𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Hello! My name is Dusty (hence roughlydustychronicle eheh) or you can just call me Rose since it’s my IRL nickname. I’m eighteen and currently in Uni, so I won’t always have time to write.

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I like writing about Call of Duty and pretty much whatever my hyperfixation is at the moment. It could either be a spam of posts for one specific fandom for months on end or something else lasting for a week—we’ll see what happens.

All of my posts with reader are all gender neutral unless stated otherwise. I also ramble, a LOT. I think most of my posts will contain rambling because I genuinely have way too many thoughts and ideas that I don’t know what to do with them.

I’m mostly a SFW blog; I will not write smut—at most suggestiveness.

♡ Requests are currently open ♡

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Call of Duty Masterlist

MCU Masterlist

It wasn’t from big theatrics (that’s Johnny’s doing), but it came from minuscule exchanges.

You didn’t cower at his height, instead you challenged it appropriately. Straightening your back when he gets too close, head held up high to meet his gaze.

“You don’t scare me, L.T.,” You told him one time, practically backing him into a corner. “Just because you’re a big scary bloke doesn’t mean you get whatever you want.” Simon wanted to raise his hackles, he really did, but something about you made him shiver from excitement. He had to fight to keep his tail still.

The Taskforce had known him to be a massive angry thing, until one night, they saw you dragging him out of the training room by his scruff—for whatever reason. He could easily throw you off, which made them mildly confused. “Is the bastard tame now?” Johnny whispered to Kyle, who only shrugged in response and continued to spar.

Your ears were pinned back to your head and your bristled tail brushed up against Simon’s legs as you led him out. “I don’t understand why you keep pulling this shit, Riley. You’re like a-a feral pup!” You seethed. He shrugged nonchalantly, but his tail was practically a damn propellor.

“I’m melting, Garrick!” You whine, dramatically wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. Inches away from the cracked open window, your body was draped on the peeling leather sofa.

Kyle snorts and offers a sympathetic look. “You’re not melting, per se. Just lightly…”—he pauses—“moist.”

Your upper lip curled. “Don’t describe me as moist,” You huff. “That’s just weird.” It took you a few moments more before you realized you had to do something about this. You stand up a little wobbly before moving your way to the dusty mini fridge in the cooler, Kyle in tow. “I swear, Garrick, this weather is unbelievable.”

You go to bend down towards the handle, well, at least you think you do. Your vision clouds for a second, black dots swimming around as if in a rough current. You sway. Then, your wide glazed over eyes suddenly stare up at Kyle.

His hands were firmly grasping your shoulders, your chest heaving against his. “Alright, let’s move you back on the sofa.” He quickly shushes the protesting sound you make, half supporting your weight and he leads you down.

When did he look so angelic in this light?—

“I’ll get the water,” Kyle comes back seconds later with a nice, crisp bottle. He guides it up to your mouth, motioning you to take a sip with concerned eyes. “C’mon, sweetheart. You wanted a water, right?”

You let out a shaky laugh. “I guess I did,” Coldness rushes down your throat. Immediate relief and you almost wanted to thank the heavens. “Shining knight in armor, hm?”

Instead, you got the stupidest callsign: Happy Feet.

The ground nearly swallowed you open mid mission when Simon had referred to you as so. “C’mon, Happy Feet, let’s not waste the day by standing around and lookin’ useless, hm?”

“Happy Feet?!” You trailed after him, your brows raised to the high heavens. All the ones he could’ve chosen, he chose Happy Feet? “I don’t have ‘happy feet!’” Your words fell on deaf ears. Apparently everyone called you that behind your back, Simon was just the first one to tell it to your face.

“Happy Feet seems to be in a good mood, yeah?”

“Ope, look at Happy Feet go, always moving that one is.”

According to them, you subconsciously tapped your feet together in a seamless rhythm; tapped the left ankle two times, tapped the right ankle for three, repeat.

Sure, you might’ve done that one or two times—no, definitely every waking moment of your life.

“Dammit, Ghost—“ As if the higher being up above had some sick humor, you tripped over your own two feet and barreled into your lieutenant. It’d be a lie to say this was the first time that’s happened.

“Like I said, Happy Feet.” His mask hid his expression but you could tell from the crinkle in his eyes, he was grinning. He stabilized you, broad hands holding your shoulders.

“I hate you.”

“I love you too, Happy Feet.”

An American? God help them.

John had felt immediate relief when he found out you weren’t some ‘rootin tootin cowboy’, only staring blankly at the file Kate had given him. They didn’t need another Johnny on base, let alone a Southern one.

At least you had some experience and you weren’t some fresh private.

When you finally arrived on base after an eight hour flight, you received mixed reactions.

Johnny was jittery from pent up energy. Simon was, well, off doing Simon things. John was curt, but polite (he honestly expected you to be insane in the stereotypical American way). Kyle was the most helpful; he even helped you unload your duffel bag in the room you’d be staying in.

And except Johnny, they were all…recluse, in a sense.

It took months for them to warm up to you. Hell, even Simon started taking a liking to you. “My personal cowboy.” he’d say in the most deadpanned tone ever. His stance never changed even when you told him you were from Milwaukee. “Midwestern cowboy.” he’d amend.

You quite liked your cozy (dusty) cubicle in the smallest corner of the room, far away from the others. Office job meant peace and peace meant being alone. Or, what it should be.

You strayed from Maggie, the old broad working in the front, and Olivia, freshly out of uni and still has the light in her eyes. Both were too loud and mildly perverted, in your opinion.

You’ve seen the way they blatantly look at Captain John Mactavish when he walks in. If you could, you’d rip off your ears the next time Maggie publicly mentions how she wants that man.

“Ms. Woods, how about we not ogle the poor man?”—you didn’t dare use her first name unless you felt like getting murdered today—“He’s got enough on his plate, he doesn’t need you of all people sexualizing him. It’s strange, and quite frankly, an HR violation.” You looked over your shitty cubicle wall.

You briefly locked eyes with Johnny, who was as happy as a clam, before staring down Maggie. The broad frowned before batting her eyes at him, murmuring something about needing to go drop off paperwork. Before he could say anything, you waved him off.

He looked like a kicked puppy when you sent him on his way and you almost felt bad. Almost.

“Fuckin’ Scots and their charm. Got everyone wrapped around his finger.” You muttered to yourself as you slump back into your chair, easing your way back into work.

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“Has that wee bairn always been there?” Johnny plops himself down on the common area couch next to Simon. He hooked his head over the Brits shoulder.

He was sure he had catalogued the (few) people there. Mary had been there for at least a decade or two, Maggie twice as longer, Olivia for a few months, and then there was you. A complete enigma.

“Which one? There’s loads of kids ‘round here.” Simon glanced up and closed his book, setting it aside. Johnny lets out a huff.

“You know, the one—“ Johnny cuts himself off. Actually, he couldn’t really remember what you looked like. It was so dark in that corner you had looked like a ghoul wrapped around a headstone. “The one that isn’t Olivia.” He amends.

Simon thinks for a moment before saying your name. “Oh, yeah. Kid has always been there. Two years maybe?” He scratched the back of his head. “I think around when Kyle joined. Maybe even before.”

Johnny’s brows shoot up. How couldn’t he have noticed you? Then again, you were in that dark corner. Maybe you were like a vampire; you only came out of the cubicle at night.

He must’ve voiced that last thought because Simon lets out a huge snort at that. “No. If you wanna see the kid, I suggest leaving the front door around five. Always a rule-stickler, that one is.”

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You were, by no means, a memorable person—

“Hen! There ye are!” A warm, built body crashes into you as you left the building. Your arms flail out as he dramatically hooks his arm around your ribs to catch you. Your head whirls around to face the walking audacity.

“Are you crazy?!” You push yourself off of him, panting. This is when he could get a really good look at you. The sun was shining so perfectly in that moment, highlighting the curvatures of your face. Why didn’t he notice you before and— you snapped your fingers in his face.

Right.

“I’m sorry, I dinnae ken I’d run into ye like that,” Johnny ran his fingers through his mohawk as he steadied you. His hands respectfully go back to his sides. “Too much momentum, I reckon. Dinnae wanna miss ye.”

Miss you?

Your eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. “Sorry?” His own roved over you, appreciatively, before settling on your face.

“I met ye. Earlier. Briefly.” Great going, Mactavish.

“I know.”

“I wanted teh meet who stood up for a wee lad like meh.”

“Well, you’re looking at ‘em.” You fixed your hair into place, still a bit miffed. However, you were softening up for him. Damn Scottish charm. “You shouldn’t run like that anyway. Accidents will happen, Mactavish.”

“Sorry.”

“I know. I know.”

“Are ye always this…grouchy?”

Part 2

Pairings: James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x You (fem)

Summary: You, one of SHIELD’s many low ranking analysts, caught Bucky’s eye in the most mundane way possible. Now he has to figure out how to court you.

A/N: This can be read as a stand alone, but part 1 can be found here. Enjoy!!

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Bucky didn’t know how to court anymore. Technically he does, but the last time he courted someone was a carnival girl he barely remembers from the goshdarn 40’s. Times have changed. He’s changed.

At some point, Bucky has himself sat on the common area couch, holding Sam’s phone. “Press on the compass looking app,” Sam said as he peered over the luddite. Bucky squints at the bright screen and his fat finger search up ‘dating tips’. “Click the first link.”

“I don’t know how you kids do this,” Bucky muttered under his breath. God, he felt old. “So many damn buttons.” His eye twitched.

He scrolls for a hot minute, with the help of Sam, and he raises his brows. “‘Don’t split the check’…who does that?” Bucky exclaimed and he scrolled farther down. “‘Open the door for her’; are people not doing this anymore? Why does this have to be on some-some list?” His head swivels towards Sam and Sam just shrugged in response.

“Some people do that, man.”

“Oh.”

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Bucky paces outside of the employee lunchroom, running his vibranium hand through his hair and muttering to himself like a madman. “‘Would you like to go to dinner with me?’ No, no, sounds too—ugh,” He shivered. “‘There’s a new coffee shop down the road’—“ The door swung open and you came face to face with the unraveling man.

“Oh, hey, James,” The door closed behind you. “If you’re looking for Steve, he left a while ago.”

Steve came by?

“You okay? You’re looking a bit pale.” You continued, frowning. You held your lunchbox tighter. Bucky gulped and nodded a bit too furiously.

“Yeah—yes, I’m fine,” Bucky croaks out. Holy shit, I need to get it together, he thought to himself. “I came by to see you, actually,” Your eyes lit up. “Not Steve.”

You tucked some hair behind your ears. God, you are so pretty. “Yeah?” Bucky closed his eyes briefly. Go big or go home, he supposed.

“There is a nice restaurant nearby and I was wondering if you’d want to go with me tomorrow night.” He finally spit out, albeit sounding a bit mechanical.

There was silence. An awkward silence. God, Bucky knew he’d ruined it—

“I can’t do tomorrow, but I can do the day after that,” You had to fight the grin on your face. But you knew your blush would be extremely prevalent; florescent lights spare no one. “Five o’clock?”

It felt like the wind got knocked out of him. “Five o’clock,” He confirmed with a croak. “I’ll send you the details.”

He had a date.

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It was a nice restaurant, not exactly uber fancy like a Michelin star restaurant but it was quaint. He did offer to pick you up, but you conveniently lived about a block away.

When you had arrived, he felt like he had been punched. Again. You had your hair down, no longer in a half assed ponytail he’d see you in, and you had chosen a dark blue sundress as your outfit.

Your name falls breathlessly from his lips. “You’re beautiful. Holy cow,” He didn’t look at you with lust, no. He looked at you like a sinning man found his salvation.

“Really? I thought it might’ve been a bit much.” You admitted softly. Bucky shook his head.

“Not at all, doll,” He wrapped your arm around his, guiding you to the entrance. “Shall we?”

Pairings: James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x You (fem)

Summary: You, one of SHIELD’s many low ranking analysts, caught Bucky’s eye in the most mundane way possible.

A/N: Part 2 found here!

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Bucky has only seen you in passing. You don’t stick for long no matter where you seem to go. He swears, he blinks and you just vanish into thin air. You honestly remind him of himself: aloof and invisible.

At some point, he starts cataloguing you in his head. You liked coffee—with a lot of creamer, you had a tendency to pat your thighs in rhythms when you walk down the hallways, and like a ghost, you haunted this building.

You preferred to stay invisible, unperceived. And you were fine with the distance you had created between yourself and others. You were doing a great job until—

You smash into a solid warm mass just as you turn the corner. “Ah, crap,” You yelped and the stacks of paper you had just sorted went flying. Two heavy hands stabilized your shoulders. Your head snaps up to meet Bucky’s gaze, your face immediately heating with a furious and embarrassing red. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going—“

“It’s my fault,” He stares you down. His stark blue eyes swallowed you whole and you forgot to breathe. “Here, let me help you.”

Sure, you’ve seen him in passing—everyone has. But, he was prettier up close.

You both bent down to pick up your papers, which you swore was a humiliation ritual. Your fingers trembled as you scooped up some of the papers. Your lanyard dangled from your neck, your id immediately catching his eye.

He hummed slightly when he zeroed in on your name; it definitely suited you. He passed you the other papers. You shivered when his vibranium hand brushed against yours. He smirked a little.

Cute.

“I’ll see you around, doll.” Bucky got up and hoisted you up as well. He walked around the corner and you swear you could still feel his hand against yours. And—

Your lips pursed and you frowned. Doll? Your head swiveled to watch him leave and he was gone.

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You started seeing him a lot more after your run in. Actually, scratch that, you saw him everywhere. You had a habit of bumping into him now. You couldn’t tell if it was accidental or purposeful on his part.

You stopped dreading heading into work, unconsciously adding a pep in your step when you walk down the desolate hallways. You’ve grown used to his presence.

“Your girl looks happier,” Sam notes one afternoon, leaning against the kitchen counter and staring at Bucky. “I even saw her smiling the other day—which is practically unheard of.”

Bucky snorts. “She’s my girl now?” He hadn’t thought of it that way just yet. He wanted to take babysteps, be a real gentleman and take you out after a few more conversations.

Sam huffed. “Well, she’s going to be yours. Just ask her out already, man,” He sips his black coffee. “Or court her, whatever the hell you did back in the 40’s. Turn on the charm.” He waves his free hand around for extra pizazz.

“We hardly even talk—“

It started off small, cordial and almost polite. He’d help you with your errands when Price was working you to death, big hands grazing yours every once in a while.

He didn’t think anything of it.

He didn’t think anything of it when he’d tuck your hair behind your ears—it was bothering you, wasn’t it?

He didn’t think anything of it when he’d guide you through the busy cafeteria with his hand on the small of your back—you’d get lost easily, wouldn’t you?

He didn’t think anything of it when you started to rely on him more and more.

Simon didn’t like it when you started talking to this one private, when he wasn’t the only one you’d smile at.

You don’t know how long you’d been stuck in this loop for; a half hour? An hour? All you knew was you had terrible brain fog.

What was that word again? The word you were originally searching for? It was something close to…actually, you weren’t sure.

You’d been here for so long you forgot.

“Goddamit,” You dropped your report back on your desk, hand immediately massaging your forehead. How could you forget a word from your native language?

If your mother was here right now, you’d be getting a right scolding. You’ve spent far too much time in the UK, you finally decided. English was ruining you.

You picked your report back up, skimming over your writing as if hoping it’d jog your memory.

Nope.

You hardly noticed when John came up behind you, hooking his chin over your head. You lightly flinched and he kissed the side of your head in response.

“How’s my favorite brainbox doin’, huh?” He mumbled. He knew, of course. As much as he’s oblivious, he knows when you have hard days.

His hands start digging into your shoulders, calloused fingers working through your tense muscles.

“I can’t remember,” You admit, looking up to see his baby blue eyes staring you down. You didn’t exactly answer him but he could gather what was happening.

“It’ll come to you.” He merely nodded. He gave your head another peck. He didn’t get it, he didn’t understand. You must’ve voiced your thought aloud because he lets out a prompt huff. “Of course I’m not going to understand it, love,” His nose trailed down your cheek. “But, this old fool has empathy, you know.” A very silly old fool.

You smiled slightly. That soothed you. A little.

He meant well in his weird detached way.

“Empathy? Shocker.”

“Fuck—“ You choked out. A sob rips through you when someone dabs a damp washcloth on your forehead. Kyle, you immediately assumed.

“Sweetheart, you’re okay,” He immediately tried to soothe. Okay? You’re not okay, you wanted to scream. “Your scent smelled off earlier. Hell, it was absolutely rancid and leaked into the hallways.” He said it like it was an explanation to your bedroom being broken into.

And rancid? Your scent was never that strong to begin with. “Why…?” A sharp pang stabbed you and you whined.

He starts to immediately shush you, his thumb absentmindedly swiping at your forehead. “Late blooming, we think.” He murmured.

Late bloomer.

No.

You refused to believe it, even in your delirium. You were a Beta for crying out loud. Not an Omega.

Kyle stares at the indignant look on your face, even through the agony of your long overdue Heat. “Yeah, I know. Me too.” He adjusts his position on your bed. There was a strange look on his face, a soft one, but definitely a look you haven’t seen on his face before.

“The others are out,” He nods his head towards your closed door. “Dealing with the rookies who caught a whiff. You certainly made everyone worried.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize for something you can’t control, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t long until you were able to go back to sleep, a light doze at most. His Beta scent pumped out a comforting and neutral scent, almost smelling like freshly washed linin. You always preferred his scent over the others, not like you’d tell them.

Johnny thinks it’s a divine gift from God. You think that’s a load of horse shit.

You’re naturally klutzy—full on tripping on air. It’s gotten to the point to where you’ve been nicknamed “Crash”; you can thank Simon for that honorary callsign.

When they first had noticed it, it started off small. You bumped into desk corners, spill coffee everywhere, trip up the stairs, the works.

“Wee bairn is starting to walk for the first time, how cute.” Johnny would tease.

“Survival instincts of a foal, kid.” Simon had gruffly muttered.

You hardly noticed when Simon started to cover sharp corners with his palm when you would pass by—God forbid you get another hip bruise.

Kyle would herd you like a cattle dog to the middle of the room; the safest place, he’d reckon. Although, he’s sure you’d still manage to get hurt.

John would place his hand on your lower back and carefully guide you when he noticed you were extra off balance that day.

And Johnny?

Johnny is trying his hardest. It’s like giving an egg to a Great Dane to see how gentle it’d be. “Careful, hen!” Johnny would screech, yanking you from the edge of the stairs.

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Ghoap

Nightmares

Snuggling Ducklings

Silence In The Morning 1, 2, 3, ?

John “Soap” Mactavish

Muppet

Scaredy Cat

Enamored

John Price

StarMan a/b/o

Down We Go

Lost Art And Languages

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Dramatics

The Old Switcharoo a/b/o

What’re You Going To Do, Fight The Sun?

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Sluggish Day

Mine

Happy Feet

141

Babysitter a/b/o

Miss American Pie

Not A Ditz

Errands, perhaps? No, that didn’t sound right. You only did errands on Mondays and Fridays for Price; it was only Thursday.

Dropping off files for Price, you finally decided. You let out a soft groan as you start to try to unstick yourself from the floor. It was like your body weighed an extra one hundred pounds. Which did make sense, however, as you noticed a hand not of your own slowly pushing you back down. You barely feel scattered papers reminding you of their existence underneath your palms.

“I’ve already put your legs up. Don’t strain yourself, birdie.” A murky voice sounded. His hand runs through your hair and you could vaguely see his brows pinched. It took you a few more moments before you realized it was Price. You blinked a few times, mostly trying to get rid of the sparks in your vision.

“You’re here...?” You croaked out.

“Hello to you too,” Price mirrored back with pursed lips. “Of course I’m here, we work in the same space, sweetheart.”

“I…fell.” You finally decided to say, still quite too out of it to fully comprehend exactly what had transpired.

“You did.”

“How?”

“I reckon you got up too fast again,” His other hand absentmindedly ran through his hair. A nervous tick, you presumed. “I grabbed you your water. Figured you might need it.” For someone who’s not medically knowledgeable, he sure knows what you need after an episode.

You whispered a ‘thank you’. He nods just barely. Price analyzes your state for a while longer before finally letting you back up. His hand supports your lower back and pulls you into a sitting position slowly.

“You alright?”

“Just peachy, Captain.”

“Cheeky bastard.”

“Always.” His gaze softened when you finally decided to drink your water, his burly hand supporting the back of your head.

“There we go,” He murmured. “Doin’ amazing, birdie. Jus’ like that.” In usual circumstances, you would’ve been a blushing mess. When you finally pull away, he wipes a dribble of water with the pad of his thumb.

“I should have you do this more often.” You teased. He huffed.

“Remember to drink water, birdie,” Kyle called from the common area couch, sipping his tea. You trudged to the armchair, giving him a nasty look.

“‘Remember to drink water’—“ You sneered before succumbing to a coughing fit. You curled up on the chair, sipping your water like a gerbil. “Of course I will.” Kyle raised a brow.

You always got insanely snappy, and bitchy, when sick. You knew you were being mean but man, you couldn’t stop yourself. You were just tired of everyone hovering over you.

“I can fuckin’ take care of myself. I’m not a child.” You continued, glowering at Kyle with glazed over eyes. You reminded him of a petulant child. It would’ve been adorable, if not because of the circumstances.

“I never said you couldn’t take care of yourself, sweetheart,” Kyle replied calmly. He puts his mug down on the coffee table. “I just think you merely forget what your body needs at times.” You were about to protest, yet again, when he placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Hm…not as warm as you were earlier. Not the best either.”

You blinked. His warm brown eyes just looked so inviting, it made you melt like a puddle. He smiled a little before ruffling your hair. “You messed it all up.” You pout.

“It was messed up before.” Kyle countered, draping a blanket over you. You sneezed in response. “Poor thing.”

“You should work on your accent, love,” Simon grumbled, sipping his tea. “It’s fuckin’ horrid.” Johnny wheezes at that and grasps Gaz’s chest for dramatic stability.

“Wot accent? Blimey, this is my truth!” You lean down closer to Simon and a grin slowly grows on your lips. “Did you know I’m 13 percent British?”

“Oh, for fucks sake—“

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“Blimey, is that the time? Welp, time to have tea and crumpets with the Queen.”

“There’s a special place in Hell for you.”

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It’s all fun and games until you genuinely start to use some of their vocabulary.

“Where’s the hoover?” You ask, opening the common room closet. “Wait, never mind. Fuckin’ thing was hiding from me.” The room practically went silent.

“…’hoover’…?” John repeated, raising a brow. “You really just said ‘hoover’, love?” You paused and then let out an involuntary groan.