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justfandomwritings · 2 years

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Who Did This To You? (Hangman)

Pairing: Hangman x Female!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 10.2k because I have no self control

Summary: In your most vulnerable hour, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin is the one to find you, and the one to ask you the ultimate question. "Who did this to you?"

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse and DV (NOT committed by Jake), nongraphic description of resulting injuries, a very one-sided bar fight, mention that a character is going to therapy, insults and confrontation by a past abuser. (This story is a who did this to you trope. While it is only dealing with the 'who did this to you' aftermath of what was done, please keep that in mind.)

Notes: This is just an excuse to write the who did this to you trope. This is self indulgence at its finest.

“Who did this to you?”

Your head shot up a little too quickly at the unexpected company, and the world began to spin all over again. With a groan, you laid your head back on the bartop, hoping the flat wood would help the world right itself faster.

You’d been lying there with your forehead pressed on the cool wood of the bar, sitting directly under an air vent, for the better part of thirty minutes. The Hard Deck’s AC was working overtime to keep the heat outside, and the rush of cold air blowing down the back of your shirt was doing wonders for your sore arms and back.

“Hurricane, who did this to you?”

You hadn’t been expecting anyone to be there. Everyone else was down at the beach. You thought you’d have some time alone to lick your wounds and cover your bruises and emotionally recover from what had happened that morning. Penny was too busy watching Maverick. The aviators were too engrossed in a new game Maverick had invented called dogfight volleyball, and the bar was technically closed at this hour. You thought you could slip by and start your shift sight unseen.

“Hurricane,” The voice was firm, but not demanding. Underwritten with a tone of concern that was very uncommon to that particular voice. “Hurricane,” it repeated.

You opened your eyes and rolled your head to lay facing the voice’s direction and made eye contact with Hangman.

You knew it was him before you turned, but for some reason you still did.

Backlit by the sun’s rays bouncing off his perfect golden hair with an open button-up billowing in the sea breeze, he stood in sharp contrast to your current state. Like an angel stepping out of heaven and into hell.

In some ways, this was your worst case scenario. Hangman was definitely not your favorite pilot and was very close to your least, and he was certainly not your friend. You were at best frenemies and even that was a stretch. The pair of you had been constantly bickering and making snide comments behind the other’s backs since practically the moment you made eye contact with each other. He intentionally made your life difficult behind the bar, and you rang the bell on him on multiple occasions.

He was responsible for everyone calling you Hurricane. You’d come crashing through the doors on your first day working at the Hard Deck with a torrential downpour following you in from outside. A drowned cat would’ve looked less soaked through and pathetic than you, and the moment Penny introduced you to the squad, he’d made a snide remark about the Hurricane you brought with you. The rest was history. It became like a callsign to them; your name long forgotten by most. The only pilot who didn’t call you Hurricane now was Bob, and it ground your gears just a little bit more every time you heard it.

On the other hand, this might’ve been the best case scenario. Hangman wasn’t someone who was going to make a big show of this. He wouldn’t rush down to the beach and ask for help. He wouldn’t fawn over you or ask you if you were okay a million times. He wouldn’t expect you to cry on his shoulder and incessantly pick at you until you broke down.

“Who did this to you?” Hangman took a step in from where he’d frozen in the door out to the patio.

His expression was like his voice, hard and firm with undertones of the worry that anyone would be feeling in this situation. Hangman wasn’t the nicest guy you knew, but you knew from the other pilots stories of the many times he’d saved their lives that he wasn’t evil, and you didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d at least be somewhat concerned even if he didn’t care particularly for you.

“You already know who.”

It was true. Devin had been in the bar about once a week for the last six months that you’d been dating. He’d made the rounds through the aviators, none of whom particularly liked him but all of whom had been polite enough not to say anything… except Hangman.

The second Devin left after his first introductions, Hangman had made his distaste known. ‘Something’s off about that guy,’ he’d said before the door even closed. Phoenix had teased him about being jealous that his snarky banter was no longer the center of your world, but you’d seen it for what it was. A combination of being angry he wasn’t the center of attention and looking to defy you at every turn that was a uniquely Hangman blend.

Hangman approached you slowly, taking one deliberate step at a time. Every step with such obvious forethought that it gave you the time and the option to back away. A detail you wouldn’t have expected from such an ego-centric man.

You didn’t back away. Hangman was a lot of things, most of them negative, but you could say with absolute certainty that you weren’t afraid of him. For all the times you’d yelled at him, you’d never been scared of his physicality, and for all the times he'd yelled at you, his hand had never so much as twitched.

Standing beside you, under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights that threw your skin into sharp relief, Hangman had a full view of the damage.

“That fucker,” his voice was a harsh, raspy whisper, “I’m gonna kill him.” His hand seemed to lift of its own accord. Flat, open palmed and always within your line of sight, he reached up and stroked his fingers along your cheekbone with a feather-light touch.

“I already dumped him.” You don’t know why you felt like explaining yourself to Hangman of all people, but maybe it was the determination in his eyes. The way he stared down at your cheek like his eyes could will the twing of pain away.

Hangman gave a half-hearted, inattentive nod. “That’s certainly a start.” He looked like gears were turning in his head, like he hadn’t given up on his first idea.

A flood of memories came back to you.

‘The only active duty pilot with a confirmed air-to-air kill.’ Coyote, introducing Hangman.

‘We call him Bagman, cause he’ll kill anyone and get anyone killed. He doesn’t seem to mind.’ Omaha commenting on Hangman’s aim at the dartboard.

‘That’s his second air-to-air kill.’ Bob, telling you what he could about the mission they’d just come back from.

‘Hangman’s deadly in the sky. I wouldn’t wanna cross him.’ Rooster, finally being honest about what he thought of Hangman, after the blonde saved his life.

Hangman had killed before, and in his line of work, with his level of skill, likely would again. He definitely didn’t mean what he said, certainly not literally. He wasn’t about to rush out to his truck and go hunting Devin in the streets, but it wasn’t something he of all people would say entirely jokingly either.

You slowly sat up in your chair. The world was spinning less now. Whether that was because the nausea was finally passing or because Hangman’s hand stayed on your cheek, grounding you in the moment, it was unclear. “I appreciate your concern,” you hedged, “but really, I’m fine. I can handle myself.”

Hangman snorted and let his hand fall away. “Obviously you can; you already kicked his ass to the curb on your own. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna kill him for good measure.” Hangman hopped up on the bar and swung his legs over.

You probably should’ve objected to his comfort level invading your workspace. Penny was very explicit that no one was allowed behind the bar who didn’t work there and even more explicit that that applied to all naval aviators. Somehow, though, you doubted Hangman would rat you out, at least not today.

“Are you going to tell Penny?” Hangman mozied around behind the bar, picking up a rag and tossing it over his shoulder. He was looking for something, but he didn’t seem inclined to ask. You weren’t any more inclined to offer.

It would’ve broken whatever moment was passing between you. Caring? Camaraderie? You weren’t sure, but there was certainly some level of understanding that remained largely unspoken.

Hangman found what he was looking for in short order anyway. He flipped open the ice cooler and pulled the rag off his shoulder, filling it with a scoop of ice and tying the ends.

“Not now,” you were disinclined to bring it up to Penny.

The Hard Deck was a Navy bar, and Penny had made a lot of powerful friends. Hell, you had a lot of powerful friends if you were willing to use them; one of them, or at least a powerful person who was willing to help you, was standing right in front of you. You could only imagine what would happen to Devin if you told anyone. All of it would be deserved of course, but you doubted most of it would be legal. And that really wasn’t what you needed right now, and you weren’t ready to have that conversation anyway.

“Hold this to your cheek. You wanna get the swelling down,” In a reversal of roles, he leaned against the bar in the place that was normally yours and offered you his makeshift ice pack.

You took it with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Hangman nodded with a thoughtful expression, watching your hand raise it to your cheek, “I’ll let you tell them in your own time, but you’re going to go to someone to help you through this until then… professionally.”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t leaving room for debate. It was an order as plain as any he got in the Navy.

You nodded wordlessly against the ice pressed to your face. It was a reasonable expectation, a reasonable request. You weren’t sure if you needed it or not, but you supposed that was the point. You weren’t sure. Better to go too soon than too late.

“Good,” Hangman sighed, seeming relieved, and pushed off the bar. His muscles flexed with the motion, bulging against the short sleeves of his open button-up shirt. They remained tense as he crossed his arms over his chest. His teeth gritted behind his closed lips. “I’ll keep him out of the bar.”

“Hangman, you really don’t have to-”

“He hurt you.” Hangman cut you off with a dismissive wave of his hand. He looked serious, deadly serious. “That’s all I need to know. He’s not welcome here anymore.”

Before you had the chance to respond, not that you were entirely sure how you would, Hangman’s eyes left yours, staring at something over your shoulder out towards the beach.

“Do you have any makeup for that cheek?”

Your head turned, and you saw the outlines of Penny and Mav, arm in arm, making their way back to the bar. “Yeah,” you replied, “But my shoulder is a different story. I need to go find…”

Hangman jerked his button up off his shoulders and balled it up, tossing it across the bar to you. “Go quick. Put this on.”

“Hangman, I-”

“Go.” Hangman urged, and you ran off before Penny could see the two of you.

—------------------------------------------------

Your phone kept buzzing in your pocket, but you didn’t have time to check it.

You thought you knew what it was. Phoenix demanding to know why one of Jake Seresin’s shirts was wrapped around your shoulders. Hangman’s weren’t as distinctive as Bradley’s, usually solid colors with a barely-there logo on the pocket. None of the guys had noticed you were wearing it, but you knew Phoenix had the moment she came back in from the beach. She’d shot you a disappointed, skeptical look and immediately begun whispering to Bob as they walked away with their drinks.

Penny hadn’t been much better. She hadn’t identified which pilots’ shirt it was like Phoenix clearly had, but she was two steps away from asking when the evening rush began to pour in without any sign of slowing down.

The Hard Deck was slam-packed, and none of the bartenders had a second to spare. The newest class of TopGun recruits were graduating within a week, and it seemed that everyone had turned out for the upcoming occasion.

The bar was crowded with faces new and old. All of the graduating pilots were scattered around, and most of their instructors had made their way in at some point. Some of the pilots had families, wives and girlfriends, who had flown in and accompanied them to the bar that night. There were more than a few old friends in town to visit or siblings using the graduation as an excuse to get away.

Even most of Mav’s squadron was there. Penny’s old flame had claimed a spot by one of the dart boards, and his lieutenants were all taking turns trying to dethrone Hangman as the king of darts. Normally, they would have migrated to the pool tables by now, but the bar was too crowded for even TopGun’s finest to leverage their way into skipping the line to have a game.

One of the soon-to-be graduates hunkered down at the bar, some asshole who was billing himself as the new and improved Hangman, kept snapping his fingers at you to try to get your attention from behind the bar. You were dangerously close to ringing the bell on him the next time he did it, and Penny’s fingers were clearly itching to do the same. Tragically, neither of you thought that was a very good idea. Tonight might’ve been the one night where it was simply too busy to ring the bell.

There were so many people you couldn’t see past the sea of bodies pressing in around you, and it was a miracle that you didn’t bolt from the claustrophobia.

Marg after marg. Old fashioned after old fashioned. Beer after beer. The line never seemed to stop, and it was taking its toll on you. Tonight was simply not your night.

“Go,” Penny’s hand touched your shoulder and made you jump, spilling some of the tequila shot you were trying to hand off. “I’ll clean that. You look like you need a break. Take five.”

Normally on a busy night, you would’ve protested, insisted you could hold down the fort and done your best to help Penny push through the rush, but not that night.

Your shoulders slumped in relief, and you ducked under the gap in the bar without much of a second thought, pushing your way through the people towards the door to the kitchen. There was a ‘broken’ stool by the door to the kitchen that was in fact not broken at all but had a sign taped to it that said it was specifically so it was open for when workers were on break. The seat provided some much needed relief for your aching feet and even more aching shoulders.

Shaking cocktails was really aggravating the bruises just beneath the button up wrapped around your shoulders, and you found yourself hurting almost twice as much as normal this shift. That might’ve been why you felt like you were moving in slow motion the whole time. That or the sheer number of people had simply made the task seem insurmountable.

You were just closing your eyes and leaning back against the wall when your phone in your pocket buzzed again.

It wasn’t really a conscious decision to check it, more habit than anything else. And really, you hadn’t expected it to be anything that bad. You hadn’t heard from him all day.

But there it was. His name. His name a half a dozen times over the course of your shift. Each text progressively more urgent and pressing than the last.

‘I’m still coming to pick you up from work.’

Bile rose up in your throat, and you suppressed the overwhelming urge to bolt. The room was suddenly too hot and too crowded, and there were too many faces. Faces you recognized and faces you didn’t. A wash of faces that was the perfect place for him to hide, to wait, to lurk around for the opportune moment to reveal himself.

You couldn’t do this, couldn’t deal with this. Not here. Not now. Not in front of all these people. Not alone.

You did the first thing that came to mind.

It was stupid really. You couldn’t explain why it occurred to you, why you acted on it so immediately, why you thought it was a good idea at all. It probably wasn’t; it could just as easily have backfired in your face as anything else. But your gut told you it was what you should do. Really, your gut didn’t so much tell you as wrench you in that direction with an undeniable force.

“Hey can I talk to you for a sec?”

Hangman was an easy man to find, even despite the crowd, strutting around the dart boards like he owned the place, which he very nearly did, rubbing the other pilots noses in his shots that were somehow better blindfolded than theirs were with sight.

You interrupted him boasting loudly to Fanboy and Payback about how he didn’t even need to practice. Perfect marksmanship just came naturally to him. The rest of the pilots were all gathered at the high tops near the darts boards, mostly rolling their eyes. They were having some kind of tournament, or rather a competition to see if anyone could take Hangman down.

Payback seemed almost too happy for the interruption, but Fanboy was a bit more perceptive, at least at the moment. Fanboy’s eyes darted away to Phoenix’s table, and you saw the jerk of his head when he caught her eye. Funneling the female aviator’s attention in the direction of what was unfolding.

You, wearing Hangman’s shirt since he disappeared for half an hour earlier that day, asking to talk to him alone near the end of your shift. You knew exactly what it looked like.

“Sure.” Hangman’s tone was completely casual, not giving anything away, but when his back turned on his companions, his eyes were burning. You quickly looked away from his gaze and led him from the group.

“I wasn’t checking my phone.” The words were tumbling out of your mouth the moment he was out of the others’ earshot. You didn’t even bite your tongue long enough to turn around. “He’s been texting me my entire shift. He was supposed to be my ride home tonight, and I think he might show up soon.”

When you faced Hangman, you knew the panic in your voice and in your eyes was painfully obvious. Now that you were semi-alone with him, with someone who knew, there was no hiding how much it jarred you. Your hands fumbled with your phone trying to show him the flood of texts you’d gotten, unnoticed, over the last two hours.

Hangman didn’t look down even as you turned the phone to show him. His jaw was already clenched; his expression was agitated, visibly angry. His eyes weren’t looking at you or the phone. They were searching the faces in the crowd similar to the way yours had only moments before though far more thorough. The honed, trained eye of a military fighter pilot meticulously picked through the crowd for its target, finding nothing.

“Could you…” You hesitated to ask. It was such a ridiculous request. Just yesterday, Hangman would’ve been your absolute last choice to be in this position with; you would’ve risked handling it alone before asking for his help. But here he was. The only one who knew. The first one you asked. “I’ll give you a round on the house for it. I just… Would you mind giving me a ride home? I don’t want to stumble on him alone.”

Hangman didn’t hesitate or pull his eyes from where they continuously scanned the crowd, as if his gaze alone was enough to keep a threat at bay. “No beers required, Hurricane.” The words seemed to be coming out of his mouth even as you offered. Like he’d already decided what he was going to do the minute you told him the problem. “Wait here a sec? I’ll handle it.”

Hangman walked the short distance over to the bar, glancing back over his shoulder at you every few steps like he was making sure you hadn’t disappeared, and flagged down Penny. Something on his face must’ve told her it was urgent because she forwent several regulars and big tippers demanding drinks to beeline towards him. He leaned over the bar and whispered something in her ear, gesturing back in your direction.

Penny looked concerned, and she nodded along with what Hangman was saying until he turned to leave.

“If Penny asks,” Hangman put a hand on your shoulder, a firm grip holding you to his side as he led you through the throng of people towards the exit, “a guy was bothering you, and I drove you home cause you were scared of him.”

“Not entirely a lie,” You mumbled, shifting closer into Hangman’s side.

No one tried to stop you. No hands reached out for you. No one called out your name. You made it through entirely unscathed. You could feel eyes on you, but they didn’t raise the hairs on the back of your neck. You doubted, highly, that they were Devin’s. More likely, Hangman’s squadron were watching him retreat from the bar with you under his arm without so much as a goodbye. More likely, they were plotting and planning the questions they were going to hound the two of you with the next time they saw you. More likely, Phoenix was pointing out to everyone that you were wearing Hangman’s shirt.

—------

“Does he have a key?” Hangman didn’t break the silence until he’d turned onto your block, until he’d brought his truck to a slow crawl, looking for your tiny, inconsequential cookie cutter house in a row of tiny, inconsequential cookie cutter houses.

Yours was pretty much the only house without a Navy flag or Navy paraphernalia of some description sitting in the yard or stuck to a car in the driveway. The neighborhood was not far from the Hard Deck which was not far from the base, and the tiny houses geared towards first-time-buyers were crawling with Navy pilots and newlywed military couples who wanted to live offbase.

You were on the second sidestreet, the third house on the left. Hangman already knew the way without instruction. Penny had conned every Top Gun pilot with a car into driving you home at least a couple times. And while Hangman was usually the pilot she was least willing to ask, he was also the only one who was guaranteed to always be sober.

His question came out very sober. His usual lilting, teasing tone had dropped off somewhere today and never fully returned.

“He did. He… he told me he lost it, but…” You both knew better than to believe that.

Hangman pulled into your driveway and flicked the truck into park and turned it off. “Tomorrow I’ll drive you to the hardware store, and we’ll change the locks.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Do you feel safe with him having a key?” Hangman cut you off. He was looking down at you with just a touch of condescension, so classically Hangman. Like he knew the answer already, like he knew you knew the answer already, and that you were silly if you pretended not to or refused him.

You knew where this was going, and you thought about lying, just to relieve Hangman of whatever false sense of duty or obligation he had imposed on himself by being the one to find you at the Hard Deck. But it was way too late. Hangman wasn’t stupid, but he was incredibly, irritatingly stubborn. And he’d already set his mind to helping you through this. “No.”

“Then tomorrow morning I’ll change the locks.” Hangman threw his door open and hopped out of the truck. It slammed closed behind him as he circled around to your side. You made to open your door, but Hangman beat you to it. “Alarm services are expensive,” He continued, offering you a hand, “but they make door jammers that have sound alarms on them at least, and my sister bought some cheap window versions a while back that I could help install.”

You took Hangman’s hand and dumbly followed him up to your door as he rambled on about extra door locks and doorbell cameras. All options that you could pick up tomorrow for him to put in.

“That’s too much effort,” You halfheartedly protested as you spun your keys around trying to find the one to your front door.

There really weren’t that many keys. There were a couple to the Hard Deck, one to the shed where Penny kept beach supplies, and one to Devin’s place that you hadn’t returned. They were all distinct shapes and colors, but you couldn’t seem to focus long enough to find the plain silver key to your own door. Maybe because you knew there was another one, exactly like it, somewhere across town at that moment.

“Not if it makes you feel safe.” Hangman leaned back against your door frame, his eyes skimming up and down your block as if he was still on alert in the crowded bar, still looking for signs of trouble, signs of him.

“Would you…” Your words trailed off as you watched his darting eyes. The question came bubbling up before you could stop it, before you even really thought of it. It was less a question and more a response to his vigilance, to the thought that his vigilance might be warranted and necessary.

“Would I…?” Hangman didn’t let it go. His eyes turned to look at you.

You chewed at your bottom lip, debating if it was worth asking, debating if it was necessary.

He probably thought it was, if his mannerisms were any indication, if his talk about alarms was any indication, if walking you to your door and watching your back were any indication.

“Would you come in?”

Hangman raised a doubtful eyebrow, sure you didn’t mean what those words usually meant.

“Not like that, it’s just… You’re right. He probably still has a key, and if we can’t fix it till the morning…”

Understanding seemed to wash over his face, and Hangman kicked himself up off the door jam. “If it’ll help,” he immediately conceded. “I’ll sleep on your couch.”

“It…” You hesitated, but only for a moment. “I think it would.”

The silence inside your home was almost palpable. It was late enough that going to bed wouldn’t have been awkward for either of you, but neither of you were tired. And neither of you seemed up to faking being tired just to get away.

Hangman sat on one end of the couch, and you sat on the other. At some point, you mustered the effort to turn on the tv. The local news was a quiet, bland drone of background noise cutting through the still air around the two of you.

You felt like you should say something. Maybe ‘should’ wasn’t the right word; maybe you wanted to say something. But either way you didn’t know where to begin.

You had only ever been alone with Hangman when he was dropping you off as a favor to Penny, times that were filled with snarky jokes and constant nagging from both of you, and earlier that day in the bar. You weren’t close. You weren’t friends. You were barely acquaintances. He was only here because he was in the right (or wrong, depending how you looked at it) place at the right time.

“Thank you,” That seemed like a good place to start. “For today, thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for.” Hangman countered quickly. His eyes stayed on the tv, though they were clearly out of focus staring at the screen.

“I do though. You could’ve told everyone.”

“You weren’t ready for that.” He added it under his breath, countering without cutting you off.

“You could’ve left me to finish out my shift.”

“Not with him coming to the bar.”

“You could’ve left after you dropped me off.”

“He has a key.”

“You could’ve turned and walked out the door when you first saw me at the bar.”

Hangman let out a heavy sigh, not of annoyance or exasperation but a sigh weighed down with duty and concern. “No, I couldn’t.”

Your eyes met his over the center of the couch, and a breath rushed out of your lungs under the intensity in his gaze.

—-------------------------------------

You woke up in your bed, mouth open, with more than a little drool pooling on your pillow.

You had no memory of falling asleep there, of getting into bed, of going to your room at all.

You remember being on the couch, talking to Hangman. You remembered the way his eyes, intense, open, and honest, compelled you to speak. The way you couldn’t bite back the story pouring from your lips. The story of Devin asking you out, of falling for him in those early weeks, of how he changed after you committed to him. The story of what he did that night, of his buddies who sat back and did nothing, of the jokes you heard the three of them cracking as you ran from the room.

You remembered Hangman crossing the space between you and putting a hand on your arm, how cautious he was touching you, how much time he left you to pull away, how gentle his touch was against your skin. You remembered throwing yourself into his lap, sobbing into his shoulder as he held you against his chest and rubbed soothingly up and down your back, whispering promises that that asshole would never hurt you again.

You didn’t remember anything after that. You must’ve fallen asleep in his lap.

Sitting up, you found the answer to your unasked question.

A folded piece of notebook paper sitting on the pillow next to you:

‘Thought the bed would be preferable to sharing the couch with me. If I’m wrong and you wake up in the middle of the night and don’t want to be alone, you can always wake me up. If not, I’ll have coffee ready for you in the morning. - Jake.’

As you read, his words the night before echoed in your head to the beat of a nonexistent drum as you read the note once, then twice, then a third time.

‘No, I couldn’t.’

You carefully folded the paper up and tucked it in the top drawer of your bedside table.

True to his word, Hangman was wide awake, standing in your kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee when you walked out of your room.

“H-Hi,” you stuttered.

Last night, in the comfort of darkness, with exhaustion clouding over your mind and his arms holding you close, it had seemed the most logical thing in the world to open up to Hangman. And with the light of day glinting through the windows, with him dressed in the button up he’d wrapped around you the day before, with him lounging back against your counter as he sipped from your favorite mug, with an overconfident air that was too comfortable for any normal person’s first time in your home… It was odd to think that feeling hadn’t changed, that you still felt able to bare your soul to him, that you didn’t feel a need to run back into your room and get changed or freshen up, that you were perfectly comfortable being seen by him like this, a tired quaking mess with puffy red eyes.

Part of you expected to walk out into your kitchen to an epiphany that you’d made a horrible mistake, that Hangman was exactly as much of a cocky asshole as you thought he was two days ago. But the epiphany never came.

“Morning,” Hangman took a sip of coffee and set the mug aside. He looked casual, at peace, like this was just another day, like he’d done this a million times. “I’m ready to go whenever you are. I found the toolbox in the bottom of your coat closet. Hope you don’t mind. We’ll probably need a few things if we’re gonna do anything more than replace the locks.”

“Y-Yeah,” You grabbed a mug off the drying rack and crossed the room to pour yourself a cup of coffee from the pot beside him, your shoulder brushing passed his as you poured. “Sounds good.”

“Hey.” Hangman seemed to immediately pick up that something was plaguing your mind. He didn’t reach out for you like last night, quite the opposite. He took a step away and turned to face you, crossin his arms over his chest, “If you want to be alone, I’ll head out. I’ll go to the store, pick up the locks, and change them myself. You can have time to yourself if you need it.”

“No,” You immediately countered his obvious misinterpretation of your mood. “I-I don’t think I want to be alone. I’m just… antsy I guess.”

He didn’t seem to fully buy it, but he let your excuse hang. “Okay then, we’ll head out when you’re ready.”

—----------------------

All day, as Hangman worked around your house first changing the locks then installing alarms then fixing a window that wouldn’t lock and then righting a wobbly chair leg that had absolutely nothing to do with your safety, neither of you mentioned the note he left or you crying in his arms or falling asleep on his lap or his quiet ‘No, I couldn’t’.

—--------------------------

You made a vow to yourself when Hangman finally left your house late Saturday afternoon. You were never going to ring up his card at the Hard Deck again. It couldn’t really repay what he’d done for you, the feeling of safety he’d brought to you in what was probably your most vulnerable moment so far on this earth, but you knew he wouldn’t want anything more showy. Hangman loved being the center of attention, but somehow you knew he wouldn’t want attention for this.

True to your vow, the next Saturday evening, Hangman was on his third beer and had, unwittingly on his part, not paid a dime.

The Hard Deck was far less crowded that night. The graduating Top Gun candidates had all flown away, and only those currently stationed at the base, mostly Maverick’s squad, and some locals remained. A few dozen patrons milled around a room far larger than they needed with maybe a dozen pressed up to the bar. Most of the dozen fell under your responsibilities at the moment. Penny had, unintentionally, abandoned you not long before when Maverick had wandered in and taken up his usual stool.

Omaha and Halo, the first aviators to arrive, had claimed one of the pool tables early in the night, and the rest of the squad had started rotating through matchups. It appeared Fritz was on a hot streak, one that was no doubt about to end as his next opponent in line was Hangman.

All seemed right with the world. The constant buzz of voices, the crooning of the Goo Goo Dolls song that Bob had selected on the jukebox, the ready flow of beer to your usual patrons. Everything was fine.

Until the door opened one last time. Not that places of business ever ‘expected’ anyone because they hardly sent out invitations to come buy beer, but you really weren’t expecting anyone else that night. All the regulars were already inside.

The door banging against the wall as it was flung open was enough to draw your surprised eyes up to the entryway.

Face lit by the sun setting over the beach through the windows on the opposite wall, he was unmistakable as he marched into view flanked by his two buddies. They immediately began scanning the room.

Your breath rushed out of your lungs, exhaling in a gust that you couldn’t hold back any more than the wind.

No, no, no. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t confront you here. He couldn’t corner you alone.

There was no time to think, no time to check with Penny if it was ok to leave your station, no time to get to the door or bolt out the back.

‘I’ll keep him out of the bar.’

It was your first instinct when you saw the text the weekend before, and it was your first instinct when you saw him that night.

“Hurricane?” Penny called after you as, without so much as a word in her direction, you ducked under the gap in the bar and made a beeline for the pool tables.

You barely heard her, and if you did, it didn’t register.

“Jake,” his real name leaving your lips was enough to draw most of his coworkers’ attention, all those in earshot at least. You grabbed his arm the second he was within reach, inadvertently clawing his skin with your nails as you pulled him up from where he was hunched over the pool table lining up a shot.

Jake laughed and shrugged off your arm before he even turned around and saw who it was. “Hey,” he rubbed at the red marks in his skin, “I was just…”

The words died on his lips when he turned and saw the panic in your eyes. It was brimming up inside you, overflowing and choking you off from every other sensation except the desperation for Jake to understand.

He knew better than anyone that there was only one thing that could make you look like that, feel like that. His head jerked up immediately in the direction of the door, as if he could sense the direction of the impending doom.

You watched the lighthearted smirk that constantly plagued his lips fall away. You watched the light in his eyes cloud over in darkness. As his gaze went up over your shoulder to the door, where one of the three men with angry expressions and dark eyes spotted your back amongst the khaki uniforms and began moving.

Jake’s arm twisted in your grip and grabbed you by the elbow, jerking you unceremoniously behind his back. There was no time for pleasantries, no time to be nice about whatever he was about to do.

“Fanboy, stay with her.” Jake ordered over his shoulder to the nearest aviator. His gaze didn’t waiver from the three men approaching, even as he issued commands.

Most of the aviators in Mav’s squad were scattered around the room. Mav was at the bar talking with Penny and Halo. Fanboy and Coyote had been watching Hangman school Fritz, who was being hyped up by Payback. Rooster was at a table not far from the pool game talking to a pretty girl. And Phoenix and Bob were half spectating from their perch by the jukebox discussing something that had gone wrong in a training run that afternoon.

Fanboy caught you and held you up as Jake pushed you in his direction. “What’s going on?”

Jake didn’t answer. He side-stepped in front of you, half blocking you from view, and walked to the edge of the pool area. There was a buffer zone between himself and you. He was the first line of defense, and he was giving the second, Fanboy, room to react.

“You fucking bitch!” If Fanboy didn’t know what was going on before, he instantly caught on.

Fanboy’s arms tensed around yours. His back went rigged, as if a commanding officer had just called him to attention, and he curled away, pulling you back behind him and putting his body in front of you as a shield. Even with Fanboy hovering in the way, his body didn’t hide Devin’s eyes. They sought you out around Jake’s frame and over Fanboy’s shoulder; they found you huddled up behind the Navy uniforms and the fancy stars pinned to the pilots chests. No number of medals pinned to Jake’s chest could stop the chill that ran down your spine in response to the venom in Devin’s tone. You wanted to look away, but the daggers in his gaze skewered you in place, held you hostage.

You wanted to curl up and hide, preferably behind Jake... Well, preferably in a home far away from there wrapped in heavy blankets with many deadbolts between you and Devin with Jake vigilantly standing guard at the door.

Devin tried to walk straight past Jake, like he didn’t even see him. Jake wasn’t having any of it.

A thick, muscular arm stuck out across the length of Devin’s shoulders as he tried to pass, holding him back.

Devin wasn’t a very big guy. He was well toned, but he was no naval aviator. He was no Jake Seresin. Jake had about an inch on Devin, but his well built frame made up for their near identical height. Devin had never been one to hit the gym hard while Jake certainly was, and it showed. It showed in the way a single arm without so much as a brace didn’t move even as Devin walked straight into it.

If the rest of the bar weren’t looking when Devin shouted that you were a bitch, they certainly were when he glared up at Jake. “Out of the way you fucker!”

Jake getting out of the way was about the last thing you wanted to happen, and Jake seemed disinclined to oblige either. His arm didn’t move from where it blocked Devin’s path, even as Devin glowered up at him.

The staring match lasted only a moment before Devin, impatient as always, gave up and turned back to glaring at you. He shouted, unnecessarily loudly, across the minimal distance between the two of you, “You changed the locks on me?”

There was shuffling behind you and the sound of something clanging onto the pool table.

You couldn’t bring yourself to turn your head away from Devin, couldn’t look away, couldn’t let him out of your sight. But there was the sound of footsteps as first Coyote, then Fritz, then Payback came into range in your peripheral vision.

None of them knew what this was about, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where this was going. And any idiot could tell whose side they would be on in a fight between Jake and Devin.

“She didn’t. I did.” Jake declared at a similarly loud volume, pulling Devin’s attention back on him, demanding Devin shift his focus off of you. “You got a problem with that, you take it up with me.”

Devin took a step back, finally abandoning his futile attempt to confront you in favor of squaring up to Jake.

As Devin stepped back, the trio of pilots stepped forward. Fritz approached first, joining Fanboy in front of you. Payback followed after Fritz, lingering halfway between him and Jake, a bystander ready to step in if things got out of hand.

Coyote, however, had no questions about how any altercation would go down. His hand came down as he walked up behind Jake, slapping down reassuringly on Jake's shoulder to let him know he wasn’t alone. Coyote flanked Jake at such a close distance that it made it impossibly clear that, if this turned into a fight, it would not be three on one.

It wouldn’t even be three on two for that matter. Devin’s buddies, who had crossed the bar with him had hung back a few feet, giving Devin the space he wanted to scream at you or confront you or whatever else he had been planning before Jake intercepted. The duo found themselves with two bar tables between them and Devin. One of which was, ever so unfortunately for them, occupied by none other than Bradley Bradshaw and his drinking companion.

Devin’s friends would be forgiven for not realizing that they were offering up the chance to divide the group in half. Bradley, per usual, wasn’t in his Navy uniform, and a guy in a faded Hawaiian shirt didn’t exactly look intimidating. At least not while he was sitting down chatting up a pretty girl.

Seeing the escalation Coyote invited, and flashing his eyes to where you cowered behind his squadmates, Rooster got to his feet with a slow, lithe push off the table in front of him and turned his back on Devin. Not even bothering to give the belligerent asshole, currently one on two against Hangman and Coyote, the time of day, he turned his entire attention to the backup Devin brought with him.

Never in your life had you been scared of any of the naval aviators, but there was something especially intimidating about the incredibly casual way Bradley put himself alone in a fight against two men. His relaxed stance, completely unbothered by the numbers game he was playing. His head, cocking to one side to crack his neck, and then the other.

“You the latest pilot she’s spreading her legs for?” Devin snarled up at Jake, completely oblivious to what was going on behind him and unconcerned by Coyote’s presence.

Jake was entirely unphased. His voice was calm and steady even as Devin’s got more and more red with each passing moment. “No, but I am a friend. And if you have a problem with her you’re gonna have to go through me…” Jake added as an afterthought, “And him,” jerking his head to Coyote.

“You think she’ll fuck you if you play hero?” Devin spat out the word fuck as if the thought of you and sex in the same sentence disgusted him. “You don’t gotta try that hard to get her to spread.”

Jake shrugged and casually dismissed the comment. “That’s really not my business or yours.”

“She is my business; that’s my girl.”

Devin jabbed a finger over Jake’s shoulder in your direction without looking away from Jake, and you instinctively shrunk further back behind Fanboy. Until you felt the material between your fingers, you didn’t even realize that your hand had reached up to fist the back of Fanboy’s uniform.

You didn’t know, logically, why you were afraid. Whatever Jake was doing, he was doing a marvelous job of keeping Devin’s eyes off of you. You were absolutely certain that Devin would have to knock Jake out to get to you, not that he could even manage that. You were also absolutely certain that even if he did, he’d still have to make it through Rooster, Fanboy, Fritz, Payback, and Coyote, not to mention the dozen Navy guys from other squads currently spectating who would jump in to assist, or Penny or Mav. There was just something about his finger pointing at you, accusing you, that made that feeling of helplessness bubble up inside you again, that made you feel pinned, trapped under his hand.

“I’ll do whatever I want with her.”

It was like Jake knew or could sense your growing bubble of fear. He leaned ever so slightly to one side, like he was simply shifting his weight from foot to foot, before standing back up straight in between Devin’s finger and you.

“Not anymore.” Jake declared firmly. “You’re already about a mile closer to her than I want you to be.”

That declaration made Devin’s lips twist up into something akin to a smirk. “I’ve been a lot closer to her than this.”

Jake’s shoulders tensed, and for the first time it seemed like Devin got to him. “I know exactly how close you got.” His voice darkened, and you could practically picture the look in his eyes, practically knew it by heart from the night you told him what Devin had done. “Where I’m from, we don’t treat women like that.”

Devin laughed humorously, heading tilting back to let the single tone ring out in the air. “Well we aren’t where you’re from. That’s my girl, and I’ll do what I want with her.”

You shivered involuntarily, like someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of your shirt. It sent a chill through you to think of Devin alone with you, doing what he wanted with you. You remembered what he did the last time he had that power over you. You couldn’t let it happen again.

“No,” It took a moment to register that Jake was the one snarling, not Devin, not even you. The word came out in a hiss between his teeth. “You’ll do what she wants. And right now she doesn’t want you here.”

For whatever reason, Devin was getting to Jake. The unshakeable, unflappable Jake Seresin was rising to a rolling boil under the surface of his skin, and there was nothing he could do to hide it. From the tone of his voice to the tension in his shoulders, to the way his fingers twitched in and out of a fist, Devin and what he was saying was under Jake’s skin.

Devin saw it; you could tell. You couldn’t see his eyes around the bodies between the two of you, but you saw his posture change, his stance open up and his chest puff out. He leaned in and sneered, “She needed to be put in her place. She looks better roughed up anyway.”

You felt their eyes on you. The squad. The whole bar. None of them were actually looking at you. None of their heads turned, but you knew every one of them was staring at an image of you in their minds. Maybe they all figured it out before. Maybe they knew when Devin walked in or when Jake escorted you home. Or maybe they didn’t know anything at all, but either way Devin just gave them confirmation.

Payback was no longer content to play the bystander. His shoes clicked on the floor, echoing in the silence that existed throughout the bar as Jake and Devin sparred. He flanked Jake’s other side, shoulder to shoulder with him as Coyote had been since the confrontation began.

Coyote didn’t move an inch except for the hand at his side that clenched into a fist.

Jake took a step closer. But for the inch of height difference, he stood nose to nose with Devin as he said, “Where I’m from, a man lays his hands on a woman, and you take him out back and put one between his eyes.”

Devin pushed up, must’ve stood on his tiptoes to do it, to close the gap with Jake, to put himself on the same level as the pilot. “She’s mine, you fucker.” Flecks of spit, visible even at your distance, splattered against Jake’s cheek. “Get the fuck out of the way.”

Devin’s hands came up and shoved Jake in both shoulders, hard.

Jake’s shoulders didn’t give an inch. His feet didn’t budge. His posture didn’t change.

Jake’s voice dropped low, so low you barely heard it. If a single soul in the bar had been focused on anything other than the confrontation at hand, if the jukebox hadn’t run to the end of its queue of songs and left the bar in silence, if any more distance had been between the two of you, you wouldn’t have heard the rough, guttural retort from somewhere deep inside Jake’s chest, “You’re really, really gonna have to make me.”

Without warning, Devin swung.

He was standing too close to Jake, almost chest to chest with the taller aviator. There was no good angle from which to strike, and his arm took a wide arc away from his body to get the necessary momentum and distance to hit at Jake with any force.

It was like it moved in slow motion, Jake’s head turned, his eyes following the direction of the swing as it approached his face.

You gasped and clung tighter to Fanboy, who blindly reached back to clutch your arm, pulling you in closer to him.

The fear, entirely for Jake, was also entirely unnecessary.

Jake’s head leaned to one side and effortlessly avoided the blow. Devin stumbled a couple steps to the side as his momentum carried him past Jake.

It gave Jake the space he needed to counter, not with a wide, slow hook around to the side of Devin’s face, but with a swift, firm uppercut to his jaw.

The connection sent a crack echoing through the bar, and Devin’s entire body went slack before he even hit the floor.

Coyote caught his arm before he could collapse, not that it did Devin any good to be under Coyote’s care instead of Jake’s. Coyote’s grip was so tight on Devin’s upper arm that you were sure it would bruise not just the skin but the muscles underneath.

Jake bent down over the other man and bent a finger up under his jaw. Devin’s head tipped up into Jake’s face without any protest and fell back to bob loosely to one side the moment Jake wasn’t supporting him any more.

“He’ll be out cold for a while.” Jake declared, glancing up to give Coyote a nod.

Coyote dropped his grip on Devin and let him crumple unceremoniously to the floor.

“Now,” Jake left Coyote to deal with Devin, stepping over the unconscious body on the floor as one might step over a puddle in the street. He ambled over to Rooster, whose presence had been more than enough to hold off Devin’s two buddies for the brief ten seconds of fighting, if it could even be categorized as a fight.

“Are you two,” Jake wagged a finger between Devin’s two friends as he came shoulder to shoulder with Rooster, “the ones she told me helped him out last week? Cause I gotta bone to pick with them too?”

“No, we didn’t!” The shorter of the two declared loudly. “Look, we don’t want any trouble.”

Jake’s head turned to glance back over his shoulder, and for the first time since Devin confronted you, you made eye contact with Jake.

His eyes were hard, cold, unfeeling. He wasn’t angry anymore. He wasn’t upset or worried or fearful or any of the other emotions you felt warring inside of you. The mask was back on, the unflappable exterior that only you had seen beneath before tonight. He wasn’t waiting for them; he was waiting for you. A good soldier, waiting for his orders.

Imperceptibly to everyone but Jake who was watching you like a hawk, you shook your head. This had gone on long enough already tonight. You just wanted it to be over.

“Well then,” Jake turned back to the two friends in tow. “Why don’t you take your buddy and get out of here?” Jake stepped close, towering over the shorter one as he added, “Tell him if he comes back round here to bother her again; I will spend the rest of my life making sure he’s too afraid to even look at another woman.”

Beside Jake, Rooster began casually cracking the knuckles of his fist one by one, presumably for emphasis.

There was a dull thud that drew the quad of men’s attention back towards Devin.

Payback was squatting over the unconscious man. He’d seemingly been rooting through the other man’s pockets. The sound of his wallet dropping back onto Devin’s back was the noise that drew the men’s eyes and everyone else’s watching as a result.

Payback was waving a credit card in the air in Jake’s general direction.

“Good idea,” Jake wandered over and snatched up the card. “Call it payback for disturbing the bar tonight.” Jake’s teasing smirk was back as he used Payback’s callsign. He abandoned the group to amble back towards Penny at the bar, and his absence seemed to break the tension.

The patrons, scattered around, all began slowly turning back to their tables. The conversation was quieter, hushed whispers that were no doubt mostly about the fight they’d just watched ensue, but their eyes seemed to have drank in their fill of the scene.

Under the watchful eye of Rooster, with Coyote and Payback standing by, Devin’s two friends draped their friend unceremoniously across their shoulders. Despite the struggle they were clearly having, not a soul offered to help as they stumbled under his weight out of the bar.

“I hope they have to drag him to the car.”

You jumped and turned your head to find that at some point in the chaos Phoenix and Bob had come up on the other side of the pool table as a last line of defense.

“Please, I hope they faceplant in the gravel.”

You let out a humorous laugh at Phoenix’s comment as your body finally slumped under the weight of the evening, resting back against the pool table with a huff of air.

“Are you…”

“Fritz, if you ask me if I’m okay, I will walk out of this bar right now.” You held up a finger to silence him.

You were not okay. You would be okay, one day; you knew that much. But that day was not today.

In the distance, like you were hearing an echo from the other end of a long tunnel, you registered the bell ringing for a free round. Your vision was tunneling too, but you could make out Jake was leaning across the bar, ringing the bell himself as he slammed Devin’s card on the bar in front of Penny.

Maverick, always present in front of Penny’s bar, slapped him on the back and whispered something in his ear, but Jake seemed, for once, thoroughly uninterested in his commanding officer.

His eyes, you thought, appeared to be focused on you. He left the bar before he even got his own free drink and headed straight back towards the pool tables.

Coyote and Rooster tried to talk to him, but he brushed him off. By the time he reached Fanboy, still awkwardly hovering in front of you, his destination was clear, and Fanboy slid right out of his way.

“Come on,” Jake held out a hand to you. “Penny won’t mind if you don’t finish out your shift.”

It wasn’t a tunnel you were looking through now so much as a camera, the lens zooming in and zooming out, narrowing and expanding your field of vision around Jake.

Jake, the only thing in the world right now that felt safe, that felt ok.

You numbly, clumsily, flung your hand out to grasp his, and as his fingers laced through yours you thought you might have a different answer to Fritz’s question, not that you’d ever voice it.

—————————————

“Thank you.”

It was about an hour after you and Jake had left the bar.

He’d walked you out the back door of the Hard Deck and down the beach for the better part of half an hour before the two of you wordlessly agreed to find a comfortable spot to sit down in the sand.

The silence had been more comfortable than you ever thought silence with Jake could be. Every time he’d driven you home from the Hard Deck, he’d felt the need to fill every available moment with some kind of noise, compulsively turning up the volume on the radio or making snarky, sarcastic commentary about anything that passed by the window. Silence was not Jake Seresin’s forte.

Yet the silence between the two of you had felt like a comforting blanket, wrapping you in understanding. He already knew what happened between you and Devin; the hard part of that explanation was over. He already knew why Devin was there that night, what must have prompted him to show up, what he was hinting at in front of the whole bar. He knew nothing else about you, but he knew this, knew every detail of the most painful moment of your life, and he accepted it without question, gave you what you needed without question, helped you without question.

“You don’t have to thank me for doing the right thing for once in my life, Hurricane.” Jake murmured. “It’s a nice change of pace.”

You wished you could deny that, say that Jake was a great guy, say that he always did the right thing or that he was a good man. But the truth was he often wasn’t. He was flawed, deeply so, rude when it was uncalled for, inappropriate when the moment was serious, lewd when he should have been respectful, confrontational when he should have been kind. He was as flawed as any other human being, maybe more so.

But when you needed him he was there. When no one else was there, he was there. And that, to you, forgave any multitude of sins.

“What did Mav say to you when you left?”

“What?” Jake did a quick double take, looking down at you beside him. “Oh,” He chuckled to himself. “He said, ‘Good man, no push-ups tomorrow when I shoot you down.’”

“Well,” you smiled, “I owe you a lot more than a few push ups.”

“You owe me nothing.”

You squeezed his hand, his fingers which had been laced in yours since he led you out of the Hard Deck, “How about a second chance? If I remember correctly we didn’t get off to the best start.”

Jake smirked, “Not a chance am I starting over. You’re still my Hurricane.”

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chaosandmarigolds · 22 days

Text

(clears throat) ahem, I have a little dribble drabble cause I needed to fully write it out cause I'm in a silly goofy mood

“Hey- Tinker bell. Tink.”

Reluctantly you left your gaze on the obscure piece of metal, which you thought may be from a carburetor you weren’t sure though, that you had been given by your Liuetnatnt (and you were beginning to think he gave it to you just to shut you up) and you look at the Scotsman that sat across from you on the workbench. It was barely four in the morning, and while he had just woken up for his morning…whatever, you had been up the entire night, with the pile of paperwork the captain had you doing and a routine maintenance you procrastinated with; an all-nighter was the only option.

So when the ‘boys’ (a term you not so lovingly adopted for the unit) woke up you were met with a few grumpy grumbles and one very awake man, somehow the sight of them triggered a second wind so you ended up going on a forty-minute tangent about LTV’s to your Lieutenant, who- now you realize- grabbed a random piece of metal and asked you what it was. Clever, because it had shut you up but mildly infuriating. With a sleepy stare, you look at Johnny, “No.”

“No what?” He quipped back.

“No callsigns, I don’t want one, don’t need one...”

You hear a small stifled laugh and then Kyle’s voice is heard from what you assumed was inside on of the trucks, “Too late for that.”

To those words you spin to face the truck, pretending to be unfazed by Kyle sitting on the hood of it, happily sipping what you assumed to be an energy drink of some sort. “The fuck does that mean?”

“Means er’ a Tinker bell, ‘ever that is.” Out of all the people you expected to be in on this you didn’t expect your Luietant, so when he spoke up from where he was looking through the files you had just turned in you shot him a glare.

“Like from Peter Pan.” You speak slowly and look back at Johnny, who seemed oddly content with himself.

“Well more ‘o ‘cause she does lot ‘o thin’s with her hands, ya’know? Like she-she built tha’ boat in the one fairie mo’ie.”

At the very least everyone's attention wasn’t on you anymore, because as soon as Johnny spoke everyone looked at him. Through the harsh lighting and even though the mask made his eyes look more like voids of nothingness, you could see Ghost’s eyes narrow to his friend’s oblivious expression, meanwhile, Kyle didn’t try to hide his confused yet amused stare.

You move to look at the man and lean forward, “Johnny, I didn’t know you had sisters.”

“Yeah, got two lil’- oh.”

yeah thats it, <3

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callsign-dexter · 3 months

Text

Flu Season

Summary: Flu season hits the Bradford residence.

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: sickness, vomit

Baby Bradford: A Little Fighter

Masterlist

Banner done by @callsigns-haze

The flu had been going around Y/N's school and she was fortunate not to get it until late last night. When she got sick it was bad, she did have a good immune system but for some reason, she just got violently sick when a bug or the flu hit her.

It was around 3 AM when the pain and shivering started. Her stomach hurt so much that it woke her up. She knew she needed to go and get her dad or wake him up somehow but the thought of her moving herself just made her shake and tense up. She laid there for a few minutes until she finally decided to get up. When she pushed the covers everything started to ache. Just moving made her feel nauseous but she needed to push through and get to her dad. She took a few breaths and slowly sat up and her world began to spin. After a few minutes of sitting there, it stopped and she started her journey again. When she stood up on the floor her legs started to shake like a newborn foal using its legs for the first time. She slowly but surely made her way to her dad's bedroom using the wall as support. When she got there the door was open, thankfully, and she walked in, her breathing was labored if she didn't sit down soon she would surely pass out. Tim was sprawled out on the right side of the bed meaning the left side was open. Y/N crawled into the vacant spot and curled into him shaking.

It took Tim a good minute to feel the extra warmth and when he did that woke him up instantly. He opened his eyes to find his daughter curled up to him and grew confused. "Baby Girl, what's wrong?" He asked and at first, she didn't answer she was just shaking. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her forehead and felt it was burning up. "You're burning up." He said and she nodded having registered his voice.

"I don't feel good." She said and he could hear the scratchy voice and then it was followed by a cough. He rubbed her back which soothed her. "I think I'm gonna be sick." She said looking at him with wide eyes and immediately Tim jumped into dad mode. He jumped up and then scooped his 7-year-old up took her to his conjoined bathroom and sat her down just in time for her to expel whatever she ate for supper the night before.

"Just let it all out. It's ok. You'll feel better afterward." He told her as she finished and left her dry heaving. Once she was done she collapsed into her father's chest as silent hot tears raced down her cheeks. "Feel better?" He asked and she nodded her head and then turned in his arms and cuddled into him. He reached up and flushed the toilet. "Wanna try to get some more sleep or drink something?" He asked.

"Sleep." She said and he nodded and stood up with her in his arms. "Wanna sleep with you daddy." She said and he nodded as he walked to his bed and laid her in it.

"I'll be right back." He said and she nodded. Tim walked into the kitchen to grab a bucket and headed back to his bedroom. Y/N watched his every move when he got back. "If you feel like getting sick then do so in this bucket." He said and she nodded and he sat it down on the floor beside her side of the bed. She was out like a light in an instant. Tim debated going back to sleep or just lay there with her. He went with the second option and slipped into bed on his side and sat against the headboard and turned on the TV with the volume low. After 30 minutes of nothing on he found himself drifting off.

Tim wasn't a heavy sleeper to begin with and when it came to Y/N he pretty much had trained his body to listen for her. He started this when she was just a baby and Isabel was gone a lot. They both got a restless 3 hours of sleep before he woke to the sound of her throwing up. He had at some point cuddled up with her and she was just shivering in his arms despite her being hot to the touch. He was quick to sit up and rub her back "You're ok. Let it all out." He said and his heart broke when she started to cry and dry heave. After a good 2 minutes, she stopped and flopped back into the bed exhausted. He looked over at the clock and saw that it was 6 AM. He was already awake and this was his normal time to be up. When he looked back over to his daughter she was fast asleep. He carefully got out and started his routine of getting ready for the day and he needed to call into work and her school as well as make her a doctor's appointment. When he finished he sent a text to Marina to let her know what was going on.

Tim: Hey, Y/N is sick, I'm thinking it's the flu. I'm going to try and get her a doctor's appointment soon. I don't want you sick so I'll be staying with her. I'll let you know what's going on.

In an instant he got a text back.

Marina: Oh no! Poor baby! Yes just let me know what is going on and let me know when you need me. If there is anything you need me to do let me know. I hope she feels better!

He went and checked on her and she was sound to sleep curled up near the edge of the bed. He noticed that the bucket was a little bit fuller than the time he got up and he sighed, he hated it when she was sick. He walked out and back into the kitchen to pour some coffee and call the doctor's office. It rang twice before they answered

"Thank you for calling Clearview Family Physicians. My name is Emma. How may I help you?" She asked

"Hi, my name is Tim Bradford and I'm calling on behalf of Y/N Bradford. She started throwing up at 3 AM and twice more around 6 AM and 6:30 AM. She is also hot to the touch. I know there is the flu going around but I just want to make sure that's what it is." Tim said

"I'm sorry that she's feeling under the weather. We'll certainly get her in and looked at. I have a 10 AM this morning." Emma said and Tim smiled.

"That would be perfect." He said

"Alright. I have her down for 10. We'll see you then." She said

"Thank you." Tim replied back.

"You're welcome." She said and then they hung up.

Tim looked at his phone it was only 7 AM. He figured he would let her sleep in for a little bit before trying to get her to eat or drink something. He needed to call the school next and figured they had enough time to get in and open it. He dialed their number and almost instantly they answered after he pressed call.

"Thank you for calling Clear Creek Elementary School. I'm Brenda. How may I help you?" Brenda asked

"My name is Tim Bradford and I'm calling to let you know that Y/N will not be in school today. She's come down sick." Tim said

"Oh dear. I hope she gets better soon. I'll mark her as absent." Brenda said with so much care in her voice.

"Thank you. We'll let you know what happens and when she'll be back." Tim said with a smile and taking a sip of coffee.

"Sounds great. Thank you for calling. Hope to see her soon." Brenda replied and then they both hung up.

Tim looked down at his watch it was only 8 AM. He had one more call to make but first, he needed to check on Y/N. He sat his coffee down and headed to his bedroom but when he heard the sound of vomiting he rushed to his room and was quick to his daughter’s side. "Shhhh, it's ok baby. Let it all out." He said he was amazed that she had so much left in her. When she was done she caught her breath and looked up at him with unshed tears in her eyes.

"I don't like this." She said and Tim's heart broke.

"I know. But I got you a doctor's appointment at 10 AM and you won't be going to school." He said and she nodded top exhausted and that made him frown. He could see the fight wasn't there and her eyes weren't as bright. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you up when it gets closer to leaving. You can sleep in the car too." He said and she nodded and laid down and was out like a light. He sighed and stayed there making sure she was asleep before he got up and took the bucket to empty it and then set it down again. As he was checking on her one last time he bent down to kiss her head and felt she was burning up and then how congested she was and then she let out a cough and that made him frown. All those were new symptoms. He got up and saw that the clock only read 8:16 AM he sighed and left the room while digging his phone out and went to Grey's number and hit the contact and it rang for a minute until he picked it up.

"Officer Bradford. What pleasure do I have for you to call?" Grey asked and you could hear the chuckle in his voice.

"Hey, Y/N is sick and I'm gonna need to stay home with her. She tends to cling to me when she's sick." Tim said

"She always has, ever since she was a baby." Grey said with a chuckle. "You take all the time you need and let us know if you need something. I know everyone around here would love to help out. If you need Luna for something just let her know, she would drop everything for that little girl." Grey said and Tim smiled and it was true. When his daughter met Luna it was an instant attachment.

"Thank you, Sir." Tim said "I'll let you know if there is anything." He added.

"Good. Now go and take care of that sweet baby girl. We have it handled over here." Grey said

"I'll keep you updated. I got her an appointment at 10 AM." He said

"Good. Talk to you later and keep us updated." Grey said

"I will." Tim replied and then hung up.

Tim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't like taking off but when his daughter was this sick he would do anything for her.

When Isabel was around she never took care of Y/N when she was sick all that responsibility fell on Tim and this caused several fights. Then again fights happened because she wasn't around to take care of their daughter. It frustrated him to no end. Yes, she was in her life for 6 years but she was just there she wasn't an active parent and when Y/N tried to be interactive with Isabel she would just shoot her down and send her off to go and find Tim. Tim had watched it happen and watched her face fall and her world shatter a little bit more each time, then she would come over to Tim and he would help her or look at what she did and when Y/N wasn't looking he would just glare at his wife who wasn't even paying attention. She was always too invested in work and going undercover. Tim sighed angrily thinking about all the times he wished he had Isabel's help but she just simply abandoned them.

He looked down at his watch for what seemed like the millionth time that morning and saw that it was 9:20 AM. The doctor's office wasn't that far but he liked being early and he needed to get Y/N up and somewhat dressed. "Alright sweet girl, up we go." He said and lifted her up and that woke her up.

"Daddy?" She asked groggily.

"Hey, Baby Girl. We need to get your teeth brushed and then head to the doctor." He said and she nodded and laid on her head on his shoulder.

"My throat hurts." She said and he nodded as he walked to the bathroom and had her brush her teeth and then he let her throw one of his sweatshirts on and he grabbed her bucket and they were out the door and into the truck. She was so congested and she was coughing nonstop. She was also starting to shiver despite her being in her dad's hoodie. She had fallen asleep on the drive over. He parked in the closest spot he could find to the door and killed the engine and then got out and then got her out she was still asleep as he carried her into the doctor's office. He smiled at the receptionist and with practiced ease he held her and signed her in and then went and sat down with her in his arms as she slept. 10 minutes later and her name was being called.

"Y/N Bradford." The nurse said and he was standing up with her and walking through the door. The jostling around made her wake. "Hey, Sweetie." The nurse said and smiled and Y/N just coughed and snuggled into her father and that made her smiled. "I'm gonna take your temperature, blood pressure, pulse, height and weight." She said and Y/N nodded. Tim put her on the ground and she got her weight and height taken and she just shook like a leaf once those two things were done she was allowed to get back on her dad's lap and she gladly did so. Her temperature was taken and when it beeped the nurse took it out of her mouth "102. She does have a fever." She said and Tim nodded the last two things were taken and then they were taken to a room. Y/N coughed and sniffled and Tim just held her closer.

A few minutes later Dr. Spring walked in and smiled sadly at the sight of the little girl. "Good morning." He said and Tim smiled.

"Good morning." He replied back.

"It says here that she might have the flu. and it looks like she has a fever. Is there anything else?" Dr. Spring asked and Tim nodded.

"She also told me that her throat hurts after I got off the phone with the receptionist and she has started to cough and sound congested. She also started to shiver and when asked to stand to take her weight and height she was just shaking." Tim said and Dr. Spring nodded adding it into the notes.

"I want to run some tests." He said and Tim nodded and slowly began to wake his daughter up and she groggily woke up and the doctor introduced himself and explained everything but she didn't say anything. Her eyes weren't as bright as they had been before she was sick. "Nurse Glass will be in here soon to run the tests." He said and then walked out of the room.

5 minutes later Nurse Glass was walking in and began taking the samples for the tests that Dr. Spring ordered. The flu one went up her nose and she hated that and she started to cry but Tim just held her tighter and when she tried to turn her head she was met with his chest. The other was for strep and that had to be done by swabbing the back of the throat and she reluctantly opened her mouth and when the sample was gotten she started to gag and the nurse was quick to grab a bucket and Y/N threw up. After she was done the nurse threw it away and then walked out.

A few minutes later the doctor was walking back in "It looks like she has the flu, strep, and a sinus infection." He said "I'm gonna get her started on some antibiotics." He said and Tim nodded and then they were free to leave. He carried her out and she was out like a light on his shoulder. He said bye to the receptionist and he was heading to the pharmacy to pick up her meds. Once they were picked up they were heading home and he was parking in the driveway and walking into the house with her. He laid her on the couch and let her sleep.

Tim got her medicine out and read the directions and got some Gatorade out that he had for when he worked out. He walked over to her and woke her up and had her take her medicine and of course she protested but he was quick to let her wash it down with the Gatorade and then she was out like a light again with the TV on low. He made himself busy around the house while still checking on her. "Daddy?" She called out and he was rushing to her from the laundry room.

"Yes, Baby Girl?" Tim asked

"I'm hungry." She said and that made him smile because that was a good sign.

"You wanna try to eat some crackers?" He asked and she nodded. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed them and then headed back. He sat down and opened them and gave her the package and she began to eat slowly. She was keeping them down and the was great. He also had grabbed the thermometer and he checked her temperature and it read about the same. He watched her eyes droop and then she was back to sleep snuggling into her father. He let everyone know what was going on.

This had gone on for serval days and on the 4th day her fever broke and she was back to playing a little bit. She was still congested but her throat didn't hurt anymore and she was still coughing. Her eyes were starting to brighten back up and that made Tim smile.

On the 7th day she was back to her old self and the antibiotics were done and she was no longer congested and her eyes were bright. It was a Wednesday so she was cleared to go back to school with her doctor's note. He watched her skip off into the school and he smiled he was so happy to have his little girl back. Once she was safe inside he started his drive to work, he hated taking time off but if it was to take of his little girl then so be it. When he arrived he was asked how she was and he smiled and told them that she was better and that she went back to school and was back to her old self. Everyone was happy about that now she could get back to her shenanigans, like scaring the living daylights out of Officer Smitty and conning him into doing stuff because he was slightly terrified of her.

Tag list:

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

@grandstrangerphantom

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blingblong55 · 11 months

Text

New Pilot- 141

GN!Reader, Pilot!Reader

Based on a request:

Could you please write a hc where this is how the 141 meets reader? I saw it and almost immediately thought of you writing a fic for it lmao😂😂. Thank you💖💖

("Grim" is the nickname I from now on have for reader. 'Kasper team' will from now on be a name I'll give to non canon teams)

After much thought and a back and forth argument between Ghost and Price. They decided it's best to have a pilot on their team. Someone they can surely rely on. And thats when you come in. Now, you see they have read your file. Made research and it concludes that you are one of the best in the British Army. In fact, you are on a list of the most skilled and honoured pilots.

So, with a few strings pulled by price, you have been successfully been assigned to them and only them. For weeks before you officially made the move, they all drew conclusions. Most guessed you were a very serious person. They knew you'd be cold and stern when you'[d eventually meet. After all your callsign was 'Grim.' and you had flown in the infamous 'Kasper Team' , so they expected a cold person to work with them.

But, soon those ideas were gone when the day arrived. The four men had been waiting on your arrival at base. But because of a meeting with Laswell, they'd see you much later on the day. Price wanted his men to be wowed by you, so he ordered you to prepare the helicopter to take them all out on a ride. And oh will it definitely be a ride.

The four men saw you walk into the helicopter as you're prepared for flight.

"Why is Grim preparing for flight?" Ghost asked.

"we are going for a small trip boys."

"what, we're gonna go on this with a pilot we haven't met yet?" Ghost asked one more. They all approached you with some caution. You hanged from the blades of the aircraft. As you hanged from it, and the blades slightly moved around, you sang a song, "You spin me right 'round, baby, right 'round."

The men all watched in disbelief. You saw them all look at you, you smile and answer as you kept hanging from it. "Rotor's are good, Sir!" You smile proudly. Price knew you'd be his next headache.

"Who is this guy!" ghost was in disbelief as he turned to look at price. Soap and Gaz knew they would for sure enjoy this ride. New teammate and Ghost's new idiotic teammate. For them, this would be paradise.

A/N: Couldn't sleep well, so I am glad I finished this last night. I know its short but...I mean..I totally blame my lack of sleep

Tagas: @warenai

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siilvan · 8 months

Text

bloodsport – II

prologue | part one | next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: you never realized how boring captivity could be. you hate to admit it, but makarov is the only interesting thing around, and perhaps the closest thing you have to an ally in this place.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra, no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood/injuries, inaccurate medical procedures, reader gets harassed :/, reader kills a dude, russian written by a non-russian speaker (please correct me if it's wrong!!)

word count: 3.7k

note: the temptation to write the filthiest makarov/reader/yuri fic is slowly taking over my brain. i'm begging activision to reveal my ex-war-criminal husband already bc i have two hands for a reason

true to his word, you don't see makarov for the rest of the day. after you're brought back to your cell and locked away, you take the time to rest and gather your thoughts. the lumpy bed provides little comfort as you try to sleep, but it's better than the cold floor. you manage to drift off eventually, even with every voice and sound in the corridor stirring you awake.

when you finally drag yourself out of bed the next morning, blinking away any lingering exhaustion and gently stretching your sore muscles, the sky is still dark. the storm that was raging all night had subsided for now, and through the single barred window on the back wall, you can see groups of soldiers outside. running drills, training in marksmanship, transporting supplies, patrolling the grounds - it reminds you of the bases you've visited with the team.

the team. you trudge over to the only other furniture in the room, the metal chair that you moved to sit near the window, and plop down onto the seat unceremoniously. with how muddled your mind has been since the conversation with makarov, you've hardly had time to think about them.

they're alive. you just need to keep telling yourself that. they'll come for you as soon as they can. all you can do until then is keep faith and survive.

as a pair of boots stomps down the hall towards your cell, you begin to ponder if taking matters into your own hands is the only way you'll escape. you're just as capable as the rest of your team, surely you can find a way out of this crumbling prison.

you turn your head at the sound of keys jingling. a guard is standing at your door, unlocking it, before looking at you. "let's go," he says, thick accent lacing every word. "you're on a schedule."

with a small wince, you rise from the chair and cross the room. the guard starts down the corridor, heading in the opposite direction that you went yesterday. you follow close behind, clammy palms wringing together. it almost feels like you're restrained again, with metal cuffs digging into your wrists and binding you, keeping you from struggling or defending yourself.

after descending a staircase and passing a few corners, you reach wherever the guard was taking you. he pushes a door open and ushers you inside, revealing a sizeable shower facility. you send him a cursory glance, confused as he motions for you to step further into the space.

"shower." he mutters, standing by the door. you wordlessly turn to the showers, then back to him.

"do you mind?" you ask, nodding towards the door. "i'd like a little privacy. it's not like i can tunnel my way out."

he shakes his head at first, refusing your request, until you decide to do the same, silently staring at him. a beat passes between you until he spins around, grumbling something along the lines of "hurry up," and exits the room. once the door slams shut behind him, you let out a relieved breath and walk over to one of the many stalls.

you scan the area before carefully undressing, paying close attention so as to not mess up your bandages or strain any of your healing injuries. you quickly dive past the thin curtain and toss your clothes over the curtain rod.

a string of curses fall from your lips when you twist the knob and cold water pours out of the shower head, prickling like ice against your skin. cleaning yourself up whilst protecting your bandages is a difficult task, but you manage to keep them relatively dry. you were in need of a fresh set, anyway. grains of sand and dust leftover from al-mazrah is washed down the drain, and as you start to adjust to the freezing temperature, some of your muscle aches follow suit.

a few minutes of relief pass by as you try to relax, though the bliss is short-lived when you remember your conversation from yesterday. you hate the thought of listening to makarov of all people, but did he have a point? are you truly just as bad as him, even with good intentions being your motivation?

you're well aware of what your job entails. as captain price so bluntly puts it: we get dirty, and the world stays clean. you know that some missions leave a sour taste in your mouth and a doubt in your mind. are you truly doing the right thing? can you do better? is there a way to save everyone?

as you shut off the water and attempt to dry off with a clean towel left on a small bench nearby, you realize that you're giving makarov exactly what he wants. he brought up the topic with the intent of messing with your head. he's trying to break you - for whatever reason, you're not sure. all you know is that you can't give up. you have to stay strong for the team.

you pull your clothes back on, nose scrunching at the uncomfortable feeling of damp gauze sticking to your skin. the guards seemed to bounce between civility and cruelty depending on the moment; perhaps you can catch someone in a good mood and request a replacement.

the door swings open and you jolt, spinning around to face the intruder. the man from earlier is standing in the doorway, a look of disinterest evident even through his balaclava. "you are done, yes?"

clearly he isn't the person to ask, you think, following him into the corridor. he leads you back down the same path as earlier, through winding halls and up a set of stairs, stopping once you arrive at the cell you call home. you keep an eye out for anyone along the way who looks to be doing well, searching for a person to seek help from.

no one catches your attention, leaving you only one option: the guard currently locking the door behind you.

"uh– can i ask you a question?" you turn around to look at him, wrapping your hands around the iron bars. he sends a small glare in your direction, but pauses nonetheless.

"what?" he murmurs, standing up straight.

you lift your arms, showing off the damp and gradually loosening bandages. "any chance i can get these changed?"

his eyes flit down to your arms, then back to your face. he sighs, heavy and deep, and grumbles out a reply. "i will get the doctor."

with that, he leaves your sight, lifting a hand to his radio and saying something that you can't understand. "should've agreed to those fucking russian lessons from price," you mumble, staggering across the room and sitting on the bed while picking at your loose gauze.

it feels like an hour passes by before you hear someone coming down the hall again. by this point, you were assuming that the guard had forgotten about you.

you sit up from your slumped position against the metal frame and are immediately greeted by a new person on the other side of the door. an older man, nicely dressed and carrying a heavy bag that you fear will topple him over, regarding you with a grin that feels out of place in this shithole.

"you must be petra," he starts, pushing the door open and letting himself inside. he keeps his distance, both hands visible and wrapped around the handle of the bag in front of his body. "doctor tarkovsky." he continues, introducing himself. you nod, watching closely as he approaches you and places his bag on the bed next to you. the chair is dragged over, much like the other day, and he sits.

"the work you did... you saved my life, doctor." you mutter, allowing him to take one of your arms into his gentle hold. he hums in reply, taking great care in undoing the dressings.

"спасибо, but it was not me that saved you." he chuckles softly, eyes briefly lifting from your arm to meet your gaze. "the commander was responsible for that. by the time you arrived here and into my care, he had managed to stabilize you."

he mumbles something to himself about "his military days" while dropping his gaze back down to your newly exposed skin. your eyes follow his, and you wince at the sight of burn marks and stitched lacerations. a cold breeze enters into the room through the window and stings as it sweeps over you, making you clench your hand into a tight fist.

"the commander? you mean makarov?" you ask, forcing yourself to look away and stare at the wall behind the doctor. the same man that put you here is the one that kept you alive. go figure. you glare holes into a random brick, trying to make sense of it. based on the few interactions that you've had with him, as well as the many things that price had to say, that kindness seems out of character.

the fact that he hasn't tortured you to the brink of insanity is odd enough.

"yes, he demanded that i give you the best treatment. said he wanted you alive and in good condition." the doctor rummages through the bag next to you and begins to clean your wounds and apply new dressings, deft hands making quick work of the process. you remain silent as he wraps your arm in a new set of bandages, waiting for him to finish.

you finally speak once he's halfway through rewrapping your other arm. "is he always so... touchy?" you murmur, almost a whisper.

"touchy?" he repeats the word.

"i think i pissed him off yesterday," you say, tongue darting out to wet your chapped lips. "ended up slammed against a wall. is he always so quick to anger?"

after securing the bandages on your arm, the doctor leans back and shakes his head. "commander makarov is usually the calmest person in a conversation," he replies with a surprised huff. "whatever you said or did must have struck a nerve, made him lose his temper. even the soldiers working under him struggle to do such a thing."

you furrow your brow at him. he waves off your befuddlement and gets started on treating your other injuries - namely, the large gash on your side and the burns on your back. as he's loosely wrapping your back in gauze, he makes another comment.

"it could be that you angered him, rather than what you did."

"i angered him?" you parrot back to him, craning your neck to look at him over your shoulder. the doctor nudges you forward again and hums affirmatively.

yet another thing that doesn't make any sense, you think. besides your affiliation with the one-four-one, there's nothing about you that should stand out to a man like makarov. you don't possess any top secret intel or really hold any importance to anyone outside of your team; so, why is he treating you so strangely? is it a game he's playing, trying to mess with his real enemy, the captain?

are you merely a pawn, a bargaining chip between two forces much bigger than yourself? makarov is dangling your life like bait, hoping to catch a better prize. you squeeze your eyes shut and take in a deep breath, considering your options.

makarov would only hold onto you for one reason. drawing out captain price. that means price is alive, at least to makarov. if you stay here, you might be able to confirm this plan for yourself. however, if you can escape and deliver all the intel you've collected so far, you could prevent the plan from advancing any further. no matter which option you choose, rotting away in this prison cell won't help.

as kind as the doctor is, he's still one of makarov's men. you can't trust him. you're on your own.

"so, is it going to scar?" you inquire with a smile, fixing your shirt after he pulls away. he moves to gather his things, reaching into his bag and handing you a dose of painkillers.

he sighs and sends you another smile of his own. "the burns aren't deep enough, thankfully, and the lacerations shouldn't scar so long as they're properly cared for. you are very lucky."

"guess i am. thank you, again."

you swallow down the pills - dry, much to your chagrin - and give him a small wave as he exits the room, the iron door closing behind him with a soft clunk. the guard from earlier reappears to lock it moments later, leaving you trapped in the cell once more.

⋆⋆⋆

another five days pass by, and you mentally curse whatever higher power put you here. your routine remains largely unchanged: at roughly seven o' clock, one of the guards stops by to take you to the showers. by seven-thirty, the doctor arrives to change your bandages. you're given your only meal around noon and left to your own devices until eight in the evening, when the doctor arrives to change your bandages again.

you are slowly beginning to heal, at least. the lack of nutrition was stunting the process, but according to the doctor, you were still on the mend. it won't be long until you can get the stitches taken out.

you've spent several of these past one-hundred-and-twenty hours wondering if that's what makarov is waiting for. he wants you alive to torture, to indulge in breaking something fixed by his own hand. maybe the doctor is in on the plan. you wouldn't be surprised to discover that he's reporting your healing process to makarov, giving him a countdown of sorts.

as you rest on the cold, hard stone floor, with your back propped up against the side of the bed, tossing a rubber ball that you pocketed at the wall, you question if your paranoia is getting the better of you.

the rubber ball rolls across the ground after you throw it at the wall. it starts to come back to you, before bouncing off the edge of your boot and heading towards the door. you lazily follow it with your eyes, until you notice a person standing at the other side of the bars, their gaze transfixed on you.

it's a man wearing an outfit similar to the doctor's, though you can easily tell that he's substantially younger. in his late thirties to early forties, you estimate. he carefully kicks the ball out of his way after entering the room. you watch him like a hawk, an uneasy feeling washing over you.

"i'll be handling your care today." he announces, plopping his similarly-designed supply bag on the mattress. you pull yourself up to stand and dust yourself off, taking a healthy step back from him.

"something happen with doctor tarkovsky?" you ask as the younger man rummages through his bag and slips on a pair of latex gloves. he shakes his head, not even bothering to look at you, and continues searching through his supplies.

"tarkovsky is busy," he responds, motioning for you to sit. you hesitate for a second, but ultimately decide to shake off the nerves and follow his orders. "i'm going to start with your back today." he adds. you nod, moving to face away from him and lift your shirt up.

he's silent while replacing the gauze, and you're not sure whether you prefer that or talking. his touch is slightly less gentle, which you chalk it up to less experience. eventually, he moves on to the gash on your side, settling in the normal chair with an expression that you find hard to decipher.

your unease is suddenly validated as he cleans the stitches. his unoccupied hand comes to rest on your thigh, just above your knee, catching your attention. your eyes fall from the wall to his hand, then to the open bag at your side. laying near the top of it is a scalpel - small, but lethal in the right hands. you clear your throat and shift, bouncing your knee under his hold, testing the waters.

instead of removing his hand, he slips it just barely higher. you squint, gnawing at the inside of your cheek, debating on acting now or waiting a little longer. maybe he doesn't realize it.

as his hand slides higher, though, gloved fingertips digging into the plush of your thigh, that notion goes out the window. you slowly lower your hand closest to the bag and place it on the mattress next to it. the younger doctor pulls back, examining his work, his thumb rubbing languid circles into your skin. you act while he's distracted.

with trained proficiency, you grab the scalpel from the top of the pile and shove the man forward, slicing across his neck in one swift motion. he stumbles backwards, reaching up to desperately grasp at his throat as he chokes on the blood pouring from the open wound.

"don't fucking touch me again," you seethe, fixing your shirt and holding the scalpel in a white-knuckled grip. the sounds of him tripping over the chair and falling to the ground alerts the guards stationed in the corridor, who immediately rush through the door with their guns drawn and pointed at you.

they're shouting at you, but you can't make out what they're saying over the blood pounding in your ears. you turn away from the dying man and stare them down, unmoving from your spot in the middle of the room.

after a brief standoff, the guards suddenly look over their shoulders and shuffle away from each other, revealing a familiar face. one you haven't seen in almost a week, and assumed you wouldn't see for a while longer.

makarov steps to the front of the small group as the ringing in your ears begins to subside. his eyes dart from you to the man lying on the ground, having choked to death shortly before he arrived at the scene. he chuckles, low and controlled, and turns to the guards.

"убрать этот беспорядок," he mutters, waving towards the corpse. the men holster their guns and move past him, lifting the body up and carrying it out. as the group disappears down the hall, you find yourself alone with makarov. the scalpel slips from your fingers and clatters against the floor, pulling his focus back to you.

"well? are you going to punish me for that?" you ask plainly, the pool of red still visible in your peripheral vision.

"should i?" he counters, casually sauntering across the room. his gaze flits from yours to your cheek, which you soon realize is wet with the man's blood.

you shrug, shoulders drooping. "i killed one of your men. most people would punish a prisoner for less."

he wipes the blood off your cheek with his forefinger and huffs softly, seemingly pleased with the situation. it's only now that you notice his slightly disheveled appearance; his white dress shirt is untucked and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearms that are covered in a light layer of dirt. minor cuts and bruises bloom on his skin, resembling self-defense wounds.

"i could never expect a member of the one-four-one to accept capture quietly," makarov remarks, picking the chair up off the floor. "i'm surprised it took you this long, if anything. i was expecting to receive reports by the second day."

he raps his knuckles against the seat twice, urging you to sit. you end up mirroring your first interaction after he sits on the bed across from you, elbows resting on top of his knees.

you grab a set of cleaning wipes from the bag forgotten at the foot of the bed and offer them to him. "so, i'm assuming you're not here to share the fun story behind those obvious self-defense wounds?" you tilt your head to the side, regarding him with a sarcastic smile.

"like i said in our prior conversation," he takes the pack from your outstretched hand and haphazardly wipes his arms clean, the lack of care enough to make you inwardly flinch at the potential pain. "once traitors are found, they are dealt with."

"seems like they got to you first," you snort.

besides a pointed glare, he doesn't dignify your comment with a response. instead, he takes your arm into his hold, removing the old bandages with almost the same level of indifference that he treated his own injuries with.

"ow." you grunt, a bit overdramatic. in truth, his touch isn’t any less gentle than the doctor you just killed.

"stop complaining." he responds bluntly.

"maybe be more careful, then." you snap, tugging your arm back. you're being intentionally difficult, pushing his buttons, but you deserve to be a little shitty to the man holding you hostage.

makarov grabs your elbow, one of the few relatively uninjured parts of your arm, and yanks you forward, until your free hand slams down onto the space next to him to catch yourself from falling. he leans in, your noses nearly touching, and sneers.

"this is the extent of my kindness, petra." he tightens his hold when you try to create some distance, locking you in place. "do not tempt me to withdraw it." he whispers, dark eyes boring into yours.

you swallow back a whimper as his grip tightens again, blunt nails digging into healing skin, nodding in reply. he releases you a moment later and resumes his previous actions, quickly yet effectively rewrapping your arm. you grudgingly decide to cooperate for the other set, making it go by much faster than the last.

"tarkovsky said you're usually pretty calm," you mumble as he secures the bandages in place. "is it the one-four-one that frustrates you so easily? or, am i just a special case, hm?"

makarov, clearly interested in continuing the running theme since your first meeting, does not respond. you really should get used to it. you say nothing more as he stands up and grabs the discarded supply bag, walking towards the door. he pauses, holding the door open, and you nearly miss the words said to you over his shoulder.

"anyone else would be dead already."

translations:

спасибо (spasibo) - thank you

убрать этот беспорядок (ubrat' etot besporyadok) - clean up this mess

taglist: @sofasoap, @roosterr, @rohansregret, @lonesome-doves, @thorrsexual, @miss-nob0dy, @woodeelf, @fbs-fc-ur-mommy, @soap-mactavish, @itsyellow

⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist! (18+ only please <;3)

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #mw2 #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #makarov x reader #vladimir makarov x reader #cod makarov #vladimir makarov #sylph.writes

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sarahsmi13s · 1 year

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Wheel of WIPS

Sarah Spins or Vinny Spinny

okay, i’m bored and i want to talk about my wips

send me the word ‘spin’ in my inbox and i’ll spin my big ass spinner wheel and tell you about whatever fic it lands on

#i'm bored #i also have too many wips and i wanna tell you about them with out feeling annoying #wip wheel #wheel of wips #spin game #sarah spins #vinny spinny #controlled chaos squad #callsign vintage

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ladyelissarose · 1 year

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‘You Came!!’

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x female aviator reader - callsign: Hawkeye

Summary: Hangman is given a backseater to improve his teamwork skills, he belittled it all including her, thinking that it would be pointless and ridiculous, learning how to seriously depend and care for someone. But that change the minute she couldn’t eject.

Warnings: mentions of angst, thoughts of dying, mentions of vomiting, mean Jake, a jet accident, panicking, fluff in the end.

Two months had passed when Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin had gotten a backseater, named Y/n Y/l/n; callsign Hawkeye. Cyclone and Maverick believed that it would do him good, help him learn how to work with others and cooperate during team work. And even though everyone thought that it would help him, it only made him meaner, but towards Hawkeye. He belittled her capability, and talent in flying. He was hard on her when they messed up in training and blamed her half the time. (The other times Rooster would step in and make Jake pay for his responsible actions.) Hawkeye everyday tried to prove herself better, which she would, soon she was one of the best backseaters, (After Bob Floyd). But in Jake’s eyes she wasn’t good enough, he always found something to call her out on. And Hawkeye took his every criticizing word like a pro, never making the same mistake again. Y/n’s competition was Jake, and she always wanted to be like him, the absolute best, and Jake saw that, and refused to let her get there. Through all the mistreatment and unnecessary criticism, it was unknown to all that deep down he really liked her, which is why he pushed her away, he was afraid to engage into something that he felt he wasn’t ready for. Y/n had a beautiful heart and a great, tough personality. After he scold her hard she never cried but squared her shoulders and firmly promised that she’d never do it again. When Jake thought he had pissed her off, Y/n would prove him wrong when she’d show up with his helmet showing him that it was sparkly clean, or with a cold soda can of his favorite beverage after a long day. While Jake tried to make Y/n see that she wasn’t good enough for him, she showed him everyday that she was all he needed, and every time Jake saw and realized it more and more, which scared him and annoyed him.

On their third month of working together, they both were sent on a risky mission. Rooster and Phoenix with Bob were sent with them too. Things had went absolutely well and they even finished their mission on time with no slip ups, until Jake and Y/n were hit with a bad bird strike on their way home. Loud ringing sounds filled the cockpit along with Hawkeyes cries as they started going down,

“HANGMAN WE LOST BOTH ENGINES WE’RE GOING DOWN!!”

Hangman tried to restart the whole system and use the backups, but it only got worse when it went to flames as well. He shouted back to Hawkeye to try and fix it or find a solution when he couldn’t find one,

“Try from back there and see if we can save it!!-“

“We can’t it’s going down Hangman!! We lost the backups too!!!”

Huffing loudly Hangman screamed,

“THIS IS MY JET HAWKEYE! WE WILL SAVE IT!!-“

Slamming her fist onto the buttons that flashed red all over she argued,

“Your jet is screwed over Hangman!! We have to eject!!”

‘ALTITUDE! ALTITUDE!!’

Jake looked at his altitude scale and saw how they were dropping fast, beginning to spin out dangerously. Though he was angered with the situation and with Hawkeye, he came to the realization that they had to eject. Tightening on his seatbelt and vest, he shouted to Hawkeye,

“Alright we have to eject we’re dropping altitude fast!!

Happy to hear that he finally complied, Hawkeye shouted back with a panicked tone,

“Great! Let’s do this!!”

After getting the confirmation he needed, Hangman made his next move as he pressed the button to open the cockpit, and pulled on the strings to fully eject.

In mere seconds he was sent out of the jet, barely catching Hawkeye’s terrifying screams,

“HANGMAN WAIT! I CAN’T EJECT!! IT DOESN’T WORK!!!”

A dart of fear pierced Jake’s heart when his mind registered her words, but before he could say anything, the whole jet exploded in mid air, making him cry out,

“NOOOO HAWKEYE!!!”

His heart beat loud in his ears and the blood had run cold to his feet, his parachute began to drop altitude, and everywhere he looked, frantically, trying to see if he could find Hawkeye in a parachute anywhere, but he came back negative. His mind hadn’t stopped working as he began to utterly hate himself for not ejecting earlier when she had told him to.

‘I killed Hawkeye... this is my fault. I should’ve ejected with much more time left to spare. Instead as always I pushed her to her biggest limit, and this time... she couldn’t surpass it. I just killed Hawkeye... and it’s my fault.’

All Hangman wanted to do was scream until he couldn’t breathe, or find a way to turn back time so he could of made sure that Hawkeye’s ejection worked. But the cottonmouth he felt kept him from screaming, and the reality of having no time travel machines made Hangman sink into his guilt more and more. Down below was a forest of tall green trees, and miles and miles of thick snow. Hangman was able to gear his parachute onto land that was clear of trees so he wouldn’t crash into them. A rough landing he had, from thinking to much about Hawkeye he didn’t focus on how he landed, hence straining his ankle painfully. With a loud groan of excruciating pain Hangman stood to his feet right away, not wanting to spare another second without searching for Hawkeye, no matter how he found her. He believed he had to be the first to see the consequences of his ignorant actions. Up ahead he saw the smoke from the ground rise and form a black cloud in the sky, the pieces that fell from the exploded jet had taken their landing too. Jake moved as much as he could through the thick snow that went above his ankles. The pain he felt only got worse as he took one step after another, screaming for him to stop, but his mind was determined to ignore it and move on. Jake knew that where the smoke was, that’s where Hawkeye would probably be, in the midst of it all. Probably burned up and long gone, the thought of it only made the anxiety of it claw at him and terrify him more. The whirling sounds of the wind sent chills up his spine, it sounded like a cry, a wailing cry of loss. The freezing air burned his skin and touched his aching bones. Once he dreadfully arrived at the scene, he then took a run to approach it faster, seeing how the fire had already died down. Climbing onto what was left of the wing, Hangman reached the cockpit and looked inside, to only see that it was empty, the seat was still there, and so were it’s buckles and latches, but it was empty. Utterly confused as to why it was empty, Hangman slammed his fist onto the broken cockpit window and sunk onto the wing of the jet and began to sob,

‘What if she flew out? And her body is laying around here lifeless? What if her death was so so painful and scary? Oh my God I’ll never forgive myself it wasn’t her fault... but what if she’s still alive, maybe on her last breaths of air.. Gosh I have to find her!’

Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Hangman leaned his palms on the side of the jet so he could stand up without falling, also trying to get most of the weight off his ankle. Looking around from where he stood in the wing, Hangman saw absolutely no sign of Hawkeye. After sliding off the wing Hangman than began to walk away towards any direction his feet took him, his mind wasn’t thinking straight anymore, it only thought about two things; Hawkeye and her possible death. Swallowing the stone that was in his throat from the pain he felt inside and out, Hangman shouted from the bottom of his heart,

“HAWKEYE!?!!”

Looking all around the snowy ground and the tall evergreens that stood out like a sore thumb in the midst of Queen Elsa’s snow town, Jake began to feel his heart sink as he didn’t hear any sound of life, besides his panicked breathing, or see any movement other than his feet that trailed off looking and searching frantically. Jake’s mind ran millions of miles per millisecond, trying to reassure his mind and heart that indeed, Hawkeye did make it out of the jet on time, before it exploded on them in mid-air. But what began to convince his mind that she hadn’t, was when he realized that the sky had painted itself a darker shade of color, signaling that night time was crawling around the corner, guaranteeing its nearing, and he still hadn’t found her. It began to grow even colder, the chilly air had already numbed his skin and bones, making them feel incredibly useless but shaky. Even his pointy nose began to turn pink and burn a little on the tip, it burned to close his eyes and blink, the rest of his face felt numb to touch. But that didn’t stop Jake from searching, and calling out with his aching, sore throat,

“HAWKEYE!! CALL O-OUT!!”

Waiting to hear any voice return his plea, Jake had stopped moving in the snow that crunched under his boots, but even then, he was unfortunately met with silence, only the wind flowed and whispered to Mother Nature around him. The beating of his heart was no longer heard in his ears, it was like it had frozen too. It became hard to swallow and to breathe, it was like if he was drowning or suffocating on his own tears he wanted to cry out. Jake felt worse than a failure and was so afraid of the unknown. His emotions swirled all inside of him like a hurricane, and soon it all came out when he sank into the snow onto his knees, and began to heave out whatever was left in his stomach from earlier that day. His ribs grew sore for how hard he was throwing up, but it just kept coming out. Soon he began to cough out the rest of it, and choke on his sobs that wrecked from his chest and broke heart. Through it all he still tried to be positive to keep himself from panicking, but his mind only told him,

‘Did Hawkeye make it out of the cockpit? Did she land safely? Is she even alive? What if she froze?- No no! She’s alive! Hawkeye has to be!! Come on Hangman, don’t live up to your callsign... don’t leave her hanging... we have to find her and bring her home no matter what!!!’

Letting out a shout of frustration and pain from the cold that burned his body from inside out, Hangman stood back onto his feet, and sucked in a deep breath, before screaming out desperately while turning around and cupping his hands over his mouth to make his call louder,

“HAWKEY!!!! CALL OUT!! COME ON WHERE ARE YOU!?”

Warm tears had already fallen down his cheeks and brought a shaky chill through his whole body when the freezing weather hit against them, his red lips trembled along with his perfect, chattering teeth. The confidence Hangman always felt, had faded a long time ago, he only felt dread and regret, and it only grew heavier and heavier. Until he heard a small cracking of a branch from above him, and soon felt a small piece hit his head, making him look up, and find who he was looking for. He let out a small laugh of relief, and let out some more tears, but of joy this time.

Up above hanging on a thick tree branch, was Hawkeye clinging onto her parachute. It had gone caught on one of the thicker branches of the really tall evergreen trees, hence leaving her hanging off of it from quite a high distance. Hangman didn’t spare a second more as he shouted at her while running towards it, ready to climb it or find a way up.

“Hawkeye!! Hawkeye!! It’s Hangman!”

Turns out that Hawkeye had unbuckled in the jet and jumped out with her personal parachute before it could explode. And while going down, her parachute got stuck in the tree. Hawkeye’s voice could barely be heard from her being way high up, sounding a little strained though as she shouted back,

“HANGMAN?! Oh!! Gosh I thought I was hearing things!! But it’s really you!! You came!!! I thought you left me!!”

Jake’s heart felt a little stabbed at her words, but he couldn’t blame her, his actions towards her had proven that she should expect that from him, but he was also glad, that he was here to prove other wise. Grabbing onto the sides of the tree, Hangman shouted back while trying to grab grip of it,

“Oh no! I didn’t leave ya! I’m right here! I’m so sorry for everything- I-I’m going to try and climb up-“

“No no!! What if you shake the tree and-and it moves then I fall off this branch??!”

Jake thought about her words for a few seconds then let out a belly laughter because he knew that it would be impossible to move or even shake such a thick tree stump. It’d take like... it’s just basically impossible, logically it is. Jake then reassured her with a positive tone,

“I promise that this tree won’t move, it’s super thick and.. a million years old, it’s been through hell and back I bet, so I’m sure it can endure me.”

He heard Hawkeye huffed as she put forth sarcastically,

“Hangman no one can endure you... you’re too much. But I hope this tree makes you an exception... cause- well cause I really want to you to come up here and help me.... I think I broke my arm.”

Jake let a gasp escape his mouth as he took in her words,

“Oh! Well then don’t move it, or move at all, I’m coming.”

Jake had already started to measure up the length of the tree while listening to Hawkeye, he knew that when he went up, one branch than the other, he’d have to watch his step and grip very carefully, cause the fall won’t be pretty. He saw that It was quite a high climb, maybe about 30-45 feet high, but Jake knew he could nail it, growing up on a Ranch in Texas had Jake climbing onto whatever he could find, from the tall Barn stables and the trees houses he had built with his cousins.

Grabbing onto the first thick branch, Jake pulled himself up and began to climb up. A few times he had to stop and redirect his hands or feet when the branches didn’t seem to promising, which Hawkeye would see and call out here and there,

“Careful Hangman!” or “Make sure you feet don’t slip off!” “Watch your head!” Each time she called out to him, Jake’s heart would grow in size, feeling warmed by her kindness. Even after everything that had happened and what he put her through, to the point where she was hanging off a tree branch, she still worried about him, selfless and forgiving she was.

He was now a couple of feet away from where she was. Hawkeye was above him as he stood on a very thick branch under her, and he smiled to himself as he saw her face come into view, she had a few scratches on her face from falling into the tree, but her smile took his eyes off of them. Her arm was clutched close to her chest, not sparing a second to move it, not even an inch. Just as he was about to instruct how she was going to get down without falling but landing onto the tree branch he stood on, the branch cracked loudly as it moved slightly,

CRAAACK!

“Hooooly shit please don’t tell me that this branch just moved.”

Jake kept his original words in the back of his throat and instead said,

“Ok I won’t tell you. But listen, I need you to start unbuckling-“

“No no-“

“I promise I won’t let you fall-“

“So you’re going to catch me? Is that what you’re saying? After all this time of you mistreating me you think I’d trust you?”

Jake hates how she was right but he urged anyway,

“Ok ok you’re right! But I’m so sorry I mean it! Sense the beginning I’ve always liked you but I-I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I pushed you away instead.”

Hawkeye gawked at him from where she was hanging, not believing his words for a split second,

“A-Are you serious? Hangman why didn’t you just tell me? We could’ve talked it through, like all the other things we talk through when you yell at me.”

Jake bit his bottom lip and sighed sadly,

“I know... I’ve just never worked with someone like you... and it scared me... your kindness and perfection scares me, makes me feel like I’m undeserving of it, and I only proved it when I treated you so poorly.”

Hawkeye pouted at his confession, she knew there had to be a good reason behind how he badly treated her, she just didn’t know that it would be this reason. And when she saw this tough man with his arm reached out to her with tears in his olive-colored green eyes, her heart instantly believed his every honest word. Just as she was about to reply to him, the tree moved even more and shrieked loudly,

CRAAAAAACK!!!

At hearing Hawkeye’s panicked gasp Jake steadied his feet on the thick branch he stood on, and used one of his strong arms to hold onto the trunk that was next to him, he stretched his free hand towards her as he promised,

“I’ll catch you, just unbuckle and let go.”

CRAAACK’

Hawkeye felt the branch move even more as it cracked even louder, she held onto her buckle and looked down as she worriedly put forth,

“Jake are you sure? Cause if I fall I’ll just go straight down I only have one good arm-“

“I know, that’s why I need you to trust me and just let go.”

Hawkeye took a deep breath then looked down at Jake as she shakily said,

“O-Ok... I’m going to unbuckle this o-on the count of 3-3.”

Jake nodded approvingly as he held his arm up stretching his hand towards her,

“Alright, start counting, the count is on your time, but it needs to be quick, I don’t know how much time we have-“

Hawkeye shook her head nervously as she began to grab on the buckles, trying to undo it,

“I know I know... ok.. 1... -“

CRAAAAAAACK!!-

“SHIT I DON’T THINK YOU HAVE UNTIL 3 HAWKEYE!!”

“JUST WAIT I’M SCARED! F-FUCK IT’S NOT UNBUCKLING!!”

CRAAAACK!!-

Jake knew that it took maybe 3 more seconds and the branch would snap, hence sending Hawkeye to her fall, so he took those 3 seconds left, to quickly move from where he stood, and rush quickly to where Hawkeye hung above him, and pulled on her feet. Her buckle snapped opened and she fell down, but Jake was able to catch her from grabbing tightly onto the vest she wore on her flight suit. But with the momentum of the strength he took to pull her down, and how fast she did fall, Jake kind of slipped off the branch he stood on, but he held Hawkeye against his chest as he fell onto the thick branch with her under him. Both let out loud groans of pain as they heard the thick branch finally snap and fall with the parachute. Jake covered Hawkeye’s head and face with his thick arm so the pieces of the branch wouldn’t fall on her face, he clutched tighter onto her when the felt the falling branch hit the branch they were laying on, but thankfully, nothing more happened or moved. After hearing the it finally hit the ground harshly after crashing down, Jake lifted his head slowly from where he hid it in Hawkeye’s neck, and also lifted his arm from her face, to only see the few tears that had escaped her eyes, along with the growing ones. Her mouth was slightly agape and her lips trembled like if she was holding in a cry, and her nose was pink from the cold. Jake didn’t ask anything, he instead he closed his eyes and pulled her forehead against his as he cooed lovingly,

“You’re ok... we’re ok. I promise.”

A soft sob left Hawkeye’s lips as she let her hand move from his back that she was clinging onto, and held the back of his head, brushing her fingers through his short hair. Jake felt himself shaking from the inside out, he was finally letting the emotions run through him, and honestly, he was very afraid. Hawkeye began to feel and hear his uneven breaths coming out, and she comforted him by simply saying,

“Just breathe with me... like you said... we’re ok. So just breathe.”

Jake nodded slowly, relishing her words that comforted him instantly. He then moved to sit up, and brought her up with him carefully, to where they sat on the branch in front of one another, with their legs dangling on both sides of the branch.

Hawkeye looked up from where she had her eyes locked on Jake’s name patch, and focused her eyes on his green, shining orbs. They both drowned into their gazes, feeling grateful that they had made it out of the situation alive. He then caught himself staring and looked away down at his hands trying not to blush as he said in a breathy tone,

“h-hi..”

Hawkeye snapped out of her thoughts and looked down again as she replied shyly,

“hi...”

Jake pointed his hands between them as he said sadly,

“Again... I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you and for putting you through this... you can get another front seater when we get back.”

Hawkeye shook her head as she insisted,

“No no... I really like you-“

She then corrected herself while trying not to blush for being so direct, not remembering hat Jake had confessed first,

“I mean.. I’m fine with you, you’re great guy Hangman, you practically saved my life you know? I need someone like you.”

Jake nodded appreciatively while trying not to blush at her words.

“Thanks... I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Me too.. thanks to you... and when we get back.. we’ll work this out ok?”

Jake’s face lit up, as he nodded happily,

“Oh-Ok! great!”

Hawkeye then reached for Jake’s hand and held it in her own, giving it a good squeeze to show him that she was being truthful about her words. Jake lifted his other hand and held their holdings hands, sense Hawkeye clutched her broken arm close to her chest. Jake then felt very sorry, he knew it paid to have a broke arm, meaning you can’t fly until it’s completely healed. While he was in his thoughts seconds of silence had passed, before the atmosphere filled itself with Hawkeye’s hearty laughter. She threw her head back and went on, Jake was confused at first, but then he naturally joined along as he continued to hear it and loved how contagious it was. Words didn’t need to be said as to why they were laughing, they just did, the relief of what they went through came out in laughter. Hawkeye sighed loudly while trying to catch her breath, she then giggled,

“I can’t believe that this happened... like look at us.”

Jake let out a short giggle,

“Who would’ve thought huh?”

Raising her good arm Hawkeye pointed out,

“Right?! No one is going to believe us you know that right?”

Shaking his head Jake agreed,

“I know... by at least we do, we know exactly what happened.”

Hawkeye chuckled as she pointed out Jake’s callsign name patch,

“Yeah.. thank you for coming back, and not living up to your callsign.”

Jake looked at his name tag and frowned at it, Hangman could mean a lot of things, and one of them was, that he’d always leave his wingman hanging. Although he liked the name sometimes for certain reasons, there were times like today, where he didn’t like it very much. But Hawkeye knew how to make him feel better as she put forth nicely with a cheeky smile,

“Don’t frown Hangman, I was the one Hanging after all.”

Jake looked up and joined Hawkeye when she let out a long but cheerful laughter, cause it was true. Hawkeye was the one hanging off the tree in the end. He wiped his eye from a tear that threatened to slip from how hard he was laughing. But he mainly turned his fear into hard laughter, it was either him laughing hard or crying ugly, and laughter was the better choice. Hawkeye was happy she broke him out of his trance, and felt more relaxed to see him ok, for he was just as terrified as her. After a few seconds they calmed down and held onto the branch while taking deep but refreshing breaths, letting out a couple of breathy chuckles here and there. And they could get lost into one another’s gaze again, the whipping sound of the helicopter blades began to sound loudly, help and rescue had arrived. Jake immediately moved to stand up and signal them, he first made sure that Hawkeye held onto his legs and he began to wave his hands exaggeratedly while shouting at them.

Minutes later they came down in ropes to tie and take them up. Jake let Hawkeye go first, after he persistently told the medics to be extra careful with her hurt arm, he watched them attentively as they buckled her latches. Jake gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and a light but meaningful kiss on her forehead before she was sent up, his heart swelled when she squeezed his hand back tightly. Hawkeye sent him a warm and confident smile as she went up, they kept their eyes on each other until she made it onto the helicopter. Then they came back down again, and tied Jake up, pulling him up onto the helicopter safely. Once he got on, he saw how the medics had started treating Hawkeye’s arm, already finishing up by wrapping it securely and putting it in a sling. He quickly took a seat next to Hawkeye after they secured themselves in, happy to see how she had scooted so he could fit comfortably next to her, though their arms and legs still brushed up against one another. Hawkeye leaned towards Jake and placed a loving kiss on his cheek, before leaning her head back against her seat and closed her eyes. Stunned for a second while blushing hard, Hangman took that moment to gaze at her in awe as he saw how relaxed, happy and relived she looked. He then reached over and pulled her head to lean on his broad shoulder, as he said assuringly,

“You can lean on me... get some rest ok?”

She leaned closer to him and cuddled her face into his shoulder, as she mumbled a sweet,

“Thank you Jake.”

Jake patted her thigh softly,

“anytime..”

Once he felt that Hawkeye’s weight grew heavier on him, meaning she actually passed out in a nice slumber, he too leaned his head on hers carefully, after he gave her head a soft kiss, smelling her hair that was a scent of vanilla and honey. Happy to know she was alive and safe next to him. Hearing her soft breathing and feeling her pressed up against him, was enough for him to pass out as well, while he held onto her pinkie tightly, while their hands rested next to each other on his lap.

#jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin angst #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman x you #hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman #top gun hangman #topgun x reader #hangman angst #hangman fluff

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soullessdianthus · 7 months

Text

𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘

Summary: Reader's everyday life had been turned upside down since she had been recruited to Ghost's team. As a young, but prominent soldier she had to face many obstacles, but there was one in particular that made her blood boil ━ Commander Phillip Graves of Shadow Company. Little did she knew, that the blonde man with angelic was face going to make her suffer and bleed, wishing for the embrace of Death to swallow her whole. Y/C ━ your callsign Also posted on my ao3 ⟶ 𝕏

A/N: Basically, a whump where Graves is torturing the Reader after trying to frame her for a federal crime. Then Ghost finds out. Dark themes ahead.

Warnings: graves, canon typical violence (blood, guns, implied sexual harrasment), gore (desc. of tortures), angst, some sprinkles of comfort at the end

Word count: 7.6k

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐄

For as long as you could remember, the commander of Shadow Company made you feel uneasy. At first, you couldn’t precisely determine what was wrong – with him or you. There was this strange feeling, an odd hunch regarding Phillip Graves. Thank God, you didn’t work for him.

The whole collaboration thing that General Shepherd had with them was bizarre. A private military company? As far as you knew, they were called mercenaries, not some elitist soldier group. Their commander was oddly loyal to the general, it almost seemed like their bonds were far more complicated than a paycheck.

Soon enough you realized he was his executioner, a war criminal literally.

But your colleagues kept chastising you for making such hideous assumptions about higher ranks. You rather quickly learned not to share too much of your personal opinion with the other cadets.

Thereby, your voice of reason and concerns were sealed within your own mind, left to take roots. Particularly when you sat on your own on the side of the training grounds just after lunch break. Your gaze was focused on the fellow soldiers battling with the obstacle course, although your thoughts kept spinning in a never ending cycle – analyzing the latest mission, what happened step by step, what went wrong, what you had done poorly.

That was your key to survival – repeating the excellently executed tasks and never letting yourself slip up. Because there won’t be a second chance.

Some may say that you were an overthinker. That such shredding of each event into smaller pieces might mess up with your brain or worse – sanity.

But who the fuck cared about your sanity in a military? All of them had their hands tainted with blood, all of you had done some things that a perfectly ordinary person would find atrocious.

And sometimes you were ashamed of that. There was a time, at the beginning of your service where you couldn’t face your God at all. The evening prayers ceased, as the shame pooling in you forbade you from reciting the lines.

In spite of that, what wise people used to say that “time heals wounds” became your truth. You reconciled that death would be following you no matter where you would go. And each day, over and over you tried to omit feeding her greedy pit of a stomach.

Until you met Graves – in many ways he resembled your friend reaper. But he was far from being a friend. Mowing the fields of living, leaving corpses behind – “claw one’s way” was his motto. But there was a charming shell of a man that many seemed to fall for.

A soft, rounded face covered with shallow frowns and not so many scars. Short, yellow hair kept impeccably brushed to the side, beard usually trimmed or shaved. And those piercing eyes of his. Phillip’s glance balanced on the edge of calmness and hatred. Only thanks to his brows could you tell the difference.

Some of your colleagues from the cadet group stalked behind you into the shower room as soon as you returned from the latest mission, still drenched in sweat and the scent of war. Pestering, but not about you of course.

Since you passed all of the tests, you were amongst the few lucky ones that got introduced to the lieutenant's team. It wasn’t just any ordinary lieutenant, it was Ghost. Infamous man who wore a skull mask. Belonging to his division felt like joining some exclusive special forces. Which, in a way, was true.

But at the end of the day, you were just a private. You have heard from your current superiors that you might have the potential to make it to sergeant in the next few years. Only if you stay alive, that is. So therefore it became your priority.

Another week began, but you stopped counting days in the calendar. Every morning when you woke up, you checked the temperature and the schedule for the day. The decision of not tracing the days of the week seemed more… soothing. You were not counting the days until your demise, so what was the point of knowing if it was the third or fourth of the month?

Within the short period of time you have spent in the army you learned that time is the most precious thing in the world. The minutes, the seconds of you breathing in and out, devouring the essence of living.

Time was fleeting and you were ready to do everything, not to let it slip away.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈

As the new week started, a new mission was approaching. All you knew was where to report, in what type of gear with what kind of weapon. You were just a private after all. So when you happened to find yourself, sitting on the bench amongst the fellow soldiers, his raspy voice echoed like war drums. The thuds of Ghost’s steps synchronized with the beating of your heart and the loud sways of helo’s propellers.

There it was – the adrenaline. The sweet hormone that kept you going.

Tonight’s objective was crystal clear – ambush, then break in the building and search through it, looking for a man called Barnet. He was a federal agent, yet allegedly he was involved with illegal weapons dealing in and beyond the country’s borders. Now, he hired some mercenaries to protect his ass. Your group, with the help of Shadows, was supposed to capture that man alive for further investigation.

After another happy landing, you abandoned the helo and walked toward the gathering point where some Shadows were already standing. To your misfortune, Phillip was standing beside them.

And until your last step, you tried to manifest that he wouldn’t notice you this time. Well, the universe wasn’t too indulgent for you lately.

━ There she is!

“Oh, fuck me, everything but not him again”, you thought to yourself, making your way to the rest of the group. Your fingers clenched tightly over the M4 rifle you were carrying.

━ Commander.

You tried to keep a professional facade, referring to him with his rank. There was no time for a small talk as the clock was ticking.

━ It have been a while, wasn’t it? ━ Graves turned his body towards you, causing a dozen of eyes landing over your frame. Somehow, the tactical vest and your equipment began weighing on under their curious looks. The lieutenant’s was the heaviest of them. ━ Let me tell you something, doll. I’ve never thought I’d meet someone colder than Ghost here. Are you always like this, huh?

━ I’m not cold. Just focused on my job, sir.

He kept drilling a hole into your soul by looking a little too long to your liking with his blue eyes. They were the color of the ocean, of the sea you missed so much. God, how long was it since you last let the waves splash over your ankles?

━ That’s appreciated, soldier.

Only then he returned to evaluating the situation with Ghost. In a matter of seconds you were supposed to enter the battlefield. Therefore you had to get your act together.

Breath in and breathe out. Try to focus on the commands, but count the prime numbers in your head at the same time. The simple mathematics helped you in distress. At least the technique helped with your panic attacks through the years prior.

Within the next twenty minutes you found yourself with one of your teammates, callsign Omen, on their way, clearing out the second floor, left wing of the building. Since he was physically bigger than his partner, it was you who was going first. In case of need, you would quickly disappear behind the corner – you weren’t as easy to spot as he was.

The building itself seemed to resemble a school or some sort of city council – the countless hallways and rooms made it an ideal layout for a shoutout with the enemy. Apparently, from what the two of you heard through the radio, Ghost was right after the target. It meant the mission was about to end.

Mrs. Laswell was right, calling it an “in and out” type of operation. All that was left to do was to keep your position until your lieutenant captured the objective.

Because there was no sign of the opponent’s forces nearby, you and Omen split to sweep through the rooms departing from the long hallway. Perhaps, hiding some mercenaries?

You found yourself standing in front of the locked doors. Your heart slowed down by now, your body wanting to refuse to stay in combat mode. With a few firm kicks, you broke down the blocked doors to find yourself facing… an office or an archive.

The room had no windows and it was almost dark inside, the light from the hallway illuminating the interior. An uneasy sensation creeping up your spine. Plans and stacks of files laying on the table’s surface, pulling you closer. Hanging board, closed laptop still plugged in and a pot of recently brewed coffee.

In that moment, as you stepped inside the room, you sealed your fate. Your curiosity became your doom, but you didn’t know that yet.

As your gaze wandered through some handwritten notes on the board, you heard a clunking sound of a metal bin rolling next to you on the ground. For some time you couldn’t register what exactly happened.

Suddenly you began to run through the hallway, before “the bin” exploded. The recoil of the grenade made you stumble forward until your knees and fists hit the concrete ground.

For a moment there was silence. Blissful silence.

Then the muffled thuds of someone’s steps blended with the squeaking noise ringing in your both ears. The fear pooled in your stomach, causing you to gasp for fresh air. You only noticed their presence as you saw the tip of their shoes right in your face.

The vision in front of your eyes was blurry, the image shaking uncontrollably. It felt almost like you were drunk, but you were clearly not. You were very much sober.

The tight straps of your helmet dug into your head and temple like they were squeezing your brain out. The helmet weighed down on your poor head, so you tried to take it off – fingers awkwardly struggling with the straps.

The person standing in front of you grabbed you by your arm and helped you get on your feet. Then another set of arms wrapped around your back, but this touch was different – you knew this one belonged to Omen. A colleague, a friend.

Your heart was swaddled with warmth for a minute, until the other person decided to open their big mouth.

━ Come on, doll, we’re leaving. ━ A familiar, southern accent almost made your blood boil.

If God was real, he was clearly turning your life into a comedic spectacle of misery. Of all the possibilities it had to be him.

━ Can you walk? ━ Omen asked and it was the first thing you registered correctly. The buzzing noise finally freed your eardrums, now leaking with blood. You nodded, but his hand was still belaying behind you. ━ What was that?

━ Some pre-installed grenade, I think.

“Or someone rolled it beneath my feet”, you thought about that being a possibility too. You always considered other scenarios. It wasn’t your first encounter with an explosive, you knew the pre-installed ones usually weren’t rolling down the ground and you hadn’t nudged any cord.

Besides, how come the Shadows and Graves suddenly happened to be there?

Maybe your friends were right and you have already lost your sanity. Perhaps you went absolutely crazy, but that madness made you want to place together the sequence of events. You needed to understand what happened, because something was off.

And there he was, walking on your right – Commander Graves, the reaper. It seemed that him and his Shadows were escorting the two of you to the gathering point as you were still numb after the explosion. He walked with his chin high, eyes sparkling with confidence after a successful mission. The aura that surrounded him made you feel like a prisoner of a warhound.

Why?

Everything following “your salvation” blended together into one mush. Omen was a good friend of yours and he made sure you were not seriously injured. Only when the two of you sat on the bench inside the helo, you told him the whole truth.

━ There was something in that room. Something important. Papers.

━ And they secured the evidence by destroying it with that grenade? ━ He was quick to follow your pattern of thinking, but it still wasn’t enough. You had a feeling it wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

At the end of the day, Barnet got arrested and by this time he should be escorted by the Shadow Company to the FBI associated facility, meanwhile Ghost’s team was on their way back to the base. Everything from now on should have felt steady.

But it didn’t.

━ Wounded? ━ Lieutenant interrupted the conversations that were being held between the teammates.

━ Survivor of grenade here, sir. ━ Omen pointed at your bloodied earlobes, the dried liquid staining your neck. As the tall Britishman approached, you sent your colleague a death stare – you didn’t need his attention like this. You were alive, therefore no one should worry.

━ Can you hear? ━ Ghost leaned over his knees to reach your level, his dark irises looking over you to search for far more serious wounds. You nodded after making sure your hearing was intact. ━ Then you’ll be fine, Y/C.

He patted your shoulder before turning around to take his own seat. How lovely of him, a very worried superior he was.

During your way back to the base, you tried to calm your own thoughts. There was a need to stop them from crushing over you, your head still hurt like hell. For the first time in a good while, the thoughts felt overwhelming rather than helpful. You tried to brush them off, but it was unsuccessful.

You really needed to lay down and rest. A cup of tea would be lovely.

When the helo landed on the grounds of the British Army’s facilities and everyone slowly was walking away to take a shower and rest, you stayed behind going at your own pace.

And so did Ghost. A lone wolf.

━ Sir? ━ The masked man hummed, joining you on a walk to the barracks. ━ Would you find some time for me tomorrow? I really need to talk to you about the operation and the explosion.

━ It’s related?

━ I think so, yes, sir.

━ You think? Are you sure, you’re not wastin’ my time, Y/C?

It took a moment for you to reply, but now you were entirely sure. Your gut feeling never failed you before.

━ I would never waste time of a lieutenant, sir. I’m sure about that. ━ You tried to conceal the smirk twisting corners of your lips, but it became almost impossible with Ghost’s stupid questions. So you played along.

━ Alright, we’ll figure somethin’ out. Now, take a good rest and watch that head of yours, private. Don’t lose it.

Ghost could be funny sometimes, if you got to know him a little better. And of course, if he didn’t eat you earlier on – he could be an incarnation of a Behemoth himself sometimes. Even you were afraid of him at first, but that fear grew into a familiarity.

Little did you know that you were being watched by a shadow as you spoke with your superior. The all-seeing gaze already began consuming your poor, oblivious soul. You already were a victim of his mischievous plan.

Yet, you still had a chance for an absolution.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈

A warm shower, good sleep and a few pills of paracetamol was all you needed to regain most of your strength after the latest mission. Despite a new day beginning, sun hovering over the horizon, your head or rather thoughts were coming back to the events of last night. Nervously picking up the cuticles and pinching your own skin, trying to let go of that obsession.

Yes, obsession. It became pathetically weird at this point, you had no physical evidence to show your superior. Perhaps, you were just overreacting or your mind got to the breaking point?

None of that. You shook your head to the sides, brushing the fragility and doubts away.

You were not weak, if you happened to be in his team. Ghost’s team. You were observant, noticing the smallest details – the superiors commented, after the successful recruitment to special forces.

A voice of reason led you to the women’s bathroom and straight to the sinks. At this time of the day, the facility was empty, so you enjoyed the silence and loneliness. You turned on the tap, before splashing your face with cold water.

“Breathe in and out, soldier”, you instructed yourself.

As you calmed down a little, you dried off your face with paper towels. Soon after, you found yourself on the way to Ghost’s office. While you were walking down the hallway, you noticed the presence of Shadows. They were still sticking around. Just, you didn’t know why and probably won’t even know – you were only a private after all.

So to ease your curiosity, you decided to believe they were here for another collaboration. You shouldn’t be so nosy – that’s what your mother used to tell you, when she caught you eavesdropping on a conversation you were not supposed to hear.

━ Good morning, sunshine!

Graves suddenly placed his palm onto your shoulder, causing you to flinch. Fuck, you almost never flinched. Its weight felt abnormally heavy on your body, just like he was pulling you down hills with him – back to the gates of hell.

━ Jesus Christ ━ you murmured quietly, barely audible. Your eyes shooting up to him, smiling like an idiot ━ are you scaring everyone like this?

━ Not particularly, no ━ Phillip grinned, exposing his pearly white teeth. ━ Would you mind going for a walk with me, soldier? There is… a matter we have to discuss.

━ To be honest, I was on the way to my lieutenant’s office.

━ Why?

When he asked you this simple, one-worded question, you knew Graves was playing a sort of game with you – trying to squeeze as much information out of you, before you realized. But you were far from naive, you were an equal player in the game of shadows.

There were no obligations towards the commander, he wasn’t a part of the army. So therefore, you decided to bluntly lie.

━ I don’t know, he called me in this morning.

━ Bet he can wait a lil’ longer. Come on, I’ll take the blame, sugar.

For a couple of seconds you stayed behind, rethinking the decision you've already made. But then your legs aligned with the pace of his steps. The bold curiosity drove your actions. You decided to follow him outside of the building for a walk.

It was quite a nice day outside. Clouds covered the blue sky, but it didn’t seem to be raining until the evening. It was pleasantly warm, a little too dry to your liking as the dust floating off the ground dirtied your trousers.

The two of you followed the path near the fence between the storage buildings – armory, garages. Captain Price liked to call it a dumpster and he was right about that.

The silence that fell between you two wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the pure anticipation of the other person’s next move – will he start a small talk? Because you wouldn’t. Or maybe Phillip would be straightforward with you? But about what exactly?

━ So ━ you finally spoke out, letting your hands collapse at your sides ━ what was so important that had my superior to wait?

Your gaze landed on his face, searching for any tiny spasms of facial muscles. You needed something to work with. To figure him out.

━ I could have asked you the same question.

━ I already told you, sir – I don’t know why the lieutenant called me in.

━ No? ━ Graves suddenly stopped and turned his whole body towards you. A truly natural response was to face him too. ━ Weren’t you two talking in private yesterday? Following the return to the base, no?

━ Ghost was worried about my ears, I was bleeding after the explosion. You saw it yourself, sir. Why does it matter anyway?

He had the audacity to speak freely, to admit, that he had kept an eye on you yesterday. The arising question on your mind was: why? Why was he monitoring you?

━ You two seem to be quite close. ━ Graves continued poking the hornet’s nest.

━ He’s my lieutenant.

It took every inch of your willpower to withhold the fastened beating of your heart. You couldn’t be delusional, not right now. Ghost was just your superior.

━ Is he though? You make me wonder ━ he turned his head to the right, before clicking with his tongue. On purpose Phillip was keeping you on edge, waiting before you finally snap ━ if he plays a part of this venture. Is Ghost also involved?

━ What the fuck are you talking about?

You finally raised your voice at Graves, annoyance flooding your veins. Nothing coming out of his mouth made sense, he was wasting your time here.

━ I’m afraid you’ve been caught red-handed, sugar. Trying to destroy the evidence of your contribution to illegal weapon trafficking. Some money on the side, huh?

You snorted, amused by this sickening accusation. And until now, you thought your deductions were childish and foolish. Until Commander Graves opened his mouth, spilling more nonsense.

━ You think I planted the grenade? That’s bullshit, Graves. You ━ you took a step forward and your pointing finger dug into the material of his tactical vest, just above the dip between the collarbones ━ were there. You saw everything.

The last sentence came out more of a whisper, carefully threatening him that you knew he was fucking around with you. But he had orders to complete. The commander of Shadow Company would do everything for the sake of good fucking show.

━ ‘m afraid I have to take you for further interrogation, soldier.

Graves suddenly grabbed your forearm with a force you would never expect he would bare. At that moment you were confused, standing between a rock and a hard place – should you obediently follow him for “a talk” or should you resist his actions? Phillip was not your boss, he wasn’t in place of authority.

But, there was a hesitation if you should punch him or not.

━ You can’t do that without my superior presence. ━ You struggled against his grip, looking around and searching for any witnesses. To your misfortune, again, there was none. The training grounds were empty.

━ See ━ he managed to pull you with him, while he made his way to the magazine nearby ━ this is a military rule, princess. It has nothing to do with me.

Graves was playing dirty, when he finally dragged you inside the empty hall. You clung to the both sides of his vest, before smashing your forehead against his face. The blonde man stumbled backwards, cursing loudly, calling you all sorts of names. It had to hurt like a bitch, if all might Phillip Graves was whining like a little boy kicked in the balls.

━ You little– Fuck!

You tried to pass by him, before one of his Shadows revealed his presence, standing between you and the doors. Then another man emerged from the darkness, until you counted three of them in total.

“Great”, you thought.

A deep breath of not so fresh air filled your lungs. A hint of moisture hit your nostrils, while your sight was still getting accustomed to the dim lighting of the hall. Slowly you began to worry as you happened to be cornered by the Shadows with no one by your side. It made you vulnerable – like a wounded animal to a vulture.

━ What is this really about? ━ A simple question was asked, when you carefully tried to back out as far from the reach of his loyal soldiers. The situation was getting far more intense than you thought.

━ You’re related to Barnet’s scandal or at least you're messing up the evidence, all I have to hear is a confirmation.

Commander, whose hands were dirtier than anyone you knew, wanted you to confess. Ironic, wasn’t it?

━ Don’t make this harder than it has to be, doll ━ Graves wiped his bloody nose with a material of his sleeve, slowly walking in circle around you, a lamb to the slaughter ━ just face the consequences of your own actions.

━ You know it’s not true. I have nothing to confirm, sir.

If you were the same person you were years ago, you would fidget with your silver medallion. Praying for courage in a situation like this, facing the personification of evil. But that necklace was laying forgotten in the abyss of your drawer.

The painful truth was, you were left all alone in an uneven fight.

━ I was afraid you would say so.

With the slightest nod of his head you noticed the change in soldiers’ stance. They were about to charge at you and that familiar, eerie feeling in your bones. So you did all that you could to prepare for the upcoming attack.

When the first soldier swung with his clenched fist towards your face, you swiftly managed to avoid it. Then, you succeed another time. But by omitting the hits you wouldn’t last long, so the next strike had to be blocked.

Your forearm acted as a shield, when you tried to charge forward the Shadow. The second soldier joined the brawl, kicking you in the back of your knee. The punch in the joint made you stumble.

You decided to push away the first opponent and then with all your body mass, pin the second Shadow to the ground. Your arms wrapped around his thighs and you fell onto the soldier with a thud, punching his jaw with your clenched fist.

The adrenaline made your nervous system numb to the pain you inflicted upon yourself. If not for the blood staining his jawline, you wouldn’t notice when your knuckles began to bleed.

As soon as the pinned Shadow’s hands gripped your waist tightly, trying to push you off, you knew the outcome of the fight. Even if you had an upper hand for a split moment. There was no magical foreseeing – a simple conclusion told you, that you against the three of them was an already sealed result.

But you had to put up a fight – you wouldn’t allow yourself to cross the gates of heaven or any other sort of afterlife if you hadn’t tried.

A sudden yank on your hair, made you cry out and fall off the soldier laying on the ground. Before you managed to get up, the third Shadow, until now standing still and watching, kicked you in your ribs. And then another time.

And another.

You stumbled to the side of your thigh, gripping the aching side of your bones and flesh, blood spilling beneath the surface of your smooth skin. Breathing, such a fundamental ability to live, became harder with each passing second.

Your mouth fell agape, greedily trying to swallow some air, searching for a boost of energy.

The three demons abused your position on the ground as they began kicking you around – aiming for your stomach, ribs, arms. It almost felt like you were their soccer ball.

Graves stood tall near the raging chaos with his arms crossed over the tactical vest. Only when one of his puppets smacked you across the face, causing you to fall onto your stomach, he intervened.

━ Not in the face, idiot! She’s quite pretty, isn’t she? Would be such a waste to permanently mutilate such a face.

The blonde man crouched down and gripped your jaw, taking a closer look at the red mark pulsating on your cheek. It seemed that he was savoring the hurt look on his victim. The commander smirked, finally acknowledging the fear in your eyes.

The taste of copper spreaded over your tongue, it felt disgusting and made you lightheaded. Only then the pain they inflicted on you began to sink in, causing all of your limbs to become extremely warm. Almost like the tongues of flames were dancing over your skin.

If the Shadows kill you that night, will you become a martyr? Or would you be remembered as a traitor as Graves wanted to?

They swept you off the floor, upholding your fragile body by hooking under your armpits. Your head craved to hang low, but your consciousness needed to follow their movements, trying to predict what they would do to you next.

━ I don’t like repeating myself, soldier, but I’ll give you another chance ━ Graves leaned in front of you, his hands resting upon his thighs. He became irritated that you hadn’t broken already ━ were you involved with Barnet or his partners in smuggling the federal weapons?

━ I’m just a private, you fucking fuck! ━ You spat out the truth, brows narrowing close to your eyelashes. ━ I. Did. Not.

His blue gaze wandered somewhere behind your back. Graves nodded and a sudden wave of stabbing pain spreaded around your kidneys. You cried out, spine arching, pathetically trying to escape the ache.

Then they would give you a few seconds of break, you trying to breathe through the pain. But the cycle would continue as the Shadow behind your back kept electrocuting you over and over and over.

The motherfuckers tased you. And they would not stop until you were a panting mess, limp within their hold. Poor mind of yours fried, barely holding onto the debrises of sanity.

When your body reached some sort of limit and your vision became blurry, you really began to think you were to die tonight. In a matter of hours, you would have to face your friend – death and let her mock you for such an early encounter.

But at least, you would not die untruthful to yourself.

Within the next couple hours, when your consciousness was wandering between the limbo of the Sandman’s realm and the reality, you gradually managed to understand the truth.

That night during the operation Barnet, you saw something you never should have. The office and the crumbles of it. There was something inside so fragile and precious that made a person in a position of power command Graves to frame and torture you. As you were the only witness of it.

And for whom Shadow Company worked for?

The picture became crystal clear and you laughed like a madman. A trickle of blood dripped down the corner of your mouth, when they kept inflicting pain onto the poor soul of yours. And your young body too, staining it forever.

General Shepherd’s hands were not as clean as everyone thought so. He had to have something in common with those weapons being smuggled to the terrorists. Shepherd might have been afraid that you knew that, so therefore he needed you dead. Even though you hadn’t managed to read any of the notes before their destruction.

He wanted you buried six feet under the ground with no gravestone. No monument.

And you know what they say – if you don't know what it is about, it’s probably about the money.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Although the pieces of puzzles fit together perfectly, their borders clinging tightly to each other, you hadn’t experienced satisfaction at all.

The exhaustion became helpful at some point, separating your body from all the pain you’ve endured during the last couple of hours. The blood on your cuts dried up, but the smell of it made your stomach turn.

You couldn’t believe that the scent and sight of blood would make you lightheaded, ever in your lifetime. Not as a woman of course, they see much more blood than the average man.

But all of the beatings that those demons inflicted upon you was bearable. Painful obviously, but bearable. If your assessment was correct, they hadn’t broken any bones till now. The split skin on your collar bones, separated with the sharp blade of the knife could be stitched up. With good care the scars would eventually fade.

If you survive this interrogation.

Your grunts and whines filled Phillip’s ears, yet he still craved more than this. He hadn’t heard you scream and he would extort those sounds from you pretty soon.

The Shadows dragged you to sit at the wooden chair near the old table, your shoulders slowly sinking to the furniture’s backrest. They gave you a break as their knuckles were bloodied and scratched. Perhaps, they were thinking of another way to push you into the Behemoth’s maw.

The time between your interactions passed quickly. Your eyelids closed loosely, but you heard the surroundings very well – the gravel crunching beneath the soles of their shoes, the way they shifted their weight. You noticed that, all of it. Your mind was alerted and aware.

━ Have to give that to Ghost, he trained you well ━ Graves dragged another chair near yours and sat comfortably in it. Too close to your liking though. ━ But you must be tired, don’t you?

━ I’m fine.

A whisper hummed in the storage hall, filling the silence between your breaths. Those which might be your last ones.

━ You look shit to be honest ━ the commander put his hands in the air, just like he didn’t want it to sound like an insult. ━ It didn’t have to come to this, doll. You wouldn’t have suffered if you just confessed when I asked you to.

You scoffed, raising your head to face him with a look full of disgust.

━ That false confession is a death sentence.

Graves shifted in his seat, getting closer to you as he leaned to your ear. One of his hands pushed the loose strands of hair behind your cartilage, while the other rested on your thigh.

Your whole body tensed, when his palm squeezed the soft flesh of your inner thigh. It wandered far too close to the crotch, even through the material of clothes.

When your hands shoot to grab his, the Shadow standing beside grabbed your left arm and pinned it to the table’s surface. Your other hand’s fingers were entangled around Graves’ wrist, trying to stop him from moving any further.

You had heard that he was wicked and unpredictable, but not to this extent.

━ Listen up ━ he said so quietly it might have eluded from you, if you didn’t pay enough attention ━ I’m being generous here and giving you one, last chance, princess. Confess and you’ll be under my arrest. No further harm will happen to you, if you behave, that is.

The audacity of this sickening man never stopped surprising you. You knew perfectly well what he meant by being under his arrest, what it meant to be Phillip Graves’ prisoner. It was a fate far worse than death.

Your eyes were locked on his mischievous smile, twisting soft cheeks and underlining the wrinkles on his forehead. He was abusing his power and was perfectly aware of that. It was you against the devil.

━ Come on, be a good girl. ━ He tried to persuade you with the sweet words and empty promises. It was kind of insulting, Graves thought he would convince you to change your mind. ━ Just say it was you, hm?

But little did he know, your pride and stubbornness was far greater than his.

You hung your head low again, before chuckling softly, shoulders trembling. It caught him off guard, you noticed. Graves probably thought you’ve gone far from sanity.

Naturally you were weary of the pain, of the constant soreness in your muscles, the painful stretch of dried up blood. Yes, you were scared of upcoming tortures, you already admitted to that before yourself. But you would never forgive yourself if you weren’t true to the beliefs that got you here in the first place. You couldn’t let them frame you.

Not this motherfucker in particular.

━ Go fuck yourself.

Then it was you who spilled out some words coated in pure hatred, almost an exorcism to make him go away. Your faith in your truth was strong. Graves’ hand released your thigh with a disappointed look on his angelic face, instead forcing your right forearm into his chest. He was keeping your limb too tight, while the other one was still pinned to the table.

Another Shadow appeared in the corner of your eye, slowly making his way towards your splayed out hand on the flat surface. Only then you noticed the thing he was holding.

“Fuck.”

━ Alright, the hard way it is. ━ Phillip said, savoring the building fear in your eyes as your shrinking pupils were following the outline of the drill. A simple machine you would put your furniture together.

But in the right hands it would be a torture device.

━ You can’t be serious. You c-can’t– Y-You–

He shushed you, cradling your right arm within his hold. One of the Shadows stood on the other side of you, squeezing the elbow and your wrist so roughly, it almost made the bones pop out of the joint.

Your instinct was to try and wiggle away, but the two men held you steadily. The third one flicked the power button and you looked at the small, but pointy drill turning with a mechanic sound.

━ No, no, no, no, don’t, DON’T!

The panic and fear overtook your stoic strategy. Only then you began being truly scared of their sinister games. You pleaded, you fought back, you begged until you screamed so loudly, there had to be someone hearing you from the outside. The pain of your flesh getting twisted and ripped off, made you want to vomit, if not the screaming tightening your throat muscles.

Then the drill stopped. You estimated it hadn’t even reached your bone, yet. But the crimson, syrupy liquid climbed up the length of the metal part and trickled to the sides of your assaulted forearm.

You were breathing loudly, gasping for air. A droplet of sweat rolled down your temple. Every single finger of yours was trembling, muscles spasming from the pain.

Graves reached one of his hands and forcefully squeezed your jaw and cheeks. He forced your pretty face to stare directly at him. Then, when he noticed how salty tears were overflowing your waterline, he grinned.

━ Look at me, soldier ━ Graves gave an order, but you were not his subordinate. He had to yank your head and dig his digits into your flesh again. ━ Look. At. Me!

The Shadow continued the assault, turning the power back on. This time, he expected resistance from the hard tissues so he pushed harder.

Your shrieks filled his ears like cathedral music, a gospel of his liking. The tears streaming down your face finally reached his palm that was squeezing your face. Graves wanted to have a good look at all the scowls of ache.

You swore you had heard the bone cracking, a muscle perforated already. White, blunt pain blinded your senses, only the warm embrace of the commander sitting across you kept you aware that you were still in the land of living.

Your stomach was hurting – God, you were going to puke.

━ What’s the meanin’ ‘f this?!

The voice of your savior, echoed somewhere in the back of your consciousness. The mechanical drill stopped its work and you actually felt it when it was ripped off your forearm. You whined, letting your eyelids shut. Blood splashed across the table.

The two Shadows remained by your side, meanwhile Graves stood up from his seat and took a walk towards the intruders.

You felt the familiar smell of tobacco, a very specific species of tobacco used only for cigars.

━ Captain, I can assure–

━ Assure what? ━ John Price said, venom and hatred rolling down his tongue. He was pissed and dear God, you don’t want to anger this man. ━ That you mutilated one of my soldiers? Who gave you the order?

Graves pressed his lips into a thin line.

━ General himself.

━ Why? ━ Ghost raspy voice sounded next to your limp form and it made you feel protected.

When you opened your eyes, you saw him towering over you even when he slouched to reach your level. You forced yourself to form a subtle smile, because somehow, the fight was over. You were being taken away from the monster that Graves was.

━ She destroyed the only fucking evidence, trying to cover her own ass.

The lieutenant took a quick look over your body, you felt his gaze roaming on yourself. He was looking for serious wounds, but the one on your forearm seemed to be the nastiest one.

Ghost helped you rise up from the chair, securing you in the straight line by holding onto your shoulders. Before he did that, he seemed to ask nonverbally with his dark eyes if you could walk. You nodded weakly.

━ She’s a private under my command ━ Captain Price kept lecturing the blonde man, standing still like a tree. ━ If she had been accused, I’m the one to take her for questioning, not you. This is my team, my base and you will follow my rules, is that clear?

You couldn’t exactly point to the moment where you walked past Price and Graves. Your eyes were so heavy and the main focus was to keep walking forward. If not Ghost upholding your posture straight by holding onto your arms, you wouldn’t be able to stand by your own strength.

Despite the stories you had heard about him being rough, he wasn’t with you, at all. His grip was firm, but no digit of his calloused fingers dug into the beaten flesh of yours. Should a soldier ever feel comfort rather than dread in the presence of their superior? Was this normal? Were you?

━ I had my own orders, the intel pointed out she was a suspect. Apparently ━ he took a deep breath in, keeping his anger on a leash ━ there was a misunderstanding. I apologize for any… inconveniences.

━ I’ll talk to Shepherd about this one, you stay out of it ━ Price stated, before turning around on his heel. He was walking behind the two of you. ━ Oh, and you owe this lady an apology. Better be a good one, boy.

No.

You wanted to scream that word over and over. If Graves ever bothered you again, you would gouge his blue eyes out – gladly looking at the soft tissues getting stuck under your nails, Phillip’s blood staining your hands. Ghost felt when your body tensed under his grip as he led you out of the storage hall. Of all people, he could sympathize with you the most.

You walked in silence, only the echo of the gravel mixed with sand echoed in your ears. The chilly, evening breeze awoke your senses, although it didn’t give you more strength. Your hand clutched to Ghost’s, when you felt your stomach shrinking.

━ God ━ you leaned over your own knees, gasping for air ━ I think, I’m gonna… ‘m gonna puke.

He followed your poor soul to the side of the road. Before you could deny his help, Ghost was collecting your loose strands of hair and holding it firmly behind your neck.

━ That’s alright. Take your time.

He wasn’t angry or disappointed with you. Ghost wasn’t rushing you as you tried to catch your uneven breath. The lieutenant just stood there, holding the hair out of your face in case you would vomit.

But you hadn’t thrown up at all. You just crouched there gasping for air, pressing your wounded forearm to your chest, blood staining the military shirt. Your limbs began to shiver, but not from the low temperature. Only then you allowed yourself for a display of any weaknesses, for a way to express your pain and exhaustion.

━ I d-didn’t do any-anything. I promise.

Your tone sounded broken and he couldn’t bear it. His stone cold heart couldn’t withstand the look in front of him. Ghost pulled you up from the crouching position, before pressing your forehead into his chest. He could still hear your quiet sobs, your blood surely staining his clothes too. But he didn’t care about some piece of cloth.

━ I know.

Ghost was already soaked with blood of all the lives he ended miserably, but to be stained with something that belonged to you? That was something different. To him your blood could be the red wine that turns into the blood of Christ during each mass.

The lieutenant wrapped his arms around your back and kept one palm on the back of your head. Ghost caught the glimpse of your tired eyes and all he could see was himself. A reflection of sort, only a shard perhaps. When everything he had held dear to him – the dignity and humanity of Simon Riley, was taken away from him all those years ago, all he needed was a solace.

The man didn’t have to say much, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to hear him pity you. But Ghost’s presence was enough, his warm and gentle touch made you feel somehow protected.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion causing you to melt into his embrace, because how could you feel any special, different from your teammates in his beautiful, dark eyes? He was your lieutenant for God’s sake.

Would he console the others if needed? Or maybe he sees you as weak? A fragile package that needs to be handled with care? Why was he so sympathetic with you of all the people?

You stopped thinking and sank into the feeling of his soft and clean shirt that covered the man’s sternum and chest. You brushed the idiotic thoughts away, because you deserved that kind of affection.

You deserved to be held close and to feel safe.

And in his arms it all became very real.

Even for a moment.

━ Come on, moppets ━ Price’s now calm voice, broke the heated thoughts and raging emotions as he got closer to them. ━ She needs to see a doctor.

A/N: The end of this fanfic has an open sort of ending so therefore I can write more comfort with Reader/Ghost in the bonus chapter if you would like to. ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

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