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sprout-fics · 6 months

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First Day of the Rest of Your Life

(TF141 & Reader Old Guard AU)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: 16+ Wordcount: 4k Tags: Old Guard AU, Immortals AU, Newly Immortal Reader, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Open Ending, Rescue Missions, Shadow Company, Major Character Death (non permanent) Warnings: Forced Drugging, Character Death (and revival) A/N: A silly little idea that I won't be continuing, but others are free to build off of

They’re not known by anyone but themselves.

Things like them shouldn’t exist. It goes against all laws of nature, to rise from dirt and to return. Yet somehow, the men you come to meet defy death itself, unable to be killed, to die a death that lasts long and forever.

And…

You come to realize you’re just like them.

But first, you have to die.

A “Shadow”, you’re called. One of many, under the authority of Commander Phillip Graves and his company. It’s a reluctant job, one that you took with little other option to settle old debts and to escape from a life that haunts you even now. Even so, you share a camaraderie with the men and women around you, bonds forged under mortar fire and bullet wounds.

Graves himself takes you under his wing, reluctant as you are, makes a point to check on you after missions, to tease you when he can, needling you and trying to make you roll your eyes at him. He likes getting under your skin, cracking jokes so your mouth twitches up as you suppress a smile. It’s hard not to like him with his charisma, but you can’t even shake the little bit of guardedness that remains ever present when you’re around him. You’re not friends, but you certainly aren’t enemies either. Comrades, perhaps.

That changes when you die.

You’re supporting SAS forces in their hunt for a known AQ leader, in a remote village, when your squad is ambushed. The desert sun bores down harshly on you all, and you find yourself squinting upwards when the first shot echoes out.

Graves is not far behind you as bullets begin to rain down on your position, leaning into his comms and barking orders. His eyes are focused with trained intent, finger on the trigger of his weapon, and when you catch his eyes he shoots you a wild grin.

You spot something out of the corner of your eye as you return fire- a woman and a child, hidden behind a low wall as she tries to cover him from the firefight. Her eyes are different. Scared, full of tears, her shoulders tight as he holds back her cries.

You shout for cover, instantly on your feet moving and diving for the pair. You shield her as you aid them both to safety, only for one of your squad to shout for you a moment too late.

The bullet goes straight through your heart.

You fall forward into the arid earth, watching the woman and her son be quickly escorted to shelter. The pang of relief you feel is stifled by the agony that laces through your veins, wet and viscous and much too warm. As you gasp, dying and bleeding out, the last thing you see is Graves’ face hovering over yours, steely and grim as your life gushes out onto his hands.

“Breathe, darlin’, breathe.”

You can’t. With every pulse of your heart you feel the sickening ooze of red spill from the gap in your chest. You wheeze, try to speak, but it’s too late. You hear him call for you as you go under, and your last thought is that you wish just had more time.

There’s a flash of something then- brief and vague, like the shimmering outline on the horizon. Four figures standing tall, turning to gaze at you before it all goes dark.

You wake up in the infirmary an hour or so later. Staring up at the medical tent and trying to process the fact that you’re alive.

Remarkably, you feel…fine?

A hand smooths over your chest, and you find no bullet hole at all. No gaping wound where your life force bled out of you. Perfectly healed.

It doesn’t make any sense, and you try to reconcile the sudden, agonizing pain and darkness with your unscathed state. You died. There’s no way you should be alive right now, much less without a horrible, life altering injury.

Graves pushes aside the tent flap and paces to your bedside with long strides. You expect him to look relieved, to smile and offer a joke to cover his concern. Instead, he appears guarded, cautious, like he no longer trusts you.

You flinch.

Graves watches you with wary eyes, and when you ask him if perhaps you dreamt it he doesn’t show any indication of shock. Instead, he crowds closer, gets in your personal space, and asks you what you remember. You tell him. You died…and then…and then…

Nothing.

This doesn’t satisfy him, and you can tell by the harsh light in his eyes. He smiles anyways, but you feel something curl in your stomach at the fact that it feels so sinister. Graves pats your shoulder and tells you to rest up, offers a little murmur of relief that doesn’t reach your ears.

You’re too busy looking at his eyes.

On his way out of the infirmary, Graves whispers something to the medic, who pales and tries to protest. Yet then Graves goes icy cold, and you feel a shiver run up your spine. He vanishes after that, and after a moment the medic appears with a syringe.

“This should help with the pain.” He offers with a wobbly smile.

“But…I’m not in pain.” You offer, brow knotted in confusion, but before you can offer anything else he holds out your arm and presses the needle to the inside of your elbow with practiced ease.

“W-wait-”

You look at the medic in confusion as he pulls back, and somehow when he presses on your shoulder you go flat on the bed with sluggish limbs.

“What-” You try, feeling something dark and liquid descend over your senses slowly.

“I’m sorry.” He offers, face pinched. “Please don’t die.”

You grab at him then, recognizing the injection too late for what it is, a lethal dose. You try to raise your voice, try to beg, but the soldier above you hushes you, murmurs apologies even as the newly familiar grip of death settles over you.

…And then, you wake up again

This time, however, you’re restrained. Your arms are above your head, shackled to the metal bars of the infirmary cot. There’s a dull ache that colors your senses, and when you try to raise your hand to rub at your head you find it immobile. Panic instantly rises within you, doubled by your prone position.

As you panic and struggle Graves appears and hovers over your bedside

“Feel like talkin now, soldier?” He asks, gaze cold.

He had you killed, you realize. He sent the medic to drug you, to test this newfound ability of yours to come back after apparent death. Now, he has you trapped under his mercy, eyes dark as he scrutinizes your restrained form.

You try to tell him you don’t know, you don’t understand, but you know he doesn’t believe you. Even after your babbling protests and attempts to explain, he remains unmoved.

At last, he sighs in frustration and turns away to the medic once more.

“Put em’ under.”

Terror grips at you. You scream, thrash, a primal fear screeching through your veins as you’re approached by the grim faced medic.

Then, the medical tent shakes with the force of a nearby explosion. Graves spins, eyes wide. Instantly, the base alarm begins to roar, nearly deafening the instant chatter of his radio. Graves is moving, barking order, growling at the two shadows who stand nearby.

“Prep for transport. We’re takin’ em to the general.”

Shepherd.

They’re moving you. They’re going to give you to Shepherd because of…whatever this is. Your instincts scream danger, and it only renews your effort to escape, thrashing at your restraints and screaming with all your might.

The two shadows press down on your struggling limbs- a hand snaking up to cover your mouth. You plead with teary eyes, desperately afraid, whimpering as the medic pushes the needle down into your arm once more. The overly warm rush of morphine slinks through your veins, draws your eyelids heavy against your will.

It’s at that moment that you see them.

Four armed figures sweep into the tent, and as the two soldiers spin and reach for their weapons. They're taken out before they can even shout for aid, two of the men instantly subduing the two guards, choking them into unconsciousness with heavy, muscular arms. A third points a weapon at the medic, growling as the man cowers.

A face hovers into view- Brown eyes a deeper color than his skin, warm gaze concerned even as he smiles. He’s handsome, a delirious part of your brain realizes as unconsciousness begins to descend over you.

“Nice to meet you, mate.” He tells you as you begin to fade. “Name’s Gaz. Don’t worry, we’ll be here when you wake up. We got it from here.”

You try to ask him what he means, but you’re gone before the words can pass your lips.

- - -

“I’m getting kind of tired of this.” You think as soon as you wake up for the third time in twelve or so hours, flat on your back and looking at the ceiling of a plane.

There’s a jacket covering you, and as you sit up your groan, feeling the remnants of morphine clear from the uncomfortable haze of your brain.

“Easy.” A gruff voice tells you, and your eyes dart up to take in the sight of a man sitting on a bench beside you, the airplane rattling around you both. “You’ve had a rough go of it, take it slow.”

“Who…?” You manage to ask, pressing a heel of your palm to the center of your eye to dispel the lingering headache, looking around to take in the other three men who sit in various stages of alertness. You take them in one by one, starting with the man beside you with the beard and the hat. He looks older than you suspect he is- the age showing in his eyes.

Beside him sits a man in a mask, the hard plastic of it in the shape of a skull. He blinks at you slow like a cat, and with his arms crossed he seems to take up so much space on the tiny aircraft.

Across from him sits a younger man with a mohawk, blue eyed and bright. He smiles at you, gaze twinkling as you blink in confusion.

Your eyes land on a familiar face. “...Gaz.” You offer uncertainly, and he beams at you.

“Right’o.” He tells you, and then nods to the man beside him. “And Soap-” The man in the mohawk gives a grin and a wave. “Ghost-” The man is the skull mask, arms crossed, regarding you coolly. “And Price.” The man who sits beside you, elbows on his knees, blue eyes staring keenly down at you.

You reply with your name purely out of politeness, but are unable to stop the tensing of your limbs as you slowly and cautiously press away from the four men who have kidnapped you.

The questions pour out of you before you can stop them. Who are they? Where are you? Where’s Shadow Company? Where are they taking you? How did you get here?

…Do they know you died?

The men before you exchange some looks of concern, before at last it’s Price who moves and settles on his haunches before you with a reassuring smile. He sits just out of reach, trying to respect your personal space as much as he can in the tiny plane.

“You’re safe.” Is the first thing he tells you, voice firm but soft. “We’ll make sure your commander can’t find you, so don’t you worry about that.”

“The rest will have to wait.” He goes on, offering you a hand to stand and helping you to a seat beside Gaz. “We’ll wait until we’re at our safehouse to tell you the rest.”

You swallow nervously, hands bunched in the jacket draped over your lap. Your mind desperately tries to understand what has happened, how you could have ended up here.

“He…killed me.” You manage shakily, remembering Graves standing over you as you woke up from the lethal rush of morphine. “Graves.”

Price looks grim as he nods silently.

“But…” You trail off, confused, scared, trembling. You look at him, wrapping your arms around yourself for comfort. “I’m…alive?”

“That you are.” Price replies with grave seriousness. “And you’re not dying anytime soon.”

You find out later that ‘soon’ doesn’t begin to describe what your life will become.

You have no option but to trust these men, you realize. You think about running, but you have no idea where you are, where they’ve taken you. As you’re gently escorted off the plane on an abandoned runway somewhere in the desert, you think about climbing back aboard and forcing the pilot to take you home.

There’s nothing back there for you, you realize. Not with your outstanding debts and mistakes, not when Graves will be able to track you down.

You curl into a corner of the safehouse- skittish and forlorn as you lose yourself in your thoughts. The others busy themselves disposing of their gear, talking in low voices, and you ignore the sympathetic looks they offer you.

Gaz settles in front of you, pushes a steaming mug of something warm into your hands, and you manage a grateful glance.

“Where are we?” You ask him quietly, and he gives you a worried little smile.

“A few hours outside Cairo. A safehouse. An old one.”

You hear Soap sneeze in another room, complaining about spiderwebs. It summons a weary smile to your features.

“Will you tell me what’s going on?” You ask quietly, and Gaz stands, offers you a hand so you rise with him.

“Of course.” He tells you, and places a hand on your shoulder to guide you in the direction of the brightly lit kitchen. “But first? Dinner. Can’t have you starve to death.”

“Will that actually kill me?” You think, but offer no other reply

Dinner is a mix of MREs and canned fruit from one of the cabinets. You watch as Ghost passes his pineapple pieces over to Soap, who swallows them down happily. Price leans over to murmur something to him, and Soap huffs a little sound of amusement around his fork. You observe them, realizing that there’s a warm familiarity between all of them, a trust that runs inherently deep and profound. It summons a little pang of longing inside you, wishing that maybe you might find something similar one day

You pick at your dinner, not really hungry. The food sits uneasily in your stomach with your anxiety, and as the plates lay scattered across the table the others finally turn to you.

“You died.” Price begins, startlingly direct.

“Yes.” You tell him breathily in return. He nods, pauses before his next words.

“So did all of us.”

You blink at that, trying to process- before Soap finally chimes in.

“Aye, your commander shot me straight in the neck, the bastard.” He grins sunnily. “Shoulda seen his face when I got right back up, fit as a fiddle.”

You do smile at that, imagining Grave’s utter shock at a dead man walking. It fades as you fidget with the cooling mug in your hands.

“So…what?” You ask quietly. “I’m some kind of…immortal?”

The silence that follows is deafening.

You look up, meet the blank stares of the men before you, and feel your stomach turn to ice.

“You’re kidding.”

Price shakes his head slowly, and you watch as he reaches for a cigar in his jacket.

“Those’ll kill you.” You want to tell him, but you wonder if it truly is a moot point.

“We were all like you, once.” He sighs as smoke spills from his mouth. “Soldiers, young, trying to do some good in a war we didn’t ask for.”

They tell you their stories, and you sit transfixed as the tale of their lives unravel before you.

Gaz and Soap are the ‘youngest’ they claim, both in age and in the time they first died. World War 2, they tell you. Gaz was a pilot shot down in France, and Soap was an infantryman only a few hundred miles west.

“Price found me.” Gaz tells you, smiling fondly at the older man, who returns the expression.

Price tells you of the vision he had- of Kyle terrified, tugging at his straps as his plane burned and spiraled out of control, only to wake up completely unscathed in a pasture. Of course, he’d been killed twice over by German forces before Price managed to find him. Gaz had been the same as you- flighty, scared, uncertain. Price had hauled him to an abandoned farmhouse, had explained to him the same they explain to you now- that one day you just stop dying. You don’t age. You can’t be killed. You blackout, bleed out, and then you just wake back up.

“Soap had it less easy.” He nods to the Scot, who grimaces. Ghost tilts his head in Soap’s direction.

“You want me to tell em, Johnny?”

Soap grumbles, and explains the story of waking up downriver, having drowned, with his entire squad dead after a charge across the Rhine. He tried to find his way back under the cover of night and found a man in a mask instead. He thought he was the reaper coming to collect his soul, but when Ghost started trying to explain immortality and becoming ageless, Soap had stared at him in complete disbelief- and then ran.

“You pitched a fit when I finally caught you.” Ghost remarks smugly, and Johnny’s frown deepens.

“Couldnae help it.” He grouses. “You did a shite job of explaining. Plus-” He jabs a finger in his friend’s direction. “You shot me.”

You blink at that, looking at Ghost, who shrugs, completely unrepentant.

“You tried to escape.”

“But still-!”

“And they’ve been trying to kill each other ever since.” Gaz adds cheekily as the two bicker.

“No killing each other.” Price reminds them sternly, and it quiets down the squabbling.

“Wait-” You try, looking to Soap and Gaz. “So you’re…what, like 100 years old?”

“Give or take a few years.” Soap offers. “I’m the older one.”

Gaz snorts. “You are not.”

“I got found first.”

“I was literally born before you.”

“By eight months.”

“Still counts.”

You turn to Ghost. “So then how old are you?”

“I stopped counting.” He replies plainly. “16th century.”

Your jaw drops. Ghost looks smug at your expression as you try to run the numbers.

“You’re leaving out the part where you were in the Anglo-Scottish War, Simon.” Soap bemoans, displeased. It sours Ghost’s expressions as he turns to the Scot.

“I didn’t even know you yet.” He remarks, mildly annoyed, and it does little to ease Soap’s vague irritation.

“So then Price found you too.” You comment, and Ghost turns back to you.

“After years of chasing him.” Price interjects. “There’s a reason we call him ‘Ghost’.”

You learn later about the things Ghost doesn’t tell you- about being buried alive by his enemies, of suffocating and dying over and over as he clawed through the dirt on his way to freedom. An inevitable, stifling death where he didn’t understand how he kept coming back, only to suffocate once more.

All eyes then turn to Price, who regards you with a knowing smile.

“Old.” He responds to your wordless question. “Too old.”

You want to press him, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that makes you bite your tongue.

“So…do you…we…” You correct slowly. “...get sick? Starve? Drown?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever been sick.” Ghost provides. “Been starved and drowned, though.”

“Starving is a fool’s death.” Price says, oddly grim. His cigar burns down to ash, and he sighs.

There’s a solemn silence that settles over the safehouse then, and you feel the heavy weight of unspoken words sink between you all.

“There’s rules for us.” Price states then, once more reigning in his air of authority that draws you all a little straighter, attentive.

He goes on to tell you the rules that these men live and die by.

Don’t be seen. Don’t stay in one place for more than a few years at a time. If you die, move on. Stay together. Always communicate. Never leave a man behind.

They’ve spent decades, centuries trying to find ways to use their time to the best of their ability- and the only thing they’ve come to is to stay as soldiers, trying their best to scrub the scum off the face of the earth so the world stays clean. Illegal drug trade, weapons smuggling, extremism, genocide, doing whatever they can to help the innocent and the blameless from violence, and dying to do so.

What else is there to do with all the time? They tell you. Money, luxury, empires, it doesn’t matter when you live forever. So instead they fight, do what they can to save humanity from itself. It’s not an easy job, but it must be done.

They’ve seen things that haunt the shadows of their eyes, witness to the worst villainy and grotesqueness humanity has to offer. They’ve all had to take years off when the burden of the world became too heavy for their souls.

You don’t learn of the time when one of them, and they’ll never say who, tried to give up entirely, had become lost as he desperately tried to rid himself of his immortality. They don’t speak of the decade it took to bring him back, to mend his soul back to fullness once more. It’s a gift, they’ll tell you, but you too will come to learn it’s a curse.

The silence is broken by Soap.

“Can be fun, sometimes.” He offers. “Kyle and I have a runnin’ bet over who dies first in whatever year we’re in.”

“No killing each other.” Price reiterates, scowling at Soap and Gaz, who look guilty. “Not even for fun.”

You make a note to ask about that story later.

“And most of all…” Price goes on, voice grave. “Don’t get captured.”

You remember the infirmary, the cuffs, Graves standing over you with his cold, calculating gaze as fear mounted higher inside you.

You shudder, and Soap lays a warm hand on your shoulder in reassurance.

“They won’t find you.” Ghost provides, and his voice is softer, eyes kinder. “You’re with us now.”

“Simon is right.” Gaz adds seriously. “We’ve been doing this for decades. Your commander has nothing on us.”

You offer him a grateful smile, and remember his warm eyes in the moment you first met him.

“We’ll be here when you wake up.”

These men saved you from a fate that was out of your control. They rescued you, kept you safe, and refused to leave you behind. They brought you to safety, comforted you, and even now they take care of you from your own fear of the future.

“You’re one of us.” Price offers quietly, strangely tender. His hand settles on yours, squeezes it hard for just a moment. “We don’t leave behind one of our own.”

You smile at him through the tears, more grateful than you can express. You’re still scared, and in the years to come you’ll still have nightmares of the man who killed you twice over, who had once been your ally. His betrayal sits in your heart as distant terror, and when it becomes too much your new family holds you, comforts you once more.

You’ll grow with them, fight with them. You’ll hold them as they breathe their last, cry with them over the things you couldn’t accomplish in your never ending fight against the worst of humanity. You’ll lament the agelessness between you all, but will help each other to stand once more. You’ll stand beside them for the centuries to come, and you’ll die alongside them.

And then you’ll wake up.

#cod x reader #cod x you #cod x gn!reader #cod x y/n #141 x reader #oneshots #old guard au

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lincolndjarin · 6 months

Text

Best Kept Secret

chapter twenty six : crucifixion

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 12.7k

summary : judgement day.

warnings: major character death, above canon typical violence, very brief references to suicide, torture, body horror (briefly), feelings of despair, blood, wounds, general kodo grossness, vomit (reader vomits several times, it is never described in detail), language, angst, brief smut, pregnancy, death, reader is not doing well in this like she's at a breaking point, i may have missed some so feel free to let me know.

a/n: please read the warnings on this chap! it's the most serious of the bks updates, definitely a bit more intense than the rest. gonna work on getting 27 out within the next few day. i've been terrified of releasing this chapter since i started writing it so once i post this i'm going to dig a hole and sit in it and hide for a while lmao.

i changed my editing style so if there's spelling errors lmk!! apologies in advance!!

“My room is too big.”

He bursts into genuine peals of laughter and you gently smack his arm.

“Don’t laugh, it’s a serious issue! My room is enormous.” You’re giggling along with him now, it’s the hardest you’ve ever heard him laugh. You both just laugh for a few minutes, as if each other's company is the most amusing thing in the world.

Once your giggles fizzle out you wait another moment before breaking the silence.

“Where did you grow up?” You can’t see him but you can sense where he sits in the darkness, you crawl forward so you’re sitting between his legs, your own legs wrap around his waist. “I’m just curious.”

“Aq Vetina.” You can’t recall anything about the planet. You aren’t even sure you’ve heard of it.

“Do you remember your parents well? You don’t talk about them very much.” You put your hands on his shoulders, ever so slowly moving them up to his neck until you’re cupping his face.

“I’ll never forget them.” He whispers.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We can’t change the past.” You rub your nose against his, bumping them together as you hum and nod. “My mother loved ships. We didn’t travel, we never had a reason to, but she would take me outside and we’d watch ships fly past. I could never comprehend how she knew the name for all of them, it blew my mind.” You wrap your arms around his neck, staying silent in hopes that he’ll continue, he so rarely speaks so much. “My father worked a lot but he always made time for us, he was always home in time to say goodnight to me. He was always around when I needed him, he always provided for us. On his day off he’d spend the whole day cooking, I’d sit on the kitchen counter and tell him what my mother and I had done that week. When she’d come home we’d all eat dinner together.”

“You sound like you were a happy child.” You can’t help but smile.

“I never had reason to be otherwise.” He says it so matter of factly that you don’t doubt it for a second. He was loved. It only makes you smile wider.

“What were you like, as a child?”

“Well behaved.” You immediately begin laughing once more.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it. My mother homeschooled me, she always made sure I had manners. I wasn’t particularly athletic or talkative so I didn’t play with other kids a lot. It was just me and mama.” He sounds far away, it makes you want to hold him close and never let him go.

“So what did you do all day?” Your tone has softened significantly.

“I would sew.”

“Be serious.” He’s the one who laughs now at the disbelief in your voice.

“I am! I would sit with my mother after my lessons and we’d sew.” His fingertips dance along the back of your neck as he reminisces.

“What kinds of things?” You don’t tease. When you really think about it you suppose such a hobby is fitting for him. A task that requires precision and care.

“I would help her make clothes and blankets that she would sell most days. On the weekends she’d let me do whatever I wanted so I would practice my embroidery.”

“My heart is actually about to explode out of my chest, you’re so cute.” You put on a mocking tone but the thought of such a thing really does make your heart clench. “Little Din Djarin stitching his name into his clothes.”

“You’re a cruel woman.” He leans forward, knocking his forehead against yours, almost as if he were reprimanding you.

“What sorts of things would you embroider?” Your tone goes back to genuine, you could listen to him talk about himself for days and you’d never get bored.

“Whatever my mother wanted. I would ask her what I should do and then I’d stitch it onto her blanket or the hem of her skirt. Mostly flowers, she loved daisies.” You’re pretty sure one of your ovaries literally popped at the thought of a little boy with dark curls and big brown eyes sitting beside his mother and embroidering a daisy onto her skirt. Your heart flutters a bit as you think of the necklace he got you. The silver outline of a flower you now realize is a daisy. “If he was ever gone for more than one night for work my father would bring her daisies, one for each day he was away.”

“Do you still know how?”

“I used to fix Grogu’s clothes when he ripped them but I haven’t done much else since I was a boy. He says it with finality but you carry on, not wanting him to stop talking.

“What were their names? Your parents?”

“Clara and Arin Djarin.”

“Those are pretty names.”

“What was it like for you? You said you had seven siblings right?”

“Eight actually.” You think of them now. There were eight of you and your parents' love for all of you combined wasn’t even a tenth of how much Din’s parents loved him.

“Do you like having a big family?” He lifts you off of his lap, laying you back down as he crawls on top of you, laying against your chest.

“I love it. I miss my siblings everyday, do you think we’ll be able to visit them someday?”

“If it’s safe to, of course we will.” He tilts his head, if you weren’t in darkness he’d be looking at you.

“I wish they had visited here. They would have loved you.”

“You think?”

“Are you kidding me? The younger ones would adore you.” You tangle your finger in his hair, scratching his scalp. “Kids just naturally like you.”

“They just haven’t learned to fear me.” You frown when he says it like a fact.

“I think it’s more than that.”

“Yeah?” The hopeful tilt to his voice has you leaning down to press a kiss into his hair.

“Kids are intuitive, they can sense that you’re a good person.” He tenses up as you tell him he’s a good person. You know exactly what he’s thinking about now, how he punched your husband and then refused to leave.

Neither one of you wants to talk about that though, not today.

“What kind of room would you want? Since your current room isn’t to your liking.” He’s quick to change the subject and you let him.

“In all honesty, I like the cabin, I wish we could just live there.” You run your fingers through his curls as you think about it, gently pulling through any tangles.

“My cabin?” His voice is full of uncertainty as he pulls back a bit.

“It’s nice.” You feel a bit defensive, you consider the cabin to be the closest thing you have to a home. “Can you imagine getting to stay on Naboo? We could spend our mornings walking the market.” You rest your hand on the back of his neck now. “We could get jobs in the city, and then at night we’d come home.”

“To the cabin?” He still sounds rather skeptical of your hypothetical future.

“I’d cook dinner, you’d do the chores.”

“The cabin’s a bit small for us.”

“We’d make it a bit bigger, add a few bedrooms, we don’t need that much space.”

“A few?” He turns his head, his lips brush against your collar briefly as he kisses you there, freezing up when you speak again.

“At least two, one for us and then some for any little Djarin’s who might need space.” With that he sits up entirely, his legs straddle your stomach.

“Little Djarin’s?”

“And Grogu, he would come live with us as well.”

“You’d want him to live with us?”

“Of course, he’s a little Djarin.” Your hands rest on his thighs now as he seemingly ponders above you. He hums to himself in silence for a moment and you can’t help but grin at how seriously he’s taking all of this.

“How many?” He finally speaks again and you laugh at the bluntness of his question.

“Kids?”

“How many would you want?”

“You go first.” You haven’t ever talked about this sort of thing so you want to gauge his answer first so you don’t scare him too much with all the kids talk.

“Maybe five? Or six.”

“Six?” Your voice pitches up immediately and you feel a rumble in his chest as he laughs.

“Or five.”

“How about two, counting Grogu.” Turns out you didn’t need to worry about scaring him off.

“How about three?” Three is manageable.

“Counting Grogu?”

“Counting Grogu.” He seems satisfied with that.

“I suppose we could have three, you’re the one who has to build all the extra bedrooms.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I’d work at the library and you’d work in a shipyard, we’d take turns staying home with the kids.” You pull him back to you, taking his hands and dragging him to lay his head on your chest once more.

“I’ve got enough savings, neither one of us has to work if you’d like.” It sends a twinge of pain to your heart how real this conversation has become, knowing that this exact dream isn’t possible.

You could always make parts of it real.

Someday.

“I’d want to work, to get out of the house, but you could stay home if you’d like.”

“When they’re still ik’aad, at least for the first few years I’d want to be with them.” He’s going to be a wonderful father.

“Then I’d work, not long hours, just enough to get me out of the house, when I come home I’d give you a break, you could do the shopping and I’d watch the little’s.”

“We’d go as a family, I wouldn’t want ‘a break.’”

“You’d want to wrangle three kids in the markets?” You scoff in disbelief but he continues to sound completely serious.

“They’d be well behaved.” You seriously doubt that.

“What about either one of us makes you think our children will be well behaved? Is Grogu well behaved?”

“We’ll manage.”

“They’ll be wild.” They will, not they would.

“And smart.” He sits up again, hovering above you to give you a quick kiss.

“And happy.” There isn’t a doubt in your mind that your children would be happy with Din as their father.

“You’d really want to live here? I could build us a house anywhere.”

“I like Naboo, at least everything outside of the castle. I don’t even mind the castle, I just don’t care for the people inside it.” It’s true, somewhere along the way this place grew on you immensely. You love the city and the people in it. “And they’d get to play in the garden.”

“I would build you a cabin anywhere you wanted, and I’d plant you a new garden.” He kisses along your cheeks and forehead as he speaks.

“You wouldn’t need to plant me a garden if we lived here.” You insist.

“We can’t live here, mesh’la.” He rubs a small circle with his thumb against your cheek. “This is too serious now, we’re supposed to be relaxed today.”

“When did we agree on that?” You muster up a weak laugh.

“It was a silent mutual agreement.”

“I’m plenty relaxed.” You mumble. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his stubble tickling you as you let out an airy giggle.

“I’m actually very tense and I think we should take a break from all this talking and take care of that.” He mumbles against your shoulder.

“Oh?”

“Mhmm.” He emphasizes his point by pressing his erection against your hip, you hadn’t even realized that this is where he was going with that.

“How long have you been waiting to jump me?”

“When we started talking about the five kids I was gonna put in you.” He continues to nip at your neck and shoulders as he speaks.

“Skipping the agreed upon three and going straight to five already? You’re not even going to attempt to negotiate for four?”

“So you’re open to four?” He pulls back and you can hear his smile.

“Let’s start with one and go from there.”

“Right now?” His hips stutter down a bit against yours.

“Maker, you’re insatiable.” You both burst into another fit of laughter.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“I could get pregnant, and considering the lack of sex I’ve had with my husband I’m sure that might raise a few eyebrows.”

“It would never get to that point, when we’re in the clear with this whole Kodo mess I’m getting you out of here.”

“Like… actually leaving Naboo?”

“Exactly like that. I’m gonna take you far away from here when this is over, gonna keep you all for myself.” His hands move down, giving your hips a squeeze.

“I’m already yours.” You laughed, rolling over to be on top of him. He’s right, if you’re going to leave anyway then what’s the worst thing that could happen?

You never talked about that night after that.

When everything sorted itself out you realized how crazy your fear had made you. You couldn’t just leave. At least that’s what you’d told yourself, now you feel like an idiot for not holding him to his words. It wasn’t realistic, you both knew actually leaving would take so much more preparation than a few whispered ideas during a time where neither one of you was in any position to be making such promises.

It was just talk.

Lysa came to get you from the dining room.

After everyone left you had no motivation to move, you just stood there, frozen in time. After a few hours she found you, she had taken your hand and walked you back to your chambers. She held your hand, she kept you upright when you threatened to crumble. And when you felt a wave of nausea ripple through you she rushed you to the fresher, a hand on your back as you threw up all over again.

You sat breathlessly on the tile, Lysa rubbing your back.

“Gods, I’ve been nauseous since the wedding. Even before everything fell apart.” It’s the first words you’ve spoken since they took Din, your stomach is still churning. “This has never happened before.” You groan, you’ve had many moments of upset throughout your life, but none that made you physically ill. Lysa looks almost painfully worried.

“Ma’am… is there a chance you might be…”

Kriff.

You never talked about that night after that.

Maybe you should have.

You both did a lot of things during those days. You had been so angry, and he had done everything in his power to ease that anger, to keep both of you as happy as someone could be in your situation.

You shouldn’t have used that as an excuse to be reckless.

“I’d like to go to bed.”

“Of course.” She helps you to your feet, walking you back to your room, you turn to her one last time before you close the door.

“I’m sorry. Elaine never should have gotten involved in all this.” You’d trade places with her in a heartbeat if you could.

“It’s not your fault.” She truly seems to believe that.

Except it is. Elaine never would have found herself in this situation if she hadn’t so often been helping the two of you keep your secret.

“Goodnight, Lysa.”

“Goodnight, princess.”

You lay on the bed, unable to bring yourself to sleep in the closet.

It’s cold. Colder than Hoth, as you stare at the ceiling in your far too big bed in your far too big room. Even bigger now that it’s just you.

You let your hand roam down your torso to rest on your stomach.

Just you, hopefully.

☆

You’re now having nightly dinners with Kodo.

You don’t get any respite from him, you just want to stay in bed. You’re nauseous and tired and your head hasn’t stopped spinning since that night. A million thoughts a minute.

Where is he?

Is he okay?

What the fuck can I do about it?

Mostly that.

The worst part is your lack of a plan. If the roles were reversed Din would have already rescued you and you’d be living happily ever after.

But that isn’t how your story is going. Instead you are alone, with no scheme on how to get to him. It’s only been three days but it’s driving you insane, you have never known such hopelessness, it’s maddening. To sit alone in your room all day, staring at the ceiling until Lysa comes to dress you for dinner. Neither one of you ever speaks, afterall, what would you say to each other?

“I’m sorry the love of your life had been sentenced to die?”

How morbid.

Not that you’re above being morbid.

You think about it often. How easy it would be to drive your dinner knife into Kodo’s throat. You’re seated beside him now at dinner, both of you at the head of the table, joined by the rest of his family.

The thought of killing him is the only thing that brings you peace these days. You’ve never once in your life been violent until now. Din is good. He’s a good man. In every way he is the opposite of your husband yet Din is the one locked away, Maker knows where, while Kodo is being rewarded.

It doesn’t make you mad, it makes you furious.

It makes you want to poison his wine.

But you don’t have poison.

And you can’t put yourself in danger. Because you feel fundamentally different, and even if you refuse to think that such a thing is possible you know you wouldn’t just be putting yourself in danger. There’s more at stake now.

That’s what you tell yourself to stay calm, a feat that is getting harder by the minute as you’re sat beside Kodo who is currently bragging about how he defeated a Mandalorian.

“They aren’t as strong as you think they are. Under the armor they’re weak, pathetic.”

It took six battle droids to keep him down. You didn’t even get near him.

“Some people just need to be taught a lesson, don’t touch what isn’t yours.” He sneers and the rest of the table erupts into laughter. “I certainly taught that horned bitch a lesson as well, you all should have seen what they brought me last night.”

You perk up, this is the only thing they’ve said in days that truly matters to you. You’ve heard nothing about the current state of either of them until now.

“What did they do to Elaine?” Everyone’s head turns to you, all their expressions look as if you’ve announced something treasonous but Kodo smiles as if he were explaining something to a child.

“She was properly punished, the way someone who observed such a crime with no intervention should be.” He puts his hand over yours when he says it.

You don’t ask for any follow up.

You don’t think you could stomach it, so you stay silent for the rest of your meal. When you’re finished you stand, the rest of the table is starting to pour more drinks but you simply lean down, mumbling something about being tired before giving Kodo a quick kiss on the cheek and dismissing yourself.

You’re waiting for the night where he joins you in your chambers, after all his father is dead, but it has yet to happen. He had told you that once he was king he would be in need of heirs but he seems happy enough with his pleasure houses and you’re more than grateful for the women you entertain him so you don’t have to.

So you return to your chambers alone, peeling off your gown before burying yourself under the covers.

Sleep evades you as you toss and turn. You aren’t even tired, there’s too much going on in your mind, there’s no room for exhaustion. After about an hour you manage to drift in and out of unconsciousness, earning a brief reprieve from your anxieties until a sharp knocking has you jolting upright.

You don your robe, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you rush to the door, you’re too tired to wonder who might even be bothering you at such an hour as you pull the door open.

Lysa?

“We have to hurry, ma’am.” She grabs your arm, frantically tugging you into the hall.

“Lysa? What are you doing? Are you okay?”

“I am fine, but we don’t have much time.”

“Surely you have enough to tell me where we are going.”

“Do you want to see him or not?”

Din.

You nod, taking her hand as he rushes onward, stopping at each hall to peer around the corners until you make your way to a servants stairwell, skipping several steps in your descent until you run out of stairs. You’ve never been down here, you didn’t even know there were dungeons until recently.

It makes your stomach twist in knots the moment you stare into the darkness.

“Are there no guards?” You whisper, squeezing her hand.

“Not for the next hour, I’ve made sure of it.” She begins walking down the poorly lit corridor, pulling you along behind her.

The stone floor is damp and it smells of mildew. Your bare feet are already freezing after just a few steps.

Every cell you pass is lit from the outside with a hanging lantern, they’re mostly empty, but you catch glimpses of movement out of the corner of your eye every now and then. In all honesty you’re doing your best to take in as little as possible, you don’t want to think about Din being down here in such a place, but there’s one element you can’t ignore.

The wailing.

Someone is weeping, a low, sorrowful song filling the vast maze of halls and you realize quickly you’re heading in its direction, Lysa tenses beside you as you continue on. You’re about to turn one more corner when she abruptly stops, turning to face you.

“He needs to eat.” She removes a fistful of rations from her apron pocket, shoving them into your hands.

“He hasn’t?” He’s been down here for three days.

“He won’t… let me.” You pause, cocking your head to the side and she gives you an apologetic look when she turns. “He won’t let me uncover his face.”

Oh.

“I’ll feed him.” You nod slowly, tucking them into your own pockets before turning the corner. The contents of the cell immediately on your right have you stumbling backwards but Lysa is not swayed, pulling a key from her pocket, unlocking the door quickly before handing it to you.

“He’s two cells down, on your right.” She doesn’t look at you as she rushes in, pulling a roll of bandages from her dress. “Shh… it’s okay, I’m here.” Her voice goes soft as she kneels beside Elaine. You can’t help it as you step into the entryway of the cell.

Well, you’ve found the source of the wailing.

She’s sat on a cot, curled in on herself as Lysa carefully peels back a series of soiled bandages from her face.

“I’ve got you, it’s just me.” She continues to make an attempt to sooth a rather hysterical Elaine as she peels back the final layer of bandages and your stomach flips. “You’re okay, love, I need to change these.” You don’t know how Lysa is so calm, even in the darkness you can see the extent of her wounds. Now you know what they brought Kodo last night.

Both eyes.

“She was properly punished, the way someone who observed such a crime with no intervention should be.”

Oh gods.

You’re worried you may collapse as you watch Lysa tend to her with no hesitation, cleaning them with a careful hand before she begins to redress them. You can’t bear to watch any longer as Elaine begins sobbing once more. You try desperately to force the sight of your mutilated friend from your mind as you count down two more cells before quickly fumbling for the lock, letting it hit the floor as you take the lantern outside the door off its hook, bringing it into the dark room.

It isn’t like Elaine’s cell.

There’s no bed or interior light, it’s terribly dark and fetid, his cell running deeper than her’s. It takes a few steps for you to finally illuminate the room enough to see him.

Maker.

What have they done to your Din?

You don’t hear Elaine anymore, there isn't a single thing that could distract you from the scene in front of you. There is nothing but the sight of your kar’ta. There’s too much for you to worry about, you don’t even know where to start, you’re frozen in place, a small part of your brain refuses to recognize the man before you as Din at all. He shouldn’t look like this.

Armorless.

They’ve stripped him of any clothing you recognize, the thought alone makes you nearly lose your dinner.

They took his helmet, replacing it with a linen sack.

Did they see his face?

You briefly have to shut your eyes, taking a deep breath as you take in the rest of him. His clothes are too thin, he must be freezing, they’ve dressed him in a cotton tunic and trousers that end just below the knee. You can see just how beaten and bruised he is. Unlike Elaine he’s in chains, kneeling on the floor with his hands shackled, taut above his head. You swallow the lump in your throat and finally crouch down in front of him, setting the lantern down beside you as you reach out to place a hand on his chest.

“Din…” Your voice cracks and the moment you come in contact with him he flinches back. Suddenly you know how Lysa held it together so well with Elaine, she just had to. You can’t fall apart, who would care for him now if you did? “It’s me, just me. Just me.” You whisper and place a hand over his heart but withdraw it quickly when he trembles under your touch. You ache at the sight of it but more than anything you’re confused, it only takes a moment for you to realize the issue.

He doesn’t have his helmet. They’ve not only left him here blind, but deaf, of course any touch would frighten him.

He assumes you're here to harm him.

You lean in, careful not to come in contact with him as you speak clearly and loudly.

“Din?” His trembling stops instantly. You find it a bit troublesome how much worse his hearing seems to have gotten in such a short time, you’re half tempted to reach under the bag to make sure he still has his ears.

“Sarad?” Oh, Din. His voice is terribly small and it sends you forward, wrapping your arms around him as you pull him into an unreciprocated embrace.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You make sure to speak loud enough for him before pulling back, placing your hands against the fabric covering his face.

“Are you okay?” He coughs a bit as he asks and you almost laugh at how ridiculous the question is considering the state he’s in. Are you okay?

Technically no.

But far better than he’s doing.

“I’m perfectly fine, what can I do for you? Are you hurting?” You feel his face through the bag as you look down across his body. It doesn’t look like there’s been any permanent damage outside of a pretty nasty cut on one of his legs.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Now’s not the time to play the hero, Din.” He flinches a little and you calm your tone immediately. What the hell did they do to him? “Just let me help.”

“How’d you get down here?”

“Lysa, she says you aren’t eating.”

“She’d have to lift my- the bag to do it.” He sounds apologetic, as if you could ever fault him for following his creed.

“It’s okay… may I?” You bring your hands to the hem of the bag but his head turns sharply.

“I- I don’t want you to look.”

You have no response. He’s always wanted you to look.

“I just, I don’t think you wanna see the condition I’m in. I don’t want your only memories of my face to be this.” He whispers when you don’t respond.

You should have looked when he asked you to. You should have done a lot of things differently.

You shouldn’t have waited so long to look.

You shouldn't have waited so long to tell him you loved him.

You should have just let yourself love him. Why did you fight it for so long? It seems silly now. If you could do it all again you would have just taken his helmet off the first night you met him and you would have married him right then and there. You would have left Naboo that night.

And you would never keep any of it from him. You would tell him how important he is and how loved he is, you wouldn’t make him wait.

Even now you can’t help it though, censoring yourself out of fear. Do you tell him about how nauseous you get every morning? About the way Lysa stares at your belly when she does your makeup?

No.

It wouldn’t do either of you any good, not when he’s in this situation.

You take hold of the edges of the bag once more, gentler this time.

“I’ll close my eyes.” You lift the fabric completely off of him, setting it in your lap as you simultaneously shut your eyes. You keep one hand on his face, using your thumb to find the corner of his mouth as your other hand fumbles to open a ration bar. You feel him part his lips as you feed him. He’s barely chewing, eating quickly and swallowing most of it whole. “Have they fed you at all?” You whisper as he finishes the first bar in a matter of seconds, his teeth lightly scraping against your fingers before you withdraw them, tearing open another bar.

“No.” His voice is still soft as you go to feed him once more, opening each package until he’s eaten them all.

“Are you still hungry? I could see if Lysa has more.”

“I’m okay.” You let your head fall forward, resting your forehead on his.

“What else can I do for you?”

“Nothing. Being here is enough.”

If you had felt helpless before it was nothing compared to this. This is more than helplessness, it’s despair.

“I’m sorry.” You pull yourself further into his lap, wrapping your arms around him in the process.

“Hey… none of this is your fault.” It certainly feels like it is. Why does he keep comforting you when he’s the one shivering and alone down here?

“Please, there has to be something I can do to help you.”

“There is one thing.” You almost open your eyes, you're so relieved, you just want to ease his pain.

“Anything. I’ll do anything.”

“I need you to promise me you won’t look.”

“Won’t look?” Your eyes are already closed, you couldn’t look any less if you tried.

“When they do it. I don’t want you to see it- it won’t be pretty.”

When they separate his head from his body.

“I won’t.” You can’t deny him this, you’ll give him anything he wants. “Do you know how much I love you?” You whisper before leaning forward another inch to kiss him.

The question is genuine. It terrifies you to your core to think that he may not know just how much you love him.

“Of course sarad.” He murmurs against your lips until you let your head rest on his shoulder, fighting back tears.

What do you say now?

What do you say to a man condemned to death?

“I love you.” You mumble into the thin fabric of his tunic.

“I love you too.” After a moment more with him you hear metal jingling as Lysa locks Elaine's cell once more. You quickly pull back from him, pulling the bag back over his head, once you know he can’t see you anymore the tears flow freely. Lysa steps into the cell and you remove your robe, wrapping it around him, immediately he begins to protest.

“Mesh’la, you can’t leave this here.” His voice is strained and it makes you sick to think he started crying once he was out of sight as well.

“Please, y-you’re gonna freeze.”

“They’ll know you were here, sarad’ika.”

“Din…” You’re practically babbling as Lysa removes your robe from his shoulders, an apologetic look on her face as she grabs your arm.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we need to go.” Tears sting your eyes as Lysa urges you to hurry but you don’t want to leave him, you want to stay, no matter the consequence. You pull away from her, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“You need to go.” His voice is urgent through the fabric as you cling to him tighter.

Would it be easier to just stay? Get caught and join him at the executioners? You’re genuinely considering it when you feel your stomach churn once more and you’re reminded of the exact reason why you can’t stay. Before you lose your nerve and shatter completely you lift the bag, just enough to give you an eyeful of his split lip and bruised jaw as you gently lean in and kiss him one more time.

Doing everything in your power to remember exactly what it feels like.

The curve of his lips and the shape of his chin, the overgrown stubble brushing against your skin as you press your face harder against his, desperation taking over as you taste salt on his lips. You hold him as long as you can, until you hear Lysa urging you to make haste once more.

“I love you.” You press your forehead to his through the fabric, feeling the familiar shape of his face against yours.

“I’ll always be yours.”

That was the last thing he was able to say before you let Lysa drag you out of the dungeons.

☆

It’s like everythings suddenly back to the beginning.

You wake up alone, you go to bed alone, and you wander the castle alone.

There is no plotting or scheming to free Din.

Even if you were a trained killer or bounty hunter, it would be more than difficult to get him out of the dungeon and on a ship off Naboo. It would be even harder to do so when you’re one of the most recognizable people on the planet.

He is buried deep beneath the ground and there is nothing you can do about it.

After all, you're just a doll.

You don’t know when it happened but all your clothes are blue again. Every dress Lysa fetches from the closet is a different shade of blue and all your nightgowns are the color of the sky. A personal brand put on you by Kodo. It’s clearly more than just a preference now, it’s a reminder to you and everyone else that you’re his.

And time blends.

You know a date was set right around the time you visited him. One week until Kodo’s coronation and two until the execution. His first public event after being crowned king will be a death sentence, how fitting.

So you wake.

And you sleep.

And you walk.

Kodo never replaces Din and you haven’t seen Leo since that night, so you’re completely alone. It’s like he’s rubbing in the fact that you’re powerless. There’s no need for you to have a guard, you can’t leave. If you tried you’d be escorted back in an instant.

You tried to convince Lysa to let you see him again last night.

“Please, just a few minutes-“

“I’m sorry ma’am, it’s just not possible. The only reason I was able to get you down there the first time was because the guard that usually lets me in was working nights, he won’t be working nights again until next month.”

Din won’t live to see next month.

“Is he eating?”

“He won’t let me-“

“You need to insist. Tell him I insist, and tell him you’ll close your eyes.”

She pins back a bit of your hair, leaving half up and half down. You both bask in the silence for a moment.

“I’ll make sure he eats.”

“Thank you.”

That had been the last conversation you had with Lysa.

She doesn’t come to dress you in the morning. You think nothing of it and dress yourself in the gown she’d laid out last night. It’s a bit difficult, putting your coronation gown on on your own but eventually you manage, when you’re fully dressed in the obscenely decadent blue fabric you begin to worry.

You have no reason to assume that everything is fine. It would actually make sense for this to be a worst case scenario situation, everything else in your life is right now.

You’re about to leave in search of her but you decide against it. Sitting at the vanity and doing your makeup as quickly as possible, the last thing you need to do right now is give Kodo a reason to be upset with you, you have to be presentable. You smear the shimmering blue eyeshadow across your lids before rushing out of your room.

The halls are full. Servants move quickly from room to room, cleaning every inch as you carefully push through the crowds, making a beeline towards the dining room.

Kodo is seething when you push open the large doors.

He stands at the end of the table, shoving an armored guard as the veins in his neck jut out in his rage.

“Where could she have possibly gone? She’s blind. You’re telling me some blind bitch outsmarted my entire guard?”

Your heart flutters at the thought.

They escaped.

Your hope is shattered the moment Kodo begins speaking again.

“At least we still have the Mandalorian… I want security tripled, guards stationed outside his cell at all times.” He continues grumbling for a moment until he realizes you’re there. “Happy coronation day dear wife! I’m afraid we’ve had a rough morning here, somehow in the night the Togruta girl escaped, do not fret, we’ll find her.”

God's you hope not.

Even if things are worse than ever regarding Din there is one flicker of light in that darkness. Lysa got Elaine out. Knowing that almost puts you at ease.

“Happy coronation day.” You actually manage a smile when you look at your husband, it’s weak but it’s genuine. You want to be mad that they didn’t help Din escape but you just can’t be. You know they most likely tried but if the roles had been reversed and you could only get one of them out you wouldn’t hesitate.

So there is no animosity. Just a flicker of happiness for them.

They got out.

☆

You were under the impression that a coronation was a happy event. Yet when you step out onto the castle steps it seems to be quite the opposite.

They look miserable.

All of their faces are sullen and dejected. How shocking, no one is excited about Kodo being crowned king. He didn’t have any of the outside of the castle decorated or made presentable in any way. No one reacts when Kodo reads from an ancient looking book until a crown is placed on his head.

A moment afterwards you’re instructed to kneel and a tiara is placed onto your head.

The audience is silent and you feel shame when you stare out at them.

Even if you don’t have very much power you still feel as if you’ve failed them. The feeling follows you when you’re directed to the dining hall with Kodo.

“I have a couple gifts for you, wife.” His twisted smile makes your stomach turn as you enter the dining hall, now decorated with blue and gray banners.

“A gift? You shouldn’t have, my king, I- I didn’t get you anything.” You feign remorse as you take a sip of the wine in front of you on instinct before spitting it back up into the cup.

“That’s more than okay, you’re my gift, sweet wife, all mine.” The thought of such a thing makes you sick, you smile despite yourself.

“That’s very kind.” You’ll only ever be Din’s. No amount of blue fabric and faux smiles can change that. He snaps his fingers and a large box is brought to you by a servant, they set it directly in front of you on the table. You look at Kodo who nods, sitting back in his chair as you stand, the box is wrapped in checkered blue paper, a large bow adorning the top. Your hands tremble a bit as you take hold of the edges of the ribbon, tugging on them until the bow slips free, much to your surprise the entire box falls open, the sides collapsing giving you an immediate view of the contents.

The silver, shimmering contents.

Din’s helmet.

Polished like new, it sits before you, and the room suddenly empties. It’s as if you are completely alone, despite all the eyes that are most definitely pinned on you right now. Your hands continue to shake as your fingers wrap around the beskar steel, like you would when you held Din’s face, lifting it to glare into the visor.

Empty.

You can’t help but stare at your own emptiness reflected back at you.

You want to hold it close, press it to your forehead but you’re snapped back to reality by the grating sound of Kodo’s voice breaking you from your focus on the helm between your hands.

“That’s only one of your presents, open the next one.” He hisses gleefully.

You set the helmet down, realizing there was another, much smaller box underneath it. Silently you scoop it up and cradle it in your hands. It’s a larger than a ring box, it just barely fits in your palm as you ever so gently open it, swinging the top open as if it were a tiny treasure chest.

Huh.

It takes a moment.

You aren’t exactly sure what it is you’re looking at at first but when it registers your entire body tenses up, your grip tightening on the gift box.

Bloody and pink, a tongue.

Of course you know better than to assume Kodo would give you any old tongue. This is a special someone’s tongue.

No, no, no, no, no.

You had loved his tongue before anything else.

He can’t do this, he cannot do this to you.

You had fallen for his sharp wit first, it was what drew you into him. His sweet words had won you back, his declaration of devotion.

Now you hold all of that in the palm of your hand.

“What do we say?” His nasally voice breaks through your mental anguish.

No.

“Come on, where are your manners?”

Please.

“Thank you.” Your whisper is nearly silent as you struggle to keep down the scream bubbling in your throat.

“What was that?”

You clear your throat.

“Thank you.”

He makes you take it with you. You don’t bother telling him you won’t be attending the coronation ball in a few minutes, it’s not like you’ll be missed.

In one arm you’re cradling his helmet, in the other the little blue box.

You set each one down carefully onto the bed, even if it’s a bit demented these are the only parts of him you have left. You stare at the little box.

You have never been hateful.

Kodo made you into this. You are full of hate, for most things at this point. You hate your husband, you hate your room, and most of all you hate the little blue box on the bed.

And the music starts.

It must be deafening in the hall for you to hear it from your room but it’s there, loud and demanding of your attention.

You’re moving before you even have a chance to think about it, in a few quick strides you’re standing beside the vanity, your hands gripping the top of the mirror as you pull it down in one swift motion, the contents spill everywhere and the glass shatters in an instant, shards splattering the floor but you take no time to process it.

You move on to the next thing.

You yank each drawer from the dresser, throwing them to the floor, clothes strewn about until it’s light enough for you to push the entire dresser over. In your frenzy you go about the room toppling every stupid fucking table over. So many fucking end tables in one room, and you throw everyone to the floor, trinkets and vases clattering to the ground as you destroy the room. You get a rush of adrenaline as you lift one of your nightstands and throw it against the wall leaving a small dent but more importantly the force of it makes anything hanging on the wall tumble to the floor, glass frames shatter.

Your chest heaves as you stare at the carnage.

And it isn’t enough.

Your face is wet with tears and your hands with blood from cuts you didn’t feel upon your skin as you tear open the closet door, the pile of blankets mock you from the floor, you grab them, your vision now blurry with tears as you pull them out of the closet, throwing them onto your bedroom floor. When you return to the closet you’re in a frenzy, you tear at the fabric before you, yanking each and every dress off their hangers, ripping what you can.

There is nothing else for you to do, so you destroy everything you can get your hands on until the only thing left untouched is your bed, left in pristine condition as you let out a small sob.

Maybe you are a hateful person now.

You feel as though you have every right to be at this point.

You step over the shard of glass, giving your bloody hands a glance before wiping them on your gown.

Happy coronation day.

You sit on the bed, your trembling fingers wrap around the helmet, now that you’re alone you waste no time to hold it against you face, until your body just gives up, too tired to stay awake anymore.

☆

A guard wakes you in the morning, knocking on your door, when you answer it they tell you Kodo requires your presence in his chambers.

You dress in a blue gown that you don’t look too closely at. Stopping at the fresher on the way, rinsing the dried gore from your palms, wincing as you clean your wounds. None of which seem too deep.

You want to cut Kodo’s tongue out, to make him feel it. But you know that sort of thing would be an impossible task. So you daydream about it as you walk. You’re more than displeased when you open the door and are greeted by Leodall. You hadn’t seen him since that night and from the looks of it he wasn’t expecting you. He swallows loudly when you step inside Kodo’s room.

Normally you’d be curious, you’d probably take a look around but your eyes refuse to focus on anything but Leo as you scowl at him.

“Why’d you do it?” You don’t hesitate to ask, you have no idea how quickly Kodo will be joining you.

He simply stares at you, shame apparent on his face.

“You owe me an explanation at the very least.” You cross your arms in front of your chest as he clears his throat.

“I thought he’d reward me.”

You laugh. A harsh dry sound

“What could he have possibly given you that you couldn’t have just asked me for?” Your gaze never softens and you’re practically seeing red as you stare at him.

“I thought he’d give me a lordship.”

You can’t help it as another crisp and pained laugh slips past your lips.

“You thought Kodo would raise your status? I thought you were supposed to be smart.” Is he an idiot? “He doesn’t see servants as people, if you wanted such a thing you could have asked me, maybe I could have done something.”

A glimmer of something similar to hope flashes through his eyes.

“Would you- would you consider doing so now?”

“You cannot be serious-” Your expression goes from fury to disbelief as you stand.

“It seemed worth asking.” He puts his hands up defensively as you storm up to him, poking a finger into his face.

“You slimy little weasel, it should be you on the chopping block, not him. If it were up to me I’d have them put your head on a spike.” The words pour out of you like venom.

“I would be nicer to me if I were you.” He sneers and your incredulity only grows. You can’t help it, you scoff in his face.

“I would rather die.” A part of you really means it.

“You might if you aren’t careful, I saved your life by letting Elaine and your Mandalorian take the fall, I could have told the king that you were a willing participant. I saw the two of you together, I read your little rules. He never forced himself on you. I wonder what Kodo might think about that.” You aren’t a fighter, you’ve never so much as thrown a punch in your life but you grab him by the collar of his shirt and slam him into the wall, the back of his head hits the stone and you don’t feel an ounce of remorse as you do so.

“Do it.” You tilt your head to the side, almost as if you’re taunting him. “Tell him.” Any of the confidence he briefly had is gone in an instant. “The moment you do I’ll tell him that you’re covering your tracks, and that you made a pass at me. I wonder how Kodo would reward you for trying to touch what’s his?” Leo’s head turns as you both hear Kodo’s piercing voice in the hall. You release your grip on his shirt, brushing off your gown as you turn towards the door. Kodo and three others make their way into the room as Leo coughs behind you.

“Dear wife, I have another gift for you.” He takes a step to the side, gesturing at a line of three people you don’t give so much as a glance. He doesn’t even seem to notice the obvious tension in the room. “A new staff!”

“I don’t need a new staff, I’m fine on my own.” You abandon the pleasantries. You’re in such a state of upset right now, what's the point?

“You’re the queen now, staff is required. These three will replace the ones you've lost in a week, until then Leodall will be training them intensively to tend to your every need. Two guards will also be assigned to you but I promise they will be much less loathsome than your Mandalorian.”

All five of them will be trained to keep an eye on you. To report back to Kodo, after everything with Din you should have known he’d keep you on a shorter leash.

You barely look at them.

You hate them.

You shouldn’t, they’ve done nothing wrong, but you hate them.

You give each one a quick up and down, naming them in your mind.

A BD-3000 droid commands the most authority just based on how she stands so you mentally note her as Elaine's replacement. You’ll call her new Elaine.

New Lysa is a pasty young blonde woman with rosy cheeks. You truly wonder how well informed she has been on your circumstance. She’s smiling from ear to ear and seemingly couldn’t be happier to be here.

And new Leo is somehow even more nervous looking than actual Leo, practically shaking like a leaf at the sight of you. The bags under his eyes are worse than your own. A lanky thing with messy brown hair.

There’s no reason for you to fight this, Kodo always gets his way so why bother. So you nod. You don’t pretend to be grateful this time, instead you shove your way past all of them, content to return to your room and never leave.

☆

The morning of the execution comes before you’re ready for it.

Of course you didn’t sleep last night, how could you?

You dress yourself, apparently your new staff isn’t starting until tomorrow, not that you mind another day to yourself. You manage to find something that isn’t blue, a gray dress trimmed with gold, the closest thing you’ll find to funeral attire. No one else will dress with any respect for him but they can’t stop you. Your vanity is destroyed so you don’t bother with your hair or your makeup, you simply don’t care enough.

For the most part you feel nothing when you open the door, only emptiness until you look down.

Someone left you a small vase of flowers.

You pick them up, taking a closer look but your heart skips a beat when you do so.

Daisies.

After a few short breaths you throw the vase into the wall across from your door, tiny shards of porcelain fly everywhere as two servants at the end of the hall give you a look of horror. Your shoes crunch over the remains of it as you make your way down the hall and to the entryway of the castle.

Kodo insists that the two of you get to see him first.

You’re sweating wildly out on the steps as you wait.

Long before you’re ready for it they bring him out.

A shivering skeleton of a man with a linen bag over his head, immediately bile rises in your throat. Kodo is grinning ear to ear when his legs are kicked out from under him and he’s forced to kneel.

Kodo himself reaches forward and tears the bag off, too excited for any decorum or finesse.

You gasp as you stare down at the broken man before you.

In all honesty he isn’t at all what you envisioned.

His eyes verge on being hazel; they're such a light brown. You’d always pictured them to be nearly black. It doesn’t matter what color they are though, when you see the tears forming in his lash line you flinch, clutching the ring on your necklace to silently let him know silently just how much he means to you.

He’s a mess.

You don’t like looking at what those weeks in the dungeons did to him and the last thing you need to do right now is empty your stomach on the palace steps.

He’s too thin. Far, far, too thin, it’s like his entire being has shrunk down. He’s hollow.

Your breath hitches when Kodo grabs a fistful of his dark hair, forcing him to turn and stare at the crowd. They must have cut it while he was down there it’s a mess, jagged edges and shorter than you’re used to.

“This man has committed an act of treason against the crown.” His voice is loud and booming as the city goes quiet. “For such a crime he shall face the proper punishment.” He yanks him downawards, you watch in horror as Din’s head hits the stone, an incoherent mess of sounds pour from his bloody mouth and you have to look away.

He didn’t want you to look.

You remind yourself to try and calm your breathing. You can hear the scuffle as they drag him to the guillotine, placing his neck into the wooden divot, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest as you turn to look. His eyes are everywhere but on you as he looks at the people around him, desperately pleading for his life. Not a single person so much as glances at him, afterall, it’s just nonsense, no one can understand him without a tongue.

You can’t stand it, you almost cover your ears but you manage to resist as Kodo puts an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him.

“You’re welcome, sweet wife.” He whispers, his breath hot and wet against your ear.

Fuck it.

You don’t suppress the shudder in your spine as you shoot him a look of disgust. In a matter of moments everything you care about will be gone, why pretend any longer.

A bellowing chime plays from a nearby clock tower and you know it’s time, you straighten up as you stare at the guillotine in abject horror.

This is it.

Your chest rises and falls in sharp short bursts as everyone prepares themselves, a hush forming among the crowd on the street.

And it begins, a chain reaction that you cannot stop now that the executioner has his ax raised above his head.

You had expected more. More time.

A part of you thought that time would slow, that you’d have a chance to stop it.

But no.

There is no epic fairy tale moment where the sun glimmers off of the blade and the executioner raises his ax, giving you this perfect moment to run to him, to shield him from the inevitable, to beg them to take you with him.

That moment never comes.

You barely have enough time to close your eyes like you promised him. In one unbroken motion the rope is cut, the blade falls and boom.

Just like that, he’s gone.

When you hear the metal slicing through the air you squeeze your eyes shut, hearing only the wet crunch as it cuts through flesh and bone. A soft, squishy thud when his head hits the stone.

In fashion with your decision to no longer hide your disgust from Kodo you vomit. Bending down you puke onto the stones, spraying your own, and Kodo’s feet. The triumphant smile on his face vanishes as he realizes what’s happened. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, refusing to look at Din’s limp body as you give Kodo one last look of detestation before turning around and running back into the castle, not caring what anyone thinks anymore.

The moment you’re inside the reality of it all settles in as you feel tears falling wildly as you run up the steps to your room.

☆

You have been good, and kind, and in return the maker rewarded you by killing the love of your life.

So when you stand in the center of your demolished room you do the only thing your body can do at this point.

You scream.

From deep within your stomach, you scream, loud and raw.

If anything was left unbroken in your room you’d be throwing it at the wall. But there’s nothing so you scream.

You shriek.

You howl.

And you wail.

You scream until there is no more noise. Your voice, like the rest of you, gives up.

You aren’t sure how late it is when you finally stop. You’re tired and it’s dark outside and your throat is raw.

And you lay on the floor. Because the bed is too big, and too cold, and the closet is so empty. So the only place left to sleep is there. You lay on the floor with no more tears to cry and no more sounds to scream as you stare at your bed, only from this angle can you see a rectangular shape under your bed frame.

You wipe your nose with a stray piece of fabric before slowly crawling over to it, you sit on the floor and when you retrieve the item a brand new lump forms in your throat as you stare down at the box Din had bought all those days ago at the market.

Your failsafe.

With quivering hands you open it, staring into the small space containing a mess of items but what catches your eye is a piece of folded paper with your name on it. You take it between your fingers, opening it, careful to not let your tears fall onto it.

Sarad’ika,

If you’re reading this then I’m afraid things aren’t going all that well for me. There are plenty of possible reasons as to why I’m no longer with you, but what’s important is that I plan on doing everything in my power to get back to you. There is only one thing in the galaxy that could keep me from your side, and if that is my fate then this box will ensure you’re taken care of.

The most important thing is for you to get off this planet. I have included a few possible plans for you, do what you have to to survive. Elaine will help you escape.

You can seek out Greef Karga on Nevarro. Tell him Din Djarin sent you, tell him what’s happened and he will see to it that you are cared for. Explain our circumstances and I am certain he will provide you with safe lodging.

Tatooine is also an option. You’ll find a Mandalorian there by the name of Boba Fett, he will not turn you away. You will be protected there, if you need to relocate for some reason after that he will help you locate the Mandalorian convert. Show the Mandalorians your ring and you will be cared for the rest of your life, the convert will protect you.

As an absolute last resort there is a planet located in the Outer Ring called Ossus. There is a school there, taught by a man named Luke Skywalker. I doubt he would be eager to take you in but you must insist. Bring the chainmail, they’ll know who sent you. Take care of each other.

In this box you will find enough credits to get you off planet and take care of you for several months, a year if you’re frugal, I suggest you take a few jewelry pieces to pawn off for extra credits as well. You will find a small chainmail shirt, and a necklace of mine.

And lastly you will find your vibroblade.

Protect yourself. You’re strong, and more than capable of doing so.

I have one request for you, please, I will only ask this one thing of you.

Be smart.

You are the smartest and kindest person I have ever had the honor of knowing. Be smart, take care of yourself. If the roles were reversed I know that I would go to extremes to either get you back, or find justice for you. And all I can do is ask that you do not attempt any such thing, the only thing I would ever want for you is safety and happiness.

So seek those things out.

Be safe. Be happy.

I was lucky to know you, and even luckier to be yours.

an ner kar'taylir darasuum,

Din

All my love.

You flip the paper over, desperate for more, more Din, but all you find is scrawled coordinates to each location. Your fingers sift through the items, everything he promised is found inside but you latch onto the blade. Laying back down on the floor you clutch it between your fingers as you think of Din.

Din, who was yours.

Din, who they took from you.

Who Kodo, took from you.

And your grip on the knife tightens.

☆

Two guards stand outside your door round the clock now.

They never follow you or come into your room but they’re there, silently watching as you direct all your anger at your new staff. As promised Leo trained them to be as persistent and infuriating as he was.

When the two new girls come to fetch you in the morning you can’t help it when you scream at them to leave you alone and to stop trying to clean the ever growing mess of things.

It doesn’t matter that it isn’t their fault, you can’t stand the sight of anyone.

All three of them try. New Elaine and Lysa show up three times a day, trying to dress you and squeeze their way past you into the room but after enough shrieking they always leave you be.

New Leo usually tries once or twice a day, you don’t even look at him. You always stare at the floor, when he tries to speak you give him the same treatment as the girls, screaming at him and slamming the door.

Why should you let them in? You know what they are. They’re here to spy on you, to be Kodo’s eyes while he’s busy being king. They’re easy to evade. When you leave to fetch yourself food or a book from the library you easily outrun them. The two girls are worse at navigating the castle than you were when you first arrived and new Leo has a bad leg, sometimes he’ll make attempts to limp after you but they’re always unsuccessful.

You think of nothing, day after day because there is nothing to think about.

Except for the fact that Kodo took your future away from you. He took everything from you.

If you thought time was blending before Din’s death nothing could have prepared you for now. You don’t track the days as well, you keep your curtains drawn and only leave when you get hungry or start to think of Din. The last thing you need to do is have another screaming fit so you keep him locked away in your heart, an ache that’s always there that you don’t address.

One day, in a fit of tears you took your knife and decided on a whim to kill Kodo. You didn’t care about the repercussions at that point you just wanted him to suffer but the moment you opened the door you nearly tripped, stumbling backwards the guards didn’t so much as glance at you.

Another vase of flowers.

You’re tempted to just kick them down the hall but you can’t help yourself when you lean down to pick them up.

A bouquet of blue lilies. Your nose twitches at the sight of them, out of the corner of your eye you see new Lysa and new Elaine approaching so you take the opportunity to slam the little glass vase into the stone floor. Glaring at them when you do before returning to your room.

☆

Maybe it’s been three days since Din died.

Maybe it’s been three months.

You aren’t sure.

You aren’t sure when you made plans to kill Kodo either but suddenly you have them. A fool proof way to get him alone.

And suddenly you’re dressed for the first time in, well, however long it’s been. In a baby blue nightie with a robe you march out into the hall. The guards watch in silence as you walk away, your bare feet scampering down the stairs until you find yourself watching the main entrance. Waiting for your loving husband to make his nightly trip to a pleasure house, a trip that is typically accompanied by guards.

You grip the handle of the knife in your pocket as you wait until you finally hear footsteps approaching.

“Kodo, honey?” You step out from behind the stone column, holding your robe closed as you bat your eyelashes at him. He stumbles around drunkenly until his eyes focus on you.

You’ve only used your voice for screaming for so long you sound meek, exactly as you want to right now.

“Wife?”

“I thought maybe you’d like to join me tonight…” You hold a hand out towards him, putting on a sickly sweet tone of innocence. His mouth twists into a grin.

“I knew you’d come around eventually.”

He doesn’t question where you’re taking him, he simply follows.

What a joke.

You pull him up the stairs, you know from hide and seek where to find an empty room so you guide him there in calculated silence until he trips a bit, laughing to himself as he stutters.

“I knew if I got rid of the Mandalorian you’d realize how much better I am than him.” The statement doesn’t sit right with you and he can see it on your face, even in his drunken state he can sense your confusion.

You both stop, you’re above him on the stairs as you turn and stare into his eyes.

“You- you knew?”

He simply nods, that sickening smile of his is plastered on his face. His icy blue eyes shimmer with delight.

“How long?”

“When Leo told me I remembered everything. That little altercation in the hall when your boy knocked me out came right back to me, from there it wasn’t hard to figure out.” Your eye twitches as he speaks.

He knew you loved him and he took him from you anyway.

Any hesitations you had are gone as you nod, pulling him onward until you reach the large vacant tower room. He’s so drunk you decide to just drop the voice, pointing at a spot on the floor.

“Lay down.” You mumble, reaching into your pocket once more.

He eagerly does as he’s told, laying down on the cold stone, you take a deep breath, in one swift motion you grab your knife, holding it behind your back as you toss your robe aside. He gives you a toothy grin as you ever so slowly walk to him, standing above him before sitting, straddling his waist.

You look him up and down, one last time.

Your loving husband.

One of his hands plays with the blue lace of your nightie as you collect yourself. You look up at the ceiling briefly.

I’m sorry.

Not for Kodo, but for Din. This is exactly what he didn’t want you to do.

You aren’t a killer. And you aren’t hateful, but a person can only be pushed so far before something breaks.

Be smart.

You think of Din’s note one last time before you bring the blade out in front of you and slam the blade into Kodo’s chest.

He makes a sickly wet sound, coughing as he stares at you in shock.

You remove the knife, the hot steel cauterizes his wounds, there isn’t so much as a drop of blood as your face twists with fury and you bring it down again into his stomach now.

How dare he look surprised by any of this.

After what he took from you? He deserves galaxies worse.

So you remove the knife.

And you stab him again.

And again,

and again,

and again.

Until there is no more shocked look on his face. You don’t have a snarky remark or a statement to commemorate your revenge, you’re all used up at this point, all you have is this, this stabbing motion.

He didn’t even have a chance to fight back.

You crawl off of his body, sitting on the stones as you toss the knife to the side, waiting for a rush of euphoria.

But it never comes.

It doesn’t feel as good as you thought it would.

Staring down at Kodo’s lifeless body. You let yourself crumble. Collapsing down onto the floor, gasping for air as you sob.

This was never going to bring him back.

You lay there on your hands and knees for quite some time, just wailing, because what else are you supposed to do right now? You realize far too late that this was never an act of malice, some demented and shattered part of you thought that this would somehow bring him back, that it would give you peace.

They won’t execute you.

You planned this exactly so they wouldn’t.

Kodo didn’t tell anyone about your relationship with Din in much detail, not enough for them to assume that you could be with child. Everyone will assume that it’s Kodo’s. They won’t kill you, they can’t.

Not if they think you’re carrying Kodo’s child. Now that Kodo’s dead, there’s no one to tell the royal family that you never consummated your marriage, your child is the most well protected person on the planet. The future monarch. It’s almost funny, you haven’t permitted yourself to think about the stirring within you as a child until just now, in this moment of weakness. A child, your child.

Who will most likely grow up without a mother because of the decisions you've made today.

You bite your fist, swallowing a scream as you sit back on your heels.

Your child will never know how loved they were. Your little one will never get to sit beside their mother while their father teaches them to sew. You put your head in your hands as you wail, no longer caring who hears. Your fate is sealed, what does it matter?

You don’t turn when you hear someone coming up the stairs. When they pull you into their arms you try uselessly to shove them away. Your vision is blurry and filled with tears as you stare up at the unfamiliar figure now holding you. They rub your back, drawing swirls and stars against your spine as they pull you closer.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” They mumble into your hair. You dry your eyes hastily on your sleeve, confused by the voice you’re hearing, it’s painfully familiar, on instinct you wrap your arms around their torso, pulling yourself into their lap as you both sit on the floor beside Kodo’s body. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

“I’m- I’m sorry.” You whisper against the stranger's shirt. You knew you weren’t hateful. You’re certain of it now because even though he took quite literally everything from you, you still feel bad when you look at Kodo.

A large hand cups your face, pulling you back to their chest so you can’t see the corpse anymore.

“I didn’t mean it- I- I didn’t mean to kill him. Well I did but I just-” You begin to ramble as a fresh flood of tears begin sliding down your cheeks.

“Hey- hey it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. We gotta get you cleaned up, okay? I’ll take care of this, I’ll fix it.” Their arms tighten around you, giving you a reassuring squeeze. You finally find the courage to look at your companion and it takes a moment for you to even realize who you’re looking at.

New Leo.

Why would he help you? You treat him like shit. When you look at him he looks like he’s about to cry and for the first time since Din was taken from you drop the walls you’ve put up and you let yourself feel bad for him. You show an ounce of kindness to him because in all honesty he’s the first person to make you feel safe since the night Din was taken from you.

A lighthouse while you sail through a storm.

So you hug him.

You pull yourself closer to him and you offer him a comfort you haven’t known for days.

“I’m sorry… for all of it, but especially the flowers, I should have told you, I just- you wouldn’t let me and the guards wouldn’t let me in without your permission and you just wouldn’t look at me.” He begins to mumble his own apologies, sending a surge of confusion through you.

You furrow your brows, pulling back once more giving him a perplexed look as you search his nearly black eyes for some kind of answer.

And it clicks.

All at once it snaps into place and you want to say his name, so desperately, but you’re terribly afraid of being wrong.

And then he smiles. A soft smile that makes you feel okay and you don’t even care if you’re wrong and you don’t care if it doesn’t make sense you just have to ask.

“Din?”

☆

a/n : yeah so uhhhhh yeah uhhhh this is the first chapter i've ever written where im actually very fond of the writing and nervous about the plot stuff so im gonna go hide?? and just vanish for a while lol

I don't have a tag list anymore !! follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates!!

#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #pedro pascal #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you

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10pm-cafe-lattes · 4 months

Text

a floating mirror. your friends (?) smile warmly behind you.

so i mentioned an omori x furina au? stay tuned i'm gonna very slowly work on character references in the event there is demand (some people proved there was demand for the au soooo), but in the meantime, here's the general idea:

in-line with genshin canon, actually! this takes place just post-fontaine AQ, when furina's a just a little bit traumatised and trying her best to hold herself together.

so she ends up creating her version of white space, where she can just forget all her worries, all her troubles, and have fun and adventures. the thing she's 'forgotten', the 'truth', is what she wants. who she wants to be.

somehow, somewhere, she's joined by three other companions (she doesn't know if she's made them up or not). there's a boy who tells her to call him WANDERER. there's a girl, maybe his little sister, goes by DREAMER. that last boy doesn't have a name- she calls him AEOLUS.

there's one more, another girl who looks like her but who has long hair. she says her name is FOCALORS, but furina always calls her 'mirror'. she loves the other girl dearly, appreciates her company and the tea parties she sets up for them, but she can never quite bring herself to call the other girl by her name.

(if you're looking for character role equivalents, wanderer = aubrey, venti = kel, nahida = hero, focalors = mari and basil both! furina = omori/sunny, of course. props to @alchemania for giving me the idea to include other characters, by which i mean wanderer, which then got me thinking about the actual story)

#working title:#naiad au #'naiad' being the 'omori' name equivalent #NO ONE QUESTION WHERE THE REST OF WANDERER WENT #HE'S ANGLED WEIRDLY SIDEWAYS HE'S BEHIND FURINA #genshin impact #furina #hydro archon #genshin furina #furina de fontaine #focalors #omori au #omori crossover #genshin crossover #fanart

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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 1 year

Text

John Price x Reader

Part One | Part Three

With your Captain at the brink of death and little supplies left to keep you covered, the two of you do what little you can to hold out and distract yourselves until help arrives.

TW//: Blood, Mentions of Death

Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Suspense, Tense, Near Death Experiences, Confessions of Love, Light Fluff, Confessions, Light Bickering, canon inaccuracies probably, but hopefully not, slight character study, medical inaccuracies, I'm no nurse, I'm a film major :(, a mopey rollercoaster, but the ending is worth it hopefully

Word Count: 4.2k

Took me a few days to ponder what I wanted to do with this (I'm so indecisive), but at last, I finished. I wanted it to be sad, I'm not sure if I succeeded, but I promise it's not pointlessly sad (probably isn't even sad). Also, let me know if I should follow this up with a Part 3 (which would be the final part of this, might do it any way but if this was actually garbage I will keep it pushin'). Regardless, I had fun typing this, I felt rusty typing something actually angsty. I hope you enjoy! ( ㄕཀ ʖ̯ ཀ)

taglist: @tapioca-marzipan @spooky-pomegranate

Thank you again, I hope it was worth the wait (T^T)>

Stay awake. You tell yourself again and again -- stay awake. Don't succumb to the fatigue, ignore the pain in your arm, and keep your foot on the gas. It's either that or you lose Price right here and now.

You look over at your Captain after five more minutes had passed, with nothing but the rocky road and its hills ahead of you to keep you company. Price kept his pistol in hand and his tired blue eyes on the perimeter outside the convoy. He didn't have much to say anymore; it was taking all his energy just not to bleed to death.

His chest rises and falls with each heavy breath he forcibly conjured out of himself. By now his blood stained his seat, growing larger with each hill you've passed. Your Captain would be an angel already had you not found more supplies in the vehicle to temporarily patch him up with. Though he seemed adamant about staying alive, nonetheless.

The night sky darkens, and the road ahead demonstrates its need to be endless. Price had told you before that he had no intention of bleeding to death. You desperately want to believe him.

Clouds roll over the moon, which for a while had shared its glow alongside the headlights of your recently stolen convoy. Its absence only makes you feel more boxed in, placed behind the wheel with your dying Captain. The outskirts of Urzikstan appear an even less welcoming place than before. With its encompassing darkness, your fears of what lie in them only grew, the longer you drove and yet to encounter your destination.

The hills now tower around your vehicle like walls, painted pitch black, becoming mountainous the further out you drive. Had you not seen the fallback zone around the corner, you would have thought yourself lost.

You park the convoy a short ways to the rear of the location: a small, rundown house long abandoned since all the fighting in the area re-escalated. The house was on the outskirts of some empty town not too far away that both AQ, the Russians, and the locals avoided, seeing as the next nearest town was where you just left, and anywhere beyond this point was under AQ and Russian control. It should be a safe place to lie low until your exit is available again.

Price made sure there were a few safe areas to fall back to, in case things went wrong during the mission. Which they most certainly did. You wouldn't even have needed to be here in the first place, had everything not continued to go wrong after acquiring the vehicle. Your bad luck has hopefully since ceased.

However, the night hadn't been over yet. That much had been proven true only a half hour ago.

In a matter of minutes after making your vehicular getaway, AQ had caught up to you, all in convoys, and armed to the teeth. Had Nikolai not been around the corner with his helicopter, you and Price would have surely been run off the road at some point, being as injured as you both are and with hardly any ammo left to spare.

You could only see in your rearview mirror the destruction Nikolai created behind you, the sky having lit up with the flames of your unwanted pursuers. It had almost been perfect, until shrapnel and gunfire damaged Nikolai's helicopter too much during that last-second rescue, forcing him to retreat.

You could still picture watching him fly away, seeing that shadowy monstrosity fly off into the sky, until the hills had swallowed it whole. Watching your only exit out of here fly off into the distance absolutely gutted you. The small sliver of hope you hadn't yet lost had all but gone away with him. Yet you knew it was the safest thing to do. Your LZ had been compromised, and it wouldn't have done any good if you all piled on just to get blasted out of the sky moments later.

So instead, a change of plans was made. Nikolai, being the resourceful individual he was, had other means of escape worked out. He just needed to get there first.

Knowing this, your new objective had been clear and simple for you both: Stay alive.

You park the convoy and shut the vehicle off, watching the headlights die and a chilling silence fall in the air. All you can really do is take a moment and breathe.

Your right arm -- still very much broken and in pain -- rested limply in your lap, begging for a sling. A throbbing headache has not left you since taking that RPG blast only an hour or so ago. With having to wait to be saved now, time felt as though an hourglass had just been rested on its side.

You peek back through your window, seeing the empty hills behind you. No one's been in pursuit since Nikolai's interference earlier. Hopefully, their absence meant you'd finally lost them. You felt you had run all out of hope tonight, yet it's all that felt real and obtainable anymore.

"It seems quiet enough," you start to unbuckle your seat belt. "It's probably safe to head inside now."

You wait for your Captain's reply, only to be met with silence.

"Price?"

You look over to find the Captain lying slumped against his seat, his eyes closed and as still as a statue. The sight makes your blood run cold and your heart quake with fear.

"...Price," you reach over and rest a hand on his shoulder, beginning to shake him. Praying that he'll wake up. "Price, stay with me, Captain. Come on, wake up."

You shake and shake him, but the man doesn't budge from his sudden unconsciousness, his body only moving along to the hold you had over his shoulder. At each little shove you make of him, your eyes further lock on the still features of his face, desperation filling you.

You've tried so hard to keep your composure tonight, if not for yourself then for him. You had wanted to return the favor for all the times he's helped you from the brink of death before. The many times Price has been your last glimmer of hope when you feared none was there to have. You wanted to be that for him now. To show him he needn't shoulder such things alone. He couldn't die now.

"Price, please-"

The Captain starts to cough himself out of whatever slumber he'd found himself in, his face grimacing with pain as he hugged his wounded side. "I'm good..." he claims. "...'ave we made it?"

You look at Price, frustrated at his cavalier attitude, despite having been so used to it before. Frankly, your emotions could not handle it at the moment, given the fact that only a second ago you could have sworn he'd just died.

"It's getting worse," you state.

"I'll be fine," he protests.

"Price," he can hear in your tone you're trying to be real with him now. "Just because you wanna act like it's nothing, doesn't mean that it is-"

"Last I checked, we've little time for us to fuck about right now, lieutenant."

"You just passed out."

Price opened his mouth, prepared to argue more, but pauses when he realizes that he can't really argue at all. He had passed out, and he wasn't so prideful to claim that it wouldn't happen again either. So he instead settles down, allowing you to take the reigns and go back to focusing on the important matters.

"...I know," he says. "I'm sorry... Are you holding up alright?"

"I'm doing better than you."

Then that's what matters most, Price had thought. "I don't doubt it," he says. "And here I was hopin' I'd go out in a more dignified fashion than this-"

"Stop it," you take his hand again, shutting down whatever pity talk he was beginning to spew. Not wanting it to worry you that he's gotten to this point. "Look, we're at the safehouse now. That should make not bleeding to death a hell of a lot easier."

"Or at least more comfortable," Price quips. Though your humorless expression only makes him digress. "There should be more supplies inside."

"Let's just get inside before you pass out again."

It's a struggle to get him inside, and twice as much a struggle to patch his wound up. Price had the place generously stocked with a resupply of weapons, ammo, and medkits, though it wouldn't be enough to change the current dilemma that your Captain was in.

Once your arm had been slung (DIY style), you immediately tended to Price. However, having to help stitch with your non-dominate hand was an absolute nightmare, as much as your Captain tried to take over for himself. His hands had grown too shaky to hold the needle, it would slip from his grasp every so often, and you hadn't wanted to see him grow more frustrated with the task.

Of course, watching you struggle to stitch only upset him more. You were mostly silent, though Price would see your throat move hesitantly, swallowing heavily at every sudden urge that came to you that wanted to cry. You hadn't wanted to in front of your Captain, you didn't want him to worry about you.

You wouldn't let any amount of hindrances stop you, you closed the wound, redressed it, and checked on it a second time before Price finally had to tell you it would hold. Though closed or not, it mattered little. He'd lost so much blood at this point that it was a miracle he wasn't dead already.

But miracles only last for so long.

In and out of consciousness, Price thought a lot about how silly it would be if he bled to death right now. In such a helpless state, forced to rely on his subordinate to keep him alive. Someone who had felt more than a subordinate, now more than ever. You've seen him blown out of the sky, near beaten to death, stabbed, shot, and then some.

Twenty years of all the shit he's been through in the force, and a gut wound from shrapnel is what takes him out. He almost found it funny.

Price has told himself his whole life he'd be ready when the time comes. He accepts death every day he wakes in the morning and steps out the door. It didn't mean he'd lay down and die, however, ironic now. One way or another, the man just always knew that when he went out it would be fighting. Because he's fought his whole life, it's all he knows how to do.

All he could ever ask for is to die doing what he loves, and this had been that. However, now that this love has brought him here beside you, giving him the fate he's all but manifested for himself, over years of growing pessimism and a longing to be dignified, suddenly, he finds it funny how life can be. Now all of a sudden he doesn't feel so ready to go. He thought he'd be more prepared.

And it's what's killing him most of all. This helplessness death has now brought him.

Had Price not gone ahead and made sure Nikolai stashed medical supplies in the safehouse in advance, he's certain he would be dead right now. Though as it's been said before, the night's not over yet.

"Lieutenant..." Price calls to you faintly.

You look over at the Captain, seeing him still seated beside you, his back resting against the living room wall. Though he still looked pale, cold sweat dotting his skin, and with labored breaths, at least he wasn't bleeding anymore. You did what you could with what was available, however, you were no field medic.

"What's up?" you reply, though your attention stays out the window, towards the dark perimeter outside the safehouse. By now these hills would haunt your dreams.

You remain posted by one of the front windows, your pistol clutched in your feeble hand. Since redressing Price's wound (and your own), you've been on watch; despite numerous failed (and delirious) attempts by your Captain to take watch himself. He was as adamant to see you in better health as you were to him.

As far as you're concerned, you're the one who's in the best shape here, broken arm or not. Beyond the exhaustion, you still had all of yourself with you. That alone made you obligated to be the one that gets you both out of this mess.

However, this is the clearest the man's ever felt, and something else had been on Price's mind. A thought which crossed him, after some realization came, somewhere between silences.

Price asks you faintly "...Will you talk to me?"

You look at your Captain now, perturbed. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothin' beyond the obvious, love," Price shakes his head, before bringing a weak hand up to clear his hoarse throat. "Just tryin' not to livin' the night up by passin' out and fallin' into a coma," he admits.

Fair enough.

"OK..." You turn back to the perimeter, running a million possible icebreakers that you could say right now. It's hard to settle for just one. "Where are we going out to eat after this?"

Price chuckles to himself. "Somewhere with good steak and Guinness would suit me," he jokes.

"Can it be somewhere fancy?" you ask. "I'd love to dress up."

"Mm," Price hums.

You've dressed up a few times before whenever the team went out and there was time. He's always liked how you always kept up appearances, and that it wasn't for any other reason than the fact that you just enjoyed doing so. Evidently, Price has had passing memories of a few choice outfits you've worn, many he wished to see again.

"You've any outfits in mind?" He asks you, wanting you to paint a picture for him. Give him something nice to think about.

You think to yourself for a moment, your ponderous hum filling the silence. "A dress," you state, thinking out loud and conjuring it as you speak, as Price hums with affirmation to each suggestion. "I'm thinking something skin tight... low cut with strings and spaghetti straps. Oh! And with one of those little leg slit things too! And heels."

"That's quite a detailed description," Price teases.

You've had a lot of time to think about it, though you'd never admit that. "Does it sound nice though?"

Had you two been having this conversation elsewhere, Price's mind would have undoubtedly gone somewhere vulgar, only picturing how that dress might look bunched up at your ankles or pushed up in a messy bundle around your waist. He's sure that was your intent when describing it as well.

However, with his mind repeatedly giving way to the black throughout this conversation now, his body gone from numb to feeling light as a feather, all he could picture of you in that dress was the smile you'd have for him instead, with a cluster full of joy shining in your eyes. How happy you would be just to be beside him, just as you are now. In these brief moments where your mind has been taken away from reality.

Does it sound nice, you ask him. You could narrate his dying breath, and the man would have thought it a beautiful thing, having been your words he last could hear before the world finally takes him.

"It sounds lovely," he says.

You swallow, your brave front cracking ever so slightly at his honesty. For some reason, it felt as though gravity just came back to you. You hadn't noticed its absence until now.

"Which is exactly why we're gonna get out of here," you reassure yourself. "So I can model it for you in person, yeah?"

"Exactly why..."

It had been nice talking about something else. Seeing you smiling again had warmed the grown man's heart as greatly as any time before. Price had been itching to see it one more time.

No doubt, he hadn't forgotten about his promise to take you out to dinner once you've both returned. Thinking about it now, at the brink of death without you even knowing... it's a sweet thought, nonetheless.

"I've no idea why you even bother with me..." he says suddenly, his mind fading so much he can hardly hear the words which leave him when they do. However, it had been a growing thought all night.

He's never understood your fondness for him. Price knew he could be hot shit, and he's earned respect from countless of his peers and subordinates alike, but it wasn't because he had been special, he always thought. He saw himself as no different than anyone else on his team choosing to do the same mission.

And surely he was a sorry excuse of a man for putting you through such a thing as this, tonight.

However, the scoff you let out after he says this would suggest you beg to differ.

"Are you kidding?" You say, keeping your gaze out the window, though even from there, Price could see the sudden pride fire up in your eyes. "You're like the greatest guy I know, Captain."

Price chuckles. "...I appreciate that"

"I mean it too," you continue. "We wouldn't be 141 without you. You're smart, you're resourceful, you're kind, but you get shit done too. Not to mention you're a total hunk. You're literally the entire package."

Yeah, you thought, Price is the whole package. There wasn't a man around that you trusted more than your Captain, nor was there anyone you ever wanted respect and companionship from more than his.

You still remember the first time you ever met Price. Laswell practically had to fight the man just to let you onto the team, having doubted your capabilities at the time. And in turn, you were doubtful of him as well.

You'd heard the stories of him back even during your SAS days, talking to the man in short, and tuning him out whenever he grew too overbearing during training. You wanted to say you weren't impressed with him, but even then you could see he wasn't just all talk. So the respect had been begrudgingly earned, to start with.

It wasn't until after a few high-tense missions with him that you finally started to get along. You both may bicker and avoid one another on base, but on the field you two worked together like fire and lightning, perfectly complimenting each other.

Price always was fair and reasonable, giving no doubt to his abilities as a leader. His confidence always felt reassuring in the most stressful of operations. While he could be a hard-ass, he was equally proud and gave praise whenever credit was due. Eventually, you started to crave it.

Price always liked how you listened to him, trusting his judgment and taking his advice. He's seen you grow and learn, watching you bleed for your comrades and step into the fire ready, just as he does, and that alone had been respectable to him. You had been so happy to have it too.

The hostility simmered into being cordial, before becoming neutral, and then casual. Your talks warmed, as did your times together. After a while, Price had been as synonymous to you as home ever could be. With all you two have been through, and all the times he's helped you since knowing him, you owe it to him to be his support this time.

"Whenever I'm around you I..." You speak again, but pause shortly, trying to think of the right words to say. "I feel safe," you say. "Like everything's going to be OK, and that soon it'll all be over. Because you're here. I mean, when you pulled me out from that rubble and I saw that you were OK, I just..."

It had felt wrong to ever even have had any doubts then. Because of course Price had been fine, it was Price. That's just who he was.

"I don't think I've ever met a man I've felt so safe around before in my entire life," you say. "Even now-"

You look over, only to be greeted by your Captain lying slouched against the wall, his eyes closed and completely still. Irresponsive. Your smile drops, and your heart sinks to your stomach.

"Captain?"

No response.

You immediately rush to his side and check for a pulse on his neck, your heart shattering when you couldn't find it.

"Price?" Your voice is practically at a whisper now, unable to use your vocal cords to full use, from fear of your voice breaking apart altogether. You place your hand on the side of his face, his skin so cold it makes you shiver, feeling your lip start to quiver and your vision blur with hot tears.

Even now, a small part of you was simply waiting to see him open his eyes again. Expecting him to shrug this off like he does with everything else so easily.

The whole time you sat kneeled in front of your Captain, you kept questioning how you could have let this happen, scolding yourself for this catastrophe. So many emotions flooded within you at one moment, you almost felt unable to process. You wanted to throw up, it was so much. It instead halts you there like a statue, your face frozen blank.

Your grievances are interrupted upon hearing a vehicle approaching outside. Suddenly, you really take in the fact that you're by yourself now. Your heart races, your hands starting to shake and your breathing growing quick. You were on your own.

You press your back against the wall, keeping your pistol close to you. You watch the headlights from outside pool through the window, illuminating the living room and remaining there.

The comms were beside Price; Nikolai would surely notify you if it was him outside. AQ couldn't have found you so soon, could they have?

With a broken arm and your own intuition left, you close your eyes and rest your head back against the wall, repeating to yourself at a whisper, "Please be Nik. Please be Nik. Please be Nik..."

Your comms buzz. "Price, Price, come in," Nikolai radios in. "Help has arrived!"

You let out a broken exhale. For the first time all night, you actually felt some real relief. Though, it was quickly drowned out once you looked back over towards your Captain, still lying there. Only a few minutes shy of being able to know you both would have been rescued tonight.

You reach around Price to grab the comms and radio back in to Nikolai. "Give me a minute, Nik."

You set the comms down, kneeling back in front of your Captain, tears burning in your eyes, your chest on fire.

Seeing him like this had felt so surreal. So unfitting. So unfair.

"Oh John…" You bring your hand down to Price's, holding tightly as his large fingers sat limp in your grasp. Cold and bloodied. You couldn't bring yourself to part from him now. "…I'm so sorry."

Price's hand suddenly twitches in your palm, making you gasp rather meekly. You watch him slowly pry his heavy eyelids open, and he reciprocates the hold you have over his hand, giving you a reassuring squeeze. Letting you know he was alive.

"… I'm right here," Price breathes out. "I'm here…"

Your gasp is broken with both relief and joy, a smile growing on your face and tears streaming down your cheeks. He was alive after all. Of course he was. This is your Captain. This is who John is; forever the class act.

A ping of frustration then hits you, bringing you to shove your Captain suddenly.

"Easy now," he says sarcastically.

"Don’t ever do that again!" you yell at him. "You scared me half to death, you asshole!"

Price raises an eyebrow at your outburst. He then sighs to himself, looking ahead of himself. Content.

"Ah, well…" He retakes your hand again, holding it in his lap for a spell, letting his thumb caress your skin, as he thinks slowly to himself. His breath is as broken as his hand feels in yours, with so much on his mind still left to say. He wouldn't miss these chances no longer. "I love you too."

You open your mouth to speak but then pause. Did he just say that to you? He loves you. Your heart jumped for joy. You didn't lose him after all.

You no longer cared if you looked weak, or unprofessional, or even too emotional, the tears come out and everything you'd been keeping bottled releases into broken sobs, and it feels so good to let them out. You lean into your Captain, burying your head into his chest to cry, which springs a pained "oof" from him in return.

"I'm sorry, Captain," you sit up and wipe the tears from your eyes. "I'm sorry... I really thought I lost you."

"I'm not goin' nowhere," he says. "We've still got that dinner later."

A big, giddy smile paints your face, and then, with a lifetime of moments worth of waiting and build-up to help guide you, you lean forward and let your lips come to Price's. Just in case. You didn't want to take any more chances.

You kiss Price softly, tasting the blood on his tongue and feeling the sting of his beard against your face. He could have been covered in mud for all you cared. You pull your lips away quickly, not having wanted to take up too much time. However, Price chases your lips as you part, finding your mouth again and kissing you back just as longingly. He finally lets himself celebrate the end of this night and the start of tomorrow.

( ´•̥̥̥o•̥̥̥`)♡(˘̩̩̩̩̩̩ ⌂ ˘̩̩̩̩̩̩) part three

#call of duty #john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #captain john price #captain price #mwii #call of duty modern warfare ii #modern warfare ii #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare #Spotify

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sleepyconfusedpotato · 9 months

Note

In response to your Graves post, it actually makes sense that Farrah would still consider him and Sheperd allies. Those 3 missiles that got stolen were probably going to Farrah. Which means Sheperd and Shadow Company were still supporting the ULF after America officially pulled out. Plus According to DMZ info, Shadow Co. has still still been nominally operating in Al Mazra against AQ despite everything that’s happened. And now, with Konni (and potentially Makarov) operating in Farrah’s backyard, who’s still there helping the ULF? Graves and Shadow Co.

Sorry, had to stan my boy Graves 🇺🇸

You're absolutely right and you should say it. Shepherd has always been an ally of the Urzik forces, same as Shadow Co.

That's why I love Graves as a character. Bro's just doing his job 😭 Yeah he was kind of a lunatic a bit there but he does his part so well 🪦

#sleepy answers #phillip graves #shadow company #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw #cod #cod mw22 #call of duty modern warfare 2022

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theaetheralquillcompany · 8 months

Text

Happy Birthday Anthony

Another Headmate birthday has come around, this time it’s one of the other Dempseys and Introjects, the mellow yet sassy brother of Raine, Anthony or Tony! We didn’t have much time today to make a proper doodle for him so this slightly older doodle will do as he stated until we can maybe make him a proper one (hopefully).

#system #system account #system stuff #system art #AQ Company #the aetheral quill company #cod zombies #tank dempsey #ultimis dempsey #fury #fury movie #fury 2014 #don collier #don wardaddy collier #SSgt. Anthony C. Dempsey #introject #headmate

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callsign-bunnie · 8 months

Note

Do you have some unhinged HC to share?

also I hope you're doing well

Yeah, sure! I'm adding more of the other operators because actually playing the game has caused deep emotional attachment to them

Shepherd is actually Graves' father, through some fuckery. (Sidenote, this was my headcanon first, I just don't do Graves-centered content to have used it first)

Rodolfo is MEAN when overstimulated. He will have whoever he's talking to in tears for just the simple mistake of breathing in his direction when he's overstimulated. (Alejandro and Gaz are the exceptions, but the "breathe wrong in their direction" applies to them. Soap got snapped at for looking at Gaz in a "mean way")

Rodolfo gets upset when Alejandro isn't jealous and possessive over him because it makes him feel wanted, but it's cool because Alejandro is fairly jealous and possessive naturally

This does mean that if Alejandro has any slightly less dramatic reaction to anyone flirting with Rudy, Rudy gets pretty upset

Soap locked another authority figure in a trunk and everyone lost their minds when Price just goes "AGAIN, MACTAVISH?!"

Soap is "Mactavish" when Price is irritated at him

I know everyone jokes that Gaz is the one trying to be Price's son, but they're wrong. Price regularly tries to pass adoption papers off as other things and Gaz has had to start reading fine print before just blindly signing anything

"Can I call you my son?" "You can for ONE event, though I uh... have some concerns that no one will believe I'm your son." "What ever could you mean by that??? We have the same jawline!"

Speaking of, Gaz is BRITISH! I see headcanons a lot that he and Farah bully Alex by making him eat spicy food, but most headcanon Alex from Texas, and I'm not going to pretend Texas's food is to the same level of spice as a lot of real POC food, but it's more spicy than fucking British food. (I lived in Texas and there is not a damn thing you could call fucking "mild")

So, anyway, Gaz is the one who can't eat spicy food. Alex has no spice meter, he just knows what's really spicy, so Gaz has to warily eat anything Alex considers "mild"

Farah tries to joke around about Alejandro and Rudy in Arabic, but Rudy and Ale had to learn because of the cartel's involvement with AQ and their expansion to Al Mazrah, so she was very shocked when they just started responding back

Alex and Gaz get EVEN MORE shit for their Arabic sucking

MILA MY DARLING

She and Roze stayed in touch long after Roze left, and they regularly meet up with Oz and Velikan and gossip about the bullshit Graves is doing now. Arthur occasionally shows up but they can't tell Graves about it

Graves is not invited, he's very deeply upset about it

My Canadian friend joked that Alberta is just the Texas of Canada, so Reyes and Alex are friends now, I have decided

They compare workout routines and talk about neither actually having any sort of facial hair routine, Price hates them both

"Oh joy, there's another fuckin one of you-" Price to Alex

Reyes flirted with Gaz before knowing he and Alex were together and Gaz went dark red, but only because he realised he has a type.

Kortac has their own discord, which now includes the Shadow Company members

Alex and Ghost have dog playdates for Riley and Syd, Gaz and Soap (the cat people) stay inside.

Price pretends not to like Riley and Syd, but many times has everyone came back to both dogs asleep on him

Graves was allowed to stay in the other discord, purely because they make fun of him, but as soon as Kortac was discovered to have their own, he was kicked

Both servers regularly raid the other

Valeria was taunting Ghost and Alejandro with "you wouldn't hit a girl, would you?" and Alejandro said "no. But she will" and gestured to Farah who proceeded to rock her shit

Chuy hates Valeria, but he also hates Alejandro for letting her escape to Al Mazrah and making her his problem again

Not doing taglists for this one since it's more silly

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sachi · 2 years

Photo

☆ Racing Miku 2019 // GOOD SMILE Racing “Thailand Support ver.” ☆ [AQ] / 1/7 / Good Smile Company ☆ June 2022 ¥20,000 ☆ Sculpt Abira Paint Graham Kamen Illustration Annin Doufu

#hatsune miku #racing miku #good smile company #aquamarine #[aq]#abira #graham kamen #annin doufu #scale #the swimsuit is so cute ugh #summer

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chickenparm · 1 year

Text

Accurate Recollection (Scara/Reader)

falling in love is cool and all that but what if you fucked up REAL BAD on accident?

Even a misguided attempt to do the right thing can lead to consequences that reach far beyond anything you could expect. Scaramouche unknowingly steps over a threshold he can never come back from; the only one to blame is himself.

AO3 LINK

Scaramouche/Reader 4,321 Words - SFW Unresolved angst, a little fluff, mentions canon events so spoilers for the AQ interlude.

---

Scaramouche can remember with crystal clarity the exact moment he’d laid eyes on you.

Recruit’s uniform a stark blue against the snow of the courtyard, a dozen bodies surrounding you in various states of defeat. The only sign of you even moving from the spot is the trail of your footprints spiraling through the whiteness that covers the ground, a telltale sign of your ease.

The captain of your company had come to Scaramouche, desperately bidding him to watch in on today’s training, to see you in action and witness what he claims is being wasted in the chattel ranks of the Tsaritsa’s forces. And against his first instinct to claim anyone bearing humanity is worth less than the dirt beneath his heel, the effortless movements and second-nature of your abilities lend credence to your captain’s words.

Before the day is finished, you’ve been promoted by leaps and bounds. That evening, you stand in Scaramouche’s makeshift office when he bothers to spend any time in Zapolyarny Palace. The recruit’s uniform is gone, and in its place is a finely furred jacket that covers you from neck to foot, hiding away what regulation outfit you’ve been provided.

“It is an honor to serve, Lord Balladeer. I won’t disappoint.”

“...No, I don’t think you will.” The chair he sits on feels far too ostentatious for an office he spends little time in, but it does lend some credence to the intimidation factor when he’s well aware his youthful appearance belies the things he can do. Propping his elbow on the arm and using his fist to hold his chin up, he regards you with feigned disinterest.

Because you are interesting, no doubt about it. He wouldn’t have thrown his weight around to bypass all traditional channels of promotion to get you in his office. Even now, he can sense your vision, tucked away in the folds of your jacket and away from prying eyes. It shows you have drive, and already guarantees your ascension to the upper ranks once you prove your skill with it.

But what ambition burned in you so brightly to manifest it?

Scaramouche is infinitely curious, ravenous in the pursuit of knowledge when it comes to you. Accessing your files is child’s play with his rank as the Sixth Harbinger, not to mention your direct superior. A family at home, one parent absent, more siblings than your remaining guardian knew what to do with. Droll, but with the fragility of humans, it’s expected it would be enough to fuel you toward success.

In the days following, you shine brightly with potential. Every task is handled efficiently as one could expect from a recruit still learning the Fatui ins and outs. Your presence isn’t overbearing, you understand the need for respect when around him. If asked, Scaramouche would say with confidence that you’re the only subordinate he has that is of any worth at all.

Again, Scaramouche can recall with perfect accuracy the exact moment his perception of you shifted from subordinate to something not quite understandable.

A mission in the abyss, manifesting as twisting and winding caves that would skew the direction of any normal human. But Scaramouche isn’t normal, and you follow him without question. It’s only the two of you - the others have been culled by their own poor choices. You’d been willing to assist them in not dying, but Scaramouche had curled his hand around your elbow and leaned in so you could hear him over the din of the fighting.

“If they fall here, they were never meant to join us in the first place.”

It’s a test. Will you save your comrades that you’d formed a bond with in your uncountable days in this twisted realm, or will you stand by and listen to him. How much trust do you place in him, where is the line that you’re unwilling to cross despite his bidding?

Your weapon blinks from existence, the glow of your vision fades, and you stand at his side as one by one, bodies fall before you. One calls your name, beckoning you to cover him as he stumbles - you don’t even flinch in their direction. Scaramouche’s hand still grips your elbow, his tension bleeding away as the formless monsters turn on the two of you now.

“Go on, then. The same rule applies to you, you know.”

As if he would need to place such a limitation in front of you. Watching you move is like watching poetry in motion, the shifting of elements that reflect off the dim walls of the caverns you delve cast you in a shifting array of colors. As sludge seeps into the floor, the last straggling sounds of wisps fading from existence, you stand triumphant and unharmed.

Scaramouche expected nothing less. Your eyes turn to him, cautious but expectant, and he’s willing to oblige with your unspoken question. Crossing the distance to you is done in a few steps, leaving him close enough that he could reach out and touch you once more if he wanted. His palm still sings from the contact, a feeling he isn’t sure he can decipher in the time given.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, tasting the foul miasma in the air that seeps into his skin with a cloying viscosity. Your eyes flick down to watch the motion, motionless and filled with anticipation as you wait for him to speak. His intention isn’t to leave you waiting very long.

“Just as I expected. You’re the only one meant to be at my side. The rest are but dross, spares to be tossed away as I choose.”

“But not me?” You venture, the first real attempt you’ve ever made at questioning him. From anyone else, the doubt and disrespect would enrage him. It would rattle his very bones into retaliating and putting the offender back in their place. But you haven’t left your pedestal; the one he’s placed you on, anyway.

A quiet, rasping laugh curls between the two of you, eerily similar to the darkness that claws in from the darkened corners. With a breath that he’d deny shakes at the edges, he nods enough that the hair tucked behind his ear falls loose against his cheek. “No, not you. You’re far too valuable to me.”

Later, after what could have been half a day or half a century, you break the silence that settles between you. Your words echo on the walls, rattling in Scaramouche’s brain until it risks giving him a migraine. He can’t bring himself to answer, even if your question is very simple.

“Valuable? Or just important?”

The answer should be simple, especially over the coming days where the mission draws to a close and you’re given leave to recover from the toll the Abyss takes on the body. Your value lies in your skill, in your ambition, your utility to both the Tsaritsa’s cause, and his own. And certainly, he’s convinced you follow him. Not the other Harbingers, not even the Tsaritsa.

Scaramouche isn’t blind to the devotion you show, even if it’s subtle. The devotion that leads you to check in on him when you’re meant to be resting, poking your head into his office and your eyes searching a form that holds neither scars nor injuries. Your jacket covers them, but Scaramouche is familiar with the wounds that are bandaged beneath - he’d been the one to initially triage them, anyway.

Rather than waste words on smalltalk, you simply enter the room and set a tray on his desk. Tea and sweets. At first he wants to deny your offering, until he catches the aroma of the tea. Bitter, so much so that his first instinct is to flinch away from it. The sweets are mild and could barely be considered sugary at all, their smoothness unable to stick to his teeth in ways that drive him mad.

Despite your time with him, he’d never mentioned his preferences for either of these. Yet you’ve accurately guessed both, and the only conclusion he can come to as his fingers wrap around the steaming cup is that you’ve simply been watching. Observing, learning his habits, what he likes and dislikes…

Valuable would be the diplomatic term to describe you, but as you slip from his space with little more than a nod and a secret smile, Scaramouche decides that your importance lies far beyond what you can provide him.

Perhaps you felt the shift, too. The crack in his wall grows just wide enough for you to slip through unwittingly. Scaramouche doesn’t realize it’s happened until he finds himself alone one evening, the lights in his room dimmed low, his body sprawled across sheets that suddenly feel devastating in their loneliness.

It takes only that single thought for the last piece to fall into place. Emotions are a weakness, stemming from the part of him that had once desired to be human. He’s done his best to deny anything beyond rage, its usefulness far outstripping its nature as something worldly and fleeting. As long as he stokes it, it will exist into infinity.

But something else burns in his chest now, simmering low but no less powerful. His fingers dig into his chest, gripping where it stings beneath his skin as if to remind him that it won’t be so easily spurned like the others had been. Love is something he isn’t sure he can comprehend anymore, but whether he understands it or not, it still exists in some primordial form beneath his ribs.

Despite how he might try to claw, scrape, scratch, pick at it incessantly, the feeling remains. Your presence is a hindrance, but the thought of sending you away makes his very bones ache with a longing he never could have expected. Scaramouche had lost before he’d even realized he was playing, and now he can only watch as you parade with a victory you didn’t even know you’d claimed.

With his love for bitterness, one would think Scaramouche savors the taste of Inazuma’s stinging air as he steps off the boat into Ritou. Silent footsteps follow behind him, sticking at his heels like a shadow as he waves off status reports, demanding they be delivered later when he has the patience for it.

The only thing he’s willing to suffer through on the way to the temporary lodgings is your quiet voice at his back, low and inquiring. “Something’s bothering you, Lord Balladeer.”

“How many agents were on the docks?”

“Three, with a fourth approaching before we left.”

“Then four somethings have bothered me. I simply want to rest after the trip across the sea.” Maybe he’s talking a little louder than he needs to be. With a delayed step, he falls into pace with you at his side, hand grabbing your elbow as you instinctively slow yourself to once more be at his back. His intentions are clear enough that you don’t make the attempt again.

Scaramouche’s hand leaving your arm gives you the bravery to speak again, out of turn but not enough for him to feel anything beyond a simmering heat in his gut that refuses to leave him in peace. Tilting your head to speak, almost as if you’re telling some grave secret, you ask, “Are you the type to get seasick? I never would’ve guessed, my lord.”

Seasick?

He repeats that word in disbelief, head snapping to look at you, veil snapping with the quit movement. There’s a twitch to your lips, the beginnings of a smile that have been stifled by your teeth biting against the inside of your cheek. Against his better judgment, he wonders for but a moment what you might look like if you were to lose the inhibition you’re obligated to hold around him.

Would you smile with all your teeth? Would your cheek dimple under the pressure of your happiness? How much of your body would participate in your joy? Scaramouche can’t help but imagine you’d lean into him, cheek laying on his shoulder as if you needed support otherwise the weight of your elation would bring you to your knees.

Getting his bearings, he sneers without his heart in it, “I don’t get seasick. Do I look like that would affect me?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked, my lord.”

“Scaramouche.”

Your footsteps falter, but only for a single pace. Swallowing audibly, you fall back into a match with his stride and venture with an, “I’m sorry?”

It should be obvious enough, yet Scaramouche has enough presence of mind to realize so few people refer to him by that name that you’ve likely never heard it at all. So, he’s willing to take a little pity on you and clarify himself. “When it’s the two of us, I’ll allow you to be a little less formal.”

“How informal?”

Truly, he hadn’t expected to have to answer that question. Your unwavering respect had been an obstacle he assumed would lead you to not question it and simply just use his name. Running his tongue across his teeth for a moment, prodding for the right words to come before finally settling on the simplest. “Speak your mind as you wish. I… trust you.”

And so much sooner than he ever expected, Scaramouche gets the answer to how you look when you smile. It takes everything in him not to return the gesture, simply turning his head and tilting his head to hide the way his cheeks begin to burn. The image is burned behind his eyelids, flickering across his vision with each blink.

It shows up in his daydreams, when he lays his head down for the evening, at the most inopportune moments. Your presence is a steady feeling at his back through the mishaps of Inazuma, quietly supporting him either in combat or in the lulls between when you’d ask something he might have tagged as inane coming from anyone else.

Questions about his life up until now, questions about his preferences that might not have been clear in your observations. Giving you free reign to poke and prod at him, giving you his trust… Scaramouche should regret it immediately. But he doesn’t - at least, not while you walk at his side and lean toward him, bumping his shoulder with your own as you ask how the people of Inazuma manage in the rain when they all wear sandals as they do.

As if he would know. But, he unabashedly makes something up, lying and saying that they simply wear taller shoes when rain falls and the streets grow muddy. You don’t believe him for a second, but it draws your laughter out and he greedily wraps it around his shoulders like a scarf. It provides all the warmth he needs when Signora falls and he flees with the gnosis.

Certainly, you would have come with him, but time was short and he simply didn’t have the time nor the means to get word to you. It’s safest for you with the Fatui, he supposes - your loyalty should lie there, even if he selfishly cultivated it in his favor instead.

Against his better judgement, Scaramouche lingers in his new body and asks Dottore for any news about you. The good doctor only smiles placatingly and shrugs a single shoulder. The workshop nearly falls that day in his rage, only soothed when Dottore finally reveals that you’re safe and sound, transferred to Tartaglia’s division at a rank equal to what you’d served at under The Balladeer.

It’s all he can hope for. Despite being a monumental fool, at least you’ll be treated well. Tartaglia has a reputation for running a well-oiled but lax ship, and undoubtedly you’re happy enough there. It’s a good enough home as any for the time being, until he can send for you himself and keep you close.

The time for your arrival never comes. Only his downfall, only the sensation of having lost everything, all in the blink of an emerald-colored eye.

—

The Wanderer tracks you.

Information on the Fatui isn’t readily available to him anymore, but centuries of life have led him to a unique set of skills that let him pick at the threads of information until he can weave it into something useful.

The cobblestone streets of Petrichor aren’t welcoming in the slightest. Fontaine is far from his favorite place in Teyvat, though you seem right at home in local clothing that seems a little too fine to have been bought from anywhere within the country’s borders. It’s a front, something to help you blend in among the townspeople.

The outdoor cafe you lounge at is bustling with people, but you pay them no mind as you steadily sip at your drink and read what looks to be the latest copy of The Steambird. Your eyes aren’t moving across the pages - you’re taking in none of the information. It’s obvious you’re waiting.

Across the street, he has a perfect view for what you seem to be waiting for. A man dressed in clothing similar to yours, though of lower quality. He speaks to you for only a moment before continuing on, likely passing off information as one of the agents serving under you. So, you’re still high ranked despite his meddling. That may make his plans more difficult, but certainly he can sway you as he’d done before.

Your eyes flick up as he sits across from you, the tassels on his hat chiming merrily with the movement. There’s something odd in your eyes as you look him over, expectant for an explanation on his intrusion. No doubt his arrival has put a jam in your plans, whatever they may be, even if he doesn’t plan to meddle in them.

Rather than prod at you gently, the Wanderer leans an elbow on the table and props his chin on his hand, invading your space across the small surface and rattling off your full name as if he were singing a tune. Visibly you tense, your gaze guarded and your fist clenched on the table in preparation to summon your weapon.

It hurts to see you on edge around him, your instincts telling you that he’s out to get you. That’s only partly true, anyway. Sure, he’s out to get you, but not maliciously. He simply wants to place you back where you belong - at his side, no matter where he goes, no matter what he does. It’s a simple enough demand, he thinks. Especially once he explains everything that’s happened.

Perhaps, Nahida could recover bits of your memory, at least enough to show you what had been lost. Enough to show you that at one point, he’d loved you.

“What do you want? We don’t know each other.”

“You simply have forgotten me. But I remember you. Fondly, but don’t tell anyone I said that.” His head tilts, his hair brushes over his cheek, and he seeks the spark of something in your eyes. It’s gone so quickly, but he’s sure it might have been a flash of familiarity. Scaramouche pushes further. “I can forgive you for that. I’m sure I can jog your memory if you give me a little time. Give us time.”

The time you hadn’t been allotted before everything fell to pieces. The time he could have used to swallow his pride and solidify what he felt every waking moment of every day. Even when his own memories had been lost, he still felt the ache of something missing. It was only when they’d returned, after his battle with himself and he clutched his vision to his chest that he realized what he’d temporarily lost was you.

If you felt anything - anything at all - then certainly your mind must be screaming at you to simply remember. Your brow furrows, your fist tightens, your jaw moves as your teeth grind together. It’s bothering you that he’s so familiar, and all he can do is crack the smallest, knowing smile in return.

“I… you-”

“Me.”

One of your hands raises, lifting from the table as if you were going to reach out and touch him. Perhaps that’s all you would need to remember him, remember who you were supposed to be, remember that the two of you had been meant to be with one another in every sense of the phrase. He leans closer, but your hand pulls back before you can bridge the gap.

That’s fine. There is time now. An abundance for him to show you what he should never have kept secret. It’s the greatest regret on a pile that skims the very skies above.

“It’s… who are you? I feel like I know you.”

And the small smile turns into a grin as he sits straight again, dropping his lax posture in favor of unbridled excitement. Yes, things are coming together nicely. You’re asking questions, you’re giving him a chance, and he can’t help but savor the way the vision on his chest warms pleasantly. “You do know me. The memories are concealed, but I’m sure if we spoke to-”

“Lord Balladeer!”

His blood freezes. Those words never should have been uttered again, not in this lifetime, at least. Yet it’s not him that’s being referred to. His bones fill to bursting with dread as your posture slackens and you turn your head to look at the newcomer. The wonder in your eyes is gone, and in its place is something cold and calculating.

It’s an expression he’d worn not so long ago, when the trappings that bound him weren’t that of a machine, but that of a bureaucracy borne from the Tsaritsa’s will.

“Keep your voice down, or I’ll silence it for good. Report to my second, can you not see that I’m busy?”

The air feels frigid. The shift of your body to speak to the agent shifts the folds of your coat, and pinned to your chest is the sharp spines of a Cryo Delusion. Blood rushes in the Wanderer’s ears, drowning out the sounds of your Agent’s acquiescence. The town around them seems to fall silent, but he’s certain it’s only because his ears are filled with the howling of his frantic blood.

“The… The Balladeer, huh?”

It sounds pathetic when the question falls from his mouth. There’s no conviction, none of the bravado he’d felt as he walked up to you with intentions to someday soon wrap you in his arms where you belonged. His chest feels devastatingly empty, the simmering that had existed for so long seems snuffed out.

“Yes? If you claim to know me, that should be obvious. I’m The Balladeer, number six of the Fatui Harbingers. Perhaps you mistook me for someone else, hm?” Metal against cobblestone signals you pushing your chair back to stand. His legs would surely not cooperate, or he’d be on his feet to reach for your elbow.

His hand wavers in the space between nonetheless, reaching out for you as you turn away and speak over your shoulder. “Perhaps we’ll meet each other soon, and you can tell me if I’m who you think I am. For the time being, it’s best you stay away. I have work to do and I’d hate for you to needlessly be caught in the crossfire.”

Callously, you leave him at that table without offering a single look over your shoulder. The way you carry yourself is different now. Self-assured, confident, powerful in the way you could have been if you hadn’t been living in his shadow in a past life. Is this what he’d been holding you back from? Or perhaps, what he’d been protecting you from.

Being a Harbinger has changed you, that much is for certain. The way you spoke to your agent made it obvious that there’s a finely honed edge to you now that had only existed in moments he’d once demanded it from you. It’s a harsh realization that he comes to when he understands this is how he’d looked to you from the beginning, before he made the unconscious choice to simply let you in.

It wouldn’t happen the opposite way. That much is certain.

Following you would be unwise. Tracking you would be fruitless. As an agent, defecting wouldn’t be detrimental to yourself, to your family. Faking your death would be easy, and no one would really look into it. But as a Harbinger? It’s akin to shackling yourself and throwing the key far, far from your reach.

The Tsaritsa’s will eclipses your own with the oath you would’ve had to swear to her. Everything would be on the line, and there’s no reality that he’d be able to sit you down and convince you to defect to some no name Wanderer that’s cooperating with enemy number one for the Fatui.

How long has it been since he felt this sort of hopelessness?

Even watching the gnosis be ripped from him wasn’t close to this. The closest memory isn’t so old anymore - a body on the floor, curled in on itself as if to guard from the specter of death that only descended when their defenses were crumbling in his absence.

You never can mentally recreate the pain you’ve felt previously. Sure, one can understand that it hurt, but it’s impossible to really imagine it with any sort of clarity. But watching you leave him there, alone and shattered, he’s certain that somehow the universe has managed to handcraft an entirely new hell for him based on the ones he’s somehow survived before.

A fourth is too much. But is it a fourth betrayal when the blame for it all lies in himself? He had tampered with the memories of the world in a misguided effort to set things right. With one decision, a single stroke of ink to blot out the truth, he’d sacrificed his own redemption to damn you in his place.

#scaramouche #wanderer #genshin impact #reader #reader insert #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #unresolved angst #angst #spoilers #this is the last time i'm tagging any of my fics as spoilers #at this point that's on you for being slow #no gendered terms used for reader

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vampsquerade · 1 year

Note

Ooo I’ve had this idea for a while: Phillip Graves x GN!Reader where the reader is a member of Shadow Company and they’re like his bodyguard n shit and the reader save Graves from some sort of danger on a mission and they ✨fall in love✨

this is a really good idea, i hope i can do you some justice for it! thanks so much for requesting anon :,) i hope you had a lovely holidays and re raring to go into the new year soon! also heads up for spoilers right here before the post! also wow this one is kind of weird i don’t know why i went this route for it

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Graves x GN!Reader: The Snake’s Guard Dog

Trigger Warnings: angst, spoilers for the CoD:MW2 reboot, slight angst, assassination attempts, pining, slight implication of Stockholm’s Syndrome, gunshot wounds, obsessive affections

Phillip Graves; a man as deadly as he was charming. With a gruff yet alluring southern drawl to his voice, he was able to convince many that he had their best interests in mind despite him having the capacity of having any single particle of a person be completely wiped from existence. But in being his bodyguard, practically his right hand man, you’ve seen how easy it was to get under his skin and recklessly utilize that bite of. However, it wasn’t as good as yours. The best of the best always needed someone better, and that someone just so happened to be you. Despite having a rough childhood and practically making a living on the streets, you’ve seen the worst of the worst and it’s shaped the intense and deadly training you went through. Hell, you’ve even committed the worst of the worst just to be able to survive, as much as it hurt you. But those feelings meant nothing, the only feeling you ever needed was the desire to protect and ultimately survive.

You were seen as nothing but a loyal dog.

At the moment, your mission with Phillip was to secure intel on Ghorbani’s next location by entering an AQ convoy and stealing documents. With cover provided by stealth operators in your beloved PMC, Shadow Company, it was going to be quick and easy—or rather, should have been. After piecing some things together, you figured out that there were AQ snipers providing overwatch and they were silently picking off your cover. Eventually, that laser sight hits Phillip’ forehead as he’s looking down at the intel he’s got in front of him. “Sir, get down!” you exclaim as you tackle him. A shot fires through the window and right into your left shoulder, causing you to pull Phillip right over you due to the force.

Crying out as the entirety of his weight crushes your freshly injured shoulder, you let go of him so he can scramble off you. For a moment, the two of you just stare into each other’s eyes before Phillip realizes the gravity of the situation. “Shit!” he exclaims, carefully turning you on your side while prone. He checks the rest of your body to see if there was anything else wrong, and once he got to your ankle and heard you practically growl in pain, Phillip knew it was time to get the fuck out of there. Gathering what he could, he clutched it tight before looking around the room to figure something out. “Everyone, we’re going loud! Get rid of those damn snipers! I’m gonna need a few of you to come rendezvous with Executioner and I to help get us out of here!” Phillip yelled into the comms. “Sir…we can leave through the back door…I have two smoke grenades…” you say through gritted teeth. “Toss it now then cause we’re about to take more fire than that shot you just took for me!”

Nodding, you grab the grenade from your belt and pull the pin. Smoke immediately fills the room and you struggle to stand, slightly falling over upon standing on your shattered ankle. Phillip grips your safe hand tightly, helping support you this way to get the hell out of your now compromised position. You were tempted to just tell him to leave you, as you were losing a hell of a lot of blood, but you had a feeling Phillip wasn’t gonna take any of that lip and save your life. “Phillip…fuck…” you groan with a dry and gruff voice. “I know baby, I’m getting us the fuck out of here. Don’t you worry.” Phillip mumbled. For whatever reason in your painfully cold heart, a small sensation of warmth fills you when you hear yourself addressed as such a word by your superior.

Phillip said that all the time, but why was it so different this time?

Eventually, the both of you make it to safety and the area is effectively clear at the cost of some men who were now either severely injured or actually dead; yourself included. “Get them some damn help, now! I don’t need my right hand dying on me!” Phillip yelled. You were in and out of consciousness at this point, so you made a last ditch effort to grab at him and tell him something. “See me eventually…” you mumble. “You know I will. Once I get this report to Shepherd, I’ll go and see you.” Phillip’ promised. “Good…” you say. The blood loss eventually takes hold and causes a fun little side effect called “passing out”. Limbs now completely limp upon losing consciousness, you let go of your vice grip on Phillip’ arm. He gently holds your hand on his own accord for a moment before bringing it up to his lips to kiss your fingertips, knuckles, and the back of your hand. “Get well soon…”

An entire day would come and go where you’d remain unconscious, waking up in the middle of the afternoon another day later. “Mornin’ sunshine, glad to see you waking up…” you hear a familiar voice mumble. “That you sir..?” you ask hoarsely. “The one and only. How you feeling? Need anything? Medicine, water, food—just tell me and I’ll have them bring it to you right away.” Phillip said. “Got any morphine on you, sir..?” you ask, trying to sit yourself up only to remember your fucked up shoulder holding you back. Phillip is quick to carefully help you sit up however, hushing you softly upon hearing you wince. “I’ll be back with some morphine. Don’t you move a muscle darlin’.” he said. Phillip stood up and began to walk away to get a nurse, only to stop and turn around to look at you, “How bout you start callin’ me Phillip from now on? No need to call me sir so often.” he suggested. Feeling yourself get flustered again upon hearing you’re finally on a first name basis, you just give him a silent nod before turning away out of embarrassment.

Phillip smiles and leaves the room to go get you a nurse that can give you the proper dose of morphine you need, and you just sit there by yourself and begin contemplating why you’re feeling such a strange emotion. Every time Phillip spoke to you, it’s like your heart was nervously breaking down in front of him and caused you to do the same. His voice sounded different and was a lot sweeter than it was before, and it made you wonder what the fuck happened after the other day that caused you to be like this. Was Phillip having the same thing happen to him? You didn’t know and no matter how desperately you wanted to, the thoughts and feelings were forcefully buried down as much as they could be.

The door to the room you were in opened and you turned to see Phillip was back with a nurse, as well as a plate of food with a bottle of water for you to intake. There was a warm smile on his face, and it just made your situation worse. No matter how hard you pushed down the sudden feelings you had towards Phillip, they would always float back up. “Thank you so much, Phillip…” you mumble. “No, if anythin’ it should be me doing the thankin’ here. You saved my damn life the other day, takin’ that sniper bullet for me. How is it that you continue to impress me despite the two of us workin’ together this long?” Phillip praises. You want to turn away but you can’t, that southern charm taking a deep hold to your body as your heart takes over your logic. “I’m…not too sure myself, but I appreciate it a lot Phillip…” you say softly, the nerves getting to you for once.

Phillip smiles more than he had previously, placing the plate of food on your bed before handing you the bottle of water. “Thank you…” you say softly. “Anythin’ for you. That nurse is gonna get you the care you need until the doc can come in and see your shoulder. Bit of a shame you won’t be there with me when we finally catch Hasan.” Phillip says. “Those docs we got had all the intel we needed? I’ll be damned…” you say, laughing softly as you take some morphine provided by the nurse. “Wouldn’t have gotten them if it weren’t for you having that smoke grenade and pushin’ me to the floor. I’ll be back later, rest that shoulder up okay?” Phillip says, gently rubbing the safer part of your back. “Before you leave…” you say, looking up at him. “Yes, Y/N?” he asks. “How…long have you been sitting there..?” you ask. “Well after having a briefing with Shepherd the night we got back, I came here and waited until it was safe to go in and see you.” Phillip said.

Your eyes widen upon hearing that he was practically there the entire time, waiting for you to wake up. It was never a thought in your mind that someone was so dedicated to you, platonically or not, and wanted to see that you were truly okay. It screwed your mind up more than it was at this point, and you were beginning to confuse platonic feelings for romantic ones. But how was it even possible to feel what you did, especially for your own superior? To even know what love felt like?

You needed more. So much more from Phillip.

Six months would come to pass and you��d heal up well and found yourself to have spent more time with Phillip whenever he had time to see you while you had been recovering. He began doting on you a lot, pampering you and making sure you were okay in the end. Your physical therapy didn’t last too long thankfully, and you were put back in the field in no time. You were about to meet the men from Task Force 141 for the first time and it made you anxious. You had no idea what their motives were and why you had to work alongside them, convinced you and Shadow Company were the only things needed. Time was also taken to settle yourself emotionally, still finding yourself to be pining after your own superior.

But unbeknownst to you, Phillip was feeling the same thing. That look the two of you exchanged when you saved his life before realizing and remembering you had been shot downright forced him to, out of fear of losing the you as you were the only person he was closest to and didn’t know he had been in love with, do everything he could to make sure you were safe. Sure Phillip had had his attractions to all sorts of people, eventually finding himself sleeping around when he could. Despite this, nobody ever came into comparison for the way he did you. He took you under his wing and saw how damn near animalistic it was to witness you take the lives of his enemies; it was so much that it practically excited him. Phillip needed you, just as much as you did him.

Gearing yourself up alone in your private quarters, you sense a presence that didn’t feel as familiar and you froze up and waited to see what was to happen. But before you could even attempt anything, you were pinned to the wall and your arms were held to your back. After a bit of a power struggle, you broke out of the mysterious person’s grasp and swiftly pinned them to the wall. You finally realize it was Phillip that had pinned you, and you could see the wild lust and adoration in his eyes. “Ain’t nobody can do that better than you can, baby.” Phillip said. “I suppose I could say the same about you, sir.” you say. Phillip puts an idea over your lips, shushing you before he speaks, “Address me properly as your superior, Captain.” You momentarily look away, flustered by this sudden entanglement, “I could say the same to you, Commander Graves.” comes out in a whisper. “Good job.” Phillip says.

He leans forwards and catches your lips between his. Your eyes wide and staring into his own, as they’re pointed in a harsh and cruel glare, you see a sense of an animalistic danger. Phillip then pulls away, slowly leaning close to your ear, “Have I ever told you that I’ve had a deep, obsessive love for you?” he whispers. Heart thundering in your ears, you shake your head, “No, Commander Graves. Never heard it from you.” you say firmly. “Then let me tell it to you now; I love you so much that it hurts from how bad I need you. Nobody’s ever been at my level the way you are and it fills my heart with a warmth I can’t contain.” Phillip whispers. Physically weakening, your grip on him goes limp and he takes this as a chance to flip your positions once more. “Commander Graves?” you ask softly, staring into Phillip’s eyes. “What is it, Y/N?” he asks. “I feel the same way. Ever since that night, I’ve felt an emotion I never thought I could. But…what are we now?” you ask nervously. Phillip chuckles and shakes his head.

“We’re partners now. Not just in the field, but also behind closed doors.”

#cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw22 #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #phillip graves #cod graves #graves x reader #slight angst #implied violence #mentioned violence #cod x reader #cod shadow company

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treasurecitymoonchild · 1 year

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Chapter 3 - Starstruck

story: The Lieutenant's Shadow - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

cw: fem!reader, ghost's pov, violence, fighting, blood, mentions of scars, mentions of death, cursing

word count: 5,412

chapter summary: Ghost's mind has been unable to think of something else since you've arrived at the safehouse.

read this chapter on ao3

Ghost's most important duty at that moment was trying to get you off his mind.

You had his attention from the moment you stepped out of the helicopter. An unfamiliar feeling came over him when he had first laid his eyes on you outside of the safehouse this afternoon, and it hadn't left him since. He couldn't quite place it, but he knew that he didn't like it. It was distracting him.

Ghost had noticed you staring at him for a while when Soap was showing you around the outside. You were wearing a mask, just like him. That caught his attention. You were hiding something, what could it be? What were you withholding from the world to see?

He scolded himself for his curiosity. Ghost never cared about a new recruit assisting the Task Force since it was always temporary, always just for one mission. He's had female teammates in the past, but he never let the thought cross his mind of making the relationship with them more than platonic. Besides, Ghost didn't give a shit if someone had a cock or a vagina. Take their gender away, and everyone is the same. Most of them will only care about themselves anyway.

Ghost tried ignoring your presence, but his eyes were glued to you from the start. When he caught his blatant staring at you again this afternoon, he got up from the army crate and left the armoury to try and get his mind occupied on other things.

Why did he feel like this? Hell, he didn't even know what he was feeling. Ghost didn't feel, not like this. All he knew was that he really didn't want anyone to mess with his feelings when one of the most important missions of his life waited around the corner.

Ghost had spent the rest of the day planning a scoping mission in a separate room of the safehouse. While trying to mark specific points of interest on the map of Al Mazrah he had spread out in front of him, his mind kept crawling back to you and he had no idea why. He hadn't even talked to you or seen your face, all he had seen was your body from a distance. Was this his dick talking?

It wasn't the fact that he hadn't seen a woman in a while. It was the fact that he knew he had to partner up with you. Ghost didn't need a partner in the first place, he always worked better alone. Price insisted on hiring one for killing Hassan. When his captain told him that he would be partnering up with a Shadow, Ghost felt insulted. He couldn't understand why Price felt the need to partner him up with a Tier One soldier. As if he wasn't good enough. He had made sure to let Price know that he wasn't pleased when the captain told him his plans a couple of days ago.

"Do you think I can't do it?" Ghost asks his captain.

Price gives him a look that screams 'are you shitting me?'.

"I'm sure you can blow the bloke's face off from miles away. But so can she, Simon."

Ghost slightly freezes for a second. She? He always thought the Shadow Company was an all-male faction.

"You need another pair of eyes and ears for this. We can't risk Hassan getting away. The man screams danger, and we can only guarantee safety when he is looking up at the grass. This mission can't fail."

"I never fail," Ghost tells Price, staring at him while slightly irritated. "My eyes and ears have always come from the privates we hire for missions, so I don't see your point here."

Price rubs his sideburns before grabbing a cigar from the tin box that was situated on the planning table. He lights it and takes a big hit.

"They aren't specifically trained with a sniper rifle. They can assist you on the ground, sure, but once it comes down to taking out Hassan, it'll be just you who can do the job. AQ is too dangerous for that, they'll do anything for their leader. You've seen what they did to the children in Taraq village. They have no mercy. I can't have you dead, Simon."

Ghost stares at his captain for a while, before ever so slightly nodding his head. He knows that arguing about this is pointless. Once Price has made a decision, there is no chance of changing his mind.

"Fine. But I'm not babysitting her."

Price huffs out a laugh.

"Trust me, Simon. She doesn't need to be."

Ghost recalled the conversation of a couple of days ago when he was talking to Soap in the common room later that day. Soap had asked him if he was looking forward to working together with you, 'the new girl', as he called you. There was no need for Soap to call you that since Ghost already had made sure to study your file intently before you joined, but that he didn't say. He knew who you were. He knew your skills. He just didn't know what you looked like. Just like with his file, there was no picture attached to yours. He thought that was odd at first, but when he saw you wearing a mask on arrival, it all fell into place. You liked your anonymity, and so did he.

Therefore, it came as a big surprise to see you walk into the common room without your mask. Ghost was about to answer Soap when his eyes shot in your direction, immediately taking in your uncovered features. His mouth slightly fell open under his mask: you were absolutely beautiful.

Soap noticed the frozen state of his lieutenant and turned around with a frown. When he noticed you, he immediately walked towards you, grabbing two MREs on the way. Ghost was left by himself, still looking at you in awe. When he caught himself staring again, he quickly turned around, his back facing your way.

He fumbled with his water bottle as he tried visualizing your face in his head, going over every single detail he had observed when you came in. He had noticed your striking eyes before, but little did he know that that wasn't the only beautiful thing about you. Your cheeks were tinted with a crimson colour, probably from the nervousness of walking into a room full of unknown men. Your hair looked rough, which wasn't surprising given the mask you had worn before. He was all too familiar with that. It still looked good somehow, your (h/c) locks framing your face gracefully.

Ghost's eyebrows furrowed as he remembered seeing something across your face. Not sure what it was, he glances over at you to get one more look at it. He tries doing so as quickly and subtly as possible. When his eyes land on your face for a brief moment, they widen.

A big light-pink scar marked your face. It looked like something had slashed across it. Ghost started wondering how you gained it. Was it in battle? Was it something that happened before the army? It made you look incredibly badass, yet so fragile at the same time. His thoughts went over the placement of the scar again. It started above your right eyebrow and stopped just above the corner of your lip. He couldn't help but notice how plump-

Ghost shook his head. Get a fucking grip, Simon.

"Assassinating targets to 2500 feet away with one bullet to the head."

Ghost's ears perk up at your comment as your voice shakes him out of his dazed state. 2500 feet? Impressive.

He glances to his left to see that some men are looking towards the conversation happening in the middle of the room, which makes his head turn around almost simultaneously as well. There you are, seated at a table with Soap, Gaz and another private.

"Yeah right, and I can stop a bullet with my bare hands." The sound of Henderson's degrading voice makes Ghost's ears hurt. Ghost hadn't been able to see eye to eye with the man for a while. Henderson always thought he knew better than everyone else, even though he was just a stupid private that had nothing on him. He notices Henderson's intimidating look towards you, making Ghost fully aware of the altercation happening a few feet away from him.

"Wow, good for you," you tell Henderson, sarcasm lingering in your voice. Ghost suppresses a pleased grin underneath his mask. However, that grin soon disappears when Henderson decides to open his mouth again.

"Is that how you got that thing on your face? Guess you missed one of those so-called far-away targets?" The remark made Ghost's fist clench around the water bottle, the plastic making a crackling sound as he does so.

"Man, shut up," he hears Soap say. Ghost watches you slowly putting down your fork as you try to keep calm. He is quite surprised at how you're handling this, he would've ripped the man's head off his torso if it was him. Your calm state doesn't last long, as Ghost hears you let out a loud huff before yerking her head towards Henderson, a furious look on your face.

"Listen here, you little shi-"

Ghost leans away from the counter to step in, but refrains from doing so when he sees Captain Price walk in. He towers over Henderson from behind before speaking up.

"Viper doesn't miss far-away targets, Henderson. That's why she's been hired to kill Hassan, and not you."

Tell him, Captain.

Ghost watches Henderson's expression change into an annoyed one. The private glares at you before he gets up to walk away. Ghost's eyes followed Henderson as he walked out, frustration building up inside him. He feels incredibly agitated, and it didn't even happen to him. Henderson should have tried acting like that towards him: he wouldn't be able to tell the tale. An unusual thought creeps into Ghost's mind.

Should he go after him and teach him a lesson?

Ghost glances over at you. As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn your head almost immediately, accidentally staring straight into his eyes. There is a brief moment of eye contact, causing a burning feeling to erupt in Ghost's chest. You look away from him just as quickly as you met his gaze, leaving Ghost to reminisce his previous thought. He's been wanting to put this asshole in place for a long time, he just never had a valid reason to rightfully do so.

Until now.

A fist collides with Henderson's ribs. He yelps in pain, causing Ghost to put his gloved hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds coming from the helpless man slumped in front of him.

Ghost had caught Henderson when he was smoking a cigarette outside, a couple of hours after the altercation with you in the common room. He knew that Henderson liked to light one up just before he went to hit the sack. He had to find the right time to confront him without anyone noticing, so he decided to strike when most of the team was already sleeping.

Ghost at first had resolved to confront the man only with words. However, Henderson didn't show remorse for his earlier remarks against you. He instead loudly laughed in Ghost's face, asking him why he cared so much anyway. When he had stepped closer towards Henderson, the guy pushed hard against his shoulder, sending Ghost over the edge.

His first punch made contact with Henderson's cheek, causing his head to jolt back. Before the man could realise what just happened, Ghost had already pushed the man against the wall of the safehouse. Henderson didn't budge, a nasty smile spreading across his face. That was probably the concussion talking because there was no way in hell that someone would laugh like that after one of Ghost's punches. Ghost grew more and more irritated by the man's demeanour, making his fist collide with his face once more. Henderson slumped against the wall.

He tried refraining from punching the man in the face too much so that it wouldn't be too obvious that Henderson had taken a beating. Obviously, that failed. The first punch had already left quite a discolouration on his cheek. Besides, Henderson had a face that just begged to be punched.

Ghost was now towering over the man, his breathing unsteady from anger. Anyone in his right mind would try not to challenge Ghost in this state, but not Henderson. Instead, the beat-up soldier gargled and seconds later, spat in his superiors' face.

Ghost stood there for a couple of seconds, trying to hold himself back from twisting the guy's neck on the spot. Alternatively, he took a deep breath before punching his sternum with full force. Henderson slouched forward on the ground, gasping for air. Ghost could've sworn that he felt something crack underneath his knuckles, but he didn't care. He deserved it.

It felt so good to mutilate the man that's been getting on his nerves for weeks. Ghost had a lot of anger issues, but almost never took them out on other people. Someone really had to enrage him to push him into this current state. Henderson had been doing a great job at annoying him for weeks, but tonight's altercation between him and you had sent Ghost over the edge. He had no right to talk to you like that.

"Get the fuck up off the floor," Ghost said through gritted teeth. He yanked Henderson off the ground by his arm, making the man shriek in pain. He pushed him against the wall again, putting his hand around the man's throat to keep him in place.

"In my team, you treat everyone with the utmost respect. You are nothing more than an incompetent, selfish piece of shit who will never reach our level. Don't think for a second that you can strike that tone against my people again, understand?"

Henderson didn't answer, his injured state making him incapable to do so. Ghost grabbed his chin with force, causing the private to look up at him with droopy eyes.

"I said, do you understand?"

The man quickly nodded, giving Ghost the satisfaction he wanted. He dropped his hand from Henderson's neck, causing him to stumble forwards and put his hands on his knees. Ghost recognized that stance from when Henderson was challenging you in the common room. The man now didn't look so confident about his actions as he did before. How the tables have turned.

Ghost raised his finger in front of Henderson's face. The man's eyes widened as he slowly looked up at his lieutenant. His breathing wheezed after each inhalation, making him sound like an exhausted dog. Ghost gave him a death stare.

"If I hear you talking to anyone about this I will fuck you up so badly that you will have to shit in a bag for the rest of your life. If you even are alive, that is. Now, fuck off."

An hour after he beat the shit out of Henderson, Ghost had gone inside the safehouse with the plan of trying to get some shut-eye. However, the moment he entered the sleeping area, a wave of restlessness washed over him. He felt on guard, uneasy even. He had no reason to since everyone was asleep and there were no direct threats around him. Not anymore at least. He glanced over towards Henderson's bed, finding him sound asleep. The beating he took probably knocked him out quite literally.

Ghost reached his bed quickly since it was the closest to the door. He stood next to it, staring at the neatly folded covers. He wasn't tired, but he wasn't anywhere near energized either. His left hand began pulling at the fingers of his right-hand glove, preparing to take it off. He stopped when he noticed blood splattered across the white skeleton print. Even though his hand was hurting, the blood on his glove wasn't his. Ghost smirked when he recalled his fist colliding with Henderson's face. Still got it.

He took off his gloves while looking up to oversee the room. That's when something, or rather someone, caught his attention. The light from the corridor that peeked through the crack in the door illuminated your beautiful shiny hair that spread across your pillow. Your back was turned towards him, your head almost disappearing from how deep it was buried in your pillow. Your breathing was so slow and steady that it started to ease his restless state.

Ghost stood there blatantly staring at you, for the umpteenth time today. He wasn't scared to get caught at this hour, since everyone was fast asleep, including you. It almost made him forget how creepy he must've been looking if anyone were to wake up right now. But he didn't care. He felt something when looking at you, something that made his eyes glued to you.

But what did he feel? Why did he even feel anything? He didn't know. For the first time in years, Ghost genuinely didn't know what he was feeling. He always knew what he felt because there were so few feelings to acknowledge. He had felt so little these past months, years even, but now it was like a bomb full of feelings had gone off inside of him.

Ghost shook his head, throwing his gloves on his pillow. He needed to get these thoughts out of his head. He couldn't do that if he was in the same room as you. Ghost turned around and made his way back outside, where he would finally be able to take off his mask and feel some fresh air on his now-flushed skin.

Ghost had been outside for almost two and a half hours. He was alone most of the time, with only a private instructed to change watch with his colleague coming outside. The guy didn't expect to see his lieutenant there, and he most definitely didn't expect his superior to tell him that he himself would take watch for the rest of the night. When the private tried explaining that he really didn't mind, Ghost kindly told him to fuck off.

He was caught up in his thoughts most of the time. Overthinking came easy to him when he was by himself. Ghost had learned to live with it, but normally his thoughts were either army-related or about his past. With your arrival, a woman suddenly took over his mind. A woman who he didn't know and hadn't even spoken to. It was your first day here for Christ's sake. You could be a massive bitch for all he knew. How is he supposed to work together with you if he couldn't even think straight?

And why did he feel such a need to beat up someone who talked shit about you? Okay, Henderson did deserve a beating anyway, but still. Ghost felt like he just couldn't let the fucker go unpunished. But why now? Why with you? People had talked shit about his teammates in the past, and then he didn't so much as verbally abuse them. Why did he feel the need to protect you?

Ghost sighed as he rested his head against the wall. He tried clearing his mind by focusing on the cool desert wind blowing against his face. It was a nice feeling after having his face covered by his mask all day. He closed his eyes for a while, breathing in deeply. He liked the nocturnal silence. At this time of night, no one would bother him or ask him any questions. Or so he thought.

His seemingly everlasting alone time was soon interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open. Ghost quickly put his mask back on, adjusting it just as fast to look towards the source of the sound to his right. He squinted his eyes a little, trying to get a detailed picture of the person pushing open the door. He was stunned when he saw you walking out.

You were completely oblivious to Ghost hiding in the darkness a few feet away from you. Ghost looked at you, unsure of what to do. You had closed your eyes for a brief moment, just like he had seconds ago, to take in the cool gusts of wind that blew your hair out of your face. His eyes travelled towards your hand resting on the door, for the first noticing time how small it actually was. He couldn't imagine how small hands like that could handle a heavy sniper rifle with such ease and grace as everyone was saying. The thought of what other things your small hands could do started to come up, but he quickly stopped that thought from getting too nestled in his brain.

Ghost turned his head back and continued to stare into the distance in front of him. Without further thinking, he decided to announce his presence by speaking up.

"You shouldn't be out here."

He immediately regretted saying that. He was kind of glad you were out here, with him. He just didn't want your first time speaking to one another to be at four in the morning, just hours after he beat the crap out of the guy who spoke shit about you.

You had jumped at the sudden sound of his voice. In the corner of his eye, he saw you frantically looking around in the dark. When your eyes finally landed on him, he could hear your breath hitch in your throat.

"Lieutenant, you almost gave me a heart attack." Your soft voice spoke. The sound of it rang in his ears like a siren's song. Hearing you speak directly to him for the first time made his heart flutter, but it also suddenly made him incredibly aware of the situation. Here he was, alone with the sergeant that he couldn't get out of his head since this afternoon. All his senses were on edge, but he couldn't make you aware of that. Instead, he returned to his trusted impassive demeanour.

"At least it'll be a natural cause and not a bullet to your head."

He could almost hear your face scrunch up as you thought over that comment.

"What?" Your angelic voice spoke again every so slightly.

"As I said, you shouldn't be out here. Especially by yourself."

Ghost didn't want to act like a prick towards you, but he felt like he had to in order to keep his feelings from getting the better of him. He saw your mood change in the corner of his eye.

"Well, I am not by myself now, am I?"

Your comment made him turn his head towards you. He took in your appearance. You were wearing nothing more than a white long sleeved shirt and joggers, with no tactical gear or guns on you, making you look incredibly vulnerable yet so simply beautiful.

Ghost wasn't used to people talking back to him, especially not in a sassy way. The fact that that feisty remark came from you surprised him, but also ever so slightly turned him on. Your hard nipples shining through your shirt really didn't help. When he felt his pants tighten around his crotch, he tried switching off all emotions, despite really not wanting to. He simply couldn't feel this for his subordinate.

A small moment of silence passed before you spoke up again.

"I don't think I've properly introduced myself yet. I'm Viper," you tell Ghost, extending your hand.

As if he didn't know who you were. You didn't need an introduction. You had been stuck in his head all day.

Ghost wanted to take your small hand in his, shake it as gently as possible, and feel how soft it was. But he'd get hard. He was already so close to getting hard. Even though you wouldn't have seen it in the dark, he refused to let his dick take over his mind. Instead, he just looked at your extended hand and refused to shake it.

"I know who you are." He simply tells you while returning his gaze forward. Ghost tried so hard to keep himself composed, to not let his interest in you show through in any way. Your presence so close to him made it incredibly difficult to do so. It annoyed him that you were influencing his mind so easily. He had years of practice with switching off his thoughts, but here he was, unable to switch them off at all.

Ghost sees you dropping your hand in the corner of his eye. You didn't look too pleased with his behaviour.

"Alright then. And you are?" you ask him, clearly annoyed.

Should he answer as a normal person would? You're just being nice for Christ's sake. Instead, Ghost again opted for his most trusted way of speaking. With no emotion and zero fucks.

"You just called me your lieutenant, so I think you are very much aware of that."

"Well, if it's not safe to be out here then why are you here?"

"That's classified."

Ghost hears an odd sound coming from your direction, one that makes his head turn towards you. Did you just snort? If anything, the last thing he tried to be is funny.

"Well, if you say so. Don't you need sleep?"

Why are you being so nice? He doesn't want you to be nice. Despite his behaviour, you still want to talk to him. He just wants you to leave him alone, for his own sake. On the other hand, he also really doesn't want you to go anywhere. Your presence calms him for some stupid reason, yet his heart is racing like a horse. Then what the fuck do you want, Simon?

"I don't sleep."

"Then how are you alive?"

"I barely am."

Ghost's comment made you silent. Your eyebrows furrowed as you thought of what to say to that. What he said wasn't true, but it also wasn't completely false either. He was alive, but he didn't feel alive. He hadn't felt alive for years. He was damn good at his job, but it also made him a cold-hearted son of a bitch. Killing came as easy to him as brushing his teeth. It made him emotionless, but now he was feeling a thousand emotions at once.

You were silent for a hot minute, making him think that you finally had enough of him. When you opened your mouth to speak again, Ghost closed his eyes in defeat.

"What is your-"

"Why are you asking me so many bloody questions?"

Again, he regretted saying that. He secretly enjoyed your interest in him. There was no need for him to be so rude, but it was the only way he could get you to despise him so you wouldn't come too close. Self-protection was one of the first things he thought of in situations like this.

"Why are you being so rude?"

Because I can't fucking feel this for you, Ghost thinks. He pushes himself off the wall, slowly making his way over to you. With every step he takes, he can feel his heartbeat accelerate. He breathes out heavily, trying to suppress the roaring feeling in his chest.

Ghost stops a few feet away from you, his physique towering over you. He is completely engulfing your small body with his shadow, making you invisible to anyone behind him. You look up at him with big eyes, unsure of what he's going to do. Your beautiful eyes amaze him the second he stares into them, making him hold his breath for a couple of seconds before speaking up.

"I'm straight to the point, not rude. Get used to it."

You give Ghost a challenging look while crossing your arms in front of your chest. You're not showing any sign of fear, which is something he's used to when he towers over people. You look confident, staring at him like this. It makes him feel less like an authority.

"Any other things I need to get used to?"

Your sudden comment snaps him out of his fixed gaze on you.

"Sorry?"

"Oh, don't apologize. As your new partner, are there any other things I should be aware of while working with you? Or is that classified too?"

Jesus Christ.

You're sarcastic too. Could you possibly get any better? Or could it possibly get any worse for him? A small smirk appears under his mask, one you can't see. He tries to shake off the slight amusement your comment gave him.

"I didn't need a partner in the first place."

"Yeah, me neither. But it seems like we're stuck with each other until Hassan has a bullet in his skull. Then I can fuck off back to America and you can continue your harsh ways as you please."

Ghost's face softens when he hears those words fall from your mouth. He knows that the new soldiers joining the Task Force won't be around forever, but for some reason, he feels a slight dismay at the thought of you leaving when the mission is completed. How am I supposed to get to know you in such a short amount of time?

Ghost instantly tells the little besotted devil on his shoulder to shut the fuck up for the millionth time today.

"So, grumpy because working together with me. Noted."

You're still talking to him. The fact that you're doing so without any signs of fear or shakiness in your voice makes him feel some type of way. He's not used to having normal conversations with new people without them stuttering or looking away from him. But no, not you. You are staring right back at him, challenging him even. Making him feel like he isn't the one in charge here.

"Listen, just follow orders and don't annoy me. Right now, you're starting to do a pretty good job at the latter already."

That wasn't entirely true, and he knew that all too well. You didn't annoy him at all. Ghost liked your attention, your interest in him. What annoyed him was how his once self-contained mind was betraying him. He had been able to completely ignore all the feelings of affection for years. Years. And here he was, losing all of this ability in a matter of hours.

He turns around and takes his stance back against the wall, lifting his right foot to rest on it while crossing his arms. You huffed, letting out an irritated laugh.

"Christ, ever heard of sarcasm?"

I know it's sarcasm dear, but I can't give in to it.

"Sarcasm or not, it's still annoying. It's interrupting my duties."

He didn't have any duties at this hour. Not any physical ones at least. The moment of confused silence after he said that indicated that you noticed that too.

"Well, good thing you don't have any right now then."

"Who says I don't? Just because you don't see them doesn't mean I don't have them."

That was a stupid thing to say. Someone who thinks twice about that comment can easily detect what he means by that. Ghost is slightly relieved when you don't question him about it further, giving him the perfect opportunity to end the conversation. As much as he doesn't want to stop talking to you, he has to. To protect his own arse.

"You're playing with your own safety by being out here. Go back inside. That's an order."

Ghost refrained from looking at you while he said that, afraid that he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off of you. He continued to stare ahead, silently praying that you just would just walk away without saying another word. But of course, that's not who you are. Instead, Ghost sees you positioning your hand against your temple in the corner of his eye. Seconds later, you salute him, a bitter smirk on your face.

"Aye, aye, captain, I mean, lieutenant."

His eyes slightly widen as he turns his head towards you again. You've finally turned around to walk away, giving him the perfect opportunity to comprehend what just happened.

You weren't scared to talk to him. You didn't have any fear in your eyes when you looked at him. You challenged him. You even mocked him. But most importantly, you were interested in him. Why the hell were you interested in him?

He simultaneously loved and hated everything about that conversation. About you. The way your voice sounded. The way your mouth moved. The way you spoke back to him. The way his rank fell so gracefully from your lips. The way your eyes hinted at him as if you begged to be-

The loud slamming of the door snapped him out of his thoughts. It wasn't until that moment that he felt that the incredibly tight sensation in his pants had returned. He looked at his crotch. He was hard. Rock hard.

Fucking hell, Simon. Pull yourself together.

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a/n: Another chapter, it's been a while! This is also a bit of a filler chapter, but I really wanted to write how Ghost experienced his first meeting with Viper so that his feelings are more clear :) Sorry for the long wait in between chapters guys, my schedule's hectic and I was dealing with a bit of writer's block for the past week :/ It is gone now (I think lol), so I hope to be able to write and upload more chapters soon! Thanks so much for reading, I really appreciate it <3taglist: @beezerbug @sweetybuzz25 @liueskii @pasta-m1lk

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