#Butt holster | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

happypopcornprincess · 3 months ago

Text

Under the Same Sky Part 2

Pairings - Joaquin Torres X fem!Reader (TFATWS AU)

Premise - You have your heart guarded for the longest time. But when you encounter a stranger on the same mission, will you be able to do the same?

Word Count - 4.2K

Warnings: Gore, blood, SMUT, minors DNI

a/n - I'm sorry for being late about the second part, a relative of mine passed away after new year and I was with family. This part is dedicated to all the lover girls by heart out there. may you find your lover and have an amazing story. Hope you guys like it <3 Take care.

The wind picked up speed as Lucas and his team stepped on the backyard of the Wilson Residence. Guns drawn, stance ready, they took the steps to the back entrance.

Nadia and Artie moved in first, Matt in tow and Lucas in the end. They hear not a single sound around them. Matt signaled clear after checking the rooms and the kitchen, Nadia let her shoulders relax watching him sign.

“Where are they?” Artie whispered.

The radio in the kitchen turns on its own accord…

Can't stay at home, can't stay at school

Old folks say, "Ya poor little fool"

Down the streets I'm the girl next door

I'm the fox you've been waiting for!

Lucas shoots the radio; the broken device fell to the floor with a thud. A scratched-out sound of Cherry Bomb still playing on.

“That’s a shame…”

Nadia was too slow to turn before you hit her head with the butt of your Glock, “I love that song.”

Artie fell on the floor as Joaquin kicked him in the back, you advanced towards Matt. The first thing that bastard did was to kick off the floor and punch you square in the jaw, but you duck in record time, just to kick his feet off the ground and lose your Glock in the process.

Joaquin got busy with Artie and Lucas, who had teamed up to defeat him. Lucas ducked a kick on his chest, and Artie tried to stab him in the neck. Joaquin got a knife out of his belt and fought with all his might, after throwing Lucas on the kitchen table.

Matt was twice your size, he got up in no time trying to throw you off your feet but you were smarter than that, you ran on the wall, kicking off it and using the velocity to climb his shoulders. You pull a hidden wire from your wrist, falling back and choking him in the process. Matt fought hard to get a hold of you, but you pressed on harder. His movements slowed down, and eventually he stilled as you released the wire.

Joaquin was pinned down on the ground with Artie on top of him, his blade inches away from his windpipe. Joaquin pushed hard on his end of blade, trying to nick off his collarbone. Lucas came rushing towards them now recovered from being thrown on the table… Joaquin threw off all his strength to turn his entire body sideways, which in turn put Artie on the side, giving him a chance to stab him just where his neck met his shoulder.

You got up to rush to Lucas, but fell face first feeling a stronghold on your ankle. Turning, you meet a very pissed off looking Nadia with blood covering her face.

She held a Glock, your glock, aiming at you. You kick her in the face, grabbing your knife in the holster. You sit up to stab her in the back, just an inch away from her heart.

So why was it that you felt a sharp jab on your shoulder?

You look at the source, only to see a blade sticking out of your right shoulder. Nadia’s hand being the holder. She looked you right in the eye as she twisted the blade deeper. You grunt, stabbing the woman again and again until she stopped.

Unbearable pain clouded your senses, but Joaquin’s voice brought you back to your senses, turning towards him to see him spar with Lucas, taking punches and pulling ones. You got on your knees to snatch your Glock from Nadia’s dead fingers, keeping an eye on Joaquin.

Blood ran down his elbow from his palm, he staggered on his feet trying to get a jab at Lucas, but found himself covered in his brains once you shot Lucas in the forehead.

You sighed, feeling your tank top getting wet with blood. It felt like an out of body experience, Natasha’s voice echoing somewhere inside your head; “Your brain is in shock trying to process the pain. Get the blade out, press on a cloth and get the hell out of here before one of them wakes up.”

“y/n, look at me.” Joaquin grabbed your face, making you look at him. He glanced at the knife sticking out of your body. “This might hurt.” Saying so he pulled on the blade, prying it off.

You screamed out loud as he pressed hard on your shoulder with a cloth bandage.

How are you lying on the floor?

Joaquin lifted you up like you weighed nothing, “We gotta go. Come on…” resting your head on his shoulder, you try not to pass out looking at the blood running down his face.

------------------------------

Seeing double with an open stab wound was never good news. Joaquin’s jacket did enough to hide the blood and bandage on your shoulder, but it was only a matter of time until some keen observer in the hotel lobby looked at you long enough to know you were unwell.

Leaning on the wall next to you, you watched as Joaquin came towards you and wrapped his arm over your shoulder, careful of your wound, he whispers, “you alright?”

“Kinda.” Your words came out slurred.

“Let’s go.” He led you towards your room, and despite knowing there was no chance of you being followed, you still looked over your shoulder.

As soon as the door opened, you limped towards the bed and Joaquin closed the door and the blinds. Taking off your jacket, you made the rookie mistake of taking a glance at yourself in the mirror.

Your hair was unkempt, your tank top’s strap was torn to pieces, the entire right side of your body covered in blood. The open wound right under your collarbone stared back at you through the mirror.

The room suddenly felt too small, the taste of metal heavy on your tongue.

“whoa!” Joaquin grabs your left side before you fall to the floor, his eyes find yours, and it is then you see the hidden fear in his eyes. He acted fine until now, witnessing the amount of damage on your body.

He helps you sit on the bed, and lean back on the headboard while pressing his jacket on your torso before tearing off your straps. Holding out a piece of rolled up fabric, he holds out to your mouth, “you’ll need this.” You’ve been through this before, never on this scale; but you don’t argue with him before biting into it.

The last thing you felt before blacking out was the burning sensation of rubbing alcohol on your skin and Joaquin’s hand holding yours.

----------------------------

The smell of spirit lingered in the air, as you were woken up from deep sleep by a gentle voice. Opening your eyes, you see the bedside digital clock showing 02:18, and your eyes travel to Joaquin sitting on a chair next to the bed. His white vest had spots of blood, your blood, on it. His right hand was bandaged poorly, and the cut above his eyebrow had two butterfly tapes.

“You scared me for a while.” He says while gently caressing your forehead.

“What happened?” you groaned, trying to sit up, he placed a pillow behind you as you leaned back on the headboard. You look down at your body to find your tank top gone, and you wore Joaquin’s Air Force T Shirt. You look at him again to see his shoulders slumped with exhaustion, his eyes heavy. He hadn’t slept the entire night.

“You passed out while I was cleaning your wound, I woke you up to give you some medicines, and you fell asleep.”

“I don’t remember that.” You huffed out, looking at the ceiling.

Joaquin holds your hand, and you feel the rough bandage on your skin, “are you alright?” you look at him and his line of vision, which were trained on your hand.

“yeah.” You sit up straighter, and take his hand in yours, “I’m fine Joaquin, hey,” you gently hold his face that makes him look at you, “I promise.” You smile.

You rest his injured hand on your lap and open the bandage to redo it properly. The next few minutes are spent in silence, the occasional honk and sound of passing vehicles outside being the only noise. You take a proper look at his hand after you’re done, and you bring it to your lips to kiss.

Joaquin inhales sharply as your lips touch his fingers, and your eyes lock on his.

“I thought I would lose you today.” He says, his eyes flickering from yours to your lips.

“I ain’t going anywhere Joaquin. I’m right here.” Your voice came out as a whisper, and he held your face in his hands.

He looks into your eyes again, silently asking for your consent, and your reply wordlessly by leaning towards him.

The kiss was gentle.

Joaquin’s lips were featherlight on yours and you closed your eyes to feel him whole. Holding the back of his neck you brought him closer as you fell back on the headboard, and he climbed the bed to hover over you.

You kiss each other slowly, letting go of the fear of losing each other flow through it.

You savor it; the warmth of his body, his breath on your face, his hands on your waist. He continues to kiss you as his hands traveled your body, and you didn’t open your eyes in fear that it was some kind of dream.

He cautiously pulls you down on the mattress, your back meeting the sheets of your motel bed. Joaquin gets on his knees to take off his vest, tossing it on the floor. Your eyes couldn’t leave his toned torso, and his broad shoulders covered you entirely when he leaned forward, trailing kisses on your neck. The contrast in the touch of both his hands; one bandaged and one not… you closed your eyes yet again to just feel his touch on your skin. You couldn’t breathe by the way he bit your neck, and you arched your back as his hands gathered the t-shirt to roll it up to your ribs.

“We can stop if you want to.” He says in between kisses, and you moan, “no, please… don’t.”

“As you wish…” he says, his breath hot on your neck. He kissed you right in the valley of your breasts, and sucked on your skin.

You locked eyes with him as he carefully removed the t-shirt off of your body, leaving you in only your jeans. You grabbed a fistful of his hair as his lips left open mouthed kisses on your nipples, you heard him moan as he squeezed your breasts, a sound that made you pull on his hair harder, which only made him louder.

Joaquin made quick work on his belt as you quickly removed your jeans, but he clutched your hand halfway, “wait…” stumbling on his words, “uh… you’re hurt… let me…” he held your jeans and you let them go, as he pulled them down your legs and on the floor.

His hands caressed your thighs, and his gaze lingered on your body. The intensity of it made you shiver, but it wasn’t lust you saw in them.

He wanted you, needed you. Recalling the kiss that you shared earlier today; this was the complete opposite of it. This was pure adoration.

You were his reverence.

While the shadow of his tousled hair masked his forehead, he locked eyes with you. As he lowered his body bringing his face closer to your thighs, you didn’t dare look away. You arched your back as Joaquin’s arms held you down, his muscles flexing as he kissed your inner thigh, and a loud whine left your lips as he tasted you on his tongue.

He stopped only when your moans turned into screams, and when you looked at him while heaving for breath, he was gasping for air, his pupils blown, but the gaze still gentle.

You locked your legs on his waist before you could stop yourself, and tossed him on the bed. Now he was under you, and you could feel how eager he was as you looked down at his tented boxers.

Joaquin caressed your waist, “take it easy, y/n.” as he shifted his gaze to your injured shoulder.

“Sure.” you breathed out, heart racing, as you lifted yourself up while he removed his boxers. As soon as you touched him to stroke, he fell back on the bed, his brows knit in pleasure. You laughed; watching how he was reacting to your touch.

“Huh… that wasn’t funny, querida.” he huffed, and you gasped as he grabbed your waist to pull himself up.

Joaquin was now inches away from your face, his chest pressed to yours as he locked his arms around your waist. You tried to wrap yours around his neck, but you hissed as a sharp pain shot through your injured shoulder straight to your neck.

“Ow!” you buried your face on the nape of his neck, as he stiffened within you.

“Told you to take it easy.” he whispered as he caressed your hair, “you wanna stop?”

“No,” you whined, lifting your face to look at him, “no… I…” you huffed out, “I want you.”

He exhaled, replying with a warm smile, “okay.”

Joaquin gently held both of your wrists and brought your hands to his face to let you hold on to his neck, and you gladly did. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and closed his eyes before leaving a kiss on your lips. He pulled you closer as you lowered yourself on him, moaning in each other’s mouths. As you moved, he kept on kissing you.

Your pace increased as you felt his heartbeat on your skin, his hands grabbing your back. He kissed your face as you lifted your chin, leaving trails on your face and reaching your neck, but you grabbed his hair, pulling him back and exposing his neck to you. Sucking on his neck, you hugged him back, the sharp jab on your shoulder now least of your worries. He pushed into you as you continued to suck and bite his skin wherever you could. He tried his best not to pull your hair, but failed as he grabbed a handful by the end only to bring you closer.

Fighting for air, you kissed him on his mouth… stroking him even after he came inside you.

Joaquin fell back on the bed, bringing you into his arms; exhausted, spent, the two of you fighting for breath.

You shifted to your uninjured side and you held him while resting your head on his chest; groaning, he adjusted himself so you could lay your head in his arms and stroked your hair,

Both you and Joaquin couldn’t tear your eyes away from each other. He was a sight to behold—his unruly hair sticking to his forehead, his face flushed, and the marks you left on his skin gradually shifting in color.

“You good?” he whispers, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your bare back.

“Yeah. You?” you murmur, feeling the weight of sleep beginning to settle in.

A chuckle bubbles in his throat, and you can't help but smirk when he slaps a hand over his eyes, letting out a soft laugh.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you tease, poking his cheek.

“You are…” he sighs, his voice serious but amused. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re really skilled with what you did earlier.”

You raise an eyebrow, unable to suppress a giggle. “You mean the way I body-slammed a Flag Smasher? Or are you talking about…”

“Uh…” He glances up at the ceiling, and you swear you see him blush. “Both.”

You both burst into laughter, and he pulls the covers over you, tucking you close to him. As your eyes meet, your heart skips a beat when his fingers trail over your bare back once more.

“Can’t we stay like this forever?” he asks, his voice soft. “This feels like a dream.”

“It’s real.” You reach up, your fingers gently brushing the cut over his eye. “And even if it is a dream, it’s the best one I’ve ever had.”

His gaze softens at your words, and with a gentle kiss to your forehead, he confesses, “Stay right here, will you?”

You nod, your voice a quiet whisper. “Yes.”

And with that, you slip into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

--------------------------------

Three Weeks Later, Wilson Residence

Karli was dead, the Flag Smashers were wiped out in a mysterious blast (which Zemo swore he had no part in), and John Walker had vanished off the radar. Sam was now Captain America. You and Joaquin had managed to sit that one out due to injuries, and life—relatively speaking—was almost back to normal.

The last three weeks had been the most peaceful stretch you’d had since the Thanos attack in New York. After a brief visit to Sarah’s newly renovated house—where Sam had to fight you off when you offered to pay for everything—you and Joaquin were finally heading to Arizona. He was finally going to take you to see the Canyons, a promise he’d made all the way back in that attic you two had shared.

It was night now, the kids were asleep, but the dinner table in the Wilson residence was anything but quiet, as Sam and Bucky were recounting the first time they met Spiderman.

“…and we got this kid climbing on the roof, he slams Bucky onto the floor, and screams out something about impressing Tony…”

“…and then he webs you to the escalator…” Bucky grumbles in-between.

“…I was getting to that! Anyways, I let redwing take care of the rest and send him flying through the airport and dump him midair. Ha!” Sam laughs, waiting for a reaction.

Sarah leans forward, utterly bewildered, “So you dropped a kid midair because he webbed you to an escalator?”

Bucky stops her with a laugh, “In our defense, he was on the opposite team!”

You couldn't help teasing him, “Still, you attacked a kid.”

Sam threw a baby carrot at you. “Okay, okay! Stop throwing food, Sam. What are you, five?”

Sam was about to throw another one at youtube bucky grabbed the baby carrots bowl and passed it to sarah, who gladly put it out of his reach.

You shifted your attention to Joaquin, who was looking at the whole ordeal trying not to laugh. The cut above his eye had almost healed, only a faint trail of new skin the only sign that there ever was any injury.

“We have something to tell you guys,” Joaquin said, his voice a little too casual for the tension in the air. He reached under the table to take your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin.

You squeezed his hand in return, giving him a warm smile before you turned to look at Sam, Bucky, and Sarah.

Joaquin looked at you, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, and then he said it: “Y/N and I are dating.”

The table went silent for a second, and then Sarah’s face lit up, her eyes sparkling. “Oh my god, I’m so happy for you both!”

Sam laughed loudly, throwing his head back, while Bucky froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

Bucky stared at the two of you in disbelief, his fork clicking loudly as it dropped to his plate. “Wait a minute... how long has this been going on?”

You winced. “About three weeks, maybe?”

Bucky groaned as he leaned back in his chair. “Three weeks? So, you’ve been hiding this from us?”

Joaquin shifted nervously in his seat. “Yeah, about that.”

“I swear, if you hurt Y/N—” Bucky's voice turned deadly serious, his Vibranium arm rising as he pointed it at Joaquin. “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Joaquin quickly held up his hands. “I would never—”

“Good.” Bucky nodded, satisfied. “Just making sure, You two gross me out.” Bucky side eyes you as you respond by leaving a loud smooch on Joaquin’s cheek.

“Yeah, I’m gonna throw up.” Bucky grimaces and gets up from the table with his beer.

“Get outta here old man.” You scream, all in playfulness as he slams the porch door. Bucky had a knick of theatrics, and you knew deep down he was happy for you.

“He didn’t mean that, Buck’s a secret romantic and I bet you ten bucks he’s crying happy tears on the back porch.” Sam tells you both as you begin to clear out the table.

“I know.” You laugh, helping Joaquin with the dishes.

As Sarah and Sam left for their rooms, you and Joaquin took over cleaning the kitchen. The house fell into a quiet rhythm, the only sound the soft hum of the water running in the sink as you both washed the dishes.

“That went well,” Joaquin said, nudging your shoulder as you stacked the plates in the drying rack.

“Don’t worry, Sam and Sarah adore you. Bucky does too, he’s just... well, too stubborn to show it.” You rolled your eyes, feeling his hands wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you close.

He kissed your neck lightly as you finished stacking the last of the plates. “That was the last one,” you said, leaning back into him, letting yourself enjoy the closeness.

“Mmm-hmm...” You smirked, resting your hands on his as he tightened his grip around your waist.

“Everyone’s asleep,” he whispered, his lips brushing the back of your ear.

“I know,” you murmured, leaning back further into his chest. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, his breath soft in your ear.

“Can we take this to the bedroom?” he grumbled, his voice low and inviting as he hugged you tighter.

You chuckled, glancing over your shoulder. “We’re sleeping on the couch, babe.”

His hands moved slowly to your hips as he nuzzled your neck, “Wanna take this to the couch then?” His playful tone was backed by the softest puppy eyes you’d ever seen.

Before you could even consider it, footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Bucky’s voice rocked through the silence, causing both you and Joaquin to spring apart. You quickly went back to acting busy with the already stacked plates, trying to look as innocent as possible.

Bucky sighed loudly, his eyes toward the ceiling. “Please, for the love of god, tell me you two weren’t... doing that in Sarah’s kitchen.”

Joaquin let out a nervous, “...no.” His face flushed, making you stifle a laugh.

Bucky groaned, rubbing his temples. “I swear, you two...”

“Bucky,” you said, turning toward him with a teasing smile. “Were you crying?”

His eyes went wide, and he immediately shot you a glare. “No. I’m just... tired.” He slumped his shoulders dramatically. “And I’m taking the couch.”

He threw up his hands in exasperation. “You two can take the mattress on the floor. But if I hear so much as a whisper from either of you, I’ll kick you out myself.”

With that, he stormed off, muttering under his breath.

You turned to Joaquin, fighting back a grin. His face was bright red, and his embarrassment was almost too adorable to handle. “Looks like we have to wait until we’re in Arizona,” you said with a sympathetic swat to his arm.

Joaquin groaned, “You know, I’m starting to think Bucky’s secretly shipping us.”

You shot him a wink as you walked out of the kitchen, “He’s just really protective. Come on.”

You patted his arm sympathetically, but then, with a mischievous grin, said, “What about the attic?”

Joaquin raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding.”

You opened your mouth to say yes, as your heart raced just by remembering his touch on your skin, but before you could, Bucky’s voice shouted from the other room.

“I swear to god, I will get a restraining order against the two of you! Don’t even think about it!”

--------------------------------------

Taglist

@tuiccim @parkjammys @akinrawsx @asteph22 @iamthebeth @thefandomqueenuno @onlyhereforthefics @yikesdameron @savedfanfics1992 @amigaytho @samwilson-mylove @jenniweaslee-faves @anna-phora @fluffyprettykitty

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Love y'all, Take Care!

450 notes · View notes

antiquarianfics · 2 years ago

Text

Marry me? Nah. Marry me? Yeah.

4 times Bucky Barnes asks you to marry him and you refuse. 1 time Bucky Barnes asks you to marry him and you accept.

A/N: I have been working on this for the last day, so enjoy. HOWEVER, I wrote it on my phone and refuse to proof it. Warning(s): Some canon level violence, swearing. Note: I do not own Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to steal or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

—

Proposal 1

The first time Bucky Barnes proposes to you, you aren’t even dating. The two of you are paired on a mission to dismantle a HYDRA base hidden deep in the Appalachian Mountains in Kentucky. You had met before but never shared more than polite conversation. Steve had assured Bucky you weren’t scared of him, but that you wouldn’t push him to speak with you. Bucky never quite believed him, so he never attempted to converse with you either.

However, when you’re paired on this mission, you take that as the go-ahead to finally speak to him.

“So, Barnes,” you say, nudging his shoulder with your own, “guess we’ve got to come up with more conversation topics than the weather.”

“Guess so,” he replies.

It is during the mission he proposes. There are more HYDRA agents active than expected, and they come at the two of you guns blazing while you’re distracted setting up an explosive at a structural point of the complex.

“Y/L/N,” Bucky says to grab your attention, “we’ve got company.”

You bite your lip, finishing your task before standing and pulling your rifle from your back, preparing yourself for a fight.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ve got this one,” you tease, shooting him a wink before unleashing precise kill shots before Bucky even thinks to pull his own trigger. After taking out a dozen soldiers, a few manage to get close to you, and you hit one in the head with the butt of your gun and then quickly pull a knife from a thigh holster while pivoting on your foot to slit another’s throat. You shoot the unconscious soldier in the head for good measure before wiping your knife on your pants.

With your knife returned to its home on your thigh, you look up at Bucky who is staring at you with a dumbfounded, albeit impressed, look on his face. You had taken out 14 men on your own. He was in love.

The words “marry me” slipped past his lips before he could stop them, and you laugh.

“Maybe buy me dinner first, Sarge.”

Proposal 2

The second time Bucky Barnes proposes to you, you’re comforting him after a nightmare. It is late at night, at the point it was really morning, and you happen to hear his screams through his bedroom door.

You stop at his door, letting a frown set on your face before reaching out for his doorknob. You hesitate before opening it, wondering if he’ll appreciate you barging in on him in such a vulnerable state. Then, he screams again—louder—and you turn the doorknob, letting yourself in.

The sight you’re met with is heartbreaking. Bucky is tossing and turning, his sheets bunched at his feet, comforter on the ground. He’s sweating buckets and whimpering what sounds like, “Please, no. Not the chair. Please!” over and over again. You choke back a sob before crossing over to him, gently lying a comforting hand on his shoulder and calling out his name.

“Bucky, honey, wake up. It’s just a dream, hun.”

The touch and sudden sound wake him up from what is truly a light sleep. Bucky shoots up into a sitting position, right hand shooting out to grab the hand touching him, and eyes darting around the room until they land on you.

“Shh,” you coo, “you’re okay, Bucky. It’s me, Y/N. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

Bucky’s heart rate slows to a normal pace, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“Y/N?” He asks hesitantly. “W-what are you doing here?” His voice is small, like a terrified child’s, and you can’t help but frown at the thought.

You let your hand move to cup his face, noting that he relaxes at the gentle touch, leaning his face ever so slightly into your touch.

“I was headed to the kitchen and I heard you scream. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

He nods, eyes searching yours for some sort of anger or resentment for bothering you. He doesn’t find any.

“Can I do anything to make you feel better?” You ask kindly.

“Um,” Bucky says, voice shaky. “Would you mind—you don’t have to—but would you mind staying with me? Only if you want.”

You smile kindly, pressing a comforting kiss to his cheek before climbing into his bed with him, pulling his head close to your chest.

“When I was little, I lived in a house in the woods for a while,” you say randomly, catching Bucky’s attention. His eyebrows scrunch together in some sort of confusion, but he says nothing. “At dinner one night, I look out the glass door onto the porch. Wanna know what I saw?”

Bucky hums his agreement as your hand works it’s way into his hair and your fingers begin to massage his scalp.

“4 raccoons!” You exclaim. “3 babies and a mama. We had a toddler slide on the porch at the time,” you continue, “and the baby raccoons kept climbing the little ladder and sliding down. The mama just sat a little bit away and watched and stole cat food occasionally.”

Bucky chuckles, finding your story cute but also recognizing your attempt to distract and soothe him after his nightmare. He appreciates it more than he himself understands; he is comforted by your voice more than he feels he should be. He lets the proposal slip a second time: “Marry me?”

You grin and press a kiss to his head.

“Not yet, hun.”

Proposal 3

The third proposal comes after the two of you begin dating.

Bucky takes you out on a date to a little coffee shop in Brooklyn you both had become fond of. You’re standing to the side of the café, out of the way, waiting on your order. Bucky has his right arm around your shoulders while you lean into him; his left hand stuck in his jacket pocket.

“So Natasha’s screaming at Clint to show himself so that she can kill him, right? Like, she was so fucking pissed at him. And Clint is in the fucking air vents—like those big ones people crawl through in action movies—hiding from her. Over a remote, Bucky!” You excitedly recount one of the most ridiculous encounters you’ve ever had with the Avengers to your boyfriend who is quietly listening with a fond smile.

“Like, ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ my ass,” you scoff. You’re about to add another thought to the discussion when you hear someone else’s conversation from a few feet away.

Bucky tenses. You tense.

“Personally, I think they should’ve carted him off to the South, or somethin’, and put him in the chair,” a younger man—college age—says. “The death penalty, y’know? An eye for an eye, and all that. I mean, the guy killed a lot of people.”

“Fuck, man,” his companion, another college aged man, says. “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh? I mean, he’s also like a war hero and a prisoner of war.”

“He killed innocent people, man. Like, people’s kids and shit.”

“I guess.”

Bucky clenches his jaw, and he also tightens his grip on your waist when he feels you start to move away from him.

“It’s fine, doll,” he assures you, but he doesn’t seem fine to you.

The barista calls out “Barnes” and Bucky kisses the top of your head before moving to grab your drinks. You, however, take the opportunity to address the disrespectful boys while your boyfriend isn’t holding you back.

“Excuse me,” you say, walking up to them.

“Fuck!” One says, jumping a little. “You’re an Avenger.”

“Mhmm,” you agree. “So is Sergeant Barnes who you so innocently suggested deserves the chair.” You jam a finger into his chest.

“You have absolutely no fucking right to talk about him that way. He gave his life for this fucking country; fought alongside your grandparents. The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry. Shit. It’s not like my opinion is gonna change anything.”

Before you can say anything else, you feel Bucky’s hand wrap around your bicep, pulling you away from the college kids and into his side. He leans close to your ear to whisper, “Doll, it’s fine. Come on.”

He pulls you out of the coffee shop before you have time to protest.

Walking down the street, you’re ranting, letting your arms flail around angrily.

“What the actual fuck is their problem?! You can have your obviously wrong opinions, but why would you express them so loudly in front of the person you’re talking about? You’re a fucking Avenger. You’re a good man. Why would they pardon you if you weren’t? Why would the Avengers adopt you as one of our own if you weren’t? Pieces of shit! Hateful, fascist, brain dead, ungrateful, military-hating, assholes!”

Bucky can’t help but laugh at your insults, and he can’t help but feel flattered that you care enough to defend him.

“Sweetheart, it’s really fine. I’m used to it,” he assures you, finally handing you your coffee he’d been balancing in his hand.

You take it, but shoot him an incredulous look.

“Like hell it’s okay! You deserve better than that bullshit, Bucky. You deserve to go out on a date with your girlfriend without being fucking harassed.”

Bucky pulls you into his side, kissing your head like he had earlier, and murmurs into your hair his third proposal.

“Marry me.”

You smile softly.

“Nah,” you say, leaning into his hold. He laughs.

Proposal 4

The fourth time Bucky proposes to you, it’s less direct.

In fact, you’re in the field, lying on your back in Bucky’s arms while he frantically puts pressure on a bullet wound in your gut.

“Steve,” he says into the coms, “Y/N’s down. She got shot. I’ve got to get her back to the jet.”

“Go,” Steve responds quickly, “I’ll cover you.”

Bucky’s attention falls to you, grimacing at the blood covering his hands.

“Hold on, baby. I’ve got you,” he says, lifting you into his arms as gently as you can.

“I’m fiiinnneee,” you slur, unsteadily and awkwardly reaching to pat his face. Your action, meant to be comforting, only adds to your boyfriend’s anxiety.

“Doll, you’ve been shot, and it isn’t a clean wound.”

“That’s nothin’!”

Bucky grunts indignantly in response.

Finally, he gets you back to the jet, moving through the aircraft quickly to get you to a stretcher to triage you best he can. When there is nothing more he can do, he holds your hand, doing his best not to cry or show how scared he is.

“Y/N, stay awake for me, alright?” He pleads, squeezing your hand.

Your eyes flutter open and you smile goofily.

“No worries, Doll,” you giggle as you call him by the pet name he reserves for you. “I’m A-Okay.”

Bucky scoffs.

“You’re bleeding out.”

“You fixed me.”

“Not fully; I put a bandaid on you really.”

“Silly. Bandaids fix you!” You try to comfort, but you fall into a laughing fit.

“Doll, I need you to take this seriously so you make it. You’ve gotta marry me.”

“You didn’t ask me to!” You say, narrowing your eyes and pointing accusingly.

Bucky smiles at your antics.

“Marry me, Doll?”

You smile fondly as you stare up at Bucky.

“Ask me again when I’m not bleeding out.”

Proposal 5

The fifth time Bucky Barnes proposes to you is the last time.

You convince the super soldier to go hiking with you; you argue he deserves to sit and watch a waterfall with his girlfriend. He gives in easily because you’re not easy for him to say no to.

The two of you find a local hiking trail that leads to a decent sized waterfall, and you’re pleased to find the trail is mostly deserted. You only run into a few stray hikers along the trail.

Bucky smiles as you hike, watching as you excitedly stop to watch centipedes cross the path, or point out woodpeckers, or smell flowers. Finally, the two of you reach the waterfall and you squeal in excitement, running a few paces ahead of Bucky and jumping to let out some excited energy.

“Buck, look! It’s gorgeous!”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, slowing to a stop behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin in the crook of your neck.

The two of you stand like that, in each other’s embrace, for a few minutes, watching the waterfall, listening to nature around you.

“Thank you for coming up here with with me,” you say, turning around to place a grateful kiss on Bucky’s lips. He gently returns the kiss before pulling away.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

You peck his lips again before turning back to the waterfall.

“Look!” You say upon turning around. “Bucky, a rainbow!” The spray of the water and the beams of sunlight meet to display a rainbow in front of you.

When Bucky doesn’t respond, you curiously turn around.

“Bucky? Oh!”

Bucky is on one knee, a ring box open in his hands, held out to you.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

There is no speech, there is no absurd gesture. There is just Bucky, and there is just a question.

It’s perfect.

“Yes.”

“Finally.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader fluff #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky x g!n reader

3K notes · View notes

homiesexuallaj · 9 days ago

Text

A Little Fun

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Genre/Warnings: not too romance heavy, more plot heavy, something sort and sweet, fluff nonetheless, protective! bucky

A/N: Inspired by this audio from Smiling Friends

———

Another stake out mission, another situation of where you’re thrown to the wolves. The wolves in this case? A gala, which you’ve been pushed into without a date in hopes you could get your team’s target alone, preferably in a room away from the crowd. Which was a little easier than you thought it would be, thanks to the dress Sam had personally picked out for you. Much to the displeasure of Bucky.

The dress was black, sparkly. It hugged your curves, dipped down appropriately low on your chest, and had a slit in the thigh on one side. It was a stark difference to the tactical gear you’d usually wear on missions.

Bucky was even more displeased when he saw through the security cameras, that Sam hacked, when you got the target alone, in some back room. And his skin crawled as he heard you and the guy through the comms that he practically scolded you to keep on. At. All. Times.

The guy, the target, was handsy. Grabbing at you the second you’d gotten you both into the room away from the crowd. It was obvious he thought he was getting lucky.

“Oh! Can’t a poor guy like me ever have a little fun?” The target practically whined when you adjusted the strap of your dress he’d tried to pull down.

You met it with a shrug, “Yeah, everyone likes fun.”

“You like to have fun too?” The guy’s voice was practically a whisper, and he smoothed his hands up and down your sides.

You had to fight down a displeased shiver at the feeling. But you had to keep up the mask.

“I mean -y’know- you’re asking about me?” You tilted your head, a faux innocent smile on your face. “I mean -psh- yeah. I li- I like fun. Yeah- yeah.”

“Oh yeah?” The guy pressed closer to you, leaning in as he observed you with heavy eyes.

You leaned away, brows furrowing. A little bit of yourself slipped through the mask.

“I already said yes,” A bit of roughly voiced confusion caking your words as you responded.

The guy leans back, furrowing his brows as he registers your tone of voice. His hands still on your hips, holding you there. He opens his mouth to respond, not even noticing the dark silhouette that inches closer behind him. The target doesn’t have a chance to respond before he’s hit on the back of his head with the butt of a gun.

You don’t move to catch him or hold him up, letting the target fall to the ground. You don’t even blink twice as you look up towards the silhouette. There might be a little twinkle in your eye as you look at the figure.

“Well, hello to you too,” You comment, leaning on a leg and propping a hand up on your hip. “Got here just in time.”

Bucky leans down, holstering his gun and hauling the target up over his shoulder. He doesn’t even struggle as he straightens back up, an arm over the back of the target’s knees. His brows are furrowed as he looks down at you, but the sternness in his blue eyes softens just a tad when he scans your form.

“It’s my job,” Bucky responds, eyes meetings yours. “Can’t let anything bad happen to you.”

You barely pay any mind as Bucky’s flesh hand comes up to smooth some stray hairs on your head down, trailing down to follow the strands to their ends. You watch as he looks you over again, checking you over for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes.

“Uh huh,” You nod a little, moving to walk around Bucky to the back door he came in through. “Now let’s get out of here before someone realizes something is wrong.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky’s already on your tail, nudging a gun into your hand as you lead the way out.

#marvel #bucky barnes #marvel x reader #bucky barnes x reader #im on a silly roll as of late

156 notes · View notes

sellyourshadownotyoursoul · 3 months ago

Text

DP x DC WIP: Magical Sugar Daddy

The world exists in shades of green. Everywhere Jason looks he sees sickness and death and the perverted unfairness of it all.

There's blood on his boots, accompanied by the pleasant ache of tired muscles. His hand is still buzzing from the recoil of his gun - the breath in his lungs is tinged with cigarette smoke, dry and acidic.

There's been a presence behind him for a while now, trailing after him no matter what he does to lose the tail. It's like a prickle of static in the air, faint enough to dismiss for anyone less paranoid.

Jason's body is a spring wound too tight, the metal screeching in protest as the feeling of being watched intensifies.

A week and change since he's had a moment of peace.

When he hears the scuffle of a shoe on the quiet rooftop it's no wonder he explodes into action.

The trigger is pulled before he's even turned his head, a roar of thunder in his ears. The butt of his gun misses its target by a hair's breadth as he brings it down in an arc followed up by a kick that finally earns him a reaction. The figure grunts in pain and surprise, but the step it takes backwards isn't one of staggered retreat. It's a pivot on a heel and a coil of muscle before Jason's stalker is vaulting over the smokestack at their side, launching them back into the fight proper.

Jason growls low in his throat, like his lungs do not exchange oxygen for carbon dioxide but what he exhales is instead a heady mix of hunger and rage. There's an answering sound, a hiss pitched high at the end as the two of them clash once more.

Jason blocks a punch and pushes the muzzle of his gun against an unguarded shoulder, point blank. His target flinches hard enough that the shot only clips them but that gives Jason the opportunity for a follow-up punch to the jaw.

The hood of his stalker falls to their shoulders and Jason answers the grin on their face with a baring of teeth hidden behind his mask.

Jason gets a kick to the ribs while he reloads the gun and subsequently opts to just holster the thing so he can have both hands free. The other asshole isn't much bigger than Jason and their guard is sloppy.

He won't need weapons for this.

A misstep from his opponent has Jason surging forward to fling them over the edge of the roof before a flip that would make Dickie proud reverses their positions. It forces Jason to roll under a kick so he isn't the one meeting the pavement at lethal velocity.

His attacker appears male, age unclear but certainly out of their twenties. Jason grabs the snowy white braid that flows behind them and feels a rush at the gasp that pulls from the guy, even as the retaliation gets him an uppercut that makes his vision swim.

Jason twists the hair around his fist, forcing the head it's attached to into the pavement at their feet.

He slams it down once, twice, before a leg around his own has him lose his balance. He lands on his elbow and curses at the pain shooting through it even as he gets back up and rounds on his opponent. He blocks a punch by diverting it outwards, stepping back and to the side so the fight stays in the center of the roof.

There's blood running freely down the other man's front from a nose that Jason bets is broken, the liquid looks jet black in Jason's monochromatic world of sickly lazarus green.

The eyes watching him are wide and alert, a manic edge to them from the bared fangs and the tense posture. They both surge forward, trading blows and kicks until they're breathing heavy and Jason can tell his opponent is flagging.

The way they move makes it clear they're not a fighter, at least not one with a preference for hand-to-hand. They keep up with Jason just barely, but it's already clear who the winner is going to be, even as Jason lets it drag out until there's sweat running down his back.

A kick from Jason's steel toed boot against an unarmored shin is what finally ends it. His opponent falls to the ground with a curse and they don't get back up even as Jason looms over them. Their eyes are half-lidded, hands sprawled out limply above their head in defeat, but there's a smile on their face that really tests Jason's ability to suppress the urge to tear out their throat. He places a boot on the guy's sternum and puts enough weight on it to show he's serious.

A low sound, a mix of a grunt and a laugh, precedes a weak attempt to buck Jason off but he doesn't budge.

“Talk,” Jason rasps.

A dark tongue swipes through the drying blood on his assailant’s lips and they cough wetly before responding.

“Nice to meet you,” is what he says, strained from the pressure on his lungs, “fuck, you're good.”

“Who sent you?” Jason's demand is curious but dripping with derision. Who would send a fucking prodigy of stealth just to have them suck at actually taking out the target?

Jason hadn't been able to lose this stalker for over a week, had gotten litterally zero intel on who this fucker is despite having Oracle and half his own men on high alert.

And then the guy just walks up and scuffs his shoe against the pavement?

Suicide by Red Hood much?

“Technically Clockwork, but I'm not really-” the guy coughs again, trying to breathe, “not really someone people can send.”

Jason prompts him to continue with an addition of pressure to his ribs. He doesn't feel any sort of armor under the neutral hoodie, nor do the cargo pants look like they're in any way reinforced. They're clean though and clearly not the kind of worn Jason expects for someone trying to blend in this side of town. No camouflage tech unless it's nano-sized.

The man wrinkles his nose, eyes flicking down to the boot and back up to Jason's face.

“Okay, look I know I'm late, but I'm here to apologize,” he says with another little grunt and a wiggle. Jason keeps him pinned.

“I didn't actually know you were mine until a year ago-”

“Yours?” Jason scoffs, something sour rising in his gut.

“Yeah?”

“I don't fucking belong to you,” Jason states darkly, one hand unholstering his gun.

There isn't any immediate reaction to the escalation, but Jason can feel a strange charge in the air. The body underneath him certainly doesn't relax.

“Fuck, okay sure, yeah, no ownership,” the guy huffs but the voice is not nearly as afraid as it should be, “that's kind of, ah, what I wanted to talk about.”

“And if I tell you to fuck off?”

“Then I'll fuck off.”

Jason pauses, tilting his head in consideration.

“Who are you?” Jason's question is wary and curt, a final offer to change his mind before he cocks his gun. The guy under him watches with bright, intense eyes, seemingly unperturbed by the monster looming above.

“I'm the reason you're still alive, Jason.”

Jason laughs coldly at the boldness of that statement.

“Bullshit,” he spits.

The eyes continue to watch him, appearing to glow in the faint light. The guy's face is set in a grimace, but it's one of mild inconvenience rather than pain. He should have a concussion at least, not to mention a fracture or two, so he's either trained to withstand pain or some kind of meta. Maybe he's hopped up on some new drug that's got him unaware of the damage. A byproduct of whatever made him so difficult to track.

Neither of them are panting anymore.

“Last chance,” Jason drawls as he takes aim at a damp forehead, already feeling the anticipatory rush that comes with taking a life.

He is admittedly not intending to let this little stalker live no matter what comes out of his mouth. Not when he knows Jason's name, not when there might not be another chance to tie up the loose end.

The guy seems aware of it too, eyes flickering over Jason's mask as if trying to find the right combination of words to buy just a little more time.

He opens his mouth, closes it again.

He sighs through his nose, a wet sound when it displaces the coagulating blood, and lets his head fall back against the concrete rooftop. The message seems clear in the resigned set of his shoulders and Jason feels an irrational indignance at being denied the struggle.

Nevertheless he pulls the trigger.

BANG

The sound echoes into the distance until it blends into every other incriminating noise Gotham makes at night. Jason frowns down at the would-be corpse.

He couldn't have missed, not with the muzzle barely a foot from its target - but there's no bullet hole marring the face at his feet. The eyes remain alive and aware as they watch Jason's growing confusion.

“What the fuck,” he mutters.

That earns him a stuffy snort. The man's hands flare out as if to say ‘ta-dah’ and only flinch minutely when Jason sends another bullet into him.

“Rude,” the guy comments, in the cadence of someone annoyed rather than relieved.

“What are you,” Jason demands in response, forcefully holstering his gun now that it has proven to be worthless. Looks like fists are going to be the way forward.

“Loaded question,” the guy groans unhelpfully, pushing at Jason's leg with little success.

Jason makes a point of momentarily increasing the pressure, staring the fucker down through the whiteouts of his mask.

“You survived a lazarus pit,” stalker offers, the words a sucker punch to an unhealed wound that Jason refuses to acknowledge, “which means you accepted the price that comes with it, whether you knew about it or not.”

“And that explains what, exactly?”

“You asked what I am,” the guy shrugs.

“And you still haven't answered.”

There's a moment where stalker-guy gazes up into the cloudy, dark sky, hands settling from their attempts to remove Jason's boot to instead tap idly against the leather. The fingers are long and thin, the kind an author might describe as suited for playing the piano, the nails neither bitten to the quick nor so long as to appear unkempt. Jason feels a sudden urge to break those fingers one by one just to see if that might yield a more satisfying reaction. Or some answers. His eyes catch on a sleek black band on the ring-finger of the guy's left hand and wonders momentarily if his shadow’s got someone waiting for him. He pities them.

“Price,” Jason prompts, “explain.”

“Right, yeah I can do that-do you mind stepping off? The bullets are digging into my back-”

“Maybe if you give me a reason to,” Jason retorts with a sneer, feeling the absolute furthest from any notion of ‘charitable’.

Stalker-guy sighs.

“Got it, okay, so, I'm basically your magical sugar-daddy-”

“My fucking what-” Jason chokes, feeling distinctly like the gravity of the situation is doing loop-de-loops.

“Your patron. Your new one, anyway,” the guy shrugs again, as if that's a concept that's common knowledge.

Jason forces air into his lungs. The world flickers.

“You paid your soul to my predecessor and he gave you back your memories.”

Jason's insides are made of cracked glass and every syllable pushes further up against it. Isn't the pit rage enough of a price?

“I came to introduce myself,” Jason's apparent ‘magical sugar-daddy’ continues conversationally, “which I guess I still haven't, technically.”

Jason's hands are white-knuckled fists, his vision is green and tunneling. From the moment he had him pinned every word out of his stalker's mouth has done nothing but add more fuel to the anger sitting low in Jason’s gut. The need for this piece of shit to at least have the decency to be afraid.

Talking about Jason's fucking soul - about paying the price and book-ending it with a term as crass as ‘sugar-daddy’ is so discordant it is almost physically painful. Mentioning the pits and claiming to have saved Jason's life in such a blasé manner has him writhing with indignation. The condescension drips from him and his every action, too similar to-

Jason's spiraling is interrupted by a change to his balance. His foot on the guy's chest hits the concrete underneath, the sight of his calf sticking out of what should have been a living, breathing body causing a momentary stutter in Jason's reality.

Then the guy is on his feet, reaching out a hand as if they weren't at each other's throats a moment ago. As if the bullets lodged in the concrete weren't intended for one of their heads. As if he cannot sense the raw malice pouring out of Jason.

“I'm Danny, sorry for the wait.”

#dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #fic wip #danny phantom #jason todd #batman #red hood #i have been consumed by dpxdc for the last while #especially #danny x jason #but also just in general

283 notes · View notes

allthemeniveloved · 5 months ago

Text

Little Rat

Summary: Arthur Morgan saves you from an uncomfortable encounter with Micah.

The fire crackled low in the center of camp, casting flickering shadows against the trees surrounding Clemens Point. Most of the gang had turned in for the night, save for a few stragglers nursing drinks by the embers. You were tidying up your things near your tent, the quiet hum of the crickets offering a small sense of peace—until you heard the unmistakable drawl.

“Well, look who’s all alone in the dark,” Micah Bell said, stepping into your line of sight with that irritating smirk plastered across his face. His eyes glinted in the dim light, and you instantly felt your guard go up.

“Micah,” you said tersely, keeping your tone neutral. “What do you want?”

He feigned offense, holding a hand to his chest. “Now, that’s no way to greet someone, is it? Just tryin’ to be sociable, sweetheart. Seems like you could use the company.”

You shot him a cold glare. “I don’t need anything, least of all from you.”

Micah chuckled low, ignoring your clear discomfort as he took another step closer, his presence pressing in on you. “Now, now. Don’t be like that. I think you and me, we could get along real well if you’d just stop actin’ so high and mighty. Ain’t nobody else around, anyway. What’s the harm?”

You stepped back instinctively, your pulse quickening. “Back off, Micah,” you warned, trying to keep your voice steady.

He didn’t listen. Instead, he reached out, his hand gripping your arm as he leaned in closer. “Aw, c’mon, darlin’. Don’t be like that. I don’t bite.”

Before you could push him away, a deep voice growled from the shadows. “Touch her again, Micah, and you won’t have a hand left to use.”

Both of you turned toward the source of the voice, and there he was—Arthur Morgan, standing at the edge of the firelight. His hat was pulled low, his jaw set tight, and his hand rested casually on the butt of his pistol.

Micah straightened, sneering. “Well, if it ain’t Arthur Morgan,” he spat. “You always gotta stick your nose where it don’t belong cowpoke?”

Arthur didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze locked on Micah with a look that could freeze the blood in your veins. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but it carried an unmistakable weight. “Ain’t no need to explain yourself, Micah. Just walk away.”

Micah raised his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips, “I was only paying her a compliment, that’s all.”

“You keep your compliments - and yourself - far away from her, or you’ll be eating the dirt under my boots. Got it?”

Micah hesitated, his eyes darting between you and Arthur. He opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur’s hand moved slightly on his pistol, and that was enough to send Micah scowling back toward his tent with a muttered curse.

Once Micah disappeared into the darkness, Arthur turned to you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

You nodded, though your heart was still pounding. “I am now. Thank you.”

Arthur grunted, his hand falling away from his holster as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to get involved, but… couldn’t just stand there watchin’ him bother you like that.”

You offered a small, grateful smile. “I’m glad you did. He’s… persistent.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened again, and he glanced toward where Micah had gone. “He tries it again, you let me know,” he said, his tone sharp with barely restrained anger. “I’ll make sure he don’t forget his place.”

There was something in his gaze when he looked at you—something fierce and protective, but also hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he should let you see it. You didn’t know what to say, caught off guard by how much safer you felt just standing near him.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you said again, softer this time. “I mean it.”

He looked away, his cheeks tinged red beneath his scruffy beard. “Don’t gotta thank me,” he muttered, almost embarrassed. “Just… don’t like seein’ you get hurt, is all.”

As he started to walk away, you caught yourself staring after him, wondering why your heart felt a little lighter, even after what had just happened. Arthur, on the other hand, kept his back to you, his fists clenched as he cursed himself for not saying more—for not telling you the truth about why he couldn’t stand the thought of Micah or anyone else getting too close to you.

a/n: I’m feeling so unbelievably productive & creative this week and the thoughts are just flowing but I just know I’m going to crash this weekend or next week and not write again for another 7 years

379 notes · View notes

spidernuggets · 10 months ago

Note

i’ve had this idea for so long and i really feel like you can do it justice because i LOVE your writing style so…

reader that knows jason’s identity but he doesn’t know that they know, so reader keeps teasing him. i think it’d be ESPECIALLY good if reader goes out of their way to buy nightwing merch or talk about how red robin is their favorite

that’s just the main idea you have full creative license over it 🫶🫶

Jason Todd x Reader

def not doing this to avoid studying chem...

"Hey, Jay, lookie!" You called him over as you entered the door of your apartment.

Jason had his nose stuck in a book as you walked in. He turned his head over to see you with a cheerful smile and a little paper bag in your hand.

"What is it?" He asked, bookmarking his novel, carefully setting it down on the coffee table.

I quietly snorted to yourself, eager to see his reaction as you pulled out a little Nightwing plush.

"Isn't it so cute!" You cheered, practically shoving the blue and black toy to his face.

Jason mentally grumbled at the sight of the plush. "Is that supposed to be Nightwing? You chose the lamest vigilante, babe," he says as his eye twitches.

You shrugged. "He's not lame! If you think about it, his ass does look good in that suit," you smirked to yourself, knowing it would get a rise out of Jason. "And besides. I mostly only got him because the stores aren't releasing a Red Robin version for another month. So I'm gonna save up some money before them," you tell him, hugging the plushie.

It seemed as if Jason's face went comically red, as you mentioned his own brother's butt. He wanted nothing more than to throw the plushie out the window, rip it apart, set it on fire. Anything to get your hands off that damn doll.

"They sell Red Hood plushies!" He tried not to complain. "Why not buy them? It's better use of your money," he grumbled, folding his arms together.

"I don't really like Red Hood," you carefully said, watching every twitch of his reaction while petting over the Nighting plush.

Jason felt like a bullet went through his heart, and he felt like hunching over to clutch his chest in agony.

"Why not! He's the best one!" He said in disbelief as you tried not to laugh over his reaction.

You shrugged a shoulder. "I dunno. He's just not a favourite of mine. Althought the thigh holsters looks great on him, woo!" You cheekily smiled, fanning yourself with your hand and biting your bottom lip as you put the plush away.

Jason felt heat rise up in his neck at the comment, ready to just blurt out that he was, in fact, the Red Hood.

"Maybe it's the giant red helmet that throws me off," you tap your chin, pretending to think as Jason made a mental note to have his helmet potentially be redesigned.

"His big red helmet is the best part.." Jason muttered to himself as he slumped on the couch. And you could've sworn you saw a pout form on his lips.

"Anyways, this toy is gonna be a great part of my collection!" You cheered as Jason perked up.

"Collection? You have more?!" He asked, disgust written all over his face as you tilted your head to the side.

"Well.. no, but I wanna start one! Oh! And I want to start a collection for Red Robin, too! I saw somewhere that they're selling a similar costume online!" You say excitingly. "I might be his biggest fan," you say while suppressing a laugh.

Jason was now on his feet, standing right in front of you. "Why not be Red Hood's biggest fan?" His pout was way more obvious now. You were surprised that he wasn't more discreet about it.

"Why are you so caught up with Red Hood?" You asked innocently.

"Uh, let's see. He's skilled, he's smart, he's strong, he's muscular and he's gorgeous!" He practically yelled as he towers over you.

You rested a hand on your hip as you leaned on one leg. "How the hell would you know he's gorgeous? He never takes his helmet off," you asked, rasing an eyebrow.

"Well- I- You know, he-" you giggled as he stammered and tripped over his words.

You decided to finally put him out of his misery, standing on your tio toes as you wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him a lingering kiss on his cheek.

"Calm down, lovely, I know you're Red Hood," you muttered against his skin.

Jason's brows scrunched together, pushing you back. "Wait, wait, wait- you knew?! And you didn't tell me?" He said in absolute shock.

"I wanted you to tell me at your own time.. but at the same time, I wanted you to tell me sooner since someone keeps showing up late to our dates for some unknown reason," You raised an eyebrow at him, not pleased with the fact that he was recently showing up pretty late to some of your dates because of his patrols.

Jason awkwardly chuckled while scratching the back of his neck. "Uh huh.. yeah- I'm.. I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to be late, baby," he muttered. But you quickly placed a soft peck to his lips.

"It's okay. You can make it up to me," you smiled in reassurance.

"But - but how did you even find out? How long have you known?"

"Uhh.." You looked up, trying to remember. "Around two months ago? And you left your holsters here. You know. The one that looks real good on your thighs," you smirked, leaning up to him as you teased him.

The heat returned back to Jason's neck, now reaching up to his ears. "Fuck.. I left them here? There weren't any guns in them, were there?" He asked with concern.

Your hand caressed his cheek. "No, don't worry. I kept the holsters in your closet."

Jason kissed your forhead as a soft thank you.

"So.. are you actually gonna keep that plushie?" He asked, referring to the Nightwing plushie you bought, a rumbling of jealousy rising in him.

You snorted as you shook your head. "No, I kept the receipt. Besides. It doesn't go with my collection."

His brows furrowed. "Collection?.."

You smiled, taking his hand and bringing him into your bedroom. You opened the closet and reached to the back, pulling out a big, brown box.

Upon opening it, the lid flew open, hardly abke to keep in the many plushies, figures, and clothing items, all based on Red Hood.

Jason's jaw dropped as he looked at all the Red Hood merchandise that you kept.

You pulled out a brown leather jacket that had the red bat symbol at the back of it.

"I've waited forever to finally wear this around the house." You say, putting on the jacket, giving Jason a twirl as yoh showed it off.

Jason breathed out a chuckle, placing his hands on your hips, pulling you close. "You look good, babe," he mumbles, his nose tickling yours. "Should wear it more often," his voice dropped, a suggestive tone laced within it.

You smirked back. "Yeah, that was the plan."

MAN HAVE I MISSED WRITING

okay, back to studying because i can practically hear Missy telling me to go study

368 notes · View notes

viking-raider · 1 year ago

Text

Syverson Family War

Summary-> You've just gotten off a 12-hour shift at the hospital, only to return home and get swept up into a Syverson Family War, between your husband and three children.

Pairing-> Austin "Sy" Syverson/Reader

Word Count-> 3.2k

Warnings-> PG: FLUFF, Cotton Candy Fluff, Light Teasing, Soft!Sy, SAHD!Sy, Nurse!Reader

Inspiration-> This Instagram Video (If this isn't Sy vibes, idk who Sy is!)

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction!

Divider by-> @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

You were more than excited to be home after a nearly twelve hour shift at the hospital. Your back throbbed and your feet were screaming at the top of their arches from running up and down the ER department. You didn’t even bother gathering up your tote of stuff, as you got out of your car, since you had the next two days off. So, they would wait until a two hour long bubble bath and a nap with eternity.

But upon entering your modest, two story Ranch house, you were bombarded by silence. Your eyes narrowed as they scanned the dining room to your left and living room to your right, ears pricking up for the slightest movement from the bedrooms upstairs.

Something was clearly off. It was almost never this quiet in the Syverson household.

There was always some sort of ruckus or chaos in motion. Your husband blasting music in the garage, where he had set up a small work-out area or telling off whatever game was playing on the enormous tv in the living room. If it wasn’t Sy, it was a combination of your three kids. Your two boys wrestling each other over a toy or giggles, or your daughter discovering a new, little critter from the backyard and bringing it in, before promptly losing it. Or all three kids getting into mischief with each other somehow.

But when it was silent, you knew there were real shenanigans afoot.

You drew in a deep breath, mustering what energy you had left inside yourself, for Syverson Madness. “Guys! I’m home!” You called out, swinging the front door shut with a little more strength than usual, as you moved a step deeper into the powderkeg. “What are you nuts up to?” You mumbled to yourself, moving towards the living room, still trying to keep yourself alert for any kind of trap or scare.

Little good it did, as a strong hand suddenly grabbed your elbow and yanked you backwards into the dark portal of the laundry room door, with a yelp. The hand shifted to your mouth and the door closed with a soft click.

“Ssshh.” Sy cooed at you, moving his hand away. “Gotta keep quiet, Sugar Butt.” He chuckled at you.

You could hear the smirk on his bearded face, before he clicked on the tactical flashlight he was carrying. You looked him over in the dim light, discovering him in his full Army tactical gear, minus his bare feet. He even sported his night vision goggles clipped to his helmet.

“What in the he-” You were about to demand, scanning him again, but spotted one of your son’s Nerf Rifles strapped to his back. “Give me that!” You huffed, gobsmacked, as you took the light and started checking him and the laundry room out. “Good Lord, Almighty!” You laughed, shaking your head.

He had a Nerf pistol in his thigh holster, a pump gun on the dryer, a blaster beside that, and copious amounts of ammo on the washer, with pop grenades. Which you knew were filled with either baby powder or flour from the last time a Syverson War had been declared on the house.

You looked up at your husband, bottom lip trapped between your teeth for a moment. “How long has World War Syverson Seven been going?” You asked, completely amused by how lost Sy got into playing with your kids, and how much they loved it when he did.

Sy looked at his watch. “Since just after breakfast. Myles chose violence and shot Ada in the back, while she was trying to color a picture. Tears ensued, which caused Colt to declare revenge on Myles, in Ada’s name.”

“You got roped into this, how?”

“Ada got in on it, insisting she didn’t need a man to defend her honor…”

“That’s my girl.” You chuckled, smirking.

“It is.” Sy laughed back. “But, in defending her own honor, she shot me in the leg, while I was trying to get them to chill out.”

You nodded your head, seeing all the pieces fall into place. “Which, obviously, by the Syverson Code, requires you to defend your own honor.”

“Obviously, Angel!” Sy answered, faking outrage. “You should know that, after fifteen years!”

“Fifteen years, and I’m still jotting things down in the Syverson Code of Conduct booklet!” You laughed, shaking your head, there were a lot of things Sy lived and would die by.

They were many of the things that made your heart swell with love for the burly, ex-Army vet.

“So, how do I configure into this madness?”

“You just got home from a super long shift, Sugar.” He answered, brow pinching. “You’re an innocent bystander. I just had to save you before one of those hellions out there shot you.”

“My savior.” You cooed, pushing up on your toes and kissing him. “My back and arches appreciate you.”

“The Lair is off limits, per usual.” He informed you. “We just have to make it out of here and upstairs.”

“Quite the way.” You commented, mentally mapping your and Sy’s route out of the laundry room, through the living room and entryway, then finally up the stairs and home free to the master bedroom, which was referred to as the Lair, where you could rest without having to worry about the family war.

“All right, Captain, what’s the plan?”

He gave you the Syverson wink and reached over your head, there was a sharp click and from outside the laundry room, you heard the kids’ screech. Sy had thrown the power switch to the house, plunging it into the darkness. You chuckled, smirking, understanding his tactic now.

“Stay close.” He whispered to you, clicking his ammo to his vest on, before moving to the door. “The enemy is sneaky and uncivilized.” He said, pressing his body against it, listening carefully to the other side.

“Like their father.” You mumbled under your breath with a snort, huddling yourself against his back.

“I’d say more like their mama.” Sy commented back, reaching back to pop you on the bum, then slowly cracked open the door.

You shuffled out after him, casting glances over your shoulder every few seconds. It was easy going, getting through the living room. Sy had defended it mightily throughout the day, so the kids had become shy about entering their father’s domain. You trusted Sy to protect you, from everything, your kids included. Silly as that was to think.

“We have movement at 12!” Sy called out, catching your nine year old, Myles, through his night vision in his fort, consisting of the dining table and chairs that he was hunkered down underneath, belly crawling from one end towards the other, closing the gap between himself and the entryway. “He’s under the table. A sneaky little sniper boy.” He snickered, shouldering the Nerf-AR resting against his side.

You scrunched yourself up behind Sy’s wide and muscular back as Nerf Darts started whizzing by, striking the scuffed wood floor or sticking to the walls. Both Sy and Myles laughed maniacally as they shot at each other; tossing weak insults on top of it.

“Milk drinker!” Myles shouted, hustling to reload.

“Lizard eater!” Sy shot back, smirking.

“Now, boys!” You scolded weakly, snorting.

They continued their assault, Sy guiding you towards a pocket the bottom stairs provided coming down into the foyer, allowing you to take cover and him to shoot through the bars of the steps.

“Are you hit?” You asked, playing along with the game.

“Nothing I’ll die from.” He answered, reloading his weapons. “But, you can be a good nurse and kiss them all better.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“That’s cheating!” Myles yelled out.

“Well, If I was over there, I’d do the same thing to you, Bud!” You called back, planting a kiss on Sy’s cheek, his well-groomed beard tickling your skin.

“An aid relief truce then?” Myles suggested, poking his head out from under the table.

“Certainly not!” Sy barked back, popping a Nerf dart off over his son’s head, sending him scurrying back into his fort. “She’s my nurse! I found her out wandering the battlefield, unprotected. If you wanted her to be your nurse, you should have found her first, yourself!”

“I almost did! Before you kidnapped her!” Myles huffed, hotly. “You’re holding her hostage!” He suddenly insisted. “Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll rescue you!”

“Oh my, a hostage situation.” You sighed, licking your lips. “I appreciate your devotion, son.”

“Ha.” Sy scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, boy. I’m escorting this lovely lady to the Lair.”

As Sy and Myles argued over who was going to have the pleasure of accompanying you upstairs, you caught a slight movement behind you and Sy, lurking in the darkness of the living room; moving slowly. It vanished behind the couch, and for a moment you thought it was just Aika, but when something popped up over the back of the couch, then quickly ducked down again, you were then positive it wasn’t the old girl. But your Daddy’s girl, Ada. Of all the children, six year old Ada was the most like her father. She’d been attached to Sy’s hip from the moment she left your womb. Hanging on Sy’s every word, movement and action, that sometimes it spooked you.

So, watching her stealth around in the dark of the living room was both impressive, amusing and a tad terrifying. Especially since you knew the little hellion was coming for revenge on her father and brother. There were no alliances between them during a Syverson war. You were the only ally allowed to go between the four of them. Mending wounds, mostly pretend ones, but sometimes there were real ones. Sometimes, you’d team up with one of them, to take on the other three.

“On your six! In the living room, babe!” You warned, snagging the Nerf pistol from Sy’s thigh holster as he reacted, purely by instinct, removing one of his baby powder pop grenades, tossing it behind him without looking, trusting your instruction.

Ada startled, surprised that you had noticed her, followed by a cloud of baby powder obscuring her view. She came to a halt, upon hurdling the back of the couch, in an attempt to overtake you and Sy. You took aim and fired, the Nerf dart hitting her square in the chest.

“Nice shot, hon.” Sy nodded, patting your leg, then called out to his daughter. “Sorry, Cricket, but that’s a kill shot.” He told her, his voice soft, but uncompromising.

Ada huffed, pressing her lips together. “Not fair, Mama isn’t supposed to shoot us! She doesn’t have anything to avenge!” She protested, crossing her arms.

Sy chuckled, cocking his head at her. “Mama has her own special rules in our Wars, you know that, Cricket.”

“I’ll come kiss it better, but you know Daddy’s five minute rule.” You chimed in, feeling bad about it, you honestly hadn’t meant to hit her, it was just a lucky shot.

But rules were rules. You could go and kiss her boo-boo better, allowing her to enter the War game again. However, Sy had made a rule that anyone hit with a Kill Shot had to be dead for at least five minutes, before you could render aid to them.

“All right.” Ada sighed, before flopping to the floor with a dramatic sound.

“Where were we?” Sy asked, then nodded. “Right, Myles, kindly allow me to escort my Nurse upstairs.”

“No deal, Pops.” Myles replied, shaking his head.

“Can I just go upstairs on my own?” You asked, peeking at your son through the spindles of the stairs.

Myles was quiet for a moment, considering. “Only if I get to keep you to myself for an hour!” He finally answered.

“Oh, he drives a hard bargain, that son of yours.” You teased Sy, tickling the back of his neck.

“That he does.” Sy agreed, shivering, as he brewed over Myles' offer. “You can have her for thirty minutes!” He negotiated with him.

“Thirty minutes!” Myles barked in outrage.

“You have to go to bed in two hours, boy!” Sy reminded him.

“So, give her to me for an hour!”

You smirked and pressed your palm to the base of Sy’s neck, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his ear, so only he could hear you. “Let him have me for the hour, Austin. I’ve been gone for twelve hours, and they have to go to bed in two. It’ll give me a little bit of time with them.” You reasoned with your husband. “We’ll have all night together after they're asleep, and the next two days, when they're at school.”

Sy nodded, rubbing his lips together. “You’re right.” He whispered back to you. “All right, you can have her for an hour, after you let her go upstairs and do what she pleases.”

A muffled yes came from the dining room. “Deal! You’re free to come out, Mama!”

“Thank God! I have to pee really bad.” You chuckled, kissing Sy, before scurrying out of your hiding place with him and started up the stairs, as you reached the top, you wondered where your middle child, Colt, was.

The seven year old was oddly missing in action the whole time the rest of you were battling and negotiating downstairs. As you reached the top, a cry filled the air, startling the life out of you, before a fury of Nerf darts peppered you all over.

“COLT!” You howled at the boy, dashing for your bedroom door and taking cover behind it.

“Colt Nero Syverson!” Sy’s voice called up the stairs. “You know the rules about firing upon your mother!”

“I’m sorry, Mama.” Colt’s soft voice whimpered in the dark to you. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“It’s fine, little man.” You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Just mind yourself.”

“Okay, Ma.” He smiled, ducking back into his hiding place; his room.

“Oh, this family.” You sighed again, closing the door and rushing for the en suite, tugging off your shoes as you went. “Ooo.” You cooed, enjoying the feeling of the icy tile on your bare, throbbing feet.

Bladder empty, you splashed some cool water in your face, then got out of your nursing scrubs, replacing them with a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top. You laid down on your and Sy’s enormous bed, dozing off for a couple minutes before getting back up to fulfill the promises you made to Ada and Myles.

“Colt, I’m coming out, please don’t shoot me.” You called through the crack you opened in the bedroom door.

“Okay, Mama!” He called back.

Coming out of the room, you stood at the top of the stairs, but frowned and turned, heading down to Colt’s room. “What are you doing, buddy?” You asked, peeking around the doorframe, seeing he had made a little barricade and was hunkered down behind his bed. “Why haven’t you come down to challenge your dad, brother and sister?”

“Oh, I have, Ma!” He answered, his smile showing off the two front teeth he lost a month before. “I’m just waiting for the most opportune time to go back downstairs to finish off whoever is left.” He sat up on his bed a little more, eyeing you. “How many of them are left?”

You smirked at him, slyly. “You know I’m not allowed to give away information to someone, especially if I’m not teamed up with them, little man.”

“Poop.” He huffed, slapping his mattress and sitting back. “Do you wanna be on my team?” He asked, hopeful.

“Sadly, your Papa had to bargain me off to your brother for an hour, so I could go to the Lair and change.” You informed him, giving him a sympathetic smile. “But, how about this? When it’s bedtime, I’ll come and read to you, whatever you want.”

“Eragon!” He gasped, enthralled again.

“Deal.”

“Deal!”

“All right, wee man, if I don’t see you before then, I’ll see you at bed time.” You cooed at him.

You headed back downstairs, pausing on the middle landing. “I’m coming downstairs, don’t shoot!” You announced to Sy and Myles.

“All clear!” They both called back.

You joined them downstairs, finding them just as you left them.

“Mommy, can I be alive again?” Ada called to you from her spot behind the couch.

“Yes, love, I’m coming right now to fix your boo-boo.” You replied, crossing the entryway and leaned over her, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “There, sweet girl. All healed and alive again. Off you trot. Why don’t you watch a movie on your tablet, until bedtime?”

“Thanks, Mama!” She giggled, hugging your waist, then ran off.

With your daughter resurrected, you joined Myles in the dining room, and despite the soreness in your body, got under the table with him. “Just you, Colt and your Papa now, big man.” You told him, propping your head up on your hand. “Tough crowd.”

“But I got you, Mama.” Myles countered. “You can heal all my wounds.”

“Mm, that I can.” You nodded, casting your eyes past the table legs and made out Sy’s outline. “But, that’s about all the energy I’ve got for you. Bringing your sister back to life took a lot out of me. So, I can’t help you fight either of them.”

“That’s fine. I can finish them.”

You reached out and brushed your fingers through his tamed, black curls. “I have all the faith in the world in you, my sweet boy.” You cooed at him, lovingly.

“Moooom!” He groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Time’s wastin’, kid!” Sy called out.

“You stay here, mom. I’m gonna sneak around.” Myles said, wiggling back up the table towards the back entry of the kitchen.

“I’ll be here.” You replied, propping your head up on your hand, eyes drooping for a moment.

At least, you thought it was for a moment, until you felt a pair of strong hands grab your ankles and yanked you out from underneath the table, startling you awake from the nap you dozed into.

“Jesus.”

“Naw, just me, Angel.” Sy grinned, helping you up.

“Where’s Myles?” You asked, rubbing at the sleep in your eyes and noticing he wasn’t in his tactical gear anymore, but just a pair of shorts.

“Out cold in bed.” He answered, steadying you with his hands on your hips.

“But…” You frowned, glancing at the stairs over your shoulder.

“Colt came down not long after Myles tried sneaking around me through the kitchen.” Sy explained to you, a proud little glint in his blue eyes. “Took out both of us, the little rascal.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “We found you asleep and they understood you had a long day, and would spend time with them tomorrow, after they came home from school.”

You pressed your forehead against his chest. “What in the world would I do without you?” You cooed, sighing heavily.

“I don’t know what we would do without you.” He replied, encasing you in his muscular arms and resting his chin on top of your head, rocking gently. “Let’s go to bed, love.” He whispered, scooping you up off your sore feet and carried you upstairs, to bed.

You moaned softly, sinking into the mattress as Sy tossed the blankets over you and kissed your temple, before joining.

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #Syverson #captain syverson #syverson x reader #syverson fluff #cpt syverson #syverson fanfiction #Austin Syverson #Syverson x You #Syverson Family War #Syverson Family War *fic*#Stay at Home Dad!Sy #Soft!Sy #Nurse!Reader

391 notes · View notes

kitkatscabinet · 10 months ago

Text

Are you there God?

Summary: A chance meeting in the dilapidated remains of your mother's old church ends up changing the trajectory of two lives

Pairing: Jason Todd x f! Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, mentions of Christianity and nsfw themes. Unedited.

There’s a chill in the air, carrying with it the promise of an upcoming winter. The old church offers little reprieve from the harsh bite of the night air, the wind easily pushing through dilapidated wood.

The many near burnt-out candles that flicker and cast dancing shadows across the darkened chapel emanate no heat. Nor does the flimsy jacket you’d hastily adorned before this impromptu midnight visit.

Your fingertips tingle from the cool temperature, even as you exhale smoke from the cigarette you’d used one of the dying candles to light.

Sacrilegious sure, you could perfectly picture the scowling faces of the nuns if they could see you, but it was one of those nights—the nights where you needed something, anything to take the edge off.

And if nicotine was your preferred poison? Well better that than heroin you argued.

Besides, if God existed then he had bigger issues to worry about than you sprinkling some ash on the floor of an old dilapidated church slated for condemnation.

A tinge of sorrow hits you as you take in the poor state of what was once your mother’s church. You’ve no fond memories of the place, having hated being dragged along every Sunday by your more devout mother in your childhood. Now though, it’s one of your last remaining connections to your long passed mother.

Gotham had never been an overtly religious city, you guessed it was hard to believe in a supposedly merciful God when you lived in such a shithole. And ever since the discovery of aliens, demons and the like, Gotham’s faith in anything divine had long since seemed to die out completely.

You stare up at the wooden Jesus hanging behind the pew contemplatively. It’s silly, you’re not even remotely religious but something compels you to speak to the empty space regardless.

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned” That was how it went right? “It’s been… well forever since my last confession.”

“I look like a priest to you darlin?” A startled screech leaves your lips at the unexpected masculine voice. Jolting, the butt of your cigarette flies from your hand, your free one clutching at your chest.

“Jesus Christ!” You exclaimed, trying to calm your hammering heart.

“Not quite.” The voice rumbles as a muscular figure steps into your view. Your eyes trail from booted feet up to thick thighs adorned with gun holsters that inspire some incredibly less-than-holy thoughts. But it’s the blazing red bat symbol stretched across the man’s chest that makes your mouth run dry, it's the Red Hood.

You’d never seen the gun-toting, violent, vigilante in person but it's unmistakable who’s standing across from you now. Forcing your breathing to even out, you allow your muscles to relax as you lean back against the wooden pew.

“Too pretty to be a priest.” You agree with his earlier statement, watching in amusement as the vigilante stutters in his steps. It was cute, watching a man of his renown and stature suddenly flounder in embarrassment.

“Didn’t exactly take you to be the religious sort.” You say, gaze never once leaving his form as he slowly sits down on the creaking bench beside you.

“I’m not.” He grunts.

“Me neither.” You confess, the two of you sitting in companionable silence as you stare up at the wooden Jesus that presided over the church.

You don’t know what compels you to keep returning to that dilapidated old church (that’s a lie, you know damn well why), but like clockwork, every Sunday night you return. And every Sunday night, so does he.

At first, he hadn’t been consistent. Why would he? The Red Hood had no reason to be skulking around a random church, nor did he have a reason to want to see you.

Still, you kept going to that church, and unbeknownst to you, so did he.

Since that first night, Jason Todd had been watching. What had started with concern over a young woman walking alone at night had morphed into curiosity into what he refused to acknowledge was a crush.

Though he’s pretty sure not even the helmet had been able to hide the heart eyes he’d thrown your way when you admitted that Pride and Prejudice was your favourite novel.

He’s late sometimes, bloodied and bruised, but three months following that first fateful meeting, the Red Hood goes out of his way to meet with a random civilian girl.

It was nearing the two-month mark when everything changed. The both of you were forced to acknowledge the underlying tension of the odd and unexpected friendship that had formed in the twilight hours spent under the roof of a God neither of you believed in.

It had been the first time you’d seen him injured, barely a scratch in Jason’s opinion, but the way you’d worked yourself into a frenzy of worry over him, the way you’d dropped to your knees before him and had taken his bloody knuckles into your gentle touch would forever be engraved into his mind.

It’s at that moment that Jason realises God’s not there, because if so then surely he would have smitten Jason then and there for thinking such sinful thoughts in his house. Besides, as far as he was concerned, you were the only entity worth praying to anyway.

He wants so badly to rip off the mask, secret identity be damned, and kiss you breathless. In the end, cowardice wins out, but Jason thinks back on that night often with regret.

“Favourite hero go,” Red asks, turning to look at you with what you imagine is a smirk under his stupid red helmet.

“It’s not you if that’s what you’re fishing for,” you grin, looking back up at the ceiling from where you lay on the wooden floor, protected from the dust and splinters by an old picnic blanket.

The terrifying sort-of-crimelord lying beside you scoffs in offence like the big baby he is.

“Ok then who is it?”

“Wonder Woman.”

“Oh that’s such a basic bitch fucking answer.” You know he’s joking, Red’s made it clear that despite his distaste for Batman he respects the hell out of Wonder Woman. Still, you entertain him, rolling your eyes dramatically.

“Fine, you wanna know the real answer? It’s Black Canary, but specifically when she was rocking that full-body black leotard with the mesh cutouts on the legs and the cropped bomber jacket.”

There’s a stunned silence that follows your passionate answer before Red bursts into laughter.

“Oh, fuck you,” you quip, though there’s no actual heat behind your words.

“You wish.” Any witty retort instantly dies on your lips and you’re suddenly distinctly aware of the heat emanating off his shoulder which brushes lightly against yours.

Red has stopped laughing, coughing to clear his throat as you suddenly wish for the floor to swallow you whole. For anything to distract you from the way your mind suddenly races, filled with various images of different positions you could achieve right there in front of Jesus.

“Right, well, I should probably go. Bad guys to catch and all.” It’s painfully awkward and so is your lacklustre response.

“Oh, yeah … yeah.”

Neither of you move though and you don’t think you’ve ever been more hyper-aware of your body and the one lying next to you in your life. You quickly sit up, the vigilante mimicking your movements.

“So um —”

“Well I — ” The both of you speak at once, you motion for him to go first and he clears his throat once more.

“I should probably go now. Bye.” With that, he’s gone so fast he might as well have been the flash, leaving you alone to stew in the mortification and arousal that’s worked its way into your belly.

A scream of frustration rips its way out of your throat when your mind conjures up the very graphic image of you straddling one of Red’s delicious thighs and refuses to drop the line of thought.

Little did you know, Jason had needed to cut his patrol short for the same reason. A cold shower having practically screamed his name.

Footsteps echoed up the aisle towards where you were sat in the front pew, as had become a tradition between you and your vigilante, playfully you turn towards the source. “Hey Red, you’re late — ” the words die on your tongue, mouth running dry as you take in a trio of figures, none of whom are the Red Hood.

The fear must show on your face as you shakily stand, and try to create space from the ominously grinning men.

“What’s the matter darlin?” One of them drawls, and you want to throw up at the use of the petname, that was what he called you.

“Look, I don’t know what you want but my friend will be here soon.” You mentally curse yourself when you notice the way your voice quivers, and the men clearly pick up on it too.

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Fear nearly roots you to your place at the surety in his words, but you live in Gotham and Red Hood has made it his mission to get you to be able to defend yourself.

You don’t think, you just move, and when the nearest guy reaches out to grab your arm you knee him in the balls. He goes down with a howl and you think you break the second guy's nose if the crunch is any indication.

The unmistakable click of a gun’s safety has you stopping in your tracks once more. “That’s it, just settle down now. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours now would we?”

Tears well up in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, unwilling to give them the satisfaction. Goon #2 uses the opportunity to grab your arm in a bruising grip before a blow to the cheek leaves you reeling, black dots dancing across your vision as you struggle to regain your senses.

“Speak for yourself, the little bitch broke my fucking nose.”

“What do you want from me?” You croak when you finally regain the ability to speak, ignoring the metallic taste of blood on your tongue.

“From you? Nothing. It’s not personal darling, but the word around here is that the Red Hood is sweet on ya, and well, I don’t appreciate the way he’s been nosing about my business lately.”

You should be terrified of the implications of that statement, about what these men will do to you, and you are — but you can’t stop thinking about how Red will inevitably blame himself for anything that happens to you.

You close your eyes, trying to make peace with what is likely the hour of your death. You’re in a house of God, you should be praying to him, and yet all you can think of is Red. Your Red.

A gunshot rings out, followed by another, and another. When seconds pass and you feel no pain you open your eyes, just in time to witness the Red Hood reaching gently for your face. Despite yourself, you flinch slightly when his gloved hand brushes lightly against your cheek.

He reels back as if stricken, and immediately you wish to rectify your mistake. With a sob, you launch yourself into his arms, ignoring what is probably the corpses of the three men lying on the ground.

“You saved me,” you mumbled against his chest, relishing in how safe you felt encased in his arms.

“Always.” There’s such surety in that single word, such devotion that you believe him.

“Red — ” you mumble, pulling away to meet what you expect to be the whites of his mask, only to gasp when you find yourself looking into swirling pools of blue-green.

“Jason,” the whispered name is a confession to you alone, though you barely have time to ponder the new information before a pair of lips descend upon your own. Your eyes flutter closed once more, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him impossibly closer.

You’ll deal with the after-effects of what you just experienced later, what almost happened to you, for now, you’re content to remain absorbed in Red’s — in Jason’s arms.

The man who'd been there when God wasn't.

#x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #dc #dc x reader

349 notes · View notes

vellichor-of-the-solivagant · 19 days ago

Text

How To Plant Snapdragons | 18

Task Force 141, Keegan & Konig x Female Criminal!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist / Discord

Trigger Warning: Telling Graves to shut the fuck up

You let go of Graves, pushing him away, and sighed loudly. You raked your eyes over his dirtied, rugged features, considering how the Shadows had handled him earlier. Thankfully, his leg had been bandaged, but the blood was sipping through the fabric. You waved at him. “Come on.”

“I am not getting out of this room when they’re waiting to shoot me.” Graves pointed at the 141 and the leaders of Vaqueros, who all stood in silence outside the room, their grips tightening around their rifles.

Alejandro scoffed and wore a mocking expression on his face. “Good thing you know.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped out of the room, waving at him to follow you. “Get out, Graves. We don’t have all day.”

Graves exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders before limping forward, finally stepping out of his confinement. The moment he did, an unmistakable tension spread through the hallway, Several safeties clicked off, and you could feel the burning gazes of Alejandro and the rest of the team, each of them itching to pull the trigger.

He didn’t cower, but he didn’t meet their eyes either. His hand twitched near his belt, then relaxed. No weapon. No way out, but he knew better than to do anything that would cause them to blast bullets through his body. Graves simply sighed, then shifted his gaze away from the obvious hostility—only to land on the group standing further down the hall.

Keegan, eyes shadowed beneath his balaclava, gave him an unreadable stare, fingers resting near his holsters. Logan stood next to him, jaw clenched, while Hesh had his arms crossed, expression practically daring Graves to open his mouth.

The Shadow himself tilted his head, blinking at them. “And who the hell are they?”

You didn’t bother answering. Instead, you turned on your heel, facing Keegan and the Walkers, and motioned for them to start moving up the stairs. Without hesitation, they followed your lead, stepping past Graves like he was just another piece of debris in their way.

As you passed by the former commander, Hesh’s voice rumbled low beside you, just loud enough for you to catch. “He doesn’t have that much presence.”

You scoffed, eyes still forward. “He’s a snake,” you murmured back. “Sheds his skin whenever things are in his favor.”

Behind you, Soap gave Graves a firm shove forward. “Move it. And don’t try anything, or I won't hesitate to put a bullet in you.”

Graves chuckled, shaking his head. “Damn, MacTavish, watch your fucking tone.”

Soap scoffed. “You’re a backstabbing piece of shite. I don’t owe you a single ounce of respect.”

Graves frowned at his words. “I did not—”

“Shut the fuck up, Graves!” You shouted from the stairs, “If you had told us Shepherd is gonna betray us, then it wouldn’t have come to this, you asshole!”

Graves didn’t respond this time, only exhaling through his nose once again as he limped along the group.

You didn’t turn back to watch, your focus staying ahead as Rodolfo’s voice cut through the comms. “More Vaqueros down the hallway.”

Just as he said that Keegan, Logan, and Hesh pushed themselves against the corner, eyes locked on the corridor ahead. Then, without hesitation, they sprang forward, diving into the path of the rouge Shadows. Muzzles flashed like lightning, the deafening roar of gunfire bouncing off the concrete walls. The enemies barely had enough time to react before they were shot down with precision.

Logan was unrelenting, his rifle held steady as he advanced. A Shadow peeked out from a doorway—he fired twice, center mass, dropping him instantly. Another enemy attempted to rush from the side, but Logan pivoted and swung the butt of his rifle into the man’s temple with a sickening crack before finishing him off with a round to the chest.

Hesh, more aggressive than his brother, pushed forward without hesitation. A Shadow fired wildly at him, the bullets barely grazing past his shoulder as he dove behind a crate. Without missing a beat, he pulled a grenade from his vest, yanked the pin with his teeth, and lobbed it over. A second later, an explosion rocked the hallway, sending dust and shrapnel flying. The Shadows were thrown off their feet, and Hesh wasted no time picking them off as they scrambled to recover.

Keegan moved like a phantom, slipping through the chaos with sharp, calculated motions. He fired a suppressed shot, the bullet snapping through the person's skull before he swiftly ducked behind cover, reloading in a smooth, practiced motion. And damn, if that wasn’t the hottest thing you’d seen all day. You couldn’t help but smile, eyes tracking the way he moved—efficient, ruthless, an absolute menace in combat. The flickering firelight from the guns cast jagged shadows on his features, illuminating his sharp eyes, and the furrow of his brows beneath the balaclava.

Right now, you wanted to grab him by the straps of his vest and kiss him senseless as blood pooled beneath your shoes. Heck, you’d fuck him inside a cell if he wants to.

God help you.

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to snap out of it. You raised your weapon, covering their flank, while Soap and Alejandro took positions to assist. Meanwhile, Rodolfo kept an eye on Graves. You all advanced alongside the Ghosts, pushing through the stronghold with ruthless efficiency.

You moved in tandem with them, dropping low as you took a shot at a Shadow trying to flank Keegan. The bullet tore through his knee, sending him crumpling to the floor with a scream before you put another round in his head.

“Clear the hallway!” Alejandro barked, his voice sharp over the chaos.

Rodolfo fired past you, hitting a Shadow mid-sprint. The man’s body twisted before slamming against the wall, smearing blood as he slid down lifelessly.

Ghost moved with brutal efficiency, his suppressed rifle cutting through enemies like a scalpel. He snapped the stock against a Shadow’s face, shattering his nose before putting a bullet through his skull. Beside him, Soap was a storm of movement, switching between his rifle and pistol as he tore through the opposition.

Graves, still unarmed, stuck close behind, wisely keeping his head low. He watched the fight unfold, eyes narrowed as he took in the sheer force of the combined teams. If he was impressed or bitter, he didn’t say.

Another wave of Shadows tried to reinforce the hallway, but the Walkers weren’t about to let them. Keegan threw a hand signal, and the brothers fanned out. Logan moved to the left, Hesh took the center, and Keegan shifted to the right.

Logan fired in bursts, each shot finding its mark. A Shadow raised his weapon—Logan shot him through the throat before shifting his aim to another. Hesh took the brunt of the enemy fire, dodging between cover as he laid down suppressive shots. Keegan, fast and precise, eliminated stragglers with deadly accuracy.

You took the chance to push forward, vaulting over a fallen body. One Shadow tried to charge you with a knife, but you twisted, grabbing his wrist before driving your own blade up into his ribs. He choked, eyes wide, before you shoved him off.

With a final barrage of bullets, the last of the Shadows dropped, their bodies slumped against the walls and floor.

Silence settled, only broken by the distant sound of boots echoing from the hallway ahead—Vaqueros reinforcements.

“Hallway secure,” Ghost announced, lowering his weapon.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders before glancing at the others. The Walkers checked their weapons, unfazed, while Alejandro and Rodolfo nodded in approval.

Graves, standing at the back, scoffed lightly. “Hell of a show.”

Hesh, without looking back, flipped him off again.

The group moved swiftly through the dimly lit hallways, the scent of gunpowder and scorched metal still heavy in the air. Rounding a corner, you spotted the reinforced cell doors lining the walls—this was it.

Rodolfo stepped forward, nodding toward the control room just ahead. “That’s where we’ll get them out.”

Soap didn’t waste a second. He jogged ahead, slipping into the command post with Rodolfo guiding him. Inside, the glow of outdated monitors cast sharp shadows over the walls. With swift, practiced hands, the Scot scanned the controls before finding what he needed—a single red button, blinking ominously.

“Here goes nothin’,” he muttered, slamming his palm against it.

A mechanical hiss filled the air as the cell doors unlocked one by one. For a brief moment, everything was still—then, the prisoners stormed out.

Vaqueros, some battered and bruised but still burning with resolve, rushed forward. Some stumbled, eyes wary and confused, until they spotted Alejandro standing tall before them.

“Comandante!” one of them gasped, relief breaking through his exhausted expression.

Alejandro grasped the soldier’s shoulder firmly. “Arm up, hermano. It’s time to take back our home.”

Weapons were immediately handed out, and the team worked fast to distribute whatever they had. Some Vaqueros barely hesitated before checking their weapons, while others—especially the ones who had been held the longest—took an extra second to steady themselves.

You handed a rifle to one of them, watching as his trembling fingers curled tightly around the grip. “You good to fight?” you asked, voice firm but not unkind.

The man exhaled sharply, nodding as his grip steadied. “Sí. Time to make these bastards pay.”

Rodolfo scanned the group, his expression hard but focused. “We move fast and clean. Sweep the hallways, and clear the exits. No one gets left behind.”

Soap reappeared from the control room, rolling his shoulders. “We’re on a clock. Shadows’ll notice soon.”

Ghost clicked a fresh magazine into his rifle. “Then we hit them first.”

Hesh smirked, cracking his knuckles. “Now you’re talking.”

You jabbed your brother’s shoulder with a smirk. “Showtime.”

Hesh huffed a small laugh, rolling his shoulders, but before you could take another step, a sudden wave of dizziness crashed over you.

Your vision tunneled, black creeping at the edges of your sight. A sharp, pounding headache struck behind your eyes, a brutal contrast to the adrenaline rushing through your veins. For a moment, your balance faltered—your boots scraping the floor as you stumbled slightly.

“Whoa, hey—” Hesh’s hand was on your arm in an instant, steadying you.

Keegan’s sharp gaze flicked to you immediately, his posture shifting slightly as if ready to catch you. Ghost gave you a questioning look, and even Alejandro frowned, eyes scanning you with concern.

“Y’alright?” Soap’s voice cut through, gruff yet laced with something of a concern.

Graves, ever the opportunist, raised an eyebrow. “Not gonna drop dead on us, are you, Snapdragon?”

You forced a breath through your nose, shaking your head as you quickly planted your feet, regaining control. The moment passed, though the dull throb in your skull lingered.

“Nothing,” you muttered, brushing Hesh’s hand off and rolling your shoulders like it was just a cramp. “Just a head rush.”

None of them looked convinced, but you weren’t about to let them dig into it. Instead, you tightened your grip on your rifle and strode forward, ignoring the way their gazes followed you.

Ghost suddenly pushed forward, his broad frame cutting in front of you before you could take another step.

“You’re not going first,” he muttered over his shoulder, voice firm and leaving no room for argument.

You narrowed your eyes but didn’t fight it—there was no time. With Ghost taking point, the group followed, jogging down the corridor until you reached a jagged opening in the wall. The explosion that had torn through it left twisted metal and chunks of concrete scattered across the ground, revealing another part of the prison—a mess hall.

The second your boots hit the ledge, you took in the scene below—rows of overturned tables, trays, and food scattered from previous fights, and the flickering glow of emergency lights barely illuminating the space.

“Move!” Ghost ordered, and one by one, the gang leaped down. Footfalls echoed like gunshots against the cold floor.

Bullets whizzed past your head the second you landed, slamming into the walls and sending sparks flying. The Shadows had already taken position, dug in behind flipped tables and kitchen counters, laying down suppressive fire.

You dove behind a steel serving station, back pressed against it as rounds ricocheted off the surface. “Contact—2 o’clock!” you shouted.

Keegan moved first, fast and silent, slipping between cover and picking off a Shadow with a single suppressed shot. His rifle barely made a sound, but the body hitting the floor did.

“Grenade out!” Soap’s voice cut through the chaos as he pulled the pin with his teeth and lobbed a frag straight toward the Shadows’ cover.

Boom!

The explosion rocked the room, sending bodies flying and shattering nearby glass.

“Holy shit—” Hesh muttered, shielding his face from the debris before popping up and unloading a burst into the disoriented enemies.

You didn’t hesitate, vaulting over your cover and snapping your rifle up, taking down a Shadow who was still reeling from the blast.

Ghost was already in motion, moving like a force of nature. He fired a few precise shots, dropping two Shadows before flipping a table onto its side and kicking it forward for more cover.

Logan, silent and deadly, rushed the left flank, clearing a path with ruthless efficiency. He used his knife when needed, quick and brutal.

At the center of it all, Graves had taken cover behind a pillar, occasionally firing back but staying mostly out of the way. You didn’t bother looking his way—you had more important things to focus on.

“Push up!” Alejandro commanded, leading a group of Vaqueros forward. They took the opening your team had created, sweeping through the room and gunning down any remaining resistance.

Within moments, the last Shadow fell, their body slumping over an overturned bench.

Silence followed, save for the distant sound of crackling flames and the ragged breaths of your team.

Soap exhaled, grinning as he nudged Ghost. “Now that was a proper fuckin’ mess.”

Ghost grunted, rolling his shoulders. “Least we’re consistent.”

You wiped a bit of dust off your face, glancing around at the destruction. Blood pooled near the bodies smoke from the grenade still lingering in the air. You cracked your neck, gripping your rifle tighter as you turned to the others. “Alright. Who’s ready to crash the next room?”

Keegan rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he scanned the room. “We need an exit, not more trouble, dumbass,” he muttered.”

You shot him a glare, ready to fire back with a snarky comeback, but before you could, a Vaquero near the back shouted, “Aquí! Found an exit!”

The group shifted their attention to the Vaquero, who pointed at a heavy, reinforced door near the far end of the mess hall. The only problem was that the door was locked tight. Its metal bars and bolted lock made it look more like a vault than a way out.

Without a second thought, Ghost stepped up, pushing past you with a quick shove. “Stay close,” he ordered in that low, steady voice.

You grumbled but followed his lead as he pulled out his tool—a heavy, compact cutting device—and set to work on the lock.

Soap crouched next to you, eyes scanning the hallway behind them. “Hurry up, Ghost. We don’t need more company,” he muttered, hands twitching near his weapon.

Ghost didn’t respond, his attention focused entirely on the lock. Sparks flew as the cutter chewed through the metal, grinding and hissing with every twist.

The seconds stretched on, tense and tight. The others were ready to move, weapons raised, eyes darting around in the uneasy silence of the hallway.

Finally, the lock gave way with a satisfying clunk. Ghost shoved the door open with a grunt, revealing a narrow passage leading to another section of the prison.

“Let's move,” he said, his tone firm, stepping aside to let the others through.

Rifle in hand, you dashed through the door, followed closely by Keegan. The hallway ahead was dim, but the weight of your weapons and the sound of footsteps echoed.

Alejandro moved forward, his grip tightening around his weapon as he took the lead. “Weapons hot,” he ordered, his voice carrying a sharp edge of authority. Without hesitation, the group followed as he advanced down the hallway, turning a sharp corner before descending a flight of stairs at a quick pace. The air was thick with the lingering scent of gunpowder and blood, but there was no time to linger—every second wasted meant more Shadows regrouping.

As boots pounded against concrete, Alejandro spoke over his shoulder. “We link up with the others and exfil the fuck out of here.”

“Already got vehicles waiting outside,” Rodolfo responded, barely out of breath. “And Ghost planted some surprises under the Shadows’ rides to make sure they don’t follow.”

A low chuckle came from Ghost. “Didn’t do it alone,” he admitted, glancing toward the others as they ran. “Had help—Johnny, her, and . . . and Russ, and the Walkers.”

Alejandro nodded in approval, his focus still ahead. “Good work. Now let’s—” He suddenly paused for a fraction of a second, a thought crossing his mind. “—ah, I cannot call Soap Johnny.”

Soap, just a step behind, let out an amused breath. “Aye, only Ghost can pull it off.”

That piqued your curiosity. You raised a brow, glancing sideways at Soap. “Wait, so I can’t call you Johnny?”

A grin spread across Soap’s face as he glanced at you. “I suppose I can make an exception,” he said with a playful tilt of his head.

You smirked, letting out a soft huff. “Lucky me.”

Despite the tension of the mission, a brief flicker of amusement passed through the group before Alejandro refocused on the objective. “Move, move!” he urged, pushing forward with renewed determination.

As you prepared to fire off another quip at Soap, a firm yet grounding weight settled on your shoulder. Keegan’s gloved hand. You felt his fingers press down lightly, not forceful, but enough to make you immediately clamp your mouth shut. Your lips pressed into a thin line, and without a single word, you yielded to silence.

No one else seemed to notice, too focused on their rapid escape. The moment Ghost wrenched the door open, the gang rushed out into the open.

A wide yard sprawled before you, littered with rusted, broken-down vehicles, crumbling walls, and scattered debris. The remnants of past battles were everywhere, and among the mess, Shadows were already dug in—waiting.

“CONTACT!” Alejandro barked, just as the first hail of gunfire ripped toward you.

The gang scrambled for cover, diving behind whatever they could find—burnt-out trucks, shattered concrete, old steel beams. Bullets tore through the air, kicking up dust and debris as Shadows rained down fire from higher vantage points.

Hesh, crouched low behind an overturned vehicle, palmed a grenade. With an easy smirk, he reared his arm back and launched it like he was pitching a fastball. The grenade arced high, spinning toward a cluster of Shadows taking position near a makeshift barricade.

BOOM!

The explosion sent bodies flying, the sheer force scattering debris like shrapnel.

“Damn, that was a hell of a throw!” Soap called out, ducking behind a half-broken wall.

Just then, a fresh barrage of bullets came screaming toward them. Soap reacted in an instant, angling his rifle up and firing at the top of the wall where enemy gunmen were raining hell on them. The shots forced the Shadows to duck, momentarily halting their onslaught.

Hesh, chest rising and falling from the adrenaline, glanced at Soap with a smirk. “Appreciate the cover.”

You saw the exchange from where you crouched behind a rusted-out truck, an amused smile tugging at your lips.

You jogged past the towering concrete pillars, boots thudding against the dust-covered ground. For a moment, your brain latched onto the sheer size of them, unbidden calculations starting to form. How much cement did that take? Gravel… sand… reinforcement bars? Rebar density, PSI strength, Mix ratio . . .

You frowned. Wait—what’s the ratio for structural integrity again?

Doubt crept in almost immediately.

“Snapdragon!” Keegan’s sharp voice cut through your spiraling thoughts like a blade.

You jerked, blinking hard before slapping your own cheek—focus, dammit! This wasn’t the time for mental gymnastics over structural integrity. Your head pounded, the nagging headache pressing at your skull, but you shoved it aside and hurried forward to rejoin the group.

Your distraction hadn’t gone unnoticed. Keegan shot you a look, sharp and assessing, but he didn’t say anything. You appreciated that.

A sudden warning snapped through the comms.

“Sniper on the roof!” a Vaquero called out, voice taut with urgency.

Everyone instinctively ducked, pressing into cover as a high-caliber round whizzed past, chipping the edge of a broken-down vehicle.

Without hesitation, Keegan moved. He shifted out just enough, quick eyes tracking the glint of a scope perched on the rooftop.

Crack!

A single shot. The sniper crumpled, lifeless, before they could even react.

Ghost, crouched beside him, tilted his head slightly in approval before giving Keegan a solid nod. No words were needed—just silent recognition.

Keegan merely huffed, lowering his rifle as if that had been the easiest thing in the world.

The roar of an engine cut through the chaos, tires screeching against the pavement as a truck swerved into the yard. The Shadows inside wasted no time, pouring out with rifles raised, their muzzles flashing as they fired toward your team.

Ghost’s voice crackled over the comms, cool and composed despite the gunfire. “That’s one of the trucks I planted a bomb on.”

Soap, ducking behind the cover, gave a sharp nod. “On it.” He yanked a small detonation remote from his vest, thumb pressing firmly onto the button.

The truck erupted in a violent explosion, flames consuming the vehicle as debris and bodies were thrown in all directions. The shockwave hit like a punch to the chest, and just as you ducked, a large chunk of metal whizzed past your head, missing you by mere inches.

Heart hammering, you scrambled to a more secure position—shadowed, covered. You exhaled, steadying your breath, gripping your rifle tighter. But as you shifted into position, ready to fire—sharp pain tore through your side.

Your breath hitched, a choked gasp slipping past your lips. You twisted your body just enough to see the Shadow behind you, a knife buried in your side. Instinct took over—before he could yank it out and go for another strike, you raised your gun and pulled the trigger.

Blood splattered across your face as the Shadow’s body went limp, collapsing to the ground with a dull thud, the sound drowned by the gunfire and explosions around you.

Gritting your teeth, you reached down, wrapping a hand around the hilt of the blade. You yanked it out in one swift motion, hissing as a fresh wave of pain flared through your torso. It wasn’t too deep—your clothing and gear had absorbed most of it—but fuck, it still burned.

Pushing forward, you forced yourself back into the fight.

That’s when you noticed the deep, thrumming sound cutting through the battlefield.

A helicopter loomed above, its side doors open, Shadows inside firing down at the team. Rounds pinged off the ground, sparking against debris as everyone took cover, bullets tearing through the air.

You inhaled sharply, lifting your rifle.

Your vision narrowed.

You took aim.

Your finger squeezed the trigger.

The bullet sliced through the air, striking the helicopter’s rotor assembly just as a missile streaked in from the distance—fast, precise, and lethal. The impact was immediate. The chopper detonated mid-air, metal, and fire bursting out in every direction. Its remains spun wildly, trailing smoke and debris as it lost altitude, crashing down in a violent explosion on the other side of the prison wall. The shockwave rattled the ground beneath your feet, the heat licking at your skin even from afar.

For a split second, the battlefield quieted, as if everyone paused to register what had just happened.

Then Ghost’s voice cut through the moment, his tone sharp and unwavering. “That was Price.”

Soap let out a triumphant laugh, pumping a fist in the air. “Aye! That’s my fuckin’ Cap’n!”

Graves, standing at the back, scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “And how the hell did Price even know where we were?”

You exhaled deeply, heart still hammering from the chaos, and turned your head toward him with a glare. Without hesitation, you snapped, “Shut the fuck up.”

Then, like a ghost from the past, a voice crackled through the comms—gravelly, steady, commanding.

“All Bravo and Vaqueros, top o’ the wall. Get here, and I’ll get you out. How copy?”

Your breath hitched for just a second. That voice. Price.

A weight you hadn’t even realized you were carrying lifted from your chest.

Ghost pressed two fingers to his comms, voice clipped and sure. “Affirmative. Moving now.”

A moment passed before Rodolfo, still breathing heavily from the fight, turned sharply toward Ghost. “Who the hell is Price?” His voice carried over the gunfire, frustration, and urgency laced into the words.

Soap, shoving a fresh mag into his rifle with an audible click, smirked. “A friend.”

Alejandro huffed a short laugh, shaking his head as he moved forward. “I like him already.”

Before anyone could say more, a plume of green smoke curled into the air beyond the wall ahead, bright against the darkened sky. The telltale mark of an exfil. Alejandro caught sight of it first, his sharp eyes locking onto the signal like a hawk. Without hesitation, he turned to his brothers, his voice booming. “Vaqueros, move to the wall!”

The team surged forward, navigating through the wreckage of rusted-out vehicles and the scattered bodies of fallen Shadows. The battlefield was still alive with sporadic gunfire, bullets snapping past as they kept low, weaving between debris. The heat of the earlier explosion still lingered in the air, the scent of burning metal thick in your lungs.

As you pushed forward, Hesh fell into step beside you with his brother, his expression tight with distrust. “So, that’s the guy you left us for?” His voice was edged with skepticism, but beneath it was something else—concern.

Without hesitation, you answered, “Yes.”

He turned his head toward you, brows furrowed at the certainty in your tone. You didn’t look at him. You didn’t need to. Your eyes were locked ahead, focused on the rising green smoke, your grip firm on your rifle as you moved.

“I’ve confided in him before,” you continued, voice steady despite the rapid pounding in your chest. “About Shepherd. About my father.” You exhaled sharply, adjusting your hold on your weapon as another round of bullets whizzed past. “If there’s anyone I trust to get us out of here alive other than you guys, it’s him.”

Hesh didn’t respond immediately, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw the way his jaw tensed—processing, considering.

Then, with a sharp inhale, he nodded once. “Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s move.”

Meanwhile, Keegan’s sharp eyes flickered up toward the wall, scanning the height and calculating the best way up. Then, almost instinctively, he glanced over his shoulder. His gaze found you and the Walkers moving swiftly through the chaos, weaving through debris and keeping pace with the group.

The ropes descended with a rapid swoosh, dropping down the wall like lifelines, each coil slapping against the concrete in the dimming light. Ghost was the first to move, gripping the rope with practiced ease, his weight shifting as he started hauling himself up. His voice was calm, sharp as ever, even as he looked back at the team.

“Clear for now, but don’t get too comfortable. Shadows are on their way.”

He didn’t need to say more. The urgency in his tone was enough. The team had no time to waste.

Soap was right behind Ghost, his movements fluid and fast. Hesh followed quickly after, Vaqueros trailing in tow as well as Graves. The ropes were beginning to stretch taut with their weight as they scrambled up the wall.

As your hand reached for the rope, a bullet zipped past you, its shriek cutting through the air like a razor. Your heart skipped a beat, and you instinctively ducked, adrenaline hitting you hard. The blast of wind from the bullet’s near-miss still tingled in your ear, and before you could react further, Logan’s voice called out behind you.

You spun around just in time to see Logan sprinting toward a Shadow who had fired at you, moving with deadly intent to end him. Your breath caught, instinct pulling you to stop him.

“No,” you snapped, voice harsh. “Don’t kill him. I’m bringing the bastard back.”

Logan paused, just for a moment, giving you a look of uncertainty, but he trusted you, nodding grimly. You quickly took position, covering him as he closed the distance. Your rifle barked, cutting down Shadows who had shifted their attention to Logan as he reached the enemy soldier.

The shots rang out, hitting their mark with precision, the thunderous sounds mixing with the crackling of distant explosions. You barely noticed the fire lighting up the night sky as you focused on keeping Logan covered.

Logan, undeterred, reached the Shadow and, with a swift move, knocked him unconscious. He dragged the limp body toward the rope, his muscles straining as he maneuvered with the weight of the hostage in tow.

You stayed low, scanning for any more threats, until Logan reached the rope. Without hesitation, he grabbed on, effortlessly hauling both himself and the unconscious Shadow up with a few determined pulls, the man’s limp body trailing behind.

You stayed alert, the seconds stretching long, but as Logan disappeared over the edge of the wall, you grabbed your rope and followed, climbing with urgency.

As you scaled the wall, the pain in your side flared with every movement. Your muscles screamed, and each pull of the rope sent a jolt of agony through you, the wound on your side reopening from the strain. The dizziness crept in again, the world tilting as your vision blurred momentarily. You gritted your teeth, clutching your side as if holding yourself together.

Your hand reached for the rope, but the pain was almost too much. Then, just as your grip began to slip, a gloved hand shot out, steadying you. You instinctively grabbed onto it, feeling the strength of the hand pull you upwards.

You cursed under your breath, trying to fight back the pain, but it was hard to ignore. As you were hauled up, the agony on your side intensified, and your head felt heavy with the pounding ache. When you finally found solid ground, you met a pair of steady baby blue eyes.

"Price?" you gasped, breath shaky as you stood unsteadily, leaning into him for support.

He didn’t say a word, just gave you a steadying look as he helped you get your footing. Then, the sound of a familiar voice caught your attention. You turned, meeting the gaze of Gaz, who was looking at you with that signature soft smile of his. He raised an eyebrow as you locked eyes with him, giving him a slight nod of acknowledgment.

Your grin spread across your face, and without a second thought, you pulled both Price and Gaz into a tight hug, your relief spilling out in the embrace. It felt good to see them both again, to know they were here, and it felt even better when they wrapped their arms around you as if making sure you were real, and that everything—however briefly—was okay. The tension in your chest eased, if only for a moment.

Soap, standing off to the side, couldn't help but smile at the sight of the three of you. His eyes softened with a knowing look, seeing how you all just needed that moment of relief, a reunion of sorts in the middle of chaos.

Ghost, however, was less sentimental. He huffed, but it was with a tone that could almost be read as approval, his eyes lingering on the three of you before turning back to the task at hand.

Keegan stood off to the side, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the three of you with a look that was hard to decipher. He watched as Gaz buried his face into your shoulder, an expression on his face that said a lot without needing words. Keegan’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in them. He said nothing but the tension around him grew ever so slightly.

Logan and Hesh exchanged a brief glance, noticing Keegan's subtle shift in demeanor. There was a brief pause before Logan cleared his throat, his attention drifting back to the group, while Hesh, ever the observant one, gave a subtle nod in Keegan’s direction.

The moment stretched on, but it didn't last long. You finally pulled away from the hug, smiling brightly at both Price and Gaz. "Didn’t think I’d see you two again," you muttered, pulling away after a brief moment.

Soap chuckled, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. "How the hell did you two get in here?" he asked, eyeing the three of you curiously.

Gaz was the first to answer, his voice light but serious. “Laswell,” he said, nodding to Price.

Price’s voice came in next, smooth but commanding, as always. “As soon as Shepherd’s operations went dark, someone reached out to Laswell, and she contacted us. She got us in here.”

Keegan, who had just finished climbing up, joined the conversation, his brows furrowing. “It was Kick,” he added, his tone serious as he looked at you, then shifted to the 141 that was once again complete. “Part of us.”

Before anyone could press Keegan further about how they managed to get in touch with Laswell and follow you here, the sound of bullets tearing through the air cut the conversation short. The wall next to you cracked as the onslaught of gunfire hammered against it, and the Shadows emerged from the dark corners, their relentless assault forcing everyone to take cover.

Alejandro was the first to react. He moved forward, his posture firm and purposeful, eyes scanning the area for a position. Soap quickly stepped up, nodding toward Alejandro as he introduced him to the others.

"Colonel Vargas, meet Captain John Price and Sergeant Garrick," Soap said, his voice quick and efficient, keeping his focus on the emerging Shadows.

Price and Gaz gave brief but respectful nods, their attention never straying from their targets as they continued to cover the team.

Alejandro gave a short nod of thanks, his voice steady but urgent. “We need cover fire, now,” he said, positioning himself behind the nearby debris. His eyes flicked from Soap to Ghost, and then to Price.

Price immediately took charge. “Gaz, Ghost, Soap—overwatch. Take them out.”

Without hesitation, the three of them moved into position, their rifles aimed at the oncoming Shadows, picking them off with precision fire. The sounds of gunfire filled the air, each shot echoing as it struck its mark.

Meanwhile, Price approached Keegan, Hesh, and Logan, who were still tying down the captured Shadow. Price glanced over at Keegan with a nod of respect. “I assume you all are part of Task Force: STALKER, otherwise known as the Ghosts. She mentioned you lots to me before,” he said, his voice a little softer now. “Thanks for helping my men out.”

Keegan gave a sharp nod, the hint of a smirk on his face as he holstered his weapon. “It was for her,” he said, his voice low but clear.

Price nodded in acknowledgment, his lips twitching into a rare, approving smile.

You shook your head, despite the sharp pain still gnawing at your side and the exhaustion creeping in. A playful smile cut through the strain on your face, and then you watch his gaze shift to the other American in the group, Graves.

His smile immediately faltered just as Graves offered him a smile.

“Captain,” Graves nodded, extending a hand.

But Price stepped away from him, pointing a finger at him instead. “We will deal with you later.”

Graves quickly painted a frown over his smile. “I’m innocent.”

“No, the fuck you’re not,” you immediately batted, making him scowl at you, but Hesh was quick to cover his vision with his body. Graves’ eyes shifted to your brother’s challenging glare.

Then, the pain struck again, searing through your side, making your vision blur and your head swim. The sounds around you became muffled, distant—like you were underwater. Sweat quickly beaded on your skin, the throbbing sensation from the wound growing more intense. You pressed a shaky hand against your side, biting down on a curse as you looked at your palm, stained with blood. It was sticky and warm, and the discomfort was becoming almost unbearable.

You forced yourself to focus, but the world seemed to sway slightly. The sharp crack of boots hitting the ground broke through the fog in your mind. From the tower next to you, a hatch opened, and Shadows emerged. Without hesitation, you gritted your teeth and opened fire, each shot ringing through the air with precision.

"Snapdragon, check the tower for weapons!" you heard his command, and you made your way inside the structure, forcing your legs to move despite the pain.

Inside, your eyes fell on a grenade launcher. A wicked grin curled on your lips despite the agony in your body as you hefted the weapon in your hands. "Look at this beauty," you called over to your team, your voice strained but eager. You aimed it at the Shadows scattered across the yard, the weight of the launcher feeling oddly reassuring in your hands.

Keegan, Logan, and Hesh were stationed on the roofs, methodically picking off the snipers who dared to show their faces.

You fired, the grenade launcher erupting with a thunderous blast, sending enemies scattering in the explosion. You exhaled heavily, the weight of the grenade launcher growing heavier with each passing second. It felt like the metal was burning into your hands, your muscles aching from the strain. You hadn’t remembered it being this heavy before. But then again, you weren’t in the best shape right now.

Then, you heard Rodolfo’s voice again, louder this time. “Everyone is good to go!”

You exhaled, forcing your muscles to cooperate as you turned toward the ropes. Alejandro barked an order, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Price’s command rang out next, a direct order that pierced through the noise. “Sergeants, get the ropes. You’re with me,” he said, nodding toward you and the rest of your team. Without waiting, he moved forward, steady as ever, ready to lead you out.

You grabbed the rope, your hands trembling as you pulled yourself up, your body protesting with each movement. The climb was slower than you wanted, but you had no choice but to keep going. When your boots finally hit solid ground again, you didn’t stop. You ran, pushing yourself as hard as you could, the weight of exhaustion pulling at your every step.

But then, your vision blurred, the world spinning uncontrollably as you stumbled, your knees buckling beneath you. A sharp pain shot through your side, the cut from earlier flaring up again. You didn’t have the strength to stay on your feet. You fell to your knees, gasping for breath, your body shaking uncontrollably.

You tried to call out to the others, but your voice didn’t come. The only sound was a whimper that barely escaped your lips. Shadows were everywhere now, descending from the rooftops. One of them reached for you, grabbing you by the arm, and pulling you back as you struggled against their grip.

“Got you!” one of them yelled, hauling you back with ease.

You tried to pray off their hands, wincing at the burn and sting of your wounds every time you moved, but before they could drag you away, everything exploded into chaos. Keegan was at your side, his knife slashing through the enemy’s neck with deadly precision. Gaz, quick as always, fired a bullet through another’s skull, dropping them instantly. Soap punched another shadow with a brutal force, and Ghost appeared, his knife finding its mark in yet another shadow’s throat.

And then, Price was there. He pulled you up, his grip firm and steady as he helped you back to your feet. His voice was frantic but low, “What’s wrong? Talk to me. Now.”

You groaned, clutching your side, the pain making it hard to focus on anything else. “I’m good,” you managed to rasp, but the words were a lie. You weren’t good. You were far from it.

Before you could finish the sentence, your body gave out, your legs collapsing beneath you as you went limp in his arms. Price’s eyes immediately locked onto the cut on your stomach, and then to the blood slowly seeping through the bandage on your shoulder. His expression hardened, the worry in his eyes more intense than you’d ever seen it before.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, lifting you with surprising ease. His voice, though still rough, softened as he glanced over at the others. “We need to get you out of here.”

As soon as Price lifted you into his arms, the urgency was palpable. The group sprang into action, moving with precision and purpose, their eyes sharp and focused as they rushed toward the vehicles. The sound of boots hitting the ground echoed in the chaos, each soldier moving with practiced efficiency.

Price’s grip on you tightened, his expression set with determination as he quickly adjusted you in his arms, his eyes flicking up to the others. Without missing a beat, he tossed the keys to Gaz, who caught them with one hand, already sprinting toward the truck.

Alejandro led the way, barking orders to the others as they moved, coordinating the group with military precision. “Hurry it up!” he commanded, his voice cutting through the urgency as he shoved Graves forward. The others followed close behind, weapons raised, scanning for threats, while Price continued to move swiftly toward the truck.

You could feel the cold air against your skin, your body shivering despite the heat of the blood coursing from your wounds. Your world had narrowed down to a haze, the pain becoming a dull throb that mixed with the growing darkness in your vision. You could barely hold onto consciousness, your mind struggling to keep you awake, but it was a losing battle.

The sound of the truck doors slamming shut and the engine roaring to life barely reached you as you were gently placed in the back of the vehicle, your body slumping against the cool metal. Price was by your side in an instant, his presence a solid, reassuring weight, though his eyes were filled with a concern you could barely process.

“Stay with us,” he muttered, his voice low, as his hand pressed against your wound. But the words barely made it through your foggy mind before everything went black.

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own / Discord

Taglist: @yyiikes @the-faceless-bride @cassiecasluciluce @annoyingstrawberryballoon @unicorngirly1 @thriving-n-jiving @squidalapobre @tallicaside @eustassh

63 notes · View notes