#johnny x kate

[emmanelson]

#when you’re separated but your wife comes in the kitchen looking like a snac

[tradgedyinwaves]

tw: cheating, car accident

Being John's assistant and girlfriend was hard sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time. Holidays were missed. Special occasions put on back burners. But when he was home, John made every effort to make it up to you. At least, he usually did.

You took care of their paperwork for the most part, submitting their reports once they were turned in with details of their mission. You made a point never to read them. You'd made that mistake once and gotten a first-hand account of how Johnny had shoved a grenade down someone's throat and then stood back to watch.

They were your boys, but that didn't mean they were stable. Simon liked killing people with his bare hands. Johnny liked to watch them explode. Gaz liked to wittle them down to nothing during interrogation(torture).

But your John? Well, he made sure his shots provided the most suffering. Shooting out the knees first, then the elbows, shoulders, spine and then finally the head. He had no issues getting the headshot, but liked to take his time.

With you, though? Oh with you they are protective and gentle. Harm almost never befell you with them around. The worst that had happened since the beginning of your relationship with John (and your indoctrination into their group) was that you'd stubbed your own toe on a chair you hadn't pushed in. It was your own fault really, love.

The team had returned the day before your birthday. What a birthday present, right? Wrong. As you greeted them on the tarmac with warm meals waiting in the car, each one gave you one armed hugs. John was last, pulling you to his side but not saying anything.

You could tell they were exhausted and that something hadn't gone quite right on their mission. They were always extra quiet and morose on those days, usually breaking out of it with a good meal and a decent night of rest.

That wouldn't be the case when you woke up the next morning next to...an empty bed? Usually, the day after he returned, John would sleep in, catching up on the hours of sleep he hadn't been able to get.

And went you puttered out into the rest of the apartment, you would find it empty. Boots, keys, and wallet were gone. Boonie hat missing from it's spot on the hook by the door. Maybe he was just out getting things.

He'd never missed a birthday if he was home and always made it up to you if he wasn't. So you waited. Took a shower, pampered yourself with the new body scrub you'd purchased just for this day.

When John wasn't back even a couple hours later, you headed up to the base as you felt the first prickles of anger rising on the back of your neck. You brought a lunch with you, an excuse for being there on your day off.

"Oh, just bringing Captain Price is lunch. Silly man forgot it again."

And so they let you in. No one questioned you, giving you warm smiles and well wishes. Some even wishing you a happy birthday for which you thanked them.

Stepping into John's office always made you cringe. It was an organized person's nightmare. Papers strewn everywhere, dirty coffee mugs left around sporadically, cigar ash filling the tray but also filtered around it like he was in a hurry. He wasn't like this at home, so you let him have his space at work the way he wanted it.

Except he wasn't in there. Keys and wallet, sure. So you knew he was on base. Leaving the warm meal on his desk, you meandered out to find the gym where you thought maybe they were sparring, getting rid of excess adrenaline from their mission.

No one there. At least, no one who knew where Captain Price was.

You spent the entire work day looking for him and when you never found him, you left the base. You end up stopping to grab a little cake for yourself and a bottle of wine, setting up at the coffee table.

And when you wake the next morning, you're still on the couch and the living room is a mess. And there's still no boots by the door.

So you go to work on your own (when John would normally drive you). You eat lunch on your own (when the entire team would usually join you in the mess hall). You drop off papers outside John's door (when you would normally go inside and leave them on his desk).

And you went home alone.

That was when you noticed some of his clothes were missing as was his duffel. You slept alone that night. And the night after. And the night after that.

By the time the next week rolled around and you'd slept alone for four nights, you were on edge and furiously upset. Not a word from your boyfriend of three years or his team.

And then the calls stopped going through. And the texts. So you called Laswell who was actually one of your best friends at this point, as was her wife.

"They're on another mission, hun. John didn't tell you?" "John hasn't spoken to me since they got back from the last one." "That bastard. I'm sorry. Unfortunately, they're already gone and I can't get you in contact with them until they're back." "I know. Just...tell him I love him?" "Absolutely." You went to work and did your job. When the taskforce was on mission, you were used for general paperwork needs in other departments since there wasn't much for you to do with them gone.

You went home alone and it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

It took another two months for them to return. But you weren't waiting for them on the tarmac. You were up to your eyeballs in new recruit uniform requests and even though you knew what time it was, you couldn't find it in yourself to care much.

Kate had been able to contact John and give him your message, but he never gave her one to return to you. And that had rubbed you the wrong way.

Forgetting your birthday was one thing. Disappearing and not telling you that they were going on another mission was another. But his silence was what hurt the most. Everything had been perfect when he'd left for the first mission.

It was hours later when you laid in bed that you heard the keys jingle against the lock. They wouldn't work, not the ones he had anyways. Knocking followed and you rolled over, throwing your pillow over your head to block out the banging and the sound of his voice filtering through the wood.

It stopped surprisingly quickly and you sighed, knowing you'd have to face him the next day at work.

You did. Sort of. You saw him when you came in, immediately turning to your office when he looked up. You stayed there all day, eating your lunch there and only leaving for bathroom breaks.

Unfortunately, you had some forms that needed to be turned in before you left but they required his signature. You didn't bother knocking as you went into his office, teeth grinding and prepared to be as short as possible. You weren't expecting the sight before you.

Your boyfriend leaned back in his office chair, eyes squeezed shut and grunting quietly with one of his own men between his thick, burly thighs. You could see the mohawk just above the desk, the sounds coming from a man you considered a brother ripping more holes into your psyche.

With a gasp, you dropped the papers and fled from the room, immediately grabbing your purse and fleeing from the building.

You could hear them calling your name, but you kept going. You'd have to find a new job or transfer, but that was a small price if it meant getting away from the only family you had.

But they weren't your family, were they? They were a family on their own. They obviously didn't need you. They leaned on each other in the field and at home. You took care of them, sure, but it wasn't enough apparently.

You got home and packed your bags, leaving behind anything that reminded you of the team or John. You left the keys in the lock with a post it stuck to the door.

"Go to hell, John."

You got back in the car and called Laswell, voice surprisingly even for what was going on.

"I need a transfer, Kate. Immediately." "Whoa, what happened? What's going on?" "He's cheating on me." Calm. Collected. Numb. "Excuse me?" "You heard me. With Soap. Probably the lot of them."

You didn't get to hear what she replied with as a semi plowed into the driver's side of your car.

I just want you all to know; this was supposed to be happy. It was going to end with a cute surprise party and apologies from everyone and nobody died. Oops, sorry.

Alternate Ending

Part Two

[tame-the-lion-writes]

read kitten baby sister as kitten baby sitter.

so. Imagine if reader had to leave town- maybe just for the weekend maybe for longer- for either work or family reasons. And obviously as much as they want to they just can't take four dogs and a cat with them! So they have to hire a pet sitter to come 'round to feed the animals, change the litterbox, walk the dogs a few times ext.

I feel like the 141 boys would NOT be happy about being BABYSAT!!! How cruel!!! They're grown men!!! (not that you know) They can handle themselves!!!

(This is somewhat similar to another ask by @do-i-look-like-a-doctor so cheers hehe)

Plot Twist: Kate shows up.

Kate's been keeping tabs on them since she noticed them on Halloween, sure, but when she sees a dog-sitting ad to take care of the boys and Baby (TM), she pulls up, no questions asked.

When you're finally out of the house, the boys make up a million excuses as to why they're living as pets--at least, Price does, and Soap backs him up. Gaz kinda just offers a sheepish smile, and Ghost is, as always, silent(--he's stubborn and doesn't want to explain himself). But one collective mistake they've all made is believing that, for the next two weeks you're on vacation, they'll be able to live like normal human beings again. Shower with non-anti-flea soap, use a spoon and fork. Finally use the bathroom with a sense of dignity.

Ooh, but Station Chief Laswell isn't letting them get away that easy.

While the 141 grit their teeth, she promises you thrice-daily updates--which means videos of the boys (and Baby) behaving themselves and being nice to her. Videos of the boys all on a leash, going on walks to the park. Videos of Soap curling up with his plushie; of Gaz playing fetch. Ghost carrying around Baby in his tactical vest. Price eating steak in his designated chair at the dining table. On top of that, there's POV pictures of her petting them and making sure they get all the attention they need(--which is none--it's embarrassing--they're never going to live it down with video evidence).

Of course, you're simply giddy to see that the boys are doing fine--or so you think. By the time you return from your girls trip to wherever, the boys are relieved, yet not exactly stress-free. They side-eye Kate as she waves goodbye with an innocent smile, knowing full well that she's recorded several hours worth of blackmail. And there's no way she isn't putting up pictures in her office.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

You're Only Sixteen

wc: ~3.8k

summary: child soldier joins task force141, stuff is complicated

warnings: violence, brief discussion of child soldiers

a/n: got this idea from somewhere, it marinated in my drafts for about half a year lol; second part

Waiting at the back of the base, Ghost is leaning against the building, waiting on the new addition to the Task Force. As if they even need one. Price sent him to meet the recruit, telling him the new asset should be highly trained and good for the team. Maybe he's right, but five people on the team seem too much for Ghost. Whatever criticism he has, they don't matter now since Price got you into the team anyway, meaning there's no going back unless you manage to mess up badly. Soap passes him by, having a clue on why he's waiting outside right now.

»Waiting on the new recruit?«

He gives a grunt as a response. »Supposedly, they're highly trained and an 'asset' to us.« Soap nods and wishes him good luck, but also prays for the recruit. Meeting Ghost as the first of the team might be scary for the new recruit, but Price probably doesn't really care about that or he wants that to happen. God knows what his plan is; no one really knows.

Some time passes after the interaction before a truck arrives with you in it, a smaller figure popping out of the vehicle once it stopped near Ghost. He doesn't register what he sees in front of him for a moment, too focused on the truck driving away, before properly taking a look at you. While about two heads smaller than him, you have a rather slim build but a gloomy appearance around you. And you're... not older than bloody fifteen. There's no way. That's either a bad joke or you just look incredibly young.

»Name?« Once his gruff voice reaches you, you can't help but already tense up slightly more than before. He looks intimidating, yes, but you're sure he should be your future teammate. Eventually, you briefly introduce yourself, and he is also very sure that he's got the right person in front of him. The new asset. Ghost isn't one to be nosy or ask personal questions, but he needs to really bite back on asking about your age. You look way too young to be here. Let alone meet him in person.

»And you're Ghost, right?« You ask carefully, standing right in front of him with a respective distance. With how stoic your expression is... you're too much like his younger self. Maybe Ghost thinks too much of it, but he hopes you didn't need to go through the same thing he did.

He gives you back a small nod, uncrossing his arms and sizing you up for a second longer before turning around to the door. Walking into the base without saying another word and expecting you to follow him just like that. Pretty scary, to be honest.

You don't know much, but being added to a team of four, not sure what their intentions are with either you or in general. Maybe it's better when he doesn't talk much to you; the less you know, the better. But the base looks too clean and organised for any shady stuff to go on. But you could also be easily mistaken. Looking around, you spot only a few soldiers walking by, how simple it's decorated inside, and it isn't cold like in other buildings. After some long corridors, he stops at a double door, a small sign next to the doors with 'Briefing Room' written on it. Ah, good to know.

Ghost eyes you for a hot second before opening one of the doors and walking in, following behind him once again. Walking in, you see three other men in the room already, looking less intimidating than this ‘Ghost guy‘. »Nice to meet you and welcome to the team.« Another deep but more soft voice greets you, a man with a beard and fisherman's hat giving you a small nod. His gaze hardens for a moment too, like Ghost's did before when first meeting you. He also realises something is wrong. You nod back as a small form of greeting, mumbling out a formal greeting back.

»Kid, tell me. How old are you'?« He asks as he straightens his posture and awaits your answer, tilting his head a bit to the side. It‘s clear this man doesn‘t beat around the bush and goes straight to the point. The other two men in the room stay quiet, silently watching and studying you as well. One with a mowhawk exchanges a look with the tall, scary guy, Ghost, before glancing to the captain.

»There was no age on your file, so I'm just curious.« He adds to his question, sounding polite even though you can clearly hear the suspicion and probably even concern in his voice. Taking a deep breath, you try to be honest, but you're also afraid of the consequences of being honest. There are four men after all, all taller than you, seemingly much bigger and stronger. You know how to fight, but it still gives you chills standing in this room with unfamiliar men, all alone.

»I'm sixteen, sir.« Is your answer and voice steady and calm even though your body language betrays you. Your whole body stays still, with hands behind your back, seemingly waiting for any possible attack or threat to come right your way. It's silent while you look around the faces of them, seeing both surprise and disbelief in almost all of them. Only Ghost stays unwavering, but that might just be his balaclava covering his whole face. He knew something was wrong but wasn't sure enough to ask you that same question earlier, having figured that his captain knew enough anyway to avoid this situation. It stays silent for another beat until the captain sighs out, leaning his hands onto the table in front of him.

»And what's a sixteen-year-old doing in such a place?« He asks you, even though he could ask that question himself. How could he allow this? Is that why there was no age to your file? And are there more poor children like you? It's obvious they're all against something like a 'child soldier‘ in their team, even when you‘re a teen by now. »I was sent here to be an asset to your team.« You answer him, deciding it's better to talk and communicate rather than stay silent and listen to the thick silence.

»Captain, that's-« »Another word and you're out, Gaz.« The guy with the cap is interrupted by the captain's loud voice, giving out a clear warning. You notice how tense it feels in the room, sensing just how badly this could go wrong. Price takes a short breath before turning his attention back to you, standing at his full height once again.

»What do you know? About this, I mean. Do you even know our names? What we're doing?« You simply shake your head, staying stoic and calm even though you have the strong urge to run out of the room, knowing you‘re most likely not welcome in this room. But you won‘t; you've learnt to stay put and stand your ground, to not show any weakness no matter what.

»Kid...« He sighs out, trying to find a way to put this correctly, »Okay, let's start with you first. Tell us about yourself.« This is much kinder than you thought this would be. No one's glaring at you besides one particular shadow in the corner, but that just seems to be in his nature. You answer him, your voice being as steady and calm as possible, while telling them about yourself.

»I've been trained professionally for nearly nine years, been on the field since then. My specialisations are weapon handling, sabotage, sniper techniques, and demolitions.«

You state, carefully picking your words and telling them information about yourself that seems to be most necessary for now. Price stares at you for a few seconds, all eyes on you, while the mowhawk and Ghost are occasionally exchanging looks with each other, seemingly unsure about you. It seems like the captain is thinking before speaking up once more, having decided it.

»That's a lot for sixteen years. You must be real good if you were sent here, no? I think you have potential.« »Price, are you serious-« The mowhawk snaps, glaring at his captain before glancing back to you shortly. »That's a kid.« He hisses, completely thrown off with his captain's easy acceptance of you in their team. »I agree, Cap'. There's no way we'll have a child soldier on our side.« Baseball cap, Gaz, chimes in and tries to convince Price otherwise of you.

It feels both refreshing but also scary when someone talks like this about you, not being used to someone recognising the falseness of this, but you're also afraid if they decide to not accept you into the team. All you can do is watch.

»There's no safer place than here for a kid like this. And the mission is too soon to search for other assets.« He argues back, thinking it's better for you here than anywhere else. He's not wrong; you're in better hands now. The thing is that you have no knowledge of who these people are or what they're fighting for. Or anything else, really.

»Trust me, Soap.« The captain reassures him, Soap, the mowhawk guy, taking his eyes back to you. It's uneasy for you when you know how none of them like the idea of you in the team but the captain. And that's pretty much the only thing keeping you in this task force for now.

»Sorry. We'll keep you in the team, but if you aren't really that good, then we'll have to get rid of you.« The captain's words cut right through you, understanding that this might be a warning for you. That, if you let yourself down or don't show your everything, this might be your end. But maybe he also just said it to scare you. Which worked either way, not wanting to disappoint him. »I understand, sir.« You nod, glancing around the other faces once more quickly as if to remember their faces. ----

Not knowing their names is difficult, having no idea how to ask them for it as well. Wait for them to introduce themselves? Might take longer than some missions. Ask them yourself? No, that's too embarrassing, right? I mean, the captain mentioned their names before in the briefing room, but you just couldn't remember them that quickly. Especially with the situation you were in. But asking them yourself might be a good idea too; practicing social skills and trying to get to know what their intentions are would be a good start.

Looking around yourself, you see only how everyone's preparing for the mission. After the briefing ended, the captain announced that you're all heading out, not able to waste any more time. The mowhawk guy, also the closest to your height, is preparing his guns and picking out some more stuff for himself. Besides him, there's the guy with the baseball cap, and he's doing pretty much the same as his teammate. They look harmless like this, but it's just the fact that these are men, all too unfamiliar to be comfortable around them yet.

Ghost is the only more scary and silent one among them, knowing not to mess with him just by looking at him. The captain is by the helicopter, talking to the pilot and seemingly going over the plan or route once more.

So, there's two people not doing much but preparing themselves, one who's waiting for everyone to be ready and the captain who is busy talking to someone already. Now's your chance, but also not. It doesn't feel right to just walk up to them and start talking, not used to such casual interactions back at your camp. But staring at them isn't really polite either, so you take your eyes off the poor men and instead study the helicopter while strapping on your gear. ----

Sitting in the helicopter is much more interesting, there are more buttons, more extra buttons, interesting technology, and other stuff to look at. Good thing you're sitting next to the captain, too afraid to move the wrong way as if he would care about that in the first place.

He's more focused on the mission and if everything is going according to plan. The others don't seem as nervous or excited in the first place, just like you being rather stoic or focused. To your left sits the scot, he is not looking your way, instead checking out the helicopter's interior as well. Looking straight in front of you, there's Ghost and the most normal-looking one. You could basically ask them their names now, but that could come off as awkward too.

Maybe earlier was a better idea than now... »What's your name again?« Asks the rough voice from your right, looking straight at you. You glance at him and answer him shortly with your name. He nods in response, gesturing to the opposite of him, and goes on.

»That's Gaz. On his right, there's Ghost. And on your left, there's Soap. These are our call signs. I'm Captain Price, sorry for not introducing ourselves earlier.«

Hm, that's very nice of him, actually. You'd never thought he would be so soft spoken, even with his rather rough and raspy voice. But the way he introduces everyone gives you hope that this team might be just a chill and friendly one.

You nod back in return, considering shortly what to say to that. »Nice.« Soap smirks just lightly at your short response, the same goes to Gaz, who after that short introduction looks away once more. Ghost's eyes stay on you for longer, either sizing you up or just staring. Well, there goes your social skills, having thought too much about speaking up and how not to be awkwa-

»What'd you know about guns? You said you specialise in weapon handling.« This is on your left side this time, Soap, if you remember correctly. Your attention is on him now, answering his question after processing it quickly.

»Like, what kind of guns there are or what I have with me?« You ask back, unsure of what to reply exactly to him. He clarifies himself, shifting slightly in his seat to face you better. He tries again, asking you more about what kind of guns are your favourites and if you know some of the mechanics of them and how to tune your gun.

You learn a lot about tuning your gun or rifle, not having been taught that much in your camp. Even though you both haven't talked much, it still felt like you learnt a lot through him. Some would say talking about guns isn't appropriate with a teenager, but is there anything else to talk about with you anyway?

As soon as the helicopter landed and Soap had mostly rambled to you about guns, you're all ready to walk out and officially start the mission. It was rather simple, the plan is to clear a three-story building, get the intel and leave. It shouldn't take any longer than an hour, depends on how many difficulties there are going to be.

After the last few commands of the captain, it starts, pairing up in groups of two while Price goes to the front. Soap is by your side like before, while Ghost and Gaz are in front of you.The atmosphere shifts, and everyone is dead focused, having no place for mistakes. The task of clearing out the building wasn't difficult, it was difficult to actually focus on getting the intel. It was in the basement of the rather big house, only able to get in after having actually cleared out the entire area. After that's done, it goes straight to it, and there was no going back.

Your stomach drops once you reach the basement, it's silent but also so loud you can't hear what the others are saying. Several dead bodies, a dimly lit lamp from the ceiling, the intel in the corner, inside of a USB-stick next to the computer. Price steps in and first puts the stick in to check if it is really what's needed. After a few seconds of loading, it turns out that, yes, it's exactly the information you're here for.

You're finally able to breathe once Price turns around with the intel in hand before giving a firm nod, ready to go back out and return to base. The stench of the dead bodies was torture for you, let alone how dark it was in the room and how silent it was. Walking out was way easier, almost running out as the first one. But outside, there was another surprise. Right as the team went out of the basement, there was another team of soldiers, having just entered the hallway. One wrong move and you're done for, that's for sure.

Your adrenaline skyrockets and makes you act on impulse, shooting two soldiers down with clean head shots. They stop staring and act, one rushing right at you with a knife, probably thinking that’s an easier way instead of shooting at you. Thanks to your aggression that’s mostly caused by your adrenaline rush, you’re quick to block and counterattack him. The enemy soldier is clearly taller than you, but for some reason not hard to fight with at all. You quickly jab his side, which makes him gasp for air; using the distraction to choke him before stabbing him at his other side repeatedly. He cries out and winces before you let go, him holding onto his injured side and falling to his knees. You grab a fire extinguisher from the wall and hit his back with it until he collapses, aiming at his head until you’re sure he is done for. The team took out the rest and glanced to where the loud bangs were coming from, only seeing how you hit the soldier one last time before the fire extinguisher fell from your sweaty palms.

A look of surprise washes over their faces until Nikolai talks into the earpieces, informing you he’s waiting right outside with his helicopter, having about a minute before he needs to fly away.

Once the enemies are out, you're quick to leave the building all together and indeed, see the helicopter of Nikolai. Loaded in and safe, it feels like you've just run a whole marathon. Sitting down at one of the seats with a sigh, you relax your muscles as much as you can. Nikolai’s voice chimes in through the headset you're all wearing once again, all loud and clear and almost as soft spoken as Price's voice. Maybe a bit more warm than the captains, but laced with an accent. The conversation only consists of updating and some light jokes afterwards, it’s mostly quiet. The low grumble of the helicopter is the only thing filling the silence inside, not that it's uncomfortable. It's almost relaxing to finally be safe and at peace for now, even if it's just the way back.

That basement earlier took up some courage in you to go in and stay grounded, not to think too much and focus on the obvious. The surprise attack afterwards sure was surprising but nothing too challenging. The seat was strangely comfortable now after the mission, it's getting darker now anyways as the sun sets and your sore legs are able to have a time out for now. In fact, it's so comfortable that you need to force yourself to stay awake now.

Sandwiched between Price and Soap once more is enough to keep you awake, but not for long. Falling asleep seemed impossible in a room with these four guys at first but now you're napping against the shoulder of Price. Eyes closed and breathing steady, body very much relaxed. Price, on the other hand, is as stiff as a rock right now, not wanting to wake you or make this awkward. Gaz is pretty much amused at the sight in front of him, needing to resist a chuckle. The way you're just so relaxed and napping while Price is as tense as steel is also amusing to the other two teammates.

»We're almost there, just five more minutes.« Nikolai’s thick Russian accent is heard through the mic into the headsets, while Price is feeling relieved that you took your own off headset earlier. It's silent, so Nikolai speaks again, confused on why it's silent.

»Everybody alright?« He asks slowly, awaiting for someone to answer positively. »Rookie fell asleep. Trying t' stay quiet.« Ghost answers quietly back, and Nikolai has to fight back the urge to turn around in his seat and take a look himself. A low chuckle escapes him eventually as he shakes his head lightly and continues flying everyone back to base. ----

The debrief was... calm. Awfully calm. No one's arguing, and no one is yelling for no reason, it's just so casual but professional. Maybe your camp was abusive or at least unprofessional, but this almost feels too calm. It feels as if something will go wrong any second, but it doesn't.

Captain is telling everyone what he found on the USB stick, and the new plan and information are being displayed on the wall by a projector. He's going straight to the point and just tells the obvious, facing the team that is seated at a long table. The next big mission should be in about two weeks until everything is planned, it being a more complicated raid, with the main point of taking held hostages from a big building. Eventually, once he's done, his eyes lock on you and seem to become more serious.

»Before this mission, we'll need to train you as much as possible, so you won't make mistakes. Or worse.« You nod in return, already seeing yourself training day and night and trying to improve impossibly fast.

»We'll train all together and work on our teamwork. As well as spare a few rounds together, hm? Sound good?« You nod once more, feeling like this might actually be more pleasant than hard work like your usual training was. »Good.« You reply back, and once everything is settled, everyone can retreat back into their bunks and rest for tonight. ----

This night was restless for you like every other. Sleeping at a completely different and strange place is always off-setting at first. The bed is normal-sized, and there's nothing you would complain about in your own bunk, you just need to get used to it. Or maybe it was the one-hour nap you took before in the helicopter that prevents you from sleeping now. You're just glad no one addressed it later on after you woke up. Tossing and turning, you eventually fall asleep after several hours from exhaustion.

a/n: don't worry, there will be more chapters, just have to refresh my brain about my plot since I haven't touched it in a while... hope you still enjoyed it!

[grabattheseballsss]

Ass or tits post but they barely answer the question

NSFW text !!!

Btw if yawll have any headcannon ideas do send them in pls !!! Smooches !!

John price

this is absurd, to think you would ask him such a disrespectful question, I mean if you weren’t dating this is a huge HR violation, plus he won’t just pick like you’re some object he gets to use to his pleasure (thighs and fupas)

Simon Riley

Ass…. No wait he likes tits

Actually he likes ass… but maybe more so the thighs… nah nah it’s just ass … actually here, go wear these outfits and come back to me, I need to make my mind up for sure, you know, for research purposes.

John McTavish

Couldn’t choose, had to go run a few laps to clear his brain

Came back and just held your shoulders and said

“Yes”

You’d be confused and ask him the question again and he’d just look at you with sad eyes and whimper out

“Please don’t make me chose”

Kyle Garrick

Tits, absolutely tits, this man has a thing for milfs, my darlings with big or small tits, if he sees you in a blouse or a tank top that shows your cleavage, he’s running the nearest bathroom to relieve himself.

You had to go undercover on a mission once, having to dress up as a server at a strip club, you needed to have ears on the inside, and he had to save all the footage he was watching… for safety purposes of course, what if he didn’t notice a very illegal bad thing happen to you on his 89th rewatch ?!

Rodolfo parra

Tits, but also into necks, he also loves your back, and the curve of your hips, and how your rolls show when he has you in a weird position, and he loves watching you change or slip into your everyday clothes, how some tights fabrics tug at your pretty plush skin, he loves it when you lay your feet on his lap, silently asking him to rub them for you, watching you stretch, watching you walk, how you interact with others …

Wait sorry what was the question ?

Alejandro Vargas

This whore…. Ass.

He’d slap your ass ever time you’re walking by, if you’re leaning on a counter, on your phone, he would stand behind you and slap your ass bongos, laughing and kissing your temple as you try to smack him.

If he sees you sleeping on your side he will crawl lower and cuddle your ass, it’s just such a nice cushion  :(

One time the team all went out for drinks after a successful mission, and you changed into a white tank top, low cut bell bottom jeans and Rudy handed you a cowboy hat as a joke, but all Alejandro could think about is which bathroom is the closest for him to take you.

Also steals your panties after every quickie

Valeria

See….. here’s the thing, Valeria loves one thing, and that thing is seeing you all submissive and ready for her to take, she loves sitting in a meeting with some dealers, her legs spread, you by her feet, hugging onto the lower part of her legs, humping on her dirty boot, your tits pressed against her knee as your clothed pussy rubs in messy motions as you try to get some sort of release, she loves holding a gun to your head, asking you to only make eye contact with her, in a room filled with judging eyes.

She needs everyone to know what’s hers, and what would happen if they even dared to speak of what’s hers.

König

Listen, I see könig as a little weirdo, a lil freaky boy. When he’s infatuated with someone, he won’t be able to find a single flaw in them, seeing your skirt riding up at bit too high that shows your ass that’s covered in opaque stockings, and if there’s a little rip in those stockings, even if the rip is like, down near your ankle, he’s gonna pop a boner.

If you’re a fashion girly that likes to show their body off oh baby he’s buying you anything you want if you just give him a show, tops that barely hide your nipples, about 90% of your tits out on display, one slip and you’ll be flashing him.

Seeing you in his clothes, seeing his hoodie bunched up around around waist as you hold it up a bit, fixing your pants, oh he’s going to jump that hoodie later.

Horangi

Tits, or so he thought, he’s always found your chest gorgeous, what he wouldn’t give to be able to suck on your nipples day and night, that is until you were sparring one time, you had him in a chokehold… with your thoughts pressed against his neck, his head resting on your lap as you look down at him, animalistic fire in them as you grin down at him, all he could think about was how your eyes gazed down on his, how the pressure of your thick thighs pressed against his neck felt like heaven, like the pain in his neck was cured (it wasn’t)

After the sparring match he just had to collect his thoughts, he needed you to be on top of him, preferably with your crotch right on top of his face with your soft sweaty thighs caging him in .

Laswell

This lady……… she’s the hard dom price wishes he was.

She’s so calm and collected on the outside, at her work everyone sees her as this no nonsense lady who refuses to listen to some old fart tell her what she can and can’t do, she’ll always do what’s right

And so when her pretty girl, in a gorgeous dress she got for you, comes to her job, holding a tiny bag filled with her lunch, hair done, makeup looking flawless, and a bright smile that makes her coworkers envy her.

She loves her sweet girl that’s too innocent to notice how promiscuous she looks in that form fitting dress, how her tits press together when she hands her the bag, Kate would simply thank you, kissing you briefly before giving your bum a smack as she tells you to get back home and get ready for her tonight

What? The woman is stressed at work and her girl comes in looking like a goddess in a tight dress, plus it’s not like any of her coworkers blame her.

[novemberheart]

Chapter 1 -> Chapter 2

{overview} You need someplace to stay- and fast. Luckily your aunt Kate knows the perfect place for you. Only problem is you’ll have four other roommates, who are all dating each other?

{warnings} polyamory/poly141 x fem reader, chapter story, inaccuracies all around, cursing, future smut and suggestive language, reader is inexperienced when it comes to relationships but age is not specified, appearance of reader not specified, some slow burns, some quick burns, angst, drama

“John, when you have a moment I’d like to speak to you,” Laswell requested, sticking her head into the Captain's office. A few playful gasps and ‘what’d you do now’ spread through his office. With a groan he pulled his heavy body to its feet, the weight of the world on his shoulders. His gaze quickly caught Simon’s who gave him a knowing stare. John followed Laswell to her office- which was conveniently situated across from his. “I have a favor.” She continued, plopping a pile of folders onto her already crowded desk.

Cue another grown.

“We just got back, Kate. The boys have hardly slept. Kyle has lost about ten pounds. Simon is still getting over a knife to the shoulder”-

“Calm down mother hen.” Laswell interrupted. John tsked, but realized his own antics were bordering on the tease. “You don’t have to do anything.” She paused for a moment. “Well, you almost have to do nothing.”

The Captain raised his eyebrow.

“I have a niece who needs a place to stay. You still have that empty bedroom right?”

His first instinct is to lie. The last thing he and the boys needed was an interloper- a pest in their home. They spend so much time hiding that the thought of doing it in their home, a place that is decorated so thoroughly with each of them sounds almost torturous.

“Please don’t lie, John,” Kate spoke up. “She a good girl. She’s trying to move up in her job but it’s taking some time. The only places she can afford are in rough neighborhoods and quite frankly I’m worried for her. So is her mother because she calls me about twice a day to check on her.” An airy laugh left Kate, which she quickly shook off. “I go back to the States in two weeks and I would really like to have her set up and safe before I leave. It’s only temporary- two months at the most till she can get a down payment on an apartment.”

“I don’t know how the boy’ll feel about it.” Price finally spoke. Kate nodded her head in understanding.

“She’s a modern woman if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kate said slowly.

“How about we meet her first? Give us a few days to adjust being back home, then maybe we can go out for lunch or something. If the boys’ll agree on it.” John offered. Kate sighed, hoping this meeting would’ve resulted in a bit more of a clear outcome. Nevertheless, she nodded her head, as quiet agreement escaped her lips.

“Deal.”

“Anything important?” Simon hummed as the Captain stepped back through the door.

“Yes actually and it involves all of us.” At this, the boys quickly tossed the things they were working on, onto the coffee table. John cleared his throat, taking a seat next to Simon. It was a small noise- one that John wasn’t even aware he had made, yet it caused each of their backs to straighten at the underlying authority present in the small act. “Kate was hoping her niece could stay with us for a while, two months at the most, while she looks for a place to live.” John looked around the room, trying to get a grasp as to what they were thinking. ‘Unreadable’ was the first thing that came to mind. Suddenly Johnnys' lips curled up into a smirk.

“You have a picture?” The Scotsman questioned.

“No, mate.” Kyle scolded, before the rest could roll their eyes. “Not everyone was put on this earth to be eye candy for ya.’”

“You were.” Johnny shot back without missing a beat. Kyle nearly smiled but pulled his lips into a tight line, his knee nudging Johnny.

“Why does she need to leave?” Kyle asked. Always the voice of reason.

“Safety reasons. Lives in a bad area.” John explained. That softened them. “I suggested we meet her first, she’ll probably put her best foot forward- but we should be able to tell if she’d be a good fit or not.”

“I think we should just give ‘er the keys.” Johnny piqued up again.

“Oh really.” Simon muttered from across the coffee table.

“Yeah. I mean we risk our lives for strangers everyday out there. At least with this, we could help someone out without having to do much.”

“You just want a date Mactavish.” Kyle sighed from next to him, sliding down in his seat. The corner of John’s eyes lifted in a slight smile before he stood up and returned to his desk.

“I’ll have Laswell send her our address, so we can meet her.”

“So it is a date.” Johnny chirped.

If it wasn’t for the checkpoint to get in you wouldn’t have known it was military housing. Kate drove you both in. Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel feeding off of your own nerves. Never ending rows of brick houses lined both sides of the street. There were lots of trees- which you were happy about. The houses varied in size from small townhouses to big houses with fenced-in backyards. One street even led down to a nice apartment building.

“I’ve driven past here before and never knew all these houses were back here.” You broke the silence.

“The trees hide them well- and the fog.” She smiled, not taking her eyes off the street. Each house was decorated with various flags out front- most of them being a Union Jack. She finally turned down a street, one that seemed narrower than the others. There were no houses across the street, just a large green field. A family and their dog playing in the neatly trimmed grass. The trees surrounding the area made the air fresh and your lungs felt lighter with every deep breath. Even though it wasn’t raining your nose could imagine the smell of wet earth. You shut the car door.

“There’s a nice walking path down that way.” Kate nodded her head towards the tree line. You followed her up onto the sidewalk, wondering which house she was going to head towards. It was the third one from the end. It looked like all the others but something set it apart. The outside of the house was spotless, like each brick had been hand scrubbed. The bushes and trees were neatly trimmed and there were even some potted plants you could see from on the porch.

You inspected each car in the driveway. Two trucks, one a shiny black, so large you could see it no matter where you stood. The second truck looked more like a fixer upper. It was older, painted a nice brown and beige- well loved. Behind the black truck was a just as sleek, black, shiny muscle car, that you’re sure the neighbors love hearing in the early mornings. Next to it was a banged-up, red, 4-runner geared up like it was ready to take off into the mountains at the drop of a hat.

You wondered how reflective each car was of each man.

Kate rang the doorbell. “Don’t worry.” She whispered to you over her shoulder. You were in fact worried. Very worried. It felt like all of your job interviews and presentations rolled into one. Your heartbeat only had the chance to beat 15 times before the door opened. Your insides shriveled as one of your worst fears came to light.

He was handsome- very handsome. Boarding on pretty.

“Kyle.” Laswell greeted, at which his lips perked up into a smile.

“Calling you Kate feels too informal.” He admitted. He opened the door further standing to the side to allow you both the enter. You had yet to move from your hiding spot behind Kate.

“Then don’t.” She chuckled. His head dodged around Kate to finally get a glimpse of you. His smile faltered slightly, but he quickly whipped it back on.

Your brain kicked into gear and you extended your hand with a soft introduction.

“Nice to meet you, love.” He smiled warmly taking your hand into his. He was warm and his hand held no paranoid shakes like yours.

You followed Kate into the entryway. It was plain, with an expensive-looking wooden dresser with a bowl filled with various keys and random bolts. ‘Junk bowl’ you thought mindlessly. Boots and shoes were lined neatly against the wall, making sure to avoid the rug leading into the living area. Kyle closed the door behind you.

Your eyes racked up and down his form. You knew he would be fit for his line of work, but you didn’t picture someone so carefully carved out of marble.

“Do I need to take off my shoes?” You questioned.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. We usually just keep our work boots here.” He explained. He extended his arm forward, silently guiding you further into the house. Just through the entryway was another hallway and the stairs, but Kate led you to the left into the living area.

The house was beautiful. It was a mismatch of styles but they all somehow charmingly complimented each other. The furniture was rustic. Brown leather couches, chairs, and everything from the TV stand to the coffee table was constructed from wood. The decor was more modern- but not in a cold grey and white way. There were lots of dark greens and blues. Plants were scattered around the home, making the air inside just as fresh as outside. Various pictures hung up on the wall all sketched from charcoal. You weren’t close enough to see what they were about.

“It’s beautiful.” You whispered over your shoulder. It was a home. It’s been a long time since you’ve got to experience one.

“Thanks. Cap’ is picky about where he sits so he picks out all the sitting furniture. Simon woodworks in his free time so he built almost everything you see here. ‘Tavish is the artist.” He explained, his tender gaze following yours as he took in his own home. He could feel his chest swell.

“You must be the green thumb?” You hummed. The quirk on his lips remained as he nodded his head.

“And the one who makes everything look nice.” He muttered, sending a small wink your way. “Just through the arch is the kitchen.” Kyle continued, taking the lead away from Kate. When you spoke to Kate it sounded as though this was just a meeting. Yet the way Kyle spoke and smiled at you made you feel as though you had already been voted in.

The kitchen was nice. Dark oak cabinets pushed up against the wall with light granite countertops. There was a small island with just enough room for two stools and a sink. It was clean- like the rest of the house. Everything had a place, even the fruit bowl on the counter and the tea kettle on the stovetop. Kyle turned to the right.

“And just across the hall we have the dinning room.” He lit up a bit as he crossed the hall into the room. Two men were sitting at the table. Both big and commanding in size.

“Hi.” You spoke first- a trained reaction.

“Hey, Bonnie!” You nearly jumped again at the enthusiasm. He was sitting closest to you and he reached for your hand before you could hold it out for a greeting. “John Mactavish- but you can call me Johnny.” You wondered if every man in this house had overwhelming smiles.

“Nice to meet you.” You returned his greeting with a repeat of your name. He plopped back down in his seat. The man next to him stood up. Something about him made you want to know him. He seems like the sort of person you go to when you need a shoulder to lean on . His movements were precise and swift, yet the crinkles around his eyes made your shoulders relax.

“John Price. Very nice to meet you.” It was polite and warm just like him. Your hand itched to hold his and you were disappointed when he didn’t extend it. So you extended yours. He quickly took it, his hands as calloused and as warm as you thought they’d be.

“Nice to meet you too.” You added. You quickly let go- hoping you weren’t too sweaty.

“Sit please.” He requested, gesturing to the seats across from him.

“Hello everyone.” Kate gruffed from behind you. The two men’s eyes widened quickly sputtering out an apology for ignoring her. With a playful huff, she rolled her eyes taking a seat next to you.

“We have some pastries if you want, there’s also drinks in the fridge,” John said, nodding his head towards the plate in the center of the table.

“We wouldn’t mind throwing on the kettle either,” Kyle added, sitting at the head of the table.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Kate quickly took them up on the offer grabbing something with blueberries. You grabbed a scone with the most icing. “Good.” Kate hummed between bites.

“Corner shop just outside base.” Johnny chirped. You wondered for a moment if they had bought these just for you. Well maybe not for you to eat- but maybe so you’d perceive them as caring? Or put together? You shook the thought out of your head, taking a bite of the scone. It was softer than it looked and had hint of orange. Your eyes lifted up from the scone. Each man was staring at you- not expectantly, but like one would look at zebras at the zoo. With slight wonder, but mostly curiosity. They were accessing you and you couldn’t blame them. You were asking a lot from them.

“I would like to tell you why I need to leave my apartment.” You offered, setting the scone down on a napkin. They shifted in their seats- sitting at attention. “I know this is a big ask and I would just like to say I would absolutely be happy to pay some utility or some other expense. I don’t want you to think I’m mooching off of you.”

“Don’t need to worry about that.” John spoke, quickly putting an end to any concern you have. You took a deep breath, your eyes drifting over to Johnny. His face was serious now, but his smile lines remained. You couldn’t imagine smiling so much that it would be etched into your skin. You breathed out.

“A few nights ago my apartment was broken into, during the night while I was at home.” Kyle winced, and Johnny stiffened. John remained the same. “Luckily I had bear spray and a crowbar.” You chuckled despite the heaviness in the air. “Nothing happened and they ran out fairly fast once I started screaming and swinging the crowbar around- but I just don’t feel safe anymore.”

“Of course.” John affirmed after you. “I’m happy you were able to react. Sometimes in those situations, people freeze.”

It was small but it was the validation you needed to hear.

“Thank you.” You said softly. “This wasn’t the first time it had happened. My place has been broken into two other times, this was just the first time it had happened while I was home. I’ve gone to the police but they never follow through. On top of that when I come home it’s usually dark and I’m almost surprised when I make it home.” Your head turned towards Laswell who nodded at you to go on. You hoped they didn’t think you were a baby. People are going through hard times all over the world. What makes you so special that you should be free from it? These men had no doubt been exposed to horrible acts, things you don’t think you could cope with hearing let alone experiencing. They’re probably thinking how entitled you are. How you should buck up and stop playing victim. You shook yourself out of your thoughts. “I‘ve been saving money for a few months but it still not enough. If I could just have about a month’s paycheck that would put me at my goal. I know it’s a big ask, but it’ll be like I’m not even here, I promise. I’m a rather boring person, unfortunately.”

They chuckled at that.

“Well, Sweetheart. I think you just landed yourself a bedroom.”

Hi friends I hope you liked this! I have 5 more chapters scheduled to post so I won't leave you hanging! Don't be afraid to say hi or come visit me on my page!

The next chapter will be posted in three days! 🤎

See you at the next chapter!

[newyork-institute]

A hockey!au where its Coach John Price, goalie Simon Riley, Johnny MacTavish as a defensemen and Kyle Garrick as a forward. Kate Laswell would be there PR manager and Nikolai is in charge of making they get to each destination on time and (looking at you Garrick) one piece.

Coach Price had a couple of Stanley Cups under his belt from his day as a defensemen. He was known throughout the league as being the dad to his team.

(Kate was the mom).

Simon Riley had a skull painted on his helmet and from some of the PR videos Kate has posted on the teams TikTok page, he was given the nickname Ghost because of how he always seemed to come out of nowhere.

Johnny MacTavish is known as a beast on the ice, but all his hits were so clean, the refs never called a penalty. His opponents started calling him Soap on the ice as a deterrent, but Johnny was Johnny and took it as a compliment.

Kyle Garrick is recorded to be the fastest player in the entire league. He’s a smooth player and well liked in the league, so no wonder Coach Price made him Captain.

Kate Laswell loved her job and the boys she worked with. Price and her go way back to when they were teenagers, so it makes Kate’s job so much easier when the Coach cooperates with her. She also definitely babies the boys and will admit that with a smile on her face.

Nikolai was one of the most famous Russian goalies back in the day, having competed against Price in the past. They both lost a Stanley Cup to each other but after retiring from the game, they found they had a lot in common.

(Price is the first openly gay Coach in the league, and the boys couldn’t be any prouder.)

Don’t mind me I thirst for these cod men and for hockey players leave me alone 💀

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

See No Evil

Pairing: John Price x F!reader

Synopsis: The flowers came every week -- Tuesday, two O’clock, two minutes after your break. The only problem was that you knew they weren’t coming from John.

Word Count: 17.5k

Warnings: Stalking, violence, intense gore, blood, abduction, angst, fluff, protective!John, not quite smut, swearing, stereotypical ‘Bad Guy’ character who gets his ass beat, minor character death

A/N: Finished this at 3am so forgive the absolute deterioration of the plot near the end.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The flowers came once a week – Tuesday, two o’clock, two minutes after your scheduled break. The Triple Twos your coworkers would joke, slapping you on the shoulder with wide smiles and questioning eyes as they continued by asking if John had done something to piss you off. That was the only excuse to spend so much money on flowers every single week; the man had to have done something absolutely unforgivable. 

You always found yourself fake chuckling at the accusations with a tense jaw and flickering eyes, looking to the empty corners and the glass front doors as the delivery man exits the building; whistling a tune. Choking down the bile in your throat.

The problem was that John hadn’t done anything wrong, and the tightening in your chest had told you that something more sinister was going on even if you didn’t know exactly what. Another part of you, the common civilian voice in the front of your mind, hissed that you were just being paranoid. 

But something was just off.

There was always a note that came with the gift, and it was always stuck on a cardholder; the metal shimmering in the white light. It was a stark contrast to the black paper trapped in it, keeping your eyes transfixed like a void in the earth. You could feel your heart drop every time your gaze locked onto it and the blood-red lettering, like the fibers were bleeding with every stab of a long-gone fountain pen. 

The flowers themselves made you pause the first time you had gotten them. Jess, the kind old woman who works the front desk, had come and gotten you herself, and that alone was unusual. Like a man wearing shorts during winter – not entirely uncommon, but still surprising when you saw it happen to say the least.

“Why,” Jess had muttered to you as you gave her a confused look as to why she was in your department in the middle of the day, “That John of yours is just the sweetest. The hydrangeas are the prettiest shade of blue, Dear. The man of yours was an absolute God-send. A pity I’m married – I would have tried to snatch him up!” 

“Flowers?” You frowned, running over thoughts about presentations and powerpoints you still had to get done by the end of the day. Already you were at the edge of your rope, “What are you talking about, Jess, I don’t think that John…”

Jess had already bounced ahead, quite limber for her old age, you had thought before you followed after; sucking in a deep sigh. Turning a corner with the clack of your work shoes, you saw a flash of color in the otherwise dull gray of the lobby, kissing the sides of your vision. 

“Woah,” Your eyes widened, taking in the sight in front of you as a hand lifted to your lips in shock. 

The arrangement was massive – bigger than any you had seen except for one other place.

The first official date you and John had gone on was at a fancy restaurant downtown with similar gargantuan bouquets – a really nice place with candles and red tablecloths.

Throughout the course of the night, both of you had gotten to know each other exceptionally well, but it wasn’t like the two of you were unfamiliar in the first place. If anyone would have asked, many of your coworkers would have told about how, months ago, you had first started gushing about the most handsome man you had ever seen leaving the local library once more. Through many fake threats and warnings that if you didn’t snag the brown-haired Brit soon, they would steal him from you, you shoved down the nervousness in your throat and went to the library on your days off.

It was a week before you gained the courage to even look in his direction, and when you did, you had already found him sneaking glances back. You had offered a friendly smile, albeit a nervous one, and had flushed when he had given you a twitch of his lips and a tilt of his head back.

For six weeks you had gone back, borrowing books you had no intention of reading just to have a chance to speak to him – and when you did, you had both become infatuated with each other. John had asked you about any history book recommendations and you had laughed and said you only read fiction; the man had looked offended, but slyly commented that he would have to change your opinion over dinner.

It was easy to admit that you had agreed right away, body fuzzy and warm.

But on that first official date, you had told him something that you never imagined would come up again when the waiter had put the first-course dish in front of you. Blue Hydrangeas and pure white Orchids. Your favorite flowers. 

“John sent these?” You had wondered aloud at the first vase of flora on the granite desk-top, blue and white immediately catching your eyes. Your chest had lightened with love. This was so kind of him. 

“Look,” Jess had squealed, placing her withered hands on her cheeks. It was almost like she was getting the gift instead of you. Your lips had quirked in amusement, “There’s a note too. Quick, read it to me! I want all the juicy details.”

That was when you realized something was wrong. 

Note? You had raised a brow, John left a note? 

Your boyfriend was many things – loyal, brave, an absolutely lovely person to hug because of those muscled bear arms, and hard-headed when it came to you walking nowhere near the edge of the road – but a note writer? No. 

If John wanted to tell you something he would tell you – whisper it into your skin as he leaves gentle kisses behind, mutter it into your hair as he brings you into a slow dance in his house’s living room. Smugly grunt it into the hot air as he leaves you sobbing from pleasure, his fingers curling inside of your heat. 

Your nose had twitched at the smell of the flowers, but your digits had gravitated to the black note card and its red writing. 

‘Thinking of you now, 

Long to be with you always,

Morning, noon, and night.’

The paper crinkled as you held the edge slightly tighter, but other than that no outward expression told anyone how confused you were. This wasn’t like John at all and your feet fidget a bit as you try and think if you had missed a massive date on the calendar to elicit such a break in character. But no, you tilted your head, there was nothing going on today.

How did John even order these? You had raised your free hand and brushed one of the white Orchid pedals, He’s out on deployment, not down the street standing in the floral shop.

Jess was gushing at your side, and a few other coworkers come by and say how happy they are for you. 

Maybe I’m just overthinking this – John can send flowers and notes whenever he wants. He’s my boyfriend. 

Looking over to your coworkers you agree to a comment about how attentive John is, “Yeah,” You force a laugh and shove down the swirling in your gut, “He’s really great – you have no idea…Did you know he makes the best waffles I’ve ever had? He even brings them to me in bed when he’s home!”

Then the whistling delivery man, named Don as you had found out the second week deep into this strange event, had become just as familiar as your coworkers. 

Which leaves us in the present. 

Tuesday, Two O’clock, two minutes into your scheduled break. The Triple Twos. 

You’re already waiting by the front desk, leaning back into it with the granite top digging into your back like a heavy hand. You try to stop the way your stomach twists when you hear Don whistling – Jess laughs to your left. 

“Like clockwork, Dear.”

You don’t answer, only tighten your lips into a line; tap your foot on the floor. Your arms crossed.

If you had the option to contact John this would have been easier – ask if he was responsible and finally put this to rest. But your Lover had told you right before the relationship was made official that his job was demanding and that it could even put you in situations that would be less than enjoyable. John had long hours, few breaks with stretches far in between where he would be able to see you. No contact when he was away overseas unless you were in a life-or-death situation – too many possible variables of who could be listening over the line if you called.

“It’d make me feel better if I know there’s no chance of anyone coming back to London to mess with my girl, eh?” He had said, pressing a scratchy kiss to your forehead as he was about to leave your apartment to gather his gear at his home. John would be away for months this time, you knew, “Put my mind at ease about it. But don’t you worry, Love. I’ll be back soon, yeah? We’ll watch that movie you wanted to see when I’m home.” 

Don opens the door, holding another damned vase with blue Hydrangeas and white Orchids sticking out of the top. Your eyes find the note all too quickly and your fingers tighten over your biceps.

“Hell,” The delivery man snorts at you, “I’m starting to think this guy is going to buy up all the Florists’ stock at this rate! The hell did he do? Cheat on you?” 

You roll your eyes, not replying to the comment and never doubting John’s loyalty to you in the slightest. Muttering a soulless ‘thanks’ before moving to help Don, you take the object from him with a grimace. The vase is like iron in your hand – heavy and cold to the touch akin to a corpse. Like death gripping at the slim vines of life, petals blooming through its fingers. 

“I still wish you’d tell me the name of the person who ordered them,” You utter, moving to drop the vase with a plunk on the front desk. It was like you were repulsed by even touching them.

Jess narrows her eyes, “What?” She comments, tone exasperated that you were bringing this up again, “Do you think someone else is going through all this effort? Come on, Dear, no one but John would send these. They’re your favorites!”

“See you next week!” Don calls behind his back, already sneaking out the door to continue his work. 

“I don’t know, Jess,” You run your hands over your face, pushing back the hair over your forehead with a groan, “Something just seems off about it. This isn’t like John – if it was I wouldn’t be making a big deal over it, I mean, why would I? I like flowers as much as the next person, but really? This is a bit much.” 

“So what I’m hearing in the man never gets you gifts?”

“No!” You snag the black paper note with your fingers, huffing, “The flowers aren’t the problem – It’s the damn note that throws me for a loop.”

“The note?”

“It’s a fucking Haiku – since when have I ever mentioned John writing poetry?” Your voice turns into a gruff imitation of what it once was, “The man is romantic, sure, but he definitely doesn’t take his time to write out poems. He writes so many reports he barely picks the pen back up after he throws it down.”

Jess hums. 

“Oh, maybe he’s just trying out a new pass time – perhaps he’ll come back to London as the next William Blake, hm?” The older woman waves her hands around, creating grand gestures as you watch with a blank face and a raised brow.

“Now that’s funny.”

John had hobbies – reading and cooking being two of them. The only time he wrote was when he was working on reports from an Op. and locked away in his office to make sure you never saw what he was getting red, tired, eyes over.

“There are some things that I never want you to see,” He had told you when you had asked what he was working on once. You had come to his house to visit, and he promised to go out with you when he was finished with a report to Laswell, “Images that have no right living in that beautiful brain of yours.” 

“Why should you have to see them, then?” You muttered, gazing into his eyes with concern. He put so much on himself, “Don’t they make you sick?”

“Yeah, lie of the century, that is,” He had smiled stiffly, dragging you into his arms as you melt. Your hands wrap around his tapered waist, sighing, “But it’s the mission. Someone has to get their hands dirty. And I’d rather it always be me than anyone else – least of all you, Love. I’ll be ready to go in half an hour, copy?”

“Well,” Jess sighs, typing something on her computer, “Is the note the same as the last four times?”

You blink, and look down at the tiny paper you had been strangling in your grip. Black and red – just as always. Freezing you look at the letters and numbers written in that fountain-pen script. It takes you a moment of realization before it feels like a knife hits you in the heart, breaking open your ribcage and splaying the bones into the light. 

Your lungs chill over, air stagnant and unmoving so that your breaths are reduced to gasps. The pulse inside of you increases so suddenly that your feet stumble and your skin vibrates as your veins work overtime. 

The red script burns the exact address of your apartment building into your retina. 

“Call the police.” 

—

“Hello, this is Kate Laswell,” The voice over your phone wafts into the lifeless air of John’s home, and your skin crawls as it bounces off the walls. It felt wrong to you – taking refuge in John’s place without telling him first. But going back to your apartment wasn’t an option, “...Hello?”

With a start, you realized you had forgotten to reply. Placing a finger on the drawn curtains to the front window, you peak outside with tense shoulders, eyes roving the empty street.

“H-hi, Kate, I know this is probably stepping over a line, a big one, but I found your office number in John’s house,” You give your name tersely and clear your throat before stating you were the man’s girlfriend. Laswell stays silent, letting you explain yourself even if she was overwhelmingly confused. You appreciated that immensely. If she were to start asking you questions you might start crying, “but I would be really appreciative if you could tell him – if John’s even working with you on this deployment, that is, that I have to stay in his home for a few days… o-or a week…possibly.” 

It didn’t take an expert to know that you were shaken, your voice cutting out at the wrong times as the phone picks up the static of your constant movement and fidgeting. Your eyes follow a white car as it drives down the street outside, pupils small and eyebrows drawn in. You drop the fabric and take a step back, sucking in a deep breath. 

Focus.

A pause over the line makes your heart beat faster as you begin to go and pace the front hallway. There’s a paranoia in your blood that oozes out into the lines of the hardwood and around your socked feet as you zip back and forth. 

Kate utters your name over the phone slowly. She doesn't ask why you’re in John’s house or why you're staying there, just gets to the root of the problem, “...Are you alright? Do you want me to mention anything else to-”

“No!” You gasp out, waving your free hand in front of you, “No, I don’t want to make him distracted. I just…” Your voice trails off, air getting harder to suck into your lungs.

A gentle sigh flows out over the call, and the sound of a body shuffling closer to the landline. Feet sliding over the floor.

“What’s going on, Dear?” 

You stop pacing. 

Laswell was a good deal older than you, you knew, and the tone she was taking reminded you of a mother who was trying to console a child; particularly one who had just hit their head after falling to the ground. Smooth, calm, and with a kind insistence. It made your chest tighten as you swallowed down saliva in your closed throat. Your eyes sting.

“I-” You rub a hand up to your cheeks, feeling the heat enter your clammy palms as a glassiness coats the back of your eyelids. Before you knew it, everything comes spilling out in a spew of hiccupped breaths and tears, “Something’s been happening at work for a while and the police are involved,” You try to steady your voice, “But…but they can’t do much because there’s no imminent threat to my safety. Yeah, well, the problem is that this fucking freak knows my address and I didn’t know where else to go.” 

Your story jumps around, telling of the flowers and the notes. You take no linear path and instead you have to go back steps and explain that you didn’t even know who was doing this. By the time you had finished, you were sitting on the floor, knees drawn to your chest and sniffling. Your clothes were ruffled from you constantly flattening them down, wrinkles like veins visible in the fabric.

Kate coughs over the line as you come to a sobbing stop, trying to muffle your panic with a hand to your mouth as you tilt the phone down parallel to your chin. Tears drip from your face one by one.

“I’m sure John won’t mind you staying in his house,” Laswell speaks slowly, trying to ease your nerves and stop the panicked breathing over the call, “I’ll call my contacts in your local police force, alright? We’ll get someone on this; just take a breath for me, okay?” 

“Please, don’t tell John,” You gasp, wiping away the waterworks with your hand, “It’ll make him worry too much.”

“I think it’s a little too late for that.” 

—

John had gotten a text from Laswell just as he had finished taking off his gear, the small bleep from his phone distracting him from the straps of his leg holsters. He blinks, furrowing his dark brows and looking at the black device as it sits on the bench. The changing room lights fizzle for a moment, and the bear of a man spares them a grunt. 

The Captain’s athletic shirt is neatly folded under the phone, the fabric creased and drowned with sweat and dirt. He walks over with only his cargo pants on, liking the way the chilled air felt on his flushed skin as the adrenaline from the latest step in the mission wore off. 

AC, he decided, was one of man's greatest inventions. His dog tags clink over each other around his neck as a trail of sweat dripped down his abs.

John’s fingers snatch the phone, one hand going to unbuckle his belt so he can take a shower and wash all the grime from his body. The lights bounce off his physique, biceps becoming more prominent as he brings the phone up, but before he looks at the screen the back of his hand travels to his forehead. He takes a moment to wipe at his slick skin before sighing and itching at his hairline. Bringing the phone down, John looks at the screen absentmindedly, preoccupied with the thoughts of warm water to ease his aches and the forming bruises over his skin. 

Laswell: “Get to my office. ASAP. It’s about your girl.”

John stops, his pants only held up by his tense hips; his free hand at the front zipper about to send the slider down the tiny metal teeth. He utters your name with a grunt of breath, eyebrows furrowing as a concerned frown overtakes his face. 

It takes half a moment for him to shuck his pants back up and grab his nasty shirt from the bench. John shoves his feet into his mud-slick boots without a second thought; he doesn't tie the laces, instead, he shoves them into the sides. Sending a reply with one hand, he’s rushing out the door in under fifteen seconds, heart taking off like a plane and pulse being re-set alight. His jaw clenches and his tags bounce as he thunders onwards. 

Price: “On my way.” 

His feet hammer the floor, sending small shockwaves over the ground as the man rampages on. John sprints past room after room and runs down multiple hallways before finally getting to where he needs to be with stiff limbs. He grasps the side of the open doorway with a heavy hand and all but swings himself into the next hallway before he skids to a stop at the first door on the right. An all-encompassing grip is slammed onto the metal handle, and he mercilessly twists before opening it with his other hand on the woodgrain; his shoulder ready to ram the barrier open if it happened to be locked. 

It wouldn’t have been, but John’s mind isn’t thinking straight. In his head, all he can do is come up with the worst possibilities. You, dead back in London, or severely injured due to a freak accident, maybe on life support with no hope of waking back up. There were too many options – John had simply seen too much, he knows that if the worst could happen, it will. But fuck nothing was ever meant to happen to you. Not you. Anyone but you.

You were supposed to be safe – always.

The Captain doesn’t bother to knock before the door is swung to the side. Your voice is the first thing that John hears, high-pitched and strained as you sob into the landline on Kate’s desk. Papers had once scattered the woman’s workspace, but all are pushed to the side as Laswell’s hands are clenched on the metal top; full attention on the hysterical lady a world away. 

Kate snaps her hardened eyes up to John watching as his chest heaves before bringing a finger to her lips. Her expression twists into a frown. 

Clenching his jaw, John feels his heart sputter at the sounds from the landline – what were you saying? His ears strain as he pushes the door closed with a muffled click, feet unconsciously carrying him to your voice like you were in the room with him. He wishes you were. John stops by the edge of the desk, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides before he crosses them over his chest; fingers digging into the meat of his arms. 

His feet shuffle and he picks up the sniffled words of ‘don’t know him’ and ‘figured out where I live.’ 

Laswell sends him a glance as John’s eyes widen, beginning to paint a picture for himself of what was going on. A heated rage flies through his bloodstream, lips pulling back in a snarl, but he stayed silent so he could let you speak.

Has her address? Where is she now?! 

“I’m sure John won’t mind you staying at his house,” Kate mutters calmly, slowly, and John is thankful that the woman was who you had decided to call – even if he felt bad that you didn’t think you could get in contact with him directly for something like this. 

I told her not to, He lays his hands on the table, leaning closer to the landline, and takes a deep calming breath to help his head from exploding, Bloody hell, I made her feel like she shouldn’t. 

John’s face steadily gains a red sheen of self-hatred under his beard and over his cheeks. He would have made time for you – found a secure line and waited for you to call. So why hadn’t he done that yet? He should have checked in.

The man brings a hand to his face, running it over his beard and pulling at the strands. There was just so much going on with the Task Force that it must have slipped his mind. Laswell continues from her seat at the desk chair, not oblivious to John’s state.

“I’ll call my contacts in your local police force, alright? We’ll get someone on this; just take a breath for me, okay?” John hears your static-filled voice let out a muffled whimper and he suppresses a flinch, breath getting caught in his throat. He never wants you to make a fearful noise like that again.

“Please, don’t tell John,” You gasp out and the two in the office pause – John becomes as still as a statue, his face pained and eyes widening – they hear you wiping away tears with a ruffle of fabric, “It’ll make him worry too much.”

Against his better judgment, the man lets a small, emotionless, quirk of his lips grace the tense atmosphere. 

She’s the one being stalked and she’s concerned about me worrying about her? Damn this woman. If only she knew how much I actually think about her when I’m away, regardless. I couldn’t not think about her well-being if I tried – halfway around the world and I can’t get it together.

“I think it’s a little too late for that,” Laswell speaks after a moment. John hears you suck in a quick breath and he takes a deep intake of air in turn, filling his chest and trying to ignore the scent of his own stench. God, he really needed a shower, but warm water was nowhere in the vicinity of what he was thinking about right now. Not anymore. 

You took precedent. Always.

“...John?” Your voice wavers out, thin and cautious. 

“I’m right here, Doll,” The Captain utters, speaking softly as Laswell grabs her personal phone from the top drawer of the desk and slinks away – going to make that call to her contact no doubt. She sends him a close-lipped smile, nods to the exit, and walks out of the room. John tilts his head in her direction as the door closes, “I heard the last half, alright? Don’t you worry about a thing, it’ll all be sorted. Stay at my place long as you need and don’t worry ‘bout making a mess,” He nods his head even if you can’t see him, body wanting to hold you to his chest, “Even have your favorite snacks in the pantry for you, Love. Stocked up a few months ago just in case you ended up staying over…lucky guess on my part, yeah?”

“The chocolate ones?” You snort wetly, and John smiles in contentment at the noise of your slowing breath. Hearing you calm down was making his own pulse return to normal. You were okay – for now at least – and that was enough to make the tension in the man’s shoulders subside; the clenching of his fists on the table loosen. But there was a special section of his heart that held the knowledge that someone had made you fearful for your life – left you crying and desperate to have protection from the unknown. And here John was, not able to even press a kiss to your head. He can’t help the sliver of self-resentment at the thought, “But I…I thought you hated those?”

“Hm,” John grunts, conceding just for you. He tries to push his anger aside and force out his teasing comment, just focus on her, “The bloody things grew on me. How can I hate something you love so much? Especially when you’re making fun of me for not liken’ ‘em.”

A content silence falls, with your body shuffling occasionally as your try and find your bearings again. The man knows your mind will come back to you if you just focus on him; just like his own would. John’s lips fall into a line. 

“Darling,” He whispers, but knows you can hear him by how you make a small noise in the back of your throat, “I need to ask you, how long has this been going on?”

John's ears pick up a sigh, “A little more than a month,” The Captain’s eyes close, head slightly turning down into his chest as his fingers drum the desktop, “I just…I thought it was you at first - even if It felt a little off, you understand? Then the most recent note had my apartment address on it and I-I panicked. I didn’t know where else to go except to your house. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for that,” John firmly states, eyes flaring as he moves to sit in Laswell’s chair. A slight creak echoed out as he puts his weight on it, leaning forward intently, “Never apologize – this is some pathetic Muppet’s fault and will never, for one moment, be yours…Now, you stay at my home and lay low for a while. Did they give you time off from work? If not, I’ll send a call to your boss and–”

“You can’t just do that!” Your voice is coated with amusement, light laughter playing off your lips as you interrupt his methodical and soldier-like rant. John stifles a deep chuckle, closing his eyes and listening, “I already took a week off, I promise. I was just planning on staying here and letting things cool down...Just wanted to let you know first.” 

 John’s lips release a hum before he runs a hand over his beard and scratches the skin under the bristles. Dirt and flecks of ash fall to the floor, but he doesn’t notice.

“I’ll see if I can’t finish up here within the next few weeks. Come back to London early and help you figure all of this out. Look into it myself if I have to.” 

“You don’t have to do that, John. I know your work is important.” 

“You’re important, Love,” The man teases, “The Op. over here has run dry, the leads have gone for the moment and there’s no reason for Laswell to keep us here cleaning the empty rooms; I know for a fact I’m able to make sure you’re safe far better than anyone else back home. I can be back soon,” He growls, and his accent becomes thicker as he continues on in the ‘Captain Voice’ you had grown to love, “I’ll bloody make sure of it.” 

“How have things been, by the way?” You ask, steering the conversation away from you, worried about how his efforts had affected him. He sounded tired, “Everyone’s alright? No new injuries, I hope. I don’t know if I can deal with you coming back and having another gunshot wound right now – you know how I get when I’m doting over you.” 

“Hm,” John huffs, amused. He remembers how, when he had come back once with a shot to the thigh, you had practically restrained him to the bed as you ran around like a chicken with its head cut off. You had cooked, cleaned, and even helped him into the bath as his humongous body had towered over you. But it wasn’t like he was complaining about the last one, “Nothing to twist your hair over.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Only scrapes and bruises on my part. Should’ve seen the other guy.” 

Laswell enters the room silently as you giggle, heels not making a sound as she lowers her personal phone from her ear and closes the door behind her, “My contact is en route to your house, John. He’s going to check in and get a statement. With any luck, she’ll get a security detail to bring her to and from wherever she needs to go.” 

“You hear that, Love?” John shifts his narrowed eyes to the landline after nodding. 

“Yup,” You muttered, spirits now higher and the waver in your voice noticeably gone. There was no doubt that over the line you were calmer than you had been in probably over a month. John just had that effect on you, “I really can’t thank you enough, Laswell. And I’m so sorry for invading your privacy by calling you like that.”

“There’s no need to apologize. Anyone important to John is just as important to everyone over here. We take care of our own…The man that’s going to be coming to your door is named Mahdi Karim – black hair, tanned skin, and a cut just above his right eyebrow. Should be in a police uniform.” 

“I’ll be on the lookout. Thank you, Kate. Truly. If you ever find yourself in London, I make a great casserole – just ask John. My door’ll be open.”

Laswell smiles softly, wrinkles disappearing for a brief second, and John can’t stop the wave of love that sweeps his gaze. He stops a lovesick sigh just before it enters the air. 

“Be safe,” Kate tells you, “I’m sure John will be in touch with you soon and I’ll be sure to have a secure line ready to go.” Laswell nods before turning to John, “You were needed in building five for a debrief fifteen minutes ago. Gaz has been asking around for you…sorry, but you’ll have to make the goodbye quick.” 

John looks away, jerking his head into a firm nod and groaning out, “Affirm. Tell the Sergeant that I’ll be there in a minute for me, yeah?” 

“On it.”

“I’m sure Gaz is ripping the place apart for you, Love,” You laugh, and John’s eyes snap to the landline to give his attention back to you. Like a wave in an ocean, “Don’t keep him waiting. From what you tell me the boy can get into a startling degree of trouble when you’re not with him…something about falling out of a helicopter?” 

John feels his chest jerk with chuckles. What did he do to deserve you? Someone who could make him forget about the aches in his shoulder muscles from the stock of his M13 – forget about the layers of sweat, blood, and dirt seeping into his pores; death lives on him like a second skin. But, strangely, you either didn’t notice or didn’t care. That was the part that struck John every time you barreled into his chest when he came home – you stayed by his side so adamantly; waited every time he left and was over the moon when he returned. 

You love him, and he doesn’t think he deserves it. But like the selfish man he is, he’ll keep you at his side as long as he’s able, and love you back just the same. You were one in a million. And the thought of someone reducing you to something other than a god-send – to a mere object someone could prey on was enough to reduce the Captain to a feral rage. 

If I ever get my hands on the prick that made her feel like this, he’s as good as dead. Mark my fucken’ words – he’s dead.

“I’ll call you tonight, Love, you alright with that?” John clears his throat, grunting as he stands from the desk chair, “Around 0900 your time?”

“That’s nine O’clock, yeah?” You continue not waiting for him to answer, “...How late is that for you?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m still ‘gonna call.” 

You seemed to know that trying to sway him on this was pointless by the way you muffled an exasperated laugh, “Alright. Nine O’clock. I’ll answer.”

“You better,” John huffs, “Goodbye, Love. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, John. Be safe – Love you.”

“Love you, too. Be safe for me.” He whispers, letting you hang up the phone instead of him. Kate and he stand in silence for a moment before John growls, eyes suddenly burning. It was like his only tie to being civil was severed after your presence – even as limited as it was through a call – disappeared, “I want whoever’s doing this put in cuffs before I’m back in London, Laswell, yeah? Otherwise, it’ll be someone else's bloody problem to pick up the pieces I leave behind of whatever bastard is responsible for this.”

—

Mahdi Karim was perhaps the only person in London that listened to you. He had told you in a soft tone as the both of you sat in John’s dark living room that he would work on the case you had brought forward personally – with the influence of Kate Laswell giving him all the jurisdiction he needed. 

You had briefly wondered how far Laswell’s hand reached into the inner working of the city’s police force but had decided it was probably better if you never figured that out. For just one American CIA agent – she sure knew how to play the game to her favor. 

“I’ll make sure to have another officer with you when you need to leave the house – Mrs. Talley – whenever you need to go somewhere she’ll be just a call away.” Mr. Karim had told you as you fiddled with your fingers in your lap, “And I’ll be at the station working on leads. Kate told me that you had handwritten notes?”

“Yeah,” You cleared your throat, nodding as you stare out the window; the street lights come on outside with an automatic timer. Your lips flattened, whispering out, “They’re all in my work bag.” 

God, you wished John was here. He would have held you to his chest with a firm hand on the back of your head; all-encompassing and steady as his heart beat directly over your ear with a steady thum-thump, thum-thump. John’s heart was always something of a comfort to you. When he was with you, staying the night, you wanted to keep your head on his chest and feel the melody of his pulse lull you into a slumber – like your own personal lullaby. 

It reminded you he was here; alive, and in turn, it kept you steady. His gentle kisses to your hairline were just another perk along with his fingers carding through your locks. Whenever he did that you swore you turned to mush, just like a cat letting out vibrating purrs. There were so many things that John Price did that could calm you down without even trying – the way he slow danced with you when you put his vinyl records on, his fascination with old movies to the point his eyes would light up when he explained them to you, and the press of his gargantuan body laying on top of you. 

That last thought brought a smile to your lips. He was always worried he would crush you.

“You sure, Love?” He would ask when you smiled smugly from your position lying on the couch, “I’d hate to have my girl suffocate because she asked me to lay on top of her. You trying to get me arrested?”

“John,” You had laughed, “I’ll tell you if I can’t breathe. I just want to feel you. It’s like a weighted blanket – just more you shaped! Come on,” You whine playfully, arms outstretched and making grabby hands, “Please?”

The man huffed, smirking before shaking his head and sending you a warm glance. He stalks over to come and lay on top of you, his thin shirt letting you memorize the press of his abs and pecks sliding over your body; the dig of his biceps over the small of your back as they circle behind you. John lay in between your legs, forcing them open and around his fitted thighs before your limbs slip down his legs. Your hand had gravitated to his soft brown locks, messing them up lovingly with a chuckle and a soft smile. The Captain’s head was tilted up, beard itching your neck as his grip over your waist lightly squeezed over your shirt. You stared down at him with that look on your face – the one you reserved only for John. 

Against better judgment, you feel a heat enter your body at the heavy press of his pelvis slotted perfectly into you. And the way he was staring up at you, his large nose just by your chin…

A cheeky smile filters over your boyfriend’s bearded face as you caress his forehead with your thumb. John’s eyes crinkle. 

“This what you had in mind, Doll?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t enjoy this, Captain.” His eyes had sparked, narrowing as he paused a moment. 

A deep chuckle rattled against your body, and John tried to press you tighter into him; leaving you softly yelping in surprise, eyes widening, even though the glee stayed. The action was incredibly soft and left a deep yearning in your compressed lungs. As you sucked in small breaths, you found John’s dilated eyes watching you closely; like a deep blue river around a circular black rock. The gaze left a heat flowing to your face and neck – a pulsing in your lower body. You resisted the urge to roll your hips as your legs tighten around his own.

“Hm,” The man grunted, making your breath stutter for a moment. He felt it and smirked.

“Hm, what?” You ask breathlessly, John’s nose moving up your neck and tilting your head back. 

You open the skin to him readily; your skull falling back to the arm of the couch. Gasping, John’s lips pull apart, teeth grazing your pulse point before finding the one spot that makes you whimper. He lays open mouth kisses and swift nips, leaving the area red and pulsing causing your eyelids to flutter shut with pleasure. The heavy set of your boyfriend’s build makes the sparks that he leaves behind with his mouth increase tenfold. The man’s fingers dig into your waist, kneading the flesh.

You let out a breathless whimper as your hand trailed through his hair, pulling at the roots and leaving John grunting as they get messed up. Suddenly, with a sharp and confident bite to that perfect spot behind your ear, his hips lightly jump up into you; pelvis bones digging into the skin of your inner thighs as the fabric of your shorts hitch up. 

A breathly keen escapes your lips before you can bite onto your lips to stop it. Burning, your face moves closer to John’s as he licks the hickey he made and blows on it. You shiver as his lips pull in a smirk against your skin.

“This your plan all along, Pet? Get me to give you a good fuck?” John clicks his tongue, “Naughty girl. You know what you do to me – just had to bloody ask if you wanted me stretching you open.” 

His accent always became more pronounced when you both were horny; rutting against each other like animals. John sends another thrust up into you and your eyes roll back, eyelids snapping shut at the steadily growing feeling of wetness staining your panties. Fuck, you needed him – now.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. If you like me pressing into you so much, maybe I’ll take that cunt of yours right here, yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fucken’ hell I think I enjoy this just as much as you do.”

“Please…” You sigh, gasping as John grabs your hips and starts to force you to move in tandem with him; fingers digging into your bare flesh. Fuck that felt good – all his weight on you as your breath was forced to puff out when his chest bore down on you with every orchestrated pump of his pelvis.

“Please, what? Use your words now…Hm,” He angles deeper, and your nails dig into his back, sliding under his shirt and attacking his skin, “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you? You’re trying so hard to get me in that cunt of yours, might have to hurry this up.”

“Please, C-captain.” Your face burns, words coming out muffled as his lips smash to yours and forces his tongue down your throat.

“...There’s a good fucken’ girl.” One of his large hands moves to your abdomen, just about big enough to span the entire area of your skin before traveling down slowly to enter your shorts. His callouses burn so perfectly.

Shaking your head, you realize Mr. Karim was waiting for you to give him the notes. Startling, you stand and send him an apologetic glance before rushing to the kitchen and grabbing your bag off the counter, rifling through it with a quick hand. 

Pulling out all of the black paper notes, you turn back to Karim and shuffle up to him, “Here.” 

Holding out the notes and trying not to look at them, the man takes them from you with a gentle pull. Mahdi gave you a pitying look.

“I’ll get these dusted for prints and try and see if we have any records of the handwriting in our database.” 

“Okay,” You mutter, nodding, “Do…you need me to come with?”

Mahdi shakes his head, hair moving around his head, “No. You’re free to stay here and get your bearings.” The man stands, his officer uniform’s badge glinting in the light from outside, “How about you order out? Get some food and take a nap, yeah? Leave the rest to me, Ma’am.” 

He makes his way over to the front door and you trail behind, flicking on the outside house light for him but leaving the interiors pointedly off.

“Stay safe. Lock the door after me, okay?” 

“Yeah,” You lock your fingers together in front of your stomach, “No problem. Drive carefully, Mr. Karim, and thank you for coming by.”

“Anytime you need something done and no one’s listening – come directly to me. Sleep tight.” With that, the officer opens the door and disappears, going to his car in the driveway. Closing the door immediately after his departure, you watch his vehicle take off into the dark night with a tight chest. 

Clicking the double locks and turning off the outside light, you suck in a deep breath before turning around and falling back to place your spine on the woodgrain. You slide to the floor, eyes turning glassy. 

Mahdi said to order out – not strain yourself. But you had no appetite, even if you hadn’t eaten lunch today. Your stomach was in twists, intestines clogged with bad thoughts and concern. Closing your eyes, you waited for John’s call tonight at nine, tension living like a weight over your shoulders and neck. 

You would have much preferred your boyfriend’s mass holding you down instead of this, but no matter how much you wished you knew he wasn’t coming back to you for a while. But you’re patient. You can wait. 

—

You still hadn’t gone back to work even after Jess had told you the flowers had stopped – about two and a half weeks later. The older woman had said over the phone that Don had come by the building to explain that no more requests for delivery were coming in, either. That had made you breathe a sigh of relief. 

Maybe this is coming to an end, You had thought while pulling John’s green comforter closer to your chin, fixing the position of the phone over your ear as Jess comments on the handsome officer that had come in and asked about you. 

You blinked, cocking a brow.

“I told him you were staying at your boyfriend's house – had to give him the street too – though I don’t know why he had to ask me, Dear. He seemed quite pushy too. Such a dreadful boy. It’s a good thing you found that John of yours, I–”

Your ears started ringing halfway through the word vomit, eyes stuck onto the ceiling as the whites show like snow in the corners of your orbs. The quivering of your lip was the only part of you that moved – frozen over with frost and piloting stiff limbs. The comforter was suddenly suffocating you. 

“Jess,” You calmly spit out, breath hitching as you interrupt. The woman pauses over the line, and she asks if you were alright. Ignoring her, your fingers turn numb, “Did he show you a badge?” 

“Why, yes, of course, he did – it was a silver…oh…oh my…”

Silence falls, a tense rope being tightened over your throat as you sit up slowly, pushing the covers off of you with a shaking hand.

“Police badges are gold.” Dropping the phone from your vibrating fingers onto the bed, you rush to the dresser, pulling on John’s gray sweatpants over your underwear and grabbing a stray t-shirt to sit on top of your thin tank top. Nearly tripping over your feet, you huff out uneven breaths as you hang up on a blabbering Jess, quickly finding Mahdi Karim’s contact information and slamming a finger onto the green call icon. 

It takes three rings before the man picks up, and hot adrenaline is lighting your nerves; telling you to run and hide. John’s scent – gunpowder, pine needles, and smoke – is ingrained in the clothes you wear and yet you can’t bring any comfort from it. Your bones weigh more than lead, one hand going to cover your mouth to stifle a ragged inhalation as Karim’s confused voice comes through the receiver. You jump into an explanation with a waving hand, and the man says he’ll be over himself in just fifteen minutes while another officer goes to your work to get a statement from Jess. 

He hangs up first.

Fifteen minutes, You think about calling John but don’t want to phone him on his flight. He had said he should be back today or tomorrow the last time you both had spoken – when he was boarding the C-17, the whirling of the large plane’s engines blocking out everything else besides his voice. Carrying yourself into the living room, you reach up and close all the curtains; double-check the door locks, and clutch your phone in your hand with white knuckles near your hip, I don’t even know how long this guy has had his head start on me. What if he’s already outside the door?

Licking your lips, your mind runs with scenarios – what if this deranged person broke down the door? Ripped the window off its frame and jumped in? Your eyes snapped to and fro as your feet shuffled back over the hardwood; trying to figure out if you should go wait for Mahdi somewhere not near the front of the house or stay to make sure no one suspicious was walking outside. 

You chose a middle ground, moving into the kitchen and pacing with your bare feet as the morning light streamed in from under the fabric barrier over the window. Fifteen minutes passed far too slowly. 

A knock sounded on the door, and you rushed to the entrance to sneak a look out the sidelight. Mahdi stood shuffling in his uniform, peering behind him and speaking into a radio on his vest with tight features. You open the door with a shaking grip and usher the man inside with fearful glances behind him. 

Mahdi takes a few steps inside, keeping the door open behind him and frantically grabbing you by the arm. His eyes are wild.

You yelp.

“We have to get you to a secure area – quickly.”

“B-but I–” You send a glance behind you, not entirely willing to leave John’s house and the familiar solace it brings. You only utter half a sentence, not even able to explain your hesitance, before a sound like a great boom echoes into the morning air. Some type of liquid splatters the side of your face, dripping down your forehead before falling off your chin and your eyes snap shut instinctually.

Only able to flinch with a slight yell, you turn back just in time to lock onto Mr. Karim’s face. Or lack thereof. 

Half of the man’s visage was gone – white skull visible to the naked eye as the eviscerated tendons of his jaw leave the orientation off; hanging off his face and only on the unmarred side. Mahdi’s brain matter was splattered over your face, and your eyes widen in horror at the realization that you can see what remains of the officer’s cerebrum in the now half-circle of his skull. His remaining eye was bulging like an egg – nearly popping out and bouncing on the floor.

All of this happened in only half a second – the gunshot, you getting bathed in perhaps more blood than you initially realized, and then the limp body of kind Mahdi Karim falling into you; dead. His weight hits your numb body, your eyes wide, and your mind a thousand miles away as your arms snap to steady him. Your phone falls to the floor, with a deep thump, and at this point, you don’t register the fact that the man’s dead in your arms until it’s too late.

His head hits your shoulder, and your ears twitch at the sound of a wet splat – something mushy hits the floor before you stumble a few steps backward. Baptized in blood. It coats you like a second skin. How could a human body hold so much blood?

“...Mahdi?” You whimper, ears ringing and body shaking so badly you feel the man slide off you. The corpse slams to the floor, vibrating the hardwood. 

Your hands are held outstretched, fingers clenching and unclenching in shock. You don’t notice the shadow running up to you before the man has you by the wrist. The phantom utters your name into the air just as you notice the neighbor across the street rush to her front window.

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry – I’ve got you.” 

Reality comes to you in the thin moments between the realization that Karim’s body was bleeding all over John’s foyer and the knowledge that you were being dragged outside. For everything that was going on, you can’t help that your first coherent thought is ‘John’s going to have to replace the hardwood. That’s so expensive…I’ll have to pitch in.’

When your heels get skinned on the hard concrete is the exact moment you felt a shred of sanity come back and weave its way into your brain. 

“What the fuck?!” Screaming, your arm jerks back, eyes borderline feral as the adrenaline finally prompted you to consciousness. Looking up as the stranger's grip only tightens to a painful degree you stifle an enraged wail.

The man was familiar to you – not in a ‘this is my friend I've known for years’ type of way but more of a ‘this is a man I’ve seen in passing’ you think to yourself. 

It was the waiter. 

The fucking waiter from the restaurant you and John had gone to for your first official date. He had heard you talking about your favorite flowers while he poured you wine…

But that was upwards of a year and a half ago. Your skin crawled, feeling violated in such a way you had never experienced before.

As you feel your heart bursting through your chest, you bring your opposite hand up and clench it; trying to land a sucker punch to the bastard's smug face as he stares at you with dark eyes. Your fist grazes his cheek, bearly causing a reaction. 

His other hand holds a revolver, glinting in the light.

Before your shock-filled brain can attempt to understand what's exactly going on, the Waiter’s gun raises as your nails scratch at his face, peeling back skin and leaving red lines behind. As the butt of the weapon slams into your temple, the last words you hear are uttered right next to your ear – foreign lips whispering the sentences and making you want to throw up. Maybe you do, but you can’t be sure at that moment.

“I’ll take care of you, Orchid. Better than John Price ever could. Steady now. I’ve got you.”

Hands drag you by the arms, and you hear the opening of a rusty car door before you’re thrown into the back seat. Images swirl in your vision, and blood makes your skin taunt with gore. 

Your last thoughts are of John’s blue eyes.

—

The first sensation you feel is the tight bindings over your wrists and ankles. They weren't rough – and you instantly knew the restrictions didn’t have the fibers belonging to hard rope. Keeping your eyes closed as the pulse in your head pounds to a degree that leaves your hands shaking, you strain your ears. The wooden chair keeping you up leaves your neck limp; chin compressed into your collarbone.

To your left, your ears twitch at a noise. Classical music wafts like wind off walls you choose not to open your eyes and see. But based on the echos the room is small – not large enough to allow the tune to carry far. Your feet shuffle, and in the process your knee slams into a hard object that leaves you clenching your jaw to stop a yelp of pain. 

The jolt causes a reverb of wood sliding over the floor. Lightly peaking an eye open your blurry vision lands on the tall table in front of you – the stain is patchy, with paint flecks living on the legs as you look down. A morbid curiosity flows through you, and your horrified gaze jumps from one object to another; your chest palpitating. 

Everything in this room was worn down, old, and ancient. A radio sits to your left on a nightstand with one duck-taped leg; the momentary static that overtakes the eerily playing tune shows that the device was having trouble receiving the channel. 

Where am I? You ask yourself, looking at the table with a set of dust-layered plates and utensils. Two wine glasses glint in a single overhead light attached to a roof that comes to a sloping stop. This looked like a dingy attic room – the type where the Christmas decorations were shoved away to rot for a whole year and where young children were terrified to enter. Sniffing as your hands experimentally clench, you catch the scent of rotting wood and water damage. 

“...What the…?” Your lips grunt out, shaking your head to dispel the fog as you notice the blue silk bindings keeping you tied to a white-painted wooden chair. No one else was in here except for you, “What is this?”

Jerking your arms, your mind runs over the obscure facts that John would drop – either calling attention to the true crime shows you would watch in your free time or simply because of his extensive service career. 

Most people who are abducted are killed within a short amount of time from when they’re taken…three out of five women who are in this situation are sexually assaulted, abused, or exploited, You pull more heavily at your binds, feeling one on your left leg loosen as you let out a wavering sigh of achievement, Only 0.1% of people are abducted by strangers.

“Fucking hell,” You whimper as a pulse from your blood-stained temple leaves you light-headed, “Add me into that percentage, I guess.” Your thoughts border on hysterical, sweat coating your hands as a humorless chuckle shakes from your throat. You have to bite your lip to shut yourself up from divulging into loud barks of laughter.

The silk digging into your skin holds, and you don’t dare make any more noise than you already are. Looking around frantically, your flickering eyes land on the twin forks on the table; tantalizingly out of reach and mocking you. 

“Oh, screw you,” Growling, you throw your head back and try and look behind you, straining your neck to a point you start restricting your airways – maybe there was something of use? 

Nothing. Just a window covered in newspaper and the faint glow of a setting sun. You hadn’t even thought of the time. How long had you been unconscious? The blood staining you from head to toe was all dried and made your clothes hard and stiff; the wound at your temple had stopped bleeding. You licked your lips and couldn’t stop the sting in your eyes. 

Hours had passed. Precious hours. 

John has to be back in London by now, You reason, hoping against hope, He knows I’m gone and’ll be on it in no time. I have to hold out until then. 

Gasping at your lack of air, you turn your head back around and cough into your shoulder raggedly; sucking down breaths. Black dots fly over your vision in squiggly patterns. 

In that moment of trying to get your lungs to understand you weren't dying, a sound had started up from below your feet in this decrepit house. At first, you hadn’t noticed it – the thumps so muffled your mind had mistaken them for your own skipping heartbeat, but then there was muttering. 

Someone was speaking to themselves downstairs. Your body froze; becoming so still that not even your hair moved with the shallow puffs from your nostrils. It was like your nerves had turned to stone, and your ears strained to hear. 

“...hope she likes it…worked so hard to make it perfect…” Footsteps bounce off the wood as your eyes stay locked onto the door directly across the room. It wasn’t long before the handle started to jiggle. 

Keeping a scream locked in your throat, John’s voice comes to you from between the racing of your mind. 

He had been telling you about how he was captured by Russian Special Forces on one of his Black Ops. – totally alone and unable to contact his team.

“But I had to play their game,” John had muttered into your hairline; laying gentle kisses as you caressed a long scar up his abdomen and right peck. He grumbled his appreciation, shivering as your nails raked through his chest hair, “Make them think I was giving them what they wanted until I could loosen the rope.”

“That sounds stressful,” You had murmured, pressing your lips to his raised skin and feeling his mustache nuzzle your forehead with a delicate scrape, “How did you manage it, Love?”

“Well, I had years of practice under my belt.” John’s eyebrow rose with a smirk, “But they also knew what to expect from me right off the bloody bat – I just had to surprise ‘em; to keep them on their high horse. A little white lie is better than a punch to the gut, eh?”

The door opens, and a plan already starts to form before it closes with the click of a lock.

“Orchid!” You flinch, your body throwing itself back into the chair as your head snaps to face the entrance. The Waiter’s head of blonde hair was greasy with a product – slicked back and trimmed. Red marks are traveling down his face from your nails.

He was handsome, tall in a lanky sort of way, and in a suit; holding a handful of blue Hydrangeas and white Orchids. Even looking at the flowers causes your stomach to roll; bile to fill the base of your throat and burn to be expelled. 

You decided at that instant that you never wanted to see any type of flower again for the rest of your life. 

“You look stunning, My Love!” The man exclaims, rushing into the small space; placing the flowers down on the table delicately, and grabbing you by the cheeks. 

You let a small sob, trying to move farther back but his fingers only dig deeper and threaten to break skin. Something flashes over his dark gaze, irritating perhaps, or pleasure from seeing you finally in front of him? You don’t like either option.

Play the game; buy time.

But could you play it correctly with all the raging blood pumping through your veins? Hot sweat slithering down your spine like a snake? Would John find you before something horrible happened? 

“What’s the matter?” The Waiter asks you, caressing your cheek with one of his thumbs, “I’m sure I didn’t hit you so hard you forgot me? Right?” 

“O-of course not.” You choke out, voice hoarse. If your chest was any tighter it would implode on itself. 

The Waiters eyes brighten. 

“But,” The light overhead sways, and a slight pattering over the window hints at a coming rainstorm, “I think I must have forgotten your name – my head hurts really bad.” Stifling a yell, the man’s head rears back in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” He gasps, removing his hands and shuffling back a few steps. You move your wrists experimentally, but the silk was still tight over you, “I was just so concerned you might start screaming,” The bastard dares to laugh, a sultry bark of a sound – nothing like John’s deep grumble, “I’m Colby, there, now you must remember me.” 

Colby was speaking so normally it made you even more afraid of him, but you still made a smile flicker over your quivering lips.

“That’s right,” You say, “Colby. I remember.” 

He smiles with all teeth, but his eyes hold nothing inside of them; his dress shoes click over the floor as he shuffles to the opposite end of the table to the empty chair. Colby moves the plates and utensils. One is placed carefully in front of you and after a moment the position is fixed by his slender fingers like he had envisioned this moment millions of times over. 

“I’m making dinner downstairs – Honey Roasted Duck. One of your favorites. You told,” Colby grumbles, venom leaking into his tone. His digits tighten before they slam a fork down on your plate. Your legs jerk, knee once more slamming into the table leg and making you hiss in pain. Colby doesn’t notice, thankfully, “John Price when we met for the first time, but I always listened better than him. He’s never made you Honey Roasted Duck before.” 

“Yeah, I know.” You try and reason, body shaking violently; your leg starts to struggle as you attempt to loosen the already slack silk of your left leg, “But, uhm, how am I going to eat my favorite food if my hands are tied?” 

“I’m going to feed you myself. Don’t worry, my Love.” Colby looks up and shakes his head, locks flying. He sets the glasses down and takes a step back, looking at the scene with roving eyes. 

“Oh,” You swallow the saliva in your throat, “But I don’t want to be a burden. I just want to–”

“No!” Colby suddenly yells, eyes flashing and making you release a yelp in fear, “I’m going to help you – what don’t you understand about that?!” 

“Okay!” You appease, waving your hands up as far as their able. A panicked look crosses your face and your eyebrows draw in, “Okay, but c-could you at least loosen them a small bit, please – I promise you I want to stay with you but my arms are losing circulation. It’s hurting me, Colby.” 

Colby’s expression is hesitant, lips taking a downturn as the storm outside starts to pick up, the wind hitting the house and shaking the walls. Rain slaps the window like tiny bullets. 

You try not to think about Mahdi Karim – about his body laying in John’s foyer. But he had been so nice to you. Your head starts running, running over possibilities about the officer's life. What if he had a family? A spouse? Kids?

Fuck, Your throat tightens, and your nose scrunches right after. Tears burn the side of your vision and a slight sniffle enters the stale air. Everything becomes blurry in a vile vale of waterworks. The agony at your temple increases as you tilt your head up to the ceiling, don’t cry. 

“No, no, no, Orchid,” Colby pleads, “Don’t cry! I’m sorry it hurts but It’s for your own safety.” He rushes over grabbing onto your shoulders, digging his fingers into the meat of our skin over John’s bloodied shirt.

“Get the fuck off of me!” You scream, your voice echoing off the walls as you begin to struggle. You weren’t John. You couldn’t play this game, “You goddamn freak! You killed Mahdi! I’m-I’m covered in his blood!” 

A clammy hand snaps over your neck, restricting your airways. 

Your eyes bulge; body stiffening as your mouth gasps open like a fish. The grip is hard – firm – and you already mark the way your legs try and break out of the silk from under you in desperation. Your mid-section dances around, arms bounce, and hands splay.

Colby only stops when you feel your own saliva drip down the side of your mouth, and the struggle has left your body until dark dots nearly swallow you whole. 

His hands fall, and your head does as well. Wheezing and feeling the burning in your throat, above the ringing in your ears, you make out the man’s sobbing snarl.

“Why would you make me do that?! God, can’t you see I’m trying to make things work?! God this is all that John’s fault. He’s the one that got in the way!” He stomps out of the door, slamming it so loud that everything on the table either falls to its side or hits the floor. The click of a lock is heard a second later as you try and will away the burning in your lungs as lightning cracks outside.

Gasping and feeling your tears slap your sweatpants like a river, you whimper under your breath but find that speaking only makes your neck hurt ten times worse, “John.” 

You stay in that room for two days. No food. No water. Colby had all but disappeared except for his muttering from downstairs and his shuffling; the occasional shadow would stand in the hallway just behind your door. In all that time the storm hadn’t let up and from what you could tell there was a leak in the attic ceiling because the constant drip of water was sounding off from behind you.

Drip-drop, drip-drop, drip-drop. 

You don’t know when the idea first pops into your head – maybe it’s when Colby finally peaks inside on that second day near suppertime – but since seeing the broken pieces of the plate on the floor a grim silence had settled in your bones. 

Colby doesn’t linger and with a promise of coming to check in on you later and ‘make up’ the deep swelling bruises along your neck pulse. It felt like your entire throat was held under a knife that was slowly being rocked back and forth like a seesaw, peeling back the blackened skin until your tendons and nerves were open to the air. 

Swallowing a thick glob of saliva and mucus down your dry throat, your foot catches on one of the longer plate fragments which ends with a razor-sharp tip. You know the sharp edge bites into your flesh, piercing it as your toes angle it just right but silk was an easy fabric to rip if you got the right angle, and pain had now become secondary. 

Survival was all that mattered – not how, just that you made it out of this with your head screwed on. 

What would John think about all of this? You numbly wondered, hunger and thirst working their way through you as your foot tilts up, heel hitting the floor. With a tooth biting into your lip, you drag the fragment back and begin pinching it into the flesh of the front of your upper ankle – right where the top edge of the silk skins you. Struggling the last two days had given you nothing but weeping wrists and ankles; blisters that leak puss and stain the blue fabric a nasty yellow.

Sucking in a quick breath that leaves more tears gathering in your eye sockets, your lashes flutter over your cheeks just as you hear a small tear. You jerk your leg up, and the silk completely falls from you, ripped with the sound of a zipper playing like a melody in your ear.  

The plate piece clinks to the floor nearly soundlessly and the storm covers for you as a bewildered smile cracks your lips open. 

I did it! 

You look down, and with your free limb, you go to pull the knot on your other ankle, eventually just getting to a point where you pull so hard one of your toenails completely rips off. Not even noticing, your continue until the floor is pooling with your blood, nails having completely torn into the flesh of your restrained leg until, once more, the silk tears with a blue glint. 

Yes! 

Pushing yourself up, you stop yourself from passing out by focusing on the broken wine glass on the table, stumbling forward, and nearly falling right into the table in the process. A moment later your fingers are all cut to hell, having grasped the glass and moving the pieces in your hand until one the right size cuts your palm open. Panting like a dog and whimpering, you tilt your mangled hand and use the piece to cut away half of your remaining restraints. 

Just like that, You tell yourself, just like that. 

The chair clatters to the floor just as you free your last hand. 

Remaining frozen, stilled into shock, the house goes silent in an instant. No shuffling. No muttering. Stale air and a storm that rages outside. 

You take a breath…then two. 

Maybe he didn’t hear–!

Running footsteps are coming up the stairs. They slam into the wood, and an enraged shout spurs your leaking body into action. There was only one way out of the house from this level – one exit that Colby wouldn’t take even if you were stupid enough to. But what choice did you have? By the time the door was blasted off its hinges by a rampaging man with a revolver, your body was disappearing from the attic window – the one once covered by newspapers that you had spied the first time you woke up. The storm pounded, and for a moment you imagined you were a raindrop, falling from the clouds to hit the earth and shatter into a million invisible pieces. 

In essence that’s exactly what you did. You fell. You hit. You broke. 

But adrenaline is a powerful drug. 

As Colby stands awe-stricken in what remains of the window, not even able to aim his revolver. Your body jolts up from a three-story drop into a dead bush and peels out over the abandoned neighborhood; old houses falling apart and more broken down than the last. 

You pant and sob, knowing that many of your ribs were broken even if you had never experienced the sensation before, and push on with failing legs. Glass sticks from our skin like porcupine quills, leaving stains of gore behind you as our blood footprints are washed away by the rain. 

It’s completely dark out – not a single street light on or able to illuminate your flooded concrete path.

Slamming into the side of a house, you scream, knowing your arm shouldn't be hanging like that by your side but not there enough to care. Rain pelts your head, cleansing you of the blood and puss and everything else. 

Taking a confusing path through the alleyways and open backyards, your feet dig into the mushy grass until you zip around a corner. Running so fast and banking so suddenly you don’t have time to stop yourself before you’re slamming into a wall. The solid mass causes your body to reel back, a wet, strangled, gasp ripping from you. Your clothes only add to the weight of your limbs as you fall a weak outcry meeting the air. 

But before your body can slam into the ground a weight snaps to your wrist and a frantic voice meets the air. Not a wall, then.

“Holy fucken’ shit!” The masculine voice coated in surprise meets your ringing ears above the downpour, British in accent, “Ma’am?!” 

The world is blurry, but with your flickering eyes you can make out a dark face, a ball cap with the British flag embroidered on the front, and wide brown eyes set into a visage with light stubble. He wears gear that you had become familiar with – John wore something similar; a beige vest with packs and straps down his arms and legs. An M13 hangs over his chest, his other hand holding it steady by the side.

“Ma’am?! Are you alright?” The world snaps back into focus, a great snarl of wind ripping down the alleyway and ruffling your frame, “Can you tell me your name?”

Wait, You blinked sluggishly, Didn’t John show me a picture of his teammates? Why does this guy look familiar?

Your boyfriend had a single picture of him and all of his Task Force buddies put in his living room above the fireplace – when you had asked about who he worked with he had grabbed it and told you. It put you at ease to know that in the field he was surrounded by the impressive caliber that the sill image had shown. John had been all too happy to tell funny stories about incidents in the field; careful to leave all the bits that he didn’t want you to hear, out. 

“Kyle Garrick?” The words sound like nails on a chalkboard; eyes narrow on both sides, yours in fatigue and his in confusion. You shiver and shake before weakly trying to pull your hand away from him. His grip remains firm, but not enough to hurt. The soldier moves his gaze down your body, eyelids lifting. 

“Fuck.” After the exclamation, Kyle brings you into him, just as you feel your legs tremble and buckle. Collapsing into his chest and feeling your body press uncomfortably into his pouches as you let out a bleat in genuine agony that most would only hear in a movie. 

The man utters your name breathlessly into that air and you resist a sob that bubbles in your chest.

“Bloody hell, Sweetheart, you’re coming with me. I’ll get you out of here, just keep your eyes open a little longer.” Kyle’s arms travel down wrapping around the backs of your knees and lifting. You yell, eyes scrunching, as waves of heat travel down your spine, “I’ve got you.”

The sentiment was nice, and the man that John calls ‘Gaz’ is incredibly kind, but you don’t want his arms around you – you want your boyfriend’s. 

Where’s John?

Gaz huffs as he stares down at you, cataloging the bruises and cuts – the dislocated arm that hangs uselessly out of his hold. Your head is pressed into his neck, the Sergeant’s reliable body suddenly taking off at a quick pace through the alleyway, boots rushing over puddles and garbage with surety. 

Off farther down the street, enraged screaming echoes out and you force yourself deeper into Gaz’s grip. The man curses under his breath, taking a turn out into the road and booking it with his long legs. Over the pounding of his heart in your ear Kyle’s fingers dig into your clothes, keeping you tight against him. After a minute of jerkily bouncing in his hold, Gaz’s feet stomp up a set of old wooden stairs, causing your body to flinch up and down. He utters a soft apology and shoulders his way into an abandoned house.

The decaying door smacks the far wall as the man drags rainwater all the way into the front hallway.

“Ghost! We have a problem - A big one – where have the other two gone?” 

A voice wavers in from upstairs as Gaz sets you on your feet, guiding you by your shoulders to lean against the wall as he takes frantic glances outside. He shuts the door quickly; letting darkness once more descend in the sheltered area.

“What you mean ‘we have a problem?’” Gaz brings a flashlight from his front pouch, coming up to you and grabbing you lightly by the chin. 

“Careful, Love,” He mutters, clicking the light on, “I just need to shine this in your eyes, yeah? Won’t take more than a second.”

You swallow and send a small twitch of your lips in approval but even that hurts. Your eyes squint when the man finally angles the flashlight right in front of his face, moving it back and forth from one of your orbs to another. It makes your eyes water, but you can’t tell if that’s from the heavy realization of what’s happened to you or if the light only agitates the sensitive makeup of your optics. 

“Sergeant?” That same voice flows from upstairs, and footsteps suddenly thunder from above. The sound makes you flinch back, snapping your head away from the light and locking to the staircase at the far end of the hallway. Gaz clears his throat ahead of you.

“It’s just Ghost – a-a friend. He’s here to help you.” Your lips thin but you nod carefully. 

A hulk of a man comes down to the ground floor, clothed in the same attire as Gaz beside a half-skull mask that covers his face. Under the covering, a black sheet sits over his head. You can only see Ghost’s eyes – blue and numb. Much colder than John’s…like ice rather than a Blue Bird’s underbelly. 

He stops for a moment and the two of you lock eyes. Shuffling, you look away first, gaze flickering to the side as Gaz stands to his full height. 

“Bloody hell,” Ghost monotones, “That her, then?” 

“Get the Captain and Soap on the radio, I need to stop the bleeding,” Gaz barks, grabbing you around your shoulders and practically dragging your body into the adjacent room – the living room, “Tell them I got her and that we need Medical Evac!” He sets you down on the couch and kneels on the floor; digging through his equipment and sending quick glances from under his cap at your rapidly deteriorating state.

You never registered Kyle’s sentence – already the veil at the edges of your vision is taking over. Your pain had begun to dim. In your mind, you knew that was bad but couldn’t, at that moment, care. The glass still sticks out of you, your bones still broken and arm dislocated; feet bleeding and neck more black and blue than any other color, but the euphoric feeling in your brain was enough to block it all out. Mahdi Karim’s life, at that moment, had never ended and you don’t wear the evidence in streaks down your face or on John’s clothes. 

“Hey,” Gaz lightly taps your forehead with a finger, making your eyes refocus for a moment before they blur again, “Hey, now,” He attempts to smile, forcing out a chuckle, “Come on, keep those eyes at me. I know I don’t look like John but I don’t think I’m that bad to stare at.” 

A pressure is settled on your ribs, and with a sharp inhalation, you pull back as bile fills your mouth. 

“Easy,” Kyle whispers, pushing the rag he holds deeper into a long cut over your side that weeps crimson. You blink down at it – you had never even noticed. Had you gotten that in the fall? 

“Tell me about how you met John.” Your eyebrows furrow, body beginning to slump forward as your hands shake violently in your lap; the clothes over your skin sticking to you uncomfortably. 

“Library,” You slur, voice gravely. Oh, that hurt.

“A library?” Gaz presses his hand tighter, smirking up at you, “Well, can’t say I’m too surprised. I’ve seen the man go through five books in a single Op. over in Egypt. Never understood that, to be honest. I can’t focus on one for more than an hour.”

Weak amusement filters over your expression.

“Garrick,” Ghost’s voice sharply enters the room, his presence making itself known as it lightly jogs into the room, “Mark’s near the kitchen window; coming around clockwise.”

“Shit,” Gaz hisses, about to stand up before Ghost stops him.

“I’ve got the curtains, keep pressure and make sure she doesn’t pass out.”

“Affirm.” 

Ghost rushes across the room, grabbing the moth-eaten fabric that was swinging uselessly over the living room and snapping it shut. His hands hold his Grau 5.56 Assault Rifle firmly as he angles his body on the wall next to the window. 

Watching his eyes flicker, his gaze once more finds yours. Blinking, both of your orbs stay locked for a minute or two until he looks away, going back to guarding the window. His feet move, legs angling themselves onto a ready stance.

Clenching your eyes shut, your lips pull down – pins and needles making your skin itch. 

A shadow moves from outside, leaving a melting outline that slithers past like a serpent. 

“Where the fuck are they,” Gaz snarls under his breath. Adrenaline was making the man’s hands vibrate over your side, and your eyes were becoming heavier. The hypnotizing sound of the rain puts you into a trance.

Your body slips forward. 

“No!” The man ahead of you harshly whispers – grabbing the limp form of your frame and rearranging you until you were on your side, body lying on the couch. His hands quickly return to your still-bleeding wound, setting his shoulders so he can bear more weight down on you. 

Your lips release a small exhale of air that wheezes from you and the squelching of a blood-soaked rag makes your eyelids flutter and skin wrinkle. 

“Gaz get the woman’s bloody eyes open.”

“I’m trying! Come on, Love…please–!” 

Gunshots ring out from outside, yells growing out over the thunder and lighting – a static sound enters the living room. At this point, the only part of you working property was your ears; in the thin bits of reality you could make out voices that leave your ears twitching in familiarity. 

“--outside! We’re coming in…Cover us!”

“Copy!” Ghost yells, rushing away from the window to thunder his way to the front door. 

The echo of running feet from outside suddenly became closer and the sharp ring of “MacTavish – Go!” 

That voice was so familiar, but why couldn’t you place it? 

Multiple feet storm inside, thumping over the floorboards, one continuing down the hallway as Ghost and the other stay to shut the door and stand watch.

“Where the hell is she!?”

“Here!” Gaz calls and a groan exits you at the loud voice so close to your sensitive ears. A heavy body can be felt moving rather than heard as it rampages closer. A shadow moves behind your eyelids just as a strong bout of wind makes the house’s windows rattle. There’s a pause, and then a slow breath inhaled.

A deep voice, layered with grit and dipped in urgency.

“How bad is it, Sergeant?” Your body tenses and with a flickering eyelid, you force your consciousness to come back to you. Opening your eyes halfway, the blurriness only peels back enough for you to notice a looming figure broader and more built than Gaz – a wet bucket hat sitting on top of a beard-covered face. Concerned blue eyes bore into you as the man knees down. 

“John?” Your voice wavers, a strangled tormented type of imitation of normal speech. Gaz’s hand leaves your side and your boyfriend replaces it. Your entire abdomen had lost feeling. Was this a dream?

“Garrick, where’s the fucking Evac?” John hisses, wild eyes falling from one open wound to another. His body orients itself next to you, free hand coming to grip your cold cheek. You breathe out a sigh of relief, familiar scared fingers and calloused palms wiping away rain, blood, and tears.

John was in the state he always was when he was on missions and a teammate was struck down – he had to be. If he thought about you too hard, or the blood that stains his grip, he would put you in even more danger; lose his edge. He would panic.

“Ghost contacted them, Sir. They’re ten minutes out – police are fifteen.” 

“We need to move.” The conversation continues, but you space out every once and a while, at least until the hand on your cheek shakes your head. 

“Love, I’m going to move you,” Your eyes refuse to stay open as John calls your name getting increasingly louder, “...Shit...!” 

Gaz’s voice warbles from across the room, “The Mark’s still out there – you sure we should make a move? We don’t have eyes on him, Captain.”

“What else do you bloody suggest I do, then, Sergeant? Let my girl bleed out? Not on my fucken’ life. We’re making for the Humvee. Guns hot…I’m going to need you on my six.” 

Arms go to wrap around you, dragging you to a warm chest that you go to limply and without protest. 

“Stay with me,” John’s breath hits your cheeks and you feel his breath stutter, his panic growing as your body grows colder in his grip, “please, stay with me.” 

But the Captain was an experienced man – praying for a future event was worthless to him. He had to act for it. 

So the man tightens his hold, hiking you farther into his sheltering grip with a brief and shaky kiss on your forehead that leaves your nose wrinkling.

“Muppets,” John barks, looking up and stalking out of the living room, “we’re making a run for it. Gear up.” 

Your boyfriend doesn’t know if he’s carrying your dead body in his arms, but as Ghost opens the front door and rushes out with his weapon at the ready, John doesn’t stop to think. Soap takes up a stance near his side, sending concerned glances at your non-responsive form, and Gaz settles on taking the rear. 

The street is silent besides the rain, and the entire Task Force rushes out with snapping eyes and tight chests. It was a dead silence – one where the air is quivering with tension.

John looks once more down at your face, pulling to memory the panic he had felt when he found Mahdi Karim’s body in his foyer. He had entered his house, gun drawn, when he had noticed the front door was open; a specific type of agony he had never felt before constricting his throat. 

Of course, he had relationships before you, but never had he felt this strongly before – never felt this level of anger and hatred for someone who had caused harm. 

You were so vastly important to him that it made him sick to think of you dead before him. 

Grunting, John increases his pace over the ground, now sprinting in complete distress.

“I promised you we would watch that movie, Love,” He whispers, rainwater weighing down his hat, “Go for a walk down in Green Park so you could see the baby birds.” A wet laugh bursts from his chest and he plays off the tears in his eyes as he clenches his jaw. John doesn’t care about the rain, or your blood staining his vest, not even the water in his boots. All that matters is getting you back to the Humvee; getting you immediate medical attention and making sure that the son of a bitch that did this is–

A shot rings into the night and John lets out a strangled shout. Burning pain erupts from his right shoulder. He falls, but conscious of the precious cargo in his arms, the man twists his body to shield you as he connects with the ground; water flies around as he lands in a puddle. John’s breath is momentarily expelled from his lungs.

“Contact! Contact!” Gaz screams.

“Steaming bloody Jesus!” Soap yells out, moving into a circle of John and your’s bodies, “Captain’s been hit!”

“I’ve got him! Johnny, Gaz, flush ‘em out!” 

John groans, cursing under his breath and drawing your body closer to him. 

Keep her safe, He thinks as he blinks away black dots, get her back home. 

“Come on,” Ghost’s shielded visage appears above him, gripping him by the uninjured shoulder and forcing him up. More shots ring out over the night, but far off in the distance sirens start to breach the night, “Now, you want to explain to your bird when she’s awake why you’ll be off on leave for a bloody month, or am I going to have to do it?”

John clenches his jaw to stop the waves of pain. Ghost offers to take you from him, but he snarls, forcing himself to his feet as his blood splashes over his clothes.

“Fuck off, Lieutenant.”

—

The beeping was becoming too annoying to ignore, like a fly buzzing around your head. With a groan, your eyelids flutter and it takes a few minutes for you to open them fully. Squinting, the dim white lights meet you and a small breeze from an open window makes goosebumps ripple up your arms. 

You first notice the fuzziness around your body – strong pain meds making you loopy and floating. Twitching your fingers, the mattress under you shifts as you do; you test the mobility of your limbs with gentle movements, a rotation of your ankles, which are all heavily bandaged, and a rolling of your shoulders. All actions spark a numb shiver of caution. 

It would be unwise to move. 

Lifting your now re-set arm and tilting your head down, the tight bandages around your neck make you pause. 

John was there, Your eyes widen; body messing up the cover over your lower body. The beeping of medical machines suddenly increases as you strain yourself to sit up. Just as you do, a voice from across the room causes you to halt, veins freezing under your skin; your heart skips a beat before you recognize the voice a second later.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” Gaz whispers, “I just got him to fall asleep, you know.” Blinking, your gaze goes to the window across the hospital room there the tall man leans near the glass. He smiles lightly, and bags take shape under his dark eyes, “I’m sure you know how stubborn he can be. Especially about you. I’ve never seen him so damn restless.” 

Your brow furrows, not trusting your voice to speak your confusion. Gaz points, and you follow his gaze to an uncomfortable-looking chair mere inches from your bed. 

It’s made of wood and a small blue cushion, a hard backing that you could see someone getting a stiff neck over. But you focus on the man sitting there instead of the dented frame – the slumped build in a hospital gown and an IV in the left hand that’s held down by two pieces of medical tape. John’s face and neck are slack, small eyes shut as his chest rumbles with soft snores that put your heart at ease like listening to a cat purr. His skin was illuminated by the gentle glow of a new morning, but under his eyes, there was the heavy burden of black and blue bags. 

Had no one gotten any sleep beside me? How long have I been out?

“He wouldn’t let the nurses force him out,” Gaz mutters, but you don’t move your wet gaze from John, “Nearly punched the bloody Doctor, too – Laswell had to sort it out, or else he would have been discharged. Decking a Civvy isn’t a good look for a Captain, now is it?” 

The man shakes his head, releasing a highly amused chuckle, and walks to your opposite bedside; grabbing a glass of water he taps your shoulder and causes you to turn forward. Unwilling to stop looking at the ethereal image of your sleeping boyfriend, you keep him in the sides of your vision as Gaz brings the glass to your lips. You’d be unable to hold it – the nearly inch-thick gauze over your hands and wrists was incredibly restrictive. 

You gulp down the liquid thankfully and tap on Kyle’s wrist when you’ve had enough. He pulls back and your wipe the droplets from your chin before you delicately smile at the man as thanks. 

Gaz nods, placing the glass back on the table.  

“...The staff had to just about rip him off of you. They said you had to go into surgery for your ribs and he ‘bout lost his head. But he had lost so much blood himself that it was easy enough for Soap to drag him away.” 

Lost blood? Your head snaps his way so hard you sway lightly. 

“Woah, careful, Love,” Gaz holds out a hand and hovers it above your arm, but looks sheepish and spares a silent glance to John when your boyfriend grumbles in his sleep, “Yeah,” He scratches the back of his neck, “Cap. took a bullet to the right shoulder.”

You turn and look at John more carefully, landing on the afflicted side and spying the extra bulkiness under his garment. 

What do you mean he took a bullet?! 

John shifts and your eyes widen in horror when he flinches in pain. His chin had hit his shoulder, forcing his eyes to flutter open in retaliation.

“Sergeant,” He grumbles, the huskiness of his voice making your cheeks heat, “I told you not to let me fall asleep.”

“Sorry, Sir,” Gaz smirks, taking a step back and sending you a wink, “Must have spaced out.”

“Hm.” John shifts, moving and running a hand over his face and down his beard, scratching at the wire hairs and stifling a yawn. Your heart is in your throat as he blinks his eyes. Blue so momentarily being glimpsed in between flickers of dark eyelashes. You briefly hear the sound of receding feet and the door closing.

The sting of tears makes itself known to you.

“Gaz?” Your boyfriend questions, face squinting, and body shaking in a stretch, “Where did you–” He sees you sitting up and stops, eyes locking onto your own with shock. 

Your head tilts and a slow smile creases your face, making tears dribble down your cheeks. John sucks in a quick breath, immediately trying to stand, but you hold out a hand – stopping him. 

Just calm down, You want to tell him, Everything’s alright. You’re hurt too.

“Doll,” He breathes, hand coming to grasp the side of your face and keeping you there with a relieved smile. It looks like a weight had been lifted from his body, “There you are…How are you feeling? If there’s any pain just say and I’ll go grab the nurse – she’ll fix you right up, yeah?” 

You want to tell him that you love him, but settle on kissing his palm instead, feeling the heat of his skin on your own and wanting nothing more than to disappear into his hold. You don’t want the nurse, you want a hug. 

John’s eyes weave over your bandaged temple, and he runs a thumb over it as if his touch could make it better. If you had your voice you would say it did. Silence reigns for a few long moments.

“I thought he killed you, Sweetheart,” He whispers, vulnerable as his eyebrows turn in, and your hand comes up to run through his locks; dragging him closer until his face is slotted into your neck. Your heart breaks as John’s beard presses into the gauze, “I heard the glass from the attic window break, just about scared me half to death, that did,” John had never admitted to being scared before – not even when he was captured by the Russians. The realization has your heart skipping beats, nose going to press into the side of his head, and stifle a sob in his hair. Your vision was blurry, but not from the fatigue, “I saw so much blood but I searched and searched. I couldn’t find you. Then when Gaz had you in the living room, pressing that bloody towel to your side…You were so lifeless that I didn’t…I didn’t know if–”

“John,” You force out through gritted teeth, “Stop.” 

He was shaking just as badly as you were. You were both quite the pair, it would seem. Your Captain pulls back and begins pressing kisses to any skin available to him – your forehead, cheeks, eyelids, and finally your lips. You revel in the feeling of his soft kiss, leaving you breathless as he pours himself completely into you. 

You don’t know if you had ever met anyone as perfect as John Price before, and you would be content if you never did again.

He pulls back when you both feel your hearts slow and you look at him, eyes sliding over his face until they land on his right shoulder with a glint of guilt. But he notices. He always does.

“None of that, now,” John whispers, placing his forehead on yours and swiping your tears away. His tall frame blocks everything beside him and he smells of gunpowder, pine needles, and smoke, “You are so incredibly brave, you know that? You’re absolutely bloody brilliant, you are…but everything’s been taken care of – just leave the heavy lifting to the others for a little while. The only thing you need to do is rest for me, Love, can you do that?”

Your brow teasingly raises even as your heart bursts at the praise.

“Please.” You smile and point to his chest, poking right into the middle and huffing.

Only if you do too. 

John grunts and a chuckle makes his body rattle in the way only his could, “Won’t find me fighting you on that.” He disconnects your foreheads. 

You haven’t been sleeping, You brush the bags under his eyes, watching his eyelashes flutter, Oh, John…when will you stop being so stubborn? Your body was fighting with you to drag itself back to the mattress – lay down, it seems to say, go to sleep and rest. 

John’s heavy presence is like a weighted blanket, and although you knew there was much to talk about – when you were able – he gave off waves of comforting heat that made your muscles loosen. You seemed to have the same effect on John because he lays all of his body against the bed frame breathing deeply. 

“Wanted to be awake when you came too,” He whispers, and you smile, nuzzling into his neck, “Didn’t want you to be scared.”

I never could be, You think, not when you’re here. 

Getting an idea, you pull back and shake John’s head from side to side with your hands to get him to watch you. The man grumbles, opening his eyes with mock annoyance.

“Yeah, Love?”

Your body moves, and John’s tired eyes widen, “What are you–!” 

Scooting to the far side of the bed, you only release one grunt of uncomfortableness when you have to place weight on your reset arm. Around your middle, you feel the telltale pull of stitches and stop sooner rather than later. You pat the empty side and send John a look. 

“Alright,” He groans, “Just stop moving around.” 

John’s large body barely fits in the bed, leading you to mold into his side and him to wrap his arm around your shoulders. Wanting to show your disapproval as John clenches his jaw in pain as he moves his right side to give you more room, you slap his chest. 

“What else do you want me to do, woman?” He looks down at you, raising a brow and laying his hand on your arm; running a thump up and down, “Let you fall off? This was your bloody idea.”

You roll your eyes at his grumble, moving your head to rest on his peck. Already your eyes were drooping once more, and John presses his lips into the top of your head. A sigh rises his chest.

“Sleep, Love.” He whispers, beard getting caught in your hair as a deep rumble enters his body, “You’ll never have to worry about that Muppet ever again. Made sure of it.” 

Smiling, you fall asleep to the sound of his heart and the feeling of his large hands creating patterns along your arm; not long after he follows, small puffs of breath from his snores moving your locks as the morning light enters the room. 

Gaz would return not fifteen minutes later with two trays of hospital food, Soap tailing after and talking to Ghost about what Laswell was going to do with Colby. The Manchester man only slides his eyes down to the Scot from over his lower-face covering and hums; scratching at his neck.

“Laswell? I’d be more cornered with what Price is going to do with the bloke. Bastard’s not going to be able to hide in his cell when the man gets discharged. Kate knows it too.” 

Gaz peaked his head into the room and paused spying two softly embraced individuals holding each other as if they would disappear when their eyes would open. Light pays off your forms, and John grumbles in his sleep before shifting even closer to you and letting out a sigh. He had never looked so peaceful. 

Gaz smirks before letting the door silently slip shut. He turns back to the pair with the trays raising as his shoulders shrug comedically.

“Sleeping.”

“What?” Soap raises a brow, crossing his arms over his chest, “Not ‘gonna wake ‘em up?”

“Do I look like I want to be eviscerated by a certain Captain, MacTavish? I’d quite like to keep my bloody neck, thank you.”

[emeraldbloodcrown]

Calling them by their full name

featuring Johnny and Kate

Johnny MacTavish

Kate Laswell

[emmanelson]

BEN LAWSON and SARAH CHALKE as Johnny Ryan and Kate Mularkey in Firefly Lane Season 2 (2021-)

Johnny + picking Kate up as he kisses her

2x02 || 2x03 || 2x07

[tradgedyinwaves]

part two (final) of this

Tw: coma, attempted suicide, successful suicide, death

The first few moments after you were hit were a blur to Kate. She heard the crunch and your scream, her own voice screaming into the mic of her phone as she called out to you.

Quickly, her rational brain took over and she ended the call with you, quickly calling emergency services. 

It took them 10 minutes to arrive, 25 to get you out, and 10 to the hospital. You were placed into a medically induced coma so that the swelling in your brain could go down and give your body a chance to possibly heal. 

Kate’s next call was to John.

“ ‘Ello?”  “St. John’s. Get your squad and get there” 

Click.

Kate kept her words to herself for the time being, bag already slung over her shoulder and out the door by the time her short conversation with John was over.

On the other end of the line, John sat still for all of 15 seconds as he processed Kate’s words. Shooting texts to each of the other members of the squad, he grabbed his coat and was out the door. 

The team arrived shortly after Kate, who was pacing in the waiting room. The doctor had already been out to speak with her and it hadn’t been good news. 

“What’s going on?” “What happened?” “Who got hurt?” “Are they dead?”

Kate stood and stared at the four men in front of her. She only knew from what you’d said that John and Soap were involved and she could see it from the way they stood close to each other. Stepping forward, she reached up and slapped John across the face before doing the same to Soap, tears staining her cheeks. The way the other two men stared, they had no clue about John’s infidelity.

“If she wakes up, I hope she kills you, John.” 

“If?”

“Who?” 

Kate turned to the other men and sighed, wiping her eyes as she whispered your name. “If, Kyle. Her brain is swelling too much. They’ve put her in a medically induced coma while they try to save her ability to walk.” Kate shot the Johns another glare, vowing to kill them for you if you couldn’t do it. 

Her announcement was followed with silence as the four men took seats in the waiting room. Kyle and Simon stayed close to Kate while Price and Soap sat off in the corner. They knew it was their fault. You wouldn’t have been on that road if you hadn’t seen them. 

Hours later and the doctor came back out. He approached Kate immediately, seeing as she was the first one there. The others gathered around to hear. 

“-lost a lot of blood, but we’re hoping that with the rest, her brain will stop swelling and her spine may heal enough that she could walk. But for now, she’s stable.” 

It had broken the team apart. Kyle and Simon were transferred to another team at their request. Soap was sent off to help other teams all the time in an effort to keep Price and him separated. Which only left the Captain. Except, the title was hollow. He didn’t have a team to lead anymore. 

Kate didn’t speak to him anymore either. So when he found out you’d woken up, it wasn’t for a couple weeks after the fact. When he did find the courage to visit you in the hospital, he was told you were no longer there. 

He called Kate, or Laswell as he was only allowed to refer to by her last name now, to ask where you were. 

“Not that you deserve to know, but she’s in the psych ward now. Tried to take her own life.”  “I-” “Don’t bother, Price. This is your fault.” 

A click on the phone and the call ended. He stared down at the device before throwing it and shattering it. He was weak and in that weakness, he’d ruined everything good he’d had and most importantly, your life. 

After a two month stint in the psych ward, you were cleared to go home. Which meant Kate set you up in a spare bedroom in her house. You’d been cleared, so she wasn’t worried that you’d try again. 

But boy, had she been wrong. A month later, you’d locked the door and broken the window, taking a piece of the glass and stabbing it into your legs that you could no longer feel. By the time they got the door open, it was too late. You’d lost too much blood, but you were finally free. 

When Price tried again a few months later, he was informed of your death. 

Seven months in a coma and you woke up to be told you were paralyzed from the waist down. Told you’d never walk on your own again. 

In another two, you would try to take your own life. 

Another three and you would succeed. 

In just a year, the world was left without your sunshine. 

John Price and John MacTavish never forgave themselves, living lives of solitude until the day they died.

Spoiled the hell out of you guys today. 2600 words that includes an alternate ending? Damn. lol

[teddypines]

The aftermath

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

Sumary: The aftermath of a not so great mission. Reader x task force 141, Fem!reader (she/her pronounce)

Note: This is a rather long one, it bit angsty and i might make a part 2 to this. I want tf 141 in Schotland!! Also yes the picture up top does not match the vibe of the story, but it's a funny picture. Art / picture is from pintrest, credits go to the creator

To Scotland Part 2

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

Location: Safehouse, unknown. Date:  somewhere in September. 20XX

Both Gaz and Ghost lay on the only two beds in the whole safehouse, Gaz more hurt then Ghost, but both still beaten up quiet bad. Soap kept watch for now as Price went out to try and contact Laswell and any share or form while Y/N tried to make something eatable out of there rations. They’ve been stuck in the safehouse for over 2 weeks and with both Gaz and Ghost hurt things just didn’t look bright.

Soap sighed and stood up from his spot next to Gaz and Ghost. He quietly left the room to go check on Y/N and the food. He was tired and didn’t really get much sleep at night, not with Y/N clinging onto him like a koala. He didn’t mind it a lot since it kept him warm, but the way she slept on his arm made him wake up every hour or so. 

Y/N looked up when Soap walked into the small kitchen. “How are they doing? Any better?” She asked worriedly. “Gaz, was awake for a few minutes and Ghost helped me clean his bandages this time, so i would say they are getting better just very slowly.” Soap answered as he stood next to Y/N by the stove. “Bloody hell, what is that?” Soap asked the moment he had a look inside the pan. “I’m not sure, I tried to make stew, but with what little we have it is kinda hard to make it. I’m hoping the Captain comes back with something more useful after his call with Laswell.” Soap nodding also hoping the same thing.

<-------------------------------------------------->

Price did come back with something useful for the stew and a promise that they wouldn’t have to stay in the safe house for much longer. An evacuation team was on the way. 

Soap and Price made sure the rabbit was skinned and gutted before Y/N cut it and put it in the stew. When Ghost walked into the room. “Fuck what is that smell?” “Rabbit and you should be back in bed.” Price answered Ghost’s question before walking over to his lieutenant. “Come on, back to bed Simon, you are not supposed to be out of it.” Ghost groaned at Price, hating how he used his name to get him to do what he wanted. He quickly, but carefully, made his way to Y/N “Just let me kiss the lass first, then i'll go back.” 

Y/N looked up at Ghost. “It’s good to see you are a bit better, but please do as John says and rest. Don’t want you to be even more wounded than you already are.” She said while lifting Ghost’s mask just to be above his nose. “And just one kiss” Ghost didn’t listen to her, leaned down and gave Y/N one long kiss and two short ones before kissing her forehead. Soap then helped Ghost back to his bed in the other room, practically forcing him back and away from Y/N. 

“Want one too, now that they are gone?” Y/N asked as she made her way to Price, who slowly nodded his head. “Please.” They both smiled and Y/N wrapped her arms around the captain. “Thank you for making food for us these past two weeks, lass, made it less rancid” Y/N laughed and then gave Price his well-deserved kiss. “Better now?” “So much better.”

Soap came back into the room and rubbed his eyes a bit. “Is it okay if I nap on the couch for a little while? At least until dinner.” “Of course Johnny, I'll get you a blanket” Y/N said to the tired Scots man. She pulled away from Price and walked over to the chair near the couch to get Soap his blanket. She proceeds to tuck Soap in before he drifts off to sleep.

<----------------------------------------------------->

It took another week for the evac team to find them and to pick them up from the safe house. By that time Ghost was much better and his wounds started to heal nicely, but Gaz was still out of it. Y/N walked next to the carrier Gaz lay on while the medical team took him to the plane. They wanted to look her over too, but she refused. Just needing to know that Gaz was safe on the plane first before anything else could be done or checked on. 

The medical team could finally check on Y/N and the others once Gaz was safe on the plane with Nikolai. Turns our Price had been hiding a broken rib and a bullet wound for three weeks. Ghost was still the same, but got some morphine to deal with the pain. Soap and Y/N were both fine aside from some scratches and healed wounds.

“We got some food for you all on the plane” Laswell said as she helped Ghost on the plane. “Something not rations or gross” “Like a hamburger?” Soap asked as he sat down next to Y/N with a blanket. “Sadly, no, it’s chicken noodle soup with a piece of bread if you like.” Laswell answered. She sat Ghost down on one of the medical beds. “We could get you hamburgers once we’re back at base.”

Soap pouted a bit as Laswell tells him that there are no hamburgers, but he was happy that there was chicken noodle soup to warm up to and to have something that is actually food for the first time in weeks. He did however hope that Y/N would make rabbit stew once in the future, just to see if she could make it even better with real ingredients. Y/N looked over at Soap and smiled. “What ya thinking about?”

“Just food and you.” Soap answered with a big smile. “Ah, so two of your favourite things, I see.” Y/N remarked as she slowly lay her head on Soap’s shoulder. 

They all got settled on the plane, got medical attention even when it wasn’t really needed and got as much chicken noodle soup as they wanted. Nikolai got the okay from Laswell and started the plane, taking his favourite task force back home.

<---------------------------------------------------------->

Location: secret military base, England  Date: 29 September, 20XX

Y/N made her way over to the medical wing, a care package from Gaz’s mom in hand. Gaz was still out of it, but he was slowly getting better. Of course it worried the others, they hated seeing someone they loved hurt. As Y/N stepped inside the room Gaz lay in she turned on the lights. The steady beeping of Gaz’s monitors filling the quiet room. “Hey, Kyle, your mom sent you a care package again. She’s worried, you know, just like we are. She feels bad that she can’t come over and take care of you.” Y/N started to talk to Gaz in a quiet tone. She sat down on the chair next to his hospital bed and started to unpack the care package. “I promised her I would take extra care of you on our last call so she made you a bigger care package than last time.”

Y/N pulled out the first item out of the box and smiled. “She put in a framed picture of your family. I’ll put it on the nightstand so they can watch over you,” She explained before putting the picture on the nightstand next to the bed. “Owh and look at this, it’s a little sheep plushie, owh and their name is fuzzy” Y/N melted as she took the sheep plushie out of the box. It almost made her want to cry. Just wanting her Kyle back with her. She placed the plushie in bed with Gaz and continued to go through the box. 

“There are some drinks and snacks in here too and i think your mom put in a bottle of stock for soup.”

“Yes, it’s beef stock, and there is a pack of funny pasta’s in here for the soup. I’ll make you the soup when you’re better. Wouldn’t want to waste any of this good soup without you having a taste of home” Y/N said as the lump in her throat got a bit bigger. She looked at the door, closed, and then back at Gaz. First she put down the care package and then crawled into the hospital bed. “Please get better soon Kyle, I miss you, we all miss you.” Y/N whispered before crying herself to sleep next to Kyle. 

<-------------------------------------------------------->

Location: secret military base, England  Date: between 11 October, 20XX and 26 October, 20XX

Entry’s out of Soap’s Journal.

October, 11th, 20XX Y/N hasn’t been eating a lot lately. It worries me. I try to get her to eat, but she just won’t eat a lot. I get that she is worried about Kyle, we all are, but she can’t stop taking care of herself, yet she did. John said it will pass once Kyle is up again, but I have a feeling that won’t be for a little while. 

October, 13th, 20XX I talked to Simon about it, he sees it too. Both John and Y/N are looking worse than when we were in the safe house. We try to help them, it works a bit. Works more when Simon does it, but then again he has more balls than me.

Called home today, mom is worried too. She said that if Kyle is better again we can all stay with her and dad at the farm. I think that would do all of us a great deal of good. Just hope Kyle wakes up soon. 

October 17th, 20XX Simon got Y/N and John to eat properly today, took us 2 hours of fighting and 30 minutes of trying to comfort Y/N, but they ate. 

The doctor’s say that Kyle is getting better, but that he is taking his time. He did wake up for a bit when one of the night nurses checked up on him last night. She said he asked about us. 

Kyle’s mom sent a care package again, this time with mostly stuff for us and not Kyle. I might call her tomorrow, tell her how things are going. 

October 20. I caught Y/N sleeping with Kyle again today. I really hate seeing her like this. John is doing better tho. He’s been sleeping with me and Simon a lot at night. Y/N sleeps with Kyle most nights, scared he might die when she is not around. 

21 October, 20XX Kyle is finally doing a lot better, still not awake, but doing better enough to give Y/N a calm mind and to get her back in bed with us. Eating is still an issue, but we are working on it. 

We saw Alex at base today with Laswell. It was nice seeing him again, he looks good. Farah is rubbing off on him and it shows.

October 25, 20XX Called mom again today. Well, Y/N took over after about 10 minutes, she needed to hear my mom’s voice and that everything was going to be okay.

Simon and I talked about going to my parents after Kyle wake’s up. He thinks it’s a good idea too.

October 26, 20XX Kyle finally woke up. We are all over the moon and he is doing great. Y/N is making the soup she promised to him when he was out of it and John and Simon are staying close to Kyle.

We all talked about it and once it’s okay for Kyle to leave we are going to my parents for a month or 3.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

You're Only Sixteen

wc: ~3.6k

summary: child soldier joins task force 141 part FOUR; one, two, three; five

warnings: discussion of abusive military camp, description of anxiety, some violence, (grieving), nightmares

a/n: this is getting really interesting now and I'm trying my best to keep the story entertaining and logical... hope you enjoy it!

Briefing room, 15:21, two days before the mission.

The new plan of the mission is projected on the white wall in front of you all, with Price standing beside it while everyone listens. He goes over the plan and explains who would be doing what, making sure he gets the message across. Laswell stands beside him, arms behind her back, as she nods along and adds information occasionally.

»This needs to go as smoothly as possible. No mistakes, no slip-ups, no nothing.«

Price starts, glancing over everyone before he gestures to the plan on the wall, continuing with explaining.

»We will be raiding an abusive military camp for children, takiing the kids to a safe place, and taking the bastards who are responsible for this with us. This is underage children we are talking about. Innocent souls, who are forced to get trained and sent on unnecessary dangerous missions. We’ll make sure the people behind it learn their lesson.«

Laswell looks around the small group, spotting you immediately. Her gaze is cold, but she doesn’t seem to be the type to throw glares without reason. She seems even tense. You’re aware she works for the CIA, doing most of the research and planning for the mission the team goes to eventually. Maybe that’s why she is staring at you, not used to a new member in the task force. But then again, she shouldn’t feel like that, considering how professional she must be.

»Camp is located in Urzikstan, Riyazabbi. It’s where Farah grew up, so she’ll be helping us out on it.«

Finally, she averts her eyes from you and clicks to the next slide of the small power point, presenting a map of Urzikstan with red scribbles on it. You listen intently to the whole briefing, growing more and more sick on the inside. Standing beside Ghost by the table, you can only hope no one notices your growing anxiety.

»To be more exact, in the Old Town, near the Low Town. Farah will be leading our way for the mission, making sure the children get escorted safely. Your mission is to get the bad guys.« She switches to another slide, a planned-out map from the base of the camp, »Most of them should be on the top floor, as well as the documents we need to find out what other stuff they’re hiding… and get the evidence.«

You take a deep breath looking at the map, feeling your stomach churn. Laswell steps away, leaning her hands on the table as she glances around the team once more.

»Gaz and Price will be paired up to keep watch and take out the guards. Soap, Ghost you both will storm in and clear the building out, sparing the children inside.«

She straightens her back and looks over you again, continuing with telling each their role for the upcoming mission.

»You’ll be with Farah, behind Ghost and Soap. Focus on escorting the children from the outside.«

Gaz glances at you from across the table, noticing your paleness. He keeps his eyes on you for a moment before he looks back to the power point, studying the map and listening to the rest of the briefing.

Ghost on your side notices your shift as well, nudging you lightly against your shoulder. You finally snap back, glancing up at him, almost disoriented. He gives you a questioning look, Price interrupting the exchange.

»Any questions?«

Ghost, the twat he is, nods and mentions towards you.

»Ya seem like you know something. Explain?«

Meanwhile, you’re still processing what the mission is about, your heart pounding in your chest and mind racing.

The small group watches you, slightly concerned about your sudden silence. It’s not unusual you are more reserved, but now it seems different. Price shifts on his feet, crossing his arms over his chest, and calls out your name.

»That’s my camp.«

You spit out bluntly, granting a shocked look from each. Laswell exchanges a look with Price giving a small nod. The silence in the briefing room is deafening, making you hear your own pulse in your ears.

»Holy shite...« Soap grumbles under his breath, making you exhale slowly to calm yourself down.

Captain Price shifts again, taking a step towards you as he holds up one hand.

»Now, I know this will be difficult for you, but I believe you are strong and capable enough to handle it, and even more.«

He motivates you, trying not to scare you off and reassure you. Suddenly it’s very tight in the room; everyone stares at you and makes you feel pressured. What are you supposed to do? Should you go along with the mission or call it quits after everything? You finally thought you could escape your camp and never see the commanders or the other soldiers again. What if you fail everyone and lose everything again?

»Ye knew about this?« Soap’s agitated voice rings through the room, slicing right through the soft tone of the captain.

»At first, no one knew, Soap. We couldn’t have known if it wasn’t in her file.«

»Of course, it wasn’t.« He scoffs, his tone growing more exasperated. Price shoots him a warning glare before he focusses back on you.

»You need to stay strong for this one. We need you for this mission, both for your strength and knowledge. You are a strong asset to us.«

He explains calmly, turning more towards you as he does. Price could go on about why he thinks you are perfect for this mission, but the rest of the team needs to process it themselves and consider his words. It’s true; because of your own experience from the camp it makes it easier to gain more intel on the whole organisation. On the other hand, this feels like they ask too much. There’s no way you’ll go back there to save the others.

Laswell breaks the visible tension in the room and speaks up, keeping her calm.

»This is important for everyone; however, I do think you need to get the chance to choose yourself. Do you want to join the mission?«

The question hangs heavy in the air, making you almost overwhelmed with it. After several tension-filled seconds, you have decided it.

»Yes. I will join on the mission.«

She nods back in acknowledgement, taking a small step back from the table. Somehow, the tension in the room leaves slowly, as does your pounding in your chest. You realise how serious and difficult this will be, already feeling like this will take years off your lifespan. Maybe that was exaggerated, but that’s literally how it feels right now.

You’ve never seen Soap so distressed before, even now when he has calmed down and wears an uneasy expression on his face. It’s your own, choice and you chose to actually participate in that difficult mission. There’s nothing they can do but work alongside you.

----

The briefing is over, and now it is time to prepare for the upcoming mission, needing to prepare some bags since this requires travelling to get to Urzikstan.

You feel a big hand on your shoulder, which makes you look to your right, seeing Ghost like before.

»Wanna feed Riley?« A firm squeeze is felt on your shoulde before he lets go, waiting on your answer. You simply nod, finally getting out of your distracted stare.

Soon enough, you find yourself in his office with Riley munching off from your palm again. She is calmer today, as if sensing something might be wrong or someone’s mood is down. Ghost is sitting next to the K9, silently petting her back before speaking up.

»What actually happened in that camp?«

His cold gaze is fixated on you, but not with the usual cold-hearted eyes. There seems to be an underlying understanding behind them as he studies you.

»Like…« you trail off, considering what he might want to know, »the abusive training or the raid missions?«

»How ‘bout we start at the beginnin’?«

You nod slightly, watching Riley lick your palm clean while you think of how to start talking about your past. Eventually, you start talking about the separation from your parents, the big explosion that came with, and how rough the soldiers were with children like you. About the endless training back then. The torturous amount of hours spent with nothing but improving yourself with elder commanders criticising and correcting every minor mistake. The nights spent training by yourself until morning, just for the seniors to ruin every single thing. Then you go on about the missions, mostly telling him about your own and briefly explaining the system to him.

»We were grouped into classes by our skills. The lower you are, the more likely you’ll have to go on a suicide mission. I was high class, meaning I was mostly either a sniper or went to raids. And doing night patrol.«

He listens intently, almost as if he tries to commit every word said to memory. Ghost lets you talk, not interrupting you a single time as you open up. Riley licks at your hand the whole time, making you try to swat your hand away from her, but she keeps nuzzling her nose against your hands.

»They said it’s to ‘protect our country and make our loved ones proud‘, but after a while I also noticed how much bullshit they’re trying to sell us. Once I got here, I started to realise how wrong the camp was. It feels like they robbed everything from me.«

You stare at Riley as you talk, trying to get back into the right lane and not let your emotions take over. Riley is still trying to lick at your hands but gave up and just rests her jaw in your two hands, occasionally looking at you as you speak.

»There wasn’t really anything different to do but train and fight. We would get punished or sent away if we made too many mistakes or misbehaved. God forbid we tried to escape.«

You finally pet Riley’s head carefully in your hands, being mindful not to put too much pressure on her and gently trying out how far you can go with her. She continues to sit calmly in front of you, letting you do your thing on her.

Ghost listens and glances down at his dog as well, noticing how fast you got used to her already. He shifts and speaks up, your words staying in his mind.

»Sure was hell of a shit ‘ole. But, you’re sure you will get revenge on them with us?«

He asks again, making sure if you didn’t just agree on the mission, because you felt like you had to, in front of them. You nod in response confidently, being sure nothing bad will happen with them by your side.

»I’m sure I can do it.« Ghost nods back in response, glad to see a positive attitude from you. Riley opened her mouth again, making her tongue stick out and breath louder. You let go of her head and glance to Ghost, noticing his eyes crinkle underneath his mask. Or that could be you imagining things also. He gets off the ground, and you follow shortly after, looking down to the friendly K9. She stares right back at you, her ears up and tail waggling slightly from side to side. You give her a final rub on her head before exiting his office, returning back into your own bunk to prepare for the training.

----

Training hall, 16:00, two days before the mission

You‘re glad you are all training today, needing to get your mind off everything that was discussed earlier. While warming your muscles up, Soap and Gaz join finally too, also ready for the sparring. This time, you‘d need to spar with Ghost, having been sparring with mostly Soap before. He gets ready in the stance, muscles tense and knees lightly bent. Ghost tells you to strike first, which you do shortly later.

The round begins with you attacking him to his side, but he is quick to counterattack with a punch of his own. And that punch sure was powerful. Is he trying to maul you? Going on, it‘s an exchange of attacks and counterttacks, blocked hits, and dodged kicks. To be completely honest, it‘s fun sparring with Ghost. He is not holding back, making it clear he is going to teach you something while training. And in reality, Ghost is indeed trying to prepare you more for the long mission in just two days. There is an underlying fear in him that he won‘t be admitting to anyone.

Focus still being on the mission, you‘re having a hard time keeping up with him. Thinking about the camp, the rude commanders and needing to rescue your comrades from the camp… It is getting a lot in your head. That‘s why sparring right now is such a good distraction, but obviously, it is not doing much at the moment.

Meanwhile, Ghost doesn‘t understand how you can be so quick and keep up with his strong attacks, trying to analyse your movements and figure your weak point out. After a few more moments, though, you already figured out his own. His left knee is weak, however, kicking against him is mostly a trap, as he takes the opportunity to yank on your ankle and make you fall. Obviously you didn‘t fall. Just stumbled.

Gaz watches as he takes a small break with Soap, seeing you both being cheeky fighters. Both trying to hit the other‘s weak points as much as possible. Both looking very focused on the task.

»Who do ye think will win?« Soap questions beside him, also watchig your sparring round.

»Hard to tell… they still seem full of energy.« Gaz mumbles back, focused on watching the fight go on. There‘s a moment of silence before Soap speaks up again.

»Wanna bet?« Gaz groans quietly and side-eyes his teammate, having lost the last bet with him just last week.

At the same time, you are both pretty much sparring like before. But it is getting harder to focus on the task again, while your mind is in a completely different world. It‘s gotten to a point where you‘re blocking a lot of hits and mostly taking them while having a hard time striking back. At the same time, you are too stubborn to give up just yet. The mission and all the thoughts about your camp are making you think rational and making you overwork. A sudden wave of frustration washes over you, and Ghost isn‘t that strong of an opponent anymore.

With a strong kick to his side, he has no chance to trick you again before you land a series of punches to his chest area. He huffs and grunts, trying to dodge them but with no luck. Your attacks are stronger now, making Ghost stumble back and block a few of your punches. The sudden action doesn‘t go missed by him at all, it makes him wonder where it all came from. It seemed like you were giving up a second ago, but now you‘re coming back stronger.

Wherever it came from, isn‘t as important for now. The skin at your knuckles is red again, and your expression is dark. He quickly realises and feels the need to step in. With you being so out of the wind from the meeting is something he knows all too well.

He launches forward, but instead of striking an attack, he wraps his large arms around you tightly, forcing himself to bite back a grunt at your attempt to punch him again. The hug is tighter than any hug you‘ve received, but you also didn‘t get many hugs before.

There‘s an instant halt in your movements and you simply freeze, having no idea how this just happened. Being in someone else‘s arms is something you haven‘t experienced a lot. And this doesn‘t certainly feel soothing, but also not forceful either.

»You‘re pushing yourself. Stop that.«

He gruffly tells you and finally lets go, looking over your face. You don‘t say much, just staring back at him and finally exhaling the breath you didn‘t realise you held in. Gaz and Soap exchange a look but don‘t say anything, continuing to spar together while keeping an eye on you both.

Finally, his words sank in, and you nodded in response. »Sorry, I won‘t.« You mumble back, earning a rather sceptical look from him. He just gives you a small grunt in response and mentions for you to strike in again.

For the rest of the training session, it is just Ghost grounding you and making sure you don‘t get lost in your thoughts again. Which surprisingly helps, but also gets exhausting after some while. The other pair just goes on with their own sparring match, eventually fighting like two cats who hate each other, and mostly fighting on the floor, both too stubborn to end the fight.

Eventually, Ghost finally decides to cut you some slack, as well as for the other two teammates, who beat the shit out of the other the entire time. Showertime before dinner, finally getting to some kind of rest before it is time to pack some stuff for the deployment into Urzikstan.

After the quick shower, you head to the mess hall and run into Ghost on the way. Thank God, he has the Capri Sun already and hands it to you. But not without saying something too.

»You fought well today. But you seemed distracted.« It‘s a gentle demand to spill the beans, but this doesn‘t seem like something you should talk about in the first place. It doesn‘t seem important enough. You simply shrug, looking to the Caprie Sun in your hands. Cherry flavoured.

»I was just somewhere else. The camp… the meeting just made me distracted.«

You answer back, cringing secretly at yourself for saying too much. But to your surprise, he doesn‘t even react to your words and studies you briefly.

»Wanna talk about it? I can listen.«

To no one‘s surprise, you deny the offer, even when you trust Ghost a lot by now. The only thing you want now, is some semi-warm cantine food and the sweet drink in your hands.

----

Packing an extra bag for Urzikstan wasn‘t as confusing as it may seem, but maybe nine pocket knifes are just enough to keep you safe. Fou of them are regular pocket knifes everyone else has, the other five being various ones, you either got or found somewhere. The biggest one is about the size of your whole hand with the blade out, also your favourite one by far. You found it somewhere in a desert during a solo mission.

Next, is your small sketchbook, of course. And your pencil, that needs to be sharpened again. The most important item goes deep into the smaller bag, making sure it won‘t get lost by any means. A polaroid picture of yourself and another girl, together, smiling. The sun is low, casting a warm and soft tint to everything, making you both look even more stunning.

Then, of course, some dog treats you stole from Ghost‘s office for Riley, since he mentioned taking the K9 on the mission. You are actually a little surprised that he didn‘t notice you sneaking some into your pocket while feeding Riley and explaining your camp to Ghost.

Finally it‘s all settled and you are ready for bed. Once again, it takes up some time to fall asleep, the mission still heavy in mind. But you get to it after approximately two hours.

You wake up to your mother screaming for you, the air feeling thick and loaded. The sharp pain around your wrists are a reminder of the ties around them, keeping you from escaping as your ankles are tied together as well; connected to the other set of children that are now taking hostage. Another yell before a sharp thud grabs your attention, looking over to where you think your mother just screamed from. The first instinct is to scream for her and beg, feeling the steady rise of panic and anxiety going up in you terrifyingly fast. Soon, it‘s nothing but a sea of screams around you, while you are the quietest one. But you are screaming your lungs out, why are you so quiet?

A sudden white light breaks out, blinding both your sight and sounds around you. The surprise doesn‘t last long, as all you can make out is darkness and disoriented voices, talking in unintelligible words over each other. It feels like something is trying to suck you out of the ground, but you‘re trying to fight it, eventually getting shocked with light hitting your face yet again. It‘s softer this time, but it quickly turns into a big, dark cloud of smoke.

Breathing is getting harder again, but before you know it, there is someone helping you up and guiding you somewhere firmly. Looking to your right, you see a familiar face again, and all your worries seem to disappear for a brief moment. The girl beside you is helping you get away from the explosion as fast as possible, suddenly realising why this feels so familiar and real.

Waking up with cold sweat yet again in an ungodly hour has happened before. Sighing out, you focus on calming your racing heart down before you can attempt to fall asleep once more. Actually, no, you won‘t be attempting to sleep tonight. Not after a flashback like this one.

a/n: the next part will be out probably by next week, please be patient.... but I can assure you, the next part is going to be awesome-sauce. You'll get to experience Farah Kari-

Hope you enjoyed it!

[rainybubbles]

What are COD men and women missions as your guardian angel ?

Ghost, Price, Soap, Gaz, Laswell, Farah, Valeria, Alejandro, König, Roach, Nikolai

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC.)

G H O S T :

-He was sent to prevent you from accepting a job opportunity that would lead to your death. 

-The prospective boss was destined to be tyrannical, pushing you to overwork, neglect your health, sever ties with loved ones, and gradually spiral into a state of despair. 

-Ultimately, exhaustion would compel you to cross a road, only to be struck by a truck. 

-Simon's purpose was to avert this tragic fate.

-Simon exerted considerable effort attempting to erase all traces of the job offers and announcements from your computer, eager to fulfill his mission swiftly. 

-However, you persisted in pursuing your dream job, repeatedly defying his interventions. 

-”Fucking hell” he whispered one night after passing hours on Indeed to delete everything.

-He realized he had to convince you. But it means getting to know you. 

-He sighed and moved in, thanks to his power, the flat next to yours was magically free.

-Despite his strategic move, Simon struggled with social interactions. 

- He tried the “have you any sugar ?” but it was 1AM, so it scared you.

-God, Simon and his social skills.

- One day, you, alarmed by a peculiar noise, knocked on his door, convinced that an intruder had breached your home. 

-Trusting Simon's intimidating presence to scare off anyone, you spent the night at his flat for reassurance. 

-This incident marked the beginning of a gradual acquaintance.

-As Simon got to know you, a mutual exchange of pastries became a regular occurrence. You started it to thank him for that night, and he offered you ones, and it has became a regular thing.

- Friday nights turned into joint activities like watching matches or cooking together. 

-During these moments, you opened up about your dream job, and Simon, in turn, disclosed the harsh realities about the company.

-The realization dawned upon him as he witnessed the trust you placed in him.

- When you decided not to pursue the ominous job, he felt a sense of joy until the weight of the truth settled in—his mission was complete. 

-Simon waited in anticipation for the next assignment.

-He waited.

-Days

-For another name, another mission.

-Nothing came.

-And he saw Laswell.

-He knew what it meant.

-“Simon, they decide you can either continue as an angel or stay with her and become human”Laswell says.

-Being with you.

-Waking up with you, living a life with you…

-It sounded perfect.

-He didn’t deserve that. Not after all what he had done, not…him with you, you deserved better.

-The following morning, you knocked on his door, only to find the flat deserted.

- Frantically searching for Simon Riley on social media, you discovered an unsettling absence—like a ghost, he had vanished, leaving you with a broken heart.

-“He fucking ghost me”, you cried on the floor of your flat, not knowing the truth.

P R I C E :

-He had not been sent for you, but for a boy named Clark. 

-Clark was on the verge of homelessness, and John's mission was to help him develop an idea to secure some much-needed money.

-As John succeeded in his task, he couldn't help but notice the negative transformation in Clark.

- The influx of money had turned Clark into a selfish person, threatening his friends if they considered leaving him. And that's how he encountered you—a kind soul who had been there for Clark since the beginning.

-You, always supportive, witnessed how toxic Clark had become towards you.

- Slowly, you began to believe you deserved such treatment, unable to find better friends. 

-John, disturbed by this realization, hoped for another mission to rescue Clark's friend from the clutches of his destructive behavior.

-But nothing changed.

-Frustrated, John couldn't stand idly by while people suffered for the sake of his mission. 

-His purpose was to rectify injustice, not allow someone to turn into a despicable person.

-During a party, he found you outside and couldn't help but express his thoughts

- "I'm glad you're in his life. He's so much better now. He was really broke, and I was scared he'd end up alone on the streets. He lived at my house for a long time." you said.

-"He should have end up in the streets," Price asserted without regret.

-Your eyes widened, but a chuckle escaped you. "You shouldn't say that."

-"But you agree.

-”Money got to his head, but he's a good guy."

-"He's not, and you know it, love."

-"I don't want to lose him. I love him." you admitted.

-And then it clicked. You loved Clark before he became the person he was now.

-"You loved him before all of this." he realized.

-"I know. And it hurts because I still hold onto the hope that he'll realize and suddenly become better."

-"I'm sorry." Price said.

-"It's not your fault."

-It was, but you couldn't know.

-"Maybe in another life, I'll be as happy as he seems to be?"

-Price could have read your life with his power and gotten to know your future. But he didn’t.

-"I hope you deserve it." he answered.

-"Hey John, if I'm not happy, could I count on you? You're always here for me."

-"I promise, love."

-You smiled.

-Later, when John received his new mission, he decided to peek into your future to protect you one last time—only to realize there was no future.

-He rushed to your flat.

-The police were there.

-Clark had been arrested.

-And a body was being taken to the morgue.

-Maybe he should have looked at your future earlier.

S O A P

-He had been dispatched to safeguard your moral values from crumbling into ruin. 

-The situation was straightforward; you were shattered, and a friend of yours suggested a lucrative opportunity to intimidate someone for a hefty sum. 

-In simpler terms, you were on the verge of joining a gang for the sake of money. 

-Broke, homeless, unwilling to burden your family, and unable to afford food, you were desperate enough to consider anything that paid, given the absence of job offers.

-Soap's mission was to avert this downward spiral, to prevent you from evolving into a heartless figure with bloodstained hands, a potential mafia leader. 

-Naturally, he couldn't just hand you money; you wouldn't accept it from a stranger. So, he devised a plan to hire you at his bakery.

-Initially taken aback, because hell you couldn’t even say or bake croissant. 

-Nevertheless, your role was strictly to sell, not to bake. 

-Moreover, your boss, Soap, emanated a comforting presence. 

-He treated you kindly, just as he did with everyone on his missions

-But to him, your smile was more than just a pleasant sight; it stirred something within him.

-Your laughter, dry and infrequent, motivated him to ensure you laughed more often, even if it meant he made a fool of himself with sugar or butter.

-When your friend said you couldn’t stay at their place, Soap went a step further and provided you with one.

- As you began accumulating enough funds to secure a flat, you encountered difficulties in finding one. 

-Leveraging his magical abilities, Soap helped locate a suitable residence for you. 

-Once settled, he taught you the art of baking, gradually helping you to take charge of the bakery.

-A year later, you had become a skilled baker, and Soap realized his mission was accomplished. 

-Independent and content, you were ready to take over the bakery. 

-Craftily, he fabricated a story about relocating to another country and passing the bakery on to you. 

-Initially hesitant, you eventually agreed after lengthy discussions.

-As Soap sensed the emergence of a new name and mission on the paper, he looked at you and sighed, "I'll miss you, love."

-"Me too, Johnny," you replied.

-Little did you know it was the final time you would see him, but Soap was acutely aware.

- So, for the first time, he allowed himself to act on impulse and kissed you. In that fleeting moment, he wished he could relinquish his wings and live with you indefinitely.

G A Z :

-TW : social anxiety :) !

-He was sent to help you with your health.

-You grappled with social anxiety, a condition so severe that the fact of being in a crowded bus could make you faint

- Asking for a bag at the cashier's counter filled you with fear, and even a simple "hello" caused three weeks of overthinking

- You existed in a state of solitude, ensnared within a relentless cycle of anxiety.

- Your mental health had plummeted, yet the luxury of a therapist was beyond your means.

-Social anxiety, insidiously, severs connections, making it difficult to seek help, leaving you trapped in an endless loop of overthinking. 

-The act of breathing itself became a struggle

-Walking in the streets became a nightmare, convinced that every passerby scrutinized your every move. Life, for you, felt burdensome, your very existence a weight upon others.

-Enter Gaz, sent to prevent you from venturing too close to the precipice. 

-He initiated contact through social media, engaging you in conversation within a fandom you both shared.

- He witnessed the genuine joy in your smiles as you responded to his messages, the relief emanating from having notifications from a real person rather than an automated system.

- Talking to him felt right, providing a respite from the isolation.

-Gradually, your interactions with Gaz progressed beyond the digital realm.

- Attempts to meet in person were met with reluctance or last-minute cancellations, fueled by fears of judgment, rejection, or even the possibility of an elaborate prank. 

-However, perseverance prevailed, and one day, he succeeded in meeting you face-to-face.

-The anxiety lingered, but Gaz's warmth created a sanctuary, a safe space for you.

- Together, you confronted the formidable adversary that was social anxiety.

-Gaz became your anchor during the lows, comforting you when crowds induced panic or tears flowed at the thought of being among people.

-Of course there were downs, where you couldn’t go out, where you would cry just by the idea of being in a crowd. But he was here for you.

-Every Monday, he accompanied you through bustling streets, holding your hand as you breathed through the anxiety. 

-Small victories were celebrated, such as summoning the courage to ask for water from a waiter. 

-To some, these achievements may seem ridiculous, but Gaz understood the immense courage they required.

-He cherished the moments you shared, the progress you made—ordering food by phone, making a call—each step a triumph on the arduous road of overcoming social anxiety.

- In these moments, Gaz recognized that this was more than a mere mission; it was a lifelong commitment. 

-Social anxiety was not a battle with a finite resolution; rather, it was a continuous struggle.

-A knowing chuckle escaped him. 

-Captain Price, knowingly, had bestowed upon Gaz a life mission. 

-In a quiet moment, Gaz whispered his gratitude, acknowledging that if his mission was to love and support you, there was no doubt he would embrace it for eternity.

V A L E R I A :

-She was sent to save your marriage.

- Angels, renowned for their influence on matters of the heart, and Valeria, in particular, was on a divine mission to salvage the threads that held your union together. 

-However, as of late, doubt began to creep into her convictions as a guardian angel.

-In numerous assignments, she found herself helping individuals of questionable character.

- Then, she met you—a person ensnared in a wretched marriage. 

- Your wife treated you poorly, arguing with you for trivial matters, asserting your worthlessness without her, forgetting your birthday and engaging in infidelity with others.

-Valeria questioned the purpose of preserving such a toxic bond.

- Was she supposed to save this tormented marriage?

- Was the sanctity of matrimony so sacred that it should endure despite the evident misery it caused?

-No, she had enough..

- She reached a breaking point, disenchanted with being the obedient savior in every situation. 

-She wasn't Rudy or Alejandro—she wouldn't blindly adhere to a mission that clashed with her newfound convictions. 

-Instead, she took a daring step and seduced you, believing you deserved better, deserving her.

-You, with your kindness and generosity, deserved someone who would treat you with the respect and love you lacked in your current relationship. 

-Valeria refused to surrender you to the shackles of your miserable marriage.

- She cared not for the rules of her celestial role; she wasn't a guardian angel any longer. 

-That night, driven by an irrepressible desire for change, she made a drastic choice—she cut off her wings. 

-The pain was excruciating, but amidst the agony, she found relief and liberation.

- She knew this act condemned her to damnation, but the prospect of being with you made it inconsequential.

- Morality blurred into shades of gray as she willingly became a fallen angel, abandoning her celestial duties for the ecstasy of earthly love.

- The sensation of your lips against hers eclipsed any impending punishment, and in that moment, she embraced the fall from grace for the happiness she found in your arms.

N I K O L A I :

-He was the one training guardian angels. 

-Nikolai wasn't a guardian angel, but a fallen one. 

-In the past, he had fallen in love with the one he was supposed to guard.

- As a consequence, they severed one of his wings and stripped him of his celestial status. 

-To prove his devotion, Nik decided to assist in the formation of guardian angels.

- Laswell and Price supported him, and they agreed.

-So, he began training new guardian angels, and you happened to be one of them.

- He admired how you struggled to fly, resembling a fawn. 

-"Солнце (=sun), use your back muscles, not your arms," he teased as you tumbled to the ground once again. 

-"How could you know?" you snapped back, frustrated.

-He stopped, his lone wing retracting. 

-You realized the impact of your words.

- "Shit, Nik, sorry, that's not what I meant."

-"It's okay, but I used to fly in the past, you know. Don't doubt my abilities again."

-"Of course, I... It's just frustrating to see everyone else succeeding."

"-It's okay. Ghost took six months to fly; Soap burned his wing three times," Nikolai said. "So, don't doubt, Солнце."

-"Really?" you laughed.

-"Yes, so don't doubt, Солнце."

-"Isn't it difficult to watch all those angels and not feel free like them?" you asked, a question no one had posed to him before.

-"It is, but I deserved it."

-"You just loved someone. I don't think it was worth the punishment," you whispered.

-"Maybe, but I betrayed my mission."

-"I still think you did it for good reasons. The world isn't black and white. Sometimes we have to be gray. Loving them, it's not a crime."

-He stayed silent. "Maybe."

-"Sorry, I overstepped, but I think it's unfair they treat you like this. Graves is keeping his wings when he had killed people to succeed in his missions, not very guardian angel of him."

-"You're right, but we can't do anything."

-"I will. I'll fight for you. Use my wings to give yours back," you said, determined.

-That day, Nik felt a spark—the same one that had cost him his wings. 

-The one who was back with you. 

-He ignored it. 

-"If you say so, I'll watch you doing it," he chuckled.

-Little did he know, you would succeed and restore his wings. 

-Perhaps, one day, Nikolai would fly again with his wings and not a helicopter.

A L E J A N D R O :

-He was sent to protect you, to help you to expose the truth.

-You, a journalist delving into a precarious story surrounding the cartel's sway

-. Alejandro understood the gravity of this mission; his entire previous life had been defined by this relentless fight against the cartel.

- With unwavering dedication, he vowed to shield you with all his heart.

-Thus, he concealed himself, surveilling your residence, neutralizing all dangers, confronting cartel members seeking to harm you under the cover of darkness.

- His magic thwarted explosive threats, and he meticulously tarnished the reputations of those aiming to intimidate you after your initial article.

- He stood watch, silently guarding you.

-His cover was blown one day. In your apartment, a cartel member lay unconscious at his feet.

-"So it was you?" you inquired.

-"I can explain," he stammered.

-"You were the one protecting me, weren't you? I've never felt threatened since my colleagues shared their ordeals. Only words, never physical harm or bombs. My family is unharmed. Someone protected me. It's you, isn't it?"

-Your perceptiveness impressed him.

-"Yes," he admitted.

-"You should have said something. I can pay you if needed. Being a bodyguard for someone who challenges cartels must be challenging."

-"Not as challenging as being a colonel fighting the cartel in my previous life," he thought but refrained from saying.

-"It's okay. I don't need a salary."

-"Then live with me. Let me repay you, in a way. This way, you can keep an eye on me 24/7 but still have a place to stay."

-It was tempting, avoiding the need to surveil you from across the street, being able to follow you closely to prevent traps.

-"Okay," he accepted.

-Gradually, he became a fixture in your life. You shared your findings, and he assisted during investigations, often necessitating clandestine break-ins to gather information. 

-He marveled at how you managed to stay alive with your audacious pursuits.

-But with each cartel member arrested due to your articles, he felt satisfaction and pride. You were making a difference.

-Until one day, the absence of the familiar sound of typing alarmed him. 

-Racing to your room, he found you lifeless, a bullet wound in your head. 

-How was this possible? He had used his magic for protective measures, installed cameras.

- Then he noticed it—a black wing on the floor, a fallen angel turned malevolent.

-He knew who was responsible—Valeria. Of course, she would be entangled in the sinister web of cartels. Mierda...

L A S S W E L L :

--She was sent to ensure peace.

-You, a fledgling diplomat, had just entered the scene.

-In a matter of months, a critical meeting loomed on the horizon. 

-Unfortunately, one of the other ambassadors harbored nefarious plans. 

-Their aim? To ensnare you, hold your country responsible for an attack, derail any alliance, shatter hopes of peace, and plunge nations into war.

-Laswell, tasked with preventing this diplomatic catastrophe, sought to guide you through the treacherous world of international relations.

-Gaining your trust, however, proved to be a formidable challenge.

-You toiled in isolation, reluctant to confide even in an assistant. 

-Acutely aware of the sordid nature of politics, you had no intention of succumbing to manipulation or falling prey to powerful lobby interests.

-To demonstrate her capabilities, Laswell embarked on a mission to help you confront a corrupt mayor. 

-When she successfully ousted him and exposed the truth, despite the mayor's pervasive connections, you were compelled to extend a job offer.

-"Thanks for this. I couldn't have done it without you. He had connections everywhere," you expressed your gratitude.

-"I have connections too, but I guess mine are just better than his," she replied with a hint of confidence.

-A chuckle escaped your lips.

-It was evident that Laswell, fueled by a genuine commitment to peace, would prevail. 

-Witnessing the purity of your heart, she found solace.

- She had observed how the hearts of political figures often tarnished when power came into play, but you remained an exception.

-"You're a remarkable diplomat, never doubt that," she reassured.

-"Maybe, but niceties don't seal alliances or foster peace," you sighed. "Money does, and we don't have it."

-Together, you delved into the intricacies of contracts and gathered information about other nations.

- Nights were spent in your office, surrounded by take-out containers, punctuated by jokes that lightened the mood while maintaining a serious focus on work.

-Gradually, Laswell began to open up to you. 

-Of course, she concealed her past as a CIA agent, weaving a narrative that shielded her secrets. Yet, you felt a sense of security in her presence.

-One evening during a break, you asked,

-"Do you have someone, Kate? You're always here with me, and I wouldn't want your significant other to worry."

-"I had someone," she admitted.

-"Sorry to hear that," you responded.

-"It's okay. It was a long time ago, like a previous life," she joked, though the truth lingered beneath the surface.

-"How were they?" you inquired.

-"She, and she was wonderful. My wife. I could have given everything to her, except I didn't. I didn't give her my time. I was working too hard."

-"Did you divorce?" you asked.

-"No, but I quitted my job for her."

-"Oh."

-"It was the right thing to do. She deserved it," she smiled.

-"And you never met anyone after?"

-"No.”

-Because after that, she died old and happy with her wife, before becoming a guardian angel.

-She never looked for love.

-"No, but maybe someday." Laswell said

-"I don't doubt it," you chuckled.

-"And you?"

-"I'm too busy with my work. They say I'm mostly married to it," you attempted to joke, but Kate sensed the underlying sadness.

-"You'll meet someone. You're a great person."

-"Thanks," you replied, returning to your work. 

-After weeks of collaboration, Kate unearthed a drug affair involving the other diplomat and dealt with it discreetly.

-On the day of the crucial meeting, the peace offer was accepted without hesitation, thanks to the covert threat.

- The treaties were signed, and a sigh of relief echoed through the diplomatic corridors.

-However, when Laswell awaited her next mission, she discovered a surprise.

-Your name resurfaced, but the mission had taken an unexpected turn.

-"Marry them."

-Confused, Laswell pondered the note. Guardian angels can't love humans. Then, she noticed a message on the back.

-"You deserve a retreat, Kate. And they're your type. Enjoy it. - John."

-She chuckled. John, always meddling where he wasn't needed.

- However, she didn’t know if she would marry you or not but this life as a diplomat, reshaping the world for the better, was the love she had found."

F A R A H :

-She had been sent to infuse you with the strength to confront adversity with courage and resilience.

- Once a firefighter, you had walked away from the profession after a tragic incident where a child lost his life in a fire. 

-Your attempts to alert your boss about the suspicious nature of the recent fires fell on deaf ears, and disillusioned, you resigned. 

-The question lingered: Why be a firefighter if you couldn't save lives?

-Farah had been dispatched to restore your inner fortitude because, deep down, you were right

-Those recent fires were no accidents. 

-Only you had the power to uncover the truth, having been the sole observer of the pattern.

- Fate placed her as your neighbor, but your demeanor was reticent, a mere husk of your former self.

-Observing your silent suffering, Farah chose a bold approach. 

-She ignited a fire in her own apartment using a toaster, triggering your instincts. 

-Without hesitation, you rushed to her aid with a fire extinguisher, quelling the flames.

-"Thanks, I don't know what happened," she lied, keenly observing the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the relief in your eyes.

-"It's okay; toasters can be tricky, many of them catch fire," you reassured her.

-"Do you often see that?" she inquired.

-"I'm a firefighter," you paused, correcting yourself, "was, sorry."

-She smiled, finding solace in your continued identification with the role.

-"You quit? Injuries?" she probed.

-"No, I... it just wasn't for me."

-"It doesn't seem that way," she said, nodding towards the fire extinguisher still in your grasp.

-"It was just a reflex."

-"Hmm, if you say so. You know, just because there are some bad firefighters doesn't mean you have to quit," she remarked.

-"True, but sometimes it's hard to... fight when you're alone."

-She understood. Without the support of people in her past as Karim, Farah would never have succeeded. 

-"But without brave people like you, the bad ones win," she emphasized.

-"Maybe," you conceded, "but... why am I discussing this with you? I don't even know you," you whispered.

-"It's easier to confess to a stranger, especially one with a burnt toaster," she joked.

-You chuckled, finding an unexpected comfort in her presence.

-"Maybe you're right. I just... I felt useless. I knew something was wrong with those fires, that we should have saved those kids, but... no one believed me. Maybe they're right."

-"Or maybe not. Now we'll never know since you quit," she countered.

"-Maybe..." you sighed.

-"I can help you," she offered.

-"How?" you inquired.

-"I'm a journalist," she lied, "if those fires are really peculiar, then I have a great article, and you could regain your job."

-"…But it means investigating my own brigade."

-"Betrayal often comes from those close to us," she said, recalling what did Hadir.

-"You're right, okay," you agreed.

-And so, the investigation began. Farah watched as the embers of your internal fire reignited. You didn't give up. 

-Gathering evidence, taking photographs, you uncovered a shocking revelation: a colleague was a pyromaniac, deliberately setting fires to play the role of a savior, to feel godlike.

-Presenting the proof to journalists, your chief could no longer cover for the rogue colleague. Farah felt a surge of pride for you.

-"You fought well," she commended.

-"I'll continue, thanks, Farah," you said, embracing her, the lingering scent of burnt still on your clothes after your mission.

-"Never give up, even when I'm gone," she whispered.

-"Never," you smiled.

-When her mission changed, she left you a collar. Months later, Farah noticed how you kept it as a talisman.

- She smiled, realizing that although she couldn't stay, your strength and hers would forever be intertwined.

K Ö N I G :

-He had been sent to rekindle your passion, to bring happiness back into your life. 

-Once a talented dancer, you had abandoned your love for dance in favor of a more practical career, burdened by financial responsibilities. 

-Your parents, disapproving of a dancing career, further added to the weight on your shoulders.

-König, however, was on a mission to reignite your love for your hobby and give your heart what it truly desired.

- So, in your building, he discreetly posted a classified ad seeking a dance teacher for the waltz.

-When you stumbled upon the ad, you thought, "Why not?"

-A little extra income wouldn't hurt, and you missed the joy of dancing. Intrigued, you decided to respond to his ad, accepting his offer.

-Little did König anticipate that it would work. 

-Now, with his towering 2-meter frame, he found himself awkwardly attempting to move like a swan without crushing your feet. The stress was palpable.

-“Breathe and focus on me, not on yourself,” you instructed, guiding his hands to rest on your waist. 

-Slowly, with the accompaniment of a piano, you led him through the graceful movements of the waltz.

-Suddenly, it felt like home. Memories flooded back – the aroma of onions and Zwiebelrostbraten cooking, the cramped kitchen adorned with peculiar pictures, his mother's gentle dance, and him on her feet as she attempted to teach him how to dance. 

-Dancing, he thought, could be so beautiful, and those who tried to prevent such feelings were truly awful.

-You noticed the sparkle in König's eyes, a reflection of the passion you had years ago.

- “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you remarked.

-“Yes, it’s like we’re floating,” he responded.

-“Waltz is beautiful. I…I wanted to compete when I was younger – waltz, salsa, and more.”

-“What stopped you?”

-“My parents. They said I would never be good enough to make a living from it. And they're right; only a few dancers can sustain themselves.”

-“But you could still live through it in a different way.”

-“How?”

-“Teaching it. Many dancers become teachers.”

-“I don’t have connections, König. Studios prefer people with a reputation.”

-“Then I’ll spread the word. You’re a great teacher. I mean, you made me dance the waltz, and I'm a giant,” he joked.

-You smiled. “Because you’re a great student.”

-“Nein, believe me, I can’t dance without you.”

-And so, König set his plans into motion, praising your classes to everyone. 

-Soon, a married couple sought your expertise, and as their marriage flourished, the word spread. 

-Requests poured in, and slowly you amassed a following.

-König, with his mysterious charm, helped you secure a studio.

- Although you maintained your part-time job, you now knew you could live from dance.

-“I’ll quit,” you whispered, nervous. “I need to quit to have more classes and finally be happy.”

-“Good, you deserve it,” he smiled.

-“Thanks. Without you, I probably would never have been brave enough to do it.”

-“I’m here to support you,” he assured, even though he missed holding you in his arms and waltzing with you.

-He asked for one last dance to celebrate. Unbeknownst to you, he would soon leave.

-As you danced, he felt your heart beating fast, resonating with happiness. 

-When a paper appeared in his pocket with another name and another mission, he looked back at you. 

-Perhaps now, when alone, König would practice the waltz for the day he would meet you again.

R O A C H :

 

TW : death (not of Roach or you though) + (i kinda create a past for him, I know it's not canon)

-He was sent to help you to protect Orion.

-The problem was, he had no clue who Orion was.

- Despite attempting to tap into his powers, all he could extract were names: Orion and yours. 

-Thus, he met you out and forged a close friendship, yet Orion remained elusive.

- Not in your familial ties, not as a romantic interest or enemies—nowhere. 

-Until one day, after returning from work, you shared an anecdote about Orion.

-Orion.

- A four-year-old boy. 

-Suddenly, it dawned on him; he comprehended his purpose

-. Roach, with his own history in foster care, knew he was selected because he understood the flaws in the system and how one could make a difference by adopting a child.

- However, Orion had loving parents, leaving Roach perplexed.

-"He's a sweet boy," you smiled.

-He reciprocated with a smile, albeit tinged with fear. 

-Did this mean Orion would lose his parents? 

-Or was he expected to kill them? 

-Roach was uncertain, prompting him to shadow Orion's residence, using his expertise in navigating air ducts, he was not called  Roach for nothing, air ducts were his things.

-As he observed, nothing seemed amiss until he spotted it: a crack in the wall. 

- Regrettably, before he could extricate himself from the air duct, the building collapsed. 

-The landlords had ignored warnings about the need for renovations, leading to the tragedy. 

-Roach barely escaped the ruins, coughing and trying to find his way out.

-Then, he heard Orion's voice. 

-Under a table, the little boy clutched his deceased mother's hand. 

-Roach froze; there was no doubt, Orion's parents were gone. 

-Why was he sent to manage this? 

- Why wasn't he tasked with preventing the tragedy or saving them?

- Why did Orion have to endure such a harrowing experience?

-He crawled to Orion, embracing him as the boy cried and screamed. 

-He waited with him at ER, refusing to leave despite your attempts to reach him. He only sent you a text “at ER”

-You joined him and he…he could only express his pain through a silent hug.

-You and Roach became determined to ensure Orion wouldn't be left in the system after such trauma.

- Despite the challenges, you visited every day, dealing with bureaucracy and, with Roach's magical assistance, eventually adopting Orion

-. Roach didn't leave; he remained a steadfast companion in your collective journey.

-It wasn't easy—Orion was confused, lost, and traumatized. 

-Yet, through your unwavering support, he slowly began to open up to both you and Roach.

- A family emerged, something Roach had only discovered in his twenties during his time in the military.

- He was grateful that Orion could experience it now, but he couldn't bring himself to leave.

-Each day brought the fear of a new mission, a new departure. Until one day, Ghost appeared in your flat.

-"What are you doing here?" Roach questioned.

-"Cutting your wings," Ghost responded.

-Roach recoiled. "I never kissed them." he said, yes he loved you, but he never tried…

-"Roach…"

-"You can't take them away from me, please L.T. I don't want to lose everyone like I lost you and the unit."

-"I’ll cut your wings so you can become human, Roach, not to punish you."

-Roach halted. "You—"

-"You deserve it."

-"Thanks, L.T."

-"You're welcome," Ghost whispered, cutting his wings.

-Roach felt pain but also a strange sense of freedom. He smiled at Ghost and let him leave. Finally, he had found a family.

_____

_If you want more : my COD masterlist

_My masterlist

[elephantlovemedleys]

cause i've had the time of my life and I've searched though every open door til i found the truth and i owe it all to you bridgerton season two // dirty dancing (1987)

[sapchat]

Where do y'all think Nik's hanger is in MW3?

Cuz like the quick little backgrounds we see it looks kinda like the Swiss Alps... maybe even the Scandinavian Mountains? But I wanted everyone else's opinion on it

I'm also trying to like base if off of how long it might take a helicopter to get from like Sweden/Switzerland to like the Ukraine region since Verdansk is slightly based off of Donetsk, Ukraine

Like... this seems like to me, coming from my little American pea brain to be the Swiss Alps... either way its pretty as fuck and I wanna live there.

Fucking Simon just standing there