#captain trick

[anniezsecretz]

Replacement ★ (Ch 3) OC x Simon "Ghost" Riley

HELLO! I AM BACK! :D I had to take a short break due to school, but I have chapter 3 hot and ready for y'all! I'm SO sorry I disappeared, but I should be staying. :) thank you for reading as always!

you can find this chapter of replacement on ao3 here first chapter ★ prev ★ next

★★★★★★★★★

chapter tags:// anxiety, older brother price, captain OC, OC x Simon “Ghost” Riley, light trauma mentions, emotional support pup, OOC Ghost (for a reason), spiteful Ghost, enemies to lovers (enemies), vague mentions of death, canon deviation, angst/comfort, alcohol mentions, drunk squad, bonding

★★★★★★★★★

bite-sized synopsis: trick is finally starting to feel like part of the squad after a mission success and goes out to celebrate

                                           ・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・ A knock on my office door, and I invited whoever was there in with a, “Get your butt in here if you wanna talk.” I was busy filling out some of the mountain of paperwork we were given after our missions every time. But hell, it seems like these documents are double what I’d have to fill out with my old squad. Well, John and I decided to just call them the 1-4-2 instead of my old squad. It fits in more than I thought it would.

But I had an unexpected visitor at my door: Gaz, with Soap and Roach at my door frame. “Hey Trick! The mission went well soooo…” he drew that out like he expected me to know. Instead, I gave him a blank stare from behind my slightly tinted goggles with a shrug.

He huffed. “We’re heading to a pub to celebrate, all of us. Even Price. We also have a spare seat ‘n were wondering if you’d wanna come with?” Gaz’s invitation was unexpected, and I felt myself practically light up. Light up into a million fireworks that go off in my office like the Fourth of July, probably burning everything around me.

I bit my bottom lip underneath my mask, a bad habit of mine to help me think. “Y’know what? Sure. I can see if y’all can handle yer alcohol like I can,” I said with a slight muse in my voice. “I’ll be there in 5, lemme do these papers real quick. Parking lot?”

Gaz gave me a thumbs up with that smile of his before dragging the boys with him away. I could hear Soap’s excitement about going to a pub and Roach’s small question about it. A laugh escaped my mouth while I moved my fountain pen on the papers I was signing, being very careful with my writing.

I haven’t done these kinds of papers in so long. Usually, I’d be working on them with my 1-4-2 officer— who was surprisingly not Xiomara but instead Jackson, Callsign Falcon.

Jackson would critique me for my messy writing and leave me laughing about it, then letting him rewrite it in nice legible cursive. He was my most trusted officer; he’s saved my life a few times too. He and I were both heartbroken by Xiomara’s… loss. The entire squad was, we all wanted to pack up and run away.

I heard he’s still on recovery leave. That’s what John had told me, at least.

Speaking of the devil, John’s knuckles wrapped on my office door frame and invited himself in, standing in front of my desk with a light smile overshadowed by his mustache. “You ready, Ver?” He asked in his usual father-like voice, but I think that’s just the oldness in him really showing at this point.

“Mm. Yeah, I think I’m ready. I got a good chunk down; I’ll get the rest done later in the evening.” I stood up and went around my desk to John. But I felt compelled to do something. I just stood in front of him awkwardly, looking right up at him with my hands awkwardly down at my sides. I lifted up my goggles on top of my hat to look at him properly.

I wrapped my arms around John and hugged him. Shit, I could barely wrap my arms around him but I managed to still, barely. He stood in shock momentarily before hugging me back and gently patting me on the back. “I’m proud o’ you, Ver. You’ve been through so much, ‘n here you are. As strong as a boulder, eh?”

The words coming from his mouth made me tear up. Fuck.

I have been told “you’ve been through so much” as a pitying phrase. As a “oh you poor thing” phrase. But never in the way John told me, he told me he was proud of me. And not even my own brothers would say that they’re proud of me. They’d say I’m just getting the short end and eventually, it’ll get better, but John is acknowledging more than just the past. He’s acknowledging my strength.

I’ve never squeezed someone harder while he pats my back. “Thanks, John. You know how to tug heartstrings.” I pulled away from the hug and crossed my arms, straightening my back again. “Now let’s go ‘n shotgun some coldies; maybe I’ll make you take a shoey from Soap’s boot.” I gently nudged him with an elbow while wiping my cheeks of my tears with my other hand.

“Yeah, let’s go ‘n get shitfaced,” he joked as he gave me a pat on my shoulder and led me out to the parking lot. Everybody was there before us and about to pile into John’s truck before I noticed that I… wouldn’t be able to fit in.

John caught on soon after me and started counting everyone, then the seats. “Okay! We need volunteers on who’s gonna go in the truck bed.”

“What?” I nearly broke my neck when turning to look at John. “What the fuck do you mean by goin’ in the truck bed? It’s bad if all of us are piss drunk ‘xcept one, but worse if we have someone in the bed o’ the truck vomiting all over themselves.” I shook my head a bit while considering what we can do.

“We can put Trick in the front, then have Roach share a seat with Gaz.” Ghost hasn’t spoken to me much since the fight he had with Price over me during training, even if we sleep in the same room together. He always sneaks in after he thinks I’m asleep.

Price nods with a grunt of agreement. “Well, everybody pile in. We don’t have all night.” I could feel the stare in the back of my head from Ghost while I got into the front passenger seat, scooting the seat up to give the boys in the back some legroom. Price got in next to me in the driver’s seat, and instantly stared at me for no discernible reason.

He blankly stared at me with his mustache slightly twitching.

“Whuh- what? Do I have something on my face?” I lightheartedly joked while brushing my mask with my glove, eventually bringing my goggles over my eyes.

Price gave me that condescending stare with both of his brows furrowed at me. “Is the first thing you do ev’ry time yer in my truck, you mess my seats?”

I rolled my eyes at him while the boys got rowdy in the back, Price pulling out of the parking lot to get to the pub. I got off first and opened the back doors of the truck for the boys, letting them practically fight amongst themselves to get out of the truck.                                            ・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・

Inside the pub, it was cozy, I guess. I felt like it was a bit too rowdy with some guys watching American Football. Eugh. Why’d we have to be in America of all places?

Price hands me a dirty shirley temple with a straw in it. “Thanks, mate. I’ll pay tonight, a’ight?” I told him, but he just shook his head.

“Nah, it’s on me. You proved yourself to be a good leader so far, I’m glad.” He pats me on my back as I grab my drink and feed the straw underneath my

 mask to drink. Yet when I looked up, I noticed a dirty look from the bartender. Oh shit, I need to pull out my ID.

I give my military ID to the bartender. “Sorry, forgot to give this to you.” I even have my mask on in the photo, my identifiable mark being my mask I guess. I don’t know how I was legally allowed to keep anybody from seeing my face; I guess it was some of Price’s doing, knowing how he constantly saves the country from destruction here and there.

I got my ID back pretty soon after him staring at it. “Wow Price, naughty ain’t cha? You didn’t show the bloke my ID, eh?”

Price stared at the bartender then back to me with confusion. “I thought I did; I swear I did. I think he mighta been caught off by the mask; he was the same with Ghost.”

The acid building in my throat and my mouth salivating was the worst feeling. The thought of being compared to Ghost was the worst, just because we both have masks on and hide our faces constantly. I mean, Roach does it too, but he only ever has a surgical mask on. I just have my cat-skull print bandana, how is it that different?

Now I’m overthinking. But that bartender is definitely still staring at me like I was a criminal. Eugh.                                            ・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・

I sat with the boys again while they talked and reminisced about missions.

“Say, cap’n. What’s a mission you went on that you like talkin’ ‘bout?” Soap’s voice hit my eardrums like a balloon popping, my attention going straight to him as I realized what was happening.

“Eh? What?” It takes me a second of thinking to get my bearings on what was happening around me. “Oh, uh… missions. Uhm.” I tap my glass with my nails while I think. “My old squad, Taskforce 142,” I look at Price with a grin, “we had a few rodeos. We were put in Limmen; we called it Operation Down Under, ‘n people said that Task Force Boomerang was in town.” I laughed while looking up at the rest of the squad. Soap was listening intently while doodling in his leather journal, Gaz leaned in while listening, while Roach was tilting his head when listening. Ghost refused to hear or look at me, as usual.

“I thunk Price would remember this operation too. Paramilitary group with military weapons, the usual. Some cringey name like Crimson Vipers, remember?” I looked at Price laughing at the name. “There were hostages bein’ held, ‘n a few were military personnel as well. But when we dropped in, Xio accidentally landed on another soldier ‘n nearly compromised us, if she wasn’t sneaky with the takedown.” I had to think back a lot to remember what happened on that mission.

“Diaz! Get your fucken head in the game, you nearly got us compromised,” I yelled at Xiomara as she yanked her parachute down, but I couldn’t help lingering my eyes on her face a few more seconds than I should’ve. I shot up and fixed my vest and nodded towards Jackson. “Approach silently; Chen is taking care of the video systems.” I hold my M-tar in both hands.

We maneuver through the unlocked emergency exits, but there were a dozen more than I would have ever thought there were. Who the hell has the time to be in a shitty wannabe military group? I direct forward, being the first to silently take their soldiers down and into the dark. Jackson assisted me by taking down a few others whilst we covered Xio to start some controlled explosions on their vault door.

I hear the vault door popping open. I always trust Xio to do a good job at getting the vaults open fast. But, I wasn’t predicting the alarm blasting the second Jackson fully opened it. “Chen? Mind getting on that?”

“I know, Captain! Alarms going down in a few seconds, prepare for a few soldiers coming to check,” I hear Chen say over our wires while reassuring me. Chen was one of my second lieutenants, helping Diaz with her platoons whenever needed whilst I oversaw them. But now, she was the one going to save our lives.

Jackson and I take out some of the stragglers that come to investigate, the alarm turning off quickly enough and Chen’s voice coming over the intercom.

False alarm, soldiers. Return to your stations. She says to all the soldiers trying to get to us.

“Diaz, Winny, infiltrate. I will watch ahead.” I stand guard at the vault with my silencer on, watching over them. There were only a few on their rounds to grab before they talk to their walkie-talkies, fairly easy.

“ANNIE!” Yelled Xio’s voice from inside of the vault.

I turned around whilst reloading my pistol and saw Xiomara and Jackson compromised, the Crimsons’ soldiers trying to wrap tape around their mouths. After that, I kind of don’t remember anything except when we had to return months later.

I had to be in the infirmary for a few days for a few bullet grazes; Xio and Jackson were prisoners of the Crimsons. And when I returned with a whole brigade, they would never have stood a chance in a million years. I brought the weapons but when Xio saw me, she said I had “hell flames” in my eyes for how they took my best soldiers from me.

I look up from my glass to the boys all looking at me. Not Ghost, of course. “And well, we took the group down ‘n got Xio ‘n Jackson back. When we were at the extraction point, Xio handed me the laptop rigged to the explosives and told me ‘your call, captain.’ And that’s kinda what kept me in the ADF and Royal Strayan Air Force for so long.” I lean back in my chair to gauge the boys’ reactions better.

Price was proud and grinning, nodding with familiarity like when I told him the story. Soap was amazed, I could practically see stars in the man’s eyes. Gaz was intrigued, his body language being much more open than before. Then Roach was just listening intently while fidgeting with his hands.

I kinda laughed at their reactions. “Any questions?” Price raised his hand. “Yes, Price?”

He stifled a laugh before asking. “Wasn’t your callsign then Viper, Annes? Instead of fucken Trick?” Then he let it rip, knowing how much that callsign haunts me to this day.

“Shit yourself, Price.”                                            ・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・

We were all a few drinks in when I leaned against a pool table, playing a game of 8ball with Soap. “Soooo, bonnie, what do ya think of yer new Taskforce so far? Sure, we ain't Taskforce Boomerang, but I'd think we're close.” I laughed at his joke while looking up at him.

“Thas sweet, Johnny. You guys come quite close, y’know. Some of the best I’ve seen in action, except Ghost when listening to my instructions.” I lined up my cue stick with the white ball, not paying much attention to which ones I was hitting. I was more focused on the smile on Soap’s face.

“L.t is rough, y’know. He’ll warm up; he always does.” Soap got off the pool table and patted me on my shoulder. “I don’ see why he wouldn’t be so intrigued by the great Captain Ver, y’know. You’re an amazing leader.” I watched him line up his cue with the ball as well.

I chuckled, feeling a bit of blood rush to my face. “Oh hush with yer flattery; you just wanna try ‘n make me blush, eh?”

“Oh please, if I were tryin’, you’d be as red as a cherry tomato!” He leaned against the table while I lined my shot up, of course, missing the ball I was going for completely.

I raised a brow at Soap before chuckling. “I have no doubt, sarge. I’m sure ladies think yer a catch,” I complimented. “I know plenty o’ old ladies who would love a young guy like you flirting with them like they’re 20.”

He laughed while hitting a full red in the pocket, then lightly jabbed me with the cue stick. “Would love to meet ‘em! I’m sure they’re sweet.”                                            ・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・

Midnight.

God, I love midnight; it’s so gorgeous seeing everything around us. But they were all kicked out of the bar for being rowdy, except me. I sobered up a while ago because I was expecting that I was going to drive once I saw Price taking shots.

I shoved the boys into the truck slowly, Price in the passenger with the boys toppling over each other in the back. Everybody was knocked out the second they were all in the car, leaving me laughing at their dumbass sleeping faces. I got in the front seat and adjusted the seat again.

“Don’ touch muh fucken… seats…” Price mumbled in his sleep as he passed back out in a matter of seconds.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Pendejo.”                                            ・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・

The drive back home was peaceful, all the boys sleeping until I hit a pothole right by the base, when all of them startled awake.

We all got to our rooms safe and sound though, which I’m glad happened. I wasn’t sure if Ghost would even get in the same truck as me when he was drunk, but somehow he was compliant when I shoved him in. I had to help him get back to our room though; he was heavier than I would’ve ever anticipated when he leaned onto me.

“I don’t need helpff… you fucken… bloody bastard.” I was shocked at him drinking himself into a stupor; he didn’t seem like the type.

“Don’t get your panties inna knot, I’m just makin’ sure yer fine.” I dropped him down onto his bed. “Just don’ fall off yer bed ‘n we’re fine.” I turned away from him to the bathroom, changing real quick and brushing my teeth.

When I got curled up into my bed all comfy and cozy, I heard Ghost’s slurred sleep mumbling.

“I fucken… hate you… Captain Ver.”

“I fucken hate you too, Lieutenant Riley.”

“Shithead.”

                                           ・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! RAAA! Also, I'm going to open requests soon :) Thank you for reading this chapter! and if you'd like to help me beta-read this story send me a note! pls

[ghostofvalorie]

This… is stupid, but you know what, it delighted me to draw and that’s the most important thing <3

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

You’re my favorite blog with an amazing costume and stellar art, so I hope to bestow upon you the small pleasure of asking you:

Trick or treat?

Thank you very much! I'm incredibly honoured to be your favourite blog! I know this is late but please accept this treat, happy belated Halloween!

[meteortrails]

law and luffy are so fun bc the fundamental basis of their relationship is that they were both there for each other in one of their most isolated, life changing moments of grief, and they’re the only reason the other survived it. they may not necessarily know all that much about each other, but they do know parts of each other that not even the closest members of their crew (their family) know now. like obviously by the end of dressrosa law sees and understands the reason luffy’s crew follows him, but I think a less obvious truth is that when law saves him luffy sees and understands the reason law’s crew follows him. I just think about luffy’s instinctive faith and trust in law on punk hazard; he looks at law and understands that as much as he pretends not to be law is fundamentally the person who saved him before he is anything else. and I think they both kinda struggle to categorize the specific and unique way in which they are important to each other (although admittedly luffy stops caring to much much sooner LOL), bc it IS different than their relationships with their crew or their family. not necessarily any more or less meaningful, just different. and idk i guess i just think it’s all very sweet, in the end, that they managed to find each other like this.

[justicebeetle]

A whole lot of random fictional characters that I enjoy!! now you can enjoy them too :) How many guys can you name without looking it up?

[imnotditzy]

I need Billy to dress up for Halloween. Captain Marvel too.

Captain’s the only one who shows up to the missions on Halloween in costume and everyone just stares at them.

( Superman: Captain it’s good you’re here, we really need you here right now, the invaders seem to have an ungodly amount of— what are you wearing?

Captain Marvel: It’s my Halloween costume! Can you guess what I am? Superman (off guard): Oh uhm, tiger?

Captain Marvel: Yup, good guess! Say, why am I the only one dressed up?

League: . . . )

The whole Leagues there in regular clothes and Captains just in costume, tiger onesie and all.

It would be so funny when this 6 to 7 feet tall (depends on how Cap’s feeling that day), muscular man in a cute orange tiger onesie and face paint, starts knocking out villains.

it would be even funnier if they used magic trickery too because it was Halloween. Like a lightning bolt strikes them and drains the villains youth making them old, or they start coughing out candy.

Billy dressed up as a tiger too probably, he hesitated because it might be suspicious for him and Captain to be in the same costume — but his only other affordable option was Peter Pan and that one just made him sad.

[forgettable-au]

You guys don't yet comprehend the mess I made to make the undertale timeline make sense in this AU LMAO😭😭😭but you'll find out soon enough.......

But like....what was I supposed to do? The timeline makes no sense to begin with.....

[wolfsbanesparks]

Trick or treat!!!! 🍬🎃

Divine twitch chat where Marvel is arguing with the sky (Zeus) and Zeus keeps trying to strike him with lightning (it won’t hurt Billy so whatever)?

Happy Halloween 🎃

Love this!

Thunder rumbled in the sky, shaking the very earth beneath his feet. Lightning flashed nearby, not close enough to strike. Not yet.

"No," Marvel said sternly. "I'm not doing that. I don't care how mad you are, I will not sacrifice a bull to you."

Lighting crashed down again, making Marvel jump back to avoid being hit.

"Are you serious? Stop being so childish!"

More lightning he was just barely able to dodge. The message was clear.

"I can't just 'figure it out', I'm broke! Not to mention I don't want to kill a bull! And you can't make me!"

The next flash of lightning hit him directly in the chest instantly turning him into a fuming twelve year old.

"Oh really mature Zeus," he huffed at the sky, his face twisted into a scowl. "Where would I even get a bull anyway?"

[headcanonthings]

Bucky: When I was a kid, I always wanted to be a magician. Steve: Tell them why you stopped? Bucky: I... I almost cut someone in half with a saw. Tony: What the fuck?? Sam: What kind of kid were you? Bucky: I didn't know a magician was fake! I thought they were real! That's why I didn't become one. Natasha: That's why?? Bruce: Not you nearly cutting a kid in half?! Bucky: The kid was fine. My dad stopped me before I could hurt him. Tony: Poor guy. At least he's safe from you now. Bucky: Huh? He's standing right beside me. Steve: I'm the kid. Bruce: And you still ended up being best friends?! Sam: I take it back. What's wrong with the both of you?!

[confused-bagel]

Trick or treat!

You got a treat!!!!

(Old art from 2021)

[anniezsecretz]

Replacement ★ (Ch 2) OC x Simon "Ghost" Riley

here's the second chapterrr :) i had it written up already, just had to edit and fix it up a bit before publishing ^^ you can find this chapter of replacement on ao3 here

first chapter ★ prev ★ next thank you for reading!

★★★★★★★★★

chapter tags: // sparring, tension, older brother price, captain OC, OC x Simon “Ghost” Riley, light trauma mentions, OOC Ghost (for a reason), spiteful Ghost, enemies to lovers (enemies), vague mentions of death, canon deviation, prick ghost

★★★★★★★★★

bite-sized synopsis: trick’s first training session with the squad goes competitive and tense.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ The boys filed into the training room I designated one by one. MacTavish and Sanderson seem the most drowsy, each had wrinkled training gear compared to Garrick and Riley’s put-together appearance. I even got John to wear his gear for the day, watching him uncomfortably pull at the collar of his shirt against his muscles.

“A’igh, ev’ryone here?” I called out for confirmation from our officer, Ghost. Just to make sure that he was paying attention.

“Yes, Captain,” he replied. I nodded my head and looked down at the clipboard in my hands, biting the inside of my cheek while I think. My plan today was simple: assess all of their individual abilities despite how seasoned they are. Laswell encouraged me to do this, saying it was the best idea to do during my first week. She also said to whoop their asses and knock their egos down a few times.

I put my clipboard under my armpit and fixed the sunglasses that I wore underneath my new Australian cap. Garrick was the one who got it for me to get on my good side, saying it was so he and I could match. As much as I can smell the ass-kissery, he was a standup guy. But with that aside, today I get to really test them each. But I am especially interested in seeing how Seargent MacTavish does. For a chatty guy, I have seen him make good on his word against some recruits challenging him to spar.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Attention, please.” I straightened my back out while watching them all prop up and stand straight instantly, a pleased smile across my face underneath the mask. “Well boys, today is trainin’ day. I’m gonna do the Aussie Physical Fitness Assessment on y’all times 4, plus a mile run. Your standard for the run’ll be 6 minutes, ‘n Price will be the one helping keep track o’ y’all’s scores with me while I also participate in this trainin’ day. Just to be fair.” I take in a deep breath.

“So, ev’ryone, get yer asses on the mats ‘n get ready to do 60 push-ups. Go!” 

Watching them all skitter to the mats across the room was hilarious. Riley was the fastest and in push-up position first, the last one being Sanderson who got crushed under a mat because MacTavish accidentally moved it too much while Sanderson was gettin’ away. 

I handed off my clipboard to John as he clicked his pen a few times, and I got on my mat next to the boys. Waiting for Price’s cue and then we were off. First to 60.  ★★★

“Wooo! 60! N’ in what, fucken 50-ish seconds?” MacTavish asked out loud to John who was writing down his time. 

“49 seconds,” John said matter-of-factly while writing down Garrick’s and Sanderson’s times too. Meanwhile, Ghost and I were still at it at an insane speed. I heard MacTavish’s mumbled whispers to John before his low reply. “They’re both at 108. I’ve been countin'.” ★★★

Ghost groaned out of annoyance when we both got up. My muscles were sore and I was just going off adrenaline but that didn’t stop my victory cry while giving Ghost a pity pat on the back. I grabbed my sunglasses on the floor and hook them on my tank top. “Price, how many pushups was that?”

He and the other boys were staring at the two of us with the most jaw-dropped expressions I’ve seen on people. MacTavish was pleasantly shocked, his eyes darting between Ghost and me. I could see Sanderson's widened eyes, that's the only tell sign I got from him. And then there was Garrick, staring mostly at Ghost, his expression slightly unreadable to me. “... 328 for Verdano, 326 for Riley," Price chimed in.

I whooped again, flexing my arm muscles goofily. “Fan-fucken-tastic! Thanks, Price.” MacTavish runs to me to join in on my celebration, cheering along.

“Amazin’ job, capt!” The scot said while nudging me. We haven’t talked too much, but I sure as hell knew he was the hype man of the group. I laughed with him before straightening myself out. 

With a shake of my head and a heavy sigh after all of that physical labor, I stared up at Ghost and gave him a nod of respect. One that he half-heartedly gave back. “Next section should be sit-ups, then a shuttle run, n’ finally the mile run. I hope you boys got yer roos on tight because this ain’ gonna be easy.”

I even made John do the training with the rest of the group unless I really needed him counting. But every time we did something, Riley and I were competing. The best of the best, eh? And we both were really challenging that, pushing ourselves to the brink just to outcompete each other. I beat him on the sit-ups, and he beat me during the shuttle and mile runs.  But by the time I was standing at the front of the group again, we were far from being finished. I stared down at each and every one of the boys with a knowing smile before taking in a deep breath.

“A’igh, ‘n last one of the day. Sorry I didn’t tell you ‘bout this one earlier, but we’re gonna do some sparrin’ real quick.” With my hands on my hips, I started to pick out my first prey. “Hm. John, you n’ I am sparrin’ first. The rest of you pair up n’ when someone taps out you’re finished.”

John and I walked toward a corner of the training room. “One-on-one time, eh?” He laughed a bit while commenting on it. “You ‘n Simon really do go at it, I haven’t seen someone best him of all people quite yet. Good on you, Annes.” He gave me a pat on the back before we both got into crouched positions across from each other. 

Then we lunged at each other, his hulking mass coming right towards me until I sideswiped him, practically on his back like a jetpack while I dragged him down by forcing his back to give out. Of course, putting him in a chokehold with my legs when we drop to the mat. He was trying to grab at me, scarily close to succeeding. I got off and let him recover momentarily to protect myself.

“Well, thanks, John. Y’know I like pushin’ myself to the absolute limit, even if it means I’m kinda nauseous right now,” I half-heartedly admit before getting tackled and put into a submission position, John using his full weight to pin my hands above my head and putting himself between my legs.

With his brows furrowed with concern and his eyes full of focus, he asks me, “Do you need the infirmary?”

I roll my eyes at him before using my complete leg power to kick him off by the chest, rolling myself on top of him and pushing his head to his right shoulder. “Nah. I’m all good, I ain’ lettin’ down that easily viejito.”

Before he used his other arm to grab me and flip the position. “Ah, you sure Anne? I don’t want you gettin’ hurt now. Well, y’know, ill kind of hurt.”

With struggling breaths, I grimaced. I was stuck in this hulking man’s strength, but I managed to worm my way out and catch him off guard with a knee to the stomach. I put my right leg over his waist and a reverse choke hold to hold him down. “I’m sure, John.”

He struggled to get up, barely even able to talk or breathe. Eventually, he was tapping my arm to yield and I let go of him with heavy pants while he put his hand over his neck. ★★★

Next was Sanderson and I, both of us greeting each other before I tackled him. I had him in a submission I had Priced in earlier, his shoulder to his balaclava’s cheek.

“Well, we ain’ talk that much either, hm? Price says you like playin’ COD in the dead of night, n’ honestly? Same.” His eyes opened a bit, already tapping out and sitting up to look me straight in the eyes when I let go of him.

He was definitely a little awkward. Or a little more than just awkward, but I could work with that. We just kinda stared at each for a second with a mutual feeling and knowing of the kinds of things we witness and hear in that game. 

“After this, do you wanna play a few games with me?” He asked me, and I considered for a second.

“Y’know what? Sure. I bet I could whoop kids with you, aye!” I gently jabbed his shoulder playfully, but we continued to talk anyhow. “How long have you been playin’ COD? Or better yet, which ones do you play?”

He tapped his chin in thought, the balaclava covering his mouth. “Probably err… 2003, since I wus smaller. Usually, I play the originals. They’re classics fo’ a reason, eh?” I took note of his accent. This motherfucker was British, just like the rest. God, why am I surrounded by Brits? Except for the Scot MacTavish, he’s fun.

I chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right on, Sergeant.”

With a inhale I watched him nervously inch his hand to me to shake. “Just call me Gary– or my callsign, Roach.” 

“N’ you can just call me Anne. Just not Annie, y’know.” I took his hand in a firm shake. “Do you like insects? Is thas why you have antennae like a cockroach?” 

He gently shakes his head and then lightly bobbed his head from side to side. Now I noticed some antennae were sewn onto his balaclava. Hey, that’s a cute touch! I find myself pleasantly surprised before I noticed he was actually responding. He takes time to think questions through, but I’m patient. “No, I survived an explosion. My plane was shot down ‘n I survived it. So now they call me Roach.”

I let out a low whistle while I lean on my arms, both of us sitting across from each other on the mat. “Well, that’s quite a story. You really did embrace it, didn’t you?” I felt my smile widen while thinking about it. “I think it suits you, Gary.”

Then Gary leaned forward, his chest to his knees while we conversed and waited for everyone to be finished. “Why are you called Trick? Price said you were called Viper too.” His voice was soft when he asked as if asking a question was like questioning authority, poor guy.

“I was called Viper like… shit, 3 years ago or somethin? I was named that because I was a hacker. I slithered in the systems like a Viper n’ struck just as fast as one.” I explained while biting the inside of my cheek. “I’m called Trick because my late wife’s callsign was Treat, ‘n it’s said I’m always trickin’ people.” 

I can tell his eyes softened when I said late wife. His brows furrow underneath his balaclava and I try not to stay on the topic of Xio too much. Especially since Axel was busy taking a break outside while I was training, I didn't want to risk anything. “Can I sew cat ears on your hat?” Roach chirped.

Blink blink.

“Whaddaya mean?” I questioned with a tilt of my head.

“You have the cat skull and… well, I think it’d fit with your aesthetic.” 

A smile spread across my face as I smiled. “Yeah, you can. Just after trainin’, maybe when we meet up after this to play some games.” But it took me a second to fully process that he tapped out so early. Neither of us has even broken a sweat. “Uhm… why did you tap out so early?”

He shrugged. “You’re scarier than Ghost. I’d hafta be bloody mad to actually challenge you.” Then we were separated to switch partners again. ★★★

Oooh boy. Garrick and I, neither of us said much until he had me pinned. “Well well well, Garrick. You have some moves I didn’t expect.” Then we flip the position again, his arms constricted with my legs and my arms holding him in a chokehold. “But I think I can do well.” 

He chuckled. “You wearin’ the hat I got you?” He asked with a slight strain before breaking from my hold, now picking me up and practically throwing me over his shoulder.

“Well, yes I ams, ain’ I? ‘M not someone for wearin’ a gift, but I like this one.” I managed to jetpack him as I did with Price and pull him down to the mat, and I heard the air from his lungs escaping.

Garrick got up and out of my grasp but managed to pin my wrists over my head and get himself between my legs. Just like Price had done earlier in the day, he was probably watching that. “Well, thank you! I appreciate it, Captain Verdano.” He smiled. It was a cute sweet smile, making me tilt my head a bit before retaliating. With my legs, I flip him onto his side and then his back before securing him into an Americana/V Arm-lock submission. I didn’t typically do this on Price because of his size, but Gaz was short enough for me to.

“Of course, Sergeant. Feel free to call me just Anne instead, never Annie.” He seemed a bit awkward with the introduction just like Roach, but he and I managed to at least have a pre-established companionship. 

“Uhm… Gaz is fine, and Kyle.” He was slightly bashful about it until we changed positions again with him somehow sliding out of my Americana, then I decided I should pull an old finisher on him.

With a polite smile shown in my eyes, I nodded. I ran behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Nice to meet you, Kyle!” I shouted out before fucking suplexing him onto the mat behind us. I watched him tap out in a daze on the mat, he didn’t even realize I had already let go of him! How endearing this team is. ★★★

Good ol’ MacTavish. He was definitely a little taller than the other two, with a blinding smile. “Aye, cap’n! I dinnae you like a brawl,” he said cheerfully with a twinkle in his eyes that I find fascinating. He was always so optimistic throughout all this training when the others were groaning about the running.

“Ah vuy, MacTavish. No need for cap’n if I’m ‘bouta beat yer ass, just call me Anne! Never Annie.” MacTavish smiled.

“Mmmm… can I call you bonnie, Anne?” He asked with a dumb smile. Was this drongo cunt really flirting with me? Before I whoop his ass?

I weakly groaned and rolled my eyes, deciding to use some of his slang against him. “Oh bile yer heid. Use it sparingly, sarge.”

“Yes ma’am.” He laughed before we started.

Our sparring session was tense. He was able to pin me down more than I expected, being super observant of my actions and how I was observant of his. We exchanged small quips here and there before he brought up an interesting topic and our session started to go a little longer than I had expected. 

“Y’know, cap’n, I ain’ evah seen L.t thas fucken competitive. Usually, he follows the orders strictly, y’know.” It made me raise a brow before he put me in a submission pose, my face smooshed into the mat below us and my wrists pinned against my lower back.

“Well, him ‘n I don’t get along well. I ain’ shocked if he’s tryna one-up me. For some reason, he was offended that I wassa Captain ‘fore him.” Using sheer leg strength, I put in all my weight when kicking him away, ending up having a slight rumble when we were face to face again.

Johnny (as I now “affectionately” call him) was probably taunting me with his captain story. But he had a small laugh after I said that. “We’ll see, Ms. Anne. Want me to tap out so we can all see what happens when you go against Ghost?”

“Well, it would be a cheap win but…” I had him V-pinned within a minute, trying to keep my amusement covered when I watched him tap out. He looked at me knowingly, knowing something that I obviously don't know.

We both stood up, me lending him a hand and some light praise about his form before I was face-to-face with the mysterious Ghost. He towered over me and I suddenly felt smaller than I ever was. I felt like a gnome compared to him, and the hard glare he gave me did not soothe any nerve in my body once. But despite doubts slowly infiltrating my mind, I took a deep breath and straightened my back. "Well, ready?" I asked with a false sense of security.

John could feel the tension between the two of us and put himself in between. “Everyone, to your next mat!” I put a firm hand on his shoulder while I offered a kind smile with my eyes creasing, and a slight tilt of my head as well.

“Price, it’s a’igh. Let’s make this into a demonstration o’ sorts. I can only assume we’re both undefeated as of right now, we oughta make this into a small competition.” I stared at Ghost hard. Before sticking my hand out to shake, doing my best to keep a warm feeling. A true leader.

But a true leader puts their lower ranks into their place when they need to. 

Ghost and I were on a training mat, on display for all of the boys to see us. “See boys? I’m approximately mmm… 160 centimeters, give or take. ‘N 52 kilos. Meanwhile, Ghost here is about 1.90 meters, 100 kilos. ‘N you’re gonna watch two skilled individuals go at it, one with quite a few pounds on ‘im!” He glared while the boys did their best to stifle some laughter. “So, let’s be nice while you watch Ghost get his–” I could already see him trying to pick up and put me over his shoulder, from where I sidestepped him and kicked him in the back. He only lightly stumbled, but it proved my point a bit. “-- ass beat. As I was sayin’ before bein’ interrupted.”

Now we started an all-out brawl, the boys being forced to witness a power struggle between us. Two strong minds, one of agility and the other of strength. A lot of the time, it was one of us just barely managing to put the other in a submission position. Other times, it was one of us barely dodging the other.

My hand slipped past his chest so many times. His thighs grazed my face so many times. My own chest betrays me and grazes past his hand above me, and I can see the look of recognition on his face every time it happens. To the point that the second he does that and is in shock for a second, I get him into a submission position. 

“Listen up, boys. Despite tha enemy being taller, ‘n much bigger, doesn’t mean you can’t put up a fight. You never give up!” I strained out while holding my position with Ghost, a V armbar. He was straining to get out, I was straining to hold it. Fucking hell, does this dude never give up? It’s been 5 minutes of fighting, tussling, tossing, and neither of us are ready to give up.  "Fuck!" I curse while falling onto the mat, my hand outstretched to try to soften the fall. But the instant pain I got was insane, all of my weight put onto my wrist trying to save me in time. I tried moving it while I was down and it hurt like hell. Most definitely sprained or broken at this point. Yet in the end, I do not care. I do not give a single shit about if I were hurt or not. So I stand up and stare at Ghost in his beady dark eyes that were darkened by the eyeblack around them.  "Hey, Anne? Are you injured?" Price chimed in with concern thick in his voice, but I just shot him a look.  Even he knew not to test me when I'm pissed off. He knew I'm as stubborn as a mule, and it was amplified by how I went back at Ghost to grapple on his shirt and drag him down.

We kept trying to get the other to tap out, no punching into submission, just pure pinning as much as we could. Until one last time when Ghost had me pinned, his chest against my back while holding my waist down by my hips. But I wasn’t gonna budge now.

“Verdano,” he started with a husky voice, “just drop the act. Yield. We can accept a captain who admits their flaws.” He whispered into my ear, but all that did was make me even more pissed. I could practically beat his head in with a rock if I so wanted to, but I didn’t. Instead, I socked him in the cheekbone with what little strength I had and stumbled up. The beads of sweat that ran down my face underneath the mask felt like fire, beads of lava.

Then the second he recovered himself, I was stealthily behind him and curling my arms around the waist.

What the boys saw was devastating. Well, devastating for Ghost’s ego and his back. They watched me pick him up with all my strength and suplexing him, just like I did to Gaz but worse. I let him go after three weak taps on the mat, stumbling up while the world spun around me. I just barely had the energy to make a quip, the pain in my back and in my wrist finally catching up to me as the adrenaline wears off.

“‘N thas boys, is how you fuck up yer L.t.” I was nearly about to pass out until I heard a scoff from Ghost who put a gentle yet firm hand on my shoulder. I felt like I was about to get yelled at by my brother for what I said.

He takes a moment to catch his breath before talking. “‘N your captain is 20-fucken-8. She’s the same age as Gaz, bloody hell. She's far too young 'n inexperienced compared to the rest of us.” Ghost stood up straight and I felt the burning eyes on me again, but I was looking ahead at the squad’s reaction. It was confusion, concern, and overall what the fuck . “She’s barely mentally stable to the point she needs a service dog—”

Price steps forward. “Now Simon, calm down here.” But he was cut off.

“No, Price. She is clearly unqualified for a position as co-leader for both her age and her mental stability by themselves. Also, she's an immigrant from Las Almas! We know the extent Valeria would go just to get back at us. Her brothers are in Las Vaqueros, but so was Valeria at some point!” He barked at John, and my heart stopped. I stared at Ghost with some bit of betrayal. He really brought my brothers, my past, and my hometown up just to prove a point that I'm distrustful. Who the fuck is Valeria anyways?

I thought that would be the end of me from the way that the squad looked at me. They believed Ghost over me, but why wouldn't they? I'm the new captain leader and everything he said was true. I am an immigrant, I am from Las Almas, and my brothers are a part of Los Vaqueros. But John. He glared at Ghost and gave me the nudge to get next to him.

“Lieutenant Simon Riley, are you questioning who I choose for my team ? Captain Verdano is a wonderful leader that I chose personally after years of knowing ‘em. They’ve been through the worst heartbreak someone could go through ‘n yet, here they are.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Their age, background, and immigration status is not an excuse; she is the squad’s co-leader.” I can feel the others’ eyes on me, some of their hot breathing on my neck while I got their Lieutenant to get his ass chewed out by John.

I was so out of it I barely heard half of their back and forth, I was just staring at Ghost’s expression going from furious, to confused, to just… upset. I had sympathy, of course. I know a younger miss getting a higher position over you could hurt a lot, I know. But I can’t just let it slide. ★★★

I was in the infirmary afterward, my wrist wrapped in bandages with a splint after we iced it for a while. Johnny had come with me to watch me and check if I’m okay, especially after that little outburst of Ghost’s.

“Well, didn’ I tell you, bonnie? He’s pissed at ya, ‘n don’ ask me as tah why.” He sat next to me on the foldout bed with a comforting heavy hand on my shoulder, I felt his thumb run against the skin over and over. I even slightly leaned into him. I would’ve never thought my officer was that mad at me for just being chosen for my position– I didn’t choose it! 

“Agh. Tha hell did I do? Be born after ‘em? Be fucken– I ‘unno un Mexicana? I'm proud o' who I am, his ass needs to shut it.” I vented out my frustrations momentarily to Johnny. Then took in a hard sigh while wincing at the pain of my wrist. “I ‘unno. I just hate being disliked for somethin’ I can’t bloody control. ‘N I feel bad too for not bein’ who he wants me to be, which is the worst part. Plus John– Price arguin’ with him about it!”

He squeezed my shoulder. “Anne, you don’t gotta worry ‘bout Ghost, he takes a woile to warm up tah. ‘N besides, we’re a’ Jock Tamson’s bairns!” Johnny enthusiastically said with a light chuckle. “O’ in English, ehm… we’re all the same. We ain’ too differin’ from one anothah, we’re all really on tha same level. Ghost is just bein' a bampot, y'know? Just actin' up because of somethin'.” 

I lightly nod in agreement. “Thanks, Johnny. Would’ve been fucken worryin’ my head off all night if you hadn’ told me that. I knew he was a tough nut, but jeez. Even a roo couldn’ kick a nice comment outta him!” We both laughed at the image of Ghost getting kicked in the stomach by a kangaroo. God how that’d hurt.

“Well, again, cap’n. I ain’ seen Ghost with a spark in ‘em like thas. He woulda burn te place down if he didn’ say anythan. He woulda been a furnace all week too.” 

Ffffuck. And I can’t get rid of this guy, especially since I sleep in the same barracks as him. I just hope we make up before bed tonight. ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

thank you for reading chapter 2!!! <3 here's to more chapters in the future, ^^ i'll try to get an actual schedule going, probably every two days or when i have the chapter ready.

also NO not racist ghost, he's just a prick in this chapter because of what happened in las almas in the game :)

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I would like to formally redact all my previous John Dory art because this is the best I've ever drawn him /hj

also featuring a John Dory-Branch swap AU that came to me in a burst of inspiration yesterday morning

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Your Dog, His Tricks

a Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader tale set a little over a year after losing their virginity together and based on this ask.

Summary: Injured on a mission and MIA for days, you return to a very high-strung boyfriend who can't express what he's feeling until it boils to the surface.

Warnings: arguments and smut. MINORS DNI. WC 5.4k

You don’t know when it started, this sort of competition with your boyfriend, but at some point you and Steve became a packaged deal. Unfortunately, that package was labeled: Steve Rogers and his girl. You feel nameless sometimes, and you know you are better than that; maybe you aren’t super like he is, but you are (and were since before dating) a whole-ass Avenger in your own right. You are a stellar agent. You can bring home the top prize. You can finish this shit-show of a mission all on your own.

No help.

None.

You noticed a problem after months and months of fighting with Steve—no, that sounds wrong—beside Steve. 

Okay, maybe it’s not wrong-wrong to say fighting with him because you two do have the occasional argument. Just one argument, really. One argument over and over again about you fighting beside him, why it’s fine, why he should let it go. You are as safe fighting beside him now as you were before the two of you became this set, this lop-sided partnership. He still wants to protect you from shit you are trained to protect yourself from, shit you survived just fine without him, shit like the last three days.

He’s stubborn, and so are you.

You’ve had trouble getting him to back off. The Team is a team, and Steve does great, delegating all sorts of jobs when you are one among many. As soon as it’s you and him alone? He’s…overly helpful, over-protective, and generally over-the-top fussy. He is adoring and caring and competent. Apparently, those things make him feel capable of doing everything for you. It’s sweet until it’s not. Every time you start a project—laundry, cooking, organizing shelves, or leading an actual mission—Steve waltzes in and has to finish it for you.

Because he loves you. Because he’s trying to help. Because he can.

It makes you feel as if you can’t, or, at least, as if he thinks you can’t.

“Well, buddy, you can’t have this one,” you mutter outside of HQ’s gate, gripping your side and flicking open the phone you stole a few states back.

You’ve been gone for just shy of seventy-three hours.

At first, you truly had no way to contact the Team. You were on your own a thousand miles from home, fried comms and a spent weapon. You missed the rendezvous at the safehouse because it took twenty or so hours to find a vet office with the supplies to patch yourself up, and by the time you could have reached out, that ear worm wouldn’t leave you alone.

He’ll swoop in.

He’ll save you.

You’re his girl, so you need him. You can’t handle this without him. No one will believe you did once he gets anywhere near you.

Call it adrenaline. Call it blood loss. Call it shock. You can’t give up this glory, so you told yourself you needed radio silence to keep the recovered intel secure until back on Avengers campus. You told yourself the risk of interception was too high to chance a phone call.

Now, fifty feet from the infirmary, you need to get past one more obstacle.

You know Steve would jump from a third-story window to get to you, know he would scoop you right up into his arms and carry you over the threshold, know that would mean Steve wins.

No. Not this time. This is yours. You deserve the credit. You are crossing that finish line solo.

You jab the last of the epi-pens into your good leg, letting yet more adrenaline heave through what little of your blood volume is left and call the HQ secure line from the burner.

“Friday,” you start, standing at the bus stop, a blindspot from the Avengers’ surveillance cameras because the city already monitors it, “authorization Gamma-Lima-Four-Whisky. Do not declare connection. I repeat, do not declare this connection.”

The AI welcomes you back onto the grid politely.

“Thank you.” A bubble of pain bursts in your throat. “Give them a different location for this call, ok? Tell them it’s from the nearest functional payphone.”

Friday does as you say because why wouldn’t she? It’s not as if Steve is going to pause to question where the ping is—

—and he’s already out, on the bike, pushing that engine to its acceleration limit and narrowly escaping a shoulder check from the slowly opening gates.

You sneak right past, knowing he won’t look in his rearview, not with his eye on a prize ten blocks away, and you collapse just inside the garage ramp.

You wake prone in the Regeneration Cradle after surgery to a kind, smiling nurse monitoring your progress.

It’s difficult to focus. After a few blinks, you can see her features clearly, then beyond her are just eyes.

His eyes.

Piercing blue doesn’t begin to describe the intensity of Steve’s gaze, and his silence is deafening.

Each quarter-minute he inventories the room, and he exhales. That is the sum total of what he can manage to do right now. He’s attempting to keep it together until you two are alone obviously. Steve fails at very few things in life; this is one of them. You can see the outline of his teeth through his tight cheek.

“Doc wanted me to tell you you did a great job,” the nurse states softly. “If you hadn’t packed those wounds so tight, you’d have died for sure.”

Your mouth is too dry to respond, so you flash a wry smile. No one gets the Cradle without…extensive injuries. You’ve never had the ‘pleasure,’ not even for your through-and-through last year.

Steve huffs in frustration, keeping his huge body out of the nurse’s way even when you can feel him try to astral project himself forward to hand you ice chips. Instead, you swallow cotton.

“Captain Rogers,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimes from above, “your motorcycle has been cited for running five red lights with a further two dozen traffic violations. Shall I claim Official Avengers’ business?”

You croak ‘no.’ He says ‘yes.’

There’s a pause. “I will ask again later.”

Who says AIs can’t throw some serious shade?

Silence descends again as the spindling print needle moves on to a different wound. You’re lucid but wobbly trying to think, a combination of the waning anesthesia and pain meds.

If frowns could kill, your boyfriend’s would devastate the entire med bay.

This is what you hoped beyond hope to avoid, but it’s also why your endgame involved going solo.

“You’re making my point for me,” you sigh, your chest hurting more after surgery than it has in the past twenty-four hours. Clearly, your nerves are back online.

“And what point was that?“ he asks sarcastically, waiting in your own stubborn silence. “You gave me a heart attack.”

“Really?” You’re playfully shocked.

“No, not really! God.” He rushes closer. “What the hell were you thinking? If you had time to send me on a wild goose chase, you could damn well have called to tell me you were alive!”

The cradle’s lights shut off, job complete.

“Language, Steve.” 

He looks incredulous, engrossingly livid, anxious outrage contained by his one frayed thread of control left. 

“We found the intel,” he grits through a clenched jaw. “After power-washing your blood off it, everything was on the drive.”

You can’t sit up on your elbows yet, so you bite back, “good. It all worked out fine then.”

Wafting off him in thick clouds, Steve’s anger is near-flammable in the small room.

The nurse offers to step out for a second.

You say ‘yes.’ Steve barks ‘no.’

This isn’t the nurse’s first rodeo. “Alright, surgery went well. All debris and fragments removed. Your tissue is all intact now, too, but remember, this treatment doesn’t train new muscle fiber or nerve-endings.” She ignores Steve and pushes past to the other end of the table. “Rest up. Tomorrow, you can report to PT. They’ll work with you until you’re field-approved again.”

“She is not—“

“Both of you are ordered to rest,” the nurse snaps, nodding in Steve’s direction “—and make yourself useful by changing her drip when it runs out. If you can’t manage that, Captain, I will find a separate apartment or keep her here overnight.”

“No,” Steve breathes, visibly deflating. Like a scolded puppy, your boyfriend tucks his chin down, rings of grey settling beneath his dark sea eyes. It’s plain as day he hasn’t slept either.

The nurse calls for a wheelchair, and Steve dutifully helps you scoot off the table when it arrives. While he positions the IV to move in tandem, you attempt to push yourself by the huge rubber wheels and fail. Doc was not kidding about muscle weakness.

Steve says nothing.

You’re rolled back to your shared room by the grumpiest Captain America. 

He helps you dress in baggy, comfy clothes and silently reattaches the line of your drip. Not one touch is in a sexual, sensual, or even intimate way even though you are naked at some point.

You can’t remember what you expected; you’ve been so focused on completing the mission for so long. Did you want a desperate homecoming? Did you want him to grovel or worship at your feet? You think, at some point, you knew he’d push back, but you thought…maybe…he’d want you more.

Steve seems to turn his interest on and off so easily, which is great professionally but hard to read personally…or maybe you’re just struggling under the distracting hum of medication. It’s a white noise you can’t ignore, lulling you unconscious, so you can’t analyze the situation anymore. Maybe, you think, you try…but the thoughts don’t come.

He situates you on his side of the bed—to accommodate the cord and stand—and tucks himself quietly into the smallest corner of mattress that his bulk can fit on.

He falls asleep holding your hand. It’s the only place you two are connected. After nearly eighty-five hours apart, that’s still worth it. Maybe.

At some point, his hand goes limp and falls away.

Finally clear of mind, you keep watching Steve the next day. He doesn’t necessarily seem angry, and he doesn’t necessarily seem relieved either. He’s so robotic in his interactions. He won’t talk to you just at you. 

You understand why he was so standoffish last night, but you thought Steve would surely want you after that. You thought he’d start touching you again. 

You two waited so long for your first time, but after that, sex was relatively easy. Steve is an affectionate man when he’s allowed, when he’s in love, and you know he loves you.

Like the nurse said: all your tissue is fully healed. The only restrictions you have are in regards to field work, and the phantom jolts of pain—when you reach into a cabinet or take down a clothes hanger—aren’t real. 

Steve’s always an arm’s length away, just in case, meaning he is there to help you.

Always an arm’s length away.

No closer. No farther.

That afternoon you attempt to start talking about your mission, but that’s when he moves.

Steve practically sprints out the door with a half-baked excuse, so you go to physical therapy alone. You can go alone. That’s not the problem.

If you thought talking to Steve was difficult, you weren’t ready for how hard touching Steve would be.

You try to initiate even a cuddle that second night, and he jumps up claiming to have forgotten something somewhere else that he promised someone. Your boyfriend can’t lie worth beans. You don’t know why he tries.

You’re asleep before he returns.

The next night is exactly the opposite. You spend longer at the gym, slowly and painstakingly repeating every single exercise you know in order to streamline these new muscles. It’s an unholy pain in the ass, but you do it because you can—and will—get back in the field.

Even though the workout was mild, you’re awash with that runner’s high when you return to find Steve passed out already. He looks so peaceful, brow relaxed and lips gently parted. He also looks, well, good enough to eat, but you’ll start slow.

There was one time early on, before you two went all the way, that you woke him up by grinding on him in your sleep. You think now, perhaps, you can recreate that, catch him off-guard and dissipate some of this tension between you. This would be a good release. You don’t normally go this long. Obviously, Steve wouldn’t have masturbated while you were MIA and possibly dead, and every other second since has been accounted for.

He practically can’t have sex anywhere else except naked in a bed. He’s even told you, point blank, that he feels no need to touch himself since he has you. You are what he wants. That’s what he said.

Except he doesn’t wake up to your advances. He just rolls over like you’re disturbing him and softly snores.

For the first time, you wonder if you’ve really broken the two of you. How long will he be mad at you for doing your job? 

Steve rolls back over in his sleep, holding you close like nothing’s happened. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it, but it’s enough and so, so wonderful to imagine all is well.

About a week into your ‘recovery’ (which is sorta bullshit since you can do everything the same by now just with an occasional, faint twinge, no more than the strain of every workout, ever), Steve takes Sam Wilson up on his offer of 1-on-1 basketball for a while. The Team—minus you—has a raid planned in the morning, and there’s always nervous energy to burn off in anticipation.

Your boyfriend has been a nightmare grump, but no one wants to take on the hassle of convincing Steve that he’s being too Steve to Steve properly. He still won’t talk to you about anything other than the weather, food, or daily schedules.

You’re even considering taking a break from field work because this all has become too much. If Steve is gonna shut down after every dangerous mission—which is, in fact, all of them—then maybe it’s not worth the risk. You’re good, you’re great, but you aren’t super.

“Taste of his own medicine, I say,” Bucky mutters, sitting beside you on the bleachers between courts.

“Huh?” You were distracted, watching Steve and Sam squeak across the floor.

Steve sinks a perfect layup and doesn’t gloat. Do-gooder.

“He used to get so mad when I’d find him in an alley all beaten up,” Buck continues. “Thought I was being too protective. I trusted him, but he was puny and he did get sick all the time. He could take a punch, sure, but every mark took weeks to heal. Half the time, they were still yellow when some idiot landed fresh ones.”

Steve claps beneath the net, encouraging Sam, focused on not outshining anyone.

He’s been the same with everyone else but you, and the whole Team can see it. You shouldn’t be surprised someone is finally talking about it; you simply wonder how Buck drew the short straw.

“Didn’t wanna be babied,” Bucky snorts, fondly glowering at his century-long bestie, “while low and behold, he pulls that stunt with everybody, every day.” 

“Yup,” you pop, looking at the matte metal beneath your feet, knowing there’s a line between the ‘caring’ version and the ‘coddling’ version. Steve nose-dived right over that line this time.

“What he appreciated, though, was consistency.” Bucky swivels his hair around into a bun and ties it. “Punk is dedicated, and even if it was just him--the hund’ed pound soaking-wet guy whose only real talent at that point was getting back on his feet--he knew he’d fight anyway.

“Bit hypocritical to be mad at his girl for doing the same, don’t ya think?” Bucky muses, clucking his tongue.

The brunette watches you bristle slightly at the moniker. His girl. Not only is it what got you into this mess, it feels untrue based on that big, broad, cold shoulder you’ve received from the man racing back and forth in front of you.

Smiling, Bucky nudges you with his elbow. “I’m excited for you to get back on your feet,” he adds.

You’re stuck thinking about that long after Bucky jumps into the game.

It’s no surprise then that when the doctor gives you the all-clear the very next morning, you’re over the moon and ready to strike. You don’t hesitate for a second when the alarm sounds less than an hour later.

The Team needs reinforcements. Your Team needs you.

You hustle into the back of a quinjet with a dozen agents. While the others file out to where the main conflict is raging, you sneak around the perimeter to suss out the mission goal, a treasure trove of enemy tech hidden somewhere in what was thought to be an abandoned village.

Not so abandoned if it’s lighting up like the pyrotechnics show on an action film set...

The explosions rattle the ground, yet you know the Team have breached the main chamber. Those enemy forces still fighting are distracting from a retreat. The other agents can catch them just fine. Your mission is intel recovery.

To keep your approach stealthy, you don’t announce your movements over comms, and Nat doesn’t scan back down the dark hallway you wedge into as she carries out an asset. If you weren’t so far back, you never would have seen him.

An enemy agent slinks out from behind a floor-to-ceiling tapestry right in front of you. His silhouette is short and thin; he’s built for stealth, too.

Your heart thumps loud in your ears as you follow, and that bastard gets close—so close—to Steve’s turned back that the pistol’s muzzle nearly touches.

Not this time. Not a chance. None.

You land a roundhouse kick to the exposed neck above his kevlar, and that sucker goes down like a sack of potatoes.

Steve turns around at the ready, stunned silent in the middle of his instructions to Bucky who is not visible from the other side heaped boxes. The papers still smoke where evidence was burned.

You salute at big, blue eyes. 

“On your six, Cap.” 

Steve looks at you, looks down at the man, and looks back up at you…pissed. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

What the fuck indeed…

All you did was help your team. All you did was stop Captain America from getting his head blown off. In no small fashion, all you did was save your boyfriend’s life.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

His grip on your arm is painful as he leads you all the way back to the jet himself, shoving you into the jump seat between other returned agents and shouting for you to 'stay right there.'

Bucky announces over comms that the rest is clean up. All but the specialized document interpretation and perimeter teams are moving out. 

Steve huffs, contemplates staying on a battlefield instead of going back with you, but decides to sit across the ship in silence again, fuming, making fists over and over in his fingerless leather gloves, bitterly sniffing as loud as possible the entire flight home. He refuses to answer a single person until the jet touches down at HQ. 

“Everyone off,” he bellows, “everyone except you.” 

You can’t stop it. Your hands fly up in exaggerated annoyance automatically.

“What do you want, Steve? I got the go-ahead this morning. I’m allowed to be here.”

“Stop doing that.” He rounds on you.

“Doing what? My job?!”

Chest puffed out, feathers ruffled, cheeks hot and red, Steve peels off his cowl. “Being insubordinate.”

“You’re not my superior officer,” you hiss, “we are equals, and if you think for one second I did anything wrong out there, go ahead and report me. From where I’m standing, I did the work, got cleared for duty, helped out the team, and stopped you from being shot.”

You poke a finger to his chest for each achievement listed.

“Fine," Steve shouts, crossing his arms, "but quit acting like a selfish coward.”

Them be fightin’ words. “A what?”

“You heard me,” he all but whispers.

It’s laughable, truly laughable how bad Steve is at hiding some of those wheels from turning in his head. This isn’t about today. This is the thing he buried the past week.

You roll your eyes. “If you’re gonna throw a hissy fit every time I get a scratch—“

“THREE BULLETS IS NOT A SCRATCH.” He tries—he visibly, painfully tries—to keep his cool one last time. “You weren’t ready,” he concludes, judge, jury, and executioner all poured into one star-spangled package.

“Say’s who?” You’re stepping closer, getting in his face because this is bullshit and unfair. “Last time I checked you’re not a doctor, and you should be thanking me for saving your ass—“

“It’s not your job to save me.”

“We have the same job, Steve! We are both perfectly capable of—“

“I know that,” he barks, hot breath mingling with yours.

“Do you? Because you don’t seem to think I can handle myself.” You push weakly at his chest, taunting, like it's a game. “Maybe you need to walk it off, buddy.”

His face cracks, an avalanche unmoored from a stable mountain.

Oh shit. You’ve done it now.

“Walk it off?! WALK IT OFF?!”

Steve charges like a bull seeing red, crowding you against the far wall, his own derisive finger pointed at your heart.

“You were injured. You didn’t make contact. You went dark for days, and you could have died. Alone. In the middle of nowhere. Who knows how long it would have taken us to find you. No—“ he cups your chin in a tight pinch “—you want to talk about the job? It’s protocol to check in. It’s common courtesy to let me know you’re alive, and it’s goddamn rude to ignore your own safety.”

A dark, hazy sheen layers over his sharp gaze. “Don’t make me keep you home.”

There’s a deep line of frustration carved between his brows. His nostrils flair as he waits, daring you to refute him.

“Well—” you purse your lips in defiance “—isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.”

Steve lets go of you, smacked away by your cutting tone.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, whatever, Rogers,” you dismiss. “We both know you don’t have the authority to bench me.”

“Like hell I don’t,” he growls, grabbing your wrists and throwing your arms above your head, He weaves your hands through the cargo net behind you. The loops are tight and complicated in seconds, he’s so fast.

You can’t wriggle away.

“Let’s see how you like it.”

Steve roughly throws the zipper of your uniform down, letting the jacket hang open to show nothing but your sports bra.

“Feeling paralyzed—“ he dexterously undoes your belt “—exposed—“ your pants and underwear are yanked down to your ankles “—and afraid.” His last word thickens the air on the jet. 

How can this man launch you into unbridled lust in the space of two syllables?

Who. Fucking. Cares. How.

Steve’s fingertips teasingly glide over the swell of your breasts, brush down your belly, and tick their way in a casual walk between your legs. He retracts his touch the instant you let out a longing sigh, unable to restrain how needy you are. His fingers wander to perfectly clean and unmarked flesh…on your thigh, along one side, and a few inches below that. He’s tracing the bullet wounds he watched heal so quickly.

“Maybe I should leave you wondering how it’ll all play out?” he says absently, lost in thought, his thumb shifting to notch into the dip of your hip. “Maybe I should leave you wondering if we’ll ever—”

“Yes,” you whimper, no real idea what you’re saying. That’s not what answer you meant.

“How would you like three whole days of this feeling, huh? You think you’d fare any better than I did? Think you’d make it even five minutes?”

“Uh-uh.” Again, with no clue what you’re truly responding to, you buck your hips forward onto his long fingers.

The cords around your wrists get tighter while you struggle to set a pace. Behind you, the metal rings of the netting hit the hull with a soft clinking noise. 

“Not so fast.” Steve pulls his hand away just far enough to remove all friction. “Because three days, sweetheart, it was torture. Felt like an eternity right on the edge.”

“Please,” you beg.

One deliberate swipe of his fingers through your slick is enough to make you mewl.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Steve. Please, I need you.”

“Need me? You have an odd way of showing it, doll. You have to promise me—“ he thrusts his fingers in “—promise me you’ll never leave me.”

“I’ll never leave you,” you cry, convinced that it’s true for the sole reason: you never want to experience anything other than this Steve for as long as you live.

“You are so brave, and so…capable, and I know you can do anything, but you…can’t survive anything.” He takes excruciating pleasure in slow thrusts and teasing circles. “Promise me you won’t be so reckless. Promise, say it.”

“I promise.” Your weight sags into his ministrations, called to focus on nothing but where his hand disappears between you. “I promise I won’t be reckless.”

“That’s my girl.”

Your head falls limp against your tied arms. It sounds so good from his lips. Why did you ever doubt?

“I promise I’ll come back to you,” you manage out like a prayer.

“Yeah? That’s it. Is that what you want?”

“I promise. I promise, Steve.” You time your movements sloppily with his measured tempo. “Please, I need more.”

“I know. I know.” He’s strung out, too, listening to your pathetic whimpers after less than five minutes, exactly like he predicted.

You’re so over-wrought with desperation you can’t coordinate with his manhandling your legs apart—your knees, really, since your ankles are still caught in your pants. Instead of taking off your boots, Steve simply unzips himself and dives right into your wet, warm, and welcoming pussy.

Knowing he has a thing against anything naughty in his suits makes it sexier. You want his intensity—you’ve always been curious—and finally you have it: unhinged, untethered, super Steve Rogers. Your body makes room out of sheer joy.

“I know,” Steve coos, his face pressed to your chest as he adjusts. “Fuck, I know, honey.”

“Move, Steve.”

“No,” he says with a gentle kiss to your sternum. “You wanna come? Go ahead. You can do it all on your own. You can do anything you want, can’t ya?”

You groan in frustration.

You wanted this, an annoying voice in the muddled depths of your mind calls. You’re independent.

With a sob of both excitement and fury, your thighs weld onto that sturdy, I-beam beast. You brace your bent arms over your angled and hovering body, leveraging the cargo straps to hoist you up and down.

Your muscles burn, strained more than they were on your lone journey back to HQ.

Steve grunts and moans, the ghost of his wide spread palms beneath your back as a safety net.

“That’s it. That’s it, good girl.” 

Amidst your own noises, you can barely hear him. You’re not building to a climax, you’re falling into one at terminal velocity, flailing. Struggling to hang on and let go all at once, you do come, but it’s more of a plateau than a full release.

Steve’s unhappy and takes your ass in a bruising grip, finally pumping his thick length in and out, dragging the head of his cock across that perfect spot over and over.

“You can do better than that,” he snarls, hair wrecked and falling in his face.

Wave, undertow, and wave again, pleasures simply blend into the next. He gets handsy, keyed up and out of control, muttering “don’t you ever fucking leave me.”

You’d scold him for cursing if the air weren’t being punched from your lungs.

“Come on, sweetheart. Three for three.”

You’re almost disappointed he only wants you to come three times in payment for his days of torture. Even as a tear escapes the corner of your eye and your throat breaks in a hoarse “please,” you know you would give him more. You'd give him anything.

When you finally reach that shattering end, Steve is almost incoherently feral, one hand clamped at the back of your neck, the other anchored to the small of your back, slamming your ass to his leather-covered thighs like you are his mission.

“I promise,” you try to repeat, but you aren’t sure they sound like words.

Whether in response to you or as an errant thought, Steve’s own broken voice rattles at your sweaty neck. “You can take it,” he whispers gruffly. “You can take it.”

You’re floating by the time he comes, his hips stilling slowly. The buzz of your body now outdoes anything anesthesia or pain meds concocted.

Steve peppers your skin with lazy, light kisses until you remind him of your bound wrists, but then he’s overly apologetic and scrambling to free them.

He keeps himself inside you and maneuvers to sit with you on his lap.

You stay there for a while, your numb and sore arms folded between your chests. Steve only stops petting your shoulders to cradle your face, soft blue eyes roaming, adoring. He whispers concern that you’re okay, how are your legs, are you warm enough, you feeling good?

Yes, you think, you’ve taken care of your girl.

“I love seeing you like this,” he mumbles long after the pins and needles have abandoned their assault on your tired legs.

You tuck some silky hair behind his ear. “Like what? Fucked out?”

He’s floating too because he doesn’t chastise.

“Happy, healthy—“ he lets out a deep sigh “—home.”

“Speaking of home,” you say, inching ever so slightly higher to let him slide out of you, “wanna cuddle in bed all night and not get up until someone tries to break in the door?”

That knocks some of the glow off him. He drags a hand down his face. “Oh god, the poor people who have to clean this thing…”

“Let’s be honest,” you snort. “This isn’t the worst thing that’s been on you, but if it’s that big of a deal, we could go hose you down before handing our equipment in.”

He smiles, shaking his head in dismissal.

With his help, you climb off his lap and slowly shimmy up your bottoms, realizing he did truly make a mess of you both.

Steve looks down at his own lap, horrified. “Do I need to burn this?”

“That sounds like a challenge to make you filthier,” you consider, but maybe you should change into your civies before exiting the jet…

“Ya know,” Steve muses, passing over to the small locker of clothing overhead and grabbing a t-shirt and sweats, “I almost got shot in the head today, and you had three bullets fished outta you a week ago. I’m thinking we’ve earned a vacation.”

Workaholic Steve? Actively applying for time off? You’ll be damned.

“My my my, Captain Rogers…the real dirty talk begins.”

He huffs out a laugh and blushes.

“Well, I know we didn’t do anything more special than dinner for our anniversary, so…” He pulls you to his chest again, smelling of slightly musty laundry and pungent sex. “Let’s go on a fucking vacation.”

Your neck cranes to his height to see a soft smile. Oof, he’s good.

 “I missed you,” he adds like a prayer, “and you’re the badass who saved me.”

He giggles at your scrunched nose and watches you bask in that glory.

“Like I said, you’re welcome—“ you hug Steve, letting his warmth radiate through you, moving in time with his rising and falling chest “—and I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kisses the crown of your head.

When you open the bombay doors, there’s a thermos left at the base of the ramp, a folded paper tucked beneath it. 

We should talk about how to better soundproof the jets. Brought you some refreshments. It’s hazelnut. ~Bucky

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jamneuromain @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @brandycranby

A/N: I sincerely give up on editing this anymore, so I hope it turned out okay 🙇🏻‍♀️

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[graynide]

Sneak or snack!

as a fellow captain underpants fan,

have a lil doodie of Cap twiddling the knots of his cape!! :D

[thestarsmakemedream-art]

SUPTOBER - DAY 31 - HALLOWEEN / COSTUMES So the thing is that I had this idea for last year's suptober prompt "Trick or Treat" already. Time and work was not nice with me that October, so the little Star Trek fans (I imagine Cas as Bones aka Dr McCoy) and baby Jason (don't worry he only has a butter knife) had to wait this year to go trick or treating. Anyway, this is a wrap, once in my life I finished a whole month with drawings for each day. WOOHOO! Tomorrow I will make a masterpost about everything. Last but not least I want to thank @wigglebox , because without her this year we wouldn't even had Suptober. Without a question the true hero of this community.