pickleinaboxx

[pickleinaboxx]

Youngest Shadow- The Game

Seven | Eight | Nine

warning: slight homophobia

Longest chapter so far with almost 4k words

Jessica and I have been practicing outside, Angela taking pictures. Only practicing since Jessica has nagged me for the past few days now. Trying to spike on me every time we do so. Eric was studying the prom fliers, “Monte Carlo? That’s our theme?” Jessica frowns at the lame theme that was chosen for this year. “Gambling, tuxedos and Bond. James- Ow!” She threw a ball roughly at Eric’s face, I smirk. 

“Oh. My. God.” Angela exclaims, who was once scanning to take more pictures is now frozen in place. We follow to where she was staring and it was just my sister and Edward showing up to school together. I hadn’t really been speaking to Alice and Jasper after the night with their family. Overhearing that it was destined for me to have a near death experience just for me to know who I was in my past lives and they knew it was going to happen. It also works because I hate attention, something I know Bella hates too. 

Throughout the rest of the day Jasper and Alice would stare at me, trying to pull me aside to talk to me only for me to ignore them and hurry off to a different area or sit somewhere else if we shared a class. But at the end of the day it was a waste when Alice came up to me, taking my hand in hers. “Hey, what’s going on lovebug?” I gave her a look for the stupid nickname and she laughs. “Sorry, but seriously why are you avoiding us?” She pouts, I lick my lips getting ready to actually say it but then something stops me once I lock eyes with her. 

“I needed some time to think about us.” I tell her, “I’m having a hard time with everything, trying to understand and I overwhelmed myself at your place I felt embarrassed.” I lied, I was fine with the whole vampire thing surprisingly. That’s not what bothered me. What bothered me was the fact that she knows I’m going to have a near death experience and won’t even warn me. I don’t understand how that’s protecting me. Maybe I’ll bring it up later. 

“Ah, that makes sense. I’m sorry it’s so overwhelming for you, my lovebug.” She moves my hair behind my ear sending shivers down my spine. It honestly made me forget how many people were around, until we get shouted at. “What the fuck?” A guy yelled, I step away from Alice and we turn to see some guy I don’t think I’ve ever seen before in school. “You guys gay or some shit?” He laughs, my eyebrows furrow as Alice glares at him. 

“Y’all should kiss!” His friends hit him in the shoulders like he did something with that. I glance over and see Jasper staring at the scene as well. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The three guys all laugh, I flick them off and they just laugh harder. 

“I need to go, my dad made plans. Just um, come over later.” I tell her, walking away to my bike, getting my helmet on and riding off as quick as possible due to the embarrassment I just had to endure. I ended up coming to the cafe later than Bella which meant I was super late.

There were a group of basketball players outside and I mentally cursed seeing Mike there as well. “[Name]! I didn’t know you were a lesbo!” One of the guys shouted at me and my eyes widen but I try to ignore it, heading towards the door but he blocks it. “Does her man know?” His arm was on the door and he leaned on it. I stare up at him not saying anything. “What?” You got something to say?” He asks, I take my helmet off, putting it on the ground, staring back up at him. I take a deep breath. “I asked you something.” He repeats, I take a step back. In the corner of my eye I see my dad stand up from his spot in the booth. Bella seemed alarmed. “Come on, man. She don’t deserve this plus her dad’s the chief.” Mike puts a hand on his shoulder but the guy doesn’t back up. I dip my hand into my front pocket of my jeans.

“Does your dad know you like-” I take my hand out and spray him with the pepper spray Charlie gave me. He stumbles back holding his eyes and screaming in pain. The cafe door swings open. What happened!?” He angrily asks, “Nothing, sir. He went too far, he was antagonizing her.” Mike blurts out, the kid groans outloud but the group pushes him away. Charlie turns to look at me. “What the hell was that, [Name]?” He grabbed onto my arms as I try my hardest to look away from him. “[Name] Swan, answer me right now.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it!” I exclaim, tears welling in my eyes. “Please.”

His grip loosens, his gaze softening as well. “Are you okay at least?” 

“I’m fine.” I sniffle, wiping my eyes, he lets me go and grabs my helmet for me. “I should wash my hands.” I lift up my hand that’s covered in the pepper spray, I didn’t wipe my eyes with this hand don’t worry. He sighs, shaking his head, pushing me inside. Cora the waitress who knows about my whole life from dad places a hand on my back. “You alright, sweetheart.” I just nod, heading straight for the bathroom to wash my hands quickly then going back to the booth with my sister and dad. 

The dinner ends up being a little awkward as they talk to each other but treat me like they need to walk on egg shells. I forced myself to eat so I don’t have to talk much so I just listen to them. 

After getting home I rush straight to my room where they were already standing, I shut the door, locking it right away and collapsing on my bed. Wanting to just sob and go to sleep but I know I should talk to them. Definitely not about what I heard though, I’m already exhausted from pepper spraying a basketball player. Alice sits behind me, motioning for me to lay on her. I end up just putting my head on her lap and she plays with my hair. 

I stare up at Jasper, he steps closer, wiping my cheek that had a tear fall. I noticed how his face seemed stiffer than normal. I then remembered how it hurts him to be around people still. His thirst stronger than the others. 

“I saw what happened, I’m sorry we didn’t stop it.” Alice apologizes, I look up at her and she seemes extremely beat up over it. I place my hand on top of hers. “It’s okay, don’t worry.” I attempt to assure her. She smiles gently. “I won’t go near you at school anymore. You don’t deserve to go through that.” She tells me, I sit up from her lap. “What? No, let them talk.” I grab her hand tighter even though I know she barely feels it. “But-” 

“I know how I am with attention but I don’t care anymore. Plus I have my pepper spray.” I wink and they both laugh quietly. “Are you sure, darling?” Jasper questions, I pull him closer to me, having him actually sit down now. “Of course, let them talk. What else are they going to do?” I shrug, Alice stands up, going over and sitting on my lap. “If that’s what you want.” She kisses my nose softly. I nod, “It is.”

We then sit there silently and I think about my thoughts from before. I know I’m not going to bring it up to them but I want to so badly understand their thinking. Understand why they do what they do. 

“You’re anxious.” Jasper states, I suck on the inside of my cheek not respnding. “Why?” Alice questions. “Just wondering about how that would play out.” I lie, well partially. 

“Mmm, it will be okay. We’ll be there. Also, we want to take you somewhere tomorrow. Edward will be picking you and Bella up.” She stands up from my lap, she takes Jasper’s hand but I stop both of them from leaving. 

“Wait, I want to um.. I want to try something.” I tell them, getting up from my bed, first taking Alice’s face in the palm of my hands. She smiles, automatically knowing what I’m doing she closes her eyes. I lean slowly, my heart racing as I kiss her lips longer than a few seconds. I push away after a little bit, we both look up to see Jasper watching and I chuckle, pulling him towards me and doing the same thing. 

“I’ll see you both tomorrow.” I wave them off and not even seconds later they’re gone. 

A few hours later my mom ends up calling me, I pick it up lazily knowing that either Bella or Charlie had told her what happened. I hear loud noises in the background fading away. “[Name]!” it was my moms voice yelling, I jolted away from my own hand then go back to it. “Yes, mom?” I ask, “I heard you pepper sprayed someone! What did he do?” She says, I throw my head back annoyed. 

“Mom, I’m fine.” I tell her but I knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with that answer. “[Name]” She warns me. “Mom, please.” I nervously say. “I will have your father investigate what happened if you do not tell me right now.” Of course she pulls that out, “You don’t have to do that.” I tell her. 

“It was just a guy calling me a lesbo or whatever. No biggie.” I quickly say, this happened before in Arizona, I’ve been called names my whole life. Especially for not liking guys and never having a boyfriend. “If it’s no biggie why’d you punch?” She interrogates me, I roll my eyes like before. “I was cornered.” That wasn’t a lie necessarily. She hums, still not satisfied. “Who’s the girl, [Name].” She says and it felt like my eyes pop out of my socket. “Mom!”

“Oh, come on [Name]. I know my daughter.” She laughs, “Who is she?” She repeats herself and I sigh. “Her name is Alice.” She squeals in laughter. “Mom!” I whine for her to stop. “I’m sorry! I’m just happy you found someone.” She tells me. “Well, actually it’s her and her boyfriend.” I bite my lip waiting for judgement. 

“Hey, I can’t judge your lifestyle. Two people?” She excitedly laughs and I shake my head. “Please don’t tell anyone. No one knows except Bella and that’s because they’re also apart of the Cullen family.” I sigh, picking at my finger nails. “Woww I need to see what these people look like if both of my daughters decided to date them.” She jokes, I smile to myself just happy she’s not upset with my dating life even though I know it is definitely out of the ordinary. 

“Well, I should get going to bed mom. I love you.” I say, “Oh, I love you too, goodnight!” She blows kisses over the phone and i press the button to hang up. Finally laying down for the night and going to bed. 

The next day I was sitting with Charlie as Bella came into the room. Charlie is currently cleaning his rifle, he goes to greet her but she cuts him off. “I have a date with Edward Cullen. [Name] does too with his foster brother.” She announcses and I quietly laugh at his facial expression as he glances between the both of us. “They’re too old for you two.” He responds. “We’re both juniors plus Jasper is only a Senior. Also I thought you liked the Cullens.” She says, I tilt my head agreeing with her. “And I thought you weren’t interested in any of the boys in town.” Charlie brings up, she seems frustrated. “Edward doesn’t live in town and its in the early stage- and whatever he’s outside right now.” This even causes me to stop every movement I was making like my dad just did. “Now? He’s out there?” 

“He wants to meet you. Officially.” She tells him. “Good.” Charlie cocks his rifle. I snicker, earning a look from her. “Be nice, okay? He’s important.” He nods reassuring her, she goes to the door and opens it to reveal her new boyfriend. “Cheif Swan I wanted to formally introduce myself. I’m Edward.” He extends his hand and Charlie hesitantly takes it grunting a small hello. “I won’t keep the two out late tonight. We’re just going to play baseball with my family.” He informs him also informing us because we had no idea either. “Bella’s going to play baseball?” Charlie is shocked, definitely because Bella doesn’t play sports. “Yes sir, that’s the plan.” He nods. “Well, more power to you I guess.” 

“They’ll be safe with my family, I promise.” Edward makes eye contact with him to show him he was being serious. He exits and as I get up Charlie holts both of us from following. “You both got that pepper spray- [Name] I know you do.” I laugh at his words. “Dad.” Bella shakes her head, we then both leave and climb into this massive jeep. “Your father thinks you should go to an all-girls school.” Edward says to Bella in an amused tone. 

“No fair, reading Charlie’s mind.” I sat in the backseat and I notice the baseball cap the same time as Bella. “And since when do vampires like baseball?”

I mentally cringed to that question. “It’s the American past time. Plus, there’s a thunderstorm coming. It’s the only time we can play. You’ll see why.” He explains and now I’m perked up at the thought of seeing my two play. Watch them in action of a sport I actually really enjoy. 

We finally get through the clearing of woods, it was a field and there were storm clouds erupting in the sky. The jeep comes to a stop, Esme and Emmett come over to greet us, Emmett helping me down. I look around for Jasper and Alice, “Good thing you’re here. We need some umpires.” Esme smiles sweetly. Emmett has a wicked grin caused by her words. “She thinks we cheat.” He laughs. “I know you cheat.” She turns to both of us. “Call em how you see em girls.” She pats us. I see Alice on the pitchers mound and she gives me a quick wave before speaking up. “It’s time!” Right then a rumble of thunder shakes and I grip onto Bella excitedly. We both stand right by Esme who’s the catcher. Alie pitches and Rosalie smashes the ball with an aluminum bat. It cracks loudly right when a thunder hits at the same time. “Now I get why you need thunder.” My sister says. The ball goes right into the forest, Edward running after it. 

“That has to be a home run.” Bella insists as we wait. “Edward’s very fast.” Was all she said in return. Rosalie darts around the bases, it looks like a blur but Edward rasces out with the ball whipping to home plate. Esme catches it milliseconds before Rosalie slides in. 

“You’re out?” Bella says questioning herself and I sadly nod as I was kind of rooting for Rosalie. Esme nods too. Next up is Carlisle and he hits a line drive, Emmett and Edward race for it, colliding with one another with so much force it felt like I could feel it all in the ground like a mini earthquake. They end up missing the ball anyway, Carlisle is safe. I cheer for him, everyone smiles, almost.

Jasper is up and I watch him and Alice make eye contact and I fall in awe. Jasper whacks the ball into the forest like Rosalie just did. Before they can go after it Alice gasps and they all come to a stop. “Stop! I didn’t see them!” She shouts, Jasper pulling me behind him, Rosalie coming to my side as well. “They’re traveling so quickly.” Alice says in a worried tone. 

“You said they left the country.” Rosalie exclaims. “They did but then they heard us.” Alice looks at Edward. “And changed their minds.” Edward turns to Bella. “Put your hair down.”

Alice races over, shoving a hat onto my head. “They smell you too.” She sadly says and I raise an eyebrow. I thought no one was effected by my blood?

“Like that will help. I could smell her across the field.” Edward ignores Rosalie as he arranges Bella’s hair a certain way. “I shoudn’t have brought you here. I’m so sorry.” Edward says to Bella specifically. They all turn towards the forest and there’s three vampires that emerge out. I look down to their bare feet then back up to their dark red eyes. The one with darker skin and long hair lifts his hand up to show the baseball. “I believe this belongs to you.” He tosses the ball to Carlisle who catches it with ease. He smiles politely. “Thank you.” 

“Could you use three more players?” He questions. “Of course.” Carlisle nods. “I’m Laurent, this is Victoria and James.” He introduces them. 

“Would you like to bat first?” Carlisle asks, Laurent ends up with the bat.  I stand with Edward and Rosalie with my sister near the jeep. I watch Edwards eyes lock with James. “I’m afraid your hunting activities have caused something of a mess for us.” Carlisle says. 

“Our apologies. We didn’t realize the territory had been claimed.” Laurent responds and to be frank he seemed nice and genuine but the other two… I don’t know. “Yes, we maintain a permanent residence.” The three have a shared look of surprise from his words.  

“Really? Well we won’t be a problem anymore.” Laurant quickly tells everyone. “The humans were tracking us but we led them east.” The Victoria girl says just as Jasper pitches the ball, Laurent slams it but Alice is already up in a tree in a flash, she catches the ball with a thwap sound as it met her hand. Laurent looked pissed as James smiles, obviously glad he met worthy opponents. 

James is next and it was like a power slam, he runs past first base then Edward, then us two, then wind moves Bella’s hair and before I even realize it James comes to a complete stop. His head whips around to Bella and I, his nostrils flare. “You brought some snacks.” Alice rushes over to me, clinging onto my arm as Jasper was now in front of me beside Edward. 

The Cullens now all in a position. “The girls are with us.” Carlisle says, “We won’t harm them” Laurent reassures him, trying to diffuse the situation. “Just try it.” Emmett says, practically looking for a fight. 

“I think it’s best you leave.” Carlisle says, Rosalie puts her hand on Emmett to calm him down. “Yes, I can see the game is over. We’ll go now.” He says, turning to walk away but looks back. “James.” His hand goes onto the guys shoulder finally getting him to walk away. 

Once they’re gone Esme collects the bats. “Get them out of here. We’ll follow them.” Carlisle says, running off with Jasper and Rosalie towards the other three. Edward scoops up Bella as Alice rushes me to the jeep. Both of them strap us in like little kids. “James is a tracker. I saw his mind. The hunt is his obsession and my reaction set him off.” The two get in and Edward whips the jeep around. As Edward explains things to Bella I look at Alice. “How come my scent effects him?” I whisper to her. “I don’t know, I think it’s like Edward said he’s a hunter.” She sits by me and holds me close to her. 

“The first place he’ll go is your house. He’ll track your scent from there.” Edward says and I jump up as Bella looks horrified. “What?! Charlie’s there, he’s in danger because of me! Because of us!” She shouts and I start breathing heavily, Alice take my hand and tries to soothe me. “Then we’ll lead the tracker away from him somehow.” He calmly replies and I just knew it was to calm Bella down but it’s not working. 

Bella bursts into the house as I sit outside. “I said leave me alone!” Bella yells. “Bella don’t do this. Just think about it please.” Edward pleads and if i didn’t know what was happening I would’ve believed this. “Get out it’s over.” She slams the door and I end up going in a few seconds later. “Bella? What happened?” Charlie asks, his face full of worry. “I have to get out of this place. Out of Forks. I’m leaving and so is [Name].” Bella runs up the stairs, Charlie follows her. My heart breaks as I have to go along with it too. Bella slams the door behind her and he looks down at me. “What happened?” He asked.

I shrugged, “Dad it’s best for us to go. You saw how people treat me.” I explain my part of the reasoning. I walk to my room and Alice stood there handing me my bag. I stand in my room for a little bit then I peck her lips before jogging back over. “I thought you liked him?” Charlie asks and I obviously missed a little bit of the conversation. “That’s why I have to leave. I don’t want this I want to go home.” Bella says. 

Bella then goes to charge down the stairs but Charlie follows her. “Your mother’s not even in Phoenix.” Charlie reminds her. “She’ll come home. I’ll have [Name] call her.” 

“You can’t drive home now. I’ll take you two to the airport tomorrow morning.” I watch his facial expressions and the look makes me want to cry. “I want to drive. I need to think. I’ll pull into a motel in a few hours I promise.” She says and goes down more steps but Charlie blocks her from going further to the door. “Bells I know I’m not around much but I can change that. We can do more things together. [Name] I’ll make sure people stop bothering you. You can go on the rez with Jacob.” He pleads with us and I just hide behind Bella, not wanting to see his hurting expression any more. “Like watch more baseball on the flat screen? Or go to the Coffee shop? Same people, same steak, same berry cobbler every night? That’s you dad. Not me. Not us.” Bella exclaims and I know it hits him hard. I glance up and his eyes focus on me. “Do you… feel that way too?” His voice was soft and it partially broke. I suck in a deep breath. “Yes. I’m tired of being treated like a freak here dad.” I frown. “Bella, [Name]... I just got you two back.” I squeeze my eyes shut having a feeling where this is about to go so we can leave and as much as I don’t want her to go there we need to go. “And if I don’t get out now I’m going to get stuck here like mom did and I don’t want this for [Name] either.” Charlie looks stunned and we take that to our advantage, pushing through him and out of the door. We rush to her truck and she drives away. 

I glance back and see him staring out of the window.

[pickleinaboxx]

SCREAMING

(Gif originally by @shadow0-1)

Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Again.

(Soap x GN! Reader)

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 5400 Tags: Doomed Narrative, Time Loop AU, Heavy Angst, Blood and Injury, Self-Sacrifice, Whump, Hurt Very Little Comfort, Happy Ending, (I PROMISE THERE'S A HAPPY ENDING!!) Warnings: Major character death. That's...literally the plot A/N: Hi here's the doomed timelines AU nobody asked for

Call of Duty Masterlist

Summary:

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

The first time you meet Soap, it’s how you expect. 

It’s a warm spring day, the kind where you need to shed layers in the brightness of afternoon, only to don them again come sunset. He stands just beyond the shade of the barracks, awash in sunlight that seems to catch the blue of his eyes. You blink as you take him in, and it’s the only barest indication you give at the instant impression that he’s handsome.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You reach for it automatically, remember yourself and offer a pleasant smile in return, along with your name. 

“Looking forward to working with you, John.” You reply, and John- Johnny, as you’d come to call him in the tender moments between you, chuckles. 

“Call me ‘Soap’.” He tells you easily, and you smile a bit wryly, tilting your head at him. 

“The hell kind of name is ‘Soap’?”

- - - - -

It’s easy to work with Soap. He has a cheery, bright demeanor to him that is immediately endearing. He’s friendly, outgoing. His smile is contagious, and the bark of his laughter becomes familiar to you. You listen and guffaw at his jokes over the comms, try vainly to hide your smile when he says them before you. 

It only makes his eyes twinkle to see you try and conceal your amusement, and that becomes familiar too- the sparkle of his irises with endless mirth. 

He catches you during your duties, sidles up beside you during weapons training, becomes the first to suggest himself as your partner during drills. The company he offers is warm, welcome, lifting the dusky heaviness of your heart into something more tender, fragile. You hold it for him, feel his grin bleed into yours, lay awake at night and sometimes think about the shake of his shoulders when you get him to laugh. 

You feel endlessly special when he devotes his time to you, feel as if Soap treats you like you’re the only person in the world. Even in the presence of others he finds ways to indulge himself in you. A nudge of his boot against yours under the table of the briefing room, tossing you an extra round of ammo as you gear up for a mission, finding an excuse to sit next to you on the chopper ride home. Soap feels like a breath of fresh air, the first taste of a cool breeze during summer, a respite from the weight of the world. 

Like two stars in orbit, you circle each other, drawing closer into the gravity of each other’s gazes. You try at first to resist, to hold yourself away from the feelings of the other sergeant, knowing at any moment that he could be taken from you. It’s written in the wheels of fate, your destinies as soldiers. If you’re lucky, if you stay alert, if you train hard enough, if chance smiles upon you, maybe you’ll both live to a day where the sound of rockets and bullet-fire doesn’t haunt your waking dreams.

Yet you can’t resist him. When you fall asleep against his shoulder after a days long mission with hardly any sleep, when he playfully grapples with you over the last slice of pizza during movie night, when he gives you that smile during a rare night off-base at the pub- how can you resist?

Gravity pulses between you when you at last fall into him, feel his breath against your lips as your fingers comb through his mohawk. He breathes the blessing of your name against the corner of your mouth in a panting gasp, flexes his fingers across the small of your back when he drags you even closer. The taste of him is honey and ale, a sweetness with a beloved bitter aftertaste, one you drink down greedily in the form of his moans against your flesh. 

When you lay in bed together after, sweaty limbs tangled together, you watch the tender, soulful smile form across the handsome planes of his face, and you know. 

He’s yours. 

There’s kisses stolen in the hangar before take off, moments hidden in the shadows of safehouses. He cups your face and lifts it to him in the aftermath of battle, smears ash against your cheek with his gloved thumb. You try to carve each moment into your heart, never fail to try and memorize the glint of his eyes, the soft slope of his smile. You know the shape of him in the darkness of his bedroom, know the sound of his voice even blinded by the brightness of his mere presence. 

Johnny is the sun- emanating a gentle, beckoning warmth from afar. Yet when you get closer you see the glory of his inferno, see the flashing burn of his eyes in the midst of battle. The solar flare of his battle cry seems to carry you like soar of Helios's chariot upwards into the heavens of his devotion. When you touch him, you’re seared, branded by his fingers as they trace sentimental sketches across the dip of your waist. You want to bask in him, feel the ember of his stare as he gazes at you silently across the table of the restaurant he takes you to for your official first date. 

“What?” You ask him, averting your eyes a little bashfully, catching his shrug in your periphery. 

“Just lookin’.” He replies with a grin, his cheek smushed as he balances on his hand. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

You kiss him for that, and when he laughs you kiss him again. 

You kiss him a thousand times, each as sweet and passionate as the last, know the curve of his smile on your lips. You kiss him before your next mission, when he holds you against the wall of the armory and tells you how he can’t wait until you both get back. 

He doesn’t. He doesn’t come back. 

He’s looking at you in the chopper when you hear the sound of the RPG. The explosion has him backlit for all of a moment before the world is spinning, the roar of the dying engine in your ears and Price’s holler to “BAIL BAIL BAIL-!!”

You reach for the rope, glance behind you to see Soap not out of his seat- a breed of panic in his eyes unlike that you’ve ever seen from him. The jammed clasp of his strap is caught in his hands as he tugs at it desperately, and you meet his gaze for all of a moment, seeing the imminent knowledge of what comes next in his beautiful blue eyes. 

You fall, without him, are caught by the canopy of trees where the snap of branches under you muffles the distant sound of the helicopter exploding as it lands. 

You ignore Price’s orders, run desperately for the wreckage, only to be greeted by an inferno that stretches towards the sky. 

Johnny is on fire, and this time when you reach for the burn of him the flames are real. They scorch your flesh and you shout his name even as you try to reach him, already knowing it’s too late. When Ghost and the others haul you back you fall to your knees, grip the scorched earth beneath your fingers and scream.

And then you wake up. 

Warm springtime. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You blink, heart still hammering in your chest, feeling the warmth of flames chase you even as songbirds sing in the trees. Yet Johnny is alive before you, whole, smiling, looking so much like the man he was when you met him for the very first time. 

“Was it a nightmare?” You ask him breathlessly, and Johnny- Soap- merely arches a bewildered eyebrow at you. 

“What?”

Nightmares, you come to learn, are so much more kind. 

It happens all as it did before. The jokes over comms, the glancing gazes over drills, the bump of elbows in the mess hall. It’s familiar, sweet, amorous…

And you know something is terribly, terribly wrong. 

Back to the start, somehow. You don’t know how, you don’t know why- but there’s no denying what has happened. Johnny died. You went back, and now you have a chance to save him. 

It’s months before the helicopter crash. You replay the scene over and over again in your mind, and you keep arriving back to the look in Johnny’s eyes as realization washed across them. Everyone who dies a sudden death is confused, scared, not ready, and the knowledge and horror you saw in his stare haunts your waking dreams. 

Yet Johnny falls in love with you just as he did before, and you fall into him so readily, desperate to accept his warmth in the wake of his death. Orpheus embracing Eurydice, you try to trace him into your skin, imbue the memory of him into the marrow of your bones and pray that you can reverse his fate. The gears of destiny tick in the back of your mind even as he stares at you over the restaurant table on the evening before your departure. 

“Just lookin’.” He tells you when you return his stare, mistaking your concern for confusion. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

When you kiss him, you try to swallow the sob in your throat.

When you get on the helicopter, you point out his jammed strap with shaking fingers, and he blinks in astonishment. 

“Hell’s bells.” He huffs, fiddling with it before it comes loose, and it stays that way for the remainder of your journey. “That coulda been terrible, ey bonnie?”

He makes it out this time, and when he rises from the forest floor he rushes to you, cups your face in his hands and stares down with eyes glinting in concern. 

“Sweetheart.” He breathes, chest heaving with exhilaration. “Are you hur-”

He jerks back at the sound of a gunshot, and you drop automatically, crawl to him just in time to catch his hand as he reaches for you. The bullet wound at his collarbone gushes red, red, red, and your hands are coated in it as you plead, tell him he’s going to be okay-

The light fades from his eyes, still staring up at you, the last thing he sees. 

You still feel his heartbeat on your hands when you wake up. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You tremble, take it and see him blink in surprise when he feels the uncontrollable shake of your palm against his. 

The second time, you think it’s a fluke, a horrible prank. 

He steps on a landmine, scattered to the four winds.

The third time, you’re petrified. 

A man hidden in the darkness, he lunges for you. Johnny pushes him aside. The blade wedges between his ribs.

The fourth time, you beg destiny for answers.

You make it to the compound, the fence lights him up like a firework.

The fifth time, you try to tell him, only to find your throat clogged, unable to speak. You try to tell him a hundred more times in the months that follow, and each time the words are stolen from your breath, as if fate forbids you to inform him of his doomed destiny.

“...Nothing.” You tell him when he asks after you’ve tried to speak over the restaurant table, your food barely touched. 

Johnny shrugs. “Doesna matter, too busy looking at how pretty you are.”

You cry silently that night in his bed, while he dozes gently next to you, unaware of what awaits him. 

You can’t tell him. You don’t know how to save him. You still love him. 

He’ll forget he knows you, forget he loves you by the time he wakes up

You’ve found eight ways for Soap to die, and have taken years to defy all of them. You have to write them down everytime you wake up unless you somehow forget. The notebook is filled with scribbled reminders, ever present in your pocket even as he steals the last slice of pizza out from under you.

He doesn’t have enough ammo. Remind him to take extra clips

He put his knife on the wrong strap that he usually does, fix it for him.

He steps on the landmine fourteen steps after the creek. Stop him.

You can’t stop trying. Not when it’s him.

Yet each time you find a way to outsmart the latest execution of him, fate finds one more thing to steal him out from under you. Unstoppable, imminent, condemned to wake up and see his smiling face mere moments after his heartbeat slows to nothingness.

“I love you.” You whisper as you cradle his head in your lap, knowing he already can’t hear you, glassy eyes staring up at the sky. “I’ll see you soon.”

You burst into tears by the 19th time, buckling in on yourself much to the shock of the men around you, relaying startled looks of confusion between them. You excuse yourself, find a dark corner to fold into and sob, knowing this time you’ll fail too.

It’s Soap who finds you, sits beside you, says barely a word when you cry into his shoulder even though he doesn’t know you. Not yet. 

Falling in love with him each time is painful. Your heart beats for him and him alone, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you lose him again. You’ll go right back to the start, to him having just met you, not yet falling into gravity with you, even as you hear the tick of gears turning ever closer to the moment you’ll watch him die.

“Don’t you know me?” You want to ask him, want to bunch his shirt between your fists and let tears stream down your face. “Don’t you know you loved me?”

His smile doesn’t waver. He jokes and laughs and playfully teases you and it hurts. It’s a balm that burns, heals your heart and yet doesn’t erase the scar. He’s your only comfort, the only thing you have as you feel your soul chipped a little further each time he leaves you. You can’t tell him why you cry into his arms, can’t confess to him that you’ve seen him die more ways than you care to remember, that you’ve tried to save him in dozens of lifetimes and he doesn’t even know.

He holds you even though he doesn’t understand, hushes sweet endearments into your hair and comforts you, not knowing how this will end. 

“I love you.” He tells you softly as you hiccup against his chest, not knowing what else to say. “Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

Your tears drip into the fancy china at the restaurant he takes you to and Johnny looks afraid.

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

He looks at you, blinks. His brow furrows.

“How’d you know my name?”

This time, you forget to warn him about the rigged doorway, and he vanishes in a flash and puff of smoke. 

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

You wake up. Everything happens as it did before. You meet him, you listen to the sound of his laugh, you finish one of his jokes over the comms and he groans.

“Don’t tell me ye know that one too!” He grouses, and when you smile your chest aches with the force of thirty lifetimes. 

You place a palm against his back, unable to help yourself as you enter the compound, wanting to feel the frame of his body just one more time before destiny finds a new way to kill him. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiles even as uncertainty colors the blueness of his gaze. 

“Yer like my guardian angel.” He tells you, still smiling even after all this time. “Dannea what I’d do w’out ye.”

A grenade at the staircase. He pushes you out of the way. He doesn’t duck out of the way in time.

You close your eyes when you wake up. You can’t bear to look at him, knowing you’ll just lose him again.

You try to keep him from loving you, thinking perhaps that is the crime to warrant this eternal punishment. You can’t stop loving him, but maybe, maybe you can stop him from loving you. Maybe if you never have him to begin with, maybe you can save him. 

Yet Johnny is drawn to you anyways, sucked in by the way your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, like a moth to an infant flame. He hovers at the fringes of your soul, tries desperately to find his way inside, and you can’t help but let him. He comforts you when you cry against the futility of it all, and there’s nothing you can say to him to explain. You wet his shirt with your tears, knowing it’ll be the one he dies in.

The next time, you force yourself to not speak to him, to try and avoid him at all costs, try everything to drive him away. If he never loved you to start, then maybe he’ll live. He seems pre-ordained to find a way to confess to you, ask why you hate him so, look at you through glistening eyes and ask “What did I do?”

You wonder if maybe that’s destiny too, if it’s truly Soap falling in love with you, or his strings being pulled by the same machinations that inscribe his death. 

When he asks you again, tries to approach you with flowers and apologies, and offers to take you to dinner on the eve of his death, you wheel on him in desperate fury. 

“You don’t actually love me!” You cry, face hot with tears. “Can’t you see that?! All this time it’s just- it’s just the story we’re in. Just because you’re supposed to love me doesn’t mean you do. It’s all just a fucking lie.”

Soap is stunned, too shocked to speak. In all the dozens of lives you’d lived, you’ve never ever yelled at him before. 

Hurt flashes across his eyes. His eyes drop along with his hands, the bouquet limp in his grip. The bitterness of his smile as he refuses to look at you threatens to shatter your heart like glass. 

“You hate me.” He murmurs, as if to himself. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean tae…”

He falls silent, and eventually he walks away. 

You don’t get on the chopper this time. You can’t stand to watch him die again. 

You try to tell him again, ask him why. Why does he have to torture you like this? Why love you, why allow you to love him so deeply, only for him to leave at the end of this doomed story bound to repeat? Why would he love you?

He looks torn. He’s hurt. He wants to comfort you. He doesn’t know what to say

“Why wouldn’t I love you?” He asks in a whisper, devastated by your outburst. 

You can’t speak. You’re forbidden to tell him. You want to. You can’t.

“Bonnie-” He tries, stepping forward, trying to embrace you as if that will somehow solve everything. 

“No.” You manage, pressing backwards as he reaches for you, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. Pain dances across his eyes. “Go away, Johnny.”

He leaves. 

He dies anyway. 

When you wake up, your body feels weighed down with the passage of a hundred lifetimes, and your legs fall out from under you without warning. Johnny hauls you into his arms, his blue stare flickering with concern. 

You forgot how much you love being held by him. 

This time, you don’t push him away. In fact, you never do again.

Yet things are different now. It’s subtle at first, things you take for granted. Something in this story has changed, and in turn it’s changed him. Johnny walks into rooms and seems to forget why he’s there. He asks what day it is and frowns in confusion when Ghost replies blandly for the second time that day. 

“Didn’t you already tell us this?” He asks of Price during a meeting, and Gaz’s head snaps to him, to the smartness of his tone towards your captain. 

“No.” Price responds gruffly, succinctly, and continues on. You watch Soap, see the way he doesn’t seem to understand. His fingers tap on the table, and it’s a small gesture meant to conceal the worry in his eyes- the knowledge that maybe, maybe he’s been here before.

“I saw you in a dream, once.” He tells you one night as you both clamber onto the roof of the barracks to stare at the stars. “Before I even met you.”

You stare at him, and he laughs a little nervously, rubbing at his nape. “A bit crazy, eh? Sounds like am’ off ma heid.”

You shake your head, slide your hand over his, feel your heart thump when he looks at you in surprise. “Tell me.” You whisper, and when he smiles you shudder, feel the weight of destiny press heavy on your shoulders. 

“I saw you crying.” He murmurs, and his eyes are a little distant, like he’s looking back at a life that no longer exists. “I told you not to cry.”

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

This time, you nearly die beside him, and almost wish fate would take you too.

He has nightmares now. He thrashes in his bed, a cold sweat dampening his skin when he wakes. You ask him what it was, what vision plagues him, and he only shakes his head, eyes distant and terrified. He clings to you like he’s a little boy frightened by shadows, gazes at something you can’t see but know all the same. He doesn’t have the words, but he doesn’t need them.

You roll over one night, startled to find him wide awake, eyes unblinking as he stares at you. His voice sounds like an echo of himself, a dark magic winding through his words that sound like an all too familiar prophecy.

“I saw myself die.” He tells you, in a voice you’ve never heard- one you’ll never forget. “You were there- and then you weren’t.”

He finds bruises on himself the next morning, in the same places you watched him become riddled with bullet holes. 

You’re running out of time. You don’t know when you’ll wake up and he won’t be there. You don’t know if this will be the last time you ever see him. 

“Please.” You beg him, tugging on the straps of his vest as he steps towards the chopper. “Johnny please, don’t. Stay here. Don’t go.”

His eyes shine with worry at the sudden, fervent desperation in your words, and he opens his mouth to respond-

Only for his eyes to take on that foreign, distant stare once more.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, and once more you’re forbidden to tell him. 

Because you’ll die. Because I’ll be forced to watch. Because I have no way to stop it. Because I’ve seen it happen a hundred times and I can’t do it anymore.

Inevitably, you arrive here, and this singular moment in time, at the place where you’ve yet to find the part in which he survives. 

It always ends like this.

You survive the crash, fend off the ensuing ambush, weave past the landmines and the soldiers patrolling the perimeter, disable the electric fence and disarm the rigged door. You make it inside, stop him before he triggers the tripwire, disarm the pressure plate, lob the grenade back up the stairs, open fire on the door to his left before he passes it. You anticipate the reinforcements at your back, fix the radio when you signal for ex-fil, remember to give him your extra ammo. You know when the roof collapses and drag him to safety, point out the missed charge in his demolitions package, take out the turret before he even spots it-

Then you arrive here. 

“The detonator doesn’t work.” He tells you for the thirty sixth time, out of a hundred and forty eight lifetimes. You know what comes next. The chopper will get here, you will be overrun, and Johnny will kiss you one last time with an apology, push you into Gaz’s arms even as you scream. Then he’ll make his way to the control room without you all, will stay behind and make it his final, valiant act. 

Then you’ll watch the facility explode with him still inside, hear the gears of fate click and send you hurtling back to the beginning.

If you stop him, you’ll all be shot down. You’ll be the only survivor of the crash, and will see the broken bodies of your teammates join him. Or someone else will take his place, and your rescue chopper will be shot down anyways. 

There’s no escape. This is always the moment that you can’t save him from. Thirty six lifetimes and you know in just a few minutes you’ll wake up, will hear his voice begin it all again, over and over until one day you wake up and he isn’t there. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You had a dream last time. You were both sitting at the restaurant table, and you spoke before he could. 

“Are you going to tell me how pretty I am?” You asked him, swallowing down grief, feeling it bloom like a macabre bouquet when the sound of his joyous laughter tickled your soul.

“Stole the words right from mah mouth.” He chuckled.

You blinked, and the seat across from you was suddenly empty. 

You close your eyes, in this moment, try once more to find the part where you all make it out alive. You try to find the part where you don’t lose him. Where you’ll go back to that restaurant and it’ll be the last time. 

You’ve had enough.

“I’m going to stay.” Soap declares, eyes grim with resolve. 

He turns to you.

You close the distance, reach up and kiss him. You tangle your fingers in his mohawk like you did the very first time, listen to his shocked gasp as you try and drink in the taste of him just one more time. Just one more time.

Honey and ale. A bittersweet goodbye. 

You snatch the detonator from his hands, raise your hands to his shoulders and push.

He topples backwards, nearly colliding with Price, and it gives you just enough time to bolt for the door leading towards the control room, locking it behind you. 

Soap screams your name, hurls himself at the door, frantic desperation coloring his beautiful blue eyes. The color of a sky in summer time, of a fresh breeze that reminds you so much of him.

There’s a nervous smile on his lips, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. He thinks it’s a prank, another joke between you two, and he says just as much, voice wavering when he asks you to unlock the door. 

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You whisper, tears warming your eyes. “I can’t lose you again.”

Confusion makes him pause, but it’s only for a moment. 

“Open the door.” He demands then, jiggling the lock uselessly as his voice rises. “OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!!”

“I love you.” You whisper, raising your hand to the glass pane, your splayed palm against his closed fist and the world between them. “In this lifetime, and the one before. Ever since the day I met you, I’ve loved you, Johnny.”

He calls your name, voice cracking in desperation and he begs you to come back. You take a few more moments, and think to yourself how unkind it is that the last time you see him will be like this. Afraid, broken, desperate.

Terrified.

Just like how he was all that time ago, the first time you failed to save him.

Not this time. 

“Don’t cry.” You tell him quietly. “I always hated watching you cry.”

You leave him even as he screams after you, running in the direction of the control room. 

You don’t know this part. You’ve only ever watched Johnny or one of them vanish in this direction. You aren’t prepared for this the way you are with the rest of this story. You’re not ready for the hail of gunfire that greets you, the bullets ripping through flesh. Your blood drips red onto the floor, you run low on ammo, and yet somehow you press on.

Not this time. You think. Not ever again. You can’t take him from me any longer. I won’t allow it.

You’re limping, heavily wounded, riddled with bullet holes, chest seizing and smearing an abstract of crimson behind you as you finally make it to the control room. By the time you dispatch the remaining soldiers you’re on the floor, feeling the corners of your vision pulse red and black as the gears turn, as the clock ticks down. 

The timer has just enough time to make it out once you start it. You know you won’t be able to. 

So you watch the numbers click on the countdown, flop onto your back and cry.

You didn’t want this. 

You wanted just a little more time. Maybe you should have let him go, let him finish this if only he can wake up and not know you. Maybe you should have let him die one more time, if only to get the chance to fall asleep in his arms months into the future and past, knowing he was going to die. 

It’s too late now, and as the numbers click down, as your heartbeat thrums in your ears and your vision pulses red, you can only try to remember the feeling of his smile against your lips, the sound of his laughter, your name breathed into your skin as he wraps his arms around you, safe from destiny in his embrace.

“Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

You love him. You’ve always loved him. In this lifetime, in the hundred lifetimes before. In a thousand lifetimes to come you will still love him. Even if you go back, wake up again to that warm spring day, you know you will only love him once more.

You wish he was here, at the end, and wish that even if he was he’d find a way to live without you.

When you exhale, it’s the sound of his name, the memory of his eyes as they stare across you from the restaurant table, full of endless devotion.

The world goes dark. 

And then you wake up.

It’s bright. 

You don’t expect what comes next. 

There’s no birdsong. No springtime warmth. Only the beep of a heart monitor, the feeling of cottony sheets tucked into a hospital bed, the fluorescent glow of overhead lights. 

And the sound of a voice. 

Johnny is holding your hand, head bowed, tears falling freely down his face. 

“I did it.” He sobs, words choking his throat, shoulders trembling. 

Whole. Alive. Just like you. 

“I did it.” He cries again, looking up and finding your eyes with his that swim with emotion. When he speaks, it sounds like the weight of a hundred lifetimes presses down on him. 

“This time. This time, I saved you.”

Taglist: @soapskneebrace @guyfieriii @writeforfandoms @alicesfracturedmirror

[pickleinaboxx]

Please duck

[pickleinaboxx]

My heart is sobbing

Hidden Comforts (Under the Covers)

Summary: Winter in the prison keeps Daryl awake for days, and it seems his only solution for rest is seeking you out in the dead of night.

a/n: yep. it’s me, devnmon, writing yet another daryl fic after months of not writing. here’s one of my favorite trope(s), tweaked a bit for the likes of this fic: the one bed trope. lots of cute pining from both sides, shyness and uncertainty for the like of the masses. i hope u guys will survive as this is the softest shit i’ve ever fucking wrote. enjoy <3 [credit 2 cafekitsune for dividers]

warnings: none

wc: 2k

Windows that froze solid shook against the wind and ice raining down from the sky, along with inches upon inches of snow to make the prison courtyard a white frontier. The only thing this kind of weather helped was depleting the amount of walkers around, ones who hadn’t frozen solid against a tree or upright in the ice.

Among the cold walls of the prison, a shiver of slight wind continuously fled through the building. There were god knows how many cracks in the foundation, windows that were void of panes, not to mention the ginormous hole in one of the halls that had been sealed off from the otherwise livable quarters. All the rebuilding of your home, yet the frigid temperatures persisted.

It was cold enough outside, your group couldn’t help the breeze finding its way in above all they’ve done to patch the place up. There was no way of setting a fire in the place, for just a smidge of warmth, either. So, the remaining members of your group were left to the clothes on their backs, and whatever they’d scavenged from the cells to help fend off the frozen temperatures.

Outside, the wind rapped against windows and a shiver ran through your body. You’d been hunched over in your cell, layers upon layers of clothing attempted to clothe yourself from the weather. It did nothing to help the cold from seeping to your core. Your teeth chittered against one another, a hand wrapping around the wool blanket from your mattress to cover your body with it.

From a distance, you heard footsteps down the hall. Probably just Rick or Daryl making their rounds in the cell blocks to see how everyone was holding up during the storm. It was hard for everyone, especially the new people taken in from Woodbury and Judith, Rick’s infant daughter, to deal with this discomfort of winter.

Thudding of feet on the stone flooring became louder minute by minute, knowing now that it had to be one of the two men, now, leaders of your group of survivors you called family. You weren’t as advanced as Daryl was with his tracking, so you really couldn’t tell which one of the men it was. Though, as the steps became louder, it came to your attention the distinct sound of heeled boots, as well as metal clinking on his belt. It was only a moment before you heard the sound of the sheet blocking your cell doorway being pulled back.

“Hey. How you holdin’ up?”

Hesitating on movement at first, you sighed, then turned toward the southern voice in the doorway. Rick stood in the hallway, hand on his hip, the other holding the curtain back.

“Hey, Rick. I’m... hanging in there… best I can. Not much I can do to change how fucking cold it is but… how’s everyone else doing?”

You hear him respond from the hall, “They’re managing. Carl was askin’ about you though, wanted to make sure you were okay. He’s spending the night with Judith.”

“Mm, okay. I’ll check in with him later… or tomorrow. Whenever I’m not freezing my ass off..” Chuckling, you shift the blanket tighter around you.

“Right, well don’t freeze to death tonight, ‘kay? We need you,” He says, beginning to drop the curtain until he pulls it back open and says, “Daryl was askin’ about you earlier.”

“Daryl was? What- what did he say?” You double blinked in surprise at such an idea.

You had just recently become close with him, but it would be a lie if you said you weren’t holding back some teeny tiny feelings for him. A teeny tiny crush that made being in the mere presence of him overwhelming. Your palms always began sweating whenever he got close to you, making your voice shake and train of thought lost in the way he held himself. Daryl was intimidating, but you knew he was kind, and even quite funny amidst the struggles he’s been through.

“Somethin’ about him not being able to sleep in this cold. Was wondering the same about you. He’ll probably be up all night...” Rick scratched the back of his head.

“Poor guy... I mean I thought he was a night owl, but I couldn’t imagine not being able to sleep at all.” You stated, concern for him growing.

“He’s had it rough. But I don’t think he’ll put his head down even if he got within an inch of being tired. Would you check on him if you get the chance?”

“Sure. You should go get some rest yourself. You definitely need it.”

“Yeah, I’ll try. Have a good night.” You smile at him this time as he drops the sheet fully this time, the clicking of his heeled boots drifting away.

What kept you awake for the next half hour was the thought of what went on behind those pretty eyes of his, always considering everyone around him while not thinking of himself at all. You sigh, I wish I could make things better for you. Show you how much love you deserve. Fuck…

You drift off after that, succumbing to fatigue that had your eyelids feeling a hundred pounds heavy.

A couple hours pass before slight stirring outside your small room catches your observant ear. It was far past midnight yet, late enough for everyone with a normal sleep schedule to be out like a light.

You lay in bed, eyes still closed, thinking, who the hell is up at this hour?

The footsteps fade to nothing, thinking whoever it was went back to sleep, perhaps to use the bathroom or something. Then you heard someone clear their throat from the hall, sounding right outside your sheet. It’s then your eyes shot open, peering over to the entrance of the room. You’re about to call out, but remember the dozens of sleeping individuals in the other cells. So you wait.

Sure enough, you hear a sigh still outside of your room, patiently waiting for some, if any, response.

You hear a faint call out of your name, given by someone with a low, surly voice. It takes a minute to register in your head as to who it was, and then you remember what Rick told you earlier.

“Daryl? That you?” Rubbing your eyes from sleep, you sit up.

“Yeah, ‘s me.” You hear his faint footsteps approach slowly, his silhouette painting a dark figure against the white of your sheet. His hand lifts it, peering in with curiosity.

“Come- come in. You don’t have to stay out there.” You state, waving him into the cell, noticing his poncho thrown over his usual leather jacket and shirt. When he’s fully in the room, you notice the dark circles lingering under his blues, proving Rick’s knowledge of the man was true.

“I didn’t wake ya, did I? Shit- couldn’t sleep. Been up forever.”

Shaking your head, you give a small smile, “No, don’t worry. I got some sleep but the cold wasn’t really helping.”

He nods, chewing the inner side of his lip.

“What’s up, Daryl?”

“I just- Ya know this weather, there ain’t a smidge of heat in this damn prison. No matter how many blankets I got.” He half chuckles, but you can tell it’s more of a scoff. Daryl’s wringing his hands within each other and pacing across the floor.

“I know, feels like I’m wearing ten layers of clothes just to not freeze to death. It’s fucking awful. Like I’ve never seen…” You stop for a moment, taking in his stressed state before he glances at you, “Uh.. never seen Georgia of all places have harsh snow like this. Lived here all my life and it’s never been this bad.”

“Yeah, me too. Except that was when we had electricity, and fuckin- road pavers or some shit. I don’t fuckin’ know.” Daryl picks up the chuckle you let out at his words, and you’re nodding when he looks over again.

“Hey, listen. It’s late and I know you didn’t come all the way from the perch to talk to me about the weather.. so really, what’s on your mind?”

Daryl’s pacing halts abruptly, knowing you can read him like a book. It feels as though his stomach turns inside out when he thinks about what he really wants to say. “I uh… I’ve been up for probably two, no, three days now, haven’t been able to sleep since the cold. And… fuck.“

“You know you can tell me anything.” He huffs out a breath and nods to himself, almost like he’d been trying to hype himself up for wanted, no, needed to say. His hesitation had already made you anxious and you wanted to pick his brain to ease all his worries. But you stayed silent and let him speak.

“Okay, listen. I’m damn freezing… and uh, I know you run warm. Like a damn furnace in the summer. But I was wonderin’ if… You wouldn’t mind if I… um, lay with ya?”

You hold off on responding for a moment as his words turn the gears in your head. Daryl wanted to… lay in bed? With you? Just the idea of his body that close to you made your hands sweat. Your eyes darted around swiftly, before you responded.

“Like, in- in my bed? With me?”

“Uh, yeah. Feels like that’s the only way I’m gonna be able to get some shuteye.” His eyebrows furrowed, and you noticed his fidgeting hands. Your silence made him immediately think it was a shit idea and he should’ve just kept it to himself. Should’ve just suffered through the fatigue and gone back to his perch. He began to realize you were about to deny him. What was he thinking?

“Daryl, this bed is not big enough for the two of us.” You chuckled playfully and watched his stern face drop.

“Oh, alrigh’. Sorry t’bother ya.” He began to turn his broad shoulders toward the door.

“But…”

He froze in his steps, turning back.

“Your warmth and rest is more important to me. So, get your ass over here.” A small smile formed on your tired face, painting the tips of his ears red. Daryl kicked off his shoes by the doorway and padded over to your bed. Once you moved to lay down on your side, you lay your head on the edge of your pillow, inviting him to share the blanket with you, your arm out in a welcoming embrace.

Daryl, still caught off guard with the fact that you were letting him be this close to you, kept his poncho on and crawled in next to you on the creaky mattress. He wasn’t surprised at the warmth radiating off you once he fully laid down next to you. The second he looked up at your face, the realization that your faces were inches away made his eyes widen.

“Glad you’re not one to shy away in close quarters..” You giggle, gazing at his facial features for the first time, and this is as close as the two of you have ever been. A corner of his mouth quirks upwards, the smallest inkling of a smile on his face.

“This tiny ass bed is somehow more comfy than mine. Maybe ‘cause you’re here..” You could tell Daryl’s fatigue was catching up with him, as his words slurred, and his eyes began to flutter closed. A piece of his hair falls in front of his eyes, and you move your hand up to move it from covering his eyelids. Once your fingertip ghosts over his face, he flinched, only slightly for a moment and remembered you’re there. He knows you’d never hurt him, leaning into your movement, his shoulders easing up their tightness.

“Shh.. get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Your voice is low and soft, it right about lulls him to sleep.

“M’kay, sunshine.” Daryl scoots in, pressing an inch or so closer to you. You don’t realize at first, but his right hand lays directly on top of yours. His warm hand caresses your palm, slightly moving your fingers to intertwine in his. You cup his cheek, and lightly press a kiss to his forehead. He grumbles to himself a bit more, till you sense he’s fallen asleep, allowing your eyes to flutter closed as well.

He's warm and familiar, safe and closer than ever. You wanted to breathe in the scent of his leather jacket and never let go.

Seems like you were just what he needed for a good night’s rest.

[pickleinaboxx]

Love

how i think the 141 men would do when asked “can you watch my drink for me?” XP

Price would nod while happily accepting your request, snickering a little when he sees you almost trip on your way to the bathroom. He’d either keep it close to his body or have his other hand flatten over the rim, lidded from any weirdos trying to sneak a roofie in your fruity alcoholic drink. He’d suddenly sober up, to be more alert. The Captain usually never drinks, only enough to feel a buzz but never tipsy or flat out drunk. Someone had to be sober to drive everyone back, keep them from doing stupid shit that would hurt them— or get arrested from said stupid shit. A sudden sense of pride and warmth filled his chest when he saw how comfortable and reliant you are on him, shows how dependable he is.

When you ask Soap if he can watch your drink for you he nods mid-sip. He was ready for this. Setting his own drink down on a table to carefully look after yours. “Like a hawk!” He yells at you, you’re already across the room to the bathroom. He’d sniff the drink to see what you got, if it smells okay enough he’ll even take a sip of it. It’s a 50/50 whether he’s judge your choice of alcohol or not. One guy even had the audacity to ask for your drink, what did he plan to do with it? I don’t know, probably some shiesty shit. Soap will literally bark at the man until he goes away. He earned a couple weird looks from the people around, but it was worth it.

Gaz would of course be protective of it. Staying in one spot and just watching, observing the other people in the club. Whenever he drank it was always one or two beers or 10 shots, nothing in between. But if he’s beyond drunk and you hand him your drink, he’ll immediately sober up, only until you take your drink back. On more than one occasion he forgot he was holding your drink and even drank half of it. He only seemed to realize it when you wondered why half was missing. He, of course, got you another one. Except he gets you one of his own choice cause “You haven’t got the best taste”.

If you ask Ghost to watch over your drink, he’d decline at first. But you insist since you have to go to the bathroom. Shoving the drink in his hand, leaning him no choice but to watch over it. It’s not like he doesn’t want to.. he just.. doesn’t want to? He keeps it in the little cage of his arms that rests on the bar. Staring down every person that gets even 5 feet away from him. Doesn’t matter with the gender, looks, or level of sobriety. Anyone could have the ill intentions of roofieing you. He looks down at your drink, confused by the colorful and fruity smell. Wondering how you can even drink that crap. He eventually just orders another glass of what he got. Just straight hard liquor. He insists that it’s better than “Whatever fruit juice shit you had before”.

[pickleinaboxx]

IM CRYING LMAO

Y/n: guys, what color is my shirt?

Ghost: gray

Price: gray

Gaz: gray

Y/n: exactly. Now, Soap, tell them what color you said my shirt was

Soap: I don’t want to….

Ghost: spit it out, Johnny

Soap:

Soap: …dark white…

[pickleinaboxx]

Real

[pickleinaboxx]

Can we take a moment to highlight this absolutely amazing new photoshoot norman did with photographer vitali akimov, like seriously these pictures are gorgeous. I highly suggest following the photographer on instagram

[pickleinaboxx]

How do you think the COD characters would react to the Reader sending this "If I texted you at 3 am, asking for you to pick me up cause I ended up drunk in another city, would you do that?"

A/N: I PASSED MY TEST! AND BACK TO REQUESTS 141

C/W: suggestive, romantic relationships, dirty humor, short. AFAB reader(?)

[pickleinaboxx]

Defeated After All

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

Summary: (Season 9)Daryl is riled up when it comes to Lydia’s fate. You don’t see things the same way.

Warnings: None

Prompt: “I really don’t understand what’s going on with you sometimes!”

A/N: Request by @thanossexual can be found here. I hope I did okay! 😩

“Think'a yer mom!”

You watched Daryl point a finger at Henry. The man was radiating anger with waves prominent enough that the Whisperers could probably track your group using that alone.

“Daryl, now’s not the time for this.” You spoke sternly just as Connie stood and motioned for the kids to get up.

“She ain’t coming.” The archer walked around the girl and pulled Henry to his feet only to give him a shove toward their path. Connie shot him a look that he all but ignored.

You helped Lydia stand and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. When you steered her around Daryl and to Henry’s side, Connie began to motion toward the right. The bowman had already stepped up a small path to your left.

“Nah, s’this way.”

It was obvious he was still seething but maybe he had let it go. Connie made another motion to follow her, Lydia and Henry obeyed immediately with Dog bounding along behind them.

“No! No! Dog!”

You watched them go and turned to Daryl when he sighed. “Come on, Dixon.”

“Don’ think I didn’ see that.” He snapped. His boots pounded the ground as he made his way toward the other path. Daryl could be near silent when he wanted to be. This was intentional.

“So? Stop throwing a tantrum. The girl stays with us.” You adjusted your pack on your shoulders and moved to walk around him. A gasp left your mouth when his hand wrapped around your bicep and spun you.

“I said no, y/n! She’ll bring ‘em down on us! I ain’t ‘bout t’ let that happen!”

You stared at his hand for a moment before shrugging it off. “The girl stays with us, Daryl.” You found his gaze and held it, though it seemed neither of you were willing to relent. This was asinine! Connie, Henry, and Lydia were getting further away while the Whisperers were closing in. “This isn’t the time for this. We have to move and you know that.” Shaking your head, you began to step backwards on the path, moving away from him. “I really don’t understand what’s going on with you sometimes!”

You weren’t sure how long he stood there after you had walked away. All you knew was that several minutes later, you saw him move into view beside you, back to moving stealthily and without a word. You hated fighting with him. You two had been having each other’s backs since the prison. You just couldn’t stand with him on this. Lydia needed protection. She needed friends; a real family. She was scared and alone. You knew how that felt.

You glanced over to find him looking back at you. His stoic expression caused your heart to contract and your stomach to twist. It was obvious this conversation was not over, but Lydia needed you all. You wouldn’t cave now.

Consequences be damned.

[pickleinaboxx]

I love this sm

Those Eyes. prt 4

part 1 , part 2 , part 3 of this series ..

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳!𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧!𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘶𝘰 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩, 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘯, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘺’𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭’𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘨𝘶𝘺, 𝘝𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳.. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, ��𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘴, 𝘦𝘤𝘵. 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨!

𝐚/𝐧: 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶!

𝐰𝐜: 3,290

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Sunday morning, the morning that every christian looked forward to.. except for you. You never looked forward to sitting in a quiet church room while your dad pretended to worship and pray to God while you watched him and knew the way he would act at home later. He would always ask the Lord to “forgive him for his sins” that he would go right back to doing the second he walked out of the church doors.

“C’mon, I’m leaving.” he said as you nodded and hopped off the floor that you were sitting in front of your mirror on, and left the house with him, going to church. Once you got there, you walked in with your dad as the nice guys who held open the church doors smiled and began talking to your dad. You smiled as you walked past them and started to walk to the bathroom when you saw a familiar face talking to a woman, smiling at her brightly. You walked closer in his direction as you noticed it was Bruce Yamada, your old friend from school.

You and Bruce used to be super close, but ever since you became friends with Robin, Bruce never really stuck around. Bruce was known at school for being the kind and sweet happy boy that everyone wanted to be friends with, and, well, Robin was quite the opposite. He was nice, but not a lot of people had ever gotten to know him well enough to see through his ‘tough guy’ act and meet the side of him that you knew and adored. Bruce and you never ended your friendship on bad terms, you both just kinda stopped talking one day, but you had never seen him at your church before. He used to go to the big church up the road, but apparently he goes to this one now.

As you kept looking at him, he looked over at you and made eye contact with you for a split second before you looked away and began walking to the direction of the bathrooms again. He excused himself from the woman he was talking to and walked over in your direction, walking in front of you so you couldn’t walk away. “Y/n hey.” he said, plastering his sweet smile on his face. He had such a sweet, genuine smile that could melt anyone.. it used to melt your heart in an entirely different way. You used to be in love with Bruce Yamada.. and not just a little crush, you really loved him. You used to love everything about him. The way he talked to you, the way he looked at you, the way he smelt, the way he held himself, his smile, his eyes, his touch when you both accidentally brushed your hands together.. you were in love with him. But not anymore, you didn’t even know him anymore.

“Hey.” you said to him, smiling back a little, acting as if you hadn’t seen him a second ago. “I didn’t know you went to this church, how long have you been going here?” he asked you. He was talking to you so normally, like you two haven’t ever stopped being friends, but that’s the type of guy Bruce is. He makes everyone comfortable and happy to be around him, but in this moment you were everything but happy to be around him. “A few years, we’ve come every Sunday.” you told him, causing him to nod. “Oh, well that’s cool! My parents decided to switch churches so we’re going here now. Are the people here nice?” he asked you. You nodded your head, acting as if you talked to anyone at church. “Yeah.. yeah they’re cool.” you said to him as he smiled. “I’m gonna go to the restroom now, but I'll see you later.” you told him as he nodded his head and smiled at you again. “Okay, bye Y/n.” he said to you as you waved at him and walked into the bathroom, thinking about the encounter you just had with him.

The church service was a blur. Everything that was being said was going in one ear and out the other just like it always did. Once the two hours were over, you stood up with your dad as he started to walk to a few men in church clothes. He always did this after church service, he would talk to these men who were all good fathers and husbands to their family as if he was a good dad. He acted like he was a dad who cared and treated you with love and respect in front of them.. and only a few people knew how he was behind closed doors. You, Robin, Bruce, and now Vance, though you never intended on Vance knowing.

When you dad made his way over to the men, Bruce walked into your direction and smiled a little as you made eye contact with him. “That was a good service.” he said to you as you looked at him and nodded. “Yeah, he’s a good pastor.” you said to him, talking about your pastor who held the service today. He smiled and nodded as his mother walked over to you both, widening her eyes as she noticed who Bruce was talking to. “Oh my gosh, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!” she said as she hugged you tightly. You smiled as you hugged her back, feeling her embrace around you for what felt like the first time in centuries.

Mrs. Yamada used to be a mother figure to you. She was always there for you, holding you when you were sad, talking to you about girl problems, explaining how to use tampons and pads when you started your period, everything a mom would do for her daughter, she did for you. “Hi Mrs. Yamada, I’ve missed you.” you told her and she rubbed your back, leaning her head back to look at you. “I’ve missed you too, how have you been lately, honey?” she asked you as you let her go and smiled. “I’ve been good, just a lot of studying and reading.” you told her as she gave you a look as if she didn’t believe you. “Yeah yeah yeah..” she said jokingly. “I know you better than that. You and Bruce used to get into all kinds of things!” she said as you giggled a little. Bruce laughed too as his dad walked over and smiled.

“Hey honey, how are you?” he asked as he wrapped an arm around Mrs. Yamada’s waist. “Hey Mr. Yamada, I’ve been good.” you told him as he smiled and nodded. Mrs. Yamada looked at you again, “We were about to go to breakfast, would you maybe wanna come with us and hangout for a bit? We’ve missed you being around.” she told you as you widened your eyes a little at the invite. You haven’t spent time with these people in a little over a year.. but you honestly really missed them. Truly. You nodded your head smiling at her, “Yeah I’d love to.. I need to ask my dad real quick.” you said as you looked at them. “I’ll be right back.” you said, walking over to your father to ask him.

When you got over to your dad and the men he was talking to, you tapped his shoulder as he turned his head to look at you. “Yes hun?” he asked you. You almost cringed at his words as they came out of his mouth, he would never call you that name at home. “I was just wondering if I could go to breakfast with the Yamada’s, they asked if I wanted to come.” you told him as he nodded his head. “Yeah that’s fine, be safe and have fun, but not too much fun!” he said excitedly as the other men let out a giggle. You fake laughed as you nodded, walking away from him. You couldn’t stand the way those men looked at him, laughing as if he was the good father he portrayed in the church.

You walked back over to the Yamada’s as you smiled at them. “I can come.” you told them as they smiled and nodded. You four all went to their car and got in, Mr. and Mrs. Yamada in the front, and you and Bruce in the back. The married couple began talking about the service and the pastor as you looked out of your window. Bruce looked over at you and tapped your arm, causing you to look over at him. He smiled at you, “I’m glad you came.” he said as you smiled back at him a little. “I’m glad I was allowed to.” you told him.

When you guys got to the restaurant, you all sat at a booth and ordered your breakfast. You talked to Mr. and Mrs. Yamada about everything that came to mind the entire breakfast. They asked you questions about life lately and you told them everything, other than the bad things about your dad. You laughed with them for a while when they began telling you about Bruce failing his math class. “He used to be so good at math, but ever since you two stopped hanging out together he’s been not doing too good.” Mrs. Yamada told you as you nodded your head. “Well, maybe you could tutor Bruce and help him out a bit. I could pay you some for your help.” he told you as you shook your head. “Oh there’s no need to pay me, I’d love to. It would get me out of the house and I could see you guys.” you told Mr. Yamada as he smiled. Mrs. Yamada ended up telling you she at least wanted to give you twenty bucks every time you tutored Bruce, which you agreed to since you didn’t wanna turn down a little bit of money.

When you guys finished up at breakfast, you went back to their house with them to hang for a bit. “I’m gonna go to the store for a bit with your dad.” Mrs. Yamada told Bruce as he nodded. “I’ll be back soon.” she told you both as you both nodded. Once they left, Bruce walked to the stairs and looked at you. “Wanna go to my room? I got a new record player and it works really good, it’s super loud!” he told you. You smiled at him and nodded, walking upstairs with him to his room.

When you got in his room, you looked around it and examined all the details of it. It hadn’t changed much since the last time you had been inside of it. The layout was still the same. Still the same comforter, the same sheets and pillow cases, the same posters on the wall, the same teddy bear that he’s had for years, the same shoes under his bed, the same picture frame on his bedside table.. the only difference was the picture inside of it. The picture frame that once held a picture of you and him inside was now replaced with a picture of him and his new best friend. You couldn’t recall his best friend’s name, but he seemed nice. They were always together in the halls at school, he looked cool, and you were happy Bruce had him.. but sometimes, it would make you reminisce on how that used to be you and Bruce instead of him.

“You can sit on my bed, I’ll play some music.” he told you as you nodded and sat on his bed, pulling your dress down some so it didn’t fly up when you sat down. “I feel like I haven’t been in here in forever.” you told him as he put a Blondie vinyl on the record player. Heart Of Glass started playing as he sat next to you on his bed and nodded. “Because you haven’t, it’s been a little over a year now I think.” he said. It was so weird to think it had been over a year since you spent time with him, he was your everything at one point and now it felt as if he was some sort of stranger again.. but a stranger you shared a past with. “Yeah I know, it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long.” you said as you laughed a little, trying to break the awkward tension between you two.

“So.. how have you been?” he asked you. “You’re the third person who’s asked me this in the span of two hours.” you said jokingly as he let out a laugh, a laugh that you hadn’t heard in a while. A laugh that once used to be music to your ears and now is a sound of nostalgia that you haven’t heard in a year. You smiled at the sound of his laugh as he widened his eyes, “You start the conversation then, I didn’t know what else to say.” he said, jokingly. You giggled and nodded, thinking of what to say to him. “How’s baseball been this season?” you asked him as he smiled. “It’s been really fun actually, the team is super close this year and coach has been a lot nicer than last year.” he told you as you smiled at his words. It was nice to know he’s been doing well. “That’s really good, I’m glad the team is close, I remember how it used to make you upset when you guys argued last year.”

He nodded his head and looked at you. He was so pretty. Eye contact with Bruce made your heart flutter, even though you no longer were in love with him. His eyes were so pretty, and so was his smile and everything about him. “I heard you stopped volleyball this year, why so?” he asked you as you snapped out of your thoughts. “Oh, umm, I don’t know, I just didn’t really wanna play.” you told him, looking down so that you were no longer making eye contact with him. “Oh.” he said in a tone as if he didn’t believe you. “Well you were really good at it, you shouldn’t just throw your talent away.” he told you. You shrugged as he grabbed his pillow and put it in his lap, laying his elbows on it to hold his cheeks in his hands. “I’m not throwing it away, I’m just not using it this year.” you told him. “You may forget how to play as well as you used to if you don’t continue to practice.” he told you. You knew he was right, but what he didn’t know is that you were lying about why you weren’t playing this year. Truth is, you weren’t not playing this season because you didn’t want to.. your dad just didn’t have the money to pay for the sport.

“Yeah.. true.” you said as he smiled a little, “I can help you practice, like after you tutor me. You help me with something and I help you.” he told you, causing you to smile a little big. Being able to spend this time with Bruce again could lead to you both being close again. You love Robin though, you of course would never stop being his friend for Bruce, but maybe Bruce didn’t mind that you were friends with Robin now and wanted to spend time with you anyways.

“That would be cool.” you told him. You both hung out in his room until his parents came back, and then you still continued to hang in his room for about two hours after that. You two were talking in his bed, laughing when his mom walked in and smiled at you. “Hey hun, we have to go to my mom’s for a cookout, you’re welcome to come if you want.” she told you as you looked at her and shook your head. “I wish I could, but my dad is probably expecting me.” you told her as she nodded her head. “Oh okay honey, well then we’ll see you Tuesday for tutoring.” she said as you nodded and hopped off Bruce’s bed. “Yes ma’am.” you said as you hugged her. “I’ll see you then.”

Bruce walked you outside as you turned and looked at him, smiling. “I’ll see you later.” you told him as he smiled and nodded his head. “Bye loser.” he said to you as you giggled and waved at him. “Bye dumbass.”

You were on your way home when you remembered you told Vance you would meet up with him today behind the Grab N’ Go. “Fuck.” you muttered under your breath as you turned around and started fast walking to the Grab N’ Go. When you got there, you were practically out of breath from speed walking. You walked inside and frowned a little when you didn’t see Vance at the pinball machine. ‘Maybe he’s not here.’ you thought to yourself as you walked outside of the door. You walked to the back of the building, hoping that he was back there, and smiled to yourself as you saw Vance sitting back there with a cigarette in between his index and middle finger, inhaling it into his mouth.

“Any room for me?” you said as you walked over to him, sitting down next to him as he looked at you and furrowed his brows a little. “Why are you in a fancy dress?” he asked you as you shook your head, taking the cigarette from his hand and inhaling it. “I had church this morning, I have to wear something like this every Sunday.” you told him as you handed it back to him. “Oh.. ew.” he said as he took it. “Your dad let you come out today?” he asked as you nodded your head. “Well I was already out, so I came here without asking him. If he knew I was back here with you smoking he would lose his shit.” you told him as he laughed a little. “Why if he knew you were with me ? He’s never even met me before, how does he not like me?” he asked you as you shrugged.

“Probably just things he’s heard about the fights at school, it’s hard to mix up a curly haired blonde boy with any of the other guys at school.” you told him as he shoved his shoulder into yours. “Well he sucks ass, so if he doesn’t like me that means i’m a better person than him.” he said as you laughed and agreed with him. You two sat back there smoking for a while before you noticed the time on your watch was getting pretty late. “I better get going now.” you told him as you hopped up and reached your hand down to his. He grabbed ahold of your hand and pulled himself up, smiling at you a little as a ‘thank you’ for helping him up. “I‘ll see you tomorrow at school then.” he said to you as you smiled and nodded your head.

“Bye Vance.” you said as you waved at him and began walking home.

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𝐚/𝐧: so sorry for not posting yesterday !! take this longer chapter as my apology lol. thank you sm for reading <3

[pickleinaboxx]

I'm obsessed

Run Away To Me (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.5k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, intentional harm (in the recent past), blood, angst, protective Johnny, hurt/comfort, pining, speedy relationship, etc.

A/N: Johnny sweaty and working the forge...that is all.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You groggily awoke to the steady sound of a hammer meeting metal and the scent of eggs. Warm bread makes your mouth water. Eyelids peeling back, your lashes flutter in even intervals as you groan in the back of your throat, content and unbothered in this soft bed of fur and cotton. For a moment you had forgotten everything that had transpired—the run and the rain slamming into your scalp.

Had it all been some dark dream? A trick? 

“Ow!” You hiss, hand darting out from the plush covers as a sharp pain darts through it. Your eyes blink on the bloody bandages, white now completely bled through with fresh crimson. 

Everything comes rushing back in a lightning-strike moment of realization. 

Quickly sitting up, your face moves all over the sun-lit room, rays of light leaking in through the opened shutters; past the glass of the windows, the nearly violent green of the near forest line meets your wide gaze. A small sound exits your throat, fingers sliding through the bear fur that had been once pulled up to your ears as you gather your senses. 

Johnny. The blacksmith.

Your eyes lock onto the small table across the room. 

As the hammering outside continues to ring in your eardrums, you tilt your head at the items sitting atop—slipping off the bed you go to tidy the fur but pause in your curiosity. A patch of blood from your wound stains the sheets and you slow at the sight, the air leaving your lungs.

“Oh,” you swallow down your slight nervousness, heart jumping for a moment as you bite your lip. 

You would have to tell Mr. MacTavsish—your brows furrow. 

Not Mr. MacTavish, he asked me to call him Johnny. A strange thing, now that you thought about it as you slowly back away and go to the table, gut rumbling at the sight of fresh eggs on bread. There was also a parcel covered in cloth sitting on the chair. 

Carefully tiptoeing, you grab the plate with a delicate hand, picking it up as you lick your lips. Had the man…made you breakfast? 

“What reality have I slipped into?” Your lips whisper, Johnny’s clothes hanging off of you heavily. Not only food but milk had been poured into a carved cup as well, and utensils placed on the table with care. Fork and knife on the right, spoon on the left; all forged and tempered. 

It was sweet, perhaps. Kind. 

You eat standing, bare feet taking you around the homestead as you listen to the blacksmith work outside. Your hands take up carved knick-knacks of animals, twirling them in a hand as you lick your lips before placing them back with all the care of a priceless possession. Chuckling at the poorly wooden face of a deer, you bring the last bits of food to your lips as you pass the window. 

Sucking in a swift breath, your body freezes. 

Perhaps it was the sudden freedom of your situation or even the want of true, honest, companionship, but you had suddenly never seen someone look as good as kind Johnny MacTavish as he worked his forge. 

The earth was still layered in dew and mist, the distance between the main home and the small hut that was holding anvil, tongs, the flame of the furnace itself, and a great number of hammers. One of which was being wielded with firm efficiency by the sweat-stained hands of Johnny—being brought down again and again to the molten form of what would be a fine sword. 

Clothed in a rolled-back white tunic, like the one from yesterday, and brown breaches, there was a leather apron tied ‘round his waist cinched tight. Lips parting, you watch with a guilty conscious for the frailness of your resolve; gaping at the sight. 

Johnny works like the dead might rise, not faltering or slowing in the abuse of the metal—twisting the rough shape of the blade and flipping it with one hand while the other hammers. How he doesn’t overheat you’d never know; letting out a slow breath as the sweat slips down his strong jaw and drips from his chin, mouth open with a far-off pant of air. 

Electricity of the same breed as last night sizzles down your spine like a finger caressing the knobs of bone, hairs standing on end as you quickly clear your throat against the burn of your face. You shift your body away, fearfully aware of the scent of Johnny’s clothes and the very bed you had slept in last night. 

“My parents will never allow me back into their home,” you utter, picking at your bandages. “I shall never even be seen in the very air near them.” 

But the true question was whether or not that was a good thing. While this freedom of yours was what you wanted, you were a woman of relative standing—having no family, no husband, and no money to your name was not ideal. In fact, it could very well be the death of you. 

You stand and lightly lick your fingers of crumbs. “At the very least,” the wood under your feet is warm from an only recently dead hearth, “this Blacksmith is quite good with meals. Such a peculiar man, hm?”

Smiling to yourself, you chuckle and push back the heat in your blood; this odd attraction to a working man. So different from Lord Wilkin. 

Not wanting to sink back into that hole quite yet, you remember Johnny’s hands slipping over yours as you take a final glance back out the window before heading back over to the table. Cobalt eyes meet yours in an instant of wide shyness through the glass. 

Staring at each other, the Blacksmith's legs shift from where they dig into the packed ground, large biceps tight as they hold the hammer and the dulling metal. 

Blinking quickly, you feel your heart skip beats at the soft contact. 

Smiling awkwardly, you raise the empty plate in display, chuckling as a wide, pleased, grin builds on Johnny’s face. He mocks a small bow, hammer going across his abdomen as his dirty cheeks peel back at his glee—you see his chest move with a deep laugh. Like the scent of lavender in your nose, you can call the sound of it to your ears as if he was in the house all this time. 

Quickly skittering away, you feel giddy, placing down your plate and taking a sip of milk before looking at the parcel. While your mind may be mingling with the blacksmith and the sweat of his body, curiosity was getting to you. And, mayhaps, a shyness at being caught.

It was covered in dark cloth, and when you touch it, the fabric immediately reminds you of a cloak—an expensive and finely spun wool dyed green. Lips parting, your hands pick it up and place it on the table; turning it over as you pull at the twine tie. 

Your heart seems to grow like a flower, the pedals opening and the stem becoming strong with a rush of admiration. 

“When did you do this, Blacksmith?” Your voice hits off the walls in a breathy gasp as the hammering picks back up outside. 

Smiling delicately, you pick up the fine linen of a chemise and the paired kirtle dyed deep blue. It wasn’t the most extravagant thing you’d worn by a long shot but as you step back and size it to your body, you decide that it was the most meaningful. 

When had he gotten up to ride into town and buy this for you? How much did it cost? 

How could this blacksmith be as chivalrous as a Knight? Not wanting you to be forced to wear his own clothes in a way unflattering to your status even if you didn’t truly care about all of that.

You had no answer, body vibrating with warmth as you slipped out of Johnny’s sleep clothes and slid the gifted items over your skin. They were slightly oversized for ease of the man’s mind, not knowing your measurements. With a small bronze clip, you situate the cloak before the boots at the door add to the already bursting emotions in your veins. 

Tears burned the back of your eyes, putting your fingers to your lips to hide the shaky inhale. All of this care after such horror was nearly unthinkable; by a complete stranger no less. 

Your own family had never been so generous. 

Taking up your now empty cup, you look to the water basin and let your ears twitch to the sound of physical labor; thinking, wanting to give even just a sliver of thanks back for this debt. As you lace your new boots, leather, you keep the memory of his calloused hands in the front of your skull with honied sanctity. 

You fill the cup and that’s that.

Cheeks heating, you bring the water with you as you exit the home, breathing down the scent of rain and pulling your cloak tighter to your neck at the slight chill. Closing the door, you make your way to Johnny who continues to work away, now a small distance from the anvil and setting the iron back into the fire to heat. 

His large back flexes and rolls with the movement.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” the cup stays steady in your two hands as you see Johnny’s muscles momentarily tense, blue eyes turning to look over his shoulders. There’s a moment where something swirls in his eyes as he stares down at your new clothes, standing up to his full height quickly. You blink. “...I’m sorry, but besides an offer of fresh water I’m unable to repay you for the gifts.”

“Ah,” Johnny clears his throat, looking back to his forge before turning back to you with a bashful look. “Please, none of that. I needed to go off and grab more grain for my horse, see.” He chuckles. “But I’m glad they fit, Dearie, was a bit worried I’d asked the wrong size.” 

“They’re perfect,” you shake your head. “It was…far more than I deserve.” 

Brows furrow. For such a presence, he slips the cup out of your hands with more care than your husband-to-be had ever thought to handle you, nodding a deep thank you.

“Now why would you say something like that?” Your head tilts, lips thinning. You suppose it was right to make good on the deal you’d struck last night. 

Johnny takes a sip from the cup, waiting for your answer as one hand hangs from the neck of his apron, fast lungs steadily slowing. As you frown and gather your thoughts, you don’t notice his eyes narrowing, concerned. 

“Well, anyways,” he clears his throat, itching at his stubble to change the subject as you startle back to reality before you can form a sentence. “I suppose I’d better take a look at that cut of yours, then, eh? Wouldn’t want it to get infected, do we?” 

“That’s not…” He has already darted to a small chest in the corner of the open hut, cup placed on the anvil top before he opens the thing with a scratch of rusty hinges. “...necessary.” 

The blacksmith laughs, taking out fresh badges. 

“I don’t think gettin’ bedridden is in your plans, now is it? C’mon…I’ll be gentle.” Johnny winks with a smirk and your pulse flares; stuttering as he grasps your elbow—leading you out of the forge and to a small break in the trees. 

A stump and a dead firepit take form, and you’re plopped down to the wood with a small huff, a stiff look sent to the man who only smiles and raises an eyebrow. 

“Is my kindness wearin’ ya down, Little Lady?” 

“You’ll make me lose my head and I’ve only known you for, at most,” you emphasize as he kneels down and takes your bloody hand, “half a day.”

“Being generous,” Johnny hums, unwrapping your hand and once again looking you over. Bloody, but still alright. His fingers move to pick up dew from the grass and wipe away some of the crimson pigment as if an artist. “When one goes and nearly makes a man’s house crumble from the force of ‘er fists, it’s only customary for him to respect her.” Blue eyes gaze up to you and twinkle. “I’m just savin’ my own hide.” 

“How honorable,” you shake your head and turn to hide the full-face grin, moments later laughs slip your tongue. “They weren’t that loud,” your vise insists, “...were they?”

“Thought the world was ending,” Johnny says it was a fake expression of seriousness, re-wrapping your hand in clean cloth. “Damn near got to my knees and prayed.” 

You find great amusement in that, placing a hand over your mouth as your spine shakes with loud laughs. The scene is similar to the one from last night—the blacksmith offering jokes and merriment to get you to laugh. It's as if every time he succeeds he smiles just a smidge wider. Realizing this, you feel your lips twitch and you look away, embarrassed.

“...I promised you answers, did I not?” You decide to ask, deciding that getting this over soon was the best course of action; also the more courteous one. After so much giving, you had to share at least the reason for all of this. “I’m sorry.” Johnny frowns at you, tying another loose knot atop your palm before sitting back on the ground. 

On his bent knee, he rests his arm, hanging off loosely, while the other hand rests behind his back as a way to keep him upward. With all of this, with him, you'd entirely forgotten to mention the stained sheets. 

“There’s no need to apologize to me, Dearie, I won’t do anythin’. I promised you,” he smiles, “remember?” You blink softly at his strong face, those eyes studying you as your hands rest in your lap; curled over each other. 

“There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.” 

Johnny huffs a chuckle, shaking his head. “Take your time, eh? I won’t be needin’ to travel back into town again until late evening.” Your hands curl slightly tighter, touched. 

The blacksmith watches you as you gather your thoughts, your face going stiff and new boots shuffling over the grass. Blue slides to your hand and his lips turn down. 

He’d be lying if he didn’t say he’d been up most of the night and working before the sun had risen—mind occupied by the woman that had been in his bed and the little information he had. Obviously, Lord Wilkin was looking for you; adamantly. 

Relentlessly. 

When he’d been in town there had been guards everywhere, checking every shop and house like beasts of metal and sharp words. You were the Lord’s bride, of course. As the tailor had asked him, a bit dejected, if he’d taken a wife as he’d bought you your chemise and kirtle, the woman had mentioned the wedding. 

“Little thing darted off during the Handfasting ceremony, I ‘erd. The Lord had only just put the knife to her palm before she yelled and fled. Oh, ya should have seen it, Mr. MacTavish. Like a bat from Hell, Lord help me. He’ll not stop till he’s found ‘er.”

Johnny’s stomach rolls, abdomen tightening as he shifts to release tension. Along the ground, his hand momentarily clenches. You hum under your breath, whispering out an easy, “Are we sure we should be outside for this?”

The man blinks in confusion. 

“Well, would…you prefer being inside?” You look nervous, fingers flinching over themselves and Johnny sits up straighter, letting his large hand carefully grasp your knee. Your innocently wide eyes lock with his own. He offers a comforting look. “It’s no difference to me—you decide. Whichever’s easier, eh?”

“It’s just,” you begin, the skin below your kirtle burning you in the best possible way. What was happening to you? “Well…My family rarely let me out.” Johnny’s body stills to a near stone carving. “Said I was to stay inside. I suppose I’m not overly used to it, you see.” 

It’s not impossible to understand the role that was placed on you. Arranged marriage, sold off to be a housewife for a large dowry paid up by the Lord. You’d been brought up to be tossed away at a moment's notice. The blacksmith’s jaw tightens, bone sharp through the flesh. 

“...Well,” his voice is a bit ragged—scratchy. You listen with nervousness in your chest, a slow infection of unease. “I’m not your family, am I? It’ll be good to get some sun, I think—let’s stay here for a little longer and then we can go back in when you’re ready. There’s no rush to things.” 

Letting you calm down, his thumb rubs a small circle before he pulls it away, perhaps realizing what he was doing before clearing his throat, cheeks alight. 

A small breeze pushes through the pines, a wind filled with the scent of fire and earth—dirt and dew. It was peaceful here, among the old spirits and the hidden trails. So different in the light than it was in the pouring rain. 

“I imagine you knew about the wedding?” You sigh, staring at your lap. “Lord Wilkin?” 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, speaking quietly. He doesn’t want to force you. “I did.”

“I was placed into the marriage two months ago by my parents, an agreement of land and money was traded for my hand.” Watching, the man’s eyes go sad, lids tilting. He stops the grunt in the back of his throat as you continue. “I had resigned myself to it, truly. Being of enough standing all I was needed for was marriage—”

“That’s utter shite.” Johnny growls, angry at the sentence. “They would just toss you away like that? To a bastard ten times your age?” 

You stare, brows tight. “I…I’m a daughter, am I not?” 

Johnny’s jaw goes slack, eyes sharp with horror as his gaze looks deeply into your vision, biceps tense with cooling sweat and dirt. Such a sight it was, two beings as different as a mountain and a valley; so near but starkly contrasted in the harsh strength of rock and the gentle sway of grassy low-land. Bears and deer, barn swallows that sit on rafters and golden eagles that soar tempests. 

The dark-haired man could never imagine raising a girl for nothing else than to be a man’s property—to sell as if a good and nothing more. Johnny turns his head away before he snaps at nothing, a low sound trapped in his chest. You never had a single choice.

Confused by his approach to this, you watch the side of his face as the man’s expression of anger slowly shifts back to a hidden seriousness. Eyes dark and his hand tightened into a fist. 

“I’m sorry, Dearie. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Johnny blinks, shaking his head. “Hope I didn’t scare ya.”

“No,” you motion a hand. “No, not at all.” 

“Good.” He sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. “Ah, please, keep going. I’ll be quiet as a mouse, promise.” You smile tinily. 

“At the wedding, when it was near the end, they brought out the cloth and the knife for the Handfasting ceremony,” Johnny leans forward, and you look down at him on the ground. He lent a sort of silent vigor, you think to yourself. A comfort. “He dragged it along my skin and then he gripped my hand and forced the base of my palm harder into it.” 

Your words get smaller and hushed, flexing your damaged hand. “...I think…that he wanted it to leave a scar. I bolted off before they could tie the cloth.” 

Johnny stands and brings you into a hug, a hand coming to the back of your head and pressing your skull gently to his chest. 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus.” He breathes, and you slowly wind your own hands around his waist; melting into him without even knowing it. Johnny’s scent encompasses you like a blanket, and your very bones seem to sprout flowers from the marrow as your eyes get watery, held in such a way that most people only dream about. 

When the first silent tears fall he doesn’t make a big deal out of it—only holds you more firm and sighs into your scalp. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, honest and truthful. Could you run? Go to another fiefdom? How far would you even be able to make it? No food, no horse, no supplies. 

You’d be found out in no time. 

Johnny moves back, tilting his head down to you and grasping your face with a single hand. “We’ll figure it out, Little Lady. By my word, I’ll do what I can to make sure you’ll never go back to that bastard of a Lord again.” A hard thumb pushes back your tears and blue eyes soften on you. “Can you trust me?” 

Can and not do. 

Even the simple alleviation of pressure from a word makes you care for this man even more than you should. The simmering attraction to not only his appearance but his steadfast heart; indomitable morals. 

“You, Johnny?” You sniffle, a grin twitching your lips up as the blacksmith’s face goes hot. “Yes, I can trust you.” Actions enough from last night had proven that. 

Johnny huffs and lets the blush on his face spread along his neck, suddenly unable to look you in the eyes for too long before he has to clear his throat and gaze to the side. Not knowing what overtakes you, you lightly press your lips to his cheek—feeling the heat and the slight gasp that escapes his lips. 

You giggle as he grunts a thanks, awkwardly shuffling on his feet as you both continue to hold one another. His grip travels down to your back as he raises a brow, trying to push past his beginning stutter as he speaks. “I’d tell ya that if you do that again, I might just have a fainting spell, Miss.”

“A fainting spell,” you tease, “from a kiss, Blacksmith?” 

“Aye—especially if it’s from such a Bonnie woman like you, see.” You both laugh, faces burning up, as serious topics and tears fade into the past. 

As you had said, where any other man would have been different, Johnny Mactavish had proven himself to be right and true. Even if you’d been impossibly tired last night, the small sliver of fear had still remained that something might happen to you here; in the presence of one man in the middle of the woods. No such fear remains. 

Like a great Lord of old, Johnny had offered sanctuary from a man of cruel and horrible intentions. But perhaps he’d offered far more than that, with how he’s staring at you. 

Your laughs steadily die down to a pulsing silence, hands around one another and faces only a few inches away. It’s bizarre how fast this had happened—these feelings brimming in the cup of your heart. A bowl overflowing with care and affection; of something else that cannot be named for fear it’s only a simple infatuation. A twin flame of red-hot fire that could rival Johnny’s forge. 

“I…don’t want to overstep,” the man says, and your eyes are drawn to his lips as they move—a small scar you’d yet to notice living on his chin, a stain of lighter flesh. You swallow stiffly and dart your gaze back to his as you feel his heart pounding in his ribcage. It wasn’t a mystery to wonder if your own is doing the same. “Y’should tell me to stop, Dearie.”

“To stop what,” you pull the words from the depths of your throat. “What are you planning on doing, Johnny?” He shivers as you say his name as if put under a spell. 

“Are you sure you’re not a witch, now?” You stifle a confused laugh, furrowing your brows with amusement.

“What?” 

“One half-day is all it took for you to chain me to your will,” he grasps the bottom of your chin and angles your head up; you go willingly. His eyes search yours for any hesitation or flighty emotions. All he finds is wide awe. “Most would call that witchery, Little Lady.”

“Then it seems your will is easily broken, Blacksmith.”

“Perhaps it is,” Johnny smirks, his breath puffing out along your parted lips. Your body vibrates with anticipation of what was to come, hearing his voice lower to a deep rasp. “Haven’t ya heard…? Blacksmiths have a weakness for runaway brides.” 

“Is that so? I’ve never heard of such a thing.” 

“Suppose I’ll just have to show you.” His lips are firm and his body runs hot. 

Eyes fluttering shut, you sigh into him as his hands dig into your gifted cloak, meeting him with every pass. Low purrs of satisfaction echo from his chest and make you shiver, nose pressing into his lower cheek. Playfully, his teeth nip at your flesh and you gasp; eyes pulling back to stare half-lidded as blue sparks with mischief. 

You should stop this—but you were starved for honest affection. Companionship, even. Johnny by far wasn’t the worst to throw your lott in with and he might just be the best possible to fill that role. Life in this era is fast and harsh; it’s unfair. You had to make quick decisions without thinking of the possible consequences. 

So as you blink up at the man who watches you closely, you place your fingers on the side of his face and tilt his lips back to yours with a small smile. His hand at the curve of your spine twitches, sliding along the cloak in minute increments as Johnny’s heart hammers like his tools. 

It’s as if the forge was still around the two of you—air hot and the feeling sticking to your skin like a brand of sin and forbidden magnetism. He shouldn’t have kissed you, but the hypnosis of the hammer was in his head; its rhythm and striking slam. You drew him in as the anvil does the iron. 

In this moment of contentment, there is a fast sound of something in the air, something that rattles the two of you out of your tender embrace to gaze with contorted faces through the thin line of trees. Panting and open.

Through the foliage back to the homestead is the rapid movement of hooves and the baying of hounds. 

It strikes you like a knife, eyelids moving far back as Johnny’s head snaps to the noise with something growing in the back of his expression. Calls; shouts. You know who it is, who’s found you out. You’d never heard it until it was too late.

“Johnny,” your voice says, fearful with wild eyes. 

“Stay behind me,” he says, monotone with red lips. Shadows of horses and guards are near the house. You stare up at him in shock. A kiss is pressed to your forehead. “Nothin’ll happen to you.” His eyes dig past layers. 

There was no running from this. 

“Okay,” you whisper.

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[pickleinaboxx]

Main Masterlist || Navigation || All works are F!Reader || All images sourced from Pinterest ||

SONGS THAT SOUND LIKE SEA-FOAM || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In which a lone mermaid finds good company with a handsome fisherman who trespasses in her cove. But the word isn't what it used to be...hunting ships patrol the waters.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

FANART: “You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” & "Mermaid Interpretation" by @thedevillovesflowers

2. RUN AWAY TO ME || Mini-Series || Ongoing

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

SYNOPSIS: The night started with wine and ended with blood. Racing through the woods after having escaped your wedding, you find a lone homestead in the middle of a rainstorm. Alone, wounded, and bordering on unconsciousness, you have no option but to knock.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

3. BLOOD-STAINED WOOL SPUN AT MIDNIGHT || Mini-Series || Not Started

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

SYNOPSIS: When you left the town in the year of our Lord, 1897, to buy more wool from the local farmer, the cobblestone streets had come up to meet the hooves of your neighbor's horse. Along the trip, the open fields at your sides had led to the backdrop of a brimstone forest. A shadow seems to loom there. A black thing. A devil with eyes like a burial mound. But it was a curious turn of events that you felt no fear of it, this monster. In fact, you even dared to speak to it.

CHAPTERS: Undetermined

4. BLACK METAL AND BOURBON || Mini-Series || Not Started

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Ghost x F!Bartender!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You've been in this small town for your entire existence, giving up dreams and aspirations to carry on life as a simple bartender despite your hatred of two things: the smell of cigarette smoke and the disrespect from regulars, namely, your ex and his buddies. But on a still-air Sunday, almost overnight, a mechanics shop pops up right across the street - giving sight to new faces and a fresh group of men with a love of motorcycles. One, in particular, seems to only like Bourbon.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

5. TO HUNT A SILVER STAG || Mini-Series || Not Started

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Fae!Princess!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Promised to a greedy king to try and preserve the magic of the land, a princess instead finds herself drawn to a chivalrous knight and his gentle words. But everyone knows magic has a mind of its own.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

6. HOW TO ADAPT TO FIRE || Mini-Series || Not Started

PAIRING: Fireman!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fighting to earn your spot in one of the most sought-after publishing companies, you quickly find yourself running into the same man over and over again while on the job - fireman Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

[pickleinaboxx]

Mask On

How the boys react to their new ally who is more adamant on wearing their mask than Ghost himself.

Characters: Captain John Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions (except shorter than Ghost)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3.1 (~0.8 each)

Warning: Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of Reader potentially having insecurities, Not Proof Read

A/N: You know what maybe I want to be the badass masked character 😤

Captain John Price

The captain is thorough, and he immediately knew something was up when he looked up your file only to be greeted with no photo. He’s honestly a little peeved that his rank doesn’t grant him this confidential information, he’s known Simon before he took up the mask so this is the first time he’s genuinely had a faceless ally

But ultimately, as long as he can trust that you’ll be following orders, he doesn’t care if you have a mask or not. But his concern is only that for a fellow soldier

It takes a little longer for him to warm up to you - facial expressions tell a lot about someone’s character. He’s a bit prickly around you, he learns about you indirectly with how you interact with the rest of the 141

But over time there’s a shift. He can’t pinpoint when exactly but the sight of your mask relaxes him. After days separated on a mission, high stakes and adrenaline has Price snapping his head at the faintest of foreign sounds. But upon the familiar sight of your signature mask, he feels at ease

Price is fiercely protective of you and your mask. He likens it to his hat, only far more important - that mask is part of your identity and he knows just how important a soldier’s psyche is. If the enemy manages to take off your mask, he’ll stop at nothing to get it back on your behalf, even if you reluctantly tell him to abandon it

If he can’t salvage your mask, Price has now made it a habit to carry a balaclava for you in one of his pockets. If that’s not available, he’ll even offer you his hat, tipping it down far enough to obscure your eyes

Off duty he finds himself staring at your visage more these days. Looking at how the mask curves over your features, or the small slivers of skin that reveal themselves. He catches himself before you notice but he’s still disappointed in himself, he feels like a Victorian-era prude hyperventilating at the sight of an ankle

“Looking fresh, sergeant.”

You let out an audible chortle at Price’s words. The last mission was a success but at great costs, one of them being your mask damaged beyond repair during melee combat. Your face still wasn’t revealed, but slashes against fabric embedded with dirt and ash have made your signature mask look unrecognisable. Immediately upon returning to base and after debriefing, you were out of commission until you could don a new mask.

Price would be lying if said he didn’t miss your presence for the last few days, hiding away from the rest of the soldiers in base. He has no doubt you’ve still maintained your training and visiting the infirmary for mandatory checkups, but he’s gotten far too used to you being at his beck and call. The famed sight of your mask is no longer in his periphery, giving a nod of approval (not that he ever needed your approval, but he does enjoy your attention).

And now here you are with a new mask, the highlights glowing under the overhead lights and the darks swallowing up the lightwaves like an animal starved. Your updated look had you noticeably confident, shoulders square and head tall.

“Thanks, Captain.”

He can hear your smile and he ends up sitting next to you. Did he need to sit so close? No, but he acts as though his thigh brushing against yours was pure coincidence.

“What are you going to do with the old one?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, giving a light pat to a pocket in your cargo pants that your past mask currently resides in. “I know there’s a lot of memories in this… it’s my first mask… but I don’t know what to do with it.”

“I’ll keep it.”

You look at him. Price now has the uncanny ability to read your mood purely through your body language. From the speed at which you turn your head, the inclination of the neck, how your shoulders slant, he’s surprised that such a vicious soldier can act so endearingly in these moments.

“For what?”

“Safekeeping,” he says simply. “I’m proud of my soldiers, sergeant - want to remember their accomplishments.”

You shrug in agreement and fish your mask out of your pocket. You don’t need to know how much Price truly values you, how having your mask will be like having a part of you by his side to motivate him when he’s working alone.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

You’ve got a mask? Cool, so does he. Simon really doesn’t care when he first met you. He offers a simple nod of acknowledgement to you and then it’s all mission talk. If anything, the mask makes him respect you more, like him it’s always the masked ones who’ve seen shit and can get shit done

Even before you two became friends, you two were often paired together for operations. Perhaps it was just assumed the two masked people were on the same wavelength and to be fair, they were right. It didn’t take long for Ghost to admire your prowess on the battlefield

However as the two of you start to get closer, Simon gets a bit of a eureka moment. So this is how all his allies feel when trying to get along with a masked figure, unable to see any of their expressions. Oh how the tables have turned. It’s not daunting for him, more just amusing

He knows the struggles of having a mask so he helps out where he can. He reminds you if it’s been some time since you last washed your mask (advice he does not follow himself) and he’ll offer you some of his obsidian powder he uses to obscure any uncovered patches of skin

Price often has the two of you accompany him for interrogations, he calls it “mask pressure”. There’s nothing more terrifying to a target than having two imposing faceless figures standing on either side of them, unreadable and unpredictable

It’s clear you don’t want to show your face to anyone and Simon doesn’t question it. His natural curiosity is not worth your comfort and he makes that clear. If on the rare occasion you catch him without a mask, he’ll sometimes put it back on so that you don’t have to be the only one with their face covered

If your mask is ever compromised, Simon covers you with his hulking figure. No one dares get on the bad side of Ghost who shoots the most terrifying glares towards anyone looking in his - and consequently your - way. He stands in front of you, back rigid and shoulders square, his posture only slacking if he feels you hold onto his back, seeking comfort

A few weeks ago, when left in a briefing, you finally noticed Simon was staring at you from across the room. He had been staring for a good while now, but you - ever the diligent soldier - were distracted discussing tactics with a corporal. So there he was, standing and observing in the corner of the room - his “observing” being drinking the sight of you. And that was when he noticed, among all the glory that was you, that your mask was slightly off alignment. Cue his eyes being trained on your head for you to get the idea that something was wrong.

When your head stayed still - probably challenging his gaze - he tried to change tactics. He added the occasional upward jerk of the head - miming an attempt to shake the mask back in place - but your head only tilted in confusion. You still could not figure out what he was doing.

Eventually he gave up and walked up to you. He lifted a tentative hand, silently asking for permission and you nodded. He pinched at the fabric on the side of your face.

“Your mask’s slippin’,” he said gruffly. It wasn’t the end of the world, only a small adjustment that only someone as observant as him could notice. Still, he felt satisfied at your heavy exhale, you must’ve noticed it’s a little easier to breathe with everything in alignment now.

“Thanks.”

Today, Simon finds your gaze trained on him, head following whenever he moves across the room. You used to stare when you first met, you probably found him intimidating and he doesn’t blame you. He thought you’d be over that though, you two were closer than that. At least he hoped.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He eventually asks and that spurs you into action.

Standing in front of him, you reach up, your hand grabbing the top half of the skull that overlays his balaclava. Your thumb lightly hooks into the skull’s eye socket - a little close to Simon’s actual eye but he trusts you. He feels you tug upwards, and Simon now realises that the skull had been sinking down his face, the peripheral around his brow no longer obscured. He’ll need to reapply the glue for the mask later.

“We really need a hand sign for this,” you mutter.

And so you two make one. It’s discreet, a closed fist with a thumb poking out, dragged from the jawline up to the hairline. The rest of the 141 just look at the two of you in confusion whenever you use it though, your little secret.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Johnny’s generally a good judge of character. Although it’s a little uncanny being unable to see your features, he’s used to it because of Simon. One conversation is all he needs to reach a conclusion as to what type of person you are and now he treats you as if you’re good friends

Yes, he is curious about what you look like under the mask. He used to make comments about it occasionally until he caught you on a bad day

“C’mon Sarge, just a peek.” “Not happening, Johnny.” “What, you ugly?” “… that’s not for you to speculate, MacTavish.” “Shit, sorry. I- I’d never think that of you, or care. I know you’re a looker.”

And Johnny stands by his statement. Even if he’s never seen your face he quickly developed a little crush on you. How you conduct yourself in battle has him watching you with stars in his eyes and he just knows you’ll take his breath away if you ever show your face

When Johnny’s bored, he likes doodling your mask and potential alternative designs in his journal which he’ll show you sometimes. He’s not an artist but he gets the idea across. He’s created a “happy” design, an “angry” one, and the “when I see Soap” design which is just your standard mask with a whole lot of shoddily drawn love hearts on it (you haven't seen that design yet)

He’s genuinely surprised at how determined you are at keeping your mask on in all circumstances - you’re worse than Simon at this point - but he’ll never ask because he doesn’t want to potentially open up old wounds. Despite his curiosity for what you could look like, Johnny will never invade your privacy and ensures no one else does either. If you’re in your room he’ll knock once, twice, thrice, until he’s absolutely sure you’re ready for him to enter

If something goes wrong and your mask falls off he’s looking away and shoving everyone else to look away as well. He’s like a guard dog, shouting and name-shaming anyone who dares look in your direction. No one except other members of the 141 will be able to approach you until you’re covered

Was it smart to have you and Soap - combined to be the most disruptive and obnoxious soldiers on the field - alone to handle a stealth mission that was off the books? No, but you sure as hell weren’t going to disappoint Price or Laswell. The objective was clear and the rules of engagement were even clearer; under no circumstance can the enemy know you’re from 141.

“We’re gonna need to cover our faces,” Johnny mutters absentmindedly beside you. You pull your binoculars down to send him an incredulous look and he chuckles. “I need to cover my face.”

“You got a mask?”

There’s a pause and Johnny’s looking at you, eyes glinting in that familiar mischief. That was never good news.

“You bet.”

You offer a tentative nod of encouragement before lifting your binoculars back up to observe the target site. You hear the repeated shuffles of fabric against fabric and clothes sliding against skin. It’s prolonged, you swear it’s enough time for Johnny to change his entire uniform. His breaths become muted, mouth now covered until it eventually falls to complete silence. It’s unnerving, the designated demolitions expert is not known for his silence, and you have to look back at him yet again.

Of course you expected Johnny to be wearing a mask, but it was the mask itself that took you by surprise.

“Is that… mine?”

“Was yours.”

You squint and somewhere in the depths of your mind, you vaguely recall Soap asking if he could have one of your spare masks back at the base. You humoured him, and said your wardrobe was his.

That was your first mistake.

You figured he was just going to take the piss, wear your mask to scare some privates around the base. You didn’t think he’d actually wear it on a mission. It was unexpected, but it felt like an honour. How he was so willing to identify with you in some of the most dangerous of situations.

But your silence has Johnny getting fidgety. He’s already reaching up to pull the mask off.

“I have a normal balaclava. If you don’t like this I can-”

“Wear it.”

You can’t see Johnny’s face but you see him pull his head back in surprise. Then he smiles, one so wide, expanding his cheeks you can see it stretch your mask. In that moment you’re glad your mask obscures your features as you feel yourself grin at his own joy.

“We’re a team, aye?”

“You bet.”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Kyle’s may be close to Simon he's not entirely used to masked allies. When you first arrived he shot Captain Price a cautious look, a silent conversation between them finished by Price’s definitive nod. Eventually he relents and puts up with you

Subconsciously, without seeing your face he ends up reducing you to a weapon. He respects you like a soldier, a robot. His language is restrained, only issuing orders and you recite them back

It’s only when another soldier cracks a joke on the mission and you laugh does it flick a switch in Kyle’s mind. You weren’t all orders, you weren’t a machine, you were a human (with a damn nice voice might he add). He feels terrible for reducing you to a tool simply because he can’t see your face but he’ll make up for it now

He becomes a bit of a menace in the sparse quiet moments of a mission. He makes the occasional one liner about how you wear the mask so others aren’t distracted by your good looks, but then changes the topic so quickly you’re not even sure he said it

Yes, Kyle’s a little obsessed with your voice. He can’t see you and he doesn’t have the experience like Price or Simon to read body language accurately. Instead, he can read your mood near perfectly with the inflections in your voice (which is arguably more impressive). While he doesn’t want you to ever be upset or angry, sometimes how you taunt the enemy has a shiver running down his spine

Because your mouth is blocked by a mask, many allies don’t offer you food or drinks. Not Kyle though, if he’s grabbed refreshments, he always ensures he has extra for you. At first he just gives them to you and then leaves. But when you said it was okay for him to stay - trusting him enough to just look away when you lift you mask - Kyle’s heart soared

If anything happens to reveal your face, Kyle is immediately by your side. He pulls you close to provide comfort, while also guiding your head into his neck or shoulder to block anyone from seeing you. Another member of the 141 will find a solution to cover your face, you are Kyle’s first priority and he’ll gladly hold you all day

After a long mission, you and Kyle are finally safe upon reaching exfil. Sitting on a helicopter Kyle slumps against his seat, and you do the same beside him. Although he could finally relax, he feels absolutely filthy, swamped in his own sweat under multiple layers. Dirt and mud caked his boots and crept all the way up to his thighs. Some even sneaked up into under his tactical vest.

He spares a look and sometimes he thinks you can’t possibly be human. The heat is suffocating enough without a mask, Kyle has long forgone his signature cap to let his head breathe. If your body language was any indicator, you weren’t handling the sweltering heat of the helicopter engine or Al Mazrah’s temperament. Your chest notably heaving under the weight of your tactical gear, breaths so laboured it sent the fabric around your mouth pulling and billowing with each inhale and exhale.

There isn’t much Kyle can do for comfort, but he tries. He shifts a little closer to you. Your head shifts to look at him, the movement was far too slow, like your head was too heavy and his heart tugs a little.

With one hand, Kyle gently tilts your face up to him. With the other he lightly pinches the fabric of your mask at the junction between your jawline and ear. Teasing it between his fingers, when he pulls his hand away there’s gunk on his fingertips. Dust, dirt and as he squints at your mask he realises that some of the stains are likely the dried blood of an unidentified enemy.

The hand he’s resting on your chin is about to pull away until he notices how you’re resting your head on it. He can’t see your face but he has no doubt that your eyes are near shut, almost drifting off to dreamland. He occupies himself by gently brushing away loose debris off your mask which has you relaxing further into his touch.

“We gotta wash this,” he murmurs defeatedly.

“... yeah, we do,” you grumble, voice thick with fatigue. Kyle does not stop his ministrations - even pulling some fluff off of the cotton of your mask. It does little to actually clean your mask - at this rate it’s going to need pure bleach to clean it - but he can’t bring himself to stop. Not when you trust him this much, leaning into his touch, entrusting him to be the respite from your mission.

Call of Duty Masterlist

[pickleinaboxx]

Daryl: Because you helped me, I guess you can hug me for four to five seconds

Y/N: *excited gasp* FOURTY FIVE SECONDS?!

Daryl: Wait- what- no-

Y/N: *squeezes him in a tight hug* Too late!

Daryl: …

Daryl: *slowly begins smiling a little*

Y/N: *smirks*

Daryl: Shut up!

[pickleinaboxx]

Give that man his beanie back, his poor head is gonna be cold

Rudy: I’m cold

Alejandro: here, have my jacket

Y/n: I’m cold too

Ghost: what? *taking off his coat* I told you to bring more layers but of course you didn’t listen! *putting his extra balaclava on you* I have to make sure you don’t FREEZE to death! *taking Soap’s beanie* How long have you been cold? You should’ve said something sooner!

[pickleinaboxx]

Soap makes fun of your moans

warnings: angsty for my soft girlies. Soap being a moron, insecurities about sex, shy!reader, reader is short.

@sofasoap this fandom is consuming me and it's all your fault😭

it was meant to be just a joke made in extremely poor taste, as it seems

the two of you were bickering about something to do with a sex scene in 50 Shades Of Grey.

he said Ana sounded so fake and you were like "it's a movie, Johnny. what were you expecting? for them to actually fuck on camera?"

but then he twist the argument on you and says something along the lines of how you sound when you're losing it.

okay, i'm downplaying— he mocks your voice.

makes a high pitched imitation that obviously sounds nothing like you.

"Oh! Right there, Johnny!" he whines loudly, clasping his hands together by his head for dramatic effect. "Don't stop, Johnny!"

You quietly watch him. Stunned.

and you just—

oh, you snap.

it's especially bad if you're shy.

like morbidly shy to the point of having to hide your face during sexy times.

but Johnny only does this once and only once

because the second he sees the look on your face, it is instant regret.

now, one of two things may happen;

one; you're mad and you feel heavily inclined to throw a book at his head.

you do and you don't miss and he's already apologising when you storm out of the room.

or two; you're silent for a long moment.

and while he's still rambling, he realizes that you've fallen quiet and you're looking at him.

he knows he fucked up by how your eyes are glossed over

then you start to cry.

expect endless grovelling for the next however long it takes to earn your forgiveness.

"Bonnie, no, don't cry." He reaches for you when you stand up from the couch, already wiping the hot tears with the back of your hands. "I didn't mean to—"

You don't want to hear it. You're already taking off and seconds later, he hears the bedroom door slam shut.

the bed was half empty for the following nights to come.

so was the wardrobe.

he noticed that there were less and less of your skincare products on the bathroom counter and his heart just sinks.

you avoid him at every turn from that day.

you don't eat breakfast, lunch or dinner with him.

you wait for him to fall asleep until you can move around the house undisturbed.

you don't talk to him when he tries to talk to you because clearly he can't be trusted with anything that comes out of your mouth.

worst of all, you don't let him touch you.

not even in like a sexual way.

he doesn't get to hold your hand, hug you, not a kiss on the cheek.

he isn't even allowed to help you do your hair for your night time or early morning routine.

and baby boy loves it when he participates in helping you maintain your beauty.

he. slowly. loses. his. mind.

i'm talking gifts upon gifts upon gifts upon the sweetest words of apologies.

your favourite flowers? he's got a huge fresh bouquet in a vase every day.

favourite snacks? he's sliding them through the crack of the door of the guest room when it's slightly open because you won't sleep in the same bed as him.

teddy bears with written notes waiting for you on the bed.

apology letters? signed, sealed and delivered every night.

and he can forget about getting it on for next few weeks, or possibly months because you don't trust him not to pull that stunt again.

that very same day, he's got Ghost on the phone, begging him to drop everything and come help him.

"What do you mean you're on a mission— fuck the mission!"

"I wasn't the one who fucked up, MacTavish. I'm surprised she hasn't already thrown you out of the house." Ghost muses in disappointment. "Fix yourself and make things right."

He hung up before Soap could respond. Leaving him stranded in his own island of panic and immense regret.

he's lucky he didn't "joke" about your looks or body hair or anything along those lines not that he would ever, i believe he's better than that because that would've been the end of your relationship right then and there.

because he should've known better.

he knows that you're not particularly loud during sex and he has to coax the sounds out of you every time.

he knows that you've never really felt comfortable in your own skin and especially with how you behave during the deed due to past relationships with toxic people who didn't deserve your time of day.

and he's done everything in his power to make sure that you are comfortable, that you feel safe and most importantly, he's always made sure that you enjoy yourself as much as he does.

so for him to turn and use that weakness against you was such an awful thing.

he is swallowed by guilt.

absolutely beside himself when you won't look at him when he speaks and when you won't give him a moment of your time.

"Will you at least say something? Anything?" he walks backward in front of you, trying to appeal to you.

Nope. Not a peep.

He misses your voice. He misses your laugh. Hell, you won't even sing absentmindedly when you're fixing yourself a bite to eat.

"Please talk to me." he begs and receives nothing. "Yell at me. Call me every name in the book, bonnie. You can even hit me, I don't care. Please, please just let me hear you speak—"

you don't.

as much as you're tempted to do all of that, you don't.

you won't give him the satisfaction or the relief.

he chose to be an asshole and now he gets to suffer the consequences.

it gets so bad that he sits by the hallway facing you door, just hoping to catch you walking out of your room and beg for you to listen to him.

he'll fall asleep on the floor waiting for you.

if he does catch you outside your room, he will try to help you with any tasks you're doing just as an excuse to soak up as much of your presence as you possibly can before you retreat and barricade yourself in the guest room.

key word being "try"

because are you going to make things easier for him?

no. absolutely not.

you're trying to make yourself a sandwich and he's already pulling out the mayo/ketchup/hotsauce from the fridge.

but one glance at the container and you ignore it entirely and reach for something else, even if it's not your favourite.

you're doing the laundry? he's bringing detergent and fabric softener.

but guess what? you've already put those in the washing machine well ahead of time.

reading a brand new book and forgot your bookmarks? he's bringing them to you in a second.

but oh, you've already found something else to use as a bookmark.

can't reach for your favourite cup at the top shelf? you suspect he put it there for the sole purpose of helping you get it down

you either getting the damn ladder or you're getting on top of the counter.

and if he's already gotten your cup in his grasp, you're reaching for a different one.

everything he does is countered with an alternative solution.

if he wants to go low, you go lower.

translation; if he wants to make fun of your insecurities, then he is denied the right to be the man of your dreams.

and you know how much he wants that.

gonna make a part 2 for this.

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