#HELICOPTER BLADES WHIRRING

[tripthelightfandomtastic]

Oh fuck, I'm gonna [REDACTED]

[setmeatopthepyre]

Third Act [ now also on Ao3]

They've just evacuated the last of the factory workers when Incident Command calls for total evacuation. Structural integrity can no longer be guaranteed, everybody out. Eddie, who has their patient's other arm draped over his shoulders as they help the man limp to the nearest ambulance, grins at Buck. "Now that's what I call perfect timing."

"Yeah," Buck agrees, maybe a beat too slow, distracted by the number on the turnouts that just darted past them. The name under the 217 started with the wrong letter, the person's shoulders too narrow, height not quite right. Not that he's looking. Not that he's been looking. Not that it would matter if he was. With the enormity of the factory and the spread of the fire they have on their hands, the chances of running into a particular individual are small. Besides, if he's here, he's more than likely at the other end of the staging area, with the helicopters that are being refueled and awaiting instruction. Not that Buck's been looking. Or paying attention to any of that. At all.

They've just handed over their patient to the paramedics when their radios crackle to life once more, this time to confirm that all first responders who had entered the building are safe and accounted for.

"Thank God."

Buck turns to find Bobby has come up behind them, has clapped a hand on Eddie's shoulder, a relieved smile lighting up his face under his helmet. And. Yeah. Buck smiles with him, feels terrible for a moment for being so preoccupied when he should just be damn grateful for how their day - night, now - has panned out. Despite the enormous structure, despite how fast the fire spread, despite the upgrade from a three to a four alarm fire when it became incredibly clear the building was not up to code, despite the flammable materials housed in the far end of the structure, (despite the whir of helicopter blades overhead reminding Buck of him, despite the way he had to force himself not to stop and listen when a headcount for the 217 went out over the radio) they got everyone out alive. Some of the factory workers were in critical condition, others would be touch-and-go for a while, but they got them out alive and that was all any of them could ask for.

Perhaps it was too big an ask.

There had been a few moments in Buck's life in which he'd wondered if the universe had it out for him, was just waiting for him to be happy, let down his guard a little, so that it could pull the rug out from under him and send him sprawling. Choking on breadsticks on Valentine's Day. Choking on blood at his own welcome back party. Choking on his own nickname in his own loft as. As he walked out the door.

It feels like he's choking again. Buck watches the faces around him fall when dispatch tells them they were wrong, that there's still two people inside, on the top floor. When the IC responds that there's nothing to be done, the lower floors are ready to cave in, it's too unsafe. When a familiar voice crackles over the radio, saying there's a chance, if they land a helicopter on the roof, get the last two people out from there. That he'll do it.

"Absolutely not, firefighter pilot Kinard. That roof is ready to go any minute now, and you want to land a bird on it? That's a suicide mission. Stand down, that's an order."

There's a static crackle, as if someone, as if he, is weighing his options before he speaks. Buck doesn't breathe. Doesn't think he could if he wanted to.

"If there's any chance they can be saved, I have to try."

And Bobby meets his eyes, still tries, "Buck-", but they both know there's no version of this moment in which Buck doesn't grimace apologetically, doesn't turn, doesn't run faster than he's ever ran before.

He's gone, long strides, lungs burning, everyone and everything he passes a blur. He bumps into someone, yells "Sorry!", he thinks, isn't actually sure that's what he does, eyes set on the rotor blades looming dark against the orange cast of the fire in the distance. It's hard to tell if they're moving, what with how the light shifts in the dark, what with how his vision has become narrowed to that single point, and the dull roar in his ears could be his own blood pounding, could be the commotion that comes with a scene like this, could the be panic rising like bile in his throat.

For one insane moment, he thinks he can hear the sweeping crescendo of an orchestra, thinks, hysterically, like sprinting through an airport in the third act of a romcom. Thinks, I should tell Tommy. Realizes what he's hearing is that dull roar shifting into the high whine of rotor blades gaining momentum and thinks, Oh, god, Tommy. And then, in a blink, he's fighting the dust in his eyes and being buffeted by wind and his hands find purchase on the titanium hull and he's hauling himself inside.

With the wind gone, it's like he's suspended in stillness for a moment. Stillness, not silence, because helicopters are loud and the sound is everywhere, like a physical sensation. Or maybe that's just how it feels to be in close proximity with Tommy again. Tommy, who is staring straight ahead, punching buttons, flipping a switch, and Buck isn't sure Tommy's even aware of his presence until Tommy's reaching back, headset in hand, not looking at him at all, gaze still firmly on the dashboard.

Even when Buck has the headset on, the roar of the engine finally dropping away, Tommy doesn't acknowledge him immediately. The set of his shoulders is stiff, determined, defensive. He lets out a sigh. "What are you doing here, Buck?"

Buck carefully ignores the name, ignores the way Tommy still can't look at him. Squares his shoulders, even if Tommy can't see it. "I'm going with you."

There is a moment in which Tommy doesn't respond, simply finishes the last of his pre-flight checks. When he speaks, his voice is carefully deadpan. "You know we're probably going to die out there."

Buck can't help it, shoots back before he can think about it. "Figured this way I can prove I want you to be my last."

It works. Finally, Tommy turns. Meets his eyes. Breathes out. "Evan."

And Buck knows it's a ridiculous moment to smile, but it's like a weight falls away from him and he can feel his chest expand in a way it hasn't been able to since "See you around, Buck."

"Like you said," he amends. "If there's a chance at all, I have to try."

Buck doesn't think he's imagining the spark of hope in Tommy's eyes, the twitch of a smile, before Tommy turns back to his controls and the ground falls away beneath them.

[libingan]

not the most original idea, but yk… i think this is pretty hot. i need him so bad yall its craaazy i love graves

male reader bc why not

you step off the helicopter, the whirring blades kicking up dust and debris around you. your gear is caked in dirt, your face smeared with grime and blood—some of it your own, most of it not. you’re an imposing figure, standing head and shoulders above the average soldier. at an imposing six-foot-seven and built like a tank, you’re known for your intimidating presence and brutal efficiency. the other soldiers give you a wide berth, their eyes darting away from your muscular frame and the cold, cruel demeanor that accompanies it. you are a true war machine.

as you walk through the base, you catch snippets of hushed conversations and wary glances. no one dares approach you; they know better. you head straight for graves' private quarters, knowing that he will want a report. the moment you step inside, you see him standing there, arms crossed, waiting for you.

“come in,” he says, his voice steady and commanding. “shut the door behind you.”

you do as he says, the heavy door closing with a solid thud. graves’ eyes scan you from head to toe, taking in your disheveled appearance and the minor wounds that adorn your broad, heavily muscled body.

“how’d the mission go?” he asks, his tone all business.

“objective secured. minimal resistance,” you respond, your voice flat and professional. “took a few hits, but nothing serious.”

graves nods, satisfied with your report. he takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “good work. you always get the job done, don’t you?”

“yes, sir,” you reply, standing at attention, your massive frame towering over him.

a slow smile spreads across his face as he closes the distance between you. “pup,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a tone that sends a shiver down your spine. “you’re like a dog with a bone. so loyal, so obedient. always coming back to me, no matter what.”

your heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice, the way he calls you “pup” with such affection. it’s a stark contrast to the cold, cruel persona you show the rest of the world. with him, you can let your guard down, even if just a little.

graves reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over a cut just below your eye. “you did well out there,” he says softly. “but you’re hurt. let me take care of you.”

you nod, unable to find your voice. the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, makes you feel things you can’t quite explain. it’s like a switch flips inside you, and all the hardness, all the cruelty, melts away in his presence.

graves guides you to his bed, the sheets neatly made, a stark contrast to your filthy state. “sit,” he orders, pointing to the edge of the bed.

you obey without hesitation, your heart racing as he steps behind you. his hands rest on your shoulders, his touch firm yet gentle. “you’re always so tense,” he murmurs, his fingers working to knead the knots out of your muscles. “relax for me, pup.”

you let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. the tension slowly begins to ebb away, replaced by a sense of calm and safety. graves' hands move lower, tracing the contours of your broad chest, your ripped abs. his touch is electric, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“look at you,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “so strong, so fierce. but here, with me, you’re just my needy little puppy, aren’t you?”

“yes, sir,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and desire.

graves chuckles softly, his hands continuing their slow, deliberate exploration. “that’s right. my obedient pup. always ready to please me.”

he moves in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours. with a swift motion, he begins to remove your gear, piece by piece, the clinking of metal and rustling of fabric the only sounds in the room. you stand still, letting him undress you, his hands efficient yet careful.

first, your vest and holsters, then your gloves and boots. he unbuckles your belt and slides your pants down, leaving you in just your undershirt and boxers. finally, he pulls your shirt over your head, revealing your impressive, chiseled physique. the cool air prickles your skin, contrasting with the heat of his gaze.

“wait here,” graves orders, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. he strides into the bathroom, returning moments later with a damp washcloth and a first aid kit. he kneels in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours, and begins to clean your face with a tenderness that almost brings tears to your eyes.

“just relax,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “let me take care of you.”

he continues his work, cleaning your neck and shoulders, then moving down to your chest and arms. he tends to your wounds with a deft touch, cleaning and bandaging each one with care. his hands are steady, his touch gentle, and you feel yourself relaxing more with each passing moment.

when he's done with your upper body, graves moves lower, wiping down your legs and finally your feet. the attention he gives you is almost reverent, and you can't help but feel a surge of emotion. no one else sees this side of him, this side of you.

graves stands up and looks at you with a small smile. “there,” he says, “almost done. just need to clean one more thing.”

his hand slips into your boxers, and you gasp at the sudden contact. “have to clean this too,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. he pulls your boxers down, freeing your hardening cock, and wraps the washcloth around you, gently wiping away the grime.

the sensation is both soothing and arousing, and you bite back a moan. graves’ hand moves with deliberate slowness, his touch firm yet tender. he takes his time, making sure every inch of you is clean. when he's done, he tosses the cloth aside and wraps his hand around you, his grip firm and possessive.

“you’re always so good for me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “always my loyal, obedient pup.”

he begins to stroke you, his movements slow and deliberate, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body. you can’t hold back the moans now, each one escaping your lips as graves’ hand works its magic on your dick.

“fuck, you’re so hard,” graves mutters, his hand moving faster. “you like that, don’t you? being taken care of by your master?”

“yes, sir,” you moan, your hips bucking into his hand. the pleasure is almost too much to bear, your body quivering with the intensity of it.

graves watches you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, his hand never faltering. “such a good boy,” he murmurs. “my perfect, obedient pup.”

he teases you further, his hand cupping your balls, rolling them gently in his palm. the sensation is overwhelming, and you can’t help but thrust into his touch. his other hand plays with the tip of your length, his thumb rubbing slow circles over the sensitive head, spreading the pre-cum leaking from you.

“please,” you gasp, the word falling from your lips before you can stop it. “please, sir.”

“you want to cum, don’t you?” graves asks, his voice a low, seductive growl. “you want me to make you cum?”

“yes, sir,” you moan, your hips bucking into his hand. the pleasure is almost too much to bear, your body quivering with the intensity of it.

graves watches you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, his hand never faltering. “come for me, pup,” he orders, his voice low and commanding. “show me how much you need me.”

with a strangled cry, you do as he says, your release crashing over you in waves. graves’ hand continues to stroke you through it, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. when it’s over, you collapse back onto the bed, your body spent and trembling.

graves leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. “good boy,” he whispers. “always so good for me.”

you close your eyes, basking in the warmth of his praise, the feeling of being taken care of. in this moment, you’re not the cold, cruel war machine the world sees. you’re just graves’ loyal, obedient pup, and nothing has ever felt more right.

[sgtgarricks]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i want your hands on me for all my life

simon riley x afab!reader cw: nsfw, angst, happy ending, mentions of simon's abusive past, talks about death, mentions of soap's death, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected piv sex, creampie!!, simon lets himself be happy yay

reblogs are immensely appreciated! <3

PREVIOUS PART: your gentle hands are enough

notes: this is the 2nd part for the people that want a happy ending :) this turned out sooo long LMFAO if you want to be sad just pretend this doesn't exist and read the other one! your feedback & comments help <3

Simon had always excelled at compartmentalizing his emotions ever since he was a child.

Growing up with an abusive father and an older brother who has hell-bent on scaring him had forced him to develop self-preservation tactics in order to survive their torment. Dissociating was a daily occurrence in his childhood years — it helped Simon escape the pain and torment that was being inflicted on his body.

Being in the military has not been that different.

He was still dissociating, but he was no longer on the receiving end of thrown punches and insults. He was now the perpetrator inflicting agony on his enemies for the good of the world. To rid the world of filth.

Simon Riley had become the ultimate soldier — lethal, swift, quiet, and was immune to the horrors of war, which was no surprise considering he had spent most of his childhood learning to lock away all the negative emotions. The ability had become innate, bleeding into his daily life and in turn, his relationships.

When Simon walked out the door, he had left all the hurt and sadness in the apartment with you. He trusted you'd keep a part of him safe until he came back and even if he didn't.

Simon had whole-heartedly accepted the risk that comes with the job, fully prepared to lay his life down if it meant a better world than yesterday. In fact, Simon knew death more intimately more than anyone. He'd knocked on death's door multiple times but always seemed to come out alive.

It was easy for him to not think of you. The anxious voice inside his head becomes static as he engrossed himself in the mission. The hard part comes when the dust has settled — when all that remain are cold corpses and bullet casings.

Sitting in the helicopter all bloodied accompanied by the sound of whirring blades wasn't usually bad. It would give him time to sit down and process his emotions. It let him feel the slight guilt that never goes away when taking a life — no matter how rotten.

But with each mission he went on after his abrupt departure, he finds himself constantly ruminating his entire reason for not wanting to get into a relationship with you.

Simon had wanted you to move on from him when he died, eventually. Forget the bruised and battered soldier and find someone whole, someone who could be there for you and love you without causing you anxiety every time their phone rang.

He thought himself selfless for trying to spare you, but his entire reason collapses with every mission he comes back alive.

What was his excuse now? What was he protecting you from?

The voices slink back into his mind the moment he gains a moment of peace. Whispers planting seeds of doubt in his mind, feeding on his insecurity and his fears. They're ruthless and persistent.

You don't deserve them. They're too good for you. You're going to leave them one day anyway, why bother?

He feels a tightness in his chest, as if a phantom hand was squeezing his heart that sends pulses of pain through him. His hand shakes slightly, fingers moving absent-mindedly trying to remember the feel of your skin.

"You alright, Lieutenant?" His captain's voice breaks him out of his trance. Simon is slightly startled but doesn't let it show. He merely grunts.

"'M alright."

Silence engulfs them once more. It goes one for one, two, maybe three minutes. It's suffocating. Simon can read people well enough by now that he knows there are questions lingering in the back of John Price's mind.

A part of Simon wishes he'd just spit it out, but the thought of having to explain seemed worse. Instead, Simon settles with a silent huff as the helicopter continues on its designated course.

The second the helicopter landed, Price simply nods at him, trusting him to get his shit together and walks off to his office. Simon does his usual routine, though instead of rushing through the motions, he's intentionally prolonging each action.

Whereas normally he couldn't get out of this place faster, now he almost dreaded the moment he would have to leave. Staying at the base meant monotonous, dull, predictable tasks. Leaving means he has to choose where to go — he has to actively force himself to not drive straight to your apartment despite the fact that every fiber in his being longs to be close to you.

He feels sick, a kind of illness spreading inside of him that only ever felt better when you were around him. A dull ache inside his body that only lights up when you touch him.

He runs a hand to his now damp hair, content with sitting on a sofa in the rec room. Normally, the place would be bustling with recruits goofing around with each other. But one glance at the broodier-than-normal look on the lieutenant's face had created a force field that pushed away everyone as to not get caught in its storm.

Simon doesn't know how long he sits there, half of him trying to convince himself to not come to you. That you don't deserve the broken man with a penchant for violence.

Chuckling lowly to himself, he shakes his head. What kind of demented higher power decided someone as kind as you be plucked and dropped into his sights?

Fifteen minutes went by as he pities himself in the rec room before a shadow in his peripheral vision causes him to look up.

"L.T.," Kyle nods towards him, leaning on the doorframe.

"Garrick." Simon grunts dismissively, not saying anything more. He hops the sergeant will take the hint on his own and leave the miserable bastard to his own devices.

Kyle worries for Simon. The brooding giant seems more miserable than usual — not more than after the incident, but still. Typically, he wouldn't even be able to catch a glimpse of his lieutenant after coming back from deployment. He'd usually opt to disappear from the base in record time.

The fact that he's here now, instead of wherever he usually hangs around, is slightly concerning.

"You alright, L.T.?"

Simon turns to him, slightly annoyed. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Yes, I'm alright." He huffs. Kyle merely shrugs, unbothered by the icy gaze directed at him.

"Well, seeing as you haven't fucked off from the base yet and it's been," Kyle checks his phone for the time, "Around an hour? I'd wager something is wrong."

Sometimes Simon hated how observant Gaz was. Kyle's always been attentive, even more so now without Johnny's presence. It wasn't a secret that Johnny had been the lieutenant's shadow — always lingering near him, cracking jokes and pulling his leg.

His absence had naturally left a gaping void in Simon, oozing all the pain and hurt that comes with losing a comrade. Simon isn't naive, he knows death comes as a package with being in the battlefield. He's seen his fellow soldiers die, held them as they bled out. It was why he tended to keep to himself. After all, the less people you know, the less funerals you have to go to.

This worked most of the time, anyone who got close to Simon would get his arctic stare and cower off — most of the time anyway. Johnny was a different case. Johnny was a little bit of a nutcase to be honest. A talented, bright, pyromaniac, the youngest ever to pass SAS selection, with an arsenal of jokes in his pockets. The blue-eyed Scotsman got along quickly with Kyle, bantering with each other easily as if they had been long-lost friends.

While Johnny still had reservations about dicking around with the captain, he didn't seem to have the same problem with Simon. Seemingly happy to chatter off in his ear about anything, whether it was about shitty food, a lady he picked up from a bar, or jabs directed at Simon.

Johnny's bright disposition put Simon on edge. He wasn't used to seeing someone not be terrified of him. No matter how many glares he sent him, the bugger wouldn't leave him alone. Johnny would continue to go out of his way to talk to Simon, to sit next to him during lunch, and sometimes, Johnny would even manage to get Simon to open up just a little.

"What's on yer mind, L.T.?" Johnny nudged Simon with his elbow. The two men were both sat at the bar, the TV playing an old recording of a football match. It had taken Johnny ten minutes to convince Simon to go out for drinks and he planned on taking full advantage of it.

Johnny had been talking non-stop for around five minutes about his sister who had just gotten married, waiting for a reaction from Simon who seemed distracted. His eyes had strayed to the other side of the bar a few times, barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but Johnny was anything but.

"Nothin'." Simon had grunted, tearing his gaze away. A giant smirk plastered itself onto Johnny's face.

"Ah, been starin' at the sad one across the bar, aye?" Seeing Simon's eye widen a little had made Johnny even more gleeful. "Go on then. Ye have my full permission to ditch me tonight." He teased, winking at his lieutenant.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Johnny." Simon had denied instantly, taking a sip of his drink. A normal person would have left it at that, but Johnny wasn't your average person. He loved starting fires and Simon was a flame he wanted to see lit.

"Ach, come on L.T. what's the harm, eh? A little bit of flirting never hurt anyone." Simon didn't know this but Johnny wasn't going to let this go. It was the first time Johnny had ever seen Simon show interest in someone and he'd do anything to get Simon to at the very least, talk to them.

"They're a civvy, Johnny. Not gonna take any chances." Simon shook his head adamantly.

"That's bollocks! All we do is take risks anyway, at least on this one the worst that could happen is getting a drink thrown in yer face." Johnny chuckles, peering at the person across the bar who was clearly nursing a broken heart. Simon still made no move to get up from his chair.

Praying to whatever God was listening, Johnny hoped Simon wouldn't kill him after what he was going to do. Calling over the bartender, Johnny slid the man a fifty.

"Mate, give 'em a refill yeah? Tell 'em it's from the big bloke over here." Johnny signaled the bartender. Simon, who had finally processed what Johnny was doing, couldn't even get a word in. The bartender hastily took the money and went back to his station, ignoring Simon's call.

Simon could only watch in despair as the bartender presented the drink and pointed towards Simon. He received a shy smile, a mouthed 'thank you', and an expectant look.

"Now you've got to go there, mate. Otherwise you'll look like an arsehole!" Johnny threw his arms up, grinning triumphantly. The sergeant crossed his arms and wiggled his eyebrows.

Simon could've easily ignored Johnny and went back to his drink. But a part of him couldn't deny that he wanted to go over there and maybe talk to someone else that wasn't Scottish for a change. Against his usual logic, Simon decided to stand up from his chair.

"You're an arsehole." A glare was sent Johnny's way, although it had no weight behind them. As Simon began to walk away, he could hear Johnny laughing loudly.

"Yer welcome!"

Simon had never told Johnny you were the person who had been texting him during deployment, but he knew deep down that Johnny already knew. He'd asked multiple times, even tried sneaking a look.

He simply didn't want to admit that Johnny forcing him to talk to you that day had shifted Simon's world. He wished he told Johnny.

"We all miss him, L.T." Kyle's soft voice spoke again. He's closer now, dragging a chair from a table and sitting in front of Simon. Kyle knew he could never fill the giant void that Johnny left, but he felt a sense of responsibility to at least try. Price had become more closed off after his death whereas Simon had slowly been unraveling, little stitches coming loose a day at a time.

"All we can do is make sure it's not in vain." Simon sighs, hearing Kyle's words, knows he's right. That he can't go back to expecting the worst all the time, constantly on edge.

Johnny had breathed life into his ghostly presence, bringing Simon back into the realm of the living. The more Johnny got out of the lieutenant, the more people were able to see that Simon wasn't merely a visage, a ghost roaming the hallway. That he was a real person.

He was throwing away his chance at a second life. Perhaps it was also a twisted way of Simon punishing himself. If he couldn't save Johnny, couldn't save the man who managed to get him to talk to you, then he didn't deserve you. It was a round-about way of him trying to mend off the guilt eating away at him that had inadvertently claimed another victim.

"Thank you, sergeant." Simon stood up. Clapping his hand on Kyle's shoulder.

I see you.

"Don't mention it, sir."

The drive to your house takes around twenty minutes, which means that's all the time Simon has to try and figure out a way to atone for his sins.

They're too gracious to even hold a grudge against you. A small part of Simon tells him. While he hopes that's true, he still wants to apologize and acknowledge how unfair he's been to you. If not to make you feel better, at the very least it will ease his conscience.

He drums his finger on the steering wheel, the radio turned on but on low volume. For once, Simon wishes he had Johnny's ability to get out of problems with his alluring words and his kicked-puppy look.

Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't even realized he's been sitting in his parked car for a few minutes. He clasps his hands when he realizes they're shaking. God, he was so terrified. Not of you, no. He was scared of having to see what he's done to you. Is terrified of really seeing the carnage Simon Riley had tore in you.

He lets out a bated breath and opens the car door. He knows you're home by now, probably cooking away while listening to some indie band. Resting his head on your door, he braces himself once more, and knocks.

He waits, the seconds feeling like hours. The door swings open and he sees your surprised face.

"Simon." You compose yourself immediately, not wanting to show any sort of weakness in front of him. Something twitches on the corners of his mouth hidden by the balaclava. As if realizing he's still wearing it, he takes it off.

"Can I come in?" He asks timidly, as if approaching a wounded animal. He had no idea how you'd react after him being gone for so long. Even during his three month deployments, he'd sometimes text you once every fortnight. But after the way he left things, he couldn't bring himself to message you at all. Couldn't even stomach the thought of you still pining over him after what he had done. It was easier for him to simply block your number. Photos of sunsets and coffee cups gathering dust in his photo album, unsent.

You didn't even think about it, your body unconsciously moving sideways to let him in. A part of you screams at yourself.

Idiot, show some dignity.

It had been so easy for you to let the man who had left you for six months without a word back into your apartment, into your life.

You felt like an addict. Constantly begging for your next fix and taking whatever scraps are thrown your way. It's pitiful, but you're too far gone, anyway. His dirty boots make contact with your hardwood floor, leaving small specks of mud on them. Simon notices the frown marring your face and begins to unlace his boots.

"Sorry." He apologizes, neatly tucking away his muddy boots at the side of your door. You close the door behind him, making your way towards your kitchen. The plate clatters loudly in the sink as you haphazardly put them away, clearly rattled.

Simon coughs slightly, words stuck in his throat. He'd prepared a small speech earlier yet all the words seem to escape him. All the courage he had mustered for his little speech all had but disappeared into thin air. He feels out of his depths, not used to being vulnerable.

"What are you doing here, Simon?" Your voice sounds so tired. He supposes he was to blame for that.

"Can we talk?" He sends you a pleading look, hoping you still felt a sliver of the love you used to harbor for him — the only thing stopping you from kicking him out.

"Oh, so after blocking me and radio silence for six months you've decided you want to talk?" The bitterness seeps into your words like venom. He can't even make himself physically recoil from the sharp edge of your tone. Simon can feel the thin rope right beneath his feet, one wrong step and he'd be falling off the edge.

He takes a deep breath. "I deserve that."

"Oh, you deserve more than that Simon Riley. I should kick you out right now." You were huffing now, going slightly red in the face. Had he not been so anxious he might've thought you look cute. But right now? He was downright terrified.

"Just-" Simon pinches his nose bridge, calming himself down. "Let me speak for a moment, yeah? After that if you want me to leave, I'll leave." He holds both his hands up.

You were livid, rightfully so. The man you love had essentially decided he didn't want to communicate with you anymore, breaking your heart. The first week you thought maybe something had happened to his phone, broken it maybe?

As the weeks turned into months, the realization dawned on you that he had purposefully blocked you, cut off all contact. At first there was only sadness. You spent your days crying into your blanket, some days barely functioning. The hurt and betrayal had emotionally drained you. Did all those years mean nothing to him?

You knew he had a hard time expressing his emotions, but never in your wildest dreams did you think he would throw you away just like that. Like you were nothing more to him than a good fuck. Despite your head telling you otherwise, the emotional baggage he had left you with didn't leave much option.

It was easier to hate him than to accept maybe he didn't love you at all.

You spent the first few months cursing into the wind hoping it'd somehow hurt him a fraction of how much he hurt you. Afterwards, the pain became a lingering , dull ache, but not debilitating anymore. It became a constant that you carry everyday.

Kicking him out the door was tempting, but you knew it wouldn't do you any good. If anything, the words left unsaid would become a leech — slowly draining away your curiosity until you eventually leave another voicemail.

You give him a pointed stare before sitting down on the couch. Simon slowly approached you, wanting nothing more than to sit next to you but choosing to sink into the other side of the couch. He sees you cross your arms, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

"I jus' wanna say that I'm sorry." He stares into your eyes, slouched with elbows on his thighs. Seeing your mouth thin into a line, Simon knows he's going to have to do a lot better.

"When Johnny died..." Your eyes widen, arms slacking slightly. He'd talk about Johnny sometimes but sometime ago had entirely stopped mentioning his name altogether. You had suspected something terrible had happened but you didn't want to believe it.

"I was so angry. It's not fair. He was so young, had his whole future ahead of him. Told me he was gonna see his sister's newborn on his next leave." He breathes out, clenching his fists.

"All of that, gone. We haven't even caught the bastard yet." Simon runs an exasperated hand through his face. Your arms were no longer crossed, choosing to fiddle with the edge of your shirt. You wanted to comfort him so badly, wanted to take him into your arms and tell him everything's going to be okay. But he was still pouring his heart out and you wanted to greedily snatch every piece he was willing to give.

"I had constant nightmares for months. Sometimes, I still do. You're just a heavy sleeper, I suppose." He chuckles and catches the way the edge of your mouth turn up.

"It's never easy, losing someone. It changes you. I used to hear his nonsense almost everyday and now it's just not there. I'm terrified one day it'll be like he was never there at all." Simon looks away, blinking tears away.

"But he was there. I know that. I felt him. He was like the fucking sun, but instead of being 150 million kilometers away, he's next to my ear with his Scottish nonsense." Simon chuckles bitterly, reminiscing the times when Johnny had to translate his gibberish.

You stay quiet, letting him speak freely. You had a feeling where this was going and how Johnny's death had indirectly impacted your relationship.

"If I died tomorrow, would you be okay?" His question catches you off guard. It was a question you've pondered a thousand times before, and every time you only ever came up with one answer.

"No." You answer honestly, because you'd break either way. Whether it was tomorrow or a year from now. You can feel a part of Simon in your bloodstream that if he died, some part of you would die with him.

"I only ever wanted you to be okay." He straightens, testing the waters by moving closer to you. You let him.

"Would you prefer if I never loved you at all?" Your heart was thumping loudly in your chest you worried he could hear it.

"No." His answer was immediate, as if he'd never been as sure before. "Not selfless enough for that."

"Then are you selfless enough to accept that I would want it to hurt?" You put your hand on top of his, gently grasping them within yours. Simon feels the broken pieces of him mending together.

He's quiet, not sure how to respond. He didn't use to understand why people would put themselves on the line, but he's starting to.

"If you died, I'd want it to hurt. I'd want it to take my breath away. I'd want it to keep me awake at night. I'd want every single bone in my body to ache when you're gone, because that would mean I have loved you with all of me."

You don't realize you'd started crying. There was no distance anymore between you and Simon. His thigh pressed against yours as you clutch his hand to your chest.

"I want it to hurt so badly, because I want to love you deeply." Tears were streaming freely down your face you couldn't even stop them even if you wanted to.

"Simon, will you let me hurt for you?"

And he lets you.

"Okay." His hand go to engulf your frame, but you had thrown yourself at him before he managed to. Simon can feel his shirt getting wet, he'd never thought he'd be slightly happy over the fact that you were crying.

Everything's going to be okay.

Your head was now on his collarbone, his palm gently holding you there. You feel a kiss on the top of your head as he strokes it.

Neither of you know how long you simply cried on him, much less when you ended up on his lap. When he heard you stop — tired from the energy you exerted, he slowly rearranges his body so that you are able to lie fully on top of him. His sore back is the last thing on his mind as he sees your peacefully sleeping away.

A pounding headache eventually woke you. You weren't sure if last night really happened or if your mind had conjured a scenario where Simon came back for you. However, the sweltering heat you feel on your midsection proves otherwise.

He really was here.

His eyes were closed, seeming to be asleep. You test the waters, placing your palm on the left side of his face. A hand immediately darts towards your hand and keeps it there.

"Put some pills on your nightstand for the headache." He murmurs, eyes still closed. His face turns slightly, placing a kiss on your palm. Even after half a year away, he still knows you like the back of his hand.

Leaning in, you give him a peck on the cheek. As much as you want to drink in the sight of him, there were more pressing matters at hand. You need the reassurance. You need him to tell you he wasn't going to abandon you again.

"Simon, did you mean it?" You can't get the entire words out, can only hope it was enough to convey your tumultuous emotions. His heart aches that you don't believe him, but he understands.

"I love you, sweetheart." Soft lips descend upon your own, barely brushing.

"'M here to stay as long as you want me here." He sneaks a hand under you, pulling you closer to him. There isn't any part of you that's not connected to him in some way.

He was so warm, scorching you inside out. You wanted his flame to burn every inch of your skin. When he left, everything felt cold to the bone, your life turning into muted blues and grays.

Simon brought warmth into your life, with his little acts of service. With the little trinkets he brings back after deployment because it reminded him of you. With his gentle hands, gentle kisses — his gentle self.

"I love you, Si." You whisper, grabbing him by the neck and lowering your lips onto his. Brushing softly, you were going to pull away when Simon lets out a moan. Heat builds inside of you as you slip your tongue inside his open mouth. He grunts in surprise, holding you still for a second. But you're impatient.

"Need you." You whine, "Want you so much, Si."

"Yeah?" He mumbles against your lips, running his hands through your hair gently.

"Thought I'd be in the dog house much longer than that, love." He teases you. Simon yelps slightly when you retaliate by biting on his lower lip. He grips both your cheeks with his fingers, pushing you away from him.

"That wasn't very nice of you, hmm?" He gently shakes your head, grinning handsomely. "Think you need a little lesson in being nice, sweetheart. Lucky for you, I'm an excellent teacher." He leans in and kisses your puckered lips, working his way downwards.

His hands wander everywhere, working themselves underneath your shirt. You feel goosebumps rise where his fingertips lay, shivering under his hold.

"Missed you so much, Si. Please." Your moans echo throughout the room. He's holding your thighs together as he trails down your body as you writhe.

"Missed you too, love. Fuck, missed you so fucking much." He manages to say. He cups your ass as he mouths at your panty-covered mound. Your juices seep through the fabric, making Simon groan.

"Mmm.. Someone missed me too." He runs his tongue up and down your slit as you cross both your legs behind his neck. He felt you clench your thighs and he feels blood rushing downwards. Turning his head slightly to the right, he nips lightly at your inner thigh.

He'd barely touched you but here you are already begging for it. Simon Riley has you wrapped around his finger and it scares you a little how much of a hold he has on you. You had bared your neck so openly for him and he had bit down the first chance he got.

"Will you let me take care of you, love? Make you feel good." He hums, fingers trailing along your inner thigh waiting for permission. You nod fervently before realizing he can't see you.

"Yes, yes, yes. Need you to take care of me, Si." Your heart was beating fast out of anticipation.

"Yeah? I'll make you feel good, baby." He coos at you as his fingers slowly pull down your panties. Strings of your juices were sticking to the insides. He threw them aimlessly, eyes zeroed in on your wet pussy.

His finger runs through your folds, making squelching noises. "All this for me, hmm?" He tilts his head up, pinching when you don't reply immediately. The sudden sensation makes you whimper.

"All for you, Si. Just for you." You were panting heavily as Simon sucks your clit into his mouth and licks in a circular motion. You thread your fingers in his hair, not tugging harshly.

Simon laps at your pussy like a starved man, burying his entire face in your warmth. He moans between every few licks, the taste of you dazing him. Your eyes glaze over as you see the man you love pleasuring you with earnest. He continues for a while, alternating his focus between your bud and your folds.

When you tug at his shirt impatiently, Simon grunts. He gets up and throws his shirt over his head. Not one second after it's off, you begin to paw at him, desperate to feel every inch of him.

Simon thinks he's never seen such a beautiful sight. Your hair was messy from your movements, eyes hazy as he can feel goosebumps on his body where you stare. He grabs your face and kisses you desperately, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. His clothed bulge was grinding messily against your wet pussy as his boxers begin to darken from the wetness.

Simon's whimper fill the room when he feels you grinding upwards to rub yourself on his cock. He pulls from your lips with a string of saliva. Not waiting for him, you scramble to take off your shirt, baring your tits to him.

His eyes drink in the state of you greedily, one hand groping your tits as the other travels down to your pussy. You were beyond wet enough for his cock, but he's determined to make you cum on his fingers first.

Two fingers slip into you gently. The stretch catches you off guard, it's been a while since you've had his thick fingers probing inside you. His fingers were thrusting shallowly as you grind on his palm.

"Fuck, Simon. Feels so good." You babble, barely able to keep your eyes open, the pleasure overwhelming your senses.

"Yeah? Gonna make you feel even better." With that, his fingers thrust deeper into you, massaging your spot. Your back arches as Simon plants his face on your chest, sucking on your nipples.

He crooks his fingers slightly as he continues thrusting, his palm touching your clit with each time. You couldn't stay still anymore, moving your hips back to meet his thrusts.

The room was filled with wet, squelching noises and your combined moans. Your hands were gripping his bicep, feeling the large muscle flex under your fingertips.

His thick fingers continue his ministration as you begin to climb higher and higher. Your walls begin to pulse and constrict his fingers. Sweat drips down his forehead as he continues to drive into your pussy with his deft fingers.

"You gonna cum on my fingers, love?" He teases, placing kisses all over your damp face.

"Yes, oh fuck. Please, please let me cum."

Simon grins against your neck, placing sloppy kisses all over. His fingers begin to speed up even faster, hitting your sweet spot with every effort. You feel the familiar tingling sensation begin to build in your core.

Your legs begin to tremble as you struggle to get air inside of your lungs. Panting harshly, you close your eyes as your orgasm starts to reach its peak.

His hand leaves your tits as they begin to rub circles on your clit. The combined assault on your clit and your pussy brings you over the edge.

"Look at me when you cum." Your eyes open immediately as you find him staring directly into yours. Your legs tremble deliciously, hands gripping Simon even tighter as you feel your orgasm wash over you. Mouth agape, your back continues to arch as Simon doesn't stop, overstimulating you with a few shallow thrusts.

Simon's hand was covered in your juices as he slowly withdraws them. Your pussy clenches, feeling empty. He brings his fingers to your mouth and taps your lips. Obediently, you open your lips and let him slide his fingers inside your mouth.

Circling your tongue all finger, your eyes begin to close again. When you blink them open, you see Simon's bare body hovering above yours. His cock was standing proudly, shiny with precum. You feel the urge to take his cock into your mouth. When your hand tries to reach for him, it's stopped by his firm grip.

"Next time, yeah? Need to fuck your pretty pussy, baby." He slowly pulls his fingers out of your mouth, wiping them on his hip. He repositions his cock at your pussy, sliding the head up and down your folds.

Tilting your head down, you see Simon's hand grip his cock firmly as it slowly rubs his precum all over your pussy. He groans seeing your juices mix together. Moving your hips upwards, you try to push his head in and he hisses.

He grabs your hips and gently lowers them on the bed. "You just lay there and take it, yeah? Let me do all the work." You preen, more than happy to lay there and see him move above you.

"Put it in, Si. Missed your cock so much." You whimper, pressing delicate kisses on his neck. He nudges your nose with his, capturing your lips into a kiss. Your moan gets interrupted by your own grunt of surprise as the head of his cock slips in.

His cock was thicker than his two fingers, with veins running all over the shaft rubbing your walls deliciously. You link your legs behind his waist, helping him push deeper.

When he's inside you, it's like two pieces of puzzle fitting together. His cock fit so perfectly inside you, as if you were made for him and him for you. You knew Simon was it for you a long time ago, falling head over heels so easily for the grumpy soldier. You weren't happy at how long it took him to come to his senses, but you're glad either way.

He thrusts slowly, going deeper with each shift of his hips. His tongue tangles with yours as wet noises fill the room. You know when he's pushed in to the hilt when you feel him bump against your cervix slightly. Your pussy clenches at the tiny pain, causing Simon to moan out.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me so well, sweetheart." He stays there for a moment, grinding his cock inside. You only stop kissing when you pull away to beg him to start moving. Both his hands are placed firmly on your hips when he begins thrusting.

He moves back and forth slowly, the walls of your pussy feeling every drag of his big cock. You hiss against his mouth, the sensation lights up every nerve in your body. You beg him to go faster but he ignores you, continuing to sink slowly.

When you're about to wail at the pace again, he thrusts sharply — his cock sinking deep into your pussy. You gasp, clawing his back when he continues to move slowly but going deep with each thrust. You can hear the sound of his balls smacking against your ass.

Your combined juices were dripping out of your pussy, causing wet noises whenever he moves inside you. You don't know how long he continues his brutal motion, your eyes dazed and breath unsteady.

You've never felt this way before. It feels as if he's everywhere inside you, there isn't a part of you that doesn't feel touched by him. He thrusts as if he's trying to imprint himself in you, trying to permanently leave a mark.

"Such a pretty pussy. Doing so well f' me, sweetheart. You gonna let me cum in you? Gonna let me fill you up nicely?" He grunts, his composure starting to unravel. His cock begins to piston in you messily as he loses himself in your pussy.

"Yes, yes, yes. Fuck, love you so much, Si. Need your cum in me." You cry out desperately, tightening your legs and pulling him deeper inside you.

"So good to me, love. Letting me cum in your pretty pussy." His form begins to shake slightly from exertion. You know his hands were going to bruise your hips from how hard he was gripping them but you couldn't care less.

Your body moves up and down from the force of his thrust. His cock touching your cervix with each delicious thrust. Your pussy begins to pulse wildly on his cock as you feel another orgasm build inside you. When his cock begins to pulse, your eyes roll to the back of your head as it sends you over the edge. You moan out his name loudly, pulling him by the neck to your chest as his arms hug you to him.

You feel his desperation and love when he holds you. He hugs you so tight to him your ribs ache. You never want this feeling to go away.

"I love you so much, fuck." Your orgasm triggers his own, his cock pulsing as his creamy load fills up your pussy. He's so snug inside your pussy the excess cum begins to drip out. When he stops unloading inside you, he moves slowly, thrusting a few times shallowly. A part of him wants to look at the way his seed drips from your pussy but he didn't want to move away from you.

You both pant with eyes closed as your breathing begins to even out. Simon slowly pulls out and you hiss at the feel of his cock leaving you empty. You look down and see his cock covered in his cum and yours.

Your head falls back down to the pillow, eyes closing shut. Simon stares at the ceiling and huff, righting himself. You feel him plant a kiss to your forehead as the bed dips.

"'M gonna go clean us up, yeah? You stay there." You hear him step into the bathroom, going to wash himself and grab a clean towel to clean up your mess. By the time he came back, you had already passed out, judging by the sound of your low snores.

He begins to wipe your thighs and try to dry the surrounding areas as best he can. He'll change the sheets later when you're well-rested. Simon climbs into bed, hugging you to him. He runs his fingers through your hair, slowly unknotting them one by one.

He stares at your sleeping from and grins. Lowering his lips to yours, he keeps them there for a few seconds.

"I love you."

You can only mumble in response, too tired to properly articulate the words.

"I love you too, Simon."

[littlemissclandestine]

please please pleaseeee write more soft adler hcs!!!! I'm literally obsessed with your work!!

Soft!Adler Headcanons: (Girl)Dad! Edition Part 1

GIF by h-a-unted

Author's Note: Ahhh! Back at it again. Uni has been kicking me in the balls and I've had writer's and art block argh. This has been in drafts for a while but this post was the catalyst in helping me add more so thank you! I have not proofread so um hope you don't mind guys. I miss my husband. ...And thanks for the ask anon! Gonna make me cry with your comment hehe. I hope this is okay for soft!Adler. I need to get this out. I'm working on the other ask as well with Bell, not sure if it's the same anon. Just gimme some more time. Appreciate you being patient and hope all is good with you <3

Adler was never really big on families. Didn’t see himself as the type of man to fit that stereotypical suburban lifestyle that everyone seemed to crave. Couldn’t even picture himself like that. Well at least not since his ex-wife…

As soon as he found out he was going to be a father, it was like time stopped. So many things going through his mind at once that he struggled to process it. Like those helicopter videos where the blades whir so fast it’s like they’ve frozen. That’s how Adler felt…frozen.

It took him a while to get his head round it. You’d see him randomly staring off into space, his nails digging into the sofa as he scratched at it out of nervousness. He’d sometimes just head out for the day, saying he’ll be back soon but never knew what he’d actually get up to. A walk perhaps. A trip to the bar. Or…walking round a DIY store, choosing the paint he’d use on the walls of the soon-to-be nursery of your home.

Every few weeks, he’d come home with something new. You’d walk in to the nursery while he was out and take it all in, counting down the days until the room was in full use and you’d notice something that wasn’t there before. A new book for the shelf, new clothes in the closet, toys in the basket.

When you gave birth, he was taxiing - he’d just returned to the US on a jet after another intense and gruelling operation he’s been sent on. He raced over in a cab all the way to the hospital, ringing around and receiving calls from your family too. His mind was all over the place as he approached reception, trying to stay calm as he asked which ward you were in but the apprehension was too much. There weren’t a lot of things that made Adler anxious but this most certainly was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of his entire life to date.

As soon as he walked in, his stomach dropped, his shoulders relaxed and he exhaled, a sigh of relief that everything was okay. He immediately gave you a hug and a kiss to the forehead, an unspoken promise to make it up to you for not being there during the birth.

When you asked him if he wanted to hold her, he just blinked at you for a few moments as if you said the stupidest thing in the world. He took a deep, shaky breath as he reached out and took her with a nod, his hands shaking slightly. Adjusting her, making sure her head and spin was supported adequately in his arms, he just watched her with pure adoration in his eyes as a small smile crept onto his lips. Tears threatening to fall from his eyes, he turned around to look out the window, pretending to check on your car when in actual fact he just needed a moment to compose himself, taking a couple deep breaths and clearing his throat, overwhelmed with the feeling of not deserving this kind of joy after all of the things he’s done in his career. -> “God, she’s uh beyond beautiful, honey. Just like you.”

At home, you’d often find him shirtless. In the lounge, he’d be on his back as he plays with his daughter on the sofa, holding her up in the air and bringing her back down to rub his nose over her belly, making her giggle and raising her again. Sometimes, you’d find him just wandering the house with her - her thumb in her mouth and head on his chest as he carried her with one arm under her bottom, an occasional kiss to the head as he reached for something from the fridge with the other hand. Other times, he’d be reading in bed with her cuddled up and her head on his shoulder, softly snoring into his neck. Skin-to-skin contact was extra important for him.

He’d often sing to her or put on a baby voice as he played with her, something he’d only do when totally alone, unaware you were secretly watching him and when she reached up and touched his scar, it would always make him melt

Adler’s the type of dad to treat his daughter to pretty much anything she wants. He’s keen not to spoil her but when she looks up at him like she does, he can’t say no, almost every single time. His daughter would run to him when others would deny her things such as supermarket items, fizzy drinks at a family dinner or party or time at the park. He’d hand her whatever it is when someone isn’t looking and give her a side smile and a wink. -> “Just don’t tell your mom, kid.”

He notices that she tends to fixate on his sunglasses a lot, smacking them on the floor, touching the lenses and leaving grubby marks over them and although he’d scream internally, he dealt with it calmly and bought her her own pair throughout the years so they could twin.

Ah yes twinning! Same shirt? Same watch? Certainly. He finds it cute.

Adler would most certainly give in when it comes to pranks. In fact, he’d go out of his way to help his daughter prank his s/o, giving the kid a fist bump when it goes off without a hitch and you end up drenched in slime. -> “Slime suits you, darlin’!”

Russell owns a cap saying “Girl Dad” on it and wears it proudly around the house or as he pushes the pram or holds his daughter’s hand.

Whenever he crosses roads with his daughter, he’ll hold her hand. When she was young, he did that thing where he holds one hand and his s/o holds the other and they lift their kid up and lower them again repeatedly.

When putting her in the car, he’d be a responsible parent and put her in and take her out of the side on the pavement and not the road

He’d be super protective of his daughter, having ‘the talk’ when she hits that phase of her life and being serious about it. He wouldn’t let her wear crop tops, skirts and shorts until she was at least around 21 years of age. 

If he finds her messing with a boy home alone, you best believe that boy would be scared shitless of even being within 100 miles of Adler or his daughter ever again. No guns were involved but Russell was stern as fuck with him as he knows exactly what boys are like at that age. -> “Absolute fucking horndogs,” he says as he slams the front door closed and then points to the lounge and clicks his fingers. “You, in there. Now. Come on.”

When his daughter told him about a father-daughter dance coming up, his heart sank because he knew he’d be away at that time. He made up for it by taking her out and letting her dress up, Russell bringing home a beautiful necklace for her to wear and putting it on her. They’d talk and laugh about all sorts as they dance together and have a little catch up.

He definitely worries about her a lot and constantly questions himself. Is he doing enough? Is she happy? Will she end up like him? What if she ends up despising him when she eventually finds out what he does for a living?

But when she does? She’s more interested than he thought she’d be. He’d be sitting next to her in bed, reading her a story as she’s cuddled up by his side and she’d suddenly get bored, saying she wants another story about his army days instead. He tries his hardest to suppress his smile but it grows wider and they end up talking about his experiences until they both fall asleep together with Russell oversleeping and running late for work in the morning.

They’d often go stargazing together and get back home at a late hour. They’d lie on the roof of his car or on the grass together, pointing out constellations and talking about life. Russell would be tired the next morning at work but it’s okay because it was worth it to spend more time with his daughter

When he’d have to go away, it always hurt him but he was so used to compartmentalising and turning off that emotional part of him, he just got on with it, albeit carrying a little bracelet with beads that spell out ‘daddy’ she made for him for his birthday and in return? You guessed it, she got his dog tags. When he was alone at night halfway across the globe, he’d take it out and kiss it, his eyes closing, remembering her, wondering what she's doing and aching to see her and hug her again.

When she got older, her interest in his job peaked and she’d ask for lessons in shooting and hand-to-hand. Adler was hesitant at first but eventually gave in, thinking self defense was a good thing for a woman to learn of course. Frequent trips to a shooting range and setting up the back garden as a training area for close quarters combat? Hell yes.

Russell would teach his daughter how to drive too. -> “Yeah that’s it sweetheart. Now brake..no i said BRAKE…BRAAAKE! Ah shit, your mother’s going to kill me.”

He was also worried one day, his family would be a target so made it his mission to get them trained up too. Nobody really knew he had a family though. They wouldn’t go to very public spots and they assumed different identities so they weren’t tied to him.

He tends not to keep any photos of him and his family up on the walls in the house or in his wallet due to safety concerns

Adler secretly loves it when his daughter hooks onto his arm as they walk. It makes him all warm and fuzzy inside but he’d never admit that, smiling to himself before clearing his throat. -> “You wanna head down over there, kid? Nice view?”

He loves carrying her on his shoulders, her legs dangling and hands in his hair. -> “Careful with the hair up there, princess.” 

Some days, he’ll come back from work and find his daughter in the living room with a bunch of his clothes on. He’d try to stop himself from laughing at her but would fail miserably because it swallows her. Her impression of him wants to make him cry. -> “I do not speak like that nor do I stand like that. Is that a cigarette?! Gimme that!”

Don’t worry, she didn’t light it and Russell doesn’t smoke inside anymore, only outside. As soon as he sees his daughter, it goes out, even when she’s older.

When she clings to his leg as he walks, he rolls his eyes and smiles. -> “What are you doing there, kid? Come here, doll.” A grunt as he picks her up and kisses her cheek. “Better?” He smiles when she nods at him, knowing she just needs comfort right now and misses him when she’s gone.

He’s not usually one for the emotional talks but he’d try his best not to just dismiss her and send her off to her mother. He’d let her talk about her troubles and cry if need be, giving her a side hug as they sit on the edge of her bed and a kiss to her temple. -> “Okay and what are you gonna do about it, sweetheart? Remember how we said when things get tough, we don’t give up?”

Adler can do pep talks and offer practical advice to his daughter whenever she needs it. He’d take off his shades or look over the rim of them when what he was about to say was serious talk.

Russell tried his best not to call home when on missions, not wanting to let anything distract him. There were times he needed to hear his daughter’s voice though. Like when he’d been battered and bruised, half-dead on the floor in an alleyway, blood dripping down his face and hands and into the puddles as it rained. He pulled out his burner and closed his eyes, rolling onto his back as he heard her voice, tears mixing with the rain hitting his face. -> “I love you, sweetheart. Daddy’s coming home soon, okay?” He’d have to hold the phone away for a few moments, trying not to sob and his voice shaky. “And I’m taking you to that place you wanted to go to. Tell mommy to pack your bags, alright?”

He’d never been so scared of death before now that he had a family but he knew he had to pull through and make it back and he always did.

Life had completely changed for Russell when his daughter was born and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He’d do anything to protect her. 

[ltash]

The Enigma

You met Ghost at the base for the first time and ended unconscious in his arms.

"My team is back from the mission. They couldn't find Hassan there, but we lost many soldiers," Capt Price said with grief in his voice.

Movements fueled by a sense of urgency and adrenaline. As you made your way through the corridors of the base towards the tarmac.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched the scene unfold before your eyes. The familiar sights and sounds of the military base were now juxtaposed with the grim reality of war - ambulances lined up, their doors flung open to receive the wounded and the fallen; the whirring blades of the helicopter casting a haunting shadow over the tarmac as it touched down, carrying with it the weight of tragedy.

Injured soldiers were carried off the helicopter on stretchers, their faces contorted in pain, their uniforms stained with blood. Beside them, solemn-faced medics worked tirelessly to tend to their wounds, their movements swift and efficient in the face of adversity.

Another helicopter landed, and the remaining soldiers started to come out. You looked at them as the soldiers came out one by one. You stood directly in front of it.

It was the team Captain Price had mentioned earlier.

As all the soldiers came out, you heard a thick British voice saying, "Keep up, Soap."

Your heart skipped a beat as you listened to the exchange, your gaze fixated on the two figures emerging from the helicopter.

The first, with his distinctive mohawk and rugged good looks, exuded an air of confidence and strength that drew your attention. He had a smile on his face all the while he was talking to him.

But it was the second figure, his broad back turned towards you, that sent a jolt coursing through your veins. Though his uniform was disheveled and his appearance obscured, there was something about the way he carried himself, a subtle grace in his movements.

He then turned around, his eyes meeting yours.

As your eyes locked, time seemed to stand still for you. You felt as though you were being drawn into the depths of his gaze, lost in the intensity of his stare. The way he was looking at you sent shivers down your spine.

He was quite tall, probably more than 6'2", with a broad and muscular physique. He had long and strong legs. It looked like he had surely worked hard for it.

He was wearing a skull-shaped mask above the black balaclava. Despite the mask obscuring his features, you could sense the power and strength emanating from him, a primal magnetism that both intrigued and unnerved you.

His royal blue uniform with his tactical gear had a shine to it in the moonlight. You had never seen that uniform on any soldier before in your life. It made him look really attractive and the skull mask made him look otherworldly at the same time.

His presence was overwhelming, his aura suffusing the air around you with an electric charge that set your nerves on edge. You could feel your heart racing in your chest, the rhythm of its beat echoing the rapid pace of your thoughts.

The soldier with the mohawk had his mouth agape when he saw you. "Such a bonnie lass," the soldier with the mohawk added.

For a moment, you remained locked in silent communion with him, each of you searching the depths of the other's soul for answers that remained just out of reach. As the weight of your gaze lingered between you, you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him.

Then he started approaching you, his steps audible from afar. The sound of his heavy boots hitting the tarmac was in rhythm with your heartbeat.

As he drew closer, his tall and broad physique overshadowed you. You were really small and petite in front of him. The man in front of you intimidated the fuck out of you.

His gaze shifts from your eyes to the black tank top who failed to hide the curve of your boobs to the small of your waist. His stance was very very intimidating yet sexy in a way you were pulled towards him like a moth to a flame.

Your eyes darted towards his pants who failed to hide the bulge of the package he was holding inside. He was surely BDE. You felt wet down there just on the thought.

You thought how'd it feel like if he holds your tiny waist in his large hands and jolt your existance, take your breath away as he fucks you hard in bed. How will you yelp and writh beneath him as you moan his name when he fucks you to the verge of esctacy. How his name will sound from your lips as he is deep inside of you.

What could be his name? You thought.

You were never in a relationship before and it scared you to even think about being in bed with him.

"Rookie!" His booming voice echoed, the thick British accent hitting your ears. "What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked, his voice commanding.

You were gobsmacked at that moment. You couldn't even comprehend what was going on. He thought you were a new recruit there, but you still had no answer. Your throat felt really dry with pins and needles. All the strength in your knees faded away the more his gaze bore holes into your existence.

"I asked you a question," his voice raspy and monotone this time. He took a step closer and stood very close to you.

You still couldn't muster any courage to speak.

"Go back to your barrack right now," he barked an order, his voice loud this time.

You flinched and took a step back. A small whimper escaped your lips. Your breaths were shaky with fear.

The soldier with the mohawk tried to step in.

"Easy there LT. She is scared."

He glared back at him.

The mysterious figure who had commanded your attention stood by your side, their concern evident in their expressions as they watched over you with silent vigilance.

Just then, you saw some paramedics pushing a stretcher with a dead body on it. The white cloth was covered in blood. An arm was dangling from the cloth.

You had a panic attack right there. Anxiety took its toll over you. You were never habitual of these kind of scenes. You started to shiver both with anxiety and under the gaze of that intimidating soldier who looms over you.

Suddenly your head started to spin. Everything going blurry around you. The two figures in front of you going blurry. Their voices muffled.

You fell into the abyss of darkness directly into his arms.

As your world spun out of control, you felt yourself being enveloped in a pair of strong arms, their embrace offering a fleeting sense of solace amidst the chaos that threatened to consume you.

"Hey!" You heard him say before he takes your chin in his gloved hand and pats your cheek trying to wake you up.

You clung to him, your deep blue eyes looking into his brown ones. Despite his imposing demeanor, you sensed a flicker of compassion in his eyes, a silent understanding of the pain and turmoil you were experiencing.

The mysterious soldier remained silent, his gaze unwavering as he kept a protective watch over you.

You leaned into his embrace, drawing comfort from his presence before closing your eyes.

As Ghost carried your unconscious form in his arms, he couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness wash over him.

You were so delicate, so vulnerable in that moment.

He looked down to see your features. Your gorgeous face when you were unconscious, your pink plump lips slightly agape, your deep breaths, your small neck, long hairs and your petite figure in his strong arms.

You were the most beautiful woman he ever laid his eyes on.

Captain Price saw them entering the building with your unconscious figure in Ghost's arms.

He approached them, concern etched into his features. "What happened to her?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

"I don't know," Ghost replied quietly, his gaze never leaving your face. "Maybe she saw something at the base. There were a lot of casualties."

"Take her to her room," Captain Price said.

Following Captain Price's lead, Ghost carried you to your room, his steps careful and deliberate. As he laid you gently on the bed, he couldn't help but be struck by your beauty. You looked so peaceful, so ethereal in the soft glow of the room. Your vulnerability in that moment stirred something deep within him.

"Who is she, Sir?" Soap asked, his voice breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air.

Ghost stepped back, his gaze lingering on your sleeping form for a moment longer. You looked so peaceful, so fragile.

"She's General Marshall's daughter," Captain Price explained, his voice tinged with concern. "She's been through a lot these past few days. We need to keep a close eye on her."

Ghost nodded in understanding.

Captain Price motioned for them to follow him to the meeting room, leaving Ghost alone with you.

As he tucked you in and smoothed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, Ghost felt a swell of protectiveness rise within him. You may have been the daughter of a general, but in that moment, you were just a vulnerable young woman in need of comfort and care.

Ghost cast one last glance at you, a silent promise echoing in his heart.

[kinardsevan]

tidbit tuesday

my beloved @perfectlysunny02 tagged me this week, and I know, ITS AMAZING, but I'm actually getting writing done this week (we won't discuss the painting that isn't getting done b/c the prof sucks). Anyhoo, this is tentatively titled there's no life after you.

“Firefighter down about thirty feet on the cliffside,” Hen finally says. Her voice is so calm, that it’s almost eerie. Tommy would worry, but he knows that Evan was supposed to be paired up with her, so he’s likely just busy caring for one of the kids. “Unresponsive. Can’t reach him.”  He forces himself to take a breath and remind himself that whichever his friends has fallen, they’re going to be okay. They can get Eddie or Howie up off the cliff with minimal trouble, and they’ll get them to the hospital. Everything will be fine, they just need to do one step at a time.  “So medivac,” Lucy responds back. She glances at the various controls on the helicopter dash and then down at her watch before looking over at Tommy briefly. “We’re about twelve minutes out from a hospital in any direction.” She pauses for a moment, turning in her seat once again. “Firefighter Wilson, can you tell if there’s blood loss?”  “Affirmative on blood loss,” she replies. “He’s going to need a full workup inside the chopper.”  That statement causes a pang in Tommy’s chest, but he reminds himself that they’re more than capable of getting this all done properly and safely. His friends will be fine.  “About five minutes out,” he calls out over the line.  “Try to make it three,” Hen replies. The line goes quiet again, and for the next two minutes, Tommy tries to make good on her request, getting closer to the mountain. As they get nearer, he’s better able to make out where the vehicles are parked, lights still flashing on the engines as they start to descend in height. And then, a line clicks over, like someone pressing on their radio without intending to.  “Can’t see much, but it’s not looking good.” Eddie’s voice carries over the line. Tommy gulps, realizing it must be Howie that’s injured. He can only imagine now Evan is taking it, let alone how they’re going to break the news to Maddie. Still, he tries to remain focused on the task at hand, lowering them closer to the cliffside. They’re closing in enough now that he can make out a body and the darkened area where blood is pooling as he forces himself to inhale and exhale deep breaths.  “Think we can land,” Lucy asks, looking in his direction.  Tommy’s brow pinches as he continues to get them lower. “It’s gonna be tight, but I see a spot.” He clicks over on his radio. “Captain Wilson are you available? I’m a man down; left Rodriguez at First Presbyterian with our last transport.”  “I’m on my way down,” she replies, and there’s a shakiness to her tone.  It’s a process, getting them down safely. He has to put them down roughly a quarter mile up from where Howie is at so they can land safely, and as he does, Lucy is already jumping out of the back of the chopper.  “Three minutes,” she tells him, like the unit of time is suddenly a mantra for them. “Think you can get set up by then?”  Tommy glances around the back of the chopper and nods. He really hasn’t done anything medic-related since his army days, but he knows enough about the setup of their medivac chopper to know where to find supplies.  “Go,” he yells at her over the whirring of the blades. “Hurry!”  She’s gone before the word is halfway out of his mouth, and then he’s shuffling around in the back of the cabin, pulling supplies as quickly as he can. As he works, Lucy starts calling out over the radio information for the hospital. Her voice is tight, and something about it makes Tommy’s breathing grow shallow, even if he’s not entirely processing her words.  “Thirty-three year old male took a thirty foot fall. Looking at multiple internal injuries, compound fracture to the left femur and ankle, attempting to stabilize. Helmet appears to have taken impact, so not sure of cranial effects yet, if any. Deep cut to the right tricep, and what looks like an open fracture to the pelvis. Sixty seconds out from the chopper, at least thirteen from UCLA.” 

[barefoothighlander]

two birds

summary: your last thoughts are of Simon

warnings: violence, death, blood, angst, reader callsign is storm, gn pronouns

a/n: In my feels, now everyone must suffer my ghost angst, I'm sorry

The shots ring through the air, the bullets whizzing by your ears as you and Ghost fight through the mob ahead of you, you're exposed in an open field, just the two of you. You called for evac five minutes ago, patiently awaiting the sound of the helicopter blades whirring above you, you're nearly out of ammo, replacing your empty clip with your final round,

"I'm almost out" You shout to him

"Only a few left, keep going"

You're both sprinting around, ducking for cover behind rocks and trees, dropping the men as soon as you see them,

"Two on your left, get over here"

You rush beside Simon, bracing your back against the tree as he turns to shoot the two men, you move to turn, a sharp pain shooting from your abdomen across your body,

"It's clear, let's go"

He moves forward, urging you to follow, you take a pained breath, your legs moving slowly as you trail behind him. You make your way to a small cabin a few miles from where you were, your legs stumbling over the uneven ground as your hand clutches your side.

"Are you hit?" Ghost asks, turning his body towards you as you arrive at the house,

"Just a graze" You shake your head in denial, but your fingers are stained red, you can feel the drips dampening your clothing.

"Get inside" His hand is firm on your back, helping you in, he closes the door and you collide with the wall, your back pressed against the wood as you brace against it.

"You alright love?" His words pass through your ears, the stinging in your stomach making you wince in pain, "Storm are you hurt?" There's panic in his voice as his eyes scan your body, he can see the drips of blood pooling around your feet, the tears that prick your eyes as you look back at him, his breath is shaky as he reaches for you, his hand covering yours, you flinch at the contact.

"Watcher this is Alpha team, how far out are you?"

"Alpha this is Watcher, we are 10 minutes out"

"Alright, just hang on love, a little longer"

You nod toward him, breathing deeply as you slide down the wall,

"I need to see, move your hand"

His eyes are glued to yours as he lifts up your shirt, it's drenched in blood, he lets out a heavy breath as he sees your wound, a bullet had entered your lower stomach,

"How bad?"

He takes a beat, his hands shaking as he presses into your skin to try and stop the bleeding, "There's no exit wound, but you'll be okay, you're fine"

You huff a small laugh, the movement in your chest making you grimace, your tears are falling down your cheeks, mixing with the dirt that stains your skin as your muscles get weaker, dropping to the floor.

"Hey look at me, we'll be out in a few minutes just hang on"

You smile weakly at him, a frail hand moving to cup his cheek, he leans into your touch,

"Let me see you"

His eyes are watery as his free hand moves to tug his mask off, your thumb traces over his skin,

"So beautiful"

"C'mon don't go all soft on me" He jokes, his eyes glaring down to his stained skin, the pool of red under your body growing later by the second.

"It's okay"

"No, no you're gonna be fine, it's just a scratch"

"Simon" Your voice is soft, his shaky hands pressing firmer into your skin, your body is numb from the blood loss, your skin getting pale as he shakes his head at you,

"It's not fair" His voice is trembling, "It shouldn't have been you"

"We've had a good life" You smile

"Not long enough, it's too soon, we're supposed to get all old and cranky together"

"I think you've had the cranky part down for years"

He laughs quietly, he's looking around for anything he can use to help stop the bleeding, his movements frantic, you place a delicate hand over his, he turns to you his face flushed.

"I won't let you die, not now"

He curses, his hand reaching for his comms, "Goddamnit Watcher where are you?" He's yelling into his microphone

"ETA 5 minutes"

"You need to be here now! Fuck!"

"Simon" Your voice is weak, your head falling back against the wall,

"I'm here love, what is it"

"I just, I gave you all I had, you need to know that"

"I know baby I know, just a little longer okay"

His eyes are frantically scanning outside for the helicopter, your eyelids are heavy as he moves to hold you, his arm wrapping around your neck to pull you into him,

"Hey you gotta stay awake for me alright, talk to me"

"So tired Si"

"I know, just think about getting home, we'll go see the ocean like you always wanted"

"You hate the ocean"

"I do yea" He huffs a small laugh, "But I'd do anything for you"

Your limbs are heavy, your frame only being held up by his grip as you grow weaker.

"I want you to find someone, after me"

"What?"

"When I'm gone, you deserve to be happy"

"I don't want anyone but you, you're it for me, this, us, that's how my story ends, us together"

"C'mon, you can't be hung up on me forever"

"Baby I have loved you from the minute we met, there's no room for anyone else"

Your skin is puffy from your tears, your cheeks flushed as your hand holds his cheek, the blood from your fingers smearing onto his skin.

"Thank you for letting me love you"

The distant sound of the helicopter echoes through the walls of the house, Simon's eyes widening at the sound,

"Alright baby, you have to stand, we have to go"

You shake your head, crying out in pain as he tries to lift you,

"I can't Si"

"You can come on, just hold onto me"

"Simon, you have to let me go"

His tears are falling, his hands pulling you into his chest so your head is tucked under his chin, his lips pressing to the crown of your head.

"It's okay" Your words are muffled in his clothes, you pull back weak eyes staring back at him, you slowly lean in to kiss him, his hands holding you there.

"Please don't leave me" He whispers, his forehead pressed to yours,

Your hand falls from his cheek, "It's okay, I'm in the arms of the man I love, the man I will always love, it doesn't hurt"

He's shaking his head,

"There's no pain anymore, just you, I love you Simon Riley"

Your heavy eyes close, your body growing limp in his hold, he tugs you into his chest, his tears wetting your hair as he muffles his sobs against you, his body shaking slightly.

He whispers your name, taking a strained breath as the full weight of your lifeless body is held by him, his hands stroke your hair, slowly rocking as he sits, his mind numb as the feeling of his heart being ripped out fills him, the sound of the landing helicopter outside buzzing in his ears.

[celestialprincesse]

🌩️🕊️

Simon used to hate storms. He used to hate the pounding of rain on windows like shrapnel and kicked up dirt in the aftermath of a grenade against just barely reached shelter. That's what storms remind him of; that his limited sense of security is temporary.

The rumble of thunder reminded him of the deafening whir of helicopter blades carrying him and the men he still considers family to what could very well be their ends. Reminded him of how he'd tell himself that if that day was his last, he'd die serving his country, die so innocents like his mother and brother would never be subjected to the horror that he and his teammates witnessed on a daily basis.

When lightning pierced the sky in violent, forking fingers, that first blinding flash of light that catches you off guard and makes you jump from your skin, Simon only saw that white light of explosives decimating their surroundings, homes and roads, women and children. Explosives don't care how young or old you are, pregnant or risk. Explosives, like storms, don't have a conscience.

When Simon first met you, that first night when the air grew humid and heavy with electricity, it was impossible not to see the way his shoulders tensed and his eyebrows set like a gladiator readying himself to go into battle. He still so vividly remembers the way you told him the story of Zeus and his bolt, commanding lightning and mastering the skies, and the demigod Aeolus, the ruler of the winds. He's still able to recall the hour long tangent you went on, teaching him all you knew about ancient gods and mythology with a bashful smile when you noticed the way he looked at you like you'd strung the stars up in the sky, so beautifully passionate in your retelling.

Simon had been so utterly enraptured in your story that by the time you'd finished talking, the storm clouds had long rolled over the silver sky. Now, when the low growl of thunder shakes the ground and clouds gather, Simon finds himself unable to think of the nauseating violence of war - only you. He only ever thinks of you.

[the-kr8tor]

Hi Katy <3

Could I get some arrowroot in a❣️ bottle?

I just want Mrs and Mr Smith cuddling after a hard mission

-🪦

Hell yea ofc!!! Thank you for requesting! Hope u like it 🩷

Pairing: Spy! Hobie Brown x Spy! Fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Spy AU, Mr and Mrs Smith AU, John Smith! Hobie, Jane Smith! R, CW blood, CW violence mention, CW injury, FLUFF

A sequel to this

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

The helicopter rumbles, its whirring blades echo in your bleeding ear. You're covered in drying blood, mouth sickeningly dry, and incredibly hungry from the whole ordeal. Hobie sits across from you, uncharacteristically silent, a mirror image of you with crimson still dripping from his neck down to the collar of his shirt. His eyes are empty, staring outside at the passing lush islands.

You cough, mindlessly picking at the blood underneath your fingernails, and pulling at the rubber band on your wrist to release it in a harsh slap on your skin. Hobie sees your habit return, and then almost immediately, there's a sudden pressure against your ear, almost making you jump if not for his hand gently grasping your shoulder.

“You're still bleedin’” He yells, forgetting about the helicopter headset he has on.

“Please scream in my ear more so I continue to bleed!” You're annoyed from how shitty the mission went to how much chaos you and Hobie left in that bunker. Sure, it was considered successful to the company's standard, but you had to do drastic measures for it to be considered just that. You can still smell the smoke stuck in your nostrils, and the screams embedding in your mind.

Hobie takes his headsets off, the immediate sound of the blades pierces his ear drums. “Sorry,” he gestures for the seat next to you, to which you give him a quick nod. With a groan, he now sits next to you, dabbing the cloth in his hand along the shell of your ear. You don't mind how close he is, you've been partners with him for almost a year now. Technically ‘married’ for ten months, sixteen days, and twelve hours. But who's keeping count?

You stay silent even when he hands you a bottle of water. Hobie continues to clean the blood off your ear while you drink and watch how his hands are so gentle with you. Even after he watched you set flames to the occupied secret bunker. “Why?”

“Why what?” He replies, voice softer than before.

You sniff, glancing towards his mismatched yet gorgeous eyes. It reminds you of a stained glass window in a church, it's the closest you get to see heaven at this point. “Nothing.”

He doesn't pick and prod, perhaps he also knows how you feel. You thank him silently for understanding. “There, I think the bleedin' stopped a while ago, the blood was just covering your ears.”

True enough, you can hear much better now. Nothing's muffled but there's still a throbbing pain left. “Thanks.”

After finishing, he still doesn't leave your side. “No problem.”

“You okay?” Your voice is quieter than the voices in your head. You scooch closer to him, knee to knee, hand inching closer to his own hand atop his thigh. “I saw you get thrown.”

“Nothing to worry ‘bout. Y’know me, I can handle it.”

“That man was built like a fucking wrestler, Hobie.” You utter his real name quieter than the rest of your words, lest you want the company to know that you've broken the rules. Again.

“Yeah, d’you think he knows Hulk Hogan?”

You chuckle, “fuck off.” Laying your head on his shoulder, mindful of your injury. He smiles, reaching for your wrist, grasping at the raw skin where you always let the rubber band go in a smack. “He kinda looked like Hulk Hogan.”

“What if he was his kid or somethin’?” Hobie rubs along the angry lines left by the rubber band, smoothing you.

You snuggle closer, injury be damned, intimacy issues thrown out of the copter window— you need him and his touch. “Then we're fucked, Hogan's going to come after us.”

Hobie snickers, snaking his arm behind you to wrap you tightly in his embrace. He swears he heard you let out a relieved sigh, so he squeezes you once, twice, until you've fully relaxed. “Why? Is it because we killed him?”

“No, because we stole his lunch,” Hobie laughs, making you laugh against his shoulder where you've parked your head in the crook of his neck. “Yes, because we killed him.”

He hums against the crown of your head, kissing you softly and subtly that you almost didn't notice it. “You saved my arse back there. Our synergy was off the bloody charts. Let's see the other Smiths do that.” He boasts, mentioning the other pair of Smiths who practically threw you and Hobie into the mission that was supposed to be theirs.

“It was you, Hobie, of course I'd fucking kick his ass.” You pout as he smooths your worry lines in between your eyes. “Besides, they would've done better because they're so perfect and so in love.” You say the last words with bitterness.

Hobie tamps down a laugh, continuing to hum against your head. The vibrations from his throat calm you down like you needing white noise to fall asleep. You think you can never fall asleep alone now because of him. He has become your personal white noise machine. “So in love it's sickenin’” He says while he rubs your arm, and moves your head to pepper kisses on your temple.

“They're so sick, I hate them.” You take all his kisses, sighing with each peck.

“They're not perfect though.” He pauses, lips still on your skin, voice muffled by it.

“They are.” You lean away, leaving his lips still puckered up from his numerous barrage of kisses. “They're a level higher than us, and Jane's fucking wardrobe is amazing. God, I hate her so much.”

Hobie nods, listening to you ramble on about John's excessive love of ‘imagine dragons.’ “Like, ‘thunder’ doesn't even fit the mood of our dinner party when he played it on his phone. It was Italian for god's sake, we had prosciutto. The fancy kind!”

“Mm-hmm, he's annoyin’” while you talk, he carefully puts your head on his lap and you're none the wiser. It's not like he's not listening, he'd listen to you yap about bird migration in the north only because you're the one who's talking. But he knows you need to rest for the rest of the flight or you'd be knackered by the time the helicopter lands. Even covered in blood and complaining, he still finds you endearing.

You suddenly stop ranting, twisting around to fully face him. Hobie puts his hands up in surrender, you narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Pettin' your head?”

You huff, turning towards his stomach, accepting his fondness while you embrace his middle. “Continue.”

“Alright,” Hobie beams down at you as your eyes start to close the second he rubs your aching back. You're curled around him like a cat, the seats are too small to fit your entire form so you're all shrimped out while you slowly fall asleep.

“I'm going to fucking kill them for throwing us here.” He thought you were asleep already, your sudden, angry yet sleepy voice almost made him guffaw in his seat.

“Especially Jane?”

“Especially Jane.”

“I'll handle John then.” His fingers make patterns on your back.

“You'd help me?” You ask, meeting his eyes.

“Of course, it's for you, love.”

You wanted to kiss him right there and then. “Good, because I don't want to do it myself.”

Hobie laughs softly, eyes just as soft while he looks at you. “Sleep first, revenge later.”

[perpetual-fandom-brainrot]

Temporary Relocation Prologue/Ch. 1

This fic is based on this drabble Basic premise: Reader got an experimental surgery and is being relocated to a military base with more specialized medical supplies to help recovery while on medical leave, and will temporarily help with missions to ensure success after.

It was some kind of new experimental technology. You were one of only a few hundred who had the privilege of getting the opportunity. When they'd called, you'd needed to request for the information to be mailed because there was so much of it. "Instinctual Prosthetics" was what they had decided to name the project. It was supposed to help military combatants, granting an animalistic advantage of some kind on the battlefield. They would synthesize physical attributes of the target animal, you couldn't wrap your head around how, and intertwine the prosthetics and artificial nerves with your body's existing nervous system. Most info beyond that was disclosed to you as "need-to-know," which told you literally nothing you felt you needed to know.

Nonetheless, you were too intrigued- and too attached to the payout you'd get for using yourself as an experiment vessel- to say no. That was how you ended up on a helicopter with a man who'd introduced himself to you as Captain John Price, with your newfound cat ears and tail still extremely sensitive to everything around them. Every time the aircraft jostled, you found yourself flinching, and every time the noise changed you wished you could press your ears to your head to make it stop. If only it wasn't too dangerous to take off those headphones, which had been specially made for you. You didn't even want to think about what the violent whirs of the overhead blades would sound like without the protection they gave.

"Touchdown in five," the pilot called back to the two of you. You barely registered it until you heard Captain Price giving a comment saying the pilot's communication went over. "This team won't be anything like what you're used to, soldier. Much more specialized, much better materials to handle your... unique recovery circumstances." The captain's explanation didn't do much to ease your nerves, but you found yourself nodding as though it did. As though it held any clues of what you'd see on Task Force 141's base. "The rest of the force should be meeting us when we land," he continued. "I expect you'll get acquainted with them over your time here." The words gained another absent nod from you. Until the heli touched down, you found your brain wandering to how this all happened in the first place.

"It's an experimental procedure," the woman over the phone explained. You could hear pages flipping in the background of her mic, "we're only offering it to a few hundred soldiers to see how it takes. There's a wide range of people who chose to go in already." Her explanation only served as further confusion.

"I... I still don't understand," you mumbled before taking a sip of your coffee, "why was I selected?" The line was tense with silence for what you wish was a small beat, before the woman sighed.

"I only know what I'm telling you, and I'm only allowed to tell you what I know." Her gentle tone was meant to be reassuring, but right then it was just pissing you off. You were going to potentially lose critical brain functions if this went wrong, and it was still on a need-to-know? Fucking government. "There is one upside, though," she spoke tentatively now, "since this is a voluntary experiment, they're offering you compensation."

"Compensation?" The word echoed off of your tongue almost as if it was alien. "I'm sorry, I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around all of this."

"I have permission to make exactly one hard copy of this information and mail it to you. Would you like me to file the request for it?"

"Yes, please."

It hadn't felt like too long since that phone call. It probably hadn't been, if you were willing to compare hours to seconds. It had only been a few weeks since you were wheeled out of the surgery room, informed of the expected enhancements with your balance and hearing, and then immediately told about the orders for your relocation. You'd be temporarily occupying the base of a specialized and extremely classified task force, one you were sure your own generals themselves had never heard of. A few weeks since that tail was surgically implanted at the back of your spine and connected to your main nerve pathways, a few weeks since the nurses and doctors taking care of you started looking at you funny when you covered your ears from things they couldn't hear.

The harsh jostle of the helicopter landing, and the ensuing pins and needles from your still sore tail, broke you out of your trance. You took a deep breath as you stood up and removed the headphones, flinching at the more detailed sounds you knew no one else could hear, and looked up to see Captain Price awaiting your company to exit the aircraft.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

Not at all, you think, but give a verbal, "affirmative, Captain." Price doesn't walk off of the helicopter until he sees you next to him, where a small group of men wait, presumably for the two of you, in a semicircle. "So... this is the team?" You ask quietly, awkwardly, before they've noticed you. Price chuckles to himself before calling out to the group.

"Soldiers," his voice carries over the now fading whirs of the helicopter, "meet our new temporary recruit. After the medical recovery period ends, you'll all be working together out on the field. I expect you all to make good use of the remaining leave time." Nobody had to ask to know what Price meant. You'd all be stopping bullets and bombs for each other soon enough, probably too soon. He wanted a team that knew how to work together.

"What's with the cat ears?" A rough British accent calls. Your eyes flick to the source, a tall and muscular man wearing a skull mask. Your peripherals catch everyone else's eyes immediately flying to the top of your head while you make brief eye contact with the man. Your breath catches in your throat when you open your mouth to respond.

"This is the experimental procedure you were briefed about," Price stated. "I expect you all to treat this like any other new recruit. If I hear of any issues, you will be dealing with Shepherd." A collective groan came from the group as Price walked towards a gathering of buildings. Who?

"Aye Ghost, don't want them to make you a kitty cat, eh? Ya might end up too cute to fight that way," another man, a Scotsman with striking blue eyes and a mohawk, commented.

"A word, sergeant MacTavish," the Brit barked before walking into a nearby building. The Scot followed him without asking questions. You just watched the two in a daze, not sure what to make of the scene.

"What was that?" The question came from your mouth carefully.

"Don't mind them," another man, the only one left now, spoke up. He had umber skin that looked smooth, not as big of a build as the Brit but you had no doubt just as strong. "The sergeant's probably getting his fair share for talking to the lieutenant like that." As he talked, you noted he's probably better for agility. He took a step towards you and held out his hand, "I'm Kyle Garrick, Gaz on the field."

"Y/n L/n," you took a step to close the gap and firmly shook his hand. "Nice to meet you Gaz! Who are the other two? The sergeant and you said the lieutenant?"

Gaz laughed a little, the smile staying as he spoke, "the angry one in the mask, the lieutenant, is Ghost, and the Scot you saw messing with him is my fellow sergeant. His name's Soap. Those two are always at each other's throats. Bet you'll get used to it as you stay here," he took a step back after letting go of your hand. Gaz was still smiling, "and I'm assuming you know Price. There's others, but they're out on assignments if they're not stuck in the medical quarters recovering."

"Well, in that case, mind showing me the medical quarters? I'm due for an initial check-up after my briefing on the team. Pretty sure you just gave that to me."

Gaz turned and waved you on from behind, "follow me!" He called. You jogged to catch up, looking around and taking every detail in while gazing at the structures around you. Brief explanations of barracks, small hangars, different quarters and offices, the main canteen building as you passed it, everything you needed to know about getting around the base and what you need. Eventually, a building just as plain as the rest of them save for a red cross came into view. The medical quarters, you regarded it with internal relief. Your ears and spine were starting to ache again.

You even forgot to thank Gaz as you hurried in, leaving him to laugh to himself. You were definitely something. The base- the force- was going to enjoy having you.

Read the next chapter here

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

5k is so deserved! I constantly go back and reread your works and am always looking forward to what’s next ❤️❤️❤️

I’ve been having thoughts about a Hesh x femreader reunion request thats similar to your latest Keegan piece. Except reader was childhood friends with the Walker boys, but despite there being feelings between Hesh and reader they’re scared of confessing because of their friendship. they get separated when Odin happens, and both join the military and reunite during a joint Op with the Ghosts and readers team, and even after 10 years their feelings resurface and finally get together.

Can’t wait to see what you’ll write for all the requests!!

—To The Boy of My Childhood

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Ten years came and went fast, but the memory of the Walker boys stayed. One more than the other. You never got to tell him you loved him.] ❞

You remembered his kindness, above all. His big, pure, heart. Hesh wasn’t just someone you grew to know and then threw out like a pair of old socks, no, he was too good for that—a mix of playful boyishness and the makes of a fine man. You wished you could have told him how much he meant to you before it all just fell apart. 

Growing up near the Walker boys was a treat and a curse, not for yourselves, but for the adults—no one got in the way of you three. Late nights in the backyard, laughter keeping everyone up into the small hours. The fights and the near-instantaneous make-ups. 

The older years of deep-rooted attraction to the green-eyed boy of your youth.

David Hesh Walker had been everything you had ever wanted, and even when the ground shook and the word split, you still couldn’t tell him how you felt. But fate had plans for the two of you—it was only a matter of time. 

Ten years, to be exact.

You jump down from the helo, your knees taking the brunt of the weight from your gear as your team follows. Fort Santa Monica was a bustling stronghold right on the door of Federation occupation—enemies stalking like animals beyond the wall for a glimpse of weakness. The men and women here were anything but.

“On me!” You call out behind you, and the resounding rush of booted feet follows as you all move out along the helicopter pad swiftly. The unit you were assigned was given a simple task—assist the commanding Captain here and his men with wall defense to reduce the amount of casualties. 

Over the ten years of war, you’d honed yourself into something akin to a walking weapon. Found deliriously surviving in the remnants of the USA, your rage and anger gave you the skills you needed to still be alive when the soldiers found you; brought you back to civilization. It hadn’t taken much for you to sign up after that, thinking Hesh and his brother were dead. 

Hesh. God, you had loved him so much that the feeling hadn’t dimmed in the slightest even now. Being so close to home once more made you feel…strange. 

“Lieutenant!” One of the soldiers comes up to greet you all, shouting above the whir of blades—he was an older man with a shaved head and a large beard. “Welcome to Santa Monica!”

“Good to be here!” You call, a rifle hanging heavy on your chest. “Where do you need us, Sir?”

“Fall in, I’m bringin’ you to Scarecrow!” So you follow, leaving the sandy beach of the port and heading into the dense streets. There were civilians in this Fort, you knew, just beyond the checkpoint of fences. You have to wonder how they felt about this—trapped in a rat cage with the water and the war clamping to them tightly. 

“Heard your unit was well-known.” You’d learned the man’s name was Thomas Merrick—a Captain here. You blink at him, head tilting. “Scarecrow was eager to get you here, can’t say why.” 

“I was told you needed support at the wall, Captain,” you explain, brows furrowing. “Were my superiors mistaken?”

Merrick's brown eyes stare at you as you walk beside him, your men all speaking to one another from behind. 

“No,” is all you’re told. 

This ‘Scarecrow’ was known as only that, and your lips thin at the comment leveled at you. Strange. 

Your other men are shown their barracks, and you send them off to get rid of their packs and belongings while you continue on with Merrick to the control room—eager to meet this Captain and get real answers. 

When you get there, the second you push open the door and Merrick takes his leave, you’re greeted by one of the old faces that you could recognize anywhere. 

You freeze just three feet into the room, locking eyes with this mythical ‘Scarecrow’ but it wasn’t some great war strategist, at least, not as you know him.

“Mr. Walker?” You pause, blinking in confusion. Elias Walker—Hesh and Logan’s dad. Your heart constricts in your chest. 

He looks at you, a small smile on his stern face as his arms crossed, nodding his head. 

“Thought I recognized that name in my request for transfers.” 

“Holy shit,” you breathe, a grin breaking out over your face for the first time in ages. Part of you wanted to race and hug him—bathe in the comfort that his rare soft looks would bring you when you were younger…but you weren’t that kid anymore. Being alive was enough, and with the things you’d seen, it meant far more than anything else. Elias seemed to share that sentiment, as he walked over and put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it. 

“How did…how are…” Your head shakes quickly, memories flooding back along with the pain. But there, in your chest, a flicker of hope—something more blooming back to life. “Logan?” Your voice is tiny, pleading as you pause, gazing into Elias’s eyes. “...Hesh?”

“I already called ‘em back in. They’ll be here soon.” He gives you a proud nod. “I’m glad you’re still here, Sweetheart.” 

You laugh, smile wobbling. 

Alive. Hesh was alive. 

Every wall you’d built falls the second boyish laughter echoes out from the halls. You turn, hearing feet move down the floor, closer and closer as your body stills like a statue. 

Alive. 

When a shoulder pushes open the door, you stop breathing as a far older David enters the room, Logan, as always, not far behind. 

He’s mature now, with a beanie over his short brown hair and the presence of a grown man holding down responsibilities—he was smirking back and his brother, saying in a voice that haunts your dreams, “Think we should tell him what Riley found today, Logan?” 

The younger brother stops short, locks eyes with you, and his body goes as tight as a fishing line. 

Hesh’s brows furrow. “Logan?” He turns to you and those green eyes go confused for a moment, lips going thin. It’s a flash of recognition that re-ignites them—a flicker of something long past before they snap wide with fierce realization.

Blinking quickly, the man watches you, hands at his sides jerking forward by a millimeter as if to grab for you at even a single glance. No one speaks for a long, long time, and maybe you don’t want them to. Hesh and you are locked in a look of pure pain and elation—a dance of life and death. 

There aren’t any words for it beyond the sudden mad scramble for the other’s hold. 

You collide in a sharp breath and a hand to the back of your head—keeping you to him as you both grasp for purchase; for a glimpse of your childhood back.

“Jesus Christ,” Hesh breathes, anchoring you to him as his chest sputters. “Oh my fucking God.”

“Hesh,” you whimper through a sobbing laugh. “You son of a bitch, I should throttle you.”

He scoffs wetly into your ear, hands quivering and voice cracking. 

“Me? If I remember, Doll, you were the one to take that tumble down the hill—I…I tried to find you, y’know that? I swear, I didn’t want to leave but I—”

You pull back and slam your lips to his. 

It was far better than an ‘I love you’ when he melted and grappled you closer.

[catgirlmeowska]

you walk into my office. im in a dark office with expensive mahogony pannelling. my grand desk intimidates you, the new intern, as you approach. The back of my leather office chair is illuminated with a fammiliar navy-blue-ish tone.

You hesitate, if only for a moment, until my hand pops out tapping out a fat cigar onto the floor. I spin my chair around and cross one leg over the other, staring at you inquisitively. You approach with today's reports. You move to explain your findings on current stats and trends that are blowing up, but i shush you with a single finger.

"Do you think I got as far as i did giving a rats-ass about any of that?" I say, kicking my feet off the desk before you can notice I am wearing a pair of tastefully dinosaur themed crocs. "I only care about two things, Kid. Open today's review".

You sigh, knowing your manager wont be pleased to know you couldn't get through to me, but you're at your wits end with this job none the less. You root through the folders until you can find one labelled "PERFORMANCE" in thick, black sharpie. You dust off loose glitter that fell out of a jar when i kicked the desk trying to put my feet down casually, and open to a single page.

"What does it say. Tell me."

"....8 likes."

"And the reblogs?"

"....2."

You expect disappointment, but recoil as i let out a menacing howl of laughter. I dive over the desk, tackling you to the ground and shaking your shoulders in a state of euphoria.

As I slowly raise myself off of you, my face is darkened by the shadows cast by your long-forgotten flashlight. I turn around and walk towards an open window, balancing on the ledge as a helicopter flies frighteningly close to the building. As i hope on, I leave you and the company with one final message:

"That beats my record!"

"By how much?!" you shout over the whirring of the blades.

"........Two."

[seraphimcollections]

Gentle Giant | Konig x Medic!reader | ch.1

summary: You are a medic. You shouldn't be here, but a series of unfortunate events have you on the run, but from whom? And to whom?

warnings: typical depictions of violence from cod, medical inaccuracies, eventual smut (not in this chapter, patience loves), implications of smut, more than slight size kink.

words: 2.5

author's note: alright. i caved. they got me hook, line and sinker. i had waaay too much fun writing this, makes me excited for what's to come ;) There's no use of y/n but it is written in second person. OH! For the translations, if you're reading on your phone, you can select and then translate :)))

| masterlist |

The whirring of the helicopter blades echoed in  your ears as you hopped down, landing in a crouch on the tarmac next to Sergeant Soap, Lieutenant Ghost and Captain Price. You shifted the heavy pack on her shoulders as you approached the two soldiers standing a few meters away ready to welcome Squad 141. There was a woman, only slightly taller than you smirking as you all approached, her hands behind her back. Your eyes slide up, higher, to the behemoth standing next to her. Your nerves went on high alert, seeing that not only was this man simply massive, bordering on seven feet, but he hid his face away under a dark hood, with only two holes for him to see through. 

“Captain Price, Squad 141, welcome!” Roze said, holding out her hand for Price to shake. 

“Thanks for having us!” Price shouted over the heli. “On behalf of the 141, we’re happy to have KorTac on our side!” 

Roze smirked, “we happen to share a common enemy, one we hope to eliminate as soon as possible.” Captain waved his hand to his subordinates, “this is part of my team. Sergeant John “Soap” McTavish, sniper and bomb specialist.  Lieutenant Ghost, sabotage, and our field medic, Y/N L/N.” 

Roze smirked, “good thing you brought another medic with you, his guy always finds a way to hurt himself.” 

Roze nudged the silent man, causing him to lose his composure for a moment. You looked up into his eyes, finding them to be purest of greens, along with the nervous anxiety behind them. ‘He’s nervous, this big guy?’ you thought. Your dissecting gaze wanders across his body, noting his nervous ticks until narrowing down on the poorly wrapped wound on his left hand. You cocked her head to the side with a frown. 

“You’re bleeding,” you noted matter-of-factly, pointing to his hand. 

The man straightened, hiding his wounded hand behind his back, avoiding your gaze. 

“I-It’s fine,” he said, his voice deep and rumbly but riddled with an accent. 

You cocked a brow and with a sigh, you approached the soldier, slapping him on the shoulder, having to fully extend your arm in order to reach. 

“Let’s go get that checked out soldier, can't you catch tetanus before the big mission,” you said, trying to sound firm. 

Konig looked down at Roze in shock, before turning to follow you, even though you had no idea where you were going in his foreign base. 

The group watched the duo disappear into the building, Price with a permanent frown. 

“You sure it’s a good idea having that guy on this?” He said skeptically. 

Roze’s expression became serious, “he’s one of the best -- his methods may be a bit unorthodox, but he gets the job done.” 

“Yea, we heard of his methods,” Price said, “and know that we’ll be keeping a close eye on ‘im.” 

“We’ve heard our own rumors, Captain,” Roze’s gaze became serious. “Rumors that you’re harboring some precious cargo. Something that can’t make it into the enemy's hands.” 

Price frowned, “rumors aren’t word.” 

“I’m just saying, if KorTac and the 141 are going to be working together, transparency is only fair,” Roze said. 

Price crossed his arms with a small smirk, “that’s need to know, Sergeant.” 

→ 

König pushed open the door into the infirmary office, away from the row of beds that lay empty. He stepped aside, allowing you entry first, his posture rigid. You walked past, dropping your pack by the desk with a heavy sigh. You rolled one of the chairs over, plopping down into it before rummaging through your pack. Your eyes cast over to the door, finding the hooded man had not even crossed the threshold. 

“Hey big guy,” you called with a smile, “can’t fix your hand from the door.” 

You could almost see the man thinking before finally entering the room, having to duck his head under the entrance. He still kept his distance, so you pulled the second chair across from you before patting the seat. 

“Take a seat,” you said, your voice calming. “I promise I won't bite.” 

The man didn’t move for another second, before finally conceding and sat across from you, his knees curled underneath him. You continued to prep your utensils, grabbing rubbing alcohol, cotton balls and gauze. Finally looking up at the man, you held up your palm with a small smile, wordlessly asking for his wound. The hooded man held open his hand, revealing the bloody gauze poorly wrapped around his palm. His hand alone dwarfed yours and for a moment, you pitied the man who was caught in between them. 

You carefully began your work, your gaze trained at the messy work. König watched you carefully, his eyes lifting from your hands to your eyes, and then back again. He was shocked at your gentleness, it felt like a small bird jumping around in his palm. 

“Sie sind kein großer Redner, oder?” You said, never taking your gaze from his palm. 

König felt his spine stiffen as his eyes widened in shock. He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling in excitement. 

“Sie können Deutsch?” he said. 

You did well to hide your shock from the man’s deep voice, rumbling deep within his wide chest. You nodded nonetheless. 

“Ich war eine Zeit lang in Berlin stationiert…picked up a few things,” you smiled. 

König cursed himself for getting so excited over a little German, but for some reason…it sounded sweeter coming from your lips. The temperature rose from under his mask.

“They call me Wren.” You dabbed an alcohol soaked cotton ball on the cut. “Don’t ask me why, because I don’t even know. What do they call you?”  

Wren…like the bird. It’s…fitting, Konig smiled underneath his hood. 

“König,” he answered.

You nodded with a smile, “king. I can see it.” 

 Your gaze lifted up to the few scars peeking up from under the man’s long sleeve. They were small, most likely superficial. 

“You suffer from anxiety, don’t you?” You frowned, seeing the man squirm under your gaze. “I can tell, you pick at your scabs when you heal, that’s why they scar.” 

König stumbled over his words, “I-I-” 

You smiled, patting him on the soldier, “it’s alright, I’ve seen it before. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

König gaze stayed pinned on your small hand on his shoulder, feeling his skin becoming uncomfortably hot. Just as quickly as it was there, it was gone, your hand returning to wrapping his hand up properly this time. You were finished in no time, quicker than König would have hoped. You grinned, placing your hands on your knees, admiring your work. 

“All finished,” you said, “the wound didn’t go too deep but I’ll prescribe you some antibiotics to help with the swelling. If you need some painkillers don’t hesitate to ask.” 

König nodded, standing to his feet, “thank you, Wren.” 

You nodded your head, “anytime, but maybe not all the time. If you were in here all the time, I think I’ll get a little worried.” 

König felt his heart skip a beat. Worried? About him? No one worried about him. He broke eye contact, desperately taking his leave, lowering his head as he left the office, leaving you to your own devices. You listened as he left into the hall, his heavy footsteps fading away until nothing. You let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding, swinging to face your desk. The man was no less than intimidating with his tear-streaked hood. You were almost positive that his enemies saw that hood in their nightmares, and you prayed to whatever god that you wouldn’t succumb to that punishment. 

“Well, better get to work.” 

→ 

You had finished unpacking all of your medical supplies in the very barren infirmary, deciding to do some sprucing up around the beds, even opening up a few of the curtains to let in the fading sunlight. The infirmary seemed like it was almost abandoned, making you wonder if KorTac even had a resident medic to begin with. 

“Well that would explain the poorly treated cut,” you grumbled, folding one of the sheets before placing it on the cot. 

You head turned hearing a knock on the door frame, seeing Soap standing at the threshold. 

“‘Bout time you got in,” you smiled. 

“Not my fault, Gaz got the coordinates wrong,” Soap smirked. 

“I highly doubt our Gaz had anything to do with it,” you snorted. “How can I help you, McTavish?” 

You watched his expression become a bit more serious, which was a rare feat from the Scot. He leaned against the frame, his arms crossed. 

“Wanted to check in on ya, lass. See how you’re holding up,” he said. 

You frowned, before picking up another blanket to fold to distract yourself. 

“I’m fine, as fine as one could be in my situation,” you sighed. 

“It’s okay not to be,” Soap approached. “No one would blame you.” 

“Oh,” anger bubbled in your gut, “but I do.” 

“Wren-” 

“If I had just stayed put,” you nearly whispered, eyes screwed shut, “hell, even closed my fucking eyes, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” 

“It’s your fault, Wren,” Soap said sternly. “It couldn’t have been prevented. It was just…wrong place, bad timing.” 

You scoffed, a sad smile on your lips, happy your back was turned to your comrade so he couldn’t see the tears welling in your eyes. 

“Yeah. Bad timing.” 

Soap frowned, “listen, grub’s at 1800 hours. Price doesn’t feel really comfortable having to move around this big base on your own, so he’ll send someone for you.” 

Hearing this you whirred around, your brow furrowed, “now I need a babysitter?” 

Soap scratched his nape, “not my orders, Wren.”

You felt your shoulder slump in defeat. Soap puts a hand on your shoulder, giving you a gentle shake. 

“Don’t worry, things will be back to normal in no time, you’ll see,” he said with a hopeful smile. 

All you could do was nod, “and what about my sleeping quarters?” 

“König will take you,” Soap waved, “big fella practically volunteered.” 

Your ears perked at the mention of the tall Austrian. 

“Just…be careful around ‘im? The man gives me the heebie jeebies,” Soap grumbled. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you dismissed the thought. 

From the short time you sat with the man, he seemed to have not a bad bone in his body. But of course, there had to be, or else he wouldn’t be here. Again, at the thought of the behemoth, you thanked him for being on your team. He volunteered? You felt like a giddy school girl, but you quickly squash such feelings, busying yourself back into fixing up the infirmary. 

→

The sunlight had all but faded from the windows as you sat back at your desk, typing away at some files you needed to catch up on. Files weren’t the only thing to catch up on. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a good night’s sleep. You tried at first, but the nights dissolved into restless turning, riddled with nightmares. What you saw that day replaying over and over again behind your eyelids. Eventually it was just easier to just stay awake. 

Your exhaustion was more than evident on your face. Dark bags underneath your eyes, your complexion paler than normal. It definitely had caught the attention of the others, Price sending you a pitying look now and then, ordering you to take a break. But you couldn’t. Work was the only thing that took your mind off things. Whether it be the gym, the range, or any meaningless task, you needed them all. You wished for things to go back to normal, the days where you could laugh wholeheartedly when Soap and Ghost would compete to see who had the worst jokes. You missed betting with Gaz at the range, missed being able to take a shower without the worry of someone waiting to take you out, standing just behind the curtain. 

You let out a yelp hearing a gentle knock on the door, your head whipping around to see König standing within it, his head lowered. 

“I’m sorry,” his watery gaze never wavered from yours, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

You raised a hand to your chest, willing your breathing to slow before smiling up at him. 

“For a big guy, you sure have light feet,” you laughed, sliding your glasses from the bridge of your nose. “Is it grub time already?” 

König shook his head, “not quite. I wanted to show you to your room before then.” 

You nodded, standing and picking up your pack, that was much lighter than before, thankfully.

“Sounds like a plan, lead the way,” you gestured. 

You followed König down the hall, fighting off the exhaustion that made your head fuzzy. You walked on, turning corner after corner, hardly coming by anyone until finally König stopped in front of a door, stepping aside. You nodded in thanks, stepping inside. The room was bare bones, to be expected, only having a single bed and a desk. You threw your pack on the desk, stretching your arms over your head, some of your bones cracking causing you to let out a small whimper. 

König felt his mouth go dry hearing you. He couldn’t stop when he mind quickly went somewhere it shouldn’t have been. Thoughts of you trapped underneath his hulking body, dragging more whimpers, louder ones. König choked on his saliva, catching your doe like eyes to his. 

“Something wrong?” You asked. 

König shook his head, holding up his palms, “a-ah, nothing! I’ll be out here once you’re ready.” 

With that, König left the room, closing the door behind him. You smiled, shaking your head. You peeled off your armor, piece by piece. Finally you completely stripped down, letting out a groan at the long awaited freedom. You looked over your body, feeling over the scattered scars, big and small. You let out a sigh, digging out another set of clothes, something you could be a little more comfortable in. 

You placed your glasses back on the desk, before turning to open the door. Konig stood against the wall, his arms folded behind his back as if he were a guard. Well, for all intended purposes, he was. Konig turned to you, wrapping up your hair into a messy bun, looking up at him. 

“Ready, König?”

The man felt his chest tighten as you looked up at him. Have you always been this small? Compared to him you were tiny, like a- 

“Maus,” the word slipped past his lips before he could even stop it. 

König could feel his face become hot as he instantly took his gaze off your shocked expression, trying to find the words to make an excuse. Anything, any excuse. 

“Mouse?” You said with a teasing smile, leaning over to look up into his eyes. “Hm, I guess that makes sense.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” König said, not daring to look you in the eye. 

You chuckled, patting the poor man on the shoulder. 

“It’s alright, not offended at all, Bär.” 

You brushed past him, looking over your shoulder at him. 

“As long as we can keep it between us,” your eyes squinted as you smiled, “gotta make sure these idiots stay in line somehow, right?” 

König felt his chest swell and you could see his eyes squint, telling you there was a smile underneath the threatening hood. “Natürlich Maus.”

Want to be on the tag list? Leave a comment! Thanks for reading!

[gazs-blue-hat]

Whumptober Day 1: “How many Fingers” (John Price X Reader)

Summary: Even the most simple of of missions never end up all that simple.

Word Count: 1,514

Tw: Canon typical violence, blood. (LMK if I missed any)

The mission was supposed to be a simple one. A regular smash-and-grab of intel that took no more than thirty minutes. Like all well-laid plans, this one went to total shit. Gunfire filled the air and the sound of explosions rocked through the air.

Your team had been forced to split up, pairing off. Ghost and Soap as a team, Gaz and Price as a team, and..yourself. You always were better alone, acting as a shadow that followed the carnage of your boys. The decision to split up caused the predicament you were in now. Pinned down by an enemy sniper that you were playing chicken with.

“Shade, how copy?” The voice of your Captain and lover flowed through your earpiece like honey through a sieve. You felt your heartbeat slowing down as if he was right next to you rather than a mile away in a different building.

“Still playing chicken sir. This bastard won’t give up.” Your words were punctuated by the harsh sound of a sniper’s bullet crashing into the wall slightly above your head. You swore as you ducked down, thanking the stars above that you were wearing a helmet. Flakes of drywall and plaster rained down on you, knocking against your helmeted head.

“You need to get out of their Shade!” Price shouted from his point at his position. You rolled your eyes and poked your head up, trying to get a glint of the enemy’s scope. No luck, as usual.

“Can’t do that sir. He’s got me pinned down here. If I move from this position, there’s no way I’m making it more than ten feet before I’m turned into mush.”

“I don’t need the visuals thank you.” He replied. You could almost imagine the look on his face. There was another shot above you, sending more debris down on you. In this cluster of debris was a large piece of sheet metal. If you were clever…you could use it as some sort of shield to get you to the next batch of cover.

“Captain, I’m about to do something stupid.” You whispered, your voice was soft, filled with all the words you wanted to tell him into it.

“Shade? Repeat your last?” Price asked. You could feel the churning in your chest, the mustering of courage. This is what you were here to do, this was your job. For better or worse, in victory or defeat. You needed to get back to Exfil.

“I’m gonna use a piece of sheet metal here as a shield. Won’t. Block a bullet but should slow it down enough to not be fatal. I’ll see you in fifteen.” You then removed the com from your ear, not needing to hear his shouting at your stupid stupid plan.

You bent down, grabbing the piece of metal and shifting it so it covered you. You used some straps from your tac vest to strap the metal to your side, kind of like a wonky turtle shell.

“I better get a medal for this. This is so MacGyver..”. You continued to grumble to yourself as you made sure the sheet metal was attached as firmly as you could. You took a deep breath and then sprinted into the open.

————-

Price was standing atop the hill that had been designated for exfil. The helicopter’s blades were whirring above and he watched with his hands on his hips at your last known location. he used his binoculars to try and find you but to no avail.

“Captain! I’ve found them!” Gas shouted from his side, pointing at a small figure huddled under a massive piece of sheet metal.

“Jesus Christ on a bike. What are they doing?!” Soap. Shouted from his sniping position in a different building. He had been trying to find the sniper that had pinned you down, to no avail. The boys watched as you used the large metal piece as a shield, taking bullet after bullet and falling apart as you scrambled your way across the battlefield.

You were almost there, almost to a point where they could provide cover fire. You were ten feet away, seven feet, five feet.

Price watched through his binoculars with horror as a single bullet pierced through the large piece of metal and slammed against your cranium.

“SHADE!”

————

You were relatively proud of your shield idea. It was working way better than you had thought it would! You felt each bullet hit the shield as it wobbled and shifted. Bits fell off as the metal grew brittle from the series of holes punched into it. You knew you were close to cover, so so very close. Until blinding pain seared through your right temple.

A bullet had found a weak spot in the metal, pierced it, and then slammed against your helmet. You felt your body shift as the momentum of the bullet forced you to the side. The piece of sheet metal fell on the top of you, and a good thing too, because if it hadn’t, you would have been completely exposed to the enemy sniper.

On the positive side, the plethora of gunshots meant a large number of muzzle flashes. Soap was able to find the sniper and eliminate them.

“Target KIA. Someone get down there to help!” He shouted into his mic. He didn’t need to say anything though, John Price was already sliding in the muck at your side, hefting the piece of metal off your side. The amount of blood was staggering.

The bullet had pierced your helmet, but you were still breathing. Your eyes were crossed and your mouth opened and closed in the muck, trying to form words. John didn’t move you, not until he was sure your neck or back wasn’t broken. Once he deemed those parts of you alight, he shifted you, sitting you up against him. And removing your helmet.

You couldn’t see, you couldn’t think. All you could sense was the warmth of blood on your face and the chill of the air. You tried to form words, try to ask what was going on, but your brain wasn’t working right.

“Uh….John…Wha?” Your voice was raspy and your eyelids fluttered. John examined the wound on your head and began speaking rapidly into hi radio. You couldn’t hear him at all, you could hardly even see the man. The only reason you knew it was John was due to the faint scent of his cigars and the aftershave he used that morning.

“We need immediate extraction! Shade is down!” Johnny’s voice

“Someone call base, get them ready. It’s a bad one.” Kyle

“Someone with a med kit get down there! Stop the bleeding!” Simon

“Love..look at me. Darling focus on me.” It was this voice that snapped your eyes forward, away from your nose. John’s figure blurred and wavered before your face but he was there. His bright blue eyes, his silly hat you thought was so cute.

“John…”. Your voice came out slurred as blood stained your teeth. You must have bitten your cheek as you fell. Why couldn’t you feel anything? Why did you feel so sick? You were cold, so so cold.

“Darling, look at me. How many fingers am I holding up?” His voice was strained, you could see tears welling in his beautiful eyes. You wanted to lift your hand to wipe them away, but it wasn’t responding. You watched as he lifted his hand, holding up some fingers. You tried to focus, you did, but you were pretty confident that John didn’t have six fingers on his hand. Did he? Could be possible. You didn’t know much anymore.

“Six….four? I dunno…” You felt a surge of weakness wash over you and you heard John shout as he shook your vest a bit.

“Stop yelling…” You slurred, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. You could hear the whirring of the helicopters and you could smell the iron of blood. An icy realization surged through you.

You’re dying. You had been shot in the head, and you were dying. You were bleeding out in John’s arms.

“J..John..I…”. You were trying to say those words. The words you had only ever traced on his back as he slept. The words you would blink in Morse code from across the helicopter at him. You needed him. To hear you say it. before it was too late.

“No. No, no, no. You don’t say that now. You say that when I can ravage you like you deserve.” John whispered as he held your head close to his chest. You usually loved resting your head on his chest, but now you could only feel the sticky blood coating your cheek.

“John.” You didn’t hurt, it didn’t ache. You felt…safe. John looked down at your form, stress all over his face. You smiled and lifted a hand, drawing a little heart on his cheek with your blood.

“I love you.”

The world went black and the last thing you heard before you passed out was his deep reply.

“I love you too.”

[star-girl69]

Keep Me Ablaze

Jake Sully x Neytiri x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: i don’t think you guys are gonna like this but i hope you all enjoy anyways!!

Chapter Twenty- To Die For

—-

“Aunt Grace?”

Your voice is small, right at the end of her bed, but some instinctual part of Grace that has adapted and evolved to fit you will always hear you.

She rubs the sleep out of her mind, let’s her mind wander to the worst, but when she sits up there’s no blood to be found anywhere on you.

“Oh,” she breathes, feeling slightly better. She cannot handle losing you too. “What’s wrong, baby? Can you not sleep?”

She hopes it’s just something like that, so she can just wrap you in her arms and drift back off to sleep. But you look so small at the end of her bed, stuffed animal tucked to your chest, eyes downcast. She knows it is not just that, and her heart hurts, she has never wanted you to feel anything other than happy.

“C’mere,” she urges, holding her hands out, and it takes you a moment but you walk over. She picks you up, helps you sit on the bed. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You let out a soft sound that starts like a cry, and Grace has never wished more for her sister to be here.

“Aunt Grace, why don’t I have a Mom?”

She thought she had a few more years until you asked, more time to mourn, more time to figure out what to say. She doesn’t know what to say, not know. How is she supposed to tell you something like this?

It’s almost like the two of you have been living in a glass cage, and she is taking a mallet to it.

“Why don’t I have a Dad?” you continue, eyes wide and fixed on her face, shiny with tears in the light from the moon that slips through the window.

“Oh, baby…” she whispers. She feels nothing like the woman she knows she is. She feels nothing like a guardian to you, an aunt, someone to love you. “You do have a Mom and Dad.”

“I do?” you are just a child.

She puts her hand on the side of her face. “Yes.”

“Where are they?” you are just a child.

She hates this world for being so cruel, she hates the world for taking so much from before you even knew what they meant to you.

“They’re… not here,” is the best she can come up with. She almost can’t be the one to tell you they’re dead. “You’ll see them, one day.”

“A small time?” you ask hopefully, those bright and curious Augustine eyes staring right at Grace. “Or a big time?”

She rubs her thumb over your cheek.

She can’t break it to you, she can’t be the one to break you.

“You’ll see them, one day,” she says.

—-

“One three,” Grace says, wrapping her arms around Jake’s legs.

You tentatively place your hands under his back, feeling like you’re betraying The People as well, like you’re just as bad as him.

“One,” Norm starts, “two, three!” he grunts, and the three of you manage to get Jake into the helicopter.

You take a deep breath, reach for his wheelchair, but Grace grabs it before you can. The gunshots start. You flinch, but you’re used to the noise by now. They’re not quite near you, not at this position.

“Get on!” she shouts over the whirring of the helicopter blades, ready to take off and take you far away from here. It’s easy to leave Hell’s Gate, this place was never a home for you.

You look Grace up and down, but she is already picking the wheelchair up, so you turn. You crawl on, towards the bench in the middle, panting from the running and the thrill. Adrenaline pumps in your veins like a second supply of blood, making you feel so alive and on top of the world.

In this moment, with the gunshots ringing in your ears, the sound of the helicopter blades becoming everything, cool metal under your palms as you steady yourself against the bench, wind whipping around, a thousand colors bursting behind your eyelids- you have never felt more alive.

“Grab my hand!” Norm shouts, and you open your eyes to find him tugging her on. “Come on, we’re in. Let’s go!” he shouts to Trudy, and you start to lift off the ground.

The realization comes fast and quick, like a strike of lightening. The sides are open wide, and with the way the helicopter is turning, where you are, where the bullets are coming from- they’ll hit you unless you duck.

You mean to do it, you really do, the world is just all too much and too loud and your adrenaline is fading and you can barely think-

“Y/N!” someone shouts, before a body slams over top you. You groan as your head hits the metal bench, but something like the forest fills your nose, even though you’re still at the base.

The base smells of metal and humans, not like the forest. That smell has been burned out of the air, here.

But it’s the forest overtop you, covering you like a blanket.

The gunshots stop for a moment, and the helicopter finally finishes its turn, now moving straight away from the base.

“Are you okay?” a voice asks, a hand brushing back your hair, rough, a warrior’s touch. But the motion is still soft, it’s simply the pads of his fingers that are textured and wrinkled. “Are you hurt? Baby? You ok?”

When your open your eyes, Jake is on top of you, but he pulls back his hand, using it to help himself sit up straight.

You burn with and without his touch.

You tell yourself it’s just the memory, but you know a part of him is forever burning inside of you.

It’s like you can never escape him, and this is all so normal, and it all comes rushing back.

You push against his chest, and he lets you, eyes roaming over your body to see if you’re hurt.

“I can take care of myself,” you spit. He chuckles to himself, staring at your thigh and smiling, tongue touching his canine tooth. When he looks up, you can’t stop looking at him.

“Never hurts to have some extra help, sweetheart.”

You pull in your bottom lip and sneer at him. “I don’t need your help. I don’t,” you say, but your voice holds an undercurrent of something you wish wasn’t there. Doubt. Love.

“Well it sure looked like it.” Everyone else is shouting and laughing, celebrating the victory, but your entire world narrows down to him and you. To this moment.

“I don’t need you,” you hiss.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs, staring at you hard for one more second, eyes like a fire on yours, until he turns away. “Would still die for you, even if you hate me.”

I do, you want to say. I hate you. You betrayed me, betrayed Neytiri.

But you don’t. Because he saved your life, and you love him even after all of this.

You swallow quick, slide your hand along the metal.

You watch as the tip of your middle finger touches his pinky, and then you watch as he places his pinky over the ends of your fingers. When you don’t move away, because in this moment you really don’t think you can, his hand slides into yours like it was made for him to be there.

“I hate you,” you whisper, as the both of your stare at your entwined hands.

He laughs. “I love you.”

Suddenly, Grace’s groan cuts through the air, taking your eyes away from your hands and towards her.

“This is gonna ruin my whole day,” she chuckles, and when your eyes meet hers, they’re wide, in fear, in love, you don’t know.

She looks down to her stomach, and you follow her gaze, see the blood spurting out from behind her hand.

It’s like a blooming flower, you think, before your throat forms a sob and tears stream down your face.

—-

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