#X-Force 5

[dispatchdcu]

X-Force #5 Preview

X-Force #5 Preview #MARVEL #marvelcomics #comics #comicbooks #news #mcu #art #info #NCBD #comicbooknews #previews #reviews #xmen #houseofx #wolverine #xforce #destinyofx #reignofx

X-Force #5 Preview: A DEATH ON THE TEAM?! Attacked from all sides, with a team member’s DEATH in the offing, and struggling to accomplish their mission, X-Force fights to seal the latest and worst Fracture Node threatening the Earth. Can X-Force pull through, or will they fracture and doom the world?  The most surprising X-book of the season is just heating up — if you haven’t been reading it,…

[angel5ofp0rn]

♡ part one ♡

ExHusband!Price x f!reader

been thinking ab this post 4ever and need to get it out tbh.

**I’ve never done something like this b4 and I haven’t proofread so pls be nice 2 me ._. **

You have been divorced from your ex husband John Price for two years. Still, he comes over and shovels your driveway for you every time it snows.

He’s come inside and warmed up in the mudroom nearly every 15-20 minutes, puffing hot breath into his hands and rubbing them together for warmth before stepping back out and shoveling again.

You meet him in the mudroom for his fourth warm-up break and hand him a mug of hot coffee. Dash of cream, one sugar.

“Still how you take your coffee, right?” You offer a small smile, hugging your arms around yourself as John takes a sip from the mug.

“Still the same.” He nods before he takes another sip, the small smile that had appeared at the corner of his mouth quickly fading.

He leans up against the doorframe, the shovel leaning against the wall next to him. He peers out of the door's window, checking over his work.

“I'll get goin' soon enough. It ain't snowing right now, the drive's nearly clear.”

You thank him again, even though you never asked him to do this in the first place. You can’t help but look up at him, meeting his blue eyes for just a moment.

Before he could reply, your two children came running around the corner cheering and squealing when they saw their dad.

John's smile brightens at their presence, his body language immediately softening as he squatted down to their level.

“Hey, my little monkeys. Come give yer ol’ dad a hug.” He opens his arms out wide, inviting both of them to come to him. It doesn't take long before they both go crashing into him, squealing, smiling. Their giggles filled the small room.

You just smile. Even if you and John aren’t always on the best of terms, you can’t deny that he’s a great father.

“Daddy’s cold.” Your youngest shivers a bit from hugging their dad, who still had snow on his clothes and frost on his beard from shoveling.

John tries to shrug it off, but you ask him to stay and warm up for a while.

For the kids, of course.

Plus dinner is nearly ready, and you definitely made too much for just you and the kids, anyway.

More cheering, more squealing, more giggling as John finally agrees and kicks his boots off, hanging his coat on the hook.

John’s blue eyes scan the new decor and different paintings on the wall, but he doesn’t comment on how much the place has changed since he moved out.

After dinner, the two of you stand in the doorway as you watch the kids play together in their playroom, that used to be John’s “man cave”.

“They're gonna make you tuck them in.” You mention, sipping your glass of wine.

John smiles, a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“Maybe you can convince them to go up and brush their teeth?” You lower your wineglass and offer a fake, pleading pout.

He looks down for a moment, pretending not to see the gesture. Instead, he looks back to the children.

“Right then, you two little monkeys. It’s gettin’ late. Go on up and brush your teeth. I’ll come tuck you in.”

Both children protest for a while, but eventually give in without too much of a fight. That’s a new one.

John lets out a chuckle as the children roll their eyes and go up the stairs. He watches them disappear from view before turning and meeting your eyes again, still smiling for this small victory.

As if he had just realized he was staring, John’s eyes darted down into his now empty mug.

"Let me take that." You reach for his mug but he shakes his head.

"I haven’t forgotten where the kitchen is," He smiles a bit. "'ll clean up and then tuck the kids in."

John makes his way over to the kitchen, placing it in the sink and starting water. You follow, and notice that he was also washing the dishes from dinner as well.

“John, you don’t have to-“

“I know.”

And that’s that.

You chew your bottom lip. This looked too familiar. It felt too familiar.

"I'm... gonna go check on them and get them in their pj's." You gesture to the stairs in the hall.

He looks up at you briefly and nods; "Be up in a bit, love.”

Once the water is emptied from the sink, he starts loading the dishes into the dishwasher. Once completed, he starts to wipe down the counters and stovetop, wanting to make sure he left no mess behind. Then he trekked back up the stairs to tuck in the kids.

You’re downstairs again, on the living room sofa. You wanted to let John have a moment alone with the kiddos before he left again.

He makes his way down the stairs and sees you sitting there in the dim lighting. He clears his throat a bit as he walks through the living room and back into the mudroom.

“They're tucked in. Not a whisper from ‘em.” He mentions casually as he gets his snow boots back on.

You thank him, turning to watch him leave, but notice him looking out of the door window and pause. So you make your way over to the door to see what he’s seeing.

It's started snowing and the driveway is completely covered again. It looks like he hasn't even shoveled.

John lets out a grunt of disbelief and sighs, pulling on his beanie and reaching for the shovel once again.

“Don't-“ You shake your head, placing your hand on the shovel. “It's snowing hard, there's no point in shoveling it all up just for it to be covered again. Why don't you... stay on the couch or something tonight.”

He stares down at the shovel for a moment, debating it. After a beat, he sighs a bit, nodding.

“I... could do that.”

You go upstairs to the bedroom and bring John some extra pillows and blankets to make a bed on the couch with.

You set everything on the coffee table and the two of you sit on the couch for a moment, just catching up and chatting about the kids.

“The kids both want to do soccer in the spring.” You mention, your cheeks a bit rosy from the wine you had with dinner.

“Football.” He corrects with a small smirk. You roll your eyes.

“Let me pay for the lessons.” He says; not asking.

Of course you refuse.

Of course he insists.

You settle on splitting it.

Then it happens again. Your eyes meet his. Neither one of you speaks. Suddenly you’re transported back to the first night you met; you were newly 21 and already tipsy when your eyes met those of an older man in his fatigues as he sat at the bar. You remember drunkly telling the older man that he had the prettiest blue eyes, and that you wanted a hundred of his babies that looked just. like. him.

You have two, at least.

“Oh!” You sit up a bit straighter, snapping out of your daydream. “I was going to ask you to look at something on my laptop. It's doing that thing again. It's upstairs.” You get up and head to your home office, John right behind you.

You open your laptop and hand it to John. He knew how to fix it last time, so it should take him no time.

He sits in your office chair and you step away into your bedroom across the hall to get into a pair of pajama shorts and a hoodie, since it's getting late.

The laptop whirred softly before he got it running again. Only took a minute. He sets it on the desk, leaning back in your chair with his hands behind his head as he looks up through the open door where you can be found, changing in the bedroom.

You were his wife at one point, anyway. Isn’t something he hasn’t seen before…

After you’ve changed, you lay on your bed, scrolling through your phone as you wait for John to fix the issue with your laptop, unaware that he was watching. Unaware that the laptop has been fixed for a while now, and he was just wasting time.

Eventually, his voice wafts through the doorway.

“Think I got it, love-“ He pauses for a moment. “Er, Y/N.”

“Ugh, thank you.” You sigh and sit up, taking the laptop from him and setting it on your nightstand. “Stupid thing always acting up.”

John sits on the edge of your bed as you take the laptop back from him.

“Not a problem. It was a quick fix.” He offers a small smile, rubbing the back of his head.

He takes a glance at you, noticing the pajamas you had put on.

"...Is that my sweatshirt?"

You blush a bit sheepishly, looking down at the oversized, grey 2XL Special Air Service hoodie you’re wearing. "Um..."

Another small chuckle escapes his lips. He shakes his head a bit, trying to contain his amusement.

“S’what I thought. You look... comfy." He reaches his hand out towards your leg, running his hand lightly over your bare legs, exposed by the shorts you were wearing.

Without realizing what he's doing, he has his hand on your thigh, and he gives it a light squeeze.

Eventually his hand travels higher to rest on your sex over your pajama shorts.

Usually, you'd tell him off. Monologue about how this isn't how things work because it complicated things and you both need to set boundaries.

But tonight you don't.

Maybe it's because you had two heavy-handed pours of your favorite wine with dinner. Maybe it was seeing him with your kids again. Maybe it had just been too long since you'd felt anything other than a cheap bullet vibrator.

So you let him slip his hand down your panties.

But it's a bit jarring to feel his wedding band still on his finger.

You look down at his hand for a beat when you feel it.

You look back up and place your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in and crashing your lips together.

John wastes no time in laying you back on your bed and tugging your shorts and panties off, tossing them somewhere behind him.

His lips are on your neck, his hands spreading your soft thighs apart. You can smell the musky scent of himself on him, mixed with that familiar cologne of his, and you breathe a sigh.

“Take this off f’r me.” He mumbles against your skin, sliding your his hoodie up your body.

Your body aches for this to continue, and John doesn't plan to disappoint, but he takes a moment to admire what's sprawled out in front of him. He lets out a satisfied smirk as he pulls you closer by your thighs. He's undone his belt and shrugged out of his jeans in no time.

You pull his shirt off over his head before you close your eyes and tilt your head to give him easier access to kiss your neck.

His scruffy beard tickles your neck, his calloused hands gripping your thigh and rubbing your slick, dripping pussy.

“So needy.” John observed as your back arched and your body squirmed at his touch. "Poor thing... No one's been keepin’ you satisfied, hm?”

You shake your head a bit. You hate that he’s right. You hate that he can tell. That he knows you too well.

But he’s right; no random Tinder hookup and no blind date that your friends have set you up with could ever compare to your ex husband.

“Should’a told me...” He murmurs as he leans lower, positioning his head in between your thighs, pressing desperate kisses to your aching clit.

He’s got you figured out completely. He’s always been good at that.

A smile forms as his hands move to grip your thighs. He lets out a quiet groan as your legs instinctively clamp around his head. The look of his veiny hands gripping your plushy thighs with that damn wedding band still around his finger is doing things to you.

His tongue slowly plays in circular motions, teasing you, loving the game. He takes his time, enjoying himself, as you continue to squeeze your thighs against his head. Hell, he’d let you suffocate him if it meant he could eat your pussy this one last time.

You try not to, but you let out a desperate moan of pleasure. He knew exactly what you like, exactly where to lick, exactly where to kiss, exactly where to nibble.

Damn him.

“You sound s’pretty, lovey. S’pretty f’r me.” He pants, his praise ending with a whimper.

Your eyes roll back. Fuck, he has you. He knows he has you. Your moans and whimpers are uncontrollable as he picks up the pace, all but slamming his thick cock into your pretty little hole.

You’re his, and he knows it, and in the moment, it’s true. Just him. Just you. The rest doesn’t matter right now.

John pulls out for just a moment while he swiftly flips you over, roughly gripping your hips and pulling your backside into him. He’s got the angle just right now, and your breath catches in your throat, followed by a needy whimper.

“Mine… All mine… Isn’t that right?” He whispers, more of a command than a question.

Your face is pressed against the mattress as John’s grip on your hips tighten. This angle, this position, John is so familiar with it. He knows what it does to you. He knows the way it makes you respond.

John lets out a loud groan as your whimpers and moans get more needy, desperate. He knows that you’re about to come.

He finishes right then and there, along with you.

You gasp a bit, surprised by the synchronization. Should you really be surprised, though? Only he would know your body like that. You’re his. He’s yours.

John slowly pulls his softening cock out of you, lying on the bed and pulling you into his chest. His hand grabs your thigh, draping your leg around his waist in an attempt to hold you closer.

He lets out a few deep breaths, letting the adrenaline and endorphins just fade away. Neither of you wants to move right now, both just content being in each other’s arms. Both content feeling the heat of each other’s bodies, just listening to each other breathing.

“Better than I remembered it.” John murmurs, his voice laced with a smirk.

You catch John’s left hand after he reached up to push your sweaty hair from your forehead. You hold it in yours, playing a bit with the wedding band.

next >>

[longing-for-the-past-times]

Roommate!Simon who wakes up in the middle of the night, his chaotic sleeping schedule getting the best of him. Struggling to make as little noise as possible, he exits his bedroom and heads to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea

Roommate!Simon who stops dead in his tracks when he realises that you must have left the TV on, the blue faint glow of the screen projecting shadows on the wooden floor. He strides towards the coffee table to grab the remote control, when you rise from the blanket you'd been wrapped in, scaring the sh*t out of him

Roommate!Simon who instinctively reaches for the Ka-Bar knife he always keeps in his boot, only to realize that there is no way he could conceal such a weapon in the fluffy slippers he's currently wearing. He rolls his eyes in defeat and throws you a questioning look, the frown on his face deepening even more upon seeing what you were looking at- a Disney Pixar movie.

Roommate!Simon who pretends to be annoyed and keeps grumbling to himself as he heads into the kitchen, but ends up preparing two cups of tea and empties a bag of popcorn into a big plastic bowl

Roommate!Simon who just lays the tea on the coffee table and places the popcorn on the couch, lunging for the blanket that is still wrapped around your figure. You roll your eyes at his fake cold demeanour and lift a corner of the blanket as a silent invitation for him to join you

Roommate!Simon who ends up taking three-quarters of the blanket and eats all of the popcorn while his eyes are glued to the screen. Fighting for the last quarter of the blanket, you can't help but openly stare at his maskless figure, greedily taking in every detail that you can perceive in the faint light emitted by the TV

Roommate!Simon who ends up throwing an arm across the couch, pulling your body closer to his and wrapping the blanket around both so that your head is pressed against his chest. The tea's gone cold on the small coffee table, but it doesn't stop Ghost's eyes from getting heavy, his tired mind relishing in the rhythmic sound of your heartbeat

Roommate!Simon who falls asleep on the couch, holding you fast in his embrace and gently resting his head atop yours as the Disney movie keeps playing in the background. He won't tell anyone, but he hasn't slept that well in a long time.

part one part two part four masterlist

[xxplastic-cubexx]

you open my Super Important Documents and its just pictures of charles xavier

[megumiluvv]

You were doing makeup one day just for fun while watching Yuji, and he tilts his head.

“What’s this do?” He grabs a blush brush.

“Oh, it’s to make your cheeks all rosy.”

“Can I?” He brings the brush to your cheeks.

“Yeah, go ahead.” You smile and let him do your makeup.

When Choso walks in, he sees you all dolled up, Yuji actually did a good job with your instructions.

“What’s the occasion?” Choso smiles.

“Yuji wanted to do my makeup.”

“Looks good, good job, Yuji.”

“Thanks!” Yuji grins, putting your lipgloss on your lips and offering to do Choso’s next.

“Oh, I’m not sure…”

“Come onnn! It’ll be fun!” You smile. “I bet you'll look super cute.”

Choso looks at you and Yuji’s pleading expressions and sighs, you both make him cave so easily.

“Alright, alright, I guess…”

“Yay!” Yuji giggles and you help him push Choso’s hair out of his face and apply the right amounts of foundation and contour.

“Okay, remember what I said about blending it in?”

“Mhm!” Yuji nods and smiles, focusing on making the makeup blend nicely.

“That’s looking really good, Yuji. Better than how I do it…” you mumble.

Choso smiles and Yuji smacks his arm. “You can’t move your face! I almost messed up!”

Choso laughs and so do you. “Sorry, Yuji, I’ll keep a straight face now.”

Yuji huffs and continues working, taking his beauty guru job very seriously right now. You take over the eye makeup, leaning close to Choso and focusing on putting good eye shadow on him and a cute eyeliner design with a heart on the tails.

“Mkay, now open your eyes.”

Choso opens his eyes and sees how close you two are. “…how’s it look…?”

“Good.” You smile.

Yuji pops back in between you two and puts your lipgloss on Choso’s lips.

“Now you’re pretty!” Yuji grins.

“Can I see?” Choso asks.

You take a selfie with Choso and Yuji to show him the makeup. “I’ll send it to you.”

“Thanks.”

“Mkay, I’ll see you tomorrow!” You smile and wave, not noticing Choso set the selfie as one of his wallpapers for his lock screen.

He does look pretty, but he’ll always think you’re prettier.

Masterlist

Taglist (ask to join anytime): @samaraxmorgan @cherriee-ee @auor4 @chaotic-ish @meowsannie

@mediokerrv @flooftoof

[nostalgicninjas]

Cobra Kai Dynamics: Miguel Diaz and Samantha LaRusso

I gotta go. But I’ll see you out there rooting for me, right?

I’m always rooting for you, Sam.

[nadiajustbe]

I think the most beautiful thing about writing of Howl and Sophie's pair is that they are written as people before being written as a pair. Let me explain this very quick.

The thing about book Sophie and Howl is that they are not really fully fitting into any "classic" romantic trope. They are not exactly enemies to lovers, as their angry chats are definitely cannot be considered a life or death battle, they are not rivals to lovers because the only aspect of rivalry between them is the cleaningness of Howl's room. They are not friends to lovers, as their relationship just doesn't fit into "friendship" structure at the very start, nor they are roomates (yes, they live in the same house but that's not the core aspect of their relationships). Of course, you can go on and fit the name of the trope you found specifically for them, but that's the thing.

They simply cannot be processed through a pairings lenses only, in order to understand how they act in relationship you need to analyse them separately, as a characters first of all. Cause that's what the book itself does!

Sure, it doesn't have a whole lot of romance instead, but it gives us time to learn and observe the life of incredibly written, alive characters, understand them as personalities first of all, while slowly immersing the dynamic between two characters (in this case, Howl and Sophie) into work. They are written as personalities, both being fully separated and interviewing, changing eachother's point of view.

It's difficult to find a trope for them. They're are not a trope. They are Howl and Sophie, and that's probably the only way their dynamic can be properly described. Just as real people, they are not really fitting into the boxes of linial character progression, but go way deeper into being complex, filled with little differences and moments only people with their personality can have in romantic (or any different) kind of interaction. They're imperfect, and silly, and multidimensional and the reader knows them well enough to imagine them interacting way beyond of what the book says to them.

They are being people before being a ship, a pair of a trope — and that's why they work so perfectly charming in the end.

Howl and Sophie are unique in being themselves.

[they-have-the-same-va]

Shadow the Hedgehog from the Sonic the Hedgehog series (since 2010) shares a voice actor with Igor from the Persona series (since 2017).

Voiced by Kirk Thornton

[wyrdle]

Shuji ikutsuki and Takuto Maruki doodles because i hope you see my vision (these are such bad doodles to explore their parallels but I'm busy and tired lol)

[amandamadeathing]

❌ Single

❌ Taken

✔️ In a very healthy relationship with five fictional men

[nugzzzzzzz]

Oh ya! I did make one of these I thought it would be interesting and shake in his late 30s to early 40s I couldn't decide as the show was just as indecisive 😂

But merely made this just as a lil thing something bigger will be on its way soon 👀 PLUS I MADE THIS AWHILE AGO TOO-

[lycankeyy]

Even as someone who's not like Deep In the Trenches it pisses me off so much how many posts I've seen boiling down Rogue's issues to "wanting sex" or talking about how "she can touch people through clothes" so she should just Get Over It (usually to the effect of "so she can get with Remy".)

In terms of X-Men representing minorities its always been blatantly obvious to me that Rogue's mutation is (or can be easily interpreted as) an invisible disability. She Cannot Touch People. And to this extent, it's perfectly normal for disabled people to mourn the things they can't have or do because of their disability? Especially when there's a degree of trauma there? Yes there's workarounds, but that doesn't change the fact that she cannot do something that most people take for granted. Rogue has clearly been in a state of severe grief about this, which is what makes the narrative so compelling.

She wants to be with Remy, clearly. But she's so consumed by her feelings about her mutation that she can't see that they can be together. Her attraction to Magneto is, by her own admission (as she seems to have gotten over her infatuation with him based on his ideals before joining the X-Men), the fact that his powers cancel out hers. It takes her healing past her grief, after sharing a dance with Magneto, to realize that she cares more about Gambit than her ability to touch someone's skin.

There are plenty of actual criticisms you could have about this and Rogue's character; in this vein, it's easy to criticize how complaining about her disability frequently is one of Rogue's main character traits - but "there are other ways she can have sex so she should get over it :/" is like. The most bizarre and Nothing criticism ever

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about Ghost and Soap in a polyamorous relationship (18+, MINORS DNI)

It’s to no surprise that your two boyfriends have rather contrasting personalities. One is for physical touch while the other is vehemently against it. It’s not like Ghost won’t ever hug you or hold your hand. It’s just that it can quickly become too much for him. Thats why you’ll opt for short side hugs and cling onto the cuffs of his sleeves when you want to touch him. It’s just a boundary he has and you chose to respect it.

So when it feels like everything in the world is going wrong and you need a reassuring embrace or a hand to hold, you’ll resort to the Scotsman who’ll happily ground his weight on top of yours and offer you a sturdy grip to hold onto.

That’s why it came as a surprise when you found out just how eager Ghost is to touch you in the bedroom, so much so he can barley contain himself.

He’s breathing heavily, hands shaking, seated in a a chair placed a bit further away from the bed that you’re laying in.

He doesn’t dare touch you though, knows his mind is too far gone to make clear headed decisions, hands far too eager to be gentle, knows his distance from the bed is the only thing keeping him from falling off the deep end.

So that’s why he assigns Soap to plant himself between your legs, watching as you roll your hips against his face, hands flying up to grab onto Soap’s hair as their names fall from your lips like prayers.

Ghost’s hand trails up the expanse of his thigh, gaze never leaving the scene in front of him as his palm lands on the spot where his cock is pressed against the fabric of his sweatpants and gently squeezes it.

His toes curl into the floor as he bucks up into his palm, a pathetic mewl escaping his lips as his dick finally gets some sort of relief after just watching you and Soap for so long. But his feather like touch quickly turns rough. His mind is too frantic to prevent eager hands from roughly stroking his dick. He’s tethering at the edge of relief before he forcefully pries his hand away from it.

His cock mourns the loss as much as he does “No, no, no, why? Why?!” He mutters to himself, chair rocking back in place as he throws his head back against the backrest.

He slumps in the chair, breath just as heavy and hands just as shaky as his gaze falls down to the spot where his palm once was.

The fabric of his sweats lay taut against his cock. It feels hard and heavy and it’s weeping continuously, leaving a dark spot on the otherwise bright fabric.

Not yet, he thinks to himself.

If he’s not able to handle his cock with care he won’t touch you yet.

[inkprovised]

Don't wanna see Luigi and Bowser smooch? Keep scrolling.

I made something. But it might be nice to have context. The thing is... I can't write. Not even in my first language, I suck hard at this. And I don't have the patience nor energy to draw much more at the moment.

But here I am -putting something together. And maybe I will be able to write something properly.... one day.

A smoll Bowuigi thing my head spat out...

Short;

We have peace between the Mushroom Kingdom and the Dark Land.

And of course they have a party. XD

Luigi and Bowser become friends after the truce started and they spend some time together (on a professional level of course XD) And later in private (As friends! calm down you)

So there’s a party planed for the “peace agreement anniversary” (is this a thing?) and Bowser asks Kamek to shrink him a little, since he always (almost) crushes someone of the little mushroom people + he thinks it would be nice to be closer to Luigis size – it could make conversations easier of course.

One problem; Kamek feels under the weather, and his powers are limited in his state. He agrees anyways BUT the spell is temporary.

At the party, everyone notices the change but they do not comment on it.

He tells Luigi about the spell and that it expires at midnight. The plumber only smiles and mutters “Like Cinderella” – whatever that means, Bowser has no clue and doesn’t ask.

He is still bigger than he hoped for, but still- Chatting is easier – Handling the small food is easier - Dancing is easier – were Luigi’s eyes always this blue?

I think they are flirting most of the time. Awkward flirting and maybe don’t even realise it. XDD

The evening is pleasant for everyone, and they have a great time with Mario and Peach as Luigi gets startled from the first Gong at midnight.

Luigi reacts immediately, grabs Bowser by his Hand?... and drags him across the room to the door leading out into the Castle Garden…

[redislazy]

Deadly Attachments, Chapter 05

<< Chapter 04　|　Chapter 06 >>

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI > ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

-

Summary: As a skilled mercenary, you've navigated countless high-stakes missions—until one job puts you in the crosshairs of Task Force 141 and the elusive "Ghost." Now forced into an uneasy alliance, you’re drawn into a dangerous game of shifting loyalties and hidden motives. But as the stakes climb higher, one question lingers: how close can you get to the man who was meant to be a shadow in your path?

-

Content Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Military Action & Romance, Mercenaries, Soldiers, Non-Canon Antagonists, Eventual Smut, Military Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, Will add smut-specific tags later as the story goes

"Do you know who the leader of Aegis is?” Price asks, his voice low and direct.

You're seated with Task Force 141 in the main room of your makeshift base, the air thick with the smell of strong coffee and tactical gear. Maps and intel reports are strewn across the table, the faint rustling of papers filling the silence. Price leans forward, a serious glint in his eyes as he waits for your response.

You shake your head, feeling a pang of frustration resurface. “No one really does. The leader’s kept their identity hidden, even from most of their own people. Only a few high-ranking lackeys know anything, and they’re the ones who dish out orders to the mercs under them. It’s… compartmentalized.”

Price exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair as he considers this. “Figures. Bastard’s running a whole operation from the shadows.”

Soap’s brows knit together as he glances around at the team. “So what? We take down a few agents, and they just keep popping up like cockroaches. We’d be at this forever.”

Gaz nods in agreement. “The only way to cut them off for good is to go after the one running the show. Take out the leader, and Aegis would crumble from the top down.”

A heavy silence falls over the room as the reality of it sets in. Ghost’s eyes flicker toward you, his gaze unreadable. “You’re saying we need to hit the head of the snake,” he says, tone even but grim. “Find whoever’s pullin’ the strings and make sure they stop for good.”

You swallow, feeling the weight of their words. They make it sound simple, but the truth gnaws at you. Aegis’s leader is more than just a face or a name—they’re a shadow, always out of reach. Tracking them down would be like chasing smoke through the dark, nearly impossible. But it’s what you’ll have to do if you want the target on your back to disappear, if you ever want a chance at being a free, independent mercenary again.

You sigh quietly, thinking over the task ahead. “It won’t be easy. They’ve built their whole operation on staying hidden, letting others take the heat and make the moves.”

Price’s gaze softens, a rare moment of understanding. “We’re not saying it’ll be easy. But you’ve got an advantage the rest of us don’t—you’ve been inside their system, seen how they work. You might be our best chance at getting close enough to flush ‘em out.”

You nod slowly, feeling both the pressure and the strange, growing sense of resolve. This mission was more than personal survival now; it was a matter of closing a chapter that’d haunted you, taking down the very organization that once counted you as their own. It would be hard, maybe harder than anything you’d done—but the path ahead is clearer, and for the first time in a long while, you have a sense of purpose.

“So,” Price says, a determined look passing over him as he glances around at the team, “we go all in. Aegis’s leader is our endgame. Let’s find this threat hiding in the shadows.”

Gaz clears his throat, breaking the determined silence that’s settled over everyone. He leans forward, eyebrows knit together in a frown. “Alright, but where do we even begin with this?” He looks to Price, then over to you. “If she worked with Aegis for ten years and still doesn’t know who’s running the show… it’s like we’re chasing a ghost.”

Price crosses his arms, his gaze fixed on the wall for a moment as he thinks. “You’re right—it won’t be easy. But every organization, no matter how secretive, has a trail. It’s just a matter of finding the cracks, the weak spots in their setup.” He glances over to you, his expression firm but steady. “And you might know where to start looking.”

You shift uncomfortably, feeling the weight of their eyes on you. “They’ve always kept the hierarchy vague, even for those working in it for years. Only the most trusted agents deal directly with whoever’s at the top. Orders trickle down through a few of those loyal yes men, but they don’t leave much of a trail.”

Ghost’s voice cuts through, calm but edged with skepticism. “So we’re sifting through shadows. Fine. But if we know who their high-ranking lackeys are, maybe we can press them hard enough to get to the top.”

“Problem is,” you reply, feeling the familiar frustration at Aegis’s elusive nature, “even their lieutenants aren’t easy to track down. They’re careful, and most of them use proxies or intermediaries. Aegis is designed to protect the leader’s anonymity at all costs.”

Price nods, absorbing the information. “Then we take it one layer at a time. Start with any connections we can find. Places Aegis is active, recurring contacts, anything that can get us closer."

Gaz sighs, running a hand over his face. “Even with that, it could take months, years even, to get anything solid. And if they know she’s working with us against them, they’ll close ranks tighter than ever.”

You clench your jaw, knowing he’s right. Aegis’s leader wasn’t just running an organization—they’d crafted a fortress of secrecy, one that you never even questioned back when you were part of it. The odds feel almost impossible. Yet, a part of you feels a strange, stubborn determination settling in.

“If we want to dismantle Aegis for good,” you say slowly, meeting each of their eyes, “we’ll have to be as relentless as they are. I know it’s hard to track them down, and I know it seems hopeless. But if there’s one thing I learned in all those years, it’s that they get comfortable in their own secrecy. And that… that’s where we’ll find them. Somewhere they think we’ll never look.”

Soap grins slightly, trying to lighten the mood. “So what you’re saying is, we go on the world’s hardest game of hide and seek?”

Ghost rolls his eyes, but there’s a spark of agreement there. “Something like that,” he mutters. Then, to you, he adds, “Just don’t think you’re going at this alone.”

You nod, taking a steadying breath. For the first time, you have allies—ones willing to dig as deep as it takes to uncover Aegis’s secrets. You’d spent a year running from them, dreading the target on your back. Now, with Task Force 141, it’s different. Now, you’re not just trying to escape—you’re going to hunt them down, piece by piece, until there’s nowhere left for their leader to hide.

Captain Price looks around at each of you, a steady resolve in his gaze. “We may be staring at a pile of scrambled intel right now, but HQ’s got the resources and expertise to make sense of that damned hard drive. Once they break through these files, we’ll have a clearer picture of what Aegis is planning and where they’re vulnerable. This hard drive’s our way in, so we sit tight, let them do their part, and be ready to move the second we have actionable intel. We’ve got the edge now, so let’s use it.”

A quiet determination settles over the team, and you feel a renewed sense of purpose, knowing the next step is coming into focus.

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A week after the intense mission in Istanbul, everyone gathers in the briefing room, pouring over the latest intel reports the team itself has gathered while waiting for HQ's findings. The progress is disappointing—Aegis has gone quiet. Their network seems to have retracted, pulling resources and high-ranking members out of sight. It’s almost as if their encounter with Task Force 141 spooked them into hunkering down.

Price studies the map in front of him, a frown etched deeply into his face. “Looks like Aegis is trying to play it safe. They’ve pulled back any valuable assets. Istanbul’s gone cold.”

Soap leans back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “Almost like they’re on to us, yeah? As if they know we’re here sniffin’ around.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Ghost says, crossing his arms. “They’ve always been good at keeping just out of reach.”

Price nods slowly, looking at each of you in turn. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. We’ve scoured every lead we had in Istanbul, but if Aegis is keeping low, we’re just spinning our wheels here.”

“So we pull out?” Gaz asks, sounding a little reluctant.

Price’s jaw tightens before he lets out a resigned sigh. “Aye. We regroup back at the main HQ, review the intel, and see what we can dig up once we’re back on our own turf. If Aegis resurfaces, we’ll be ready.”

You feel a mix of relief and frustration. On one hand, the thought of leaving Istanbul without a clear victory is disheartening; on the other, the relentless days and nights have worn you thin. You catch Ghost watching you from the corner of his eye, and you know he hasn’t forgotten your exhausted misstep on the last mission. Maybe pulling back isn’t the worst idea.

Price stands, dismissing the team. “Pack it up. We're flying in two hours.”

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Back on British soil, the familiar surroundings of the main base bring a strange sense of comfort. The hallways are quieter than the bustling streets of Istanbul, and the air feels less charged with tension. Still, the unresolved mystery of Aegis hangs over you all like a dark cloud.

You spend most of your first day back debriefing and sifting through what intel you gathered in Istanbul. While the team disperses to their respective quarters that evening, Price calls you into a conference room where Ghost is already waiting.

“We’re going to regroup, assess what we’ve got,” Price begins, looking between the two of you. “But while we’re back here, I want you both digging into anything that could link to Aegis. Old contacts, forgotten leads, even whispers you’ve heard from your past. We can’t let them slip through our fingers just because they’ve gone quiet.”

Ghost nods, his gaze focused and unreadable as ever. You feel his presence beside you, a constant reminder of the grudging partnership you’re both locked into. He’s quiet as Price outlines the plan, but you can sense the intensity beneath his stoic exterior.

When Price finally dismisses you, Ghost falls into step beside you in the hallway.

“You know what this means,” he says, his voice low and measured.

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“No more running on empty.” His tone is pointed, and you feel the weight of his earlier frustration still lingering in his words. “If we’re going after Aegis, I need you sharp, not half-dead from a lack of sleep.”

You open your mouth to argue, but his stare holds steady, and for once, you’re out of comebacks. Maybe he’s right. Istanbul was close, too close. If you’re going to face down Aegis, you need to be ready, fully prepared.

With a resigned sigh, you nod. “Fine. I’ll be ready.”

Ghost’s eyes linger on you for a beat longer than necessary, as if assessing whether you’re being sincere. He gives a curt nod, satisfied. “Good. Then let’s get to work.”

The hunt isn’t over yet—far from it. But with Task Force 141 at your side, and your resolve steeled, you feel a strange flicker of confidence. Aegis can try to hide, but they can’t run forever.

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When you’re shown to your quarters, a small, amused smile tugs at your lips. It’s the same room you were kept in last year, back when Kozlov’s case threw you headfirst into the chaos of the SAS and Task Force 141. Back then, this room had been a cage, a place where they held you in custody as both a suspect and a temporary asset, neither trusting you nor willing to let you walk away.

But now, stepping inside, the feeling is… different. It’s strange how much can change in a year. You’re still an outsider, technically speaking—still a mercenary with your own agenda and your own grudges to bear. But here, under the weight of the memories of that tense alliance with the SAS, you feel the difference. You’re no longer here out of necessity or suspicion. You’re here because you’re needed, a part of something that, in its own way, feels like it might actually have your back.

You drop your bag on the bed and scan the room, a flood of memories filling the empty space. The walls feel less confining now, less like they’re pressing in to remind you of every questionable choice that brought you here. There’s a strange warmth in knowing you’re trusted enough to roam freely this time, not a captive but an ally.

Leaning against the doorframe, you let out a quiet laugh. If someone had told you a year ago that you’d be willingly working with Task Force 141 again—especially Ghost, of all people—you’d have called them insane. But here you are, and even though the threat of Aegis looms just as dark and dangerous as before, you feel a sense of resolve settling in your bones. For the first time, the title “ally” doesn’t feel like a chain; it feels like a choice.

With that, you toss yourself onto the bed, letting yourself sink into the familiarity of it, not as an outsider or a prisoner but as someone who has fought with them, earned her place beside them—even if, at times, it feels like you’ve only just managed to keep up.

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Days slip by in a steady rhythm, quiet and uneventful—a rare stretch of calm that you hadn’t anticipated but can’t help appreciating. There’s no immediate mission, no dire orders waiting in the wings. You almost don’t know what to do with yourself without the constant pressure of survival and strategy weighing on your shoulders.

It’s a welcome change, really. For once, you have time to simply exist in one place without fear of attack or the ever-present anxiety that Aegis might be around the corner. Here, in the heart of the SAS base, you know they won’t get to you. Not with the layers of security, the trained eyes watching every corner, and the presence of Task Force 141 keeping things in check. You hadn’t realized just how exhausting it was to live with that constant threat on your back—how much it had worn you down until now, when you could finally breathe a little easier.

And the days of rest are doing their work. The wound on your shoulder, a stinging reminder of that reckless call during the last mission, is healing steadily. At first, the pain had flared up with every movement, a sharp reminder of the risk you’d taken for Ghost. Now, though, the ache is dulling, settling into a faint throb that only bothers you when you forget it’s there. You’ve been able to patch it up, tend to it properly, and let your body rest—something you haven’t allowed yourself in far too long.

In a way, it’s ironic that the safest you’ve felt in years is here, surrounded by soldiers who were once ready to interrogate you, in a base that was once meant to hold you captive. Yet, with each day that passes, you feel yourself easing into this strange routine, letting down your guard little by little. The thought of Aegis creeping closer doesn’t linger as it once did; for now, you know you’re out of their reach. As long as you’re here, protected and hidden within these walls, they can’t touch you.

Every so often, you catch yourself almost… enjoying it, this sense of quiet security. It’s unfamiliar, this feeling of not having to look over your shoulder or map out an escape plan. For once, you can simply heal, both in body and mind, without the shadow of Aegis looming close. And as strange as it feels, you allow yourself to embrace it, even if it’s only for a little while.

You’re making your way through the base, aimlessly wandering to pass the time, when the low thud of weights and the soft hum of grunts from the training area catches your attention. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you follow the sounds, your steps quieter as you approach.

And there, across the room, is Ghost—his focus entirely on the barbell in front of him as he lifts it with practiced strength. He’s shirtless, a rarity you’ve never quite had the opportunity to witness, and for a second, you’re almost stunned into place. The soft sheen of sweat glistens on his skin, tracing the defined lines of his muscles as he moves, each lift accentuating the raw strength in his arms, chest, and shoulders. He’s a fortress of a man, each muscle honed and cut, but it’s not just the sheer size of him—it’s the quiet, unwavering power in the way he works, every motion controlled, almost methodical.

Your gaze trails from his shoulders down to the faint scars that mar his skin, stories etched into his body that you know only hint at what he’s seen. His biceps flex with each lift, veins standing out against his forearms, and you can’t help but let your eyes linger. There’s a pull to him, this silent allure that makes it hard to look away. You’re drawn in by the way he moves, powerful yet careful, as though he’s attuned to every shift in his muscles, every beat of his own strength.

And the mask—he’s still wearing it, a reminder that even here, stripped of nearly everything else, he still keeps part of himself hidden. There’s something strangely endearing about it, almost funny in a way, that he’s still clinging to this one piece of armor. But it adds to the enigma of him, this contrast of being both revealed and guarded, and the sight makes your stomach flutter in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Your eyes wander over the expanse of his shoulders, tracing the lines of his tattoos that weave across his skin. They’re intricate, dark swirls of ink that curl over his biceps and up along his forearms, striking against his skin in a way that only adds to his mystique. You can’t help but feel a sense of awe at how the designs accentuate the muscle beneath, each tattoo seeming to carry its own story—a past he never talks about but is forever etched into him.

The ink follows the contours of his arms, slipping beneath the mask of sweat and shadow as he moves, and you realize how each mark, each line, only amplifies that unapproachable air he carries. The tattoos make him look even more dangerous, more untamed, yet there’s an undeniable allure to them, a kind of dark art that keeps you captivated. You’re struck by how fitting they seem on him, how seamlessly they blend with the person he is—enigmatic, guarded, and quietly powerful.

As he lowers the barbell and finally catches sight of you, you feel yourself snap back to reality, heat rising in your cheeks when you realize just how openly you were staring. He tilts his head slightly, and you catch the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes, half hidden behind the shadows of his mask.

“Somethin’ interestin’?” he asks, his tone low but edged with a challenge.

Your heart skips a beat, but you somehow manage to keep your cool, shrugging as casually as you can. “Just admiring the…artwork,” you reply, unable to stop the hint of a grin from tugging at your lips.

He huffs softly, grabbing a towel and running it over his arms, brushing over those very tattoos you were just admiring. “Didn’t peg you for a fan,” he mutters, but there’s a spark in his eyes, as if he finds it amusing that you’re drawn in by something so personal to him.

You feel a flicker of nerves as you meet his gaze, aware of the way he’s watching you now, the barest suggestion of a smirk pulling at his lips. It’s like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you, and there’s something undeniably thrilling about it.

Caught off guard by your own thoughts, you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle under your breath at the absurdity of it. Here you are, shamelessly ogling the one person who’s probably lectured you the hardest about staying sharp. And yet, there’s something about seeing him like this, so intensely alive and real, that makes it hard to think about anything else.

You raise an eyebrow, recovering just enough to give a smirk. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Always do,” he replies, a faint challenge in his eyes. He grabs a towel, running it over his arms and chest before casually throwing it around his shoulders. His gaze stays on you, unreadable, and you feel a pang of nerves twist in your stomach.

“Well, I’d hate to disturb your… intense routine,” you manage, trying for a light tone even as your pulse quickens.

He only grunts, but there’s a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth that suggests a smile. “Could use a spotter next time,” he says, deadpan, though his eyes hold a hint of mischief.

It’s a simple moment, laced with more tension than you’d expected, but there’s something unmistakable in the way he looks at you—something that leaves your heart thudding a bit faster as you return his gaze.

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Later in the day, you and Ghost are in the operations room, pouring over files and databases, the air thick with tension. Hours have passed, and the list of potential Aegis operatives and higher-ups sprawls across the screen. You’re deep in focus, building a list of names when Ghost leans over your shoulder, his usual presence looming a little closer than necessary.

“Gonna check the background on each name?” he remarks, voice laced with skepticism. “Doesn’t do us much good if they’re not active in the field anymore.”

You close your eyes for a moment, suppressing the urge to sigh. “Yes, Ghost, I know what I’m doing. This is just a preliminary list. I’ll get to backgrounds in a second.”

“Preliminary doesn’t mean sloppy,” he mutters, and you swear he’s leaning even closer. “Miss one detail, and we’re back at square one. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

You turn to glare at him, trying to ignore how close he is. “I’m not being sloppy. I’m gathering leads. You could always give me five minutes to breathe without hovering.”

He raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms with that infuriatingly stoic expression. “Not hovering. Just making sure we don’t waste time on mistakes. Aegis doesn’t let anything slip, so neither should we.”

“Oh, I get it.” You sit back, crossing your arms with a smirk. “You’re just this nitpicky with everyone, yeah?”

Ghost’s gaze narrows. “If you’re looking for me to tell you ‘good job’ for half-finished work, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

You roll your eyes, leaning in with a playful, challenging grin. “You know, you’re awfully invested in how I do my job. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were just trying to spend more time with me.”

For a second, he looks taken aback—just for a split second before he schools his expression. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself to focus, go right ahead.” He steps back, but his eyes are still fixed on you with that intense, unyielding look. “This isn’t about me, it’s about doing it right.”

You let out a small laugh, tilting your head at him. “Uh-huh. So you’re hovering because you don’t want to spend time with me. Got it. This is about quality control, not about you caring so much about what I’m doing that you can’t stay away. Makes sense.”

He doesn’t reply at first, just lets out a low, exasperated sigh, but you catch the hint of a smirk tugging at the edge of his mask. “Believe what you want, but if you screw this up, I’m not pulling you out of the mess.”

“Because you’d just hate to see me fail, wouldn’t you?” you tease, leaning back in your chair with a challenging grin.

“Failing’s not your issue,” he replies, his tone smooth. “Getting distracted is.”

“Oh, really?” You mirror his expression with a raised brow. “Last time I checked, you’re the one causing the distraction.”

Ghost huffs, crossing his arms, and his gaze is unwavering. “If you spent as much time working as you do trying to rile me up, you might actually get something done.”

“Maybe I just work best under pressure,” you reply, shrugging with mock innocence.

“Then consider this a performance review.” He pauses, his voice softer but still with an edge. “For the record, I’ll be watching.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes but feeling the lingering warmth of his gaze. For all the back-and-forth, the tension between you doesn’t feel quite as sharp. It’s there, but lighter, laced with something almost fun, a reminder that even amidst the mission, you’re not just rivals but two people with a shared drive.

Just as the tension between you and Ghost reaches a lull, Soap bursts into the room, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Oi, lovebirds, wrap it up!” he announces, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “We’re headin’ out tonight. Pub in town. Price gave the go-ahead, so consider it an order to blow off some steam.”

You blink in surprise, barely processing Soap’s words before he adds, “Come on, we’re all going—no excuses.”

“Pub night, huh?” Ghost’s voice has a rare note of interest, and he actually seems…enthusiastic? His gaze flickers to you, the edge in his expression softening. “Been a while since we had a proper night out.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to picture him in a more casual setting. “Didn’t peg you for someone who’d enjoy a pub crawl, Ghost.”

He shrugs, crossing his arms. “I don’t mind a pint every now and then. Especially after dealing with you.”

A smirk tugs at your lips. “Well, the feeling’s mutual,” you retort, but there’s a warmth to it. Maybe it’s the idea of seeing a different side of him outside the usual grind.

Soap grins, nodding approvingly. “That’s what I like to hear. Now go on—get yourselves outta those uniforms and into something halfway decent. We’re out the door in an hour.”

As he leaves, you catch a flicker of amusement in Ghost’s eyes. “Guess we better not keep them waiting,” he says, his tone almost teasing.

You tilt your head, still a bit surprised by his openness to the idea. “Guess I’ll have to see what ‘relaxed Ghost’ looks like.”

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. “Don’t get your hopes up. But maybe you’ll see me a bit more…human.”

It’s a surprising statement from him, one that lingers as he gives you a nod and heads off to get ready, leaving you with a sense of anticipation you hadn’t expected.

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The pub is warm and bustling, a far cry from the quiet and regimented SAS base. The dim lights, hum of chatter, and scent of wood polish mixed with spilled beer create an atmosphere of easygoing revelry. You’re seated with the team at a table near the corner, where Ghost and Price lean back in their seats, both relaxed yet observant. You glance at Ghost, surprised by how much more at ease he seems here. There’s still an edge to him, but he doesn’t look like he’s on guard in the same way.

Soap, on the other hand, has made it his mission to kick off the evening with as many pints as he can get his hands on. He slams his drink down on the table, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Right, here’s a thought for you lot,” he says, his Scottish accent thickening with each drink. “If a merc like you could get Ghost to crack a smile, that’d be somethin’ of a miracle.”

Gaz raises an eyebrow, grinning. “I’d say we’ve got better odds of winning the lottery.”

You smirk, nudging Soap’s shoulder. “Please, I think I’ve done that already. He’s just hiding it under that mask of his.”

Ghost narrows his eyes, though there’s a hint of intrigue. “Careful what you wish for. Smiling from me might send you running.”

Soap grins mischievously, leaning in as if he’s about to share a grand secret. “You know, mate, I reckon you’d look downright charming if you let loose a little. Flash those pearly whites, give the ladies a thrill.”

Ghost shakes his head, deadpan. “The day I take advice on charm from you, Johnny, is the day hell freezes over.”

Price chuckles, raising his glass. “Don��t think there’s anyone here who’d survive if Ghost suddenly turned on the charm.”

Soap raises his glass in agreement, a wicked glint in his eye as he points it at you. “Oi, what about our resident mercenary? Bet you’ve got a right bloody wild side we haven’t seen yet, eh? All that time sneakin’ around with Aegis—you must have some stories.”

You roll your eyes, pretending to think. “Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Gaz smirks, chiming in. “What, afraid to tell us? Must be some top-secret stuff. C’mon, give us a little taste.”

You shrug with a mischievous smile. “Only if Ghost spills his secrets first.”

All eyes turn to Ghost, who gives the barest shake of his head, clearly unimpressed. “Secrets? You lot wouldn’t last a minute with half of ‘em.”

Soap snorts. “Oh, big man’s too mysterious for us, is he?”

Ghost glances over, voice low but steady. “If you’re keen to learn, there’s plenty I could teach. But somehow I don’t think you’ve got the spine for it, Johnny.”

The table erupts into laughter, and Soap throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Easy, Ghost! I’ll pass on the torture sessions, thanks.”

Grinning, you look over at Ghost, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Ghost. You think he could handle it?”

Ghost meets your gaze with that intense stare, and there’s the faintest flicker of mirth behind it. “Not a chance.”

Price chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “Here’s what I’m curious about,” he says, looking at you. “You keep trading barbs with Ghost like it’s second nature. Takes a special kind of person to keep up with him.”

You tilt your head, a playful glint in your eye. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

Soap cackles, slapping the table. “Oh-ho! Listen to that, Ghost. She’s got your number.”

“Is that right?” Ghost replies, his tone dry.

You lean in, unphased. “You can try and intimidate me all you want, but I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Ghost looks at you, one corner of his mouth tugging up in the faintest hint of a smirk. “For now.”

Gaz laughs, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “See, I knew it! We’ve got ourselves a real daredevil here.”

“Right,” Soap says, raising his glass high. “Here’s to this mad lot—ain’t a soul here with sense, and thank God for it.”

Everyone raises their glasses, and even Ghost gives a small nod of approval as he lifts his drink. You clink glasses, the laughter and ribbing reminding you that, somehow, you’ve found a place among this group of misfits.

As the night goes on, the drinks flow and the banter gets bolder. At one point, you lean back with a mischievous glint in your eye, glancing over at Ghost. “Alright, I’ve got a question for you. Be honest—is Ghost really your name? Or is it just to keep everyone guessing?”

There’s a pause as the whole table goes quiet. Soap nearly chokes on his drink, barely containing his laughter as he looks between you and Ghost. “Oh, aye, that’s a good one!” he says, slapping the table. “Imagine his ma callin’ him Ghost. ‘Time for supper, Ghostie boy!’”

Gaz bites back a grin, chiming in. “That's sounds a little bit too accurate, no?"

Price chuckles but keeps his face straight. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there,” he says in a low, amused tone, glancing knowingly at Ghost.

Ghost just stares back at you, his expression as closed-off as ever, though you could swear you see the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You’re asking all the wrong questions,” he replies coolly. “Keep dreaming, though. Might even let you think you’re getting close.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat with a half-smile. “Fine, keep your mystery,” you say, as if you’re letting him win the round. “But one day, I’ll get it out of you.”

The table erupts in laughter, and Soap shakes his head, giving you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Good luck, lass. Took me years to even learn his favorite color.”

You laugh along with the others, but as the night settles, it hits you: they know things about Ghost that you’re nowhere close to finding out. If you want to be someone he trusts, someone he’d share even the smallest parts of himself with, it’s going to be a long journey.

But, sitting here with the team, sharing laughs and drinks, you think maybe, just maybe, that’s a road you’re willing to travel.

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The walk back to base is quiet, the night air crisp and cool after the warmth of the pub. The team trails off one by one to their respective quarters, with Ghost hanging back to make sure you make it to yours. You’re a bit buzzed, not quite unsteady, but everything’s a touch softer at the edges, and you can’t help but notice how large his presence feels next to you as he walks silently, hands in his pockets.

When you finally stop at your door, you fumble a little with your keycard, squinting as you try to slide it into the card reader. You can feel Ghost watching, arms crossed, probably waiting for you to admit defeat and hand him the keycard, but you’re determined to manage it on your own.

Of course, in your tipsy state, your balance betrays you. You stumble, and before you even realize it, Ghost’s hands are on your shoulders, steadying you as you fall back against him. His touch is firm and unyielding, but there’s something… soft in the way he keeps you close, ensuring you don’t lose your footing completely. You blink, surprised by the solidness of him, and he doesn’t step away immediately. His expression is unreadable, eyes shadowed beneath his mask, but his hands don’t move from your shoulders.

Without thinking, you tilt your head back, squinting up at him. “Oh, look at you, all grumpy as usual.”

“Grumpy, huh?” he replies, one brow arched beneath the mask, his tone teasing but laced with something else.

“Yeah, always brooding, always scowling. What’s your deal?” You poke lightly at his mask, as if you were trying to pry something out of him. “You’re always hiding something, aren’t you?”

His hand moves to your face, cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. His gaze drops to your eyes, studying you more intently now, like he’s taking in how badly you’re buzzed, how off-kilter your thoughts are. His fingers linger there for a moment longer than you expect, his touch gentle yet possessive. For a heartbeat, it feels like the world has shrunk to just the two of you, his presence overwhelming and solid, his mask hiding everything but the emotion in his eyes. It’s an unspoken understanding, but it also feels like something more.

You don’t pull away. Instead, your eyes stay fixed on his, and the alcohol loosens your tongue even further. “Why do you always look so grumpy?” you murmur, half-joking. “You really think you’re that scary, huh?”

He chuckles, low and rough, breaking the tension. “Maybe it’s just how I look,” he answers, but there’s an amused gleam in his eyes now, something different from earlier.

You shake your head, not letting him off the hook so easily. “No, you look like you’re hiding something. But you don’t need to, you know?”

There’s another long pause between you, his thumb still brushing against your cheek, and the closeness has your breath catching in your chest. You can’t quite place what it is, but something shifts in the air, something that makes your heart race faster.

Leaning in just a little, you murmur, “You know… you’re actually really handsome, Ghost.”

His eyes widen just the slightest bit, the expression behind his mask shifting into something unreadable, but it doesn’t stop him from holding you there, his hand still cupping your face. “Is that so?” he murmurs, voice deeper now, amused and almost… pleased?

“Yeah, you’ve got that whole mysterious, dark vibe going for you,” you say, your gaze drifting down to his chest as you sway slightly on your feet. “Don’t let it go to your head, though,” you add with a half-smile, trying to lighten the moment, “but it’s true.”

There aren’t many moments you’ve seen Ghost without his mask—just enough for you to count with your fingers. Mostly, it’s been during meals, those rare occasions when he’s forced to shed the barrier between him and the world. You can’t help but notice each time he does; how could you not?

The first time you saw him without the mask, you felt a jolt of surprise. His face was striking in ways that you hadn’t expected—strong, sharp features that seemed carved from stone. His jawline was all hard angles, his eyes intense and deeper than they seemed when half-shaded by the mask. But what drew your gaze more than anything was the scar on his left cheek, a thin, pale line running down just shy of his jaw. It looked like a relic from some old battle, faded but unmissable, giving his face a harsher, almost haunted edge.

And yet, that scar softened something too. It hinted at a history, at moments he’s endured that you could only guess at. You’ve never asked him about it—he’d probably shut down if you tried—but each time you’ve seen his face, you’ve memorized it just a little more. His gaze always flickers away when he catches you looking, but you can’t help noticing the smallest details: the faint crease between his brows when he’s deep in thought, the way his mouth barely tilts when someone cracks a joke he finds halfway amusing. He always brings the mask back up quickly, as if remembering the distance he needs to maintain.

Each time he lifts that mask, you feel as if you’re glimpsing something guarded, something that only a rare few have ever seen. And even though he never lets you linger on it for long, the memory of his face—scar, guarded eyes, the subtle but undeniable humanity there—lingers with you.

His fingers tighten just a fraction, his grip still gentle but more assertive now, like he’s grounding you in this moment. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies, the playful edge to his voice now tinged with something else. Something closer to appreciation, or maybe… curiosity?

Before you can say anything else, his thumb drifts slowly, tracing the line of your cheekbone, then gliding downward until it rests just at the corner of your mouth. You feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of the glove, so close you can almost imagine his bare touch, imagine the weight and warmth without the barrier.

He studies you with an intensity that makes your pulse race, his gaze drifting from your eyes to where his thumb hovers over your lips. His gloved hand is careful but certain, as if he's savoring each detail. Slowly, his thumb meets your bottom lip, light enough to make you shiver, but there’s a sense of restraint in the gesture, like he’s letting himself test boundaries. He brushes along the edge of your bottom lip in a slow, careful sweep, almost as if he’s mapping it out, savoring the softness beneath his touch. He’s close enough that you can see the way his gaze darkens, focused entirely on you, on the way his thumb drags so gently across your lip. Each pass is deliberate, his touch achingly slow, as if he’s caught somewhere between curiosity and something deeper—something he won’t admit, not out loud.

His fingers trace down your jaw, but his thumb stays at your mouth, brushing with a gentleness that makes your heart pound, your breath catching just slightly at each delicate movement. You feel his eyes watching the way your lips part under his touch, as though he’s fascinated, as if each soft curve and line of your mouth is something he’s committing to memory.

The air between you is thick with the weight of things unspoken, a tension you can’t ignore. His touch remains tender but holds a barely restrained intensity, his thumb finally pausing at the center of your lip, resting there like he’s weighing his next move. His gaze is fixed there, as if you’re some intriguing mystery he can’t help but explore. You stand frozen, unable to process the moment. Nobody has ever touched you like this, like you’re an enigma trying to be deciphered. Nobody ever bothered to.

You close your eyes, accepting the strange intimacy of his touch. Your heart beats fast, your hands almost clammy, but you don’t want to pull away. Almost instinctively, you let your lips press softly against his thumb, giving it a light, chaste peck.

You slowly open your eyes, searching his face for a reaction. Did that small gesture bother him? Make him angry? Maybe you went too far. But the moment your gaze locks with his, your doubts crumble. His eyes are dark, intense, almost... possessive. Longing. This isn’t the Ghost you know—the one who watches you with cold, calculating eyes, ready to nitpick your every move, sometimes even with a hint of regret, as if he thinks bringing you back here was a mistake.

Right now, he’s looking at you differently. He’s looking at you like you’re somebody. Like you mean something. Like you’re not just a piece on this chessboard that everyone else is playing.

He’s seeing you.

And it terrifies you.

As if snapping yourself from a dream, you take a quick step back, chuckling awkwardly to break the tension. “Remind me never to drink with you lot again.”

Ghost seems to snap back to reality at the same moment you do, but there’s a flicker of frustration in his eyes, a strain in how his jaw clenches. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. Instead, you take a slow breath, grounding yourself as best you can, then slide the keycard through the reader with a soft beep.

Before you step inside, you glance over your shoulder at him, catching that dark, unreadable look he wears all too well. “Thanks… for walking me to my room,” you murmur, trying to sound casual, like nothing strange just happened.

He nods, barely a movement, but there’s something in his silence that feels heavier than usual, as if he’s holding something back. He lingers for a split second before turning, walking back down the hallway, his steps fading into the distance.

Once the door shuts behind you, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You lean back against the door, then slowly sink down to the floor, pulling your knees up and resting your forehead against them. Your face is practically burning. Just a few simple touches, a look, and yet here you are, feeling like everything you thought you knew has shifted. It’s hard to explain what exactly happened, even to yourself. But whatever it was, it’s left your heart pounding and your mind spinning with thoughts you can’t quite put into words.

A soft, bewildered smile plays on your lips as you sit there, alone in the quiet, feeling both terrified and somehow… happy.

[l0v3tast3]

141 x young! Reader that can do the rock face and does it to them when they're in an argument.

Like shes on the counter, trying to reach for the cookies on the top shelf and someone walks in and sees her.

They tell her to get down and all they're met with is:

Sorry if this is a weird rq

✎ this is weird but in a wonderful way

✎ tags: gender neutral reader, young military reader, fluff, not proofread im too cool for that as usual

♡ the first time you do it is when you hear kyle say he just discovered a show or movie that you also like. you drawl an excited, "oh really?" and raise your eyebrow with a slight turn of your head.

♡ he starts laughing because he recognizes the meme, and you two go on further about your new shared interest. the other three men are left confused and a tiny bit disturbed.

♡ price, soap, and ghost break off into their own conversation, not really acknowledging it, brushing it off as another one of the little "things" you do. they had known you long enough at this point to know not to question you too much.

♡ you start doing it a lot more. price asks you what you think of the hat when soap is once again trying to get him to take it off, and you make the face. ghost actually lets you borrow one of his books, and you make the face (out of disbelief, he took the book back). soap says he wants to watch something you don't really want to watch on the tv when you two are hanging out on your off hours, and you make the face.

♡ when it's just the four men together and you're off doing something else, they ask kyle just what the hell is the deal with that face you make. kyle asks what they mean and soap tries to demonstrate (not very well). kyle shows them the video of the rock doing it. soap thinks it's hilarious while simon and price are just sitting there like "what... the fuck?"

♡ one day it culminates in the form of you climbing on the counters. simon had moved your hoard of snacks to the highest shelf, of course, and the nearest chair was way too far away (there was one close enough to turn around and grab without taking a step).

♡ in walks ghost and price while you're just about to go from kneeling on the counters to standing on them. ghost grunts out "i put 'em up there for a reason!" and you whip your head around, eyebrow already raised.

♡ your expression turns into one of anger as he picks you up under your arms and hauls you off of the counter. you're like a cat, practically bristling as you squirm around. he plops you down and very gently cuffs the back of your head. "you're fuckin' weird, kid," is all you get while he grabs one of your snacks and walks out. price snickers and follows him out.

♡ you make sure to only do it to simon from then on.