#this is your sign to order that comm

[silkjade]

my brain does this thing where it doesn’t let me get self ship comms until i finish designing my s/i outfit, it’s…..a defense mechanism against reckless spending ????

[beloveds-embrace]

The “Shared wife” trope and you’re John Price’s darling little housewife. The light of his life. His precious angel. The home he keeps in his house.

You are truly the best thing that has happened to him; all soft smiles and sweet words, a warm embrace he can melt to and shed all of the sharp edges he must bear whenever he’s deployed and carries the weight of the world across his shoulders.

The same world outside your little home was a cruel one, one where John had made more enemies than he cared to count. Each mission, each order barked into a comms unit, and each bullet fired carried a price- one that weighed on him more heavily than the tactical vest he wore.

But there was you, and he’d do it all again if it means having you safe and sound.

His darling. His beloved. The soft warmth of your hands, the sweetness of your smile. You were his sanctuary, his reprieve from the shadows of his work. And because of that, he could not- would not- allow anything to take you from him.

It wasn’t just him anymore, though. They were always there, watching. Protecting- for you belonged to John, and so did they, but you weren’t sharpened like them and you didn’t have to be; they’d be sharp enough for you, too. Guard dogs, their leashes held by John.

Especially when John tugged on those leashes and had them stay with you while he was away on a different mission. As if he’d ever leave you alone, all by your lonesome.

Kyle was the easiest to adjust, his role almost seamless. He lingered in the background, watchful but not intrusive and never forceful in joining your space, his easy charm disarming to anyone who might venture too close. He’d follow John’s orders without hesitation, his voice steady over the phone and comms after Price sent him to patrol the property’s edges.

“It’s quiet out here,” he’d murmur, voice a low hum in the radio. “No sign of trouble. As it should be.”

Soap, of course, tugged harder on the leash. He had energy to spare, bounding about the property like an overzealous hound. But it wasn’t just his sharp instincts that made him invaluable; it was his ability to diffuse tension with a grin and a joke, to make you feel like the safest person in the world, and coax you back inside while distracting you from whatever lingered outside.

It shouldn’t be for you to worry. All you needed to do was stay your lovely, content self, curled up all warm and cozy in your favorite spots like a particularly cherished kitten.

“Dinnae worry, lass,” he’d say as he hefted a bag of groceries from your car, muscles flexing under his shirt. “Nothin’ gets past us. We’re like the bloody Buckingham Palace guards- but more handsome. What are you making for lunch? How about I show you a family recipe, eh?”

And then there was Simon.

Ghost was quiet, his presence as much a shadow as his name suggested. But you always knew when he was near, the subtle shift in the air around you as his dark eyes followed your every move. He was the one who lingered just a little longer after everyone else had gone to bed, his massive frame nearly invisible against the darkened walls and only showing himself just so you wouldn’t get frightened.

“You don’t have to do that.” You’d tell him softly, catching sight of him through the kitchen window as he circled the house, even though you were so sure John was overreacting and these men needed to calm down. “Si, please. It’s cold tonight, too.”

But he would only shake his head, low and unyielding. “It’s my job to keep you safe. Don’t worry about me. Let’s get you back inside, Price’ll have my head if you catch a cold.”

And John truly kept them in line, orders sharp and precise. It was a dynamic they understood instinctively, honed from years of serving under him. He was their captain, their leader, their handler, and when it came to you, his commands were absolute.

But you were the one who softened them.

It started small: a hand on Kyle’s shoulder when he seemed tense, massaging the knots out, a gentle laugh at one of Soap’s outrageous jokes with his hand on your lower back, a quiet “thank you” murmured to Ghost as he handed you something you hadn’t even asked for yet ended up needing. They responded to you as if they were attuned to you, sharp edges dulling in your presence until they were handing you the leashes themselves.

Soap once joked about it- how they were like a pack of loyal dogs, their ears pricking up whenever you entered the room.

“You’ve got us all wrapped around your little finger, love,” he’d teased, earning a gruff “Shut it, MacTavish” from Price. Because they stayed, even when John returned. Because they belonged.

But it was true.

They followed John’s orders without question, but when you asked something of them, it wasn’t obedience- it was devotion. Ask them for the world, and they will drag it to your doorstep bleeding and heaving. Ask them for the sun, and they will tear it out of the sky to present it to you on burnt palms.

“Simon, will you check the garden gate for me? I think the latch is loose again.” You’d say, and he’d rise without hesitation, broad shoulders brushing the doorway as he left. And then he’d return, and patiently wait until you’d kiss his cheek.

“Kyle, do you mind grabbing the mail? It’s pouring out there.”

“Anything for you, darling.” Gaz would reply, already pulling on his jacket, and when he’d return he’d make sure you wouldn’t get wet while he leaned down and stole a kiss on your forehead.

“Johnny, help me with this jar, will you?”

“Aye, lass, but only if you kiss me.” Soap would tease, though he’d already have the jar in hand, his grin softening when you rolled your eyes. Still, he’d obediently lower his head for you to peck.

And John watched it all with quiet pride. They were his men, and he trusted them with his life. Now, he trusted them with yours. Because they were his, and you were his, and all of you should have been together from the start anyways.

You were worth protecting. Worth loving. Worth the world itself, because you were one and the same to them.

The first time you teased him about it- about how he seemed to have the entire Task Force at his beck and call- he simply pulled you into his arms and kissed you until you were clinging to his shoulders, breathless and warm.

“They’d do anything for you,” he murmured against your hair, then. “Same as me. You’re ours to protect.”

It was possessive, yes, but not in a way that stifled you, not like shackles that bound you to a prison. It wasn’t a cage; it was a fortress, each of them a stone in the walls that kept you safe.

And you, their sweet, lovely little wife, were the center of it all. Safe, cherished, and loved beyond measure.

[meowpupp]

as a thank you for hitting 1k followers, and an apology for my absence, I would like to share my take on poly!141.

poly141! x recruit!reader. 1.5k words. mentions of sex, although no smut. yet.

you're a sweet little thing. smart as a whip, nerdy, and confident. having spent most of your post highschool graduate years studying, youve acquired numerous impressive qualifications. while most people your age in university were out partying, getting blind drunk, hooking up, you were studying.

a tech genius. that's what laswell had sold you as to price. he had been hesitant to allow any new members at all, especially ones so young. and yet, taskforce 141 sees two new additions. the newest little tech genius who's climbing quickly through the ranks, and another soldier. someone by the name of roach.

at first, you weren't amused. as a woman in the military, your life was already difficult enough. being assigned to an all male taskforce felt like your worst nightmare. but after some convincing from laswell, and realizing this would be the fastest way to make a name for yourself, you sign the papers.

your first week is smooth, albeit awkward. you and the other new recruit, roach, get along fairly well. he's funny, a little dorky, but obviously skilled. he isn't as intimidating as the others, being almost as young as you. you find yourself gravitating to him often, often staying up late together, eating meals together, and even training together. you make quick friends.

and so, it's only natural that you both end up becoming… closer. late night talks turn into makeouts, and makeouts turn into grinding. it's somewhat clumsy however… as if the two of you can quite place the power dynamics.

the others, however, are much more of a challenge to get along with. you're cautious, aware these men have been in this business much longer than you. the four of them- price, ghost, gaz, and soap- are a power unit. it takes weeks for you to find your place within the team.

price tries to be welcoming, although it doesn't quite work. there's this sense of authority and power around him that makes you feel small, almost submissive. his gruff voice sends shivers down your spine each time he speaks over comms, panties growing wet each time he gives you a direct order.

it's almost as if he knows, whispering your name rather than your military nickname. his voice sounds almost seductive. it makes you feel like a pervert, imagining him growling in your ear each time you get off.

price has a way of always remaining in control and not just with you. the power dynamics within the task force are subtle yet well established. there seems to be a chain of command that follows their ranks. price on top, then ghost, then gaz and soap. you notice how they all drop casual innuendos, their affection for each other, corssing over the boundary of just friendliness.

ghost barely looks, let alone, speaks to you for the first month. you're unsure if he even likes you. on the field, he's sharp and alert. you occasionally hear him share banter with the others, but never feel brave enough to join in. the man is intimidating, almost three times your size, a quiet sort of confidence and dominance that follows him around. he's the one you train with most often.

ghost is ruthless. he slams you into the matt, somehow always ending up between your thighs, his big hands holding them apart and pinning you down. you can't help but memorise the sight. your Lieutenant, panting, slightly sweat as he holding you in such a lewd position, glaring down at you.

it's your favourite fantasy to think about late at night as you touch yourself, unaware that the walls are so thin that ghost himself hears you whimper his name. he strokes himself in time with the slick noises of your cunt, imagining how desperate you must look.

gaz isn't intimidating, per say. he isn't distant like ghost or unapproachable like price. the man has such a casual confidence and arrogance around him. he's the first to speak to you, ask you about yourself. throughout your career, you've met many military soldiers. most the men fit into two categories, misogynistic dicks who don't believe you have a place within the ranks, or disgusting perverts who want a quick fuck (most of them have wives, even kids.) but gaz is refreshing. he fits into neither.

he often starts conversations with you. asking questions and truly listening as you speak. little do you know he records each one, saving them for when he's alone late at night. something about the way you speak, your tone, the quiet rasp or accent, it makes him stupidly hard. he's not above recording you while you workout, standing just close enough to capture each huff and grunt as you lift. it's those recordings that get him off the quickest, wondering how whiny youd sound if he held a vibrator to your clit, didnt let up until you were crying and covered in slick.

and soap. the man is difficult for you to read. your first impression is that he's one of those men who fit into the ‘misogynistic asshole’ category. apart from your initial meeting, he practically ignores you.

you can tell its not deliberate. he just seems more immersed in the natural, pre-established dynamic of the taskforce. the one that doesn't include you. it takes a while, but after a month or two, your interactions become more common.

he turns out to be very respectful- even helpful. due to your background in tech, you skipped a few ranks when you joined. soap helps you in the shooting range. standing behind you, body pressing into yours from behind, correcting your posture before you fire.

you even create games with each other. he gives you little quizzes. theyre normally about gun components, military jargon, or even field upgrades. with each quiz he promises a ‘reward.’

its embarrassing whenever you blush and grow wet when he says it. the rough growl of his voice, combined with the accent he has, all makes you dizzy. you don't even notice how he plays it up, practically purring out the word, smirking as you squirm, making sure to graze his fingertips over your hot skin.

it's obvious that after a month or two, that roach is significantly more acclimated than you. it feels unfair. your relationship with each member is steadily growing, yet something about how roach interacts with them is so different. it's like you're missing a puzzle piece.

it isn't until one night when you're venting your frustration that roach reveals the reason he's clicked with them so quickly.

“It's like an initiation,” he smirks, eyes flicking away from you, “think of it kind of like…. hazing.” his eyes are almost predatory as he meets yours again, so unlike the goofy persona he usually has, “if you like, I could speak to price. they have started to discuss inviting you in.”

it's as if everything made sense now. it wasn't your fault. it was another case of discrimination, you being left out because you didn't fit into their stupid boys club.

ever since that conversation with roach, you have become frustrated, irritable, and short with them all. you fulfilled all your required tasks but refused to engage with them any further. denying invites to the pub, ignoring gaz when he tried to speak, training alone, no longer asking soap for help.

after about a week of this, price calls you to his office.

a sick sense of unease and anxiety settles in your gut. the man is so intimidating, and this surely wasn't a positive meeting. you've never been in a position like this. all throughout school, you were a grade A student, and within your years in the military, you've always maintained basic respect and politeness. you've never been in trouble with a CO.

when you step into his office, however, all your expectations are subverted. price sits at his desk, smoking a cigar. roach leans against it next to him. the two of them are speaking lowly.

price notices you first. his eyes carry an emotion you haven't seen before. lust. he's staring at you as if you're some sort of prey. with a smirk, he blows out a large puff of smoke. it curls around him, only making him more intimidating.

“if you were feeling excluded, sweetheart, you should've made me aware.” he leans back in his chair. suddenly, the room feels so small, your body getting hot, “id be more than happy to include you.”

roach walks towards you, guiding you further into the office. he doesn't let you sit, however, instead standing behind you, hands groping your hips. his fingertips slip under your shirt, brushing the sensitive skin of your stomach.

he kisses your neck, “price wants to see how pretty you are,” his hands slide further up, taking your shirt off, “let's give him a show, yeah?”

cont.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

01 / 359 words

"And why would a medic need a call sign?" Soap feigns curiosity at this (instead of you) as he leans in, the motion bringing him into your personal space.

But you're a military medic. Not much phases you. You keep at your work, gloved hands on his lacerated calf. "Someone saw fit to give me one. I didn't ask questions."

"You always do your job without asking questions?"

Your brow twitches. You've heard stories about Soap's... sense of humor. "Not when Captain Price is giving the orders."

"Aye? What about otherwise?"

"Find out."

Soap chuckles. Bit of cheek you've got there. "Ah, but every call sign has a story. Just sayin', begs the question. How'd you earn a lofty nickname like that one?"

"Nothing I could've done to earn it. It's all pretentiousness."

"Bit intense. Violent, even. Expected someone with a little more... presence than you, aye?"

The way you react to that is what Soap was looking for. When you turn your eyes on him again, he sees a glimmer in your eyes like the spark crawling up a firecracker's fuse. "Do you feed this same line of questioning to Pharoh? Or Deadly?"

"It's no' 'cause you're so much fun, that's for bloody sure." He's grinning. Lying through his teeth. He wants to push you farther, see what else you'll do. "Name like that doesn't fit you. I'd think Angel would have suited you better."

You stiffen, leveling a scowl at him. "You'd better not clutter up the comm lines with this bullshit."

Soap snorts. There it is. You'll certainly fit in. "Wouldnae embarrass you like that. Be a shame if the team heard about your delicate sensibilities, aye?"

"You keep it up and I'll make you meet God, MacTavish."

You're serious, but the threat catches him just right and sends him into stitches. You huff, unceremoniously spearing your needle and thread around his gash one more time (he grunts in pain, but keeps laughing) before packing it up with the rest of your things into your bag. You stalk off, leaving his hyena ass there to make trouble on his own time. You've got shit to do.

...

more Soap / masterlist tag

[cupiidzbow]

KO-FI SELFSHIP COMM SLOTS CLOSED!! 🌼

back in business with a new sheet too!!! 💕 please fill in your order through ko-fi unless previously discussed!!!! 10 slots are open as of right now, they’re all first come first serve!!! if you would like to be notified about a slots opening up a Google doc is provided below!!! p4yp4l compatibility has just been added as well! thank you everyone for always being so supportive of me, i hope i get to make something for you soon!!!

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[frostbitebakery]

LOUD.

a Jedi Shadow!Obi-Wan AU

“Each of us, every single clone, is a one-man army. And yes, I am… I’m so proud of them. We protect the Galaxy, we die fighting for the Galaxy and its peoples. We are not made for peace times, Obi-Wan.”

The cynical part of Obi-Wan wants to ask why Cody is so steadfast in his belief when everywhere the clones go they’re confronted with people dismissing them, equating them to the droids they’re fighting.

He understands, though. Jedi are only welcome where people know about the help they can provide. The Order is looked down upon, the Jedi just as easily dismissed, more often than not when it comes to it.

And still. And still. The call to protect people is too strong to ignore. He doesn’t want to ignore the call. He can help so he does.

So yes, he understands Cody and his need to fight.

He watches as Cody self-consciously rubs the back of his neck, fingers not halting over the port, so— so used to its presence, as the silence reigns. Cody doesn’t try to further his explanations. He said his piece and that’s that.

Obi-Wan settles down on the floor in front of the weightlifting bench. And Cody.

He crosses his legs automatically, the armor he has to don if he wants to engage in the battles blessedly absent, here. His fingers find Cody’s other hand in his lap, tapping it lightly, glancing by the embedded screen in the armored boot proclaiming Cody as belonging to the 212th.

Commander Cody got his own Attack Battalion. Mace remains the immediate superior but the brass saw Cody’s merit. No Jedi can easily fill the role as war general and Cody is… too brilliant to not be in charge. He and Mace have been flattening the CIS, the GAR is only too happy to spread out their heavy hitters.

“He’s always giving them a chance to surrender first,” Cody had commented on Mace, pride and admiration shining from his whole body. “How he’s able to walk with balls like that is a mystery to me.”

Obi-Wan had politely choked on nothing.

Once Cody is looking at him, apologies in his eyes for being made for war, of war, Obi-Wan signs a simple question. “How would you know?”

Temper makes the scarred eyebrow rise and Obi-Wan continues, undeterred now that Cody’s attention isn’t on misplaced guilt.

“You know nothing but war. You’ve learnt nothing but war. You’ve,” Obi-Wan pauses to swallow the grief, “experienced nothing but war in your life. How would you know you’re not made for peace times when you haven’t even had the chance to live in them?”

A smile, half there and fleeing, cracks, warm brown eyes watch Obi-Wan’s hands. “In my darkest moments I’m not sure I’ll even see them.”

Obi-Wan is against false promises but hope has never left his life’s side and he’d like to share. “We work together and we end this war. We see as many of you and us on the other side as possible.”

“Sounds like an easy first step,” Cody laughs ruefully, and leans down, captures Obi-Wan’s unmasked face, blurred by the unknown, and holds their foreheads together for a long self-indulgent moment.

Obi-Wan ducks his head, mask and scars in place once more. “Is that something you wish? To see me?”

Cody shakes his head, shoulders tight. “I’m sorry. I went too far.”

No, you didn’t, Obi-Wan wants to tell him, I want you to see me.

Soon. Probably. As soon as Obi-Wan has removed the screws from his heart and their doubting pressure.

“I think I can help you,” Obi-Wan signs, bullheading through the burgeoning silence. “But I need your help for that.”

“What do you need,” Cody asks, all Commander now that he’s got a mission objective.

“I want to know how you can communicate neurally and who has access to that channel.” He’s been looking into it for months, always ending in front of a Kaminoan wall. He’s at his wits end and now, now, with Bail confirming Palpatine is shuffling credits to the CIS and it’s still only heresy where a court is concerned…

Kamino confirmed only authorized personnel has access to the comm links in the clones’ heads. What if those include the CIS?

Cody blinks in surprise. “General Windu has access to that information.”

Does he? Obi-Wan is beginning to doubt that fact. “Humor me.”

Shoulders go wide, straight, loose. “Protocol dictates that, in case of emergency in an engagement situation, a High General is able to deploy orders directly to a CC-class clone via the Force after initiating with the correct identification.”

The clones are password-locked. Obi-Wan tries very, very hard to keep his expression neutral. “I assume every Commander knows the identification?”

Cody starts to smile, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, ready to playfully lecture Obi-Wan about confidentiality. Obi-Wan can see that, can feel the intention of Cody to do so. Before his eyes sharpen like the back-up blade in the boot holster. “Is there a leak?”

“Not that I’m sure of,” Obi-Wan hurries to sign. “Cody, please, what is the initialization sequence?”

Cody watches him, tracks his every move and twitch and stillness with keen eyes. Obi-Wan lets him, not able to keep a lid on the worry he’s feeling, the Force hushed in absolute and anticipation. “Every Commander knows those words. No one else does. A High General can request it of his Commander. That is what General Windu knows. A Commander takes the words to their grave if they have to.” A built-in failsafe, based on the clones’ loyalty to the Republic. “And the Jedi,” Cody adds with a soft smile. “Maybe we have been trained to follow you but you have proven yourself over and over again. The initialization is—“ Cody’s face twists into confusion as the Force starts— starts to shriek in warning. “Is…”

Shards of glass hurtle towards Obi-Wan, high-pitched tone piercing his eardrums, hack into his thoughts—

“Who are you?”

Obi-Wan hurries, pulls a hand up and projects “Cody, wake”.

.

Cody wakes, blinks. Shakes the cloudy remnants of a dream gone wrong off, as stuck on him, burnt into him as some details of it are.

He looks up when he notices the presence by the training salle entry, smiles up at Obi-Wan, feels his eyes go soft, relaxed.

Obi-Wan stares back at him, mask in place which ups the distant, rumbling intensity of his gaze like an incoming storm. “Thank you,” he signs, and Cody can see the tremors in his fingertips. Blue eyes flick up to the surveillance camera in the ceiling, go back to him.

Cody… remembers. Obi-Wan pushing him behind a destroyed tank during battle, one hand covering the helmet camera while the other had signed “need to talk, no eyes” in battle signs.

He looks to the door again but Obi-Wan is suddenly right in front of him, cradling his face so gently Cody can feel tears prick at his eyes, forehead carefully, with no hesitation and too much meaning coming to rest against his.

[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.

[maskedbyghost]

Shadows of Obsession (part 10)

part 1 tw: kidnapping, violence, injuries, emotional distress

Simon's breathing was steady, but his heart was a raging storm in his chest as his boots slammed against the pavement. Hours, long, painful hours, had passed since she had disappeared, and each moment was like a knife cutting through his calm.

He had retraced every step, scoured the café, interrogated the staff. Nothing. It was as if she had been swallowed by the city.

How could I have let this happen?

The words repeated in his mind like a relentless mantra, each repetition hammering his guilt deeper. He should have been faster. Sharper. He never should have let her out of his sight.

His comm crackled to life, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Ghost,” Price’s voice came through. “Where are you?”

“Still looking,” Simon growled, his voice tight. He’d called Price as soon as he realized she was gone. The team had mobilized immediately, spreading out across the city to search for any sign of her.

“You’re no good to her if you’re running blind,” Price said firmly. “Get back here. We’ve got something.”

Simon froze mid-step. “What is it?”

“Intel. Soap and Gaz heard about a woman taken near your location. They’re holding her in an old industrial complex on the edge of town. We’re moving in now.”

The air left Simon’s lungs in a sharp exhale, equal parts relief and dread crashing over him. “I’m on my way.”

The industrial complex loomed in the distance, its structure casting eerie shadows against the dim light of dawn. The team regrouped just outside the perimeter, their faces grim.

“She’s here,” Soap said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “Surveillance confirms movement inside. Multiple hostiles.”

“Then we go in,” Simon snapped, already moving toward the entrance.

Price grabbed his arm, halting him. “We go in smart, Ghost. If you charge in blind, you’ll get her and yourself killed.”

Simon’s jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides, but he forced himself to nod. Price was right. As much as the burning urgency in his chest demanded he act now, he couldn’t afford to let emotion cloud his judgment.

“Gaz, Soap, take the east entrance,” Price ordered. “Ghost and I will go west. Quiet and clean.”

The team moved, slipping into the shadows and picking off guards with precision. Simon’s grip on his weapon was tight, his movements efficient and ruthless. Every takedown brought him closer to her, but the fear gnawing at his gut only grew.

Finally, they reached a locked door deep within the complex. Price signaled for silence as Simon knelt, pressing his ear to the cold metal. Faint sounds filtered through—voices, laughter, the unmistakable ring of sadistic amusement.

Simon’s blood boiled. They’re enjoying this.

Price placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder, a silent reminder to stay calm, before motioning for Soap to breach. The door exploded inward with a deafening crack, and chaos erupted.

Simon moved like a force of nature, his focus sharp as he cut down the men in his path. His mind registered every detail—the shouts, the gunfire, the bodies dropping—but his sole objective was finding her.

When he finally did, his heart nearly stopped.

She was slumped in a chair in the center of the room, her head lolled forward and her body limp. Blood stained her clothes, her skin marred with bruises and cuts.

Simon was at her side in an instant, dropping his weapon to kneel before her. “Hey,” he said urgently, his gloved hands trembling as he cupped her face. “It’s me. I’m here.”

Her eyelids fluttered weakly, her gaze unfocused. “S-Simon...” she rasped, her voice barely audible.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’re safe now. I promise.”

Behind him, the team secured the room, neutralizing the remaining hostiles and radioing for medevac. But Simon barely registered their movements, his entire world narrowing to the fragile figure before him.

-

Hours later, Simon sat in the hospital’s sterile waiting room, his head in his hands. The doctors had rushed her into surgery the moment they arrived. She was alive, but only just.

He replayed every moment in his mind, every decision he had made, every sign he had missed. This was his fault. He had let her out of his sight, let her be taken.

“Ghost,” Price’s voice broke through his thoughts. He looked up to see the captain standing before him.

“She’s stable,” Price said after a moment. “The doctors say she’ll pull through.”

Relief hit Simon like a tidal wave, but it was short-lived. The weight of his failure still pressed down on him, heavy and unforgiving.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” Simon said quietly, his voice raw. “I should’ve protected her.”

Price sighed, taking a seat beside him. “You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“The hell I can’t,” Simon snapped, his eyes flashing. “She trusted me, and I let her down.”

“You did everything you could,” Price said firmly. “And because of you, she’s alive.”

Simon didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor. Price didn’t push him, knowing the younger man would carry this weight whether it was deserved or not.

All Simon could think about was the promise he had made to her in that dark room, the desperation in her eyes as she clung to him. He had gotten her back, but the cost was etched into her skin and burned into his soul.

-

The first thing she felt was pain—a dull, thudding ache that pulsed through her entire body. Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and when she tried to shift, it sent waves of discomfort radiating through her battered frame. Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings: the steady beeping of a heart monitor, the faint antiseptic scent of a hospital room, the warmth of soft blankets.

Her breath hitched. Fragments of memory assaulted her—darkness, rough hands, cruel laughter. Then the explosion, the shouts, Simon's voice.

Simon.

Her heart clenched. Even in the fog of pain and confusion, his image surfaced—his desperate eyes, the tremor in his voice when he promised she was safe. She turned her head slightly, her eyelids fluttering open. The room was dimly lit, and for a moment, the overwhelming stillness made her doubt any of it had been real.

But then she saw him. Simon sat in the far corner of the room, his massive frame hunched over, head bowed with his hands clasped together. Even in the muted light, the tension in his posture was clear, his every muscle coiled tightly as if prepared for a blow.

She wanted to say his name, to tell him she was awake, but her throat was dry and raw, her voice barely a whisper. Her attempt to speak must have caught his attention because his head snapped up. The look in his eyes nearly broke her.

"You're awake," Simon murmured, his voice rougher than usual. He shot out of the chair, hesitating only a second before moving to her side. His gloved hand hovered near her arm. "You... you’re okay."

She gave a weak nod, her lips cracking into a faint, tired smile. The relief that flooded his face was enough to ease some of the weight in her chest.

"Don’t try to speak," he said quickly, pulling a glass of water from the nearby table and carefully helping her take a sip. "The doctors said your throat’s still raw."

She obeyed, her eyes locked on his. There was something in his expression—guilt so profound that it made her heart ache more than her bruised body. Before she could find the strength to speak, the sound of a door opening drew both their attention.

“She’s awake,” Price’s deep voice cut through the quiet.

Simon immediately stiffened, pulling back. The momentary softness on his face hardened into the cold, detached mask she knew was his shield. Price entered, his expression lighter than Simon's.

“How are you feeling?” Price asked, taking the chair Simon had vacated.

She swallowed and managed a hoarse, “Better.”

Price nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “That’s good to hear. You gave us quite the scare.”

Her gaze flicked to Simon, who stood silently near the wall, a dark shadow lingering just out of reach. His eyes didn’t meet hers, as if the mere act would shatter him.

“Disappearing with Simon was the right call,” Price continued. “I know you didn’t have all the details about the danger back then. But going dark bought us critical time. Time to mount a response, to keep them off your trail. It was the smartest move you could have made. I'm sorry we couldn't catch them before everything happened.”

Her chest tightened, and she glanced down at the hospital blanket. Price’s assumption burned in her mind. He didn’t know the truth—that Simon had taken her without her consent, about his obsession that was fueled by his overprotective desperation.

Yet even now, as the memories resurfaced, she felt no anger toward him. Simon had acted out of misplaced love and fear. She couldn’t bring herself to condemn him, not when she could see the torment eating away at him.

“It was… my idea,” she lied, her voice raspy and fragile but resolute. She couldn’t risk Simon losing everything. Not after what they’d been through. “I wanted to… stay safe. Thought it was best.”

Price’s brows furrowed briefly, then relaxed. “Smart thinking. Simon said you were worried the threat might escalate.”

She nodded weakly, her throat tightening for a different reason now. It hurt to deceive Price, but it wasn’t his trust she was trying to protect. It was Simon’s.

Price’s gaze softened further. “You rest now. Let us handle the rest of it, yeah?”

She forced a small smile and agreed. Price rose, patting Simon’s shoulder as he left the room. Simon didn’t react, his entire being focused on the floor.

When the door clicked shut, she reached for him. Her fingers barely brushed his sleeve, but it was enough to snap him out of his haze. He turned to her, his expression filled with pain.

“Why did you do that?” Simon’s voice was a low rasp, his blue eyes searching hers. “Why lie for me?”

She inhaled shakily, wincing as the movement pulled at sore muscles. “Because I understand, Simon. You were trying to protect me. And…” her voice faltered, her gaze meeting his. “Because I care about you.”

Her words should have brought him comfort, but instead, they deepened the ache inside him. He looked away, as though ashamed to meet her gaze.

“You shouldn’t,” he whispered, the words trembling on his lips. “Not after what I’ve done to you.”

Her hand found his again, her grip weak but firm. “You did everything you could,” she said softly. “You brought me back. That’s what matters.”

But Simon shook his head. “It’s not enough,” he said hoarsely, pulling his hand away despite the pain in his eyes. “I’ve only brought you more danger. You’re safer without me.”

“No,” she started, her voice straining, but he interrupted, his tone firmer this time.

“This isn’t a choice,” he said, his words steady though his heart was breaking. “You deserve better. A life where you’re free. Without someone like me in it. I don't know why I thought I had a right to someone like you.”

She felt the tears sting her eyes, a lump forming in her throat. “Simon—”

“I can’t stay,” he said, his voice quieter now. His eyes met hers for the briefest second. “I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve done to you. But this… letting you go… it’s the only thing I can do to make things right.”

Her hand reached for him again, but he stepped back, out of her reach. Without another word, he turned and walked to the door. His movements were slow, as though every step cost him more than he could bear. At the door, he hesitated, his hand resting on the frame.

“Stay safe,” he murmured, the words barely audible, before he disappeared through the doorway.

The door clicked shut, leaving her alone in the room. She stared at the empty space he left behind, her chest tight with ache. Somewhere along the way, between the fear and the desperation, she had started to fall for the broken man who had risked everything for her. And now he was gone.

A single tear slid down her cheek as the heart monitor beeping filled the silence. She didn’t try to stop it. The man who had taken her, who had fought for her, and who had let her go—he had broken something inside her that she wasn’t sure could ever be mended.

PART 11

------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate @lem-hhn @bimboghostface @kylies-love-letter @ghost-haunts-me @lostmypopsicle @tired-writers-world

[aphelionwrotes11]

Safe house - part 1

MDNI 18+

Simon Riley x reader

Cw: violence, reader is apart of 141 so power imbalance (sorta), a little dubcon (I think??), pining, fluff

You and your lieutenant have to spend some time together in a safe house after a mission goes south, what could possibly go wrong? … (lol)

Everything that could’ve possibly gone wrong, went wrong. It was supposed to be a simple mission, in and out. Your orders were to go undercover with your lieutenant, Simon, gather info on a possible target, and leave. Where was this mission to be conducted? A small gala only the elite would be attending.

And so, as you and Simon had gotten ready in a nearby hotel room, you got word from your informant that there may be some extra security at the gala, more than they had thought. You were both told to just keep a low profile. Everything will be fine.

Maybe you should’ve taken that last minute info as a sign to call it, or maybe it was the way your brain turned to near mush as soon as Simon had told you that you looked beautiful.

After finishing your makeup and hair, you took a quick glance at yourself in the mirror of the shabby hotel room. Not too bad. The dress hugged your body in all the right places, and despite your minimal expertise in makeup and hair practices, the YouTube video you watched had been thorough and easy to follow so you could at least pass for professional grade beauty.

When you exited the hotel room, Simon was already outside dressed sharply in a black tux. His blonde hair was dyed brown with a temporary hair dye, and just earlier you had applied a bit of concealer to the smaller scars along his jaw. (As well as you could with your shaking hands.)

“Y’ready?” He asked, glancing at your figure.

“Yes sir.” You replied.

“Don’ call me tha, tonight we’re married luv.” He said, looking unamused.

“Right.. sorry.” You had said, thankful the makeup covered your skin, otherwise he would’ve seen your cheeks flush red.

And as if what he had said wasn’t bad enough, he took another moment to glance up and down at your figure and nod. “Y’look beautiful.” He said, so simply, and yet you felt your brain melt and pour right out of your ears.

“You too.” You said without thinking, and he chuckled.

He turned away just fast enough that you wouldn’t see the twinge of pink on his cheeks.)

As soon as you pulled up to the front of a gorgeous looking manor, you knew there would be trouble. Not only was there double the security you had originally been told, but double the amount of guests. And now, with so many unaccounted and unknown people who were apart of the game, you couldn’t help the terrible unease.

Getting through the security at the front door was a hassle. For a moment you were a bit scared they had rearranged the guest list amidst the efforts of adding the newcomers and somehow, someway, noticed two guests who would be attending that they had never heard of.

But fortunately, you both made it inside.

For a bit, things went smoothly despite the issues. You were able to spot the potential target, surrounded by a group of other elites. Simon had gone a different way to find your guy, but due to the unfortunate circumstances of not having comms (thank you metal detectors!) you werent able to tell him where the target was.

So, you were in your own. And that would’ve been totally fine, really. But as soon as you were able to reach the potential target, gunfire rang out through the manor.

Guests scattered after that, you lost the target, security began attempting to herd people into rooms and through doors, and you couldn’t find Simon.

You searched through the crowd and shots continued to be fired somewhere nearby. When you couldn’t find him with the others, you knew that he was probably the one in whatever gun fight was going on in the next room over.

But you weren’t able to find out, because Simon came round a corner not even seconds later, grabbing your arm and running the two of you out of there. You had more pursuers that you could count, they followed you even after the two of you had gotten into the nearest car and sped off. It took a while, but eventually you lost them somewhere on a twisting road.

Simon contacted your captain and was told to take the both of you to a nearby safe house and wait for backup. Earliest they could arrive would be in two days.

“What the hell was that?!” You asked as Simon followed the directions to the safe house from the gps.

“Guess tha extra security was a las’ minute hire. Couple’a Russians recognized me from god knows where.” He replied casually.

Russians? Great. So now the two of you will be huddled up in a safe house for two days, hiding from Russians with a grudge.

Lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalal

“M’takin the shower first. Need’ta get this shit outta my hair.” He said as soon as the two of you arrived.

The house wasn’t anything special, just a one story one bed one bath. The kitchen was nearly empty, aside from two cans of soup and some frozen waffles.

Waffles and soup are a pretty odd combo. But after this night, you really didn’t care what food you had, all you knew was that you were starving.

It didn’t take long for the gourmet dinner to be finished. When the waffles popped out of the toaster you shuffle through the cabinets in an attempt to find the plates.

Of course, they are on the top shelf of the upmost cabinet. If Simon were out here, he could easily grab it but it would seem he’s taking his sweet time in the shower. You pray he doesn’t use all of the hot water.

In your foolish attempt to balance yourself on the counter and grab both plates, one slips from your grasp and shatters on the kitchen floor.

“Shit.” You whisper, jumping from the counter with a small thud.

Within seconds you hear clambering footsteps racing down the hall and Simon appears. Naked. Dripping wet. And hard.

Simon is glancing around frantically, gun in hand, he looks from your stunned form to the plate on the ground and lets his gun fall to his side with a sigh.

He looks pissed.

Brows forrowed, mouth set in a straight line, face bright red from his ears to his nose. He’s glaring right at you and so is his cock.

You struggle to look at anything other than him as you open and close your mouth.

You meet his eyes for a moment, “I-I dropped the plate. I-I’m sorry-“ you start.

N’his cock twitches.

Without another word he turns and stalks off, leaving you wide eyed and mouth gaping.

The rest of the night is conducted in absolute silence. From dinner to bed. You struggle to figure out the sleeping arrangements with the awkward silence.

So, instead you opt to just take a late night shower and allow him to choose the bed or the couch. When you exit the shower the bed is empty, so you assume he went to sleep on the couch.

Within a couple hours you awake to the creak of the mattress beside you. As you attempt to silently swivel around you are met with the back of your lieutenant, who is now nestled comfortably in a queen sized bed beside you.

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night.

Note: hey guys!!! As per usual this is unedited so plesss forgive any mistakes on grammar or spelling. I’m just So happy I finally wrote something that I like (it’s been a struggle) the part 2 for this is already in progress, yes it will be spicy. Anyways, hope you enjoyed.

Xoxo

[xanderthelostboy]

Yautja X Male!Scientist!Reader

[I’m using Wolf as the Yautja and this doesn’t follow the story in any way. If any facts are wrong, ignore it because I last watched the predator films at least three years ago. Can be read as GN!Reader.]

Summary: When the group of Yautja boarded your crews ship amongst the many stars of Galactica Primara, it was intended as a visit of a coming assistance. Gathered in the mess hall, partially converted for your human captain to present to the Yautja, he speaks of testing new subjects. They’re interested, so you get a visit, though you aren’t too worried. That is, until you realise just how attracted to one in particular you are…

You sigh, eyes closing for a moment as bitter disappointment sighs on you. The movements on the slide to the microscopes had slowly stopped and you find yourself reaching for the tape recorder once more. The rubber gloves squeaking against its plastic, you speak close to the microphone, an edge to your voice that follows a wasted sample.

“Test subject B57: Failed. Presumable death over the temperature and humidity. Resuming tests at 0800 hours on Friday 13, April, 2029. This is (y/n) signing out.”

You place the recorder down and, grabbing each edge of the gloves, you strip them from your skin and place them in the nearly overflowing bin beside you. Taking a few minutes to discard of the sample and disinfect everything, you look at your work station, slightly less annoyed now that it’s clean and tidy.

A loud beep sounds out, making you jump for a moment before you realise that it’s your personal communication cell that’s alerting you to an incoming message. Soon enough, the face of your second in command appears, as stern as ever. A grin tugs at your face, always tempted to rile up the easily angered man. It’s just too funny. Yet, today, he seems in brighter spirits so you wait to hear what he has to tell you.

“Ah Dr. (L/n)… finally. The message to the Yautja tribe was successful and their ship is inbound, ETA 3 minutes.”

You can’t help the genuine smile that pulls at your lips, knowing that it was a long-awaited meeting that had every higher up in floods of excitement.

“Congrats. If you need anything, you know I’ll be here. I’d rather stay out of the way and let you all deal with this,”

You gesture vaguely.

“and I’ll start a few other tests. B57 was a failure so I’ll be moving to C14 and going back to B tomorrow.”

All he does is nod before someone seems to shout him, his head snapping in the other direction before giving you a quick nod. Before you know it, the comms have been severed and you are left alone once more. Shrugging, it’s soon realised that the alien tribe must have arrived and you understand that they’re much more important than a time-wasting conversation.

Removing another pair of gloves from the packet, you put them on and ready up a new sample of an unknown organism, readying your scalpels and tweezers in order to soon pick apart the cell matter and individually study it. Placing the microphone of your recorder up to your mouth, you press at the button on the side. “Subject C14 test begins. Friday 12, April 2029. Time is currently 5:46pm.”

You don’t know how long has passed, only that the number of unseen messages from your commander on your comms has grown over the time. Only once the new source of matter has failed, as you had expected, you find yourself looking through the ignored remarks.

‘They want to look through your lab, is that alright?’ 5:59pm

‘Hello?’ 6:12pm

‘Y/n, they’re curious about the tests you do. Please?’ 6:17pm

Wincing while you read them, you deftly remove your gloves and shoot a response back hoping that, over the course of 39 minutes, you hadn’t majorly screwed up.

‘Should’ve called, was busy with tests. You can come by now if you’d like?’

Deciding to wait for the response, you don’t receive one, even after you’ve seen that he had read it. Once this is noticed, your heart rate increases, realising that speaking to your superior in such a way may not be the smartest idea. That is, until, there’s a knock at your door.

(A steel door that was only provided after you threw a fit about having dangerous subjects in an easily contaminated space. The crew didn’t care about the tests or the safety, they just wanted you to leave them alone so you finally got what you wanted.)

After checking yourself over, smoothing down your lab coat and making sure your hair wasn’t askew, your hand finds the automated doorway and it opens.

For all of your mind, the wish that you could’ve hid your reaction is high. Seeing a Yautja in a dark grey mask shouldn’t affect you in such a way, and you definitely shouldn’t be thinking what you are… The way your eyes widen slightly, not from fear but from curiosity and the way your breath catches in your throat, something they could definitely hear… it makes you flush slightly. Taking a breath, you look at your commander, nodding slightly before turning to the Yautja. Dark grey mask watches you with a tilted head and once it notices your gaze on it, his head snaps to look in the other direction.

Never had you believed an alien race to show such a predominantly human trait as embarrassment. It’s almost… cute? Shaking your head, you rid yourself of the thoughts and focus on the three in front of you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I assume you have translators?”

The largest one nods, it’s mask a light, titanium coloured grey and you smile slightly, hovering in the doorway. There’s one beside him, looking away and down, his posture slanted as if not wanting to be notice, this one’s mask is a darker grey. The others mask is black. These men… these creatures, surely they know basic rules of a lab. You sigh, shaking your head and addressing each one in turn.

“Please, don’t touch anything. And if your curious, ask. I’m Y/n, by the way.”

Flashing a smile at the unknown aliens seems out of place but you do so anyway, stepping back and allowing them into your space. One of them stops at the doorway, a darker grey mask on, watching you with great interest. A few clicks and trills catch your attention but, as the others don’t react, you don’t either. You watch back, curious as to who will break the eye contact first. He - would it be right to call it a he? - tilts his head slightly before stepping into the lab, following the others. It takes you a moment to notice your commander left but, oddly enough, you felt safe with the Yautja group. A few sharp clicks grab your attention and you turn to the light grey masked one, wondering about it’s attention grabbing sounds.

“This?”

A raspy and distorted voice comes from the mask, the creature pointing at one of your experiments. You can’t help the appreciation that paints your face as you step over, closer than most humans would feel comfortable, and begin explaining the intricacies. Throughout your speech, you feel eyes on you and, as you are seeing two of them looking at your experiments, there’s only one left to be doing so. Without breaking sentence, you turn to look at him and grin as you see him whip his head away in a tense, feigned interest in a sheet of paper… a blank sheet of paper. A slight laugh escapes you, only for him to look back, shoulders visibly dropping into relaxation. A quick smile is flashed his way and, believing you could trust the Yautja, you turn your back to continue your explanation.

You’d barely finished explaining what each component did, the two Yautja painfully invested in your words, when a quiet screech echoes through the metal room. The three of you turn to the last of their group, a hand in front of their greyed mask and a light green blood like substance sliding from their finger. Your frown, walking over quickly and finding he had touched one of the alien blades you had been studying earlier. “Are you alright?”

You can’t disguise the concern in your voice as you walk over, hesitating to touch him. Though, when he doesn’t pull away, you gently take his hand and inspect the wound. Hearing a few clicks and trills no longer bothers you, understanding it’s the same as humans humming or making basic noise. You look up at him, noticing that he hadn’t followed your one rule and has touched something. Shaking your head, the Yautja stills, watching you with interest.

“Silly Yautja.”

Though the words are said with amusement, there’s an underlying tone of worry and care. It makes the yautjas stare and stand as if petrified by Medusa herself. You continue to mutter to yourself, finding a bandage and wrapping up the bleeding cut. He tilts his head as you do so and when your ministration have been completed, he flexes his hand, only to look at you with a deep interest.

“Wolf.”

The deep growl comes from the one in front of you and you can easily tell what he had said. Though in the context it confused you.

“Sorry?”

It gestures to itself, repeating the word. After a moment you nod, smiling softly.

“Wolf? That’s your name?”

He nods, hesitating for a mere moment before tapping his bandage then on your chest, where your heart should be. It was easy enough to guess what he had meant, knowing that the courtesy of thanks had been passed throughout the galaxy. Smiling at him, you nod, tapping your own chest then his in turn. This seems to make him rumble quietly, an appreciative sound that vibrates through your bones as you touch his skin gently.

A quiet hum comes from behind and you jump, realising that you had enacted such an intimate (to their species, at least) moment in front of his clan mates. A light flush takes over your face as you pull away but Wolf lightly places his hands over yours, keeping you skin to skin with him. You bow your head slightly, aware that in may alien species, it was a sign of respect. It seems to be accurate as he gives another quiet rumble.

You find yourself wanting to hear that more and you stop yourself in your tracks. How could you fall for an alien race? It just wasn’t normal and shouldn’t happen… but he is cute. And you just know that behind the mask, he’ll still be better than the humans on this ship.

“Y/n.”

At the direct address, your head snaps up and you pull away from Wolf, much to the Yautjas displeasure. Your captain stands in the doorway, a slightly confused expression present yet he seems to shrug it off quickly.

“Whatever. The others say it’s time to leave and they are gathering in the common. So say goodbye to your… acquaintances.”

He watches you for a moment more and walks off, shaking his head with an amused chuckle. Turning away, you look back to the three Yautja and smile.

“I’ll walk you back?”

All eyes are on Wolf as he nods and clicks quietly, head tilted. The other two lead ahead and you walk with him, watching as he barely makes a sound, the hunter genes shining through. It interests you and, as your gaze becomes more focused, his body becomes more tense.

“You’re beautiful.”

You speak as if reading off facts from a list, stating it in such an obvious way that his mind stutterers for a second, causing his head to snap to your gaze in such a way that you don’t need to see him to wonder what he’s thinking.

“I mean, I love your mask and I can’t help but wonder what’s behind it. I bet you look cool. And your skin is gorgeous, like a snake, not to mention these claws!”

Your hand is in his, bringing them both up so you can trace a gentle finger across each of his sharp talons. He doesn’t pull away, relishing in the contact of such soft, warm skin and in such an innocently romantic way. Your eyes meet the ones of his mask and they shine, a bright smile filling your face.

“I hope we can communicate soon. Perhaps you all wish to come back and look around some more?”

The two of you are stood in the lobby, the other Yautja waiting by the ships entrance for him with a few warning growls and clicks following. Wolf nods, tapping his heart with his free hand and then tapping over yours. Though you don’t speak in such a language, you understand the meaning well enough, given the context. As you,let go of him, a sad smile paints your face.

“I hope you all return safely. We will welcome you back soon. Goodbye.”

The doors shut and you hold onto the fact he looked at you till the very last moment, you hold it with all your heart.

When you get back to your lab, you begin to tidy away the papers and left over rubbish that you had forgotten to put away only for something to catch your eye. Something that hadn’t been there before. Something as a… gift?

A pristine, off-white skull of a seemingly alien creature had been positioned carefully on the side of your desk and you find yourself smiling as you realise that was where Wolf had been stood. Though you had never been in contact with the race before, the message of such a gift was clear enough and you find yourself awaiting the next visit.

As for the skull, you place it on your emptied ledge over your desk. After all, there had to be plenty of space for the rest of the courting gifts, right?

[nemesis-writer]

Five Minutes (Chapter 3)

Masterlist Let the Games Begin TW: mentions of blood, mental illness

The Waynes were waiting in agony for their first game. They were prepared to battle it together. But what they didn't know is that they each of them have to go through it alone.

In the Base...

I'm only known as Eurus in the underground world but my name shall always be (Y/N). I have built myself up all the way just to taste the blood in my hands. I was never gonna be the next Robin nor Batman, so why not create a name for my own.

I was able to send the letter for the first test for them, and have it sent anonymously. Now, I need to sleep as well.

I maybe a concierge of crime, but I also need to be with my baby.

At the Waynes'...

Everyone had to keep their eyes peeled and remain unflinching. Whenever there is a delivery or a package, there is always an inspection with x-rays in order to make sure that it's harmless.

They had to take extra precautions in order to prevent the exploitation of their identities, along with the ramifications of their 'stainless' reputation.

Until it was finally there...

The first game.

It had 'DAMIAN.' Written in capital letters, and in the notorious green color designed. Thanks Riddler.

The letter...

There's a child's life on the line Little Demon. If you try to pull anything, so here's a little riddle.

Here's a riddle based on Squid Game, Saw, and a basement:

'In shadows deep, where fear does grow, A game begins, you do not know. With each step forward, the danger nears, The stakes are high, and so are fears.

Twisted minds, with plans so sly, Trapped in a place where you can't ask why. A room cold, with echoes loud, Walls closing in, no escape allowed.

Through chains and locks, you struggle, fight, But only the brave can see the light. The clock is ticking, time is tight, Where are you now? What’s out of sight?'

"Bruce, what does this mean?", Damian wonders.

"Walls closing in? Trapped in a- Oh shit." Bruce cursed. It was an unusual sight for Bruce to curse since he was usually informed how barbaric it was by Alfred.

"It's a basement of an abandoned factory." Bruce stated.

"A bit more specific since there's like a hundred of them especially in Gotham." Jason says.

"Alright so I need everyone to split up and go through every abandoned factory and if anyone sees any sign of life or a clue then speak in the comms." Bruce commanded.

They all spread out one by one looking for the kid or at least a clue. Factory to factory, street to street, they searched high and low and even the most minute details weren't left out.

Until they finally found it.

The first clue.

"Guys I found the first clue, I'm in Bludhaven Street."yelled Dick.

Everyone rushed and reached the basement. It also showed an old, probably made in the 1900's, telephone. They were too eager to even notice the hidden security cameras.

Damian eagerly opened it and read:

'In a room so small, the walls feel tight, A game is set, but not of delight. No choice, no chance to run away, You must stay sharp and make your play.

The door is locked, the air is cold, Silent whispers of the truth untold. A puzzle waits, a test of mind, With every step, danger you’ll find.

Ticking sounds, a faint warning near, What’s hidden here is crystal clear. Almost there, the end in sight— But tread carefully, or face the night.'

'Room, ticking, no chance, locked door.' Bruce tries to think of it.

"A bomb in an apartment." Jason figured out and yelled. All the the sudden the phone starts to ring.

"Someone answer the phone," Cassandra yelled.

"You answer the fucking phone," Damian replied.

"This is your test Demon Spawn there is a kid on the line and more people with the kid." Jason retorts.

Damian reluctantly answered the phone and heard:

'Congratulations for the first game, Where blood will spill and none’s to blame. A twisted start, a sinister plot, A place where hope is soon forgot.

The faces cold, their eyes wide with fear, For every step, a fate draws near. No room for mercy, no chance to flee, In this cruel game, there’s no decree.

As the doors close, the lights grow dim, The air grows thick with a haunting hymn. A moment's silence, a final breath, The line between life and certain death.

Congratulations for the first game, But it’s too late now to place the blame. Tick-tock, tick-tock, it’s time to spin, Let the games begin.'

Taglist

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz, @vanessa-boo, @ivyrose9194,@thesehandsarerated-e, @eyeless-kun, @errorunfound1, @gwyneveire, @alishii, @cxcillia

[dovabunny]

Angsty Ghostsoap Idea of the Day - Not Soap anymore

Cw: angst, misunderstanding

Soap was so sure his heart was safe in Ghost's hands, his place was secure in the 141.

2 hours he stood there in the disciplinary hearing, listening as his every insecurity is turned on him.

Every thing he hated about himself, was self conscious about, or wishes was different is read out loud.

'Unprofessional. Insubordinate. Talks too much. Appearance not regulation. Too loud. Disruptive. Too familiar. Undisciplined.'

He fought back the tears.

'Too emotional'

He doesn't look up from the floor. Doesn't want to see Price and Laswell at the table with his old smug commander he thought he finally got away from.

He was wrong. He disobeyed a direct order to turn back and plant explosives to prevent the building from being used again.

The premise had been cleared 5x in the past 3 years of human traffickers. It was secure and by the docks. They were gonna come back. His suggestion was shot down but after what he saw in there.. he decided to do it anyway.

So yes, he was wrong. No, he doesn't regret it.

But then Ghost had yelled at him over the comms for all to hear. Calling him a danger, an idiot who can't listen, a liability.

Then he reported it to Price who wrote him up for it after shouting the same words.

Price didn't know it would be the third strike on his record.

💰Soap didn't see Price flinch as words he'd written were shot at Soap like bullets. They were taken out of context, and never meant to be used like this.

He sees the man tremble, sees his eyes glaze over. He could see this destroying his boy and he couldn't stop it.

💀 A firm hand settled on his leg and Ghost looks up at Gaz. He didn't even realize he made a motion to stand in his anger. He was beside himself. This was his fault - he did this to Johnny. The commander's vitriol as he dug into Soap's character felt like a knife to his chest.

This wasn't what he wanted! He had been so fkn terrified when Soap ignored him and ran back into a crumbling smugglers den alone to blow it up. It came from a place of overwhelming worry but all he knew was violence. So he snapped and hurt, just so Johnny won't ever do it again.

He told Price, had to. He knew Price had a soft spot for Soap and was also worried at how reckless he got. To show him how serious it was he wrote him up.

Not knowing there was a commander who had been waiting for a third strike on Soap's record.

Soap's punishment: 6 months off the task force stripped of his title as he was sent to undergo training with new recruits. To 'remind him how to conduct himself as a soldier'. All of it at a base away from the 141.

Price tried, he really did, Laswell too. It was helpless. They just had to wait it out.

6 months later Ghost, Gaz, and Prize stand excited on the tarmac awaiting their favourite Scott's return to the 141 and as Sargent. Gaz is excited to hear all the stories of Soap kicking his instructors' asses, Price hopes he slept well. Ghost just wants him close again.

The man who steps off the heli, however is not the Soap they were waiting for. He doesn't have a mowhak, or trademark t-shirt and jeans, confident swagger or beaming smile.

He walks upright, his gaze his fixed but distant, his hair buzzed to the roots dressed in full basic fatigues.

"... Johnny?" Ghost asks as if he isn't sure who this is.

"Captain Price, Lieutenant Riley. Sargent John MacTavish, reporting in."

"Welcome back son. Your room is how you left it." Price says slowly.

Soap nods and goes to walk off but is stopped by Gaz's hand on his shoulder.

"Soap? Are you okay, mate?"

He stopped, took a moment, then looked back at the three staring expectedly at him.

He was fixed now. Like they wanted.

"I'm not Soap anymore. My call sign has changed."

He takes off his dog tags and hands them over.

Sgt. John 'Hazard' MacTavish

[beloveds-embrace]

Noona you have given me brain worms.

I wonder what the guys would do if they found the scentless reader had entered an enemy house and killed them all before the guys could get close because of their lack of scent? Does John hate using them for intrusions but does it anyways because it's the best chance of everyone coming home alive? Do the guys have a ritual of coming home off missions and rescenting their reader? I really need to stop thinking about this one and get back to homework.

(As an aside I am in LOVE with your writing and I read your works when I get stuck because you craft words so well.)

I claim no guilt over giving anyone brain worms, and omfg thank you!! That’s extremely high praise to me bc i absolutelyyy love your works <33 💕💕 :3 for your first question, they wouldn’t exactly be surprised. It’s why you were brought on the Task Force, it’s what makes you so useful. But once they reached the state of wanting you, and then slowly pulling you in?

They hated it. Hated it every damn time Price gave the order, even if they knew it was the right call.

No scent. No designation. No trace of you ever being there.

You were a ghost, in ways that even Simon couldn’t match. Silent, invisible to the senses, slipping through enemy lines like smoke and leaving nothing but bodies in your wake.

It was useful. Crucial, even. Quite literally the reason why the military had so much use of you. The best chance of keeping everyone alive. Price knew it, hated it, and did it anyway. Every time.

But it never stopped the way his chest felt tight when he had to send you ahead- alone. Never stopped the sharp glances Ghost shot him before you slipped away into the shadows, or the way Soap and Gaz went so still as they listened for any sign of trouble over the comms.

And it definitely never stopped what came after.

The moment you were back- safe and whole but covered in blood- Price’s hand was on the back of your neck, thumb digging gently into your faulty scent gland, his grip firm and grounding. Ghost was right behind him, his presence dark and heavy, crowding close enough to make your breath hitch. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t have to.

Soap and Gaz weren’t far behind. Soap’s hands were already reaching for your gear, tugging straps and buckles loose, brushing against your skin as if to remind himself you were there. Gaz hovered close enough that you could feel the heat of him, his fingers brushing yours when he helped you unclip your holster.

They didn’t leave your side. Not through debriefing, not through cleaning up, not even when you asked them to.

And later- once the adrenaline wore off and exhaustion set in- they were all but dragging you into the nest.

It was deliberate, the way they settled you down in the middle of it, surrounded by blankets that smelled like them, by them. Soap’s hands lingered on your hips, steady and warm, and Gaz was already curling up beside you, pressing into your side like he was trying to leave traces of his scent on your skin.

Price sat at your back, his chest pressed to your spine, one arm looped around your waist while the other cradled your head, tucking it under his chin. He didn’t say anything- just held you there, anchoring you in place as Ghost knelt down in front of you, tugging off your boots and brushing his gloved fingers along your calves and ankles as he went.

And then they started.

Ghost first, leaning in close to press his masked face against your neck. The slow, deliberate drag of fabric and leather along your skin made you shiver, and he didn’t stop until Price hummed low in approval. Soap followed, brushing his cheek against your shoulder before dipping low to nuzzle at your thigh, his hands curling loosely around your knee.

Gaz was next, pressing his forehead against yours and lingering there long enough that you could feel his breath warm against your cheek.

Price was last. His beard scratched lightly against your skin as he dragged his mouth along your throat and jaw, rumbling quietly when you tilted your head for him without thinking.

It took hours. Longer than necessary, longer than it had to, but they didn’t stop until you were covered in them- soaked in their scents and surrounded on all sides.

Didn’t stop until Ghost finally leaned back, pulling his mask away just long enough to press his lips against your temple, and murmured, “There. No one’s getting near you now.”

(If it was before, when you still didn’t realize what they were doing- everything was sharper. Tighter.

They didn’t say anything, but you felt it. Felt the weight of their eyes on you when Price ordered you to take point. Felt the way Soap’s jaw clenched when you slipped away, silent and invisible, like you always did.

You noticed how Gaz lingered by the comms, fingers tapping nervously against the console even though he wasn’t the type to fidget. How Ghost’s hands hovered near his weapons, muscles coiled and ready to move like he was waiting for something to go wrong.

And then there was Price.

Price, who stood stiff and silent until you reappeared, covered in someone else’s blood and staring at him like you knew he hated it but couldn’t bring himself to say so. Price, who didn’t let go of your shoulder the entire debrief, whose thumb rubbed small, grounding circles into your skin every time someone so much as looked at you the wrong way, and you told yourself it was just some weird Alpha instinct that you wouldn’t realize.

They didn’t say anything, not really. Just kept touching- light brushes of Soap’s arm against yours, Gaz’s hand lingering a little too long when he passed you gear, Ghost standing so close you could feel the heat of him against your back.

You thought it was just nerves. Stress. You didn’t think it was something else- not until later.

Not until you were sitting in the nest, exhausted.

Not until you caught Ghost staring at you like he wanted to devour you, or Price leaning in so close that you felt his breath on your skin when he murmured, “Stay still, love.”

Not until Soap tucked himself against your side with a soft, pleased sound, and Gaz let out a low purr, his hands running up and down your arms like he was soothing something neither of you could name.

You didn’t understand it- not then- but they did. The confusion on your face was almost cute if not just a touch infuriating.)

[writeriguess]

Beyond Stars // Sylus x fem!reader

author's note: just something I had in my mind.

The endless expanse of stars stretches out before you, a cosmic canvas of glittering diamonds against the dark velvet of the universe. The hum of your ship’s engines is a steady, comforting presence, though in the vast silence of space, it almost feels too loud. Your fingers hover over the controls, eyes scanning the radar for any sign of danger, but tonight, something feels different. The battle ahead isn’t just another routine patrol. The tension in the air is palpable, an undercurrent of unease you can’t quite shake.

You try to push it down, focusing on the task at hand. But it’s impossible to ignore. Something is off. You can feel it in your bones, in the weight of every second that ticks by.

And then, your comms crackle to life.

“Stay sharp,” comes the voice you know so well. Calm, steady, always reassuring. “I’m picking up something on my scanners. We might be in for more than we expected.”

You don’t need to look to know it’s Sylus. His voice is familiar, the sound of it a reminder that no matter what happens, he’s always there, always watching your back.

“Understood,” you reply, your fingers already dancing across the control panel as you pull your ship into a sharper turn, keeping your eyes on the enemy's last known position. The lights of distant ships flicker like fireflies, just out of reach. There’s a chill in your gut, an instinct that tells you the danger is closing in.

“Keep your distance,” Sylus advises. His voice is quiet but firm. “We’ll need to work together on this.”

You nod to yourself, though there’s no one else in the cockpit. A quiet promise that you’ll do your part. You’re not just a pilot—you’re a fighter. And tonight, you’re not facing this alone.

The enemy ships come into view, their silhouettes cutting through the dark of space like sharp knives. A dozen or so, darting through the void with unnerving precision. It’s not just a skirmish. This is an ambush. A coordinated attack.

You reach for your weapons, engaging the enemy with a swift, deadly strike. Your ship’s cannons fire with a satisfying roar, and an enemy ship explodes in a burst of light. But they keep coming—more of them, closing in, faster than you anticipated. Your pulse quickens. You can feel the pressure mounting.

"Break off now!" Sylus orders, his tone sharp, urgent. “You need to pull back. This isn’t a fight we can win head-on.”

You grit your teeth, unwilling to retreat. "I’ve got this," you mutter, weaving through the chaos of the battlefield. There’s no turning back now. You won’t leave this fight unfinished.

But then, a blast hits. Your ship shudders violently, the jolt of it throwing you against your seat. The warning lights blink urgently. Your shields are down. Your engines sputter. You struggle to regain control as your ship veers off course. The next shot would be your last.

“Get out of there!” Sylus’s voice cracks through the comm, sharper than ever. "Move! Now!”

Panic claws at your chest as the realization settles in. You can’t do this on your own anymore. Your hands fumble for the throttle, but the controls are unresponsive. The enemy ships are closing in on you, their targeting systems locking on, preparing to fire. You know it’s only a matter of seconds before they land the killing blow.

And then—through the haze of panic, you see it. A flash of silver and blue, cutting through the blackness like a predator on the hunt. Sylus. His ship. He’s here.

His presence brings an unexpected wave of relief, but you don’t have time to breathe just yet. His ship moves with fluid precision, dodging enemy fire like it’s nothing. He fires back with deadly accuracy, taking out the closest enemy ships in an instant. But still, the rest close in.

“No!” you shout, trying to regain control, but the damage is already too great. You can’t fight anymore.

“Stay with me,” Sylus says, his voice low but urgent. "I’m not losing you."

His ship positions itself between you and the enemy, taking the brunt of the fire aimed at you. His shields flare with every hit, but they hold. His cannons light up the darkness, tearing through the enemy ranks with unrelenting force.

You can’t help but watch in awe, even as the danger presses in. Sylus doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. He’s a force of nature in the void. The precision with which he operates—every shot, every move, calculated, deliberate—it’s as though he’s part of the very fabric of space itself.

“Get ready to move,” Sylus commands, his voice steady even as the chaos of battle rages around you. “I’m giving you a window. Take it.”

You don’t need to be told twice. With his protection, you push the throttle to the limit, feeling the briefest rush of relief as your ship surges forward. Sylus follows closely behind, keeping pace with you, blocking incoming fire with his own ship.

For a moment, you lose yourself in the rhythm of it all. You’re fighting together. No hesitation. No fear. Just trust. Trust that Sylus will keep you safe, trust that you can hold your own, trust that no matter what happens, you’ll make it through this—together.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the enemy begins to break apart. The remaining ships scatter, retreating into the dark abyss of space. The battle is over. For now.

You breathe in deep, the weight of the fight lifting from your shoulders. The ship’s systems are still damaged, but you’re alive. And that, at least, is something to hold on to.

"Thanks," you murmur, your voice hoarse, though you know he can hear you.

Sylus’s voice crackles through the comm, softer now, but still full of that steady resolve. “You don’t have to thank me. You would’ve done the same for me.”

You let his words sink in, a comfort in the quiet aftermath of the battle. There’s no need for more. You know him, and he knows you. That’s all that matters.

Your ship drifts beside his, the two of you moving through the silent void as the stars glitter around you. There’s no real danger now. No more enemies to face. Just the stillness of space.

“Looks like we make a pretty good team,” you say, the corners of your mouth lifting into a small smile.

“We always have,” Sylus replies. “And we always will.”

As you float together, amidst the stars, you realize that with him by your side, you can face anything. No matter how vast, how dangerous the universe becomes, you will always have each other.

In the cold, infinite stretch of space, you’ve found something that feels like home.

[crownofgildedlilies]

fireplace

pairing: s. todoroki x reader summary: A mission goes wrong, and a cabin in the mountains becomes a safe house. wc: 1.7k event masterlist

The mission had gone wrong. 

It hadn’t been a particularly high level case, so your agency had taken on the request. You’d been teamed up with Shouto, who you’d known only as just friends since your days at UA. You had been in Class B, and only interacted with his class during training exercises or the Sports Festival. 

He was a nice guy, and you knew you could have been trapped with someone much worse as the mission went south. 

It had taken you out of the city and into the snowy mountains. The villain you had been tracking had a quirk that helped him get the better of you in the snow, and despite Shouto being able to use his ice and flames to combat the cold, he had pulled back at the last second to rescue you. 

“I swear, I’m fine.” You hissed through your chattering teeth. One of your arms was slung over Shouto’s shoulders as he helped carry you through the snowy landscape towards the only sign of life on the mountain you desperately wanted to get off. 

But there, in the distance, was an old cabin that looked entirely abandoned. 

“You are on the verge of getting hypothermia. Frostbite is a risk. You are not fine.” Shouto mechanically listed off your injuries while helping you hobble through the snow. 

“But the villain—”

“Catching him will not be worth it at the cost of your life.” He countered, his calm exterior helping trick your mind into believing him. But you were a hero; you were simply wired differently. Catching villains and saving the day was always worth the risk. “He’s a low level thief with ties to burglary rings. We’ll rest up and catch him tomorrow.”

Body shaking with the force of your shivers, you couldn’t argue with his logic. Especially not as you nearly fell to your knees when he loosened his hold on you to pry open the door to the cabin. Rushing inside to escape the bitter cold of the mountain, you were silently thankful that he had insisted on finding shelter for the night. No doubt you wouldn’t have been able to carry on much longer. 

“Take off the wet outer layer of your suit. I’ll start a fire and look for blankets.” He ordered, taking control of the situation the same way he had done when he forced you to stop tracking the villain through the cold. You followed his directions after limping towards the dusty fireplace Shouto used his quirk to ignite. There were a few old logs left by whoever owned the cabin, and they caught fire easily. 

Instantly, the warmth brushed against your chilled skin. Even though retreating had gone against your instincts, you knew Shouto had been right when he said you wouldn’t have lasted much longer against the villain in your state. 

Distantly aware of Shouto moving around the small cabin, you crouched in front of the flames he created for you. The fireplace crackled and popped, a soothing sound that helped settle your nerves. While you waited for Shouto to return, you attempted to reach out to your agency that had organized the mission. Frowning, you realized the storm on the mountain that had forced you into the cabin had also knocked out any reception for the communication devices you had. 

“We’re stuck here until we can get out of here on our own,” You held out the comm to show Shouto as he returned with a foraged blanket in hand. His neutral expression didn’t waver, but you watched him contemplate your options as he unbuttoned the outermost layer of his hero suit. In preparation for fighting in the frozen mountains, you both had dressed in layers. And thankfully, not each layer had gotten wet from the snow. 

“The storm should blow by in the morning, and you’ll be warm enough to carry on by then.” He came to the same conclusion you had, and you nodded in agreement. You were done for the night, still shivering despite sitting in front of the fire. And Shouto had been right; you had recognized the signs of frostbite in your fingers as soon as you got inside the cabin. 

Wordlessly, you watched Shouto settle carefully onto the ground beside you, near the fireplace. He stretched his legs out in front of him, spread slightly and bent at his knees. You might have been imagining it, but you could have sworn you saw a faint blush coloring Shouto’s cheeks.

Must just be the cold.

“You’re still shivering. Use my body heat and the fire to warm up.” He suggested calmly, and suddenly your face was a bright shade of red. 

You were a professional, licensed hero. You fought villains on the daily, faced death more times than you could count. You had dedicated hours upon hours to training, to making yourself as strong as you could in order to save lives while risking your own. 

And you were blushing at the mere mention of getting close enough to Shouto so that you could share body heat. 

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.” You stammered out a response, forcing yourself to stare into the fire and avoid looking at the man you had admired from a distance since your days at UA. 

“I don’t mind. You’re freezing.” 

Your teeth chose that very moment to chatter loudly, and you blushed even harder at your body betraying you. Suddenly unable to deny the truth to him any longer, you relented and shuffled closer to him beside you. 

Initially, you had only played on laying against his side, but as soon as you were close enough, Shouto set one of his large, warm palms on your side to guide you so that you sat between his stretched out legs, with your back against his chest. The position, at the very least, kept him from seeing just how flustered you were.

And as if he hadn’t already done enough damage to your heart, he wrapped his arms around you loosely so that he could help warm you up. 

It took a few minutes for your heart to calm enough to let you speak. 

“Thank you for doing this.” Your voice was quiet. It felt like if you spoke any louder, you would disrupt the peaceful lull that had fallen over the two of you. The fireplace crackled in the background, and you could hear the window whistling through the aged windows. But sitting so close to Shouto, you were incredibly comfortable, despite your initial reluctance. He was warm and strong, and even though your body had come so close to giving out due to the cold, you felt safe wrapped up by him. 

“You don’t need to thank me.” He matched your quiet tone, voice close to your ear. You were glad you could blame your brush with hypothermia on the shiver that raced down your spine. “Though the circumstances are not ideal, I’m glad we got to spend time together.”

“You mean me nearly freezing to death wasn’t your ideal way to hang out?” Teasing to deflect from the heat that rose up in your face at the insinuation of his words. How else were you supposed to react when Shouto Todoroki told you he was glad you got to spend time together?

“No.” Always calm, always level headed. You didn’t think anything of his words at first. “I wanted to take you out to dinner, first.”

You paused, struggling to process his words. Shouto had always been unattainable, out of reach. Had he really just admitted that he wanted to take you out? It was hard to believe; part of you worried that you had actually collapsed out in the snow, and everything since then had been a hallucination.

“Wait, really?” You twisted in his arms, sitting up and leaning back to look at him to make sure you hadn’t misunderstood. Like always, his face was unreadable. Handsome, but unreadable. “Like a date?”

“Fuyumi—my sister—suggested that I ask you. She said that’s what you do when you think you have romantic feelings for someone.” Shouto explained

“You talk about me to your sister?” That wasn’t the only thing your mind could latch onto, but it was all that came out when you struggled to form words. It was all happening a little fast. You hadn’t thought Shouto even considered you a friend ten minutes earlier, but now he suddenly wanted to take you on a date and spoke about you to his sister?

Your head was spinning, but not in a bad way. 

“If you do not feel the same way, please tell me so we can talk about something else.” 

Was he… getting embarrassed? Nothing in his expression changed, but you could almost see his confidence falling the longer you didn’t give him any sort of confirmation that you also wanted to go to dinner with him. 

“Shouto,” You smiled, settling your hand over one of his arms still loosely wrapped around your middle to help warm you. “I’d love to go to dinner with you sometime. And I think it’s sweet you talk to your sister about me.”

“That’s good.” From your spot so close to him, you watched a hesitant smile trace over his lips, and though you had always agreed that he was the most handsome—even in your days at UA—you nearly felt your heart stop at how stunning he was. “Are you available next week sometime? With us both being pros, it might be hard to get our schedules to match, but I want to try.”

“I want to try, too.” You assured him, squeezing the arm wrapped around you. Settling back into your place trapped between his body’s warmth and the fireplace, you felt a smile you couldn’t wipe away grow on your lips. “But maybe we should focus on getting off this mountain first.”

“Alright,” He agreed, wrapping his arms tighter around you in order to secure you in place before him. Suddenly, your previously frozen body felt unbearably warm. You really hadn’t expected your night to turn out the way it currently was, even if you had lost the villain. “We’ll warm up here tonight and make our move in the morning. Will you be ready to fight by then?”

“Yeah, I’ll be good.” 

After a night by the fireplace with Shouto, you would be ready to take on any villain.

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 15 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley had some explaining to do. After the most perfect weekend, you were afraid he was trying to hide information from you again. But Bradley didn't hold back when he told you what happened and what he was concerned about. 

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, smut, mentions of cancer

Length: 4600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

Your hands were shaky as you tried to call Bradley. You didn't understand what was going on, and you were pissed off that the first time you were hearing about him being involved with two people who were being court-martialed was through an email. You hated calling him when there was a chance he was in the air, but if that was the case, then his phone should be off.

Just as you were about to tap his contact in your phone, Bickel came rushing into the lab, arms full of folders. "Delete that email," he told you, out of breath. "The one from Yates. You weren't supposed to see it."

You looked up at him as you slid your phone down onto the counter. "Well, I did see it, sir," you whispered. "I don't even know what's going on."

"Neither do I," he responded gently, setting the folders down in a haphazard pile. "But I don't want your login credentials attached to this in any way. Whatever happened should stay out of your hands since your husband was involved with the special detachment. I'll take care of it. Understand?"

You started to nod, and then you said, "But, sir. Why am I getting emails from Admiral Yates?"

Your boss sighed and checked his watch. He looked frantic, and now you were really getting nervous for whatever must have happened during Bradley's deployment. But Bickel's words and the way he smiled kindly at you even though you could tell he was stressed out meant a lot.

"Because if you haven't noticed, you're second in command around here. Maybe not officially. Yet. But I rely on you for a lot of things, and everyone else in the group does, too. And your work is always spot on."

You felt tears prickle behind your eyes, and you had to look away from him as you muttered, "Thank you." But of course your eyes settled back on your computer screen and the email. 

"Delete the email," he repeated, and you knew he wasn't going to say it kindly a third time. So you did as your commanding officer told you to and watched the email soar into your trash can, and from there you deleted it permanently. "I'll take care of it myself so you know it's done correctly. I will pull the comms and verify the coding so you don't have to question whether or not the information being sent over has been properly validated. I don't want you worrying about this right now."

"But you'll need someone else to verify everything with you, sir," you whispered.

He nodded and closed your computer softly. "I'm just on my way to talk to Lieutenant Coleman about it. She's more than competent. She and I can sign off on it and get it ready tonight. You're dismissed for the day."

And that was it. Not another word. He picked up the folders and walked over to where Cat was sitting in front of her computer wearing the expensive headphones that were used to occasionally play back communications and check aircrafts for audio clarity. And Bickel interrupted her. It was kind of an unspoken rule that you didn't interrupt someone who was wearing the state of the art headphones. 

Cat jumped in her seat before giving Bickel her full attention. After a few seconds, her eyes met yours, and then she agreed with whatever he was telling her. You quietly stood and picked up your computer and headed for your office. 

You were the only one in your group with a private office other than Commander Bickel himself. Sure, yours was roughly a quarter of the size of his, and it had a view of the parking lot and a brick wall, but it was yours. And you were his number two. You really wanted to be able to enjoy that fact, but you'd been dismissed. Probably so he could talk about the court-martialing. And you figured that by now, Bradley would be wrapped up in these proceedings as well. 

You shoved all your stuff into your desk drawer and grabbed your keys. This morning had started off so beautifully: making out with your husband followed by an overpriced drink from Starbucks that he made sure was ready for you to pick up. 

When you opened your door to leave, Cat was standing there about to knock. "Yes?" you asked her, feeling like everyone must know what was going on now besides you.

"I just wanted to catch you before you left," she replied slowly. "I read the email from Yates. I promise I'll double and triple check everything even if I'm here all night."

"Thanks," you whispered, hoping you could trust her with this. You felt like somehow Bradley's integrity was tied to that audio.

Cat fiddled with her hands as she said, "It's my job, but you're also my friend." And then she turned on her heel and walked away so quickly, you couldn't really respond if you wanted to.

When you stumbled out of the elevator in the lobby, Jake was right there. "Have you seen Bradley?" you asked him, but he gathered you up in his arms and started to dance and spin you around in front of the main entrance. 

"Sure haven't. He's been locked away with Maverick all afternoon. Phoenix and Bob, too," he replied easily. "But guess who's going out with Cat tonight. Just take one guess, Angel."

"Oh," you gasped as he dipped you. Then you pressed your lips together, afraid to tell him that Cat and Commander Bickel would probably be verifying codes for the next several hours at least. 

He pulled you back to standing as he said, "Hang on, that's my phone." Jake pulled it out of his pocket and read the text message he received. "Shit. Cat cancelled on me."

"Jake-" But you stopped. You knew you shouldn't be talking about the special mission apparently gone wrong, but he looked so disappointed. He'd been wanting to go on an actual date with her for months, not just making out in the rec room. 

When he spoke, his voice was bland and monotone. "She's blaming it on working late. Meanwhile it looks like you're leaving early, so I'm not buying it." Then he laughed sardonically. "I was going to take her to a movie tonight, and then on Friday I was hoping Jeremiah could tag along on another date. I found a kid-friendly restaurant for dinner."

When you reached for his hand, he just shook his head. "Jake. Don't get upset with her, okay?"

He ran his hand through his hair as he walked away. "I need to get back to the hanger. Later, Angel."

You hated today. You wanted answers, and then you wanted to go to bed. And it annoyed you that you still wanted Bradley to read you to sleep from his notebook when he was the one who hadn't given you any details about his deployment, even though you had asked. Multiple times. 

When you pulled your car into the driveway, you realized Bradley wouldn't be home for at least an hour. You wanted to act normal about this and start making dinner or doing something productive, but you were starting to wonder if he was hiding information from you again, just like the sperm test results. And that was enough to make you lose your appetite. You hurried inside, and Tramp followed you to the couch where you sat and took some deep breaths. The realization that you should have just stayed on base and had a discussion with Dr. Genevieve washed over you, and you were afraid you were going to cry.

You wrapped your arms around Tramp and waited, and it actually didn't feel like too much time had passed when you heard the Bronco pull into the driveway. When the front door opened, Bradley looked surprised to see you.

"You're home," he said softly, closing the door behind him. When you just nodded and clung to Tramp, Bradley pressed his lips together. "I take it you heard about the....mishap?"

"Mishap?" you asked, finally scrambling to your feet as Tramp ran to Bradley. "That's what you're calling it? All I know is that I asked you all weekend to tell me about your deployment, but you didn't. And then today I got an email with your name and credentials listed underneath a docket number for two officers who are being court martialed."

Bradley bent to pet Tramp without taking his eyes off yours. "You're right. You did ask me several times, but Sweetheart, the weekend was so perfect. I didn't want to ruin it by talking about work."

You rubbed the heels of your hands against your eyes. "You were gone for eight weeks, Bradley. That's not the same as discussing a regular day at work. And clearly something absolutely insane happened! What are you trying to hide from me now?"

The rosy pink of his cheeks faded away as a look of pure panic filled his handsome features. "Nothing. There's nothing to hide. I just thought we'd talk about it today. I had no idea everything was going to blow up like it did."

You threw your hands up in the air, and you hated how shrill your voice sounded. "Is everything even okay?"

"Yes," he insisted, closing the distance to you and wrapping his arms around your body, enveloping you in his warmth. "Everyone who left the carrier deck made it back to the carrier deck."

Apparently you'd been holding your breath, because you were finally able to let it out. "Good," you whispered, burying your face in his neck. "That email made me feel physically sick."

"I'm sorry, Baby Girl," Bradley rasped next to your ear before kissing your temple. "If I knew everything was going to happen so fast, I would have taken some time out of the weekend to talk about it. But being back home with you and spending time as just us was really the only thing on my agenda."

You didn't stop him when he guided you toward the bedroom and started to unbutton and unzip you out of your uniform. And you let him pull his UVA shirt over your head and guide you into bed. And then you watched him strip down to his underwear before he picked up Tramp and climbed in with you. "Here's what happened," he said, pulling you close.

---------------------------

Bradley felt a little awkward detailing what went down in the air with Slayer for you. It was an odd thing to recount it to someone who wasn't an aviator, but you just held him tight and asked questions when you needed clarification. But the way you gasped when Bradley told you he was the spare made him feel somewhat validated. 

"The spare? This Admiral Dean asshole named you the spare?" You went shooting up in the bed, indignation flashing in your eyes as you pointed at him. "You're not the spare! You're the main event. You'd never treat a mission like it was your own little game where other people's lives didn't fucking count for anything!"

Bradley could tell he was blushing as he said, "Nat and Bob were directly in danger when I got called to the catapult." 

Now you were standing on your knees looking straight up furious. "What did you do?!"

He ran his hand along his mustache and whispered, "I just... dealt with it. I don't know. You know I don't like talking about air to air kills. Nat and Bob were leaking fuel to the point where I was convinced they wouldn't even make it out over the water before they had to eject. But Nat managed to land it on deck in spite of full engine failure."

"Full engine failure?!"

"Yes."

"And all of this happened because this Slayer person went way off course to attend his own rodeo or something?"

Bradley laughed in spite of himself. "Yes."

"Right. Right," you said, even though it sounded like you thought it was all very wrong. "And this Slayer child was allowed to be the fucking team leader because of Admiral Dean?"

"Yes."

You just shook your head at him, standing there on your knees with your hands on your hips. "A court-martial is too good for these fuckers," you said, your voice breaking as you lunged for him. 

Bradley caught you in his arms as you burst into tears. "Don't cry. Everyone is fine."

But you were shaking in his arms as you tightened your hold on him. "I could have lost you, Roo... and like, I just know there was at least a small part of you that thought I didn't want this."

He kissed your cheek and whispered, "I knew you loved me. I knew my ring was safe with you. That was enough."

You pulled away from where you'd had your face pressed to the side of his neck. Tears were welling up in your eyes before sliding down your cheeks. "No, that's not enough. I love you more than anything. And you deserve to hear me say that to you."

Bradley gently rolled you onto your back and let his cheek rest on your shoulder as you cried. He wrapped one arm around your middle and tried not to crush you with his weight as you threaded your fingers through his hair. It felt so good, the way you were touching him and crying for him. "I'm right here," he told you, and eventually your breathing evened out. 

"I can't believe spending the weekend in the bathtub with me was more important to you than getting all of that off your chest."

"Spending a weekend in the bathtub with you is more important than literally anything else I can think of," he promised, happy to hear you laugh. "But if we're being honest here, Sweetheart, when I got passed over for the mission and named as the spare instead... I'm having a really hard time coming to terms with the fact that I'm probably on the back end of my career as a pilot."

You were silent for a beat, but when you spoke, your fingers were still soft in his hair. "Who named the teams?"

"Admiral Dean."

"And have we not established that he's a mindless idiot who favors the aviators from Lemoore over everyone else?"

Bradley hadn't really considered that the hit to his ego and career should have been taken with a grain of salt. Perhaps there was something to be said for who was in charge of the mission details. "I'm still the oldest one around, compared to everyone at Top Gun and everyone from Lemoore," he murmured. 

"Older, sure," you whispered. "But you're also more experienced. And more patient. And smarter. And you were able to tolerate being named the spare without throwing a fit. You're not on the back end of your career. Maybe it will take a different shape, but it's not ending."

Without another word, Bradley fell asleep on you while he thought about what flying meant to him, your touch calming him enough to do that without panicking.

-----------------------

You were so hungry now that Bradley told you what had happened. Your stomach was starting to growl, and you realized that you hadn't actually started anything for dinner. But Bradley was still dozing on you an hour later, his arm heavy across your belly where you pressed your fingers to the ink of his tattoo. 

He must have been exhausted, dealing with all of this nonsense during his deployment and traveling across so many time zones. And yet he had made you feel so important all weekend, even attempting to make you breakfast. Giving you his undivided attention. Making love to you exactly how you needed it. 

When he eventually started to stir, you felt bad that you didn't have anything ready for him to eat. He looked up at you, slowly easing himself into a push up position above you. "Sorry...how long was I out?" he rasped, grunting as he bent his elbows until his lips met yours.

"More than an hour," you whispered as he kissed you over and over again. "You must be exhausted."

"Nah, I feel great," he promised, climbing out of bed and pulling you with him. "Want me to make you some toast?"

"Please don't. I was thinking of just ordering something since I didn't get anything ready to cook." You briefly thought about Cat and Bickel and wondered if they were still working right now.

"Let's get a pizza," Bradley said, grabbing his phone. "It's easy and Tramp loves when you feed him the crusts."

Later, when you sat down on Bradley's lap with a slice of pizza in your hand, you laughed as Tramp sat on the floor begging. You tore off a piece of the crust for him while Bradley inhaled two slices stacked one on top of the other. You were just about to ask him if he'd read some more of his notebook to you when he reached for a third piece. 

"Was thinking," he said between bites. "How about a bath before bed? And since you let me nap earlier, I could read until you fall asleep?"

You felt like you were on your honeymoon again where everything you did together just made sense. "You read my mind." And there was just something so good about his voice right now. Whether it was him sitting behind you in the tub or fucking you on the bathmat or leading you to the shower to get you cleaned up a second time, his voice in your ear was exactly what you needed. 

"We do some of our best work in the bathroom," he whispered, thrusting into you slowly as your towel unraveled from around you. 

"You say that about every room," you reminded him, letting him spread your legs wider as he nipped at your breasts. 

"Only because it's true, Sweetheart."

You giggled in the shower, because fifteen minutes ago you'd been clean and then he came inside you. But you were yawning non stop by the time you climbed back into bed. You could barely keep your eyes open as Bradley picked up his notebook and opened it to a page you hadn't heard him read yet. 

He wrapped one strong arm around you and cleared his throat. "Promise you won't get upset?" he asked you, holding the notebook just far enough away that you couldn't read it without your contacts or glasses.

"I mean, did you like write something really mean about me?" you asked, squinting. 

"No," he said with a laugh. "But it's a full page about all the shit I do that I hate."

"I won't get mad, but that doesn't mean I have to agree with any of it."

He responded by clearing his throat again and reading.

"I was never planning on being married to someone. That's exhausting, right? Way too much responsibility. What if they decide they hate you and leave one day? Or die of cancer? Or what if I burn in? What are you even supposed to do then? 

In an effort not to turn into either of my parents, I think I just gave up on the idea. My mom's engagement ring took up residence in a cardboard box in a storage unit for almost twenty years. I don't think I thought about it more than a handful of times, only occasionally remembering how pretty it looked when she wore it outside in the sunshine. 

And then I met a woman, and suddenly the fact that I didn't know the exact location of that ring was very unsettling to me. Was it in a box with photos, pushed all the way against the back wall? Was it in a smaller box with my dad's diploma from the Naval Academy? Which box was it in?

These thoughts alternated between being paramount to my very existence and also quite laughable. She wouldn't want to marry me. I'd only known her a few weeks. She was perfect. Beautiful. Funny. Smarter than everyone else. 

I second guessed myself even more than usual. And then the most peculiar thing happened. She accepted the ring right out of the cardboard box, and then she married me. 

But I haven't been good enough. 

And that is a fact that is worse than all my worst fears. It's worse than burning in. It's worse than dying of cancer. It's worse than being left behind. I can't stand the fact that she's too hard on herself because of me. That's fucked up. It makes me feel gross. I don't want a baby more than I want my wife. I just want my wife. I want her right now. I wanted her yesterday. I am going to want her tomorrow. 

But two weeks ago when I made her think I didn't, that was probably the worst thing I've ever done. Because it didn't even occur to me how much I was fucking up. Congratulations, you failed. Stop doing it. Be better. If you even get another chance."

When Bradley turned his head to see if you were still awake, you whispered, "I didn't like that page as much as the others."

"I figured you wouldn't." 

There were a million things you wanted to say to make him feel better. Share the blame for what happened. But he was proving to you that he had nothing to hide, and he was reading back his candid thoughts. And you never wanted him to stop. So you just kissed his neck and said, "Thanks for reading it to me. But now I want you to read my favorite page again." 

He flipped back to find it, and you were asleep after about five words. 

Your alarm for work came too early considering how cozy you felt in bed. If you could live in this moment a little longer, you gladly would. You felt warm and safe, and Bradley's first words of the day made you laugh. "I'll order you another overpriced coffee, but your new French press should be here today."

When you walked into the lab with your iced latte to find that Cat was the only person there, you gave her an awkward, "Good morning."

"Hi," she replied, stifling a yawn. She looked exhausted.

"How late were you here?" you asked her, feeling terrible that you weren't the one to put in all the extra hours. 

She eyed you hesitantly. "Pretty late. Bickel told me I could come in at lunchtime today, but I didn't want to leave you hanging out to dry with the proposals from Annapolis."

"Thanks," you whispered. But then your heart rate picked up a little bit as you thought about what happened to Bradley. You blurted out, "I need to know what was in that audio."

Cat was instantly shaking her head. "You can't listen to it. Bickel said he doesn't want your login credentials anywhere near it. Could be a massive conflict of interest if you handled it in any way."

You looked down at your boots. "What was it like?" 

She was silent for so long, you were afraid she wasn't going to tell you anything. When you turned toward your seat, she said, "It was hard to listen to. Your husband is a good person."

You kept your eyes on your workstation. "He didn't even tell me anything about it until last night."

"He didn't come running home from his deployment and tell you that he's actually a hero? Again? Bickel told me he seems to have a good head on his shoulders."

"No," you whispered, closing your eyes. "He came home and told me we'd talk about it later, because he missed me too much. And then he was good to me all weekend." Good was an understatement. But you did miss your French press.

"You know," Cat replied with a smile in her voice, "it is really hard not to hate you."

You turned to look at her over your shoulder. Maybe she figured you knew about Jake, and maybe she didn't, but you said, "You should reschedule your movie date."

The smile was gone from her face and her voice. "I think yesterday was a wakeup call. And canceling on Jake was probably in my best interest after all. I don't know what I was thinking when-"

"Stop making poor decisions," you snapped. "He found a kid-friendly restaurant, for fuck's sake. What more could you possibly want in a guy?"

"Nothing," she whispered. 

Then you plugged your computer in and said, "Thank you for telling me about the comms. And thank you for staying late. And thank you for not leaving me alone to finish the proposals today. But for the love of god, Cat, reschedule the movie, okay?"

---------------------------

Bradley was expecting you to meet him for lunch in the cafeteria. He even managed to secure the table where you and he were sitting the first time he asked you out. Which was just going to be the cherry on top of his plans for the day. 

Mav let him read the official court-martial documentation along with Nat and Bob. And then he had taken the time to write an official statement. And in about a month, he'd have to appear as a witness to what happened. The sad part was, it all seemed very cut and dry since this wasn't the first time Admiral Dean had shown unjust favoritism. Maybe you were on to something about why Bradley had been selected as the spare.

He heard your laugh before he saw you. It was that beautiful, overjoyed sound that was usually reserved just for him. In fact, he heard it last night when he had you underneath him on the bathroom floor, running his mustache along your pristine skin. But right now you had it aimed at his best friend, and he didn't really mind. You were hugging Nat like you were afraid she was going to vanish into thin air, and when you released her, Bradley watched you press a kiss to Bob's cheek before hugging him just as tight. Your cheek was pressed to Bob's chest when you met Bradley's gaze from a few tables away, and you smiled at him. Then you were headed his way.

"I got you a burrito bowl," he said, even though you could plainly see he had two on his tray. And instead of sitting down across from him, you took the chair right next to his and wrapped your hands around his bicep. 

"Roo, do you want to go up to the hot sauce restaurant after work on Friday? Maybe recreate our first date? But instead of me not giving you a handjob on the pier, I totally could."

Bradley's jaw dropped. You somehow read his mind. You took his idea about getting back to basics in your relationship and made it both romantic and also horny enough that he felt a little uncomfortable in his uniform pants. And you had the nerve to sit there and look sweet and innocent as you squeezed a little packet of hot sauce onto your lunch. 

"I was going to suggest the same thing," he rasped softly. "Minus the handjob. But I'm definitely down for the inclusion of the handjob."

You just smiled at him as you took a bite of your lunch, and your hand came to rest on his thigh. This was going to be a long week.

----------------------------

Need that first date reenactment to happen. And I love how the notebook has become a bedtime staple for them. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 16

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