#she's got her sniper rifle | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

longing-for-the-past-times · 8 months

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The four times you fell asleep on Ghost and the one time Ghost fell asleep on you - two.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

word count: 3,157 (got a bit carried away)

synopsis: after a mission, you and Ghost end up in a safe house, waiting for exfil. Both of you are exhausted after two days of being under the fire, but will any of you give in to exhaustion?

notes: I definitely did not expect so much support on the first part, so thank you very much, I really don't know what to say. I hope you enjoy this as much as the first part!

reader's callsign is Bambi (she/her)

find it on ao3 part one part two part three part four part five

masterlist

two.

You hadn't slept properly in two days, but at least the mission was a success. As successful as a mission can be when you have to spend the night in a deserted safe-house, in the middle of nowhere, waiting for exfil.

At least you were not alone, you reasoned, as you lay on the ragged couch and pulled out your sniper rifle. And perhaps you could get some shut-eye before dawn if your partner would assign you to the first watch.

There was a catch though. The person you ended up in the safe house with was none other than your Lieutenant, Ghost. And after the embarrassing scene where you fell asleep on him on base last week, you were mortified to be in his presence, especially when you were alone and there was no one there to fill the awkward silence that would settle in. He hadn't even teased you about it—only that one time, immediately after you groggily awoke on his shoulder.

The memory of the moment lingered in the back of your mind: the exaggerated way in which he rolled his shoulder, as if to emphasize your weight almost put his arm to sleep, and the glint in his eyes, perhaps delighted to catch you off-guard. If you hadn’t been so busy avoiding him for the following days, you would have noticed his slight shift in demeanour towards you. Whenever you were in the same room, his gaze would linger on you, his eyes visibly softening as if he was silently reliving the scene. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but after he had the time to fully process the interaction, he’d felt oddly satisfied with himself - he made you feel safe and protected, even if it was only for a fleeting moment.

So why wouldn’t you look him in the eye when he tried to speak with you?

“You can go rest, L.T., I’ll take the first watch!”

He definitely did not want to give you that look, not when it had been two days since you’d last exchanged any words with him. But he was stubborn, and you were also stubborn, and the last thing he wanted was to argue with you.

“There’s a bed in the other room. You can rest there till they get us out.”

So he chose his preferred tactic: deflect your words, plainly overlook them, as if they were merely a background noise in the conversation.

He did not miss the way your shoulders tensed up or that you’d stopped cleaning your sniper riffle. The fact that your breath stilled was not lost on him, but he kept pretending he was busy checking his own riffle as if it would determine you to listen to his words and get some well-deserved rest. And yes, he was stubborn. But you were more than stubborn. And you had also won several debate competitions in high school:

“I was only involved in surveillance, I believe I am rested enough to take at least the first watch!" “We are not having this conversation, Sergeant!”, Simon rolled his eyes in annoyance, all too aware that you were only beginning your argument. “You haven't slept in two days!” “Well, technically I was in a position that allowed me to rest more than you! I was literally resting on my belly for most of the time while you were out there, in the line of fire!” "We both know that's not how it works, Bambi!", he let out a frustrated groan that made you widen your eyes in his direction. It was the second time he expressed himself in such an uncharacteristic way, not even seeming to be bothered afterwards by the sudden display of emotion.

But that did not make you back down. Instead, you propped your sniper riffle on the small coffee table, purposefully ignoring him as you busied yourself making the necessary adjustments so that it pointed towards the middle of the wooden door. Anyone who would try to barge in without identifying themselves would be pierced by your bullets before realising what was actually going on. Ghost placed his skull mask on the same table and discarded most of his heavy gear, until he remained in the tactical vest, a basic black balaclava covering his face. As he got up from the couch to check on his ammo, you also started to get rid of the heavy layers of your sniper gear, most of which was covered in grass and dirt. You wouldn't even bother to clean it up when you got back to the base - the messier it was, the more realistic it looked on the field. As you were checking that all knives were in their sheaths, your gaze fell on the skull plate casually tossed next to your riffle. You were so used to it being plastered to Ghost’s face that seeing it carelessly thrown on the table seemed out of place, inexplicably domestic even. The more you thought of it, the more you realised that you’d never seen it anywhere but on his face - he must have kept it stowed away somewhere when you were stationed at the base.

If you were sane and did not have a death wish, you would have at least asked for permission before leaning in to touch it. No, scratch that, the thought of the action itself would not even cross your mind: no one touched L.T.'s mask, whether it was on his face or not. But you were exhausted, the two days of constantly being on the lookout, with little news of your team, starting to take a toll on you. And the sight of splattered blood across the cracked white surface was troubling enough to make you let your guard down and start scrubbing the mask vigorously with your sleeve, in a seemingly futile effort.

You were so concentrated on the task at hand, eyebrows etched into a deep frown, that you did not notice the creeping silhouette that was lingering in the doorway. The sight of a 6'2" man, coming to stand directly in front of you with his arms crossed in a suggestive stance was completely lost on you as you kept rubbing your palm against the red stains, huffing in annoyance when they did not seem to go away. He must have been involved in some form of close combat as the blood clearly wasn’t his and although you knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself, the thoughts of what could have been if he hadn’t paid enough attention, or if he’d been outnumbered plagued your mind. You were not supposed to worry about him like that. He was just your superior.

And also the person you fell asleep on once.

In the meantime, Simon was at a loss for words. He too was tired, having spent the last 48 hours being shot at and almost stabbed a couple of times. And perhaps, if he had to spend the night with someone like Soap, he might have gone to sleep for a couple of hours, letting the demolition expert keep watch. But he couldn’t allow himself such a liberty when you came into the equation- the need to protect you, to keep you from harm’s way was too intense, almost burning inside him. He could not fathom the thought of trying to rest with you having to spend the night in alert, on the lookout for any potential enemies. It was not that he did trust you with such a task, he was aware you were fully capable of it, but it just didn't sit well with him.

Yet there you were, your hands holding a piece of him. More than a couple of years have passed since he'd donned the persona of Ghost and the mask that you rubbed your knuckles against was an integral part of it. Never before had someone dared to touch his mask, he knew that everyone was too scared of it, of the persona he'd created through countless missions and stories. He was used to hearing people whispering behind his back, scrawny recruits sloppily pointing at the skull plate he'd spent an entire night stitching to a balaclava. He was also aware of the bets made on that topic and the gossip that claimed he must have been some kind of mutant, his physical features too grotesque to be displayed to the world.

There was a time when he himself did not know why he was wearing it, but the familiar weight on his face was a comforting sensation, a lover's embrace. That was the moment he knew he was becoming one with Ghost. That, and the fact that people couldn't tell his mood based on his facial expressions anymore. It was sort of liberating, not having to be judged based on what your face looked like at a certain moment.

He slightly tilted his head to the side, both amazed and alarmed that you hadn't noticed him yet. He hoped it was because you didn't think of him as a threat, not because your situational awareness was dimmed as your exhaustion increased. And he had to bite back a smile when he heard you mutter a string of curses under your breath when the crimson stains didn't seem to go away. Should he tell you only bleach does the job?

He decided to keep that secret to himself, loudly clearing his throat to get your attention. At that point, he was willing his eyes to stay inexpressive in spite of his lips twitching as your reaction to him was worthy of your callsign.

You couldn't help but flinch at the sudden intrusion, quickly placing the mask back on the table. You gave Ghost a tight-lipped smile, all too aware of the heat that was spreading across your face, your eyes resembling those of a deer caught in the headlights.

"I'm so sorry, Lieutenant, definitely did not mean to pry like that!', you profusely apologised, trying, but failing, to not look into his dark orbs.

Those damned eyelashes, why did they have to be so perfect?

But Ghost was too distracted by your doe eyes that he did not process your words properly. He wouldn't ask you to repeat whatever you'd just said, but he also did not want to ignore you, not when you spoke to him more than you did in a week, so he said the first thing that came to his mind: one of his army puns.

"Why did the mask go to therapy?"

You blinked back at him, not quite accepting that he'd simply brush it off like that. But his look was so expectant, almost willing you to answer what you knew was going to be one of his bad dad jokes, that you had no choice but to gesture him he could go on.

“It had too much 'bloody' emotional baggage.”

You cringed visibly at the reply, letting out a small sigh as you sat back on the couch, with him plopping next to you:

"Not gonna lie, but that was really bad, Ghost!"

He gave you his usual unimpressed look and you could see his balaclava shifting as he opened his mouth to answer, but a huge yawn interrupted him. A huge yawn that you tried to cover with both of your hands and that made you give him a sheepish look, that of a naughty child who pretends to be innocent.

"Wanna hear another?" "Oh God, spare me-" "Why did the tired operator try to stay awake during the mission?"

It was your turn to look unimpressed. He was definitely making it up on the go.

"Because she thought falling asleep on the job would be a 'mission impossible'."

His balaclava may have been on, but his eyes were sparkling again, a small glimpse of amusement in them. You wished you'd known a couple of one-liners just to be able to keep that glimmer as it was.

"You're really enjoying yourself, aren't you?" "All I'm trying to say is that you should get some rest, Bambi. I know you think I'm also tired, and believe me, I am, but you know what do two tired operators make?"

If you were taken aback by the amount of words he put into that sentence, you did not let it show. Instead, you caught on the quip and dutifully replied:

"Two dead ones." "You're a quick learner. So just get some sleep, even half an hour would do it. In the bed, on the couch, hell, even on the floor if that's what you want-" "Ok, ok, you got me, Ghost! But on one condition!" "Let's hear it." "When I wake up, it's your turn to rest. Two tired operators are dead operators, but one rested and one tired operator are just as much!"

The defeated mumble that you got as a response made you smirk, purposefully avoiding his determined gaze, currently set on you. Shaking your head in defeat, you trudged to the bedroom, took the weighted blanket from the bed and placed it on the couch, unaware that Ghost had scooted over to make you more space. It was not a complete success, he'd rather you took the bed that at least had a mattress more comfortable than the springs from the couch, but he would make the compromise. And you would be sleeping in his presence again, not that he had any feelings, good or bad, towards it. He would just relish in the vulnerability of the moment and his role as your protector.

"Alright, wake me up in 30!", you warned him as you got under the blanket, leaning on the arm of the couch, bracing your knees to your chest.

The deep hum you got as an answer sent a soothing sensation down your spine, and you couldn't help but smile as you cuddled up in the fetal position you chose. Deep down, a part of you felt selfish for giving in to the weariness, but the Lieutenant was right: fatigue led to mistakes which could lead to getting you killed.

Besides, you would also make sure he got some rest before morning. You were confident you could do it, you just didn't know how. Yet.

***

The mark of half an hour came and went, but Simon did not shift from his rigid position facing the entry of the safe house. He couldn't bring himself to wake you, not when the faint noises you occasionally let out were a testament to how much you needed the break. And it was not like he could have slept as peacefully as you did - now that he had time to think and reassess the mission, his mind was plagued by alternate scenarios and what-ifs. What if Laswell's intel pointed them to the second building in the compound instead of the first, and they would have been blown up to pieces as soon as they'd broken in? What if Soap hadn't warned him through comms of the two hostiles that were headed towards him, from his blind spot? What if someone had noticed that their men were falling even when no one in the building was shooting at them, and sent someone to look for the sniper positioned nearby?

His trail of thoughts was interrupted when he felt a familiar weight near his leg. He momentarily froze and had to make an effort to look down at the couch and see that your head was resting dangerously close to his leg, your hair gently brushing against his worn-down tactical pants. You must have somehow shifted in your sleep, as the weighted blanket you covered yourself with was forgotten on the floor, your left arm hanging limply on one side of the couch. You were lying on your back, soft snores leaving from your half-open mouth, and all Simon could think of was that your head was almost in his lap.

Why did he want it to be there? He recalled your embarrassment when you fell asleep on his shoulder, back at the base. You would be mortified if you woke up with your head in his lap, and tactically speaking, it would make it harder for him to react to an immediate threat. Then why was he craving the contact like he craved the feeling of the sun on his face on those first days he wore the mask?

Another hour passed and Ghost had no intent of waking you up. You truly must have been exhausted, he thought to himself, as he took in your soft snores and occasionally small sighs. The night was dark and silent, and the only source of light that trickled into the room was a dingy lamppost from across the road.

Eventually, Ghost let his eyes wander over your sleeping silhouette, hooded eyes hungrily lingering over the delicate details accentuated by the faint glow. And in that moment, you were as boundless as the sea and vast as the universe. You were lost in a world woven from your dreams, while he, awake and aware, found himself trapped in a dream of his own. And he was in deep that he did not realise when he let his arm rest above yours, leaning his head onto the back of the couch. The grip on his combat knife remained firm, ready to jump into action if needed, but his eyelids were heavy, too heavy for his liking and the soft cadence of your breathing was too inviting. He would only rest his eyes for a bit, not that he could fall asleep like this. He shouldn’t fall asleep like this, not when he is supposed to keep you safe.

The faint crackling of your communications could be heard across the room, mingling with the sunbeams that filtered through the heavy curtains. Grunting in annoyance, you rolled on your side, looking for the blanket you’d covered yourself in earlier. It took your mind a moment to register you were not in your bed, but on a couch, yet it was too late to prevent you from rolling into thin air, the heavy thud of you falling on the floor reverberating across the room.

Ghost opened his eyes in an instant, eyes promptly directed to where you had been sleeping. The absence of your body sent his half-asleep mind into a frenzy, hands scrambling for a weapon which he pointed to the floor. His cold gaze softened when he saw your bleary-eyed figure, a smile dancing on his lips as he took in the string of curses you kept muttering under your breath.

“Watcher 1 to Bravo 0-7, how copy? Exfil’s inbound your way. I say again, exfil’s inbound your way.”

Not taking his eyes off you, Ghost pressed the button on his comms, wishing he had Soap’s Polaroid at hand:

“Bravo 0-7 to Watcher 1, copy.”

taglist: @neoarchipelago

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #task force 141 #ghost imagine #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #call of duty imagine

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toxicanonymity · 1 year

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Hey love your work could you please do a Joel story where reader is virgin/ naive and they are on patrol or something similar. They get cold and Joel convinces/ tricks the reader to strip for warmth and starts touching her saying he just wants to keep her warm and she can keep him warm by using her mouth on him…. dubcon/noncon. Please? Thank you? ily?

Patrol

1.3k | CREEPY!Joel x naive virgin f!reader

joel master list

NSFW 18+ Dubcon/noncon nudity & sex acts: dry humping, vaginal fingering, oral sex; manipulation; idk what else to tag, but cannot stress enough what a creep he is or how naive reader is.

You’re relieved when Joel is your patrol partner. You’re new to the job and he’s more than capable of protecting you if it comes down to it. You’re posted at the top of a hill near a shack. Joel has a sniper rifle set up, but in all the times he’s been posted there, nothing has ever happened. Each of you has a blanket, but it’s not enough to stay warm. Your ass is freezing against the cold ground.

A bitter gust of wind hits, and Joel scoots over, wrapping you both in his blanket. He smells like pine, whiskey, and dried sweat. He rubs your arms, then starts to get behind you.

“Come on now, don’t be shy,” he says. “Can’t get warm keepin’ to yourself like that.”

He persuades you between his legs, and you have to admit you’re much warmer that way. Your ass especially benefits from the heat of his loins. He offers you a swig of whiskey. You’re of legal age to drink, but you’ve never really done it. He says it’ll help warm you up. He hooks his arm around you and holds the bottle up to your lips. It tastes awful and burns your throat, but he’s right, you get a little warmer.

You sit like that for a while. He hugs you close and his pants harden against you, which makes you tingle between the legs. You’re a little ashamed at how your body is reacting when he’s just being a nice guy, trying to keep you warm. Joel looks at his watch.

“We’ve got about an hour break now. Why don’t we go up in the shack to get a little warmer.” You didn’t know both people could break at the same time on a patrol.

Inside the shack, there’s a decrepit sofa facing a window in the same direction you’re supposed to patrol. Without the wind, you’re already much less cold. You sit down on the couch. Joel suggests it’ll be better if you double up the blankets so you can both get under two layers. Makes sense to you. You snuggle up to him under both blankets.

“Still cold?” he asks.

“A little.”

“Here, lemme show you somethin’. Trust me for a second?”

“Okay.” He’s so capable and protective, of course you trust him.

He takes off his jacket and lifts his shirt up a few inches. Then, he lifts your shirt up, too, and your breath hitches. You swallow and don’t say anything. He pulls you up against him and his skin is so warm against yours, it feels like heaven. Your heart races.

“How’s that feel?”

“Warm,” you say. It also stirs something in your core, but you don’t tell him that part.

“That’s right. That’s why people take their clothes off and get really close when they’re cold.”

You don’t know what to say. You get a whiff of the whiskey on his breath.

He continues, “Might sound like a silly idea, takin’ your clothes off when it’s cold, but you feel it workin’ already don’t ya?”

“I guess so. . .” You’re embarrassed. Something about this feels strange, but you also don't want to seem even less worldly than you are if it's something people really do.

“It’s alright now, darlin,” he says softly as he unbuckles his belt. “We’ll just give it a try, see if it helps.”

He smiles kindly and reaches over to help you unbutton your pants. “Your core right here, that’s the warmest part of the body. This and your mouth,” he says, running his hands over your stomach and the front of your pants. “It’s like a furnace.” He pats your zipper, then unzips it. Your cheeks burn. “And your heart, here,” he pats your chest, “it’s important for heat, too.”

A small nod is all you can muster. “I’m just a little shy, to, uh-”

“Oh it’s okay darlin, it’s okay. I won't look. You just come on back under here when you’re all set, okay?”

“Okay.” You breathe a sigh of relief. The room is cold as you hesitantly disrobe.

A minute later, you’re naked under the blanket except your bra and underwear.

“There ya go, darlin.”

You settle in against his naked body, curled up shyly as a small spoon. His arousal presses between your thighs. His hand comes to your underwear. “Whoops. Don’t forget, this is one of our furnaces.” He starts to pull them down.

“Want me to show you another trick real quick?” You don’t answer.

“I can give you a real strong burst of heat.” You freeze and say nothing as his hand slides into your panties. Several fingers wedge between your thighs, engulf your whole front in a hug, massaging you in a circular motion. Then, two fingers glide further, rubbing against your warm, wet folds. He pulls down the back of your underwear and nestles his hard package in your crack, rolling it into you and breathing heavily as he massages your throbbing clit. Tension coils in your core.

You don’t know what to make of any of this. You aren't stupid You aren't a child. It’s clearly turned into something sexual. But he’s so nurturing and protective, you feel like he has the best intentions.

His middle finger enters you and he whispers, “warmest part, right here,” then adds another finger with a sigh. His hardness moves against your crack and he grunts softly. Your hips slightly rock into his hand. “There ya go,” he says. “You’ve got the right idea.” He returns his fingers to your clit, trying different strokes, and when you softly moan, he stays with that one. He pets you faster and faster until the tension bursts and your body jerks. You’re not cold at all as your clit pulses, releasing the blood back into your body.

He pulls your panties back up. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna take these off,” he says. You’re relieved. His big, hard cock intimidates you. It’s uncomfortably close to your holes. “There’s another way you can get me warm.” You gulp.

“Here, turn over for a sec,” he says. Your ears burn and you can hardly make eye contact as you face him. He takes your hand and puts it on his hard cock.

“Feel this? Why don’t you wrap your warm little mouth around it, see if that helps me?” he asks. You feel obligated since he made you come, even if you never wanted him to.

“Um, okay. I mean, i’ve never. . .”

“It’s okay, darlin’, it’s all about stayin’ warm. Nothin fancy. You stay under the blankets too, okay? Don’t let that heat out.”

You get between his legs and take his stiff cock in your hand. You’ve felt a few guys harden against you while making out, but you’ve never held a naked one. It's smoother than you expect, and when he thrusts into your hand, the skin moves on the shaft.

You take him into your mouth and he moans softly. “There ya go,” he says. You seal your lips and suck like you think you’re supposed to, and he twitches in your mouth. “You’re doin’ great, darlin’.”

His hips begin to lift rhythmically, and you gag but keep your mouth sealed. His hands come to your head, pushing you down, making your eyes water as you gag more. You want it to be over as soon as possible, so you don’t complain. You try to do a really good job. Finally, he pulses inside you and his cum hits the back of your throat. You choke a little, then swallow it down.

“You alright?” He asks. You don’t answer. “C’mere, darlin.” He opens his arms and you lie on top of him for a few minutes. Then, he says the break time is over and it’s probably best to get back on the hill. You're uncomfortable, but you remind yourself he'd probably save your life in a heartbeat, so it's a small price to pay.

Tag List @tonysterco

#joel miller x reader #creepy!joel #dark!joel #dark!joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #toxicanonymity ☠️#ask box #perv!joel #perv!joel miller #tw: everything #patrol!joel

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alotofpockets · 6 months

Text

I'll follow you everywhere | Natasha Romanoff

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: You’re on the run with your wife Natasha, when she receives a small box with red vials with a picture of a young Natasha and Yelena attached.

Warnings: Scenes from Black Widow used. Weapons, wounds, explosives, and a car crash. A/n: This is a repost from one of my old accounts.

Masterlist | Marvel masterlist | Words: 2.3K

You were browsing the shelves of the local supermarket in the small town in Norway where your current safe house was located. Natasha and the rest of the Avengers that weren’t already arrested were on the run. As her wife you weren’t letting her go on her own. You offered to go into town on your first night to get some food and other necessities as the chances of you getting recognized were way smaller than her being recognized by the locals, as her picture amongst those of the other rogue Avengers were shown on the news all over the world.

With all the supplies, you drive back to the trailer. You carry the bags inside and are met with Natasha staring at a box with something glowing inside of it. “What’s that?” You ask, oblivious to the contents of the box. Natasha turns around holding out a picture. You step closer to take a look at the photobooth picture in her hand, there are two young girls hugging, both wearing big smiles on their faces. You recognize a young Natasha, but don’t recognize the younger blonde girl. “Yelena?” You question. Natasha had told you about her sister, but you’d never seen a picture of the girl.

Natasha nods her head, eyes wide. “She’s in trouble y/n, I need to go to Budapest. I need to help her.” Natasha turns around, and starts putting on her shoes, while you grab a bag and put some clothes from the both of you in it. “What are you doing?” Natasha asks. “I’m grabbing some clothes.” You say with a confused look on your face, thinking it was obvious what you were doing. “I know that, I mean why are you packing your clothes?”

Once again you’re confused, “Because I’ll need clothes to wear too?” Natasha’s confusion clears as she realizes what’s going on. “Baby, you can’t go with me. I don’t know what’s out there. It’s too dangerous, I can’t risk you getting hurt.”

“Darling, I’m coming with you, whether it’s dangerous or not. The day I married you, I promised you in my vows that I would always follow you everywhere. I intend on keeping that promise, so I’m coming with you. You don’t have to do this alone.” Natasha knows there is no use for arguing with you when you’ve already made up your mind, so she lets you continue packing. Within an hour you’ve made it to the train station, boarding the train to Budapest.

When you got to the safe house Natasha told you to wait outside while she tried prying the lock of the door open. A voice from within the apartment was heard, “I know you’re out there.” Natasha took a big sigh, unlocking the lock and grabbing her gun. “I know you know I’m out here.” She responds, before opening the door.

It stayed quiet on the other side of the door while you waited patiently for Natasha to deem the apartment safe for you to enter. You knew it must be weird for her to see Yelena again, especially because it had been so long since they had seen each other. Natasha didn’t even know if she could trust her. You understood that, so you waited. The quietness was interrupted by the sound of things slamming into walls. Natasha was the strongest person and most skilled fighter you knew, you know she could handle herself. Nonetheless you were worried.

The sounds kept getting louder and louder. You were trying to focus on Natasha’s voice to hear if she was okay. Until you notice a red dot appear on your chest. You weren’t trained on any of this, but you knew that a red dot is most likely a sniper rifle pointing at you. Without thinking you opened the door to the safe house and walked into the room. You turn around to see Natasha and Yelena laying on the floor out of breath, with a white curtain laying around them.

As soon as Yelena sees you in the corner of her eyes, she reaches for her gun and points it at you, “Don’t move.” She says to you, then she turns to Natasha, “You said truce, what is this?” Natasha is quick to answer. “Easy, Yelena, that’s my wife.” Yelena slowly lowers the weapon while repeating the word, “Wife?”

You interrupt the conversation, “Yes, wife. No time for further explanation. There are snipers on the roof, one was aiming at me just a second ago out in the hall.” Natasha stands up quickly, moving in between you and the window.

"Stay on my hip." Natasha tells you as she moves away from the window. Always standing in between you and the outside wall. The three of you move into a backroom where Yelena grabs the box of red vials and some ammo for her gun. "Come on, we can get on the roof from the window."

As she opens the window, the front door is kicked in. "Go, I'll be right behind you." Yelena says while running back in. Natasha climbs out of the window and helps you out as well. Yelena comes running towards the window, followed by a large explosion. "The switch, good thinking." Natasha compliments her sister.

"Where are we going?" Natasha asks. "West side, I have a motorcycle there but it won't fit us all." - "Lead the way, we'll see when we get there." Yelena starts running and Natasha nudges you to follow Yelena. She makes sure you're in between them at all times. Especially because two widows were following you. You had some distance on them, but as long as they were carrying weapons, distance didn't mean safety.

You got to the motorcycle, and there is no way it's going to fit three. Yelena grabs her gun and stops a nearby car, "Get out." She yells pointing the gun at the driver. He walks out with his hands up. Yelena gets behind the wheel but Natasha is quick to tell her to move over to the passenger seat and tells you to get in the back.

Natasha starts driving away, but you're quickly followed by widows on motorcycles, shooting at the car. “Duck.” They say in unison as the back window is about to break. Luckily you are quick to respond and none of you get hurt.

You're driving around like maniacs. Yelena was basically hanging out of the window and now the car was missing a door, but at least it took one of the widows out. All of a sudden the rest of the widows disappeared, which none of you saw as a good sign.

Your instincts were right. An armored car makes its way around the corner. When it starts picking up speed it just crashes right into the cars of the oncoming traffic and parked cars. And if it wasn't scary enough, the roof of the car opened and a fully armored person appeared with a bow and arrow. When you realized it wasn't just any arrow being aimed at you, but an explosive one it was already too late.

The arrow exploded and the car was pushed into the air. It rolled a couple of times before landing upside down into a train station entry. Natasha was quick to get out of the car and pulled you and Yelena out. Since Yelena had no door on her side anymore something had cut her arm open, but other than that none of you were injured.

Natasha quickly tied a scarf around Yelena’s arm, because you had to move. There was no way this armored assassin or the widows were going to give up any time soon. Natasha led you all to a place she once hid with Clint, where you hid out as you saw them walking right past your location.

For Natasha and Yelena this was part of their jobs, so they had gotten used to the rush and adrenaline that came with being chased. That wasn't the case for you though. When you made it into the airshaft your adrenaline started slowly fading, making you realize just how crazy this was. Natasha was quick to notice your upcoming panic attack, and came to your aid quickly, she was able to help calm your breathing down before it turned into a full on attack. Once you’re fully calmed down Natasha turns to Yelena, “Who the hell was that?”

“Dreykov’s special project, they can mimic anyone they've ever seen. It’s like fighting a mirror. Dreykov only deploys them for top priority missions.” Natasha’s mind is trying to wrap around what Yelena just told her, “This doesn’t make any sense.” She says. All these years Natasha thought that she had killed Dreykov, but Yelena explained how that wasn’t the case.

After a while the women decided the coast was clear, and left the vents of the train station to get cleaned up. The three of you ended up at a small convenience store and bought some necessities for cleaning wounds, and some painkillers, since the flipping of the car had an effect on all three of you. You took the supplies to a restaurant nearby where Natasha helped Yelena clean up the wound and they talked amongst themselves to catch up.

“Where are you gonna go after this?” Natasha asks after learning that Yelena had been under the influence of Dreykov’s control and was just freed of it recently. “I don’t know.” Yelena answers. “I don’t really have anywhere to go back to. So, I guess anywhere” Nat puts her drink down but before she can say anything Yelena says, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Natasha says. Yelena laughs, “Oh, you’re going to give me some big hero speech, I can feel it.” Both you and Natasha laugh at that. “Speeches aren’t really her thing.” You share with Yelena letting her in on the look shared between you and your wife. “Exactly, and it was more like an invitation.” Yelena thinks for a moment, “To go to the Red Room and kill Dreykov, even though the Red Room is impossible to find and Dreykov is too slippery to kill?” Natasha smirks before saying, “Yeah.”

“That sounds like a shitload of work.” Yelena points out. “Yup, it could be fun though.” Natasha adds and Yelena agrees. “You saw where he put the keys?” These two were truly on the same wavelength you realized as Yelena answered, “Top drawer, green cabinet.” And with that you were on the road. Natasha called Rick Mason, the contractor she regularly worked with that she needed a jet. When you arrived at the agreed location a shitty old broken down helicopter stood on the field.

“I said we needed a jet.” Natasha says as Rick walks out of the helicopter. “Yeah and you know what you didn’t give me? Time or money. I am not made of jets.” He was funny, just like Yelena said, you could see why Nat would keep working with him. Rick showed all the supplies that Natasha asked for before Natasha turned to you.

“Darling, I know what you said before and I very much appreciate you for sticking to the vows and following me everywhere, but this is as far as I will allow you to come along on this journey, okay? This is going to be a very dangerous mission and I am not able to keep the promise I made to you in our vows, the promise to always keep you safe. With Dreykov in the picture, I cannot risk it, which is why I asked Rick to take you to a safe house for the time being.” You told her it was okay and that you understood, you thought today had been scary enough and you were for sure not built or trained to live that kind of life. You would only hold them back, and you realized that in this situation that could cost you not only your life but also theirs.

You hugged Natasha for a long time before letting go and walking over to Yelena. “I never expected these to be the circumstances that I would meet my sister in law, but nonetheless it was a pleasure meeting you, Yelena. Please keep her safe, I really need her to come back to me.” Yelena put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “I will.”

The two of you joined back with Nat and Rick. Before they got on the helicopter you said, “Oh, and, Yelena, you will always have a place to go to with me and Nat. We might be on the run at the moment too, but you are more than welcome to join us.” With an appreciative nod Yelena entered the helicopter and after Natasha sent you a reassuring smile she did as well. Rick led you to the car and drove you to the safe house he had arranged for you.

It had been a couple of days and you had started to settle in when you heard a knock on your door. At first it scared you, but your worries eased when you heard a familiar voice, “Baby, it’s okay, it’s me.” You practically ran to the door, opening it to see a couple more people than just Natasha.

Natasha ushered everyone inside and hugged you tight, she was relieved to know you were okay. When she stepped back Yelena gave you a small hug too, “I promised I’d keep her safe.” She whispers in your ear. Then Natasha introduced you to the two unfamiliar faces. “Darling, these are Alexei and Melina, they are my parents. Remember the family I told you about from Ohio?” You nodded. “Alexei, Melina, this is my wife, y/n.” You held out your hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Can I get anyone something? You all look like you could use some food.”

“That would be wonderful, sweetheart.” Melina says. “And some vodka!” Alexei adds, which makes everyone laugh. You prepare a meal for the family as you watch Natasha with them. You smile at how happy she looks, she never had any family besides the Avengers, this is what she had always wanted. And this might not be your house, but with everyone surrounding the table it felt like home.

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#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff x you #natasha x you #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #black widow fic #black widow x reader #yelena belova #natasha romanoff imagine #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader

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circe69 · 1 year

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I Wanna Hear You Say Something

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader

summary: ghost really likes your accent, and you really like his.

cw: fluff galore.

A/N: I have ideas for a part two. Lemme know if you want it sooner than anything else.

Edit: Part two is here:)

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Tonight, was your first mission ever. You were terrified, seeing as though the only people surrounding you were huge, loud, and dangerous men. They had been in this field forever, and you had only shot maybe a few targets on the head. You weren't met for this type of work, but your new general said you had a knack for sniping.

It was pouring rain, perfect, you thought. You pulled together some sort of outfit, grabbing a pair of heavy cargo pants that just hung off your hips, and a turtleneck t-shirt. They didn't offer much else.

All the sudden, you heard consistent honking outside your dorm. It was the boss, and the rest of your new companions in a large truck. You quickly grabbed your rifle, water, put on your combat boots and ran outside.

The rain kept getting in your eyes, making it hard to see, and you almost ran into the car door. Opening it with force, you jumped in the truck and landed on your hands and knees.

Wonderful. What a nice entry! is all you could think.

The man in the front seat turned around, trying to ignore your faceplant, and said, "Boys, welcome Y/N. She's a sharpshooter. Treat her like one of your own."

You stood up, face red, and dusted off the mud on your pants. You smiled at the general, silently thanking him for the introduction. As you took a seat in between men twice your size, you quietly said,

"Hello."

A few snickers from across the truck caught your attention, and the man sitting to your right said with his booming voice, "Oh great, we've got a clumsy sniper." He looked at you, and met your eyes with such sarcasm, all you wanted to do was roll your eyes, but his mask drew your attention away from your brewing anger.

A skull? Ah, so this must be the infamous Ghost.

You stared for a little bit, then dropped your head to your lap and started fiddling with your hands.

Your anxiety was probably visible from miles away. You never wanted to mess up, but you definitely didn't want to screw up in front of a bunch of men who already are skeptical of you. Men are terrifying.

Army men are even more so.

You started to mess with the gold ring on your middle finger, sliding it on and off, until a large hand abruptly grabbed it from you.

What is his proble-?

"Is it real?" Ghost leaned down and whispered in your ear. His voice. It was too sexy for his own good.

He messed around with it in the palm of his hand, being sure not to drop it. You said back, "No, but don't tell anyone." You winked as he looked up into your eyes.

"Ahh. I see", he whispered once again. You couldn't help but keep eye contact, even when softly grabbed your hand and slid the ring back on your middle finger.

Might as well exchange vows already, you smiled to yourself, and he noticed.

"You wanna know somethin'?" He said gruffly.

You hummed in response, awaiting his fun fact.

"I really like your accent."

Something about that made your heart jump. It jumped even higher when he rested his gloved palm on your knee.

"And you're gonna be fine. Tonight, I mean."

He spoke with such sincerity, it almost seemed natural to him, but he would probably cringe if you said that to him.

His fingers didn't move from your leg, in fact, if anything they were almost impossible to move. You smiled at him and put your hand over his, when suddenly the truck rolled to a stop, and you had arrived at your destination.

A few of the men had jumped out before you, including Ghost. As you neared the car door, Ghost grabbed your hips and pulled you out of the car. You gasped as he carefully let you down, and he yelled to be heard over the rain, "I didn't want you to fall again." You slapped his arm playfully and kept walking in front of him. He belly laughed behind you, and it made your stomach flood with butterflies.

You started jogging to take cover, and get a break from the rain, and followed close behind you. You had come across an old shack, the windows were busted, and doors unhinged, but it was enough to keep you dry.

Ghost took a seat on the floor behind you, resting his head on the wall.

"I'm tired of running in the rain, Y/N", he said sighing.

You giggled and nodded in agreement.

"I wanna hear you say something," he whispered in a low voice. He was a little out of breath, and you could physically see his chest rise and fall.

You took a few steps closer and kneeled down in front of him. You decided to tease him a little bit, so you covered your mouth with your hands and shook your head no.

He reached out and pulled your hands away from your mouth. He started spinning your ring around your finger as he gestured you to come closer.

"Please."

You were now straddling him, sitting directly on his lap and your hands were still enclosed in his, dropped down to his sides.

"What should I say?" you whispered, tauntingly.

He scoffed in annoyance. Right when he was about to say something, you snuck your hands up his torso, chest, and finally lifted his mask just enough for you to see his jawline.

You kissed his jaw lightly on one side, then breathed on his skin, "Oh, I know what to say." You kissed the other side of his jawline, and whispered, "I really really like your accent."

He grabbed your waist and started tickling you while laughing himself. He pulled you underneath him, so your back was on the wet floor, and he was caging you in.

"Good, well I'm glad we're on the same page."

#ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley x reader #modern warfare #ghost imagine #circe69scribbles

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tumblingxelian · 1 month

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Near Uniquely RWBY - Main Characters

I was chatting with my sibling the other day and we were joking about the fact in 90% of the media I consume I generally don't like the main characters.

Not in the sense I necessarily hate them, but I generally don't find them to be the most interesting, engaging or enjoyable person on screen or page. Instead I tend to gravitate towards secondary or minor characters and even minor antagonists before any of the big names.

Some of this is rooted in my often rooting for what tends to feel more like a real underdog or characters that feel like they got dealt a bad hand by the author unfairly. But its also that in a lot of media the main characters tend to immediately, slowly or quickly go into personality lockdown.

Becoming less a personality and more the embodiment of expected tropes and themes, or they lose their unique edge or circumstances because the plot demands one benefits or personality changes be heaped on them to keep the tone and story going.

Some examples of this would include say:

Ichigo from Bleach, with him and his supporting cast being very unique and super interesting during the initial arc. But as Soul Society came in, he became a much more standard Shounen determinator a the expense of his personality and his supporting casts were largely watered down & left behind.

Or how in Naruto or Dragon Ball the whole underdog/hard worker aspect of the characters felt undercut by legacy power ups and an endless wellspring of natural talent, alien biology, ETC.

I know these are just two examples, but they cover the general gist of what I mean.

So, what makes RWBY different?

Well, off the cuff, is simply that the four main characters are women.

I've often felt simply putting anyone other than a cis-het guy into the main character slot of say, a battle Shounen, or Isekai stands a good chance of making it more interesting by default. Even if the author does nothing with it the audience reaction would be different because the MC would be an exception to the norms.

In that vein, while one can call RWBY some sort of Shounen or adventure fantasy or magical girl show the main four are unique in how they manifest on screen at the very start. From how they participate in action, to how said action is structured and framed and the kind of adventures and topics they tackle.

But being unique alone is not enough, that would simply make it more interesting than the bog standard but what elevates RWBY is the execution and exploration of such elements and its characters.

Going into every aspect would be difficult, but in light of what I said above would be how each of the main four are initially presented as familiar archetypes, only to subvert or deconstruct them.

Ruby is a peppy goth who just wants to be normal but has inborn powers from her mysteriously vanished mother and serves as a beacon of optimism to others.

Except Ruby's version of normal still involved fighting death monsters with a sniper rifle scythe and she is actually one of the more ruthless characters. Her peppy persona obscures that she can have a pretty vicious temper when pushed and has displayed strong bloodknight tendencies.

Her unrelenting optimism and desire to fix the world is a complex mix of true beliefs, coping mechanism for trauma and her grappling with positions forced on her against her will. Her inborn power is potentially useful but also not that much of a game breaker outside specific contexts & said power sure as hell didn't save her mom.

Weiss Schnee is the Tsundere heiress of a powerful family, with a haughty attitude that hides her loneliness.

Except the "Tsundere" is more of a defense mechanism born of coming from an abusive home where every member of her family manifested a different trauma response. Freeze (Mother), flight (Sister), Fight (Weiss) Fawn (Brother).

Despite her upbringing & some projected trauma, she's far from ignorant as to the worst excesses of her nation early on, and her journey was more about overcoming the impacts her abuser had on her and finding a family in her team that let her be safe enough to let down her walls. Also despite being "The ice queen" she's actually one of the characters least inclined towards more ruthless actions and is extremely empathic.

Blake Belladonna is a mysterious and silent rougish woman, something of a shrinking violet even, but she carries with her a wounded heart thanks to her old flame, the edgy Adam Taurus.

Or more accurately, Blake is the daughter of activists and politicians who represent the worlds main discriminated against minority. She spent her youth on the road as a protestor and where even her father could be nearly killed by a lynch mob. She was targeted & groomed by a man who claimed to want to fight the same injustice she did but who was only interested in using the movement to grow his own power.

Her initial aloof-ness was a trauma response to having spent years under his thumb and overcoming him and the idea she had to 'save' him was one of the main corner stone so her character. Also, despite the "Revolutionary fighter" backstory she like Weiss is much less inclined towards ruthlessness than her team in large part because her past experience with it.

Yang Xiao Long, introduced as the fun loving big sister of Ruby & boisterous bruiser of the team who loves to party & flirt.

Except no, Yang was parentified as a child and forced to raise her own sister as their family unit fell apart. Her "Party girl" persona was outright framed as judging a book by its cover in her own trailer and something she put on or took off as she needed.

She became disabled over the course of the series run as well as entered a Sapphic romance with her partner Blake. Unlike the stereotype of characters with her design, Yang is actually an excellent student, fighter and engineer/mechanic. Plus much like her sister she tends to be of the more ruthless and pragmatic persuasion despite being from the "Normal" background.

Character Conclusion

So, all the characters break out of their initial archetypes, which already makes them more interesting. What's more, these sorts of characters just being oput together and made the main characters rather than circling a dude is in of itself unique.

But there are other aspects of the writing which endear me to how it handles the main characters and what keeps them interesting.

Anger & Violence

See, while in various media women do express anger at times it is still often far less so than men. What's more, often women's anger tends to be presented in... Less flattering lights.

With the anger obscuring fragility while in a man it conveys strength. Or implying a sort of hysteria rather than an appropriate or controlled response. Or worst of all being demonized in general unless its rooted in or coming from traditionally feminine places.

The same tends to be true when it comes to violence with a lot of media either trying to find some way to make women in battle less... Brutal than their male counterparts. (More more like fanservice) Along with rarely letting women fight men, unless they are a special exception to the norm.

RWBY does not do this.

The main characters, hell, all the women in the series express a multitude of different forms of anger and violence. They battle men, they battle each other, they battle monsters all with no distinction nor fanservice shot in sight.

What's more though is that said anger and violence are not presented as, for lack of better words, wrong. The writers don't draw overt attention to this fact, they don't hang a big sign up saying "Girls can fight & shout too" or the like.

They just present these women with a range of emotions, motives and actions that are treated according to what fits the theme of the show rather than hewing closer to gendered lines.

This isn't to say anger & violence are lionized, but more that the experience and usage of them is not demonized or undermined because of the characters gender.

I suppose what I am saying is that CRWBY by and large lack double standards when it comes to exploring these things that I see so often in other media. The women in the main cast, among the villains, both sides respective allies and beyond can be flawed, or angry or do both good and terrible things.

But the writers are always treating everyone's pain as equally valid regardless of gender or situation. Which means that the situations that cause anger exist within a tone of respect that forms the depiction and framing of anger itself.

Which is just something I really enjoy.

Thanks for reading!

#RWBY #Save RWBY #greenlight volume 10 #Team RWBY #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #Some other series that do this or touch on it are She-Ra #The original Sailor V manga but less so Sailor Moon #& to varying degrees the Owl House #Thanks to Adam for helping me with the conclusion!

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webslinger-holland · 2 months

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Running Bets | Hunter from The Bad Batch

Summary: The Bad Batch likes to make bets during missions, especially when things get really chaotic.

Warning: mentions of death, weapons, and droids being dismembered

Pairing: Hunter x Fem!Reader Jedi

Word Count: 3.5k

Type: Oneshot

The Bad Batch were currently away on another one of their missions. They found themselves aboard a modified Providence-Class Separatist Dreadnought which served as General Grievous's main command ship. Their mission was quite simple: infiltrate the naval warship, retrieve a piece of valuable intel, and return it back to the jedi council.

A few years prior, the Kaminoans had specifically requested for the Jedi Council to select and send a Jedi to come work with the rebellious group of clones. They had hoped being under the command of a jedi master would beat them into shape and teach them how to properly follow orders.

However, the Kaminoans didn't know what they had gotten themselves into when General L/n was sent to work with The Bad Batch. She was the only jedi who jumped at the opportunity to lead the group of misfits since nobody else wanted to be assigned to them. She came with her own sense of recklessness that only added to the squads over-the-top plans and inability to follow order the 'right way.'

Now, just a few years later, the five members of the Bad Batch stood in front of a closed corridor on the dreadnought. There was a comfortable silence that settled over them which was only interrupted a few times by Crosshair clicking the scope of his sniper rifle, Wrecker cracking his knuckles in preparation for the fight ahead of them, and Tech tapping away at his data pad. They stared at the closed door right in front of them, growing slightly impatient.

"Ugh," Wrecker groaned while rolling his eyes in annoyance. "What's taking so long?"

"I am trying to crack into the ship's security system. It's a complex system, but once I'm in, I'll be able to access all the doors of the dreadnought and open this one for us," Tech explained to them. He was kneeling beside the data panel beside the door, pressing some buttons in the process.

The only problem was that the rest of them had tuned him out after the word 'security.'

"Why can't I just smash through the doors? It'll be a lot quicker than this," Wrecker argued.

"Because that would give away the element of surprise," Hunter interjected. "Nobody knows we're here."

"And I, for one, would like to keep it that way," General L/n added.

"Just hurry up, will you?" Wrecker groaned. "I'm dying to crush some droids."

"I've...almost...got...it," Tech said rather slowly while pressing buttons on the panel quickly.

The screen became illuminated with a shade of green, which shown in the reflection of his goggles adorned on his face. He was now granted access to the entire ship's security system via his data pad. He stood back up to join his brothers. He pressed a few buttons on his data pad to open the large sealed blast door in front of them.

"Eyes up. We don't know what we're up against on the other side of this," Hunter told the rest of the group. They waited for the door to open for them. He drew his own two blasters out of the holsters, keeping them ready for a fight.

The other members of the group seemed to follow his actions by readying their own weapons. The general, who stood in the front and center of the group, decided to pull her own two lightsabers from her belt. Her thumbs lingering over the button in preparation for activation. Her eyes trained on the sealed door in front of her, holding her breath in anticipation.

"Care to wager a bet, boys?" She hoped it would put the rest of them at ease.

"Don't we always?" Crosshair inquired with a slight hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"Loser has to clean the ship including the refresher," Y/n smirked to herself. She glanced over her shoulder to meet Wrecker's gaze.

"That's not that bad of a punishment," Wrecker scoffed while his shoulders slumped in slight disappointment.

"Have you seen the ship recently? Can't even see the floor," Hunter interjected.

"It has gotten pretty bad," Tech agreed. Oddly enough, Tech was easily one of the messiest ones because of all the little projects he left lying around. One could trip over all the cords and wires on the ground.

"Fine," Wrecker groaned more to himself. "Loser cleans the ship."

"Including the refresher," Y/n quickly added, not wanting him to miss out that little detail because she had every intention of making sure he lost today.

"Including the refresher," Wrecker grumbled under his breath.

"Whenever you're ready, Tech." The General was prepared for the fight ahead of them, keeping a firm grip on the two lightsabers in her grasp. She readjusted her stance and lifted her lightsabers up in a defensive manner.

Finally, as if on cue, Tech pressed a single button on his data pad which activated the blast doors in front of them. The doors began opening slowly from the center, retracting back into the walls and revealing the vast hallway corridor in front of them.

What the Bad Batch hadn't expected was to find the corridor completely packed with the traditional B-1 battle droids. There had to have been fifty or sixty of them standing around with blasters in hand. Their long yellow heads seemed to turn towards the source of the noise all simultaneously.

"A jedi?" One of the closer droids exclaimed in slight surprise. He pointed towards the group to signal the others. "Blast them!"

Before the droids even had a chance to start firing, General L/n had activated her two yellow lightsabers and charged straight towards the company of clankers. She dodged each of their shots, moving swiftly from left to right. Once she got close enough to them, she swiftly swung her lightsaber to slice through the base of their blasters, rendering them useless.

Behind her, the rest of them started firing their own shots and taking out droids while making their way down the corridor. Each of them showcasing their own unique style of fighting. While Crosshair usually lingered behind the group to take his precise shots, Wrecker always charged head on and fired wildly at anything in sight. There was Hunter who liked switching between blasters and blades, but often kept to his knifes as a preference. In contrast, Tech always carried two blasters and fired calculated shots.

Despite all their differences, the Bad Batch successfully worked together as a team. The General also had a different strategy. She always rushed head on; though it wasn't because she was eager for the fight, but more so because she wanted to protect the others if she could. Her two lightsabers acted as their only defense in many situations. And they trusted her enough to cover them.

Taking more droids down, Tech quickly maneuvered his way through a clear and open path until he stood in front of the next closed door. His twin joined his side and covered his back so he could have the time to open the next door without getting shot. However, when Tech pressed the button on his data pad, the doors in front of him didn't open and his data pad flashed red.

"Uh oh," Tech said to himself.

"Uh oh?" Hunter repeated. He grabbed the blade of his knife before throwing it across the room, sticking directly into a battle droid's head. "What does 'uh oh' mean, Tech?" Hunter demanded an answer.

"This door isn't opening," Tech explained shortly. He kept pressing buttons on his data pad in hopes that it would open if he tried a different combination.

"I thought --" Y/n grunted as she sliced through another droid. "You said you overroad the ship's security system and that you'd have full access to all doors."

"I did," Tech replied with a strong sense of frustration in his voice.

Pressing one final button, the door opened ever so slightly but then closed again. There had to be someone on the other side, operating the system to keep it closed from them.

"Someone is intentionally trying to keep this door closed and keep us out," Tech announced to the rest of them. His eyes scanned the vast space of the door, thinking about how he could get through.

"Well, get it open." Y/n replied.

Kneeling down beside the door, Tech got to work by prying the metal panel away from the wall. His skillful fingers threaded through the various colorful wires, searching for a cord to connect to his data pad. He called out to the others, saying he was gonna need a minute to break through.

As Tech worked steadily, Crosshair stood right beside him and fired strategically from his sniper's rifle. He took out droids who even turned in their general direction, not wanting them to get remotely close to them.

Just as the group of battle droids was beginning to thin, the doors on the left and right side of them opened to reveal more. The droids marched right into the fight, acting as the reinforcements to protect whatever was locked behind the main door. They fired relentlessly which was starting to put a strain on the group.

At some point, Wrecker had abandoned his rapid firing blaster and decided to just rip droids apart. It wasn't that hard of a task since they were made of a relatively cheap metal. He'd simply grab a droid, tear the limps off, and toss the remaining parts to the side. He threw one of the droid's bodies into the crowd coming into the corridor, which ended up knocking some of them down.

"I've got ten already!" Wrecker announced over the loud blaster fire echoing in the room. He smiled proudly to himself as he tore the arms off another droid.

"I'm on seventeen," Y/n called back. She could have sworn she heard the sergeant chuckled behind his helmet.

"Wha--" Wrecker was at a loss for words. He retrieved his blaster once again, firing rapidly in hopes of taking down more droids than his companion.

As she sliced through two more droids, Y/n turned her head and looked over her shoulder. She wore an amused smile on her face when she announced: "Nineteen!"

"You're falling behind, Wrecker." Crosshair taunted from the sidelines. He went to adjust his scope before pulling the trigger a few more times, watching the droids fall from behind it.

"Yeah? How many are you on?" Wrecker asked snakily.

"Don't worry about it."

In the center of the room, Hunter had pulled his vibroblade out of the sheath on his forearm. He jabbed the knife into the backs of droids, sendings jolts of electricity through them and taking their main computing systems out. He worked through the growing crowd of clankers, moving between them smoothly in a way that managed to dodge their firepower.

Upon turning, Hunter spotted a couple of them pointing their blasters directly at him. He dropped down to the floor just as they began firing, getting out of the way just in the knick of time. He summersaulted towards them, swiping his leg out to take out their legs from underneath them. The three droids fell to the floor. He plunged his knife into their heads before they had a chance to regain composure.

"How's that door coming, Tech?" Hunter inquired.

Now Tech was working steadily at cracking the system's code. He just needed a little bit more time, which he was certain his brothers could grant him. At first, Tech didn't respond to Hunter's question. All of the sudden, a battle droid had come to approach him and stood directly beside him.

"Halt," the droid ordered him.

Without looking up, Tech pulled one of his blasters out of his holster. He raised it quickly and fired a single shot, which managed to lodge itself directly into the droid's head. He pocketed his blaster again as the droid collapsed right beside him and went right back to work on the door.

"Just a few more adjustments," Tech replied to the others. He clicked a few more buttons on his data pad, but nothing that effected their current situation. They were still stuck in the corridor and more droids were filtering in by the second.

"You're taking a long time. Thought you were supposed to be the smart one," Wrecker called out. He grabbed another droid, raising it above his head and sending it hurdling down the corridor to take out another company of them.

"I am the smart one," Tech reassured them with a hint of bluntness in his voice. He did not look the slightest bit amused by Wrecker's comment.

"Heads up," Hunter announced.

He took out an electro magnet pulse grenade, pressed the button on the side to activate it and threw it into a crowd of droids coming into the corridor. The grenade landed at the feet of the droids before random bursts of electricity and energy surged from it. The droids' bodies shook from the electricity, shutting them down.

Despite their efforts, more droids just kept coming after them. It seemed like it was a never ending steady flow of them. When one droid went down, another two would come into the corridor to replace them. The amount of dead droids littering the ground with becoming overwhelming.

At some point, Hunter was firing shots towards droids coming from the left and Y/n was deflecting blasts coming from droids on the right side. They met in the center of the room; their backs pressing together. The two of them moved in a synchronized harmony, trusting that the other was able to cover their backs and silently communicating with their timed movements.

Tapping into the force. Y/n raised her two lightsabers over her head and forced them to form an 'x' shape directly in front of Hunter's helmet. This movement deflected a single blaster shot that was intended to strike the sergeant in the head. If it hadn't been for her senses and his stillness in that movement, Hunter would've taken the shot to the head. But that wasn't gonna happen on her watch.

"Thanks," Hunter peered over his shoulder.

"Don't mention it," Y/n waved it off.

With their backs pressed together, Hunter and Y/n continued to work together to take down the droids coming at them. The two of them moved with ultimate precision that they dominated the field. They'd never danced like this before.

At this point, Wrecker and Crosshair had stopped firing their own shots just to watch the others in action. The immediate threat was gone now as the number of droids firing at them had dwindled drastically.

Spotting the last four droids coming towards them in a line, Y/n took a single step away from her partner. She twisted her body to launch her lightsaber down the hallway, watching the yellow blade circle rapidly towards them. The lightsaber effortlessly sliced through the droids heads and they clattered to the ground. Before the lightsaber made contact with the wall, Y/n summoned it back into her hand and switched it off. She pocketed them both onto her belt.

The four members of the squad met in the center of the room while the other continued working on the connecting wires to his data pad. They briefly glanced at the mass amounts of unmoving droids by their feet, kicking a few limbs out of the way. At last, Wrecker flopped down on a small pile of droids. He looked at each of them with a strong sense of anticipation.

"Final count," Crosshair began. He adjusted the scope on his rifle for long range. He smirked to himself at the mere thought of winning the contest. "Thirty-three."

"Thirty-three," Wrecker repeated calmly. He nodded his head understandingly. "That's not bad for the squad's resident sniper."

Upon hearing this, Crosshair glanced up at him with eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. He halted his movements, studying the way his brother looked so pleased with himself.

"I, myself am sitting on thirty-four," Wrecker smirked to himself.

Before Wrecker could revel the fact that he outscored his younger brother in a battle, a single blaster bolt struck the droid he was sitting beneath right in between his legs. He glanced down at the sizzling strike.

"Thirty-four," Crosshair smirked to himself. He lowered his rifle once again.

"He was already dead," Wrecker argued.

"I saw him twitching," Crosshair suggested. He shrugged his shoulders at the notion. But Wrecker only became more enraged by this.

"He was twitching because I removed all of his limbs!" Wrecker shouted. Sure enough, the droid was still twitching slightly beneath him since the main operating system located in the head went undamaged in the fight.

"Are you two done yet?" Y/n wondered. She glanced between the two of them. "My final count was forty-eight."

"That's not fair," Wrecker groaned. "You had a head start."

"I always have a head start," Y/n recalled all of their missions together where she went charging head on to defend the others. "This wasn't any different than all the other times."

"Sergeant?" Crosshair questioned with a crocked eyebrow. The sergeant stood with his arms crossed against his chest; an amused look settling over his face.

"Fifty," Hunter announced.

The rest of them only groaned in utter annoyance. This was certainly not the first time the sergeant managed to outperform them and it wasn't going to be the last time. He claimed his victory silently, relishing the looks of disappointment on their faces.

"Looks like Wrecker and Crosshair will be cleaning the ship since they tied," Hunter told them.

"No," Wrecker went to argue. He rose to his feet. "Tech has to do it. He only got like four kills."

"Tech was a little occupied with other things. Like working on the door," Hunter told him. He glanced over his shoulder to find him still tinkering away at the data pad near the door.

"Then it should be Crosshair," Wrecker pointed to him. "That last one shouldn't count."

"Wrecker," Y/n called in a warning tone. "You both lost. Admit it."

"Fine," Wrecker huffed to himself. His shoulders slumping down at his sides. "I'll clean the ship," Wrecker added.

"And the refresher," Hunter recalled. She glanced at him through the corner of her eyes with nothing but admiration behind them.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'll do that too," Wrecker agreed to the terms.

Just then, Tech clicked the last button on his data pad to activate the door in front of him. His data pad glowed green, which meant the system had been overrun thanks to his expertise. The rest of them turned to direct their attention to the opening door, seeing the vast array of data forms in the control center.

Slowly, the Bad Batch came to approach the opening to the control center. Their eyes scanned over the various glowing white tubes attached to one central column in the room. Whatever they had come for, they were sure to find somewhere in there. Now they just needed their resident 'smart one' to locate the intel they'd come for.

"Nice work, Tech." Hunter spoke. "Let's locate the intel and get out of here as quick as we can."

All of the sudden, Y/n was able to feel a slight disturbance in the force. A dark wicked figure had graced their presence directly behind them. The sound of metallic claws for feet ground against the floor in approach. The presence was an all-too familiar one to go unnoticed or unrecognized.

The Jedi General had encountered this imposing figure one other time in her life, which was when he brutally murdered her master in combat. Ever since then, Y/n had grown to fear him and never wanted to face him. But now here he was standing behind them and blocking their only exit.

His cybernetic enhancements gave him exceptional strength, speed and reflexes to outmaneuver force-users. He wielded four lightsabers (one for each mechanical arm) and often overwhelmed the jedi with them. His most intimidating feature was his height alone, standing at nearly seven feet tall and towering over most of his encounters.

"General Y/n," the mysterious voice announced from behind them.

The other members of the squad quickly spun around on the heels of their feet, raising their blasters directly towards the menacing figure on the other end of the hallway. They moved to stand in front of their own general in hopes of protecting her.

"It's been a long time since our last encounter."

Now, coming to the realization that she could no longer run from her past, Y/n found herself turning around to face her demons. Her eyes landed on the familiar figure who had slaughtered her master, feeling her heart drop into the pit of her stomach.

It was almost like he could sense her fear of him despite not being a force sensitive being. He cackled to himself, which was something else that still haunted her too. She could still hear the way he laughed over her master's dead body. She went to retrieve her lightsabers from her belt, feeling the strong sense of anger overtaking her senses.

Because today would be the day she took down General Grievous.

#the bad batch #star wars #crosshair #echo #tech #wrecker #tbb #tbb hunter x fem!reader jedi #tbb hunter fluff #tbb hunter angst #tbb hunter x you #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb hunter oneshot #tbb hunter imagine

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lethalchiralium · 1 year

Note

Hi!! Can I request ghost one shot abt the reader having an abusive relationship (without ghost knowing he has a secret crush on her or smt), and when they are on a mission she tries to hide the bruises by saying that her bf is just drunk...thank u have a nice day!!

Innocent | Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

a/n: i do not condone domestic abuse - or any abuse at all. If you are in a situation like this, you are not alone. There are a lot of resources that could help you get out. Please stay safe.

a/n: sorry if it sucks, it took me a while to even finish this.

warnings: DOMESTIC ABUSE, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. I’M SERIOUS. cussing, mentions of violence, injury, bruising, domestic abuse that involves mental and emotional manipulation, simon just wants to help, he is crushing but also wants to kill the man who touches you.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | MAIN MASTERLIST

It was the dead of night on the second day of the mission, Artemis laid in prone position with her sniper dug into her shoulder. It was swelteringly hot, even with the moon rising - she took another quick glance in her scope and deemed the area clear before sitting up. She sighed out the dormant breath, stretching her arms outwards before pulling off her short sleeve to gaze at the long sleeve underneath it.

She looked over her shoulders, making sure the rooftop was empty before pulling back the tan sleeves, gazing at the brownish-black bruises in the shape of handprints that littered her forearms near her elbows. Her fingers barely grazed the skin, staring at the vicious outlines. The ice had done nothing to help them go away and she couldn’t ice them for that long anyway, she was gone in a mission six hours later. That’s why she found herself on the rooftop on watch, questioning why her boyfriend kept doing it if he loved her.

She pulled her sleeves back down, nails found her teeth as she stared out into the treeline. It had been quiet for the past four hours, no one had even dared to venture up to the roof to talk to her - she was thankful for it in some aspect. Gave her time to contemplate, time to just breathe. She hadn’t been relaxed since… well… before this stuff had started with her boyfriend.

She was convinced that he didn’t mean it, of course he didn’t, he couldn’t. He bought her flowers every Tuesday she was home, he cooked dinner every chance he got, he folded laundry when she did the dishes - he was perfect to her for the past two years, except for when he got drunk. And of course, he was an incredible lightweight, so if he went past two beers, she knew she was in for it. She had finally gotten him to stop going for her throat, only grabbing at her arms and legs, punching whenever he felt like it.

She was humiliated by it. A Special Forces Sergeant being beat up by her boyfriend every time she goes home was embarrassing, but she couldn’t leave him. She loved him, she was convinced that he loved her. Wouldn’t he come to his senses one of these days?

She yelped in pain when a hand grabbed her forearm, she ripped her arm away as she looked up to see the familiar skull mask above her. The hand moved away quickly, she moved away from his feet as he spoke, “Not on your game, Sergeant.”

“Sorry, LT.” She mumbled, instinctively tugging down the sleeves even if they were grazing her wrists. She sat back a little, watching as Ghost settled on the ground beside her.

“Gettin’ tired?”

“No, sir.”

He didn’t make another sound, pulling the rifle from her stand and taking a look at it. “Did you hurt your arm earlier?”

She didn’t answer, only staring at the ground.

“Show me.”

Her head moved up so fast she thought it was going to fly off, she babbled, “What? No, it’s fine, LT, I promise-“

He grabbed Artemis’ wrist, she squawked as he pulled up her sleeve, seeing the purplish-black outline of a hand print. And he was damn sure it wasn’t her hand. She tried to pry her wrist from Ghost’s grip, but he looked up at you. “Tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing, I promise-“

“Please don’t make me order you.” His voice grew soft, the grip loosened and she pulled her arm away, eyes staring into the ground. “Was it one of the muppets back at base?”

“No.”

“One of the boys?”

“What? No, no- Ghost, please.”

“Your boyfriend?”

“No no, it was my fault, I was annoying him and he was drunk-“ She mumbled, feelings tears sting at her eyes as she pulled the sleeve down again. “He just gets drunk sometimes, that’s all.”

“Are you serious?” Ghost’s voice was low, his hand resting on his thigh. If she looked now, she could see how his hands curled into fists, notice the small difference in how his jaw was clenched so hard, he thought he might crack some teeth. But she didn’t. Kept her eyes on the floor, looking away from her lieutenant.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not nothing, love.” He murmured, opening a hand and pressing his palm into his knee, forgoing trying to reach for her like his frozen heart wanted to. “No man who loves you should put his hands on you, ever hurt you.” He took a short breath. “Even if he’s drunk. That’s not love.”

“He loves me.” She spoke immediately after, her hands clenched into fists. “He brings me flowers, he cooks for me- he waits for me after every mission…” She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “He proposed. He doesn’t ever mean to hurt me.”

He watched her with bated breath, letting her continue.

“We’re planning on kids. He told me he’ll get sober.” She felt the tears as they raced down her cheeks and onto her cargo pants.

“Would your kids deserve that kind of love?”

She froze. It took her a moment to turn and look at Ghost, his eyes out on the tree-line.

“What?”

“No kid ever deserves a father who beats ‘em, beats their mum. Doesn’t matter if he’s sober, love,” He settled the rifle back onto the stand and looked back at her. “He’ll always get violent. It’ll boil over ‘til he gets just mad enough that he puts one or both you and your kids in the hospital, even if he’s sober. That’s not fair.”

She sat there, stunned. Tears felt cold now as they dripped from her chin.

“Speaking from experience?”

He looked away, back to the treeline before lowly saying, “My father deserves to die. Haven’t gotten the chance to put the bullet in his head for what he did to my mum and brother.”

Artemis reached her hand out, placing her hand on his fist - his head turned to her. His brown eyes were wide, but she could barely see them. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t stay with that fucker. It’ll only get worse, it‘ll never get better.”

Her hand didn’t retreat; but her head lowered. “I don’t think I can leave, he always joked that he’d kill me if I tried to.”

“Sergeant, I really rather not see you in a civvy body bag ‘cause I wasn’t able to help you.”

She looked at her hand, his other hand gently settled on top of hers.

“I mean it. Let me help you, Missy.”

She looked to her lieutenant, a smile on her face. “What?”

“Your name is Artemis. Mis? Missy?” He answered, before continuing, “I’m not saying that you’re not good at aiming-“ He flustered over it but she just turned and looked up at the stars.

“Missy. I like it.” She nodded before looking back at him. “Only you can call me Missy, though. Letting Soap use it might go to his head.”

“Oh, didn’t know he had one.”

She laughed a little while Simon smirked under his mask. She looked back at the sky again, drawing the constellations in her head before she spoke, “Thank you, Ghost.”

“For what?” He asked, his eyes couldn’t move away from her, even as she kept her gaze at the sky.

“For being here for me today. And the other day.” Her voice wavered a little bit, yet she kept her gaze steady. If she could, she would’ve counted all of the stars in the sky - but she couldn’t. The tears were brimming at the side of her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can go with you.” He spoke quietly, eyes back on the tree-line. “In case he gets physical.”

He felt as her head rested on his shoulder, hand still sandwiched by his.

“I still love him.”

Ghost sighed, moving the hand from underneath hers to settle on her knee. “I know.”

“All of my future will go out the window.”

“I know, love.”

“What will I do?” Her voice wavered, more tears fell from her eyes. “Where will I go?”

“I’ll help you.” He whispered, eyes still on the perimeter, making sure they were safe. “You can stay with me at my flat.”

“I can’t ask that of you, LT.” Her hand squeezed his knee, he patted her hand.

“I’m offerin’, you won’t be a burden. I can guarantee that no one will put your hands on you again.” Ghost spoke it into existence, promising the universe that would kill for her. He looked down to her, meeting her eyes again and he wished he could’ve moved closer, feel what her lips felt like on his like he did in his dreams. “I’ll off the bastard if you want me to.”

She gazed at him, tears slowly stopping as she whispered, “Okay.”

“If you don’t, I won’t. I’ll make sure he’ll stay away, but know that he will get a bone broken for every time he ever put his hands on you.”

“Don’t hurt him.” Her voice was small, he could almost feel her tremble.

He shook his head. “He already crossed the line, love. My fists are called payback for a reason.”

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley cod #simon ghost riley x fem!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley call of duty #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley call of duty #simon ghost riley x f!reader #lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley mw2 #simon riley mw2 #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley request

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daisygirlwrites · 1 year

Text

Rookie Mistake

Summary: Alternative title, How You Got Your Call Sign

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, minor character death

Pairing(s): Task Force 141 x fem!Reader (Platonic)

Note: No use of (Y/N). Only description of the reader is that she’s short

a/n: hey there! first and foremost, big thanks to @einno-arko for editing it! please check out her page! it has been a long time since i’ve written a fanfic so do forgive me for how rough this is. it is also 3 in the morning as im typing, woops. also, would love to hear feedback so i can make improvements in future works. thank y’all!

Being short has its advantages at times. For your job as a sniper, you could be placed anywhere without being seen. During your basic and special forces training, where most people are at least a head taller than you, you were taught techniques for someone only your size can pull off.

The man in front of you is probably the tallest person you’ve seen on the field. At least two feet taller than you and all muscle. ‘Tank’, his teammates call him. Truly matches the description. You try not to think about how one of his hands can wrap around your neck and squeeze the life out of you.

Instead, you pull out your knife and charge towards him. He runs towards you, arms up and ready to take a swing. Expecting a punch, you lean your upper body forward, keeping your head low. On your last step, you push upwards with your foot. Tank misses you, his stance uneven and his legs still wide open.

For a millisecond, you thought about slicing the area between his thighs, making things easier for you in the long run. Instead, you stick with the training that’s been engraved into your head. Diving in the open space between his legs, you run your knife through his inner thigh, hoping it’s deep enough to at least damage the femoral artery.

Tank lets out a scream and staggers forward as you slide down on the floor. With his back to you, you push your body up and sprint towards him. The ideal situation is for you to get to him and pull his head back enough to slice his throat. But life isn’t always ideal.

To your shock, he quickly gets up onto his feet and turns around, facing you. As if his strength doubled, he knocks the knife out of your hand and, for a split second, your eyes follow the knife as it flies across the room. That was all Tank needed, grabbing both of your arms and lifting you up. Yeah, you should have just sliced his dick.

It was at this time that the rest of the team entered the room. The sight was almost comical; you being held up, legs dangling like a rag doll. Tank casts a quick glance from the corner of his eye. All four men with their rifles up, pointing towards the two of you, but it was the one with a skull mask that made his body break out into a cold sweat. Four against one are really bad odds, especially with an injured leg.

Tank still has you held out, practically using you as a human shield for the upper half of his body. But with your insistent wiggling and attempts at kicking him, it becomes more difficult for him to keep a grip on you.

He knows that he probably won’t leave this room alive, and he’d rather die than to surrender. Tank goes through his options, looking at the small soldier in his hands. ‘Should have grabbed them by the neck.’ As soon as he makes a move, the men in front of him will too.

“Just drop them mate!” A heavy Scottish accent is heard throughout the room.

Tank stays silent, eyes darting around the room, trying to find the means of escape. His train of thought became illogical. As he looks around his environment, he tries to avoid meeting the eyes of the man with the skull mask. ‘Ghost’ is his name. His dark eyes never leave Tank’s.

If he’s going to Hell, he won’t be going alone. Spotting the window to his right, his body moved before his brain could process what was happening. Tank twists his upper body and, with the last of his strength, he hurls you through the glass

During your time with the team, which was about six months when you first joined, you’ve kept quiet. Never raising your voice and only talking when you’re addressed. So, when they hear you yelp and let out a high-pitched scream as they watch your body crash through the window, they would have laughed if the circumstances were different.

As soon as your body stopped shielding him, Ghost took the shot. He watched as the large man slammed down to his knees, blood running down his face from the bullet hole on his head, before finally falling forward.

Getting thrown out the window sounds fun, besides landing on the glass and the very high chance of death. Any other person would have a couple of broken bones, but it seems like you had lady luck on your side today. For one, the warehouse is only one story high, and you’re all padded up. Without your gear and helmet, there would have been more puncture points from the shards. But the impact from hitting the ground doesn’t leave you unscathed. Something is probably broken, sprained, if not bruised. You don’t feel it now but it’s going to suck ass later. Laying on your side, you look around, trying to not move your body in the process. There are probably hundreds, maybe even thousands, of glass shards surrounding you.

“ROOKIE!” Soap comes running towards you.

You open your mouth, wanting to tell him to be careful but Ghost’s rough voice cuts you off. “Dammnit Johnny, watch out for the fuckin’ glass!”

Soap slows his movements, making calculated hops to avoid the sharp shards. “Heya lassie, how ya feeling?”

Not having the energy for a filter, you responded. “Felt like I got thrown out a window. Fuckin’ hell, Soap, what do you think?!”

Seeing his eyes widen, you immediately regret the words that came out of your mouth. “Holy shit, Soap. I am so sorry.”

He lets out a hearty laugh as he stops before you. He gives you a look over, trying to find any visibly large shards of glass embedded in your body. Seeing as there isn’t any visible, Soap sticks his hand out. Surprised to find how badly your arm is shaking, he gently grabs your forearm and pulls you up.

“You really are Ghost’s mini-me,” he chuckles.

“Huh?”

“Already picking up his humor and stealing his catchphrase.”

“Oh!” You look down, thanking your balaclava for hiding your flushed face.

With his arm under yours, you lean on him, slowly limping your way towards the rest of the team. Price took another look at you, spotting at least a dozen little glass shards that punctured your jacket and pants. “Best to have the med team take them out of you. The heli will be here in five.”

You can feel Ghost’s eyes burning holes into your head. You realize that during your next training sessions, he’s going to roast the ever living fuck out of you about what happened today. Dread begins to sink in.

—

With your left arm bare and the interior of the heli cold, you try to minimize your shivering so that the medic can properly do their job. You guessed that the guys would at least wait until you get back to base before they made jokes, but you were very wrong.

“Rookie, you literally got yeeted out the window.” Gaz was the first to break the silence.

“Yes, Gaz, I know.”

“We should have a contest to see how far each of us can throw her.” Soap barked out, joining in on the teasing.

“I would prefer not, Soap.”

And it went on for a little while longer, and you, again, were thankful for having your balaclava on so they wouldn’t see that you’re dying on the inside.

“Probably gonna stop calling you Rookie now.” Much to everyone’s surprise, they turn to Ghost.

You tilt your head, confused, before he continues. He stares at you, the heli quiet besides the hum of the wings. A beat later he speaks up again, “I think I’ll call you Crash.”

You follow with an immediate, “Oh hell no.”

At this point, Soap and Gaz are giggling like schoolgirls. Price turns away, lips pulled tight but his shoulders shaking up and down in muffled laughter. Ghost’s eyes narrow, but you can tell he has a smug grin under his mask.

“Crash it is then!”

“Don’t encourage him, Soap!”

“Sorry lassie, it’s law now, we outrank you.” He smiles at you.

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, you let out a quiet chuckle. Lifting your head up from your hand, you quietly say, “Fine. Just don’t tell anyone about this”

You watch Soap nod and Gaz give you a thumbs up before you pull down your balaclava, giving them a smile.

#daisygirlwrites #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john price x reader #price x reader

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the-bottom-of-the-abyss · 1 year

Text

siren song

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

This used to be an OC but I'm changing it to a reader insert; Other characters will still talk about "you" in the third person. While a reader insert, the MC will still be American and have a fleshed out backstory.

They called you Siren They called him Ghost

----

"Siren," Price told Laswell, "Sniper, expert in infilitration and undercover ops. American Special Forces."

Kate stared at the picture for a moment before asking, "Siren? As in the sea creature?"

Price shot her a half-smile. "Yes, the same. She seems to be the weakness of every man and she knows it. She's damn good with a rifle but her best weapon is herself."

next chapter: chapter 1

Notes: This is my first Ghost story! I have played the campaign and I just couldn't help myself! This is just the prologue but they will meet next chapter. Oh, and this fic will 1000% have smut. This takes place before and during the first mission, "Strike"

This used to be an OC but I'm changing it to a reader insert; Other characters will still talk about "you" in the third person.

Prologue

"Who's your crew?"

John Price sat opposite of Kate Laswell, taking in the cozy atmosphere of the cafe, but still somehow feeling on edge from recent events.

"Sergaent Garrick," Price replied.

"Kyle?"

"They call him 'Gaz'." the Captain continued, "He never said anything."

He handed Kate the folder for Gaz and continued reading. "John MacTavish, SAS. Sniper - demolitions. Goes by 'Soap'."

"Why?" Kate questioned as he handed her Soap's dossier.

"That's classified."

Kate gave him a dubious look, eliciting a chuckle before he moved on.

"There he is..." Price said, handing Kate the folder. "Simon Riley."

Laswell's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "There's no picture."

Price's reply was quick. "Never."

He handed her a final file, one with a picture of a woman with hair the color of fresh espresso and with a face like an angel. But it was the eyes that set you apart, a piercing hue that seemed a little too empty, void of emotion in comparison to your smile. At first glance you seemed harmless, but the longer one looked, the more unnerving your portrait grew.

"Siren," Price told her, "Sniper, expert in infilitration and undercover ops. American Special Forces."

Kate stared at the picture for a moment before asking, "Siren? As in the sea creature?"

Price shot her a half-smile. "Yes, the same. She seems to be the weakness of every man and she knows it. She's damn good with a rifle but her best weapon is herself."

"Now the rest," he continued, leaning forward across the table, "That's need to know. Unless we got a deal."

"What are you calling this task force?" Laswell asked.

"1-4-1."

---------

Months later

13 July 2022

2200, Upscale hotel somewhere in Europe

The bar was crowded but you weren't focused on all the other people. Those who were drinking away their sorrows, the ones meeting mistresses, and suits on a business trip. No, you was focused on the group of ten Russian Ground Forces operatives in the corner, sporting casual clothes instead of a uniform. Your eyes jumped from man to man, silently matching them up in your head with some of the pictures in the brief General Shepard gave you. Of course, this was only a portion of them, there were about fifty in total staying in the hotel. All of them were waiting on a flight to Al Mazrah and transporting a boat load of weapons, and it was your job to figure out exactly where they were headed.

You leaned back against, resting your elbows on the bar as you sat on a barstool, softly jutting out your chest and letting your hair perfectly frame your face. You knew you were beautiful, and you knew what men would do, what men would say, for a beautiful woman; all the secrets they would reveal, just to touch. A strapless navy dress stuck to your body like a second skin, accentuating every curve on your body, save for a slit in the leg that went up to your mid-thigh.

Your targets were already glancing your way. Oogling, more like.

Too easy, you thought. You intentionally locked eyes with one of them and batted your eyelashes innocently before looking away, appearing embarrassed to the untrained eye. For extra affect, you crossed one leg over another, causing the slit to reveal more of your smooth skin.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw some of his buddies nudging him and pointing in your direction, all of your plans falling neatly into place. You brought your eyes back to the man now coming towards you and made a show of looking at him up and down, pointing your gaze in between his legs for a second longer and giving a sultry look. You could see his throat working to gulp down his nerves.

He squeezed himself in the opening beside you and you turned to fully face him. He was average looking, nothing too special. It was what was in his pants you were interested in.

His phone.

"Hello, beautiful," his accent was thick, but the English seemed fluent.

"Hello there," you cooed, letting your voice become sickeningly sweet.

"You are not from here?" He questioned, noticing your accent sticking out among the natives around you.

"No," you replied, "I'm from America but I'm on a work trip. What brings you here?" As you talked, you ran your finger over the hand he had placed on the bar and traced nonsensical patterns.

"A-Also business," he said, obviously getting distracted by the physical contact. You kicked it up a notch, going as far as to rub your high-heeled foot along the side of his calf. You leaned forward and was pleased to note he seemed already intoxicated, speeding up your plan by being able to avoid spending needless time ordering drinks.

You placed your hand on the man's chest and ran it slowly upwards before traveling down one of his arms. He seemed young and nervous but also attempted to exude confidence while you carressed him.

"I'm only here for tonight but..." you purposefully trailed off, looking at him with doe-eyes and gently biting you lip. "I've been looking for a real man to help me." You were laying it on a little thick, but time was of the essence, and he didn't seem all that concerned. You had him right there and decided to go in for the kill.

You leaned in real close and whispered in his ear, "I need a man to fuck me."

He audibly groaned, prompting you to bite his earlobe softly before pulling his hand off the bar and setting it on your waist. "Can you be that man for me?"

He nodded comically fast and pulled you to stand up, not bothering to wait for any privacy before sliding his hand down over your ass. A long time ago, you would have been repulsed. You would have showered for days, trying to scrub off any evidence. Now, you didn't feel it at all, didn't pay attention to anything except your next goal: getting him away from his phone. He led you out of the crowded bar, leaving his friends to cheer him on. You boarded the empty elevator and he pushed you against the wall after pressing his floor, smashing his lips against yours. It was sloppy and anything but a turn on but you willingly let him explore your mouth and grope your body and reciprocated with responding movements, all while you were plotting on how to steal the information from him.

A hand made its way to your covered breast. I bet the information is in his email.

Another grabbed your thigh and hiked it over his hip. These lower guys never bother to encrypt anything, a blessing, really.

A hardness grinded into the apex of your thighs and you let out a manufactured moan. Luckily they are on a tight schedule, they likely won't look for a body tomorrow when he doesn't show.

The ding of the elevator caused him to break away and grab your hand before rushing to a hotel room. As he fumbled with the keycard you kissed and bit his neck, all while sliding your fingertips below his belt. He finally got the door open and pulled you inside. He attacked you with his lips again and shoved his tongue in your mouth, pawing at your ass and grinding into your hip.

Pathetic. You thought to yourself while you faked a whimpering noise and a gasp when he moved on from your lips to bite the top of your left breast. While he was occupied, you reached for the small, curved knife, a minuture karambit, that sat holstered in a sewn in slot inside your dress, just under your armpit. One of his hands creeped up the inside of your thigh, touching the edge of your lace lingerie.

However, he never made it to his destination on account of the knife sticking in his neck.

A quick kill, although a little bloody. His body fell limp on the ground in front of you, blood continuing to pool out. You dislodged your knife and searched his pockets, finally pulling out his phone.

"Jackpot."

You used his finger to open up the phone before stepping over his body and sitting on the bed, all of your attention now focused on scanning for any information about tomorrow's final destination for the selling the weapons. A certain message caught your eye; it detailed the schedule for tomorrow and the directions to the base they were meeting at in Al Mazrah for the arms deal. A sense of satisfaction filled you at acquiring this information. You did not feel guilty about killing the man. You have killed many men, and the part of you that felt guilt for the role you played died a long time ago.

You wiped off the blood that got on your chest and walked out of the room, phone in hand. You were not worried about cameras, you knew the CIA counter-terrorism team would take care of it. You took the elevator back up to your own room and immedaitely went for your computer once inside. You pulled up the video call option for General Shepard and sat in the chair, not caring about your mused hair or slightly smeared lipstick or the bruise forming on your upper breast.

He answered immediately and with him was Kate Laswell, the CIA Station Chief. "Siren, tell me you have intel," the general said in lieu of a greeting.

"Of course, sir," you replied. "I have the location, I'm sending you the coordinates now. They are located in Al Mazarah. It says they will be meeting with General Ghorbani."

Both Laswell and Shepard sported a confused look at that. "Why would they be meeting with Ghorbani?" Laswell questioned out loud.

"We will find out tomorrow," Shepard said. "For now, Siren, continue."

"Any hiccups?" Laswell questioned.

"Just the usual," you said. "I will need someone to remove a body and dispose of security footage but other than that, everything was smooth."

"Great work, Sergeant. Your next assignment will begin immediately. You have been apart of the 141 Task Force for some time, but now you will begin your work with a team. Your flight leaves tonight."

---

15 July 2022

1600, Al Mazrah, U.R.A

"Watcher-1 to Bravo 0-7, you in position?"

Ghost walked through the rocky terrain, stepping back into the sunlight.

"Nearly there," he replied, continuing moving, climbing towards a vantage point on the sands below. He heard the helicopter before he saw it, flying straight overhead and towards the target point. "Got a heli incoming."

"That's General Ghorbani." Laswell replied.

"He's punctual, I'll give him that," General Shepard chimed in. "Now get up there and see what he's up to in the middle o' nowhere."

Ghost climbed up a few more rocks, finally reaching the opening and peering down at the base. "I'm eyes on."

"What do you see?" Laswell questioned. He brought out his Spotter Scope and peered down at all the equipment and people milling about.

"Armed personnel, armor and hardware," he replied. "All Russian."

"Our intel was right about them meeting," Shepard said. "But it still doesn't explain why the Russians would be meeting with Ghorbani."

"Supplying Iran," Kate replied, "it's an arms deal." Ghost sat silently as they talked, observing the scene below.

"You copying this Shadow-1?" Shepard asked Graves.

"Affirmative, two birds, one stone..."

"We need positive ID on Ghorbani before we kick this off boys."

"Ghost, can you identify the General?"

Ghost scanned the area, zooming in to look at specific people, checking to see if they were Ghorbani. He found a bunch of soldiers in one spot and said as much. "Armed escorts around one VIP. Russians are very happy to see him."

"It'll be the last time they do..." General Shepard said in response.

"Visual on General Ghorbani."

"Copy. All stations target confirmed."

"Shadow-1," Shepard started, "you are cleared hot for launch."

"Roger that, Actual," Phillip Graves replied. "Ghost, you are danger close to the zone. This arrow's gonna pack a punch."

"Copy. Approved," Ghost replied. "Send it."

"All stations, Shadow-1. Missle is ready for immediate delivery, stand by for launch. Coordinates. Target designated. Two... One... Shot out."

Soon enough the missle hit the target and the force of it made Ghost step back a bit. "Bloody fuckin' hell. Direct. Target destroyed."

#simon ghost riley #ghost #cod mw22 #ghost fanfiction #ghost smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #this is now a reader insert #simon ghost riley x you

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vesper-tinus · 1 year

Note

Hi Vespertine!! First off I wanted to say that I’m super impressed with how amazing your writing is considering English is your third language!! It is mine too, after Spanish and French, what about you?

Anyways I say your requests were open and I thought I could jump in and give you an idea. It’d be a König x female reader, in which she is a worldwide recognized sniper, but they only know her alias, so when she accepts a job at KorTac, König is smitten with her instantly, maybe she’s in the shooting range training at night and he comes up to her? What do you think?

Hello, anon!

What a lovely message, thank you so much! My languages are Danish, Italian, followed by English 😙 I took Spanish & German in school, unfortunately I don't remember much!

I love the idea! Hopefully I managed to write something you can agree with!

𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 König x F!Reader

Summary: On a late night, you find more at the shooting range than you expected. Keywords: König, female Reader, reader is a sniper, you have fun shooting guns in a safe environment 👍 König is giving puppy fanboy energy. Wordcount: 1206.

Bang.

Another shot rings throughout the empty, indoors shooting range. You lower your weapon, and unsurprisingly, your bullet ripped through the tacky, free sticker that came with a pair of shoes you bought recently. It might not be a normal use of stickers, but hey, you’re anything but normal… and the sticker was free.

You press a button and the long-distanced fiberboard creaks towards you.

They dubbed you "Lovelace''. After the mathematician. All due to your sharpened mind being able to perform extraordinary feats of warfare and calculations, all through the small scope of a sniper rifle. Companions have been noted to refer to you as either 'Love' or 'Lace', depending on the situation (and your relationship)—but those companions have been left behind for the time being. KorTec’s mercenaries are your companions now, though you have yet to actually meet any of them.

With the board coming to an abrupt halt in front of you, you peel off the damaged sticker, replacing it with another, before sending the target away again, tracking it through your scope.

Your ears perk at the sound of someone entering—even with the noise cancelling headphones—so you hold your fire and listen.

From their footsteps, you can tell they are not attempting to disguise their approach towards you. So you mind your business, emptying your lungs before taking the shot—bullseye—and lower the rifle onto the desk before turning towards the newcomer. Sliding down the ear-protectors to rest around your neck.

“Late-night practice?” Comes the question from the stranger, and you clock the Austrian accent almost immediately. You have toured there before for a mission. Great coffee.

The answer to his question is an obvious one, but you humour him, and offer him a curt nod and pleasant smile. “Got it in one,” you say with welcoming tone, wiping your hand on your thigh as you approach him for a handshake. “I’m—”

“Lovelace. I—I know.”

You blink. You had not expected to hear your callsign to be said with such… enthusiasm. While you cannot see his face, the awe is undeniable on his tongue. His infatuation showed freely in his eyes—almost sparkling. Such piercing blue eyes, you think absentmindedly as your hand is shaken. He seems almost reluctant to let you go, and you cannot help but quirk a smile. You are rarely, if ever, met with such boyish fascination.

“I have been following your career,” he says, straightening his back. “You’re an incredible sniper, it’s an honour to have you on the team.” His fingers twitch. It’s almost overwhelming meeting you in person. “I’m König,” he says, finally remembering he (rudely) interrupted your introduction.

His stature is impressive, formidable even. And your eyes never leave his as you step backwards until you can lean against the desk—and funnily enough, he follows you. The image reminding you of a puppy trotting after its master. “I’m honoured you keep me in such high regards,” you say with a chuckle, mirth arising from your throat as one leg comes to cross over the other in a casual, relaxed posture. “It’s all very cute.” You glance up at him, a smile pulling up one corner of your mouth, your eyebrow raised just enough to tell him that he is not as subtle as he might think. “King.”

You translating his callsign should not affect him as much as it does, aber Scheiße does it cause him to do a double take. He clears his throat, coming to stand near you. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to say. So he goes for whatever the both of you have in common. Guns—more specifically, sniper rifles.

“I, uh. I tried becoming a sniper once,” he says, eyeing the discarded rifle on the surface behind you. You follow his eyes, the only thing you can see of his face, and you unceremoniously hold the rifle up to him. Brow arched.

“Then you must have some training. Mind showing me what I’m working with?” Your tone is inviting, almost playful, as you encourage him to let loose. “-and if you want, I don’t mind giving pointers.” The last thing you want is him thinking you find yourself superior. You know how frustrating it can be, when others force “suggestions” on your techniques. Unfortunately, you have been the victim of many such men.

Thankfully, König seems thrilled to have your expertise at his beck and call, and lines himself up in the booth. You give him the space he needs. “Hold fire,” you order, inspecting his posture, his grip on the rifle, and suddenly you can’t help but imagine yourself back at the many sniper courses you’ve attended. You see his trigger finger twitch, not enough to fire, but enough to make you comment on it. “Steady fingers, König.”

“Apologies. I am… excited,” he admits with a faint chuckle. He cannot help himself. He cannot help himself so he sneaks a glance at you, and he’s thankful that his expression is veiled, because he’s smiling.

“Alright, I’ve grilled you long enough. Compensate for bullet drop, and impress me.”

He’s not sure if you caught him staring or not, but if you did, he’s thankful you didn’t mention it. “Yes,” he says, exhaling to empty his lungs as he prepares his shot.

A short silence follows, and then…

Bang.

The rifle shot echoes around you. Both your ears are, more or less, insensitive to it at this point.

You squint your eyes as you check the target. Not a bullseye, but a few centimetres north of your original sticker-shot. You find yourself nodding in approval. König hasn’t moved a muscle after the shot, awaiting any further instructions.

“Not a bad shot, König.” You pause, quirking a smile. “Go ahead and finish the magazine. Rapid fire.” Might as well put him through his paces, you’re curious to see how well he aims when pressured.

“Yes, ma’am.” Comes the response.

Shot, after shot, after shot, after shot rings out. You are quick to notice that the more shots he’s firing, the less stable his posture is. But when the rifle empties its last bullet, König breathes a sigh as a hand disappears beneath his hood to rub his jaw. The gun rests on the tabletop, spent.

Wordlessly, you press the button to call the fiberboard.

“You have a hard time standing still,” you comment in a light-tone. A casual observation, not a reprimand. “Your pinky started twitching after the fourth round, and you kept repositioning your left leg.” Alright, that might have come off as reprimanding. “...but otherwise, good. Very good, even.”

König rubs the back of his neck, almost embarrassed at the observations. “I doubt you would be surprised to know, that’s what kept me from graduating. That and my height.”

You reach up to pat his shoulder before turning to the board.

What you find is not what you expected.

A perfect circle encasing your bullet-hole. The shots almost perfectly aligned with two centimetres between each. You look to König, baffled at your discovery, and he chuckles as he notes your expression. You wait for an explanation, and he gives it after a moment.

“Der König beschützt die Königin.”

The King protects the Queen.

#cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 imagine #cod imagine #cod modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #reader imagine #könig x reader #könig #könig cod #cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw22 #x reader #reader #fanfiction #female reader

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Text

Who Taught You How to Love Like That? (König x F!OC)

Part 3/3 of Valkyrie

(Part 2 here)

(Part 1 here)

Summary: König gets an order to make a female SpecGru sniper talk, but König doesn't want to hurt women.

Category: Smut 🔞, angst, fluff

Tags & warnings: Explicit mature content +18 audiences only, strangers to lovers (slight enemies to lovers), dubious consent, threats of rape, virgin!König, size kink, size difference, p in v, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, squirting, hugs and cuddles, super fluffy ending. König will be named in later chapters.

A/N: KorTac and SpecGru are rivaling military contractors, Conor is König's superior (and a huge villain), and I just wanted to write angsty smut featuring our favourite Austrian boi.

The first thing she noticed was the combat dummy in the corner of the room. There was no light in the ceiling, only a small table lamp on the floor next to his bed... Which was really only a thin mattress placed on the floor with a meticulously tucked bed sheet on it. There was no furniture to speak of except for the tall gun safe and some bland table where he had a kettle and a half-open bag of bread lying next to a toaster. There was a small fridge under the table, and deposited there on top of it, out of direct sight, a simple knuckle duster.

Piles of books lay on the floor next to his so called bed, and she was pleasantly surprised: he didn't strike her as a bookworm type of guy. She briefly caught sight of a few titles, mostly nonfiction: he had volumes on rifles and combat sports like krav maga and escrima, along with some German books about hunting, knives…— and there were knives all over the place: hanging from a lone hook on the wall, lying on the table, next to a pile of books, next to the mattress. Probably hidden ones, too, but where in all this minimalistic scarceness, she couldn't tell.

He didn't have a television. There was no computer, not even a laptop. She wondered how his officers got in touch with him, for it was dubious that he even owned a phone.

"This is where I sleep," he introduced his apartment, waving a hand in a vague gesture that said It's not much, but it's home.

She didn't know whether to feel pity or terror. She was relatively sure she was the first girl to set foot in here. The red flags were all over the place, but she only felt a tug near her heart from the realization that this guy was lonely. Like really, really lonely. Potential school shooter who grew up kind of lonely.

God, why did she have to have a soft spot for lunatics like him...

"Would you like some coffee?"

He turned to look at her, and she felt tightness in her chest from that drained, sad stare. He had been so carefree, so giddy, but all of that was gone. She had seen it in the pub already, the moment she laid eyes on him, that something was terribly wrong. She wondered who was the one responsible for making this man lose his goofiness. Shed that lovely, inculpable nature that made him singularly him. Whoever it was, she wanted to smack them in the head. Hard.

Without his gear and mask or even that black face paint, he looked more human. There were no barriers between them, no profession stamped on him: he was simply…him. But the intensity was there, always there. He was an outrageously tall, athletic man, and teeming with latent violence.

She wasn’t intimidated by that, per se. She had fired her rifle alongside dozens of big, dangerous men. Menacing men. It was something else, something essential in this man's character that made her feel a little on edge.

If her mother could see where she was now, in a dark flat filled with nothing but weapons and white bread and a towering, introverted dynamite stick of a man, she would probably deem the situation more dangerous for her than Russia and Brazil combined.

"No thanks, I'm good."

He ran his fingers through his hair, which was much longer than 8 months ago. He still had that side shave, but the light ash curls on top were unkempt and fell partly on his forehead.

"Or tea? I think I got tea here somewhere… "

And there he was: that adorable, silly man she had fallen for.

If nothing more, she would make it her mission to at least get him to smile.

She shook her head slowly before walking to him and grabbing two fistfuls of his black t-shirt. He straightened like someone had called ten-hut, making it clear that she wasn't the only one who felt like a tightly coiled spring. But someone had to make the first move. Someone had to do something.

He had shaved a day, maybe two ago, and the stubble that dusted his chin and the top of his upper lip was only a faint shadow, but still coarse enough to sting her skin as she got up on her toes to kiss him.

He closed his eyes and bent into it. He didn't touch her, wouldn't reach for her, just opened his mouth against hers and moaned. Like a tortured man about to break.

"Mh- I've thought about you every day," she whispered, still clinging to his shirt, and he finally wrapped his arms around her. "Every damn day…"

"Meine kleine Walküre…"

"I thought I would go mad at some point."

I didn't know who you were, I couldn't come back to you, I knew nothing about you.

"I know."

He knew.

He knew the slow descent into madness, the craving. The mornings that felt like waking up in a limbo. The nights that only sharpened the pain.

And of course he did.

"You kept me alive," he said as his erection pressed against her, and her mind was flooded with memories of the grey room, the bleak light in the ceiling, the ropes biting into her wrists, the way he fucked her like they were both going to die the next day.

And she realized that he was real. He wasn't a schizophrenic dream or an erotic nightmare. He wasn't even a soldier; he was a man, a person.

He was a real, actual person under that hood and face paint and tactical vest and ammo pouches. He had an apartment and dirty socks on the floor, and he drank lager, and he had toast and a toaster, and he owned relatively normal clothes.

And right now, even though her panties were soaked, she didn't want him inside her.

"I'm a bit nervous," she said, stiff and near the point of breaking into a cold sweat. He caressed the small of her back and shoved his crotch against her even more eagerly.

"König, please… Could you just… hold me?"

He stopped and swallowed, and his hands traveled back up.

"I will do whatever you wish."

"Perhaps we could lie down? And just… hug, you know?"

"I'd love that," he said, sounding genuinely enthusiastic.

His sheets smelled of him, and she felt the cold sweat intensify. Her stomach sank, and she was glad that she was lying down because her feet wouldn't probably carry her at this point. He laid himself down next to her and gave her his pillow. It was a lovely gesture, but she felt like she was lying down with a murderer. Which he was. Which she was. They both had killed, her confirmed body count reaching 23 when she had left the SpecGru. His count was probably much higher...

She snuggled closer, tucked her head under his chin, and let him hold her. His whole body was tense, but he eased into the embrace after ten or twenty breaths. Cuddling usually came after the sex; after the release of stress and tension, and right now, they were both like teenagers in an empty house with the parents gone. Sweating with the jitters of coming to know how the other person's body felt like.

She dragged a leg over him at some point, and he sank his own between hers, and they just breathed each other. She wondered how they must look, her small form and light blue jeans and white shirt swallowed by all that black he wore. A fair little lady cuddled by a dark giant. A giant who everyone could tell, just by the clothes he wore, was either an employed soldier or a crazy militarist. And she liked that. She fucking loved that he didn't disguise himself as an ordinary civilian. Unlike she did, and she felt like a liar... along with feeling tired of pretending that she wanted the next bachelor when all she really wanted was a guy like him.

Finally, her nerves calmed down, and she could hear the silence of the room, the sound of his breathing, could feel the warmth of his arms around her.

"This feels good," she told him.

"This feels better than anything," he answered.

He seemed peaceful too. All that shifting around had turned into deep breaths and a steady heartbeat. She caressed his back, closed her eyes, and pressed her cheek more firmly against his chest — how many times had she dreamed of this moment? She inhaled him, and the scent aroused different memories this time, making her feel like a balloon drifting up to the ceiling.

"I like you, König." She squeezed him against her. "Like, a lot."

He squeezed her back and announced: "I love you."

Her mind went blank and then screamed error.

She wriggled out of his grasp, propped herself on her elbow, and looked down at him. He stared at her like a dog waiting for a treat from a well-done trick.

"You can't say that, König."

His long, pale lashes batted a few times, and a vertical wrinkle appeared between his brows.

"No, you... You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry. It's just that..." She pursed her lips, bit her lower lip, and placed a hand on his chest. "We barely know each other."

His eyes darted from her lips to her eyes, confused. "But I already know I love you."

How could she argue with a man who looked at her like that? Who looked like a dog being scolded for things he didn’t know he wasn't supposed to do…

I went to therapy because of you.

We met in a fucking bunker where you were asking politely if I would co-operate in you raping me. Fucking co-operate…

And you looked like Death…

"König… Baby, I don't even know your name."

He wrapped an arm around her waist in an attempt to pull her closer.

"Julius."

He said it from the back of his throat, it rolled off his tongue and ended in a soft hiss, and she felt lighter in the head by the minute.

Julius, like… Julius Caesar.

Or July. June and July.

This was so fucked up…

"Can I taste you?"

The wintry eyes looked at her, begging.

"Let me taste you, June. Please…"

Oh God… Yes, please, yes.

"Umm. Sure.."

He moved immediately, and she was almost thrown to lie on her back while he reached for her jeans to take them off, his large hands clumsy and cold against her exposed skin. She raised her hips to help him as he pulled them down, trying to stifle a giggle that was bubbling inside at seeing him so keen on giving her head. The pants got stuck on her ankles, and he tugged them off one leg at a time, causing one sock to come off and the other to come halfway down. And he just left it there, being too preoccupied with getting back between her legs to reach for her panties.

She thanked herself for having put on the smaller, black brazilian knickers instead of some comfortable, worn-out hipsters. And that she had shaved...

He was much more attentive with this piece of clothing, sliding it down like he was opening a gift. And when he took the panties off and still left that lonely sock unattended, crumpled, and forgotten, she couldn't help but snicker.

"Was?"

He looked at her with a perplexed smirk, clueless as to what was so funny — but smiling just for the sake of having made her laugh. The black underwear looked tiny in his hands as he placed it next to the bed.

She remembered how he had left her socks on in the bunker, too, perhaps because he was in a nervous hurry. Or perhaps because he didn't want her to feel cold.

She bent her leg and took it off herself, throwing it somewhere behind him.

"Nothing. Except that you're officially the cutest."

He ran a hand through his hair again. That bashful, boyish attitude made her realize just how much she had missed him. His gaze flicked to her eyes, darted between her legs, flew to examine the floor… and she could see the tent in his pants even though there was little light in the room.

"And now the shirt," she rose to seated and raised her hands up, making it clear what she wanted him to do. He wasted no time pulling it over her head but froze when he was met with the black, laced bra, the only barrier left between him and her complete nakedness.

As much as she wanted to, she didn't tease him by making him figure out the mechanism. She reached for the clasp, and he leaned slightly back when she took it off with little ceremony and threw it on the floor with the rest of her clothing. When she grabbed his hand to bring it to her breast, he looked like he had stopped breathing altogether.

"Everything good?"

"Perfekt," he said, looking terrified.

"Come here," she pulled him by the neck all the way down to lay on top of her. He supported himself on his elbows while his hands came to cradle her head. He was tense again, and she wondered whether the cuddling had been a bad idea — he had relaxed too much and was now overstimulated.

The whole body on her was rigid, but his mouth was soft and warm as he kissed her — so greedily that her legs began to ride up along his sides. When he moved to wolf her neck, her weakest spot, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he finally melted against her.

"I dreamed of you," he breathed against her skin, making her eyes flutter open and her pussy clench around nothing. "Every night…"

Through the euphoria of his accent and lips, she deciphered that what he actually meant was that he had masturbated on thoughts of her. And she had done the same: stroked herself night after night on thoughts of him telling her how tight and good she felt around him. It was downright sinful how many times she had reminisced the high-pitched sighs, that vulnerable look he had when he shot his cum inside her.

"Did you ever think of me?" He asked with a frail voice.

She had gone on a few dates, had a few fucks. Ended up feeling disappointed, and even more lonely. Dirty and sad — like she was cheating on him…

"If only you knew just how much," she whispered to the ceiling above her.

He brushed a trembling thumb over her cheek and buried himself even deeper in her neck.

"Shit… Ist das dein Ernst?"

She loved it when he spoke German. And hated how most of the time, she couldn’t understand what the hell he was saying.

"June... Du machst mich verrückt."

"What are you saying, silly…"

"You drive me crazy."

He was so… present, devoted. So unlike the men who almost screamed "Score" when they got this far. He was saying stupid, lovely things that didn't sound at all like a yucky romcom, not when they came from him. He ripped her clothes off because he wanted to please her, taste her... And had no trouble pressing against her while having his own clothes still on — those black pants that would get stained if he continued to grind against her drenched pussy like that.

"You'll drive me crazy too if you don't finish what you started..."

He chuckled and resumed giving her those tiny kisses that only left her wanting more.

"Don't worry, little one." He planted a last kiss on her collarbone before diving down.

"I'm not -"

The rest of the sentence turned into a gasp as his lips swept over her sternum, her nipples, sent shivers across her stomach as he trailed down, down…

"Yes you are," he muttered against her mound, going further down still. Like a man with a purpose.

Hot air hit her as his tongue swept through her folds, first pointed and quivering, then flat and hungry. Her hand shot out to grasp his hair, those stupid, adorable curls that drove her to the brink of insanity.

"Mmh," he moaned in her pussy, pressing his lips against her and opening his mouth. She didn't have time to worry about the bite of his stubble, for he pushed his tongue out. Either he had an excellent memory, or then it was beginner's luck, but he hit just the right spot as the hot, wet tongue plunged slightly inside her.

"Oh - fuck.. "

He got the cue to the full, shoving even deeper, sweeping arms around her thighs to pull her against his face. He decoded her within minutes with a combination of flicks, sweeps, and thrusts. She opened her legs wider, felt herself open like a flower, felt the juices leak out while he was at it like a tried and true engine. So tireless that it sent her thighs quivering. They never did that — at least not with anyone else. It was his unique talent to make a mess of her. If he proved smart enough to apply fingers, she would lose her goddamn mind.

"You are dripping," he informed from among the sloppy sounds she was perfectly aware of. "Like a honeycomb…"

What was it with this man that nearly made her cry?

He kissed her with devotion, almost like he was kissing her lips. The languid pecks and slow nips soon turned into french kissing as he applied tongue again. Her fingers curled into his hair on their own accord and pulled. She could feel his mouth open into a grin before a soft huff hit her.

"Heh…" he kissed her again, "Gierig.."

"What does… ah -.. that mean?"

She could’ve cried from frustration when he slowly got back up to his knees. His lips and chin glistened with her - and he was grinning adorably. That earlier naive cuteness made such a comeback that she had a hard time catching her breath.

"Greedy." He licked his lips. "You like it?"

She nodded a few times, many times, and the impish, pussy-drunk grin of his only widened.

"Gut."

He made a move to return down there, looking like he had received the best assignment ever.

"König… Uh, Julius?" She pronounced it like July, and he corrected her immediately.

"Julius."

So husky and sweet from those soaked lips — like music.

"Julius," she rose back to seated, thighs still trembling, and grabbed the front of his shirt. "Could you take this off?"

He reached back with both hands and pulled it off, leaving his hair all tousled once the fabric was drawn over his head. She vaguely knew what to expect, but the amount of muscle still made her gawk like a goldfish.

The man was like a roman sculpture. Not an artificial, overly shredded fitness type of thing, but a man who used his body like it was meant to be used. The light brown hair between the plates of his chest was simply irresistible. She placed a hand on it, and he looked down, fascinated by what she was doing. She ran her fingers through the soft, sparse hair, trailed the breath of it all the way down to his navel. The muscles there rippled at her touch. He was ticklish… and some stupid part of her brain squealed at the discovery.

She wondered whether he had been touched before, whether he had been touched much at all. He had an ungodly shoulders to hips ratio, and a broad, toned physique, which alone should've made women want to crawl all over him. Perhaps he had walked through life half invisible because he wanted to stay that way - in hiding. And suddenly she felt special, outright exceptional... for having been chosen, having been granted access to him. His world.

He trusted her. It should've been a compliment, even a turn-on, but she felt like she didn't deserve it. And it was too late to turn back...

Looking up to his eyes which were fixed on her, expectant and dark, her fingers dropped to his pants, curled under the waistband, and gave it a tug.

"And everything else, too."

He sat back on his legs, opened the belt, undid the zipper, and stood up to take his pants off. From where she was looking, he was like a god, the muscles on his thighs bunching as he switched his weight from one leg to the other to yank his pants down and socks away. When he was finally free of those clothes, he grabbed that monster between his legs with one hand, lifted it, and stroked it absentmindedly while looking down at her, all hungry. Possessive...

Car lights flashed through the window and painted shadows on the wall, on him, painting him with blue and black just before he descended upon her. She greeted him with spread legs and open arms as he got down, carefully, like a man preparing to pray. With his hand still wrapped around himself, he guided the tip to her folds, brows knit together like he was on a serious mission that required all his attention. She reached a hand to grab him too, and it was like a dream, the way they directed him inside together.

Her inner muscles welcomed him home with a greedy pull, not bothered by the stretch that only felt fucking delicious.

She pushed him further in with her legs, wrapped around his hips like a starfish around prey. He was forced to fall on his hands, and he exhaled like someone easing into a hot bath, blowing air from the raw sensation — although he was dipping into somewhere far better than that, she presumed.

She noticed a scar on his neck as he exposed his throat, half-lidded eyes drifting closed with pleasure. Her hand rose on its own will to touch the white protrusion, fingertips caressing the spot where someone had tried to finish him and failed.

And she knew that she didn’t want to spend her life without this man.

Didn’t want to spend a day without him anymore.

He flinched at her touch, looking like he was the one being fucked and not the other way around. Her touch was a reminder that someone had gotten too close - way too close. And had probably paid the full price for their insolence.

“Baby…” she whispered, and his head dropped with a broken sigh, hanging heavy against his chest as he slid in and out of her. It was supposed to be a homecoming, a sweet reunion, but he was shaking and sobbing, grunting between the thrusts.

She knew he was repeating the words in his head, the words he thought she didn’t want to hear.

Fuck it… I love you too.

It was a deafening declaration in her head, one she couldn’t snuff out, one that only got louder as he thrust deeper, pressed against her, and moaned as he buried his face in her hair.

“You feel so good… taste so good,” he said, “smell so good…”

Having the biggest, baddest mercenary of a rivaling military contractor between her legs, sighing how good she was, might be reason enough to seek therapy — but it was also the one thing she knew would send her straight to heaven.

And it was too much.

He was too much. She didn't want to cry, and she didn't want him to hold her, to slide in and out slowly, fondly, lovingly. Just the way he was doing right now… She wanted to drown the blooming intimacy, she wanted him to shut the fuck up and fuck her.

More than anything, she wanted to escape the feeling that she belonged here, with him.

“Please… just..”

“Talk to me, Engel.”

Shit.. It was a purr.

“I need you harder.”

He only slowed down, confused.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” she said, hating herself for tearing apart the one thing she loved most about him.

But he did as he was bid, upping the tempo, going deeper, breaking her in all the ways she wanted him to. Needed him to.

"Like this?" The voice was abrupt, metallic, almost freezing. It didn't belong to a man, it belonged to a soldier executing an order.

“Yes…”

He was looking at her, and this time it was her turn to avoid the gaze. She already knew it was filled with confusion and hunger and sadness. She looked at his muscles at work, the ridiculously large cock disappearing into her, she looked at the scars... That scar, the one that screamed that not only he was lucky that the weapon had missed by an inch. That she should count her blessings, too.

At some point, he grunted in frustration and moved to throw her legs over his shoulders. He could pound inside even deeper like this, and it didn’t hurt at all, even though she felt a strange warmth pool somewhere deep in her abdomen.

He fucked her on that thin mattress and all she could think about was whether he would offer her tea or coffee after, or bring her toast to the bed.

“Harder..”

The sheet started to come off, the slick sounds bordering on pornographic, his chest getting covered in sweat.

God, she made him sweat. She wanted to wash him after, smear him with whatever stupid shower gel he had in his apartment that reeked of loneliness, a fragrance she knew more than well.

She wondered if he would want to cuddle again after they had showered together. Or cuddle before, so she could inhale his scent, the full brunt of him. If she could stay for the night. Fuck…

“Harder.”

He dared to whimper, dared to look at her all helpless. But obeyed.

Shit, he felt good. Too good. Too fucking….

"Wait..."

She was about to come, but something was different.

"Wait-"

Something was wrong and right at the same time, the thickness and length pressing onto something unusually delicious. It left her shaking, caused her to feel full to the brim. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out, and he wouldn't relent with the thrusts, but he had to soon enough, for she burst, literally, with wetness that spread through the sheets under them and caused his cock to fly out of her with a gush of moisture.

Oh jesusfuckinggod… -

He was between her legs, cock bouncing up and down. It was sheened with an insane amount of natural lube, and he was looking down at what she had done.

"What happened?"

The innocent question, the humiliation made her cheeks pang with heat.

Take a deep breath, calm down, calm the fuck down..

"It's…"

It's called squirting, you adorable big puppy. You just made me fucking squirt.

"It's a woman's orgasm but times ten?"

She wanted to add Jesus Christ I'm sorry, and it's a good thing, trust me, but she didn't need to.

"I… made you do that?"

She nodded, and another wide grin slowly spread on his face. He adored the scene, amazed and eyes sparkling like it was Christmas morning and he had walked up to see that there were presents under the tree.

He reached for his cock to insert himself back inside, but she jerked away.

"No, wait… It - it might happen again," she stuttered a warning. She wasn't sure, but she didn't want to take the risk. This kind of thing had never occurred, even if she knew what it was. Even envied those who had had the experience. But for the love of god, why did it have to be him out of all men who got to witness it when it finally happened…

But he only looked even more reckless. Almost wild.

"So let's do it again!" He was so excited that his voice spiked up a few notes.

"But your sheets…"

"Nevermind them," he huffed, ecstatic, and crawled forward. He pushed inside, fast and luscious, and she knew right then and there that it would definitely happen again.

He began to ruin her with a frenzy that was almost eerie. The rhythm of slick sounds told her enough, told her that he pistoned her with a pace that would soon drive her insane.

“You’re a fucking fantasy, June,” he groaned, the darker parts of what made him a ruthless professional soldier leaking through.

"Oh God," she breathed this time, deciding she could feel ashamed later. "It feels so fucking good…"

"I'll be good to you, Engel, I'll be good," he grunted as he continued to fuck her brains out.

She cursed and moaned and wailed, letting all his neighbours know that the big, quiet soldier boy was good at what he did. Fucking best. And she knew she should've said her prayers when her eyes rolled in her head and she started to see white.

It didn't take longer than a second or two before it happened again, this time with a force that nearly made her snap and split in half. More than a few squirts hit him as he pulled out. His jaw hung open like he was looking at fireworks.

“Huh -mh, yeah,” he wheezed, sounding dazed. “Verdammt - scheiße…”

She was writhing, crying, shedding actual tears — grabbing the sheet next to her head with one hand and beside her thigh with the other. Her legs were spread like she was on display, her thighs shaking like the muscles there had been permanently damaged. Kate had been more right than should've been legally fair…

"Gott, du bist schön," he commented on the sight while stroking himself, eased by the fluids all over his cock.

She thought about helping him, but couldn't get up, couldn't even move her hands, could only pant and shudder as he milked himself before her to a quick release.

He threw his head back and almost roared, and the only thing on her mind was the phrase saddest people cum the hardest as his seed shot out in generous spurts, hitting her almost in the face. The first gush already ran down her neck by the time the second fell, a thick rope of cum landing on her breasts, the rest on her stomach.

Something twisted in her stomach when she realized he had called her beautiful one moment and proceeded to cover her with cum the next.

Men…

But it was so fucking good that she only wanted to raise a hand and spread his seed all over her. He was breathing heavily with a softening cock in his fist, the last of the cum dripping to join the mess she had made.

"I hope you got a spare one," she looked at the destroyed sheet between them.

"Yeah," he panted still, half-lidded eyes looking at her up and down like he was piss-drunk and about to pass out.

She patted the space next to her, and he collapsed there, staring at the ceiling, probably trying to remember his name. She took his arm and raised it to wiggle herself under it and against him.

It felt good, being glued to him like this… Naked and spent and sweaty. He shifted, turned to face her, and took her in his arms as they both lay on their side, breathing heavily. She was pressed against the damp hair on his chest while his cum trailed little pathways between them.

"Please tell me you're mine, little Valkyrie," he whispered in her hair. He inhaled deeply and exhaled fully, like he had been in the thin mountain air and only now got enough oxygen again.

"June, I want you and no one else."

Oh, honey… it's just the mind-blowing sex talking.

It was pillow talk and hormones and trauma and all that shit. She was now 110 % sure that he had lost his virginity in that bunker. He wasn't the first nor the last man who thought they had fallen in love with a woman, not realizing what they had really fallen for was sex.

"I love you, June. If you don't want to hear it anymore, I won't say it. But it's true."

"Look…" she sighed.

This was so fucking awkward...

"Have you ever been in love before..?"

"No."

"Listen. I like you, you're a nice guy. And I want to get to know you, really, I do…-"

His breath had shallowed — far too much. The large chest beside her heaved, and she could both hear and feel his heart thumping. He shifted away from her, and she snapped her mouth shut. Slowly, she raised to look at him, and the sight drove a fucking lance through her heart.

She didn’t really know what a panic attack was, but was fairly positive that he was about to have one. He was laying on his back, big palms against his head, and he slid them over his eyes, trying to hide from her. His breathing was getting out of hand by the minute.

Fuck… Why did she have to fucking ruin everything?

"Hey, baby. It's alright. Everything's all right, just.. Breathe. Or talk to me…?"

He balanced on the edge of hyperventilation, still holding his head with his hands, eyes squeezed shut and that beautiful face distorted into agony and pain.

"You don't… want me."

Ice seeped into the pit of her stomach.

"Yeah, it's true I've never been with anyone. I was too shy. Ich habe nie bekommen, was ich wirklich will. Alle lachten und nannten mich Schwul… Und das war nicht das Einzige- mmh."

He was sweating from the German confession she understood but a few words of.

The only thing she caught was something about everyone laughing at him. People were horrible sometimes… or usually. People were vile, they were fucking bullies. But even if he was a bit too kind, a little too eager to please, and socially more than a bit on the awkward side of things, she had thought it a miracle that anyone would pester someone of his size. But exclusion and words could hurt too.

And she felt like an asshole.

She was good at bringing down strong, beautiful things. She liked to drag them through the mud. She was talented at taking aim at the most vulnerable parts and pulling the trigger... But he was already there. He was looking at her from a pool of blood and shit and tears. And she was not the only one who got traumatized in that box made of cement. She was not the only one who had had it rough growing up. From what she could tell, he had had it much worse.

"June, you feel so good that it hurts."

Shit…

Her stomach burst with golden fireflies, a warmth that spread to her heart, her whole chest. Ice and gold and fire mixed together, and she knew it was dangerous… He was dangerous. He was the most frightening thing she had ever faced.

She reached to brush his chest, feeling clumsy, like a child. A total amateur when it came to these things.

"You feel good too," she whispered. "So good. I'm just- I'm scared. It's scary."

She put her arm around him and pulled, then yanked when he wouldn't move. He turned, and she took him in her arms. His head pressed inelegantly between her breasts as she gave him a hug that she hoped would deliver all her affection.

He almost trembled in her arms, and the stabbing, burning feeling in her chest wouldn't stop.

"You really stole my heart, you know? Right from the start."

A breath of warm air crashed against her skin as she slowly stroked the back of his head and whispered in his hair.

"And I've thought about you ever since. It's ok if you want to say it. If that's how you truly feel. But please don't say that I don't want you. Because that sure as hell ain't true."

"...Ok," he muttered in her tits — a quiet, damped breath.

"König, could you just give me some… time? Just take it slow, if that's ok with you."

She refused to say his real name, knowing she wouldn't be able to lie anymore if she did. That she was just as far gone as he was, and having a radical acceptance moment about it. Even her therapist would’ve been proud… Or not. But she really didn't give a fuck.

She released her death grip on him a little, and he slowly raised his head to look at her. It was oddly charming that he was looking up at her and not the other way around.

"Take it slow. Ok. I promise I'll be good to you."

She tried her best not to burst into tears. She tried her very best to keep her hand steady as it caressed his hair, his neck, his back.

"You're so sweet."

She moved to kiss him, a pure cinematic kiss that was unhurried, exquisite, and just the kind of starved that told her he was the one.

"Anybody ever told you how sweet you are?" She whispered in his mouth and could feel how the muscles on his stomach contracted.

"Nein," he rasped back, voice so low that she nearly didn't recognize it belonged to him. He was getting hard again, too.

"Well, now you know," She kissed the top of his nose. She wondered if he had the kind of skin type that was full of freckles in summer.

"You're sweet," he said, the warmth of his words melting her like snow in spring, "like.. cotton candy. Or Apfelstrudel."

"Did you just call me a Strudel?"

"It's a dessert," he explained.

"I know it's a dessert, you… bear," she sputtered with her lack of words.

"Is that the best you can do?" He hummed against her lips, laughter barely a breath away.

"No. But it's your fault that my brain stops working."

He rolled partly on top of her again, his scent hitting her like a drug. The stubble scratched her skin, over and over again, as he kissed her, added tongue, sucked her lip, pressed against her like she was dying and he needed to give her mouth-to-mouth CPR asap.

When he withdrew, only an inch, she was breathless again. And he was smiling.

"Could you say it..? Please, just once. That you're my girl," he pressed his forehead on hers, his eyes betraying all the things she had no courage to show. He was many things, but he was certainly not a coward.

"I'm yours, King. I'm your girl."

"And I'm all yours, June."

She closed her eyes, savored those words, relished the feeling of commitment that was completely novel to her.

"When will you head back?"

"I… cannot tell you that."

She wondered how exactly she was supposed to go home with the knowledge that he would be out there in the field, changing mags amidst grenades and bullets.

"Soon."

"I gotta text Kate that I'm staying over. So she won't worry…"

"You'll stay for the night?"

He sounded so delighted. Excited. Like a dog wagging a tail... She wanted to crush him into another hug and cry until she felt raw.

"Yeah, if you change that sheet.”

She got up, walked to get her jacket, groped through the pockets — and her fingers caught to something small and bendy. Magical thinking or not, it felt like fate, and her lips curled into a small smile.

She found her phone, sent a text to Kate, then put it on mute, shoved it back into the pocket, and twiddled the plastic toy for a moment before closing it inside her palm.

When she returned to him, she had to do a double take. He looked so wiped out - so thoroughly drowsy and content - that it made the gold melt and spread inside her like fire.

"I have something for you."

He rose to his elbows, and she crouched beside him, took his hand, and dropped the small, olive-green toy soldier in his palm.

"It's my lucky charm. Had it on me on every mission."

It had a short key chain attached to it. She wondered whether he would tuck it inside his pocket, or if he would keep it on a table beside his bed. Or attach it somewhere, to bring him luck as it had brought to her. Even on that mission when KorTac had taken her as a prisoner. Especially on that mission…

"Can I ask something in return?"

"Anything."

She looked for it, found it on the floor, and picked it up.

"Can I have this?" She held up his black t-shirt and then brought it to her heart, grasping it tightly with two hands like a plush toy. "It smells of you," she explained, although it must've been obvious why she wanted it. The impact of her request on him was a swelling erection that twitched as he watched her, lips pursed tight, brows drawn together. He was blinking rapidly, trying to dry the tears that had started to form.

"Of course you can, Liebling."

"I can wrap myself in you even when you're away."

A miserable little groan escaped him as his lips tightened even more. She placed his shirt down and crawled back to the bed next to him.

"The downside is that it might stop having your scent in it," she pouted a lip, "but you can always bring me a fresh one when you come back, right?"

His sigh was heartbreaking.

"I can't help it, June."

"June, please don't take this the wrong way. I ask this question because you need to address it someday. Now… Is there any part of you that enjoyed it?"

She had thought of him every fucking day for the past 8 months now. She had thought of his hands, his cock, his puppy eyes, and most of all, that sad, abandoned look he gave her right before she turned and left.

"Did you like him?"

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"This is a place where you can safely say whatever is on your mind."

So what if it didn't make any sense? Who the fuck cared anyway?

Fuck it.

Just fuck it.

As if it was going to get any better by not saying it. Nothing could be worse than those months without him.

"You know what… I can't help it either. And I don't wanna take it slow."

---

"You've been kinda up lately."

Zero munched on whatever was on the menu today — König hadn't really paid mind to what it was.

"Leave went well?"

All eyes turned on him, and he was glad of the hood.

If only they knew just how well…

It had been the best leave ever. She hadn't stayed just for one night; she had stayed for three.

They had gone to see a new Marvel movie, and her kisses had tasted of popcorn and lemonade in the dark theatre. Half of the movie rolled past without him noticing what it was about. She had wanted to go to a sushi restaurant after and make him try all kinds of weird rolls — she had practically fed him with her own chopsticks, wanting to see what kind of reaction he had to each bite. They had gone to that pub for another round, and he had made her taste different types of beers, and when they got to pilsner and unfiltered witbier, she had stuck her tongue out and made a face. "You drink piss in Austria?"

They had gone to the gym, and he had taught her how to do a power clean, and she had insisted on staying in front of him when he did squats — for the purpose of giving him a quick kiss every time he did a rep, she informed him. He was supposed to do a series of 8 but ended up doing at least 12 reps, even with all that weight on his back.

He had shown her his favorite scope, detached it for her inspection from the SAKO he had in the safe. She said it was cool, but she knew a few better ones. And then she looked at him with a mischievous grin and said he should be fingering her instead of gun parts.

They had made love several times a day, just unhinged sex, until he felt soft in the head. Sex in the morning and sex in the evening, and sex at night when the other had woken up, too excited to sleep. They had showered together and done it there, too. He had dried her with his towel and carried her back to bed, all wet and giggling and soft and so sweet he had no words for her, neither in German nor English.

They had ordered takeaway on the last night, and he had watched as she ate it straight from the box, wearing only - and only - one of his shirts that looked huge on her. He had eaten her out not shortly after.

She gave him his first blowjob in the hallway of his apartment, just before he had to leave. He had almost missed the plane. Only when he was running to the gates that were already closing had it occurred to him that perhaps that's what she had aimed for.

And when the plane finally took off, he was blanketed by everything she said. That he was an adorable dumbass and her big boy and a gentleman and how good he was in bed, and that she would count the days to when they would see each other again. And that if he got killed, she would come and raise him from the dead and kill him again for daring to leave her.

"Ja, I got that pint. And the… girl."

"König got laid?" Fender nearly choked on his spaghetti.

Zero gave a hearty laugh, and König felt his cheeks grow hot under the mask.

"That's my man!"

He felt a slap on his back and Conor's eyes on him from across the table but didn't care.

They would eventually get interested in the toy soldier attached to his rifle, dangling from a key chain. The token bestowed upon him... her blessing. Physical evidence that she was real and had left with his shirt and now slept in it.

A reminder that he had a home to go back to.

#könig fanfiction #könig smut #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #könig imagine #mw2 smut #my fics #könig x oc #könig #könig x female oc

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