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gremlingottoosilly · 8 months

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The horror and the wild (Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader) Medieval Fantasy AU

You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one. CHAPTER 1 Word count: 4906 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig

This fic on AO3

— I do not wish to speak about politics before breakfast!

— Your Highness, I’m afraid, politics would not be waiting patiently until you’re finished with your sweet pastries.

— What do you mean?

— The Emperor’s army is on our doorstep.

The look on the face of the Princess – your Princess – was priceless. First, it was a surprise, her adorable features all twisted in a very unladylike gasp. Then, it was terror – the first time you saw her ever express that emotion since the palace was always clear of anything that could scare her royal highness, from mice and snakes, and up to severely ugly people(poor, poor Elvin – he’d a good life if it weren’t for his pointy slabby jaw). Then, and it was the final emotion on her illustrious face – it was anger. To nobody’s surprise, the anger was mostly coming at you.

You see – you’re a Princess's most loyal handmaiden. Raised under her crib, going to the same classes, doing everything in favor of your royal highness, from warming up her jewelry and to trying the food first to see if it’s poisoned – your whole life’s goal is to make sure that the Princess is as comfortable as possible. You’re her shadow, her servant, the closest to a friend she can have – and if you were the bearer of the bad news, it’s only natural that she would be angry at you in the first instance, and not at the imperial army clashing down at your tiny bordering kingdom.

— Where are the guards?!

— Judging by the screams I am not sure if there are any left in the outer levels of the castle. And if the King didn’t come with a usual note after breakfast, it’s safe to assume that he is more busy.

With a trained movement, you quickly duck under the table when the Princess, naturally, throws a plate in your direction. You knew she wasn’t meaning it – your poor, innocent darling Princess, she was just as scared as you were but had not learned of how to hide her emotions under sarcasm and false calmness. Your job is to keep her safe – and calm – even if there is no royal family to serve anymore. You don’t want to think of the possible outcomes – King took you in, a simple peasant girl with no talents whatsoever, and gave you an illustrious education, the most sought job in the whole kingdom, and an allowance that would allow you to study in the real collegium, were they to accept women. You don’t want this place to fall in Northern Empire clutches – and you especially don’t want the Princess to learn the harmful ways of two pretty young women trapped in a castle full of enemy soldiers.

— How could this happen?!

— I’d have an answer for this question, Your Highness, but you ordered to urn any mail from the Northen Empire. Perhaps, they send us quite a bit of war declarations before finally going down.

Your hand goes to the side of your skirt, clutching on the suicide dagger – if something happens, you’d have to kill the Princess first, take the sin of killing oneself from her innocent soul – and then go down after her, hoping that your dog-like loyalty would allow you to serve her in heaven.

The Princess has many things that she’d like to take with her to the afterlife. You better start preparing her package soon – this castle wasn’t built to be protected from the army of beasts, hiding under human skin – your kingdom never provoked any wars, always trying to search for the opportunity of negotiations – and now this comes to bite you right in your soft rear, without a sufficient amount of guards or a suitable army to protect itself.

You’d pray for the god, but your god wants you to die.

— Princess, we need to…

Before you could say anything else, an explosion erupts somewhere in the southern tower – the closest place to enter the Princess chambers. You can hear screaming, you can hear laughing – a foreign language, the one you are proficient with, but it never made it less barbaric, less harsh. These people talk like swords clangs against each other – like a harsh metal against your skull. You’d give up anything to not understand what they are talking about.

There is something to be done before the soldiers arrive, finding only a few guards and two pretty, terrified young things. You might not be afraid of death, but you sure are terrified of what will come before their blades would slit your throat. You do not wish to die with blood between your legs. You do not wish that fate for the Princess either.

“The Princess should be here.”

“Did Lord say anything about trophies?”

“Don’t take anything now. Tiger said we were never here – he would pay us later”

“What about…”

“Don’t kill the Princess either. Emperor want her to himself, remember?”

“Come on, are we here for a whore?”

“A royal whore, dumbass. Now shut up before Emperor hears you.”

They laugh and you can hear the Princess whimpering, crying softly – all of the layers of harshness are washed away with every tear rolling down her perfect cheek. You move to them as fast as you can – these stupid clothes allow you at least some freedom of movement, saved from the excessive decorations and expensive, heavy fabrics – you are only as few levels higher than cleaning rags. you could probably rip away the lower levels of your skirt and run – the Princess wouldn’t even be able to move without your hand steadying herself.

You need strength to not slap her right now – you know that the pain on her perfect puffy cheek would help get her to listen, but nothing in your body moves to ever hurt her, no matter the cause. You push yourself to the door, thinking – your castle isn’t the highest one in the whole world, if anything, the Princess would be able to escape either via the window or the secret tunnels – but they would search for her, they would never accept defeat like that. Even if you’d stall them for long enough, pulling every bit of luck you don’t have – they wouldn’t stop if they had the goal of catching the Princess.

— Your radiance, we have to go!

— Where? The castle is going to crumble any second now, and Mama and Papa are…

You press your ear against the tough wood, listening to the soldier’s speaking – language is even harsher now when the adrenaline runs through your veins instead of blood. You would give up anything to be strong – to have your dancing and embroidering lessons switched to sword fighting, to archery, to read dark arcana books instead of romance novels that you and Her Preciousness liked so much. Your hands are soft and delicate, only a bit harsh from occasional cleaning and serving – you’re a shame to any servant in the castle, a house pet made to entertain and please, not to fight and work.

The Princess is a cherished treasure for your kingdom. Protected and hidden away, the King was smart enough to know that a royal gem like her would make all the old rulers of kingdoms surrounding yours go into a frenzy – so Her Radiancy wasn’t ever allowed to any royal mingling and balls until she’d reach the age of at least 21. Her birthday was next month – a small mercy, knowing that there was a possibility of never getting of that age.

“Is that a Princess?”

You hear a woman – probably one of the higher members of the court, considering her high-pitched accented whimpers with a familiar voice. God bless her soul and dedicate her a quick death – you don’t want to think what would come of her if not for this prayer.

“Princess should be in her quarters. This one definitely doesn’t speak like a royal meat”

“How do we even know which one is the Princess?”

“She should speak like one. Would be easier if her family ordered a fucking portrait.”

But…you were with the Princess your whole life. You know how to act like her, you know how she talks, how all royals talk. You know how manners, you know how to sing, how to dance, you received the education that allowed her to copy your study work and give it to her personal teachers – her own reflection wouldn’t copy her better than you would.

You’re young, like a Princess, you’re pretty, almost like a Princess – and you’re loyal like a dog, itching to pay your debt to the royal family.

— Your Highness! You need to run, please, just take the secret route through the walls and…

It was the most horrible moment for her to put her foot down.

— I…I live to serve the royal family. Dying for you will be the greatest of honors.

— I will not just leave you here!

— They’d defile and kill us both, Your Highness. But if I just pretend to be you, they won’t come looking for you, won’t they? They would have what they wanted and you will be free.

— What about you?

You’d feel hurt for how quickly she ran to the secret tunnel – if such feelings were normal for a servant to have. You’d feel betrayed if it wasn’t the life or death situation – if you weren’t putting on her dress as swiftly as possible before the soldiers would come running for you. It’s funny, how you always wanted to try her dress – how you were jealous of everything she had, even if you were the closest to her – you pride yourself in not caring about such silly mortal possessions, and yet, you always wanted to try something as beautiful as her dress.

You stare at yourself in the mirror – terrified, small, ready to die at any point or to be hauled back to the Northern Empire like a piece of meat. Dress suits you, the bright pink would tell about innocence and radiance – but not it smells of blood and betrayal. If the soldiers thought that the Princess killed herself in her room, they would surely not think about trying to find her.

You push the tiny dagger against your wrist, praying to all of your knowledge of medicine that your death will be quick and as painless as possible. You left out a silent prayer – knowing that the god would only welcome you after your death.

Not a war, Horangi corrects himself – a massacre.

***

Tiger of the North was fucking tired.

This whole mission – declaring war that no one seen and no one wanted, marching through the street without an army behind him, felt more like a bandit’s doing than something that a general of the best army in the world would do. This whole operation is a stunt, an order from the Emperor that no one expected – seriously, sometimes he still felt like a child with new, exciting toys. For all he knew, König never saw a Princess – yet, he sent his best men to take her out, not caring that this would mean a war on the bordering kingdom.

Not his fault this shithole didn’t even bother to reply to any of the Emperor’s letters regarding the marital status of the Princess. Not his fault they don’t even have a proper army – the king died, gutted like a fucking pig, and the queen followed soon after. Their unit can count less than 20 people, with royal hounds and other animals to help – yet, no one was able to foresee them entering the castle and butchering it. It’s a hunt, not a war or even an assassination – a hunt for the Princess, the useless fucking thing.

If they’d only bothered to get at least some portraits – something to tell what she looks like. Perhaps, she is ugly, a mix of a toad that fucked a pile of shit. Perhaps, she is crazy and eats pillows and keeps her handmaidens' heads like a trophy. Perhaps, she don’t fucking exist and the king just didn’t want to say out loud that his dick was never working enough to produce an heir.

— Search the quarters! I don’t want them to have time to know that their precious king is dead.

The low rumble of König beside his almost makes him dart from surprise. He wears a mask, of course, not even trusting his people to see how he looks like – perhaps, he is as ugly as a toad that…ah, shit, he is using the same comparison again.

A faceless ruler and a faceless Princess – a match made in heaven.

— You think other kingdoms would send their condolences?

— I’m sure that Price is already aching to write a congratulatory letter for the expansion of the empire. A nice addition to the title, ja?

The emperor laughs, a sword in his hand, dark from the king’s blood. Horangi still doesn’t understand why he would decide to go on such a dangerous operation – if anything, they could haul the Princess back to the capital, or at least the nearest Empire territories – but no, König decided to go here himself, searching for a Princess that would, surely, not be worthy his attention. If this man didn’t want to marry all the options other kingdoms offered him, he surely wouldn’t be satisfied with a girl from this shithole of a country. Their land is barely enough for a normal castle, let alone all of the riches that the Empire provided.

Yet, König stumbles in every room, searching for something – for someone. Other soldiers don’t dare to take trophies in front of their emperor, knowing that this operation should be as secretive as possible – no other rulers would bat an eye for a mysterious royal passing and the quick marriage of the Princess of this kingdom, but Graves would be quite concerned and bitching about the Northern Empire coming close to his kingdom. God, if König could just bathe every last one of them in blood, he would have.

— Sir, I believe the Princess should be here Unless she killed herself already.

— Those people honor death more than they do life. Better be fast before I’d have to marry a corpse.

— We could bring her back.

— Nothing can wash off the dead smell even after resurrection. You think why Krueger can only have sex with common whores?

They both have to suppress their laugh at the thought of the royal advisor. Poor, dead Krueger, serving a contract that even death would not be able to break – it’s a good thing to have it on their side. Provides a good amount of jokes just from being around him.

König rushes to the door that looks the most guarded – judging only by the amount of dead servants around it. The Princess must be here and, knowing the traditions of your kingdom, he has about a minute before you’d kill yourself, yelling something ridiculous about finding solace in death and that they would never take you alive. The door comes crashing down ridiculously easy – or it’s his strength challenging in the form of barbaric savagery. When he pushed into the room, he didn’t see what he was expecting to see.

He sees something better.

You look divine in the moonlight, your form, draped in an expensive dress that you only managed to take on halfway through, getting stuck in that stupid corset and billions of tiny bows and cutting jewels. You look majestic, godlike, you look like something from a fairytale. He was anxious before this, thinking if it was worth it – overthinking every bit of the operations, evaluating if the enemy kingdoms would be fine with him just taking you. König wasn’t sleeping a good few nights before this – now he looks at you and wants to kneel in front of your perfect form.

— No wonder they didn’t have portraits. They wouldn’t capture your beauty.

He shook the knife – little thing, as dainty as you are – from your trembling hands. Poor thing terrified of him – he’d pick you up and haul you on your shoulder already, but he wants to take a moment and just admire the comparison between his huge, muscular arms and your fragile form. He knows he is big, imposing, threatening – but compared to you, he feels like a war god paying tribute to his newest sacrifice.

You shake in his grasp, not fighting it – Princess wouldn’t fight, you remind yourself. If killing yourself is not possible, if your dignity is tarnished, the death and torture shall be met with silence – you put your lips together, as firmly as you can. Still, you can’t stop yourself from sobbing when his hand goes to cup your face – a faint trace of your makeup staining his dark gloves.

— This is the declaration of war. You were…

— This is no war, meine Liebe. How could we fight the nation with a dead king?

The Princess would cry, learning about the death of her parents. You try to force more tears, making yourself look as miserable as possible – it isn’t hard in this brute’s hands, with his soldiers surrounding you – but, for some reason, he doesn’t look surprised when you are not crying immediately at the mention of the death of your supposed parents.

He laughs, cupping your face in a rough, crude gesture. He shouldn’t treat Princess like this – even you are not used to men being this vile, to speak of such lewd matters with his men. They surround you, laughing, not even bothering to pay the least bit of respect in front of their Emperor.

He wears a hood and it makes him look like an executioner, not a ruler. But, perhaps, you would welcome a butcherer more than you would a husband.

— Let me go! The guards shall rise to my abduction and they will not leave thou to…

You don’t even need to force yourself to speak like her – you’re royal by any means, other than blood and service. You can imitate her your whole life if needed, shadowing her your whole short existence – it only hurts you more when you are praying that the Princess, dressed up in your garments, would be able to escape. You know that someone will save her, and take care of her – it’s just like the plot of your favorite romance book. An abandoned Princess of the burned kingdom rises to be the wife of a mysterious, masked blood knight, saving him from pushing his soul into the darkness. You, in this story, would be just a minor victim for the author to kill.

— The guards would rise if they weren’t dead, Princess. Too late to call for them now.

He sneers at this “Princess” like a snake, ready to sink her teeth into your soft, limp body. You whimper, finally trying to get your knife from his hand – as gracefully as you can, remembering that you are to stall the time for her to escape, not to actually save yourself. He laughs and lets you go suddenly – only to pick you up like you weigh nothing. Pick you up like a bride, not a pig for him to gut.

The tip of your ears is burning – your whole face is burning, you feel ashamed, embarrassed, angry, every emotion swirls in your head as he doesn’t even try to be subtle about his affection. You thank god for the layers of skirt you are wearing – but the upper part of the dress is barely holding together, showing a scandalous amount of shoulder. You are tainted – a scandal in the court, if there was a court alive.

— Put me down this instant. My kingdom will not just accept these levels of disrespect!

You say this weakly than you wanted to. He laughs – thunder and bear roar, ocean waves against the mountains – you whimper when his hand goes to rip the upper part of your dress entirely, leaving you barely covered, with only three layers of clothing and a corset between you and his horrible, dangerous hands. A lady should not be seen by men when she is in less than five layers of clothing – still, you feel much better when the heavy fabric lets go of your skin. Still, you feel mortified, knowing, what would happen when he started to take off your clothes.

Well…you think you know what will happen. You and Her Highness read books with a scandalous amount of intimacy – touches, hugs, kisses even, the last book having record five instants of the main heroes being in close proximity with each other – you also know that whenever a male enemy soldier captures a woman, he is doing…something before killing them. Not quite sure what, but obviously torturous.

— The only kingdom that is left for you, your Highness, is what lies between your legs. I’ll be sure to pay my regards later.

Before you could say something – anything for that matter, he already hauls you away, still stuck in his hands like a trophy. You thank god that he doesn’t see the difference between you and the Princess. You never knew your acting talents would be of this amount, but nonetheless, you feel complete, knowing that the Princess is safe and sound.

— What is the purpose of your actions?

You are weak, voice whimpering and quiet. You don’t want to touch him, but the hungry gazes of his soldiers make you weak and fragile – you cling to him, trying to cover your modesty. The corset is a part of the wardrobe that no fine lady should ever show to men – yet, this is the only thing now that is keeping your tits together, saving at least some of your dignity. The heavy skirt of the torn dress lingers on your legs, covering you as much as barely holding up fabric can. König’s chest rumbles with a laugh when he notices you clinging onto him like a helpless kitten.

— I’m taking my bride as your parents were not kind enough to answer any of the proposals.

— Why didn’t you just visit?

If it were for him, he would just sprawl you on the ground and take what he wants. He would, were he a simple soldier, not the North Emperor – he would if there weren’t any witnesses if there were no intentions of marrying you later. But alas, he needs your hands in marriage – he needs you whole in marriage, from head to toe, from your heart to your soul, from your pussy to that sweet mouth of yours – and he can’t have all that unless he is patient.

— I did. Right now, for that matter.

— As the only heir to the throne, this would mean the death of my country. You can’t just…

— Who is there to stop me, little one? Your parents? Dead. Your army? They would kneel for my men were we at actual war.

You close your mouth. He laughs again, this terrifying hood of his moving when he shakes his head. You sob, tears flowing freely down your cheeks – it’s a wonder you can still talk while crying like this, but you need to keep up the act and you need to stall the time as much as possible. His hand goes to wipe away your tears and, for a second, you almost want to bite him. But, Princesses don’t bite – they lay in the hands of their captors and wait for princes to save them.

— The other kingdoms would protect us, we had war pacts!

— Were you loved enough to start a war with the Empire to protect you from getting married?

— I shall…

— You’re too young to speak like a queen, Liebe. Leave that to me, ja?

You open your mouth.

You close your mouth.

You open your mouth again.

— Please, let me go.

This is a quiet, soft sob – König stops for a second, looking at your fragile, vulnerable expression. You’re as weak as a kitten, as adorable as a bunny – and precious, his little treasure, tucked away nicely in the deepest corners of this kingdom. He almost feels bad for breaking you, for taking you away. He killed many men, the king included, and he captured more land than his father ever could dream of – the biggest empire lies at his hands and yet, he feels weak when you cry in his hands.

It still suits you more – a pained expression, pure terror, all the emotions that a young woman like you should experience when she is captured by someone like him – he believes in terror through submission and the tears streaming down your face makes his cock twitch in his pants.

— I have all the right for you, little one. It’s your father’s fault that you were not protected more.

He laughs, his large, imposing hand goes to cup your ass – you don’t even understand how his touch manages to get through this many layers of clothing. Your skirt is in complete disarray when he touches your legs, squishing and destroying the crinoline parts and whale bones. So much went into creating this skirt, a horrifying construct that never allowed the Princess to move freely, stuck in one place like a glorified little dolly – now it becomes your grave, mortifying and freezing you in one place.

— You can’t…no, please, don’t…

He grabs your hips with the ferocity of a warrior, not an emperor. Rulers shouldn’t kidnap Princesses from neighboring countries, and they shouldn’t lead their troops on an operation that would destroy any diplomatic relationships with them – but he stands here, no more than a normal soldier, and you were never this terrified in your life before. He is a monster, a beast, an anomaly that shouldn’t exist in this world – even your desire to protect the Princess isn’t stopping you from crying and shaking. You bite your lips and sob softly, quietly, hoping he won’t just throw you to his men.

— This is what politics leads to, no? Your father decided to stop being diplomatic…and I did too.

He isn’t my father, you want to scream. He did nothing but take you from the streets, and slums you were scrambling aimlessly like nothing more but a tiny critter under his boots – he gave you everything, any book you wanted, the best company in the whole kingdom. He isn’t your father, still, but you pay for his mistakes – mistakes that you had no idea of. Princess ordered you to ignore any mail that would come from “This Northern brute” and you didn’t know that it could come to this.

If only you were to steal those letters and read them instead of throwing them away…but what would it come to? Princess wouldn’t marry someone like König, she had no like for the emperor twice her age, for the human who defiled the very laws of nature, sitting in his high castle, ordering the undead soldiers around. Monster with, probably, three heads and two faces, with four hands hiding under his magnificent armor. A beast who is…

A best who is cradling you in his arms like you were his lover, not his victim.

— Put me down. Please.

— I’m getting tired of listening to little Princesses wailing. Tell me, Liebling, do you wish to continue this journey quietly or unconsciously?

His hand goes to your neck – no doubt, he would be able to squish the life out of you if he so wished. No doubt, you are fucked – utterly and completely, with his ability to do whatever he wants your inability to stop him in any way. Sobbing softly, not wanting for him to continue this humiliation, you simply nod – to whatever option he deems appropriate. Princess would be screaming, yelling for help, and she would stomp her adorable feet on the ground until she’d get what she wanted – but you are no Princess, and playing pretend already makes you miserable enough.

— I do not wish to see the destruction of my kingdom.

— It’s not destroyed, little Princess. Merely defiled, captured and burned down.

— You didn’t…

— Of course not, kleine Hase. I wouldn’t dare to burn the newest addition to my empire…unless you would make me to.

It’s not a threat – it’s a promise, poorly concealed by the obvious smile in his voice. You cling to his chest and hear the rumble of his laugh when he pushes his cape over your shivering form. It’s a small form of comfort, but an unwelcome one – you’d rather be shivering, naked, and exposed in front of his troops than find comfort in the way he treats you. His cloak is heavy, more suited for the harsh weather of the central parts of the Empire – not your kingdom, mostly warm and wet, with bountiful rains and plentiful soil. You understand why he would want this land – you don’t understand why he would want you.

— Don’t hurt my people.

— Be nice then. You can be nice to your husband, ja?

If you weren’t a Princess, you’d claw his fucking eyes out – get your dainty hands under his hood and scrap the pulsating flesh, turn his face into a mush of blood and gore. If you were real Princess, you would declare war on the Empire and die the protector of your kingdom – not a terrified girl.

But you’re neither a Princess nor a commoner.

You push your lips together, allowing König to take you away. Accepting your fate not with dignity, but with quiet, fearful acceptance.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere cod #könig call of duty

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 1 month

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Naughty Girl » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky punishes you for sending him dirty texts while he’s at work.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty texts, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, male masturbation, unprotected sex, rough sex, daddy kink, praise kink, breeding kink, choking, degrading, handcuffs, sex toys, Bucky’s dog tags, name calling (slut, whore), aftercare, use of pet names

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any kind of mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found this one on Pinterest.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Bucky pulled his phone out of his pocket when it vibrated. He smiles widely when he sees a text from you.

Doll🩷: I want you

Bucky: I’m in a meeting, doll

Bucky shut his phone off and continued to listen to the rest of the meeting. His phone vibrated again. He opened the message to see a picture of you completely naked with your legs spread in front of a full body mirror the two of you just bought, making his eyes go wide. Bucky shifted in his seat, feeling his cock get hard. He completely forgot he was in a meeting. His mind wandered elsewhere. Like how he was going to punish you when he gets home from work.

“You ok, Buck?” Steve asks.

“Uh huh, yea.” Bucky says, clearing his throat.

Bucky shut his phone off and put it back in his pocket. When the meeting was over, Bucky left the Avengers Compound and raced home, zooming through traffic on his motorcycle. Bucky slammed the door to yours and his apartment, walking straight to yours and his shared bedroom in search of you. He found you lying on the bed completely naked.

“Care to explain why you sent me a naked picture of yourself while I was in a meeting, babydoll?” Bucky asks, taking his jacket off and threw it somewhere in the bedroom.

“I was horny, daddy.” You answered. “I still am.” You say.

“Tell me, babydoll…” He approaches the bed. “Did you touch yourself?” He asks.

“Mhmm yes.” You hummed.

“How many times did you cum?” He asks.

“Two times.” You tell him.

Bucky licks his lips and sat down on the bed. He practically manhandled you to get you to lay across his lap.

“Since you decided to act like a slut when I wasn’t home, I’m going to treat you like one.” Bucky says.

His right hand rubbed across your ass cheeks before he landed a harsh smack on it, making you moan. He landed another smack on your ass that was harsher than the first one. Bucky spanked you eighteen more times. Your pussy was dripping by the time he was done spanking you. Your ass was red as a cherry with his hand print on it.

“Lay on your back.” He orders.

You listened and laid down on the bed, hissing when the sheets came in contact with your stinging skin on your ass. You watched as Bucky went in the closet and came out with a box. Your eyes widen. You know that box. It’s the box you and Bucky keep sex toys in. Bucky put the box on the nightstand and pulled a pair of handcuffs out of it.

“Arms above your head.” He instructs.

You put your arms above your head and Bucky handcuffed them to the bed frame. He tied your legs to the bed frame with silk ties. Bucky’s right hand disappeared between your legs, his fingers rubbing your pussy and spreading your wetness around. Your breath hitched in your throat when you seen him pick up a vibrator from the box. It’s the one that can make you cum in seconds. Bucky rubbed it in between your folds, covering it in your wetness before turning it on a low level and held it against your clit, making you squeak.

“Ah fuck, daddy!” You moaned.

Bucky loves watching you fall apart with the vibrator. You begging for him to fuck you with his fingers, tongue, or cock is like music to his ears. He watched intensely as your chest rose and fell, pants and moans of his name leaving your lips. His metal hand went to your breasts, giving one of them a squeeze before pinching your nipple. Bucky repeated the same actions on your other breast. Your pussy clenched around at the feeling. He turned the vibrator up to a higher setting causing you to moan loudly. His metal hand caressed your cheek, his metal thumb rubbing across your bottom lip. You parted your lips just enough for him to slide his thumb in your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his thumb and sucked on it, your tongue swirling around it like it were his cock while holding eye contact with him. A growl left Bucky’s lips as he watched you. Bucky put the vibrator on the highest setting. You arched your back and threw your head back against the pillow in pleasure. Your orgasm was building up quickly. You were right on the edge. It felt like a tidal wave was about to come crashing down on you.

“Oh fuck…” You whimpered. “Can I- ah fuck! Can I please cum daddy?” You asked desperately.

“Cum.” Is all he says.

A loud moan left your lips as you came hard, soaking the sheets beneath you and the vibrator. Bucky nearly came in his pants at the sight of you squirting. He shut the vibrator off and put it on the nightstand, making you whine. That earned you a smack on your thigh.

“Quit your fucking whining or I’ll give you something to whine about.” Bucky says.

You watched with hungry eyes as Bucky stripped off his clothes. Your eyes immediately looked down at his cock, hard and leaking with precum.

“My eyes are up here, doll.” He says, snapping his fingers in your face.

Bucky got on the bed in between your spread legs. You looked at him as he wrapped his right hand around his cock. He thumb swiped over his tip, using his precum as a lubricant. You watched with hungry eyes as he began pumping his cock. You licked your lips, wanting nothing more than to suck his cock. You whined and tugged on the restraints, making Bucky chuckle.

“You did this to yourself, babydoll.” Bucky tells you. “You shouldn’t have been acting like a little whore. Now you have to watch daddy play with his cock.” He says.

“But daddy…” You whined.

“What did I say about whining?” He asks.

“Quit whining or you’ll give me something to whine about.” You answered.

Your eyes stayed glued to his cock as he began jerking himself off. Tingles went through your body when moans fell from his lips.

“You could be putting that pretty little mouth of yours to good use, but it’s too bad you can’t.” He says tauntingly.

Your breathing hitched in your throat as his hand moved faster. Your pussy was wet with slick as you watched his hand move up and down on his cock. Precum leaked down his cock. He used it as a lubricant. You were so focused on his cock that you didn’t even realize that you were drooling.

“Hungry for daddy’s cock, doll face?” Bucky asks.

“I’m always hungry for your fat cock, daddy.” You say.

“Too bad you’re not getting it yet.” He chuckles, making you pout.

You desperately wanted to rub your thighs together for some kind of relief, but you couldn’t, due to the restraints. Bucky looks so incredibly hot. His muscles flexed as pleasure took over his body.

“You look so hot, daddy.” You say, bitting your bottom lip.

“Yea?” He rasps, moving his hand faster.

“Mmm.” You hummed. “So fucking hot.” You say more in a moan.

“I know what you’re doing, doll and it’s not going to work.” He says.

You huffed and pouted as you continued to watch him jerk off. His hand lost rhyme due to his orgasm building up, but regained it.

“You want daddy’s cum, babydoll?” Bucky asks, panting.

“Yes please! Give me your cum, daddy!” You say a little too desperately.

Bucky chuckles at your desperateness. He moved closer to you. His hand moved faster on his cock. Soon enough, his cum landed on your stomach and chest. You moaned at the warm feeling of it. Bucky sat back on his knees to catch his breath for a moment.

“Can you uncuff and untie me now?” You asked, tugging on the restraints.

“No.” Bucky says.

“But I’ve been a good girl for you daddy.” You say with a pout.

“That’s true, but I’m not done with you yet, babydoll.” He says.

Bucky rubbed his hands on your inner thighs, dangerously close to your pussy. He rubbed his cock in between your wet folds, covering it in your slick before tapping his tip on your clit a few minutes, making your hips jolt up at the sensation. He lined his cock at your tight entrance and slid it inside of you in one hard thrust, making you gasp.

“God damn, you’re fucking tight.” Bucky groans, tilting his back a little.

He pulled almost all the way out, only leaving his tip inside of you before thrusting back inside of you hard. You tugged on the handcuffs and threw your head back in pleasure. Bucky’s hands grasped your hips tightly as he fucked into you. Loud moans and screams left your lips. It was like music to Bucky’s ears. Bucky’s eyes wandered your body, stopping at your breast and watched as they bounced every time he thrusted into you.

“Tell me again, babydoll…” Bucky starts. “Why did you send me that naughty picture of you while I was in a meeting?” He asks.

“I wanted you so fucking bad, daddy.” You say more in a whine.

“You’re getting me now, doll face.” He says, his voice a little deeper than normal.

His vibranium hand left your hip, placing it on the headboard above your head. His dog tags dangled in your face. You desperately wanted to grab the chain of his dog tags and give him a filthy kiss. Your eyes wandered further down his perfectly sculpted body, watching as his abs flexed every time he thrusted into you. The perfectly trimmed hair at the base of his cock rubbed against your clit, stimulating it.

“Checking out daddy?” Bucky smirks.

“Mmm.” You moaned.

Your lips parted, a loud moan leaving them when his cock hit your sweet spot. You arched your back in pleasure, tugging on the handcuffs and pressing your chest upwards towards his face. Bucky took the opportunity to mark up your breasts with hickeys. His mouth was occupied on your left breast while his right hand found its place on your left one, squeezing it and pinching your nipple. A gasp left your lips when his teeth grazed your nipple. A tingling sensation shot through your body and your cunt squeezed around his cock at the feeling. He repeated his actions on your other breast, getting the same reaction from you.

Bucky stopped thrusting and pulled out momentarily to untie your ankles from the bed frame. A squeak left your lips when he flipped you over onto your stomach, the chain of the handcuffs twisting. He lifted your hips, angling your ass towards him. He placed his metal hand on the top of your back and pushed the top of your body down against the bed, making you stick your ass out more. He nudged his thigh between yours to spread your legs apart. You moaned when his thigh came in contact with your wet cunt.

“You look so much better in this position.” Bucky says, his hands rubbing your red and sore ass cheeks and gave them a squeeze, the coolness of his vibranium hand soothed the stinging of your ass.

“But I want to look at you while you’re fucking me, daddy.” You say with a pout, looking over your shoulder to look at him.

“You shouldn’t have a naughty girl and sent me a dirty picture of yourself while I was at work.” He says.

Bucky lined his cock at your tight entrance. He circled his tip around your entrance to tease you, making you whine which earned you a smack on your ass.

“How many times do I have to tell you quit fucking whine?” Bucky asks.

“Sorry, daddy.” You mumbled.

Bucky thrusted his cock inside of you in a harsh thrust, making you gasp. His thrusts were more harder and faster than when you were in the first position. His hands have a bruising grip on your hips.

“You look so breedable like this.” He says, taking in the sight in front of him.

“Breed me, daddy.” You blurted out in a moan.

Him hearing those words come out of your mouth made him go feral. The image of you pregnant with his child is the only thing in his mind at the moment.

“I’ll fucking breed you real good, babydoll.” His voice lower than normal. “Everyone will know who you belong to when they see you pregnant with my child.” He says, almost a growl.

His thrust sped up. The sound of skin slapping and the smell of sex filled the bedroom. His cock hitting your sweet spot perfectly with each thrust. Your legs began trembling as your orgasm started to build up. It felt like a tidal wave was about to come crashing down on you.

“Can I- fuck! Can I please cum, daddy?” You asked, begging. “I’ve been a good girl.” You say.

“Cum for me, doll.” He says.

Bucky’s vibranium hand left your hip and reached around your front, blindly finding your clit and began rubbing it in fast circles. A loud moan left your lips as you came hard, your cum soaking your thighs and his cock. Bucky gave your clit a particularly rough run before focusing on his own orgasm which was coming fast. His thrust became sloppy before he regained his pace. A moan left Bucky’s lips as he came inside of you, painting your walls. His thrusts came to a slow stop. He slowly pulled out and sat back on his knees to catch his breath. His eyes watched as his cum dripped out of your pussy. His fingers on his right hand scoop it up and pushed it back inside of you. You moaned and squirmed at the feeling.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, doll face.” Bucky says, uncuffing your wrists that are now red.

“Don’t wanna move.” You mumbled with a pout.

“I’ll carry you.” He says softly.

Bucky picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bathroom. He ran you a warm bath and helped clean you up before cleaning himself up. When you two were done in the bath, he dried you off and carried you back to the bedroom and laid you down on the bed after giving you one of his shirts to wear to bed. He got in bed next to you and wrapped his arms around you protectively, pulling you closer to him.

“I love you, doll.” Bucky says softly, kissing the top of your head.

“I love you too, Bucky.” You say sleepily before falling asleep with your head on his chest.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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thesnacken · 9 months

Text

"We're gonna go over this again, APPARENTLY," the sergeant barked, "because some of you airheads slept through the last time, and now Anders is in Med with four fractured vertebrae, and FreeOps has a pilot with broken hands.

"Pilots, despite appearances, are not DOCILE. They're understimulated. They are hungry in a way you cannot comprehend, because none of you have been plugged into a ten-ton omnidirectional autonomous weapon, with Tac-level information beamed directly to your brain in real time. A pilot spends their entire time out-of-field tired and in pain and desperate for anything that comes close to the level of stimulation they get from being in a Mech Unit.

"So every few months one of you barely-ranked-the-LSAT morons thinks 'Ah, a pilot. They're so frail, and agreeable, surely they'll be an easy way to get off'. Then six hours later I get a call from a VERY tired surgeon telling me one of my soldiers nearly had his neck pulled apart like a rack of ribs.

"So for every punk dumbass among you who thinks this sounds like a fun little challenge: You will be trying to bed a Living War Machine. You will succeed. You will regret it. And you will be flipping a coin that the place I send you after you're discharged from the Med Bay is the same place I send your dog tags. Leave. The. Pilots. Alone."

EDIT: This is officially a three-parter, but it IS done now! I'd love if people read it all!

#I have a slightly different idea of what Being Sexually Forceful at a Pilot looks like #microfiction #mech pilot #There's more to this but its three seperate angles on the same event #I've been at work all day thinking about this

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deepouterspacecandy · 4 months

Text

Ink and Paper Hearts

I wanted to write something for Valentine's Day, and wound up with over 8k words. Sheesh! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for being here! Be kind to yourself and others. 18+ only. Violence and sexual themes. Angst, fluff, etc.

Raised on a cattle ranch, you spent your early days on horseback tending to the farm and living off the land. When disaster left you orphaned, a ragtag group of survivors embraced you as one of their own. Over time, they had become your family, and together, you’d endure natural disasters, famine, and hordes of infected.

It only took one sweep of malevolent raiders to destroy your home and turn everything you’d ever known to dust. You escaped the attack within an inch of your life.

Isaac was the one who discovered you withering away in an old diner off the freeway, fending off the infected with nothing but your integrity and a baseball bat. His medical team, which accompanied him as they moved between compounds, took care of your recovery, and nursed you back to health.

The leader of the Washington Liberation Front admired any person who possessed the strength to fight and the compassion to care for animals simultaneously, and in exchange for a safe place to lay your head, you promised to do just that.

It was a relinquishment of power; you learned early on. Anything involving Isaac came at a cost. Your bond with him was duty-bound, but he offered you another chance at having a family and a purpose. After being all alone in that desolate place, you’d been more than willing to fall in line.

Still, you were a different person when you first arrived in Seattle.

Some would say naïve. You saw yourself as a practical optimist. Now, you’re not so sure.

It’s truly astonishing how a year of unrelenting conflicts with the Scars can diminish the brightness of your silver lining.

The ability to find distraction in your work is a double-edged sword.

A jack of all trades, you spend most of your time working with the four-legged soldiers of the WLF. You have extremely limited patience for the human variety, on both sides of the fence. You tolerate a handful of your comrades, but between assignments, you’re happiest with your nose in a book, savouring the quiet and escaping into distant realms.

The drive for escapism hasn’t been a difficult undertaking lately.

A group of thirty soldiers left the grounds on assignment last month, and only two returned.

It left the stadium halls quieter, heads hanging lower than what you’d ever witnessed. Interactions that would otherwise leave you with a sunny lilt, instead left you carrying a heaviness that you couldn’t quite shake.

Few civilians choose to dive into surface level banter like they used to and the collective fear and sadness shrouding the compound has kept it that way for some time.

It serves as a reminder that even with extensive training and the most advanced military equipment, tragedy can strike without discrimination.

Unchecked and alone, the infected will forever wander through the shadows, driven by an unending quest to find their next victim. Maybe the same idea is true for all adversaries.

Your primary objective is to ensure the community remains united and intact. If you manage to stay sane, that’s a plus.

“How are you today, my little sunflower?” Manny asks, mischievously tugging your jacket.

“You better be talking to the dogs.”

“And if I’m not?” he asks, kneeling to offer unlimited ear scratches to the newest litter.

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to refer you to every other time you’ve ever asked,” you say, giving the bottom of his boot a kick. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Yes, he does!”

A woman’s voice booms from the other side of the unit, and Manny forces a smile.

“The bane of my existence.”

You chuckle at his misery, knowing little about his relationship with Abby outside of the kinship they portray in combat and their supposed insufferable roommate arrangement. Something you’re only privy to after running into her after hours at the library as she was trying to catch some shuteye on the couch there.

“Will you quit harassing pretty girls and grab a damn dog already?”

As she approaches, tails of all shapes and sizes wag with incredible speed, exuding pure happiness. You wonder how much time she has spent in the kennels when you’re not around. Isaac has her spearheading every mission from here to Chicago, so you rarely see her. But the dogs never forget a kind face.

You exchange a few pleasantries with Abby before she drags her unenthusiastic partner to work. Manny’s womanizing ways at the stadium serve as a constant reminder of your boundaries in relationships.

You’re safer by yourself.

Abby does seem like a sweetheart, though.

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

“We ship out tomorrow morning,” Abby says, handing you an empty canteen and a backpack, a clipboard braced to her side by her white knuckled grasp.

Her abrupt tone makes you jump when it normally wouldn’t. She’s struggling to keep her voice steady, but you suspect she has more important things to worry her mind about.

“Right,” you nod. “Any idea how long?”

As she’s rushing to complete the next task, your query hits her at the worst possible second, adding to her already teetering stress load. You recognize it a moment too late and your teeth ache at the back of your jaw when she spins on her heel, pinning you with a glare.

“Do you expect a serious answer, or are you just trying to piss me off?”

“No, I—”

“Promises around here are as worthless as the ETA themselves, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Promises? What did that have to do with anything?

“I’m sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to—”

“Anything else I can assist you with, soldier? Or can we finish wasting my time?” Abby bellows.

You knew it would be a mistake to leave the K9 unit, but circumstances with the Seraphites have forced your hand. They not only invaded WLF territory, causing destruction and casualties among your people, but they’ve also been blocking your teams from conducting supply runs, leading to a rather grim situation in the reserves.

“You don’t have to bite my head off,” you say, feeling the tension rise as you widen your stance against her more imposing one. “We’re all stuck in this mess.”

“Oh, really?” she seethes. “Good to know. I’ll be sure to hand you a shovel next time our people turn up in body bags. Give you a break from scooping dog crap to help us grownups with the actual shit.”

Abby is your superior and you know better than to test the hierarchy. The moment you denied Isaac’s advances, you tumbled from the top spot. But you’re no chump.

“What’s your problem?”

In a split second, Abby’s body looms over you as she detonates, “You’re my problem,” her breath hot against your face.

She flinches when you lose your balance and stumble backward, narrowly catching yourself. If her instinct was to rescue you, she restrained herself just in time, her hand frozen in mid-air. A twitch nags at the corners of her tired eyes.

“You’re no different from the rest,” you say, walking backward, chest heaving. “It’s all the fucking same.”

You’re down the hall and veiled by the four walls of your room before the opportunity to fumble your conversation further buries you in shame.

It’s going to be a long night.

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

Manny runs through his roll call sheet twice, inspecting each soldier with every measure but a squat and cough. If he thought he’d catch you on a minor clothing infraction, hell, a mismatched pair of socks, he’s sadly mistaken. You wouldn’t give Abby the satisfaction and besides, you hadn’t slept a wink preparing for this assignment.

“Where’s Anderson?” Manny asks under his breath. The team surrounding him dip their heads and you try to avert your attention. Brush it off like you had been too busy inspecting your gear to overhear him.

“We’re not going blind, are we, Alvarez?” Abby says, shouldering through the group to drop her bag on the tailgate of the Humvee.

When her arm brushes yours, you recoil, your fist hitting your stomach with a muffled thud. Her head snaps in your direction, but her gaze is less volatile than before. You make a point not to place too much trust in that emotional assessment, finding solace in the familiar sensation of your twisting hands.

“Alright,” she shouts above the murmurs of your unit, the quiet chatter falling into silence. “You will work in pairs, at all times, even when we are in proximity to each other. This is unnegotiable, so don’t ask me if you have to bring a friend to the pisser. The answer is yes.”

The group’s attention is undeterred, even as a faint chuckle escapes them, their eroded black boots facing her commanding presence.

“If you hear something, say something,” she continues, her chin bowing slightly. “It may save a life.”

You swallow thickly and lean against the armed vehicle, its cold steel biting into your back. It’s possible that your sleepless night will affect your performance, but you decide not to emphasize it and hoist yourself upright before anyone notices.

“Our destination is approximately sixty miles from here, and we will cross into Scar territory temporarily, so we’ll need to be cautious. Eyes on rooftops, balconies, you know the drill.”

The group divides between the Humvee and a military truck, and it’s only after twenty minutes of driving that you realize Abby has chosen you as her combat partner for the time being. You feel the weight of her thigh against yours, as she adjusts her legs to accommodate her backpack, and you’re left pondering her decision.

There is a clear sense of trust between her and Manny, making him not only her closest friend, but a lifeline in warfare. Does she think you’re weak and in need of a stronger match? You gnaw on your bottom lip at the notion, focusing on the greenery flitting past your window.

“Come on, Anderson, your balls aren’t that big,” Manny teases, gesturing to her outstretched posture, particularly the way her legs take up enough room for two. You shift toward the door to free up some real estate between you and concentrate back on the road.

As their banter fades into background noise, your attention shifts to observing the deserted surroundings, vigilant for any indication of danger. Apart from a pair of rabbits hopping around, the streets are completely motionless.

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

The cavalry parks outside a derelict warehouse, its craggy roof adorned by a lush carpet of moss. Rust-bitten chain link fencing surrounds an expansive lot at the rear, cube vans with faded labels scattered throughout. It’s a tempting location to scavenge, but the prospect makes your stomach lurch.

The presence of tall grass and the lack of windows on each vehicle creates ample opportunity for trouble. A lurking enemy, dead or alive, is something you’d like to avoid. It’s possible that someone has already searched the vans, despite their undisturbed appearance.

“Let’s break this down into teams and tackle it all at once,” Abby announces, nodding at the parking lot and the adjoining building. “Six outside, inspecting the trucks, and six inside. We’ll scour the property first, and then we can set up for the night.”

“Wait,” you say.

She blows out a frustrated breath.

“This better be good.”

The temptation to tell her to fuck all the way off is intense.

“Maybe we should put a couple scouts up high, search the grounds together,” you say, pointing to the safest vantage points. “Eyes in the sky.”

“Any other suggestions?” she asks.

“I mean, no—but,” you begin.

Abby interrupts, holding her hand up. “Like I said. Six and six. We don’t need to be out here longer than necessary.”

“Fine.”

She guides you toward the building, her palm on your lower back, and you jerk away from her grasp. She may have the authority to call the shots, but you decide where you place your neck on the chopping block.

“I’m with them,” you say, trudging toward the trucks.

“Hey!” Abby says.

“Oh, Jesus Christ. What?”

She gives you a once over, gritting her teeth.

You throw your hands up and let them slap against your sides, waiting for her to hurl her discontent at your head, clearly eager to tear a strip off you in front of your squad. With a distant gaze, she fixates on the hollow space behind you before heading towards the warehouse.

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

It took several hours to secure the perimeter and set up camp inside.

Your heavy eyelids rejoice at the promise of rest. The team in charge of the mail trucks uncovered a mother lode of undelivered packages, chock full of useful supplies. It was almost as impressive as the haul the WLF brought back from the airport a few months back.

Within the building, soldiers set up their bedrolls among a labyrinth of cluttered offices. It’s quite comical to overhear the entertainment value of some dusty, redundant telephones and keyboards. You catch snippets of the amusing conversations while rearranging your own space, the sound of playful jabbering rising from the ashes, finally allowing you to release a deeply trapped breath.

Abby eases up on her protocols to make the rounds and ensure everyone is okay. You make use of the time alone to freshen up and explore, gathering candles from various boxes to arrange in your shared office, the wax and wicks a rare, comforting find.

Abby spots them as soon as she returns.

“Nighttime always feels darker away from home,” you explain, worried she might find them frivolous.

She doesn’t.

“Candles are good,” she says, picking one up to roll in her hands. She scrapes her thumbnail along the wax base and shifts on her feet. “I like them.”

“Alright,” you say, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

You try to ignore the intensity of her gaze as it grazes over you, but beads of sweat build along your lower back. It might be time to crack a window. Occupying yourself with that activity, you grow increasingly frustrated as the most accessible ones refuse to budge.

“Let me try,” she offers.

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” she huffs, and you glimpse her crossing her arms over her broad chest.

You reckon Abby isn’t used to being turned down, and it sours your stomach a little to be the outlier.

By climbing the desk closest to the wall, you gain some leverage and drive your palms into the ridge of the window. You feel the sharp edge digging painfully into your flesh, your back muscles tightening to an impossible degree.

“For fuck’s sake,” you grunt, putting all your might into another attempt, the image of a bottle smashing through the pane something you’d seriously consider acting upon if you were alone.

“Stop being stubborn and let me help.”

“I don’t need your help,” you groan, the tickle of sweat now threatening to break into a full stream down your spine.

“Sure seems like you do,” she says, the arrogance in her tone combined with the weight of her gaze on your back, sending your lid rocking chaotically over a burgeoning boil.

You suck in a rigid breath and ignore her remark.

“Look, if you just—”

“Abby!” you say, jolted by your own shout.

Manny must overhear the commotion, slinking against the door frame to clear his throat. As they murmur behind you, you bow your head and brace your hand against the glass, waiting to be reprimanded.

When you twist your body to offer an apology, the room is empty.

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

Even as the sun disappears below the horizon, the air in your office, as well as the rest of the building, becomes oppressively warm. You dig through your bag for a less cumbersome shirt but resort to stripping down to your sports bra and a pair of boxers. Abby hasn’t come knocking for a while, long enough for a clicker to obliterate you ten times over, but you temper your outrage.

Downstairs, there’s a treasure trove of unopened loot piled on racks, beckoning your interest. Abby abandoned her rule of two and frankly, you couldn’t care less.

Truthfully, she never wanders too far from her pack.

It’s possible she’s unaware of your whereabouts while you gather boxes from the metal racks downstairs in your underwear.

But it’s also possible she has eyes on you wherever you go.

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

“What’s all this?” Abby asks, lingering in the doorway.

Lost mail spills from the bins surrounding you. You’re captivated by the untold stories inside them. A peek into a world you’d never known.

“Letters, mostly,” you say.

Just inside the entryway, Abby slouches against the wall, absentmindedly playing with the fibers of the carpet using her socked feet.

“What kind?”

You’ve torn through dozens of envelopes, the contents of each one wildly different. It’s almost disturbing to imagine how many people had an entire universe they experienced through their eyes only.

You’ve already envisioned yourself journeying from one post office to another, gathering historical accounts and breathing new life into forgotten tales.

“I’m a bit lost with most of them,” you say, credit card debt and bank statements flying straight over your head. “Structures before the outbreak are a lot different from ours.”

Abby clicks her tongue, moving further into the room to sit across from you. She’s careful not to encroach on your space and a twinge of remorse worms into your belly. You offer an olive branch, handing her a photograph.

“But then there’s stuff like this,” you continue.

Abby’s eyes widen at the provocative image of a woman, her slender figure draped across a pristine silk sheet, the vibrant red of her lace panties and sharp stilettos creating a striking contrast. Attached to it is a note that reads:

When you’re alone, close your eyes, and I’ll be whispering your name.

Abby puffs a quiet laugh as a flush of pink creeps along the high points of her cheekbones.

“Who’s it addressed to?” she asks.

You search for the envelope among a sea of scribbled addresses and realize it’s a futile endeavour.

“I’m honestly not sure,” you admit. “I think I lost it.”

“Damn,” Abby smirks, running her thumb over the curled edges of the polaroid. “Lost in transit twice.”

You give a half shrug, noticing how enraptured she is with the picture. Her blonde lashes catch the candlelight at an angle that cast long shadows across her freckled skin.

“Manny would lose his mind,” Abby says, rolling her eyes. “He’s obsessed with shit like this—women in general, really. Horny bastard.”

You can feel the giggles bubbling up inside you, and you clamp your lips together to keep them from escaping. Abby Anderson, the most revered soldier of the Washington Liberation Front, sitting criss-cross applesauce talking smack about her best friend.

It is about the funniest thing you’ve seen in weeks.

“Have you—ever sent one?” you ask, treading dangerous waters and bracing yourself.

She blows out a ragged breath, pocketing the evidence.

You wonder if it’ll be a gift for Manny or something she keeps for herself. The notion causes vicious heat to rise across your forehead and down the bridge of your nose.

“Not a chance. It’s not really my thing.”

The mountain of mail between you becomes a welcomed distraction, and you make use of having a focal point to stare at.

When she tosses the question back your way, it throws your stuttering heart into a full gallop.

“Have you?” she whispers, leaning back to study you with a leg outstretched. The heel of her foot rocks to a slow tune only she can hear.

Her muscular arms bulge as she balances herself and you do your level best to pretend you don’t care. You expect her to wriggle uncomfortably or try to change the subject, but she doesn’t. Instead, she waits on you to bounce the ball she has rolled onto your court.

It’s you who can’t stop squirming.

“I haven’t found anyone worth the effort,” you say, and it feels a little embarrassing, maybe, but you figure honesty goes a lot further with Abby. “People suck.”

“Would you?” she asks. “If you found someone.”

Your racing heart leaves you dizzy.

It’s too goddamn hot in this office. You crane your neck to fire silent vitriolic arrows toward the stubborn windows, desperate for a fresh gust of air to grace the back of your damp shoulders. Abby stumbles to her feet, stepping over you to solve your problem once and for all.

With a soft click, the lock releases, and the window glides open, allowing the cool evening breeze to sweep through the space.

You squeeze your eyes shut and groan.

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Abby smirks, dropping back down to her spot on the floor. This time, she lies on her side, head propped up by her arm. “You almost had it.”

The crooked smile quirking up on her mouth hits you like a flashbang.

“I kind of hate you right now,” you say without venom. “But I should probably say thank you, huh?”

“Probably,” she grins, teeth raking slowly over the pout of her bottom lip.

She has freckles there too, and you’re suddenly envious of them.

“I won’t,” you blurt, tearing open another envelope. “Say thank you.”

“I wouldn’t either,” she laughs, and it’s a deep, warm cadence. A laugh meant only for your ears. She gestures to the letter in your hand. “What’s that one?”

The grin you’re desperately trying to hide causes your face to ache.

The brash woman you’re hardly accustomed to sharing a home with at the stadium is full of surprises, it seems. There’s a side to her that isn’t militant and melancholy, but rather the opposite.

She’s playful and witty. Her eyes, a staggering blue lake, are gentle and kind.

You could fall madly, painfully in love with a woman like Abby.

Abby herself, even. If she wasn’t an unstable box of dynamite.

You skim the handwritten letter with the tip of your finger, and another wash of warmth blooms inside you at the bulk of the sentiment.

“It’s a confession,” you explain, fixing your attention on the last paragraph. “He’s been in love with her for a long time, since they were kids.”

“Will you read it to me?”

Her gentle query sends a shiver of sunshine down your spine. Her eyelids are heavy like yours, and the shadows beneath hers speak volumes about the burden she carries. The weight of the world.

“Only if you promise to read the next one.”

“Deal,” she murmurs, sliding your bag over to use as a pillow. She snuggles into it and your whole body vibrates.

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

The trip home is lighter, despite the nearly crippling load. Clothing, toys, garden seeds, tools, home goods, toiletry items — the list is a mile long. You couldn’t take everything, but the mass of what hadn’t deteriorated or spoiled made it through the gates.

It’s a hopeful thing, not only to witness your group returning home unharmed, but with enough supplies to ease the strain taken from a new fruitful avenue.

The moment you and your squad walk into the chow hall together, you’re met with a chorus of cheers and applause. As Abby vanishes amidst the swarm of people, you exchange a few handshakes before seeking escape from the cacophony.

Your sleeping quarters are the chaotic aftermath of hurried packing and abandoned reading material, with your mattress being the only semblance of order in the disarray. It was Manny who taught you how to make your bed to military standards and perhaps his goal was to inspire more in you than routine, but either way, the habit stuck.

Gratitude simmers for it now more than ever, the crisp, clean sheets offering respite. Freshly showered and dead on your feet, you crawl into your cozy bed and drift away.

A thunderous crash shocks you awake.

You blink against the abyss, immediately comforted by the stadium lights leaking through your curtains. It drives other citizens insane, the absence of darkness, but you’re thankful for it.

Someone appears to be banging your door down.

“Cool it, already,” you say, scrambling for your cotton robe. The brutal assault on your sleep at this hour deserves to be outlawed—prohibited by the laws of the WLF. “Holy hell, are you trying to wake the whole neighbourhood?”

You tear open the door and any visceral anger coursing through you evaporates at the sight. Tall, fierce, and devastatingly gorgeous, all blended with the rich spice of amber liquor.

Loose tendrils of hair cascade along her shoulders and collarbone in protest of her braid.

“What are you doing here?”

“I have something for you. Can I come in?” Abby asks, and it’s not a question.

Before you can even request a moment to compose yourself, she unceremoniously dumps a heavy grey bin on your living room floor, adding to the chaos, before collapsing onto your couch.

“What’s going on, Abby?”

She may be a delightful, luminous drink of water when she wants to be. But damn, can she ever snore the walls down in record time.

You plop yourself onto the bin beside her and try to make sense of her unexpected visit. Should you venture down the hall to wake her roommate? There’s likely a sock hanging from the doorknob by now, but it’s an option.

“Anderson?”

The sound of your hands drumming on the sides of the plastic container fills the room, while you contemplate the amount of bourbon your crew has consumed from lunchtime until now. An indulgence that landed on your doorstep all the same.

When Abby whimpers and curls in on herself, you resolve to drape her in your heaviest blanket, hoping to help her tackle the unsteady beats of her sleep cycle and a looming hangover. She bundles the fabric in her fists and clenches it underneath her chin.

Captivated by her klutzy aura, you nearly trip on the forgotten bin.

The lid doesn’t want to come apart from its secured spot and you have the presence of mind to check for a locking device, just to be sure. There isn’t one, of course, but you’ll never let yourself live down the office window debacle.

It’s going to require elbow grease and a hefty tug. You hiss as it separates in several loud pops. Luckily, the noise only costs the weary girl on your couch a flinch or two.

Letters fill it to the brim, and you’re enthralled by Abby’s decision to bring them back with her. Your instinct is to open each one, but it doesn’t feel right without her there to chirp commentary at you.

“I don’t get it,” you breathe in disbelief, expecting your words to meld with the shadows and disappear.

Her ghost-quiet voice turns the thermostat up a thousand degrees.

“I was mean,” she stammers. “You didn’t deserve it.”

It appears that you’re tapping into her guilt-ridden subconscious, which feels so delicate you consider shaking her awake. You doubt she’d want to lay it all bare.

Does she always talk in her sleep?

“No, it’s okay,” you say. “Water under the bridge.”

Your response seems to placate her overworked brain. You can relate, as your own tries to lure you back to the land of lonely slumber.

You notice her face doesn’t relax, even when her breathing slows, the lines in her forehead streaked with dirt. To never find peace, even during sleep, must be exhausting beyond what most can fathom. It seems cruel to disturb her, even if she’s restless. You settle for leaving a glass of water on the side table for her before settling in at the end of the couch. If she startles awake, you’d rather she doesn’t do it alone.

Cramped onto the only slice of cushion she hasn’t claimed, you let the commotion of the day pull you under.

As morning greets you, you find yourself back in your bed.

The familiar scent of Abby drenches your blanket, but she’s long gone.

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

It’s your first day off in months, but you check the work assignment list to confirm. On your way back from the bulletin board, the classrooms are abuzz with joyful energy. Children eagerly play with the toys and delve into the books your squad brought home, and it gives you a sense of belonging. A goal beyond surviving.

Until now, you have thought little about your life beyond protecting the community. It always made sense to put your neck on the line for the greater good. While casually strolling past the gym, not in search of a certain soldier, you can’t help but wonder if there might be other adventures awaiting you.

Abby’s breath tickles your ear, and you leap a mile out of your skin.

“Looking for me?”

“Son of a bitch,” you wheeze.

She doubles over with laughter, imitating the strangled noise you make when you’re caught off guard. She takes a minute to catch her breath before she gives you a generous shove.

“You’ve got quite a potty mouth,” she teases, wrinkling her nose impishly at a passing group of young ones. “There are little ears around here, you know.”

“Yeah, well, they probably know better than to sneak up on a person,” you say, finding Abby’s laughter rather infectious. You bite back a grin. “Who does that? Is an apocalypse not enough for you people?”

Abby breaks into another bout of giggles, seeming to enjoy your newfound passion for merging the old world with the new one.

“Is it our apocalypse though, if we were born into it?”

“Yes, Abby, it is,” you huff, eager for your heart rate to return to baseline. “We’re in an active apocalypse and you’re awful.”

As she leans against the large window you’d been peering through, the sounds of the gym fade into the background. She tilts her head at you, eyes sparkling with intrigue. Clad in workout gear that accentuates her sculpted body, she doesn’t appear sweaty.

You must’ve caught her on her way in.

“Are you busy later?”

“Not really,” you say, fidgeting with a frayed string on your sleeve. “Are you?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Okay,” you say, staring at a scuff on your sneaker before catching her gaze.

“Okay,” she mimics, directing her nose scrunch at you this time, turning your mouth dry. “Feel like being busy later?”

It’s not as if her tone is explicit or even her language, but this woman is a supernatural force. So, tingles rise into gooseflesh from your head to your toes, regardless.

“What do you have in mind?” you ask.

The roars of a lively group of soldiers reverberate through the gym, their spirited chants urging their champion to hurry her ass up. They beckon to her as if they are a part of the kindergarten cohort, causing both of you to snicker and shake your heads. One of them wolf-whistles, the rise and fall of the pitch echoing into the hallway. Abby wastes no time throwing up her middle finger in response.

“I can come by around seven. Does that work?” she asks, reaching for your wrist. She gives it a quick squeeze and slowly pulls away, her fingers sliding to the tip of your pinky.

Her simple touch is unexpected, and it electrifies you.

“Works for me.”

She beams, walking backwards through the gym doors, brows jumping at your frozen form.

You amuse her. This much is obvious.

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

A rhythmic tap grabs your attention, a stark difference from the first time Abby came knocking. But to keep with tradition, she doesn’t arrive empty-handed.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, gesturing to the dishes balanced precariously in her arms.

“I wanted to.”

She sets the meal fit for an army battalion down onto the counter and searches your kitchen cupboards for something to drink from.

With a single, forceful movement of her forearm, she clears space by shoving your knick-knacks aside to make room.

“Juice cool?”

The way she effortlessly makes herself at home in your space leaves you speechless. You nod.

“Good,” she says, a repentant grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Pretty sure I’m off booze for the rest of my life.”

With the same delicate touch she used to tidy your countertop, she pours the freshly squeezed liquid, causing both glasses to hover on the verge of spilling. Abby takes a step back to assess the situation before bending over the rims, producing the most obnoxious slurping noise. It nearly sends you into hysterics as she levels out both glasses.

She hands one to you with droplets of orange decorating her chin and the collar of her shirt.

“Thanks,” you chuckle. “Quality service right here. Plus, I love germs.”

Balancing the glass to the best of your ability in your right hand, you pull your sleeve over your left and use it to pat her face dry. Abby snorts, her normally lively body becoming static under your ministrations. She swallows heavily, and a calmness settles over you.

“I don’t have germs,” she pouts. Her eyes drop to your mouth for a split-second before her cheeks erupt in swaths of vibrant pink. “I swear.”

“You’re a mess,” you scoff, enamoured by this clumsy woman, blazing a path directly into the pit of your stomach. “Did you know that?”

As she nods, her broad shoulders relax, and her frenetic breathing begins to slow.

“Nobody else sees it,” she says, her words hanging heavy in the air.

The pressure of that emotional cargo would cause any person to buckle under the weight sometimes. It’s a strenuous life for everyone on base, but the expectations placed on her are especially burdensome.

“I see it.”

Your confession doesn’t offend her; instead, it seems to liberate her.

She sighs an exhale of relief, and it makes your heart squeeze.

“I can live with that,” she whispers.

The food was prepared with love as is anything set aside for Abby, and she tells you all about the cook who put it together. An original member of the Salt Lake crew, and a phenomenal chef, he got them through their bleakest days.

When the WLF opened their arms, he committed fully to helping Abby achieve her goals, working tirelessly to support her training and keep himself on the straight and narrow after their tragic end with the Fireflies.

She doesn’t go into detail about what happened, and your instinct is to let that be okay. The heart-wrenching rumours are more than enough to go on for now.

“He’s stoked for me to have a little downtime,” she says, waving her fork at the spread now spilling onto your coffee table across various plates. “Hence the whole smorgasbord situation. As soon as I told him—”

She pauses, letting out a little whimper of embarrassment, seeming to scold herself for being so open.

“Told him what?” you press, detecting a subtle grin playing at the edges of her eyes.

“He wanted to make an impression on my friend, I guess.”

Your neck tickles with heat and you attempt to ventilate by pulling the collar of your shirt away from your collarbone for a moment.

“The man can cook,” you say with your mouth full. It comes out funnier than you expected, muffled by chewing. “Sorry.”

“You’re quite a mess yourself,” she smirks, leaning to drape her arms along the back of your couch, scanning the state of your apartment. “Your poor books.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with my books!”

She hauls herself off the couch to make an example of you, crouching at a cluttered stack. So, an earthquake must’ve hit only your room—what of it?

“I mean, this is just sad.”

“We can’t all have bookshelves and organizational skills, Anderson.”

“Says who?” she chuckles, her attention diverted by a novel that has piqued her curiosity. “This isn’t a lack of skill, either. Where’s your discipline, girl?”

Maybe it’s crouched in front of you, a blonde bombshell waiting to go off and properly reduce you to human rubble.

“I’m plenty disciplined, thank you very much.”

“Yeah?” she says, tongue tucked behind her teeth in challenge.

The audacity, when you’re currently over the moon about this delicious meal, you’ll likely never get to enjoy twice.

“Yeah,” you retort, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve like a feral beast. You strip off your shirt and toss it into the abyss, grabbing a clean one from its home on a toppling lamp.

Her bright bursts of laughter make you giddy, a woman who never finds time to play, sitting on your carpet waiting for you to join her.

“Who even are you?” she asks, and it’s so gentle it stops you midway through redressing to ponder her question.

The cotton tank top falls past your hips and you smooth it out, sensitive to the wrinkles in a way you haven’t previously been.

“It looks good,” Abby blurts, reading you like the sea of books strewn about. “You’re—good.”

There’s something about the fortitude of her honesty that helps you decipher between barbs and a genuine fondness for your idiosyncrasies.

Maybe she’s someone you can trust after all.

She shuffles across the floor to the bin filled with letters and lifts it above her head with ease.

“What on earth are you doing?”

As her brows jump mischievously, she dumps the skeletal remains of a past life onto your floor, filling the room with a waterfall of bones. It ignites a fierce desire to protect this girl—create a time capsule of this moment for the next generation to build upon.

A reminder that not all broken things are hopeless things.

“Well, now you’ve gone and ruined my tidy apartment.”

“My bad,” she giggles.

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

Each passing moment feels like tiny punctures in an hourglass, causing time to trickle away. You’re both aware of it, trying to stretch the night. Abby leaves for a spell to hunt down her chef, in pursuit of caffeine. She returns flushed and sleepy, the bitter aroma wafting through the door alongside her soothing presence.

Curiosity and exhaustion get the best of you, and you ask about her friend. His thoughts on your late-night rendezvous with history. She does a goofy impression that makes you want to wrap your arms around her, and you watch her in fascination like an old cowboy reel, projected onto your heart.

“He says you’re a bad influence.”

“Bullshit,” you snicker, tossing her another envelope.

“Okay, so he didn’t say that. But he did tell me to give him a heads up if I decide to run away with you.”

You try to push that thought aside.

“Really, now? And why does he think that’s in the cards?”

“He thinks you’re my dream girl.”

She speaks as if she’s describing weather patterns to you, and you’re bewildered. The blunt force of her words mixed with the softness of her tone leaves you shell-shocked. You search for a tether; silently categorize every reason it can’t be true.

“What did you tell him?” you ask, busying yourself with a letter you read while Abby was away.

A tale of woe between two quarrelling families. It reminds you of Romeo and Juliet, some less violent, modern-day version, and based on the contents of their struggle, you gather at least one of them was grateful for the pandemic.

“Do you really want to know?” she asks, pinning you with her gaze.

You nod, a buzz of energy flitting through you.

“Yes,” you say.

“I told him to go fuck himself.”

Cackles burst from your chest, finding her candour rather precious. Of course, Abby told the guy off. But she doesn’t look away after she tells you; doesn’t shrug or scoff. She studies your reaction and holds her breath until a tiny smile breaks her anxious expression.

You forget where you are in proximity to the earth for a second.

“I guess I’ll debrief you on that situation at a later date,” you say.

“I hope so.”

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

The sound of her steady breathing is peaceful as the light of early morning whispers through the fog. She idly sips at her coffee and takes her time, setting each letter into their respective piles. It’s engrained in her to keep things orderly, an obvious clash with your paper heap. Unlike you, she finds the government letters intriguing, even the boring ass mortgage and debt related ones, and reads them all thoroughly.

Your hand catches on an envelope shaped differently from the rest. Inside is a card, with a dozen raised hearts adorning the front in varying shades of red. When you flip it open, it reads:

With you by my side, every day feels like Valentine’s Day. Thank you for being my rock, my love, and my everything.

Your family never spoke of this while you were growing up.

“Valentine’s Day?” you yawn. “What’s that all about?”

You show her the card, and she rubs her eyes, nursing the tail end of her own yawn with the back of her hand.

“Give it here, woman.”

She looks it over to confirm her suspicions, and with a knowing smile, sits up straight. She taps the card against her knee.

“My dad told me about this.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s um—it’s a tradition people celebrated near the end of winter. A day to do things for the ones you love, I guess.”

“Like a holiday or something?”

“Sort of,” Abby says, fumbling a bit with her own understanding of it. “Romantic stuff, mostly.”

She rubs her neck, mulling something over while you try to wrap your head around this new information. One day out of the year to do what exactly? Who was supposed to do the things—both people? Did the traditions start after breakfast or were you meant to wait until suppertime? Was it an endeavour meant to last the entire day?

“My dad didn’t really make time to celebrate it,” Abby continues. “He was always too busy at the hospital and then my mom—well, she worked there too, so.”

The veil of exhaustion lifts when you realize she’s peeling back a wound right before your eyes. You suck in a breath and hope she doesn’t mistake it for anything but your desire to let her speak. She drops the card on her lap and wrings her hands.

“They did these small things instead, you know? On regular days,” Abby explains. Her body droops as she seems to pick through her retention of their conversations.

“Like what?” you ask, your voice just a hair above a whisper.

“Like—okay. My dad loved to dance,” Abby says, leaning forward with a sad smile, the slouch of her shoulders regaining composure at the happier memory. “He was fucking terrible at it,” she puffs a laugh. “But he was a music buff and when he met my mom, he said it was the best excuse he could find to get close to her.”

You ache for her to have them here to tell the story, instead.

“So, they danced together a lot?”

“All the time, according to him,” Abby says, her face lighting up. “He told me that my mom was super shy, so she’d always give him hell about it. But he’d ask her to dance pretty much anywhere. Parking lots, gas stations, one time they danced in the middle of the grocery store.”

You try to imagine what Abby’s mom looks like, but your mind can’t seem to conjure up anything beyond Abby’s own image, a showcase of strength and grit.

“Do you remember much about her?” you ask.

“Not really. She died when I was a baby,” Abby explains, adjusting the cuffs of her shirt. “She loved being pregnant with me, though, apparently.”

“Well, duh,” you murmur.

Abby crinkles her nose at you and bites the edge of her smile.

“Dad said her stomach got so big that he started dancing with her from behind. She’d rest her head on his shoulder, and they’d just sway back and forth.”

“I love that,” you say.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, fondness heavy on her breath.

Abby’s speech becomes slurred as the birds on your balcony greet the dawn.

“Every time they danced, the scent of her reminded him of a cabin in the woods, surrounded by these giant pine trees he used to pass on his way to work. He’d dream up this elaborate plan for them to quit their careers and live off-grid. I think he promised it to her about a thousand times.”

“That sounds kind of amazing, actually.”

“Yeah,” she says, tapping her nose with the Valentine’s card, her sleepy gaze drifting to yours. “He was a sap.”

She finishes with the most outrageously loud, cavernous yawn and you’re too tired to do much more than giggle at her larger-than-life spirit.

“You can crash on my couch again, if you want,” you offer.

She wobbles to her feet, reaching for your hand to help pull you up.

“I’m on assignment in a couple of hours anyway,” she says, supporting your elbows while you try not to slip on the paper graveyard below. “I’ll be MIA for a while, but let’s meet up when I’m back, if you’re up for it.”

“Totally.”

“Cool,” she whispers, her fingers tracing patterns on the tips of yours before reluctantly letting go.

As she turns to walk away, her steps falter, and she abruptly spins around to face you.

“Can I hug you goodbye?” she asks.

“Of course.”

Before you can blink, Abby’s arms wrap around you, and you’re a puzzle piece, snug in her embrace. She melts you from the inside out, the comforting rhythm of her heartbeat thrumming against your body. The heat of her chest against your cheek lifts blissful sleepiness from the edges of your resolve and a part of you wants to ask her to stay.

As she gently moves to cup your head and support the back of your neck with her warm hands, you instinctively wrap your arms around her waist, afraid she might drift away.

“I feel so safe right now,” you whisper into her shoulder, and she nuzzles closer, squeezing you tight. Your feet are nearly off the ground before she relaxes her grip.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

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

Two weeks have passed since your visit with Abby and it’s hard to think about much else. It’s a pleasant distraction, even when the memory of her makes your insides flutter as if she tipped a bucket of butterflies between your ribs and set them free.

An unusually large number of soldiers from different stations have packed the grounds, and you’re grateful to have a unique job to keep you relatively separate from the chaos.

Dogs are coming home, but not all of them, and it shatters your heart to toss out their registration papers. You understand the nature of your contribution to this war machine, but it never gets easier. If you could, you’d gather up all the puppies and take them to the same cabin in the woods Abby’s father always dreamed about. Let them bask in the warm sunlight and frolic together amidst a maze of towering trees.

It’s a lovely thought followed closely by the sobering reality before you.

“You’ve done well.”

You drop the leash you were holding, and it clatters on the concrete.

“Isaac. You scared me.”

If Abby is a rare sight at the stadium, Isaac is a ghost. You haven’t seen him in months. He has expanded the WLF across several locations along the west coast and the number is only growing. Reports of a nearby prison piquing his interest have been swirling for a while now.

You’re not sure where he rests his head at night, but it’s almost never here.

“It’s nice to see you too,” he says, inspecting the four-legged fleet without getting close enough to pet them. “I hear your training program is working wonders.”

“I try. They make it easy,” you say, noticing that many puppies have tucked their tails between their legs. “What brings you to the stadium?”

“I’m—restructuring,” he explains, his footsteps echoing as he paces the unit, meticulously inspecting the facility.

Your heart sinks.

“What does this have to do with me?”

He exaggerates a smile, and it sets you on edge.

“You always ask the right questions,” he drawls, heavy hands landing on your shoulders. “I respect that about you. There’s never any fat to trim, just straight to the point.”

It’s more than you can say about him, frankly.

“I suspect you’ve heard about the prison.”

“I have,” you say, bending to pick back up the leash. A narrow excuse to put space between the two of you.

Isaac is still standing uncomfortably close, so you wrap the nylon around your wrist as an act of self soothing.

“Well, it’s proving to be an integral training facility. It’s both secure and unaffected by the flooding, which has been my biggest obstacle up to this point.”

You’d never seen the inside of a prison before, but you’ve read about them. A cold cement cage without access to sunlight, its surface striped with iron. It offered zero curb appeal. You made it a priority to give your dogs a comfortable enclosure for that very reason.

“They need me here,” you say, desperate to get ahead of his plan. “This is where I’ll be most effective.”

“I disagree.”

Your arms tingle with an icy chill as he turns to walk in the opposite direction.

“You said I’ve done well here,” you call out.

“It’s true,” he says over his shoulder. “And your expertise will be crucial. Transport leaves at oh-six hundred.”

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

You should pack to leave, but you’re frozen.

Isaac isn’t one to sugarcoat things and for once, you wish he would’ve.

You curl up in a plastic chair on your balcony and take in the fields below. Neatly organized rows of vibrant crops bordered by fruit trees, bursting with hues of orange and red. Berries snaking through walls of trellis, sweet and ripe. People milling about with baskets of laundry and boxes of produce, keeping society peaceful.

“You should’ve married him,” Manny sighs, dropping beside you. His hand rests on your knee. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you admit, pressing your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “All these fresh faces, and I’m the only one leaving.”

Manny moves his hand to your arm, offering a kind squeeze.

“You are not the only one,” he says, handing you a clipboard.

It’s a short list of dogs you’ll be taking with you, and you’re caught between wanting to laugh at Manny’s ridiculous disposition or sob at your utter misfortune. You wish the dogs could stay behind. They love when the little ones throw the ball for them in the afternoon.

“I have a life here,” you say, and it’s a plea to the universe. “This is supposed to be my home.”

Manny offers you a freshly picked apple and you roll the waxy surface between your palms. The image of Abby’s face flashes in your mind. Maybe it’s silly to feel so much, but you can’t stop it. The weight of never seeing her again makes you nauseous.

“I’m fucked,” you groan.

He wraps an arm around your shoulder to pull you in.

“Keep your chin up, Hermosa. Something tells me you won’t be gone long.”

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

Hey you,

I’ve tried to write this about a dozen times, and I still don’t know where to start. Fuck it, right?

I barely know you and somehow you made me miss you so fucking much while I was away. When I got home and you weren’t there, it felt like someone shot me in the chest.

Manny brought me your bin of letters and I swear I cried for the first time in years.

How did you get under my skin so fast?

I hear you were sad when you left, and that breaks my heart. It kills me thinking of you being unhappy. I hate that you’re somewhere I know nothing about.

What is it like over there? Are you safe?

I check in on the kennels every day. You’re missed around here a lot.

Keep your head up for me. I’m going to make this right.

Please write me back,

A.A.

You’re busy fixing the fence with a skeleton crew when a delivery truck arrives, and someone throws a letter at you. The thrill of it causes your heart to pound in your throat, a rush of adrenaline washing over you. It takes every ounce of self control to keep from disappearing to read it somewhere private.

Trucks come and go regularly, as they divide resources between stations. Isaac seems to prioritize the prison, especially on the artillery front.

You finish reinforcing the fence and race to your cell to lose yourself in your first piece of mail.

You can’t wait to steal a pen to write her back.

Abby,

I read your letter every day.

Okay, maybe more like three times a day, but who’s counting? Seriously… this place has no concept of time and I’m pretty sure there isn’t a single clock to be found.

It makes me sad you were sad. I feel like we’re on a carousel of sadness! We should change that. (Have you seen a carousel before?)

The dogs aren’t doing too bad. They like the open fields here and they’re allowed to sleep in bed with these smelly ass soldiers, which I think is more for us than them, truly.

Thanks for checking in on my crew there. Means a lot.

My bed feels like a hard slab of steel because it is, but at least I don’t have to make it every day. Don’t tell Manny.

It’s nothing like the stadium here. We don’t have gardens and schools and we definitely don’t have a gym. I know, devastating! How will I ever beat you in an arm wrestle now?

The hot water is a work in progress, so I’m learning how to not die during cold showers. That’s also a work in progress, but I squeal less now. Which is something, right?

Try not to worry your beautiful head. I’m tough. I miss your face, though. There’s so much I want to ask you.

Please tell me something about you that nobody else knows. I promise I’m the best secret keeper, ever.

P.S.

If you find any letters from actual prisoners, be sure to fill me in. I feel like they’d have some great tips!

Yours truly,

You hope she lights up as much as you did when her letter arrives. It’s all you can hope for, aside from her safety and possibly a warmer blanket.

To: My Favourite Inmate,

You sure know how to make a girl laugh.

It’s good you don’t have clocks. That way, you can’t obsess over how long you’ve been gone the way I do.

Shit, I should send Manny over there for one of those cold showers. I gave him that polaroid we found, and he hasn’t come up for air in weeks.

It helps a bit to know those pups are there to keep you warm at night. I hope I can be that for you soon. I considered writing another letter because I was afraid to say it, but I think I want you to know. You belong in my arms.

Something I haven’t told anyone before…

Sometimes I miss being a Firefly, especially since things around here are getting worse by the day—but sometimes I guess I don’t want to be anything.

Maybe I’d like to try being just Abby for a while, you know? I’ve never tried that before. What do you think that would look like? Would you want to be a part of it?

I wish you were here beside me.

I’ve made it my mission.

A.A.

P.S.

When you wrapped your arms around me, it felt like lightning.

#abby the last of us #abby x fem!reader #abby tlou #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby #abby anderson #lesbian

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writeforfandoms · 1 year

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Born for Greatness 2

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For those of you who liked the world building: Good news! We’ve got lots of it this time. Plus we get to see Soap and Gaz’s shifted forms.

Warnings: Brief violence, anti-shifter rhetoric, non-graphic injuries, non-graphic violence, swearing.

Word count: 3k

It took a few days to get the scheduling pinned down, but you managed it. You also watched every time the pack worked or trained with the soldiers, keeping an eye out for any other malcontents. Fortunately, you seemed to only have a handful of those to deal with. You got the requisition forms sent in.

And then you defaulted to the normal etiquette, which you’d had to teach dozens of times already.

“There are really only a few rules you’ll need to remember,” you told the first group. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to teach you the history of the world part one.” A few of them laughed at that, and you grinned. “Okay. First thing to remember: staring them in the eyes is a challenge. You do not want to do that. Pick another point on their face - forehead or nose, or even chin. Shows you’re paying attention without accidentally challenging anyone.”

“I thought that was for dogs,” one bold soldier piped up.

You wiggled one hand back and forth in a ‘so-so’ motion. “In actual canines, yes. In shifters, it’s more complicated. They’ve developed some of their own social norms, including eye contact. Besides, this is a general etiquette class, not specific to the pack residing here currently. Some shifters don’t give a shit about eye contact. Others are very picky about it.” You shrugged. “These are best practices.”

The soldier who’d piped up nodded, apparently content for now.

“Next rule–and this one is arguably more important, so pay attention.” You paused a moment to stare at the class. “Do not touch without permission.”

There were a couple incredulous scoffs, a bit of confusion, but mostly dawning understanding.

“I know it’s tempting,” you continued. “Especially with the canine shifters. They look friend-shaped! They are not friend-shaped. Without permission. You always, always ask permission first.” You paused again. “Or else you end up like one idiot I knew who lost two fingers.”

“Two?” someone yelped.

“Uh huh.” You sighed in remembered exasperation. “I was with a friend who had shifted, and this idiot thought my friend was a dog and decided to pet him. My friend is not a dog. He’s a wolverine.”

“Wait,” one of them started with a little bit of panic. “You’re friends with a wolverine shifter?!”

“Sure am,” you agreed with pride. “He’s a grumpy bastard, but I’m stuck with him now.”

There was a new level of respect in their eyes as they looked at you. You tried not to let it go to your head.

“So what are the other rules?”

“Just one more, really. This one is usually the hardest for people to follow.” You paused, tapping your fingers against your thigh. “If any of the shifters go feral, do not, for any reason, raise a weapon against them. Not a tranq gun, not a nerf gun, not a knife. Nothing.”

“Not even to defend ourselves?” This one sounded incredulous.

“Chances are good that they will recognize you as… pack-adjacent, is the best way to put it. They work with you every day, they’ll recognize you by scent, if nothing else. As long as you don’t start acting aggressive, they won’t either. They’ll be focused on whatever set them off.” You shrugged. “So don’t be the idiot to send them feral, and don’t be aggressive. This is also only if they go feral, which is not likely.”

“What if they attack us?” This was one of the ones who was on the fence. You’d kind of hoped she’d speak up.

“Defend yourself if you have to.” You shrugged. “It is highly unlikely that they will attack without provocation, even when feral. Best practice when a shifter goes feral is to back off.”

“You ever dealt with a feral shifter?” The same woman, meeting your gaze almost challengingly.

“I have.” You smiled gently. “My wolverine friend, for one. And I’ve assisted in more than a dozen feral incidents over the years.”

Another ripple of respect passed through the crowd. You spotted Gaz and Soap hanging out just outside the door and grinned.

“Like I said, these are best practice kind of rules. I will be watching to see if you implement them.”

“What happens if we don’t?” The man who asked sounded very tentative. Good.

“I hand over a list of names to the Lieutenant and let him decide what to do with you.” You shrugged.

That got them to shut up very fast, and you dismissed the lot of them. You noticed with pleased satisfaction that many of them remembered not to look the two shifters in the eye.

“Well, that seemed easy,” Soap said, walking up to you and draping one arm over your shoulders.

“You really have a wolverine friend?” Gaz asked, waiting until Soap had walked you out of the room to fall in on your other side, leaving you bracketed between the two.

On the one hand, this was a good sign of acceptance. On the other hand… this felt like mischief. “I sure do,” you agreed. “And he really is a grouchy bastard.”

“So he’s your pack?” The question was playful, but the look in Soap’s eyes was entirely serious.

You frowned. “Not… exactly?” You wrinkled your nose, trying to figure out how much to tell them. “He’s packless by choice, but he says I’m the closest he’ll get.”

The two exchanged a look over your head. “But you still do this,” Gaz pried gently.

“Well, yeah. He’s got his life, I’ve got mine. I go visit him when he calls, sometimes he shows up at my apartment for a few days.” You looked between the two and then sighed. “We are not involved, romantically or physically.”

They both looked sheepish, which meant that had been what they’d been wondering about.

“And what mischief are you trying to drag me into?” You frowned, looking around. You didn’t recognize this area of the base. This… could be bad.

“Not mischief,” Soap immediately protested. “We’re showin’ you around!”

“Ah yes, the tour with no sign posts, no running commentary, and ominous dragging of a victim between you two,” you drawled. “Definitely showing me around.”

Gaz laughed. “This one,” he said to Soap, stepping ahead to open a door into a quiet courtyard. Somehow, there was a natural space here, left to grow as it liked, completely surrounded by the buildings. A single tree grew in the middle of the courtyard, leaves swaying in the breeze.

“Oh yeah,” you muttered, looking around. “Feeling totally safe here.”

“You’ll see.” Gaz shot you an amused look before he started stripping. You looked pointedly up at the tree, even as Soap laughed at your modesty and started stripping as well.

A soft woof let you know it was okay to look, so you did.

A dog was standing next to you, tail wagging. A Belgian Malinois, if you remembered right. (You were less up to date on dog breeds, to your very private dismay.) He woofed again, tail wagging a little faster.

And beyond him was a wolf, gray with a black saddle and lighter gray underside. The wolf wagged his tail slowly, carefully.

“You two are trouble,” you said, though you couldn’t stop your grin as you lowered yourself to sit on the ground. “What, your LT showed off so now you get to do the same?”

Soap, the malinois, woofed again and sat in front of you. Gaz sauntered over too, sitting next to Soap and showing off the size difference between them. The wolf was definitely bigger.

“Yes, you’re very handsome boys,” you agreed, grinning. “And if your Alpha asks, this was your idea, not mine.”

“That I’ll believe.”

You gasped, nearly falling over at the sudden voice behind you but for Soap darting forward to brace you. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” you groaned, hanging your head. “How the fuck are you so quiet?”

“Habit.” Price still didn’t look apologetic as he stepped around you and Soap, lowering himself to sit next to Gaz instead. “How did the first class go?”

You shrugged, sitting upright again. But Soap stayed pressed against your side. “Well, I think. They paid attention, at least. I’ve got one more class today, and I’ll be watching to see if they actually take the lessons to heart.”

Price nodded, not shifting even as Gaz draped himself across his Alpha’s lap. And if that wasn’t a good visual of just how big Price was… That could be distracting. You swallowed and looked at Soap instead.

“May I touch you?” you asked him softly. Sure, he’d initiated, but you didn’t want to presume.

He shoved his head under your hand, unsubtly asking for each skritches, and you laughed quietly as you obliged.

“He’s a right menace,” Price said, pulling your gaze back to him. “Won’t leave you alone if you don’t put him in his place.”

“I’ll make sure to let him know if he gets annoying.” You smiled, smoothing your hand down Soap’s back.

Price snorted softly but stayed quiet, watching you carefully. He was still wary. Which was fair. Honestly, you hadn’t expected this much acceptance from Soap and Gaz, not so quickly. But they were both younger still, and probably just happy to have a new person to play with. Canine shifters especially were more accepting.

Gently, you nudged Soap away from you. “I need to get some coffee before the next group,” you said, patting the top of his head. You paused, gaze darting to Price’s eyes and then up. “Alpha.”

He nodded once, dismissing you silently, and you pushed yourself to your feet, brushing off your backside as you went back inside.

The second class went just as well as the first, and you took a brief break to check on the rec room. Popcorn seemed to go fast, which you noted down, and a few other snacks. You made sure to add those to the base grocery list, marking them specifically for the pack.

That done, you checked on the status of your requisitions. Then you made a couple phone calls regarding those requisitions.

And by the time you were done with that, it was late, and you hadn’t eaten yet. Grumbling a little, you dragged yourself to the mess.

Dinner was silent and solitary, again. Not that you really minded. You were able to respond to some texts from friends and previous packs, enjoying checking in with people.

The walk back to your room was quiet but not solitary. Ghost appeared out of nowhere and fell into step next to you. You waited to see if he’d talk first, if he’d ask you for something, but he didn’t. Just walked with you.

So you paused at the door to your room, looking at him. “Something I can help you with?”

“Why do you do this?” Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, looming over you.

“Help people? Or help shifters?” You raised one eyebrow at him.

“Both.”

You huffed. “I like this job,” you told him, mirroring his posture, even though you could hardly loom over him. “It’s satisfying. It’s something I’m pretty good at. I like making connections and getting to know people. And it’s easier for me to go between packs than it would be for a shifter.”

For several moments, the two of you stood silently, you carefully not meeting his gaze but otherwise holding your ground.

Then he scoffed. “Good way to get hurt.”

Anger flashed, hot and bright, and you breathed through it. “I am well aware of that.”

He grunted once, having clearly scented your anger. But he didn’t push further, turning and striding away.

You breathed out, watching him until he rounded a corner. Then you shook yourself out and locked yourself in your room.

You still had work to do.

It took three more days to get to the last group of soldiers. This was the group you were worried about - Keyes and his second-in-command, Martinez, were in this group. They’d be the hardest to work with.

Sure enough, you’d gotten no further than the first rule when there was a loud scoff. Keyes stepped forward, right to the unofficial barrier between you and your temporary students.

“A man should be able to meet eyes when giving orders,” Keyes said, cocky and brash.

“I suppose that depends on how you define respect.” You remained calm, watching him with a polite little smile.

“It’s basic courtesy,” Keyes spat.

“Basic courtesy changes from place to place.” You kept your gaze focused on his nose. It was a little too big for his face, honestly. “There is no singular universal set of rules.”

“Sounds like a load of shite to me.” He stepped into your space, staring down at you in challenge.

“Be that as it may, your superiors have ordered you to attend however many classes I deem necessary.” Your smile turned distinctly sweet. “How many times would you like to retake this class?”

“You’re bluffing.” Keyes was eyeing you now, a little wary.

You pulled out your phone and pulled up the screenshot you’d taken of the email with the orders detailing that you had to pass every soldier on base (including the pack) to be cleared to continue working there. “I’m afraid the higher ups take on-base safety very seriously.”

Keyes turned an interesting shade of mauve. “You really think that’ll work?” he asked, shoulders tight, hands clenched at his sides.

“I think if the shifters bother you that much, you need to transfer out. They’re not going anywhere.” You refused to back down, putting your phone away again.

“That’s not fair,” Martinez protested, quickly joining Keyes. “We all worked hard to be here!”

You shrugged. “Then I suggest you work hard to move past whatever prejudice you have.”

Keyes gave you no warning. Just stepped into your space, hand grabbing your upper arm tight. Tight enough to hurt. “You’re butting in where you’re not wanted,” he murmured, low and vicious. “I suggest you pass us, or face the consequences.”

“Let go of me.” You spoke slowly and clearly, heart pounding, not willing to show that he was actually hurting you.

“Sign off and I will.” Keyes tried to loom over you. Physically, he could, but he had nowhere near the presence that the shifters did.

You were just drawing in a breath to berate him and figure out what the hell to do, tension crackling through the room, the other soldiers shifting uneasily, when Price strode in. His upper lip lifted in a silent snarl, and he’d crossed the room and had his hand wrapped tight around Keyes’s wrist before you could say anything.

“Assaulting a civilian this time?” Price growled, low, banked violence in his tone.

Keyes turned his head and met Price’s gaze head on. The tension thickened between the two as Price’s eyes slowly darkened from blue to brown.

Keyes was trying to provoke a shift, you realized with horror. He was going to try to get Price declared unfit for duty.

So you did the first thing that came to mind. You slapped your free hand over Keyes’s eyes and pushed hard, forcing his head back to expose his throat.

You’d forgotten about Martinez. The slightly smaller man tackled you, sending you sprawling to the ground, with the likely unintended side effect of sending Keyes with you. You landed hard and then coughed as Keyes elbowed your solar plexus on his way down. Your lungs froze, refusing to draw in air for a few long seconds until you coughed and wheezed in a breath. Somehow, in those few seconds you’d been incapacitated, Gaz and Soap had both shown up and were restraining Keyes and Martinez.

“You broken?” Price asked, crouching by your head.

“They wish,” you wheezed, pushing yourself up to sit slowly. “Ow.”

Price silently helped you to your feet, doing a quick visual inspection of you. You let him, indulging his instincts.

“Think you’ll need a statement from me?” you asked, not even bothering to look at Keyes and Martinez.

“If you feel up to it.”

“Let’s get it over with,” you agreed on a sigh. “The rest of you, I’ll let you know when your make-up class is.”

Price escorted you out, walking you down to an office to get everything down on paper. You refused a medic, knowing you’d bruise but there wasn’t much to be done for that.

And once that was done you leaned back in your seat, resting your eyes for a moment. “Have to admit, I didn’t expect them to get violent,” you muttered, lifting one hand to rub your temples.

“Neither did I.” There was something like regret in the curl of his lips when you opened your eyes to look at him.

“No blaming yourself.” You pointed sternly at him. “This is part of my job. This happens sometimes. Some people are prejudiced, and that is not on you. Got it?”

His lips twitched with humor this time. “Yes ma’am.”

You scoffed but stood with a little wince. Your head was really aching now.

“One more thing, before you go.”

“Yes?” You stood a little straighter.

“Timeline got pushed up on a mission. We’ll be going to another base for a week, approximately.” His expression was blank as he looked at you.

“And I’ve been ordered to go with.” You breathed out slowly. It made sense. You could run interference when necessary, maybe have a chance to educate a few more people, help smooth some things over. “Okay. When are we leaving?”

“Wheels up at 0800 tomorrow morning.”

That did make you groan softly. That wasn’t a lot of prep time. “Right. Um, where do I meet you?”

Price huffed softly, though you couldn’t tell if he was amused or disapproving. Or both. “I’ll have Gaz escort you if you can be ready by 0730.”

“Can do.” You nodded to him (carefully) and left his office. You had a few things to do now, after all.

Packing, fortunately, didn’t take all that long. You snuck a few snacks in your duffel, in case you (or one of the pack) needed them.

And then you went to the rec room and folded the blanket, stuffing it in its own bag. Also just in case.

By the time you made it back to your room, your energy was waning. You dropped both bags next to your door, set an alarm on your phone, and collapsed into bed.

#born for greatness #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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villainofmyownstory · 1 month

Text

Day Zero

chapter 1: The First One

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pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x plus size fem!reader

summary: Ghost and his dog Riley regularly patrol the city. A man has his own routine, every day, for almost 2 years, has to look the same. The man knows that he cannot change his behavior because deep down he still feels that someone will answer his radio signal. He doesn't lose hope. However, exactly 730 days after "Day Zero", no one shows up at the transmitter mast. Just when you finally get there. You've been trying to get here for weeks, seeing a tower in the distance. You needed electricity, and the tower had a source of light every night. And so each of you, individually, still thinks that you are the only one alive.

Chapter 1: The First One

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Day 729

Ghost & Riley

5:43 a.m., the black Gamin watch on the man's right hand started ringing. In exactly 25 minutes, the sun will rise and Ghost will be able to leave the safety of his home and begin his daily routine.

This morning is definitely warmer than the previous ones. Getting out of bed, the man decides that in the evening he will cover some of the solar panels, so that excess energy for heating will no longer be needed. He preferred to keep some panels unused in case others failed. He couldn't find any more panels in the city, so unfortunately he had to settle for the few he found in recent months.

Riley ran to the man's leg, growling quietly, he had been extremely excited since the morning.

“What's up Riley?” Ghost stroked the dog behind the ear and spoke softly to him.

This dog had been the only living thing he could talk to for almost two years. It was actually a monologue, but Ghost knew that his beloved dog understood him and even though they didn't speak the same language, they understood each other perfectly.

The man also knew that he had to try to remain civilized, speaking, listening and behaving as he had before Day Zero. After years in the army, he remembered what soldiers released after years of captivity looked like. Who were locked in isolation for long months in small, dark cells. They were quickly losing their minds.

And he had to remain human. Despite everything.

Every day, after getting up and taking a quick bathroom break, Ghost would do some exercises to wake up. And be in good shape all the time. Unfortunately, his supplies of black tea were slowly running out and surprisingly there were few tea lovers in this damn city. He never drank coffee, so physical activity had to be enough for him to overcome sleepiness.

Once he put on his old military clothes and took his gun from the safe, he headed to the kitchen, taking a few military biscuits that he used to eat during his morning routine.

"Riley come on, it's time for patrol" the dog wagged his tail and ran to his master, waiting for Ghost to put a tactical harnesses and leash on him.

On his way out, Ghost checked the surveillance cameras he had installed around the house. The area looked like any other day. Intact. For a split second he felt disappointed, he was under the illusion that he was not the only one alive in this world.

Getting into the black Ford Ranger pickup truck, he checked the gas level in the canisters in the back and the air in the tires. Everything was in order. When Riley jumped on the back trunk and Ghost checked if the dog was safe, he got into the car and slowly drove away, looking around the surrounding area. Today he was going to the eastern part of the city, there were a few houses on the outskirts that he didn't check. As the days were getting longer, he could afford to travel further and plunder new abandoned houses.

When he reached one of his checkpoints, Riley on the trunk started barking and wanted to jump down to the ground. The man, concerned about the dog's behavior, quickly stopped at one of the dead ends. The dog barked and wagged his tail, staring as if in a trance, his attention focused towards the west.

“Riley calm down, Riley!”

Ghost quickly jumped onto the trunk and grabbed the dog by the collar, trying to calm animal down and direct its attention to himself. The dog barked louder and louder and suddenly growled in a way he had never heard before. Ghost froze, he had never seen such aggression from his dog before.

“Riley, sit down. Riley!”

man's voice trembled with growing fear, despite this he tried to pronounce the commands in a loud and decisive tone. Ghost was afraid that the dog might have gotten sick, maybe he had been bitten by some sick animal during one of the patrols in a new area and the wound was so small that Ghost he missed it. Even though he checked Riley every day after every patrol. He couldn't lose his only family member. Only friend.

Suddenly the dog calms down. He sat on his hind legs and, panting slightly, looked at his owner with peace in his eyes

“Bloody hell Riley, what the fuck was that?”

Ghost shook his head disapprovingly, looking up at the dog, patting it on the belly and stroking it for a while. After making sure that the dog had calmed down, the man returned to the car and drove again, glancing at the dog in the rear-view mirror from time to time. Fortunately, the rest of the journey passed peacefully, without any strange incidents.

Ghost drove in silence with the car windows open, looking around the suburbs. The eastern part of the city was mainly inhabited by elites, wealthier people from the upper classes.

Was.

Ghost, remembering his old life, felt that he didn't miss it. Money, power, fame. He never aspired to it and didn't need it, but in connection with his work he often had contact with rich people and it was difficult for him to come to terms with them. He could never get along with them. So now, after so many days since Day Zero, looking at the empty large villas, he smiled to himself. People had so much in the past, they were concerned with getting rich, making more and more money. And what did they need it for? Now they were all dead. And large houses and expensive cars stood empty, deteriorating under the influence of the seasons.

When the former soldier reached the house he had last checked, he parked close to a large tree so that the car was hidden in the shade. He opened the trunk lid for Riley to jump down and search the front and back of the house first. Nothing really bad ever happened, no evil awaited them during the day.

But Ghost wanted his four-legged friend to feel important and appreciated. If only his life would be no different from the one before Day Zero. Even though the man was not sure whether the dog had previously served in the army, from the first day they met the man checked and was happy to find that Riley was well trained. Its previous owner must have taken care of it. Ghost was very grateful to this person.

Whoever that person was.

When the dog returned happily wagging his tail and meekly stood next to the man's right leg, it was a signal that the area was checked and safe. Ghost took a bag of raw meat from his tactical vest pocket and gave a piece of it to the dog as a reward

“Good boy” as he said this he patted the dog affectionately on the head and added

“Watch the door Riley, I'll be right back.”

Ghost easily entered the white house, which was small compared to other houses in the area. Knowing that the owners would not come back to it anyway, he simply broke the glass in the door and turned the lock from the inside.

It took him less than 10 minutes to search the house, and as he thought, unfortunately for him, he found nothing important. It was one of those houses where wealthy owners come for a few days a year when they had to do something in the city. Ghost found some bandages, batteries, two cans of beans and a package of pasta. He packed everything into a backpack and took a large pillow from the couch.

Something for Riley.

Leaving the villa, he looked around the area, the sun was shining more and more strongly and Ghost basked in the sun for a few seconds, closing his eyes for a moment. Waiting for Riley to run up to him. However, none of this happened.

"Riley, come on..."

Ghost said calmly, patting his thigh to encourage the dog to come to him.

Silence. No movement.

“Oh, come on boy, I've got something for you..” the soldier opened his eyes and stepped off the porch, looking around the front lawn.

For the first time in over 700 days, Ghost felt panic rising.

Riley was nowhere to be found.

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Day 730

You

The next day of walking was so tiring that you took each step slowly with a grimace on your face. Your feet are so injured that your white Converse shoes are not only dirty with dust and brown soil, but also have red stains on them.

You don't have the strength to walk anymore. You wipe the sweat from your forehead, straightening the old t-shirt that serves as a makeshift head cover. The days are getting hotter and the journey during the day is torture.

“Maybe I'll finally lose weight”

you mutter under your breath, standing in the shadow for a moment. The large billboard that stands in the western part of the city is slightly damaged. The advertisement for the movie, which premiered over two years ago, is slightly faded and torn.

You fan your face with your hand, hoping it will bring you some relief.

Even though almost two years have passed since Day Zero, you have not lost the excess weight, and walking in full sun was a real horror for you. Dropping your backpack at your feet, you take out a half-full bottle of water and take a few sips. Even the water in the bottle is warm.

You sigh and look around. Nevertheless, despite all the horror that took place so many days ago, the outskirts of this city do not look damaged or well-kept. Even in your previous life - as you call it - you had never been to this area. Maybe it would be worth looking around a bit, maybe you will find a working car. Or at least a bicycle.

The tingling and stinging in your feet constantly reminded you how hurt and bloody your feet were. But you had to get to the transmission tower. You had seen it for so many days and you knew there was electricity there. Even on a rainy night, the lights from the tower were visible from many miles away. You were hoping that you would be able to charge the electronics you collected two years ago and maybe you would finally hear a human voice. Some signal of life.

You couldn't be the only survivor on this earth.

After a moment of rest, you moved further west, the sun was shining stronger and higher. It must have been close to twelve o'clock. You wanted to reach the tower before sunset, hoping that apart from metal bars and many cables, there would be a technical building where you could spend the night and charge your equipment.

Life before Day Zero was kind and happy for you. However, after that day it was a fight for survival. You were suddenly alone, without family or friends. You were on your own for the first time in your life. And you weren't the survival type. You lived comfortably all your life and could count on family members. Walking towards the mast, you had time for further thoughts. After all, what else are you left with? You haven't seen a human in 2 years.

Alive, to be more precise.

You were having conversations in your head, speaking quietly to yourself every few days as if you were afraid that your vocal cords would grow together or that you would simply forget what it's like to be human. The silence of the desolate world scared you at first, sleepless nights and fear during the day accompanied you in the first year. It was only when you found a bigger city and nice, undamaged houses and moved into one of them, collecting found food and useful items, that you finally started to calm down and sleep through the nights.

However, when the batteries in the device ran out, the water in the tap stopped flowing, and the winter at home became so cold that you might as well have slept outside, because the temperature difference was practically negligible, you decided to head west.

One night, when a snowstorm and strong wind opened one window in the attic and you went to close it at least temporarily and secure it to prevent snow from entering the house, you noticed a flashing light on the horizon in the distance.

At first you thought it was just a hallucination. Maybe you didn't eat enough or ate some spoiled food and your eyesight is playing tricks on you. But as you stood there and looked out the open window. To the west, a small light kept flickering in the distance. And the next day and the next. And finally the next week too.

When more than a month had passed and the weather had finally normalized, you decided to pack the most necessary items and go in that direction.

It had to be some kind of sign.

Some miracle.

During those nights when you were waiting for the weather to allow you to travel on foot, you imagined many scenarios. You felt excited and happy. Hope. Maybe you weren't the only living person in this world, maybe there were other people that close. This thought kept you alive.

Thanks to this thought, after so many days of traveling with injured legs, you were finally close to your destination. You had to get there and see with your own eyes that you weren't crazy after all and that the red and white tower was a signpost that someone maintained to let you know that he was also here, that he was alive.

When you finally reached the fence, you didn't even notice that your emotions and tiredness had won and tears were rolling down your cheeks.

You were so very happy. So close to the goal.

The gate to the tower was padlocked.

“Fuck!”

you screamed, struggling against the metal fence. You stood there sobbing, not knowing how to get to the other side. It was impossible to climb the fence. Firstly, it was too high, secondly, there was barbed wire at the top and thirdly, you physically couldn't do it. You were too fat to pull your body up over the fence.

When you finally calmed down and wiped your tears, you walked away from the fence and noticed that next to one of the fence posts there was a piece of paper attached with a red material.

You froze.

You quickly pulled a piece of paper from behind the ribbon and unwrapped the paper with trembling hands:

“If anyone is reading this, it means I'm not alone here. You survived just like me.

My name is Ghost.

I have shelter, food and other necessary items to survive. If you are looking for help, wait here. I come to the towers every day, every day of the year. Right at noon and I've been waiting for an hour..."

You quickly looked at your watch and froze… 12:23…. No, it's impossible, you've been here for a long time, you must have seen someone, you wanted to cry again. It can't be true that the only living thing, ironically calling itself Ghost, didn't show up today. Just when you came here. Maybe you missed each other? Maybe you were here for a few minutes after all. There was hope. You were supposed to spend the night here anyway, so if by some miracle you two missed each other, there was a chance to meet the owner of this letter tomorrow.

You looked at the piece of paper again:

“...and I've been waiting for an hour.

However, if you have no good intentions and are counting on your own survival, I have to worry you. In my previous life I killed more people than you can count, now, apart from things to survive, I have a weapon with me and I know how to use it quickly.

Wait here, and until I appear, don't be afraid, because you will hear and see my dog…Riley.”

With your heart beating strongly, you finished reading the letter.

Your mind didn't even have time to fully read the content of the letter when a large German shepherd ran out from the west wing of the fence, barking loudly.

This couldn't be true.

When you turned towards the dog, you froze.

“Oh my God…Riley…boy”

It was your dog. Who disappeared on Day Zero.

And now, after 730 days, he was running towards you.

Your beloved dog has been found.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #cod #ghost #call of duty fanfic #cod au #dayzero💀

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esamastation · 8 months

Text

Shizuroth, part seven

First things first: a proper, decent and hopefully fully chest-covering shirt.

Sephiroth has them, and none of them fit. He has, literally, outgrown all his shirts, turtlenecks and jackets, and judging by the looks of it, he'd never bothered to get new ones. Even the stretchiest of them pops stitches when trying to accommodate his shoulders and chest! It's ridiculous! What, was he a little string bean of a man and then burst into a beefcake overnight?

Ignoring the influx of new messages from the mailing lists Genesis subscribed Sephiroth's phone to, he investigates the shops' menu with more detail. It soon proves he definitely has access to clothing stores and he definitely has the money to use them. He also has the means to just requisition a free new uniform from SOLDIER any time he wants, but apparently pressing a few buttons was too much work for the man! Better have your chest out and about than bother with the barest minimum of effort for the sake of personal comfort or public decency, apparently!

So, add laziness to the reasons why Sephiroth's outfit is like that.

…Or maybe, possibly, some form of executive dysfunction? It might explain the room he's supposed to be living in, which is barely fitting for existing in. On a more thorough look, it really looks like everything was just placed just wherever with no care to how it looked or what the vibes were. It has a very that's good enough feel to it.

Except it isn't! It's awful! The place is barely better than a first year college dorm room! Not that he'd know what those look like, he had his own apartment by then - but still! You can do better, surely!

No, wait, actually - how old is Sephiroth right now?

The bathroom mirror isn't very helpful. Sephiroth has that same androgynous ageless look that Shen Qingqiu has - just much beefier and sorta monochrome. In xianxia terms he could be anywhere from twenty to two thousand, hah! Though from what he recalls of the game, weren't everyone kinda young? Old for JRPG, what with only one teenager in the main character group! But still way under thirties. And this is way before that….

Ahhh he misses fan wikis! He needs thoroughly documented timelines! He needs a birthday! He needs a character ID - he needs -!

Actually, Sephiroth should have some kind of ID, being an evil megacorp employee, right? An employee card, or what a SOLDIER might have. Dog tags?

Quickly he begins rummaging about his person again.

There are no dog tags, but Sephiroth does have a wallet and a bunch of cards. Including a Shinra Employee, Personnel Medical Information, Shinra Medical Research and Shinra Military cards. And Sephiroth is twenty-one, apparently.

That's… hmm.

Yeah, he has no idea what to do with that - but it explains the awful dorm room vibe! Clearly the guy didn't have experience with how to live. And who knows how long Sephiroth has been living on his own anyway, and where and how he lived before. Plus, with his schedule, he can't be spending much time at all in this room. None, apparently, if he could manage it. And no wonder! The place is soul-suckingly awful.

Well, that's not how he's going to live, that's for sure. The shirtless life is not for him!

Hmm… ordering clothes and stuff without even seeing what they look like first, though…

Snapping the flip phone shut he goes to investigate the laptop, hoping that maybe they did figure out web sites after all. It turns on with gratifying swiftness and reveals itself to be a Windows knock-off from the nineties or something like that - with just about the same level of security. It doesn't even ask for a password! Convenient.

In a glowing example of video game redundancy created by developers being lazy, it has the exact same apps as his phone, just with a bigger keyboard. No internet, no websites, no games, nothing. And judging by the single folder on the computer, the only thing Sephiroth ever does with the thing is write mission reports. How sad.

It almost makes him miss Zhongdian.

The shops' menu comes with pictures, thankfully, so that's something - and it's conveniently hooked straight to his wallet, so all he has to do is press buy and the thing is done, just like that! Videogame shop mechanics for you. He has no idea how the purchases would be delivered, maybe he will have to go pick them up at the building lobby or something, but whatever! He needs shirts, curtains, carpets, a couch, and a proper damn tea set to start with! And maybe, if he really goes crazy with it, some house plants!

Guessing at his size by using the tags on the shirts that don't fit, he puts in some dozen clothing orders for several different sizes to start with - and it barely makes a dent in his wallet. Then he scrolls through the available furniture in another store until he finds a couch big enough for Sephiroth's huge ass body to actually lie down on. Tea set is harder, there isn't one that matches his criteria, but he finds a home decor shop that sells teapots and sets of cups that will do for a start. Carpets are harder - who the hell decided that black ceiling was good for anyone - and ultimately he ends up choosing dark forest green.

And then he finds out that there are no live plants to be had in Midgar. There's a shop that sells life-like plastic replicas… but just looking at it makes him feel so sad. Because, yeah, right, he forgot.

Life-sucking megacorporation. Literally. The whole city is surrounded by dead desert, and you probably just can't keep houseplants alive in Midgar. Because Shinra is literally draining the lifeblood of the planet, and only the tragic heroine with mysterious lineage can make the flowers grow.

And he's her ultimate, poisonous antithesis. Yeah.

Depressing.

Leaning away from the disappointment of a computer, he heaves out a long sigh from Sephiroth's deep chest. The idea that he might never see living bamboo again makes him feel vaguely nauseous, and with a grimace he rests a hand on Sephiroth's washboard abs.

Energy sits like an undigested mass in his guts. He's all but bloated with the lifeblood of the planet. Ugh. He should really do… something with it, huh?

And then the awful Feng Shui hits him in the face.

"Ah," he mutters unhappily, eyeing the room. He can almost see the energy pooling in the middle, stagnating. That can't have been helping with Sephiroth's situation. He can't do much about it yet, not without more furniture - but he can at least move the damn bed and redirect the energy elsewhere!

Which he does.

By nearly flipping the metal frame of a probably really heavy bed over and almost throwing it into the wall.

Ah.

Right.

Super SOLDIER.

Tentatively he crouches down and tests his strength on the bed. By very carefully picking it up. Which is something he can do, apparently! It doesn't even strain him - he just puts his hands under it and lifts. Just like that. Amazing.

… Is this what it's like to be Liu Qingge? Wow.

He kinda feels sad for Liu-shidi now, for never getting to see - and fight - someone like Sephiroth. Poor Liu-shidi, always looking for a strong opponent to test himself against, always asking his useless shixiong for a spar, and here is his useless shixiong, in one of the greatest fighters in video game history - utterly out of reach! What a shame!

He arranges the bed away from the doorways and sits down on it with a heavy sigh.

Oh, but he will really miss Liu-shidi. The knowledge that he will never see him, or anyone else from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect again… it really is a shame. He didn't get to do enough in that life - but at least Liu Qingge survived! Hopefully… hopefully his life will be good. Hopefully Luo Binghe would forgive Cang Qiong Mountain Sect for their involvement with Shen Qingqiu, and they'd all live long, good lives… without him.

Ah, probably best not to dwell on it. He'd got a new transmigration, a new body and a new life to adjust to! New villain to embody - and a new doom to circumvent.

Kicking off his boots, he puts Sephiroth's feet up and into a lotus position, draws a breath and begins to see what he can do for the man's internal energies. Can cultivation practices be applied to Final Fantasy VII Mako and magic?

Time to find out.

#Fanfiction #Ffvii #Svsss #Shen Yuan #Shen Qingqiu #Sephiroth

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riddlerosehearts · 1 year

Text

list of acd canon sherlock holmes things i absolutely love

(and am going to mostly put under a readmore because i made most of this list while rereading the entire canon so it is very long! listen i just think sherlock holmes is the best character ever and i need to share my love for him--)

immediately upon being introduced to watson he grabs him by the sleeve, starts excitedly showing off his bloodstain testing experiment, and claps his hands “looking as delighted as a child with a new toy”. once he finishes, his eyes glitter and he puts his hand on his heart and bows “as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his imagination”.

watson: “i object to rows because my nerves are shaken”

holmes: “do you include violin playing in your category of rows?” he asked, anxiously

he’s noted to be extraordinarily knowledgeable and zealous in his studies, and yet on the same page it’s stated that he doesn’t know the earth travels around the sun and once watson tells him about it he immediately decides to forget about it because it’s not relevant to his work. this is where the famous “brain attic” monologue comes in.

watson writes this list about him and then throws it into the fire in despair:

has a habit of laughing in a way that’s described as bursting into an “explosion” or “roar” of laughter

frequently does this at crime scenes:

enlists a gang of street orphans to help him on his cases, pays them for their work, and generally treats them as equals but also playfully talks to them like a general to his soldiers

plays the violin for watson to help him get to sleep

is incredibly knowledgable on anything from different types of tobacco, to the ways one's trade can influence the form of their hands, to medieval pottery and stradivarus violins. and yet, i reiterate, does not know the earth revolves around the sun.

has a tendency of waxing poetic about the meaningless of existence, particularly when he’s bored from not having any cases to work on

once said about a dog “i would rather have toby’s help than that of the whole detective force of london”

used the word “doggy” when speaking to toby

once told watson “i don’t wish to be theatrical” despite all evidence to the contrary

disguises himself as an old man just to play a prank on watson

watson: “i think i had better go”

holmes: “not at all, doctor. stay where you are. i am lost without my boswell.”

is known to wiggle in his chair when he gets excited about a case

discovers that a man has tricked his own stepdaughter into a fake marriage so he can keep her at home and control her life and inheritance. acknowledges that said man hasn’t done anything illegal but still tells him “there never was a man who deserved punishment more” and that he ought to get whipped for what he did, and then goes to actually get his hunting crop, causing the man to run out the door at top speed

let a criminal go free because it turned out the man he murdered was trying to force said criminal’s daughter into an unwanted marriage

was suddenly made to participate in the wedding of someone he was tracking for a case, came home and laughed about it for several minutes, exclaimed “well, really!”, laughed for several more minutes, and only then did he actually tell watson what happened

responds to the king of bohemia insulting irene adler and saying she’s not on his level by saying coldly: “from what i have seen of the lady, she seems indeed to be on a very different level to your majesty”, which is basically him saying “actually she’s way better than you, so fuck off”

refused to shake said king’s hand

built a pillow fort in a client’s house so he could think better

let a poor jewel thief go because he cried, because it was christmas and therefore it was the season of forgiveness, and because the case was really easy anyway so it’s not his fault if the police are too stupid to solve it themselves

always reassures clients that they can trust him and watson and speak freely around them

is willing to waive his fee for clients who can’t afford to pay him, because according to him his profession is its own reward

this entire scene from speckled band when he gets confronted by his client’s abusive stepfather:

this nice little example of the gentleness he often displays with his clients:

the adventure of the copper beeches. just, all of it. a woman he doesn’t know comes to holmes for advice about a potential job she’s interviewed for and they both agree it sounds incredibly sketchy, she says she’s gonna take it anyway because she needs the money, and he’s like “well i wouldn’t want any sister of mine doing something like this but FINE i guess, just please write to us and let us know if you’re okay and if anything bad happens we’ll drop everything and come help you immediately”, and then the job does in fact turn out to be super sketchy and they drop everything and get on a train as soon as she writes to them

sometimes spends several hours out on walks through the park or the town with watson just relaxing and talking with him for the sake of it, despite watson frequently noting that holmes doesn’t have much appreciation for nature

“we have had the good fortune to bring peace to many troubled souls. i trust that we may do the same for you,” he says “in his easy, genial way” to a potential client who’s clearly very upset and sleep-deprived

is completely wrong about a particular case and asks watson to remind him of that case next time he gets overconfident

is noted by watson to be very neat and methodical in his methods and way of dress, while simultaneously being one of the messiest people ever who keeps his tobacco inside a persian slipper and his unopened letters held up by a knife in the center of his mantelpiece, keeps tons of criminal relics which apparently somehow end up in the butter dish sometimes, and keeps countless stacks of papers and documents all over the place

tells watson anecdotes about his past just to avoid cleaning up said documents

deliberately knocks over a table, shattering a glass fruit bowl which then sends oranges rolling all over the room, and then blames it on watson and runs away

says snarky things like “when gregson or lestrade are out of their depth–which, by the way, is their normal state” and “you’ve done very well, watson! it’s too bad you’ve missed everything of importance”

laughs when watson suggests he’s being modest about his abilities

picked up a rose and got all sappy and poetic about it

more specifically, picked up a rose and said that religion can be a science which involves a lot of careful deduction, and that flowers are a source of hope and proof of the goodness of god due to the fact that they aren’t a necessary part of life but are still so beautiful anyway

recovered an incredibly valuable government treaty for a client and had it served to him on a platter at breakfast because, in his own words, he “never can resist a touch of the dramatic”

faked his death and then revealed to watson that he was still alive in a manner that even he admitted was unnecessarily dramatic

had a full-scale wax model of himself created and used it to fool his enemies

made a diagram out of breadcrumbs to explain something to watson

broke into a blackmailer’s house for a case because he believed it to be morally justifiable, and admitted that he always thought he might make a good criminal

held watson’s hand while they were burgling said house together

twice

allowed said blackmailer to be murdered in front of him by one of his victims and then refused to take the case when asked because he just hated the guy that much

“flushed up with pleasure” when watson complimented him

asked watson to sell his medical practice and move back into 221b with him after the death of his wife. and then secretly gave a relative of his a ton of money to buy watson’s medical practice at the highest price watson would ask for, just so they could live together again

was nearly brought to tears by lestrade saying he was proud of him

let a dog lead him around on a case, multiple times in different stories

was very gentle with a client who he knew to be the victim of an abusive marriage and allowed the man who killed her husband to go free out of sympathy for their situation

noticed watson looking sad and touching his war wound and tried to cheer him up by echoing his thoughts and providing a deduction of how he knew what he was thinking

mentioned watson’s sparkling eyes in said deduction

talked about nothing but violins and his favorite violinist for an hour while he and watson had lunch together

likes going to classical music concerts and getting lost in the music

does scrapbooking

chuckles and rubs his hands together when he’s happy

this:

takes getting called "the devil himself" as a compliment

let a killer go because he had only killed in retaliation for the unjust murder of his lover, and holmes felt that he might’ve done the same if someone were to kill the woman he loved

on a completely unrelated note tells a guy who shoots watson “if you had killed watson you would not have got out of this room alive”

also reacted like this when watson got shot:

went undercover to supposedly give a guy secret government intelligence documents, and then gave him a book about bees instead

frequently disguised himself either for cases or just to fool watson and was noted to be a great actor

once disguised himself as an old woman with a parasol

tried the best he could to talk a young woman out of marrying a man who had a history of “collecting” women for sport and destroying their lives, and admitted to watson that he thought of her as he would think of his own daughter

was prone to “imp-like moods”

sent watson a message to come over at once ("if convenient--if inconvenient come all the same") just so he could infodump to him about dogs

wasn’t surprised that a dog died of grief shortly after its owner’s death, because of “the beautiful, faithful nature of dogs”

listened with great sympathy to a depressed woman who wanted to tell him her tragic story, picked up on hints that she was planning to commit suicide, talked her out of it by convincing her that her life does have value and then called her brave for choosing to live

got lost in thought looking out the window at the publicly funded elementary schools and randomly went on about how he believes they and the children who attend them are beacons of a brighter future

made hot cocoa for watson

shook hands with a baby

retired to the countryside to live on a farm and become a beekeeper.

#this post is SO ridiculously long i'm sorry. if the readmore doesn't work i will scream #it's also been in my drafts for ages and i wanna post it now that i'm deep in sherlock holmes obsession again #it is mostly for me so i can remind myself how much i love him <3 #sherlock holmes #acd canon #edit: okay not only did the readmore work but there are TWO readmores and i have no damn clue why #i can't seem to get rid of the second one?? idk if it's because the post is so long or what lol but oh well

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she-wolf09231982 · 18 days

Text

Eugene Doc Roe

“Still Falling For You.”

Summary: You did your best to get through the war without getting too attached to anyone. The amount of loss you’ve seen as a combat medic taught you that tomorrow is no guarantee, and that it would be foolish to connect to anyone. That all flew out the window after you met Eugene Roe.

A/N: One shot, EugeneDocRoex!FemMedic, WW2, Female Pronouns, Cursing/Swearing, Military and Medical Terminology, Inappropriate Nicknames, HBO Band of Brothers References, Mentions/Descriptions of Injuries/Wounds, Weaponry, Smoking, Drinking, FOREVER FLUFF/FLUFF AND STUFF

(d)=Dutch

(f)=French

~~~~~~~

October 1944, Holland

You had been assigned to Dog Company while he ran with Easy. You’ve only seen him in passing in Toccoa during training, but it seemed you ran into him quite often in Holland.

This man always had an intense expression. His defined jawline always clenched, and eyebrows usually drawn inward giving his face that constant look of concern.

You had always seen him from distance. The closest you two ever got was when you both reached for the same pack of dressing at med supply at the aid station in Aldbourne. You reached without looking and his hand accidentally grabbed yours. Startled, you pulled your hand back and you heard his honeyed Cajun accent,

“Oh, sorry, go ahead.” He had said with a weak smile, gesturing to the pack on the shelf.

You were almost a puddle at his feet.

Now as cold October nights came in Holland 2 years later, you’re bumping into eachother more than you can count. Not that you were complaining. He was a handsome man, and it warmed you from the inside to see him.

You never really had a reason to talk to him. You tried to not be a distraction or get too involved with people during the war. You made that mistake when one of the soldiers from Dog Company led you to believe he was interested in a longterm romance with you but you caught him with a local blonde bombshell in England before D-Day.

You felt it best to keep to yourself and do your best keeping yourself busy helping the boys stay alive in the field. So, making small talk with this other medic outside duty related reasons was out of the question. But, goodness, he was quite the tall drink of water.

~~~~~~~

One particularly chilly October evening, you both arrived to the aid station with wounded men from the field.

“Nurse! We got a gunshot wound to the right lower quadrant here. One syrette.” You explain as you followed the litter that carried your wounded man in.

“Thank you, Corporal Y/L/N. We got him from here.”

“I got a chest wound here, nurse. Two, possibly three syrettes were used on this man.” The other medic called out.

“Two, possibly three?” The nurse repeated.

“Yes ma’am. The men who applied them couldn’t remember how many they used, unfortunately.” He clarified.

“I see,” the nurse returned, “thanks, Gene.”

A name….Now you have a name to go with the man. You wished you hadn’t heard it, now it made him more real to you. Without a name, he was just considered a living dream with just a job title. Just a face amongst a crowd. Now, you know his name, pushing him into your reality on a whole different level.

You vigorously shake your head to snap out of your intrusive thoughts.

“Get it together, Y/F/N.” You whisper to yourself.

“That’s a pretty name.” You hear a baritone voice from behind you.

Your heart skips as your breathe catches in your chest. You turn slowly and come face to face with Gene.

You swallow hard, “Uh, thank you.” You squeak.

“I’m Eugene. Eugene Roe.” He introduced extending his right hand.

You gingerly take his hand and shake, “Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

“Good to finally meet ya.”

“Ha, yeah.” You utter smiling coyly looking down at your boots.

You were known to be impenetrable under pressure. You could easily find a vein and apply an IV of plasma to a man’s arm in the midst of complete chaos during combat…but this guy had you falling apart inside just by speaking to you.

“You doin’ ok over at Dog Company?” He asked.

“It’s been busy. Mostly men with pneumonia. The guy I came with was on patrol and was shot after they stumbled upon a German outpost.” You explained, “What about you?”

“Steady. Moose over there was shot by one of our own guys. Kid got spooked when our CO and him were doing post checks and he shot him thinking it was a German.”

“That’s awful.”

“Well, the worst part was the officers with him didn’t keep track of how much morphine they gave him. Could’ve killed him.” Gene added.

“The nurses are great here, I’m sure they’ll be able to help him.”

He smirked briefly, “Yeah, well good thing he’s a big man, maybe he’ll have a chance.”

You nod in agreement.

“Well, I should get back. See ya around.” Gene said with a smile before he rushed out the door.

~~~~~~~

November 1944

Throughout the everyday chaos of tending to wounded soldiers, you found peace on your downtime (when you did get days off) reading in your foxhole or going into town to grab a hot shower and have a few drinks at the local pub in town. Two medics were assigned to each company, so on slower days when the Germans weren’t raining hell on Americans, they would rotate out to take a break.

It was your turn to take a break, so you hitched a ride into town and cleaned yourself up donning in your dress uniform. You usually sit tucked away at the end of the bar so you wouldn’t be bothered. As more soldiers and locals started to filter in, you notice Gene breeze through the door with a handful of Easy.

You light a cigarette to calm your nerves.

“Nog eentje, mevrouw? (d)(Another one, Miss)?” The bartender asked.

“Ja, bedankt (d)(Yes, thank you).” You reply drinking down the last of what was left in your bottle.

You glance over by the dart boards and see Gene and his group settled at a table and began ordering their beverages from the barmaid.

“Hey, Doc, ain’t that the Dog Company medic you told us about?” Guarnere asked nudging Gene with his elbow.

Gene looked over his shoulder at the bar.

“Sure is.” He acknowledged simply.

“Pretty girl.” Babe professed.

Gene hummed as he took a gulp of beer from the pint the waitress put in front of him.

“So, you gonna go talk to her?” Perconte prodded.

Gene looked at him inquisitively, “Why?”

“Come on, Doc! We know you got it for her. Whenever we come cross Dog Company you light up like a goddamn Christmas tree.” Guarnere exclaimed.

Gene scoffed, “You know that ain’t true, Bill.” He dismissed as he sipped from his glass.

“My ass, it ain’t!” Bill retorted.

“What if I told you she looked over here a couple of times since we got in here?” Babe revealed.

Gene shrugged while twirling his glass on the table.

As the room started to fill up, the music picked up and before you knew it, couples were tearing up the dance floor. Bill and Babe found ladies to dance with while Frank and Gene watched on from their table. You remained at the bar observing the crowd as they whimsically enjoyed their evening.

“She looks bored.” Frank observed.

“Perhaps.” Gene replied.

Frank rolled his eyes, “Just go to her!”

“I don’t wanna interfere with her personal time, Frank.”

“Well, looks like Guarnere is extending the invite.” Frank pointed out.

Gene quickly turned around to see Bill gesturing for you to join them. You were reluctant at first, not wanting to impose, but Gene can see he was insisting as he ushered you off the barstool and guided you towards their table.

As he approached Gene and Frank, he flashed Doc a mischievous grin.

“This here is Frank Perconte. Frank, Y/F/N.” Bill began.

“Good to meet ya!” Frank waved from his seat. You nod to him.

“And I know you know Doc, over here.” Bill added.

“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure of running into him a few times.” You proclaim.

Gene smiled at you as he stood to pull the chair out next to him for you to sit,

“Always my pleasure, Y/F/N.” He returned politely.

~~~~~~~

The night was filled with laughter at that table. You were starting to like Easy better than Dog Company. These guys had a sense of humor and from the stories they told that evening, the rest of Easy were not far off from them.

Eugene was the strong silent type. Only smiling or chuckling as the boys bantered and laughed and only said anything when they asked him to confirm their anecdotes about being on the front line. He would occasionally make eye contact with you leaving you shyly giggling as you try to maintain your composure.

But as the evening came to a close, you felt a sense of dread that you may not get the opportunity to see him again. At least not under these pleasant circumstances. The boys stood up and filed towards the door. Gene pulled your chair from under you as you stood.

“This turned out to be a wonderful evening, Gene. Your friends are a hoot.”

“They sure are.” He agreed with a laugh.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you out there.” You said as you walk together towards the exit.

“Absolutely.” He confirmed smiling.

~~~~~~~

The following week, the Germans were relentless with artillery attacks causing mass casualties to Easy Company. Your CO approached you with temporary orders to report to Winters over at Easy Company because their back up medic had a minor injury while administering care to another wounded soldier.

Your nerves were a wreck as you looked for Eugene’s foxhole. You peered into each hole to no avail until you finally found a familiar face.

“Hey, do either of you know where Doc Roe is?”

Guarnere’s face met yours, “Hey! Look who it is!”

“Hey, Bill! Good to see ya.”

“Yeah, doll, Doc’s over dat way.” He pointed over to the tree line.

“Thanks, Bill, I’ll see ya.”

You look into the hole and see Gene sitting against the dirt wall fiddling with a rosary in his hands.

“Hey, Eugene.” You greet as you crouch over the opening.

He looked up, a smile stretching across his face.

“Bonjour mon ami (f) (Hello, my friend).”

“You speak French.”

“Oui. I was raised in Louisiana and my grandmother mainly spoke French.” He explained.

You hop into the hole and sit next to him.

“You’ll have to tell me more about home sometime.”

“Gladly.”

Just then, you both hear Lipton’s voice in the distance.

“INCOMING!”

You hear a blast from German artillery nearby. You both stand and peak over the edge. You look around in all directions seeing soldiers running to foxholes manning their positions to prepare to fight back. More attacks from the Germans showered dirt and shrapnel everywhere until you heard that familiar call:

“MEDIC!”

You scurry out of the hole and sprint towards the shout for help.

“Y/F/N! WAIT!” You hear Gene call after you.

You dive behind snow mounds and piles of fallen trees for cover everytime a blast strikes close enough to where you are. You squat behind a pine, straining to hear the call for medic again.

“MEDIC!”

You run in the direction of the voice you can hear closest to you. Weaving and dodging blasts and pings of bullets flying past your head.

You finally find a soldier laid out on the ground bleeding from his left arm.

“I gotchya.” You say as you land on your knees next to the man.

“You ain’t Doc.” He said through heaves of breath.

“Glad you can tell the difference, corporal.” You say as you tie a tourniquet on his bicep.

You pull a large gauze out, stuffing it down into the wound opening.

“Ack! Why’s it tingling!?”

“There’s sulfur on it to clot the bleeding.” You explain as you push a dressing into his arm to put pressure on the gash.

When the bleeding stops, you securely wrap his arm to keep the pressure on the wound.

“Can you make it to HQ?” You yell out to him while more explosions erupted around you.

He nodded.

“Ok go!”

As he hurried off, you see Gene waving you over to him to take cover with him behind a pile of fallen trees. You take off towards him until a German shell detonated in your path sending you backward onto your back.

“Y/F/N!” Gene’s muffled voice was the last thing you heard before tinnitus set in.

Delirium had you standing looking for safety, not realizing you were in fact putting yourself in more danger. Through the ringing in your ears, you faintly hear Gene calling your name to get down but all you knew was you were out in the open and needed to find cover.

You continued to walk aimlessly, believing you were closer to refuge until you feel yourself once again propelled backwards onto the ground, this time by Gene tackling you as another explosion emitted less than a few feet away from where you were.

Gene sprang to his feet, taking you by the arm and hoisting you over his shoulder carrying you off as fast as he could to the nearest trench. He slid on his rear down into the next hole he found, bringing you in front of him where he could cradle you in his arms. He shielded your face by tucking your head into the crook of his neck.

“I gotchya, mon amour (f) (my love).” He reassured as he rocked you back and forth.

Your eyelids started to feel heavy as tunnel vision began closing in. Gene looked down at you when he felt your body going limp.

“Hey, Y/F/N, stay with me! Stay awake!” He pleaded as he gently shook you.

“I’m so tired-“

“I know, mon amour (f) (my love), but I need you to stay awake.” He implored.

He noticed the right sleeve of your uniform was saturated in red.

“-merde (f)(shit).”He whispered to himself as he unbuttoned your collar to locate the source of the bleeding.

As he pulled the neckline of the shirt off to the side, he discovered you had shards of metal from the German shell spiking out of your shoulder.

“I’m gonna get these out, Y/F/N.” He said as he gently placed you on your back.

He ripped your uniform sleeve to expose your whole right arm, then braced you down with his forearm across your sternum and started pulling them out one by one by hand. You hissed at each extraction, trying not to pass out from the pain. When he finished removing them all, he took a syrette from his pocket and injected it in your tricep.

“You’re gonna be ok, mon amour.” He said softly as he applied a large gauze and wrapped your shoulder.

“Make sure you remember how much morphine you used.” You weakly joked.

His worried features melted into an adoring grin, as he affectionately brushed away loose strands of your hair away from your face.

Last thing you remember was Eugene placing a soft kiss on your forehead before the world around you slipped into darkness.

~~~~~~~

You awoke in a panic two days later, only remembering you had been surrounded by chaos and danger, not realizing you were in the solace of the aid station. A nurse hurried over to calm you when you shot up from the cot alarmed.

“It’s alright, honey, you’re safe. Just breathe for me.” She instructed.

You can’t catch your breath at first, but take a deep breath to slow it down. You suddenly remember the wound on your shoulder and no sooner does the thought cross your mind a sharp pain begins to throb in your entire right arm.

“Son of a bitch!” You bellow as you touch the mummy wrapping across your shoulder.

“Oh my!” The nurse gasped at your language.

You groan, “I’m sorry. Kinda rubs off on ya when you’re surrounded by men all the time.”

“Hm, well let’s get you something for the pain, shall we?” She suggested as she walked off.

~~~~~~~

You hadn’t seen Eugene for days. You began to worry that something might have happened, but according to the nurses, the front lines were quite busy and all medics had their hands full.

“Well, then I need to get back out there.”

“Absolutely not! You’re not even close to a full recovery!” The nurse stated.

“I’m close enough. They need me.” You insisted as you started to put on your uniform.

Against the better judgement of the nurses, you finally left the aid station, hitching a ride to the line to finally see Gene. Before even reporting back to Dog Company, you wander around Easy Company’s camp searching for him.

Not before long, you see a familiar figure with his back facing you. Your heart beats against your ribcage something painful when you see his medic brassard on his left arm.

Your breathe catches in your throat, as a tear escapes the corner of your eye. You want to run to him, but your knees almost give out, so instead you call to him.

“Eugene!” You yell as loud as your lungs would allow.

Gene immediately turned after hearing your voice.

“Y/F/N!?”

You beam at him and quickly walk to him while he trotted towards you to meet you half way. As the gap close between you and Eugene, the concern on his face increased. You each stop less than a foot from eachother.

“Why aren’t you at the aid station??” Gene queried with his eyebrows furrowed from worry.

“I wanted to get back out here to help.” You clarified.

His lips pursed together in disapproval.

“You need to heal. That shell did a number on your shoulder. You lost a lot of blood, too. I know cuz I put the IV in myself to give you plasma.” He declared.

Your heart soars at his confession. You inch so close to him, you feel his breath upon your face.

“You saved my life, Eugene.”

He returned a bashful grin.

“It was nothin’.” He replied simply.

“It must’ve been something. I heard you call me your love a couple of times out there. ‘Mon amor,’ I believe you said?” You presented.

Slightly embarrassed, Gene averted his eyes to the ground.

“I did.” He admitted still avoiding eye contact.

His chest started to palpitate.

“Eugene-“ you began as you slipped your hands into his. He gradually met your gaze.

“Oui?”

You pull him towards you, “I fell for you the first day I saw you. And I’m still falling for you.”

Completely astonished, Gene enveloped you, pulling you against him as he planted kisses on the top of your head, your temple and all over your face. You giggle then look up at him through your lashes. He dreamily looks back at you then leaned in locking his lips onto yours.

He cupped your face, tilting his head to deepen the kiss as you return the intensity. You separate briefly, your mouths hovering over one another as you pant for air.

“Does that mean you feel the same?” You ask playfully.

He rests his forehead against yours, then released an elated exhale.

“With all my heart.” He purred.

~~~~~~~

@mrs-greenside I almost forgot to tag you for this Doc Roe x y/n! Here’s a one shot for you until I write a multiple chapter series with y/n 🪖 ♠️ 🦅❤️

#band of brothers #hbo war #ww2 #101st airborne #easy company #eugene roe #doc roe #shane taylor #eugene roe x reader #medic #eugene roe imagine #one shot #scissors

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mychoombatheroomba · 5 months

Text

Proper Introductions

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 2

You're feeling a lot of regret for your performance in the training yard yesterday. For lots of reasons.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

You had almost forgotten what it was to be a fuckup. You had never been a perfect soldier, by any means, but lately you had been feeling like a competent one again. STRATCOM was kicking the living shit out of you, but you had felt like you were finally cresting the mountain, getting it to a manageable level of daily pain.

Should have known better than to let yourself get too comfortable. Krauser always noticed when any of you got comfortable.

Your shame and the memory of steel against your side weighed on you the rest of the day, through the training and meals and even into your hour of personal time. An hour that you dedicated to running the drills that Krauser had taught you, trying to clear your head before lights out.

It only partially worked, and the night was too long and too short all at the same time. When you finally got to sleep, you dreamed of snow and blood, and when you woke the next morning, you felt brittle. Breakable. The dog tags around your neck felt heavy, and you fought the urge to take them off.

It pissed you off something fierce, so as the day’s training began, you pushed yourself hard, turning that shame into gasoline, letting it burn in your chest. Every shot you fired at the range, every extra millisecond it took to disassemble your weapon was another spark to the blaze. It burned and burned, until lunch time came, and you glimpsed another reason to regret your performance yesterday.

“Looks like Krauser kicked the shit out of Pretty Boy.” One of your fellows, Valeria, snickered. Her eyes were fixed across the tables, her voice loud enough to carry just as far. Those who cared for gossip looked at who she spoke of, and with the heaviness in your gut, you couldn’t help but join them.

He’d bruised. That ridiculous haircut of his fell on the wrong side of his face to hide the shiner that was forming across the rookie’s cheek, creeping up to just beneath his eye. Right where your fist had connected the day before. Seeing it made you feel, quite simply, like a piece of shit. It wasn’t the first time you’d given someone a mark in training. Wouldn’t be the last. Still, when he felt all those eyes on him and looked up, you couldn’t help but feel that you’d kicked a puppy. He couldn’t have been that much younger than you, but there was just something about those ocean eyes that deepened the pit of regret in your stomach. That only got worse when your own eyes met his. You thought he’d look away quickly.

Instead, you found yourself surprised as the bruised cadet held your gaze, just the way he had when his guard had been up yesterday, before you’d knocked him to the ground.

“Wasn’t the Major,” Alejandro, another of your peers, corrected Valeria. Then, you felt the energy around the tables shift and you took your eyes off the kid you’d injured and looked instead at the man speaking. “Way I heard it,” he gave you a wolf grin, lifting a cup of water towards you in a toast, “it was our Sergeant, over here.”

Murmurs swept around you, and you did your best to hide your grimace.

“Beating up babies now, huh?” Someone jabbed. You almost struck back. He put up more of a fight than you ever have was right at the tip of your tongue. A few years ago, you would have hurled the insult with abandon. Pull the pin and toss. Now . . . well, with the shit sleep you had and the general less-than-ideal way you felt, you just went back to eating your meal. If the scop they served could be called that.

The rest of the recruits had their fun - as much of it as could be had before they realized you weren’t giving them anything to work with. You, in the meantime, just sank back into your own spiral of thoughts.

You shouldn’t have hit him like that. Krauser was right, you shouldn’t have been tagged in the first place, but you didn’t make things better for yourself with a cheap shot.

You’d just felt that knife against you and . . . and then you’d fucked up. You’d brought your own shit into the fight, made it someone else’s problem. Let yourself get scared by a fucking practice knife. It was stupid.

It was stupid, and you wanted to put it behind you.

You finished your food quickly. Wasn’t anything to savor, anyway. Then, you stood, bringing your empty tray with you as you marched towards him. He was sitting by himself, and you were grateful that no one would be directly privy to this conversation. He had stopped looking at you, but your movement drew some quick glances from him. Even in those glimpses, he met you with a sharpness. That only grew as you approached, and more of his attention turned to you. Inquisitorial came to mind, one of those damn SAT words that you remembered, god knows why. He looked like he was trying to figure you out.

He had grit, you had to give him that.

Made you wonder what his life was like before this. Made you wonder about a lot of things. Mostly, though, you wondered-

“What’s your name?”

He looked surprised that you were asking. His expression said 'What the hell are you doing?'

You wanted to ask yourself the same thing.

Instead, you waited that second or two before he answered.

“Uh, Kennedy.”

“I know. Krauser said that yesterday. I meant your first name.”

Another pause, and you saw the gears turning in his head. “. . . Leon.”

You nodded. Pointed to his cheek. “Sorry about that, Leon. You got me. Shouldn’t have been such a dick about it.”

The recruit - Leon - blinked. His blue eyes moved away from you for a moment. Considering what to say. Then, he shook his head. “No, it’s . . .” if he said fine, you already knew that it would be a lie. He’d been pissed yesterday when you did it, and you couldn’t blame him. “It’s fine.”

There it was. Liar. A polite liar.

“No, it’s not. I was an asshole. Shouldn’t have happened.”

He looked at you, confused, and you understood it well enough. Then, that sharpness about him turned to something a little brighter. Cautiously optimistic. “You said it, not me.”

“I did.” Again, you nodded. There. Apology delivered, time for you to move on.

You made it a step before Leon spoke again. “Thank you. For the apology.”

Oh, he was not the sort of person you would expect to be here.

Everyone you had trained with so far had been hardened bastards, most of them old and grizzled vets or arrogant hotshots. They needed the best. People who were going to get the job done. They were here to do a job, same as you. You’d come to expect no great affection.

Even so, looking back at Leon, you found someone who looked genuinely, truly grateful. It took no special insight to imagine why. The training for the US Strategic Command was not and never would be the hardest thing you’d done in life, but it ground you down. It was a pressure cooker, and everyone felt it every second of every day. Krauser was a good teacher, but he was the sort who would push you to your breaking point. Beat you down so you never forgot when and how you showed a weakness. He had long warned that there would be no mercy in the real world, so he trained you without it. So, you knew that when Leon looked at you like that, it was because any kindness shown here was a rarity.

“Don’t mention it,” you said back. Here, in the midst of training for the worst of scenarios, on this most shitty of days, it felt nice to be not only forgiven, but maybe even appreciated. That little feeling stopped you from leaving so quickly, and you stepped towards the recruit once more. “And also: smaller arm movements.”

“What?”

“In our fight,” you clarified, “that’s how I could tell where you were going to go. You were telegraphing everything.”

Leon almost smiled. It looked good on him. “Krauser told me the same thing yesterday. After.”

“Well, he’s right.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Good.”

The interaction was awkward, and you, for one, never wanted to do it again. Still, that was a better feeling to focus on than the crushing guilt you’d been stuck under all morning. You readily embraced it as you went into afternoon drills, glad you could at least make good on one of your mistakes.

As for the others . . . well, those were the ones you clung to as you and Valeria circled each other later, knives flashing in the midday sun.

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Chapter Index

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #jack krauser #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil #between the bones #gender neutral reader #leon kennedy x you #no y/n

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cbsxreader · 10 months

Note

could i please have the mercs with an s/o who is a shapeshifter that can turn into nearly any form?

Mercs with an S/o who is a shapeshifter!

Scout

He's the one that has the biggest freak-out when he finds out about his S/o's abilities. He's not really scared but not very calm either.

Once he gets comfortable with it, he decides to see his S/o's limits by challenging them, but he learns his lesson pretty quickly.

"Bet you can't win against me in a race!" Scout challenged his S/o. he knew very well that his S/o could take different forms but he was still confident in his speed.

"I bet I can!" His S/o accepted the offer to a race, standing right by Scout to fairly start the run. they both got into position to start running.

"Alright 3, 2, 1, Go!" Scout counted before both of them sped off, beginning to run circles around the building.

It was basically neck and neck before his S/o started to run out of breath. In a desperate attempt to not fall behind, they transformed into a dog, the extra legs carrying them forward to catch up with Scout again. Only to grow tired after a few more circles.

As they watched Scout get ahead with a smug smile, they decided to go with the last ditch effort to change to a cheetah. they easily sped past Scout, getting a lap ahead of him. This continued until Scout stopped, panting.

"Wait- slow down..." He called out to his S/o before they could run past him again.

"Am I too fast for you?" His S/o asked in a sly tone.

"Yeah..." Scout answered, breathless.

Soldier

Genuinely thinks his S/o should replace Spy in terms of having someone who can change their appearance on the battlefield. His S/o has to convince him that they don't need to strip Spy of his job though he secretly considers it to be an open option.

He doesn't freak out about his S/o's abilities at all, which isn't too bad. It keeps him from overthinking if he just considers them to have the same abilities as Spy.

"Stand back sweetheart. That little bastard is unpredictable and can attack at any moment." Soldier said, putting his hands in front of his S/o and trying to protect them from the bread monster in front of them.

"It isn't that threatening to be honest." His S/o looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the little creature.

"It fears nothing, it is a high level threat-" Soldier continued to rant before another bread monster appeared by his foot. It barked at the other, smaller one, making it scoot away.

Soldier got confused for a moment before realizing his S/o decided fight fire as fire. They ran after the other creature, chasing after it.

"Yeah!! Get him, cupcake!!! Show him who's boss!!" He cheered, running behind his S/o.

Pyro

They're amazed by their S/o's abilities and don't see it as a weird thing. Like, after the first time Pyro saw their S/o change form, they hugged them out of wonder and happiness.

Tea parties with his S/o are regular occurrences. It's fun for both of them to pretend random animals can drink tea while putting up their pinkie fingers and eat cookies.

"Hmm mph mmm hm mm hm?" Pyro asked their now red panda S/o, reaching out the kettle filled with pretend-tea.

"Oh yes, absolutely." Their S/o responded, playing into the act and putting on a posh accent. They reached out their cup closer to Pyro with their paws.

"Thank you, Pyro." Their S/o thanked them after having their cup filled with tea. They brought the cup to their lips, sipping the non-existing drink.

"This tea is amazing!" Their S/o said, complimenting them.

"Phm mm." Pyro mumbled.

"What is going on?" The Spy head that Pyro stole from Medic's fridge asked.

Demoman

Is completely obsessed with mythical creatures and cryptids so his S/o just brings his interest to a whole new level.

He's already dealt with the Loch Ness monster, wizards, his haunted eye and other weird stuff. And the fact that he can get so close to his S/o without getting killed makes him just sit while mesmerized by them.

Sometimes, Demoman can't help himself but ask for them to transform into something specific, just to see how they would look like and see the transformation over and over.

"Can ye be a hamster?" He asked his S/o, smiling and holding his head in his hands.

"Sure!" His S/o accepted. In the blink of an eye they suddenly were so small that they could fit in the palm of a hand. They looked at Demoman with cute eyes, sniffing the air around them.

"Aww yer adorable! Now can you be a dog?" He said, smile growing wider. Quickly, his S/o abandoned the form of a little rodent and became a trusty canine. Demoman nearly squeaked out of joy and was about to ask for a different animal but his S/o spoke up first.

"Come on, give me a challenge!" They eagerly wagged their tail, eager to see what Demoman had in mind.

"Alright, let's see...Dragon!" He cheered, giving a more interesting answer. His S/o only jumped in the air and glowed as they transformed, their wings stretching out in utter majesty.

"Now that's more like it! Demo?" His S/o cheered before tilting their head at Demoman's stunned expression.

"Ye look amazing..." He whispered, absolutely in awe of his S/o.

Engineer

As a man with a scientific mind, he's shocked at his S/o's abilities at first. He knows he lives in a crazy world where anything could happen but his S/o to him is just next level.

Other than that, Engie treats it as a pretty casual thing and tries to not make his S/o left out. He just doesn't want to exclude them just because they're different and constantly checks up on them to make sure everything's good.

There's nothing else that cheers him up like his S/o randomly transforming into a different form and handing him a tool while he works. Especially after working non-stop.

"Oh, why can't it just- work??" Engineer said after once again failing to fix up the sentry.

"Maybe this can help?" His S/o spoke up, handing him a wrench.

When he looked in their direction, only to see them as a monkey with a hardhat on. Engie looked at them for a moment before bursting out in laughter.

"And I thought I made bad dad jokes!" He said in-between chuckles.

Heavy

He may have been a bit confused at first about the whole shapeshifter thing but he doesn't let it get in the way of their love for each other.

Honestly, his favorite moments are when his S/o does something he didn't know they could do. And the moment becomes even more memorable to him if his S/o explains it to him and he gets to learn more about their abilities.

It's not that he hates his S/o, but they've got a work-out routine of them being a bear and wrestling together. It may look pretty tough from afar but it's like harmless banter between them.

"Is that all you have, leetle one?" Heavy asked as he stopped his S/o from knocking him down by grabbing their big front paws.

His S/o took it as a challenge and proceeded to use all of their strength to push Heavy back. When he barely budged, his S/o tackled him with their full weight, making him fall back. Heavy felt like he was in a sandvich between his S/o on top of him and the ground.

"Who's the little one now?" His S/o asked, lowering their face closer to his, their wet nose tickling his skin.

"Ohohohoho- alright, alright, you win.." He chuckled, grabbing his S/o's snout and pushing them away.

Medic

Oh you bet he's curious abt his S/o's anatomy. Like, he has so much questions. Does his S/o get an entirely new organ system when they transform? Do they have organs that can only be found in specific animals?

Of course, he'd only experiment on them with their consent. Medic's scientific and malicious mind is racing with ideas but he hold himself back. He finds his S/o fascinating and can't help but admire them in all of their forms.

His S/o finds it fun to transform into a dove and see if Medic can tell which dove is them.

"Liebe, where did you go? Ach, don't tell me you're a dove again.." Medic said, scrambling around his lab before stopping at a row of his doves. He looked at the birds with narrow eyes, examining their features.

"Wait, you're Archimedes, you...I forgot your name- Is it you?" He murmured, pointing to the different doves, eventually ending up on his disguised S/o.

"You got me!" They spoke up, stretching out their wings.

"Aha! I'm getting better at recognizing you!" He cheered as he lightly tapped their beak.

Sniper

He keeps his curiosity about his S/o a secret because he doesn't want to feel like he's bothering them with his questions. But when he can squeeze a question out of their conversation he listens to their every word.

Loves having his S/o around as small animals because then he can practice sniping while they're on his shoulder or on his head.

Sniper remained still as his S/o flew to his nest. They softly landed on his head, trying not to rip his scalp with their talons.

"If you're not finding anything, there's a Soldier that might turn a corner into your sight." They said out loud. His S/o didn't get a response but the Soldier quickly showed up.

"There he is." They spoke up again. Right after their comment, Sniper put a bullet in the Soldier's skull. The sudden shot scared them and they gripped their talons, making Sniper hiss in pain.

"Oh no, Sniper, I'm so sorry!" They quickly got off of his head, apologizing.

He quickly collected himself and spoke in a calm voice "It's alright...but could you get me a small medkit, please?.."

Spy

He finds it somewhat endearing that both him and his S/o have some sort of shapeshifting abilities. Sure, it's more of a disguising thing for Spy but point still stands of them being able to appear as something different.

Likes his S/o's cat form. He finds their purring relaxing and they can get comfortable on his lap while he reads. Also it helps the old man relieve pains or cramps from battles.

Spy stumbled into his room, exhausted from fighting. His chest ached from how much he had been stabbed, shot and exploded and his legs were about to make him collapse.

He fell onto his bed, carelessly letting his limbs fall wherever. Then he felt the mattress dip right by him, his S/o was a cat now with a corner of a towel in their mouth. Spy took the towel and put it on his chest to not get cat fur on his clothes.

His S/o climbed on his chest, slightly kneading the towel before curling up and purring. The vibrations traveled through Spy's body, making him relax.

"Thank you, mon cher." He quietly said, closing his eyes and breathing slowly.

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dantakeyoman · 7 months

Text

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄 | 𝐣. 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡

♡ 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 "𝐬𝐨𝐚𝐩" 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐱 𝐦𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧! 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

♡ * "𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒂 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒓, 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒆. 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂𝒆 '𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏' 𝒇𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚." *

♡ 𝐚/𝐧: 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐨-𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚, 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐨-𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐳 𝐛𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝...

♡ 𝐚/𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐩𝐥𝐳 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐢𝐭, 𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠 (𝐢 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭), 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐳 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

♡ 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑬

"𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 a seat," Graves ordered, roughly shoving Valeria into a chair before turning to you, "All right, how do you two know each other?"

"Know is a strong word," you scoffed, turning your back on the woman, not wanting to look at her.

"Las palabras fuertes son importantes. Nuestras palabras son nuestras valor, no?" She smirked.

She'd gotten on your last nerve.

"Cállate la puta boca, eres una pedazo de puta mierda! Te mataré!" You shouted, storming over to attack her.

"(y/n)-" Soap and Rodolfo quickly ran over, holding you back from the woman while she smiled in your face.

"Tranquilo, commandante," Rudy tried to sooth, already predicting where this conversation was going to head.

"I'm cool! I'm cool!" You shook their arms off, taking a few steps back.

Graves brought Valeria back to the Los Vaqueros base, where you, him, Soap, Ghost, and Rodolfo were to interrogate her.

But it was abundantly clear to everyone there that you were in no condition to even be in the same room as that woman.

"Vamos," you spat, resting your hands in your vest, "Tell them."

"I don't take orders anymore," she denied, unphased, "Even the dogs in Las Almas know not to bark at me."

"Este puta perra--She's ex-military," you scoffed, "We served together."

"Different squads, same unit," she sneered, leaning back in her chair, "You were the wild ones, eh? Los Vaqueros."

She rolled her eyes..

"My squad was clean cut señores y señoras..."

"Until the raid on the son of La Araña...te recuerdas?" You smiled, sarcastically.

"Yo recuerdo perfecto," she smiled right back.

"Her team was told to cordon off the city to keep out La Araña's enforcers and prevent the bloodshed," you explained for the others in the room.

"That's exactly what we did," she cooed.

"You kept out his enforcers, because you were his enforcers, eh?" You snapped, brows furrowed.

"He was escorted to the mountains without incident," she taunted, "Also to prevent bloodshed."

"He was supposed to go to prison," Rodolfo corrected.

"So you killed him..." Graves roughly gripped her shoulder, walking around behind her, "...and then you took over."

"I created a power vacuum...and I filled it," she spat, "Las Almas needs me."

"Las Almas needs soldiers, not sicarios," you growled, squatting down to her level, "Y usted? You disgrace all of our fallen brothers and sisters."

She rolled her eyes, her bored and uninterested face only fueling your anger.

She was one of you.

Maybe not a Vaquero but part of the army, and she condoned the slaughter of her fellow brothers and sisters in arms.

It was something you couldn't stand for.

Something you wouldn't stand for.

"Why're you doin' this?" Graves asked, crossing his arms at his chest.

"You tell me..." She turned to face him, "You're the contractor, no? What you don't do, your competitors will."

"You're a narco harboring a terrorist," Ghost corrected.

"Terrorism is good for business. It's insurance," she clarified.

"The fuck does that even mean?" You angrily scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"Puede sacar a la puta cabeza de culo por un segundo!" She shouted, "Puta madre, (y/n)!"

She stared you dead in the eyes, her gaze cold and hardened.

"As long as there is a war on terrorism, there will be no real war on drugs. To find your so-called terrorist and your missiles, you need me."

Her dead stare suddenly shifted into a patronizing pout.

"To prevent bloodshed."

'Nope.'

"I'm not doing this," you denied, grabbing your gun, "She's out of her fuckin' mind."

"(y/n)-" "No, Rudy!" You exclaimed, pointing at the devil in the chair, "You know we can't trust her! She's gonna fuck every single one of us over!"

Valeria tutted, not hiding her amusement in the slightest.

"Pobrecita," she cooed, "I don't think you realize that you don't have a choice..."

You shot her a deadly glare, and she pressed harder.

"Like I said before, amiga....you need me."

You were so angry, you couldn't speak.

You were so angry, you had to physically turn yourself and start walking before you pounced on her.

"Tell Rita I said hello...."

"That's enough, Valeria! You've made your point!" Rudy exclaimed, his sentence punctuated by the slam of the door.

'I'm gonna kill that bitch.'

"𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 on the rig..." Soap reported, the large oiler coming into view through the fog.

"All right! That's our target. Shadows 1 and 2, push to your hook points," Graves ordered, "Let's invite ourselves in."

"All stations, ship is visual," Ghost added through comms.

"Copy, prep for assault. Stay on comms," Graves confirmed.

The Americans were quick to trust Valeria's word, her intel pointing towards an abandoned oil rig in the middle of nowhere.

The cartel was using it as a cargo dead-drop, and offered up space to Hassan to store his missile.

So you, 141, and Shadow Company split into four teams, each taking a different angle at the rig and additional ship.

"You all reit, hen?" Soap asked, voice low so he didn't alert the others.

Your mind was off somewhere else, thinking, quite intently if he took the tightness of your face as any hint.

But being distracted like that, especially out here, was a death sentence.

He smiled, tapping his finger on your forehead, "We need that head doon 'ere."

An easy guess would be it's about Valeria, but he wasn't one to pry so a guess is what it would have to stay.

You spared him a small smile of thanks, giving a firm nod and getting your head back in the game.

"If Valeria told the truth," Graves started up, completely oblivious to your exchange, "we board, clear, and disarm that missile."

"And if she's lying?" You cocked a brow.

He scoffed, smiling, "God help her."

"God help us all," Soap agreed.

"Be ready for anything..." You warned, turning to glance at the rig, "This could be a trap."

The boat suddenly came to a choppy halt, the team finally reaching the hook points.

Graves and a Shadow shot up the grapples, you and Soap keeping your guns trained on the overhead in case of an ambush.

"Good hooks," Graves approved, turning to you and the Scot, "Up and at 'em."

The two of you clicked in, pressing the button to get pulled up the rope.

'Que Dios nos ayude...'

When you touched down on the top, Graves had already taken out a guard, and the four of you proceed to clear two rooms full of them before making it to the center of the rig

"We need to move fast," Graves directed to comms, "All Shadows, force out! I want eyes on that container, now!"

"Two copies. Moving!" A Shadow answered.

"Hostiles on the bridge!" You reported, shooting at the guards on the other side.

Now that they knew you were here, it looked like it was going to be a fire fight.

"We gotta roll!" Graves exclaimed, quickly moving down the steps to the main deck.

Suddenly, a huge, red flare shot into the sky, exploding with a huge boom while sirens blared on the rig.

A huge container was revealed on the helipad, its top slowly opening.

"Shadow-1, Ghost, visual on flares from the rig! What's your status, over?" Ghost called.

"Ghost, they're signaling the ship! They're gonna launch that missile!" Soap shouted, the two of you ducking behind a large crate.

"It's first stage! There's still time!" Graves exclaimed, "All Shadows, all Shadows, missile is on the helipad!"

While Soap provided some cover, you turned and shot at the gas tanks on the deck above, blowing up everything within the vicinity.

"Soap! (y/n)! Hit the stairs! Flank 'em!" Graves ordered.

"Grenade!" He shouted, quickly grabbing you by your vest and yanking you to safety.

Your eyes went wide as he dragged you away, an explosion going off right were you once stood.

'Holy shit...'

That could've been you.

"Thanks," you panted, repaying by taking out the two guards coming up on his six.

"Always a pleasure, bon," he grinned, plowing a path up the staircase.

The two of you made it up to the third deck , taking out the four guards stationed there, when Graves came up behind you two.

"Actual, this is Shadow-1," he held his comm, "Rig is secure. Moving on the container now."

"Rodger that. Confirm when the objective is neutralized," Shepard affirmed.

"Out the door ahead should be a stair to the fourth deck," you reported.

"Then, let's get on it," Graves nodded, taking up the front and leading you two back outside.

The three of you went up to the next deck, the container sitting dead in the center, nice and pretty.

Soap moved on it first, opening it to reveal that it was empty.

'Por Dios...'

"Where are th'controls?"

"On that damn ship," Graves cursed, walking over to the railing that overlooked the ship below.

"Actual, we got a problem. Missile is armed, and the controls are somewhere on the ship."

"You have your orders, son...Stop that launch."

Graves sighed, turning to the Shadow that just ran up to join you.

"3-1, take overwatch," he ordered, attaching a hook line to slide down, "Soap, (y/n), you're with me. We're moving to that ship."

"Yup yup," 3-1 affirmed.

"Ladies first," Soap stepped to the side, leaving the rope to you.

You rolled your eyes, gripping it tight and crossing your legs before sliding down, landing in a speed boat.

"All stations! Visual on the missile controls!" Ghost exclaimed as the two touched down in the boat, "I say again, missile controls are on the bridge!"

"Copy that!" Graves confirmed, moving to alert the driver, "Let's go! Let's go! Let's move out!"

He grabbed his comm, "Ghost, this is 0-1! Back in the water, inbound to your position."

"Solid copy! We're taking effective fire! The LZ will be hot!" Ghost affirmed.

"Rodger!" He turned to you and Soap, "Once we're on deck, we push to the bridge fast! We secure those controls. We stop this missile!"

"How do we board?!" You asked, loudly, over the rushing water.

"Take the ramp!" He turned to the driver, "Hold tight, you two!"

You ducked your head, bracing for impact as the boat crashed full speed into the ship's ramp, flipping over.

'Fuck me...'

Your entire body was thrown to the ground, but you forced your eyes open, ignoring the buzz in your head.

"Let's have ourselves a gunfight!" Graves exclaimed, jumping on deck.

You and Soap picked yourselves up off the ground, following the commander.

The already pelting rain had began raining harder, and the rocking of the ship was causing the shipping containers to slide all over the deck.

"AQ's movin in!" The comms erupted with Ghost's voice.

"Missile controls are on the bridge! We have to stop the launch!" Graves shouted, "Let's move out!"

Running in, three bullets flew past you, but you were quick to take out its source, which was peeking out from an awning on your left.

'That was close.'

"Containers are the only cover we have!" Soap exclaimed.

"Don't get caught between 'em!" Graves warned.

You grabbed two grenades off your hip and pulled their pins, tossing them over the containers to land in the in-between where the guards were hiding.

It took out a good majority of them.

"Good shit!" Graves commended, pushing forward now that the path was clear.

"Soap, take the ones up on the rail!" You called, shifting left and taking out two stragglers.

"Onnit!"

You took the route closest to the taffrail, which was a straight shot to a staircase that let to the next deck.

"They've close off the bridge entry!" Ghost reported.

"Secure the deck and we'll blow the door!" Graves stated, running up the the right stairs.

Quickly, you made your way up the second set, converging with Graves and Soap there.

You were about to open the door, when Graves handed you and Soap a charge each.

"Check it. Controls are internal."

You nodded, attaching it to the left side, while Soap attached it to the right, and then moved out the way.

"Stand back!" He warned, "This is Shadow-1. Going explosive on bridge entry."

The door was suddenly blown off its hinges, and the three of you rushed in.

Graves and Soap took left and right, completely sweeping the room of hostiles in one go, and meeting up with Ghost in the middle.

Eventually, you all pushed up to the top and final deck, entering the control room.

"All right. Eyes ont he controls, tappin' in," Graves instructed, rushing over to the panel, "C'mon baby, c'mon baby, c'mon..."

But his attempt was unsuccessful.

"Fuuuuck. We can't disarm it."

"Why?" Ghost whipped his head around.

"It's too late."

"Thur's no abort code?" Soap asked.

"Yeah, well the window's closed on that, boys..." He sighed, "Gold Eagle, Actual, this is Shadow-1. Missile's in boost phase about to burn, how copy?"

"Solid copy, Shadow. If we can't disarm, then we detonate."

"Rodger that, Actual. Stand by..." Graves groaned, "Soap, get on the controls. We're gonna have to do this together. Now the clock's tickin' so we gotta move."

Soap gave a firm nod, opening up the control box, "Am in."

"Actual, we're on the con, what's the order?" Graves asked.

"Input the DAL code and let the payload strike," Shepard answered.

"Whot's a DAL code?"

"Detonate After Launch..."

"We're gonna take out the oil rig with the missile."

"The Shadows are still on there," you reminded

"All Stations, clear the rig now. I say again, clear the rig!" Ghost exclaimed, holding his comm.

"Roger. What's the count?" 3-1 asked.

"One minute," Graves answered.

"Copy, on the move!"

"All right, now this..."

Graves and Soap worked together, successfully changing the missile's trajectory from New Orleans to the oil rig

"Here we go!" Graves grinned, "All stations prepare for the BOOM!!"

"Missile away..." Ghost sighed, the four of you watching as it deployed from it's container.

It shot straight up, before changing direction and slamming right into the rig, exploding it a huge, blinding ball of fire.

'Mierda...'

Graves laughed, utterly pleased.

"Look at that big bad beautiful shit!"

"Steamin' bloody Jesus..." Soap stared, amazed.

"Gold Eagle, Actual, Shadow-1. Good hit. Good hit. Missile and rig destroyed," Graves reported.

"Copy that, Shadow-1. Good work. Get off that X and go home. Soap, Ghost, (l/n), thanks for a job well done," Shepard commended.

"Roger that, Actual," Soap nodded.

"We're RTB," Ghost stated, turning to walk out the room with Graves following.

You let out a long sigh, raking a tired hand through your hair.

"I need a drink..."

Soap smiled, tossing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into a tight side hug.

"You an' me both, bon," he agreed, the two of you walking out side by side.

You could feel the heath of his hand seeping in through your arm, and spreading to that whole side.

He had never done anything like this before.

Passing a cup of coffee and touching your hand? Sure.

Soft shoulder pats every time you get a clean kill? Fine.

Using endearing nicknames on missions? Alright.

Saving you a seat next to him every infil and exfil? Okay...

...

Maybe you were overthinking it.

He's probably just being friendly.

Thinking that way is unprofessional in the first place.

But as the two of you walked out the room, you pressed into his side, you couldn't help but feel like those thoughts had some truth to them.

𝐀𝐒 your jeep pulled up to the entrance of the Vaquero base, it was stopped by a group of Shadows standing as guards.

'Qué coño?'

Rivera and Suarez were supposed to be on guard duty this week.

You stepped out the car, Graves and a couple more Shadows filing out of the one in front of you.

"What's this?" You asked, brow cocked as you stepped forward.

"This is the immediate future," he answered, taking a step towards you, "Now, step away from the gate."

"What?" Soap asked, him and Ghost getting out of the car, as well.

"You heard me."

"Are you serious?" You asked, still in disbelief, "This is my base."

"It's not a base," he corrected, "This is a sizable covert facility. And I admire it....so I'm takin' it."

You cocked your head to the side, shocked by the man's audacity.

"You all have been relieved. Thank you for your service."

"No, no, no, no. I don't answer to you," you shook your head, tone dangerously low.

"Didn't Valeria say that?" He cocked a brow, "Now that makes me wonder what else I don't know about your affiliation with a drug lord?"

"What the fuck did you just say to me, güero..." You spat, tongue in cheek as you took a step forward.

But Soap quickly came over, resting a hand on your shoulder, "You're out of line, Graves."

"Don't do that. Don't...do that," Graves shut down, "No one needs to get hurt here."

"Are you threatenin' us?" Ghost chimed.

"Soldier, I don't make threats. ...I make guarantees. So let's not do this."

"I'm callin Shepard," Soap glared, turning around and walking back to the car.

"General Shepard sends his regards. He told me y'all wouldn't take this well."

"He knows about this?" Ghost asked, surprised.

"He's put me in command of this operation from here on out," Graves answered, "So, y'all need to stand down. It's time to let the pros finish this."

He turned to you.

"And why the hell are we talking like this i some kind of a negotiation? It's not. I've got my orders, and now you have yours-"

"Who the fuck do you think you are, cabrón?" You scoffed, "My men are inside!"

"I'm afraid not," he corrected.

Your cocked a brow.

"Your men have been....detained."

...

'Rita.'

Without hesitation, you went in to attack him, but he held up the butt of his gun, about to knock you out.

Quickly, you weaved his hit, the Shadows behind him taking aim on Soap and Ghost behind you.

"Graves, what the fuck!" Soap shouted, grabbing a nearby Shadow and using him as a human shield.

You dropped to a crouch, taking the man by surprise and sweeping his legs.

His back hit the ground hard, but he was quicker than you expected, and shot you before you could pounce on him.

"(y/n)!" Soap shouted, eyes wide as you dropped.

"Arrgh!" You winced, clutching your side as you flipped yourself over, army crawling under the car.

"Shit!" Graves cursed, "Someone get 'er on the other side!"

A pair of black boots quickly moved to cut you off on the other side, so you pulled out your tac knife, repeatedly stabbing it into his foot.

He screamed and dropped to the ground, and you rolled out the side, much to your agony.

"Fuuuck," you groaned, pressing hard into your side to stop the bleeding.

You could feel yourself loosing blood.

"Johnny! (y/n)! Get outta there!" Ghost exclaimed, noticing that Graves was back up, gun drawn.

You tried to sit up, but gasped in pain, your body lighting up like a live wire.

"Soap, get her!"

Soap pulled you up from off the ground, pressing your back against his chest and crossing his arms over you, throwing himself over a divider to slide down the hill on his back.

Some of the shadows still tried to shoot, but with the two of you now covered by the dark, there was no point.

He hit ground roughly, you tumbling out off his arms.

"Fuck," he hissed, clutching his bloody shoulder as he picked himself up, "C'mon, bonnie. We gotta move."

He pulled you up again, his nerves spiking when he saw just how out of it you were already, barely able to hold up your head.

'Shit.'

"Stay wit' me, bon," he panted, throwing your arm over his shoulder and starting off down the hill.

"Am gonna getchu help."

#soap cod #cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod x reader #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #call of duty mwii #call of duty x reader #soap #soap x reader #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny x reader #johnny #johnny mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader

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deepouterspacecandy · 3 months

Text

My Full Metal Jacket

This one is much heavier on the angst and gore, but there is fluff sprinkled in, too. Graphic depictions of violence and death. Sexual themes. All my works are 18+ only.

If you want more of this world, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll have another one coming down the line in the not-so-distant future, I’m sure. Thanks for showing my writing some love. I appreciate it more than you know.

“You again?”

“Get over yourself, Popeye,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the truck. “You should be kissing my beautiful feet after I hauled over all the heavy guns.”

“Nuh uh,” Abby says, flexing her arms obnoxiously. “Not all of them.”

Manny plugs his ears like an unruly child, filling the air with a loud, rhythmic noise to drown you both out.

“Isaac must hate my guts,” he groans. “Sticking me with you two.”

“Three whole weeks, baby,” Abby says, giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder as he passes by. “You know you love it.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s not to love?” he says.

With a warm smile, he offers his four-legged battle buddy a few affectionate scrubs behind the ears, his voice projecting so that everyone can overhear their private conversation.

“We’ll leave all that sexual tension in the back of the truck where it belongs, won’t we, boy? Those crazy women.”

He motions for the dog to seek refuge inside the cab, granting him the privilege of riding shotgun.

“Manny, come on, it’s raining!” you complain.

He glares up at you as you hang lazily over the side of the truck. You jut your lower lip out at him, clarifying that you always fully intended to sit in the back, but you cannot pass up the chance to properly antagonize him first.

“Yeah, Manny. It’s raining,” Abby whines, joining you in solidarity by throwing her arm over your shoulder and adopting the most outrageously exaggerated pouty bottom lip he has ever seen. “It’s so wet out there!”

“Out there is not the problem,” he laughs. His hand darts through the air to flick at her lip, but she effortlessly dances out of his reach. “Animals, both of you.”

You gasp, slapping your chest in shock and scandal.

“I’ll have you know—I’m perfectly civilized,” you say, loading your firearm and cocking it with dramatic force.

Abby’s face lights up, admiring the only other woman in the FOB who possesses the same level of toughness and brutality as her.

“Goddamn,” Abby says. “My ride or die, right here.”

“All day, all night,” you giggle.

“Treacherous twins,” Manny says, rolling his eyes at you before ducking into the driver’s seat. “Keep fooling yourselves, guys. When the levy finally breaks, I will be there with a camera.”

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

This isn’t your first rodeo together and if all goes well, it won’t be your last.

The assignment is a recovery mission, focused on retrieving a unit of six soldiers who vanished while operating in enemy territory.

It comes as no surprise that Isaac chose the three of you to lead the mission.

Manny, being a gifted sharpshooter with breakneck combat instincts, makes your squad his most unyielding mercenaries for the job. He is also keenly aware of the unbreakable bond between you, which raises the probability of everyone returning home with the missing unit in tow.

“Don’t hog all the fruit,” Manny says, wiggling his fingers at Abby and motioning for her to pass him the container.

Between you, a campfire hisses against the rain, casting much needed warmth onto your tired bones.

“These are some mighty fine grapes,” Abby warns, lifting the container up and away. “You might have to fight me for them.”

“Ooh, can I have some?” you ask.

Without hesitation, Abby shuffles closer to you, carefully balancing the container on your knee as she continues to eat from it.

Manny shakes his head in mock disgust, ripping into a strip of jerky and offering a piece to the dog.

You bite into a succulent grape with a loud crunch and let out an ungodly moan.

“These are good.”

The corners of Abby’s eyes crinkle as she smiles at you, and it’s hard to remember a time when she wasn’t by your side.

Letting out a full-bodied yawn, you reluctantly give the container of fruit to the resentful man, who is now preoccupied with cleaning his gun and pretending neither of you exists.

Manny scoffs, then extends his peace offering of a dry blanket and some jerky.

“You need rest, sleepyhead,” he says, rising to examine the perimeter alongside his loyal companion. “We’ll take first watch.”

“Nah, I’m good—I’ll crash when we get back.”

Abby nudges you with her elbow before letting her hand linger where the container used to be. Her thumb unconsciously glides back and forth over your knee as she squeezes it.

“He’s right,” she says. “You can’t keep going like this.”

Sleep doesn’t come easily anymore, and nobody understands that better than Abby.

It’s not the nightmares that bother you nearly as much as the relentless struggle your brain endures to transition from drowsiness to deep sleep. It’s impossible to tally the countless nights you’ve spent yearning for slumber, as the hours slip away behind your restless eyelids.

Manny plants a knowing kiss on the top of your head before he sets off for patrol. The years of trauma have deeply affected all of you, leaving an indelible mark.

Abby, with her long legs stretched out, leans back on her arms, and soaks in the fire’s heat as embers pop below the flames.

“Are they back again—the bad dreams?” she asks.

“Not really,” you shrug.

With a sleepy blink, Abby turns her head to look at you. A slow, contented smile curls on her lips as she watches you pluck blades of grass from the ground, tearing them into smaller fragments. Your eyes fixate on the slender blade of grass, now cinched above your knuckle. It splotches your fingertip, turning it cold.

As Abby prods your thigh, coaxing you to keep talking, you give her a sheepish nod.

“I just can’t get there sometimes, you know?” you continue, blowing out a frustrated breath. “I’d take the nightmares at this point.”

Abby drags her backpack closer and lays her jacket overtop, covering the carabiners and jagged hooks. Expectantly, she pats the pillow she has made for you.

“Get over here, you broken girl,” she teases. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

“There’s no point,” you chuckle, giving her boot a gentle kick. “Why don’t you try?”

With a defiant grin, she sticks her tongue out at you.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

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The coordinates provided by Isaac point to a prison camp of some sort. Reaching the crest of the hill after a challenging hike, you’re hit with a wave of exhaustion and regret.

A larger extraction team would have been a wise choice.

The encampment is teeming with soldiers donning bulletproof vests and helmets. Scattered across the grounds, putrid skeletons squirm and writhe, their movements restricted by chains tethered to their rotten flesh.

It turns your stomach sour to see some soldiers finding pleasure in agitating them.

“What the hell is wrong with these assholes?” Abby asks.

“Sick fucks,” you mutter.

Abby carefully weaves her way through the dense trees, determined to get a better view through the fence. When she glances back at you, it’s apparent that something is not right.

Manny nods at a building in the distance. On the crumbling brick wall, there is a spray-painted image of a snake coiling around a skull.

“I’ve heard of this group,” Manny says. “They’re moving north. This is not good—we’re going to need backup.”

“We don’t have time,” you say.

As Abby skillfully navigates the encampment’s perimeter, the two of you shadow her every move.

Booming music fills the camp, a risky sign of disregard that surprisingly hasn’t attracted more infected. By using it to mask your infiltration, you might gain an advantage and, better yet, retrieve your team undetected.

“Let’s scope the joint, locate our people, and split,” Abby says. “We’ve only got one shot at this.”

Manny is meticulous about finding his vantage point, choosing the most effective spot to serve as a sniper. His job is to safeguard both of you as you traverse the site, and he doesn’t take his responsibility lightly.

As soon as you receive the green light, you instinctively reach for your gun, feeling the satisfying click as you disengage the safety. With a quick glance at Abby, you extend your hand, and she laces her rugged fingers through yours.

“May your survival be long,” you say.

With a gentle tug, she brings your hand to her chest, where you can feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

“May our death be swift."

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Resembling twisted Christmas ornaments, an array of belongings they’ve snatched from their victims hang abandoned and forgotten from lifeless trees. Your chest constricts as you identify a patch you recognize.

Sensing your distress, Abby moves closer, pressing against your lower back to provide guidance and remind you to maintain your focus.

Their ethics are even more deplorable than those of the WLF, and you genuinely didn’t think that was possible.

The number of your combatants in need of rescue had dwindled to only two, and the haunting image of what remains of the others will etch itself in your memory forever.

With badly malnourished soldiers in tow, you push yourself to move as quickly as possible, helping them navigate the terrain back to the Humvee.

The weight of your collective losses in this unforgiving world has left you feeling numb. As you think of the families waiting back home for loved ones who will never return, and all the prisoners you weren’t able to bring with you, the magnitude of going back for their belongings is paralyzing.

Returning empty-handed to those partners and friends seems wrong, and it won’t suffice; you need more than tales of sorrow to help honour their memories.

Without a second thought, your feet propel you forward, leaving your mind scrambling to catch up. While Abby and Manny are busy tending to the injured soldiers, you slip away unnoticed.

The notion doesn’t seem all that dangerous until you turn the first corner and come face to face with a stranger in a tactical vest.

Without surveillance or a potent ally to subdue and immobilize them before they can raise an alarm, you’re entirely on your own.

You make the first move, and with a swift strike, send them tumbling to the ground. The sudden commotion seizes the attention of everyone nearby, and when the music unexpectedly cuts, the bloodcurdling screams of the infected echo through the air. A chilling reminder of the grave error in judgment you’ve made.

Attempting to retrace your steps and return to your team, panic sets in as you notice that the enemies have strategically positioned themselves to surround the area from all sides.

A white-hot burn explodes through your back, and at first, you think someone must’ve bashed you with a lead pipe. Pressing your hand against the fire in your stomach, you can feel the wetness of blood as it stains your fingers, leaving no room for doubt that a bullet has found its mark.

Adrenaline drives you to take shelter behind a cement barricade as the periphery of your vision becomes hazy.

Chaos breaks out from a distance, and you pray your squad has the good sense to leave you behind. Suddenly, the deafening, sharp cracks of rapid gunfire surround you, and the only thing you recognize before the world goes dark is Abby’s piercing scream calling out your name.

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

When you blink awake, it’s to the rhythmic patter of rain against a tin roof. Through the window, angry storm clouds dominate the sky, casting a gloomy shadow over the room.

Pain radiates from somewhere in your abdomen, maybe everywhere. As you try to make sense of your surroundings, fatigue lurks, threatening to pull you back under. You muster a feeble effort to lift the blanket off your body, straining to pinpoint the source of your discomfort.

Abruptly, Abby’s presence is at your bedside, her warm hand caressing your jaw.

“Hey—leave it. Don’t try to sit up.”

She drapes the blanket over you, carefully tucking it under your back. Her face twists with worry when you let out a pained whimper.

The windowpane rattles from a clap of thunder, jolting you. A searing pang shoots through your spine.

“Abby,” you rasp, your throat like splintered kindling. “Am I bit?”

Your shallow breathing becomes rapid as the memory fights to resurface.

Her eyes brim with tears, and she pulls your knuckles to her lips.

“You caught a bullet, you tough fucking girl.”

Hanging on a chain around her neck, she absentmindedly fidgets with the relic before showing it to you.

“Such a badass,” she whispers, chin trembling. “I pulled it out of the wall.”

Thirst tortures you as words struggle to push beyond your sore lips. Abby disappears for a breath and returns with a cup of water. She carefully positions the straw at the corner of your mouth, instructing you to take small sips.

“You went back?” you choke.

The sharp pain that hits you when your core muscles contract to accommodate your coughing fit is unbearable. Tears stream down your face and Abby wipes them all away, her own tears threatening to fall.

“Was anyone else hurt?” you ask.

The weight of guilt crushes you as you witness the anguish on her face.

“Manny,” you shudder.

Shaking her head, a faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Nobody can touch that fucker.”

“Then who?” you ask.

With a powerful pull, she yanks a chair to the side of your bed, causing the legs to scrape against the floor. Dark purple bags cast heavy shadows under her tired eyes, the sensitive skin surrounding them appearing raw and irritated. She rubs at the area with her fist, trying to alleviate exhaustion or ward it away. It’s become a familiar sight over the years.

“Abby. Who?”

As she speaks, her voice grows huskier, carrying a hint of menace that borders on a snarl.

“All of them,” she says. “That camp is history and we’re just getting started. I’ll never let them hurt you again.”

The longing to curl up in her lap and hold her tight is almost enough to unearth the strength to do it.

Isaac would be the one to make the order if Abby didn’t do it herself, regardless of the mission’s outcome. He has zero tolerance for any threats to his land and his people, to an obvious fault.

But returning proved to be a mistake, and now Abby is enduring the consequences. It burns you worse than the gunshot wound.

“I shouldn’t have gone back. I’m sorry.”

Abby rests her head on your hip, and against a tangle of tubes and wires, you wriggle your fingers into her messy braid. Tired blue eyes flutter as they look up at you, her hand sliding softly across your chest to rest above your heart.

“I love you,” Abby murmurs. “Do you know that?”

“How much?” you ask, brushing her hair back from her forehead and letting the pad of your thumb drag over her furrowed brow. “As much as I love you?”

“More,” she says.

Her eyes gradually blink against burgeoning lethargy. When they shut, you trace her eyelids as her hand grips the fabric over your heart, planting herself there.

She makes one last confession before exhaustion takes her.

“I need you. Please don’t leave me now.”

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby

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