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You were sitting at your work desk, reading through the comic book the artists made for the first issue of your Winter Soldier and Captain America series. You had come up with a plot that George R.R. Martin would be jealous of, in your opinion. The comic was brilliant, with wonderful art and easy-to-read dialogue. You had a bookshelf of comics, dedicated specifically to ones you wrote or helped write. Not only that, but you also had a solid collection of normal comics, at least two full bookshelves worth.The first copy of The Winter Soldier and Captain America: Chemical Warfare looked perfect. You always got one of the first copies published by Marvel of your comics. You were proud of what you’d done. Being a comic author for Marvel was no small feat.A few days after the first comic was published, a loud and aggressive knock sounded at your house’s door. You got up, then looked through the peephole to see two… military men standing at the door? You cautiously opened it. “Hello? Can I help you?” you asked timidly.The taller of the two men stepped forward. His face was obscured by a mask with a skull-faced shell that sent a shiver down your spine. The other man, with a mohawk and a much more casual stance, stood slightly behind, scanning the area as if trouble might leap up from the shadows at any moment.“We need to talk,” the masked man said, his voice a low growl, clipped and to the point. He didn’t offer his name. It was less an introduction and more a statement of intent.“About?” you managed, trying to sound braver than you felt.The mohawked man stepped forward, the faintest flicker of a smirk playing on his lips. “Your latest comic,” he said, his accent thick and unmistakably Scottish. “Seems you’ve got the wrong people’s attention.”The masked man tilted his head slightly, like he was sizing you up, or maybe deciding how much trouble you’d cause. “May we come in?” he asked, though it sounded more like an order than a request.“Sure,” you said, your voice quiet. “Do you- Do you want some tea, or coffee, or something?”You let the two men inside your house, revealing a space that most would expect of a man cave. Posters hung all around your house of Marvel and DC superheroes. Shelves were lined with action figures and movie memorabilia that could decorate a museum. A Deadpool and Wolverine poster signed by Hugh Jackman and Ryan Reynolds hung above your couch in a golden frame. It was your pride and joy. The house didn’t seem over-the-top, at least, not to people who had a heart. It just showed your deep passion for all things superheroes.“Sorry, it’s a little crazy in here,” you said, your voice weaker than you had intended. The man in the skullface mask was making you really nervous. Especially given his height and size. You thought he could’ve been a superhero in another universe. Maybe the Winter Soldier.The mohawked man – Soap, as he’d introduced himself with a lopsided grin – let out a low whistle as he looked around. “Crazy? Lass, this is a collector’s paradise,” he said, stepping closer to admire the signed poster behind your couch. “Hugh Jackman and Ryan Reynolds? You must’ve sold your soul for this one.”The masked man, Ghost, stayed by the door, his imposing presence unshaken by the warmth of your home. His dark eyes roamed the room, taking in every detail with a careful, methodical air. You had a feeling it wasn’t the memorabilia that held his attention, but rather, the potential for threat.“It’s fine,” Ghost said flatly, his tone giving nothing away. He didn’t seem like the type to care about a person’s hobbies. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t want to show it. “We need answers.”Soap shot him a quick glance, then turned back to you with a slightly apologetic smile. “What he means is… we’re not here to admire the décor, though it his pretty impressive. Why don’t we have a seat and chat?”You nodded, your heart hammering as you sat on your couch. Ghost didn’t sit with you, opting instead to stand near the corner of the room like some kind of sentinel. Soap, on the other hand, plopped down on the couch with the ease of a man who made himself comfortable in every space.“So” Soap started, folding his arms and leaning forward slightly. “This latest comic of yours… Chemical Warfare, yeah? Care to explain how it matches up with some real-life events, lassie?”"What?" you asked stupidly."Your comic details a prison escape of a Russian bloke named Ivan Petrov. This Petrov fellow was sentenced to life in prison, but his crew helped him escape. A HYDRA crew, if I recall correctly. After Petrov's escape, he manages to steal some American missiles from a port in Yevpatoria. Your boys, Captain America and the Winter Soldier, learn of Petrov's escape. A Russian general recently died, so your boys go out to an abandoned nuclear power plant to stop HYDRA from obtaining whatever this general left behind. But HYDRA got there before your heroes, almost killed the Winter Soldier, yeah? That's where this issue ends, I think," Soap explained the plot of your first comic book."Yeah," you confirmed, "That's what happens in the first issue. I'm... I'm still confused on why I've got two- two scary military men in my humble house in Los Angeles.""This same thing happened in real life, lass," Soap said softly, as if speaking up would spook you away. "A Russian named Vladimir Makarov escaped prison with the help of - not HYDRA - but a private military company called the Konni Group. Shortly after his escape, he attacked a port with American missiles. Just like in your comic book. Price, our boss, sent us to an abandoned nuclear power plant to prevent the Konni Group from grabbing materials left behind by the recently deceased General Roman Barkov. They got there before us, snatched the chemical weapons left behind by Barkov, and nearly killed Price in the process. Is this sounding familiar?"Ghost had not spoken yet, which scared you. The Scottish man was good cop, and the British man was bad cop. But why were they even here? How could you possibly have known about the events aligning so perfectly? You scratched your head, furrowing your brow as Soap laid it out for you. "I don't know," you said finally, "How could I possibly have known it would happen?"Soap leaned back, his expression softening as he considered your words. "Aye, it's a hell of a coincidence," he said, his tone more contemplative now. "But coincidences like this? They make folks in our line of work nervous."Ghost, still standing sentinel, finally spoke, his voice a low rumble. "We need to know if you've had any contact with individuals who might have fed you this information. Anyone unusual reaching out to you recently?"You shook your head, the reality of the situation settling heavily on your shoulders. "No, I haven't. I mean, I get fan mail and messages, but nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly no one shares classified military operations with me."Soap nodded slowly, exchanging a glance with Ghost. "Alright," he said, standing up. "We'll need to take a closer look at your communications, if you don't mind. Just to rule out any... unintended leaks."Your heart raced at the thought of these men sifting through your personal messages, but you understood the gravity of the situation. "Of course," you agreed, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "Whatever you need to do."As Soap began discussing the logistics with you, Ghost's gaze lingered on the framed poster behind your couch. For a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something – recognition, perhaps, or maybe just a fleeting appreciation for the world you had created within these walls. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the stoic mask of duty."Thank you for your cooperation," Ghost said, his tone formal once more. "We'll do our best to keep this as unobtrusive as possible."You managed a small, tense smile. "I appreciate that."As they prepared to delve into your digital life, you couldn't help but wonder how a story born from your imagination had collided so violently with reality. And more importantly, what that collision meant for you – and the world beyond your doorstep."Call Price, Soap, I think I got something," Ghost said, after scrolling through your work emails. You glanced over his shoulder. It was an email from one of your four bosses, Milena Romanova. She was the one who gave you the idea for the story, in a meeting at work. You had thought it was a great idea, and you had tweaked the idea in several places to make it your own."Milena Romanova?" Soap muttered. "Isn't that-""Makarov's financier," Ghost finished.Your heart dropped to the floor. That wasn't possible. You couldn't have known that. You didn't know that! "I'm... I'm just a comic book author," you whispered, "I don't want to cause anyone any harm.""Laswell's going to want to interrogate them both," Soap said softly.Ghost straightened, his gloved hand hovering over the phone as he processed the weight of the revelation. His eyes flicked to Soap, who was already rubbing the back of his neck, clearly not thrilled about the implications.You, meanwhile, felt as though the room had started to tilt. Milena Romanova? A name you'd associated with productive meetings and sharp insights at work was now being spoken in the same breath as Vladimir Makarov. It was surreal, the kind of plot twist you might have written but never expected to live.“I don’t understand,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “She’s just my boss. She gave me the basic premise, and I worked on it. She never mentioned... anything like this.”Ghost’s gaze landed on you, and for a moment, it was hard to tell whether it was sympathy or suspicion behind those dark eyes. “You may not have known,” he said evenly, “but it puts you in the middle of something a lot bigger than a comic book series.”Soap shot you a small, reassuring smile as if sensing your mounting panic. “We get that, lass. But we’ve got to follow the trail. If Romanova’s feeding intel to Makarov, it makes your work... a tool.”Your head swam with questions, but one burned brighter than the rest. “What happens to me now?” you asked, clutching the back of a chair to steady yourself.Ghost dialed a number, pressing the phone to his ear. His voice was calm, deliberate. “Captain Price, it’s Ghost. We’ve got a lead… yeah, her name’s Romanova. Turns out she’s been feeding intel to this writer.”He glanced at you, his tone sharpening slightly. “No, I don’t think she knew. But Laswell needs to bring her in, and we’re going to need protection for the civilian.”Soap nodded in agreement, adding, “Don’t worry. We’re not leaving you to fend for yourself. You’ll be under our watch until this gets sorted.”The promise was meant to comfort, but it only highlighted the gravity of your situation. Your once-simple life of crafting superhero stories had become entangled in a web of espionage and danger. Whatever came next, you knew there was no going back."Price wants us to find Romanova. We're also going to bring our nerd friend in for interrogation," Ghost said after he hung up the phone."You- You won't hurt me, will you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You had written interrogation scenes before, and usually the interrogators were not very nice to their interrogatees. "I swear, I didn't know. I've never even jaywalked before!""Nae, lass, we cannae hurt a girl as sweet as you," Soap said, kneeling in front of you. "You're gonna be alright. Me and Ghost are gonna keep you safe, yeah?"He reached up with a gloved hand and gently wiped a tear from your cheek. "I'm not in trouble, am I?" you whimpered.Soap’s expression softened further as he met your eyes, his voice low and soothing. “Nae, you’re not in trouble. You’ve done nothing wrong here.” His words were warm, a stark contrast to the cold weight of fear settling in your chest. “We just need to sort this mess out, yeah? Figure out what Romanova’s play is and how it ties back to Makarov. You’ve been caught in the middle of something you couldn’t have seen comin’.”Ghost, still looming near the door, let out a quiet sigh. “You’re a civilian. Not our enemy. Nobody’s laying a hand on you,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “But you’re a part of this now, whether you want to be or not. That means we’ll need your full cooperation. No holding back.”Soap shot Ghost a brief glare, clearly disapproving of his bluntness, before turning his attention back to you. “He’s right, though. We need to know everything you can tell us about Romanova – any meetings, emails, calls, even offhand comments she’s made. Anything at all could help us figure out what she’s up to.”You nodded hesitantly, your hands trembling as you clutched them together. “I’ll help however I can. I promise. I just... I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”Soap stood, patting your shoulder lightly. “You’re doing the right thing, lass. Stick with us, and we’ll keep you safe.”Ghost’s dark eyes lingered on you for a moment before he turned toward the door. “We’ll move soon. The sooner we find Romanova, the better.” He glanced back over his shoulder, his voice low but not unkind. “Pack a bag. Essentials only. You’re coming with us.”The words sent a jolt of reality through you. This wasn’t a story you could write your way out of. It was real, and it was happening now.You packed a bag with three days' worth of clothes. You put a toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, and six tampons in the bag, just in case. You also packed a small bottle of shampoo and body wash. The bag you had was a worn leather bag, with the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters' emblem stamped on it. You slung it over your shoulder, standing awkwardly between Ghost and Soap.Ghost and Soap grabbed your laptop, and you tucked your phone and wallet in your pocket. You followed them to the black sedan in your driveway, behind your own blue Volkswagen bug. You sat in the backseat behind Soap, and you saw Ghost's eyes on you in the rearview mirror. You held your bag in your lap, shaking in your boots."Hey, Ms. Stan Lee, how long have you been writing comics?" Soap asked from the passenger seat."Uh... six- six years," you replied, looking up from your bag. "I was a Harlequin and mystery author before this, but I managed to get the job after my first two years of-of writing."Soap turned slightly in his seat, a genuine curiosity lighting up his features. “Six years, eh? Not bad. And you just… switched from mystery and Harlequin to superheroes? Bit of a leap, isn’t it?”You shrugged, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “Not really. Both genres have drama, stakes, and larger-than-life characters. Superheroes just felt... bigger, I guess. Like the stakes were for the world, not just two people trying to work things out.”Soap grinned, leaning back as if to let the thought settle. “Fair point. But tell me this – what’s harder? Writing someone falling in love or saving the bloody world?”You blinked at the question, caught off guard by the casual tone. “Both, honestly,” you admitted. “In love stories, you must make readers believe in the connection between two people. But with superheroes, it’s the opposite. You gotta make the impossible feel real. Every fight, every sacrifice... it needs to mean something.”Soap let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a bloody balancing act.”“It is,” you said, finding a little more steadiness in your voice. “But it’s worth it. When people connect with the story, when they see themselves in the characters – it’s everything.”Ghost’s voice cut through the moment, low and steady. “And you do all that without realizing your stories might mirror real-world events?”The warmth of the conversation fizzled as his words brought you back to the gravity of the situation. You glanced at the rearview mirror, meeting his unreadable gaze. “No,” you said firmly. “I didn’t know. If I did, I never would have written it.”Ghost gave a small nod, returning his attention to the road. Soap, sensing the shift in mood, clapped his hands lightly against his thighs. “Well, lass, let’s just say you’ve got a knack for big plots. Maybe next time, make sure the villain stays in the realm of fiction, aye?”You managed a weak smile, though the knot in your stomach remained. As the car sped toward an unknown destination, you couldn’t help but feel like a character in one of your own stories – one where the stakes had never felt higher.You were brought to a warehouse in the middle of buck-ass nowhere. They sat you down in front of a man with the mustache of a father mowing the lawn in his garden. You were still shaking, still afraid of what this might mean. "My name's Captain John Price," the mustache man introduced himself. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you.""Okay," you whispered. "Okay.""We're gonna ask you some questions, while Ghost and Soap go get your boss, understand?" Captain Price pulled a chair up to the table you were seated at."Yeah, I understand," you replied."As I understand, you're a comic book author. That's a pretty cool job, huh?" he said, clearly trying not to scare you away."I love my job. Writing the superheroes I grew up with is a dream come true," you said."Who's your favorite superhero?" Price asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow."Um... I- I think Captain America," you replied with a smile. "I got to meet him – Chris Evans, that is. He signed a copy of a comic I wrote."Being with Price was a lot easier than being with Ghost. He was very.... fatherly. You weren't sure how else to describe him. Captain Price just seemed like the kind of man who took care of people, rather than scaring them shitless. You eased, just a little, though the knot in your stomach never left.Price smiled at your answer, his mustache twitching slightly. “Captain America, eh? Solid choice. A good man to look up to.” He leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, watching your every move with quiet precision. “Chris Evans, though... I’d imagine meeting him was a bit less stressful than meeting us.”You couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, just a bit,” you admitted. “He didn’t bring a tactical team to my house. He just bought me a coffee.”Price chuckled at that, the sound warm and oddly comforting. “Fair enough. Now, tell me a bit about how you come up with these plots. That’s gotta take some creativity, yeah?”You nodded, fidgeting with the strap of your bag that now sat on the floor beside your chair. “A lot of it comes from brainstorming sessions with my team. Milena – my boss – has always been good at tossing out high-stakes ideas. I just... take those seeds and grow them into a full story.”Price’s brows furrowed slightly, but he kept his tone light. “Milena Romanova, right? She’s the one who pitched the idea for Chemical Warfare?”“Yes,” you said cautiously, not missing the way his jaw tightened at the name. “She suggested the concept – a Russian general’s death creating a scramble for dangerous materials. I thought it was a great starting point, so I ran with it. Changed some things to fit the Marvel universe, of course. I mean, HYDRA’s not exactly real.”Price nodded; his expression unreadable now. “Aye, HYDRA’s not real,” he said quietly. “But someone like Makarov? He is. And he’s bloody dangerous.”Your stomach flipped again at the mention of the name. “I swear, Captain Price, I didn’t know. Milena’s always been professional – strict, even. I never would’ve guessed…”Price held up a hand to stop you, his gaze softening slightly. “I believe you. Doesn’t mean you’re not tangled up in this, but I don’t think you knew what you were walking into. That’s why we’re here – to figure out how deep this runs and keep you out of harm’s way.”The reassurance didn’t do much to untangle the knot in your stomach, but it was something. You glanced down at your hands, trying to steady the tremor in them. “What happens next?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.Price leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Next? We bring in Romanova and find out what she knows. In the meantime, you stay under our protection. Ghost and Soap will see to that.”You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay,” you said softly. “I’ll do whatever you need me to.”“Good,” Price said, his tone firm but kind. “You’ll be alright, love. We’ll see to it.”For the first time in hours, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you could get through this nightmare in one piece.You were brought to a room with a bed and told to wait while Ghost and Soap interrogated your boss. You didn't know what you were going to do with the comic series, now. Since it was so connected to real life, you might just have to call off the whole series and come up with something new. You managed to fall into a stressful sleep, just to have something to do.You were holed up in that warehouse for six days, then you were moved to a safehouse for two weeks. You continued your work, making comics about the X-Men to avoid any real-life events happening because of you. And the boys, who you learned were called Taskforce 141, were off saving the world. You received a call from Ghost or Soap every day, just to ensure you were alright. They couldn't tell you what they were doing, but they always told you that they would keep you safe. Even if they were in the middle of Nowhere, Siberia."Hey, I know... this is weird," you said, while on the phone with Soap, "But, in my story, I wrote Captain America's 'death.' Of course, he didn't die because he's a superhero. But I'm worried that one of you will die. Can- Can you please be careful, please? I don't want any of you to- to die because of me."Soap’s voice softened on the other end of the line; his usual humor tempered by a gentleness you hadn’t expected. “Aw, lass, that’s sweet of you to say. But don’t you worry about us, yeah? We’ve been at this for a long time. We know how to handle ourselves.”You gripped the phone tighter, your chest heavy with unease. “Still... you’re all out there doing dangerous things while I’m sitting in a safehouse. It feels wrong. Like... like I’ve put you in harm’s way.”“Stop that right now,” Soap said firmly, though there was no bite to his tone. “None of this is your fault. We’d be doing this whether your comic existed or not. Makarov’s been stirring up trouble long before you put pen to paper.”“But still...” you trailed off, unsure how to articulate the guilt gnawing at you.Soap let out a quiet sigh. “I’ll make you a promise, alright? Me, Ghost, and the rest of the team – we’ll watch each other’s backs, like we always do. We’re stubborn bastards, yeah? Takes more than a wee bit of trouble to take us down.”You couldn’t help but smile faintly at that, though the weight in your chest remained. “Okay,” you said softly. “But you have to swear it.”“I swear,” Soap said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “And hey, maybe you’ll write us into a comic someday. Make us immortal, aye?”The thought made you laugh, the sound a little strained but genuine. “I think Ghost would hate that.”“Oh, absolutely,” Soap said with a chuckle. “He’d grumble about it for weeks. But don’t let that stop you.”You sighed, a mix of fondness and lingering worry tugging at you. “Just... take care of yourselves. All of you.”“We will, lass,” Soap said softly. “Now, get some rest. You’re safe. That’s what matters to us.”You hung up the phone, staring at the ceiling of the safehouse. The words were comforting, but you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something bigger was still lurking just out of sight.You couldn't shake the fear that someone was going to die. You had dreams about Soap's death -- though, they were more nightmares than dreams. The 141 had grown to love you, over the days they watched you. Price, Gaz, Soap, Ghost, they all wanted to keep you safe. You thought it was some manly-man trait, a innate need to protect a lady. But you didn't mind so much. You didn't even hurt spiders, if you could help it. But now, you were all caught up in death and the military because you were an author.Another week passed, and the 141 returned to your safehouse. The safehouse wasn't in America. The boys got express permission from the United States' Witness Protection program to bring you to their home base. Apparently, you would be in Witness Protection for another six months, after this whole thing blew over. On the one hand, that meant you got to see Price and Soap and Ghost even more. But on the other hand, you had to be away from your home. That was the hardest part.The safehouse door creaked open, and the familiar sound of boots against the floor sent a strange mixture of relief and apprehension coursing through you. You looked up from the comic sketch you were working on, seeing Soap’s grin first, wide and unbothered as if the past few weeks of chaos hadn’t touched him. Behind him, Ghost entered with his usual quiet presence, followed by Price and Gaz, who gave you a brief but warm nod.“Well, look who’s still in one piece!” Soap said, dropping a bag onto the table. “Miss us?”“You’re late,” you quipped, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the knot of fear that hadn’t left since they’d been gone. “I was starting to think I’d have to write a rescue mission for you lot.”Soap chuckled, plopping down in the chair across from you. “Oh, don’t you worry, lass. If we got lost, I’d let you do all the planning. Just promise to give me a heroic speech before the big finale.”You laughed softly, but your eyes darted to Ghost, his silent figure leaning against the wall. “Are you all... okay?” you asked, your voice quieter. “No one’s hurt?”Price stepped forward, his voice calm and reassuring. “We’re all in one piece. A few close calls, but nothing we haven’t faced before.” His words were meant to soothe, but they didn’t erase the worry etched into your face.Ghost crossed his arms, his gaze on you. “You’ve been worrying yourself sick, haven’t you?”Your cheeks flushed, and you looked away, fidgeting with the edge of your notebook. “Maybe a little.”“A little?” Gaz chimed in, his grin teasing. “Soap said you were having nightmares about us.”You shot a glare at Soap, who raised his hands defensively. “Hey, I didn’t mean to snitch! Just worried about you, that’s all.”You sighed, slumping back in your chair. “I just... I don’t want anything bad to happen to you guys. You’ve done so much to keep me safe, and I-” You stopped yourself, feeling your voice waver.Price moved closer, resting a hand on your shoulder. “We’re soldiers. We know the risks. But keeping you safe? That’s part of the job now. And we don’t take it lightly.”You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I know. I just wish... I could do more to help.”Soap leaned forward, his grin softening into something more genuine. “You are helping, lass. Just bein’ here, makin’ it through all this – you’re tougher than you think.”For the first time in weeks, the tension in your chest eased just a little. You were still far from home, still wrapped up in a nightmare you couldn’t have predicted, but with the 141 back, it felt like you weren’t so alone. And for now, that was enough.You yelped when Soap lifted you off your chair and pulled you into a big bear hug. "It's good to see ye, lassie," he whispered into your shoulder.You looked behind him at Ghost, mouthing, Help me to him. You wheezed as Soap squeezed you tighter, and your feet were suddenly off the ground. You gave Ghost a scared look. "Yeah?" you managed to breathe out the word. Ghost, help me! you thought, staring at him. He didn't move a muscle.Soap’s embrace tightened even more, and you swore you could hear your ribs protesting. “Soap,” you wheezed, tapping his shoulder weakly. “Air is... kind of important.”“Ack, don’t be dramatic!” Soap teased, though he loosened his grip just enough for you to take a gasp of much-needed oxygen. “I’m just showin’ you how much we missed you!”“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, your voice strained. “I can feel the love... and the bruises.”You locked eyes with Ghost again, silently begging for rescue. He stayed exactly where he was, his arms crossed and his shoulders shaking slightly. It took you a second to realize – he was laughing. Silently, but unmistakably.“Ghost, please!” you whispered, flailing a little in Soap’s arms.“Nah,” Ghost said finally, his tone casual. “You look fine to me.”Soap grinned, spinning you around for good measure before finally setting you down. Your feet hit the floor, but you swayed a little, dizzy from the whirlwind of affection. “There, all better!” Soap declared, patting your shoulder.You glared at him, then at Ghost, who was still leaning against the wall, entirely unrepentant. “You’re the worst,” you said flatly.Ghost tilted his head, his voice deadpan. “Noted.”Gaz snickered from the corner. “Welcome back to the team, huh?”You huffed, crossing your arms. “If this is team bonding, I think I prefer solitary confinement.”Soap ruffled your hair, clearly ignoring your protests. “Aw, come on, you love it. Admit it.”You glared up at him, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. Despite the chaos – and the lack of air – it was oddly comforting to be around them again.After Soap, Gaz and Price filtered out, you were left with the scary Ghost. The front door of your safehouse shut, and now it was Ghost's turn to hug you. He had quickly become your favorite, though you wouldn't say that to anyone else. He reminded you a lot of the Winter Soldier, except you had never seen his face.Ghost, being taller than Soap, lifted you off the ground. He managed to hold you even tighter than Soap had. "We were worried you were going to get hurt while we weren't here," he said into your ear. You took a shallow breath in, your face flushing as you wrapped your arms around him. You blushed when Soap hugged you, too, mostly from the lack of oxygen. But this... felt different."I was worried about you," you whimpered, "I was so scared you'd die."Ghost didn't move. He just held you in his arms like it would make everything he saw while on the mission go away. You didn't know what happened. But given the boys' reaction to seeing you, it was pretty bad.His cheek brushed against yours, which made you tense. His arms around your back were strong, and your chest was pressed so tightly against his that the wires of your bra were digging into your skin. "Are you okay?" you whispered.Ghost didn’t answer right away, and the silence stretched long enough that you began to wonder if you’d overstepped. His arms stayed firm around you, though, grounding you in the moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual, almost... vulnerable.“I’m fine,” he said, but the way he said it made you think it wasn’t entirely true.You pulled back slightly to look at him, your hands still resting on his broad shoulders. His skull mask made it impossible to read his expression, but his body language told you enough. There was tension in the way he held himself, a heaviness you couldn’t ignore. “Ghost,” you said softly, “you don’t have to lie to me.”His head tilted slightly, as if he were debating how much to say. Finally, he let out a slow breath and said, “We lost some good people on this one. It wasn’t... easy.”Your chest tightened at his words, and your grip on his shoulders reflexively tightened. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your heart breaking for him.Ghost shook his head, as if brushing the sentiment aside. “It’s the job. Doesn’t make it hurt any less, but you learn to live with it.” His voice was steady, but you could hear the weight behind it, the years of pain and loss carried in those few words.You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, unsure of what else to do. “You don’t have to live with it alone,” you said quietly.For a moment, Ghost didn’t move. Then, almost imperceptibly, his arms tightened around you again, just for a second. It was as if he were accepting the comfort you offered, even if he didn’t know how to say it aloud. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t catch it.You stayed like that for a moment longer, the silence between you filled with unspoken understanding. Finally, Ghost pulled back just enough to look at you again. “You’re tougher than you look, you know that?”You smiled faintly, a flicker of warmth breaking through the lingering sadness. “Guess I have to be, with you guys around.”A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, and though it was fleeting, it felt like a small victory. “Fair enough.” He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping back, his usual stoic demeanor slipping back into place.“Get some rest,” he said, his tone back to its commanding, yet oddly protective self. “You’ve earned it.”So had he, you thought, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you nodded and watched as he turned and headed toward the other room, his presence a little less intimidating now, though no less reassuring.You wrote for Marvel, as normal, but one of the boys came in to check on you every day. It was a schedule. Price had Mondays and Tuesdays. Gaz had Wednesdays and Thursdays. Soap had Fridays, then shared Saturdays with Ghost. And then Sundays were for Ghost alone.You knew you were still a target, even though your Chemical Warfare series got canceled. You had gotten into the habit of cooking dinner for the boys every time they visited you. While you hated the whole woman taking care of men thing, you really didn't have much a choice. They always came by around dinner time.Another few weeks passed before you decided you were sick of feeling like shit. Even with the boys taking care of you, living in a home that wasn’t your own, in a city that wasn’t Los Angeles, you felt like pure and utter shit. You went to the store, got bubble bath, a nice New York cut steak, and a bottle of wine. You locked the safehouse door and turned the outside light on to give the illusion that you were gone. Closing all the blinds, you made your way to the bathtub. Bath first, then dinner and wine.You turned on the water, making it extra hot. Then, you put about half if the bubble mixture into the tub. It was lavender scented, so you knew it would be a fine bath. The steam rose in soft tendrils as the tub filled, carrying the calming scent of lavender through the bathroom. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe – like you could have a moment to yourself without the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders. You stripped down, shivering briefly in the cool air before easing yourself into the water.The heat enveloped you, and the bubbles foamed around your shoulders like a soft, lavender-scented shield from the chaos of the outside world. You leaned your head back against the edge of the tub, letting your muscles melt into the water. The ache in your back and shoulders, which had been a constant companion lately, started to ease.For a while, you let yourself drift. No thoughts about Simon’s silence or Johnny’s kindness. No worries about being a target or the guilt you carried about what you’d written. Just the water, the lavender, and the soft flicker of candlelight you’d set up around the tub.You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, but when the water began to cool, you finally dragged yourself out of the tub, wrapping a plush towel around you. Feeling lighter than you had in weeks, you padded into the kitchen to prepare your steak.The sizzle of the meat in the pan was comforting, almost meditative. You poured yourself a glass of wine, watching the rich red liquid swirl in the glass before taking a sip. By the time the steak was done, you had set the table with a plate, silverware, and your glass, even though it felt a little silly to do all that for yourself.As you sat down to eat, the world outside your safehouse seemed to fade away. For the first time in weeks, you weren’t just surviving – you were living. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.You groaned when the eventual knock at your door came. Simon's turn, once again. You opened the door, and all your feelings bubbled up in your throat. "Hey, Simon," you said softly."You smell nice," he noted. The comment felt like a punch to the face. It didn't hurt. It just shocked you."Um, thank you?" You stepped back from the door and let him in. "No dinner tonight, sorry. I expected you to see the light and go back."Simon stepped inside, his broad frame filling the entryway as he glanced around the dimly lit safehouse. His gaze lingered on the half-empty wine bottle and the remnants of your dinner on the table. “Bit of a self-care night, huh?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.You nodded, closing the door behind him. “Yeah. Needed it.” You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his steady gaze. “Didn’t think you’d show up tonight.”“I always show up,” he replied simply, his tone carrying a weight you couldn’t quite place.You looked at him, the faint flicker of a smile tugging at your lips despite the turmoil inside you. “Guess you do.”Simon moved to the couch, sinking into it with a quiet exhale. He seemed less guarded tonight, his shoulders not as rigid as they usually were. “You doing alright?” he asked after a moment, his dark eyes searching yours.You hesitated, your fingers tightening around your arms. “Trying to be,” you admitted. “It’s been... a lot.”He nodded, his gloved hand resting on his knee. “I know. It’s not fair to you. None of it.”His words caught you off guard, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. “I’m just tired, Simon. Tired of being scared. Tired of feeling like I’m walking on eggshells all the time.”He didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and deliberate. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”The simplicity of his words felt like a balm, easing some of the tension in your chest. You sat down beside him, the silence between you heavy but not unbearable. For the first time in a while, it felt like you didn’t have to carry everything on your own.You sat down next to him, and you whispered, “Simon… I think… I have feelings for you.”“Me?” he echoed, his voice almost a murmur.You nodded, clutching the edge of the couch cushion to steady yourself. “I’m sorry if that makes things... complicated. I didn’t mean for it to happen, Simon. But it’s you.” Your voice cracked slightly, and you hated how vulnerable you felt in that moment.For a long, agonizing moment, Simon didn’t respond. He leaned back, his head tilting as if weighing your words carefully. “You don’t have to apologize for that,” he said finally, his voice softer than you expected. “Feelings aren’t something you can just... switch off.”You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest. “I know you probably don’t feel the same, and that’s okay. I just... I couldn’t keep it bottled up anymore. I needed you to know.”Simon shifted, his gloved hand resting on the back of the couch, fingers brushing close to your shoulder. “You think I don’t feel something for you?” His tone was careful, measured, but the words hit you like a freight train.Your breath caught in your throat. “Simon...”“I’ve been trying not to,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the space between you. “It’s messy. It’s dangerous. And it’s probably not fair to you. But... it’s there. Has been for a while.”His honesty left you stunned, your mind racing to process his words. You felt your cheeks flush, your pulse pounding in your ears. “You mean that?”He nodded, finally meeting your gaze. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”The room felt too small, the air thick with unspoken words. Slowly, cautiously, Simon shifted closer, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “But this... it’s not something we can rush. You understand that, yeah?”You nodded, your voice caught in your throat. “Yeah. I understand.”For the first time in what felt like ages, the weight on your chest began to lift.He cupped your face, and kissed you. It was the best kiss of your life. It was slow and sweet, filled with love and passion. Your fingers flew to his hair, soft and blonde.Simon pulled you up into his lap, letting you sit on his supple thighs as he kissed you. You unconsciously rolled your hips, deepening the kiss. Now, it was sweet, tender, and filled with desire. Maybe a bit of lust, too.Simon’s grip on your waist tightened as you shifted in his lap, his lips moving with yours in a rhythm that felt like it had been years in the making. His hands slid up your back, pressing you closer to him, as if he needed to feel every part of you against him. His kisses were unhurried but deliberate. Each one carried a weight that made your heart race.Your core was pulsing with your heart’s erratic beat. You were almost certain he could feel your pulse as you kissed him. This is what you’d been craving since he hugged you when he got back from Makarov.You rolled your hips purposely now, his belt buckle brushing against your stomach. Your knees were draped around his thighs, your chest pressed flush against his. “I needed this,” you whispered, before pulling him in for another kiss. Simon groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he kissed you back. His touch was grounding, but there was nothing calm about the way he was holding you. It was as if he’d been holding back for too long and the dam had finally been broken.“Do you want this? Sex with me?” you asked, slowing down. “I don’t want to scare you away.”You sat in his lap, waiting patiently for a response. Of course, you wanted sex with him. He was this big, sexy, hunk of a man that you desired more than anything before. You’d make love to him every day of the week, if he wanted. Any way he wanted, too. But you refused to push him. To force him to make love to you.Simon’s hands stilled on your waist, his dark eyes searching yours with a depth that made your breath catch. His thumb brushed against your cheek, a slow, deliberate movement that seemed to ground both of you. He looked like he was waging a war in his mind, torn between desire and restraint."I want you," he admitted, his voice low, almost a growl. "More than I probably should." His hands tightened slightly, as if afraid you might slip away. "But I don’t want to rush this. Don’t want you to feel like this is just..." He trailed off, struggling for the words.You placed your hands over his, leaning into his touch. "It’s not just anything," you assured him, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. "I want this because it’s you, Simon. Not just anyone else. You."His jaw tightened, and he let out a slow breath, his eyes softening as they held yours. "You’re not scaring me away, love," he finally said, his lips brushing against your forehead. "But I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. If we do this, it’s not just tonight for me. It’s... everything."Your heart swelled, and you smiled, leaning closer until your forehead rested against his. "I want to hear you say the words, Simon," you whispered, brushing your nose against his. You were pulled back just far enough to look in his eyes.You settled fully on his lap, your knees pressed to his hips and your arms wrapped around his back. You felt like you belonged there, but maybe that was just your desire for him. The heat that pooled in your belly was hard to ignore, but if he said no, you did have the means to solve it. You traced your fingers along his back, waiting as he had the internal battle of whether or not to make love to you.Simon’s hands slid up your back, his touch deliberate and grounding. His brow furrowed slightly as if choosing his words carefully. His eyes, deep and intense, locked onto yours."I want you," he said finally, the words steady and sure. His voice, low and gravelly, sent a shiver through you. "Not just tonight. Not just for this. I want you, all of you."You felt your breath hitch, a wave of warmth washing over you at the sincerity in his words. His hands settled on your waist, firm but gentle, as if anchoring himself to you."I don’t take this lightly, love," he added, his voice softer now. "If we go forward, it’s because I’m in it. Fully."You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was as much an answer as it was a promise. "I’m in it too," you whispered against his mouth, the words coming straight from your heart.The tension between you shifted, deepening into something more profound as his hands slid up to cradle your face. This time, the kiss you shared was more than passion – it was the start of something neither of you could deny.He picked you up, carrying you to the bedroom and laying you down. Simon set you on your feet, then slowly undressed you. He moved with perfect expertise, unclipping your bra to reveal your body totally to him. He looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life. Color rose on your shoulders, neck, and cheeks from the way he looked at you.You helped Simon out of his shirt, nearly drooling when you saw his tattoo. It was a full-sleeve on his left arm. The design was a chaotic yet mesmerizing piece of symbolism. Flames licked up from the bottom, consuming and surrounding the military images; dog tags, a rifle, and a soldier mid-combat stance. Skulls were scattered throughout, their hollow eyes staring out as if they held untold stories of battles fought and lost.At the center was a powerful visual – a skeletal warrior wielding a scythe, cloaked in flames, embodying death and the warrior spirit. The edges were lined with barbed wire, curling around fragments of explosives and a combat boot planted firmly in the ashes. Each element seemed to speak to a life of sacrifice, hardship, and resilience.“Oh, that’s beautiful,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his wrist.Simon let out a low chuckle, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through your skin as you kissed his wrist. “Beautiful, eh? Never thought anyone would call it that,” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing along your jawline as his eyes softened. “It’s my history, my reminder. Hard to escape it.”“Wow,” you murmured, kissing a line from his wrist to his elbow. “It’s a story, Simon. Your story. And that’s beautiful to me.”Simon’s breath hitched at your words, and for a moment, the stoic exterior he always wore seemed to falter. His hand settled under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually so guarded, now held a vulnerability that made your chest ache.“You have no idea what that means to me,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. His thumb traced a gentle line along your jaw as his other hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer.You let your fingers glide along the lines of his tattoo, marveling at the artistry and the story it told. “It’s more than ink,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s strength. It’s survival. And it’s you, Simon.”His lips curved into the faintest of smiles, a rare and precious sight. “You’re something else, love,” he said, his tone laced with both admiration and disbelief. “No one’s ever seen me like this… let alone said anything like that.”He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours with a tenderness that made your knees weak. It wasn’t just a kiss – it was a moment of shared vulnerability, a bridge between two worlds that had collided in the most unexpected way.Simon’s hands moved with care, sliding up your back as he deepened the kiss. “You make me feel…” He paused, searching for the words as he pulled back slightly to look at you. “You make me feel like maybe I deserve something good. Like maybe I can have something… someone... worth fighting for.”“You do,” you said firmly, your hands framing his face. “You deserve all of it, Simon. And I want to be that someone.”For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, the weight of the moment settling around you. Then, with a reverence that made your heart swell, he leaned in again, his kiss a promise of everything he couldn’t yet put into words.He placed you on the bed, and he kissed a trail from your right ankle up to the middle of your thigh. Then, he repeated the process with your left leg. Simon moved his mouth up to your arms, kissing a similar trail to your shoulders. He kissed your neck, down your collarbone, between your breasts, and across the soft plane of your stomach. Simon pressed butterfly kisses along the bones of your hips. “You…” he whispered. “are worth worshipping.“Oh, Simon,” you whispered, almost reverently.Simon’s words sent a shiver down your spine, and your heart swelled in your chest. He held you with a reverence that made your breath catch, his lips tracing every inch of skin like a sacred vow. His hands, large and warm, steadied you as his mouth lingered at your hips.“Bet your legs would look real pretty draped over my shoulders,” he whispered against your skin. You blushed at his words, glancing away so he didn’t see your flush. He took initiative, sitting up on his knees.“Simon- Condom,” you managed to say. They were in the drawer of your nightstand. Simon was quicker than the Flash to get the box out of your drawer. He opened the foil with his teeth, rolling it over himself. Then, he was back between your legs. Simon stayed on his knees, taking your legs and hitching them over his shoulders. He braced himself on either side of your hips, leaning forward.You agreed with Simon, your legs did look real pretty draped over his shoulders. “Are you ready?” he asked huskily.“Yes,” you replied, so soft you almost didn’t hear yourself.Simon leaned down, his forehead brushing yours for a brief, tender moment. His gaze locked onto yours, searching for any hesitation. When he saw none, he whispered, “Good girl,” his voice low and full of reverence.With one deliberate motion, he pushed into you, slow and steady. The stretch was intense but exquisite and you gasped, clutching at his arms. Simon stilled, giving you a moment to adjust, his lips pressing softly against your knee.“You ‘right?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern and restraint.You nodded quickly, your fingers digging into his forearms. “I’m perfect,” you whispered, “Please… move.”“God, you feel so good,” he muttered, his deep accented voice rumbling through the air like a caress. “Like you were made for me.”You couldn’t help but respond, your body arching into his movements. The connection between you was electric, each touch and whisper fanning the flames higher. “Simon,” you moaned, his name escaping your lips like a prayer.
"That's it," he rasped, his pace quickening slightly. "Let me hear you, love.""Oh- God- Jesus- Simon," you scrambled for words. You grabbed at his biceps, digging your fingernails into his skin. Your thighs were almost flush against your stomach as he drove into you. No one had ever made love to you in this position before. It was quickly becoming your favorite.
"Better quiet down," he rumbled in your ear. "Don't want the neighbors to think we're watching porn.""What-? Oh- it's... porn?" you gasped. The neighbors shouldn't even be able to hear you! You lived in a safehouse, for chrissakes. You blushed anyway, and Simon kissed your knee. You grabbed at his biceps, biting your lip to stay quiet. You were a whimpering, shaking mess as he kept driving in and out, his length kissing your G-spot with each thrust.Simon chuckled lowly at your reaction, the deep timbre of his voice making your stomach flutter. "Maybe not," he teased, his lips brushing your knee again. "But you're making sounds that could give 'em ideas."
He punctuated his words with a particularly deep thrust, drawing a sharp gasp from you. The heat in his gaze made you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. His biceps flexed under your grip, and the power behind his movements was intoxicating. You buried your face into the crook of your arm, trying to muffle your sounds as the pressure built higher and higher inside you. "Simon," you whimpered, barely able to form coherent words. "I can't- I can't-""Yes, you can," he growled, his voice rough but encouraging. "Take it, love. You're doing so good for me."Your legs trembled over his shoulders as he shifted, changing the angle slightly, and stars exploded behind your eyelids. Your nails left crescent-shaped marks on his skin as you clung to him, completely at his mercy. Each thrust was relentless, perfectly aimed, driving you closer to the edge. "Simon," you gasped, your voice cracking as you felt yourself spiraling out of control.
"That's it," he murmured, his pace steady yet demanding. "Let go for me, sweetheart, I've got you."And with those words, the tension inside you snapped, and you were tumbling into bliss, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Simon followed shortly after, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself one final time, groaning deeply as he found his release. He held you there for a moment, both of you breathing heavily, the room filled with the lingering heat of your passion. Then, slowly, he eased you back down, pressing soft kisses along your legs and stomach as he did."You alright?" he asked.
You nodded, a fuck-drunk smile spreading across your face. "More than alright."He was quick to dispose of the condom, but the look in his eyes told you that he wasn't done with you yet. You kissed the place where your fingernails marked his biceps. Simon brought your lips to his, putting on another condom while you kissed him. He was good at this, skilled in ways that you were not.
He must have a... lot of sex, you thought jealously.
"Flip on your stomach, lovie," he said, pressing another heated kiss to your lips. You did as you were told, flipping you over so that you were lying on your stomach. Simon's hand pressed to the place just below your navel, putting your ass up. He got behind you, keeping you in the downward dog position.
"Oh, my God," you whispered, heat flooding across your skin in waves."Put your head on your left arm," he commanded, kissing your left shoulder. You listened to him, propping your chin on your left arm. "Take your right hand, and move it to your clit." Simon grabbed your right wrist, bringing it to your quickly heating core.
"Simon," you groaned, pushing your hips back."Patience, Ms. Stan Lee," he teased, kissing a line down your spine to your tailbone. Simon's kisses were molten against your skin, each one leaving a trail of heat in its wake as he moved down your spine. His hands were firm yet tender as he adjusted your position, his touch electrifying. "You're gorgeous like this," he murmured, his deep voice resonating through your body and making your pulse quicken. You let a soft whimper out as he guided your hand to your clit, making you circle it. The vulnerability of this new position only heightened your anticipations. His lips brushed against the small of your back before he straightened up, gripping your hips firmly."Simon, please," you whispered, the ache in your voice betraying your impatience.He chuckled softly, the sound rich and teasing. "So eager," he said, his tone dripping with affection and just a hint of mischief.
As he pressed himself against you, you felt the stretch again. The fullness was overwhelming in the best way. The angle made everything more intense, and you let out a gasp. You moved your hand instinctively to match his rhythm.
"Good girl," Simon praised, his grip on your hips tightening as he began to move. His pace was measured at first, each thrust deliberate and calculated, leaving you trembling beneath him. "That's it, just like that," he said, his voice a low growl.
You arched your back, pressing into him, your body completely in tune with his. The position gave him access to every sensitive spot, and the way he alternated between slow, deep thrusts and quicker, teasing movements kept you on edge."Simon," you moaned, your voice muffled by your arm, "I can't- it's too much-""Yes, you can," he murmured, his voice both commanding and soothing. "You're stronger than you think, love. Let me take you there."With those words, he increased the pace, driving you higher and higher until you were free-falling into ecstasy once again. Your cries echoed through the room as waves of pleasure consumed you, leaving you breathless and trembling. Simon wasn't far behind, his groan of release low and guttural, sending a shiver down your spine. He leaned over you, pressing gentle kisses to your back as you both caught your breath. His touch was reverent, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he whispered, "You're incredible."You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze over your shoulder. "So are you," you replied softly, feeling completely and utterly cherished."I'd fuck you every day, if I could," Simon whispered into your ears. You whimpered at his words, then suddenly you were on your back. He kissed you furiously, like your lips were the water he drank, the air he breathed. You shook underneath him, the pleasure from two hard climaxes sending you into overdrive.
"If you keep putting me in fun positions like that," you said, breaking the kiss to breathe, "I'd certainly let you."He took his condom off, tying it at the end and throwing it away. He immediately returned to you, as if he couldn't stand being too far from you. As if kissing you was something he needed more than anything in the world. "You are perfect," he murmured in between kisses. His kisses were desperate, his lips claiming yours with an urgency that left you breathless. His hands roamed your body, caressing your flushed skin as though trying to memorize every curve, every dip. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and even. "You drive me mad."Your heart raced at his words, the vulnerability in his tone sending a surge of warmth through your chest. You cupped his face, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw as you looked into his eyes. "You make me feel alive," you whispered, voice barely audible over your pounding heart.His lips curved into a soft smile before he kissed you again, slower this time, as if savoring the moment. His hands moved to your hips, pulling you closer and he deepened the kiss. Every touch, every caress felt like a declaration, as though he was pouring everything he felt into you. "You're mine," he said, his voice possessive. "I don't want to share you with anyone."You smiled, your cheeks flushing again. "I've been yours for a while, now," you admitted softly, brushing your nose against his."We'll take a shower tomorrow morning, yeah?" he said, laying down next to you. He tucked your naked body into his side, his arm wrapping around her shoulder. He kissed your head, breathing in deeply. "Still smell like lavender.""You like that?" You nuzzled against him, touching as much skin as possible. "Thank you, Simon.""What are you thanking me for?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"For finally realizing my feelings," you replied, kissing his chest.
"You did
tell me," he whispered, kissing your head again. "Sleep, lovie. I'll be here when you wake up."You fell into a dreamless sleep, Simon's warmth and strength lulling you into the most restful sleep you'd had in a while. He followed you shortly after, never letting you go.