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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 11 months

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Fade Into You

ResidentEvil4Remake!Leon Kennedy x FemScientist/Pathologist/!Reader

Resident Evil x The Last of Us crossover

A/N: Just a little idea I had lying around. The timelines are a bit jumbled up since the Last of Us and Resident Evil take place in different eras so I made this story takes place in modern time so bear with me here. I hope y'all like it and let me know what you think! 💜

Summary: Imagine being a scientist set with the task of finding a cure for everything that has happened, assigned to return the world to how it once was only to become an assignment for someone else, an agent named Leon S. Kennedy tasked with making sure you are transported safely to your destination.

Warnings: language, some potential suggestive content, blood and gore and violence.

Notes: angst, some comfort and fluff and Leon’s terrible dad jokes and some trauma sprinkled in there.

Time. Time is a strange thing. Nonphysical and always there, always changing, from beginning to end. At the same time, it comes in cycles, repetitions and patterns. A metaphysical figment of creation, a concept constructed and molded to the understanding of the human species. An entity bigger than ourselves, spanning across millions of galaxies, and yet can fit within the palm of our hands. What is time, other than of what we know of it. Often times you found yourself wondering the same thing.

You don't know how long it has been since the outbreak, since the virus that started to plague the earth was first heard on the news, since well..........everything. So much has happened since, you had trouble remembering a lot of it, or any of it for that matter.

You used to work for the CDC, you still do, or what’s left of it, before you were taken against your will................there's not much left of anything anymore. Back then, you were the leading scientist in the department of Cancer Prevention and Control. 'New and upcoming young scientist leads the fight against cancer', titled the articles that were written about you, some of them far too promising and others harshly criticizing and objectifying. You're pretty sure you still have those articles stashed away somewhere, the good, the bad, and the ugly. What for? You’re not sure. Motivation perhaps, if there was any still left in you.

You were the best at your field, nearing a breakthrough for finding the ultimate cure for cancer that targeted the cells at the earliest and even latest stage, diminishing the illness completely as if it had never even existed in the host. You had even been featured on the cover of Life Magazine and the Smithsonian magazine for your work, the photos taken of you wearing your lab coat and standing over your microscope or interacting with your team and your patients. Boy was your father proud, his little girl on the verge of revolutionizing the medical world, he almost always had a hard time believing it, still picturing the day he held you bundled in his arms when you were first born. You were still ever his little girl to him. You could still remember the look on his face, the way he beamed when he found out, buying a copy of both those magazines just to frame it up on the wall as if there wasn’t already enough pictures of you and your little sister throughout your years.

You almost accomplished your mission, almost. You were close, so close. And then the virus took over, the Plagas and then the Cordyceps brain infection. Cancer became the least of worries.

Since the epidemic, you tried to save as much of your family photos as you could. After all, they were the only things left as a reminder of the past, of how things were. It's been so long the pictures almost don't seem real, like something created out of the mind of a delusionist, taken from of the pages of a science fiction novel, an imitation of an alternate reality. Never in you right mind did you think all those flesh-eating zombie movies you snuck out to watch with your sister at the local theater as a teen would feel more true to life than the actual past, the history of the human race.

Every night before you went to sleep, you'd pull out the storage box from under your bed, the one containing your family's photo albums, flipping through each page and staring at the photos of your parents and little sister as a way of forcing your brain to remember them. You believed this was your way of keeping them in your memory, recollecting the moment behind when each photograph was taken as if they were pieces of a broken vase meant to hold all that was you, pieces that sliced at you whenever you tried to put them back together. Truth was, you were afraid, desperate to cling on to the echo of their existence. And so you looked at those photos in a ritualistic manner, each and every night before bed. Truth is, you were starting to forget their faces, their voices, and you knew it.

In the beginning there were many; scientists, doctors, or pathologists or whatever you wanna call them, working on the task that was given to you by the government, each and every one of them fighting for a life of their own and the lives of many. Now they were just names on the diplomas that hung in their offices, names printed under an achievement of the institution they attended, just pieces of paper left to gather dust and be forgotten. Sometimes you wondered if you were the only one left; in your state, your country, the world? Who knows. In the building you worked, there used to be seven, then there were six, then five, then four…………….now there was only you.

Time seems to be nonexistent to you. The clocks on your walls meant nothing, nothing more than some numbers and a bunch of little gears that turn the hands to display the hour. A symbol of endless nothingness. The white walls of the building you worked in were just a place that they happened to hang on. And god you hated those white walls. You’ve lost count of the days you spent locked up within them, with nothing to keep you company except for the lab rats and your own thoughts. It's a wonder you didn't lose your sanity. A time came when you’d question if you’d ever see another human again. It seems as if your prayers were answered.

You were currently sat on the makeshift bed of a small base hideout, staring ahead at the fabric of the military tent that blew slightly against the wind, the makeshift tent that you stayed in after you were rescued, if you would call it that. Being the only woman at a base full of military men had its own fears, and you'd almost rather be out with the infected than here. You don’t know what it’s like anymore, being free I mean, you only remember being held hostage, held in one place to work for the government only to be taken away to work for another before being taken again for your so-called expertise, like an almost endless cycle, as if you were some goods that needed to be traded off and transported from one destination to another until you could no longer be of use.

You couldn't remember much after you were taken by the cult in an attempt to bring back Umbrella Corp or whatever they wished to call themselves, the memory of it all was still as fuzzy as when you first arrived under their "management". Now what would you even call your current circumstance? A formal and civil hostage situation under the label of U.S. personnel? You were only being held for the time being before being sent back to the states to work for whatever was left of the government. And as much as you wanted to go back home, or what's left of it if we're being honest, you've only heard of how worse it has gotten since you left.

“Y/l/n.” One of the soldiers called for you as he opened the flap entrance to your tent, his form casting a shadow across the floor in front of you. “It’s time.”

You gave the soldier a quick nod, grabbing your backpack from the floor and the small pocket knife that you kept under your pillow, stuffing the folded blade in the back pocket of your jeans as you got up and walked out of your tent. You followed the soldier as he led you through the open area where other soldiers were gathered, some of them standing guard, some eating their meals and others standing around leisurely as they conversed with each other. You could feel their eyes on you, watching you tag behind the soldier that was in front of you as he led you to the bigger tent on the other side of the field, the tent where the officers and higher ups held their meetings to discuss important matters.

You heard some voices coming out from inside the tent, two to be exact, discussing something important apparently. It’s all they ever did around here. And as you stepped in after the soldier, you saw the colonel speaking to a man you had never seen before. Tall, blond hair, wearing civilian yet practical clothes with tactical gear over it, unlike everyone else here who donned the military uniforms. He's definitely not military-

“Sir-“ the soldier that led you spoke, alerting the colonel of your presence.

“Ah. There you are.” The colonel turned towards you with a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling from his old age as he gestured you over to where he stood at the table that was stationed dead center of the larger tent. “Was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

You looked between the two men across from you in the tent once the soldier that was by you had left, allowing you a better view as you only watched with slight uncertainty before approaching the officer. The man whom you did not recognize had looked your way as well, his face not showing a single shift in emotion upon your arrival, but you had managed to notice the slight curious quirk of his brow at seeing you. Who the hell was he?

“Say hello to your assignment,” the colonel gestured towards you as he spoke to the blond man. God you hated being called that, assignment. “Dr. y/n y/l/n."

“Leon S. Kennedy.” The man outstretched his hand, to which you stared at with the blankest look possible.

"............Pleasure." You gave the man a short smile, completely disregarding his offer for a handshake before turning to the older officer and pulling him aside as if the young man wasn’t even present in the first place, watching from the side of your eye as he awkwardly pulled his hand back, a look of hidden puzzlement on his face. You didn't want to seem rude but this was not what you had signed up for, being alone for who knows how long with a man you absolutely did not know.

“Agent Kennedy here is to ensure that you are transported and arrived safely to your destination.” The colonel answered after seeing the silent but scrutinizing look on your face.

So an agent huh. He’s probably as stuck up as the rest of those shit heads you've had to come across. Agent or not, who's to say he isn't like the others.

“What does that have to do with me?"

"Well he's been hired as your bodyguard."

You tried your best not to laugh. "What, some washed up reject of the Backstreet Boys?” You lowered your voice, knowing damn well the agent a few feet away from you could hear everything.

Leon couldn’t help but cock his head back with a slight scoff, not sure if he should be offended by your insult or impressed by the creativity behind it.

“Agent Kennedy is the best in his field. And our job is to make sure you end up safe back in America. I’m afraid you’re much too valuable to be left to wander back on your own.”

You let out a small huff, crossing your arms over your chest with a stern look of contemplation as you eyed the ground beneath your feet before finally folding. He had a point there, it was dangerous out there. But who's to say you should trust him? You had trouble trusting anyone for that matter. "Do you trust the guy?" You looked up at the colonel, knowing better than to trust a man's word but who else was there. There wasn't really anyone here to protect you but yourself.

"Agent Kennedy is a good man, reliable, I assure you."

You don't know that. "............then I suppose I have no choice but to take your word then." You sighed, knowing there wasn't really a way out of this.

“Good. Go easy on him alright.” The colonel straightened up, placing his hand on the back of your shoulder as he led you back to where the other man stood.

"Agent Kennedy, I trust you'll keep Miss y/l/n here safe."

"Yes sir." Leon nodded his head, attempting to send you a kind smile as if to say you were in good hands but you only stared off into the distance, still unhappy with the decision made. As long as it meant you went back home. Home. Jesus. You don't even know what was awaiting you there.

"She can be quite stubborn at times but you'll get used to it." The older officer added with a chuckle to which you shot back with a quick glare.

"Well that's fine by me." Leon smiled. "I'm a patient man." If only he knew how much you were going to drive him up the wall.

"Well here is the location where she needs to be dropped off." The officer handed Leon a piece of paper. If you have any questions, you know who to call."

"Copy that."

"Can I have a handgun-"

"No." The colonel was quick to interrupt your question. "That won't be necessary."

"Fine." You mumble to yourself. "Guess I'll just use my butter knife then."

Leon quietly watched the interaction between the two of you, slowly getting a clue about the personality of who he was going to be spending the upcoming days with, and he wasn't quite sure how to feel about it. He too would have opted for the same response as the colonel since you didn't look like the type to have ever fired a gun, much less used any weapon at all. And what exactly did you mean by butter knife? Should he be worried?

"Well you'd better get going, you don't want to be traveling at night, not with what's out there."

"Yes sir." Leon nodded his head at the colonel before heading out of the tent.

You turned to follow the tall blond but were stopped by the officer who held his hand up. "Not just yet. I have something here for ya."

You watched as the colonel pulled out a large black case, clicking open the clasps before opening it to reveal a hunting rifle nestled safely inside.

"I thought you said I couldn't have a gun."

"No, I said you couldn't have a handgun."

The colonel stepped aside, allowing you room to take a step closer to examine the rifle better. Was that? You'd recognize that wooden stock anywhere.

"My dad's rifle. How?"

"Had someone retrieve it from your old place. I'm guessing you know how to use it, judging from the way you recognized it so quickly."

"I-Thank you....sir."

"Just make sure you get your ass back to the lab in one piece." The colonel pulled the rifle out from the case before handing it to you, along with a box of some ammo.

"Of course." You sent the colonel a short smile, putting the box of ammo into your backpack before taking the rifle from his hands, feeling the weight of the thing within your grasp, recognizing each scuff mark and scratch that lined the wooden body, the little signs of wear and tear caused by your own clumsiness, each of them reminding you of the times spent with your father at the range when he taught you how to use the thing. It even smelled of him, after all this time. If you weren’t in a public setting you would have curled up into a ball and cried, holding the rifle close to your frame as if it were the remnants of your father, the man who raised and protected you for the majority of your life. And in a way, it was.

"Stay safe out there kid."

“Sure thing.” You gave a nod, slinging the strap of the rifle over your shoulder as you pushed the memories and emotions away, heading over to the entrance of the tent until the colonel called out again.

“Hey kid.”

“Yeah?” You turned back to face the older gentleman. It wasn’t long, the time that you’ve known him, but he seemed to be the only one that looked out for you, the only one that stood up for you when the other soldiers harassed you and uttered vulgar things in your direction.

“Try not to get separated from Agent Kennedy.”

“Can’t promise that.” You turned back around, raising your hand to send him a wave goodbye before pushing aside the flap of the entrance and stepping out into the sunlight. Well, this is it. Another day, another journey.

You were met outside of the tent with Agent Kennedy, who seemed to have been waiting outside the whole time, hopefully not eavesdropping, not that there was anything important or personal said back there but you just didn’t like people listening in on your conversations.

Straightening up, Leon gave a quick glance over your form before eyeing the rifle on your back. That definitely was not there before. “Where the hell did you get that thing?"

Christ this man talks too damn much and you just met him.

Rolling your eyes, you ignored his question, or rather his whole presence as you headed towards the truck that was set out for you. As much as you didn't want to be rude, you were anxious to get the hell out of this place and return to a place that you at least knew.

“Never mind I guess.” Leon muttered to himself before trying to catch up with you ahead. Jesus you walked with purpose.

Opening up the passenger door of the truck, you threw your backpack and rifle in the backseat before seating yourself in the passenger seat, putting on your seatbelt as you watched Leon walk up to the truck, still a couple feet away.

“Can this dude be any slower?” You muttered under your breath with a roll of your eyes, propping your elbow up on the door window as you stared out of it.

“Someone’s eager to get out of here.” Leon chuckled at the way you had situated yourself so quickly along with the obvious impatient expression that sat on your face as he opened the driver door before getting in himself, putting the keys into the ignition to start the car.

“So uh..........” Leon adjusted the rear view mirror before placing a hand on the back of your seat as a way to back the car out of the parking spot while you only studied his movements from the corner of your eye before glancing out the widow again. Why did you have a gut feeling this guy wasn’t the best driver. “where to huh? My place or yours?” Leon cracked a smug grin, hoping to lighten the mood judging from the unease you must have felt to be left with a complete stranger but quickly changing his mind after seeing the absolute foul, confidence-shattering side-eye that you just threw him.

If this man doesn't shut up-

"Right-" Leon cleared his throat, his expression changing back to his usual resting one as he looked back ahead, changing the gear to reverse as he backed out of the parking spot. Not even a minute with you and he could already tell you were going to be a blast to be around. You were the complete opposite of Ashley. And as much as he preferred a quiet atmosphere, he'd rather take his chances with Ashley all over again.

Some silence had passed between the two of you once you hit the road and left the base behind, the only sounds being the humming of the car and the wind outside. The drive was scenic in a way, if it were not for the situation at hand. But watching the trees and landscape blur by through the car window almost reminded you of the drives you went on with your father and sister, transporting you back to the road trips where the three of you would listen to the radio while fighting over who's turn it was to play the next song.

You missed your father softly singing along to his music that you at one time used to be annoyed by, your sister and you referring to his taste in music as the "Ancient Ballads of Babylon". And oh how he used to get defensive over it, calling it the "good stuff unlike todays junk", though he was never able to hide back the smile from your little slanders. What you would do to listen to his music again, to be in his truck sitting in the passenger seat reading a book before crawling to the backseat to take a nap with your sister, her head resting on your lap while your rested yours against the window.

Due to how quiet you were, Leon couldn't help but to glance over in your direction to make sure you were still alive, noticing the way you had become lost in thought, your gaze seeming to reach miles away. His eyes traced down to the subtle movement of your hands, watching how your fingers toyed with the dainty beaded bracelet that sat at your right wrist. There were a couple white beads situated together, printed with small black letters that formed a word, or rather a name, but before he could have a chance at reading what it was, you had noticed him looking, causing you to swiftly pull the sleeve of your loose sweater over your wrist. The sudden movement from you had caused Leon to clear his throat as he snapped his head back to the road, as if embarrassed at being caught before clearing his throat. "So uh, are you some bigwig's daughter? The president had requested you specifically."

The president? There was still a president? Well shit.

"Look. I'm just trying to know what I'm dealing with here." Leon put his hand up in defense after the annoyed expression you gave him.

You shook your head lightly at his behavior, heaving out a released breath as you propped your arm up once more, resting your head against your hand and discretely wiping away the tear that was starting to fall down the corner of your eye.

"Doctor huh. What are you, UCLA grad? You strike me as a LA city kind of girl-"

"Harvard." You interrupted.

"So you do speak." Leon shot you a quick smirk, surprised at your sudden input before staring back at the road. "Thought it was just me but....looks like I struck a nerve here. Sooo......Harvard huh? You must be pretty brainy then, surviving a med school like that."

"............" Dear god please.

"You know, you look a little young to be a doctor."

Geez, if that isn't the first time you've heard that one. You wished the man would just shut up and focus on the road. You swore that if he somehow ended up sending the car off a cliff you were going to personally strangle the blond yourself. Actually, come to think of it, if he talked any more you just might take the wheel and drive off a cliff yourself.

"I take it you're not much of a talker." Leon commented on the way you so obviously tried to ignore him. Jesus, did he rub you the wrong way or what. Or was it just the Ivy League attitude? He had heard the talk amongst his old colleagues back at the station about the Ivy League folk that would sometimes come through the town. Overly-educated and stuck up, some of the officers would call them.....if you consider calling someone overly-educated an insult. Perhaps this was what they meant? Seems like you didn't want to even be associated within the same proximity as him.

Rolling your eyes, you twisted around in your seat to reach for your bag, pulling it onto your lap and opening up the zipper before digging into the contents inside.

Leon watched you with curiosity, opening his mouth to ask just what it was you were up to before seeing you pull out a pair of headphones and a portable CD player that looked like you stole right out of the 90s. Keeping the backpack on your lap, you slipped the headphones onto your head, pressing play on the device before pulling your feet up onto the seat and turning towards the window so that your back faced the man in the driver seat.

Leon couldn't help but to shake his head with a light chuckle, taking this as a sign to shut the hell up and let you be in your own little bubble. Maybe you’re just shy. Or maybe you just don’t like him. Or maybe you’ve been through a lot. Who knows.

You watched the trees once more, listening to the song that played through the speakers of your headphones, Fade Into You by Mazzy Star, letting the soft tunes soothe your nerves. And as much as you tried to force yourself to stay awake in order to stay alert for your own safety, you couldn’t help the drowsiness that took over you. The music playing through your headphones, the blur of the trees out the window, and the subtle vibration of the moving car only added to that effect. And slowly, you let yourself slip, your eyelids growing heavy as you finally shut your eyes.

The drive had felt like hours for Leon, but he didn't mind as much. In fact, this was sort of relaxing, just driving, listening to music he enjoyed as it played softly from the radio, the volume lowered as means to not disturb you. This mission was turning out to be less stressful than the others. Or maybe he shouldn't speak too soon.

The young agent would occasionally find himself glancing over in your direction, perhaps to make sure you were okay and weren't dead. He had a bad habit of making sure the people under his care were alive and well and not breathing their last breath….if you would call that a bad habit. As much as this man hides it behind his cold exterior, I am positive he is just as panicky as the rest of us.

Your lack of movement had started to worry the blond, seeing that you have stayed in that position for a couple hours now as he began to wonder just what the hell you could have been doing the whole time in order to stay in the same exact position. (He has his himbo moments.) But the slow shifting of your form had relieved the young man as he watched you turn over on your other side to now face him, getting a glimpse of your closed lids behind the strands of your loose hair that almost covered the look of calm on your face, hearing the small moan that came from your chest in your state of sleep as you shifted around while your brows furrowed together at the center in a look that he could only describe as discomfort from your curled up position on the passenger seat.

One thing he had noticed though, if he listened close enough, he could hear the slight and faint whistle of the air rushing through your nostrils each time you breathed, a sign that usually meant a deviated septum. He didn’t know why, but that tiny detail had somehow set his mind at ease…something so insignificant…so barely noticeable unless you really paid attention to it…almost as if it had made you more human. And the thought of it was comforting to him.

As he looked over your sleeping form, he couldn’t help but to take note of the details that made you: of your hair that looked as if it had not been brushed through, or the dark circles under your eyes, or the little bump on your nose at the bridge, or the faint signs of hyperpigmentation and small little acne scars that lined certain areas of your face, or the light dust of freckles on your nose that were barely visible unless you really took a closer look. Even down to your wardrobe, your oversized navy blue v-neck sweater and the white tee you wore underneath, and your loose-fitted jeans, and your worn in black doc martens. Leon did not know how to describe it, but there was something comforting about you, something that made him feel…at ease. And maybe…just maybe, this mission might not be as bad as he once thought.

Part 2?

#resident evil leon #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x oc #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy fanfic

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 1 year

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Wild Horses

Part 4

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Doctor!Reader, other characters x reader

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

A/N: I hope y’all like this chapter and I apologize if it took long! Reblogs and feedback are much appreciated, I love hearing y’alls thoughts. Don't be afraid to stop by and say hi and if there are any ideas you guys would like to have in this story, just let me know! And as always, I hope you lovelies have a beautiful day! 💜💜💜 Also I apologize if some of the tags don't go through, I make sure to add each and every one of you lovelies but the tagging system here sucks ass.

Story Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.

Chapter Summary: 🎶Don't be suspicious.🎶

Warnings and notes: language, violence, blood and gore, fluff, angst, slow-burn, mentions of sexual themes

(Quick Disclaimer: I am not a doctor nor have any professional knowledge or experience involving surgical procedures. I am just a student studying in the medical field who has just started taking courses that are more degree-related. So I apologize if some of the stuff may be inaccurate.)

🍂Simon Riley. Simon MOTHERFUCKING Riley. The only man to exist that has managed to accomplish aggravating you in every possible way imaginable. For a woman known to have a great deal of patience, he sure as hell didn’t even need to lift a finger to break that record. Might as well put him in the Guinness Book of World Records for ‘The Most Stubborn Asshole Man Alive’ because you’re pretty sure if you looked up the words stubborn and asshole in a dictionary, his face would pop up.

🍂All you did was help stitch him up from a gunshot wound that could’ve gone way south if not done correctly. And when you tell him to come to you if he has any injures or illnesses because you want to help him, what does he do? What does this asshole of a man do? Insults you! Right to your face! I mean sure it wasn’t a direct insult nor were any of his words particularly insulting, but it was still rude and it offended you.

🍂“Meh don’ bother. I’m a big tough dummy and I eat rocks and tea for breakfast. I don’ need your help.” You mock with a shake of your head and a widened stance, mimicking both the voice and stature of the masked English soldier. The little ‘altercation’ had left you nearly fuming, pushing you to go outside to get some of that chilly night air in order to cool off. “I bet you use Gorilla Glue on all your wounds and call it a day.” You scoff, returning to your original posture. You better pray Ghost isn't lurking around somewhere unless you want your ass beat.

🍂Your dad had always taught you kindness and patience, being the down-to-earth soul he was, but boy was this man absolutely testing the everlasting shit out of you. You almost had to mutter out a small apology in your father’s honor for the obscene and colorful language that fell from your lips. But the more you thought about the absolute 6'4 idiot of a man, the more you became frustrated over it. All that body mass and not a single ounce of a brain. How he has managed to come this far without dying of an infection, you have no clue.

“Hope you like that fucking sour apple Dum-Dum you lollipop thief. You’re lucky I don’t dye your stupid mask pink.” You don't know what came in you in that heated moment but next thing you know you were practically planning your funeral and writing a will of your inheritance for your cat back home. Because if there's one thing you shouldn't do, it's kicking a random metal can just lying around on the street. Let's just say you were fucked because the sound that came out of you was equivalent to the screeching of a dying narwhal. The way the throbbing in your big toe had you clutching the wall and wheezing like a fish reeled right out of the water begging the creator for mercy was enough to produce some sweat out of you. And just your luck, as if the night couldn’t get any worse, Price had heard the noise and went to investigate it. Shouldn't this man have better things to do?

The face you pulled would have risen some concern from your colleagues back at the hospital in the states, a widened smile and pain-filled eyes, and you can’t help but to thank the poorly lit lamp streets for obstructing it. You swear you feel like your head is about to explode from the way you tried to keep it all together. But as Price asked if you were alright, looking over your stiffened and awkward stance, one hand out on the wall and your injured foot crossed over the other, all you could do was nod frantically and let out a wheezed ‘Yup. Finer than frog hair split four ways’. You pray that he doesn’t think you’re constipated or something from the strain in your voice. Coward. I would have faked a fall and had him carry me over the threshold.

Price of course doesn’t get American lingo and has no clue what the fuck you just said but takes it as a yes. Just you wait till he goes back in and tells the others what he heard. The man practically opens up the computer and searches up the phrase that you uttered just to find the meaning, all while the others crowd around. And after scrolling through a bunch of different articles involving different American slang, they collectively decide to learn a bunch of them in order to communicate with you. I lied. Because literally from this day forth, they randomly spit out different words and phrases just to tease your American accent. Actually Soap is the only one who does that………….just Soap.

Anyways……..

When Price finally closes the door behind him, you’re back to gritting your teeth and cursing at the pain in your toe and blaming it for your misfortunes, waiting a couple minutes so as to not run into the captain or the others before hurrying limping back into the building and into your room.

What did I tell ya. Should have just asked for Price to carry you back.

After inspecting your toe as what felt to be broken, you were glad to find out that it was just a grade 1 sprain. As painful as it was, for a successful recovery all it needed was some ice, taping, drugs, and a lot of rest. Rest......right. Like you were gonna get any of that.

Should've just reported it to Price.

Guess you can add one more injury to your list of things that are in the process of healing. The men come back from the mission bloodied and bruised with gunshot wounds, and you…….well you sprain your toe from trying to kick a can of beans or whatever the hell that stupid metal cylinder was filled with.

As if you weren't stressed enough before. Now you had to worry about hiding this tiny injury from the rest of the team to prevent them worrying about you. Also because you don’t want them to start asking questions about how it happened in the first place and find out that a can of beans was the culprit behind it. Hm, sounds a lot like someone else.

When you finally laid in bed that night, drugged out on melatonin and pain killers and wearing an oversized tee and a pair of shorts, you couldn’t stop drumming your fingers against your stomach, your injured foot propped up on a pillow with your big toe wrapped and taped up looking like you borrowed Fred Flintstone’s foot. Now just how were you going to hide that? It’s not like you can just grab a pair of those circus clown shoes or an orthopedic boot or some crutches and hope no one notices. And while you stared up at the ceiling, the drumming of your fingers coming to a stop as you contemplated on the idea while waiting to crash out from the melatonin you took, there is only one thing left that came to mind. So, in one swift motion, you grab the spare pillow closest to you and scream into it. A really long, really shrill scream that would have put the banshees to shame. Yup. You can now say you had officially reached your breaking point.

And what happens when you’re stressed? You have strange dreams, like really strange dreams. I’m talking weird vivid outlandish shit that feel too real kind of dreams. Because when you wake up the next morning, sweat beaded at your forehead, you can only think about the very explicit dream you had last night. The one involving you and the team and a series of very……………how can I say this, rated porn shit. It all felt real, too fucking real, because when you move your legs over to hang off the side of the bed, there’s a tenderness there and well………….everything else that comes with it.

“Yo what the actual fucking shit.” You groan, resting your elbows onto your thighs as you shove your face into your hands and rub at your forehead and cheeks.

How the hell were you going to face the team after waking up from something like that? You could almost paint a picture of the entire sequence as if it just happened, and boy was the image going to be burned into the back of your mind like the searing of a branding iron.

You were embarrassed just thinking about it. Every time you closed your eyes, you were reminded of the way their hands and lips roamed every inch of your body, the way their skin almost burned against yours, the stubble of their facial hair grazing against the sensitive skin that lined your inner thighs and the wetness of their tongues, the sounds of their low grunts and moans that escaped from deep within their chests that mingled with your soft ones as their heated breaths fanned your neck, the sharp smell of metal that paired with the rhythmic swaying of their dog tags as they dangled above you with each movement, and the pulling sensation in the pit of your stomach after reaching your high with each of them.

And then there was Ghost, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, the way he looked you over with disgust while you were on your back when each of them hovered over you. And when he finally stood in front of you, when there seemed to be no one else, glaring down at you from under that mask of his, and uttering one single phrase, 'you harlot of a tart', you woke up. Typical ole Ghost. An asshole in reality and an asshole in dreams.

You needed air, a shower, and a change of clothes, desperately. Price had given you the day off when you finished patching the men up last night. And that is exactly what you were going to do. But first you needed to clean yourself up, preferably with holy water if there was any, and then........well...you needed to get out of this building and get some fresh air because what in the 60s psychedelic orgy was that.

Lazily getting up from your bed, you quickly tie your tangled hair up in a simple bun and slide on a pair of slippers over your fuzzy socks, throwing on your plush Grogu and Mandalorian patterned robe over your sleeping clothes and pulling the hood of your robe over your head to provide extra warmth. Today was a much needed day off after the shit storm that was yesterday. As part of your regular morning routine on the days you didn't work, you grab your other mug that you finally found after rummaging through your things; the one shaped like the head of Kermit the Frog and decide to make yourself a cup of coffee to wake yourself up first and foremost.

Making sure to balance your weight on your uninjured foot, you wobble over to the kitchen, your empty mug in hand and your bottle of pain pills in the other that rattled slightly every time you dragged your feet across the floor. Your eyes tear up as you let out a long and dragged out yawn, squinting in the process which prevents you from seeing just what you were walking into as you place your mug on the countertop with a high-pithed clink.

If you thought today was going to have some mercy on your poor soul........................well you're wrong. Because while you have your back turned to the dining table behind you as you try to start up the coffee machine, you had forgotten that the thing was still broken in the first place, and also the fact that you live with five, now six, other men, and their eyes were now all on you. Girl if you don't turn your ass around-

"Mornin-"

"Sweet baby Jesus!" You nearly jump a foot into the air, spinning around in a frenzy with a wild look to see that the whole crew had been at the dining table the entire time and that you weren’t the only one scared out of their wits.

Did you just say ‘sweet baby Jesus?’ They haven’t heard that one before.

You stare wide-eyed in fright at the men seated at the table, your hair a mess and your heart so close to bursting out of your ribcage you swear you'd have to chase after it as you clutch the counter behind you.

There is an obvious awkward silence in the air as everyone stares at the inharmonious mess that is you and your startled state, curiously eyeing the large Grogu ears that were attached to the sides of the hood of your Star Wars plush robe and your bare calves that peeked out from underneath the hem down to your fuzzy socks that had cats all over it. You're practically following their eyes as they look over to your bottle of pills and your Kermit mug on the counter beside you before looking back at you. Oh to be able to read what went through their heads.

Despite your clashing wardrobe that made him question your taste in attire, there was one thing Ghost had focused on more, one that was obvious to those who knew it, a dainty tattoo of the unmistakable silhouette of a rose along the side of your calf. Was that the same rose off of Depeche Mode's 'Violator' album cover? It sure was, because right in the center of the stem where the rose was cut off, were the words 'violator' in cursive. Be still his heart. Is this man planning a proposal and your entire wedding? He was almost curious to find out what other bands or artists you listened to. Maybe he'll sneak a peek at your playlist-

"Howdy! You eh...........ya look worn slap out......I reckon." Soap smiles, trying to mimic the southern American accent but failing miserably, which only earns a round of groans of agitation at the table as the team roll their eyes. All but König of course, he's just as clueless as you are. He wasn't there when the team were searching up American slang.

You-what? The hell is this man on about?

"Jesus-" Price rolls his eyes at Soap's antics as he goes to take a sip of his coffee.

"......................" You're still mute. Your eyes dart between each of them, your thoughts only replaying the pornographic images of your dream as this sudden irrational fear begins to develop that they might be able to get a glimpse of your thoughts. Make a run for it-

"................Ye awright there wee lass? Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally." Soap's smile drops.

You're lookin a bit what?

"Mate, shut up." Gaz whispers to Soap after noticing your disconcerted expression. It was making him nervous, no doubt, and the fact that you weren't saying anything only made it worse.

The whole team were practically waiting for you to say something, but all you could do was stare. Girl either you say something or just take your clothes off and let them have you right then and there on the dining table, bandaged toe and everything if your dream distracts you that much-

"Guten morgen schatz (good morning love)." König sent a wave in your direction to try to ease the tension only to drop his hand back down after seeing that you did not respond. Poor dude is worried you’ve fallen ill and is practically sitting on the edge of his seat, analyzing every detail of your body language and ready to leap to your rescue in case you show any signs of falling unconscious.

Even Ghost couldn't stop the annoyed sigh/huff that escaped, shaking his head at the uncomfortable and nuisance of a situation as he took a sip of his tea, the motion catching your attention. That is when you first noticed that he had the lower half of his mask lifted up to his nose. Was this the first you had seen of part of his face? You found yourself tracing over the outline of his jaw and the cool-toned, medium blonde stubble the color of pale sand after a storm that lined the skin there, following along the curves of his lips and noticing the small scar that traveled down until his words from your dream echoed in your head, the same lips that said to you 'you harlot of a tart'. And as you lifted your gaze to his eyes, you found them narrowing at you. Shit.

"There's uh.......there's a cuppa coffee for you in the fridge there." Price nods towards the fridge near you, hoping that would snap you out of whatever trance you are in. I mean if you don't want it, I'll take it.

"....................." You had this overwhelming urge to puke and the last thing you wanted was to unload your stomach's contents of microwaved pasta right in front of everyone.

"Eh....estas bien amor? (you alright love?)" Alejandro's words pull you out of your thoughts. Oh what I would give to have this man ask me if I'm alright-

Bitch just say something-

“Блядь (fuck).”

Wha-what? That’s not what I meant-

The men quickly give each other a glance from the side of their eye. Did you just blurt something in Russian?

".................sorry what?” You squint with a scrunch of your nose, pulling the collar of your robe over your braless chest as a faint heat rose to your cheeks, utterly terrified to look them in the eye lest you'd get flashbacks. Should've just made a run for it when you first saw them-

More silence, nonexistent chirping of crickets that makes you want to crawl into a hole and decompose. Then there is the sound of someone slurping. Who-NOW WHO'S SLURPING?

"Sorry." Gaz utters a quick apology, dragging his tongue over his lips as he places his cup of tea down on the table.

"The coffee machine is broken love." Price adds.

"I know that." You state with a blink, startling the men on how quickly you suddenly respond as if nothing happened as you shove your bottle of pills in the pocket of your robe before unplugging the machine from the wall and tucking it under your arm.

The team can't help but watch as you leave the area with your mug in hand and the coffee machine in the other, each of them as confused as the next. What in the-

"What the bloody hell was that?" Price blurts out.

"Don' know. Anyone know what's the matta' with her?" Gaz watches you go with concern in his brow.

"Ah dinnae ken." Soap shrugs as he takes a sip of his coffee. "Ah think some nugget-lavvy-heid meid her up tae high doh."

"Mate," Gaz rubs his face. "English-"

"Ah said." Soap translates. "Ah think some eejit has riled her up."

The way Ghost nearly snaps his head to glare at the Scot. Why does he have a feeling he was talking about him in particular? There's absolutely no fucking way-Wait. The lollie. The fucking sour apple lollie. Was that some kind of an insult?

"Well that's a load of rubbish." Price comments. "If ye ask me, she's just knackered from mending yer sorry arses up."

The way Soap, Alejandro, König, and Ghost glare at him.

"Yeh but......why'd she take the coffee maker?"

"She's prolly gonna give it a fix." Gaz answers Soap's questions with a shrug.

Soap sits back in his seat with a pause, pondering on what Gaz had just said before turning to him with a confused look. ".................but ah thowght she's a doctor."

"Fuckin' hell Soap."

By the time that you return to your room, slamming the door behind you, you're already cussing yourself out for acting the way you did back there. Now they definitely were going to think that something was wrong with you. And if they did, what would you say? That you had a dream y'all were playing multiplayer adult twister? No. HELL NO. You'd almost prefer them to think you were a spy and take you out-and I don't mean take you out as in dinner, I mean take you out as in a firing squad take you out. All the waterboarding and the fingernail-pulling in the world could not pry that info out of you. If only that dream did not affect you as much, if only.

Hm. You know what, maybe Ghost IS to blame in all of this. You only get wacky dreams when you're stressed. After all, he was the one who got under your skin, not Soap, not Gaz, nor Price, definitely not Konig, and not even Alejandro.

There was only one other person who ever managed to get on your nerves the first time you got to know them, only one person who never failed to make you roll your eyes every time they opened their mouth: your ex. But even then, at least the two of you got along no matter the snarky comments you made towards each other. And as annoying as he was at times, he always found a way to bring a smile onto your face no matter how hard you tried to hide it. Ghost on the other hand, well…….he’s something else alright. This man literally has you wanting to rip your own hair out and hike to the Himalayas to seek some kind of therapy yourself.

"God I'm such an idiot." You growl between clenched teeth, tossing the coffee machine into the trash before limping around your room with your hands on your hips. You definitely needed to get out of the building or else you just might go mad. And with the men there who just witnessed you at your most vulnerable and natural self, the last thing you wanted was to be within their vicinity. Changing out of your sleeping pajamas, you threw on an oversized hoodie and a pair of sweats, grabbing one of your beanies and tucking your hair into it before throwing on a pair of sneakers. You’re already cracked out on pain meds so you might as well run a few errands while you're out, as well as grab a new coffee machine because god knows that's the only thing that keeps you sane these days. You’re so caught up in the process of rushing to get the hell out of there that you fail to notice the masked soldier standing right beside your door a foot away.

“Holy fucking-!” You jump in your skin, hand clutching your chest once you notice Ghost leaning against the wall in the same exact stance like in your dream. Jesus fucking Christ. “Ghost! I uh did not see you there. You nearly had me rushing to the hospital for heart failure haha.” You laugh nervously through your teeth, trying to maintain your polite manners as to not anger the contracted killer. What the hell is he doing here and what does he want? Sending the man a polite smile in hopes that he would just go about his business, you pull your keys out of your pocket, the jingling of the metal making up for the extreme silence that filled the dusty air between the two of you.

“………………………”

Jesus fucking christ. He's just standing there isn't he-

"Uh. Can I help you?” You ask, turning to the man who only stared in your direction, as still as an unused puppet. Only he seems to ALWAYS have something up his ass. At least a puppet talks.

Damn that fuckin politeness of yours, Ghost thought to himself. “......................You're bein’ dodgy." He did not like the way you were acting back there. It was as if you were hiding something. And being the person he was, he found it suspicious.

Oh if he were to see the reason behind it. You're pretty sure it would make his mask blush.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You press your lips together, fixating on your keys in your hands as you try to lock your door.

"Your behavior. You're up to something."

Ah yes. Good ole Ghost. Trusting no one but himself, the little shit-

"Says the one standing right outside my room." You mutter to yourself, cursing under your breath at the way you fumbled your keys and were unable to lock your door due to how he glared at you as if you had put salt instead of sugar in the queen's tea. You bet your bottom you probably looked like a shmuck struggling with something as simple as locking the fucking door. If this dumbo doesn't scram-

"Come again?"

This man was really starting to get on one of your last nerves. “What? Didn't anyone ever tell you it’s rude to lurk outside a lady’s door? You can get your ass tased for some shit like that.” You snark before letting out a quick breath of air at finally getting your key in the lock. One step closer to getting the hell out.

There it is, the real you. Ghost almost can't help the way a slight amusement builds within him at watching you get riled up like this, the faintest hairline of a smirk begging to pull at the corner of his mouth. But despite his little fragment of entertainment from the show of emotion he had managed to string out from you, he had to remind himself the real reason he was here. “The hell are you up to?”

“Nunya.”

“Nunya?” Ghost narrows his eyes, not sure what you were getting at and at the same time not liking where this was going. He swears if this is one of your little tricks-

“Nunya damn beeswax that’s what.”

“What-“ Ghost straightens himself off the wall, hands lowered to his sides. Okay now you were just annoying.

“How was the sour apple lollipop?” You remark, not being able to hold back the snide comment that slipped from your lips. You prayed he would get the meaning behind your little 'token of gratitude' from last night.

You should not have said that-

Bitch I’d become a track star in the fraction of a second-

“You-“ Ghost takes a step towards you but stops from the way you whip your head towards him.

“I know you did it, you little burglar. What, you think I wouldn’t notice that some fish-and-chips-eating crackpot was ransacking my lollipop stash?”

Da foq did you just call him? Ghost is stupefied as he stands there blinking at you, hands ever so slightly tensing. How the bloody hell did you find out? Did you know about the apples as well? Please don't know about the apples- And as he tries to open his mouth to say something, you don't even give him a chance.

“You know, for someone that is known to be stealthy and whatnot, you sure do leave a mess of your Sephora eyeshadow everywhere.”

Oh now you’ve definitely popped a nerve.

“What? You gonna stab me?” You quirk a brow at watching him tense up. “Please, be my guest. Just make sure it’s quick and that I’m officially dead so my student debt disappears.”

Bitch don’t give him a reason tf-

Jesus you talk a bloody lot when you’re nervous, Ghost looks at you confused as he cocks his head back. Well he sure didn’t expect that answer. Doesn't change the fact that he's pissed though.

“You know, you should be glad I didn’t write your Skeletor ass up for not only neglecting medical treatment but also stealing my damn treats.”

“Ye’ve got some nerve ye little tosser-“ Ghost grabs you by your upper arm and yanks you to him as he glares down at you.

Your poor toe-

“Ow! Someone outta teach you some manners.” You sputter, surprised from his sudden and forceful movement. And yet, you can’t help but find yourself flustered at being manhandled no matter how much you tried to preserve your vexation towards him. Ohhh, were you attracted to this? Wait, am I attracted to this???? Nah-

“Yer a real pain in the arse you know that.” Ghost can’t help but to roll his eyes, knowing damn well he did not handle you that roughly to begin with, despite your reaction.

But you and I know it’s just your toe-

“Yeah no shit. I’ve been told.” You roll your eyes in a dramatic manner. “But if you wanna be real, you’re like a bad hemorrhoid if we’re being honest.”

Did you just-

“Whot the bloody hell did yuh just call me?” Ghost snarls as he yanks you even closer to him, your chest bumping into his. Did you just call him a fucking hemorrhoid?

The jerky movement elicits a small gasp from your lips, pried right out of your lungs before you glare back at him with as much as you can muster; your jaw clenched, brows drawn together, and your eyes shooting straight up into his even more menacing ones. You try not to think about those nonexistent slander of words he uttered to you. Dream or not, that shit hurt. And as you think back to the dream you had, you were swiftly brought back to the circumstance right in front of you, immediately aware of the lack of distance between the two of you and the way your chest was pressed up against his.

A heat starts to form in the pit of your stomach, slowly making its way from your core and unfurling out to every inch of your skin, like being brushed over with a velvety feather under the warmth of the sun. His grip on your arm is almost revering if it weren't for its threatening nature as you stare up at him, and you swear you could feel the subtlest shift in his fingers through the thick fabric of your hoodie from the way his thumb ever so slightly grazes across. Your sharp gaze softens, admiring the way the sun's rays from the nearby window lit up his lashes like wisps of gold, like the feathers of an oriole bird soaring over the deep brown valleys that resemble his eyes.

He smelled like last night’s whiskey, a hint of the cigarette he smoked this morning, and his cologne that smells of sandalwood and pine trees. It’s almost refreshing. And in this moment, you don’t even care that you literally look like a teenage boy with your hair tucked into your beanie, wearing a pair of converse and your vans baggie hoodie and sweats. There was only one thing on your mind, one thing only.

“Let go of me.” The only words you managed to breathe out.

“Or what?"

“…………..I’ll scream.”

*cue Princess Leia's theme*

Kiss him. *insert Emperor Palpatine voice* Do it-

You found yourself burning for this innate desire, this need for him to push you against the wall and have his way with you, to have him lift the bottom of his mask and feel his lips on yours, traveling down to the angle of your jaw and your neck and just about everywhere there was you, all of you. Simon had noticed this sudden shift in your demeanor, the way your biceps loosened under his fingers through the course fabric of his gloves, the way your lashes fluttered against the ridges and deep ravines of your irises as you stared up at him with a far-off look that yet seemed so close. Were you-no, can't be.

The way you looked under him appeared to lure him in, not to mention your scent, that same perfume that seemed to have dug its claws into him since the moment he first met you. His eyes now lowered to your parted lips as he found himself focusing on their shape and the short shallow breaths that drifted through, wondering about how they'd feel, their softness, their taste. And as his head lowered just the smallest inch towards you, he noticed once more the small circular scar on the side of your neck. Only this time, he was finally able to make out what it was, and it reminded him too much of his own past. How that scar came about to form on your skin, he had no clue. But it was none of his concern, he had to tell himself. Clenching his jaw, Ghost drew himself back, once again returning to that cold and forbidding presence that was there before.

Actually it’s a good thing you didn’t try to score a smooch. You’d probably just get WWE body-slammed-

“Can I go now?” You clear your throat. “I’ve got chickens to tend to and errands to run.”

"What errands?"

"Why? You gonna help me pick out some zucchinis?" You cock your head back. "Now if you could release that lego grip of yours I'd appreciate it."

Ghost lets out a hmph, the only thing he can do despite his frustration as he loosens his grip just as you tear your arm away from him.

“Thank you." You give him a condescending smile before reaching into your tote bag to grab something while Ghost watches you intently, hoping it’s not another lollie. Lies. Y'all know he wants one-

“Here are your blood results by the way since you refused to stop by my office to go over them.” You slap the papers onto his chest, which earns you another glare from him. “So don’t come whining to me when you don’t understand a thing it says on there.” You snark one last time before heading off to the front entrance.

"Oh and another thing." You turn back around. "I'd cut down on the smoking and drinking if I were you."

All Ghost could do was watch you walk off with the slightest stomp in your step before breathing out a “Fuckin h-“

“Goddamn son a bitch.” You grit your teeth, stuffing your hands in the pocket of your hoodie once you step out of the building. You swear that man goes out of his way to annoy the everlasting shit out of you. “Fucking shitbag cumguzzler ass-OH MY GOD!”

You stop suddenly at the sound of a small animal, your eyes wide and mouth hung open as you look towards the ground to see a tiny tabby kitten trotting in your direction from the bushes, it's tail fluffed straight up in the air as it was excited to see you.

“Hi there little guy.” You coo at the small ginger ball of fur making its way towards you before bending down and reaching a hand out. "What're you doing here all by yourself huh?"

The kitten stares at your outstretched hand, giving it a sniff before finally rubbing its head against your palm with its eyes shut. You almost had to bite your tongue from the squeal that just ripped out of your throat. I lied. You did squeal.

“Ahhh omg." Your smiled, your heart swelling at seeing the kitten warm up to you as it came up even closer and lifted its tiny paws to rest up on your bent knees. It was as if you had completely forgotten the mayhem that was today, as if it was just you and this tiny kitten and no one else.

"Oh you’re coming home with me.” You carefully pick up the kitten with both your hands before cradling it against your chest, stroking your tired fingers through its soft and yet dusty fur.

“Mew.” The kitten let out another meow, the small rumbling in his chest vibrating against yours as his pupils widened, nearly blackening out his pale yellow irises as he stared up at you.

“You know what." You gasp. "I shall call you Spot." (Kudos if you know where the name is from.)

“Mew”

“You don't have any siblings hiding out in the bushes ready to jump me and steal my credit cards do ya?"

“Mew.”

“Shit.” You mutter out, your smile dropping as a realization comes to you. How the hell were you going to hide the kitten?

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