#sergeant alley | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bellewintersroe · 1 year

Text

James ‘Moe’ Alley x nurse Jenny OC- Headcannons - Part 1.

You guys this boy is SO criminally underrated, I love him so I’m gonna dedicate a bunch of these headcannons / scenarios for him. If anybody has any requests for Alley then let me know!

just doing a spin off from the Easy boys x nurse headcannons, I feel like I need to delve further into underrated characters! And the OC being a nurse feels a lot more realistic for me to write about! I can explore more things than I could with a civilian OC.

This is going to be divided into parts just so it’s not insanely long- and I can write about specific events without having to skip past anything.

Also Jenny/ Jen is my go to OC name atm, that and Missy or Maggie- don’t ask me why, they’re just easier to remember 😭😭

I can see Moe being on the shyer / sensitive side. I’ll get more into the sensitive thing further on, but rn let’s talk about him pre war.

I think he’s kinda experienced with girls? Maybe had one or two relationships, but I think his body count is probably around 3/4? Nothing too wild, most of them have been when he’s drunk because I feel like he was maybe a little insecure as a teenager?

by the age of 22 he’s filled out, tall, muscular, super duper handsome, but I feel like he’d still be a little awkward? Especially around girls, around the guys he’s a lot more chill and he’s one of the more popular guys in Easy.

so when a bunch of nurses, attached to Easy company are introduced to the men, 99.9% of them are swarming around them, super happy to have such lovely ladies working alongside of them. But there’s this one particular blonde haired, blue eyed girl which Moe watched from afar. She’s petite, shorter than the rest, with lots and lots of hair and the most perfect face Moe had ever seen.

Moe thinks she looks stunning in her uniform, Angel like, so he can’t even imagine how drop dead gorgeous she is in her normal clothes.

Jenny is similar to Moe, slightly more on the sensitive side, and a little shy. She, however, once she gets to know people warms up super quick and has the most bubbliest personality. She’s chatty and has a laugh that’s contagious, there’s a light spread of freckles lingering across her cheeks and nose which only comes out in the summer, and despite army regulations, she loves wearing makeup and painting her nails.

anyway, back too it, Alley is pretty good friends with Liebgott and Christenson already, and they scored the best seats in the house with this Angel in particular sat right between them.

Moe finds an opportunity that’s not too demanding, nor would it be awkward with his buddies and makes a B line for the table. In the process, Jenny would glance up and see the most gorgeous man walking her way.

He’s tall dark and handsome, she has to take a double take at the baby face to make sure he’s actually walking over to her and not somebody else.

this is cute short when Skinny Sisk plants his ass firmly on the chair, stealing both Jenny’s attention and Alley’s plan. Alley mentally curses, borderline shooting daggers into Skinny’s head before playing it off as going to get another drink.

Every now and then the two of them would glance over in each others directions, curious to know more about each other.

unfortunately neither of them catch each others eyes at the same time and Alley would be under the impression that Jenny’s into Joe Liebgott, seeing as they’re chatting so much.

Anyway, a little time jump, training in Toccoa is fun and all- well, it’s really not. The only fun parts are the occasional weekend pass in which Jenny usually goes home to visit family and friends.

however there’s one particular weekend when she stays on sight, it’s a Sunday evening and shes walking to where there’s a cinema set up inside the hall. Some old movie is playing that’s played 10x over but she doesn’t care.

anyway, she walks in and despite it meant to be quiet in there, people are all like ‘Aw hey, Jenny!’ Glad to see her, and Moe, sat next to Liebgott finally learns her name.

‘Jenny’ Moe mutters out loud, smiling to himself like a dork, swivelled in his seat to face her like many of the other men and women are.

‘Yeah?’ Oh Shit- she heard and Moe’s breathless, and she’s breathless, waiting to find out why this random guy just said her name. Only when Jenny’s eyes narrowed did she recognise it to be the same handsome stranger from the pub that first time.

Moe is PANICKING, Liebgott is smirking, one of Jenny’s friend hooked under his arm as they watch him FREAK.

‘Oh- I just didn’t- know your name. That’s all, I’m Moe by the way.’ He’s springing up out of his seat, standing almost a foot taller than Jenny. She’s borderline blown away by his height, but his nervous rambling makes her feel somewhat at ease.

‘Hi, Moe, it’s nice to meet you.’ Then they shake hands? Kinda awkward, ik. But her voice is so sweet and has the slightest rasp, Moe truly believes she’s an Angel.

‘Well, it’s actually James but… nobody calls me that, anyway d’ya wanna sit here?’ Before he can think he’s offering his chair up and she giggles making him turn a vibrant red. It’s lucky it’s dark in there.

‘No, but, I’ll sit next to you.’ She’s shrugging casually, taking a seat right besides him. They slightly knock shoulders and she’s smiling to himself whilst he’s a sweating mess.

‘What an introduction Moe. Or is it James?’ Liebgott immediately starts teasing, embarrassing his friend further.

Jenny stands up for Moe, thinking his introduction was cute, when she leans over him he gets even more fidgety. ‘Shut your fly trap Joe… Is it Moe or is it James thought?’

conversation kinda flows from there between the four of them sat together, but the movie starting cuts any chance Moe thinks he has to redeem himself, short.

he’d be tense the whole time, and Jenny would be fidgety as hell. He’s stiffened, trying not to do the same, but there’s some kinda happiness inside of him that even if she’s moving around in her chair every 30 seconds, she still chose to sit next to him.

that evening he’d be BEGGING Joe to get you guys all out together, on some kinda four way date as he’s too nervous to approach Jenny alone. Jenny on the other hand drops all the hints possible that she’s into Moe, but she’s too flustered and he’s too flustered to notice.

‘I dunno man, I’m not really into the chick I was with earlier-“ ‘Liebgott, you’ve gotta do me just this one favour, man’.

the next thing Liebgott knows he’s acting very reluctantly as Cupid / matchmaker. But hey, if it makes his buddy happy, and Jenny is a total doll, so he wants to do it for his buddy.

Jenny would be sighing to her best friend Alice, saying how this guys a total dreamboat, all whilst Alice is complaining about how annoying the skinny dude was who she was on a date with. (Liebgott).

anyway I think their initial attraction would be super cute and innocent, but obviously things don’t always run smoothly so stay tuned for part two 😏

#band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers headcannons #james moe alley #james moe alley x reader #moe alley #sergeant alley

34 notes · View notes

coffeeandbatboys · 1 month

Text

The Clones reacting to you smushing their cheeks

Idk I had this idea and thought it’d be cute. Since the clones are supposed to have round cheeks, visualize live action and not animated 😂

Warnings: none, just fluff.

Fives, Wrecker, Hardcase, & Tup: Loving it so much, will lean into your hands and give you heart eyes. Maybe even press a few kisses to your hand.

Cody, Jesse, Kix, Echo, Vaughn & Mayday: Will blush profusely and look side to side for a second, before giving in and flashing you a tiny smile.

Rex, Hunter, Tech, & Fox: Not sure what to do, just give an awkward smile and internally scream because they secretly find it super cute.

Crosshair, Wolffe & Dogma: Not understanding any of it. Don’t know what you’re doing, not sure that they like it, 3/10 do not recommend.

460 notes · View notes

moi5t-fk-fruit · 5 months

Text

✩ Ghost Fucking You in a Alleyway ☾

Oneshot ⋆⁺Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!Reader⋆⁺

⋆⁺₊⋆ Summary: While trying to avoid shadows, you and Ghost get stuck in between a tight alleyway. And sure Ghost’s gun is hard but not as hard as his dick pressed upon your ass. All your Lieutenant needs is a quickie!

⋆⁺₊⋆ Warning: Pet Names, Dirty Talk, Unprotected p in v, Creampie, Multiple orgasms, Semi Public Sex, Groping, Rough Sex, Praising, Breeding Kink, Gagging, Cummm. NSFW! SMUTTT! After Care? :3

⋆⁺₊⋆ A/N: This shouldn’t have taken me so long. Just enjoy plz and thx 4 reading cuties <3 Plz support by reposting ;3

Nsfw below the cut

Imagine…

Ghost and you sneak through houses and alleys, taking down any shadows in your way. Rain splashing with every footstep taken.

“Come here-" Ghost grips your forearm and pushes you against him as he leads you through the allyways.

You follow trying to pick up your feet to his speed.

Feeling your back on his armed chest as he tries to keep you close to him. He slows down and lowers his head close to your ear, you can feel yourself almost trip when his hot breath is on your bare neck.

“Trying to find somewhere secure. There's too many of them. Better to wait it out.“ he whispers close so only you can hear him. As you’re still trying to comprehend the situation, he brings you both to a stop and slides into a narrow alley.

He waves you over and you both try to get deeper where the street lights won’t expose you.

Running on adrenaline you both didn’t realize the alleys becoming tighter. Only when it was too late and you shuffle against him.

“No stop-“ he breaths out, you’re pinned against him and can feel him all around you.

“Fuck m’sorry sir.” you’re more than embarrassed, your hands are in front of you on the bricked wall.

“Just stay still.”

“Can’t stay still. Your so-hard against me-“

“What?” You can sense his eyebrows curling and even his lips forming a smirk but it quickly vanishes as your embarrassment got the best of you. You began to arch away from him and shuffle off of him.

“Y/n stop” He almost growls out. You ignore and try again, this time he’s had enough and his gloved hands grip the sides of your waist. Though the timing could’ve never been worse.

As he pushes you down you accidentally grind onto him, assuming the hardness on your ass to be a gun. Letting out a cut whine of discomfort.

Out of your sight, Ghosts head shoots back to the wall behind him, biting his lip to the point where blood could be drawn. Keeping quite.

“You mind moving your fucking gun lieutenant.” You stutter out.

“That’s not my fuck’n gun sergeant.”

His voice is somehow deeper and his accent thicker than you’ve ever heard, he’s desperate.

He’s hands are still on your waist as your eyes widen due to feeling the large imprint of his crouch on your ass. If your cunt wasn’t already wet from him being all over you, it’s soaked now. He lets his head fall to the crook of your neck. Your bodies fuming together. In defeat you let your head fall to his chest you can now see his balaclava and skull mask, his eyes are shut.

“Told you to keep still.”

Silence falls, you look up to the starry night. The storm now soaking you both more, feeling rain droplets fall on your face. Ghost focuses on your breathing and his hands that still grip on your waist loosen. Not wanting his gloved hands to leave your body you grab them, moving them lower to create a space in between the warmth your thighs. Your eyes flutter as he leads himself, his large hands squeeze and kneed your inner thighs. You turn your head close to his ear. Softly praising him to continue, he boldly moves his hand towards your clothed cunt and gropes you, you whimper and arch into his hand. He also turns his head to face you, admiring your slightly illuminated scrunched features as the pleasure gets to you. Ghost shuts his eyes when he grinds his dick against your ass again, much rougher, his lips parting open from the friction. You moan into his covered parted lips.

“Tha’s it. Jus like that pretty girl.”

He kisses you, it’s sloppy and full of hunger. You begin to kiss him back and his balaclava becomes wetter with the rain and the way both of your saliva starts mixing. He groans softly when you catch his bottom lip in between your teeth through his mask. Detaching after a slow tug.

“How about we speed this up-huh pet?" His other hand taking a hold of your throat and giving it a squeeze. You nod and with your own hands you unbuckle your cargo pants. Ghost takes his hands off your body and helps by pulling your pants down, below your ass. A short hiss leaving you as you feel the coldness of the night.

"Been wearing these along. Who could've known you were such a slut on the battle field." He says while soothing your cunt through your laced panties, his thumb applying pressure to your clit.

"Wear'em for you"

"Really?" He lets out a low cold chuckle, sliding your panties down to your pants. Moaning when he gives your ass a squeeze.

"hands on the wall sergeant"

You obey and hear him unbuckling his own pants, listening to him groaning when pumps his shaft a few times before tapping his wet tip on your cheeks. Ghost lifts you and slides his dick back and forth through your wet folds, feeling the girth and length as he humps you from behind.

“You okay with this doll? You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes. I want it, please Ghost-”

“Fuck’n hell. You’re going to be the end of me.”

Ghost slides the tip of his dick to your entrance and slowly lets himself in and out. Your mouth agape and his hot breath bleeding through his mask into the cold air of the night. Thinking of the sight someone could catch you both in. Bent over and holding yourself against a bricked wall, the storm coving the lewd sounds carried with heavy breathing while your lieutenant fucks you from behind.

You both holding in the satisfaction of him inside you but failing as he slides his tip back out of you and slams his lengthy dick fully into your pussy. His heavy balls making contact with your ass and a splash occurring with the rain. Your loud moan cut out from Ghost coving your mouth with his gloved hands.

“Let’s keep those pretty moans for my ears only. Don’t want the whole city knowing I’m fucking you like this.”

Ghost continues fucking you, his dick deep inside your pussy, his balls splashing and hitting your ass with every thrust. You can feeling yourself at the edge of your climax.

“Need to cum Ghost- can’t go any longer…”

“Come on then pretty girl. Cum all over my cock, need to feel that fuck’n cunt tighten.”

He fucks you harder, until you moan ‘Ghost’ out, loud enough for him to take one of his gloves off and shove into your mouth. You cum hard onto his cock, tensing when tasting the metallic in your mouth as you whine into the his glove. Ghost shutters behind you, his cock twitching inside you as your walls tighten and your juices cover him.

“Gonna let me come inside you doll?”

You gag on the glove and he takes it out.

“Please Lieutenant, I need you.”

Ghost groans in the crook of your neck.

“Want me to breed your pretty pussy badly, huh-doll?”

“Yes-!”

You’re cut off with a hard slap on your ass and Ghost’s thrusting becomes unrhythmic. You listen to his hushed moans and heavy breaths as he stuffs his balls on your ass and coats your walls with his seed. You whimper from the feeling of his cock pulsing.

“Good girl, take it all in for your lieutenant.” Ghost continues riding out his high and doesn’t stop thrusting into you. He pulls your head back to see your face, only to find you practically drooling.

“You’ve gone cock dumb sergeant.” He chuckles and slows down, his cock softens inside you. Wiping away the drool with his one glove. He takes a hold of your chin as you both lock eye contact. From just the sight of him, your eyes shut and you cum on his soft dick. Ghost praises you through your second orgasm. You both feel the mix of cum dripping from your pussy down his shaft, undoubtedly staining Ghost’s pants. He groans while he pulls out carefully and you whimper from discomfort.

“You alright love?” He holds you, taking your now rough and wet hands off the wall, he begins to slowly massage them with his own calist hands. Until their back to their soft form inwhich he loves.

“Yes sir” You give him a warm smile that makes his pulse quicken. You rest your head back on his chest and begin lifting your pants up.

“Let me take care of you love-” You blush harder as he calls you that again. “-promise I’ll get you properly cleaned.” He slides your now drenched panties back up and pants. Buckling your belt for you, adjusting to the right fit. With the space you have you lean forward for him to slide his briefs back around his waist and pants. Giggling quietly when you hear him trying to rub off the cum that got on his pants with the rain. He wished you could see the smile that spreads on his face as he listens to your sweet giggles.

“We should get going y/n.” You hum, remembering where you really are. He helps you shuffle off him, trying to avoid anymore physical contact. You both begin to retrace your steps, now knowing the shadows are far gone. The street lights becoming more visible.

Before you get your gun out and focus back on the task at hand, you’re halted by Ghost turning you over to face him. He traps you against the cold wall with his large arms. You look up to him. Rain droplets failing from his skull mask and helmet. His eyes not leaving yours.

“Lieutenant?”

He detaches his skull mask and slowly lifts his balaclava up to his nose. Revealing the bottom half of his face. You observe his stubbled beard and slightly chapped lips, scars scattered around his face, one larger one extending across his lips. He looks down to your lips and his hands find the sides of your head. Ghost smashes his lips with yours. You both finding pleasure with his controlling mouth. Though he backs up and slides his balaclava back down, along with attaching his skull mask on.

“Let’s finish this mission and continue this later eh-sergeant?”

“Yes Lieutenant-”

“Atta girl.”

#simon riley x you #cod smut #cod mw2 #call of duty #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon riley #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #call of duty smut #simon riley smut #cod one shot #call of duty mw2 #oneshot

1K notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

can you do a ghost version of the Memories of Youth fic you did for price please?

Harvest Storms

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Daughter!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, emotionally distant father/Simon, injuries, arguments, mentions of Simon's past, hurt/comfort, fluff near the end, etc.

A/N: I know this might be controversial but I really don't see Simon wanting kids so I tried to keep this realistic but also cute, lmao. Enjoy!

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

Simon admitted that having a kid was never on his to-do list, and it wasn’t only his job that caused that. In fact, at any point in his life, the thought alone terrified him.

His icy eyes spaced out as the man unstrapped his combat vest in the on-base armory, hucking it over his head with a tiny grunt. Muscles ached; wounds burned.

He’d known having that one-night stand wasn’t right—he should have just stuck to his perfected solitude of dark rooms and middle-of-the-night workouts. But there was only so much you could do before instinct overcame any sort of common sense; add a few drinks into the mix and the concoction had glazed over his mind like a honey-laced dream.

And then nine months later a single text. A photo attachment.

“She’s yours.” His child. His daughter. Simon had a daughter.

It had taken weeks of self-isolation to figure out what to do. There were moments of very real panic—bone-deep worry and hatred. He couldn’t be a father and still be the Ghost that he was now, but there wasn’t a way to reverse his already damaged psyche. Home in Manchester didn’t feel like a real place anymore; home was a gun in his hands and his mask over his face. Slumping bodies and adrenaline-blown pupils. The high he got out of killing could never be topped by the joys of having a family he didn’t want.

But then he remembered his own father and the guilt that had struck him at that moment left Simon physically sick. Head pounding and bile lacing his tongue as he retched over a toilet. It would have been easier to just promise money, and give over some of what he earned to give you a future. He could distance himself but still be a shadow on the wall if it all went south.

Yes, it could have been easy.

Until your mother up and disappeared; leaving you all alone. There was no way in hell he could leave you in foster care. The stories he’d heard…

Simon’s gloved hands flex, joints cracking, before he checks the watch on his wrist with slow-blinking eyes. He needed to be home in two hours.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” A groan escapes, rolling his shoulders twice before grasping at his thigh holster—slipping out the X12 to place it down with a small thump of black metal.

These movements were entirely routine and soon there was a neat line of multiple knives, the pistol, an automatic rifle, frag grenades, med pack, rope, and anything else that Ghost could have even the slightest possibility of needing in a tight spot. Through it all, the mask stayed; icy eyes behind the spread of black face paint numb.

It’s one hour later that he’s done cleaning and putting everything away with tired fingers. Feet shuffle before he’s exiting the armory all together, snatching the large duffle bag near the double doors; a small grunt plays out of his chest. The strap is dragged over his head when Soap passes him in the base’s hallway.

All Simon could do is hold back a groan as a headache already begins to form.

“Lt.” The Scot calls, smile pulling his lips up, “off to go hide in back-alleys, then?”

“Jesus, Johnny, shut the fuck up already.” Ghost grumbles out, hands slipping into his pockets as he continues off down the hallway. Behind him, the mohawked Sergeant belts out a laugh before disappearing into the armory Simon had just vacated.

“Copy and check, Sir!” Sarcasm bleeds out and makes icy eyes fall half-closed with subdued annoyance.

The large phantom continues on until he exits the base and digs his keys out of his pockets—finding his car in the underground parking garage exactly where he had left it two months prior. As if on autopilot, he shuffles open the door and tosses his bag in the back before sitting in the front seat and twisting the ignition.

Reaching into the glove compartment, Simon pulls out a clean balaclava and holds it loosely—his opposite hand slipping up to the skeletal mask of his head and feeling the fibers on his fingertips. Replacing it swiftly, the clean fabric slips over his face with a stiff movement of his arm. Seconds later, his foot presses into the gas.

There are no words spoken, no comments under breath, just a silence that seems to stem from some underlying anxiety completely foreign to Simon on the field. Going home always made him nervous. A soul-digging kind of hesitation.

It takes him the rest of that last hour to drive home—a tiny little country house far removed from Manchester though still leaving it well guarded by local law-enforcement patrols. A perfect mix of safety and distance that had been the driving force in Simon’s initial purchase of it. But it wasn’t his only properly, not by a long shot.

Like a rat, the holes of his paranoia ran deep into the earth.

He pulls the car into the dirt driveway and kills the vehicle. Outside in the darkening sky, his eyes slide to watch over the top of the garden wall; seeing tree branches sway in a subdued breeze. Sitting there for a few moments, the man just ends up shaking his head and shoving open the door with his shoulder.

Veins tighten under his flesh.

“Kid!” Simon raps on the front door with his knuckles when his boots take him over and up the steps, voice gravelly. A house key slips into the lock, turning over before the barrier opens. Ghost stomps in and immediately knows the entire home is completely empty.

He blinks in confusion, looking over the still air and dull noises. The AC unit whirls; the fridge shakes. No feet on the floor—no groan or sly comment.

You were a teenager now, but the absence of your aura was harsh to him. You were supposed to be here. The Manchester man’s lips thin.

“Christ, don’t go and tell me she’s fuckin’ gone again…” Simon kicks the door shut and lets his bag fall from his fingers, feeling his chest tighten slowly. He beelines to the kitchen where, sure enough, a note from the far-off neighbor who keeps an eye on you when he’s gone was sitting with its delicate font.

Fast fingers snatch it like a snake, jaw clenched and tight grip creasing the paper. He reads with a growing disappointment.

“She got into a fight out of school again—black eye and bruised knuckles. I’m sorry, Mr. Riley, but I couldn’t get a hold of you to tell you about it. I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father. When you read this, I’ll have tried to make her come back inside but I was unsuccessful. I left supper at the base of the hill and a blanket. I’m sorry. I’ll be at my home if you need me.”

Simon places the note down and runs a hand up and down his face, a deep sigh exiting his lips as his fingers cover his jaw and chin. Like the definition of fatigue, his body lightly bows forward. Slouched shoulders.

This would make the fifth fight this year.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

After a minute of mute irritation, the man drops his hands and goes to the freezer, taking out an ice pack with a small glint of further emotion stinted in his gaze. There are so many things that Simon feels for you—some of which he would never be able to properly express.

He’s not a good man. Not someone to look up to or place on a pedestal. He’s in the 141 because he can do a job; a job that not many others can do simply for the fact that something in him was broken. Shattered beyond repair.

Simon was never meant for this.

The blond placed the ice pack into a rag from the drawer and exited through the back door of the house. Grunt stuck in his throat at the thought of the delinquent activities you seemed to always get up to when he was gone which, admittingly, was more often than not.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

But wasn’t he doing a good thing by staying away? He took you in—provided food, water, shelter, and anything else you could need. What was he doing wrong?

Simon’s brows tighten as the chilled air hits him as a winder wind would. By now the sun had fully set and the darkness was becoming more black than blue by the second; dim twinklings from stars dancing in the pupils of his eyes. His feet take him off the back porch and easily finds a small trail that leads through the barren garden all the way to a hill in the distance.

Icy blue easily finds the tiny hunched being at the very top. His hand tightens over the ice pack.

Ghost was unable to understand, of course, he hadn’t had the kind of childhood people would want—was never around kids in general. No friends with little brats running around, obviously. Was this a normal kind of thing kids did? Start fights?

He’d heard some things about teenagers.

Closing his tired eyes for a moment, Simon silently walks past the plate of food at the foot of the hill but snatches the fluffy blanket that had been beside it. If you don’t want to eat he won't force you, but it was getting cold out quickly.

Simon wasn’t letting you catch a bug.

He huffs as he ascends the slope, all the aches and pains finally making themself more known in his thighs and abdomen.

You hear him coming when he’s three-fourths of the way there.

Your red eyes widen in shock, hands that had been trapping your legs to your chest rising to wipe the tears on your cheeks away aggressively; frantic. Three seconds later a heavy fabric hits your head and you tense, widely looking up into the dead eyes of your father.

The blanket thumps to the ground beside you in a heap.

“Put it on,” he grunts from behind his balaclava and your surprised expression slowly sours.

You turn away with a growl. “Don’t want to.”

“Bloody ‘ell, just put it on,” there’s no acidity behind the words, but the annoyance is clear. “Asking to get fuckin’ sick at this rate, are you? I’m not cleanin’ up your vomit from the floor when you're hunched over like a mutt on drugs.”

Not a stranger to his humor, but with a venom-laced look, you grab the blanket as Simon sits next to you and end up throwing it over your shoulders. Your face hurt too much to talk for long periods—right eye swollen and radiating heat; hands weren't that much better, the knuckles puffy and blood-flooded under the skin. It made you flinch when you had to clench your fingers.

You’re acutely aware of your father’s presence. How he sits with his spine bent with one hand behind him; legs laying out flat. You should be happy he’s back safe in one piece, but in reality, there would be little change if he never showed back up at all.

The house was always silent anyways. Dead. Simon was as much a stranger to you as he was to everyone else.

“What did I tell you when I went away, eh?” The man asks you lowly when you’ve settled, and you grit your teeth and look out over the landscape, long grass swaying in the wind. “Kid.”

“Don’t get into any more fights.” Words are stiff, reflective of both of your muscles and hearts.

“Affirmative. You want to explain to me what you did?”

“Got into another fight.” An icepack is tossed near you, bouncing in the grass. You scoff but take it, softly applying it to your face with a concealed flinch. Shame permeates in your ribs, a desperate need to prove yourself. “I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s not an excuse.” Simon glares at you from the side of his eye, utterly serious. “When I tell you something, you listen, yeah?”

“...Yeah,” you grit your teeth and clench your hands, a bitter huff leaving your lips. “Sure.”

A tense silence keeps you in its clutches, the kind of silence that stems from two people who really have no idea how to speak or understand one another.

“No more fighting,” Simon grits out, “now show me.”

“It’s not that bad—”

“Show me it.” Your face burns as you slip the ice pack away and turn your face his way, meeting your father’s gaze head-on and seeing his lids slightly pull back. You spy his hand clenching in the grass, ripping strands out like hair from a head.

“Happy?” You sarcastically ask, turning back forward and putting the ice pack back into your socket.

It’s a long while before he speaks to you again, and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face when he does. Your heart rampages at the deathly slow and tiny voice.

“Why?” The question makes your body flair with anger and you grip the pack tighter, feeling the ice shift in your grip as you clench it violently. You feel your fingers twitch when you answer, unconsciously closing into fists.

“Why?” You glare at him, “Why the hell do you care?”

Simon’s eyes go blank, brows going up his head. Gazes lock and you’re suddenly standing to your feet, chucking the ice pack right into his chest. It only makes you madder when he catches it easily, glancing down at the object before slowly shifting his numb eyes back to you.

“You’re never fucking here, what’s the point in telling you anything about me?” Your father’s face is covered, but the mask is more than just physical—it’s a part of him in every sense. You don’t know what he is, but you see his lungs going still in his ribs. You splay your hands around you as the blanket hits the ground at your feet. “It wouldn’t even make a difference if you never came back! Even when you’re here it barely even matters beyond who’s dishes are in the sink.”

Bitter tears spring to your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, a tight itch in your skin. Slight guilt hits you when you shove out such harsh words, but you don’t care enough right now to think about what you’re saying. Everything just hits a breaking point. Shaking your head you scoff again, weaker this time. “You don’t even know the first things about me and you want me to try and explain why I do the things I do?”

Simon watches and listens, stone still. It’s as if he doesn’t even breathe; his pulse doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. If you would have been able to see it, you’d have noticed the way the large man’s lips were slightly parted.

He wasn’t averse to arguments, he yelled on Ops and cursed aggressively on duty, but he had made a stark promise to himself to never yell at you. If there was one thing that reminded him of his father—it was that. Explosive fights that only ended one way.

What you were saying was everything he knew to be true. This came to him in a slow and silent realization of growing pain. Simon didn’t know your favorite color or what food you loved. Your interests or your goals.

He knew how much you spent on snacks at the store, but didn’t know what you bought.

Ghost clenches his jaw and watches your resolve deteriorate with a heavy heart. What was he supposed to do? He was your father, sure, but…he didn’t know the first things that went with anything beyond giving you items and objects.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

How could he be a father to you?

Simon clears his throat, for once in his life completely unable to pull on any sort of skill to rectify this situation. You take his silence as blatant disregard.

With a burning face, you sniffle and twist on your heel, speed-walking down the hill back into the house. Your brain is pounding in your head, just as fast as your heart when you finally stomp through the garden and shove open the back door.

Simon doesn’t tell you to stop.

Left on that hill, he watches your back disappear into the house and gets a rabid pain in his stone heart. You were his daughter. You were hurt; neglected. He’d never felt like this before.

Simon had failed the only job that he knew was far more important than any other. Blue darkens into a color reminiscent of storm clouds.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Standing, he snatches at the ice pack and the blanket, lightly jogging down the mound of earth. In no time he’s standing in the house again, having completely forgotten about the plate of food outside. It’s the tense set of his shoulders that really give away how unprepared he feels. How out of his expertise.

Give Simon a gun and he’d be able to take it apart and reassemble it in one minute; a knife and he’d have it sharp in seconds.

Simon Riley has no idea how to be a good father and he’s suddenly very aware of how fast the window is closing to try. You were his blood and his responsibility. He can’t end up like his own father.

The thought almost makes him sick again, stomach rolling with anxiety.

Inside the house, he tosses the items in his grip onto the couch and whispers past into the hallway to your room. Fingers twitching, he grabs at his balaclava before ripping it from his head; stuffing it into his pants pocket. Stopping in front of your room, Simon raises a hand.

Just as he’s about to shove open the door, he instantaneously stops himself with a sharp thought.

Daughter, not soldier. Home, not barracks.

Hand lowering, he takes a long and deep breath and waits a moment; gathering himself. He still didn’t know what to say…but…

God, your words hurt, but he needed to hear them because they were true.

Simon’s knuckles rasp on the wood, a series of three dull thumps that echo over the stale air. There’s a shuffling of sheets and a dull, “God, just go away!”

Cursing quietly under his breath, Simon runs his fingers through his hair tense-like; pushing back blond strands.

“Open up for me, yeah?” He tries, awkward as his hips shift weight. “Need ‘ta talk to you.”

A cruel laugh exits from under the bottom of the door. “You? Talk?”

Simon keeps his mouth shut and closes his eyes, pulling from the deep pit of patience he holds for on-duty missions and not mastered yet for disagreements and verbal talks. He calms down and rolls his shoulders slightly.

“Please.” A pin could drop.

It’s a long, hot-air moment before there's the padding of feet over the floor and the slight shift of the door handle. The metal jiggles before it’s twisted back with a firm hand.

Your face comes into view through the tiny crack of the door, injured eye on full display in all its swollen glory. A young face is laced with surprise at seeing your father’s bare visage—only the black face paint stuck to his skin—but even more so at his plea. There were only a few times you’d actually seen him and even fewer when you’d hear something like that. Simon stops himself from getting angry at the sight of your wound, staring down at you as his gaze softens just a fraction of a sliver.

He recalls the moment he had first held your form when he had picked you up at hospital years ago. You were so small, squirming in his foreign grip. The nurse had to tell him how to hold you properly—what to do and what not to do.

It had been the first time that Simon could really say he’d been terrified down to his marrow; sweating and lips pulled tight. This being so small it couldn’t do anything by itself had rendered him frozen with unease like he had been stabbed in the heart. Your eyes had looked up at him with trust and love. You hadn’t cried or screamed at his hidden face, even if he thought you should have…you’d done something worse.

You had reached up to his face and placed your little fingers on his brow, slapping his flesh with no strength or hatred. Simon’s gaze never left you for hours after you’d done that, uncharacteristically warm and rendered mute to all else.

Tiny. Weak. Innocent.

How could anybody ever leave you? Hurt you? But the man had been petrified; utterly fearful to the point he would begin shaking when you’d begin crying for a bottle.

In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

“What?” Your crestfallen voice brings him back and he blinks, expression going blank once more. But he tries.

“Can I come in?”

“I don’t know—are you going to give a lecture?” You ask, eyes red and other hand still holding the door handle. Simon breathes out a grunted sigh.

“Negative, Moppet, no lecture.” He relaxes his posture, eye bags plainly visible. He was so tired his fingers had gone numb. “Jus’ need ‘ta…” Words fail him. What did he need to do?

Simon clears his throat, looking off down the hallway before his eyes drift back to you.

“You land a hit, then?” You blink in silent shock at the graveled question, a hitch in your lungs giving way to confusion.

“I…” your feet shuffle, face burning, “what?”

One of your father’s large hands goes up to rub the back of his neck, fingers creating red lines across his flesh as his chest rises and falls. You could immediately tell he had no idea what he was doing.

But…he was trying.

��A hit,” he vaguely gestures to your eye, staring intensely. “Did you get ‘em back?”

It’s a vague few moments before you respond, oddly touched by the question. Your door opens the slightest bit wider.

“More than one person,” you admit hesitantly. Your father’s gaze darkens but you quickly continue. “T-they look worse than me right now.”

Simon nods stiffly, hands going to slide into his pockets. “That’ll do,” a pause, “...‘cause I can’t beat up teenagers without getting into a fuckin’ heap ‘o shit.”

Your heart lurches with amusement and a small smile grows on your face. You stare, still just a tiny bit confused at the sudden shift, but unable to stop the chuckle you let out. He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling in his chest when his ears twitch at the sound of your humor, yet Simon pulls a smirk to his lips. It made him…content, you could say.

“Who said they were teenagers?” you smirk, tinting your head, and your father immediately frowns, unamused. Brows pull in.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“No, it isn’t. Shut your bloody trap.” The air lightens to a degree you hadn’t experienced before. A silence settles before you break it, vision darting down to spy on the dog tags Simon wears.

“...How long are you staying?” The man hums, licking his lips.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

“I’m off as long as it takes to get you to stop picking fights, yeah?” Your fingers flinch and you stare into eyes that are always like ice, except now try to melt themselves into a chilled puddle.

“Change of heart?” You ask, voice subdued. A bitter hope builds in your veins.

Simon motions with his chin for you to open the door to your room and you do, elbowing it to the side before backing up—letting your father’s large frame enter.

He looks around for a moment at the posters and the bits of personality, glaring internally at himself because he didn’t know what you liked at all. He seems disappointed with his own negligence.

He’d really fucked up.

“C’mere,” Simon goes and snatches your desk chair before he whirls it around, “lemme take a proper look at it.” His hand pats the top of the wood and you listen, going to it and sitting down softly.

Your father kneels in front of you, bones cracking, and he delicately grabs hold of your chin to tilt your head to the side with practiced ease. You avoid his eyes, hands in your lap held tight together in this silence that brews from shared thorns.

Simon has to take a deep breath to get his head out of his rage at the sight of your damaged skin; instinctual reaction to guard you rearing its head even more so now that he can see the injury in the dim light of your desk lamp. His thumb caresses the side of the swelling with intense care.

“Won’t die,” is all he can say, voice hard and strained. “Lucky you, eh?” You scoff and his hands leave—there wasn’t much he could do. “Moppet.”

Eyes slide up to his and his grip finds your bicep, squeezing once. You’re momentarily locked at the sight of real concern in his glinting orbs; a once in a blue moon occurrence.

“Give me your word.” Simon levels firmly, feet shifting. “No more of this. You’re gonna end up gettin’ hurt—badly—you got that?”

“They were calling soldiers cannon fodder.” You glare at your hands in your lap, mumbling out the truth with a burning face mixed with shame and honesty. Your father goes silent. “That they weren’t even good enough for bullets.”

Jaw clenching, you rotate your wrist and feel the flare of pain from the joints. A deep sigh exits from Simon and with a hesitant clench of his jaw, his hand travels to the back of your head. He presses firmly, and your face finds the junction of his neck and shoulder with little fight. Tense in the beginning, you slowly breathe in sweat and tarmac with a gradual loosening feeling in your muscles.

Eyes wide, you slowly begin to return the strange embrace. Your father flinches lightly when your fingers slip along his waist, hands grabbing into his shirt. But like you, time makes him calm—the side of his face connects with the side of your scalp, lashes fluttering closed tightly.

It was you. His daughter. Innocent.

The emotions are so foreign to you that it brings a burning behind your eyes as the minutes lengthen.

Simon can’t even begin to process it, it just felt natural to do such things for you. If there was one thing he did know—it was that he didn’t want to see you in pain or suffering; hurt or eyes filled with pain. His hands slip to bring you up into his arms like you were a baby again, carrying you easily as your nose sniffles with restrained tears. You’re placed in your bed with a delicate plop, icy eyes darting over you until it seems a decision is made with a quick nod.

You watch him leave and return seconds later with a pile of manilla folders in his hands. Your father grunts softly, “Go to sleep. It’s late out,” and drops the items to your desk, sitting down with a huff and a squeal from your chair. The air is warm and you sit in it a moment longer.

Eyes blink at the silhouette before a small smile builds on your lips—genuine and warm like a weighted blanket.

“How long are you gonna be there?” You ask your father, grasping the covers and slipping under as your head hits the pillow; making sure to stay on the uninjured side.

He doesn’t turn around.

“All night. Need ‘ta get this shite done for my boss.” You don’t know why, but you feel like he’s lying. Simon looks over his shoulder with a tone dipping to a whisper. “Sleep, Kid. We’ll get those knuckles sorted in the morning.”

Of course, he’d noticed that, too.

“Dad?” You ask and his spine straightens instantly at the title. It’s a long time before he answers and when he does his emotion is the softest you’ve ever heard him; gravel so deep you almost miss the words entirely.

“What is it?”

“Goodnight.” Simon’s hands shake as they open the first folder in the small stack, small tremors that are both horrible and endearing. He doesn’t say anything until you’re fast asleep behind him—when he stands up and walks over, pressing a kiss to your forehead and pulling the covers farther up to your chin.

Into your skin, he whispers, “...Goodnight, my little Moppet.”

Simon wonders if his daughter likes eggs for breakfast as his pen slides over the first report, one eye forever staying on your slumbering body to watch the rise and fall of your lungs.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

1K notes · View notes

eufezco · 2 months

Text

I CAN DO IT WITH A BROKEN HEART

bucky!winter soldier x fem!reader (kinda angst ig?) no use of y/n

based on the captain america: the winter soldier post credits scene because i loooooove it

omg this is my first time writing for something marvel related i hope you enjoy it, it's been so long since the last time i wrote anything so i'm sorry if it's kinda shitty 😭

He was looking at you and you were looking back at him.

Steve had refused to fight against him. He had dropped his shield from the ship and had surrendered to his old friend. You wished you could have done that so you would never have felt Bucky's hands around your throat trying to choke you to death nor his body over yours as his fists connected with your face once again.

But one of you had to fight him so that you two could get out of it alive, and if Steve didn't, you would.

Bucky's punches to Steve's face made you squirm in place as you tried to escape the beam that had fallen on you. If you didn't get out you feared that the beam would crush you or even worse, that Bucky would kill him. Steve was his mission after all and he was programmed to finish it.

You jumped on him when you managed to escape and freed Steve from the blows of his metal arm. Stay alive please you mumbled to your friend as he lay badly wounded, with one eye swollen shut and blood coming out of his nose. The last time you had seen him like that he was a small blond boy who had gotten into trouble in an alley with someone twice his size and you and Bucky had to come to his rescue. Now the trouble you had to save him from was Bucky himself and you were on your own.

Your whole body ached from fighting him and since beating him didn't work, you decided to try to make him see reason in another way. You called his name while you were trying to catch your breath, still with the sensation of his fingers closing around your throat. He looked at you full of rage while he tried to recompose from the hit that he had received from you. The name Bucky echoed in his head every time you repeated it, hurt him more than any kick or punch you gave him. The familiarity with that word made him feel sick in his stomach and more eager to fight you for making him feel that way.

You know me.

No, I don't!

Bucky, you've known me your whole life.

Shut up!

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. We were friends.

He held a defensive pose while his eyes glanced nervously all over the place and his chest rose and fell slowly as he tried to catch his breath. It was so familiar. Not only the name you kept repeating but also the way it sounded when you said it.

He was looking at you and you were looking back at him.

There was enough distance between the two of you so that you did not feel threatened by each other's presence. The Captain America Exhibit in Washington also had enough civilians to start another fight like the one on the ship.

He broke eye contact with you to look at the screen. He had seen your face somewhere on that big panel dedicated to who he was once. And there you were. When the text ended there was a sequence of pictures. He did not know who those men in the pictures were but he could see himself smiling with them.

But there you were. In the middle picture.

He was wearing his sergeant's uniform and you were wearing a dress. You could still remember his reaction when he saw you in that dress, how his eyes sparkled looking at you, how his lips curved into a smile every time you grabbed his hand and dragged him around the Stark Expo. Steve with his new camera captured the perfect moment. Bucky held you around the waist. Bucky was slightly leaning over you. Your faces were just inches apart but in the picture you both were laughing, you still heard the sound of his laughter every time you looked at the picture, as if it had not been almost seventy years since you last saw him. Your faces were just inches apart but there was no kiss.

And now there would never be a kiss.

How innocent you both looked in that picture. Neither of you knew how all your plans were going to be twisted, how only one of you two would be the one to remember that night. If someone had told you that night that Bucky was going to disappear from your life, you would have laughed in their face. If you had known you would have kissed him. You would have kissed Bucky until you were breathless, until you were tired of kissing each other if that was possible. But now you would never know because you both insisted on remaining friends until the end of the war not knowing that out of that war would come a much worse one.

The very hands you had trusted to hold you had tried to choke you to death. The same eyes that had gazed at you with such devotion had looked at you loaded with the strongest wrath in the world. The man you had loved the most did not recognize you and by the way he was looking at that panel with all his memories, he did not recognize himself either.

Bucky stared at the picture for a few seconds and then looked back at you. You were the same girl, only now with some bruises on your face, the marks of his fingers on your neck, and definitely not with the same smile as the girl in the picture. What had he done to you? What would the boy in that photo think about the person he had become?

You stood in place far from him. Since you had seen him you had not taken a single step forward. Neither the cap nor the long hair nor the jacket covering his metal arm could hide him from you. Not anymore. You went to the Captain America memorial looking for the comfort that the panel dedicated to Bucky brought you, he went there looking for answers. And you found each other.

Your Bucky and you his answers.

257 notes · View notes

dragonnarrative-writes · 3 months

Text

Forming the Pack - Part 1

Autumn Embers Master List

Pheromones aren’t everything, of course, but you’ll get more cohesive group dynamics if everyone has scents that go together. Scent blockers and diffusers are everywhere in common spaces, so it’s not like people who’s scents don’t mesh can’t be around each other. Lots of people with subtler or hard to pin down scents only go au naturel on special occasions with family and their special someone.

Of course, the military is a whole other beast.

Almost every person serving active duty is an alpha, which lends itself to clashes. And alphas, who already tend to have stronger scents, put out even more aggressive pheromones in close proximity with one another. Industrial strength scent diffusers can only do so much. It results in proximity packs forming, alphas who are scent compatible spending more time with each other.

The 141 doesn’t form because of scent compatibility. When Price finds Simon and forms the task force, he doesn’t much care about what they each smell like. Their scents being on wildly different parts of the spectrum is better than if they were too close, Price reasons. His gear smells a bit spicy, Simon’s always has an earthy undertone. It’s easy to avoid squabbling, and only made easier by the way Simon readily assumes his position as John’s second. No muss, no fuss.

The first year passes. It’s hard work, but Simon makes it undeniably simpler. The Ghost has a presence that demands deference from the temporary members of the task force. And because Ghost follows his captain, that deference extends to Price. The two times someone had tried to upset the balance, Simon had reacted with such swift ferocity that Price hadn’t known there was a problem before it was resolved with a neck under a boot.

“Stand down, Ghost,” Price says around his cigar, the third time.

“'S soon as he acknowledges his superiors, Skipper,” Ghost rumbles, staring down at the sergeant who’s face is going an interesting shade of purple with shame and a lack of oxygen. “Yield, corporal.” The sergeant frantically taps Ghost’s boot. Ghost gives him just enough room to heave a breath, and snarls down, “Yield to the Captain.”

“Captain, I yield,” the young man gasps.

“You ever flout orders again, I’ll kill you myself,” Ghost growls.

After that, the mission had gone smoothly.

Days later, it’s just the two of them again, walking home from the pub. It’s a nice enough night for it, and they’re both too jumpy to call a car. Simon follows without comment, just lights a cigarette and falls into John’s wake, like always.

Four blocks from the base, Simon says, “Gotta piss.”

John snorts. “What, you didn’t go before we left? Hold it.”

“Alright,�� Simon drawls. Without breaking stride, he lights another cigarette.

Of course, within another block, John becomes too aware of his own bladder. If Simon hadn’t said anything, he could probably have made it. Annoyed, he steps into an alley and behind a dumpster. His nose does not appreciate the assault on his senses, but he’s a soldier, he’s smelled worse. Simon stands guard at mouth of the alley as he does his business.

When he emerges, he tips his head. “Goin’?”

Simon quirks an eyebrow and exhales a cloud of smoke. “Am I?”

Price hums, takes in Simon’s relaxed posture. Without the skull covered balaclava, he’s softer. Not civilian soft - he’s still almost 2 meters of alpha, hardened by military training and torture. But where most military As balk at taking orders when they’re not in the field, Simon looks for ways to let Price lead.

Simon will do what ever John tells him. It’s a realization that probably shouldn’t thrill him the way it does.

John waves him into the alley. “Be quick about it.”

Without comment, Simon hands his half-finished cigarette over and steps into the alley. John contemplates it as Simon does his business. He prefers cigars, but he takes a drag and tells himself it’s just to keep it lit.

But when Simon re-emerges, John doesn’t hand it back. And Simon doesn’t ask.

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #poly 141 #omegaverse #autumn embers verse #simon ghost riley #captain john price #manic pixie dream ghost #price is right #(in my heart) simon likes a hierarchy #but he never wants to be at the very top of it #(this was part of a larger document that has been sitting in my files for some time)#(posting to remind myself that I don't have to be perfect)#(i'm allowed to put my own stuff on my blog even if it's not finished)

234 notes · View notes

sprout-fics · 10 months

Note

Humbly requesting the stay the night prompt of “wait…you’ve been here all night?” Pairing whatever. Just wanting to see this written out 💜

When you wake, the world feels like it’s trying to hammer you back unconscious.

“Shit…” You say immediately following your groan, pressing the heel of your palm to your eyes to quell the horrible pulsing pain there. The headache feels like it’s trying to carve inside your skull, and you can taste bile still on your lips, tacky in your mouth.

The hell happened last night? You think blearily, blinking in the brightness of late morning sunlight that filters through your curtains. It’s too bright, but when you twist to try and draw them closed your body aches in protest.

You try to recall the evening from the night before, recalling your giggling laughter as Soap slung an arm around your shoulder and dragged you over to the dance floor of the club. He and Gaz had belted out the lyrics to the songs, muffled by the pump of the speakers, had stumbled over to the bar and ordered more drinks. The rest is a dizzying haze of color and light, but judging from your clothes crumpled and the foul taste in your mouth, you can judge it didn’t go well.

“Fuckin hell…” You groan at a fresh wave of throbbing at your temples. Yet your stomach rumbles, empty and biting at your insides, and at last it forces you from bed, stumbling down the stairs of your flat towards the kitchen.

Yet as you enter inside you’re startled to find a gigantic, looming figure in a dark hoodie, mask bunched around his nose as he sips from a mug that seems far too small for his massive hands.

“Ghost?” You squeak in surprise, bracing in the doorway with shock clear across your face.

Ghost looks up at you, dark eyes not smudged with paint and clear behind his plain black balaclava. He doesn’t look surprised to see you at all, unlike you.

“Was beginning to wonder if you were dead.” He remarks flatly, holding your gaze for a long moment, just enough to make your cheeks burn. You’re still dressed in your clothes from last night, hair messy and makeup likely smudged to shit. Yet Ghost appears entirely nonplussed, at last turning towards the kettle.

“You don’t remember.” He observes, and when you shake your head you groan, the motion far too much for your hangover headache. He glances over his shoulder at you, nodding with meaning towards a chair at the kitchen table.

“Where’s Johnny…Gaz?” You ask as you gently lower yourself down, cradling your head in your hands.

“Probably still bollocksed.” Ghost declares, turning and leaning on the counter as the kettle simmers behind him. “They were bog-faced by the time they called me. Said you were fallen from grace, from what I could make out.”

You knew that much, can tell from the way your stomach distantly rolls with discontent. It doesn’t explain why he’s here.

“So what?” You ask, rubbing your temples. “You helped me home?”

Ghost shrugs, mouth quirking with a hint of amusement in a rare glimpse of his expression. “Held your hair while you got sick, made you drink some water, kept you from texting your ex…joking.” He supplies at your aghast expression. “Settled down on your couch to make sure you didn’t wander out into the streets.”

You blink at that, raising your head from your hands and snapping to look at him. “Wait…you’ve been here all night?”

Ghost shrugs again, but this time there’s a strange ounce of guardedness to it, like he’s reluctant to admit he kept watch.

“...and Soap and Gaz?” You venture, and that makes the wry, barely sinister smile return.

“Told ‘em to bugger off. Might have to go hunting in some alleys for them later.”

You aren’t sure whether to laugh or be horrified with the dryness of his tone, half-convinced he’s telling the truth. Before you can ask, the kettle whistles behind him and Ghost turns, pouring the hot water into a second mug.

“Bloody sergeants.” He sighs, a little irritated. “Should have never let them take you out. Can’t be trusted when they’re sloshed.”

There’s a tone there that’s frustrated, and rather than it sitting unhappily in your chest it instead makes you smile.

He was worried.

Ghost turns, sets the mug of tea on the table before you, his hand covering the top. Yet when you reach for it he doesn’t move, and you glance up to see his severe stare leveled down at you.

“No more getting pished.” Ghost tells you severely in a low murmur, and you grimace, duck your head in a rightful amount of shame.

“No more drinking with the sergeants.” You recite dutifully, and Simon huffs a sound that almost feels like a chuckle.

He stands over you, arms crossed as you blow at your tea, watches as you finish it, and you feel warm under his gaze.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #stay the night writing prompts #OK BUT I REALLY LIKED THIS ONE #I love Simon's sarcastic and kind of biting humor it's so fun to write #drabbles

556 notes · View notes

tacticaldiary · 6 months

Text

Cut From The Same Cloth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Angst

"We're cut from the same cloth, you and I." She snarls, knuckles turning white at the grip she has on his vest. "You'll never settle for anything that won't destroy you because that's just the kind of person you are!"

Masterlist

Cool, crisp air cuts away the stuffiness of the bar as they step out into the alley.

"The hell were you thinking?" Simon hisses, yanking her away from the back door. "Running your mouth and startin' a fight like that outnumbered?"

"I could've taken them." She argues stubbornly, ripping her arm out of his grasp. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth, a bruise blooming over her jaw.

"Five to one?" He stares at her in disbelief for a second. "Bloody hell woman, are you hearin' yourself?"

"I don't need you patronising me." She snaps, dabbing at her lip with the dirty sleeve of her shirt. He runs a frustrated hand over her head at

"You're hell bent on being destructive-"

"Don't act like you're any better." She glares. "Don't play a fucking saint, Simon."

"I'm not the one starting fights I can't win."

"You're just as self sabotaging as me! Smoking, drinking, mixing yourself with people like me-"

"I wouldn't be with you if I didn't fucking want to." He warns, and nothing about this is warm or kind. Teeth bared and words sharp, the tension between them has been rising for the past month.

"Oh don't make me laugh." She scoffs. "You'd find someone much better if you could stay away from me, if you didn't keep crawling back."

"Watch it." He warns.

For a moment he doesn't react, letting the words she'd uttered etch themselves into the marble of his mind, resolute and honest.

Because it was honest, wasn't it?

They aren't good for each other. Late nights in each other's rooms, the sweet nothings, false promises...the rough scrape of hands, furious words and shouting. Seeing each other take someone else home after fighting. Not acknowledging it the next day, falling into the same sickly sweet, vicious cycle.

It's killing him, poisoning him in an addictive way he can't help but give into.

Destructive.

"And you're fine with that?" He grits out, grunting when she shoves him away.

"Yes, I'm fucking fine with it." Grim satisfaction and...and pride laces her voice. "This is...I live for this, Simon. This is for me. After weeks of structure and following orders, getting blood on my hands for work? Letting myself go feels so fucking good." Something sour curls in his stomach.

"We're not supposed to have a conscience." A shake of her "Keep your head down and pull the trigger, right? This," She gestures to the dingy alley, gestures between the both of them. "-is my trigger. And I'll fire as many rounds as it takes until the guilt washes away."

Her eyes are wide and earnest, and like a train screeching off the rails, a realisation dawns on Simon, breathing down his neck and twisting a knife into his gut.

He can't save her.

Not from this.

Not from herself.

A year of this back and forth, of relying on something as crumbly as hope.

Hope? Funny. When did he start believing in something so childish again?

The chink in his armor stitches itself up, solidifies into something sturdier than the brick wall she tore down to worm her way into his heart all those months ago. It was a mistake. Encased in iron and the new revelation, Ghost lets the silence hang.

The air shifts as he straightens to his full height. It's noteably enough, because the small, exasperated smile of hers slips into something more wary, the hair on the back of her next standing up while she waits for him to speak.

"You want to fuck your life up, be my fucking guest, sergeant." Ghost says.

Sergeant?

"Fire at will." Cold and callous, words sharp and to the point. "But you'll no longer be doing it from the task force."

A beat of silence.

"The fuck I won't. On what authority?" She scoffs, but the statement isn't as confident as her monologue prior.

"Mine. Price will have your discharge papers on your desk by Tuesday-"

"So this is some sick way to what? Blackmail me into staying with you?"

"I don't need you."

"Could have fooled me-"

"I don't need you." He repeats, narrowing his eyes. "Doesn't matter what I fuckin' want. I want a lot of things, doesn't mean I need them."

It's for the best, he tells himself. With how she was acting, how unpredictable she was right now she'd eventually get herself shot and killed on the field.

When, not if.

And as much as Ghost wants to walk away and forget he was stupid to let anything but shallow camaraderie grace his life, he can't stomach the thought of leaving this loose end, of being presented with a pair of her bloody dog tags instead of her smile one night.

Her indignant, angry shouts echo across the grimy alley bricks, nasty, low insults about his character, about how he's insane, how he's selfish and petty.

Setting his jaw, Ghost lets himself have one last pass of her. Rakes his eyes up and down as if trying to commit her to memory one last time. Just as she looks about ready to take a swing at him, he turns on heel and leaves her there.

She can hate him all she wants. Hate him, despise him, loathe him. He's used to it, it won't put a dent in his defences.

Hate was better than destructive indifference.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(10/12/2023)

191 notes · View notes

ghouljams · 6 months

Note

So fun fact I’m a dog groomer and one of the few highlights of being a dog groomer is picking up the big dogs.

I cannot begin to tell you the sudden shock of a German shepherd when it gets picked up at its full grown size. Funniest shit ever especially when I heave ho their ass into a kennel. OH and I absolutely love picking up the goldendoodles! It’s like picking up a big teddy bear. The best thing about it is that most of the time the big dogs eat that shit up when I pick them up. Like their tails start wagging more and they start slobbering on my face.

So that’s to come around to this…. I really wanna pick up the boys. Like I just wanna wrap my arms around Price and make him think it’s a hug and then SIKE. Even if I only pick him up for a minute I wanna pick him up. And I’d even work out to pick him up too.

So if you are able to and are willing, may I please ask for a lil snippet of one of the Darlings trying and maybe succeeding in picking up their boys?

🐺

Genuinely Goose can pick Ghost up, not for long but she can bear hug him and get him off the ground. He doesn't want to talk about it...

BUT ALSO Hush can and does pick Soap up. Soap very much wants to talk about it, he's a little miffed about it, but also deeply does not want to talk about it.

You snap your silence around Soap for a third time in as many minutes, checking around the corner you're hiding behind. The man behind you gives another soft grunt as he tightens the makeshift bandage around his leg. It's nothing severe but it sounds like it hurts. Not mentioning the sprained ankle, it's not going to be a quiet exfil. He's lucky you haven't forced him to radio medical. More lucky you didn't break out the tourniquet. You'll have to thank someone for that later.

"You tied up?" You ask him over your shoulder. Another grunt, annoyed but affirmative. You swirl a few shadows, letting them pump a soft wave through the area, bouncing positions back to you as you walk closer to your upset summoner.

Soap holds his hand up to you. You clasp your hand around his forearm and pull him to his feet. He winces when he puts weight on his injured leg, and you make the executive decision that he isn't walking out of here. You keep your grip on his arm and crouch tug him over your shoulder.

Another snap of silence when Soap yelps and struggles against the fireman's carry you pick him up into. You wrap your arm around his uninjured leg and roll your shoulders to get him in a comfortable position. He's heavier than you thought he'd be, but nothing you can't handle. You probably should have expected as much. Soap's a well built guy, and muscle isn't light. It doesn't help that he's trying to break your grip and get off your shoulders.

"Steamin' hell put me doon, ahm fine walkin'." He spits at you. You ignore him. "Hush, tha's an order," He tries.

"I outrank you sergeant," You tell him, as if that matters in your position, "and I'm not sure what you're plannin' on walkin' on 'cause it's not this." You touch his ankle gently and he flinches away from the touch. Big baby. You roll your eyes, all this blubbering over being carried. Plenty of folks would love to get carried around like this, you can name at least two off the top of your head.

Soap settles over your shoulders to pout, you assume he's pouting because he's gone quiet. Fine by you, your focus is on finding the best path to the helo and getting the hell out of here. Your radar bounces off a hostile soldier and you strike out with your shadows, spearing them to a wall as you haul Soap's sorry ass down the alley. His fingers are tight in your shirt, holding onto the edge of your tac gear as he takes shallow breaths. You toss another barrage of shadow towards another ping on your internal radar and you feel it.

Christ. Is he hard?

"So, Johnny," you drawl, letting the implications speak for themselves.

"Not a word ya smug bastard," He grits out. Proof enough for you. As if you can't feel his hard cock pressing against your shoulder, if there was more blood getting to his brain you'd hope Soap could explain it as a spare switch or something. Or a flashlight, christ what the hell is this guy packing? If you knew it was this easy to get a rise out of him you would've picked him up ages ago.

"Is it the carrying or-"

"Awa' an bile yer heid," He curses at you. You shut your mouth but can't stop the smile that breaks across your lips. You're going to be riding this high for a while.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x oc #soap x reader #oc: hush #demon!darlings au

231 notes · View notes

undercoverpena · 1 year

Note

hi! Requesting something like these “On a whim, pulling your lover into an alley and pressing your lips firmly against theirs, getting lost in each other's touch while the streets bustle outside. “If we get caught kissing in a small, dark, kind of shady alleyway, it's on you."” For price please and thank you! I personally would love to feel this big man push me against a wall haha

#mmvalentinesevent

small, dark and kind of shady

john price x f!reader

It’s sudden. One minute the two of you are walking along the street.

Pretending, hand on his forearm, fingers dancing up and down a vein as the sun kisses your face.

The next you’re in an alleyway. The cool air cooling your skin, spine against firm brick, as the building casts you both in shadows.

His hand, large and calloused, captures your cheek. Pulling your eyes to him, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Feeling his knee between yours.

Did y’need to wear a dress? You said blend in—like a tourist. I am dressed like a tourist, John.

Recon. That's what he had said. The two of you to roam some cobbled European streets, take photos, and pretend to be a couple.

The latter being the easiest part of the whole thing.

Naturally, you weren't sure what recon needed to be collected on your face. Not when his fingers had wrapped around your elbow or when he had pulled you into the alleyway.

Less so now as he studies you, letting his eyes draw across every single part of your face. His eyes were almost hidden by the shadows, thankful his cap is backwards—not that you’d never find his eyes.

You always find them. Across rooms, across streets. A silent conversation is always able to be had through them.

Not that you care. The two of you rarely get a chance to do this, to watch, observe and admire. So many eyes on you both—the captain and his sergeant.

You almost speak, feeling yourself need to. But, you don’t want to shatter the moment. Snap whatever this is and whatever it could become.

Instead, you allow the cars driving over cobble and stone to disturb the peace at the other end of the alleyway. The entrance closest to you both has people peppering the air with languages you only partially understand.

But, no one notices the two of you.

The two people who should know better, but are acting like teenagers. Even with the clouds heavy above the two of you, threatening to spill and rain down on your plans for the day.

Making the task harder. Making the trip last longer. Again, you didn’t care much. The fake story of being a couple in Europe allowed you both to benefit from it. Allow you to lie with him undisturbed.

Meaning now, the lines are blurred. Allowing you to be lost in him, and he in you.

It makes you not want to go home. To return to base and go back to pretending.

You pull him closer by his jacket. The once-tan but now-a-worn-brown one. The one he’d put over your shoulders months ago, not saying a word as he did, side-eyeing you as you buried your cheeks against the lapels. The ones which you suspect had once been soft, but now were bobbled and overwashed.

His chin tilts, staring into your eyes like you have the answers to all his questions.

"If we get caught kissing in a small, dark, and kind of shady alleyway, it's on you, Captain."

"Won't get caught, love."

"Overconfidence, I like it."

He smirks, his low laugh brushing over your skin. The scent of his last cigar flowed in the little space between the two of you. One you wish would attach itself to your clothes, your skin, your bedsheets.

Merging and mingling with the scent he leaves on your skin. When his hand hooks your leg over his hips and calls you pretty, and good, and a bunch of other praises that make your cheeks and chest burn.

"You going to kiss me then, John?"

He strokes his thumb across your cheek, inhaling deeply, his eyes staring into yours. "Y’always in a rush."

“Have you seen yourself?”

His thumb brushes your cheek. “Enough.”

You grin, light and easily. One he pulls from you without trying—has done since this all began.

Licking your lips, you tilt your head. "If I was pissin' around with Soap, you'd rip me a new arsehole."

He chuckles, low and deep. The corners of his mouth twitch, the wired hair catching the limited light. His other hand slid under the hem of your dress, palm grasping your upper thigh.

"You're not wrong."

"Never am, am I, John?"

He shakes his head. "No, love."

Sighing, you roll your hips against his. Watching his throat, seeing how he swallows.

He tries to hide it. He fails at it like he did when he denied he didn’t want to fuck you that first time. The internal war he had with himself almost allowed you to walk out the door.

You’re thankful he lost to his better judgement. Even more glad that he’s changed his judgement, realising how worth it you are.

He presses his forehead against yours, seeing how his eyes have darkened—just enough to know that his original thoughts of a quick makeout were turning into something longer, something which would have you likely walking funny.

The loud sound of a bang is followed by a car horn blaring. But, neither of you pulls your gaze from the other. Not that he’d let you. His hand still holding your cheek in place.

Even if your pulse quickens—even if he feels it—your hand almost flexes to reach for something. Something you don’t even have on you—

“It’s alright, love. I’m here.”

“I know,” you whisper, hooking your finger inside the waistband of his jeans.

Stroking your touch lightly against his skin, hearing the noticeable inhale.

“That’s the problem.”

“I’m the problem, hmm?”

“Well, I’m not the one in charge, distracting the impressionable sergeant who has to collect intel…”

He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. The first indication you’re going to be warned, your thighs squeezing around his knee at the thought.

“Already got enough intel, love.”

“Oh? So, we’re what? Seeing the sights?”

“I am.”

Your skin warms. Eyes flicking down, never sure what to do with his praise, with his flattering words.

“Look at me.”

You do. You’d do anything he asked. “Still the problem?”

You nod lightly, watching him smirk. “If you kissed me, I’d reconsider though.”

He licks his lips, mumbling a fair, and then he crashes his mouth to yours.

Chapped lips against yours, filling you with warmth similar to the European sun on your skin. You whimper, the sound stolen by his tongue and his mouth.

Mostly, you let yourself feel how his hand keeps you close—so close, there's no space left. His lips burn words into you he hasn’t yet said. Your hand tugging his hips flush against yours. Wanting him. Needing him.

Even if you had him this morning. Even if you'd spent hours, when you should have been sleeping, getting your fill of him.

The two of you are like teenagers when the parents are away. Two people who are not scared of being caught.

Nothing like a captain and his sergeant.

Not that you care at all.

#mmvalentinesevent #mm valentines event #john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #john price cod #john price x female reader #cod price x reader #cod price #cod x reader

809 notes · View notes

callofdudes · 1 year

Text

Dying in their arms - 141

CW: Death, blood, might put you in a coma.

Don't ask me why I made this... Because I have no good excuse other than I absolutely LIVE for writing angst 😌 it will be short but I intend to try and at least sadden you for even a moment.

Can be seen as romantic or platonic.

Soap 🧼

Johnny still remembers the sound. Or lack there of...

"Y/n? How copy, what are your coordinates?"

Silence.

"Y/n!! I heard heavy fire from the east, how copy?"

"Y/n answer me please!!"

Johnny rushes through an old building. He'd be searching for you for hours. Were the comms down? His insides tighten at the idea of where you were. Hopefully safe and alive.

He moves out of the house just as two military trucks pull away. "Y/n, two trucks leaving. Where are you??"

He follows the side of the building to where the trucks were and freezes

"Y/n?"

You were laying in the street. In your own blood.

"Y/N!!" Johnny runs over. His blood boiling and then freezing when he sees you. "No no no no no-"

He drops to his knees and pulls your limp body off the ground and into his arms. Blood drips from the corner of your mouth. Your eyes full of life for a mere second. Your body seems to give up when Johnny finally reaches you, and the light fades from your eyes. Your eyelids close as blood continued to pool around Johnny.

"Y/n wakeup... Y/n come on, wake up!"

He starts to shake when you don't respond. You don't open your eyes, you don't breathe. Tears swell in his eyes. "Come back..."

"Please... Open your eyes... It'll be ok..." He wheezes.

Johnny wails. heavy tears ruin his face as he sobs. "Come back- COME BAAACK!!" He screams. Pain destroys his voice and rips open his throat. He holds you tightly, trying to shake you awake.

"PleEeEase!!! Come back!" He couldn't lose you. He couldn't. Your soft features tear his big heart into shreds. His whole body quivers and shakes. The bloody wound stares at him like a monster. With teeth and fiery eyes, taking you away from him.

His hand finds his comm before he can think.

"GHOST!! Please I need backup now! PLEASE!!!!" He screams again, fingers tightening in your hair. "I can't let you go..." He hicks. "I-I can't let you go..." He runs his fingers through your hair, choking on sobs.

"Anybody!! Help me!!" His comm was empty. "Please..."

Ghost 💀

Ghost had lost sight of you. It was only for a minute.

"Alright, take it slow, don't rush, don't rush. You're so close."

"Thanks Lt. It's really great to have you at my-"

He heard a shot.

Ghost bolts up. That wasn't him. "Y/n!?"

No response.

"Y/n how copy are you safe!?"

Silence.

"Shit-! No!! No!!" He abandons his gun and runs down the embankment. His heart pounding in his chest. There you are, laying in the road. "SERGEANT!" He runs to you and falls to his knees. You were toppled sideways, a bullet clean through your head.

Simon feels the wind knocked out of him. "No... NO! No nonononono-!" He pulls you up into his arms, limp and quickly growing cold.

"Look at me. Y/n look at me..."

"LOOK AT ME!!" He yells out of desperation. "You were so close please! Come on! Wake up... Wake up please-!"

He quivers and tears start to form. "Oh God..."

"Oh please no- please come back..." He grabs your hand and pulls it to his chest. everything seems slow. His eyes are seeing you but his brain isn't catching up that this is happening. That you're gone.

He cradles your body against the back of the alley wall and looks at you.

"Come back..."

"You're ok..."

His hand drops and rests on your cheek. Pain squeezes his chest and a great weight presses against his throat. Tears swell in his eyes as he holds you tightly. "You can't go..."

He whimpers, pressing his face into your messy hair. He starts to shake violently, no longer sure what to do. If he had made it... If he had noticed the sniper maybe he could have saved you.

He rips off his mask and hugs your body as tightly as he can. "You're the only family I have left- I can't lose you! Please Y/n for me!! For me! I can't go back to them without you!!"

"We're teammates y/n please!"

"I've taken care of you as best I could. I-I treat you like my sibling, you are like family- PLEASE!! DONT DIE!"

He screams for the first time in years. His body shakes with sobs, tears streaming unprovoked down his cheeks into your hairline. "Please don't leave me alone out here..."

Gaz ⚽

You'd been hit with a bullet. Gaz pulled your arm over his shoulders and walked you to the safety of a small hut just outside of your target zone. It wasn't safe but it would have to work.

He places you down on the floor and gets down next to you. "How's the wound?" He asks.

You breathe out heavily and pull your hand away, blood squelching from your side. You groan in pain. "Not good..."

"Let me go find some proper bandages ok? I'll be right back." He takes his gun and starts to search the cabin.

You feel cold and shaky. Your eyelids are heavy and you've lost too much blood to recover from quickly. "Kyle!" You call out desperately.

He returns with a few bandages and kneels at your side. "What's up? You ok?" You take his hand and shudder, tears swelling in your eyes. "Can you hold me..?"

"Yeah, I guess, just let me bandage-" you grab his wrist. "Don't bother..."

His eyes widen. "Y/n no I need to get you out of here." You grab his vest and pull him closer, his warm body sending shivers across your own. "Take off my gear..." You whisper. Kyle doesn't hesitate, stripping you down to your t-shirt and pants.

Tears are already swelling in his eyes. "I can't- no-!"

"Hold me, Kyle."

Kyle sniffles and pulls you into his arms. You rest against his warm chest, quaking hand grabbing the hem of his shirt. he closes his arms around you and presses a short kiss to the top of your head.

"Do it... Finish the mission... For both of us ok?"

He sobs and nods. You wipe away his tears and squeeze him tightly. You slowly close your eyes and rest back against his chest.

Kyle sits there. He sits there for what feels like hours. He sobs. He wails. He screams until his insides hurt and his voice gives out.

He hugs you in his arms, begging you tell him what he did wrong. His body moves and he brings you into the bedroom. He lays you on the bed and holds your hand tightly, a shaking, sobbing mess.

Price 🥃

You had your back leaned up against a building, heaving in the darkness. Your leg was shot full of pain, twisted and broken from your fall out of a military truck and you were losing blood quickly.

"Captain..." You shudder into your comm.

"Hang on y/n, almost there. Just a little longer."

"I don't know how much longer I have..." You cough blood up onto your uniform and down your chin.

"Hang on soldier, I'm coming. I'm gonna be right there."

You drop the comms and close your eyes. It feels heavy and cold. Your own blood the only warmth against your cold tactical gear.

Price wasn't far away, you knew that. You just had to try and hang on.

Price slams on the brakes of his vehicle when he reaches you. The empty dark streets make him want to move quickly. "Come on y/n!" He rushes over and grabs you. You're bleeding beyond repair but your eyes flutter open enough to see him.

"come on, I'll carry you-!"

You cup his cheek and run your thumb over his rough skin. "John..."

"It's ok- it's going to be ok!"

You ignore him. You have little time left and so many things still to say. A tear runs down your cheek as you shudder out a final breath.

John holds onto you tightly. His hands dig into your forearms even as your hand drops away from his face and your eyes close.

"Y/n..."

He presses his forehead against yours, feeling the life leave your body. His jaw clenches and tears form in his eyes. His body shakes with rage before he starts to cry. Tears slip down his cheeks, overcome with rage and sadness.

"I'm sorry..." He hugs your neck and lays your head on his shoulder and cries. He couldn't lose you. He'd lost so many good men and women he couldn't let you die too.

"Give me one more chance... Give me one more chance I know I'll do it right-!"

He shakes, his body throwing him out of sorts. "I can't lose you all..!"

He sits there alone in the darkness. He was all alone now. No one to come back home to. All he could do was mourn your death in the darkness.

"It was an honor serving with you..." He whispers shakily. He presses a soft kiss to your temple and lays you on your side. He salutes and climbs back in his truck, the sound of enemy patrol on its way...

Hi. No, if this hurt you, I do not apologize 😊

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

480 notes · View notes

webslinger-holland · 3 months

Text

The Sergeant's Senator | Chapter 5

Summary: It is finally time for the senator to give her speech to the senator. And Echo tells Hunter about what he had seen. Now Hunter needs to confront the senator and figure out why they haven't been transferred yet.

Warning: assassination attempt, various weapons used, sniper/shooter mentioned, characters getting shot at, mutual pining, mild argument, kissing (finally), +18 very suggestive content at the end

Pairing: Hunter x Fem!Reader Senator

Type: Short Series

Word Count: 6.0k

Series Masterlist

Now, two days later, the hired hitman had received his orders from his employer. The blaster wound in his shoulder was healed, but there was a nasty scar that remained in its place. He packed his weapon away in a case, taking it with him as he left the abandoned building he'd been stationed in.

Checking the coordinates, he began to make his way there without drawing too much attention. He took back alleys, hidden passages, and stayed out of the eyes of others. The Count's words rang in his mind from earlier: "The speech takes place in the Senate Building at 2:00pm. Do not let her get there."

Just like the Count had ordered, the skilled shooter made sure to keep a low profile and learn more about them. He remained hidden in the crowds, watching their every move without them knowing. After a week, he figured out the exact route they'd take to get from her apartment to the senate building. And relaying this information to his employer meant that they worked together to find the perfect place to take the shot.

Arriving at the building, the assassin began climbing the long staircase until he reached one of the top floors. He walked towards one of the windows, peeking through the glass to watch the busy airspeeders driving below and diagonally from him. Satisfied with his position, he chose to assemble his rifle and wait for the moment to strike.

Back at the apartment, Hunter stood impatiently outside the senator's bedroom door. His arms were crossed over his chest and his foot tapped the floor in a steady beat. He glanced back at his brothers who had never looked more bored in their lives.

"Tech," Hunter's sultry and low voice sounded. "Give me the time."

He didn't look up from his data pad. "It is approximately 1:46pm. And it has only been two minutes since the last time you asked me."

"Ugh," Wrecker groaned. He proceeded to throw his hands up in exaggeration. "What's taking her so long?"

"She trying to look nice for her sergeant," Crosshair sneered. He threw a glare to his older brother, already knowing that his comment would strike a cord with him.

Hunter, always being the more level headed of the two, ignored his comment. He redirected his attention to the solid wood door in front of him. But he clenched his fists at his sides.

"She's gonna miss her time slot if she waits any longer," Echo noted while peering over Tech's shoulder to look at the time.

Finally, Hunter raised his fist to the door and knocked harshly against it. He called her name through the door in hopes of urging her to finish getting ready quicker. This was probably the thirtieth time he'd knocked.

"I'm not ready yet!" Her voice was muffled through the door, which meant she was probably on the other side of the room. She fixed her hair in the mirror and smoothed her hands over her dress.

"Well, you need to be ready now. We should have left ten minutes ago," Hunter called back. He stared down at the door handle.

"Fifteen," Tech corrected with a raised finger. "If you calculate the traffic."

"These things take time," Y/n answered. She moved a few strands of hair to her liking. She looked herself over one last time. "I don't like to be rushed."

"If you need help to...speed up the process, I am offering my assistance," Hunter was trying everything to get her out of the room. He only received a long pause of silence. He went to knock again, but the door swung open before contact.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She teased him.

The others were at a complete loss of words for what stood before them. They shamelessly took in her appearance by allowing their eyes to travel down her body. She really was something else.

The senator was wearing a floor-length dark blue dress that matched the color of the midnight sky. Her hair was styled into curls, flowing over her shoulders. There were small silver stars and crescent moons pinning her baby hairs back.

The sergeant was the first to realize how long he'd been staring. He tried to form words, but they fell short in the process. Standing right in front of him was by far the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. No, he thought to himself. She was beyond beautiful; she was simply magnificent.

"You...look...," Hunter began. The lavender perfume flooded his senses, which made his brain fuzzy. His gaze continued to linger, drinking it all in greedily. "Heavenly," Hunter breathed softly.

That word was not what she was expecting in the slightest. It didn't make her any less flattered though. The corners of her lips lifting into a soft smile with a pink tint coloring her cheeks. She tried to avert her gaze because she just couldn't bare looking at him any longer without blushing profusely.

"Thank you," Y/n replied sheepishly.

When he first saw her, Hunter felt all of his thoughts fly out of his head. He didn't know why they were so persistent to leave; finding it all irrelevant now. He chose to live in the moment which consisted of her and her alone.

Slowly, Hunter used his hand to gesture to the door behind them as if inviting her to go ahead of him. As she brushed past him, Hunter shifted his hand to hover by her lower back. They began to walk towards the door; the others moved to lead them out. With his brothers walking ahead of them, Hunter found himself placing his hand on the small of her back in a gentle manner.

The Bad Batch clambered into the small airspeeder on the edge of the landing platform. There was a driver at the wheel who had been waiting for their arrival. He was instructed to bring them to the Senate Building. And there was a small emphasis on their need to get their quickly.

Starting the airspeeder, the driver began to navigate through the busy lanes in the city. A few other airspeeders passed by them, flying through the air at such a rapid pace. Their airspeeder turned down another path, steadily making their way to their final destination.

In the nearby building, the hitman had kept his scope locked on the passing speeders. He knew that they'd be coming at any second; he only had one shot at this. With one eye closed, he peered through the narrow scope and moved his sniper steadily to search the speeders moving by.

Finally, the skilled shooter's eyes landed on a familiar-looking grey airspeeder heading in the opposite direction of him. He recognized the dark grey clone armor in a second. He quickly adjusted his weapon to take the shot.

"He's gonna try something tomorrow," Hunter told his brothers the day before. They had gathered in the senator's office to discuss tactics for the day of the speech. "He's been waiting for the right moment."

"But how are we going to stop him? He could be anywhere," Echo claimed. He tried thinking of all the places it could go down.

"He wouldn't do anything in the Senate," Tech explained. He ruled that much out. "Too many witnesses and too much security already.

"He could take his shot as we leave the building," Crosshair observed. If he was in the shooter's shoes, that's where he would strike.

"Or he could take his shot as we were moving," Hunter suggested this option. His arms were crossed, but he still shrugged his shoulders.

"That's a pretty tricky shot," Wrecker noted. "Moving objects ain't easy."

"Might not be easy, but it's not impossible." Crosshair corrected. They seemed to think about their options for a brief moment, attempting to reach some kind of game plan.

"So what are we going to do?" Echo questioned. He looked towards his sergeant for the answer.

"I think I have an idea."

While riding in the airspeeder, the other squad members attempted to glance at the sergeant through the corner of their eyes. The mission was put into his hands. They relieved heavily on his senses, because with a few tweaks, Tech had managed to adjust Hunter's helmet filter.

It was originally designed to numb his senses so he wouldn't be so overwhelmed. However, it was now changed to only pick up the smallest sounds. He wasn't able to hear the others talking or even the other airspeeders zooming past them. He focused heavily in order to hear the sound of subtle movement.

Then Hunter heard it: The sound of a rifle being cocked.

"Now!" Hunter signaled them.

The shooter's finger rested against the curve of the trigger, lining up his shot so he wouldn't miss. He squeezed the trigger to fire his shot, watching the red blast come shooting out of the rifle.

Just in time, Hunter had managed to push the senator into a crouching position on the floor of the speeder. He moved his head slightly to the right, barely missing the blaster shot that was aimed at her. Yanking his blaster out of his holster, he didn't hesitate to raise it and fire a few shots in the general direction.

The Bad Batch had been fully prepared for the attack. They quickly turned around in their place as well and fired their own shots rapidly. The shooter ducked down behind the window ledge just as a few shots whizzed past the window. He covered his head and cursed under his breath.

Meanwhile, Crosshair was using his long rifle to fire another round. His shots had gotten the closest. While Wrecker was most certainly firing the fastest, Tech was trying to take more calculated shots. Then Hunter and Echo were firing almost simultaneously, naturally in sync with one another. But none of their shots hit a target.

Having seen the shooter disappear from the perch, Hunter raised his fist to signal the others to seize fire. The shooting stopped instantly. He waited patiently with the expectation that the shooter would try again, but he never reappeared in the window. The airspeeder continued on the designated route, heading in the direction of the senate.

"Are you alright, senator?" Echo asked. He couched down beside her, offering his hand for her to take. He eased her back into the seat.

"I'm fine," Y/n reassured him. She glanced up at the sergeant before giving him a firm nod of the head. "Thanks again."

Though Hunter's filtration was still activated, he knew exactly what she said regardless of the fact he couldn't hear her. He sent her a nod back. He redirected his attention back towards the empty window, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at it.

"Was your mission successful?" Count Dooku questioned over the communication link that the assassin held in his hands. There was a long beat of stillness.

"She...she was highly protected. I-I couldn't get a clean shot," the man explained. His continuous failed attempts only caused the Sith Lord more frustration. And this was evident in his silence alone. "Give me one more chance," he begged.

"I grow tired of your excuses," Count Dooku interrupted. His voice grew deeper and darker. "I am coming to Coruscant. Do not let her make it to the vote. If you fail to finish the job, then I will end you."

"I understand, Count."

The small escort tried to navigate through the senate building as fast as they could with what little time remained until their window. They had rounded the corner of another corridor, spotting the entrance to the repulsorpod in the senate room. The senator's assistant was standing by the door.

"You're late," the droid announced.

The senator approached the entrance, ignoring the comment with a roll of the eyes. She stepped into the repulsorpod and activated it so it began hovering over to it's designated place amongst other senate members.

The Bad Batch watched the repulsorpod from a distance. The announcement of the senator's arrival sounded from the chancellor who was situated in the middle of the room. With that, Senator Rayna gathered herself and started her speech that she worked so hard on.

Despite being a little out-of-touch with politics, Hunter wanted nothing more than to listen to the senator's speech. He saw that politics was her drive; the thing that got her excited when brought into a conversation. Her speaking came with such passion which indicated how deeply her heart felt for it.

His eyes shimmered behind the visor of his helmet, scanning the way her hands moved as she spoke with emphasis. He admired the softness of her voice, feeling himself falling into a transfixed trance. He didn't necessarily understand what she was saying, but he truly didn't care.

"Uh Hunter?" Echo cleared his throat to get the sergeant's attention.

"What is it, Echo?" Hunter let out a loud sigh since he was taken out of his trance.

"I need to talk to you about something," Echo claimed. Naturally, Hunter turned to face him only to present him with a skeptical look. "It's about the senator," Echo reassured him.

Quickly glancing back at the senator, Hunter contemplated walking away to address his trooper's concern or option the stay in order to listen to the rest of her speech. Although, granted, whatever he did have to say about the senator could be a threat. So Hunter hesitantly walked away from the entrance with Echo trailing behind him.

"What's wrong?" Hunter asked. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"I wanted to make you aware of something. Something that I saw the other night when I was on patrol," Echo began. He thought about his next words carefully. "Something I shouldn't have seen," Echo said truthfully.

The sergeant's hands dropped back down to his sides upon sensing the uncertainty radiating from his brother. He saw the conflict behind his eyes and how he couldn't even look him in the eyes. He could only imagine what he was about to say, but he thought of every possible situation.

"Go on," Hunter encouraged.

"Some paperwork was delivered late at night," Echo started the story.

It was in that moment that Hunter realized the situation might not be as severely troubling as he had initially thought. His shoulders slumped down and he released the breath he didn't know he had been holding back.

"I just got a brief glance at the paper on the top of the stack, but it was from the guard."

"What did it say?" Hunter inquired.

"It was a request form--an application," Echo corrected. "It seems The Coruscant Guard sent the form to let her know that there are now available troopers. Should she apply and request them."

"Which means..." Hunter now made the connection.

"We might be receiving new orders any day now," Echo finished for him.

"Our transfer out of Coruscant," Hunter sighed reluctantly. The sadness that came through his voice did not go unnoticed. His gaze lowered to the ground.

For some reason, Hunter's mind drifted away to the words of warning that his youngest brother gave him many weeks ago. Don't get too attached. He clenched his fists at his sides, knowing in the back of his mind that he should have heeded that warning. But at the time, Hunter didn't want to listen to him.

"What should we do?" Echo wondered, which pulled Hunter out of his own thoughts.

"Nothing we can do," Hunter shrugged though it pained him to admit. "Except wait for our transfer papers to come in."

"Should we tell her?"

"Let's keep it between us for now," Hunter ordered calmly. Echo nodded his head understandingly. He glanced back at the senator who was still deep in her speech. "She'll tell us in her own time."

The only problem was that the senator never brought it up. This made Hunter and Echo extremely confused since they figured she would have probably broken the news to them all at some point. She least she could do was give them a heads up that they'd be transferred out sooner than later. Even if Hunter and Echo already knew about the application form that she was given.

It wasn't until six days following her big speech when Hunter decided to come out and confront her. The whole crew had just made their way into the senate building and where heading upstairs.

The day of the vote was scheduled to happen tomorrow. The Senator of Courscant was already feeling quite anxious given the amount of time and effort she put into her speech. Besides making her speech, Senator Rayna had also met with many other senators in hopes of convincing them to support her cause. She only had to wait one more day.

Just as the senator was about to head into the senate room, Hunter managed to get her attention by grabbing her forearm. He stopped her from going in. She whipped her head around to face him with a slight hint of shock in her expression.

"We need to talk," Hunter spoke through the ventilator of his helmet. He kept his voice low so the others couldn't hear him.

"Can't this wait?" Y/n wondered.

"When were you planning to tell us about the transfer?" Hunter ignored her comment, having grown impatient with her inability to bring the subject up to them.

The senator furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "What transfer?"

"Y-You..." Hunter's voice seemed to fade. He studied her features only to find confusion written all over them. His grip on her arm faltered slightly. "You mean you didn't fill out the form?"

The senator felt her heart drop in her chest. She now put the pieces together, coming to the conclusion that he must have found out about the form that was given to her from the capital's guard. The pang of guilt forming deeper and more painful.

"Listen Hunter," the senator tried to come up with some kind of excuse. She avoided his gaze. "Can we talk about this later?"

Now, the senator knew that the needed to be in the right mindset to explain herself to him. Not only that, but she'd also need the time to talk with him, which was something she wasn't able to spare him. Finally, Y/n was able to lift her gaze to meet his.

"Please," Y/n whispered softly with pleading eyes.

And Hunter couldn't say no. His fingers relaxed against her forearm, slipping down the length of her arm. This action only brought a shiver to run down her spine. Her eyelashes fluttered up at him. His hand took hold of her gently, giving it a gentle squeeze as if to communicate understanding.

With great hesitation, Senator Rayna began walking towards the entrance of the senate room. The other senators were waiting for her and preparing for the start of the session. She glanced over her shoulder to steal a glance at her sergeant one last time.

Upon returning to the senator's place of living, Hunter opened the door for her to enter. She walked into the room without sparing him a glance. Just as the other members went to walk in, Hunter stopped them by raising his hand. Each of them looked at their sergeant with a hint of confusions behind their features.

"I need to speak with the senator privately," Hunter told them. He quickly glanced at Echo who was the only one that knew about the conversation that was about to take place. "Give us a couple minutes," Hunter asked.

"Fine," Wrecker threw his hands up in defeat. "Just don't take too long."

"I'll...try to keep it short," Hunter promised.

With some hesitation, the Bad Batch began to make their way further down the hallway. They figured that they'd be able to find something to occupy themselves for a couple minutes. They sent a glance towards the sergeant as they passed by before he closed the door in front of them.

Finally, Hunter stood still for the first time that day. His hand lingered on the handle of the door, wondering if it would be best just to leave with the rest of them. He could feel her gaze bearing into the back of his head. He gathered the needed courage to turn and address her.

"Care to explain yourself?" Hunter started. He folded his arms across his chest to keep a strict demeanor.

"Before that," Y/n interjected. "I want to know how you found out. Did you go through my things?"

"What? No," Hunter denied. "Echo told me."

Closing her eyes, Senator Rayna only cursed under her breath. She hadn't thought about that beforehand. The form was the first piece of paper on the stack. Echo didn't do anything wrong. He was simply the deliverer. She refused to be mad at him for looking at something innocently.

"Right," Y/n said understandingly. "That adds up."

"Let me get some things straight: The Coruscant Guard sends you an application form to your apartment last week," Hunter listed off.

"That's right," Y/n spoke truthfully.

"This application form is the first step in granting you a new escort," Hunter added.

"Mhmm," Y/n gave a nod.

"Which ultimately means that my squad would be transferred out of your command," Hunter came to this conclusion clearly.

"...yes," Y/n breathed quietly.

There was a beat of silence between them. Despite the fact that the senator had cleared things up for the sergeant, he was still left in a state of utter confusion. He looked at her with a blank stare on his face.

"So why the hell haven't you taken the time to even fill it out?" Hunter fought back with a hint of venom in his tone. This sudden outburst only caused the senator to furrow her eyebrows at him.

"You don't think I've been a bit preoccupied with other things?" Y/n threw back at him.

"Oh please. Don't lie to me," Hunter scoffed at this excuse. His arms fell back down to his sides. "You've had all week to fill it out."

"Fine," Y/n waved her hands in dismissal. "You're right. That's not the reason why I didn't fill it out."

"What's the reason then?" Hunter demanded.

The senator tried to gather her thoughts and feelings. She avoided his gaze, but still felt the pressure to answer his question. Struggling to find an excuse, Y/n wasn't able to find the right words.

"I...I-I didn't want to," Y/n confessed quietly. Her eyes drifted up to meet his gaze, filled to the brim with tears that threatened to escape. "Not if it meant you'd be transferred."

"I don't understand," Hunter took a step forward. "What do you want?"

This decision didn't benefit anyone. It kept a batch of good soldiers away from the front lines, which was the best place for them to be. It also kept the senator from receiving the needed help from guards who were purposefully stationed on her planet and who were assigned to protect her.

And Hunter saw this. He still didn't understand her reasoning behind her actions, why she hadn't filled out the form to request a new escort and begin the process of getting them transferred back to the war front.

"What do you want?" Hunter repeated a little more louder this time. He took another step towards her.

"I-I want you," Y/n's voice quivered. She felt a tear roll down the side of her cheek as she spoke with the utmost sense of honesty.

In that exact moment, Hunter's strong nature seemed to dissolve upon hearing those words. His shoulders deflated slightly at his sides and his face fell into a blank stare. It felt like his brain had malfunctioned because he wasn't able to form a complete thought with that information.

"I want you," Y/n spoke once again. "Just you."

Her name came tumbling off his lips. He lowered his gaze to stare down at the floor, feeling the strong sense of conflict in the depths of his heart. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying desperately to fight the urge to cave in.

Seeing her current state only broke his heart even further. The tears were now cascading down the sides of her face evenly. Her bottom lip was quivering unsteadily. The tip of her nose had grown red from her crying. Her hands shook since her nerves had taken over.

"You...you can't have me," Hunter told her steadily. "You know that."

"I-I know," Y/n nodded her head understandingly. She tore her gaze away from him. "You were the person who told me that it's good to have dreams."

He was her dream just as much as she was his own dream.

"I'm a soldier, Y/n. Meant to serve in the army," Hunter corrected her. He couldn't be her dream. "I wasn't made for...whatever you want this to be between us."

"I don't want much," Y/n tried to reassure him with a small shake of her head. She took the last step forward until they were standing with their chests pressed together. "I know that a relationship is almost impossible for a sergeant and a senator."

"Then...what do you want?" Hunter breathed out for the last time. His eyes mindlessly drifted down to her lips, lingering there for a brief moment. "If we can't have a relationship, what can I offer you?"

Slowly, the senator raised her hand to rest against the plate of his armor. Her hand began drifting upwards until it reached his shoulder. She moved it to the side of his cheek, cupping it softly in her grasp.

"Just you. For this one moment," Y/n pleaded with him.

It all seemed to make sense now. The reason why she didn't fill out the form immediately was because she wanted them to stay a little longer. Though it was selfish of her (and she admitted that) and it would keep them from the war, the senator confessed that she never felt more safe than when she was in the presence of his squad.

Their lips seemed to chase one another's movements. Even though their lips never fully connected, they grazed against one another a few times. The temptation to fall into each other was growing with each second.

The sergeant's hands found a place to perch on the sides of her hips. He held her steadily in her grasp, swaying every so slightly with her. Her hands slid away from his face, falling flat on his chest plate. She gazed up at him with anticipating eyes. He leaned his head forward until their foreheads rested against one another's.

They both felt the internal conflict. They already failed miserably in regards to not falling in love with one another. The risk of exposure would also be detrimental to both of their occupations. Should they chose to act on their emotions, who could tell what would happen?

Finally, Hunter's hand drifted up to cup the place between her neck and jaw. He held her face steadily in his grasp. Once again, Hunter felt his heart screaming 'yes' and his mind was pleading 'no.'

Eventually, Hunter caved into his own selfish desires. He tipped his head to the side and leaned forward in his place, permitting his lips to press against her own. He felt the way she leaned into his touch and he heard how fast her heart was beating.

Their lips moved against one another's in a gentle melody. His arms wrapped around her backside, bringing her as close to his body as humanly possible. His hand snaked up her back to cradle the back of her head. He had never imagined how soft her lips were.

With a shuddering breath, Y/n's lips parted slightly which allowed him to swipe his tongue against her bottom lip. Their mouths chased one another's so desperately, exploring every possible inch like it would be their last time.

Finally, Hunter and Y/n were able to pull away from one another to regain their lost breath. They gazed at one another with half-lidded eyes. The two of them basked in the comfortable silence, feeling the sudden sense of relief for finally getting past that hurdle of hiding emotions.

Before they knew what was happening, they had been able to find one another's lips once again. They kept sealed in a tight kiss since they wanted to savor this time together as much as possible.

His insistent mouth was parting her shaking lips, sending wild tremors down her spine, evoking from her sensations she had never known she was capable of feeling. He swallowed her soft moans, thinking they tasted so sweet on his tongue.

It was the kind of kiss that stole one's breath away and caused your heart to skip a couple beats. This was one of those kisses that were so filled with built up emotion that they didn't seem to care about anything else. And it was a kiss that could easily become desperate and escalate quickly if they weren't careful.

And that's exactly what happened. It became desperate.

CHAPTER SIX HERE

Taglist:

@justhavingsomefun1 @totally-not-your-babe @jedipoodoo @gyllord @roam-rs @totallyunidentified @redheadgirl @mrcaptainrex @whore-of-many-hot-men @graciexmarvel @qweenrogerina @arcsimper5 @queenofspades6 @cadihyo @jediknightjana @elthoughtzos @lokigirlszendaya @sleepycreativewriter @moonwrecked @ravenclawbitch426 @waytoooldforthis78 @left-in-the-motel-bar @fic-force-99 @ayyyy-le-simp

THE NEXT CHAPTER IS GONNA BE JUST PURE SPICE AND SMUT! THERE WILL BE A WARNING AT THE BEGINNING

#the bad batch #star wars #the clone wars #clone trooper hunter #tbb hunter #bad batch hunter #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter x you #tbb hunter x y/n #tbb hunter x senator #crosshair #echo #tech #wrecker #the marauder ship #tbb hunter series #tbb hunter fluff #tbb hunter angst #hunter x fem!reader senator

70 notes · View notes

more-cardigan-than-woman · 2 years

Text

Same man, different guy

Summary: You moved from Gotham, to start a new job, a new life in Bludhaven. You'd gotten entangled with the Red Hood and you just need a fresh start. But sometimes, your problems follow you.

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Jason Tood (The Red Hood)

Words: 4.2k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Only, handcuffs, blindfold, guns, swearing, spanking, face slapping, teasing, pet names, jealousy, this is probs not healthy, confessions, tiny bit of hurt but mostly comfort.

“Hey Dick,” you call across the bull pit, “how's it going?”

“What's up Deputy Inspector? Didn't think I'd see you around here after your promotion.”

“Just came down to grab a cup of coffee figured I'd swing by and say hi,”

“So, how's the new job going?”

“Really, good. It's nice to be back from Gotham. Love the place and Batman's great, but it's just not home, ya know?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Maybe we could catch up? Grab a-” you’re dumbstruck as a man walks out from the Sargent's office. He's tall and like your nanna used to say 'built like a brick shithouse', a tight brown leather jacket wrapped tightly over his broad shoulders, hair is almost as dark as Dicks except for the streak of white that runs through the front. Fuck, he has to be the hottest guy you've ever seen. He saunters his way over to Dick, while you stand there staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“Jay, this is the officer I was telling you about. She just moved back from Gotham,” Dick claps his hand on Jay's shoulder, “this is my little brother, Jason,”

“I thought your brother was 11?” You ask, shifting your head to the side. The man, Jason, hasn't said a word and he seems to be avoiding eye contact. He looks… you want to say guilty, but you've no idea why. Was he in trouble with the Sergeant?

“Dami is 11. Jay is one of the middle ones and he's only in town for a few days so I'll have to get a raincheck on drinks. That cool?”

“Yeah, no problem. Have a good night.” You’re disappointed that Dick’s busy and consider asking to hang out with the both of them. Dicks brother was.. Well he was fucking hot. And Dick is the nicest person in this fucking precinct, hopefully you'll get a chance to catch up with him another time. Luckily for you the new records clerk was on her way to the bar and offered you to join her.

Xxx

It's around 2am when you finally leave the drive bar on Oracle St. You’ve had a nice night with Riza, she’s had at least one to many and after you put her in a taxi home, you decide it’ll be faster to walk home.

It's only 2 blocks to your apartment, you know crime rates are unusually high for this time of year. But you’ve heard rumors of Nightwing being spotted after only being in this city for a few days. You'd moved here to get away from all those fucking vigilantes. At Least it’s just Nightwing you think and not- HIM. Him. He who had turned your world upside down and almost ruined you. You have to admit having Nightwing around does make you feel a tiny bit safer. Along with the 6 shooter in your purse, you're sure you can make it home without incident.

You're almost at the end of the first block when you hear a noise down a nearby alley. Carefully you pull out your gun, stepping slowly in the direction of the noise. The street lamp flickers overhead and you can see two figures in the dark. It looks like one is beating the other.

“Freeze Police,” you shout, pointing your gun at them. The one standing drops the other and they fall to a heap on the ground.

“Well, if it isn't my favourite officer,” a deep husky voice calls from the darkness.

“Hands above your head,”

“Now if I remember correctly,” he steps onto the light, his bright red helmet glistening under it and a crowbar swinging in his hand as he approaches you, “you're the one who likes to be tied up. Not me.”

“You,” you glare at him. Why is he here? Did he follow you? Fucking hell. It was him who didn’t want to open up, who didn’t want- whatever was going on between you. So you left, because having him so close and him keeping you so far away was slowly killing you.

“Did you miss me, officer?”

“You.. you followed me.” Why has he done that? What was the point? So he could keep stringing you along?

“Just happened to be in town. Thought I'd say hi,” what an asshole. It’s definitely so he can keep stringing you along. He's getting closer. And all you can think is that you moved here to get away from him. He clouds your judgment, makes you stupid and pliable and you're so fucking happy to see him.

“Right, so it's just a coincidence that you're here then?” You try to sound like you don't believe it, but he just keeps getting closer.

“Why are you here? I thought this was Nightwings turf?” you step back, needing distance to keep your head on straight.

“That why you ran away?” He's almost on top of you now, with every step you take back he takes two forward, “think you could hide behind him?”

“No, I.. I didn't.” fuck, he’s so close now. You can smell the sweat of his long night and that faint hint of leather that always seems to follow him around.

“Didn't what officer? Want to hide or run away?” He steps right into your space, taking your wrist in his hand, pulling the gun away.

“That's-”

“What? Yours? We both know you aren't going to shoot me, don't we?”

Fuck, this should be easy you should be able to say no. To fight him, but you just- you really don't want to. “I won't shoot you,”

“There's my girl,” he coos, holstering the gun in his pants, “now, tell me. Did you really think you could hide from me?” His fingers slide under your jaw forcing you to look up at him.

“No,” you admit. You hadn't, not really. It was childish, but well- “I didn't think you'd care.”

“Care?” if you could see his face, he’d probably look confused. Instead the shiny red helmet stares down at you.

“I didn't think you'd notice I was gone,”

“I notice everything.” his thumb grazes along your jaw, “Even when my girl is flirting with her underlings.” his fingers tighten on your face, the lights in the helmet seem to stare you down.

Huh? What is he talking about? You barely get a chance to think about it. His massive strong hands wrap around you, lifting you up into him and pressing you into the wall. “Red!” You squeal, “what are you-?”

“I'm faster,” he says, taking off towards your apartment. You can only hold on for your life as he sprints down the street, then running up the fire escape. How does he know where you live? Probably the same way he knew where to find you when you moved. Why couldn’t he just let you be? Probably for the same reason you struggle to say no to him.

“Did you come all this way just to bring me home safely?” you joke, trying to ease the growing tension in your tiny apartment. He doesn't answer, instead he turns and walks back towards the window. Your brain is telling you to let him leave, that this is for the best. But your pussy aches more and more every second that you’re close to him. There is only one thing to do, you need him to stay and you know there is a sure way to bait him without spilling out your guts and feelings all over the floor in front of him. “I'm sure Nightwing could have done that."

He comes to an abrupt stop and if you could see his eyes through the helmet you're sure he'd be glaring at you. “Well, officer. I was just going to leave you alone,” he exaggerates extending his arms out, “seeing as you're so keen to be rid of me,” he kicks off his boots, “but after a comment like that,” his jacket goes, landing on the back of your couch, “maybe you DO need the reminder,” he rips off his belt, his body looming over you and his shiny red helmet staring you down.

You reach up, eager to take the helmet off, to kiss him. But he's faster, grabbing your hands in his one and holding them above your head.

“Ah, ah, ah. You know the rules.”

“Do I?” You tease, stepping back towards your bedroom, you hop kicking off your heels which make him much taller.

“Do you need a reminder?” His fingers toy with the line of your tie.

“Yes”

“I can do that.” His free hand grabs your waist, hoisting you over his shoulder, by your arms throwing you over his wide shoulder, your feet dangle in the air as a loud crack rings in your tiny apartment where he slaps you on the ass. “That's for what you did today,”

“What did I?”- he does it again.

“No back talk,” Smack. “I saw you,”

“Saw me what?” Red slaps you on the underside of your ass.

“Hitting on that idiot coworker of yours.”

“Grayson? Wait- how did you-”

“So you do know what I'm talking about,” two slaps land and you can feel yourself start to soak through your pants.

“he's just a friend, we were in the aca-” he kicks your bedroom door open.

“I don't care, just be quiet. Can you do that for me?”

Your room is pitch black as you step into it. Red almost trips over some of the boxes you still haven't unpacked as he enters, nearly dropping you. “There is nothing going on. We're just friends,”

“Listen to me,” he commands in the tone that makes your body quake, his fingers pulling at your tie forcing you to look up into the dim lights of his helmet, “the only words I want to hear from you are yes Red, please Red, thank you Red or our safe word. Ok?”

“Yes, Red, But-” his hand slaps your face and you get a shiver down your spine. Fuck, it's only been a few weeks since you moved but you realise how much you missed this, missed him.

“Stand there. Close your eyes. Do not look.” You give him a nod, disoriented about where you were in your room and without a light you can barely even see with your eyes open. Still, you clamp your eyes shut. You hear the clicking of your side lamp, the shuffling of something, but no matter how much your curiosity is peaked you keep your eyes squeezed shut.

“Ok, little officer. Open your eyes.” You peek one eye open, and the soft light nearly blinds you. He's thrown something over it, a scarf you think and it's done what he wanted. You're illuminated while he is swallowed in the shadows. A glimmer of red catches the light in the corner and you see his helmet sat on your side table. He's taken it off.

“Strip.”

“Yes, Red.” You start pulling at your buttons, your tie, trying your hardest to get everything off, until you hear a cough and your gaze is drawn up.

“Slower.”

“Yes, Red.” You take your time with each button, giving him a show while you slide off your blouse. Your fingers glide along each item on your belt, placing them carefully down before bending over from the front as you slip from your pants.

“These will come in handy,” Red reaches out, taking your handcuffs and twirling them around his finger, “come here,” his finger pokes out of the darkness summoning you towards him.

You crawl across the bed, hoping that maybe this will be the time you get a glimpse at his face. The darkness swallows you the closer you get to him, his hands wrap around your wrists, flipping you onto your back and clicking the cuffs on and around your steel bed frame. “Red? What are you-?”

“Can't have those little hands of yours wandering.”

“I wouldn't”

“No. One more thing little officer,” his hands slip over your hair, lifting your head up as you feel the soft silk of your tie wrap around your face. His sweat dripping down onto you as he presses his forehead onto yours. “You know you can’t see my face,”

“Yes, Red,” fuck you want to see him, to touch him. But it was always the main rule, you couldn’t touch him, couldn’t see his face. The only thing you really knew about how he looks is what you can feel. That his hands are rough when he takes those gloves off and his lips are softer than anything you’ve ever felt before.

“There's my good girl,” his breath fans your face and you feel his lips press into yours, his teeth latch onto your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. His calloused hands travel up your bare body, tugging and pulling at your skin.

“Please Red,” you arch yourself, pressing up into him. To feel more, to feel as much of him as you possibly can. His cold armor grazes your inner thigh as he climbs nearer and the chill makes you twitch.

“Did you miss me after you when you left, Sweetheart?” his fingers graze up your leg, “Did you take care of her while I was gone?”

“Yes Red, please” you wiggle your ass closer to his fingers, hoping to get him to touch you. It’s been so long. Too long. You couldn’t exactly find a suitable replacement or any replacement for the way Red made you feel or how hard he made you cum.

“I don’t think you have.” His fingers part you, scooping up your juice into his mouth. You moan at the sensation, letting out a huff at how quick the touch was, “tastes like she’s been neglected.”

“Red, I-”

“What is it? Couldn’t do it yourself Sweetheart? Those little hands not enough for you?” he says, closer than you expected. You feel his breath on your cheek, his fingers gently gliding through your pussy. “Need big bad Red to take care of you, don’t you little officer?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Red.”

“Good girl,” you feel his smile on your neck, soft kisses pressing into your skin, his thick fingers inside you. “Shit, you’re clenching so hard already. You need this, don’t you?”

“Please Red, Please,”

“That’s what I thought.” you turn your head, trying to find his lips. “What are you lookin for there?” he asks, pulling away. His hand holds your neck, tilting your head in what you assume is the direction of his face. “Do you want to kiss me? Is that what you want?”

“Ah huh,” you try to nod, but he’s got you firmly in his grasp.

“Tell me who you belong to”

“Red,”

“Again,”

“Red, please.” you plead, for a second before his lips meet yours. It’s gentle and fierce, a reclaiming. His fingers speed up pounding into you, while his tongue explores your mouth. You feel something nudging at your legs and the bed begins to shake. You don't give it too much thought, to be caught up in how sweet his kisses are and how good his fingers are fucking you. Faster, harder he goes until your almost crumbling in his hands.

You're so close, just a little more. But as your pussy starts to spasm, he takes his fingers from you. Swallowing your protests with his tongue and capturing your face with both hands so he can kiss you deeper. You press what you can of your body into him, needing more and more of him.

“You’re desperate for me aren’t you?”

“Yes, Red. Please. Yes,” you pull at your hands, the handcuffs clang and rattle on your bedframe, “Let me touch you,”

“You know the rules,” he tuts, drawing himself back away from you.

“Red? Where did you?”

“Still here, sweetheart,” his bare hand floats up your tummy, fingers pinching at your nipple. You hear something bang onto the floor and you can only assume it’s his armor. You squirm and writhe on the bed, the metal of the handcuffs biting into your wrists.

“Red, please.” you beg, kicking your legs up until you hear a soft chuckle to your left.

“You poor thing. You need more, more of me. Don’t you?” the low rumble of his voice whispers into your ear.

“Yes,”

“Then stop pulling on these,” his fingers loop through the inside of the handcuffs, “You're hurting yourself.”

“Sorry,”

“Don’t be, just be careful.”

“Yes, Red.” your hands drop and you wince at just how sore your wrists have become. Your head drops back onto the pillow and you try to relax, to ignore it.

Instead you’re surprised. The latch on the cuffs comes undone and calloused thumbs rub over the sore spots before soft kisses are pressed into your skin and places them above your head, “Promise me, you’ll keep your hands here,”

“Thank you, I promise,”

“Good girl. Hold onto the pillows if it helps just-”

“No touchie, I know.”

“Good. Now spread your legs for me Sweetheart.”

His thickness, parts you. Swiping and collecting all your juices on his cock, “Please, stop teasing.”

“You teased first. Now it’s my turn,” he continues to toy with you, pressing in just a bit before he pulls back. His forefinger rubs slow torturous circles over your clit. His other hand presses your leg back until it’s at your chest. “You’re making such a mess, dripping onto your nice clean sheets Sweetheart,”

“Sorry Red,”

“Don’t be sorry. I love it. Are you ready for me?”

“Yes,”

“Beg for it.”

“Please, please Red. I need it, need you,”

“Tell me it’s mine,”

“Yes. Yours, all yours. All of me, whatever you want,” your head starts to spin with pleasure and anticipation, “Please fuck me,”

“No, need to be dramatic,” he thrusts fully inside you, grinding his cock into your pussy. His hand tightens on your thigh, digging in so fucking delightfully as he releases a deep breath, “I fucking missed you,” he leans over pressing your leg down further and pushing himself deeper. His mouth finally reaches yours and you just can’t help the way you react.

Your hands fly into his hair, holding him close. His hair is so soft, longish and curly as it twines through your fingers. You snag his lip between your teeth sucking on them so he can’t tell you to stop. You moan into his mouth, delighted that even if you get nothing else tonight, you got this. Got to touch him even if it's his hair, just for a second.

“Now, now, little officer,” he pulls back, taking your hands in his, “Keep those up here. I won’t tell you twice.” he thrusts into you, holding your hands in his. You wish you could see his face, touch it, touch his skin with your hands.

“Sorry, I just-”

“I know you want to touch me. I just- You won’t like it,”

“Please, I can’t see. Just- just this one time.”

“And if I tell you to stop?”

“Then I will stop,”

“You may touch my hair,”

“Thank you Red,” your hands move slowly, reaching up to where you assume his head is. You twirl a stray curl around your finger, pushing it from his face. “Thank you,”

“Since you’ve got a hand in my hair,” his fingers twine through the front of your hair, tugging your face up to meet him so he can kiss down the column of your neck, your collar bone, your shoulder. His teeth sink in every few seconds, before his tongue lathes over the marks.

The sting zings through your body and down into your pulsing clit. You pussy pulses and Red's cock throbs in response. “I can feel you getting close,” he picks up his rhythm on your clit, his hands tightening on your thigh and in your head. The pain of his harsh grip increases your pleasure, “harder, please harder,” you moan, finding your mouth meeting the hard lines of his shoulder. You press your lips into it gently, sucking down on his soft skin. Fuck, you've never gotten to feel this much of him before.

“I need you to cum for me. Please. Sweetheart.” he pants in your ear, his hot breath fanning down your neck. “I’m so fucking close,” you arch up, rising to meet his deep and hard thrusts. He hits that spot right inside you and fireworks start behind your eyes. Your body shakes and quivers and he’d see your eyes roll back into your head if it wasn’t for the dark and the blindfold. You release a series of moans, cries and plea’s for more and more. His name desperately falling from your lips like it’s the only word you know.

“Yes, that’s it. Give it- Give it all to- Me Ahh, Fuck. Yes. Like that,” he moans when you tug on his hair, “Just like that.” his thrusts start to stutter, his breathing ragged. “I’m- I’m - Fucckkk” he presses in deep, his cum filling your pussy up with every gyration of his hips.

“I missed you,” you sigh, as he lays down atop you. His face pressing into the crook of your neck. You rake your hands through his hair gently, noticing that a bit at the front feels coarser from the rest. Probably from the helmet you guess.

“Could you-” he whispers, his breath ragged and hoarse. His fingers find yours in his hair. Slowly he guides them down to his cheek, “Here,”

“Like this,” you ask, brushing your hand from his strong jawline, up his sharp cheekbones and to the small scar on his eyebrow. Your hand moves slowly as your nails graze his face, “is this ok?”

“Perfect,” a silence fills the room. You keep quiet, not willing to jeopardize whatever has come over him, that's allowing you to touch him.

“Why did you leave me?” His voice is soft and almost scared. You wish you could see him, to reassure him somehow, in another way.

“I-”

“You.” you feel him move, rolling to your side, he reaches behind you and you peek your eyes open. The light from the room floods through your tie. You can’t see, but you know he's got the light on you.

“It wasn’t enough.”

“I wasn’t enough,” the sound of defeat echoes in his voice. You feel the bed bounce, like he's moving. You throw your arms out into the air, hoping that your able to grab him. Thankfully, dude is massive.

“Stop. That’s not what I meant.” you sit up, latching onto what you think is his hand. “Are you there?”

“I’m still here.”

“What I mean is. I know your job is scary. I know you're not exactly one of those guy's that worships the Bat either. But, I just-” You sigh, your hand creeps up his arm, making a beeline for his face, “It’s always like this. We have a good time and you leave and I need more.”

“More what? Money? Sex? I can do that.”

“No. I don’t- You’re not getting it.” you shake your head, “I just want you. That’s all I ever wanted and I knew it wouldn’t happen.”

“So you left me,”

“No. I left for me. Because this- we could never be more than this. You don’t want that and it’s not fair for me to push it on you. So I left.”

“What if I did want more? What if these last few weeks without you nearly killed me and I-”

“You won’t even let me look at you Red. I don’t even know your name. Look it’s- It is what it is. This has to be the last time though. Because leaving the first time nearly broke me. So just go, so I don’t have to watch.” You feel those tiny pieces of your heart start to fall again, you had left without saying goodbye because you knew it would be awful and somehow this was a million times worse.

You nearly jump out of your skin when a calloused finger wipes the tears from your cheek. “Oh my little officer,” his fingers drift up and you freeze. Your heart all but stopping as his fingers graze the bottom of your blindfold.

“This isn’t-” you clamp your eyes shut as your feel the fabric start to shift upwards, “You don’t have to,”

“I want to.” his lips brush across your eyelids, “Just- don’t freak out?”

“Why are you some kind of ogre?” you giggle but it sounds strained, “Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure about you. Open your eyes for me sweetheart.”

You blink, then again. Your eyes blurry for a moment before he comes into view. His eyes are the first thing you notice, fuck. They're so blue, worry written in them like it's all he's ever know and there's something else, something deeper, like a fear that has been burned into his eyes.

You register the scar next, it almost slices through his left eyebrow and makes him look super badass. It looks old and new, like something brutal must have happened. Bringing your hands up, you brush your fingers over the hard lines of his face. Your eyes dart up, when a stray white curl falls into his face, “You’re beautiful,” your voice so soft, you're not even sure he hears you. But he leans into your touch, his soft stubble grazing your palm. “Are you ok with this, Red?”

“Hmm.” his eyes flash open, “Jason,”

“Right, Jason. So what now?”

“For right now. Can’t we just, I dunno. Be? And worry about the semantics in the morning?”

“If that's what you need. Come here.” you lay back, twirling his curls through your fingers when he lays down on your chest, “Just don’t be gone when I wake up ok.”

“You’re stuck with me, Sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

#reader x red hood #reader x jason todd #x reader #jason todd #red hood #jason todd fanfic #red hood fanfic #red hood x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction

747 notes · View notes

sednonamoris · 2 years

Text

call off the dogs (and come home to me)

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: You've quietly yearned after Captain John Price for a long time now, and known him even longer. With each stolen glance and interrupted moment the tension between you grows, but everything comes to a head when a mission gone wrong forces you to confront feelings that have gone unspoken for the better part of a decade.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, strong language, alcohol mention, drunk hookup, a little bit of torture + murder, fingering, porn with plot (smut should read gender neutral but let me know if any changes will make it more inclusive!!), mild angst, mutual pining with a happy ending

Word count: 3,940

A/N: My first foray into smut inspired by the incredibly talented @yeyinde!! Expect more Hound/Price content in the future bc I’m obsessed lol

“Hound,” a familiar voice startles you from the mountain of paperwork on your desk, “what are you still doing here?”

You raise a challenging brow at your captain. “Couldn’t I ask you the same thing?”

This exchange has become familiar in the months you’ve spent grounded. Anyone else would take a bullet to the knee as a chance to slow down - switch careers entirely if they were smart - but you’re stubborn. A dog with a bone. Two surgeries and months of rehab that still aren’t finished, frankly you’re lucky to be walking. Luckier still that they let you stay on with the 141; There was a minute there that Laswell threatened you with an honourable discharge. A timely intervention with the physical therapist got you out of it, the only stipulation being that you remain firmly planted behind a desk until the doctors clear you. Having spent the better part of a lifetime hands-on in the field, it’s been hard not to overextend to prove your worth off of it.

So after-hours paperwork it is. At least the company is good.

“Touché,” Price huffs a laugh through his whiskers. “Fancy a cuppa? Sounds like we’ll both be here a while yet.”

“Have I told you lately you’re my favourite? Two sugars and--”

“--a splash of cream,” he finishes for you. The twinkle in his eye warms you right through, and you smile after him a little bit like an idiot.

It’s been like this ever since the domestic terrorism scare your team was called in on in Belfast what feels like a lifetime ago. He was only a lieutenant then, and you a sergeant. You were assigned to civilian extraction, but took off when you saw one of the primary suspects make a dash for it through side streets. Price saw you go for him and followed, the two of you giving chase on foot for three blocks before you managed to dive-tackle him in a back alley. It was a major success to take him alive, but your captain at the time wanted blood for the abandoned civilians. Price stood up for you in front of the entire regiment.

Took after ‘im like a bloody hellhound! he’d said. That deserves a medal, not disciplinary action.

Just over ten years later you’re still called Hound, and he’s still the subject of your silly, unattainable daydreams. Captain John Price is a name that means something, but to you he will always be the sergeant with fire in his eyes who stood up for you when no one else would. When he asked if you were interested in joining the 141 at its inception you didn’t even hesitate. You’d follow him anywhere.

“One tea, two sugars, splash of cream,” Price announces when he returns from the kitchenette with two steaming mugs to distract you from your thoughts. Yours is placed ceremoniously on an ARW coaster you ‘borrowed’ from your last commanding officer. “Now I believe you owe me something…?”

You grin and pull out your secret stash. The false bottom of the drawer is probably meant for sensitive intel, but you’ve found it’s perfect for biscuits. Three are placed in his outstretched hand, and three next to your mug.

“You’re lucky I’ve got a man on the inside who sends me these,” you scold as he scoffs one down almost immediately.

“Yeah, tell your granddad I said ‘thanks’.”

“I can’t. He’d disown me if he knew I was feeding a Brit.”

That earns you a laugh - a true belly laugh - and you can’t help but feel entirely smug about it.

“Fuckin’ Paddies.”

“Ah, go fuck yourself.”

A companionable silence blankets the room after that, broken only by the sound of shuffled papers and laptop keys. Soft lamplight illuminates your reports so unlike the harsh fluorescents everywhere else on base. You’ve done your best to make the regulation desk homey; bright sticky notes and colored pens and a picture of you and the lads after a successful mission. Occasional hums and huffs and heavy sighs from your captain’s desk across the room breathe life into the space as well. You like to think your incoherent, foul-mouthed muttering does the same for him.

The clock reads 0100 hours when you look up again. The caffeine from the tea wore off over an hour ago and you can feel yourself starting to fade. A quick peek over at Price reveals much the same.

You open your mouth to ask if he’s ready to tuck in when he looks up and steals the breath from your lungs. His short hair is mussed where he’s been running his hands through it, that hint of premature grey turned silver at his temples in the low light. Tired eyes crinkle fondly behind the lenses of reading glasses you haven’t stopped teasing him over but can’t get enough of. It’s achingly domestic. A glimpse into a future you’ll never have - not with anyone, and certainly not with him.

“What are you thinking about over there?” he asks softly.

“Nothing,” you flash a tired and unconvincing smile. “I’m knackered. Shall I close up shop or will you, Cap?”

“I’ve got it, you get some shut-eye.”

Your eyes linger just a bit too long as you bid him goodnight, knowing very well you won’t sleep a wink.

This pub is definitely one of the shittier ones, but its location is convenient enough to pretend that the wallpaper isn’t peeling and the live band of part-time musicians and full-time retirees is any good. The handful of covers they play are indistinguishable from originals sprinkled in, all with that same, washed-out sound of empty bottles and stale dreams.

The group of hooligans crowded up at the bar sit in stark contrast of the otherwise dour patrons. Even Ghost, who’s taken the corner seat and keeps a lazy watch over the room, is loose enough to be making those terrible jokes of his. Soap and Gaz lean over one another with goofy grins and half-empty glasses before them. Price, true to form, has taken the end seat to nurse a ‘proper pint’ alongside a lit cigar the bartender can’t dispute after lighting up what looks like at least his tenth cigarette of the night behind the bar.

“If it isn’t the Bionic Hound!” Gaz calls when he spots you across the poorly-lit room, waving you over with a grin.

You shake your head, wondering why you agreed to come out tonight. But the second Gaz had started with the puppy-dog eyes there was no denying him. Drinks before leave are a 141 tradition, he’d insisted.

So here you are.

“You’re lucky it’s a metal knee and not laser eyes or you’d be in yesterday’s papers,” you wag a finger at him as you take your seat amongst them all.

Ghost snorts a laugh at the empty threat.

“Oh, come off it, Hound,” Soap says. “You love us too much.”

Price chuckles. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

You glare and wrinkle your nose at the comment, but he just smiles back at you with that damned twinkle in his eye. Prick. Then he wordlessly slides over your usual and you have to be grateful on top of it all. Double prick. One swift gulp and half of it is gone; you’re too sober for this.

The lads cackle over another awful joke - Soap’s, this time. Price holds his temples.

The drinks go down easy after that.

“Any exciting plans for your leave, Cap?” you ask. It’s almost closing time now. This place is never full, anyway, but there’s enough alcohol in your system that you almost buy into the pretense of hearing him better as you edge further and further into his space.

You’re not sure what you want him to say, exactly. Maybe if he reveals that there’s a cute little family or some stunning girlfriend waiting back home you’ll finally be able to move past the strangled feeling in your throat every time you look at him.

“Hardly,” he says around the cigar. The soft glow of it lights his face, makes him look like some sharp-eyed noir detective shrouded in smoke and mystery. “Might get a bit of fishing in, head into Liverpool and catch a game or two. What about you?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “I make a terrible civilian. After I visit my grandfather and annoy him half to death I’m not sure what I’ll do. Maybe finally get some use out of those Egyptian cotton sheets I spent a bleedin’ fortune on.”

“Are they nice?” he laughs, leans closer.

You hum an affirmative, dizzy at the little space between you. He smells like tobacco and wood, whiskey and gunpowder.

“Too nice.” You should stop talking now. “End up on the floor half the time, anyway.”

He doesn’t need to know that.

“Sleeping alone, then?”

His breath fans your face. Yours gets quicker, and you swear you’re more drunk off this shared air than any liquor you’ve had tonight.

“Sometimes.” You wet your lips. “Usually.”

Your lashes leave tender butterfly kisses on your cheekbones as you meet his blue-eyed stare that’s gone impossibly dark, dipping down to see where your lips have parted - breathless, waiting. Wanting. His hand reaches out--

“Last call!” the bartender’s shout snaps everything back to reality.

You jump away from one another as though you’ve been burned. It feels a lot like you have.

Price clears his throat, mutters something about getting back. His voice is rougher than usual. Raw. You look everywhere but him as he proceeds to round up the rest of the lads before you all stumble back to base.

Your head pounds the whole way back to Ireland the next morning, marching drums in your mind and sandpaper beneath your eyelids. The flight has never felt lonelier.

The man you bring home has blue eyes and brown hair. He’s not tall enough, certainly not broad enough, but he happened to be in the right place at the right time as you drank your sorrows away in some tiny pub up the road from your flat, and you happen to be desperate enough not to care.

At least that’s what you tell yourself as you back him against your bed.

When you kiss him it’s relentless and controlling. Mean. You suck a dark bruise on his neck and climb in his lap before he can think to return the favor.

“Fuck, sweetness,” he groans at the sweet feeling of friction between your bodies. The accent is wrong. So is the endearment.

You clamp a hand over his mouth. “Shut up and fuck me.”

It’s a quick and sloppy affair, chasing a half-drunk high like a pair of horny teenagers. When all is said and done, you stare up at the ceiling on too-soft sheets and tell him he can go. He leans over to catch your eye briefly, maybe checking to see if you’re serious. You are. There’s hurt written across his expression - a bit of shock, too - but all you can think about is how his eyes are the wrong shade of blue.

The second the doctors clear you for active duty you all but sprint to Price’s desk, demanding he get you back in the field as soon as possible. He smiles up at you in that sharp way that always makes your heart stutter and promises he’s got something small in the works - perfect to shake the rust off.

Of course he’d think of an unsanctioned, off-the-books capture of a Russian mobster as small. You’re the only two who make the trip; your Russian is miles better than anyone else’s, and more bodies will only attract attention.

It’s easy to forget how beautiful Moscow is. You don’t come here often, but the sprawling cityscape and romantic spires speak to your soul, set something singing inside you. You try to hold on to that feeling as you and Price make your way into the chipped paint and piss-stained sector of the city. These winding side streets and twisted back alleys are far more fitting for your line of work.

Your mark, one Mikhail Yanovich, is a low-level enforcer for a high-interest gang that has connections to Makarov. Allegedly. That’s why you’re planning this friendly little chat. Not so much catch-and-release as catch-and-stage-a-believable-accident; if he really is involved, you can’t afford for Makarov to know you’re onto him.

It feels strange to walk around in civvies with only a thin kevlar vest underneath to protect you. Thank goodness for the cold that makes layering less conspicuous. You look every inch the lost, frozen tourist. Price does too. You don’t think the miserable face he’s pulling beneath the beanie is acting, cheeks and nose flushed raw as they are.

“Bloody cold out,” he mutters.

“The fuck did you expect, tropical holidays?”

He glowers, and you shake your head to hide a smile.

Thankfully, kidnapping Yanovich is quick work; two bickering tourists hardly seem like the type who will stick you with a needle on your way to work and drag your unconscious body to a stashed van, driving through bad, then worse neighborhoods to reach a secure location to interrogate you.

He wakes tied to a chair in the basement of an abandoned parking garage you and Price have taken up a temporary residence in. The captain circles him like a vulture, taking in all the details a broad frame and blockish features have to offer. You sit perched on the edge of a shitty folding table set just in the shadows. Patient. Waiting. There’s a case of freshly sharpened knives beside you - the Hound’s fangs, as Ghost likes to call them. So often the glinting threat of harsh light on metal is all it takes to break a man.

“What can you tell us about Makarov?” Price opens.

“Go fuck yourself.”

The blow lands harsh on Yanovich’s cheekbone. Instantly a bruise begins to form, splotchy and plum on pale skin.

“I asked you a bloody question. I promise you’d rather answer me than Hound over there,” Price looms over him, growls in his ear. “Makarov. Tell me everything you know.”

There’s a stubborn set to his jaw when he says, “I know nothing.”

If he really knew nothing he either would have laughed in your face or led with open ignorance. The way he clings to resistance can only mean there’s something to resist telling. As to how much he knows? There’s another echoing crack as Price backhands him.

You’ll soon find out.

“Hound,” your name on your captain’s tongue is as much a command as an invitation.

You lean forward, step into the light. Twirl one of your knives expertly between scarred fingers. Watch it flash in the whites of his eyes.

“I’ll ask you again: Where is Makarov?” Price demands.

“I. Don’t. Know.”

You step between Yanovich’s legs, lean over him and gently trace your blade over his groin with a smile sharper than the knife. He lets out a harsh breath.

“I said I don’t know. Boss tells me nothing - I’m just a guard.”

The knife presses, insistent. Not quite hard enough to draw blood yet. A bead of sweat rolls down Yanovich’s forehead. He’s pressed himself as far back into the chair as his bonds will allow.

“Fine! He comes to club once a month. Speaks to the boss.”

“What about?”

“I don’t know-- I swear!” his accent is thick with unfamiliar syllables and fear.

“When’s he due next?”

“You just missed him. He always comes last day of month.”

“Location?”

“Changes every time,” he says, licks his lips. “I told you all I know - call off your fucking dog!”

You dig your knife in for good measure just to watch the hate and fear in his eyes before backing off at Price’s nod.

Turning to step away and table your knife, you don’t miss the way Yanovich mutters darkly after you, “My zdes strelaem vie brodyachikh sobak, suki. Esli ya uviju tebya snova, the mertview.”

Then a gunshot fires.

You pull your weapon out of its holster and whip around to cover Price, only to find the smoking gun in his hand and Yanovich’s head splattered on the wall behind him. Captain John Price stands over the body, eyes blazing, chest heaving, gun still aimed. Blood and brain matter speckles his face and clothes.

“What the fuck was that?” you demand. “He could have told us more! And what about the cover-up? Blowing his brains six ways to fucking Sunday isn’t exactly a bleedin’ accident!”

You expect some kind of remorse when he turns to face you, but there’s only a grim, deadly acceptance. “He said--"

“I heard what he said, I can speak bloody Russian!” you stalk towards him and jab a finger into his chest. “We were gonna kill the cunt anyway. You should have waited.”

Price snarls, lip curling to bare his teeth. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you.”

Suddenly you’re hyperaware of how close the two of you are standing. “How did he look at me?”

“He wanted to kill you the slowest way he knew how,” he says, like he’s confessing a sin, “and I’d shoot his fucking face a thousand times over to make sure he never looks at you again.”

And just like that anything you were going to say dies in your throat, comes out a pathetic whimper. He grabs a fistful of your shirt and hauls you the rest of the short distance to him.

“Tell me you wouldn’t do the same,” he demands. “Tell me to stop.”

His hand burns on your chest, an iron-hot brand of possession.

“John,” you breathe, because you don’t know what else to say. The look in his eyes is magnetic, drawing you in further still with pupils blown wide with want. “Don’t stop.”

He kisses you rough, teeth and tongue and a certain kind of desperation brought on by the still-warm corpse lying just a few feet away. When you break for air he wastes no time kissing down your neck, every inch of exposed skin branded by his lips and the rough scrape of his beard. Yanovich’s blood smears down the column of your throat.

“Fuck, John,” you say, “just like that.”

“Sound so fucking perfect when you say my name,” he growls and bites down on your pulse point, leaving you gasping.

It’s enough to distract you from his true purpose, large hands cupping beneath your ass and scooping you up into his arms. You hold on tight as three purposeful strides take you across the room to the table. One sweep of his arm has everything tumbling off it before he sets you down to stare up at him with wide eyes and a kiss-swollen mouth.

When he captures your lips again it’s searing, molten heat rushing through your veins. It pools in your stomach, that too-hot wanting, and it suddenly hits you how much you do want this. Him. Each kiss tastes like so many years of silent longing, of standing too close and staring too long and wanting too much. All suddenly real and within reach.

You let your hands snake up his shirt, explore the broad plane of his chest and the wiry hair that curls over it. Your fingers run over scars like braille that tell stories of violence and valor. Some of these stories you helped write. There, beneath his ribs, where you had to stitch him up in the field to keep his guts from spilling into the streets of Vienna. The lump where his collarbone never healed right after taking the brunt of a nasty blow meant for you. He shivers under your touch. Then his large, calloused hands cover yours and stop them in their tracks.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says, “because I don’t think I can wait any longer than I already have to feel you.” His voice is even lower and rougher than usual, accent thick with arousal. “Do you want that?”

You nod, afraid to speak and break the spell.

“Come on, soldier, use your words.”

“Yes, Captain. Please.”

His grip on your hips tightens and he lets out a growl. “That’s my perfect soldier.”

It’s all the warning you get before he tucks his fingers under the waistband of your trousers and underwear and tugs them down to your thighs, leaving you exposed before him.

“Fuck, just look at you,” he says under his breath, almost like you aren’t meant to hear.

You squirm under the scrutiny. A hot flush creeps up your neck as he stares, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. He looks at you like you’re some kind of revelation, like he’s been denied salvation all his life only to find it at the apex of your thighs.

One, two, then three fingers stretch you open for him quick and dirty. It’s too much too fast but you want it so bad, and the pleasure far outweighs any pain. When he finally unzips his trousers to free his already hard, leaking cock you think you drool a little bit. You knew he’d be big, the way he carries himself, but seeing it is something else. Your insides flutter at the thought of the tight fit. He lines up to your entrance with that same military precision you’ve always admired before pushing in slowly, slowly, slower still. When he bottoms out he does it with a deep groan, your fingernails raking down his back as you keen at the sensation. This small mercy, just a few moments to adjust with his forehead pressed to yours, is all you’re granted before he sets a brutal pace. The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes off cracked concrete. With each thrust he hits someplace deep inside you no one else has managed to find.

Heat coils in your belly, closer and closer to fever pitch with each expert snap of his hips.

“John,” you pant, “m’gonna… gonna cum. Feels so good.”

He says your name like a prayer. “Cum for me, then. Want to see you make a mess of yourself on my cock.”

Like a tidal wave breaking against a dam you cum fast and hard at his words with a broken sob. He fucks you through the high, brushing a tear from the corner of your eye with a rough thumb.

“There you are, so good for me,” he says. “Gonna cum all over your pretty little self, make you mine.”

“I’m yours, John,” you gasp, “all yours.”

His thrusts turn sloppy chasing his own high, and it doesn’t take long before he pulls out and makes good on his words, covering your stomach in spend as he grinds out your name. Bent over your body, he presses a chaste kiss to the juncture of your neck before pulling back to admire his handiwork. In the afterglow you lay spread out on the table with a sheen of sweat, smeared with his cum and another man’s blood. The way his eyes darken rubbing it into your skin, and the way you shiver at the sensation, you think that you both might like it a little too much.

“Laswell’s gonna kill us for this,” he murmurs.

You hum your agreement. “So where shall we hide the body?”

His eyes shine down on you with adoration and crinkle with wicked humor. “I’m sure we’ll think of something, but let’s be quick about it. The sooner we get home the better.”

“Yes,” you hear yourself agreeing, “home.”

For you, it will always be at his side.

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #fran writes #this fic came over me like a possession i have nothing to say for myself #cod x reader #cod mwii x reader

650 notes · View notes