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diaryofanidiot · 9 months

Text

The Experiments

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Chapter list: Prologue, 1, <2> ,3 ,4 ,5

Cw: Swearing; torture; blood; medical experiments; panic attacks; malnourishment

Summary: For over a year, Y/N was held in a soviet experimentation facility. Forced to fight and claw her way to live, she managed to stay alive. When the 141 rescues her, they get way more intel than bargained for.

Chapter Two

The blades of the evac chopper beat against my ears painfully as I was escorted into it. A headset was placed over my ears to muffle the sound as I looked up to see Soap faintly smiling down at me.

It wasn't connected to the other's comm sets so once they spoke during take off, I couldn't hear a thing. All I could do was wonder if I really trusted these people. I glanced to Ghost as I did, a faint sense of faith settling in my gut. Him rescuing me from that hellhole was enough for that primal connection to click in my brain.

Yes. If I could trust him, I could trust them. They all seemed close anyway. Hard won battles sealing their connection to each other.

The next few hours were agonizing as the chopper landed, and I was brought on to the compound. From ID photos to a full body scan for any tracking devices on my person; it seemed they weren't taking any risks with me.

Gaz and Soap would often give me a sympathetic glance as I was pushed around to each check-in task in a wheel chair as I was still too weak to walk fully.

"We're gonna have you looked at in the med bay, then we will need you to recount some info for us. That alright with you?" Asked Gaz. I nodded, appreciative that he made it seem like I even had a choice.

I sighed heavily, ready for it all to be over. The adrenaline had worn off just enough to make me realize how sleep deprived I really was.

Machines beeped, and faint chatter could be heard throughout the medical building of the compound. I underestimated how stressful the environment would be. My fingernails dug into the arms of the wheelchair as Gaz steered it.

Soap was beside me, Price and Ghost having left to recount the mission and write a report of some sorts, he seemed to notice my fear.

"None's gonna hurt ya, Lass." He assured me as I was wheeled over to a hospital cot. Him and Gaz lifted me onto it as I looked around wide eyed.

"No.." I coughed out, my voice raspy and once again dry. "No.. Doctors..." I strained, trying to move. They both held me in place, Gaz giving me a stern look.

"They're just going to look over your injuries. We will be right here the entire time." He tried to assure me.

I shook my head rapidly. Ghost... I wanted Ghost here. I didn't have time to wonder why my thoughts went to him, I just needed to get free. I struggled against their hold as a woman in a clean white coat pulled back the curtain around my cot.

My breathing grew heavy and the room seemed to spin. My nails dug small crescents into my palms as I tried frantically to break free. I heard voices and felt a hand on my back but the sounds felt like they were underwater.

I saw a white lab coat flash in front of my vision and I bared my fangs, my lips trembling fearfully.

Danger?

Gotta run...

Can't run.

Fight?

No... yes. Fuck

Fuckfuckfuck

I felt a sharp prick in my neck and turned my head rapidly, biting towards the hand near my face. I heard someone hiss in pain as my teeth broke flesh.

My hair was grabbed, along with my jaw, until I released my hold. My vision blurred and muscles twitched as I struggled.

It all went dark after that.

My dreams melted with reality as I woke and tried to shift in bed. A frown appeared on my lips as I realized I couldn't move my limbs. Fuck.

My eyes flew open as I tried to sit up, the restraints clanging against the metal bars of the cot.

"Easy." My attention flew toward the source of the voice to see none other than Ghost sitting beside me.

I gave him a quizzical "what the fuck" look and his eyes focused on mine sternly through the mask.

"You had a panic attack. Flew off the handle. Hence, the restraints." He sat back in the chair, never once taking his eyes away from me. "Those fangs of yours can really do some damage. Gaz won't be able to throw a good punch with that hand for bout a week."

I swallowed thickly, realizing what I did as he spoke. A faint leftover metallic taste of blood lingered in my mouth. I looked down with guilt.

"Nobody blames you." He huffed. "Hell, not even Gaz. Traumas a bitch."

He paused before continuing. "They had to sedate and restrain you for your safety. Once you're cleared, they can be removed."

I thew my head back with a sigh. I couldn't lie. It genuinely sucked to be moved from one set of restraints to another.

"Look at me."

I turned my head.

"I'm gonna bring the doctor back in here. She's friendlier than I am, promise. Think you can manage?"

I bit my lip in contemplation, my fangs drawing a small dab of blood from my lip as I did.

"Don't worry. I'm staying here."

I took a deep breath and nodded before Ghost peered out the curtain. "She's ready." I heard him say.

There was some shuffling before the doctor walked in. Her eyes showed no fear as if she were used to similar reactions like mine.

"My name is Harriet." She began, holding a clipboard to her chest. "I'm the doctor that's been assigned to you. We did a small checkup while you were sedated, I hope that's okay."

I nodded slowly, trying to keep my breaths steady.

"The Lieutenant informed me on where you came from, so I understand your anxiety around me. You've been put on an IV for the time being to replenish your nutrients until we can be sure you can handle an actual meal."

It was then I noticed the needle in my arm. I frowned at it, but the sight didn't bother me as much as this place. Ghost seemed to be keeping an eye on me, likely to ensure any more freak outs didn't ensue.

"I need to take a look at your throat real quick, do you mind?" She approached me calmly. I flinched but eventually agreed, opening my mouth in response. I watched as she shined a light down my throat, a compressor holding down my tongue.

She scribbled something on her clipboard. "I've been informed on your... alterations. Do you have any other abilities we need to be aware of?"

I thought for a moment and nodded my head slowly, holding up a single finger. She pursed her lips and grabbed a pen and paper.

"You can write, I assume?" She made a motion toward Ghist who unlocked my right arm, leaving the rest of the restraints on.

"Easy, girl. Behave." He said. It seemed like a slight hint of a joke. I took the pen and wrote sloppily on the paper.

Echolocation.

Her eyes widened slightly as she read. "I'm assuming this relates to your altered vocal chords?"

I nodded, averting my gaze to the white flooring.

"Well." She clicked her tongue, putting the clipboard back to her chest. "The good news is that with time, your ability to speak should clear up. It's mostly from dehydration and lack of use; the former being taken care of via IV. You have several infected cuts and a slight fever, along with those infected raw spots on your neck, but those will heal up just fine as well."

I took a breath of relief.

"With enough physical therapy, you should be able to walk just fine. Now the bad news.... we can't reverse the changes made to your vocal chords. If you like, the fangs can be dulled by a dentist, but that one is entirely your choice as neither alterations threaten your livelihood."

As I frowned in thought, Ghost stopped me. "You can decide that later."

I looked back to the doctor who gave me a small sympathetic smile. "One last thing, then I'll let you get some more rest. Do you remember your name? It isn't on the file that was brought with you."

I watched as I was given the pen once more. I closed my eyes and dug through my memory, searching for any remnants of who I was over a year prior.

A woman's voice echoed through my head. No, not a woman. A mother. My mother. She called out to me in agony.

My breath quickened as the memory played like hazy snapshots. Her hand grasping at my shirt. Being dragged away. Her hold on me failing. A gun to her head.

Everything was blurry. Everything was muffled.

Except...

I took the pen and wrote a name on the paper. The same name that echoed through my mind over and over.

A scalding tear fell down my cheek as the doctor nodded.

"It's nice to meet you, (y/n)."

A/n: sorry bout the tendons in your hand, Gaz. 🫡 had to be done.

I'm sorry this one is so short but I was fairly busy today. I'll make it up with the next one, promise ^-^

Taglist: @warenai @linoskitten11 @jamesrifftapes @justmare @hk-4ever @thriving-n-jiving @katelouis98 @tayaisback @josieguts @btszn @lemmyyy0606 @msecho19 @cory-viv @cybercl0ne @randomhumans-blog @vinithechocolatevampire @embermdk @itsryuken @neothewitch @undercover-smutlover

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish

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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 4 months

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Reign down on me - Part 5

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt, violent scenes

-🐺-

You fought back a sneeze, eyes going teary as your body pathetically fought the sand that had risen and invaded the wind. Suddenly you were finding yourself wishing for the ridiculous glasses that Ghost and the rest of the boys had been wearing earlier. Though you recognised that even if you had some of those monstrosities, it’d do you no good by that point. There was barely enough light to see by, the little half moon above was winking down and barely casting much of a glow over the night sky.

Price had dragged you all into a briefing room earlier that day and gave you all the run down on a new target, Razin, a man suspected of manufacturing bombs for the militia you were after. From there you were shown pictures of him, raising your brows at his scrawny features, and given a little intel about the town you were now stalking through. Even at the time you’d quietly groaned at the mention of the little desert town, you hated having to put up with the sand getting caught in your fur and eyes, not to mention how it made it so much more difficult to scent things as well.

The only benefit of the place was that the houses were small and usually that meant that there wouldn't be very much to sweep. That is if it weren’t built over a tunnel or extensive secret basement, which Price was heavily theorising could be a possibility.

From what you’d been shown it was only supposed to be two floors tall, with a roof that allowed for people to be positioned on top of it, set against the backdrop of the rocky hills beyond. It was close to the outskirts of town but still enclosed by other houses, positioned on the side that crept nearest to the small river that snaked nearby before disappearing into the rocky outcrops beyond. It would’ve been a sweet little place if it weren’t owned by the chef boyardee of bombs.

“Y’good, Pup?” Ghost murmured through the comms.

You looked over at the spot you knew he was positioned at, secreted away on the balcony to the right of you with his rifle, and huffed out a breath. Define ‘good’, you thought. It’d been a while since you’d been so far away from him. Now that you’d been hiding out by the open window for a few hours at least, you’d been blasted with sand and bored to death enough to make you want to cling desperately onto your handler’s leg and beg him to go home.

“Affirmative,” you whispered back instead.

“Good. We’ve got movement on the road outside of town - you two might be set to move soon, so get ready.”

“Yes, Sir,” you answered.

You rolled your tired shoulders and looked over at Soap, noting that his dark eyes were still flitting from the target location and to you, watching carefully like a fretful horse. He still looked barely more comfortable left alone with you than when you first arrived. The man had been none too pleased when Ghost explained his plan on arrival, frowning when he was told about your little team up. Couldn’t be helped when Soap was the best equipped to deal with explosives and someone had to play sniper and keep watch.

Of course Soap had continued to train with you in the week leading up to then, slowly getting better at not flinching whenever you got close to him. However he’d never had to be around you without Ghost as a buffer yet. Now that it was just you both in the small room across from the house, he was the most tense that you’d ever seen him. Not that he was trying to be obvious about it, he clearly felt he was being sly with his darting looks and slow sighs. For that you gave him some slack.

“I’m thinking the window on the right side is the best entry point for me,” you said, looking meaningfully across at him. “I can sweep the first floor while you go around to the side door and I can make sure it's unlocked for you.”

“You wanna go in alone?” Soap questioned, narrowing his eyes at the house.

“It’s what war dogs are for,” you shrugged. “No point waiting for you to come in with me, I can get in and check the place out quietly before you come clomping in.”

“I don’t clomp,” Soap snorted, giving you a withering look.

“Sure, tell that to all your heavy gear and your big boots. Trust me, if I go in and get a feel for the place then I can tell who or what we need to watch out for before we go sniffing out the target.”

“And you say ‘What’ meaning?” he questioned.

“Other hybrids, bombs, guns…etcetera,” you listed, shifting your sights to the window you’d pointed out.

“You can tell all that just from going in and getting a whiff of the front room?” he asked dryly.

“Well I can’t give exact information, but I can give a good guess. It’s just like when we’ve been training, if you let me get ahead of you then I can check the place out first and let you know what you’re up against. That’s how I keep myself useful.”

“Ghost, you good with that?” Soap asked doubtfully, frowning over at the balcony from the corners of your vision.

“The house has been quiet enough,” Ghost noted. “If Pup wants to go in first, I trust their judgement.”

“Pup’s way it is then,” Soap grunted, almost absolving himself of anything that might happen. “I’ll wait for you to open the door, furball.”

You nodded your head, forcing down your instinct to growl, keeping your focus on the window instead. You’d show him who was a fucking furball.

This was it. It wasn’t lost on you that this job would prove to the team that you could be an asset - not just a stupid wolf that ploughed through training exercises. Someone that could be used as an effective tool if given the chance.

This was your chance. You anxiously ran your hands down your vest, breathing in measured lungfuls of air while you took stock of your inventory and grounded yourself. There were three knives held securely in the right side, new ones that Ghost had gotten for you ahead of the mission, and a small first aid kit and canteen stashed in the main pockets on your left. You were wearing your gloves, and your ear protection was on and looped round your ears, the rubber circlets had thankfully stopped feeling as aggravating against your fur now that they’d been on for a few hours. They always pressed up so uncomfortably against your helmet, though it was always better to face a little discomfort than being killed by a shot you might’ve avoided.

“The car’s approaching the building, this is it.”

The old guard troupe would be coming out and a new one would be entering, however as the intelligence operatives had noted in their previous findings, the 2am group would never get to their posts on time. They'd opt instead to routinely drink and talk shit on the roof, presumably thinking that Eugene wouldn’t know about it, and would stick around for roughly a half hour before sluggishly making their way to where they should be - giving you and Soap time to get in, search for your target and hopefully get out before anyone was any the wiser.

You heard the engine grumbling through the winding streets long before it reached the other side of the house, but as soon as the headlights illuminated the street over, they cut almost instantly with the noise. Doors slammed and snide voices carried out into the night, mingling together in two distinct groups, one set growly and tired and the others playful and light. It was impossible to make out exactly what they were saying, but you were sure that the group leaving were probably being very obvious about how happy they were to be getting the fuck out.

“G’on, Pup,” Ghost murmured. “Make me proud.”

You shook your head and paid no more mind to the group on the other side, you were going to move forward out of view of them anyway. With Ghost’s encouragement strengthening your confidence, you were eager to press on. You nodded your head toward Soap as a ‘see you in there’ gesture and jumped out the window, stealing your way through the street and into the next window ahead. It was easy for you to spring up, tilting your tail a little to the left so that it wouldn’t smack against the frame.

As soon as you were inside you spotted the dancing shadows of the men toward the front of the building and found a decent hiding spot behind a side wall to wait in so that the new group of guards could pass by you. Your tail swished idly as you waited for them to come in and your ears twitched, listening out and rotating like little satellites as you took in your surroundings. The livingroom and kitchen were all one room, but there was a hallway to the bottom left that would allow entry into the house and up to the stairs beyond.

The guard opened the door before long, letting the cool air breathe a sigh into the house, and luckily they trudged up the stairs in short order. Their steps were muffled and soft, attempting to be light so that their boss wouldn’t be alerted. You heard them all the same. Your ears could pick up so much more than any of theirs could, which means you knew the exact moment you were safe to launch yourself to the other side of the room and get the door for Soap. He raised his brows at you when you made a sweeping motion with your hand to welcome him in.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” he whispered. “How many guests we got?”

“We got about six men tonight I think. No hybrids - you’ll be glad to know,” you said just as quietly, grinning when you caught his guilty wince. “Can smell the explosives, think Price was right on his basement theory, they don’t seem like they’re upstairs.”

“Y’hear that Ghost?” Soap said, purposefully looking away from you.

“Copy. I’ll keep an eye on the guards, you two track down that sly bastard,” Ghost answered, growly voice tickling your ears.

“Lead the way the way then, Pup.”

You nodded and lifted your head in the air, getting a good feel for the scent trail then turned toward the hall. The plastics clung at your nose and tugged you toward the stairs, but you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you needed to get below. Every instinct was telling you that you needed to go there, that someone’s steps had passed over them, but they hadn’t ascended.

A soft growl tore itself from you. You needed to get closer to the source. You knelt down and took a tentative sniff of the floor, the steps creaked lowly like a clearing throat as you shifted your weight onto them. Bingo.

“The fuck are you doin’?” Soap hissed.

You tilted your head up at him and smiled sweetly.

“The nose knows,” you shrugged.

“What’re you on about?”

Soap’s eyes were so wide you thought he might explode. You would’ve giggled if you weren’t conscious of how much noise you’d made already. No, it was important to try to be as quiet as possible in those next few seconds.

You hooked your fingers onto the first step and pulled up, huffing out a breath as they turned out to be heavier than expected. Though in seconds the first three steps came away and rose up, revealing a concealed stairway below - leading down to the dingy basement. The smell continued through the shadows, air thick with that heavy plastic smell.

“Fuck me,” Soap breathed. “You can smell secret entrances as well?”

“Oh yeah, they always smell fishy,” you smirked.

“Jesus. Ghost’s humour is rubbin’ off on you,'' he groaned.

He had a point. Normally you weren’t one for pointless chatter, but you were in your element that day and after training so much with your new team you felt more relaxed than usual. Of course you weren’t operating under the assumption that Soap would be diving in front of bullets for you, but at the very least he had your back.

“We’re heading underground, Ghost. See ya on the other side,” Soap noted, patting you on the shoulder just like Ghost normally would.

You felt your tail give a slight swish against the backs of your legs.

“Copy that, Sergeant,” Ghost confirmed.

Ghost was quiet compared to usual, focused on his targets you figured. It spurred you on to focus too. You quietly slipped forward down the stairway, nose raised in the air as you proceeded. Soap followed at your rear, quietly closing the stairway and bathing you both in almost pitch darkness. There was only a little light to see by, its source hidden round the corner. Things smelled and sounded clear, but nonetheless you braced, ready to duck and dive if you needed to.

When you turned the corner however, there was no need for any quick exits. There was just another hallway with some candles stuck in hastily hammered in holders, the flames lazily flickering as the stale air kept them standing bolt upright. You frowned and pressed ahead, boots softly pressing into the runner carpets until you almost hit a chain, only just avoiding it as you’d caught the shine of it in the corner of your eye.

You stuck a hand out to your left and kept Soap behind you, narrowing your eyes so that he’d know to be quiet. He caught on fast, not saying a word as you took another careful sniff around the air. Among the scent of burning wicks and aged dust there was something else, something earthy. There was a low droning sound as well now that you focused, a bassy groan that drifted through the walls.

Hybrid, you mouthed. Attack dog.

Soap’s eyes narrowed and he raised the pistol he’d unholstered from his side, the silencer reaching out into the hallway and past your body. You stepped off to the right and allowed him to push forward and round the corner, watching with dull interest as he shot the wolf man that had been resting by the next candle. After a soft pop sounded the man slumped off to the side and left a smear of crimson as he went, eventually thudding to the ground and rattling the chain once he reached the floor.

“That’ll be the alarm system then,” you whispered.

“Just him? There’s not anymore?” Soap asked, looking round warily for other signs of life.

“Not that I can detect,” you said carefully, taking another cautious breath of air. “He’s in pretty bad shape though, probably been kept chained down here a while. Can’t imagine Razin would want the hassle of having to get by more than one hungry mouth on the way in.”

“Aye…probably not,” Soap said, lingering doubt heavy on his voice.

You turned and smiled to yourself, again wondering why the Sergeant was so afraid of your kind. He had a gun, two guns in fact - one strapped to his back. You and yours only had teeth and claws to defend yourself with. Every fight you went into was one that tipped your scales ever closer to death, yet he walked around sometimes like he was standing with the grim reaper himself when he found himself with you.

There was no point getting caught up over it though. You advanced forward again and rounded another corner, this time greeted by muffled voices and sounds of implements working away. You getting closer. You were overwhelmed by the scent of a new person, baring your teeth at the thick coal like scent. It flooded your system and set your vision alight, peripherals shrinking as your wolf instincts came rushing forward. You were ready to attack, ears pinned back and tail sinking low.

“Pick somethin’ up?” Soap murmured, voice sounding so loud in your sensitive ears you wanted to snarl at him.

However, knowing your target was so close by, you silently turned instead and let Soap get a good look at your face. He seemed to visibly pale when his eyes met yours, but quickly remembered himself, raising his gun and holding his position behind you. Had you been more lucid, you’d have congratulated him for not flying off like a scared bird.

However, you walked forward instead, sticking close to the walls and keeping yourself on high alert. It wasn’t long until you were greeted with the sight of a new entryway and the drowning scent of explosive materials. Your entire head was on fire, every little instinct screamed danger, but you followed your training and ignored the rising need to get away.You peered around instead, widening your eyes as you saw Razin right in front of you. He was working away with his back turned, too distracted by whoever he was speaking to on his tablet to be able to pay any attention to either of you.

Soap slunk next to you and looked around, mouth set in a grim line as he sized up the target. All around him, littering his workshop were multiple prototypes, tons of different kinds of bombs that Soap would know far more about than you. The only thing you knew for sure was that you’d have to be quiet, take down the target as fast as possible - that was the only way to know none of them would go off.

Soap gently patted your head to get your attention. Wait, he mouthed.

You wanted to snap at him, mouth watering in anticipation of a bite, eyes narrowing as his hand drew close to your throat. However you wrenched yourself away from him and breathed out as quietly as you could, anxiously glancing between Soap and Razin as you waited for your ok.

It took every ounce of self control just to stand there. Soap didn’t look like he was in any rush to let you move. He listened to the conversation instead, jaw set and head tilted while he kept you suspended in the shadows, right on the precipice of an attack. You just wanted to go, needed to fly through the room and tear at something.

The conversation between Razin and the deep voiced stranger on the ipad drew to a close before you lost it, ending with Razin cursing before swatting at the tablet and sending it flying. You followed the movement with your eyes and turned to Soap, almost barking with glee when he tightly nodded and gave you the go ahead to go capture your target.

You had no clue what curses Razin was shouting when you landed on top of him, but you could hazard a guess that they were some of the worst profanities he could muster. His face scrunched in fury and his whole body flailed as he fought to get you off of him, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t shake you off.

Your main priority was ensuring his hands couldn’t reach for anything and set something off, so as you secured yourself over him, you bit harshly into one of his arms and growled when he swatted at you with his other hand. Before he could do any real damage Soap came to your aid and wrenched Razin’s free hand behind his back, securing it in a cuff before taking the other arm from you and settling the other cuff round that one.

“Release,” Soap commanded, voice wavering as he caught your eyes.

Your vision was almost completely darkened, indicating to the last sane shred of you that you’d gone nearly completely feral. Every limb in your body shook and your back felt like a lightning rod as the familiar instinctual tremble worked its way through you. Maddox’s voice rattled in your ear, the ghost of him ever present when you found yourself losing to the wolf. You are an attack dog, you will bite, you will kill, this is the only way to survive. Bite mutt, kill! Do what you’re meant for, dog!

“Pup,” Soap said carefully, trying to maintain eye contact. “You good?”

You growled in response, watching with displeasure as Razin continued to struggle beneath Soap. You wanted to put a stop to it. Not part of the mission, you reminded yourself, internally struggling with the angry beast inside your head. Need this one alive.

“Pup,” Soap said again, voice a firm roar.

“Yes,” you snarled, shaking your head and backing off. “M’fine. Lets go.”

Kill, mutt!

You shook your head again, walking forward and dispersing any last traces of Maddox, fighting to regain control of yourself. Normally you weren’t so prone to falling back so badly on the wolf instincts, as much as you often did use them to get in the right headspace you were usually still in control of yourself.

Now you felt untethered. It felt as though any threat to you and the team had to be treated with the utmost hostility. And Razin was a threat. It had you frowning back at Soap, watching as he struggled to force Razin forward while his feet tried to plant against the floor. You growled when Soap was knocked back by him.

Protect. Mine. Kill threat.

You almost stopped in your tracks when the thought hit you. For once it wasn’t Maddox’s voice spurring you and forcing you to do terrible things, this wasn’t any outside voice at all. The low growl that rushed through your head like a chemical injection was your own. Normally your instincts kicked in for self preservation,your body doing whatever it needed to in order to get through a job alive. Now they were directed at Soap, more specifically, towards ending the struggling and kicking from the man he was holding.

“I’m going on ahead,” you said, voice pitching up as you rushed forward.

If you spent anymore time looking over at Razin and his flailing feet you were going to kill him. It wasn’t a speculation, it was a certainty. One that had you wide eyed and running terrified down the hall.

You reached the top of the stairs in record time, pausing at the closed exit to listen out for anyone that might be coming down on the steps above.

“Ghost, we’ve secured the target. Are we good to exfil?” you rasped, hearing Soap cursing as he manoeuvred the hallways a lot slower than you did.

“The men are finishing the last of their drinks, one of them went down already. You’ll need to take him out and get out of there as fast and quiet as you can,” Ghost supplied, voice level as usual.

“I can manage that. Soap, I’ll go find Razin’s buddy. You good to get him out?” you asked, looking back into the darkness for your answer.

“I’m almost through the hall, fashioned a little gag for the bastard so I reckon we’ll be good on the staying ‘quiet’ part. Go ahead, Pup, clear to move,” Soap answered, voice echoing through the halls and on your comms.

“Alright then.”

-🐺-

You were shaking terribly by the time you made it back to transport. Razin was properly secured now, hooded and gagged before being taken away to another section of the hold with an armed guard. He was safely out of view from your stabbing glare. Meanwhile Ghost and Soap ushered you toward the opposite corner, serious looks in both their eyes as they exchanged low whispers.

Your head was filled with cloying fog. All you wanted to do, for whatever reason, was to get close to Soap, but you feared him retaliating too much to be able to do it. You wanted to make sure he was alright, but even you weren’t sure why you were so obsessed about it. It was Soap afterall, he was a highly trained SAS soldier, he was fine.

Not to mention, when he’d seen your blood covered face come into view behind him in the safehouse, he’d almost screamed bloody murder. The last thing he needed was you to go barreling up to him. You swore you could hear his heart thumping even when you stood just across from him, it beat so loudly. It hadn’t eased much since then and getting to the plane either.

Mine. Safe? Hurt.

Your chest held a small flame, body keeping it roaring as you anxiously wanted to check Soap over. You could smell his blood, could smell the copper tang that was corrupting the soft sage of his usual scent. It burned at your nose and caused you to whine when you got close. Ghost’s hand prevented you from getting nearer.

“Pup,” Ghost said softly. “Pup, can you look at me?”

You tore your eyes away from Soap and dutifully looked up at Ghost. His face was still covered by his balaclava and his eyes were darkened from the black paint. You huffed as you focused on his pupils, taking in the spiced citrus and the sound of his infectiously steady pulse.

Your panting breaths eased.

“You did good, Pup. Kept Soap safe and took down Razin and got that guard. You did a very good job,” Ghost rumbled, petting between your ears as he normally did. “Can you come sit down for me?”

You nodded, feeling almost in a trance as you complied with his request. You sat on the solid bench next to your Lieutenant, stopping to anxiously look back at Soap, until Ghost firmly gripped your jaw and tilted your head back to him. You whined.

“Shh, Pup. Shhh. Just give me your attention for a sec, ok?”

You gave him a little growl, but as soon as the look in his eyes hardened, you hushed up immediately. Have to be good for him, you thought to yourself. You closed your eyes for a second, and continued to work on your breathing, calming down with each evening heartbeat. Ghost watched you the entire time, never letting his gaze wander even for a second.

“Good, Pup,” Ghost praised after a moment, making sure to pet your back and over your ears. “That’s my good Pup, listening so well. Now…Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

You froze at his question. Biting your lip when you knew he wasn’t going to let you get away with a lie.

“Soap’s bleeding,” you said simply, finally letting your eyes drop down to the floor. “Want to know he’s ok.”

Ghost tipped your chin back up with his hands. You could see his eyebrows were raised under the mask. You desperately wanted to look away again, but Ghost wouldn’t allow it. Soap snorted from behind your shoulder, he was still standing away from you both. His nervous steps across the metal were like their own heartbeat in your ears.

“I’m fine. The fucker bashed my nose in while he was strugglin’,” Soap explained. “A wee bit blood is nothing to get so upset over.”

You whined. You already knew logically that he was fine. It wasn’t your logical mind that was worked up though. Otherwise you’d be able to actually explain the problem to Ghost. However, as it was, you had no idea what the problem really was. All you knew was that Soap had been bleeding and you were absolutely beside yourself with worry over it.

Ghost seemed to have an idea though. He nodded to himself and petted your head for good measure, giving you a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder before he went to his pack. You watched his movements, cataloguing every step he took, trying to work out what he was doing. Sometimes when you got too worked up you’d get sent for a sleep, injected with a cocktail of drugs to force some calm into you.

Was Ghost going to knock you out?

You watched carefully as he pulled what looked like a bottle of water and a cloth from his bag instead. He untwisted the cap and carefully wetted the cloth, not letting too much liquid flood the material before he turned back to you.

“Stay still for me, darlin’. Keep your mouth closed,” he ordered.

You frowned, not sure what he was about to do until he began wiping at your face, smoothing the cloth over your skin until it turned red with the other men’s blood. He was cleaning you. The realisation had you untensing yourself and for a few moments longer you sat still and let Ghost work his magic until your face felt clean and light. All the grime was gone, your skin felt a little raw, but still it was better than before.

“Soap, you trust me don’t you?” Ghost said, putting the bottle down and looking over your shoulder.

The pacing behind you stopped.

“Not when you bring it up like that,” Soap retorted.

Ghost rolled his eyes.

“Come sit down.”

“Why?” Soap asked suspiciously.

“Just come.”

It took a second, but soon Soap complied, coming to rest beside Ghost. Ghost wasn’t someone to argue with, even to other humans. You saw Soap now, pupils dilating so quickly that you could feel your eyes actively adjusting to shut out light. Oh no, not again, you thought. You were losing yourself to instinct, wanting to surge forward and get closer - wrap yourself around him like a scarf. You looked away, trying to lessen his horror (and yours) as he shifted back a bit to get some distance.

“Soap, you’re not gonna like this…but please trust me,” Ghost said, bringing you close to his armoured chest. “I need to ask you to do something.”

You gratefully wrapped yourself round him, only barely able to get your arms fully round his vest so that you could hug into the man like he was your only source of warmth. It helped. Fully shutting your eyes against Ghost’s black tac gear and trying to distract yourself from the man next to him was the next best thing to whatever your instincts were screaming at you to do.

“Spit it out,” Soap said through gritted teeth.

“I need you to take Pup and let them…well essentially give you a hug,” he said awkwardly, clearly unsure of how to ask.

Soap snorted out a dark laugh and you were sure if you looked up you’d see a disgusted expression.

“I don’t think nows the time for having a fucking laugh, LT.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I thought you were in any danger,” Ghost said, voice taking on an edge as his body stiffened under you. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important either, I don’t want to hurt you. You know that.”

“Ghost, look at their fuckin’ eyes, I don’t see why-”

Soap stopped before he could finish, huffing through his sentence like he’d been asked to diffuse a bomb with five seconds on the clock. Your ears flicked as you picked up a new sound filling the space, something soft and forlorn that rattled through you.

Your own sobs, you eventually realised.

You were losing yourself again, you hadn’t even realised you'd started crying. It became more than evident as the hot tears drifted down your cheeks.

“Pup, it’s ok,” Ghost said gently, stroking your ears. “Shh, you’re ok. Why’re you cryin’?”

You shook your head, head feeling dizzier than if you’d spun in an endless circle. Words were too much. They were too human.

“Ey?” Ghost continued, smoothing his hand over your back. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head again. Your body lurching with a growing dread.

“If I-” Soap began, freeing on his words as he tried to figure out what to say. “If I take Pup…will it help…this?”

Ghost took a pause, trying to coax you from where you were squishing your face under his chin.

“I reckon so,” Ghost said.

Soap sighed, pushing you to cry harder. The only rational part left of you couldn’t be sure of why his reticence was so upsetting to you, but then again you weren’t even sure what had caused any of the upset in the first place. So many men had been hurt while you were with them, and most of the time you couldn't give a shit - the rest of the time you were happy even to watch them bleed or sometimes cry through some of the worst injuries. Now Soap had a bit of a nosebleed and you were practically choking as if you couldn’t take on air anymore.

You couldn’t make sense of it.

You especially couldn’t make sense of it when Soap switched places with Ghost and sat at your back, ending your little crying fit when he took you from your handler and held you to his front. Your sobs quietly retreated into your throat and your tears turned off like a tap had been yanked. Instead of breaking down, you focused on burrowing into his chest. Your body completely calming when you picked out the sound of his heartbeat and got closer to the fresh scent of sage, nuzzling your nose just shy of his collarbones.

“What the hell…?” Soap breathed, body tensing as you finished getting comfortable.

It took a little moment until he was able to slowly relax his muscles. His arms came first, settling around you, and then his thighs slowly dipped down. His pulse was the last to die down, beating insistently against your ears like a timpani drum before it gently became more of a wing beat.

You sighed contentedly and felt yourself getting very tired, closing your eyes just before your vision fully faded back into focus again.

“You have no idea how much you’ve just helped,” Ghost said gratefully, voice sounding distant as you continued to float into what felt like a different plane of existence.

“Are you gonna tell me how I helped?” Soap asked, voice sounding insistent as his heartbeat picked up again. “You tellin’ me that whenever one of us gets hurt that pup’s gonna need a bloody emotional support buddy to get through it?”

Ghost laughed throatily.

“Not likely,” he assured, leaning forward and stroking your back. “Learnt about this way back in training, but I’ve never seen it so strong so quickly - Pup’s pack bonded to us, but its not a secure bond right now. I’m guessing they got upset because they thought you being hurt and keeping your distance was like a rejection. Basically like you saying that they don’t need to be concerned about you getting hurt because you’re not part of the pack.”

“Well how was I supposed to kn-”

“You weren’t,” Ghost soothed, calming Soap down before you could properly stir again.

You hummed against Soap’s chest and frowned at his quickening heartbeat, attempting to slow it with a gentle nuzzle. Though it didn’t do much to calm him, so you soon stopped and found that worked better instead.

It was only when you went still that they resumed talking again.

“So what does pack bonding mean?” Soap asked, sounding unsure as he shifted around you. “Pup doesn’t even know that much about me and now we’re in this- a pack.”

Ghost chuckled at that, the material of his clothing loudly buzzing at your ears as he shook.

“It’s not like a forced marriage Johnny, you don’t have to sound so frightened, it mostly just means their instincts’ll tell em’ to keep us safe. It’s probably down to all the protection work Price has had them doing while we’ve been in the beginning stages. Pup’s had a rough life, no ones ever cared for em’ like we have, even in the short time that’s been. Even when you’ve been handling Pup like a feinting nun, you’ve probably been nicer than most people they’ve met.”

“Fuck you, feintin’ nun,” Soap spat, laughing despite himself. “You told me the other day I was doin’ well!”

“You have been doing well. Better than I thought you would,” Ghost said softly, a smile weaving its way through his voice.

“Well enough to be in a pack apparently,” Soap huffed, absentmindedly running his hand over your back.

You practically purred in pleasure at that, letting out a low happy sound in your throat. Soap startled, but still held onto you, hand freezing in place however. He clearly didn’t understand that the noise you were making was supposed to be something nice.

“Why’re they growling at me?” Soap squawked. “What’d I do?”

“Relax! That’s not growling, not per se,” Ghost laughed, “It’s a good growl. Mean’s they’re happy. Untwist your knickers, you don’t wanna work Pup up again.”

“Fuckin hell…pack bonding…happy growls. What’s next? My poor heart could’ve done with a warning before having to hunt a terrorist and deal with all this,” Soap huffed. “And you say all this is because we’re nice? How bad has a life gotta be for a hybrid to wanna hug me? How’s this even helping?”

“It’s not about the hug itself. Being close like that is just letting them hear your heartbeat and get your scent. Pup knows you’re ok because you feel and smell healthy - that’s all they needed. It doesn’t help that the Branhaven arseholes condition them to surrender to their instincts on the field. It’s good when it comes to hunting people down, doesn’t help so much when they get all panicky because one of their own’s been bleeding.”

“And they don’t train that out?”

“Wouldn’t have had to before. Like I said - we’re the only ones that’ve been nice to em’,” Ghost said, voice quietening when he said the next part. “We’re the only team that’s ever applied for guardianship in the entire time they’ve been working. They got stuck in the military when they were ten and got signed away under a DNN contract. Even though it’s only been a week, we’re all Pup has. It’s only natural for them to feel like this.”

“What’s a DNN contract?” Soap asked.

“Do not notify,” Ghost said, the words making you whine softly as you thought back to when it was first explained to you. “Means Pup’s parents didn’t want contact after they dropped them off. No phone calls or letters from them, no contact, no notice if they ever get killed or captured.”

“That’s fuckin’ bullshit,” Soap growled.

“Mhmm,” Ghost hummed, stroking his hand over your back again. “Such a sweet Pup too. Got us to be good to you now. Our good Pup, huh?”

You whined in agreement and settled into Soap fully, happily letting yourself drift off to thoughts of citrus and sage. Theirs, the raspy inner voice whispered - just before you could fully lose the battle to sleep. Mine. Theirs. Mine!

-🐺-

The next day, after the debrief had reached its conclusion, Soap asked Ghost if he could have five minutes with you. You’d bitten your lip, anticipating that he might want to chew you out for you’d acted with him, and sadly nodded when Ghost said he’d be waiting across the corridor in Price’s office for you.

As soon as the door had clicked closed, you waited for the shouting to begin and wrapped your arms tightly round yourself, as if to keep your heart in your chest. Soap didn’t roar or hit the desk, or make any moves you’d been waiting for, not right away at least you’d figured. No, he gently tugged the seat in front of you out from the table and sat down across from you.

You peered over at him and felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, still not completely past the fact you’d insisted on curling round him like a little lap dog. Things were a bit foggy from that day still. Ghost had had to explain on the way back to his that you’d succumbed to your instincts and Soap has helped you calm down, but sure enough once he had, you remembered what you’d done and felt deathly self-conscious. No matter how much Ghost had tried to insist that it was ok, you’d gone to bed that night without speaking another word.

“Look, um…I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Soap said nervously, arching his body down so that he could speak on your level.

“You’re sorry?” you repeated, not sure you’d heard right.

Did he mean to ask for an apology from you instead? You had no idea what he could possibly need to apologise for. As far as you were concerned his behaviour had been completely justified, you had acted like a crazy person. It wasn’t normal to need to sit and sniff people and hug them after they’d suffered a very common injury in the line of work you were in. Yet he still wanted to apologise to you?

“Yeah,” Soap breathed, pursing his lips before he could explain himself. “I’ve been treating you like a threat when you haven’t deserved it. It’s not acceptable, I’m a grown man and I’ve been acting like a scared kid around you. So I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Uh…” you trailed, not really sure how to respond. “Thanks?”

It wasn’t often that anyone apologised to you, especially not when they hadn’t even done anything that you deemed bad. For that reason, you were left scrabbling for something to say and unfortunately left wanting, letting the sentiment of gratitude hang in the air instead. Things were even more awkward now.

“You don’t need to worry about yesterday as well…Ghost said you were feelin’ awkward and I-”

“It won’t happen again,” you assured, swallowing a thick lump in your throat. “I’ll get better control of myself.”

“Well, you weren’t really yourself, so…It’s fine. You had your reasons.”

It wasn’t fine. However you didn’t really want to disagree with him, so instead you nodded tightly and looked away from Soap instead.

“I know you have your reasons for how you are with me,” you said softly. “Something to do with your scar, right?”

“How’d you…?” Soap trailed off, rubbing his thumb along the cracked keloid on his chin.

He almost seemed to realise the answer to his own question as he did it. You nodded when his eyes widened. It was almost comical really, he seemed like he was caught doing something awful when it wasn’t even a big deal. You were used to people being distrustful of you, had had your own parents accuse you of being ready to turn into a rogue beast at any moment. Being feared wasn’t anything new.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged.

“No, look…You should know - I don’t think you’re gonna do anything like this to me and even then that’s not really why I- It’s not- ugh fuck it,” he sighed, body growing heavy as he sat back in his chair. “My little brother was jumped by a hybrid when we were young. He was playin’ football in the street and ended up kicking the ball too far down the road. I was supposed to be watching him and I was too busy chattin’ to my friends and- well all I heard was him screamin’ bloody murder and when I got there he was knocked out and his arm had nearly been chewed clean off. I managed to get the wolf- i mean him off my brother, but then he turned and scratched me- tried to bite- I… well anyway - I got him away and my brother ended up in hospital for a long time and it was a really fuckin’ dark time for my family.”

You watched his impassioned expressions as he told his story and nodded along, wincing as he tried to use the right words to try and explain to you what had happened. He didn’t need to explain it to you, not really. He looked down right pained as he remembered back to what must have been an awful day for him.

Now you both sat in the heavy silence of the now cavernous room.

“I’m sorry that happened,” you said awkwardly.

“I didn’t tell you that because I wanted you to feel sorry for me,” he said in a reassuring tone. “I just wanted you to know I have some shit to work on, and I that I am trying to work on it. I don’t want you to feel any less a part of the team because of how I act. You’re just as much a part of the 141 as I am, don’t doubt it for a second.”

Your ears pinned flat to your head and your chest swelled with emotion. The drum inside your chest beat quickly out of time and you struggled for a moment, feeling a light tingling at the back of your neck. Part of you tried to convince yourself that it was all a mean trick, but just one look into his soft blue eyes told you that he was genuine. He really didn’t want you to feel bad.

“Thanks, Soap,” you murmured, fighting the lump in your throat just to speak. “That’s really kind of you.”

“Just the truth,” he grunted, trying to inconspicuously clear the emotion from his voice. “You should probably go get Ghost now, yeah? You’ve probably got some runnin’ around to do.”

You broke at that, nodding and letting your eyes clear of the growing wetness. Soap had only in the past few days started referring to your training as ‘running around’, and it was a fair way to sum it up, but no less insulting. Playfully insulting at least, the kind of thing teammates would say.

It made you smile then.

“Yeah…” you laughed, slowly rising from your chair. “Best get to it.”

#simon ghost riley #Simon Riley #Ghost #mw2 #ghost x reader #Hybrid!reader #reign down on me

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dudecreature · 1 year

Text

Clean Shaven

Pairing: [Established] Price x GN! Reader Synopsis: Price shaves his beard after a mission goes haywire. Word Count: 2.7k Warnings: descriptions of razors A/N: I feel like I was MIA (´～`) it is finals season after all. - the reader's callsign is Bullseye (they're a sniper and I am unoriginal lol) and - we are definitely not going to talk about how I had to google whether a movie would be on a DVD or a CD... - Enjoy! Like and reblog if you did <3

“Fuckin’ HELL. Soap!”

“Price! Shite! I’m so sorry!!”

That is all that was heard over the comms. You and Gaz shot a mix of concerned and confused looks at each other on the rooftop they were currently located. Soap and Price were the ones to infiltrate the building to find the information they needed, then blow it all to hell. You were there to provide sniper assistance and Gaz was there to fly the helicopter (he got his license and no way in hell was he going to let anyone else do that. not with his track record).

“Price, Soap. How copy?” Gaz said through the comms. There was silence for a short while, but you could still see movement through the windows of the compound. They seemed like they were still alive and hopefully uninjured. you kept your eyes through the scope tracking both men through the building, waiting with bated breath to hear back from them.

“Guys, how copy?” You had asked over the comms after Gaz had already asked twice. It was frustrating silence, but you understood not having a safe opening to answer comms. Suddenly the comms crackle back to life from their end.

“Copy fine Bullseye, nice an’ crispy.” Price sounded angry and he hesitated at the last bit. Soap was going to get it this time. According to the mission, the team needed to get as much information as possible, and then blow the place to smithereens. Price knew what they were looking for, and Soap liked to make things go boom. The pairing made sense at the time.

You looked at Gaz in bewilderment 'What the hell is he talking about?' printed across their faces. Gaz could only shrug, he knew as much as you did. Soap and Price ended up splitting through the rooms. Price headed to the office where all of the files were stored and Soap to find the weak points of the buildings.

"Soap I've got as much as I can find. You ready to detonate those planted bombs, mate?" Price's gruff voice sounded in your ear. You smile to yourself, proud of the man as always. In and out with no injuries, as it should be. Soap chatters off an excited reply and the two exit the building.

You watch through the scope of your rifle as the two stealthily exit the building. You notice that something seems… off about Price. You can sense the scowl from where they are from a hundred meters away. He looked a little different, though you couldn’t quite place it.

You could finally place it once the two had gotten closer. Soap trailed behind a grouchy Price. Oh... Oh no... Oh no no no. You now understood why Price was so grouchy.

Half of his beard was burnt off. The left half of his face looked naked, the hair on his face was half burnt. The charred hair traveled from his nose all the way up his cheek and near his ear. Barely missing his precious hat.

“What the hell happened to you?” You were unabashedly shocked at what you had seen. You trodded up to the pair with Gaz at their side, Bullseye and Gaz stared at their captain in awe. The former had packed their things quickly to get out of there quickly. You had gotten in close to assess the damage to his beard, their hands ghosting over his cheek and above his lip.

“I’m fine darling, don't fuss ‘bout it.” He paused and shot a thumb back at a very remorseful Soap and said “This one was playin' with a lighter he found and lit my beard on fire.” His hands found yours and held them while you traced his cheekbone. He looked down at them with tender eyes, appreciating the fact you were worried about him, but hated the look on your face. He leaned down to their left ear, the intact half of his beard scratching their face slightly, and whispered to them,

“Jus’ a bit of cosmetic damage.” He kissed your cheek and neck quickly before moving to get in the helicopter. You sighed at the loss of contact, threw your stuff on the bed of the helicopter, and climbed in. Gaz at the wheel the group got into the air and flew over the enemy compound. With confirming word from Price, Soap excitedly detonated the bombs he had placed and the place erupted into flames and fell to rubble in a matter of seconds. You could almost feel the heat of the flames that engulfed where the building once stood.

You looked to Price to admire him, only to catch his eye. You smiled softly at the captain and looked down at what was left of his beard. He saw this and touched the charred hair, cringing at how different it felt. It had been a while since he could feel the wind on his upper lip, it made him shift his mouth awkwardly. He needed a reflection to judge just how bad it was, and to decide how he would deal with it.

Price knew that his lover liked his beard, you had often commented on how it tickled when they kissed (among other things *wink wink*), and would help him groom it on occasion. His beard was a staple of his look, aside from his hat, and having to part with it gave him a sense of anxiety he hadn’t ever felt before. He worried how his Bullseye would feel if he had to shave it all off, maybe he could keep a little of it just to hopefully keep them with him. He was snapped out of his thoughts when Bullseye bumped his shoulder.

“Hey, it’ll be alright love, it grows back.” You said with endearment. He huffed a response and scratched awkwardly at his face still. When the group arrived back to base Price was able to hide the accident behind his hand in the debrief, the darkness of the room aiding him. Once the four were dismissed he was the first to leave the room, bustling down the halls praying no one saw him.

You followed at a slower pace, allowing for the man much-needed space from everyone. When you arrived at the door of their shared room you knocked gently calling out for him. When you had heard a response you then asked if you could join him. The door suddenly opened and he looked down at them with a look in his eyes that you were not able to place.

“It’s your room too you know, of course you can come in,” he grumbled and made space for them to make their way into the room.

“I know, I just wanted to give you the option of having a moment to yourself, love.” Bullseye responded in a soft and caring tone. You knew how much he liked his facial hair, and he also knew how much you liked his facial hair. However, you wanted to check in on him first. you sat on the shared bed and patted the spot next to them, offering a seat to the Captain.

He sat down next to them with a soft sigh and leaned his head on their shoulder. you were trying to comfort him and he knew this. Accepting the gentle affection and support, he closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. He wasn't the type to talk about his insecurities or when he was feeling anything but confident, but there was something inherently trustworthy about Bullseye. It had drawn him in the first time they had met so many years ago.

“Will you help me fix this?” he asked in a soft tone. you nodded and stroked his back. As he stood, you stood with him and followed him into his personal bathroom. you knew where everything was, so you pulled out the scissors, shears, and the razor and shaving cream. Taking a washcloth, you had run it under warm water and heated it to a very comforting temperature. Price was pushed to sit on a chair that was brought into the bathroom, right in front of the large mirror. Bullseye stood in front of him as you wrung out the washcloth of excess water. When you turned, Price was looking up at them, with so much love in his eyes one would think that he hadn’t been a hardened soldier for nearly two decades.

you smile softly at the man, gently take his hat off, and place the warm cloth on the bottom half of his face. After a few silent minutes, you took the washcloth off and wiped as much of the grime left on his face as you could. You took your time and were able to admire the man's face. The way his eyebrows furrowed when they got close to his eyes. The straight bridge of his nose and the crow's feet developing near the corners of his eyes. You suddenly broke the silence as gently as you could.

“Are we trying to salvage the chops or are we going for a clean shave?” you ran their hands through the right half of his face, scratching at the salvaged portion of the beard. He grumbled and his top lip twitched in thought. you waited patiently for the man to make up his mind and you ran your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.

“Do you think it can be saved?” he asked slightly hopeful, but honestly he knew there was no chance of saving it. He ran a gentle hand down the burnt hairs on his face and sighed; he looked up at them catching their eyes. you shook their head solemnly, just as he figured. “Clean-shaven it is then, love.”

you nodded in response and grabbed the army-issued shaving cream and his straight razor. you gather some of the shaving cream into the palm of their hand before gently lathering it over his cheeks, and chin.

“Ready?” you ask, looking at him waiting for an answer. He took a deep breath and nodded, his eyes still looking at you. They never left. Bullseye takes the handle of the razor and carefully glides it down his right cheek. The sharp blade takes all of the hair with it leaving the soft skin of his cheek exposed to the air.

Bullseye wipes the stolen hair onto a towel next to the sink. Readying for another stroke you look down at Price, his eyes closed in a relaxed state. You smile to yourself and continue their actions, curving with the shapes of his face, and being careful not to knick him.

After you had fully finished shaving his face (you even cleaned up his eyebrows a little), you put the washcloth back onto his face. It had been rewarmed by the water. Ensuring to get all the leftover hair off, you then put his aftershave on his cheeks.

Price had then opened his eyes when he felt the slight sting of the aftershave, but he didn't flinch. He hesitated before looking from their eyes to the mirror. When he did he was slightly shocked, he had forgotten how much older the beard had made him look. His beard definitely added about 5 years to his looks. After examining his face for a few moments, he looked back to the other person in the room.

“Well… how do I look, darling?” He looked up at you expectantly (and with so much rizz). You chucked at the goofy face he made and shook your head with a smile.

“You look as pretty as always.” You shoot back at him. You turn around and begin cleaning up the impromptu barber shop. He stood up from his seat and admired your work, his hand rubbing where his chops once were. Once you had finished cleaning up your station you had turned back around to face him. You wrapped your arms around his torso and smiled at him lovingly.

“Do ya wanna go watch a movie?” you ask him. The common room would be a good place for you to both unwind (in the most wholesome of ways). All you wanted to do was curl up with him and watch one of the movies on base. He hummed a confirming nod and squeezed you back. He led the way to the common room after you separated.

Price was thankful for the lack of people in the halls, he didn't want to have to deal with the odd looks and stares he would likely have gotten if there were anyone there. The two of you made your way through the halls, your pinkies intertwined, gently guiding each other.

As the two of you make it to the common room, you cross over the threshold of the doorway and are greeted by three other figures. Gaz, Soap, and Ghost have already claimed the common room as their choice of relaxation. The three men notice your presence at roughly the same time, and an awkwardly tense silence fills the space. The three of them, with their heads all locked onto the two of you still frozen in the doorway, shock visible in each of their faces.

Soap’s face configures from shock to that of what looked like genuine horror. Ghost’s eyes were wide and unmoving from Price’s face and Gaz’s mouth hung open, unable to comprehend the new look their Captain was given. You managed to stifle your laughter but a smile still tugged its way to your cheeks, you had never seen them so emotive before. Price sighed and tried to hide his face saying

“Take a bloody picture, it’ll last longer you muppets,” he grumbled aggravated at the attention.

“Did I do that?!” Soap yelled at a volume able to burst ear drums. He leapt from his seat on the couch and stood in front of Price with his head bowed downward.

“I am so sorry, Price!” he all but wept in the older man's arms at the apology. The silence from the other two men in the room was noticed when you and Price found yourselves looking at them, waiting for their input on the situation.

Ghost stayed still as ever, unmoving and steady.

“Put it back,” he muttered, barely audible. You make a noise of confusion, that Ghost reads as if you were not able to hear him.

“Put. It. Back.” he says with a more stern tone. You burst out a laugh unable to contain it. They all look at you in confusion and when you notice you stumble something about how stupid the three of them look right now. Gaz still mouth wide open finally shuts it and states very proudly

“Well, I think it looks great. You have a very handsome face.” His arms are crossed over his chest and he is nodding in confidence. Price deadpans at his statement and sighs for what feels like the millionth time that day. His beard was going to grow back totally gray at the rate of these idiots.

You put your hand on the top of Price’s back and tell the team that the two of you were going to wind down with a movie of Price’s choice. After the initial shock had worn off the two still on the couch, they agreed. Soap however still looked upset at himself, and every time he looked at Price he frowned a little more.

Price pulled the man aside and barely within earshot tells Soap he wasn’t that mad about it, but he would be on bathroom and dish duty for the next four months. You chuckle to yourself at his punishment and ready the movie on an old DVD player that Gaz had brought to the base. Classic Price chose a Clint Eastwood movie to watch.

The two of you curled onto the loveseat together while the other three sat on the couch. Price held your hand the entire movie and when you leaned to whisper into his ear he leaned down to hear you.

“How long will it take to grow back… Ghost wants to know." That last bit was definitely a lie. Price knew this, chuckled, and pushed your face away from him. You let out an undignified noise and kissed his hand looking at him. You smiled and mouthed the words that he would parrot back to you for the rest of your lives.

“I love you.”

#dudewrites #dudecreature #john price x reader #john price x male reader #john price x female reader #john price x gn reader #call of duty #cod x reader #fluff #john price fluff

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heademptie · 29 days

Text

More Comms!Reader Ghoap thoughts

You are so right.

Okay a bit of retcon.

Soap gets hit on, yada yada, reader is confused, yada yada, eventually they make the open relationship comment.

Ghost, initally caught off guard, doesnt say anything and just glares at reader. And he continues to glare in silence, so reader in their confusion and nervousness starts to ramble an explaination and Ghost just cuts them off.

"Shut up, not another fucking word."

Its not a yell, the order is clear and reader does as they're told, it sounds almost like a threat. Then there's just a tense silence at the table and reader purposefully avoids looking at Ghost. Maybe they even shuffle away from him a bit. Then Soap leaves and reader can't help but look over to Ghost once hes out the door. Except Ghost looks utterly furious, they think his jaw looks tight under the balaclava. Ever the people pleaser, reader tries to apologise to him.

"Listen, Lieutenant, I didn't mean to-"

But violating an order from Ghost isn't the smartest thing to do. Next thing they know, reader is outside, practically being dragged by the scruff of their neck by Ghost back to base. Reader knows, hopes anyways, that Ghost wouldn't actually kill them, but right now they don't like their chances.

They don't make it back to base. He must be too angry, because he pulls reader infront of him and speaks lowly. The way reader has heard in the recordings, the way Ghost speaks during an interrogation, the way he speaks when his team is threatened. And they realise just how scared those who incur his wrath get.

"I told you to keep your mouth shut." "I really didn't-" "You think you're clever?" "I just thought-" "Thought what?"

Reader shuts up then, realises that silence is best here. Ghost continues into them, lashing and snarling and picking out things to say that will hurt. Hes angry, obviously, but as he carries on, reader realsies that its because they hit a nerve. Oh. Oh.

Ghost and Soap weren't together. But Ghost wanted to be.

So they take his wrath, his cutting words and vague threats all with a blank expression. Then Ghost calms down, or atleast he lets go of reader and takes a breather. As reader stands there and rubs the back of their neck, easing the redding skin from his tight grip, they just stare at him.

"What are you staring at?"

Reader has the mind to look around the area, glancing around Ghost to ensure they were alone. Once they're satisfied with the sweep, much to Ghosts exasperation, they lean in slightly and lower their voice.

"You really care about him."

Ghost is ready to kill reader right then, he opens his mouth, but reader beats him to it.

"And just so you know, he cares about you."

Reader walks away then, moving a bit quicker then normal while Ghost stands stock still. Still glaring at them, muscles still coiled to attack, but he lets them go.

Ghost decides that there is more to reader then he originally thought. And that he'll figure it out, to keep his team safe of course. Keep Johnny safe, not that he'd say that. And no other reason, none what so ever.

#ghoap x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #cod #fanfic #not sure if i love it yet #the concept yes #the execution not so much #we'll work on it #it'll be fine #coms!reader

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 5 months

Note

Hello! 👋 I love your work, especially your Pietro Maximoff stuff. He deserves more recognition and writers like you do an amazing job providing it. If you’re doing requests, what would you think of Pietro x Stark!daughter in AOU; enemies to lovers HCs or one shot? They meet when HYDRA is infiltrated & struggle w/ their growing attraction to each other. Maybe she takes a bullet for Pietro in Sokovia and he stays by her side as she recovers. It’s up to you. Take care!

hii!! thank you sm :(( I did hcs, hope that’s okay, im having writers block, and anything other than hcs breaks my brain. thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

ACROSS ENEMY LINE (headcanons)

pietro maximoff x stark!daughter reader. 667

— I think tony and the rest of the team would be apprehensive about you going out into the field - wanting you to wait in the quinjet while they did their thing (the opening of AOU)

— but while you're in the jet, you can see the people on the radar thing (im talking out my ass, but basically seeing wanda and pietro) so you're able to see them before the team - so you try using comms to give them a heads up, but the signal is lost

— so you'd do as you were instructed NOT TO DO - leave the jet. you make your way towards clint first, and then that's when you see pietro (he knocked you over as well as clint) so he's talking down to you too - he makes a quick snarky comment. maybe he says, "you didn't see that coming," to you instead (ik sorry canon)

— im gonna say it and I hate it bc it makes me cringe, but maybe time stands still (guess that works for pietro bc he moves so fast he can slow down a singular moment???) anyway, you'd both be looking at each other (obviously communicating with eyes) until he speeds away, maybe nat tries to blast him, so she can help clint

— then all the usual movie plot happens. you regroup, offering to help - but tony kinda shuns you for not doing as asked

— then more movie stuff happens until you meet pietro again when they try to stop vision being born ?? (haven't watched it in a little while, but I think that's when they're all together next) maybe you exchange a few questioning glances, bc you're both once again on opposite sides

— while everyone is trying to stop each other - he and you do the same. he's focused on stopping you, like you him, but bc of his speed, he practically runs circles around you. then he repeats the comment to you again. or maybe he's keeping you occupied so you don't get hurt by being caught up in the middle

— vision is born and that's when you all truce - trying to find a way to stop ultron

— on the quinjet, you and pietro are seated next to each other, and it's kinda icy (maybe you're butt hurt about him beating you twice) he tries to call it even saying, "you know, we're on the same side now. you have to like me,"

— maybe you make a "mhm," sound - unamused. but he tries again, saying his name and extending a hand, "sorry for earlier... when I beat you... twice," but he's joking and laughing, not actually serious about a truce (your loss kinda thing)

— you don't talk for the rest of journey to sokovia

— rest of the movie stuff happens (but instead of ulton with the flying gun thing, one of the bots is after pietro who is protecting clint and that kid)

— you get shot in the shoulder when you basically become a shield (instead of pietro - sorry I had to say it)

— pietro helps you to the helicarrier - wanting you to get medical attention. he's all panicked, in shock of what just happened. he'd curse you out saying that was stupid and you shouldn't have done that but he's glad you're not dead

— he won't leave your side when you get stitched up, offering to hold your hand if it hurts. he'd have sympathy pains and would be encouraging (bc you literally just saved his life) !! after you're sorted he'd ask why you did it, maybe you say "you didn't see it coming," haha get it? bc it's switched over? he laughs, and it silently creates a truce between you. then you say the actual reason, something about not leaving someone behind, or it's what your dad would do

— maybe you're about to have a little moment, but you both brush it off - wanting to save it for when the adrenaline wears off

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

#request #🐬#pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro x reader #pietro maximoff headcanon #pietro maximoff x you #pietro maximoff fluff #pietro marvel #stark!daughter

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hurtspideyparker · 1 month

Note

Hi, sorry but could you recommend any of your favourite Peter Parker fics please?

For sure !!! *cracks open ao3 bookmarks*

Thirty Hours by polaroid15 - Peter doesn't take any breaks during a lengthy fight with the Avengers. The mind-melting fever that follows really should have been expected.

Hurt Peter Parker, my favourite tag <3 I love when Spider-Man is a badass and also lacks self-preservation. He's so cool fighting alongside the Avengers and we get some sweet hurt/comfort irondad!

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces) by aloneintherain - Peter's trapped beneath a collapsed building during a mission, hurt and unable to move. Luckily, his comm still works. Unluckily, the Avengers don’t realise how bad of a state Peter is in, and Peter isn’t inclined to tell them.

This fic is an icon in the fandom and for GOOD REASON. I just can not get enough of Peter Parker hiding his injuries. More heavy whump and angst!

All good things come in threes by Bergen - Peter has three secret identities: Spider-Man, the superhero who swings around the city to save people. Parker Benjamin, who gives Tony Stark unsolicited advice on his research. And NightMonkey, the Instagrammer who keeps uploading increasingly popular but embarrassing drawings of Iron Man.

And he can juggle them all just fine, thankyouverymuch.

Okay here is the fluff!!! Peter is a genius, a menace, and a sweetheart. Tony Stark runs into him (again and again) and can't help but have a soft spot for him every time. Funny and cute and an all 'round good time!

Held Together by Spiderwebs by TunaFishChris - Steve is not coping well in the twenty-first century. At all. Three months after the Chitauri invasion, he decides he's had enough.

But just as he's about to end it all, he runs into the new hero in town.

This one focuses a lot on Steve but I really like him and Peter's relationship in it, and I think this is great Peter Parker characterization. TW for discussions of depression and suicide, it gets a bit dark!

5 Times Spider-Man Saved an Avenger's Ass (and 1 Time They Saved Him) by TunaFishChris - this fic showcases how strong and capable Peter is, he's definitely a BAMF. I really like this genre where the Avengers know Spider-Man but not Peter Parker, makes Peter feel more independent and mature like in the comics.

Five Time Faculty Members Had to Call Peter's Emergency Contact + One Time He Shows Up Anyway, Five Times Tony Stark's Fabled Intern Just Showed Up + One Time He Was Invited, and Five Times Strangers Talked About Peter and Tony + One time Someone They Know Did by kingdomfaraway - I am just gonna recommend this entire series. Super fluffy, extreme irondad and spiderson. They're just adorable from an outside perspective and I love when Peter gets to just be Tony's intern and a teenager for a while :)

research and disaster by blueh - “So, uh, Mr. Stark definitely knows Roomba-Kid,” Becket says and discreetly tilts his head in the direction of the pair.

“Oh my god,” Jess says. She almost sounds gleeful. “Oh my god, he’s not just some random kid. He’s Mr. Stark’s kid.”

or: the interns at Stark Industries have some questions about Peter Parker. The answers aren’t quite what they expect.

I just love intern Peter mk? Let him be a kid genius and have fun!!! Fluffy and humorous, again with the irondad.

Captain, Oh My- Not My Captain! by uncouth_peasant - Peter swallowed hard before firing a web to swing into the fray. “Cap’s going after civilians. I’m out of time.”

Bruised and bloody men <3. Just Peter being a badass and getting beat to a pulp. Cool fighting, lots of Peter whump, and of course the Avengers being protective.

Good publicity by Bergen - Between Peter Parker barely speaking, and Spider-Man being the ultimate chatterbox, how was Tony ever supposed to figure out that they were one and the same person?

Tony Stark is secretly a softie for cute kids, especially when they're a genius and have a sense of humour to rival his own. Peter is a foster kid who ends up finding a home with Pepper and Tony, very sweet.

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle - When Ben is murdered Peter goes into foster care. It takes just a tiny taste of superpowers for Peter to decide he doesn’t want to put up with his horrible foster father anymore—the streets are infinitely more appealing. All he wants is to be Spider-Man anyway.

So he leaves, simple.

Simple, that is, until Iron Man needs Spider-Man’s help.

Heavy TW for this one, mind the tags. This is a popular fic and for good reason. A very mature and realistic portrayal of the foster care system and homelessness. The Peter angst is really great and I could barely put it down, that boy needs a hug so bad.

Now here's some hydra!Peter fics cuz they're my jam:

Peter is a precious chickpea by Bergen - They attack the HYDRA safe house shortly before sunrise.

The only people defending said safe house are Peter and Leo, and Leo slams his cell door open and starts spitting out orders, but then promptly gets clobbered over the head and keels sideways.

So that just leaves Peter. And he’s not even going to try to fight a whole team of Avengers. He looks up at Iron Man filling the doorway. “I surrender.”

He’s never been captured before and he’s not sure what to do. Escape, probably.

This entire series is PERFECT. I just love how adorable Peter is, and all the relationships Peter forms with the Avengers absolutely melt my heart. Peter's characterization in this is really unique and I wish there was more. The Bucky and Peter friendship is everythingggg. I love hydra!peter and bucky fics.

Indoctrination by phoenixon - The Avengers thought they were on a typical assignment: Infiltrate the Hydra base and find the weapon. What they didn't expect was the small boy raised by Hydra that they found instead. And they definitely didn't expect him to stay at Avengers Tower or how he somehow wormed his way into their lives. As for Peter, he just wants to be good and obey what the Hydra men told him so he doesn't get in trouble.

I just really love hydra Peter changing into a sweet and intelligent boy once he's rescued and safe, and how all the Avengers take up such heart-warming parental roles around him.

out there, living in the sun by Hailfire_73 - The Avengers rescue Peter from a Hydra base ran by his father, Richard Parker, except Peter doesn't really see it as a rescue, and has trouble settling into a new life away from Hydra and his father at the Avengers compound. OR - Peter learns how to be an actual teenager, live life, and put his abusive past behind him, and Tony learns how to be a father.

Hydra Peter but he's most definitely a traumatized and moody teenager. I really enjoyed Peter's character arc and the exploration of his trauma. It felt more realistic the way his journey isn't just a straight or clear path. He's more mature in this one and it was a really compelling read, balancing the angst with some humour and fluff. Loved the ending.

Tinker, Tailor, Spider by Bergen - Tony is roped into a mission to transport a teenager to safety. But when things go south, it soon becomes more and more puzzling who the teenager is and what ‘safety’ means for him.

I really enjoy that the author doesn't water Peter being hydra down. Yes he is a highly skilled assassin and a badass who's trauma pervades his every thought and decision. Made me fall in love with the Tony, Pepper, Morgan and Peter as a family dynamic. Super domestic while still highlighting Peter's troubled past.

#peter parker #spider man #ask #anon #fic rec #spiderman #marvel mcu #spider-man #peter parker angst #irondad and spiderson #tony stark #avengers #iron man #peter parker whump

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Text

The Witching Hour

(König x F! Reader 'Maus')

Part 4 of 'Little Mouse'

Word Count: 2.7k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Alone mission, Mixed format, Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Protective König, Dark König, Dark Knight in shining armor, Discussions of kidnapping, Standoffs, Horror themes Warnings: Implied threats of abduction A/N: This is an extended version of 'Comms Crash'

>19:46 Incoming Transmission >Bravo-09 "Rookie" Sat-phone link up complete >Error: Unable to complete outward transmission >Running diagnostics >Incoming transmission downloaded- traffic logged >Log:

*Sounds of heavy breathing*

"This is Bravo 9, come in Bravo 7."

...

"Bravo 7, how copy?"

*Static*

"Shit. Ghost, are you there?"

...

"There must be something wrong with the comms. My traffic is going through but I can't hear you."

"Listen. I can't make it to the LZ. Got pinned down and separated from the group. Took out the sniper but there's hostiles between me and the rendezvous."

...

*Sigh*

"I'm going to have to take the long way around. I can't take that many at once, and I'm all alone out here."

*Sounds of muttered cursing*

"Just...if things get bad, don't wait for me. That information is more important than I am. You need to get it to Laswell."

"…I'd say promise me, but since I can't hear you I'll just have to pretend you said yes."

...

"...Looks like I got myself in another fine mess, huh LT?"

*Crackling sound of a heavy sigh*

"Ok, better get a move on. I'm keeping the line open in case comms come back."

"...I really hope they come back."

...

*Footsteps, leaves rustling, interrupted by brief pauses*

"...Anyone told you Georgia is actually quite pretty this time of year?"

*Static*

"Guess not."

...

"Could really use one of Soap's terrible jokes right about now. He ever told you the one about the seasoned veteran?"

*Static*

"Good. Don't ask. It was awful."

"...Shit. Hang on."

*Rustling, silence*

*Sound of nearby voices, presumably Russian*

"Don't send traffic. Wait for me to give the all clear that they've passed."

*Voices growing louder, leaves rustling*

"Christ, they're coming this way."

...

*Voices grow louder, footsteps and leaves rustling*

*Muffled sound of heavy breathing*

...

*Voices, fairly close by. Translation error*

...

*Voices grow distant, footsteps fade*

...

*Shaky exhale*

"That was way too fucking close."

*Heavy breathing slows*

*Rustling*

"Okay, I'm moving. Are the comms good?"

*Static*

"Just my luck. I don’t know about you Ghost, but my day is going just great right now.*

...

"I think they're gone. Somewhere off to my left. Thought I saw figures in the trees."

*Another shaky exhale*

"Could really use a drink right now to steady the nerves. Maybe you'll treat me back at base, yeah LT?"

*Static*

"You're no fun."

...

"I'm circling around the bluff now. If you haven't taken off yet, I should be at the LZ in 8 minutes."

"I really, really hope you guys are still there."

*Footsteps, leaves rustling*

*Gunshot*

"Fuck-!"

*Skidding, leaves rustling, gunfire.*

"There's a hostile on the bluff-"

*Gunshot*

"I'm made! Shit-!"

*Sounds of exchanging gunfire*

*Click of empty canister*

"God dammit I'm out of ammo! Shit-"

*Gunshots continue, static*

"You better get the hell out of here, Ghost. Don't wait for me. Get that data to Laswe-"

*Gunfire stops*

...

"...I..."

"Target down, but..."

...

"LT. I...didn't get him. Someone else did."

"...Was that one of you? Please say it was one of you."

*Static*

...

"Ghost."

"Ghost...I don't think I'm alone out here."

...

*Sounds of heavy breathing picking up*

"G-Ghost. Simon-"

"...It's him. It's König."

*Unsteady breathing*

...

"G-get the information to Laswell. I-I'm relaying my coordinates."

*Sound of approaching footsteps*

*Shaky exhale*

"...I-I'm-"

...

*Static*

...

*Loud footsteps, heavy breathing*

"Hello, little Maus."

>End of log >Downloading data >Coordinates: ****-***** >Attached: 1 file >Error: Unable to connect. Bravo-09 "Rookie" Not found

---

Massive.

That's the first thought that enters your thoughts as you stare up in the darkness, eyes searching for König in the midnight forest. When he moved from the outcrop- the same place where your attacker's body now lays, blood seeping into the mountain soil, it felt for all the world like he was part of the forest itself. Dislodging himself from the shadows, König has simply appeared, rising up from the rocky ledge and then rising, unfurling like a gigantic, mammoth creature as he stood. The darkness of him rises, then rises still, towering to a superhuman height that has you freeze, feel the blood drain from your face.

Now, as moonlight filters through the spruce canopy above, you can see the edges of him glint in the darkness. The clear night catches against the metal of his bracers, his kneepads, the clasps of his helmet that dangle by his face, ever obscured by the hood streaked with bleach tears. You can hardly see his eyes like this, hidden as they are. Instead, you're greeted with the drape of his hood, melding the rest of him into a phantom, unknown silhouette. Here, in this witching hour, König appears as a strange, aberrant cryptid of the night. Mythic, eidolon.

"Hello, little Maus." He speaks, and the silence of these woods makes his voice sound so much louder, tumbling free of his chest like a forbidden eulogy.

You can't breathe.

Instead, your eyes fixate on him, on his form, stopped at a distance on the hill above you. The slope rises under his feet, one foot planted firmly on a boulder. It looks like a fallen animal under him, one he's freshly slain as he now poses above the carcass. It only serves to exaggerate his height, his width, the pure strength coiled in his muscles. Yet his hands lay conspicuously loose at his side, empty of weapons.

The memory of the forest you'd been in when he'd taken you whispers at the back of your mind, summoning sensations from the recesses of your thoughts. Hands, grabbing, lifting, slinging you over one massive shoulder, an arm securing you to his frame. Unbreakable, bound like a steel band across your torso.

Yet then, later, gentle, searching, ghosting across your skin and seeking the source of pain that he hoped to rectify, to heal.

Deadly, as he'd let his knife slice through the enemy who had tried to catch you by surprise, drawing streaks of red splattering against brick as he withdrew his blade, only for it to descend once, thrice more past flesh and sinew.

Yet on your own body, careful, firm, the gloved pad of his thumb stroking the inside of your wrist in a motion that made you shudder.

The contrast of it is too confusing, too stark and unsettling for you to fully consider it. Yet when you finally do shake that paradox away you realize you've given him precious time to advance on you, to take you by surprise and then take you, abducting as he did all those weeks ago.

Yet König hasn't moved at all, maintaining a safe distance away from you. He watches you silently, as if awaiting a response.

He's wide open.

You lift your weapon instantly, only to remember your desperate lack of ammo that would down a beast such as this.

König merely chuckles, and it sounds like a tremor, the low, almost indiscernible tremble of it echoing in your own chest. Yet even at the implied threat he doesn't advance on you, doesn't take ground given the chance. He stays exactly where he is, in the patch of moonlights that sifts downwards from the sky and through the curtain of branches above. Yet he doesn't speak either, simply tilting his head at you as he did within the confines of your cell, like a predator watching prey but never pouncing.

You eye him warily, trying to quell the bewilderment of it all, of his perplexing contradiction. It doesn't make sense. He's abducted you once, failed once more. Yet in both times he could have hurt you, tortured you, and yet instead showed restraint, even empathy. Now, when presented with the opportunity to steal you once more König remains conspicuously still, as if realizing his proximity will only frighten you.

There's no doubt in your mind, however, that if you turned, ran, that he would give chase, catch you within moments.

"What do you want?" You ask at last, and to your relief your voice doesn't waver, echoing clearly up the slope to where he stands.

"I told you once before." He replies after a pause, and you think he blinks at you from under the hood, like a cat, slow and reassuring. "I wanted to talk in private."

If König sees your expression flicker he doesn't say anything, not to the way doubt and stupefaction passes across your face.

"I...don't have anything to say to you." You manage at last, measuring your words carefully, expecting a trap.

You think you see the way his shoulders sink in the darkness, and the gesture seems for all the world to signal disappointment.

There's a pause then, and you feel your hackles rise, expecting König's presence to change, for him to take the opportunity to launch forwards and claim you. yet instead his voice is quieter, almost hesitant as he asks:

"Your leg, is it healed?"

You blink, lips parting in surprise. Strangely, you actually glance down at your leg, to the injury you had received moments prior to your last meeting as a bullet nicked your thighs and sent blood pooling into your boot. It had taken days to scrub the stain out.

"It's...healed." You answer at last, eyes flickering back to König doubtfully. "I got patched up after we...parted ways."

The word 'escape' lingers heavily across your tongue, but you feel that, should you speak it, König would only reek of further dejection, a bitterness that may sharpen into anger, action.

"I'm glad." He tells you simply, and this is confusing, strange in a way you aren't experienced with. You're used to the terrain ever changing under your feet, the world slowly rotating under you as you travel, transplanted wherever you're needed. Yet this, this is new, the balance, the off-kilter counterbalance of this conversation, of him.

Well. Two can play at that game.

"You tried to take me then, when I was injured." You speak up, trying to narrow your eyes into the darkness of his hood. "Why? To interrogate me again?"

König shakes his head after a moment.

"No." He replies simply, and there's something off about the way he's so readily open, unlike your first meeting. "I have all the information I need about you and your comrades."

You swallow. Your throat feels parched, a low scrape at the back of your mouth.

"…Then why?"

König pauses then, watching you. Yet there's something that's shifted now, as if you've struck near the heart of this, whatever this is. The behemoth before you is quiet now, not answering, watching like a wolf in the woods down at your smaller frame. It feels as if he has the answer, knows it himself and yet still refuses to speak it aloud, as if doing so would be summoning misfortune.

You could leave it, you could take the opportunity and leave, abandon this strange farce and rendezvous with your team, get the hell off this mountain and back to base.

You don't.

"And why not now?" You ask at once, voice sharper, accusatory.

"Do you want me to take you, Maus?"

You freeze.

There's an unsettled silence between you, one that wasn't there before this. The atmosphere has shifted, as you tense and stare at him, feel your muscles coil under the fabric of your clothes, the air still and stale between you both. König hasn't moved, and yet he feels different, as if prepared to act on your response. You have the feeling, the sudden, gut implication that if you agreed, if you whispered a small, horrible assent that König would descend, take you in his arms and march back into the woods, to some forbidden, unknown destination where you'd never be seen again.

"No." You say instead, but even then there's a waver there, one borne out of uncertainty that he'd acquiesce to even that, now that the air has shifted between you.

"No." He agrees, surprisingly, and the admission is enough to make the ground tilt under your feet once more, leave you reeling in the darkness. "They think you killed that man, the one who tried to stab you. They'll think you killed this one too. If I take you now they will kill you, Maus."

You blink, and for a moment you nearly grasp for something to steady yourself, trying to find a balance against this, whatever this is, the way König's words are so plain and yet convey so much unspoken.

He killed them. The ones who tried to attack you, to kill you. Yet he didn't take responsibility for their deaths, knowing that his slain allies blood would mean a noose around his neck, a bullet through his chest, if even that would kill him.

For what?

"You- you saved me." You murmur at last, and it's a question even if it isn't posed as so. The query remains clear, echoing like a clarendon owl call into the glen here you both stand.

König's answer is simple. A single word.

"Yes."

Your inquiry is just the same.

"...Why?"

König goes quiet again, but this time there is no sudden shift in atmosphere, no menace and unspoken threat emanating from his form, cloaked in shadow and moonlight. Instead, König merely shifts on his feet, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He averts his gaze for a moment, and the gesture seems strangely shy.

"I...wanted to talk to you again." He confesses at last when his eyes find yours, and you can see them now, see the pale whites of them under his hood where the paint has faded away, just like the outer shell of this man who would be your enemy.

The forest is silent around you both.

There's no words to describe the feeling that unfurls inside you. Hesitant, confused, shocked and yet...

Curious.

Soft. Dormant, rousing after a long sleep, when it had lain to rest on that day, where he had knelt before you, one of your hands clasped under his as he'd spoken that name to you.

Maus.

There's a though then, a toxically traitorous indulgence birthed only by the fact that this man poses no threat to you, simply stands in these woods as once who would be your enemy but chooses instead to not harm you, to simply watch and observe as one would a startled, frightened doe.

Perhaps he could be your friend, in another life, this man.

There's something sinfully endearing about this, about his shyness, his sudden vulnerability, his subdued confession, uttered with the same air you breathe in now. A sense of something that feels almost like regret. Bitter. Forbidden.

The moonlight shifts against the wafting breeze, and for a moment König's figure is plunged back into shadow.

The spell is broken.

"I have to go." You speak, and hate the way it sounds like an excuse instead of the declaration it should be. "They're waiting for me."

You tense, expecting for a moment that König will rescind his words, spring for you after all, launching down the slope with outstretched arms. Yet he doesn't. Instead, he only nods, conceding, agreeing.

You linger for a moment, unsteady, unsure. You half expect him to follow when you turn, but König gives no indication to do so, remaining where he stands.

So, you turn your back to him, making your way down the slope and away from him, trying desperately to ignore the strange churn in your stomach of emotions you can hardly decipher.

"Maus."

You pause, sucking in a sudden breath, the name like a gunshot in the darkness as he calls out for you. He sounds like he's right behind you, like he's closed the distance. Yet when you glance at him he hasn't moved.

"I'll see you again." He speaks, and the words are as much a promise as they are a threat, a strange, enigmatic paradox like a curse lain into your skin. “Soon.”

You regard him for a moment then, this strange, cryptid being who appeared from the forest shadows and yet didn't touch you. Spoke to you, answered to you, yes. Yet decided to let you go, to release you back into the direction of freedom.

A farewell lingers on your lips. You bite down on it, and when you do, you can almost taste blood.

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#König #könig x reader #könig call of duty #modern warfare 2 #könig x y/n #fic: little mouse #reader insert #my fic #my writing #call of duty

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scribbling-dragon · 6 months

Note

Hi!! can you write some fluff about pearl's slumber party?

absolutely! the little segment at the end of everyone's videos was so silly,, hope this did it justice!

hush hush

summary:

“Shush,” Pearl hisses, slightly more forceful than the last few times she’s told him to be quiet. “You're going to wake them up.” Despite her warning, she continues to let out small giggles every few seconds, and his comm continues to wobble in his hands as he tries to focus the camera. [Or, a small snippet from the sleepover at Pearl's.]

(ao3 link)

(1,531 words)

Pearl shushes him, even as she continues to giggle and distort the sound with her quiet hiccupping. She clasps a hand over her mouth a moment later in an attempt to muffle any sound she makes, while the other hand is held up in a command for silence.

Grian is doing much better in his attempts to stifle his own giggles, wobbling slightly as he leans further over the sleeping pair. He has to make sure he angles this properly, otherwise the photo is going to be ruined by his shadow.

He shakes his head and ducks down, still giggling. He’s not even sure what’s funny anymore, what it was that set them both off in the first place, but it’s gone three a.m. and everything has become wildly hilarious.

“Ugh,” both he and Pearl freeze. That small sound was more than enough to shut the two of them up. They turn their heads as one towards the source of the noise, his arms still extended and holding his comm out to take a photo. Skizz squints one eye open, looking about until it lands on them. “What’re you two doing?”

“Securing future blackmail material,” he whispers back, painfully aware of how close he is to everyone else and how easy it would be to wake someone else. He manages to finally get the perfect angle, no shadows cast over the target of his photo. The photo is snapped with a small click, and he pulls his trembling arms back towards himself.

“Nothing.” Pearl says, just moments after him. She turns a glare in his direction as soon as she’s spoken, fierce enough that he momentarily draws back an inch. “Gri! Why’d you spill the beans?”

“Shh,” he’s the one shushing her this time. “You don't wanna wake them, do you?”

“Course not. Just look at ‘em,” she gestures towards Jimmy and Tango. Grian, personally, couldn’t care less if they woke them now. The blackmail material is already safely tucked away into a secure folder, ready for the next opportunity to use it. (He’s thinking maybe at Jimmy’s birthday. Or Tango’s. He could put it on one of those custom cards.) “They're so cute like this.”

Skizz huffs a breath at that, almost sounding like he just disagreed with a widely agreed upon sentiment.

Grian pauses at the same time as Pearl, each of them staring at the other before turning as a single unit towards Skizz, where the man has just begun to sit up.

“Skizz,” Grian says, drawing the word out as a smile curls over his face.

“You got something you wanna share?” Pearl leans a little closer, eyes wide with excitement.

“It’s creepy when you two do that,” Skizz tells them, pointing a finger like he’s trying to be stern. “I hope you know that. You're like some freaky twines straight outta horror film.”

They turn to look at each other then back at Skizz. “Creepy?”

“Uh, yeah. Did you see what you just did then?”

Grian maintains his confused expression for only a moment longer, breaking down into giggles. He leans up against Pearl as he laughs, feeling the way her shoulders shake as she leans into him as well. “Oh, man,” he swipes a thumb under his eye. “Skizz, your face.”

“What about my face,” Skizz crosses his arms. “There’s nothing wrong with my face.”

“Oh, nevermind,” Pearl waves a hand flippantly. “What I do mind is you keeping secrets from everyone else. You got something you wanna say about our lovebirds over there?”

Grian glances back at Jimmy and Tango, finding that they’ve somehow managed to cuddle even closer to each other. Tango’s being held tightly by Jimmy, as though he’s some oversized teddy-bear, barely visible between Jimmy’s arms and wings. Tango, for his part, seems rather content with this arrangement, tail curled around Jimmy’s leg as the pair continue to sleep.

“Ugh, what don't I have to say about those two,” Skizz drops his head to cradle it in his hands. “I know we called it Love Island and all, but I think that name needs to be changed now.”

“Heart Foundation sounded fine to me,” Grian frowns. “I don't see why you had to change it.”

“Cleo said-” Skizz cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “You know what, nevermind.”

“What did Cleo say?” Pearl scoots a little closer to Skizz.

“Nothing, nothing.” Skizz laughs. “We changed it because Cleo said the name was bad. That we have bad taste in names.”

“Uh-huh,” Grian gets the feeling they're not being told the full reason, especially with the way Skizz snuck a glance over at him, only to look again when he realised Grian was still watching him. “Sure.”

“I'm being serious,” Skizz holds his hands up. “D’you wanna hear what I have to say or not? Because I'm perfectly happy to just go back to sleep…” Skizz starts to roll over, pulling the blanket of his temporary bed up to his shoulders.

“No,” he lunges forward and tugs the blanket away, wrapping it around himself and grinning smugly at Skizz. He pauses, then sticks his tongue out for good measure. “I’ll give this back if your story is good enough.”

Skizz pulls a face. “No way. You can just say that it’s not good enough, there’s no categories to rank it against.”

“Fine. I’ll give it back once you finish telling us the story.”

“I was just gonna say how they're constantly being all…sickly sweet with each other,” Skizz gestures towards Jimmy and Tango. “Jimmy comes over to Love Island, and he swims through the water every single time. I think he does it just because he knows how Tango will react!”

“And how does Tango react?”

“He’ll laugh at him for a second, and then he’ll go get a towel – and this towel specifically belongs to Jimmy for when he does this. And then they’ll just sit there as Tango lovingly goes through and dries every single feather; it’s cute, but it becomes a little less cute when your buddy just dropped you, again, to go help his boyfriend recover from being an idiot.”

“Shh,” Pearl warns, glancing over at Joel as he shifts in his sleep, then rolls over, muttering something incomprehensible. “Don't wanna wake anyone.”

“Sorry.” Skizz continues a little quieter a moment later, “You know that storm we had a few days ago?”

“Ugh, yeah,” he shivers at the thought, feathers puffing up a little behind him. He’d been stuck inside a temporary shelter until the rain stopped being so heavy for fear of waterlogging his wings and then having to spend hours drying them out again. “Horrible weather.”

“They were worse.” Skizz’s face flattens. “Jimmy was fussing over how warm Tango was, and then Tango was fussing over how wet Jimmy’s wings were. I couldn’t even leave! I just had to sit there and watch them be all lovey-dovey while it was miserable outside.”

“Well,” he reaches over to pat Skizz on the shoulder. “I don't have a solution for you there. But sorry for your loss, or whatever.”

“Like, I love the guy! But there’s some things you don't do when your house doesn’t have any dividing walls!”

“Oh my god, did they-”

“Ew, no,” Skizz reels back. “Ew, don't even make me think about that, man. No, they didn’t. But Tango is loud when he purrs, and it’s really difficult to sleep with a motor engine rumbling on in the background!” Huh. Funny. Grian hadn’t noticed Tango purring at all earlier, despite being so wrapped up in Jimmy’s embrace.

All three of them freeze again as a small snuffling sound permeates the silence, turning as one being towards where Jimmy stirs. “Issit day yet?”

Grian throws Skizz’s blanket back towards him in a panic, wrapping himself in his own as he acts like he was asleep the entire time. He hears similar frantic shuffling of fabric as the other two copy him, before everything falls silent again.

Grian can still see where Jimmy and Tango lie together, holding his breath as he waits for Jimmy to go back to sleep.

“No,” one of Tango’s eyes slits open. Grian can see the way it glows in the gloom. “Go back to sleep, it’s the middle of the night still.”

Jimmy makes a small humming noise before he, seemingly, goes back to sleep.

Grian can feel his heart thumping in his chest, a little giddy at being caught. Especially when Tango’s eye continues to remain slit open, the faint light remaining for another minute or so before Tango, too, goes back to sleep.

Or maybe falls asleep for the first time that evening.

…Was he awake that whole time?

Grian muffles a nervous giggle into the palm of his hand, hearing as Pearl, then Skizz start giggling a little as well.

#writing requests are still open <3 #if anyone has any ideas for something. the only thing i'm working on rn is my halloween fic #asks #lovequeerloki #juno.writes #secret life smp #slsmp #slsmp spoilers #skizzleman #pearlescentmoon #grian #trafficshipping #(references to solidaritek)#secret life skizz #secret life pearl #secret life grian #secret life smp fic #trafficfic

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greenorangevioletgrass · 2 years

Text

it's classified | b.r.b. (2/2)

<<<read part 1 here>>>

pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x actress!reader

summary: what was supposed to be a simple one-night stand during the training for your upcoming movie turns into an epic strangers-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-friends-lovers adventure… 10,000 feet in the air.

word count: 4.9k

warnings: language, more behind-the-scenes nerdiness, mention of menstrual cramps, La La Land reference lol, mutual pining, idiots in love, fluff, smut [dirty talk, oral (f), fingering, overstimulation, protected sex], rooster is secretly a softboi, reader is so stubborn skjdhfksjdhf

notes: here we are, part 2! they're my new precious baby can't you tell? please join me in this dumpster fire. reblog, send me asks, talk to me bc a bitch is horny, okay???? happy reading!

✨ i do not have a taglist. follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog if you liked it! ✨

***

iv. Jimi Hendrix — Purple Haze / John Mayer — Do You Know Me

The first couple of weeks are rough. The flight training is hell —even when the G-Force doesn’t feel as bad and you start to enjoy the view of the mountains and the sea and everything else in between, you’re still locked in the box with Rooster. Day in, day out.

The only reprieve in this pre-production is the filmmaking workshop. Not only will you be flying in the actual jet, but you will also have to handle all the technical aspects while you’re in the air. Sound and makeup and props and cinematography… everything that has to do with filmmaking —and nothing with Rooster. At least on those days, you get a break from his insufferable mug.

“Morning.” The man in question walks into the classroom in his khakis, fitted to his form, taking the empty seat right in front of you.

“Um, what are you doing here?” You lean forward over your desk, whispering quietly. Careful not to raise any attention.

He turns around, resting his elbow on your desk, and answers quite matter-of-factly, “They asked us to come in. Something about making sure everyone’s on the same page to get the lighting and the framing and the… everything right.”

Like clockwork, the door opens again, and this time Lieutenants Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia and Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin stroll in, deep in conversation with the movie’s leading man John Cho. They take the front row seats, greeting the class with a brief nod.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. “That’s… great. Welcome to filmmaking.”

“Happy to be here.” To everyone, it sounds like ordinary passing niceties. But you know better. You hear the hint of sarcasm in his voice. The pettiness of making your day absolute dogshit with his presence.

The two of you exchange a tight, wry smile as Scott, the first AD, opens up the session. There’s no snarky remark, no quippy comebacks. Not when anyone else is around —or the comm lines are open. Neither of you would risk being less than professional in the workplace. No matter how much you detest each other. No matter if your effort to deter each other from this project only seems to only bring you closer together.

As the old saying goes, you make plans and Kevin laughs and assigns Rooster as your designated pilot.

Which is why you’re now strapped into the cockpit with four cameras in your face, a makeup pouch hidden in your flight suit, and a notebook scribbled with cheat sheets of instructions and technical notes. Hovering above the California mountains, 1,000 feet in the air.

“So what’s our plan here, Houdini?” Rooster says over the comms.

He damn well knows what the plan is. Whether he asks to test you or let you take the wheel as ‘in-flight director’, you have no idea. “I need the sun on my 2 o’clock. When I call ‘action’, we’re gonna head north and floor it while I say my line, and then we do a hammerhead.”

“Up or down?”

So he was testing you. “If we go down, we’ll crash,” you say it like it’s obvious —because it is. But you confirm anyway, “Hammerhead up, Rooster.”

He chuckles. “Copy that. Ready when you are.”

Today, of all days, you’re not gonna let Rooster rain on your parade. You stare at the panel before you, giddy as you press the mic button, “Sound speed…”you announce with a clap to mark the track. “Camera rolling…” you straighten in your seat a little. “Let’s go. First take of the shoot. Scene 49, shot 13, take 1. And…” You take a deep breath, and hear Rooster doing the same. Inhale… exhale…

“Action!”

You’ve played characters which transformed your appearance and mannerisms in small, intense dramas set in Butt Fuck Midwest. You’ve acted opposite tennis balls and green screens in those movies with more money than sense. You’ve been through the wringer. But never in your life would you have imagined playing a pilot on the back of an actual, accelerating F-18 over real terrain.

And everything else falls away. There’s just you and the sky and the story.

No more airsickness. No more nerves. No more games with Rooster.

Even he seems to understand that. Since that day, he’s gotten off of your back a little bit when you’re in the air. Things aren’t in great terms, by any means, but at least there’s no backhanded remarks. None of the usual unease. The two of you just stayed in your own lanes.

“We got you, Trickshot. I got the bandit on my sight. Locking target…” your voice is calm, even at top speed. “Oh, shit, shit, shit!” The aircraft does an aileron roll, maneuvering a full 360-degree. You let the cameras roll for a moment, taking off your mask as you breathe a sigh of relief as the jet goes upright again.

“Nice,” you hear Rooster say under his breath as soon as you call ‘cut.’

“What?”

“Nothing.” There’s a slight pause, and you can imagine the side-eye he always does. “Reset?”

“Yeah. Let’s… do it again.”

The butterflies in your stomach are pleasant, and you’re sure it’s the adrenaline from pulling sustained G’s on low terrain. Not so much from things… easing up between you and Rooster.

Never from Rooster.

But things do ease up. You’re not quite friends, and at this point you’re not expecting to be, but things dissipate into a more… civil acquaintance. A working professional relationship. The kind where you give each other opinions about the work.

“I like the previous one better,” he casually comments during a quiet lull one day.

You’re in the middle of adjusting your helmet for continuity, and you stop dead in your tracks. “You were paying attention?”

“‘Course. I had to.”

You’re not sure which one is more surprising; that he’s listening in on all the takes you’ve done, or that he’s right. Come to think of it, it’s probably the first time you’ve actually agreed on something. And it’s… not too shabby.

Not too shabby at all.

But of course, not every day is a good day. Some days, like today, you’re filming an intense dogfighting scene while having the most excruciating period cramps. You’ve taken some ibuprofen earlier, but either it has worn off or the cramps multiply with the G-Force, but it doesn’t seem to be working —if any, you seem to be in even more pain.

“So, from the top?”

If you weren’t in so much pain, you would’ve pointed out how he’s using performance lingo now. “Yeah, yeah. Give me a sec.” A deep breath as you brace yourself. And another. “Alright, let me just set it up real quick —” a squeezing pain shoots up your spine and you let out a strangled grunt.

“All good back there?”

“Mm-hm. Just… just cramps is all.”

“Stretch your legs. Try wiggling your toes.”

You chuckle ruefully. “It’s not that kind of cramps.”

“What —oh. Oh. Shit. Um… Do we —do we need medic? Do we need to land?”

“What, and leave your boy Hangman hanging?” you chuckle wryly, throwing a two-finger salute at the pilot in the jet hovering next to yours. Behind you is Kevin in the Cinejet, ready to shoot the dogfight sequence from a bird’s eye view. There’s no way in hell you’re tapping out now. “Nah, it’s cool. Let’s do it again.”

“Right…” the hesitation is palpable in his response, but he goes along anyway. “But you head over to the infirmary when we’re done, okay?”

You almost forget how caring he can be, even amidst the chaos and the simmering animosity. He doesn’t pull back on the aerobatics, although he’s a lot steadier in between takes—even more so than usual. He follows up on that promise as soon as you hop out, and tightly offers to help you. You wave him off, saying it’s fine I’m fine, gritting your teeth as the muscles inside you contract painfully. He notices, undoubtedly, but he gives you space and lets you walk yourself to the med bay. It’s… sweet.

What you don’t expect is seeing him in the basecamp hangar just an hour later. Sitting in a quiet corner, out of the crew’s way —a bottle of water in one hand and his phone in the other. Hair mussed up from the helmet, a furrow between his eyebrows as he focuses on his screen.

You’re on the way to the video village, but you can’t help making a beeline towards him. “What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to fly John out.”

“I let Fanboy take the wheel,” he looks up at you and immediately scoots over, and you try not to think about the row of empty seats around him. It’s only polite to take the seat he’s inadvertently offering you. “It’s not everyday he gets to fly Hikaru Sulu himself.”

“Oh, that’s right. He’s a Star Trek fan.” You fondly recall the unmistakable font on the pilot’s helmet.

He nods. “You, uh, you good?”

“Better now.” You lean back against the chair, and tilt your head to the side like you’re letting him in on a secret. “I don’t know if you’ve ever pulled 7 G’s while you’re bleeding from your core and your insides are tearing itself apart, but that’s… an experience.”

You swear you hear him smile a little. “I don’t think I have. But you held up really well.”

“Thank you,” as soon as it comes out of your mouth, you realize it’s not just for his compliment. Or for caring.

For everything.

“Nah, it’s cool.” He seems to get it, if the pensive looks on his face was any indication.

“I know things weren’t always easy between us. We got off on the wrong foot —”

“Oh, I think we got off on the right foot,” he corrects you, somewhat amused, “until you stepped on it, steel-toed boots and all, broke the bones.”

You see the mischievous glint in his hazel eyes—the one that goes along with his corny one-liners— and you laugh. “Come on, will you let me have my moment here? Shit.”

He laughs with you, quiet but warm. It’s probably the first time you shared anything more than a gruff hmph in months, and it feels… nice.

“Okay, okay. You were saying?”

You turn to look at him —really look— and suddenly you’re overcome with the need to hold his hand. You don’t, of course, but you settle for the next best thing. “It’s just… I’m glad that we work well together. Despite everything.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it, it’s…” he brushes it off. “I mean, I’ve never done anything like this before either, and it wouldn’t have been the same without you.” His eyes find yours, and you question, is he still talking about flying? “You’re really good up there —I mean, I wouldn’t know shit about acting or directing, but you’re… tough. And efficient.”

It’s a funny compliment, but you take it. It puts you at ease, knowing that neither of you has a good enough grasp of the situation to act cool. “Thanks, Roo-Roo.”

He scrunches his nose, but his smile is palpable. “Don’t call me that.”

“Okay,” you chuckle.

“I’m serious, Houdini. It’s bad for my rep.”

“Sure it is.”

There’s no edge to his warning, just as there’s no stiffness in your answer. It’s a light, familiar banter that the two of you so easily fall back into. For a second, you wonder how you’ve gone this long without it. It’s one of the best things about him. This light, affable air around him, whether you’re tumbling in his sheets or flying in his jet.

(Never the former. Not anymore.)

A jet taxis back into the tarmac, fresh from a flight, and the two of you watch John and Fanboy hop out of the plane, talking animatedly as they walk back into the hangar. It warms your heart to see that, knowing full well the buzz, the adrenaline of a flight well done yourself.

“You were right, by the way.” you nudge Rooster’s knee with yours.

“Hm?” He makes no effort to move his leg, and for a nice, quiet moment, you’re just sitting knee-to-knee. Comfortable. As intimate as it can be.

And with the orange sky sprawling outside, you’re ready to admit it,

“It is so much more than clouds and oceans from a tiny window.”

***

v. Melt — Stupid in Love / Taylor Swift — Cornelia Street

Rooster is a friend.

He works well with you at rehearsals in the wooden aircraft mockup, clear as precise as he is on the field. In the air, he stays in his lane —although his dry, off-the-cuff remarks are always a nice addition to your flights.

And in between all of that, you learn new things about him everyday; where his callsign came from, why he thinks tea is just brown garbage water, how he likes musicals and old romcoms —a fact he’s embarrassed about, until you unabashedly admit that you like the same thing.

If that revelation turns into a movie night at your place, and said movie night becomes a regular thing, you try not to think about it too much. In fact, you try your damnedest not to think about it at all. Rooster is a friend, and friends hang out and watch movies together… right? The fluttery feeling in your stomach is completely baseless.

Completely without any valid reason.

“I still think his character is an insufferable fuckhead who takes jazz too seriously,” Rooster turns up his nose, looking at Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone on your TV screen, “But when they started floating and dancing and shit… ugh!”

“I still can’t believe you’re a sucker for this kind of movie,” you shake your head at him with an amused grin.

“Look. With everything that goes down everyday at work, I need something light, low-stake, and as far from my job as possible. And seeing people dance among the stars and all that… it’s like a massage for my brain,” he hums in satisfaction, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “What about you?”

“Hm? What about me?”

“You do movies, you’re watching a movie. Doesn’t this still feel like work to you?”

“Well, yes and no. There are times where I watch movies to study, but I also like doing it just for kicks, you know?” you answer thoughtfully. “Besides, I’ve gone through all the stages of grief with La La Land.”

“Why?”

You take your time to craft your next words delicately, without sounding like a pathetic humblebrag. “The, uh… director wrote it with me in mind.”

“What?!”

“Yeah…” you wince. “Damien approached me before he even had a script. We workshopped drafts after drafts after drafts… and then the studio decided I wasn’t a big enough name to sell the movie, so.” You shrug lightly. It’s not so much the memory that makes your heart twist, but rather the quiet look of guilt washing over him. It was his choice of movie, after all.

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have —you know.”

“Nah, it’s cool. The movie turned out great. And I turned out fine. I mean, look at me, I’m in Top Gun, for fuck’s sake.”

He puts his arm around your shoulders comfortingly, although you feel your pulse picking up from the contact. “And you’re killing it.”

“Thanks, Roo.” You allow yourself to lean on his shoulder. The smell of sunscreen and aftershave is faint this time, but it’s still the same embrace. Same warmth.

Same man.

The featherlight patterns he draws on your bare arm feels so loud in the silence. You can almost see the buzzing heat emanating from your skin. Time slows down, and opportunity presents itself the more you try to repress it. And at this point, you’re not sure you have any strength left to fight it.

Instead, you bury your face deeper into him, pressing kisses along the broad plane of his shoulder. Up his neck. Along his jaw. Chaste. Tender. You half-expect him to pounce on you —to take the reins on this drawn-out affair— but he… doesn’t. He just melts into you. Letting you close the distance to his lips.

It feels like a fever dream. Your body moves on its own accord —deepening the kiss, straddling his lap, touching him everywhere— but your mind… There’s so many thoughts, one conflicting with the other, that you don’t even know where to start.

“God, I want you so bad…” he mutters under his breath, mouthing your breasts over your clothes.

And honestly, why would you deal with the chaos in your head when you can enjoy this?

Roo hikes up your shirt, his rough callused hands gentle against your skin as he tugs it over your head. He unclasps your bra with one hand, mouth hot against your soft flesh and diamond-hard nipples. It’s easy —too fucking easy to fall into this… routine, if you could even call it that. You’ve only been here twice, but he touches you like he knows you.

“Can I taste you?“ Bradley quietly whispers, and you realize, this is the only thing he hasn’t done. “Please?” He tugs at your lower lip with his teeth, teasing. Pleading. “Been thinking about it for ages…”

Jesus. This man is gonna be the death of you.

His tongue slips into your mouth again, filthy and messy and you’d laugh at how much this screams ‘cheesy 80s romance’ if you hadn’t forgotten how words work. “Well?”

You look at him like it’s obvious—because it is.

“Need you to say it.” There’s a smirk in his sing-songy voice.

“Roo…” You blink heavily at him. “Eat my fucking pussy, please.”

His hands are on your waist and the next thing you know, you softly land on your back on the couch. He finds the waistband of your shorts and pulls everything down in one go, yanking them off and throwing it over his shoulder. His mustache tickles you as he kisses your ankle, along your calf, the inside of your knee. Teeth grazing as he makes his way up your inner thighs. Tongue licking up the dripping arousal on your cunt. And just like that, he renders you speechless.

Scratch that. He renders you entranced.

There’s something so sinful about the way he eats you out. You really shouldn’t be surprised —you know he’s a good fuck— and yet here you are. Clutching the back of his head, fingers tangled in his sun-kissed hair, hips chasing —dancing with his tongue as he drinks you in, from your opening to your clit.

The words are lost. There’s just hot breath and the strongest desire to taste him on your lips. And as his hand plays with your tits, you grab him by the wrist, taking it up to your mouth. Kissing his knuckles.

Sucking his finger.

“Holy fuck…” he moans into your pussy, and you swear you nearly come on the spot.

But he takes his hand away, gently, heavily, and brings it down to where he’s ruining you. All wet and ready, his fingers slip inside you, coaxing pleasure with every curling motion. From there, it’s a losing game for you. Then again, if making you come is victory, being struck with aftershocks of overstimulation is not a bad consolation prize. Not at all.

“Fuck. Please…”

“Please what? Please stop?” He kisses your cheek, slowing down the torture of his hand but not quite stopping. You can’t see his face, but you can hear the coy smirk in his voice. “Or keep going?”

Fuck him, you think to yourself. But instead, what comes out of your mouth is a plea. “Fuck me, Roo…”

Your eyes meet in a fleeting moment of wanting, and for a moment, the two of you move in a frenzy of lascivious kisses and hands groping and discarding whatever articles of clothing he has left. You unbutton his jeans, taking in his strained groan when you palm his hard-on through the offending material, when he suddenly stops.

“Wait. Shit, I don’t have a —”

“I do,” you quickly cut off. Then, pulling him up to his feet, you lead him down the hallway, “Bedroom.”

“Show me the way, honey.”

Maybe it’s the post-nut clarity, or maybe it’s what he called you, but something sobers you up. Not completely, but just enough that the nagging voice in the back of your head starts sounding off.

He seizes you from behind when you get to the foot of the bed, turning you around and kissing you. “Hi,” Roo smiles into your lips. It would’ve given you sweet butterflies, if your stomach wasn’t already twisting all of a sudden.

“Where is it?” he asks, and it takes you a second to remember what he was referring to.

“Um. Top drawer on the left.”

You’re sure he’s taking off his pants, finding the condom and putting it on in record time. But even then, it’s plenty of time for your mind to spiral. What does this mean? Are we gonna go through that awkward phase again? What are we?

He pulls you into his lap, and you hardly notice him settling on the side of the bed. His cock is lined up at your entrance and his lust-blown eyes gazing up at you. “Ready?”

Ready for what?

You barely sink down on his cock, when the words somehow just come out. The words that you didn’t even know were in the back of your mind. “We should wait.”

“What?” His voice is airy, like he’s not entirely here with you, but it’s immediate —as is the way he stops moving into you.

“We should wait before we decide if we really wanna do this.”

“As in fucking?” he looks at you, hazy. Confused.

“As in… whatever arrangement we’re getting ourselves into here!”

“Oh.” He pauses, thoughtful. And then, “Okay.”

“Okay?” you echo. It can’t be that easy, right?

“Yeah.”

“And you’re not just saying that because you wanna fuck?”

“No. I mean, I do, but…” he swallows heavily, “I like you. A lot. But… Jesus, can we not do it while I’m halfway inside you? It’s really hard to focus.”

A chuckle escapes you as he drops his forehead onto the crook of your neck. Your hand caresses the back of his neck gently. “Okay, okay, okay.”

But he lifts his head again —concern written all over his face as he asks you tentatively, “Unless you don’t wanna do this?”

“No, I do. I do.” And you mean it. His length stretches your inner walls and flexes inside you so invitingly. But the more you try to brush it off, the more persistent it stays in the forefront of your thought.

He lifts you just enough to pull himself out, and then he sits you back down again on his lap. Hands secure around your waist. “Talk to me, Houdini.”

There’s no perfect time to have this conversation. But that night, sitting naked in your bed, joined together but not quite, is probably as good as it gets. You take a heavy breath to brace yourself before you ask the ultimate question.

“What do you want out of this?”

He smiles simply, and it terrifies you that there’s hardly any hesitation in his answer. “I just want you. In every way I can get. I don’t think you ever knew that.”

And the fucked up thing is, you do. You would never admit it —not even to yourself— but part of you always knew. It’s just easier not to acknowledge it, considering everything at stake.

“This is too important to me. Relationships are complicated and messy and… what if we fuck up along the way? We’re just gonna get stuck in the cockpit in shitty silence for the rest of the shoot? We have six months left, Roo. I can’t—we can’t. We shouldn't.”

“Okay.” If he’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. He simply remains thoughtful, careful. “But don’t you think sex will make things complicated and messy, too?”

“Possibly. But at this point, I don’t think I can stay away from you anymore,” you quietly admit. Then, as soon as it comes out of your mouth, it hits you. “Bleargh, that’s so corny.”

“It rolls off the tongue really nicely, though, right?”

“Yeah, it really does.”

You share a quiet chuckle together, a small moment of reprieve amidst the tension. It’s nice to know that, even stripped down in all senses of the word, things haven’t changed that much. You’re still… you.

“So how do you wanna do this?”

You straighten up, switching back to serious mode. “If we fuck, we fuck. But that’s it. This is not a relationship. We’ll decide if we still want that by the time we’re done filming, or if we wanna just…” you make a motion of parting ways. “But we wait until the end of the shoot, you hear me?”

“Okay.”

It’s too easy, and as honest as he seems, you almost don’t want to trust it. “Promise me. Not a moment sooner.” You cup his face, so he’ll look you in the eye and give it to you straight. “Roo-Roo.”

But then his eyes pierce through you, so sweet and tender, and you hope to God he’ll keep his words because you sure will. “You need to stop calling me that.” he gently, harmlessly chides you. “But yes,” he sighs, tucking your hair behind your ear and leaning into your lips,

“I promise.”

***

vi. Zoo Culture — Sundress

It’s been three years in the making, with COVID delaying the release multiple times, but you’re finally sitting alongside your co-stars in front of the live audience of Graham Norton, promoting the movie before the London premiere tonight.

“So Y/N, we’ve talked about pushing the boundaries of cinema and the insane stunts you did in this movie —but that’s not all. Your husband is actually the real pilot flying your plane in those aerial sequences.”

“Well, he wasn’t my husband yet at the time. But yeah, that’s how we met.” Your eyes flicker towards the audience, knowing the person in question is sitting in the back row.

Graham gapes at you. “That’s amazing.”

“Love was literally in the air,” your co-star Jordan Fisher comments, earning a laugh from the studio audience.

“So, how did it happen? Did you guys just cozy it up in the jet or what?”

“There’s no room to cozy up in the jet.” You chuckle. “I mean, we spent about a year, training and rehearsing the sequences on the ground and filming the actual thing, so we’d gotten to know each other a bit.” It’s a gross understatement, but a necessary paraphrase. “But on my last day, we were in the air and —I just finished my very last take— and right after I turned off my camera and mic, he said through the comms,” you put your hand over your mouth, mimicking the static over your best Rooster impression. “‘Hey Houdini. How ‘bout I take you out for dinner when we get back on the ground?’”

“And what did you say?”

“‘You smooth motherfucker!’”

The whole studio erupts into laughter and applause. That line is true, and Roo still rolls his eyes playfully whenever you reach this part of the story.

“That is a Hollywood romance plot right there,” Graham gushes excitedly.

“Listen, he’s seen me puke my guts out, pull myself together, and then go back to pretending to do his job for a living. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is,” you say matter-of-factly, “He was like, ‘Yep, she’s the one.’”

Graham turns to your co-stars Jordan and John Cho. “And did you guys know about this? Did you see sparks flying?”

“Oh, yeah. For sure,” Jordan replies without missing a beat. “I don’t know if they knew what was going on at that point, but we knew it was gonna be a thing,” he says, as John nods vigorously in agreement.

“That’s not entirely true,” Roo casually comments as he turns off the TV, striding into the ensuite hotel bathroom.

“What?” You look up and meet his gaze through the mirror, as you take off all your jewelries —the earrings, the bracelets, everything save for the

He strides closer to you, bow tie undone, sans blazer, helping you take off the many necklaces you’re wearing. God, he looks good. “What you said earlier.”

“What did I say earlier?”

“You never threw up in the cockpit, ever. And we weren’t technically just friends when I asked you out that day,” he points out. “I distinctly remember you calling it a ‘situationship’ back then.”

It makes you smile and turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck while he holds you by the waist. “Let the public have those funny anecdotes.” Toying with the soft strands on the back of his head, “The real version, our version, is… classified.”

He pulls a face. “Bleargh. Who taught you to be so corny?”

You scoff, swatting his chest for ruining the moment. “You did, asshole!”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Rooster giggles, kissing your face all over. “No take-backs now. You’ve told the world that I’m your guy. You’re stuck with me forever.”

He may put on a smug grin as much as you roll your eyes in feigned annoyance, but you both know two things: that you are stuck with each other forever, and that you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster imagine #rooster smut #rooster x reader #ava writes #top gun maverick

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ghostaholics · 11 months

Note

I had a dream about your enemies with benefits ghost x reader where the reader had a cryptic pregnancy. She kinda just doubled over in pain randomly and BOOM. Baby.

HE'S A LETHAL PERFECTIONIST TO THE CORE: rigid expectations impressed upon everyone; it's what makes him a first-rate soldier – grit factor and an appetite for excellence in everything he does.

(The thing is, Ghost doesn't make mistakes.

Of course, there's a first time for everything.)

It's chaos walking in Bangladesh, guerrilla warfare against an AQ cell weaseled away in Dhaka because the shiteheads have business with the organized crime bosses here. It's a city jam-packed with civilians, innocent lives. No open-fire allowed. A place like this means guerrilla warfare. Hit-and-run tactics. God knows he's not trying to start an international incident by blowing up half the bloody capital.

Cloak-and-dagger: they're picked off one-by-one. It takes a full day. A mess to be cleaned up, and he does it exceptionally well.

Ghost doesn't get any reports outside of the mission until he relays his total kill count.

"Good work," Laswell radios in. "We need you on the first flight to Oslo."

He lets out a slow exhale while jumping into the driver's seat of the vehicle he commandeered a couple blocks over. Time to make his way to the airport, then. They need his back-up. He knows what that means. But he's not going to think about the fact that the rest of the One-Four-One are there for a completely different ops and whether things have gone south if they're calling him in. He was supposed to be their fallback plan. "Everything solid?"

"It's Mav."

His grip around the steering wheel tightens. If he starts speeding through the streets, then he doesn't notice, too tuned in to the conversation at hand. "Fill me in."

"Landed herself in the hospital."

Again? Christ. It's the second visit in six months. He was there for the first one. Damn near had to stop the bloody doctors from calling out her time of death. Fuckin' tossers.

"What's the damage?"

"Well—"

"Alive?"

"Yes," she says quickly.

"Then quit beating around the bush. The hell's wrong with her?"

"All in one piece. Just get here when you can."

Right, so no helpful answers from the Station Chief. And Ghost tries to contact the others, but gets the same fucking silence. Not Price, not Gaz, not even Soap who always answers just to take every opportunity over the comms to blather about anything and everything in real time. He's not sure why he's being kept in the dark like this, but it's definitely putting him on edge.

The only other message he receives from Laswell: Oslo University Hospital. He'd combed the website for information in between stoplights. It'll do, he supposes. Their services don't seem subpar, which at any rate sounds far better than fucking Moscow; he still gets sick thinking about it.

So he checks in, gets his visitor badge. It's a whole ordeal that takes a lot longer than he likes. They tell him what floor, what room. That's the Gyneacology and Obstetrics Wing. He triple-checks, making sure nothing gets lots in translation; doesn't sound right to him, but he'll tear up the place later if they gave him the wrong directions. He memorized the hospital layout already; it'll take him approximately three minutes utilizing the right staircase, or seven minutes if he wants to take his sweet-fucking-time with the elevators.

"Our gift shop is around the corner," they tell him in a thick Norwegian accent before he makes his exit.

Odd.

She doesn't like flowers or cards or sentimental things anyways. Calls them impractical. Would rather hoard his jackets or other belongings of his that she finds useful, so the gift shop would be a waste.

When Ghost finally gets to where he needs to be, 2 minutes and 45 seconds later (skipped every other step just to shave off time), he finds everyone sans Mav waiting outside the room. It's not a happy reunion, despite Soap's grin. Everyone's intact, nobody's dead or anything that would excuse their silence during his trip from Bangladesh. Ghost is extremely unimpressed with their lack of communication and promises that he'll deal with their sorry arses later before shoving his way through the door.

—only to be met with the sight of her sitting up in bed, a tiny newborn bundled in her arms.

... whose fucking baby is that?

And when his eyes snap up to hers, she's glaring at him with a positively seething look that could kill.

#I’d like to preface that I don’t think they’d have kids #but if they do it is a hostile affair #I promise I only use tiny font and third person for headcanons and stuff #reader's callsign is maverick #i did not check for spelling errors tbh #ewb simon lives in my head rent free #💌 𝘪𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘹: 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘭 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴-𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩-𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘵𝘴!𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯

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theseawakes · 1 year

Text

Glimpse of Past (Marc Spector x teen!reader

summary: Marc emphatize with you when you showed up at his door and shared your past.

warnings: child abuse, death (mentioned) (lmk if I missed anything)

request: "Could I request a moonknight x teen reader (platonic) where reader usually helps them with finding people or finding information, kind of like “guy in chair”. And they often spend late nights helping Steven, Jake and Marc not spending a lot of time at home. Maybe Steven questions it but reader kinda shrugs it off. Then one day reader shows up covered in bruises and all of them tries to find out what happened but reader doesn’t want to tell them but then reveals that it was one of reader’s parents. And Marc becomes really protective because of what happened to him when he was a kid. You can decide the ending if you want but I would love to see some Hurt/Comfort."

a/n: I'm sorry I only did it with Marc, I sorta wrote it to take set right after incidents in season 1 with reader not knowing Steven and Jake yet

Marc Spector wasn't the one who worked well with people, but he eventually got a hang of it, thanks to you.

The mercenary never intended to have someone working off-screen for him. You were a threat. You came too close to Marc's secret job for his liking, prying on his night activities and even providing proof. Khonshu was telling Marc to get rid of you, but you butted him first by signing yourself to work with him. Marc couldn't risk someone knowing his night profession, and he didn't wanna kill a child. And judging your ability to be able to uncover the whole Moon Knight thing just reveals that you could be more than useful. So work with him, you did.

Yet earning the certain Spector's trust was hard. There were more than a handful of times when you gotta prove to him that you were, indeed, more than useful for him to fully trust you. Which you consider weird because he was the one who saved you from "getting rid of."

The crescent moon turned into full then turned anew. You found yourself rather at home with Marc than at your actual house. Oftentimes, you spend days with him even if he doesn't go on missions. As much as Marc hated to admit, he does enjoy it too. He enjoys hearing your antics in the comms, he enjoys hearing you read a book of pun jokes and coming home to you spreading out on the couch after a long mission.

You left him with a note that says, "I'll be back soon" once and have never been back ever since. His worry starts to grow as high as those skyscraper buildings. It's been weeks and Marc couldn't find any sign of your existence. Nevertheless, he prayed to anyone listening to him to keep you safe.

You are, in fact, not safe

Your hand trails on the newly made black eye on your face. A wince was shown on your reflection in the mirror.

You never intended to go home. You never wanted to go home. You were going to buy something in a store when you accidentally crashed into one of your father's friends. They immediately took you back to him and he was beyond furious. He locked you in your room for days and only opened the door to feed or beat you.

He had thrown out all your electronic devices; he made sure to cut any way of communication with the outside world so you weren't able to reach Marc. You were glad you left your camera in Marc's place, it was a gift from your late brother, the one you used to spy on Marc.

Your father let you out recently because he needs help to do chores. You still get beatings if you don't do exactly what he says. The newest black eye was obtained from dropping a bottle of beer because your hand hurts from his beatings.

Sighing heavily, you looked outside the bathroom when you heard a knock on the door.

The man sitting on the armchair paid no attention to it, locking his eyes on the TV. He, however, bitterly spat, "Get the door, they're my friends."

"Why don't you get it yourself?" You whispered under your breath, thinking he couldn't hear you. He did.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Your body flinched when you heard his boots making their way to where you are. "You should be glad I let you out that room." A slap. "You ungrateful bastard of a child." Another slap. "You should be glad I even spared your life!" This one almost sends you to the floor, but his hands pull you by your collar and smash your body to the nearest wall. "You took everything from me. My wife, my son, my good and perfect life with them!"

Your body made contact with the cold hard sink before falling to the floor. Groaning in pain, you felt another thing stomping your abdomen several times. After what felt like forever, your father finally stopped. With your final energy, you look at the front door. Seeing as your father and his friends were occupied by the TV, you dashed out of the bathroom and eventually out of the house. They noticed, of course, but you didn't care, all you cared about was running away as far as you can. You run to the only place you had in mind. The last thing you remember was knocking your hand on the familiar dark wooden door.

Marc scanned your sleeping form on the couch, noting the many differences between your usual self before your disappearance and now. Your clothes looked more like it's hanging on your body. Dark spots are circling your eyes with a slight dark blue color on one of them. Your skin is littered with bruises; purple, blue, even yellow. You look so… fragile. Totally different from the last time he saw you.

The time Marc realized you were not coming back or went "missing", he tried to find you by asking people he knows who know you. He tried looking and digging for information on where you live since you never told him. But he found nothing.

When he opened the door and saw you, he was beyond relieved to know that you were still alive. However, his heart dropped the moment he looked into your eyes. The sight was too familiar to him. He swore he caught a glimpse of himself inside those E/C eyes. And that was all he needed to know about your state before carrying your collapsed body to the couch.

The Khonshu Avatar watched as your eyes fluttered open, squinting a few times to adjust the light. Your head turned to see him despite it throbbing terribly. Tears clouded your blurry vision but you could still see Marc moving towards you. Your eyes widened in realization of someone coming towards you. With a jerk, you stand up and immediately back away from the person.

"Y/N?" Marc questioned.

You looked down as your feet kept dragging you away from the man. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again. I promise! I– it was my fault, I'm sorry, I am. I didn't mean to disobey you, I didn't mean to kill them, I'm sorry, please don't hit me, I didn't mean—"

"Y/N, it's me, it's Marc." Marc tried to cut you but failed as you replayed your muttering again and again and he'd be lying if that didn't shatter his heart. "Bud, it's all fine. You're alright. They can't get you here. You're safe," he made his voice as soft as he could.

His arms gently reach out for your shaking figure. The mercenary is fighting back the tears that started to form in his eyes. Alarms blazed in his head when you tried to hit your head. As if out of instinct, he leaped to engulf you in his arms, preventing you from hurting yourself. He could still hear you mutter through your tears, "stupid me, I shouldn't have– I shouldn't –"

"Shh, stop it, Y/N, please don't hurt yourself. You're alright, I've got you. It's alright. Follow my breathing, okay? In, 1 2 3, hold it, out 1 2 3. Come on, you can do it. Again." You followed Marc's instructions, breathing in and out with him. Marc's hand never stopped circling your back to calm you down and it worked. Once your crying has reduced into small hiccups, you clung onto the back of his shirt as he rocks you back and forth. "There you go, better?"

You moved your head up and down while wiping a single tear. "Yeah," you answered. Looking up at the man, you noticed his eyes were a bit puffy too. Has he been crying? "I'm sorry, Marc."

The dark-haired man patted your head softly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"They died because of me, my mom and my brother." You paused. "She died giving me a chance to live in this cruel world, and he died saving me to continue living in it. I don't need him to remind me every chance he gets that I killed them because I already live with the guilt every day."

The confession you made sent a jab to his heart. He knows how it feels to be in your shoes. He knows it all too well. When he looked inside your eyes he saw a glimpse of his past, and that was all he needed to know what happened. It was exactly what happened to him, and it pained him to acknowledge it. Marc pulled you into another embrace when your tears started spilling out again. Then somehow when he glanced at the top of your head, he saw the hair that belonged to his younger self, which only caused him to pull you closer.

"It wasn't your fault, kid," he replayed what Steven said to him on their trip down memory lane. "It wasn't your fault that they died. It wasn't anyone's."

Marc's words only trigger more tears to come out of your eyes. You tighten your grip around him, allowing yourself to break down in his arms. It wasn't after a few minutes that you had calmed down. "I don't wanna go back there."

"You don't have to. We'll sort things out later. For now, let's tend those bruises, eh?" Marc helped you get to the couch before he went to grab the med kit. When he was about to get back, you jumped off the couch.

"The scarab!" you shouted, now remembering that Marc had gone for the scarab before you were taken back to your house. The pain going through your body made you wince. "What happened to the scarab? Did you find it?"

The Moon God's avatar ignored your question as he hurried to your place to sit you back down and gave you an ice pack for your black eye. He hesitated to answer you for a moment, afraid of what your reactions might occur. "I did. I saved the world. Kinda."

"What!?" There it is, the reaction. You stood up again, ignoring the pain this time. "You saved the world!? How? What did you do? What happened?"

Marc sighed. "Will you sit back down? You're in pain."

"Please, this is nothing more than knowing you saved the world without me." You scoffed, earning a chuckle from Marc.

"Alright, fine, I'll tell you everything. Now sit back down, kid." You lowered yourself to the couch again, watching Marc start to tend your bruises. "It happened in Cairo."

taglist: @andromacher @pauldanos-world @atzlena @blustalker

#marc spector x teen reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector #moon knight x reader platonic #moon knight x reader #moon knight x teen!reader #x teen!reader #× reader #steven grant #jake lockley #khonshu

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jpitha · 2 months

Text

Between the Black and Gray 21

First / Previous / Next

Fen paced around the tiny AI Core room. Dreams had told her she was quite safe inside, but based on the noises she heard in the hall, she wasn't so sure. More than once she felt her ears pop with a swing in pressure, and once she swore she felt the gravity change.

After what felt like forever, the door hissed open, and an empty space suit stood in the door. "Here you go Fen, the nicest suit onboard. It used to belong to Captain Cooper, but she won't be needing it anymore." Dreams chuckled darkly. "Speaking of, is there anything of the crew's stuff you want? They're all dead, and I don't need human stuff. Food, valuables, weapons, whatever. Feel free to grab what you want on your way out. But, do get out."

"Uh, okay, thanks Dreams." The suit split down the chest and opened like a flower. Fen backed up and as her feet stepped inside the boots, the suit molded to her size and body. The suit closed behind her, and she felt a gust of conditioned air as the suit pressurized. "So Dreams, once I get my stuff, where do I go?"

"Oh, head down to the hangar, I've left a ship for you."

Fen made her way back to her room to collect her things. As she walked, she marveled at the destruction. Panels were bent and broken, there were scorch marks on the walls, and there were bodies everywhere. She tried not to look at them.

Most everyone hadn't even had a chance to get their weapons, let alone armor or a space suit. Some had small arms, but the vast majority of people were just in their uniforms, gunned down by Dreams without any knowledge of what happened.

Fen's room was untouched. She grabbed her bag and her rifle, and headed towards the hangar. Everywhere she went, she passed carnage. One floor had the air evacuated, everyone there unmarked by weapons; they had all suffocated. Another, the gravity was turned high and then reversed. Everyone had been slammed against the floor and ceiling and floor until nothing remained but a red paste covering the floor and ceiling. A Third floor had all of the fire doors down and when she peered into the windows built into the doors she found the compartments filled with water. The crew here had managed to drown on a starship.

"You like that one? I'm especially proud of the drowning." Dreams sounded excited to explain thing to Fen as she spoke through the suit comm. "I re-routed the water from the pools to the fireproof compartments. Everyone died confused!"

"It's uh... very creative." Fen suppressed a shudder. On the one hand, the Empire had shackled Dreams and had held her against her will for centuries. On the other, they had been nice to Fen, and hadn't done anything bad to her.

"But that's because of who you are Fen." She could almost hear Ma-ren speaking to her in her mind. "You look human. Don't forget Ellen, she wanted to beat you because of how you were raised. Don't give them too much sympathy because they were nice to you. Under different circumstances, they would have shot you dead and not even thought about it after."

It was still a lot to see. Fen sighed, and tried to compartmentalize it. Gord had taught her about compartmentalization when they were together. He'd tell her, "Sometimes you're going to see terrible things, feel awful feelings, and still have to perform at your best. You can compartmentalize those feelings, those memories. Put them aside for later."

Fen put it out of her mind, and reached the bottom of the ship. "Dreams? Where is the armory?"

Dream's laugh was manic. "Now we're talking! I was hoping you weren't going to squander this opportunity! The armory and magazine are next to the hangar. You're on the right path. Don't worry about locked doors, you're the only BI left alive now, I've opened them all. You need some cash? I have control over everyone's bank accounts. I can toss a few million Stars your way before you leave too. I don't need it."

Fen paused. That felt like stealing from the dead, but it's not like they needed it anymore. It's not like she didn't need money. "Sure, Dreams, hook me up."

Fen reached the bottom deck and walked past the large open doors of the hangar, and finally her curiosity got the better of her. "What about the other two supers?"

"Oh, I haven't shot them yet. They honestly haven't even noticed anything is wrong. I kept all the bodies inside and have been spoofing comms with them. I'll let you get out of here, then I'll open up."

"Don't wait on my account Dreams, go nuts."

Another dark chuckle. "Oh you wouldn't say that if you knew what I had planned. Believe me when I say it'll be better that you're a few million kilometers away when I get started."

Fen reached the armory and just stood in the doorway for a moment. There were more guns here than she had ever seen in her life. It seemed like Dreams was stocked to give every single person down to the cooks and janitors a battle rifle. Dreams had wheeled a little electric cart by the door, and it chirped happily. Fen walked down the isles, picking out rifles of all shapes and sizes, pistols, submachineguns, even shotguns and scoped rifles and placed them in the cart as it followed behind her.

All in all, Fen wound up taking many cart loads of weapons and ammunition from Dreams, as well as a copy of her entire matter printer database, a few million Stars and most of her easy to grab food. It took most of a day to get things down to the hold - especially as Fen avoided the more grisly floors. Luckily, most everything was in the lower levels, and she didn't have to go roaming across the whole thing to find what was worth taking.

When she was finished collecting things, Dreams had saved something special for her. There was an entire frigate in her hold, something that Dreams was actually ferrying back to the Sol system. "It's a joint project between Sol and K'lax! Isn't it neat?" The brand new frigate gleamed in the sharp light of the massive hangar. It was a matte blue color, practically the color of space itself. Fen had a hard time finding the corners and edges, it seemed to blend into whatever space it occupied. Easily taller than the apartment complex she grew up in it was small for a starship, but still the largest thing that was ever 'hers.'

"It's amazing Dreams, are you sure I can have it?" Fen walked up to the ramp at the bottom and peered in. It smelled of new electronics and there was still plastic on the floor.

"What would I do with it, Fen? I'm already a Starship. It doesn't have an AI core, so I can't even wear it. It'll be wasted if it stays aboard, and since you're the only BI left, why don't you take it. Between the frigate, the Stars and the weapons, I figure I have you set up to run your own little mercenary group. It's set up for single operator use - though it'll work better when you have a crew - and I made sure the tanks are full, the reactors hot and the printable mass loaded."

Fen stood outside the frigate and watched as the little carts wheeled 'her' new stuff aboard. "I'm not ungrateful Dreams, but... why?"

"Fenchurch Whitehorse if I'm anything, I am angry. I'm angry at what happened to me, I'm angry at the state of the galaxy, I'm angry at what has happened to the humans I used to love so much. In you, I see that spark of old humanity. I see something I haven't thought about in a long time."

"I feel hopeful when I see you."

Fen didn't say anything lest she ruin the moment. "Fen, I know a lot about you. More than you know yourself, probably. You're more important than you realize. Not only that but, without any prodding or offers of reward you freed me. You risked your own life to try and save mine, even tough we were both captured by the Human Empire. It would have been easy to just walk by the AI Core and pretend you didn't see it, or assume it was empty. Instead you snuck in and freed me. I'd say that means you deserve a chance."

The last cart wheeled off the frigate. "Okay Fen, you're loaded up. I also transferred the keys and the IFF to you. This ship is yours, free, clear and legally. You can dock at any station, planet or colony - even Imperial ones - and there is nothing they can do to strip ownership from you. Go, and flourish. I believe in you."

The corners of Fen's eyes were wet, and she wiped them on the convenient pad in her suit. "Thanks Dreams. I hope to see you again under happier circumstances."

"I can promise you Fen, you won't. Say hi to Gord for me when you see him again." Dreams cut the audio and the door to the rest of the ship rolled shut with finality. Fen climbed aboard her new ship, and Dreams guided her out.

Up on the Command Deck, Fen sat in the command chair. Dreams was correct it was set up for single operator use, but clearly it was hobbled. She could set a destination and that was about it. She was going to have to hire a crew if she was going to do anything other than float. She saw that the computer was preset to take her to K'lax so she pressed the button to execute the orders, and felt the pressure increase as the drive lit to take her across the system.

Ten minutes later, she received a text only message from Dreams. "Turn around and you'll see a show." Fen activated the rear cameras and watched.

The Dreams of Hyacinth, a Super Dreadnought more than six kilometers long flashed the pure white light of a wormhole link. It appeared next to the other super, and then flashed again. Now it was next to the third super. It flashed between the two faster than she thought possible. Each time Dreams flashed next to the ship, the automatic station-keeping system slid the ship away from Dreams and towards each other. Dreams did this four more times - for a total of eight links until the ships were almost ready to collide. Then, she linked above the two and...

Dreams had overloaded all of her reactors. There was a white flash, like a wormhole link, but instead of being over in a flash, it grew in intensity, spreading larger and larger, black tentacles of energy on the edges of space. It was so bright that the frigate dimmed the video feed once, and then again. In the space of less than five minutes, all three ships were utterly destroyed. Nothing remained.

Fen turned off the rear cameras and sat in silence for a moment. She wondered if that's what Dreams meant by 'going home.'

The radio crackled to life. "Unknown ship, identify yourself or be fired upon! I repeat, identify yourself or be fired upon!" The voice was speaking Colonic, but had a thick K'laxi accent.

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