#but it was just said by the climbing comm

[twinterrors29]

Yuri On Ice!-Style CodyWan AU

Cadet Cody is ashamed to have blown his chances of working with a top General after he made a nearly-fatal mistake during his graduation test because he still had his left eye covered by a bandage from the training accident that gave him his characteristic scar

so when Alpha-17 is introducing his former Jedi, General Kenobi, to his first class of command cadets that night, Cody had already hit the smuggled contraband starshine hard

with no real memory of the meeting, Cody spends the next month waiting for assignment on Kamino despondent, thinking he's blown his chance of ever getting to work with the newly-promoted High General Kenobi after his less-than-impressive showing

but then, he gets a Call

newly-minted Marshall Commander Cody jumped at the chance to work with High General Kenobi, known for his very shiny beard and effective but insane battle plans

things go really well, Cody thinks they've hit it off well personally and their leadership and communication styles are remarkably compatible

and if it keeps seeming like Kenobi is coming on to him, well, that's clearly just wishful thinking on Cody's part

meanwhile, Obi-Wan keeps space-texting Alpha-17, 'why doesn't your protege like me anymore :(', 'he said he wanted to climb me like a tree, but he keeps ignoring my hints to try it :(', 'is it my new hair cut :(', 'I can grow it back out :('

Alpha-17 keeps telling Kenobi to lose his comm number

[sportsallover]

"Purple-kissed clouds in the background"

This is so sweet 🥹

[unexpectedbrickattack]

.

[retiredteabag]

Chilled to the bone

When you were enlisted as a sidekick with The Genius Office agency, you had been hoping to work as a supporting hero for Best Jeanist, you were, in fact, not expecting to be sent into the mountainous wilderness to aid in the apprehension of a snow villain.

Even more so, you were certainly not expecting to be working alongside pro-hero Dynamight.

And yet here you were.

You had been assigned plenty of gear for the mission. The support team at TGO was renown as one of the most competitive in the country for UA support course students. That being said, they were incredibly cautious about the safety of their heroes. They had even provided an earpiece system so your communication through the torrential snowstorm wasn't so tedious.

Your pro counterpart on this mission, however, insisted on screaming over the wind, determined that he didn't "need that nonsense."

And anyway, It had been all for nothing, unfortunately. The mission had been a bust, the villain you were trailing had been apprehended by the time you had reached his hiding point on the mountain and it was fair to say Bakugou was pissed.

There were several expletives shouted into the wind before he eventually fizzled out. He ranted on and on about poor communication between agencies and regional hero work.

The comms between the agency and yourself had given way hours ago and Bakugou now trudged ahead in the snow. You felt as if your body was fighting against every element as the storm pushed you away from your destination.

No matter how often you clicked your ear piece to try to call for help, all you heard was the gentle *da-ding* before static resounded.

You were stuck. Wandering in a complete wasteland, and since the trip had been all for nothing, you couldn’t even feel content.

You had no idea how the lumbering man in front of you was able to pick up his steps so readily and march onward. Lucky as you were to (literally) follow in his steps (deeply planted in the icy snow) it was still difficult to not be discouraged by the blizzard ahead.

After what felt like hours, and a fully uphill climb, the sun finally began to set.

Your ham radio buzzed suddenly in your ear and you realized as it startled you how drowsy you were.

“Are ya still followin’? Ain’t got time to slow down.” Your vision was blurry, but you couldn’t tell if it was because of the snow, or another reason. Dynamight had his earpiece roughly grasped beside his head while he spoke to you.

“Copy. I’m here.” You say, and even just those words seem to take a lot out of you.

Dynamight hums gruffly, “Good. Cause we’ve got a ways to go before civilization.” And eventually, “God it’s cold.”

His words are a huge discouragement, you aren’t sure what to say, so you simply agree, “Yep. Freezin’ my balls off.”

He coughs out a single ‘ha!’ And continues onward. But with everything happening: the raging storm fighting against you, the icy cold frosting your bones, and the sun now beginning to fade, you’re starting to wobble where you stand.

Eventually you cannot even keep your head high enough to watch your partner, maintaining to follow his footprints, one step, then the next, then the next, over and over.

It’s strange, after a bit, it almost starts to get easy, to walk on, your cheeks and ears are starting to feel hot, and it’s as if your legs are floating as you stomp into the large shoe print left for you.

You start to tilt but catch yourself, making an embarrassing sound, luckily your comms weren’t on and Bakugou couldn’t have heard you over the wind.

You rip the covering from your face, the heat becoming uncomfortable now. When you lift your neck, you see the crux of the hill you had been climbing, but the motion thew you, and blood seemed to rush to your skull. It was as if one moment you had been marching onward and then next you were face up in the hard and icy snow.

Awe damn it…

You tried to click your comms, to connect with Bakugou and call for him but it was as if the snow had your arm caged where you had landed.

It didn’t take long for you to accept this position. Your body had never felt so weak. This was nowhere near your first mission, in fact, you were a colorfully decorated sidekick. Who would have known that a little snow would take you out. This was it…

Your head was pounding so you closed your eyes to help block it out. You were so sleepy… maybe it wasn’t so bad here.

You truly and no idea how long it had been but what felt to be all to quickly, you felt your eyes being forced open.

There was shouting, but you couldn’t understand the words.

Bakugou was before you, his hero costume was unbuttoned at his mouth as he yelled at you, condensation puffing out around his face.

He kept brushing you with his hand, he was doing it rather harshly as well.

“S-haap-“ was all you could get out, you made an effort to push him from you but it was fruitless. You were properly immobile.

A new sensation, a strong wave of nausea came over you as your world was thrown upside down. Quite literally, Bakugou had reached under your back and thrown you over his shoulder.

Blood rushed to your head once more as you stared at the back of his uniform. Sick grunts left you as his weight shifted quickly from foot to foot.

He heard none of it.

This time, when you fell asleep, it took much longer to wake you.

When you were finally roused, there was a crackling fire to your back and a broad black and orange chest directly in your face.

You pressed with as much strength as you could harness in your state and realized that it was real.

He was real.

“Huuuua?-“ you gasped, attempting to roll from him. Only to be met with a firm grip on your waist.

“Quit moving you idiot! First you try to freeze to death and now your want to go up in flames??!” You could feel him speaking aggressively into your hair.

There were a million things racing in your mind, but the first thing that escaped you was, “It’s hot…”

A tight hand was roughly making friction on your arms, Bakugou was aggressively petting you. “No, that’s your mind playing tricks on you.”

“Oh…”

Later you would look back on this and bang your head against the wall, throw a fit in your apartment, maybe even consider putting in your two weeks, but in this moment, you burrow your head into the large man’s chest.

“Th-e” you cough, your whole body shutters, “the villain-“

“It’s handled. No thanks to us. But they’re coming out to get us. Helicopter and everything. I’m gonna kill Jeanist.” He’s gnashing his teeth.

“Where are we?” You attempt to turn to the fire you know lies behind you. But a firm hand keeps you from turning.

“Made it to the town, apparently they were expecting us. Agency called once our comms gave out.” He grumbled. “Told ya it was useless.”

You just hum, successfully ignoring how insane it is to be sharing body heat with a top hero that you had previously shared so much as 10 words with.

But as your eyelids began to droop again, you felt his hand grace your cheek, sliding down your back and lifting you towards him once more and he leaned his head back and waited for the agency to retrieve its cold lost hero’s.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

No, I don’t know where this came from, and no I didn’t edit it

[olliev3r]

i said i would redraw it, and i’m actually pretty happy with this one. i wanna explain a few design choices/hcs

jay has a medicine pouch bc I think he’d be a field medic. zane does all the medical stuff when they’re on the bounty or at the monastery, but since jay is the fastest I think he’d serve that role during battle. he also would wear exclusively converse lol. he has lightning scars, most prominently on his face. he’s partially blind in that eye

lloyd has rosacea. it’s pretty common in fair skinned people, and i don’t see it represented often in art

nya likes to dye her hair. she dyes it blue not only because of water, but also because it’s jay’s color. he is the one that helped her dye it

kai has fingerless gloves bc his fire keeps burning the cloth off, until he finally removed them. he also regularly sets his hair on fire without realizing

nya and kai are the same exact height. the only reason he started making hair spikes is so that he would look taller than her. he ended up keeping them bc he liked how they looked

cole can’t work if his forearms are restricted. that’s it lol. he also has steel-toed boots. he has scars on his arms from various hikes and rock climbing accidents

zane uses ice skates. he mostly uses hockey style ones in battle for speed, but he sometimes figure skates for fun. he always has a comm with pixal in his ear

also just a fun note, the height diff between jay and zane is close to me and my younger brothers height diff irl (im shorter)

this is the original that this is a redraw of

[grimdarling69]

Another Dan and ellie deaged p2

Dick wasn't unaccustomed to getting calls at five a.m., but he wished it had happened less. He reached his hand out from the haphazardly placed blanket and fumbled for his ringing phone. Finally finding it, he quickly answered to the call. I swear if this is an arkham breakout, it better be the goddamn joker. He will be very upset if Tim just calls him in for condiment king.

"Hello?" He says sleepily. He winces and rubs his eyes away from the bright light of the phone.

"Dick. I need your help, Damian got spooked somehow and ran away. I'm pursuing him but i can't get him to stop."

His heart drops. Immediately awake, he jumps up from the bed and tries to find the suit pieces he threw around when he crashed last night.

"What happened?" I found myself asking, hoping this was just a misunderstanding. "I don't really know. We were down in the cave, and I guess he knocked a tool off and woke me up. I asked him what he was doing, but he didn't answer me and just ran to the bikes."

He could hear the slight panic in Tim's voice. "I'll call him."Wait -" I hang up.

I quickly dialed Babs number. If Damian left as fast as tim says he did, he probably didn't have his phone. I glance at the windows, one of my gloves is placed on the seal. Rain is still coming down hard. Thunder rumbling distantly.

"This better be goddamn joker." Me and Babs always thinking the same thing, I think fondly.

"Damian ran away, and I need you to connect me to his comms."On it now. I'm calling in the others just in case."

A click is heard, and I can hear slight wind and heavy breathing through my own comms. I hang up the call.

"Dami?" I ask hesitantly. His baby brother son was out there alone in the rain.

I hear a sharp intake of breath, but he doesn't speak. I quickly throw open the windows after grabbing my last glove. Skillfully and methodically climbing down. Throwing myself on my bike. Come on, Dami, answer me.

"Whatever is going on, you can tell me, okay? I'll help you no matter what. I promise." He meant every word.

The bike starts, and I race down the streets in chase of the tracker. I just need to make it to Gotham in time.

__________

Bruce was no stranger from his kids running away. They'd all done it at least once. It never got any better whether they were running from him or others didn't change it. He just had to remember they always came back.

Alfred watches off to the side. Making sure if i start to go down, he could catch me. I won't. A few broken ribs and a sprained ankle won't stop me. He had gotten the call in his bedroom. Alfred had finally wrangled him into sleeping when the call came through.

"Bruce. Damian fled the nest. Dick and Tim are in pursuit, but i don't think he's stopping anytime soon." Her tone heavy but focused.

He had quickly made his way down to the cave. Alfred had stopped momentarily to wake up his other son. He would be down soon.

I start to make my way to my suit, but I'm quickly thwarted.

"Master Bruce. You will be no help with might i remind you of five broken ribs, a sprained ankle, and a stab wound." Alfred told him stepping in front.

"My son is out there. i need to find him."he said with a deep voice heavy with memories. He knew Alfred was right he would only be a hindrance. He could walk off his injuries they were barely flesh wounds, but he wasn't good with emotions. He had plenty of arguments with his kids about it before. Whatever scared Damian into running, he couldn't help him.

Duke's footsteps sounded out behind him. He walked past, gancing at him concerned but determination on his face. He turned around and limped back to the batcomputer. He just had to trust his sons to bring their brother home.

‐---------

Jason was no stranger to long nights. He hadn't even made it to his safe house anyway, too busy with the storm, making sure all the alley kids had a warm and dry place to sleep for the night.

Stormy nights were the worst for alley kids. He hated them when he ws on the streets. The cold rain freezing your clothes to you, the cold rain soaking your shelters, the cold rain ruining any halfway edible food. He's seen a lot of kids get sick from the rain and die. If you were sick, you had to hide. If others found out you were sick, they'd leave you in a heartbeat. It caused a lot of fights with Bruce in the early days. He hid his injuries or sick days in case Bruce finally saw how weak he was and threw him out.

"Damian fled the nest. The rest of the batboys are already heading out after him." Oracle spoke into his comms.

The Batboys. What O had recently started calling Dickhead, Timbo, Duke, Demon brat and him ever since the batgirls left to Hong Kong together.

Demon brat, his obligation in the league. When he left, he'd assumed he'd never see him again, or if he did, it'd be from opposite sides. Sometimes, it felt a lot like opposite sides regardless.

Jason revved up his bike again he was mostly done with his people anyway. He would have to have some of his trustworthy men on the lookout for stragglers.

He pulled up his tracker to Damian. He winded through the streets following it.

---------

Crack

Thunder sounded out. Dick had hated the rain ever since... He just hated it. It was worse, so with Dami out there all alone. He didn't even know what had scared him enough to run. Damian would never run just cause what he knocked a tool over? That didn't sound like his brother son. Something else must have happened. He just had to figure out what.

"Nightwing. Report." Bruce growled into the comms suddenly. His throat felt dry. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't speak.

"SHIT!" A crashing sound loud enough to echo on the comms could be heard. Tim, dami, please be alright. He was just now reaching the Gotham border. Just hold on, I think desperately.

"Red Robin, what's happening on your end." Bruce demanded.

"Red Robin is fine. Damian deployed the bike sludge. He had to grapple backward to avoid the sludge. I think his leg is broken."

"Be careful, Signal, one wrong move with your powers, and you could light that right on up." Jason attempted to banter. Jason and his bad habit of deflecting by using humor. Something he's gotten in trouble because of before.

"We are on the warehouse that we busted yesterday with that drug deal across from Gotham Bridge. We lost sight of him." Duke ignored Jason's comment and carried on.

"Damian has stopped near gotham bridge hurry. Cameras aren't looking good."

"Oracle. Report, what do you see?" He can hear Bruce's gravelly voice tinged with desperation. Please don't do what I think you're going to do.

"I think he might jump."

The silence was suffocating.

Click.

Damians comms came back online.

"Damian?" Bruce's voice sounded distorted and echoes to his ears.

"Dami, can you hear me?" He knew he could.

"Yes."

"Master Damian, please come home." Alfred didn't beg, but he swore he could hear it in his voice.

"We can help you. Damian, don't do whatever you're planning. Please." Jason's voice was desperate.

" Please, Damian, listen to us. Let us help you."he was begging at this point, but he couldn't care less.

"I'm sorry Richard, but I don't think you can."

Click.

Crack

Lightning broke the illusion of quiet peace. The rain thundering just as loud against the ground.

-------

Jason drove as fast as he could, but by the time he and dick made it, the bike was the only thing left of his brother.

"Damian!" Dick tried jump off after him. "Dick! Stop!" "Let me go! I have to save him. Please..." His voice was thick and course. His brother's mask was starting to peel from the wetness.

"I know. I know..." He collapsed to the ground, taking his brother with him.

The headlight flickered ominously in the heavy rain.

[incorrectbatfam]

Damian being a gen alpha implies in gen alpha Jon too ...

[at a sleepover]

Damian, whispering: Jon?

Jon: Yeah?

Damian: Our planet is doomed.

Jon: Yeah, it is.

Jon: Wanna sneak downstairs for snacks?

Damian: Sure.

———————

Steph, as a Batburger cashier: Sorry ma'am, that product was discontinued months ago.

Jon: *secretly starts recording*

Margie: You didn't even bother to check! What kind of lazy service is this? No wonder the world is the way it is with your generation. I should call the corporate hotline right now and report you for refusing to serve a paying customer. See how you like it when you lose your job.

Damian: Hey Karen, she said they don't have it anymore. Either get something else or leave. Some of us have places to be.

Margie: And who do you think you are?

Damian, pointing to Jon's camera: The best friend of someone with 150,000 followers.

Jon: Say hi to the internet!

———————

Damian and Jon: *putting up hand-drawn posters around town*

Comm. Gordon: What are you kids doing?

Damian: Advertising our joint channel.

Jon: We're gonna have an epic Cheese Viking and Fortnite mashup tournament.

Damian: Proceeds go to the Wayne Foundation.

Comm. Gordon: *scribbles a note and hands it to them*

Comm. Gordon: If anyone asks you for a permit, it's on me.

———————

Damian and Jon: *huddled around the Batcomputer*

Jon: I think we should sort it by distance instead.

Damian, typing code: Good idea.

Barbara: What's that?

Jon: Our new website.

Damian: It allows people to report stray animals they see without the risk that comes with physical contact.

Barbara: Oh, cool. Carry on.

———————

Kara: What do you want to drink?

Jon: Mountain Dew. Dami, you want one?

Damian: Depends. Is it vegan?

Kara: *starts typing into Google*

Jon: Hey Alexa, is Mountain Dew vegan?

———————

[texting]

Jon: Dami, get on Discord.

Damian: Why?

Jon: Live-action One Piece streaming in the Gay Minecraft server.

———————

Jon: Ms. Kyle, check it out!

Selina: What is it?

Damian: TikTok added a set of Catwoman stickers.

Selina: Show me.

———————

Kate: I still think you are far too young for things like Instagram.

Damian and Jon: *snicker*

Kate: What?

Jon: Well, Ms. Kane, how should we put it...

Damian: No one uses Instagram anymore.

———————

Jon: *takes a 0.5 of him and Damian with Dick in the background*

Damian: You're in our BeReal now. Deal with it.

Dick: What's a BeReal?

———————

Damian, handing Jon a rock: I would like to buy this playhouse.

Jon: Too bad, the economy just disappeared.

Lois: What are you doing?

Jon: We're playing Society.

———————

Damian: Alfred, we're hungry.

Alfred, on the phone: *makes the thumb and pinky gesture and mouths "I'm busy"*

Jon: Huh?

Alfred: I'm on the phone, boys.

Damian: I think he meant this.

Damian: *puts his palm to his ear*

———————

Jon: Parkour!

Jon: *hops over a log*

Jon: Parkour!

Jon: *climbs a tree*

Damian: *recording*

Clark, to Bruce: That's one way to play.

Bruce: Mhm.

Clark: Do you ever get worried about, you know, how these kids are turning out?

Jon: Parkou—

Damian: Wait, stop, there's a bird's egg here. I wonder what species it is.

Jon: I have an app that can scan it.

Bruce, to Clark: I think they're gonna be alright.

[sweetimpurity]

Sometimes I have ideas for fics but not enough will-power to write the whole thing out all the way. This is one condensed haha ⬇️

not proofread 🥴 Part 2!!!

Earth-928

You're out to dinner with your bf Miguel. It's been such a nice night and you've been together so long. You think tonight is the night. He's gonna propose. His job as Spiderman does take him away from you a lot of the time. You tend to spend a lot of time missing him. Wishing he'd make more time for you. Make you his priority. That's the only doubt you'd have when it comes to spending your life with the man but other than that, you know you want it.

He took you for a walk on the beach, then to your favorite restaurant to end the night. You've just ordered your food when his comm watch get's a notification. A red alert emergency. Green Goblin in downtown Manhattan tearing up half a city block and blowing things up. Scaring civilians, injuring many.

"Babe... I'm so sorry... I think I have to go." He says, a growing sense of dread washing over him. And then he looks up to see that look of disappointment in your eyes. The heartbreak.

"You... are you sure, really?" Your voice breaks his heart. He sighs, looking down at the alerts coming in from Lyla. One after the other.

"I'm so sorry... I promise I'll be back as soon as I can..." He says, getting up from the table and kneeling in front of you, taking your hands into his. It breaks your heart even more watching him do that. Seeing him kneel. Except he's not proposing, he's leaving.

"You'll be my number one babe... when I get back I promise..." He says. But the words just make you feel so empty. "I promise... I love you. Wait up for me." He says, letting your hands go and stepping back. Sending an alert to Lyla that he's on the case and he's coming. "I love you babe..." He says again, stepping back and watching you. Wanting to hear you say it back. But you don't. You just watch him go. Heartbroken. Feeling so small, so unimportant. Unwanted.

He eventually has to just let it go and turn to leave. Passing by some people in the restaurant and leaving the restaurant. Trying his best to just keep going. To get this done and then he can be with you. But this has become a pattern as of late.

He gets outside the restaurant, getting to an alleyway and scaling the building, climbing to the top and pressing on the pod to make his suit expand and cover his body. Nanotech glowing up to his jawline and eventually closing over his face in fire red and dark blue.

He swings off to tend to the issue. To stop whatever's going on. Save the city. Again.

You wait for him for an hour. Sitting there like an idiot. Like a fool. Before deciding you deserve better than this. You ask the waiter to pack up the food and pay the bill. Three years you've been with this man. And this sort of thing just happens?

You grab your stuff, getting up to leave. Figuring you'll just go home and eat that ice cream in the freezer. Maybe call your mom or your best friend and get some reassurance or cry. Passing by people leaving the restaurant, you leave the building, walking down the sidewalk a few yards before-

"Baby!" He calls. The familiar sounds of a portal opening accompanying his voice. You look over and there's Miguel walking up to you from the alleyway next to the restaurant. Oh. You think. Here he is? "Hey-"

"You have to come with me. Right now baby. The anomaly, it's worse than we thought. We have to go, this dimension is gonna go!" He explains frantically, his voice slightly muffled by the mask you recognize so well on his face. He comes over, instantly taking both of your hands in his. The cool feeling of his suit on your warm skin. Really? You have to leave now? He said this sort of thing could happen at some point. But the chance was rare because he's always do everything he could before letting the dimension collapse. He's been gone for an hour and now the dimension is suddenly collapsing?

But if he says so, then you'd trust him. "Come on baby. We'll be safe you just have to come with me." He starts walking backwards towards the portal, holding onto your hands. It's not your first time going through a portal with him. It's a weird sort of tingly feeling.

"Okay okay" You nod, shocked by this sudden turn of events; walking with him and looking back on the world you know. The dimension you've lived in all your life. The place you've both shared a life in too. But if he'll be with you then everything should be fine.

He leads you through the portal, his big hand on the small of your back as he helps you through to the other side. The portal closing with a flash of glitching light. The alleyway falls silent. Not a sound.

An hour passes. The restaurant closes, everyone goes home. Your boyfriend swings back to the restaurant. Feeling like such a dick for leaving you like that. Leaving you when he too knew that this was supposed to be a special night. He gets to the restaurant. Finding it closed. "Damn it." He sighs. Pacing back and forth. "Lyla, is y/n back at the apartment?" He says. Walking down the sidewalk a bit.

"I can't track her phone right now. She either lost signal or turned the tracker off herself." She says.

"Damn it." He huffs again. Sighing and staring out at the street. His brow furrowing at what's before him. It's the car. His car. The one you both took to the restaurant tonight. Why is it still here if you're not?

"Lyla. What was her last recorded location?" He asks, staring at the car parked on the street. His mind flooded with possibilities. "Right here. Literally right where you're standing." She says, looking over the data.

He looks around. This doesn't make sense. "Track her again." He says.

"I can't-"

"Try again! Try something else! Street cameras! Surveillance footage! Something!" He yells in frustration and anger. Scowling and look around. Lyla sighs, pulling up the footage from the cameras on this street after hacking into their systems. Scrubbing through the footage.

"Let me see." He demands, looking at the holographic screen as Lyla displays it. There you are, leaving the restaurant. He winces, watching you leaving the place in defeat. Knowing this is his fault. But then he watches you stop, looking down the alleyway next to the restaurant. A flash of glitching light and then it looks like you're talking to someone.

You're definitely talking to someone. He check the time on the footage. It was about an hour ago. An hour ago you started talking to someone in the alley and then-

"What is she doing?" He mumbles, eyes widening when he sees you join hands with someone. The person that's taking up all your attention. "Zoom in Lyla." He demands.

The footage isn't super clear, it never is on these cheap street cameras. But he can see it. When the figure turns around, leading you down the alleyway. It's him. Himself? He can see the red and blue marking of his own suit. He's watching a video of himself leading you down an alleyway into what he can only assume is a portal. A portal to lord knows where. With a version of himself that's pretending to be the one you know.

[python333]

im in love with your content omg😭 your writing style is just chefs kiss

can i req a reader with the tf141 being on a mission and hearing an enemy say something in british slang and they just go "what did they just say.." in comms? like a reader who doesnt know anything about slang like not even that bars in the uk r called pubs (if im not wrong) and just nods whenever a private talks in slang, and their brain is just trying to figure out what they just said?

its just a really silly plot with a silly reader :3

pardon? — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the req says, you know nothing about british slang and on a mission the enemy speaks british and you dont know what theyre saying :3

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 2.6k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note HI YES I LOVE THIS REQ!! i take every opportunity i can to make fun of british people so this is right up my alley!! tysm for the compliments hjfhdjskf recently ive been getting more praise on my works and it makes me so happy i love yall. again, sorry if this sounds a little rushed or if any parts are incoherent, i wrote this at 12/1am and im both more productive and write more nonsense at this time + this one is wayyyy shorter than ones i usually do because i didnt know what else to write for it so i apologize for that as well! this is pure fluff and humor (i like to think im funny) so enjoy!!

“—eah, and now we have to camp out here ‘cause he can���t be arsed to do it ‘imself, so I feel like we should have a chat with the others, see if they’re willing to leg it out of here with us,” An enemy soldier suggests to you, his British accent thick enough that you think it might be cockney.

You cross your arms to hide your shaking hands and nod in agreement, as if you understood anything he said, and put on the same shitty British accent you’d been using for the past five minutes you’d been talking to this guy.

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” You agree, clearing your throat before asking, “You know where the others are stationed?”

“You don’t?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you suspiciously.

“Mate, all the orders I was given went in one ear and out the other,” You sigh, holding back a wince at your desperate attempt to sound more natural using British slang, “I just know I’ve got to stand out here and shoot the enemy.”

The enemy eyes you suspiciously and he takes a moment to try and read your face before he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, actually. Which would be weird, if we’re in the same platoon, don’t you—” 

You sigh and quickly pull out the small switchblade you had hanging on your belt, stabbing the enemy in the neck before he can say anything else and grabbing him before he can drop to the ground, putting a hand behind his back as you half lead half drag him into a dark alleyway beside the building he was stationed outside of. 

You quickly set him down into a sitting position and take your knife out of his throat, tucking the blade back into the handle before adjusting it to latch onto your belt once again, letting out a frustrated huff as you stare at the now dead man in front of you. 

“[c/n], how copy?” Price’s voice crackles through on your ear piece. 

You push in the PTT button and lower your voice, “Copy, I fucked up a little bit. One of the guys was onto me.”

“You were there for five bloody minutes,” Gaz’s voice rings through, his tone both disbelieving and amused, “How’d he already catch onto you?” 

“The British are smarter than I thought,” You breathe out, standing up and looking around for a ladder to climb to get to higher ground before anyone spots you. You go farther into the alley and find an old, rusty ladder with rungs that look like they’d snap if someone sneezed on them too hard—perfect for climbing up.

You wrinkle your nose as your hand makes contact with one of the rungs but don’t say anything otherwise, instead wordlessly hauling yourself up onto the ladder. 

“Reminder that there’s three British people with you, currently,” Ghost’s deadpan tone crackles, his breathing heavy, as you can tell he’s whispering into his mic, “All of which are very smart.”

“I caught you reading the instructions on a box of tea bags the other day, don’t fuckin’ talk right now,” You grumble, slowly climbing up the ladder, hating the creaking noises it makes as you do. It sounds like it’s going to snap at any minute, and you try to go up as fast as you can, but one wrong move and you’ll easily slip, some of the rust that flakes off of the ladder enough to make you slip up. 

“They were circles,” Ghost says, exasperated, “I didn’t know if that made a difference.” 

“I thought British people were supposed to know everything about tea,” You roll your eyes, putting your hand on the next rusty rung up on the ladder. 

“Yeah, L.t,” Soap agrees with you teasingly, the wind hitting his mic, making it obvious that he’s running, “Thought ye Brits were s’possed to ken everything ‘bout tea.” 

You laugh quietly to yourself as you finally make it to the top of the building, the top just high enough for you to look at the few soldiers below and hear a majority of their conversations without them noticing you.

You get to the edge of the rooftop and pull the sniper rifle you’d been carrying around off of your back, glad to finally be back in your element rather than trying to get in undercover, and set it up. 

You pull the stand out and set it on the edge of the roof, and look through the scope of the rifle, lining it up so that it’s aiming directly at one of the soldier’s heads, specifically the one that was standing directly out of the entrance you originally were meant to try and get into—but doing this didn’t change much.

Regardless of if you got in or not, he would’ve died, and the others would’ve gotten in too. You getting in first was just meant to make it more efficient.

You press down on the PTT button on your earpiece as you look through the scope of your sniper rifle, keeping the aim on the soldier in front of the entrance, “The guy in front of the entrance is just standing still, so whenever you need me to, I can shoot ‘im down.” 

“I don’t think we need to get in just yet,” Price hums, “But maybe in a minute.” “M’kay,” You hum, taking your eye away from the scope, instead just looking over at the enemy soldiers. You lay on your stomach, leaning your head down a bit to try and listen in on the enemy’s conversations easier, trying your best not to make yourself too obvious.

The conversations were pretty boring and almost the same for every soldier you’d eavesdropped on, for the most part. Enemy soldiers joking around, talking about what they’ll do once they’re on leave—like they would be able to do that after you completed your assignment—and just some general team camaraderie.

The lackluster subjects of their conversations weren’t bad at all, no, in fact, you could care less what they talk about. 

It was their stupid accents you hated. 

Are you surrounded by British people everyday? Yes. Does that stop you from hating on the British everyday? No. Okay, maybe the accents aren’t stupid, but God, they had the thickest cockney accents you’d heard in your entire life, and it was making your eavesdropping so much harder, and had almost been the reason you were given away earlier.

They used slang words that you’re certain you’ve never heard before in your life, and used analogies that didn’t even make sense—you heard one of them use the words, verbatim, ‘Don’t get stroppy’. Stroppy? Stroppy? 

You narrow your eyes down at the soldiers below you, listening to a conversation they’d just started up. 

“—eah, ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do anything about it, so now we have to camp out here and wait for somethin’ to happen,” One of the soldiers scoffs, “I’m telling you, man, if I see that skull-masked bloke runnin’ ‘round out here, I’m legging it from ‘im immediately.” 

You draw your eyebrows together in confusion, but you stay silent for now. Isn’t that exactly what the other soldier said? Are they like a hive mind or something?

“You’re legging it?” The other soldier asked, sounding almost incredulous, “What happened to you chattin’ to some of the others about your loyalty and what not?” “All that’s irrelevant when the fuckin’ grim reaper rolls around and starts murkin’ people like he’s been doing for the entirety we’ve been here, mate,” The first soldier laughs, “You think I wanna be here when he does that?” 

“Don’t act like a prat about it, man—fuckin’ talking’ like you can outrun him.” “A prat? I’m not—” You tune out the rest of their argument and instead try and figure out what they were saying.

A prat? Legging it? Can’t be arsed? What the fuck? You push the PTT button on your earpiece and as quietly as you can, you ask, “I need some help. Serious help. Life or death situation.” Immediately, Price’s voice rings through, “What? What is it? What happened?” “The soldiers are British and I can’t tell what they’re saying,” You answer, ignoring Price’s relieved sigh on his end, “I need help.” “Jesus, fuck, don’t scare me like that,” Price sighs, taking a few breaths before continuing, “Alright, what do you need help with?” 

“Figuring out what they’re saying.” This time, you hear Gaz’s voice crackle through, “Well, you’ve got three British people here—tell us what he’s saying.” 

“One of the guys was talking about ‘legging it’ if he saw Ghost heading towards him, and talked about Ghost ‘murking’ people, and then the other guy he was talking to told him he was being a ‘prat’ about it and he got all offended,” You eloquently say into the earpiece, watching as the argument gets a little more heated. You can hear an amused huff from Ghost on his end and a scoff from Soap in return. 

“They’re just saying they’re gonna run away if they see Ghost because he’s been killing a lot of their soldiers, and the other guy said he was being a prat, which I guess is like…” Gaz pauses to think of how to explain the slang term before settling on, “Someone who’s kind of full of themselves, I guess. Or ignorant. Either or.” 

“They couldn’t just say that?” You muse quietly, still staring down at the enemy soldiers. 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that,” Price’s voice cuts through, “Go ahead and shoot the guy down. I’m ready to head in.”

“Got it,” You hum, quickly putting your eye back up to your scope and readjusting it a bit before quietly warning, “Shooting him now.” 

You pull the trigger and the enemy goes down immediately, and through your scope you can see the small twitching of his body as the other soldier starts to freak out.

You quickly aim the gun at his still-alive friend and shoot him down as well, silently congratulating yourself on your good aim and continuing to look through the scope, watching as Price runs in with Gaz and a few other soldiers. 

They struggle with the door for a moment and you sigh before pressing in the PTT button on your earpiece and quietly saying, “Price, Gaz, move away from the door for a sec.”

Wordlessly, they do as they’re told, and you take the opportunity to line up the gun’s aim with the complex electronic panel on the outside of the door and pull the trigger, shooting the most crucial part of the panel, causing it’s functions to disrupt and as a result, the doors open. 

“Thanks for that,” Gaz breathes out as Price kicks open the door, his voice cut off a bit at the end as he takes his hand off the PTT button too quickly in order to follow after Price. 

“Uh huh. Of course,” You say offhandedly, taking your eye away from the scope of your sniper rifle and listening to the loud sirens go off in the facility the others break into, and push yourself up so that you can sit up straight to properly watch it. You grunt as you sit up, stretching your arms out for a moment before letting them fall into your lap. 

“Are they in?” Soap asks, curious, his voice a little strained and breathy. There’s no loud gusts of wind coming through his mic anymore, and you look around for a moment, before your eyes catch on to him climbing up a ladder to get to the rooftop adjacent to yours.

Your lips twitch into a smile at the sight of him completely clueless to your presence and you press your PTT button to talk. 

“Yeah, they’re in,” You say, watching as he finally gets to the rooftop, “Didn’t you hear the sirens?” 

You can see Soap’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion for a moment, and he looks around for a moment before finally seeing you on the rooftop directly next to his, and he looks surprised for a moment before a grin splits across his face. You see him press the PTT button on his mic as well. 

“I did, yeah, just wanted tae be sure,” He says into his mic, looking right at you as he does, “It’s a surprise seeing you here.” 

“Imagine how I feel,” You muse, almost to yourself, before looking away from Soap and speaking up, “Ghost, you don’t wanna join us on the rooftops?” 

“Absolutely not,” He replies almost immediately, making you huff out a small laugh and Soap’s grin grow, “I’m perfectly fine on the ground.” 

“Where are you?” You ask, scanning the area around you for Ghost, “I feel like I haven’t seen you this whole time.” 

“I’m just behind the facility,” Ghost hums, voice still a low whisper, “I’m gonna be heading in once Gaz and Price make it to the second floor to clean up the first, in case there’s anyone left.” 

“You’ve been behind the facility this whole time?” Soap’s voice cuts through, surprised by the fact. 

“Mhm,” Ghost hums. 

“It’s a bit boring back there, innit?” Gaz’s voice crackles through, his voice a little breathy, “You can sweep the first floor, by the way. Should be nobody left, though. Pretty sure all the soldiers were just faffing around, not doing much.” 

“Fucking faffing around?” You ask incredulously to yourself, though apparently your voice is loud enough to make Soap chuckle. 

As if he can read your mind, Price’s voice comes through, “Faffing around is just doing nothing or doing nothing particularly productive, [c/n].” 

You sigh and push your PTT button this time, talking into your mic, “You couldn’t just say that, Gaz? You had to say something silly like faffing around?” 

“It’s not silly,” Gaz says, his frown audible, “They were faffing around.” 

“Jesus, fuck,” You breathe out, laughing lightly, “It’s totally silly.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah it is.”

“No it’s—” 

“I just want one day where you two don’t start up stupid arguments like this,” Price’s tired sigh comes through, “Just one day, I beg of you both.” 

“Aw, Captain, we were just faffing around,” You whine playfully, the misuse of the slang making Soap cover his mouth with his hand to muffle his laughter and you hear Ghost groan into his mic. 

“That is absolutely not how you use that,” Gaz says, though you can hear some laughter in his voice—from your very non-British accent saying British phrases, you presume, a small grin gracing your lips at the thought. 

“It sounded natural to me,” You lie straight through your teeth, shrugging even though only Soap can see you. 

“You’re insufferable,” Gaz groans, making you laugh quietly, “Never use British slang again, please.” 

“What if I get a British accent? Will that fix it?”

“Nothing can fix what you’ve said today, [c/n].”

“Well that’s dramatic,” You scoff, “I’ll learn British just for you guys.” 

“Holy shit, please stop talking,” Price’s exasperated voice interrupts the both of you, “You’re both insufferable. Drop it.” 

“… I don’t think I will,” You say defiantly, making all three British people in the same voice channel as you groan in unison, the sound sounding like some sort of middle school choir trying to sing in harmony, “I’ll use Duolingo or something to learn it.” 

“British isn’t a language you learn, you muppet,” Price grumbles, making you snort. 

“Muppet?” 

“It’s someone who’s dumb and clueless and can’t take a hint, like you,” Ghost defines, “And Soap, most of the time.” 

“Daen’t go draggin’ mae into this,” Soap’s voice quickly cuts through, “I haven’t said onything.” 

“Uh, yes you absolutely did, earlier, remember?” Gaz argues, ignoring Price’s protests for him to stop arguing, “About Ghost being stupid with the tea thing?” 

“Oh, I’ll have you all know—” 

“Ghost, don’t start—” 

You listen as the once casual, teasing conversation turns into an argument and chuckle quietly to yourself, knowing that they’d be arguing about this until you all finished your assignment.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Father.

You know those old black and white photos of goodbye kisses where it's either someone holding a woman up so she can kiss her leaving man who's already in the train car, or fellow soldiers helping a guy lean out of the train window far enough so he can kiss his partner goodbye? That kind.

Nik coded.

I also think - imagine he'd always been the one to help someone's girl up or to hold a comrade safe by his belt. Yes, we're in the "planes come first (because Nik is gay)" territory again.

And then years later he finally gets to be the one leaning down from the heli (like that one art by @/mizushibart, you def know the one) to kiss his man.

Bonus points: he also held up Soap Simba style to help him kiss Ghost.

Just wanted to share a sweet picture with you, love you, thank you for the recent AMAZING pieces ❤️❤️❤️🦍

Vibrating. This is so fuckin' cute.

Nikolai gets his romantic good bye kiss.

cw: none.

Nikolai remembered the first time he helped someone kiss their love goodbye. He was on a train carriage with fifty other cadets on his way to Syzran to complete the next phase of his training. As men cheered and laughed around him, he had grabbed onto the belt of a man he had considered a brother so he could lean out of the door to kiss his girl one last time. Their parting look had been one of longing and hope.

It was something he had done a lot in the years that followed. Boosted another friend on his back so they could climb in a hotel window, given a leg up over a wall, hung onto another's legs as they leaned over a ledge. Soldiers said a lot of goodbyes, some easier than others. But Nik was always on the periphery of romance, never involved beyond the gallant wingman. He had convinced himself he didn't mind. His place was in the cockpit and romance was nothing more than a brief, light-hearted distraction. His calling was different. That was why he never had a beautiful girl waving him off from the platform.

The excuse had worn thin as his love for John had intensified to a deep, yearning ache that felt like it was consuming him from the inside out. With every passing year, a new part of his heart broke away to be with John, leaving a space where John's should be in return. It was a beautiful death. One that he had gladly resigned himself to because it meant he could still, in a way, spend the rest of life at John's side.

When the lieutenant and sergeant began to circle each other, Nik had been one of the first to spot it. He teased John gently about being the man the sergeant would have to ask for Simon's hand, and John had looked briefly panicked at the thought of it.

When their romance had intensified and the lieutenant had been called away for a month-long operation, Nikolai had been there to watch Soap run across the tarmac to bid his final farewell. The desire had crackled between them as they exchanged stilted quips to hide their desperation and, without thinking, Nik had grabbed Soap beneath the arms and lifted him, squawking, just high enough for the lieutenant to stoop down and kiss him through his balaclava. He had felt Soap's heart thunder between his palms, the way his entire body had coiled in delight. Their last breathless look had held all the power of a nuclear reactor.

Perhaps that had been the tipping point, because every time from then on, Nik's eyes had lingered on John's mouth when they said good bye. Following a debrief, after an exfil, when they parted ways to head to bed. The ache burrowed deeper each time, tightening in his chest like an invisible fist was crushing the last shards of his heart, until eventually something snapped. If he didn't do something, then he was certain his lovesickness would kill him.

"You look after yerself, Nik. No unnecessary risks," John said through the Comms, speaking into the headset to overcome the drum of the rotor blades above their head. Nik was flying into hostile territory to collect personnel; it would require him to fly low, beneath the radar, and the potential for being shot down by a Scorpion missile was high.

Nik stepped down from the back of his Black Hawk and hooked a finger through John's carrier vest. When that handsome, craggy face looked up in surprise, Nik pressed their mouths together, chapped lips, cracked with weathering, impossibly soft, parted and John returned it without a single beat of hesitation.

All at once, that dull ache dissipated in a surge of heat, an overwhelming pressure replacing the void where the fragments of his heart had fallen away. Nik could feel John's heartbeat in his own chest, powerful, defiant, as the rest of the world stood still beyond the brush of their tongues and lips.

When Nik pulled back, the blue eyes gazing up at home were misty and soft, John's freckled cheeks dimpling in a crooked smile. "G'won. Sooner ye get back, sooner we can do that again." Nik stroked the backs of his fingers down John's beard, committing the taste of his lips, the feel of those bristles, to memory so that he could savour them until he returned home.

Stepping into John's office four days later only to be pushed back against the door by weathered hands, blue eyes crinkled with happiness, Nik's heart had never felt more complete.

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

It’s a running joke in the manor that Tim’s kid was like a cat

And he would never admit that he could kind of see it himself.

The climbing, the ability to go from zero to a hundred in energy, and unfortunate ability to be too cute to actually get mad at him for anything he does.

Finding said son running out and about when there was breakout was pushing through.

“Hi Dad!!”

“Danny! What are you doing out here?!it’s still lockdown chickadee!”

Danny looked down at the ground and scuffed one of his shoe against the pavement.

“I know… but you’ve been gone so long and I’ve been worried!”

Tim sighed and tapped his comm,

“Oracle, please keep lookout for the next couple minutes.”

And crouched down in front of his son,

“You haven’t been home in a while and I missed you..”

Tim sighed as he wiped a tear from Danny’s face.

It was almost unfortunate how much the kid took after him.

“Kiddo I’m sorry, that’s my fault, I know we haven’t been able to hang out for the past week-“

Danny stomped a foot in frustration,

“No you don’t understand! You forget to sleep when you don’t come home ‘n’ great grandpa Alffie said we got to sleep because it’s good for you ‘n’ that when you don’t you are more likely to get hurt! I don’t want you hurt!”

Tim wanted to argue, and say that he was fine. He’s been taking cat naps between searching and the fights. If it was anyone else in his family he would’ve done so.

But this was his son, his little chickadee who loves so much and worries about himself so little.

He needs to set an precedent before bad habits emerge.

Picking Danny up, Tim set him down onto his hip and stuck his chin on his head.

“You’re right, I guess I haven’t been being nice to myself like I’m supposed to. How about we go back home and I’ll lay down with you for a couple hours?”

Danny peered up with glassy eyes,

“Can you stay for breakfast?”

And didn’t that just hurt to hear? Faded memories of asking that same question only to be given this almost pitying look danced in the back his mind.

“Sorry kiddo, but we just don’t have enough time before our flight but don’t worry when we get back we’ll have a family day, just the three of us!”

Clearing his throat Tim met his son’s eyes.

“Sure champ, and when we finally get joker back in Arkham we can ask everyone to have a family day, how does that sound?”

Stars almost seemed to take over Danny’s eyes as he let out a little gasp.

“Really?!”

“I promise.”

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

Yes, many of Danny’s mannerisms were reminiscent of a cat, but this was new.

Tim pinched his eyebrow in exasperation as he looked at his siblings.

He wished he never got up this morning.

“And how exactly did Danny somehow get a crowbar?”

The kid in question just happily swung his legs as he sat on the bench unaware that he himself was going to be getting a far longer conversation as soon as they got back to the manor.

“To be honest.. in hindsight, not my brightest moment.”

“WHY IN GODS NAME A CROWBAR?!”

“He said he needed something to help take care of the trash! I thought he would use it like a knapsack or something!”

Jason Thew his hands in the air, and Dick let out a snort while he nudged the mess of a clown next to him.

“Well he very much did use it for something.”

“Nightwing! I’m just as mad at you for somehow loosing the kid this badly to begin with!! You. Are. Not. Helping.”

“I know but I’m just saying, he gets his dramaticism from you.”

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

At the end of the day, Joker ended up paralyzed from the neck down.

Jason and Dick were both no longer allowed to babysit Danny alone.

And one little munchkin was, though very much grounded, hailed a hero by all of Gotham for the actions that were live-streamed by onlookers.

And once he was no longer grounded, he did get his family day.

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Academia - The Gala

Masterlist

Pairing: Aged up Damian Wayne x f reader

Tags: NSFW, academic setting, rivals to lovers, friends with benefits, smut, blowjobs, possessiveness, jealousy, oral, p in v, semi-pibloc sex,

Side note: can y'all tell I've never been to a Gala before? I don't know how they donate in those things. Please bare with me.

The perp screamed as Damian flipped him onto the ground, making sure the way he landed would be impactful enough to knock him out for at least a minute.

"Fuck! You fucking brat!" The perp chocked out.

Squatting next to him, Damian flipped his staff to rest it against his shoulder blades, hanging both his arms on it. "You see the rest of your crew over there?" He nodded in the direction of four bodies lying down on the floor of the warehouse, then looked back at the perp currently struggling to take a breath. "Not big talkers, apparently. But you -" he grabbed the man by his collar and dragged him towards himself, the perp yelped, blood dripping from his nose as he struggled against Damian's unyielding grip. "You might still make it out of here alive." He finished.

The perp eyed his men nervously, stammering. "D-did you kill them?"

Damian ignored the question. "I'm gonna ask you one last time, Markus. Where is Roman's shipment arriving to?"

The man's eyes widened at the correct use of his name, and he began to shake.

Damian registered a new stench, his upper lip lifted in digust as he stared down a Marcus. "You better not have fucking pissed yourself. That's disgusting."

Marcus looked like he was about to cry. Damian would bet they were tears of shame rather than pain. He grasped the collar tighter, sneering. "Where did the shipment leave to, Marc? While I'm still in a good mood."

"Y-you fucking psycho!" Marcus was crying now. "Do you have any idea what he'll do to me if I tell you?"

"It can't be worse than what I'll do to you if you don't." Damian said before punching the crying man in the nose, making sure to crack something. Marcus cried out in pain.

"Talk." Damian prompted.

Bloody lips trembling, Marcus confessed the address.

Damian nodded, sure to memorize the location. "What time is it coming in?" He asked.

Marcus's features twisted pathetically as he slurred, "Come on, man. I already told you-"

"What time is it coming in?" Damian sneered. Hating to have to repeat himself.

"E-eleven-Thirty!" The criminam cried. "Pick up's at midnight."

Damian stood up then, kicking Marcus right in the nose, making sure to knock him out this time.

"Jesus christ, kid." Jason spoke in his ear. "Remind me to play bats this footage if ever gives me shit about how I do interrogations."

"That won't stop me from giving you shit." Batman's voice came on the line.

Withholding a retort about Jason calling him "kid." All Damian said was, "it's not like I killed him."

"Right, no, of course." The red hood laughed in his comm. "You just re-organized the order his face, much more merciful."

"Ugh, been on the receiving end of that." Dick's voice joined the line. "Now look at oir baby boy, all grown up and graduated from scratching to dislocation."

"Aww." Barbara's voice supplied helpfully.

Damian rolled his eyes. "I was dislocating men twice my size back when you were still running around in a leotard."

He was so grateful he got to work on his own suit, with a fabric that wasn't skin fucking tight had at fully covered him in bulletproof Kevlar yet still allowed for a full range of motion. If he were forced to wear the same suit as his eldest brother, Batman would have been his first victim.

"Oooh there are those claws!" Tim now joined the line, along with Stephanie, who supplied the helpful words: "scratchy scratchy" in the background.

Clearly, his family was having a much less fun night that he and were desperate for some entertainment. Ignoring them, Damian climbed up from the warehouse and onto the roof of a neighboring, taller building to get a better vantage point. The wind ruffled his hair as the sounds of gotham: sirens, choppers, and car horns, as well as the waves from the nearby river filled his ears. Inhaling the cool air and exhaling, the fog from his mouth traveling with the wind. He switched onto a different line. "Oracle, I need coordinates to the Conrad docks port hanger number 9."

"Roger that, Robin. Shall I send for back up?"

"No need." He said. "I can't handle this myself."

And he did. Carrying out a perfect stealth mission and stealing a crate of the new drug that Black Mask was trying to push on the city, along with the files that exposed every crooken cop currently on his payroll. The files found their way to commissioner Gordon's coffee table that night. The corrupt cops were behind bars by morning.

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

Damian didn't know how to explain, but he was having a particularly good day. That is, until he heard your name being said by one of the guys from your program.

"There she is. What was her name again?"

"Y/n, I think?" The boy, a skinny eng student from your physics class, was talking to his friend.

Damian followed his gaze to you, sitting by yourself in a yellow checkered blazer and skinny jeans, with a neat ponytail tide by a yellow ribbon. You were sitting on one of the benches at the campus atrium, chewing on a cut-up apple as you read something on your computer, the screen illuminating your face.

"I got two tickets for the howling mystery this Thursday. I'm gonna ask her to go with me."

Like hell. Damian's nostrils flared, and he turned to walk in their direction.

Just as his friend replied sardonically. "She doesn't hit me as the type that listens to hard metal -"

"Hey," they both turned at the sound of Damian's voice. The boy who talked about asking you out straightening up. Unimpressed, Damian trampled him in size. "How are you guys doing?" He asked casually.

"Fine, thanks." The friend replied, looking at Damian in disbelief that he was used to by now. "You?"

"Listen, were you guys just in Atkinson's lecture?" He pointed his thumb in the direction of the room behind himself.

The two guys nodded.

"He's in there right now explaining the Pokhozhaev identity problem that was on the midterm." Damian lied.

Their eyes widened. And one of them asked. "Fuck really?"

Damian nodded. "Yeah. If you hurry, maybe you could still catch him."

"Dude, thanks!" One of them clapped him on the back, and Damian offered them one his signature easygoing smiles as they went down the hall and back into the lecture, none the wiser.

He himself made his way to sit beside you, leaning back on the bench. "Hey,"

You looked up at him, eyes widening when you realized it's him. You quickly collected yourself, offering a poline smile. "Damian, hi."

"What are you doing this Thursday?" He asked.

You thought about it for a moment, checked your calendar to see that your midterms were done by Wednesday. "Nothing, why?"

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

You looked at yourself in the mirror, assessing the outfit. The dress you wore was a velvet, red form-fitting one that accentuated your silhouette, it reach the top of your knees with an asymmetrical hem that added an edgy touch, showcasing the velvet knee high black boots under it. A deep neckline showed the gold necklace that you never took off, with its matching earrings - gifts from your parents. You let your hair down, framing your face in subtle curls and draping over your shoukders. Your makeup was subtle with a focus on your eyes and red lipstick. The look you were going for was a combination of chic and classy.

A knock on your door caused you to open it, mouth dropping slightly when you did.

Damian Wayne stood at your doorstep wearing a suit. Confident posture and athletic physique. His tailored suit accentuated his broad shoulders and a trim waist. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and those green eyes of his sparkled over you with appreciation. You realized why he'd told you to wear red, a well-chosen tie hung from his neck, matching your dress in color.

"Hey, perfect girl," he gave you an appreciative look.

"Oh wow," you let the words out without thinking. Clearing your throat, you offered a shy smile. "You look really nice."

"Thanks," he put his hand in his pocket, eyes roaming your body, and he shook his head. "So do you. Very nice."

He offered you his hand, and you took it, letting him lead you to his Camaro.

"Will you not be drinking?" You asked, seated at the passenger seat.

"I dont drink." He said.

You nodded, thinking that if he wanted to elaborate, he would have. "I read up about that Gala. It's a charity event to raise money for the new wing in the children's hospital, right?"

"Right."

"I'd like to contribute, if that's still allowed." You said.

Damian smirked to himself, a dimple appearing as his perfect teeth came into view. "Do you know how much Wayne Ent. donated, y/n?"

"No," you confessed.

"You're welcome to contribute, but trust me, they're set for at least the next four years. And that's including construction."

"Wow," you couldn't bring yourself to even inagine the amount that entailed. Suddenly, your donation felt like barely anything. Your shoulders slumped slightly, and then you shook it off. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'd still like to."

He turned to give you a look, the meaning of which you couldn't decipher. "Have you ever donated at a gala before?"

You shookyour head.

He offered you his hand, and you took it.

At last, he spoke. "I'll show you how."

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

The way he commanded attention in any room with mere silence should be studied, you thought.

His hand brushed your hip, leading you inside the massive banquet hall. You looked around, and massive chandeliers hung from the intricately painted fresco on the ceiling as the velvet carpet was rolled out under expensive shoes. The sound of chatter and clinging glasses was accompanied by classical music. This was an entirely different world than the one you were used to. Still, you looked around in fascination.

"Is that real Chanel?" Damian's question drew you from your thoughts. You turned to see him eyeing your dress.

You tensed. "... no." You looked down, blushing as you were painfully reminded that someone of his stature could tell the difference. Slightly embarrassed, you quietly confessed, "Mainstream brands can make good knock offs when they want to."

He nodded, gaze drifting back over the crowd. As did you, the sea of people in front of you was clad in high brand designer gowns, suits, and perfumes. Granted, your outfit was by no means cheap, and in fact, it took you a day of work to make up for it. But if he could see that your clothes were a high fashion copy, so could everyone here. In your clothes you felt like you didn't belong. For the first time in your life, you felt... cheap.

You just hoped his lack of a reaction meant a lack of judgment. Damian came both from old money and from new money, as the heir to the top weapons mogul in the world, he was used to a certain standard.

Either way, you may not have been rich but you weren't struggling. Per se.

You glanced at him, about to wonder if he felt embarrassed to be seen with you. But after thinking of it for too long, you realized... you don't care.

Very grateful to both of your parents who worked blue-collar jobs to raise you and your siblings, you learned the value of appearance from a young age. You didn't come from the best neighborhood, but you couldn't tell from the way your family presented itself. Your townhouse was always clean and well decorated. Your mother made sure to always have homemade food and put all of her kids through some kind of extracurricular activities. Which is how you go into maths and sciences. You relied on scholarships and the goodness of your teachers to make it where you did. And you never wished things were different; your life made you who you were today.

So what if you didn't wear designer brands? You had immaculate fashion sense even if it was affordable.

And suddenly, you caught yourself smiling. Suddenly, everyone's facial expressions didn't look so judgmental. Someone cleared their throat beside you, and you turned to face a beautiful couple.

The man was immediately recognizable. Matching in height with Damian, Bruce Wayne looked every bit the billionaire playboy in his classic black suit jacket, accessorized with golden cufflinks, crisp white shirt, and a black bow tie. His hair was stylized and polished. Sharp facial features, visibly similar to his son's, and a well-groomed stubble enhanced his masculine charm. He held a confident, charismatic expression that exuded mystery.

He held by the waist a woman in an elegant, form-fitting black evening gown with a daring cut at the front. Her hair was styled in an updo. A statement necklace hung around her neck. Her look complemented Bruce's style while showcasing her own elegance. She gave youband Damian a knowing smile.

"Y/n, this is my father." Damian introduced you.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne." You smiled at his father and offered to shake his hand.

He took your hand in a firm grip. "Y/n," his deep voice, also similar to Damian's, greeted you. "You interned for Wayne Industries this summer, am I correct?"

"Yes," you nodded eagerly. "In R&D. It was an amazing opportunity, sir. You run a truly unique organization."

Bruce's grin widened. "Well, I'm glad to hear. Your team lead wrote a great review after you were done. When you graduate, we'd be lucky to have you."

Your cheeks certainly reddened by now, and you felt like you were out of breath as you stuttered out a "Thank you." Or at least you hoped you did. You were pretty sure you had blacked out for a moment.

You couldn't tell Damian how grateful you were for his hand on your lower back. The touch rooting you and making you feel less intimidated, or at least protected by him.

"Thank you, Father." Damian's tone was slow but menacing. "I know young, smart, and pretty are your type, but maybe try not to steal my date? Especially when you have your own..." He gave the woman a pointed look.

She and Bruce shared a knowing look before she turned to you and said in a soft, cat-like taunt. "Careful honey. The more territorial they are, the harder it is to tell if they wish to love you..." She eyed Damian in a way that, for some reason, upset you. "Or own you."

Damian's hand tightened around your waist. The woman caught the movement before her gaze returned to yours. It felt like the air around your was a hundred degrees golder. You felt goosebumps on the back of your neck when she said. "Soon enough, you'll be lucky if Damian lets any man near you."

"I think I see the mayor." Bruce spoke up, breaking the tension, and led the woman away. "We should say hello."

When they were gone, you took in a deep breath, turning to Damian, you wispered. "Was that your mother?"

He huffed out a laugh. "Thank God no." He smiled down at you, his hand rubbing circles on your back. "Did she scare you?"

"She did."

"Yeah, my father's always had a type." He spoke in disdain. For a moment, it almost looked like he was the parent who was dissappointnent in his child's choice in partners.

A small smile crept across your lips. "What's your mother like -"

He lifted your chin and placed a kiss on your lips. A polite way to shut down your question. He pulled back an inch to whisper. "I don't want to talk about my parents anymore." Against your lips.

Message received, you nodded against him. Throughout the night you met a lot of interesting people. Of course, all of them had already known Damian. And they seemed happy to interact with you both. Shy and inexperienced in small talk, you let Damian take the lead. He answered their eager questions with ease, and you noted the way men and women hung on to his every word.

The whole time, Damian's hands never let you go, visibly claiming you in front of whatever audience you had. You took up a rather interesting conversation with a man who word for the district attorney. You nodded eagerly, agreeing with every word as he said. "It's just a different way of thinking. A mathematical one."

"Those are the kinds of conversations I want to be a part of in my line of work." You admitted.

His smiled. "I'm sure you will. If you're eager enough to make it happen. Give me a call if you ever want to come see our unit at work." He handed you a business card, and you took it, nodding gratefully.

Suddenly, you felt Damian slide up from your hip to your neck, his fingers drawing circles on your collarbone. You turned to look at him, seeing his tongue poking his cheek as he eyed the man you were talking to.

"Well." The man cleared his throat. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too," you said before you were led away. Into the hall, away from the crowd.

"Where are you going?" You asked as Damian pulled you into what looked like a conference room, shutting the door behind you and pressing you against it. You looked up at him, squirming under his heated gaze. "Damian, is everything okay?"

"Leave it to you to make a two hundred dollar dress look like it was worth two thousand." He growled against your ear.

"Thank you?" You wimpered in question, unsure how to take the words.

"They were all looking at you like they wanted to take you home with them." He wispered, kissing you hard. "But they can't. You're mine."

You captured your bottom lip between your teeth to keep from moaning. The woman's words from earlier began playing in your mind. You saw Damian the way she described. Possessive, territorial. You couldn't understand why it both scared and excited you.

"Say it." He ordered. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours." You don't know why you obeyed so quickly. But the words felt right on your tongue.

"Damn right." He wispered, before kissing you hard. "Fuck, you're so beautiful." He groaned against your mouth. "I win. Out of all those men. I win."

The flattering words made you smile. It was the first time someone said something like that to you. To have it be Damian Wayne, of all people.

Eager for more of his praise, you sunk down to your knees in front of him, looking up to meet his gaze as you unbuckled his belt, lowering his pants and boxers. You bit your lip when you saw his erection, tongue sneaking out to lick up his shaft. Damian was bigger than anyone you've been with. You ran your hands over the hard muscles of his stomach before taking him in your mouth and sucking eagerly.

"Fuck yes, baby." He groaned as his fingers pulled into your hair.

You whimpered around him.

"Finger yourself while you suck my dick. Get yourself ready." He ordered.

You obeyed, you index finger touching your clit through under your dress as you whined around his cock. You worked him for minutes on end, switching from sucking to licking his head, delighting in the way his hips trusted against you and his panting sped up above you.

Damian thought he won. But looking up into his glazed dark eyes, brows furrowed in pleasure as his mouth opened... all because of you. All at your mercy. You felt like you were the one who won. No one out of all those women in that room could see him like this except you.

His hand pulled you up by your hair, pining you between himself and the wall again. You felt so fragile in his arms. "Did you finger yourself like I ask, baby?" He asked, lifting the hem of your dress.

You nodded.

His finger dipped into your whole, feeling how wet you are. He grinned at you through a hooded gaze. "Good girl."

He made quick work of lining himself up and thrusting into you. You arched off the wall and into him as your arms flew to grasp onto him. Unable to hold back, you begged him. "Damian, please kiss me!"

His lips were on yours in an instant, silencing a string of uncontrollable moans as he thrust into you over and over again. Despit holding your weight and fucking you for a long time, he never got tired. Rather he sped up, panting against your lips. "Come for me, my perfect girl,"

You nodded absentmindedly, grasping onto him, needing him as close as possible as you whispered. "Please, please..."

He thrust into you hard, both of you moaning into each other as you reached your climax. Your limbs shook even as Damian lowered you and led you to a nearby door, letting you both into a bathroom.

He used a cloth to clean up your pussy, correcting your dress and hair, before adressing his own look. All while you were dazed and coming down from the high. He held your shaking body, kissing your lips and cheeks and forehead, telling you you did a good job. At last he asked, "Are you ready to go make your donation?"

You had nearly forgotten. You turned to him, still disoriented but determined to see your goal through. Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you saw that Damian did a good job of cleaning you up. Other than your flushed face, you wouldn't have been able to guess what you had just done. He offered his hand, and you took it, allowing yourself to be let out.

[polakina]

how they react to you getting hurt on a mission

call of duty headcanons #3

hc masterlist // masterlist

anyone else feel like there's not enough alex keller fics about? if you've got recommendations, send them my way pls <3

rating: explicit

-

heard it over comms while the 141 were raiding an enemy safehouse

you had confirmed intel that they were hiding out after an attack on the local town, so moved in to take them out

you were making your way through the upper sections of the building, whispering into comms as you cleared each room

but as you moved further down the corridor, one of the terrorists barged out of the last door on the left, firing all bullets in your direction

you managed to dodge out of the way for most of them, sending bullets through his skin and taking him down, but not before a bullet lodged itself in your shoulder

price was practically shouting in your ear as he heard the gunshots from above and through his earpiece

he made it to you first, checking over you with worried glances, pulling the collar of your shirt aside to assess the damage

cursed out of sheer panic, grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you up, calling in for evac and medics

did not leave your side the whole flight back to base, constantly asking if you were okay

reaching the medic tent at base, he kept a stern eye on the medics, barking orders to be careful with you

but he was scared

scared he could have lost you

his fear always turned to anger, it was an emotional side of him you'd noticed since working together

he stayed with you the whole time

angry

so fucking angry

not at you, of course

but at literally everyone else

saw you get knocked up against the wall, pinned by your throat with a knife pointing into your stomach, hearing your cry of pain

he saw red

momentarily blacked out as he shot the guy hurting you at least 6 times

a little overkill but deemed it necessary

was immediately by your side. knocked your hand out of the way when you tried to cover it, and shushed you fiercely when you tried to tell him you were okay

did not leave any room for negotiation before picking you up bridal style and hauling ass out of there

didn't trust any medic to patch you up

did everything himself

turned super super quiet as he saw the wound fully, the blood pooling out of the gash. his face turned almost white

wouldn't speak as he cleaned and stitched the wound

it was only when he finally met your eye that his gaze softened. the apologies started uncontrollably spilling out

he apologised for literally an hour; about how he could have stopped the guy, how he could have gotten there sooner

you had to calm him down the whole night

never let you lift a finger until you were fully healed, and even after that he was hesitant to let you do anything strenuous

you caught him looking at your bandages every so often, even during training

one you even caught him in the act while he thought you were sleeping. he lifted your shirt to check you hadn't pulled any stitches, and you scared the shit out of him when you asked what he was doing

the two of you were climbing to reach a higher vantage point as appointed snipers

your rope snapped and you fell to the rocks below

he damn near snapped his neck trying to repel back down to you

saw your dislocated shoulder and couldn't hide his disgust until you pointed it out

nobody was able to reach you, the two of you were alone

said it'd click back into place on its own, and you weren't sure if he was trying to reassure you or convince himself

but when you explained he needed to knock it back into its socket, he shook his head

flat out just said no

the man can deal with blood and bullets and knives. broken bones or dislocations were not his strong suit

his stomach did that weird flip thing when he saw body parts out of place

you scolded him for being a baby and he pouted at you

had to psych himself up to do it

"its just a stupid shoulder, get it together" "don't be a baby, it'll take two seconds" "god that's so disgusting, why does it look that gross"

your eyes nearly rolled out of your head and the initial pain had basically subsided by the time he actually did it

nearly threw up when he felt your shoulder pop back into its socket

was riding alongside you in the truck when it flipped over from an enemy missile

the whole vehicle launched topside and rolled upside down

his first port of call was to turn and check on you, rushing to panic when he saw the blood on your face

after pulling himself out of the vehicle, he ran around and yanked over the driver side door, unclipping your belt and pulling you onto the pavement

saw your broken leg and almost passed out

literally forgot all his medic training in that one moment and only ended up calling for an evac when you told him to

was at your every beck and call while you recovered

you had to be wheelchair bound during your recovery, and as the base trainer, you were able to do your job from your chair

made jokes about you now having to be on wheels

did anything to lift your spirits

helped you with absolutely anything you needed, and secretly kind of liked that he had to take care of you

fell into the male housewife role really quick. scarily quickly

wheels you around base, and more often than not rolls over somebody's toes when he passes them. doesn't have the best spatial awareness capacity

always there to change your bandages, check your wounds

whenever your leg hurts, he's like a professional masseuse

[oceantornadoo]

Hiii can I request one of the boys (or all) comforting medic/surgeon reader, who’s in their unit, for not being able to save someone and reader goes into a depressive episode because reader has known them since they got recruited. They’re doing their best to cheer reader up, but it’s hard to budge through the stress of not being able to save a life. Thank you 🥹

this is not poly!141 so each blurb is that character x f!reader. some are established relationship, some are just unlabeled.

ao3 link

simon:

simon riley was a quiet man. that's why he liked you, always talking just because you were eager to share, never expecting him to reciprocate. he knew he was blunt, gruff, and (a bit) unlikeable, so it always seemed safer to respond in as little words as possible. on days like today though, he just had to say something. you hadn't said a word to anyone in a week (he checked) and stopped coming to every "optional" friendly hangout after a rough mission. you were holed up in your room ever since your patient had died, and he meant to do something about it.

"what." you said gruffly to the person knocking at the door. "'s me, dove." simon. "go away." instead of listening, you heard the door open. you turned around in your bed to face the wall, avoiding eye contact at all costs. "i'm not good company right now, si." you could practically hear him shrug. he closed the door with a sigh, the silence between you two enveloping the room in a cocoon. instead of hearing your desk chair sqeak, you heard a rustle of clothing, tac gear dropping to the floor. almost as if he was taking off his clothes? but there was no way, this was ghost, who wore a stupid mask and stupid gloves that always made you wonder about the veins underneath and-

and suddenly simon riley was climbing under the covers with you, clothed in only his boxers. you knew because he was everywhere, skin on skin, wedging one large, scarred thigh between yours. his left hand under your pillow, right hand sneaking its way to your waist. he drew shapes on your skin with his calloused hands, the only sound in the room the scrape of his skin on yours. "we'll get through this, yeah?" you nodded against him, not trusting yourself to speak, tears caught in your throat. simon nuzzled himself into your neck, and for the first time that week, you slept through the night.

johnny:

usually, you loved the sound of johnny's laughs, boisterous and fun, bringing energy into every conversation. this week, though, you couldn't stomach it. you stopped laughing at his jokes, stopped shoving him when he tried to put his arm around you, stopped engaging in his talk on comms when you had the mantle of field medic. you cringed when you saw the spark in his eyes dampen, but you couldn't seem to care when a similar image of your comrade dying on the field took a starring role in your nightmares.

this was your second nightmare tonight, the image of your comrade's bloody body, sinking into an open grave. you could almost feel the packed dirt in your throat, succumbing to the grave you put her in. and suddenly you were awake, blinking at the darkness of the room. you were so tired, emotionally drained, you didn't even think about where you were walking, just knew you were leaving your room. and suddenly, you were knocking on johnny's door, knowing he'd be up at this time. he swung open the door, misinterpreting what you were after. "bonnie. knew ye'd give me a late night call soon." you rolled your eyes at his joke, feeling an unwilling smile creep onto your face.

"not that kind of night, johnny." he winked anyways, ushering you into his room. "glad ta see you smile, lass." that dimmed your mood. you suddenly scrambling changing your mind. "well i just wanted to say hi but you're busy so i'll leave you to it-" johnny covered your mouth with his hand, effectively cutting off your thoughts. "up ye go." you squealed as he picked you up, depositing you onto his bed. he locked the door and turned off the light, keeping a nightlight on just for you. "yer gonna tell me about all those thoughts in that pretty head of yours, hm?" you nodded, and felt the weight lighten off your chest for the first time in weeks.

john:

john was your rock. a fellow higher-up, hardened by war and bittered by reality, wrapped up in a fatherly manner. he was all knowledge and hard truths with his men, but with you? on a day like today? after standing in blood for three hours, using half of the base hospital's resources to try to stop what should have been a typical infection that was actually poison? that fatherly attitude could shove it.

"need to search your office for poison, doctor." john was a shadow at your office door. "yeah, sure, whatever." you needed to put in requests for all the supplies used, finalize the death certificate, launch the investigation. the last thing you cared about was john following protocol. you didn't register the captain's movements until he was behind your chair, leaning down in your ear. "come on." he took your hand's off your laptop's keys, placing them in your lap. "the boys will be here any minute, love. come on." you let him guide you, going numb at the feeling. the reality that your patient had been poisoned, targeted, and you couldn't do anything about it was suddenly hitting you. john was making you stand up, but you were in a trance, just a body he could move however he wanted.

you blinked and you were standing in his office, looking at his chair. "go on. i'll make an exception just for you." you shook your head, unable to explain why not. "you need to sit, love." you shook your head again. the medical part of your brain told you the shock was hitting. john sat in his chair instead, guiding you between his legs. you looked down at him, at his hands on your waist. making a split second decision, you ungracefully collapsed sideways into his lap. john grunted but said nothing, adjusting your feet to hang off the chair. your arms circled his thick neck, hands rubbing at his beard. he took off his hat, laying it on the table, then kissed your forehead. you tucked your head into his neck, and finally, finally, let yourself cry.

kyle:

gaz was loveable and cocky, which you were okay with. you called him kyle to humble him, a playful nudge. he called you sweetheart right back, that accent of his playing with all the right vowels just to rile you up. but today, two days after the death of your comrade that you should have saved, you didn't feel sweet at all. not one bit.

"its after 11. should be in bed by now." he was at the door of your office, taking in the heaping piles of medical reports on your desk.

"kyle, im busy." you huffed, not bothering to look up. your comrade's autopsy report was staring right back at you, clinical notes on how she could have been saved if you had just had the supplies.

"sweetheart-" you almost slammed your pen on your desk. "don't call me that, kyle. i'm not in the mood." he wasn't deterred, warm eyes swimming with understanding. "this about what happened?" he mumured in a soft voice, like he was comforting a kitten instead of you, a dark hole of guilt. "i just-" you made the mistake of making eye contact, of seeing how kind he looked. the tears started rushing out and you couldn't stop them. you hadn't cried when she died, so maybe it was finally time. "i just keep looking at these notes about what i could have done, if things were different and gaz, idontknowwhattodo..."

you trailed off, embarrassed. calling him gaz was a sign of weakness, of this whole facade crumbling down. "come 'ere.” you stood up and walked between his open arms, a small laugh erupting as he overexaggerated how heavy you were. "you did more than anyone on that field could have done. and you're still sweet to me. even when you're a bit of a snotty mess." he kissed your forehead then, and you weren't even going to touch what that meant. all that mattered were gaz's strong arms, holding your waist and rubbing small circles as you put all your physical and emotional baggage on him. and for now, being held was all you needed.

--

had to let this one simmer for a bit. thanks anon <3

[stinkysam]

Serge "Frenchie" - Can't sleep love.

Warning : nsfw, dry humping, unprotected sex, overstimulation, choking, top!reader, bit of degradation, praise, pre-established consent on everything going on

Genre : smut

Synopsis : You can't sleep and your boyfriend suggests having sex to pass time.

Reader : male (you/yours)

A/N : Reader speaks French as well because I do. // Thought of this while I couldn't sleep. // All translations are at the end. // I'm really not sure about it 😕 there's barely anything for him (this is outrageous) so I can't compare with other people's work so idk if it's good.

Once again you couldn't sleep.

It's been a little more than a year now that you wake up multiple times, every night. You'd just wake up. And fall back asleep after 5 or 10 minutes.

You didn't know why and no medication would work, despite trying quite a few. Whether you were tired or not, going to bed early or late wouldn't change anything. You'd still wake up. Every night.

So here you were at 1am, laying in your shared bed with Frenchie fast asleep by your side. You knew you fell asleep around 11, or so you think, you're not sure anymore after ruminating as much as you were doing now. You kept turning and tossing, it's been longer than usual, making you annoyed, pulling the blankets up then pushing them down. Too hot. Too cold. Too hot. Too co-

“Mon amour ?” You hear. Shit, you woke Frenchie up with your constant movements.

“Yeah ?” You whispered back, turning to face him.

“Ça va ?” He scoots closer, placing a hand on your cheek. Worry evident in his voice. You grab it, kissing his palm.

“Non. Can't fucking sleep.”

“Again ?”

“Comme toutes les nuits.” You chuckled bitterly. “Normally I wouldn't care much, I fall back asleep after 5 minutes but it's been an hour and I'm still not asleep.”

He says nothing, listening.

“I'm so bored, it's pissing me off.” You add with a huff, ready to toss and turn again. A moment of silence falls as Frenchie thinks.

“Wanna fuck ? Pour passer le temps ?” He finally says with a cheeky smile.

You turn your head to look at him again though you can barely see his features in the dark. A moment of silence passes again as you thought.

“It won't work, y'know ?”

“Why not ?”

“I just know it won’t.” You shrugged but continued speaking after a second. “But pour passer le temps ?” You repeated. “Okay, d'accord. Pourquoi pas.” You weren't particularly aroused but at least you would be doing something instead of waiting for the sleep that refused to come. Still, you wasted no time as you climbed on top of Frenchie, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. He responded with as much energy, his hands slipping quickly under your shirt to touch you everywhere.

You kissed him everywhere on his face, your hands holding his head still as you pushed your knee between his legs, applying pressure on his growing hard on, making him moan lightly before biting his lower lip, earning a hiss as he grabbed you harder, pulling you closer at the same time.

His tongue in your mouth, dancing with yours as you shared more than sloppy kisses, but you didn't let that and his pretty noises distract you from massaging his dick with your knee, feeling it grow harder under your ministrations. Frenchie’s moans grew louder as his boxers felt too tight now, spreading his legs open as he bucked his hips against you to get more friction.

“Eager, are we ?” You said in between kisses. But truth be told, you were as eager as him.

“J'ai juste envie de toi, mon cœur.” He replied, pushing his lips back against yours.

He kept humping your leg, small moans leaving his mouth.

Your thumbs caressed his skin, feeling his light stubble and still fresh cut he got from a fight. Your knee never stopped pushing against his dick and balls, massaging them in a rough manner. The more you did so, the louder he became, not caring if the walls of your place weren't thick enough to contain his moans.

“Putain.” He breathed out several times in between kisses.

You continued like this ‘til he came in his boxers. You didn't give him the time to regain his breath as you pulled his boxers down, jerking his now sensitive cock.

“Attends- Wait ! Mon coeur-” Frenchie hissed, a hand flying over to yours in a weak attempt to stop you, but you gently slapped it. After all, he still hadn't said the safeword. So he closed his eyes for a few seconds, letting you do whatever you wanted to do as small moans began to leave his lips once more.

Your thumb caressed his dick roughly, not letting it go soft as you followed the veins to his balls before your other hand went under, pushing a spit covered finger in his ass. He hissed once more, clenching around your index before relaxing rapidly.

Your own cock was painfully hard in your boxers by now but you didn't mind. You were patient and had other plans. So you continued jerking Frenchie before adding a second finger, making scissor motions.

“You're not allowed to come.” You informed hom, watching him quickly nod through his moans. “Good boy.” You kissed his knee that was resting against you and his cock pulsed at your words.

You tormented him like that for a few minutes, jerking him rapidly then slowly then fast again while your fingers still worked his ass, occasionally tickling his prostate. His moans and gasps were like music to your ears, you wished you could listen to them forever. So you savored them instead.

“Ah ! Putain ! I'm- Can I come ? Please ?” He quickly asked, words rushing out. He really needed to cum.

“No.”

“But mon coeur…”

“I said no, slut.” You smiled devilishly as you knew he would obey, and it didn't miss. He whined but complied, his legs shaking as he tried hard not to close them and not to cum. Eyes shut tightly as more moans spilled from his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You heard him say under his breath, almost like a prayer while his hips moved in an erratic manner to match the pace of your both hands.

Pre-cum was leaking from his tip, coating your hand while your other one continued to finger him.

“You like that, huh ? T'es ma petite pute. Mh, Serge ?”

Frenchie nodded at your words, dick throbbing in your hand, more pre pooling out.

You could tell how much he wanted to cum and how hard he was trying not to with tears in his eyes. You took note of how this time he didn't wipe them, he knew you liked seeing them. You decided to be kind, knowing him, he wouldn't beg for it, not because he's above begging but because he wants to be good and fear you'd say “No.” for the hell of it.

“What a good boy.” You said with a smile, kissing his knee once more. “You can cum.”

And it didn't take long for him to come after your words, a sigh of relief mixed with more moans of pleasure left him as you helped him ride his second orgasm, cum landing on his shirt and lower abdomen. But once more, you didn't let him relax, pulling your fingers out of him to replace them with your aching dick after removing your boxers.

“Putain de- Ah !” He gasped, and you pulled him up, making him bounce on your cock. He wrapped his arms around you for more stability, moaning loudly in your ear as he planted his face in the crook of your neck. There was no way your neighbor didn't know what you two were doing by now, but you didn't care as you continued to plow into your boyfriend. His cock was rubbing against you, smearing pre and come all over you two.

His breathing was loud and erratic as he tried to calm down, without success. So he busied himself by kissing you again, holding you close.

Wanting to change position, but thinking the headboard was far enough you pushed Frenchie down and a ‘bonk’ was heard followed by a quick “Aie !”. He had hit his head against the fucking headboard.

You laughed, rapidly apologizing, kissing his forehead.

“You okay ?” You asked, hands planted by his shoulders as you peppered his face with kisses.

“Mon chéri, you need to do more than that to take me out.” He said with a smirk, though you couldn't see it in the dark you could hear it in his voice.

You snorted, kissing him once more on the lips before pushing yourself back in, soft moans escaping him again.

With one hand you held yourself up above him while the other one went to his throat, squeezing the sides to restrict his blood flow.

“Oh, putain...” He managed to speak, though his voice was a bit hoarse as he began to feel light headed after a few seconds. Each time you would release his neck, Frenchie would gasp for air, eyes half lidded, only for you to start again. You're careful as to not apply pressure on his windpipe, counting each second of when he can and can't breathe.

But while you're cautious with your hand, you're less caring with how hard your dick ram into him. Certainly bruising his prostate with each hit, earning pretty broken moans after pretty broken moan.

“What a good boy you are, huh ?” You said, leaning down, kissing him. He tried to kiss you back but felt too hazy to succeed. “You're doing so good for me.” His cock throbbed with each of your words, clearly enjoying them.

He grabbed your arm, not to pull your hand away from his throat but to warn you he was close to cumming again. Good, you were reaching your limit too.

“You can cum, pretty boy.” This time you made sure to choke him while he reached his climax, cum spilling on his shirt and a bit on you. His ears were ringing when you finally let go of him and his head felt bubbly. You finished quickly after, inside him, but you didn't pull out directly and instead waited to calm down from both your high and his.

Frenchie was panting under you, slowly regaining his breath, chest heaving up and down.

You both groaned when you pulled out and you quickly left the bed to get a cloth and a water bottle. You rapidly cleaned yourself, then Frenchie.

“Merci.” He said, grabbing the bottle before drinking some of it. You watched as Frenchie removed his cum stained shirt and threw it to the side. You did the same and went back to bed, cuddled against him under a thin blanket. You both closed your eyes and after a moment…

“It didn't work. I don't feel sleepy at all.” You sighed. He laughed

“It worked for me !”

“Connard.”

“What ? C'pas ma faute !”

“What ?! It literally is ! We fucked and it woke me up more than ever !”

“Oh, va te faire foutre !” He laughed and placed his chin above your head, holding you close.

“Comment vas ta gorge ? J't'ai fait mal ?” You asked, kissing his neck.

“Non, mon chéri. You didn't hurt me. I told you, you need to do more than that to take me out.”

“Okay. Good. I love you.”

It's not your first time saying these three words yet it always catches Frenchie off guard. After everything that's happened, his past and ex-lovers, he wasn't sure if he deserved these words.

“I- I love you too.” He replied after a little while.

“You don't have to say it back, you know. I know you do.” You kissed his forehead.

“Non, je sais, but I want to.”

“Okay.” You smiled.

While Frenchie fell asleep rather quickly after, arms holding you tightly, you had to wait once more, stuck in his embrace, unable to toss and turn anymore. And of course, it didn't miss, you woke up later that night. And once more at around 5 am without falling back asleep.

Putain de merde.

--

Translations :

Mon amour - My love.

Ça va ? - You okay ?

Non - No.

Comme toutes les nuits - Like every night.

Pour passer le temps - To pass time.

D'accord - Okay / Alright.

Pourquoi pas - Why not.

Putain - Fuck.

J'ai juste envie de toi - I just want you.

Attends - Wait.

T'es ma petite pute - You’re my little whore.

Putain de… - Fucking...

Mon chéri - My dear.

Merci - Thank you.

Connard - Asshole.

C’pas ma faute - It's not my fault.

Va te faire foutre - Go fuck yourself.

Comment vas ta gorge ? - How is your throat ?

J't'ai fait mal ? - Did I hurt you ?

Non, je sais - No, I know.

Putain de merde - Fucking shit.

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

How To Plant Snapdragons | 14

Task Force 141, Keegan & Konig x Female Criminal!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist / Discord

You and the team tore through the night and storm, fighting off the savage waves of the sea. The wind slammed on your faces as though ready to tear your flesh apart and scatter it across the water.

Ghost conversed with Graves on the comms and the boat swerved to the left towards the ship, whereas the one Johnny was on with Alejandro and Graves continued forward.

You didn't want to leave Soap alone, but for a better strategy to take over the ship and rig, spreading man power was necessary.

The boat slowed and Rodolfo shot a hook skyward and managed to get it stuck onto the railings of the ship in a second. You climbed onto the rope and immediately spotted Ghost slashing throats and blasting holes through heads on his way.

And fucking hell, you would never get enough of hot, confident men who got the strength and skills to back it up.

You slid down the floor, assisted by the water causing it to become slippery, and fired at a couple of people. You stood up and cursed, losing your balance as the ship tipped over to the right. Ahead, a container swerved to your path causing your heart to leap to your throat as you made a run to the side and shrieked when the ship tipped to where you were going, making the container follow your track.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You sprinted to the other side and screamed when you spotted another container going your way just as you slipped. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK—”

Something slammed against the container and your eyes widened when you realized it was Ghost, holding it back before the ship tilted to the side again. By the second you back up on your foot, you were heaved up in the air and thrown in a room, before another container slammed at the entrance, trapping you inside with the Lt.

“Good lord, I almost became a pancake,” you sighed in relief and looked up at Ghost. “Thank you, sir.”

God, you just wanted to jump on him and pepper him with kisses and let yourself be manhandled the way he wanted.

He looked down on you, reaching down a hand which you took and steadied yourself up. “Ya good?”

“Yeah.” You forced out a soft laugh. “I think the containers have something against me cuz two of them came at me at the same time.” You watched him gaze down on you, but not on your face, and so, you followed the direction of his eyes. “Oh.” You quickly pulled your hand back and wrapped it around your rifle instead. “Sorry.”

“Be careful,” he commanded, but it sounded more of a reminder. “Let's go.”

You nodded in agreement and rushed back out, minding the way where the ship would incline and the direction where the containers would move.

“Snapdragon.”

You turned to Ghost, who wasn't looking at you, but you knew it was him who called. He didn't say anything after, so you didn't bother uttering a word and focused on taking down the rest of the cartel.

“Shampoo.”

You grumbled. “Alright, what is it?”

“What did the Shampoo say to the hairbrush?”

“God, not Shampoo puns,” you begged, shaking your head, but it didn't stop him.

“Let’s comb-ine forces and make this hair-mazing,” he said in a flat tone, but you could hear a stifled cough from him. “Why did the shampoo get in trouble at school?”

You snorted. “Go on.”

“It kept on skipping conditioning class.” He slashed a man’s throat and pushed the person off the ship.

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, slick.”

He turned to you, swiping the blood off his skull, which easily came off due to the rain. “Like the conditioner?”

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. “Get outta here.”

“Negative. You can’t condition the enemies on your own.”

“Stoooop,” you whined, removing the pin from a grenade and throwing it ahead.

“You called ‘Snapdragon’, eh?” He grabbed your arm and pulled you away from a container. “Suits you, since you snap at everything and you've got us drag on to your antics.”

“Please.” At this point, you wanted to cry. No one had ever attacked you with so many puns in a row.

“Please what?”

“. . . Sir.”

“Good.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA—

You never wanted to fuck someone in the rain, in a tilting ship, between crates and containers, above dead corpses, till you drown, till he became like the skull on his balaclava until now.

Was it the puns? Sure, okay, it did add points. Being funny was always a plus point. But heck, the guy didn't even need to talk much and he could still be hot. Because, your honor, how could a guy not be hot after stopping a fucking container to save your slippery ass?

You waved a finger at the lieutenant. “Don't call me that, sir. I might jump onto you.”

Then, Graves’ voice came from the comms, interrupting your little, spontaneous date with Ghost (which was definitely one-sided). “Shadow 0-1 to Ghost!”

You stepped before him to guard him in case there were more enemies left as Ghost tapped on his device. “Ghost to Shadow, how copy?”

“The controls . . . that ship!” Graves yelled, the connection a bit patchy due to the weather, but he repeated his words, making it clearer. “Soap and I are on the way there!”

“Rog. We'll clear the way till you get here,” Ghost answered back through the comms and nodded at you to follow him.

You clicked your tongue. “Just when I thought we're clear and having fun.”

“We can continue that later,” he said in a low voice.

You might as well break your neck as you snapped your head in his way as quickly as lightning. What was that supposed to mean? What the fuck? Did you hear him right? Was it flirting? Eh, Ghost? Eh. No way. But, what if?

You looked around for the rest of the team and spotted Rodolfo and some Shadows closing in to your spot. You gestured at him and the rest of the men to catch up with you and Ghost.

Then, you felt a rumble as something seemed to have hit the ship from the side, and from your peripheral, you saw Soap and Graves' boat flying up into the ship. You gaped at their ridiculous sight and landing.

You had seen Keegan drive a truck over dozens of people and through a wall, love him for that, but this was on another level.

“Are you two trying to be in a circus?” you exclaimed and approached them, eyeing for any sign of injuries on their bodies.

“I like the SAS,” Soap grunted as he got off. You reached out a hand to him which he took and helped him steady himself on the swaying ship.

“Nothing is greater than being a PMC.” Graves ran his hand down his face, swiping the rainwater off.

You shook your head at their answers, but didn't further say any words to them and guided them towards the entry of the building where Ghost stood by with Rodolfo. Without hesitation, Graves stuck bombs on the metal door and all of you backed away as it exploded and waited for the smoke to clear. Once it did, Graves kicked down the door, leading the way inside.

A narrow hallway welcomed you, forcing the group to step in one by one, but even though Graves wasn't a 141 member, he was swift to bring down enemies and clear the way.

Sure is a CEO of mercenaries, you thought as he and Soap found the controls in a room up the stairs, quickly tapping in to intercept the fire of the missile. And in all honesty, you would have liked him if he wasn't Shepherd's lapdog.

But sooner or later, you would have him wrapped around your finger like a string, and use it to fucking strangle the general.

“Shit, we can't disarm it!” Graves exclaimed, slamming the tablet down the table.

You peered over the device and squinted your eyes at a familiar logo. “That fucking bitch,” you said under your breath as Graves’ talked with Shepherd and shoved the man aside. “Move.” You snatched the tablet from the table.

“What are you doing?” Graves questioned, clutching the tablet as well, but you kept your grip firm.

“I know—”

Shepherd talked over you. “We don't need your bullshit right now, woman. The clock is ticking!”

You stared at the tablet for a moment, confirming the design of the logo, and huffed, letting it go. “Fine. You won't give those controls to one of its developers, your loss.”

Soap put a hand on your shoulder. “What do ya mean by that?”

“One of its developers?” Ghost echoed.

“What are you insinuating?” Shepherd asked, his voice lowering into a threatening tone.

“No bullshit, yeah?.” You moved away from the controls, walking towards the entryway of the room. “Then, I say I couldn't care less about that missile launching. And I couldn't careless if you lock me up again and torture me for months, because by the end of the day, it will be your loss.”

“I would certainly want to go back to those days, Snapdragon,” Shepherd claimed in a mocking tone. “Get onto it, Shadow.”

“On it, standby,” Graves replied, motioning at Soap to join him on the controls. Soap shot a glance at you before standing next to him and began working on the controls. Meanwhile, Ghost ordered Alejandro, his men and the rest of the Shadows to get out of the oil rig.

With a few hits on the controls, the missile flew upward and just as fast, it dove to the structure, but your attention was quickly taken as the ship tilted and you felt a tap on your shoe.

You gazed down and stared at the corpse next to your feet, the sole of your boots tainted in a puddle of blood, oozing out from his head, where the bullet went through. And thoughts once again began to erupt in your head.

As you continued to look at the hole on the man’s head and the puddle of blood that reflected your gaze, you wanted to put your finger through where the bullet landed and see if it fits.

Slowly the man’s eyes fluttered open, staring back into you, black as the void, as though wanting to swallow you whole. You felt a lump at your throat, blocking off any words from rolling out of your tongue and all you could hear was the deafening drums of your heart, and distant screams, begs . . . cries.

You tried to avert your eyes, but you couldn't. The man’s gaze kept you imprisoned, frozen in nothing but darkness. Yet you could feel their hands crawling up on your like thousands of ants on your skin until they stopped at your throat, gripping tight, digging their nails onto your skin.

It hurts. Make it stop.

Blood rushed down from your throat, mixing with the void.

Make it stop!

Make it—

“Stop!”

You were welcomed with a shade of brown so deep it reminded you of the woods, that perhaps getting lost into them instead was a salvation. The surroundings were cold like the gentle caress of the droplets of rain from the leaves on your cheek. The tug was a patient and gentle guide to which you were sure there was safety, where your eyes settled on a man with a face hidden behind the remains of a corpse.

“Bloody hell!” Simon exclaimed, tilting your head up to take a look at your neck, where blood began to spill from reddened and swollen scratches. His eyes shifted to your hands on his, your nails appeared to have tints of red.

“Yeh alright, Bonnie?” Soap asked, reaching out a hand as he stood by your side, but didn't touch you.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Ghost, then, tilted your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Five things you can see.”

“H-huh?” Your voice came out trembling, a bit taken aback by his words.

“Five things you can see,” he repeated.

“Uh . . .” You scanned the place. “Windows, computers, the sea . . .” You glanced at the Scot and settled back to him. “Soap and you.”

“Good. Four things you can hear.”

“The ocean, the rain, you and . . . Soap.”

“Okay, three things you can touch.”

“Your gloves, your hands, and Soap’s.” Just as you said that, Johnny placed his hand on your cheek and smiled softly at you.

“Two things you can smell,” Ghost demanded.

You leaned on Soap’s touch, eyes falling halfway close. “Rust and the ocean.”

“Last, one thing you can taste.”

You shook your head. “Don't know.”

Ghost nodded. “Good enough, do you feel at least a bit better?”

“Yeah,” you heaved out a loud sigh.

“Your neck isn't,” Soap remarked, shaking his head. “You suddenly got quiet, you didn't seem to hear us, and you began clawing on the throat mic till you bled. Ghost had it removed already but . . .”

You reached up your free hand to your neck, but Ghost grabbed it, stopping you.

“Touching it furthermore might cause an infection,” he said, swiping the blood from your fingertips with his gloves. “We'll take care of it later.”

“What about Graves?” You scanned the room once again, you didn't notice it earlier but the Shadow himself was nowhere to be found.

“He went out first, he was talking to Shepherd,” Soap explained and tugged down on your collar, to keep it away somehow from your scratches. He eyed the redness and the clotting blood.

Maybe, you weren't so invincible after all, that sometimes the human inside you breaks out of the shell where you were locked in as a weapon as Shepherd and Graves stated.

Maybe, you weren't exactly what he had concluded. But he wasn't one to talk.

Soap was a man who hid bodies behind closets. A man who washed the dirt and blood he had spilled.

“Come here, love,” he gently wrapped his hand around your nape.

Perhaps, he had gone crazy, because he wanted to clean up a mess, not from his brothers-in-arms nor the enemies, but someone who seemed to have been bathing on it for long.

His lips crashed onto yours as you turned to him, eyes going wide whereas his was shut close. He licked over your lips and you parted them open, closing your eyes as he took over your mouth. His tongue swirled with yours, eliciting a groan from you. But it soon ended, with him pulling away, leaving a string of saliva between you.

He smirked, running his thumb over your lower lip. “What do you taste now?”

Once again, you were rendered speechless as your face burned red.

“That's two,” Ghost claimed, making you warmer than before, as it dawned on you that he heard your moan. “That's fucking two, right in front of me.”

“And yet, you kept on holding her hands.” Johnny looked down at your hands within Ghost’s grasp, and you closed your eyes, pursing your lips. “Say it, Lt. You also like—ow!”

“Could you guys move?” You asked, pushing Soap inside the vehicle, making him scoot more towards the Lt. on which your superiors both grumbled.

 You shut the door close with a loud thud and Rodolfo shot a quick glance at the mirror, making sure you were settled before he drove off.

You peered over the window, letting the wind trash your hair and the rain kiss your skin. Others might find it suffocating, but you find comfort in the harshness it brought, and perhaps, you had become so comfortable that you only realized the vehicle had come to a stop at the entryway of Alejandro's base.

Your eyes narrowed at the unusual number of Shadows stationed at the gate and pulled yourself back in the transport, only to swing the door open. You jumped out and quickly joined Alejandro's side before Graves.

“What is this?” Alejandro motioned a hand at the Shadows, who were all lining up behind Graves.

You began counting the heads.

“Step away from the gate,” Graves commanded, making you frown.

“Hold up,” you stepped in front of Alejandro. “This is the Colonel's base.”

“Alejandro's soldiers have been relieved from this operation,” he said, tilting his chin up high and looking down at you with a half-lidded gaze. “This is under General Shepherd's order.”

“That bullshit came from him?” Soap questioned, taking the Colonel's other side.

Alejandro grabbed your shoulder, gently pushing you aside and stepping forward. “I don't take orders from you,” he glowered at the American.

You glanced over your shoulder and found a couple of Shadows behind and in front of Ghost. Then, you looked ahead and squinted your eyes at the Shadow who put his hand next to his ear and with the movements behind his balaclava, you realized he was talking to someone.

You reached for your knife.

“General Shepherd has sent his regards . . .” Graves trailed off and let go of his gun, letting it fall by his side. “Is what he told me to say, but I've got better things to do than this shi—”

“Get down!” With a swift hand, you aimed at the Shadow who raised their gun, while shoving Graves aside. You threw the knife, taking down the man, but all of them had started to shoot. “This is why I told you to fucking know your Shadows! They're hired by Shep—argh!” You staggered back as a bullet pierced through your shoulder.

Alejandro rushed forward, but a Shadow shot at his arm and hammered his head with the bottom of their gun.

You dove down behind the vehicle, grimacing at the sudden pain. Just as you were about to grab Graves, a bullet whistled past. “Graves! Alejandro!”

From your peripheral, Ghost slit a Shadow’s throat open and turned, launching the same knife at another one's neck.

At the same time, Graves had been shot at his shoulder and his men—now his own enemies quickly tied his wrist.

No, you didn't have time to worry about them. Your mission now was to keep the 141 safe. You fished out a folding knife from under your boot and swung your leg to the side as a Shadow rushed past. He fell with a thud and you plunged the blade on his neck and pulled, ripping it open.

You flinched as you heard a loud grunt. Ahead of you, Soap fell on his back, blood gushing out of his bicep.

“Fuck, fuck,” you chanted under your breath and you noticed the lieutenant dropping down on his knees.

“Soap, get out of here!” Ghost yelled from under the car.

“I’m not—”

“Just go!” You yelled over the Sergeant and breathed out as you heard his grunts and footsteps moving.

“Get him!” A Shadow demanded and you threw your resort of weapon at him, perfectly piercing through his neck.

“Ghost.” You crawled towards him. “Go, I'll distract them.”

“That's dangerous,” he glowered at you.

“Not more than me,” you pulled out the phone you got from one of Valeria’s men and stashed it under his vest. “Go.”

He nodded and patted your head. “Be safe.”

You rolled out from under the car.

“Get the woman! Shepherd needs her back!”

You sighed in relief, snatching a gun from the Shadow Ghost had taken down. Now, you can act freely as you can.

You grinned and shot up to your feet. “And you shall know why Shepherd needs me.”

But before you could fire, smoke veiled your surroundings and pained shouts echoed ahead of you. You squinted to make out what was happening.

At that moment, from the cover of darkness and the shroud of fumes, a man with a gaze as cold and piercing as a blade emerged. Like a breeze, he swept you off your feet fleeing from the scene, and as rare as the rain in a drought, he graced you with a voice you would quaff down like a man starved.

“Not more than I need you.”

Like how a single flower in the desert sought a droplet of water.

As though the heavens were crying on your behalf from the wheels of emotions you had felt tonight, rain poured down stridently, and akin to drowning, you choked out his name.

“Keegan.”

The one and only, Keegan P. Russ is on the stage! Now we only wait for our king. Also, we will be adding Price on the boat based on the votes on the prev. chap.

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own / Discord

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