#isolation from russia

[milenaolesinska]

🇷🇺 Russian mercenary Igor Mangushev proudly showed the skull of a killed 🇺🇦Ukrainian soldier.He explained the real goal of the Kremlin in this war: the complete destruction of #Ukraine, not tales about denazification and demilitarization.

NEXTA Twitter

[ineffablecrisp]

Do I or do I not want to make Tom Kazansky a Soviet immigrant

[prototypelq]

this is just a popup on the internet, but it really really does feel like a balm for the soul

[amerasdreams]

😡 the people who blame Aiden Aslin for going to Ukraine and saying he's a mercenary

He fought in the Ukrainian military, not a paid extra military force.

He actually fought bc he wanted to help. He couldn't stand by and do nothing. How many of you could say the same.

And ppl think he betrayed them or sth -- he was captured. Used forpropaganda. Totally under duress. Threat hanging over him the entire time.

If you're not in that situation you cannot imagine what it's like. To be in a russian prisons and tortured.

His book really shows and helps you understand what it is like to be a prisoner captured by russsians -- so you can feel as much as is possible for an outsider. What Russians do to POWs. The only thing you can do is try to survive.

[cruelsister-moved2]

since i refuse to disseminate information on global conflicts via twitter screenshots here is some actual information about the israeli strike on damascus and the context

[quotesfrommyreading]

While Russia is paying a stiff economic cost for being cut off, the digital isolationism also serves Mr. Putin’s interests. It allows him to clamp down further on dissent and information that does not follow the government line. Under a censorship law passed last week, journalists, website operators and others risk 15 years in prison for publishing “misinformation” about the war on Ukraine.

“This is going to feel like a return to the 1980s for people who lived in that era, because suddenly information is back in the hands of the state,” said Alp Toker, director of NetBlocks, a London organization that tracks internet censorship.

  —  Russia, Blocked From the Global Internet, Plunges Into Digital Isolation

[sayruq]

Today was a big for the resistance. It seems people were right, they were waiting for Biden to leave so they can respond to the Ah Ahli Hospital massacre (the tweets below are arranged from the earliest reports I saw to the latest in order to show the coordination between different groups in different countries and the escalation)

Like I said, a big day for the resistance

And I see no signs of things slowing down

The Palestinian resistance has a list of objectives for this operation including damaging Israel's economy, forcing Israel citizens to flee the country, and slowing down immigration to Israel in the long term (because that leads to new settlements)

In other news, Biden's bloodlust was enough to disgust an arms dealer.

Several of his staff have also expressed discomfort with the administration's choices the past few weeks

Nonetheless, American troops have been told to prepare for deployment

The past few days I've been pointing out how Russia has gone from pro Israel to carefully neutral to increasingly critical of Israel and now we have this.

I'm so glad that Israel has continued to shoot itself on its foot by isolating itself from Russia and China

Russia is actively intervening to ensure that America and its allies can't use the Black Sea to counter the resistance in West Asia which is a big deal

So far, all signs are pointing to a regional conflict

This has to be a huge blow to Israel seeing so many countries, even a NATO nation, coming together to ensure that it can't annihilate Palestine.

More importantly, it shows that Palestine does not stand alone.

[bookshelfdreams]

not a fucking day goes by without an american on this hellsite pondering whether they can justify voting for Biden, despite omg! he's supporting Israel!!!!11!

as if Trump didn't literally say just last week that he would not defend America's Nato partners and would in fact encourage Putin/Russia to "do whatever the hell they wanna do"

as if he hadn't been open about his disdain for Nato and his unwillingness to actually adhere to the treaty in case of aggression

as if Russia weren't currently waging a war of territorial expansion fueled by imperialistic delusions of grandeur the likes of which haven't been seen since fucking WWII

Putin has put out an arrest warrant against the Estonian head of state, as if she were a russian citizen. He recently said of course he wouldn't attack Poland unless they attack Russia first - hmm, I wonder if that could be an allusion to a historic precedent? Has anyone ever faked a polish attack on their territory to kick off a massive war???

Putin has all but explicitly stated that he does not want to stop after Ukraine. Now add to this a US president who would encourage - not just stand by, actively encourage - further russian aggression. The campaign for presidential election hasn't even fully kicked off yet, I shudder to imagine what Trump would do or say if he actually held office again.

Of course the situation in Gaza is horrible. Of course we need deescalation (and hey, if you weren't getting your news exclusively from ragebait you'd know that even its closest allies are criticizing Israel, that they will become isolated if they continue on like this. Support for Israel isn't nearly as unwavering and unanimous as you may think).

Please. I'm begging you. Another Trump term could be catastrophic in ways that can't be fully anticipated. Already his party has backed him on (or tried to downplay) his latest attempt to undermine Nato.

We are dealing with an very delicate and dangerous geopolitical situation right now. China observes Russia very carefully with one eye, and looks at Taiwan with the other. And they're far from the only global player with imperialist ambitions.

The US government unfortunately has a huge effect on the whole world, and making your vote hinge on a single issue (when that issue won't even be solved in a way you'd like by literally any imaginable US government! No US president will completely cease supporting Israel, like come on)

making your vote hinge on a single issue like that is incredibly irresponsible

[blueiskewl]

New Mexico Footprints are Oldest Sign of Humans in Americas

Fossil footprints date back to between 21,000 and 23,000 years ago, upending previous theory that humans reached continent later.

New research confirms that fossil human footprints in New Mexico are probably the oldest direct evidence of human presence in the Americas, a finding that upends what many archaeologists thought they knew.

The footprints were discovered at the edge of an ancient lakebed in White Sands national park and date back to between 21,000 and 23,000 years ago, according to research published on Thursday in the journal Science.

The estimated age of the footprints was first reported in Science in 2021, but some researchers raised concerns about the dates. Questions focused on whether seeds of aquatic plants used for the original dating may have absorbed ancient carbon from the lake – which could, in theory, throw off radiocarbon dating by thousands of years.

The new study presents two additional lines of evidence for the older date range. It uses two entirely different materials found at the site, ancient conifer pollen and quartz grains.

The reported age of the footprints challenges the once conventional wisdom that humans did not reach the Americas until a few thousand years before rising sea levels covered the Bering land bridge between Russia and Alaska, perhaps about 15,000 years ago.

“This is a subject that’s always been controversial because it’s so significant – it’s about how we understand the last chapter of the peopling of the world,” said Thomas Urban, an archaeological scientist at Cornell University, who was involved in the 2021 study but not the new one.

Thomas Stafford, an independent archaeological geologist in Albuquerque, New Mexico, who was not involved in the study, said he “was a bit skeptical before” but now is convinced.

The new study isolated about 75,000 grains of pure pollen from the same sedimentary layer that contained the footprints.

“Dating pollen is arduous and nail-biting,” said Kathleen Springer, a research geologist at the US Geological Survey and a co-author of the new paper.

Ancient footprints of any kind can provide archaeologists with a snapshot of a moment in time. While other archeological sites in the Americas point to similar date ranges – including pendants carved from giant ground sloth remains in Brazil – scientists still question whether such materials really indicate human presence.

“White Sands is unique because there’s no question these footprints were left by people, it’s not ambiguous,” said Jennifer Raff, an anthropological geneticist at the University of Kansas, who was not involved in the study.

[no-passaran]

[...] The International Olympic Committee, FIFA, UEFA, FIBA, and other sports organisations are complicit as they allow a continuous participation of the occupying apartheid regime in their events. Following a swift response and an instant suspension of Russia, it is now difficult for them to justify turning a blind eye to the Israeli government’s actions.

We must however take heart from history and support the liberation of Palestine as generations before us brought apartheid to an end in South Africa. That struggle took on all possible dimensions, with one of the earliest being suspension of sporting ties – which aided in peacefully isolating the South African regime, demonstrated a global rejection of apartheid and changed domestic perspectives in the country.

This act must now be extended to Israel – not only due to its practice of settler-colonialism, military occupation, ethnic cleansing, genocide, apartheid and illegal exploitation of natural resources on occupied territories – but also due to its brutal assault on cultural, academic and sporting life of the Palestinian society.

We thus urgently demand:

An immediate suspension of Israel from participation in all international sports until it fully complies with international law and sports regulations

For global and European sports governing bodies to immediately uphold their statutory obligations – especially their own rules on human rights and non-discrimination given Russian, South African and other precedents. This would include, inter alia, a ban on Israel competing at the 2024 Paris Olympics, UEFA’s European Championship and FIFA’s World Cup.

For a deeper analysis on the rationale to suspend Israel from international sports, please review this paper (also available in Spanish) that will be sent to sports organisations.

[httpskuzuu]

Please, Fedya

idk why, but I'm very embarrassed to publish this

Yandere!Fyodor x Reader

English is not my mother tongue, sorry for the mistakes.

tw: kidnapping, yandere, mention of: broken bones, abuse, isolation, bad mental health, punishment and escape attempt (nothing explicit really), stockholm syndrome, fyodor is a general tw

Your life with Fyodor had been good, as good as a life with a kidnapper could be, but you would never admit that out loud, it would be too hard a blow to your dignity.

At first everything was hell, Fyodor was the definition of cruel, it took you months to be able to get out of the 4 walls where he locked you up, in complete darkness. It screwed up your eyesight, your sleep and your overall health, physical and mental. He at least fixed those problems, paid for your eye surgery, gave you vitamin D supplements, helped you by fixing your sleep schedule, etc.

It wasn't so bad, except that not all the issues could be fixed, your mental health was horrible, it still is, you doubted he could fix that.

Before you had all that help Fyodor gave you, you had to change your behavior, you were always a fighter and with Fyodor it would be no exception. The turning point of your behavior was the night you tried to escape. He caught you, as punishment he broke both your legs and your fingers, he also left you in complete isolation, you don't know for how long. Since that punishment, you never disobeyed Fyodor again, not intentionally at least.

As time went by, and when he saw that your meek behavior was not a lie, he began to give you more liberties. One of the most important for you was the freedom to go outside, obviously accompanied by Fyodor.

Also, with that freedom to go out, you realized that Fyodor liked to treat you like a doll. Every time he allowed you to go out he was the one who dressed you, you had no voice or vote in that.

On those outings, you realized that the place you were in was Russia, you didn't know specifically which part. Before arriving in Russia, you had never seen snow in person, so it was beautiful the first time.

Today was one of those days that Fyodor allowed you to go out.

He dressed you in warm clothes and took you to a coffee shop. It was nicer than you thought it would be, not only because you went outside, but because your talks with Fyodor were pleasant.

By the time you left the coffee shop, it was getting dark, but you convinced Fyodor to go to a local bookstore and buy some books. It wasn't for you to read it (you didn't understand Russian and Fyodor had never tried to teach you so you couldn't communicate with others), it was for Fyodor to read it to you, it was an activity that, surprisingly, you enjoyed very much. You left the bookstore with a book of poems whose cover caught your attention.

Walking on your way home you heard high-pitched meowing coming from an alley, you stopped your steps and, consequently, to Fyodor, who was holding your hand.

"What is it, милый?"

"I heard meowing." Your gaze did not move from the alley.

You let go of Fyodor's hand and headed down the alley, Fyodor followed you closely until you reached a cardboard box lying on the ground.

You bent down and opened the box to find an orange furred cat, it was about the size of your hand and very thin. You wondered what kind of horrible person had abandoned such a cat.

You petted it and the cat reacted affectionately, rubbing its head against your hand. You laughed at the action and turned your head to see Fyodor standing behind you, still standing. "Please, Fedya, let's keep him."

Fyodor wasn't a big fan of cats, or animals in general, it wasn't that he hated them, but he preferred not to have pets. But there you were, begging him for an abandoned cat, and, well, you were being on excellent behavior, so he needed to give you a reward, right?

"Okay, but you'll be the one to take care of it." You nodded quickly as you grabbed the cat, pulled him against your chest, and covered him up as best you could with your coat.

The two of you walked out of the alley, you were petting the cat's little head as you smiled. Fyodor just looked at you, appreciating how cute you looked when you were happy. He thought that, perhaps, he could do more things to see that smile of yours more often.

[milenaolesinska]

[vestaignis]

Начинаем день с разминкой от манула. We start the day with a warm-up from the Pallas' cat.

Манул (или палласов кот) — это небольшой дикий кот, обитающий в центральной и северной Азии. Он является исчезающим видом и включен в Красную книгу России и других стран.  Считается, что манулы одни из старейших диких кошек. Манул довольно мелкий для диких кошачьих — размером с домашнюю кошку. Длина тела достигает 50-62 см, хвост — 23-31 см, вес — от 2,5 до 4 кг, хотя из-за пышного меха манул выглядит довольно крупным и тяжелым. У манулов самый густой мех среди всех представителей семейства кошачьих: на один квадратный сантиметр туловища у них приходится до 10 тысяч шерстинок. Именно поэтому манулы спокойно относятся к холоду: им комфортно гулять и охотиться при температуре до минус 50 градусов. Ареал обитания манула очень широк. Манул обыкновенный преимущественно обитает в России: в Сибири, Красноярском крае, Забайкалье, Туве и на Алтае. Его также можно встретить в Монголии и Китае. Среднеазиатский манул водится в Афганистане, Узбекистане, Пакистане, Туркмении, Таджикистане, Иране и Казахстане, а тибетский — на Тибете, в Кашмире и в Непале.

Манул один из самых интровертных представителей семейства кошачьих. В дикой природе они ведут обособленный образ жизни, стремятся к одиночеству �� не любят контактировать с какими-либо живыми существами, включая своих же собратьев: при встрече с ними они дерутся не на жизнь, а на смерть.  Манулы — животные тихие и крайне редко издают какие-либо звуки, дабы не привлекать лишнего внимания. Но если дикий кот и подает голос, то это меньше всего похоже на мяуканье кошки: манулы шипят, кряхтят и рычат. Одна из самых характерных черт манулов — их огромная тяга к свободе.

The Pallas cat is a small wild cat native to central and northern Asia. It is an endangered species and is included in the Red Book of Russia and other countries. Pallas' cats are believed to be one of the oldest wild cats. Manul is quite small for a wild cat - the size of a domestic cat. Body length reaches 50-62 cm, tail - 23-31 cm, weight - from 2.5 to 4 kg, although due to the lush fur, the Pallas's cat looks quite large and heavy.Pallas' cats have the thickest fur of any member of the cat family: they have up to 10 thousand hairs per square centimeter of their body. This is why Pallas’ cats are calm about the cold: they are comfortable walking and hunting at temperatures down to minus 50 degrees. The habitat of the Pallas's cat is very wide. The common manul lives mainly in Russia: in Siberia, the Krasnoyarsk Territory, Transbaikalia, Tuva and Altai. It can also be found in Mongolia and China. The Central Asian Pallas's cat is found in Afghanistan, Uzbekistan, Pakistan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, Iran and Kazakhstan, and the Tibetan Pallas's cat is found in Tibet, Kashmir and Nepal.

Manul is one of the most introverted representatives of the cat family. In the wild, they lead an isolated lifestyle, strive for solitude and do not like to contact any living creatures, including their own fellow creatures: when meeting them, they fight to the death. Pallas' cats are quiet animals and rarely make any sounds, so as not to attract unnecessary attention. But if a wild cat makes a voice, it is least like a cat’s meow: Pallas’ cat hisses, grunts and growls. One of the most characteristic features of Pallas cats is their great desire for freedom.

Источник:/pets.mail.ru/stories/10-neozhidannyih-faktov-o-manulah-kotoryie-vyi-mog/,https://www.techinsider.ru/science/1568331-samyy-strannyy-rossiyskiy-kot-vse-fakty-o-manule/, t.me @kotya, //dzen.ru/a/Y0MkRW5adSgkm6rT,/www.ixbt.com/live/offtopic/kto-takie-manuly-i-chem-oni-otlichayutsya-ot-obychnyh-koshek.html.

[nopanamaman]

Would the Soviet Union have collapsed in the PAFL universe (if it even existed) or is it still around, just heavily mutated ?

The soviet union collapsed in the sense that the country stopped pursuing the ideals of communism and instead shifted into its more capitalistic iteration.

So it's a mixture of the USSR and the modern russian federation: a totalitarian trade & industrial union of slavic and Central Asian countries. It's governed by a single ruling party, with puppet governments in all its membering states.

Similarly to the USSR, it's mostly isolated from the outside world (closed Internet, no freedom of travel beyond the country's borders). And similarly to modern russia, it still has a hostile attitude towards the West, high rates of corruption and crime, as well as harsh censorship.

It's the worst of both worlds lol

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Black Widow

Summary: How a Black Widow made it out of the Red Room, and onto the 141.

Warnings: there’s a lot of talk of trauma in this, explicit smut, threesomes, jealousy, spitroasting, etc, etc, weirdly long (5k)

Notes: the reader was raised (ish) in the red room but this fic is not at all a part of the mcu – it’s just supposed to be the story of a defector, and how she became a part of the 141

kind of felt guilty while writing this bc it made me feel like ghost was cheating on red fox from the fics by @charnelhouse lmao

feedback and comments are very much appreciated!!!

Masterlist | requests are OPEN! | hmu to be added to one of my taglists!

The first memory you have of an outsider is at eleven years old. You and the other girls are sleeping in the dormitory when Madam Ivanova bursts in and opens the handcuffs binding you all to your beds. She pulls the others from their cots, and you almost don’t notice the man that grabs you by the arm.

He’s wearing a hat you’ve never seen before, and that immediately scares you – you don’t recognize him.

“I’ve found the girls!” he shouts, and others pour in, armed to the teeth. Madam Ivanova is still guiding other girls out of the room, and you can see the fear in her eyes. She’s not a kind person, but she takes care of you. Nothing bad has ever happened to you when you were with her.

Nothing like this.

So you turn around, and punch the man square in the face. It takes him aback, and he stumbles backwards. It gives you just enough time to run from him.

Later, you learn that his name is Price, and that he is with the British. An enemy of the Red Room.

Seven years later, you come face to face with him again. You’re three years into active duty, serving the Red Room, and you look drastically different from what you looked like at eleven.

It’s a mistake from another girl that causes your capture. It’s his face that you see first when the hood is pulled off your face.

In the past few years, he’s been the face of your nightmares, so you stay silent. It surprises you when the British don’t torture you. Instead, they offer you a deal. Provide them with the intel they want, and be free of the Red Room.

It takes you three months to accept that deal, and one more to get Price and his colleague Laswell the things they want.

They give you your pardon, and you move to New Zealand, as far away from Russia and Great Britain as you can.

With a fake passport, fake birth certificate and fake story, you leave all of it behind.

You wake up early, shrieking out of your sleep from a nightmare. Your first thought is to call Sarina, an old colleague who also made it out, but you know that she’s still asleep – at least the people in her time zone are. Instead, your feet carry you outside to the lake.

You fish around in your jacket, finding a cigarette and lighter. There’s a nervous feeling in your gut, ever-present. Trained into you since you can remember. This country is the safest and most isolated you could manage, and yet, there’s always the imperative of looking over your shoulder.

You hear Price walking onto the gravelly beach before you see him.

“You know I moved here to be left alone, right?” you tell him, taking another draw from your cigarette.

“I’ve got a job for you.” Price says instead, and you shake your head.

“I’m done with contracting work.”

“So you live off of government support and the intel you sell on the dark web?” he asks.

“That’s my business.”

“It’s about the Red Room.”

You pause, glancing over at him. He looks sincere, but you can also see the earpiece he’s wearing.

“Laswell on the comms?” you asked. You still remember the woman, distrusting as fuck from the moment she met you.

“Yeah. She’s helping with coordinating the team.”

You snort with disdain. “I don’t work in teams. We aren’t trained to.”

“You’ll like them.” Price promises.

“I doubt it. I don’t like you very much.”

Price gives you a dry laugh, and you know he doesn’t take it as personally as you want him to.

“I know that this is personal to you. You got out at eighteen – that’s later than most. You know what they do.”

“Ask any other defector. Sarina, or Antonya. I’m not interested.” You tell him firmly.

“We’re not taking many prisoners from the Red Room.” Price begins again, and you’re about to cut him off. “You can kill the head. Get the girls safe, and you can do with Dreykov whatever you want.”

The offer is too tempting to turn down. To be able to kill the man that ruined your life? The man that ruined the lives of all those other girls?

“I’m in.” you say, and Price gives you a grim smile in return.

“Pack your things. You can meet the team in England.”

Soap

Price had said that he was going to New Zealand for business. He hadn’t realized that ‘business’ entailed a woman.

“That yer girlfriend?” Soap asked, and the woman gave him a look so mean that she almost compared to Ghost.

“I’d hope not.” Price replied. “I’d be dead before morning.”

The woman sat down at the end of the table silently. She looked around, before her hands grabbed a pack of cigarettes from her jacket, lighting it up again.

Ghost was quiet too, but fuck, he knew Ghost. This woman didn’t say a single fucking word, but Soap still knew that Price didn’t have any kind of power over her.

“What’s the mission?” he asked impatiently, and Price set down a stack of Manila folders onto the table.

Laswell pushed off from the wall she’d been leaning against, pulling one of the folders from the stack.

“To most special operatives, the Red Room is a myth. A story made up by the KGB, and nothing more. But the Red Room exists, and we’re going to take it down.”

The woman made a sound for the first time, and it was a disdainful laugh. The others turned to stare at her, but Laswell cleared her throat to redirect their attention back to the right person.

“Over the years, the US and Britain have worked together to take the Red Room down, but it’s evolved from a KGB branch to a human trafficking ring. They take young girls off the streets all over the world and turn them into trained killers, mostly targeting politicians. Taking down the Red Room would mean putting a stop to their ongoing crimes and potentially explain some of the most unclear assassinations of the past seventy years.” Laswell said.

Soap glanced over to the woman, who was watching Laswell with close to no emotion on her face. Stubbing her cigarette on the steel table she leaned back, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“And she’ll be a part of that?” Gaz asked, nodding to her.

Price nodded. “Her call sign is Black Widow.”

“Got a name too?” Soap asked, and she told him, quickly. Quietly.

“What do you do in the field?” Gaz asked her. Soap noticed that Ghost was watching her closely, as if he expected her to pull a gun on the team.

“Hand to hand combat, espionage, sexpionage. I can be a sniper if you want me to.” She answered quickly.

“She’s here to show you the way into the Red Room and make the girls there trust you enough to get them out.” Price added.

“What, don’t want to get punched by a kid again?” she said, and Price rolled his eyes. They knew each other, but they didn’t like each other at all.

When the meeting ended, the team began to file out of the room, but Soap stayed behind, hoping to catch her and introduce himself. Ghost shot him a warning look, that Soap chose to ignore.

“Welcome to the team.” He said.

“Thrilled.” She replied dryly.

“I’m John. Everyone here calls me Soap though.”

“I know. I read your file.” She deadpanned. She could have been funny if she hadn’t been constantly mean.

“Ya got access to that?” he asked.

“No.” she replied.

Of course she didn’t.

Ghost

They’d tried to get into a smaller base of the Red Room first, to gather some more intel. None of the team had expected there to be any people, much less a bunch of teen girls armed to the teeth.

It didn’t end well.

Out of the thirty girls there, they’d managed to get seven out alive. The others had either died via cyanide pills or while fighting them.

Black Widow had explained that they were brainwashed, and that was why they’d immediately committed suicide when other options ran out. She didn’t seem to be affected too much by it. At least, she tried to pretend that it was that way.

He’d taken a bullet to the thigh, and it had been her to stitch him up in the safehouse before he could call the medic. She’d been grazed by something, and she took care of that herself as well.

They’d all managed to get some time under the shower, and now, they sat in the living room together. She was in the cargo pants she’d worn on the mission and a black tank top, and Ghost could see the tattoo on her right shoulder blade while her back was to him.

The square hourglass symbol, followed by a number.

1047.

He didn’t have to ask to know that she was the 1047th girl they’d taken. He wondered how many of them had died at his hands, while he didn’t know that he was fighting children.

Price was working on the radio they’d found in the safehouse, but finding an enjoyable station in the middle of Russia was proving to be harder than expected. Eventually, he landed on a classical music station.

She didn’t seem to mind, scraping her can of tortellini clean, until a new song played. Ghost did not recognize it, but he saw her hands curl around the can tightly, knuckles turning white.

“Change the station.” She said. Price looked up. It was the first thing anyone had said in a few hours.

“Why?”

“Just change the fucking station.” She snapped. “Please.”

Price nodded, turning it to something else. A Russian voice chattered into the room. Ghost could see that she was listening, probably understanding every single word.

“What are they saying?” Price asked.

“That there was a fire in the warehouse we were in.” she said.

“Nothing about us?”

She shook her head. “From what they’re saying, they don’t have a clue. The Red Room will know.”

“Why?” Ghost asked.

“They chipped us. They know the last location of the girls, and they know that seven of the chips moved without the rest. I had the medics take them out, but it took them a while to get here. By now, Dreykov will know that something is going on.”

It was the most she’d said in one go so far.

Ghost didn’t trust her, but he didn’t mind her either. Most of the team disliked her, and Price couldn’t seem to stand her. Soap had his mind set on talking to her. But Ghost… he didn’t know who she was, only that she was as quiet as he was.

He knew that Soap wanted to ask about the scars that littered her arms and what they could see of her back, and he knew that she would not answer.

Suddenly, there was a shout of frustration from Gaz.

“What happened?” Price asked, immediately on his feet.

“Heater’s out.”

Glancing outside, Ghost saw that it was snowing heavily. Black Widow got up from her spot in the room. Ghost could hear her shuffle inside one of the cabinets.

She returned with blankets, dumping them in the middle of the room before taking one for herself. Ghost said nothing as she sat down next to him, an arm length of space between them. The snow only got heavier, until it turned into an all-out blizzard.

“We’ll be snowed in tomorrow.” Soap noted.

“Let’s worry about freezing to death first.” Gaz said. He was chattering, despite the blanket around him. Black Widow had gotten herself a second already, and she still looked cold.

“Taking first watch.” Ghost muttered, sitting down by the window.

“I’ll join you.” Soap said. Ghost knew that Soap wanted to chatter about something idle to distract himself from the image of 23 dead fourteen-year-olds.

The others shuffled together for warmth, except for her. She stayed where she was, leaning against the counter of the small kitchen.

“Ya think she’s from the Red Room?” Soap asked under his breath.

“Course she is.” Ghost replied.

“I heard they take the girls when they’re three. Teach ‘em ballet and how to be all pretty while killing a man. Then they send them out when they’re fifteen.”

Ghost nodded, letting Soap know that he was listening.

“Ya think that’s why she wanted ta change the station?”

“Huh?”

“They were playin’ sum ballet song.” Soap said. “Maybe she knows how to dance to it. “

“Doubt she does much dancing.” Ghost replied.

“Sight for sore eyes though. But after what she did today…” Soap mumbled.

Ghost still remembered it. How ruthlessly she’d fought against those girls. Wasn’t she supposed to know that they had no choice?

They had all obviously gone through the same combat training, but she was older and stronger. Those girls knew that. She knew that.

Ghost had watched her snap the neck of one with a twist of her hand. Something like that was so grotesque that even Ghost seldom did it, but with her it looked like the starter to a five-course-meal.

“She ain’t happy.” Soap said.

“No shit.”

“Ya think she’s a good person?”

“I doubt it.” Ghost replied.

“I think she could be. Maybe she’s an ass due to circumstance.”

Ghost snorted. Only Soap would say something like that. When he glanced over to her, he saw beady eyes glancing back in the darkness. He wondered if she’d listened in to their conversation.

She didn’t sleep for most of the time Ghost and Soap were on watch. A few hours in, she picked up her pack of cigarettes and lighter and offered them to take over watch.

Ghost nodded, about to get up and go back to bed, but Soap was hesitant.

“It’s fucking cold sleeping on tha ground.” He said.

“We can sleep close. For warmth.” Ghost replied.

“Nah. I’ll stay on my feet.” Soap said.

Ghost shook his head. What the fuck was going on with Soap?

You

You were back to square one, thanks to some wrong intel. On top of that, they all saw what you did to the other girls. You weren’t sure if their pity was worse or whatever they did now.

All of them except Soap, who still seemed determined to chew off your ear. Currently, he was telling you about his hometown in Scotland.

“You’re from New Zealand, aren’t ya?” he asked finally.

“I just lived there.”

“Then where are you from?” he asked. You shrugged in response. Russia was where you were raised, technically, but you did not know where you were taken from.

Soap smiled at you brightly, completely unguarded. It threw you off. He was a special ops, and yet, he sometimes behaved like anything but.

You didn’t need classes in the Red Room to know that he was attracted to you. Yet, you weren’t sure whether that would help or hinder you.

“Who raised ya? Masked soldiers?” he said, and you were sure he’d meant it as a joke.

“A woman called Madam Ivanova. She was in charge of us.”

“Was? Who killed her?”

“Price.” You replied curtly.

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly. You could see that he was regretting his words.

“Don’t be. She wasn’t a good person.”

“You say that as if she killed your friends.”

“She did.” You replied.

“What?”

“If recruits aren’t good enough, you don’t let them into your ranks.” You shrugged.

“Recruits? Fucking hell, you were girls.”

“Yeah, at the beginning of the program. 1 in 20 makes it through.”

Soap didn’t say anything else that night.

***

You stayed on after taking down Dreykov. By going back into this industry, you’d given up New Zealand, and in your gut, you’d known that when you made that choice.

The team had grown to accept you, and even Price was alright with your company by now. In return, you tried to be less snappy towards them. It worked, most of the time.

The last mission had been a good one. No one innocent had died, you’d gotten the intel, and the bad guys were dead. It was like out of a story, and the group was celebrating.

Price had gotten an empty bar, and Soap was playing bartender, giving out drinks like there was no tomorrow, and chugging his own just as quickly. Ghost was in the corner, mask rolled up to drink whatever Soap handed him.

You could see a bit of blond stubble peek out, along with a small scar. You knew how he’d gotten it. It had been in the Red Room, the actual Red Room, and an eight-year-old girl had slashed at him with a sharpened letter opener.

Ghost hadn’t defended himself. You’d pried the girl off him, taking the weapon from her and making sure she wouldn’t jam it into his neck next.

“Here.” Soap said, handing you a shot of Tequila.

“I’ve had enough.” You replied. “If I drink any more, I’ll get tipsy.”

“That’s the point.” Soap said, firmly putting the shotglass down. “You’re lucky we’re not playing any drinking games.”

You snatched the glass from him, ignoring his smug smile as you downed it, holding out your ahnd for a lime wedge. Soap dropped it into your hand quickly.

You laughed at some stupid joke he said, ignoring the stares on your back from the rest of the team. You couldn’t deny the fact that Soap could make you feel less…

You weren’t sure, but when you were with Soap, your past faded into the background. It wasn’t as important anymore. All the blood and fucking gore of it.

Ghost

He wasn’t sure why, but he hated that she was laughing at Soap’s idiot jokes. Somehow, he had convinced her to get tipsy, and it was a good look on her.

She was pretty when she smiled. Not that she wasn’t without, but it made her look careless. At some point, she walked over to him, another shot glass in hand.

“Soap insists you drink another. He wants to see you tipsy.”

Ghost took the glass from her, ignoring the fact that he enjoyed their hands touching.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Ghost paused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re quiet. You always are, but you’re like… quiet tonight.” She said. He wanted to scoff at her.

“You and Johnny fucking?” he asked. He wasn’t sure why.

“What?” she asked. “Where the fuck is that coming from?”

“Don’t want my team messed up.”

“Oh in that case, you don’t have to worry Lieutenant.” She spat. Her entire body language had shifted in a moment, and it was telling Ghost to fuck off. “I’m going for a smoke.”

Ghost watched her storm out, before glancing over to Soap. He’d stilled his movements, looking after her.

Ghost followed a few seconds after, leaving the bar. She stood outside, clicking on her lighter angrily.

“Don’t fucking say anything stupid.” She told him, throwing the lighter away with a frustrated movement. Suddenly, Ghost surged forward, grabbing her jaw softly. He had to lean down to look at her, even if she wasn’t short.

“Wha-“ she began

“I thought you learned about all of this.” Ghost mumbled, suddenly unsure what to do. Her hands surged forward, pulling the lower half of his mask up.

His hand moved the back of her neck, covering pretty much all of it. He could taste the sourness of limes on her lips. Her lips were so soft Ghost thought he might forget about everything else.

He ghosted over her jaw, and felt the tenseness in it. Carefully, Ghost broke contact.

“Relax.” He told her.

“I am.”

“This isn’t a mission.”

“I just- I haven’t done this just for the sake of it.”

Shit. Ghost felt terrible when she said that.

“Don’t stop now.” She whispered, and Ghost obliged, his lips meeting hers again. Her jaw wasn’t as tense as it had been, and her arms hung loosely around his neck. Slowly, he let one of his hands slide down to her waist, pulling her in closely.

She let down a quiet oof as she hit his vest, letting him guide her towards the wall of the bar. His other hand pillowed her head, making sure that she would not hurt herself.

He hated to admit that kissing her was everything he wanted in that moment.

It was so perfect, the taste of her lips, her small hands on his chest and his own encircling her waist. Their closeness.

And then, the illusion shattered.

She sprang back from him, looking towards the door of the bar.

“Soap?” she asked, voice hoarse.

Soap

He’d only come out of the bar to check on her and Ghost, expecting them to be at each other’s throats. They were, just not the way he’d thought.

“Soap?” she asked, surprise apparent on her face. Ghost’s hand was still on her waist, but she’d backed away from him as soon as she’d heard his steps.

His stomach dropped. He wanted her. Simon fucking knew that. He’d wanted to do that to her since he’d met her, and he’d told Simon. He’d told him about what he thought of her and he did this?

And from the look on her face, she knew how he felt as well.

“Fuck you, Riley.” He spat, turning back around. Ghost stayed where he was, but she followed him.

“Please don’t go.” She said. “It was- I didn’t mean to-“

“What? You looked like you were about to fuck him right there.” Soap replied. He knew his accent was thick due to anger, and he didn’t care. He didn’t expect her to push him like a petulant child though.

Soap barely stumbled, and that only seemed to enrage her more.

“It was a heat of the moment thing!” she finally said. “He got me angry, and it worked, okay?”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset.” He finally replied. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“But I like you.” She blurted out. Soap blinked dumbly.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again. It makes me sound so childish.” She said. Behind her, Ghost moved.

“So why’d you make out with him?” Soap asked. She didn’t reply, but for the first time since he’d met her, she blushed. Furiously.

Oh.

He glanced over to Ghost, who towered behind her. He saw it too. Their eyes met, and Soap saw the idea that was coming to his mind mirrored in Ghost’s.

Oh.

They’d never even come close to something like that, but maybe…

Softly, he tipped up her chin, There were the beginnings of tears in her eyes, but her cheeks were still flushed from kissing Ghost and the Tequila she’d had. Her pupils were still dilated.

She was so fucking hot.

He could share with Ghost.

This wasn’t the first kiss Soap had imagined, but imagination be damned, it was still fucking amazing. Soap pulled her closer by the loops in her belt, feeling her body press against him. Her hands grabbed his neck, pulling him closer.

Soap could practically feel Ghost hover behind her, feel the impatience rolling off of him.

“Let’s get outta here, yeah?” Soap offered, and she nodded, grabbing him by the hand. Ghost followed, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He leaned in, whispering. “She’s never had sex for the sake of sex.”

Soap nodded. If she knew they were talking about her, she ignored it.

“I wasn’t planning on not focusing on her.” He replied.

Ghost

They found a dingy motel, and Soap barely managed to scrape money out of his wallet before he was already sprinting up the stairs to their hotel. The woman behind the desk gave them a look that told Ghost she knew exactly what they were planning.

Not that he cared much.

He caught up with her, grabbing her by the waist and throwing her over his shoulder. Soap shook his head, unlocking the door to their room as quickly as he could.

Ghost let her down on the bed, crashing lips onto lips. She gave a surprised squeak that turned into a moan as his hand wandered to her tits, greedily squeezing.

Blindly, she pulled Soap onto the bed, causing it to groan from the weight.

“Might break it if we keep going.” Soap said.

“That’s the goal.” She replied, before kissing him. Ghost didn’t know why he didn’t feel jealous but he was glad. Carefully, he set to work on pulling off her jacket, and then, her shirt.

He paused when he saw a massive scar, running from under her left breast until her hipbone. Ghost ran a thumb over it carefully. There was another, low on her stomach. Ghost didn’t want to think of where they’d come from. Kissing up her breasts, she felt her hands tug at his vest.

He shrugged it off, watching as she wrapped her legs around Soap’s waist, flipping him onto his back.

From under her hair, he saw the tattoo. It disappeared again when she leaned forward to suck on Soap’s neck, softly biting his shoulder.

Soap groaned and Ghost suddenly felt his pants grow uncomfortably tight.

He moved to kneel behind her, feeling her grind against the bulge in Soap’s pants. His hand snaked onto her neck, and she turned to kiss him.

“Good?” she asked. Simon and John nodded at the same time. She’s the most naked out of all of them, bra and pants still on, and God, it’s not enough for him. He picked her up, knowing exactly that she knew this was nothing for him, and beginning to open her pants.

Soap sat up, looking almost offended at being left out but then, he leaned back, giving her an appreciative smile.

Simon had almost managed to not feel guilty for making out with her behind the bar despite what Soap had told him.

She’s a pretty lass. I think she’d kill me if I told her.

That was the first thing Soap had told him, and Simon had silently agreed. He’d had no idea that Soap’s simple attraction would turn into a full-blown crush, like that of a lovesick teen. He’d had no idea that he’d follow so closely behind.

It had happened to him after the mess with the Red Room. She’d come out of Dreykov’s office, covered in blood, slick with it, and collapsed at his feet. He’d picked her up and carried her to the medics, but not before he’d caught a glimpse of the office.

Dreykov’s body, scattered across the room, his bodyguards dead with him.

He’d seen her carnal violence, and she’d held his hand afterwards, as they stitched her back together. Three bullets and six stab wounds, and she’d squeezed his hand so hard he was sure it would fall off.

They never spoke of it afterwards, but there was something there then.

There’s a moment of awkward rustling where Soap and Widow pull off their clothes, and Simon stands off to the side, unsure whether he should take his off as well.

Instead, he lowers himself to the end of the bed, pulling her towards him until her cunt is in front of his face. She crosses her legs for a moment, and Simon begins to work on her thighs. It takes her a moment, and then she lets him touch her.

Soap is somewhere above him, making out with her so intensely that Simon can see her chest heave with each breath. He’s so hard in his pants it almost hurts.

But this is about her. For her.

The first moan he coaxes from her is muffled, almost swallowed by Soap’s kiss, but the second comes more loudly. Simon stays where he is, until her legs wrap around his head with a trained strength and he can barely breathe.

He’d die happy between her legs.

Soap

Everything that’s happening turns into an avalanche once her clothes are off. She’s still sweaty from the bar and walking to the motel, but he couldn’t care less. Her tits are in his face – he has no right to.

Ghost is somewhere, doing something, and he can barely concentrate on what he’s doing with the sounds that are coming from her mouth. She’s not fragile – he knows she isn’t. And yet, he feels like he has to hold her like she’ll break apart.

“I want…” she begins, but trails off again, into another moan. Johnny throws a look behind his shoulder and sees her legs wrapped around Ghost’s head, so tightly that he isn’t sure his friend is still alive.

“What do you want?” he demands from her. She could ask anything from him right now. He’d shoot his own brains out if she wanted him to.

“Please, I need you.” She begs, and he thinks he’s going to lose his mind in this shitty motel.

Slowly, she lets Ghost go, and he stands up, pulling his mask over his face again. He’s still wearing his clothes.

Soap lets her get on top. Ghost is somewhere, holding her somehow, but all he can focus on is the feeling of him inside her. It’s never-ending, golden, and Soap knows nothing has felt more right.

“Fuck.” She mumbles, her arms shaking as she tries to steady herself on his shoulders. Ghost had done a number on her, and it looked amazing.

When she began to move, the scar on her stomach stretched, pulling on her skin. Soap wanted to take her away from it all. Him and Ghost, they could protect her. Let her truly retire.

She was younger than both of them, and had worked this kind of stuff long before them. Only Price had more experience.

Suddenly, she leans forward, her lips grazing his ear.

“Ghost feels a little left out.”

“We don’t want that, do we now?” he replies.

“I have something that might work.” She says, and Johnny trusts her. She turns around, offering her cunt to him from behind, facing Ghost. He takes out his cock, stroking leisurely, and Soap wants to gulp with her.

It’s fucking massive. She wants to suck him off when he’s that big?

But then she’s practically begging him to fill her cunt again, and all thoughts of possible or not possible are gone when he’s inside her.

He watches, through a haze, as Ghost feeds her his cock. She gags on it, and Johnny can feel himself twitch inside her. She feels it too.

Ghost is careful with her at first, whispering praises.

Good girl. You’re doing so well.

And then, he kind of forgets all about that, slowly guiding her head. The enormity of him causes her to rock back against Soap, and he wishes he could see her face.

He feels himself growing close, and suddenly he panics – there’s no condoms.

So he pulls out of her, and both Ghost and her halt their movements.

“You on the pill?” Soap asks quickly.

“I can’t have kids.” She replies. He halts at that for a moment, but then, she and Ghost are back at it, and he doesn’t want to miss out.

His hand snakes down to her belly, finding her clit. It causes her to clench around him and it takes Soap all of his willpower not to come then and there.

He doesn’t know where to look. The perfect fucking curve of her back. Her ass. Her face in Ghost’s crotch, taking him as if that wasn’t a fucking challenge.

Soap barely manages to coax an orgasm out of her before he cums. He's so close his brain has turned to mush. She shudders against him, and he has to hold her up, feeling her pretty ass bump against him, always begging for more. He gives as much as he can, making her moan around Ghost’s cock so loudly that the woman behind the desk downstairs has definitely heard.

One last time, he grabs her hips tightly, cumming inside her, before he pulls out and leans back.

He gets to enjoy the view as she continues to suck off Ghost, his cum dribbling out of her cunt. His handprints are on her hips, already beginning to bruise. Ghost doesn’t take much longer before he comes too, holding her head down. Soap hears her choke, and it’s enough to make him hard again.

She collapses onto the bed next to him, sweatier than before and hair in tangles thanks to Ghost.

Soap takes the stringy towel Ghost gets him from the bathroom, wiping down her thighs and offering it to her for her face.

“No need.” She says with a proud smirk.

“God, stop. You’ll be in for another round otherwise.”

Ghost sits on the bed across from them before she waves him over. It’s barely enough space, but she manages to squeeze between them. Soap scratches her back carefully, and she purrs like a cat.

“Was that good for a first?” Soap finally asks.

“Oh no it was totally terrible.” She answers, her voice sarcastic. “It’s not like I came all over your dick.”

“Jesus.” Ghost manages, but Soap sees his massive hand already on her ass.

“Round two?” Soap asks, and she gives him an adoring smile. There’s a moment where he feels himself falling in love with her even more, and maybe even with Ghost, for taking care of his girl.

“Give me a moment.” She says finally. “But yeah, let’s go for a round two.”

[rookthorne]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑻𝑾𝑶

》 𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤

The mask that covered the Soldat both embodied the character and hid the man behind it, the cloak of his character so effective it was a shock when he cornered and isolated you, to ask you out on a date. Stranger things had happened, that you were sure of.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 》 Scare Actor!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 》 5.0k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 》 Fluff, a game of chase with an intensity times a hundred, consensual stalking, primal, knife play ჻჻჻ TROPES: Meet cute, first date, friends to lovers

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 》 There is a surprise cameo in here of someone I never thought I would write for... Halloween called for it.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 》 @smutconnoisseur

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 》 @rookthorne's Fright Night — Masterlist

》 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

》 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

》 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍

What felt like years had passed since the previous night. 

After your encounter with the infamous Soldat, you had gone home feeling unsettled, unmoored with the curiosity that held you in such a tight vice it was impossible to breathe without the urge to research and know more. 

You had eventually given in – the social media platforms did not pull much of what you didn’t already know, however, you realised that Soldat had his own playlist on the park’s YouTube channel. Each video was filmed with a shaky camera and you could see him stalking after the person filming, and then he would vanish when they went through a crowd, just like a ghost – what he proclaimed to be. 

Comments called him a hoax, a stunt pulled by the park to call more visitors to the park. Which, you admitted, had worked – you went there and you signed that waiver just to have a chance to encounter him. 

Granted, you had gotten much more than you bargained for by far, that was for certain. Being hunted like prey and then cornered in an alleyway, only to find out he was intrigued by you… 

“Hmm,” you hummed, scrolling through the comments of a video. A single comment caught your attention and you stopped your mindless scrolling and paused to read it. 

He chased after me for like ten minutes. It was the scariest thing in my life and I commend him for his skill. Looking forward to coming back next season!

A short video was attached. It portrayed Soldat over the shoulder of the poster, flipping his knife nonchalantly as he stared straight at the camera. 

You couldn’t help but notice that every time you stumbled upon something pertaining to the Soldat that no one mentioned his proximity – not a single word about how they’d been pulled to his chest or had his hands on them and a knife to their throat. “That’s- That can’t be right,” you said, furrowing your brows. 

Had he made an exception for you? 

The worker that walked you through the waiver had endlessly assured you that this was due process, and that every person that signed the waivers was given the option to opt out of encounters with Soldat. He went on to explain that even if you did sign the waiver, there was no guarantee to have an interaction with a specific character. 

You still signed it, fully understanding the fact that it wasn’t a promise to see the Soldat. There was that hope, maybe even longing, that he would make an appearance, and you had been accutely surprised with just how he had presented himself. 

He stood so close you could feel his chest rise and fall against your back with every breath; you could hear his muffled words behind the mask, the accented dialogue of his character tinged with a mother tongue of Russian.

You wondered where the actor was from – whether he was just putting on a show, or whether he was in fact, from Russia. From what you understood and researched, the words he spoke translated to something that made you shiver. 

Those feelings and those words did not leave your mind as you slept, nor as you worked through the day. It was enough of a distraction that you had made so many slip ups and mistakes without realising, and you had been forced to start tasks over half way through. 

Your coworkers had revelled in that, even teased you for it. 

Sighing heavily, you placed your phone down in your lap and stared at the wall of your bedroom. Nightfall was creeping closer and closer. Soon you would need to leave to get to the park and that’s when you would see him, and that thought sent a thrill of excitement up your spine. 

Hours later, you stood at the entryway of the park once again. It felt surreal, like you were walking through a lucid dream filled with excited crowds flocking their way through the attractions. 

It was the eve of Halloween and everything had been ramped up – lights, fire, and fog were increased exponentially. There were even more actors stalking through the crowds and scattering them like pins in a bowling alley. 

A few of them tried jumping in front of you, but you only stared at them with a smirk when they pouted at your lack of reaction. “Ain’t here for a scare, lamb?” one asked, baring his teeth. 

“Nah,” you replied, “just here to watch everyone else lose their shit.” Whether it was in character or not, the actor laughed and moved on, amused with your blunt answer. 

Your reason for venturing to the park, however, could not have been more wrong. The words that the Soldat had said to you the previous night, “I will find you, kotenok. You will not escape so easily next time,” rang through your mind, bouncing off the confines of your skull. 

If he were here, he would find you, you reasoned. With that self-assurance, you started forward and passed through the sign in desk with a practised ease, then you headed straight off towards the rides. The crowd cleared as you walked, and you laughed at a group of young men as they scattered from an actor that had skidded across the floor towards them. 

“Little lamb!” a woman’s voice yelled, and you spun around to find Widow walking towards you, this time without her bat-hybrid weapon. Instead of a torn up leather jacket, she was wearing a suit – dark crimson, like her hair – and her white dress shirt was splattered with gore. “You came back! Soldat left you in peace, then.”

You grinned. “He didn’t make it easy, Widow.” She laughed – a manic sound that made your gut twist. “Anyway, I best get on,” you said simply. “I am being hunted.”

“Oh, don’t I know it, little one,” she sang. A bubble of gum popped as she spoke, and she went on her way, swinging her hips and jumping at the crowd to make them yell with fear. 

The archway to the ride section of the park loomed as you walked towards it, and you took a deep breath. On the exhale, you heard a loud bang right next to you and you shrieked, jumping to the side and you slammed into the shoulder of a bystander. “Sorry, oh my god–I’m so s-” You stopped and your mouth fell open. 

“Careful there, sweetheart,” the man purred. His head was covered in a black cowl with a red insignia, but his eyes were a striking blue – if he didn’t look so foreboding, you would have trusted him. Black armour covered his shoulders, that same red insignia plastered right on his chest. “Wouldn’t wanna run into the wrong fella ‘round here.”

“N-No, sorry,” you stuttered. 

For some unknown reason, this particular actor struck a deep chord of fear within you – just like The Soldat did. 

He smirked – it was a dark, sinister pull of his lips that made you shudder. “Run along now, little lamb.”

You squeaked and shuffled off, keenly aware of his eyes watching after you. 

The archway was only a few feet away when you looked up from your trainer-clad feet, only to freeze in place. A man, clad in black and eyes lined with kohl, stared straight back at you while flipping a knife in his left hand. The glint of metal caught you by surprise, and you abruptly realised the reason his hand was so cold against your mouth the previous night was because it was made of metal. 

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you stared at him, and him at you. 

He was leaning against the wall with an arm across his chest, and he didn’t seem bothered by the crowds around him giving him such a wide berth that the archway was almost impassible. You noticed a set of hard knee guards over the canvas of his pants, and heavy boots ladened and covered with straps were on his feet.

“Oh, no,” you breathed, blinking owlishly at him. His stare didn’t waver, but if you weren’t mistaken, you watched the corner of one of his eyes crinkle. The bastard was smirking. 

“Ah, my little kotenok,” he called, his voice as raspy and deep as it was the night before. “I told you I would find you.” The knife slipped back into a holster at his hip, and he strode forward. You only took a few hesitant steps back. “Where are you off to, devochka?”

“Anywhere but here.” You turned and bolted in the opposite direction, ignoring the way people watched you flee with widened eyes. “Can’t catch me this time!”

“Oh, YA by snova podumal, kotenok,” he said right behind you. “You can only run so far.”

You screamed and ran faster, laughing as you did so – almost in hysterics from the adrenaline, when the footsteps behind you suddenly stopped. Instinct told you that you were not safe, he was indeed a ghost that you could not outrun, but damn it all if you weren’t going to try. 

“And there she goes, run, lamb,” Widow called ahead of you, and she bowed as you ran past. “Run, run, as fast you can–Soldat will catch you!”

“Not helpful!” you yelled back over your shoulder, and her laughter could be heard over the loud music. 

Yesterday had taught you a valuable lesson, and no matter how many empty and dark alleyways you passed, you did not stop to rest – only sticking to the main walkways as you panted and slowed down to a stop. People looked at you as they passed, but you brushed off their curious stares as you heaved for breath, hands on your knees.

A bench was only a few feet away, and you decided it wasn't too much of a risk just to sit down – you were still in the open and there were minimal shadows for the Soldat to hide. It was a flat bench situated in front of a garden of sorts; plants of all sizes and dark colours flourishing. 

“Fuck,” you huffed, and you sat down heavily on the hard surface. “This shit is insane.”

Cold metal closed over your mouth, and your muffled shout went ignored as knees pressed into your back, or, more accurately, hard plastic knee guards. The same ones that you saw the Soldat wearing. “I told you, kotenok,” he growled. His knife dug into your neck, pinching the skin. “You cannot run from me. I will hunt you.” 

“You’re such an ass,” you grumbled behind his hand, and you gasped as he yanked you back. The new position allowed you to look into his eyes; a haunting, predatory glint danced across the shades of grey. 

“Povtori. Nemnogo gromche,” he snarled, narrowing his eyes. 

The danger in his tone made you gulp, a painful action with the angle of your neck. “What?”

“I said, devochka,” he snapped, the tip of his blade dancing across your jugular. “Say that a little louder for me.”

Oh, no, you thought, and you shook your head. Pain shot down your legs and you shuffled them In an attempt to alleviate the pressure on your spine. 

Soldat clicked his tongue, evidently disappointed. “Run, then, kotenok. When I catch you again, you will regret it.” He shoved you forward and he disappeared into the shrubs. 

It was like he wasn’t even there in the first place. 

“Oh, come on!” you groaned, getting to your feet with a wince. The music of the park was louder in your ears, screams and cries of shock even more so as you frantically looked around for a new escape route. 

For what felt like only a few moments, you were free – walking briskly between attractions and groups of visitors to throw off the tail you knew was on you, when it happened. You had only stopped for a second, just to look and decide whether to turn left or right, when you heard a group of women cry out and point behind you. 

Your stomach swooped with fear. A sharp exhale left your lips before you turned on the balls of your feet to face your assailant, only, he was right there – barely a foot of distance between your bodies. His head was tilted, long, dark hair drifted over the holes in his mask, and his eyes were fixed on you; both a sense of bright curiosity and dark foreboding flashing across them in equal measure. 

“You are not very good at the game of cat and mouse, little kotenok,” he mused, and a sparkle of mischief twinkled in his eyes for a split second. “Maybe I should teach you.”

People swarmed around you, excited to be getting a proper look at the infamous Soldat, but he didn’t seem perturbed by the attention. 

You fought against your heart that seemed to have made its new home in your throat, and you stammered a quiet, “You’re just too damn good at your job.”

A huff of breath blew his hair up and off the mask. “You flatter me.” He looked around then at the crowd, like he was assessing it for his own escape route. “Would you like to try again, little one?” He looked back at you, brow raised. “You seem to have garnered quite the reputation for being a sassy feyyerverk.”

“Firework?”

“Close,” he hummed. “My little kotenok is a firecracker–fierce and cute.”

Cute? “Soldat,” you said, unable to keep the sense of disbelief from your tone, “Are you-”

“Run,” he intoned, interrupting you. He pulled a knife from the holster at his hip and brandished it. You caught his subtle glance to the alleyway between two attractions that seemed to be dying in popularity. 

You blanched at the sight of the knife, and you took off running in the direction he glanced at. People around you scattered as your feet hit the pavement, and you could hear Soldat run in a different direction, away from you. 

The alleyway was deserted, as you hoped, and you leaned against the fence to catch your breath. “At least I have my cardio done,” you huffed, hand over your chest. 

“That is an understatement,” a voice said in the shadows, a ghost of a laugh in their voice. 

“Ah! What the fuck!”

The Soldat appeared, flipping his knife as he stared at you. “Such a flighty thing, aren’t you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him and crossed your arms. “Says the one that had me fleeing through the park for a second night in a row.”

“Guilty.” He shrugged a shoulder, then holstered his knife. “I cannot help it, kotenok. I love the chase.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have known,” you deadpanned, and you sighed when you saw his eyes crinkle in what you knew was a cheeky grin. “Anyway, what does the infamous, shadowed Soldat want, huh?”

He leaned against the fence and crossed his arms, still watching you intently. “I did not lie when I said that you… Intrigued me–your waiver was most amusing.” There was a beat of silence, then, “As I hunted you these past two nights, I watched you with my colleagues. You were never frightened–shocked, yes, but not frightened. I have made a name for myself with this character I play, and I have never encountered anyone–let alone a woman, that was not terrified of me.”

You blinked. “And this means–?”

“It means that for once in my life,” he began, and you couldn’t help but notice the change in his voice – the accent was almost nonexistent and his demeanour became hospitable, almost friendly. It made you so overwhelmingly curious on how he acted out of character. “Well, it means that I am breaking out of my ‘infamous character’ and his tendencies, and I am going to ask you out on a date.”

“A date?” you repeated, absolutely floored. The sounds of the park were muted in the background, and all you could hear was the hammering of your heart in your ears; feel it in your throat. “You- You are asking me out on a date?”

Soldat raised a brow and then shook his head, as though he was exasperated. “What, you need your hearing checked as well as your attitude?”

“Hey!” you laughed, slapping his shoulder. The leather was warm to the touch, and you immediately drew back. “Where did this sass come from?”

He shrugged and looked down at his feet, fidgeting. “No one knows. It’s nice to be able to sass someone in costume–it’s amusing.”

“I didn’t know you were such a little shit,” you stated. “I mean, I could have guessed since you chase people for a living–and you’re too damn good at it, too.”

He bowed low and spread his arms. “Thank you, princess.”

“Shut up.” 

A moment of silence passed as you looked into his face and the earnest, open look of his eyes stirred something in you. Feelings long dormant – ones that had been non-existent for many moons, it felt – rose and swirled in your stomach, bringing butterflies to life. They fluttered and flocked around, the foreign sensation setting your nerves aflame. 

“I will–go on a date; with you,” you clarified, smiling softly. 

His face brightened and you suspected his grin would have been blinding if the mask wasn’t hiding it from view. “I get off this shift in an hour,” he explained, looking over your shoulder. “I’ll meet you by the entrance. I’ll take you out for–how about a milkshake?”

“Oh, my god, yes,” you rushed, nodding vehemently. “What about that diner?”

Soldat nodded once. “Sounds like a plan, doll.”

Your stomach swooped again and you were speechless at the sweet pet name. “I- What do I–?”

“Name’s Bucky,” Soldat offered. “I’d take your hand and I would kiss your knuckles–be a real Disney prince, but,” he gestured at the mask. “I’ll save that for later.”

“Okay,” you breathed, still unable to believe what was happening. Just as you offered your name, Bucky stepped closer and you let him bring you into his chest. You wrapped your arms around him – a gentle hug that conveyed all of what you couldn’t express. “I will see you later?”

“You betcha.” Bucky squeezed your shoulder and walked past you. “Go have fun. I’ll find you.”

You grinned at him as he walked backwards. “Go get ‘em, tiger!” He saluted and jogged off, sticking to the shadows. 

For the entire hour you explored the park, watching as visitors scrambled from actors or fawned over certain ones as the stalked past. There was the occasion that you caught a glimpse of Bucky as he followed different people, but he never broke character to acknowledge you, nor did he even glance your way. 

It afforded you the opportunity to watch from an outsider’s vantage point – after having been so thoroughly been chased over the past two days. You could never stop and admire just how skilled Bucky was at his job. His muscled frame was surprisingly lithe and agile, and whenever his target searched for him, he’d always expertly hide, successfully out of sight but never out of mind. 

A perfect tactic if you’d ever seen one; drive the target mad with the feeling of being watched while slowly, carefully covering the distance, before pouncing. 

The hour wore on and as it ticked over, you made your way to the main entrance. At this hour, the crowds had started to thin out, leaving behind only the very dedicated patrons – all of which flocked in packs and walked back and forth, taunting the actors. 

You leaned against the gate and contently watched people pass by, wondering just where Bucky would be, when a figure approached. 

A large duffle bag was slung over his shoulder, of which were exceptionally broad and pulled the dark red henley taut over his chest. Tight, dark jeans stretched over his thighs, while black combat boots thumped over the pavement. 

The stranger looked up and met your gaze, and your heart stopped; ceasing its rhythm entirely. You’d know those eyes anywhere, you had seen them for two nights in a row, covered and lined with kohl, but they were no less distinctive. 

His hair, while loose and greasy as his time in character, was now damp and clean, a slight curl at the ends that came to his jaw. 

“Hey, doll,” he greeted, grinning widely as he stood in front of you. “You ready to go?”

Words failed you. You blinked, opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again-

Bucky laughed. “I know, I look different. I can’t walk around looking like someone’s worst nightmare all the time.” 

“Different?” you parroted, gesturing at his chest, then just at his body in general. “Where the hell were you hiding all this?”

“You have to be fit to keep up with mischievous kittens, don’t you?” he teased. The words made your whole body heat, but you were saved from responding when he nodded to the parking lot. “Now, if you’re done bein’ starstruck, doll, let’s head out and get those milkshakes.”

“Huh,” you managed, voice thin. “Yeah–yeah, let’s go.” 

Bucky grinned and grabbed your hand, pulling you along. “So, what’s your favourite–milkshake, I mean.”

“That’s a loaded question.” The two of you came to a stop at a classic muscle car, the paint gleaming under the tall, overhead lights. “Nice car, Buck,” you praised. 

“Why, thank you, sweetheart,” he purred, throwing the duffle bag in the trunk. “I built her from the ground up.” 

The drive to the diner was a little while, the time filled with small talk that didn’t venture past anything you wouldn’t discuss as friends. It drove your curiosity – Bucky was such a well spoken man, never presumptuous and he respected you, not to mention he seemed to be intrigued with anything you offered him.

He asked you about your job, what you did in your spare time; hobbies, dreams, things that you felt so safe to offer him, and he offered you the same in return. 

You found out he had been a scare actor for his youth, too – working hard to save up for his car, and to provide for his family. 

“For years,” he began as he pulled up to a stop light. “I shadowed a man that no one really knew much about. But, when I tell you that he was a master at what he did? I am not lyin’ one bit.” The engine purred as he shifted back into first gear when the light turned green. “He taught me all I know.”

The diner came into view a few moments later, and the obnoxious red and pink lighting stood out amongst the other late night dwellings. Bucky pulled the car into a park by the entrance, slipping out the driver’s seat to jog over and open your door. “Madame,” he said, bowing as you stood up. 

You laughed a little and stepped to the side so Bucky could close the door, and the chirp of the car alarm sounded soon after. “I love this place,” you said quickly, walking towards the door – of which Bucky opened before you could even get a hand on the handle. “It’s always got the best milkshakes.”

“I have to agree,” Bucky offered, going to the counter. “Pick a seat for us. I’ll order.”

There was a booth free in the corner, out of the way and shielded from prying eyes of other patrons that sipped at their drinks or dug into their baskets of food, even at this late hour. 

Bucky soon slid into the bench seat of the booth opposite to you, a smile on his lips, when you suddenly blurted, “You are so different to your character.” There was a beat of silence as he comfortably situated himself, and you felt compelled to go on. “Don’t get me wrong, Buck, you are one of the best guys I’ve ever met. It is just so surprising that you can switch so easily. The Soldat is terrifying, if I’m honest.”

“Practice.” He placed his chin on his fist, looking into your face. “I’ve been doing this for years now. You leave your character when you take off the costume–sure, he’s me, but he’s also pretty fucked up. It’s an act. He doesn’t leave the park–he gets packed up in my duffle at the end of every shift.”

You mirrored his posture, smiling as he winked at you. “It’s just fascinating, that’s all.” 

“You’re cute when you’re curious,” Bucky said quietly, and you blinked. “I mean it, doll. It’s sweet. Not to mention refreshing.”

“Well,” you started, scrambling for words as your tongue seemed to tie itself. “You- Interesting doesn’t cover it.”

“Aren’t you good at makin’ a fella feel special,” he cooed, a slight, rosy blush high on his cheeks. 

For what felt like hours, you sat opposite Bucky, learning about him while he learned all about you – it was an instant connection that you had never felt before, not with anyone. You learned that he had sisters and that he was a twin, and his best friend was called Steve who also worked at the same park. 

“You may have seen him tonight, actually,” Bucky ventured, biting his bottom lip. “He was wearing his black get-up, red insignias?”

“Oh! Yeah,” you said quickly, slapping your hand down on the table. “I bumped into him! He scared the daylights out of me.”

Bucky laughed. “Lemme guess, he pulled out the charm card, then decided to tell you to run?”

“Yes!” you cried, eyes wide. “What is his deal?”

“He’s up there with me, he just loves fuckin’ with lone visitors. He takes after me for that, punk,” Bucky laughed, shaking his head.

“You tell him, from me, that he is an asshole.”

“Will do,” Bucky promised, winking. “Stevie’ll take it like a compliment, knowin’ him.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. The sky was lightening up outside, and you baulked at the clock hanging from the wall across the diner. It was the early morning – you had stayed out with Bucky for hours, literal hours, and you hadn’t even realised. 

Bucky turned around to look as well, and he chuckled. “I think we both got places to be today?” he questioned, looking back at you. “And we got tonight, too.”

“Uh, yeah,” you agreed, yawning slightly. “You’ll be there tonight?”

Bucky nodded. “‘Course I will–you?”

You hummed an ascent and rose from the sticky leather seat of the booth. “I’ll call a cab. I can’t wait to get a few hours of shut eye.” 

“Wait,” Bucky quietly said, offering his hand. “I paid already–no, don’t argue with me–can I take you home, doll? Please?”

You hesitated, but he had never revealed any red flags, not that you had noticed. He had been the perfect gentleman, and you couldn’t help but feel attached to him already, which, objectively, biassed your point of view. “If you’re sure,” you replied, raising a brow. “I don’t want to impose-”

“You never could, sweetheart,” Bucky assured softly. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

When Bucky pulled up to the curb of your apartment, he killed the engine and made to get out of the car. “You don’t have to-” You started, but Bucky shook his head. “Alright, alright,” you said quietly. More to yourself, you muttered, “Maybe chivalry isn’t dead.”

“I would hope not,” Bucky said, right next to you. 

You jumped and shrieked, a cut off noise that made Bucky laugh. “You have to stop doing that.”

“Nah. I don’t think I will.”

At your door, Bucky stepped back and waited for you to unlock the door with your keys, but before you stepped inside, you turned to him, biting your lip. “I had a really good time tonight, Bucky. Thank you.”

Bucky beamed proudly. “Anytime, doll. Would you want to go out with me again? I don’t care if it’s too soon to ask,” he rushed, not allowing you a chance to interject. “I had a fun time with you tonight. You’re sweet, witty–intelligent, too.”

“Flatterer,” you accused, willing your heart to slow. “It’s working, though. And yes, I’d love to go out with you again. How about after Halloween?”

“Sounds perfect to me, baby,” he said quietly, and you felt heat rise on your neck. Your heart skipped a beat and you shied away slightly, so unused to attention. “Can I have your number? I can text you so you have mine.”

You took his offered phone and typed your number in, careful to get it correct in your tired state. “Here you go,” you whispered, blinking sluggishly. “You’ll get home safely?”

“Of course,” Bucky said confidently. “You gonna be alright for the night? You look dead on your feet, doll.” 

“I’ll be fine.” You stepped forward and embraced him, hugging him with all your remaining strength. His arms wrapped around you and he sighed happily. “Thank you for tonight–text me when you get home?”

“Will do,” Bucky offered. 

Tension filled the air as you pulled back, and you considered whether you should act on the urge to kiss him – to embody the true want to be close to him. Fuck it, you thought. 

Bucky seemed to anticipate it or want it just as bad. He met you halfway, bringing you into his chest as his lips met yours. It wasn’t chaste and it stole your breath, and in that singular second, you decided you wanted more – but at least, not for right now. 

You wanted a second date, first. 

Pulling back, you smiled and Bucky smirked. “And that’ll get me home jus’ fine, sweetheart.” You giggled and stepped back, moving towards the door just as Bucky said, “Goodnight, baby. Have a good sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow–don’t forget that we have a game of cat and mouse to play.”

“Sure, sure,” you teased. The inside of your apartment was quiet as you slipped inside. “See you tomorrow, Buck.” 

He waved, and you closed the door quietly, resting your forehead on the cool wood as you took deep, steadying breaths. 

A sense of anticipation settled over you – Halloween was the busiest night of the year at that park, and you knew that Bucky would not let you get away so easily as he allowed before. You would just have to outsmart him, or attempt to, at least. 

That night, after curling up in bed, you slept and dreamed of a shadowed man, running and chasing after you, his laughter loud and carefree.

devochka = girl ya by snova podumal, kotenok = I would think again, kitten povtori. nemnogo gromche = repeat that. a little louder. feyyerverk = firework/firecracker

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁