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bzurk · 4 months

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bits and pieces

Ghost is not a trusting man. His heart has been shattered time and time again from the shock of betrayal, like a stone through a glass wall. The smallest of impacts could shatter his trust irrevocably, quick to shatter and leave behind sharp, dangerous edges, impossible to rebuild.

He watches the medic with an intensity that borders on madness, every movement etched into his mind as if he were committing it to memory. His eyes never leave her as she hunches over Soap, the man he has reluctantly filed under friend/ Her fingers digging into his torn uniform, fighting to keep him upright against the wall. The sight of her so close to him, one of the few men he cares for, so focused, sends a shiver down his spine. Here and now, she is the tether that keeps Soap alive. He is forced to trust her, to trust her abilities, and it makes him sick to his stomach. His muscles long to hold a knife to her neck, to test the give of her skin, to demand she saves the sergeant. Faster, he longs to scream. Work faster. I cannot lose another one.

The air is thick with the stench of blood and cordite, but Ghost barely notices. All his senses are attuned to the medic as she presses her fingers against Soap's neck, her face drawn in concentration. All that matters is Soap's ragged breathing, the medic's steady hands, and his own pounding heart.

It's like a sick dance they're all caught up in, but he sees the steeled determination in her eyes, and he knows, deep down, that he can trust her with Johnny. To Ghost, this moment is about more than the mission. It’s about her, and it’s about Johnny. She holds his heart between life and death in an ethereal balance, one wrong move and they’ll both drop into the abysmal pits of hell. The rhythm of Soap's shallow breathing, her frantic movements, all mix together into a morbid waltz of death and survival. The seconds bleed together, each one taking an eternity to pass, yet flying by faster than bullets through the air.

"Fuck." He hears her mutter under her breath, utterly focused on her work. He’s not scared, not worried. Under her care, he knows Johnny will be fine.

Rain pours down in relentless sheets, soaking through their gear and chilling them to the bone. Ghost barely registers the cold. His focus is solely on the doc, watching as the crimson blood mixes with the cold water, tracing a macabre path down her face and neck. Each shiver is a reminder of her vulnerability, a vulnerability he wants to shield- needs to shield- if she is to work effectively. She winces at the sting of the cold but doesn’t let it deter her from doing her job. Ghost can hear the distant sound of gunfire in the distance where more soldiers are fighting against enemy forces; their voices echoing through comms muffled by the stormy night.

Above, a helicopter hovers, its rotor blades cutting through the rain, creating a maelstrom around them. Ghost’s gaze shifts momentarily to the bird, then back to the medic. He catches her eye, nodding towards the extraction point, but his thoughts are only of her. The way her gaze briefly meets his, the connection that flares between them, fuels his blooming obsession. He sees the weight of Soap's body bearing down on her, the pain etched into her features, and he feels a twisted sense of gratitude and guilt. It looks good on her, the intensity.

But she ignores all of this easily—the deafening noise of the helicopter's blades, the blasts of grenades, and the barrage of bullets. Her only concern is keeping Soap alive. Ghost watches intently as she efficiently rummages through her medkit, marvelling at her precision and speed as she works to save Soap's life; tourniquet, gauze pads, morphine syrette. His heart races in his chest in sync with the raging storm. He’s entranced by her dedication, by the fire in her eyes that refuses to be extinguished.

"Here," she whispers, steadily plunging the syrette into Soap's arm without waiting for his response. Her face is soft, and relaxed, oozing calm and safety despite the blood and rain that stains her face, trying to convey reassurance in her expression where words fail, drowned out by noise. The blood and violence and gore aren’t new to her - she is steady, calm, unfaltering. She double-checks the tourniquet again, and then once more. Holds her ear to Soap’s chest to count the rise and fall. Nods to Ghost.

Ghost has lost everybody important to him. The trauma has etched apathy into his very bones, the scars a physical reminder. He deters anybody that dares creep too close, to protect the fragments of his broken heart. He has built his walls high, topped with barbed wire and made from the strongest concrete. He could count on one hand the people who’d made it past his barricades, and Soap was one of those select few, a determined nuisance who crawled through the barbed wire, ignorant to how it sliced his skin. Ghost supposes the knicks and slices wouldn’t deter a man with such a bleeding heart.

As they hoist Soap to his feet and begin moving towards safety, Ghost grips his sergeant's arm tightly but his eyes never leave the doctor’s. He feels Soap's blood seeping into his gloves and mixing with the rain, staining his hands in violence and desperation. The wind from the chopper's blades whips at their clothes, but all Ghost can see is her—the determination in her eyes, the strength in her slender frame, the blood that stains her vest and gloves and fatigues. She is a guardian angel, descending into chaos and death to bring her soldiers back to life, single-handedly keeping Ghost’s remaining sanity intact. They reach the open bay door and a medic rushes to relieve them of Soap’s weight. Ghost watches her step back, her chest heaving, her face a mask of exhaustion and relief.

Something inside him aches, a feeling he can't quite define—gratitude, obsession, an insatiable need to be closer to her, possess her, and hide her behind the walls of his heart. A gratitude that seeps so far into his bones it becomes a part of him.

As the chopper lifts off, carrying Soap to safety, Ghost stands beside the doctor, the storm still raging around them. He wants to reach out, to touch her, to pull her into his arms and never let go, to spew his endless thanks into her skin until it sinks into her flesh and he can be sure that she knows of his gratitude. The gratitude he feels for her saving Johnny’s life floods him, cementing his new fixation. He knows it’s wrong, knows it’s dangerous, but the pull is too strong to resist. He'll do anything to keep her close, this mystery woman who has snuck into his heart with nary a word, anything to protect the doctor who is both his salvation and his undoing.

—

The second time he meets her is in the medical wing, perched upon a stool and diligently writing notes. The room is bright and sterile, simple, illuminated by the warm afternoon sunlight streaming in through the large windows. The white walls and floors gleam under the light, giving the room an almost heavenly glow. The doctor, perched on a stool, is a vision in white. Her long white coat falls in gentle folds around her, and her smile exudes warmth, kindness and safety. The warm rays shine down on her in a halo, illuminating round cheeks and long, delicate lashes.

As Ghost approaches, he can almost feel the warmth radiating from her as if she were a sun. He can see the softness of her skin, almost glowing in the sunlight, and is drawn to it like a magnet. Her hands move gracefully over the pages of her report, the pen gliding smoothly across the paper. Her fingers are long and slender, delicate and dainty with her nails painted a feminine shade of regulation-approved pink. Her form is all soft edges, flowy and gentle, her hair tied back to highlight her face, the hint of a necklace below the collar of her shirt, the joints of her ankles where they cross at the foot of her stool, and even the toe of her flats are rounded.

But Ghost knows better. Moving closer, he notices more. Her smile is a flash of white teeth, light glinting off of white canines - a hint of danger beneath her skin, a tease. A glint of mischief in her eyes, the suggestion of danger beneath her calm facade. The sharp tools and instruments hidden in her coat and outlined in her pockets. The way she brandishes the sharp point of the pen between her fingers, perched precariously on the edge of the page. It’s as if she knows the effect she has on people and enjoys playing with it, toeing the edge precariously.

He’s reminded of a fox, all soft fur and cute exterior, wide-eyed and small. But a fox is still a predator, hiding claws and teeth and bloodlust. Ghost decides, then, that he wants to see it for himself, the animal that lingers beneath her smooth skin. He wants to dance along its edge, to prick himself on the point of the knife, to find the rawest and most depraved corners of her mind. Would it be as fractured as his?

“Lt.!” Soap chimes beside the cute doctor. He’s sitting up in the hospital bed, his leg elevated on a stack of pillows with the leg of his pants rolled up, bandages fresh and pinned in place neatly. His face is pale, his eyes sunken, but the spark that makes him Soap is still there. His stomach, though, is bare and stained with watercolour splotches of grotesque yellows and blues. “Have you met the nice doc yet? She really saved my arse out there.”

She doesn't even look up from her notepad as she continues scribbling away, but a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "It's my job," she replies lightly, finally glancing up at him with those eyes - those stunning, bright, cheeky eyes - that seem to see straight into his soul. "Besides," she adds with a wink and a quirk of her eyebrow, "who else would tolerate you enough to patch you up?" She jabs a playful finger at Soap, riling him up easily. It's like she has a sixth sense for it: calming patients and riling them up at the same time.

Jealously sits heavily in Ghost’s gut when the doctor turns her smile from the page to Johnny. It sizzles and boils in his stomach, evaporating into mists of anger. “You’d best be on your way then, Sergeant.” She hums, placing the notebook down at Soap’s side. “I think your lieutenant is here to collect you. Remember, the pain medications are eight hours apart, and my office is always open if you need me to rewrap that leg, alright?”

She lays a delicate hand on Johnny’s good leg, giving it a soft pat before rolling her stool back.

The green, angry jealousy threatens to erupt from his guts.

see part 2 here ->

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duskier · 3 months

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Werewolf AU / fat hairy werewolf gf x poly!141 idea rambling in honor of the art by @littlebit-of-art ♡

|| okokok werewolf lore is always varied but I love the idea of like. shift at will werewolves, but they have forced shifts during the full moon where they get all primal and stuff... thinking about the 141 in the woods, in hiding from bad guys, getting cabin fever and impatient as hell. Pissed that Laswell has benched them (though understanding she has legitimate reasons why)

Soap finds you first, middle of the night. Well, you find him, actually. He was just sneaking out for a cigarette, went alone because he didn't want to share- his pack was running low. You're a tall creature when shifted, much too large to be excusably identified as a wolf. It's the full moon, so the 'you' isn't all there- moreso your hindbrain, your dumb dog of a wolf self. Of course *she* makes a beeline towards Soap after smelling him in the air, first human you'd seen in years- he thinks he's about to get mauled to death but is pleasantly surprised when he sees your tail wagging and you're nudging him to come play with you.

The rest of the squad looks at Soap like he's nuts when he comes by with you in tow, the "can we keep it?" look on his face. Ghost has half a mind to shoot you, no matter how damned cute you looked flopping over on your back, your primal way of telling the group you were friendly.

Price knows you're something strange, not a normal wolf. After some bickering between Soap and Price ("He looks cold :("..."it's a wild fucking animal, Sergeant") you're allowed to curl up on the couch in the den of the cabin, just in front of the fire. The wood of the furniture squeaks under your weight, reassuring Price you wouldn't be sneaking anywhere at night without him noticing.

...But come morning time, when you are you again- human, that is- Price is left speechless. Who was this beautiful, stark naked woman, and why was she on the couch? Where'd the wolf thing go? Poor man, fighting his urges to look you up and down over and over until he'd memorized every silky furry curve, the soft pout of your lips...

After an embarrassing wake up call, a lot of screaming and scrambling, you were sat in an oversized blanket wrapped around you and explaining who and what exactly you were to the 141. You appreciated the warm place to sleep in, so you offer them a deal- let you move in, you'll hunt for them in your wolf form. Easy enough.

What you never could have expected was how much you would become attached to the team. It starts off small, them getting used to your large wolf form- Gaz gives you a scratch behind your ear once in a while. Then it becomes so common for you to rest on him that when he sees you, he wordlessly clears his lap, a perfect resting spot for your head. Soap asks to draw you once, then it becomes a natural thing and he's a sudden canine anatomy expert in weeks, half his sketchbook filled with you- human and otherwise. Price checks in on you, worries over you and waits up every night that you're out late hunting for them. Reminds you not to push yourself, you've stocked them plenty for winter, as he wipes your bloody maw clean with a towel before bed. Ghost gets annoyed at your limp from stickers caught in your paws, but then it becomes a daily ritual for him to groom you all over, pulling out annoyances caught in your fur or paws.

...That's just when you're in your wolf form. When you're in your human form, the men are all just as sweet, if not sweeter. Price finds an old record player, teaches you to dance to the music. Revels in the feeling of pulling your soft body close, hands lovingly caressing every inch of your body as you sway in time, your pretty head resting on his chest. He becomes quickly besotted by the feeling of your arms under his hands, the silky hair covering inch of your skin making him just mad with affection and want. Soap makes even more portraits- drawings with harsh and soft lighting, never wanting you to ever hide your body in the ways you'd been taught to previously. Can't stop raining down compliments on you the entire time, as if every five minutes he's blown away once more at your beauty. Doesn't miss a single tuft of hair, a single bit of your body. Gaz who finds every way he can make you laugh because once he's heard it, once he's seen the way your laugh moves through your whole body and the way your smile lightens the room, he's like a lovesick puppy. (It becomes bad news for Soap, because nothing made you laugh quite like Gaz pranking Soap, each prank becoming more and more childish.) Ghost takes the meager rations they have- thankfully bolstered by your hunting- and makes the best warm meals you'd ever had. Makes you taste test every meal- never plated until it has your approval. Watches you with his golden brown eyes, searching for your praise.

One night, Laswell shipped them their new rations and included a bottle of bourbon, a late birthday gift for Price. 'Sorry you're still there,' a note on the bottle apologized. The team couldn't care less about being there, so focused in on you. You take turns having small shots of the liquor and end up watching the men as they excitedly share story after story with you, each wilder than the last. Price puts his big warm hand on your leg, unable to keep himself from squeezing gently. Gaz has his arm on the backrest behind you, fingers toying with your hair. Soap sits at your feet, his head on your knee, you feel his stubble against your skin whenever he speaks. It's Ghost who breaks rank first, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and telling you you're the prettiest girl he'd ever met. You blush, and he says he'd like to kiss that blush right off of you. It's slurred, it's silly, but it works, and you let him kiss you, his mask rolled up to his nose. Soap protests, then, of course, how dare he not get a kiss. You jokingly ask Gaz if he'd like one too, of course he agrees and you oblige them both, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. You turn to Price, who was watching intently, eyes glittering in the firelight. "Come here, love," is all he has to say before you're crawling onto his lap and kissing him silly, the peanut buttery smell of his cigars filling your senses.

From there it's as natural as breathing to wake up in a cuddle pile, to kiss them all goodbye before going out on a hunt. For each of them to take you to bed, alone or all together or somewhere in between. They treat you like a precious thing, but never like glass- they know all too well how strong you are.

They find out even more of your capabilities when they are attacked.

Full moon, you're out hunting. Happily secure in letting your wolf side take the reins, looking for the best deer to take home for your boys when you hear a crack like a whip in the distance. You hear Soap screaming just as everything goes red for you. The primal side still in control, all it can think is that your pack was in danger. You ran faster than you ever thought possible, bulky wolf body breaking through old trees, unstoppable in your path to your mates. The men you kill in your way aren't anywhere near prepared for you, slaughtered like nothing. From your boys' perspective, you were a terrifying sight to see. Snarling and monstrous, standing on your back haunches taller than a building, soaked in blood and gore. It isn't until all enemies were silenced that you're capable of thinking anywhere clearly enough to look for your boys, make sure they were okay.

Thankfully, no one was hurt. Ignoring the mess covering you, you were sniffing and nuzzling each of them ignoring their protests in disgust, distressed whines leaving you. They weren't able to calm you that night, having to allow you to stalk a perimeter around the house all night long, daring more enemies to come. It wasn't until the next day that they found you, human form collapsed in the dirt from exhaustion. They take the time to bathe you, gently and with reverence, grateful for both your life and their own. Softening your skin with lotions and oils after, wrapping you in their nicest blankets and surrounding you in a giant cuddle pile so that when you awoke, you'd feel safe.

And you do. You can't imagine life without your boys.

#noel.txt #141 x reader #anyways they retire to those woods to stay w u forever

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jedipoodoo · 6 months

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Hey! I was wondering if I could request a HunterxReader. Something where Hunter is like really possessive over reader with like another guy? Or one of his brother getting a little too close for his comfort, nothing nefarious, just lite teasing.

Thank you in advance.

Again, you’re doing amazing sweetie!

Me reading this request:

I hope you enjoy this one!

Man After Midnight (Jealous!Sergeant Hunter x Reader)

Notes: Hunter POV, The Return of The Kyle™, guy gets handsy with reader and Hunter does something about it, alcohol consumption, bar fight, 79s, feel free to check out my personal 79's Playlist here. Spoilers tagged for the gif. Y'all do not know how long it took me to find a season three gif for this one.

Whenever the squad convinced Hunter to join them at 79's, he tuned out the noises and smells to the best of his abilities. The overlapping of a million voices, all too similar to differentiate, the body odors and cologne, the pounding bass of the pop music, it could get to be too much.

But when you asked him to join you, he couldn't say no. He was powerless to the pleading in your eyes and the joy in your smile when he finally said yes. Or it could have been how Crosshair commented on how good you looked in the new outfit you'd bought for clubbing, but he'd never admit it.

The six of you crowded into a booth at the back of the bar, farthest from the speakers. Hunter made sure that he got the seat next to you, only for Tech to remind you that it was your turn to grab the drinks from the bar. You smiled at Hunter apologetically as you tried to climb over him without bothering him too much. He had a better idea though, and gently placed his hands on your waist, easily lifting you over his legs and placing you on the outside of the booth.

Wrecker gave a wolf-whistle at the wide-eyed look on your face, and you quickly looked away, running over to the bar as fast as you could through the crowd.

The others were chuckling as Hunter frowned. Had he messed up? Was he too forward? He didn't consider himself a shy person, but he'd been so sure that you were sending him signals that you were interested.

"Hmm," Crosshair hummed.

"What is it?" Hunter sat up.

Cross smirked, "It seems our resident civilian is attracting some attention."

Hunter quickly scanned the crowd, looking for you. Halfway between the bar and the squad's booth, drinks spilling out of your arms, you were stopped talking with a senate guard. What one of them was doing here was beyond him, but Hunter didn't like the way he was looking you up and down, and half-blocking you from the booth. He wasn't even offering to help you with the drinks.

Hunter slammed his hands on the table to push himself out of his seat and marched over to you, shoving the guard to the side.

"Let me help you with that," He said, taking Wrecker's boilermaker and Tech's martini from where you had kept them expertly balanced.

"Hey, excuse me clone-"

"You're excused," Hunter rolled his eyes at the senate guard and nodded you towards the booth, "Let's go."

"Thank you," You said softly, but he heard it all the same. And you were smiling at him, so he hadn't totally messed up.

The two of you handed out the drinks to their respective drinkers, and Hunter herded you back into your seat.

"Who was that?" Wrecker asked, downing half his drink in one go.

You shrugged, "No one in particular. I think his name was Kyle?"

Hunter huffed. He couldn't tell himself if he was annoyed or amused by this revelation. Of course the smarmy senate guard would have a name like Kyle.

The evening carried on, Wrecker ordered more drinks, Echo found some old friends from the 212th, and Hunter could hear Tech rambling to a very interested Rodian woman who listened to him describe the nesting habits of rancors with stars in her eyes.

You, of course, were on the dance floor. You were always dancing around the Marauder, humming to yourself as you cleaned up your workspace or made the caff. Whenever Hunter saw you dancing, it felt like all was right with the world.

He spotted Kyle across the room. Hunter was surprised he'd stuck around, the senate guards typically didn't deign the clones to be good enough company to make the way across town to 79's.

But Kyle wasn't paying attention to any of the clones. His beady eyes tracked your every movement out on the dance floor. Hunter felt a rumbling in his chest, like a reek warning others to stay back.

Kyle, of course, couldn't hear it, and even if he could, he probably would have ignored it anyway. The senate guard shouldered his way through the crowd on the dance floor, announcing his presence by placing his hands on your hips.

Hunter heard your yelp of surprise and grit his teeth. He launched himself from the booth and marched across the room. Several startled patrons hopped out of the way when they saw the look of pure rage on his face, but all Hunter could focus on were your protests as Kyle grinned.

"Really sweetheart, I'm just trying to give you a compliment, is all!" Kyle laughed as you flushed in embarrassment, trying to push him away. Kyle's grip tightened on you, but Hunter grabbed him by the shoulder. When Kyle turned with a smart quip, Hunter decked him across the face.

"They said no!" He snarled, his arm out in front of you like a shield.

A few clones gave out supporting cheers as the senate's flunkie was laid out across the nearest table, but Kyle wasn't the only one present. Two more men, decidedly not clones, approached Hunter menacingly, trying to defend their friend. He saw them coming, but he had to take a hit from the first one so that the other could get close without suspecting too much. Then Hunter took the both of them with one swing.

"Hunter!" You cried out. A crowd was gathering, and Wrecker was trying to make his way over to you and help Hunter out.

Hunter placed his hands on your shoulder, standing in between you and Kyle.

"You alright?" He asked.

"What?"

"Look out!" Someone shouted. Hunter shielded you with his body to see the senate guards standing up.

Kyle pushed himself to his feet, though he still leaned unsteadily against the table.

"You're gonna regret that, meatdroid!" He snarled, blood dripping down his chin from a broken nose. Kyle charged towards the two of you, but Hunter stepped to the side at the last minute, catching Kyle by the collar of his dress uniform. It was tight enough already, but with Hunter gripping the fabric, Kyle had to gasped for air. Hunter swung him around and right into his would-be bodyguards.

"No fighting! No fighting!" the steward droid waved its arms, but no one was paying it much attention. Wrecker caught the three stooges by the scruff and happily carried them out the door like a mother tooka, dropping them on the veranda where they could hail a hovertaxi.

Once he was certain that Kyle was taken care of, Hunter turned to you.

"Are you alright?" He repeated.

"Am I-?" You shook your head, "You have a black eye!" You pointed out, as if Hunter wasn't wincing every time he blinked.

"Just a scrape," He insisted.

"If I had a credit for every time-" You were too upset to even finish your thought, but you grabbed Hunter by the lip of his chestplate, pulling him over to the bar. You asked the serving droid for the medkit, and brought him back into the bathroom stalls.

"That was incredibly stupid of you. You know what kind of trouble you could get into if you hurt them too badly!" You made Hunter sit on the edge of one of the sinks so that you could treat him properly.

Hunter sighed, "Trouble seems to find me regardless of whether I do anything or not."

You fixed him with a death glare that made it clear he was better off not saying anything until you were done treating his wounds, superficial as they may be.

"Don't do that again, you hear me?" You slathered bacta over his eye, and dabbed some on the cut on his lip. Fortunately, there was one more ice pack in the poorly-stocked kit, so you snapped it in half to activate the cooling gel.

"Sorry cyare, but I'm afraid I can't make that promise."

You froze, the ice back an inch above his eye. He could feel the air cooling around it, and gently took the ice pack from your slackened grasp, pacing it against the swelling skin.

"Hunter," You gasped, "don't say things like that. Even for me, it's not worth the risk." Your hands were shaking, so you busied them by packing up the remains of the medikit.

Hunter grit his teeth as you turned your back to him, "You are worth every sacrifice I have made. Every shot I've taken, every nightmare that haunts me, every humiliation I've had to endure from those miserable excuses for sentient beings," He waved the ice pack in the air, trying to indicate Kyle and his flunkies.

"It's worth it," He insisted, "Just to see you smile."

He heard your heart beat faster as you swallowed the lump in your throat, and he knew he'd gone too far.

"I... I didn't know you felt that way..." You whispered.

Hunter hopped down from the sink and marched out the bathroom door. He needed a nice, stiff drink.

A couple of the other clones gave him strange looks for the eyepatch, and a few who'd seen the fight asked if he was okay. Hunter ignored them all, trying to flag down a steward droid.

"Hunter!" You shouted his name above the din of the music. He decided it was best to ignore you too.

By the time you finally made your way to him at the bartop, he was halfway through a drink he'd regret in a couple hours.

"What do you think you're doing!?" you demanded, hands on your hips.

"Having a drink, what's it look like I'm doing?" He grunted miserably.

"You can't just tell me you love me and walk away like that!"

Hunter spat out a mouthful of alcohol all over the serving droid, leaving his tongue and his nose burning from the taste.

You, however, were unperturbed by his reaction, folding your arms across your chest.

"Now are you going to ask me to dance or not?"

#tbb spoilers #lizart writes #tbb hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #hunter bad batch x reader #79s

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steppin-on-the-last-train · 1 year

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As it Comes Back to Me

Natasha Romanoff x WinterSoldier!Reader

Summary: Your whole life you'd been living for a mission, whether it be protecting your family or fighting just to see the next sunrise. If you didn’t slow down though, you stood to lose someone you couldn’t live without.

Takes place during the events of Captain America: Civil War.

Word Count: 8,000

A/N: I spent way too much time writing this instead of studying for class.

“Hey kids,” you said, walking up to wrap your arms around Steve and Bucky. You’d just been promoted to Major and had been sent back to the states to escort a fresh round of recruits to the front. There was a big event tonight though which begged for your attention. Howard Stark was showing some new invention or other of his. You’d never been too interested in what the scientists had to say, but there would be plenty of girls out looking to be asked to a dance.

Steve, your little brother–both in age and stature–looked less than thrilled at your return. “What’s wrong, buddy?” You asked, shaking his shoulder.

“It’s not fair,” he protested, shrugging out of your embrace. “I should be heading out with you and Buck tomorrow. I want to fight. I know I can help.” You felt for Steve. If it was him and Bucky standing in uniform and not you, you’re sure you’d be missing out on a whole lot.

“I know, I know. I’m sure you’d give them Nazis real cause to turn and run,” you said, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold a rifle properly.

“Yeah,” Bucky added. “Ya know you should’ve seen him earlier today. Fought off some punk in an alleyway with a trash can lid. Kicked his ass real good if you ask me.”

“Bucky,” Steve said. “Ya said you wouldn’t tell.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, what I meant to say was that Steve got beat up and I had to come rescue him.” The soon to be sergeant ruffled your brother’s hair.

“No, I know what you’re really upset about is that I’m stealing your boy here,” you said, nodding at Bucky.

“Yeah, yeah, enough. Now come on, I wanna get a good look at the car. All the posters were sayin’ Stark could make it fly.” Steve began to weave his way through the crowd, giving you no choice but to follow.

“I’m worried about leaving him here all alone, ya know?” Bucky said, a crease forming between his brow.

“He’s tough, and he’s smart. Always has been, you know that. Honestly, if they should be sendin’ anyone to fight they should be sendin’ him instead of us. But spirit’s not gonna win a fight, ya gotta back it up with somethin’. Point is, he’ll be fine on his own. Maybe if we’re lucky when we get back he’ll have found himself a nice girl to care for.” You smirked at Bucky.

He ignored the jab as he waved at a group of nice looking girls. You waved too, flashing a smile and admiring the way their skirts fit. “Hey girls!” He shouted. As they made their way through the bustling crowd, he turned to you again. “I just worry about him. I care about him a lot and I can see how torn up he is about us gettin’ to go when he can’t.” A frown appeared to dim the light on his face. “What if he does something stupid while we’re off?”

You clapped him on the shoulder and said, “You worry too much Barnes. You ought to save some of that for the war.”

Giggling, the girls–the names of which Bucky had supplied earlier and which you had promptly forgotten–siddled up. The one nearest to you was a brunette with a yellow skirt and a white flower in her hair. She took your hand and pulled you right up to the front row. “Come on soldier, the show is startin’.”

You smiled and let yourself get lost among the din and the spectacle.

From beside you, Steve waved at you and said your name.

He said your name again, and again. You finally tore your gaze away from the TV monitor mounted in the corner of the room. Steve was much, much bigger now; even taller than you. You were still adjusting to the change. Although he still had the same kind gaze that came with naturally always wanting to do what was right, and believing others wanted the same. You wondered if you had been like that once too.

“We need to get him out of there,” he said. Your gaze flicked back over to the security footage that showed Bucky restrained in a mobile holding unit reinforced with metal supports and bullet proof glass. You had thought he was dead, and turns out Steve had thought the both of you were long gone. And apparently, fate wasn’t done with any of you yet. Bucky looked drastically different. His hair had grown out to his chin and he had lost the boyish swagger and proud glimmer in his eyes. But beneath the bulk and hardened exterior you still saw your friend.

“I know. Something doesn’t feel right about this,” you said. A year ago you had been similarly detained. But you were held in the Avengers Compound and were surrounded by friendly faces. The people here were not so sympathetic. You could feel the passing judgment not just on the Winter Soldier, but on you as well.

“Maybe we could talk to Tony again,” Steve said.

From his seat across the table Sam shook his head. “Did you not just hear him tell us he was fully committed to kissing the government’s ass? Steve, I understand this whole ‘peace at all costs’ approach, but I have a feeling we’re not going to get our way by talking this time.”

“Sam’s right,” you said, mouth twisting into a defeated frown. Through the glass wall of the office you were sitting in you watched a certain Avenger weave her way through the crowded room. You were torn, but Natasha had made her choice. “We’re going to have to consider punching our way out of this one. I got off lucky, but things are different now. The whole world is watching what will happen to him. Compromise isn’t an option anymore.”

Hands on his hips, Steve sighed. “Well, we aren’t going to be able to grab him and get out of here. And we need our gear back if we have any hopes of not getting locked up in a real cell.”

As if sensing your staring, Natasha looked over. Quickly you averted your eyes and suddenly found the tabletop very interesting. But you knew she had caught you. Just a couple of weeks ago you had been spending your mornings going out on runs with her and your evenings watching her try and fail to play chef. She could go on for hours talking about the world and bringing you up to speed. You didn’t know what was more interesting; that the world had turned upside down or the way her voice sounded as she helped you make sense of it all.

And you both enjoyed the newfound freedom neither of you believed you’d ever see nor deserved. You had thought you knew her well enough to predict which side of the so-called Sokovia Accords she would be on. Turned out maybe you didn’t.

Sharon Carter walked into the sound proofed room, hopefully bringing more news. She seemed to have a soft spot for Steve, and you and Sam by extension. She was also the only person here that seemed to want to communicate with the three of you.

On the screen a man sat down at a table across from Bucky. He shuffled some papers around and faced your friend as if in conversation. You stood with your hands braced on the table and watched intently. A glove covered the shiny metal of your right hand. Under your sleeve, the flexible steel plating melded with flesh just below your elbow.

You knew visual without audio would only get you so far, but you’d be damned if you could figure out how to turn it on.

“The receipt for your gear,” Sharon said, handing a slip of paper to Sam.

He took one look at it and scoffed. “Bird costume? Come on.”

“I didn’t write it,” she said, trying to hide a faint smile. Now was not the time for jokes. Noticing the attention on the TV screen she pushed some buttons on a control panel and the audio switched on.

The camera showed a modestly dressed middle-aged man. “I’m not here to judge you,” he told Bucky. “I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?.” He glanced down at his notes and removed his glasses amicably. From another angle, part of the screen detailed an uncomfortably close profile of Bucky’s face. After a moment of silence, he went on. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.”

“My name is Bucky,” he answered, still not making eye contact with the man.

“Who is that man?” You asked, wary of the stranger who was supposedly the only person authorized to make contact with the Winter Soldier.

“He’s a psychologist sent by the United Nations just to conduct a primary evaluation. I’m not familiar with him personally,” Sharon said.

Steve studied the blurry photograph of Bucky that had been taken after he set the bomb off in Vienna. “Why would the Task Force release this photo to begin with?”

“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Sharon supplied.

“Right. It’s a good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.” You could see the gears in his brain turning. Steve had always been the intuitive one.

“You’re saying someone framed him to find him,” Sharon said, catching on.

Sam spoke up, unsure of where your brother was going. “Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing.”

“Sam has a point,” you said. You were all too familiar with the Winter Soldier program. If you didn’t want to be found, you had the ability to make yourself dead to the world. “We were trained to blend in, to hide in plain sight. Even if he had to run, no one man would ever be able to find him.”

“We didn’t bomb the UN. That turns a lot of heads,” Steve asserted.

“Yeah, but to your point,” Sharon said, nodding at you. “That doesn’t guarantee that whoever framed him would get him. It guarantees that we would.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed.

So there was a mole in the government, and he was probably in the building. Your gaze narrowed and you watched the people milling about outside your little bubble with a new suspicion. Whoever it was was obviously already ten steps ahead, you would have to wait until he made his next move. Beside you Sam stood from his seat, eyes similarly flicking from the screen to the windows and back. Steve looked like a racehorse ready to spring from its stall.

From the corner of the room, the conversation continued on through the speakers, even if no one was paying much attention any longer. “Tell me, Bucky. You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you?” The man asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You fear that…if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry.”

The CIA agent, Captain America, the Falcon, and the Wolf Spider were too busy looking for a threat aimed at themselves to notice what was going on before them.

In the secured, private room five levels below the surface, Helmut Zemo received a message on his phone. A package of his had been delivered. Looking up, he wiped the false pretenses of innocence from his face. “We only have to talk about one.”

For a moment the room was plunged in darkness before emergency lights bathed the building in a red glow. The monitor with the video footage remained black. You looked at Sam. Now was your chance.

Steve looked to Sharon and she spoke without hesitation. “Sub-level five, east wing.”

No sooner than she had finished were the three of you bolting from the office and back the way you had been escorted in. You flew down the stairwell, concerned only for Bucky and getting to him before it was too late. But even super soldiers could only descend a dozen floors so fast. Heart racing, you jumped down the last flight, only to be met with a sign on the wall that read ‘Sub-Level 5; West.’

Without pause you pushed through the nearest doorway and wound your way through the maze of hallways. “This way!” Sam shouted. You and Steve rounded on your heels and went sprinting after him down a narrow corridor that served as a connection between the two wings of the building. The soft glow of emergency lighting lit the way, but between flashes the basement levels were pitch black. In the final stretch you overtook him and spilled out into another landing.

The doors to the room on your right were destroyed. A dozen guards lay spread out on the floor unconscious. The chamber was completely silent, but you doubted the chase truly ended here. You knelt and checked the pulse of the agent at your feet. He was alive.

“Help me. Help,” a voice cried out from further in the room. You picked up a discarded pistol and tucked it into the back of your waistband.

Steve was closer to the man than you and wasted no time picking him up and pinning him against the wall by his jacket collar. “Get up.” You’d never heard him sound so furious. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“To see an empire fall,” the man replied vaguely. After staring down Steve he turned to face you with the gleam of a predator in his eyes.Your heart pounded in your chest.

“Steve, we need to find Bucky,” you said.

The echo of footsteps rang down the hall as Sam caught up. Right as he stepped through the door Bucky came lunging out of the shadows, metal fist swinging for Sam’s face. Sam ducked just in time to avoid getting his teeth knocked out. Instead, a fist-sized chunk of the concrete wall blew away into pulverized chunks. But by the time he righted himself Bucky had already launched another attack. This time he grabbed him by the jaw and threw him all the way across the room to crash into the holding unit. The impact was enough to knock him out cold.

Steve looked torn between chasing after Bucky, checking on Sam, and further interrogating the psychologist.

“Go,” you said, nodding toward Bucky. “I got him.”

Steve launched himself at Bucky and pushed him back out into the hall.

You pulled the gun and trained it on the guilty party. Outside the exaggerated sound of two super soldiers fighting reverberated back to you. The shuffle of quick footwork followed by the concerning crash of a metal fist colliding with a wall at inhuman speed.

“Your name. Now,” you demanded.

“My full title is Baron Helmut Zemo. But I think the more important question is, who are you?”

The brawl in the hallway had stopped, and the renewed silence made you uneasy. “Enough with the games.” You flicked the pistol toward the exit. “Move. I’m taking you upstairs.”

He began to pick his way slowly across the room. “Okay, you’ve got me beat. But I just need to know one thing. Steve seems to think you’ve miraculously been returned to him the same as before he became Captain America.” It bothered you, how Zemo felt he had the right to use your brother’s name. “Show me what you hide from them, Wolf Spider. Show me who you really are.”

“Shut up,” you said, annoyed with his riddled speech. But before you could make another move, Bucky came ramming back into the holding room, kicking right at your stomach. The impact forced you to take a knee and as you scrambled to stand up, Zemo pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and began to speak. “Мрамор.”

Even over the rushes of blood pumping through your veins and the stomp of Bucky’s boots on the ground, you still heard it. Like a heat-seeking missile the word wormed its way into your brain and you faltered.

Panic seized you. You needed to get to Zemo. “Bucky, stop!” You yelled, desperate for any way to get around him for even a second. As you tried to stand he planted a foot and your chest and pushed you to the floor. The air left your lungs in a gust as your back slammed into the cement. The gun went flying from your grip and skittering across the floor. “Dick move, Barnes,” you said in a strained whisper.

“Восемь,” Zemo said, sounding closer now even though you couldn’t see him. You clamped your hands over your ears and screamed. Taking a chance you bashed your metal fist into Bucky’s knee and charged for Zemo. “Жжение.” His voice sent you careening off course as if repelled by his words. Fighting for any last scrap of control you punched the wall until your knuckles left bloody streaks. You counted back from ten in your head, jaw clenched so tight it was close to shattering.

Your defenses broken, Bucky reengaged the fight. You scrambled, narrowly blocking his punches from beating your face in and counting you out. You reassessed and went on the offensive. You’d have to take him out before going for his handler.

Easier said than done.

“Рекрут.” You fought even harder, even as a fog crept up the back of your mind. Where was Steve?

“Снегопад.” Another nail in the coffin. He landed a punch to your face and a deep split opened on your cheek. You barely felt the blood run down to your chin.

“Пять.” You managed to land a right hook on Bucky’s weak side. You capitalized on the small victory. Seizing him by the shoulders you grappled with him for a moment before sweeping his leg from under him. He fell with a thud and you lined up a kick to the side of his head. You’d apologize later.

“Увядший.” The Wolf Spider crawled up the back of your spine, jaws gnashing at your brain for control. Your attention slipped for a fraction of a second. But that was all the time the Winter Soldier needed. He seized your ankle and pulled you to the ground. Before you could get your bearings he clamped his fist around your neck and threw you against the wall.

“послушный.” The Soldier rammed his knee into your stomach and you doubled over in an attempt to suck air back into your lungs. The room spun and the lights blurred together. A male Sokovian accented voice was all you could hear above the ringing in your ears.

An arm snaked around your throat from behind and forced you to stand.

“An impressive attempt to be sure. But I’ve found that dogs can always be tamed.”

A fading voice in the back of your mind yelled at you to fight. Halfheartedly you tried to twist out of the Soldier’s hold.

“Одиннадцать.” A dam had cemented itself and separated you from your body.

“Пекин.” Your breathing became even and you looked to the man before you for instruction.

“Солдат?” He asked.

“Я готов отвечать.”

—

Natasha Romanoff walked through the chaos-ridden office, catching up to Tony Stark. Your swift absence hadn’t escaped her notice. She had almost chased after you herself. She’d desperately been wanting to talk to you since the Accords had been dropped in the team’s lap, but you had made yourself scarce since. She could tell that her decision had upset you, even if you were as unlikely to tell her so as you were to turn your back on Steve and Bucky.

“Please tell me you brought a suit,” she said. Because a fight against three super soldiers would be much easier won with a trick of their own.

“Sure did,” the Iron Man replied. “It’s a lovely Tom Ford, three-piece, two-button.” He stopped his nervous rant. “I’m an active-duty non-combatant.” Fancy speak for the government not being comfortable with his access to the greatest weapon’s system on the planet.

Sharon Carter ran up to them, an earpiece providing information Natasha nor Tony were privy to. “Follow me,” she told them.

They made their way downstairs onto the ground level. “The Winter Soldier has been unleashed,” Agent Carter said. “He’s on this floor in the lobby, probably trying to escape.”

“That’s a no-can-do from Agent Ross. We need a plan. Nat?” Tony looked expectantly toward the Black Widow.

“Why is it always up to me?” She asked, even as a plan formed in her mind.

“Because everyone knows my job is to look good and provide charity for you free loaders.”

Natasha narrowed her gaze at Tony’s watch. “Which outfit is that a part of?”

“It is as practical as it is fashionable. Glasses too,” he said.

“Tony, you’ll come up on him from behind. Get his attention, and try to disarm him if you can. Carter and I will be right behind.”

“I don’t remember volunteering to be the bait, Romanoff.”

Natasha motioned for Sharon and they picked their way around the edge of the sun-lit lobby. Civilian workers fleeing for their lives rushed around them in a current, but the women stood as solid as stone. The sound of combat reached her ears before she was able to see into the main lobby. A metal fist pounded against flesh and man after man crumpled to the floor. The snap of a bone being broken and the subsequent screams.

Natasha rounded the corner into the foyer just as a terrible supersonic blast flooded the area. Tony had stunned the attacker if only for a moment. To her horror it wasn’t Barnes standing there, but you. She couldn’t see your face as you moved to pummel Tony, but she knew what she’d see. A figure of a ghost from the Red Room flashed before her eyes.

A gunshot shook her out of her stupor and she ran after Sharon into the fray. You elbowed Tony in the face before punching him in the gut hard enough to send him flying into a table several feet away.

Before you could finish the job Sharon ran at you, forcing you to block a kick and a jab. You wound up an answering punch that would’ve cracked her sternum but she ducked away and you missed. As you recovered, Natasha lodged a knee into your stomach before crouching down to jab you in the groin. She didn’t want to fight you, but she would. All it took was one look into your eyes to separate the Wolf Spider from the person she knew you were.

Sharon landed a roundhouse kick to the head but as she wound up for a second assault you caught her leg and hurled her down onto a table. The legs broke underneath with a clatter.

As you were turned around, Natasha took the opportunity to seize you from behind and flip herself up onto your shoulders. With anyone else she would’ve been able to floor them from this position. But the Wolf Spider intimately knew all of the Black Widow’s moves. All those years ago, you had taught her much of the combat she still used today.

She rained down blows on your head as you crossed the lobby. She grunted as she threw her fists down over and over in a vain attempt to get you to drop her. Instead you carried her to a table and slammed her down. Before she could recover, you clamped your hand around her neck and choked her out.

Scrabbling at your metal forearm, Natasha’s face burned red. She felt her windpipe being crushed under your grip. But even under the eclipse of death’s shadow, the scariest thing was what they’d done to you. She knew you’d tear yourself up about it later, and worse she knew no one here would understand.

On the verge of passing out, she managed one last choked whisper. “You could at least recognize me.” Maybe, as Natasha’s heart was shattered in two, she could pass some of that anguish onto you.

If anything you only squeezed harder and she felt the strength waste away from her muscles.

Seemingly out of nowhere you were shoved off of her. She gasped and pulled as much air in as she could through her bruised throat. All she could manage was to stare up at the ceiling and blink away the spots from her vision.

Rallying, Natasha pushed herself up and saw Tony standing over you with his mechanical gloved hand extended. She coughed and asked, “How?”

You were on your knees, hands clamped tightly over your ears and fingers digging into the back of your head.

“Lucky guess,” Tony said. “Think of it like a dog whistle, but for super soldiers. And also like blow your head off levels of loud. Had to estimate the frequency after getting beaten half to death. But it looks like I’ve outwitted the killing machine.”

Natasha was frozen. You’d just about suffocated her, but a large part of her still wanted to yell at Tony and tell him to cut it out. “Does it hurt?”

“Well, it’s no symphony, I can tell you that.”

She threw a glare in his direction.

“I don’t know. Ballpark? Somewhere between a migraine and an ice pick through the ear.”

A dozen more security personnel came flooding in. They rounded in a circle around you and half of them readied their guns. The rest assaulted you with tasers. You fell to the floor in a series of violent spasms and Natasha looked away.

“Let’s get this one ready for transport,” one barked.

“Natasha, are you okay?” Tony asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, voice still raw.

“That psycho almost killed you.” He always got assertive when he was worried. “You see, this is why we need the Accords. To keep chaos from breaking out in refuges of peace for godsake.”

Natasha looked back at where your limp body was being dragged away. She wished she could go back to before any of this started. She was terrified that she had missed her chance to tell you how she felt. “He’s not a psycho.”

“Then you and I have very different definitions of the word.”

“Stark.” The disappointed voice of Secretary Ross called.

“We have the Wolf Spider in custody sir.” Tony adjusted his tie.

“And Barnes, Wilson, and the other Rogers are all in the wind. One out of four is three less than I expected of you.”

But Natasha had had enough of Thadeus Ross for a lifetime. She walked away wishing that you were by her side instead. Isolated from the beaurucrats and politicians and the bridge with Steve having been thoroughly burned, she felt lost. All around her the pieces of the life she had worked so hard to build lay scattered. The overwhelming urge to hit something surged. How did she get here?

—

You sat by Natasha under a tree in the forest behind the Avengers’ Compound. The chirping birds and the rustle of wind through the leaves were the only sounds that broke the silence out here. Everything at the compound was a blur of light and rush of movement all the time. You couldn’t get two seconds without someone needing something from you. So you had developed the habit of sneaking out and picking a random direction to pass an afternoon.

Natasha had a book in her hands. Today her hair was pulled back in a braid and thrown over her shoulder. You liked when she put it up because you could see her face more clearly.

“He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy,” she read. You ran your hand through the grass and dirt absentmindedly. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah, of course.” You had been listening, but not to what she said, but how she spoke it. “It’s just I’ve read Gatsby before. Jay is a dreamer, but he still loses everything. It’s not fair. He didn’t know any better but to follow his heart.”

“That’s not how I see it,” she replied. “Listen. ‘His life had been confused and disordered since then, but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go over it all slowly, he could find out what that thing was’.” She shifted closer, leg almost bumping your own. Uncomfortable with the proximity bordering on affection you subtly moved away. “Jay is chasing a life that he can no longer have. And in the process he ruins himself, and the woman he loves. He should’ve known better.”

Overhead the branches had become indistinguishable from one another and instead blended together as one entrapment. The fading orange glow cast by the setting sun reminded you to start heading back. The woods would be near impossible to navigate without the light. You stood and reached a hand out to help Natasha up. She grasped it tightly and instead pulled you down to her.

“You should’ve known better.” A haunted despair paled her features.

“What?”

The crack of fracturing bones echoed throughout the lonely clearing and Natasha cried out. Your hand had begun to squeeze hers tight enough to crush it. You willed yourself to let go but your stubborn metal fist refused to obey.

“You destroy everything you love, even if you never say the words out loud.”

A bullet hole slowly materialized in the middle of her forehead. Blood seeped down her face and she smiled a bloody smile.

“You should’ve stayed dead.”

You jerked yourself awake with a gasp. The dream faded from your mind almost immediately, as had the once before where you’d been stuck in a cave, and the one before that where you’d slaughtered an entire family.

You took a second to examine the unfamiliar environment. The cell you were in was bright and clean, and the camera assured there was no privacy. Across from you was an identical unit. In fact, the entire room was just an octagon of prison cells.

You rubbed at your face, only for the movement to be followed by a metallic clanking. Both of your wrists were manacled with thick iron cuffs which were anchored to the wall with a chain. Your left wrist was chaffed and dried blood coated your hand. Alarm surged through you.

No, you would rather die than play prisoner and puppet for anyone else again.

You stood up, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. But when you tried to step away from the wall you were yanked back, not by your wrists, but by a chain around your neck. Coughing, you fell back against the wall and pulled at the tight restraint. All you succeeded in doing was irritating the inflamed skin underneath.

“Hey buddy, are you okay?”

You snapped your attention to the voice. You didn’t recognize the guy who had spoken, but the man in the cell next to him looked familiar. Your head throbbed as you tried to remember. He had short brown hair and sat hunched over on a bench, just watching.

“Fine,” you said. Your voice sounded about as shitty as the rest of your body felt. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Scott. You actually don’t know me cause we haven’t met, but I fought with your brother. He’s a really nice guy. Of course you know that.” You shot him a glare. “You know what, I’m just going to shut up now.”

Confusion spun your battered brain around even further. Your brother. You had a brother named Steve. Steve was small so you had to–wait, that wasn’t quite right. Steve’s strength had caught up to the size of his will. He was a soldier. The Soldier. Солдат. A fresh pang wracked your head. No. A captain. Captain America.

The room felt cold but your hand was clammy. Sweat dampened your hair as if you had caught a fever. You squeezed your eyes shut. Why were these lights so damn bright? Where were you?

“Hey, what’s going on? I can’t see into the cell. Is he back?”

You knew that voice. You trusted it as well as you may trust anyone. If only you could think harder. You opened your eyes and again saw the familiar-looking man. The name came to you this time. “Clint,” you said.

Hope cleared some of the melancholic fog that had marred his features.

“Where are we? What happened? Where’s Steve?”

When he spoke, it was reserved, but you could tell he was holding back. “Steve called me. The Avengers fought. Some of them are picking up the mess. The rest of us landed our asses in here. You though…you were already here when they brought us in. I wish I could tell you why.”

“It’s Sam,” the man in the unit directly to the right of yours said. He banged on the wall for effect. “You were with me and Steve back in Berlin. Bucky was controlled and he went after us. He knocked me out and by the time I woke everyone was gone. I met up with Steve and Bucky outside, but you were gone. I’m sorry. If we would have known…”

“It’ll come back eventually.” Even if you could barely remember your own name now, somehow you knew this. The memories always came back, especially the bad ones.

“I should tell you, this isn’t the first time you’ve woken up,” Clint said. Scott looked away. “The first two times you didn’t say anything or acknowledge us. You just pulled away as hard as you could until you made yourself pass out.”

“Great,” you muttered under your breath. So they had all received a front row view of the mindless monster you were. “What is this place, anyway?”

“They call it the Raft. It’s an American prison unit that they dropped into the middle of the Atlantic.” Barton’s voice had taken on an undercurrent of anger. “It’s where they stick the worst of the worst.”

“Is anyone else here?” You asked.

“Wanda. Probably. I don’t know, they put her in a separate transport.” Your heart dropped. Why would they bring her into this? She was just a kid. And with her powers, you could only imagine what they were doing to keep her locked up.

You didn’t ask if there was a plan. The atmosphere here wasn’t exactly revolutionary. You drew your knees up to your chest and rested as best as you could.

Sometime later–you were sure the room had been built to be purposefully disorienting–the door slid open with a whir. In walked Tony Stark, his left arm in a sling and sporting a terrible black eye.

Clint stood up and began to slowclap, finally finding a target to take his anger out on. “The Futurist, gentlemen! The Futurist is here! He sees all! He sknows what’s best for you, whether you like it or not.”

The goading worked, drawing Tony’s attention away from you. “Give me a break, Barton. I had no idea they would put you here. Come on.”

He spit on the ground in defiance. “Yeah, well, you knew they’d put us somewhere, Tony.”

“Yeah, but not some super-max floating ocean pokey.” Stark gestured at the barred cells, gaze catching on you for a moment. “You know, this place is for maniacs. This is a place for…”

“Criminals?” Clint walked closer to the glass of his cage. “Criminals, Tony. Think that’s the word you’re looking for. Right?” The two estranged teammates stood eye to eye. “That didn’t used to mean me. Or Sam, or Wanda. But here we are.” A long time ago that didn’t used to mean you either.

“Because you broke the law.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t make you.”

Clint turned his back on Tony. “La, la, la, la, la…”

“Alright, you’re all grown up, you got a wife and kids. I don’t understand, why didn’t you think about them before you chose the wrong side?” Realizing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Clint he walked away.

Barton rounded on him. “You gotta watch your back with this guy. There’s a chance he’s gonna break it,” he said, slamming on the glass.

“Hank Pym always said, you never can trust a Stark,” Scott said with as much menace in his voice as he could conjure. You wondered how a civilian like him had gotten wrapped up in this fight.

“Who are you?” Stark walked right past him and onto Sam’s unit.

“Come on, man.”

“How’s Rhodes?” Wilson asked, not as willing to bite as Clint had been.

“They’re flying him to Columbia Medical tomrrow. So…fingers crossed. What do you need? They feed you yet?”

You couldn’t see Sam from your cell, but you hoped that he’d tell Stark off too.

“You’re the good cop now?” He asked sarcastically.

“I’m just the guy who needs to know where Steve went.”

“Well, you better go get a bad cop, because you’re gonna have to go Mark Fuhrman on my ass to get information out of me.”

Stark messed with his watch. “Oh, I just knocked the ‘A’ out of their ‘AV’. We got about thirty seconds before they realize it’s not their equipment.” You looked up at the security camera in the corner of your cell. Could he really do that? “Just look,” he went on. “Because that is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes.” A little picture of a clearly dead man appeared out of thin air. “Clealy, I made a mistake. Sam, I was wrong.”

“That’s a first.”

“Cap is definitely off the reservation but he’s about to need all the help he can get. We don’t know each other very well. You don’t have to…”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Sam interrupted. You wished you were in his eyeline so you could shake your head no in silent protest. But you didn’t have the energy or mental capacity to pick a verbal fight right now so you stayed quiet. “Look, I’ll tell you…but you have to go alone and as a friend.”

“Easy.”

Sam spoke so quietly you were sure without super hearing you wouldn’t have heard. “They went to an old Soviet-HYDRA bunker in Siberia. The fake doctor is going to unleash five more Winter Soldiers.”

“Okay. Wilson, I won’t forget this,” he said with fake malice in his voice to impress the cameras.

He turned to you next. “Rogers.” He saluted. Shame burned your face. You felt like a wild animal on display. And Tony Stark’s presence wasn’t exactly a comforting one since you presumed he was largely at fault for the team’s current predicament. “You’re not going to go all Terminator on me again, are you?”

You stared at him blankly, not moving from your place on the floor in the middle of the cell.

“Really? Nothing. I just came up with that one. Any messages from you to your brother I can deliver when I find him?”

“Tell him after all this he needs to get his ass as far from trouble as possible. Tell him I’m right where I should be.”

“How about I just say you’ll send him a postcard?” He quipped, walking away.

“Stark,” you called. “Lay a hand on Steve and I will find you.”

He didn’t turn back, but he gave a thumbs up on his way out.

—

You don’t think you could ever tire of the view before you. For most of your life you never believed you’d travel outside New York City, but here you were on the other side of the world. The waters below the ship were as blue and clean as great artists imagined in their scenes. The current lapped gently at the hull and you let the sound wash through you. Ahead, snow-capped mountains rose into the cloudy sky. The buildings and streets you were so used to being surrounded by in the city were replaced by miles of undisturbed woodland. The sky was overcast, but calm for now. Mist hung in the air and clung to your jacket. Maybe it would storm later, maybe it wouldn’t. You found peace in the apprehension.

“Hey,” Natasha said. You hadn’t heard her come up. She joined you at the railing and pushed a phone into the water.

“How’s the Good Secretary?”

“I’ve got him chasing his tail in D.C. We are officially in the wind.”

Steve and Natasha had broken you out of the Raft three days ago. Since then you’d decided to split up while the heat died down. He had wanted you to go with him, but you couldn’t look at your brother without feeling crushed by six decades worth of guilt. You still thought he would be safer without you, but you couldn’t escape the disappointed look on his face. Hurting him was like kicking a little puppy.

“Steve would love this place,” you said. Natasha took in the view while you admired her. Her hair was down and flowed past her shoulders. The wind blew strands of it about in a way that told you God indeed played favorites. “He loved to draw. And he was damn good at it too. Kid used to draw everything. Our old apartment, back alleys, the sky. He wouldn’t know what to do if he saw all of this.”

“You’re worried about him.”

“Really? Was I being that obvious?” You were tired, but you smiled anyway.

“The first time I met Steve he couldn’t make heads or tails of the shirt on his back, much less anything else humanity had changed. Yesterday, he was piloting the most advanced jet on the planet. Sounds like he’s the same resilient kid you grew up with. Except now he can throw a man a couple dozen yards.”

“I think he could literally be invincible and I’d still worry,” you admitted.

“I think that’s how family is supposed to work. And if it helps, he’s got Sam to watch his back.”

“Why did you volunteer to come with me?” You asked. You bit your lip nervously and scanned the grayish-blue horizon. “I almost killed you. I mean I would have killed you if Stark hadn’t…” You’d opened Pandora’s Box and couldn’t stop all of the guilt from pouring out. “And all those years ago in the Red Room, what I did to you. Why don’t you hate me?”

“Because I know who you really are. And that wasn’t you. Never was.” She said it so fervently that you almost believed her.

“But that’s just the thing. It was me. All of that blood is on my hands. If something happened to you, that would be on me.” And I don’t think I would survive without you. You left the rest unsaid, but it hung in the air just out of reach. “All he had to do was say the goddamn words and I lost it.”

“And you came back.” You found your mind wandering off into the mountains afar. “Hey look at me.” She laid a hand on your shoulder and brought you back from your reverie. Her warm breath fanned across your cheek. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

“I can’t shake this feeling, Nat.” You heaved a shuddering breath. “That horrible voice is always in the back of my head. I’m so scared that one day it’ll drown me out.” Your eyes hurt from the force of holding back tears. “Please don’t let it drown me.”

Natasha wrapped her arms around you in a supportive hug. “I’ll never give up on you,” she said. “You can always come back to me.” You cautiously hugged her back and draped yourself over her. You concentrated on what was around you. The smell of the sea-salted air, the warmth of her body, the churn of the boat's engine.

You let her go and cleared your throat, rubbing harshly at your eyes. “Me too,” you said. “I mean, I’m here for you. ‘Til kingdom come.” You’d always fight for her. Truth is you had been for a long time now, you just didn’t realize it.

“You’re not the only one who’s done unspeakable things,” she whispered, as if preoccupied with reliving some awful memory. You weren’t the only one with demons intent on ruining any scrap of peace.

“Aren’t we quite the pair?” You inspected her hoodie and all of its familiarity. “Is that my sweatshirt?”

“No,” she lied, even as she messed with the ends of the sleeves that went well past her hands.

“Mhm. So did you bring any of my clothes for me or…?”

“I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again,” Natasha said. Her voice was shaky with frustration and pent-up anxiety. “I was so worried. I thought that this would be all I had left to remember you by. I kept thinking that we would get into the Raft and you wouldn’t be there.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. The week and a half you were locked up for you hadn’t thought about where she might be. You told yourself you were too preoccupied with Steve and Bucky to otherwise focus. But you knew to think about Natasha was to admit you cared deeply for her. That was a battle you weren’t ready to surrender. “I didn’t know.” But maybe now was the time to lay down arms.

“That’s right you didn’t know. You didn’t think. That’s the problem you think you’re invincible and you run headfirst into danger time and time again.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Except it’s not just you anymore, Rogers. There are people that care about you and how you act affects them. When you make a stupid move it’s not just you who suffers the consequences.” Her voice cracked under the weight of the words.

“I can’t just sit around when something goes bad. You can’t ask me to do that.” You had so much time, so many lives to make up for. And that came about by means of action.

“I thought that you were dead. Don’t you understand that?” Natasha’s eyes were full of sorrow and accusation. Your cheeks flushed and you stared into the icy waters. She had every right to be mad. “When they dragged you away I was sure they were going to execute you. Again.”

The reference stung. When the Red Room found out you’d broken your programming they’d practically beaten you to death in front of Natasha before shipping you back to HYDRA. The scars still burned in your dreams.

An apology formed on your lips. “I know,” she said. The bitterness had burned itself out of her tone. What was left you couldn’t describe. A profound understanding, edges brightened by the hope of a fresh start.

An unspoken something lingered in the cool morning air.

Natasha grabbed your gloved hand and intertwined her fingers with yours. She leaned over and rested her head on your shoulder. A warmth bloomed in your chest.

You thought that, just maybe, you’d found where you were supposed to be.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader

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rascal-xo · 1 year

Note

Tactical Cuddling during a a blizzard with ghost to keep warm and alive that turns into romantic cuddling and words of affection? If that's too soft maybe add some reader being half frozen to death?

Stone Cold | Simon Riley x Reader |

Chapter summary: After being split up during a mission, the hopes of finding each other again begin to fade with each passing hour…

Warnings: fluff, kinda angst, just pure :((

Tags: @glitteryeggalmondherring @fiveshelmet @madamemelancholysstuff @myguiltypleasure @pukbadger

A/N: I hope you enjoy!! Lmk what you think :)

You huddle in the desolate corners of a long abandoned cabin, the bitter cold seeping through the cracks in the wooden walls. The howling wind outside whips the snow into a frenzy, blurring your vision as it dances in the air.

Shivering uncontrollably, you cling to the flickering hope that the Lieutenant will find you soon.

The mission had taken an unexpected turn, separating you and Ghost amidst the treacherous snowy mountains. The communication devices had failed, leaving you stranded without any means of contact. With each passing hour, your body grows weaker, and frostbite threatens to claim your extremities.

The makeshift fire in the hearth casts feeble shadows on the walls, providing minimal warmth. Your breath forms icy puffs in the frigid air, a constant reminder of the unknown dangers lurking outside. You wrap your arms around yourself, desperately trying to conserve what little heat remains.

You clutch your chest, feeling the steady thump of your heartbeat against your weak and frozen fingertips. The sound is a lifeline, a reminder that you're still alive, but it's growing fainter, weaker.

You suddenly hear shot outside. Your ears stand up at the piercing sound. With sheer willpower, you rise from the floor, limbs heavy and uncooperative. Every step is a battle against the biting cold, but you press on. You stumble towards the door, feeling the gust of wind slice through your clothes. The icy touch pierces your skin, but you trudge forward, leaving the shelter behind.

Through the swirling snowflakes, you catch a glimpse of movement. A figure emerges from the blizzard, their silhouette becoming clearer with each step. “Gho- GHOST!” Your voice is like corse sandpaper against the walls of your throat, as you finally make out the skull mask in the distance.

“Y/N!” He quickly catches up to you. You collapse into his arms, and he holds you up easily as ever. “Thought I’d lost ya for good, Sergeant.” Ghost holds you up, his deep voice filled with relief and concern.

You cling to Simon, feeling his sturdy presence enveloping you, grounding you amidst the chaos. The sound of his voice resonates keeps you from slipping into the dark, a lifeline that pulls you back from the brink. “We need to get you inside now, you’ll freeze to death.”

He moves you back into the small cabin, throwing his gear down. Ghost makes sure you’re steady before sitting you onto the tattered cushion you had been collapsed on moments before.

He kneels beside you, his gaze fixed on your pale face. Ghost's hands cup your chilled cheeks, his touch sending shivers of both cold and comfort through your body. "Y/N, keep your eyes open," he says, his voice firm yet laced with concern. "Stay with me."

You fight against the heaviness threatening to pull you into unconsciousness. He looks around, his eyes finally landing on his pack. He rushes over pulling the sleeping bag off of it.

Before you’re able to comprehend he’s already lifting you into the insulated pad. Every movement feels rigid on your fragile muscles and sore bones. You almost wished you were unconscious, atleast you wouldn’t have to feel the cold.

Without a second thought, he carefully maneuvers himself into the sleeping bag beside you, his body heat radiating through the thin barrier between you.

The sudden presence of Ghost beside you sends a jolt of warmth coursing through your veins. His strong, solid frame acts as a shield against the frigid air, his body heat seeping into your chilled skin.

His arm slides gently beneath your head, cradling you close as he presses his body against yours. The sleeping bag becomes a shared refuge, a sanctuary from the biting cold that threatens to consume you.

After a few beats of silence, you rasp, your voice barely audible above the wind outside. "You have to go on without me.”

Your body is beginning to shut down on you. Even the smallest of breaths feel like mountains on your lungs.

“Don’t be stupid. I’m not leaving you up here.”

“You’re losing time. We both know i’m not gonna make it” You wince at the straining in your throat with every word.

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face taut with conflicting emotions. Ghost's gaze never wavers from yours, his eyes filled with a fierce resolve. "Fucks sake, No mission is worth losing you," he declares, his voice steady and unwavering. "I’m not leaving."

You reach up, your trembling hand brushing against the frosted fabric of his balaclava. Maybe it’s the impending doom or maybe it’s the proximity to him, but your lips form into a weak smile.

You take a shuddering breath, “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when the Captain said our careers would only go up from here.” A small chuckle follows but you immediately double down with pain in your ribs.

He watches you intently, unbeknownst to you a smile of his own forms under his mask. You take a steadying breath, mustering your strength despite the agony that courses through your body.

“Thank you.” You whisper, unwelcome tears now seeping into your eyes. Your hands now cupping the sides of his face. You feel yourself slipping away but still holding on barely to him. He moves his hand up to yours, pulling the balaclava over his head.

His skin is touched by the cold, but his eyes burn with intensity. You manage a weak smile, your fingertips tracing the contours of his cheek. The tears that well in your eyes mirror the pain and acceptance that reside within your heart.

“Stay with me, Love. Please” He says, just above a whisper. The tears that well in your eyes mirror the pain and acceptance that reside within your heart.

As you slip further into the grasp of unconsciousness, your grip on Ghost weakens. The slow beats of your heart thump against his other hand, so slow that it’s agonizing for him to bare.

And soon the world fades away from you, consumed by the relentless cold.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #fanfic #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x female reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you

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sosa2imagines · 10 months

Text

I know where I belong part 2

----------------------------------------------------- Warning- Angst and flashbacks ----------------------------------------------------- Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 -----------------------------------------------------

Flashback- Steve was over the moon when he got his dance but when Peggy told him she has moved on, even though he knows he was still angry. She asked him about his present life and he truthfully told her everything and she was happy for him. Steve was angry his mind played tricks on him, if he was still single or chose a different path maybe he could have been with Peggy but sadly he was still Captain America and your boyfriend. So when he came back he was angry. That is until one day on his stroll he bumped into Sharon who was quick to bat her lashes and apologize and Steve's mind dick forgave her. They started to meet daily. For the first few days it was harmless glancing at each other, touching and holding hands. Later on it turn into flirting and finally one day Sharon kissed him and one thing led to another. So he did got a Carter to start his life with though not Peggy but Sharon. As for Sharon? Steve was the stepping stone to rise in her career. So he started avoiding you hoping you'll break up with him. What he didn't expect was for you to find out and to his surprise slap him and break Sharon's nose. Everyone warned him not to enter the tower especially with his side chick.

Present time- All the pent up emotions were out the moment you saw Bucky. He held you tight in his brace while you cried your heart out. "How can he do this to me Bucky? Did I do something wrong? Why Buck why?" you broke into his arms as he held you tight. "No doll you didn't do anything Steve is an idiot I'll kick his ass and bring him back to you." "No Bucky" you shook your head and Bucky looked at you in confusion rubbing your back to comfort you. "Doll?" Struggling somehow you manage to talk "H..he..he said he l..loves her and she is a Carter" "What?" Bucky looked down at your head, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to make sense of the situation in disbelief that his friend actually said something so disgusting to you. "Did he really said that?" "Yes" you whispered too tired to talk. After crying for hours in Bucky's arms he finally managed to put you to sleep Bucky's own eyes were teary. Looking at your sleeping form Bucky's heart broke completely. He felt guilty for not being there for you when you needed him the most. He was angry on himself, on Steve and fucking Sharon! It was painful for him to see you like this. You were the light in his life, he hated to see you hurt and in pain.

His mind wandered to the day when he had met you for the first time. Steve had introduced you both. He remembers how your small hand fit in his large one. How soft your skin felt and so beautiful. You didn't looked at him like he is a vulnerable person, you were just you. For you he was Bucky, not Sergeant, not Winter Solider, only Bucky. As you both got to know each other more, you both became best of friends, almost inseparable. You both would even joke about Winter Solider without being offended. You would hold his metal hand with ease and he didn't mind a bit, in fact you made him feel more confident. Even when some were scared of him or just made sure not to piss him off, you were carefree not giving a damn, and he would happily comply to you. Slowly he was becoming the old 40s confident womanizer Bucky, except the fact that the new him was shy. So he was no longer a womanizer only a confident but shy Bucky. And he would never forget how you stood by him during the fight and when he was in Wakanda. Your smile, laughter and the positive vibe was what kept him going on.

And now it was his turn to look after you. He vowed he'll do anything to make you happy again, to protect you at all cost especially from Steve. He would do anything to make you smile and laugh, he silently promise to bring the light back in your life.

So next day he decided to pay a visit to Steve. "Bucky?" Bucky didn't say anything just barged inside, he also ignored the look Sharon was giving him. "When did you come back?" Steve asks surprised seeing him. "Not long to know you have started thinking with your dick" "She told you huh?" Steve scoffed. "Yeah if only she was in that condition! Do you even realize what you have done?" Bucky yelled. "Oh please Barnes it's not like she's your girl" Sharon roll her eyes "Shut up I'm not talking to you in fact I don't talk to trash at all" Bucky growled when Sharon tried to speak up, Sharon's face screwed up in an ugly scowl. "Don't talk to her like that" Bucky was shocked furrowing his brows to see Steve defending her, has he completely lost it? "Then tell her not to interfere" Steve looked at Sharon silently pleading her to go inside and she did throwing her arms up in the air. "Do you even know what she is going through? she is blaming herself you idiot" Steve felt bad but he quickly diminished the feeling shaking his head. "Because of her I couldn't be with Peggy" Steve whined and Bucky looked at Steve like he has grown three heads. "What the hell are you talking about?" "No it's not about Peggy I knew she had moved on but I was angry that she accepted my present life without being upset" "So is it Y/n's fault?" Bucky asks in disbelief looking at his friend. "I know it's not her fault! Look I'm still trying to figure out what I want ok? You can understand" "Understand what Steve? Sharon cheated on you!" Bucky reminded him. "You don't know her like I do!" "Are you sure?" Bucky scoffed. "We clicked ok. I know her better after all she is a Carter!"

Bucky was in a dilemma whether to beat the shit out of him or not. He wanted to hit him but the things Steve did for him made Bucky not to hit him. Bucky was annoyed, angry as hell, he shook his head and punch the wall next to him with his metal hand. But than his mind flashed your image the hurt and pain you were in so he turn around and broke Steve's nose with his flash hand. "You'll regret this Steve and stay the hell away from Y/n." All Steve could say was sorry and he is happy with Sharon, Bucky chuckled at his stupidity "one cheater got another cheater no wonder you two make quite the couple or rather 'one broken nose got another broken nose'" yes he had seen Sharon's broken nose. And with that he left Steve alone.

As for Bucky his only mission was to heal your heart, protect you and fill your life with happiness and love?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------(Part 2 is here lovely people hope you guys enjoy and feedback is as always appreciated. I know I'm taking time with this one but I really want it to be good for Bucky he deserves lots of love and I have planned nice things for him 😘❤️) ----------------------------------------------------- Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 ----------------------------------------------------- TAGLIST- @sapphirebarnes @vicmc624 @cjand10 -----------------------------------------------------

#sebastian stan characters #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #chris evans characters

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aghostiewitdahoodie · 8 months

Text

⟣ Synopsis: Being fond of you brings him in a delusional state.

⟣ Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader x John “Soap” MacTavish

⟣ Warnings: Unrequited love, Jealousy

⟣ This is my work, my writing. Do not steal or repost elsewhere.

Touching you is a crime and an honour. Oh, your skin silken-like, a brush against you is a luck and a violation.

Hearing you is a melody to me and a pique. Your demure of a tune brings me great pleasure and pain.

Seeing you is heaven-like and dreadful. How you turn my glimpse into a stare, it is concerning.

At the far end I situated myself, isolated from the throng yet close enough to adore and loathe you. A glass imprisoned in my hand, a Bourbon poured and a thought buried deep yet it always find its way back to the surface.

Must you be be so heedless? Heedless how you make everything about you, or perhaps it I that does so?

Must you appear where I have to be? Is this your way of teasing me? Perhaps I am delusional.

I cannot be.

I make note of your advances and never- not once they were a mere coincidence. Shall I play along to this game you began?

If you are the prize then I shall.

How graceful you are, I observe your every motion in secrecy. How you sway your sculpture-like vessel left and right. How I want to place my hands on you, you are unknowing of.

A lad- someone’s son you are dancing with, appearing as jolly as ever. It is one of things I am fond of and detest about you.

“Did not think you would come, LT.” A voice uttered, disrupting my thoughts and doing.

It is no other than Johnny, a sergeant from my task force, my friend and the lover of the woman who I was ogling not too long ago. A lucky bastard he is.

“A change for once.” I responded, avoiding his gaze and turning my head to the glass in my hand.

Halfway full, halfway empty.

Johnny reached below the table to grab something and divulges a present. “Bonnie over there-“ He began, before handing me the decorated box, “-wanted me to give this to you.”

The sergeant is proud, as he should be and there I admire the details of my gift from you.

Guilt and thrill you give me.

You should be ashamed.

He is a good man.

And the cause why I began to despise you.

For I cannot touch you as you are his to touch.

For I cannot hear you in a way that I please as you speak of his name.

For I cannot see you without him by your side.

For he is my brother and you, his lover.

For what we have is forbidden and unkind.

Perhaps this drink of mine is clouding my thoughts or you are ambling in my direction. “I see you received my gift, Lieutenant.” You spoke, shyness and exhaustion apparent in your voice. Johnny moved to give space for you and you collapsed beside him, your arm finding its way to his bicep. “I am sleepy, when can we go home?” You questioned him as if I was not there, negligent of how I would feel. “Soon, hen, soon.” He murmured in your hair before giving your forehead a peck.

You make me ill.

How could you behave this way in front of me? You pull me in and string me along, only to bring me pain.

Does it bring you joy?

Does it entertain you?

What is it that you want?

To make me fight for you?

To make my feelings known?

Yet I could only watch and restrain the battle in my mind.

I love and hate you.

Oh, how I would love to be in his place for I cannot take you away.

Yet I could only watch and have a drink from the glass to my sacrifice.

#simon riley #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod #cod mw3 #simon riley x you #ghost x you

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mychoombatheroomba · 9 months

Text

Back to Back . . .

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 6

You were fairly sure that, when one has a bad dream, they shouldn't look for comfort in a knife fight. Even so, it doesn't stop you.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

TW: flashbacks/nightmares, ptsd, angst, terrible coping mechanisms

The song, as far as you were concerned, was stupid. Nonsense. Even so, you were smiling as it played. You weren’t alone in that. The faces around you were smiling, too. Laughing, eyes bright with joy. Even in army fatigues, those smiles managed to make them all look young. Carefree.

You all huddled together around the radio, talking about how you wished the woman singing would just tell the audience what she “really, really wanted” in fewer words. Every person complained about the song, saying that you should all be listening to real music. Even so, no one made a move to change the station. Instead, they let the song play on, forgetting for a moment where and who they were. You watched from outside your own body, an unknown observer to a memory that didn’t feel like your own.

No, whoever’s memory this was, they didn’t know to cherish this insignificant little moment. They didn’t know not to roll their eyes when David started dancing to the song, or to laugh harder at Sasha’s appalled expression when he did.

They didn’t know that they would remember those names for all the wrong reasons. Too many more that you would never, ever forget, even if the world had. Names that were not given the places of honor that they deserved, but instead were slapped on some rock in a field, their bodies not even allowed to be placed beneath the headstones.

You remembered them, just as you remembered the name on the spare tag that hung around your neck.

That name meant everything to you, once. It had been your home and haven, your guidance when your world was reduced to ashes.

And now, it was a reminder that nothing was safe. Nothing and no one.

“Sergeant.” His voice called to you, and you turned.

You would know that face anywhere, even with the tarnish of rot on it like it was now. Eyes that had been wise and warm were now empty, his skin paled by death. His fatigues were covered in blood, and his mouth hung open in a silent scream. Part of his head was missing from where you’d shot him. Where you’d killed him.

“Captain . . .” you breathed.

The music was gone. The voices of your friends, your brothers in arms, were gone. In their place, there were moans and snarls. More figures appeared from the dark, all wearing the twisted faces of people you’d lived with, trained with. Fought beside. Shared laughs and stories with.

Calling their names did nothing, because they weren’t them anymore. You could only run, and run you did. Until the walls around you seemed to melt away into the black of night. Snow and ice crunched under your boots, and you were so busy looking behind you at the corpses trailing you, that you didn’t see the figure in front of you.

You didn’t see the knife until it was buried to the hilt in your side.

Eyes wide, you looked into the darkness, not believing what was happening to you, even though you’d lived and re-lived it a hundred times. You still couldn’t fathom it as the knife was torn free, taking chunks of flesh with it. When it slid back into your belly, you crumpled to the cold ground. It kept going until you were lying face up, staring at the snow falling over you.

When you were gone, would you become like the rest? Would your broken body carry on for a while, looking for someone to sink your teeth into? Would you lose yourself completely?

Let me die, you hoped. Prayed. Let me die and stay dead.

You knew it wouldn’t mean anything. You knew it as the knife disappeared, and teeth took its place. So, you could only scream as they descended on you, their hands and teeth setting to work. Tearing into you, ripping you apart-

It hadn’t ended that way. That was the only way you’d known it was a dream. The only reason you’d been able to pull yourself out of it in time was because those corpses wearing the faces of your friends hadn’t pulled you limb from limb. The knife and its wielder hadn’t come from the shadows. You should have seen it coming a mile away. There were so many things that you should have done, and your mind loved to remind you of them.

You survived. However much your dreams liked to make you imagine otherwise. However much, sometimes, in the back of your mind, there was a whispering that you shouldn’t have.

Your hand found its way to the dog tags that hung at your chest, and you squeezed all three so tightly in your grip that the names likely made impressions on your palm. Your name, and a name that you hadn’t spoken aloud since that day in the snow, since you were forced to turn a gun on its owner.

You couldn’t read the name ‘Simon Reynolds’ in the dark, but you knew it was there. It weighed on you heavily, like it always did. Like you needed it to.

“Fuck,” you breathed, trying to calm your racing mind and heart. Then, after a moment, you let yourself fall back into your bed. Wouldn't find any sleep there, so you just repeated the mantra you’d clung to since you’d woken up in the hospital, your belly full of stitches and your life forever changed.

Never again.

⧫⧫⧫

Leon had become well-acquainted with the sinking feeling that something was wrong. He’d experienced it when he’d driven towards Raccoon City not too long ago, and since then, it had become something he learned to recognize and pay attention to.

He felt a lesser version of that feeling when, on the way to his morning drills, he saw you across the camp.

You were talking to Krauser, the Major’s arms crossed over his chest. Leon couldn’t see your face, not with your back to him. Krauser, though, looked pensive. He nodded once, saying something Leon was too far away to hear, and then walked past you. That feeling of dread came to Leon when he saw the smirk that Krauser wore.

Leon didn’t have the opportunity to talk to you about that or about the conversation from the night before. Not before he and his squad filed into formation, each of them readying themselves for whatever was to come. Leon thought, for a moment, that you had been messing with him, because you weren’t there waiting for them. That worry was replaced by something worse when Krauser stepped up to the group.

“Got something special for you today,” he began. “A preview of what you’re all in for.” He was smiling wide when you approached, and you weren’t alone. Leon recognized your squad falling into formation alongside his own.

What the hell was going on?

“Sergeant,” Krauser called, and you stepped forward. Any of the mirth that had lit up your eyes last night was gone, but so was the strength he usually saw in you. You looked resigned to your fate, whatever was about to happen. Like you were bracing for a storm that you knew was going to overtake you. You didn’t spare him any glances, and Leon had to wrestle down the urge to ask you if you were alright. Now wasn’t the time. Not as Krauser tossed you a practice knife and ordered your first opponent to step forward. It was one of Leon’s squad, but as Krauser went down the line with each one of your victories, Leon knew that it wouldn’t be long before you were faced down with someone at your own skill level.

You knew it, too. You weren’t taking any risks - each of your movements meant to conserve as much energy as you could manage. Now that you were armed, the fights went faster - you could afford to be more aggressive. It saved you some time, but Leon’s squad had been improving and you had double the people to fight through. Twenty opponents, and the more difficult ones were going last.

Leon wanted to say he had faith in you, but the way you looked before you’d started . . .

He almost didn’t see it, he was so busy watching you fight. Still, Krauser’s red beret was difficult to miss. It pulled Leon’s focus, the recruit watching as his commanding officer strode over to the line of soldiers standing at attention while you fought. You’d made it through your first two opponents when Krauser placed his hand on the shoulder of a tall, intense looking man at the end of the line. One of your squad mates - Alejandro, if Leon remembered correctly.

The Major’s mouth moved, and Leon stiffened as Alejandro broke from formation, stalking towards the fight that was happening in front of him.

He didn’t realize that Krauser had handed him a practice blade until it was arcing towards you.

Your eyes went wide, realizing you had another threat to deal with in the middle of blocking a swing. Leon’s squad mate, a shorter young man named Shinoda, looked just as confused as you. He backed away as Alejandro attacked, mercifully giving you the time you needed to put up a defense. You countered before stepping away, looking between the two men you’d been faced with.

“You’re not going to be fighting just one opponent out there,” Krauser said, walking behind the two squads as he went on. “And you won’t always know the enemy is coming until they’re right on top of you. But you’ll also have the opportunity to work together, even if it ends up being with soldiers you’re unfamiliar with. So, Shinoda, Garza-” Leon couldn’t look behind him to see the Major’s face, but he just knew by the sound of his voice that he was smiling. “Make our Sergeant here work for a win, why don’t you?”

This wasn’t fair. By the surprise still plastered over your face, you hadn’t been expecting to be tag-teamed. Whatever you’d been bracing yourself for at the beginning, Krauser had circumvented. It made Leon angry on your behalf, but that emotion took a back seat to his desire for you to win. You were a damn good fighter - one of the best Leon had ever seen. Even so, he knew from experience that once more than one opponent was added to the mix, everything changed. Your head was on a swivel, trying to keep track of the two of them as they circled you. Alejandro went around, moving to flank you, to trap you between his knife and Shinoda’s.

The two cadets looked first to each other, and then to you. Then, with an understanding between them, they attacked.

Leon felt his heart skip a beat as Shinoda slashed at you, going for your knife arm. He wasn’t as fast as you were, and he didn’t manage to avoid the counter cut you gave him across his own arm - a move that would have cut deep into his triceps.

You’d decommissioned his good arm, but the moment you’d done it, there was another knife coming down at you.

Alejandro was taller than you, letting him comfortably bring his knife down towards your shoulder in a reverse grip. Your own arm flashed up so fast Leon almost missed the block and bind you managed to execute, just in time. What he saw with perfect clarity, however, was the fist that Alejandro raised to follow through. He saw it swing towards you, and his breath caught in his throat when he watched it connect with your nose in full force.

You yelped, the force of the blow and your own feet scrambling sending you back, away from your opponents. Your free hand covered your mouth and nose, and when you pulled it away to examine it, Leon saw red.

There were some sharp breaths taken in, a few murmurs, but no one said anything in protest to the hit. And Krauser? Leon turned to look at the Major, only to find him watching the fight, unbothered. “At attention, Rookie,” he barked, when he felt Leon’s eyes on him. “You might even learn something.”

Leon remembered that first day he’d met you, when you’d struck him with that backfist. Krauser hadn’t stopped you, then, and Leon knew that he wasn’t going to stop this now.

“Bruises are the best teachers.”

By the time Leon looked back at you, your attackers had already moved again, taking advantage of the opening the punch had created. The onslaught that followed was brutal, and you were forced further and further back as you tried to defend. He saw your fear just as much as he saw your focus, and all he could think of was your words last night, and what they implied you’d been through.

“. . . I was making the same mistakes . . .”

This was wrong. Even if he understood why it was happening, Leon could only think that it was wrong.

But then, wrong or not, you weren’t asking them to stop. You didn’t even look to Krauser as the two men you were fighting lunged for you. You just bared your teeth, raised your blade, and fought back.

When you had an opening, you went for Shinoda. It was the smart move, he was slower than Alejandro. Less experienced. If you could get him off the board, it might give you a moment to focus on the bigger threat. It worked, too. Circling the shorter man as he struck out, you managed to get him between you and Alejandro, just for a moment. Then, in a few quick moves, you were dragging your blade across his gut before kicking him towards his impromptu ally.

And before you even got the chance to advance on Alejandro, Krauser moved and another soldier from your squad was sent forward.

It was a training exercise. A brutal one, yes, but he knew that you would walk away from this, no matter how hurt you’d be. Krauser wasn’t looking to kill you.

It was just a training exercise.

That didn’t make it bother him any less. Standing there, watching as you avoided knives by just a heartbeat, or take punches and kicks that you weren’t fast enough to dodge . . . it felt like there was something in him, clawing its way through his stomach, demanding that he move. That he do something.

You groaned as you took a knee to the stomach, just narrowly countering the overhead stab that followed. Twisting out of the hold and slashing wildly, you put some distance between yourself and your attackers. The guard that you put up after was half-formed, and you spat out some of the blood that had made its way past your lips. You were going to keep going, even if it was a losing battle.

And he wasn’t going to just sit by and do nothing.

You were in pain, and this was wrong. That was all it boiled down to.

Krauser would kick the shit out of him if he interfered. If any one of them disobeyed an order, there would be consequences.

In that moment, though, as Leon watched you get taken to the ground, he realized that he didn’t really care.

⧫⧫⧫

You were going to lose.

You’d known that going in, but seeing two knives coming at you after the dreams you had . . . you were unfocused. Unraveling. You'd needed this to ground you, even if it really fucking hurt. You tasted copper and it, combined with the strikes your gut had taken, made you feel like you were going to be sick.

Not a dignified ending to things, but there were very few ways to lose with dignity, in your experience. Best you could do was go down swinging and do better next time.

Alejandro blocked a strike from you, and his leg moved just a little too fast, hooking behind your own and pulling it out from under you. You hit the ground hard, the back of your head smacking into the dirt with a pain that felt like background noise. All your focus, once your eyes opened, was on the shadow passing over you and the knife it brought with it. You got your guard up just in time, and Alejandro’s knife stopped just short of your neck. He stopped your own knife just in time, too, and the two of you struggled for no more than half a second before a second shape came into view.

This was it, then. At least you could say you put up a decent fight-

You looked over just in time to see a boot connect with the back of your other opponent’s knee, forcing her down.

“Kennedy!” Krauser barked, just as someone took the knife from the woman’s hand and slashed its dulled blade across her throat. “Back in formation!”

The recruit in question wasn’t listening, and you watched him rush towards you, his newly acquired knife aimed at Alejandro’s side.

Oh, Leon. You absolute dumbass, you could only think as the soldier on top of you realized he was about to have more company than he planned on. Alejandro wasn’t the sort to let anyone get the drop on him, and he ducked away, rolling off to your side and freeing you from his hold.

Once he was gone, you realized just how dazed you were as a hand was offered to you. It took you a second to process who it belonged to, but then you saw that hair above you, and you sighed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you asked, letting Leon help you up. Your head hurt, and so did your ribs, but his grip on you was steady and more reassuring than it had any right to be. Even so, him rushing to your side, disobeying orders . . . it made you feel a lot of things, and you didn’t have the time to put names to them all. “Get back in line,” you hissed, but it was too late.

“Are you deaf, Kennedy?” Krauser asked, and you wished he sounded more angry and less amused. “Or are you intentionally disobeying an order?”

Leon swallowed, but that was the only sign he gave that he was nervous. As he met Krauser’s stare, you realized just how brave this boy was. Brave or stupid. “‘You won't always know an enemy is coming until they’re on top of you,’ right?” He threw the Major's own words back in his face, and even you winced.

Krauser’s eyes flashed, and then, God help you both, he smiled. “You want to play the hero, Rookie? Fine. Soto, Andersen.” You recognized both as people in your squad. Valeria was the owner of the first name, and she stepped forward with a glinting smile. Andersen. . . well, he was quiet, just like you. He was there to get the job done. He followed orders, and whatever Krauser wanted done now, he would do it with haste. “You’re with Garza. Beat some sense into Kennedy.”

You were surrounded, Alejandro on one side, Valeria and Andersen on the other. You were slow, tired and in more pain than you wanted to admit. Leon was fine, but he struggled against you. These soldiers were easily at your level.

Things weren’t looking good, but you raised your knife anyway.

It would be a good learning experience, once the hurt faded a bit.

“You take Alejandro,” you said to Leon, stepping between him and the two fresh challengers. “I’ve got these two.”

Leon nodded, moving into a guard and covering your back just as you covered his. He didn’t look fazed at all. It was the first time you’d ever seen him so sure of himself. You didn’t let yourself linger on that thought for long, not with the two knives in front of you coming ever closer.

But you weren’t alone. How long had it been since you hadn’t been alone?

“What’d you do to get him to like you so much?” Valeria laughed, spinning the knife in her hand with practiced ease. She looked past your shoulder at Leon, but you commanded her attention back to you when you sliced at her, missing her leg but making her retreat all the same.

It was a fair question. It felt like all you’d done for Leon Kennedy was kick his ass six ways to Sunday, and maybe give him the occasional apology for doing it. You couldn’t fathom why he was willing to jump into a fight for you. Still, all evidence pointed to the fact that Leon did, for some reason, enjoy your company. Even if it was so often delivered at the end of a knife. Whatever the case, you’d come to like him, too, as dangerous as that was.

He was going to catch hell for this. Least you could do was make it as easy for him as possible.

So, when Valeria asked that concerning and puzzling question, you just exhaled hard through your nostrils, a spray of partially dried blood heralding your answer. “Shut up and fight.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N: THEY'RE BABY YOUR HONOR

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #jack krauser #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil #between the bones #gender neutral reader #leon kennedy x you #no y/n

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aresgodofwar23 · 3 months

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Recess

Gus Griswald and Ashley Spenelli

Us Agent and new Captain America Gus Griswald and Spinelli as Ghost

Thunderbolt 2025 they have off I lay join the Toon cinematic universe .

MCU 2024 Gus Griswald's journey from a timid child to a valiant soldier and eventually the US Agent is a tale of courage, loss, and redemption.

Gus Griswald: From Recess to US Agent

In the playgrounds of youth, where fears loomed large,

Gus Griswald stood, his heart's courage charged.

A soldier at heart, in the game of pretend,

He vowed to serve America, to protect and defend.

High school brought challenges, friendships so bold,

Lemar Hoskins, Battlestar, their stories unfold.

Together they trained, in the army's strong hold,

Climbing the ranks, their bravery untold.

Sergeant Major Griswald, with honors so bright,

Was chosen by the government to fight the good fight.

To replace Samurai Jack, a legend so grand,

As Captain America, he took the command.

He was alongside with Wade ( falcon ) from Kim possible(fern the human ( wintersoilder )

With shield in hand, he faced the Flag Smashers,

Defending the values, against all the bashers.

But fate struck hard, Battlestar fell in the fray,

And Gus, in his rage, made the Flag Smashers pay.

Stripped of his title, in the public's harsh gaze,

Gus's path seemed to darken, lost in a maze.

Yet, the secret agency, with a mission so clear,

Saw potential in him, and drew him near.

The CIA's offer, a chance to rise once more,

To harness his power, to settle the score.

As the US Agent, with a new role to play,

Gus Griswald marches on, in the USA's sway.

Ashley Spinelli, once the tough kid on the playground, faced a life-altering tragedy that would redefine her destiny. Here's a narrative that weaves her past into the fabric of the Marvel universe as "Ghost":

**Ashley Spinelli: The Making of Ghost**

In the quantum realm, where science meets fate,

Lived a girl named Spinelli, with strength innate.

Her parents, brilliant minds, in their lab so vast,

Tinkered with particles, in experiments cast.

One fateful day, as the atoms danced wild,

A quantum accident struck, engulfing their child.

Her parents were lost, in a blinding light's fold,

Leaving Spinelli alone, with powers untold.

She found herself changed, in ways surreal,

Her body could phase, through walls it could steal.

A power surged within, a force undefined,

But with it came a curse, a balance maligned.

"Molecular Disequilibrium," the doctors would say,

Her atoms in chaos, in constant disarray.

Yet, within this turmoil, a hero was born,

As Ghost, she would rise, from the ashes, forlorn.

She fought Antman and wasp ( eddy) (mabel pine) Ed eddneddy and gravity falls

Thunderbolt Ross, with an eye for the rare,

Saw potential in her, a weapon to snare.

He offered a purpose, a chance to belong,

To fight for a cause, to right what was wrong.

The CIA, too, with motives concealed,

Recruited her skills, her fate thus sealed.

As an agent of shadows, silent and swift,

She'd harness her powers, the nation to lift.

Now, Ashley Spinelli, once a child so fierce,

Battles the threats that through defenses pierce.

As Ghost, she moves unseen, a specter of might,

A guardian phasing through the perilous night.

#anime and manga #recess #ashley spinelli #gus griswald #us agent #ghost #thunderbolts #2025 #military #new order #anti hero #superior iron man #mcu ultron #mcu fanart #marvel cinematic universe #disney

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shadow4-1 · 10 months

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Heart Eyes (Love At First Sight AU/Imagine - Reader x Price) - Captain John Price Edition

We've all had that feeling when we see someone attractive. Of course it depends on the person. Some drool, others get shy or hot in the face. Our pupils dilate, but not enough to notice unless you're unnaturally observant. What if you could see it? What if it was obvious a person like-liked you on first glance?

(Trigger Warnings: SFW, Slight Body Horror, Mild Discomfort)

John had seen more things in his life than most people ever would.

He'd seen war, death, famine, but also hope and kindness. He'd seen love too. He'd seen how it sparked into existence, how it could fizzle out or burn into something more. He'd never actually experienced it for himself, never figured he would to be honest. He was getting older. Most people found their lifetime match in their twenties. He'd seen it happen too many times to count. He'd seen too many recruits or sergeants passing in halls, locking eyes, and never being the same after. Love could do terrible, wicked things to a person, twist them into knots with obsession. Or, if they were lucky, make them better for it. Love was not in the cards for Captain Price, he decided. And of course, just when he was deciding to get comfortable with his fate, love decided to kick him squarely in the chest.

He hadn't felt this weak in years. He doubled over, coughing, his heart beating so hard he felt as if it were going to burst. He went from standing to kneeling, to laying face down on the dingy linoleum floor. He could hear shouts, shoes squeaking, worried murmurs. It was as if his body was slowly giving out, all of his strength being used to keep his poor heart beating. He tried to right himself, tried to get his arms underneath him but it was no use. He wheezed, trying so desperately to suck in a well needed breath. He was having issues seeing as well. Everything was hazy and too far away save for the minute grout lines in the flooring. He spied a pair of white, beaten up tennis shoes in the corner of his eye. His voice wouldn't work, his ears were ringing. Was this it? Was this the way John Price was meant to go out? A goddamn heart attack in the middle of a veteran's hospital?

A couple male orderlies managed to hoist him up into a wheelchair. He felt like a drowning fish, sucking in air that burned all the way down. A doctor began yelling, nearly unintelligible, something about his heart rate. What a fuckin' genius, he could've told them that if he had the ability. His heart hurt, it burned, he clapped a weak hand over it. Why? What happened for him to feel this way all of a sudden? He'd only come to the hospital to visit a recovering team member. He'd been waiting for so long and then a nurse came out to greet him. She was going to take him to the room-

He looked up, finding her standing off to the side, watching the chaos slowly unfolding around her. She clutched onto her clipboard for dear life, tears welling in her eyes. She then glanced down at him. Her eyes met his.

It was an immediate relief.

He could suddenly breath again, his tight lungs expanded and he gasped. He grabbed onto the edge of the wheelchair, pushing, struggling against the orderly who was trying to read his pulse. The pressure surrounding his heart suddenly ceased, making his head spin with white stars in his vision. They danced around her face. He felt as if he'd been socked square in the jaw. He hadn't felt this kind of knock out since his first fight as a teenager.

A light flashed across his eyes and he jerked back, putting his arms up defensively, his nerves finally coming back online. The doctor flinched back with a soft grumble. He made a comment about how John would be perfectly fine. He had apparently just suffered from a heart eye attack, something that no healthy person had ever died from. A heart eye attack? Heart eye? He looked around for a shiny surface. The only one he could find within reaching distance was the aluminum bar of the wheelchair. He forced his still blurry gaze down into it, spreading his upper and lower eyelids apart with shaky fingers. Sure enough, despite his instability, he noticed his pupils had shifted in size and shape. He huffed in discomfort. He'd witnessed the change in other people's eyes, but never expected to see it on himself. He watched in stunned silence as the heart shape of his pupil slowly melted back into its normal, circular shape. He blinked, once, then twice, his vision had retreated back to a perfect 20/20. He swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth and let out a shuddery sigh.

A heart eye attack? Him? But that would mean-who? The last person he'd looked at had been the nurse with a-

Slowly, he turned his head back in the direction of the woman. He let his gaze slowly ascend up from her dingy white shoes, across her scrub bottoms and up towards her belly. He steadied himself, then finally looked up at her face again. She was still watching him with a mix of emotions. His vision went blurry around the edges and yet focused in the center. It was as if his eyes had turned into one of his favorite scopes, blocking out everything else but the warm body of his target. He noticed every little thing about her in vivid detail, down to the individual flutter of her eyelashes. It was as if time had slowed, she'd become his world. And by God, she was gorgeous. He let himself get lost in the beauty that was her face…until reality blocked his view.

A black wall separated him from his new love. It took everything in his willpower to not stand up and swing on the person standing in front of him. A firm hand placed itself on his shoulder. His tunnel vision faded (as well as what he assumed to be the heart shape of his pupils) and he was greeted to the sight of his lieutenant. Simon didn't need to say a word, his grip was enough of a warning. John needed to choose his next actions very carefully or risk ruining whatever future might be in store for him.

"M' alright." He breathed out, patting Simon's hand. "M' alright."

The doctor asked to check his vitals since he'd started to calm down. He let the doctor finish before shakily standing up from the wheelchair. John had never been one to walk around with his head down, but in this instance he found he had to. Looking at anyone's face felt too wrong, he quietly thanked whatever God out there for Simon's propensity to wear masks.

Despite the scene he'd just made, apparently all was well. The doctor asked the nurse to escort them to the hospital room as she had attempted to before. He refused to look at the nurse's face as she awkwardly greeted both him and Simon again, then led them down a long hallway filled with numbered doors. Door 1367, John MacTavish.

"You go on in." John huffed to Simon, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll b' in n' a minute."

Simon looked at him with his usual, emotionless expression. John could make out the disbelief in the gaze despite it. He gave his lieutenant a sharp nod, letting him know he was being serious. Simon entered the hospital room, closing the door behind him with a click.

John sucked in a breath, quietly hoping the nurse wouldn't be standing there. It would hurt more and yet so much less if she'd wise up and run off. Much to his chagrin, she was still there.

"Look…m' sorry, for what happened back there." He cleared his throat. "I'll admit, 've never had this happen to me before."

"Never?" She asked incredulously. Despite his best efforts John had to look at her face again. Once more, he was lost in her eyes, the set of her cheekbones, her sweet, sweet lips. Even the slightest imperfections of her skin were stunningly unique, like the formation of clouds in the sky.

"Never."

#price x reader #captain price #john price #cod mwii #mw2 #mw2 headcanons #captain john price #price x you #cod imagines #cod mw2

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duskier · 2 months

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I am a big family Soap truther but I feel like Gaz would have one too - SoapGaz fluff I just barfed out - 1.8k words!!!

One of the first things that bonds the two together- beyond being brothers in arms of the same rank, and living through actual hell on earth together saving each other's lives again and again- is that they are the only ones who will listen to each other yap about their families.

…

When Soap tries to boast about his twin nieces winning double horse riding awards to Ghost, Ghost politely stands still like he's listening. Soap knows Ghost well enough to see that he's mentally checked out, can see that his eyes are fixed somewhere far off. Soap knows how touchy of a subject family is for Ghost, so he learns quickly to give up any mention of it.

…

When Gaz tries to show Price a video of his oldest sister finding out she's gotten a full ride to her choice of grad school, his captain is a bit more blunt but still evasive. Just tells Gaz that he's busy, that he should show him later. But Soap hears delighted squeals and joyful yelling coming from Gaz's phone and suddenly he's beelining over.

"She graduated super high in her class, did a bunch of extra curricula, applied everywhere like mad but this- this one has been her dream since we were little."

Soap looms over Gaz's shoulder, a smile blooming on his face as Gaz restarts the video. It feels amazing to be listened to, but it makes Gaz's heart soar seeing Soap near in tears, misty eyed while he’s sharing in the joy. His eyes are... really pretty. Weird that Gaz was only noticing it then.

"She deserves it, I bet yer so proud... we ought to celebrate!"

And they do. Soap buys Gaz and himself a few rounds at their usual bar just off base that very night, and over the next few hours they detail everything about their families to each other. Soap pulled out his sketchbook and drew a little family tree then passed it over so Gaz could do the same thing, too.

“Your sister sounds just like my uncle-”

“She looks just like my cousin’s ex girlfriend-”

“D’you think your mom would be able to stand my mom?”

“My sister is taller than your brother.”

“How many kids does that one have? …Five!?”

Pouring over instagram pages, pulling up texts, Gaz even messaged his mom to send him a specific photo of him and his siblings at his 6th birthday party. He can hardly get through telling Soap the story behind the photo without laughing so hard his ribs hurt, and Soap is suddenly feeling breathless when he realizes how lovely a sound it is to hear Gaz laugh.

…

…Then when Gaz needs a date to his cousin’s wedding- he can’t just not go, he’s part of the groomsmen- he asks Soap to come.

“Don’t make me go alone mate, besides there will be plenty of dancing and-and drinking and that pretty cousin of mine you liked! You already know all their names, so it makes sense I’d bring you over anyone else.” He’s serving the biggest, shiniest brown-eyed-puppy dog look of the century, and it works immediately.

That’s how they end up on a flight together to a gorgeous beach resort. Soap doesn’t have a chance with that pretty cousin Gaz mentioned (unbeknownst to either of them it's because just about everyone in Gaz’s family is convinced the two Sergeants are dating.)

Gaz’s four sisters nearly knocking him on his ass as they all tackle him when he’s spotted in the hotel lobby, fighting to be the one to hug Gaz first. It is clear how much they all love each other, warm embraces and laughter ringing out in the lobby without a care.

Them all welcoming Soap immediately with open arms, now fighting to be the first one to share the most embarrassing story about Gaz. (“Did he tell you about the time when he--” “I HAVE A LICENSE TO KILL, ZIP IT!!”) He’s immediately treated like a bonus-sibling, the youngest one (only 7 years old) wrinkling her nose at Soap’s mohawk from her spot in Gaz’s arms. His other two sisters grilling Soap on their brother’s job, hoping Soap had embarrassing stories about Gaz to tell them in turn.

(Later the sisters gather together in their own hotel room to debrief- it was painfully obvious the two guys were crushing on each other- they knew what Gaz looked like when he was like that. They made a deal with one another to be nice to Gaz about it. Despite how easy it’d be. They then praised themselves for being such kind sisters to their brother, and shared sparkling apple cider over a Barbie movie.)

Soap watching Gaz walk down the sandy beach aisle as a groomsman, looking handsome as ever in the tux and silk pink bowtie the bride had chosen for the party. Gaz with a bridesmaid on his arm, pretty in pink, but the second they part his eyes find Soap sitting in the crowd. In a pretty deep blue suit that compliments his eyes, top two buttons of his white shirt undone. Gold chain to his cross glittering in the sunlight.

The two admiring each other, and Gaz watches his grandmother sit down next to Soap. The Scot says something charming, undoubtedly a direct flirt, knowing that was the way to her heart. Her wrinkled hand clutching at her pearls jokingly, admonishing him as they fall naturally into conversation.

Gaz passively wonders why it suddenly meant so much to him for his family to like Soap, how it sent a bolt through his heart to see him get on so easy with his grandmother especially. (He was always a grandma’s boy, even if he’d never admit it. He was her favorite grandson, though she’d never admit that, either.)

During the reception, when Gaz and Soap are smiling big dopey smiles at each other in the multicolored lights, dancing with their arms slung around each other in messy, drunken circles, Gaz’s parents watch on with satisfied smiles.

“Our son has never looked happier, love. Just look at him, he’s glowing!” Gaz’s mother offers her champagne glass as a toast.

His father’s face wrinkles handsomely when he smiles back at his gorgeous wife. He clinks his glass with hers.

“Looks like he’s found himself a nice young man, darling. You did a good job.”

“We did, love. We did.”

(Gaz and Soap end up going back to their hotel room and making out a little bit, but they don’t discuss it for a long while. They write it off as them being drunk and stumbling back to their room together, that they got confused or wires got crossed somehow.)

…

Soap and Gaz realize their mistake of introducing their mothers to one another much too late. They become fast friends, video calling each other once a week over drinks to gossip about their families, talk about books they are reading, and boast about new recipes cooked. As much as the two men complain about it, they know the friendship is much deeper- the two women comfort each other when their kids are on mission. Finally, they each had another mom who could understand what they were going through.

…

When Soap’s grandpa gets sick and it's all hands on deck, every sibling and cousin and family friend coming home, Soap doesn’t even have to ask Gaz. He’s already got his bag packed and both of their paperwork filed for the time off. A warm supporting hand giving his shoulder a squeeze, offering the first bit of relief Soap has felt in weeks.

By this point, Gaz was already known by half of Soap’s family online. They were able to just arrive at the MacTavish family home, roll up their sleeves, and get to work. No one knew that Grandpa Mactavish had been on such a rapid decline, the family home and property in general disrepair.

Soap’s eldest sister was a carpenter. His middle sister was a homemaker. His youngest sister was a moody teenager. Together the three women pulled the most weight, directing the family into teams. Within a day, the house had been cleaned, the overgrown grass mowed, the dry rot on the outside of the home repaired, each dead lightbulb on the property replaced.

Soap and Gaz filled the family home with the scent of spices and herbs as they cooked tirelessly. Enough to feed every hand that leant help, and then some so Grandpa Mactavish had plenty leftover. While they chopped and simmered and seasoned, Gaz listened to Soap reminisce about his memories in this home. Every Christmas when the family of nearly 30 all packed in together, every birthday or life milestone that was celebrated there. The wall of carved height trackers- from his great-grandfather to his littlest cousin. When Soap eventually breaks down crying, Gaz doesn’t think twice to pull him into a hug.

He doesn’t move when Soap’s mother comes in and hugs Soap from behind- Gaz and Soap’s mother worked as a team to hold Soap together.

…

Years later, when Soap finally blurts out the big question, eyes wide with fear as if Gaz would ever dream of saying no to his proposal, Gaz tackles his boyfriend- now fiancé- with such vigor they both get bruises from the tumble. They are laughing, blushing, ragging on each other for being so sappy even as they have happy tears forming in their eyes.

The Garrick-Mactavish wedding is no small event. It's damn near the wedding of the century.

Laswell and the rest of their 141 family runs the event like it's a military op. The Vaqueros join in too, friends from KorTac throwing in their hand as well. (Nicolai's main job is just keeping Price's blood pressure down.)

The reception itself was gorgeous, Gaz dressed in a warm white suit, looking like a dream with gold accents. Soap opposite him in a formal wear kilt fashion, his usually messy mohawk tamed back. The 141 made up the wedding party, plus each groom's own assortment of childhood friends or siblings. (The joint bachelor party the month prior was legendary, but the aftermath gave Laswell a headache. Something about a building getting blown up and/or burnt down. If asked, she wouldn't talk about it but excuse herself to get another drink.) When they kiss, confirming their lifetime bond now confirmed and witnessed by all of their loved ones, Soap dips Gaz, making the beautiful man laugh and hold onto his shoulders as cheers erupt around them.

The reception and party and after party in total lasted three days. The two families now and forever intertwined‐ once separately large on their own- made a tree so huge they couldn't fit it on one page of Soap’s sketchbook anymore. (They just make a huge painting of it in their home- the home that houses the entire extended Garrick-Mactavish family every holiday until the happy, long-lived end of their days.)

#noel.txt #gaz x soap #soap x gaz #i never remember what order i usually tag them in #oh well #someone be proud of me for writing a fic longer than 300 words pls #I based Gaz's grandma off of my own grandma btw #she flirts with firemen and isn't ashamed about it

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sweetnothingtm · 2 years

Text

pretty little thing - simon “ghost” riley x reader

pairing simon riley x f!reader

word count 5.6k

content warnings nsfw, fingering, choking, blood, mentions of wounds

author note first time writing for ghost, pure appreciation and smut!

He keeps the visits between the two of you close to the chest, like a dirty little secret he can’t let go of.

The first time he saw you was against his will. It’d been a long, long, shitty day that ended with a bullet wound on his shoulder and various other cuts and gashes he attempted to tend to himself. Dirt and grime covered his gear, he smelled of tobacco and sweat, and blood continued to pour out of his wound. He’d ended up washing the jacket four times, but there was still a dark stain there now.

Soap is the one who leads him to the small infirmary. Located in the back of the facility and surprisingly unguarded, the medical unit consisted of a few offices and two larger exam rooms. Ghost isn’t thrilled to be there. He’d rather bleed, but Soap had recommended you for your efficiency and no questions asked policy. So - Ghost conceded, already exhausted from the mission and knowing he wouldn’t clean the wound himself until at least tomorrow morning.

He’s glad he didn’t fight him on it.

You were wearing a loose bun, crossed legs hidden by a pair of loose scrubs. You’re reading a book, free hand holding a pen that twists around your fingers effortlessly. When Soap enters, your eyes drag across the room to him. A smile paints your lips, and you swivel around to face him, not knowing the Lieutenant was soon to follow.

“Johnny, breaking up more dog fights are you?”

You’re teasing him. Soap laughs breathily, a hand reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “Aye, but I brought the dog this time,” he says, stepping to the side of the open door. You tilt your head slightly, closing the book and waiting expectantly.

Ghost enters begrudgingly, six foot two frame standing tall in the exam room. His eyes are trained on you, on your eyes as the recognition settles in and your shoulders straighten instinctively. You’re nervous, he can tell.

The pain in his shoulder throbs, and he has to grit his teeth to push through the pain. He hasn’t been to the infirmary in a long time, always too stubborn and prideful. If he could do it himself, why bother letting someone else do it for him? It smells like cleaning products, mixed with a bit of you. He doesn’t seem to mind it as much as he used to.

When you break his gaze, he’s almost a little disappointed. Almost, but not yet. You clear your throat, reaching for a medical mask and a pair of gloves on the table. “Lieutenant, how can I help you today?”

He glances to his shoulder silently, as if your question was a joke to him. You remembered feeling small, a little lost and trying desperately to be on your best behavior. “Handled things a bit to close to the chest, this one. Can you make it quick?” Soap asks, patting Ghost on his good shoulder. He grunts, already annoyed with the Sergeant and his antics.

You nod quickly, smoothing out the sheet on the exam bed and beginning to dig through drawers for proper equipment. You’re used to playful jokes and familiarity with your patients, but you’ve never treated the Lieutenant before. Known for his grim and silent behavior, Ghost was considered a phantom among those outside his closest circle. You’d never seen or heard him and you thought it best to stay that way. You’re a good medic, a great one even, but someone like him makes you nervous.

He’s sitting now, his eyes still trained on you and your every movement as you carefully cut the fabric of his sleeve and expose the festering wound. You’re glancing at his tattoos, eyes dancing across the ink in a way that makes his skin feel ablaze. You work diligently, brows knit in concentration. Soap is seated in the corner, legs spread out and arms crossed over his chest.

When you clean the wound, Ghost can’t help but involuntarily hiss through his teeth. You’re dabbing and wiping at the blood, tossing used products in the trash. “Clean cut through, just barely missed the bone. Lucky you,” you say to him. Soap chuckles beside Ghost, and you glance at him with a hint of amusement in your eyes.

He liked that you never needed to press about things. You were comfortable without answers, but he knew you had questions you wanted to ask. Your thumb glazes over the wounds he’d sewn shut himself, tsking softly to yourself.

“Your stitches are uneven, good for a Lieutenant, but I could do better,” you would end up saying to him.

It takes you an hour to clean, address and bandage the wound. You’re wiping your brow with the back of your hand, pulling down the medical mask, and sniffing. Ghost quietly admires your work, and he thinks that it wouldn’t be so bad to do this again. He catches your gaze, and you smile lightly at him. He hears Soap stand, yawning aloud and stretching his arms.

You shuffle through a drawer, quickly writing down a couple notes and plucking out a bottle of painkillers. You extend them towards him, a smile still playing on your lips. It’d been a long night, Ghost didn’t want to say something that he just might —

“Thanks, doc. Just about made my night,”

— regret.

You blushed, nodding meekly to him with eyes wide like a doe. You’re uncertain if you’ll see him again, but you’re hopeful. Soap rubs your head playfully, nudging you softly. “Aye, I told ya’ Ghost. Ain’t she a catch?” ══════════════════════════════════════════

You saw him again a month later in the middle of the night, like a ghost haunting its new favorite place.

He comes as often as he can. There are always wounds to be healed in his line of work. He’s not necessarily trying to get hit, but being able to see you afterward was a forbidden fruit he’d gladly take. You start expecting him, always with a little smile on your face when he saunters in. There’s still hesitation between the two of you, but neither of you seems to mind.

You knew he could mend these things himself, given the shit job on his other cuts. Yet you find yourself feeling a little special that the Lieutenant wanted you to do it.

After a while, he started to come alone - a surprise to you. His eyes are always hidden by the same thick black paint, always staring at you with the same intensity as the first time. His demeanor never really changes, just grows accustomed to yours, becoming in tune with one another.

When your brows are knit in concentration, and you're holding your breath as you sew his cuts, you would look up at him, lip pulled between your teeth. You look innocent, a fawn in the meadow. His heart started to skip a beat to wait up for you.

Sometimes things slip from his lips like a bottle of wine. Memories, places he’s been, and the things he doesn’t like. The little things take aim and fire at you, and you accept it eagerly. You gather information from him and bind it to memory like a book. He’s alluring and enticing, a phantom creeping ever so closer to your heart.

He realizes it too, after spending so many sleepless nights pretending he needs you to patch him up. There are healed wounds scattered across his body, little patches of you that are stuck to him. He’s always been the silent brooding type, but you’re beginning to warm up to him.

Some nights he stays well after you’ve finished, chest rising and falling gently as you read in the corner. You would hum softly to yourself, a gentle and melodic tune that Ghost would carry with him whenever he was gone. Never rushed to leave, the Lieutenant takes his sweet time enjoying the company of you. It’s a slow-moving dance that you play, but he’s started to get his footing down. He’s got you figured out.

You blush whenever he enters the room, eyes lighting up with a hint of excitement. You began smelling like his favorite pack of smokes, and you lean in when his raspy voice recounts the day as if you’re hanging off his every word. There are times when you’re exhausted, dark circles highlighting his favorite pair of eyes. You’d prop your head on your hand, humming soft replies but trying desperately not to succumb to the fatigue. It’s like you want him there too.

He has a nickname for you now, after a rainy night where you dozed off on him, curled up on a chair next to him. He remembers the feeling of your head on his shoulder, the one you had patched up not so long ago. It slipped from him quietly, almost against his own will.

It’s best you sleep in your own bed tonight, Princess.

You woke up quickly, eyes blinking away the exhaustion and blushing a deep crimson. Embarrassed, you glanced away from him, chewing on your bottom lip. He chuckled, the sound deep and reverberating. He could get used to this.

So the months fly by, the Lieutenant visiting the medic between every break. You stop looking for more work and start asking about what missions his force is on, and what you can do to pass the time. The days are spent waiting for him, wondering if you’re ever going to slip up and if it will be the last time you see the brute you’ve become so accustomed to. The school-girl crush you built months ago had eventually flared into a forest fire.

It’s a waiting game of who’s going to get burned first.

══════════════════════════════════════════

He’s unsure why he came to you, it just felt natural. He figures that you’re more than willing to clean up his mess, and with a pretty face like yours, he can’t help himself. It’d been three long months, all of which were spent wondering what you were doing. The silent question of did you miss him hangs heavy in the air.

The infirmary is quiet tonight, only the sounds of whirring machines greeting Ghost as he stalks down the hall. Outside, the rain patters softly against the windows, and a distant breeze travels through them. He brushes past another medic that isn’t you, ignoring their startled stare at the gaping wound in his side.

He can’t feel it. He’s thinking of you, what you’re wearing and what smile you’ll give him today. If you ever ended up watching the movie he recommended. Did you smell like cigarettes? The scent of you mixing into an intoxicating concoction he couldn’t quite shake off.

A bullet grazed his side, clean through and bleeding like a dying dog. A mission gone bad, the day gone even worse. The Lieutenant’s boots landed on the base and went straight to you. He ignored the shouting from Price and Soap, head clouded by the pain festering at his side and the idea of you. He’s got a hand putting pressure on it, blood coating his fingers from holding it the entire evac. Despite his teammate's pestering, Ghost wanted you to treat the wound.

You’re not in the exam room, and it takes Ghost off guard. He can picture you there in the corner, lips plump around the pen as you read over medical records and prescriptions. But the chair is empty, and only the sound of the water dispenser greets the Lieutenant.

He’s immediately overwhelmed by the feeling of irritation. Did you leave without saying? He thinks not. You knew better than that. Ghost stands silently in the exam room for a few moments, wondering what to do. You’re always here, so why aren’t you today when he wants you most?

He ignores himself, clenching his jaw. Despite the pain blossoming at his side, Ghost didn’t want to see another medic. As he’d come to like, you were efficient, obedient like his favorite pet, and downright irresistible. Maybe it was his stubbornness or the fact he’d gone so long without the feeling of you, but the Lieutenant grew frustrated by your absence.

Another moment passes, and he gives in. Turning on his heel and gritting his teeth, Ghost stalks down the hall like a wraith, a cloud of disappointment and anger brewing above him. There’s a medic down the hall, standing over a computer. He aims for them, boots landing with purpose and eyes glaring a burning fire into the wall.

It wasn’t as if you were his medic - technically - and he understood you were human too, but he had come to expect the existence of you in his everyday routine. Your laugh, the small twinkle in your eyes as he gave pieces of himself to you, and the little smoke breaks you share after hours gave Ghost a sense of purpose. While he knew that a shred of something more ached inside of him, he ignored it every time. You needed better than him, he reasoned, and so he kept his distance.

That’s when he hears it, soft and delicate. You’re laughing. It stops him in his track, confusion flooding his senses as he subtly tries to track where the melody comes from. Your office. He feels like a fool and immediately retraces his steps to you.

There's drops of blood all over the floor at this point, yet he doesn’t give a damn at the prospect of seeing you. He’s been here once before, right before he left. You were nodding up at him with wide eyes and full lips, his voice heavy as he said goodbye. He remembers it all too well, the way that you squeezed your thighs together and bit your lip, disappointment crossing your face.

The door is slightly ajar. Your voice tangles with another in a friendly conversation, and it irritates him to no end. A dim glow emits from the crack in the frame, spilling into the hallway and illuminating the dirt caked onto his boots. He didn’t bother to knock, nudging open the door with his shoulder and immediately catching your gaze. Your heart skips a beat, a wave of emotions catching itself in your throat.

You pulled up a chair at the front of your desk, legs crossed and body facing towards the private who's leaning toward you with a slight smirk on his face. Your hand is resting against the bandaged palm of the man’s hand. Ghost thinks it’s too close for comfort. You're hanging off of the Lieutenants gaze, a mix of rage, confusion, and something else brewing behind the skull. The private follows you, eyes widening in shock at the towering threat that’s just entered. He’s quick to his feet, glancing briefly at you as if he wanted to say more. There’s a moment that passes. Two. Ghost grows impatient and enraged by the idea of you being there for someone that isn’t him.

The words come quick, sharp, and lethal. “Get out.”

You’re waiting for him, fidgeting uncomfortably as the young man quietly apologizes and slips out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Thick tension settles over the room as Ghost breathes heavily, fingertips digging into the bleeding gash as he desperately tries to control the boiling rage that consumes him. The silence is deafening, but you welcome it. It’s been so long.

Restless nights, whining and pleading with yourself that he’ll come back. The forest fire continues to burn between the two of you, heat encasing your body as you become drunk on his presence. You memorized his features, pining for them night after night. Every hour ended with a disappointed moan and the searing blaze continuing to consume you until you saw him again. He looks the same, if not a little rougher around the edges. You notice the laceration at his side, swallowing a pit of fear as Ghost takes a purposeful step forward.

It takes a moment for him to know what to say. He’s caught between going absolutely ballistic and asking you how your day was. He takes another step forward, so close he could reach for you. A second passes before you stand, heat rushing to your cheeks as he finally stands in front of you. He’s missed you. You smell like he remembers, absolutely divine. There’s a sparkle in your eyes, pulling him ever so closer to you as he inhales sharply. Lips full and red, you wait expectantly for him.

“Hi, Princess,” he breathes, the words husky and deep as it penetrates you.

“I missed you,” you say, glancing down to his side in an attempt to avoid his gaze. So innocent, you couldn’t even look at him without squirming.

Fuckin’ Hell.

His hand lifts your chin up, gently as though you were his favorite toy. He’s staring straight at you, the mask hides the smirk that plays on his lips. Ghost can’t help but let the intoxicating feeling of lust wash over him as you stare wide-eyed at him. He’s angry. Angry he wasn’t there, enraged by the idea of you touching anyone but him. Eager to make up for lost time, hopeful that you’ll make the time for him.

“Apparently not enough, sweetheart,”

Confusion crosses your features for a moment, mouth opening and closing quickly. You’re looking up at him, leaning on your hands to try and regain some control over yourself. You’re apologetic, thighs squeezing together as he continues to stare you down. You've been waiting for him. He can tell, smirk widening as you fidget uncomfortably under his gaze. A loose breath leaves you, a knot of anxiety forming from such close contact. You break his gaze, staring at his side as the blood continued to seep through his hands. “What happened, Simon?”

It’s the first time you’ve asked him that. The first time you’ve used his name after he gave it to you. For a moment he pauses, unsure how to address you when you’re looking at him like that. He doesn’t want to answer, too invested in the way you’re avoiding him. It’s a game of cat and mouse, and he’ll do anything to catch you.

His thumb grazes your lower lip, rubbing it tenderly in a way that makes him ache. You’re leaning into his touch, eyes fluttering closed for a breath until his hand slips to your neck, gripping it gently. And here he goes again, saying things he’ll always —

“Think you can kiss it better, Princess?”

— regret.

You inhale sharply, eyes meeting his as the words slip and tumble from his mouth. It spills onto you like a glass of wine, staining your features with a mix of shock and need. His fingers press into your neck, forcing you to look at him. The mask separates you, but you’ve come to welcome it like an old friend.

The Lieutenant continued to fix his gaze on you, pinning you against the desk as he waited patiently for your response. His question feels like a joke, a sick parody of the last few months of whatever has simmered between the two of you. You’re confused, wondering if the words were spoken or just a figment of your twisted imagination. He waits though, almost hesitant to continue.

You’re caught beneath him. Stuck in his haunting stare and suffocating in his shadowed presence. So many sleepless nights are spent asking yourself what if. Hours spent drowning in the idea of him, of him wanting you. Blushing crimson red, you’re keenly aware of his rough grip against your skin. His towering frame encases you against him, with only so much room to breathe.

“Is that an order, Lieutenant?” There’s a playfulness to your tone that makes him throb. He’s getting hard just at the thought of you, innocent and eager to do whatever he asks. Little Vixen.

“Questioning a superior officer, Princess?”

“Never.”

“Good girl,” a whine escapes your lips, and you're pouting up at him in a way that pulls at the seams of his sanity.

He’s had enough. He’s done waiting, done being nice and playing the long game. Too many complexities of engagement, and so many hidden rules he's unaware of when it comes to you. It’s infuriating, the way you’re looking at him like you’re ready to be on your knees. He needs you and wants you to bend and break for him.

His hand involuntarily pushes you until your back is flush against the desk. Ghost thinks this view is made just for him. His hand is clutching your neck delicately, your legs spreading open to allow him to step closer. He does, savoring the way you arch against his touch, nipples pressing against the thin shirt you're wearing. The feel of your thighs brushing against him sends Ghost into a spiral, and when you moan softly underneath his touch - he just can’t help himself.

His bloodied hand reaches out to between your thighs, rubbing soft and slow circles as he appreciates the view of you. The wound at his side is all but gone when you’re writhing under him like this. The pain dissipates and is replaced by a throbbing desire. Hips lifting and reaching into him, you’re clutching his wrist that grips your throat with both hands and grinding into the touch. Ghost notices the euphoric look in your eyes, cock twitching in his pants as he begins to lose control.

He quickens his pace, fingers digging into your center as you let out a mewl in approval. He’s waited ages for this. Ghost follows suit, letting out a groan when one of your hands cups a breast and begins to squeeze it softly. You’re soaking, all just for him. It’s a thought that pulls something animalistic out of him, and he tightens the grip around your throat until you’re bucking your hips against him.

“Fuck, Simon - please don’t stop,” you beg, growing wet at the continued pressure. You use his name like it’s yours to claim, and he can’t help but grip your throat harder. Soaking through your clothes, Simon can feel you begin to unravel. He’s ecstatic - after all this time you’re finally right where he wants you. Mewling and moaning for him without hesitation, always too good for him.

He presses his thumb to your lips, precum slicking the tip of him as you open your mouth and lick his fingertip softly. His other hand pauses his movements on you, dragging down everything separating him from you. The two of you wonder why this hasn’t happened sooner, all the time wasted when it should’ve been spent doing this.

His wet thumb drags itself down to your exposed clit, and a stupid grin spread across his face at the fact that you’re wet to the touch. “Tell me what you want, Princess,” he rasps, free hand moving to take off his belt. You’re looking at him with pure adoration, but there’s a hint of hesitation as his zipper drags down.

You swallow, breaths coming out uneven and heavy as he continues slow motions along your clit. “It’s the first time for me,” you whisper softly, lips caught between your teeth as you blink up at him.

“Bloody. Fuckin’. Hell. Princess, am I gonna pop your cherry?” He teases, dipping a finger into your center. A soft wet sound follows the action. He’s lost every sense of direction, control slipping from him and replaced with the overwhelming need to watch you come undone. His cock rubs against the fabric of his clothes, desperate to feel you. He slips the hem down, ignoring the dried trail of blood on his side and gripping it harshly.

Simon pumps himself slowly with one hand, the other dragging itself from your clit painfully, only to drag up his mask a fraction of the way - exposing his smirking lips to you.

You immediately prop yourself up on your arms, a little too eager at the idea of being able to taste him. You lick your lips expectantly. He notices this, head dipping down to you as his teeth drag your lip and catch you in a deep kiss.

He tastes like tobacco and mint, the taste intoxicating as you hang off his lips desperately. Simon continued to draw slow circles on your clit, savoring the way you mewl for him. You’re a little sheepish, embarrassed by what a reaction he’s drawing from you, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he loves it.

He breaks the kiss to look at you, the grip on his cock tightening when you lift up your shirt to show him the little black bra you’re wearing. His eyes darken a shade, a hand reaching out to fondle you as his tip gently brushes your folds. He teases you, rubbing the precum onto you and chuckling darkly.

“Guess so, love. Ready?” He asks quietly, patiently waiting for your response.

You nod meekly to him, a breath coming loose as the pleasure begins to coil within you. “Yes, sir,” you say.

That’s all it takes. All you had to do was say the words, and Simon becomes completely undone. He groans loudly, pressing the tip into your center and admiring the way your fingers drag along his vest, desperate for him. One hand resumes its spot on your neck comfortably, locking you in place. The other holds the base of his cock, aligning it and waiting patiently for you to beg.

You buck your hips, moaning at the way his tip presses into you. Simon gently rocks his hips at your movement, the length of him easing into you until you’re gasping at his size, eyes shutting in concentration. He savors the way your pussy squeezes around him as if it’s made entirely for his pleasure. It’s been a while since he’s had a good fuck, but he can already tell he’ll keep coming back to you. He’s greedy, what can he say?

When he’s finally inside you, the base of his shaft rubbing against your wet folds, he can’t help but grunt in satisfaction. Beautiful. You’re right where you belong, below him with those pretty wide eyes and those full little lips that should be wrapped around his cock. Simon adores you, hungry for more. ��You’re so tight, sweetheart. I’m gonna ruin you,” he says like it’s a promise, and you know it is.

He starts out slow, letting you adjust to his size. You’re breathing heavily, chest rising and falling with each slow and agonizing thrust he takes. It hurts, but you like it. There’s a discomfort that blossoms into an unmatched pleasure, moans slipping out of you like confessions to god. He’s choking you until you see stars, eyes rolling and hands pulling him inexplicably closer.

There’s no more room for hesitation or embarrassment anymore. The feeling of his hips thrusting into you, thighs squeezing around his frame and little whines pulled from you. You’re pleading with him, knees going weak, and a knot of ecstasy forming in you. “Harder,” you say, “please, Simon. I need you,” you whine desperately.

How can he say no to a pretty little thing like you?

His pace settles to a comfortable roll and thrust of his hips, the desk shaking and squeaking underneath you as your fingers cling to it. He can’t hear it over the sound of your cunt pulling at his cock. His side has started to bleed again, but he’s ignoring it. Drowning in the sensation of you and how tight you feel around him.

Two fingers gently rub your clit as he continues thrusting. Heat blossoms in your pussy, a haze taking over your senses as pure pleasure began to take control. It’s divine, a feeling unknown to you until right now with him. You don’t think you’ll ever recover, always pining after this euphoric experience that he’s given you. “You’re being such a good girl for me. Can’t wait to feel your little cunt cum on my cock,” he snarls.

The Lieutenant knows what he’s doing, and you’re thankful to sit pretty and enjoy the ride. While his hand chokes you senselessly, he’s fucking you like it’s the only chance he has. There’s an animalistic nature in him, untamed and consuming every ounce of you. You’re feeling dazed, whimpering and moaning under Simon's touch as he tightens the grip on your throat. His cock fits perfectly in you, brushing against your g-spot in a way that makes your legs shake. He’s waited for this, to see you scrunch up your face and whine so easily for him. You’re grinding your hips against him, pulling at his gear, and crying out in pure excitement.

The heat builds into a fire, lighting you ablaze. You’re unable to help yourself, breaths shakey as a feeling completely unknown begins to develop within you. Simon has a smirk on his face like he knows something you don’t. His fingers quicken, face hovering over your ear and hot breaths spilling onto your neck. Your nails are digging into his back, whines ringing in his ears like a sweet melody.

You’re gonna cum, and he knows it.

Simon continues to fuck you relentlessly as his own orgasm builds. You’re soaking, the scent of you hangs in the air and he can’t get enough of it. All those months with his cock between his hand, wishing it was you. The endless nights of his grunts and moans, your name on the tip of his tongue. He chuckles darkly, teeth grazing the skin of your collarbone and fingertips digging into your neck. His cock pumps in and out of you quickly, fingers circling your clit until you can’t hold it anymore.

“You gonna be a good little girl for me, Princess? C’mon, cum for me,” he emphasizes the last word with a hard thrust, groans slipping past his lips and mixing with the scream that’s ripped from your throat. Your legs shake uncontrollably, eyes roll back and hands come to squeeze your tits at the overwhelming pleasure that ripples through you like a tidal wave. He straightens, standing tall and watching you. You’re wiggling along the desk, papers shuffling beneath you.

Another heat wave builds as Simon chases after his orgasm. He’s continuing to rub your clit, thrusts becoming uneven and harder as he grips your jaw and forces you to look at him. The mask is haphazardly sitting along the bridge of his nose, the smirk still plastered across his face. His eyes are dark with lust, insatiable greed, and hunger to have you. Simon curses under his breath as your cunt squeezes him tightly, his cock slamming into your core as you grind your hips against him.

When he cums, his hand squeezes your neck to the point you’re blinded by everything that’s him. His scent, the feel of his fingertips gripping you like you’ll disappear, the way his eyes dance along your frame in pure devotion to you. Simon has a sinister grin like he’d just won an award. His pace slows, but he continues to quickly rub your clit until you whimper his name. You’re unraveling at the seams, lips wobbling and eyes becoming glossy.

It only takes another moment until you squirt all over his fingers and the tip of his cock that rests along your folds. Your hands dig into your tits, eyes sparkling with the newfound release. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and you know that Simon was holding back just for you.

A moment passed where it’s just the two of you, bodies stuck to one another like entangled vines. There’s a glimmer of satisfaction in the Lieutenant's eyes, and you’re struggling to catch your breath as you come down from your high.

When you sit up straight, two hands brace behind you to keep you up. You’re in a haze, heat pooling in your stomach as Simon pulls you into a quick kiss, savoring the way you taste before he pulls down the mask. You’re blushing a deep red, biting the inside of your cheek as you notice the new wet patches that paint the desk and his gear. His hands hesitantly leave your body, almost like he’s disappointed it’s ended so soon.

Your eyes travel to the dark red patch on his side, and you glance at him innocently. “I need to address that,” you say softly, a little smile playing on your lips. He looks at you, a hand instinctively reaching out to the wound.

“No more patients. Only me,” he states, gently pulling off his gear and exposing the red wound at his side. You’re nodding your head, eyes trained on his own as he cups the side of your face. “Can you fix it, doc?”

“Yes, sir.”

#cod #mw2 #modern warfare #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost fanfiction #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #smut #simon riley smut #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you

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raffe156 · 2 years

Text

Escape to the country part 3

Pairing - Price X MC (Tank) F!reader

Summary - Close, but no cigar...💔

“You broken?”

Escape part 1

Escape part 2

Little mood board to help give you the visual. As always feedback encouraged and comments welcomed! Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part!

A/N -Bit shorter than the other parts but wanted to get it up, I really appreciate all the recent feedback and asks! Please keep em coming! It only spurs me on haha

Warnings for the whole storyline - Under 18+ DNI, angst, Smut, Masturbation (F + M), Language, mutual pining, alcohol,fluff, Age gap Relationship feelings, Price (39) reader (Tank, 25) mentions of family,domestic fluff

Tags: @irnbru32 @shuttlelauncher81 @mildlyhopeless

It was close to midnight, You and Price had mostly sat in silence, happy just being in each other's company, watching the fire crackle and spit.

“We should probably get to bed kid, early start tomorrow”

You sat up straight stretching, you had been practically leaning on him. You glanced over a Kyle he was still out cold, you had placed a blanket over him earlier.

“Probably too big to carry to bed eh?” You softly laughed.

“What? I could easily carry you! have done before, in fact who was it that carried you back 2 miles to the evac point that time in Bosnia when you sprained your ankle? Me” Price pointed both his thumbs back at himself triumphantly.

“I meant Kyle…”

“Oh…yeh he can take himself to bed…” Price chuckled as he got up from the couch stretching, his grey T-shirt lifting up to show his abdomen, a trail of dark auburn hair leading down past the waistband of his joggers and to his…

“You ok? zoned out there for a sec” Price was looking at you, his sleepy eyes searching for the planet you were on.

“Yeh...I'm good i'll wake him up while you put the fire out deal?” You got up from the couch and gently tapped Kyle on the shoulder.

“Kyle, time for bed…” You had to be gentle with him as Kyle was like you, any abrupt attempt to wake you up resulted in confusion, panic and always a fight.

You had a special way of dealing with each other, you each understood what the other needed when at their most vulnerable. When you didn’t get a response from him, you softly squeezed his hand rubbing your thumb on his palm, this was one of your secret ways of telling each other to wake up.

It worked Kyle opened his eyes slowly glancing around then at you, his anchoring point. He knew he was ok. Price looked on at your both, he admired the system you had both developed he knew all too well how being woken in a strange place could sometimes effect those in your kind of work.

“Time for bed Kyle”

“How long was I asleep?”

“About 2 hours lad, don’t worry I stopped her from drawing a dick on your face”

“Thanks, Cap uhhhh” Kyle stretched and handed you the blanket to fold and put away, you shook your head taking it always picking up after him you thought.

“You two go up I’m gonna lock up down here then ill be up in a bit like I said early start tomorrow nice walking trail then a Pub lunch on me” Price smiled at you. You let out a soft laugh, walking trail, pub lunch? Who was this man, either way you didn’t care you were enjoying it.

“Right I'm going up you coming Tank?” Kyle shuffled back out into the kitchen. “Night, Boss”

“Night, son”

You hesitated still holding the folded blanket, Price clocked you still standing there, making his way over he held out his hand for the blanket.

“I'll take that tar, what’s up not tired?”

Your body was shattered, but your mind was racing if only he knew what you had been thinking earlier in the shower what you had done what you had cried out? Would he tell you you’d crossed a line? Tell you that you were out of order and not to think of him that way? You would only ever be, could only ever be Captain and sergeant? Or would he say he had felt the same, had thought about you in every way, having you in every way? You realised you had been staring at the last few embers dancing in the fireplace when you felt him tug at the blanket.

“You must be tired second time you have spaced out on me? Go on get to bed, I’ve checked in the wardrobe and under the bed no monsters” He let out a chuckle as he turned to place the blanket over the back of the armchair.

“Yeh sorry, I’m knackered. Thanks again for dinner it was amazing didn’t know you had it in you!” You turned and made your way out of the snug and into the kitchen Price followed you close behind.

“Want me to help you lock up? I don’t mind” you were hovering now, just go to bed you thought! Price gave you a smile and shook his head.

“No, I’m ok locking up, like I said I’m gonna have a nightcap and a smoke”

It had just dawned on you since arriving he hadn’t smoked or had a cigar in his hand all day?

“I was just thinking I haven’t seen one cigar or ashtray, what’s up with that?”

“Don’t want the house smelling of cigar smoke, plus I’m trying to cut down” He ran his hand over his face, he looked tired you wanted to tell him to come to bed and not necessarily on his own. Stop now.

“I like the smell if I’m honest, I’ve got used to it over the years haha” the laugh was a nervous one, oh please just shut up and go to bed you told yourself he obviously wants some alone time to smoke and have a drink. Price laughed as he raised his eyebrows, so you didn’t mind the smell of his cigars eh?. He went round to the other side of the island grabbing his cigar box and a bottle of Macallan 18 he placed them on the counter and as he reached for two short glasses, he noticed you shuffling towards the double doors.

“I’m gonna head up, leave you to it, Night John” you gave him a little smile as you turned out into the hallway. Just the one glass then he thought.

“Night kid, sweet dreams…”

*********

2:30 am

You had been in and out of consciousness since getting in bed even though this bed was better than your own, the sheets were softer the pillows plumper you just couldn't fully switch off. You decided you were going to go downstairs and make yourself a tea Price had mentioned the different teabags he had bought for the weekend, maybe there was a camomile one? You knew it wouldn’t help. You knew what would, but you weren’t even going there. You made your way out of your room, it was a bit chilly but you chose to leave your hoodie in the room you would be back up in 10mins you thought.

You stopped outside Price’s room, would he be up? You listened for signs of movement, silence. You carried on down the stairs.

You opened the double doors slowly not wanting to make a sound you closed them silently behind you. The door to the snug shut, probably locked you thought. You switched the counter spotlights on and flip the kettle on grabbing your cup from the draining board and tried to remember where Price had said the flavored tea bags were. You decided to open all the cupboards you would find them eventually after you had opened nearly every one of them you remembered they weren’t in a cupboard they were in a draw!

“The draw next to the toaster!” You shouted by mistake, instantly slapping your hands over your mouth! The room to the snug creaked open. Shit.

*********

2:15 am

Price had been sat in the snug for longer than he had wanted to, he was more than halfway into the bottle of whisky and he had finished his cigar long ago, the embers now tiny flicks of light. His mind just wouldn’t stop no matter how many glasses he downed no matter how blurry his vision got. You. That’s all his mind was showing him. It had been replaying earlier in the rain over and over to him, you both crammed into the shelter, you pressed against him, his hands still gripping you tight. The look you had given him, the look that held him in a trance, then the way you had bitten your lip looking at him like you wanted him. He opened his eyes, he felt himself going hard again, he looked at his watch 2:15am no chance of being disturbed. He slid his hand into his pants pulling them down slightly freeing his cock from his boxer shorts. As he stroked himself slowly he imagined you sprawled out in his bed under him, you reaching out for him you wanted him, needed him like he needed you. Your skin soft and hot to the touch, he imagined himself slowly sinking into you till he was buried to the hilt, he gripped himself that little bit tighter as he pumped away, going that little bit faster as the images of you coming undone under him danced in his mind, he let his head fall back as he felt himself coming close

“Fuckkkkk…” he slurred as he whispered your name to himself……in his drunken lust he hadn’t heard the kettle boiling or the cupboards being ransacked…it wasn't until you had shouted did he snap back around realising he wasn’t alone anymore, he quickly pulled his pants up and tucked his still very hard erection into this waistband. Without thinking, he stood up and wandered over to the door, the drink giving him a false sense of sturdiness and coordination. Why was it that his mind was so clear just now imagining you, but now when you were just on the other side of the door in real life did it decide to cloud over in a whisky fuelled haze? He pulled the door open, finding you stood in the kitchen in just a baggy T-shirt. Christ.

“I'm so sorry Boss…I didn’t mean to shout…I couldn’t sleep and remember you had the herbal tea bags and then I couldn’t remember where you said they were and…”

Price walked over to you, the smell of cigar smoke and whisky filled your nose, was he drunk?

“Shtop, listennn dont worry bout it, kid its fineee”

He was drunk.

“How much have you had to drink?” You laughed as he leaned on the island facing you his arms behind him propping him up.

“A few but I’m okkkk” He was trying to act sober you could tell you had only seen him tipsy but never this drunk before. He was looking you up and down, god did he want you the bulge in his waistband straining against the fabric. His eyes fell to the T-shirt you had on even drunk he noticed that it wasn’t just any T-shirt it was one of his, it was the very same T-shirt he had been wearing under all his gear when you both had been shot, he could tell because there was a little hole on the shoulder. Without thinking again he reached forward poking his finger into it. The action took you by surprise as you could feel his fingertip brushing your scared tissue. He glanced down at you taking your hand in his an placed it on his chest under your fingertips you could feel the unmistakable bump of the same scar tissue. He rested his hand flat on top of yours and gave you that eye-crinkling smile. It caused your heart to flutter. You both stood for a few minutes in silence.

“I thought it would be funny…to wear my members-only T-shirt” you said softly as he let go of your hand.

“Nicee touch, I like it” he was really trying to sound sober. You hadn’t realised but he had closed the gap between you both as his hand was now resting on the sink behind you.

“How much have you had to drink?” You couldn’t help the little laugh as he closed his eyes, pretending to count.

“Don’t know, a few ha ha” he was concentrating on your face you must have been a blur to him. What was he doing? What were you doing?

“You know kidd I’ve bin meanin to get somethin off my chesttt” he looked away as if trying to muster the words. Was he really going to tell you how he had been feeling recently, how he thought something had changed between you? Before he could continue you placed your hand on his arm.

“Not now…let’s both get some sleep an wait till morning and if you still want to get it off your chest, we will talk how does that sound?”

He sighed you were right, even drunk he knew you were right and he would only balls up what he wanted to say anyway.

“Yeh your right, less talk in the mornin” Price dropped his head his face was a few inches from yours the smell of spilled whisky on his beard an the earthy cigar smoke on his tongue filled your lungs you wanted it to coat them. You rubbed little circles on his arm feeling the tight muscles under his skin, the little scars where the hair hadn’t grown back fully. You looked up at him, his head still bowed looking at the floor you studied his face the soft dark lashes that framed his dark blue eyes which were now staring at you.

“I’m sorry kid, shouldn’t let you see me like this ha ha not very Captain of me!”

You chuckled, looking out the window behind you.

“If anything it makes you more human to me, it shows your vulnerability John”

God he really did love you calling him by his name, he smiled at you.

“Right let's head up to bed, you first I’ll shut the doors behind me come on” you put your hand on his back to steer him towards the double doors opening then before he crashed through them.

“Easy!! Don’t want Kyle waking up as well”

He comically shushed himself as you closed the doors behind you both. You had to hold in the laugh or else you would have set him off.

In the dark you pushed him by the back up the stairs, to be honest, if he did fall back there wasn't much you would be able to do. You ushered him to his room, stepping in to turn on the bedside lamp so as to not blind the two of you. Price walked right past you and flopped into bed as he did he knocked over an empty glass on the side, luckily his room was carpeted so it only bounced and rolled under the bed, you looked over at him his huge mass nearly taking up the whole king size bed, but if you moved his arm you thought, there was a nice little spot just right for you to curl up in? Stop it.

“Right I'm off to bed are you going to be ok? I don’t need to put you in the recovery position, do I?” You leaned over him just to check.

“I'll be fine…get in bed…” he had an arm over his eyes, shielding them from the light. You contemplated just getting in next to him, for his safety in case he swallowed his tongue? But thought best not in case Kyle woke to find you walking across the landing back to your room. Turning the light off, you bent down to pick the glass up from underneath his bed.

“I'm going, night John…sweet dreams” you smiled up at him as you found the glass, but something was underneath it, something silky. You pulled it out along with the glass.

Once from under the bed you knew exactly what it was, it was a pair of black silk knickers. You felt as though a hole had been punched through your gut and hollowed out. You looked down at them the bile rising in your chest. “you and Kyle are the first real guests I had since getting the place liveable” the words taunting in your head. “Well, I haven’t been totally alone…remember that Doc from Ireland? She’s been up to see the house it wasn’t finished not even watertight, but she came for a visit,”

Had he lied to you? Yeh, he had lied to you. You could feel yourself getting angry, but you didn’t really have a right to be jealous of him…sleeping with another woman…he wasn't yours…he was just your Captain wasn't he? But it was more that he had lied and also it was probably with that stupid bitch doctor. That thought stung like a thorn in your side. You felt like a silly little girl. Is that how he saw you? Call you friend but keep you closer…keep you on a short leash, close to him, his little toy Tank?

You put them back where you had found them, and placed the glass on the side and made your way to the door.

“Night, love, sweet dreams”

“Night John”

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