#nastybuckybarnes

[nastybuckybarnes]

Coal - Masterlist

it's about dang time, lex - everyone, probably

Pairing: Alpha!Simon Riley x Omega!Reader

Summary: ..Snapping the folder closed, he tosses it back to Price and rises to his feet. "Since you're just the messenger, you can tell them to send the pup back where it came from."...

Warnings: fluff, angst, military inaccuracies, language, a/b/o dynamics, kidnapping, violence, injuries, TW: mentions of assault, SA, sex, mentions of surgery/medical procedures, human trafficking, mentions of female sterilization,

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[bootzee02-reads]

Happy Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day!

I didn’t want to let this day go by without sending a note of thanks to the fanfic writers out there. I hope everyone is doing well and taking care of themselves. As a reader, I have been a little bit up-and-down this year. Every year I set up goals for my reading. Sometimes I reach them and sometimes not so much. I’ve been overly critical of myself and how I reblog this year. Sometimes I send really long messages in my reblogs and I feel like I can’t keep that same pace. Especially when I’m reading a series. Other times I feel that I’m not being original with my wording and struggle to find what I want to say without being repetitive. While I second-guess what I’m doing, I have actually lost some fics I’ve meant to reblog. I have followed more people and sometimes I worry I miss out on some of your great writing. I try to go through my list from time to time to see what I might have missed and to re-read fics that meet some kind of need or just resonate with me. Even though I don’t know you, I am always astounded by your willingness to share your works and your lives with us. You put yourselves out there for us and it never fails that somebody has to say something completely uncalled for or rude. Every time I read that, my heart hurts for you. We’ve lost a lot of good writers this year because of this nonsense. I hope you all know that there are so many more of us that support you. We all understand the need to take a break sometimes and care for yourselves. Whether or not I say it, I worry about you when you are quiet and hope all is well. This year I am hoping to not be as cautious. I want to reblog the things I like, no matter the content or subject. Also, I think I’m going to try to send more asks to show my appreciation. My hope is for you to find inspiration to write what you like and what moves you. I also hope that you find success, peace and happiness in all that you do. 

I always worry about who I do and do not tag in this kind of post. This is certainly not an exhaustive list but I wanted to acknowledge a few writers that have made my day a little brighter.

Thank you for taking the time to write and post your works 💜

@shreddedparchment @agentofbarnes @just-the-hiddles @xbuchananbarnes @theycallmebecca @thighs-of-betrayal-blog @imnotrevealingmyname @tilltheendwilliwrite @the-emo-asgardian @stevesbestgirl @nastybuckybarnes @angrythingstarlight @bolontiku @heli0s-writes @samwilsons-pillowpecs @ghostsstoriess @jewels2876 @poetic-fiasco @imaginedreamwrite @elfenbensord @wkemeup @avengerscompound @grufflepuff-writes-stuff @holylulusworld @ozarkthedog @river-soul @jobean12-blog

Note: I did end up being late as far as when the writers would be notified with this post. I have been tagging writer blogs in my reblogs so on those days I just wanted to quickly find a story it might be easier since I can’t figure out how to make a masterlist despite being given great directions. So…I used # instead of @ 😬 And that just falls in line with how everything has gone in the past year or so and why blog names didn’t pop up like they were supposed to 🤦‍♀️😂

[quietmyfearswith]

broken bones are mending {stephen strange x fem!reader}

status — oneshot

warnings — cursing, name calling (whore), attempt at angst, attempt at fluff

word count — 5,758

a/n — so this is for @nastybuckybarnes​‘s 7k follower celebration !! congratulations on this by the way, you deserve all the recognition for you really are a talented and skilled writer :) i know that stephen is a doctor but in this au he never became a master of the mystic arts, he’s just a doctor oki ,, as always, feedback is appreciated !! have a great day :>

masterlist

“Dr. Strange, you have a follow up check up with Mr. Roberts at 5:30 pm and after that you have a brief meeting with Dr. Palmer and Dr. West and you’re done for the rest of the day,” one of the nurses who assisted me in an earlier operation informed me about what the rest of my day will look like. I nodded my head as I paused in front of a hospital room wherein one of my orthopedic patients is currently confined in.

“Well, I’m just gonna check with Ms. Y/N and come collect me 15 minutes before my appointment with Roberts,” I informed him in and he looked at me weirdly, it was just 3:45 and he might have wondered why would I spend so long with one of our patients, but he did not have it in him enough to question my orders as he nodded and handed me the clipboard containing the progress report of the female patient inside the room.

As he walked away, I knocked on the door, “Come in,” I heard her voice shout out as she lowered the volume of the tiny television placed inside her room. “How you doing, Y/L/N?” I inquired as I went to her left side wherein she had injured her whole leg.

“Not too bad, considering how it’s nearing a month since I obtained this injury,” she joked as I playfully rolled my eyes and went to check her progress report. “Well, I’m just here to check your leg if that’s okay?” She nodded and paused the show she was previously watching, I then proceeded to remove her leg brace. I heard her let out small whimpers whenever I lightly grazed her leg, to which I quietly mumbled apologies.

“Does it hurt here,” I inquired while I pressed lightly on her fibia, “Or here?” and pressed on her fibula. “More on the first area. But only when you press it, not when I’m just laying down.” I nodded and quickly wrote down on the paper attached to the clipboard what I observed. As I looked up from the clipboard into her engrossed face, I lifted my eyebrows, and asked her, “What?”

Y/N shook her head and chuckled, which just made me become even more curious as to what was going on inside her head. After calming herself down with the chuckles, she sat up straight even more, “Are you tired?”

Her blunt question got me taken back, why the hell would she ask that? And seemingly out of nowhere as well. “Excuse me?” She smiled, though it did not fully reach her eyes and it looked as if she was genuinely concerned about my well-being, “You seem like you’re eternally tired. And it seems as if the life has been drained right out of you,” she snickered.

I shook my head, trying to shrug off her concern and not letting her see the appreciation of her attention. Instead, I directed my focus back to her leg and checked if there were anymore bruising and swelling. “You do know that I’m the doctor, right?” I asked as I began putting back the leg brace that helped her in her recovery, “I’m the one who’s supposed to be looking after you, not the other way around?” I asked after successfully assembling the brace and crossing my arms at her after doing so.

She shrugged her shoulders as she laid down again and casually replied, “Why can’t those two things happen?” I rolled my eyes as I collected the clipboard and headed for the door, not before reminding her, “Tomorrow we have therapy, so don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“Well, with this leg injury, don’t think I can go that far,” was the last witty comeback I heard from her before exiting her room and shutting the door. I paused briefly taking in our very quick encounter, she really is something huh, I thought to myself before walking towards my office — eager for this day to finally come to an end.

“Be honest, do you like hospital food? Or is it something you just learn to deal with?” I asked Dr. Strange as he was helping me stand up before guiding me into my first exercise. “Bold of you to assume that I eat that kind of crap,” Strange retorted as he slowly began to let me go. I worked on standing on both my feet, independently and despite a few initial wobbles, I was able to stand on my own after a few seconds of flailing my arms around in an attempt to gain balance and composure. I smiled widely and brightly at the doctor on my right, he looked as if he was fighting back a smile of his own before putting one hand under his chin and thought for a moment, “Try walking on your heels and toes across the room,” he ordered.

I began walking on my heels, away from him and towards the door, when I suddenly tried to converse, “Is it because you already taste like shit? Or you just got sick of what it tastes like?” As I returned from the walk and stood near him again he sighed, “If I answer, will it get you to cooperate and do what I asked you to do?” As I quickly nodded my head, he sighed once more before answering, “Well, if you’ve been working at a hospital for almost a decade, you get tired of their bland food. Besides, not all of their meals are that healthy, anyway,” he explained as he watched me walk on my toes.

“Try reaching for your toes without bending your knees,” he instructed and stood up — preparing for if ever I needed his help. I nodded and and bent down, I was able to do so, but not for a long time and slowly got back into standing straight. “Any pain in doing so?”

“Not much, just really not that flexible,” I stated and he nodded, “I reckon you should take more antioxidants, and not just rely on those protein bars,” I commented. “Why would you even bring that up?” he questioned, but before I could reply he immediately asked me, “Try bending your knees down with your legs together, then try to squat.”

As I was doing the exercises, I casually told him, “I chatted with one of the nurses the other day. He mentioned you’d pull double shifts and just snack on protein bars to help you get by,” I adjusted my stance, having my legs be shoulder-width apart, and moved to try for a squat, “Don’t think those will be enough to get you through two shifts. Plus, if I’m being honest, you need to drink some more water ‘cause you constantly look like you’d pass out from dehydration.”

He noticed I was having difficulty in squatting so asked if he could put one hand on my back and the other on my injured leg — to which I agreed. As he was aiding me on the exercise, he defended himself by saying, “Don’t see how my well-being is your concern. Plus, I’ll have you know that protein bars are delicious and substantial, thank you very much.”

After coming back up from a squat, I looked at him weirdly, “I’m not a nutritionist but I’m pretty sure that it isn’t a good substitute for an actual meal,” I commented before proceeding to go for another squat, “If I wasn’t confined, I’d cook you a homemade meal.”

“Alright that’s enough bending, did any of those exercises hurt when you were doing them?” I shook my head no and told him that it just ached a little when I was in that position for too long. “Now sit back down on the bed,” I followed his orders and let my legs touch the side of the bed with both my hands resting on my sides, “I’m gonna hold your leg and control it for a bit, that okay?”

I nodded my head and watched him lift my leg parallel to the floor and he asked if there was pain, even in the slightest, when he did so. This continued on for a few minutes, he'd move my leg a certain way, ask if there was any pain, and I’d always tell him if there were any pain or discomfort. “You know, if I’m being honest, I doubt if you can make a decent meal.”

Gasping loudly, I brought one of my hands in my chest, offended and hurt with his confession. He was kneeling on his left knee while both his hands were still holding on to my left leg and was moving it around to see if there were areas where I was experiencing aching — and even so he was performing a medical task, he had the nerve to smirk at what he said. As if he was teasing me even further.

“I’ll have you know, I can make one tasty and flavorful lasagna!” I argued, to which he just boisterously laughed at as he stood up and told me to lay back down so he can put back the leg brace. I let out a rather loud huff while doing what I was told, which amused him even more for he laughed once again, though it was softer and more quiet. “Perhaps that’s the only thing you can make tasty?”

I was about to retort him with a comeback when I found myself not doing it. This is the first I’ve seen him laugh out loud, genuinely and carefree, I thought to myself. “Laughing looks good on you, Dr. Strange.” This abrupt statement had him stop his reattachment of the brace halfway through, as he looked at me — puzzled and confused — and voiced out his statement of mentioned feelings, “What looks good on me, Ms. Y/LN? Is it the scrub suit?”

Even though I knew he was joking, I could not help but become a bit serious on the topic and told him, “Laughing — or joy, in general — looks good on you. It makes you seem relaxed and I dunno, more human, I guess?” I admitted to him nervously to which he just shrugged off and continued to hook up the brace. “Well, I’m glad that it was you who made me look not lifeless,” he said as he began writing down on the clipboard.

I draped the hospital blanket over me and reminded him, “Well they do say that laughter is the best medicine right, doc?” He chuckled as he finished writing down and looked at me and smiled, “Unless you’re laughing without a reason, then you probably need to be on medicine.”

I let out a few giggles while watching his form retreat and head for the door, “Will I see you tomorrow, Doctor?” He gave me one last look just before his whole body disappeared into the half-opened door, “As long as I’m still working at this hospital, you’ll surely see me, Ms. Y/N.”

“Thanks for providing your second opinion on my patient’s condition earlier, Stephen,” Christine praised me as we both walked out of one of the rooms wherein we’d meet with patients who came in for check ups or referrals. I patted her on the back, “Don’t mention it, Palmer, at least you came to me for help and not to Dr. West,” I remarked while quoting the word doctor.

She stopped in her tracks and looked at me seriously, “Can it, Strange. West is a good doctor, you just fail to see that.” Her defense had me rolling my eyes and crossing both my arms, “If he’s such a damn good doctor why don’t you always partner up with him and ask for his second opinion then?”

Before she could even prove her point even further, a nurse came to her and informed her about how her presence was required by one of the head doctors. “Honestly? I approached him first before you, so don’t get too cocky now, Strange.”

I stared at her with disbelief and disturbance with what she has just revealed to me. However, that state was cut short when the nurse who informed Christine had also reminded me, “Dr. Strange, you need to see patient Y/N one last time before she’s discharged and book an appointment in the following month for her follow up check up.”

Suddenly at the mention of the patient who continuously brightened up my day with her silly antics and attempts at conversing, I felt the slight annoyance within me disappear. I thanked the nurse and my feet took me to where my favorite patient had been staying for almost three months.  As I stood in front of her room, I contemplated for a while about how I wanted our last — for a while, at least, since their next interactions would probably be a few and far in between — encounter be.

With a deep breath, I knocked on the door, and heard her voice call out for me to come in. Upon seeing her wearing her civilian clothing and just sporting a smaller leg support and not a bulky leg brace, made me sport a soft and serene smile. Being the one in charge of her recovery has made me incredibly proud — when she was first brought in here, her left leg had a partial tear in her ligament, near her tibia, while there was swelling on her tibia which made it difficult for her to move around. In the short three months that we have collaborated in order to get Y/N back to how she was post-surgery, I have witnessed how her bravery and determination has got her through the tedious and lengthy therapy sessions that she had to go through, as well as the other medical procedures that she had gone through.

And now that she is being discharged from the hospital, I couldn’t help but feel pride for her progress. But there was also a part of me that feels somber. As much as I hate to admit it, our daily interactions — despite some being short while some lasted for over an hour — provided an illumination filled with hope and joy in my everyday life that was filled with exhaustion and monotonous repetition. “So Ms. Y/N, are you excited about being discharged?”

I watched her gleam at me, happiness and excitement being more than evident on her face, she stood up with a bounce and showed me how she was now able to conduct a different range of motions — most of them she was not able to execute in the past months. “More than ready, doc. All thanks to you I’m now not walking away with a broken leg,” she expressed her gratitude.

Her declaration warmed my heart, “You give me too much credit, you should also take into account the hard work and effort into getting yourself back into the way you were prior to your unfortunate accident,” I commended her as I sat down on the bench parallel to her bed. She sat back down on the bed, with her swinging her legs she replied casually, “Well that may be true; but don’t forget that you had to put up with my nosy and talkative ass, so yes, I think you deserve more credit,” she giggled.

I shook my head as I reached for the clipboard placed on the bedside table beside her bed, filling up the form which when completed would finalize her release from the hospital. As I was writing down on the paper — very slowly, hoping to cherish our last few moments together — we casually chatted up until she suddenly brought something up out of nowhere, “You gonna miss me when I leave, doctor?”

I paused from filling up the form and looked up at her with a raised brow, “What’s with the sudden confidence, Y/L/N?” I managed to deliver in a cool and composed manner, I wasn’t entirely sure that I wanted her to know how I looked forward to checking in on her everyday and that our conversations were something that made me happy for she was quick-witted and absolutely hilarious.

She shrugged her shoulders and fiddled with her fingers that rested on her lap, “Nothing really. It’s just,” she thought about what she wanted to say for a while, and set down the clipboard — containing the now completed release form; although I wasn’t telling her that yet — and looked at her curiously and eager to know what she had in mind, “Talking and spending time with you, made my time here somewhat tolerable and you know? It took my mind off from the pain and difficulty I had to endure from the procedures and therapy.”

I could not help but soften my look on here, at awe with how she viewed our interactions and how she also saw me as someone who brightened up the past few months — months that should have been somber and bleak given her situation. Before I could even respond she further explained, “It might sound silly, or immature, or even childish; but I really looked forward to seeing you everyday. And I’m thankful that you nursed me back to health but you also help me battle through the loneliness. So yeah, I’m very thankful to have met you.”

I gulped down and somehow decided that now was the best time to tell her that I reciprocated what she felt, “Well there's something I needed to tell you,” I began and I saw her eyes look at me eagerly and just as I was about to voice out what I felt, someone opened the door and entered the room, to which we both brought our gaze into.

“Kian! Hey you found your way up!” Y/N happily greeted as she waved to the guy. “Of course, I had to make sure you got home safely, where’s your bag by the way?” he inquired and she pointed to the bags that were placed at the front of the bed. He nodded and grabbed it, Y/N then looked at me and remembered, “What was it you were gonna say?”

I abruptly stood up and handed her the clipboard, “Oh it was nothing, just sign here and hand it over to the nurse at reception. She’ll shortly release you after that. And on the 15th next month is your follow up appointment, at 4:30 pm” my dismissal to her might have come across as rude, but I didn’t find the strength within me to tell her of how she was important to me seeing how she had a guy this good looking that was probably around her age and someone who cared for her enough to pick her up at the day she was being released from the hospital. Insecurity and doubt taking over my usual cocky and confident facade.

She seemed taken aback with what I said, eyebrows furrowed, she signed on the form and looked at my retreating form. “Okay thanks, Dr. Strange, see you on the 15th,” I nodded at her as I began making my way out of the room, in order for the two of them to have privacy and for me to conceal how the situation was now affecting me. I patted the guy, Kian, on his back, “Take care of her.” My legs walked briskly, knowing that if I probably stayed it would have just made me more sorrowful than how I already was.

Upon closing the door, I immediately made a beeline for my office. Grateful that my afternoon schedule did not include operations or checkups. Entering my office, I immediately plopped down on the sofa that was a few feet away from the door. I rubbed my face and groaned out loud, of course a woman who was extremely beautiful, funny, quick-witted, and determined was bound to be in a relationship with someone. Did I really hope that Y/N was single when she was that great? After a few moments, I told myself that I probably just infatuated with her because I saw her everyday for the past three months. I was just excited to meet someone who was completely different from the people I encounter on a regular basis. This is just a stupid crush that he would not want to think about and won’t have to think about once again.

With a sigh, I stood up and headed for my office desk and tried to distract myself from the memories of Y/N brightening up his day and instead buried myself with medical work.  

To say that my last encounter with Dr. Strange was a disappointment was an understatement. I told him about how much he has helped me get through this injury — and not just on the physical and medical aspect of it — and for him to quickly dismiss it. Perhaps he was just not comfortable talking about it with his patients? Maybe he was surprised to see your cousin, Kian, and did not want to keep you any longer?

With today being the 15th, half of me was excited to see him once again. While the other part of me was cautious about how he would react to seeing me once again — would he be as cold or as dismissive as he was from our last conversation?

With a huff, I pressed on the elevator floor where I knew his office would be. Upon reaching the floor, I immediately took in the surroundings, it’s been a month and it felt like not too long ago this had become my temporary home. Smiling to some of the nurses and other staff whom I recognized, I was making my way through the busy halls and found myself on the side of the building where Dr. Strange’s office would be.

“You’re the best, Stephen,” I heard a girl praise him as she untangled herself from her embrace with the doctor whom I’ve been spending too much time thinking about. I looked the other way, feeling as if I was somewhat violating their privacy by witnessing their intimate exchange. The girl was then called by a nurse leaving Dr. Strange to acknowledge my presence by saying, “Oh Y/N,  you’ve finally arrived.”

I sheepishly nodded, “Is it a bad time?” He quickly shook his head and led me into his office, “No, no it’s not. Come on in and let’s start the checkup.” I nodded and went in first and he followed, directing me to sit on the examination table. “So, how have you been feeling? Any pain when performing tasks?” he inquired as he grabbed a notepad that was by his office desk.

I shook my head no, “Not really. Although I’ve noticed that I don’t really have the same endurance as I used to prior to the accident.” He nodded and took note of what I had said, putting down the notepad he made his way towards me and asked if it was alright if he touched my leg to inspect it. I agreed and let him move around my leg.

“If I had known you were busy, I would have insisted on a different date,” I meekly told him as he checked my leg. He looked up at me with an eyebrow raised and stopped his inspection, “What? I wasn’t doing anything before you came in, just a quick snack with the other doctor,” he explained.

Raising my hands up I chuckled, “Don’t have to explain to me your personal business, doc.” He shook his head and resumed his inspection. While doing so, there was an awkward and uncomfortable silence that enveloped his office. I would usually try to come up with  a way of sparking up a conversion with him. But given how he was not the most approachable last time and now seeing him cozy with another person, made me hesitant to let him know about how he made me feel and how he was important in my recovery period.

“Everything seems to be good,” he concluded after observing my partially-recovered leg, “anything else you want to add or ask?” I bit my lip as I debated about whether or not I should confront him about his previous behavior. “Not much really, but there is something I wanted to talk to you about,” I trailed off as I was unsure on how to approach the subject without coming off as immature or making it look like I was interfering with his life — even though I had no right to do so.

“What is it about, Ms. Y/N?” He inquired, and I took a deep breath while I closed my eyes, as I opened them and looked into his eyes deeply, “The last time we spoke, when I told you how you were such an important and pivotal figure on my road to recovery. Not just on the medical and physical aspect of it, but also with you know?” I cast my gaze on my fingers for a little while, struggling to correctly put into words my appreciation for what he’s done, “It’s well, for a while it was lonely for me to be in the hospital for what? Three months? So I began chatting up with the nurses and other hospital staff whom I’ve always seen or encountered during my recovery.”

I paused, diverting my gaze from my fingers and into Dr. Strange’s face. From what I could make out, he was contemplating on the information I was telling him. I felt that he had his own question or comment on what I had to say, but he waited instead for me to finish whatever it was I had to say — and for that I appreciated his patients. “Despite chatting with the different hospital staff, it was my everyday exchange with you that I truly enjoyed the most. You talking about how 70’s and 80’s music is way better than the music today. Or when you’re just simply telling me how at some point you got sick of hospital food, hence why you don’t eat as much anymore. Talking with you has been really, um, therapeutic, I guess is the right word for it?”

I stared for a little bit at his face, and since he wore the same expression and did not open his mouth for any reply I went on, “Like, it may sound silly or what, but you’ve really helped me get through this dark period of my life. And no, it’s not just because you’re the doctor who helped me or something like that. But I don’t know? You’re one of the most intelligent — and not just on the medical field, honestly — and witty, and humorous person. While I could also see that you’re extremely kind and caring — which I suppose is the reason you take double shifts even if your body is begging for a break,” I chuckled lightly at the memory and shortly after I took in a deep breath before risking it all, “So what I’m really trying to say is that, I like you. And if this is weird for you, I can ask to switch doctors since you know, it might be awk-”

I was cut off when he spoke back in what seemed like forever by saying, “You like me?” he wondered out loud, to which I nodded to reaffirm that what I had stated earlier was true. His eyebrows furrowed and there were visible lines above his forehead, confusion now taking over his features. “That’s evil, alright? You don’t like me, you’re just playing with me!” he accused, slightly raising his voice at me.

I bit my lip and felt that my eyes were starting to water — though I had no intention of letting him know how what he’s doing is affecting me — and my voice cracked as I argued back, albeit weakly, “What? How could you question what I feel and accuse of something cruel?”

He crossed his arms and raised his brows, but not in confusion; for it seemed like he was challenging my declaration, “Really? You have your boyfriend pick you up when you were discharged and a month later you tell me that you like me? I didn’t know that you were such a -”

“He’s not my fucking boyfriend! He’s my cousin, you idiot!” I interrupted him as I raised my hands up in frustration. His mouth hung agape in shock, processing what I had just revealed. It was also then I processed why his demeanor had suddenly changed last month. Did he actually think that Kian was my boyfriend? “So you’re telling me, the reason why you suddenly became dismissive the time I was discharged was you thought that I was someone else’s whore?” I coldly asked him.

He gulped before moving from where he was seated and made a move to sit beside me. I turned away from him, trying to hide the few sniffles and tears I had let out. “I’m sorry,” he started, and he made a move to bring one of his hands into my back and soothe it — not prohibiting me from letting out the tears — “I should not have jumped into that conclusion. It wasn’t fair to you or to that guy. It’s just, I didn’t want to come off as nosy by asking you about your relationship with him.”

I scoffed, “Well I think I would have mentioned a boyfriend to you at some point during our conversations during those three months, don’t you think?” He too, laughed quietly at what I had said and agreed. “But it wasn’t only that. I thought to myself that you’re you. You’re this ray of sunshine who happens to be a lovely, beautiful, funny, quick-witted, and determined woman. And if you managed to make my days better and bright, then I was sure as hell that you brought that same effect to others — which led me to believe that there was already a lucky lad who got to call you theirs.”

His confession led me to face him, and his features softened and relaxed upon seeing how a few tears have stained my face. Both his hands were quickly wiping off the tears after doing so, his hands were planted on both sides of my jaw, he was caressing my cheeks and what he was doing resulted in a faint red blush appearing on my cheeks. “I guess this just both means that we’re both dumb and that we should both be more open in voicing out what we feel, huh?”

A hearty laugh escaped his lips and I couldn’t help but smile at this, “It’s nice seeing you like this, happy and carefree.” I said to which he sheepishly smiled as well, “Well, I’m only like this when I’m with you. So the past month I’ve been a pretty dull person,” he informed me as he scooted closer to me and his right hand was wrapped around my shoulder, leaving me to lean on his shoulder. Grabbing his left hand, I played with his calloused hand, enjoying our closeness and that fact that we had now voiced out what we both truly felt.

“Since we both like each other, why don't we both go out some time?” he cheekily said, causing me to look up at him pointedly, “Will you let me make my delicious lasagna for you?” I asked back to which he laughed once again. After throwing his head back in laughter, he looked at me, happiness and contentment evident in his whole face, “Of course, sweetheart. And don't you worry, I’m not pulling a double shift tonight and it’s my day off tomorrow — so I have all the time in the world to get to know you better.”

As he was speaking out those words, I found my gaze landing on his lips. He noticed this and smirked, “You want a kiss, Ms. Y/N?” he teased. I looked at his eyes — doing my best to pull off an adorable puppy dog look — as I told him, “Yes please, Doctor Strange, I heard that it would help me mend and heal my leg.”

We both laughed at our silly exchange both after the laughter died down, both his hands were once again caressing my cheeks and pulling me closer. As our lips touched, one of my hands touched his cheek, deepening the kiss even more. While the other settled on his lower back, wanting to feel his warmth even more and wanting him closer.

As he opened his mouth, it prompted me to do the same. Feeling his tongue wrestle with mine, made me shudder at how good it felt. After what felt like hours of kissing, he pulled away, in a daze I looked up at him and he muttered, “God, I like you so much, baby” before pecking my lips multiple times — which led me into a fit of giggles. We stared at each other for a while, dazed and on cloud nine. Just smiling, giggling, and pressing kisses to each other.

“Dr. Strange, Mrs. Fleming will be here with her toddler in a few minutes to have their checkup,” a nurse knocked on the door. This snapped both of us out of our bubble, Dr. Strange thanked the nurse and informed the nurse that he will be ready in a few minutes.

He then helped me stand up and put my jacket back on. As I was putting back my shoes, we both shared a few words, “Stephen,” I looked at him and wondered what he meant with what he had just said, “I mean, my name is Stephen. Stephen Strange.” I nodded and smiled, moving to him pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Well Stephen, since you have my file you know my number and address. See you later, thank you for that check up.”

Stephen watched as I made my way to the door and he was laughing as I waved at him goodbye and shut the door behind me. As I entered the elevator and headed for my car, I could not help but smile at what had just happened. Who would have  thought that the person in charge of my recovery would also be the one to mend the loneliness that I felt, and that I do the same for him as well? Now, to prepare a meal for that person.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Cling to me

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: You overhear something you weren’t meant to hear. 

Warnings: Angst, Language, Fluff, 

Word Count: 2.1k

A/n: wrote this one a year ago teehee but I LOVE this kinda shit I live for it. hope y’all enjoy 

~*~

“So things are going well, then?”

You shouldn’t be eavesdropping, you really shouldn’t. It was an accident.

You had approached the bathroom door to ask Steve for a towel, not wanting to drip water all over the carpeted hallway, when you heard him and Bucky talking.

The bathroom fan is on, drowning out the sound of you stepping closer to the wood.

“Well, yeah, I guess so. I mean... I guess.”

You frown.

You thought things were going great.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Steve lets out a heavy sigh and glances at the bathroom door then slightly lowers his voice, but you can still hear him clearly.

“She just... she’s real needy, Buck. She’s physically clingy, always sitting by me or on me and holding my hand and stuff... and she never leaves me alone when I’m out on assignments. I’m just... I need some space.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest for a moment before beating twice as hard, each beat smashing against pins and needles and sending pain radiating through your chest.

Too needy.

Steve thinks you’re too needy.

This is how it started with Jeremy.

You were too clingy.

Slowly, you back away from the bathroom door and slide down the wall, shivering at the wet droplets clinging to your skin, then put your face in your hands.

Steve won’t be like Jeremy. He can’t.

Everything will be fine, you just need to give him space.

You can almost hear Jeremy’s voice in your head, whispering words that he’d repeat when you were with him. But maybe he was right.

Just because you like being physical and spending time with him doesn’t mean he wants that too. You haven't even taken his wants into consideration.

A knock on the bathroom door startles your face out of your hands and you flip your head up, looking at the door with wide eyes.

“Honey? I’m just gonna go grab some drinks with Bucky and Sam. I’ve got my phone and I shouldn’t be home too late.”

You take a deep breath and nod even though he can’t see you.

“Okay, have fun!”

Your voice is a little duller than usual, a little less lively, but Steve chalks it up to the fan distorting your voice.

You stay rooted in place on the bathroom floor, knees hugged up to your chest, for hours.

You’re not sure why, whether it’s out of fear that he won’t come back or that he’ll be waiting out there to break up with you, but you’re terrified.

Eventually, after the chills have sunk into your soul and shivers are shaking your bones, you leave the bathroom and get dressed.

Usually, you’d put on a pair of panties and one of Steve’s shirts, but you can’t bring yourself to touch his stuff after what you heard.

You pull on a tank top and a sweater and your fuzziest socks, hoping to chase away the cold, though it feels like it’s here to stay.

The apartment seems so empty without him there, and you yearn to check up on him and make sure he’s okay, but you don’t go near your phone.

He’s a grown man and he can take care of himself.

You barricade yourself in the bedroom, cuddled up under the blankets and holding one of your pillows to your chest as you watch reruns of Golden Girls.

You fall asleep before he gets home, though you’re awoken by the sound of the door opening.

Instead of perking up and meeting him like you usually would, you stay in bed, pillow hugged to your chest and eyes shut.

He’s stealthy as he joins you in bed, sliding in behind you and wrapping an arm around your waist.

It takes everything in you not to shake his arm off.

As he leans forward and presses a kiss to the back of your neck, a tear slides down your temple and buries itself in the pillows.

~*~

Steve’s confused at your sudden change in behaviour, constantly checking his phone for texts from you and missing your touch when he sits on the couch reading a report.

You’re standing in the kitchen a few days later, talking softly to Yelena and Wanda while Bucky, Natasha, Sam and Steve all sit on the couches in your living room.

The two women lead the way into the living room and you follow them, not stopping your conversation as you take a seat between the two of them.

Steve’s eyes are focused on you, waiting for you to look at him, to realize that you’re not sitting in the right spot and that you should be closer to him, but you never do.

You stay engaged in your conversation, laughing at something Yelena says before turning your attention to Wanda.

Bucky watches curiously as Steve balls his hands into fists then turns back to the conversation he was having, his voice slightly more strained than before.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Bucky asks later that evening after almost everyone else has gone home.

You’re already in bed, oblivious to the conversation they’re having.

“I thought it was, but not cold turkey. She hardly texts me unless I text first, she doesn't kiss me goodbye anymore, and she hasn’t sat beside me once in the past week.”

Bucky shrugs, “you’re the one who said she was too clingy.”

Steve knows.

He fucking knows.

And maybe he’ll like it, but first, he needs to get to the bottom of why you’ve switched so quickly.

After bidding Bucky goodbye, Steve joins you in the bedroom, climbing into bed beside you and rolling onto his side to watch you.

Your attention is focused on the TV as if he isn’t in bed with you at all.

When he opens his mouth to speak, you reach over and turn off the lamp on the nightstand, then turn off the TV.

You don’t do it on purpose, but he doesn't say anything.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, turning onto your back and facing away from him.

He stares at you in shock.

The past couple of nights he’s come into bed after you’ve been asleep, but tonight he was sure you’d cuddle up against him like you usually do.

“Goodnight. I love you,” he murmurs, heart racing in his chest as he waits for your reply.

“I love you too.” There it is.

It settles his heart a tiny bit to hear you whisper the words, but he’s still confused by your actions.

You always cuddle up to him.

Always.

Every night that he’s been home for the past year.

And now you’re not even wearing his clothes to bed.

He can’t sleep at all that night, too focused on how strange you’ve been acting and how much he fucking hates it.

And then it dawns on him.

You must’ve heard him talking to Bucky.

That’s the only explanation.

His heart hurts in his chest and guilt floods his body. He tosses his head back against the pillows and squeezes his eyes shut, hating himself for ever speaking those stupid words.

He was just having a bad week. He was overwhelmed with work and briefings and then you were always by his side.

It was too much.

And now you’re doing everything in your power to distance yourself from him.

You’re lying in the same bed but you’ve never been further away.

Sure, he can feel the heat radiating off of your body, but you may as well be a thousand miles away.

The guilt wells up in his eyes and slips down his cheeks as he rolls onto his side and pulls you against his body, burying his face in your hair.

Fuck, he feels terrible.

All night he thinks about how much you do for him, how much you love him and everything you’ve given to him and sacrificed for him. And he couldn’t even appreciate you properly. No, he had to go and run his mouth about bullshit that he didn’t even mean.

He has to make this right.

He will.

He just has no idea where to start.

~*~

When you wake up the next morning there’s a strong arm secured around your waist.

You’re so used to waking up alone that you can’t help but cuddle into it. That is, until you remember his complaints.

Shifting as slowly as you can, you try to slip out of his grip, but he only wraps his arm around you tighter.

“You’re leaving?” He asks into your hair, his voice groggy.

You swallow hard and clear your throat.

“Bathroom,” is all you manage to whisper.

He lets out a heavy sigh but slowly unwinds his arm from around your waist.

“You’re gonna come back after, right?” He asks, his voice soft.

You hesitate before getting up, unsure of what to say.

Are you?

You don’t particularly want to.

Well, that’s not true. You want to, more than anything, but you don’t want to overwhelm him and smother him with your clingy nature.

“Do you want me to?” You end up asking, glancing over at him.

He slowly opens his eyes, sadness filling them, and you regret asking.

“Honey... what I said the other day... to Buck... I wasn’t thinking, sweetheart. I don’t think you’re too clingy, not at all. I think you’re perfect for me and the way that things have been lately… All the distance between us? It’s been unbearable. I hate it. I didn’t know what changed at first but... I’m sorry.”

Your heart is in your throat at the fact that he knows you heard what he said.

“I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I’m sorry,” you whisper, pushing into a seated position to get off the bed.

“Honey, wait. Please. Please, don’t go. I miss you. So damn much. All I want is for things to go back to the way they were. And... I know that will probably take time, but I just miss you so fucking much.”

Tears prickle at your eyes and you sniffle, refusing to look at him.

“I didn’t mean to be clingy. I know... I know I can be a lot. It’s one of the issues Jeremy and I had. I can give you space, Steve.”

His heart cracks and he sits up behind you, one hand finding your lower back in an attempt to get closer to you.

“Sweetheart, I don’t want space. You’ve given me space and it’s been the worst experience of my life. I just want you back. I want to hold your hand and kiss you and talk to you and be near you. I love you and you... you make me feel important. You make me feel loved.”

He has to fight his own tears as he speaks, and you sit silently in front of him, eyes focused on the carpet.

“For so much of my life, I felt alone, besides Bucky. I felt like I had no one and no one would love me. And then I went under and I woke up and... everything was different. I was a man out of time. I never thought I would ever have found someone who loves me as wholly as you do. And I’m sorry for ever making you feel like you need to change yourself.”

His arms wind around you and he pulls your back against his chest, slowly rocking you from side to side as you sniffle.

“You are everything I have ever wanted and more, sweetheart. I love you for everything you are and everything you do, and I’m so damn sorry I ever made you feel like you were too clingy. You’re perfect for me. Sometimes I think that you’re the reason why I survived it all. Was so that I could find you. You’re it for me.”

His words help to heal the wounds he caused, but what really does it is the meaning behind it. The love he’s pouring into every syllable he speaks is powerful enough for you to feel without even trying.

You know he regrets what he said. But, more importantly, you know he’s not Jeremy.

Steve loves you.

Slowly, you turn in his arms and look up at him, and his heart breaks even more when he sees the tears on your cheeks.

“If I’m ever too much, you gotta promise to let me know, okay?” You whisper.

He huffs out a weak laugh and shakes his head, squeezing you to his chest.

“You are never too much for me. You’re everything I could ever want or need and so much more. You’re perfect for me. And I’m gonna try my hardest to be good enough for you because I love you. I love you with my whole heart and soul.”

“I love you too, Steve,” you whisper, burying your face in his shoulder as he hugs you tightly.

And there on the bed in the dim morning light, Steve clings to you.

He clings to you like you’re his lifeline, like you’re the energy that keeps him going.

He clings to you, and he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Littlest Dove - Eleven

Pairing: John Price X Reader

Summary: After a drunk night on the town turns you into the only unfortunate witness to a horrific crime, you quickly find yourself in a bit over your head. The bad guy doesn't like loose ends, and the good guys wanna do their job. There's always collateral in some form... isn't there?

Warnings: violence, language, injuries, angst, death, hospitals, implied sa, RUN ON SENTENCES like you wouldnt believe, unedited cause we raw dog in this house (use protection, i beg)

Word Count: 4k

A/n: waahhhh i finished writing this series now idk what to do with myself 🧍🏽‍♀️anyway, i had SO much fun writing this chapter ugh i am wagging my tail. 2 more parts after this (including epilogue) i hope you enjoyyyyy

~*~

Shouting. 

Gunshots.

Banging and something breaking and men shouting in the distance. 

The warmth against your back is suddenly gone, pulling you from your light rest. 

You turn at the loss of him, frowning and rubbing the sleep from your eyes when you see Price on his feet with his rifle in hand. 

“What’s going on?” You ask quietly, flinching when there’s another loud bang, this one from much closer. 

“They’re here.”

Two words are all it takes for your stomach to drop into your knees. 

You push yourself up and look between him and the bunker's only exit quickly. 

“What do we do?” You sound breathless, and you know deep down that the only thing you can do is hope to God Price is stronger than the men making their way inside.

Price’s heart is hammering so loudly in his ears that he barely hears you.

When he finally processes your words, he nods to a supply closet in the back corner of the bunker. 

“Get in that closet and do not, under any circumstances, leave. I will get you when it’s safe. If it isn’t me or someone you know, you stay in there. Understood?” A shitty hiding place, at best, but he hopes hiding you is only a precaution.  

You know there’s no room for argument here, and even if there was, you’re not sure what you’d say. 

Without another word, you scramble into the tiny little closet and pull the door shut tightly behind you. 

It’s dark. Not a single crack in the wood to show you what’s going on out there. 

All you can do is listen as more guns are fired, these ones even closer. 

It sounds like they’re in the bunker, or at least making their way down. 

Terror grips your spine in its icy hand, freezing you in place as the sounds get louder and scarier with each passing second. 

You hope he’s okay out there. You wish you could help but at the same time, a tiny cowardly part of you is grateful that you don’t need to be directly involved in the firefight. 

All you can do is sit and stew in your fear and panic as the sounds increase in frequency and intensity. 

You can hear bodies slumping to the ground, the metal clang of bullet casings hitting the concrete floor, and shouting. 

So much shouting. 

And none of it is Price’s voice. 

The louder gunshots are from him, that much you know for sure. 

But then there’s a grunt that sounds a lot closer than you’d like, and there are boots on concrete and boots approaching and then the door is open and there are guns trained on your face. 

Time seems to stop for a moment as you look death in the face. But nobody pulls the trigger.

You scramble as far back in the closet as you can, mentally cursing yourself for not listening when Price was trying to dress you. You feel stupid and even more terrified in such little clothing. 

Who knows what these monsters plan to do now that they’ve caught you? You don’t want to think about it. 

A long arm is reaching toward you, and then your scalp is burning as the person grabs you by your hair and yanks you out of the closet. 

You cry out at the sudden stinging pain, only to be silenced by a sharp smack across the face. 

You whimper, tears prickling your eyes as you look around frantically for the only man who could possibly save you. 

“On your feet.”

You can’t see him anywhere. 

The fact both comforts and unsettles you. It comforts you because that means he’s not dead down here. But that means he’s not down here. You could very well be alone now. He could be dead somewhere else. Or maybe he’s already being tortured somewhere. 

You’re wrestled to your feet, arms yanked behind your back, and forced to march through the bunker, up the stairs, and into the cold world above. 

As hard as you try to put on a brave face and show them you’re not scared, you can’t stop your lip from trembling.

Your feet hurt, the cold pinching and prickling at you as you’re forced across the frozen wooden floor barefoot.

You’re pushed into the only other room in the shack, gun bruising your hip as it pushes you deeper into the room.

Finally, you see Price. Just not in the state you’d hoped. 

Instead of being upstairs ready to be your hero, he’s slumped in an old wooden chair with two guns pressed to his head. 

He’s not tied up, surprisingly, but you suppose that the guns are likely enough incentive for him not to move. 

His face is uncovered and -mostly- unscathed, save for a gash on his forehead. 

His eyes look hollow for a moment. Empty, almost. 

The sight of it is jarring, and you finally understand the thousand-yard stare.

But then his eyes flick up to yours and you see the fire reignite. 

You want to say something, to reach out to him, to find comfort in his embrace, but instead you’re shoved into a chair on the opposite side of the room. 

Little pieces of old wood find their way deep into your skin, but the temperature of the environment around you stops the pain from being unbearable.

You can feel the barrel of a gun hovering near your ear, and another at your ribs. You count a total of five armed men in the room, three on Price’s side of the room and two on yours. 

Even if you were somehow able to break free or cause a distraction, you’re not sure if he can incapacitate all of them. 

You’re starting to lose feeling in your toes. 

“I must admit, Captain,” a new voice muses from down the hall. “I had anticipated a bigger fight. You take us on this goose chase only to be overpowered in a matter of minutes. I… I find myself… disappointed.”

Price’s jaw clicks with how hard it’s clenched, and his eyes harden. 

His reaction is all you need to see to know that whoever is approaching must be someone to worry about. 

Finally, the man speaking steps into view. 

He’s tall. Not taller than Simon or Price, but taller than your average Tom, Dick, or Larry.

His hair is more brown -or maybe black- than it is grey, but his age and his war crimes are written across the lines in his face. 

His eyes, burdened with heavy bags, are alight. Excited. 

His voice sounds eager, too. Like he’s been looking forward to this for a while. 

“It would have been much more convenient to have your entire boy band here for this. I hate having to do the same work twice.”

The man’s attention moves from Price to you, and his eyes find a new twinkle. 

“We have not met. But by now, I’m sure you know who I am.” 

You say nothing, only glare at him. 

“You’ve gone through an awful lot of trouble for this one, Captain. You’ve taken great… personal interest in her safety.” Makarov tosses a glance over his shoulder as he speaks. “I hope having her here will make you more compliant. I would hate for her to have to get hurt.”

Funny enough, you would also hate that. 

He stalks toward you, head cocking to the side as if he’s inspecting some artifact that’s existence has only been speculated, not confirmed. 

“Call your men here. I want to do this once, only,” Makarov orders, not lifting his gaze from you. 

Price says nothing.

You can’t see him with Makarov in the way, and you’re sure he’s done that on purpose. 

After another moment of silence, the man before you turns to glare at the Captain. 

“Did you not hear me?”

Price says nothing and keeps his bored eyes on the wall across from him. 

Makarov stares at him for an endlessly long moment before turning back around and backhanding you with such force that the breath is knocked from your chest. 

Your head drops to the side and you blink a few times in shock. There’s no pain at first, just the ringing in your ears. And then your cheek starts to sting and throb and your jaw aches a little and you think a headache is on its way, though that could be for any number of reasons. 

“I’ll say it once more,” Makarov says, grabbing you by the hair and yanking you out of the chair. 

You stumble to your knees, wincing at the pain on impact, and scramble after him as he forces you across the floor.

He gives you a particularly hard yank, hard enough for you to forget about the floor beneath you and grab your hair with both hands in a pathetic attempt at stopping the pain. 

Price surges forward, only to be yanked right back where he was, the barrel of a gun pressed sharply to the base of his neck. 

“Call your men here. Now!” His words are punctuated with another yank on your hair and you can’t help the cry of pain that tumbles from your lips. 

Price’s eyes are fixed on your form as you struggle to get rid of the pressure on your scalp. Your eyes are red and puffy and filled with tears that will freeze as soon as they touch the floor. 

Grunting with disdain, Makarov shoves you to the floor and spits at you. 

You flinch away, sniffling. 

“Nothing to say? Really?”

Silence. 

And then you’re curling in on yourself as a hard boot meets your gut. 

You choke and heave as he kicks you again, arching this way and that to try and escape the torment as your stomach churns. 

Quite quickly, it becomes too much, and then the contents of your stomach are spilling on the floor in front of you. 

You’re sobbing now. Crying from the pain, from the fear, from the humiliation of it all. 

And you know it probably won’t stop anytime soon. 

If death is what waits at the end anyway, you know Price won’t speed it up for you if it means sacrificing three other lives. 

But as much as you hate it, you can’t exactly blame him. 

Which is what makes it so much more upsetting when Makarov lifts your head and tries to force you to look at him.

You keep your eyes trained on the wood, avoiding his gaze. 

As if this whole ordeal wasn’t enough as it is, the last thing you want to see is the pity in his eyes as they torture you to death. 

“Last chance, Captain. Call your men, or I’ll drown her in her own vomit.”

Your bottom lip quivers and tears blind you, but you don’t let a single sound slip out. 

If this is how it ends, so be it. 

If this means that Simon and Johnny and Kyle get to live to see another day, then fine. 

Hopefully, their plans for the future include avenging you and the Captain. 

Finally, you lift your eyes to Price’s, and he’s taken aback by the determination he sees in you.

“Fine,” Makarov sighs, “have it your way.” And then your face is smeared in your stomach contents. 

Your body reacts instantly, shoving away with all your might as a scream tears through your throat. 

If you’re going to die, fine. But not like this. 

You turn your face this way and that, struggling just enough to keep your face out of the putrid substance on the floor. 

“If you want to be difficult, I can make this much harder for you,” he sneers, grabbing you by the back of your neck and yanking you upward. 

You pant hard, wild eyes on Price as Makarov pulls you up to your feet once more. 

“You wanna fight, I’ll give you something to fucking fight.” He yanks your shirt up over your face, exposing your bare body to the cold winter air. 

“No!” You shriek, wriggling in his iron grip.

“I’ll do it!” Price shouts, every muscle in his body straining with the tension of holding himself back. 

All he wants to do is mash Makarov into a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. 

But he can’t. 

He can only watch as a grin finds the terrorist’s lips. He releases you, letting you fall to the floor in a heap. 

You yank your shirt back down and wrap your arms around yourself tightly, sniffling and hiccuping sobs.

You feel breathless, like someone is sitting smack dab on your chest. 

Even as Makarov crosses the room and hands Price a cellphone, your breathing doesn’t return to normal. 

A million questions are racing through your mind. 

Will they kill you now? Will they make you wait? Will they kill you quickly, like they said? Does John value you so much that he would willingly walk three of his men to their deaths?

You watch as Makarov slowly lifts the phone to Price. The Captain reaches out for it, but instead of taking the phone, he grabs the other man’s wrist and yanks him on top of his own body like a human shield. 

The events that transpire next happen so fast they practically blur together. 

As Makarov tumbles on top of the Captain, a bullet is flying through the wall and connecting with the head of the guard to their right. 

The guard to their left is taken out by another bullet as he’s lifting his own weapon. 

And then the one behind them is dead and Makarov is on the floor and Price is on top of him and the door is opening and more bullets are raining sideways. 

You scramble away from the chaos as best you can, tucking yourself into the corner behind a chair as bullets fly this way and that. Your own bloody hands clamp over your ears as big boom after loud bang erupts. 

The whole shack is shaking with the force of the fight. 

There are so many bodies and so many sounds and so much violence and terror and death and you wish you had never ever gone out that night all those months ago. 

You wish you’d stayed home, safe and warm in your bed. 

The chair protecting you is suddenly gone, and you’re left vulnerable and exposed to the man at fault. 

Soap gives you a reassuring smile, hardly visible beneath all his gear, and grabs your hand. 

“Come on, Dovie. I’ll get us outta here.” 

Time slows down almost comically over the next several moments. 

The two of you rise to your feet together. Soap turns to his left to lead the way out. 

The gunman gets the better of him, and before poor Johnny can lift his gun to fire, a bullet tears through his vest and rips its way through his chest.

Your eyes expand to the size of your face, and as he starts to crumple in front of you, a burning pain like nothing you’ve ever felt erupts in your chest. Almost like someone is shoving a red-hot poker inside of you with the hopes of giving it a new home. 

You may not have heard the shot, but you sure as shit feel it. 

It knocks the wind out of you, or maybe collapses a lung, you’re not too sure. All you know is you’re suddenly looking up at the ceiling as all the blood in your body rushes to the wound in your chest, and you can’t breathe. 

Come to think of it, you can’t hear either. 

There’s no more shouting or rushing or gunshots. 

For a beautifully serene moment, there’s nothing but you and the consistent ceiling above you. 

And then there’s suddenly a face in your field of view. The details are a little hazy, but the eyes look brown and worried. 

John. 

Why is he so worried?

His mouth is moving, or maybe just his beard. It’s hard to tell. But you can’t hear a word he’s saying. 

Maybe he’s whispering. 

But then you become aware of the pain in your chest again and you realize why he’s so worried. 

The bullet is still so hot inside of you, and your blood is burning hot pumping out of you, but your skin is ice cold. 

Cold and firm and dull. 

You wonder if Soap is cold, too. 

Price is saying something else now, to someone else. He lifts his head, and when he does, the image gets stretched and distorted and a little delayed - almost psychedelic. 

You’re not sure what he’s saying, or who it’s to. 

All you know is that he’s slowly fading out of your field of vision, until it’s just you and the safe ceiling again. 

And eventually, even that disappears, too. 

~*~

Modern medicine truly is magic. 

After several surgeries, blood transfusions, and two medically induced comas, you’re finally allowed visitors. 

You wish your family could come visit. Or your friends. The old ones, from your original life. 

Instead, John Price is the one who walks through the door, a tired look on his face. 

He’s missing his hat, and his beard is much thicker than you remember it being the last time you saw him. 

He looks okay, though. Tired, but okay.

As you inspect him, he does the same to you. 

You look… alive. 

And honestly, that’s all he really cares about. 

The bruises on your face and the bandages hiding beneath the fabric of your hospital gown are welcome as long as he can see the steady rise and fall of your chest. 

Does it feel like his heart is marinating in lemon juice when he sees you hurt? Yes, absolutely. But nothing can compare to how he felt when he saw that bullet take you down. 

Your eyes were far away and your skin was cold. You weren’t breathing or responding to the environment around you.

He thought he’d lost you. 

“Captain.” Your voice is scratchy and hoarse after a few weeks of minimal use. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, settling down in the chair beside your bed. 

This is oddly reminiscent of your first sober encounter with the man. 

“I… I’m okay.” You’re really not sure what else you should say to that question, all things considered. 

“How’s Johnny?”

Price huffs out a breath at the question and his eyebrows jump for a moment. 

“Gave us a good scare. The both of you did. But he’s okay. He’s gonna make it. He’ll need a few more weeks to recover before he’s discharged, and a few months at least before he’s back in the field, but it takes more than a bullet to the chest to put him down.”

It’s true. If the stars hadn’t aligned exactly as they had, if he hadn’t been at the angle he’d been at, the two of you would be nothing more than a wonderful memory. 

Instead, the Scot recovers in a medically-induced coma, where he will likely remain for a little while. 

“How are you? Really?” He asks again, leaning forward and locking his intense eyes on yours. 

“I…” You falter for a moment, lost in his eyes. When he looks away, you drop your gaze to your hands and take a deep breath. 

“Getting shot sucks.”

Price laughs, a full, hearty belly laugh that startles you, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. 

“Well, I could’a told you that. Didn’t need to go test the theory yourself.”

You roll your eyes at his joking, but play along. 

“Hey, I’m nothing if not thorough, okay?”

It feels good to be light about something again. It feels like it’s been so long since…

“Makarov… is he…?” You trail off, leaving the million-dollar question hanging in the air. 

Price waits a moment before answering. 

“He’s locked away tighter than Mary’s bones. Once the… interrogation team… is done with him…” He trails off, but the look he gives you lets you know exactly what’s going to happen. 

He may not be able to pay for all the horrible things he’s done, but they’re gonna make sure he dies trying. 

You slowly nod your understanding, though it takes a long moment for his words - and their meaning - to truly set in. When they do, a strange weight lifts from your shoulders, and a heavier one settles in its place. 

It’s done! 

It’s done.

…

Now what?

You can’t very well go back to your old life after everything that’s happened, can you?

As if reading the question in your eyes, Price clears his throat and hands you a thick manila folder.

Holding it in your grasp, you flashback to the first time this happened. 

Back when you didn’t understand the severity of the situation. Back when it didn’t seem nearly as serious as you now know it to be. 

“Everything to do with Makarov is being dismantled as we speak. That being said, your old life is still compromised. We… can’t risk sending you back after everything that’s happened here.” 

He pauses and fidgets with his sleeve, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth could possibly be making him anxious like this. 

“You’ll be under a new protective detail,” he finally explains, his voice a little more serious and professional than it was mere moments ago.

“It will be an official protective detail, this time. No more being bait, or anything like that. They’ll give you a new life to live. One that could actually be real, if you’d like.”

That doesn’t sound too bad at all. But what about…

“A proper team has been assigned to your case, and they’ll be handling you from now on. No need to pretend to like us anymore.” He tries to joke, but it falls flat. 

A ‘proper team’. 

Your stomach is in your ass as Simon’s words from all that time ago ring in your ears. 

A team that gets paid to babysit. 

Your heart sinks to where your stomach usually is. 

A new life. A new team. 

No more Task Force 141. 

No more fake brothers. 

No more Captain John Price. 

You swallow hard and drop your eyes to the folder in your hands, nodding despite yourself. 

“Do, uh,” you pause and clear your throat. “Do you know when?” Your voice still sounds thick, but you blame that entirely on your injuries and not at all on your heartbreak. 

“Not too sure the exact time, but someone should be here later today to give you more information. We, uh…” he trails off with a heavy sigh, scratching the back of his neck as he looks anywhere but your face.

“They’ll be transporting Johnny tonight. Wanna bring him to a military hospital back home now that he’s stable. The three of us will be escorting him. Now that we’ve done what we came to do…” he trails off again, but this time the silence rings loudly between the two of you.

Something in your chest cracks and pops, and you struggle to breathe through the pain. 

“I understand.” The words come out far steadier than you had anticipated. Maybe it’s because deep down you knew this was only a matter of time. 

They’re leaving. 

You need to start over once again, but this time without any of them. 

Without him. 

He’s leaving. 

For a brief and incredibly stupid moment, you remember the promise he made when you were together in the second safe house. 

Shaking the thought away, you keep your eyes down. 

“Safe travels, Captain Price.”

He feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

Scratch that, he’d take getting punched in the gut a thousand times over if it would make this feeling go away. 

Slowly, he rises to his feet. 

He lingers there for a moment and just watches you. Unabashed and brazen and openly staring with no shame as you flip open the folder and begin to read your new life. 

He drinks in this image of you, the last of you that he will ever get, then walks to the door. 

“Take care of yourself, Dove.” 

And just like that, he leaves you alone in the hospital room with your new life in your lap.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Littlest Dove - Twelve

Pairing: John Price X Reader

Summary: After a drunk night on the town turns you into the only unfortunate witness to a horrific crime, you quickly find yourself in a bit over your head. The bad guy doesn't like loose ends, and the good guys wanna do their job. There's always collateral in some form... isn't there?

Warnings: Angst, depression, tw: thoughts of suicide language, injuries, smut, fluff,

Word Count: 5.5k

A/n: i've got a short little epilogue written but that's pretty much it for this series! I'm so open to blurbs and one-shots with this pairing, and i do have a vague plan to weave this into the story of ghost and mouse. i hope you guys enjoy!!

~*~

“I don’t even know, anymore, to be honest.”

Your therapist looks up from the circles he was drawing in the corner of the paper. 

“Can you elaborate on that a little bit?” 

The question that sparked such a response had been: 'What are you looking forward to these days?'

“I don’t know… what is there to look forward to these days? I don’t have any friends or family… what am I supposed to be looking forward to when all I see when I look toward the future is a blank abyss staring straight back? How could I possibly have anything to look forward to when the only things in my life are reminders of the worst things to ever happen to me?”

Instead of doodling on his notepad the way he normally would during one of your weekly sessions, Doctor Martins is taking quick notes and nodding along with a few of the things you say. 

He hasn’t been able to extrapolate much from your weekly sessions till this point.

You just haven’t had much to say. 

“It’s gotten to a point where I can’t help but question if saving my life was the right thing to do.”

His pen scratches the paper with such force it tears it a little. 

“Miss Doe, your life matters. It well and truly does.”

You snort and give your head a tiny shake. 

“Not sure how a life like this could matter.”

He opens his mouth to speak again, but the little timer on his desk chimes softly, signalling the end of your session. 

You give him a bland smile and rise to your feet. 

“Looks like we’re out of time for today. Until next time, Doc.”

He watches you silently, a little worried for you as you leave the room, but not worried enough to do anything about it. 

One of your handlers is waiting outside in the car, silent as you get in and silent as she drives toward your safe house. 

The entire ride, you’re pondering… everything. 

Everything you’ve lost. From your friends to your family to your new friends and new family to John. Hell, even Ruth is on that list. 

But now you’re stuck with Agent Greene and Agent Patel and sometimes Agent Ryback and being around any of them is as riveting as watching paint dry. 

Maybe, you decide, they’re this boring because you’ve never opened the door for any sort of conversation or friendship. 

Eventually, when you pull up to the house, you turn to Agent Greene and give her a friendly smile. 

“Did you want to come in for a coffee or something?” The words are rushed and blurted, but she doesn’t flinch. She only gives you a polite smile and unlocks the doors. 

“I don’t think that would be appropriate for your safety.”

You blink at her once, then turn and exit the car without another word. 

Welp. There goes the door to conversation or friendship slamming in your face. 

As you sulk your way through your little safe house, you can’t help but think bitter thoughts about your last team. 

Maybe if they had Agent Greene’s mentality, they would’ve kept you safe. 

It’s a stupid thought, especially when you remember that you asked Simon to put you in harm's way. 

Price hadn’t wanted to put you in that position. He didn’t want to end the daydream. Maybe he was on to something.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you get into the shower. 

How is this all that your life is now? 

You find yourself thinking, as you so often do these days, that it would be better if that bullet had killed you.

~*~

Price is nursing his second cup of ‘tea’ when there’s a knock on the door. 

He ignores it, as he usually does, and looks through the files on his desk for the most prospective opp. 

It's been less than a week since he got back from his last one.

The door opens and the big bear at the desk sighs, glaring at the person who dares to enter his cave. 

“Don’t remember saying you could come in.”

Simon ignores his grumbling and makes himself comfortable in the chair across from his Captain, watching him for a long while. 

He looks bad, Simon notes. Though, he and the boys noticed this starting several months ago. His eyes are tired and dull, weighed down by heavy bags.

Simon’s not sure the last time he saw the Captain leave base for any reason besides work, much less get a good night’s sleep. The man looks old and grey and withered. He reeks of sweat, booze, tobacco, and a hint of misery to top it off.

Hard to believe the only difference is the lack of one pain-in-the-ass little dove. 

His strong, revered Captain looks old, tired, a little bit drunk, and straight up bad. 

Only when the vein on Price’s forehead pulses with enough force to burst does Simon lean forward and drop a piece of paper on the desk.

Price stares at it for a long moment, flicking his eyes between the paper and Simon’s eyes before leaning forward and taking it between his fingers. 

He’s not sure what it is at first. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. 

They’re coordinates. That much is obvious. 

But where and what they’re for is beyond him. 

He stares at the coordinates intently, as if watching them will somehow reveal their destination.

“S’been like watching a two-legged dog hobble around these past few months,” Simon finally says, glancing at the paper. “Figured I might as well put you out of your misery.”

Misery? 

How could this possibly…

He glances up at Simon, eyes asking the question his tongue refuses to taste. 

Simon only looks pointedly at the coordinates once again. 

When Price had given you that manila folder with your new life inside, he refused to take a single look. He couldn’t bring himself to read one tiny detail about you or your new life. Hell, he doesn’t even know the names of your handlers. 

If he knew anything, he would’ve found you by now. 

He needed a clean break. No loose ends. 

And he’s been fine! Has he been drinking… more than he used to? Yeah, so what? That happens when you’re in the field of work he finds himself to be in. Has he been struggling maybe a little bit with sleeping at night? Mmmmm how is that anybody’s business but his own? 

He was fine.

And then in saunters Simon Riley, loosening his meticulously tied ends. 

Like the man could let his Captain lose his bird. 

Fat chance. 

Simon’s kept tabs on you since you and the team parted ways.

Good ones, at that. 

“You sure about this?” Price finally asks, looking at his lieutenant. Instead of sorrow and exhaustion and guilt swimming in his eyes, Simon sees hope. For the first time in months. 

Simon gives him a very slow nod, then rises to his feet and turns to the door. 

He pauses with one hand on the doorknob. 

“She needs you.”

Price stares at the coordinates as the door shuts behind Simon. His eyes are stinging but he refuses to blink - scared that the coordinates may be gone when he reopens his eyes.

Finally, for a fraction of a second, his top lashes meet his bottom ones and when they separate again the coordinates are still on the paper.

He lets out an incredulous little laugh and shoves himself to his feet. 

The whiskey in his teacup is in the trash can beside his desk, and then he’s marching over to the coffee maker to start sobering up. 

~*~

You trudge up the walkway to your safehouse with a scowl on your face. 

It’s hot, blazingly so. You feel hot and sticky and sweaty and sore from physio and just plain miserable. 

Summer is supposed to be fun. Full of days at the beach, pool parties, and backyard barbecues. 

Instead, it feels like an endless march through the heat toward an unknown and, possibly worse, destination. 

All your life consists of these days is therapy for your gunshot wound, and more therapy for what your gunshot wound did to your brain. 

Not the most stimulating existence. 

As you lock the door, goosebumps rise on your skin. 

Something feels off. 

You turn slowly, heart racing as you expect the worst. 

Instead, there’s nothing. 

You heave a sigh and push away from the door, freezing when you enter the kitchen. 

There’s a bag on the table that does not belong. 

Your heart is pounding in your ears as you sweep the house for hostiles. 

For Makarov. 

“Your new team isn’t nearly as good as your old one.” 

You gasp, almost shriek, and grab your chest as Captain John Price steps into view. 

“Captain,” you whisper, breathless and still a little afraid. “Are they here?”

The question breaks his heart a bit, and he curses the forces that brought the two of you to meet. 

When he’s not thanking them profusely for dropping you in his path, he’s cursing them for the way they did it.

He shakes his head and takes a step toward you with his hands raised in surrender. 

Only then do you really take a good look at him. 

He’s not dressed in his usual military attire. No, he’s wearing dark jeans, a sweater, and a hat on top of his head.

His face looks tired and worn, and for a moment you find yourself remembering the ‘Grandpa’ comment from all that time ago. 

He’s never looked older. 

“You’re safe,” he whispers. “It’s just me.”

Your shoulders shrug as a sigh whooshes from your chest, and Price feels himself calm down a tiny bit when you visibly relax. 

“What are you doing here?” You finally ask, wringing your hands together. 

He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Then opens it one more time to let out a sigh. 

“I… wasn’t going to,” he admits softly. “I didn’t know where you were. I… I tried not to know. I knew that if I knew where you were… who you were now… I wouldn’t be able to keep myself away.”

Your heart is in your stomach, and your stomach is in your ass as his words process in your mind. 

“H-how did you find me?” You manage to whisper.

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes focused on you, watching you as intently as you’re watching him. 

He’s reading you. Reading your body and taking you in after all this time. 

He still has nightmares of your lifeless body on the cold, hard floor, blood pouring from your chest. 

But here you are in front of him now, on your feet. Alive. 

He’s missed you. 

A lot. 

A lot more than he realized, now that he’s with you again. 

“You left quite an impression on us, Dove. S’not just me who missed you.”

One of the others, you realize. Likely Johnny or Kyle. Certainly not Simon. Right?

“Why are you here?” What does he want? Why is he here? What happens next?

“Because I don’t want to be anywhere without you anymore.”

“B-but what about…” you trail off and look around pointedly. 

You can’t exactly just march out of here hand-in-hand without some sort of explanation to your handlers.

Price raises a brow at your lack of imagination. He has no intention of telling those squares a lick of what’s about to go down. 

“Pack what you need. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

Price is pleasantly surprised to find out that you learned a thing or two during your time with him and Task Force 141. You’re back down the stairs with an emergency bag over your shoulder in just under two minutes. 

“You’ve got all you need in there?” He asks. He knows you do, he just can’t believe this is really happening. 

You nod up at him, smiling and a little breathless. 

“Yup. I was just using the bathroom. I imagine we’ve got a long drive ahead of us?”

Price gives you a wicked grin and leads you to the back door. 

“The drive isn’t too bad. It’s the flight that’ll be long.”

Whatever you thought was going to happen when you got home from physio, this is beyond that. This… it’s beyond even your wildest dreams.

Price leads you out the back door and down to the back lane where an old sedan with tinted windows is waiting. 

He walks confidently without shame. He knows he has nothing to worry about.

The cameras have long since been deactivated, and Kyle already cleared him a straight path from the house to the chopper. 

Now, the only thing he has to worry about is what music you’ll want to listen to in the car ride over. 

~*~

(the) Price is right, the flight is long. Ridiculously so. But some hours or days later, after another car ride and a ferry, you’re standing outside of your new home. 

It’s large, two storeys, and the exterior walls are composed of different light-coloured stones and bricks. It shines like a beacon of hope against the gloomy grey skies.

The feeling that bubbles up inside of you is bittersweet. 

“You doin’ alright over there?” John asks, grabbing your bag from the car and coming up to stand beside you. 

You nod at him and give him a teary smile. 

This is it.

As if. 

He leads you up toward the oak front door and holds it open for you like a true gentleman. 

You take your shoes off at the front door and slowly make your way through the house. 

The rooms are spacious and hold lots of potential, but are scarcely decorated and hardly furnished. 

You’re not sure if you expected the man to have had Martha Stewart’s input when decorating his home or what, but the lack of warmth in his home fills you with excitement. 

A project. 

From painting the walls to adding some homey touches, you know his home - your home now, too - has more than enough potential. 

“I’ve got two guest bedrooms here, if you’re needing your own space at all. They’re both down that hall, and there’s a bathroom on the other side as well. But this here is the master bedroom. Ensuit is just through there.”

You follow Price as he leads you into the bedroom, going in the direction of the master bathroom to have a look. 

He trails after you, watching you with a soft smile on his face. 

This feels good. This feels right. 

Though the rest of the house may be open to opportunity and potential, the master bathroom is the one area that Price put the time and money into maximizing. 

The shower is massive, with two waterfall showerheads raining down from the ceiling and another adjustable one against the wall. 

As if the shower wasn’t enough, he’s got a lovely freestanding oval tub that almost looks like it was custom-built to accommodate his massive size. 

After hours and hours and hours of travel, you could certainly get behind a hot shower or bath. 

Especially if you have some help. 

You’re suddenly reminded of the promise he made back in the bunker. 

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t spent a night or two (or more) with your fingers between your folds, dreaming of him fulfilling his promise one day. 

Today is that day. It has to be. 

Tugging open the shower door, you turn the water on hot and watch in awe as warm water rains down. 

Without saying a word, you begin to undress. 

Price stands in the doorway of the bathroom, thick arms crossed over his chest as he watches you slowly get undressed. 

His cock stirs in his trousers as you reveal inch after inch of gloriously naked skin to him. 

Oh, how he’s only ever dreamed of being allowed to witness something so sacred. 

You’re fully naked now, bare back toward him as you stick your toes under the spray to test the water. 

He drinks in every inch of you with hungry eyes. 

The curves, dimples, stretch marks, and scars. 

Every perfect piece of you, bare for him to view. 

And then you’re stepping into the shower and the water is cascading down your body and he swears his heart stops. 

Michelangelo himself longs for such a muse. 

You keep your back to him, almost like you’re pretending he’s not there, as you start to help the water familiarize itself with your body. 

Price’s breath catches in his throat when you turn to the side, giving him just enough of a view of your front to have him drooling and ready to beg for more. 

“Am I supposed to be doing this alone? Or are you coming to join me?” Your voice is silky smooth and carries on the steam across the bathroom over to where he stands in the doorway. 

Or rather, where he stood. 

As soon as your words reach his ears, his clothes are pooled on the floor and he’s stepping into the shower behind you. 

You can’t help the little gasp that leaves you when you find your hips held in his hands and his hips pressed against your ass. 

He says nothing, only pushes the two of you forward until you’re both under the full spray of the shower. 

The water rains down on the two of you, hot and steamy and a little suffocating as he slowly rocks his hips against you. 

A whimper tumbles past your lips and your eyes fall closed. 

This is bliss. 

This is home. 

“If memory serves correctly,” he whispers, lips dusting over the shell of your ear. “I made you a promise.”

He sure did.

One of his hands leaves your hip and begins its slow and wet journey up your body. 

Your breath hitches when his hand cups your breast, and he pauses there for a moment. 

He tucks his chin onto your shoulder and watches as his own hand squeezes your supple breast. 

“Fuckin look at you,” he whispers, pinching your hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You whine at the touch and arch your back, pushing your chest further into his hand. 

He chuckles, low and gravelly, and pulls on your nipple until you whimper. 

“Such a desperate girl for me, aren’t you?”

You’re nodding before his words have fully registered in your brain, and that only makes him laugh again.

You frown at that and turn around to glare up at him, ignoring the water pouring down on your face. 

“Don’t laugh at me.”

The gruff man before you smiles softly at your pout, index finger dragging against your bottom lip for a moment.

“Sorry, Dove. You make it hard, though.” He means that in more ways than one, and your eyes drop down to his crotch instinctively. 

He watches as your eyes widen and your throat bobs with a gulp. 

He wonders what it would feel like to have you swallow around him like that. 

“What? What’s got you lookin’ so scared?” He asks, tauntingly. To punctuate his words, his cock jumps.

You shake your head and look back up at him, pupils blown. 

“Please.” One word. Six letters. 

He’ll give you anything you want.

In an instant, you find yourself bracing against the shower wall, wet fingers splayed against the tile as Price’s hand in your hair tugs your head back. 

“You gonna trust me?” He asks, dragging his nose down the side of your throat. 

You nod breathlessly, desperate to see what he’s going to do next. To feel what he’s going to do next. 

He gives your hair a tug at the root, teeth grazing over your neck. 

“I asked you a question.”

Oh.

Your legs wobble and your head gets a little airy. 

“Y-yes,” you whisper. 

You can feel his mouth pull into a smile before he sinks his teeth into your skin. 

The sound that leaves you is half cry and half gasp, and John is quick to soothe his tongue over the spot. 

“Sorry, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kiss after sweet kiss to your neck. “I need to taste you.”

Your knees grow even weaker. 

The hand on your waist slowly slinks around to the front of your body, following the water droplets until he’s dipping his fingers beneath the waterfall at the apex of your thighs. 

His fingers spread around your slit, avoiding your more sensitive areas, and instead, they engulf every other inch of you between your thighs. 

He stuffs his big hand between your plush thighs and cups your mound gingerly, making sure to keep his warm fingers away from your aching core. 

“You’ve been seein’ anyone? Hmm? Let anyone else touch this pussy?” His crass words make a gasp bubble out of you. 

“N-no.” 

He knows that already. 

“Hmmm… should I see if you’re lying?”

You don’t say anything. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to say. But he doesn’t mind. 

He waits until you spread your pretty thighs apart for him, and then he’s slowly dipping the tip of his middle finger into your sopping cunt. 

He’s gentle. 

Painfully so. 

The rough pad of his finger just circles your dripping hole, never going beyond the tip. He can feel you clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled. It’s cute. 

He plays with you like this for a moment, his mouth at your throat and his finger at your hole. 

For a moment, you feel like a puppet, and he, your master. 

Well, maybe for more than just a moment. 

Finally, he ends your suffering and slides his digit in to the hilt.

You suck in a sharp breath and quickly sputter out the water. 

“You alright?” 

You nod quickly, rocking your hips into his hand desperately. 

He starts a slow, steady pace. Thrusting his finger in and pulling it back out, thrusting - pulling. Until he stops to wiggle it against your gummy walls and your toes start to curl. 

“O-oh!” 

Price chuckles at your reaction.

“Honey, this is just the beginning. Need you to relax a bit if you expect to take my cock.”

You clamp down around his finger at his words, and he shakes his head in mock disappointment. 

“Should I stop?”

“No!” Your voice echoes in the bathroom. “Please…” 

He gives your neck another nip and kisses it better right after. 

“You think you can handle another, then?” 

You nod immediately, and then he’s sliding his middle finger out to slip it back in alongside his ring finger. The stretch is noticeable but not at all unpleasant, and you find yourself relaxing into his hold. 

The hand in your hair moves down until it finds your breasts, and he gives them each a harsh squeeze. You sigh softly at the feeling, undulating your hips in rhythm with the thrusting of his fingers within you. 

“You’re stunning,” he whispers, breath hot against your skin. 

His fingers press against your walls firmly, intentionally stretching you out to get you ready to take his heavy, weeping cock. 

Your cunt is tight and warm and soaking around his fingers. He’s not sure he’ll last more than a pump or two inside you, if he’s being completely honest. 

He’s spent countless nights fisting his cock to the memory of you. Now that he gets to have you? Cardiac might come to arrest him!

“Oh!” Your hips arch back when his fingers hit a spot inside of you that makes you see stars. 

“Right there? That the spot?” 

You nod like an idiot and drop your mouth open to moan when he hits that spot again and again and again and again.

With every thrust of his fingers inside of you, the palm of his hand rubs against your clit. The combination of both has your head spinning in the hot shower air. 

Your toes curl as the coil in your belly tightens, and your brows draw together as you chase the feeling. 

“Please,” you whisper, leaning your head forward until it knocks against the shower wall. 

“You close already?” The way he asks it makes you want to turn away in shame, but all you can do is nod pathetically and clench your hands into fists as he works you closer and closer to the edge. 

This is everything he’s ever dreamed of and more.

Without warning, your walls clamp down around his fingers, and you pulse around him. 

He stares at you in shock, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

Huh. That was a lot easier than he was expecting. 

He was prepared to spend all night nuzzled between your thighs until you came. Maybe now he’ll spend the night seeing how many times he can make you cum. 

You breathe heavily through parted lips as he slows to a halt and withdraws his fingers from your body.  

“That easy?” He asks, voice light and teasing in your ear. It still sends a shiver down your spine. 

“I said I was close,” you defend weakly.

The sound of your voice, full of hunger and desire, sets something alight within him, and he pulls your body closer to his. 

“I want you to take my cock, darling. Can you do that for me?” 

How could you possibly say no to that?

“Do you think you can take me? Or is your poor little pussy too tired now?”

Oh. It’s not a matter of if you want to do it. He’s not sure if you can. 

You’ll show him. 

You slip one hand off the wall in front of you and slide it behind your back where his leaking cock is throbbing against you. You wrap your warm fingers around his thick shaft and pump once, twice, three whole times before he regains control of his mind and snatches your wrist up in an iron grip.

You’d been behaving so well so far. But really, he was a fool to think that the brattiness you’ve shown him would not resurface.

He pins your wrist to your lower back and takes your earlobe between his teeth, ignoring the sharp gasp that shakes your pretty tits. 

“You really wanna misbehave? I planned on taking my time with you. Not sure if you deserve that now.”

You whine your disproval, shaking your head and wiggling your hips in something that’s half-apology, half-mockery. 

But the way your ass feels against his cock is too good for him to be mad about anything. 

He lets you grind on him for a moment longer, and then he’s withdrawing his hips just far enough to adjust himself, and then he’s pushing back between your legs and spearing through your pillowy pussy lips. 

Every pass of his cock lathers his length with your slick, and each thrust bumps over your clit, making your hole gush.

He continues this for several long, torturous minutes. Each time he rubs the tip of his cock over your swollen clit, you let out a different sort of noise. Some of them border on pain, but all of them are dripping in pleasure. 

Only once he’s deemed his cock wet enough does he stop thrusting, and that’s only to line himself up with your quivering cunt and fuck the tip in niiiiiiiice and slow. 

Your eyes roll back in your head once you finally feel the warmth of him inside you. 

The thick, bulbous tip stretches your poor little cunt to its limits, and you can do nothing but take it as he ruins your messy little hole. 

Your wrist is suddenly free, but your hip is now held captive in his bruising grip. His other hand finds purchase on the wall, thick fingers clawing at the tile as he slowly starts to feed you more and more of his girthy cock. 

Every roll of his hips forward forces another inch of dick inside of you, the walls of your pussy clinging to it every time he pulls back. He wishes he could watch, could see the way your sweet pussy stretches and clings to his heavy cock.

But what he can’t see, you can intimately feel.

Every added inch drags on your walls with each thrust, filling you up in a way you didn’t know you could be filled. 

Every crevice, every cranny, every nook, is sowly being overtaken by him until finally, finally, his hips are flush against your ass and your cunt is stuffed full of him. 

The hand on your hip moves up up up until he’s holding the back of your neck, and he gingerly guides you down down down until you’re bent over for him. 

The new angle forces him impossibly deeper, and his heavy balls nestle against your aching pussy when he leans over you. 

Forearm braced on the wall, his big body shields you from the stream of water above as he begins to roll his hips into your ass. 

Your hands act as a barrier between your head and the tile wall, but Price has other plans. 

“You said you could take it, yeah? So take it.” 

He has your wrists bound in one big hand against the small of your back mere moments later, forcing your cheek to smush against the wall. Your chest is pressed against the wall soon after, and the contrast of the cool tiles against your burning skin only adds another layer of pleasure. 

He fucks into you harder, fueled by each keening moan that leaves your pretty mouth. 

You feel so fucking good around him. 

Tight and wet and hot. Heat like he’s never felt is suckling his cock every single time he thrusts into you, and he’s not sure how long he’s going to last. 

He wants to cum in you. 

Wants to fill you up with his hot cum and watch your tummy swell with his children. 

Those are the thoughts that plague him as he squeezes your wrists and fucks his seed deep into your womb.

His balls throb and his cock aches, but he doesn’t stop thrusting into you until he’s sure you’ve milked him of every last drop. 

Only once the tremors have stopped and his cock has softened does he pull out of your puffy cunt, but your hole isn’t empty for long. 

His long fingers are sliding through your messy folds from the back, smearing his cum over your swollen clit until you whine. 

Then he’s got two fingers fucking your gaped hole, cum sloshing audibly. You push yourself up onto your arms again and your legs tremble. “F-fuck… I can’t…”

Price grins at the challenge. 

“Yes, you can.”

You shake your head but your body obeys him, and in a matter of moments he has your pussy spasming again, sucking his cum deeper. 

You collapse in his arms at the force of your second orgasm, eyes rolled back and mouth dropped open as wave after powerful wave of bliss washes over you. 

He holds you, limp like a ragdoll, in his arms for several moments, before manuevering you to lean against him wiith your arms wrapped around his neck. 

While you recover, he washes your body for you, being careful of the sensitive mess between your legs. He’s gentle with you. Soft. It makes your heart sing and your head spin.

Once you’re nice and clean, Price helps you out of the shower and wraps you up in his warmest towel, then ushers you into the bedroom. 

Your eyes are glazed over and tired, and your body has a light airiness to it that feels like walking on a cloud. 

Price dries you off and helps you climb into bed, sliding in on the other side and immediately pulling you into his arms. 

You nuzzle into his chest and let your lids flutter closed, body still thrumming with the afterfeelings of your coupling. Your heart feels warm and full, and so does your pussy. 

Price tucks his chin on top of your head and lets out the most satisfying breath he thinks he’s ever taken in his life. 

He did it. 

Albeit, a bit quicker than he’d imagined. But expecting a man to last long when he’s balls deep in a slice of heaven is too much to expect from John Price.

As if hearing his thoughts, your tired, fucked-out voice emerges from the tangle of limbs and love. 

“That easy, hmm?”

Your entire body shakes with the force of laughter that bubbles out of John’s chest. 

His Dove and her viper tongue. 

“That’s the first time I’ve had sex in over a year, sweetheart. Apologies if I was a little… prompt.” 

You can’t help but giggle at his archaic word choice, but then the weight of his words hits you. 

The two of you crossed paths a little under a year ago, at this point. 

He hasn’t slept with another woman since meeting you. 

You open your mouth to ask about it, but he’s quicker. 

“I’m sure I can make it up to you, if you’ll allow it.” 

And just like that, any thoughts that aren’t all the ways he plans to make it up to you, fly out the window. 

He can feel the shift in your mood and smiles, tugging back just enough to look at you. 

His eyes are warm, happy. Full of so much love and joy and peace. 

And you’re sure that your own eyes are a mirror of his. 

You’re at home now. 

You’re at peace.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Littlest Dove - Six

Pairing: John Price X Reader

Summary: Suddenly the only unfortunate witness to a horrific crime, you're now a loose end that needs to be tied up. Don't fret, Price and tf141 will keep you safe, dovie

Warnings: languages, mentions of smut, implied breeding kink ig?, FLUFF,

Word Count:2.2k

A/n: happy happy friday my friends <3 i haven't been writing as much as i'd like to be lately but hopefully i can hammer some stuff out tonight. love you lots and I hope you enjoy

~*~

Three firm taps on the door pull you away from your usual Wednesday routine. 

Weird.

The boys don’t usually knock. 

You hesitate for a moment, and then another, and then finally you look out the peephole.

Instead of armed men, or Marlon, or even the two men who are pretending to be your brothers, you see Captain Price standing patiently on the other side of the door. 

Weird. 

You quickly unlock the door and pull it open, apprehension written across your face. 

“Good morning.” “Is everything okay?”

Price pauses, a light chuckle leaving him as he straightens up.

“Everything is fine. Can I come in?”

You nod and step aside, worry still chewing away at you. 

Where are Johnny and Kyle?

“The boys are okay,” he says once the door is closed behind him. “They’re working elsewhere, hope I’m an acceptable substitute.” 

You blink once, twice, three times, then nod again. 

“Yeah, yes, of course. Um, I’m just about ready…” You trail off and rush into the kitchen to grab your belongings.

Weird.

This isn’t what you were expecting. Not at all. 

Actually, matter of fact, this throws a bit of a wrench into your day plans. Nay, your week plans are now in pieces on the floor after the impact of said wrench. 

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re standing in front of Price with a container of food in your hands. 

His brows raise and he cocks his head to the side. 

“I uh… I pack a lunch for the guys most days… Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” The words leave you because if you stood there gaping at him like a fish any longer, you would pass out. 

A smile and a polite nod are his response as he takes the container from you. 

“Thank you. S’been a while since I’ve had real food, anyway.”

You let out a relieved sigh that the Captain definitely notices, then walk out of the house bundled up in your winter gear. 

Thick snow blankets the ground, and houses are strung up with Christmas lights. 

The air is festive and has an unmistakable holiday warmth to it that can almost make you forget all your troubles.

You’re even helping Ruth set up the library for the Christmas party this weekend. 

It’s her favourite thing to talk about lately. 

That and which one of your ‘brothers’ she’s planning on bringing. 

That’s what you and Captain Price end up chatting about on the way to the Library.

“I haven’t actually told them yet, I’m more waiting to see who stays on my good side for longer,” you explain, grinning when he lets out a chuckle. 

“I know who my money’s on.” 

You’re sure both of you already know that Soap is going to be accompanying Ruth to the Christmas party, so long as his schedule allows it. 

“I’ll be back to pick you up later. It’s supposed to snow all day, might have a bit of a march back home,” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking up at the sky. 

You follow his gaze, squinting against the harsh light of the white clouds and the white snow contrasting the almost-white sky. 

“Well, good thing I’ve got good boots now.” You’re not sure why you say it, but you’re also not sure what else there even is to say. 

He’s the one who bought them for you, after all. 

He gives them an approving nod and smiles with half his mouth. “Snow’s got nothin’ on you.” Then he nods up to the library doors. 

“Go on then, Ruthie won’t like it if you’re late. If she finds out it’s my fault, I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

He punctuates his words with a light pat on your shoulder, and the contact sends a shiver down your spine for some reason.

Weird.

You obey and ignore the feeling, opting instead to give him a polite smile and head inside the building without another word. 

He watches you through the window until you’re out of sight, then puffs out a cloud of air and tilts his head back once again. 

The falling flakes kiss his scruffy cheeks and he welcomes their love with open arms. 

His moment of peace is quickly shattered by his phone vibrating from his jacket pocket. 

He answers without looking at it. 

There’s a very small group of people who have this number. If any of them are calling, he knows he needs to answer. 

“Yeah?” 

“We’ve got movement.”

Three words from his Lieutenant that confirm none of this has been in vain. 

Finally.

“I’ll be right there.”

He’s walking into the seacan five minutes later.

“What’ve we got?”

Simon leans back in his chair, thick arms crossed over an even thicker chest as he nods across the desk to the map projected on the wall.

“Had time to make this while I waited for you to drop the asset off,” he says, unimpressed. 

“What is it, Lieutenant?” He repeats, hands finding his hips as he starts to share the feeling. 

‘The Asset’ seems so harsh. So… dehumanizing. Yet John can’t bring himself to correct him. Not now, anyway. 

“Johnny made contact. Confirmed they’re still following div. Trail 1. I told them to watch and wait for orders and report back if there’s a change.”

Price nods, rubbing his hand over his beard for a moment. 

If Makarov’s men are still following the initial diversion trail, that means they can execute phase 2 of their plan at any time now. 

This part is a bit more delicate, and, in Price’s opinion, needs to be timed carefully. 

“When will she be ready?” Simon asks.

“Not yet. Soon. Keep them monitoring the situation and report on anything, no matter how small. I’m going to go pay a visit to Ruth.”

~

When Price gets to the library a few hours later, he’s surprised to find you leading reading time instead of Ruth. 

A small smile tugs at his cheeks as he makes his way to where Ruth is listening at the edge of the circle. 

You’re reading Frosty the Snowman, and there’s this spark in your voice that he’s never heard before. 

He’s not sure why his eyes stay focused on you as you read to the children. Nor does he know why he watches you interact with them afterward. 

A sick little nagging voice in the back of his mind hisses the answer to him, as much as he tries to ignore it. 

You’re too young for him to be thinking about like that. 

But alas, the animal in him can’t help but picture you round and full with a baby of his own, while another of his kin latches itself to one of those perfect breasts of yours. 

He’s genuinely not sure where the lewd thought comes from, but he needs to take a step back and look away to keep his pants as they are.

He’s more than a few years your senior (something you’re well aware of), and you’re here against your will. An asset, as Simon said. A witness who needs protecting, not some sort of object to be sexualized.

He blames it on the fact that you gave him food this morning. 

Quickest way to a man’s heart, after all. 

“What are you gawkin at, John?” Ruth asks, nudging her elbow into his hip.

He blinks a few times and looks away from you right as your eyes are connecting with his. 

“Nothing. Just wanted to come by and see how the two of you are doing. Storm’s rolling in soon.”

Ruth stares at him for a long moment, an unimpressed look on her face. 

“I’m old, not stupid, John. Look, you want a date you let me know and I’ll give you Patricia’s number. You leave Dove alone.”

He wrinkles his nose at her words and shakes his head quickly. 

“That’s… not it at all.” 

Lies? Maybe. 

“We got new intel today… so things will start moving again. And fast, by the looks of things.”

This brings a frown to Ruth’s face. 

“She's just getting her footing, John. How soon?”

He lets out a heavy sigh and gives the woman the most honest answer he can. 

“I can order phase two any day now.”

She doesn’t know what phase two is, necessarily, but she does know that it probably means a whole lot of headache for you. 

“Wait until after the Christmas party.” 

The Captain sighs and shakes his head, “Sooner the better.”

“Please. John, look at her,” Ruth whispers, nodding to where you’re reading another story to a smaller group of kids, a bright smile on your face. 

“She’s happy. Don’t take that from her yet. She’s been looking forward to the Christmas party - told me she already has a dress.”

Price wonders if you bought the dress when you went shopping that first time, or if the boys took you again more recently without telling him. 

Either way, he knows he paid for whatever outfit you’re going to be wearing on Saturday. Feels like a waste of money if you don’t even get to wear it. 

For some reason, the (almost unnoticeable) decline in his chequing account every other weekend doesn’t bother him now that he gets to reap the benefits. 

Reap the benefits??

So you gave him leftovers meant for Johnny and Kyle. So what?

Briefly, he wonders if you enchanted the food you gave him. 

Why else would he be having thoughts like this about you after eating his lunch? 

“Ruthie, you got many voodoo books?”

The older womans face screws up with confusion, but before she can say anything, a third voice enters the conversation. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Is that how you’re gonna greet me every time you see me?” He asks quietly, voice light and teasing. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, “Hello.”

“I’m just bugging you. Yeah, everything's fine. Just needed to talk to Ruth for a minute.”

“You figure out which one of your brothers is going to be my lucky date on Saturday?”

Price winces at Ruth’s question and glances over at you. 

“The boys won’t be back in time for the Christmas party,” he blurts as you open your mouth to respond. 

Disappointment clouds your features and you frown up at him. 

“Are they okay?”

He nods without hesitation. 

“They’re fine. They just… need a few more days before they come back.” He can practically feel Ruth’s stress melt away at his words. 

“Oh. Rats, sorry, Ruth. Looks like I’ll be teaching you how Craigslist works after all.”

Ruth shakes her head, “John, what are you up to Saturday night? Dove and I need an escort.”

This confuses him. Just a few moments ago the old woman was urging him to stay away from you, now she’s asking him to be your date to the Christmas party?

Your gaze changes from disappointed to shy in a matter of seconds, and for some reason, Price finds it absolutely alluring. So much so, he finds himself speaking without thinking. 

“I’m sure I can free up my schedule.”

You smile up at him with bright eyes and Ruth gives him a look.

Because she was right. 

Phase two can wait until after the Christmas party. 

Especially if it means this much to you. 

~

Ruth closes up the library not long after that. With the impending storm, it’s no use staying open. 

You trudge through the snow with Captain Price at your side.

“You wouldn’t actually teach her how Craigslist works, would you?” He asks after a few moments of silent walking. 

You snort and shake your head. 

“Are you kidding me? She doesn’t even want to learn how to check the answering machine.”

This elicits a chuckle from the large man beside you.

“That sounds like the Ruth I know.”

You’re quiet for another moment, weighing the pros and cons of asking the Captain a personal question. 

“How do you and Ruth know each other?” You finally ask.

He glances over at you, eyes meeting yours for a long moment before he returns his gaze to the snow-covered sidewalk in front of you. 

“Ruth’s known me since I was a boy,” he says, cheeks growing pink in the cold winter air. “Over the years, she’s become a… mother figure of sorts.”

You nod your understanding. 

So she’s not his secret geriatric romantic lover. 

No offence, Ruth. 

“Does she know…?” You trail off and glance up at him.

He shakes his head, “Not the details. Just knows to keep an eye on you, keep you safe.”

The way he says it makes butterflies flap their wings blindly into each other in your stomach. 

“Thank you for lunch, by the way. I’ll bring the container back tomorrow.”

“Of course, feel like it’s only fair considering…. You know… you kinda paid for it all.”

He hums and nods thoughtfully, not saying anything on that particular piece of business.

Eventually, as fate would have it, he walks you around the side of the house and unlocks the door for you. 

You stand there for a moment, hesitating as you pull off your gloves. 

“Do you… would you like some coffee?” You finally find yourself asking, voice shy and meek. 

It’s because you don’t want to be by yourself, you reason. 

You usually have one or both of the boys over after work, and even that usually isn’t until much later in the day.

Price lets you overthink it for a few moments before finally putting you out of your misery with a kind smile on his wind-kissed face. 

“I would love some.”

[nastybuckybarnes]

Littlest Dove - Five

Pairing: John Price X Reader

Summary: After a drunk night on the town turns you into the only unfortunate witness to a horrific crime, you quickly find yourself in a bit over your head. The bad guy doesn't like loose ends, and the good guys wanna do their job. There's always collateral in some form... isn't there?

Warnings: fainting, language, minor injuries, minor angst?, mention of anxiety/panic attack, fluff, 1 reference to Old Yeller,

Word Count: 2.3k

A/n: better late than never right? i plan on updating the masterlist soon for real, its just such a hassle. also old yeller is a warning because that movie scarred me for life when i was a kid

~*~

“Remind me again, how do Ruth and Captain Price know each other?” You try to sound nonchalant, you really do. You don’t even look up from the zipper of your jacket as you ask. 

Johnny and Kyle still exchange glances at the question, the former raising a brow with a triumphant smirk.

This settles the bet they made two weeks ago. 

“Ruthie was a friend of his mum’s,” Kyle says, slowing his steps as you approach the library. 

“Why’d you ask?” Soap asks after a moment, stuffing his hands in his pockets as fat little flakes of white drift down from the sky. 

It’s been a few weeks since your new life began. Slowly but surely, you’re starting to develop a bit of a routine.

Things are starting to feel a little less scary. 

“Just curious. They were chatting the other day and I was trying to figure out the connection. I mean, I figured she was a little young for him, that’s all.”

This earns a chuckle from both men before they bid you farewell. 

The walk into the library feels far more taxing than normal. 

Your limbs feel heavy and sluggish, and you feel like you’re moving through molasses. 

It’s probably just the cold, you reason. Nothing else. 

Just the cold.

Certainly not the fact that you ran out of groceries on Monday, and it’s Wednesday today. 

You’re in the middle of a conversation with Ruth and one of the other library workers, Roger, when it happens - the edges of your vision start to go black, little dots appear and everything starts sounding far away. 

By the time you realize what’s happening, it’s too late. 

The next thing you remember is waking up on the floor with Ruth’s nervous face hovering over you. 

Gradually, her voice gets louder and louder until you can hear her rambling on and on and on. 

“...scared the daylights out of Roger and I! Imagine his surprise, chatting one moment and the next you’re on the ground. Poor man thought he’d killed you.”

Your brows draw together until you remember the last conversation you had before everything went lights out. 

“Sorry about that,” you whisper, pushing yourself onto your elbows with a wince. 

Something is bruised, but you’re not sure what. All you can focus on is the pounding of your head. 

“You usually just… say goodnight like that?” She asks, rubbing a motherly hand over your shoulders. 

You shake your head then immediately wince. Bad idea. 

“No, sorry. This… doesn’t usually happen.”

A worried look spreads across Ruth’s face and she purses her lips for a moment. 

“What did you have for breakfast?”

“Coffee.”

“What else?” She presses. 

You give her an innocent shrug and shake your head. “That’s it.”

She frowns. 

“What did you have yesterday?”

You feel a little sheepish admitting the truth to her. 

“Coffee. Oh! And that pastry you gave me.”

“Jesus, Dove. No wonder you pancaked on me like that. You stay put, I’m going to get you some orange juice and a snack. I already called John, he and your brothers should be here soon to take you home.”

Oh God. 

Why John? Why couldn’t she have just called the other two? 

When Ruth returns, juice in hand, she gives you a stern look. 

“Now, I want no more of this whole ‘not eating to get out of work’ thing, you hear me?” 

You nod obediently and take a gulp of the pulp. 

Before Ruth can reprimand you further, the door is opening and a man is speaking. 

“Where is she? Is she hurt?”

Captain Price. 

John. 

Oh brother. 

Ruth only nods to you and crosses her arms across her chest in a true disappointed mother fashion. 

You wave weakly up at Price when he peers over the counter. 

“What happened?” He asks, stepping around to crouch by your side. 

“I-”

“Ask her when the last time she ate was. A full meal. Not a snacky something or another,” Ruth chirps, raising a silver brow at you when you give her a look. 

“When did you eat last?” Price asks, worry written across the lines on his forehead.

You’re not really sure how to tell him that you haven’t had a full, proper meal since your life got uprooted. 

As the days float by, there hasn’t been a good time to ask about grocery shopping. The last thing you want to be is high-maintenance. 

“I eat…” you try, but Ruth only snorts. 

“She hasn’t had a thing today and ate nothing yesterday. Told me so herself.”

You glare at Ruth. That is NOT the truth. 

“Why aren’t you eating?” He asks, this time genuinely confused. 

Embarrassment creeps its way up your spine and you shrink in on yourself the tiniest bit. 

You look between him and Ruth pointedly, but when Price only nods you find yourself forced to speak. 

“There’s… no food at home. Just coffee.”

He blinks a few times and Ruth cocks her head to the side, befuddled. 

That can’t really be the reason, can it? 

But Price slowly starts to understand. 

When you arrived at the safe house, the fridge and pantry were stocked full of food. Now, after a few weeks of regular living, you’ve run out. And for some reason, you didn’t think to mention it.  

He must’ve forgotten to go over those details with you. 

“Thanks for callin, Ruth. I’ll get her home safe.” He gives the older woman a gentle smile then helps you to your feet carefully, like you’re some delicate little thing. 

You step out of his grip and give him a tight-lipped smile. 

It’s humiliating enough to have had your little incident, and now for him to be the one taking care of you?

You wish he'd just take you out back and give you the Old Yeller instead.

The drive is quick and quiet and gives your anxiety time to bloom and blossom into a venus fly trap of doom. 

By the time you’re seated on the couch, you’re seconds away from a full-fledged panic attack. 

With every door Price opens and shuts, you dig yourself a little deeper into a pit that you’re not too sure how to climb out of. 

With a heavy sigh, he finally rejoins you and takes a seat on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. 

“When did you run out?”

You purse your lips and think for a long moment before answering.

You’re already in trouble (at least it feels that way), why make it any worse?

“Earlier this week. I started rationing last Sunday but… yeah.”

He nods slowly, taking deep breaths. 

This isn’t something he’s ever had to navigate before. 

Hell, this whole ‘witness protection’ thing isn’t something he’s had to navigate before. 

Up until this point, if a member of his team needed something, all they had to do was ask. And not one man was ever too shy to ask for what they wanted, much less what they needed. 

But now here you are. 

Strange little Dove, starving yourself until you collapse at work instead of asking for more food. Why?

Where's that fiery thing that was calling him names and trying to beat him up in that alley?

You stare at your hands while he stares at you, waiting for the tongue-lashing you’re sure is waiting. 

It never comes. 

“Rest today. The boys will be by later with some food, and tomorrow they’ll take you out shopping.”

You lift your head and meet his gaze, a little confused. 

“I guess I forgot to go over this part with you, I apologize.” He gives you a gentle smile and scoots a little closer, softening his war-hardened exterior as much as he can.

“If you need anything… food, toiletries, work clothes - whatever, all you need to do is ask. Got it?”

You nod your understanding, more than a little embarrassed, but at the same time - how were you supposed to know!

“I figured I’d probably come home one day and find the pantry restocked. When I didn’t… I don’t know, you guys all seem like you have much more… important things to do.”

He doesn't say anything at first. Instead, he roots through his pants, then his wallet. Finally, he extends a sleek black credit card over to you, holding on to it firmly when you grasp the other end. 

“The only reason we’re all here is to keep you alive. Starving to death defeats the purpose and erases a whole lot of hard work. If you need food, ask. If you need shampoo, ask. If you’re running out of toilet paper, ask. Worst thing any of us will do is say no.”

His words stick for a moment even after he’s let go of the credit card and risen to his feet. 

Worst thing any of us will do is say no.

That’s true. 

A month ago, that would’ve terrified you. But now? Now it’s not so bad, right? 

I mean, there are people out there who would like to do the worst things imaginable to you for witnessing what you witnessed. These men aren’t part of that group. 

The worst thing they will do is say no. 

~*~

“What about this? Is this fine? Or should I get the no-name one?” You ask for the hundredth time, holding up two different bottles of body wash. 

Soap lets out a groan loud enough to be heard two aisles over, and slaps his hand over his forehead. 

“Dovie, if I hafta hear you ask that one more time, I will hand you over to the bad guys myself.”

Gaz, on the other hand, tries a bit of a softer approach. 

“We know how much is too much. We’ll let you know once you’re starting to get near that threshold. Until then, go crazy. Captain’s orders.”

His words have the desired effect, and you relax a little bit.

It’s interesting, the dynamic you’ve started to create with both men. 

It truly is like a sibling relationship, with Gaz being the gentler brother while Soap is more of a little shitdisturber - something he takes great pride in. And, on most days, you’re ready to give it right back. But now, after too long with too few nutrients, you’re more tired than sassy.

The shopping spree, to Soap’s chagrin, lasts nearly 4 hours. From groceries to toiletries to a new winter jacket and proper snow boots, you feel like you’re finally feeling settled and definitely feeling spoiled.

Or at least, as settled as you really can be, all things considered. 

Finally, once the last bag of groceries is on the counter, Soap collapses on the couch with a loud groan. 

“I’ve been through hell and back more than once and I’d take it again if it means I don’t ever hafta go shopping with you again.”

You roll your eyes at him and begin putting everything away.

“You know, for someone so old, you sure do bitch like a baby.”

Soap’s jaw drops in mock offence and Gaz rolls his eyes with a chuckle. 

“You two staying for dinner?” 

It’s not something you’ve offered before, but now that you’ve got enough food to feed a small army, you want to do exactly that. 

“Depends what yer makin’,” is Soap’s reply, but he sits up with interest. 

“Well, right now I can make pretty much anything.” That fact alone makes you feel settled and bit more secure. 

“What can you make?” Gaz asks, settling in on a kitchen chair. 

You stop for a moment and think back to your old life. Back to the days of carefully selecting ingredients to cook a meal for yourself. 

After a moment or two down memory lane, you finally decide to whip up your favourite comfort meal. 

While you cook, Gaz keeps up quiet conversation, nothing too heavy, but not superficial enough to be awkward. 

Soap’s got his attention split between some tv show he put on and the conversation between you and Gaz, chiming in every now and then when he has something to add. 

It all feels oddly… homey. Warm, even. 

Finally, once dinner is half-devoured, you push your plate away with a happy sigh. 

The boys have already sung their praise of your food, and are now happily scarfing down what’s left on their plates. 

“What kind of budget does the military give witness protection for all this stuff? Is this where the tax dollars go?” You wonder aloud, not really expecting an answer. 

Gaz and Soap exchange glances, the latter smirking, before turning to you with the answer. 

“That’s not military money, Dove,” Gaz explains gently. 

You frown, not understanding.

“That card there,” Soap nods over to where the black card sits on the counter. “That’s the Captain’s personal card.”

Time stops and the blood leaves your face. 

Oh God. 

You think you might faint again.

“W-we need to take this stuff back.” You already know you can’t. And even if you could, you really, really don’t want to. 

This is the first time in longer than you can remember that you’ve gone and spent this kind of money on yourself. It felt even better because the money wasn’t yours. 

Sure, you thought you contributed somehow through taxes or something, but to find out that Captain Price spent his hard-earned money on you?? A LOT of his hard-earned money????

You hope dinner tastes as good coming back up as it did going down. 

“Relax. Cap was strict: get you what you need. If he wasn’t prepared to spend a pretty penny on all this, he woulda given us a lower limit, trust me.” Gaz’s smooth voice does ease your nerves, though only slightly. 

You don’t even want to think about how much money you spent, but now you’re not too sure how to feel. 

Surely, there’s some budget for this, right? I mean, he didn’t need to spend his money, did he? Maybe he gets to claim it all back?

Probably, you decide. 

“Relax,” Gaz reiterates, setting his hand down on the table to capture your attention. 

“You’re not in trouble, you haven’t done anything wrong, okay? Now, I’ll wash, Johnny will dry, and you can put away. Just like old times, yeah?”