#Battlefield 1 Patch Notes

[nelle-y]

A love story told through voicelines (IV)

C/W: slow-burn, Diluc x gn!reader, reader works at the flower shop in Mondstadt, subtle (I think) Epic: the musical references, fluff, angst, Crepus mentioned, violence, reader gets injured

Note: okay so not totally voicelines.. there are character stories too cuz I had no idea how else to write other scenes.. lmk if that’s alright with you guys or if I should stick with the voiceline format<3 Enjoy! (sorry this took a while btw) link for part 3! link for part 1! link for part 5!

(You) About Diluc: The manor

Dawn Winery? Never been there, honestly. I heard it’s massive, though. Do I know the way? Also no—but that’s not gonna stop me! I will get him back. Yeah, he once told me never to go out at night… but what’s the worst that could happen? There haven’t been any monsters nearby, as far as I know. Besides, getting lost is part of the challenge, and it’ll all be worth it in the end when me and Diluc make up and have a proper dinner in his manor.

… Hey, do you feel like we’re being watched? Uhm, how about you stay back in town? Something feels fishy here. Don’t worry, I know how to handle myself in a pinch. Plus, it’ll be awkward to have you there while I’m patching things up with him.

(Diluc) About you: During patrols

Despite everything that’s happened, my duties as the Darknight Hero—however terrible the name is—remain unchanged. Protecting Mondstadt and its people comes first—always. At least from here, I’m certain I can keep them safe.

Wait—shh. Did you hear that? Get back. Stay close to me, but… on second thought, maybe you should return to Mondstadt. It’s too dangerous out here tonight. I can handle this, just like I always do.

—

(You) Character Story: The Abyss

The scent of wine lingered faintly in the air—a guide to the manor. Alone, they pressed forward, the quiet of the night broken only by the crunch of their footsteps. But something was off. A rustle in the bushes made them pause, and then it came—a low growl, followed by the chilling cackle of an Abyss mage.

It happened so suddenly. A hilichurl raised its bow, an arrow already notched; another, larger one, came charging to them with its axe. An entire army had come. And somehow, they knew—they were the target.

They moved into a desperate sprint, throat burning as they yelled for help. The fiery breath of a demon head roared behind them as arrows streaked by, one grazing their arm with a biting chill. Smoke choked their lungs, the glow of the burning grass blurring their vision. Their heart thundered in their ears, drowning out the cacophony of growls, crackling flames, and the ominous hum of a charged arrow ready to fly.

Faced with looming cliffs that boxed them in, the shadows of monsters grew taller—darker. “This can’t be it,” they froze, stumbling to a halt. They were out of time.

Diluc’s warning echoed in their mind, “The world becomes a very different place at night; promise me you won’t even try to go outside the city.” They can’t help but cry, “I-I’m sorry… I should’ve listened.”

The Abyss mage raised its wand, and a circle appeared beneath them. This was it. Desperate, they drew one last call for help before the mage had showered them in red.

Then… the world fell cold… they expected fire to be nibbling at their skin, but Mondstadt’s winds blew clearly against their legs.

Strange… in the distance, they could hear grunts, the sounds of a battlefield. They took a hot breath, choking and coughing immediately from the smoke. Their vision was hazy, head aching from the lack of oxygen. But they could see the flash of red hair in front of them, claymore in hand, and their world grew brighter.

“Diluc..?”

“Stay where you are,” his voice was firm yet steady. “I got you.”

(Diluc) Character Story: Ruthlessness

Diluc had one goal in mind: protect them.

It didn’t matter how—whether it meant staying far away from them, or cutting down every last monster standing between him and their safety. He would become a monster if it meant keeping them alive.

His claymore burned hotter than ever, fueled with his anger and determination. Hilichurls fell in his wake like leaves in a storm as he mercilessly brushed through them in a line, disregarding the burning grass around him.

Yet, despite his ruthless display, the Abyss mage stood mockingly strong, its Pyro shield glowing, unscathed. Its laughter echoed through the chaos, each chuckle grating against his nerves like splinters.

Diluc tightened his grip on his claymore, his knuckles white. With a sharp breath, he hoisted the weapon high and brought it crashing down against the shield with everything he had. The impact sent a burst of sparks into the air, but the barrier hardly wavered.

Again and again, he struck, the rhythmic clanging of metal against magic filling the battlefield. Each hit drained more of his strength, but he refused to stop. His heart pounded louder with every passing second, the image of their limp body lying somewhere in the smoke seared into his mind. He couldn’t let it end this way. He wouldn’t. Memories of his father, flaccid in his arms, came flashing through him. Not again.

And then, as if the archons themselves had taken pity on him, he felt a cold drop of water land on his head.

Diluc froze, his breath hitching. Another drop followed, and another, until rain poured from the sky, extinguishing the flames that had threatened to consume the battlefield. The Abyss mage hissed in irritation as its shield flickered, weakened by the downpour.

This was his chance. With a roar, Diluc swung his claymore in a wide arc, the final blow shattering the mage’s defenses. He watched as it picked itself up from the ground, small and weak.

In a dark, vengeful growl, he said: “I have had enough.”

Diluc’s gaze thinned as he raised his weapon, and let it’s tip fall on that tiny monster, apathetic, unbothered.

As it crumpled to the ground, the battlefield grew silent save for the steady patter of rain. His gaze turned sharply toward the smoke-filled air, his voice hoarse but resolute.

“I’m coming,” he muttered, his steps quick and determined as he searched for them, rain streaming down his face. “Just hold on.”

—

(You) About Diluc: The morning after

I woke up in his bed.

In his room.

In Dawn Winery!

Yeah, that Dawn Winery.

I mean—I’m not complaining… ahem—it’s better than laying in a ditch full of dirt and scars, right? Anyway, there I was, sitting on his bed, flabbergasted, confused, and with a wounded arm. I heard a knock on the door and Diluc’s headmaid, Adelinde walked in. Have you met her? She’s just the kindest person ever, I’m telling you! The way she’s so soft-spoken and gentle in the way she tended to my injury, it felt like I was with my mother.

But here’s the weird part—she thanked me for helping Diluc. I was like, help him?! All I did was cause trouble for him last night! Honestly, I don’t get it. What could I have possibly done?

(Diluc) About you: The morning after

I hadn’t slept a wink that night. How could I, after all that’s happened? What if something were to sneak through the window and take them away from me? *sigh* They’re so reckless, honestly. I can’t believe it—out of all the things I told them not to do, that was what they did!

Then again… their stubbornness landed them here, in the manor. I’d rather have them unharmed, of course, but… they’re here, nonetheless.

Adelinde is tending to their wounds right now, though I insisted I do it myself. Maybe I should check in on them—make sure they’re resting well. Elzer, could you tell Charles I won’t be coming in today?

(You) About Diluc: Staying

He’s letting me stay with him in the manor until my arm heals… Ehe.

Okay, as much as I love that, I didn’t really like how Diluc said it. It was more of a… command than a suggestion. Like, “You’re staying with me until your arm gets better.” And not, “You should stay here until you’re healed.”

It felt weird hearing him in that tone… I understand why people are intimidated by him, now.

(Diluc) About you: Staying

They insisted they were fine and ready to leave—typical. But I couldn’t let them. Not after what happened. They’re staying here, no question about it. I’ve already asked Adelinde to prepare the guest bedroom for them.

…Do they think I was being harsh? Maybe. I wouldn’t be surprised. But it’s not about being polite; it’s about keeping them safe. Their recklessness already put them in danger once. I can’t take any chances with them walking back to Mondstadt in that condition. They’ll understand eventually.

(You) About Diluc: Meals

Diluc and I eat together pretty often, though considering what happened, there was an… unmistakable tension between us, so you could say our meal was, uhm… lukewarm. It might just be me, but I could feel his eyes on me all the time…

Ah, I haven’t had the chance to talk to him as well. There are so many things I want to confront him about—why did he decide to end things just like that? Did he think I wasn’t worth spending time over because of the rumors? Does he think that I’m only using him for his money? Why would he choose to believe that stupid Donna?!

*sigh* Calm down, I’ll ask when I get the chance.

(Diluc) About you: Meals

They’re recovering well enough to sit and eat, but… the silence at the table was deafening. I tried to focus on my plate, but I couldn’t help glancing up at them. Their injuries, though minor, stood out starkly against their skin, and every time I saw the bandages, guilt gnawed at me.

I wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. Should I apologize for what happened? For letting those ridiculous rumors drive me to push them away? Or would that just make things worse?

Still, I noticed they barely touched their food. Are they upset with me? Or still in pain? … Perhaps I should’ve made something easier for them to eat. I’ll have Adelinde prepare something lighter next time.

—

(You) About Diluc: Leisure time

He plays chess a lot, I noticed. So, I had nothing better to do once day, and I joined him! It had been a while since I played that game so—you guessed it—he won all the rounds we played. I came close to checkmating him, though!

We played a lot more everyday, and, not to brag but… I won three games in a row, hehe. …Out of ten, yes. That’s still a win, though! You can’t take this away from me!

Oh, and get this—he actually smiled when I beat him. A small one, but it was there! Maybe I’ll win again tomorrow and see if I can get him to laugh, too.

(Diluc) About you: Leisure time

Their injured arm makes it difficult for them to tend to the flower garden, so I’ve been helping where I can. I can’t say I’m particularly skilled, but… I try. Watching their face light up when a new bloom appears is a small joy I didn’t know I needed. They’re so enthusiastic, so full of life—it’s captivating. Their voice softens, and their smile… it’s unforgettable.

I suspect they miss working at Flora’s shop. Speaking of which, I still need to inform Flora about their absence. I’ll take care of it soon—after I finish pruning these roses. Or… at least, trying to.

(Adelinde) About you

Oh, they’re a delight! It’s admirable how they manage to brighten up the room, even on a gloomy day. I hope they stick around even after they recover.

(You) About the voices

… It’s hard to sleep with everything swirling in my head. The Abyss, that cold feeling of being surrounded, trapped, suffocated—it’s still so vivid in my mind. I can almost hear their claws scraping against the walls, the sounds of battle echoing like a distant memory. … Where’s Diluc?

(Diluc) Character story: The voices

The manor was quiet, the crackle of the fireplace being the only one breaking the stillness. Diluc sat on the couch, a book in hand, his expression calm and focused. Laying down beside him, they were curled up, eyes shut but clearly restless.

He noticed their faint shiver before they spoke.

“I’m sorry… I should’ve listened to you.” Their voice trembled, barely above a whisper.

Diluc closed his book, setting it aside. “There’s no need to apologize.” His tone was low, soothing.

“I hear them sometimes,” they admitted, their fingers tightening against the blanket. “The voices… from that night. I can still feel it—the claws, the cold, everything.”

They allowed him to pull them up his chest, his hand gently rubbing their uninjured arm. “The Abyss Order has a way of lingering, even after the fight is over.”He felt a shaky breath from them. “But it’s over now. You’re safe here. I won’t let them harm you again.”

For a moment, the only sound was the fire, warm and constant. They nodded, eyes finally closing as their breathing began to even out.

Diluc remained by their side, watching the flickering flames. His expression was unreadable, but his thoughts were clear: I’ll protect you. Always.

(Adelinde) About you and Diluc: Warmth from more than the hearth

I was about to leave the manor when I stumbled upon them—the florist—sleeping on the couch. What surprised me more, however, was that Master Diluc, also fast asleep, had them laying on his chest!

He rarely lets his guard down, even here at the manor. To see him so relaxed, and with them of all people, was heartwarming in a way I can’t quite describe. It seems they’ve brought more than just liveliness to this house—they’ve brought him comfort, too.

(You) About Diluc: A good night’s sleep

Ehe…

(Diluc) About you: A good night’s sleep

Hah…

—

(You) About Diluc: Little habits

I noticed how he always takes a moment to straighten the chairs at the table after everyone has left. It’s like a small ritual for him, but it’s… cute.

(Diluc) About you: Little habits

They have a habit of making instruments out of anything. I once caught them in the kitchen searching for snacks and beating the jar covers like drums. The way they embarrassingly paused when I came in had me stifling a laugh, haha.

(You) About Diluc: Unasked questions

It’s not like I keep forgetting to ask him about what happened a few days ago, it’s just— I never seem to find the right time. I know, I should talk to him as soon as possible, but how on earth do I start?! “Hey, Diluc, I wanted to ask you why you left me all of a sudden” feels a bit… heavy, doesn’t it? But I need to know. I just have to figure out how to say it.

(Diluc) About you: Unasked questions

I still haven’t asked why they went out that night. Do you have any idea? They seemed so… determined. I can’t help but wonder what was going through their mind. Perhaps it’s not my place to ask, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it. I should probably wait, though. But the curiosity nags at me.

(You) About Diluc: Sticking around

Is it just me, or does that man almost never leave me alone? It’s been around three days since I’ve been staying at the manor, and I swear, he’s everywhere I go! Yeah, it was nice at first… but now? It’s getting a bit much. I can’t even sneak into the kitchen for a snack without him showing up with a cup of tea or a plate of food, acting like he’s been there for hours. I’m starting to wonder if he’s doing this on purpose. Maybe he’s just trying to make sure I’m not bored… Whatever the reason, I need some space.

(Diluc) About you: Sticking around

I’ve noticed how tense they’ve been lately… but I can’t afford to let them out of my sight. Not after everything that’s happened. I know they probably think I’m smothering them, but… I’m only doing this to protect them. There are always dangers lurking around, especially when they’re vulnerable. I can’t help but stay nearby, even if it means interrupting their little moments of peace.

(You) About Diluc: Overbearing

Oh my Archons, he’s at it again! I swear, Diluc’s taken over my entire routine! I can’t even make a cup of tea without him swooping in, insisting I drink his special blend, and then serving it on a tray like I’m royalty. He keeps asking if I’m sure I’m not still hurt—yes, Diluc, I’m fine! I’m practically healed! But every time I try to do something for myself, it’s like he’s right there, ready to stop me. I don’t want to be treated like I’m broken. I get it, okay? He wants to take care of me, but I’m not some delicate flower!

(Diluc) About you: Distant

They’re avoiding me. I can see it in the way they peek through the door before going out. I know I’ve been overbearing, but… What else am I supposed to do? I can’t stand the idea of something happening to them. They’re so strong, but there’s always that part of me, a nagging fear that I can’t shake—that if I don’t keep watch, I’ll lose them. How do I explain that without pushing them away even more?

(You) About Diluc: Confrontation

Ah, that… Yeah, I talked to him—about everything. We had a pretty big fight, so… I’m going back to town. What happened? Erm… I don’t wanna talk about it. Let’s just say I now think of him as stubborn, and he, of me, reckless. We won’t be seeing each other anymore, I believe.

(Diluc) About you: Confrontation

The argument was inevitable—I expected it, actually. I just wish I chose the right words to say. Did you know they went out that night to see me? *sigh* This guilt… is overwhelming. I shouldn’t have caged them like that. Or called them reckless…

The manor feels unbearably quiet without them, now.

… Should I stop by the flower shop?

—

Note: comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! As I’ve mentioned, lmk if I should include character stories in the next part, or if I should stick with only the voicelines.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

You’re writing is amazing! I had two things

1: What is a trope you love writing?

2: Can there be a Bad batch x reader, where she’s loves to cook. When she joins them she cooks for them and they love her cooking (once they get used to having something other than ration bars). Maybe she even sends them with packed lunches for when they go off.

Thank you x

I don’t have a trope in particular I like writing, but I’m a sucker for a good enemies to lovers or anything angsty or tragic

⸻

“Seconds”

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

⸻

They weren’t sure what to make of you at first.

A civilian-turned-ally. Handy in a fight, steady under pressure, and weirdly good at organizing their storage crates. But most of all, you cooked. Like, really cooked.

No one had expected it—not after surviving off ration bars, battlefield meals, and the occasional mystery stew Crosshair pretended didn’t come from a can. But then you’d shown up with a patched-together portable burner and the stubborn attitude of someone determined to make something edible from nothing. And you did.

The first time you cooked, it had stunned them into silence.

The scent of simmering broth wafted through the corridors of the Marauder, followed by spices and roasted meat and something buttery that made Wrecker’s eyes water.

Tech was the first to speak, nose twitching. “That is not protein paste.”

“Unless someone’s finally weaponized it,” Echo said, cautiously hopeful.

Hunter didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned in the doorway of the galley with arms crossed, watching the way you moved—calm, focused, humming to yourself as you stirred a bubbling pot. There was something disarming about the scene. Domestic. Gentle. Strange.

Crosshair gave a low whistle from where he lounged. “Are we keeping this one?”

No one answered. But no one said no.

⸻

It became tradition fast.

You cooked whenever there was downtime, wherever there were ingredients. You scavenged herbs on jungle moons, traded for spices in backwater towns, stretched every credit and crumb into something warm. Something human. You’d hand them plates and bowls and containers like they were weapons before a battle—only these made them feel… grounded.

Every day you could. Breakfasts on quiet mornings. Late dinners after brutal missions. You adapted what ingredients you had, learned what they each liked—Tech hated onions but loved citrus, Crosshair liked spicy food that burned the tongue, Echo had a sweet tooth he tried to hide, and Hunter… Hunter liked comfort food. He’d never say it out loud, but you caught the softness in his expression whenever you made something simple and warm. Like home.

They never asked you to. But they stopped saying no.

Eventually, you started packing lunches for them. Personalized. Thoughtful.

Crosshair’s were spicy and wrapped with a snarky note.

Wrecker’s came with double servings and a warning label.

Tech’s included clean utensils and clear labels, because of course they did.

Echo’s always had a little dessert tucked in the side

Hunter’s would just have little doodle/picture you’d drawn

⸻

They’d left you behind this time. Not because you couldn’t handle yourself, but because someone had to stay with Omega. She wasn’t ready for this mission, and neither were you—still recovering from the last one, a blaster graze healing at your ribs.

The ship was quiet. Omega wandered in around dinner time, drawn by the smell of whatever you were cooking.

She climbed up onto the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world, chin resting on her hands as she watched you slice vegetables and stir broth.

“That smells better than anything I’ve ever had on Kamino,” she said dreamily.

You smiled. “I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.”

She watched you for a while, head tilting. “You always look really happy when you cook.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

You thought about it as you stirred. “Because food makes people feel safe. Even in the middle of a war, a good meal can remind you what it’s like to be human.”

Omega was quiet for a beat. Then: “You make them feel safe.”

You didn’t answer right away.

She squinted up at you. “You really care about them, huh?”

You nodded. “They’ve been through hell. They deserve someone to care.”

She grinned slowly. “You’ve got a crush on one of them.”

You almost dropped the spoon.

“Excuse me?”

She giggled. “I knew it!”

You tried (and failed) to play it cool. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, sliding off the counter. “You pack lunches. You make special snacks. You stitched Wrecker’s sleeve when it ripped, even though he didn’t ask. You added hot sauce to Crosshair’s meal because he once said it tasted better. You kept Tech’s favorite tea even though no one else drinks it. And you stayed up all night once just to make sure Echo’s respirator didn’t fail after that dust storm.”

She paused, smirking. “One of those meant more.”

You turned back to the pot. “You are way too observant.”

She laughed. “So, who is it? Wrecker?”

“No.”

“Tech?”

“Definitely not.”

“Echo?”

“Closer.”

“Crosshair?”

You gave her a look.

She grinned wide. “Fine, fine. I won’t guess. For now.”

You stirred the pot again and said, softly, “It doesn’t matter.”

Omega’s voice was gentler. “Why not?”

You shrugged. “Because maybe it’s safer this way. Just being part of this… this crew. This little found family. It’s enough.”

She looked at you for a long moment. Then she slid onto a nearby stool and rested her chin in her hand again.

“They’ll be back soon,” she said. “You gonna tell them dinner’s ready?”

You smiled quietly, not looking up. “They’ll smell it.”

[ajalholland]

Final Fantasy 7 life scenarios or something.

(Couldn't think of what to call it. 🙃)

Warnings: Wounds

Characters: Sephiroth, Cloud Strife, and Zack Fair.

You are a hardworking medic, always ready to jump in and help others, even if it means putting yourself in harm's way.

You tied the knot with none other than the legendary soldier Sephiroth. Talk about a power couple!

You and Sephiroth first crossed paths on the battlefield, but sparks didn't fly right away. Sephiroth was a bit of a late bloomer in the romance department. 😆

When it finally came time for Sephiroth to pop the question, he wanted to do something super special and memorable. But after you nearly lost your life saving someone else, Sephiroth realized he couldn't wait any longer. He proposed to you right there in the medbay, where you had just been patched up. Pretty intense!

As for little ones, you and Sephiroth have four adorable kids together. 3 boys, and 1 girl. Your family is like a little army of cuteness!

Did he faint during the birth of your child?: No, but he was close.

The battlefield was a chaos of clashing swords and screaming soldiers. Amidst the fray, Sephiroth fought with the skill and grace of a man possessed, his silver hair whipping in the wind as he dispatched enemy after enemy with ruthless efficiency.

(Y/n) tended to the wounded and dying, her medic's pack heavy on her back. She was kneeling over a fallen soldier when a stray bullet nicked her in the shoulder, making her gasp.

Sephiroth, drawn by her cry of pain, leaped towards her just as the cliff edge they stood on gave way beneath their feet. They tumbled down the steep incline, arms and legs entangled, until they came to a halt in a ditch at the bottom.

Panting, Sephiroth found himself on top (Y/n), his hard body pressed against her soft curves. He gazed down at her, a flicker of blush on his pale cheeks, he blinked, starstruck by the most stunning pair of (E/c) eyes he'd ever seen. "You alright, miss?" he asked, his deep voice a stark contrast to the cacophony of battle still raging above them.

(Y/n), despite the pain radiating from her shoulder, couldn't help but feel a thrill at being so close to the legendary SOLDIER. She met his gaze, a wry smile on her lips.

"I've had worse," she quipped, gently pushing against his chest, trying to get up.

Sephiroth's eyes widened and his blush darkened when he realized they position they were in. He carefully shifted, rolling off her, and offering her a hand with a sheepish grin.

Sephiroth took her hand and gently pulled her up to her feet, his grip firm and warm. He kept hold of her hand a moment longer, as if ensuring she was steady, before releasing her.

"I must apologize for the sudden fall," he said, straightening his dusty uniform. His eyes flicked to the blood stain on her shoulder. "You are injured. We should get you to a medic." He paused, realizing the irony of his statement given her profession. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Though I suspect you are quite capable of tending to yourself."

Above them, the sounds of battle began to recede, the last of the enemy forces fleeing. Sephiroth turned back to (Y/n), his gaze intense and assessing. "I am Sephiroth, SOLDIER 1st Class. I have not seen you on the battlefield before. Are you new to the Shinra army?"

(Y/n) nodded, wincing slightly as she adjusted her injured shoulder. "Yes, I just transferred in. I'm a medic, specializing in battlefield trauma." She extended her uninjured hand towards Sephiroth, a friendly smile on her face.

"I'm (Y/n). It's a pleasure to meet you, Sephiroth. I've heard a lot about you." Her gaze drifted over his tall, muscular frame, noting the way his uniform clung to his broad shoulders and lean waist. She had to admit, the stories didn't do him justice. Up close, he was even more impressive.

Sephiroth took her hand, his grip firm and warm, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. A flicker of a smile crossed his face. "The pleasure is mine, (Y/n)." He glanced at her injured shoulder, his brow furrowing slightly. "You should get that tended to. I can escort you to get it treated."

He released her hand and gestured up the hill, towards the retreating sounds of battle. "Though I suspect you know the way."

 (Y/n) laughed softly, shaking her head. "I do, but I appreciate the offer. It's not often I get a chance to walk alongside a legend." She started up the hill, her steps steady and sure, despite her injury.

Sephiroth fell into step beside her, his long strides easily matching her own.

Before tying the knot, you were grinding it out as a retail worker, hustling behind the counter and keeping shelves stocked. Not the most glamorous gig, but it paid the bills!

Your husband? None other than the spiky-haired, charismatic SOLDIER wannabe, Cloud Strife. Talk about scorin' a hot guy on your first date! Speaking of...

You two lovebirds first connected on a blind date, set up by a mutual friend (Tifa). Cloud must've made quite the impression, cuz you said yes to a second date, and then a third till you were dating for 2 years! 😂

When it came time for Cloud to pop the big question, he wanted to do something romantic. So he planned a whole camping trip, just the two of you, under a canopy of stars. Talk about a dreamy proposal! 

Now, you and Cloud have a couple of lil cuties running around, keeping you on your toes. Two kids, a boy and a girl, who inherited your spunk and their dad's good looks.

Did he faint during the birth of your child?: No, but he was super anxious.

Cloud trudged into the restaurant, his boots clunking on the hardwood floor. He was already annoyed about being set up on this blind date. Dating just wasn't his thing. But Tifa had insisted, saying it was time for him to "put himself out there."

He spotted his date waiting at a table in the back and approached with a sigh. As he drew closer, he looked up to greet her and froze. His eyes widened as they took in the sight before him.

(Y/n) was... stunning. Gorgeous. Not at all what he had been expecting. His annoyance melted away, replaced by a growing curiosity and a strange fluttering sensation in his chest.

"Uh... hey," he managed to stammer out, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure. He rubbed the back of his neck, his spiky blond hair brushing against his hand. "I'm Cloud. You must be (Y/n)." He extended a hand, his grip firm and warm as he shook hers. (Y/n) returned his smile, "Yes that's me. It's very nice to meet you Cloud." She said softly.

 Cloud blinked, momentarily at a loss for words as he took in (Y/n)'s beauty. He quickly regained his composure and pulled out a chair to sit across from her. "Nice to meet you too, (Y/n)." As they settled in and the waiter came to take their drink orders, Cloud found himself stealing glances at (Y/n).

Throughout the meal, they talked and laughed, the conversation flowing easily despite their blind date status.

As the night wore on, Cloud found himself leaning closer to (Y/n), the annoyance he'd felt at the beginning of the night had long since vanished, replaced by a growing desire to know everything about her.

(Y/n) seemed just as taken with Cloud. She hung onto his every word, a soft smile playing on her lips. As the waiter brought the check, signaling the end of their date, (Y/n) bit her lip nervously.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" she asked softly, hoping to prolong their time together. "It's such a nice night." 

Cloud grinned, standing up and offering her his arm. "Sure. Lead the way."

As they strolled along the quiet streets, the cool night air brushed against their skin. Cloud and (Y/n) walked close together, arms linked, lost in conversation. The chemistry between them was palpable, electric.

Before long, they found themselves standing outside (Y/n)'s door. The streetlights cast a soft glow on their faces as they turned to each other. Cloud's heart raced as he gazed into (Y/n)'s eyes, seeing the reflection of the spark between them.

"I had a really great time tonight," Cloud murmured, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind (Y/n)'s ear. His fingertips lingered, grazing her cheek.

(Y/n) leaned into his touch, a soft smile on her lips. "Me too," she whispered, her gaze drifting to his mouth.

Feeling bold, Cloud leaned in closer, his eyes fluttering shut. As their lips met, he felt a surge of electricity course through him. (Y/n) melted against him, her hands coming up to grip his shirt.

They shared a tender, lingering kiss beneath the glow of the streetlights.

Before you tied the knot, you were busy making the world a prettier place, one flower at a time as a florist (Yes, I know, unoriginal). Talk about a blooming career! 🌷

Your husband? None other than the charming, playful (puppy 😉) Zack Fair. You two go way back, having grown up in the same humble town. Childhood friends turned love birds - aw! 💕

You and Zack's love story started with a lifetime of friendship, evolving into something so much deeper. And when he finally popped the question, he did it up right. A romantic candlelit dinner at a fancy restaurant!

Now, you and Zack have a lil princess running around, keeping you on your toes. She's the spitting image of her daddy, with a sprinkle of your sweetness. A mini Zack in a cute lil dress - can you even? 🎀💕

Did he faint during the birth of your child?: Absolutely, but don't worry it was only for a second...

Zack strode into (Y/n)'s childhood home, her parents had let him in, his heart pounding with anticipation. It had been years since he'd seen (Y/n), not since he'd left Gongaga to pursue his dream of becoming a SOLDIER. So much time had passed, but not a day went by that he didn't think of her.

As he scanned the house, his eyes fell upon a familiar face and his heart leaped. There she was, sitting at a table by the window, engrossed in a book. She looked up, sensing his gaze, and their eyes met.

(Y/n) gasped softly, a brilliant smile spreading across her face. "Zack?" she breathed, rising to her feet. "Is it really you?"

Zack grinned, his eyes sparkling just like she remembered. "Hey, (Y/n). It's been a long time." He stepped closer, pulling her into a tight embrace.

(Y/n) melted against him, breathing in his familiar scent. "Too long," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "I can't believe you're really here."

They broke apart, both laughing softly as they took each other in. Zack was even more handsome than she remembered, with a new confidence and maturity in his eyes."I've missed you so much," Zack said, his voice low and earnest. "And life's been... complicated.. otherwise I would have come back sooner."

(Y/n) took his hand, squeezing it gently. "You don't have to explain, Zack. I'm just so happy you're home now." She smiled up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears of joy. "Stay for a while? Catch up?"

Zack grinned, giving (Y/n)'s hand a gentle squeeze in return. "I thought you'd never ask, (Y/n). I'm not planning on going anywhere anytime soon." He winked playfully, a mischievous glint in his eye.

They settled onto the couch, sitting close together just like old times. As they talked and laughed, the years melted away, and they fell into an easy rhythm. Zack regaled (Y/n) with tales of his adventures as a SOLDIER, while she filled him in on the happenings back home.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the room, Zack turned to (Y/n), his expression softening. "You know, being away made me realize just how much you mean to me, (Y/n). I never stopped thinking about you, about us."

He reached out, cupping her cheek gently in his hand. (Y/n) leaned into his touch, her heart fluttering at the intensity in his gaze. "I've loved you since we were kids, (Y/n). I never wanted to admit it before, too afraid to ruin our friendship. But now... now I know I can't live without you."

With those words, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender, loving kiss. (Y/n) responded eagerly, pouring all her own pent-up emotions into the kiss. They broke apart after a long moment, both breathing softly. "I love you," Zack rested his forehead against hers, a small smile on his lips.

"I love you too, Zack." (Y/n) whispered.

[sacrednova]

GENTLEMAN | Simon "Ghost" Riley.

This is a """Oneshot""". Well, it is a whole short-series actually (Seven chapters), but it's complete. All in one post. Doc!Reader, Fem!Reader. Smut in the last chapter, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Summary: Developing relationship between Simon "Ghost" Riley, a battle-hardened soldier, and you, a young doctor. Despite Ghost’s emotionally guarded nature, he finds himself drawn to you, struggling with feelings he’s not accustomed to. As your connection deepens, Ghost battles his inner demons, believing he isn’t worthy of you, leading to moments of intense intimacy and inevitable heartache.

Warnings:

Age gap (40-year-old man / Late 20's-year-old woman)

Emotional trauma

Sexual content

Abandonment

Self-destructive behavior

PTSD-related themes

Chapter 1: Uncharted Territory

Simon "Ghost" Riley had been through hell and back, but the sterile, white-washed halls of the medical wing were a different kind of battlefield altogether. His boots thudded heavily against the linoleum as he walked in, head low and shoulders squared, hoping to get this over with quickly. Another goddamn check-up. He’d sustained a minor injury during the last op—nothing serious, just a few scrapes and bruises—but the higher-ups insisted he see the medic. As if he needed to be coddled.

He hated the medical wing. The smell of antiseptic made his skin crawl, bringing back memories he’d rather keep buried. But today, something else added to his reluctance.

You.

You were too young. Too fresh. The first time he saw you, he couldn’t believe someone like you would choose this line of work. In your late 20's, if he had to guess. Your hair always tied back in a messy bun, stray wisps falling over your face as you worked with a soft smile that was too bright for a place like this. And your eyes—sharp, intelligent, but too damn hopeful. It made his gut twist, knowing people like you didn’t last in his world.

Last time, you’d patched him up with steady hands, making light conversation as if he wasn’t Ghost—a man whose reputation alone sent seasoned soldiers running. You acted as though he was just another patient, nothing more. He didn’t know what to make of it.

Today, he hoped you wouldn’t be there. But when he entered the exam room, there you were—sitting on a small stool, reviewing something on your clipboard. As soon as he stepped in, your eyes lifted, meeting his with that same warm energy.

"Lieutenant Riley," you said brightly, like they were old friends. "What are we looking at today?"

He grunted, glancing at his bandaged forearm. "Scrape. That’s all."

Your gaze flicked to his arm, then back to his face, an amused smile tugging at your lips. "Scrape? You had three stitches last time, remember? You’re always underselling your injuries."

Simon folded his arms across his broad chest, the material of his tactical vest creaking with the movement. "I’m fine."

You arched a brow and stood, moving to your medical tray. "Fine, huh?" Your tone was playful, but there was something about the way you carried yourself—calm, collected, confident. You wasn’t intimidated, not in the least. "Let me take a look anyway."

Your fingers brushed his arm lightly as you inspected the dressing, and Simon felt his jaw clench. He hated being touched. Especially by someone like you—delicate but skilled, and annoyingly unfazed by his presence. He watched your work, noting how your brow furrowed slightly in concentration, how you bit your lip when you weren't satisfied with something.

Too damn cute, he thought grimly. Too innocent for all of this.

But despite himself, he found that coming here wasn’t as much of a chore as it used to be. He wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but since you had been assigned to the medical wing, he had found himself there more often than usual. Nothing serious, of course—minor scrapes, bruises, and sometimes even complaints that didn’t need attention. Just excuses to end up in your care.

It was pathetic, really. He was forty—scarred, weathered, and cold. And you? Late 20's, with the whole damn world ahead of you. You was a doctor, sure, but you still had that youthful spark in your eyes, that optimism he hadn’t seen in years. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much.

Maybe it was because you made him feel things he thought he’d buried deep.

"Hold still," you murmured, cutting through his thoughts as you changed his bandage, your fingers working with practiced precision. "This will only take a minute."

Simon grunted in response, but his gaze stayed fixed on you, studying the way you worked, the light in your eyes. She was everything he wasn’t—bright, hopeful, kind.

You finished quickly, stepping back with a satisfied smile. "There. You’re all set."

"Thanks, Doc." The words came out gruffer than he intended. He turned to leave, but your voice stopped him in his tracks.

"You know, Lieutenant," you began, your voice soft but teasing, "I’m starting to think you come in here more than you need to. Either you’re the most accident-prone soldier I’ve ever met, or there’s something else going on."

His heart thudded in his chest. Did you know? No. Impossible. He kept his face neutral, but he could feel the weight of your gaze on his back.

"Yeah?" He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. "You seem to pay too much attention to it, Doc."

Your laugh was light and genuine, and it did something strange to his insides. "Touché, Lieutenant."

Without another word, Simon walked out, his mind racing. The idea of you knowing, of you suspecting, twisted something in him. You were too damn smart, too observant.

But as much as he told himself it was dangerous to keep coming back, he knew he wouldn’t stop. Not yet. Not while there was still something about you that pulled him in, that made him feel more human than the Ghost he was supposed to be.

Not while you looked at him like he was more than just another scarred soldier.

Chapter 2: Behind the Mask

The mission had gone sideways, as they often did, and now Simon Riley found himself in the one place he swore he wouldn’t return to anytime soon: the medical wing.

This time, though, it was bad.

Blood dripped steadily from a gash along his cheekbone, pooling under the edge of his mask. His vision blurred at the edges, but he kept his steps steady, forcing his body to obey. The last thing he needed was anyone thinking he was weak. The last thing he needed was you thinking that.

When he finally pushed through the door, You were there, busy reviewing your charts. The moment you saw him, your eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in concern.

"Lieutenant Riley." Your tone shifted, the lightness from earlier replaced with worry. "What happened?"

"Nothing serious." He grumbled, his words muffled by the mask.

Your sharp gaze flicked over him, immediately assessing the situation. "That doesn’t look like nothing. Sit down."

Reluctantly, Ghost did as he was told, lowering himself onto the exam table. His jaw clenched beneath the fabric of his skull-patterned balaclava. The wound stung, but the idea of you seeing his face hurt more. This mask wasn’t just fabric to him—it was his shield. Without it, he felt exposed, vulnerable.

You were already moving with a focused determination, gathering gauze and antiseptic. You came to his side, and when you saw how the blood was seeping through the mask, your lips thinned into a tight line.

"I need to take the mask off," you said quietly, your voice calm but firm.

His whole body tensed. "No."

You paused, looking at him with those eyes that were too kind, too soft for the world they lived in. "Lieutenant," you started gently, "I can’t clean the wound if I don’t take it off. You know that."

Ghost’s heart pounded in his chest. He’d never let anyone see his face willingly—not since the scars. The mask was as much a part of him as the name Ghost. It kept people at a distance, kept him safe from their pitying or horrified stares.

But you weren't going to back down. You stood there, waiting patiently, your expression understanding but unwavering.

His fingers twitched, his instinct to bolt screaming at him. But the wound throbbed, and he knew it needed to be treated. He couldn’t risk infection. Still, it felt like a trap, like baring his soul to the enemy.

With a low growl of frustration, he reached up and tugged the mask off, avoiding your gaze the entire time.

The room felt too bright, too open as his face was exposed. He knew what you’d see—the jagged scars tracing his skin like a map of every hell he’d been through. The one that ran from his temple to his jaw, a permanent reminder of a knife fight that nearly killed him. The burn marks that warped his cheek from an explosion he barely escaped. Every inch of his face was a testament to the violence he’d survived.

He waited for it—the gasp, the awkward look, the pity.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, you didn’t flinch. You barely even hesitated. You simply leaned closer, inspecting the wound with professional precision, your fingers gentle as you cleaned the blood away. You were focused, like you were working on just another soldier, not the Ghost whose reputation could freeze the blood in someone’s veins.

"You’ve got a nasty cut here," you murmured, dipping a cloth in antiseptic. "Hold still, this might sting."

Ghost sat perfectly still, his muscles locked in place. He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t bear to see whatever was in your eyes when you saw the mess of his face. He stared at the wall, his mind racing.

And then you said it.

"Handsome man under it," you remarked lightly, as if you were commenting on the weather.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His brain stuttered, trying to make sense of what you’d said. He went still—completely, utterly still.

Handsome?

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t process. You kept working, your touch methodical as you stitched the wound, but the casual way you’d complimented him left him reeling.

No one had ever called him that. Not since… well, not since before everything had gone to hell. Before the scars. Before the trauma had carved him into something unrecognizable.

He didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t the type to fish for compliments, and he sure as hell wasn’t used to getting them. Especially not from someone like you.

As the silence stretched, the only sound in the room was the soft clink of medical instruments. His throat felt tight, and for the first time in years, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He felt… raw, exposed, but not in the way he’d expected. It wasn’t pity he felt from her. It was something else—something genuine.

"All done," you finally said, stepping back and giving him a soft smile, as if nothing had changed.

But everything had changed. At least for him.

Without a word, Ghost reached for his dity mask, pulling it back over his face, not caring about the way you protested. The cool fabric against his skin should have comforted him, should have helped him retreat into the shell he always relied on. But now, for some reason, it felt heavier.

He stood up, stiff and silent, his mind still spinning. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if he could say anything.

"Lieutenant?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, your smile fading just a little. "You alright?"

He stared at you, his dark eyes unreadable through the mask. He wanted to speak, wanted to say something that wasn’t completely cold, but the words stuck in his throat.

Instead, he gave a curt nod, his body rigid as stone.

And without another word, he turned and left the room, his steps quick and heavy, trying to escape the strange feeling your words had left behind.

For the first time in years, Simon Riley—Ghost—felt off balance. And it scared the hell out of him.

Chapter 3: Night Terrors and Awkward Encounters

The nightmare came like it always did—silent at first, then deafening. His brother, Tommy, standing in front of him, eyes hollow and cold, like he was already gone. Simon couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. And then the screaming. Always the screaming.

"You let it happen, Simon!"

Ghost jolted awake, his heart hammering in his chest, the darkness of his room pressing down on him like a suffocating weight. The air was stale and hot, despite the chill outside. He lay there, trying to catch his breath, his body covered in a cold sweat. His mind throbbed with the remnants of the dream.

He hadn’t dreamed about his brother in months. He hated when it came back, hated the memories it dragged with it—guilt, loss, failure. Things he couldn’t change, no matter how much blood he spilled in the years since.

He sat up, rubbing a hand over his unmasked face, trying to shake it off. Sleep wasn’t coming back, not after that. There was only one thing that helped after a night like this.

Coffee.

Sliding out of bed, he pulled on his fatigues, taking his mask from the nightstand in an act of pure custom, and putting it on. The mess hall would be empty at this hour, a little past midnight. No one to bother him. Just him, the bitter taste of coffee, and the silence.

He made his way there in the dark, the base quiet, only the occasional sound of distant boots or the hum of generators. It felt comforting, the stillness.

But when he stepped into the mess hall, he saw a figure already sitting at one of the corner tables, a mug in hand. His chest tightened when he realized who it was.

That pretty young Doctor, you.

Your hair was loose, falling over your shoulders, your face tired but relaxed. You must have just finished your shift. A teapot and a small cup sat in front of you, steam rising from the cup as you took a sip.

Of all the places, and of all the times…

You spotted him almost immediately, your expression brightening in a way that made his stomach twist with discomfort. There was no avoiding it now. You were already smiling at him.

"Lieutenant Riley," you greeted, setting your cup down. "Didn’t expect to see you here at this hour."

He gave a stiff nod and made his way to the coffee station, trying to ignore the way his pulse quickened. His usual tactics for avoiding conversation weren’t going to work with you—he knew that much already. You were persistent. Too damn friendly.

Still, he busied himself with the coffee, keeping his back to you for a moment longer than necessary. The silence stretched awkwardly before you spoke again.

"Couldn’t sleep?" you asked, your voice soft, unintrusive.

"Something like that," he muttered, pouring the coffee into a mug and turning back around.

You gestured to the empty chair across from you. "Join me?"

Ghost hesitated, weighing his options. He didn’t want to be rude, but sitting with you… it made him uneasy. He wasn’t good at small talk—especially with women. Especially you. But you were looking up at him with those kind, curious eyes, and damn it, he felt a strange tug in his chest.

Reluctantly, he sat down, keeping his gaze on his coffee.

You smiled warmly, taking another sip of your tea. "Late shift," you explained, "just winding down."

He nodded again, unsure of what to say. His mind was still buzzing from the nightmare, his body on edge. He felt exposed sitting across from you, even though he still had his mask on.

"So," you began, clearly trying to ease him into a conversation, "do you always drink coffee at this hour, or is this a special occasion?"

You lighthearted tone caught him off guard, and he found himself fumbling for an answer. "It… helps clear the head," he said awkwardly, his voice gruff. "After a long day."

You nodded, watching him with that same amused glint in your eyes. "You sound like an old man."

Ghost blinked, thrown completely off balance by your words. His brain struggled to keep up. "… Old man?" he repeated, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain.

You laughed softly, your eyes twinkling. "Yeah, you know—late-night coffee, brooding alone in the dark. Very grumpy-grandpa behavior."

For a moment, Ghost was utterly speechless. Him? An old man? He was only forty—forty. That wasn’t old, not by a long shot. But the way you said it, so casually, so teasingly, made him feel like he’d suddenly aged a hundred years.

He could feel the heat rising up his neck, creeping under his mask. He tried to brush it off, but he could tell from the way your smile widened that you had noticed.

"Careful, Lieutenant," you said with a grin, "you’re turning red."

He stiffened, his ears burning beneath the fabric of his mask. Was he really? How could you tell? Damn it, he wasn’t used to this kind of thing. He wasn’t used to you—this kind of teasing, this playful back-and-forth. Most people gave him a wide berth, never trying to joke or poke at him. But this Doc? You seemed to find his discomfort amusing, not intimidating.

"I’m not—" he started, but his voice cracked, and he cut himself off, his jaw clenching in frustration.

You laughed again, a sound that was far too light for the darkness in his head, and something in him twisted. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was confusing. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this—flustered, off balance.

"You know," you said softly, your voice gentle now, "you don’t always have to be so serious. I bet you’re a nice guy under all that gruffness."

His hands tightened around the mug, his mind racing. Nice guy? You didn’t know anything about him. If you did—if you knew the things he’d done, the blood on his hands—you wouldn’t say that. You'd run as far away as possible.

But you were not running. You were sitting here, sipping tea and teasing him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I’m just not good at this," he muttered finally, his voice low. "Talking."

"Talking?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You’re doing fine so far."

He shook his head. "Not with people. Not like this." He struggled to find the right words. "Women."

Your smile softened, and you rested your chin on your hand, watching him with a mix of amusement and something else—something gentler. "Well, I’ll let you in on a secret, Lieutenant. You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to try."

Your words hit him in a strange way, sinking in deeper than they should have. He wasn’t used to anyone talking to him like this, and it threw him off completely.

He cleared his throat, straightening in his seat and trying to sound more like the soldier he was. "I, uh… appreciate the company," he said, his voice more formal than he intended, the words stiff and awkward. "You’re very kind, Doctor."

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. "Very proper of you, Lieutenant. Quite the British gentleman, aren’t you?"

The heat in his face flared again, and this time he couldn’t hide it. His ears burned, his whole body stiffening at your teasing.

You grinned. "See? Old man."

Ghost gripped his mug tightly, staring into the coffee as if it could save him. He didn’t know how to deal with this. With you. But despite the awkwardness, despite his complete lack of experience with these kinds of conversations, there was something about your laughter, your smile, that made him feel… different.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

Maybe.

"You're lucky I’m a gentleman," he muttered under his breath, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Chapter 4: In Her Head

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the soft glow of your bedside lamp casting shadows across the room. You had been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, but sleep refused to come. Your mind was too busy, too wrapped up in something—someone—you couldn't quite shake off.

Lieutenant Riley.

Ghost.

You groaned softly, turning over to bury your face in your pillow, trying to drown out the persistent swirl of thoughts. It was ridiculous. Completely irrational. The man barely spoke, yet here you were, replaying every word he had said to you in the mess hall over and over again.

"You’re lucky I’m a gentleman."

Your heart raced a little faster just thinking about it. The way he’d said it, his voice low and gruff, almost teasing—but not quite. There had been something else in his tone. Something you couldn’t put your finger on. What had he meant by that? Was it just an offhand comment, or… was there more to it?

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to banish the thought. You were overthinking it, you had to be. Ghost was… Ghost. Quiet, stoic, a man of few words. And yet, something about the way he had said those words had gotten under your skin. Something about the way he’d been so awkward, so stiff, and then just slipped in that little comment—like he had more to say but was holding back.

You felt a surge of heat bloom in your chest and groaned again, rolling onto your back. Why was he driving you crazy like this?

It wasn’t just what he’d said, though. It was everything about him. The way he carried himself, that looming presence that filled any room he entered. The mask, the cold exterior, the scars you’d seen but hadn’t commented on. He was a mystery wrapped in danger, and for some reason, that intrigued you far more than it should have.

You wasn’t usually like this. You were professional, composed, always focused on your work. You’d been around soldiers for years—tough men, broken men, and everything in between. But Ghost… he was different. It wasn’t just the reputation that preceded him, or even the scars that marked his skin. It was the way he seemed so untouchable, like he was walled off from the rest of the world, keeping everyone at a distance.

Except, maybe, you’d gotten closer than most.

And that thought sent another rush of heat through you.

"God," you muttered, covering your face with your hands, feeling utterly ridiculous. You were a grown woman, a doctor, and here you were acting like a teenager, flustered over a few words from a man who probably didn’t think twice about it.

But… what if he had meant something else?

The way he’d looked at you through the mask, the way his voice had dropped just a little lower, like he was trying to be respectful but couldn’t quite hide the edge of something more. It made you wonder—was there more to him than what he let on? Was there a part of him that was just as caught off guard by their interaction as you were?

You could still see him in your mind’s eye—his massive frame sitting across from you, the way he had stiffened when you teased him, the brief flash of embarrassment when you’d called him an “old man.” And then that parting comment��

"You’re lucky I’m a gentleman."

You cursed under your breath. You had no idea why it had affected you so much, but damn it, it had. Now, here you were, lying in bed, thinking about a man who was as closed off as they came.

You sat up, frustrated with yourself. Why did he get to you like this? It wasn’t just the words—it was him. The mystery, the danger, the fact that you couldn’t quite figure him out. And maybe, deep down, you didn’t want to figure him out. Maybe part of you liked the idea of peeling back the layers, seeing what was beneath all that hardness.

But that was dangerous thinking. He was a soldier, a man with more trauma than you could probably understand. And you were just his doctor. Nothing more. Nothing should be more.

So why did you feel like there was something simmering just beneath the surface every time you were in the same room?

You sighed heavily, flopping back down on your bed and staring at the ceiling once again. It was late, and you needed sleep, but all you could think about was that deep voice, those haunted eyes behind the mask, and the way he had looked at you—like maybe he wasn’t as unaffected as he tried to seem.

The idea sent a shiver down your spine. You were not sure if it was excitement or something else entirely.

For a moment, you let yourself indulge in the thought. What if he had meant something more? What if there was something brewing between them, something unspoken but real? It was a ridiculous notion, you knew, but still… it was there, lingering in the back of your mind.

"You’re lucky I’m a gentleman."

Your pulse quickened, and you bit your lip. Maybe you were lucky.

But the real question was… how long could a man like Ghost stay a gentleman?

Chapter 5: Unmasked Moments

You stared blankly at the ceiling, sprawled across your bed, utterly bored. It was one of your rare free days, and while the prospect of doing absolutely nothing sounded appealing at first, now you were restless. You had already gone through your usual routine—reading, tidying up your quarters, and even catching up on some paperwork—but none of it could shake the growing sense of aimlessness.

A knock on the door broke through your thoughts. Curious, you swung your legs off the bed and opened it to find one of the base’s admin personnel standing there with a note in hand.

"Doc, there’s a dinner happening tonight with some of the 141 crew and a few other personnel. You’ve been invited."

You blinked in surprise, taking the note. "A dinner? With 141?"

"Yes, ma’am. It’s informal—just a chance for everyone to unwind."

The idea of spending the evening with the elite team sounded intriguing, and besides, you needed a distraction.

"Alright, I’ll be there," you said with a smile, and the messenger nodded before leaving.

As evening rolled around, you found yourself standing in front of the mirror, smoothing out your hair and pulling on a comfortable yet flattering outfit—something casual but nice enough for dinner. You were not dressing up for anyone, you told herself, but the nerves in your stomach betrayed you. It had been a while since you’d had anything close to a social gathering, and the idea of mingling with the likes of Price, Soap, Gaz and—him—made you feel strangely jittery.

You shook the thought away as you left your quarters and headed toward the base’s rec hall where the gathering was taking place. As soon as you walked in, the familiar sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air. The room was packed with soldiers and staff, mingling around tables of food and drinks.

It was a laid-back atmosphere, far removed from the usual tension and urgency that filled the base.

You greeted a few familiar faces, grabbed a drink, and made your way toward the edge of the room, scanning for anyone you knew well enough to chat with. But it wasn’t long before your eyes found him.

Ghost.

He was seated on one of the low couches against the far wall, his massive frame making the furniture seem almost too small for him. A beer was in his hand, his mask still on, but it was lifted just enough to reveal the bottom half of his face when he brought the drink to his lips. His scarred jawline, the faint shadow of stubble—just enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You froze.

The sight of him, so casual, so relaxed yet still somehow intimidating, sent a strange thrill through you. You had never seen him like this before—off-duty, with his mask lifted even a fraction. You didn’t know how to process it.

And then he saw you.

His dark eyes met yours from across the room, and he nodded. Just a simple acknowledgment, nothing more. But it was enough to make your breath hitch. You couldn’t look away, but at the same time, you felt like you couldn’t look directly at him without your face going up in flames.

You quickly looked down at your drink, your cheeks warming with embarrassment. You felt ridiculous, like you were some lovesick schoolgirl caught staring at the mysterious bad boy across the room. Get it together, you scolded yourself.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Soap approaching, a mischievous grin already plastered across his face. Oh no.

"Ah, Doc," Soap greeted, his Scottish accent thick with amusement as he sidled up beside you. "Enjoying the view, eh?"

Your eyes widened. "What? No! I mean—" You stammered, completely flustered, but Soap just laughed, clearly relishing your discomfort.

"It’s alright, lass, no need to be shy," he teased, taking a swig of his own beer. "Ghost over there, eh? He’s a fine catch if ye can get him to talk, y’know."

You blushed deeper, trying to play it cool. "I was just… looking around. Not at him specifically."

"Sure ye were," Soap winked, clearly not buying it. He gave a friendly nudge. "Yer lucky, though. He doesn’t usually come out to these things. I reckon you’re the reason he’s even here."

Your heart skipped a beat at that, and you gave him a skeptical look. "Why would you think that?"

Soap shrugged, glancing over at Ghost, who was now quietly sipping his beer and watching the room with those sharp, unreadable eyes. "Ghost keeps to himself, aye, but ever since ye started patching him up, he’s been… well, a little less ghostly, if ye catch my drift."

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. You glanced over at Ghost again, your gaze lingering on the way his mask sat just below his nose as he drank. You had to admit, seeing him like this—so out of his element but still carrying that intense presence—was doing things to your body you were not sure how to handle.

Soap, ever the opportunist, seemed to sense your turmoil. "Tell you what, why don’t you go over and say hi? He might appreciate the company."

You shook your head quickly. "I—no, that’s—"

Before you could finish, Soap had already started to move toward Ghost, waving you along. "C’mon, Doc. We can’t let the big man sit all alone, can we?"

Panic rose in your chest, but Soap was already too far ahead. You had no choice but to follow, Your heart thudding in your chest as you approached Ghost.

When you reached him, Ghost looked up, his dark eyes flicking between you and Soap, but his expression remained unreadable behind the mask.

"Ghost," Soap grinned, plopping down on the couch next to him. "Look who decided to join us. The Doc herself." He patted the seat beside him, motioning for you to sit as well.

You hesitated, glancing nervously at Ghost, who simply nodded in acknowledgment. It was such a small gesture, but it made your stomach flip.

"Uh, hey," you said awkwardly, lowering yourself into the seat beside Soap. You could feel Ghost’s presence next to you like a magnetic pull, even though he wasn’t directly looking at you.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence as you tried to figure out what to say. But before you could speak, Soap leaned over and grinned at you.

"Y’know, Doc," Soap said, not-so-subtly nudging Ghost with his elbow, "our friend here doesn’t talk much, but he’s a real charmer if ye can get him goin’. Right, Ghost?"

Ghost shot Soap a look that could’ve frozen fire, but Soap just chuckled, clearly enjoying himself.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though your nerves were still buzzing. You glanced over at Ghost, who shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing at Soap before he looked away, lifting his beer to take another sip.

The mask was still pulled up just enough for you to see his jawline, the scars that told stories you could only imagine. And for some reason, that sight—just that small glimpse of his face—made your heart pound even harder.

"Well," you said finally, trying to shake off your awkwardness, "I’m sure he’s got his own brand of charm."

Soap grinned, clapping Ghost on the shoulder. "Aye, Doc, that he does." Then he leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice just enough for both of them to hear. "Ye should try askin’ him sometime. Might be surprised what ye get."

Ghost’s jaw tightened visibly, and you felt a blush rise up your neck.

You were surprised. But it wasn’t just what Soap had said. It was the way Ghost’s quiet presence seemed to fill the space around them, the way his simple nods and unreadable expressions made you feel so off balance. You couldn’t look him in the eye, not with Soap grinning like a devil and Ghost so silently… there.

Maybe Soap was right. Maybe there was something more to Ghost than you realized.

And maybe you weren't quite ready for it.

Chapter 6: Now or Never

As if on cue, Soap leaned back with an exaggerated sigh, stretching his arms overhead. "Ah, would ye look at that. I think I’ve got… somethin’ important to take care of." He glanced between Ghost and you, his grin wide and devilish. "Real important. Like… paperwork. Lots of it."

You raised an eyebrow, struggling to hide your amusement—and your panic. Soap’s excuse was absurd, painfully obvious. Even Ghost looked at him sideways, but the Scotsman was already standing up and patting them both on the shoulder.

"Y’alright then, have fun, ye two." And with a wink in your direction, Soap disappeared into the crowd, leaving them alone.

Your heart immediately started racing, a flood of nerves and excitement making it impossible to sit still. You stole a glance at Ghost. He was sitting there, stock-still, his beer now forgotten in his hand. For a moment, neither of you said anything, the air between you charged with something unspoken.

He wasn’t looking away from you, though. His gaze was fixed—dark, intense, like he was weighing something in his mind. The usual hard edge to his expression seemed softened, but there was still something undeniably dangerous about the way he looked at you. Not in a threatening way, but in a way that made your pulse quicken.

Finally, Ghost broke the silence, his voice lower than usual, rougher—maybe from the alcohol, maybe from something else entirely. "I don’t think I can be a gentleman for you tonight, Doc. I’m a bit drunk."

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. Every nerve in your body sparked, your breath catching in your throat as your heart pounded wildly. You wanted to scream, to laugh, to run, to do something to deal with the overwhelming rush of heat that surged through you at that moment. But instead, you just sat there, wide-eyed, struggling to process what he’d just said.

He can’t be a gentleman…

He was warning you. There was something raw and honest about it—an admission that he was trying to stay in control, but tonight… maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he didn’t want to. And the worst part was, you didn’t want him to either.

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. Your pulse was thundering in your ears, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you had no idea what to say. You should probably laugh it off, or make some lighthearted joke to break the tension, but your brain wasn’t cooperating. All you could think about was the way he was looking at you, the way his words felt like a door opening—an invitation to step through, into something unknown and maybe a little dangerous.

Panic and excitement clashed inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, "Do you… want to go outside? Catch some air?"

As soon as the words left your mouth, you wanted to scream at yourself. Catch some air? That was the best you could come up with? It was so painfully obvious that you didn’t just want air, and you could already feel your cheeks burning with embarrassment. You half expected Ghost to call you out on it, to laugh or brush it off.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Ghost stared at you for a beat longer, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. He didn’t seem like the type to be easily swayed by nerves or awkwardness, but something shifted in the way he looked at you—something more calculating, as though he was deciding whether to follow your lead or stay rooted in place.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he set his beer down on the table and stood. He was tall—too tall—and the full weight of his presence hit you again, even more intensely than before. He towered over you, his broad shoulders casting a shadow, and for a split second, you felt like a small, fragile thing next to him.

But then he nodded, just once, and that was all the confirmation you needed.

You quickly stood up, your hands trembling slightly as you led the way out of the crowded rec hall. You could feel Ghost behind you, his footsteps heavy but measured, and your mind was racing in a hundred different directions. What am I doing? What’s about to happen?

Both of you stepped outside into the cool night air, the sudden drop in temperature making you shiver. The sky above was a blanket of stars, and the quietness of the night felt like a stark contrast to the tension that hummed between you. You glanced over at Ghost, who had stopped a few steps away from you, his hands shoved into his pockets, the mask still in place.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched out, the weight of what wasn’t being said almost unbearable. Your heart was still racing, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. You wanted to say something—anything—to break the tension, but all the words stuck in your throat.

Ghost was the one to break the silence first.

"Air’s not what you were really after, was it?" His voice was low, almost teasing, but there was an edge to it—a challenge.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. You could deny it, laugh it off, pretend like you hadn’t just invited him outside for reasons that had nothing to do with catching air. But the look in his eyes told you he already knew. He wasn’t playing games. He was waiting.

You swallowed, your pulse thrumming in your ears. It was a now or never moment, and you knew it.

"No," you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended. "It wasn’t."

The admission hung in the air between you, heavy with implications. You had no idea what was going to happen next, but the thrill of it—of stepping into the unknown with Ghost—sent a shiver down your spine. And as his gaze darkened, a part of you knew that after tonight, things between them would never be the same.

Chapter 7: No Turning Back, But I'm Turning Back (Final)

Ghost had barely taken a few steps when your voice cut through the cool night air.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

The words were soft but sure, carrying with them a weight that halted him in his tracks. His broad back was turned to you, his shoulders rigid as if he were trying to hold himself together. For a moment, it felt like time stretched endlessly between you—his silence was loud, almost unbearable.

You didn’t know if he was going to keep walking or if your words had reached him, but you stood there, heart pounding, waiting for something—anything.

Ghost remained frozen, his large frame still as a statue, but you could sense the storm of thoughts racing through his mind. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned his head just enough to glance over his shoulder at you, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light.

"Do you know what you’re asking for?" His voice was low, almost a growl, as if he were struggling to maintain control. The tension between you was electric, the air thick with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid.

You swallowed hard, your chest tight with nerves and anticipation, but you didn’t hesitate. You nodded. You knew what you were asking for, even if the gravity of it made your skin prickle with uncertainty.

For a long, agonizing moment, Ghost said nothing. He just stood there, staring at you over his shoulder, his eyes dark and unreadable. It felt like a test—a final chance to walk away from the edge you were both teetering on.

But you didn’t move. You held his gaze, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from your chest. Whatever this was between you—this dangerous, fragile thing—it was too strong to deny. And you didn’t want to. Not anymore.

That was all Ghost needed.

With a sharp exhale, he turned fully, his eyes never leaving yours. The weight of his gaze was intense, almost suffocating, but you didn’t look away. His expression was hard to read—somewhere between desire and caution—but there was no mistaking the shift in him. The tension that had held him back all night seemed to dissolve as if your words had given him permission to let go.

Without a word, Ghost closed the distance between you in a few long strides. He stood in front of you, towering over you like a shadow, his body radiating heat and something darker—something you felt pulling you in.

"Come with me," he said, his voice rough and strained. It wasn’t a question; it was a command, but one that sent a shiver down your spine. There was no more hesitation, no more doubt.

You followed.

The walk to his room was silent, your footsteps barely audible as you trailed behind him through the dimly lit hallways. Your pulse thrummed in your ears, every step feeling heavier than the last, the tension between you growing with each passing second. The base was quiet at this hour, the distant hum of activity fading away the closer you got to Ghost’s quarters.

When you finally reached his door, Ghost paused for a moment, his hand resting on the handle. He looked down at the floor, his shoulders tense, as if he was wrestling with himself one last time. Then, with a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside.

His room was as you expected—sparse, utilitarian. No personal touches, no signs of the man who lived there beyond the few pieces of gear scattered on the floor. It was a place built for solitude, a reflection of the man who had spent years shutting out the world. And now, here you were, standing in the middle of it with him.

Ghost closed the door behind you, the soft click of the latch sealing you both inside. The silence was thick, almost suffocating, as he turned to face you, his dark eyes scanning your face, as if searching for any trace of hesitation. But there was none. Not anymore.

He took a step closer, and then another, until he was standing in front of you, his body so close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. The tension in the air was almost unbearable, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you.

Then, slowly, you reached up, your fingers trembling slightly as they hovered just beneath the bottom of his mask. Your heart raced, the reality of what you were doing sinking in.

Ghost didn’t move. He didn’t stop you.

For a man who always controlled every situation, who kept everyone at a distance, letting you do this felt monumental. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, and for the first time, you sensed that you were seeing him—not Ghost, the relentless operator, but Simon—the man beneath the mask.

Your fingers brushed the rough fabric of his balaclava, and then, with a gentleness you didn’t know you possessed, you began to pull it up. Inch by inch, the mask came away, revealing more of the man beneath it. His lips, scarred and rough, were the first to appear, and you hesitated, suddenly overwhelmed by how intimate the moment was.

But then you looked up at him—into those dark, intense eyes—and all your hesitation vanished.

Ghost let out a breath, and in that moment, you knew he was letting go of something more than just the mask. He was letting go of the walls he had built, the armor he wore so tightly around his soul.

The fabric slid further up, revealing more of him, and he didn’t stop you.

He let you see him.

It wasn't like that time in the medical wing—when Ghost had reluctantly let you see his face, almost as if under duress. This time, it was different. The room was quiet, the air thick with something far more intimate. When the fabric of his mask finally hit the ground, you weren’t looking at Ghost anymore.

You were looking at Simon.

And everything seemed to revolve around the way the man—Simon—was staring at you.

A slight grimace tugged at his lips, a hint of unease flickering across his expression. He was trying to endure your stare on his imperfect face without completely falling apart, and the vulnerability of that moment hit you harder than you expected. The scars that marred his features told stories of battles long past, of pain and survival. But none of them could take away from the fact that, standing before you now, Simon was more human than ever.

His eyes never left yours, not even for a second, as if gauging your reaction, bracing for the judgment he’d convinced himself was inevitable. But that wasn’t what you felt. Not even close.

Before you could say anything, he took a slow step toward you, and suddenly, the air felt hot. Heavy. The closeness made your heart pound in your chest, your breath catching as you realized just how raw this moment was.

There was something almost magnetic about the way he moved—like everything was happening at his pace, dictated by the quiet authority he always carried. His hands, large and rough from years of warfare, reached for your waist with a gentleness that surprised you. The contrast between his hardened exterior and the soft way he touched you sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to do. Everything seemed to move according to his silent commands, each touch, each breath, timed to a rhythm only he controlled.

Simon’s gaze remained unwavering, his eyes following every subtle shift in your expression. The way you could now see his lips—permanently pressed into a tight line—only added to the weight of the moment. His short blond hair, tousled and messy from the constant use of his mask, gave him a disheveled appearance. The shadow of facial hair only added to that ruggedness, making him seem all the more real—human.

Simon was always an imposing figure, but seeing him like this, completely unguarded, made the air between you feel electric. His thumb brushed lightly against your waist.

The sigh that caught in your chest was involuntary. You hadn’t expected him to be so tender, hadn’t expected this—but it felt like everything you didn’t know you wanted.

His voice, low and rough, broke the silence between you, and you could hear the weight of his years, the tiredness buried beneath the surface.

“I still wonder what it was you saw in this old man,” he murmured, the faintest trace of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. The words were a callback to that night in the mess hall, “But I want you to keep seeing it, Doc.”

The raw honesty in his voice sent a tremor through you. He was giving you permission, letting you in past the walls he’d built for years. And as his hand slowly traced its way from your waist to your jaw, cupping your face like it was something to be cherished, you realized that you didn’t need to speak to show him what you saw in him.

So you did the only thing that felt right.

You leaned in, closing the distance between you in one soft, deliberate motion, your lips brushing against his. The kiss was tentative at first—slow, careful, as if testing the waters of something neither of you could quite name. But the moment his lips pressed fully against yours, everything else fell away.

His other hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, the heat between you sparking into something more urgent. He tasted like the remnants of beer and something distinctly him, and it made your head swim.

Simon kissed you like he’d been waiting a lifetime for this moment, like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into the way his lips moved against yours. His grip tightened slightly, and you could feel the restraint in him—the battle between wanting more and holding himself back.

When you pulled away, just enough to look into his eyes, you could see the struggle in them. He was fighting with himself, with the part of him that always believed he didn’t deserve this. That he didn’t deserve you.

But you weren’t going to let him fall into that spiral tonight. Not here. Not now.

You rested your hand on his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath your palm. “I see you, Simon,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, but you knew he heard it.

His grip on you tightened just slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, but instead, he kissed you again—deeper this time, more certain. The hesitation from earlier melted away, replaced by something rawer, hungrier.

And in that moment, there were no more masks. No more walls. Just Simon and you, alone in the quiet of his room, the world outside forgotten.

There was something softer in the way he looked at you, a gentleness you hadn’t seen before—an unspoken promise hanging between you both.

His hand still lingered on your face, rough fingers brushing against your skin as if memorizing every line, every contour. His eyes were darker now, heavy with something unspoken, and his breath came out in measured, almost controlled exhales.

“You can leave yet,” Simon’s voice was low, thick with restraint, and his British accent more pronounced. His thumb gently traced your lower lip, his touch delicate despite the tension coiled in his body. He was holding back—waiting for you to give him the go-ahead.

You could feel the heat between you rising, your body already leaning into him, craving more of that touch, more of him. Your heart racing as the words finally left your lips. “Can I?”

Simon’s hand slipped from your face to your waist, pulling you firmly against him. The sudden closeness made your breath hitch, and you felt the hardness of his chest press against yours as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear.

“No,” he murmured, his voice rough and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine. The tension that had been building between you all this time was palpable, a heady mix of anticipation and need.

His lips finally found yours, but this kiss was different. It wasn’t soft or tentative like before. It was urgent, demanding, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer. His hands roamed your body with a sense of purpose, his touch both possessive and gentle, leaving a trail of heat wherever he went.

You gasped as his mouth left your lips and traveled down your neck, his stubble grazing your skin in a way that made you shiver. “I can’t be gentle forever,” he whispered against your collarbone, his teeth nipping lightly before his tongue soothed the sting.

Your fingers tangled in his short blond hair as you tilted your head back, giving him more access, wanting more. “I don’t want you to be,” you whispered back, your voice barely steady.

A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest at your words, and you felt his grip tighten on your hips, grounding you as his other hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his fingertips brushing against your bare skin.

He make you walk backwards to the bed, and as you sat there, he talked,"Lay down."

It was an order.

You laid back onto the mattress, your heart pounding in your ears as you watched Simon move towards you with an intense grace.

His gaze never left yours as he climbed onto the bed next to you, propping himself up on his elbow. A small smirk played at the corners of his lips as he reached out and gently tugged at your shirt. He wanted nothing more than to rip it off of you, to take you right then and there, but he held back. You were worth the patience.

Instead, he slowly slid his hand underneath the fabric, tracing patterns along your skin as his lips descended upon yours once again. This time, he kissed you deeply, hungrily, fueled by the fire that had been ignited inside of him since he first saw you standing there, completely and utterly captivated.

He dragged his lips down your jawline, across your throat, and down your chest as he lifted your shirt higher and higher until eventually, it was pooled around your waist. He paused, taking in the sight of you laying there before him, bared and vulnerable.

He leaned down and placed a single, chaste kiss on the swell of your breast, hidden beneath the thin layer of bra fabric before moving lower to rest beside you, bringing one leg over yours as he settled in

You arched your back slightly, pressing your breasts forward in a silent invitation. Your breathing quickened as you gazed up at Simon through half-lidded eyes, desire etching lines of pleasure on your flushed face.

You wanted him, all of him.

Simon could practically hear your heart pounding in your chest, matching the rhythm of his own. When you arched closer to him like that, he almost lost control, his restraint teetering on the edge.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet yours, his dark eyes clouded with lust and hunger. There was no denying what he wanted now.

"That's it,"Simon growled, his voice deeper and huskier than usual as he leaned in, closing the distance between you both.

His free hand moved to trace the outline of your bra strap, following it down until his fingers brushed against the exposed skin on your side. "Keep looking at me like that, love." He said, his voice barely above a whisper against your skin. But his intentions were loud and clear.

Simon could hardly believe that this was happening - that you wanted this too. Yet here you were, pressed up against him, responding to his every touch. He couldn't remember ever feeling such a rush of adrenaline. With a slow exhale, Simon let go of the last vestiges of his doubts and surrendered fully to the moment.

His hands reached the waistband of your jeans, and time stopped running right there for you.

"Simon," you whispered softly, your hand in his hair.

"Hm, save that for later. You'll need it," he replied against your ear.

Hearing his confidence right there, when moments before he seemed to be fighting himself for just kissing you, was certainly an attractive form of duality.

He unbuttoned your jeans, and before you could react to it, he pulled himslef off you just so he could remove them along with your shoes. His attentive touch, as if he was in no hurry at all, and yet you stood there, breathing heavily, cursing under your breath at how unaffected he looked.

And when he lowered his face to your still covered heat, you knew he was about to lick every single though off of you.

Simon's breath ghosted over your heated skin as his tongue traced a path over the cotton covering your sex. His finger going up and down, tracing the line formed on your panties.

All you could do was grip his hair and close your eyes at the feeling.

He looked up at you through thick lashes, satisfaction glowing in his expression as he felt your body tremble beneath him. "No, look at me," he said then, his hand snaked downwards, pushing aside the remaining fabric to expose you fully to his hungry gaze. He wasted no time in delving into your slick folds, eager to taste the sweetness that was uniquely you.

Suckling lightly at your clit while flicking it with his thumb, making sure you were looking at him at all times, he wanted your eyes on his mouth buried in your wet pussy, he drove two fingers inside of you, filling you completely. "So wet already," he purred huskily against you, reveling in the guttural sounds spilling from your mouth. His cock throbbed painfully in his jeans, desperate to join the intimate dance.

But not yet. For now, he enjoyed watching you lose control, relished hearing his name slipping from your lips in pure ecstasy. And he knew, deep down inside, that this was just the beginning - their primal connection was far from satiated. But that was okay because right now, in this moment, they belonged entirely to each other.

Your legs quivered and your toes curled as waves of pleasure crashed over you. That familiar feeling in your belly getting bigger every time his tongue played with your clit, and his finger curled in your cunt, you gripped Simon's hair tightly, nails digging into his scalp as you tried to ground yourself amidst the storm of sensations threatening to sweep you away.

The orgasm hit you mercilessly, and although you cried at him to go slower, his fingers and tongue kept up the torturous rhythm.

Feeling you pulse around his fingers, knowing he brought you to the brink of oblivion was intoxicating. Simon slowly removed his digits from within you, drawing slow circles around your sensitive bud before trailing his tantalizing touch back down again.

He glanced up, catching your hazed expression. Seeing the want reflected in your eyes fueled his desire, stirred the beast within him even further. "Is that all, baby?" he taunted, his breath hot against your heated flesh.

You shook your head, unable to utter a word, or at least not one that made any sense.

With another grin, he sank back between your spread thighs, this time replacing his fingers with his tongue— exploring, worshipping every inch he found there. His big and rough hands keeping you in place as he felt your climax hit you once more, he chuckled soflty against you at the way you cursed under your breath.

"Talkative little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, looking at his artwork, running his tongue across his lips in an attempt to taste whatever was left of you on them.

He finished sliding your panties off, completely removing them from the way. His hands reached your shirt, helping you soflty to take it off, the same with your bra, leaving little kisses in your skin.

"Are you ready for me, baby?" Simon asked, his voice full of desire and heat. His gaze bore into yours, searching for any sign of hesitation, but finding none. Instead, he saw eagerness, want, and need. And he knew then that you were as invested in this as he was.

Slowly, he climbed back up your body, discarding the remnants of his own clothing on the way, until finally, he was hovering above you, their naked bodies mere inches apart. The weight of his erection pressed against your stomach, promising pleasures untold. Without waiting for an answer, he claims your lips again in a hungry kiss, taking in your taste, your warmth, your light.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled away, panting heavily. "I need you," he admitted hoarsely, his voice laden with a desperation that made butterflies explode in your belly. "I've needed you for so long."

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, his tongue slipping past your lips in a slow and sensual dance filled with promise.

"Will you keep those pretty eyes on me?" he asked. And you nodded with a shaking breath.

"I'll try."

His hand moves to cup the back of your knee, lifting your leg up and around his hip, deepening the contact between them.

Despite the overwhelming urge to ravage you right there and then, he maintains control, showing you with every touch and caress that this is more than just a sexual encounter for him. It's a chance to connect on some deeper level he had long forgotten existed, a level where communication doesn't require words but actions instead.

"Please..." you whispered.

"You don't have to ask twice." Simon growls possessively against your skin as he continues to leave a trail of hot kisses and nips on your collarbone, before moving lower to wrap his lips around one peaked nipple. His tongue swirls expertly around the hardened tip, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips. At the same time, he uses his free hand to continue fondling and pinching at the other neglected nub. He can feel the way his ministrations cause a chain reaction through your body, your hips arching involuntarily into his own hardness still trapped by his jeans.

Feeling impatient, Simon finally lines himself up, the smooth head of his shaft pressing against your entrance as he slowly pushes inside you. The fit is tight, causing a wave of satisfaction washing over him at claiming this woman that got him wrapped so tightly around her finger.

But despite the surge of raw dominant power thrumming through his veins, Simon is surprisingly gentle as he starts thrusting into you, letting you adjust and accommodate him before picking up speed.

"So tight for me, love. Such a good girl," he murmured in your ear as little moans scape from your mouth, yourr nails digging into his shoulders as you wraps your legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

Without breaking eye contact, Simon slammed deeper inside you, bottoming out with a grunt. He pulled back and pounded into you, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Each thrust shook your body on the bed underneath him. Every hard, fast motion of his hips meeting yours drew them deeper and deeper into an intimate dance that neither wanted to pull away from. His fingers dug into your wrists above your head, pinning them in place, a display of dominance to make you squirm in delight under him.

"Simon! I can't..." you cried, but only making the satisfaction roaring in his ears as he claimed you, a low growl vibrating from him with every deep thrust. Hearing you whimper, struggling against him only served to urge him on.

"C'mon you can take it, you can take my cock," he murmured, his hands leaving your wrist to pull your legs on his shoudlers, and you just saw stars.

But he did it, gentle as ever before, he began rhythmically driving himself in a slow steady pace, letting the building desire between you escalate more organically this time.

"Eyes on me," he muttered when you closed your eyes for a moment.

He loved your eyes, the way you looked at him when his dick was fully inside you, it was driving him crazy.

Slowly, he pulled back only to slide back in, each thrust slow and calculated, fueling the growing pleasure between you. He kept his eyes trained on you as he maintained the steady pace you desired. His fingers moved up to gently trace your cheeks before plunging back into her mouth.

He loved the sounds you made, whimpers mixed with moans as he drove himself deeper into your core. The sight of your completely at his mercy, completely submitted to him was exhilarating. His hands explored further, tracing down from your cheeks, along your neck, before finally reaching your breasts where he squeezed gently and rolled your hardened nipples between his fingers.

"Gorgeous girl," he growled possessively as he pumped faster but not forcefully. The wet slick sound filled the room along with your heavy breaths. "Taking me so well."

For tonight, he thought, knowing he wouldn't be able to offer you more. Tonight, she belonged to me. He planned on making it unforgettable for you.

Your inner walls clenched around him, squeezing tighter as another orgasm built. "Oh god, oh god, yes!"

Simon didn't miss the tremor in your voice, the hitch in your breath, and he could see the climax approaching, edging closer with each thrust he made. It pushed him further, the anticipation building, the desperate need to ensure you reached your peak before he did.

His fingers dug deeper into your thighs as he continued to piston in and out of you, a hand going down to your swollen clit, driving you to the brink, watching you fall. Your moans grew louder, more urgent, your nails scratching down his arms.

And then you came undone, your muscles clamping down hard around him as your juices coated his cock. He gritted his teeth against the overwhelming pleasure threatening to steal his control, forcing himself to slow down, giving you a chance to come down from your high.

Your body quivered and shuddered beneath him as waves of ecstasy washed over you. "Please I can't take it anymore, Simon..."

"M'gonna fill your womb so good, can I, love?," Simon murmured huskily, his fingers lightly teasing the damp strands of hair sticking to your forehead. And when you nodded, he let himself go, spilling himself deep inside you. The intensity of his release, coupled with hearing you beg, only amplified his satisfaction and possession of you.

"That's it, good girl... Good fucking girl..."

As your breaths slowed down and your orgasms subsided, he lowered himself onto his elbows beside you, your chests rising and falling in sync. He buried his nose against your neck, inhaling your sweet scent mixed with your combined heat. "You did it so good," he whispered softly, placing soft kisses along her jawline.

His hand traveled down your body, tracing the curve of your waist and resting possessively on your hip. Every part of you was now etched into his memory - a living, tangible reminder of this night.

Part of him wanted to believe that perhaps someday, when everything settled down again, there could be more moments like these. But the other part of him knew better than anyone the cruelty of reality. And the fact that this was probably the closest he would ever get to having someone truly belonging to him.

The room was quiet except for the soft sound of your breathing beside him. Simon lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, the warmth of your body pressed against his side. The weight of the moment—the intimacy you’d shared—lingered in the air, but it did nothing to quiet the storm in his mind.

You slept soundly, curled up against him, your face peaceful in the dim light. It should have been enough. But for Simon, the silence was filled with something darker, something heavy that gnawed at him in the darkness.

What now?

That thought repeated itself over and over. He had let his guard down, let you in. He’d crossed a line he never should’ve—because he knew how it would end. No matter what, this would break you both, eventually.

He closed his eyes, frustration welling up inside him. He could feel the tightness in his chest, the creeping realization of what came next. It was inevitable. No matter how much you had seen of him tonight, there was more—so much more—that he could never show you. The ghosts, the demons, the weight of his past—they were too heavy, too dangerous for someone like you to carry.

He was no good for you. Never had been. You deserved more than the broken man lying next to you now.

The moment had been perfect—too perfect. And now all he could think about was how it was going to fall apart. You would wake up, ask him for more. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually, you would. You’d want more of him, more than he could give, more than he was capable of offering anyone. And when that happened, he would have to break your heart. Because that’s what he did—he pushed people away, kept them at arm’s length to protect them from the wreckage he was.

He wasn’t a man built for love, for softness, for whatever it was you saw in him. He was a soldier, a weapon. And no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise, this—you—wasn’t something he was meant to have.

Simon’s hand slid from where it rested against your back, gently pulling away from you as he rolled out of bed, careful not to wake you. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his head in his hands, the reality of what he had to do sinking in.

In the quiet, he whispered it to himself—something he had told you once, something that had always been true.

“I’m not a gentleman.”

His voice was barely audible, a broken confession to the empty room. You couldn’t hear him, not in your deep sleep, but the weight of those words hung heavy in the air. He wasn’t a man built to stay. He never had been.

With a heavy sigh, Simon stood and began to get dressed. Each movement was slow, deliberate, as if dragging out the moment before he’d have to leave. He glanced back at you, still sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the storm of emotions he was fighting.

You stirred slightly, just enough to hear the faint rustle of his clothes as he dressed. In your half-asleep state, you felt the emptiness where he had been and heard the soft sound of his footsteps moving away from you. Your eyes fluttered open for just a moment, a feeling of loss creeping in, but you didn’t stop him. Not yet.

By the time you registered what was happening, Simon was already gone. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet room, with only the fading warmth of where he’d been next to you.

And just like that, he was gone, pushing you away in the only way he knew how.

[strangewonderful]

FEAST FASHION : the wardrobe of feast members across the galaxy ♡˚₊

the way that characters dress in star wars says a lot about who they are, who they're aligned with, and where they're from. feast is no different. as an impartial aid organization there were a few elements that were most important to me in creating their look: 1) practicality, comfort, & protection. feast workers need to be able to move—many of them are on their feet all day long and then all night as well, they're in the middle of or right next to active battlefields, and are wadding through disaster torn areas. they need clothing that will last. 2) feast is impartial; many of its workers are not. their clothing should establish them as part of the good guys. 3) uniqueness. this is not the rebel alliance, the empire, or ordinary citizens, all of whom have distinct looks in star wars. so feast must have a distinct look as well.

1. PRACTICALITY, COMFORT, & PROTECTION

sturdy, moveable, and protective fabrics are necessary for the work that people do at feast. their clothing needs to be adaptable to most weather, which means layers, people need to be able to move—walk, run, climb, bend, stand for long hours—freely, which means loose, while also not get snagged on anything or get in the way, which means not baggy. they should also be protected, not just from the environment, but also from the dangers of something minor like scraped knees from falls, brushing up against any number of surfaces, but also potentially from being in active danger zones. this means sturdy/thick fabrics and, occasionally, light armor.

for this, feast stays away from the thin, flowy fabrics worn by princess leia or padme, the structured suits of imperial officers, and even the flight suits of resistance pilots. (this is also important for section 3. uniqueness which will come up later.)

here's the part where i argue for jean in star wars... because feast is often dressed in the star wars equivalent denim or cotton or cotton/polyester blends which are going to last through long wear while still being comfortable. unlike most other pants throughout the galaxy, these pants can be a bit looser around the legs. (this is with in-universe modifications to jeans in that there are no back pockets, the colors can be different, closures are different & there's no zippers, etc)

i'm gonna start adding some images now, but disregard color for now -- i have a section on that at the end. think about the silhouette, cut, and details.

the fit depends on the personal preference of the wearer, but will typically fall somewhere around the first or last cut -- though plenty can also be adjusted like in the second image. note also the reinforced patches on the knees in the first image, which tends to be favored especially by medics and anyone who might be doing more heavy lifting. jean pockets, according at least to luke's pants, are not a thing, but small utility pockets can be found attached to the sides of pants, as with smaller loops that things can be hooked or tied to. this is additional on top the belts that we see worn throughout the galaxy.

shirts tend to be simple cuts. basic long sleeves or tank tops and button up shirts. these are meant for layering under vests & jackets that can be removed or added depending on weather. the image at the end is a type of cover or overall that is also pretty typically associated with feast and serves as a protective outer layer.

vests and jackets tend to be worn over shirts as extra warmth and utility since often vests will have more places to store tools, papers, first aid, and any other small items that are needed for easy access. a lot of outwear items, be it vests or jackets, will also very visibly have the feast logo on it, or members will be wearing slightly heaver armor/vests over whatever else they're wearing on it, similar to how press will wear ones or how the red cross will wear traffic safety vests. coats and outermost layers can also sometimes more closely resemble windbreaker style jackets over the military-style jackets that han solo/rebel aligned people will wear, which give a very different shape to feast's silhouette.

2. THE GOOD GUYS

the rebel alliance, and other good guys, are often dressed to mimic the aesthetic of the old west & western movies -- look at han solo with his open shirt, vest, and gun-slinger belt -- and uniformed military with field jackets, utility vests, and tall boots. the empire has a very different look drawing on other military inspirations and an overall very starched, sharp edged look. it's quite easy to tell just by looking at how a character is dressed which side they're on. although feast is an impartial organization, it's important to make it clear that many of their members are allied with the rebel alliance and that these are part of the good guys.

the old western aesthetic is incorporated into feast's general style as a way to convey this just by seeing them. vests are a large part of their wardrobe, as is the jean pant, even if modified. some feast members will also have handkerchiefs tied around their neck which is an element unique to other groups in star wars, but evokes that cowboy look as well. in addition is collared shirts. folded collar shirts don't appear many places throughout the galaxy in star wars, and feast has an usually high amount incorporated into their style.

a majority of the time when we see collared shirts, they are members of the rebel alliance, and by including collared shirts into feast's wardrobe, it helps to give a not that these are good characters aligned with the rebellion.

3. UNIQUENESS

different factions in star wars dress different, and feast is no different. i've already talked about certain elements, such as collared shirts, cut of pants, and outerwear types, that help to set them apart from other groups in the galaxy, but there are other elements to consider as well. one is color. the rebellion tends to wear earthy tones like greens & browns & blues or orange flight suits, the empire/tfo is often in charcoal grays, blacks, and reds. jedi wear tan, sand, and brown colors. citizens are in a range of colors from yellows and browns to purples, greens, pinks. feasts main colors are sky blue, cobalt, and white. bright colors that stand out and (often) stand apart from the colors around worn around them and in the landscapes/cities around them. which is on purpose! just like with outerwear and vests clearly announcing who feast members are, color also helps to do this, making them widely visible both to people who need their help, and to help make their aid & impartiality clear, in the hopes that it helps keep their members safe in highly dangerous areas.

the elements that do add a stand-out style to feast are only more important given the fact that many of the people that make up feast are otherwise citizens of the galaxy who are wearing what they have to work — there will be elements that look like the fashion of various planets, or of the rebellion, or of the jedi, or smugglers, because that is where the members of feast come from. for all of the elements that do make them stand out, there are just as many that show the roots of this community and how wide-spread the desire to help is from across the galaxy.

✱much of the costume research i did came from the galactic style guide which was an incredible read and i can't thank or recommend this site enough!

[enigmatist17]

Whumptober 1 - Race Against The Clock

Search Party

---

It had been nearly a solar-cycle since the most recent Decepticon and Autobot skirmish, and Thundercracker was still missing. Of course Megatron didn't care, the damned mech never did, too busy already immersing himself in the following sure-to-fail scheme.

Predictable as always.

::// SkyUwU -Starscream, where are you going? //::

::// StarSupreme - Where does it look like you idiot? I refuse to let Thundercracker waste away on this accursed planet. //::

::// SkyUwU - Meet you at the usual spot in 20 klicks? I've got a kit left over from last time. //::

::// StarSupreme - ....very well. //::

There were a few ways out of the Nemesis that didn't alert the entire Decepticon force. While Starscream absolutely loathed using the narrow tunnel system that had been built as a potential evacuation route, he met up with Skywarp with no resistance. His trine mate was brimming with anxiousness, zapping back and forth around their meeting point while occasionally checking their comm, perking up when Starscream landed beside him without a sound.

"You'll do better using your energy for the search ahead." To most, it would have sounded cruel, but Skywarp knew his leader well enough, transforming into his alt with a chirping noise. The battlefield was a few hour's flight from the base, the seekers primarily silent along the route save for the occasional chirp or click as they flew in a pattern older than the planet they'd been stuck on, a dance non-aerial bots could never hope to understand. They peeled away from each other once the former battlefield came into view, the area littered with blaster craters and impressions from bots getting thrown around. They had fought in a valley littered with dense foliage and several rivers crisscrossing throughout the area, neither Con surprised that Thundercracker was not in view.

"Start from the South, I shall come from the North." With a nod Skywarp adjusted his heading, Starscream choosing to search from the ground. Patches of energon that had leaked from wounds served as a rough guide for the seekers, Skywarp eventually noting a rather large trail leading away toward a section of the valley that led to a sheer drop toward the nearby ocean.

Thundercracker was lying on the rocky shore, the last of their trine looking the worse for wear.

"Found him!" Skywarp zapped down to his brother's side, glad to see there were no visible signs of energon loss. "TC?"

"Ugh...S...Sky?" His words were slightly slurred, optics flickering on and off as his brother dug out a med kit from subspace. "Did..did we win?"

"Sort of, but that doesn't matter right now." Skywarp began welding the worst of the wounds as Starscream joined them, the trine leader frowning as he knelt beside Thundercracker. "We're gonna get you all fixed up, and then back to base where you can recharge in the good berth."

"Skywarp is right, I suppose I'll have to allow it." Starscream scoffed, servos checking the backside of the injured seeker's helm to ensure they weren't missing a vital injury, pleased to only find it was dented from his fall. "Report solider."

"Stupid...auto-slagger Ironhide..shot my wing." Thundercracker sighed when Starscream snatched a painkiller from the med kit, pressing the small glowing patch onto one of his wings. "Trie..d to comm..."

"We're here now, it'll be alright." Skywarp hummed, welding another large wound closed for the journey home, smiling when Starscream started clicking at his injured trine member in a tone he reserved only for them. Thundercracker ended up dozing off to the comforting sounds, eventually bundled up to be carried back to Nemesis by the duo once Skywarp was satisfied.

Not the worst end to a battle, but as long as they all made their way home eventually, it would do.

[the-whispers-of-death]

Save Me From Myself (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male COD OC "Stone" Summary: It was Christmas Eve, almost Christmas, and everyone in the Task Force 141 is home for the holidays. Everyone except two. One man who's rather guarded at first, and the other who's so guarded that he's hasn't been vulnerable in a... long time. They're now the only two on base during a month-long holiday break. Can Ghost change Stone's ways and make him see that he's worthy of care and love? Word Count: 1,453 words Content: Angst, so much angst, cursing, eventual mention of rape, mentions of child abuse and neglect, eventual mention of self-harm, ftm!OC, American!OC, Desi!OC, eventual mention of transphobia and homophobia, inaccurate military and medical speak/procedure. Author's Note: This is my first writing on here and it's not beta read so hopefully there's not too many mistakes or errors. This was originally going to an angsty-turned-fluffy one-shot, but then I really got into the groove and couldn't not make this into an entire fic. This features my COD OC Stone, who is a second-generation American with Indian heritage. Note that while I am a first-generation American with Indian heritage, my knowledge of the Indian culture is... lacking, to say the least, but Stone has more of the Indian culture embedded into his personality, so I'll be trying my best to represent it as best as possible. If I get anything wrong with the Desi culture, please (respectfully) tell me. Any (respectful) criticism of my work is deeply appreciated!

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

The halls of the SAS base where the Task Force 141 were currently holed up due to them heading to the UK, so their soldiers could go home for the holidays, were empty. Silent.

Everyone in the base and the Task Force were gone, back home to their families. Except two.

Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley and a U.S. Fleet Marine Corpsman who was simply known as “Stone”.

Stone was on loan to the Task Force because a), the Task Force needed a medic, and b), the U.S. Navy wanted to demonstrate that their country was still good friends with the UK, so they lent one of their best Navy Corpsmen to the Task Force as a gesture of goodwill. He was an intimidating man to say the least; six feet and eight inches tall, more burly than muscular, his brown skin was marred head to toe in old battle scars, and he was cold and stoic. He roamed the halls silently, almost always only speaking when he was patching up a soldier and always he wore a muzzle-like mask due to his past of biting fellow soldiers.

To say he wasn’t making any friends in the Task Force was an understatement, but Captain John Price thought his skills in the battlefield and in the infirmary outweighed his lack of camaraderie.

Stone was currently sitting in his office in the infirmary, doing paperwork despite it being the 24th of December, Christmas Eve. Due to being in the U.S. Navy for fifteen years, he was at the rank of E-7, or Chief Hospital Corpsman, and despite the fact that he was an American in a British SAS base, he was the highest-ranking medic in the infirmary. So, there was a lot of paperwork for him to do and not even it being Christmas Eve would stop him from doing it.

“You don’t have any family to go home to, Doc?” Ghost asked, silently appearing in the doorway, his footsteps being so quiet. He peered into the office, his black balaclava and white skull mask covering his entire face and facial features save for his dark, molten brown eyes. He leaned against the frame of the doorway, his demeanor cool as always.

Stone looked up from his paperwork, not even visibly startled as his face underneath his muzzle-like mask remained impassive as always. “Was told by the SAS higher-ups I could fly home for the holidays, but I figured it was a waste of plane fuel,” he replied coldly, his voice devoid of so much emotion. His cold gaze pierced Ghost’s, his emotionless brown eyes having a staring contest with Ghost’s own brown eyes. “Not that I have family, anyways. Why aren’t you home for the holidays?”

He was curious, of course. Ghost was just like him: a mystery. And while the cold part of him that was so detached from others that he couldn’t motivate himself to make friends told him not to ask, not to get close, he just couldn’t help himself. He saw a kindred spirit in the SAS lieutenant, and the part of him that was lonely, so lonely, hoped this deployment would be the chance for him to finally have a family. After all, the Task Force loved like a family, fought like a family, protected each other like a family.

And damn him and his weak heart for craving that.

Ghost was still leaning against the door frame and he crossed his arms as he registered the question, Stone’s cold gaze hungrily taking in the way the Lieutenant’s muscles flexed with the movement. “I don’t have family either. Not anymore, anyways,” he answered gruffly after a few minutes of thinking exactly what to say. “141's the only family I got now, but I wasn’t going to intrude on their time with their families. I get them for most of the year, time for their families to have them.”

Stone wanted to ask why Ghost no longer had any biological family, what happened to them, but he held back. Not only was it rather rude for him to keep pressing for answers when clearly Ghost didn’t want to talk about it, it was…too personal. He had to remember that he shouldn’t make friends, shouldn’t make connections.

You can’t trust anyone, Beta. Not fellow soldiers, not friends. Not even family. Not even me. Close your heart, Beta. Seal your emotions, lest you be weak.

He almost had a visible reaction to his father’s cold and harsh words slicing through his thoughts, but he managed to reign in the flinch and wince. Managed to hide the searing throb that came with the words.

Seal your emotions, seal your emotions, he repeated that mantra several times in his head, forcing himself to remain cold and stoic.

“Why did you come here?” His words sounded even harsher than usual, internally agitated. It was hard maintaining the demeanor his father beat into him when he was alone, but it was even harder with someone else in the room. With Ghost in the room. “Get out. Can’t you see I’m working?”

Ghost’s brown eyes flashed with anger, his jaw clenching tight as his hands furled into fists. He walked into the office, no longer lingering in the doorway, like he was about to give Stone a piece of his mind. But then he took a deep breath and returned to being just as impassive—if not more now that Stone was agitated on the inside—as Stone. 

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to hang out in the recreational room with me, since we’re both the only soldiers on base. The only ones without families to go home to. But I can see that line of thinking was a mistake, coming here was a mistake.” He paused, his eyebrows furrowing as his eyes narrowed at Stone. “I pity you, you know? You’re alone. At least I have friends.”

Stone stood up at that, so quickly that a normal person would’ve gotten whiplash. He got out from behind his desk, stalking towards Ghost and towering over him like he did with everybody. He leaned down, his masked face inches away from Ghost’s as his cold brown eyes glared into Ghost’s warmer brown eyes.

“I don’t need friends. I don’t need anyone. I’m not weak like you,” he spat out, internally willing himself to remain cold.

This was a mistake, he thought to himself bitterly. It was a mistake to even entertain the notion of making friends.

Ghost scoffed, looking up at Stone and not even flinching at how tall the Fleet Marine Corpsman was. “If that’s how you feel, fine. Far be it from me to try and change your mind. Merry Christmas, Stone,” he said, glancing at the digital clock behind Stone that now shined a bright twelve o’clock at night.

He then turned on his heel, not even sparing Stone a second glass as he left the office.

Stone was internally seething, trying everything he can to remain cold and stoic. He wasn’t sure if he was mad at himself or at Ghost, or both. He was just mad, so he made quick strides to the door of the office and slammed it shut to deter anyone else from disturbing him, although only him and Ghost were on base.

The silence was deafening, only sounds being his breathing and his pounding heartbeat in his chest. The anger was a bitter reminder that he was no longer the perfect soldier his father trained him to be. That he was getting weak, the years of being away from his father’s influence clearly having deteriorated all the hard work that had been done.

“Stop it, stop being so weak,” he murmured to himself, his large hands reaching up to grab at his black short hair. He stumbled back towards his desk, to try and work on his paperwork again. “Seal your emotions, close your heart. Can’t trust anyone, have to be the perfect soldier. The perfect weapon Baba made you to be.”

He sank his broken and scarred form into the chair at his desk, it creaking a lot as always because he was heavier than most soldiers. He took several deep breaths before finally releasing the hair in his hands.

Stone didn’t go back to work for a while, no, he sat in his desk chair and remembered all of the memories of his childhood. Remembered the fear, the feeling of being unsafe, of being unloved by the only family he had at the time. And he remembered it all until he got a grip on himself, until he went back to being devoid from emotions. 

Just like how Baba taught him.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated!

[maximuswolf]

I unironically enjoyed MindsEye

I unironically enjoyed MindsEye I had a few things in my favour: I wasn't expecting the next GTA, I like linear singleplayer 3rd person shooters and wish they would come back in vogue, I don't mind jank, and I only encountered one CTD in my playthrough and no bugs.In short, MindsEye is like a cyberpunk version of the Mafia 1 Remake - note I specified the flashier but shallower remake rather than the original. The city it just a backdrop. There's no more interactivity than a Battlefield singleplayer map. It just forgets to end and keeps going. At some points it's to its detriment as you frequently visit places like assembly factories, prisons, mines, bunkers, space launch facilities, etc that are all realistically placed a distance from inhabited areas.It is a performance hog. Everything's that little bit sluggish and the cutscenes all need that extra second to load in assets but start whether they're ready or not, which I suspect is leading to all the funny visual bugs. It should also be noted that the footage going round of cars appearing randomly in the desert and throwing themselves off a cliff is from a mission where self-driving cars, trucks, and robots are malfunctioning and converging on a location in a crater.But it's a great B-game and at times looks genuinely impressive, especially faces and particle effects. The story goes places and has a lengthy campaign. It opens with ancient aliens, moves onto big data in private policing and ends up with you fighting through a city under martial law as fighter jets carpet bomb neighbouring streets. It's derivative (at one point a skybeam opens a portal clearly modelled after the one in Avengers 1) but so are many game stories I've enjoyed. I like AI run amok, I like X-Files style shadowy military organisations, I like hearing Elias Toufexis (Adam Jensen) talk.Its weakest part is the long middle where you're a corporate gopher. Your car is a humdrum sedan, your weapons are unremarkable, and you're doing odd-job tasks like planting bugs. When it gets going, it improves. Once you get the full weapons roster, attack abilities, and more importantly enemies who respond differently to your weapons it opens up. You can use a laser to melt the gun bolted to the side of a robot before slagging its sensors, or use a heavy calibre machine gun to blow off the faceplates of the US army soldiers swarming you.For me it was a solid 7/10. Trying to think of games I'd compare it to in terms of quality and fun factor - Lost Planet 3? A fully patched Homefront: The Revolution?Having played it, what the publisher put out before the game's release is incomprehensible. My thinking is they promised their seed investors the next Roblox platform with infinite growth and it's harder to fake a video game than it is some nebulous f2p app service, so they hid everything until it was unavoidable. Submitted June 17, 2025 at 02:39PM by Temp89 https://ift.tt/V270USH via /r/gaming

[linuxgamenews]

Warside has a new Update that Raises the Tactical Intensity

Warside Update 1.2 has landed, cranking up the fast-paced turn-based tactics game on Linux, Steam Deck, and Windows PC. All thanks to the creative minds at LAVABIRD, who keep pushing gameplay to the next level. Which you can find on Steam with 84% Very Positive reviews.

If you thought you had gameplay figured out, think again. Developer LAVABIRD and publisher First Break Labs just launched Warside Update 1.2, and it’s not pulling any punches. Whether you’re a hardcore tactician or a turn-based tactics fan on Linux or Steam Deck, get ready for smarter enemies, harder missions, and a whole new layer of tactical intensity.

The AI Just Got a Brain Transplant

The devs didn’t just tweak a few knobs—they tore the old AI down and rebuilt it from the ground up. Now, the enemy plays mean and smart. They’ll flank you, punish your slip-ups, and exploit terrain better than ever before. And don’t expect any mercy on higher settings.

Smarter Enemy Behavior: The AI adapts to your strategies, prioritizes your vulnerable units, and knows when to push.

Improved Decision-Making: They’ll trade better, anticipate your moves, and shut down sloppy tactics.

Better Allies Too: In 2v2 skirmishes, your friendly AI won’t just sit there and drool—they actually support you now.

But here’s the kicker: difficulty settings now matter more than ever. The higher you go, the sharper the AI gets. Brutal mode isn’t just a name—it’s a warning.

New Difficulty Levels to Break You (In a Good Way)

Warside Update 1.2 rebalances the whole campaign, adding three difficulty tiers:

Standard: For regular players who want a challenge without feeling like they're being hunted.

Hard: Only 1 in 4 players will survive this. Strategic resets? Oh, you’ll need them.

Brutal: Made for the top 10%. No joke. So expect a test of everything you’ve got—skill, planning, and raw endurance.

Oh, and missions now scale enemy starting units and income based on difficulty. So yeah, they’re coming at you harder, faster, and smarter.

Warside - PAX East Showcase for Update 1.2

Multiplayer Just Got Real

Warside was always meant to be fast-paced, but now you’ve got to think quickly too. Multiplayer matches now feature turn timers:

Standard: 3 minutes per turn—enough to breathe, but not enough to nap.

Blitz: 90 seconds—go fast or go home.

Matchmade games always use the Standard timer, so keep that clock in mind!

Still the Warside You Love—Just Tougher and Smarter in Update 1.2

Even with Update 1.2, at its core, Warside still delivers that classic turn-based tactical thrill. You command one of 14 unique Commanders, each with powerful passive skills and game-changing Battle Powers. Roll out over 30+ mission campaign maps, bring in infantry, tanks, planes, and even warships across land, sea, and air. From toxic wastelands to icy battlefields, since the war is yours to fight.

And for the creative minds? The map editor is still there, letting you build your own missions and outwit friends in PvP or co-op.

Why You Should Care

If you’re on Linux or playing on a Steam Deck, Warside Update 1.2 is your new favorite reason to boot up. Since it respects your time, challenges your brain, and doesn’t hold back. The visuals are charming, the gameplay is sharp, and now the AI plays like it means it.

Get out there, Commander. The battlefield’s changed. Adapt, survive, and dominate. Read the full patch notes here.

Warside is available now on Steam for Linux, Steam Deck, and Windows PC with Update 1.2. Strap in—it’s war time. Priced at $26.99 USD / £22.99 / 26,99€.

[omarqadriblog-sect662]

The IoT Explosion: A New Security Battlefield

The Internet of Things (IoT) has changed the way we live, work, and even think about technology. From connected cars to smart thermostats, IoT devices have becoming somewhat common. With this explosion, however, cybersecurity finds a new battlefield. IoT clearly has advantages, but its weaknesses are also becoming rather well-known. Drawing on the findings of The Internet of Things: New Threats Emerge by IEEE, Why IoT Security Is So Critical by McKinsey Digital, and Your Fridge Is a Hacker's Playground by Wired, I will argue that IoT presents both amazing opportunities and significant challenges for network security, thus cybersecurity professionals must keep ahead of the threats.

IoT has a major issue since many devices are designed with convenience in mind rather than security. The Internet of Things: New Threats Emerge claims that IoT devices often lack basic security features such strong passwords, encryption, and automated software upgrades (p. 3). We always stress in my networking classes that a network is only as powerful as its weakest point. From printers to coffee makers, each of your hundreds of linked gadgets becomes a possible point of attack. I once did a lab where we simulated an IoT attack by exploiting a vulnerable webcam, and it was shocking how quickly we could gain access to an entire network.

Strong security measures are difficult to add since IoT devices can have low computing capability. Many IoT devices are so tiny and cheap that manufacturers give speed to market top priority above security aspects, as Why IoT Security Is So Critical notes (p. 2). This results in what is known as "security debt," the theory that today's short cuts will lead to more major issues down road. Sometimes in the haste to introduce fresh devices, firms overlook important flaws. This reminds me of when I tried setting up a smart home hub for a project; it worked great but came with a default admin password of “1234” — a disaster waiting to happen if users don’t change it.

Because of their immense scope, IoT networks appeal also to hackers. Andy Greenberg's book Your Fridge Is a Hacker's Playground details how millions of IoT devices were stolen to create the infamous Mirai botnet, which brought forth significant internet disruptions in 2016 (p. 1). Using basic weaknesses like unchangeable default passwords, the hackers took over devices and started a large distributed denial-of- service (DDoS) attack. This example shows how small, overlooked devices can have huge consequences. It's not just about someone hacking your smart lightbulb — it’s about that lightbulb being used as a weapon in a much larger cyberattack.

Still, there are solutions being developed despite the difficulties. The Internet of Things: New Threats Emerge claims that methods include network segmentation, automatic patching, IoT-specific firewalls can greatly lower risks (p. 5). In my security management classes, we learned that isolating IoT devices from sensitive parts of a network is one of the best practices. This way, even if a smart device is compromised, it can’t easily be used to access more critical systems.

In my opinion, the future of IoT security will depend on both technology and awareness. Manufacturers have to be under pressure to create safer products from the beginning; users have to be educated to change passwords, apply updates, and treat every device as a possible weakness. From healthcare to transportation, as someone studying Network and Security Management, I think it's imperative to support security standards across all businesses utilizing IoT.

In essence, the Internet of Things has created a new and exciting digital landscape, but it has also opened the door to serious security risks. As described in The Internet of Things: New Threats Emerge, Why IoT Security Is So Critical, and Your Fridge Is a Hacker's Playground, the convenience of smart devices must be balanced with smart security practices. Protecting our constantly linked world calls for awareness, creativity, and a will to close the gaps that IoT has brought about. After all, in cybersecurity, ignoring the “small stuff” can sometimes cause the biggest problems.

Works Cited

Greenberg, Andy. "Your Fridge Is a Hacker’s Playground." Wired, 2017.

"The Internet of Things: New Threats Emerge." IEEE Innovation at Work, 2020.

"Why IoT Security Is So Critical." McKinsey Digital, 2021.

[tulipfantasies]

wounds don't heal overnight ✩ b.barnes

pairing; dad!bucky barnes x daughter!reader

summary; after returning home from a particularly hard mission, your father takes it upon to patch you up.

characters; uncle!steve rogers and alpine

warnings; blood, injuries and swearing.

my notes; original on @1-800-romanoff. i don't see enough of parent!bucky (at least as far as i am aware)

word count; 2.0k ao3

Wounds. Every Avenger who has set foot on the battlefield returns home riddled with them.

Some end up with severe and (on occasion) life-threatening injuries, while others return home with scratches and bruises.

Seeing injuries and seeing someone bleed out no longer holds the same fear and anxiety for the Avengers as it would for a normal person.

Travelling back to the compound took longer than originally anticipated, much to everyone's dismay.

You took the worst hit; your bleeding abdomen and bloody nose were visual proof that easily backed up the statement.

Applying as much pressure as you can, you wince at the amount of blood that has begun seeping through your suit.

"Hang on, Y/n/n. We are almost there." The voice came across as a reassuring muffle as you zoned in and out of your thoughts, each time wincing at the pain you felt.

But even as a muffle, you knew exactly who it belonged to. Your 'uncle'.

The second the Quinjet touched down in the hangar bay, you felt his arm wrap around your shoulder.

Normally, you'd protest against the idea of being held up by someone else (you'd like to think you were capable of walking on your own), but your injuries left you in such a bad state that the only thing you could do was lean into his touch and screw your eyes shut as the pain continued to shoot through your body.

"Alpine? Dad?" You hoarsely called out the second you were dragged into the empty hangar bay.

You hoped that your voice came out loud enough for your cat and dad to hear you and walk right up to you and your uncle.

Almost immediately, your dad makes his way over to where you two stood, the little white cat prancing happily underneath every heavy footstep he takes.

"Holy shit!" Bucky's eyes widened in shock as he reached forward to gently pull you out of Steve's grasp (which loosened the second Bucky came into view) and into his own. "What the fuck did you do out there, Y/n/n?"

Ever since you were a young girl, your dad, the 'cold-hearted' Winter Soldier, despised seeing you in any form of pain.

Everyone knows that seeing you in such a bad state was like torture to him.

So being greeted by Steve holding you up as your left arm was wrapped protectively over your abdomen (which was oozing with blood) and a blood-soaked tissue pressed up against your broken nose to prevent blood loss was killing him on the inside.

"It's just a scratch." You tease, trying to make light of the situation. Instead of laughing, your father gave you a look that pulled a sheepish smile onto your lips.

Not a second later, Alpine curls around your leg and flicks her tail to sit down at your feet.

"Hi, Piney." You whisper down at the cat with a small, painful smile.

"A fucking big one." He grumbles as he slowly begins leading you in the direction of the hangar bay's exit.

"Come on, Alpine," Bucky calls over his shoulder as he begins dragging you over to the compound's infirmary, where you could get your injuries assessed.

The infirmary is one of the biggest facilities in the compound, and yet, apart from Bruce, who was busy cleaning someone else's minor wound, it was like a ghost town.

Rows and rows of hospital beds, the stench of disinfectant, and fluorescent lights greet you as your father drags you further and further into the infirmary.

The only other sound that could be heard over the footsteps belonging to you and your dad and the murmurs of Bruce was the sound of small paws running after you.

"Sit your ass down!" Your dad ordered harshly, but you knew he was concerned, making you nod and follow his order to sit down on the bed.

Bucky makes a beeline for some medical equipment; from your space on the bed, you could hear him dismiss Bruce's attempts to look at your seeping wounds (he claims that he's 'able to patch his own daughter's wounds up, thank you').

Lost in the pain that was searing through your abdomen and nose, you barely acknowledge a small head that nudges your free hand.

Absentmindedly, your fingertips reach behind her ears to give them a gentle scratch.

"Hiya, Alpine. Did you keep Dad sane while I was away?" You ask softly as if the cat would suddenly start speaking.

Seconds later, Bucky returns to the bed that you and the cat were sitting on with a first aid kit and extra gauze in his metal hand.

He places the equipment on the bed before reaching forward to gently pry your arm away from your abdomen, causing you to wince and hiss as the cold air hits it.

His eyes widened in shock at how large your wound was. "Holy shit, why the hell didn't you tell me? You could've passed out!"

"I was applying pressure to it, just like you and Uncle Stevie taught me to do," you reply, causing your father to shake his head in disappointment.

"And in that space of time, you could've passed out from too much blood loss," Bucky replies, continuing to shake his head and fumble with the first aid kit.

"Please tell me you know how to stitch up a wound," you beg softly.

"Doll, you know being in the war came with the ability to stitch up a wound," Bucky replies as he slowly begins to dab a wet cloth over your abdomen.

You hissed loudly at the coolness of the cloth and at the fact that he didn't have a full idea of what he was doing.

"Of course," you wince at the pain, "how could I forget that you and Uncle Steve were in the war?" You asked, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

"Watch that tone, young lady," Bucky warns with a small smile tugging on his lips as your fingertips continue to scratch behind Alpine's ears.

"This is going to hurt, doll."

You immediately bite down on your bottom lip before nodding as a way to prepare yourself for the pain.

"You're going to give me and your uncle a heart attack one day with the number of injuries you have on missions," Bucky adds into the settled silence, causing you to attempt to chuckle through the pain, which doesn't work as it sends more pain-searing through your body and near your wound.

"Sending you and Uncle Steve into cardiac arrest is serious considering you are both 100-odd years old." You joke with a light chuckle.

Your dad quickly reaches forward to gently pinch your forearm with his metal hand. "Ouch." You jut out your bottom lip, making your dad smile softly.

"Y/n..." Bucky's tone reaches a warning point. "What have I told you about bringing up our ages?"

You huff loudly before carefully folding your arms over your chest.

You've had the lecture of 'Now, as you are aware, your uncle and I are around 100 years old, but that does not give you the right to make jokes about it,' but as you can see, that lecture was pointless as you kept making small digs as it is.

"Just because you guys are old like fossils," Bucky glares daggers at you as you shrug, "it doesn't mean that I should make jokes about it because making jokes about people's age is rude. I know, Dad, you've given me this lecture many times, and yet I still do it."

Bucky shakes his head just as he finishes stitching you up.

He then begins looking around the area for the gauze that was just out of his reach; luckily for him, Alpine gently nudged the roll with her head, sending it rolling over to Bucky.

She meowed softly as her tail curled around her.

"Thanks, Alpine." He scratches her head before picking up the white stretchy fabric to begin wrapping it around your torso.

He ties a knot in the back before grabbing another clean cloth to tend to your bloody nose.

"Your grandma would've been furious seeing how easily and badly injured you get. I wish you could have seen her face when Steve got into trouble." Bucky chuckles, causing you to join to the best of your ability.

You always enjoyed hearing stories about your grandparents or your father and uncle when they were younger, and this was no exception.

"Don't act like you didn't get into trouble yourself too, Buck." Your uncle's voice echoes through the empty infirmary, making you both jump.

You glance over your dad's shoulder to see your uncle, who looked exhausted, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest.

"How're you doing, kiddo? You scared me back there."

"Apart from being in a shit ton of pain—"

"Y/n! Language!" Bucky barks, causing you to smile sheepishly.

 "-I'm doing much better. I feel just as exhausted as you look, though." You comment with a smile just as Steve pushes himself off of the wall to make his way over to your bed.

"You were always the one that got into trouble physically, Steve. I was the one pulling you out of them." Bucky says, referring back to Steve's first comment, which causes Steve to clap Bucky on the back before sitting down on the bed next to you.

The bed dips slightly under his pressure as he carefully wraps his arm around your shoulder.

At the sudden dip in the hard mattress, Alpine climbs onto your lap and begins to softly purr.

"What on earth are we going to do with you, Y/n/n?" Steve asks as he gently squeezes your shoulder.

"We better wrap her head to toe in that, uh, plastic thing with bubbles that makes the popping sound when you press down on them." You burst into laughter at your dad's attempt to identify something he was unfamiliar with.

Seeing as you were born during this time, you would often spend your free time educating your father and uncle on what things are called and what their purpose is.

The current topic is mobile phones.

"Bubble wrap, Dad." Bucky clicks his fingers as he hums in agreement.

You shake your head before turning to your uncle with a tired smile. "Have you figured out how to use the internet or how to call and text someone yet, Uncle Steve?"

"No, using a mobile phone is a lot harder than you'd expect," Steve replies nonchalantly. "At least it is for someone mine and your father's age."

"You're doing well, though; practice makes perfect." You stifle a loud yawn and blink back the urge to sleep as you run your fingertips up and down Alpine's back.

"Come on, doll. You need sleep; you can talk to your uncle tomorrow." Bucky orders quietly as he makes a swift move to pick the sleeping cat off of your lap, much to her dismay, to help you up.

You smile tiredly over at your uncle as your dad wraps his free arm around your shoulder to hold you up.

"Good night, Uncle Steve." You mumble quietly.

"Good night, Y/n/n," Steve replies, matching your tiredness.

At a slow and steady pace, you found yourself standing outside your bedroom door.

With little struggle, you push open the door to let Alpine strut into your bedroom so she can curl up on your bed (even though she has her own) before turning to hug your dad goodnight.

"No contact with water for a couple of days." He orders as he wiggles his finger in your face. "I love you, doll. Goodnight."

"I love you too, Dad. Night." You murmur before staggering into the dark and cold bedroom.

You gently push the door shut with the palm of your hand before stumbling through the dimly lit room and over to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

One thing is for sure: there are no more missions going to be planned for you, at least not on your father's watch.

[selamat-linting]

Session Analysis #1

Players :

Witch of Hope, Bard of Mind, Page of Space, Sylph of Time, Thief of Life, Heir of Rage.

(note : this is largely based off fanon and speculations so take it with a grain of salt)

The Session's Peculiarities :

The presence of the sylph indicates that "time/death/endings" has been broken in their session. This could mean many things, from something as simple as the lack of time before the reckoning started or even an error in the skaian systems that could potentially disturb the stable timeloops needed to set up the game properly. Another example of the aspect being broken could be that time moves differently in prospit or derse, or even the quest planets the players are on, causing chaos throughout the session. It is the sylph tasks to mend this.

Other than the potential time problems this session might have, they also has a bard of mind. They represent the instability of their aspect in a session. Judging by how we also have a Page of Space, Thief of Life, and Heir of Rage, this group could have a big problem of having their actually good and well-thought out plans fall apart or thrown into chaos by bad impulsive decisions or interpersonal drama. The players would be fighting each other one minute then switch back to working as a cohesive unit as if nothing bad has happened.

The presence of a witch of hope is also, not exactly a good sign. They are a powerhouse yes, but that means the session will have a disaster where only a massive amounts of hope/belief/positivity shaped to witch's liking would have a chance of averting. This could be related to the heir of rage, this could be simply the clusterfuck of drama surrounding the players, or this could even come from the witch themselves. I could see them as a very naive/positive person who wanted prospit to win without going through bloody warfare with derse, this could potential break the game and doom the session.

Key Tasks :

Frog breeding : Page of Space. They would very much struggle, but its not unwinnable. All they need time and a lot of support. The Sylph of Time and Witch of Hope can greatly help their development. But make sure the Thief are very very far away from them.

Scratch, in case things went bad : The Sylph might find it difficult, but its still doable. The Heir of Rage can give them the needed "moral" support.

The Players' Respective Jobs :

Offense : Thief of Life would be the primary fighter. Bard of Mind could be a good candidate as well because of their powerset, but their wildcard nature could bring uncontrolled chaos in the battlefield. Sylph of Time as well, but they might be too busy helping frog breeding and fixing the timelines of the session to be a primary fighter. To be fair, the Page of Space, given the time and support, would be a super versatile player that could rival even the Thief of Life. All in all, when it comes to fighting, there's not much to worry. All of the players can be relied upon especially with Heir of Rage and Witch of Hope providing them with support.

Defense : Bard of Mind can act very well as a deterrent to enemies who want to gather information or sneak up on them while they least expect it. The Witch of Hope as well, despite their apprehension to conflict.

Healer : Witch of Hope and Sylph of Time. Again, the Sylph might be too busy helping the Page (they have no knights) and might even have to patch fucked up timelines and take care of stable time loops and deal with the fighting, so Witch of Hope would use the power of their 🌈imagination✨ to heal their players. They also could act as moral support and mediator for everyone. All in all, theyre very involved in the wellbeing of the players. Let's hope the others took care of the Witch just as well.

Guide : A big weakness is that they have no Knowing classes like Seer or Mage. What makes this worse is that the aspect of Mind in their session is also unstable. The Sylph of Time can make up for this weakness by being the guy who leapt through time and advise everyone in the past or future to make sure better choices. Aside from the Witch, the Sylph is the second person who have to work overtime to save everyone.

Support : Page of Space, and Heir of Rage. The heir is simple enough, they could provide their allies with fighting spirit and break them out from stagnancy. Meanwhile, the Page of Space, despite starting out slow, has the very versatile aspect of Space. Again, this session has a potential to be filled with interpersonal conflict and problem players which could hinder the Page's growth, but even if they never reach full potential, they can still help in other matters.

Problem Players :

They're not inherently bad players, but bards tend to have this problem where they end up being puppeted by the narrative as they serve the whims of their aspect and become more of a plot point instead of a person. Perhaps their intelligence, sense of fairness, or even willingness to work together fluctuates according to what would serve narrative conflict. This could mean the other players must keep watch of the bard of mind lest their wildcard tendency end up hurting their allies and becoming a hollow shell of dumb comic relief at best or idiot ball antagonist at worst.

The Thief of Life will clash with everyone. Especially with the Page of Space and Heir of Rage. The Heir of Rage themselves could be driven to go rogue from the conflict, and even oppose the other session players. It is important to keep them separate or mediated by a third party.

Conclusion : Despite everything, they still have a small chance to win. Theyre all strong players. But things will hinge on the Witch, Sylph, and the Page (to a lesser extent) to wrangle everyone and provide foresight. One things for sure, even if they win or not, their session will be filled with ridiculous shenanigans. I wish them good luck.

[endollvors]

I wrote this one on accident, and also over the course of about 8 months. A significant increase over the original’s breakneck 5 day turnaround.

Fans of Skittish will be pleased to learn that this addition includes a ~Name~ for Jon’s Daemon, and more Comfort in the Hurt/Comfort ratio.

Skittish B-Side is three scenes from Skittish, rewritten from Jon Antilles’ POV. I don’t usually read alternate POV fics like this, let alone write them, because they tend to feel repetitive for me. I mostly got around it by excluding scenes 2 and 5, (Rex briefing his General, and Rex and Cody talking) and setting the B-Sides of scenes 1 and 4 (Rex Meeting his General, and Rex in the Medbay) slightly after the ending of their antecedents. The last scene to get a B-Side, the healing one, is concurrent with the scene in Skittish, but Jon has got so much going on there that it’s hard to call repetitive.

Anyway, my two favorite “if you consider these together” moments are: Scene 1 Rex being “a little uncertain” when repeating his address and Jon hearing Rex subtly deemphasize his own personhood. And in the healing scene, Jon “breathing” and Rex amending that to “box breathing”

Behind the scenes details on this, Jon’s Daemon is naming itself Commander. This is, manifestly, adorable. It’s also interesting to note that the 501st, as a battalion without a padawan and one where its ranking officer is a Captain, is the Only battalion where it could have named itself Commander, instead of merely being called one. Also, Jon’s daemon naming itself Commander has been the plan since I wrote Rex meeting it. It ties into the Jon Antilles of it all, and makes it apparent that it Didn’t previously have a name, in the same way as Jon not checking for an audience in B-Side Healing. That no one referred to his daemon because he had never spent enough time around others for them to need to. For them to get used to his idiosyncrasies. To the teleportation. To perhaps even Meet his daemon.

Another thing I pushed harder in the latter two scenes of B-Side is Jon and Rex taking cues not from each other, but from each other’s Daemons. Jon realizes that the troops aren’t mad at him bc of Sidearm and Rex notices that Jon is awake because of Commander.

Finally, someone on Ao3 asked:

[W]hat was going through Dark Woman’s mind (or whoever invented this style of healing) to heal by way of Daemon-touching?”

And I do have an answer for this! It never came up in the fic. Because Daemons are, you know, kinda sorta not real animals, they’re more similar to each other in makeup than the beings they match. So, healing them is a single standardized technique, or at least as standardized as the worst thing you can do to a person can be. As opposed to having to learn more about the biological differences between say, a Rodian and a Twi’lek, to heal them effectively. It’s the evil kind of efficiency.

One of the things with Dark Woman is uncovering lost Force techniques and I like to imagine there’s a reason they were both created and abandoned, like, for example, because they were too energy intensive, or because they required a deeper connection with the Force than the majority of students could achieve. Or, as is the case here, because it’s a desperate measure. It’s a battlefield technique being used nearly 1000 years after the Jedi stopped fighting in armies. The Jedi have dedicated healers now, they don’t need to use the most broad and brutally efficient method available to patch anyone back together regardless of species.

Rex's new general is supposed to be a Jedi. He receives a nervous cloak with an absent daemon. The fact that he's doing a great job can only work for so long to distract from how Jon Antilles appears to be, under the robe, composed entirely out of red flags. “Welcome to the 501st, Sir. I’m CT-7567, Captain Rex?” The confusion crept into his voice against his will as the dark shapeless robe that was supposed to be his CO continued to stand completely still on his transport’s ramp. Under his bucket, his smile cracked around the edges. He felt the pinpricks of Sidearm’s claws digging into his blacks at the base of his neck. The silent standoff continued for another several seconds before whatever had apparently distracted their new Jedi passed.

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚? ♡︎

anon asked: (I don't even play genshin Imfao help)

1 am a enjoyer of many of the hot men in genshin but just, imagins pantalone slowly losing himself to my the readers dominance just- AGH I can't even at the thought of him suddenly being pinned up against the wall, gently being suffocated while he just plays along with it

Please I'm begging you, I need sub!pantalone who is used to dominating (but gladly takes the role of submissive with a smile

characters: sub!pantalone x nb!dom!reader

warnings: choking, degrading, dry humping, finger sucking (is that even smt that needs warnings??), thigh riding, begging, not entirely smut like my other filths but is incredibly suggestive, reader is a harbinger!!

notes: i literally accidentally posted the small draft of this req yesterday and panicked lol. june don’t you dare snitch on me

the 9th of the fatui harbingers, regrator and the 10th of the fatui harbingers, bloodhound are both terrifying individuals. one is powerful due to his public fame and recognition alongside the pure mountain of mora he has on his name while the other is a monster on the battlefield and in tracking down people.

yes, both are influential and overpowering in their own ways. sadly they just can’t seem to get along.

the fatui harbingers at least respect each other and hold decent conversations among themselves no matter the ranks, position or how they wish to do their work. that however, does not seem to be the same for the 9th and 10th.

if a room has both the regrator and bloodhound inside then soon enough, a verbal battle is bound to happen. sly remarks, amused hums and harsh threats cutting through the air like a knife through butter.

and that’s what led to this current circumstances - with the 9th crumbling away slowly like a common brothel whore, humping his arousal on the 10th’s thighs with barely contained moans. the bloodhound’s scarred hand wrapped tightly around his throat, holding him in place against the cold palace walls as he drools. glasses and the coat of the harbingers long discarded on the floor as pantalone whimpers pathetically like a cornered prey, grinding himself harsher down on the other harbinger’s thigh between his legs.

“hyaaghh.. [n-name]! please… please touch me~ please please plea-ammfgh!♡︎” the banker choked on your fingers, shoved down his mouth. thin line of saliva already slipping down his lips, drooling more and more like a harlot as he desperately humped his hard cock against your thigh.

rutting himself as much as he can with your hand tightening around his neck, bigger fingers playing with his tongue, pulling and lightly tugging on the wet muscle whenever the banker chokes on your fingers. purple eyes rolling to the back of his skill as he panted, hot breath fanning against the wet fingers of your lips as he whined and whimpered, getting more desperate as time passes.

“whore. you like it when i do this to you huh? who would’ve thought the high and mighty 9th harbinger would be such a slut for a little bit of grinding” pulling the leg he was rutting himself on away, you tightened your hands more around his neck causing him to let out a breathy moan. gloved hands prying at the limb blocking his airway with a keen. the man was getting desperate you could tell - by the small wet patch forming on his pants, the stuttering of his hips as he tries to chase after your thighs, eyes hazy with tears starting to well in them.

“silly little slut. can’t even think straight hmm?” forcefully pushing away one of his legs with your other hand, you placed your knee against his hard on. rubbing and circling around his cock painfully slow, putting very light pressure on the arousal before pretty pulling back away again. perhaps getting back at the banker like this for all the stressed nights and destroyed dummies you let out your anger on was a far better replacement.

pantalone let out more choked whimpers, bucking his hips wildly to gain more pressure to his cock, keening with eyes rolled to the back of his skull when you decide to show some mercy. legs starting to shake wildly, barely able to hold himself up as he felt your knees press more and more before he opened his mouth, jaw going slack in a silent scream as he spasmed and twitched, sandwiched between the wall and your body looming over him.

wait, did he just? - looking down at his crotch you saw the old wet patch growing bigger even wetting your pants’ knees. with an uncharacteristically timid look, heavy blush coating his cheeks pantalone reached out - holding your hand around his throat with a small whimper causing your lips to twitch up in a grin.

“more… please?”

[sleepiexx]

Love is a Battlefield (and I’m Nothing if Not a Soldier) Pt.2

Valeria Garza x fem!Reader

Link to Pt.1

Note: First smut I’ve ever written let’s goooo

Summary: Valeria breaks out of prison and immediately goes home to her gf to fuck

Warnings: reader is afab, smut, and everything that goes along with that

Word count: 1940

(Y/N) had been in a deep sleep for hours. It was the first time since Valeria was arrested that she had been off deployment and it seemed the exhaustion she’d been delaying had finally caught up with her. The second her head hit the pillow it was lights out, barely even changed into her pajamas before her eyes were closed and her heart rate slowed.

She tried not to worry about Valeria, like she’d promised, but it was hard. Especially when it was near impossible to keep tabs on the case, what with Alejandro heading it and (Y/N) not wanting to get outed as the cartel leader’s girlfriend, although, it was more so Valeria not wanting her to get caught in the crossfire but (Y/N) would follow her lead regardless.

The house was silent apart from the buzzing of electricity coming from the home appliances and the whir of the overhead fan, both calming enough to continually sooth (Y/N) in her sleep. She dreamed a sweet dream of Valeria, of holding her, kissing her, talking to her. Nothing made her happier than the smooth sound of Valeria’s voice.

These last few weeks, she was happiest when she was asleep. It’s not like she could see Valeria any other way which killed her, but she kept going regardless. Going home was bittersweet. She was glad that she didn’t have to work for some time, less people to have to pretend to be perfectly fine around. Yet being home without Valeria was lonely.

It wasn’t like they ever lived together. (Y/N) lived in the U.S. and Valeria had many houses around the world that she would run cartel operations out of. (Y/N) hadn’t known, but all this time Valeria had been coordinating with (Y/N)’s schedule to fly out to (Y/N) every time she was set to go home. It would have been completely impractical had Valeria not been insanely rich with an assortment of military aircrafts at her disposal, and if (Y/N) ever knew she’d tell her as much.

But things were different now. Valeria was in prison, she couldn’t just call her up and have her come over at the drop of a hat. It was different, and (Y/N) didn’t like it.

Even at the base, she’d been miserable. It was noticeable, especially to her teammates who had known her as the usually cheery (Y/N) who rarely moped.

Ghost even followed up on their earlier conversation. He’d asked her a hesitant, “How are things with your girl? You patch it up yet?”

And she’d responded vague, but truthful. “Kind of, I mean, y’know she and I are good now but it’s hard being separated.”

He nodded and left it at that, not wanting to pry too much; yet still his eyes followed her every time her head dropped a little too low or her lips pressed into a frown.

She’d noticed, and while she appreciated it, she didn’t want him to worry too much so she tried to keep her head up. Being home felt almost like a weight lifted off her shoulders, no more reason to pretend to be okay.

As she slept away her sorrows, Valeria looked around in the dark outside for the spare key. She found it taped to the underside of the bench on the porch, hurrying to use it on the door. It’d been too long since she’d seen her lover and she wouldn’t waste another second.

She wondered if (Y/N) was awake. The house was quiet, quieter than she’d ever remembered it being. She worried about the state that (Y/N) would be in when she came back, how she coped with their separation. Memories of the last time they saw each other flashed in her brain, (Y/N) crying at her feet, utterly distraught.

She walked quietly into (Y/N)‘s room, finding her curled up in bed, asleep. She frowned at the bags under (Y/N)’s eyes, reaching out to caress her soft face. (Y/N) unconsciously cuddled up next to her fingertips, craving her warm touch.

“I’m here, amor.” She whispered.

(Y/N) stirred in her sleep, eyes opening to squint at Valeria.

“Val?” She asked in disbelief.

“Mhm.”

(Y/N) shot up, meeting Valeria in an embrace. The two held onto each other for what felt like hours, with no plans on letting go. Their lips pressed together in an open-mouthed kiss that felt like it lasted an eternity. Even when they parted, they stayed connected at the forehead.

“I missed you so much, my love.” Valeria muttered, pressing her palm to (Y/N)’s cheek and pushing some of her hair behind her ear.

“Oh yeah? You didn’t get yourself a girlfriend in prison to replace me with?” (Y/N) joked with a dopey smile.

Valeria pushed her down on her back, pinning her hands on either side of her head. She smashed their lips together once again and bit down on (Y/N)’s lower lip, causing a surprised yelp to leave her mouth as they parted once more.

“Don’t you even suggest that. You are the only woman I could ever love.” She growled, placing kisses leading from (Y/N)‘s lips to her jaw, and then to her ear. “Irreplaceable.”

(Y/N) soaked up every second of praise, basking in the loving kisses placed to almost every inch of bare skin on her upper half, body feeling jittery at the long awaited touch of her lover.

As much as (Y/N) hated to do so, she pushed Valeria up to make eye contact with her. Rubbing up and down her biceps. She looked at her with care in her eyes. “I have so many questions, how did you get out? Are you out legally, or am I about to get a call? Are you hungry? I can’t imagine that prison food is any good, I can go make you-“

Valeria cut her off with a kiss. It was firm and yearning, making (Y/N) almost completely forget her offer.

“You talk too much, cariño,” Valeria murmured into her lips, “and you don’t have to make me anything to eat, I already have something in mind.”

(Y/N) was about to ask what but the words fizzled out in her mouth as Valeria tugged her shirt over her head, leaving her upper half bare.

Valeria continued where she left off with kissing every accessible inch of skin, now having even more to work with. She made sure to leave marks along the way, their previous separation leading her to feel more possessive than usual.

Slowly but surely, Valeria’s lips found their way to (Y/N)’s nipples. She licked one and then blew on it, causing whimpers to spill out of (Y/N)’s throat. She smirked, taking the nipple into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it. She made sure the other wasn’t left out as she slowly teased it with her fingertips, drawing circles on it before grabbing and twisting it, raising the volume of (Y/N)’s moans.

Valeria pulled away, having her other hand take over where her mouth had left off. “I missed hearing you moan for me.” She whispered, “It’s my favorite sound.”

She kissed her way back down, this time to the other nipple. She sucked on it while caressing it gently with her tongue, all before nipping at it with her teeth so she could watch her lover squirm.

“Fuck, baby, you keep that up and I’m gonna cum in my shorts.” (Y/N) moaned, back arching ever so slightly into Valeria’s touch.

Valeria grinned, “You think so?”

“Mhm.”

Valeria once again replaced one of her hands with her mouth. With her hand now free, she used it to creep up (Y/N)’s inner thigh, making her muscles tighten in anticipation.

“Fuck, please.” (Y/N) begged, eyes meeting Valeria’s which had been adamantly watching her every expression.

Valeria’s eyes shone with false confusion, “Please what?”

“Please touch me.”

On a normal day, Valeria would have teased her more, kept her hand planted firmly on the inner thigh as she played dumb. ‘But I am touching you,’ she’d mutter, refusing to pull down her pants until she begged for it. Today, though, Valeria wasn’t in the teasing mood. She wanted (Y/N), and she wanted her now.

Lips never leaving her lover’s swollen nipple, Valeria hooked her fingers on either side of (Y/N)’s thin sleep shorts, pulling them down, leaving (Y/N) in only her underwear. She pressed one of her knuckles against (Y/N)’s clothed clit, running it back and forth, pulling moan after moan from her kiss-bitten lips.

After what felt like an eternity of teasing for (Y/N), Valeria slipped her hand into (Y/N)’s underwear. She slid her middle and ring finger up the seam of her cunt, lubing them with slick before reaching the clit. Valeria knew exactly how to play (Y/N)’s body like a fine tuned instrument, messing with the sensitive bud until (Y/N) was reduced to nothing but a vessel to receive pleasure.

Once she got her fill of merely touching her lover’s pussy, she pulled down (Y/N)’s underwear and pressed her tongue directly on her clit.

(Y/N) took in a sharp inhale, not expecting to feel Valeria’s tongue lapping at her clit so soon. Her hands gripped the sheets desperately attempting to ground herself, mostly ineffective as Valeria worked diligently to send her out of this world with pleasure.

Valeria’s name spilled out of her mouth like a prayer, whimpers of how good she made her feel, how much she loved the girl between her thighs.

“I love you so much, Valeria. Fuck, I- I’m so glad you’re home, I m- issed you so so so much.”

Valeria circled her opening with the middle and ring finger she’d previously wet. Once she felt there was a sufficient amount of slick gathered, she pushed her fingers into her lover’s vagina. (Y/N) clenched at the feeling, letting out more filthy remarks.

“M-missed that mouth of- of yours the most- oh god.” She whined.

Her legs began to shake as Valeria began to curl the fingers inside of her, hitting her g spot at the perfect angle.

“Oh god- oh fuck.. Valeria.”

Valeria didn’t falter for a second, not with (Y/N)’s distracting moans, nor the vigorous shaking of her legs, she knew that both were signs of her girlfriends on coming orgasm and she had no plan on stopping.

“Please- please, Val I’m gonna cum, can I please cum?” (Y/N) begged, desperation written all over her face.

Valeria parted from (Y/N)’s clit for a split second to tell her, “Let it out, my love, let it all out,” before swiftly kissing her thigh and returning to her dripping cunt.

With Valeria’s permission, (Y/N) finally let go. A ringing sounded in her ear as waves of pleasure washed over her, alternating between going limp and twitching vigorously.

As she calmed down, taking deep breaths, ringing sound fading away, Valeria began to kiss her way back up to (Y/N)’s lips.

“You did so good for me, (Y/N).” She praised, gently running her hands up and down the sides of (Y/N)’s naked body.

(Y/N) tried to sit up but Valeria pushed her right back down. “Please, wanna taste you.” She whined.

“Oh you sweet dumb thing,” Valeria coo’d, “You didn’t think I was done with you, did you?”

[eclipse-rain]

Fwel Tsaheylu (Broken Bond) Part 2

Warnings; slight angst

Part 1 •Part 3 •Part 4

Masterlist~

What was ment to be an experience for the benifit and furthering of mine and my brothers education ended up turning into a complete disaster.

Not only did all three of us disobey father by being present on the battlefield (Albet, in my case, it was more of an uncontrollable circumstance, but i wouldnt dare say so out loud) instead of observing from the sky, mentally noting down tactics used and getting a feel for the real action of battle from afar. But we also blew just about any chance of being able to get such first hand experience like that for a long time. No more battlefields for us, i was sure of it.

I was also sure of one other thing. That father would bring all of this up as soon as we landed. It was another unavoidable circumstance of sorts. And while i also knew it would not be the worst for me but rather for the eldest of us three, i could not help feeling anxious on the back of my mothers ikran as we flew home.

I would give anything so that father would not question me when we got back. I would even let Neteyam take all the responsibility this time, just so father would not be given reason to indulge me, as i would not be the main target of his focus. Even when i used to step in so Neteyam would not have to shoulder these burdens alone, no matter how much father hated when i did.

But this time, this time was diffrent. This time i had something to lose. A secret that could be let out. With just a little prodding in the right place the dam could break. The wall could crumble and i didnt know how well i could patch it up if it did. If i would be able to keep living while hiding the truth or if it would be ripped out from under me and i didnt know if i could handle when it did.

If they find out that i couldnt fly my ikran they will think somethings wrong. The questioning will begin, the concerned expressions will start up again. The poking and the prodding for more information will double. The never being left alone or feeling like you never have the chance to properly rest or think will bear down with all its might and the burden on my own heart will increase. Nevermind them doing it out of concern as parents for their beloved daughter, I've lived this way for long enough that any thought of changing it makes me feel physically sick.

Others might call me ridiculous or overdramatic for feeling as much but its different when your the one in the position. When the spotlight is bearing down on you and you alone. When the light shines so brightly into your eyes it seers, like its trying to melt the icy cold wall of your exterior and uncover all the dirt beneath. Every speck, every morsel and not clean away an inch. Only leaving it there to gather dust and have you continue the journey alone. If at that stage you still can.

As we arrived back home, flying overhead, i heard excited shouts from the other na'vi people awaiting the war partys return. None of us had spoken a word as we flew home, collectively knowing the sh*t storm that awaited us the moment we got back. The ikrans came to a hault on the ground and mother slipped off first. She held her arms out to me to help me down.

I swung my legs over and hopped off her ikran by myself in one swift motion. I felt sort of embarrased. I felt like a child needing to be helped off their steed by their parents because they were too inexperienced to get down themselves. Yes she was well aware i could get down on my own, since i had my own ikran, and was probably just trying to baby me because i was hurt. She probably thought i had gotten a fright after what had just happened, and she would be right of course, i had been terrified, but i would not show it. I was hurt but i would not show that either.

My adrenalin had started to wear off on the flight back and my survival mode started to shut down. Now i could feel the seering pain where the uneven gashes in my palms bled, turning my hands an awful red color in the process. I felt the sting of the bruises that had started to form and show through my skin on my back from my fall. On my shoulder blades, my spineal chord and my tail bone especially.

But i would power through the pain, the hurt, so that i wouldnt look weak, so that i wouldnt look like a child who needed to be helped everytime one little thing went wrong. So that i looked strong, i looked like i could be relied upon in times of crisis. So that i looked like the brave warriors of my clan, one of the people, one of the true people, not who i was and not who i really am.

In the meantime, the youngest of the family ran up to our mother, arms out streached in welcome. My brothers and father had gottten off their own ikran and started to gather together just a little ways away. Neteyam had ridden back with our father much the same as i had done with our mother only he was sat in front by father, where as i had sat myself behind mother. From what i saw out of the cornor of my eye he was also heped off the ikran by my father like my mother had tried to do for me.

In that moment a sudden thought occured to me for the first time. I wondered if i was what Neteyam was for father but to mother. Neteyam, the first born son, taught by my father. I, the first born girl and the only one in the family who was taught by my mother. I had always assumed that her teaching me had something to do with being the first born girl but i never put two and two together until now.

And that made me see a whole new outlook on my place in the family, which in turn made a pit of unease settle in my stomach. Neteyam was the first born, the perfect son the perfect heir. I thought i lived as the middle child between the middle children. Someone not to be taken notice of. I was not the eldest nor the youngest, i was not even second rate to. I thought i was invisable to eyes looking for expectation higher than just to be a normal na'vi, one of the people.

But i was wrong. My family, my people, expected of me. They expected me to be like them, to be one of them and i tired myself just to live up to the expectation of what was considered normal. If i now had to bring myself beyond that point, i feared it would break me. It would be my breaking point.

Nevertheless, if i found my realisation came to be true i would try and try and try again. Because thats all you can do until you can try no more.

Mother started towards them, steering me in the same direction. It felt like she was almost hurding me towards my imminent doom. Tuk followed silently trailing along behind the both of us. As we got closer i clenched my hands, my long sharp nails digging into the fresh wounds that formed there not too long ago. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from over thinking the situation but also to avert my attention away from the pain in my body, in my hands and the fresh bruises i could feel blooming along my spinal chord.

"Fall in" father said in a voice that sounded like any second it would raise an octive higher in something akin to anger. Not that i would be able to find the right word to completely describe how it felt like nails scraping down a chalkboard and just when you think its coming to a stop it keeps going.

When the three of us, Neteyam, Lo'ak and I finally gathered close enough, in one fast move father whirled around to meet us face to face. And we all knew what was coming next.

"You're suposed to be spotters" he said sounding somewhat impatient through the other emotions he portrayed at that moment. "You spot boogies and call them in"

I tried not to cringe as my fathers voice finally broke through the lid that was bearly containing it.

"From a distance!" His voice came out gruff and annoyed

"Does that sound familiar? Jesus! I let you two geniuses fly a mission and you disobeyed direct orders" he continued

I brought my head up slightly in confusion as to why i had suddenly been left out of the equation.

"Kiri can you go help your grandmother with the wounded. Please."

Kiri who came over in the middle of fathers lecture to us was regarded with a much softer tone of voice.

"My brother is wounded" she replied calmly and definitively

More urging from father for kiri who was not budging and now Tuk as well to leave brought fathers attention to me, the eldest of the three sisters.

A quick glance in my direction was all it took for him to walk over until he was standing right in front of me.

"What's this?" He asked in a flat voice, not too soft but not too loud

Confused, i followed the length of his arm with my eyes down to where his hand was pointed towards.

Small drops of dark red liquid fell to the ground just by my feet. I tried once again, like i had learned to do as i grew up, to tame the urge my body had to shuffle my feet under the intese pressure i now felt with fathers attention solely on me. His eyes bore down onto my hand stained with blood. They then shifted to my other blood stained hand and he seemed to have made up his mind before i got the chance to respond to his question.

"Kiri if you want to treat your hurt family than i think your older sister would be needing it more than your brothers would" he said turning back to face her

"Ah, its nothing, im fine-" i started but got cut off

"You always say your fine" he said dismissing the idea of my protest "Go have kiri treat you, we'll talk later"

Kiri, now also seeing my injuries for the first time, ran over and grabbed my hands to get a closer look. I flinched involuntarily at the spike of pain that shot through my hand at her action.

"Dad's right" She said now on even more of a mission than before "You need to get treated so these dont become infected! Lets go"

Tuk skipped up to us and grabbed my wrist on my other side to aid in pulling me away from the other members of our family and towards the tent our grandmother was in. Mother who stayed behind with father, Neteyam and Lo'ak gave an approving nod at me as we left them. I could vaguely make out more of what was said as voices were once again raised behind me, before i decided on blocking them out completely.

...

"Jesus Kiri cant you be a little more gentle"

"Oh so this hurts but when you were digging your nails into your palms, which already had fresh wounds on them, might i add, it didnt?" She said sarcastically. "Because i honestly doubt it hurts more than that"

I bit my tongue, feeling like i had sort of just shot myself in my own foot at her comparison.

"What's this i hear, big sis cant take the pain from a little healing herb." Spider who appeared out of seemingly nowhere like a stray cat said jokingly.

'Ah, Spider' i thought

He who had as many problems as i in this family. If you could even call him a part of it. Of course, i did, we all did, all except one. And that one person made it very hard for me to fully accept spider as part of the family, because how could i completely let my guard down when i know my mother does not feel the same, how she does not think of him as one of hers. How she looks at him, its not like how she looks at us, at her children.

I think i was the first of my siblings to realise this as it was around the time my eyes had been opened, opened because of my own problem that i could not ignore. My eyes that had been recently opened saw past the things that a person that age should not have been able to quite yet. Like my glossed over eyes filled with childhood wonder started to see, truly see, for the first time. See past the world that my parents had created for my happiness, and past the saftey that they gave me. Its like in one swift motion i jumped out of that safety net, like a baby bird jumping out of its nest before its mother has taught it to fly.

And i saw how mother looked at him, at Spider. I saw how she looked at him and only saw one thing when she did. Human. Demon.

To her he was one of them and always would be and i truly did not know if that would ever change. If even my father could not change her mind when he accepted Spider as one of his own, i feared no one could. Even when father was living proof that not all humans were demons.

I think thats how it grew. The uneasiness inside of me. In the back of my mind, hidden in the shadows fuling it to get bigger and bigger. When my eyes had been stripped clean and i finally saw through the hollow words that were 'i will always love you, no matter what' and i saw something that could smudge it. A stain, that could make even mother turn away from me.

Especially when that thing is a part of you.

As a child when you first find that out, at an age not yet able to comprehend and figure out the right path in such a situation, you could very well end up taking the wrong one. When you hide it away and therefore have no guidance on the matter, you end up taking matters into your own hands.

Hide it away so it can never be found, so your fears can never be realised. Put up a wall so they cant see through and find it hiding on the otherside, like a dog in a cage, eager to be let out, like a dam about to break, that could burst open with enough cracks.

"You zoned out again." Spider seemed to need to point out

"Its called thinking. You should try it sometime" i countered 'Wow that was such a cringy comback' i thought

But Kiri laughed as she finished up aplying the healing remedy to my wounds and proceeded to bandaged them tightly with thick woven leaves. Grandmother watched her through the process from the cornor of her eye as she worked grinding herbs for more remedies just a little ways away from where we were sat in the tent.

She was no doubt checking to make sure Kiri was doing her work as a healer properly and efficiently. We all knew how seriously grandmother takes her job as a healer and as a mentor for other young healers, just starting out who she can pass all her tips and tricks onto. To them she could pass on her special recipies that she has built up from years of being a healer, give them advice and ensure that the next generation of the clans healers would be well prepared for any future events.

Spider made a face at me, acting like he was offended and hit me lightly on the shoulder with his fist. Yes, he was my brother all right. I was sure of it. I just wasn't as sure as to if i could show it outright in front of mother. Especially with the added presure of my earlier realisation. If wheather or not mother had higher expectations of me than to just fit into the na'vi peoples version of normal, which i tried so hard to be, to the point of exhaustion, but deep down knew i was not.

I was not like the other na'vi people, i was not like my mother or my siblings, some of whom had the features of humans from father but never acted in a way that was not like the people. I was not even like father who was once a human and was even born and raised on Earth, the humans planet. Even if he was, he was now Toruk Macto, a true na'vi, perhaps even the truest given his title. I dont have their trueness, their strong connection to eywa that makes them part of the people.

I had never spent more time than i had to around Spider when i was a child. For what i thought were the right reasons, for my sake, so that i would not become more human than na'vi, so i could lock that part of myself in the deepest cornor of my heart.

As a very young child, before my eyes lost their gleem, before they were opened to the truness of the world around me, i had been just like Lo'ak. Perhaps a little more refined, unlike him i never fought with Kiri and i never tried to rival Neteyam as he did either. But i was high in energy and would often be found troublesome and in bad situations as i ran everywhere my brothers went and did as they did. Lo'ak and i were almost never separate from each other, almost joined at the hip at that time. Willingly or not.

The only time we were not to be found making all kinds of trouble together was when Kiri and i would go off on our own or when we were being taught to hunt, me by our mother and lo'ak by father. I would mess and run and play with them all, Spider included. Although as twins we definitely had our fair share of scruffs, i was alot closer to Lo'ak, to them, than i am now. Thats not to say we are not close now because thats not true.

But i guess thats just how growing up works, we tend to become independant, from our parents and even each other. Thats also the diffrence between me and them though, the people, all the people are one, through eywa. They are one big family, one safe space, where even the toughest are open with each other with eywa as their guide. This shows how human i really am, how i can hardly connect to eywa, so i cant connect to the people, i cant share my emotions with them, my burdens.

As i grew older, I would sit aside when my siblings would play with spider. I stopped going to star gaze with Kiri, i shut out anything that could possibly have the opposite effect of what i wanted.

Lo'ak and Kiri grew closer, to the point that sometimes i wondered if those two were twins instead of Lo'ak and i. Lo'ak remained troublesome while i became stonefaced and unreadable. That ended up boiling down to 'girls mature faster than boys' in my parents minds. Kiri even shared the human traits that lo'ak had gotten from father which i never inherited. Like having four fingers instead of three and having eyebrows when normal na'vi people dont.

Lo'ak and i never talked about our feelings together when we were kids. We just werent the type to do so, but i think we sort of just knew, a twin thing. Its like how i knew that his apperance and the rumors he said didnt bother him actually did. Though i was never sure if he felt this as well. Nevertheless he was still my brother, we were still twins. We shared the same blood, the same DNA, the same soul, even if we did not share all the same human features.

Kiri and i talked about everything together when we were younger but she was my younger sister, like Tuk, i couldnt put the weight of my feelings my problems onto her shoulders.

The one i would always go to when i was younger was Neteyam, mabey this was why father always came down so hard on him about the responsibility of us. To me Neteyam always felt like the one i could rely on, the eldest, who would have the answers to all my problems. He made me feel like i could rely on him which in turn ment as i grew he made me feel the weakest out of all my siblings.

Mabey thats why i pushed him away from me. That was probably it. I had no reason to push him away otherwise. There was nothing human about him that i tried to run away from. Actually he reminded me of my mother the most. Caring, loving, determined but change the circumstances and they could be ferocious.

Soon after i was all bandaged up we were joined by a grim looking Neteyam and Lo'ak. They strode into the tent and were sat down, or more like almost tackled to the ground, by Kiri immediately after arriving so she could check their wounds.

Father and mother came around as the sky was begining to darken, seemingly to have finished any other responsibilities they had after getting back. I noticed them out of the corner of my eye just a little ways away having a conversation that was just out of ear shot. I thought back to how angry father was about what happened. How angry he was at Lo'ak and Neteyam especially but how even so he had Neteyam ride in front of him on the way back home on his ikran. Almost like he was trying to shield him with his own body against anything else that might want to harm his son. He helped him down from said ikran, perhaps subconciously but nevertheless an action i didnt miss seeing out of the corner of my eye and just like how mother tried to do for me.

(Change of Pov : Jakes Pov)

"What is it?" I asked.

"Neteyam and Lo'ak try to live up to you. It is very hard on them" Neytiri replied.

"You are very hard on them" she turned from where she was looking through the opening of the tent and walked slowly towards me.

"I am their father. Its my job." I stated, reloading my gun as i sat on the ground.

"This is not a squad. It is a family." She said definitively, crouching down to where i was sitting to look me in the eye in hopes to gets her point across more.

"I thought we lost him" I said earnestly in a whisper. Able to show my most vulnerable side and inner most thoughts and doubts with the person i shared my life with.

That earned me a sympathetic look from my mate. She placed her hand on mine in a effort of comfort and knowing.

I had promised myself a long time ago that i would never again let anything happen to this family, to our family. Neytiri's and mine. Since the destruction and collapse of home tree and the war with the humans. Since i mated with Neytiri for life and since i first found out she was pregnant.

I had never felt those words be in danger as much as i did today. My promise had never come so close to falling short, to falling through my grasp on them and it would have been my fault if they did. It was my decision to bring them with us today and it would have been my fault if they got badly injured or worse in the process. And for that i never would be able to forgive myself.

I felt a pair of eyes lingering on me from behind and i turned around slightly to make out who those eyes belonged to. I turned only to catch a glimpse of my eldest daughter as she turned her head away from our direction and towards her siblings. I saw Mo'at applying a healing remedy to Neteyams wounds as he flinched away from her hand and grumbled some annoyances in the process. He took Y/n's bandaged hands in his and proceeded to look over them as if he could see if she was badly injured or not through the bandages.

Lo'ak seemed to think the same thing as me and proceeded in pointing it out to Neteyam, laughing in the process. Neteyam who i was sure hated the feeling of his younger brother, who made a point to rival him, making a fare point, turned towards Kiri and looked like he started to ask a series of questions. I assumed he was probably now trying to learn how hurt Y/n was from Kiri who had a knowledgeable perspective as a healer and was the one who treated Y/n instead of trying to magically be able to see through the bandages that encased Y/n's hands.

Neytiri followed my gaze and i saw a familiar look pass over her face as she looked at our children, a motherly one, one of love. Spider had learned to make himself scarce most of the time Neytiri was around. He seemed to have gone off on his own, walking through the camp.

"You should talk to her" Neytiri said softly, my attention was turned back to my mate.

It took me a moment to realise what she ment as my mind had been on Spider rather than what, or rather who, i had been looking for when i glanced over. It had been Y/n who had been watching me from behind.

"She doesnt like to talk" i replyed

"To you? Or just in general?" Neytiri said with an innocent smile

I frowned slightly at her. She knew as well as i did that Y/n was not the same girl she had been when she was a child. Yes, thats how it worked, i know it did. I myself was definitely not the same as i had been when i was a child. Nevertheless it was hard to know what she was thinking now. When she was younger she was just like how Lo'ak had been and how he still is now. They were both troublesome and she ran after him as he did Neteyam. You could even say that Lo'ak was almost what Neyeyam was for him but for Y/n. They both were so ambitious and energetic.

Although as Y/n grew she stopped following them around. She stopped going out late at eclipse with Kiri too, which at first i was pleased about to be honest, since so many times i had to drag them both back home and wrangle them into our hammock to sleep. Now though i wasnt so sure it was a good thing.

She doesnt communicate with Neytiri or i as much as she used to anymore either. I guess mabey at the start i just thought it was her growing up. It started from a young age but it was always said that girls matured faster than boys. Neytiri comfirmed this and i couldnt tell myself, (as even though i had been put in a diffrent body than my original, i had yet to be in the body of a teenage girl or have their mindset), so i had no reason to push any further on a matter i didnt know much about. It was slight at first, hardly noticeable but by the time she became a teenager it felt like we had somewhat drifted apart.

She may not communicate as much to myself and Neytiri anymore but at least from where i stood it seemed, in the way she acted, that nothing much had changed with her siblings. That they hadnt drifted apart from her as we did, theyre dynamic had stayed the same as they grew up. They could still depend and rely on each other as siblings, even if they still bickered and fought along the way. Of course, that was only what i saw from my perspective. I had no way of knowing if what i saw was the truth. It was just like the way Y/n's said 'im fine' , i could never really tell if it was the truth or not anymore even though it was so easy when she was a child to see what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

I know Neytiri also thought about this. I had told her about how i missed how close we were when she was younger. We would always venture out into the forest together.

The memory came rushing back to me and I remembered it vividly. We would walk hand in hand, when she was a child, her little hand wrapped around my pinky finger. Something she did since she was a baby, something that made me glad i had that extra finger. The first thing she did when i first layed eyes on her after she was born was latch onto my pinky finger and not let go like if she did she wouldnt be safe. That moment changed my life, my first babygirl, and i was gonna make sure id protect her. Id protect all of them.

I gathered myself and my thoughts and decided that it was time to make do on the words i said earlier.

"I said i would talk to her after she went with kiri to get her wounds treated and im going to now" i said, noticing Mo'at had finished with Neteyams treatment and had left the tent.

I felt Neytiri's gaze on me as i stood up and made my way over to our children. Coming into earshot of them they seemed to have relaxed since earlier, now messing around with each other as usual. I was glad that they didnt seem to be too badly affected by what happened on the outing earlier. I didnt want to ruin their time together by butting in but i had said i would talk to Y/n and i couldnt put it off any longer for fear i might actually end up changing my mind.

Its weird, you can have fought in many battles and even wars but still be more anxious to talk to your teenage daughter, when youre a parent. Even if you try to give them the safest and happiest childhood possible there are things that you cant always see. Things that are hidden on the outside and concealed within. Because no parent is perfect, you can never get things right all the time, its just not possible, no matter how hard you try. You can only try your best. Thats all you can do and thats all you should expect from them in return.

"Kiri go over and help your grandmother treat the rest of the wounded, take your brothers with you, they can make themselves useful" i urged so i could have some needed alone time with my eldest daughter.

☆☆☆

Please write in the comments if you want a part 3 because i need to stay motivated and its so hard, im so tired 🥲

Although, its my birthday this weekend so part 3 will probably be out next weekend-ish or later, i hope you guys understand.

Also please be patient with me. I am still very new to this. I havent even been on the tumblr app for more than like a month or two, and this is only my second post. I even had too look up how to tag people💀. Any tips would help, thanks.

Submissions are now also open, i think, (if I've done it right), so i would love to take a look at any requests or ideas you might have or want me to do. Bye lovelies. 🤗

@bongwaterflavoredgatorade @octopi-on-drugs @bobojojoba69 @pearlrosegardener @thicc101q @lovelyygirl8 @abbersreads