#Sniper Team Tactics

[bluastro-yellow]

harry and kim should take a day off and play tf2 on opposing teams

no wait they should find two computers with the game already installed during an investigation and play for hours with somebody else's accounts

[lycheedr3ams]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write about a mean!ghost x reader? Either angst or with a breeding kink🫶

it is a bit unholy how much this ask excited me. i should not be attracted to mean fictional men, but here we are at this point in history

thanks for this ask! I hope y'all enjoy

fem!reader x mean!ghost

MDNI

Warnings: ghost is really mean to reader in the beginning, canon-typical violence, CMNF, humiliation, slight breeding kink, angst, crying, brief mention of female masturbation, fingering, hair-pulling, predator/prey dynamics, pussy slapping, hate sex, orgasm denial, harddom!ghost, dub-con, slight making up at end

Reader is a sniper and your callsign is Reaper

not proofread

you did your best as team 141's new sniper. Gaz, Soap, and Price all warmed up to you rather quickly. you were deadly on the field and friendly when everything was said and done. really, there was no one who didn't like you. you were just too nice, your smile too pure, for anyone to have any problem with you.

Ghost was the only exception. the prickly lieutenant wasn't too fond of having another sniper on the team to compete with, especially since you were, on the books, a better sniper than him. his orders to you were always barked with much more bite than the orders he gave to others. his gaze towards you was always draped with a slight scowl. when you'd get the perfect shot, or save the mission from failing, you never got any praise. all he would respond with was a silent stare that ripped your heart into shreds, or a grunt that sounded more like disapproval.

and you had enough of it.

you asked Ghost if you could speak with him one night while you all were on base, waiting for your next assignment. he couldn't mask the slight surprise in his eyes, before he nodded curtly.

when the time came for you to speak with him, you couldn't help how your heart almost escaped your chest. not only was he your superior, he was Ghost, the one soldier whom everyone feared, like a cryptid in some military folklore. and here you were, about to walk right into his lair, right into his sharp teeth. asking the wolf why he preyed on the lamb.

but there was another problem. Ghost, for all of his horror and renown on the field, was so fucking hot. how he stood tall with his arm crossed in all his masculine glory. how deep and raspy he sounded when he grunted, or how gravelly his voice was in the coms in your ear when he clipped orders at you. how his ass looked in those tactical pants, how you've spent many nights thinking about him as you stuffed your cunt with your fingers. you hated how his voice, his oh so mean voice reserved only for you, soaked your panties almost every time.

you knocked on the door to his office, trying to ignore your pumping heart and throbbing core as you stood and waited.

"come in," his deep voice sounded through the door. you slowly opened it and entered without looking at him as you shut the door. you took a deep breath and faced him, but you kept your back against the door.

"sir," you said dutifully. a formality that you cursed. "i wanted to speak to you about something." your voice shook slightly. despite all the things you've seen, all the people you've killed, this one man has the power to make you weak in the knees and in the head.

"yeah, figured that much," he said shortly. "spit it out."

you gulped, and you stepped forward a little. you would face him confidently, not cowering against the door like a student called into the principle's office. you summoned yourself here willingly, and there was no backing out.

"sir, i've been on the team for a while, and i would like to think that i've been a great asset. but i'm wonderiong if i've done anything to offend you?" you stated.

silence. you could've heard a pin drop in his office as he stared at you with his arm crossed, leaning back against his desk. his cold stare could've frozen your heart.

he wanted you to crack under his gaze. to spit out something stupid that would give him an excuse to dismiss you from the team. but you knew better. you met his deadly gaze head-on. if you were to die here, like this, at least you would do so standing up for yourself.

he slowly blinked, and you felt your heart drop when he finally spoke. "offended me?" he scoffed. "don't flatter yourself."

you slightly furrowed your brows.

"and what makes you think you've offended me?" he asked mockingly. your blood was boiling. you gulped. fuck it. if he was going to be so direct and curt, so were you.

"sir, you treat me differently than the others."

ghost stood up a bit straighter as he squared his shoulders, his arms still crossed on his chest.

"oh yeah?" he goaded. "how so?"

he knew the answer already. he wanted to make you crack, to hear you say it.

"sir, you're a lot... harder on me," you said slowly as you chose your words carefully. "it's the tone in your voice, and the way you look at me."

he inspected you for a moment. "the way i look at you, huh?" he said quietly.

"yes, sir," you said as confidently at you could.

ghost began to walk towards you, slowly, as if he were a beast stalking prey from the shadows. he made a beeline towards you.

"and how is it you think i look at you differently?" he was now within arm's reach as he looked down at you.

you almost lost your train of thought as you looked up at him. this close, he smelled like cigarettes and a tinge of whiskey, and gunpowder. you hated how hot, how attractive, it was. how his eyes stared into your own.

"sir, you..." you thought for a moment. the tension could've been cut with a knife. "you look at me very...disapprovingly."

ghost blinked. "oh, so you want my approval, is that it?" he quipped.

your eyes went wide for a moment before you shook your head. "no, sir. i just want to be treated like an equal member of this team."

your answer must've surprised him, because he leaned back ever so slightly as his eyes widened. but he quickly caught himself and resumed his dangerously indifferent stance.

"and what would it take to make you feel like an equal part of this team?" he asked.

you hadn't expected that. you cleared your throat before you spoke. "i'd just like you to talk to me the way you do to the other members, sir."

"you want me to talk to you like you're a man?" he knew that wasn't the answer.

"not exactly, sir. i just want to be treated like i'm an equal. i can't help but feel like you don't like me."

now he really hadn't expected you to say that. you could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"you come into my office and accuse me of not liking you?" he said coldly.

you looked him in the eyes. "sir, i didn't accuse you. i'm stating my observations and asking you to confirm or deny them."

he observed you for another moment before he started to slowly walk around you, until he was at your back. the hairs stood on the back of your neck as he leaned down to your ear.

"what about the way you look at me?" he whispered.

you instantly blushed, and your heart raced.

"i've seen the way you stare at me, how your eyes wander," he rasped. "how you stare at my arms and my cock."

"sir! i -" you squeaked. but you were cut off when one of his gloved hands came to rest over your mouth, and the other around your stomach, holding you against him. his hardening bulge was pressed against your ass.

"shh, don't want anyone else to hear this, do you?" he cooed in your ear. you breathed hard as you looked up at him, his gloved hand still covering your mouth.

"don't hide it, Reaper, i know you want me," he whispered in your ear. your eyes fluttered shut as you slightly relaxed against him. he smirked.

"that's what i thought." he let you go, and you quickly turned around to face him.

"you don't even know mean," he challenged as he looked at you with bedroom eyes through his skull mask. "i'll show you just how mean I can be."

you gulped again as you looked up at him.

"strip. before i rip those clothes off of you," he commanded.

you looked at him with wide eyes. you stopped breathing.

"that was an order, soldier," he said shorter this time. "don't test my patience."

you slightly nodded at him before you took off your shirt slowly. once it was off, you held it in front of you, over your stomach. but the warning in his eyes told you all you needed to know. you let your shirt drop to the floor with a quiet thud before you went to untie your shoes to remove them and your pants. most of your clothes were now in a heap on the floor next to you, your bra and panties still on.

"all of it. off." he snapped.

you blushed as you removed your undergarments, and wrapped your arms around your stomach as you stood bare before him. he breathed in deeply as he raked every inch of your body with his hungry eyes.

he jerked his head towards his desk. "bend over on the desk. now."

you slowly turned your back to him, walking towards his desk. it felt as if you were turning your back on a predator as you did so. you bent over on his desk until your elbows hit the smooth metal. your nipples perked up from the cold, and you looked behind you as you saw ghost approaching your naked body. the thud of his steps sounded like an earthquake to you as you waited with baited breath.

"look forward," he commanded once he made eye contact with you. you obeyed instantly. his presence could be felt right behind you now, and you gasped as a gloved finger slid over your wet pussy. ghost groaned.

"you can't hate me that much, to be this fucking wet for me," he growled as he all too gently rubbed your folds. "this pussy's just been achin' for me, hasn't it?"

"s...sir..." you said through labored breaths, your eyes screwed shut. but they flew open when he slapped your wet pussy. he huffed out his version of a laugh.

"that's what i thought." he pushed his index finger right against your clit, and you lifted yourself up on your tiptoes as he gently stroked it. "such a brave girl, coming into my office like this. you just wanted my cock so bad."

you shook your head. "no, no that's not why I came. oh!" he pressed harder against your clit, and your body shivered.

"pretendin' to be mad at me. it's got me worked up, i'll give ya that," he said as he splayed one hand over your back, pressing you down.

"i am mad - fuck!" you gasped as he inserted two gloved fingers into your pussy and began to stroke. you couldn't help the moans that flew from your mouth as he hit that spot that made you see stars.

"nothin' but a moanin' bitch for me now that i've got my fingers in you."

you grit your teeth and bit your tongue so that you wouldn't moan. he withdrew his fingers from your pussy but still held your back down. you looked back at him angrily.

"oh, that upset her," he teased. he leaned forward, and his voice took a much deeper and serious tone. "you're going to have to beg for it."

"fuck you," you said on instinct. but your eyes went wide as you realized what you had just said to your superior.

and ghost laughed. "i could dismiss you just for that, you know?" he said as he began to tease your entrance again. your eyes fluttered shut. "but i'm willing to forgive you if you beg for my fingers."

you grit your teeth. the feeling of his gloved fingers against your wet slit was perfect, but not enough. his fingers had filled you up so well, so much better than your own.

"please," you whispered.

"hm? didn't hear you," ghost said as he gently teased your entrance with his fingertips. you gasped.

"p...please," you said a bit louder.

"please what?" his fingertips slid in and out of your pussy.

you whimpered. "please, please i need your fingers."

"atta girl," he cooed as he pressed two fingers inside of you again. you gasped louder this time as he stroked them perfectly on your g-spot. "you sure you want to be treated equally?" he egged you on. "i don't treat any other task force members like this."

you moaned as he continued to stroke you, but suddenly the hand that was on your back came up to your hair and pulled your head back towards him. his fingers began to fuck you at a brutal pace and you screwed your eyes shut.

"i asked you a question, Reaper," ghost spat.

you tried to remember his question as his fingers fucked you. he shook his head. "already forgot? dumb bitch. i asked if you wanted to still be treated like an equal."

you moaned as his fingers curved at the end with each thrust. "n...no!!"

ghost released your hair and held you down again as his fingers continued to fuck you brutally. the sounds of your wet pussy filled his office.

"that's what i thought."

your body began to shake as your climax neared. ghost was just way too good at this, with the way his fingers curled precisely where they needed him to and the pressure of his hand against your back.

"ghost....i'm!"

right as you were about to climax, the second you were about to come, ghost withdrew his fingers from you. you looked back at him wildly, your face red. "what...what the fuck..." you nearly sobbed.

ghost slapped your pussy, and you jumped. "you really think i'd let you come that easily?"

you heard the metal of his belt clinking and the soft sound of a zipper being opened. you tried to turn to see his cock, but one of his hands flew to the back of your head and held your head down on the table.

"you stay still," he growled. you had no other choice but to comply, and you did so willingly. he eased the tip of his cock inside your weeping slit, and you gasped. you thought the process was going to be slow, given how slowly he put his tip inside you, but he suddenly thrusted his entire length into you. his gloved hand closed over your mouth before you could scream.

"stay quiet," he rasped in your ear. you could feel his cock twitching in your warm walls. he groaned when you clenched around him. "gonna use this pussy now."

ghost set a brutal pace immediately, his balls hanging down and slapping your wet clit with each thrust. he stayed leaned over you, holding one hand behind your back by your wrist, with his other hand around your mouth. he grunted quietly with each thrust.

"I know you've been wantin' this."

you clenched around him, and he laughed.

"you like it when I'm mean to you," he stated. but you were too far gone to respond. "you like it when I yell at you, when I put you in your place."

you moaned loudly under his hand as your eyes screwed shut.

"can't let a pretty little face like yours make me go soft," he mumbled against the back of your head.

his words faded, and the tip of his cock reached all the way to your cervix as you moaned against his hand. your toes began to lift from the floor as he fucked up into you harder. you gripped the metal desk as hard as you could before you suddenly came hard on his cock. ghost couldn't hold back the strangled moan that escaped him.

"you like comin' around this cock?" he whispered. you nodded vigorously. "gonna cum in this tight pussy."

he thrusted hard into you, the slaps of skin so lewd, a few more times before he came inside you with a groan. he stood above you, panting, as you both came to your senses. he pulled out and immediately pressed two gloved fingers against your slit to prevent his cum from leaking out. you looked back at him, your hair frizzy and face red.

"still think I'm mean to you?"

[izzabela]

I don’t know if anyone has asked this before, but the Lin Kuei trio with a reader who works as a military special forces operator? I don’t know but I’d like to think that on tactical terms the Lin Kuei and a military soldier can work pretty well together so I would definitely want to see how this will play out

When Worlds Collide - Lin Kuei x GN!spec-ops!reader (headcanons?)

in which past meets modern warfare

a/n: bro the fact you requested this and i'm getting into COD is INSANE THE TIMING IS AWESOME

ship[s]: none

warning(s): cod x mortal kombat?? ghost reference? soap ref? gaz & price reference??

You are a spec-ops soldier, working with the most elite soldiers in the world under the guidance of the American military. With the Outworld Investigations Agency opened, they're gonna need some manpower....

Introducing you and TF141, so perhaps this is a mk x cod fic??

- all three of the brothers would be very impressed with your records and awards. you are a decorated member, and the fact you are decently younger compared to your coworkers impresses them further

- Tomas asks you questions. lots of them. where you've been, what you've seen, the kills you have (it surprises you he knows the difference in the terms), he even asks others about you

- Bi Han wants to inspect every piece of modern equipment you have. he asks incredibly well-informed questions about the weapons, he even sketches ones that pique his interest the most so he can show his clan back at home

- Kuai Liang is the lucky brother who gets to hold and try the equipment. you and your team watch over him in the gun range as he shoots down practice targets with ease (ninja precision is crazy)

- Tomas and Soap might get along the best. he'd definitely be thrown off by how vulgar the team gets, but he and Soap are very friendly with one another

- Bi Han, Ghost, and Price. those two would be having a blast together talking about manly adult leadership stuff

- Kuai Liang might get along best with Gaz. Something about these level-headed men having a normal conversation in front of neanderthals is refreshing to you, snd you really appreciate that

- teamwork wise, not including the 141, they'd work pretty good with you. you're a great all around: sniper, foot-soldier, hand-to-hand, you know the drills for the shit they go through on the daily

- specifically, you and Kuai Liang would work together with a knowing silence. something like Price and Ghost since those two knew each other for so long. something about you and Kuai covering each other's asses without saying a word means you guys are in perfect sync. i can imagine it (can't you?)

- working with Bi Han is like Price and Soap, or Ghost and Soap. You definitely would try and liven up the mood as you off enemies left and right. Bi Han might actually scold you mid battle, too, expecially talking about distractions

- Tomas is Gaz, and working with him is like nothing but butter sliding smoothly on bread. Tomas is everything in a package: smart, skilled, quick-witted, and level-headed. Tomas knows when it's the right time to do things

- i think you and Bi Han would get into the worst spats and fights when discussing how to further push into battle. i'd say it gets physical, with you ordering him to stand down as the "professionals handle this"

- Kuai Liang and you could also get into some hefty drama and fights too. i think Kuai would actually apologize too, considering that maybe you might have seen more than him

- outside of the missions, everyone gets along well (maybe). when the three lin kuei bros are out drinking with you and your team, that shit is fire. Tomas probably gets drunk first, but that's after maybe five cups of hard ass liquor

- Kuai is next drunk, then Bi Han

- back to mission stuff, when you and the Lin Kuei trio aren't fighting, you guys agree on strategy rather easily. in fact, they like how you pull your strats. Bi Han takes mental notes to implement to the clan

- yeah, that's it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

guys i want to write a COD fic soon, but idk who to start with. after my reqs though

also, school started for me, so writing may be coming slower

see yall in the next fic!

[cheollipop]

HIII :D

Can you write a little drabble about dom Yunho and fem reader ignoring eachother after an argument and so y/n comes up with a plan to tease Yunho while he’s busy ignoring her and playing video games and then he ends up getting worked up and it then leads to rough sex 🙈 (sorry if this is too much lol)

2𝙠 𝙎𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩

hi anonnie!! this... thisssssss egsjbks omg gamer bf!yunho AND mad!yunho?? yummy YUMMY- ahem, this was very fun to write, and i may have gone a bit overboard with it oopsie. also, been in a playful mood lately, so you get bratty!reader~ happy reading ^^

pairing: jeong yunho x fem!reader

w.c.: 1.6k

tags: smut, oral (m), make-up sex, lots of cum talk bc... teehee, yunho's kinda mad but turns soft, reader's a little brat ><

nsfw under cut—minors dni!

Eyes trained on the screen before him, spattered splotches of red masking his point of view as his player failed to block the incoming stream of bullets, his fingers stuttering over his keyboard as loud yelling blasted into Yunho’s ears, his friends’ voices contained within the worn-down cushions of his headset. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance, partly because of the insults being thrown his way as he struggled to aim his sniper, but mainly at his inability to recall how the argument he’d had with you a couple hours ago had even started. He wracked his brain for an answer, but all he came up with was the menacing smile stretching your lips when you walked into the room hours after he’d stormed off, opting to bully eleven-year-olds online with his friends, camping at their spawn point and watching them grow frustrated with his unfair tactics.

The situation flipped, though, once your smile disappeared underneath his desk, your body hidden under the polished wood, and Yunho nearly cursed at the missed view of your delicate hands undoing the strings of his sweatpants. He wasn’t mad at you, he could never be, even more so when you had your fingers wrapped around his cock, tongue drawing circles around his head and collected the occasional spurts of precum as he grew harder in your grasp. He shuffled in his seat, containing a groan before it could leave his lips when you took his length down your throat, your lips meeting the digits wrapped around his girth before pulling off for air. Yunho wasn’t sure how many games he’d lost so far, only that his friends were growing frustrated with his silence, but he didn’t dare speak, knowing his voice would give away the nature of the situation he was in.

Brushing off the blonde locks obscuring his vision, he attempted to return to his position at the enemy’s base, only for you to flatten your tongue along the underside of his cock while sliding him back into your mouth, waiting until the tip prodded at your uvula before swallowing around it. To his luck, the startled grunt drawn out of him aligned with his teams’ nth loss, and his friends returned to their endless berating.

You pulled off him again, resting your head high enough on his thigh to stare up at his flushed face over the edge of his desk—eyes glazed over and unfocused as they gazed back at you, his lips bitten raw and a pretty rose tinting his neck and the sliver of his chest peeking at you over his collar. Your hand remained on him to smear your saliva down his length, squeezing at his base and back up to twirl around his cockhead, all while watching his composure slowly breaking down and his impatience seep into his features. With hesitation, you moved your eyes off him and to the pretty, bright pink painting his angry tip while it leaked translucent liquid that mingled with your spit, leaning forward to lick a stripe over the throbbing vein decorating his shaft.

You heard deft fingers pressing over the keycaps followed by the loud clang of his headset hitting the wooden desk, his thighs retracting as he rolled his chair back, and his hands squeezed around your biceps to hold you up. Forcefully pulling you to your feet with him, the snarky remark died on your tongue as he pushed back onto the bed, a sudden exhale blowing out of your lungs when you landed under him.

“Had your fun?” the deep baritone sent a shiver down your spine. Looking up at him, you took in the sweat pilling on his forehead, and you unsuccessfully attempted to wiggle out of the grasp he had around your wrists.

You bent your knee enough to dig into his hanging cock, the corners of your mouth twisting upwards when he jerked back. “Seems like you did too.”

You saw his eyebrow twitch again before a firm hand grabbed at your jaw, his other hand working your bottoms down your legs, two fingers pushing between your walls before you could even think of a retort. But you simply giggled, amused by how worked up you’d managed to get Yunho. You pecked the palm covering your lips, breathing out airy moans as he repeatedly pressed his fingers into your g-spot. He scissored his fingers, watching hot arousal dripping out of your cunt to seep into his duvet, cursing under his breath while using it to lube himself up.

“Can’t believe you,” he mumbled after releasing your jaw, leaning down to press himself flush with your chest, hands on your hips while he sunk into you, a melody of grunts and moans bouncing off the walls as he ground into your pussy, making sure you took every last inch of him. “Fuuuck, so fucking tight for me, aren’t you? Even when you’re being a brat,” he pressed his lips to the smile stretching yours.

Your smile wavered, playfulness fading away as you held his face to gaze into his hooded eyes, “are you still mad?”

Your whisper halted his insistent grinding, sparing you from the delicious glide of his cockhead over your walls to press a kiss to your forehead, “I could never be mad at you, sweetheart. I’m sorry it seemed that way,” the hands holding your hips wrapped around you, one cradling the back of your head and the other on your lower spine, holding you so close you could hear his racing heartbeat.

You knew this didn’t solve the problem, and that you’d have to sit down and talk about it again soon, but Yunho’s hold—so warm and tender—set a veil of tranquillity over your moving bodies and erased any significance tied to your previous argument.

But Yunho was still desperate, brimming lust mingling with his desire to make love to you, his hold gentle and yet his hips were merciless. He slammed his cock into your cunt, breathy ah's blowing over the side of you neck while he drew out orgasm after orgasm from you, his length pulsating within your heat as pleasure seared through your bodies. Your thighs trembled around him, and your hips ached when he flipped you over, grabbing your ass to pull you back onto his cock while his other hand pushed your head down into the mattress, taking what he needed from you and revelling in the sweet moans he got in return.

Overstimulation mingled with pleasure, and you tuned out your surroundings save for the choked grunts Yunho blew against the shell of your ear, the flesh of your ass growing raw with his repetitive thrusts, the back of his thighs slapping roughly against your skin.

“gonna come,” he panted, “gonna fill you up all the way, yeah baby?”

You rambled incoherently into the sheets, the hand holding your head down tangling into your hair until dull pain shot through your scalp. Moaning a succession of “yes” and “please,” Yunho held you in place while he emptied thick ropes of his cum between your fluttering walls, doing just as he said he would: filling you up all the way, until the heat spread into your womb.

Yunho brushed the hair off your face to watch your pupils disappear, rutting his softening cock into you to push you further over the edge, aiding you down from your high with skilled rolls of his hips and kisses peppered over your skin, groaning at the tight squeeze of your cunt around him. When overstimulation jerked your body away from his grasp, you reached back with heavy limbs to push at his hips, sighing once his thick length slid out of you, and you missed the string of cum connecting his cockhead to your leaking hole. But Yunho eyed it until it broke, sliding his hands up your spine and flattening his body over yours, his weight held up by the elbows digging into the mattress by your head.

Pressing kisses to every patch of skin he could reach, yunho brushed away your tears with the plush of his lips, kissing over your shut eyelids while breathing in your uneven exhales. His pretty angel, he couldn’t believe how beautiful you were, especially after you’d milked him dry, always so beautiful when you were stuffed full of his cum. Covered in sweat, shirt sticking to your trembling figure, your cunt oozing the translucent liquid while it clenched uselessly around the chill air.

You craned your neck to look at the man hovering over you, clothed chest brushing over your back with every breath he drew in. He looked just as ruined—a pretty flush painting his cheeks, eyes soft and brimming with adoration as they mooned over your expression. You wondered what face you were making, and why it seemed make him so starstruck.

“We good?” You breathed out into the air between you, a hopeful glimmer in your eyes.

Yunho focused on the spit drying over your lips, the line of drool going down to your chin reflecting the light from his monitor. His cock twitched in interest where it lay snug between his lower belly and your ass, and he rolled his hips experimentally, your sweet arousal around the hardening length gliding smoothly over your skin.

He hummed, meeting your hopefulness with an innocent smile, though the hint of slyness hidden within the gesture did not go unnoticed. Rolling his hips once more, he enveloped your body completely, resting some of his body weight over you while he whispered in your ear, a dribble of his cum seeping out of you as you squeezed around nothing.

“I think I might need a little more convincing.”

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Hey, Jealousy

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: NSFW, SMUT HEAVY CHAPTER, MDNI. Canon typical violence mentioned. Note: HELLO ALL! It's been a minute! This fic isn't going anywhere by any means, just had a bit of writer's block and lack of motivation to write for a bite lol. A special thank you to @lethalchiralium for workshopping with me, per usual, and for being the best beta! Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

“This is your target. Memorize it.” John paused as the surveillance photo of their target, a dark-haired woman with almond-shaped eyes, made its way between the trio. He placed a black cell phone in the center of the table while Soap regarded the image. “Freyja, you’re the best pickpocket out of all of us. Your task is to lift her phone and swap it out with the duplicate. Rumor has it there’s a major weapon’s deal rearing up, and I want to know when and where.”

Taking a moment to examine the photo now pinched between her thumb and forefinger, Freyja raised a brow. While she wasn’t one to judge solely based on appearances (a tactic she relied upon herself many times), the woman pictured looked far from an arms dealer. She seemed fairly young. “She has the details?”

Price nodded and partially sat on the table, arms crossed over his chair. “She’s the buyer. Rather unassuming, I know, but our intel is good.”

“Bloody hell,” Ghost mumbled, leaning into her space to sneak a peek. “They just keep gettin’ younger and younger…”

“Ah dinnae mean to be rude, but Ghost’s no’ exactly inconspicuous. A bit hard nae tae notice a giant with headgear at a social event.”

A fair point. Ghost was the tallest member of the team outside of König.

“Which is why you will be partnered with the Captain.” Freyja didn’t miss how her husband’s watchful gaze flickered between her and her co-captain. “You’ll have to couple it up to blend in; a single woman at an event like this would draw suspicion. Ghost will be going undercover as security detail and watch your six.”

“Me? Are ye sure, Captain?”

“Affirmative, Sergeant. I’d rather not have another incident like last time.”

“Last time?” Johnny looked between them. “What happened last time?”

THEN

It should’ve been a simple task, really. A pretty young woman lures a gullible, unsuspecting new hire to a roped-off room with certain expectations, only to be met with the cold steel of a knife to their throat.

As expected, the information burst from the young man’s lips like water through a broken dam, hoping to save his own skin. The quick execution Ghost offered was a mercy compared to what would happen if his boss found out he had snitched.

He could be merciful when he wanted to be.

The Simon she married was not a jealous man. A younger Ghost, at the beginning of their… “situationship”, however…

After the body was stuffed in the room’s closet, hopefully not to be found until at least the next day, he wasted no time hoisting Freyja up against a wall with ease and fucking her senseless. Her legs tightened around his waist immediately, her Venetian mask coming loose at the sudden movement and falling to the floor.

“Yes, right there. Hah, hah, nngh-”

“See what you do to me?” he growled against her cheek, hips snapping against her shaking thighs. “Can’t even get through a fucking mission without my cock gettin’ hard, and you’re over there, actin’ like a slag. Touchin’ that bastard like that-”

“I was just - doing - my job-”

Ghost’s brutal pace stopped and pinned her to the wall. One hand no longer supporting her weight, jumped from her ass to her throat, the bare, calloused skin squeezing the sides. 

“You took it too far. I should leave you high and dry for the show you put on.”

Her fingers scratched at the short hair near the base of his neck, earning a warning sound from the man. Freyja wriggled her hips to find some kind of friction, a release. “Fuck fuck fuck – please, Ghost, don’t stop. Make me come, please–”

“Yeah? Y’want me to make you come?”

“Yes, yes, please! Please, I need to come–”

“Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes! I’m sorry, so sorry! Fuck me!”

“You’re fuckin’ lucky I’m feelin’ forgiving.”

“Oh shit, thank you, thank you, I’m sorry–”

“You’d better be.”

NOW

The sergeant looked between Price and the couple, studying Price’s lifted brow and Freyja’s pressed lips and flushed skin. Ghost snorted beside her, which got him a sharp jab from his wife’s elbow.

“Bunch o’ rabbits, you two!” he snickered, laughing into his fist. Just how they managed to bone in the field so often, he’d never know. “It’s a miracle ye don’t have a thousand wee bairns by now.”

“Could’ve had them discharged for the mess I had to listen to.” 

“We said we’re sorry!”

“No, you said you were sorry. I won’t apologize if I don’t mean it.”

“I’m going to kill you–”

John cut them off, standing again and collecting his paperwork. “The target rarely comes out of hiding, so we can’t risk spooking her. Freyja, Soap, you’d better sell it.”

“Oh, I’ll make it believable, a’right.”

“And if somehow you find a way around this arrangement – please, for the love of God, no shagging on the job,” Price stressed, pointing at each of them for emphasis. “Got it?”

Johnny raised his hand.  “Ah would just like tae point out that, for once, I’m the good egg here,” he pointed out with a wide grin.

Multiple sets of eyes rolled. “Right then. Dapper up. I’ll see you all tonight.”

Ecstatic about their upcoming mission, the Scot jumped up from his seat, still beaming. He was already bubbling with ideas for their strategy, the backstory of the characters they would play, what he was going to wear–

“Johnny.”

“Sir?”

Ghost leaned forward, elbows planted on his knees as he looked up at the man. “Remember what I said about flirtin’ with my wife?”

“Aye.”

“Still in effect.”

.

.

.

Soap made it his mission to be as handsy as humanly possible the moment they stepped out of their vehicle. Ever the gentleman, he stuck behind Freyja when taking the steps up the grandiose front stairs into the venue; once at the top, his hand slipped across her lower back from one hip to the next.

Both operators kept their attire simple yet appropriate for the dress code. They complimented each other nicely; Johnny sported a simple black suit and a white collared shirt with the top two buttons undone, while Freyja donned a rich, dark purple, satin gown with an open back dipping to her tailbone. They were meant to fit in, not draw attention to themselves.

When they entered the ballroom, crystal chandeliers twinkling above, she glanced around the perimeter at the masked guards. Only taking in their stature for a second before moving on to the next, attempting to locate their backup –

There.

Ghost blended in seamlessly, dressed exactly like the other guards stationed around the room. All black ensemble, black combat boots, and a balaclava with a window for the eyes. They met briefly with Frey’s before she shifted her gaze up to her date, placing one hand on top of his at her side, the other between his shoulder blades.

All night, Ghost’s stare could have burned a hole through her skin straight down to her soul as her partner positively manhandled her. Nothing was safe. Her ass, hips, bare shoulders, and stomach were frequently groped, pinched, and caressed; you name it, Sergeant MacTavish did it. He came up from behind with a champagne flute for her, pressing against her as his hands snaked around to cradle her belly. Kissing obviously wasn’t off the table, his warm lips frequently finding hers; he had enough decency to keep that portion of the night brief.

Finally, after an hour and a half of loving it up with her husband’s best friend, Johnny turned Freyja into a pillar, forcing her to squeak in surprise. Gentle kisses pecked from her collar up to her ear, using his body as a shield.

“You’re going to get us in trouble,” she whispered, keeping up the appearance of a drunk, handsy couple by carding her fingers through the back of his mohawk.

He chuckled against her hair. “That’s the idea, Hen. Figure one o’ us should get a good fuck outta tonight.” Frey rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to shove him. “Eyes on the target. She’s had a chance tae get settled. Move in on yer mark.”

She followed his guidance, subtle pressure at the base of her skull pointing her in the direction of their target. Thankfully, a small purse dangled by the woman’s pelvis on a long chain, ripe for the picking. If all went according to plan, Soap would walk them into each other, allowing her to switch the dummy in his pocket with the real thing.

Freyja initiated their objective by stepping in that direction but allowed her companion to take the lead. Clinging to his bicep and stumbling slightly, she whined, “You are in so much trouble when we get home!”

“Aw, c’mon Bonnie! Ah just cannae help myself!” he purred, bending to nibble her ear and give her a reason to jerk away.

“Hey, stop that!” As she lunged to the left, she fell out of the Sergeant’s grasp and into the young woman, grabbing her to keep upright. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

“What the fuck!” She wheeled on them, eyes wide at the sudden intrusion into her conversation. “Watch where you’re going!”

Freyja huffed angrily in Johnny’s direction, straightening herself and her dress. “I am so sorry about him. You know how men can be. Always impatient.”

“Unfortunately,” the woman mumbled, nose turned up in disgust. If Freyja could rely on anything, she could always lean on most women’s mutual distaste for men. While it always felt distasteful to manipulate while undercover, it got the job done.

With a soft huff, Freyja grabbed Soap’s hand again and departed with a soft wave, tugging him toward their exit point. Ghost was nowhere in sight.

According to plan, the Brit had dipped into the women’s bathroom when he was sure the lift was successful, and they would eventually follow. Going into the bathroom after two people clearly looking for a space to hook up would look suspicious. The real trick was leaving enough time between their entrances that nobody would notice, without waiting too long for the other guards to notice Ghost’s absence.

She used her best high-pitched, giggling squeal and ditzy movements, swatting at the wandering hands pawing at the shiny, smooth material of her outfit. It had been at least two minutes since Ghost had disappeared, and she decided that was enough leeway for them to follow without raising any alarms. But just as her palm pressed against the cool doorknob, her ally stopped behind her.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Freyja felt the abdominal muscles under Soap’s shirt tense; otherwise, his composure remained unchanged. “Sorry?” he asked with a laugh, keeping his body turned toward her. She refrained from ripping the stranger’s hand off Johnny’s shoulder and ripping back his ring finger–

The man smiled, perfect white teeth nearly sparkling in the light. “Ye owe meh a drink! C’mon, one more shot fur a fellow Scotsman?”

“Shite! Ah completely forgot!” Johnny hovered over her still and bent to run his nose along the shell of her ear. “Ah’ll be right behind ye. Just give me a fiver to finish my drink, aye?”

“Sure thing.” Freyja hung her hands on the lapels of his jacket, anchoring him in place to stretch and purr in his ear, “Don’t take too long.”

She was so fucking dead when they got home. Likely won’t walk right for days.

Barely halfway through the door, a firm grip pulled her into the room, slammed the door shut with her body, then wrapped around her throat. Her heels brought her just a bit closer to her husband’s height, brown eyes practically set ablaze. Ghost had abandoned his jacket and rolled the sleeves of his button-down, exposing the black ink on one forearm.

I should put in for a day or two off.

“Did you not learn your lesson last time?” Ghost asked, low-pitched and gravelly as if he had been restraining himself for hours. He probably had been. “Must’ve been too generous. Let’s try this again.” A man on a mission, he swiftly twisted the lock on the handle and hauled her with him several steps away from the door before forcing Freyja to her knees. His touch moved to cup her jaw.

“Broke my fucking finger watching him touch you, touch what’s mine. This mouth-” His digits snatched her cheeks, making her painted lips purse with a soft whimper. “-is mine. Your cunt is mine. Your body is mine – facts you’ve apparently forgotten. Let me remind you.”

Freyja gulped helplessly when his other hand slid the leather strap of his belt out of the buckle, then looked up at him through her mascara-coated lashes.

“Soap-“

“I. Don’t. Care. Do it.”

Her cheeks were enflamed under her blush, but she still raised a brow at him. Again, Simon wasn’t known to be a jealous man; they were very secure in their relationship, trusting each other completely. Plus, Johnny was in a committed, loving relationship, after all. But still, watching his best friend all over her, purposefully egging him on and pushing boundaries…

Anyone would lose their patience.

Her nails, painted to match her color scheme for the evening, worked at undoing his slacks and dropping them and his underwear down enough to free his already hard member. Slacks which, by the way, were fitted perfectly to hug his ungodly figure. Saliva pooled in her mouth at the sight, her hole already clenching around nothing. 

As if he had read her mind, Ghost seized the back of her head and snarled, “I’m beginning to lose my patience, love.”

Suddenly he was buried down her throat, to the hilt. Tears sprang to her eyes; she moved to dig into his thighs for purchase, which earned her additional pressure at the back of her head. “No touching.”

All Freyja could do was blink up at him and hold her hands behind her back, hoping he understood the message. Thankfully, he let up and slowly drew out before easing back in, fucking her throat with soft moans and the occasional curse. Ghost groaned at the sight of his precum and her spit gathering in his blond curlies, her dark lipstick smudging on his cock, tear streaks running lines in her makeup…

She flattened her tongue, bobbing her head with a steady rhythm while breathing through her nose and intermittently taking him until her nose was enshrouded in coarse hair. Even if she wasn’t getting off, and Ghost’s pretty face was hidden by his mask, the expressions in his eyes as she edged him toward his release were almost as satisfying.

“Fuck, you like that?” he questioned, hoarse and needy. “Almost like you were – hngh, shit – hoping I’d p-punish you.”

Even submissive, vulnerable on her knees before him and choking on his cock, Freyja still made him stutter and whimper. How many hours had he spent uncomfortably hard, keeping his dutiful post as their backup? Observing the near obscene show Soap had put on?

Ghost leaned his torso forward, supporting his weight against the wall with his free hand. He didn’t have to tell her he was close; even with his controlled breathing, his eyes threatening to flutter shut was a dead giveaway. Still, the head of his cock popped out of her mouth, garnering her attention again.

“How much of me can you take?”

“All of it.”

“Bloody hell…” He presented himself again, the hooded tip resting against her lips. “Lick.”

She immediately ducked under him and laid her tongue against the vein on the underside of his dick, applying soft, slow pressure to the tip again before taking him back in her mouth. Freyja picked up the speed and hummed around him, pushing (or rather, pulling) him closer and closer…

“Fucking shit – take it, take it, take it–”

His warm cum spilled down her throat, but she continued slowly guiding Ghost through his orgasm as he pulsated and huffed quietly above her. Freyja basked in the way he flinched, eyes closed as her touch bordered on overstimulating and torturous.

Satisfied and out of breath, Ghost jerked his hips away to avoid any more of her touch and offered his wife his hands. She immediately took them and was pulled to her feet effortlessly with a moment to find her balance. When he was finished tucking himself back into his trousers and fastening his belt again, Ghost slid the delicate strap of her dress that had slipped off her shoulder back into place, his gentle touch dragging across her skin.

Freyja was about to speak when the door rattled, someone trying to open it before they both heard a familiar accent on the other side. “Bonnie? ‘S me, open up.”

She gestured for him to stand out of sight for a moment while she unlocked the door and opened it just enough to let Soap in, careful not to expose her current state to others who may be watching from the party. When it was closed and secured again, Johnny took in their appearances; Freyja, clearly dazed with her hair tousled and makeup smudged, and Ghost, with his fly down, shirt untucked, and blazer tossed carelessly onto the sink.

Then, with the absolute, most shit-eating grin, said, “Ye’r welcome, Hen.”

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[thewulf]

Breaking Point || Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: Request -I've got this itch for some hurt/comfort with Simon Ghost Riley and the reader from TF 141. Reader's this badass sniper, always on top of her game. But one day she wakes up feeling under the weather. She decides to push through training, but things take a turn when she starts feeling faint during drills after Price gives her shit for not training hard... Read Rest Here

A/N: Ahhh this was challenging but so much fun to right. Please let me know your thoughts below :) Got a little carried away with this one!

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 7.7k +

TW: Heat Stroke, Flu, Illness, general COD warnings.

Four years ago, you were a part of a special training assignment with the American Navy, deployed in a remote and sweltering military base off the coast of Africa. It was here in the middle of the grueling drills and relentless heat that you caught the eye of Captain John Price. Your prowess with a rifle was unmistakable. Every target set before you fell without fail. But what truly set you apart was your demeanor: you kept your head down, focused intensely on the task at hand, never boasting about your undeniable skills.

Captain Price who was always on the lookout for exceptional talent to add to Task Force 141, saw in you a rare combination of humility and sharpshooting expertise. Recognizing your potential he pulled some strings, navigated through the complexities of the American Military bureaucracy, and somehow successfully recruited you into the prestigious ranks of TF 141. This marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life. One that would challenge your resilience and skill more than any previous assignment.

Joining TF 141 wasn't just a promotion. It was being welcomed into a family of elite soldiers. While Soap and Gaz took an immediate liking to you, appreciating your wit and marksmanship, Ghost was initially more reserved. His trust was not easily won. It had to be earned on the battlefield not just through training exercises back at base.

Your defining moment came during a perilous mission in the frozen expanses of Russia within your first year with the 141. The mission had quickly gone sideways. Ghost found himself in the deadly crosshairs of an enemy sniper. With the situation deteriorating rapidly and no clear shot available to him your actions in those critical seconds would forever change the dynamics of your relationship with Ghost. From a concealed position you took out the opposing sniper with a single, precise shot, saving Ghost’s life.

This act erased any last reservations Ghost might have held. From then on he saw you not just as another sharpshooter but as an indispensable member of the team, his team. Your ability to make life-saving decisions under intense pressure proved your strength. Not just in terms of physical prowess but in intellectual and tactical acumen as well.

Since then you have become an integral part of TF 141's operations. Your journey from a promising recruit noticed by Captain Price to a pivotal player in some of the team’s most critical missions has been defined by relentless dedication and the deep trust you've earned from some of the military's toughest warriors.

The shrill beep of the alarm slices through the stillness of your room dragging you from the shallow waters of restless sleep into the harsh reality of dawn. For a moment as you blink against the dim light filtering through the barracks' curtains, the room spins slightly—a disorienting dance that forces you to close your eyes again.

You’ve always been the type who never gets sick. The one who breezes through the cold season unscathed while others succumb around you. Your robust health has been a point of pride, a badge of reliability in TF 141. But this morning something is different, and you know it immediately.

Your body aches profoundly, each muscle groaning with a weariness that feels bone-deep, and your head pounds with the relentless rhythm of a dull, throbbing drum. Swallowing feels like dragging sandpaper down your throat. An unfortunate wave of nausea rolls through you as you sit up. It has to be the flu, you think grimly, recognizing the unmistakable and unforgiving symptoms.

Despite the clear signs of illness, the thought of calling in sick doesn’t even cross your mind. It’s not just about pride. There’s also a deep-seated belief that you can handle anything, a belief that has carried you through countless challenges.

With a heavy, determined sigh, you push yourself off the bed. Standing unsteadily for a moment, you use the wall to keep yourself upright. Today is not the day to show weakness, not the day to break your perfect record of health. You decide to power through. To dress and join your team for the morning drills under the rising sun. The thought of letting them down by your absence is more daunting than the physical discomfort threatening to overwhelm you.As you gear up, each movement measured and more deliberate than usual, you steel yourself for the day ahead. Today, you'll prove—not just to your team, but to yourself—that not even the flu can keep you from standing alongside your comrades.

Stepping out into the cool, pre-dawn air, you allow yourself a moment to feel the chill against your fevered skin. It’s oddly refreshing, a natural contrast to the unnatural heat of your illness. It’s bound to be short lived though as the sun’s rays already feel warm on your skin. The training field is a short walk away and with each step you rehearse the day’s routine in your mind. A mantra against the physical discomfort.

As the briefing wraps up and the team begins to disperse to their respective training stations you feel the weight of Ghost’s gaze right on you. Despite the heaviness of your limbs and the fog in your brain, this unspoken solidarity from your teammates, especially Ghost, gives you a sliver of strength.

With each step towards the day’s first drill your resolve hardens. You're not just fighting the flu; you're fighting to maintain the trust and respect you’ve earned. Today, the battlefield is here, within yourself, and you're determined to prove your mettle. You are keenly aware of being one of the few women in the unit and the additional scrutiny that comes with it. It's crucial that you show no weakness even as your body wages its quiet rebellion. Your head pounds with a relentless ache. Your limbs are heavy. And every breath feels like an effort. Despite these symptoms screaming flu, you've chosen silence—no complaints, no excuses.

When you arrive at the training field the usual bustle of activity sharply contrasts with your internal struggle. Everyone is focused on what needs to be done, their attention solely on performance. As Captain Price begins the morning briefing his voice sounds like a distant echo in your ears drowned out by the pounding in your head. The day's challenges loom large, testing your limits before you've even started.

As you make your way to the lineup, the crisp morning air begins to turn warm, almost uncomfortable warm already. Soap falls into step beside you, his familiar grin lighting up his face as he launches into the light-hearted banter that typically marks your mornings together.

“Morning! Ready to outshoot us all again today?” Soap teases before giving you a gentle nudge with his elbow, expecting your usual lively retort.

You manage only a weak smile, one that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and nod faintly. The flu has buried your usual quick wit under a heavy weight of fatigue and discomfort. It takes all your effort just to keep standing without revealing how much you're struggling.

Soap’s smile quickly falters at your lack of reply, his eyes narrowing in concern. “You okay, lass?” he asks. His tone shifting to something more serious.

You nod again, swallowing hard against the surge of nausea. “Yeah, just tired,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. You're careful not to reveal the full extent of your ailment, not here, not in front of your team.

From a short distance away Ghost's intense gaze follows the exchange. Though his presence is more subdued, and his demeanor reserved, his attention to detail remains sharp. You can feel his concern even without words. His posture is alert, his body tensed as if ready to act at a moment's notice.

Ghost offers no overt gestures of worry; he doesn't need to. The slight tightening of his stance is a silent signal of his readiness to intervene. His eyes, just visible through the slits of his mask, never wander, tracking your every move with a vigilance that speaks volumes. You know he's always watching out for his team, and today, his protective focus is unmistakably fixed on you.

"Alright, let's warm up! Start with sprints!" Captain Price commands. His voice cuts through the morning air, decisive and clear. You line up with your teammates, the grass cool and slightly damp under your boots. The whistle pierces the calm, and you propel yourself forward. Each step is a battle, your muscles protesting every movement. Yet you push through the fatigue and dizziness.

After sprints the drills shift to push-ups. Down on the warm, wet grass you feel the earth against your palms, stabilizing yet unforgiving. You count each repetition, your muscles burning and a thin layer of sweat forming, which only seems to heighten the chills that intermittently rack your body.

Sit-ups come next and with each crunch a wave of nausea threatens your composure. The world tilts slightly with each lift, blurring at the edges. Captain Price’s footsteps approach. His presence looming. "Let’s see that strength, Y/N! Don’t slack now!" he urges. The encouragement is meant to inspire but it feels like a heavy mantle on your already burdened shoulders.

“Yes sir.” You manage to get out between crunches.

As you struggle through each exercise you can't ignore the hot flashes followed by chills, the hallmark of flu symptoms. Each movement is more taxing than the last and the temptation to give in and rest grows stronger. However, your determination doesn't waver. You are here to prove yourself, to demonstrate that neither flu nor fatigue can break your resolve. You need to showcase the unwavering strength of not just a skilled sniper, but a resilient soldier.

As the whistle blows, Captain Price directs everyone to break into their respective teams for more specialized, team-based drills. You find yourself grouped with Ghost, Gaz, and Soap. Your usual teammates and three of the unit's most competent operatives. Your heart sinks a bit. Their proficiency and teamwork are unmatched and under normal circumstances you would feel invigorated by the challenge. Today, however, it feels like an uphill battle.

"Alright, team," Gaz announces with a nod, "we’re up for the relay sprints and tactical positioning exercises. We need to be sharp and synchronized. Let's show these assholes how it's done."

You nod silently, attempting to muster a semblance of enthusiasm. Soap claps you on the shoulder giving you a reassuring smile, likely mistaking your subdued quietness for focused determination rather than the fatigue that’s slowly overtaking you.

The drills begin with relay sprints. You watch as Soap takes off with his usual speed. His figure swiftly cutting through the warming afternoon air. Gaz follows, moving with practiced ease. Then it’s your turn. As you push off your legs feel as though they are wading through molasses, your usually sharp agility significantly dulled by the flu’s tenacious grip. Each step feels heavier than the last as your breathing becomes ragged and unsteady.

Compounding your discomfort, the gear you're clad in feels unbearably hot against your skin. The layers that are usually a second nature in your fieldwork now seem like a furnace, trapping in every ounce of body heat. Your temperature rises not just from the fever, but also from the exhaustive exertion and the insulated heat from your tactical vest. Sweat beads on your forehead, not entirely from the physical activity but also from the early signs of heat exhaustion—your body’s desperate attempt to cool down under the layers.

Despite feeling increasingly overheated and nearly overwhelmed, you hide your discomfort well. Your face remains stoic, betraying none of the battle raging within your body against the heat and illness. To an outsider you might just appear intensely focused. But beneath the surface you're fighting a much tougher battle, trying to keep pace while your body screams for relief.

Ghost, from his vantage point, watches closely. His sharp eyes catch the subtle signs that others might miss—the slight falter in your step, the way you're breathing a little too hard after your sprint. His gaze intensifies with concern etched across his face as he monitors your every move, aware that something isn’t right but waiting for you to signal if you need assistance.

When you pass the baton to Ghost your hand trembles slightly. He catches it and for a brief moment your eyes meet. There's a flash of concern across his usually impassive face, a subtle shift that speaks volumes. He nods at you before taking off, his movements fluid and precise, yet his mind clearly not fully on the drill. His glance back at you is quick, discreet, checking to ensure you’re still on your feet.

As the exercises continue with the tactical positioning drills, the demands increase. This part of the training requires quick movements and even quicker thinking as each team member needs to cover different angles and work together seamlessly. You position yourself to cover Ghost’s flank, aiming to maintain your usual high standards. However, the world begins to tilt alarmingly. Your vision swims and the ground beneath you feels as if it’s shifting forcing you to steady yourself against a nearby tree.

Ghost, now at a slight distance, turns sharply in response to your stagger. His eyes narrow, not with disapproval, but with intensified concern. He makes a subtle move to close the distance between you, his instincts as a protector kicking in. Yet, he stops himself, respecting your pride and your ability to signal if you need help. He positions himself strategically, so he’s close enough to intervene quickly if needed. His body tensed and ready to act.

“Y/N, you alright?” Gaz’s voice suddenly cuts through your fog of discomfort, and you realize you’ve attracted more attention than you intended.

You straighten up quickly, nodding more sharply than necessary. “Just lost my footing for a second,” you lie. Managing a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Ghost, who has now subtly shifted his position to provide you with both physical and moral support, keeps his gaze fixed on you for a moment longer. He doesn’t call you out on your obvious discomfort. Instead, he gives you a nod, an unspoken communication between you two. It’s his way of saying he’s there, just in case, without putting you on the spot in front of the others.

His presence helps you gather your strength to continue. Despite the unease churning inside you knowing that Ghost is watching over you with such attentiveness gives you a small, but significant boost of confidence. You focus on the drills, pushing through the nausea and instability, bolstered by the knowledge that help is just a few steps away if you truly need it.

You begin to feel the oppressive heat bearing down on you more intensely than before. Each breath feels like you're inhaling fire. And the tactical gear, usually a familiar weight, now feels like an unbearable burden. Trapping too much heat against your body. More and more sweat beads on your forehead mixing with the slight dizziness that refuses to fade. The discomfort is escalating and despite your best efforts to mask it the heat is becoming unmanageable.

Ghost was still maintaining a discreet distance, watches you with sharp, observant eyes. He senses the subtle changes in your posture and the slight grimace that you can't quite hide each time you move. His concern deepens but he waits for a sign from you, respecting your pride and your position within the team.

As the drills continue you find it increasingly difficult to focus. The world seems to shimmer with heat around the edges and you feel a wave of nausea stronger than before. Recognizing that you might be in more trouble than you initially thought you catch Ghost's gaze across the field. It's a silent plea for understanding, a subtle acknowledgment that you do need his help after all.

Ghost responds immediately, his instincts as your LT kicking into high gear. He crosses the distance between you with a few quick strides. His approach discreet yet filled with purpose. “Everything okay?” he asks quietly. His voice low enough that only you can hear. It’s clear he’s prepared to step in, to offer whatever support you need without drawing unwanted attention to your struggle.

Your attempt to respond is less than reassuring. "Heat… too, it’s not the... can't—why can’t the air?" you mumble. Your words tangling into an unintelligible mess, a clear indicator that you are far from alright.

The expression behind Ghost's mask tightens, his protective instincts flaring as he assesses your condition with even greater alarm. Your face is flushed from more than just the heat. It's clear you're struggling significantly under the weight of your gear and the relentless sun.

At that moment Captain Price's voice cuts sharply through the air, his tone laced with the urgency of the drill. "Let's move it, Ghost, Y/N!" he commands from a distance, seemingly oblivious to the severity of your distress. His focus is on the continuity and discipline of the training. Unaware that one of his own is teetering on the edge of collapse.

Ghost’s response is swift and decisive. Without drawing attention to the situation, he steadies you with one arm, his other hand signaling subtly to Captain Price that something isn’t right. "Give us a moment, sir," he calls back firmly, his tone respectful yet insistent enough to convey the seriousness of the issue without alarming the entire unit.

He turns back to you, his gaze intense. "We need to get you out of the sun," he states quietly, directing you towards a shaded area nearby. His hand remains supportively on your back, guiding but not pushing. His presence a steady force as you stagger slightly under your own weight.

Once under the shade, Ghost helps you remove your tactical vest, easing the burden of the heat trapped against your body. The cooler air hits your skin, offering a momentary relief that you hadn't realized you needed so desperately. But as your body starts to cool an unexpected shiver runs through you, violent and uncontrollable. It feels as though the temperature has plummeted, though the day remains swelteringly hot.

"Ghost," you stutter out between shivers, "it's so cold." Your teeth chatter, a stark contrast to the sweat that still beads on your forehead. The sudden coldness is disorienting, confusing, and you clutch at your arms in an attempt to warm yourself.

"Simon," you manage to say between shivers. His actual name slipping out amidst the confusion—an unusual slip that does not escape his notice. Ghost, or Simon as you now call him, recognizes the gravity of the situation immediately. The usual protocols and formalities fade into the background as he prioritizes your wellbeing above all else.

You blink rapidly trying to focus as your surroundings become a blur. The ground seems to tilt beneath you for a second time and a wave of darkness edges your vision. Simon watches you closely with an arm around your waist in case. His trained eyes catching every sign of your deteriorating condition.

“Hang on,” he urges. His voice steady but the concern is palpable. Before he can offer more reassurance your knees buckle beneath you. Your body finally giving way to the overwhelming symptoms. And suddenly the world goes dark in your eyes.

Simon catches you before you hit the ground his arms securing you firmly yet gently. “Medic!” he shouts. The urgency in his voice cutting through the morning air without a hint of hesitation. Captain Price who had been overseeing the drills from a short distance, turns sharply at the sound. His quick assessment of the situation bringing him running.

Price approaches just as Simon adjusts his hold on you, bringing your body to the ground so you were laying.  “What happened?” Price asks. His voice a mix of command and concern.

“Heat stroke, I think—she’s out,” Simon responds curtly. His gaze fixed on you as he checks your pulse and looks for any sign of recovery. Your brief moments of unconsciousness are fleeting but each second is critical.

As you flutter your eyes open, confusion mingles with the need to communicate. “Simon... it’s all spinning,” you murmur with your voice overly weak. The use of his first name again in such a vulnerable state only cements his resolve to get you the help you need immediately.

As Simon kneels beside you he carefully supports your head, his eyes searching yours for any sign of recognition. “Can you tell me where you are?” he asks again. His voice a mix of firmness and concern trying to assess the level of your disorientation.

You blink slowly but the effort to focus feeling monumental. Your gaze drifts over the familiar yet strangely distant figures of Soap and Gaz before returning to Simon. “We're... in Bosnia?” you murmur hesitantly, the name of a recent mission location slipping out, completely unrelated to your current setting on the training field.

Simon’s expression tightens, a flicker of worry crossing his features as he realizes the depth of your confusion. He exchanges a quick, grave look with Captain Price who has been monitoring the situation closely. The incorrect answer confirms the seriousness of your condition, prompting Price to look around, expecting the medics to be approaching swiftly.

However, as Simon scans the area his frustration mounts. The medics, possibly delayed or misinformed about the severity of the situation, are nowhere in sight. Realizing that waiting even a moment longer could jeopardize your well-being he makes a decisive call.

"Not fast enough," Simon mutters under his breath. His protective instincts overriding protocol. Without waiting for the medics to arrive he gently but firmly scoops you up in his arms. His movements are swift and determined as he begins to rush you towards the infirmary. His concern for your immediate safety taking precedence over everything else.

Captain Price, upon seeing Simon’s sudden movement, understands the gravity of the decision and immediately acts. "Clear the way!” he shouts, commanding the attention of everyone on the field.

As Simon carries you, the world around you becomes a blur of motion and sound, but his steady grip provides a reassuring constant. "Hang on love, we're almost there. Just stay with me," he urges. His voice a soothing presence amid the confusion.

With each step Simon takes your sense of time and space dims, the urgency of his stride and the rhythm of his heartbeat blending into the background noise of the base. As you approach the infirmary you see figures moving quickly to prepare for your arrival.

Simon’s pace doesn’t falter until he reaches the medical staff waiting at the infirmary doors. As he gently hands you over to their care his gaze lingers on yours filled with concern and an unspoken promise of unwavering support, no matter the circumstances.

In the cool, sterile environment of the infirmary, Ghost stands a vigilant watch beside your bed. His gaze locked onto your face as the medical team works rapidly to stabilize your condition. The typical stoic mask he wears has fallen away, replaced by an expression etched with deep concern. Each furrow of his brow and tight set of his jaw reveals more than usual concern. It speaks of a profound fear that he rarely allows others to see.

As the medical staff step back momentarily to fetch additional supplies, Ghost's role shifts subtly but significantly. He transforms from a mere observer into an active caretaker, a role those in TF 141 rarely witness. He picks up a damp cloth and gently wipes your forehead. His touch delicate and caring, betraying the roughness expected from his formidable field presence.

"Hey, love, can you hear me?" he murmurs. His voice soft and laden with a tenderness that surprises even him. The word 'love' slips out naturally. A term of endearment that he hasn't used lightly before. This slip, this small but significant deviation from his usual manner, is a clear sign of his deepening feelings. Feelings he might not have fully acknowledged until this very moment.

You blink slowly, responding to the sound of his voice. Ghost watches for any sign of recognition, any indication that you understand his presence. As you meet his gaze, there's a moment of relief that passes over his features. But it's quickly replaced by renewed worry as he continues to monitor your responses.

He is utterly overwhelmed. A feeling that's foreign to him. He's faced countless dangers without flinching but the sight of you so vulnerable stirs a fear in him that battlefield threats never have. He realizes perhaps more clearly than ever how deeply his feelings for you run. It's not just friendship or brotherly protection. It's something much deeper, more personal.

He stays close, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. The contact is meant to comfort you but it also grounds him, reminding him that you're still here, still fighting. "Stay with me, okay?" he adds quietly, almost pleadingly. This is not just a command from a superior officer; it's a personal plea from someone who cares deeply.

Ghost's presence in the infirmary becomes a constant, a guardian ensuring that no detail is overlooked, no necessary treatment delayed. His commitment to your recovery is unwavering, his actions driven by a mix of professional duty and personal concern that has become inseparable. The realization that his feelings for you have evolved adds a new weight to every decision, every action he takes on your behalf.

A few hours later, the haze of confusion and illness that enveloped your mind begins to clear slightly. As your eyes flutter open, the stark white lights of the infirmary momentarily blind you, and the unfamiliar sounds of medical equipment beep rhythmically in the background. Disoriented, you try to recall the sequence of events that led to this moment.

Sitting beside your bed, Ghost notices the subtle signs of consciousness returning. He leans forward, his presence reassuring amidst the clinical surroundings. "Hey, you're awake," he says gently. His voice a soothing contrast to the beeping machines. "Take it easy. You gave us quite a scare out there."

As fragments of memory return—the unbearable heat of the training field, your faltering steps, the feeling of collapse—your face flushes with a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. The realization that you succumbed in front of your team, particularly because of a flu exacerbating the situation, is hard to accept.

Ghost reads the embarrassment in your expression and quickly addresses it. "Listen, there’s no need to feel embarrassed. You’re dealing with the flu on top of everything else. Heat stroke is serious and it’s a lot for anyone to handle. Especially when you’re already under the weather," he reassures you earnestly.

He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. His touch grounding. "Even the toughest soldiers need to take a step back sometimes. It’s okay to acknowledge that you’re human, that you have limits. It doesn't diminish your strength," he continues in your silence. His voice imbued with empathy and understanding.

Feeling the sincerity in his words helps ease some of your discomfort. "Thanks, Simon," you manage to whisper, your voice still weak but filled with gratitude. The informal use of his first name in such a vulnerable moment speaks volumes about the trust and comfort you’ve grown to have in him.

Simon offers a gentle smile. His eyes softening. "You’re always pushing yourself to be the best and that’s certainly admirable. But sometimes, taking care of yourself is part of being the best. Don’t blame yourself for this. I certainly don’t blame you for trying," he adds, affirming his support in you.

"Sleep now. Don’t worry about the rest for now. We’re all here for you," he suggests while still holding your hand, his steady presence a comforting constant as you drift back towards unconsciousness. His commitment to your well-being is clear not just as a teammate but as someone who cares deeply on a personal level.

As you close your eyes, comforted by his words and presence, you feel a profound sense of relief. Simon's quiet vigil lets you know that no matter what, you’re not alone. Periodically, he checks the IV line and adjusts the cold packs making sure to monitor your recovery closely.. Each time you stir or grimace in discomfort, he’s there, adjusting your position or simply offering a reassuring touch.

As the hours pass Ghost remains by your side, a silent sentinel. Even as you're asleep he doesn’t leave, instead pulling up a chair to sit beside your bed. Occasionally, other members of the team peek in offering quiet words of support. But it's clear Ghost has appointed himself your primary guardian during this vulnerable time.

This unexpected role of caretaker reveals a depth to Ghost that goes beyond his tactical prowess and battlefield grit. In the infirmary, with the soft hum of medical equipment in the background, his softer, caring nature comes to the forefront, showcasing a profound sense of loyalty and protectiveness towards his team. Especially towards you.

As the day's tension slowly ebbs away in the quiet of the infirmary, you sleep deeply, recovering from the ordeal. Ghost sits steadfast by your side. His focus is solely on you. His usually impassive gaze softened by concern. The door creaks open softly as Soap and Gaz walk in. Both their faces splitting into mischievous grins when they see Ghost in his uncharacteristic role as your caretaker.

“Never thought I’d see Ghost play the doting nurse,” Soap chuckles quietly. Trying to keep his voice low to avoid disturbing you. “What’s next? Will you be knitting her a sweater?”

Gaz joins in leaning against the door frame with a smirk playing on his lips, “Maybe a nice scarf to go with it, mate. Make sure it matches her eyes, yeah?” His comment draws a soft laugh from Soap. Their teasing lightening the atmosphere of the infirmary.

Their laughter, though subdued, is a needed release after the day’s stress. It’s filled with genuine affection and respect for both you and Ghost. They understand the stakes of such moments and the bonds they forge.

Ghost, not missing a beat, shoots them a pointed look. His response is tinged with his characteristic dry humor. "Keep it up, and you'll be on the next solo recon mission in the coldest part of Siberia," he replies. His tone firm but with a faint smirk betraying his amusement.

In the background Captain Price stands silently in the doorway. His observant eyes taking in the scene. He watches Ghost’s interactions with a discerning eye, noting the subtle softness in his usually stoic demeanor. Price is no stranger to the complexities of personal dynamics within his team. And he senses the potential implications of Ghost’s deepening concern for you. There’s a hint of understanding in his gaze, mixed with caution, as he ponders the path this could lead down.

As the laughter begins to die down Price steps forward, his presence commanding a subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere. He gives Soap and Gaz a brief nod, a clear signal that it’s time for them to leave. The moment for jokes has passed and it's time to restore some decorum. As they exit Soap can’t resist throwing one final teasing comment over his shoulder. “Take good care of her, Ghost!” he calls out as his tone is playful yet sincere.

Price remains a moment longer his gaze lingering on Ghost and then shifting to you, asleep and unaware of the exchange. There’s a quiet gravity to his demeanor, an unspoken reminder of his leadership role and his understanding of the deeper currents flowing beneath the surface of his team’s interactions.

Captain Price approaches Ghost, his footsteps quiet but purposeful. He pauses beside him, his voice low and measured to ensure privacy. "Simon," he begins. His tone serious but not without warmth, "you're handling this well and it's clear you care deeply. Just remember, maintaining balance is crucial." His eyes, steady and understanding, meet Ghost's, acknowledging the depth of his concern while gently reminding him of his broader responsibilities.

"Don't lose focus. We rely on you—not just for her, but for the whole team," Price continues, his voice softening slightly to underscore his supportive intent.

Ghost nods, the gravity of Price's words resonating with him. "Understood, sir," he responds, his tone reflecting both respect for Price's leadership and an acute awareness of the weight on his shoulders.

Price places a hand on Ghost's shoulder, a gesture that speaks of his care and mutual respect. "Keep me posted. If there's anything you need don't hesitate to ask," he adds. Emphasizing his role not just as a commander but as a supporter willing to provide resources rather than merely oversee.

"Will do, sir," Ghost says, his voice steady as he watches Price prepare to leave the infirmary. Price gives him one last affirming nod—an acknowledgment of Ghost's commitment and his understanding of the emotional complexities involved. As Price walks away his demeanor reflects as a leader who trusts his team to handle personal challenges with professionalism yet remains ready to step in if the balance shifts too far.

Once alone again Ghost turns back to you, his expression softening as he adjusts the blanket around you and checks the monitors to ensure everything is as it should be. In these quiet moments his demeanor reveals the profound loyalty and protectiveness he feels. Traits that define him just as much as his combat skills.

The room is quiet, the only sounds are the gentle beeping of the medical equipment and your steady breathing. In this sanctuary away from the battlefield's chaos, Ghost’s vigilance continues, a promise of unwavering support.

In the dimly lit infirmary, the soft beeps of the monitor blend with the quiet sounds of the night. Ghost sits closely by your side, his eyes tracing over your peaceful face, contrasting sharply with the day’s earlier tension. The room is calm now, the urgency has passed, but the weight of the day lingers in the air heavy with unspoken words.

Leaning closer Ghost watches you for a long moment. His expression a mix of concern and something softer, more vulnerable. He knows you can’t hear him, but the words slip out quietly anyway. A whisper meant only for you. "You’re killing me here, love," he murmurs. The hint of a smile touching his lips despite the worry in his eyes. It’s a rare admission. One that reveals just how deeply he’s been affected by your condition.

He sighs lightly, the sound almost lost in the quiet of the room. Adjusting the blanket around you one last time to ensure you’re as comfortable as possible, he finally leans back in his chair. His gaze remains fixed on you a moment longer as a guardian watching over you.

Realizing the lateness of the hour and the exhaustion settling into his bones Ghost decides he wasn’t willing to leave you yet. Not when you’d hardly regained consciousness and certainly not when you might need him upon waking. He shifts to make himself as comfortable as possible in the chair beside your bed, his body angled to keep you in sight.

As he settles in, his eyes slowly close but it’s clear he’s not completely given over to sleep. Even in rest, he’s alert, ready to wake at the slightest change in your condition. In this quiet vigil, his presence is both a promise and a protection. A steadfast commitment to be there for you when you finally do wake.

The night deepens around the two of you. The soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor a constant in the otherwise still room. Ghost, in his chair, remains by your side. A figure in the dim light embodying both the warrior and the caretaker in this rare moment of peace.

As the first light of dawn begins to filter through the blinds of the infirmary your eyes flutter open greeting the new day with a mix of confusion and sluggish awareness. Initially, your vision is blurry, the shapes and colors of the room melding into indistinct forms. Gradually though your eyes adjust, and the figure slumped in the chair beside your bed comes into sharper focus. Ghost, asleep, his head resting awkwardly against the wall.

The sight of him so uncharacteristically vulnerable in sleep immediately warms your heart. Despite the residual fog clouding your mind a soft smile plays on your lips. "Ghost," you call out, your voice hoarse but audible enough to stir him from his light slumber.

At the sound of your voice Ghost snaps awake, instantly alert. He straightens up before rubbing the stiffness from his neck as he turns to face you. His eyes that displayed a flicker of reprieve meet yours. "Hey, you're awake," he says. His voice rough with sleep but tinged with unmistakable relief. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better, thanks to you," you reply. Your voice was still weak but filled with gratitude. "You stayed all night?"

Ghost nods, a soft expression crossing his face as he hears your voice. This subtle return to normalcy reassures him. Warming his heart and letting him know you must be feeling a bit better to revert to familiar terms. "Yes, I stayed. Didn’t want you to wake up alone here," he replies. His tone gentle. Ghost’s eyes scan your face for signs of pain or lingering confusion, ever the vigilant guardian.

"Thanks, Ghost. Really," you manage to say feeling comforted not only by his presence but also by the return to a semblance of normalcy. His constant vigilance, even as you slept, speaks volumes of his dedication not just to his duty but to you personally.

Ghost offers a slight smile, one that reaches his eyes this time. "No need to thank me. Just glad to see you're doing better," he says. He pulls a chair closer to your bed, settling in. "Need anything? Water? More pain meds?" he asks. Ready to assist with whatever you might need.

The simple exchange is light yet filled with unspoken care helps to ease the remaining tension from the ordeal. As Ghost continues to make sure you’re comfortable, you feel a profound sense of safety and appreciation for the bond that has only deepened through this experience. The conversation drifts into a comfortable silence filled with unspoken understanding and mutual respect. In this quiet early morning hour, a new layer of your relationship has been gently unfolded. Revealing the depth of connection that hardship and vulnerability can foster.

As the morning sun continues to pour a warm glow into the infirmary the doctor finishes his examination and nods with satisfaction. "You’ve made a remarkable recovery. I think you're ready to be discharged today. Just remember to take it easy for the next few days," he advises as he begins to pack away his equipment.

Ghost's reaction is almost immediate, his brow furrowing with concern. "Are you sure she’s ready?" he questions the doctor. His voice carrying a protective edge that makes you smile inwardly. His overt protectiveness is both touching and reassuring. A stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor.

The doctor, accustomed to dealing with the cautious nature of soldiers about their comrades, reassures him with a confident nod. "Yes, she's stable. Just ensure she rests and avoids any strenuous activity. She should be fine," he explains patiently.

Despite the reassurance Ghost still looks unconvinced. His gaze flicking back to you, searching for any sign of discomfort or lingering weakness. "Maybe another day for observation?" he suggests. His tone half-questioning, half-requesting. It's evident he'd prefer you stay under medical supervision a bit longer.

Your heart warms at his concern and though you find his overprotectiveness endearing, you keep your thoughts to yourself. Instead, offering him a reassuring squeeze of his hand instead. "Ghost, I think I’ll be okay," you assure him gently trying to alleviate his worries.

Ghost manages a small smile. His usual impassive facade softening. "Just making sure," he mutters. Though his eyes remain tender with concern. He finally nods accepting the doctor's verdict, but his posture stays alert, protective.

"Alright, I’ll hold you to that. But we’re taking it slow for the next few days. I’ll let Price know." he declares. His tone firm, directed more at himself than anyone else.

As the doctor leaves Ghost assists you in gathering your belongings. His movements careful and considerate. He checks in frequently asking if you're feeling alright to continue, his cautiousness evident but heartening. It’s clear that although you’ve been given the all-clear Ghost will be keeping a close eye on you, ensuring your recovery proceeds without issue.

His unwavering attention not only makes you feel deeply cared for but also subtly deepens the bond between you, underscoring a shift in your relationship where his role as protector has become as instinctive as it is essential.

As you swing your legs off the bed and attempt to stand a momentary wave of dizziness makes your legs waver slightly. Instantly, Ghost is there, his hand firm on your waist, steadying you. His touch is gentle yet secure, grounding you in the moment.

You laugh it off with a light flush coloring your cheeks. "Just wobbly legs," you joke trying to ease the tension you feel from his close presence. Despite your attempt to downplay the situation your movements are still a bit too brisk. A clear sign you might be overestimating your current strength.

Ghost doesn't smile but there's a tenderness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. "Take it slow, love," he advises, his tone almost demanding. His hand remains on your back as a discreet but constant presence. He guides you slowly out of the infirmary. You feel the steadiness of his support with each step you take. His careful pace ensures you don't overexert yourself, allowing you time to adjust as you walk. The corridor seems longer than you remember but Ghost’s reassuring presence makes the journey feel safer, more manageable.

"You don’t have to rush this," he continues. Sensing your eagerness to prove your recovery. "We’ll get there when we get there." His words are simple but effective reminding you that your health is the priority not the speed of your recovery.

As you proceed you lean slightly into his support realizing how crucial his support has been, not just physically but also emotionally. Ghost’s unwavering steadiness helps bolster your confidence, making you feel that no matter how shaky your steps might be you won't fall as long as he’s by your side.

The walk back to your room is quiet but comfortable. It’s filled with an unspoken understanding that something significant has shifted between you. When you reach your door, Ghost finally pulls his hand away, but the warmth of his touch lingers.

"Thanks again, Ghost. For everything," you say while meeting his gaze. It's an open acknowledgment of all he's done and all he might continue to do.

"Anytime, love. Just... please take care of yourself," he responds. There’s a promise in his words, an implication that he'll always be nearby, watching over you.

As you reach the door to your quarters, Simon pauses, his hand resting lightly against the frame. "Can I help you get settled back in?" he asks. His tone as soft as it has been before, something new that has overcome him in your incident. His concern clearly evident.

You nod, touched by his attentiveness and as you enter your room he follows close behind. Simon watches carefully as you slowly make your way to your bed and sit down, still feeling a bit shaky. The room is familiar and comforting but his presence makes it feel even safer, more serene.

Once you're seated on the bed, he scans the room quickly, always alert for what you might need. "You sure you don't need anything else? Some more water? A snack?” Ghost asks, already moving towards your small kitchenette. He assumed a role that went beyond duty into something more personal.

You smile at his back, warmed by his concern. "I’m fine, Ghost. Really," you reassure him. But he shakes his head, not entirely convinced.

"It's no trouble at all. You should eat something," he insists gently while fetching a glass of water and a small snack from your stash. Simple things that you hadn't thought you’d needed until he presented them. As he hands you the glass his fingers brush yours lightly, sending a small, unexpected shiver up your arm. You thank him with a soft smile, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Noticing a few strands of hair falling over your face, Simon reaches out and gently brushes them back, his touch delicate and caring. His hand lingers for a moment, a silent expression of his deeper feelings.

You’re momentarily stunned but thrilled, nonetheless. You find it hard to find words as his hand lingers on your face. "I know I keep thanking you but thanks again Simon. For... well, for everything," you say after a moment. Your voice low and sincere. Using his first name feels natural, reflecting the shift in your relationship.

He pauses, looking into your eyes with an intensity that makes your heart flutter. "I’m here because I want to be, not because I have to be," he replies. His voice so soft it’s nearly a whisper, revealing the depth of his feelings.

"If you need anything else, just let me know. I'll be just a call away, love," He adds imbued with a warmth that reassures and comforts. His use of ‘love’ is tender, an endearment that resonates deeply, marking a significant moment in your ever evolving relationship.

He gives you a lingering look that was filled with care and a promise of protection before he reluctantly steps towards the door. There's a hint of hesitation in his movement, a subtle pause that conveys his desire to stay longer.

As he exits, gently closing the door behind him, you lie back against your pillows, the glass of water in your hand. His presence has left a comforting warmth in the room. A sense of safety that lulls you towards rest. The thought of Simon being just a call away brings a smile to your face. And as you close your eyes it’s not just the fatigue that makes you feel at ease. It’s knowing Simon is there, caring for you with a tenderness that goes beyond the call of duty.

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[dustcrumbs]

I love the idea of Dust just having a gun. I personally see Dust as a guy who fights far distance. And being forced into close combat, while not bad at it, it restricts him a lot. Even worse when it comes to hand to hand combat since he probably isn't physically strong. He's fast but not necessarily the strongest.

So, having a gun would cover his weakness.

And also to add more on how i believe the gang fights.

Horror would rarely strike first. He's probably more of a defensive player. He blocks blows and keeps the stars from getting close to Dust. It's hard to fight when someone(dust) is shooting blasters and bones at you. And being unable to knock that problem out when you're being continuously shoved further away by a brute with immense strength. (Horror can pack a PUNCH. I PROMISE YOU.)

Also because I believe that Horror, being the defense, matches my HC of his urge to protect and shield people. And not wanting to necessarily kill unless provoked or necessary. Horror is even given permission by Nightmare to not kill anyone unless deemed necessary for survival.

Now, onto how Killer fights. He'd prefer to fight in close combat, not necessarily hand to hand, though. Killer would struggle to fight far distance because of the issue with his vision. With the tears flowing out of his eyes, he'd struggle to see things from far away. Which can allow his target to escape if he struggles to spot where they are from a far. He also isn't very strategic with his blows. He'd be the opposite of Dust, who fights with strategy and logic. Killer fights with luck and opportunity. He prefers his fight to be fun without thinking or processing the possibility of failing. He also likes to confuse his victim, pulling out random jabs at them or teasing. His idea of a fight is excitement, not if it's life or death. He doesn't take fighting seriously unless he gets badly injured or someone else in the gang is almost ripped apart. Killers' unpredictability would give him an advantage in fighting. Since you don't know if he's willing to risk an arm of his own. Or yours. Also one more thing.. Killer, if not already fighting someone, he'd take on whoever Horror is dealing with. Ya know, making sure the defense isn't forced into the offense.

I fully believe that Nightmare has crazy strength in both physical and magical compartments. His preferred fighting tactic is close combat, and he'd only get into hand to hand combat when pissed off or forced into it by a stronger force. Far distance is when he doesn't necessarily take his victim seriously, that he doesn't have to get down there to fight them. Or that he's injured badly or too weak for his opponent at the moment.

That's kinda it..

Dust is like a sniper (He'd probably have a revolver or pistol and an actual sniper depending on the mission.)

Horror is the defense and also keeps people from getting to Dust.

Killer is close combat

Nightmare is able to fight no matter what. That old man can throw hands, trust 🙏

I wrote this down in case I wanted to draw it later. But also if you guys have your own personal ideas.. Let me know, I'd actually love to read how you guys think they fight as a team. 😼

[reasonandempathy]

As part of its ongoing genocide, which started on 7 October 2023, the Israeli army is using new disturbing techniques to intimidate, lure, and target Palestinian civilians in the central Gaza Strip’s Nuseirat refugee camp.

Testimonies from camp residents, which were provided to the Euro-Med Monitor team, confirm that the sound of women screaming and babies crying was heard late at night on both Sunday and Monday. When some of the residents went out to investigate and tried to help, they were shot at by Israeli quadcopter drones. The sounds they had heard were in fact recordings played by the Israeli drones, with the intent of forcing the camp’s residents out into the streets, where they could be easily targeted by snipers and other weaponry.

According to the testimonies, this tactic also involved broadcasting gunshots, armed conflicts, explosions, military vehicle movements, and occasionally songs in Hebrew and Arabic in order to psychologically intimidate civilians who live amid total darkness at night and total disconnection from the external world.

Secondary Reporting from Yahoo

REPORTS have emerged of Israeli drones playing recordings of women and children crying to lure Palestinians to locations where they can be targeted before opening fire.

Residents of Gaza’s Nuseirat refugee camp – situated in the north – said they were woken up on Monday night to sounds of babies crying and women calling out for help.

When they went to help, they reported Israeli drones opening fire on them. According to witnesses at the scene, up to ten people were injured by the drone fire overnight.

One resident told the Middle East Eye that they heard a woman screaming for help, saying, “Help me, my son was martyred”.

[mivalyn]

♡ His to command ♡

18+, mdni!

König x fem!reader (contains smut)

Word count: 1,912

You had quickly made a name for yourself in KorTac, your sniper skills earning the respect of even the most seasoned operatives. Precision, discipline, and a cool head under presure were your trademarks. You prided yourself on keeping things professional, always putting the mission first. Yet, there was one man who consistently disrupted your focus - König.

König was unlike anyone you´d ever worked with. Tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding a quiet authority, his commanding presence made it impossible to ignore him. With every step he took, the room seemed to shrink around him. His voice, deep and resonant, always carried the weight of someone used to giving orders. Oftel laced with a heavy German accent, his words carried an edge that made everything he said feel more pointed, more deliberate.

While the others in the team found him intimidating, you felt something else entirely: intrigue. He wasn't just a leader in the field-he was something more, someone who commanded not only respect but curiosity. And your curiosity had grown over the past few months of working with him. Your interactions started out as professional, respectful nods exchanged after successful missions, but over time, your conversations became more personal. It was in the way König would offer you his thoughts after missions - his sharp, almost clinical perspective softened by quiet moments of humor.

And then there was the way he looked at you. A glance that seemed to last just a moment too long. And his protection - always keeping an eye on you, his movements always ensuring your safety, even when you didn't need it. The gesture had started to feel personal, not just professional. It was a subtle kind of dominance, gentle yet commanding, and it made your pulse quicken whenever he was near.

It had been building for weeks. The unspoken tension between you and him, simmering just below the surface, was becoming impossible to ignore. Tonight, it would finally reach its breaking point.

───────────────────────────────────────────

You lay stretched out on your bed, the rare quiet of your quarters enveloping you. A book rested on your lap, though your attention kept drifting away from the pages. It was a luxury to have a day off - free from missions and responsibilities, and you intended to enjoy it. For once, there were no gunfire or the constant hum of tactical planning. Just peace.

That peace was abruptly shattered when your door swung open, and you looked up, startled, to see König standing in the doorway. His posture was stiff, as if he had just walked off the battlefield. He was still dressed in his combat gear, his gloves in one hand, his rifle slung across his back. His expression was grim, jaw clenched, and his normally composed demeanor was frayed, something darker simmering beneath the surface.

"König?" you asked, sitting up, your book forgotten.

He didn't respond at first. The door clicked shut behind him, and the heavy thud of his boots echoed through the room as he crossed toward you. Without a word, he dropped his gear in a pile against the wall. The action was deliberate, as though he had purposefully entered with an urgency that could not be ignored.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, a silent sigh escaping from his lips. His broad shoulders were tense, and you noticed the subtle shift in his stance - the subtle power that radiated from him as he stood in front of you.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low, rough around the edges. "Komm her, Liebling." The words slipped from his lips like velvet, yet the command behind them was unmistakable.

The effect of hearing the German endearment sent a thrill through you, your heart skipping a beat. You hesitated only for a moment, before rising from the bed to approach him.

As you came within reach, König´s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with surprising gentleness for a man of his size and strength. But there was no mistaking the force in his pull as he yanked you closer, his chest pressing against yours. His lips crashed onto yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was fierce, raw, and possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. It was as if he had been holding back for far too long, and now he couldn't stop.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was heavy against your skin. His lips hovered near your ear as he whispered, the words thick with his accent. "Ich brauche dich, Y/N," he murmured, his voice rough, filled with hunger. "I can't wait any longer."

The rawness of his words sent a jolt of heat through your veins. But you didn't flinch. Instead, your lips curled into a confident smile. "Then don't," you whispered back, your voice steady but laden with anticipation.

König´s eyes darkened, his pupils dilating as his hands moved with purpose. In one fluid motion, he shoved you backward onto the bed, his powerful frame pinning you beneath him. His hands were all over you, sliding under your shirt, pulling it off with quick efficiency, as though time were suddenly a luxury you couldn't afford.

"You drive me verrückt," he growled, his German accent thick as he straddled you. "Do you know that?"

You let out a low laugh, your hands sliding over his muscular chest. "I might have an idea," you teased, a glint of mischief in your eyes.

King smirked darkly, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Freches Mädchen," he muttered, his voice both scolding and affectionate.

His movements were slow, deliberate, savoring each inch of skin as he revealed you, inch by inch. When you were completely bare before him, he paused for a moment, his gaze scanning your body with a reverence that made you shiver.

"So schön," he murmured, his voice low with awe. The words sounded like a prayer as they slipped from his lips, his German accent making them sound even more intimate.

You met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "Then show me," you challenged, your voice sultry, daring him.

His eyes darkened, a predatory smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "Oh, Liebling," he murmured, leaning down to kiss you again, this time slower, deeper. "I'll do much more than show you."

His hands moved between your thighs, finding you already wet with anticipation. A low growl rumbled in his chest as his fingers circled you, his touch skilled, deliberate. "So eager for me already," he whispered, his accent making the words drip with dark promise.

Your breath caught as his fingers slipped inside you, the sensation sending a ripple of pleasure through your body. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice rough with need. "Let me hear you."

His pace quickened, and soon you were arching your back, your body responding to his touch in ways that left you breathless. When you finally came, it was like a tidal wave crashing over you, and you trembled beneath him as you tried to regain control.

König removed his fingers slowly, bringing them to his lips and savoring the taste. "You taste so damn good," he groaned. But he wasn't finished. He lowered himself between you legs, his mouth following his hands as he tasted you. His tongue worked over you with precise skill, each stroke drawing another breathless cry from your lips.

"König," you gasped, your fingers threading into his hair as your body tensed with another approaching orgasm.

When he rose again, his lips glistening with your arousal, his eyes were dark with desire. "Are you ready for me, mein Schatz?" he asked, his voice thick with longing.

Your lips curled into a sultry smile. "Always," you whispered.

Without another word, König positioned himself between your thighs, his cock hard and ready, and with one swift motion, he entered you. The sensation was overwhelming, the sheer force of his thrust stealing your breath. You gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as he set a brutal pace, each thrust deep and purposeful.

"Verdammt," King growled, his hips slamming into yours. "You feel so good, Y/N. So perfect."

Every inch of him seemed to claim you, and your body responded eagerly to his touch. The room was filled with the sound of your bodies colliding, the rhythm of your coupling synchronized with the primal energy between you.

As his hand slid lower, teasing the sensitive ring of your ass, you gasped. "Do you like that, Liebling?" he teased, his voice dark and full of intent.

"Yes," you moaned, your body trembling with each motion.

King smirked, pressing a finger against your tight entrance before easing it inside. The sensation of dual penetration was overwhelming, and you cried out, your body writhing beneath him as you teetered on the edge.

"I will claim every inch of you today," King whispered in your ear, his voice a growl of need.

The intensity of his words sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and you surrendered completely, your body on fire as he took you to new heights.

Hours passed, the night stretching on as King kept his promise, exploring every part of you with unrelenting passion. When you finally collapsed together, your bodies slick with sweat and your breaths coming in heavy, uneven gasps, you felt a profound sense of exhaustion, mixed with the deep satisfaction of a night unlike any other. Your body ached in the best way possible, each muscle pleasantly sore from the intensity of their connection. You could barely move, but there was something about being in König's arms that made you feel safe, as if nothing else mattered in the world.

König, too, seemed spent, his chest rising and falling with each breath, but he didn't let go of you. He pulled you into his arms, his large hand stroking your back with a tenderness that contrasted with the force of your lovemaking just moments before. You nestled closer to him, yourr head resting against his broad chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. The comfort of his presence enveloped you, and for the first time in a long while, you felt completely at peace.

His voice, still deep and resonant, broke the silence. "You're mine," he whispered softly, the words a quiet declaration, though the possessiveness in them was unmistakable. "Mein Schatz."

You smiled against his skin, your hand tracing patterns on his chest as you looked up at him. You could feel the weight of his words, the depth of his feelings wrapped in the simple phrase. "Always," you whispered, your voice full of warmth, you fingers gently tracing the curve of his jaw.

The bond you shared felt irrevocable now, something solid and unbreakable. In the stillness of the room, you found yourself wrapped in his strength, not just physically but emotionally. It was a rare feeling for someone like you - so used to being in control, to relying only on yourself - but with him, you didn't need to be anything but yoursel. You were no longer just an operative in a world of danger; you were his, and he was yours.

You both lay there for a long while, basking in the afterglow, the world outside fading into insignificance. Even in the quiet, You knew that nothing would ever be the same again between you. This was more than a moment of passion - it was a shift in your relationship, one that went beyond the mission and the shared battlefield.

[starqueensthings]

A very Crosshair Character Analysis

I posted a poll the other day looking for some opinions, and the prompt was: does Crosshair ever truly miss a shot? Meaning, of all the shots we’ve seen him aim and fire, how many of the few that didn’t land, were intended not to land? Does Crosshair have the skill and ability to land every shot he takes, and what of the ones that go astray (because there are some!)? The overarching, collective opinion (77% of votes) is that the sniper only misses a shot when he intends to, but let me explain why I was asking— the "methods behind my madness," if you will… (Fasten your seatbelts, and keep all extremities— and pitchforks— inside the ride!)

If Crosshair “doesn’t miss”, then there are some things that demand consideration and possible explanation. Please accept this weird internet essay as a deep dive into Crosshair’s character based solely on how I perceived his actions throught season one and two, and opinions I formed while watching his character develop. And while this could not be a Tech-approved analysis without touching on both his perceived good qualities and “flaws”, please know this is not a hate-on-Crosshair post.

Before I get into specifics, I think it’s imperative that we establish a basic understanding of his personality before the chip’s activation. While there is, sadly, not much “footage” we can use to form a true characterization of him, there are some instances we can touch on. The Skako/Anaxes arc from TCW and the earliest few moments of “Aftermath”, Crosshair is shown to be quite sarcastic, uninterested in trivial conversation, measurably combative toward those with differing opinions to his (seemingly all regs, including but not limited to Kix and Jesse), moderately argumentative toward leadership outside of his own Sergeant (mainly Rex, as Crosshair seems to have no qualms following Anakin’s or Cody’s orders), comforting to those who need it (Echo), and an overall good tactical team player.

So, let’s start this analysis by dialling things way back to their mission on Kaller and the complications that arose once Order-66 had been dropped. More specifically, hunting Caleb down in the forest. One of the things I noticed upon first watching that scene and every re-watch since, is how often Crosshair toggles back and forth between blaster bolt and stun cartridge on his rifle, as if constantly battling the indecision of exactly how he wanted to detain the Jedi. Now, if you remember, Tech com’s in and basically says [paraphrased obviously]: “Shit is starting to his the fan, we better get our butts outta here,” to which Hunter responds: “Can’t. Haven’t found the kid yet.” Crosshair then chimes in with, what I have long-deemed to be his catch phrase: “Wrong,” and proceeds to shoot the branch that Caleb is perched on. Not Caleb, who, in Crosshair's mind, should be the rightful recipient of a kill shot… the branch. Hmmmm.

If every one of Crosshair’s shots is so masterfully aimed that its deemed an automatic hit, and thus every miss is intentional (a notion of which I also believe, less one particular shot which I’ll touch on a little later), then there would’ve had to have been a portion of Crosshair’s cognition overriding that Order-66 command to eradicate all Jedi, even if it was only enough to fleetingly switch his gun to stun.

Not long afterward, we see his beloved Firepuncher saber-whacked from his hands, and Crosshair opts to then continue his attack with his backup DC17. Missed shot, missed shot, missed shot, missed shot. Were these blown shots intentional as well? And if so, why does he continue to assail the Padawan? Is Crosshair only able to fight off the command to kill Caleb while his finger is on the trigger, possibly knowing that’s when the fight against his own mind becomes most crucial? Is he clinging to some autonomy in the moments where he’s not posing an imminent threat to those around him, like during the flight back to Kamino? Or can he only resist the chip’s influence when the urge to do something terrible is paramount?

Let’s skip ahead, shall we, to when the Batch is attempting to flee Kamino with Omega. Crosshair sashays onto the landing platform in his new gothboy armour, fresh out of an undescribed chip “augmentation” procedure (whatever that eludes to), and proceeds to have a small stand off with Hunter— both of whom have their weapons directed pointedly away from each other (interesting). During the succeeding fire fight, we see Crosshair line up several well aimed shots, many of which appear to be only inches away from landing on their “intended target”. He eventually succeeds in shooting Wrecker in the shoulder, and I’d like to point out that this shot lands almost exactly where Wrecker was hit by the training droid some hours/days previously. Was the placement of this shot intentional? Did Crosshair pick that particular target area knowing Wrecker would survive the damage?

The shot I find most intriguing is the one near-perfectly aimed at Hunter’s head (lol— brothers). You know, the one where Omega saves the day by unexpectedly blasting Crosshair’s rifle out of his hands. If the chip's activation was the reason he was now hunting them and claiming their treason, why had that moment seen him hesitate? Perhaps he needed a second to line up his shot, you might argue to which I would say argue: we’ve seen him use the active recoil from that same rifle to line up his next shot many times in quick succession with a zero margin of error (see the Skako/Anaxes arc in TCW and the first few minutes of Kaller), including when each shot was aimed at targets both more dynamic in action and further away than Hunter was.

Crosshair then takes several shots at the ramp of the Marauder as they take off, all of which are well aimed… and simultaneously redundant; the passengers are taking cover in the ship already, the Marauder has begun its take off, the ramp is closing, Crosshair running whilst knowing he can’t reach them. I personally attribute those last few shots as tokens of both anger and resentment for being left behind, not ones made with the intention of killing. I think that he expected his brothers to know him better than to believe these actions were of sound mind— he thought they’d be able to deduce that he was fighting a losing battle inside his own head, yet they were quick to believe he would actually entertain such sudden and aggressive hostilities toward them.

At this point, you might be itching to argue that maybe Crosshair's accuracy is largely diminished when he opts for a pistol instead of his rifle, and while I can't dispell this theory, I can provide some statistics. We see Crosshair use a pistol only four times in the entirety of the show so far: 1. against Caleb on Kaller (objective miss), 2. against the Batch Batch as their leaving Kamino (objective miss), 3. against a soldier while he and his new elite soldier squad infiltrate Saw's camp (direct hit), and 4. against Leiutenant Nolan when that asshole he gets on Crosshair's last nerve at the Outpost (direct hit). I will leave it up to you to decide if the theory of whether his skill level changes based on the weapon he's firing holds any merit, or is worth further discussion.

Moving on— the 99-clan is reunited on Bracca. Let’s turn our attention to the shot Crosshair takes at Tech whilst the latter was emerging from the ion engine, and I’m going to include pics this time to support my assertion.

Crosshair has an undeniably clear shot— his line of sight is not impeded, there are no environmental or atmospheric disturbances to disrupt his composure, he was ready and waiting for them to appear. The shot that he fires lands a good distance in front of Tech. Though the unexpectedness of it was enough to startle the genius into nearly falling out of the engine, I believe it was intentionally aimed this way (see below). A warning shot if you will. A “Hello, I outsmarted you and am waiting at your point of attempted escape. Stop trying, and get down here because I don’t want my new imperial cohorts to take aim for me and kill you” shot.

The next arc (Ryloth) quickly demonstrates that any neurological augmentations he’s been subject to (at this point, I believe we've been shown two, but have been led to believe there were several), have had no effect on Crosshair’s infamous sniper skills. First, he fires a perfectly aimed tracking beacon onto the moving target of Gobi’s ship. Then, upon the ship’s return, uses a single shot to disable one of the engines; a shot taken from, what appears to be, several kilometres away and having the immediate desired affect of disabling the ship. Finally, he makes the astoungingly precise shot (and I’m using astoundingly very heavily here) of blasting Senator Taa in the head. This shot, more than the previously mentioned two, are a sign of his impeccable marksmanship. Let me remind you, he was an undisclosed albeit very far distance away, on the opposite ridge of an enshadowed canyon, and is still able to shoot the senator in a place in which HE WOULD SURVIVE the attack. And not just survive, “make a full recovery” as Rampart claims afterward. This is unrivalled accuracy, and while I do not support the assassination attempt in itself, I can not deny how much skill was required to have achieved it.

My next point is something I have always personally found quite compelling, and it occurs in an off-the-cuff, likely forgotten about piece of dialogue.

Brief context: Crosshair has scooped Hunter off of Daro, they’ve landed on Kamino, and the duo (and a third soldier) are on their way to the Command Center to await the rest of the squads arrival. One of Crosshair’s elite troopers waits until he departs the platform before approaching Rampart and saying: “I question the clone’s motives with his old squad. I don’t trust any of them.” I’m intrigued to know where such a potent mistrust began. Is it simply because he’s a clone? A person born and raised unnaturally in comparison to someone with a traditional gestation and upbringing? Or has this soldier previously identified possible cracks in Crosshair’s imperial facade? Has Crosshair failed to hide his distress in quiet moments where he possibly longs for the life he had with his brothers? What is it that triggers this soldier to suspect Crosshair has an ulterior motive in capturing his old squad, and one that they’re apparently worried would not coincide with Rampart’s ideals?

Ramparts reply, in my opinion, gives us a well disguised clue: “If his plan fails, none of them will be a problem any longer.” If his plan fails. Crosshair’s plan. Crosshair has a plan for mobilizing his old family into one place, and what is it? Is he concealing the hidden objective of a reunion with his brothers under the guise of squad assassination? Was it always his plan to eliminate his new elite squad members, hence the perfectly placed mirror pucks we see him utilize in the training room, to make room for his old squad?

Remember, Hunter asks him some time later: “So this was your grand plan? Bring us here and kill us?” Crosshair answers: “If I wanted you dead, you would be.” And this is a statement which I believe to be incontrovertibly true. He has never wanted his family dead, despite having both the resources and skill to ensure they would be if that’s what he desired, but no. He’s angry that he’d inherently felt more loyalty to them than they had shown to him; frustrated that their choices post-Kaller did not align with his expectations of their choices, disheartened that they hadn't initially recognized to his choices to be ones made outside his character, and Crosshair now eagerly rebuffs their every excuse. Reference the spoken: “They don’t leave their own behind… most of the time.” . . . “You tried to kill us, we didn’t have a choice.” . . . “And I did?”

And follows the: “We’re loyal to each other, not some empire.” . . . “You weren’t loyal to me. I was one of you. You may have forgotten, but I haven’t. And it’s why I’m going to give you what you never gave me: a chance…” conversation. (Just stab me in the heart and twist the knife around, Jennifer!!!! Ouch!!! I'm still not over this!)

Was this his plan? To lure his brothers back to their home, and indirectly beg them to join the empire? To offer them the chance to join the ranks of those who have relentlessly hunted them, in the hopes that there might be some semblance of safety in conformity? To reunite the elite squad that they were in the days of the Republic (the original elite squad of which Rampart is trying to replicate with tactically inferior recruited bodies), simply for the safety that joining the empire could potentially promise? Is this the first demonstration of Crosshair using hostility to shield those he cares about from the callous clutches of the empire that he’d become painfully familiar with?

Regardless of the still-unexplained motive, Crosshair’s plan fails. Hunter has either become, or has always been, as protective of his family as Crosshair is stubborn, and he would never willingly subject his brothers (and now sister) to a life of committing abhorrent war crimes in the name of an Emperor who rose, uninhibited, to extreme and unnatural levels of power whilst abolishing the Republic of which they'd previously served. That’s not what their squad was made to do, despite Crosshair trying to convince Hunter perhaps maybe it was.

Unsurprisingly, Crosshair’s pitch falls on deaf ears, even despite killing his elite squad as an offering of trust. Once the training droids have been taken care of and the fray had subsided, Crosshair stands to find Hunter now has a blaster pointed directly at him, as does Wrecker— (Echo and Tech, curiously, keep their weapons pointed away), and the tables have quickly turned. Hunter begins his own plea to his brother, and it leads to a very ambiguous admission. Hunter: “Crosshair, forget the empire. This isn’t you, it’s your inhibitor chip.” Crosshair: “Wrong. I had my chip removed a long time ago.”

What degree of this admission is true? All of it? Parts of it? None of it? Was Crosshair only told that his chip was removed during one of the apparently many augmentations he’d been subject to? Was it removed and replaced with an alternative? Or was it truly extracted, and his questionable actions have been entirely his own? If so, was it the fall of the Republic that spooked him enough to join the ranks of an unknown empire? Did the thought of disobeying orders bother him enough to sacrifice the family dynamic he’s always known, and replace it with a safe sense of conformity? And if this is the case, was missing all of the shots he’d aimed at his brothers, a veiled display of love?

Atop the water hours later, Tipoca City has fallen. Due to their imminent death, Crosshair and his squad have been forced to work together to survive. Tech makes a lingering comment about Crosshair’s unyielding personality being outside of his control, and it’s still ringing in our ears at this point because it implies that a lot of this misunderstanding may just be because of how strongly Crosshair forms opinions, and how only one of his brothers understands that about him. Omega is mid-drowning trying to save her droid friend, Hunter is .4 seconds away from leaping into Kamino’s frigid and turbulent waters to try and retrieve her… and we see Crosshair grab his rifle. This is a shot, of any, that I would expect him to miss— water both impedes and shifts the trajectory of a projectile and mathmatically accommodating for this would take some serious, well thought out calculation; the only usable light for aiming is from the burning remnants of their home, and the container in which Crosshair is perched heaves and tips with every wave.

But he doesn’t miss. He, again, demonstrates that he can make any and every shot he wants to. He lands his shot on AZI’s chest (not dissimilar to where he shot Wrecker, on an obviously smaller scale), and pulls Omega from the depths of the water. Upon turning to see his brothers poised and ready to shoot him if they deemed the need appropriate, I think Crosshair realizes how monumental the fracturing of their squad was. They have no trust left for him. His actions, powered by an inhibitor chip or not, quickly led them to believe he was not the person they knew him to be. As much as he desperately wanted to them understand how powerful the control of the chip was, they didn’t. And I think this moment robs Crosshair of some of his anger and resentment he harboured toward them, and reaffirms that his only option now is to follow the path he was first influenced to follow, regardless of if it’s what he wants now or not. He then chooses abandonment. He chooses to be left stranded on that platform, likely aware that the potential he’d perish there was high. His separation was now his choice.

Let’s move on to Season Two! Episode 3, appropriately named “the Solitary Clone”, indirectly shows us more about Crosshair than I believe any previous episode ever has. Crosshair’s marksmanship is, once again, on full display as he takes down an old separatist tank with one shot (I’m still reeling over it, ok? That shit made me horny). And I can’t move on from this episode without also mentioning how it ended— we know Crosshair has respect for Commander Cody, that was demonstrated by his willingness to follow Cody’s command while he rebuked others’ in the Skako/Anaxes arc. I think it’s also apparent by the return of his notorious sarcasm, that Crosshair is happy to see a familiar face, one of which he may have previously deemed a friend. Cody, in return, places tidbit of trust in Crosshair (I’m also going to link this post in case anyone is curious about my thoughts on Cody’s initial comments). Not only does the commander inch toward the precarious conversation about “going rogue” and the Order-66 debacle, but Cody lets Crosshair take the lead after their shuttle crashes on Desix. “Trust me,” Crosshair begs, and Cody accedes.

They gain access to the strong hold; Crosshair, Cody and Nova (RIP) struggle only mildly with the droid forces ("Droideka's."). Crosshair demonstrates more inhuman trigonometry abilities and immaculate skill by using those mirror pucks to shoot around corners. Cody saves Crosshair’s tushy when a Commando droid gets a little too close to the sniper. Crosshair lowers his weapon at Cody’s request while they negotiate with Tawny Ames, a motion he had otherwise refused earlier in the episode (the civillians they come across behind a closed door— Cody lowers his gun and reassures them, Crosshair does not.) And when the Empire shows its true colours by demanding that Cody renege on his promise of peace and assassinate the governor, Crosshair does not hesitate to answer the call.

Now superficially, this act would appear as nothing more than a repeat of his crimes on Onderon, or Crosshair simply “following orders” as he had previously developed into a sort of mantra. But I think it’s much more layered than that. I think Crosshair recognized that Cody would be subject punishment did he not comply, a notion reinforced by his extended time at Rampart’s elbow, where it was regularly displayed that clones were of little significane and use to this new military regime. What would happen to Cody as a result of his disobedience? Would he simply be demoted from Commander? Would he be court-martialed and questioned? Detained and imprisoned? Killed? Is this why Crosshair took action into his own hands, and “did what needed to be done”? To protect Cody from the repercussions of disobeying a direct order? Or, more harrowingly and something that I am more inclined to believe, was Crosshair protecting Cody from the poignant shame and self-hatred that he knew the Commander would feel if he DID comply? Was Crosshair unwilling to let the mind of another clone be tainted by the emotionless demands of the empire, so he took the action upon himself? Was his objectively unnecessary and cruel attack, an action of deep seated respect and appreciation? Is this why Cody's comment about living with the consequences of their decisions affects Crosshair so deeply as they separate at the end of the mission?

Let’s dial back to the debated intention of Crosshair’s shots— are his missed shots deliberately missed? Our next stop on this journey is The Outpost (my personal favourite, and not because of the dreamy, sardonic, bearded Commander Mayday), but because of the overt growth that we see Crosshair attain. (Here’s an analysis I posted a while back about some of the messages I think the writers were trying to convey via symbolism throughout Crosshair's episodes to this point). If you've read it and even partially subscribe to my theory, then we can agree Crosshair’s mentality has been shifting little by little since we saw him last, and his attachment to Mayday (and the adjacent benefit that Crosshair rediscovers in companionship and brotherhood) is proof of this. So here’s what happens— raiders make it inside the perimeter of the Outpost thanks to limited man-power and degrading equipment. Crosshair heads directly to where he knows he can play to his strengths: high ground. He’s taking quick and careful aim at the retreating insurgent when the nearby shuttle explodes, and something peculiar happens. Whether it be the blinding flash of the explosion magnified significantly by his riflescope that had caused him such immediate discomfort, or something more (chip alert? Maybe? Or residual effects of having it augmented so many times?), but Crosshair’s subsequent shot is not of his regular quality. He hits his target, so I am not deeming this as a shot missed, but Crosshair has a track record of “one-shots” or “kill shots” of which this is not.

I’m inclined to ramble on for centuries about this episode because there is simply so much development, growth, and symbolism that occurs in those 28 minutes— it’s truly a masterpiece in story telling, but I’ve deviated too far from the intention of this essay (novel) so let’s trek forward.

Let’s get to Tipping Point, and what I would deem to be his only failed shot (and the implications of what it might mean). Crosshair has been sedated, interrogated, injected, neglected, confused, and abused since arriving on Tantiss. (You guessed it, I also have an analysis of this episode, structured a little differently than my previous but still helps to break down what I deem to be the motives behind his actions). Hemlock first attempts to bribe Crosshair with his freedom in exchange for information on his brothers, and as such, divulges his true need for Omega. Crosshair, who has never really had the chance to bond with her like his brothers have, refuses to provide any information. And why? Having only a surface level relationship with Omega, and having rebuffed her advances for companionship several times, why would he protect her in the face of imminent chemical torture? Because it directly protects them, and they are no longer being hunted by a squad of recruited bodies lead by an angry brother... but by a twisted and cruel doctor who's methods were proven unorthodox and tortuous upon immediate introduction.

Upon awakening from another round of interrogation, Crosshair understands the time to act is diminishing quickly, as is his ability to refuse Hemlock the information he wants. Each interrogation leaves him physically and mentally weaker; the time is act is now. He shoots and kills the pair of troopers, as well as the interrogation droid, with no difficulty. He stuns Emerie the scientist (possibly recognizing her clone accent for what it is, thus opting not to kill her?), steals her access card, and stumbles from the room. His body is no where near recovered from whatever toxin that droid injected him with, and he staggers through the unknown halls. Quickly coming across a pair of troopers guarding a doorway, the next shot is the only one that I believe he truly missed, and understandably so. It lands on the wall between their heads, and Crosshair quickly realizing his failure, shoots them with the following two rounds.

While missing that shot is largely inconsequential to the overall story, I think it’s an important anecdote for his character growth. In that moment, Crosshair is both physically weakened and mentally desperate to get a message to his brothers, and it’s the combination of those that had his aim faulty. He’s found himself nothing more than a man broken… stripped of the celebrated titles he’d once possessed and mentally mined until simply raising and aiming a blaster, a motion he’d once found more innate as breathing, was a motion difficult for him. He's forsaken his family, lost his purpose, been rendered nothing but an experiment and a tool.

So to summarize this egregiously long essay of Crosshair’s character, I’d like to reiterate that he is human. As we all do, he has faults. A lot of his reasoning is arguably flawed. He makes poor decisions, often in haste without considering the ripple effect it may have. He is extremely stubborn, and he does not communicate well. And there are things he’s done and decisions he’s made that I can not personally elucidate and would love to openly discuss with other Crosshair enthusiasts (example, trying to incinerate his brothers in an ion engine— did he assume Hunter would double back again, and this is Crosshair’s attempt at forcing them into the open? Or is this one of the moments when he cannot fight off the chips control?). You don’t have to like him. You don’t have to agree with him or anything he says. You don’t have to like me or agree with anything I say, but as we head into the third and final Act of this remarkable story, it is worth determining which of his actions are superficially misunderstood, and which have a deeper meaning that a casual viewer might simply overlook.

Thank you for attending the Ted Talk that no one asked for.

Holly ♥️

**forewent the taglist as this is not my typical content

[whrryuu]

how I think seventeen would be as an agent

hi, so this is just my opinion. feel free to share your thoughts !!

Scoups (Team Leader)

Alias: Captain

Role: Mission Commander

The calm and composed leader who strategizes operations, ensuring the team’s success. He has the ability to analyze complex situations and make crucial decisions under pressure

Jeonghan (Master of Disguise)

Alias: Shade

Role: Infiltration Expert & Psychological Warfare Specialist

With his angelic face and smooth-talking ability, he’s an expert at blending in and charming information out of people. He often takes the undercover roles that require finesse.

Joshua (Tech Specialist)

Alias: Cypher

Role: Technology & Cybersecurity Expert

Joshua is a master of technology, handling everything from complex hacking to ensuring the team's tech systems are always secure. With his sharp mind and quick problem-solving skills, he’s the one who cracks encrypted data and keeps the mission's tech running smoothly.

Jun (Stealth Operative)

Alias: Shadow

Role: Stealth Operative & Surveillance Expert

Operating in the shadows, Jun can infiltrate secure locations undetected. His skills in surveillance make him the unseen observer, gathering crucial intel.

Hoshi (Combat Specialist)

Alias: Flash

Role: Close Combat & Field Tactician

Known for his fiery personality, Hoshi’s unpredictable moves in close combat make him a lethal agent. He’s also quick to come up with creative, tactical maneuvers on the spot.

Wonwoo (Sharpshooter)

Alias: Hawk

Role: Precision Marksman & Sniper Specialist

With an unwavering focus and steady hand, Wonwoo is the team's sharpshooter, taking down targets from long distances with pinpoint accuracy. His calm presence ensures that no shot is wasted, and he thrives in high-pressure situations where precision is key.

Woozi (Tactician)

Alias: Echo

Role: Logistic & Tactical Support

Woozi stays behind the scenes, orchestrating the tactical side of missions. He’s responsible for laying out blueprints and ensuring every detail of the plan is flawless.

DK (Field Medic)

Alias: Doc

Role: Combat Medic & First Responder

DK is the team's lifeline, providing medical assistance in the field. His quick thinking and steady hands allow him to treat injuries under fire, keeping his team in top condition. With his warm personality, he also provides emotional support, boosting team morale during critical missions.

Mingyu (Brute Force)

Alias: Titan

Role: Heavy Combat Specialist & Security Breach Expert

With his imposing figure and strength, Mingyu handles high-intensity combat and breaking through enemy defenses, both physically and through forceful entry.

Minghao (Martial Artist)

Alias: Viper

Role: Hand-to-Hand Combat Expert & Field Interrogator

Hao combines precision with agility, using his martial arts expertise to take down opponents quickly. His interrogation skills are just as sharp, forcing enemies to give up their secrets.

Seungkwan (Informant)

Alias: Oracle

Role: Communication Expert & Intelligence Gatherer

Seungkwan excels at gathering valuable information from his vast network of contacts. With his sharp memory and attention to detail, he provides the team with crucial intel. His charm and wit allow him to extract information from anyone, anywhere, making him a key asset for staying ahead of the enemy.

Vernon (Codebreaker)

Alias: Mirage

Role: Cryptographer & Decoder

A master of puzzles and codes, Vernon is responsible for decrypting sensitive information, solving complex ciphers, and unlocking secured files.

Dino (The Rookie)

Alias: Blaze

Role: Field Operative & Weapons Specialist

Though the youngest, Dino is fearless in the field and highly skilled with various weapons. He's always eager to prove himself and bring his fiery energy to any mission.

[lyricalt]

[tf2 minific] request: tie up job

sniperspy - rating T - sniper trying to flirt for his literal life

(NOW ON AO3)

------

“Oh, well. Hello there, darl. Ain’t this awkward,” Sniper says, glancing up from his scope when Spy’s foot steps over of the barrel of his rifle and stays there.

Spy looks down at him. His revolver isn’t pointed at Sniper, which is awfully lenient. Sniper, who is laying belly down in an extremely vulnerable position on the ground, notes that Spy makes a point to not put the revolver away either.

They don’t usually have run-ins like this. When Sniper takes on an extra side gig, he usually makes some vague reference to the location and Spy does the trick of avoiding the same general area. Unfortunately, vague comments don’t usually stand up to direct communication, which also don’t stand very well in the face of non-disclosure agreements signed with blood, metaphorical or otherwise.

“I hope that isn’t my asset you are attempting to assassinate,” Spy says, arching an eyebrow.

Sniper’s mark is, in fact, the very same asset Spy is probably trying to protect. There’s only one man sitting by his lonesome in his penthouse of pretty glass walls and likely stolen art pieces for some kind of money laundering scheme. Not that Sniper really understands most of it. He’s just a guy on top of a roof with a rifle, a bullet, and a hefty twenty percent deposit in his back pocket.

“No chance of voiding your contract?” he asks. He’d try and bat his eyes for a laugh but Spy’s got years of experience over him on that front. Besides, he shouldn’t need to resort to any more spy-ish tactics.

“Same chance of you nullifying yours, I’m afraid,” Spy replies with a ghost of a smile. He nudges Sniper’s rifle, making sure the aim’s no good. “My asset told me that someone might be after him. Imagine my surprise when the trail led to you.”

“Argh, that was right sloppy of me.” Sniper sighs. “What gave me away?”

“I find myself looking more towards rooftops lately,” Spy says, amused. He lets up on the rifle but slides his foot over Sniper’s firing wrist, pressing down hard until Sniper has no choice but to remove his finger from the trigger. “Now, you know I have to ask; who hired you?”

“And, as you might already know, I dunno. Got me a ticket from the clerk. They just wanted your man dead and I’m just some dummy bloke with a very long gun that can shoot very far.”

Spy groans. He lifts his revolver, pointing it at some non-lethal part of Sniper’s body. “I would hate to torture you for more information.”

Sniper flicks the brim of his hat up to give Spy a hopeful look. “I’m sure I could stand to have a little bit of torture. Who knows, might get me to admit some stuff. Maybe not relevant stuff to your mission. Depends on how hard you go. Y’had no problems tying me up to a chair two weeks ago.”

“How very unprofessional of you to bring that up. You know we’re both working right now.”

“I know, pookie. Just buyin’ some time,” Sniper says, grinning, and pulls the trigger.

Spy’s head whips towards the penthouse. There’s a crash of glass as the bullet goes through, shattering an entire window. The penthouse alarms start blaring.

The weight over Sniper’s wrist lets up by the tiniest fraction, but it’s enough. Sniper uses the second of distraction to take advantage of Spy’s foot as leverage, rolling his rifle over like a tripod to reload. He aims again and fires the second bullet. Spy flinches as the heat of the barrel sears his ankle.

“Bonza,” Sniper breathes, watching the mark fall over with a pretty new hole through their head. Gotta be proud of good work after all, even as Spy kicks the rifle away with an annoyed tsk.

“That was ill-advised,” Spy says, dangerous and low. “You didn’t let me explain. Now there will be other mercenaries after you. I’m only one of several. Your mark hired a team of us.”

“Right, right. I gotcha,” Sniper says and rolls on his back, sweet and innocent as a babe. He slowly puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Before you're obligated to capture me, can I make an offer?"

Spy's revolver tilts to the side, the equivalent of a shrug. "Might as well."

After a moment of making sure Spy won’t shoot him immediately, Sniper puts his fingers to the brim of his hat. Carefully projecting every movement, he pulls out a small slip of paper, like something that would come out of a fortune cookie.

“I’d like to hire you for the service of rescuing me," Sniper says, holding it out. "Here’s what I’ll pay.”

With the revolver still pointed at him, Spy takes the slip. He reads the lucky numbers.

“It’ll be easy,” Sniper adds. “You already know all their security details.”

Spy’s expression goes flat. “You left a trail on purpose. You knew I’d be working for them.”

“S’why I took the job, mate. Big boss cartel fellas are bloody hard to assassinate without some immediate opposition,” Sniper says, getting comfortable on the ground. He sees the end of Spy’s revolver dip downwards. “Already assumed that, even if I got the kill, there would be kickback. You bein’ one of them.”

Spy crumples the slip of paper in his fist. He puts it in his mouth and swallows it.

Sniper thinks the rice paper ought to be a nice touch. No chewing needed. Still, it doesn’t hurt to further his case with, “I did the math. My payout eclipses yours, even after taxes.” 

Spy stares at him. “You looked through my desk. That night when you said you couldn’t find the cond-”

“Plus! Even with the minuscule hit to your reputation—which, with your network, should recover in a month—I’d still come out on top,” Sniper interrupts, now rushing the pitch, “And I’ll still have leftover change to treat you to dinner and a screw at one of them nice resorts you like.” 

“You followed me. You took the job knowing I’d be there,” Spy says, sounding more affronted with each accusation. “You used me as an inside man.”

“Betcha so turned on right now. ‘Cause I did something heaps sneaky and underhanded. Like a rat bastard. Got you so hot for it, I bet.”

Spy’s gaze goes to the sky, as if questioning his life choices. He isn’t denying anything though, so Sniper can mark it as a triple win in his books.

“So, you gonna save me before your other guys start figuring’ it out, or what?” Sniper asks, dropping his voice into a small whine. He has a hunch Spy secretly likes hearing it. “C’mon, lemmie buy you out. You love all that turncoat nonsense.”

They stare at each other. From the corner of his eye, Sniper can see quite a lot of people gathering in the penthouse. The alarms have gone silent, which isn’t a very good sign. Laser sights start skimming the adjacent rooftops.

“What restaurant and which resort?” Spy finally asks, glancing at his watch.

“Non-negotiable, darl. They’re your type of shindigs though, I’ll promise you that.” 

Spy’s eyes dart to the penthouse. His earpiece seems to be going off, muffled radio calls crackling through. “You mentioned screwing.”

“Lucky for you, you get a loyal customer discount,” Sniper says, and since he’s already on his back, he draws up his legs to nudge against Spy’s. “You can have me à la carte.”

Spy looks at the not-so-subtle positioning of his legs for a good long while. After a moment, he taps his earpiece and says something brief in Italian.

Eventually, he tucks the revolver away and holds out his hand. “I can have a getaway yacht ready in fifteen minutes.”

Sniper takes it, and Spy’s hauls him up into a sitting position. If their hands stay joined for a tad longer than strictly necessary, Sniper doesn’t mention it.

“I’ll have to knock you unconscious first,” Spy says. He has a very promising gleam in his eye.

Sniper winces. 

“Aw, no. I can fake unconsciousness well enough,” he tries, but the whiny tone won’t work this time.

“Best to make it look authentic,” Spy says, leaning over to touch Sniper’s face, glove cold, but his thumb brushes against his bottom lip. He smirks down at Sniper in a very familiar way. “Relax your jaw for me.”

Sniper barely has time to do as he’s told before Spy backhands him into oblivion with the butt of his revolver. 

[league-of-sam]

Don't Be Shy | Konig x Reader

Kӧnig x TF141 x AFAB!Reader

PART FOUR

Summary: Transferred against your will to a new task force to calm a troubled soldier, you felt way in over your head - especially when you came face to face with a 6'10" mountain of Austria. 18+ MINORS DNI! t.w // angst, mental health, language, violence, human trafficking, death, sexual themes/SMUT, military inaccuracies, language inaccuracies (google translate).

1 / 2 / 3 / 5

It was mission day.

Training over the last two weeks had been exhausting, but the payoff was right around the corner.

The mission was simple – get in, get the hostages, get out.

Fender had been given intel of another AQ human trafficking den on the border of Serbia, and it was KorTac’s job to get them out and get them to safety.

Simple enough, and something this task force has done a hundred times over. That didn’t stop the nerves from creeping up from within you, though. it didn't feel right, being on a mission without the 141, without your family.

How much could you truly trust the people around you?

Now you sat, clutching your rifle to your chest, surrounded by the rest of the team; all of you clad in the best tactical gear that Laswell had to offer.

You scanned the room, desperate for a glimpse of the giant man that had clouded both your heart and your brain, frowning when you came up empty.

Kӧnig had been…odd to deal with.

But you were quick to learn that that was just him. He was sweet, quiet, kind, thoughtful, fidgety. It made you like him all the more, and you were so incredibly bad at hiding it. Ghost almost had a heart attack when you admitted about your little crush, the man had to be held back by Soap, Gaz, and Price to stop him ‘coming down there to get you and shoot him’.

And people said Price was the father of the group!

After spending three hours convincing Ghost you were just fine, Kӧnig had knocked your door, ready for his next lesson. You’d made an agreement – he opened up to you, working on his issues with social interaction, and you would teach him to be a better sniper.

It worked, you thought, and you were finally breaking down some of his walls.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you so quiet and closed off?” You asked tentatively, putting your rifle back into its protective carrier.

“Was, how you say, bullied? As a child, I was always big, and the other children made many comments and hurt me.”

Your heart hurt hearing him say this. You were no stranger to bullies, having been picked on your entire childhood also.

“Yeah, I know the feeling.”

“You do?” he said, voice surprised.

You smiled softly, “Yeah. Kids aren’t nice. Adults are even worse. Still happens every now and then, people underestimating me or thinking I don’t deserve to be here.”

“That’s horrible.”

“It is. I can understand why you wear the hood all the time, keeps people away from something else they can use.”

“Ja.”

“I sometimes wish I had something, but Ghost always told me not to go down that road. He says it’s a hard one to come back from.”

“It is true. It’s scary, revealing yourself.”

“I’m sure it is, but it’s scary wanting to cover up, too.”

“Why would you want to?”

You frowned, looking away from him as you continued to pack your things, “Because I don’t like the way I look. Sometimes, I wish people couldn’t see me.”

He looked at you, dumbfounded, “Aber du bist so hübsch. (But you’re so pretty.)”

“What?”

He blushed, looking at his shoes, “Oh, um, you are just kind. I am sad for you.”

“I’m sad for you too, Kӧnig.” You smiled, “But it’s alright. Those people mean nothing now. I used their hate to help my anxiety, and now I’m here to help you improve yours.”

“(Y/N), I think you are helping.”

“Yeah? I think so too.”

He stepped a little closer to you, his movements stopping you in your tracks.

“Ich habe noch nie ein so schӧnes gesicht gesehen, Schatz. (I have never seen such a beautiful face, sweetheart.)” He whispered, his fingers barely touching your chin as he tipped it, making you look up at him.

Your breath was caught in your throat, heat rising to your cheeks as you melted into his touch. You reached up, your hand cupping his as it moved to your cheek.

Your heart thudded in your chest as he stepped closer to you, the other hand slipping around to rest on your waist.

Before you knew it, your body was pressed against his, the two of you searching each other’s eyes for any sign to stop.

There was none, but as soon as your fingers grazed the bottom of that damned hood, moving to lift it away, the familiar jingle of the ringtone set for Price echoed around the walls.

You fumbled, stepping back from the giant, “F-fuck…I- sorry, it’s Price I-I have to take it.”

Kӧnig released a long breath as you moved away from him, whispering to himself, “Oh, mein gott. (Oh, my God.)”

He barely paid notice to you speaking with your Captain, until something you said caught his attention, making his heart shatter.

“Yes, Price,” you laughed, “As soon as the job is done, I’ll be on my merry way.”

You were leaving?

“Yeah!” you spoke again, turning to smile at him briefly, “He’s doing well, I think he’ll be fine here. No- Captain, listen…you know what Ghost is like! It’s just a job, right? So, when I’m done, I’ll be back, promise.”

What?

‘It’? Were you talking about him like that?

Did you really think of him as nothing but a mission, something for you to fix and then leave behind once the work was done?

“I’m just a job?” he said, voice small as he watched you put your phone down.

You stood confused for a moment, until you looked back at your phone, reliving the conversation with Price.

“N-no, Kӧnig, t-that’s not what I meant by that-”

“I’m just another task for you to complete before you go leaving to your elite task force, ja?”

His voice raised with every word as he angrily collected his own things. Hurt seeped from him, and you could understand exactly why.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” you pleaded, “Yes, I was brought here to do a job, but you are not just a job to me. You’re a human being!”

“A human being you were brought here to babysit.”

“Yes! I was! But that wasn’t my fault! I didn’t fucking want to!”

Your frustration got the better of you, and you snapped. No, you didn’t want to be someone’s babysitter. You were an SAS-trained sniper, for crying out loud. But you’d seen someone in need and stayed.

And you were so glad you did.

But he didn’t see it that way, who could blame him?

“Okay, sergeant. Danke for the lesson.” He said, and he nodded to you, turning towards the exit.

“Kӧnig, please- don’t leave, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean-”

He ignored you, shaking his head as he flung the door open, the noise echoing around the shooting range. You winced, tears welling in your eyes as you watched his hulking form stalk away from you.

That’s the last he spoke to you.

It was the last you’d even seen him.

For three days.

He didn’t come to the shooting range, he hadn’t been showing up for training, and he hadn’t been eating from the canteen.

You never meant to hurt him or pry too far, but it was why you were here. To help him understand about teamwork and morale, to help him understand that not every person was out to get him. But you never meant to make him feel like he was just a job, just another assignment.

In a last ditch effort, you scanned the room again, and your heart skipped a beat as blue eyes pierced yours.

He was leaning against the concrete pillar on his left, arms crossed over his vest, hip stuck out as one of his feet rested in front of the other. Your eyes examined his frame, subconsciously licking your lips as you took in his appearance. He looked even bigger with all the gear on…even better.

Kӧnig blushed furiously under your gaze, flustered as he tore his eyes away from you to look back at his superior, who’s voice was booming around the room.

“Karma!” his voice made you jump, head snapping forward, “You will be taking primary overwatch. The snipers are to follow your command.”

“Yes, sir.” You answered.

Fuck.

“Now, the mission is simple. We will take the trucks down through the mountain pass, and there is a guard under our pay to let us pass without issue on the border. Roze.” Fender spoke, passing the baton to his second in command.

“From there, Contact Team 1 will press west, taking the building from behind. Contact Team 2 will follow after breach, collecting the hostages and running them to the van that is waiting. I will be driving that.”

“The Sniper team will head east, setting up overwatch to take out any stragglers that push through from the breach, am I clear?” Fender finished.

Several voices answered in unison, nods and encouraging looks thrown around the room between comrades.

You only squeezed your gun tighter, teeth sinking into the flesh of your lips.

KorTac was so different to 141.

The journey to missions would be silent, all of you quiet from the weight of what you were about to endure.

But not here.

People were chatting away, making jokes, making plans for the evening as if they were so certain they’d even make it home. It completely terrified you. The only thing keeping you alive was the promise you made to get back to your boys.

No wonder Kӧnig hated it here…so did you.

Somehow, the journey felt like it took forever, but no time at all at the same time. Something wasn’t right, you could feel it deep within you. Even the encouraging texts from the 141 group chat weren’t helping, despite Soap insisting that his flurry of memes was appropriate.

It wasn’t long until you were in position, the front of your body damp from the moisture in the grass surrounding you.

“Karma to Actual, Sniper team in position, waiting on count.” You spoke quietly, nodding to your team to settle.

“Copy that, Karma. Contact Team 1 is on route for your position.” Fender replied.

As soon as he said that, the sound of combat boots connecting with the ground flooded the air around you, legs wading past with guns held high on the target. Your heart skipped as you caught a flash of red and white stripes as Kӧnig moved past you.

He moved swiftly and silently, completely in his element.

Now was the time you’d see him in action; you’d see the crazy that everyone warned you about.

“In position, sir.” He spoke, his accent thick as he whispered into his comms, taking up position in front of the doors.

Moving the scope to settle on him, you peeked through, gasping as you saw he had no weapon at all on him. It was just him and his fists.

They genuinely did just use him as a human battering ram.

“On your count then, soldier.”

You watched him as he took a final breath before his voice flowed in your ear, “Eins…zwei…drei…

Einsetzen! (one…two…three…engage!)”

On cue, the splintering of wood echoed around the trees, and the popping of gunfire and the screams of women followed.

“Okay everyone, on your mark! Let’s clear the way.” You commanded.

One by one, you shot your rifle with ample precision, taking out the AQ soldiers that tried to escape the hands of Kӧnig, and the rest of Contact Team 1.

“This why they call you Karma?” Calisto’s voice sounded.

You let out a laugh, “Indeed it is.”

“Badass!”

As yours and König’s team cleaned out the AQ, contact team 2 made their way in to collect the hostages. That’s when you got the ‘all clear’ to move in, offering any aid needed to the poor victims.

You moved quickly, throwing your rifle over your shoulder as you stumbled down the hill towards the building, your team following swiftly behind you. The doors swung open, and a crowd of dirty and frightened women poured out, Roze pulling up with the van and ushering them in.

It was seemingly over, and you threw a small smile to Kӧnig as he helped one of the smaller girls out of the building. He looked back at you, holding your gaze for a moment, until screams and cries and yells of commands tore your attention away.

Running towards the group with a fully loaded semi-auto was a straggler, the last AQ soldier that had apparently been missed, and he was headed right for Kӧnig and the little girl.

You tossed your gun aside, not even taking a second to think, and ran as fast as your legs would take you towards them.

You ignored every order to stand down, every yell from Fender to fall back.

But no one was as quick as you to react.

You reached them just as the bullets started spraying, the force in which you banged into Kӧnig knocking him to the floor as you scooped the girl in your arms to shield her.

Somehow, you’d managed to save them both from the oncoming assault, but your complete disregard for your own life came to bite back at you as you screamed, a searing, burning pain shooting through your thigh as a bullet struck you.

Roze yelled, reaching for the child as you tossed her forward, falling to the ground when another bullet shot into your back.

Your vest protected you from deadly harm, but the force of the impact had you fall to your knees, landing on your front in a daze.

The rest of the team didn’t even get a chance to unload their own weapons into the enemy, as Kӧnig shot up, tears pricking his eyes as he ran at the soldier, tossing him into the air and bringing him back down over his bent knee.

A sickening crack of bones echoed through the valley, until silence fell, and the only sound was your laboured whimpering in the grass.

Until that wasn’t heard either.

Your body went limp.

And your vision faded to black.

[luna-rainbow]

Rewatched CATWS on my unexpected day off. I guess I've watched it enough that I am noticing things more in the background XD

I'm noticing more details about CEvans' acting this time around. Steve seems to have this sense of...brittleness, and maybe a little anger, during the first half of the film. The smiles seem just a little forced and his interactions a little distant, until he figures out Hydra was there the whole time and suddenly he's got direction.

The circumstances around Fury's "death" caught my eye. After Fury was shot, Sharon busts in the door and introduces herself as Agent 13 sent to "protect" Steve on Fury's orders. This is...an interesting assertion, given that Steve is shown to be incredibly capable, not just physically but also intellectually, to protect himself, and Sharon isn't shown to give Steve the emotional safety that he was craving in the beginning of the movie, nor was she ever demonstrated to be physically competent enough to protect Steve (unlike, say, Nat). It would seem - and that does seem to be Steve's belief too based on his response - that she was sent to watch him, not to protect him. I still think there’s enough in canon to make Sharon either good or bad right from the start.

Anyway, then this exchange happens:

Sharon (on radio): Foxtrot is down, I need EMTs. Person on other end: Do we have a 20 on the shooter? Steve: Tell him I'm in pursuit.

How did the other person know there was a shooter? Was it someone who was listening in to the bugged apartment, or did Sharon have time to tell them before going into Steve's apartment, or did they know because they were part of the team that sent the sniper?

I feel like I've mentioned this before (I can't remember half the things I write so anyway, here it is again) but I feel like Steve's response here suggests that he's already starting to clue in on who the Soldier might be. When he's chasing the shadow across the roof, his expression was furious, urgent and determined -- but that all changed when the Soldier caught the shield (picture 1) and made meaningful eye contact tossed it back (picture 2). Steve just looks...surprised and uncertain and, shall we say, a little vulnerable?

Also I didn’t notice this before, but the Strike team were there to watch Fury’s operation as well, so no wonder Fury had to go the whole way including fooling Nat and Steve.

Right before the infamous elevator fight starts, Rumlow gets in the elevator and they have this exchange:

Rumlow: Evidence team found some fibres on the roof they want us to see, you want me to get the tac team ready? Steve: No, let's wait and see what it is first.

Obviously during this time Steve is also very distracted by what Fury has told him and what Pierce has tried to entice him with, so it could just be Steve trying to shelve that thought for later -- but he was also very interested in what Nat could tell him about the Winter Soldier (she used that information to stop him being angry at her), so I wonder if it's a little bit of a cover tactic as well, i.e. he didn't trust the Strike team and didn't want them to get close to this mystery assassin's identity.

I remember there was a meta about how well CATWS established competency, and I just love watching that all over again. Not just for Steve and Nat obviously, but even for the Strike team — they are shown to be incredibly capable and in sync during the Lumerian Star sequence, which is why the stakes of the movie felt so real.

Steve donning the last uniform Bucky saw before he fell off the train is an underrated romantic trope 😂