouching low, inspecting leaves to see which you had accidentally broken. There were no more snapped limbs as you carefully maneuvered through the woods. If he wasn’t a pro at hunting people down you probably would have been able to evade him, but this was his livelihood. 
Ever so carefully he followed your almost invisible trail. He had you beat in endurance so you’d have to settle somewhere eventually, and without food and water you were at a distinct disadvantage. Everything was lining up in his favor as he intended, even if you were making this a little harder than expected. 
The anticipation of catching a glimpse of you, of watching you realize he was there and taking off, made his heart beat faster. The longer you evaded him, the more time he had to come up with a fun punishment for you. 
-----
The sun had been directly overhead at the beginning of your escape, and was now kissing the horizon. Oranges and reds were thrown about the woods as the creatures of the night began to wake from their slumber. You listened to see if you could hear the chirping of frogs to find a water source but no luck. 
There was no doubt in your mind that Shouta was 110% aware of your absence by now and was probably hot on your trail. You were zigzagging a bit, trying your best to not disturb the forest floor while making it harder to track you. Dammit this was the fucking worst, it had to have been at least 6 hours in these woods, and without any food or water you were famished. 
And yet despite wandering about for 6 fucking hours you had yet to see anything besides the woods. Maybe you should just give up, sit down and accept defeat and whatever punishment you had awaiting you. You couldn’t help but shiver a bit at the fear of what that would entail. 
As dusk quickly turned dark you debated on whether or not you were going to rest for the night. Visibility would be lower, giving you a slight edge, but Eraserhead was a night owl meaning you were entering his domain of peak performance. There was also no guessing if he was the only one looking for you. All Might could move faster than you could even comprehend and Present Mic was fine-tuned when it came to noise location. 
Sighing in annoyance as your wayward thoughts shot holes through your confidence you decided to find somewhere to try and lay down for a bit. If all three were out hunting you down they could take turns and overlap the time so you never got to rest. As busy as they should be with hero work they always seemed to find too much time to hover around you. 
Spotting some dense shrubbery, you crossed your fingers that any creepy crawlies would keep to themselves and carefully began to conceal yourself. Perhaps one of them would pass by and you could gain some intel. If you were lucky they’d write this area off after not finding you and search elsewhere. 
Settling as comfortably as one could in a bush you closed your eyes and did your best to focus on the sounds around you. The melodic chirping of crickets was the most overwhelming of all the sounds. Skittering of small forest animals echoing around as well. Your mind began to desensitize to those sounds, the lack of adrenaline that pushed you along at the start of all this causing it to dip into unconsciousness. 
That was until you heard the distinct snap of a branch. Eyes flying open you were on high alert as you kept still. You tried to hear if there would be any follow up sounds, knowing something of a decent size had to have broken the branch. If it had been a deer they would have simply kept moving, which made you all the more anxious. 
“No more tracks kitten, I know you’re here somewhere. This little game dragged on a lot longer than I had anticipated so it seems there won’t be any way to hide this from Zashi and Toshinori.” 
You wanted to scream. Even though you had tried your best it simply wasn’t enough against Eraserhead. 
“If you come out kitten I’ll give you one last shot to run. Those bushes over there look like a mighty fine hiding spot for someone of your size.” His voice was pointed directly towards you.
FUCK. You couldn’t tell if he was bluffing or not at this point but he knew you were here, might as well come out with some dignity before he dragged you out kicking and screaming. 
The bush rustled loudly as you forced your way out. You were tired, famished and most of all so frustrated you wanted to cry. You didn’t even need to look at him to know he had a condescending smirk plastered to his face. 
“There’s my pretty kitty, did you have fun outside?”
Shouta knew just what to say to strike a nerve, but you held your tongue. “One last shot to run. You said so yourself. Ditch the capture weapon and catch me like a man, I mean unless you don’t think you can. I’m already quirkiness which is your gimmick on a regular day, so really you're just beating on someone while they're already down.” You looked up now, glaring at him as his smile grew in amusement. 
“I’m going to have to be a lot more physical without it you know, I’ll have no choice but you manhandle you.”
“I’d rather take my chances.” You knew even without his capture weapon you didn’t stand much of a chance of escape. Your only goal now was to try and see how much he was willing to handicap himself. 
“Gonna give me a head start or are you going to just run as soon as I do?”
At this Shouta had to keep himself from snarking back at you. He had already given you a head start, but if he told you this was all set up you’d probably lose the will to fight on. “Five minutes. I’ll give you five minutes to run as far as you can and then I’ll come after you,” he said while pulling out his phone. 
“What about Toshinori and Hizashi?” 
“At the house. I told them I’d handle this, Toshinori will be coming to get us though once I tell him game over. We’re pretty deep in the woods and I don’t feel like walking back for six hours.”
You nodded at his words. So it was just the two of you then. Your combat skills were nothing to write home about, but maybe if you fought dirty you could gain the upper hand. 
“Alright, tell me when.”
“Oh, I already started it. You have 4 minutes and 17 seconds.”
Fucking asshole. You took off sprinting, running as fast as you could, only opting to slow to a jog once you thought you were out of earshot. You wanted him to believe you’d be trying your damndest to put distance between the two of you. But you knew you’d never outrun him. Instead you were going to continue jogging for a bit, counting down the seconds in your head so you didn’t lose track your timer. 
Once your remaining time was up you were going to lay low and try to ambush him. He wouldn’t be paying as close attention to your trail since he knew he could easily catch up. 
After the remaining 4 minutes had passed you found a decent sized tree to hide behind and worked on slowing down your breathing. It felt like your heart was going to chisel its way straight through your bones, your limbs trembling with anxiety. It wasn’t often you were hunted back when you were an anti-hero. Not many people knew who you were which made it incredibly easy to be looked over. 
Scooping up handfuls of dirt you waited. You heard him before you saw him. He wasn’t bothering to take it slow, seemingly eager to get it over with. He ran right past you, noticing you a second too late as dirt and debris were chucked straight into his face. 
He yelled out in surprise, hands reaching out to grab you but you jumped out of reach. True to his word his capture weapon was nowhere in sight. Screaming in anger you lunged at him, nails attempting to claw his face but his own larger hands were working on wiping off your dirt assault, effectively blocking you.  
He stumbled back a bit, unprepared for your hostility, before steadying himself and turning the tables back on you. In one swift motion his fist collided with your gut, forcing the air from your lungs. Your arms came down to protect where he had hit as you wheezed pathetically. Seconds later his larger frame came crashing into you, easily knocking you to the ground. 
You cried out in pain, head hitting the ground a bit too hard as stars danced behind your eyes.
“Not very smart of you Y/N, I mean it beats trying to outrun me, but really? Dirt? It’s like you want me to punish you or something.”
“GET OFF ME!” 
Placing a hand on the back of your head he pushed you down while his other arm pulled the lower half of your body flush against him. You could feel his erection pressing up against your ass.
You were a snarling sobbing mess at this point. All your emotions crashing down at once as you thrashed below Shouta.
“Easy now easy, calm down kitten. You did really good, better than I thought you were going to. If you calm down I might be willing to reduce your punishment, but you have to stop throwing a fit first.”
Despite his words Shouta was enjoying almost every second of your thrashing. The only thing he didn’t enjoy was knowing how disappointed you were right now. Anyone would be after coming so far. Now was his chance to make it up to you before giving Toshinori the go ahead. 
As your struggles subsided the only movement from your body was from your gentle sobs. Shouta for his part was slowly grinding his hard cock against your ass as he softly shushed you. 
“I know you’re disappointed kitten but I’ll make you feel better. If you’re a good girl for me I’ll be willing to look past that little dirt tactic. You’re such a smart girl though, you really did catch me by surprise.”
Leaning down he began to whisper into your ear, removing the hand from your head and bringing it down to your clothed pussy. 
“You always were resourceful, it’s one of the things I fell in love with about you. If only you were a hero, but then again if you were I wouldn’t have had the fun of hunting you down.”
You felt your stomach drop at his words. All three of them enjoyed reminiscing about how they first saw you and all their subsequent actions that lead to your imprisonment. The effort they had put into bringing you “home”. It was beyond disturbing. 
“Please Shouta, not here. Can we, can we just go home first?”
“Maybe if I had found you 4 hours ago, but right now you’re treading on very thin ice. Be a good girl for me and I’ll make sure Hizashi and Toshinori don’t punish you too harshly when we get back.”
His large hand was pawing at your clothed sex, black hair draping over your own face as his body curled around you. He slowly rutted against you, excited huffs of air ghosting across the side of your face. You could practically feel his heart vibrating against your back he was so worked up. 
He gently rubbed his stubble against the side of your face, composure slipping a bit. While Shouta absolutely loved how feisty you could be, nothing compared to when you submitted to him. He craved the feeling of your tired body giving in to his ministrations, but he needed more. 
His hand quickly slipped between your pants and underwear, index finger eagerly aiming for your folds. He couldn’t care less that you were sweaty and dirty from the hunt. Right now all he could think about was the softness of your exposed flesh, and much to his delight, the slight wetness to your outer lips. 
“Seems like someone likes being caught more than they let on hmm kitten?”
He couldn't help but taunt you a bit, loving the way you sniffled and whimpered beneath him. You knew when to behave yourself, when to be good for him. Arousal was flooding his veins. The way it felt to rub himself against your perfect ass, even through layers of clothes, had his mind blanking out. 
Your core was warm, even without him dipping a finger inside. Gently he began to delve deeper, gathering up your arousal to spread around. Your pants were starting to bother him a bit, retracting his hands he made quick work of not only your bottoms, but his as well. You remained still for him, opting to sulk like a child as he prepared to ravish you. 
You were too cute like this, and with the lower half of your body on full display he couldn't help but groan in delight. Bringing a hand down he slapped your ass hard, mesmerized by the way your flesh gave way. You yelped in surprise, body rutting forward. His cock twitched as he palmed your sore flesh, cooing softly in apology. You glared back at him, pretty little face set in a pout.
As much as he wanted to slap your ass until you cried for him to stop he restrained himself. Although this was a punishment, he had set you up. He would go easy on you, not forgetting his promise to himself to help you forget the frustration you were feeling right now. 
Whenever you got angry you opted to stop talking, instead waiting for a moment of weakness to strike or quietly accept your fate. Judging by your defeated expression he could safely assume the latter 
Folding himself over you he brought his hand back down to your pussy, thumb working slow circles on your clit while he middle finger delved deeper. Your entrance was a bit tight, but with gentle persistence he worked his way inside. 
Your velvety inner walls clamped down on him. He couldn’t help but rut his aching cock against your bare ass as his mind drifted to the feeling of you clamping down on his arousal instead. Your whines of protest only further spurring on his overwhelming need to be inside you. 
Adding a second finger he began to pump into you with a bit more urgency. Your slick was quickly coating his hand as he hit all the spots he knew would work you up to your orgasm. Groaning in delight he brought his lips to your exposed neck, sucking and nipping at your soft flesh. 
He loved when he could tell you were getting close. Your warm walls would clamp down on him, breathy mewls and moans escaping your soft lips. You were rocking back into him, uncaring of the fact that you were grinding against him as you chased your release. In these moments you abandoned your resolve to fight against him, and he happily took advantage of that. After all, if your body knew what you wanted, surely your mind would catch up one day.
Your moans were more audible now, hands grasping at the forest floor. Your back was arched into him, desperate to use him. So close, you were so close he knew it, and right before you could finish he pulled his hand away. He laughed as you huffed in frustration. 
“Shouta pl-please.” Fuck, he loved it when you begged. It didn’t happen often with how stubborn you were but when it did he knew he had to comply. 
Instead of verbally responding he opted to do what he wanted to all night long. Lining up the tip of his cock to your entrance he groaned at the heat radiating off you. Pumping his hand along his length a couple times to lube himself up with your excess fluid he pushed the tip in. You stilled beneath him, and in one swift movement he fully sheathed himself. 
His mind went blank as you cried out in pleasure, wet walls convulsing around him as your orgasm tore through you. He held still, opting to gently pet you while cooing softly down at you. Before he met you, even with Hizashi, he had never been very vocal during sex. But now he couldn’t stop himself from babbling a bit, praising you for being such a good girl. 
As your body stilled in his arms he continued to plant kisses along your delicate neck. Your soft sniffles made his heart clench a bit, how was it possible for you to be so damn cute? 
“Alright kitten now it’s my turn. No pulling anything stupid, I won’t take long.”
This whole hunt had been one giant tease, working him up in a way he normally wouldn’t allow himself. Pulling out he groaned at the feeling of his cock sliding against you. Moving his hands he grabbed your waist, eyes transfixed on where you were joined. Your back was arched as you braced yourself on your elbows, presenting yourself to him. 
His mind clouded over, blood opting to drag his attention elsewhere. He began to push back in, desperate to feel you surrounding him. Setting a tempo he pulled about halfway out before slamming back in, loving the way your body moved as you bounced off him. 
His hands dug into your supple flesh, possibly leaving bruises. He could feel the oncoming of his own orgasm, the muscles in his lower abdomen pulsating. He was panting, heart racing in his rib cage as his eyes rolled back into his head. He didn’t have the patience to edge himself today, he needed this, needed you.
He loved hearing the way your breath was forced from your lungs when he fully sheathed himself inside you. He knew he was overstimulating you a bit, but the part of him that needed to find his own release didn’t pay that fact much mind. All he could think about was the way it felt to be one with you, lost inside your soft warmth.  
After only a couple more minutes of relentlessly pounding into you he couldn’t hold it back any longer. A wave like sensation rushed through his body as his hips stuttered. He folded over you, wrapping his arms around you as he felt his hot cum rush through his cock and fill your body. The emotions rushing through him as he released into you, the woman he loved, were indescribable.
It didn’t take long for his muscles to relax, euphoria swept away by the need to take a nap washing over him. You had long since stopped crying, remaining motionless beneath him. He wondered what was going through your mind as he held you flush against him.
“Sho-Shouta.” So meek, so quiet. His heart fluttered a bit. “Can we go home now... I want to take a shower.”
Chuckling softly he pulled himself out, groaning a bit at the feeling of overstimulation as your warm walls dragged against him. Leaning away he smiled as his cum leaked out your pussy. 
“Yes kitten we can go home. I’ll make sure to clean you up.”
You groaned in protest, hating when they insisted on washing you. He knew you liked your privacy but Hizashi and Toshinori were still going to want to punish you. He’d keep close by to keep them from being too harsh. 
Pulling up his pants he fished his phone out of his pocket, rolling his eyes at the sheer quantity of missed calls from the two aforementioned. Poor little kitten, it didn’t look like you’d be getting off easy. 
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tenthgrove · 3 years
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Can I request the one where La Squadra thought the reader was pregnant (when she just actually visited her kid) situation for Bruno's gang?
Mother Mother- Bucci Edition
Team Buccerati x Reader (Fem), Platonic, SFW
Bruno Buccerati is feeling restless. He's not one to pry, but your behaviour lately is starting to concern him. Leaving the base for hours without explanation is no cause for worry in itself, after all, you're not obliged to inform him of your whereabouts 24/7 and you're hardly the only one on the team who does this, but together with the ceaseless obsession with cutting your finances, the uncharacteristic melancholy and the jolt of panic whenever your personal circumstances become the topic of conversation all add up to a bad picture.
The final straw for Buccerati came today, in which while passing you idly on the sofa he caught sight of the word 'parenthood' printed on the title of the leaflet you were reading. He didn't see the rest of what it said, but your guilty smile at being caught spoke well enough for itself.
Buccerati truly does feel bad about this, but with how defensive you become at even the smallest sign of confrontation, he sees no other choice. As he watches you depart your bedroom and head into the bathroom, he waits quietly for the rush of water from the shower, before sneaking into your unlocked bedroom unnoticed.
He will make clear, he thinks to himself as he pilfers through the loose paper on your desk for that leaflet, that he is not angry. If it's what your heart is set on, he isn't even that opposed to the idea of you raising the baby yourself. The squad is decently paid and their work isn't as dangerous or all-consuming as some, so they can manage. He even feels a little bit of excitement at the thought of helping you with your offspring. He's only doing this because it can't be healthy for you to conceal your pregnancy like this. Children have always been such precious things to him.
A pink leaflet flits off of the desk and Buccerati picks up his prize. He reads the title in full.
"Parenthood for the Parents of Hospitalised Children: What Doctors Advise"
Ahh. Now that changes things. Buccerati feels his heart sink at the sight of the stock image of a mother and father standing over the bedside of a sickly-looking girl. He guiltily returns the leaflet to its former place and tries to reorganise the paper as he found it, before exiting quickly.
Having learned his lesson well about making assumptions on too little evidence, Buccerati sits down with his phone book. There's a fellow on one of the intel teams who owes him a small favour, and it's time he called on it.
“Hello, it’s Buccerati, could you do something for me quickly? I need you to check the records of all the hospitals in Naples that hospitalise chronically ill children, and take a look through the names of the patients in the children's ward," he requests. "There's a specific surname I'm after, hang on, I'll find it for you." Buccerati racks his brains. If there's one thing he's certain your being honest about it's your real name. He pulls it from his memories and relays it to his friend. "No, no need to take any action once you find them. Just let me know the details, particularly of the illness. Very well, thank you," he concludes the phone call and hangs up. He leans back in the seat and sighs.
He barely gets half an hour to rest before the phone rings.
"Oh hello, that was quick. Did you find them? That's excellent. What did the records say?"
The agent relays his findings. Matching the surname he gave him is a little girl about 5 years old, currently residing in the hospital closest to Buccerati's base. The child is suffering from a frightful condition that, although rarely fatal with treatment, can leave sufferers in need of constant medical care for months on end, along with more minor support for years after.
The most concerning thing about the records is that the agent was able to find visitation logs attached to the data, and they all speak of a single, anonymous visitor with recorded visits matching perfectly with the dates and times of your disappearances.
Buccerati thanks the agent and promises to wire him a little money for his quick and extensive help. Hanging up, he broods deeply. He cannot simply allow your suffering to continue if there's anything, anything at all he can do to help.
He is broken from his trance by the sounds of panicked footsteps running in from the hall. He catches sight of Mista and Narancia sneaking in from the hallway, and is struck by the immediate impression that they are by all definitions, up to no good.
"What's the matter you two? You seem startled," he presses them patiently. He is met with two loud sounds of 'uhhhh'.
"Nothing Buccerati, we swear it!" Narancia promises.
"Yeah! In fact, we were just going to the shops and were arguing over what to get!" Mista backs him up. Buccerati rolls his eyes and smiles.
"Alright. Not too much sugar, Narancia? We don't want to find you being sick in the bathroom at two in the morning again, do we?"
"It's not me you have to worry about doing that now," Narancia mutters under his breath.
"Pardon?" Buccerati asks, confused.
"Nothing! We should go now!"
The boys immediately make their exit out the front and disappear down the street. Bruno tuts. Sometimes he thinks he'll never understand that lot. He smiles.
As he replays the encounter in his head, it occurs to him what that strange item poking out of Mista's pocket was. The leaflet from (y/n)'s room. Shit.
"Mista? Narancia? I think we should have a word please!" Buccerati shouts down the entry street. But it's two late, they've both disappeared out of earshot. Buccerati throws his hands up in despair, and returns to his room.
::::::::::::
Abbacchio knows what he sees. Mista and Narancia go running down the street and about 20 second later, Buccerati goes out shouting. As Abbacchio watches Buccerati return to the house in defeat, he makes a decision. He's had enough of those kids and their petty little antics. If Buccerati doesn't have it in him to set them straight, he will.
"You look pressed," Fugo remarks as Abbacchio pushes past him in the corridor.
"None of your business. Mista and Narancia are up to no good and now I've got to go and find them," Abbacchio grunts.
"Narancia?! But he promised me he'd work on his assignments tonight! Little bastard, I'll kill him!" Fugo fumes.
"Will you now? Better keep up then," Abbacchio says, throwing on his coat.
It doesn't take them long at all to find Mista and Narancia. Indeed, they're cowering in the very first alleyway left of the house.
"We can explain," Narancia promises.
"I bet you can," Abbacchio mutters half-heartedly.
"Take a look at this!" Narancia urges them. He pulls a pink leaflet from Mista's pocket and rereads it himself. "It says 'parenthood'. We found it in (y/n)'s room. Does that mean she's pregnant?"
"Why in god's name were you snooping around in (y/n)'s room?" Abbacchio interrogates them.
"Furthermore Narancia, you can't read," Fugo adds.
"Well, for a start, Buccerati did it first. We just went in after him to see what it was he was looking for. Second, Mista read it for me, and he swears it says 'parenthood'. Isn't that right Mista?"
"Sure is," Mista affirms. "Look."
He flicks the leaflet in front of them and, sure enough, they all read the same word. Abbacchio and Fugo curse simultaneously.
"What the hell is their game, thinking they can hide something like this from us?" Abbacchio fumes. "Does Bruno think he's protecting her or something? He's a fool."
"If I may, Abbacchio, it is most uncharacteristic of you to speak ill of Signor Buccerati," a voice from behind protests. Abbacchio turns with a jolt to see Giorno standing at the entrance of the alleyway along with a very bewildered looking Trish. They each have a couple of shopping bags in their hands.
"Are you spying on me?!" Abbacchio shrieks.
"Not at all. I simply thought that going after dark would be a much safer time for Trish to do her shopping, so I was taking her out," Giorno explains. "I overheard your voices and came to investigate, but I really haven't heard much."
"(Y/n)'s pregnant and Buccerati's hiding it from us," Mista fills him in.
"Wait, I'm lost. Did Buccerati get her pregnant? Because if so, what in the actual hell?" Trish comments.
"Fucking christ. Could you imagine?" Narancia remarks. The group soon devolves into a mess of interrupted shouting.
"All of you quiet!" Abbacchio yells. He holds up his hands in desperation. "We are going to get to the bottom of this and we're going to do it now! We are going right home, and we are getting (y/n) to explain herself, whether she likes it or not. Agreed?"
::::::::::::
You had an awful eery feeling getting out that shower would be a mistake. The last thing you expected tonight was being hounded by your dear teammates while you're half dressed and wet haired, particularly on such an outlandish concept as pregnancy.
"Slow down! What the hell are you accusing me of again?"
"You're having a baby and you aren't even telling us! Do you have any idea how much those cost?" Trish accuses. You don't even have an answer for that one, it's just so completely wrong there's no way to refute it.
"We aren't looking to judge, we just want to help," Giorno assures you, though his voice is drowned out by the rest of the rabble.
"I don't need help, I'm not having a baby!" you protest. Narancia opens his mouth.
"But the leaflet says-"
"What on god's earth are the lot of you doing?" Bruno calls from the hallway. "Why are you all hounding (y/n) all of a sudden."
"You think we don't know what you know, Buccerati?" Abbacchio confronts him. "You're complicit in this. You're helping to hide this- baby!"
Buccerati breathes deeply.
"Ah. I believe I know what this is about. Mista, I want you to take that leaflet you found and read the front page out to me. In full."
Mista complies.
"Parenthood... for the Parents of Hospitalised Children. Oh."
"You made the same mistake I did," Buccerati explains. "You saw the first word and immediately jumped to your own conclusions. But in regards to the full title I have carried out some follow up and have confirmed it is exactly what it sounds like. (Y/n) has a young daughter who is unfortunately quite sick at present, and she has understandably been taking time off to be with her."
"You know about her?" you exclaim in panic.
"Apologies (y/n), I was acting only in concern for your health. It was admittedly due to my poor caution that the others found out and, well, it went from there."
"Look," you protest, thoughts spiralling into panic. "I didn't mean for you to know. You said I could do what I wanted with my money so I did. There- there was no other way I could afford to treat her," you justify, tears starting to leak from your eyes. "Please don't kick me out. I swear this doesn't affect my work, all I need is a few hours a week to check on her!"
You collapse against the door in tears. The crowd goes into a shocked silence. Buccerati pushes to the front.
"Hey, hey, I'm not going to kick you out so don't worry," he promises. "I would never cut off a member of my squad like that, especially not when they have such a vulnerable dependent. We can talk about helping you with the money tomorrow, but now, let's get you calmed down okay?"
You nod through your tears. Buccerati guides you to your feet and leads you gently into the kitchen. The remaining group in the hall look at each other with pressed lips. Fugo takes the leaflet from Mista and reads through the front cover once more. He hits him.
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natasxliah · 2 years
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Kisame x reader pt 1
Kisame x reader. NSFW 18+ PLEASE NO MINORS. Chapter warnings: Language, slight sexual themes. ***This is my first Kisame x reader fic so PLEASE feel free to give me any feedback and/or criticism! i really appreciate it, my fellow shark man lovers. <3
It was a typical hot summer day. The air was thick and muggy with the buzzing of cicadas and tree frogs singing throughout the entire forest, their mating calls in tune with another. The sun was bright – too bright, forcing you to squint your eyes to protect from its ultraviolet rays. The seconds turned into minutes and the minutes turned into hours of walking. Two other figures walked amongst you, one in the front and one in the back. You maintained focus on the average height figure in the front, watching his feet and slowing down occasionally to look up at him every few minutes to meet his gaze momentarily as he checked to see that you were keeping up with his pace. Those piercing red eyes intimidating you as if they can read your soul and all your darkest secrets.  
The other, much taller figure kept up behind you making sure to keep his pace a bit slower as to not run you over. Between these two figures you were quite short, reaching a height of an even 5ft. Sandwiched in between them made you feel both intimidated and protected. The three of you were assigned a mission together. Leader-sama said the three of you would be the perfect combo for this mission: brains, brawn, and stealth. Stealth is where you come in. You weren’t very good at fighting and had grown up as a pacifist, but you were the best damn spy anyone could ask for. You had a way of making yourself invisible – a nobody really – and people just looked past you when you wanted them to. You were good at disguise and you took your role seriously.  
In past missions you have disguised yourself as the help, an innocent civilian, bartender, etc. to have first-hand access to intel. At the end of the day, people don’t always pay attention to who's listening when they're talking. This is a mistake that men have made for years. When they think no one’s listening, the walls have ears. Your ears.  
You weren’t as strong as the other members of the Akatsuki but you were a hell of a good listener and it had its perks. Being a runaway and having nowhere else to turn in the world, you joined the Akatsuki and had to work hard to prove your worth to Leader-sama and the others. However, you are never allowed to go on a mission alone. That was Leader’s number one rule. He made the point that if you were to get caught and captured that you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself against well-seasoned shinobi. Therefore, you would always be accompanied by another member for your own safety. At least he’s looking out for you! You thought to yourself, deeply lost in your day dream.  
Your deep thoughts were completely interrupted when your face met the back of the figure in front of you, bumping into him and falling on your plump behind, making contact with the soft grass. “Ooof!” you muttered as ass met ground and you looked up at those crimson eyes, making your heart race, never knowing when you’d be trapped and consumed into a genjutsu, until it’s too late.  
You heard a soft, deep chuckle behind you, making the hairs of your neck stand up. What’s it with these guys and making you uneasy? Oh, yeah! They’re blood-thirsty S-class criminals who could chew you up and spit you out like a cat with a dead mouse. You were the mouse. You shudder inwardly at the thought.  
Snapping back to reality you realized you were still sitting on the ground looking up at that damn pair of eyes again. You shook your head and slowly stood up, rolling your eyes. “Oh, please, don’t everyone rush to help me at once...” you muttered, annoyed that these men didn’t even offer you a hand.  
“No worries, princess. I’ll make sure to carry you on my back the entire way next time,” came a snort from the taller of the two as he started to walk ahead of you. Being the natural smart ass that you are, you were about to ask him how much would he charge for a round trip but your bantering was interrupted.  
“___, Kisame, it’s going to become dark soon. There is an inn about 2 miles west from here. We should head that way now before it becomes too dark to travel and the predators get restless.”
You reached in your bag and dug around for your money purse. It was filled with large bills that Kakazu entrusted you with as an allowance for the three of you on your trip. He was strict about it too – necessities only. Shelter, food, medicine, emergencies. Only one hotel room per pair. You tried to make a point to him that there are three of you, and you being the only female. The same rule still applies. He mentioned something about not wasting precious money just because you’re insecure about sharing a room with two men and that it wasn’t his problem. Goddamn cheapskate.  
You pulled the wad of bills out of your little purse and started counting to make sure you had enough for a room and dinner. You already knew that you did, but the feeling of spending any money at all made you fear of Kakazu’s wrath. But you knew your fear was (mostly) irrational because he entrusted you with the money in the first place.  
“Well, we have plenty of funds for a room and a nice warm meal,” You stated as you stuffed your money back in your purse and shoved it into your backpack. “Then it’s settled, let’s get going. I’m starving,” Kisame stated as he flashed a large toothy grin, his eyes flickering to you for a moment.  
Of course, you happened to notice and felt your face heat up a few degrees as you looked away shyly. He always had to make some sly comment and show that famous smirk of his. It’s one of the many things about Kisame that you were fond of. He was so tall and intimidating, with his sarcastic wit and sense of humor. Yet he was polite and had decent manners, most of the time. And he loved to fight and would fight anyone. He knew he couldn’t physically fight you because you would be no match for him, so he would banter with you back and forth with jokes, innuendos, and sarcasm. The both of you constantly drove Itachi crazy, even though he came off as indifferent and uninterested.  
Kisame kept grinning silently to himself after noticing your blush. He just loved to get you all riled up and bothered. To see your little puffy cheeks get all flustered and your big doe eyes become filled with fire and passion and your bosom heaving when he gets under your skin is just the cherry on top for him.  
Itachi stayed silent and kept looking forward as the three of you walked to the inn in awkward silence. Something he didn’t get to experience too often anymore between the two of you. 
**** Well, there’s the first bit as a teaser! I’ll have the second part posted later. Feedback is a motivator ;)
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itsclydebitches · 3 years
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The Bad Batch: A Crosshair Analysis
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Hello, Star Wars fandom! I have just completed watching—and loving—The Bad Batch, which you know means I now need to dump all my thoughts about the first season into the tumblr void. Specifically, thoughts on the complicated drama that is Crosshair. I have no doubt that the majority of what I’m about to say will be old news to anyone who watched the show when it came out (I’m slow...), but I’m writing it all out anyway. Largely for my own sanity enjoyment :D
I want to preface all of this by saying that the above is not an exaggeration. I love the show and I love the entire cast. My enjoyment in each of the characters is directly connected to my enjoyment of the season as a whole, which I say because I’m about to get pretty critical towards some of the characters’ choices and, to a lesser extent, the writing choices that surround those. Does this mean I secretly hate The Bad Batch? Quite the opposite. I’m invested, which is presumably just what Filoni wants. I’m just hoping that investment pays off. 
But enough of the disclaimers. Let’s start with the matter of the inhibitor chip. I’ve seen fans take some pretty hard stances on both sides: Crosshair is completely innocent because he’s definitely been under the chip’s control this whole time, no matter what he might say. Crosshair is completely guilty because he said the chip was removed a long time ago and he chose to do all this, no moral wiggle room allowed. However, the reality is that we don’t know enough to make a clear call either way. The audience, simply put, does not have all the necessary information. What we have instead is a couple of facts combined with claims that may or may not be reliable. Let’s lay them out:
Crosshair was definitely under the chip’s control at the start of the series.
He was able to resist it to a certain extent, resulting in a pressure to obey orders coupled with a primary loyalty to his squad. See: telling Hunter to follow the Empire’s commands—which includes killing kid Padawans—but not turning his team in as traitors when they did not. It’s an in-between space.
Crosshair’s chip was then amplified to an unknown extent. I’m never going to claim I’m a Star Wars aficionado—I’m a casual fan, friends. Please don’t yell at me over obscure lore lol—but within TBB’s canon, no one else is undergoing that experimentation. The effects of this are entirely unknown, which includes Crosshair’s free will, or lack thereof.
Crosshair then becomes a clear tool of the Empire, hunting down innocents, killing on a whim, the whole, evil shebang.
In “Reunion” he’s caught by the engine and suffers severe burns to his face. One leaves a scar that covers precisely the place where the chip would have been extracted.
Removing the chip leaves its own scar behind. If Crosshair’s was removed, we can’t see that scar due to the burn.
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After these events Crosshair seems to mellow a bit. He does horrible things under the Empire’s orders—like shooting the senator—but is still loyal to his squad—killing his non-clone teammates to give TBB a chance, saving AZ and Omega, etc.
Crosshair claims that his chip has already been removed. However, Crosshair is arguably an unreliable source if he’s been lied to or if the chip is still there, encouraging him to manipulate the team.
Crosshair claims it was removed a long time ago, which is incredibly imprecise. As we can see from just some of the events listed above, precisely when the chip came out—if it came out—makes a huge difference.
Hunter realizes this and presses for clarification, but Crosshair dodges giving it. Again, a legitimate belief that it doesn’t matter, or evidence that he can’t say because something else is going on? We don’t know.
Hunter checks Crosshair’s head and finds the burn scar which proves… nothing. As stated above, they wouldn’t be able to see the surgery scar one way or another: its existence or its absence. It’s useless data, as Tech might say. I’ve seen a few fans claim that Hunter was also feeling for the chip with his enhanced senses, but 1. I didn’t catch any evidence of that in the scene and 2. Even if we assume Hunter did that anyway, the chips are notoriously hard to spot. Fives and AZ couldn’t find the chip at first when examining Tup. Ahsoka had to use the force to find it in Rex. TBB themselves couldn’t find it at first in Wrecker. If machinery consistently fails to find the chip on the first couple of tries—it’s meant to be a hidden implant, after all—why would we believe Hunter’s senses could pick it up instantly? Maybe he missed it, or maybe it wasn’t there at all. 
Crosshair appears to be struggling with a headache in the finale, just as he was at the beginning of the season and just like Wrecker was for the first half.
The point of listing all this out is to emphasize how ambiguous this whole situation is. I don’t want to use this post to argue one way or another about whether Crosshair’s chip is really out. I have my preferred theory (the chip’s still in, but only partially functional), but at the end of the day none of this is conclusive. The writing takes us in what I hope is deliberate circles. Crosshair says the chip is out? Crosshair is not a reliable source of information until we know if the chip is out. What other evidence is there that the chip is gone? A scar? We can’t see if there’s a scar. Hunter’s abilities? He only checked once for a canonically hard to find implant—if he actually checked at all. And why would the Empire want the chip out? Well, maybe it has to do with that push towards willing soldiers, but if that were the case, why leave Crosshair behind and have the “clones die together”? By that point he was one of the most willing, chip or not. Did they have to take it out because of the engine accident? Pure speculation. We just don’t know and THAT is the point I want to make.
Because it means the rest of the Bad Batch didn’t know either.
The core issue I have here is not whether the chip is in or out, or even how long it may have been in if it is out now. The issue is that TBB spent 99% of the first season believing that Crosshair was under the chip’s influence… and they didn’t try to do anything about that. They abandoned him. They left a man behind. Does this make them all horrible monsters? Of course not! This shit is complicated as hell, but I do think they made a very large mistake and that Crosshair has every right to be furious about it.
“But, Clyde, they couldn’t have gone back. It was too dangerous! Hunter had a duty to his whole team, not just Crosshair.” True enough and I’d buy this argument 100% if Hunter hadn’t spent the entire season throwing his team into dangerous, seemingly impossible situations to save other people. Crosshair became the exception, not a hard rule of something they had to avoid. They went back to Kamino for Omega, a kid they’d only had one lunch with, despite knowing how dangerous the Empire was. They went into the heart of an occupied planet to rescue not just a stranger, but one belonging to the Separatist government. They helped Sid when she asked and there was plenty of compassion for the criminal trying to take her place. Most significantly, there wasn’t the slightest hesitation to go rescue Hunter when he was under the Empire’s control, in precisely the same place. Every explanation I’ve seen fans come up with—Kamino is too fortified, they don’t know where Crosshair is, they can’t risk Omega being captured, etc.—also holds true for Hunter, yet there wasn’t a second of doubt about needing to at least try to help him. And his rescue was arguably far more dangerous given that TBB knew they were walking into a trap. Going after Crosshair would have at least had some element of surprise.
I think the problem with these justifications is most easily seen in “Rescue on Ryloth” and, later, “War-Mantle.” In the former, we do watch Hunter decide that going on a rescue mission is too much of a risk, only for Omega to talk him into considering it.
Hunter: “It’s a big galaxy. We can’t put ourselves on the line every time someone’s in trouble.”
Omega: “Why not? Isn’t that what soldiers do?”
Hunter: “It’s not worth the risk.”
Omega: “She’s trying to save her family, Hunter. I’d do the same for you.”
The arguments that sway him are ‘Soldiers should help people’ and ‘Soldiers should specifically help their family.’ So… what does that say about their feelings for Crosshair? They’re willing to put themselves on the line for the parents of a girl they met once at a drop site, but not their own brother? That’s the message the writing sends. “But, Clyde, the difference is that they had an advantage here. Hera’s knowledge of her home planet tipped the odds in their favor.” Yeah… and Crosshair is stationed on TBB’s home planet. Even more than them collectively having the same knowledge that Hera does, “Return to Kamino” reveals that Omega always had additional, insider knowledge of the base: she has access to a secret landing pad and the tunnels leading up into the city. That knowledge was given and used the second Hunter’s freedom was on the line, but it never once came up to use for Crosshair’s benefit. 
“War-Mantle’s” mission puts this problem in even sharper relief. Another claim I’ve seen a lot is that TBB only took risky rescue missions because they needed to be paid. The guys have got to eat after all. Yet Tech makes it clear that going after Gregor will lose them money. They’re meant to be on a mission for Sid and deviating for that won’t result in a payment. He explicitly says that if they decide to do this, they won’t eat. They do it anyway. No money, no intel, a huge risk “on a clone we don’t even know.” But that’s not what’s important, the show says. All that matters is that a brother is in trouble. This time it’s Echo pushing that message instead of Omega. When Hunter realizes that they’re about to try and infiltrate an entire facility and they don’t even know if this clone is still alive, Echo points out that they took that risk once before: for him. “If there’s a chance that trooper is being held against his will, we have to try and get him out.”
Yes! Exactly right! So why doesn’t that apply to Crosshair?
“Because he tried to kill them, Clyde!” No, that’s the easy, dismissive answer. A chipped Crosshair tried to kill them. AKA, a Crosshair entirely under the Empire’s control. The only difference between his enslavement and Gregor’s is that Gregor’s chains were physical while Crosshair’s were mental. And again, the point of everything at the start of this post is to show that no one knows when or even if that chip was removed. TBB definitely didn’t have any reason to suspect that Crosshair was working under his own power until Crosshair himself said as much. We might have been able to make that case at the start of the season, but “Battle Scars” removes any possible confusion. The entire team watched Rex reach for his blaster when he learned their chips were still in. The entire team watched Wrecker become a totally different person and attack them, just like Crosshair did. The entire team forgave him instantly and had their own chips removed. So why in the world didn’t anyone go, “Wow, Crosshair has a chip too. He was no more responsible for attacking us than Wrecker was. We need to try to get him out, no matter how hard that might be, just like we had to try for all these other people we’ve helped.”
But they didn’t. No one even considered rescuing Crosshair. They only went back for Hunter and, when they realized Crosshair was there too, they didn’t change their plans to try and rescue him as well. He’s treated as a particularly threatening inconvenience, not another team member in need of their help.
The problem I have with how this all went down is that the team treated Crosshair like an enemy despite all evidence to the contrary. Despite Omega outright saying that this isn’t his fault, it’s the chip, the group seems to decide that he’s gone crazy or something and that there’s nothing they can do. “It’s fine,” I thought. “They don’t really get what the chip is like yet. They don’t understand how thoroughly it controls someone.” But then “Battle Scars” arrives and Wrecker is treated with such compassion (which he deserves!) only for the group to continue acting like Crosshair is somehow different. It’s easy to say, “But Crosshair shot Wrecker” and ignore the easy pushback of, “and Wrecker nearly shot Omega.” Up until Crosshair’s own accusations and Omega’s ignored comments, TBB’s understanding of the chip’s influence and the lack of responsibility that accompanies mysteriously disappears when the show’s antagonist becomes the subject of conversation. This is seen most clearly in how Hunter tries to frame things during his talk with Crosshair:
“You tried to kill us. We didn’t have a choice.”
“Can’t you see that they’re using you? It’s that inhibitor chip in your head.”
“You really don’t get who we are, do you?”
Hunter mentions the chip, but he acts as if it’s Crosshair’s responsibility to overcome it: “Can’t you see…” Of course he can’t see, that’s the entire point of the chip, the thing he currently believes Crosshair still has stuck in his head. But Hunter and the others—with Omega as a wonderful exception—never seem to have accepted this like they did for Wrecker. When Crosshair “tried to kill us” it’s seen as a deliberate act that he chose, not something forced on him like with Wrecker. When Hunter talks about their ethics, he subconsciously separates the team from Crosshair: “You really don’t get who we are, do you?”, revealing a pretty ingrained divide between them. Even Wrecker gets in on the action, the one brother who truly understands how much the chip controls someone: “All that time, you didn’t even try to come back.” What part of he couldn’t try is not hitting home here? Again, for the purposes of this conversation it doesn’t matter whether Crosshair was chipped this whole time or not. The point is that TBB believed he was chipped… and yet still expected him to somehow, magically overcome that programming, writing him off when he failed to do that. He’s consistently held responsible for actions that they were told (and, through Wrecker, saw) were completely outside of his control. Even when we factor in his claim that the chip was removed, TBB has ignored all the evidence I listed at the start. No one, not even Omega, challenges this super vague and strange claim, or seeks out proof because they don’t want to believe that their brother could willingly do this. There’s just this... acceptance that of course Crosshair went bad. Why? Because he was an asshole sometimes? Taking it all as written, it doesn’t feel like the batch considered him a true part of the team. Certainly not like Wrecker or Hunter. As shown, the batch will go out of their way, risk anything, forgive anything, for them. They have a level of faith that was never shown to Crosshair. 
“Severe and unyielding,” Tech says and he’s absolutely right, but I’d seriously challenge this idea that any of the others would have automatically done better if the situations were reversed. It stood out to me that each batch member has a moment of doubt throughout the series, a brief glimpse into how they think the Empire isn’t that bad, at least when it comes to this particular thing. Basically, a moment that could lead to a very dangerous line of thinking without others to stomp it down. Wrecker announces that he’s happy working for whoever, provided they give him food and let him blow things up. Tech finds the chain codes to be an ingenious strategy and is clearly fascinated with their development. Hunter initially wants Omega to stay on Kamino, despite knowing that this Empire has already, systematically killed an entire group of people: the Jedi. Doesn’t matter. She’s still (supposedly) safer there than she would be running with the likes of them.
There’s absolutely no doubt that those three made the correct choice in defying the Empire, but I believe that their ability to make that choice is largely dependent on them having each other. They survive together, not apart, and it’s their unity that allows them to make the really hard calls, like setting out on their own and opposing such a formidable force. But if Tech’s chip had activated and he’d been left behind, would he have muscled through to escape somehow...or would he have gotten caught up in all the new technology the Empire offered him, succumbing to both his chip and the inevitability that if his squad no longer wanted him, why not stay? Would Wrecker have escaped, or been easily manipulated into a new life of exploding things? Would Hunter have been able to push through without his brothers, or would he have become devoted to a new team to lead? Obviously there’s no way to ever know, but it’s always easier to make the right decisions when you have support in doing so. Crosshair had no support. His team left him and yes, they had to in that specific moment, but the point is that they never came back. As far as we saw throughout the season, they never planned to come back. They all talk about loving the Crosshair who existed when life was easier, but they weren’t willing to fight for the Crosshair that most needed their help. When he says “You weren’t loyal to me,” he’s absolutely right. The same episode, “Return to Kamino,” gives Omega two powerful lines that the group rallies behind:
Omega: “[The danger] doesn’t matter. Saving Hunter is what matters.”
AZ: “You must leave.”
Omega: “Not without Hunter.”
The key word there is “Hunter.” Danger, stakes, risk, probability… none of that matters when Hunter needs help. Crosshair did not receive that same level of devotion.
Which creates a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. The group is upset that Crosshair isn’t rejoining them, but they fail to realize that he has no reason to trust them anymore. He’s not joining the Empire because he’s inherently evil and that’s that, end of discussion. He’s joining it because above all Crosshair wants a place to belong… and TBB has made it clear—unintentionally—that he does not belong with them. The horrible actions that Crosshair took under his own free will (theoretically) came after he realized that doing bad things while under the Empire’s control was, apparently, unforgivable. If it wasn’t, his team would have come back to rescue him. They could have at least tried. But they didn’t, so Crosshair is left with the conclusion that either what he did under the Empire’s control is something the group can’t forgive him for, or they can forgive that (like with Wrecker) and he’s the problem here. He’s the one not worth that effort.
“The Empire will be fazing out clones next,” Hunter says. To which Crosshair responds, “Not the ones that matter.”
He wants to matter to someone and events show he no longer matters to his brothers. So why not stay with the Empire? I mean, we as the audience ABSOLUTELY know why not. Self-doubt and feelings of isolation aren’t excuses for joining the Super Evil Organization. Crosshair, if he is under his own control, is still 100% in the wrong for supporting them, no matter his reasons. So it’s not an excuse, but rather an explanation of that very human, flawed, fallible thinking. He needs to be useful. He needs to be wanted. Crosshair is an absolute dick to the regs and I have no doubt that a lot of that stems from the harassment TBB has experienced from them (with a side of his inflated ego), but I’d bet it’s also due to Crosshair’s intense desire to be valuable to someone. He keeps pointing out the regs’ supposed deficiencies because it highlights his own usefulness. When Crosshair fails to find Hera, the Admiral says that soon he’ll get someone who can, looking straight at Howzer at the door. It makes Crosshair seethe because his entire identity is based on being useful, yet no one seems to need him anymore. TBB seems to no longer want him. The Empire no longer wants clones. Now even regs are considered a better option than him, the “superior” soldier. Everywhere Crosshair turns he’s getting the message that he’s not wanted, but he’ll keep fighting to at least be needed in some capacity, no matter how small. Even if that means overlooking all the horrors the Empire commits.
“All you’ll ever be to [the Empire] is a number,” Hunter says and he’s absolutely right. But to TBB recently, Crosshair hasn’t even been that. He’s been nothing. Nobody worth coming back for. To his mind, at least being a number is something.
I hope that all of this resolves itself into a conclusion that is kind to each side (preferably without a Vader-style death redemption), especially given the still ambiguous state of the chip, but from a writing standpoint I’m admittedly a bit wary. We’re obviously meant to believe that the batch all love each other, but as established throughout this entirely too long post, this season did a terrible job imo of proving that they love Crosshair. Or, at least, proving that they love him as much as the others. If this was really meant to be just a matter of miscommunication, with Crosshair making terrible life choices because he only thinks he was abandoned, then we as the audience would have seen the batch trying and failing to get him out. Or at least establishing a very good reason why they couldn’t take that risk, hopefully with entirely different side-missions so the audience isn’t constantly going, “So you can risk everything for Gregor... but not Crosshair?” I’m VERY glad that Crosshair was allowed to air his grievances to the extent he did, but the end result of that—Hunter continually denying this, Omega walking away from him in their rooms, neither Tech nor Wrecker actually sticking up for him and acknowledging the chip’s influence during at least some of all this—is making things feel rather one-sided. It’s like we’re meant to take Crosshair at his word and accept that he’s this garden-variety antagonist who joins the Empire because yay being on the winning side… despite all these complications that clearly have a huge impact on how we read the situation. It doesn’t help that the show has already embraced an inconsistent manner of portraying chipped-clones. We know every clone has one, we know only a couple clones are aware of the chip’s existence (and can thus try to get it out), we know they enter a “Good soldiers follow orders” mindlessness once activated… yet towards the end we see a lot of side character clones thinking for themselves. Howzer decides that he’s no longer loyal to the Empire, giving a speech where a couple other clones throw down their weapons too. Gregor was arrested because he likewise realized how wrong this all was. But how is that possible? Do the chips completely control the clones, or not? Are these clones somehow exceptions? Are the chips beginning to fail? All of that has a bearing on how we read Crosshair—what were his own decisions, how much he was capable of overcoming the chip, whether that changed at all during certain points—but right now that remains really unclear.
It’s details like that which make me wonder if all these other questions will be answered. Will the story resolve all those ambiguous moments surrounding the chip, or brush them off with the belief that we should have just taken Crosshair at his equally ambiguous word? Will the story acknowledge Crosshair’s points through someone other than Crosshair, allowing it to exist as a legitimate criticism, rather than the presumed excuses of an antagonist? I’m… not sure. On the whole I’m very happy with TBB’s writing—despite what all this might imply lol. Until my brain picks over the season and discovers something else, my only other gripe is not allowing Omega to form a solid bond with Tech and Echo, instead putting all the focus on big brother!Wrecker and dad!Hunter. I think it’s a solid show that does a lot right, but I’m worried that, unless there’s a brilliant answer to all these questions and an intent to unpack both sides of the Hunter vs. Crosshair debate with respect—not just falling back on, “Well, Crosshair is with the Empire so everything he says is automatically bad and wrong” take—we’ve just gotten the setup for a somewhat messy, ethical story. For anyone here who also reads my RWBY metas, I’m pretty sure you’re not at all surprised that I’m invested in going, “Hey, you had one of the heroes suddenly become/join a dictatorship and do a lot of horrific things, but within a pretty complicated context. Can we please work through that carefully and with an acknowledgement of the nuance here, rather than throwing the ‘evil’ character to the proverbial wolves?”  
God knows TBB is leagues ahead of RWBY, but I hope things continue on in not just a good direction, but one that tackles the aspects of this situation that many fans—and Crosshair—have already pointed out. As much as I adore the cast—and I really, really do—it was discomforting to watch a found family show where 4/5th of that family so completely wrote off one of the members and crucially have, at least so far, refused to acknowledge that. I want complicated, flawed characters, but that’s only compelling when the storytelling admits to and grapples with those flaws. We have quite firmly established Crosshair’s flaws in Season One. I hope Season Two delves into the rest of the team’s too.
Aaaand with that meta-dump out of my system, I’m off to write TBB fic. Thanks for reading! :D
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not her choice, part 2 | n.r.
part 2, part 1 here
summary: y/n and natasha will do anything for love, whether they realize it or not
warnings: nsfw themes, angst, brainwashing, violence, kidnapping, y/n and nat making dramatic calls, injury, basically "fuck" in different contexts
word count: 7,354
(sorry this is long I didn't want to split it up into more parts, not proofread as always)
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(ALSO SIDE NOTE LOOK AT HER HANDS MY LESBIANISM IS FUCKING SCREAMING)
"You're pulling your punches." The man in stars, you now know as steve rogers, says as he stands across from you, nose bloody and shield in hand. You raise an eyebrow being your mask, as if asking him "You want me to stop?" After a pause, he nods his head and gets back into a fighting stance. "Please, continue."
Ever since that little..ahem..incident with Natasha, she's been telling you to not hurt her teammates, even though most of them have superpowers you might add, so you've been pulling your punches in fights ever since. You still beat their asses it was just..a lighter beating. You were treading in dangerous waters here, knowing that if Hydra suspects you even in the slightest bit they'll bring you back to the lab and wipe your mind again.
You dodge a swing from Steves shield and quickly knock him off balance, playing more defense than offense at this point. The Avenger quickly regains his traction and charges at you, tackling you to the ground so that the wind gets knocked out of you. You, as best as you can, try to dodge his punches on the ground, genuinely surprised when the asphalt underneath you sinks in with his punch. When his fist sinks into the ground once more, you grab his torso and use your legs to shove him off of you, landing a punch in that all-American boy face of his once you get on top of him. Instead of beating the man bloody like you would usually do, you shove yourself up and move away from him, trying to spot Natasha in all the chaos.
Your search stops when you hear Natasha's voice from behind you, her words being accompanied with a punch. "Hey." The punch isn't enough to hurt you but its enough to grab your attention as you turn around and grab her arm. Your grip is firm but not uncomfortable, letting Nat know that they hadn't brainwashed you yet. "Hey." You reply back, throwing a punch that she easily blocked. "You still with me?" She asks as her hand grabbing your wrist twists it back. "I let the guy with the metal arm beat me up twice, what do you think?" You say as you hit her stomach to make her stumble back.
The hits are hard but not fatal as Natasha moves to kick you in the stomach, you easily grabbing her leg and pulling her down to the ground. You land on top of her and you grin, "You've gotten soft, Romanoff." You tease in a breathy laugh as you see her quirk an eyebrow up. "Don't pretend like I can't kick your ass with my eyes closed, y/l/n." She says as she quickly shifts her weight and pins you down, an amused look on her face. "How come you always end up on your back when I'm with you?" She asks and you roll your eyes, scoffing but also realizing how true she is. Before you can reply there's comm's static in your ears, a Hydra officer barking the command to move out.
"I've got to go." You say as Nat gets off of you, hopping back up and making sure you've got your gun in it's holster. "Where will you be tonight?" Natasha asks as you fix yourself, her statement causing you to shoot her a teasing look under your mask. "You'll find me Romanoff." And with that, you turn and leave, not needing to look back to see the amused look on the red-heads face.
--------
"Couldn't find any more shitty hotels?" Natasha asks as she sees you standing behind a run-down gas station, chewing on some gum that you bought with the change you found on the sidewalk. "They were all booked." You shrugged, lips turning up a bit at the sight of your favorite person. "Mm, come here." Natasha hums as she reaches you, gently pulling you in by your chin to kiss you.
These secret meetings have been happening for a while now, being both beneficial to the two of you and the Avengers.
You immediately told Natasha about Hydra's plan about building the next atomic weapon soon after her head came up from between your thighs, the redhead listening intently as you spill all of Hydra's intel. That's when she told you about them, the Avengers, and how they protect the world from Hydra and otherworldly threats. She said she might introduce you to them sometime, saying that the people there don't see others for their worst mistakes.
At that point in time though, you didn't care what side you were on, as long as Natasha was there you would fight alongside her. That's how it was like for your entire life, not caring about the sides of good or evil, only ever caring about Natasha and keeping her safe.
You wince at her action and she pulls back immediately, a concerned look on her face as she looks for the cause of your pain. It's then when she sees the blossoming bruise on your jaw, right where her fingertips grazed when she pulled you in. "Who did this?" She asked and you shrug, reaching up to touch the purple and red spot. "The guy with the metal arm, it really packs a punch." You reply as you see the worry lines deepen between her brows, causing you to cup her neck and pull her in for a soft kiss. "I'm alright Nat." You whisper, kissing her a few more times before leaning back. "I've gone through worse." You say and she frowns, intertwining her free hand with yours as cars pass by. "Haven't we all." Nat sighs and you nod, running your thumb along the back of her hand.
-------
"Fuck! Tasha!"
You grip the back of the headboard as Natasha brings you to another orgasm, knuckle deep inside of you as she kisses your chest lustfully. "That's it, good girl." The redhead hums as your chest rises and falls, you trying to catch your breath as Natasha's fingers start to gradually slow down. Cum coats your inner thighs and sweat sheens your skin in regards to the many times Natasha has made you cum in the past few hours, finally deciding that you've had enough when she fully pulls her fingers out.
"God you have a lot of stamana." You laugh as your breathing finally calms down, moving your hand to pull her into a deep kiss. "I still have a lot more in me, y'know." Natasha hums as she moves to kiss your jaw, trailing it down your neck as she peppers kisses along the flushed skin. "I know just- just give me a minute." You breaths out as you let your eyes fluttered closed, liking the feeling of Natasha laying between your legs as she praises your skin.
It's not long after when your arousal starts to build again, deciding to take the initiative by gently bringing Nat's lips up to yours. "Natalia." You say breathily, your free hand intertwining with Natasha's hair. "Zachem tebe moy golub'?" She asks, heat pooling in her stomach as she feels you tug at her roots. "Ya tak khochu tebya trakhnut', Tasha." Your tone is filled with lust as you kiss Nat deeper, teeth tugging at lips and tongues meeting one another. "Mm bud' moim gostem." She hums and you grin, flipping Natasha over so she's on her back. You look at her for a second and smile, causing her to give you a curious look. "What are you looking at?" She asks with a small smile and you shrug, "You." You hum before kissing her, your teeth tugging at her bottom lip as your hands move down south.
"My god you're cheesy."
-------
"Nat, wait up." Steve catches up with Natasha as she's walking down the compound hallway, the assassin slowing down her stride as the super-soldier gets in step with her. That little action is enough to tell Steve to continue, taking a moment to contemplate his words before speaking. "So..y/n." He starts off slow to see Natashas reaction, deciding that it was okay when the redhead kept a straight face.
"What about her?" She asks and Steve purses his lips together, thinking for a moment before grabbing Nat by the arm and pulling her into a storage closet. "What the hell, Rogers?" Nat asks as Steve closes the door behind them, his voice going down to a whisper as he speaks.
"I know you've been seeing her, Tasha." He starts off and Nat only furrows her brows, looking up annoyedly at the man. "I don't know what you're talking about." She says and he raises his eyebrow. "You're not being discrete Nat. I've seen you fight before and what you do with her is not it. You've knocked down people twice your size before but let her fight you like it's some sparring session." Steve says and Natasha opens her mouth to interject. "She's trained with me in the Red Room, of course she's going to be on my level-" "And that too. After every encounter we have with them you disappear for the evening, usually not arriving until 3 am with Hydra information given to you by your "inside source."" He finishes and Natasha sighs, knowing that she's been caught.
"Okay fine, you want to know the truth?" She asks in a low voice and he nods his head, waiting for Natasha to give her explanation. "I've been- fuck- I've been meeting with her after missions. She used to be brainwashed by Hydra but she broke out of it, hence the reason she's giving me information on Hydra's plans." She says and he stays quiet, the puzzle pieces clicking together as Natasha continues. "I've missed her, Steve, after all these years so I go to make sure she's okay and..other things." Her sentence trails off as she doesn't want to reveal her sex life to her best friend.
"Other things?" Cap raises his eyebrow and Tasha rolls her eyes. "We..comfort each other in not safe for work ways." She says and Steve looks confused for a moment before his mouth opens in a soft "oh- ohhh." "Just please don't tell the team, Steve. You out of all people should understand what it's like to have someone you..care about..taken by Hydra." Nat says and Steve's face softens, a gentle sigh escaping his lips before a grin breaks across it.
"Is this love, Agent Romanoff?" He asks and she shakes her head, stepping back to grab the door handle. "Love is for children, Rodgers, this is just.." She pauses, trying to find the correct word for the situation that she's in. "Comfort?" He offers and she nods her head, opening the door fully. "Comfort."
------
You watch Natasha with curious eyes as she towel dries her hair, you only being dressed in underwear and a bra as you lay stomach-down on the bed. It had been a particularly hard fight that day, Hydra pushing to take bigger strides in their next big war machines. The Avengers, of course, came in and tried to stop them and they conveniently broke into the base that you were being held at.
You were there being punished for your recent behavior, Hydra officers treating you like an animal as they kicked and hit you. "It needs to be put back into it's place." They practically spat at you like you were some sort of monster, threatening you with knifes to your throat as they criticized every breath you took. The next time they send you into the lab, you know you're going to get brainwashed, waiting for the scale to tip as you sat there helplessly watching. You just found Natasha after years of suffering and you weren't too keen on forgetting her.
A soft hand against your back pulls you back into reality as you see where Natasha's soft gaze is looking at, her fingertips gently tracing the scars along your back. "What are you looking at?" You ask even though it's pretty obvious, Natasha's emerald eyes meeting yours. "Who did this to you?" She asks with furrowed brows and you shrug one shoulder. "You want me to give you a list?" You joke half-heartedly as she moves across the bed, gently straddling your back as you feel her fingertips map out your scars. The feeling makes you hum contently, your eyes fluttering closed as Natasha touches you like the most delicate thing in the world.
Nat has never been the soft type, choosing to show her love through reassuring shoulder pats and quiet comfort instead of gushy romantic acts. That's why it genuinely surprises you when you feel a soft kiss placed on your back, right where a stab wound was a few years ago. "I'm gonna kill every single one of them." She mumbles and you can't help the laugh that escapes your lips, your head turning to look over your shoulder. "I know." You hum, a feeling of déjà vu washing over you.
------
"Kto sdelal eto s toboy?"
Who did this to you?
Natasha's voice is clipped as she holds your chin with her fingers, seeing you try and blink back the tears that threaten to fall. Your nose is bruised and bleeding, the skin under your eyes starting to turn purple and red.
"Anastasiya."
Your voice is barely above a whisper as rage burns in Natasha's eyes. Anastasiya is one of the older girls in the Red Room, almost four years older than you and a good five heads taller. You had beaten her when you were sparring but as soon as no one else was looking she got you cornered, making the other girls her age hold you down as she took out her rage on you.
"Ona bol'she nikogda ne prikosnetsya k tebe, kogda ya zakonchu s ney."
She will never touch you again when I'm done with her.
You know that tone on Natasha, knowing that Anastasiya is going to have more than one bend in her arm when Natasha gets done with her.
"Nat, ne nado. U tebya budut problemy, i ya spravlyus' sam."
Nat, don't. You're going to get in trouble and I can handle myself.
Natasha's face softens a bit as she looks at you, her other hand coming up to rub your shoulder.
"YA znayu, pauchok, no pozvol' mne napomnit' yey."
I know, little spider, but let me give her a reminder.
-------
"But-" You start and she nods her head. "But you can handle yourself, I know." Natasha says, moving up a bit to kiss your shoulder. “No, what I was going to say was that they all died shortly after.” You say and she laughs softly against your skin, mumbling a “good girl” as she goes to kiss your cheek. Her lips conveniently land on the scar she gave you all those years ago, the thin line going along your cheekbone.
"That, you did yourself." You say teasingly but you can see her face drop a bit, her lips peppering over the scarred skin. "I'm sorry." She whispers but you shake your head, turning under her so you can face her. "It's okay Nat, we were young and they forced us to train with knives. Shit happens." You say nonchalantly, hands playing with the hem of her tank top. It's then when you see the scars on Natasha's skin, bullet wounds and cuts littering her skin. She notices your gaze and moves her hand down to hold yours, seeing your brows furrow.
You glance up at Natasha and feel your chest tighten as you see her look down at your intertwined hands, her thumb gently brushing up and down the back of your hand. "Your hands have changed." Natasha states under her breath as she glances up at you briefly, seeing you raise an eyebrow in question. "What do you mean?" You ask and Natasha holds your intertwined hands up.
"See, there's more scars on your knuckles and there's a new cut right here." She says and you nod your head, not really noticing the changes until now. "The last time I saw you, they were so much different." She mumbles and you raise an eyebrow, a slightly amused look on your face. "Since when have you paid so much attention to my hands?" You ask and she shrugs, your heart rate speeding up as you watch Natasha's fingers play with your own.
--------
"YA skazal tebe, chto u tebya budut problemy."
I told you that you'd get in trouble.
You hum as you gently grab Natasha's bruised hands, taking a ripped piece of cloth to clean up her bleeding knuckles.
"Oni sobiralis' rasskazat' o nas instruktoram."
They were going to tell the instructors about us.
Natasha winces as you wrap up her hands, carefully making sure that it isn't too tight as you tend to her injury.
"My mogli by spravit'sya s etim, Nat."
We could have handled it, Nat.
You sigh and Natasha shakes her head, her free hand moving to rest on her knee.
"No oni by nas nakazali."
But they would have punished us.
You nod your head and bite your lip, looking up into those green eyes as you hold her hand gently in your own.
"YA mog by prinyat' eto za nas oboikh."
I could have taken it for the both of us.
Natahsa's eyebrows furrow as she hears your words, her bandaged hand coming up to cup your cheek as the other grabs your free hand.
"Net."
No.
She gently brings your hand up to kiss your knuckles lightly.
"Net, ya ne pozvolyu tebe sdelat' eto dlya menya."
No, I won't let you do that for me.
You slowly move your hand to cup her cheek, Natasha's hand moving to cover your own.
"YA by vzyal na sebya mir za tebya, Natal'ya."
I would take on the world for you, Natalia.
Your words are a whisper but to Natasha, it was like a shout from the rooftops. The redhead slowly moves and kisses your hand that was resting on her cheek, causing a blush to dust your cheeks as she softly smiles at you.
"I ya dlya vas."
And I for you.
------------
Gently guiding her hand to cup your cheek, the both of you smile, you leaning into the warm touch as Natasha relishes the moment.
---------
You awake with a jolt as you hear heavy doors close outside of the motel room, it now being in the dead of night. Slowly moving from Natasha's arms, you go take a look outside, hoping to see that there's nothing. Your hopes are shattered when through the window, you can see the faint outline of a Hydra vehicle and multiple armed men, your heartrate spiking as you see the ones in white coats. "Shit." You hiss out as you start to pull clothes on, all of the rustling causing Natasha to awake. "Y/n?" She asks groggily as she sees you frantically moving around the room, hastily putting a shirt on and trying to find your weapon.
"Y/n what's happening?" She restates herself and is fully awake when you finally make eye contact with her, seeing the worry behind your eyes as you move towards her. "Nat, they're here." You rush out as you hand her some clothes, frantically trying to get the redhead out of here before she could get involved. "Whose here? Hydra?" She questions and you nod your head, feeling the bridge of your nose start to sting as reality comes crashing down on you. "They're here for me- shit- you have to go." You say as you try and pull yourself together.
"What? No, Y/n, I'm not leaving you again." Natasha says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, pulling on some clothes and shoes. "Natalia this isn't fucking debatable, okay? I won't ever forgive myself if they get their hands on you." You say as you glance out the window one more time, mumbling a curse word as you start to see the figures close in. "Why are you acting like I can't handle myself?" Nat asks and you shake your head, opening a window opposite to the parking lot.
"I know you can handle yourself Nat, I've seen you fight hoards of threats and make your way out alive..I just don't want to pull you into this fight with me." You say before crossing the room and standing in front of Nat. "You've been the only thing I've cared about my entire life, please understand why I want you safe." Your voice is softer as you speak to her, her green eyes still prominent in the moonlit room. "What about you?" Nat asks in a whisper, a worried expression set across her face as you give her a watery grin.
"You know I never die, Natalia." You say as she shakes her head. "I'm like a cat and my lives haven't run out just yet." You continue and a laugh breaks past Nat's lips, causing you to smile even as a tear runs down your cheeks. "There it is." You breathe out and she looks at you questioningly. "What is it?" She asks. "I just wanted to see your smile one last time." You reply as you kiss a tear from her cheek, Natasha then moving to gently kiss your lips. The kiss is soft and passionate, you both trying to communicate to each other a message you both aren't ready to say yet.
Sooner than you'd like, the two of you break away, both of you giving the other a watery smile as you sniffle. "I'll come back to you, Nat. I promise." You whisper and she nods her head, gently kissing your temple as your eyes flutter closed. "You better, or else I'll beat your ass." She says and you give a shaky chuckle, hearing the Hydra men starting to kick down apartment doors. "I'm planning on it."
Hydra doesn't take long to storm the motel room, quickly seizing you before you had a chance to react. You were happy to comply with them until you saw them grab Natasha's arm, you immediately tearing from the Hydra agent's grip to tackle his ass. You successfully break his arm but aren't so lucky when you feel a wave of electricity shoot through your body, every muscle tensing up as you fall to the floor. "Fuck." You curse through gritted teeth as you force yourself to get up, looking at Natasha with desperate eyes as she hasn't left yet.
"Go!"
As the words leave your lips, both of you could almost see each other back on that mountainside, the dead bodies of the other girls littered around you as you kill another one for Natasha to escape. It felt like you were a teenager again, seeing Natasha teeter between staying and leaving as she stood at the treeline. A grunt of pain leaves your lips as one of the men shoves you into a desk, the wood breaking underneath you as air rushes out of your lungs. You've only taken down a few men, stabbing one of them in the throat with their own knife. As they start to overwhelm you, you take one last look at Natasha, seeing as she's taking one last glance at you as her hands rest on the window frame. As you lock eyes with her, you say one simple phrase.
"It's okay."
-------
Natasha isn't paying attention at all in the meeting the next day, not getting the image of your worried look out of her mind. “Romanoff, did you hear me?” Tony asks and her eyes glance upwards, the other Avengers looking at her as they await her answer. “Sorry, what?” She asks and Tony sighs, pointing towards a highlighted point in the mountainside. "From the information we've gathered, Bruce surmises that the next Hydra base is here, the building located about thirty feet below the surface." He explains and Natasha nods her head, her attention immediately being drawn when the word Hydra slips past his lips. "I was asking your opinion on how we should enter the compound without getting caught." Tony finishes, waiting for Natasha to give her input as he sees the gears turning in her head.
"It's the compound that they use for their experiments, right?" She asks and Steve nods his head, Nat sighing as she looks at the dot on the map. "Well considering that it's underground they only need security for the entrances and exits, probably have a few patrolling the perimeter..I think our best entry point is here." She says, standing up and pressing a pen to the western side of the mountain. "Of course, we always have the risk of getting caught but it's lower than just walking through the front door." Natasha explains and all of the Avengers nod their head, she's not a trained soldier but she's a damn good spy if they've ever seen one.
------
"Nat, are you alright?" Steve asks after everyone clears out of the conference area, grabbing the assassin's arm before she leaves. "They've got her, Steve." She says and his eyebrows furrow. "Who?" He asks and Natasha sighs, looking up at the super-soldier. "Y/n. They took her last night." She explains and Steve sees the worry on his friend's face. "Do you think she's at the base we're going to?" He asks and Natasha shrugs her shoulders, "I don't know, but if she is there I'm gonna tear up the whole place until I find her." She says and Steve nods, seeing the determination in Nat's eyes. "We'll get her back Natasha." He says and Nat grins a bit, "I know."
-----
It's easy, almost too easy, getting into the Hydra base, Natasha only taking out five guards patrolling the area and guarding the entrance. "This doesn't feel right to me." Steve says as they head towards the entrance, the fresh snow crunching under their boots. "Nothing ever feels right to you, Cap." Hawkeye says as he flys overhead, making sure no Hydra agents get the jump on the pair. Natasha only quirks her head to the side when Steve makes eye contact with her, agreeing with both men as they reach the entrance. Natasha scans the entry card that they swiped off the guard and the door opens, immediately granting them access into the underground base.
-----
"Give her a sedative." One of the doctors commands as you continue to struggle, hitting anything you could reach as they try to strap you onto a stretcher. They've been touring and interrogating you the entire night, bargaining for information instead of brainwashing you.
"We saw that Avenger in the motel, tell us what you know and we won't wipe your memory." They say but you only clench your jaw and stay silent, ripping yourself from their grip each time they try and contain you.
"Don't you fucking touch me!" You grit out as you knock one of the men unconscious, kicking the stretcher away from you as you watch the doctor run to grab a sedative. Your body is covered in blood and bruises, still putting up a fight since you were taken a day ago. Getting shoved up against the wall you cry out in pain, your head getting aggressively slammed against the wall. You don't even realize the doctors came back with a sedative until you feel the prick of the needle in your neck, your vision going blurry as the fight leaves your body.
You don't put up a struggle as they drag you onto the stretcher, strapping your arms and legs down as everything moves in slow motion around you.
You know where they're taking you. You know you're about to get brainwashed.
As they push you down the hallway, you slowly close your eyes and try to burn the image of Natasha's face into your mind, feeling slightly calmer as you think of her wrapping you up in her arms and telling you that everything is going to be okay.
The next time you open your eyes, you're strapped down into the metal chair that they use for brainwashing, feeling like you're a shell of a person as you look down at your restraints. They force a piece of plastic into your mouth as you blankly stare at the doctors in white coats, only one thing on your mind as they prep the machine.
Natasha.
A tear rolls down your cheek quietly as the restraints latch onto you tighter, forcing you to lay back as your breathing starts to get heavier.
It never gets easier, the brainwashing, knowing that you'll only be a puppet to Hydra with no free will.
The metal paddles clamp around your head and your heart rate spikes, hearing the doctors beside you start to say the words you always dreaded to hear.
"Snow."
"Sixteen."
"Red."
With each word, you could feel the control leaving your body, bracing yourself for the pain that's going to come next.
"Ballet."
"Redback."
"Knife."
A scream rips from your throat as pain surges through your body, the machine being activated and making you pull against the restraints. Your vision fades in and out of focus as you continue to scream, every muscle in your body tensing as the brainwashing takes over.
You try your best to fight the pain, your mind trying desperately to hold onto the memory of Natasha as your trigger words reach your ears.
Natasha.
Natasha..
Natasha..?
Natalia?
Natalia..
No, it's Natasha.
Nat?
Natasha.
Natalia.
...
...
who?
Your eyes are blank as the machine finally releases you from its grip, a scientist having a pleased look on his face as he walks up to you. "Just to make sure this doesn't happen again." he says before commanding you to put your head forward, gripping your hair as he presses a cool metal gun to the back of your neck. With a click you could feel something being put into your neck, the new object feeling irritating under your skin. It's a small chip, maybe a quarter wide, and it's now attached to the nape of your neck, the needles embedding into your skin to make sure it stays in place.
"Are you ready to comply, Agent 809?" He asks and you nod your head, suddenly hearing alarms go off that there's been a security breach in the compound. "Say the word, sir, your wish is my command." You say and he grins, grabbing your chin. "Kill the Avengers." He says and you look at him in the eyes. "Main target?" You ask and he thinks for a moment, looking at the Hydra officers before looking back at you. ''The Black Widow."
------
Natasha hears your screams ring through the compound and she feels her blood run cold, Steve grabbing her arm before she could do anything stupid. "Natasha, don't." He says in a harsh whisper and she shakes her head, pulling herself from her grip as she continues to move down the hallway.
She quickly takes down the next few guards that she sees, not using her bullets yet so they don’t cause the rest of the base to be alerted of their presence. That plan doesn’t last long though when a guard gets the upper hand on her, causing her to shoot two bullets into his chest and making him drop. As soon as the shots are fired, alarms go off across the compound, causing Natasha to curse under her breath. “Language.” Steve says and Natasha rolls her eyes, picking up her gun and racing down the hallway to try and find you.
———-
Natasha kicks down a set of double doors and shoots the people inside, scanning the room for any sign of you. They've gone through 95% percent of the compound and haven't found you yet, Natasha getting more and more anxious as time goes on. "I heard her, I swear." She tells Steve each time they clear an area and come up empty.
It isn't until she sees you strapped to the chair that she lets out a breath of relief, you seemingly normal accept for the cuts and bruises. "Y/n, oh god you're okay." She breathes out as she reaches you, seeing the dazed look in your eyes as she undoes your restraints.
"I'm sorry." You whisper out in a last-ditch attempt to warn her before your chip clicks on. "Sorry? You're sorry for what?" Natasha asks but doesn't get a chance to reply before you knock her backwards, tearing out of the remaining restraints as you stand up.
The wind gets knocked out of Natasha and Steve gets into a fighting stance, you not even giving him a glance as you head towards Natasha. Steve quickly intervenes and throws his shield at you, your hand sticking out to grab it before tossing it to the floor. "That's all you've got, Capitan?" You sneer teasingly as you grab a knife from the table, getting a swing on him and clipping him in the cheek.
The super soldier quickly hits back though, kicking you in the stomach and making you stumble back. You quickly grab one of the cords that was attached to a computer and you wrap it around the Avenger's neck, maneuvering yourself so that you're behind him and pulling tight.
Stumbling backwards, he throws himself up against the wall, successfully breaking your grip as you get pinned between the wall and the Avenger. Steve quickly turns and pins you up against the wall by your neck, pulling his fist back to punch you. "Steve!" Natasha hisses out his name harshly and he turns to look at her, temporarily forgetting that you're brainwashed. He groans and tosses you to the floor, seeing the glowing chip on the back of your neck. You quickly get back up and go for Natasha, the redhead dodging your swing and making your fist go through the wall. "Y/n. Stop it." Natasha grits out as she grabs your arm and twists it behind your back, a hiss leaving your lips as you feel your muscles pop.
"Who. the fuck. is y/n?" You spit out as you maneuver yourself around and hit Natasha back, grabbing her throat and tossing her up against the wall. "They want me to kill you, so that's what I'm going to do." You say as you grab a beaker besides you, breaking it to create a shattered edge. You're about to swing the bottle when Steve comes up behind you and hits the back of your neck with his shield (and you swear later on that if he did it any harder your neck would have snapped). A cry of pain leaves your lips as the chip sparks and you stumble forward, your head bowing into Natasha's shoulder as pain surges through your body. Natasha freezes as she sees your shoulder slump, a small whimper of "Natasha." leaving your lips as the chip short circuits. "Y/n?" She asks and she sees your hand come up to grip at the back of your neck, your other hand dropping the shattered beaker. "Nat. The chip." You breathe out as you feel it starting to take hold again, pushing yourself away from her as your mind clouds over again.
"Steve, hit the chip again." Natasha commands and Steve nods his head, watching as your shoulders tense up again as you attack Natasha. She quickly blocks all of your hits and flips you over onto the floor, you quickly gripping onto her arm and pulling her down onto the floor with you.
The chip sparks again and for a second you regain control, scrambling up to the control panel and enabling the emergency demolition program. "What are you doing?" Steve asks and your jaw tenses, shutting all of the Hydra officers inside by locking all the exits except one. "I'm blowing this place up." You mumble, jaw tensing as the chip revs up once again. "I've locked all of them in, if you go to exit c9 that'll be the only one unlocked so you can escape." You say as you lock all of the doors inside of the compound, keeping all of them in place so they can't run.
"What about you?" Natasha asks as she gets up from the floor, looking at the chip flicker on and off. "The chip will take over sooner or later, I'd rather die in this explosion than let them use my body again." You say as you grip the side of the table, everything in your body being split in two with each side fighting to take control. "No you're not, we're getting you out of here." Steve says and it genuinely surprises the both of you, the man in stars grabbing your arm as you slam the button down to activate the explosion.
T-minus: two minutes
"I don't deserve to get out of here." You shake your head as you look at Natasha's neck, now bruised with your handprint as you wince. "I've hurt you, I've hurt her, I've hurt so many people. All of it is on my hands." You say and Natasha shakes her head, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it gently. "I've left you once, Y/n, I'm not letting you go again." She says and you think for a moment, alarms blaring around you as you see the pleading look on her face. "Alright." You whisper, allowing Natasha to pull you out of the room as Steve follows close behind you.
You run down the hallway as you guide the two other Avengers towards the exit, quickly taking out any Hydra agents that gets in your way.
"There! There it is." You call out as you see exit c9, all three of you running towards it as the speakers count down.
T-minus: thirty seconds
The chip fully kicks back into gear as your eyes widen, your strides slowing down as it feels like someone wraps restraints around your body. "No, no no no. Please not now." You beg to yourself as both Steve and Nat notice, your eyes turning dead as your legs start to carry you away from the exit. "Oh no you don't." Natasha grits out as she tackles you, dragging you towards the exit as you fight against her.
Twenty five..
"Let go of me!" You hiss as you tear from her grip and Steve lingers near the exit, watching the interaction happen as a metal curtain starts to descend over the only open exit. "I'm taking you home, Y/n." Natasha says as she grabs onto your body, Steve moving to keep the door open as he calls the two of you to move.
Nineteen..
"Steve! Go!" Natasha yells out as she drags you towards the exit, blocking each hit you try and swing at her. Steve shakes his head and calls out over the alarms, "I'm not leaving you two!"
Natasha looks at him and shakes her head, being only ten feet from the exit. "Just go! I'm right behind you." She says and Steve reluctantly steps through the exit, the now dented metal sheet continuing to close on the two of you.
fifteen..
fourteen..
"Y/n please, stop fighting me." Natasha begs as you tear out of her grip again, heart-pounding as the alarms fill her head. "Why should I listen to you? You left me. You were everything to me and then you just left me!" You ask harshly as you see the tears in her eyes, Natasha seeing the real you starting to break through. "I didn't want to leave you, Y/n! I'm sorry!" Natasha's voice raises a bit in volume. "I wanted you to come but you were stubborn and stayed behind for me! You stayed behind and when I went back to you..you were already gone." She says and the gears turn in your head. "Then why are you here? Why are you going through so much trouble for me when you have a perfectly good life out there?" You ask, your body still tense as Natasha looks at you with an open mouth. "Because.."
Five..
Four..
"Because.."
Three..
Two..
"Fuck." Natasha doesn't finish her thought as she grabs you and holds you close to her chest, turning you so that your body isn't the closest one to the blast.
One.
The explosion shakes the ground as the two of you get tossed through the air, your body hitting the metal door with a thud. The ground shakes above you as the base comes apart, Steve pulling the metal curtain open and dragging the two of you out into the snow.
Natasha is coughing fiercely as the smoke and dust enters her lungs, gripping onto you for dear life as she feels Steve dragging the two of you out. Your blood stains the snow as Natasha sits up, heart dropping to her stomach as she sees your head loll back limply.
"Shit, Y/n!" She says as she taps on your cheek, blood running down her temple as she checks for signs of life. Your heartbeat is slow and your breathing is labored but you're alive, that final hit allowing the chip to fully break in half on the back of your neck. "It's because I love you, you idiot." Natasha whispers as she gently kisses your temple, Steves's jaw setting as he sees the little interaction.
------
The next time you wake up, you're in a sterile white room, your heart rate spiking as you think you're back in the Hydra lab again. Trying to push yourself up, your hands get stopped by restrains, the same straps tying down your legs. Swallowing thickly, you look around the room, the atmosphere making you feel vulnerable as you try and undo the restraints. A door opens to the right of you and panic seeps into your bones, thinking that it's a doctor coming in to run experiments on you again.
"Hey, it's okay." Natasha's soft voice reaches your ears as she comes over and undoes the restraints, gently freeing your legs and wrists before looking up at you. "I'm sorry, Bruce put them on for precaution." She says with a soft smile, taking a knee beside your bed so she's at eye level with you. You don't say anything as you move to hug her, your head immediately finding residence in the crook of your neck as you take a shaky breath. Your body aches and you're pretty sure you look like shit but you're so fucking happy that Natasha's here.
"Nat." You whisper softly as Natasha's arms quickly wrap around you, being careful to not hurt you as she closes her eyes. "I'm here, moy golub', I'm here." She whispers and you almost break down at that nickname, your arms tightening around her. "You're safe Y/n, you're free." She whispers and your mind can't even process her words, your only thoughts being how nice it feels to be wrapped up in Tasha's arms again.
When you pull away, there are tears in your eyes, Natasha gently wiping them away and kissing your cheeks.
"YA lyublyu tebya."
I love you.
The words slip from your lips before you could even process it, your eyes widening as you see the unreadable look on Natasha's face. "N-Nat, I'm so sorry, I didn't-" Natasha cuts you off with a kiss, gently pressing her lips to hers as she grins.
"ya tozhe tebya lyublyu."
I love you too.
---
"Should we do something about that?" Tony asks as the team looks through the one-way mirror they placed in your room, seeing Natasha climb into your bed and pull you into her chest. Your eyes close as you contently settle yourself into her, Natasha's hand rubbing circles along your back.
"Give them a break Tony, it's not like she's going or hurt anyone." Steve says as Bruce holds up the chip implant, "Yep, no more brainwashing for her." He says as the rest of them look at the two of you, never seeing Natasha this content until now.
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15-dogs · 3 years
Text
hey lover |s.r.|
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
summary: spencer wants to ask you on a date but his fear of rejection causes him to write you a letter. however, he’s made the miniscule and idiotic mistake of forgetting to sign it. (fluff, mutual pining, and miscommunication!!)
warnings: very light swearing, description of murders/crime scenes (criminal minds level gore/description), food mention
guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name, (Y/N/N) = your nickname, italics = letter
word count: 3.2K
a/n: asjkdfhkj this is my first spencer fic i hope it turned out ok!!
***
It seemed like a good idea at first. Derek’s ideas always seem good at first. Spencer wasn’t sure why he trusted things would work out without error. Yet there he was, letter in hand and eyes wide at the stupid, miniscule mistake he made while you awaited his answer.
***
You had just begun working at the BAU no more than 3 months ago as the new communications liaison, replacing JJ while she was absent on maternity leave. You were quickly integrated into the carefully woven quilt that was the BAU and, in turn, you had built some very close relationships with your coworkers. 
However, there was one person who you had grown extraordinarily fond of: Spencer Reid. You didn’t want to admit how smitten you were with the doctor, seeing as you were only working at the BAU for so long, but it was an indisputable fact you had fallen for him.
Unbeknownst to you, Spencer felt the exact same way. Your courageous and selfless demeanor struck him as something he hadn’t seen in anyone in quite some time. Not to mention how incredibly beautiful you were. Spencer knew it was impossible for anyone to be perfect but, when you made him feel the way he did, he began to question his thinking.
Spencer was quite terrible at hiding his feelings, finding himself staring at you a second too long when you walked to your office in the morning or bringing you extra breakfast and coffee because the store just happened to have an extra muffin they wanted to get rid of. It was so obvious yet you couldn’t pick it up for the life of you and Spencer really thought he was flirting to the fullest extent of his ability.
One morning you were running late. You had yet to arrive but you called Hotch to let him know you’d be at the office in no more than 30 minutes because the train was down for the time being. You also had texted Spencer, asking him if he wanted something at the small coffee shop around the corner while you waited. So as Spencer gave you his order with one hand, he downed the coffees he had made for you and himself in the other.
“Whoa, kid,” Morgan chuckled, prying the cup from his hand, “slow down. Your toothpick-body can’t take all that caffeine.”
Spencer swatted at Derek in an attempt to get the cup back only to see him lift it to his lips. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Morgan started with mock innocence, “was this for a certain communications liaison that a certain doctor has a crush on?”
Spencer rolled his eyes but felt the back of his neck heat up. “I don’t have a crush on her.” He made his way back to his desk, ignoring Morgan’s eyes boring into him.
“Oh, really? That’s a shame,” he could practically hear the teasing grin in Morgan’s words, “because she likes you.”
Spencer went rigid. He spun slowly on his heel until he saw Morgan’s smirking face, feeling his stomach drop again. He couldn’t believe he fell for that. Spencer retreated to his desk with Derek chasing after him.
“Kid, kid, listen! I know you like her! I was just-”
“Be quiet!” hissed Spencer, his cheeks now coated in a healthy flush.
However, Morgan wasn’t quiet enough. Emily perked up from her desk, rolling her chair over to join the conversation. “What are we talking about?”
Spencer tensed his hands and shook his head, turning to face his work again when Morgan explained, “How pretty boy’s got it bad for (Y/L/N) and won’t do a damn thing about it.”
“What?!” Spencer whipped around, his jaw slack from panic. Morgan and Emily were cackling to themselves at his shock, not even bothering to silence themselves.
“Reid,” Emily began, clutching her stomach from laughter, “it’s okay, I know you like her-”
“What?!”
Spencer’s increasing panic only furthered the pair to laugh even harder. Was he that easy to read? Did everyone know how he felt towards you? Dread began to set into his stomach at the thought of you knowing. His overthinking mind started to wander, assuming you knew how he felt and had led him on to get free breakfast every morning. He quickly scolded himself for thinking that— he’d been hurt too many times before, making that line of thinking second nature. But you weren’t someone who wanted to see people hurt; you were too kind, too caring to do that to anyone.
“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Emily asked. “She obviously likes you, too.”
Spencer’s eyes lit up for a second at the thought of you feeling the same but he caught himself. A moment too late, however. Emily and Morgan teased him, batting their lashes and making kissy faces at him, leading to Spencer throwing his head in hands to hide from their stares.
The two were no later interrupted as Hotch called Emily up to his office to go over a report she had put in, leaving Spencer and Morgan alone. Derek nudged Spencer’s leg, Spencer frowning at him as he met his eyes.
“Listen, kid, Prentiss was right. Why don’t you ask her out?”
If what Derek and Emily had said was true, why couldn’t he? He imagined himself walking up to you and asking you on a date, his heart fluttering at the thought. His fantasy soon turned sour as you snorted at his question, shaking your head vigorously and pushing him out of your office.
“I don’t think I could look her in the eyes if she rejects me.” Spencer’s voice was no more than a whisper as he announced his realization.
Morgan laid a hand on his shoulder, the other reaching around Spencer’s desk to hand him a piece of paper and a pen. “Then we’re going to do this the old fashioned way. Women love it when they get love letters, so write her one.” Spencer’s eyes bulged at Morgan’s words. “Love might be a bit strong, I get it, but you get the sentiment, right? Write her a letter about why you like her, ask her out at the end of the letter, and then slip it under her door.”
Spencer nodded slowly before shooing Morgan away, already hunched over the first draft of the letter. He worked it over and over again, feeling like each copy wasn’t good enough for you until he saw his phone buzz. It was a text from you. You were heading up. Spencer panicked, folding his latest draft and slipping it under the door to your office before settling back at his desk.
You waddled in from the elevators, attempting to balance a carry-out tray of coffees and a bag of croissants in one hand and your work bag in the other. Spencer jumped up from his seat, relieving you of the items belonging to him in an instant.
“Thank you so much, Spence. I was seconds away from dropping my breakfast.” You shouldered him gently in place of a grateful gesture. He nodded, ducking his head in hopes you hadn’t noticed the blush creeping up his cheeks.
Before Spencer could say anything, your phone rang. Sending him an apologetic smile, you managed to slip it out of your pocket and place it on your shoulder, shrugging it up to your ear as you answered. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N).”
Spencer watched you walk off towards your office, taking a short sip from the coffee he definitely didn’t need. You stepped in and flicked the lights on with your elbow before tossing your bag onto your desk, freeing a hand to hold your cell phone. You took another step in before stumbling, your shoes caught on a loose paper by your door.
It was go time.
Spencer hurried back to his desk and pretended he wasn’t looking at you, even though it was extremely obvious he was. You set your breakfast on your desk and bent over to pick up the note, skimming it as you spoke. Your head snapped up and you turned to face the window that exposed the bullpen, Spencer ducking his head down and innocently reading the newspaper on his desk. He chanced a look up only to see you frown and hurriedly shut the blinds.
Spencer thought he was going to be sick. He paled and ran his hands over his face before digging the heel of his palms into his temples, massaging them roughly. You looked upset— disgusted. Why did he think you’d ever like him?
Before he could indulge in his own pity party, you stormed out of your office with a large file in hand. You raised it in the air to gather the attention of the team as you announced, “We have a case!”
The team scurried in after you, everyone finding their places in the conference room as you clicked on your presentation. The pictures of two young couples appeared on the screen as you passed the files around.
“Four victims from Atlantic City have been found dead in their homes.” You clicked to the crime scene photos, wincing at the sight. “The husbands’ C.O.D. being a slice through the carotid and the wives’ a shot through the head execution style. The husbands have also had their...hands removed.”
Hotch looked up from the file, brows furrowed. “This all happened in the span of 3 days so we need to be vigilant. He could be planning his next attack right now. Wheels up in 20.”
***
On the plane ride to New Jersey, the team had finished being briefed by Garcia’s intel quicker than usual and were left to ponder their own thoughts. You sat off by yourself at a table in the back of the jet, opening your bag to sneak out the letter left at your office earlier. You scanned the words and frowned again before being hit with a genius idea.
You stood from your seat and settled next to Spencer on the couch. Oddly, he went rigid at your presence, sitting up straight and avoiding eye contact. You shook it off and continued on with your plan.
“Spence, hey, can I ask you something?” you whispered.
Spencer’s mouth went dry. He knew what you were going to ask about. What else could you be asking about? “S-sure.”
“You’re the guy who’s good at identifying handwriting, right? Like matching it and stuff?”
His eyes flickered up, mouth opening and closing a few times before he settled on a nod. His mind swarmed with questions but none of them came out. He decided it might be best if he were silent, anyway.
“Great. Then can you help me out with” —you pulled the letter from your bag and handed it to Spencer— “this? I think I might have a secret admirer or something. Whoever it was either wanted to stay anonymous on purpose or forgot to sign their name. Either way, could you help me out?”
And that’s when Spencer started to blame Morgan for his terrible idea. Well, it wasn’t exactly his fault but Spencer couldn’t take the blame for something so embarrassing. There his letter was, his handwriting, his words, his admission, and he forgot to sign his name.
Spencer debated the logistics of admitting to his error; he wouldn’t have you pining over a mystery man, but then again he would be asking you out in real time. The whole point of the letter writing was to not see your face and if he told you he wrote it you could reject him straight to his face. He couldn’t deal with the thought of that. So Spencer, fear consuming him, shoved the letter back in your hands with a nonchalant shrug.
“Sorry, (Y/N/N), I don’t recognize the handwriting.”
“Oh,” you muttered, standing up. “That’s okay. Thanks for looking.”
And as you returned to your seat on the other end of the plane, a pit formed in your stomach. You were no profiler but you hoped you could have read Spencer better, seeing if he let on any signs the letter was his, that he liked you. But at that moment you had to push it aside. There was work to be done.
***
After a few days in the case, the team had a breakthrough. They had discovered all the women had been drugged and used a bargaining chip to lead the men back to their homes before getting killed. The unsub had been targeting wealthy couples at casinos and the only way the team could catch him is if he was drawn out of hiding. The whole explanation was a long winded way of Hotch telling you you needed to go undercover as Spencer’s wife.
You begged him to let Emily take your place but Hotch assured she would be better as a lone guest to cover your perimeter. Frowning, you explained you didn’t have any undercover experience but Hotch assured you you’d be fine, that the unsub would fall easily for your charade because of your close identification with the victim pool.
So there you were, in your hotel room sitting in a dress you didn’t care for with a wire far too uncomfortable running up the length of your sleeve. Your body thrummed with nerves so, in an attempt to calm down, you reached for the letter and reread it, practically having it memorized by now.
(Y/N),
I don’t normally do these sorts of things but you deserve these sorts of things— nice things. You deserve the best things. You deserve the things that make you happy, that make you smile, that make you laugh. You deserve all of that and more.
I’ve only known you for some time but I can safely say I’ve completely fallen for you. To be entirely honest, I don’t know how everyone here hasn’t as well. You have this gorgeous smile that makes everyone light up around you. Not to mention your laugh; it’s harmonic and encapsulating, like good music you never want to turn off.
I like you. A lot. And I know you’re too good for me but I can’t help but try. I get scared because people might see right through us— through me— and you’ll realize it, too, that you’re too good for me. 
But now isn’t the time to worry about the future (even though I may have a tendency to do so). I’m sorry for not being the best at words. And I’m sorry for not being able to say this to your face but I like you, (Y/N), and I want to go on a date with you.
You were sure you had the confidence to spur forward with the night.
You left your room, ready to knock on Spencer’s door when you heard hushed whispers coming from inside. From the sound of it, Spencer was trying to opt out of the night while Hotch was trying to convince him to stay.
“You’re the only one on this team that can play some convincing poker, Reid-”
“That’s not the point!” Spencer huffed. “It’s...it’s (Y/N). People might see right through us— through me— and they’ll realize she’s too good for me. They won’t buy it. Not when she looks like herself and I look like, well, me.”
Something about his words hung around in your head. It was disquieting. His words weren’t true, of course. He was everything you could’ve wanted and the sheer fact he didn’t see himself that way broke your heart. But it wasn’t just that, there was something else. Something hidden in his words triggering a memory in you.
You were pulled from your thoughts as Spencer and Hotch walked out of Spencer’s room, giving you curt smiles before leaving towards the undercover van outside.
***
Fortunately, the night went as planned. The unsub was apprehended and you managed to stay cool undercover. Mostly cool. Your head was up in the air for a bit as you tried to recall what exactly Spencer had said that reminded you of something. Spencer had to focus you back in a few times but didn’t think anything of your lack of focus. Or, at least, he didn’t say it.
The jet couldn’t leave until the next morning so the team was stuck overnight at the trashy little motel the bureau had paid for. You tossed and turned in your bed, unease settling in your stomach. You decided it might be best for you to read the letter again, seeing as how it brought you such comfort earlier. But the second you scanned the words, the realization hit you squarely in the face.
Disregarding the late hour and the fact you were in pajamas, you ran out of your room and up to Spencer’s knocking on the door with haste. Spencer also seemed to be awake, answering just as quickly as you knocked.
“(Y/N)?” His voice was gravelly and low, like he had been in and out of sleep. You bit back a grin at the adorable pajamas he wore: plaid flannel bottoms and a t-shirt reading “I LOVE LAS VEGAS!” in bright gold lettering. Spencer tracked your eyes roving over his body before clearing his throat to get your attention again. “What’re you doing up at 3:00-”
“I know you wrote the letter.”
You didn’t mean to blurt it out but you just...did. Spencer coughed awkwardly and avoided your stare, shaking his head.
“I don’t...I don’t know what you’re…”
“Spence,” you began, taking his hand in yours, “I overheard you and Hotch talking earlier, about how people would see right through us. It’s the same thing in the letter— nearly identical.”
Spencer, positive he was completely red in the face, muttered, “Must’ve been a coincidence.”
“But it wasn’t, because I know you, Spencer.” You sucked in a sharp breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “Because I like you, Spencer.”
Spencer cocked his head, a smile tugging at his lips like he didn’t want to believe what you said. “You...you like me?”
You took a step towards the doctor, locking your hands around the back of his neck with a chuckle. “Yeah, Spencer, I like you.”
Spencer reached a careful hand up, brushing your hair out of your eyes and running his knuckles down your cheek with an adoring smile before connecting your lips. The kiss was soft and unsure but worth exploring. As you began to deepen it, you heard a door click open from behind you.
“Nice pajamas, you two,” Rossi teased. Spencer glared at him over your shoulder for disrupting what was the most perfect kiss he ever had. Rossi chuckled, holding his hands up in defense. “I saw nothing!”
Rossi slipped back into his room, laughing to himself about the interruption. You tucked your head against Spencer’s chest, feeling him place a soft kiss against the top of your head while his arms looped around your back, pulling you impossibly tighter towards him.
“You know,” he began, his chest rumbling against your ear in the most comforting way, “I’m beginning to think I should be writing you more letters.”
“A few more couldn’t hurt.”
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Text
End of the line (Santiago Garcia x GN! reader)
@autumnleaves1991-blog​ runs a fantasic # Writer Wednesday, and this week’s photo prompt sparked a lil idea! Of course I’m a day late, please forgive. The prompt is the photo below, and my response is a rather angsty Triple Frontier one-shot. This is different to my usual takes, so I’m so grateful for the prompt!
Summary: you are reaching the end of the line, and there’s only one person you want to pick up the phone to.
Word count: 2.4k, somehow
Rating: mature for themes of violence (18+ only)
Warnings: theme of reader being pursued / targeted; ongoing mentions of guns / gun violence (not graphic); reader injuries (not graphic); themes of character death; angst; vague mentions of past wrongdoing / implied illicit activities; theme of former lovers.
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You run your fingers over your scathed knuckles and the bruises on your hands, flexing and opening your fingers and trying to work out niggles in your wrist that you doubt will ever truly leave you. You wince as the motion tugs on a spot which is particularly stiff, and a pain zips all the way up your forearm.
Your only consolation is that the other guy fared far worse.
Undoing all your attempts to unknot your taut muscles, your fists clench again as you hear the door to the dingy motel bar swing open to your right. Your head whips towards the newly-arrived patron and you tense, your hand twitching against the weapon concealed in your jacket. As it becomes clear the new arrival is an old, inebriated local and not a threat, you relax a shade; though not all the way.
You barely remember the last time you fully relaxed. You wish you could shake this state of hyper-vigilance. Eyes constantly sweeping the perimeter. Clocking every open-carry tucked into a belt, scoping every exit route, monitoring every micro-gesture and expression. But one slip now and it will cost you.
You bounce your leg under the table, filled with an onslaught of sadness that you can’t even enjoy a cup of coffee without the looming fear of retribution. Still, you are safe enough here for now, you assess. For at least one more night. At least, you hope. Certainty is a thing long-dead, just like your old life.
Your eyes flick out through the scummy window, reaching across the lot to the stretch of motel illuminated to your left. Not that there’s much to look at out there -snow and vehicles and the shitty exterior- but you are not looking at those things, after all. Your study is far more careful. You’ve been sat here long enough though to be sure that no-one is casing your room. No suspicious vehicles or individuals; at least - there are plenty of suspicious individuals, but none whom seem to have followed you here.
So, you allow yourself to shed one layer of worry, and you give your gaze permission to wander back to the only other thing you can see out there. The ominous looking phone box, stood directly in the path between your table and the window to your motel room. It glows in the dark like an illuminated angel, though you are not sure whether this signals it is a guardian or a traitor. Angels can be fickle things too.
Either way, the booth taunts you, like some dark harbinger or sentinel from a horror film, and, each time your eyes flick back to it, it seems to loom more prominent - even if that’s only because of the single, related thought which swells to the forefront of your mind.
Call him. It’s time to call him.
You promised yourself you would only call him as a last resort. If you had no other options remaining. If you were at the end of the line.
A nausea rolls in the pit of you when you realise that might be true. After so long on the run, you’ve called in every favour you were owed, exploited every scrap of intel you could, manipulated or paid-off every asset you could find to help you... And now there is no-one else left. No-one else left who owes you a favour. There is only the man who had once promised you he would always have your six. There is only the last person you want to ask for help, and the first person you want to see.
Santiago Garcia.
Your nausea turns to aching despair, and you wrap your hands around your cup of shitty coffee, reaching for some vestige of warmth, however faint. And yet, like everything else, it offers you little comfort. Indeed, you have lived without comfort for so long that you tell yourself you don’t need it, but as soon as memories of him flood you, you ache for the distant comfort of his arms.
Arms which will never encircle you again, you’re sure. Not since you’d been forced to compromise every ideal you’d once shared with the solider. Still, that was back in the days when things seemed a lot more black and white. When you still believed in good people and untarnished souls. When he still believed in you.
Your eyes flick once again to the boxy, mocking angel in the parking lot. Now you are sure it is fallen, and that it has come to drag you to hell.
Still, hell would be a relief, you think, compared to this. Compared to this vestige of a life.
Call him. It’s the end of the line.
You bounce your leg more furiously, your muscles tensing so hard they cramp as you think about the prospect. You used to carry his number on a little slip of paper in your top pocket. You’d long since memorised it, but it was the last thing he gave you - you suppose that’s why you couldn’t throw it away. Why you subconsciously kept it close to your heart.
If you ever needed him, he would be there. You knew it. Maybe you should have called him long ago, when things first went south. When you first pissed off the kinda man it wasn’t desirable to piss off. Maybe you would have, but then one thing after another kept happening, and the slow descent into hell began, one compromise and one mistake at a time. So, you called in every other favour rather than face him. Rather than having to explain how you’d let him down - become someone he could no longer believe in. Like a fallen angel.
Now, years had gone by.
Years on the run. Years of hyper-vigilance. Years that had taken their toll.
Now, you’re out of options. Out of money. Out of favours. You’re even out of burner phones until you can hitch a lift to the next town over.
So, the glowing phone box almost sings to you, as if it’s a siren luring you on to the rocks. As if it’s a magical item in a computer game and if you step into its circle of light you can have a new life. You can reset everything. Return to a prior save point.
You know exactly where you would go, if you could. Back to the last time your remember where you didn’t feel so alone. The last time you felt comfort.
You fumble some over-spilling tears from your cheeks and stand, pushing the chair back across the floor behind you with a harsh scrape. Then, with a soft smile to the barkeep you return your mug to the bar-top, to save her from having to clear up. You wonder then. You can’t help but wonder like you do every time. If she’ll be the last person to see you alive will she at least say, to who ever shows up looking, that you seemed kind?
She gives you a small smile and you hang on to this vestige of warmth too, wishing you could pocket it for later for when you inevitably feel so empty and so cold. If only you could have stored up warmth, you would have more than enough to thaw you. There was a time when you had an abundance, after all. Enough to carry you through the longest of winters. 
Your face drops as you tread out, winding your scarf around your neck and your boots puncturing the fresh, powdery snow.
Would anyone who mattered even show up looking? you ponder. Is there anyone left who would remember all the things you were before all this? Before you were a cold, lost thing?
There may be one person left.
Your eyes patrol the lot around you, an automatic sweep for threats, and, seeing nothing of note, you track determinedly towards the phone box, tears near-freezing on your cheeks.
You pick up the receiver and you punch in that number you have memorised, your eyes closing and your other hand bracing itself against the scratched and cigarette-burn puckered surface. You don’t even know if it will ring, or if he will still be at this address, but you do know that your knees will buckle either way. With relief if he does, and hopelessness if he doesn’t.
The line clacks as the number connects, and you grip the receiver hard enough that a day-old wound on your knuckle splits, but you can scarce care. Instead you simply hold your breath as the phone rings once, twice, three times...
Your stomach lurches as the ringing stops.
“Santiago? Santiago Garcia?” you ask, hoarsely, tugging on the coiled phone wire so hard as you wind it around your fingers that you are close to breaking it.
“This is Mrs. Garcia. Can I help you?” a woman’s voice responds.
You want to dry heave. Your heart drops to your stomach.
“You’re his wife?” you ask, the question like a poison barb on your tongue.
“Yes, who’s speaking, please? Can I take a message?”
All this time, you had been the only one alone, it seems. You should be glad for him, but you are too sad for yourself to muster it.
You hesitate. You can’t say who’s calling. You can’t risk it. However, while he may not be at the end of the line, you are. This might be the last chance you get to say your piece.
You have to think on your feet, but that’s become second-nature for you. You haven’t enjoyed the luxury of plans or hopes or dreams for some time now.
You begin. Your voice is choked up.
“Just tell him... Tell him to remember me the way I was in Massachusetts. Tell him I’ve never been happier than then. Tell him not to worry. I won’t cash in that favour, but he’s already done enough.”
He has. He’s given you the strength to make it this far, even if he didn’t know it.
“Who is this?” his wife presses, her tone sharp.
You can’t say, but he’ll know. He’ll know - if he remembers you. Your eyes mist over with tears, and your chest tightens, emotion stealing the air from your lungs.
“Can you just tell him that? Please?” you beg, having been strong for so long and finally collapsing in on yourself, a desperate plea imbuing your voice.
Still, you don’t even wait for an answer before slamming the phone back down on its hook -can’t bear to hear her say no. Instead you surge towards your hotel room, sobs wracking your chest as you realise the cold hard facts. Now, you are truly on the run without any semblance of home to return to, even if you could ever stop. He did not wait for you.
So, you cry, even as you peel off your clothes from your pained body, leaning into the stream of luke-warm water in the motel shower. Water which may rinse the blood and grime from the surface of your skin but has no hope of washing the blood from your hands, or wiping the red from your ledger.
Nothing ever could.
Then, you lie alone in bed, your sleeping bag and liner protecting you from the motel bed covers, at least. You stare up blankly at the ceiling, and, as you often do, you try to pinpoint where it all went wrong. You try to rewrite history. You try to imagine all the ways in which things could have worked out.
As always, with certainty, you can say exactly when and where it all went to shit. And, as always, you wish that you could take it back.
You loll your head against the pillow, watching shadows dance through your curtains as snow falls past the glow of that ugly, beautiful phone box. It was a guardian after all, you think, if Santi got to know that you still think of him. That even now you can’t let him go. 
Always. Until the end.
Then, your whole body jolts in shock as the phone begins to ring - a loud, shrill insistent noise sounding out into the night, setting off a dog barking across the way, and a baby crying through the paper thin walls to your left.
It couldn’t be? Could it? It couldn’t be for you?
Still, you have to know, and so, you scramble into your snow boots and dash into the brisk night, grappling to lift the phone from its receiver before it rings out, your breath a white cloud of exertion before you.
And, at the same time that you connect to the caller, you spot the second harbinger. You see the shadowed figure there, approaching you from across the lot. You see the outline of a gun in their hand, and their trench billowing around their shins as they maintain a steady pace towards you.
You have nowhere left to run. This is the end of the line. You know it in the depths of you.
So, you simply flatten your back to the phone box, facing your assailant.
You simply close your eyes, willing everything else to disappear as an unmistakeably familiar voice filters through the speaker into your ear. You grip the receiver tightly with both hands.
Santiago Garcia says your name. Your real name. Not one of many aliases you’ve had to assume, painting lies over your existence. He says your real name -one you haven’t heard spoken in so long- and your bottom lip begins to tremble. “Honey, is that you?”
You smile, tears of joy cascading down your face as his simple words stoke more warmth than you have felt in so long. Even as the cold bites at your skin. Even as you hear the continued crunch of footsteps in the snow. Even as you hear a gun cock, mere feet from your body.
Hearing his voice, you think your knees may buckle in relief regardless.
“Hey, old friend,” you say fondly, through an inexplicable, watery smile. And, despite the situation, you feel happy, for the first time in a long while. Bizarre as it is, you are finally able to relax all the way.
Will he remember me as kind, at least?
You grip the phone even more tightly as Santi’s voice surges, coming at you with a million urgent questions. You let them flow through you, and then they are gone, just as easily. You know you will not be afforded the chance to answer even one. So, you say something else instead.
“Remember me, okay?” you breathe. “Remember how I loved you. And I did, Santiago. Right until the end of the line.”
You hope that he will. You can only hope that when the stories and lies and secrets and compromises come out, that he will remember you the way you were in Massachusetts. Before things started to unravel. Before you went on the run.
And, as your eyes screw themelsleves tightly shut, and you brace yourself for what is inevitably coming, you don’t think of him as he is now. Someone distant. Someone who doesn’t belong to you. Someone at the end of the line. You don’t think of yourself that way either.
You remember him the way he was in Massachusetts.
You hope dearly, that he will think of you that way too.
You finally feel warm.
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