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blackopals-world · 5 months

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Couplets

Special Forces!Yuu x Rook Hunt

Rook falls in love with a poem

WARNING: My bad poetry.

There were few things that escaped his notice. A loose hair or a loose hare, it makes no difference.

So when he noticed a stray piece of paper left on a desk he examined it.

It was no ordinary slip of paper, it was parchment paper. Not only that the writing was no ordinary scribbling but of finely inked calligraphy. Each word clearly and deliberately crafted for beauty.

And the words.

Oh, the words!

Crisp apple blossoms floated on the breeze

Though the valleys passed the trees

I lay in the shade of a solid oak tasting the honey off bees

But when I awoke I stood on a parapet with my kin folk

Brother in arms

Broken in arms

Blood that spilled before they sounded the alarms.

Before we knew it we were surrounded, bounded, and taken to that farm.

The beauty! The passion! Très bien!

And how fortunate he was to find out that there were other pages scattered around campus. In the cafeteria, the gym, the track field, and the quad. Rook recounted the schedule of his target .

In fields of war, I once did stride, A soldier strong, with heart abide, Where bullets flew and cannons roared, I fought for rights, my country's hoard. With rifle tight, I stood my ground, Against the foe, my courage profound, Their cries and screams, I did not flinch, My duty done, my spirit unbroken. The memories still linger, though the pain, Of loss and cost, my heart doth gain, The comrades fallen, the battles won, The scars of war, forever done. But now, I've left the battlefield, To live a life of peace and heal, The armor off, my heart doth mend, The past, a story to amend. Yet in my dreams, the gunfire rings, The cries of men, the scent of things, The memories of war, they linger on, A past life, forever gone.

Beautiful! Heart wrenching!

The story of a warrior who has laid down their arms. The brilliant continuation of the last more fractured poem. But the ending while filled with solace bares a sense of melancholy. They know that even if they no longer fight the war of the mind goes on.

Truly magnificent!

The next poem was far different from the last few.

In the twilight hours, when shadows dance, I found myself in a whimsical trance, With a pet bunny, mischievous and sly, Whose nature concealed a devilish eye. Oh, this bunny, so small and serene, But beneath that fur, a mischief unseen. A playful sprite, with a wicked smile, A master of pranks, all the while. With nimble paws and a daring mind, This bunny would leave chaos behind. No vase was safe, no curtain spared, As it hopped and leapt, without a care. Its eyes, they gleamed with a fiendish glow, As it plotted its next mischievous show. No toy or treat could quench its thirst, For the thrill of chaos, it was immersed. It would nibble and chew on everything in sight, Leaving a trail of mess, a chaotic delight. The furniture, the carpet, even my shoes, All bore the marks of its playful abuse. Yet, despite all the havoc it would create, I couldn't help but find it truly great. For in its antics, there lay a charm, A reminder that life need not be so harm. For in this bunny's game, I found release, A break from the mundane, a moment of peace. To laugh and play with a creature so wild, Unleashing my spirit, like an innocent child. So, let us not judge this bunny's demeanor, For beneath its mischief lies a lesson much cleaner. To embrace the joy in life's playful spree, And find solace in chaos, wild and free.

Adorable! So cute!

Clearly they have an eye for beauty.

The adoration of something cute but rotten on the inside and finding the charm in it.

Truly they both must be of the same mind and heart. Truly they were the most perfect person for him. He didn't even know anyone who did such unique calligraphy, let alone for poetry. They have the soul of a poet, and a hand of an artist.

The last poem he found had nothing to do with the others. He had followed the trail to a certain Prefect. They had been chasing a rather mischievous rabbit that held a tattered notebook in its mouth.

"Sargent! Put that down!" They yelled trying to wrestle the fluffy beast who jumped up in down in challenge.

They rabbit sprinted off leaving a flutter of papers behind and another poem.

In the golden glow of the setting sun, I stood on a hilltop, my journey done. Silent and still, I watched the scene unfold, A beautiful blonde hunter, brave and bold. His eyes, like emeralds, pierced the twilight air, A hunter's gaze, both gentle and aware. Golden locks cascading, kissed by the breeze, A vision of strength and quiet expertise. He moved with grace through the thick undergrowth, A nimble predator, embodying both The wild and the tender, the fierce and the kind, A paradox of nature, perfectly aligned. His steps were whispers on the forest floor, As he pursued his prey, a dance of lore. I marveled at his skill, his focused might, His connection with the land, his primal sight. With every breath, his spirit seemed to soar, A symbiotic bond, forevermore. Nature's child, protector of the wild, His presence, a testament, both meek and mild. The sunlight danced upon his fair skin, A radiant glow, a halo from within. His heart beating in tune with the earth's song, A harmony of strength, where he belonged. In that fleeting moment, my soul took flight, Transfixed by his beauty, his essence of light. A hunter, yes, but so much more I saw, A guardian of nature, a lover of awe. As darkness fell and the moon took its place, I couldn't help but feel a sense of grace. For in that encounter, I glimpsed a truth, That beauty can be found in strength and youth. So, I'll forever cherish that sight I beheld, Of a beautiful blonde hunter, in the wild he dwelled. And in my heart, his memory will reside, A gentle reminder of nature's untamed stride.

Rook felt his ears turn red as he read. To think the one he had been looking for and the one he had his eye on had been looking back at him all this time.

Before he got ahead of himself he found another paper.

He strutted with confidence, his charm on display, With golden locks that shimmered like the sun's ray, But oh, how his presence grated on my nerves, Like a relentless itch that never subserves. He spoke in honeyed words, with a silver tongue, Each syllable crafted, every sentence well-spun, But beneath the surface, I sensed a shallow depth, A facade of perfection, a veiled masquerade adept. His eyes, so green, held a glimmer of deceit, A spark that hinted at a hidden conceit, He thought himself the epitome of grace, A prize to be won, a trophy to embrace. Yet, in all his glory, he failed to see, The annoyance that grew within me, For beauty alone cannot captivate the soul, It takes substance and character to make one whole. With each passing encounter, my patience wore thin, His incessant flattery, his persistent grin, I longed for authenticity, for genuine connection, Not a superficial bond built on mere affection. But he remained oblivious to my growing disdain, Blinded by his own ego, immune to my pain, And so, I resolved to escape his shallow allure, To find solace in a world where honesty was pure. For beauty fades, like petals withering away, And true worth lies in the heart, not in a face so cliché, So, I bid farewell to the blonde suitor's charm, And sought a deeper love, one that would disarm. No longer annoyed by his superficiality, I embraced the freedom of my own individuality, For a beautiful soul, devoid of pretense, Is far more captivating, far more immense.

Rook wasn't one to be sensitive but this one actually hurt. They thought he was shallow, and not genuine in his love for beauty.

He had his work cut out for him. He would correct this problem.

Perhaps with a poem.

#special forces!yuu #yuuniverse #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #rook hunt x reader #twisted wonderland rook #twst rook #rook hunt

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marvelmusing · 1 year

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Keep Your Judgement

Chapter Two

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: Settling into the Sanctuary, an old house fashioned into a safe place by the General, you find yourself recruited by the man himself to free some of your fellow Grisha.

Warnings: canon level violence, death and blood, limited season two spoilers.

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist

Life almost feels normal again.

The Sanctuary is an old country house, with peeling wallpaper and worn-out furniture, long abandoned by whatever nobles of the past had been inhabiting it. Every day, the halls are slowly being filled with Grisha as the General regularly takes small groups out to liberate your people from the First Army camps.

Durasts aren’t typically involved in field work, especially not for a mission that is combat orientated, so you are often left in the workshop not far from the General’s own rooms. Mostly, you keep your head down, beginning work on a treatment for the effects of merzost that have been ailing the General.

Genya had shared her concerns for him with you, telling you she struggled to heal the scars on his face, or the fragment of the stag embedded in his hand. A young Alkemi, Vladim, had joined you a few days ago and the General had asked for him to work on a remedy, although his results so far have all been temporary.

Yesterday, the tidemaker that had been accompanying the General for the majority of these rescue missions, Fruzsi, had been injured. A bullet wound to the leg that had been healed incorrectly during the journey back by an unexperienced heartrender. Once they arrived back at the Sanctuary, she had received the proper medical attention, but she could not assist the General in the field for the next week.

At lunch today, you had heard several Grisha speculating over who would be joining the General on his trip this afternoon to a camp along the riverside over an hour away from the Sanctuary. Which is why you’re confused when the doors to the workshop open, revealing the General who strides towards your desk purposely.

“Can I help you, moi soverenyi?” you ask him.

He says your name smoothly, a quick glance over the notes you had been writing before his gaze runs up towards your face. Then he nods.

“You are to accompany me this afternoon.”

Setting down your pen, you nod slowly, not meeting his gaze as you ask,

“Alongside?”

He waits until you lift your eyes to his before he responds,

“Just us.”

That makes you hesitate.

“Are you certain? I haven’t seen official combat.”

The corner of his mouth curls slightly, as if he has found something amusing, and you straighten yourself. He links his hands together in front of himself, rolling his shoulder slightly as he looks down, and the shadows around you ripple.

“You are forgetting my nichevo’ya.”

“Of course not, sir. I only mean to say that, not many would rely on a durast as their counterpart for a mission such as this.”

He regards you for a long moment, tilting his head in a manner that has you feeling as though he intends to study you.

“The camp we are travelling to is only small.” There is a pause before he adds, “And you are no ordinary durast.”

Leaning back on the balls of his feet, the General looks towards the windows reveal a clear view of the foggy grounds surrounding the Sanctuary, meaning he doesn’t see the frown on your face in response to his words.

As he steps backwards, a half-smile tugs at his lips.

“Besides, you’ve proven yourself more than capable of self-defence.”

His words remind you of the moment he had arrived to free the Grisha in the camp that held you, only to find you had freed yourself and many others before taking on the First Army soldiers, picking them off one by one.

Some nights you wake with a jolt, phantom wire pulled tight against your throat in your dreams, and you sit up in bed gasping for breath as you push away thoughts of jeering soldiers and your friends being thrown into the Fold.

As those memories return to you now, you shake yourself, raising your chin towards the General as you ask,

“When do we leave?”

»»---------------------►

The plan is simple enough.

While the General engages with the First Army soldiers, you slip unnoticed over to the cells holding your fellow Grisha captive. Unlocking cages and unclasping shackles becomes instinct, a familiar synchronisation of your hands and your power.

With each person you free, you give them the same instructions. Any healers are to tend to the wounded at the meeting point you had agreed upon with the General. The crack of the Cut in the distance reassures you that he’s still fighting as you unlock the last set of shackles.

Searching through the rest of the camp, you grab a few bundles that contain food and first aid supplies, fright halting your actions every time a shot rings out.

As you head towards the meeting point, your eyes scour over the people tucked carefully behind the bushes, searching for a head of dark hair and a black kefta to match. He isn’t here.

“Where’s the General?” you ask.

Met with frowns of recollection and contradicting stories of his last sighting, worry stirs within you. Something doesn’t feel right. He should have disposed of the soldiers quick enough to have returned to you long before now.

“Wait here. If I’m not back within the hour, head north, the horses will take you back to the Sanctuary.”

Carefully, you make your way through the almost silent camp. Following the sound of fighting, you peer out from the side of a tent, just in time to see the General take a punch to the face that makes you wince. The scars on his face are newly healed, you can’t imagine how much pain he must be in from a single punch.

There’s four soldiers, though the General seems to be holding his own despite being outnumbered. A billowing plume of shadow curls around the feet of one of the soldiers, but the General’s nichevo’ya appear to be resisting his call.

From the pain wracked expression on his face, you realise that his body is resisting the request for more merzost. He might have the capability for more power, but his current pain level isn’t allowing him to summon it. With a frustrated cry, he slices one of the men in half with the Cut.

As you step out from your hiding spot, clasping your hands together to join the fight, someone grabs you from behind. Frustration and fright fills you. How has this happened to you again? The sound of several guns being clicked into position, including the one pressed to your cheek, has you stilling instantly.

The General has been manhandled into a half-kneeling position with his hands behind his back. Dark blood, stained with merzost, trickles down his forehead, blooming from the scar there that had reopened.

A large figure holds onto the General, pulling a knife from his belt and holding it against the General’s side when he struggles to free himself. The man holding on to you hisses against your ear,

“Hands where we can see them.”

Then he shoves you forwards.

The General’s eyes lock on yours, widened slightly with surprise at the sight of you. Something flickers over his features, too fast for you to identify. Was he annoyed that you hadn’t stayed at the meeting point? Was he concerned for you? Or disappointed that you had been caught?

Rousing yourself from your spiralling thoughts concerning the General’s opinion of you, whatever it may be, you focus on how you’re going to keep both of you alive.

The man standing behind you moves forward to get a closer look at the General and an uncomfortable feeling crawls over your skin as you stand with your hands raised in surrender.

“I know where the rest of them are,” you say quickly, drawing his attention away from the General. The man raises a brow at you. “The rest of his Grisha, I know where they are.”

Taking a deep breath, you lift your chin as you stare at him.

“You let me go and I’ll tell you.”

There’s a brief moment of consideration before the man nods.

“Alright then.”

“There’s an old country estate.”

The General struggles against their hold, his eyes ablaze with an anger that chills you to the bone.

“No,” he demands and the desperation that leaks into his voice makes you ache. Unable to pull your gaze from his, you say,

“It’s south west from here, around ten miles from the nearest town.” The complete opposite direction of the Sanctuary.

The intensity in his eyes shifts into something you can’t identify, but the General doesn’t miss a beat at the sound of your lie, his voice low with warning as he hisses,

“Traitor.”

There’s enough heat in his tone to make you shiver, a prickle of shame in your chest as if you had actually just sold out your fellow Grisha instead of bluffing.

The man turns towards his friends, putting his back to you. Just as you expected, the other two soldiers raise their guns to put you down at the nod of his head. Pressing your pointer and middle finger together, you reach for your power, seeking out each bullet that they intend for you.

The mechanisms within the guns shift as the triggers are all pulled in succession. Twisting your hands together, you bend the path of the bullets, sending them hurtling back at the soldiers.

For a few seconds, they all stand stunned. Then they collapse, one by one, including the man who had grabbed you.

Now only one remains, the one holding his knife against the General’s side. He grips tightly onto the back of the General’s neck, steering the both of them backwards as you step in their direction.

“Stay back,” he warns you.

Seizing the blade with your power, you hold it still in his hand, unable to be moved anywhere closer to the General.

“Drop it,” you order him.

He shakes his head, looking down at his weapon as he attempts to stab the General, his arm shaking with the force of his effort. His determination makes your own hands shake with exertion and you know this stalemate won’t last long.

A dark thought crosses your mind, something you have never considered before, but you’re desperate, so you push your power up from the knife to seek out a different material. Jerking your dominant hand in a harsh motion, you release your power and there’s a satisfying snap.

The soldier cries out in pain, dropping his knife and clutching the newly broken bone. Instantly, you lunge forwards to retrieve the knife. He becomes aware of your sudden movement, staggering in your direction with anger twisting his features.

With as much force as you can muster, you land a punch to his jaw. He stumbles back, caught off guard, and you slam the knife into his chest. As he falls onto his back, you cling to the handle of the knife, twisting it as you land over the top of him.

Blood pools over your hands, droplets spurting over your face as he chokes out his final breath, lungs and throat clogged with the thick red liquid.

It’s then that you realise you had been holding your own breath, body heaving as you take in air, recoiling shakily from the body. This wasn’t the first death you had caused, but pressing a knife into a man’s heart is completely different to redirecting bullets.

The sound of someone saying your name pulls you back to the present.

Somehow you manage to lift your gaze from the blood drying over your skin, and the General’s eyes are dark as they scour intently over your face.

“Are you alright?”

The nod you give him is weak, though the sight of him wincing as he moves to stand helps you to shake away the daze and focus on finding some first aid supplies.

He thanks you rather curtly when you offer him a pot of ointment that should help his scar heal again before he disappears into one of the tents to deal with it himself.

Genya had told you he had insisted on her healing his scars, instead of a healer, so you suspect he feels somewhat self-conscious about them. Whenever you see him, you try not to stare at the dark lines that spread over his features, but the thought of how he gained them always tugs slightly on your heartstrings.

While the General is tending to his wounds, you clean your hands, scrubbing with the harshest cloth you can find to scrape at your skin forcefully. The General finds you as you’re drying yourself, wincing slightly at the drag of the rough towel over the raw skin of your hands.

He pockets the ointment you had found, giving you a small nod as you discard the towel.

Silently, you walk through the camp, and it’s only once you’re half way to the meeting point where you had left the other Grisha that the General speaks up.

“You broke his arm.” Not looking at him, you nod. “How?”

Shrugging lightly, you share your reasoning with him.

“Everything contains matter. Bone is just another material.”

As you step over a puddle, a quote from a Grisha theorist comes to mind.

“Aren’t we all but things?” you muse quietly.

The silence stretches between you.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

KYJ Tag List: @tartiflvtte @weepingwitchofthewest

#keep your judgement au #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #the darkling au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

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cheynovak · 2 months

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Shadows of the Past

Soldier boy x F/Reader (Y/N Barnes) & Bucky Barnes ( Brother)

Warnings: Angst, Aggression, nothing to extreme

Side note: English isn’t my first language.

*Multiverse: between MCU and The boys*

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

Story:

1941

In the heart of Brooklyn, nestled among the bustling streets and towering buildings, lived Y/N Barnes, the younger sister of James Buchanan Barnes, known to many as Bucky. At the age of seventeen, Y/N was a senior at Brooklyn High School, where she spent her days immersed in books and dreams of adventure.

But amid the ordinary rhythm of school and homework, she was like any other teenage girl, and so there was one person who made her heart race like no other – Ben, the mysterious and enigmatic badboy who will later be known as Soldier boy.

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

From the moment Y/N first laid eyes on him, she knew that he was different, someone who saw the world through a lens of possibility and adventure.

But there was one person who didn't share Y/N's enthusiasm for Ben, her older brother, Bucky. He always thought of Ben as a bully since he had a fight with Steve once.

Bucky had been fiercely overprotective of Y/N, his concerns for her safety drove her insane. She couldn’t understand why but she let him be, but knowing he meant well.

Y/N wasn’t what we would call popular girl, she always stood in shadows. But she did have a crush on Ben, a guy the same age as her older brother. But she knew Bucky wouldn’t like that. Besides that, in high school Ben never dated the younger girls. So, he never noticed her back then.

Y/N Barnes strolled through the crowd of the Brooklyn youth at the carnival, her laughter mingling with the joyful sounds of the bustling fair. Beside her walked her brother Bucky and his friend Steve, their easy camaraderie a comforting presence in the sea of strangers.

Ben and his pals stood by the Ferris wheel as he watched Y/N weave through the colourful chaos of the carnival, he couldn't help but feel as though he was seeing her for the first time. Sure, he had known of her existence, she was Bucky's younger sister, after all. But until that moment, she had been just another face in the crowded halls of their high school.

As he watched her laugh and joke with Bucky and Steve, there was something about her that captivated him in a way he couldn't quite explain. She was no longer just a young girl tagging along with her older brother. She had a newfound glace of womanhood over her.

“Don’t do it man.” Ben heard his friends say. “She isn’t worth the trouble with Barnes.” Ignoring the cautionary whispers of doubt, he made his decision, determined to seize the opportunity before it slipped away.

As Bucky and Steve became momentarily engrossed in the sights and sounds of the carnival, Ben saw his chance. With a steadying breath, he stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and Y/N with purposeful strides.

"Hey," he called out, his voice carrying over the din of the bustling fairgrounds. Y/N turned toward him, her eyes widening in surprise as she registered his approach. Y/N looked around seeing is he was talking to her before answering. "Hi," she replied, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"I, uh, I just wanted to say hi," Ben continued, his words stumbling slightly as he fought to keep his nerves at bay. "I've seen you around school, but I've never really had the chance to talk to you before."

"Well, I don’t blame you." she quipped, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "I figured you were too busy with all your other girlfriends to notice little old me." Ben couldn't help but chuckle at Y/N's boldness, she caught him off guard in the best possible way.

Ben stepped closer "Trust me, none of those other girls even come close," he replied, his voice low as he locked eyes with her. "You're something special, Y/N Barnes."

“Hey, leave her alone asshole.” Their conversation interrupted the moment Bucky caught sight of them. His expression darkened, a storm brewing behind his steely gaze as he stormed over to where they stood. "Come on Y/N, we're leaving," Bucky declared, his voice sharp with anger as he grabbed her arm, his grip tight.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise at her brother's sudden appearance. "Hey, man, I didn't mean any harm," Ben said, his voice calm but firm. "Just wanted to say hi, that's all." But Bucky's anger simmered beneath the surface, his protective instincts overriding any sense of reason as he levelled a fierce glare at Ben.

"You said it, now go, I don't want you anywhere near my sister," he spat, toe to toe, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "You stay away from her, understand?" “And what if she wants to talk to me?” Ben answered cocky before looking at Y/N.

Y/N watched as his friends crossed the street, "Bucky, please," she implored, her voice gentle but firm, “Let’s go.” Knowing he might take on Ben alone, but 3 against one. She tugged his arm looking at Steve for help. “Come on Buck, he isn’t worth it.”

“Yeah, listen to the midget. And run along.” Ben’s voice followed you. Bucky's blood boiled at Ben's audacity, his temper flaring as the younger man's words cut through him like a knife. Without a second thought, he spun around, his fist connecting with Ben's face with a sickening thud.

It took Ben a second to straighten his back. He could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Just when he wanted to return the punch Y/N places herself between the men, facing Ben. “Don’t.” she said firm.

Ben’s green eyes pierce through her. “You’re lucky your sister is here Barnes, I don’t hit girls.” He said still looking at Y/N. “Take him away.” he said now to her. Once around the corner Y/N broke the silence. "What the hell, Bucky?" she demanded, her voice trembling with anger. "Are you insane three to one?!"

Bucky's expression was grim as he met his sister's gaze, his own anger simmering just below the surface. “What was I supposed to do? He talked shit about Steve.” Y/N pinched her nose. “How about not interfere or if you do be nice?”

“I don’t want him to talk to you! He is a ladies man, a player.” “Takes one to know one, right?” she bit back. Once they reached their house, she runs inside ignoring her brother. “Goodnight Steve” she hugged him before going to bed.

The next day

As the school bell rang, signalling the end of another day of classes, Ben made his way to the gates, his heart pounding with anticipation. He had waited anxiously all day for this moment, hoping that Y/N would show up. As he approached the school gates, he couldn't help but notice the girls walking past him.

All trying to get his attention with flirtatious giggles and batting eyelashes. But Ben barely spared them a glance, his eyes scanning the crowd for one person and one person only.

And then, he saw her, standing at the edge of the crowd, her expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity as she caught sight of him. Ben's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, his pulse quickening as he made his way toward her, pushing through the crowd with determined strides.

"Y/N," he called out, his voice filled with relief and excitement. "I was hoping I'd see you." Y/N's eyes widened in surprise at his words, her cheeks flushing with colour as she met his gaze. "I... I didn't expect to see you here," she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Ben smiled, his heart swelling with warmth at the sight of her. "I wanted to talk to you," he said earnestly, taking a step closer to her. "Can we go somewhere quieter?" She nodded, feeling his hand on her lower back as he walked her through the crowd. She couldn’t help but to notice how everyone looked at them. Thinking Ben still has a way of getting attention at this high school without trying. Knowing Bucky will find out soon enough.

As Ben and Y/N stepped into the cozy diner, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon enveloped them, wrapping them in a warm embrace as they made their way to a secluded booth in the corner.

And as he settled into the worn vinyl seat, he couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over him in the presence of Y/N. "I come here whenever I need to clear my head," Ben explained, gesturing around the diner with a fond smile. "It's like my home away from home."

"It's cozy," she remarked, her voice soft with appreciation.

A waitress approached their table, her pen poised and ready to take their order. Ben glanced at Y/N with a playful grin, knowing exactly what she would want.

"Two milkshakes, please," he said, his gaze never leaving Y/N's as he placed their order. Y/N's cheeks flushed with surprise at his gesture, her heart fluttering with warmth at the thoughtfulness of his choice.

"You didn't have to do that," she protested softly, her eyes meeting his with gratitude. But Ben simply shrugged, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he leaned back in his seat. "Consider it a peace offering," he replied, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "After all, I did get punched in the face yesterday."

“Which means I have to buy you, not the other way around.” He leaned forward “I mean the date sweetheart.” That nickname left her flustered. As they settled into easy conversation, sipping on their milkshakes and sharing stories Y/N got lost track of time.

It wasn't until a glance at the clock on the wall revealed the lateness of the hour that Y/N realized just how much time had passed. Her eyes widened in surprise as she took in the late hour.

"Oh my gosh, I had no idea it was so late," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with disbelief as she turned to Ben. He chuckled softly, a warm smile playing at the corners of his lips as he met her gaze. "Time flies when you're having fun," he replied, his voice filled with warmth and affection. Y/N couldn't help but smile at his words, her heart fluttering.

“Let me walk you home.” Ben got up, taking her coat holding it for her like a real gentlemen. As Ben and Y/N walked through the quiet streets of Brooklyn, the night air crisp and cool around them, Y/N couldn't shake the nagging question that had been weighing on her mind since their conversation at the diner.

"Ben," she began, her voice breaking the comfortable silence between them. "I've been meaning to ask... why do you act like such a bully sometimes?" Ben's steps faltered slightly at her question, his expression clouding over with a mixture of sadness and regret.

He sighed heavily, his gaze fixed on the ground as he struggled to find the right words. "It's... complicated," he admitted finally. She is quiet but Ben feels the awkwardness. "My dad... he's not a good person," Ben began slowly, his voice tinged with bitterness. "He's... he's abusive, since my mom died it, just got worse."

"I'm so sorry, Ben," she murmured, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand in a silent gesture of support. Ben offered her a small, grateful smile before continuing.

"I guess I've always felt like I had to be tough, you know?" he confessed, his gaze distant as he spoke. "Like if I showed any weakness, he'd... it just make things worse."

"But that's not an excuse for how I've treated people sometimes," Ben added quickly, his voice filled with remorse.

As they reached her house she turns to him as she reached out to gently touch his arm. "It's okay, Ben," she said softly, her voice filled with compassion. "We all have our struggles, I won’t tell a soul.” She promises him.

A tension crackled between them, thick with unspoken emotions. Y/N's heart raced as Ben closed the space between them. His intent clear in the gentle brush of his lips against hers.

But just as their breath mingled in the space between them, Y/N gently pulled away. "Ben, wait," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur, but firm with conviction. Ben's brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes searching hers for answers as he took a step back, giving her space. "What is it?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say.

"If you truly want to be with me, you need to stop bullying Steve or fight with my brother," she declared, her voice unwavering despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach. “They are important to me.”

Ben nods, agreeing to her terms with a renewed determination to prove himself worthy of her trust. Feeling the warmth of Y/N's lips against his cheek, Ben's heart skipped a beat, a rush of tenderness washing over him at the simple gesture of affection.

As Ben watched Y/N walking to the door call out to her. "Wait," he called after her, his voice filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. Y/N turned back, her gaze meeting his with a curious tilt of her head. "When will I see you again?

She smiles soft, eyes glistering, flirting, “Goodnight Ben. “Goodnight sweetheart.” And as he made his way home, a flicker of hope burned bright within him.

Y/N stepped through the front door, the warmth of the house enveloping her as she entered. But her sense of comfort was quickly replaced by a wave of anxiety as she was met with the stern gaze of her mother, her arms crossed and her expression one of unmistakable displeasure.

"Where have you been, young lady?" her mother demanded, her voice sharp with concern. Y/N swallowed nervously, her mind racing for an explanation that wouldn't land her in even more trouble. "I... I was out with a friend," she stammered, her voice tinged with guilt.

Her mother's brow furrowed in frustration, her disapproval evident in the set of her jaw. "You were supposed to be home hours ago," she scolded, her voice rising with each word. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

"I'm sorry, Mom," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I lost track of time." Her mother's expression softened slightly at her apology, but the worry in her eyes remained.

"Just... don't let it happen again," she said sternly, her tone softened by a hint of maternal concern. Y/N nodded, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she hung her head in shame as she walked to her room.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the sound of her brother's voice outside the door, his tone tinged with a mixture of concern and disapproval. "Come in," she called out, her voice barely above a whisper as she braced herself for the conversation to come. Bucky pushed open the door, his expression stern as he entered her room, his gaze fixed on her with unwavering intensity.

"This friend of yours... was it Ben?" he asked bluntly, his tone leaving no room for evasion. Y/N's heart sank at the question, her guilt washing over her in a tidal wave of anxiety. "Yes," she admitted reluctantly, her voice barely audible. She never lied to him why would she now.

Bucky's jaw clenched at her response, his frustration evident in the tight set of his shoulders. "I don't like it, Y/N," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "He's trouble, and I don't want you getting mixed up with him."

"But he's not like that," she protested weakly, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Bucky remained unmoved, his expression unyielding as he met her gaze with a steely resolve. "I don't care," he insisted, his voice firm but tinged with concern. "I won't have you getting hurt because of him."

She had to make Bucky understand that Ben wasn't the person he thought he was, that there was more to him than the facade of a troublemaker. "Ben promised to stop teasing Steve," she blurred out.

Bucky's brow furrowed at Y/N's suggestion, “why?” He knew that stopping his teasing of Steve had a price. "He's trying to change, Bucky. I believe him." Bucky shook his head. “I better not see you two together.” he said as he walked out the door.

Y/N found herself walking along the winding paths, the soft crunch of fallen leaves beneath her feet. Her heart raced with anticipation as she made her way to their secret meeting spot at the park, a secluded clearing nestled among the trees where she and Ben had shared countless conversations and stolen moments together over the past few weeks.

Ben, who stood waiting for her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. His arms were laden with a picnic basket and a blanket spread out on the ground, a small feast laid out before them.

"Surprise," he said with a grin, his voice filled with excitement. Y/N's heart fluttered at the sight of him, her cheeks flushing with warmth at his thoughtful gesture.

"You didn't have to do all this," she protested, her voice tinged with gratitude.

But Ben simply shook his head, his gaze unwavering as he met hers with a gentle smile. "I wanted to," he replied softly. "I wanted today to be special.”

As the gentle breeze rustled through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the picnic blanket, Y/N's gaze fell upon the faint cut that marred Ben's otherwise flawless complexion. Her heart clenched with concern at the sight, a pang of worry coursing through her veins.

"Ben, what happened to your face?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with concern. Ben's smile faltered slightly at her question, his eyes flickering with uncertainty as he hesitated to answer.

"Oh, it's nothing," he replied casually, attempting to brush off her concern with a dismissive wave of his hand. But Y/N wasn't convinced, her brow furrowing in concern as she reached out to gently touch the cut. "It doesn't look like nothing," she insisted, her voice filled with sincerity. "Have you been fighting again?" She asked disappointed.

Ben's expression softened at her words, a flicker of guilt crossing his features as he met her gaze with unwavering honesty. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "I got into a scuffle with some guys. It's stupid, really."

"You promised me you'd stop fighting," she stated, her tone tinged with disappointment. Ben's gaze faltered at her words, a flicker of guilt crossing his features as he met her unwavering stare. "I promised to stop bullying Steve," he countered, his voice tinged with defensiveness.

Y/N sighed softly, her frustration evident in the furrow of her brow.

"But getting into fights is just as bad," she argued, her voice soft but filled with conviction. “Why do you want me to change Y/N?” Y/N's heart sank at Ben's question.

"Because I care about you, Ben," she replied softly, her voice tinged with emotion. "I don't want to see you get hurt." “I don't understand why you can't accept me, like I accept you," he confessed, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "You're a geek, and I’m still sitting here with you. While I could have chosen popular girls."

Y/N's heart sank at Ben's defensive words. "Ben, that's not fair," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness. But Ben shook his head, his expression hardened with frustration as he met her gaze with unwavering intensity.

"Isn't it?" he countered, his voice laced with bitterness. "You're always hanging out with your geeky friends, talking about stuff I don't understand. Maybe I'd rather be with someone who actually gets me. Instead of nagging about what I did."

Y/N's heart shattered at Ben's hurtful words, the tears gathering in her eyes. "Fine!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion. "If that's what you want, then go find those girls!" With a heavy heart, Y/N turned away from Ben, her tears blurring her vision as she fled from the park, desperate to escape the sting of his rejection.

As Ben approached Y/N's house late that night, his heart weighed heavy with remorse for his hurtful words and actions. He knew he had crossed a line, and the thought of the pain he had caused Y/N gnawed at him.

With a shaky breath, he reached out to knock on the door, his hand trembling with nerves. But before he could make contact, the door swung open to reveal Bucky, his expression cold and unwelcoming.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky demanded, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Ben swallowed hard, his guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders as he met Bucky's gaze. "I... I need to talk to Y/N," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"She doesn't want to see you," he replied firmly. Ben's heart sank at Bucky's words, the weight of his rejection hitting him like a ton of bricks. He knew he had messed up, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing Y/N.

"I just need to talk to her," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "Please."

Bucky's expression hardening with determination as he stepped forward to block Ben's path. "I said leave," he growled, his voice laced with warning. "Before I make you."

“I’ll leave if she tells me to.” Bucky's stern gaze softened at Ben's words. "Fine," Bucky relented, his voice softer than before. "Wait here."

With a nod, Bucky retreated into the house, leaving Ben standing alone on the doorstep. Minutes ticked by like hours as Ben waited anxiously, until he hears her voice. "What is it, Buck?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

But before Bucky could respond, Ben stepped forward, his gaze locked on Y/N's.

"I need to talk to you," he blurted out, his voice tinged with urgency. "Please, just hear me out." "Ben, I appreciate that you want to talk," she began, her voice tinged with hesitation. "But I think it's best if you leave." Ben's heart sank at her words, the weight of her rejection hitting him like a ton of bricks.

“But.. I...” he looks at Bucky and then back at her. "I understand," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for bothering you."

Y/N sat in the dimly lit kitchen, her heart heavy with sorrow as she replayed the events of the evening in her mind. The ache of her recent breakup with Ben weighed heavily on her.

Lost in her thoughts, Y/N was startled when Bucky entered the kitchen, his expression serious as he made his way over to her side. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of what was to come.

"Hey," Bucky began, his voice quiet but determined. "I need to talk to you about something." Y/N nodded, her heart pounding with apprehension as she waited for him to continue. "I've made a decision," Bucky continued, his gaze unwavering as he met her eyes with a sense of resolve. "I'm going to join the army."

She knew how much joining the army meant to Bucky, how it had always been his dream to serve his country. But she couldn't help but worry about the dangers that lay ahead, the uncertainty of what the future might hold. "Bucky, are you sure about this?" Y/N asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"It's a big decision." Bucky nodded, his expression serious but resolute.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he replied firmly. "But there's something I need to ask of you before I go." "Of course," she replied, her voice filled with sincerity. "Anything."

Bucky took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he met her eyes with a sense of gratitude. "I need you to take care of Steve," he said quietly, his words heavy with meaning. "I need to know that he'll be okay while I'm gone. That you’ll be okay."

She nodded in response.

And as they sat together in the quiet of the kitchen, the weight of their shared responsibilities hanging heavy in the air between them. "I can't help but notice you've been down lately. Is everything okay?"

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the pain that weighed heavily on her soul. She forced a small smile, with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"I'm fine, Bucky," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "Just going through some stuff." Bucky nodded, his gaze softening with empathy as he took a seat beside her at the kitchen table. He knew she meant the break up.

"Listen, Y/N," he said quietly, his tone gentle but earnest. "Why don't you give Steve a chance?" he asked gently, his voice tinged with sincerity. "Bucky, Steve's like a brother to me," Y/N replied, her voice tinged with embarrassment. "I couldn't imagine going on a date with him."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"Sure, sure," he teased, his tone playful. "But you can't deny that you've got a thing for blond guys." Y/N rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips.

"Okay, maybe I have a type," she admitted with a shrug. "But that doesn't mean I'm interested in Steve that way." Bucky chuckled softly, his gaze warm with amusement as he regarded her fondly. "Fair enough," he conceded.

"But you never know what might happen if you give him a chance." Y/N shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips at Bucky's persistence. "Thanks, Bucky," she said sincerely. "But I think I'll pass on you setting Steve up with me."

Bucky grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned back in his chair. "Suit yourself, kid" he replied with a playful wink.

As Bucky and Steve excitedly discussed at the Stark Expo, Y/N couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the carefree days of her past relationship with Ben. She had heard rumours that he was considering joining the military, but seeing him in uniform at the expo brought a wave of mixed emotions crashing over her.

"Hey, Y/N, are you coming with us?" Bucky asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. Y/N hesitated, torn between her desire to follow her friends at the expo and her need to talk to Ben. But ultimately, she knew that she couldn't let Ben slip away without at least trying to talk to him.

"I'll catch up with you guys later," she replied, offering Bucky and Steve a small smile. "There's someone I need to talk to first." Finally, she spotted him standing near one of the military displays, his expression stoic. She approached him cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest as she prepared herself for the conversation ahead.

"Ben," she called out softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Ben turned to face her, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of her. "Y/N," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "What are you doing here?"

Y/N took a deep breath, her nerves getting the better of her as she struggled to find the right words. "I heard about the military," she began hesitantly. "Is it true? Are you really going to enlist?" Ben nodded, his gaze fixed on the ground as he wrestled with his emotions.

"Yeah," he admitted quietly. "I've been thinking about it for a while now. It's something I need to do." She pleaded with him, her voice trembling with desperation, begging him not to go. "Ben, please," she implored, her eyes brimming with tears. "Don't do this. I can't bear to see you leave."

He reached out to gently cup her face in his hands, his touch tender in its reassurance. "I'm sorry, Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with regret. "But I have to do this. It’s the only way to make my old man proud.” Y/N shook her head, her heart aching with sorrow as she struggled to come to terms with the reality of their situation.

"But what about me, Ben?" she cried, her voice cracking with emotion. "What about us?" Ben's gaze softened with sympathy, his thumb brushing away the tears that stained her cheeks. "I'll come back for you, Y/N," he promised earnestly. "I swear it.”

As Ben turned to leave, a sense of finality settling over them, Y/N couldn't bear the thought of letting him go without one last gesture of love. With a surge of courage, she stepped forward and gently pressed her lips to his, pouring all of her love and longing into the fleeting kiss.

When they finally pulled away, their breaths mingling in the space between them, Ben's eyes searched hers with a mixture of surprise and vulnerability.

"Does this mean you forgive me?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Yes, Ben," she replied earnestly, her voice filled with conviction. "I forgive you."

And as they stood together in the midst of the bustling expo, their hands intertwined, and their hearts entwined. Ben grabs her cheeks and kisses her again.

As Ben and Y/N shared their passionate kiss, lost in the whirlwind of emotion and desire, they were unaware of the eyes that watched them from across the room. Bucky and Steve stood frozen in surprise, their gazes locked on the scene unfolding before them.

Bucky and Steve exchanged a meaningful glance, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Despite their initial surprise, they couldn't deny the depth of Ben and Y/N's connection, nor the sincerity of their feelings for each other.

Ben looked up meeting Bucky’s eyes. With a nod of acceptance, Bucky and Steve welcomed Ben into their circle, only to please Y/N. Her heart was aching, knowing she had to send the two man she cared about to war. Well, three but she didn't know that yet. But tonight was full of laughs, music and dances.

Present day

Ben walked through the streets of New York, trying to understand what happened. "I'm glad we finally found you." A familiar voice said.

As he turned around, he finally saw two faces he recognised. “Barnes, Rogers.” He said relieved and yet firm. “You need to come with us.” Steve said, “We need to fill you in what happened the last 40 years.”

“But first,” Bucky walked up to Ben pushing him to the wall behind him. “You need to tell me what happened to my sister.”

To be continued...

Please feel free to like, share or comment. Make sure you check out my masterlist.

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vviolynn · 8 months

Text

A Difference

a/n - I had a random boost of inspiration and I’ve been wanting to post something for the longest time… so I’m just gonna say that I wrote this small bit within a span of like 2 days but less than an hour each time I came back to it. I hope this gives you guys an idea of what my writing is like, and ty in advance for reading <3 {ps - the fic I'm working on outside of this isn't as detailed as this... i just poured my creativity on this one, especially because it's way shorter.}

word count - 1.1k

• the winter soldier x hydra soldier!fem!reader •

warnings - mentions of killing and assassins, no use of y/n, the winter soldier being the winter soldier, angst?, use of russian words(translation given), no real romance... yet, ends with a cliffhanger of sorts

•••••••••••••••••••••

A soldier, or two? One super, one ordinary. One chose, one forced. One assassin. Two assassins. One woman, one machine. Two lives, paths crossed in a horrifying way. A killer, a killing machine. A life spent, a life taken. One free, one brainwashed. One skilled, one programmed. Two eyes met, two souls connected. One soldier, two soldiers.

She’s a soldier, ordinary, human. She chose her place. She chose Hydra. She grew up with one of their leaders. She chose this life. She chose when she was a young woman. She’s spent your life working for Hydra, willingly. She had the option to leave, yet she remained loyal. Hydra was a home to her. Hydra is a home to a strong willed woman. She spent her childhood and opening of womanhood training for the day she’d live her dream: to fight for her country. She’s skilled.

And yet… another life is placed into hers. The moment that second life awoke, eyes met, locked. For the first time, she wanted more than to serve Hydra. The eyes she met were the eyes of a programmed soul. He wasn’t free. He was brainwashed. His life wasn’t spent, it was taken. Years of his life, asleep, years of his life, stolen. A killing machine. That’s what he was. He was one made to kill, programmed for murder. It was a thought that could bring shivers down one’s spine. A machine, they say. He belonged to Hydra, and Hydra made him. It felt cruel. He was only the assassin they made him to be, how could there be a human behind that cold gaze? Forced… he was forced, and it was wrong. She could see it, even after your years spent with Hydra, she’s never witnessed such a thing. A super soldier? She would’ve killed to be like him.

That’s the thing, she would’ve killed to be like him. The problem was, she’s not him. Two soldiers, but there’s still a difference. A manner of choice. He was not given that choice. She could only wonder why.

•••••••••••••••••••••

Behind the facade, there was always a softness.

“Good morning soldat,” she greets him with a stern voice, but beneath her tone is a form of gentleness. The Winter Soldier looks down at the woman with this icy blues, and similar to her tone, he too had a gentleness buried underneath his gaze.

The soldier gives her a short nod as to address her, not speaking. She doesn’t appreciate his lack of words.

“Apologies, I said… good morning soldat,” the respected woman speaks again, she emphasizes her tone to a slight harsher one. The soldier’s gaze remains the same, unfazed.

“Good morning уважаемый,” the soldier nods again, and refers to her as ‘respected one’.

She gives him a nod back, seemingly satisfied with his reply. She almost smiles. She never smiles, at least not with other soldiers. Being in Hydra for a little over ten years gives her authority. Having grown up with one of the colonels put her as second in command. She has experience.

She knows she should treat the soldier like he isn’t human, but he is. In her eyes, he’s a tortured soul. She can see it, she has the ability to see past the glare. Why? because she knows how to spot a difference.

“Mission report,” she requests as she keeps her hands behind her back. Her head is tilted up in the slightest to keep eye contact. Their eyes lock, two soldiers.

“Negative,” he replies, and it’s his turn to give her a firmer voice. Her eyebrows furrow with the way that he speaks to her, as well as his response.

“On who’s orders?” the woman nearly growls. She always knew and was informed of the Winter Soldier’s missions. She usually asked only to report back to the colonel, it’s supposedly just a simple and daily task. It was also one of the only interactions she’d have with the fellow assassin.

“Твой начальник,” the firm voice remains, it feels like his programming showing it’s hold on him. Her eyes narrow in a small glare at how he says ‘your superior(boss)’. Why would her friend be keeping the soldier’s mission a secret from her?

Her voice is gone, stripped from her. She would never admit how vulnerable she feels right now. It created a storm within; a rage. The temptation to walk away and destroy everything in her path was strong. She stands her ground, glaring at the soldier in silence.

The soldier finds her silent response amusing in a way. He continues to look right back at her, his eyes gleaming at the entertainment.

The second in command knew she couldn’t be mad at the Winter Soldier, it was her ‘superior’, and her supposed childhood friend who was defying her. Acknowledging this allows her to calm down slowly, along with the beauty of the soldier’s eyes, the steel eyes that stuns any enemy he comes across. The soldier is an anchor to her, even though neither of them have acknowledged that yet.

Her demeanor shifts, right before his eyes. She calms, and her breathing steadies. She’s been trained to keep her emotions in check, especially if she’s a superior to most soldiers in Hydra. Although she’d never admit it, his presence just makes it a whole lot easier.

“I see,” her words finally form, and her voice comes out as quiet but strong. She wants to leave to go confront her ‘friend’ but there’s something that keeps her feet stuck to the ground. It’s almost like a magnetic pull. Her eyes haven’t left the soldiers for the whole duration of the conversation. Her body hasn’t moved an inch. Her hands haven’t left their hold on themselves behind her back. Besides her facial expressions, she hasn’t physically shifted in any way.

There are several moments of silence, all that can be heard is their soft breaths, and blinking eyes. The atmosphere remains thick, heavy, and suffocating. Both observe how their breaths match each other’s, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. A safe distance is kept between the two soldiers, but it still feels like there isn’t enough. Either that, or there’s too much. Neither of them can tell which it is.

They’re two magnets, and destiny is playing with them and their sides. It’s trying to decide whether to pull them apart, or pull them together. Stir hatred and disgust, and create distance? Or make it so once they touch, they can’t remove themselves from each other? An undying question.

Neither their hearts nor minds could comprehend a choice. To hate or to love? It’s hard for the two soldiers, especially when there’s such a difference.

•••••••••••••••••••••

#the winter soldier #tws #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x fem!reader #the winter soldier x hydra soldier!fem!reader #the winter soldier angst #bucky barnes x reader #b.b.#bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #j.b.b.#vviolynn writes #vviolynn fics

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intoxicated-chan · 1 year

Text

Captivated, Infatuated, Frustrated, & Lovesick

♡o。.✿ฺ Paring // Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x F!Price’s Daughter!Reader

♡o。.✿ฺ Summary // Johnny knew his path the second he laid eyes on Price’s daughter but what he didn’t know, a certain soldier had eyes on you too yet gave up too quickly. But welcome to his little journey of falling for the captain’s daughter!

♡o。.✿ฺ (A/n) // I had lots of fun writing this. Inspiration was from Euphoria again, apologies! I just like the show a lot.

♡o。.✿ฺ Word Count // 3.8k

♡o。.✿ฺ Content Warnings // Female reader, angst-to-fluff, swearing, sexual harassment, violence, blood, bruises, mentions of pregnancy, heavy sexual themes, unrequited love, heavy drinking, vomitting, mentions of death…

Johnny couldn’t describe it. He wasn’t familiar with the beating of his heart, his flustered face, his thoughts taken over by a single woman. He didn’t know how the hell it happened but when he put all the pieces together, he believed he was cursed… Johnny “Soap” MacTavish was in fucking love. The feeling was so intoxicating that he felt drunk just being in love, dreams started appearing of a family he had, dreams that he never thought were possible until now.

But the problem was that the woman was none other than his captain’s only daughter. But the feeling was addicting, he wanted more, and more, he refused to back down because of it. But the main question that his teammates would ask, ‘What was it about (Y/n) Price that brought you, Johnny, to become so captivated with her?’

Was it those rare days Price invited the team over for dinner and you paid attention to his stories? Or those days when his stitches managed to open up mysteriously and you were there stitching them back up? Your abilities and your touch was heaven for Johnny, something he never experienced before. He remembers his past relationships, all games in their eyes that he refused to be vulnerable ever again, yet here he was, being vulnerable once more. It wasn’t a game, it would never be a game to Johnny, he knew he wasn’t perfect.

Yet you were…

How is it that you remain so perfect? Was it your father who watched any man who dared to come close? Or that your father swore to keep you single up until his dying breath? But Johnny knew that even in death, Price would still have his way.

But it was too early to be sure, he had just met you at the dinner table. But the words emotional, strong, dependent were written in his journal, pages on pages of his love just for you. But there were passages wondering if he had a death wish, sure he was chasing a forbidden fruit and that fruit was guarded by a powerful and deadly man. Johnny was certain he could take care of you, make Price proud that he’s the perfect man to marry his daughter.

“Did you know he’s scared off every man, including Graves.” Ghost’s statement made his heart drop, he began to panic internally. How the hell could Ghost mention that so nonchalantly without a care in the world. It was so out of the blue, out of the ordinary, especially for Ghost. Fuck… Did he know? Did he find the drawings with poems attached to it? Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god!

“M-Meaning?” Johnny curses at himself for stuttering, now Ghost knows something is wrong.

“Nothin’, Gaz told me.”

It made Johnny spiral, Price was terrifying, and knew not to do anything stupid. Every man is one thing but fucking Graves? Graves?! How many balls did this guy have?

“Jesus Johnny.” Ghost sighs, watching Johnny pace around the room with his journal, now striking two hours, “What’s got your mind in a blender?”

“Price would bloody kill me.” Johnny mutters, grabbing his many journals and shoving them in his bag, “He’ll kill me and you’ll have to get a new Sergeant or a new Soap.”

“Why would Price-” Then it hit Ghost, looking like a deer in headlights but without his eyes widening. Nearly dropping his tea and with a heavy sigh, “Not only is it stupid for you, it’s also a lost cause. Believe me.”

Johnny’s head snaps towards Ghost’s direction and with a finger pointing at Ghost, “You?” Ghost just barely nods, and with his finger still pointing, he marches over, “You Ghost, you with your cold heart?” He mutters, afraid someone will overhear, “You fell for her too?”

“Believe it or not.” Ghost tells him. Ghost didn’t hate your guts, he just preferred to stay alive, “You’re a good soldier Johnny. I need you alive.” He walks away with his tea, leaving Johnny frozen in place with his finger still pointing at the air now and confused as hell.

Johnny was ready to take Ghost’s advice out of respect for Ghost and fearing death at Price’s hands.

He prepared himself to burn his journals and was ready to forget everything until a night where you joined them all at a bar. You went to Johnny first and happily sat next to him. Johnny was terrified that Price was gonna see, but he went out for a smoke and you went to the bathroom with him promising to watch your drink.

His patience could only go on for so long, you were taking longer than you said. Ten minutes now have passed and it was more than worrying, with your drink in hand, he began walking around the bar looking for you. He even asked strangers if they’ve seen you but nothing. Johnny begins to panic, Price was going to kill him!

He was ready to drop your drink and start searching outside, he started thinking of the very worst. Hundreds of scenarios played all at once, but your voice brought him out.

“Leave. Me. Alone.” You sternly told the man who still insisted, “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, I’m not interested.”

Yet Johnny saw red the second the man forced you up against the wall, his hands just stretched out and ready to touch you. Johnny threw your drink at the man’s back and tackled him onto the ground, repeatedly punching him over and over again, swearing in his tongue. Everything was drowned out and all he could hear was the sounds of his fist meeting the asshole’s face.

Ghost comes inside, wanting to know what the ruckus was all about. His eyes widen at the sight of Johnny on top of the man and you trying to get Johnny off, “Ghost! Help me!” You shout.

“Bloody hell Johnny!” Ghost runs and grabs Johnny by the back of his shirt and begins to drag him away, “Calm your ass down!” Johnny struggles against Ghost’s grip, managing to pull off his shirt and go back on the man, “Price! Gaz!” Ghost calls for help, “(Y/n) get back.” He tells you.

“Johnny stop!”

“Fucking hell Johnny!”

“You’re going to kill him!” You shouted, and with Gaz and Price helping Ghost, Johnny was finally pulled off the man. All eyes were on the three of you. Recording, shouts to continue the fight… God the bar looked like a mess.

Johnny huffs, looking at the guy unconscious and then you in tears. He comes to you, “Are you alright?” You nod, “What the hell happened?” As much as the man deserved to be beaten to death, there was a high chance Johnny will be disciplined or worse, discharged.

Price looks back at Johnny who’s still trying to go at him, “Let go of me Ghost!” Johnny growls.

“Get a hold of yourself!” Price helped Ghost get Johnny out of the bar with you following behind. You rushed over to the car, opening the door for Ghost and Price to throw Johnny inside and shutting the door.

Finally, Johnny calms down, slummed over the seats. He sat silently as you and your father entered the car, “What the hell happened?” He asks Johnny.

“I’ll bloody kill him.” You heard your father mutter under his breath. The ride home was silent, you shifted uncomfortably and took glances back at Johnny. Ghost and Gaz arrived in their own cars and they left in their own.

“Here is fine.” Johnny mumbles, pointing. Price stops the car, ready to protest but Johnny leaves.

Johnny didn’t know how far he walked, or how long has passed since the bar fight. A few times he kicked the snow, catching a few snowflakes on his tongue. Suddenly, he trips on his own feet and falls into the snow, he turns over onto his back and stares up at the sky.

You have never seen your father so angry before. You heard him over the phone with Laswell, convincing her that Johnny should not be disciplined for his actions, luckily she agreed but Johnny had to watch his anger and if it happened again, he would be in deep trouble.

“Johnny’s good.” Your father sighs, you join him outside with a blanket wrapped tightly around you and two cups of hot chocolate keeping your hands warm. You handed one over to your father, “Thanks kid… Something seems to be troubling his mind though. I’ve never seen him so distracted.”

“Like?”

“Like something’s keeping him occupied, always sticking his nose into that journal of his. Acting like… Like…” Then it hit your father who chuckled, “...Johnny’s in love. I knew it.”

You always held a grudge against your father for scaring away every person you’ve shown the slightest interest in, but you knew he tried his hardest, he wasn’t always going to be there for your greatest moments. That you held nothing against, you knew he really couldn’t control whenever he was called in, all you made sure was he was safe and returned home the same.

You fell for Johnny, he was like a golden retriever but more rough, tough? Everything about Johnny to his mohawk down to his love for writing in his journal, you found it cute.

But because they were all scared away, you learned to keep certain things to yourself. You lay your head on your father’s shoulder and he snaked an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer, “How are you feeling?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumble, “I just hope Johnny doesn’t feel like shit.”

Johnny knew the feelings for you weren’t going away, not even when he’s buried into the ground. He did in fact feel like shit, he knew Ghost had eyes on you first, he’d be a better fit. He got up from the snowy ground and continued walking, then took a seat on one of the benches. He doesn’t bother to wipe away the snow that has gathered.

Johnny could imagine spending his life with you, coming home to you and his children. A son and daughter, and you pregnant with the third. Placing a soft kiss against your lips as he then his children run up to him, scooping them into his arms.

“I love you (Y/n).”

“And I love you too Johnny.”

He can see his mother’s face, the faces of his sisters. He knows you would get along with them very well, and then comes your father…

“Go to bed, it’s getting late and it’s freezing.”

“Okay, night dad.”

“Sleep well (Y/n).” Placing a kiss on your forehead and releasing the grip he has on you, “And no reading in the middle of the night!” Earning a groan from you.

Even as the clock read 2 am, you couldn’t sleep, not without worrying about Johnny.

Johnny went home, he sat himself in the bathroom and began wrapping his knuckles and cleaning them on the blood still there. The cuts stung and burned but it was nothing to him. His house felt cold and empty, he would love a dog but considering he’s away, he didn’t want to leave the dog alone. Johnny began slipping off his shirt until a buzz caught his attention.

He stared at the unknown number for a few seconds before answering.

“...Hello?”

“Hey Johnny, it’s (Y/n)... How are you feeling?”

His heart fluttered, “I’m doing alright, what ‘bout you?”

“I think I’m okay, I don’t know. I’m more worried about you.”

He chuckles, “Don’t be, as you can hear, I’m alright.”

You quickly get up from your bed and lock your door, “Sorry you had to do that.” Then come to your bed.

“Don’t you dare apologize, it wasn’t your fault. If it makes you feel better, I’ll do it over and over again.”

Johnny wasn’t going to hold himself back any longer, you gave him the offer and he took it. Sneaking into your bedroom window and greeting you with a kiss, and from then on became like a dream to him until his nightmares took over…

“Captain.”

“Soap.”

Just weeks later, they were called for another mission. Johnny could only act as normal as anyone could possibly can, but he was terrible at acting, he couldn’t just act like he didn’t sleep with the captain’s daughter. Everyone could tell something was up but Johnny tried setting in hints that he was just missing home, nothing else.

“Welcome back L.T.” Johnny pats Ghost’s shoulder, sitting down and opening up his journal.

“...Got into another fight?” Ghost questions, staring at the bright bruise just barely peeking over the hem of his shirt.

“What?”

Ghost points at his own neck, “The bruise.”

Johnny looked at himself in the glass, seeing his barely visible figure and saw the bruise, “Bloody hell.” He curses pulling down his shirt more to see the extent of it. How didn’t he see this when he was getting ready?!

“Blew off some steam with someone?” Ghost asks, then he starts getting suspicious, “Or-”

“It’s nothing.” Johnny hurriedly spoke, trying to lift his shirt up so it doesn’t drag down and reveal it.

“Is what I’m hearing correct?” Gaz suddenly appears, a smirk right across his face as he sees Johnny’s bruise, “Soap finally got someone?”

Johnny shakes his head, “No, no. I-I just hurt myself.” He lies.

Gaz knew it was a complete lie, sure Johnny was clumsy but he wasn’t that clumsy, “Come on soap, we’re all friends here, no need to keep secrets.”

Johnny slowly turns around, horrified, “Does it really look that bad?” Johnny asks the two, “I mean… It’s not that bad right?”

Ghost and Gaz look at each other and then back at Johnny, “...It’s bad.” They both spoke, making Johnny panic internally.

“Fuck me!” Johnny roughly sighs, rushing off to somewhere without the two pointing out his bruise.

“What’s up with him?” Gaz looks at Ghost.

“...I don’t think it’s your best interest to find out.”

Johnny searched around his room, searching for anything metal to place in the freezer. Sure he had found a way to slowly hide the bruise, but the guilt was eating him up, especially looking at Price in the eye. How was he going to explain that the day before he had to leave, he slept with his daughter again, which explains the bruise. Before he thought it wasn’t going to show but his fears came true.

“I promise I’ll come back.” Johnny places a kiss on your shoulder, “And I promise to make your father proud.” He muttered against your skin, fearing to pull back.

“He already is proud of you.” You whispered.

Johnny snorts, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Sure Price was impressed with his skills but there was no way he was gonna be proud of seeing one of his soldiers with his daughter, the man would have a heart attack. The man already has enough gray hairs from the whole team.

Johnny thought of the way you said it, ‘Hello sir! I’m sleeping with your daughter!’

God no, that’s even worse.

Would Price give him a one minute head start before Price starts hunting him?

The possibilities always end up with Johnny somewhat being… He can’t stop thinking about it. It should’ve been enough to stop Johnny right now but he couldn’t, he couldn’t stop loving you. And Johnny had it all planned out, get Price somewhere alone and spit out what he was going to say but the angered look in his eyes from the failed mission was enough to scare him. This went on for months and each attempt failed with either him backing out or someone interrupted.

The first thing he wanted to do was get on a call with you when they all returned but he and the team were dragged back to the same bar. They drank, they laughed except for Ghost, shared some stories but for most of the night, Johnny remained silent as he drank straight from the third bottle. He was just more worried, freaked, paranoid…

The cheap booze burned his throat, made his stomach ache. Luckily the bar was quiet, them being the only group in the bar so far. He was trying to drink his sorrows away, trying to drown out their conversation and use his phone, but his vision made it impossible.

“So captain, anyone take the risk of dating your daughter?” Gaz asks.

Price laughs and shakes his head, “None and even if they did, I’ll put a bullet in their cocks.” Smoking his cigar, “And she’s growing up. In which I heard she caught some eyes.”

Johnny perks up, looking at their direction and listening.

“I’ll die before I let any bastard near my (Y/n).” His heart drops, “There was one man thought it was the best idea to ask for my blessing, I gave him a broken nose instead and told him to fuck off.” Johnny starts sweating, “And don’t get me started on what Graves said.”

“What did he say?”

“You know the usual thing that every man says about my daughter. I love her, she’s my whole world, I would do anything to make you proud, I can give you babies-”

Johnny didn’t have time to race to the bathroom, in fact, he didn’t know he was gonna throw up all over the floor. It startles Ghost and he nearly trips on his own feet trying to avoid the vomit. The burning sensation in his throat became worse when he coughed, the smell of booze and vomit made his nose scrunch up, falling to the floor in pain.

“Johnny!” Ghost rushes to Johnny’s side while avoiding the huge puddle, he tries to pull Johnny to his feet but he becomes limp and he begins to shake.

“Fuck-!” He coughs again, “I’m bloody- fuck!” Another round of vomit leaves his mouth and Ghost swears he got some on his shoe.

“Stop talking Johnny. Let’s just get you home.” One arm over Ghost’s shoulder, “Help me over here Gaz!” And Gaz was quick to come to Johnny’s side, ignoring the heavy smell of his vomit and drinking. Yet Johnny refuses to stand, dragging him out of the bar. Price throws a couple of hundred on the bar and apologizes the best he can.

“Open the door!”

“God it smells!”

Price opens the door and in goes Johnny, “What’s gotten into you?” Price asks Johnny, entering his car, “I’ve never seen you like this before.” Starting the car and driving away.

“I…” Johnny swallowed down the water given to him, “I’m just sorry is all.” Price hums.

“You’re in no position to stay home alone…”

The rest of the ride was like a blur, all he could remember was being helped out of the car and sitting on Price’s couch. He could hear a muffled voice in the background and not long when you appeared in his sight, fear was across your face as you watched him struggle to keep his eyes open.

“What happened?” You ask your father who held a rag in his hand, running it under the skin, “How many drinks did he take?”

“More like how many bottles did he drink.” Was all he said before twisting the rag tight, “I’ve never seen him like this before.” Handing you the wet rag.

You carefully wipe the sides of his mouth of the remaining vomit. Your father set down a trash can in front of Johnny, “Jesus.” You mutter, “How did you get like this?”

Johnny doesn’t answer, nor does he even try to reply. He just feels like shit, but couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the guilt. Yet you could see that it was both, you knew when your father returned that Johnny hadn’t said anything, if he did then he’d be asking questions.

You open your mouth to speak but Johnny is quick to shake his head, making you sigh in defeat, muttering the words, “Alright.” Before finishing cleaning his face from sweat and vomit.

Your father comes back with a bottle of ibuprofen in hand, “Take em’ and get some rest, you kid, shouldn’t be awake at this hour.”

“I’m fine.” You tell him, walking over the sink.

“...Then I need to talk to you (Y/n).” Your father follows you, leaning on the counter, “Is there something you aren’t telling me.” You shake your head, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“I’m fine dad, I’m just worried about Johnny, that is all.”

He perks an eyebrow, “You know (Y/n), I should trust you, and I do trust you. But what makes me so hesitant to trust you is a man sneaking in and out your window so late at night.” You freeze in place, “And this isn’t just once, a few times a week. Even the day before I left.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“(Y/n), you know I hate it when you lie to me.”

“There’s nothing going on.”

“I cannot even believe what I’m gonna say, the hell is MacTavish sneaking out of your window?”

Your eyes widen as you stutter, “W-we’re just friends it’s-”

“No big deal?” He lifts an eyebrow and hums.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is what MacTavish is doing in my daughter’s room. Are you two having sex? Don’t Graves and Ghost have their eyes on you? What the hell is going on?!”

“It’s no big deal!”

Your father sighs, “If you two are friends then tell me what he was doing in your room.” You try walking past him but he pulls you back, “(Y/n), I need to know if you are sleeping with one of my men.”

“Why do you need to know? It’s none of your business.”

“It becomes my business if I have to worry about MacTavish dying out in the field and telling you the news.” He holds onto your shoulders, “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“You really are stubborn.” He sighs for the hundredth time, “One wrong decision and I’ll kill him.” He swore, patting your back as he walked to his room.

You come to Johnny’s side, “Are you okay?”

“Bit woozy but I’ll live.” You help Johnny lay down on the couch, “...I’m sorry, if I hadn’t been sneaking around then I wouldn’t have ruined your relationship with your dad.”

“Well, he sorta came around but he did kinda threaten your life.”

Johnny shrugs, “That’s expected, but he’s right. There is a chance I may not come back.”

You cup Johnny’s face, “You always come back, Ghost, Gaz, and my dad always come back. Don’t doubt yourself.” You ignore the heavy smell of alcohol and vomit all over Johnny and miss him which he happily returns, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

Johnny was sure he was never going to let you go, holding onto you tighter and before he fell asleep, “I love you (Y/n).”

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fortheloveofwonderland · 1 year

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A War of the Heart - Chapter One | Luke Alvez x Fem! Reader

Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - Thirteen years ago, somewhere between the rolling desert and the trenches, you fell in love with your superior officer. Now he’s being introduced as the newest member of your team and feelings from the past are sure join him.

Category - heavy angst | smut | eventual happy ending

Content Warnings - talk of war time, superior / subordinate relationship, age gap (not a big one though), build up to smut, making out, some Spencer x Reader, mostly just set up.

Word Count - 3.7k

Chapter One

2010 - Diyala, Northeast Baghdad

The big thing they don’t tell you about serving overseas in the military is that a lot of the time, it was actually surprisingly normal. Sure, you’d spent time fighting in the trenches and on the frontline, but on the whole, army life was so much more ordinary than you’d expected.

A lot of your days were spent sweeping roads for bombs, or patrolling neighbourhoods, sometimes even visiting police and defence forces. Sometimes they were spent at the practice range or even in the little, but always busy, office building on your compound. Evenings entailed eating with your fellow rangers, sometimes playing a game of soccer in the dusty Earth out front. It had surprised you at first, but after all your years of active duty, you would relish in the mundane moments, knowing they never lasted all that long.

You’d been just twenty years old when you’d made the decision to sign up to the 75th Rangers Regiment. You’d always been a little wayward, never having much focus or a dream of where you saw your life going. Joining the army was a whim if you were perfectly honest, but now you’d been doing it for some four years, you couldn’t imagine yourself doing anything else.

Basic training had been anything but easy, between the rigorous physical training, combat skills, and weaponry training, you’d sometimes wondered what the hell you’d gotten yourself in for. It was the most difficult thing you’d ever put yourself through, but the sense of pride you felt after making it through those ten weeks was like nothing you’d ever felt before.

The army was probably the first place you ever felt you belonged. It challenged you every single day but you adored it with all of your heart. You’d made friends, some more akin to family. Non-military personnel didn’t understand what active duty was like, not the way a fellow soldier did, so you knew no one else outside of the army would ever get you the way they did. The army was your home, the rangers were your kin.

The small shower in your containerised housing unit hummed as it spat luke-warm water out of its faucet. The pressure wasn’t terrible, and the lack of hot water was often a godsend when you spent your day in the blistering desert heat in full fatigues. You let it roll over your skin, caressing you with its beads. You stayed under the flow maybe a little longer than was necessary, enjoying the privacy the private bathroom allowed you.

The housing on camp was admittedly better than some you’d lived in. Each soldier inhabited half of one of the prefabricated containers, separated from the other half by a large burlap curtain which offered some solitude even if they weren’t at all soundproof. You’d adorned your walls with a few posters, you had a little stereo system set up. It wasn’t like being at home, but it wasn’t half-bad.

You finally forced yourself to shut off the shower and stepped out onto the tiled floor, grabbing up your towel from the rack. Wrapping it around your body, you padded out from behind the curtain that divided the bathroom from the rest of the room.

A set of eyes stared at you from where he sat on the edge of your cot but you weren’t startled to see him. You mentally cursed yourself for not hearing him come in but you weren’t shocked by the intrusion.

He pushed himself to his feet when you entered the room, still in his cargo pants and tight fitting t-shirt that had probably been white when he donned it that morning. His bearded face was covered in smudges of dirt still, as were his strong bare arms.

“Sarg,” you wrapped your arms around your body, still dripping wet from your shower. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“It’s been a hectic few weeks.” He spoke in that slightly rugged, New York drawl of his.

“It has.” You agreed as he took a few steps closer to you. “You look like hell, sergeant.” Your lip twitched at the corner into a smirk, knowing you’d never get away with talking to another sergeant the way you did him.

He chuckled that deep, wall shaking laugh of his, rubbing his hand over his messy facial hair.

“I feel like hell.” He countered, coming to a stop right in front of you. “But I can think of a few things that would perk me up.”

When his large, calloused hands raised up and clamped down on your bare shoulders, a shudder passed up your spine the way it always did when he touched you.

“But what about…” you nodded your head towards the flimsy burlap excuse of a wall.

“Don’t worry about Reynolds, he owed me one. I told him to go and keep himself busy for an hour.”

“You need a whole hour, huh?” Your smirk grew as he moved dangerously closer to you. He smelt like sweat and dirt and it was intoxicating.

“It’s been three weeks, Y/L/N.” He hissed, pressing his body flush against yours while his hands started down your biceps, barely ghosting your skin.

You clamped your legs together, feeling a heat spreading between them.

“My point exactly. You’d think after all that time you’d only need a few minutes.” You teased him.

Another thing they didn’t tell you about was that the intrinsic need for human connection didn’t go away just because you were serving overseas in the military. If anything, it was heightened, the need to feel close to someone was multiplied to the Nth degree under such harrowing circumstances. And you’d found that in the arms of someone who was technically your boss, most certainly your superior.

He was six years your senior with much more military experience under his belt. You’d met on your first day of deployment on this tour and from the moment he shook your hand, you’d felt the heat between you. It had taken less than two weeks for that heat to boil over. The first time he’d kissed you, you’d pushed him away out of instinct mostly due to the fact he was a sergeant and you were a private.

“We can’t do this. You’re my boss.”

But he hadn’t been deterred, he simply chuckled, a sound that would never not make you weak at the knees and kissed you again.

“You find me attractive?”

“Yes.”

“If I wasn't your superior, would you want me to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s take rank off of the table, Y/L/N.”

Honestly that was all he’d had to say for you to allow him to take you to bed and it hadn’t been the last time. It had been some nine months now and you couldn’t say no to him if you tried.

One of his hands took purchase now on your waist, nails digging into the tawny fabric of your towel. His other travelled back up your arm and came to a stop on the item around your neck. It was a light, silver chain with a thin silver diamond encrusted antique ring hanging from it. He let his fingers brush over the pendant briefly before he suddenly cupped your jaw.

He held you in a way that was firm, not rough enough to hurt, but enough that told you, in no uncertain terms, that you belonged to him. As if you didn’t already know that. It forced you to look into his deep, dark eyes which had a habit of making you melt. He was gorgeous and he knew it. He could probably have any woman here but for some reason he’d chosen you.

His breath fanned across your face as he edged closer but he didn’t kiss you. His lips barely brushed over your own, causing an involuntary whimper to leave your throat. It made him laugh, he loved teasing you to the point you were a goddamn puddle in front of him. By day you were a strong, fierce army private, but in his presence you were a blithering mess, sometimes quite literally begging for him.

His lips moved across your cheek but didn’t quite touch your skin and then ghosted over the shell of your ear. His hand fell from your face to your chest where your towel was secured. With one flick of his wrist, the towel came undone and you let it drop to the floor, pooling at your feet.

He moved his head back a little, eyes casting down over your body that he’d long ago memorised every curve of. When he moved back closer to you, his lips once again brushed against yours, another pathetic whimper leaving your mouth.

He still didn’t kiss you as he brought his hands to your hips and gripped them securely, tugging you even closer so you could feel his growing erection through his pants.

“I’ve missed you.” He mumbled, his gentle tone a stark contrast to the way he held you.

You raised your arms and wrapped them around his neck.

“I missed you too, Sarg.”

He used his grip on your hips to drag you towards your bed where he pushed you back to the slightly hard mattress. You stared at him through hooded eyes and he smirked down on you while quickly dragging his t-shirt up his torso, over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him.

Small beads of sweat rolled down his hard abs, more dirt smeared across his defined chest. He was a work of art, there was no other way to describe him. It was as though he was sculpted, moulded into the perfect human form. His lip quirked into another smirk as he watched the way you looked him up and down.

“Like what you see, huh?” He chuckled, unbuttoning his cargos and slipping them over his ass and hips before letting them fall down his legs and stepping out of them.

“More so every time I see it.” You told him truthfully.

He laughed again but you knew by the look in his eyes that he could see right through you. Keeping his boxers on for the time being he finally climbed into your cot on top of you. He stroked your wet hair back off of your face and for a moment the lust in his eyes was replaced by something else.

“When do you leave?” He whispered, a knowing look in his eyes.

It was possible he could have heard on the grapevine, but you knew better. You found he often knew you better than you knew yourself. You’d clearly given it away in something you’d done or said. He was very apt at reading you.

A helicopter buzzed overhead, the walls rattling a little as it did so. You both ignored it, focused only on each other.

“How did you know?” You decided to ask to buy yourself more time.

“You’re never so nice to me,” he smiled a little sadly. “Normally if I asked you something like that you’d call me big headed or cocky. You’ve never once complimented me like that. So when do you leave?”

He was too astute for his own good, so much smarter than people gave him credit for.

“Five weeks. I’m being reassigned.”

“Where?”

“Afghanistan.”

You felt his chest heave with a sigh from his position on top of you and his eyes conveyed his sadness. But as quickly as it appeared it seemed to vanish again and he forced himself to smile.

“Well then,” he inched closer to you. “I guess we better make the most of the time we have left.”

He took hold of your face once again and butterflies erupted in your stomach as he got closer and closer, desperate for him to plant one on you.

The explosion of longing and need that coursed through your body was like no other feeling in the world when eventually he crushed his lips against yours and you finally got to kiss this magnetic man again. Even if it would all come to end sooner than the two of you planned. War always had taught you to live for the moment.

***

Present - Quantico, Virginia

The kiss was almost bruising in its force, something that was so unlike him. Usually he was much softer, careful as though you were made of glass and could break you if he were too rough. But after nearly a month away from each other his desperate need for you showed in that one kiss.

“Whoa there, at least try to keep it PG-13, remember where we are.” You laughed against his lips and he whined in response.

“It’s been almost a month.” He held your face in his hands, deepening the kiss.

“I’m aware,” you guided him gently back before he could get too carried away. “But we are at work.”

“Just let me kiss you,” he chuckled, stroking your cheek. “No one else is even here.”

He wasn’t wrong, the sixth floor office was empty at this time of the morning and you had missed him like crazy this past month. So when he leant back in to kiss you again, you didn’t stop him.

You’d both taken some much needed time off from the BAU, but your separate vacations had overlapped. He’d gone to Paris with his mom and gotten back a few days ago, while you’d gone to California a week after he’d left to visit some old college friends and today was your first day back at work.

When you joined the BAU two years ago, the last thing you’d been looking for was a relationship, least of all one with Doctor Spencer Reid. He was adorable and charming and certainly easy on the eyes but he was not your usual type. If you asked your friends what your type was they would give you one word: himbo. Brawn over brains was your typical cup of tea and Spencer couldn’t be further from that.

It was safe to say he’d worn you down over the course of the last few years. He’d made it clear he was interested in you and asked you out several times before finally, six months ago you decided to give him a chance. So far your usual type hadn’t worked out so well for you, what was the harm in letting Spencer take you for dinner?

The dinner had ended back at your place where the nerdy genius had more than surprised you with his skills in the bedroom. By the end of the night he’d rendered you delirious and from then on you hadn’t been able to stay away from him.

You’d tried to keep it a secret from the team but of course they were profiliers and it was only a matter of weeks before the whole team knew you were dating. It was easier that way, it meant at least if someone were to catch you right now as Spencer’s tongue slid back into your mouth and he pushed you up against the wall in the kitchen, it wouldn't be a complete shock to them.

“You’ve told me absolutely nothing about the new guy or about your trip.” You mumbled against his lips.

“Paris was great, and on the flight home mom managed to walk me through the whole thing unprompted.” He moved his lips to your cheek, pressing kisses against your skin. “And the new guy seems nice, he’s a great man hunter. Not sure what his profiling skills are like yet.”

His lips found their way back to yours again, silencing you once more. You let yourself succumb to him then, realising just how much you’d missed him. But it was entirely short lived as soon you were being sprung apart by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Spencer pulled back from you, glancing at the entrance of the kitchen where your audience stood, smirks on their faces.

“Welcome back Y/N.” Tara laughed at the blush spreading across your cheeks.

“I see boy wonder has already rolled out the welcome wagon.” Garcia raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“It’s been nearly a month.” Spencer straightened out his tie.

“I hope for both of your sakes we get out of here early tonight then.” Tara teased.

Spencer pulled a face like he was actually imagining the things he couldn’t wait to do to you and his frustration that he had to work all day first was evident.

“With escaped convicts still on the run, I doubt that but thanks anyway.” You smiled at Tara. “So someone needs to fill me in on this guy. Spence has told me next to nothing.”

“Urgh, must we talk about Newbie?” Garcia rolled her eyes behind her thick framed, lime green glasses.

“You don’t like him?” You asked but you looked between Tara and Spencer for answers.

“He’s not Morgan I guess.” Spencer shrugged.

“He most certainly is not!” Garcia huffed. “Mister tall, dark and blandsome thinks he’s all that.”

“He’s in the conference room with the others, come and meet him and decide for yourself. Don’t take Garcia’s word.” Tara motioned for you to follow her. “He’s an ex-military like you, you might find you have stuff in common.”

“Oh god, I thought I was done with army meatheads a long time ago.” You sighed as the four of you fell into step towards the round table room.

“Wasn’t he in the 75th?” Spencer frowned as he made the connection in his head. “You were in the 75th too right, Y/N?”

“It’s a big regiment, the chances of me knowing him are very…” you stepped into the room, eyes brushing past the others and landing straight on him.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you could hear the hum of a helicopter, feel the heat of the sun bearing down on you. The air felt thick and heavy like it did back in the Iraqi desert all those years ago. If you focused hard enough you could even feel the dust and sand clinging to your skin.

It couldn’t possibly be, but somehow it was. There he was in front of you, Sergeant Luke Alvez of the 75th Rangers Regiment, only older with much less facial hair. His caramel skin was less sunkissed and dirty than you remembered, his hair shorter and well tamed. He was still just as muscular as you remembered him to be. His tight grey t-shirt hugged his biceps and stretched across his strong chest.

He stepped forward, those eyes that always had a way of turning you to jelly never leaving you. His lip started to quip into a smile as he got closer to you but you couldn’t do anything but stare. Your heart hammered wildly against your chest, you were never supposed to see him again.

“Sergeant Alvez?” You croaked out, easily falling back into your army days, straightening your back and stopping just shy of saluting him.

Luke chuckled with a shake of his head, fishing in his back pocket for the new credentials Hotch had just bestowed upon him that morning.

“Actually it’s SSA Alvez now. As of an hour ago.” He smiled brightly at you. “It’s been a long time, Y/L/N.”

“Big regiment huh?” You heard Tara behind you.

“You two know each other?” Spencer frowned between the two of you.

“We did a tour of Iraq together, before I was reassigned to Afghanistan.” You spoke to Spencer but didn’t take your eyes off of Luke.

“I was her boss.” Luke’s eyes sparkled in a way you’d seen many times before but not for a very long time. It was the way he always looked right before he kissed you. “But we were-“

“Friends. We were good friends.” You cut him off before he had a chance to finish that sentence.

You turned away from him, just catching the smirk he sent your way as you did. You felt your cheeks burning a hundred shades of red.

“You can catch up later,” Hotch thankfully spoke up. “We’ve got a case.”

One day you’d have to thank Hotch for his perfect timing. For now you fell down into a chair next to Spencer and tried to ignore the looks Luke was sending your way while Garcia delivered the case details.

Luke Alvez. Luke fucking Alvez. Of all the jobs in all the world, he had to encroach on yours.

You had absolutely no doubt in your mind that things were going to get messy.

***

The case took the team to Los Angeles where two teenagers had been burnt to death in an abandoned building. It took its toll on JJ more so than anyone who always had a habit of getting a little too close to cases involving kids.

But JJ would be the least of your concerns. Even on the jet out to California you felt Luke’s eyes on you even when someone else was speaking. You tried to ignore it but he made that really difficult to do. And if you noticed it, it probably meant everyone else had as well, you couldn’t hide things from profilers.

Once the case talk was over, conversation had inevitably turned to you and Luke’s past. You hadn’t even touched down in LA and you already wanted off of this case.

“How long did you serve together?” It was Spencer who asked the question, and you didn’t miss the suspicion in your boyfriend's tone.

“Uh, what was it Y/L/N? Like nine months?” Luke’s lip was twitching into a smirk.

“Something like that.” You agreed, focusing out of the window.

“How long ago?” JJ joined in the line of questioning.

“It was two thousand ten. So almost thirteen years.” Luke finally looked away from you at JJ.

“And that was the last time you saw each other?” It was Rossi’s turn to ask.

If anyone noticed your back go rigid thankfully no one mentioned it. You turned away from the window at the same time Luke looked back at you. A silent understanding passed between the two of you, somehow even after all the time you were still so in sync.

“Yes.” You spoke simultaneously.

After that the line of questioning seemed to end and you all fell into companionable silence. But you kept feeling Luke’s gaze lingering on you.

#luke alvez #luke alvez x reader #luke alvez x fem!reader #luke alvez fanfic #luke alvez fanfiction #luke alvez smut #luke alvez angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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venomous-ragno · 1 year

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Writing advice...

... About military things by a soldier :)

Disclaimer: My experiences and knowledge are mostly based on the German military, the Bundeswehr. They may differ from those of other countries.

Warning: This part is dedicated to PTSD. Don't read if you're uncomfortable and / or triggered by the topic.

Happy writing y'all :)

Pt. 8 / ?: Combat injuries 2 - PTSD

What even is PTSD?

PTSD stands for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It can develop in people who have experienced or witnessed a shocking, scary or dangerous event. PTSD has been called many things in the past, most notably known as "shell shock", "combat fatigue" or "war neurosis".

People with PTSD have intense, disturbing thoughts and feelings related to their experience that last long after the traumatic event has ended. They may relive the event through flashbacks or nightmares, feel sadness, fear or anger, and they may feel detached or estranged from other people. People with PTSD may avoid situations or people that remind them of the traumatic event, and they may have strong negative reactions to something as ordinary as a loud noise or an accidental touch.

How does PTSD come to be?

When faced with a traumatic event, the body replies by going into fight or flight mode. This causes a cascade of physiological effects, such as an increased heart rate, rapid breathing, dilated pupils and increased muscle tension. After the threat has passed, the body initiates a relaxation response to help calm us down. When body and mind are unable to return to the state they have been in prior to the traumatic event, that's when the person in question has developed PTSD. They cannot fully leave the state of heightened tension, awareness and readiness.

Symptoms

Symptoms of PTSD fall into the following four categories, although symptoms can vary in severity.

• Intrusion: Intrusive thoughts such as repeated, involuntary memories, distressing dreams, or flashbacks of the traumatic event. Flashbacks may be so vivid that people feel they are reliving the traumatic experience or seeing it before their eyes.

• Avoidance: Avoiding reminders of the traumatic event may include avoiding people, places, activities, objects and situations that may trigger distressing memories. People may try to avoid remembering or thinking about the traumatic event. They may resist talking about what happened or how they feel about it.

• Alterations in cognition and mood: Inability to remember important aspects of the traumatic event, negative thoughts and feelings leading to ongoing and distorted beliefs about oneself or others (e.g., “I am bad,” “No one can be trusted”); distorted thoughts about the cause or consequences of the event leading to wrongly blaming self or others, ongoing fear, horror, anger, guilt or shame, much less interest in activities previously enjoyed, feeling detached or estranged from others or being unable to experience positive emotions (a void of happiness or satisfaction).

• Alterations in arousal and reactivity: Arousal and reactive symptoms may include being irritable and having angry outbursts, behaving recklessly or in a self-destructive way, being overly watchful of one's surroundings in a suspecting way, being easily startled, or having problems concentrating or sleeping.

Many people who are exposed to a traumatic event experience symptoms similar to those described above in the days following the event. For a person to be diagnosed with PTSD, however, symptoms must last for more than a month and must cause significant distress or problems in the individual's daily functioning. Many individuals develop symptoms within three months of the trauma, but symptoms may appear later and often persist for months and sometimes years. PTSD often occurs with other related conditions, such as depression, substance abuse, memory problems and other physical and mental health problems.

Certain factors increase the risk of developing PTSD:

• Age: PTSD is more common in younger age groups

• Intensity of combat exposure: Directly related to the persistence of symptoms

• Other psychological conditions: Conditions like depression can increase the risk of developing PTSD

• Sleep problems: Multidimensional relation - PTSD often causes sleep problems, which can worsen a person's physical and mental health, thus putting them at risk to develop other conditions

• Lack of social circles: Having no one to turn to and loneliness can negatively impact PTSD; having someone helps patients stick to their treatment plan, as well at supporting them through intrusive symptoms

Conclusion: Genetics, social support, neurological influences and past experiences can play an important role in developing PTSD. PTSD often becomes chronic, especially when other factors are involved.

That being said - what is it actually like to have PTSD?

I suffer from PTSD and these are some of my symptoms that I experience. They vary in intensity and combination; despite how severe they may sound, I've long learnt to deal with them, so they don't impact my life as strongly as one may think.

PSTD is personal. It differs from person to person. This portion is simply meant to help my fellow writers out there, cause let's be real, most some of them don't know jack about PTSD and it shows.

• Flinching at sudden / quick movements, bright lights and loud noises. That being said, I'm not afraid of thunderstorms in the slightest, nor of fireworks and similar. The noises may make me flinch and feel uncomfortable, perhaps anxious if I'm sleep deprived.

• Structure + control = safety. Everything needs to be in the order I memorised it in. When my friends are talking about meeting up I need an exact date, time and plan on what we're gonna do. Receiving gifts makes me uncomfortable cause I don't know what I'm being gifted.

• Being generally distrusting and overly alert to a point it borders on paranoia.

• I always need to carry my military issued combat knife with me wherever I go. I know I don't need it, but going out without some kind of means to defend myself makes me feel deeply uncomfortable and at times anxious. ("What if?")

• Having a hard time calming down and relaxing even when I desperately need some rest. I tend to pace the room, feeling restless and even on edge at times.

• Insomnia. My sleeping cycle is a roulette wheel.

• Nightmares; not the kind where I relive trauma as it happened, but those where the trauma repackages itself into ever new things. (e.g. someone who previously harmed me chasing me with an axe through the dark)

• Random noises that sound and remind of trauma related ones. Has my head snap and ears perk up, takes a few moments to realise it's something else entirely.

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty headcanons #cod mw2 imagine #call of duty x you #ptsd

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detergentbubble · 6 months

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i stand in front of you but more closer than you, are guns pointing to my heart. / my mouth holds up roses, with thorns unseen to any eye; & only your lips had once witnessed its buried glory. / how the blood that seeps out tasted like oranges of your land. your oranges, which grow in your fields, where my grandfather buried its seeds. it's your land now. and i am simply someone who can hold its taste on my tongue, and yet never afford it. / the autumn breeze that ambled around our breaths entombing all my worries around my throat, no longer trespasses the honeycomb in your eyes / i suffocate here, of this terrifyingly hopeful spring, these angelic cornices of Jerusalem where we roamed at night, these media cards, and every grenade shell in your waistbag. / i am envious of the air that floats through your lands, & also of your silence, when i ask if it can float here too. / your silence which is meaningless for now, because we are too early in history to remember you for white phosphorus. / tell your leaders, that they might have stolen so many dreams of my youth, but i have stolen an orange whose branches crossed its lines. tell them how you can stutter so many reasons to love me, and i can only tell you of how these become reasons for me to never fall in love again. / for love in my language meant you had to sacrifice your life to 60 words. Ichk, Wajd, Huyem... words from which I had to untangle you, one by one, when you can only lend me one word from your colonial vocabulary. the same word you would use for both mahmoud and massacre. / walking past ramallah, i heard the rumor and it was true, I cannot afford the oranges that were once of my lands, the way i could afford holding your grief hostage. if it was a matter of affording, i would convince all my traditions to leave all the fields to you. but i wont. / you were the orange which hung to my backyard, which i had stolen. which i had stolen from the tree that grows behind the border.

in the dire dust of jenin, as the blood overcasts the boastful crawl of military tanks / i dance infront of the soldiers with roses in my mouth. / in the dire dust of jenin, i was not trembling of the rifles destined towards me, / but of you standing with them looking so ordinary into my eyes. / i stand infront of you / but more closer than you, are guns pointing to my heart.

fleurentcue, rita and the rifle

#poetry #palestine #free palestine #mahmoud darwish

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natequarter · 8 months

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48 for Humphrey’s body and a ghost of your choice 💚 ~ thelastplantagenet

48: “Your hands are so cold, let me help.”

Link | Ao3

Nineteen years of death had necessarily accustomed the Captain to oddities, like television in colour or questionable seventeenth-century medical advice. With time, he had even come to look Thorne in the eyes without being doused in bloody memories of wartime hospitals and the shrill of gunfire. But he had never quite got used to the presence of a Tudor in two parts.

There was nothing particularly concerning about the man himself; Humphrey was perfectly affable, and despite his at best spotty knowledge of the twentieth century and unnerving skill for imitating anyone who walked past, be that on television or in real life, he was decent enough company, when he could be found.

No, the problem was that he was always losing his head. The Captain had seen him whole precisely zero times this decade, and only once in the entirety of his haunting. Even then, his encounters with Humphrey’s head were scattershot, and invariably ended with him excusing himself as politely as possible after getting too detailed a look up the man’s neck.

You could see everything. It was a surgeon’s dream and a soldier’s nightmare.

The view was an unpleasant reminder that they were all very dead, which was inevitably also a reminder that they were trapped here, and with Thorne, too, and that the Captain’s daily routine (amongst other things) was, in fact, bluster and farce. He was not a soldier; there was no war to fight. Dwelling on that for too long was enough to destroy even the strongest of men.

And then there was Humphrey’s body, which was not so much frightening as disturbing. Oh yes, it had scared him witless upon their first meeting, he could admit that now; but the Captain had come to regard the stumbling fellow as a strange sort of friend. A friend who could not speak, hear, or otherwise understand anything he said or did, yet reacted like any ordinary person to physical touch. In short, it (he?) seemed to be in possession of a full personality, and yet with only limited capacity for comprehension and self-expression. It raised troubling questions about autonomy.

The Captain’s life had prepared him for many things. It had not prepared him for a headless man with wandering hands.

“Off,” he ordered Humphrey’s body. “I say, get your hands off me this instant! If you want something, you need only—” Well, not ask. He couldn’t ask any more than the Captain could eat. “Good God, man, your hands are cold. Let me help.”

Humphrey’s body paused, then moved strangely, tipping its shoulders. It was as if it was trying to cock its head—a head which was most likely somewhere around the basement, or being used for football practice.

The Captain sighed, and took Humphrey’s hands, which had somehow found their way from his shoulders to his waist. They were freezing, which he supposed made sense, seeing as he no longer had any circulation. Or perhaps it was the chill of the January air.

Perhaps Humphrey had died in winter, already cold and alone. The Captain didn’t know.

“Now, a good way to warm up the extremities is—where the bally hell do you think you’re going?”

Humphrey’s body had an unfortunate tendency for wandering off.

The Captain caught him by the wrist, then took his body’s other wrist, and held his hands together. “Now, rubbing the hands together generates friction, and friction generates heat, so unless you plan on going for a jog, I suggest you do that.”

The Tudors, he reflected, probably hadn’t invented morning runs yet.

“Excuse me, are you even listening?”

Humphrey’s body turned in the direction of his voice. So he was listening, after all. But he didn’t have any way to communicate with the Captain. How frustrating for both of them.

But he could respond to touch.

“That’s it!” the Captain said. “Humphrey, pay attention very carefully to what I am about to say. I am going to tap on your shoulder. One finger for short, two for long. Do you understand?”

His body swayed. It was hard to tell if that was a yes or a no.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

He turned Humphrey around, holding him still with his left hand. With his right hand, he tapped out a message:

HOW ARE YOU?

It was slow, but it worked. Humphrey didn’t seem too displeased, either; he leant into the touch. If he’d had a head, he might have smiled contentedly, eyes closed.

Humphrey settled his right hand on the Captain’s chest, splaying his fingers. Then, very slowly:

C…

A…

Was he writing out the Captain’s name?

K…

Cake?

R…

Then Humphrey put his hand on the Captain’s shoulder, too, and held it there.

Ah. So he was just writing nonsense.

“What on earth are you doing?” Thorne said, wandering in unannounced.

“Nobody asked for your opinion,” the Captain snapped. “But since you’re so fatally curious, I am attempting to communicate with Humphrey here via Morse Code.”

“They key word being attempt,” Thorne said. “It’s doomed to failure.”

“Why? Do you have so little faith in Humphrey?”

“No, but he doesn’t know Morse code.”

“Balderdash!” the Captain said. “Everyone knows Morse code.”

“What are you on about? He died before Morse code was invented! We all did! Except Lady Button, I suppose, but I don’t see why you would want to talk to her in Morse code, or indeed why she would wish to talk to you at all.”

“Perhaps you should ask her yourself,” the Captain retorted, “and then you might learn just why nobody wants to talk to you—Humphrey, stop moving!”

His body had attempted to break free from the Captain’s grasp, and was making a dash for it. Predictably, he had gone in the wrong direction, colliding into the Captain and nearly sweeping him off his feet.

Fortunately, he was still just as limber and athletic as the day he’d died.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the Captain said. “Why are you still here, Thorne?”

“I found Humphrey’s head, and volunteered to put him out of the misery of his sordid lack of limbs, and his body out of the misery of hugging you.”

“We are not ‘hugging.’”

“Are you? It looks like that to me,” Thorne said, pretending at innocence. Indeed, Humphrey’s hands had wandered again: this time, around his back.

“That is his prerogative,” the Captain said stiffly. “Now, if you really are here to reunite head and body, how about you bally well hurry up with it? Run along, Thorne, before Humphrey’s body outpaces you.”

“Fine,” Thorne said, stalking out again, and then: “Miserable old walrus.”

“I heard that,” the Captain snapped.

Humphrey’s body was doing something. He wasn’t quite sure what, until he realised why he looked like he was choking: it was laughter.

“Oh, not you too,” the Captain said, but he made no effort to peel Humphrey off him.

#asks #humphrey bone #the captain #bbc ghosts #fic

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thezeinterviews · 20 days

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yle: No normal life

In a rare interview with Yle's Hanna Visala, Olena Zelenska talks about what the war has done to her family.

Hanna Visala

A car whizzes past roadblocks, sandbags and soldiers standing guard. We stop at two checkpoints to show our identity papers and equipment.

We finally reach our destination, the Ukrainian Presidential Office. In this heavily guarded building in the heart of Kiev, we get a rare interview. Ukraine's First Lady, the wife of Volodymyr Zelensky, has agreed to be interviewed by Yle.

- I'm fine, thanks for asking, says Olena Zelenska with a smile.

The question is an important one for Olena Zelenska. Zelenska runs a mental health programme called How Are You, and she asks the question to the Ukrainians she meets every day.

- I try to ask people how they are doing as often as I can, she says.

When Russia launched a major offensive in Ukraine just over two years ago, Olena Zelenska found herself in a role she had not expected.

The renowned screenwriter, who had written the role of her actor husband's President in the popular Ukrainian TV series Servant of the People, had suddenly become the wife of the President of a country at war.

The Zelensky's were thus already partners in a previous life, then in the TV production business.

- I remember waking up the morning after the attack. I thought it was all just a bad dream until I realised it was real, a terrible reality. It was a shock for all of us, Olena Zelenska, wife of the Ukrainian President, now recalls the beginning of the war.

She says there is not a day when the war is not on her mind. At moments, she says she is still able to live almost normally.

- When I help my son with his homework or we take care of our pets. But when the air raid siren goes off, we go back to reality, Zelenska says.

Like thousands of other Ukrainians, Zelenska and her children wake up to the sound of night-time shrieks. Zelenska describes the bomb shelter used by her family as "just an ordinary basement".

When the alarm is over, Zelenska returns with her children, Oleksandra, 19, and Kyrylo, 11, to their beds to sleep.

- In the morning, I wake the children for school, and we get on with life, but the pressure of war is ever-present. Life is not normal.

This Instagram post shows how life was still normal for the family before the war.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Olena Zelenska (@olenazelenska_official)

instagram

The war has torn apart thousands of families. The Zelensky family has also been forced to live apart because of the war. For the first two months, President Zelenskyi could not see his family at all.

The family is still living apart: the mother and children with each other and the father elsewhere.

Married for more than 20 years, communication between the couple is mainly limited to phone calls, sometimes video chats. However, they can now visit each other at least occasionally. And so it was today, just before the interview.

- My husband unexpectedly came to greet me in my office. We saw each other for ten minutes, says Olena Zelenska with a smile.

Commuting together provides a momentary relief.

- Even though the trips are busy and short, it feels like we are travelling together," says Zelenska.

My son, 11, is a military expert

The Zelenskyis' children spent their childhood and adolescence in the midst of war. Oleksandra, the first-born of the multidisciplinary parents, has followed in her father's footsteps and is studying law. The former TV star and current President also studied law. Olena Zelenska is an architect by training.

Olena Zelenska says that her daughter Oleksandra is now able to meet her friends.

And how often do the children see their father? Very rarely," says Zelenska.

- Then the children take every minute of his attention. The daughter talks about her studies, asks for advice, and the son clings to him, says Zelenska.

Zelenska mourns the fact that her children and all other Ukrainian children are missing out on the precious years of their youth and childhood.

- My daughter's daily routines are related to her studies, but she has no plans for the future. It is sad for me as a mother, says Zelenska.

According to her mother, her son Kyrylo has become almost a military expert.

- He knows all the types of missiles that Russia launches at us. He can also calculate their speed, says Zelenska.

As a mother, she would love to be proud of one of her child's other skills, she says.

- I wish my son could be interested in music, art, sports and not dream of being a military assistant or an air raid warden.

Arms aid has also been on Olena Zelenska's mind lately. Russia has got the upper hand in the war, and anti-aircraft missiles are dwindling by the day.

Relief is evident on the face of Ukraine's First Lady when the talk turns to the arms aid package finally approved by the US.

- It is a huge achievement. It really gives strength and hope. I thank everyone who worked to make it happen, says Zelenska.

Although the US arms package will not solve the war, it brings hope and a message that Ukraine has not been abandoned.

- It means that it will be easier for us to withstand bombardments and protect our people.

The job of the spouse of the President of a country at war is not an easy one. The spouse must stand by the people, create hope, represent and humbly ask for help from other countries.

Zelenska says she has heard countless stories of survival and countless sad stories, too. She spends almost all of her time helping her country to survive at a time when global war fatigue is beginning to show. Where does she get her strength from?

- When I succeed in repairing what the war has shattered and ruined. When I meet people, she responds.

Children kidnapped by Russia

Zelenska considers the most horrifying phenomenon of the war to be children stolen by Russia.

The Ukrainian authorities estimate that more than 19,500 Ukrainian children have been abducted by the Russians since the war began. Entire orphanages have been emptied, according to Ukraine.

According to the UN, this is a war crime. Ukraine has so far managed to return only 380 missing children.

- Some of the children have managed to self-report, use the telephone or internet and have been able to contact NGOs that have helped them, said Zelenska.

Zelenska has met children who have escaped from Russia. They have told her how school education in Russia is propaganda. Children are being trained to be Russian.

- They are taught that Ukraine does not exist. That no one is looking for them. It is psychological brainwashing. These children's lives are being destroyed.

According to Zelenska, orphaned children can disappear completely because Russia changes the spelling of their names. Names that look the same in Ukrainian and Russian are pronounced differently.

- When a name is entered in the Russian register according to the Russian pronunciation, the child can no longer be found by name, explains Zelenska.

- We also have information that Ukrainian boys aged 18 have been forced to join the ranks of the Russian army. It is terrible.

Ukraine has formed an international alliance with Canada to repatriate Ukrainian children.

- We are trying to create mechanisms to put pressure on Russia to provide information about the children and how to get them home, says Zelenska.

We do not want to return to the Soviet Union

Zelenska remembers when Ukraine gained independence from the Soviet Union in December 1991. She was 13 years old at the time.

- I remember the referendum on independence. Almost everyone wanted it. We got freedom and looked to the future with optimism.

And now, more than 30 years later, Ukraine has to fight for that freedom. Zelenska sighs.

- We don't want to go back to the Soviet reality, where there were no rights and no freedoms.

How does Olena Zelenska believe it will all end, and where does she see herself in five years' time?

- We do not know when the suffering will end. But I believe in the victory of Ukraine because it is the right thing to happen. Because that is how things should be in a just world.

Only then, she says, will it be time for the second question.

- Then, I start dreaming about what will happen in five years.

Article

#olena zelenska #russia #ukraine #war #ze interview #olena interview #olena selenska #2024 #interview 2024 #zelenska #selenska #yle #yle interview

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