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just-aake · 3 months ago

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Who Would Sit at Your Grave the Longest?

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Who would ever mourn the life of a trained spy and assassin?

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, violence, mention of death, scenes from Marvel movies, multiple time skips

Words: 11,010

Red Room, Unknown — 2002

“If you passed away, who would sit at your grave the longest?”

It was a strange question, posed by one of the girls in the Red Room. The answers from the others are what one would expect – mom, dad, siblings, friends.

People they remembered from their lives before.

People who loved them.

With so many choices, it was difficult for some to decide who would fill that position.

Natasha, however, didn’t need any time to consider her answer.

She raises the gun in her hand and fires multiple shots at the practice target, each one hitting a fatal area. After the last bullet, she removes the empty magazine with practiced ease, reloads the gun, and aims at the target once again.

“Who would sit at her grave the longest?”

Her grip wavers slightly at the thought, but Natasha takes a short, steadying breath before steeling herself.

Consecutive shots ring out in the room, hitting the target with perfect precision and demonstrating why she is one of the most feared assassins in the world.

For Natasha, the answer was clear.

“No one.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Abandoned Building, Budapest - 2003

With a tired sigh, Natasha leans her head against the wall of the abandoned building. She lifts her hand from her side, grimacing at the sight of blood covering her palm.

With a slight wince, she presses it against the wound again and glances at the person sitting across from her.

His head hangs limply against his chest, his own hand pressing against a wound on his stomach. If not for his shallow breathing, Natasha would have thought he was already dead.

Taking a deep breath, she nudges him with her boot. “Hey, Barton, you still with me?”

He stirs slightly at her words, becoming more alert, and chuckles softly. “I knew you had a heart, Romanoff.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at his comment, turning her gaze to the distance, searching for any sign of backup from his organization.

Clint Barton had been the first to see something different in her—something better—and had offered her a way out of her previous life.

Now, the one person who might actually care about her existence was dying right in front of her.

A coughing fit seizes Clint at that moment, and a trickle of blood escapes his lips.

“If your people don’t arrive here soon—”

Before she could finish, the sound of an engine fills the air as a quinjet lands nearby, kicking up a whirl of dust.

Spotting the SHIELD logo, Natasha quickly stands, grunting as she pulls Clint up and slings his arm over her shoulder, dragging him toward the plane.

“Over here!” she shouts to the disembarking crew.

The agents at the front eye her warily, cautiously raising their weapons until they recognize Barton and realize his condition. They quickly rushed to help, taking her place and carrying him onto the quinjet.

Natasha shuffles forward slowly, keeping a close eye on them to ensure they’re handling him carefully.

Suddenly, a hand brushes her side, startling her. Instinctively, she grips the wrist and yanks it away, only to find herself locking eyes with you, surprise evident on your face.

Her glare is sharp, a silent warning, but you furrow your brows and pull your hand free, undeterred by her reaction.

“You’re injured too,” you point out, trying to examine the wound on her side.

“I’m fine,” Natasha grits out, swallowing hard against the pain. “You should be taking care of Agent Barton.”

She tries to sidestep you, but her strength falters as the adrenaline starts to fade, and she stumbles. Bracing herself for a hard landing, she’s surprised when a pair of arms catches her before she can fall.

Leaning her head on your shoulder, Natasha takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself and shake off the wave of dizziness.

“He has enough people,” you say firmly, your voice resolute. “I can focus on taking care of you.”

With that, you adjust her gently in your arms and start guiding her toward the quinjet.

“Come on, you’re not dying today.”

You say it with such certainty and determination that Natasha can’t help but believe you.

As you walk, she glances at the side of your face, her curiosity piqued.

“How strange,” Natasha muses to herself, “to have found another person who seems to care about her existence.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Stark Mansion, Malibu - 2010

After pretending to be impressed by Stark’s demonstration of the Iron Man armored glove and its repulsor beam, Natasha quietly slips away as Miss Potts confronts him for his reckless behavior.

At the private bar, Natasha prepares more drinks, anticipating Tony’s inevitable request for another round.

��This is quite the birthday party,” a voice comments from behind.

Natasha turns her head to find you leaning casually on the opposite side of the bar countertop, giving her a friendly smile.

Since her initial encounter with you after joining SHIELD, Natasha hasn’t had the opportunity to work with you again, only spotting you in passing until now.

She raises a questioning brow at you, curious about your presence and wondering how she missed you being part of the team for this mission.

“It seems you’ve gained Mr. Stark’s trust pretty well,” you remark, referring to her little performance earlier.

Returning to her task, Natasha responds as she continues to pour the drinks.

“It’s not hard. He’s a textbook narcissist.”

A loud clatter erupts from the other room and interrupts the conversation, prompting both of you to look at the sound in alertness.

Tony picks himself up from where he stumbled into the DJ booth, then throws his arms up in the air with a cheer, eliciting an excited response from the crowd.

Spotting how he leans heavily on the table for support, Natasha shakes her head and continues her observations.

“His condition is worsening, though. He’ll need something to take the edge off soon.”

From the corner of her eyes, Natasha notices your expression become contemplative as you tilt your head and observe her curiously.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” you reply with a small shake of your head. “It’s just nice of you to worry about your new friend.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at that.

Tony Stark is just a potential candidate for the Avenger Initiative that she’s been assigned to assess. From what she’s seen, he cares less about being her friend than she does.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Natasha asserts, turning around with the tray of finished drinks.

You smoothly pluck a glass from the tray before Natasha can stop you and sip it nonchalantly, unbothered by her glare. Still, Natasha can’t help but smirk slightly, amused by your bold action.

Setting the empty glass down, you glance at Tony, who is still playing to the crowd.

“No harm in building genuine friendships,” you comment before nodding at the billionaire.

“Anyway, lucky for him, Fury agrees. He wants to meet with Mr. Stark soon,” you reveal.

Natasha’s brows knit together in confusion.

“Fury sent you just to tell me that?”

You turn your gaze back to her, a small grin tugging at the corner of your lips as you push yourself off the counter.

“Me coming here was more of a personal choice.”

Her eyes narrow in suspicion, still puzzled by your answer.

“Why would you do that?”

With a light chuckle, you meet her gaze, a slight smirk playing on your lips.

“Maybe I just wanted to see the legendary Black Widow in action,” you admit, your tone teasing, before turning to walk away.

For a moment, Natasha is left stunned, her mind racing to make sense of your reasoning. But as you disappear from view, a sudden sensation tightens in her chest. She quickly sets the tray down and moves around the counter, her instincts urging her to follow you.

Just as she takes a step forward, a deafening crash reverberates through the building.

Whirling toward the source of the noise, Natasha’s eyes widen as she spots Tony, now clad in his Iron Man armor, locked in a fierce struggle with one of his other mech suits.

Natasha groans, rolling her eyes as she braces herself to clean up yet another one of Stark’s infamous messes.

She wonders how you could think this man could ever be among those she’d considered a friend.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Stark Tower, New York City - 2012

With the portal closed and the battle over, Natasha and the other newly assembled Avengers gather on the top floor of the Stark Tower to complete the final task of apprehending Loki.

“Alright, get him on his feet,” Tony says, gesturing at the defeated god sprawled on the floor. His Iron Man suit begins to disengage from his body as he walks away.

“Oh, and by the way, feel free to clean up,” he remarks to the others, waving at the destroyed room left in the aftermath of the battle.

Natasha rolls her eyes at his words before focusing on the piece of metal in her hands. She taps Loki’s scepter gently against her palm and asks, “So, who gets the magic wand?”

Standing near the shelves filled with various bottles of alcohol, Clint retrieves two glass cups and answers, “Strike team’s coming to secure it.”

As he finishes speaking, the strike team steps out of the elevator, carrying a large case.

“We can take that,” an agent offers, heading towards her.

“By all means,” Natasha replies, handing it to them and walking toward Clint. Out of the corner of her eyes, she notices one of the agents examining the staff’s point with their hand.

“Careful with that thing,” she warns.

Clint nods in agreement as he hands her a glass, “Unless you want your mind erased, and not the fun way.”

As they both turn around toward the bar, the cups are taken from their hands.

“And I’ll take these,” you declare, placing them on the counter.

“Medical team is also here,” you announce with a smirk, placing your hands on your hips. “Which means the agent with blood dripping from their head should have a seat.”

Natasha and Clint exchange glances to see who you’re referring to.

“Looks like you’re going first,” Clint declares happily, patting Natasha on her shoulder and stepping around you–not before sneakily taking back his cup.

When Natasha doesn’t move, you cross your arms and tilt your head at her with a raised brow.

“Well, are you going to sit, or do I need to wait until you fall on me again?”

Natasha huffs in amusement at the reminder before taking a seat on the barstool, giving you space to come closer.

Stepping forward, you place yourself between her legs and gently brush back her hair as you examine her forehead.

“Doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches, so that’s good,” you comment.

Natasha clicks her tongue in mock disappointment.

“No scar? That’s a shame.”

Your lips twitch upward slightly at her words, and Natasha grins proudly, knowing she almost made you smile.

As you clean her wound, your hands move delicately across her skin, treating her with the utmost care.

Noticing your closeness, Natasha takes a moment to observe you, intrigued at how comfortable you are around her. She was so absorbed in watching you that she almost missed your next words.

“You all make a good team.”

At the mention of the others, Natasha glances over at them across the room, talking and jostling each other in a friendly fashion.

It’s admittedly an odd bunch that Fury managed to assemble: a demi-god, a super soldier, a billionaire tech genius, a scientist with an angry alter ego, and a couple of master assassins.

“Not what I imagined, but surprisingly, it turned out okay,” Natasha admits.

After finishing the bandages, your hand drifts from her hair to gently cup her face, lifting it to meet your eyes.

“You came together, trusted each other, and had each other’s backs—all within just a few days,” you say, your voice steady with conviction. “That’s more than just okay.”

You give her a soft smile, tilting your head lightly.

“It’s actually pretty incredible…and so are you.”

Natasha’s eyes widen at your words, leaving her speechless.

A familiar warmth stirs in her chest, similar to the sensation she felt the last time she met you—a subtle yet undeniable pull towards you.

The intensity of your gaze draws her in, making her feel connected to you in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Her fingers fidget in her lap as she considers bridging the small gap between you. She raises her hand hesitantly, about to reach out—

“Romanoff!” Tony calls, causing Natasha to withdraw her hand and turn her head, inadvertently making your hand fall from her face, much to her disappointment.

He and the others are gathered by the elevator, looking in her direction. Tony waves his hand in a hurried gesture.

“Hurry it up with the doctor-patient roleplay! The shawarma’s going to get cold.”

Natasha glares at him for the interruption before returning her attention to you.

“Shawarma?” you ask with a questioning tilt of your head.

She shakes her head exasperatedly.

“I don’t know. Tony wants to try it.”

You hum in understanding and take a step back.

“Well, that bandage should be fine for now, but you’ll need a more thorough check-up when you return.”

Natasha leans forward slightly, a small smirk playing on her lips as she teases, “By you?”

You meet her smirk with an amused smile. “We’ll see.”

Accepting that she won’t get a definitive answer, Natasha nods and stands. As she’s about to pass by you, a thought crosses her mind, and she pauses beside you.

“What about you?” she asks.

You look up from where you’re packing your things. “What about me?”

Natasha huffs lightly at your evasiveness, ready to respond, but she hesitates. Her usual confidence falters, and uncertainty flickers in her eyes for a brief moment as they meet yours.

After everything she’s been through, Natasha is still unsure whether she deserves to feel this way about someone—to want to not feel alone.

Noticing her hesitation, your expression softens, and you offer an understanding smile. With a gentle push on her back, you urge her forward.

“Go, you deserve to celebrate this win with your team,” you say, your voice calm and encouraging.

Before Natasha can reply, Tony calls out again.

“The elevator’s going to leave without you, Romanoff,” he warns.

You give her an encouraging nod, and with a light sigh, she makes her way to the elevator, where the others are already waiting inside.

Tony leans casually against the elevator doors, arms crossed and a teasing grin on his face.

Before he can make a comment, Natasha gives him a shove, pushing him inside, and quickly presses the button. As the doors close, she catches one last glimpse of your little wave at her before you disappear from view.

Reflecting on your words, Natasha glances around at the people beside her. Surrounded by her new teammates, she begins to realize that maybe, she’s not so alone anymore, after all.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

National Mall, Washington, D.C. – 2014

Natasha lets go of the back of Steve’s neck, breaking the kiss, and turns around casually on the escalator. With their fake display of affection, Rumlow and the other SHIELD agents do not spare them a glance as they search the mall.

She steps off the escalator smoothly and glances slightly over her shoulder at the super soldier.

“You still uncomfortable?”

Steve clears his throat lightly, trying to regain his composure.

“It’s not exactly the word I would use.”

The two walk calmly until they reach the path leading to the underground parking garage. As they pass through the doors, Natasha notices Steve’s awkward silence and decides to tease him a little.

“Don’t tell me you’re still flustered from that kiss, Rogers?”

Steve sighs at her teasing, “No, I just wasn’t expecting–”

As they round a corner, Natasha and Steve abruptly come to a stop, finding themselves face-to-face with a SHIELD agent.

He eyes them suspiciously, his hand moving toward his walkie-talkie.

Reacting swiftly, Steve tackles him before he can alert the others, and the two engage in a fierce fistfight.

Natasha steps forward to assist, but before she can reach them, someone grabs her from behind and throws her against a concrete column. She groans in surprise as pain radiates from the impact.

Before she can recover, a body pins her against the wall, an arm pressing against her collarbone.

Natasha’s hands instinctively push against the pressure as she focuses on her attacker. Her eyes widen in surprise at who she sees.

“Since when are you a part of the strike team?” she grunts out.

You frown slightly and nod toward Steve.

“Since Captain America took down most of their men, and they had to pull others from different teams,” you explain before giving her a questioning look. “You do know he’s wanted by SHIELD, right?”

“Yes,” Natasha grits out, raising her knee sharply, catching you off guard.

The sudden pain in your side forces you to loosen your grip just enough for her to slip out. With a swift motion, Natasha twists her body, reversing your positions, and slams you against the wall, pinning you there.

“Do you know why SHIELD wants you to hunt him?” Natasha challenges.

Despite being pinned, your expression remains calm as you raise a brow at her.

“What happened to the Black Widow who followed every order—no questions asked?”

Natasha pauses, thinking about the anger and sense of loss she felt after Fury’s sudden death—one of the few who had become an important figure in her life. He was betrayed, and she was determined to find out who was behind it, even if it meant going against orders.

“I’m trying something new,” Natasha answers.

To her surprise, a smile spreads across your face, and you remark proudly, “Good.”

It’s then Natasha notices you aren’t even trying to break free from your pinned position. Your hands hang limply at your sides, offering no resistance.

Slowly, Natasha lowers her arm from your chest and takes a small step back, allowing you to lean against the wall on your own.

You make no move to attack her.

Before Natasha can question your intentions, the walkie-talkie at your side crackles to life with incoming communication.

“Anything in the lower levels?” Rumlow’s voice asks.

Your eyes drift down to the device at the request for an answer. As your hand reaches for the walkie-talkie, Steve, having just dealt with the other agent, rushes toward you.

But Natasha quickly stops him, holding out her to block his path. She watches you calmly as you raise the walkie to your mouth, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time.

“Negative in the parking garage,” you respond.

Rumlow’s frustrated growl sounds through the speaker. “Expand the search area and sweep the floors again.”

“Understood.”

With that, you casually toss the walkie aside and raise your hands in surrender. When Natasha and Steve remain still, you give them a pointed look.

“Shouldn’t the two of you be looking for a way to escape?” you suggest, your tone laced with a hint of urgency.

Understanding your intentions, Steve gives you an appreciative nod and gently touches Natasha’s arm.

“I’ll go find us a ride,” he says.

“Okay,” Natasha replies with a nod, watching as Steve heads off in search of a vehicle.

When she turns back to you, she notices a slight frown on your face as your arms cross over your chest.

“You two seem closer,” you observe.

Natasha chuckles softly, catching the hint of displeasure in your tone.

“Aren’t you the one who told me to make friends?”

You huff in response, giving her a tiny glare before walking past her.

As you examine the unconscious agent on the ground, a thoughtful hum escapes you, clearly contemplating your next move.

Sensing your dilemma, Natasha steps beside you and offers, “You could always come with us.”

You shake your head and turn to her with a slight smirk.

“Three’s a crowd,” you reply before taking a step closer, tilting your head curiously. “Did you really kiss him?”

Realizing you must have overheard her earlier comment, Natasha starts to explain.

“It was just a cover.”

She watches you carefully as you take another step closer, leaving only a small gap between your bodies. Feeling slightly distracted, Natasha swallows lightly and continues, unsure why she feels the need to explain herself further.

“Public displays of affection make people very…”

Natasha’s words trail off as you place your hands on her waist and lean in slightly with a tilt of your head.

“…uncomfortable,” she finishes softly, her eyes falling to your lips, which curve up slightly at her attention.

Her pulse quickens, and for a moment, the world around the two of you fades, leaving only the charged tension in the air between you.

That familiar, tempting feeling stirs within her again.

She lifts her eyes to meet yours, noticing the amusement dancing in your gaze.

“Are you uncomfortable?” you whisper, the words softly caressing her lips.

Natasha finds herself leaning forward as she responds with a breathless sigh, “No.”

Just as the space between you is about to disappear, you abruptly pull back, removing your hands from her hips and stepping away.

“Good to know,” you say with a playful grin. You raise your hand to reveal a tiny taser disk between your fingers. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”

Still stunned by your sudden move, Natasha remains frozen, too shocked to react to the revelation of the item you swiped from her.

You chuckle at her silence, tilting your head playfully.

“Catch me?” you request before activating the device and delivering an electric shock to yourself.

Recovering quickly, Natasha catches you as you slump forward, wrapping her arms around you and gently lowering you to the ground.

With a small huff of disbelief, Natasha cups your unconscious face, caressing your cheek with a fond touch.

You always know how to leave her speechless.

A truck pulls up beside her, and Steve leans out from the driver’s seat. “Ready to go?”

Natasha takes a moment to make sure you’re positioned comfortably before nodding and hopping into the passenger seat.

As they drive toward New Jersey, the silence eventually gives way to their earlier conversation.

“Really? Nobody special, though?” Natasha asks, glancing over at Steve.

Steve sighs, a touch of exasperation in his voice.

“Believe it or not, it’s kind of hard to find someone with shared life experiences,” he replies, then gestures toward her. “And what about you? You keep urging me to go on dates, but it doesn’t seem like you’re taking any steps in your love life either.”

He nudges her arm encouragingly, adding, “That agent earlier seemed interested.”

Natasha smirks at his observation, her gaze drifting to the window as the trees blur past. After a pause, she answers, her voice thoughtful.

“I don’t know. People usually want something real,” she says, her eyes distant, as if she’s seeing something far beyond the road. She turns to Steve with a small, sad smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nothing about me is.”

Steve remains silent for a moment, processing her words.

“You know, you’ll never find out if someone can accept you until you let them see the real you,” he says gently, his tone firm yet understanding.

“Yeah…” Natasha whispers, almost to herself.

Her thoughts wander to her secretive past, the parts of herself hidden from the world. If you knew who she really was, would you still trust her? Or would you leave her, like so many others had?

Her entire life, people wanted her to be something for them—a killer, a spy, a tool. Everyone had their own agenda.

She turns back to Steve, a curious glint in her eyes. “Who do you want me to be?”

Steve meets her gaze, sincerity in his expression. “How about a friend?” he suggests, his words simple yet filled with meaning.

Natasha laughs, starting with disbelief but gradually softening into something more genuine.

Shaking her head, she imagines what her past self would think of her now—a person trying to be more open to others.

“Maybe I could manage that,” she decides, her tone lighter than ever before.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Avengers Tower, New York City – 2015

Laughter fills the common room of the Avengers Tower as everyone takes turns trying to lift Thor’s hammer. With one last grunt, Steve lets go and shakes his head in defeat, returning to his seat with a chuckle.

“Alright, be honest, it’s rigged,” Tony remarks to Thor. “The handle is imprinted. The one who is worthy is the one with Thor’s fingerprints, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Clint agrees with a laugh, clinking his bottle with Natasha’s. He sits on the floor, leaning against her seat, and takes another sip.

Natasha chuckles lightly and brings her bottle up for a drink, only to pull it away and see it’s empty. She looks at it in confusion, wondering when she had finished it.

A hand takes the empty bottle from her, and Natasha turns to see you sitting on the arm of her chair, giving her an amused smile.

“You finished it two attempts ago,” you reveal.

“Were you watching me the entire time?” Natasha asks with a playful smirk.

You return her expression with a slight smirk of your own and lean in closer, your hand sliding against the back of her chair.

“Well, it’s hard to pay attention to anyone else when you’re around,” you reply.

Before Natasha can respond, Tony claps his hands together, exclaiming, “Alright, who’s next? Romanoff? Hill?”

Maria shakes her head as she stands and heads to the bar. “I’m going to have to pass.”

Chuckling lightly, you stand also and give Natasha an encouraging touch on her shoulder.

“You have fun. I’m going to get us another round.”

Natasha’s eyes follow you the entire time as you walk away. When she finally turns back around, she notices Steve giving her a pointed look.

“What?” she questions, arching a brow.

“Come on, you and her. It’s obvious there’s something between you two,” Steve insists.

“Don’t bother, Cap. She’s not going to be convinced. I’ve tried,” Clint chimes in, earning a tiny kick from Natasha in reprimand.

“Ow, see what I mean.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“We flirt,” she defends with a shrug. “It’s what we’ve always done. Just some innocent fun.”

Tony, overhearing the exchange, joins the conversation with a nod toward something behind her.

“Yeah, well, it’s not looking so innocent over there,” he remarks.

Natasha furrows her brows and turns to look at the bar. Her frown deepens at what she sees.

You and Maria are talking and laughing together, with the latter leaning a bit too close for Natasha’s comfort.

“Hey, take it from someone who knows. You don’t want to wait before it’s too late,” Steve advises.

Natasha considers his words as she watches the two of you, contemplating what she should do.

You and she have grown and maintained this comfortable dynamic for years. Of course, there’s an undeniable attraction, but Natasha isn’t sure if taking things further would be worth the risk of losing what she already has with you.

However, when Maria leans forward to whisper something in your ear, Natasha suddenly finds herself rising from her chair and heading toward the bar.

Just as you duck down to grab something from the bottom shelves, Maria takes the opportunity to slip away, passing by Natasha with a pat on the shoulder and a whispered, “Good luck.”

Frowning in confusion, Natasha glances back to see Maria and Clint exchanging a high-five. Realizing she’s been set up, Natasha turns to retreat to her seat before you notice her.

But it’s too late.

“Oh, hey, I’m almost finished with the drinks,” you call out, straightening with a grin as you spot her.

With her escape route cut off, Natasha decides to sit at the counter, her earlier irritation melting away when she meets your gaze.

“You sure you’re not getting distracted over here?” Natasha teases, her tone playful.

You laugh lightly as you secure the top of the shaker, shaking it with practiced ease, your eyes never leaving hers.

“Only if you’re the distraction,” you tease back.

Natasha relaxes at the warmth of the familiar banter, putting her at ease as she watches you finish preparing the drinks and pour them into two glasses.

You slide one across the counter to her and nod curiously toward the gathered group.

“You didn’t want to try to lift the hammer?” you ask with a curious tilt of your head.

“Oh, no,” Natasha replies, shaking her head slightly as she raises her glass to her lips. “No, that’s not a question that I need answered.”

“Really?” you respond, leaning forward on the counter, bringing yourself closer to her. Your hand inches toward hers, brushing her fingers lightly and letting the touch linger.

With a slight smirk, you raise a brow. “Then what is?”

That familiar feeling stirs in Natasha’s chest again as she holds your gaze—the temptation to close the distance between you two growing stronger.

Recalling Steve’s advice, Natasha swallows nervously and answers in a soft whisper, “Something probably only you can help me with.”

Intrigued, you gesture for her to continue, your attention entirely on her.

“There’s this thing—this feeling,” Natasha begins cautiously. “It appears during certain situations, like a pressure in my chest.”

You furrow your brows in concern. “Does it hurt?”

Natasha chuckles lightly, her gaze dropping to the drink you made for her, swirling it gently. The small ripples are nothing compared to the pounding of her heart at that moment.

“Sometimes,” she admits, her eyes drifting to your hand beside hers. She’s tempted to intertwine them but ultimately decides against it.

“It feels like I’m standing on the edge,” Natasha explains, meeting your eyes again. “I know what’s waiting for me if I turn and walk away, but if I choose to fall…”

She releases a shaky breath.

“…I don’t know what that future looks like, and that terrifies me.”

Your expression softens with understanding. You reach out, this time more deliberately, and your fingers find hers with gentle assurance.

Natasha clears her throat lightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she tries to mask the vulnerability of her confession.

“So what should I do?” she asks, her tone teasing, an attempt to deflect the seriousness of the moment.

You chuckle softly, recognizing her attempt to lighten the mood.

“I think—”

The sound of scratching metal against the floor interrupts the conversation as Natasha and everyone in the room turn to look at the dilapidated robot that has just dragged itself in front of them.

The moments after that are chaotic as she and the Avengers have to deal with Ultron’s threat to the world.

New Avengers Facility, Upstate New York

With Ultron defeated and most of the original members either retired or off on their own adventures, Natasha watches bittersweetly as Steve welcomes the new recruits to the Avengers.

Footsteps approach and stop beside her, and Natasha doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

“The new team looks good,” you comment, your eyes scanning the mix of familiar and new faces before glancing at Natasha’s expression.

“Do you miss them?” you ask softly, understanding the emotions behind her eyes.

Natasha sighs, her gaze still fixed on the newcomers.

“Nothing lasts forever,” she replies, a touch of sadness in her voice but not surprised. She’s accustomed to things not staying a part of her life.

You hum thoughtfully, considering her words before declaring with quiet conviction, “Well, you won’t have to worry about that with me.”

Natasha turns to look at you with a curious tilt of her head.

You offer her a small, reassuring smile.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, your words laced with promise.

A soft smile spreads across Natasha’s face at your assurance, feeling the familiar warmth blossoming in her chest.

“You never answered my question,” she reminds you, referring to the conversation that was interrupted earlier.

Natasha waits, her nerves on edge as you consider your response. Finally, you meet her gaze with a soft expression, placing a gentle hand on her arm.

“You should do whatever feels right for you,” you say sincerely, giving her arm a comforting squeeze before turning to leave.

Natasha looks down, a slight shake of her head and a light huff of amusement escaping her as she recognizes your deflection.

“But if you want my opinion…” you add, pausing at the doorway, prompting Natasha to look back up at you.

Lingering at the threshold, you offer her a playful smirk. “… I’d say, based on my track record, I’ve caught you when you’ve fallen before.” You shrug lightly. “And it seems like everything has turned out fine since then.”

Your smile widens as you notice Natasha rendered speechless once again before you turn to leave the room.

Recovering quickly, Natasha strides after you with determination. She catches up to you this time, gently taking your hand and turning you around to face her.

Cupping your cheek, she leans in and kisses you, pouring all her emotions into the gesture.

Before she can even worry that she might have made a mistake, you wrap your arms around her, pulling her closer as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving fervently against hers.

The world around Natasha fades away, leaving only the two of you in that moment, and she knows she made the right decision.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Leipzig-Halle Airport, Leipzig – 2016

Natasha looks across the airport at the people she had come to call friends and then back at those standing beside her. As the two sides rush at each other and engage in battle, she can’t help but wonder how it came to this—how they all decided that fighting each other was the only option left.

She’s not even sure if signing the accords was the right choice, but the one thing she does know is that staying together is supposed to be the most important thing.

Just because they’re fighting now doesn’t mean Natasha cares any less about them. The thought lingers as the chaos of battle surrounds her.

Clint flips her to the ground, and she reacts instinctively, bringing up her batons to block his bow from pinning her down. The two lock eyes, a familiar intensity passing between them.

“We’re still friends, right?” Natasha asks, her voice steady despite the conflict around them.

Clint smirks, the kind of smile that reassures her, even in the midst of battle.

“Depends on how hard you hit me.”

Natasha grins back, then uses her legs to flip him off of her. She springs to her feet, ready to deliver a follow-up kick, when a sudden wave of red energy wraps around her leg, freezing her in place.

Startled, she glances to the side, catching only a brief glimpse of Wanda before she’s hurled through the air.

Natasha braces herself for the inevitable impact, but instead of hitting the metal wall of an airport car, she collides with a body in mid-air.

A pair of arms wrap around her, cushioning the fall as they both tumble to the ground. They roll to a stop, with Natasha ending up on top.

Dazed but unharmed, she pushes herself up, her breath coming in short gasps as she looks down to see who caught her.

“Hey,” Natasha greets softly, a small smile forming on her lips as she cups your face with her hands. “What are you doing here?”

You don’t return her smile, instead frowning at her with concern.

“The Avengers are fighting each other, and you didn’t think to call me?”

Natasha’s smile falters, and she shifts her gaze away, her voice soft with guilt.

“I didn’t want you to have to choose a side.”

You release a knowing sigh.

“You mean, you were afraid I wouldn’t agree with your choice,” you correct gently.

Natasha twists her lips at the truth in your words.

Yes, she’s afraid. Her makeshift family is breaking apart before her eyes, and she’s desperate to protect the one other part of her life that matters.

Why wouldn’t she try to shield you from this chaos?

Your hand covers hers, still resting on your cheek, drawing her attention back to you.

“I’ve told you, Nat. Do whatever it is you feel is right for you. I’ll support you no matter what.”

Natasha’s eyes soften, a wave of relief washing over her. She starts to lean in, but you stop her with a gentle press of your finger against her lips.

“However,” you add, your voice firm and disapproving, “not calling me and having me find out from Stark? That’s a different kind of trouble you’re in.”

Natasha chuckles, taking your hand from her face and pressing a gentle kiss against your palm, a hint of playfulness entering her voice.

“Well, you still love me though, right?”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to maintain your stern expression, though it softens slightly.

“I don’t know. Ask me again after this,” you tease back at her.

Before Natasha can respond, Tony’s voice crackles through the comms, interrupting the moment.

“Uh, less flirting, you two. In case you forgot, there are multiple fights happening around you.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, but the smile remains on her face as she helps you up, ready to rejoin the fray.

Leipzig Hospital Balcony

“You let them go, Nat,” Tony accuses, his voice sharp with disbelief.

Natasha doesn’t deny it. In the end, she chose to help Steve and Bucky because it was the right thing to do. If the fighting didn’t stop, it would only cause more pain for everyone involved.

“We played this wrong,” Natasha admits, her voice tinged with regret.

“We?” Tony scoffs, shaking his head in frustration. “You know, it must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, huh? It sticks in the DNA.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Natasha flinches inwardly, the hurt flickering across her face before she quickly masks it.

His comment cuts deeper than she expected, reminding her of the ghosts of her past, the shadows she’s fought so hard to leave behind after all these years.

But here, at this moment, those shadows seem to close in on her, dark and suffocating, reminding her of the person she used to be.

Her voice hardens, a cold edge creeping into her tone. “Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for one goddamn second?”

Tony’s expression remains stony, but there’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes—regret, maybe, or disappointment. He doesn’t back down, though.

“T’Challa told Ross what you did, so…they’re coming for you.”

Natasha meets his gaze, her eyes steely, refusing to show any sign of fear.

“I’m not the one that needs to watch their back,” she replies before turning to leave.

As she walks away, the weight of the confrontation settles in her chest, heavy and suffocating.

She finds an empty hallway and leans against the wall, pressing her hands to her eyes, trying to push back the frustration and the sting of Tony’s words. Her breath comes in uneven gasps as she struggles to regain her composure.

A gentle hand touches her wrist, a gesture of comfort, but in her raw state, she instinctively swats it away.

When she looks up, your expression is sad as your hands retreat to your sides. You clear your throat awkwardly, searching for the right words.

“I can talk with Ross. Maybe change his mind or something.”

Natasha breaks away from your soft gaze, looking down and biting her lip to stop herself from saying the cutting remark on the tip of her tongue—that it would not make a difference, not with her past.

She’s all too aware of the person she was, and no words could erase that history.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” you try to reassure her.

Despite the same certainty and determination in your tone, Natasha can’t seem to find it in her to believe that to be true this time.

Glancing up, Natasha’s eyes fall on the bruises and scratches on your face, injuries you sustained because of her—because you chose to stand by her side.

The sight only deepens the ache in her chest.

“Don’t,” Natasha mutters, her voice trembling. “Just leave.”

“Nat…” you begin, your voice soft, filled with concern.

But she closes her eyes tightly, shaking her head as if to block out the sound. “I said go! Leave me alone!”

The harshness in her tone is laced with pain, and it cuts through the air like a knife.

For a moment, there’s silence, thick and heavy, before you turn and walk away, leaving Natasha alone with her thoughts.

The hallway echoes with the sound of your retreating footsteps.

Natasha sinks down to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, feeling the weight of her actions pressing down on her like never before.

She thought she could finally have a different life, that she could change, but nothing has changed. She still hurts the people around her.

So, Natasha does what she does best. She disappears.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Seventh Circle Prison, Russia – 2016

The whirl of the helicopter blades fills the air as Natasha flies away from the prison, the tension inside the cabin palpable among its three occupants.

“It means so much to me that you girls came back for me,” Alexei begins, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

Natasha, however, isn’t in the mood for such sentimentality. Her voice is sharp as she cuts him off, “No. No, you’re gonna tell us how to get to the Red Room.”

Alexei huffs, slightly taken aback by her tone.

“Whoa, look at you, huh? All business.”

“Trust me, this isn’t pleasure,” Natasha retorts, her eyes narrowing in irritation. She was not prepared to deal with her old family after just losing her new one. But the quicker she destroys the Red Room and saves the remaining Widows, the faster she can leave this part of her past behind.

Behind her, Alexei chuckles, though there’s a trace of bitterness in his laughter.

“Little Natasha, all indoctrinated into the Western agenda.”

Natasha’s gaze hardens as she turns to glare at him.

“I chose to go west to become an Avenger. At least they treated me like family.”

“Really? Family?” Alexei’s tone drips with sarcasm. “Well, where are they now?”

From the corner of her eye, Natasha catches Yelena looking at her. A mix of emotions crosses Yelena’s face—curiosity, concern, and a brief flash of sadness—before she turns away, staring forward.

“Where is that family now?” Alexei repeats, his voice louder, more insistent.

Unable to face the question any longer, Natasha turns away, focusing on the landscape outside instead.

The ache of loss resurfaces within her, a painful reminder of the bonds she once believed were unbreakable, now torn apart so easily.

As the helicopter continues to slice through the air, the silence between them grows heavier, especially after Natasha discovers that Melina is still working for Dreykov, remotely operating somewhere outside of Saint Petersburg.

With Yelena now at the controls of the helicopter, Natasha takes a moment for herself. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small flip phone—the only possession she hadn’t discarded when she went on the run.

Opening it, she stares at the screen, at the message she’s been fixated on for weeks.

“I love you”

It was the last thing you sent her after she had disappeared.

Natasha swallows nervously before attempting once more to type a response. Her fingers move over the keys, spelling out the same words that appeared on the screen countless times before.

I’m sorry|

But once again, nothing else follows. Frustration wells up inside her as her fingers hesitate, struggling to find the right words.

Instead of clarity, a heavy weight presses down on her—guilt from your last moment together, regret over her actions, and fear of what the future holds for the two of you.

Before she can dwell on it further, the helicopter suddenly lurches, jostling everyone inside.

“Yelena?!” Natasha calls out, her voice filled with alarm.

The blonde-haired Widow nods calmly, her tone casual despite the situation.

“Uh, yeah, the plane’s going down.” She flips a few switches, nodding in confirmation. “Told you we didn’t have enough fuel to get there.”

Groaning in frustration, Natasha quickly tucks the phone away, securing herself as she declares, “Everyone, brace yourselves.”

After a rough landing and leaving the wrecked helicopter behind, they finally arrive at Melina’s home.

The four of them sit awkwardly around the table, a scene eerily reminiscent of how it was many years ago.

Breaking the silence, Alexei exclaims joyfully, “Family! Back together again!”

Natasha rolls her eyes, dismissing his enthusiasm as she tries to stay focused on the mission.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen—”

“Natasha, don’t slouch,” Melina interrupts, her voice carrying a motherly tone.

Blinking in surprise, Natasha straightens slightly, though she couldn’t help but argue, “I’m not slouching.”

“Yes, yes you are,” Melina insists, her tone firm.

“I don’t slouch,” Natasha retorts, irritation creeping into her voice.

“You’re going to get a back hunch,” Melina continues, unfazed by Natasha’s resistance.

Alexei nods in agreement, tapping her arm. “Listen to your mother.”

“All right, enough! All of you,” Natasha snaps, trying to regain control of the situation and her emotions. Her voice is tinged with disbelief at their sudden concern—as if they hadn’t abandoned her and Yelena to the Red Room once their mission was over.

“I didn’t say anything. That’s not fair,” Yelena quips, her tone laced with dry humor.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha tries again, “Here’s what’s going to happen—”

“I don’t want any food,” Yelena complains as Melina places a spoonful onto her plate.

“Eat a little something, Yelena, for God’s sake,” Melina urges, her voice slipping back into the role of a concerned mother.

The constant interruptions and forced familial interactions finally push Natasha over the edge, and her frustration boils over.

“Enough! Stop, just stop pretending to care. Our family was never real,” Natasha snaps, her voice rising. “Nothing about us is real!”

Yelena’s breath catches in her throat at Natasha’s declaration.

“Don’t say that.” Yelena’s frown deepens as she continues, “Please don’t say that. It was real. It was real to me.”

Natasha falters at Yelena’s response, regret immediately washing over her. She hadn’t meant to hurt her sister, but with everything that’s happened in the past weeks, she could no longer control her anger and frustration.

Swallowing hard, Natasha stays silent, her hands clenching in her lap to keep from reaching out to comfort Yelena.

Yelena shakes her head in disbelief, hastily wiping away a stray tear. “The best part of my life was fake,” she exhales deeply, her voice trembling with emotion, “and none of you told me.”

She turns to Natasha, her voice filled with hurt and heavy with accusation. “And you…you got out. Dreykov made sure no one could escape after that. Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Natasha holds Yelena’s gaze for a long, tense moment, the silence between them charged with unspoken pain. Finally, Natasha flinches away, guilt preventing her from finding the right words.

Melina reaches out, placing a comforting hand on Yelena’s shoulder. But Yelena quickly brushes it off, standing abruptly and turning to leave.

“Yelena…” Natasha calls after her, her voice heavy with regret.

Yelena ignores her, slamming the door behind her as she storms out.

“Uh…I’ll go talk to her,” Alexei offers, standing up to follow.

Natasha’s gaze falls, her eyes glaring at the table as the weight of guilt presses down on her chest, almost suffocating her. She suddenly stands, pushing her chair back with a harsh scrape, and quickly leaves the table, heading for the bathroom.

Once inside, she splashes cold water on her face, hoping to wash away the turmoil churning inside her.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, frustration is etched into every line of her face.

Why does it seem like the only thing she’s capable of is hurting those around her?

Natasha can’t even remember what made her believe that someone like her could have a different life—that she could change and be more than what she was trained to be.

Sighing deeply, Natasha leaves the bathroom and returns to the table, only to find that Melina has gone as well.

Unsurprised, Natasha finds herself alone once again. She closes her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. As she does, she recalls how she used to cope with the pain of loneliness, slowly beginning to rebuild the walls around her heart.

But then, a small commotion outside catches her attention.

Moving cautiously, Natasha heads toward the front of the house to investigate. As she reaches the door, she freezes, hearing a familiar voice that stops her in her tracks.

“I’m not here to cause any trouble. I’m just looking for someone.”

Natasha’s brow furrows in recognition, but she quickly shakes her head, dismissing the thought. It can’t be possible.

“The next town is five miles that way,” Melina’s voice responds, cold and unwelcoming.

Curiosity gets the better of her, and Natasha peeks out the door, stepping outside cautiously. Her eyes widen in surprise when they meet yours.

“Nat…” you say softly, taking a hesitant step closer. But before you can move further, Melina raises the gun in her hand, her eyes filled with a clear warning.

“Wait,” Natasha calls out, rushing forward. She places her hand on Melina’s, gently but firmly lowering the weapon. “She’s not a threat.”

“Well, that’s a little offensive,” you remark with a slight glare, crossing your arms.

Natasha gives you a look, silently conveying that she didn’t mean it that way, then turns back to Melina.

“Could you give us a moment?” Natasha asks.

Melina hesitates briefly, her protective gaze lingering on Natasha, but eventually nods. With a wary glance in your direction, she retreats back into the house.

Once alone, Natasha turns to you, her expression conflicted with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“How did you find me?”

“I got worried after the message you sent me,” you explain, pulling out your phone and showing her the screen.

On it is a jumbled message: “I’m sorrywjhsgf”

Natasha grimaces, realizing her fingers must have accidentally pressed some buttons during the helicopter’s turbulent descent. She mentally kicks herself for the unintended message.

“I didn’t mean to send that.”

At her words, your face falls as understanding dawns on you, the light in your eyes dimming.

“Oh,” you mutter quietly, glancing down as you fidget with your phone before tucking it away. You shuffle in place unsurely before turning away with a shake of your head.

“I should just go,” you say, disappointment clear in your voice.

Realizing the misunderstanding she’s caused, Natasha quickly reaches out, catching your arm and turning you back to face her, her words spilling out in a rush.

“Wait, that’s not what I meant,” Natasha blurts out, her voice urgent as she steps closer. “I wanted to say more than just sorry,” she clarifies, hoping you’ll understand.

You pause, your gaze lingering where her hand rests on your arm. Slowly, you pull away, and her hand drops back to her side.

At your distancing action, Natasha’s heart pounds painfully in her chest as she realizes how much she’s risked by not reaching out sooner and letting her fears and insecurities get in the way of what truly matters.

She braces herself for the inevitable.

But instead of leaving, you surprise her by simply crossing your arms and waiting, a silent gesture that tells her you’re willing to listen.

Natasha exhales, only now realizing she’d been holding her breath. The familiar way you look at her, unchanged from before, causes the walls she’d been building to crumble.

Taking a deep breath, she begins to speak.

“You have every right to be angry with me,” she says, her voice tinged with guilt. Natasha hesitates, searching for the right words to express the turmoil inside her, still struggling to find herself amidst all the chaos.

“There’s so much more I need to say,” she continues, her voice softening, almost pleading. “But the problem is that I haven’t figured it all out yet. What I do know, though—” she pauses, her eyes locking onto yours, searching for any hint of hope, “—is that I don’t want you to leave.”

When she finishes, your expression remains unreadable.

Natasha bites her lip, anxiety twisting in her stomach as she watches you contemplate her words. Being this vulnerable is unfamiliar territory for her, and it terrifies her more than she’s willing to admit.

“Please don’t go,” she whispers, a final, desperate plea, hoping it’s enough to convey the depth of her true feelings.

You look up at the sky, exhaling softly as if weighing your options.

When your gaze finally meets hers again, a small, playful smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You gesture toward the house, the tension easing as a lighter tone returns to your voice.

“New friends?” you ask, the warmth in your tone bringing a small smile to Natasha’s face.

Natasha chuckles lightly, the pressure in her chest easing at your familiar banter.

“More like an old, broken family.”

You hum thoughtfully, your teasing grin softening into a more sympathetic expression.

“So, not much different,” you remark, referencing the fractured state of the Avengers.

Natasha sighs sadly, her smile fading at the reminder of her situation.

“What should I do?” she asks, her voice tinged with the uncertainty she’s been trying so hard to conceal.

It feels as though no matter what she does, nothing ever changes. She pretends to have all the answers, but deep down, she knows the truth is far from that.

“Whatever you feel is right,” you respond without hesitation, your confidence in her unwavering.

Natasha scoffs softly, a flicker of disbelief crossing her features as she hesitates. Her eyes meet yours, searching for reassurance.

“And what makes you so sure I’ll make the right choice?” she asks, her voice revealing the doubt that lingers deep within her.

You take a moment to consider your response before stepping closer, gently cupping her face in your hands.

“Because after everything you’ve been through, you’ve still kept your heart,” you say with quiet conviction, your thumb gently brushing her cheek as you lean your forehead against hers.

“That’s how I know you’ll figure this out, too,” you add, your voice filled with certainty.

Your words settle over Natasha, bringing a sense of calm to her chaotic thoughts. For the first time in a long while, she feels a glimmer of hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, she can find her way through this mess and everything else, too.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Avenger Compound, Upstate New York – 2018

Natasha sits on the edge of the bed in her old room at the Avengers Compound, watching you as you methodically strap on your gear and check your weapons.

The room is dimly lit, shadows playing along the walls, and the tension from the past few hours hangs heavily in the air.

Her leg bounces with nervous energy, worry gnawing at her. She presses her palms together, fidgeting with her fingers, before dropping her gaze to the floor and releasing a soft, scared sigh.

But the fear isn’t for herself.

“You can still go, you know,” Natasha mutters softly, her voice barely breaking the silence.

You hum in acknowledgment, not pausing in your preparation, the sound of buckles and straps filling the room.

“Do you want me to?” you ask over your shoulder, your tone casual, almost too casual for the weight of the question.

Natasha huffs, recognizing your familiar deflection, and shakes her head.

With Bruce’s dire warning about the impending battle with Thanos and his army still echoing in her mind, she can’t help the fear that tightens her chest as she looks at the person who has chosen to stand by her side, time and time again.

“I want you safe,” Natasha admits, her voice trembling with the honesty of her words.

“Good, I feel the same about you,” you reply, turning to face her, your expression softening as you take in the sight of her.

“I’m serious. This isn’t like anything we’ve faced before,” Natasha warns, her eyes pleading with yours to understand.

“Which means you’ll need all the help you can get,” you say, stepping closer until you’re standing right in front of her.

Natasha twists her lips, frustrated by the truth in your words. She looks away, trying to hide the turmoil in her eyes.

But you won’t let her retreat.

You gently catch her chin with your finger, guiding her face back to yours as you lean down to press a soft, lingering kiss against her lips.

Natasha’s eyes flutter shut as she returns the kiss, her hand instinctively finding the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if she can anchor herself in the warmth of your touch.

When you finally pull away, Natasha bites her lip lightly, trying to hold onto the warmth for just a moment longer.

You rest your forehead against hers, and she finally opens her eyes, meeting yours with a rare vulnerability she shows only to you.

“Are you scared?” you ask softly, your voice laced with the same fear gnawing at her.

Natasha’s eyes roam across your face, memorizing every detail as if it might be the last time she sees you.

“Terrified,” she admits, her voice raw with emotion.

“Me too,” you say, a small, reassuring smile tugging at your lips as your thumb gently caresses her cheek.

“Are you going to leave?” you ask, even though Natasha’s sure you already know the answer.

The Avengers are her family. Imperfect and flawed, but they always strive to make the world a safer place—to do what’s right. She would never abandon them when they need her most.

“No,” she responds, her voice filled with determined resolve.

You smile knowingly at her response, your gaze drifting around the room as a look of nostalgia washes over you.

The soft, wistful look in your eyes tells Natasha that you’re recalling the memories of all the times the two of you spent together in this space.

When you meet Natasha’s gaze again, a playful smile tugs at your lips.

“Do you still love me?” you ask teasingly.

Natasha huffs in mock offense, the corner of her lips twitching into a half-smile. You can’t help but chuckle at her reaction, raising a brow in amusement.

“Well?” you whisper, your voice low as you lean in closer, your breath warm against her skin, your hands resting gently on her shoulders.

Instead of answering, Natasha wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you in until you’re straddling her, your knees pressing into the bed on either side of her.

The bed dips slightly under your combined weight, and Natasha holds you close, her hands firm yet gentle on your waist.

“I love you,” Natasha breathes out, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t want to lose you.”

You cup her face in your hands, your eyes filled with love and adoration as you give her a reassuring smile.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reaffirm, your voice steady and full of the certainty she needs to hear.

You lower yourself onto her, gently guiding her down to lie back against the bed, your lips meeting hers in a tender kiss.

You had said it with such conviction that Natasha can’t help but believe you, just as she always has.

But how could she have known that after this battle, for the first time ever, it wouldn’t be true?

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Vomir – 2023

They say that when someone is about to die, their life flashes before their eyes—a rapid montage of memories, achievements, failures, regrets, and the relationships that mattered most.

For Natasha, the idea of her life flashing before her eyes seems almost laughable. Her early years are a blur of pain, manipulation, and control—years she would rather forget than relive.

The truth is, her real life didn’t begin until much later.

If Natasha had to pinpoint the exact moment, it would be when she found herself face-to-face with the sharp point of an arrow—the moment she met the first person to see something in her worth saving when she had seen nothing in herself.

That was the moment she was given the chance to truly live.

Her mind floods with memories of the life she built after that fateful encounter—a life she had never imagined for herself, filled with friends, laughter, and moments of unexpected warmth.

She remembers the first time she allowed herself to trust again, to let people in despite the walls she had built around her heart.

With all their quirks and flaws, the Avengers became the family she never knew she needed. They challenged her, frustrated her, and made her feel alive in ways she had never thought possible.

But it wasn’t always easy. Natasha recalls the arguments, the disagreements, and the moments when it seemed like they were tearing apart at the seams.

However, no matter how far they drifted, they always found their way back to each other.

She learned to fight for them, to fight for herself, and to fight for something greater than her past.

And then there were those who reached out from her previous life, some seeking assistance, some seeking redemption. Even then, Natasha chose to rebuild those broken bonds of the past.

Yet, among all these memories, one person stands out more than any other.

That person was there at every pivotal moment in her life—whether she was on the verge of giving up or standing tall in the face of adversity. Through the highs and lows, they were her constant, the one who saw her for who she truly was and loved her all the more for it.

In her final moments, Natasha’s mind doesn’t dwell on her victories or her failures.

Instead, she sees your face, the one constant in her life that brought her peace and happiness.

Natasha remembers the way you looked at her, with eyes that held no judgment, only love. She recalls the way your touch calmed her, the way your presence made her feel safe in a world that had always been hostile.

As she falls, Natasha realizes that this connection is what matters most. It’s not the battles or the missions that define her, but the love she found in the most unexpected place.

And as the darkness closes in, the last thing she sees is you, a symbol of everything she has fought for and everything she has come to cherish.

Her final breath is taken not in fear but in peace, knowing that she lived a life worth remembering—a life filled with love, friendship, and purpose.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Cemetery, Ohio — 2023

“If you passed away, who would sit at your grave the longest?”

Natasha had asked you that question once.

At the time, you couldn’t come up with a definite answer, so you had turned the question back to her.

You remember the way her lips curved into a small, wistful smile as she considered it, her eyes reflecting a depth of sadness you had only glimpsed before.

“I don’t know,” she had replied, her voice soft but honest, as if she had long accepted that was her inevitable fate.

Natasha could not come up with an answer then, but you did.

“Who would sit at her grave the longest?”

You didn’t need any time to think about the answer. Many people could rightfully fill that role.

To Melina and Alexei, she was their beloved daughter, the one who had been torn from them too soon, only to return with a strength and resolve that made them proud.

To Yelena, she was her cherished sister—a mentor, a protector, the person who had sacrificed so much to ensure Yelena had a chance at a real life, free from the chains of the Red Room.

To the Avengers, she was a valued teammate and friend, the glue that held them together through the darkest times. She was their moral compass, the one who always found a way to do what was right, even when the cost was high.

To the world, she was a hero, a symbol of resilience and redemption. The Black Widow, who had fought for a better future, leaving a legacy that would inspire generations to come.

To you…she was everything.

Your fingers trace the delicate grooves of her engraved name, feeling the weight of every memory, every moment you had shared.

You stood by her side through nearly all of it—the battles, the victories, the losses. You had seen her at her best and at her worst, through moments of triumph and times of doubt.

You loved her fiercely, from strangers to friends to something so much more.

She was the woman who had shown you the strength of vulnerability, the power of redemption, and the courage to love despite the risks.

In the end, you were right about all those who would come to see her, to pay their respects to the woman who had become an important part of their lives.

But they would all eventually leave, returning to their own lives, their own battles. They would remember her, yes, but they would move on.

But not you.

“So, who would sit at Natasha’s grave the longest?”

That answer was clear.

“You would. Now and forever.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: this one was really long so if you made it to the end in one go, kudos for you and thank you for taking the time to read it!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff

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themakeupbrush · 9 months ago

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coraorvat · 2 years ago

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Based on my gaming experience, so might need some explaining: right after the Disco Elysium Jamais Vu update, when I first discovered that Kim can get different icon and jacket, there weren't yet any clear instructions how exactly to make it happen. The only two discussions I found online on the subject said that it's connected to Get Kim to Wear *The Jacket* achievement (implying Pissf****t one), but how precisely to get it was unclear and ‘possibly bugged, you might need to try several times’ yadda yadda (and after encountering the Pigs bug it didn’t sound that far-fetched).

Without going into many details my stubborn ass had to do three whole runs (not counting multiple reloads and replays) before finally figuring out you simply have to finish entire game in a hard-core mode (no need to bother with piss jacket at all). So when I FINALLY, after several weeks, on the verge of desperation hurried down and saw Kim in the new jacket, me and Harry both practically weeped from joy~ *to the point I was genuinely surprised there's no dialogue to aknowledge the change (and after all of the self-imposed sufferring I kinda needed one, so...here we are)

#Disco Elysium #harrier du bois #Kim Kitsuragi #my art #Harry actually has a tiny-winy chance to pass this check #and I have a whole comic roughly sketched when he does #but I also procrastinated finishing this one for half a year #so yeah don't wait for any miracles #motivation is hard to come by these days #me to myself: please please don't make Harry look like Gerard Depardieu again #me: *opens google images* phew still safe

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fireya-x · 2 months ago

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AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

John Price x Reader

Your husband, Captain John Price, insists on teaching you how to shoot at the range. But you soon realize that his instructions involve a lot more than just handling a gun.

[4k+ words]

cw: piv sex, spanking, light dom/sub

“Remember what I just told you,” John said, and your grip around the cool material of the gun you held grew tighter. It was a foreign object in your hands, and even though you’d just received detailed instructions on how to hold and handle it, it didn’t feel right. You’d hesitantly taken it from his hands, and felt something unexpected, as if accepting a dangerous secret from him. It felt intimate, like a shared moment of vulnerability. He entrusted you with this part of himself, this dangerous expertise, never doubting for a second that you would accept it.

Then there you were, in the middle of a shooting range, and John was moving through the facility as comfortable as he was moving through your own living room. You’d been to the base a few times, of course, meeting teammates and other partners, but never with the intention to hold a weapon.

You’d told him, more than once, that you wanted no part in this side of his life. That ignorance was your safe haven, your way of pretending that the man you loved could leave the battlefield behind. But deep down, you knew it was a lie. John Price, for all his tenderness, for all the quiet moments of domesticity you’d built a life around, was a soldier to his very core. He breathed and lived it as long as his heart pumped blood through his veins.

It was in the way he moved, precise and controlled, and it was in the way he touched you – possessive, protective, as if you were the most precious weapon in his arsenal.

He insisted it was for your own safety. “You need to be able to protect yourself, love,” he’d said. But you saw right through it. This wasn't about you. It was about him. About the nightmares that lingered in his eyes, the enemies he'd made in a life you couldn't begin to comprehend. This was his way of ensuring that no matter what happened, no matter how far apart duty tore you, he could rest easy knowing you had a fighting chance. It bordered on paranoid, the lengths he’d go to protect you – the home security systems, the calls to his former teammates, the subtle checks whenever you were out alone. But beneath all that, you saw the love, and you wouldn’t deny him this. You’d never shied away from his darkness, the stories he’d told that both terrified and fascinated you.

It was all part of the complex man that was John Price: both a trained, lethal weapon and a caring, loving husband.

Gentle but ruthless. Controlled, but capable of destruction. Dangerous in ways you probably never could even begin to understand, but you felt safer with him than you ever had alone.

He was a walking oxymoron.

“I’ve never even held a gun before, John.” You admitted, your words echoing through the vastness of the range, uncertain how to explain the weird mix of emotions you were feeling.

“I know,” he said, his lips curving into that half-smile. “And I can see you hesitating, and that’s the correct first step, love. Respect is most important.”

He’d guided you to a secluded booth, the table stocked with more ammunition than you’d ever expected to see outside a warzone. He’d shown you how to hold the pistol, how to check the chamber, reload the magazine and how to disable security. He’d shown you the stance, the subtle shift of weight so that the recoil wouldn’t punch you in the gut, and told you that it’s best to use both hands to aim, to steady yourself.

“Finger off the trigger, sweetheart,” he suddenly instructed, his tone serious. You hadn’t even realized you’d moved it, your finger was hovering over the trigger with reckless curiosity, and you couldn't quite explain why. "Only put it on there if you really mean to take a shot.”

He put his hands above yours on the grip of the pistol, then chuckled lightly. “Loosen up a little. Don’t make that a habit.” He then grabbed your elbow and lifted it up a little, so gentle, it was a weird contradiction to how controlled he moved around the shooting range like he was never meant to be anywhere else.

He stepped back, giving you just enough space to breathe, to remember you weren’t his soldier to command. But he could tell you still weren’t sure about your stance.

“Want me to show you?” He gestured to the target at the end of the range – a silhouette that seemed eerily human-shaped in the dim light.

You nodded, surrendering the weapon and retreating to a safe distance as John stepped forward, his movements fluid, almost graceful, belying the lethality he embodied.

He pushed the safety lever off with a sharp click. You could almost feel the energy in the air shift. You saw his hand gripping the weapon as it became more serious and alive, like not just a tool, but an extension of him.

John raised the gun. You were captivated, your gaze tracing the line of his arm, the flex of his bicep beneath the fabric of his shirt. It shouldn’t have been so mesmerizing, watching him handle a weapon clearly meant to kill, and yet, you couldn't tear your eyes away.

His stance was relaxed, almost casual. He didn't even flinch as he pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed in the silence, sharp and startling. You flinched involuntarily at the sound. It wasn’t that you weren’t expecting it – but there was something different, something almost intimate, about watching him handle a weapon with such lethal grace, such unflinching control.

There was no time to feel anything but awe as John lowered the weapon, his eyes fixed on you. The air was thick, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Now you,” he said as he clicked the safety back on and stepped aside. He didn’t need to say anything more. You were ready, he had made sure of that, and he was waiting to see if you would rise to the challenge.

“Downrange, safety off,” you muttered to yourself, remembering his words. Your finger found the safety, disengaging it with a soft click that felt overly loud in the quiet space. You tried to replicate the stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, a slight bend in your knees that made your thighs ache. Taking a deep breath, you raised the pistol, lined the sights up on the target at the far end of the range, ignoring the tremor in your arms, and squeezed the trigger.

The shot caught you completely off guard. The recoil was sharper, more violent than you'd expected. It jolted your entire body, throwing you off balance. You stumbled back, a startled yelp escaping your throat before you could help yourself, the heavy weight of the gun almost slipping from your grasp.

You missed the target entirely.

“Easy, love, easy,” John's voice, calm and steady, was right beside your ear. You hadn’t even registered his approach, your senses still reeling from the gunshot, the adrenaline that spiked through you sharp and bitter on your tongue.

You hadn't realized you'd stopped breathing until his hand settled on your waist, his touch firm yet reassuring through the fabric of your shirt, steadying you. Your body leaned into his warmth, seeking comfort, and found it in the solid presence that had always been your haven in the storm.

“Don't fight it,” he murmured. “It’s not about forcing the shot. You need to work with it. Let it flow.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, but you didn’t try to pull away. His closeness was more reassuring than you wanted to admit, the solid weight of him a stark contrast to the unexpected power of the gun. You’d felt this way before, countless times: small beside his strength, intimidated but inexplicably drawn to the same danger that made you feel so vulnerable.

“Again,” he commanded softly, ignoring your remark, as his hand tightened momentarily on your hip. You couldn’t disobey, even if you’d wanted to. His other hand covered yours on the gun.

You tried to recall the stance he’d demonstrated, to feel more confident, but it felt awkward. Your body was tense, and you cursed the way your heart hammered against your ribs.

“You have to relax, darling,” John murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

He leaned closer, his chest a wall of heat at your back as his hand moved from your hip to settle on the small of your back. “Don't let that little gun take all the control,” he whispered, his fingers splaying against your spine as he adjusted your posture, holding you steady. “It's not about brute strength. Lean into it, find the balance.”

His heat seeped into you, chasing away the chill of the shooting range and replacing it with a heat that centred between your legs, a yearning you hadn't anticipated. His touch was doing things to your senses, sending a jolt of something hot and reckless straight through you.

You could feel his fingers, calloused and rough, brushing against yours as he made you hold the gun right.

“See, like that – now, the grip –” You could hear the amusement in his voice, the way he seemed to savour your discomfort. He wasn’t going to make this easy for you, and something in you – something wild and hungry – revelled in the challenge. His fingers traced a searing path down your arm, his touch lingering for a heartbeat on your wrist as he guided your hand.

“Use your wrist – just like that –” You shivered as his breath ghosted across your ear. “That’s it. That’s how you hold it. It's all about control.” He pressed closer, your bodies moulding together.

His hand covered yours on the gun again, overlapping it as you held the weapon together. This different kind of intimacy touch sent a spark down your spine, scorching away every last thought, as you tried to focus on the instructions. “Now pull the trigger.”

You did. And this time, you hit the target. The bullet tore through the paper silhouette, a testament to his guidance, his control.

It was impossible to ignore how close he was. His fingers grazed your back, sending a shiver through you, and then – oh, God – you felt it, the insistent pressure of his knee between your thighs, adjusting your stance, bracing you.

“Feet apart, love,” he murmured, his voice husky as his knee nudged you wider, his hand a steady pressure on the small of your back. You felt like a toy in his hands.

You fired again. This time, it was a little closer to the target, but still far away from the bullseye.

“That’s better,” he murmured, but there was an edge to his amusement now, something heated. You tried to ignore the pressure of him against you.

“Look at that target, focus on the sights, love.” He shifted, his lips finding the delicate skin beneath your ear, and you sucked in a breath. He was doing this deliberately now, pushing your buttons, testing your limits, and the worst part was that he knew you were powerless to resist.

You fired again. Same corner.

“That’s not good enough.” His lips hovered over your pulse. “Hit the target and you’ll be rewarded. Hmm? How’s that sound?”

A familiar heat built in your belly. The knee that was still holding your stance steady felt way too prominent. This position did nothing to hide his arousal, either.

You focused on the sights, tried lining it up with the middle of the target. The shockwave was not completely absorbed by John’s strength as he held you, and you were shoved back against his chest. You hit the target's neck.

“Good girl,” he said. “You’re a fast learner.”

Every time he’d utter that phrase, every time he brushed his fingers against your hand as he guided you, it was like a surge of heat coursing through your veins. You were flustered, struggling to keeop your focus.

“Stop it,” you pleaded. “You’re distracting me.”

You aimed again, after he’d adjusted your stance, his breath ghosting over your neck as he leaned close to make a correction. “Yes, just like that.”

That was your undoing, each word he said was laced with a playful, knowing intent. His hands guided you, but it wasn’t about the gun, or the lessons, it was all about the feel of him close to you.

You fumbled, almost dropping the gun.

“What’s wrong?” He laughed.

Your cheeks burned. “I –I can’t concentrate.”

You were so lost in showing him that you could do this, you didn’t realize what he started to do. Lips on your neck, and his hand suddenly slowly snaked below the waistband of your gym shorts.

You froze. “John! Isn’t this place covered in cameras?”

“Made sure they’re out of order tonight.” He leans in a little closer as if to whisper it in your ear, his breath warmer than the summer air. “It would take so much paperwork to have you here otherwise. Besides, my wife deserves a private lesson from her husband.”

You shuddered at the words, at the implied claim in them. You aimed again, but missed.

A sharp sting on your backside made you gasp, a sound that morphed into a startled moan as you registered what had just happened. He'd spanked you. It shouldn't have been arousing, not here, not now, yet a thrill shot through you as much at the audacity of it as the sensation itself.

“Do I have to punish you for missing shots?” He sounded so deceptively soft, sending a shiver down to the place where his knee still pressed insistent between your thighs. He was fully aroused, you realized, a thrill shooting through you at the knowledge, the feeling of it a branding iron against your overheated skin.

“Wasting ammo like that?” He punctuated the question with another swat, harder this time, his hand lingering on your ass, his fingers flexing as though torn between wanting to punish you further and pulling you impossibly closer.

It was impossible to think straight, let alone concentrate on lining up the damn shot.

“J-John,” you stammered, hating the way your voice sounded – breathless, needy – even as you pressed back against him, seeking out the heat that radiated off him in waves, making your head spin. You were caught in a delicious, dangerous game, and the only way to win was to surrender completely.

But you weren’t quite there yet. You needed to hit this damn shot. Pride warred with something hotter, wilder, as you struggled to ignore the insistent pressure of his erection against your backside.

Just as you thought you could regain some semblance of focus, his other hand, the one that had rested so innocently below the waistband of your shorts, began to descend further. It was a slow, deliberate movement, and then you felt it – a finger, rough-tipped and insistent, slipping between your folds.

Pleasure shot through you like a bullet, so unexpected and potent that your entire body went rigid. You bit back a moan, the sound dying in your throat as you clenched around his intruding digit, the ache that bloomed low in your belly a thousand times more distracting than any recoil.

“Again,” he commanded, his voice low and hot against your ear, as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening, as if his fingers weren’t actively attacking your most sensitive flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. He held all the cards in this game he'd initiated. And you were a willing participant, your body already betraying you, arching unconsciously against his touch, seeking out the friction he so expertly offered even as you tried to focus on the task at hand.

You lined up the sights again, his scent filling your senses, so distracting and so dangerously addictive that it had you clinging to him, desperate for something you couldn't quite name. The barrel wavered as a tremor ran through you, and you swore you heard his breath hitch as your hips moved against him.

“Close,” John breathed, and you felt as his fingers snaked further along your folds. You gasped as a finger slowly pushed into you. “Good girl.” His other hand had a tight grip on your hip, his fingers digging into the flesh as though he’d hold you there forever, trapped between pleasure and denial. “But not there yet, love. Again.”

The shot, when it came, was pathetic. The recoil almost knocked the gun from your grasp. The bullet ricocheted off somewhere, you weren't even sure where it landed. It hardly mattered.

Another sharp swat of John’s hand against your ass. It should’ve stung, but all you felt was the heat of him, the pressure of his body against yours. His other hand, the one driving you wild with each deliberate stroke, didn't stop even as you whimpered, your hips rocking back instinctively against his touch, seeking relief, release.

“Concentrate, love,” he growled.

But how could you? How could you possibly focus on anything but the insistent ache that throbbed between your legs?

“John, please,” you breathed, arching against his touch, shamelessly seeking more. “Just – just let me –” The words dissolved into a whimper as his fingers found that sensitive bud of flesh and squeezed, not cruelly, not yet, but with enough force to make you gasp, your inner thighs clenching involuntarily.

“Then hit the bloody mark, love,” he commanded, his voice rough with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, a tremor running through his words as though he were fighting for control just as hard as you were.

You squeezed your eyes shut against the wave of frustration – no, need – that pulsed low in your belly. The pressure of his erection against your backside was a constant torment, a promise of a release he seemed determined to deny you.

“Again,” John barked, his control finally snapping as his hips twitched against you. His touch, the way he moved against you, fuelled a fire in your veins hotter than anything you'd ever experienced. It was intoxicating, terrifying, and utterly addictive.

You were a moth drawn to his flame, even knowing you were destined to be burned.

You squeezed your eyes shut as his touch sent another jolt through you. “Please, just –”

“Hit. The. Mark.” He growled, teeth clenched, while moving his hips against you, seeking friction for his own arousal.

You wanted to scream, to sob, to demand he touch you properly, to take what you were aching for. But some primal instinct – some deep-seated need to please him – had you straightening, lifting the pistol with shaking hands.

You tried to concentrate, blocking out the burning heat of his hands, the feel of his erection hard and demanding against your backside, the way his every ragged breath whispered against your ear, fuelling the fire he'd ignited within you. Your mind was a fog of need, your senses overloaded, but the promise of release, that sweet reward only he held the power to give - it was a drug more potent than anything you'd ever imagined.

Lining up the pistol again, you forced your vision to clear, found the target through the haze of arousal, and squeezed the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot, the feel of the recoil, your own ragged gasp of surprise - it all blended into one overwhelming sensation as time slowed, distorted. And then strong hands were on you, urging you forward with a force that stole your breath, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when the need to be touched, to feel him everywhere, was an inferno consuming every other thought.

You hadn’t even registered what had happened until you caught a glimpse of the target -

Headshot.

You'd hit the mark.

You barely had time to process your victory before the gun was taken from your hands and safely put away - then you were tumbling forward, the world tilting, the cool surface of the table a shock against your heated skin as John's weight pressed you down, his chest a solid wall at your back.

The clatter of the spare ammo as it scattered across the floor was the only warning you got before he moved. You gasped, the sound muffled against the cold metal, your senses reeling as he yanked your shorts and panties down in one swift, brutal motion, baring you to the cool air, to his gaze, which you could feel burning into you.

He didn't waste his breath on anything but a low growl as he shifted, the sudden sound of a belt buckle ringing in your ears. His weight was pressing you deeper into the table, his erection, hard and insistent, nudging at your entrance. And then, in one swift, possessive thrust, he filled you, the force of it stealing what was left of your sanity, chasing away everything but the all-consuming need to feel him move, to feel him claim you as his.

The world shrunk to the feel of him: him anchoring you to the table, the possessive grip of his hand on your hip, holding you still as he moved within you. His thrusts were deep, powerful, each one a delicious torment that had you arching into him, crying out his name against the cold metal of the table.

“That's it, love,” he growled, his voice thick and primal, something that went far beyond the controlled man you thought you knew.

You suddenly felt his entire weight hovering above your back, slowing pressing your full body into the table. The angle changed, and his movements became more intense. You felt his teeth graze your earlobe, and then he murmured against your skin. “You’re mine. All mine. Say it .”

“Yours,” you gasped, the word a broken plea. The hand on your hip felt like a hot brand against your skin, as if it was marking you, claiming you in a way that went far beyond reason. “Please, John –”

“Please what, darling?” He chuckled, a low, rough sound against your ear, but his hips never stuttered, never slowed their relentless rhythm. “Tell me. What do you need?”

“You ,” you sobbed, the need, raw and desperate, clawing its way out of you with every thrust.

As if he sensed you nearing the precipice, the edge of control he’d deliberately pushed you towards, John shifted. The pressure of his chest eased, but before you could mourn the loss of his warmth, his free hand shot out, fingers closing around the back of your neck, not cruelly, but with an unquestionable force that demanded obedience.

He lifted you from the table, and then his mouth was on yours. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, not with your bodies angled as they were, but it was possessive, desperate. The scrape of his beard against your cheek was a delicious torment, and you couldn't help but press closer, seeking more, needing to be closer still.

“I’m yours, my love,” he rasped, his breath hot and uneven against your cheek. “You have me.”

You met his gaze, those ice-blue eyes were smoldering with a need that mirrored your own, and something reckless, almost feral, took hold of you.

“Then fuck me like you own me,” you breathed.

The effect was instantaneous. He didn't just snap, he shattered. The control that was as much a part of him as his own skin, gone. Vaporized. The growl that ripped from his throat had no semblance of human restraint left in it, the sound raw, feral, echoing dangerously in the silence of the range. You might have been his wife, but at that moment, you were something far more elemental: his to claim, his to conquer, his to brand so deeply with pleasure and pain that you'd never forget who you belonged to.

And he moved like it too: a rough shove pressed you back against the table, his hands grabbed yours, pulling them back, restraining you.

Your whole body trembled as his cock thrust so deep, so utterly possessing, that you cried out.

“John!” – a plea, a prayer, you weren’t sure.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” The words were a gasped groan, torn from him as his hips moved against yours, stroking a spot deep inside you that throbbed with desperate need. You whimpered, and your hands clenched into fists against your back as pleasure shot through you.

You instinctively began to meet his thrusts, your hips rocking back against him, seeking out the friction that sent sparks of need through your overloaded senses. It earned you a growl of approval.

��Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, the words a litany against your ear. He sounded like a man possessed.

“Please, John,” you whimpered, grinding your hips against him, desperate for that friction, that release. But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. You needed more, needed his hands, needed him. “Touch me, I –”

You didn’t need to finish the plea. He heard it. He felt it, the tremor in your voice, the way your slick heat tightened around him, urging him closer to the edge.

His fingers were tracing the curve of your waist, reaching around below your belly and slowly started to pry apart your folds. His fingers were on your clit again, and a sound that was both a cry and a sigh left your lips. You were drowning in sensation, and it was glorious.

“Mmm, that’s it, love,” he rasped, the words a broken groan as his fingers stroked, circled, teased. “Come on my cock. For me.”

You felt it then, with the help of his touch – that sweet, white-hot bliss that washed over you, causing your legs to tremble and your cunt to contract around his cock. He groaned, so deep and primal it shook you to your core. Your orgasm shattered every last bit of control in him, the feeling of you losing yourself pushed him over the edge, too. You felt that familiar throb in your pussy, the way he painted your walls with his come, hot and thick. His fingers dug so deep into your skin you were sure they'd leave marks.

And you wouldn’t mind. You were his, after all.

He finally released you, his hands leaving yours. “Nice shot, love. You just needed the right motivation.” He chuckled, and you felt as he pulled up your panties and put your pants back into their place. His hand ghost over your pussy through the fabric. “Keep me in there,” he whispered. “Consider it your reward.”

You slowly straightened your back as you stood, your gaze meeting his, and you shook your head in disbelief, a smirk playing on your lips. “Is that an order from a captain? Or a request from my husband?”

“Both.” He grunted, as he finished buckling his belt.

You tilted your head slightly, stepping closer to him. “Well, then. If this is shooting training, we need to do that more often.”

He froze, his eyes shooting to meet yours. “Don't make me have to explain why so much footage from the security feed is missing.” His expression sobered, that playful glint fading as he added, voice low and serious, “But seriously, love, you did good. We'll keep practising, alright?”

You nodded, and then he closed the distance between you. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away some smudged lipstick at the corner of your mouth. “I'm proud of you, you know,” he whispered, and before you could reply, he leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was surprisingly tender. There was no demanding heat this time, no desperate urgency - just the taste of him, and the lingering warmth where his come pooled between your thighs, a silent, undeniable reminder of exactly who you belonged to.

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pastafossa · 1 month ago

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"From A Squirt Gun, With Love" (Bucky Barnes x F!Reader, Fic)

Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 5's prompt: water gun fight. It's also been a while since I've written for my favorite super soldier, so today's prompt is for Bucky Barnes! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! Side note, once I've got more these will all be edited a bit more and placed on my AO3, so if you lose one, just keep an eye out over there!

Ship: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: some suggestive dialogue and innuendo

You couldn’t afford another mistake.

He’d been hunting you for at least an hour now, stalking you determinedly through the corridors of the compound and the manicured gardens outside. He’d already nailed you half a dozen times. And much to your disbelief, one of those times was because he’d somehow managed to find his way up into the air vents where he could track you unseen. You’d done your best to at least make it a challenge for him, relying on a variety of traps you’d managed to set up ahead of time, but it hadn’t done you as much good as you’d hoped, your hit count a measly two against his six. And now? Now you were running low on ammunition, and just as low on workable options. What was worse, he’d cornered you in the garage. You’d been able to tuck yourself beneath an SUV before he could see you, but there was only one exit—one currently being monitored by your annoyingly precise marksman of a boyfriend.

You held your breath at the quiet scrape of heavy combat boots scuffing against the concrete floor. If you had to guess, he was wandering around about two rows over and off to your left. He could have bent over and just scanned beneath the cars immediately, but he was enjoying this far too much to let it end that easily. He was toying with you, dragging things out now that he had you boxed in.

“I know you’re in here, doll,” came his low chuckle. “Come on out, and I’ll go easy on you. Besides, you gotta be soaked by now, and not in the fun way. But I can change that for you if you want. All you gotta do is pop that pretty head up for me.”

Not a chance.

You weren’t going down without a fight.

You clutched your water gun tighter, checking the glowing tactical display—you hadn’t even known high-tech water guns existed until Bucky had dropped one into your hands with a grin. “If my girl wants a water gun fight, we’re gettin’ a water gun fight.”

And what you saw wasn’t good.

Shit.

You were down to eighteen percent tank capacity. Anywhere else in the compound, you might have had a chance to reload with one of the buckets you’d both scattered around, but you’d forgotten to put one in the garage. If you didn’t get him with your next shot, you were done.

“The fact that you’re not out here shootin’ at me like before tells me you’re low.” His voice sounded different now: higher up, and a bit more distant. Had he… climbed on top of the cars? “You need more practice. I’ll admit, I was proud of you when you got that ass shot in, but that ain’t happenin’ again. My turn to get your ass now, darlin’. You gonna give me what’s mine?”

You sucked your lower lip for a moment before carefully edging your way forward, water gun held in front of you just in case he decided to pull a horror movie move and drop into view. It wasn’t easy. The goddamn water gun was shaped more like a shotgun than a super soaker, clunky and a bitch to drag around. The upside was it had an automatic reload so you didn’t have to worry about making any noise while pumping the gun. Its range was good for a water gun, around twenty feet, but not good enough that you could shoot Bucky at distance. You’d need to get close.

One of the cars down the row creaked, tires groaning, presumably as your massive super soldier of a boyfriend strolled along the top of the cars like they were paving stones. That he wasn’t bothering to be silent was… unusual.

“Here, kitty kitty,” he purred, his voice growing fainter as he wandered down towards the other end of the garage. “Where’s my pretty girl gone?”

On the one hand, you enjoyed hearing that tone from him, playful and relaxed, warm and content. He’d grown pretty comfortable with you, open and affectionate, over the time you’d known him. That comfort, that openness with you had only blossomed further as your relationship had morphed into something romantic. But even so, it was still unusual for him to let go like this just so he could have fun. It was progress, and that knowledge filled your heart with a sparkling warmth.

But you also couldn’t help but be the least bit suspicious, because it would be absolutely like him to use his voice and playful tone to distract you from something.

You froze again when a pair of boots suddenly appeared on the concrete in front of you, landing without a sound—you’d been right; all the sound a minute ago had been to try to lure you out, make you think he was farther away than he really was. You didn’t dare move, not when the slightest sound might give you away. Slowly, the boots shifted on the concrete as he turned one way, and then the other. Waiting for you to make a run for it.

But he’d taught you better than that.

There was the softest, quietest little huff of amusement, or maybe pride, instead. But instead of heading off, he began to kneel.

Shit, shit, shit—

He was going to duck down and look under the car. He knew you were here, he had to. He had to. Could you shift the angle of your water gun before he leaned down and saw you—

Fortunately for you, it became clear a second later that he was only lowering himself into a crouch. You stilled again in the shadows beneath the SUV, your gun still aimed cautiously at his legs.

Speaking of which, you had a really good view of his thighs at this angle. With him crouched the way he was, his thighs looked even thicker than usual, deliciously hard muscle covered in old denim. The round curve of his ass looked just as good where he filled out his jeans, though the dark splotch on the tight fabric made you grin. It was a testament to one of the only two shots you’d managed to hit him with. Sure, he’d shot you twice in the ass in retaliation, but it had been absolutely worth it.

He settled onto the balls of his feet, rocking a little back and forth. You heard a soft whir, before his metal hand appeared in your view. Your heart skipped a beat, a droplet of maybe-water-maybe-sweat rolling down your temple. Only… his hand didn’t appear to be going for you like you’d expected. Instead, it slipped down to the concrete. One metal fingertip gleaming in the fluorescent lighting, it brushed lightly at the droplets of water drying on the concrete.

Fresh droplets.

From you.

Crap.

His head appeared beneath the SUV as he leaned over to meet your eye. Then he flashed you a feral grin. “Hi doll,” he said smugly. “Hi Bucky. I love you,” you said fondly, and shot him in the face.

His head reared back as he spat out a curse, frantically swiping the water away from his face. It gave you just enough time for you to squirm out from under the SUV and take off down row between the cars, your sneakers slapping against the concrete, the wind blowing your hair back. If you could get to the door before he did, you could turn around and lock him in. It wouldn’t keep him here forever, but it might buy you a few minutes to reload.

Based on the rapidly pounding footsteps behind you, though, you weren’t even going to get close. Not when it sounded like he was charging after you with every last bit of super-soldier-powered speed he had. You needed another plan, or else—

Something slammed hard against one of the cars behind you, startling you enough to make you stumble. In that brief moment of distraction, Bucky had vaulted himself up off the car and over your head.

His broad form landed smoothly in front of you in one easy motion, dropping into a crouch. He rose slowly, powerful muscle gradually uncoiling inch by inch, until finally he loomed up over you, water gun held ominously in one hand. His pale eyes had gone dark with heat, pupils blown wide as he fixated on you: his prey. He took one prowling step forward, a flash of pink from his tongue as he lazily licked the droplets of water away from his mouth.

“You shot me,” he rumbled hungrily. “I should be mad. But damn, doll. That was hot.” “Hot enough to stop you from shooting me back?” you asked hopefully.

“Not a chance,” he said with a smirk, before firing a blast of cold water directly at your abdomen. You let out another shriek, turning to sprint away from him, a trail of damp footprints left behind. And if your shriek was half laughter, well, his playful growl was just as full of joy as he took off after you.

#tuna-tober 2024 #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes #fanfic #fic #falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier bucky #james buchanan barnes #fluff #reader #x reader #f!reader #reader fic #marvel fic #let bucky have fun 2024

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caraphernellie · 2 months ago

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SLOW HANDS. EIGHTEEN PLUS INTERACTIONS ONLY.

so in this drabble, i mentioned having a draft about a reader with an oral fixation and always wanting to suck on ellie's fingers. here is the aforementioned draft, mostly self indulgent because i just really want ellie's fingies in my mouth and also this is straight up more yappery about her hands and how much i love them (bordering on hand kink atp) than anything oral fixation related (but that's included, don't worry)– just using this as a thought space to get myself into the writing mood, and i'm not the proudest of it based on the writing style but thought i'd post it anyway.

ellie's hands are a true blessing, are they not? calloused and rough from years of guitar, a testament to the bond she has with loved ones (of course joel, who taught her to play) but perhaps also from the determination to perfect her art. hours spent journaling and detailing every moment of her day like a sweetheart, keeping tabs on things and always taking time to keep herself grounded. she'll sketch things throughout her days, drawing everyday from the pettiest of pretty landscapes to her most beloved people, all in the name of improving and documenting her journey through life.

ellie is quite an awkward person in general, at least that's an observation i've made overtime – i don't mean her personality with this, although that's certainly true as well! i mean physically. she's not so coordinated. she's not precise. she's always stumbling or falling around the place, she's got that gay ass gait, and she takes less time thinking, always acting without it.

but i think even despite her being a little challenged in a coordinational sense, and how she's rather lanky, it doesn't mean she isn't practised. moving away from a modern au for a second– think about living in the apocalypse. how she's grown so used to defending herself, handling heavy weaponry. her hands will move deftly to fire, reload, and protect herself, every action memorised after years. and moving a little more towards a modern au once again, although ellie does have a ps3 in canon, how she'd be so good at gaming. nerd activities are right up ellie's alley and of course gaming has to be up there too– her hands have a wide breadth and her fingers are nimble and long, she'd probably be really good with that advantage.

so, all this to say, it'd be hard not to be so distracted if you were dating ellie williams. especially watching her work on any of the many rather attractive passions of hers – her music, her art, or, well, gaming. large hands veiny and rough, perhaps smoothing out a page in her journal, retuning her guitar, or fumbling with a controller. and yet, all you can focus on is the capability of them, lost in memories that live in your head of the way she warmly grabs at your body or how it feels when her fingers are buried deep inside you, soaked in slick and rubbing at the walls that squeeze around them.

and it really could just be a comforting thing for you, getting to sit, observe, and take in every detail of your girl while she's right there next to you. and really, it's something she's noticed. it was nothing unexpected. it was just so cute to ellie how if she'd let you get a hold of them, you'd pepper little kisses along her wrist, up the back of her hand and onto her knuckles. she'd sit with rosy cheeks and watch you, rub her thumb along the curve of your lip gently before replacing it with her own lips.

what she never really expected was how far your fixation goes. she'd had a habit of sometimes liking to lick her fingers before or after touching you, a sight that of course made you squirm, but in some way, you started to get jealous of ellie.

before ellie could even try, you'd already grabbed her by the wrist and taken two long fingers between your lips, sighing almost in relief. best believe it shocked ellie at first, but she couldn't keep her eyes off of you, nor the way it clearly turned you on so much more than usual to suck her fingers into your mouth.

staring down at how your cunt took her so easily after, she whispered dirty words in utter shock. "fuck, baby, just swallowin' my fingers, aren't you?"

after that day, no longer was ellie able to indulge in the taste of your pussy on her fingers. it was commonplace for to let you lick her hands clean, and she'd started taking advantage of your fixation in other ways, too. too loud? she'll wrap her free arm around you and shove her fingers into your mouth to silence you while her other hand is between your thighs. she'll relish in the sweet humming muffled by her digits, looking into your sleepy, pleased eyes.

it starts manifesting in different ways, less heated and amorous situations, instead quiet and calm times. wrapped up in blankets together on the couch one evening, ellie so casually rubs her forefinger over your lips to play with you; teasing you with the closeness whilst pretending to be engrossed in the movie playing on screen. her thumb tugs gently at your lower lip, pulling the soft skin down before slipping into the wet warmth of your mouth.

it's not like you were paying attention to the movie anyway, but it's much harder to look now – as if taking silent instruction, you close your eyes and slowly run your tongue along her skin. you fall victim to the sudden heat radiating the couch, holding her wrist close with three fingers in your mouth and a wet patch growing into your pyjama shorts.

photomode creds to @/stcreeka and @/T1OU_ on pinterest!!

#𖤐 ── petalrambling.#ellie williams x reader #tlou2 x reader #ellie williams x fem reader #lesbian #wlw nsft #sapphic smut #ellie williams smut

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siddyyyyyyyy · 3 months ago

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You're Only Sixteen

wc: ~4.6k

summary: child soldier joins task force 141 part THREE; part two, part one; part four

warnings: brief flashback, blood, violence, nightmares

a/n: I'm genuinenly happy how well this is going so far, I'm going to update the parts a bit more slowly for now, but I'm pretty sure I won't take too long on this. Probably. Enjoy!

This time, Ghost is leading the training for today. That just means they're no fun games like last time with Price, not that you were looking forward to it. Starting at the shooting range is like a warm-up for you, landing all shots while doing everything casually. Your reload is fast and precise, your aim is almost always perfect, and your technique couldn't be more clean.

Sparring was similar to the last time, but now you're paired up with Soap. You're both getting in your stance, knees slightly bent, one leg forward, and abdominal muscles tense. Both ready to fight, but this time without any weapons. Ghost specifically told him to strike first, wanting to see how long you can last or even win against Soap. It shouldn't be a big deal for you, even though he is quite a big guy, full of muscle, and slightly taller than you. You've mostly had opponents your size or bigger in field, and you never really had a problem winning or lasting long. Well, besides one person back in camp.

Soap strikes you first with a sharp jab to your side, but you dodge it quickly, hitting him back. You focus on your technique instead of winning, wanting to be strong against him. He seems to be focussing more on his technique as well, noticing how fast he works and his reflexes are. Your fighting styles are similar; the only difference is how you two use it in practice. While he's using more strength and power, you're trying to be quicker than your opponent and trick them.

You kick against his knee, and land some hits against his weak points, it's hard for him to stay balanced or focused. He huffs and stumbles back, only to rush to you quickly and try to tackle you down. With his amount of strength, it's difficult to actually stop him or dodge, having to think quickly. With a small grunt, however, you're down, with him trying to keep you like that. Your heartbeat speeds up and your eyes widen, your breath hitching in your throat. The position you're in is too familiar; trying to get out of it as quickly as you can. Soap is oblivious, just training with you and having tackled you down, keeping you pinned on the mat. Your brain is quick to handle, pulling out the same moves you did in camp. Soap doesn't even realise he's getting into a headlock by you at first. His back on the mat with your arm holding him tight around his neck, feeling how you're only squeezing him more and more with your bicep. He grips your arm and tries to relax, not wanting to get hurt. Luckily, that's all it takes for you to snap back to reality and let go. You sigh out heavily and stand back up, calming down.

»Ye alright?« He asks you even though he should be the one getting checked up on. You give him a weary nod, clearing your throat.

»Yeah, sorry about that.«

You mumble back and focus on not thinking back to the time in camp. It's almost confusing you now, how similar and suffocating it felt. But you know better than to think back to a time like that and distract yourself in training. Soap tilts his head with a confused gaze.

»What do ye mean? The headlock? Nah, that was sick.«

He encourages you with a thumbs up. You nod, unsure of what to say back. The training continues with trembling hands and more focussing on your breathing than technique, feeling on edge the entire time, thanks to the small trigger. Of course, no one has noticed these signs from you, or at least no one has said anything about it. On the other hand, you're glad no one has noticed your trembling hands and more or less distracted mind during the time.

Once it's over, you're headed to the showers and straight back to your bunk. That was more off-putting now that you're alone in your small room, thinking quietly to yourself about what had happened. You shouldn't feel this way, having thought you were over it a long time ago. Maybe it was something else that triggered you, or maybe you really aren't over it yet. Getting in a pin on the ground was one thing your past rival used on you as much as he could. You don't know the real reason behind his technique, but all you do know is how weird and creepy it felt like.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips once more, slumping down on your bed with no energy. Today's training was longer but not as exhausting as the one at camp. But you still feel very tired for no reason. You close your eyes and try to shut your brain off; instead, a lot of thoughts appear about your rival and that god awful training. You don't know why he's all of a sudden back in your mind. You don't know why you're thinking so much about it, and you don't know why you can't stop thinking about him. He was such an annoying and unpleasant person that you tried so hard to forget about, yet he can't seem to give you peace. Even when you're finally away from him.

After spending most of your day inside your bunk, trying to get your mind off old memories, it's time to actually try and do something about it. With slow steps, you make your way back to the training hall. It's dark out already, forcing you to walk cautiously around and not wake anyone. Eventually, you made it in and looked around for a punching bag… and something to wrap your knuckles with. You don't want to injure yourself after all.

It's dimly lit in the training hall, making it seem more cosy and relaxing. Especially with no one inside beside you. There are five punching bags to use in a row, but unfortunately no bandages or gloves for your hands. It is what it is, and you walk up to one of these punching bags to release some tension and stress. After getting into the stance, you land a few softer punches to get used to the feeling again. Maybe it's because you're alone in here, but it already seems too loud for you. Checking behind you, the double door is closed, so there's no way someone could hear you from their bunk.

You start again, using proper technique, and gradually become faster and put more strength into your punches. The punching bag suffers through your hard punches, taking it like a champ, all the while your mind zones out. Zoned out, all you can think about is your past rival back at camp. You don't remember his name; didn't even bother asking for it back then. But you do remember how creepy and annoying he used to be to you, for no reason. And that's enough for your punches to grow heavier and even quicker, the punching sounds are growing louder through the hall. Maybe your knuckles are hurting at this point, but you don't care. That bastard had no reason to treat you like that, leaving you confused, hurt, and probably traumatized.

It's only then when a gruff voice calls out through the hall, speaking to no one other than you.

»Didn't you have enough training for today?«

You stop in your tracks and turn around, seeing that familiar shadow again. Ghost.

Glancing down at your knuckles, you notice how red they look just from how hard you've been punching that bag for… how long already? You didn't keep track, but it seems like more than ten minutes, judging from your aching knuckles. Ghost has crossed his arms, glaring at you with tired eyes.

»Go back to bed, 's way too late for this.« He adds with a more weary tone and leaves no room for arguments, cocking his head slightly to the side. You sigh out rather disappointed, knowing you shouldn't talk back, but you also can't stop just now.

»But I just started...« You mumble and trail off at the end, already smelling how annoyed he is with you. He shakes his head, being as serious as before.

»I won't tell you again. Don't overwork yourself and go to sleep. Let your body rest. We've got trainin' tomorrow, too.« Ghost is not joking with you, probably being more stern than he needs to be. But he knows better than to let you work too much or stress over something for no reason. In his eyes, you're just a poor child who happens to have this fate and is forced to get along with it on your own. Too much alike himself. Eventually, your shoulders drop in defeat, and you nod in understanding.

»Fine. Sorry about that.« He doesn't respond back and just leaves, most likely going back to sleep, too. After considering his words and contemplating if you should just stay longer in here, you walk back to your own bunk like promised and fall against your bed. It's comfortable and quiet, dark as well.

But you notice a small med kit on your night stand, bandages and a cream for sore muscles beside it. You blink, thinking it's just your sleep catching up on you, but there is indeed stuff for you on that small table. Eventually, you apply the cream on your red knuckles and wrap them up, laying back on your bed. Maybe it really is just a normal base and rather peaceful. Maybe you could get used to this some time.

Having no energy to think any more about that, you fall asleep quite quickly this time. Even if you fell asleep quickly, it wasn’t a good sleep. A nightmare plagued you, most likely because of the trigger from earlier. A grey room with no windows, similar to your old training room in camp, several people around you, and loud noises everywhere. It’s incoherent nonsense, but you still understand everything clearly. The room is cold and rather dark for some reason; it all seems too much, but there’s nothing at the same time. Your body feels numb, and you’re wearing your bandages around your knuckles, some dried blood decorating the usual whiteness of the material. You notice it too late, but Mike has you on the ground already. The ground is even colder against your back, and you can’t do anything but lay and watch. He’s on top, which he often tried to do on you, and has your wrists and legs pinned tightly beside you.

Everything is so loud but also so quiet, it makes your ears ring. There’s a horrible stench of blood and sweat around the air, which makes it hard to stay still and fight back. Your moves are too slow, having no other choice but to stay like this. Your rival, Mike, slashes quickly through your throat, staying on top in a mocking way. It’s hard to breathe, you’re chocking on your own blood and squirming under him helplessly. The whole dream feels like a flashback, but worse. Too quick, too real.

You don’t remember much of what happened next, because the next thing you know is how you’re trying to control your breath and get rid of the sickening feeling from the nightmare. It’s not unusual you get dreams like this, but never to such an extent of being unable to breathe normally.

The digital clock on your nightstand tells you it’s time to get ready for the day. You couldn’t be more thankful for Ghost to lay the training into early afternoon instead of early morning. Because you know they’d notice if you showed up like this to the hall. Still on edge and tired, feeling as bad as you look right now. You keep trying to tell yourself that it’s normal to feel like this, hoping it’ll pass soon. Deciding to distract your mind, you go out to the park with your small sketchbook in hand. Maybe you will feel better in the fresh air while sketching something down that comes to mind.

But, of course, you never have a few minutes to yourself as a familiar figure comes by and stops in front of you.

»Drawing?« Gaz seems curious and tries to secretly subtly into your sketchbook.

»Sketching.«

»Ah. What exactly?« He carefully asks, knowing not to disturb a teenage girl when they seem peaceful at the moment. Gaz has past experience from his own family and friends, knowing how moody some are.

You hesitate to show him what exactly you’re drawing, and you just shrug in response.

»Just… anything.« That was a boring response to anyone, and he still wasn’t done disturbing your peace. He politely asks if he can sit by you for a while, sitting down on the same bench after you accept his kind offer. Gaz isn’t one to pry or mind someone else’s business, but today he’s really curious. Probably, because it’s been three days since you’ve been here and no one got to know you properly. Maybe they should work on their social skills instead.

»You sketch often?« Finally, he’s asking you about your hobbies. And finally, a normal question after years.

»From time to time.« That’s not true, you’ve been drawing since you remember and ever since. Drawing to kill time? Three pages full with doodles. Sketching something pretty? Two pages full with only that beautiful thing you saw earlier. Filling some pages to get rid of the anxiety? Done.

Gaz doesn’t quite believe your answer as well, noticing there’s only three pages left in there. Instead of prying more into it, he changes the topic slightly.

»So, what’re you drawing then? People?«

Without another word, you hand him your sketchbook, deciding it’s easier and probably faster this way. He takes it wordlessly and flips through the pages carefully. His eyes study the way you drew random people and objects, not having expected how good you’re at this. He glances at you before flipping another page, recognising the person almost immediately.

»Soap? You drew Soap?« You look down to his hands as he’s still holding it, seeing he found the first sketch of his teammate.

»I guess,« There’s no way out of this now, seeing he’s actually quite amused about it, »There’s more, actually.«

His smile widens, not having expected to see realistic drawings of his teammate. And there’s more? Today couldn’t get any better.

»More? You like drawing him or somethin’?« Gaz stops talking once he goes some pages forward, seeing some doodles of himself and Price. Even if it’s just some sketches or doodles, they look surprisingly well-made and semi-realistic. He looks towards you again, holding up that book of yours slightly.

»Can you draw Soap with a moustache?« Out of all questions he could’ve asked, he chose this one. Always picking the important ones. You need a full second to process what he’s asking before you find yourself speechless.

»What do I get for it in return?« Now, he’s the one without words. He considers for a moment as he tilts his head to the side.

»Depends on how well you draw.«

It’s then, when he can’t take himself seriously and chuckles.

»All jokes, I’ll get you a new sketchbook. Seems like this won’t do in a while.«

That’s a deal well struck with him. You can’t deny such an offer and start scribbling down a rough sketch of Soap, added with a moustache. Gaz watches the lines on the blank paper slowly resemble his teammate, grinning at the extra facial hair above his lip. It’s a sight to behold, being glad he could make someone draw a silly pic of this even more goofier SAS soldier.

Once you’re done, you show the page fully to him, and he can’t help but laugh at the drawing. Not because it’s ugly, but because it looks so much like him, and a moustache looks rather silly on his face.

»We gotta show it to him later.« You don’t see why not and nod, already seeing how absurd the situation will be later on.

After the more eventful interaction, it’s time for the usual training. This time, there wasn’t any difference in sparring, only feeling more tired than usual because of the nightmare last night. All you four did, was practice in the shooting range and go about sparring with Soap, leading with him improving your technique and showing some tricks. Of course, like no other time, you all went to the mess hall to eat dinner. You would have forgotten about the silly sketch of Soap if Gaz hadn’t reminded you beforehand to bring it over for dinner.

Sitting in front of the two teammates, Soap is laughing so hard that he’s clutching to his stomach. The drawing was really worth it, being amused at the sight in front of you. At least now, you could eat in peace without one particular person trying to get to know you better.

A familiar shadow appears in the corner of your eye, and you instinctively glance over. Ghost is approaching the table… with a Capri Sun? You look over once again, needing to take a double take to reassure yourself of what you’re seeing. And right, there he was, the scary-looking goth with a Capri Sun in hand.

It’s then that Soap also notices Ghost. Eventually, he stays standing next to the table and places the smaller but sweet drink on the table.

»Oi, what’s that?« The still amused scot questions him, as confused as you and Gaz. Ghost clarifies, finally not being an intimidating tree.

»Shitbox got me this instead of wa’er. Some of you can have it.«

Oh, so he can’t deal with a vending machine. If he weren’t your lieutenant, you would have made fun of him. Gaz nods and looks over to you after noticing you shift in your seat slightly. To him, it’s clear who wants it most. He wasn’t the only one noticing it, and Ghost shifts the drink towards you, mentioning it to you. Or maybe he just doesn’t think the two blokes deserve such a sweet drink and let’s you have it instead.

»You can have it.«

He grumbles before leaving for wherever he needs to go. It’s a bit weird to just receive something like this for no reason, especially from someone like Ghost. Glancing around, the two others seem normal about it, or they’re just good at hiding their real surprise. Eventually, you take the Capri Sun and draw in the orange straw into the packet. Oh, it’s cherry-flavoured. Your favourite.

Even when you thought your small happiness wasn’t so obvious, it turns wrong once Gaz speaks up.

»Taste good?«

You nod back in response and relax your expression as well as you can, not wanting to come off as too giddy for a sweet drink as such. They both grin quietly and continue eating with Price joining in after some time to eat beside you three.

----

It’s been a week there, and it feels less awkward now. You train and practice every day, sometimes sneaking in late at night to punch some bags. Capri Sun is something you get more regularly at lunch because Ghost can’t seem to figure out how to use the vending machine. In reality, he just likes to give you a small treat and see your eyes light up for a split second. It’s his small way to befriend you; it doesn’t matter if it seems silly or stupid, you appreciate it, and there’s no harm to it. You could compare it with an attempt to befriend a cat with treats, and it works well. Consider Ghost as a harmless guy who gives you your favourite drink- just because.

Gaz talks to you the most from the others, occasionally checking up on your new drawings and sketches, promising to get you a new one as soon as he can. He likes your drawings after all. He’s easy to talk to as well, having light conversations with you and a few jokes. Gaz is the most friendly and easygoing of them all for one. At least that’s how he is with you, but you’re sure he can be different too. Soap is as friendly as him, but for some reason you feel like you need to be careful around him.

The problem isn’t him, it’s no one’s fault, really. You know he’s just as nice and supportive, but it seems like the pin he did on you is still in your head. They can always out win you in a fight if you don’t pay attention, and the thought of it makes your skin crawl. Ignoring it most of the time, you trust them all equally. It’s better here than back in camp. If you can still call it that anymore.

Being here, made you realise how toxic it was back then. They don’t judge and punish you for making simple mistakes; they won’t even look at your scars twice or ask about them, and most importantly, no one forces you into something uncomfortable.

You feel safer.

Pushing the constant nightmares and headaches away, it really is more safe and peaceful here.

Today, after training, you cross paths with Ghost. You immediately notice that he’s carrying an almost comically large bag in his arms. Taking a closer look, you see it’s dry dog food. Dog food? Why would he need that? You never took him as someone with pets, and you never saw dogs around on base. Thank God you didn’t.

You nod briefly at him and can’t help it but approach him out of curiosity.

»Do you have a dog?«

He grunts, side eyeing you for a moment.

»Just gonna feed Riley. A K9.«

So, they do have military dogs. How come you never saw them? Back in the old camp, the dogs could roam freely on base. But they also weren’t really nice dogs, always barking and ready to attack anyone. Even you were once chased by a large German Shepherd, almost getting bitten if you weren’t fast enough.

You simply nod back, not sure what to answer to that. Of course, he could sense your shift into uneasiness and nudges your shoulder lightly while walking down the base with you.

»You should get to know some. They’re not scary, don’t worry.« That makes it better only for a moment before you fully process his words. There isn’t really a way you can deny his offer and nod slightly, following him wordlessly. He isn’t as talkative either, but you don’t think that’s a bad thing. You’re lost in thought once he speaks up, shifting the big bag of dog food into his left arm.

»Ever met a big dog? Anything?«

You’re standing outside his office as he asks, opening his door with a key while he waits for your answer.

»Kind of. Got chased by one.« He can’t help but pause for a moment at your blunt answer, eventually getting his door open and stepping in. You follow him in and close the door behind you, noticing a bigger German Shepherd sitting up on the ground. It’s tongue sticks out and seems to be happy about seeing you both, judging from it’s wagging tail.

The dog stays silent though, patiently waiting for their owner to give them some sort of permission. You stay standing near the door, watching the two silently, hoping it won’t do anything. Ghost puts the large bag down against the wall and steps closer to the dog, kneeling down as it happily walks to him and enjoys the few hat pats he gives. You watch them both interact, visibly relaxing slowly as long as the dog is near Ghost and gets fed, getting a few more pats from its tall owner. He turns to you and introduces you to the dog, his hand staying on the dog’s back.

»That’s Riley. A sweet girl- will be joining our next mission, as far as I know.«

That’s totally great. Yeah, sure, you could work with a big dog while having a fear of them. You nod either way, shifting on your feet as you watch the dog from the closed door. Riley munches on her food, seemingly content.

»She seems… nice.«

He can see how unsure you are about the dog, and he guessed he would need to get you used to dogs somehow. Ghost sits down beside Riley, nodding towards her.

»You can pet her. She’s friendly, won’t bite.« He is trying to loosen the tension with a small joke, only seeing how you glance at him before looking back at Riley. Eventually, you approach her with silent steps, being cautious of the still-eating dog. You kneel down beside Ghost, firstly just watching her with anticipation in silence. Riley is quick to realise you are close now too and lifts her head off the bowl of food, trying to get to know you eagerly. She takes a step towards you, and you stay still, not wanting to accidentally make her angry. Ghost beside you can’t help it but feel amused watching you be so stiff while also watching Riley to make sure she won’t make you even more scared.

Riley sniffs around the air shortly before leaning towards your hands on your knees, taking a sniff at them. Before you know it, she’s licking at them. You cringe at the feeling, leaning a bit away from her.

Beside you, Ghost grins under his mask, glad that you don’t seem to be scared and more amused at how you react to Riley’s sudden affection. Suddenly, the K9 is trying to lick at your face, but you turn away with a small groan. Ghost pets her on the back, commanding her to sit down for now.

It takes a moment for Riley to fully calm down, her tail still wiggling back and forth. Ghost hands you some treats and wants to show you what tricks this joyful dog can do. Riley follows his commands flawlessly, rolling over, laying down, playing dead, able to stand on her back paws for a few seconds.

You extend your hand to give her a few treats- the small cookies in shape of bones in the palm of your hand. She eats it out of there happily, probably having a blast right now.

Riley is a good dog, even when she wants to give you affection through licking your hand, which mostly feels weird, but overall she doesn’t overwhelm you like the past dogs in your life.

Ghost also seems to be satisfied with the end result, however, he couldn’t let go of your words earlier. Normally, he would mind his business, but this is a sixteen-year-old we’re talking about.

»So, you were chased by one?«

You glance at him shortly, unsure of how to explain it to him now. You try it out, explaining it to him as shortly as you can.

»We also had some K9’s on camp and I was chased by one because I wasn’t careful enough.« You don’t realise how shocking that sounds before he gives you a look of disbelief. He asks again, gently petting Riley behind her ear.

»Your own camp had dogs, and one chased you? Why’s that?« You only shrug in response, not sure yourself. The dogs were mostly trained to be aggressive and were held rather roughly.

»I believe they got extra trained to be as aggressive as possible.«

He only hums out in acknowledgement, letting go of Riley and standing back up. Every time he hears more about your camp it is when he loses five years of his life. You follow right after him, standing up and getting a last glance at the sweet dog.

»Go, get your shower.« He mumbles, reminding you of taking your shower since you joined him after training, finally able to rinse off your sweat. You nod and leave without another word, taking a quick rest before eating dinner in the mess hall.

a/n: Hope you had fun reading this, it was a bit longer than the last part. The next one is probably going to be just as long. I hope you enjoed it!

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 2 years ago

Text

The Only Exception

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Warnings: angst, minor fluff, canon typical violence, smut mndi (18+), Ghost thinks some dirty thoughts about you, masturbation, serious injuries

Words: 8.3k

Synopsis: You are the only exception to the rules Simon has...

Link to The Roommate Series Masterlist

You are currently reading Part 4 of The Roommate Series

(i ran out gifs to use so it's on to pictures)

The air was dry but still. It carried the sounds of gunfire within it, keeping the smell of gunpowder and blood stuck in one place, taking over any other senses as firefights ensued around the lone warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Bullets flew and screams echoed between the destroyed cars and the rubble from rogue grenades, creating a battlefield full of chaotic deadliness that should’ve been impossible to maneuver in.

Ghost took cover behind a humvee and listened to the bullets that ricocheted off the car while he reloaded his gun to get ready for his next attack. His mind was calm, focused on the plan of getting into the warehouse and securing the intel. He didn’t think about anything else but the mission and how to get his men out of this without losing any of them.

This was light work for him, stupidly easy that he wondered if he was put on this mission to get it done quickly or warm him up for a harder one down the line.

He killed a few enemies with quick precision and took a moment to look around for Soap, hoping that he would be available to execute one of the plans he had come up with.

His eyes landed on his sergeant a few feet from him hiding behind a car as well. Soap’s attention was on the warehouse, his gun pointed towards any enemies who showed themselves and shot them before they even had a chance to raise their weapons.

“I’ll get you an opening to the warehouse.” Ghost said into the comms to catch his attention. “Clear out as many as you can, then I’ll follow.”

“Copy, L.t.”

Ghost leaned out from the cover of the car and began to shoot at the enemies in the warehouse. He kept his sights on the men who weren’t under fire from the squad under his command and took it upon himself to get them out of the way. The bullets flew out of his gun and one by one, he watched the men in the windows of the warehouse disappear with a cry of pain as he shot them all with precision.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Soap take the opportunity to run inside, and provided cover for his sergeant. He waited until he knew that the rest of the squad would be able to take care of the stragglers and rushed inside to follow Soap.

The sound of gunfire echoed in the halls and he followed it, seeking out the smell of gunpowder and copper in order to his teammate. He saw Soap duck behind a corner and reload his gun before he came up beside him, taking a moment to get his bearings of the situation to make a decision.

“How many?” He asked as a bullet clipped into the concrete wall.

“Four.”

Ghost glanced back the way he came and realized that the hallway looped around the building. He was lucky that the enemies had either forgotten about it or they’d be pumped full of bullets by now, but he didn’t care about that right now, not when he saw an opportunity to finish the mission.

He tapped Soap on his shoulder to get his attention and pointed towards the other side of the hallway.

“Head around and flank them, I’ll take this side.” He commanded and watched Soap rush around to cut them off from behind.

Ghost waited for a moment before he leaned out from behind the corner and fired, watching as two of them hit the floor. Before he could shoot the other two, they crumbled to the floor because of Soap and he scanned the rest of the hallway to make sure that there were any left.

“Clear!” Soap called out and Ghost met him down the hall. “This the room?”

They stood in front of the only door in the hallway. Their intel was supposed to be inside where weapons dealers had stashed their information on a next deal, one that could have the potential to lead them to Makarov.

Ghost nodded and he took a spot next to the door with his gun ready, gesturing for Soap to do the same. He couldn’t hear any noise from behind the door but he knew better than to believe that it was empty.

He glanced at Soap before he kicked the door open and let Soap take the lead.

He followed in, shooting at anyone that Soap missed before everyone in the room had dropped to the floor in a puddle of their own blood. He commanded Soap to start searching for their intel and surveyed the room before he heard coughing.

Ghost looked down on the floor to see one of the enemies bleeding out but still alive. He watched him with indifference as the man struggled to pull out a gun to shoot him with it, his body already going weak from the bullet wounds.

The man glared at Ghost as he approached and spit the blood from his mouth at him.

“You’ll pay for this…” He wheezed and Ghost’s eyes narrowed.

Ghost didn’t say anything as he raised his gun and shot the man in the head. He stared at his body and the blood that gushed out onto the floor both of his wounds almost as if tunnel vision took him over.

He stared at the man’s lifeless eyes and for a moment saw himself in the dead body.

The warehouse was far from Ghost’s mind as he stood in a field miles away from it with a cigarette between his fingers and his mind elsewhere. His eyes were distant as he stared at nothing. He could hardly pay attention to the thousands of crickets that chirped in the tall grass, the sounds mixing with his tinnitus that raged louder now that he was out of combat.

He was stuck in the darkest parts of his mind, unable to stop thinking about the images of death and blood that were sewed into his mind now that he didn’t have a distraction, now that he wasn’t killing anyone. The massive weight on his chest made it impossible to breathe and paired with the cigarette smoke he was suffocating, drawing out in the open air.

And yet the cigarette was keeping him from losing it further, the habit being enough to keep some of his mind under control as he waited for evac.

He wasn’t sure why this particular mission had done it for him after working for nearly two and half months now, but he was practically begging in his mind to be put on another one right away. He wished that instead of being picked up to go back to base, he was being picked up to go somewhere, to follow the next lead the intel got them. He didn’t want to stop and rest, he wanted to keep going, he wanted to get rid of the horrible feeling by ignoring it and pushing it down with work. It was a temporary solution to an issue he refused to acknowledge, one that he didn’t have to when he wore the mask.

“L.t.” Soap’s footsteps pushed the tall grass away from him as he walked up to Ghost, alerting his presence to his lieutenant who had taken watch while they waited.

“Johnny.” Ghost replied back without looking away from the spot he was staring at.

Having Soap near him made his shoulder loosen just a bit, not enough to make any real difference to the tension in his muscles, but he felt like he could breathe just a bit more. He didn’t say anything for a long time, letting both of them stand in silence as the night drew on and more stars painted the sky.

Soap nudged his shoulder and he finally looked away from the spot.

Ghost blinked a few times as he stared at Soap. He studied his face, noting that his eyebrows were knitted together as he stared up at him with worried eyes that bounced around the false face he wore. They both stared at each other in silence, and Ghost narrowed his eyes a bit, almost as if to challenge Soap to say something.

Soap gestured to the cigarette in his hand and he clenched his jaw, a short huff escaping his chest before he handed it over.

“Don’t know what’s takin’ so long.” Soap puffed out smoke as he spoke. “Got us out here doin’ grunt work and now they’re taking the piss out of us.”

“We changed locations, so it’ll be a little longer.” Ghost scanned over the open field he stood in and looked in the direction of the warehouse as if he could see from this far away.

Soap groaned and handed the cigarette back to Ghost. He placed his hands on his lower back and stretched his hips forward with a scrunched up face as a loud pop resonated through the air.

“Wish there was a fuckin’ rock out here. I’m aching.” He complained and Ghost rolled his eyes even though he was feeling the same effects.

Ghost finished his cigarette and snuffed it out on the ground with hardened eyes. It had even been a minute and he was already craving another one. He was far too antsy to be standing out here waiting for a helicopter to only sit in it for hours. He was losing his mind over this feeling and his patience was wearing thin, especially since it had been stuck in the back of his mind since he had left home.

He just needed to get through this waiting period until they went back on another mission.

“Meant to ask,” Soap caught his attention and he looked at him. “That book in your vest pocket, is it a good read?”

Ghost blinked for a moment and placed his hand over the pocket, feeling the travel sized joke book that you had gotten for his birthday sitting snug inside of it. He had completely forgotten he had brought it with him, in fact, he wasn’t sure if he consciously made the choice to pack it with him.

He pulled it out and looked down at it, the weight of it in his hand grounding him more than he thought it would’ve for such a small thing, and stared down at the cover with a clearer mind than before.

It had been a simple gift, but he still remembered the warm fuzzy feeling he had when he had unwrapped it. He had expected you to get him something like a pocket knife, something practical for him to use, but instead you gave him a book full of bad jokes because you knew he liked to make them.

Ghost’s face softened underneath the mask.

“Not a bad read.” He held it out for Soap to take. “Especially when you’re bored.”

Soap took the book with a gleam in his eyes before his face fell when he read the cover. He gave Ghost an unimpressed look as his shoulder slumped with disappointment before he thumbed open the pages and skimmed the words.

“You’re the only guy I know to carry a joke book around on a battlefield.” He muttered with the shake of his head.

“What’s red and bad for your teeth?” Ghost glanced at Soap who raised an eyebrow. “A brick.”

“Is that in here?”

“Page twenty.”

“You even know the page number?”

Ghost wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had read the book front to back that he had memorized the entire thing by now. He could tell every joke on each page as confidently as he could shooting a gun. He practically spent the entire first week back on base with his nose stuck in it every night because everything about it reminded him of you.

His lips twitched underneath the mask as he watched Soap flip to the page. He watched as the Scot read with and then grunted with a twinkle in his eyes, clearly amused. It was a far cry from your reaction when he would tell you his jokes, but no one could ever replicate your laughter.

He could almost hear it when he read the words on the page, he could almost imagine the way you scrunched up your face because you knew it was a bad joke but you couldn’t resist laughing and he couldn’t help but continue to make you laugh. Your laughter was quite literally music to his ears and he would give anything to hear it right now, to have you laugh at his stupid jokes instead of listening to the tinnitus in his ears.

A heavy feeling pushed on his chest and he clenched his jaw as his mind threatened to wander to you.

Ghost would have never thought he would be in this much agony over missing someone alive like this. He practically mourned you the same way he did when he thought a little too hard about his mother, and yet you were still alive, you were back at the flat going to class and living a normal civilian life.

His heart ached every time he thought about you. Every time he saw your face behind his eyes, or thought about your smile, the way your eyes lit up with you saw him, he needed to take a few deep breaths to keep the tightness in his throat away. It only got worse when he remembered how you looked when he left two and half months ago,

The way your voice shook and how small you looked, how there were tears that threatened to fall from your beautiful eyes and the fact that you still gave him a smile even though he could see the way you were falling apart, as if you were trying to spare him your pain when you should’ve given him worse for making you feel that way.

He wondered if made things worse by kissing you because that kiss nearly broke his resolve. He had been so ready to call Price and tell him to fuck off for another week after he had felt your lips against his and after you had kissed him back.

It had been better than he had ever imagined. No one had ever kissed him with that much affection, with tenderness that had him breathless and wanting to get on his knees. He had never desired someone as much as you in a way that was more than just blowing off steam.

No, he desired you in a way that made him afraid and yet he couldn’t run away from you. He didn’t want to.

Ghost placed a hand over his heart and shut his eyes and he felt himself go breathless as the tightness in his chest worsened. He wishes it was your hand on his chest, calming him down and telling him that you were right there, that he wasn’t without you.

“Ghost?” Soap caught his attention and he opened his eyes to look at him.

Soap stared at him with worry written all over his face. It was a wonder how he could see what was going on with Ghost underneath the mask but Soap was like you in that he had somehow broken down his walls and waltzed inside. He knew Ghost too well and could tell when something was up even when there was an attempt to keep it hidden.

He looked into his eyes, blue meeting brown, and saw Simon in pain.

“You alright?”

Ghost knew he couldn’t lie to him, he was far too smart for any bullshit that he could come up with, and yet he couldn’t tell him the truth. He wouldn’t dare utter your name in a place like this for fear that maybe there was an enemy even if it was clear.

You didn’t belong in this kind of life.

Someone like you, happy and peaceful, didn’t belong in the context of anger and war. No one should know about you, it was too dangerous for anyone other than him to know about you, even if it was Soap, one of his closest friends.

He opened his mouth to lie, hoping that maybe Soap would be too tired to try to figure out the truth when his ear piece crackled to life. He sighed with relief and averted his gaze from him as he listened to the pilot speak.

“Bravo 0-7, we’re about to land.”

“Copy, we’re ready for you.”

Ghost looked up at the sky but heard the helicopter before he could see it. As much as he didn’t want to go back to base, he needed to get out of this conversation with Soap as quickly as he could before he pressed him any further.

He took back the book when Soap handed it to him and he put it in his pocket, making sure that it was right over his heart as the helicopter came into view.

Ghost hadn’t looked up from his food since he and Soap had gotten back. He was back to feeling those awful feelings and this time it was worse because coupled with it was the intense feeling of your absence across from him. He didn’t hate his teammates but they weren’t you, they didn’t talk about normal stuff like you did, they didn’t make feel like he could be in that life again.

He bounced his leg on the ball of his foot in order to get out some of the energy that was stuck inside of him. He would’ve gone to the training room and worked out the rest of it until exhaustion but Price had asked him and Soap to eat with him while they debriefed on the mission.

He was hungry but he didn’t eat, he couldn’t when his stomach was weighed down with a pit.

“Simon?” Price’s voice cut through his thoughts and he looked at him from the corner of his eyes.

Price was looking at him expectantly under his intense gaze, his eyes staring through him as if he could read his mind. If anyone knew Ghost, knew Simon, it was Price and the old man made it clear any time the two of them spoke. He always looked at him as if he could see him, as if he saw the man that died years ago and not the facade he created so he could continue to live and work in the military.

Ghost knew that Price had suspected something was wrong with him the moment he had walked off the heli. It was the captain’s job to know everything about his men, so of course he knew that Ghost was having a hard time, that he was practically going through the stages of grief without acceptance in sight.

He could see him trying to figure it out as Gaz and Soap waited for him to say something. He didn’t hide it either, he wanted Ghost to know that he was searching for the cause so he could come up with a solution, he always let Ghost know that he was willing to help.

Ghost glanced at the others as he tried to remember what the conversation had been.

“The intel Soap and I got gives us an entire network of Russian weapons dealers.” He explained confidently without missing a beat. “We’d have to survey all of them in order to find the ones that could lead us to Makarov.”

“Easier said than done.” Gaz commented and Soap nodded.

“Makarov has his fingers everywhere.” Price gave Ghost one last look before turning and scratched his beard in thought. “Even if we find one that could get us closer to him, it’s only a small step.”

Ghost felt the weight of his words settle on him and he watched as everyone else realized what it meant as well.

Longer missions, more time spent away from home, more time risking their lives to get a fraction of what they wanted. This job wasn’t easy and everyone knew that to get the results they wanted, it would take time, but this entire mission of finding Makarov consisted of lesser missions that slowly broke down their stamina. That was most likely the point that Makarov wanted to make, to show them that he was always one step ahead of them, but Ghost never knew Price to be a quitter.

In the past, Ghost could live with it, but now that he had someone waiting for him, now that you were waiting for him, he hated how long this was going to take.

“Well we’ve talked enough about this for now.” Price grunted as he finished his food and stood up. “Get some rest, it’s late. Take a break tomorrow.”

He clapped a hand on Simon’s shoulder. Quick but with a comforting squeeze and a smile before he left the common room with his plate, taking most of the heavy weight of work with him.

The three of them didn’t wait to get up and leave as well, finding that they were more tired than hungry. They all said their quick goodnights before they went to their rooms, not to be seen until in the morning when their bodies decided to wake them up.

Ghost entered his room and tried to ignore the fact that he was still feeling everything he didn’t want to. He was feeling the weeks worth of strain on his body and in his mind, the images of killing men just because they were in his way and then the extreme loneliness that he felt as he remembered that this wasn’t his room in his flat and you weren’t just across the hall from him.

He sluggishly began to take all of his gear off, throwing it haphazardly on the floor because he couldn’t find the energy to care about putting it away neatly. He stripped his clothes and boots off as he made his way to the bathroom, keeping his eyes on the floor so he didn’t have to look at himself in the mirror.

Even with the mask on he was sure if he looked in the mirror right now he’d break it. He didn’t want to see whoever was going to look back at him, he couldn’t look at Ghost because he wasn't able to suppress these feelings and he didn’t want to see Simon in such a horrible state.

It wasn’t until he stepped in the shower with the water running did he throw his mask on the bathroom floor.

The hot water ran off his skin as he stood in it. He let it burn into the sweat and grime that had built up, he let it chip away at these feelings as he focused on trying to ground himself with the heat. He hoped that the shower would take it all away as if it would clean the wounds that weren’t physical, as if it would wash out all of the bad that was stuck inside of his head.

Even as the water slowly washed the heavy weight in his chest away, he couldn’t help but think about you as if he lathered soap across his body.

He wondered about what you’d been doing these past two and half months. Did you take your exam? Did you pass it? Have you been taking care of yourself and rewatching your show?

Had you gone to the festival you talked about, the one where he had planned to finally ask you out on a date but you had fallen asleep on him before he could gather the courage to do it? In hindsight, he was glad you had fallen asleep because it would be much worse for both of you if he had.

Did you miss him as much as he missed you? He knew you missed him, he saw it, but he couldn’t help but think that maybe you didn’t. Maybe you were okay with him being gone, maybe you liked him being gone because he was so much of a drag compared to you.

All of these questions raced in his mind as he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off.

He longed to hear your voice to tell him, he desperately wanted to know what you were doing right now, what you’ve done without him. He wanted to know that you were okay and that he hadn’t hurt you too much because of how he left. He needed to make sure that you hadn’t cried yourself to sleep because he would never forgive himself if that were the case.

Ghost knew that he could ask you. He eyed the burner phone that sat on his desk as he got dressed as if it had personally offended him for existing.

He could call you if he really wanted to know, but he had never done it before. It wasn’t that he hadn’t missed you before, he often found himself feeling this way when he was back in his room on base, but he had always told himself that calling you while he was away would be worse. It reminds him of what he’s missing out on, reminds him that this was his choice to leave you for months and that he had no excuse to treat you like this.

He sat on his bed and continued to eye the phone before he turned his attention to the birthday card beside it. He had made sure to take it and the polaroid you gave him before he left, something he had never done before.

There had been no point in taking sentimental things with him and it could potentially be dangerous, and yet he couldn’t part with it when he was packing.

Ghost grabbed the card and took the polaroid out of it. He committed the look on your face to memory and traced you with his eyes as if this were the first time he had ever seen you before. He looked at your smile and the way you leaned into him, he looked into your bright eyes and found himself letting out a deep breath.

Even if it was a picture, he was still stunned by your beauty. He couldn’t get over how you practically glowed when you entered the room. It didn’t matter what you wore or what you looked like, you were absolutely divine.

Looking at you made the weight in his chest get worse and against his better judgement, he picked up the burner phone.

His fingers hit your number before he could even think and he froze from the panic that struck him as he heard the phone start to ring. He didn’t know whether he should hang up before it connected or if he should let it ring and hope that you wouldn’t pick it up.

He stared at the screen with wide eyes as it rang and when the line connected he put it against his ear.

“Hey…”

Your voice was hoarse, heavy with sleep and he mentally kicked himself for being stupid enough to call you at this hour. Of course you had been asleep, it was late and he was sure that today was a week day which meant you had class in the morning.

“Did I wake you up?” He asked, knowing the answer but it was the only thing that could come out of his mouth as he heard your voice for the first time in months.

“No…I was studying.” You lied, a yawn cutting through your words which betrayed you.

Ghost pressed his lips together and gripped his sweatpants. He wasn’t sure what else to say and as much as he liked hearing from you again, he realized that he was in no state to talk to you right now. His mind was far too dark and busy for him to give you the same kind of softness that you were used to since that’s all he wanted you to see him as.

Soft, tender, not a man who has killed others in cold blood. A man worthy of your affection and your attention who you hopefully assumed was better than that.

“Is everything okay, Simon?” You wondered, your voice slowly losing its sleep.

His breath hitched in his throat as you said his name and he swallowed hard. You were over the phone and you still somehow broke through his walls. You somehow calmed his nerves down and steadied his mind even though he was miles away from you.

“Want me to check the doors?” You offered as you assumed he had called you for any other reason than to just hear you.

But you did bring up a good point. He wasn’t there to check the doors and the windows, making sure that the entire flat was locked down to keep you safe. He wasn’t there to look outside of the windows at least three times before he went to bed, trying to discern if a bush was somebody or not, or to do a quick sweep around the perimeter of the flat to see if someone had planted anything.

He had an entire routine set out that he did every night that he couldn’t do now that he was gone. He clenched his jaw and felt his nerves slowly start to work themselves up again as it truly hit him that you were in the flat alone.

Someone could be outside waiting until you went back to sleep to break in and hurt you. Someone could kidnap you or rob the flat, leaving you for dead. There were so many scenarios running through his head that he almost found it hard to breathe.

He wasn’t there to protect you if something happened.

“Yes.” His voice was strained and he hoped that you couldn’t hear it over the phone.

Heard you move out of bed from the other side of the phone and he held his breath, waiting for the moment he heard you scream about someone being inside waiting to attack you. It played out in his brain so vividly that he gripped his sweatpants tightly as he listened to your silence.

“That’s the front door.” You said after he heard the heavy click of the lock. He heard another click from the other door. “This is the back.”

It wasn’t enough. Not enough to keep him from thinking that you were still in immediate danger.

“The windows?”

“Not opened and locked.”

Now he was stuck in his routine. He was going through his mental checklist of what else had to be looked at or thought about. He wasn’t there to do it the way he liked, to be as thorough as possible and to make sure that not even a blade of grass was out of place, but your attempt would have to do.

“Anyone been in the flat?” He asked, almost demanded, as he worried that maybe someone bad had planted something inside to spy on you.

“One of my friends, but I was with her the entire time.” You assured him, your voice still calm and kind.

It still wasn’t enough.There was a possibility that an old enemy of his could still break in and attack you, kill you or worse, and he’d be alone again. It would be like his family, he would be too late to save you and it would be his fault.

“Do you remember where I keep my gun?” He asked, knowing that you didn’t know how to use it but hopefully you wouldn’t have to.

“Yes-”

“My knife?”

“Yeah-”

“Can you-”

“Hey.” Your soft voice stopped him from continuing. “I’m okay, no one is going to hurt me.”

Ghost wanted to argue that it was impossible for you to know that, impossible for you to be so sure that you wouldn’t have to use weapons to save yourself. There was always the possibility that you would be in danger because you knew him, you lived with him and if the wrong person found out you’d be dead because of him.

He couldn’t believe you. He just couldn’t, not when he wasn’t there to see it for himself, to hold you as if he could protect you with his body, to be the one that would take the brunt of everything harmful that came your way.

He trusted you but he couldn’t trust the world.

“Are you sure?” His voice was low and smaller than what either of you were used to and it made him clench his jaw.

“I promise.” You assured him and though you weren’t there to touch him, to hold him, it was like he could feel you.

Ghost took a deep breath and shut his eyes in an attempt to calm himself down. He was shaky and he couldn’t get rid of the pit in his stomach as he listened to you move around the flat on the other side of the phone. He regretted calling you even if hearing your voice was the only thing he wanted to hear.

“Did you take your exam?” He leveled his voice and hoped you would humor him even though it was late.

“Got a ninety on it.” You said proudly and he could see the smile on your face.

He couldn’t help but smile as well. He knew you would’ve and he hadn’t understood why you had been so upset about it before he left, he knew how smart you were, but that didn’t make him feel any less proud of you either. Especially when you had gotten such a high grade when he was sure he most likely would’ve flunked out of university far before you.

“Atta girl.”

You giggled on the other side of the phone and he slowly felt himself unraveling from your voice. He was starting to feel more like Simon again, starting to feel like someone who was worthy of speaking to you like this as if it were normal.

He hoped that you felt the same about him. He hoped that you weren’t upset that he had woken you up and that you liked talking to him over the phone like this.

“How was the festival?” He wondered.

“I didn’t end up going.” You told him, not sounding disappointed about it but he knew that you probably were.

“Oh.”

That’s all he could say. He didn’t want to think that you didn’t go because of him but he knew better than to believe that.

“Can I ask you a question?” You sounded a little unsure and it made him swallow hard as he hummed for you to continue. “Why’d you kiss me?”

Ghost’s eyebrows knitted together and he stared at the floor with narrowed eyes. That was definitely not the question he thought you would ask and he wasn’t entirely sure how to answer it since to him it seemed like it was common sense.

Why wouldn’t he kiss you? He liked you, a lot, probably a lot more than what he wanted to admit right now so it only made sense for him to kiss you. He couldn’t necessarily tell you how he felt so he thought that a kiss would’ve been enough for him to get his point across.

Then again, he wasn’t exactly the right person to have an opinion about these sorts of things.

“Do I need a reason?” He genuinely wanted to know, especially if it meant that he had messed up his chance with you.

“I…there has to be a reason.” You sounded surprised and he frowned.

“I wanted to kiss you so I kissed you.”

You went silent over the phone and he held his breath waiting for you to say something. He hoped that your silence didn’t mean that you were disgusted by him or that he had completely misread the situation. He wished he could just tell you outright how he felt but the words wouldn’t leave his throat and would always strangle him until he gave up.

“I miss you.” Your voice was small and weak as if you were fighting back tears.

Ghost’s heart ached and he clenched his jaw. He was reminded of your sad face again and he shut his eyes as regret washed over him.

“I miss you too.” He said against his better judgement.

He wasn’t lying. He missed you, he missed you so fucking bad that he could hardly sleep without thinking of you and it hurt. It hurt being away from you and he wasn’t sure it would ever go away, even as the years would go by and the two of you continued to know each other.

Ghost meant it when he thought about how you’ve ruined him.

You sniffled on the other side of the phone and he felt his heart break. He wanted nothing more than to be there and hold you, to make up for the fact that he had made you cry. He wished you were in his arms so you could hear his heart beat for you while he took away any of the pain you felt.

“You have to come back.” You pleaded with a shaky voice and his eyes hardened.

“I’ll come back.” He said firmly, as if there was no other option.

“I know you can’t ask you about anything but please be safe. I can’t…you just have to come back home.”

Ghost felt his throat tighten up and he sighed. This was the reason why he had never called you before tonight, he didn’t want to risk making you upset by breaking the standard that once he was gone, neither of you were to hear from each other until he came back. It made it easier to keep his work separate and to keep you safe from the pain he could cause you.

He had to stop this before it got even worse. He couldn’t continue to make you feel this way and make you cry because of his selfishness.

“I have to go.” He lied and he heard you sniffle again.

“Just a little longer?” You pleaded but he was somehow strong enough to resist you.

“No. Get some sleep, yeah?”

You sighed and he stopped himself from thinking about how upset you were, the tears in your eyes and how alone you probably felt now that he was going to hang up on you.

“You too, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Ghost didn’t hesitate the end call as much as he wanted to and immediately placed his hands over his face. Hearing you had calmed him down significantly in that his nerves were no longer raging about work but he now felt the punch of extreme loneliness hit him in the gut, which didn’t really help him with how on edge he had been since the mission.

He huffed and laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he set the phone back on his desk.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how he was supposed to be there with you. How he could calm you down and wipe away your tears by telling you he was there. He should be holding you to his chest, he should be in bed with you making things better instead of making you cry.

Heat washed over him and he shifted his hips on his bed as he thought how he could make it up to you, showing you just how sorry he was for making you feel this way.

This wasn’t the best time to be thinking these kinds of thoughts and he felt a little guilty about it, but he couldn’t control his mind today. He was stressed, pent-up from so many different emotions that at this point, this was the only thing that could probably get him to calm down.

Ghost placed a hand on his lower stomach but didn’t go any further. It felt wrong to touch himself and think about you, he often felt shame because of it, but this certainly wasn’t the first he had thought about making you feel good.

He imagined holding you in bed and kissing you everywhere you’d let him. He’d run his hands across your body and massage his fingers into your muscles in an attempt to relax you. He would try his hardest to pull the sadness out from you while he showed you how much he truly loved you.

His hand traveled over his growing erection and he let out a long sigh as the weight from his palm made him twitch. He palmed himself through his pants and sunk into his mattress, the loneliness slowly being overtaken by the neediness he often felt for you when he laid in bed.

He’d do the same to you. He’d let his hands travel between your legs and slip his fingers past your shorts to feel the heat that gathered there. He’d push his fingers through your slick folds, gathering all of the wet desire to rub your clit nice and slow.

“Fuck…” His breathing got quicker and he shut his eyes at the thought.

You’d be wet as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear and he’d drag his lips up your neck, leaving hot kisses that would burn into your skin. You’d push back into him and buck your hips into his hand as he made you a promise that he’d make it all better.

Ghost pushed his pants and briefs down until his hard cock sprung free, letting his sigh with relief, before he wrapped a hand over his shaft. He groaned as he stroked himself, feeling breathless from just his hand as he thought about the sounds you’d make.

You’d moan his name in that sweet tone of yours, which made his cock twitch in his hand, and hold his hand. You’d be out of breath as he would slip a finger inside of you and work against that spot in your walls that would have you falling back into him with a whine.

“Simon…” You cry and it would make him push his fingers in as far as he could.

Ghost quickened his pace and bit his bottom lip. He imagined that his hand was your walls gripping around him as he slipped his cock inside of you. He squeezed his hand and bucked his hips into the air wishing that you were there on him. He was sure he probably couldn’t fit all of himself inside of you and the thought excited him as he spread pre-cum all over his hand, wishing that it was inside of you instead.

He chasing your high as you’d tighten around him, begging him to keep going as he fucked you closer to your orgasm.

“You feel so good!” You’d cry and move your hips with his. “So good, you’re so good.”

He whined and stroked himself fast. He shut his eyes and pretended that you were here, using his cock in any way you wanted to in order to make yourself feel better. He would fuck into you, ready to please you so he could make it all better, ready to be good for you so he didn’t make you cry anymore.

He wanted you to praise him, he needed you to do it. He needed to know that he was doing a good job, that he was good enough to be fucking you until you cummed on his cock more than once.

He needed to be good for you.

“Don’t stop! Please, Simon, I need you.” You’d beg but he would give his entire being to you if you ask.

Ghost moaned and felt the band of pleasure tighten as he quickened his pace, letting the whines and whimpers fall from his mouth. He’d bury his face in your neck and kiss you, he’d thank you for the praise by slamming his cock as hard as he could into that spot that would have your toes curling.

He thought about how you would shake on his cock and how your moans would be cut off as you fluttered around him. Your eyes would roll back as he continued to pound into you, unable to say anything as the intense pleasure took over. The pleasure he gave you.

Hot cum spurted into his hand. It ran down his cock as he continued to stroke himself at a fast pace through his orgasm, not wanting the pleasure coursing through his veins to stop. He didn’t care as overstimulation hit him, he continued to stroke himself at the thought of making you happy and making you feel good.

A whimper escaped his mouth was cut off in his throat as the feeling of his hand became too much but he didn’t stop.

Ghost was tired but he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Ghost grunted when the but of a gun was slammed into his face. He was knocked into the wall of the crumbling building as blood soaked his mask but he quickly threw a punch at the enemy in front of him.

He grabbed the gun and with all of his strength, slammed it into the man’s nose with enough force that he heard it crack. He didn’t waste any time kicking the man in the knee, hearing it pop as well, before he pulled out his pistol and shot the man three times in the chest.

As the man’s body crumpled to the ground, Ghost picked up his weapon and raced towards the exit.

His head pounded from repeated blows to it and he was sure that a few of his ribs were fractured from the pain he felt in his chest every time he took a breath. He didn’t pay any attention to the pain as he kept the gun secured tightly in his hands.

The sound of gunshots outside mixed with the ones inside the building and it was hard for him to know where the enemies were or weren’t. This mission wasn’t like the regular chaos on the battlefield, this was a dangerous mess that could result in the death of one or more of them if they didn’t pull back.

“Simon, where are you?” Price’s voice came in through his ear piece and his eyes narrowed. “We need to leave!”

“Almost there-”

Ghost was cut off as he was tackled to the floor. The back of his head smacked against the concrete but he didn’t have time to feel the pain as he fought against his attacker who straddled him.

He slammed his punches up at the man and hit as hard as he could. He tried to avoid any of the punches that were thrown at him but he was no longer fighting with his training, he was fighting out of pure adrenaline and the desire to survive.

The man pulled out a knife and tried to plunge it into Ghost’s chest but he quickly grabbed his wrist, using all of his strength to push it away from him.

Ghost jabbed his fingers into the man's ribs as hard as he could and managed to gain the upperhand in the fight. He shoved the man off of him before he climbed on top of him, punching him as hard as he could before he reached for a gun to end the fight.

The air was knocked out of Ghost’s lungs when the man stabbed the knife into his side at a force that felt like he had been hit by a car. Pain rippled up through his body and he suppressed a scream as he broke the man’s wrist that held the knife, continuing his barrage of punches.

He took the knife out of his side and plunged it into the man's throat. He watched him choke on his own blood with bloodlust until the man went limp.

Ghost felt lightheaded as he struggled to breathe. He could feel the blood gushing out of his side at an alarming speed that not even his hand could stop as he pressed it firmly on his side. He clenched his jaw tightly, suppressing a wince as he crawled off the dead body and stayed on the floor on his hands and knees.

His legs felt weak, almost numb as he tried his hardest to stand but he couldn’t get up. He began to crawl, an attempt to make it to the exit still as he knew he needed to get out of there, and left a trail of his blood behind.

The sounds of gunfire sounded far away in his ears, the voices of his team sounded as if they were speaking to him from the other side of a tunnel.

He could barely crawl across the floor and when he nearly collapsed, he decided to stop and sit against one of the walls.

He felt cold, unnaturally cold as he looked down at his side and saw the growing red stain on his jacket. He grimaced from the pain and leaned his sore head against the wall as his eyelids started to get heavy as he mumbled something into the comms, unable to really understand the words that came out of his mouth.

“I’m coming!” Gaz yelled in his ear but he didn’t reply.

Ghost blinked slowly as he stared up at the ceiling. The last thoughts he had were of you and your smile. He thought about the way you would hold onto him when you hugged him and the warmth you gave him every time. The way you always seemed so happy to see him and how you always treated him with softness that made him feel safe.

He wanted to see you again. He wanted you to fall asleep on him again and he wanted to kiss you like he loved you because he did. He wanted to do everything he used to do with you just one more time but he couldn’t move.

Your name slipped from his mouth as if he were calling to you. As if you would come and take him into your arms one last time.

He heard Gaz call out his name from the room he was in but he didn’t have the energy to keep his head up anymore as his vision went black and he couldn’t feel anything anymore.

Link to part 5

A/N: Figured I would make it up to you guys with smut since I was mean last chapter, expect more angst and smut later on >:) Also ignore the bad action scenes I didn't put that much effort into them since they weren't what the story was about

(don't worry he's not dead I promise)

The tag list is closed!! I am so happy that so many of you want to be tagged for this story but I will not be accepting anymore requests to tag people in this series since this list has gotten long and it's hard to keep track of how many I have to add! Sorry for the inconvenience!

Taglist: @kat-nee @alexwashere82 @suicidal-marshmallow @shuttlelauncher81 @poohkie90 @reiya-djarin @k4marina @mionacaped @igotmajordaddyissues @xxghostyx @pasta-m1lk @imstargazing @c00kied0ugh44 @quesowakanda @jacksonpleasestopkillingme @kgive @konig-is-bbygrl @otaku8 @lialacleaf @frazie99 @gremlin-ghuleh @spencerreidisbae123 @alastorhazbin @writingmysanity @lillianastuff @alastorhazbin @reid490 @projectdreamwalker @backupgal @wobblywolf @lockleywife @sheepsel @dead-noodles @vellicora @marshmallowtraver @sinclairbrosbathmat @argella1300 @sofasoap @crazyfandomist

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #mw2 ghost #cod ghost #ghost mw2

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szlez · 17 days ago

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Parody a.k.a Join The Navy

25th one for Suptober 2024 Remixed by @wigglebox and @thepagemistress based on Suptober by @winchester-reload.

Prompt 25. Parody

As it is actually a parody it is only fair to link you to the original art - a propaganda poster by Richard Fayerweather Babcock.

Make love not war, I guess 😉

To see my art without the fiery addition look here.

I'm pretty sure that it's inspired by yet another @masoena's Kinktober 2024 prompts.

Prompt 23. Uniforms (or lack thereof to be precise)

My other arts for Suptober:

Prompt 1. Autumn, Prompt 2. Spa Day, Prompt 3. Royalty, Prompt 4. Birthday, Prompt 5. Scars, Prompt 6. Electric, Prompt 7. Thankful, Prompt 8. Witch’s Brew, Prompt 9. Moon, Prompt 10. Mushrooms, Prompt 11. Myth, Prompt 12. Harvest Festival, Prompt 13. Monster Mash, Prompt 14. Fave Episode, Prompt 15. Sigils, Prompt 16. Falling, Prompt 17. Wings, Prompt 18. Family Business, Prompt 19. Dark & Stormy Night, Prompt 20. Limbo, Prompt 21. Cozy Treats, Prompt 22. Ladies, Prompt 23. Fever, Prompt 24. Branded.

Taglist.

Pls DM me if you want to be added to tag list or removed from it.

@aniona29, @denimshortsdean, @dotti55, @famouskidangel, @malicmalic, @squirrelsarecool, @writteninthestarsinyoureyes .

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soullessdianthus · 1 year ago

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𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐄 | 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐱 𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠) 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑

Summary: A heated confrontation between Ghost and König occurs just before the takeoff. The colonel tests the boundries of sanity and good taste, when he finds Ghost on a battlefield alone. Displayed for him to take down with a single pull of the trigger.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

A/N: Apologise for the delay as I mentioned I was on vacations and now I'm trying to catch up with the requests. Thanks for your patience! ( ˘ ³˘) Y/C ━ Your Codename Poorly translated German ━ correct me if needed!

Warnings: reader is eastern european coded, desc. of blood/injuries/unalive bodies, smut (very brief desc., slow and gentle sex, p in v, voyeurism)

Word count: 3.7k

YALL I RAN OUT OF KONIG'S GIFS WHAT THE HECK

The armory was bursting at the seams, when many KorTac soldiers came in and out, preparing for the upcoming takeoff. The racks usually filled with rifles were emptied, gear sets laying on the shelfs mostly gone.

The tall figure of the lieutenant obscured the privates dressed all in black. The yellow light dangling from the ceiling casted a shadow inside of the skull’s eye sockets. Black irises merged with the pupils of his eyes.

Ghost hadn’t put his vest nor the gun holster on yet. He left the room in which he and his lover slept in, then headed straight to the magazine. The man needed to clean his gun and sharpen the knives before the departure. It was a part of his routine, almost becoming a ritual of sorts. A brilliant soldier.

Ghost walked into the narrow alley. To his dismay there was already another person sitting on the metal bench against the wall. But not just simply another person, no. It was him, the king.

König sat with his legs spread open, casually. An assault rifle was held firmly, when his opposite hand cleaned the barrel precisely and slowly. The colonel wasn’t in a rush. Ghost could feel the man's cold, blue eyes following him until the Britishman stopped near one of the shelves with gear.

Simon took a gun holster in his hand and swiftly wrapped it around his massive thigh. With a quick movement, he secured the strap, before moving to putting on a tactical vest. Everything went according to Ghost’s liking, the cocky Austrian man kept his mouth shut.

Until he didn’t.

━ Your medic is a treasure, leutnant [ger.: lieutenant]. Would kill to have one this skilled on my team. And equally pretty too. ━ König chuckled under his black hood, his shoulders slightly shaking. Some would say it was a nervous laugh, but Ghost’s experience told him it was not. The colonel had a filthy mouth, that’s all.

A silence followed his blunt provocations as Ghost kept adjusting the vest’s straps over his jacket. Simon Riley was not easy to provoke with such jokes. However, his mannerism exposed his annoyance a little too much.

━ You know ━ the colonel continued pushing Simon’s buttons, checking his boundaries. Especially those regarding his girlfriend ━ you should be more careful with spreading such vulnerable pictures like the one you sent me yesterday.

━ Thought I made it clear she’s off your limits, no?

The tone of Ghost’s voice was firm and almost menacing, when he reloaded the handgun and put it into the holster.

━ Nicht wirklich [ger.: Not really] ━ König set aside prepared rifle and leaned over his own thighs, one forearm resting upon his lap. ━ Besides, isn’t your little union… ━ he paused, searching for a descriptive word, circling his wrist in the air ━ prohibited? It would be a pity to destroy a career in the army, ja?

━ Are you threatening us?

━ Do you feel threatened?

Ghost turned around to face the cocky bastard, now standing to his full height. Even then, the man with a skull mask kept his emotions in check. He knew better.

━ No.

━ Then it’s clear. ━ The colonel of KorTac said in a calm manner, grabbing the rifle, before slowly heading towards the armory’s exit. He didn’t turn around, not once. ━ I’m actually looking for more of those pictures.

With a steady pace König left the room, leaving the lieutenant behind. Alone this time.

The sound of clamped gloves could be heard, man’s veins on his palm popped out. Ghost gritted his teeth silently, trying to ignore that bloody moron. Lieutenant knew perfectly well that you were his. Only Simon could touch you, kiss you, protect you. But something about the Austrian man not giving up made him annoyed.

Especially because he was just fucking around with Simon, pushing him, testing his limits, joking about his girl.

It was you. You were Ghost’s weak point and König abused that recognition.

The knowledge that if the mission went smoothly, the Task Force would pack up and move was reassuring. So therefore Ghost would do everything in his power to make it happen. He wanted to leave Austria as soon as possible.

Not so long after the encounter in the magazine, the two cooperative groups were loading into the off-road, military cars resembling a van. They were really spacious.

When Ghost left the building of KorTac base and his eyes got used to the sunlight, he managed to locate you near one of the vans alongside… well, Colonel König. You were casually talking with him.

Gaz couldn’t go with you this time, even though he insisted he would be fine, he just got a little burnt here and there, that’s all. But Captain Price wasn’t having it and gave Kyle Garrick an order to stay in the hospital wing for that day.

You didn’t like the sight of fresh wounds forming on Gaz’s skin – burns were quite serious injuries, even blisters popping out. Perhaps the scars were not life threatening and won’t stay forever, but he had to give it a rest. He would heal eventually.

The lieutenant would rather have Gaz or Soap jumping around you than this stubborn Austrian man, who happened to behave or think… quite indecent.

Simon Riley knew how some men are and it wasn’t really hard to deduce what kind of man König was. If he only got the chance, he would lay his sticky hands all over you. Ghost couldn’t let it happen.

By the time the man with the skull mask approached the vehicle, you were already sitting on the bench next to him. God, why were you so casual about the colonel? The Britishman’s blood was on the edge of boiling.

“Fuckin’ hell”, he thought to himself.

━ How’s your leg, sir? ━ You asked, continuing a chit chat. All of the memories of last night’s ambush came back, your body shuffling in one place, trying to adjust in a tight space of the van.

━ Wunderbar [ger.: Wonderful]. Such skillful hands make wonders, Y/C.

The Austrian man was towering over you even in the sitting position. He was indeed a giant. König’s legs were far too close to yours, trying to to rub against Riley’s girlfriend.

That motherfucker was bold.

With a loud thud of his steps Ghost got in the van and walked all the way to the talking duet. He forced his way between the colonel and his teammate. Ghost sat letting out a loud sigh.

━ Thought you’re stayin’ with Gaz. ━ The grumpy lieutenant said, his dark eyes looking directly at you, completely ignoring the presence of a man on his right.

At this time, Simon felt an urge to place his gloved hand over your thigh – to feel your flesh, your heat, just that you’re real and his. A simple act of tenderness that he had to suppress. For now.

━ Negative. Captain’s orders.

You explained to Ghost that you were not supposed to go into the battlefield that day. Well, not directly at least. Every pair of medic hands would be useful after the mission has ended. The KorTac and Task Force had a stronghold to conquer. It was a tough one.

Tougher than they estimated at the very beginning.

And even though some would feel anxious with taking their loved ones to such dangerous places, Ghost knew you could handle it. You were a tough woman after all, not some fragile porcelain doll.

━ How copy?

One of his colleagues’ voices resounded from the radio on his broad shoulder.

━ Almost there.

König moved swiftly, yet quietly along the staircase leading to the rooftop. He heard clearly the sounds of machine guns and the yelping of dying soldiers nearby. The colonel moved smoothly in the darkness of the night, his black hood blending within the surroundings.

He was so intoxicated with the smell of gore, he didn’t even feel the pulsating pain, radiating from his freshly sewed wound. A little reminder of someone.

When he leaned over the corner of the hallway, he managed to take down three of the enemy's troopers, putting holes in their vulnerable necks, blood splashing around. König acted fast and effectively.

The Austrian man finally reached the rooftop and noticed the laid out sniper’s rifle and a bloodied corpse near the station. It looked like someone took the previous sniper by surprise and ended his miserable life.

Man with a covered face clicked with his tongue, disappointed. König made sure the area was safe for him to take the position, checking the other rooftops. He set aside his own rifle and laid down on the gravel ground.

━ In a position. Any other problems? ━ The colonel checked in the radio channel, waiting for the soldier’s confirmation.

━ No, sir.

━ Gut [ger.: Good]. Over and out.

König crawled closer over the rough texture beneath him and positioned himself near the rifle’s scope (and the still warm corpse). He had a perfect observing spot for the whole accommodation.

Turning the weapon gently he took a look over the main building’s third floor – he saw KorTac soldiers making their way to the ground floor after checking for the potential hiding spots of their enemy.

All of the shootings were dying out.

Then, moving to the smaller structure nearby, König noticed Captain Price securing the target in one of the rooms. Few seconds later an announcement echoed in his earpiece, breaking the short lasting silence.

━ This is Bravo 0-6, target secured. I repeat, target secured.

━ Kinderspiel [ger.: Piece of cake]. ━ Colonel smirked under his hood.

He decided to stay at the sniper’s position for a little longer, making sure that the area was safe to move around with a captured target. König moved the rifle’s scope towards the courtyard in the middle of the buildings. For a moment he couldn’t believe he was so lucky.

There he was – a ghost surrounded by the enemy, cornered at the square. All alone.

König pointed the cross to the man’s chest. If only the Austrian soldier pulled the trigger on the sniper rifle, he would eliminate the obstacle standing between him and his latest obsession.

But was he actually capable of doing it?

The thought alone of you crying in König’s arms, mourning your lover, sent shivers down his spine. His heart skipped a beat and his blood ran cold. Could he really make you suffer this much? At the end of the day, he was a heartless executioner.

The colonel inhaled through his teeth, trying not to move in the slightest and cleared his head. He pointed the rifle at his current target and held his breath in.

Steady.

In a matter of seconds, everything went so silent, he was able to hear the owl in the nearest forest.

Until there was a gunshot, scaring the birds away from the tree crowns. König pulled the trigger. And then another time.

The hired mercenary incoming from Ghost’s left collapsed onto the tile floor with a thud.

The colonel shifted the aim and hit the other two men coming out from the building, securing a lieutenant of TF 141. He observed through the little glass piece, how Ghost stabbed his opponent with a knife and then swiftly turned around to throw another one to the enemy guard.

When the area was cleansed, König swore that for a brief moment Ghost soul-consuming eyes were locked on him. Or at the sniper position at least.

He knew.

Needless to say, the man with a black hood liked to poke the bear with a stick, curiously waiting to find out – what would the bear do. Because at the end of the day, there was no one that could defeat the king.

Was he a depraved, rotten to the bone’s marrow person? No, natürlich [ger.: naturally]. A little twisted, but not a psychopath. Therefore he could not damage nor terminate the lieutenant from Great Britain. As far as his weird fascination with you went, he would not want to make you suffer by murdering your lover, ja?

When all of the enemies were gone (one way or another – by greeting the reaper or running away) the team gathered in the meeting point, a few klicks away from the fortress they just stormed. A couple of helos landed on the forest grounds.

From one of which you walked out.

━ Everyone in one piece? ━ You jokingly said, acknowledging most of the team being unharmed.

━ Apart from the Austrian bastards bitin’ the dust, we’re more than good. ━ Price told you, placing one of him palms over your shoulder. Only then he noticed the presence of KorTac colonel and apologized quickly. ━ No offense.

━ None taken, Captain. What is important is that we’ve a target in custody. Gute arbeit.

König slowly moved past the three Task Force operators and went inside of the helicopter. Side by side with other KorTac soldiers. One in particular patted the colonel's back. The operator had a patch with callsign “Horangi”.

They seemed to be good friends.

━ The fuck he just said? ━ Ghost seemed to be a bit offended that he didn’t understand what König said in his native language.

━ Good job. ━ You explained, eyes following the gigantic man who taught you this phrase.

The voyages by helos were definitely not your favorite. Sudden changes of pressure, turbulence and the dim lighting – it all made you so sleepy. Normally, if the flight was less crowded, you’d lay your head on Ghost’s shoulder and let yourself slightly drift off.

Hilariously not professional of you, but hey – since childhood you were able to fall asleep almost everywhere: in a bus, standing, half sitting, on bloody weddings even. And then, when woken up, you immediately came back “to the living”.

Thank God the flight back to the base wasn’t long and you didn’t take a nap in front of so many professionals.

Although not many soldiers needed medical attention, you went straight to the infirmary, while rolling the sleeves of your shirt up. Most of them needed to get their scratches cleaned. A piece of cake, right?

Well, not so easy nor calming with hyped up Gaz talking all the time behind your shoulder, playfully asking about the operation. The pain relieving medication was still in his bloodstream, providing him with too much energy. Really, he should have been asleep by now.

“Gosh, did they inject him with dosage for a horse?”, you wondered.

Normally, you liked him talking. You were a good listener and Kyle could talk to you for hours as you sat there in silence, taking every story he came up with.

But sometimes, after the long lasting missions you needed to clear your head. To ease the constantly running thoughts and just… calm down. And today was that day. You needed silence, but didn’t have enough resolution to tell your teammate to politely shut up.

So he kept bothering you, while you took care of the soldiers.

Captain was on a call with Laswell and Shepherd, meanwhile Ghost put the captured target in confinement. At least until the Golden Eagle decides what to do next with the man responsible for the latest terrorism in Austria.

Task Force 141 job was done, all that was left were formalities.

When you finally left the infirmary’s cleaned station and said your goodnights with Gaz, you returned to the room you and Ghost were sleeping in. Well, technically it was his room, but no one dared to check if the lieutenant was sleeping there alone.

It was still better than sleeping in barracks.

You weren’t surprised when you found the dormitory empty with no trace of your boyfriend there. He had to be busy. The vision of a warm shower was tempting, especially that probably most if not all of the other operatives were sleeping soundly by now.

You left everything that wasn’t necessary in “the dorm” and headed through the narrow hallways, your mind already imagining the streams of clear water running down your skin.

But the lit lamp in the common room on your right caught your attention. There shouldn’t be anyone there by this time.

You took a curious look through the door frame and saw the bulky man hunched over the paper splayed on the table.

━ Simon? What are you doing? ━ A simple question left your mouth as you entered the small room and left the doors slightly opened. Not on purpose, of course. It was a habit. A bad one.

━ Price dozed off after the call. Someone has to fill those papers. Fuckin’ ol’ man.

Ghost smirked under his balaclava and solid mask, when he stood up from the chair and moved towards his girlfriend. The two of you met halfway.

━ And he can’t do this in the morning?

━ We’re leavin’ by then ━ he stepped closer, his figure towering over you. By now, the lieutenant has taken off his gear too. When he placed his palms on your hips, a quiet laugh slipped through your lips. ━ What’s so funny?

━ You’re kind of old too.

━ Yeah? You think so? ━ Ghost teased you softly, before rapidly grabbing a firm hold onto your thighs, his bare hand squeezing the flesh just under your ass. Only a thin layer of clothes separated his coarse digits and your smooth skin.

With a quick lift, he hoisted you over his hips and came closer to the wall behind you. When your body was squeezed between your lieutenant and the wall, you caressed Ghost’s biceps and shoulders, soothing his muscles after a long day.

━ You think an ol’ man can do this?

He asked you, before burying his now exposed jaw into your neck, placing light kisses. Ghost’s movements followed the tendon up, licking a stripe with his warm tongue from time to time.

━ Fuck, Simon… ━ You practically whimpered, when he latched onto sweet spot on your neck. ━ Not here.

━ We’re alone, they’re all sleepin’, luv ━ Simon tried to reassure you, starting to work on undoing your zipper and button. ━ Come on, you’re so fuckin’ tensed.

He let you slide down the wall to stand by your own strength, it was easier to slip your trousers down this way.

That night you let him do all the work. Not like you had much to do, he was just faster than you. Eager, longing for intimacy.

Ghost slid down the hem of your trousers and underwear down, just a little and lifted you up by the wall again. But this time, you could clearly feel his hardening member underneath your own crotch.

Your cheeks were flustered and heart pounding fast. The closeness with Simon Riley made you excited every time you were this exposed to each other.

His hand sneaked down to release himself from his confinements, brown eyes kept on you and your beautiful features. Always.

Ghost’s left hand was grippind the plush of your thigh firmly, almost like he was holding onto his own dear life. Meanwhile, while Simon was unbuckling his belt and cargo pants, you snuck the hand under the black balaclava and brushed through his blonde hair. The tough man groaned into your face. He fucking loved when you played with his hair.

And vice versa.

You smacked your lips against his scarred ones, moments before he finally pushed himself into you, causing his precious girlfriend to moan straight into his mouth.

A sudden wave of heat overflowed your muscles, making you almost limp in his hold. Your arms entangled around his shoulders, when he kept rocking you upwards.

Ghost held you firmly by your thighs wrapped around his waist, bucking his hips into you in a steady rhythm. He wasn’t rushing anywhere, the lieutenant had a fucking eternity if needed to spend with you.

The pleasant feeling of your body around him and the sound of your voice was all he needed after such an intense mission. It was the best type of treatment for his wounds – the physical and emotional ones. He knew this from the experience.

You were his remedy. The cure.

━ Oh, Simon ━ you sweetly muttered, resting your burning hot cheek against his broad shoulder. ━ Like this. Please.

How could he deny this pretty request?

Ghost kept lulling you into the dreamy state, bouncing you on his length. When you managed to keep your eyes open, you remembered the slight gap you left between the doors and its frame.

It didn’t matter at the time, as you were keeping it fairly quiet. Only soft whimpers and a few guttural moans from time to time left the lovers’ lips.

━ There you go ━ Simon whispered next to your ear in a praising manner ━ all better, yeah?

He was right and you nodded with your head, rubbing against Simon’s clothes. You finally managed to relax.

And when your glossy eyes opened again, facing those opened doors, you saw the colonel peeping at the two of you. His black hood with bleached stripes were distinct in the lighting of the room.

He wasn’t even trying to be sneaky about it. The Austrian man was halfway standing in the common room and devouring the show you two put for him. Only his growing bulge made him uncomfortable with his own pants.

König’s gaze drilled into your vulnerable form and all strength you had left, was to stare at him in this dreamy fucked out state, your boyfriend put you in.

Your body was held by Ghost against a wall, securely. Limbs going numb from pleasure, tears of joy gathering in the corners of your eyes, under the fluttering eyelashes.

And all you could do was just clinging to Simon’s strong arm.

You considered a version of events, where all of this was only a hallucination. That the colonel wasn’t really there, standing in the doorframe. God, at least he wasn’t doing anything indecent.

But if this was all true, if König was watching you two fuck, it was the most beautiful day in his pathetic life.

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