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l0v3tast3 · 1 year ago

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Ok but older perv bf ghost would be such a menace like he would destroy your cunt in his back seat and then shake ur dads hand.( these older bf hcs make me go feral bb)

anon you are so right. he'll be so mean but like it's literally his fault that he's hot asf and u just wanna jump on him 24/7 ??? anyways tysm for the request and the kind words i hope you enjoy this anon !! ◝(⁰▿⁰)◜

✎ tags: mdni! nsft, f!reader, age gap (r is 20's, simon is late 30's), dumbification, conditioning (consensual), orgasm control, spanking, degradation/praise kink, overstimulation/edging, car s3x, size difference/kink, possessive!simon, c0ckwarming

✎ word count: 1.8k words (not proofread)

masterlist | requests are open!

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who wants to see you become absolutely brainless because of him. you're such a smart girl usually, among the top of your class at university, and simon just loves to see that whole façade crumble away. he knows a good fucking is just what you need to unwind from your classes, and he is more than happy to give it to you.

✧ ˖ ° seeing you go all dumb on his cock makes simon nearly giddy, the feeling of how you stop pushing at his abs and just take it once he bullies his dick in far enough to fill your brain with him instead of whatever you're studying, the sight of your eyes rolling back and your little hands weakly grabbing at whatever they can reach for some semblance of grounding yourself. you know just as well as simon does that it's useless; he makes damn sure that you have nowhere to run to when he has you in his hold.

✧ ˖ ° another thing he makes sure of is that you steadily become the one to come onto him first. simon wants you to be his own little nymphomaniac, addicted to his cock, to him. it all works towards melting your brain quicker and quicker each time. there's a certain dedication he puts towards it- even by the time he was done with you the first time you slept together, he's planning it out, figuring out which muscles to press into to get you to mewl for him, just the right angle to pound his dick into you, how much you can take before he starts seeing dew drops collecting on your waterline.

✧ ˖ ° even outside of the bedroom (or kitchen, or living room, wherever he has yet to christen next in his house) simon's working on it. he'll give you so many hoodies, jackets, boxers, anything that smells like him that you want, and then he tells you that if you're going to touch yourself without him that you better be at least wearing his clothes while you do it. eventually you'll get to the point where you can't get off without the thought of him, without his scent, then without him. there's no doubt either that whenever you do get worked up without him, simon makes sure that you always tell him. text him, call him, send a damn carrier pigeon with a letter, he doesn't care, but he's going to guide you through every orgasm you have.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who can get to be a mean dom. he loves punishing you for whatever reason he can find, especially when you touch yourself without telling him. simon is an experienced special ops soldier who's used his hands to torture people as much as he's used them to pleasure you, so he has not a single problem with knowing how to get the truth out of you. obviously he doesn't torture you, though (not in a way you don't like).

✧ ˖ ° if it's been a long stretch of time where you haven't been able to see each other, he'll pull you onto his lap and start out all soft. he'll run his hands all over you, move his lips against yours sweet and slow, whisper about how much he missed his pretty little girl. he'll listen with a happy hum while you tell him how much you missed him, how much you need him. he'll guide your hips lightly when you can't help but start grinding against his thigh, hands pushing up your skirt to see which pair of underwear he gets to rip apart this time. and then he'll ask you how much you missed him.

✧ ˖ ° from the start you know the question is a double-edged sword, but you always answer truthfully. it only took you one lesson to learn that simon knows when you lie to him (he didn't let you cum for three days while he kept you at his house the entire time). he always appreciates the truth, praises you for being such a good girl for him when you honestly tell him that you only touched yourself during the short phone calls he was allowed while he was away. there's a little part of him that's always a bit disappointed though, the same part that turns into glee when you sheepishly admit that you couldn't wait for him.

✧ ˖ ° simon's always a bit too quick at flipping you over so your laying face-down over his thighs. one hand wraps around your neck to pull you up and arch your back, the other flipping up your skirt and grabbing roughly at your squishy ass. "couldn't fuckin' wait f'me, huh? y'so desperate for cock that y'can't follow simple orders? thought i already taught ya how to be patient," he spits, letting you fall back against the couch so his hand can move down to plant itself across your back. that's when he starts, not even waiting for you to try to apologize meekly or defend yourself. slaps that leave bruises you'll be feeling for days rain down across your ass and simon makes you count each one. if you lose count or stop, he'll push open your legs to smack your cunt and start all over. simon doesn't let up until you're sniffling and whining and your underwear is soaked through (which of course he makes fun of you for).

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who really is an absolute menace with you. he dangles your pleasure over your head like something he grabbed for you out of the cabinets, keeping it just out of your reach until he decides to give it to you. there won't ever be a moment where simon doesn't have most, if not all of the control. there's something about having that command over you, feeling you hand over your trust, your body and mind to him that's addicting. so no matter how cruel he can get, he'll always make sure to ply you with as many orgasms as you can handle (and then some) to show his appreciation.

✧ ˖ ° his brutishness can come in the form of wanting to see just how messy he can get you to be. he'll bury his face and fingers into your cunt until there's a puddle forming underneath you, and when he's done there, simon stuffs you full with his cock and fucks you until your makeup is running with your tears and smearing across the sheets. he'll rip off the clothes that bar him from seeing your gorgeous body so that you have to wear something of his afterwards. and god help you if he wants to fuck in the backseat of his car before you both go someplace. which, (not) shockingly, is something he wants to do before he meets your parents.

✧ ˖ ° with the car parked not too far from your parents house in some spot where people won't think to give the tinted windows a second look, he'll have you working your way down on his cock. every time you whine about how you're going to be late, they're going to know, they won't be happy, simon gives your ass a sharp slap and snaps his hips up into yours. "would y'rather i fuck you in your room while they're home? don't think you can keep quiet enough for that," he mocks, his tone condescending despite the fact that he's already planning on doing just that at some point.

✧ ˖ ° once you're practically limp against his body, letting him use you like his personal toy, he'll finally cum. you finish with him, your third orgasm in less than an hour, as he buries his cock to the hilt inside you and grinds his hips up. once you're semi-conscious again he helps you put on your underwear and pants and gives you his hoodie. and after you've taken off your ruined makeup and redid at least some of it, you'll drive the remaining minute to your parents house, where simon seems to know just how to get them to love him. meanwhile, you'll be shifting in your seat next to him while his cum creates a stain on your jeans.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who wants you to be with him basically 24/7 while he's not away on missions. you're his girlfriend, of course he wants to spend as much time as he can with you! never mind the fact that this man has probably been boxing away his libido for years. so while he's at his home, so will you be.

✧ ˖ ° you'll find that any clothes you bring over to your stays with simon don't really go missing as much as he blatantly makes them unwearable for you as long as you insist on still bringing them. why would you have any need for those when he has plenty for you? it's not like you'll be wearing clothes much anyway while he has you. it's a lesson you learn quickly to pack light, otherwise you'll be going home with scraps of fabric. simon doesn't not like your clothes (he thinks your style is adorable on you), but the way you smell like him with his hoodies and shirts, the way they're basically dresses on you serving to remind how much bigger he is than you, it drives him even crazier.

✧ ˖ ° because of how touch-starved (and horny) he is, simon prefers to always physically have you close to him. which means lots of cockwarming; he won't lie about how much he loves watching you try your very best not to squirm on his lap, not to lose yourself to how full you always feel with him inside you. whether you're watching a movie or he's working in his office or even just trying to sit down for a meal, simon will preemptively have you sinking down on his cock, chastising you about how eager you always are for him to just fuck you. it's nearly torture for him just the same as you, but the difference is that he has a lot more self-control than you do- just enough to give your thigh a stinging pinch every time you move a muscle.

✧ ˖ ° no matter how long he keeps you there, it'll always turn into simon pushing you against the nearest table or wall and fucking away the last few straggling thoughts in your head. he always waits until your breathing gets ragged and your nails are digging in hard. until you're panting against his neck from the effort it takes to not bounce yourself on his dick. until you're begging. "what? turned y'into that much of a whore that y'can't go five minutes without my cock? fine." he'll say it as if he's doing you a favor, as if he's going out of his way to satisfy the nymphomaniac that he himself has proudly created.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x female reader #ghost x female reader #reader insert #— ask!#— lilly writes! ♡

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hikarimiyanaga · 4 months ago

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Her biggest regret

Warnings : Cheating. Angst.

A one-shot I needed to get out of myself as I try to navigate my life-work-games balance. Lmao. Chapter 4 of the Queen's Bride should be released within the month.

You freeze as you see them kiss. The wind in your lungs taken away by the sight.

You knew it.

You knew from the way she looked at him. From the way she spoke of him. The way she touched his arm.

Because all the things she did to him were once yours.

She used to look at you like you make the sun go up.

She used to speak like you were the only thing that mattered besides her children.

She used to touch you every night and revere you.

You let out a strangled noise and they both look at you.

You step inside and get your bracelet. What once held her promise of forever. But now it just burned you. Burned your heart.

"I'm giving this back." You say as you take it off your wrist and you see pain cross her eyes. "My apologies on disturbing you, Your grace." You quickly slip away after that. You run and run as you get to your tent. So much so that you don't hear her call your name. You don't hear her reject Jon's touch as she watched you run. You don't hear her anguish scream as she held the bracelet that once promised what you wanted.

You spent your days training. This was your life. This should just be it. You shouldn't have fallen for her. For the queen that you served. But here you are anyways.

You pant as Grey Worm looks at something behind you with silent anger in his eyes. He's always been a big brother to you. Always there and always guiding. There was a reason you are the only woman in the unsullied. Too strong to become a slave so you became a soldier instead.

You don't dare look behind for you knew whom his silent anger is for. You can feel it though. Her burning stare. You cover his eyes.

"Stop looking at her like that. You won't be marching in front if everyone thinks you want to kill her." You whisper then drink water.

"But she-"

"No buts, Grey Worm. She's still our queen." You can see the defeat in his eyes. The gratitude winning over the want to protect you.

"Go run. So she can't see you. That is the one thing I will refuse her of." You chuckle at the vindication in his voice.

"Thank you." You say then you slip away from his presence.

You've been avoiding her.

Daenerys could tell. What once was your spot was always given to different people each day.

What once was your voice greeting her as she checked on her army was always replaced with Grey Worm's.

And she knew of it. But there was nothing she can do. She betrayed you. She didn't keep her promise.

She stared at the bracelet she gave you. The one you gave back to her.

She can still see it, the pain in your eyes. The unshed tears as you took it off. The way you always ran away from her whenever she wanted to find you.

She can't help the sob that escaped her as she held it.

She wished she could take it back.

She wished she never felt attracted to him. Because that once fleeting attraction only made it worse when she saw the hurt in your eyes.

"Your grace." Jon calls out as he slips inside her office. The one thing that you always did whenever it was this time of the day. She longed to see you do it again. To come get her whenever it got too late. To bring her food once you knew that she skipped dinner in order to work more.

"You should eat, your grace." Jon further opens the door and she sees the servants he brought with him.

"Do not let them in." She says and the dothraki who was stationed to her quickly made a cross with their spears as to not let the servants in. And she marveled at how you always did that even if she never said it. How you were so attuned to what she wanted that even if she never voices them out, you always just know and you always do it. "Lord Commander. This is my office. No servant is allowed to enter here even if you came with good intentions."

"My apologies. Then I can-"

"No. I will get out of here myself. I do not trust your servants to not poison me." And it seemed paranoid but she had too many assassination attempts made by so-called servants to not consider such thing.

"My apologies again. Then I will leave you to it." She watches as the dothraki close the door and go back to their original position.

'What a stark difference.' She thinks to herself. 'She never once did that. Not even made others help her when she always brought me food.' And she also remembered the bandages on your hands as you held the food. And the confession from Grey Worm that you learned how to cook just so you can give her food when she overworked herself.

"I'm such an idiot." She cried once again as she gently held the bracelet.

It was a silent night, you realize as you got stationed in front of her chambers. Grey Worm figured that it's been two months since then and you also insisted on the position. Besides, you were only here as she slept, so you figured that you won't even see her.

"Y/N." You flinch as you hear Missandei.

"My lady." You call out and she slaps your arm.

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that already."

"You did but-"

"No buts." You groan as you silently curse your brother. What a loudmouth.

"My apologies then. Missandei." She grins then takes your arm.

"Come."

"What! But my station."

"I can cover, Y/N." You glare at your comrade as Missandei pulls you to another room.

"Grey Worm might be my brother but he can get jealous too, you know?" You speak as Missandei stripped you of your uniform.

"Shut it." You chuckle as she gets annoyed.

"What are you trying-" You stop as she shoves some clothes onto you.

"Wear those."

"What-"

"Wear them." That was the final thing she says as she slips out of the room.

You look at the trousers and pants. It was a fancy version of what you usually wore.

'What could it be for?' You think but you wear them anyways. You know how Missandei can be if she isn't obeyed. Besides, you just know that Grey Worm will give you spartan training if you even thought about disobeying your essentially sister-in-law.

You arrive at her office and look at the basket and jar of wine in your hands.

Apparently, Daenerys have been missing all her meals for the past few days. Only opting for the bread to munch on as she toured and saw progress in her plans.

"She's punishing herself." Missandei says to you as she drags you. "Her guard always say that she cries at least once while she held your bracelet."

"It's not my bracelet anymore." You say with such pain in your voice that Missandei hugs you.

"It's yours. Even if you don't want it to be anymore." You sob into her shoulder as she comforts you. It's been months but you still haven't moved on. You never will, you knew that. Your fragile and broken heart will always be hers even if her heart wasn't yours anymore. "Just bring dinner to her, please. How will any of us see her ascend to her throne if she starves herself in the process?"

And so here you are. A bundle of nerves, just anxious.

"Get in, give her food then get out. Easy enough, right? It should be! Damn it!"

"Just get in." You look at Tyrion and frown.

"Even you?"

"I know what she did is unforgivable but you should-"

"I know what lies beyond. I know their atrocities." You say in resolution and open the door. The two dothrakis on her station sees you and slips out of the office as Daenerys continues working.

"Missandei? Can you just give me a glass of wine? One that can fi-"

"You should eat properly." You speak and you see as her hand stops writing. As she slowly looks at you. You smile sadly at her as you walk up to her desk. "Here." You clear her desk of her documents, bringing them over to the table in her office then bring out the contents of your basket. The ones you cooked with your own hands. She silently watches as you do all these. You don't forget to give her a glass of wine then smile at her. "Eat."

She looks at the food and wine then she tears up. Gods, how she missed this. How she missed you.

"Is this a dream?" You can hear the yearning in her voice for this to be her reality. And you know it is, the hurt and pain in your heart right now is the proof.

"It's not." You say as you pour yourself a glass of wine. You never liked the thing, always sobering through celebrations and such. And so, dream you will never drink this, you and her know that so you drink the glass in one go. You grunt as you put the glass down. You never liked it's effects before until now. The alcohol in you seemingly giving you courage to face her. "It really isn't. So eat, please." Daenerys nods and begins to help herself to the food. She watches as you pour yourself another glass.

"Do you-" She tries to stop you but you didn't want to remember this night. You didn't want this pain anymore.

You were drunk by the time Daenerys finishes her food. The entire jug of wine was almost emptied by you if she didn't stop you by your sixth glass.

"You know." You begin as you felt yourself get dizzy. "I knew there was a reason why I don't like wine. My self-control is slipping out of me. I can feel it." You giggle and laugh.

"Y/N-"

"And you! The love of my life!" You smile as you look at her and Daenerys felt like she travelled to the past where you looked at her like she was a goddess walking on the ground.

"Such a tragedy. I knew you would find someone better. I knew it in my head but I just- I still gambled my heart." You sigh wistfully as the pain squeezed her heart. "And I never got it back." She stares at you as you walk to her.

"Tell me, your grace." She felt another squeeze at the unfamiliar address. You stopped calling her that when the two of you made love for the first time.

"Was it fun?" She froze at that. "Was it good when you kissed him? Or when you fucked him?" You refuse to believe that any sane man would be able to resist her charm. Hell, even you couldn't resist it.

"Did it feel good when you broke my heart?" You couldn't stop the tears now as they flowed freely onto her lap. She looks as you give her a defeated smile. The same one she always sees when you decide to sacrifice yourself for a comrade, but this time, combined with your tears, was more painful than every other defeated smile you ever gave. Because after those defeated smiles. After the battle is over, you always walk over to her and give her the brightest grin and the most gentle kiss. But now, she knows she won't have that anymore. "Did you laugh when you heard it shatter? Was it- was it worth it?" You sob as you kneel. You can't think anymore. If you were sober, none of this would be spoken to her. None of this would ever known to anyone. You are an unsullied. Bottling your feelings and not showing any emotions was what you were trained for. But alcohol brought everything out. Your every self-deprecating thought, every pain and every sorrow. Because as much as you were known for your smile, no one knows how you looked when you are in grief. No one until Daenerys came. She can only watch as you sobbed until you fall asleep. She can only shed silent tears as she whispered her apologies to you.

You wake with a massive headache. One that makes you groan as you sit on the familiar yet unfamiliar bed. You haven't been here in a while.

"Fuck. I'm never drinking alcohol again." You grunt as the pain hits you again.

"That would be for the best." You freeze as you hear her voice. You hear her shuffle around then a cup appears in your vision. "Drink up. The maester said this would help with the pain." You shakily accepts the cup and drink it one go. The pain now concentrated at your tounge as the hot tea travels through your body. You look at her face and you can't help but voice out the first word that gets in your head.

"Dilaw." Daenerys tilts her head and you blush as you facepalm for yourself.

"Di- what?" She asks and you cover your face.

"Literally, it means yellow. But another meaning means happiness. Or source of it." Daenerys blushes as she hears your explanation. In any other day, you would grin then kiss and hug her but instead pain grips your heart instead. "I should go." You stand and avoid touching her. "Thank you for letting me sleep here. Farewell, your grace." Daenerys stops you before you can even open the door.

"I'm sorry." She says as tears flow through her face. "I'm so sorry. I took you for granted. I took everything we ever had for granted. But please, Y/N. Please give me another chance. Give me the chance to make everything right. Give me the chance to pick up your heart's broken pieces. Give me the chance to make it whole again."

"Your grace." The title makes her grip tighter on your wrist. "I have no more right. No more fight. And no more courage in me. You have taken all of those away." You shake as you finally let everything out. "You have always owned the heart you broke with your own hands. I never got it back."

"Then let me earn your trust again. Let me by your side again. I'm begging you, Y/N. Without you, everything feels wrong. Everything I'm fighting for felt empty. Every promise and plans I make felt futile."

"I can't. Not yet, at least. Please give me more time. More moments to myself. Then maybe, I can ease myself into your side again."

"Then I'll wait for that day." She finally lets go and you look at her. Look at her tear-stricken and wipe her tears away.

"Thank you, Dany." The familiar address gives her hope in her heart even as you slip away from her room.

You don't run anymore. You walk as you go outside the castle.

You knew that eventually, the inevitable will happen. That you will be hers again. Because your heart that you always protected was now guarded and owned by a dragon.

PS.

I will hit myself if I don't get chapter 4 out. I swear.

I need more hours in the day, to be honest. I hate working 9 am to 6 pm 😭😭.

#daenerys targaryen x reader #game of thrones x reader #daenerys stormborn #daenerys targaryen

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howmanyholesinswisscheese · 6 months ago

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More Sherlock & Co Headcanons

Because y'all like the first ones so much.

Mariana is one of those heathens who eats the kernels at the bottom of the popcorn bowl and enjoys it.

John and Sherlock have a rotating cast of answers to the age old client question, "So are you two...?" which only serve to confuse the asker even more. It's an incredibly enjoyable sport. Sherlock often just plays dumb, to John's enormous amusement. It's their favorite inside joke.

When he does actually eat it, Sherlock's go-to breakfast food is a boiled egg and soldiers. Fight me. I will not stand for boiled eggs and soldiers slander they are amazing and Sherlock knows it.

John keeps a collection of bloopers/funny moments he's recorded during cases in a folder on his computer. When he's feeling down, he puts in his earplugs and listens to them. He never fails to get a laugh out of it.

Speaking of language headcanons in the last post, Sherlock speaks fluent Spanish (because of course he does). Sometimes he and Mariana have innocuous conversations in Spanish just to mess with John. He finally gets what it's like to be a stranger watching them all converse in BSL.

Sherlock has a strong appreciation for the musical arts. Once, after a particularly sour case, John took Sherlock to the orchestra to lighten his mood. Sherlock didn't express much outward enjoyment, still drained from the previous week's labor, but the next day the pieces they'd heard rang out through the flat as Sherlock's touch brought them to life from memory on his violin. John found this version infinitely more beautiful than any orchestra. and he even glimpsed the ghost of a smile as Sherlock lost himself in the music.

You know how everyone has a different little doodle they do when they're bored and they've got a pen and a bit of paper around? Well, Sherlock does mandalas and circle scribbles, John does little smiley faces and zig zags, and Mariana writes peoples names in calligraphy.

@obsessed-sketches and I both agree Sherlock wears a really heavy, well-worn coat for the deep-pressure stimulation. And a scarf, because those are absolutely splendid to play/fiddle with and being all wrapped up just adds a whole nother dimension to it all.

John uses Microsoft Edge as his default browser. Mariana's exasperated protests have been completely futile in convincing him to switch and to be honest, who knows if there's any hope left for him anymore.

Speaking of browsers, Sherlock would be such a boss at the 2048 game.

Someday I'm gonna have to write a dance lesson fic, because the idea of Sherlock teaching John to dance for a case lives in my head rent free for literally every SH rendition but these two especially. Sherlock freely infodumping about the history of each song he plays as he shows John how to waltz, John filling the silence with nervous rambling, that rapport setting in and them just falling into step after a few minutes and forgetting time is even passing... I know I mostly HC them as a QPR but dear god the intimacy in that may kill me.

Mariana once introduced Sherlock to the National Day Calendar. National Cellophane Tape Day, National Life Insurance Day, National Raspberry Popover Day, and the likes are now slipped happily into conversations at 221B under Sherlock's firm belief that each one is on par with Christmas in terms of their significance in the public eye. Slay, Sherlock. National Days are awesome.

John makes the cutest sleep noises.

Yk how i said Sherlock likes rainbow sour straps. If you've ever eaten sour straps, you'll know there are two ways to eat them: whole, or by tearing the colours into strips. Clearly, as a civilised human being, Sherlock does the latter.

SHERLOCK WOULD TOTALLY WRITE AWESOME POETRY AND READ IT OUT AND JOHN AND MARIANA WOULD BE STUNNED INTO AWESTRUCK SILENCE

Mariana wears those really big hoop earrings. You know the ones.

AAAAH i should stop before this becomes a mammoth block of text. Maybe I'll make a part three.

Thank you kindly for being unwillingly subjected to my opinions coming to my TED talk.

#please i have too many they are literally exploding out of my head #the innocuous domestic ones are the worst i see them EVERYWHERE #NJKGLG AAAAAAA #i probably need help #ive not proofread this post at all but yk what im posting it #sherlock and co #sherlock & co #jonk watson #sherlock holmes #john watson #mariana ametxazurra #johnlock #jonklock #podlock #sherlock and co headcanons #arter speaks

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st-el-la-luna · 10 months ago

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Task Force 141 + König when you have a subtle panic attack

Thanks for being my first request (and my 69th follower)

Did this headcanon style, just testing things out, y'know?

Captain John Price

° Price is probably the best choice, honestly

° He’s older, worked with soldiers, he’s no stranger to panic attacks

° “You alright, love?” he asks, tenderly, his eyes soft with affection

° He’ll take your hand and rub gentle circles on the back of your hand

° If you’re in a big crowd, say at a party or something, or even just walking through a busy street, and become unsettled, Price is the type to gently herd you towards the nearest wall

° He’ll put himself between you and the crowd, leaning in close to whisper in your ear

° “Hey, it’s okay darling. Just breathe. I’m here.”

° He takes your hand and sets it over his heart so you can feel his heartbeat

° Tells you to focus on him, his breathing as he rests his forehead against yours

° Once you’ve calmed, he presses a little kiss to the tip of your nose and offers you a smile

° “Come on, let’s go, yeah?”

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley

° If you think Ghost doesn’t know immediately when something puts you on edge, then what do you know? Because you must be a stupid fuck to be blind to the fact that this man would be the most observant, intuitive person when it comes to you

° He notices everything, reads you like a book

° A children’s book. Easily and with a gentle sort of fondness

° He won’t say anything outwardly, he’s not one for words (he doesn’t want anyone knowing he cares)

° Everyone knows

° He’ll stand right behind you, arms crossed over his chest, as he stares at whoever's making you uncomfortable

° If you’re in a conversation that’s making you uncomfortable or a situation that you’re easily able to leave, he will lead you away, making an excuse for you if he must

° His excuses are complete bullshit, but no one’s going to call him out on that

° “Yeah, sorry. We have to go. Need to walk the dog.”

“You have a cat”

“Yeah, and the cat’s name is The Dog. Problem?”

“No.”

“Yeah, ‘s what I thought.”

Sergeant Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

° No offense to Soap, but he wouldn’t be… great?

° It’s not that he wouldn’t care, no, no, he cares. Soap cares a lot. Too much, even

° But Johnny is, at his core, a people person, so he can't quite understand your position

° He’s likely not to notice your discomfort at first, excited to meet and talk to new people

° Once he does notice though, oh boy is he going to make up for it

° If you’re chewing your lip, he’s quick to put an end to that with a kiss; “Och, don’t you know? 'tis my job to bite those lips raw, love.”

° If you’re picking at your nails, tugging at your hair, he’ll take your hand in his; “Aye, if you want something to do with your hands… I’m right here.”

° Despite being a people-loving extrovert, he is absolutely willing to leave if you really can’t be there any more

° He’ll treat you nice and soft, make you forget all about all of your worries

° He’s the type to cross the room if he sees you getting uncomfortable. One second you can barely see him through the crowd. The next, he’s standing right behind you, arms around your middle

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

° Aside from Price, Gaz is your next best bet

° Gentle and sympathetic, he’ll take your hand and give it a little kiss

° “Alright?”

° His rich eyes empathetic as he meets your gaze, and just like that everything but Gaz fades from your mind

° Gaz will set her hand on your knee, not to get it to stop bouncing, no, he recognizes that it calms you. His hand on your knee is more of a gentle, wordless, reminder of his presence

° If you’re in a situation you can’t just leave, one where physical touch isn’t an option, he’ll shoot you a knowing look

° Speaking with his eyes, “it’s okay. You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay”

° He’ll take you away from the situation if he can, back home or to a different room or a park

° Someplace quiet and safe

° He’ll cater to you, bringing you a blanket, snacks and a drink. Then, he’ll cuddle with you

° And don’t you dare try to apoloigize, he won’t hear any of it

Colonel Konig

° Simultaneously the best and the worst

° He has anxiety, he has experience with panic attacks!

° And while don't think his anxiety is the sort of "uwu shy bean" kind some people portray him with (see my thoughts on his anxiety/behaviour here!) He does still have anxiety- crowds and new people freak him out too! Though he may show it in a different way

° In situations of stress, his military training kicks in- the anxiety borne adrenaline making him on edge and attentive

° He keys into your discomfort very quick. Doesn't mean he knows what to do about it Will probably stress a bit about wanting to something to help, but not knowing what The best thing to do is probably for you two to comfort each other

° He's not big on PDA (He's a grown man, a Colonel, he's above those things {secretly it makes him melt}) but an easy way for both of you to calm is to link pinkies, or for you to hold his pinky

° It's not in your face but it's enough to know that you're both there, that you're going to be okay

° He'll let you to play with his sleeve, or his gloves, or his bracelet or his watch

° He may start, once he’s comfortable enough, or if he’s nervous enough, he may do the same. Most commonly, he will pinch one of your fingers between two of his and sort of just wiggle it around

° Think someone waving out those metal sheets to make a whomplewoomblewoom sound

° He’ll do his best to get you out of the situation, not afraid to throw his rank around, or use his imposing stature to do so

Please reblog to support my writing!

Masterlist

#call of duty #cod mwii #cod #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #captain price #price x reader #x reader #konig #konig cod #konig x reader

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p3sephone · 22 days ago

Text

What is rightfully mine (Dark! Winter Soldier x reader).

Summary: you were running for your life since months after the Winter Soldier got free and started killing everybody inside of Hydra. When he found you, things didn't go as you expected.

Warnings: violence towards reader, forced kissing, unwanted touching, obsession, hints of killing people, implied non-con, crying and home intrusion. This is a dark story with dark themes, NO MINORS, only +18. I don't own this character.

Notes: Comments, likes and reblogs are always welcome and appreciated. Also, requests are open so feel free to ask! 🏵️

You sighed heavily, yet another tiring day at work was finally over. All you wanted to do was go home, throw yourself on the bed and lounge around doing literally nothing. Your head had been racing and frantic for months now, you needed a break at all costs. You knew that maybe that break wasn't the right choice at all, but you had to take it for the sake of your mental health. Months had passed since that day, you still remembered it as if it were yesterday, and you hadn't stopped since then.

You had continued to run away, change routines and schedules, always dress casually and always with your gaze on the ground. You couldn't let it find you again. It was a bad chapter in your life, when you worked with Hydra. You weren't a good person, you were aware of not being one and when you finally decided to become one, it was already too late.

So you didn't really believe that the Winter Soldier would give you any discounts once he found you, considering that you seemed to be at the bottom of his list of people to kill. All the others had been found dead in their homes, one after the other. They could have hired dozens of men for security and they had still come to a bad end because of the Winter Soldier. You knew that it was only a matter of time now, but you had to at least try. So you continued to hide, trying to live like a normal person. And in the end, you became a normal person.

The time outside of Hydra gave you time to reevaluate things, to change yourself and during this time you really thought that maybe things could get better. Even for that man who terrorized you.

You inhaled through your nose as you opened the door of your house and then closed it behind you. You only had time to turn around and your head was violently slammed into that same door, now closed.

"Вы пропустили меня? (Did you miss me?)" his voice remained the same as you remembered, no matter how little he said, it was composed and low. You held your head, slowly dragging it along the ground, it was throbbing with pain and your vision was blurry. The darkness was blending in with his black boots and his all-black attire. He had prepared himself just for you.

"Do you have nothing to say for yourself?" he bent down to your level as he said those words, and when you didn't dare give him an answer he yanked a handful of your hair with his vibranium arm, making sure you could look him straight in the eyes. That arm had always terrified you and you feared one day you would end up strangled by it, you truly feared that that day had now come.

"I'm sorry, soldier-" you didn't have any more time to speak, the winter soldier showed the same mercy that you showed him when you looked away while they tortured him. You knew well that this was your karma, it was what you deserved. Maybe now you were a good person, before no, you hadn't been especially with him. But you were so lucky and you didn't know it yet!

The winter soldier made you stand up by tugging your hair once more, then he pressed the light switch. His icy eyes scrutinized you with that frowning face, so full of hatred and anger. On the other hand, your eyes had tears in them and they threatened to come out not only because of the pain in your head, but also because of the guilt. And he noticed it.

"Oh… did you regret it? Are you sorry?" he emphasized the sentence you had said previously, and only then the tears fell. You squeezed his vibranium arm in the hope that he would loosen his grip just a little. You nodded with a sob, looking into his eyes as he wanted.

“Okay, show me.” You were shocked at the request and did nothing but frown at him, while he had a small smile on his lips. He gave you a hint, bringing his face close to yours and giving you a chaste kiss on the lips, then inviting you with his gaze to return the kiss. You swallowed nervously. Given your situation and the fact that you were now completely useless to Hydra, you had no choice.

So, you did as he wished. You leaned in and kissed his lips, not expecting him to return the kiss quickly and much more passionately than your clumsy one. It was as if he wanted to devour you, take everything from you and leave you with nothing. He finally released his grip on your hair, pushing you against the front door instead and deepening the kiss, before pulling away and resting his head on your shoulder. You were now shaking with terror: you weren't ready to die and you certainly weren't ready for this psychological torture.

"It's what I've wanted for years, and they've always denied me this reward. Mission, after mission, after mission… and I didn't see a trace of you. I hated being alone and you hated doing that job, you should thank me for killing everyone." he whispered close to your ear and you couldn't help but increase your crying and moans of fear. It was a fate worse than death, yours.

"But I don't want this…" you barely whispered, and you would have been lucky if he hadn't heard you. But he had. His attention returned to you and his vibranium hand gripped your jaw firmly.

"You're mine. You always have been, since months ago when you moved to this shithole of a city. You didn't stop being mine when you worked to make my life a living hell and despite everything you still have to finish thanking me for sparing you, and you didn't stop being mine even when you moved five months ago. I've always followed you, I've never lost my attention on you." his eyes narrowed and if possible, he seemed even bigger than he was before, while on the other hand your figure was getting smaller and smaller.

Your crying didn't satisfy the winter soldier's mood at all and didn't improve the situation, so he decided to do his own thing and kiss you again. This time your body tried to react and fight against him, but the fight ended when he decided to literally trap you with his body and trap both of your hands in his, doing what he thought was right with you. After all, you had always been his, it was time to show it to you.

#dark marvel #dark avengers #dark bucky barnes #dark winter soldier #dark! winter soldier #dark winter soldier x reader #dark! winter soldier x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark! bucky x reader #dark! bucky barnes x reader

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therainnight · 2 years ago

Text

Me blathering about Omgaverse JaviLloyd.

Warning: I'm no writer. English is my second language AND this is me blathering about Omgaverse JaviLloyd.

Of course, there is no beta reader. this is me blathering

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

hear me out- omega!Lloyd.

Yeah I know he must suit for being beta but I like the chaos of Suho and others that not is baron or baroness, don’t know if Lloyd is omega.

Originally, his death isn’t only because of drinking too much but also consumed heat suppressant pills for a long time and won’t let his body have heat after the first time it happened, and because of that most people think he is beta.

Unfortunately, Kim Suho aka our beloved young master takes his body without this knowing this. He did notice the pill bottle on the bedside table but don’t think too much about it. (In his defense, “it a pill bottle with no label. Who would dare to touch it?”)

The story continues like now it in the novel or webcomic. There was once or twice, Javier noticed a new scent coming from Lloyd. VERY SUS. At first, Javier thinks that Lloyd has a secret meeting with omega to steal the weird knowledge that recently Lloyd possessed but that theory has to drop out because Javier is with Lloyd 24/7 after he picks up Lloyd from passing out on the road on a faithful day.

Lloyd knows only a few things about this second-gender thing. “The knight of blood and iron” is focused on Javier’s knighthood journey more than the second gender. He knows what beta, omega, and alpha are but just that it.

After the mining & ant incident, it the moment that Lloyd learned about his real second gender. He learned from the mouth of his family doctor. At first, the doctor praised Lloyd for his choice of choosing to stop drinking after that he praised him for stopping taking heat suppressant pills and letting his body free for once, doing what it was designed for.

“Heat? What?” Lloyd asked but the doctor didn’t notice and keep talking.

“It’s good that now you consider your health, young master. But just completely stopping consuming heat suppressants immediately is kind of dangerous. I will write a new set of pills for u to stable your system, ok?”

“Oh and please don’t take it the wrong way but now you're out of pills, I think you should consider wearing a collar for your own protection.”

“I know. Sir Asrahan is trustworthy and noble alpha but as you always said to your soldier, safety first! Hahaha” the doctor laughed softly.

Before Lloyd could ask doctors more about this “heat” and pills. Baron and baroness break into the room and hug him while telling how they were glad that Lloyd is awake and safe. After a joyful family drop-down. Baron tells Lloyd that he knows about Lloyd's decision to stop taking heat suppressants. The baron presents Lloyd with a collar with the Frontera symbol on it. He said that ask for a mage to cast a spell cast on it to become invisible when the user wears it.

“I know how much you hate people knowing about it but please, think as to help ease your father and mother’s mind.”

Lloyd was confused but agreed to what the baron and baroness begged him for. Good for Lloyd, He wasn’t alone. Javier was also confused.

Nowadays, young master Lloyd has this- bewitching scent coming right off him. At first is very dilute, if it is not because of his sharp sense and of the time they spend together. He won’t notice it but now it becomes more clear and stronger. It smells like chocolate mostly but also another sweet scent that makes a sweet tooth like Javier crave for some.

On one relaxed night, The one that Lloyd can have a routine like normal people. He finished his bath, ready to put Javier into dreamland but Javier have some business before joining him in his bedroom. Lloyd rolls around on the queen-size bed. Lloyd can’t help but feel uneasy and annoyed with how his bed is.

Everyone would have some moments like this. When you feel like the bed is not right and they fix the bed until you feel comfortable again.

So Lloyd spend time waiting for Javier to fix his bed until he felt satisfied. He fluffs 4 pillows that he has. He keeps arranging it but is still unsatisfied.

‘Tomorrow was my day off!! I will have a good quality night's sleep today!!!’

Before he knows he collects the many pillows and blankets as much as he can. While Lloyd arranges his bed like a madman he notices Javier’s pink pillow on the chair near his bed. He picks the pink pillow up. Look around it. Before hugging it to test the quality of the pillow. Turn out it is perfect!

Lloyd replaced the pink pillow with his own pillow while thinking Javier won’t mind him borrowing this pillow just for one day.

-knock- -knock-

“Master Lloyd. It’s me”

“Ah! Come in.”

Javier didn’t prepare his heart for what he witnessed after he opened the door. The usually normal bed is now full of pillows and blankets. Anyone can see that each item has gone through a lot of calculations to determine where to put it.

‘I- it looks like a nes-‘ before Javier can end his thoughts suddenly Lloyd pops out.

“Ha ha! Lo and behold! This is my fortress!”

“....Young master, what are you doing?”

“...make my bed? ANYWAY! come join me! it's very comfy, you know~? Want to sleep with this big brother tonight~?”

“..with all the respect, sir. I have to refuse- wait. Is that my pillow?”

"oh-AH. Yes. I will borrow it today! "

"You have a ton of pillow, Sir. Why you must borrow mine? please give it to me"

"What-? Did I just hear SIR KNIGHT ASRAHAN say he can't sleep without his pink pillow? don't worry. I won't tell a soul."

"--!"

Javier moves closer to the bed with a fortress(?) make of pillows. To be honest, the nest- no- the bed looks very comfy and neat but he can't let himself go along with what this trash human planned.

Thank you for reading! :3

#tged #the greatest estate developer #lloyd frontera #javier asrahan #javilloyd #or is it #javillo #omegaverse #omega!lloyd #alpha!Javier #not a writer #me blabbing #my art #doodle

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writefightandflightclub · 9 months ago

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Three (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but can you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genre: a LOT of tasty angst, some tasty smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see series warnings, here.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule and series masterlist are here.

Author’s note: Thank you so much if you're still here :) Hope you enjoy chapter 3! I'm so grateful for the interaction so far, and any feedback / comments / reblogs / asks would seriously mean the world!

Word count: 7.1k for this part

Santiago’s eyes flit over you as you ever so deliberately lean yourself up against the counter edge, legs stretched and elongated before you.

He just told you he’s missed you, after all these months apart - an admission you’d never expected so readily from him - but you, on the other hand, can’t bring yourself to be quite as forthcoming.

Instead, you fold your arms firmly around your middle and your expression grows taut - despite his effort to soften things. To close this distance. To drag you back in.

Stubbornly, you offer a big fat nothing in response. Opt not to make things easy for him.

Still, although you don’t make any move to invite him closer, you certainly do not make any move to deter him.

And so, Santiago inches forwards, stepping into the place of your sketched memories of him -all you’ve had for months- and showing them up to be wholly inadequate. When you’d imagined him he wasn’t this. He is so much more than you had been dwelling on. More handsome. More affecting. More Santiago.

He was hard enough to resist as an outline - as a vestige of the warmth he offered you. You don’t know if you can resist the full force of his corporeal form, and its promise of touch. You don’t even know if you want to.

Santiago is a wound you could never close. A scab you always pick. A scar you will always carry. It’s not nice to think of him in such a way, but you don’t know another way any longer. He hurts you, but you don’t know how to stop letting him get close enough to do it.

Your expression remains taut, however, even as Santiago’s face dances with a tentative smile, crinkles blooming around his eyes like sunbeams. A veneer of easy charm paints his features, no doubt in an attempt to sucker you in.

He always was good at that.

He just never quite knew what to do next when he had you.

To answer Tom’s question, Santiago had never used a line on you, no; but, since you started hooking-up, he had never needed to. Not once. You were weak for him, and it didn’t take much at all to drag you into him. Barely anything, in fact. A bad day. A drink or two. A lingering hug and parted lips, hovering just a little too close to your neck. A hand smoothed down your back, a little lower than he’d thought to touch before. A thick, dark eyebrow raised with a question, a nod towards his bed with a solution, and then, you were his. Unravelling all over him. Tipping into him then falling - so far. Further than you’ve ever fallen.

And God, you had tried. Tried to love him only in fragments. See him in pieces. Friend. Soldier. Lover.

But you saw him all at once.

He had drawn you in; because that’s what he does, isn’t it? It’s what he’s good at. He drags people in. To him. To danger. Because he can. Because he wants to. Because he needs to. Because he can’t bear to hurt alone. Because anything is a weapon in his lethal hands. His touch alone had even become a weapon, in the end. His fingers on you, inside you. Santiago knew exactly how to take you apart; but he didn’t know when to stop dismantling you.

His hands had never learned to build things.

It’s not his fault. Not really.

Still, you can’t help but blame him for it.

Santiago treads closer still, and your chest tightens with feeling.

You wish desperately that you had that same power over him. The power to pull him, to drag him, to persuade him into safety; but Santiago’s always looking for a close call as though he depends on them. As though, if he steps back from the edge, he will forget what it feels like to live without the constant threat of dying.

Santiago stops a few strides from you, planting his feet and shuffling from foot to foot, ugly flip flops slapping obnoxiously against the tiles.

You have so much to say to him. So many things you’ve rehearsed and scripted in your head these past months. But suddenly, all of that is too much to verbalise. Instead, there is something else burning far more strongly than regret or resentment or anger or saving face. More strongly than the million things you had sworn you had wanted to scream at him if only you could finally get him in front of you.

The truth is, you’ve missed him too.

You miss him.

This distance of only a few strides is the furthest you’ve ever felt from him, and you want nothing more than to close it.

Here, like this, you’re achingly aware that he’s not touching you. Hasn’t touched you, since he arrived here.

There was no hug hello. There has been no conspiratorial huddle of your bodies. No leaning into him on the couch. No sign of the two of you moving as one. In tandem. Symbiotically.

No lovers. No friends. No soldiers. And what are you without that?

You had left the latter life behind but you didn’t mean to lose the former too.

Santiago scratches his chin, flecked stubble rasping along his jaw, against the rough pads of his fingers, and your core turns itself over. In this moment, you can recall the textures of him as thoroughly as if you are touching him yourself.

Touch - that’s it.

Touch is the shared language you two have even when there are no words.

It is the language you have always shared. Developed over time, adding deeper and more elaborate phrasings to the point that, now, there are things you simply cannot say to each other without your fingers, your hands, your bodies, your lips. Therefore, in so many ways, until you can touch him? Until you have touched him? It will continue to feel like you haven’t yet spoken. Like you haven’t spoken since he left you in that doorway and you spat cruel words at him down the stairwell. Like you haven’t spoken since his hands -his touch- were last on you. Inside you. Over you. Covering you.

You haven’t spoken since his hands were moving over your body and telling you he loved you. Needed you. Wanted you.

And that? That won’t do. That’s too long without speaking to your best friend.

You undeniably need his touch now, regardless of how dangerous it may be. You need it, regardless of whether or not it is a weapon in his palms. Indeed, with the words attempting to burst out of you still too numerous and craving this far more intimate, straightforward shorthand, you simply move to hug him.

Santiago.

To draw him into you and gather him up into your arms. Your oldest, dearest friend.

You drink the scent of him in, and it is the scent of home. A home you’ve been searching for everywhere since you left it behind. A home you haven’t found anything close to back here - even at the family dinner table. A belonging you haven’t found in your new place, no matter how many throw cushions you buy and rearrange or how many photographs you hang in the hallway.

And so, the sheer force of your embrace takes Santiago by surprise, his hands still shoved in the deep pockets of his cargo shorts; but, in only moments he is reacting, wrapping his arms around you too. You’re not proud of it, but for the first time in months you feel like you can breathe.

Your fingers travel to any bare patch of skin you can find, snaking up to the back of his neck, into his hair, relearning the textures of him. Mapping his body beneath your touch. Cataloging every contour and swell of his terrain. And, it gives you pause as you find a fresh, ridged scar sliced into the back of his neck.

How didn’t you notice this before?

Oh yeah – that’s right. Because you’ve barely dared to look at him. To see him. Only dared to grasp at fragments of him, rather than risk seeing him all at once.

Santiago feels you urgently exploring the ridge with your fingers when you reach it, an unfamiliar range freshly cartographed on the map of his skin. A new dimension to the familiar paths your fingertips have traversed time and time again.

You pull away in shock, your fingers trembling. “What’s that? What happened?”

Santiago routinely got injured when you were in the field with him. Usually right in front of you. That hurt too, of course – seeing him in pain. In danger. But you weren’t quite prepared for the way it would scoop out a hole in your chest to know that he had been hurt without you by his side. That he had been hurting alone.

You knew, somehow. Knew he would throw himself into it when you’d left – into the danger. That he would get reckless without you around and God, what if something had happened? What if something had happened and you’d left it like that- the way you did? Fraught and angry and never having said any kind of proper goodbye? Leaving an open wound in your wake like that? How would you ever hope to piece yourself back together then?

Finally, your eyes swim with the tears that you’ve been holding back all weekend, for longer, and which suddenly find their exit valve so suddenly that you can’t even hope to prevent them. Instead then, you scrub them helplessly from your cheeks as you search Santiago’s eyes for answers.

“It’s okay,” Santiago soothes, smoothing his broad palms up and down your arms, shoulders to elbows. “Hey, it’s okay. Sweetie. I’m okay. Had that pain in my neck, remember? Went to get it fixed.”

It takes a moment for your surge of worry to still as you fight through the cloud of it, your eyes flitting all over his face. Your trembling fingers grasp his forearms in your grip as his broad hands shift to support you beneath the elbow, his thumb raking back and forth over your skin to subdue your concern. You feel ridiculous, but your eyes continue to ball with rogue tears. That is, until Santiago reaches beneath your chin and grips it, giving it a gentle jostle, his eyes steady and reassuring. “I’m okay. Really. Quick surgery. No complications.”

You nod. Blink through the tears. “Okay. Okay. Right. Did it work? Pain in your neck gone?”

His cheek tugs on a smile. “Debatable. Tom’s still sat outside, last I checked.”

You smile too. Release a light exhale of a laugh, venting some of the pressure.

You examine Santiago’s face, painted as it is with mild shock and confusion, as though he’s wondering how you could possibly get so worked up about this new little nick on his neck. He never did quite get it, did he? What he means to you? “You promise you’re not hurt? Really?”

He drops your arms. “It’s not your job to worry about me any more, remember?”

The blow feels low, even for him. A crack in his layered on charm, no matter how casually he attempts to pass it off.

“Sure. It might not be my ‘job’ but it’s still my life’s fucking work, idiot. You got surgery. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

His brows draw down. “Well. We haven’t exactly been friendly lately. Not since…” his pink tongue curls around his lip, as though he can’t quite complete that thought. Can’t quite bear to revisit how you left things. At least, not out loud.

He folds his arms around himself, creating a barrier, and you see the shutters go up over his eyes too.

There it is again. This distance.

Your shoulders slump with an exhale. “Fuck, Santiago. This is so much harder than I… The way we left it. I…”

You watch a hard swallow trail down Santiago’s corded neck.

How did you leave it, exactly?

Hurt.

Yes.

But also; searing pleasure. Pulse hammering in a hot throat. Insistent, grasping, spearing fingers. Stubble as rough and warm as sand. The urgent, soothing slide of tongue. Unfinished.

Unfinished, and it’s so hard not to simply fall on to his lips in this moment. Warm. Soft. Familiar.

He’s remembering too, and his sunken gaze dips to your mouth. His throat bobs around another thick swallow. And, as he so often does when his feelings become too much, Santiago yeets them away. Far away, in the worst possible way. “It’s okay,” he says coolly. “Look. I forgive you.”

Your mouth falls open, in complete indignation. “Me? You forgive me?”

He rocks from foot to foot. “Well… yeah.”

Santiago’s -up to now- cool, calm expression twitches with evident irritation as you scoff. Meanwhile, a sudden, hot rage tremors in your belly, making you gallop over your words so fast you almost trip. “Excuse me?! You’re the fucker who stormed out. Who left it like that.”

“Princesa,” he says, still eerily calm despite the momentary fracturing of his mask. “You left the fuckin’ country without saying goodbye.”

Your nostrils flare. You boil.

This anger which has festered for months, it seems, is finally finding a release valve. It is an ugly, gnarled thing, and yet, you lean into it with your whole self. You lean into it because it’s bringing you closer to him, the distance between your bodies tightening and shrinking as you zone in on one another with this twisting, animated rage.

“Oh ho ho! Funny that the other boys managed to find the airstrip just fine, isn’t it? Frankie had a good luck banner. Benny brought me fucking sandwiches.”

Santi rolls his eyes so hard. “Benny’s always been sweet on you.”

“And you’re not?!”

The words scrape you on the way out, like sand in your throat, and by the time you are almost chest to chest with Santiago, jabbing your pointer finger into the valley between his pecs in utter disbelief, it is too late.

Too late to retreat as his hand almost absent-mindlessly settles over yours to relieve himself from the stab of your accusatory finger.

Then, as coolly and calmly as his words are delivered, he still opts to level an accusation of his own. “You never should have left in the first place.”

You snatch your hand away from his before the heat can travel up your arm and settle in your chest. And, in this moment, in response, you find that you want to hurt him. Perhaps a part of you truly is cruel.

This time, your words are delivered coolly too. Slow, so that every syllable has time to crawl under his skin. “Santiago. I had no damn reason to stay.”

You watch as his eyes flash with a momentary knife lick of pain. He takes an almost imperceptible step back from you, whatever wolfy words in sheep’s clothing he was about to rasp dying in his throat. Instead, he exhales a huff of air through his teeth. Shakes his head. Smiles a smile somehow entirely scrubbed of joy.

The implication of your words is clear.

He was not reason enough for you to stay.

“There,” he says coolly. Unfeelingly. Icily. “Are you done?” He scoops a hand around his mouth, stubble rasping beneath his palm, his eyes glassy and dulled now.

Whatever satisfaction you had expected to derive from hurting him was a false sun. You feel empty now too, for having dulled his brightness.

Did the anger make anything better, you ask yourself? Did it change a damn thing?

No.

Here you are, still entirely burdened by this weight in your chest.

Still at such an impasse.

Still best friends.

Still bound.

Still falling to pieces.

Still hopelessly in love with him.

And it’s still not enough.

You watch him rock self-consciously from foot to foot once more. Attacked but not retreating. Still here. Still trying, in his own way.

You wish you could state with some truth that you’re sorry. That you can forgive him. You don’t know if that’s real, but you still know one thing for sure.

You missed him, and you do still want to close this distance. To heal this wound, not deepen it. Whatever it takes.

“Fine. I’m sorry. I-”

“-Bullshit, hermosa.”

You look down at the floor, almost ashamed that you can’t bend the words quite enough on your tongue to make them feel true in your mouth. That Santiago saw right through you.

But why would you be sorry?

In your estimation, Santiago owes an apology far more than you do.

Still, when you finally drag your eyes back up to his, his stare somehow feels softer. Bright enough with possibility, at least, to singe away your would-be tears.

Maybe it’s because he sees you still here and still trying.

You want to say something more, to do something, but you are entirely at a loss. The anger had gotten you nowhere - no closer to resolution - and you had not once in four months looked beyond it to what might happen next. To what the possibilities might be.

You blink slow and long, bringing your palms up to shield your eyes as you gather yourself for a moment.

Then…

“Here,” Santiago’s weakened voice sounds after a while. You hear the clink of a couple of glasses to the side of you, being grabbed up from the counter.

“What?” you blink a few times in confusion.

“Help me out.” Still, you look blank. “With the dishes.”

You look around the kitchen, as if suddenly noticing where you are. As if only just having clocked the chaos created by you and the boys after an evening of hearty dinner and drinking. Corn husks and burger buns. Beer bottles and discarded dishes littering the surfaces.

“Pope…”

“Come on. Like you wouldn’t be lying in bed staring at the ceiling all night if we left these festering ‘til morning?”

Festering.

Slack-jawed, you watch Santiago gather up the glasses and pad over to the dishwasher in his stupid flip flops, and you feel a sudden surge of affection for the man.

Your eyebrows jump up in delayed surprise. At what, you’re not precisely sure. At the fact he knows you well enough to understand that a mission, however small, is what you need right now? At the fact he remembers you? That should in no way surprise you, but it does.

Santiago ticks up an eyebrow in return, his hand brushing yours as he conveys a plate to you, ready to be slotted into the rack. “I haven’t forgotten you,” he promises, his voice silk, and an involuntary heat blooms through you.

You are grateful that your arm moves on autopilot to stow away the plate, your body turning away from him before you can ignite.

You are also grateful to have this small mission to focus on together. To place your two bodies back into their rightful routine. Sure, this domesticity is a far cry from what you’re used to. From any of the endless ways your bodies might have previously combined – acted as a unit. But, your heart aches as Santiago begins moving around you with ease. Effortlessly intuiting your path around the space, and slotting the path of his body around yours as you work together to get the job done.

You suppose there are some paths you never forget if you walk them enough, and the way you move around each other so fluidly exhibits your years of togetherness – of walking in the same direction – far more clearly than you might care to admit.

Your bodies remember each other, and, oh boy, do you want to test that assertion in all the ways you can think of.

Still; you don’t.

Can’t say anything for a moment, besides responding wordlessly to the brush of his skin against yours as he passes close to you.

“Better to do it now, I guess,” Santiago twitters mindlessly as he rinses a dish and stacks it. You look at him almost completely stalled, as a characteristic smirk finds its way to his full lips. “Personally, I like doing it in the morning.”

You wouldn’t know. He’d never stuck around until morning for you to find that out.

“Right,” you respond stiffly. “Always putting everything off until later.” Including you.

His face drops.

Shit. You can’t help yourself, can you?

You don’t know why you said that. Don’t know why you had to throw around more blame, just as things were softening. Just as things were beginning to feel more than a little like they used to. “Shit. I’m sorry. I…” This time, the words feel genuine.

“Yeah. No. It’s fine. I get it,” he says somewhat placidly, all things considered. Reaching for another stray glass and loading it up. “You think this is all my fault.”

You grab up a used pan and tuck it into a space. The words are so strangled in your throat that they barely come out as more than a whisper. “Well. Isn’t it?”

Santiago’s jaw writhes, tension travelling through his corded neck, his mouth a thin line. Still, he passes you the item in his hand all the same. “Agree to disagree?”

“Fine.”

You both opt to contain it, then. Not to let it erupt. To focus intently on your task and only vaguely on each other. After all, it’s far safer that way – dulling the intensity of him.

“Hey,” you try, forcing a brighter tone, which comes more easily than you might have expected. “Do you really play up the knee thing?”

“Sometimes.”

There is a beat, and you somehow can’t contain your statement. “I was never on top.”

A frown notches in his brow. “Sure you were.”

“No.” You swallow the lump in your throat as you watch Santiago rise from his hinged position, coming fully to standing,

You hold your breath for a moment, wondering where he might take this, but you are relieved as an amused spark glints in his umber eyes. “Made an effort with you, I guess.”

Fuck. You remember. His mouth on you for hours.

Aaaand… There he goes. Dragging you back in.

God, you want him to. Want him to soothe your anger. Win you over. You want that.

“Ha. What made me so special?” Shit. You hadn’t meant… you didn’t mean it like that. Still, you clock the way Santiago self-consciously scratches the nape of his neck.

His eyes glance off of yours now, like a careening, flung spark.

You try to refocus.

Knives and forks in the cutlery holder.

You let the question hang.

You let the moment breathe.

It sounds odd, maybe, for something so mundane, but doing the dishes with Santiago - or something equally domestic - has long been a secret desire of yours. When bullets and bombs hailed around you, everything heightened and extreme and horrible, you had begun to entertain dreams of normal, boring moments with him. A morning cup of coffee. Falling asleep in his arms. Doing laundry.

Peace instead of war.

You snort softly at the thought.

Now, it is the two of you who are at war.

If only your hearts could be as in sync as your bodies always were. Apparently still are. And, dammit, once again, you want to take that theory to its logical conclusion.

“So, look. What’s the deal?” Santiago asks self-effacingly, as he peels the wrapper away from the dishwasher tablet. “Are we ‘friends’ again, or what?”

“Santi. We never weren’t.” That’s not the issue, is it? Never was any question of whether you were friends. It’s that you didn’t know how to be more - not without tearing each other apart.

Santiago nods slowly, processing all of this, and his expression is so contrite that you can’t hope to dull the tide of affection for the man. You turn a bowl over and over in your hands as a distraction. “I still want to know, Santi. I want to know what you’ve got going on. When you get neck surgery. I… You’re still my best friend.” You want to reach out for him. To hold him. In years gone by you would not have hesitated to touch him - but things are different now. “I mean… right? Aren’t you?” When a lump balls in your throat, you realise it’s less of a question, more of a plea.

You can’t look at him, but in your periphery you note him moving closer. His arm extending, his broad, warm palm reaching out ever so tenderly to cup your cheek. Making you meet his gaze before he speaks. “You’re my ride or die, sweetie. Always.”

It’s a relief to hear it. So much of a relief that at least one thing is a constant that your eyes brim with tears, misting your view of him as you finally tip your gaze back up to his. You find his expression wistful at first, but then, as his thumb continues to skim back and forth across your cheek, the moment morphs.

That was always the problem, wasn’t it?

You were soldiers, then friends, then lovers. If only you could figure out what to be next. How to be all of those things at once.

So, when this heat between you is finally given a chance - instead of sparks flinging themselves into the dark - it catches, beginning to blaze.

Suddenly, there is a whole conversation happening between your bodies, without making any move. So fluent are you in the language of touch that you can even intuit his words before he speaks them. Suddenly, a whole tome is written in the fleeting moment that your eyes lock. A tome dedicated to every conceivable position your bodies might combine into. To how you might make use of every surface around you.

The way he could shunt you up against the-

-spread you open on the-

-turn you around and bend you over until-

-a collapsing of this need.

Your bodies, doing whatever they need to sync themselves back up. No longer out of rhythm.

In many ways, it would be so easy.

So easy to succumb.

In that fleeting moment, all the possibilities seem to flash through you as you contemplate what move you’re going to make. Which way you will choose to give into him.

But instead, you reach for the dishwasher door, and you push it closed. Santiago follows, standing formally beside you, hands folded in front of him as though mourning the moment you had both allowed to pass. Mourning the fact that your bodies are talking, screaming out to one another, but not one of you is prepared to listen. Not yet.

“There’s another job,” Santiago states blankly. “I found Lorea’s cash house.”

Your stomach drops. “Fuck, Pope.”

“The boys are in,” he snips back, almost defensively.

Are they? The others were meant to be done with that life too – just like you. It had barely been any time at all since they had followed you out. Started to move on with their lives in whatever way they could.

Thank God, is all you can think. Thank God you didn’t let your need collapse, because if you had, you’d be right back where you started. You’d never get out. All Santiago knows is how to walk around in circles.

“I’m out. I told you,” you reaffirm, as if in danger of being drawn back in regardless of your firm resolve. Santiago always was so very persuasive, that at times you wondered if his desire for you was anything more than a sales pitch. Fucking propaganda.

“I’m… Shit. I’m not asking you to be a part of it.”

You arc an eyebrow, trying your best not to let on that hurts you; contrary thing that you are. “Oh?”

“I’m just telling you what I’ve got going on. Like you wanted.”

“Right.” You swallow. Why did Frankie not mention this? Asshole. “Sure.”

Now that the dishes are stowed away, Santiago casually pops a couple of beers, leaning himself up against the counter. You follow his lead.

“So,” he breezes, nodding the head of his bottle at you. “I gave you something. Now you can tell me about the guy you’ve been dating.” You arc an eyebrow at him, definitely coming off as miffed that he’s found out about that. “Oh yeah,” he says smugly, with a knowing curl of his lips. “Your sister dropped you in it big time. Almost like she was trying to make me jealous or something.”

You shrug.

Well?

Did it work? Is he? Jealous?

Part of you wants him to claim you again. At least, you want him to want to. Want him to remind you in no uncertain terms of all the ways he can’t forget your body - and everything he knows how to do to it.

“He’s….” Possibilities of what you could respond with filter through your brain. He’s not even a thing. He’s none of your business. He’s what you deserve for letting me go. He’s revenge. He’s a bit of fun. He’s not someone I could make a go of it with. He’s not you. Never will be you. “…Hot.”

“Did you meet him at a wine mixer?” Santiago asks with a brash smile. “Does he listen to true crime podcasts and do ultra-marathons to prove he’s special? Take you on dates to Olive Garden?”

“That’s… ridiculously specific. Also; no.”

In truth, you know this revelation from your sister won’t even bother Santiago all that much - not on any real level. That’s because he knows it as well as you do. Knows that you’re his. At least, that you could be his, at any moment. That he could make you forget. Or remember. Whatever he wanted.

You prickle though, and he sees it. “Come on. I’m not trying to be an ass. I swear. I just-“ he bumps your arm with the back of his hand “-want to know too. What you’ve got going on.”

“Then you should ask me about my job, the house. All of that.”

He leans in, just a little. Conspiratorial almost, eyebrows shooting up. “I get all of that shit from Frankie.” So Frankie’s been selling you out too, huh? You’ll need to have words. “But… Look, he holds out on me when it comes to who’s giving you the dickin’ down these days.”

“As he should!”

Santiago chuckles, and God you’ve missed that sound.

You search his face. A gentle, genuine curiosity plastered over his features. You take a swig of beer, for some illusion of courage.

“Fine. I met him when I kicked his ass at a BJJ seminar, thank ya very much. He has tattoos. Owns a gourmet street food truck. Hangs with his two kids in his spare time.” Santiago nods solemnly, as though his own curiosity is coming back to bite him all of a sudden. As though he’s growing less and less sure that you’re his. “And it’s...” You clear your throat. Christ, there’s no subtle way to do this. “I mean. It’s still early. We haven’t even said we’re exclusive yet, you know?”

Santiago nods slowly again, processing all of this. Studying your face intently, without giving much away himself as a heat claims your cheeks. You’re not sure what you want him to do with that final piece of knowledge, exactly. Can hardly bear to think about how desperate it must come off.

Fuck. If he really cared about you, he’d let you go, wouldn’t he? But you won’t let him let you go.

Maybe you really are just as bad as one other.

“So… it’s not…” you continue, hoarsely. “I mean. It’s not serious.”

Santiago gives you a look then though. One which is desolate, eyes scrubbed clean of that perpetual, vital spark. “Don’t,” he pleads softly. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t give me hope.”

Santiago.

Why the hell not, exactly?

Why the fuck shouldn’t you give him hope? After all, there is so much of it twisting in your chest. Hope that somehow, this time, this thing you share could maybe be different. There is such an abundance of hope that it only seems fair to heap it upon him too, doesn’t it? So that he may share the burden?

“Okay. Whatever.” You set your mouth into a thin, pinched line, but there’s too much feeling bubbling up inside you to contain. “I missed you too, you know.”

Then, despite what he’d just said…

His eyes spark, glancing off yours like flint on rock, no more settled ash here; only kindling catching. “Oh you did?” he purrs in a smooth voice, like breath bellowed into a burgeoning flame – giving you heat.

You’re so fucked.

You want his heat. You want…

Fuck.

Your bodies betray yourselves, your resolve, your best intentions, magnetising ever so slowly towards one another until you are almost chest to chest, all hitching breaths and need-burdened brows. Hovering hands and blown-out pupils and parted lips, inching closer. His finger trailing up your forearm like the crackle of a licking flame, causing you to gasp from the way it burns.

He dips forward for a kiss you’ve waited months for.

Months; and yet… when it comes to it? When you finally get what you think you want, you deny it. Your head whips to the side, chin to shoulder at the last moment, leaving Santiago’s lips moments from your cheek, his breath fanning warm against your skin. It takes everything you have not to turn – to offer your mouth to his so that he might quench your desire like a cooling tide rolling over a hot, needy shore.

“Don’t…” you plead now too. Don’t, because if he starts, you will not have the strength to stop, and you’re so very tired of moving in circles.

Santiago remains in place for a moment, chest moving with gently ragged breaths, the scent of him all over you like smoke. The heat of this desire – the desire to consume you, devour you like fuel - pouring off of him in waves, and desire sinks through your middle too, tacky and hot and rolling.

“Shit,” he curses, dragging both his hands through his hair and causing waves of turmoil through his grizzled curls. He steps back from you, and you look down at where his hand had found your arm, half-expecting it to be singed.

“Fuck, Santi,” you breathe - in despair, in relief - not knowing quite how you avoided this collision, your stomach in your throat as though you have lurched in a flung vehicle, narrowly avoiding the edge.

This is the one thing you promised yourself, coming here. That you wouldn’t go there. Not again. But, despite trying, it’s quite apparent that you don’t know how to go anywhere else. Your body can barely comprehend itself without his now. After all, you’ve been like a river coursing towards him your whole life. Every sign and route and valley and peak leads you towards him. Every fear and hope of yours is mapped on his skin – hidden in the crooks and valleys of his body. At this point, you don’t know how to flow any other way. How to be anything other than a team. How to do anything other than combine.

Except; when you combine, you collide. You buried your home in his bones, piece by piece, and you can no longer tell if that was love or violence. What do you do, when your home is also your battlefield? When you’ve already done enough fighting for a lifetime? When all you want is to feel safe and at peace, and he can’t give you that?

Your eyes glance off of his again, and this time they are cool and liquid, salt tides shrouding his burnt umber eyes. “Is it always going to be like this?” he asks flatly. “We never gonna to be able to be around each other again?” He looks at you earnestly, and you realise that he’s genuinely waiting for an answer.

“It can’t. It can’t always be like this.” Fraught. Difficult. Painful. It’s not an option. So, it can’t be a possibility. You can’t be with him; but more importantly, you can’t lose him. You just can’t.

You are unsure which words Santiago swallows in the next moment, but you see them bob down his throat and into his chest. Then, you wrap your arms around yourself, feeling exposed by the pain stinging your eyes like woodsmoke.

“So. Glad you got out, huh?” Santiago needles, and you wonder, for a moment, whether a small part of him is cruel too. You wonder what he truly wants to hear, and you resent the scepticism in his voice. Resent the way his words appear to say one thing, but his true meaning is clear. Look what you’ve done.

“Yeah. I am.” What else can you even say? It’s evident that Santiago will never get down on his knees and beg you to come back. And, even if he did do so, he’d be missing the point. You can’t ever go back. You need him to follow you out, and, meanwhile, he’s still looking backward. “I know you won’t leave, Santi, but I couldn’t stay.”

He never did have a clear vision for his future, did he? He only ever had tactics. The next mission. The next pay packet. The next bust. The next lay. Short steps, and never strategic ones. Always a soldier, and never a leader, not even when it came to his own fate.

Santiago sighs deeply, scooping his palm over his stubble. “I know,” he concedes, reluctantly. “I get that. I do.” The muscles in his jaw writhe as he bites the inside of his cheek.

A truce. A ceasefire. For the moment.

How did it come to this?

“And?” you press, trying to soften your tone and getting halfway. “What about you? Are things… good?” Are they better? Better with you gone?

Santiago looks at you then like you’ve just shot him in the leg, but like he also finds it kinda funny that you did. He juts his chin towards you in challenge. “What the shit do you expect me to say, huh?”

Nothing, in truth. Nothing at all with his words. Everything with his lips. With his fingers. With the sting of his teeth on your lips. The rake of his stubble on your skin. With his touch.

For a moment, once again, his eyes are soft and bright, and you can’t help it. Can’t help the way you take a couple of steps forward, extending your palm out to cup that pretty, ridiculously shapely jaw of his, the anger you’ve held on to for months lifting like a veil.

It’s not his fault at all, is it?

You simply loved him too soon; and he loved you too late.

Still, it feels a lot like love when he settles his warm, broad hand on top of yours. For all that has gone wrong, it still feels pretty right from where you’re standing.

Your gaze dips to his full lips and God, yet again, you are only moments from caving.

Maybe this time…

Maybe if you just hope-

“-Yikes! Sexual tension much? Hot as the Sahara in here.”

You and Santiago jump apart from each other as a booming voice fills the room, your heads whipping towards the noise.

Benny Miller.

Benny Miller has arrived at the beach house, everyone. The towering man is clutching a couple of holdalls, and a rucksack is slung over his broad back. You notice his clownish, pearly grin first, and the howler of a bruise on his eye comes a close second.

“Bring it in, bitches!” he encourages, opening his arms towards the two of you, and you quickly attempt to shift gears, a part of you grateful for the sudden interruption, but the whisper of that almost kiss lingering on your lips all the same.

Still, before Santiago can succeed in reading the disappointment on your face, you practically leap into the arms of the younger Miller brother.

“Benjamin!” you squeal in delight, squeezing him tight.

“Miller,” Santiago grins, pulling the taller man in for a backslapping, neck-grasping embrace.

“Where are the other chumps at?” Benny inquires, as soon as greetings have been exchanged, already beginning to shrug off his bags and piling them on to the floor.

You nod your head in the direction of the beachside portion of the house. “Out front. Fire pit. Beers. Three dudes who ate their bodyweight in tamales. Get involved, Ben.”

“Nice.”

Benny bounds outside to say hello, insufferably energetic for this stage in the evening, and once again, you are left alone in the kitchen with Santiago.

You feel like all of the air has suddenly been sucked right out of the room. And, with nothing else for it, you press the button on the dishwasher and it whirrs into action. Hell - that damn machine is the only thing around here getting any.

“We’re done here then?” you question, and, not for the first time this weekend, you’re entirely unsure what it is you want to hear.

Santiago looks at you. Looks at you with all the knowledge of someone who knows you in every way there is to know a person. His gaze is intense – locked and loaded and so very counter to the casual way he shoves his hands into his pockets. You wither under his stare, but his earnest words are the thing which ends you. “I wanna kiss you. So bad.”

Your arms wrap tightly around your middle, as though you are searching around your skin for an exit wound; but no. Apparently, you have not yet worked him out from under your skin. Santiago is still the bullet inside your chest. His love still hurts.

Apparently, there was no clean parsing of him from you when he slammed that door and walked away, but instead, the slow bleed of metal and blood under your skin. You think, all of a sudden; I will never get you out, will I? You are a part of me. You are scar tissue. The echo of a wound.

Your eyes swim, and your burgeoning tears extinguish any fire you may feel. Any words you might say catch on hooks in your throat and never make it out at all.

Santiago has something to say though, it seems, even as his gaze drops to his own toes and your silence speaks volumes. “For the record? It’s not good at all. Without you.”

You press your palm to his chest, a gesture caught smack-bang between reaching to pull him closer and pushing him away. You shake your head lightly, your plea whispered into the tight space between you. “Santiago. Don’t.”

And then, with a deep breath, you walk away. Calm and slow, but with just as much turmoil on the inside as when he had left you behind in a frenzy, doors slamming and voices raised.

After he watches you leave, Santiago remains in the kitchen for a moment, stooped over and his hands braced, palms flat against the counter.

Then, after a quick side-eye at the dishwasher - for it daring to whirr and intrude on his quiet, contemplative melancholy – he pushes it all down. Resumes wearing his mask. The one signaling that everything is fine. That he is fine, even though everything he held most dear seems lost.

The truth is, he needs you. He loves you. He wants you.

But you don’t seem to want to hear it.

You had left, and you had also left him behind.

The truth is, it breaks his heart.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #oscar isaac #triple frontier #ride or die series #santiago garcia

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jolalibrary · 2 years ago

Text

i don't want to miss you.

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader wordcount: 1.2k an: mentions of war, loss of unknown solider, angst but with nice ending. comfort!ghost Reader and Simon are from the same world as Helen.Simon. summary: you lose someone, and he's the only one who can make you whole. masterlist for ghost.

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From the moment their fingers fell from yours, their pulse having vanished, and the light in their eyes stolen—you’d been frozen.

You didn’t hear Price checking in on you, you didn’t hear the dull sound coming from the plane you were in. Just the memories of gasping breaths, which had been once real.

They hadn’t died peacefully.

They shouldn’t have died at all.

Your eyes pinned on the sheet covering them, your feet as flat to the ground of the plane as possible. It’s only when two soldiers move the body, the once crisp sheet stained scarlet, did you shuffle back until your spine is pressed against the wall of the plane.

Somehow, you didn’t falter even when it landed or emptied.

The plane feels larger, colder and quieter than you have ever known it to be. You know Price has asked you a question, but your brain can't formulate words, not even when he'd touched your shoulder.

You were just lost, floating somewhere between the moments before you were radioed to the cargo plane and before they died without you able to stop it.

Price must know how you don't mean it because he runs his hand over your shoulder before exiting. You’re sure you offered a smile, a nod, but you can't swear your life on it.

Because you could have saved them.

If you’d been at the base—if you had everything you needed.

You’d brought far worse back to the living, but never like this—not with time running out in the back of the cargo plane. All they asked was for you to hold their hand, their blood coating your palm as you nodded, sitting on your knees, hearing them whisper thank you as they choked out their last breaths.

You’re used to losing people. It’s the job.

But this felt different. It felt wrong.

It felt like something was stolen from you, knowing—in your mind—all the ways you could have made it work. You’d missed your med bay at the base, even the half-hearted tents. They had things, they had blood and tools. More than your persons had on you now.

You hear his boots. Know they belong to him—you could pick his walk out of a line-up.

If you could listen closely enough, you’re sure you can even pick out his heartbeat from everyone else’s on base. Your ear has been against his chest so often it had become welcomed music at the end of a bad day, week, or month.

Avoiding his eyes, you keep your eyes fixed on the spot, even as he moves closer. Your mind wondered what Price had to say to get him here or whether just simply telling him you were all back would suffice.

The shadow of his frame dwarfs you the nearer he comes, the light from the end of the plane vanishing from your view. Ghost closes the gap slowly, as if fearful of spooking you—not that you look up.

Not until he tugs you, pulling you close. Your body tenses until you realise, awkwardly, what he’s doing. What he’s trying to do.

He’s hugging you.

Poorly, but he is. His hands were not sure where to be, his arms trying to wrap you close but either afraid of squeezing you or not knowing how to do it best.

You’re not sure.

But you let him. You welcome it. Allow him to hold you together, just for a moment, as your eyes stare over his shoulder—feeling him grow tenser and tenser.

“Ghost…”

“Shut up.”

You smile, and the corners of your lips twitch. Slowly, you allow your arms to wrap around him, softening against him as he breathes heavily before doing the same.

It takes another few seconds before you feel it shift, and unlodge, your throat tightening as your breathing stutters. And you know he’s heard it, you can tell.

“Let it out.“

“I can’t,” you say, lessening your grip on him, trying to release your arms, but he just holds you tighter.

“Let it out, Helen.”

Your mouth opens, ready to argue.

“It’s an order.”

It isn’t.

You know it isn’t. Hell, he couldn’t even make it convincing enough to be one. But it’s also what you need. The lump shifting as a tear falls.

He doesn’t let go.

If anything, he holds you tighter, your mouth pressing into him as you let out a sob. A pained, full of heartache sob.

Because losing is expected in war, but it doesn’t make it easy. You’d told him that once, said it to him off-handedly.

Contradictory. A medic in a task force like this. On one hand, I need to take a life, but I’m also expected to save one.

And you know, as well as he does, that it’s hurting more because they were so young, and you’re so tired from lack of sleep. That the mission was also not as successful as any of you would have liked.

That there was so much loss and very little gain. The hardest of all poisons to swallow.

You sniffle, trying not to fall entirely apart when you feel it—a slight rock. Ghost’s feet moving his weight from one to the other, holding you as close as he could without crushing you.

“You hate hugs.”

It’s all you can think to say. Feeling him freeze. Tense. The sound of fabric meeting your ears before he’s allowed enough of a gap for you to meet his eyes.

The dark paint surrounding them, the mask which scares others, but you know what lives underneath it.

“I do.”

“But... you are hugging me?”

He doesn’t snort, but you suspect he smiles. A Simon-smile, not really showing teeth or a smirk, something different, something which suits him and him alone.

“There’s a lotta things I do just for you.”

His hand slides free from around you, trying to catch the edge of his glove on you as he shows it to you. His wrist. The veins and the edge of ink, and more importantly, the very thin black bobble.

“You still have it…” you whisper.

His hand moves, sliding back around your waist, studying you—each minor expression which flutters across your face.

It’s not that you thought he’d rid it of his person the moment you left for the mission, but you didn’t expect it to be there days later. Likely cutting into him, such a thin thing on such a thick wrist.

If you miss me, which I know you won’t because missing people is for people with hearts, flick it against your skin.

Flick this bobble against my skin?

Yes. It’ll feel like I’m right here, annoying you. Bothering you. That little pinch I do to your arm when you say no, and we both know you’ll say yes. It’ll feel like that. And you won’t miss me.

“Did it help, with missing me?”

Ghost just stares, his fingers slowly drawing circles on your hip—even through your layers “No. Wasn’t nearly annoying enough,” he gruffly responds.

You curl back into him, pressing your ear against his chest. Your smile is harder to fight as you listen.

“C’mon,” he whispers, so soft that it almost seems wrong. "Can't show y'how much I didn't miss you here."

And so you almost move, but then you feel his chin against the top of your head.

Closing your eyes gently, knowing it’s his way of kissing your head, of pressing his lips to your hairline.

And you smile as you open them again, lifting your head, staring into the eyes, which makes you feel whole.

“I still have one of your masks,” you reply in a similar softness, his fingers coming up, brushing your chin. “Kept it in my vest pocket, close to me as I could have it. It didn’t feel the same either.”

Your lips kiss his gloved thumb, watching him let it linger against your bottom lip before you nod. A nod which says I missed you too, which says so much more if you were honest.

But, you could say them another time.

For now, you let his hand fall from your lips, allowing him to move you, to twist you into his side as he leads you off the plane.

Hoping, almost praying, it's hours before he lets you go.

///// masterlist for ghost.

#simon 'ghost' riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost riley #ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley a #simon ghost riley angst #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost cod mw2 #simon ghost #cod x reader #ghost x helen #simon x helen

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friendship-ditch · 1 month ago

Text

Whumptober Day 6 - "It's not my blood"

Platonic Aragorn x Reader ✼

Summary: After the Battle of Helms Deep, Aragorn needs some reluctant healing.

Warnings/Notes: Just some descriptions of blood and wounds. This is actually a story for 3/4 prompts, being: It's not my blood, Not realizing they're injured, and unhealthy coping mechanism. Also this is my first male x reader but its platonic sooo

Word Count: 1399

The battle of Helm's Deep, while victorious for Rohan as a whole, was a heavy burden on every surviving soldier's heart. Not a single elven soldier still took breath beside Legolas, and few of the initial men had survived the night.

Aragorn was not unused to loss, for he had lost the majority of the people in his life and clung so desperately to those he had left that to scan over the battlefield under the rising sun, it felt like his heart had died as well.

The death of Haldir was particularly hard on him, as was the deaths of the other elves as this was not a war they had to fight but still chose to do so out of the goodness of their hearts, and it cost them everything.

Aragorn stumbled into what remained of the inner walls of the city. He’d been busy helping the medics gather the wounded to be treated, carrying those that could not walk and running errands for as many herbs as he could. So much blood had been spilt he had become almost numb to it as he did not notice his own on his clothes.

Finally once the initial shock began to wear off and most of the wounded were being healed, reality began to set in. Not only had Aragorn been blown up, something he never thought possible, he also had not slept in who knows how long, had various other wounds, and was also grieving hundreds. The weight of it all was both heavy on his mind and body.

You were walking through the tents of the wounded, a basket full to the brim of supplies and such in your arms. As a part of the Fellowship, you’d fought during the battle just as everyone else had and were a bit scathed yourself, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight of Aragorn.

The wounded man nearly ran you over, though you had a feeling he would’ve been the one to fall had you collided. He stumbled backward with the balance of a newborn foal, half groan-half gasp escaping his lips.

“Aragorn!” You gasped, grabbing his arm to steady him as he swayed.

“‘M alright…” He said, straightening up though he winced in the process. The wound on his shoulder that had gone through various stages of being wrapped throughout the night was bleeding once more, as was a nasty gash on his forehead.

The blood was sticky on your fingers as you tried to wipe it away. Aragorn dodged any further touches like a stubborn mule. “What are you doing?”

You move your hand back, grabbing his face. “You look like you fought Sauron yourself.” You muttered, angry at the fool for neglecting his own pain.

“I’m not injured.” Aragorn protested. He tried to pull his head out of your grip but you fought back.

“What about this?” You held your red hand up, then pointed to the blood staining his armor and clothes. “Or this?”

“That’s not… It’s not my blood.” He stammered.

“It’s literally pouring out of your body, Aragorn. Stop trying to make me not worry because it’s only worrying me more.” You snapped at him, wiping his own blood back on his shirt and then gently punching him in the chest.

The wounded man’s expression was nothing but surprise; his tired eyes widened and red, eyebrows nearly at his hairline. In utter honesty, he had not realized he was so incredibly injured, not that the blood on him was his own.

Instead of protesting any further, he just looked at you like a lost child.

You heaved a sigh. Gently, you released his face from your tight grip and then grabbed his forearm. “We have to get you cleaned up. The last thing we need is for you to bleed out in front of everybody.”

“I’m not going to–”

Aragorn stopped once you shot him a dangerous look and he just fell into quiet defeat, dipping his head. He silently let you lead him into a more secluded area of the medical zone, sitting down on an empty bed.

You left him alone for a few minutes, praying that the ranger would not get himself into any more trouble as you finished dropping off your supplies and fetching new ones. And by some miracle, he was still sitting when you returned with a bucket of water, some rags, as well as whatever spare bandages you could find.

Aragorn eyed your haul suspiciously. “I do not think that is all necessary.” He mumbled, though his voice lacked any of its usual conviction. He did not want to be seen as weak but he feared he did not have the strength to fight you.

“It wouldn’t have been, had you decided to get checked out sooner.” You replied flatly. The water in the bucket stung like ice as you plunged your hand and one of the rags into it. Then you removed the cloth and held it to the bloody wound on his forehead.

Aragorn winced. “Must you be so aggressive?”

“Must you be so stubborn?”

“I would have noticed my wounds eventually… I can take care of them myself.”

“You’re about to pass out on your feet. You have multiple bleeding wounds. You haven’t slept in days. And you’re likely to work yourself until you die because you cannot cope with all of these losses!” You didn’t mean to snap at him but the words came out before you could stop them. This war had put a stress on the shoulders of all, even you.

Aragorn’s eyes hardened as you lashed out at him and he tried to stand. “I can cope just fine!”

“You cope by ignoring it. You try to move past every single loss and pain by acting as though it doesn’t exist, and it all builds up until you finally snap. You cannot cope. And you cannot continue like this. Please, Aragorn…” Your voice softened as you forced him to sit back down. “For once in your life, be vulnerable, let me help you.”

You worried you’d gone too far, for when his tired eyes finally met yours, they were wet and hurt. But then you realized that it was not your words that had cut him deep, it was the pain from his body and mind, the reality that yes, you were right.

“Don’t… don’t give me that puppy dog face.” You muttered, slipping your arms around his shoulders. His body was battered and bruised almost everywhere beneath his clothing but he didn’t flinch at the contact. Instead, his body gave out and he slumped into your embrace.

“I am sorry.”

“As am I.” You murmured into his hair, holding him tight.

When his few tears finally dried, you let him go and got to work treating his wounds. You worked tirelessly, ignoring his groans or hushing him gently, until he was all patched up and likely to not bleed out and die in his sleep.

By the end of it, Aragorn was nearly asleep sitting up, his chin to his chest and eyes resting. He let out a weary groan when you prodded his shoulder. “Mm…?”

“I’m done.” You whispered, moving his hands to his shoulders and looking around. The medical tent was slowly starting to quiet down, most patients now asleep. “I think it would be best if you rested here. You do not need to walk any further.”

He wanted to protest, he really did. The last thing Aragorn needed was for others to see how bad of a state he was in, but the last of his strength had dwindled and he couldn’t force any words of disagreement out. Instead, he just made sort of a grunting noise and flopped onto the bed.

You tucked him in and turned to leave, when weak fingers met yours. You stopped, looking over your shoulder.

“You… you will be here..come first light?” Aragorn whispered, eyes closed.

You nodded and gently squeezed his hand. “I will. I promise.”

Those words were enough to settle him down and his hand slowly sunk back onto the bed.

He was out within moments, messy hair shielding his finally resting eyes, body drained and limp. He’d sleep well, finally.

You just smiled softly to yourself, tucked him in once more, then left to let the poor man finally get some rest.

#whumptober2024 #no.6 #“its not my blood”#not realizing they're injured #unhealthy coping mechanism #lotr #fic #blood #injury #aragorn #x reader #lotr x reader #lotr x y/n #aragorn x y/n #platonic aragorn x reader #aragorn son of arathorn #whump

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c0smoshit · 1 year ago

Note

Hi hi! Just wanted to know if you were doing requests at the moment, and if so, I have one!

A Cloud Strife x fem! reader that’s based off the song “From the Start” by Laufey? Fluff and ends in a cute little confession!

AHH I love your writing, keep up the good work! Don’t forget to hydrate and stay healthy!

Requests are still open!! So don't worry honey :))

But anyways I love Laufey😭 Her songs are just 😙 🤌 chef kiss

Thanks for the support love ♡♡

Oh the burning painミ★

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Cloud Strife/Reader

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ fluff, lovesickness, hugs and overall soft hour Cloud, not proofread!

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ Idk if you just read my mind but I was planning on writting a fic with a Mitski song...

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 3.862

You finally got to rest after an exhausting day of long walks and longer fights, your feet ached, begging you pry them off the confines of your burning shoes.

Midgar was now far behind your back but although you had escaped the loud noises and the crowds of stressed people, you were still pretty dizzy.

Hurriedly your hands touched the cold surface of the handle on the door that you supposed led you to a room. Sighing audibly when your theory was proven right, you entered inside.

The wind creaked through the big window right above the bed, creating a cool ambience inside you had been craving since you stepped outside the walls.

Although the room wasn't as big as the one in your appartment, it still felt the same size after the mess you had been through. Your bag was long forgotten besides the small wooden night table, your shoes followed soon.

The sun was still up in the sky, it was eventually going to dissapear with red and orange brushstrokes, so the group agreed on resting till tomorrow morning.

And you were so grateful you guys did, having some privacy you knew you were going to seek on this ambiguous long road. But not only you loved the privacy, you loved how your mind could wander around freely.

You thought and thought, how fresh the air slid inside your nostrils, nostrils that were used to the imminent pollution that big city had enveloping it's buildings.

How bright the sky was, a huge lake of natural crystal water beyond your hairy crown. Your eyes burned whenever you looked at the sun, pupils shrinking hastily.

The ground felt different too, both in your eyes and the feeling of it against your curious fingertips. It felt hot and funny, millions of little children frenziedly running down your wrist, some of them tiredly resting on your palm.

You had forgotten about those starry and clear nights you were dying to see once again.

. . .

"Do you think we will still play together when we grow older?"

He stopped walking but he didn't look at your face like you thought he would.

"Yeah, you'll see me on the news when I become a SOLDIER"

You would always tell him that you didn't like talking about those boring guys, that instead he helped you get your doll out of the wooden plank it had fallen on.

But the visible sparkle that appeared on his iris whenever he talked about them, how he seemed to gesticulate more, be happier with you.

Maybe you didn't mind those boring guys that much.

. . .

He would take you to the mountains behind the village, walk with you like he would when he was all alone.

"Look!"

Your dress touched the hard rocks bellow your feet as you crouched down, your face lightening up as you looked at whatever was in front of you.

He tried to peek in, but when he got closer to your back you unexpectedly turned around with something between your little hands.

He had a confused face, eyebrows furrowed while his eyes looked at your big grin before looking back down.

He quickly took a step back with an audible gasp, he had a flower or some silly snail in mind, not a squirrel. Yet when he looked back at the cute baby animal, he was curiously pleased with the sight.

"It's so small and fuzzy!"

Your plump cheek rubbed the side of the little furry gentleman and he felt something inside his belly.

You looked cute like that.

He wouldn't have picked up that animal like you did, maybe because they wouldn't go near him. Something emanated from your body, an aura of kindness that kept him close to you.

You were the only kid he thought wasn't weak, someone who wouldn't judge him if he didn't make it to SOLDIER.

He would have never told you how much he missed you sometimes, the swings felt colder without your colorful skirts resting on top of them.

You brought joy into his life, he liked to play hide and seek with you although you weren't the best at hiding. You were the best at making him crack a smile sometimes.

He swore he would never let a soul like yours get hurt ever again.

. . .

The window was wide opened by your hands, eternal fields of green and vivid grass in front of you. Oh how you would love to lay there right now, you pictured a thin layer of dew wetting your clothes at night, welcoming you with a warm sunlight-bathed blanket when the biggest star came back.

You wondered about those two short memories that popped up inside your head suddenly, maybe it was because you finally smelt fresh mountain air after so long.

Your nose often reminisced you about your memories, the hot and sweet aroma of fresh baked strawberry muffins, the ones you used to bake with your father.

You missed him, you missed home.

But now you finally filled that hole once again, not with your own blood but one that appeared to be the same shade.

You were lost, but he was too. And when you saw him again in those sad streets, his uniform placed carefully on top of his skin and that distinctive sword.

You knew he hadn't changed a bit.

So you brought him back with Tifa, helping her getting him into your group. At first he was bitter with the idea, whining about how he didn't care about the Planet, he just wanted to fulfill his pockets.

But eventually he just needed to warm himself up with everyone, at the end of the day you were all he had left. You opened your backpack.

"You sure you're fine?"

Your head perked up when you heard that distinctive kind voice, your feet stopping right when you were going to reach the end of the metal stairs.

Then you heard a huff, your mind almost immediately picturing a black gloved hand shaking in the air, silently answering her question.

You didn't know why, but your body thought the best idea was to hide behind a wall next to the stairs. You knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but you were too curious to care.

"Okay"

A sigh fell from her lips, the sound of a door creaking following right behind.

"If you want anything else, we can always get it-"

"There is one thing. My money. You guys owe me two thousand, remember? "

Greedy bastard.

Of course he had to bring his gils up, right after she kindly asked him if he was doing alright. You had to bite your lip in order to surpress a laugh.

You heard the feminine voice talking again, but it was too muffled out for you to make out the words. However, you stayed there for a little while.

You lived right next to his door now, you figured out Tifa was showing him his brand new appartment.

He was back home once again.

The voices quieted down, some footsteps could be heard to the tune of the chilly dark air. His sword still rested on his back too, you began walking towards your door.

But then you saw it, you saw Tifa enveloping him with her delicate-looking but strong arms. You freezed once again in the same spot.

Had Cloud ever enjoyed one of your hugs?

His arms akwardly stayed by his sides for a few seconds before he patted her back softly, her arms were wrapped around his chest and she had her head next to his face.

You noticed that she was whispering something into his ear, his mouth stayed tight in response. They both were so close, you took a step foward.

Tifa let go of him and he still stood stiff on his shoes, his eyes were the first ones that noticed you.

You gave him a small wave, quickly marching towards your door as you fumbled with your damn keys. He just looked at you but you were stopped by a swift hand.

"Y/n! "

You spun around, offering an akward smile before her arms were around you for a brief moment.

You had hugged her multiple times before but this one felt just different, for some reason it didn't feel as warm and sweet as they always did, managing to boost up your mood.

"Cloud's our new neighbour now"

She gave you a cheeky grin, her hand now resting on your shoulder. Your mouth opened but you closed it as fast as a butterfly flapped it's colorful wings.

"Yeah... Goodnight you two"

The last thing you saw before your hand made contact with the icy metal handle of your door was her puzzled face, you read some worry in her eyes too.

You were too tired to even think about it, all the tasks you had to do today burning inside your head, now mixed with some sort of sudden... irritation?

Maybe it was the weather, the pollution you hardly tried to scrub off with soap and water. You felt a wave of guilt dragging you down to the deepest places of the ocean, embarrasment seaweeds brushing your face.

Why did you have to run away like that?

What do they think about you now?

They were your friends, she was the one that had offered you fresh drinks and a warm shelter in the first place. It wasn't fair.

♪ I don't need reminders of how you don't feel the same ♪

You mind was stuck by the same rope, constantly trying to pry your ankle from it's prision, scratching and clawing at it. But you only appeared to be dragged further away.

Had he got any romanticism under that thick skin of his?

Maybe he did, deep down, tightly secured by his cold demeanour. But those feelings were definitely not caused by you, you saw the way Aerith seemed to talk to him. How a little yellow flower changed his life.

And the black-haired girl was up there too, her strong but intelligent mindset made her really attractive.

You could spend hours talking about those two girl's beauty, not only from the outside because they were clearly gorgerous under any gaze. They were even prettier when you got to talk to them. Maybe he found them as pretty as you did, maybe he was attracted to one of them.

Okay, slow down.

You were supposed to wind down tonight, finally able to rest properly after a tiring day. And yet you were laying on top of the soft mattress, madly thinking about that damn blonde.

You missed him as a child, he had the cutest cheeks and the softest hair. You missed when he talked honestly with you, without any lies.

But those days had gotten off your back a while ago.

You wanted to drown those thoughts with your bare hands only for tonight, they tortured you enough when it was bright outside. But to top it off, he was sleeping right beside you.

You wanted to walk to his door and when he opened it with that frown of his, pin him into the wall and beg for him to please tell you how he felt. How he felt about you.

♪ Run to me, confess your love. . . ♪

He was cold and warm with you, he offered to help you with your chores, he had waled you home. But he also didn't speak as much as he did when he was younger, his words had turned short and sharp.

Why was he so enigmatic?

A white hall full of endless closed doors, some of them were slightly open meanwhile others had big locks on them. You would need years to open all of them.

Maybe you need a shower.

The morning sun slid through your pores, filling them up with ( not so fresh ) vitamin C. The city was peacefully quiet as it was sunday and most families spent their day inside, together. Oh how you wished you were one of them right now.

But the loud clank of two pairs of shoes kept your mind away from your peace.

♪ Me and you and akward silence ♪

You were kindly asked by Jessie to help her do some shopping for the bar, and of course he had to come with you.

Lately you'd tried to distance yourself as further as the metal buildings let you from him, you didn't want to weird yourself out like you did last time.

Maybe he thought you were acting weird?

You hurried up your steps, his own ones following you close.

No matter how hard you tried to shove inside that thick skull of his that he didn't have to help you with anything, that you were perfectly fine on your own. He didn't seem to give two shits, he was always a gentleman and he was going to keep his maners.

"Alright, this one or that one?"

It was a stupid question, he was probably going to let you choose because he didn't know much about Tifa's stuff for the bar like you did. But you didn't want to make this moment more akward.

He also seemed weirdly calm, he hadn't talked to you about what was happening inside his head or how trapped he felt inside the city but you knew that something was wrong with him.

Maybe you shouldn't have ran out like that in front of him.

"Ughh"

Tired huffs were heard inside the small store, coming from your mouth as you tried to get some soap off it's shelf. You stood on your tippy toes, your shirt riding up a bit as your hand reached high.

However, someone was tall enough to reach it, and before you scoffed at the strange person, you felt his clothed chest on your back.

His slight but intense aroma filled your nose, his spikey hair trickling your back. You had been closer to him, why did this feel so intimate?

You knew the reason why, you had always knew the reason for all your bottled up emotions, but you were too embarrassed to admit them out loud.

"Here"

Before you could enjoy the moment, it had already burned itself on your memories. He had done it again, the warmth of his touch being harshly replaced by the coldness of his voice.

You distracted yourself for the rest of the trip by buying whatever you needed and looking at whatever you didn't. You needed some sort of escape before you went nuts in front of him again.

Maybe your hormones were acting up again after completely destroying you on your teenage years. You hadn't been this lovesick since that guy you had crushed on a few years ago.

After giving Jessie what she wanted, the sun was already getting himself prepared to sleep.

You enjoyed lonely walks outside with this weather, the sun kind of brought joy into the depressing slums. You were happy, the air screamed a change of the seasons, time to bring out the warm clothes out of your drawer.

But some metal clank reminded you that he was, in fact, still beside you.

Ready to de-stress after doing some chores and keeping the city fairly safe even though he didn't really mean it. The walk home was quiet as you had suppossed it would be.

You reached the stairs without the need of hiding once again, a grown out chocobo following behind you. The first time your eyes fell upon that horizon of blonde mess you thought they looked like those big and super cute birds.

As a kid you only got to see them in pictures, some of them too blurred out to make out their big blue eyes. However, they were way cooler in person.

You remember the time you first bumped into one in Midgar, his owner let you pet him and you could've died in that field of softness. You and Tifa both agreed that Cloud was just like them, but he wasn't as funny and joyful obviously.

He reached his long awaited door, your own one was on on his right. He opened the door and your mouth was still sealed shut, his eyes found yours once again, waiting for you to wave him goodbye or something.

"See you tomorrow then"

He wouldn't have nodded unless his eyes weren't looking at your lips, your tone matching the silent breeze of the afternoon air.

The cold water trickling down your skin calmed your body and certainly your mind, you missed this sort of loneliness. Having the time to properly wash your body, your hair.

Your back hit the mattress once again, but as soon as you did, the same scorching warmth invaded your thoughts again. Something bothered you, and you knew what you had to do to ease that itch.

But you were too shy to do it, not now you thought. But when?

Sepphiroth was out there, Shinra had polluted almost every corner left on this Planet. You had to do it.

. . .

"Fuck"

Your quivering hands fixed your clothes, your knuckles ready to bang the do-

"Hey"

You stood there like a rock, the door was wide open in front of you and a fresh out of the shower Cloud welcomed you. You hadn't expected him to be the one who opened the door before you.

His shoulder was empty and his leather belt wasn't there too, he looked calmer like that. You liked that view, a more "informal" sight.

But the best part was his hair, it still had droplets of water travelling through a rainforest of blonde locks, desesperately trying to find a way out. His brows were a bit ruffled up too, and you had to contain your urges to brush your fingers over them.

"H-Hey"

His eyes looked at you up and down, you read confusion writen all over them once again. He probably didn't expect you to be there either.

"I just. I just wanted to talk"

You finally breathed out, your heart felt like it was about to explode inside your chest. Why didn't you feel like this when you were fighting the Turks?

"Come in"

God, why did you have to follow the voices in your head.

The room was identical to yours, but his bed was on the left side of the room. Your own one was on the right, he was going to sleep next to you.

What?

No he wasn't, there was a wall dividing both of your little worlds. You were going crazy at this point.

♪ Unrequited, terrifying ♪

He sat on the bed, next to a soggy white towel you figured out he had used for his hair. His knees were slightly appart from eachother, his bare hands resting on top of them.

It was the first time since he began living next to you that you had seen him without those gloves. And you certainly didn't know how they weren't already worn out.

They were pretty and surprisingly glowy, maybe it was the water that smoothed his fingers out, maybe his gloves kept his hands soft. You wanted to feel them, on your skin, on your face as he brushed away a strand of your hair.

Now you knew why those strange massage ladies talked wonders about him, he had the most gorgerous hands you had ever seen. A shame he wasted it's potential by soaking them up with blood.

How long had you been staring at them already?

"Okay..."

A sigh slipped through your lips, the nautical twilight soon about to turn into an astronomical one, flooding your senses.

"Don't wanna sound weird"

An akward laugh filled his brain, he watched you from his seated position your crossed-arms standing one. He was hoping you would sit with him.

"It's just that-"

♪ Love is driving me a bit insane ♪

You bit your lip, taking your pupils off him before you mentally facepalmed.

"Forget it, you're probably tired"

You turned on your heels, your mind already reminding you about how embarrassing this was, how you shouldn't have gotten off your bed in the first place.

Yet his hand grabbed your wrist.

It was indeed as soft as you had imagined.

Silence fell over the room, your face searched his under the clear fog of the night. Your feet slowly shifted into it's initial position, the warmth still lingering on your right.

He didn't need to talk for you to know exactly what he wanted you to do, so you let yourself fall next to him on the mattress.

Your cheeks were burning at this point and you didn't dare looking at his eyes, little did you know he had learnt to surpress those same feelings better than you.

His fingers unlaced the soft bracelet from your wrist, laying down close to your pinky. You looked so cute blushing.

The next movement stunned both of you, your swift arms enveloping his neck and your rapid heart beating wildly on his chest. His hands stayed beside him for a few seconds, not knowing where to put them. But like everything in life, they eventually found their place on your waist.

♪ Have to get this off my chest ♪

"I love you"

You hugged him tighter, trying to ease the anxiousness that was starting to consume your guts. You shouldn't have said that out loud, god, you had really fucked up your relationship with your only source of comfort in this nasty world.

He brought you closer to him, you thought he would pull you away.

You both stayed like that for a while, a while you wished the moon would grant you an eternity like this with him.

♪ Confess I loved you ♪

"I do too"

That simple mumbled out words were like a burst of arrows shot directly to your chest, maybe this were your last minutes alive before your heart exploded.

♪ Just thinking of you ♪

"I thought you and, you and Aerith. . .?"

He shifted on the bed but his arms were still around you, securing you into his lean form.

"We're not like that"

You felt as if you were running between flowers, the air striking your face as you laughed and cried happy tears.

You were finally in peace.

You had loved him since you two were little kids, quietly waiting for him to go out and play with you, always having a sudden burst of energy whenever you saw him on the village.

It was finally happening.

You didn't want a kiss tonight, maybe he wasn't ready for that.

You just wanted to be held like this, his strong arms keeping you away from anything that could've harmed you. You wanted him closer, you needed his touch.

And so did he.

♪ I know I've loved you from the start ♪

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mysticwolfshadows · 7 months ago

Text

Taken - Zutara - Part 10

First / Previous / Next / Masterpost

Zuko does his best to tell Katara about everything he felt when she first came to the Fire Nation. How he felt getting to know her.

She was a light, for him, in the stifling darkness that was the Fire Nation Palace.

He wasn't always proud of how he handled things. He ran from her when his mother vanished, and he ran when he returned her to her family.

But he was ashamed of the Agni Kai.

He tells her about the war meeting, how he had gotten in and was allowed to sit with the generals, as long as he was silent. Zuko tells Katara about the plan that the general submitted. She is enraged, just as he had been, and for once, he feels vindicated. Uncle had always supported his decisions, but Katara only did when she truly believed he was right.

It's when he tells her about the Agni Kai with his father that Katara snaps.

"He did this to you?" she demands, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "Your father did this because you refused to fight him?"

Zuko can't help but lean into her touch. The majority of his face on that side has lost all feeling, yet where her fingers touch seem to burn. For the briefest of moments, Zuko wondered if maybe she had somehow learned to firebend. But that was silly.

Zuko pushed on, explaining how he had woken to his father in his room, reading a proclamation that he was to be banished. The brigade he had felt the need to save, young and untested soldiers, would become his crew. And he would not be allowed to return home unless he had the Avatar.

"But the Avatar has been missing for 100 years," Katara counters, her voice soft and somber. "Zuko, it's an impossible task. The Fire Lord doesn't want you to succeed."

"I know," Zuko grit out. "But the crew is stuck with me as long as I'm banished. If I don't find the Avatar, and deliver him to my father, I can't go home. Which means they can't go home."

Katara stares at him, something unnerving about her expression. She had always been too good at reading him, and in the moment, it was daunting.

"Is that what you were doing in the swamp?" she asked. "Looking for the Avatar?"

Zuko jumped. The last thing he wanted was for Katara to know about what happened in the Agni forsaken Foggy Swamp. He'd gone because it was said that the veil between the mortal plane and the spirit world was thin there. People who entered reported having visions, sometimes of their past, occasionally of their future.

He had hoped that the Avatar would just be in the swamp. And, failing that, he was wanting a vision to help guide him to his future. Instead, as he and Uncle had stumbled through the swamp, he'd caught sight of long brown hair. At first he had thought it was his mother, but the figure had been too short. Then he had seen the coat he had ordered just for Katara, and had sprinted off into the swamp without thinking twice.

He chased the mirage through vines and trees, loosing his uncle. When he finally came to a stop, he was out of breath, standing on one side of a river. A mirror image of Katara kneeling on the other side. She had looked so dull and lifeless, as if that light he had seen in her had been snuffed out. In his panic and confusion, he had stepped into the water, trying to wade his way to her, only for a catgator to lunge out of the water. He couldn't remember much after that.

"The swamp was said to be very spiritual," he said instead. "But it was just the chaotic terrain disorienting people."

For a moment, Katara was quiet. She sat next to Zuko, her back against the wall, looking across the room.

"Zuko," she said, slow and careful, as if trying to not show how she was feeling. "If the Avatar is really out there, he's likely the greatest hope for the war ending quickly. What will you do if you find him?"

For a moment, he frowned. It seemed like a silly question to him. "I'll bring him back to the Fire Nation and return home."

Only, as Katara nodded, he saw the twinge of disappointment. He wondered why she would be upset, only... The answer was fairly obvious. The Fire Nation had slaughtered her people, kidnapped her, and forced her to serve the royal family for years. The Fire Nation had done nothing but hurt her in the name of this war.

If the Avatar was out there, if the Avatar could end the war, Katara had all the reason to want him to. She probably hoped that the Avatar would appear and remove his father from the the throne in the most painful way possible. Zuko felt his stomach roll at the thought. Not because he didn't want his father to perish, but because Katara had every right to want that.

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#fanfic idea #atla #avatar the last airbender #fanfic #katara #zuko #zutara #wip

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queenofmoons67 · 11 days ago

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Star of the General: A Warriors Fic (2/?)

Summary:

One minute, Link is fighting a wizzrobe, and the next, he has four hooves and a mane. When Impa comes looking for him, all she finds is the stallion he’s been turned into. A year later, Zelda gifts Link to eight strangers as one of the best warhorses in Hyrule’s stables, with her hope and blessing that he’ll keep them safe. Link will do his best, even if they do all think he’s just a horse.

First / Previous / Next

Having had the chance to see his boys again, Link allows Twilight to wrangle him and plods along peacefully once more.

The path they’re on cuts through a long field. Once full of farmland, it became a battleground in the middle years of the war, when Cia and Ganon pushed the Hyrulian forces almost all the way back to Castle Town.

The months before they reclaimed the area were probably the darkest of the war. The farmland was razed by the opposing army and Hyrulian soldiers alike—the former to prevent food from being harvested, and the latter so they couldn’t be ambushed by the enemy hiding in the tall stalks. By the time the fighting was done, blood had soaked deep into the earth.

It will likely be years before anything but scraggly meadow grows there again.

While the field’s history is full of death, the traveling group gradually becomes more full of life. It is as though the joking about Twilight and Hoshi has broken the flow of sadness built by the news of Link’s “death.”

In the openness of the field, Link walks side by side with Epona, and the morning sun covers him in her shadow.

Link was not a small Hylian, and he is not a small horse. Judging from glances he has seen of himself in rivers and water troughs, Link knows he is a Kiso* horse, which are bred to be sturdy and quick on their feet, adept at both carrying armored warriors and dodging opponents’ weapons. Impa herself remarked that Link is tall for a Kiso at thirteen and a half hands high.

Epona, however, is a Ban’ei** draft horse, and Link wouldn’t be surprised to learn that she’s a solid seventeen hands. She’s built for heavy lifting, and the heroes have utilized her well, outfitting her with saddlebags and hanging some of their heavier weapons among them.

It makes Link wonder what use the heroes will find for him. The grooms kitted him in armor and dressed his golden mane and tail for battle, but no one has moved to ride him.

Up ahead at the front of the group, Time raises a hand and calls everyone to a stop. They circle up around each other, letting packs slide to the ground and stretching out tired limbs, and Wild passes out what looks like a mid-morning snack of apples, celery, and nut butter.

Epona yawns, then bends her head to start picking through the grass for the healthier, tastier bits. Link follows her lead—

But then Twilight pulls his reins back, stopping him from grazing. Link blinks crossly at him with half a mind to go back to eating anyway. Twilight just smiles, and his fingers start to nimbly pick at the fastenings keeping the bamen on Link’s face.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” Twilight says, pulling the bamen away and smoothing a hand down the star on his forehead. “You’re a handsome boy, did you know that?”

Link blows air in Twilight’s face. Yes, he knows. Twilight is just the latest in a long line of people to tell him so, though admittedly his comment is much more welcome than Cia’s cooing or a traitor’s scoffing. It feels more like his mother cupping his cheeks in her hands and touching her forehead to his.

Link hasn’t had much of a family since Tune and Mask both went home, but now his brothers are back and quadrupled in number.

It’ll take time to get to know them all, especially considering Link’s current physical state, but he might actually enjoy this.

Just as he thinks this, a glowing portal shimmers into the air over the trail. Link startles and sidesteps. Epona warned him about the portals, but he didn’t expect one so soon—and neither did the heroes, if the loud cursing from Legend is any sign.

“Whoa, Hoshi,” Twilight murmurs, and the hero’s hand winds its way into his reins and pulls him back to Twilight’s side. But the portal also tugs at him, as if there is a tether between it and his stomach, and between that tether and his reins, Link feels like he might split in two.

He tosses his head, then bucks, unsure what exactly he wants and therefore unsure what to do next.

All his action seems to do is make Twilight pull the reins over his head so they lie on his neck. Then the hero sets his left boot in the stirrups, and Link locks his knees to steady himself.

Weight pulls at Link’s left side, then Twilight settles in the saddle and his weight redistributes across Link’s back. Hands gather up the reins, keeping them short but comfortable, and knees squeeze at Link’s side to urge him on.

Link walks, Twilight on his back and Epona following behind.

The other heroes turn to look at them when they approach the group. They had been gathering their things together, not that there was much when it had only been a short break.

Now, Sky squints up at Link’s rider and asks, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? It’s his first time through a portal; who knows how he might react to it?”

Link huffs, offended on his own behalf even as the leader in him knows it’s a good point, but Twilight just pats his neck and says, “He settled the moment I was in the saddle. He’s a trained warhorse, he’ll do fine.”

Twilight does keep an excellent seat. He knows what he’s doing in the saddle, and his steady calm radiates from him, through the reins, to Link himself.

But the portal continues to pull at Link, and it’s true that everyone reacts to magic in different ways. They won’t know how it affects him until he steps through.

Time studies Link and Twilight, his one eye narrowed, and then he nods and says, “Wild, Epona, and Sky will go through first, just in case. I’m with the rancher. Everyone else, pairs as always.”

The rancher? Link twists his ears, trying to keep track of everyone’s movements, then remembers Epona mentioning nicknames. He assumed those were just the names they used instead of Link, but did they have other nicknames, too? Twilight being a rancher explains why he’s attached himself to Link.

No one has to explain Time’s inclusion in the trio: When he approaches and stretches his hand out for Link to nose, Epona’s meadow-light scent is so strong it almost overpowers Time’s own strange, lightning-infused smell.

Epona is Time’s horse, which makes him suited for helping Link if anything goes wrong in the portal. Not to mention the calming effect of having his younger brother at his side again, Link thinks, and noses at Time’s head affectionately, lipping at his hair before huffing to blow it away.

Time grins at him and his eye crinkles at the corners even as he pushes Link’s head away and, ahead of them, Sky, Wild, and Epona step through the portal. Time wraps his hand around Link’s reins, up close under his chin, and leads him on.

Tether and rein pull him in the same direction, and the closer they get to the portal, the calmer Link feels.

Then he steps through. The heroes had been worried, but Link feels no worse for wear as he exits into a small, sunlit clearing surrounded by trees.

Link sees the bokoblin running up behind him before he hears Sky shout, and he bows and kicks back with both hind legs, praying that Twilight manages to keep his seat.

When he lands on all fours again, the ‘blin lays splayed out on the ground and Time has let go of his reins, leaving them to be gathered back by someone who can only be Twilight.

“Atta boy, Hoshi!” his rider laughs. “Time to see what else you can do!”

Link’s heart gallops in his chest at the challenge, and he screams his readiness around the bit even as he wheels at the slightest touch of Twilight’s heel to his right side, neck arched, ears pinned back, and eyes rolling to take in the fight they unknowingly walked into.

There are four bokoblins, four moblins, and four lizalfos. There’s no sign of a monster camp, but there is a path that cuts through the clearing. The portal must have dropped them right in the middle of a roving monster band.

The lizalfos have surrounded Sky and Wild, but the two heroes are back-to-back and seem uninjured. Epona stands at the tree line, hooves kicking out at any monster that dares get too close.

Time makes a stand in front of the portal, drawing his sword to face-off two of the bokoblins and one of the moblins. The other monsters have started to converge on Link and Twilight, but Twilight drives Link towards them and the ‘blins scatter, shouting, under the half-a-ton weight of an armored horse. Most of their weapons glance off Link’s armor or don’t come close to him, but a few are deflected by Twilight’s sword.

One weapon makes contact, a searing line of heat drawn by a spear that makes it past his armor to his vulnerable belly before the wood handle snaps under Link’s hooves.

If the heroes are going to ride him into battle, they’re going to have to get the proper weapons. Link refuses to get up close and personal with spears again just because the longest weapon his rider carries is a sword.

For now, Link focuses on the path to the portal. Four and Wind have already emerged into the half-circle of grass right at Time’s back, but while Wind immediately draws his own sword and leaps to Time’s side, Four sinks to the ground clutching his head.

The standoff at the portal is two against three, and there are still two more unsuspecting heroes to come through.

Link cuts to the side of the moblin, and Twilight takes the opportunity to slit its throat as they ride by. Link makes note of the kill even while he digs his hooves into the dirt and turns, galloping around the portal’s back edge to rush the monsters regrouping from their first collision with Link and Twilight.

Ahead of them, Sky and Wild have managed to stay back-to-back and killed two of the lizalfos. Four staggers to his feet, still holding his head but now also holding his sword, and Time and Wind stab their blades into the hearts of their opponents in unison.

Then Hyrule and Legend stagger out of the portal, Hyrule collapses, and the portal winks out of sight—but Link barely notices, busy once more using his own body as a battering ram against the regrouping ‘blins.

One of the bokoblins falls under his hooves and doesn’t rise again. The other, along with the three remaining moblins, runs away from him and toward the larger collection of heroes. Twilight curses and guides him in a tight turn.

“After them, Hoshi! Hya!”

Boot heels dig into Link’s sides, the reins go loose, and Twilight leans forward, giving Link his head and urging him to thunder after the monsters. Time and Wind don’t look tired, but they’ve been fighting at a disadvantage the entire time. Legend is battle-fresh, but he’s got an unsteady Four taking care of the fallen Hyrule right behind him.

With Link and Twilight coming up behind the monsters, though, the ‘blins have effectively cornered themselves in a pincer maneuver. It doesn’t take much for the heroes to win the battle as, on the other side of the clearing, Sky and Wild dispatch the remaining lizalfos.

When the last of the moblins disappears, Link lets his head hang, too tired to do much else. This was his first real battle as a horse. He’d been trained in his own world, but never actually seen combat.

It’s different, he thinks, to fight on four legs instead of two. No one looks to a horse for orders. No one expects elegant swordplay, either. Instead, Twilight used his greater height, weight, and speed to his own advantage.

“Good boy,” Twilight murmurs. His rider shifts, leaning forward in the saddle, and a hand pats his neck. “You did incredible, Hoshi.”

Link arches his neck into the hand, happy to take in the praise. He keeps his eyes on the other heroes, though, as they pick their way around the clearing and check on one another.

Hyrule is awake and walking, albeit with his arms slung across the shoulders of Legend and Time. Four and Wind lean against one another for support; the former seems to be unsteady from the portal still, while the latter has a cut across his thigh that’s oozing blood. Neither of them are hurrying, so Link assumes the injury isn’t serious.

Twilight nudges his sides with his heels. Link sighs, but starts to follow the others. His own wound stings anew with the movement, fresh, hot blood trailing across his stomach. Link had forgotten about it in the rush of battle, but now, he wonders how much blood he’s lost. He thought his tiredness was from adjusting to battle as a horse, but how much blood can a horse lose?

Link snorts and picks up speed. On his back, Twilight makes a surprised noise, but ahead, Epona looks up from Wild and trots toward him instead. In seconds, she’s at his side, sticking her huge nose into his wound. He sidesteps and snaps his teeth at her in warning, not appreciating someone being so close to a weak point.

Epona doesn’t move away, though, instead tossing her head and striking the ground twice with a pointed hoof. The commotion draws the attention of the heroes, and it’s a mere moment before they’re all next to him and Epona trying to soothe them. Link tenses, tempted to snap at them as well—don’t they know not to crowd an upset horse?—but if he accidentally makes contact, they won’t be able to shake it off like Epona would. Twilight has a tight hold on the reins now anyway, one fist keeping them down at the base of Link’s mane while his other hand rubs circles over Link’s withers.

“What’s up with them?” Legend complains. He’s stationed himself smack dab between Link and Epona, both hands outstretched so he can scratch both their haunches at once. “They got along fine earlier.”

The two horses share an eye roll, and then Link shifts, purposefully angling his side so the trail of blood is in the heroes’ direct line of sight. It’s probably hidden under all his armor, but red stands out against white-gold, and it’s only a moment before Wild’s eyes widen and he squats to get a better look at the wound.

“Wild?” Twilight asks, saddle creaking.

“Hoshi’s hurt,” Wild signs, body angled into Twilight’s view but eyes still focused on Link’s injury. “Maybe a spear?”

Twilight curses, then says mournfully, “We don’t have the proper weapons to fight from horseback. I had to get up close and Hoshi—“

Wild stands, taps at a strange mechanized box on his hip, and pulls out not just a saber, but also various types of spears and lances.

Link stares at the pile that’s formed at his feet. Well. It would have been useful to know Wild had the proper weapons before he and Twilight charged in with nothing more than a longsword, but the fight had been sudden. They’d have the weapons for next time, at least.

Link gets distracted when Time steps up to his head, fingers grasping him by the bridle.

“How bad is the wound, Wild?” Time asks.

Link has a second to brace himself—then a cloth wipes along the injury, and the pressure burns.

Intellectually, Link knows he’s safe, but the horse instincts flowing through his body insist that pain means danger, danger means run, but he can’t run, he’s trapped—

Link rears the best he can with Time holding him still. He doesn’t go far, hooves stomping the ground instead of lashing out, his stomach and the injury it bears still well within Wild’s reach. Twilight’s weight doesn’t even shift on his back.

Then, suddenly, Wild’s hands are gone, and most of the pain with them. The wound still throbs, but Link manages to steady himself against it in time to catch the flash of Wild signing, “It’s long, but shallow. One potion?”

Twilight heaves a breath out, and his hands—which had held the reins firm and tight while Wild investigated the wound—scratch at Link’s withers.

“Thank Hylia,” he says. “If we lost ya just because I didn’t have the right weapon… and right after…”

Twilight trails off, but the words he doesn’t say are easy to guess. All at once, the ease the group found again disappears at the reminder of Link’s believed death. His ghost stands among them, even when Link himself is right there.

But his presence doesn’t matter. He might as well not be there, for all the good his horse self can do.

* Kiso horses are native to Japan. Once ridden by samurai into battle, they’re now endangered. They typically average about 13 hands in height, ranging from 12 to 14, so Warriors is right that he's tall for a Kiso horse—but he's totally lying to himself about not being a short Hylian or a short horse, lol.

Hoshi is technically in the range for being a pony (10 to 14 hands) and taller horse breeds go all the way to 17 hands. That doesn't even include draft horses, which can reach 19 hands, or Sampson/Mammoth, the largest horse ever recorded who stood at a solid 21 hands. In terms of Warriors' regular Hylian height, I'm basing everyone off @pinkittwice's excellent Linked Universe research.

** Whether or not Ban’ei is a breed depends on who you ask. Japan has a sport called Ban’ei in which draft horses race while pulling weighed-down sleds over small hills.

I hope chapter two lived up to expectation! Any reblogs and comments are much appreciated and will fuel more writing.

While you wait for chapter three, I also want to advertise my new Linked Universe fic, "Bound":

Warriors only joined the Chain a week ago, but Hyrule knows something is wrong. “I’m the Hero, bound by law, just as Artemis is bound by law as Queen. When the Hero breaks the law, the Queen is bound to punish him. Do you understand?”

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#linked universe #linked universe fic #lu chain #lu warriors #lu twilight #fanfic #fanfic update #Star of the General

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violet27writes · 1 month ago

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Whumptober Day 9: Panic Room - Warriors

Part 1 (Legend), Part 2 (Twilight), Part 3 (here) of (10), Ao3 link

- Warriors-

Screaming. All Warriors could hear were the screams. They just didn’t stop.

Sometimes he could almost make out who it was, or would be left to try and guess the owner of the sound. Sometimes he could almost make out their words. But he wouldn’t have to try and guess their emotions.

Most of them screamed in fear or agony, blood-curdling and spine chilling. Some with grief, a sadness that seemed to upturn his soul. And some even still were full of pure rage, blind and reckless. The latter of the voices didn’t last long.

The past few hours had been nothing short of torture for him.

---

A portal had opened beneath him on the battlefield, leaving Warriors unable to do anything besides fall straight into it. It brought him into a camp full of turncoat soldiers that wasted no time seizing him and locking him in their dungeon. His pride had sung for a moment as he was able to fell a handful of them before getting overwhelmed, but that had instantly plummeted as they cuffed him to the wall.

Everything but his undertunic and trousers had been taken, leaving him defenseless. His toes barely brushed the stone ground, leaving him with a touch of humility.

The pace of how fast he had gone from battlefield to dungeon was astonishing; from a Captain to a prisoner. While there was nothing he could’ve done otherwise, he couldn’t help but berate himself for getting caught. Now, he could only hope that the others hadn’t fallen into a similar mess. Well, that, and figure out how to get himself out of this mess.

The chains tugged on his wrists, pushing on and cutting into his skin. He could feel several places on his body that were sure to leave at least a bruise. Too deep of a breath made his left ribs light up in pain. The turn coats hadn’t shied away from their beatings. Warriors sighed, setting his head back against the wall.

That was, perhaps, the calm before the storm. The quiet before the screams.

---

Now, the Captain's head hung low, eyes closed as he tried his best to block out the sound. Useless. Worthless. Failure.

This was his timeline. He was their hero. Yet here he was, caught and tied up, framed on the wall to be kept out of the way. Listening to these people suffer. To his people crying out.

He was so zoned in on not listening, he didn’t hear the heavy armored steps walking up to his cell until the door slammed open against the stones. The voices hadn't stopped, but they had become more scarce, for good or bad. No longer a macabre choir, but dreadful solos that he couldn’t anticipate. Because of that, he could hear the emotions stronger than before and wished for a long moment that he could lose his sense of hearing, just to put a stop to this.

However, once he saw the face of the person opening his cell, that wish changed in an instant.

The room felt like it had gone several degrees colder. The air felt thicker. The haze of his mind cleared in a moment, no longer allowing himself to be only partly present. She stood tall. Confident. Sure. There was no mask to mar her features, easily allowing Warriors to meet her eyes and feel like his gaze had frozen. It was nothing but fear and panic that kept them locked.

Cia laughed.

She stepped into the cell and right up to him, never averting her gaze from him. Then she smiled, perfect teeth to go along with the feeling she gave that said she was the one in charge. After all, that feeling was all she knew.

A dark hand reached towards him, causing Warriors to straighten up and flatten against the wall. A cold shiver ran down his spine at the same time a tremble bled into his hands. It was a good thing they were stuck on the wall, lest they’d have shaken.

Her long nails stopped only a hair’s breadth away from his chest, pausing before she lowered her hand, staring especially hard where he knew he’d taken a good hit on the chin earlier. In the corner of his eye he could see a deep bruise, a deep purple that starkly contrasted his skin.

“Link,”

She said in a way that couldn’t have even been described as sickeningly sweet. It was like a predator whispering sweet nothings to its prey before it struck. Like the promises of a man about to kill for his version of justice.

Warriors turned his face away.

“Now this won’t do, won’t it?

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe warriors #whumptober #whumptober 2024 #Day 9 #no.2 #no. 3 #whump #or something like that #I swear i think im doing bringing back everyone's 'girlfriend'#It wasn't purposely in this order #anyway #i wrote this instead of sleeping #like always #so goodnight

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spacebobastories · 5 months ago

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Something Real

Chapter 1 - Wake Up

Summary: Louis didn’t know what he was getting himself into. Sure, he *knew* but didn’t think it would be that bad. Boy, how wrong he was. Everything hurts now…and what’s with these people wanting to take him in? What happened? Pairing: Poly 141 x OC

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, I'm not a military expert so there will be inaccuracies, some panicked flashbacks from Louis, mentions of experiments.

Author's Note: I reeealllllyyy wanted to start writing again. So, Call Of Duty is one of my fascinations right now. I also have been reading Cherry Red, Crimson Blood by Soaps-mohawk which you should check out because their story is freaking amazing! I have gotten inspired to write again because of them and their amazing work!

Next Chapter

When Louis was a boy, he always dreamed of being a soldier, a doctor, hell even an astronaut. Anything so he wouldn't just be an Omega.

"Stop! It burns!!"

He never wanted to be an omega. Never wanted to just be something to bring children into the world and nothing else. It was depressing to be born an omega. You're treated like some kind of birthing machine. Always lusted after by Alphas who don't treat you right. Always looked down at because of the status you're born. Oh how he hated the looks he got as a child, those lingering looks from Alphas. It made his skin crawl.

"He's flat lining! We need a defibrillator shock now!"

Growing up, it got worse. He couldn't do certain things, couldn't go anywhere without someone telling him he couldn't do it or go there. Alphas breathing down his neck, always crowding him...always touching.

"Louis, I know it hurts. But it will be for the good of the country."

Well, he proved them all wrong by joining the military. Something that an Omega should never do. Or in his case, they weren't allowed to. He fought tooth and nail to become a soldier, to claw his way up the ranks. His parents were proud of him. Proud that an Omega and a person of color could do what he did. Oh how he was hated by Alphas because he wouldn't roll over for them. Even in his heat, he wouldn't go to them. But he was also loved by many, even something to look up to. But then, there was a new project that opened up. The Shadow Project. The name of the project was obvious to the man. Make the subject a shadow so enemies can't spot you.

It would make the perfect soldier. The perfect killing machine to help in the wars over seas and on missions. He didn't have to do it. Didn't have to volunteer. But he wanted to. He needed to prove a point. If he could, he would have gone back in time and slapped his past self. What an idiot.

Louis didn't want this anymore. He didn't want to be in pain, the burning sensation of chemicals going through his veins. The feeling of his body breaking down and regenerating. It was mind numbingly painful. He hated it. He hated what his country was turning him into. He saw what the others had turned into. Monsters. Misshapen things that were once human. Their bodies mangled, skin an entirely different color, faces warped into something horrific.

Louis hoped he didn't turn into that, hoped that his body didn't morph into something monstrous. But with the chemicals that were pumped into his body and the pain he felt, he wished he did. He wished he did turn into that monster so he could die and be done with the pain. The was his body tore itself apart and came back together was excruciating. But, as time went on, as the months passed by, maybe even years, he learned to get used to the pain. He learned to push it down, deep down in the back of his head. He learned to be numb.

His lungs were constantly breaking down and regenerating, to the point it was hard for him to breath. They made him a special gas mask that used his own smoke- the way his body broke down looked like smoke- to have him breath properly. It didn't stop the way his lungs kept dying inside of him, but, it at least made it easier to breath. He didn't know a lot about The Shadow Project but he wished he had asked questions because he didn't know that they were going to make him into a literal shadow. A wraith if you want to be more specific. He didn't know how they did it. He didn't know what type of chemicals and cybernetics they put into his body. He should have cared, should have been worried. But, at this point, he just wanted it to end. He wanted it all to end.

He remembered walking down the long hall to one of the testing chambers, eyes dull and staring straight ahead. He had two soldiers on either side of him, Alphas he thinks. He was supposed to test out his shadow step to see if there needed to be improvements done. But the alarms started blaring and he heard the scientists yelling. He saw some running back and forth in the hall ahead of him. There was a large explosion that shook the place, making Louis and the guards stumble in place.

"What the hell is going on?!" He rasped out, voice muffled by the gas mask.

The explosion was muffled and sounded like it was coming from above. Soon, there were more explosions and the head scientist's voice came on "Everyone! Get to the bomb shelters! Get the experiments into the cryo pods! Quickly!"

It was all a blur as Louis was suddenly dragged down the many hall ways of the facility. The alarms were still blaring as Louis got dragged into the main Cryo Chamber room, scientists were quickly putting the 'perfect' subjects into the cryo pod. But he was put into the main one, at the end of the room. Like he would be watching over the others. The head scientist was standing in front of Louis as he was placed in the cryo pod.

"Everything will be okay. You will wake up soon and fight for this country."

Louis didn't fight back, glad this was happening so he wouldn't go through with the experiments. The thick glass door began to slowly close. The explosions became more intense, some rubble was beginning to fall from, the ceilings and yet the alarms kept going on. It seemed they were getting louder and louder. But the door finally closed with a hiss, everything was muffled. Hardly any sound was heard coming through. Only the blaring of the alarm could still be heard.

"The freezing process will start in 3..."

Louis felt his breathing begin to pick up, the wheezing and rasping of his breathing echoed loudly in the pod.

"2."

He saw the edges of the door begin to freeze over, the crystalized ice spiderwebbing across the glass. His body, which was was always so hot, began to cool down. He felt himself become cold. The temperature began to slowly drop.

And as the countdown came to an end, Louis closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. He would be able to sleep without pain.

"1."

"The cryo pod will be opening in 3...2...1..."

The pod door hissed loudly, freezing cold carbon dioxide smoke creeped out of the bottom as the door began to slowly open.

"Please stand back."

Louis' eyes slowly fluttered open and he took a raspy breath, breathing in deeply. Louis fell forward and his body naturally turned into a thick cloud of bitch black smoke.

"Holy shit, L.T. You see what I'm seein'?"

His smoke felt hot to the touch and he groaned gently in discomfort as his body quickly formed back on the floor. Louis was on his hands and knees on the floor, panting softly. But with the gas mask he had on, it sounded like he was taking labored breaths.

"We have eyes on the target, Captain." Louis twitched lightly as he was finally becoming aware of his surroundings and heard people talking. He blinked his eyes a few times and with some effort, lifted his head from the floor. His eyes saw four pairs of feet standing in front of him, the glow from the pod making it easier to see. He blinked slowly as he mode his gaze up their bodies, seeing that they were men. One had a mohawk, tan skin with facial hair and beautiful blue eyes. They were wide with concern and awe. Louis looked at the other man and was surprised to see a skull looking back at him. But his brain was still foggy so he eventually realized that it wasn't an actual skull, but a mask.

Louis couldn't see any skin from him, he was fully covered up. From what Louis could see, the man in the skull mask had some kind of black paint around his eyes, making his blue eyes stand out more. Both men were large, but the one in the Ghost mask was massive and if Louis wasn't still out of it, he was be a little intimidated.

"Can you stand?" The one with the mohawk spoke and he had an odd accent. Sounding like Scottish. Louis glanced over at the man before slowly sitting back on his knees. "What...year is it?" He managed to get out, wincing as he cleared his throat, his lungs were dying and regenerating. It felt like he was breathing in shards of glass each second.

The one with the mohawk blinked in surprise "3055." Louis looked at the man in shock.

"W-what?" He rasped out and the one with the mohawk shifted in place, reaching up to rub a hand on his neck.

*That means I was in there for 33 years....!* He thought in shock as he breathed in sharply only to go into a coughing fit and hunched over on the floor. He heard shuffling before one of the guys kneeled down, placing a hand on Louis's back. Louis quickly reached up to take off his mask, still coughing and hacked up a glob of blood and a piece of his lung. He groaned in disgust as he took in deep breaths, feeling the hand slowly rubbing up and down his back.

"Fuck." He breathed out as he leaned back on his knees, letting his head fall back. His eyes were unfocused as he was still trying to come out of his stupor. He took a few more wheezing breaths and placed his mask back on, taking deep breaths of his own smoke. It helped a little with the pain.

"We need to go. Soap, carry him out of here." The skull man's voice was deep yet muffled by his mask and Soap, who was still kneeling beside Louis, nodded his head.

"Let's get you out of here." He muttered as he reached over to help Louis up and the redhead let him. He was tired and basically melted in the man's arms as he was carried out. As they moved down the halls, Louis could see that the once bright and clean facility was dark and dirty. There were cracks in the walls, rubble on the floor and he swore he saw a skeleton's hand underneath the caved in roof.

The two men were quiet as they moved down the halls and Louis couldn't help but relax in Soap's arms. It felt...nice to be carried. It felt nice to finally be awake again. But he knew the feeling wouldn't last long. The feeling of peace that he felt. His body was still waking up and once it was fully awake. He would be in constant pain. But for now, he enjoyed the peace.

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