#Only to be shot with a sniper rifle through the heart

[vino---delectable]

Oh... life treated You unfairly

What about him?

[darklordofthesimp]

Six Words (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Summary: After a mission goes wrong, you're tasked with keeping an injured Ghost safe from swarming insurgents. When you almost fail to save him, you realize your feelings towards him makes you a liability. Ghost disagrees.

Prompt: #61 "I don't know how to love you" From my prompt list here.

A/N: I need prompts, my head is empty with nothing but Konig and Ghost SOS.

Category: Angst - Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Swearing - Gun Violence - Themes of War

Missions were the hardest part.

The gunfire over comms, the callouts and the target indications. Every now and then you’d wince at the wounded cries of your colleagues, it was always the younger ones who screamed.

And although it was eery, you were glad to hear them. If they were crying it meant they were alive.

It was the silence that you were afraid of.

“Sunshine, this is Bravo-6. How copy?”

You blinked, flicking your gaze from your rifle’s scope. Car horns blared from the bustling city beneath you, unaware of the conflict happening 40 stories high.

“Bravo-6, this is Sunshine. Loud and clear, over.”

If Price was raising you, it meant that the fight would soon be moving into your arcs of fire.  You settled in behind your rifle, resting your cheek against the stock. You’d already accounted for the distance and thankfully the wind was steady enough that adjusting your weapon sight hadn’t been difficult to calculate.

“Sunshine, you’ll have company soon, 42nd floor. Clear them out.”

“Copy that, Bravo-6.”

The windows had already been blown out, providing you the clearance to take your shots, so you waited, watching the elevator and stairs with your finger curled lightly against the trigger. However, when someone had finally come busting through the door, you hadn’t expected it to be Ghost.

Jesus. Ripping your finger off the trigger, your heart raced, its panicked beating echoing in your ears like a church bell.

You hissed a curse beneath your breath, what the fuck was he doing in the red zone? Bravo team was meant to herd them onto the 42nd floor so you could clear the board, not pay a house call with them.

“Ghost, what the fuck are you doing?” You snapped into your headset.

You watched him throw himself over a bench on the far side of floor, tucking his body behind it for cover. He turned his head to the window, presumably to where he knew you were nested.

“Shit’s gone sideways, change of plans. I’ll distract them, you shoot ‘em.” His voice was ragged and rougher than usual. Small groans were woven into his words and as you looked at him a little longer, you realized that he was pressing a hand to his stomach.

Ghost had been shot.

Your heart dropped.

“Incoming!” He shouted, twisting his body to face the bench rather than away from it.

You hissed, moving your sights to where they should have been- at the doors. Instantly, you realized there were too many of them, he hadn’t cut down as many as he should have and now it was a race against the clock. Kill them before they killed Ghost.

You got to work, falling into a frenzied rhythm. Spot and shoot, spot and shoot. You forced yourself to not check on your teammate huddled into the corner, to not see if he’d been turned to minced meat.

One by one, they fell. And one by one, anxiety had begun to claw its way through your chest. You had a sniper rifle, not an LMG, it was near impossible to clear this many people before they’d be able to reach him.

“Fuck! Fucking shoot, Sunshine!” Ghost roared through your comms. Your breath was unsteady now. One after the other they fell and one after the other they pushed towards the little bench Simon Riley was hiding behind.

You said nothing, unable to talk, unable to think, only able to shoot and shoot and shoot.

“I’m getting overrun here!”

You pushed your scope to view Ghost. There were four of them on him already and so many more pushing ahead. Your heart dropped as the sounds of your shots became hollower, the tell-tale signs of sound echoing through your mag, you were coming up on empty.

Then there was a dull click where there should have been a ‘bang’.

 “Reloading!” You shrieked, dumping the mag and scrambling for a fresh one from your body armour. All the while you watched Ghost fight on the back foot, offense became defence and fluidity became manic.

He was going to die.

And it would be your fault.

“Covering!”

You held your breath.

Soap slid through the doorway, shooting before he’d even had a good look at the scene before him. He knew there was too many of them, he’d heard the radio chatter and he’d heard your panic.

You could have cried at the sight of him.

You finished reloading, repositioning yourself with a newfound hope fuelling your body. Between the three of you, the rest of the insurgents had been light work to clear out. It was a massacre, a sight that would traumatize most with bodies piling along the floor.

But all you could think of was Simon.

You heard his groans as Soap helped him to his feet, muttering comfort beneath his breath the way only Soap could. “Come on, LT. You’re pretty banged up, let’s get you home.”

As the adrenaline began to seep from your body, leaving you shaking and quiet, your mind began to spiral.

Nights spent on the roof, revelling in each other’s company but not saying a word. The short tit for tat banter that you’d fallen into. The drunken nights you’d sought each other out, to chase the nightmares with touches neither of you would remember in the morning.

You’d almost let him die.

Ghost straightened as best as he could, leaning against Soap as the Sergeant held him up. They both came to a stop by the window near the exit, the battered soldier pausing to gaze out across the buildings. And although you knew he couldn’t actually see you, it felt like he was looking straight at you.

“You did good, Sunshine.”

The words were genuine, almost soft if it weren’t the ragged breathing from his injury.

You bit your lip.

When you didn’t respond, the pair continued on, disappearing into the elevator and leaving you to suffer with your thoughts.

_______

The cold, night air always helped to clear your head.

You were sat on the rooftop, legs dangling off the edge of the building as though it were just a normal bench. Your chest rested against the railing; your arms folded over the top of it.

Your mind was a mess.

How had that mission gone so wrong, so fast? Logically, there wasn’t much more that you could have done. You were on the trigger constantly, a body dropped every two to three seconds, a good enough pace when you were constantly switching targets.

But you weren’t fast enough.

“You’re not gonna jump, are you?”

Your body jolted, gripping the railing tight with a gasp so you didn’t fall right off the edge. Ghost stood beside you, clad in a pair of soft black trousers and a hoodie that was drawn over his head. You swallowed your anxiety when he lowered himself to sit beside you.

You’d seen him without that jumper plenty of times, twisting against each other in the dark with alcohol on your tongues. But seeing him with it, seeing him look like any other man preparing for bed, made your heart soften.

“No.” You rasped, answering his quiet joke.

You both fell into silence, but it wasn’t comfortable like it usually was, at least not on your end. You were stressed, the tension rising in your chest to suffocate you. You forced your eyes to remain on the horizon, observing what you could under the moonlight.

There was a nudge by your hand and you glanced down. The man held out a cigarette and a lighter and you forced yourself not to look at the unlit one hanging from his mouth. It was an unwritten rule, when he rolled the mask above his lips to smoke, you would avert your gaze.

You took the cigarette with a sigh and a soft ‘thank you’, perching it between your lips. You lit the smoke, drawing the first drag to keep it alight and Ghost softly took the lighter from you.

“Didn’t know you were out of hospital,” you said, taking another draw. You blinked away the head-spin from the nicotine, feeling the stress melt from your shoulders.

“If you’d known you wouldn’t be up here,” he said simply. You clenched your jaw, hoping he wouldn’t push the subject. You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your face, watching for any tell-tale sign to say that he was right.

But you just took another drag.

“You’re avoiding me,” Ghost finally said outright.

Your heart stuttered in your chest and you made an effort not to crush the cigarette between your fingers.

“I almost got you killed.”

The officer’s breath came out in a short huff, the equivalent of a laugh for the sullen character. “Don’t flatter yourself. We fucked up; you were on clean up.”

Your heart was racing now, but you knew what the problem was. You knew why you were beating yourself up over something that wasn’t really your fault. It was childish and it was immature and one day it might just get you both killed.

You’d become a liability. It was your duty to inform him.

“I’m going to apply for a transfer out of the 141.” Your sentence rang like the toll of a church bell, echoing between you. You couldn’t believe you’d finally said it but you’d known for a while.

“What?” Ghost shifted beside you, twisting his body to stare at you front on.

“I’m going to get someone killed-“

“Is this about today?” Ghost questioned and you risked a glance at him. His lips were curled in disbelief and he flicked the cigarette off the roof. He dragged his mask back over his mouth, but his eyes still flashed with incredulity. “Get the fuck over it, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s about you, Simon!” You snapped.

Ghost fell silent.

“I’m fucking compromised,” you stood to your feet, flinging your cigarette over the railing. The soldier followed in suit, towering over you instantly. “I can’t be in a situation like that again- what if I’d have failed? I couldn’t fucking breathe, I couldn’t think-“

His hand came to rest against your shoulder and your words guttered to a stop.

You peered up at him in surprise, meeting that dark gaze. For the longest time, you’d always thought Simon had dark eyes, the blackest you’d seen. The breath left your body when, on closer inspection, you realized they were fucking blue.

For a long moment neither of you said nothing, silenced by the sudden display of affection. There was no end goal, no reason for him to be touching you. No high to be chasing, no bullet to push you out of the way of.

He was trying to comfort you.

He took a sharp breath. “I know.”

You blinked at him, opening your mouth then closing it again. He’d understood. He knew what you were saying, he’d known all along because Simon had been fighting the same thoughts.

When his fingers tightened against your shoulder, your lip trembled.

You wanted to hold him. You wanted to see him.

You knew that you could do neither.

“I don’t know how to love you,” you whispered, “I don’t know how to feel like this and work with you. Watch you get shot at. Be the one to make sure you don’t die.”

Simon shrugged, his gaze never leaving your face, taking in your features as though committing it to memory. He had no words of affection to give you but you could feel it in the way his thumb rubbed against your skin ever so softly, a ghost of his touch.

“You’re smarter than me, Sunshine. You can figure it out too.” His words were careful, and you blinked up at him from where you’d hung your head.

You can figure it out too.

When he pulled his hand from your shoulder, you felt the cold of his absence. But his words had set a fire in your chest that kept you burning.

Six words from Simon Riley were enough to set your world ablaze.

[miss-musings]

Crosshair's 10 Most Impressive Shots in "Star Wars: The Bad Batch"

We're now officially three weeks removed from the series finale, so I thought it'd be a fun time to look back at our favorite sniper and review some of his most impressive shots.

Note, I'll be ranking items from "The Bad Batch" TV show only, so there won't be any entries from "The Clone Wars" S7.

I did get a lot of input from folks here and on Twitter, and a lot of people ended up saying the same ones. I put them on here along with a few of my own.

As for how I determined the order, I judged based on a combination of: the distance of the shot, the size of the target, the speed of the target (if applicable), other external factors like light conditions and weather, and "internal" factors like Crosshair's physical and mental state.

You're free to disagree with which ones I picked and how I ordered them. It's all subjective.

Also, I don't proclaim to be an expert in marksmanship nor am I a military sniper. But, I do have a general baseline for how difficult Crosshair's shots would be IRL. I used to go shooting with my dad a lot at both indoor and outdoor ranges, and I was pretty decent at both pistol- and rifle-shooting. So, that's what I'm using to judge Crosshair's shots.

With that out of the way, let's dive in with #10:

10. Killing Lt. Nolan in 2.12 "The Outpost"

I probably wouldn't have put this one on the list for myself, but I had multiple people suggest it should make the cut.

While this shot is very important narratively, it's not very impressive from a purely technical perspective.

I mean, hitting a relatively stationary human-sized target from a few meters away... It's definitely not the most impressive shot on Crosshair's resume.

However, I did feel it was worth adding to the list for the simple fact that Crosshair is physically exhausted and mentally broken in this scene. He basically uses the last of his strength to kill Lt. Nolan, because he immediately collapses right afterward.

Also, Crosshair might be right-handed, but he's pretty good at shooting his pistol leftie. We don't really see the shot hit Nolan, but if you zoom in after his body hits the ground, you can see that Crosshair shot him straight through the heart. He wasn't leaving that bastard alive after everything he and Mayday went through.

9. Lunch tray ricochet in 1.01 "Aftermath"

Even though this isn't a shot in the traditional sense -- considering there aren't any firearms involved -- I had to put this on the list for two reasons.

One, I had multiple people suggest it; and two, because I've watched this scene dozens of times and only recently found out that Crosshair actually hits two clones with his lunch tray.

He initially throws it at the clone Tech was fighting, presumably knocking him down. But then it ricochets so hard that it basically clotheslines another clone who's just standing there, minding his own business. Dude was hit so hard, he was like floating in midair for a split second.

Also, this plays into my headcanon that Crosshair would be excellent at any sports that require excellent aim and coordination. If he was on a basketball team, he'd be a three-point specialist for sure!!

8. Plan 55 ricochet in 3.12 "Juggernaut"

This is the closest thing we get to a trickshot in S3, so I had to include it on the list.

Here, we see Crosshair's quick-thinking and perfect aim take out several troopers at once by purposely ricocheting his shot off the magnetically sealed doors.

As we know from “A New Hope,” magnetically sealed doors/surfaces are no joke. You really have to know what you're doing or someone's gonna get hurt. Thankfully, Crosshair is a freakin' pro at this!

It honestly reminds me of all those crazy pool shots where you have to plan out four or five bounces/angles ahead to get the angle you really want.

7. Downing a spaceship on Ryloth in 1.11 "Devil's Deal"

NOTE: This is the only clip I couldn't readily find on YT. So I included the clip of Crosshair killing Orn Free Taa from the same episode to maintain symmetry in this Top 10 list.

Don't let the clip fool you. The shot I'm actually talking about takes place before this, when Crosshair -- from like 300 meters away, mind you -- takes down a fast-moving ship by shooting one of the engines.

Look, I love S3 Crosshair with all my heart, but his shooting abilities were severely diminished after his time on Tantiss. When I was doing my S1 rewatch and got to this scene in 1.11, I was like "Oh yeah, I forgot Crosshair used to be able pull off crazy shit like this."

It's actually sad how many of his made shots in 1.11 are like an inverse of his missed shots in 3.11. Here, Crosshair easily shoots a tracker onto Hera & company's ship, and later shoots the engine with no problem, despite the speed and distance.

In 3.11, though, he misses CX-2's ship and fails to track Omega back to Tantiss. 😭

6. Shooting Wrecker's knife in 1.01 "Aftermath"

Now we're getting into the really impressive shit! Most of these remaining entries have Crosshair shooting small targets and/or fast-moving ones.

In this instance, it's both. Wrecker throws the knife like this is skeet-shooting or something, and Crosshair just very casually shoots it into a droid.

Have you ever seen someone who was so good at their job/hobby that they make it look effortless? Like they're not even trying? This happens to me sometimes when I watch the Olympics. I'm like, "That's not so hard. I could probably do that." And then I try it for like half a second, and I'm like, "Oh no, those people are insane."

That's how good S1-2 Crosshair is. He makes shooting a fast-moving knife look effortless.

5. His four-kill trickshot in 1.15 "Return to Kamino"

These next three are all no-brainer entries. I think the biggest question will be why I went with the order I did.

Here, we have Crosshair displaying two very important elements of marksmanship/sniping: patience and careful aim.

Crosshair evidently set up at least four mirrors (I counted the ricochets in the shot) well in advance in the exact spots he needed to take down his Imperial squad, if need be. That's some serious foresight and preparation -- to know exactly where everyone would be standing, and have all the mirrors ready to go ahead of time.

He must've set them up even before he brought Hunter into the training room, or Hunter would've seen them and probably signaled his teammates.

He's also hitting a target that seems to be somewhere between the size of a golf ball and baseball from like 10-20 meters. And with his sidearm.

I know everyone loves the hallway mirror ricochet to kill the squadron of battle droids in TCW Season 7, but it didn't qualify. But, honestly, I think this one is more impressive anyway. He hit the first 1.15 mirror from farther away than he does in TCW S7, and he's using his pistol in 1.15 rather than his rifle and scope.

Talk about accuracy!

4. Sniping the tank in 2.03 "The Solitary Clone"

Oh man! I think we all love this one, right? It's just one of my favorite sequences in the entire show -- the framing, the colors, the effects of the dirt flying up behind him.

I love how Crosshair baits the droids to get the exact angle he needs, and the dude clearly has nerves of steel for staring down the barrel of a tank without flinching. I wonder how many times he's done it, considering he seemed to know exactly how to beat them. I'm guessing at least a dozen.

This is another example of "expert making their expertise look effortless," when in reality, we'd all shit ourselves if we attempted to do the same.

Honestly, sometimes I wish we could've had this version of Crosshair face off against Hemlock in 3.15 -- the dude who stared down the barrel of a tank and didn't flinch at the most literal version of "kill or be killed."

3. Stairwell trickshot in 2.03 "The Solitary Clone"

While I love the tank sequence more for the aesthetics, I have to rank the 2.03 stairwell trickshot above it.

That's partly because Crosshair's still physically and mentally recovering from nearly getting choked to death. But, it's also partly because -- just like with Wrecker's knife -- Crosshair is shooting a target that someone else is throwing.

That means he has to adjust to whatever trajectory and speed they throw it at and compensate accordingly, which can understandably be very hard to do in a split-second.

And, in this situation, Crosshair can't even see the puck directly. He's looking at it through at least one or two layers of reflective mirrors. Dude's reaction time is insane!

He also manages to take down at least four or five droids with a single shot, including the tactical droid, which is several meters up the stairwell and into the next room.

I'm not sure if the clones learned any advanced mathematics during their training on Kamino. But if they did, I think Crosshair would've loved geometry and maybe trigonometry too! He would also absolutely kill in a game of pool. I wanna see him go to the SW equivalent of a pool hall, and show Omega that he can hustle people too! He just needed to find a game that would better suit his strengths. LOL

Anyway, as insane as this shot is, Crosshair has two others on his resume that are even more impressive:

2. Saving Omega & AZI in 1.16 "Kamino Lost"

This is one of three entries on this list that *no one* mentioned when I asked for suggestions, but I had to include it. That's because it is -- without a doubt -- the most bafflingly impressive shot Crosshair makes in the entire show.

I have watched this scene dozens of times, and I still have no idea how he knows where Omega and AZI are.

Initially, I thought -- as others did -- that he's using an infrared scope to see their body heat in the water. But, that doesn't appear to be the case.

The only times I can recall Crosshair activating an infrared capability is when he has his rangefinder, which is attached to his helmet. As we see in episodes like 1.01 "Aftermath" and in 3.07 "Extraction," he specifically has to put the rangefinder down in front of his eye to use the infrared option.

No, his scope is just that -- a regular scope. The infrared capability is only attached to his helmet's rangefinder, which he doesn't have in this scene.

Thus, I have no idea how Crosshair is using a regular-ass scope to find Omega and AZI in the dark ocean. The point of a scope is to see better, and I don't know what he might see beside more darkness. AZI's eyes aren't active and, even if Crosshair spots Omega's flashlight, Omega dropped it when she went after AZI, so it's not exactly on her.

I'm willing to believe that Crosshair has better eyesight than the average human in the Star Wars universe or IRL, but his eyesight must be insane if he can see them in the water, even with a scope.

But, whether it's eyesight, some other enhanced sense or just plain luck, Crosshair knows where in the vast, dark ocean they are — not just the angle but the depth too!

It's really hard to tell how far down they are, but I'd say at least 20 meters. And if he is able to see them somehow, he might have to adjust the shot for refraction in the water too.

Plus, unlike the other entries on this list, Crosshair isn't shooting a blaster bolt. He's shooting a cable, meaning he'd have to adjust his shot to accommodate its weight and trajectory once it hits the water. Additionally, with how Omega and AZI are situated, he needs to have the cable hit and latch onto AZI, without hitting Omega in the process, and get the exact angle needed to drag both of them to the surface.

Like I said: I have absolutely no idea how he made this shot. It's definitely the most impressive one he makes in the entire show based solely on external technical factors.

But of course, there is a parallel shot later in the series that's his most impressive one of all...

1. Freeing Omega in 3.15 "The Cavalry Has Arrived"

I will never shut up about this scene. It's been living in my head rent-free for three weeks already, and will continue to for several months.

This is undoubtedly the most important shot in Crosshair's life: the shot to save his kid and free his family from Hemlock once and for all.

And everything is working against him: It's dark. It's raining. Omega and Hemlock are like ~40 meters away. The target is the binders between their hands, which is like 3-5 centimeters wide, and won't exactly be stationary. Oh, he's using CX-2's stolen blaster, which doesn't even have a scope on it!!!

We the audience get a POV of what Crosshair sees from over his shoulder, and I can barely see Omega's face, let alone her hands!! I said in the previous entry that Crosshair's eyesight has to be better than the average person's because, holy hell, how can he see that?!?

And, even worse, Crosshair is physically and mentally spent in this scene. He had to return to his own personal hell -- the place where he was tortured and traumatized for months -- then got beaten in a fight and had his dominant hand chopped off.

He and Hunter are running on pure adrenaline at this point. They are absolutely hellbent on getting their kid back, even if they die or collapse in the process. They were practically hobbling out of the CX lab together, and when they crouch down on the bridge, Crosshair has to steady himself against Hunter because he doesn't have his other hand.

And, as the final cherry on top of this proverbially shitty sundae, Crosshair absolutely terrified of missing.

A few episodes ago, the guy couldn't hit stationary fruit from like ~15 meters away with a scope in daylight and in a controlled environment. He even tells Omega: "Close doesn't count. It's either a hit or a miss." Because in a high-stakes situation like this, missing your shot could mean death for you or someone else.

Crosshair already feels like he failed Omega because he missed the shot on Pabu. And now, he has to make an even tougher one with every disadvantage stacked against him and her life literally in his hand.

I don't blame the guy for doubting himself.

Thankfully, Hunter and Omega have complete faith in him, and despite everything he's been through in S3, he has faith in himself.

And so, in the shot to end all shots in "The Bad Batch," Crosshair hits his target and frees Omega.

He and Hunter then subsequently turn Hemlock into Swiss cheese before Omega gives Crosshair a much-needed hug, causing me to cry for the 100th time.

I'll admit: as much as I would've loved seeing another mirror trickshot or some other crazy ricochet in the finale (or just S3 in general), this scene is basically perfect.

It also makes for a nice little parallel to the S1 finale, where Crosshair saved Omega's life after she saved his. Here, as he says himself, he goes back to Tantiss to free her because she freed him first.

As someone said on Twitter when I asked for ideas about this list:

"(Crosshair) put his whole heart and soul in this shot, and he didn't miss. He couldn't afford to."

Like I said: this was the shot that freed the entire Bad Batch family from Hemlock forever. So, I think by default, it had to be No. 1 on this list.

*******

Anyway, thanks for reading! It'd be fun to put together another TBB list like this. I guess I'll have to pick a subject first, though, because I don't have any ideas. If you have any, send them my way!

(EDIT: For anyone who’s also on Twitter, give me a follow. @CatchingClassic )

[lvlyghost]

All The Nights to Come

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You get hurt during a mission.

Word Count: 900+

Tw: strong language, blood, angst, comfort towards the end. grumpy ghost as usual. bad grammar, and probably a lot of typos. not proofread 🫶🏻✨💞

A/N: just a little one-shot to help me with writer's block. next I'll be working on another part of salvation and a third part of the things i never said since a lot of you asked 🥹💛 remember english isn't my first language, corrections are welcome 🤍

Masterlist✨

You didn't know how to stay out of danger. Or at least that's what all of your teammates said. Especially Ghost.

Ghost. You had a complicated... relationship with the Lieutenant.

Polar opposites.

That's what he had called you both one day.

He's the darkness that comes at night, you're the light he'd gladly let consume him.

"Stop distracting me." He grumbles staring straight ahead. You chuckle at his growing annoyance.

"We're in the middle of nowhere, Ghost. The worst thing that could happen is tripping with a rock." You roll you eyes. "How about we play something, we still have one hour left until we reach the evac point."

"No."

"Comen on! There's no one around." He sighs, but doesn't say anything. You decide to not push his limits. You've started to know him more and more, as much as he would allow, of course. "Is something bothering you?" you finally ask, head tilting down to watch your step. Again the only response you get is silence. "If this is about what happened last night..."

"It's not that." He gruffly interrupts you. Irritated that you're even bringing it up.

"You were the one who said this couldn't happen anymore. So you might as well make up your mind Ghost." You walk faster, leaving him behind, or as much as you can considering his strides are easily longer than yours.

"I am your superior, what the fuck am I supposed to do, kid?" You clench your jaw, hating how his words are setting deep in your heart. The way he emphasized the word superior. "I could get us both suspended, or even worse get us kicked out of the military! Am I really the only one who's thinking?" He seethes.

"Oh well!" You feign amusement. "I'm sorry, I didn't think you cared enough when were fucking each other in my room..." Ghost's body freezes for a brief second before he keeps walking. "If you're bloody scared of letting me in you should've just said it. No need to fucking hurt me like I'm nothing."

"The fuck did you just say? Have you not heard a word I just told you?!" His accent becoming more prominent every time he speaks. "I'm trying to protect you, I don't bloody care what happens to me."

Ghost doesn't notice it, too enraged, looking down at you as he walks closer. But you do.

You see the reflection, a small glimpse of the scope. The sun shining down on the sniper's rifle. Everything moves in slow motion, you scream... or at least you try to, pushing Ghost with all the strength you have. He stumbles a few steps to the side, the pure shock in your face as you realize what's about to happen. A bird chirping in the distance, and what sounds like a cascade near, a river flowing before it hits you. Right on your left shoulder, a shot that was aimed at his heart.

Ghost's heart.

And you take it instead. It pierces through flesh and bones, hurting like million of bullets. Your sight goes black as you start falling, body helplessly hitting the muddy terrain. Shots are fired, a loud shriek and a deep voice echoing but it's so far away. It's getting harder to regain consciousness.

"Why the bloody hell did you do that!?" Fear glowed in his eyes. Ghost's big gloved hand pressing down the wound on your shoulder, the fabric quickly becomes stained with crimson red blood.

Your blood.

"S-Sir?" You choke up. Fighting to keep your eyes open.

Focus on him.

"I'm going to fucking have you on desk rotation for this." He grits his teeth. "Don't you do that ever again. Not for me. Never for someone like me." He leans closer, managing your body in his hands so he can take a better look. He breathes when he sees the exit wound.

"It's my duty..." you murmur, with half-lidded eyes. "To shield and protect my superiors..." you breathe out.

"Don't give me that shite." He scolds you. "I'm the one who's supposed to protect my team." Not just his team. The truth was that he wanted to protect you, he had to. "Now keep those pretty eyes on me, yeah? That's an order sergeant." He commands.

You laugh, with what low energy you have left.

"Sir? You and I both know I'm not good at following orders." He reaches his medical pouch, disinfecting and wrapping as many bandages as he can on your wound.

"Now's a good time you start listenin', kid." He picks you up with more gentleness that's he's ever experienced himself. Who would've thought that a man like him could care for someone else. He has the softest touch, you think. "Think you can hold on until we get there?" He asks, looking down to your face, body too small and light in his arms. If he could kiss you right now...

"Sure thing, Ghost." You murmur, wincing when he starts walking. "This is not what I had in mind when they said we were going to Spain. We could play that game now, right?

A soft chuckle rumbles deep in his chest, making your lips tilt up in a weak yet heartwarming smile.

"Fuckin' hell, love" he doesn't lose sight of your eyes. "I guess we can. As long as you keep talking to me. Don't you dare go somewhere I can't follow."

"Don't think you'll get rid of me that easily, Sir."

[that-house]

can you tell us more about dronestrike & the campaign theyre from?

just read thhe post about it & immediately became obsessed

(context: Dronestrike is my warrior cats OC, an american imperialist robot cat the size of a horse and equipped with enough firepower to wipe out the clans if it seems like they're at risk of falling to communism. in the oneshot he accidentally fired a nuke at the city of LA and blamed "every other country" in a phone call with Bidenstar to avoid getting in trouble)

it wasn't a campaign, just an 11-person oneshot in the single most chaotic discord voice call I have ever been in. so i haven't played him since then, nor will i ever play him again

i can provide you a variety of facts about him i came up with after the fact though because he's a funny enough character that i can't stop thinking about him:

his brain is composed of three parts with an equal amount of control over his actions: the soul of a vietnam veteran, an AI replica of a cat, and every single super bowl halftime commercial

he comes armed with combat knives for claws, a machine gun in his mouth, a high caliber sniper rifle built into his spine, a pistol that he somehow uses with cat paws, and a douglas air-2 genie air-to-air unguided nuclear missile

transition could not save him because all trans people are godless communists who bully him on twitter

Dronestrike acknowledges every independence movement if only so that America has more countries to eventually colonize

he has read Marx so he can misuse quotes and flex on any marxists who haven't read theory

his greatest wish is for america to have won 'nam

doesn’t really have any physical possessions because he’s a cat who doesn’t have pockets or a permanent residence. he does however have $8.6 million in Shell oil stock

Dronestrike if he played League of Legends: only plays champs who have america-themed skins, but doesn’t actually own the skins because that would be giving money to a chinese company. plays all of them jungle to poor results. iron 4 two thousand games this season

has no mouth but wishes he did so he could taste the burgers that honest Americans have died to defend

Dronestrike's dream world is world war 3, with the stipulation that there is an american flag superimposed over EVERYONE'S vision instead of just his

if he had 24 hours to live he would start a “second american revolution” by attacking England

he isn't a good kisser: no lips, he's a cat, and also george washington famously said that romantic connections weaken your spiritual link with The State

response to being trapped in a maze of mirrors: breaks through the mirrors without noticing, but also can’t recognize his reflection. Thinks he has to fight these teleporting commie clones of himself to save the United States of America

he's on Santa's naughty list

on Halloween he dresses up as George Washington and “trick or disappears” journalists

Dronestrike hates the reds, the brits, women, and most importantly, himself

prefers fundamentals over schmovement

favorite board game is Monopoly because watching people go bankrupt or be imprisoned is one of his hobbies

his happiest memory is his first glimpse of an amazon packaging facility and the horrible conditions of the workers

favorite season is summer: 4th of July babey!!! the holiday where you're allowed to blow shit upppp!!! he also frequently sets off fireworks in the off season to scare dogs and people with anxiety

doesn’t date but he sends tech billionaires unethically farmed flowers sometimes

doesn’t play video games but he has a simulated CoD lobby’s chat going at all times in his head. they call him slurs whenever he misses a shot

relates strongly to Patrick Bateman

he was in ShadowClan. they picked which clan he would be deployed into by having him take the official "which clan are you" quiz

sometimes he doubts that he has the heart of a true warrior

[sunflowersandsapphires]

An Unfortunate Coincidence

In All The World, Chapter 1.1

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Frank Castle is just trying to focus on his stakeout and avoid thinking about his past. However, his plans are abandoned when he spots a familiar face approaching your apartment.

warnings: swearing, Frank and Matt being little shits, brief descriptions of Matt's labyrinth of internalized guilt, very short semi-smut scene (as always, MINORS DNI)

a/n: Ahhhh I was so excited to begin this new series that I accidentally wrote almost 7k for it (and it's not even done). Here is the first chapter that accidentally became a three-shot. I really hope you all like it! Please let me know if there's anything you wanna see in this verse!

w/c: 4k

“In all the world, there is no heart for me like yours. In all the world, there is no love for you like mine.” — Maya Angelou

Crouched on the damp gravel roof of some rundown apartment building, Frank tilted his head to stretch the muscles in his neck. After a few hours peering into his scope, it was starting to ache like hell. Roughly pinching the back of his neck between two fingers, he kneaded circles into it, attempting to alleviate the pain without changing his position. It wasn’t an optimal night for thwarting an armed robbery, given the shitty weather and lousy visibility, but he was determined to disband this particular troop once and for all. 

The cocky fuckers had been one step ahead of him for weeks and he’d finally found the next bank they planned to hit—at least, he hoped that would be the case. 

It wasn’t quite raining, but Manhattan was draped with a patchy fog and the condensation was enough to mist Frank’s face as he lay in wait. While the lack of a clear night would help conceal him and his guns, it also meant he had to get much closer to the site than he would have liked. More distance meant more time to pack up before he had cops on his ass. 

This particular location was especially irritating because the angle of his scope ran directly past your apartment. 

Seeing a warm yellow light in the window nearly left him a distracted, guilty mess. You were clearly home from work. Maybe cooking dinner? Or lounging on the couch he’d crashed on more than he wished to admit. He should probably send you a text to let you know he was still alive—but the thought of that made his body go rigid. 

Despite his lacking communication, and your profound exasperation for that specific trait of his, you never seemed to be out of patience for him. You were reliable, compassionate, and far too good for him to fuck up your life more than he already had. You were the only family he had left, and he was determined to keep a far enough distance to keep you safe.

Which is why his line of sight was currently positioned just past the edge of your apartment window—simultaneously shoving all his remorse deep down where it didn’t need to be acknowledged. Taking down a group of dangerous scumbags with a sniper rifle would be hard enough without being plagued with childhood memories and regret.

Normally, repression was a simple solution to this issue—they do say that practice makes perfect after all. However, mental gymnastics can only do so much to combat adrenaline. Hypervigilance had broadened his peripheral vision, his gaze sweeping the horizon automatically like a prowling animal, pupils blown wide as he absorbed every movement around him. Each flicker of a lamp bulb or ripple in the fog made his grip tighten, eyes flitting between the stimuli as if he was watching a ping pong ball bounce between players. Each motion only held his focus for a moment, his subconscious analyzing them for possible threats within a flash of a synapse before his attention returned to the task at hand.

Through the viscous haze draped over the city, another movement captured his interest. A dark form gliding over rooftops, diving over the beams of moonlight scattered across the vapor without a trace. Scoffing lightly, Frank rolled his eyes. Leave it to Red to show off without even knowing he had an audience. Fuckin' prick.

Chuckling to himself at the idea of firing a blank to give Altar Boy a scare, his laughter quickly faded as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen circled around, headed his way. Frank knew the guy had a freaky mechanism that allowed him to navigate without sight, but there was no way he'd picked up on Frank's presence from nearly a dozen blocks away, right? It wasn't likely that his bloodhound nose was THAT good at picking up the scent of gunpowder.

Skin crawling with unease, Frank's fingers traced over the worn handle of the blade tucked in his belt. After a few weeks being blue-balled by low lives, he wasn't necessarily opposed to a rooftop spat with the personification of Catholic Guilt. Fundamental differences aside, the kid could fight. And it wasn't like Frank had a line up of sparring partners these days. He was beginning to feel a bit rusty. 

To his dismay, the glorified-pajama-clad vigilante never reached him. Instead, he leapt onto the roof of a nearby building and began clambering down the fire escape.

With each of Red's steps, Frank's heart rate climbed, his ear drums ringing alongside his pulse. A shudder shot through him as he followed the other man's path, his body suddenly overtaken with malaise as he inched his scope towards the location he'd been trying so hard to ignore.

There was no way.

Red vaulted over a railing and down a story, his graceful trek slowing in pace.

There was no fuckin' way. It was an unfortunate coincidence. A stroke of Frank's continued bad luck, nothing more.

He was on your story now, close enough that Frank could see his haughty smirk, aimed in the direction of the glimmer Frank had successfully avoided all night.

“Keep movin', Red.” Frank muttered, muscles tensing with dread as he watched the masked lawyer hurdle over a balcony with a twist of his body, tactical shoes perching steadily on the edge of your cement outcropping. “No, no, no. Absolutely not, you asshole.”

Basking in the glow of your apartment window, Murdock broke into a roguish grin leaning backwards against the barrier, a few inches of synthetic stone between him and a twenty story fall. A shadow fluttered into Frank's vision, settling comfortably over Murdock's proud stance as a resident approached the terrace.

Sliding the window open with delicate fingers, your torso tilted out of the safety of your apartment, your beaming smile ever-present as Red posed for you. Strutting forward at a snail's pace, Frank could imagine the laugh that tumbled out of your mouth as you snatched him by the wrist and tugged him against the frame of the window. Time had seemingly slowed, Frank fixated on Matt's smug expression as he tipped his face towards yours.

As your lips met, Frank's vision flashed crimson, rage bubbling in his veins. Grinding his teeth furiously, Frank shoved himself out of his crouch, hefting his rifle onto an open canvas bag and stomping off.

“Oh, don't start with me.” You scolded gently as the lightbulb above your stove quivered uncertainly. Swiping a finger over the switch in a dramatic motion, the bulb sparked on the second try, sapping energy from the weak electrical current and illuminating your kitchenette with a soft warm light.

Flexing your sock-covered feet on the prehistoric checkerboard tile, you raised your arms above your head, arching your back into the stretch with a pleased groan. You'd done a lot of sitting today, hunched over stacks of papers scrambling to understand the new curriculum requirements sent out by your district in the humid closet-of-a-classroom you adored.

Pulling out your trusty, slightly crooked frying pan, you held it a few inches above the burner as you cranked the knob. Once the gas had lit properly, you positioned the pan just so and bustled about, readying the ingredients for a simple meal. Smacking the faucet handle, you tapped your foot to the beat of the song playing softly from your cheap speaker, letting the water run clear before rinsing a fistful of veggies in the feeble stream. Some of the produce was tossed straight into the hot oil, the rest you needed to chop first.

Thankfully, you were only making dinner for two, which meant preparation only took a few minutes. Once your vegetables were cooked and your noodles were boiling, you whipped up a simple sauce and brushed your hands together. Now came the tough part–waiting.

Matt's nightly routine typically made it difficult for you to spend the evenings together—not that it bothered you. Your evenings were typically spent shoving handfuls of chips into your mouth as you watched brainless TV or taking short naps to recover from the day. You were happy to continue those habits and feel truly rested when your boyfriend was finished being a hero for the day. This week was an odd one though, with late staff and board meetings pushing your normally-early supper back a few hours.

When you'd originally mentioned this change to Matt, his face had lit up, inspiring a smile of your own. After a minute of your pestering, he'd finally revealed his idea.

“What if I stay at yours this week?” His expression was soft, his attempt at a smug tone failing to conceal the jagged edge of his unvoiced worry that you'd decline, that he was being clingy—two insecurities you'd been steadily chipping away over the course of your eight month relationship.

Nearly tackling him with a hug, you had peppered his face with kisses, making him laugh. “Is that a yes?”

“That sounds perfect, Matty! I'll be dying to see you after sitting at conference tables all day.” You'd lamented, trailing a finger over his chest as it shook with a rumble of a chuckle.

“So you're saying I shouldn't practice my opening arguments for you? Detail the intricacies of mutual acquiescence and how it was displayed by the adverse parties?”

“Despite your attempts to confuse me with made up legal-sounding words,” Hooking your arms around Matt's neck as he laughed, you'd begun swaying slightly, rocking the two of you from side-to-side as you spoke. ”I'd happily listen to you talk about anything, love. You could describe the process of paint drying to me and I'd still enjoy our time together.“

Flushing slightly pink, Matt turned his face away from you with a scoff. ”Hmm, maybe I'll bring some of my old law textbooks by sometime and we can test that theory.“

Curling a finger around his chin, you gently pulled Matt's face back to yours so you could kiss him. “I mean it, Matthew. You can make anything interesting—it's one of your many gifts. And you've worked hard on this case! I'm happy to be your guinea pig.”

And you'd meant every word. Sitting here in front of your stove, you couldn't think of a better way to spend your evening than watching Matt in his element. As you stirred everything together in a pot over a low flame, your mind began to wander. Matt was wonderful, and attractive for many reasons, but the voice he used when addressing a courtroom? The thought of it alone brought heat to your cheeks. He didn't need to worry about keeping your attention, that was for sure.

The light rapping of a knuckle on your balcony window made you jump, your nose crinkling with slight embarrassment as you realized you were no longer alone—and Matt could probably tell where your mind was detouring from behind your fingerprint-smudged window. Scurrying to grant him entry, you couldn't help the excited smile on your face as you shoved the thick glass off of its sill.

Matt looked phenomenal, draped in black woven fabric that was just tight enough to accent his bulging muscles. Lines of off-white rope were coiled around his hands, trailing up his forearms like a thin pair of serpents. Though he was breathing heavily, he was smiling and didn't appear to be bleeding out or gravely injured.

“Am I allowed to come inside, or am I supposed to stand here so you can ogle me all night?” Matt asked gleefully, stretching his hips so his abs swelled against the long sleeve black tee he was wearing.

“Hmm, see I would let you in, but you'd make such a beautiful decoration..” You jested, grin only growing wider as the light from your apartment revealed Matt's blush. You loved watching his cheeks flush pink when you complimented him—his smug exterior faltering as he became slightly bashful. Deciding to cut his hammering heart some slack, you moved on from the praise. ”You're early, love.“

With a deep chuckle, Matt gave a one-armed shrug, striding towards you. ”I had a date.“

Scoffing out a laugh, you reached an arm out of your apartment, the cool outside air curling around your skin and raising the fine hair along it. As water vapor made contact with your skin, the tiniest drops of condensation beaded against your warm flesh. You reached for Matt, who was still a victim of the pitiful rain storm out on your terrace. Fingertips closing around his wrist, you pulled him towards you—other hand coming up to scratch at the base of his scalp when he was within range. “Matthew, we talked about this. You don't need to cut your deviling short to please me. I won't be upset if you—“

Cutting of your gentle chastising with a kiss, Matt knocked his forehead against yours, hands leaving the embrace to cradle your jaw. The dense fibers of the cords around his hands prickled against your skin, a much rougher feeling than the soft fabric of his mask against the bridge of your nose. His breath drifted over your lips as he spoke. “It's been slow. Promise.”

Nuzzling into his touch as his thumb traced over your cheek, your smile softly returned. “Ok, that's good. Hungry?”

As one of Matt's hands slid from your jaw toward your nape, the ropes rolled over your skin, scratching lightly against it. Fingers pushing into your flesh with a tad more heat, Matt smirked—his lips brushing over yours. “Starving.”

Matt nipped lightly at your chin and you stifled a giggle, kissing him sweetly before stepping back into your apartment. “I meant literally, Matt. C'mon, I need some food in me before you pin me down to mark me up.”

Towing Matt through your window with both hands clamped around one of his steady arms, you squealed as he lept over the threshold, gathering you into his arms in one fluid movement. Mashing his face into the side of yours, a low rumble sounded from the back of Matt's throat, as if he was purring. The tip of his nose was chilled, barely covered by the mask as he galavanted around in the unusually cool night air. He nestled you against his chest, burying his nose in your hairline just above your ear.

“I think we both know how much you want me to do just that, sweetheart. Are you sure you want to wait until after dinner?” His teasing voice was pitched down, sounding more like the Devil of Hell's Kitchen than Matt Murdock. A shudder crept down your spine, an exhale falling from your lips at the suggestion.

“Mmmm, I, uh, I thought I was. Now, I'm not so sure.” You murmured, warmth flooding between your thighs as Matt's teeth scraped the shell of your ear.

Chuckling darkly, Matt's hand splayed against the small of your back, his lips planting a kiss on your temple. “We'll have to see where the night takes us then. What did you make? It smells good.”

Matt broke his hold on you, taking a seat at your dinette without even acknowledging how aroused he'd just made you. His ability to trip your brain up with a few well-placed touches was dangerous, dammit.

Blowing out a slightly exasperated breath, you let your hand drift over Matt's shoulders before you lifted the pot from the stove. Using the pair of tongs you'd used to toss the vegetables, you plated two servings of the meal you'd thrown together. “Those peanut noodles you liked so much. I was craving them. But don't worry, I only gave you broccoli and edamame this time.” 

A few weeks ago, when you’d first found this recipe, Matt had enjoyed it—but only after you’d stopped him from choking down the mushrooms and bok choy mixed into the dish. The poor man was stifling gags as he bit into the vegetables, later explaining that they were on the list of “textures Matt can barely tolerate”. He had apologized profusely, not understanding why you weren’t upset with him for not enjoying the food without alterations. This time, you’d planned ahead. 

Clearly also thinking of your last attempt at this meal, Matt wrinkled his nose with a grimace. “Thank you. I'm sorry to be difficult.”

Rolling your eyes, you slid one of the bowls in front of him, using one finger to delicately lift the mask from the top half of his face. As you peeled the sweaty fabric off of his head, it revealed his mussed hair—the strands sticking out in little tufts after being mashed beneath the cotton for a few hours. You bit your lip to stifle a giggle, bringing your fingers up to smooth the mess. “You're not difficult, you're just human. And you have some impressive helmet-hair tonight.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I heard this was how the kids were wearing it these days. Am I pulling it off?” He grinned at you, hands landing on your waist as you kicked a leg over his lap to straddle him.

“You look a bit like a newly-hatched chick in an incubator.” You snickered, humming appreciatively as he tightened his grip on you, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Darn. I was hoping to change up my style to something more modern.” Matt quipped, instinctively tilting his head up as you scratched at his overgrown stubble with your nails.

“I never said it looked bad, handsome.” You explained, nose rubbing against his as you moved in for a kiss. “You look as gorgeous as always.”

With a greedy noise, Matt's hands dug into the soft flesh of your stomach. His lips were relaxed, happily letting you slide your tongue between them. His skin was warm with exertion and want, his touches grappling and desperate as he pulled you impossibly closer.

Dropping your arms to rest on his shoulders, you threaded a hand into his hair, tugging lightly at it as he kissed you. Matt moaned softly, his movements halting like a cat who'd been scruffed. You felt a rush of pride as Matt went lax against you. Tipping your weight into him, the force shoved his spine against the back of the chair, the wood creaking in protest.

It hadn't even been a week since you'd last seen him, last felt him–but it was as though he'd been away for years. Each time he held you against him, expression soft with affection, butterflies swarmed your stomach. To the rest of the city, he was a ruthlessly fearsome vigilante. But with you, he showed his underbelly. Trusting you enough to be soft, and to want softness in return. It made you giddy, being one of a chosen few to know the secret truth about Daredevil. And you were immensely fond of the man behind the mask. 

With a gasp, you began to lose your train of thought as the building heat in your core grew uncomfortable. Rocking your hips against Matt, he tensed his thigh as you ground down on it, letting you take what you needed from him. Moaning softly while the friction from Matt’s leg rubbed pleasantly against your clit, you circulated your hips, swinging them upward with the intention of using gravity to help you ride Matt’s statuesque thigh–but the world had other plans.

A pounding knock startled you out of your passionate stupor. Flying backwards in surprise, you collided with the solid wooden edge of your dining table. Grunting quietly at the impact, you swiveled your head towards the door when the banging continued, your heart pumping furiously as your concern built. Matt's hands slipped between you and the injurous furniture, shielding you from worsening the inevitable bruising the sideswipe had caused.

Though his head was cocked, his eyes blankly trailing along your torso, searching for any damage you'd done, he was wearing a resigned expression.

“Who—” You started to ask, but a brusque deep voice called for you through the door.

“I know you're in there.” The cause of the disturbance was no longer a stranger, but that didn't fix the sinking feeling threatening to drag you through the creaky floor.

”One second, Frank.“ You grimaced, swinging yourself off of Matt's lap to open the door.

As your weight lifted off of him, Matt chuckled humorlessly. “Took him long enough.”

Hands flying to your hips as you spun on your heel, you narrowed your eyes at Matt. “You KNEW?”

Shrugging noncommitally, Matt pinched one of the abandoned forks between his fingers, tugging the bowl of noodles closer to him and stabbing the utensil into it. “I had a feeling.”

Scoffing incredulously, you shook your head as he popped a forkful of tepid pasta into his mouth. “How can you look like you're enjoying yourself right now?”

Matt smirked at you. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had the luxury of bearing witness to dinner and a show.” Attacking his dinner ravenously, Matt didn't explain himself further.

Sighing loudly in response to Matt's unprecedented ambivalence, you jogged to the door--opening it to reveal your VERY pissed off cousin. He must've been camped out somewhere for a while, given the rivulets of water dripping off of his face and clothes. The droplets trailed over his scowl, getting tangled in his beard on the way to the ground.

”Hi Frank.“ You greeted politely, arm shooting out to grasp the door frame as he took a deliberate step past you, eyes locked onto Matt's frame in the middle of your apartment. You might've been smaller than both of them, but you weren't feeble. Your well-placed grip held strong against the burly ex-marine, his glare pivoting to bore into you as you stopped him from storming into the apartment.

”Move aside,“ Frank ground out your name, eyes dark with rage.

”And let you bludgeon someone to death in my apartment? I'll pass.“ You snarked, your own anger over Frank's absence and the overwhelming stench of testosterone now shrouding your space coating your words.

Matt scoffed from behind you, making a sound of protest but you held up a single finger on your free hand. ”Don't you dare.“

Matt closed his mouth, turning his attention back to his dinner with a pout.

Nostrils flaring, Frank's chest was still poking into your forearm as he shook his head. ”I can't believe this. Him? C'mon kid, you're smarter than that. You can't shack up with this asshole.“

”I can do whatever I damn well please, Castle. In case you've forgotten over your period of absence, I am an adult who is capable of making her own decisions.“

A muscle in Frank's cheek twitched but he said nothing. Jabbing a finger into his shoulder, you pulled a stern look straight from your bag of teacher tricks, staring him down. ”I will let you through this door to talk but if either of you start brawling in my home, you're out on the street, got it?“

Confidence wavering, Frank's posture relaxed ever so slightly, looking like an attack dog who had been given a hold command--frustrated and miffed, but no longer snarling. He nodded once, stepping back to allow you to retract your arm.

”Matthew?“ You asked over your shoulder, still blocking the doorway as you waited for both parties to agree.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. What was the question?“ You didn't need to crane your neck to see Matt's proud expression, feigning innocence as he silently challenged Frank from afar.

You and Frank both snorted in disbelief. Frank's lips opened but you beat him to the punch. ”Try again, Murdock.“

With a displeased grumble, Matt muttered his assent. ”Fine.”

Ha. Teacher voice: 1, unruly vigilantes: 0.

Nodding in approval, you finally released your rigid stance, standing on your tiptoes to peck Frank on his damp cheek. “C'mon in. I'll grab you a towel.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @gracethyomen @xxdrixx

[bits-and-babs]

𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔

pairing: johnny soap mactavish x medic!reader (stitch)

summary: a night of drinking with 141 pushes you to the brink of your friendship with soap.

warnings: [ 1k words ] pathetic levels of mutual pining, yearning, alcohol and drinking, (f) masturbation, reader fantasising about sex with soap.

notes: i had so much fun writing this <33

Soap leans back dangerously on the stool at the bar as he laughs, a deep rumble that rattles his ribcage. The legs of the seat teeter precariously on the edge of a broken floor tile, threatening to slip into the grout grooves and knock him from his pedestal. He’s like sunshine, glowing with the grin plastered on his face as he guffaws at something Ghost had grumbled across the bar.

Even in your drunken stupor, you manage to place your palm on his lower back, curbing gravity’s inevitable pull by easing him back into an upright position. He chuckles weakly, still struggling over Simon’s ridiculous comment as he blinks back humorous tears.

“Cheers, Bonnie,” he grins, the ocean in his eyes swimming with the whiskey The Captain had been plying you both with all evening. It knocks you seasick, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, weathered by emotional storms. They creased for you, now, his wide grin carving out crevices that would last a lifetime simply because he offered you a smile. “Always lookin’ after us, aren’t ye?”

“Y-Yeah, don’t go expecting me to catch you in the field. My job’s to treat injuries, not prevent them,” you murmur, heart cracking against your chest as it flooded your cheeks with blood, heating the skin beneath his gaze.

“Mhm- it’d mean y’d have less work,” he pointed out with a pert raise of his brows, picking up his glass of whiskey and swirling it around so that the ice tnk’d against it. Johnny doesn’t break eye contact, basking you in the warmth of his gaze that could only be rivalled by the sunshine on the beaches his salt-water eyes reminded you of.

Did other people bathe in that everglow? Did the golden rays of his affection colour the cheeks of other girls, or was that look of adoration reserved only for you? You dread to think of the possibility that you were misreading Johnny’s tender gaze, that what you had hoped were exclusive expressions of enchantment had, in fact, been handed out as frequently as the insults that Soap consistently levelled at the members of task force 141. Or even worse, there was a single ‘lass’ back home, waiting in the cobbled streets of Glasgow to receive his embrace.

Genesis: the split on his forehead that went straight to the bone. No bullets were fired; instead, Soap’s skull connected with Ghost’s knee during a football game with the rest of 141. Inexplicably, he and Simon had been on the same team, yet Johnny still managed to end up hurt. He’d smiled at you, and the sight had wormed its way into your bones, the sound of his accented voice all hushed and husky ringing in your ears. ‘Bet yer not used to fixin’ daftys like me.’

You’d assured him he wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Swallowing thickly, your fingers trail up the ridges of his spine through the thin material of his t-shirt. His back is muscular, leaking the heat of far too many whiskeys for so early in the evening. You’re sure you can feel his vertebrae ripple beneath your touch, his eyes zeroed in on your lips like he was aiming his sniper rifle at a target.

“It’s not work if it’s you,” you whisper, feeling the rest of the bar, the team, wash away in those ocean-blue irises. Soap hums softly, the weight of his hand resting on the top of your thigh beneath the sticky countertop of the bar. He seems to calculate the distance between you; the logistics of the shot.

You can’t breathe.

Defibrillator, chest compressions, mouth to mouth.

“Yer too kind, Stitch,” he murmured softly, giving your thigh a squeeze before withdrawing his touch almost as quickly as he’d offered it. Instead, he wraps his fingers around the glass containing the rest of his amber whiskey, the condensation clinging to the sides of the glass dribbling down the length of his fingers to the knuckles.

Code blue.

☆ ☆ ☆

Breathless, your back arches from the cot’s mattress as you sink your fingers into the dripping head at the apex of your thighs. You can’t help the moan that spills over from your lips as you feel how wet Soap’s single touch had made you, the burn of his palm still simmering in the flesh of your thigh.

You’d barely made it back to the barracks. Stumbling over your own feet, you’d whimpered in frustration when tearing off your clothes, needing to rub your throbbing clit to ease the pulsing need Soap had instilled in you with his fucking smiles.

They’re a nuclear weapon, so bright it hurts your eyes.

Alcohol made it so much worse. Your mind runs away with itself, imagining Soap had tripped into your bed alongside you. He’d be rubbing at your swollen clit with his thumb, sinking his fingers deep inside you while praising you for how well you received him.

‘Steamin’ Jesus, Bonnie,’ he would groan, kissing across your sternum while searching for that mind-numbing spot inside you that had your toes cramping as they curled, ‘so fuckin’ wet for me. Can ye take another? C’mon, that’s it-‘

You wail softly, rocking your hips up to meet the thrust of your fingers as you imagine the sensation of his lips on your neck, the scratch of his stubble against your pulse point.

“‘M gonna cum, Johnny,” you wheeze aloud, urging the ghost touch to keep going. Your fingers sink deeper, the ridges of your fingerprints scraping something cataclysmic when you curl them just right.

A long, anguished whine ricochets off the walls of your dorm as you drench your fingers with your cum, eyes squeezing so tight that you can almost see the ghost of Soap’s silhouette behind your eyelids, praising you for your devastating orgasm. It’s so slow, utterly debilitating as it obliterates every inch of your drunken limbs with a white-hot ecstasy.

Your lungs rattle with the force of your inhales, bleached knuckles gripping the bedsheets in a desperate attempt to brace against the explosive orgasm. Soap’s touch still simmers beneath your thigh muscles, buried into the sinews despite the trembles that wracked them.

Did he feel the same? Had your palm burned into his vertebrae, or did he imagine the touch of a girl from home, whispering her name when he came?

You dread to think. 

join the taglist here:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art

[chronicowboy]

"Can I tell you something?"

Honestly, Eddie isn't sure where it comes from. One moment he's watching Buck trying and failing to bite through the long line of melted cheese stretching from his mouth to the slice of pizza held at arm's length, the next something scolding tears through his chest like a bullet from a sniper's rifle and Eddie's mouth falls open before he can think of what he's going to say.

"'Course," Buck mumbles through his mouthful of pizza, breathing around it because its still too hot of course. There's a smear of red sauce on his chin and the pizza is still held aloft about a foot away from his mouth, Eddie finds him desperately beautiful.

"In the truck, after I was shot," Eddie slides the plate under the pizza slice just as Buck drops it, "and after you told me you weren't hurt, there was one last moment that I fought to stay awake."

"Eddie—"

"Not for Christopher, not for you, but for myself." Eddie nods, eyes trained on the picture of Buck and Christopher on the fridge. "I just wanted to look at you. Just for one last moment. When I knew that you were okay, that you weren't hurt, that I didn't have to worry about you or Chris. I just wanted to look at you." Ironic, he thinks, that he can't look at Buck now. He sucks in a sharp breath and turns to meet Buck's dazed blue eyes. "I wanted you to be the last thing I saw." Buck swallows, that damn string of cheese still hanging from his lips. "And then I woke up to Ana sat next to me in the hospital, and I don't think I've ever been more disappointed in my life."

The loft hasn't been this silent since the morning after that one fateful night during quarantine when they'd thought it would be a good idea to get hammered and play truth or dare, and nobody could look each other in the eye over the several terrible secrets that had been revealed.

Its that same cloying silence now.

Not their usual silence. Not the comfortable silence Eddie revels in. Not the warm silence that greeted him when Eddie walked into the loft with a pizza after asking Buck to call him with an "emergency" to get out of a date with Pepa's latest "perfect woman".

"W-why are you telling me this?" Buck stutters out. "Why- Why now?"

"Because I've been on four dates since you died and none of them have felt remotely close to the night we scammed ten Porterhouses out of the Chief." Eddie shrugs, looking out to the red umbrella flapping in the wind on the balcony. He swings his gaze around to Buck. "Because you said you had the answers, and I'm hoping with everything in me that you have the answer to this question."

"W-what, um, what question is that? E-exactly?" Buck asks, voice breathy.

"If I told you that I'd been falling since that ambulance exploded," Eddie smiles, its a shaky thing full of fear, "would you catch me?"

"Always," Buck breathes without any hesitation, laying his big hand on Eddie's forearm. "Always, Eddie."

"And if I asked for your heart?" Eddie manages to choke out.

"You've had it the whole time, Eddie." Buck smiles, just as shaky as Eddie's had been, but bright and brilliant. "It only started beating again for you."

"One last question?" Eddie raises an eyebrow, his own smile beginning to ache in his cheeks.

"Anything," Buck promises.

"Will you kiss me?"

"Now, I'm not sure about that," Buck grins, all smug and self-assured despite the fucking cheese still on his fucking chin. "Don't I get a date first, Diaz?"

"What? Pizza and beer isn't good enough for you?" Eddie quirks an eyebrow, plan already forming in his head for a homecooked meal lit by candles in the kitchen at home, undoubtedly a panicked call to Bobby when the lasagne doesn't go to plan.

"I'd like to be wooed," Buck says haughtily. "I died, I won you steaks, I think I deserve a little wooing."

"Oh, you do, do you?"

"I do actually," Buck grins at him.

"How about you finish your pizza first," Eddie reaches up to cup Buck's cheek, uses his thumb to catch the string of cheese and gently pushes it past Buck's lips which open for him willingly, "and then we can circle back round to the wooing?"

Eddie pulls his thumb from Buck's mouth with a pop and watches Buck's pupils dilate until the blue of his irises is entirely eclipsed.

"Nope, wooed enough," Buck blurts out before grabbing Eddie's face and crashing their lips together clumsily.

Its the best first kiss of his life.

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

your snipers are GOOD STUFF and i’m just here for how he would work (nsfw wise) with a s/o who is INCREDIBLY down to be bullied and hunted for sport and will frolic around like a deer giggling the whole time like he’s a fairy tale prince and not a gangly string bean who is filled with nothing but spite and predatory lust

I had contemplated my regular format but I think straight up fanfiction better fits this.

Sniper X Prey Reader: Primitive Instinct (NSFW)

Warning: Prey/predator shit idk what the kink is called, breeding kink

Mr. Mundy hated the feeling of primal lust when other things mattered more. He often felt broken, and inherently wrong to desire the warmth of his body intertwined with someone else’s when he should have been focusing on something else. By nature he was a hunter. Focus and mental clarity even in the darkest of hours was most important when that rifle was up to his face. He could be sad and lonely for only just a moment. Just a second in eternity. But never more than that.

For if he delayed more, he wouldn’t be focusing hard enough. All of his senses alert to every single thing imaginable. An assassin could not afford one little slip up. Less the outcome would be self explanatory.

Still, he found himself constantly distracted tonight. In the highest point of Tuefort he stood atop a water tower’s catwalks in pitch black darkness. In front of him was the distant, dim lights of the enemy BLU base. A set of ugly buildings that looked more like a factory than anything else. His night vision scope was a smuggled artifact from his hometown. It worked flawlessly despite the long trip to join Team Fortress several years ago. The cold air bit at his skin but he remained stiffly in place like an unmoving stone. Boldly standing out in the open with no regard for his own safety. He knew the difficult position he was in would make it nearly impossible to get a clear shot at him. With multiple cardboard boxes off to both his sides, it obstructed angles.

Sniper shut his eyes. His lungs took in maximum air and exhaled carbon dioxide. He counted each second, carefully controlling his own breath.

One, two, three, four…

The old assassin heard a sound off in the distance just to the right of him. As he suspected, his theory about using this BLU water tower as a nest was validated. He turned the rifle towards the source and sure enough he caught the silhouette of an intruder rummaging through the bushes.

One, two, three, four…

His previous thoughts were proven to be more of an intruder than the unlucky person he was scoping at. For a second, Sniper unwillingly diverted his attention as those lustful desires crossed his thoughts again. He swore he saw the image of a beautiful, smooth, naked body of a woman flash in his mind as quickly as the blinking of an eye. His breathing immediately became muddled again. He could even hear his own heart rate skyrocket. All it took was one little slip up. An annoying intrusive thought.

Sniper had lost location of the person’s head through the dense foliage. They disappeared behind the bramble, and Sniper had to suppress the sudden unyielding rage shoot through his bloodstream. Every bone in his body wanted to throw his damn sniper rifle across the desert and see it break into multiple pieces below.

“Bugger me!” He cursed quietly. Slamming his fist on the box he was resting his rifle on. Somehow, he didn’t even care if an apposing sniper heard him. The faster he died, the better.

Sniper held his fist, which was now wracked with pieces of wood. He was lucky to be wearing gloves. The wood didn’t pierce his skin at all. Still, now he had to growl and grumble while he pathetically pulled the shards of dangerous chips out of his left hand. If the others saw him — especially scout — they’d undoubtedly tear him a new one that he’d forever internalize until his dying days.

An assassin can’t fucking afford to miss.

His moment of self loathing was interrupted by the creak of the ladder below the catwalks. It was subtle, and barely audible. Like a wild cat’s tiptoeing through the forest. Sniper stopped dead in his tracks and his eyes slowly rolled to the source. Fearlessly, he put his hands back on his gun and waited. If he made any sudden movements toward his SMG on the floor next to him then he’d surely alert the stranger. The catwalks were sensitive with age in certain places and disregarded stealth.

The person on the ladder paused when Sniper halted his complaining. Which showed him that they were listening to him too. It didn’t quite strike him as odd, but what did indeed baffle him was then the sudden sprint up the ladder. As if the person wanted to be heard.

The scruffy man gritted his teeth. A little bit offended that somebody — even if it was a teammate — which let’s be honest that’s the only reasonable explanation for it — would approach him so casually like he wasn’t a huge threat. It messed with his ego and made him want to shoot the person regardless of who they were.

“Sniper?” A voice asked quietly. It was you, of course. The new mercenary. The youngest out of all of them. A thorn in everybody’s side with your naive youth. Who the hell in their right mind would hire such a young adult for this profession?

The older man tried shutting his eyes and focusing his breathing again. Blocking out any other annoying stimulus that distracted him. (You were the annoying stimulus.) He figured you were just up here thinking he’d be a willing ear and whatnot. As if he’d ever do something like that.

“Sniper!” You whispered a bit louder.

Sniper nearly found it within himself to haul his gun as promised earlier. He gripped his rifle like he was choking somebody. “God! What?!” He asked louder than he wanted to.

You glared at him. The lack of amusement in your eyes was noted and rudely ignored. Sniper shrugged his shoulders in a very, very pressuring gesture to get on with it. You didn’t even know how he had the patience for hunting animals.

“The others wanna know if you want some coffee.” You say. Your mouth curling into what would be a snarl if you hadn’t somewhat mastered the art of controlling yourself near these mercs.

“Who the bloody hell asks their colleague if they want coffee at three in the fuckin’ morning?!” Sniper’s voice pitched high in genuine concern. Like he had somehow realized he was answering to the most stupidest person imaginable.

Sniper’s condescending words didn’t sway you. You were too tired to react anyway. “By the way, was that you pointing your gun at me?” You asked curiously.

He paused, and that’s how you knew you struck a cord. The revelation couldn’t help but peak your interest. The way he tensed up and threatened to grip the edges of the box to the point of breaking the entire thing. He was SURE he was incapable of being seen. Your words had completely shattered what was left of his fragile self esteem. If anything there at all at this point. It was entertaining to see this supposedly self proclaimed unemotional assassin break like a twig. You titled your head and the side of your lip almost twitched into a smile.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” He asked bitterly. Without any second hesitation or regard, he whipped out his kukri from underneath the boxes and started marching toward you. To say you were a bit stressed was an understatement.

Sniper shoved you backwards into the wall and dug the blade into the planks near your face. It hit the wood with an unpleasant noise that sounded like it had cut through flesh. It made a chill go up your spine. Nonetheless, you braved the sudden aggression. These types of crazy reactions were just common day-to-day events. You turnt your nose away from him as he got close to your face and breathed down your neck. It was heavy and quick. Like he was inches away from eating you. His chest pressed up against yours. You couldn’t tell if this was meant to be personal or not. But it felt… disgustingly delightful. Like you were eating candy.

It felt like you were being eyed by a hungry bear that wanted to tear into you and leave nothing behind. To drop the blade and ravish your delicious body. Sniper all the meanwhile could not even identify his own body’s mistake for adrenaline being arousal. A large, blunt object pressed against your inner thigh when he pressed down harder. His veins visible from the grip on his blade. You realized all the blood flowed to his companion. A thick, wet member prodding at you and quietly pleading for relief.

“What did I tell you? I’m a hired gunman. I’m not some friend of yours, and i’m not somebody who’s gonna joke with you. Gotcha?” You could hear him bombarding you but the butterflies in your stomach spoke of delightful things.

You wanted to mate with this hungry animal, until his balls were completely empty and his insatiable appetite was temporarily satisfied. You slipped under him and tore away easier than expected. Dodging an attempt on your head, you hopped up onto the boxes and shuffled as he tried slashing at your ankles. A sickly mischievous smile crossed your face, as for what seemed like forever, you dodged his countless attempts on your life. Jumping on and off the box, and causing him to run in circles around the tower. Sniper was beginning to feel like he was on some sort of babysitting duty. He was also getting angrier.

As fast as you came in, you booked it down to the ladder and slid down it. Sniper being less athletic however, had to hurry down the steps one by one. All the meanwhile complaining “Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger!”

His anger was comedic in every way possible. You ducked underneath the brambles and patiently awaited the handsome man’s arrival. You decided to not let yourself suffer any longer. Maybe him by extension as well. Those primitive urges were something that your ancestors developed as a beautiful way to bond. In what world would you simply throw away the opportunity? As Sniper reached the bottom of the water tower, you half-assed an escape attempt but as expected he jumped on you before you could even crawl through the other side of the bush. You had no idea that toothpick of a man would hurt so much. Dead god.

“Gotcha!” He proclaimed. pinning you on your belly with his entire weight. He sat on your legs. Like a cat whose paw was on a mouse’s tail. You wondered if it was possible he’d break said legs.

He was proud of his catch, but you had no heart to tell him you gave yourself deliberately. That penetrating blunt organ was all you fixated on right now. It was all you wanted. The idea of that divine organ crushing your insides sounded like heaven. The gentle breeze of his warm breath met your ears and neck again. You couldn’t help but lift your face up to meet it. Sniper found himself meeting his lips to your neck too.

The tension broke. The two of you had clearly felt the same way. Although Sniper tried his hardest to hide his beastly instincts, nature always won in the end. The moment his lips nibbled your neck is the moment that you both individually consented. A grumble escaped your throat and it sounded like you were pleased. Which in turn pleased Sniper.

Lust is such a complicated thing. Anger and annoyance can lead to it if you go down the right path. The older man began to court you. Prodding his member against your flank to offer you a good time. He shifted your legs up and got you into a mating press. Underneath those layers you could feel him dripping with anticipation.

To test the waters he forwardly thrusted up against your clothed body. Earning another blissful sound from you. Though sniper was dead silent, his rugged breathing spoke volumes. He aimlessly humped you like a horny dog and forgot his own self control. Wildly slapping his concealed dick against your pants.

“Sniper—“ You tried to get his attention. Realizing this was counterproductive without bare skin visible.

He continued slapping against you recklessly. He couldn’t hear you, and frankly you couldn’t blame him. Sniper was determined to breed you. He was surging with hormones and ready to pump you full of his children no matter the cost. He sounded like a growling werewolf the way he began expressing his pleasure. His silence leaving him. The scruffy haired man bit down hard on the back of your neck to hold you in place. The extra skin there made it so that you weren’t hurt. Just scruffed like a cat.

You were stuck there for hours. A large man using you as his sextoy. Not even once did he slow his pace. Not even after multiple times cumming. It was only when the sun came up did he even consider.

What a wonderful thing that the gift of procreation is.

[holylulusworld]

Aahp (6) - Revenge served cold

Summary: You end up being a pawn.

Pairing: Mobster!Andy Barber x fem!Reader, Mobster!Nick Fowler x fem!Reader, Mobster!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader, Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Characters: Jake Jensen, Lloyd Hansen

Warnings: angst, mentions of character’s death, mafia business, a lil fluff, Lloyd being Lloyd

Angel and her protectors masterlist

Catch up here: Part 5

Pookie. A term of endearment and affection. Sometimes a euphemism to describe something cute. A pet name for your significant other.

Is that what you are to them? Their significant other, or just a brand-new toy they find fascinating and cute.

You’re like a kitten in a lion’s den, unsure about your next step. Nick and the others made sure that you could not leave their place. It’s not a house, not even a mansion. Their home is a fortress.

It took some time for you to fathom why four grown men would live together on free terms. This place is huge, yes. But sometimes you want to have your peace and quit.

They live together out of necessity, and maybe to avoid making the same mistakes they made in the past.

Jensen, the charming guy they hired to fake evidence and mess with Ransom’s life was rather talkative. He told you about the tragic losses Steve, Bucky, and Andy had to endure.

United they stand since then. Four powerful men against the world.  

“Pookie, what are you doing here?” Nick walks inside the room, confused as you are engrossed in reading the files Jensen gave to you. He’s a nice guy. Jensen wanted you to know what you’re getting yourself into.

“Research,” you lift your eyes from the laptop you borrowed from Jensen. “If you don’t let me go, I need to know what kind of people you truly are.”

“What did you find out?” He hops onto the table next to the laptop. “Anything exciting yet?”

“They all lost their…wives,” you murmur. “Is that the reason you do not want me to go? Do you fear I’ll end up dead like their wives?”

“Andy and the others didn’t know about you. I asked Jake to find out more about you. I knew that Ransom broke your heart and that you were all alone. I had to do something.”

“You knew before you all that before you grabbed me?” You watch Nick with curiosity. “Why would you do that? You didn’t know me, Nick. Not at all. All you knew was that Ransom left me for some other girl.”

“Pookie, I knew you the moment I laid eyes on you. Bucky and the others couldn’t see it at first, but I did. You’re an angel and came into our lives to save our rotten souls.”

“Nick, I’m not an angel. Maybe a little clueless, and stupid enough to fall for a man like Ransom, but no angel.” You shake your head. “I don’t know what you want from me, except the obvious.”

“Oh, Pookie,” he grins wolfishly, “we want so much more than to worship your body. Bucky, Steve, and Andy will have to wait, of course. I saw my sweet angel first.”

You laugh at the seriousness in his voice. The whole situation you are in still feels surreal. How can four men want you after Ransom kicked you out of his life like you meant nothing to him?

Glass shatters. A bullet finds its target. Blood drops to the ground, just like the body that got hit. Men yell, and gunshots pierce through the air, missing their target by

Out of reach for the angry tugs wasting their ammunition, a man curses under his breath. Lloyd Hansen hates wasting a bullet for a non-deadly shot.

“If only they allowed me to blow his head,” he hums while disassembling the sniper rifle. “Well, my job here’s done. Maybe next time they have the guts to hire me to kill someone.”

Lloyd takes his time. He likes his routine and doing things his way. There is no hurry. He’s sitting on the rooftop of a building far away from his target’s home. No one will find him here. – Not if they want to stay alive.

It’s a week later that Lloyd came to collect for a job well done. Pierce got shot in the shoulder, but survived, just as planned.

“All done,” Lloyd brags while eying you sit next to Nick. He licks his lips, wondering if you are a special thank you for doing his job. “So, do we invite pretty girls now?”

“Lloyd don’t even start,” Steve warns. He’s still not a fan of Hansen and his behavior. “She’s off-limits. No discussion.”

“Her loss,” he shrugs and grabs the envelope filled with money. “Cash is king,” Lloyd smirks when you look his way. Nick wouldn’t tell you what the man did to earn so much money, and you didn’t want to know.

“Can you stay in town for a little longer?” Andy asks. “It’s possible that we will need your assistance again.”

“If you got more of this,” Lloyd lifts the envelope to sniff at it. “You have my guns and charming company.”

“What do you think, Bucky?” Nick looks at his brother, waiting for his approval. “Buck?”

“We should check if Pierce will take the bait. If not, Hansen is as useless as a wart on my ass,” Bucky grumbles. He doesn’t like to sit and wait. “If only you allowed me to end their lives.”

“If we kill Piece and Drysdale, we will start a war. If they kill each other,” Andy shrugs. “We officially had nothing to do with their downfall. Their allies cannot blame us.”

“You’re a sly fox, Mr. Barber,” Hansen chuckles darkly. “I like how you think. Fucking others over is my jam too.”

“As long as you do not fuck is over,” Nick glares at Hansen. Just like Steve, he’s not a fan of Lloyd’s methods. “I hope you remember to not bite the hand that’s feeding you well for years.”

“I’m loyal to my customers, sunshine,” Lloyd flashes Nick a smile. “Betrayal is bad for business, my friend. As long as you pay me well, we have no problem.”

“Guys!” Jake stops the men from getting into a fight. “Activities detected. Someone tries to find the fake bank account I created to transfer money from Ransom’s account.”

“Pierce?” Andy asks.

“I don’t know yet,” Jake types away on the keyboard to trace the person. “Give me a bit of time and we’ll know if Pierce fell for our trap.”

“Sounds like the fun just started,” Lloyd snickers. “I guess I’ll stick around for a little while…”

Tags in reblog.

[personwhowrites]

Can you do 141 team x reader where Y/n is a sniper, she was shot on her right eye by enemy sniper. It was her good eye because her right eye is 6 times greater then normal and her skills where she never miss her enemy. Her lover help her by teaching her using her other eye of practicing for her other eye. Y/n is back in the fight after all the practice for her left eye.

I loved writing this, I went more into destil. I hope you enjoy this!- E< <3

Replaceable

It was a mission like no other. The wind whistled in your ears as you stood on the small hill, a shaky breath escaping your lips as you stared into the scope of your sniper rifle. Staring at the dead target, you never anticipated the shot that would come from the other direction. Panic flooded your body as you felt a sharp pain in your head. You fell to the ground and covered your mouth, not wanting to let anyone know you were alive. As you lay there, you heard your lover voice on the radio.

“Y/n!”

John captain price

The moment Price saw your body hit the floor, he ordered everyone to shoot up the place. He rushed to your side, panic setting in as he saw you lifeless. As he approached your body, you suddenly cried out in pain, a sign of life that filled him with relief.

Price carefully cradled you in his arms, his expression full of panic and desperation. He felt a lump in his throat as he looked at the blood spilling from your eye, and he shouted orders for someone to help you, to save your life. His heart raced as he rushed you back to the others, praying silently that you would make it.

When you woke up, you found yourself in a hospital bed, unable to see out of your right eye. The eye that had carried you through your whole career, your life and your will to feel important. Price sat up from the chair and immediately walked over to the side of the bed you lay in. He grabbed your hand gently and released a sigh of relief.

“Y/n…I’m so glad you’re alive..” Price said, kissing your hand and squeezing it tightly as you turned your head to face him. “I thought.. I lost you..” His voice was filled with emotion as he said this, and his eyes were filled with concern and adoration. You felt a warmth inside as you stared into his eyes, and you could tell he was truly relieved that you were alive and safe. You knew that no matter what happened, he would always be there for you.

Price refused to let you give up, training you day and night to make sure you never felt alone. The others tried their best to help as well, and eventually, you were ready to take on the working field.

Once more you stood by a hidden hill, looking through the scope of your gun. As Price ordered you to shoot, time seemed to freeze. You took the dangerous shot and quickly got down. Silence hung in the air until the cheers of the others broke it.

“Beautiful shot princess!” Price exclaimed with a laugh. You felt proud of yourself for taking the shot, and you were grateful for the support of your team. You had come a long way from where you started, and you knew that you could do anything you put your mind to.

Kyle “Gaz”Garrick

Gaz saw your body fall down on the cold concrete floor and panic set in as he saw the ever-growing pool of blood around your head. Fear and dread coursed through his veins as he rushed to your aid, his voice desperate and urgent as he called for a medic. He carefully picked you up and cradled you in his arms, his eyes searching for any sign of the medic, praying silently that you would be okay.

The last thing you remember before you blacked out was the sound of his voice, desperate and determined to get you the help you needed. He carefully carried you away from the danger, his arms protectively draped around you as he ran, never letting go.

When you woke up, you were in a hospital bed, surrounded by tubes and needles. Fear overwhelmed you as you realized that you could only see darkness out of your right eye. Price and Gaz were there, and before Price could come over to check on you, Gaz immediately pushed him away and rushed to your side.

“Y/n.. oh my god you’re okay.. thank god," he said as he kissed your forehead gently. "Hey.. just breathe, it's okay.."

He started stroking your hair and holding you close. He stayed by your side, never leaving, and his presence was a comforting reminder that you weren't alone.

You held your hand up to your right eye, desperately hoping to see something, but Gaz quickly moved your hand away and delivered the most devastating news: you had lost your good eye, the one that you depended on for your very life. The shock and grief hit you like a wave, and you struggled to comprehend what had happened.

You watched from the sidelines as the others trained and became accustomed to the mission, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hold a gun and aim it at a target. Gaz noticed your distress and began to train you with your left eye, despite your protests. Slowly but surely, you began to adjust, your bond with Gaz growing strong, and the other members began to take notice. Soon, what started as friendship blossomed into something more, an unspoken love that was shared between the two of you.

Gaz’s voice crackled through the radio, a whisper of reassurance: “Just breathe. Everything is going to be okay."

You felt your hands trembling as you adjusted your aim, your ragged breaths echoing in the silence. Taking a deep breath, you fired the shot, and a moment of stillness followed. Then, you heard his praises, and you knew that you had done it.

His laughter rang out as he exclaimed, “Good job! Fuck yeah! I knew you could do it!"

You sank to your knees beside a concrete wall, tears of joy streaming down your face. All the training with him had truly changed you for the best. You could still hear the others giving you praises, but it was Gaz's that had the most impact.

John “Soap” MacTavish

Soap was right beside you, witnessing the whole thing. The bullet hit your face, the pain causing you to stumble and lose consciousness. It took him a moment to comprehend what had just happened.The target was dead, but it seemed someone else had taken an interest in you. Panic finally set in Soap’s mind as he quickly grabbed you and called in a distress signal on his radio. You had been hit.

You awoke to a sudden jolt of pain in your arm, followed by the sound of a medic’s voice. Soap immediately rose from his chair in shock as Gaz and Price looked on in surprise. They were taken aback to see you up and about.

“Y/n!" Soap exclaimed in equal parts panic and relief. "You’re alive!"

Price put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Easy now.. she still doesn't seem to be fully aware." Price says then looked at you with a serious expression, "Y/n.. we.. need to tell you something."

The sudden panic on Soap’s face told the story. The darkness in your right eye further confirmed it. You let out a quiet sob as Price explained what had happened. Without hesitation, Soap rushed to your side and held you close, offering comfort and support.

Soap pulled you into a tight embrace and murmured softly, “Hey hey.. it’s okay. I won't let you give up in your work field." He paused, stroking your hair as you continued to cry. "Come on.. head up now, Bonnie."

The process was long and hard, and everything seemed so pointless to you. Yet Soap didn’t let you give up, encouraging you to keep going and so you did. It took a couple of months to finally get ready to go on the mission. Some had their doubts, but Soap cheered you on for coming back.

The target was open and visible, and Prive’s voice crackled through the radio, ordering you to shoot. Your hands began to tremble as you fumbled for the trigger, trying to steady your aim. You heard Price's voice again, asking if you had received the order.

“Its okay Bonnie.. you got this..” Soap whispered next you. “Come on.”

You took a deep breath, steadied your aim, and fired. In that moment, Soap grabbed your face and kissed you, blocking out everything else around you. That moment was the start of something bigger, and you two soon became an official couple.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Ghost was three buildings away when he heard the gunshot, and his heart skipped a beat. He knew it had to be you, and he ran as fast as he could to your side. When he arrived, he saw you lying on the ground, a pool of blood staining the pavement around you. He was frozen for a few seconds, the shock of the situation hitting him hard, before he was able to react.

He called for help, but in his heart, he felt as though you were already gone. Price had to grab Ghost and pull him away, as a medic took you away in a helicopter. Ghost wanted to follow after you, but Price gave him a firm grip and stopped him from seeing you in such a bad state.

When you woke up, he was right next to you, his hand gently clasping yours. He moved away when he saw you were awake, and a look of relief passed over him. He spoke to you softly, delivering the news in the most gentle way he could. He watched as you broke down and laid in the hospital bed, not knowing what to do to comfort you.

He pulled his mask off and gently cupped your face in his hands. Soap and Gaz walked in on the two of you, just as Ghost was leaning in to kiss you.

“I’m so glad you're okay, y/n. I don't know what I would do without you...” Ghost mumbled, before leaning in to place a long, lingering kiss on your lips, revealing his true feelings for you.

Soap and Gaz watched from the doorway as you and Ghost stood together in an awkward silence. His hands remained on your face, gently wiping away the tears streaming down your cheeks. He then sat down on the bed and pulled you into a comforting hug. It was the best support he could offer, and you understood.

At first he agreed to let you leave the army field, thinking it would keep you safe and he could protect you better. But, as soon as he saw your body language change, he started pushing you to train with your other eye, even though you felt like you couldn’t do it sometimes. He knew it was the best course of action and you followed his lead.

Days and nights went by, and he didn’t let you rest. Ghost wanted you to regain the confidence you had once held, and your bond with him grew stronger. He would occasionally try to flirt with you, as if he wanted to start something up between the two of you. The day you returned to the work field he stare at you, hoping that you really were ready.

“He’s on your left, wearing a red shirt and blue pants," Price said over the radio as you held your gun tightly. "Lead him to a more secluded area."

“Copy that," you responded, slightly following the person. "Target is alone and in sight."

“I’ve got my eye on you, y/n," Ghost said, sending a shiver down your spine. "Everything is safe on my end."

You took note of that and peered through your scope. For a moment, your vision seemed blurry and fuzzy, as if you were losing your sight. You blinked a few times to clear it and focused on the target.

“Y/n, shoot," Price ordered over the radio, making you fire off a shot in an instant. "Good shot, clean and perfect."

You thanked the captain before moving away from public sight. You were grateful for their help and wanted to show your appreciation. As you moved away, you felt a sense of relief wash over.

When you met at the safe house, you grabbed Ghost’s arm and pulled him in for a gentle embrace. You kissed his cheek, showing him the same confidence and affection you had when you first met.

[desert-fern]

A Gun Amongst Daggers - Jake “Hangman” Seresin X Fem!Navy Seal Reader

Part 13: I’m Not Gonna Lose You Now

Summary: When Jake meets a woman at the Hard Deck, the last thing he expects is for her to be a Navy Seal. And not just any Seal, the Commander of Seal Team 3. She’s beautiful, smart, dangerous, and everything about her just makes him want to get close. Her name? Bear. When the Seals need backup, Cyclone puts the Daggers on their radar and now, Jake has to work with Bear and her team, all the while trying to stay professional. Can he do it? Or will he end up falling for the Navy sniper and mission Commander?

*Image is not mine, found on Pinterest*

Chapter title from Lindsay Sterling and Mako’s song Lose You Now

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE! 18+ ONLY. MINORS & BLOGS WITH NO AGE/EMPTY BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Warnings: blood, death, kidnapping, murder, guns, knives, fighting, straight angst people

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist >> Part 12 >> Part 14

===

Numbness was a funny feeling. Bear could feel the sand under her palms, the tears running down her face, but not the stillness that had worked its way into her body, sitting on her chest and making it hard to breathe. Yet somehow, through the gaping hole that seemed to have opened in her chest, she still found enough strength to stand. “…ar? Bear? Can you hear me?” FAK was crouched in front of her, their hand waving in front of her unfocused eyes. “Bear?”

“Yes,” she rasped out. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Yes, I can hear you.”

FAK nodded, hand rifling to find the penlight they kept in their bag. “Just a bit of a bright light here,” they began, going to shine it in her eyes.

Bear batted the medic’s hand away. “I’m-I’m fine. Just…just stop.” But her tone was hollow and empty, much like how her heart felt at this particular moment.

Her comms were a mess of screaming pilots all demanding orders for something, anything they could do. “Daggers. Return to base. Now,” Bear managed to say weakly.

“Bear, he could be hurt!” Halo argued. She and the others had done their last drop and were now trying to frantically locate their wingman in the darkness.

“No. This is a direct order.” Her heart broke even more at these words. His team wanted to find him, they were demanding that they help her. But she wouldn’t risk it. She couldn’t risk it. She had already lost one of her men, and now Jake. No one else was dying tonight. Not if she had any say in it.

“Bear…please,” Coyote tried, his own voice thick with emotion. “You have to let us help find him.”

“I said no, Coyote,” Bear replied in a voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not losing anyone else.”

The comms fell silent. No one wanted to leave Jake behind. Hangman was gone and the world seemed darker for it. He might have been a cocky shit, but he was their friend, their teammate, and someone they had all trusted with their lives. And now, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

“Maverick. Alpha team 1, 2, and 4 returning home,” Bear spoke tearfully to the older pilot, who sat in stunned silence, staring at the table in front of him. “Alpha 3 shot down by enemy ground forces. Presumed KIA.” Her voice shook, emotion making it hard to speak those last two words. The confirmation of what had just taken place was too much to say aloud, and Bear let out a muffled sob, trying her best to stay professional.

Overhead three planes flew by, each carrying pilots quietly mourning a man whom they all admired in secret, but had never told that to his face. The same could be said for those left on base. Rooster sat in stunned silence in the cockpit of his jet, mind blank. Everything he had said to Jake before, if only he could take part of it back. If he could just tell him that he admired him, or that Jake was-. The ‘was’ threw him. One minute he was there, grinning and teasing, the next, he was gone. He was reduced to past tense in a matter of seconds.

Bear, like Rooster and Maverick, stood in silence. Each one mourning the man they knew. Maverick mourned a young pilot, mourned for him like he had mourned for his own RIO 40 years ago and still did today. Rooster and the Daggers mourned a friend, a teammate, and a damn good pilot, leaving Bear to grieve in silence for the man she had slowly and suddenly fallen in love with.

The world was quiet. Everyone around Bear was eyeing one another, unsure on how to proceed. They had never seen her like this before, quiet and still. That wasn’t their Commander. But Bug quickly took charge, directing everyone to pack up the evidence found and place the remaining bodies in their bags, being careful to do so out of Bear’s line of sight.

The woman in question stepped away from the crowd of people, trying to give herself room to process. Nothing could have prepared her for this moment. Laughing darkly, Bear brushed her tears away. “Someone is having a fucking field day now, huh. Guess this is karma for being too scared to make a move,” she spat, her pain turning to anger. And she was furious. They took him from her. They didn’t give her a chance to say goodbye. And now Bear was left standing alone on the sand, struggling to comprehend everything.

But what she didn’t know was that way back by the compound stood a group of men, watching her with poorly concealed humor in their eyes. “The mighty Bear brought to her knees because a man died,” one of them chuckled. “Guess Miller was right. Saif’s intel was good.”

“Watch it,” hissed another. “Bug is getting close. I am not going to prison because one of you couldn’t keep your mouths shut.”

“Shut the fuck up, you dick. This was your idea. If anyone is going down, it’s you.”

A few more hushed words were exchanged before they dispersed to “help” with the clean up. In reality, photos were being secretly taken and would be sent to al-Hameed’s spy network, who would take this information to the IJU and use it to plan attacks in the name of their fallen leader.

All was going according to plan.

Except for Flare racing over to Bear, her eyes wide. “Echo 5 saw a chute, he must have ejected!” the woman cried out.

Bear froze. Just like that, a burst of heat flared open in her heart, filling the once gaping void with hope. “FAK, get your gear. You, me, Chip, Daisy, and the Tweedles are going after him. Bug, you are in charge until I get back. If anyone has a problem with that, then too bad. Am I clear?” Bear ordered.

“Yes ma’am. Bring him home.” Bug nodded, whistling for the others to continue what they were doing as Bear and the other piled into a helicopter, following the directions of Echo 5 who had eyes on Jake.

Bear’s hand was shaking the entire time they were airborne. She and the others scanned the desert for any sign of the truck that had shot Jake down, but to no avail. Nothing moved in the desert below them, and once again, the not knowing made everything ten times worse. The pilot flew them out past the watch of the two other Echo teams, Bear having to turn at the sight of the debris casting blacker shadows on the ground in spite of the just barely rising sun. She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat, everything felt off. She was shaken and in no condition to lead her team, but she had to try. Jake needed her, would need her if he was indeed alive, and she had to stay strong for him.

She sat stock still, the terrain below blurring together until Chip shook her gently. “We’re here ma’am,” he told her quietly, breaking through her thoughts.

Bear nodded. “Toss the ropes down. Maxwell, you can land a little ways off. We will need you for the ride home,” she informed the man in the cockpit, who gave her a thumbs up.

The ropes went down and down slid the rescue team, Bear bringing up the rear, weapon raised and ready should it be needed. She kept her head up, not being able to handle accidentally catching sight of Jake’s body, should he not have made it, but a shout from FAK had her hurrying through the sand.

Laying half-tucked in the shell of his aircraft, was Jake. He lay hidden in the shadows, curled around himself with one hand out-stretched like he had been reaching for something. The sight of his pale face was enough to still her every thought.

Bear let out a strangled gasp, hand coming to cover her mouth in shock and horror at the sight of the shrapnel caught in his leg and the cuts across his arms where blood had turned his khaki flight suit a copper brown.

FAK sprang into action, immediately sinking to their knees and checking for a pulse. The group was silent, waiting with baited breath for the proclamation of his life of death and it was a heartbreaking silence. Finally, after a minute or two, FAK turned to Bear, eyes shining with tears. “He’s alive, Ma’am,” the medic said, their voice shaking just a little as they watched Bear crumple to her knees, overwhelmed with emotion at the news. “We need to get him out of here. He will bleed out if we don’t get him airborne and back to base immediately.”

Daisy and Chip nodded, each moving to support FAK but quickly stopped when the unconscious man’s hand twitched. “Bear,” Daisy said. “Come here.”

And she did. Crouching next to Jake, Bear picked up his hand, holding it in hers as FAK and Chip made to stabilize the piece of metal in his leg. She stared down at his face, taking in the smoothness of his features. Even on the brink of death, he was beautiful. “We’re ready to move him,” FAK said softly, placing their hand on Bear’s. “I need you to let go.”

Bear nodded, but she hesitated, glancing down one final time to see those green eyes she loved so much staring up at her. “Teddy…” he slurred, making to reach for her face before his hand slumped back to the ground and his eyes slid shut once again.

“We have to go. Now,” one of the Tweedles spoke as he ran over to where the others were huddled. “Three trucks approaching quickly.”

“What?” Bear stood, hurrying over to look for herself, and sure enough, there were three trucks barely a minute away and gaining on them. “What the fuck? What happened to the comms?”

“I don’t know, they aren’t working. We can’t get through,” he told her, eyes fixed on the vehicles.

Bear whirled around, the anger she had doused rearing back once more. Jake was alive. For now. And she would do everything she could to keep him that way. “FAK and Tweedles, get him to Max. Daisy, Chip on me, we buy them time. Move!” Bear ordered, picking up her rifle from where it hung over her shoulder and opened fire.

Bullets ricocheted off the paneling of the approaching trucks, a few finding their marks in the men on board. Their yells only increased her fury. The mask of impenetrable calm descended and she felt it settle as she ducked behind a large piece of a wing. They wouldn’t be taking him from her again. Not if she had anything to say about it. Nearby, Daisy and Chip had drawn fire from the other two vehicles, picking off their occupants one at a time until they heard FAK scream at them to move.

Bear turned just briefly, reeling back as a bullet flew past her face. “Go!” She yelled at Daisy. “Get back!” Daisy did just that, she dropped her weapon and took off across the sand towards the ready helicopter only a little ways back.

Working together, Chip and Bear had created enough space for one of them to make a break for it. “Chip! Go!”

“Not without you!” He yelled back.

Bear growled. “Go! You have a kid waiting for you to come home. Move your ass!” The look in her eyes must have contained hellfire itself because all it took was one glance at her face and Chip was racing across the sand.

She was now holding all of the enemy’s fire at her position, gritting her teeth as she loaded her last clip into her weapon. Bear vaguely heard Daisy and Chip open fire from the helicopter that had begun to take off, a rope ladder dangling from the side. “Bear!” Without a thought, Bear sprinted from her hiding spot, her weapon slapping into her thigh as she ran as hard as she could across the sand.

Not even ten steps from the ladder, a hand wrapped around her arm and yanked her back. Bear swore, whirling with her knife in hand, stabbing and slashing at anything that moved. But it was futile. She could see it on FAK’s face as they swore and began CPR. Bear had to make a choice. Save her team and doom herself or save herself and lose Jake.

It was an easy choice.

“Go!” Bear screamed at the helicopter. “Go! Leave me here!”

Daisy shook her head, eyes wide. “We don’t leave Seals behind!”

A blade slashed Bear’s arm, spurring her on to redouble her fight against her attackers. “Save him!”

Her team screamed at her, their begging and pleading falling on deaf ears as Bear slashed and stabbed. But each attacker that fell dead, another seemed to appear. It finally took one of the men opening fire at the helicopter for the message to sink in. The helicopter had to leave now, else its occupants would be killed.

It was only when her team was far enough away that they couldn’t be harmed, did Bear stop fighting. One final man fell dead at her feet but the remaining seven stared at her with contempt, and all it took was a kick to her stomach to make her double over.

The man spat something at her in a language she couldn’t understand over the pounding of her heart in her ears, and it was at this moment that it sunk in. Jake was safe. She saved him. Whatever happened now, he was safe. That was all that mattered in the end.

So Bear lifted her knife once more and plunged it into the chest of the man that had kicked her, driving it in deep. “Hope I don’t fucking see you in Hell,” she hissed. “You’d be the only man in history to die twice.”

Then a blinding pain erupted from the back of her head, and it all went black.

All she remembered was being dragged through the sand when she awoke in a cell little bigger than a closet in a building she didn’t recognize.

===

A/N: Again, I'm sorry. Thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s and @dakotakazansky for yelling at me and helping me out with words.

Taglist: @horseshoegirl @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @lavenderbradshaw @roosterforme @bobby-r2d2-floyd @bradleybeachbabe @footprintsinthesxnd @twsssmlmaa @fandomxpreferences @dempy @gizmodear @fighterpilothoe @chaoticassidy @eli2447 @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @djs8891 @rhirhikingston @sisterslytherinog @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak @sgt-barnesveins @taytaylala12 @urmom-999 @formulapierre @pinkpantheris @havlindzk @a-beaverhausen @killcomet @buxkybarnez @topgunruinedme @hangmanscoming

[crow-stars]

Can you do Rook x professional sniper!GN!Yuu. Rook is always the hunter I want him to be hunted in return.

oh, quite the request reader! let's see... rook hunt from the stories of twisted wonderland. oh, and you wish for him to be hunted? the hunter becoming the hunted, how intriguing indeed! now let's see how this story turned out...

❝HIT YOU ONCE, HIT YOU TWICE❞

❦summary; when blood rushes through your veins and the adreneline runs high, it makes the chase so much more exciting.

♪the characters in this story; rook hunt, prefect!reader

✎word count; 758

❀what do the ghosts say?; ambiguous, comparisons of predator and prey, , weapons (bow, rifle),

☛the author's notes; forgive me if this isn't that much of the hunter/hunted type of thing, i'm not the best when it comes to action writing.

☪look at the catalogue?

The forests have always been a comfort to Rook Hunt, There, he was in his element, his habitat, his own hunting grounds. There, no forest creature, mage, human, or beastman could dare to escape his grasp. 

Over multiple years, he’s honed his skills, eyes sharp to catch the gentlest of rustling leaves, ears aware and quick to pick up on the smallest footstep against the forest floor. Whenever in the forest, he was at his most aware, most secure. 

Except today. 

Today when the skies are cloudy, darkening the forest around him. Rook ran as fast as he could, lips curled in a feverish smile as curling heat corrupted his veins and bloomed on his skin. It was uncomfortable, but so welcome, so addicting that he couldn’t help push himself to run faster. 

Run faster despite the burning pain in his chest, the ache of his lungs. It hurt so bad, yet it hurt so good. 

How long had he been running again? How long had his feet been pounding against the forest floor, trying to make distance from his pursuer? How long until they reach him? They were skilled, they made sure Rook knew this. 

How his heart pounded against his chest, ears trying to keep sharp yet the blood rushing in his ears hindered this. But he was able to catch the first shot, missing him only by a hair and hitting the tree trunk he had just ducked behind. 

Rook’s bow was gripped tightly in his hold as he waited, silent and ready for whatever sound or hint that could be given to him, to tell him where they were. 

“Rook~” His heart leaped, a grin spreading across his flushed cheeks. Their voice, your voice, rang through his ears, playful and yet threatening. 

“Come out Rook.” There was the sound of the cocking of a gun, sounding so near, so close. 

His heart pounded against his chest and the exhale he let out was shaky and unsteady, unfitting for a hunter such as he. Another shot rang out, hitting the tree that he was hiding behind. That was when he had to move, rising quickly to his feet and sprinting further into the darkened forest. There’s another set of feet that follow him, match his speed well enough that even he feels like you’ll catch up to him. 

It’s exhilarating, it’s heart-racing, it feels so, so dangerous. To be the one hunted, the one who runs like their life depends on it. It was a drastic change, a change of power and Rook loved it. 

Rook finds another tree for cover and ducks behind it, edging over to the next tree over to hopefully throw you off. 

The forest is silent. 

He takes in a deep breath, an attempt to steady his screaming heart. 

A light crunch of the leaves was heard and Rook held his breath. 

One second of silence. Rook notches an arrow onto his bow. 

Two seconds. His chest feels pricked with worry, or was it excitement. 

Three seconds. Rook pulls the bowstring taut, prepared for anything. 

Four seconds. 

Five seconds. 

Silence still. 

Rook waited. 

A hand grabbed the back of his uniform, the grip tight and unforgiving as he was pulled back, thrown onto the forest floor. 

Rook doesn’t have much time to get up or gather himself as a weight settles onto his chest, knees pinning his arms to the ground. He hears you laugh, the muzzle of your rifle resting beside his head. His eyes looked up to you, you who was smiling widely at him, proud of your catch. 

“Found you Rook~” 

When he hears your voice, that smile of his spreads onto his lips, viridescent eyes glinting with something more as he stares up at you. 

“Ah, it seems so, mon petit chasseur. Bon travail!” With what little mobility he has of his arms, Rook attempts to clap.

The sight makes you laugh once more, a smirk curling onto your lips. 

“What’s the score this time?” 

“It’s five to three, my dear.” 

You cheer, leaning down to place your face closer to Rook’s. Gently, you tap your finger against his nose, smiling. 

“You better step up your game, hunter. I’m winning.” 

Rook laughs, shaking his head a bit. 

“Don’t you worry, mon cher, I’ll win next time.” 

With a smile, you get off of Rook’s chest and help him up, grabbing his hat that had fallen off in the fall. You place the hat on your head and begin walking back towards the school, with Rook following after.

[hrefna-the-raven]

The hunt

Fallout masterlist - main masterlist

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x reader

Chapter 1 - The plan

Summary: Dom Pedro's caravan is in sight but you and Coop know exactly how to play this in your favour 😉

(this happens before Cooper ended up in that grave)

Words: 1404

Warnings: swearing, violence

Notes: this is still quite gender-neutral 😊 the next chapter will be less neutral for *cough* naughty *cough* reason 😇

Chapter 2 - The bounty

You snatched a sniper rifle from your backpack and made your way towards the upper level of a towering building, concealing yourself behind a weathered wall as you surveyed the approaching gang. Cooper gazed at you for a moment, lost in thoughts. You continued to be full of surprises and unusually well prepared for someone this young but then again, compared to an over two centuries old ghoul everyone seemed young. He came to the conclusion that, despite having only known you for a few hours, he enjoyed your company way too much. From the moment you looked up, a mischievous smile playing on your lips, he felt an ache, an old familiar pain from days long past, intertwined with a connection he rarely ever formed with others, even before the Great War. And yet, there was something about your way of being, a sweet tune that resonated perfectly with his own woeful ballad.

"Seeing something you like?", you teased, grinning at him.

"Certainly not what's headin' towards us.", he huffed, pointing at the group heading towards your position.

Cooper scolded himself internally, he'd never been this distracted, not on a job, not with anyone else. He grumbled, pulling his attention back to the task at hand. Dom Pedro's so-called caravan turned out to be a pack of seven well armed raiders, one of them wearing a modified power armour.

"Guess someone tried to fuck us both, but not in the fun way", you joked.

Cooper chuckled as he took hold of your rifle and peered through the scope at the armoured raider.

"Feelin' all mighty hiding behind his twelve-piece cast-iron skillet set but he's gonna have a hell of a surprise. Aim just below the chestplate.", he whispered in your ear, a pleased smirk forming on his lips as he loaded his revolver.

"And what are you gonna do?"

"Distract them with my irresistible charms."

Cooper stood up, shrugged his shoulders, and winked at you before making his way towards the raiders.

You aimed at the power armour's chestplate, waiting patiently until you heard the ghoul's whistle, drawing the raiders' attention to him. A faint smile tugged on the corners of your mouth. The way he carried himself, full of confidence and that smug grin plastered across his face, made your heart beat faster. Throughout your travels and hunts, you had met many different personalities but not a single one was quite like him. It wasn't merely your crush on the pre-war Cooper Howard whose movies you devoured whenever you had a spare moment, this connection deepened the instant you finally encountered him, winding its way under your skin, striking its roots into your beating heart. You weren't oblivious to the subtle glances he stole in your direction, leaving you to wonder if he had been caught in the same dilemma.

"Well, I tell you what, boys, whenever somebody walks around as fancy and loud as you, they gotta have something worth takin'", he slowly pointed at the wooden crate tightly clasped by the taller raider, "you know it'd be a real shame of those fine bottles would go to waste on a bunch of dickheads like you."

The armoured one stepped up, pointing his minigun at Cooper, his voice hollering from behind the mounted rusty cage.

"Oh yeah? What about you, ghoul? Did the radiation melt away your brain or why do stand here, unarmed, trying to threaten us?!"

Cooper laughed, raising both hands in a fingergun gesture, aimed at the raider.

"Careful buddy, ghoul's got magic powers."

He imitated shooting which you took as your cue and fired a shot right underneath chestplate. The raider stood still, like frozen in time for a second, leaving you wondering if you had missed but then he collapsed on the ground without a sound. Your eyes widened at the sight, marveling at how easy you just took out someone in a power armour. You usually avoided those while hunting alone but this was a game changer. With a swift reload of your rifle, you took aim at the next raider, a chuckle escaping your lips as you observed their startled reaction to their companion's sudden death.

"So what will it be? Shall I reload my", his eyes wandered to his fingers, a wicked smile spreading across his lips, "guns or will you be good little raiders and hand me that crate?"

One of them pushed his way through the group, pointing his gun at Cooper. Before he could even reach him to shout his threats, one of your bullets found its mark and took him out, his lifeless body slumping to the ground in front of the ghoul who was still grinning.

"We still outnumber him, you morons! Get him!", another one screamed.

What happened next was the precise reason why you'd decided to forgo Dom Pedro's proposition and opted to work with this remarkable gunslinger. Cooper snatched his revolver out of the holster, his body leaning slightly backward as a flurry of shots rang out and before your mind could even comprehend what exactly happened, all of the raiders, with the exception of the one clutching the crate, were lying on the ground, crimson pools forming around their corpses. You stowed away your rifle, slung your bag over your shoulder, grasped the shotgun and made your way down to join Cooper.

"You got two choices, buddy. You either join your friends in their eternal nap or you hand over those fine bottles and be on your merry, very much alive, way."

Hiding behind the corner of a crumbling wall, you watched the scene unfold. The raider trembled so much that you could hear the bottles clinking together as he sat the crate down. Faint sobs escaped his lips, his feet moving a few steps backwards before turning around, fleeing in terror. Just as he passed by you, a deafening shot echoed through the ruins, his head exploding into countless tiny pieces before his corpse hit the ground, the blood drops, brain matter and skull fragments raining down on the sand. Cooper cocked his brow, intrigued by the unfolding murder scene that lay before him. You emerged from around the corner, your shotgun resting casually on your shoulder as you strolled over to him.

"No witnesses", you chuckled, kneeling down beside the crate and carefully packing the bottles into your backpack, "besides you shouldn't be the one to kill him."

"And why's that?", he asked, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind warning him not to, yet equally aware and afraid of the answer you'd give.

"Feo fuerte y formal", you replied, trying your best to mimic his thick accent, "although I much preferred your character when he didn't kill the villains. I know, I know, you're not truly that movie character, you're just...you."

The smile that graced your lips was genuine and innocent. He froze, hearing those words again after more than two centuries knocked the air straight out of his lungs.

"I know a place we can lay low until we take on Dom aaand", you wiggled one of the bottles, "we gonna have some fun, partner. We definitely deserve it."

You hummed a song he didn't recognise and your fingers found his hand, your broad smile hidden while you walked in front, tagging him along. No one had ever bothered to look beyond his ghastly appearance and acknowledged him for who was truly hiding behind that scarred noseless face. He was one to shoot anyone who admitted to have been ordered to kill him and definitely anyone who would have dared to take his hand, dragging him behind them like a puppy. To be honest, he definitely had shot a few for far less. And yet here you were, wrapped in the golden glow of the desert sun, a beautiful smile dancing across your lips, doing exactly those two things without any bullet holeson your admittedly attractive body. And to add insult to injury, deep down, locked away in his shrivelled heart, a glimmer of joy and affection shimmered in the darkness. He'd never admit it to you but, in the ways and words of the world before the bombs, he was falling for you and he feared that if you'd truly tempt him, he'd be too weak to resist and he couldn't bear the thought of letting another one into his wounded heart. The wounds of betrayal of the last person he held in there were, after all this time, still as painful as then.

Chapter 3 - The spoils (18+)

Feel free to reblog if you liked the story 😊

Tags: @dreamtofus

[letsquestjess]

A Nudge in the Right Direction

Summary: Crosshair is determined to recover his aim, and Batcher is right there to support him.

Word Count: 644

Warnings: None.

A/N: Took me a bit longer than I planned but here's the little fic I promised to write in this post. Slight spoilers for season 3.

-- -- -- -- --

A resounding shot shattered through the mellow evening, accompanied by a hissed curse. With persistence imprinted on his face, Crosshair flexed the fingers of his right hand, the cold metal of the sniper rifle providing a reassuring weight as he drew the lens up to his eye. The scope shuddered, but his level-headed breaths tempered the wobble. 

No matter how much he told himself not to rush, to allow his instincts time to recover along with the rest of his body, a sense of urgency bit at him. The Empire’s relentless pursuit of Omega only fuelled Hunter and Wrecker’s determination to safeguard her at any cost and he itched to join them, to once again stand shoulder to shoulder as they did in the days before the Republic’s downfall. Skills all working in tandem, as one. But they couldn’t return to that. Echo was off with Rex, and Tech… 

Lowering the weapon, he clenched his teeth, suppressing the tears that threatened to slip free since Omega had revealed the devastating news from Eriadu. He should have been there, should have noticed the signs of the Empire’s malevolence long before Barton and Mayday. All he had now was a crushing pain and brothers who refused to meet his eyes. Whether incited by deep-seated hatred or their own overwhelming grief, he wasn’t certain. But those nights in his cell when a flicker of hope dared to enter his heart, he knew that a reunion with his squad would be far from joyful. After everything that had happened between them, after the words spoken and spat, there would always be an unbridgeable gap that would require an immense effort on both sides to mend. 

Behind him, Batcher padded across the sand, tongue lolling out and pants wheezing between her teeth. The birds she had been chasing perched in the trees and glared at the lurca hound, ready to defend themselves if she resumed the hunt. 

“What do you want?” Crosshair asked as she sat down and fixed him with a strangely lovable blue-red stare. “If you’re hungry, go find Omega. She’ll get you something to eat.” 

Batcher didn’t move, tail wagging contentedly. With a sigh, Crosshair shook his head and brought the rifle back into position. The tremors in his trigger finger spread through his hand and the gun rattled. Undeterred, he took the shot, missing by a hairsbreadth.

As he was about to lower his weapon, Batcher nudged against his elbow and wriggled underneath, supporting his arm as though prompting him to try again. Deciding to humour her, he adjusted his posture and lined up the attempt, squinting through the scope. 

The tremble remained, but he found solace in the hound’s steady breathing, harmonising with the wash of the evening tide. She stayed as still as possible and huffed out a tiny, impatient yap. 

“Okay, okay,” the sniper said. A loud crack cut the air as the next bullet sent a chunk of dripping purple fruit flying. He chuckled quietly to himself and bent down to pet Batcher’s snout. As she scrunched up her nose, he quickly retracted his hand in time to avoid her gruff sneeze. Sand spluttered into her face and she shook off the grains. 

“Have you been playing in the grass?” Crosshair questioned. 

As if in reply, she sneezed again. Another burst showered her and another vigorous shake scattered the pale powder from her coat.  

“I take that as a yes.” 

The lurca plonked herself down and tilted her head, a rumble reverberating in her throat until he obliged and scratched her favourite spot behind her neck. She scooted closer and bumped her nose to his right hand, nuzzling at his shaky palm and letting out a little whine. 

Crosshair hushed her. “I’ll get there,” he promised, tracing a comforting path down her spiny back. “I won’t let my family down again.” 

[criminalamnesia]

Even If It Kills Me

warnings: blood, angst, death, f!reader, callsign is ‘Angel’, not proofread

summary: a mission goes wrong.

author’s note: back with some soap angst, don’t hate me too much. also alejandro and rudy are part of the 141 because I said so.

“Angel, how copy?”

No response.

“Angel,” Soap’s voice was laced with worry, brows furrowed as he spoke into his radio. “How copy?”

Again, no response.

“Anyone have eyes on Angel?”

It was Price now, his voice gruff over the radio. Voices chimed in then– Gaz, Ghost, Alejandro, Rudy. All negative.

Soap cursed, running a hand through his damp, unruly hair. The 141 had been sent to a compound deep within the forests of Russia to apprehend an arms dealer. It should have been easy.

Ghost was up high, perched upon a rooftop with his sniper rifle at the ready. Price and Gaz were after the target. That left Soap, Rudy, Alejandro, and Angel to sweep the streets and take out any stragglers.

They had split off from each other to cover more ground. Angel had been joking– smiling and laughing before she sobered up and stepped down an alleyway.

Now, she wasn’t responding, and no one knew where she was.

“I’m gonna look for her,” Soap said into his radio, eyes scanning his surroundings as he stepped out from behind a counter. The house he had taken cover in was dilapidated. Cracks in the linoleum floors. Dust covering every surface, at least two inches thick. Windows shattered and doors missing.

“Negative, Soap.” Price was speaking again. “Stay on mission.”

“She’s missing,” Soap spoke through gritted teeth, raising his gun as he moved towards the street. “She may be hurt.”

“Or captured.” Ghost. Always the optimist.

“Complete the mission,” Price ignored the both of them. “Rescue will come in after.”

Soap didn’t reply. He was torn– follow orders, or look for her? Price had never led him astray. But she was his lover, his best friend– how could he abandon her?

“Negative, Price. I’m goin’ after her.” He made his decision, already moving to where he had last seen her before she disappeared into that alley.

No one responded on the radio. Soap knew he’d been in for it later. Even if Price wanted to look for her himself, he was bound to duty. As was Soap.

Mission first. The mission above all else.

Screw the fucking mission.

His hands were steady as he held his gun level, sweeping the streets and each building he entered with skill that earned him the call sign ‘Soap’. Fastest at cleaning house, they’d said. Getting in, getting out. Neutralizing threats. Squeaky clean.

Sweat trickled from forehead to his chin. It got in his eyes. It was salty on his lips. He ignored it in favor of thinking of her.

How she smiled at him– wide and amused. How she blushed when he swung an arm around her, or when he called her ‘lass’. How he had taken her on a date to some shit-hole bar, and she’d spent the entire night beating him at pool.

How she had pulled him into a kiss outside of that bar and acted like it was the most normal thing in the world.

They had only been together a year, but Soap knew. He knew he wanted her for the rest of his life, if she’d have him. If they made it out of their service alive. If they ever settled down.

He made his way into the next building. Another run-down house. It smelled of mildew and rain.

He cleared the downstairs, mind on autopilot. The stairs were wooden, rotted and broken in places. He moved carefully up, creaks sounding from under his feet.

A door on the left. It was cracked. He pushed it open quickly, one hand still on his gun. Scanning the area, clear.

No. Not clear.

His eyes caught on a body slumped in the corner. A man’s– probably one of the target’s men. Shot in the chest. Soap almost turned and left, but then he heard a whimper.

He crept forward, his heart hammering in his chest. Panic crept up his spine.

She was behind an overturned chair, flat on the ground. A knife was lodged deep into the side of her neck, thin trails of blood creeping out of the wound.

Soap stopped. His world stopped. His heart nearly stopped. He had found her– his Angel. But she was dying.

“Hey, hey,” his voice sounded too calm as he dropped to the floor beside her trembling frame. He holstered his gun, his hand reaching towards the knife. “It’s alrigh’ lass, I’m goin’ ta get you out of here.”

Her eyes were wide. One of her hands was at her neck, fingers spread to try and stop the blood from escaping the wound. The other shook as it raised, reaching for him. Soap grabbed her hand tightly, squeezing it so hard it had to hurt.

“Stay with me, hen. Y’hear me?” He was nodding his head, as if trying to convince himself of his own words.

His free hand reached for his radio, fingers slightly shaking as he pressed the talk button.

“We need medevac immediately. Angel’s down– I repeat, Angel’s down.”

Voices chattered over the radio, but Soap couldn’t hear them. All he could hear were her small noises of pain. Tears streamed from her eyes. Soap gently wiped them away, leaning his head down closer to her.

Red spotted her lips. Blood trickled from her chin. She was drowning in her own blood. She couldn’t breathe.

“You’re goin’ ta be okay, you hear me?” His voice was low. He hoped he didn’t look as terrified as he felt. “Jus’ hold on, okay? Hold on.”

She nodded as much as she could. Her hand still clutched his. He wanted to scream. He wanted to kill the bastard that did this to her ten times over. He wanted to curse Price for splitting them up. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted.

He wanted her to live.

“When we get out of here, let’s settle down, aye? You an’ me. Maybe get a dog. Big yard. In some countryside far away from here.”

Her mouth opened as if she was going to speak, but all that came out was a gurgling sound as she choked on her own blood. She coughed, red spraying across his face. He gripped her hand tighter as his free one came up and ran through her matted hair.

“You an’ me, hen. Jus’ you an’ me. So don’t go, okay? You gotta stay with me now, alrigh’?”

He leaned his head down further, pressing his forehead to hers. He closed his eyes tight, as if he could will this away. As if he could make her stay here with him.

He didn’t move until someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Johnny,” it was Ghost. “It’s time to go.”

He opened his eyes to meet hers. They were closed. That’s when he realized that her hand was limp in his. She was dead.

She was dead, and there was nothing he could do. There would never be a house in the countryside with a big yard and dog for him, because she was dead. What was the point if he couldn’t share that with her?

“Johnny.” Ghost again, his hand tightening on Soap’s shoulder.

Soap inhaled shakily, slowly moving away from her. The knife was still lodged in her throat. A pool of blood had formed around her head, soaking her hair in some kind of sick halo. She was so pale.

“How long?” Soap asked, not bothering to turn his head.

“Ten since you called for evac. She was dead nine minutes ago.”

He inhaled. The copper smell of blood filled his nostrils. It was a smell he’d grown used to– but now it made his stomach turn.

“We’re taking her with us.” It was a statement, not a request. Ghost nodded, even though Soap’s attention was still on her.

He slowly brought the hand still clutched in his up to his lips, brushing his mouth over her pale knuckles. She’d always laughed when he did that.

“Such a gentleman,” she would giggle.

He ached to hear that laugh again.

He released her hand and pushed himself off the floor.