TENDER + CRAVE [x]
oc: nikita alexeyev
fandom: call of duty
word count: 475
they don’t get to do this often. god knows they want to, god knows they want nothing more than to slip away when no one’s looking and just be together for a while, somewhere far away from the war and the violence and all that grief.
but they can’t. they’ve both got responsibilities, soap as a member of task force 141 and nikita as one of chimera’s top operators, and they only work together when price and nikolai deem it necessary. they don’t get to be together the way regular couples are, no matter how badly they both crave the domesticity of waking up side by side, of cooking breakfast with their hips bumping in a kitchen too small for the both of them, of kissing each other goodbye before heading to work.
they make it work, though. days like today, when they team up to catch a high-value target, when the job’s done and they get a few hours to themselves before returning to their respective headquarters, they rent a hotel room in whatever town they’re staying in and they pretend that this is the life they want.
“stop thinking.” soap’s voice is quiet behind him, muffled by the way he presses his lips in a tender kiss between nikita’s shoulder blades.
“i am not” nikita huffs, and the tension in his shoulders melts away when soap wraps his arms tighter around his waist and pulls him closer to his chest.
“stay with me.”
and how could nikita say no to a demand like this, when soap says it like a prayer, like he’s begging for god himself to let them be like this for a little while longer? with a sigh, nikita twists his body around so he can intertwine their legs together and pushes his forehead against soap’s with a small thud.
“i am always with you, милый мой,” he whispers. he feels soap’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. he can’t help but reach up to cup soap’s jaw in one big hand—doesn’t have to resist the urge, knows soap yearns for his touch just as well as nikita does for soap’s. “even when you do not see me.” he places his other hand in the middle of soap’s chest, where he feels his heartbeat against his palm. “i am there.”
with a shudder, soap combs his fingers through nikita’s hair and pulls him into a kiss that tastes of the bottle of whisky they’ve been sharing. there’s no urgency to it, not anymore, but in its stead is a desperation they can both feel to their core. a desire for this moment to never end, and a knowledge that it will.
“you’re so fucking cheesy,” soap scoffs, breath fanning over nikita’s lips. “i’m with you, too, love.”
nikita smiles, because he knows. he can’t imagine a moment where that’s no longer true.
heaving with his back pressed against a crate, finley clutches at his chest with– he shakes his head. he coughs, ignores the blood that splatters on his chin, squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe. the fingers pulling at the fabric of his shirt are his own, long and scarred and marked permanently by cybernetics. but when he looks down again, his hand is entirely made of metal.
there’s a snicker to his left.
“gettin’ a little confused, are we?” johnny asks. bullets fly through him where he sits on a demolished car, body glitching where he would have been hit had he been anything more than an illusion straight out of finley’s most annoying nightmares.
“shut the hell up,” he winces in reply, with as much bite as he can manage when he’s having a panic attack in the middle of a gunfight with maelstrom. “just– be quiet. for once.”
he’d be ashamed of the whiny twang his voice has taken if it wasn’t for the fact that it gets him exactly what he wants: johnny shrugs with a mumbled “suit yourself” and disappears.
finley sighs shakily, brings a hand to his eyes while the other reaches for the gun strapped to his thigh. these episodes have been happening more and more and, while they don't usually bother him too much—or as little as they possibly can when johnny is so insufferable all the time—, he hates how little control he has over himself when they do happen, especially when he's busy being shot at.
when he opens his eyes again, his hand is his own, as are the clothes on his back and the oozing wound in his shoulder. he leans closer to the crate he’s hiding behind to peak at the gang members shooting his way.
“sniper in the house, fyi,” comes johnny’s voice right next to his ear, and finley almost jumps out of his skin. instead, he spins around with a discontent grunt and aims at said sniper. takes her out with a single bullet in the red lights that serves as her eyes. “boom. we work so well together, v.”
finley can’t ignore the mocking tone johnny’s tone has taken. he rolls his eyes. he can already feel a migraine creeping in.
SENSELESS [x]
oc: carter quill
fandom: mcu
word count: 541
carter doesn’t like being alone.
it’s happened a lot in his life, moments where he was left with only himself; following his parents’ death, then when he changed hands between ravager ships, and later when the snap wiped out half the galaxy. he doesn’t think about it much now that he’s surrounded himself with so many new friends, but the loneliness sometimes creeps back in, like a parasite that never truly goes away.
joaquin is gone on a morning run when carter wakes up. he knows that because the clock reads 8:36am and joaquin always goes on runs early in the morning, then stops at a coffee shop nearby to bring breakfast back for them to share. he knows that.
except knowing doesn’t make it any better, not when carter sits alone in their bed, not when he dreamt of the senseless violence he took part of, not when he could really use a hug right now and the only person who could do this is running who knows where in new york city.
he brings his knees up and wraps his arms around his legs, tucks his chin close to his chest and squeezes his eyes shut. he replays soothing words like his mind is a record player, recalls bruce’s hand on his back and the gentle keep breathing, you’re okay, jasper’s chest under his cheek and whispered you’re doing great, buddy, joaquin’s fingers in his hair and hushered–
“oh, baby, what’s wrong?”
carter looks up so fast he thinks his head might fly off his body. joaquin quickly puts down the paper bag he’s holding, kicks off his shoes and climbs back in bed. he hovers close for a moment, waiting for the tell that it’s okay to touch, that carter won’t become intangible under his hands, before he wraps his arms around him and pulls him to his chest in a tight embrace.
“you’re okay, mi pollito,” he whispers against carter’s hair, and the latter whimpers miserably under his breath, clinging desperately to his lover’s sweaty shirt. “i’m here. i’m right here.”
“you were gone,” carter hiccups between quiet sobs. he wants so badly to be strong, but it’s so hard when he’s done so many horrible things. “i didn’t want to be alone.”
“i’m so sorry, baby.” another kiss to the crown of his head, and carter leans into it with enough force for his skull to bump against joaquin’s teeth. “i’m here now. i brought breakfast. i’ll be with you all day.”
joaquin’s presence, his voice, his words and the promise of the time they’ll spend together today are enough to encourage carter to breathe normally again. he inhales sharply, holds his breath, counts to four, and exhales slowly. just like bruce taught him. joaquin is smiling down at him when carter looks up, yellow eyes all puffy.
“you got waffles?”
“you know i did,” joaquin chuckles tenderly, combing his fingers through carter’s hair comfortingly as he speaks. “and i brought back some hot chocolate, too.”
carter manages to smile at that. he can still feel the edge of the nightmares on his mind, but this is something he’d much rather focus on. joaquin, waffles, hot chocolates and cuddles. what more could he possibly want?
