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valiantverses · 10 months ago

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The Azrael Series: Chapter One

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader/ Slowburn/Sort of Enemies to Friends to Lovers)

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Summary/Notes: Task Force 141 is assigned a new member to deal with Makarov for good. Highly-skilled, brutally efficient and devastatingly competent, Ghost has met his match - and finds himself at odds with the SAS Fraternization Regulations as getting to know you makes him re-evaluate a life he never thought to allow himself.

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Chapter One

Introduction 1

@beansproutmafia @chinuneko @agustdpeach

Click.

Ghost watched you methodically assemble your rifle, noting how deliberate each movement was. You worked smoothly - barrel into receiver, scope in place, alignment done perfectly. He met your eyes as you surveyed the area, sliding in casings into the magazine with focused intensity.

Not sparing him another glance, you turned to look into your scope, securing the perimeter. Out on the craggy cliff face of the unforgivingly frigid Ural mountains, escape would not be easy. The only thing keeping you from being spotted was the taiga camouflage you wore and the relative cover of the copse of rocks you had climbed on to next to the lieutenant, chest pressed flat on to the rough ground as you settled yourself into a prone position.

"Alpha Two, in position and operational."

Your voice was clear through the coms, unhampered by the face coverings you wore even as your warm breath created soft puffs of vapour, swirling lazily into the air.

Next to you, Riley shifted, your sides touching as he took a final look over the perimeter and inconspicuously - attempting to, anyway - looked over your rifle to see your handiwork.

"Alpha Actual, in position and operational."

His voice reverberated through the rock you had both deemed fit to survey the target location - A laboratory nestled in a valley in the Ural mountains that served as a logistics facility for Makarov, protected by the mercenaries he hired.

"Copy, Alpha Squad. Bravo Squad getting into position, T-Minus 10. Maintain positions. Over."

"Copy." "Copy."

Twin voices rang out, and then there was a silence, a chasm between you and the lieutenant.

You did nothing to break it, comfortable in the stillness of the break of dawn, even as the lieutenant continued to sneak assessing looks at you.

Though your file spoke for itself, experience and skills clearly laid out for the entire team to peruse in black - admittedly mostly redacted - ink, it was another thing entirely to trust a new teammate to watch your back.

Station Chief Laswell had attempted to soothe the situation, utilizing lots of what you recognized to be CIA mediation training to make the mission seem like less of what it was.

But the message was clear to you immediately upon receiving team assignments.

Ghost was babysitting you.

It didn't matter, you decided. You were the unknown variable in a well-oiled machine that had been training together for months. A factor that could put the team at risk so long as they didn't know - or trust - you.

Acceptance would come. Or it wouldn't - you rarely found the kind of stability needed to forge lasting relationships in this lifestyle.

Hunching your shoulders as the wind picked up, you meticulously cleared each area of your assigned quadrant, catching sight of Sergeant McTavish as he came into the view of your scope on the southernmost side of the compound.

Sergeant McTavish - Soap, as he had insisted you called him - had given you the warmest reception by far. He had taken one look at you during introductions and had been not just welcoming but outright friendly, giving you a wide smile and offering to take you on a tour of the team's home base.

You watched as Soap glanced behind him, jerking his head in the direction of the building closest to him as another hooded figure sidled up by his side - Sergeant Garrick.

Sergeant Garrick did not have quite the same warmness as Soap, but his wary smile had seemed genuine, facial muscles pulling up in such a way that your deeply ingrained intelligence training had told you was free of deception. He had offered to spar, and said that he'd give you a lay of the land outside the base upon return from this mission.

That's about where any sense of welcome started and ended with the team, Laswell and Captain Price had kept you at arms length, a clipped sort of professionalism. Lieutenant Riley was an apathetic sort of distance, and you had the sense that he was on the look out for any of your weaknesses and would no doubt be more than glad to pull out the Personnel Transfer Forms in his desk that had barely ever seen the light of day if you failed to live up to expectations.

You kept your breathing low and steady, the high elevations making the air feel thin. Next to you, you felt the lieutenant shift.

"Our directive mandates recon and reaction only, no active engagement."

His eyes on you felt like an itching in the back of your throat, easy enough to ignore but always at the back of your mind.

"Yes, sir." You affirmed, laser focused on clearing the western perimeter of the compound. "I was there when the instructions were given."

There was a pregnant pause where you continued constant surveillance, not even looking up as in your peripheral vision the blazing nothingness of freshly fallen snow was obscured by the bone white of your lieutenant's skull mask.

"I could do without your attitude, sergean-"

He had leaned in close enough to you that you were able to reach behind him to his nape and pull him in your direction, sandwiching yourself between his bulky body and the rough stone below. Before he could pull away, you tightened your grip on his coat, indicating with your free hand to remain low on the ground.

It had been subtle, well hidden, but the glint of a sniper scope aimed in your general direction had you reacting immediately.

Slightly winded from the lieutenant's weight on you, you reached up and clicked on your coms link.

"Captain, Alpha Two reporting. Hostile sniper positively ID'ed in area of operations. Westernmost building, clear line of sight of Bravo Team. Requesting green light for engagement."

You began to relax your arm but were quickly pinned to place by a hefty elbow as Ghost grabbed you by the collar of your coat, growling into your ear.

"Alpha Two heard. Confirm, Alpha Actual?"

Price's voice rang out of the coms, to no response.

Ghost snarled at you, placing his other hand next to your head, effectively locking you into place.

"Fuckin' hell sergeant, never heard of an anti reflect? Nine times out of ten a sniper has a sunshade o-"

"East facing window on furthest building, two windows down from the top floor. Sunshades work by blocking out light reflections but only with direct sunlight. The snow is freshly fallen and we're south- they hadn't accounted for the reflection of the sun onto the snowbank behind us. Nobody would expect hostiles on a blank cliff face-"

He grunted, keeping his eyes trained on you even as he reached over to look into your scope, bodies still pressed tightly together.

"Alpha Actual, positive ID'ed hostile? Over"

The captain's message once again went unanswered.

You shifted your legs a little, freezing when his thighs squeezed your sides in warning as he surveyed the westernmost building, the brutalist architecture starker in the snow.

You spoke in low tones, trying to get him to see your point. The low oxygen environment forced you to conserve your time spent talking.

"They're deeper into the building and have partial cover because of the drainage. They'd have direct line of fire on Sergeant Garrick and Sergeant McTavish. It'd be like shooting fish in a barrel."

"Alpha Actual, do you copy? Ghos-"

He huffed, the movement reverberating through you as he eased away from his position on top of you, falling into a low crouch behind the rock.

"Captain, hostile sniper ID'ed. West building, two windows from top. Clear line of sight on Bravo. Over."

There was another tense pause as the coms line grew silent, you taking the opportunity to roll over on to your stomach and keep watch on Soap and Garrick's position.

"Copy, Alpha Actual. Alpha Two, request to engage approved- Alpha Actual and Bravo Squad, maintain position."

"Copy, Alpha Two moving to position."

You wasted no time, disassembling your rifle in seconds, taking care not to let the snow into any openings as you turned to face your lieutenant and gave him a perfunctory nod, not waiting for his response as you left the relative safety of the rock formation.

The trek to the Southeast of the valley was arduous, the oxygen thin and the paths non-existent in the freshly fallen snow. Your lungs took in searingly cold air and your vision started to blur as the whiteness of the snow began to bleed into each other, the visor you wore being the only thing that kept you from snow blindness. Sometimes it became necessary to crawl on your hands and knees in the areas that were particularly visible to the valley down below. You did your best to keep your deep breaths from drowning out the coms, hearing Garrick and Mctavish's confirmation of identifying the sniper and entering an obscured alcove.

As you reached a copse of rocks that had the Western building in sight, you took off the gloves which the jagged rocks you had crawled on had embedded into and immediately began assembling your rifle, the familiarity of the metal body a comfort even in the frigid air.

You breathed in, then exhaled, before focusing on identifying the hostile sniper in front of you.

As your eyes began to adjust to the darkness of the empty room, a figure began to form, carved out of the inky blackness, partially hidden behind a mounted rifle.

The outside world stuttered to a stop. There was your breathing, low and calm. There was the enemy, looking up from their scope. There was your finger on the trigger, and then there was the the enemy's body jerking back, a bullet between his eyes as he slumped against the wall.

You waited.

You kept the corpse in sight of the crosshair, making sure the enemy's radio was within sight of you at all times.

Because if there was a sniper, then there would be a spotter, and it would just be a matter of who was more patient.

There was a flurry of movement as another person emerged out of the darkness and ran to their previous partners radio, stopping abruptly and collapsing as the insides of their skull became acquainted with the wall behind them.

"Captain, hostiles eliminated."

"Copy, Alpha Two. Bravo Squad, commence operation."

You kept your eyes trained on Soap and Garrick. You ensured they avoided engaging with the enemy, removing obstacles from their path before it could become a problem. Through the coms, you led them to the intelligence building and then back out, until they had successfully left the compound with Makarov's data in hand.

It was a perfect mission, and you could see by the pleased set of Garrick's shoulders, the twitch of Price' lips and the glint of Soap's eyes that the team really, really needed this win.

Evidently, not everyone was pleased with your performance.

Being the last one out of the chopper before debrief, you felt a hand on your shoulder, tugging you back until that familiar skull mask was in your vision once more.

"Liuetenant." You inclined your head, unsure of what he wanted.

"I don't like your attitude, sergeant."

"I don't need you to like me, sir. "

He remained silent, eyes boring into your own.

You regarded him, standing under the bright lights of the air hangar, mask and snow clothing so bright it almost made it hard to look at him. So you continued on.

"All I need is for you to know that on the field, I have your back."

Your lips quirked up as you managed a relaxed salute, muttering a 'sir' as you went to enter the debriefing room and began giving your report when everyone had gathered.

There was not a shred of doubt in your mind that the skull mask was trained on you the entire time.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost cod #cod fic #cod x reader #valiantverses

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verloonati · 7 months ago

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Torchwood is such a fun show. Two seasons of x-files like monster of the week loosely connected by an overarching plot thread. One of them is about a parasite that kills people with sex, the very next one is about a sexy Cyberman who gets sprayed bbq sauce to make a pterodactyl eat her. Jack is transphobic. Episodes are either very good or very bad with no in-between

Then, season 3 comes up and it's the best written most compelling story you've ever seen and it's only six episodes spanning the course of just a few day. Half the original cast is gone by the time this seasons starts.

And then season 4 just dramatically drops in quality, now it's in America, fuck you, there's CIA agents one of those is named rex. It's back to a 10 episodes series but with a continuous plot like the 3rd season was. At this point in time the eponymous organization doesn't exist anymore in it's own show.

Then the audios come up and the audios set during season 1-2 are better than the show ever was. The audios set after s4 are their own thing and have their whole brand new dynamic. Also the main theme is about racism now and the rise of reactionaries.

Also now there's a 1950s spin off featuring the horniest gay manipulator you've ever seen and also the cop friend from the tv show.

#torchwood #big finish #norton folgate

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danvy121994 · 6 months ago

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Fracture pt.1 (ghost x f!reader)

Author note: this is my new series, I’m working on it at the moment, so let me know if there’s anything anything wrong with it since English isn’t my first language. Reblogs and Like are appreciated, hope you enjoy the read!

Synopsis: YN is a profiler and her and her team are called to help task force 141 after they realise that the serial killer that they are searching for is connected to a terrorist group that the task force is working to bring down.

TW: (the terrorist group is basically a white supremacy organisation) themes of racism and anti-lgbtqai+ community

“ I feel like I’m gonna get shot at every minute like-“

” Be professional, at least while we work with other teams…Jesus Christ”

The constant back and forth between Sam and Mr. Grey fills the silence in the car as we are being escorted to an undisclosed location in the middle of the British countryside, a military base to be precise. In the past 3 months we have been going after a serial killer that has been targeting minorities all around London. We had an approximate profile of the unsub, or as the media calls them “troubled poet“, hate that name. The profile indicated that they were between 1,80cm to 1,95cm, pretty tall so possibly a man, at least in their thirties judging by the few by standards, even if they were under shock so the information might be slightly wrong, white, and that they had a fascination with humiliation as an example living the bodies often naked and in public spaces, littered with discriminating and racist messages carved on them and the most important factor of them all is that all the victims were non-white or part of the lgbtqai+ community.

We had a main suspect: Johnathan Wood, 37, white, 1,82cm, he expressed a huge hate online towards minorities off all kinds, has been sued two times because of aggressive behavior toward customers that fit the profile of the victims and the last straw for him, which is what we thought was the reason of the killings, was his girlfriend cheating on him with a black woman. We had him in our care, interrogating him, trying to make him admit to the eight murders when we got a call from our tech-team saying that they had found footage of him being at a bar during the time of one of the killings and once in a mall during the time of another, proving his alibi.

We had nothing. Another week had passed and two bodies were found, the killer was accelerating his rate, the media was relentless, questioning our abilities and giving even more notoriety to the killer, inflating his ego. Until one day, when me and my team were looking over evidence trying to find something that we could have missed when my boss got a call by a CIA agent, saying that us and her team were all looking for the same person and that we could help each other out, us with our minds, them with fire.

So this is how me and my team ended up in a military truck being escorted into a secret base, fucking mental. I was looking over the files ,that they gave us after the signed agreement that stated that we could not talk about anything or anyone that we saw, and read that apparently the symbol carved in each of the victims wasn’t just a sign, like we thought, but a simbol, of a cult like terrorist group. Apparently they didn’t know much, so that’s why we are here, to enter inside of these people's heads, dissect them and give them a profile to find them and exterminate them.

After god knows how long, we finally arrive at a stop, a fence with a gate in front of us. After the soldiers show the guards they’re IDs we enter inside the base . We stop in front of the first part of the compound, there’s a group of five people waiting for us outside; I recognise the CIA agent that called Mr. Grey, Agent Kate Laswell,she greets us all with a firm handshake “how was the car ride? No problems I hope?” She says looking at our captain “ all god, no problems” after some little small talk she finally introduces us to the task force we are going to work with, task force 1-4-1. “This is agent Robert Grey, the captain of the team, agent Samuel Dickinson, agent Linda Ross and lastly Doctor Y/N Y/S” we shake the hand of their captain, John price, which then introduces us to his team, sergeant Soap, sergneant Gaz and lieutenant Ghost; they all had aliases, safety reason I suppose, but the one that intrigued me the most was Ghost, that was wearing an actual skull mask.

The profiler part of my brain turned on and I immediately started questioning to myself, why the mask? If it was just to hide his identity, which the other didn’t do, then why was it so impractical, it must be heavy, right? Insecurities maybe? Like he doesn’t feel scary enough? But I mean… he’s a fucking unit…so maybe it's for a disfigured face? So still insecurities but different reasons, or maybe its a sign, a mark of recognition, who knows. Now, what I didn’t notice is the fact that since this thought started I never took my eyes of off him and I didn’t notice until he was right in front of me saying “you got a fucking problem?”, he didn’t seem angry but early calm, “c'mon mate, be a little bit more friendly, will ya?” Said the man that identifies as Soap. Ghost just grunted going back to where he was before, I think I heard him muttering under his breath “fuckin hell..”. Weird dude, but the others seemed alright I guess.

As we enter inside the buildings to go put our luggage in our private spaces, I see Sam, my best friend coming towards me and leaning against my ear to tell me something, which is never a good sign “can I be honest with you right now?” “…yeah?” “Smash.” I can’t believe him sometimes. “Honey…what?” I say giggling with him “oh Y/N, they could choke me right now and would thank them" "you are unbelievable”.

After giggling the entire time during the tiny tour of the base and getting death stares by Mr. Grey we finally arrive at our respective rooms. After unpacking and taking a shower I go straight to bed, thinking about the killings, the profile of the killer and assimilating the scarce informations about the cult that we have. I go to sleep with these thoughts plaguing my mind, hopeful to return to my somewhat normal life as soon as possible.

Author note pt.2: @doedearlizz you told me you would like to read it so I tagged you in the first chapter, let me know what you think! And sorry if I tagged you but I don’t know how to respond to comments yet.

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sashaisready · 1 year ago

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Under the Radar (completed)

Hi!

This is a Nick Fowler x Reader story.

Reader is a brilliant but shy and awkward CIA employee whose work is often overlooked by her colleagues…she’s blended into the background for so long that she doesn’t think there’s any other way - even if she does have secret aspirations for another life. Unbeknownst to her - a certain blue eyed agent is very aware of her talents, even if nobody else is.

Warnings for: angst, smut, mentions of violence, feelings of self doubt, alcohol. 18+. Please read warnings and proceed at your own risk.

I expect this one to be quite angsty!!

Also the ins and outs of the CIA and the hierarchy/workplace dynamics in this story are very much my own invention - if you want authenticity, this isn’t a fic for you lmao.

If you enjoyed this series and would like to buy me a coffee, here's my Ko-Fi link 💐

Chapter One - The Mouse

Chapter Two - Beige

Chapter Three - Now or Never

Chapter Four - The Ghost

Chapter Five - Done

Chapter Six - File

Chapter Seven-A - Underestimate

Chapter Seven-B - All of Them

#Nick Fowler #nick fowler x you #nick fowler x reader #the 355 #sebastian stan

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medusamagic · 7 months ago

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So you want to know more about Big Barda

As Tumblr's resident expert on all things Barda, and as Kelly Thompson's Birds of Prey run brings far more attention to the character, I figured it was high time someone stepped in and gave the tumblr world a primer on DC's biggest and boldest heroine.

The Basics:

Introduced in Mister Miracle #4 by Jack Kirby, Big Barda was once the leader of Apokolips' premier death squad, the Female Furies. Trained from birth for a life of violence by Granny Goodness, Barda spent the first 250 years of her life as a living weapon. This all changed when she met Scott Free, a gentle Parademon-in-training with a mysterious past and a knack for escapes. Eventually, she and Scott both escaped to Earth, where they fell in love with both the Earth and each other. She's a lover, she's a fighter, she's a Pokémon card expert, but most of all, SHE BIG.

Barda's signature defining attribute is her raw strength. Her raw muscle allows her to keep up with heavy hitters like Wonder Woman. This isn't to suggest that she's a simple-minded brute, however-- Barda has centuries of military experience under her belt as leader of the Female Furies. She's mastered multiple weapons, including spears, swords, and her signature Mega-Rod.

Below are some reading recommendations for anyone interested in Big Barda:

Essential Runs:

Mister Miracle Vol. 1 #4-18 by Jack Kirby (1971-1974)

This was the run that introduced the world to Big Barda, as well as the Female Furies. If you want to know the basics of Barda, there's no better place to start. This run is collected in a trade, as well as a part in The Fourth World Omnibus Vol. 1.

(NOTE: Even though Barda doesn't appear until issue #4, I suggest you start with Issue #1. It'll help you get acquainted with the rest of the mythos.)

Justice League International #14-24 by Keith Giffen and J.M. DeMatteis (1988-1989)

Big Barda was on the JLI! She plays off the other characters as well as ever, and a lot of what's great about her in Jack Kirby's original run is still here! Definitely check this one out if you want to see her in another team setting. This has been collected in this omnibus.

(NOTE: Once again, I recommend you start from issue #1.)

Popular Runs:

Mister Miracle Vol. 4 #1-12 by Tom King and Mitch Gerads (2017-2018)

Yeah, I know.

Listen, Tom King is a writer with... idiosyncrasies to put it nicely. The characters in the periphery of his stories tend to act really out of character, and his dialogue can be clunky at times. That being said, The Scott/Barda dynamic in this book is excellent, and this book has some of the best art that the Fourth World has seen since the 80s. The series has been collected in a trade.

(NOTE: Did you know that the CIA has over 2003 files on Tom King? Look up "Tom King CIA 2003" for more info!)

Mister Miracle: The Great Escape by Varian Johnson and Daniel Isles (2022)

If you're at all interested in the idea of a Young Adult reimagining of Mister Miracle and Big Barda's origin story with an all-black cast, this book was made for you. It's a bit heavy on the YA tropes, but the Scott/Barda dynamic is really solid. It was released as a standalone graphic novel.

Birds of Prey Vol. 5 #1-??? by Kelly Thompson and Leonardo Romero (2023-)

Admit it, this is the reason you're here. The Cassandra Cain & Big Barda is so instantly iconic, I'm surprised no writer has paired them up sooner. It also helps that this book has the single best Barda look since Jack Kirby's original run. Plus, she gets to throw down with Wonder Woman! What's not to love? This run is still ongoing, but the first 6 issues should be getting a trade pretty soon.

(NOTE: I started writing this before BOP #8 dropped, I had no idea about that thing that happens in the newest issue.)

Stories to Avoid:

Action Comics #592-593 by John Byrne (1987)

This is not a comic book-- it's an infohazard designed to cause pain and suffering to anyone who knows of its existence. Its premise is vile and disrespectful on the surface, and it becomes more insidious when you learn the context of its creation. This pair of issues is profoundly evil, rivaling even Avengers #200 in terms of loathsomeness.

For those who dare to investigate this, Content Warnings for rape, mind control, and human trafficking.

Anyway, let's end on something a bit lighter, shall we?

Remember that Mister Miracle YA graphic novel I mentioned earlier? Barda is getting a graphic novel of her own this summer! It's not out at the time of writing, but the preview pages look promising!

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that introduction to one of my favorite superheroes ever. Please get back to me on this, I have no one else to talk to about Fourth World stuff.

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valscodblog · 2 months ago

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Ruby "Jewel" Ramirez character sheet CIA Files No.1

ᵀᵃᵍˢ: @writing-with-moss @thebunnednun @seconds-over-first @needa-sum-luvn

Name: Rubia Ruby "Delta 12" "Jewel" Ramirez.

Birthdate: Nov. 11. [Unknown]

Current rank: Commander Corporal

Notes: Birth year unknown due to father having sloppy handwritting and being born in Mexico. Fluent in Russian and has Russian allies. Should be watched closely. Step father works with the cartel. Older step brother taught her how to use a gun at age seven. Has been shot in the knee by the Mexican general, [Unknown] "El Boss" Sanchez. "el Boss" is her second step father, married to her biological father, [Redacted] "Hellhound" Vargas. Vargas kept his own last name after marriage. Reason unknown.

Mother to: James Juan Alejandro Vargas.

Appearance:

Height: 5'0

Weight: 100lb

Past (what we know): Born in [Unknown] , Mexico on November 11th, [Unknown]. Born to: Aqua "Vale" Ramirez and [Unknown] "Hellhound" Vargas. Abused by her mother growing up. A victim of sexual assault. Committed self harm for three years and then tried to overdose and ended up in the hospital and then the mental hospice. Ran away from home at age 15. Joined the army at 15 and a half under a fake name "Scarlet "Delta 12" Lighters." Involved with the crashes: "Tornado," "Hudson," and "Bombard." Came out with her real identity when she turned eighteen and joined the US Air Force.

During her carrier at the USAF, she quickly climbed the ranks-even surpassing her commanding officer, Phillip Graves. At the time, Graves was just Captain. She reached the rank of Commander and everything went downhill from there, she was shot through the knee by her father, "Hellhound," she gave birth to a stillborn of her ex husband's. Her husband left her after the ordeal-for an even younger woman. Her husband's name is currently unknown.

Ruby was then transferred, against her will, to the UKAF (United Kingdom Air Forces) and reranked and Corporal. She then was transferred again to the United Kingdom's Task Force 141, where she currently works under Captain Johnathan "Bravo 0-6" Price.

There are rumors of her old team, however. That they are all still alive after the events of [Redacted]. And are plotting revenge for what [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] did to Ruby.

Old Allies include (listen in last known rank):

Chief Spencer "Spine" Jackson

Captain Betty "Daggers" Reed

Lieutenant Jason "Voice" Xanders

Sergeant Julie "Zebra" Haynes

Sergeant Jackson "Fern" Bush

Sergeant [Unknown] "Koroleva" [Unknown]

Sergeant Sandy "Squirrel" May

Corporal [Unknown] "Sunshine" Jackson

Notes for Laswell: Take a closer look into that girl you plead innocent. She don't sound so anymore, huh?

-You know who, Kate.

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insomniumstella · 2 years ago

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spite her, spite me (7) | bucky x avenger!reader

summary: Steve’s silly joke happened to inspire the best, or possibly the worst, idea Wanda had ever come up with — send James Buchanan Barnes and y/n on an all-expenses-paid honeymoon in Hawaii. the problem? they cannot stand to be around each other.

warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, explicit language, alcohol consumption, sarcastic!bucky, smut MDI

word count: 8,485

author's note: i cannot believe we reached the end — thank you for all of the comments and the love you've showed this series, it truly means the world! also, i don't know how the nsfw section stretched to be over 2k words and now i'm rethinking every smutty fic i've ever written

WHERE DREAMS GO TO DIE masterlist

series’ SPOTIFY playlist

“The dress is a bit much,” the sergeant’s eyes raked over her gown.

The intricately beaded dress was black, and sensual, and outrageous, with a deep slit, which exposed most of y/n’s upper thigh. She might’ve seemed like an angel in devil’s clothing to those of unsuspecting eyes, but James understood better. The woman was a fallen saint, and as he committed the image to memory, he had decided that she was placed on this earth solely to tempt him in every way she could. Their story was never destined to be comforting, and easy, no, the story of James and y/n would always be difficult, complex, and shamefully sinful.

“It seems Maui had been harsh on you, James,” she spoke, “otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

The cool touch of his metal arm brushed against y/n’s skin when he took a step forward, coming to stand beside her. It was bothersome, the closeness of his body as they observed the gala’s guests unsuspectingly dancing, drinking, or conversing about matters they had deemed important.

There was only a single matter on her mind y/n considered meaningful, and she had not seen him for the entirety of the night. Steve had been a nimble shadow, shaking hands with the leaders and first ladies of the world.

“Perhaps, I was wrong,” the word felt foreign on his tongue, “and HYDRA ceased to exist.”

She angled her face to read his expression, but it was aggravatingly blank, “how’d you figure that out, Sherlock?”

James noticed the sarcasm in her tone and nearly chose to ignore it, “reviewed some files, checked a couple databases,” possibly hacked into Sam’s iCloud to read the texts between you two. "Have any more theories you’d like to share?”

She chuckled, then chuckled again from the bewilderment before breaking into a boisterous laugh; it couldn’t have been more disingenuous if she tried. “Why should I if the Winter Soldier will only trample on my ideas?”

Though the dimly lit ballroom overflowed with chatter and soft sounds of jazz, a tense stillness settled between them. The looming threat of Steve’s assassination was not a time for games and stubbornness, and James was frustrated at the spy’s thorny attitude.

“The Winter Soldier was blinded by bloodlust, but he’s ready to hear out his partner,” Bucky replied with a deep sigh, hoping she’d crack.

“Oh, we’re partners now?” The clench of his jaw didn’t go unnoticed, and she begrudgingly dropped the act. “Back when we attended Elijah’s yacht party, Mark was wary of you hence the fish tend to be vigilant around James comment. I might forget a name, but I always remember a face.” This time, she angled her entire body to face him. “Mark attended a gala in Germany a couple years prior, Steve had me monitoring the security cameras for hours then, and nothing was particularly interesting except for Mark and Wilfred Nagel’s unlikely friendship.”

“Shit,” his flesh arm clasped around her forearm, “ Nagel’s the doctor CIA had recruited before he seemingly disappeared into thin air.”

“Bingo,” she replied with a popping sound. “The accusations against Elijah, Mark’s presence on the boat, and the conversation between him and Wilfred months before Wilfred’s disappearance had me conceptualizing a theory of Mark and Elijah working alongside Nagel to produce super-soldiers.” A server boy approached the couple, and she promptly replaced her empty champagne flute with a fresh glass. “I’d assume Captain America would ruin those plans."

“The theory’s still blurry,” James released the grip on her arm, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles of his black suit. “If they’re plotting to execute Steve, why wouldn’t they assassinate me as well?”

She drank him in — the sergeant’s black suit was made of satin, alike the dress shirt, matching her onyx gown. Perhaps he had willingly chosen to abstain from a tie, or perhaps, he had been too headstrong to admit she had been correct about HYDRA, subjecting James to a lack of time for elaborate preparations. She decided it must’ve been the latter, for Bucky had worn the outfit to a party Natasha had organized after the court had pardoned his crimes.

“They could,” she agreed, “but they wouldn’t because you’ve been forgiven and have since retired, remember? The Winter Soldier enjoys a peaceful life away from criminals, Avengers, and fights.”

“The sucker has a wife too,” James gawked into y/n’s eyes, and she tittered at his attempt at a joke. “She looks good tonight.”

The glimmer in his expression she couldn’t understand.

She took a swig of champagne, peering at James over the flute for a single awkward moment too long, “was that a compliment?”

“It should’ve been,” he pursed his lips together.

James was allowed to feel frustrated, angry, and disappointed about y/n’s actions, he had decided after she had packed up and hastily abandoned the honeymoon. The woman had betrayed him by hiding significant information and biting her tongue on theories of HYDRA and its remains. Worse, she had fled Maui without as much as a goodbye, leaving James to sleep in the bed, angrily alone. Though his appetite had been ruined, he had chosen to order room service and watch terrible TV shows she had recommended to Wanda in the prior months. The sheets had been tainted with the scent of y/n’s perfume and lotion, a delicious blend of strawberry and vanilla. The Lovers’ Suite had been scattered with traces of her, and when he had ditched the room at last, deep into the night, even the beach had seemed to remind James of the bizarre yet pleasant memories they had shared. He wouldn’t have admitted it out loud, but he had begun missing y/n’s presence, prickly remarks, and the pointless arguments over the smallest of things.

“Steve’s backstage," Sam’s voice was a muffled sound through the earpiece.

She took a step forward, using Bucky’s body to shield herself from possibly prying eyes. “What about Mark Basso?”

James paled at the closeness of their bodies, but remained professional, examining the ballroom of feasible threats.

“I can’t find him, the dude’s been a ghost for the entire night, but,” there was a pause in his speech, “Elijah Williamson is backstage,” she could hear Sam drum his fingers on a metal surface, “they’ve been conversing for a good while.” A second passed before his words reached y/n’s ears once more. “Are you certain Mark’s appearance at the party is enough to incarcerate him?”

The woman recognized she should inform Sam of the situation without excluding certain details, and yet she couldn’t. If Sam understood the gravity of Elijah’s gala plans, he’d abandon monitoring the security cameras and would certainly place himself in danger to save the Captain. She needed the footage of the events that were to occur backstage, for she had already deceived James, allowing the soldier to believe HYDRA continued to exist.

The eight months they had spent together, unraveling Elijah’s life, had been honest, on y/n’s part, but the last five days had not. James had pursued false leads and theories, and she had let him. Sam might punish her with a harsh lecture, move to live on Natasha’s floor or stop coming to Friday’s Tequila Nights at Barry’s if he discovered y/n’s incomplete truths, but it’d be worth it, for he’d be in the security room in case Mark had planned to delete the footage. James deserved peace, and she craved to ease his mind two criminals at a time. A former HYDRA officer and a corrupt politician behind bars was a good start to rid of the nasty organization and its remains.

“The man’s a HYDRA operative,” she reminded, clutching James’ hand to lead him through the crowd of guests, “who just happens to be identified as deceased,” y/n maneuvered around people, dodging staff members and unsuspecting bystanders, “imagine the headlines and the public’s fear when it’ll get revealed the US government missed a dead man walking after the program to incarcerate security threats was implemented.” A corrupt program for a corrupt country. “President Ross would imprison Mark just to save face.”

The pair soon found themselves backstage. The stage was narrow much like the hallways, and though the space had plenty of overhead LED lights, it was painted a pitch-black color, and the confusing maze of corridors, entrances, and clothing racks seemed rather murky. She hauled James into the women’s bathroom and hurriedly locked the door. The soldier had seen women dragging men into bathrooms at clubs and parties. He was old, but he wasn’t dead — James understood what a couple would do in a bathroom together hence his confusion and reddened cheeks.

She raked her eyes over his face, “we’re not having sex, Barnes.”

“Is it because Steve needs saving or,” the smallest of smirks danced on his lips as James observed y/n step on the toilet to open a vent, “is it because you want our first time to be special?” Amusement colored his tone.

She threw a miffed glare toward him before continuing to rummage in the outlet, “do you actually believe I burn with lust for you?”

“Yes,” Bucky caught a pale yellow gym bag after she tossed it at him, “surely did during the honeymoon.”

“We’ll always have Maui,” she smiled with faux sweetness, stepping off the toilet and on the sparkling white tiles.

The smirk dropped from his lips at the comment because he had been open, honest then, and she just teased him about it. If time allowed for it, she might’ve apologized, guilt beginning to claw at her heart, but she ignored the strange emotion.

“Sam,” she pressed a finger on the earpiece before squatting down to search in the sack, “James is with me,” y/n found an additional earpiece, standing up and taking a step forward to gently attach the gadget onto the soldier, “do you have eyes on Steve?”

“Yes,” the Falcon murmured, audibly upset by Bucky’s presence. “James, hi,” he spoke through the intercom, “y/n, didn’t you say you'd leave the tin-man in Hawaii?”

“Obviously, I failed,” she replied, earning a soft smack from James on the shoulder, “when does the charity auction start?”

“It should begin in fifteen minutes,” Sam spoke, inspecting the view on the monitors, “an incredible date with Amelie Barnes, a gorgeous New York City socialite, is fifth on the list to be auctioned, seven offers before the old-fashioned date with the handsome Captain America.”

She glanced up at James, studying his bewildered expression. “There might be a few things you’ve missed,” y/n grinned in faux innocence before promptly clarifying, "we needed access to the backstage areas. Do you have a gun?”

“No,” James begrudgingly admitted, ashamed to have missed a crucial detail in his attire.

The pair stood in front of each other without a sliver of space in between. She didn’t give herself a minute to think the action through, resting her hands on his chest as she hastily lowered into a squatting position to reach the bag. James sucked in a breath as y/n’s hands slid across the length of his body. She rested a single palm on his upper thigh for balance while she retrieved a set of pistols, but just before his mind had enough time to register the sudden stimulation, she arose, clutching his flesh bicep to steady herself.

“Tuck it into the waistba—“

“Alright,” James interrupted her, “I’ve done this before.”

She let go of his shoulder, taking a step backward. “There’s no need to be rude,” y/n shrugged.

“I’m not being rude,” he rebuffed the comment, “just worried about where you’re planning to hide the gun.”

A slight smile waltzed on her lips as she pushed the bottom of her gown aside, faintly exposing lacy onyx panties and a holster. James choked, once, at the obscenity of her response.

“I’ve done this before,” she teased him, “sergeant.”

The charity auction had been a distant thought until she was standing on the stage with dozens of eyes upon her. She could hear the voice of the auction's host, describing the date she’d be forced to attend and the chatter of middle-aged men, hoping to secure the evening with Amelie Barnes, but y/n could only focus on searching for Mark in the crowd.

Nancy wouldn’t have lied to someone about Elijah and Mark’s wicked plans because the lawyer had zero motives to deceive a person she trusted. At least the woman hoped Nancy trusted whoever it had been on the other side of the phone because her whole plan revolved around Mark’s appearance at the gala. She’d never wish for Steve’s untimely death, but she did wish for the HYDRA operative and the politician to be caught on camera as they attempted to eliminate him.

“Let’s start the bidding at a thousand dollars,” the host announced, and she swallowed the lump of nerves in her throat.

A man on the left side of the ballroom raised his bid paddle. He seemed utterly too old to take y/n out on a date, and she shivered at the possibility.

The host beside y/n smiled, peeking at her. “We have a thousand, can we get more?”

“Two thousand!”

“Three thousand!”

“Five thousand dollars!”

She could barely register the number of voices, each interrupting the next to outbid the other.

A woman, close enough to the stage that she could see her face, raised the paddle. “Ten thousand dollars!”

“Ten thousand dollars for the woman in a green gown,” the presenter spoke cheerfully. “Amelie loves art galleries and tennis at The River Club of New York!” He encouraged the guests to aim higher. “The woman’s a real good company."

What the fuck did Sam tell them?

If she had ever thought that time spent in James Buchanan Barnes’ proximity must have been the worst thing the world could possibly offer, which she often would, she had been wrong. She was a spy, she had undoubtedly used her appearance to obtain certain information or opportunities on missions before, but the auction caused goosebumps to waltz on her skin — to be suppressed into an object, the perfect accessory for a date night, was one of the worst emotions she had ever experienced.

James stood in the back, observing her panic-riddled expression. She had forgotten Tony’s credit card in Maui on accident, and though Tony would skin him alive if he spent as much as a dime on it, Tony and James had never been close buddies, so what further damage could his impending action legitimately cause if the damage of the two’s past had already been irreversible.

“Fifteen thousand dollars,” James raised the bidding paddle, grinning at y/n.

She stood on the stage perplexed at the sound of Bucky’s voice, frantically searching for his face in the sea of people.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we just got our highest bid of the night! Fifteen thousand dollars for the man in the back going in one, two, th-“

“Thirty grand for the man in blue.” A deep voice reverberated through the room.

She abandoned her search for James, locking her gaze on Mark. The spy had inspected the crowd once, then had inspected it for a second time, and the agent had not been comfortably sitting at a nearby table, peering at her through the top of his champagne flute. Mark must have sneaked in, which signified that either Steve was already dead or Elijah was waiting for Mark backstage, conversing with Captain America before commencing the plan of a brutal murder.

“Forty,” James challenged, studying in which direction y/n’s disgusted glance pointed.

“Fifty thousand,” Mark announced before the host had a chance to say anything, continuing to scrutinize her. The agent’s smile was cocky, overconfident, almost as if she was the victim and he was the hunter; as if he had discovered y/n’s deepest and darkest of secrets.

“Fifty thousand going in one, two—“

“A hundred thousand dollars,” James yelled, interrupting the ghost, and maneuvered to stand by the stage.

Silence settled upon the room at the sheer absurdity of his proposed bid. The truth was, the sergeant had spoken before he could think because the world, at that moment, had not existed outside the gala. She was standing on the platform, the glitter in her special lotion, as she’d describe it, glimmering underneath the fiery spotlight. She was clad in an opulent gown, dripping in pearlescent onyx beads and intricate patterns. She was reduced to nothing but an object in the auction, a good company auction's participants could purchase.

She, the woman who’d never become a friend, for he’d always crave to be her lover.

The spy averted her piercing gaze away from Mark and glanced at James. Concern was visibly displayed in his eyes, yet his grin, sweet and playful to steady her nerves, remained. A corner of her mouth quirked up, and she mouthed a silent thank you. James was attempting to outbid every person in the room to save y/n from a terrible date, and he was willing to do it in understanding that Tony would lecture, if not evict, him.

The moment shattered as she returned her eyes to Mark, and her expression turned deadly. The spy might have played the role of an obedient, pleasant wife and woman on Elijah’s boat, but it was apparent he had acquired some kind of insight into who she verily was. It was useless to pretend she desired to be friends with Mark, a positively unsuspicious Elijah’s friend, who just happened to surprisingly specialize in foreign weaponry.

“This is shockingly incredible,” the host trumpeted in amazement, pausing for a second, “a hundred thousand dollars for the man in the satin suit going in one, two, three.” Mark basked in the daggers she sent toward him, sipping on his second glass of champagne as James glided onto the stage, clasping y/n’s fingers in his gloved hand, and placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles. “The date with Amelie Barnes has just been sold to the guy in a lovely suit,” James and y/n exchanged amused looks at the host’s comment, “but don’t abandon your seats just yet ladies and gentlemen, because up next we have a cooking lesson at Daniel with the beautiful chef Olivia Stroud.”

“Thank you,” she softly acknowledged his sacrifice at the auction, "for what you did back there."

The pair hid behind heavy velvet curtains, a hairsbreadth away from each other, occasionally peaking through the crack to inspect the limited backstage area for Mark or Elijah. It slightly resembled a room suited for rehearsals, mimicking the layout of the ballroom and the stage on a lesser scale. The space was cluttered and messy, with tangles of cords littering the floor and racks of clothing lining the walls.

A date with Steve was the last to be auctioned before the break, establishing the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard and without innocent eyes around to witness the gory sight of Captain America’s murder.

James smiled, shyly almost. “I couldn’t allow myself to watch and do nothing while creepy old men fought over a chance to spend time with Amelie,” he teased, adjusting a fallen strap of y/n’s gown, “my hatred for you doesn’t stretch that deep.”

Heat crawled up her neck and onto her cheeks. “Bucky, you are an old man,” the woman teased, “perhaps not creepy, but weird? Absolutely.”

“I’m not weird,” he argued, suppressing a smile, “you eat ice cream with pickles for toppings.”

False shock stained the edges of y/n’s expression, “it was one time, and I only tried it because Pepper affirmed it was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten.”

“Pepper was pregnant,” he reminded playfully, earning a light smack on the shoulder.

The two Avengers swiftly switched into vigilant agents at the sudden squeak of the door. It was Mark, who entered the room first, scanning over the area for unwanted people. Steve appeared in the room seconds later, an arm resting on Elijah’s shoulders as he vehemently laughed at something the politician had mentioned.

It would’ve taken a fool to miss the obvious problem at hand.

Steve was seldom intoxicated. She’d know, for she had spent too many gatherings attempting to outdrink the man without real success. Thor’s Asgardian mead was deadly to mortals but pleasantly kind to gods and super-soldiers alike. Earthly alcohol, contrariwise, was harsh on him; the taste delectable, the effects on Steve’s modified human body meager.

It abruptly struck y/n — guns signified blood, plenty of it, and an operative smart enough to fabricate files of his supposed status as deceased wouldn’t be reckless and leave a plash of evidence in the backstage area of a charity gala’s ballroom.

“Good news,” Sam’s voice echoed in the pair’s ears, “I have eyes on Steve,” he paused briefly, “bad news, Mark Basso and Elijah Williamson are plaguing the Captain.”

James opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him by placing a tender finger on his lips. “Sam, how closely were you monitoring the security cameras?”

It was a simple question she hoped the Falcon wouldn’t take offense to.

He did.

“I was observing the monitors like a hawk, y/n.”

She refrained against an unnecessary comment and focused on the task, “and the video has audio?”

“Yes.”

She took a step forward, closing the barely existent gap between them, “Elijah and Mark must’ve spiked his drink,” y/n hushedly whispered, circling a hand around James’ waist to touch the handgun she had provided.

The pistol was securely tucked into the waistband of his trousers, and the sergeant cocked his head to the side. I’ve been on missions before, the glimmer in his eyes stated, and she could sense the early stages of his frustration, I didn’t accidentally drop it or nothin’.

“At any point, did you notice Steve drinking a whiskey he had not ordered himself?”

“Alright,” Sam clicked his tongue, “so I might not have an answer to that particular question, but I can say that Steve went into the bathroom twenty minutes ago, and his face seemed quite pale.”

James placed a finger on the gadget, “did anyone accompany him?”

“Yes, a line of beautiful ladies,” the Falcon responded, and James could nearly visualize Sam rolling his eyes in annoyance.

The two men bickered some more, but she had tuned out the conversation, studying the scene onward. Everyone has a tell, y/n recalled. Though Steve’s words regarded lies and treacheries, the advice had not yet lost its meaning. It had been New Year’s Eve when she had gotten a nasty infection and had forgone Thor’s mead due to antibiotics. The compound’s residents had partaken in a friendly drinking competition then, and Steve had sworn the alcohol couldn’t exhilarate him, except his eyes had been droopy, and he had clutched James’ biceps for balance.

Steve leaned on Mark, his laugh far less joyous than it had been before, so perhaps Nancy had been wrong, and they had not planned to eliminate him at the gala, but rather drug the Captain, sneakily transporting his unconscious body to a place, devoid of prying glances and curious endeavors. She wondered whether Elijah would linger in the room until the poison took its course. It’d be easier to carry dead weight, for Steve might fight against the operation.

The plan was meticulously calculated except for a single nuance. Why would the two men bring Steve into the backstage area in the first place if they could’ve used the narrow hallways and hidden exits to sneak out?

“We should slaughter Wilfred.” Mark spoke as if answering y/n’s concerns. “I specifically told Nagel he cannot be late.”

“It’s a slight blunder,” Elijah replied, oblivious to the surroundings, and the woman behind the velvet material, around him. Steve was barely awake. “We have Rogers and a bit of time before he’s supposed to appear on stage.”

It was impossible to ignore James’ piercing eyes, and she hastily peeped at him. “Do we wait?”

And she craved to have the correct response to his question, but, despite her usual confidence during missions, she didn’t have an answer. James had allowed her to lead, and she felt as if she was disappointing him, lingering behind a curtain as the Captain, a friend, clutched the very enemies they wished to incarcerate. The only thing y/n understood in great certainty was that Steve’s body couldn’t leave the premises of the establishment.

“Did you see Mark or Elijah on the phone at any point in the night?”

“Mark was a ghost,” Sam’s voice crawled through her earpiece, “but I distinctly remember Elijah in a heated conversation. The man arrived at the gala with his wife, presumably, and scuttled away into a lonely corner soon after, which I found interesting.”

The former HYDRA operative’s phone dinged, and she lowered her hands to reach for the gun strapped to her thigh. Steve’s dormant body nearly hit the ground as he lost consciousness, and Elijah slithered his hands under Steve’s armpits to support the Captain’s weight. The woman’s heart clenched at the sight, of her confidante resting against Elijah’s chest like a heavy sack of potatoes, entirely unresponsive to the situation.

“Let’s move,” Mark clasped his ankles, and the unlikely allies hoisted Steve’s figure, “Wilfred messaged he’s awaiting outside.”

She could only comprehend Elijah's high-pitched shriek that rang in her ears, silencing the laughs, chatter, and footsteps sneaking into the space from the ballroom. James was the first to abandon the secure hiding spot behind the curtain, pointing his gun at the man, a stern expression on his face. A couple seconds passed before she trailed after him, shoving a pistol into Mark’s back as a threat. Steve’s body caused a harsh crash sound when it hit the ground, but she could only concentrate on Sam and the amount of time it’d take him to reach the ballroom backstage from the van parked outside.

“On your knees,” y/n instructed, firmly thrusting the gun against his skin.

The operative lazily raised his arms, making no effort to do as she had requested. “Amelie Barnes,” he chuckled, “what a stupid alias,” the situation didn’t afford contemplations on how he could’ve realized she was more than a homemaker, “though I must admit, I almost fell for the lovebirds' act by the way you two basked in each other on the boat.” Mark’s tone was tainted with smugness.

Elijah landed a painful punch on James’ jawline, and he staggered back at the surprise of the action before he straightened up and kneed him in the stomach.

She drew in a breath, “you’re wrong.”

The operative ignored the politician and the fight he seemed to be losing, “am I?”

She jabbed the pistol into his muscled back once more, hands quivering at the unspoken confession; it swallowed the room, knocking the air out of her lungs. “Get down on your knees,” she spat the warning.

“A dozen names,” he snickered, “and not a single true. Mindy Phillips, Tara Marvin, Katherine Bailey just to identify a few.”

“This is the last time I’ll repeat myself, get down on your fucking knees.”

“C’mon, y/n,” he spoke, lowering his arms a bit, “we can come to an agreement that’d satisfy both of us.”

She froze at the mention. The curiosity almost lured her into the biggest mistake she could make — playing along. “Elijah and HYDRA’s golden agent behind bars is the only agreement I’d be delighted about.”

Mark suddenly turned around, grasping one of y/n’s wrists, and she clobbered him across the head with the hand that was clutching the gun. He wobbled, momentarily, before he tackled her to the ground, thighs resting on either side of her own, and gripped y/n’s wrist once more. The gun landed by her, and she writhed in his hold to reach it, but it was useless. Mark harshly pinned her arms above her hand, leaning in so close she could feel his disgustingly hot breath upon the skin of her neck.

He snickered, grazing the top of her ear with his lips, “we could’ve worked together,” Mark lightly nipped at the sensitive spot, “could’ve been a real good team.”

She found his eyes, amused and eerily hungry, and spat in his face, “fuck you.”

Mark laughed, but before he could sputter another comment, James was pouncing on the agent, resting his entire weight on him just as Mark had done to y/n, mercilessly pummeling the flesh of his upper body.

She averted her gaze from the bloody sight, searching for Elijah. The politician was sprawled out on the cement floor, by Steve’s feet, unconscious. A huge gash tainted his bottom lip, and purple had begun tinting his cheekbones. She glimpsed at James and the small cuts that adorned his handsome face; Elijah must’ve stricken a few great hits before the sergeant had stunned him cold.

Sam barged through the door. Besides the Falcon, she was the only person in the room without visible injuries, though her joints ached from the pressure Mark had used to clutch them.

“I called reinforcement,” he spoke, kicking her gun to a corner Mark couldn’t reach.

“Care to help?” Bucky’s teasing comment amidst a fight was almost comforting.

Sam rolled his eyes, joining James in the scuffle with the agent. She focused on Steve, crawling to his dormant body. Though it was dreadfully faint, his heartbeat remained. It was difficult to raise the top half of his weight, yet y/n succeeded, supporting his neck and shoulders as she inspected the back of his head for damage. She gasped silently, noticing that the blonde of his hair had been stained red. The split in his skin wasn’t deep enough to be profoundly alarming, but it'd require stitches. Speedily, she checked the time on his watch, creating a mental note, and lowered his figure to rummage in his pockets for a cell phone. The Captain’s head she placed upon her folded legs.

The woman’s fingers trembled as she typed in the emergency number. In the years they had worked together, never had Steve fallen unconscious, nor had he obtained a gaping gash in the back of his scalp. Elijah and Mark must've given him an alarmingly high dose of tranquilizer to knock the super-soldier out entirely, and she was scared.

The two Avengers had handcuffed Mark when the call between y/n and the local emergency service had ended. The operator’s voice has been soothing and calm, and she had turned the iPhone off feeling far more composed than she had been when she made it.

“An ambulance should be here in a few minutes.”

“That was quite dramatic,” Mark noted, a weak chuckle slipping past his lips, “Steve ingested sedatives, not poison.”

James placed a gun to his temple, and Sam planted a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder, “don’t engage him,” the Falcon advised, turning to y/n, “did you know?”

She recognized Sam’s true question was did you know they planned to kill Steve?

“Yes,” she averted her gaze to observe Steve, “I’m sorry.” The spy was genuinely apologetic for hiding certain information.

Sam drew in a deep breath, pursing his lips together, “why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I needed you to monitor the security cameras,” she answered truthfully, “I needed someone to transfer the footage into our database,” the explanation was honest once more, “I was afraid Mark or Elijah would attempt to tamper with it.”

“She was right, we had a whole plan 'n' everything,” Mark chimed in, and James pushed him down to his knees.

He sighed in frustration, the pistol lingering in its position against Mark’s skin, “stay fucking quiet, asshole.”

The Falcon ignored the commotion in the background, his expression strained as he continued to stare at her, “you should’ve told us.”

The statement disintegrated into thin air, the weight of it still heavy on her shoulders. She stayed silent, brushing away the sweaty pieces of hair that had stuck to Steve’s forehead. His face was eerily peaceful as he rested, unconscious, on the cement floor, head propped on y/n’s thighs. The gown Sam had chosen for the evening was sprinkled with blood in various spots, albeit the dark color disguised it. It was gorgeous and elegant, she’d admit, but it was destined to burn after the events that had unfolded during the gala.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice drained of emotion.

“The two of you should return to the hotel,” Sam suggested when a group of FBI officers spilled into the room, “shower, eat, rest. I have zero doubts it’s been an exhausting week,” he half-heartedly joked, referring to the faux honeymoon, “I’ll stay with Steve.”

“Sam,” she spoke, “we want t—“

“Go,” the Falcon interrupted her, “please,” one of the officers firmly hoisted Mark, and James swiftly reached y/n’s kneeling figure, “I got this.” The tone of his voice had whispers of irritation at its edges.

“Alright,” she agreed, helping a paramedic transfer Steve’s body onto a stretcher, “I trust you.”

Sam glanced at James, shoving his hands into his pockets, and returned his eyes to y/n. “Good.” The look they exchanged was strangely comforting, the kind of look that conveyed Sam wasn’t angry, per se, but rather vanquished, and disappointment she could deal with.

She offered him a weak smile, “I should shower.”

The Falcon chuckled, mouthing a silent go, and turned his focus to James, both of you.

James stood in the hotel room’s doorway.

She was fidgeting with lavish jewels, her patience stretching thin as the necklace’s clasp remained closed despite y/n’s nimble fingers attempting to work it open. She glanced at him, once, before regaining focus. “Why are you here?”

The sergeant shrugged, though she couldn’t see it. “I forgot to book a hotel room.”

She ceased her movements, observing his awkwardness-laden body language. James’ long-forgotten suit jacket dangled over his bent arm, the other hand shoved into the pocket of his satin trousers.

“May I suggest driving back to the compound?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a small grin at y/n’s thorny response, “we’re in the middle of Manhattan, and the compound is a three-hour drive away.” James closed the heavy wooden door, locking it behind him. “Can I stay with you?”

“It seems you’ve answered the question before I had the chance,” she referenced the action, staring at him in forged disbelief.

The atmosphere stilled in a pregnant pause. It wouldn’t be harmless for the couple to sleep in the same bed. They had done it in Maui, and neither her skin had broken out in a rash nor had she perished. On the contrary, it was peaceful to relish in the warmth of his skin.

James dumped the jacket on an empty chair, slowly coming to stand in front of the woman. She could almost hear the thumping of his heart, his body a hairbreadth away. Sirens echoed outside the sealed window, saturating the silence in crimson sounds. New York City contrasted with the lush green of upstate New York. The living quarters at the compound were usually deprived of clamor, protected against harsh winds and white noise by thick cement walls.

“Let me help you,” James cooed, sliding his hands across the skin of her arms upward. The soft pads of his fingers caressed her collarbone before he grasped the necklace’s clasp and easily worked it open. “We could be great together,” he spoke, turning to gently place the diamond choker on a glass desk, “great partners,” her fingers ghosted over the spots James had touched, “great lovers,” he toyed with the idea.

The sergeant returned to his previous place and, “great lovers,” she teased, “you think we could fit together?”

“Mmmh,” he concurred, “but we always extinguish the flame before it truly burns.”

She brushed her hands across the smooth fabric of his dress shirt, savoring the firmness of his muscled chest beneath the textile. We always extinguish the flame before it truly burns. Perhaps James was correct — she had been opposing a traitorous fire within the deepest pits of her heart, and body, long before Wanda had a terrible idea to send the two on a faux honeymoon.

“Kiss me,” she spoke in an honest confession of lust.

“What?” James’ voice was breathless as he gawked at the woman in foreign excitement and disbelief.

Oh, the way he hoped she’d realize that the line between love and hatred stood thin, and they had surely blurred it in Maui, but never did James think she genuinely would. The fault was his, partially. It had been easy to fabricate false narratives for the compound’s residents, convince himself he loathed the woman despite the countless nights of wandering hands and shameful memories of her body. James had designed a malicious persona, but oh, the way he hoped she’d see through it.

“Kiss me,” she repeated, “because just once, I need to get you out of my system,” her hands slithered to his biceps, “kiss me, so the next time I’ll touch myself at night, it won’t be your face I’ll be seeing.”

James cupped the back of y/n’s neck, crashing their lips together. The world in the background ceased to exist at the moment. He swiped his tongue against her bottom lip, asking for permission, and she surrendered to the request, tangling her fingers in his copper locks. She gingerly pulled at the root, earning a muffled whimper from James, and he slid his metal arm down to y/n’s waist to bring the woman closer, to erase the barely existent gap between their bodies. She burned with arousal, and Bucky was equally as famished. It was only the lack of oxygen that pulled the couple apart, and James drew in a deep breath, capturing y/n’s lips once more seconds later.

It was a dangerous promise, the kiss. A wildfire that spread through the entirety of her body, stimulating every nerve ending until she was moaning into his mouth as a plead for more, tongues fighting for dominance. It knocked the air out of her lungs, and when she retreated, James didn’t meld their lips, opting to focus on y/n’s neck. He kissed, licked, and sucked the sensitive skin like a man deprived of the only thing he’s ever desired. She was a drug, and god, was James addicted to her scent and her silky skin, and her hands, sloppily untucking his dress shirt, to slide under the fabric and explore his taut muscles. Everywhere she touched scorched, and he messily searched for the zipper of her gown, discarding the dress to the ground as soon as the piece of metal relented.

She was the most beautiful sight James had ever seen as she stood in front of him in just a pair of lacy panties. Art, created by the world’s most talented of artists, an angel bestowed to him by the gods themselves.

The sergeant brushed his flesh thumb across her lower lip, blending their lips together. His metal hand, the one she had always disgracefully thought was outrageously attractive, slithered between her plush thighs, and James moaned into her mouth upon discovering that she was soaked and aching for him. He shifted the undergarment to the side for access, dragging his fingers through her silken folds.

Cool metal thumb pressed into her clit, and she broke the kiss, “inside,” she spoke, the tone of her voice laced with desperation, “I want you inside of me.”

“Sweet girl,” James chuckled, inserting a single digit into her slick heat, “you need to be stretched first.”

He thrusted his finger a few times before adding a second digit. She clenched around him, messily unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it on the carpeted floors. The pace of his thrusts remained steady and agonizingly slow as James basked in her pleasure-riddled expression.

The woman clutched the waistband of his trousers, messing with the belt, her fingers trembling as James continued to stroke the sensitive spot inside her with two of his fingers. “Please,” she muttered, “faster.”

A sly smirk waltzed on his lips at the request, but, instead of obeying y/n’s wishes, he halted the activity, removing his hand, and placed the metal in his mouth, sucking it clean, “such a sweet thing you are.”

Warmth crept up her neck and onto her cheekbones. He hastily removed the trousers, placing his hands on the back of y/n’s upper thighs, hoisting the woman, and gently tossed her onto the spongy bed. She stared at him through curious eyes, lowering her gaze to observe the bulge in his boxers, and swallowed the lump in her throat. Judging by the outline in his underwear, James was huge, far bigger than the men she had fooled around with in the past.

“I want to taste you,” she confessed, propping herself up on her elbows.

James shook his head no, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her onyx panties to tear them off, “next time, doll.”

She wasn’t certain whether there would be a next time, for James had discovered a side to her, she had long buried. An alter ego, who was submissive, and pliable, and starved for the touch of a man she described as her enemy.

James nestled between her legs, arms on either side of her waist, and placed chaste kisses on y/n’s mouth and jawline. His head dipped lower as he assailed her neck and chest, popping a nipple in his mouth. The sergeant sucked the sensitive bud before nipping on it, massaging her other breast with his hand and rolling the right nipple between his fingers.

She writhed under him, eyes shut from the waves of pleasure racing through her. James didn’t linger over the area, choosing to concentrate on kissing the length of y/n’s body as he crawled to situate himself betwixt her thighs. Goosebumps painted the path of his eager kisses, and she grasped a handful of his hair when James gave her clit a kitten lick to test the response.

“James,” she purred as he repeated the action and slithered two digits back into her dripping heat.

“Use your words,” he grazed his tongue over the bud again, applying a little bit more pressure, “tell daddy what you want.”

The woman’s eyes shot open at the term but then he was thrusting his fingers into her wetness, repeatedly hitting the delicious spot that made her toes curl, the insult toward James forgotten.

“Mouth,” she mumbled, too lost in the delectation to form a coherent sentence.

James snickered at her vague response, wrapping a pair of soft lips around y/n’s clit. The thrusting of his fingers persisted as he stimulated the area. James was spelling out his full name on her sex, she realized by the time he had started tracing a b for Buchanan, yet she abstained from further reflections, coming undone by his mouth and fingers seconds before James could complete tracing the s in Barnes.

“Good girl,” he praised, helping y/n ride out her orgasm.

James withdrew his fingers, sucking them clean of y/n’s stickiness before he removed the metal with a pop, and peeled off his boxers, flinging the garment across the space.

The room was modern and opulent, with floor-to-ceiling windows exposing the ever-awake skyline of New York City, its sky-high buildings, impressive bridges, and countless lights. It was situated on the fortieth floor of the hotel, creating a perfect opportunity to indulge in a bit of a rush and leave the curtains wide open without a true risk of innocent bystanders witnessing the scene.

James kneeled on the bed. The usual glimmer of annoyance toward her in his eyes had been replaced by a feral kind of hunger, and, as she stared at him like a pray would observe its hunter, y/n decided that, just maybe, this wouldn’t be the first or the last time she’d let James treasure her body.

She loosely draped her forearms over his neck when he slanted to capture her nipple in his mouth, “I know you consistently ignore my wishes,” she whimpered, “but for the love of god, sergeant, I need you.”

He chuckled, showing attention to the other bud by pinching it, “my sweet girl wants to get filled, huh?”

James’ throbbing weight rested heavily against the skin of her thighs, and she reached down to palm it. “Yes.”

The woman’s nimble fingers caressed the reddened tip, spreading his precum on the surface before she dipped her hand a tad lower to gently fondle his balls. A moan escaped past his lips at her eager endeavor.

“I like it when you’re needy,” James pulled back and she groaned at the loss of him in her hands, “and dripping,” his fingers ghosted over the velvety folds before he was manhandling the spy to rest on her knees and forearms, “willing to let daddy take care of you.”

She ignored the name yet again but stored it within her memories to use for blackmail in the future. “Is he?” She questioned when Bucky clutched her hips and pushed his hand down on her back for a deeper arch. “Is daddy gonna fuck me, or is he just going to talk all night?”

James understood she only used the term to mock him, but shit, did it stir his already aching cock. He palmed himself twice before dragging his length along her slick folds, the metal hand abandoning her hips to circle her waist and gently rub y/n’s clit from behind. She clenched around emptiness, pressing into his pelvis for friction, and Bucky ceased his movements, removing the fingers from her bud to harshly grip the flesh of y/n’s hips once more. James continued the torture, lazily teasing her entrance, and she painfully sunk her teeth into her bottom lip.

“What do we say when we want something?” He taunted the woman, utterly enjoying her anguish.

“James,” she mumbled into the crisp sheets.

The soldier found amusement in the warning but showed mercy, sinking into her sodden heat. He’d fuck the brat out of her on a different day.

A strained whimper escaped past her lips at the delicious stretch of his cock, matching Bucky’s hiss at the way the spy’s walls drunk him in. James thrusted into her a few times, experimenting with speed and rhythm. A particularly rough roll of his hips seemed to rip a piercing moan from y/n’s throat, and he grinned, abandoning the hold on her hips to massage her clit again.

The room was saturated in vulgar noises of skin slapping against skin, moans, and desperate whines as James mercilessly pounded into her. She sobbed into a pillow as he led her to the edge for the second time, refusing to burst the bubble and let the flame consume her, thick fingers retreating just before the orgasm could ignite her body, over and over again.

James consumed every shallow breath and every wail, deciding that it would not be the last time he’d listen to the melody — she was a sin he’d gratefully burn in hell for, and an angel he’d break down heaven’s gates to attain. The soldier suddenly removed himself from her, already missing y/n’s silken walls squeezing around him, and shifted the woman, so that she rested on her back. He captured her ankles, draping them over his shoulders before he roughly thrusted back in. She wept at the overstimulation when he bottomed out, balls slapping against the skin of her ass. The new angle allowed James to reach far deeper.

He groaned, “you’re so tight,” thumb brushing against her plush lips, “my sweet, sweet girl,” he cooed, “wanna worship this pussy all night.”

And in his head, the statement stood true, but it was his body that opposed it, his arousal steadily creeping over the edge of an orgasm.

She shut her eyes, expression drenched with pleasure, “I’ma cum,” she moaned.

“I know, doll.” James wiped off the tear threatening to roll down her cheek and captured y/n’s lips in a messy kiss.

“It feels good—,” she hiccuped when he pulled away, “—so good.”

The world stilled. It was only James’ ragged breath and the heavenly orgasm she could focus on, washing over her body in syrupy waves and causing her toes to curl into the mattress below. She raked her nails over the skin of his back, leaving scorching marks in her wake.

“Shit,” James cursed as his own peak approached, his strokes sloppy.

It was a few thrusts later when he climaxed, painting her velvety walls white with a loud moan. He licked a sensitive spot on y/n’s neck, propping himself up on his forearms when the thunderous arousal began to quiet.

She brushed the hair that had gotten stuck to his sweaty forehead aside, “we don’t have evidence to convict Nancy,” she spoke when her heartbeat steadied.

James sighed amusedly, pulling out his softened length and maneuvering to lay beside her. “This is what you say after we just had sex for the first time?”

“Yes,” she deflected, refusing to admit she had fallen for the soldier and that it would not be the only time they’d get tangled in the sheets.

“Alright,” he abandoned the bed with a laugh and gathered y/n’s exhausted body in his arms to locate the bathroom, “but let’s shower before we talk shop.”

James observed the skyline of New York City. It was the place they had first encountered one another, back when he had brutally stabbed the woman. She rested on his bare chest now, peacefully asleep, soft snores falling from her lips. Times have changed, James realized with a heavy heart because change was uncertain and scary. It was worth it, though, if it meant the sergeant could love her up close and without barriers between them. It’d surely take a while to erase the tainted memories of the past, but they had been at war for five years, and he’d happily spend another five falling in love.

An iPhone James had recently purchased dinged with a text.

CAPTAIN AMERICA: guess Wanda and I won’t have to sleep with our eyes open after all:)

His mouth curved into a smile, elated Steve had not only woken up but was cracking jokes over the situation he had forced Bucky into.

WHITE WOLF: debatable.

It was not debatable — Steve and Wanda sending the couple on a honeymoon in Maui was the best decision they could’ve made, for the moon found his sun at last.

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justalonelyslytherin · 2 years ago

Text

Happy Father's Day - Lloyd Hansen

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x female Reader

Warnings: cursing, violence, gun handling and shooting, death, blood, insinuation/mention of hurting and/or killing a child

Wordcount: 3.9k

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don’t allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. Please don’t steal my work.

A/N: Another one of the longer ones in this series. Writing Lloyd was so much fun. And I really enjoyed this scenario and the open end, if Reader and Lloyd will get along or not. Part of the ‘Happy Father’s Day’ series. Dividers by the fantastic @/firefly-graphics

Footsteps echoed through the empty hall, drawing nearer until the door swung open. A figure walked into the office.

“You are late.”

Carmichael, who had been sitting in his chair and watching the arriving car through the dimmed window, turned around.

“Yeah well, I didn’t want to be here.”

“It’ll be worth your expenditure.”

“You better be paying me good for this. Summoning me here, you are becoming flamboyant. I could be otherwise entertained.”

“As always. You should know better of me.” Carmichael pursed his lips, glancing at the other man over his glasses. “This one is a special mission.”

“Are you finally getting rid of Susan, that frigid bitch?”

“No. But similar. I wanted to see your reaction myself.”

“And once you're finished we’ll have a drink together. Like the good old times.”

Lloyd raised an eyebrow as Carmichael opened a drawer. Withdrawing the file in an exaggerated motion, he held it in the air. It was inconspicuous. Like any other file the CIA used on their targets.

With a heavy thud it landed on the dark wooden desk, the noise reverberated through the dim office. Licking his lips and cocking his hip out, Lloyd took a lazy step forward. He swiped the file up in one smooth motion. Opening it, he was greeted with a picture.

Lloyd’s grip tightened around the file, the etches crinkling. His jaw ticked, square, and ready to snap as he eyed the contents.

“Her?” He asked after a tense, long silence.

“Her,” Carmichael confirmed. He leaned forward in his seat, elbows placed on the edge of the desk, “I want her disposed of.”

“Any particular reason?” Lloyd lilted lazily, eyes dragging over the file towards the other man. He didn’t need to read the print, he had committed it to memory a long time ago.

“None that should matter to you. I thought you might like to do it yourself. Since you two have…history.”

Huffing he let the file drop onto the desk, the smack reverberated through the office. A devilish, hungry grin spread over Lloyd’s lips.

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

Today had felt like an ordinary day to her, but if she knew one thing it was that there were no ordinary days.

There were quiet days and then there were hectic days. There were days when everything went according to plan and days when everything went wrong. There were days in which she’d been safe and days in which she’d nearly died.

The latter ones were now few and far between. Once it was her day-to-day, her nine-to-five. It was behind her now for most of it.

But as a seasoned agent, she should have known nothing ever truly stayed gone and that especially as someone in the intelligence industry there was no such simple thing as retirement.

Dying was your retirement.

The house was quiet when she arrived home. Something wasn’t right. It felt deadly quiet, not even the usual noise from the neighbors or cars passing over the street was there. It was too quiet.

Her days in the field might have laid behind her but her instincts were still as sharp. And so was her habit of still carrying a weapon with her at all times. As silently as she could, she put her purse beside the front door, moving slowly and carefully. Squatting, she drew her gun from inside the bag.

The entryway was clear and so was the office she never used. When she walked through the living room, clearing it as well, gaze moving into the adjacent, open kitchen she froze. Halfway hidden behind the kitchen counter lay a body on the floor. Rosa. Her household help. Face down, in a puddle of her own blood, unmoving.

Rushing over, there was nothing she still could have done for the nice lady she’d become friends with. She wasn’t long dead, body and blood felt warm.

Then she heard it. A creek. Snapping her head towards the ceiling she listened. When another creek sounded, she bounded to the stairs. Taking two steps at a time she rushed up.

On the second level, she ignored most of the doors, bypassing clearing each room in favor of getting to the most important of it all. At the far end of the hallway was a cream-colored door, opened just a slit. A soft melody played, faintly echoing through the hallway. She’d closed that door just before she left the house.

The door swung open, barely stopping before it hit the wall as she barged in, gun drawn high. She pointed the barrel at the figure standing on the other side of the room, looming above a baby bed.

“Hands up where I can see them and step the fuck away from the cradle!” Her voice was firm but there was the hint of a shake looming close.

The figure stayed relaxed, slowly raising his hands. There was a big gun in his right hand, making her grit her teeth as her heart dropped. Hopefully, she wasn’t too late already. Please, don’t let her be too late. Her grip around her gun tightened as the person turned around.

Shock coursed through her, almost making her forget what was going on. Almost.

“Lloyd.”

He grinned at her, “Hello Sunshine.”

The pet name rolled off his tongue so smoothly as if not a single day had gone by. It didn’t trick her, it was a farce and so she kept her guard up and the gun centered on his chest. Not that Lloyd could have cared for any of it. That grin, that split his lips and pulled at his mustache mocked her together with the glint in his eyes. The amusement was highly evident on his face.

“You sneaky little thing, aren’t you?” He made a show of trailing his gaze through the room before he continued, “A safe house – that’s not so safe anymore – and a baby?”

His laugh made her skin crawl.

“I didn’t peg you for the chick that would let herself get stuck with a brat,” he taunted and she rolled her eyes. “Although I would have enjoyed being the one to fuck one into you.”

“Step away from her,” she demanded, unreactive to his jabs. He wanted to provoke her but she wouldn’t grant him that pleasure.

Lloyd looked behind him toward the crib in which her baby was peacefully sleeping. “And what if I don’t? You shoot me? Shoot in the direction of your darling?” Her eyes flickered to the crib behind him, just for a moment. Enough to confirm he was right. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

“As I thought,” he hummed, slowly putting his hands down.

She’d just lost her advantage, her threat. The gun in her hands was useless if she couldn’t – wouldn’t – use it to actually shoot him. It was just a show and he could do and please how he wanted without her being able to prevent it.

“I have to give you that: She is cute as a bug.” Her heart nearly gave out as Lloyd turned around again and leaned over the crib. He was reaching down, his fingers running over the baby's smooth dark hair and soft cheek. As his pinky ring graced her cheek, the cold sensation of the metal on her skin made her frown. It caused his lip to quip upward.

With his other hand – the one holding the large gun – he leaned down too. The nose of the gun softly traced along her little tummy.

It made her breath hitch, instinctively she took a step forward. A mistake as Lloyd’s head cocked back at her. There was enjoyment glinting in his eyes. He loved games like this, toying with people’s emotions, but most of all with their fear.

“Oh look at you, all momma-bear. Am I driving you crazy with concern huh?” He was having the time of his life.

“What will you do?” he wanted to know, taunting once more, “I could shoot her right now and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

He was right. She wouldn’t be able to cross the room fast enough to prevent him from pulling the trigger or ripping the gun up and away from her child.

“Step away from her,” she demanded, voice shaking with equal amounts of rage and concern. It was an empty demand. What threat did she have against him? What options to stop him? Her words made him laugh.

“Give me one good reason why I should do that instead of pulling my trigger right now?”

“Because she is yours.”

Lloyd raised an eyebrow, beneath his long lashes his eyes dilated in surprise but also in glee. Once more he started laughing. A full belly laugh this time. So much he had to wipe away tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

“That’s a good one, sunshine.” But she stayed unwaveringly serious. Lloyd eyed that as well. Straightening up he took in the sleeping baby closely.

“Oh, are you serious?” The amusement was still there but now there was a hint of seriousness in his tone as well.

“Her?” He pointed towards the cradle. “Mine?”

Reluctantly she nodded. There was a brief moment in which Lloyd turned solemnly serious, a moment in which he seemed to contemplate it all. Then his face twisted in rage. In a split second, he lunged at her.

She was slammed to the floor, him above her as her gun skidded over the ground, out of her reach. His hands wrapped around her throat, strong hands unrelenting. The air was pushed out of her lungs as he choked her. Wrapping her hands around his forearms, she tried to stop him but there was no point. He was too strong.

“You little bitch.” Lloyd was seething. Spitting as he looked at her like an animal gone wild. “You are enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Greedy little slut, took everything you could get your hands on, didn’t you? Even a baby!” Her mind was reeling, both from the lack of oxygen and his words. They didn’t make sense. She hadn’t taken anything from him. It wasn’t like she had tried to get him to knock her up and then vanish.

Even with the blood rushing in her ears and the black rims growing at the edges of her vision she couldn’t get his hands off her. But maybe getting his hands off her neck wasn’t what she should focus on. With what quickly draining strength she had still left in her, she started squirming under him.

She couldn’t die right now. Not like this. There was no way in hell she would leave her daughter to Lloyd’s mercy.

“You are a twisted, backstabbing–” Mustering enough strength she managed to kick him in the balls, hard enough to sway him for a moment. It was only a short moment but it was enough to kick him off her and send him to the side.

She coughed and wheezed, greedily sucking in as much air as she could. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him sit up, brushing a hand over his mouth. It came away with a streak of blood.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She wheezed, turning to her side, all the while her eyes roamed through the room, looking for her gun.

“You were the reason the CIA kicked me out! Not that I would have enjoyed being in that constringent shithole with their stupid rules. I’m much freer where I am now but that doesn’t change the fact you betrayed me!”

What?

“I didn’t!” She watched him try to stand up and so she swiped her leg out, ripping his feet out from underneath him. He smacked against the floor as she continued, “I didn’t even know you were kicked out! No one would tell me anything about what happened. You were simply gone!”

“Liar,” he roared, looking at her with rage. Seeing his rage was nothing new, but this was the first time it was focused on her.

“I thought you were dead!”, she roared back, “It took me weeks with no success until I found out– … until I found out I was pregnant. Only when I went to Fitzroy did he tell me you got kicked out.”

“Bullshit! Someone ratted me out! Who was it then?”

“Who? I'll tell you who! Your buddy, fucking, Carmichael!”

There was a fire burning in Lloyds eyes and with newfound vigor, he pushed to his feet. Scrambling, she looked around the room, frantically trying to find her gun. She needed to reach her gun before Lloyd could reach his.

“He never liked me, Lloyd. He always hated that I was by your side. That ass was always jealous of what we – you – had since college! He couldn’t stand that I was taking you away from him, don’t you understand?!”

Lloyd had never seen the clear disdain with which Carmichael had regarded her. The poorly hidden hatred and animosity.

She’d stalled him long enough to locate her gun in the room, just as Lloyd had risen to his feet and centered his attention on his gun – much closer than hers. Their eyes crossed as a mutual realization set in. They had the same plan and they both needed to stop the other. There was a second in which neither one of them moved. Then, jumping around she scrambled for her gun. Nearly there, only millimeters from grasping it in her hand, her fingers brushing the cool plastic, a hand wrapped around her ankle. With a violent jerk, she was yanked back. Not without a fight. Her kicking was fruitless, Lloyd’s hand stayed around her foot like a vice. It was to no avail.

He was pulling her back until she lay under him and Lloyd pinned her to the ground with his knees and hands. His gun was pointed at her. The click of the bullet slipping into the barrel had her deflate.

All the fight rapidly left as she realized: she’d lost.

“Don’t kill her,” she whispered, eyes dimmed in grief. She pleaded with him, “Don’t punish her for what you believe me to have done.” In a violent lurch her face whipped to the side, the sound of his backhanded slap echoing in her ears. The metallic taste of blood spread in her mouth.

It didn’t stop her from continuing, “Look after her.

At least find her a safe place with a new family if you don’t want her.”

This raging fire kept burning in his eyes as Lloyd centered the barrel of his gun to her forehead. Cold metal touched her skin, creating a burning halo. She wouldn’t close her eyes. No, she chose to keep looking into his, waiting for her inevitable end.

When the trigger got pulled, the shot rang out loudly above her but the bullet never hit.

No longer was the gun pointed at her but at the door, she’d burst through not long ago. Ripping her eyes away from the gun, she focused back on Lloyd. He was already looking down at her, his jaw clenched and lips pursed.

Behind them – in the cradle – their baby started to wail.

In his hands, Carmichael held a couple of pictures. A drone shot from a burned-down house. Multiple from the burned-down interior of said house. And one of a corpse burned so badly she was unrecognizable.

The door to his office opened up without premonition.

“Well done.” Putting the pictures down the man with the glasses looked up.

“How did it feel?” “Satisfying,” Lloyd mused, hands loosely clasped behind his back as he whipped on his feet.

“So the bitch got what she deserved.” Carmichael looked pleased, a sly grin formed on his usually composed and unhappy-looking face. “You know I never trusted her. Always knew there was something off with her.”

“She was a rotten apple from the beginning.” “Was she?” Lloyd asked with ease. “Why’d you never say something then?”

“I wanted you to have your fun with her. I thought that’s all she was to you anyway.”

Nodding Lloyd hummed, “She was a pretty good fuck.”

In the end, Carmichael stood up, walking towards a sideboard with glasses and a bottle of expensive alcohol. “Let’s drink to that.” He poured some into the two glasses, the trickle of the liquid sloshing the only sound.

“A toast,” he said, turning around with the two glasses in his hand. One held out towards Lloyd, the other comfortably nestled in his own. “To the two of us. That no woman will ever be worthy to come between us.”

Lloyd was now directly in front of him. Before he could register the thing shoved against his chest, the muffled sound of a shot rang out. The glasses toppled from his hands, their golden liquid soaked the carpet beneath his feet. He could only glance at the gun between them in shock. The gun Lloyd had aimed and fired at his chest.

“The bitch is indeed getting what he deserves.”

Lloyd’s mustache quirked up, revealing the grin on his lips as Carmichael stumbled and slid down the sideboard. Sitting before him, the man's blood mixed with the carpet.

“You should have never come between me and her.” It was the last thing Lloyd whispered, watching as the light left the man's eyes.

Picking up one of the two glasses, Lloyd eyed the remains of the liquid in the crystal clear cup. He downed it in one swift gulp.

“Happy Father’s Day to me.”

Outside the office, Carmichael’s men lay slumped over. Dead too. Lloyd stepped over them, wasting no glance back as he walked on.

Behind the corner at the end of the hallway, a figure awaited. Fitzroy. The older man had his hands shoved into his pockets as he watched him approach. Both men looked at one another, unable to stand their opposite but still working together. An Exception.

“You better treat her right,” Fitzroy was serious, looking down on him with disdain. “Or I’ll come to get her and my granddaughter and you’ll be dead.”

The words didn’t impress Lloyd. It was a real threat. Fitzroy still had his trumps and his ways to win over Lloyd.

Yet he calmly and dryly answered, “She isn’t your granddaughter.”

“No, but she is as good as.

I was the only one there for them, during the pregnancy and when she gave birth to that sweet little angel.”

It was a carefully calculated attack, the words meant to cut deep. Lloyd didn’t say anything to that. He walked past the man without another word. Outside a car waited for him already, driving away the moment he sat inside.

High-pitched coos and unintelligible babbling littered the air as she held her daughter in her arms softly swaying her from side to side. Her heart fluttered as she took in the chubby cheeks and long lashes.

“We still have to get used to our new home, don’t we?” She mumbled against the soft tuft of hair dusted along her daughter’s head. Her little head couldn’t stop turning around, not nearly fast enough to follow her curious eyes.

“It’s so big.” Her little one cooed in agreement, even though she likely couldn’t understand her yet. Taking in the huge room they were in, big still felt like an understatement. The improvised baby room looked anything but suited for a baby. The luxurious theme felt overpowering, just like the rest of the castle did. Adjusting from a comfortable little two-story house to a castle with rooms in the hundreds would take time.

“Who would have thought your dad would show up to join your life.”

There was still a part of her that didn’t want to believe it and a part of her that mistrusted Lloyd. Her lip and back still ached from the fight, the memories of him pointing his gun not only at her but at the baby and threatening to shoot fresh in her mind. Too fresh perhaps.

Lloyd had changed from wanting to kill her to wanting to protect her and their daughter in less than a minute. A split-second decision that otherwise would have found her with a bullet in the head and her daughter orphaned.

A noise from the outside alerted her. It drew her to the big window so they could watch what was happening outside. Together they eyed the black SUV drive over the gravel of the huge driveway, fast approaching the house. When the car stopped just before the entrance and Lloyd stepped out of the car, she sighed.

“Speaking of the devil,” muttering to her daughter, she pressed a kiss against her head. The baby coed once more and babbled happily in her arms. Clumsy little fingers gripped her sleeve.

“Sunshine! I’m back!”

Not a moment later Lloyd’s loud voice boomed through the house. One might think that with its size his voice would get drowned out. It didn’t take him long to reach the room and push the door open. Once his eyes settled on the two of them, still close to the window a grin appeared on his face.

“There they are!” Striding over he stopped shortly in front of them as his eyes settled on the toddler.

“Bug.” She rolled her eyes at his newly proclaimed nickname for his daughter. Her eyes followed his hands, reaching out and demanding to hold the baby. For a moment she hesitated to pass her over. Lloyd’s eyes jumped to her, narrowing slightly but ultimately he dropped his hands to his side.

Not for long. Just as quickly as he had folded his hands found her waist. Rather forcefully she was turned around, gazing back out of the window.

“You’ll start to trust me again.” His voice murmured into her ear as Lloyd settled behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. Her back was pressed against his front. Resting his chin against her shoulder, he nosed along her neck, whispering more words into her ear.

“And maybe by the next Father’s Day, I’ve fucked another one into you already.”

She scoffed, lips twitching upward in a smile as she glanced back at him, “In your dreams. How about you learn to handle your existing daughter first. She’s already got your temper when she is tired and cranky, by that time next year she’ll likely have reached the terrible twos.”

BONUS:

“If I find out you lied to me,” Lloyd threatened as he stood up, still looking down at her. He nodded towards his gun.

“Why would I?” Scoffing, she too slowly sat up and wiped away the blood from her mouth. “I would have never betrayed you, I loved you.”

Something in the way he laughed so dryly deeply hurt her. Her eyes were turned downwards as she got up. When she stood in front of him, face to face, her expression remained unchanged and just as solemn.

“You are serious?”

“Is it so hard to believe? My future was yours.”

She was about to breeze past him and towards the cradle, towards her crying daughter when he stopped her. His hand wrapped around her biceps.

“Looks like you are getting what you wanted in the end,” he rumbled into her ear. Then he dropped his hand. “Calm her down, take whatever you need for her, and be done with it in five minutes.”

He didn’t leave the room while she did so, hovering beside the door with his arms crossed, holding onto the gun as he watched.

#lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x fic #lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen fanfiction #sly writes

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shitpostingkats · 2 months ago

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Can I please have some dark world administrative lore. Read your "Jaden Yuki has to take care of a pack of middle schoolers" and now im obsessed. Very much looking forward to the fic you mentioned where Yuri becomes Jaden's intern/apprentice because I would love to see their relationship development/dynamic and also. I need more administrative lore. I would absolutely read your entire 15 slide powerpoint

I have such a regular amount of Dark World lore. It is a very sane amount of worldbuilding I did. The next fic in the series definitely isn't going to be more underworld office comedy schennanigans with absurd amounts of exposition and complex workplace drama.

(One of these is a lie.)

For the dark world administrative lore, I decided to use file no. 4 of the Master Guide 2 card storylines as a jumping off point, and then the lore just ballooned from there. The powerpoint exists for my own referencing purposes, because even if most of the dark world generals don't appear (yet >:), it is important it exists to me.

Let's start with our head of state and his primary advisors!

Third King of the Dark World, babey!!! You know him, you love him, it's the Yuki!

Not too much to say about our Supreme Boi that isn't gonna be covered in future fics. The most relevant information, going into the as-of-yet-untitled next gc au fic, is thinking about what the hot mess that is dark world politics from an outside perspective. Like, imagine you're one of the other interdimensional courts that exist in the wider yugioh canon and just

Yuri doesn't have a slide in my powerpoint :(

I can say that in the gc au after he settles into the dark world and starts being involved in running the kingdom, Jaden goes in and officially names him an official of the dark world. At first, Yuri demanded he also be called "Supreme King", because he's a little shit like that. They compromise on "Supreme Prince".

None of the other officials call him that. They just call him "The Princeling"

Beiige, my beloved long suffering paper pusher <3

Jaden does, in fact, end up giving him a scarf at some point.

Under our King, Prince, and Vanguard, we have the newly promoted heads of Millitary and Wellfare. There is technically a third branch of of the government, Security, but rather than have a single representative, the duties of security are actually divided into Internal and External. Or, more specifically, The Wild Hunt and Renge And His Weird Daughter.

More on them later.

For now, say hi to the rest of the Dark World's millitary division!

Fun fact! At first one might assume that the dark world monsters don't have genders! Well, I assumed that at first, at least. But Snoww is considered notable for being the "only" female Dark Lord, which implies they have at least some kind of gender system. And for some reason, I find it much stranger to have a host of duel spirits with like twelve guys and one woman, than everyone just using to same pronouns. So for my own comfort and amusement, I've switched up some of the Dark Lords genders. So if she ever comes up in fic, Lucent is a woman. Other than that, she's basically the textbook brooding samurai. Jaden actually offered her the position of millitary head first, but she turned it down, both thinking herself undeserving of the title, and because she argued her being not an on-the-ground operative is exactly how she did not know how bad Bronn's rule had become. He reluctantly agreed, and she pointed him towards Zure.

What happened to the previous heads of Military? Well, as I alluded to in my fic, they're a bit hard to track down at the moment.

And in special ops, we got Cobal!

Not actually ever printed, never even seen in show. Cobal wasn't even a Dark Lord under the previous monarchy. He's like the dark world equivalent of a construction worker who got promoted to the head of the CIA. Why the rapid career change? Well one, he was in the resistance with Axel, and Jaden trusts anyone who tried to actively overthrow him. Also, the previous head of the CIA defected and set about overthrowing the government.

And on the other side, under Gren's oversight, we have our Silly Old Men.

The true victors of diplomacy. Because they were not soldiers, and smart enough to understand how veeeeery precarious that made their standing once Bronn started to go all mad king-y, used their massive brains and promptly noped right out of the situation. Parl already stayed in his cave like 90% of the time, so he pulled the old Just Stop Showing Up To The Office strategy and wrote a letter to his friend suggesting he do that same. Someone who was NOT passive about the whole Supreme King situation, however, was Ceruli's apprentice, Snoww.

While they have since reconciled, Snoww was originally an ardent opponent to Jaden's (first) rule, as well as Bronn. There isn't a more skilled death diviner in the dark world, nor any other dimension, so Supreme King Jaden went to her first thing upon Bronn's defeat to seek help recovering Jesse's soul. She was unable to find it (him being still alive) and even worse, advised Jaden that obsessing over a ghost was often the last thing a spirit wanted. Once he started pursuing Super Poly, she turned her work to guiding as many of the lost souls as she could to a peaceful rest, and delaying the ritual as long as possible.

She continued like this even after she was found out, and formally defected to join the rebellion.

RIP Latinum. He's currently rotting in one of the many Dark World prison cells.

And lastly, we've got the security branch, both internal and external.

There are now two gatekeepers in the Dark World, which is a 200% increase to what it was previously!!!

Broww's wild hunt is roughly based on the real life folkloric trend; the ever-moving host of unquiet dead that roams across the land. I like to think it has that same spooky connotation, even among dark world residents. Broww's just scary. Add to it that he basically disappeared from the government to continue to act as an independent force, the wild hunt has a bit of a mysterious reputation. It's basically the most sovereign branch of the dark world government, if not for...

Are you going to be the one to tell the dragonlord what they can and can't do??? Grapha and Jaden work on a mutual respect type of relationship, as Jaden is one of the most powerful beings in all dimensions and still a little cautious about working with dragon spirits. Inversely, Grapha is willing to handle territorial and testy dragons all day, but can acknowledge when their boss is pretty chill for an eldritch horror.

If you want a easier to follow summary, here's a diagram of the Dark World's current chain of command:

AND! For an added bit of trivia: Completely by accident, I somwhow managed to namedrop every GX era original Dark World monster in Jaden Yuki Has To Take Care Of A Pack Of Wild Middleschoolers. I just love talking about my headcanon lore so much. Can you spot them all?

#GODS i forgot how much text I had written in my notes about this #THANK YOU for the ask because it gave me an excuse to refresh myself on all the dark world lords #which maaaaay be relevant in an upcoming gc au fic :)<#yugioh #yugioh gx #ygo gx #yugioh gc au #jaden yuki #asks #answered asks #oh! and!#*gives you the sticker of 'you asked a tumblr blog about their niche au so you're escaping samsara for sure'*

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iheartchv · 8 months ago

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could i ask for a matchup? also i hope your having a nice day/night/afternoon!! also, please excuse any bad grammar, english is not my first language.

im Cuban Puerto Rican, i speak both my mother tongue and English. kinda trying to get myself to learn German though. im a bit of an ambivert, i mostly enjoy spending time with those i know well.

im 5’2, i have a huge scar in my left leg due to an accident i had when i was younger. i have brown, nearly black eyes and i use glasses. i have a mole near my collarbone and another one just above. my hair is brown and medium sized with some side-tails.

currently studying with a forensic sciences major, a bit of a nerd.. i enjoy drawing, reading Sci-Fi and spending time with my pet snakes. (their ball pythons, they are super adorable…) i absolutely love heavy metal bands like Rammstein, korn, Slipknot, i listen to Type O Negative, Slaughter to Prevail from time to time aswell alongside jazz. i dress in a bit of a grunge way, it varies since i enjoy fashion a lot.

i enjoy watching true crimes series (Forensic Files being an all time favorite), watching Caso Cerrado, and documentaries regarding military history. i love the rainy weather and from time to time going to the beach. truly calming, really.

anyways, i really hope you are having a pleasant time, again. also i absolutely love your writing style!!

🤔I'll match you with...

Simon "Ghost" Riley 💀

I think Ghost would be your match

For this scenario, lets just say that Ghost was to keep an eye on you for a mission

You had shown potential that anyone working for the law would want you to work with them

You have an internship working for the police in your area, getting some practice for the field

You weren't bad, quite good actually

And because you were so good, you would also become a threat to any criminal facing charges for murder, etc.

One of such being Makarov and the Konni group

TF 141 got word that Makarov killed their spy that was sending feedback and intel

You were unfortunately the one looking over the said body of 141's spy; the FBI and CIA wanted to know exactly who done it

As Ghost continued to have constant vigil over you in the shadows, he didn't like the idea of seeing you make your way home alone

He finally decided to start blending in with people, and sometimes walking your way

It's just for the mission, he'd tell himself

🖤

At first, seeing his appearance was a little scary, intimidating

But you didn't sense no ill will coming from him, at least not toward you

You initiated conversations with him, and little by little he was talking more than just a word or a sentence

Over time he got to know you pretty well, as much as you allowed

He noticed how open you were to him, letting him know that you trusted him

You were just full of surprises;

One thing after another he learned so much about you besides what was in your personal records

He started to see you as you, not just another nameless target to protect

🖤

Even after the mission is complete, he comes back to see you...

Maybe stay for a while...

I can totally see you and Ghost going to the beach during times when there's no one around

Just you two

And rainy days?

He'd be all for it

A hot cup of tea and being with you is one of those perfect moments he feels at peace

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diejager · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 4

Cw: blood, death, canon typical violence, guns, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.6k

Series masterlist

Finland was a beautiful country, with a wide expanse of snowy plains and forest that covered the frozen earth. Green pines were tipped in gleaming snow, shiny and holy in a way that brought out awe and astonishment instead of anxiety from the mission. For a pretty country, the land was bathed in blood, old and new, both Finnish and Russian.

Standing on the border of Finland and Russia was a compound, one built by shady funds and shadier reasons that the CIA decided to send Task Force 141 to shut down. The images from drones showed that it tainted the snow black and grey, a mark on the land people wanted gone. It was your target.

Price gathered you around the table for the mission's debriefing, standing at the head of it, he had pictures displayed on the table, and physical notes about the mission and Laswell dealt with the extra explanations, sliding files to the screen. A Russian compound from what Laswell's intel told you, hidden under the thick, forested area of the border with a skeleton crew of around twenty ultranationalists.

The CIA had mentioned that their initial assumptions of the ongoings were human trafficking or an information hub for terrorists and prisoners. Whether it was the first or the second, the secretive compound had to be detained.

"Our main objective is to gather information about the things happening behind those walls. It's an infiltration and intel gathering. We leave in 15.

With the dismissal, you all filed out of the room, boots sounding loudly as you made your way to your barrack and then armoury for the mission. Everyone would need to be ready, you'd have no air support or cover, and you'd all be on field.

Nikolai warned you about turbulence, the harsh wind of the Nordic countries was stronger than the British weather, but the ride was calming, interacting with your teammates on the three-hour flight. Jokes were passed around by Gaz and Soap, they were by far the goofiest of the bunch, though with a bit of insistence, Ghost shared a few of his dark humour.

Humour wasn't something you'd relate Ghost to, the brooding mass of a man seemed so cold and distant to you, yet he cared about the team, and now you too. Price, however, had the worst dad jokes one could think of. Although his jokes were bad and as dark as Ghost's, you couldn't contain your cackle when you saw the disgusted expression on the three, younger men before you.

"Approaching the landing site," Nikolai called out, his voice ringing out from the headset.

The carrier shook violently, and your stomach dropped along the plane, lowering to the cleared, paved ground near a village. It was a rocky landing, the landing wheels jerking upwards a few times before it stopped moving. You followed out behind Price and Roach once you were cleared by Nikolai, hearing the blades shutter and halt as your eyes adjusted to the white land.

You were warned about snow blindness, staring at the beautiful sight through dark glasses, it made everything sombre, but you wouldn't risk it. By habit, your eyes scanned the area, watching for things that could bring to your team. When everything seemed fine, you faced the blurred figure that moved to your side.

"First time 'ere?" Ghost asked, his voice gravelly from not using it much apart from the few jokes he told, they could be counted with both hands.

"No, I've been here once, just nowhere this calm," you replied, watching Nik's back.

He walked with long strides, casual and comfortable with the older-looking man standing farther from your group, weary with age. You lingered on the Russian, ready to act if the old man had dark intentions. They spoke, hands moving in small and wide gestures as they exchanged words. You were too far to catch a whisper of their discussion, but the smile that stretched on the man's lips told you it was going well.

They shook hands and Nikolai called out, urging you to follow the Finnish. Edvard, the local that would host you during your stay, his cabin would act as your temporary safe house in the remote village. He was Nik's contact in the area, someone you couldn't trust to keep your location safe. Edvard had nothing to lose, an old man living alone on the outskirts of the village, and a family lost to Barkov’s tyranny.

The broken-down car burped and spewed exhaust with loud rumbles, it seemed as old - if not, older - than the driver itself. Your team of seven, four of which were burly men and three leaner but still cracked with layers of warm jackets, vests and gear, somehow fit. With little to no baggage, except a bag from each, four of you fit the car, it was tight but you made it work, Nikolai sat at the front and the two last - Soap and Gaz - were left out in the cold, in the pickup’s bed with the bags. It was a miracle the ford hadn’t dropped from the sheer, combined weight of its passengers.

The hour-long ride was uncomfortable, being forced to lay over their laps to fit during a long and bumpy road promised a sore back, especially when you were staring up at your Lieutenant’s face. The warm brown hues that hazed back down through the tinted glasses made you flush, his gaze had always been intense, in and out of duty. None of your teammate’s stare compared to Ghost’s. The ride was silent, awkward to the point you’d hear a pin drop if Nikolai and Edvard weren’t talking - a rough mix of Finnish and Russian that none of you understood - and the boisterous chatter from the men outside. Talking helped get the mind off the cold air, gloves, hats and balaclava weren’t enough for the cold. Their chattering helped mince the uncomfortableness you felt, forced to stare continuously at the man who liked being unseen.

You were out the second the engine was shut down, jumping from Ghost’s side as if their bodies burned you. You were grateful they hadn’t mentioned your little run, knowing it was unbearably confining. The cabin wasn’t much, but it had heat, food and warm water, it wasn’t decrepit looking nor was it run down. You shrugged your glasses once you stepped into the cabin, white light illuminated the open-concept place furnished with old things, the yellowed doors were mostly rooms and a bathroom. Two rooms to the left and two others to the right, one was Edvard’s and you’d have to share the rest and the available couch.

“I’ll take the couch,” Ghost’s decision was quickly made. He preferred to sleep alone - if he even slept - and taking the couch let him have the whole view of the cabin. It never sat well with him to stay the night in new places, new was unknown, and unknown was dangerous. He might sleep an hour or two, but he’d be ready to move if anything happened.

“Roach with Winter, Gaz with Soap, and Nikolai with me.”

Your team had foregone the pickup truck, it would’ve been easily seen and heard by the Russian’s guards and their surveillance around the forest. The trek through the forest was cold and quiet, you could see it a mile in, the compound stood out under the green pines with its white lights and the tall, grey walls. Your plan was to slip in through the back and take out the security system before Alpha and Bravo would go in. You and Gaz - team Echo - were tasked with taking down the two guards near the back entrance and from then, shut down the system and take out anyone on the way.

“Team Echo in position, moving in, “ Gaz called, hand motioning you to take position and wait for his call to kill. One shot to the head, or a double tap to the chest.

Your intel told you they had walked the same path every time, one man went left and the other, right, with a rotation every half hour. The last swap was five minutes ago, so you’d have around twenty-five minutes to complete your task. You followed the left man, watching through your night-vision goggle (NVG) his figure waddle between the trees. You moved quietly, approaching him with your handgun in both hands; you’d all agreed that it’d be a better option if you wanted to stay quiet, a muzzled handgun would echo less in an empty forest void of sound.

His steps were loud and careless, too used to being the only ones in the area, they covered yours and let you get closer to him. When you slid next to him, you shot out, side colliding with his back. He fell with a shout, eyes wide in shock as he reached for the rifle that fell a foot away from him. Before he could grasp it, you aimed for his head and fired, blood spraying from the wound as the exit hole oozed it. You searched his body, padding down his sides and hip until you found the keycard they used to leave and enter the facility.

You felt at ease, this was your field of work, killing was a better skill than healing in these moments, but being a field medic had its merit. Your hands were stable, your body moving by instinct - habits beaten in by your training - and your mind tuning the loud voices that swore at you. Everything felt colder, more numb when you were on duty, it was nearly calming to your mind, blocking out all noise when you were on the move - concentrate or you die.

“Gaz, what’s your status?” you called, standing from the body, sliding back into the dark.

“Good, meet me back,” he answered, and you could hear the snow crunch beneath his feet.

You backtracked and flipped up your NVG, seeing him crouched behind a tree and nodded when you caught his eye. You showed him the keycard, both entering the clearing around the walls. The door clicked open when you scanned the keycard, it beeped before you pushed it open. You looked both sides, rifle aimed for anyone to turn the corner and walked in when you saw it was safe. The insides buzzed with a loud hum, booming enough to almost cover your shots, so you and Gaz would have to hastily make your way to the security room.

You move in first, Gaz watching your back as you followed the instructions Laswell gave towards the security room, her plans were clear and simple: once inside, down the left hall and turn right at the corner, then turn right and up the stairs to the fourth floor, the target room was the last door on the floor with a bold Безопасность - security. You watched both ways before you turned right, and did again before turning and stalking to the stairs. The climb was quiet, no one had entered or walked the east wing and the stairs were vacant. It was a rapid climb to the fourth floor, where the only ultranationalist you saw was entering the security room. You turned to Gaz, nodding a silent message - one you’d conveyed many times before - and hastily made your way to the room’s door.

You burst through the door, throwing a flash grenade into the room before you rushed in with Gaz behind you. You heard their screams - two distinct voices, both males - and shot them down when they blindly searched the tables, one for his gun and the other for his radio. You searched the whole room before radioing the others: “Security room clear. I’m watching the cams, Cap’n. The backdoor’s still open, you have less than ten minutes. “

“Copy, Alpha moving out,” Price answered.

“Bravo out,” Ghost replied, he and Soap moved to meet up with Alpha Team.

They would make their way up, clearing floor by floor while you and Gaz would search the fourth floor for mercenaries and information. It was quickly done, you swept the floor, going room to room with your rifles raised, watching Gaz’s back as he led. You assumed the floor was vacant since no one rushed in after the screams, giving you enough time to search the security room for stray files or anything Laswell would appreciate getting her hands on.

“Floor one, clear.” They cleared the first floor, moving up to the second.

There were four doors apart from the security room, two held bunks and were dirtied with stray clothes and other inconspicuous things. Disgusting, you’d be punished severely for having such messy barracks and rooms, laps around the base of extra training time, the Ultranationalists had no organization in this base - different from others you’ve seen. The third room was an archive of some sort, rows and rows of file boxes, all unlocked. They were old files, you swiped through each box and saw the dates marked on the manila folders. Some were dated from before the 21st century, the oldest from 1989 and the most recent from a month ago. There were too many to take, but Laswell told you to search for a computer and save whatever was on the drive.

The last door led to a briefing room, albeit small, with a computer placed on the table. This was what you were tasked to find, you skimmed the side, searching for the disk or drive that held the information you needed.

“Floor two, clear.” It had been quiet on their side, they met enemies on the way.

While you were preoccupied with the laptop, Gaz looked over the folders spread on the table, flipping pages and reading words he didn’t understand. Russian, they were written in Russian and none of you were able to read, nor speak it. Sure, you understood, but only enough to know the basics. Your finger nudged the small edge of a disk, the round corners of the plastic rectangle. You pushed it lightly and it slid out, grabbing the protruding cartridge and placing it in the pocket of your black jacket, under your vest.

“Found the drive.”

“And I got the files, seems important enough.”

It was radio silence for a while, you waited for the other teams’ reply before moving down, watching the room’s door for gunmen. You locked eyes with Gaz, asking him whether you should move or wait for them. Although both sergeants, you trusted his experience in a field he was thrust into longer than you, he had the rank years before a greenie like you. If he told you to wait, you’d wait; if he wants to move out, you’d follow him out.

“Floor three, clear-“ the radio cracked, Soap growled into his mic, a deep, throaty sound akin to Ghost’s roars. “We’re moving up.” The gravely tone told you all you had to know, he and Ghost met someone on their floor.

From your position, you watched the door open and Price popped his head in, nodding his head towards Gaz - folder in his hand - and you - disc secured in your vest. With Price’s order for evac, you all followed him out, face snugly hidden under your black balaclava and thick clothes in the cold winter of Finland’s night.

Price called Laswell once you confirmed you were safely back to Edvard’s cabin, jumping into a secure line and retelling your mission with the promise of giving her the disc and folder once you landed on British ground, back on familiar land with cloudy days and rainy evenings. While the colder air was refreshing, a sight you last saw years back, nothing felt better than familiar ground, the safety and comfort your barack brought or the thrill and amusement the pub you went to last week left you with, watching your team getting wasted on alcohol to a successful mission.

You’d wait out the night, trading posts for night watch with the others, your team’s paranoia of being followed and never knowing if the enemy had called for backup after you reached the security room. So many times bad luck struck you, fate dealing you a bad hand in your endeavours. Ghost would go first, being the most paranoid out of everyone - for good reasons, he’d been betrayed too many times to count, and he knew the sharp edge of a knife better than anyone else - then you’d take his place, let him rest while he could, after you, Soap, Gaz, Roach and Price, the Captain would be able to wake everyone up in the early morning.

You tried sleeping, rolling from one side to the other, one leg knocking the other while your mind stormed with wild thoughts and wandering words. Your eyes closed, ears muffled with the soft cover of your pillow, but sleep evaded you, chased away from stray thoughts. The voices, and the screaming pain from memories long gone haunted you when you weren’t on field, the drowned-out sounds of gunfire and grenades submerged the memories. Tonight, however, the cries were louder, more painful and desperate than they were yesterday or the day before, twisted and turning wouldn’t do you any good, nor would it do Roach any good, who slept a few feet away from you.

So you left your bed, what harm would it bring if you took your post early, you couldn’t sleep and wouldn’t be able to either. Sound sleep had escaped your grasp the moment you touched Finland. Outside the door, you caught Ghost staring back at you, alerted by the sound and movement of your exit. You gazed back at him, silent as he was with his beautiful, brown eyes.

“Mind if I join you?” you tentatively asked, voice low to not startle the others. You stopped on the other side of the couch, waiting for his reply. You were hyper-fixed on his eyes.

While your relationship with him had a bumpy start, you admired him, you looked up to the beast he was: solemn and strong-willed. He moved forward without looking back, seeing things until the end without an ounce of hesitation in his step, of fear or trepidation on his face - his warm eyes - and he never stooped low, head held high and powerful. His huge figure with broad shoulders and thick arms were distracting at times, when you saw him walk down the hall at the base, cloaked in black and a simple, skull-painted balaclava over his face than his masked one.

He was your lieutenant, your second in command and you trusted him with your life as he did with you, months of working side by side had strengthened the link between you. From strangers to colleges to brothers in arms. You learned to read the smallest signs on him, from non-verbal, tensing shoulders to the dilated joy in his eyes when you watched the others stumble drunkenly.

You moved when he nodded slightly, eyes watching you sit beside him before returning to gazing out the windows. Join him, you did, silently sharing this moment with Ghost, rare moments of calmness (even with the noise in your head). You sat in silence, a few calming minutes of respite, you traced the few visible stars from the inside of the dark cabin. The countryside had its perks, especially at night, where only darkness clouded the skies, this one was painted with stars, some bright, some dim. It was a sight for sore eyes for city dwellers like you, used to the grey skyline and bright skyscrapers that loomed over the houses and flats in the UK.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Ghost’s voice was mellow, having a slight rasp from the small use of his voice. It was deep and soothing to your ear, it captured your attention and kept it on him. His question wouldn’t be left unanswered.

You hummed, bobbing your head as you peered at him from the corner of your eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the dark lashes fluttering when he blinked. His face was turned towards you, his pretty eyes looking at you with calmness in them. Perhaps he knew your answer wasn’t satisfactory for him, or perhaps he knew you hid something from him. Something weighed on his mind, you could tell by his continuous staring. You wouldn’t urge him to ask the question that lingered on his tongue, not unless he felt comfortable to ask it. You learned quickly that he was as mentally guarded as he was physically, building a thick and high wall around himself, it rarely cracked but it did.

You tethered on the limit of his comfort, the nearness between you was as close as you could get to him without having him tense, however, physical touch was a negative. You did once touch him and he flinched, muscle rippling and freezing at your cool gloves, you hadn’t touched him since then. You knew the fear of being touched, you’ve been once before, though you worked it off slightly. You still jumped, but you wouldn’t panic.

“Somethin’ bothering you?” he finally asked, pushing out the words after a tense moment in his body.

“Not really,” you shook your head, returning his stare. “Just feeling excited about returning home. It feels safer, no?”

This time he hummed, a distracting sound that rumbled out of his throat. You loved the sound of his voice, albeit rare for him to speak more than a few lines here and there, you cherished the moments he did. You could sit here, with him, gazing into each other’s eyes, admiring him for everything he was. Respect and loyalty were given to him, for his experience and his trauma. You knew the way everyone looked at him, fear from outsiders and warmth from the Task Force, they were your family as you were theirs.

“You won’t mind if I stay here ‘till I take over, L.T.?”

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