—Don't Look At Her

HIRAETH — A Simon Riley fic.

❱ This is a longer version of the au I posted on tiktok ^^ I do apologize for the repetitive use of some words. I'm working on expanding my vocabulary! Your kind word means a lot to me, especially the readers on tiktok, you guys mean a lot to me ! ꜝ？This fic may contain heavy topics such as death, depression and melt-downs, if any of those are not to your liking. Please do so exit the fic.

the fic is unedited, grammatical/spelling errors may be found!

HIRAETH — (n.) A homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; The nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

"[name]?!"

He frantically called, dropping the weapons he held to take a good look at your figure who collapsed on the floor. 

The mission had been awfully longer than they anticipated, by the time the third hour arrived, you and Ghost already had fatal wounds.

He hardly swallowed, feeling his throat dry. 

He would rarely call you by your actual name. Ghost always abide by the rules, lover or not, he called you by your callsign through the battles you fought with together,

This one, however, happens to be an exception.

Your panting chest, bloody body, and exhausted expressions stated so. 

He knew, you knew.

He was only grateful you were with him.

The physical pain had caught up to him, he sat beside you. Taking your dainty form close to his, holding you close to him. You could hear his heartbeat,

They were oddly calm.

"Lieutenant—"

"Simon. It's your Simon."

He mumbled, taking your hands in his. Clasping them together gently,

You gasped for air, though in his arms it felt as if you could still conquer ten groups of syndicate. He held you so gently, so protectively. You swallowed,

"Simon?"

"mm?"

"I hope I loved you enough in this lifetime."

You could hear his breathy chuckle, the rasp in his voice another proof of his exhaustion.

"You're rushing, doll, we are still at the part where we reminisce about the memories yea?"

You smiled at his words, disregarding the growing pain on your abdomen. You noticed his own body, the scars and blood covered your lovers figure, You knew it was inevitable.

Without mentioning anything about your wilting bodies, you smiled up at him.

"We haven't lived enough yet." You spoke.

"Indeed,"

"We'll just have to meet in our next one and make the most of what we missed in this one."

Your smile grew, "I didn't know you believed in reincarnation, Si."

"For you, I will. This life failed us," He spoke with weak determination, "This isn't our end, [name].

 I'll find you just as I did before."

With one final kiss, he held your body tighter to his. Covering your ears as protection for the upcoming explosion, as he whispered sweet nothings, 

"If I'm as grumpy in our next life, Please find it in you to be as patient as you are to me in this one. I love you, [name], see you there alright?"

It wasn't long until a blinding explosion defeaned both of your ears, the noise was much bearable for you as he covered your ears tightly. Pressing your body close to his, Well it is the last thing he did, love you and hold you til you both accepted the inevitable fate you've been bestowed.

At his very last moments, he held you tight.

﹑

﹑

﹑

"I'll find you in our next life."

﹑

﹑

﹑

"See you there, alright?"

﹑

﹑

﹑

"Love me just as much as you did on this one."

﹑

﹑

﹑

Soon after the final explosion, Price made sure to clear the place. The eerie silence of Ghost's nonexistent callouts haunted him, along with the walkie he found which belonged to you.

He knew there was one answer, but he had a tiny speck of hope. You and Ghost never failed them, it was this life that had failed you countless times.

"Captain, it's been hours, it's just—let's try to be realistic. There's no way Lieutenant would be so quiet unless he—"

"Have trust in them. They're both strong."

As the two discussed whatever conclusions were the most possible, Gaz had found himself in a particularly secluded room. It was wrecked, obvious that the explosion did not spare it,

"Cap.. captain, you might want to see this."

With hitched breaths, the three of them stared at what the room unfolds. 

His arms wrapped around you protectively, dried blood covered the two of you as you held each other. The sight pinched the soldiers heart, how could such a tragic sight depict so much love?

The two of you laid, almost showing no signs of life. Price had to drop his equipment, staring at the sight and taking in the vulnerability and acceptance you both showed,

"They held each other." Soap mumbled,

"Tightly." Gaz whispered, staring at the grip your cold hands had on ghosts arms that wrapped around you lovingly.

Price found himself approaching the two, with a heavy heart. He checked for a sign of life—anything—holding your pulse first,

Nothing.

"They're gone."

He whispered, the silence of the room almost suffocating the room. None of them had yet broken down, though they felt as if their knees would give out. Price reached for Ghost's after checking yours,

Eyes widening as he frantically double checked Ghost,

"There's—He's still breathing."

﹑

By the time evac had arrived, Price had known it was far too late to save both. He knew this was now their reality. As he sat outside the room where Ghost lay unconscious, completely unaware of the world he’ll wake up to, unaware that he’d live to see that his lover is now gone.

Price felt his stiff heart ache as the thought of them accepting the inevitable death whilst in the arms of each other. How could the two of you receive such a cruel end? Not only were you separated, you had passed thinking you remained in the arms of your love,

He also knew you would hold no grudge if you find out that Ghost had survived the tragic explosion, Price could imagine the gentle smile on your lips while saying ‘I know he will, he’s always been tough.’

He closed his eyes shut, holding his head as he rested his arms on his weak knees, “how the hell am i supposed to tell him.” standing up to return to his station, looking at the window to see Ghost’s resting figure.

As days went by, Price had to argue with people to push further the funeral. It can’t happen yet, not without ghosts. He knew he could only delay it for a few more days. He had faith in his comrade, but at the same time that hope easily withers as days pass them by like a blur.

“Captain if we don’t proceed with the funeral, [name]’s body, it’ll—”

“We have to wait for him.” he interjected sternly, glaring at the soldier, “we have to.”

He knew his logic had given out in favour of his emotions, he can't bring himself to betray simon. Not when he's already been through, he'd lost the person he cared for the most, He just can't do this to him.

“Captain the body, they're doing everything they can to help preserve [name]. But if this keeps on, the body will decay completely! Do you think the lieutenant would be delighted to see the person he loves rotting? He wouldn't—I'm sorry captain. This needs to be done, with or without him.”

Price grimaced, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he closed his eyes shut. He pinched the bridge of his nose, before nodding with a heavy heart.

“Very well.”

“Proceed with the funeral.”

﹑

“Si, have I told you how much I love your eyes?”

“‘Mm? Yeah, all the time, doll.”

You chuckled, ruffling his hair. You loved the way his eyes squint whenever he’d smile, even the slightest smile he shows, you loved it every single time.

“I love looking at them, they look really pretty.”

“You think so?” He asks, caressing your face.

“I know so. I want them to be the last things I admire before I pass away.”

His eyes weakly fluttered open, his breaths shallow but much more stable than. He’d woken up certain that he’ll turn to see your peaceful face, away from the wars, away from the scars of the battles you both conquered, he knew and was certain he’ll turn to his side to see you peacefully resting with him after the turmoil you've both overcome, as proven of the light that blinded him when his eyes fluttered open,

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he sat up, with a relieved sigh. Turning to his side, prepared to caress your soft skin, 

His breath hitched.

You weren't there.

You weren't anywhere near his proximity, where are you? He finds himself sitting on an empty hospital bed with nothing but his dumbfounded state. He looked around, observing the place with a tired frown, he felt rage. Why is a dextrose connected to him? That was where your hand rested before the explosion killed the both of you,

..right?

“[name]?”

He whispered, standing up, ignoring the piercing pain he felt all over his body. Pulling the dextrose and removing it from his arm roughly, 

Why is he breathing? Why is he alive?

“Hell, what is this?”

No. no no no no no no no.

He stormed out of the room, uncaring about the strange looks thrown towards him as he opened each and every room of the hospital. Panic surging through his body, he won't accept it, he won't. You've gotta be inside one of these god forsaken rooms,

Shocked screams and gasps were heard by every door he opened, abruptly interrupting the patients as he searched for those particular eyes. That particular person he needs. He was determined, in one of these rooms you would be laying down on the bed, resting, waiting for him.

If he’d survived, you surely did too.

He won't live otherwise, not without you. And so he continued barging inside rooms, panting and grumbling to himself everytime a different pair of eyes looks at him in terror, they weren't your eyes, you wouldn't have looked at him with a petrified expression, you would look at him with a smile,

Like you always do.

You open your arms and wait for him to close the distance and embrace you, pressing your bodies tightly against each other like he did the night of the explosion.

“Lieutenant!”

Price’s voice rang through the silent hallways, with workers of the hospital frantically following the two of them, “what are you doing simon—”

“Where are they?”

“Where is [name]?!”

He angrily snapped, voice flowing with venom as he started to feel himself fall into a hysteria.

“Where’s my [name], john?” he repeats, this time weaker. Desperate for answers, desperate for your whereabouts, desperate for you.

“Simon, let's calm down. Let's go back to the room and talk.” Price tried to calm him, slowly making his way towards his friend, aiming to take him back and avoid him from causing another scene.

“No.” he shakes his head in disbelief, tears brimming on the verge of falling, “tell me where they are.”

Price felt his heart sunk, he'd never seen the hard-headed ghost look so vulnerable and desperate. “Simon, come on let's go.”

“Price. Where's my [name]?”

﹑

“They're gone.”

Price had managed to pull the hysteric Simon back into his room, sat him down on the bed despite his protest and cries. The sight crushed price’s heart,

“No.” ghost protests, “they're most certainly not.”

Price looked down, sitting himself down as well. Unable to take the lump suffocating on his throat. Ghost’s voice destroyed him, and he bet it would crush your soul to see your lover ask so desperately for you.

“When evac came, [name]’s already dead. It was too late, Simon, I'm sorry.”

“Then why!?”

Price looked up at Simon's exclamation, “why the hell did you think i wished to live if it was too late for [name]?!”

“Why did you have to save me, price?” he weakly stood up, looking down at price as tears fell down his eyes, they were tears of rage and grief—tears that he had rarely shown anyone but you.

“Saving me knowing I'll wake up without my [name], what did you— what did the lot of you think? Now tell me,

Tell me what ill do, tell me price, what the fuck should i do?”

He cried, weeping his unfeeling heart out. He cant feel anything, none worth mentioning—the hurt of losing you plagued his heart,

“I can't, price, I can't do this.”

“Send me out there, make me fight those syndicates, have me tortured for months but not this—not this, i beg you. Don't make me live without [name], don't do this to me.”

Price felt his own tears pool his eyes, he couldn't take it. Not when ghost stared at him with contempt and helplessness.

“Take me back to [name].”

“Please.”

Without you, there was nothing else left for him. Without you he wouldn't wake up looking forward to meeting those eyes that once looked at him with adoration. Without you he wouldn't feel that extraordinary love you had saved only for him. Without you he won't feel, without you he is nothing at all.

Nothing but a breathing piece of sorrow revived to a body which was once happy with you.

Without you he's simply nothing.

CW- military type stuff, some blood, alluded sexual content

Tears have always been expensive.

For all the time you had known him as a fellow captain, he possessed so many wonderful qualities that made him a wise leader, a valued companion, and an even sweeter lover. He held so much of your heart in his broken body. But what you admired the most was his innate strength that you trusted as you would your own heart.

“Please, please, don’t leave me here,” you begged into his hand. “Don’t leave me all alone.”

His grip tightened on you, as if to steady himself in the steady waves of pain that flowed from his side. “Hold on. Keep holding on.”

You could hear Captain Price barking out commands for a medic to rush to the table, but you didn’t care.

Your hand was pressed to the pulse point against his wrist while Yuri watched from afar. It stuttered, but held true. Between groans, you heard Soap speak once more to you.

“Sing to me, lass.”

You lifted your head from where his hand held it. “What?”

“Sing for me. I’m going to die anyway. Before I go, I want to hear you sing to me.”

You paused to look at him. His eyes shone with the welled truth of his unspoken love.

You nodded softly before asking him, “What song would you want for me to sing for you?”

His soft eyes crinkled like he was smiling. “You know the one.”

Your heart hurts then. You knew exactly what he wanted you to sing but, you knew if you sang it, it would mean that this would be truly over.

“Not that one. Please, anything but that one.”

He squeezed your hand in his clammy grip before replying, “It is my wish. Please grant it.”

“Okay.”

You straightened your spine and readied yourself for the pain that was to come. Despite the bustle of the room, there was never a more tender silence in your life than this.

One last time, you looked for him to tell you he was ready. He blinked and quietly, you began to hum the tune.

“How unfair, how unfair they’ll sing as they dance across the darling rooftop wreck

He’ll trip and she’ll pretend not to have seen,

Burying her head into his chest and clinging to the moment, ‘where have you been?’

She’ll whisper ‘I’ve waited oh so long for you to come’

And as the stars above them hum and hear them he’ll turn to her and say ‘that’s what she said..”

You paused to move his hand from your cheek to rest at the side of your neck. In death, you prayed he would not remember the words of the song itself, but the way the vibrations of your love rose and fell for him.

“It’s not fair, it's not fair how much I love you

It’s not fair cos you make me ache you bastard

And she’ll say

'Oh how, oh how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I’ll spend my days so close to you cos if I’m stood here

Then I’m stood here

And I’ll stand here

I’ll stand here with you.”

Your eyes dropped to where a tiny diamond softly shone atop John’s glove. It rolled down the fabric, losing liquid as it fell, til it slipped onto his skin.

The little droplet spread through the invisible crevices of his scarred forearms, laying on him like a tiny hug.

Every part of me wants him to stay.

John’s hand drew you out of your thoughts as he moved to brush away the droplets on your cheek. Silently, he looked at the space on the side of your face.

A bittersweet smile spread across his face. “I’ve never had someone cry for me like this, A ghràidh,” he said. A cough rattled through his broken body and when the captain held John’s head up, underneath was a rapidly spreading puddle of blood.

Yuri stood back for a few seconds, watching the table like a silent sentry.

Price quickly laid his friend back down and screamed for a medic again.

The glass of the windows was blown to pieces and bullets whistled around you.

You could care less.

What mattered right now laid on a diplomat’s repurposed hickory table, bleeding from a wound that would never heal.

“Oh God, please…I can’t lose you too,” you softly cried to him.

John’s normally glass blue eyes glittered a soft cornflower through the tears.

He spoke in a whisper, hoping you could hear him over the roar of the firefight.

“I had a dream once that you wore the white dress that we saw in Paris… and it was me waiting for you. We would live together… and I hoped that one day, we would have a family to care for.”

He paused for a moment to cough.

“I want…to live that life. But, even more so…I want you to live.”

An ugly sob that encapsulated your misery escaped your throat and the burning in your eyes mixed into the blood on the table.

John turned to the captain that was still actively begging for his friend to stay alive.

He spoke, “Price…Makarov knows…Yuri.”

You don’t know what was the first mark that John had finally passed. It was either the wail that the captain let out or the limp grip of a hand that was still tucked in yours.

The memory of what happened next doesn’t come easy, but Price would tell you later on that he had never heard a scream that scared him quite like yours.

A soldier approached you about leaving right away. Their grip guided you towards the stairs and to the evac point, but your heart was a hundred miles away right then. With every step, you cried for them to let you go back to him, to be by his side, to let you die of a bullet wound. So you would not be alone.

Underneath your sternum, a searing pain started to spread like wildfire through a dry forest. It burned through your organs, submerging your core into the terrible inferno and you groaned at the torturous pain growing within. The soldier guiding you down the stairs glanced over, concerned at the hunch in your spine growing more prominent.

He sped up, but held you closer.

The captain stood over a collapsed Yuri who was explaining what Makarov had said, and quite frankly, you did not care.

The man you loved was dead by the hands of a slimy bastard and you would make sure that he felt the chasm that he opened in your heart.

Not even a week later, you were sent back out with what remained of the 141.

The plan was simple, but clearing the building was hard.

With every bullet you shot, bloodlust and a thirst for revenge coursed in your veins, rushing with power. You rushed the hotel with a furious vengeance, men loyal to Makarov collapsing under the weight of your intent. They were thrown against walls and beaten with the fire that swallowed your grieving heart whole.

But the anger you felt was no match for a helicopter.

Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was a chance, but you were thrown against the wall, knocked unconscious.

Yuri did his best to wake you with what little time was left and the two of you stumbled to the roof, a four legged beast made of determination for revenge.

And when you made it to the top, Yuri raised his gun with the intention to kill.

In the end, it was Yuri that died from two gunshots. Makarov had almost hit you before Price pulled him down and slammed him into the cracking glass. The noose that was wrapped around his neck caused Makarov to thrash.

Before the dark curtain that was starting to layer your eyesight could settle again, you picked up the handgun that lay nearby and did your best to aim at the glass.

For John.

The glass spider webbed under your bullets.

A fuzzy darkness enveloped your vision.

A slow thudding pulsed within your head, audible if you concentrated hard enough. For a second, you thought you were dead. But, the sensation of thin cotton trapping you and the cool temperature of the room made you realize you were still very much alive. Comfortable, even, but that was really a stretch. You didn’t really want to open your eyes to see where you were, and you made no move to do so until situational awareness demanded that you try. When you did, bolts of pain scratched at the insides of your skull and you closed your eyes to stop it.

Warm tears helped to wash away the grittiness that persisted under your eyelids and you decided to try again. Slower this time, you patiently waited for your eyes to adjust to being used again before looking about the scene before you.

You laid in a hospital room, connected to many beeping machines that cluttered your bedsides. A curtain was pulled between you and your new roommate. They made no move, but the steady white noise of the heart monitor assured you that you were both alive. Clearly they were asleep, and you had no intention of waking them.

Everything around you smelled of a sterile cleanliness, even your own body. A quick look over to take inventory of what had been done to yourself came back with no results.

You wiggled your toes and stretched out your legs. The hands that had carried you through battle were opened and closed, and through it all, no new marks were born upon your skin.

A miracle.

Finishing observing yourself, you scanned your memory for where you were and how you got there. You don’t remember anything after the time you took your shot. No matter. If you were here, that meant Makarov had perished. Swearing to the heavens, you hoped that whoever killed him made it hurt. The little burst of hatred was gratifying, but taxing.

All of the energy you had after first waking up had sapped nearly instantly, giving way to a massive headache and a terrible dizziness. Settling back down, you accepted that this would be your first bit of rest in a long time. Ever since the war started, you rarely got a full night of sleep.

Gazing out the window, the light of the moon shone through to the right edge of your bed, luminous and full.

It was so beautiful, so lonely up there with no one but the stars as companions. The light that it shed toyed with your tired eyes.

Dim shadows danced in the corner of your room like a ghost of holy night. They came to your bedside and laid themselves beside you.

Their eyes shuttered closed and you followed them.

The second time you woke up, someone was holding your hand. The Captain. He sat reading a newspaper with a publication date from before the war started. Most of Price was fully intact, a badly bruised face and what looked to be a broken nose, but he was alive.

You squeezed his hand.

He looked at you and you swore that the man that sat next to you carried a burden so heavy that his soul could not hold it. He looked nothing like the teacher that had been a trusted companion to you.

His smile was still his though. Quietly he told you, “Don’t move too much just yet. You’ve been out of it for about a day now. You somehow only got a concussion out of that whole ordeal.”

You sighed before speaking. Your voice cracked and broke when you spoke. “Hurts like hell right now. My whole body aches for more rest.”

Price put the newspaper on the bedside table then brought his hand to cover his eyes.

“I know, I know. But we’ll be alright, love. It’s just you and me now.” He hunkered down in his chair again, taking a brief hiatus from his reading to relish in doing nothing.

Neither of you had had a chance to do that in a long time.

Left alone with your thoughts, you wondered when they would inevitably send you back out to gather the dead. They needed volunteers and nobody enjoyed handling corpses, so the government would hastily acknowledge the accomplishments of the 141 and would reassign the remaining two. They’d have to wait until you and the captain were released from the hospital. Till then, you would lay in your bed and take time to rest.

The lull of the captain’s quiet presence combined with the warmth of the sun shining onto your bed dropped you into a state of near limbo.

Before you could slip away though, you heard Price murmur to you one final thing.

“I think he saved you, girl. That boy must have done something to protect you one last time.”

Price’s calloused hand came to rest on your head. He stroked it in an uncharacteristic display of gentleness, but you were so tired that you did not mind.

“I’m glad he did.”

Sleep came easy then. You knew you were safe with Price and whoever else watching over.

About a week later, you were released from the hospital under the understanding that you would report to Price should any extra pain or injuries emerge.

When returning to the base, central command alerted you that your next job would be without Price.

They were sending you out to aid in the search and rescue teams, but unknowingly, they sent you straight back into the heart of Prague.

Price would be sent to retrieve the bodies of Ghost and Roach and when he had completed that task, would rendezvous with you in Paris.

It did bother you that you wouldn’t be with him, but he assured you that you would see each other again very soon.

Before you boarded the helicopter, Price grabbed your arm.

“Let me know if anything comes up. My comm lines are always open for you,” he said. The last few days had been anything but kind, and you gently patted his shoulder before replying, “Don’t worry about me, captain. Take care of yourself too.”

The ride over was nothing special, but it put you back into hopeful headspace that the ground wouldn’t be covered with the nameless bodies of dead civilians and soldiers.

You were wrong. The pavement was littered with bullet shells, military grade weapons, and dead bodies, all of them cold. Vehicles of all kinds lay about, some of them were covered in the rubble of collapsed buildings.

It became evidently clear that drifters had been wandering through the silent streets with the amount of ransacked stores you found. How sad it was to find some civilians stagger out of concrete buildings, asking for water and food because all of it was gone.

At one point you found a whole group of women and their children hiding in an abandoned mall. Each shop had a family packed inside, cramped. They watched you with fear in their eyes, trying to gauge whether or not you were a threat to their safety.

A translator medic explained that the war was over and that they could come out to the field hospital for food and water. Most of them sprang into action, gathering what they had left onto their backs, babies wrapped in cloth scarves around their chests. Others that were more cautious stayed back, but followed when they could judge that there was no threat.

Some of the women made eye contact with you, but they didn’t hold it for long. They were more concerned with making it to a safe place than with whatever you were doing.

Once the building was cleared out, you searched it for any stragglers. There was one.

A bundle of dirty blankets wriggled beside a curled up body in a sleeping bag. A lady and a tiny child.

You rushed over to check the vitals of the woman. Her pulse was close to nothing and her eyes barely showed any recognition of your presence. The baby was still very much alive and looked to be healthier than its half dead mother.

Another woman must have been taking care of the babe for her, but left the child in the mass Exodus.

The lady grabbed your hand. “My husband is a soldier. Is he alive?” she asked, teeth chattering. You held her hand tighter. “I don’t know him, miss. Let’s just try to get you out of here, okay?”

You called for backup and two other medics ran around the corner. With your help, they pulled her onto a stretcher and you picked up the baby.

When you arrived outside, nobody came to put the infant with its mother. You, an agent of war, stood unsure of what to do with the little one.

That was until a tiny hand tapped your chin. The baby did not cry at your tired face or wail when you shifted your arms. It didn’t even care that you jerked your head away when it tried to grab your tied back hair.

You swore that you had never met a more quiet, curious child than this one. Then the baby’s probing hands pulled on the loosened glove on your right hand.

The glove slid off and you struggled to hold the baby and pick up the fallen glove. The child babbled and you felt two little hands reach for your middle finger.

A silver anxiety ring with woven hearts jingled. The baby was fascinated by the sound it made when the rings rotated and for a moment you paused.

That ring had been a gift from your team as a group Christmas gift. They were gone now, but the moment was bittersweet when the child in your arms shrieked in joy at finding the big heart again.

Tears dropped onto the child’s head and it looked up at you, confusion in its eyes. You smiled sadly and for a moment, the little one stared like it was really seeing you.

Then, another medic walked to you and explained that she would take it from here. You handed the child over to her, and wiped away the wetness on your cheeks. The glove remained in your left hand and the ring stayed wrapped in the baby’s hands.

Countless more hours were spent clearing buildings and ushering in volunteers willing to help with moving the rubble.

Before you knew it, two days had passed. Your body withered under the exhaustion of the tough work, but the base you were staying at was well equipped for that.

Every night, you powered through your fatigue and washed away the dust that settled on your face. When you looked in the mirror though, the woman staring back was almost foreign.

The shape of your face was a bit more shallow. And the thin scratches from being thrown at the side of your neck had seen better days. But what scared you the most was the look in your eyes.

A grief so disconsolate reflected back to you. There had been no time to let yourself mourn, and frankly, you did not want to.

To accept that he was gone was to give into the heartbreak that every lost lover knew.

You couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t have wanted you to cry.

But you wanted to do it anyway.

There was so much pain welling up in your body, coming close to drowning you in it. Some days, misery clogged your throat and made it hard to focus on anything at all.

Those days made for the worst nights of all.

But you lived through it. You prayed for good dreams.

Other squads of medics had worked their way through the city with the intention of meeting you in the center. The capitol building was waiting there, and strangely enough, it was deemed as safe enough to not need as many guards as what was necessary.

You dreaded going back there.

So, you begged the head medic to let you sit this one sweep out. He explained that he couldn’t allow it. There just weren't enough people that could clear out buildings and he needed you on the ground.

That night, you lay on your cot inside the gym of the base, listening to the soft hum of other women and their children sleeping. By no means did you think it would change anything but, you hoped that wherever Soap was now, he would remember the song you gave to him.

That sentiment stayed with you till sleep found you.

When you awoke, the sky was still dark. Quietly, you slipped out of your makeshift bed and gathered your clothes to rush down to the empty locker rooms.

Once you had fully prepared for the day, you walked into the empty halls. Nobody was quite awake yet, so you wandered.

Each floor of the base was filled to the brim with civilians, soldiers, volunteers, and medics. Not one room was underutilized.

With no destination in mind, you went to the roof of the building. There wasn’t much up there, except an old office chair and what looked to be a pot for cigarette stubs.

The sky was starting to lighten, though, and with it a heavenly array of colors painted themselves.

Black faded into blue, which soon became pink, then red and orange, and finally, a shade of yellow before the sun emerged.

A warmth bloomed inside you despite the cold of the morning air and before you knew it, you heard doors and voices down below.

Down the stairs you went into the halls. Quiet murmurs echoed in the building and throughout the courtyard. You wouldn’t load into a vehicle for about another half hour, but you couldn’t help the way that beauty brought some hope.

Though the head medic could not allow you to stay on the base for this mission, he did advise you on breathing techniques to calm the mind and body.

You practiced those on the way to the drop off.

The drivers hurried on the road and they reached their destination all too soon.

You hopped out and hefted your weapon.

You would be sent to look through the buildings and streets of the quiet city. This would be your last day on this job before moving on to meet with Price.

Before they sent you off to look around the buildings, you looked up into the blue sky and watched a little bird fly overhead. If that bird could make it through the war, surely you could live through the day.

Perhaps this was a silent reassurance from the cosmos that the world would recover. That you would recover.

You went with your group and followed their directions to split without hesitation. As if the squad leader wanted to punish you, she ordered you to take your nurse to the area closest to the capitol building.

Your nurse was a newbie, a volunteer who hadn’t seen the full extent of the damage done to the city. Their eyes widened at the grotesque smattering of bodies, but it seemed they were more curious than cautious.

Without much proper training, they tried to wander away instead of staying with you. Under constant reminder, they reluctantly glued themselves to your side as you worked your way through the hotels and business buildings.

Inevitably, you found some civilians that the nurse promptly took care of. There were never any attackers, but there were the remains of Makarov’s forces.

A few of them seemed to recognize you and tried to avoid your dead stare as much as possible. They seemed to recognize that if you could kill them, you would and used the nurse to put some distance between you and them.

They cautiously watched the brand new gun in your hands swing back and forth, but they never tried anything.

Your merry travel buddy finished their job then motioned for you to lead the way. You kept going, but quickly recognized the way both of you were walking.

The resistance had set up headquarters in a lonely square, and it sent fear pulsing through your veins from the last time you were there.

Resistance fighters were strewn on the stairs and their bodies stunk. No doubt it would stink even more on the inside.

The nurse peeled off on the excuse to go check the rubble for somebody and you couldn’t care less.

Stepping over the bodies, you push on the door gently. Nothing exposed itself, so you stepped in. Bullet casings for one 1911 were scattered about the floor, like golden petals before a bride.

Not yet.

The rooms upstairs were mostly empty, except for four soldiers preparing to shoot you. Once you told them not to shoot as best you could, the men recognized you and allowed you to explain.

All of them were happy to hear that you and the captain had survived, but when you inquired about the rest of their teammates, their faces fell. They lost most of their squad, and wanted to know about Yuri and Nikolai.

Your hesitance told them much. “Nikolai is alive. He’s with Price right now. Yuri…did not make it,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

The oldest of the men spoke. “Don’t be. The good in this world is worth dying for.”

With nothing left to say, the fighters gathered their things and clunked down the stairs. The youngest patted your shoulder. He looked to be about eighteen, but spoke like a man. “Yuri was my brother. He would be happy to know that you are okay.” He proceeded for the door, but paused to look back with an expression that you had seen too many times.

Defeated. Unfocused. Sad.

It didn’t belong on one as young as he. “Your husband is cleaned up. I did it.” Your heart leaps in your chest at the boy’s admission. This young man had done something for you not knowing if you would come back. All you had done was taking his family member from him. In that moment, you wished that it was Yuri reuniting with his brother, not you. Softly, you approached the young man.

He did not flinch or back away when the glove on your hand came off, nor did he do so when your hand came to rest on the side of his face.

His eyes welled with tears and his throat bobbed at the tender touch. A moment passed before he burrowed himself into your palm.

You nearly wept at how young he looked and was. This child had gone through so much pain and loss in a war that was not his to fight. Most likely, he had not been touched like this since he was with his mother, wherever she was.

Silently, you thanked her for raising such a gentle, good natured boy. When his skinny arms trembled, you held them still.

“We each have lost someone we loved. Just…don’t let it consume you, okay? I promise that your brother loves you so much. He will always be there when you need him.”

The young man’s crystalline tears fell between you before he wiped his cheeks with his sleeve. You rubbed the boy’s shoulder.

Down the hall, a shadow in the shape of a man stood. “I think you should go, kid. Be happy,” you said, ushering the boy towards his older friend.

The larger man slung his arm over the boy’s shoulder and tucked his head low as they walked down the stairs.

With a deep breath in and one out, you followed their pathway down. There was a hypocritical desire to run from what was coming, but avoiding him would never bring closure. You had seen so much suffering both mentally and physically and experienced it as much as anybody else, but this was possibly the most terrifying feeling of trepidation ever. What would happen? Will something change? Were you afraid of that change?

As you stood at the bottom of the stairwell, the doorway gaped open, the shining sun blazing in. Unconsciously, you shivered under the warmth.

You prayed for a modicum of strength before setting your sights on the room ahead.

You were ready to meet your groom.

Slow and steady steps lead you through the walkway and there he was.

John’s body wore most of his military gear except for the vest. The 1911 rested in his hand on his chest and there was no blood on the table. There was none anywhere, not even on his boots.

The young man had cleaned him up very well. But it was clear that this man was dead.

His face had sunken in and his pallor was an unhealthy gray. The stiffness in the joints also were giveaways that he had been here for a while now. You sat on the floor at his side as he lay on the table. It hurt to see him like this.

The soldier you had met when you were both young is nowhere to be seen.

When you first arrived to meet your squad, Soap had been the first man that you truly noticed at the base. He was smiley, had beautiful eyes, and a wonderful physique. You were only human, a woman no less (even if you were desensitized). How could you refuse to look?

Price introduced you to each other as sergeants and the grin he gave you practically made you swoon(if you told her, your mother would have been over the moon that you found one you liked).

Then you actually met him.

He had been headstrong and cocky beyond belief, but he had the skills to back up all the silly claims that he made. That cockiness had been what originally drove you away from him, but it also drew your interest.

You didn’t want to be killed by his recklessness, nor did you want to be involved in whatever silly mistake he chose to do this time. However, you found him to be considerate and kind to anyone he met. Then, you both were given a higher rank and sent out on different missions with new people.

What little you did know of him faded to oblivion in the three years of assignments that you did as a lieutenant. However, you were both thrown for a moment when work brought you back together.

Like mixing together red and blue, somehow you both managed to clash perfectly. The reckless boy you remembered had grown into a responsible man (even more attractive now). But he still had the spark that had drawn you to him in the first place.

It had all started on the field. As teammates, you had to learn to get along with one another. As leaders, you tussled for power. As friends? You had a barely there budding relationship.

But all good things start small and as time went on, your bond grew deeper.

You learned more about one another through talking, joking or working together, and observing the other’s mannerisms. You fought together and fought each other. Whatever you chose to share with him he would share with you in turn.

In the end, both of you emerged with a better understanding of one another.

Conversations became longer and longer, texting each other when you had breaks between missions, meetups were far more frequent, and down times were spent around each other.

You remembered the first time he had invited you into his home. He lived about an hour away, so you went to the store before taking the train towards the nearby station. John had always mentioned wanting to try his hand at cooking, so you suggested that you cook dinner together. That was the first time you had placed your boots next to his.

You brought the groceries and John would provide his home and tools. Together you worked, one unit on the field and one in the kitchen too.

In the end, you successfully made some pasta and a mess of his kitchen, but it was absolutely worth it. After cleaning the dishes and kitchen together, you made him promise that the next time would be at your house.

Those happy meetings kept happening for years to come. It was during one of those when you finally decided to stop beating around the bush and address what had grown inside of you unknowingly.

What was a friendship was no longer strictly platonic, new feelings being poured into a fathomless bond. Your own emotions grew in strength whenever he was involved.

You would be sent to different places and would miss his quips about your L115A3 in the first fifteen minutes on the flight. Other times, he would be deployed and suddenly the whole idea of him being hurt would hinder your work ethic. And when you returned or he came back, he was the first one that you wanted to see.

It became common to see you two around each other, so much so that it allowed rumors to grow exponentially. Most of them were ridiculous and some were just not plausible. At one point, you even found a note balled up on the floor of the briefing room that two soldiers had been passing back and forth about whether or not the tension between their two captains was real.

There were whispers whenever you walked past the other female soldiers in the locker rooms. None of their intentions were ever malicious, just incredibly curious. It didn’t bother you that the others talked, in fact it was quite amusing. What bothered you was that neither of you were allowed any privacy at all.

The murkiness had made it hard to determine where the line between attraction and friendship began. You did know that you wanted more of him though. In whatever way that was.

Sadly, you also knew that there was a possibility that whatever you felt was not reciprocated and he wanted to keep you as a friend. You had never felt something like this for anyone before, and if you managed to screw this up, you would never forgive yourself.

But fortune favors the bold, so you decided to make a risky move and tell him what you felt. Good communication is key, after all.

It was after a meal with him that you jokingly touched on how lonely your home felt when it was just you there. John caught onto the poorly disguised emotion in a matter of seconds.

“Are… do you enjoy having me around?” he asked. You smiled a bit.

“You know I do. I have something to look forward to whenever you’re here.” He inhaled shallowly as you both strolled down the driveway to his car.

You waited a moment to hear what he had to say. “I can’t say that I don’t feel the same, lassie. I’d be lying to you.”

“Then don’t lie. Tell me your truth and I’ll tell you mine.”

He kissed you then, and you swore that the deities in the heavens above must have crafted this man from the most hallowed materials found on earth.

Moments of touch followed. There was no lust in the connection you shared, only a steady, sweet desire to pick up on all the lost time that had taken so long. His forehead rested against yours, cheek flushed a soft rosy shade, loving arms wrapped around you, and you finally understood why love was the muse of artists.

For the past four and a half years, the two of you spent even more time together, attentively nurturing the blooming tree that was your relationship. There were many firsts together and many hopes for the future. The largest one was marriage.

In your line of work, marriage wasn’t rare, but it most certainly was dangerous. If the enemies you fought found that their adversary had a partner, it could potentially put both of you in the crosshairs.

The discussion happened on a variety of occasions. Sometimes, it occurred in the middle of the night in the mess hall when neither of you could sleep, sometimes it was in the warm sleepiness of a winter afternoon.

John wanted to get married as much as you did, but both of you knew that it would change the carefully planned dynamic in the warzones. Work would always get in the way, but the future was never promised.

So, when he unwrapped himself from your bed to wake you up one night on break, you didn’t hesitate to follow him. He wove through the quiet rooms of the house, leading you to the kitchen. John had pulled a chair out for you to laze in as you waited for him to speak. He sat down as well.

His leg hopped up and down and he tapped his finger against the table in an erratic pattern. John looked everywhere but you. Instinctually, his activity signaled an anxious man that needed to be calmed, but about what, you weren’t sure. You lightly nudged the side of his leg with your foot to get his attention.

John paused to glance at you and his blue eyes caught a small ray of moonlight through the blinds. They burned and frothed with unknown intent threatening to spill out this night.

You did not break his stare. You feared that if you did, something inside of you would scream for doing so. He looked so inhuman in this lighting, like he was old in spirit but still retained all the wondrous strengths of youth. Then you registered a movement at his right shoulder.

He reached out to hold your left hand. You watched as he lifted it, running a calloused fingertip over the delicate bones under the tougher skin. John did not rush his exploration of your hand, rubbing the joints down to the nails in a non methodical manner. He reverently stroked your ring finger, only pausing when the skin filled with blood as he pressed down.

Both of you had been working together for a long time, so you could read the other’s body language like a book. Being around somebody for that long will do that to a person. But this time, he did something that you couldn’t predict.

Flipping your hand up, he compressed it against his own, as if comparing the lengths of your hand to his. Glancing at him, you find he is already watching for your reaction.

Unsure of what his desired outcome is, you press back against his hand to test the waters. He pushes back till your fingers spread and lock together.

You decide to break the silence at your kitchen table. “Is something wrong?”

John does not release your hand, but pulls it down to let it dangle between your chairs.

“No.”

That isn’t the truth, though. You can tell when you start to lose him again because there’s a furrow coming between his brows.

So you do the only thing you can and sit in a palpable silence til you can’t handle it anymore.

“Tell me.”

He stops staring into the shadows of your kitchen to reply to you. “Alright.” He paused like he was unsure of how to start next.

“ I…I feel that we’ve become something more than what I expected,” he said.

Your eyes narrowed, preparing for the sucker punch to the gut that he was about to deliver.

“We’ve been together for so long that this is just normal. You being in my house, in my office, in my kitchen, I mean. Everytime I look at you, I realize that you’ve just integrated yourself into this place naturally.” You recoil inside, feeling like a younger self being critiqued by a nasty partner that had nothing good to say.

“And now I can’t imagine a time when it didn’t have you in it. I’ve seen so much pain and suffering in the world and I understand the impermanence of life. So…what I’m trying to say is that this is the life that I want. Permanently.”

Oh. Oh.

He wanted something you could give. You chewed on his words a bit as John watched with bated breath.

“I think that can be arranged,” you started. “You’re certain you’re ready? I don’t want you to make an impulsive decision for my sake. I would stay with you even if you didn’t want that.”

He gripped your hand tighter as if that could prove what he was saying was true.

“More than anything.”

Soap watched as the wheels in your head turned, and then a smile he wanted to see forever spread across your lips.

“When? Because the kids will be pissed if we don’t tell them we’re getting hitched,” you say.

John’s eyes crinkle in a smirk.

“I was thinking right now. And don’t worry about them. They’ll forgive us eventually.”

Your eyebrows draw upwards. “Right now? Honey, it’s the middle of the night. And if you want to get married in a church, that would take, lets see… at least two to three months to arrange.”

He laughs. “Not right at this moment. But in the morning, we can go to the legal offices.”

You reply, “Well, I know one thing for certain.”

John curiously beamed at you. “And, what is that exactly?”

Calmly setting your expression in a facade that hides your intentions, you only tell him what you feel deep down.

“That I’m beyond excited to be Mrs. MacTavish.”

He can tell that there’s more. “That all?”

Your lips curve up into a clever smirk.

“And that you ought to take me to bed, Johnny.”

His eyes close and a soft groan stems in his throat before he stands and grabs your arm to lead you up the stairs.

“Bloody hell, woman. You’re a real piece of work.”

Your laughter drifted down the hall and that next morning, both of you were married.

But the sweetness of marriage soured quickly.

Tensions in all corners of the world began to increase. World War Ⅲ started and everything that wasn’t necessary was sidelined. Both of you were thrown into your work and deployed to aid in the fight. You were sent to defend the United Kingdom while Soap was assigned to gather intelligence in Russia.

The battle was long and bloody and every hour felt like another day in hell, but the promise that you would be free when it was over brought you the strength to survive. Every night, you hoped that a life with Soap waited for you after all was done.

Inevitably, you met again when the order to rescue Prisoner 627, an invaluable enemy of Makarov in the gulag, was to be carried out. When Soap stepped out of the helo, he gave a polite nod to all of your other men. Ghost and Roach stood behind him, quietly saying hello to you as well.

Soap showed no major response to you, only saying, “Good to see you, lass. Let’s get to work.” It didn’t irk you, mainly because he caught you later when you were alone.

After getting done with the briefing for the retrieval, you had walked down the hall to the filing room to finish some extra work. While looking over the papers, you forgot to check the intersecting walkways. A huge weight suddenly slammed into your side, dragging your body back into the shadows.

Your mouth was covered to stop you from calling for help and you considered beating this man to a pulp for underestimating your strength until an raspy accented voice tickled the side of your neck.

“Did you really not see me? My god, you look so tired,” he says, relaxing his hands. Leaning back into him, you reply, “I was busy, Captain MacTavish. And for the record, you have the same eyebags that I do.”

Twisting your head to look over your shoulder, you feel a scruffy sensation scratch the side of your face. “And what is this? Something I missed?” you say to him.

Soap’s soft chuckle rumbled in his chest and through your body, so normal to anyone else but heavenly to your joyful ears. He mutters, “I didn’t have time to clean up.”

You flip your body around to embrace him then. It was wonderful to feel so safe and warm after not being able to be with him for his last mission.

Gently rocking, you murmured into him, “Did you get any new injuries?” He smiled into your hair. “You worry about me too much, woman. I’m fine.”

“I’m your wife. I think I should be a bit concerned about your health,” you said. Soap leaned back against the wall before saying, “That you are. Are you alright as well?”

His eyes dragged around your body and you spoke. “I’m okay, just tired. Been running back and forth, trying to keep Shephard happy.”

His visage visibly darkened at the general’s name. “Is he overworking you?” You slid your hand up and down his arm. “I think he’s doing that to all of us. There’s just too much to do and not enough people.”

He stays peering into your eyes before burying his head into your neck. “I’m tired of this. Do you have any more work to finish?” You gently tuck your hands into the thick mess of his mohawk and rub through it.

“Just a little bit more, but you’re always free to sit with me while I finish up.”

Soap smiles. “Okay.”

Less than ten minutes later, John’s head lays in your lap, completely relaxed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man that could fall asleep as quickly as he could. That or he was really tired. His position on the floor was hardly comfortable, but clearly he didn’t seem to care.

Having finished working five minutes earlier, you lightly play with the skin around the back of his neck and watch as little goosebumps pop up in their wake. The heart trapped in your ribcage flutters.

For some wonderful reason, John trusted you with his life and that made these moments all the more precious. Gently, you ran your finger over the scar on his eye.

When he got this, he didn’t want to have you see it. What he did not expect was for the nurses to tell him that a certain female lieutenant was asking about him. That was the beginning of a much larger realization that came little over a year later.

He startles upwards when your finger stills for just a second too long, years of learned instinct triggering his fight response. The top half of his body flies up and off of the floor into a scanning position.

You draw your hand back and wait for him to thoroughly search the area for danger before turning back to you. When he realizes that everything is alright, he sighs back into your legs.

“I thought you were going to wake me,” he says gruffly. You rub the tight muscle in his shoulder before saying, “I just did. Let’s go to bed.”

Later that night, he came to you. Though most men were not allowed near the section of the base dedicated to female soldiers, you had your own room and not one person cared what you did during a time like this. In the silence of the sterile barrack, you heard the soft knock at the door.

Opening it gently to not wake anybody else in the hall, John stood backlit by an emergency light. There was no need for any kind of request; you let him in and shut the door behind you. The war waged on outside, but you had tonight and that was good enough.

The bed was small but to two touch-starved individuals, this was plenty. John all but buried his face into your chest, half asleep already and you rubbed the side of his head that was exposed to you.

He had groaned in delight at being cuddled and you laughed softly. This huge, commanding man was more than happy to curl up next to you and soak in the warmth of your embrace.

You would happily do this everyday of your lives if you could, just the two of you in a home you made together. In your mind’s eye, you could see it. One bed would sit in a room you shared, a kitchen large enough to survive any of John’s wild ideas, pictures on every wall, and two pairs of boots would sit by the doorway.

His snoring pulled you out of your mind. He looked so serene laying there, so lovely in the moonlight peeking through the blinds on the window. A pulse of true want caused you to curl up around him even more, cradling his head even more than you already were. You always did sleep better when he was there.

When you woke, one heavy arm was thrown over the small of your waist, a familiar face tucked under your chin. You dozed, only watching as the first light stretched across the grounds. There was smoke creeping over various places in the city, a reminder that the war had not ended and would most likely not be ending until the Russian president had been restored and Makarov had been extinguished.

Shepherd wasn’t making it any easier either. With every passing day, he pressured you to find the remaining survivors of other squadrons and lead them back into the fight with you. The unfortunate thing was that most of these survivors were either badly injured or suffered from extreme cases of PTSD. The few that were healthy enough to fight did rally beneath you, but often didn’t make it back alive. Those that did were your most trusted.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice the hand behind you slipping down your side to rest just under your rib cage. When you did, it was too late. A loud yelp of laughter erupted from you when the fingers started tickling your stomach. “Stop, stop, stop. Oh god, stop.” Another chuckle filled the room and you covered your mouth to prevent from waking everyone else in the hall up.

You pushed yourself up and shoved the invading grip away from your sides. John sat up on his elbows and you lightly slapped his shoulder. “Oh love, you wound me,” he laughed. You straddle his waist and smile down at him. “I can’t believe you just did that,” you exclaimed. He grins. “Believe it lass, cause I might do it again.”

He tugged you forward as you tried to escape, his calloused fingertips digging into the tender flesh of your middle. You writhed around to escape but ended up rolling off the bed. The cold ground was hard and when you look up, a sheepish Soap is peeking over the side. “Sorry about that. Here.”

You playfully slap his extended hand away and clamber back onto the bed. He allows you to curl into his side for a reprieve from the bitter frost of the early morning.

Modern Warfare (2019)

I'm getting tired of these scam bots appearing in my inbox. So, I'm disabling asks. I doubt it'll do much, but if I see another one ask for donations or whatever, I'm blocking them. I'll even send them to the moon if I could!

I don't have any money on hand.

I don't want to give money to anyone pretending to be a victim of genocide. (Note: I'd definitely try to help the real deal, tho. Israel deserves to have their weapons stolen and turned against them for what they're doing to Palestine, imo)

And even if I did have money, I wouldn't just throw it all away to some guy wanting to profit from a tragic incident. Which is fucking wrong, btw.

If you're looking to earn money, GET A JOB.

I have this silly thought bouncing around my brain about a one night stand with one of the 141 (soap is the current hyperfixation). You're gone before he wakes up, but you leave him a note with a review of his dick game as a joke. Just a lil "4/5 stars. nice hands and ate pussy like a god. talked too much and fuckass haircut though"

I think he'd get a kick out of it, probably keep it in his wallet. Track you down and be sure to get a 5 star rating next time.

“After a while of being holed up in the darkness of your own making, you become numb to everything that happens around you. Good news are only good as long as it takes you to realise that they pave the way to more bad news. A smile only stays as long as it takes a frown to catch up. Even when a little burst of kindness comes your way, you think you can’t possibly be deserving of it. That there must have been a mistake, some kind of wrongness, a bend in time and space. You might be afraid: this darkness is what you know. You have learned your way around it. You know how to navigate it with your eyes closed, with your feelings on hold. You think that things don’t last, that they never do, and that this is the way of things. You claw at your skin because you are desperate to let the light in, but the cracks in your body are filled up with bitterness, impenetrable. Or so you think. You think that it is impossible to escape from this prison - whether it was you or someone else who put up the bars. You might feel like you can’t move on, that you can never leave the darkness behind you. But please think back: there probably was a situation you could see no way out of three months ago, or ten months ago, or two years ago. But you found a way out. You always did. You chose to break out of your prison, to be open enough to let the light in. You chose to get up in the morning. You chose to let go. You chose to move on. You chose the way past the hurt, past the memories, past the fear of falling back into old patterns. You chose to step into the light. And you can do it again.”

— step into the light / n.j.

Just a reminder for any bloggers that are unaware—

The following blogs are spam blogs, all pretending to be Palestinians needing help in Gaza. They are mass flooding tumblr inboxes with identical text + emojis in order to ask for $90k USD.

Even when you block these blogs, they will use a side blog to send you seemingly infinite anonymous asks, and THEN change the sending blog when you block that anon.

At least 2 of these blogs have been confirmed by @gazavetters to be spamming blogs.

Here is the list:

mosabsdr

abedmajeed, which is now both aboodfmly and derawi1994, and which is also known in tags and/or blogs as:

Abdelmajed (tag)

abedmajder (tag)

familygaza5 (blog)

derawigaza (blog)

derawifami (blog)

(All of the above under aboodfmly link to the exact same chuffed fundraiser.)

nasergz

sajagz

abd20001

nasr-daher

Note: mosabsdr has a note in gazavetters' official vetting Google Doc to warn others of the spam behavior, since they are violating rule 2 (do not spam supporters or non-supporters).

Most or all of these blogs have replies turned off, so it's virtually impossible to message them directly and ask them to stop sending asks.

Please block, delete asks, and do not engage with these blogs.

To block anonymous asks: you have to wait until you get one, unfortunately, but you can then hit the 3 dots on the top right and then block the specific anon that sent you that ask. It's not perfect, but it's better than nothing.

Stay safe out there, and please donate to help Palestinians at this World Food Programme link.

HAI! i rlly like your platonic 141 fics and I'm wondering if we could get some more dad price and/or brother gaz sleepy cuddles? :3

stretched too thin — python333

— — — —

synopsis gaz notices you overworking yourself one night and decides to step in before you end up pulling an all-nighter.

relationships platonic!gaz & gn!reader.

characters gaz.

word count 2.05k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of pet names [love, darling], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note oh my god im so sorry i disappeared for like. a month. ill try my best to not be gone for more than a week at a time, but with all of my schoolwork and just over all stress ive been experiencing lately, i dont know if ill be able to get fics out every week :< ill try my best though! please accept this fic as an apology—its another big bro gaz one!! special shoutout to everyone else who has an older sibling thats very distant with them, you and me are in the same boat fr!! also, last thing—im thinking about making a discord server where i announce when fics are being written and published and stuff, but i dunno if yall would join or anything, so if u would pls lmk!!

You haven’t left your office in five hours. 

Recently—just about two days ago—you finished up an assignment fairly quickly and, as a result, had to write a detailed report of said assignment. It went over the mission you’d gone on, and listed off every major detail you could think of, though because you just can’t give yourself a break you were constantly thinking of other details you might’ve missed even though there was little chance you’d missed anything.

The mission wasn’t anything too important, honestly. It was originally going to be a week-long camp-out reconnaissance by an enemy task force’s base, obtaining information on their schedule and what they did throughout the day and whatnot. However, only a day into the mission, the small squad of soldiers that had accompanied you saw another small military group observing the same group you’d been observing.

So, naturally, you observed them as well. Aren’t you just the best multi-tasker?

The task force eventually found out about the other group, just a day later, while your squad was still in the clear to continue your observations. So, your mission had quickly come to a close—but, because of the circumstances under which the mission had come to a close, you were required to write an extremely detailed report on the other group and the group you’d been observing.

It would be an understatement to say you were tired. You’re exhausted.

Between the non-stop writing, the coffee sitting on your desk that’s been microwaved five times and has been refilled thrice, and the uncomfortable chair you’ve sat in that you have yet to replace, you’re extremely exhausted. Your movements are sluggish, your fingers aren’t as swift on the keyboard of your computer as they usually are, and worst of all—you still have more to write. 

Your eyes stung and felt dry, your hands felt like they were going to stop working completely at any moment, and you were overall just exhausted. 

You look over at the clock on your desk, and it reads 02:28 AM, indicating that you would only have about four hours to sleep if you went to bed now. I’m too far into this report to stop now, You tell yourself, sighing as you blink slowly at your computer screen, If only my vision didn’t keep getting blurry… 

Suddenly, you hear a knock at the door. Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, and for a second you think you’re hallucinating until the knock sounds once more. 

Reluctantly, with a voice raspy from not using it almost all day, you call out, “Come in!” 

Your voice is softer and quieter than you’d like it to be, but it doesn’t matter too much to you at this moment—at least, not in your foggy mind that still begs you for sleep, even when you have far more of your report to finish. 

The door opens with a creak, and in walks Gaz. 

“Sarg,” He greets you, not bothering to close the door behind him as he walks up to your desk, “Pleasure to see you for the first time in, what… three days?” 

“Two days and eighteen hours,” You correct him, taking a moment to crack your stiff knuckles, not taking your eyes off of your monitor, “And you know you don’t have to call me ‘sarg’ or ‘sergeant’ or anything. We’re the same rank.” 

Gaz promptly ignores you, “Right, well, anything over a day is way too long for me to go without seeing you. Why’re you all cooped up in here on your computer?”

“‘Cause I need to write a report on my assignment,” You briefly explain, before lightly goading Gaz, “Not all of us need a shit ton of attention every day like you do.” 

“Ehh,” Gaz theatrically makes a thinking face, before shrugging, “Not sure what you mean by ‘us’, but alright.” 

“By ‘us’, I mean everyone but you.” 

“Surely that doesn’t include you, right?” 

“It does.” 

Gaz gasps quietly at your reply, before dramatically responding, “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“I absolutely can,” You hum, finally taking your eyes off of your computer screen to look up at Gaz, “Is it so hard for you to believe that I don’t need to talk to you every waking hour?” 

“It is, actually,” Gaz scoffs, “Because I know that you do need to talk to me every waking hour.” 

“Uh, no I don’t,” You childishly argue, raising an eyebrow at Gaz.

“Uh, yes you do,” Gaz immaturely argues back, crossing his arms, “Look me in the eyes and tell me that the past two days and eighteen hours haven’t been shit because I haven’t given you any attention.”

You open your mouth to form a response but quickly close it, realizing that yeah, actually, I kind of do crave his attention. 

Fuck.

“You’re not the only person that gives me attention,” You point out, hoping to find some way to change the subject.

“Sure, but you like the attention I give you the most,” Gaz hums, leaning forward to rest his crossed arms on your desk opposite of where you sit.

“You don’t know that.”

“Then tell me that I’m wrong,” Gaz challenges you.

You narrow your eyes at him, glaring at him for a moment before sighing, “You suck.”

“Maybe I suck, but you look like you haven’t slept for the past week,” Gaz points out, “You look exhausted, by the way. And dehydrated. Actually, you just look like the human embodiment of a headache.” 

“What the fuck?” 

“I mean that in the most loving, non-offensive way possible.”

“You come into my office, accuse me of needing attention from you, then you insult me by calling me the human version of a headache?”

“It wasn’t an insult!” Gaz raises his hands in surrender, before sighing, “I’m being serious. You look dead, [c/n]. You need sleep.” 

“What I need is to finish this report,” You huff out, beginning to turn your attention back to your computer, before Gaz’s hand is quickly placed on your chin and forces you to look back at him. 

“No, what you need is some rest,” Gaz argues, more serious this time, taking his hand off of your chin—something you shouldn’t miss nearly as much as you do, the warmth of his hand fading far too quickly from your face—and bringing it back to rest on the desk. 

“Maybe you need rest, Gaz.”

“Sure I do,” He shrugs, “But I’m only going to sleep if you do.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Really? You’re pulling that card?”

“I am.” 

You stare at him for a moment, mentally weighing your options, before sighing and bringing your elbows up to the table so that you can place your forehead in your hands.

On one hand, if you stay in your office you can finish up your report before four and then go to sleep, and hope that you magically feel active even with just an hour or two of sleep in the morning. On the other hand, if you go to sleep now, so does Gaz, and then you both get more than just two hours of sleep. 

After another moment of consideration, you huff out a frustrated breath and mutter, “Fine.” 

Gaz smiles down at you and walks around your desk to your side of it, holding out a hand for you to grab to help yourself up from your chair and using his free hand to save your report and power off your monitor. 

You take his hand and stand up, your legs a little weak and balance iffy from sitting down for so long, but within the next few minutes you’re sure you’ll be able to properly walk. You let go of his hand once you’re positive you won’t fall over, and once he sees that you’re able to walk, Gaz silently walks towards the door of your office. Just as quietly, you follow him. 

He turns off the lights for you and lets you walk out of the office first, locking the door from the inside and closing it once you’re out. Once he’s done, he takes the lead again and you follow him down to his sleeping quarters. It’s not too long of a walk there, only two minutes at most.

Once you’re there, Gaz opens the door and lets you walk in first. Once you’re inside and Gaz has closed the door, you shrug off your camouflage patterned jacket and toe off your already loosened tan boots, leaving you in just your camouflage cargo pants and army green undershirt.

You look down at your pants with a frown, knowing from experience that sleeping in them was incredibly uncomfortable and left you regretting your whole existence the morning after, but before you could even look over at Gaz to tell him of your situation, you felt something being thrown at you. 

You immediately turn your attention to the item that had been hurled at you—the item in question being a pair of gray sweatpants, some that would probably be a little bit looser than you’d prefer on your figure—and then look over at Gaz with a questioning look. 

“Figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in that,” Gaz shrugs, nodding to your cargo pants in response to your nonverbal confusion. 

You hum in appreciation, not wanting to talk too much at the moment, instead waiting for Gaz to look away before slipping off your pants and replacing them with the sweatpants Gaz had thrown at you. The fit isn’t as uncomfortable as you thought they’d be—they’re loose and hang low on your hips, just like you thought they would, of course, but they don’t feel nearly as weird as you thought they would.

Once you’ve tightened the strings on the waist of the pants, you get into Gaz’s bed, pulling the covers up and over yourself. Gaz quickly settles into the bed next to you, quickly getting himself comfortable under the sheets, and pulling the covers up and over his shoulders in one swift movement.

He gets closer to you, so close that his chest presses against your back and you can feel the tip of his nose ghosting over the top of your head. He wraps one arm over your body to pull you impossibly closer to him, and his other arm snakes underneath the side of your body so that both of his arms are wrapped around you.

He hums contently and his thumb rubs small circles into your clothed stomach, the action—despite being small—causing your stomach to warm up almost immediately. 

“Comfortable, darling?” Gaz asks quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

“Very,” You mumble back, trying to subtly lean your head back against Gaz in hopes of getting at least one more kiss. Noticing your efforts, he huffs out a small laugh and presses another gentle kiss right at the edge of your hairline before pressing one last one to your forehead. 

Even with the comforting atmosphere, you can’t find it within yourself to fully relax, your body still tense and stiff underneath the blanket. Gaz, just like he did with your “subtle” movements, notices and frowns. 

“Just sleep,” Gaz tiredly mumbles into the top of your head, “You have to get up in three hours. The sooner you sleep, the more sleep you get.” 

You don’t respond, instead simply sighing and forcing your eyes closed. You do have to admit, it’s nice being able to actually close your eyes for something other than blinking, and closing your eyes for longer than half a second has made you realize that they were even drier than you thought they were. 

Exhausted and ready to finally sleep, you eventually get to a point where you no longer need to force your eyes shut, and as a result, your whole body relaxes for the first time in almost six hours. 

“G’night, love,” Gaz murmurs, feeling your body relax next to his. You hum in acknowledgment of his words, not finding the energy within yourself to properly respond, instead finding yourself drifting off into a deep sleep. 

And if four hours later, Gaz wakes up and simply lies there, not waking you and instead letting you get some more sleep despite you having to be up soon, nobody has to know.

Not me having a dream last night of shielding and trying to protect Simon Riley with my mid size body versus him wanting to shield me instead with his large hulking body against the would be assassin.

We were protecting each other back and forth, swapping places on who would rather be hurt repeatedly till I woke up from the dream.