#Skill-Based Task Assignment

[terotam]

How to Organize Maintenance Department?

Learn key strategies for organizing your maintenance department to boost efficiency, streamline operations, and enhance team productivity.

[written-in-knife]

Hi! Can I request a platonic relationship with Crowley or Crewel? For example, they adopt a reader (officially on paperwork, or emotionally) and suddenly the reader just falls through some portal and ends up in another world. And Crowley/Crewel just *dad panic, -1000 nerve cells*. At the end all is well and they reunite!Another point, you didn't ask for it, but I'll say it (sorry). Put two tags in your fanfics "TWST × reader" and "Twisted Wonderland × reader" (put both at once) so more people will see you!

Watching and Waiting

Parental!Crewel & gn!Reader

Fluff, slight angst, hurt/comfort? a single sentence of a little hurt/no comfort at the very end sorryy

Word count: 4049

That tip does actually really help and I will do that from now on, thank you! I really love the idea of the staff pseudo-adopting the main character, but I'm OBSESSED with Papa Crewel. And to demonstrate, I'm going to get completely carried away with this prompt! HERE WE GO!

When it came to the student body of Night Raven College, Crewel had a certain level of fondness for all of them. He was strict, of course, he wanted nothing but to see them succeed, but there was a little bit of pride he took in every class. Diligent juniors who'd been with him for a handful of years at this point, most of whom exceeded his every expectation and the rest who at least performed the required tasks with the skills he'd taught them. Flighty but extremely talented sophomores who managed to impress him at every turn in one way or another. Even the freshmen, a group of troublemakers to be sure, but malleable, sharp minds that just needed to focus up to learn the material and they'd be well on their way to excelling in his class.

Then there was you.

Crowley had called a staff meeting to explain the situation to the teachers once you and Grim had proven yourselves worthy to become two halves of a whole student. Trein had asked if there was an active search on figuring out a way to send you home to your own world, and Crowley responded with a very flippant yes that left a sour taste on everyone's tongue. Once it was announced that you had been placed in Class A, Crewel's homeroom, he silently vowed to keep an eye on you. Just that. A magicless student in a magic academy in a world they were not at all familiar with felt to him very much like a wounded puppy being circled by vultures. He wouldn't treat you any differently, of course, you were simply a few steps behind and needed someone watching your back whether you knew the eyes were there or not.

So he watched. He watched as those friends of yours extorted you when you were at your wits end with Grim, he watched you struggling with Grim. He watched you in the second-hand uniform with hastily stitched repairs that was at least a size too big and getting bigger on you as you were not being provided with enough money to feed yourself and Grim AND repair your dorm. He watched as you tried to make Ramshackle habitable, and he watched as you over-extended yourself to put an end to Riddle Rosehearts and Leona Kingscholar's overblots. And when he watched you in the nurse's office just laughing off your injuries the day of the Spelldrive tournament, Crewel decided he was done watching.

It started small at first. He'd discussed with Trein about what subjects you were struggling in, not surprised to hear they were all magic based subjects, then held you back after class to offer to tutor you in those subjects under the guise of wanting all his pups to succeed. Which he did, of course. You agreed to the after school tutoring, which Grim very loudly refused to attend. Every other day after school, you met up with Crewel his classroom to tackle some subject or other more in depth while he graded assignments, and before you left, he would hand you a large container with food in it.

"This is cutting into your dinner time, is it not?" He explained when you asked about it. "I'm not a monster, I wouldn't expect you to go without eating all night."

"You don't have to go out of your way, Professor." You sighed, too hungry to deny the free food.

"Hardly. It's leftovers from last night," a lie, but you didn't need to know that, "I won't miss them."

Crewel caught you back up in your subjects fairly quickly, you were a diligent student. As the days went on, he watched some life return to your face until he could no longer find that ravenous look deep behind your eyes. He started setting a portion of his salary aside and bringing it to Sam, telling him to keep it for when you came by to purchase anything, giving him a little extra to not tell you where it was coming from. He felt a little swell of pride in his chest when he heard you bragging to Ace and Deuce about your grocery run being paid for. He was comfortable with this, happy enough not watching you wasting away and seeing you beginning to thrive in this school. He knew you could hold your own after handling two overblots, so he knew you could handle yourself against the Octavinelle trio when they came for your dorm. And of course you did. He felt that swell of pride again, stronger than he felt for his other students. Then again, his other students didn't have to fight nearly as hard as you did. Before he left for the winter break, he left a parcel on your doorstep that contained a thick pair of gloves, a fur lined hat, a cashmere scarf, and an old brown fur jacket of his. He worried it may not fit, but he refused to leave you to freeze while he was gone. He left a note in the box on top of the items.

"A small reward for your hard work this semester. Enjoy your holiday, you earned it. D. Crewel"

When he came back from the winter break, he was disappointed to find your school uniform in worse condition than when he left, a jacket sleeve hanging on for dear life, poorly patched holes in the knees, one of your shoes peeling away from the soles. He refused to let that go on any longer than it needed to, bringing you to Sam's himself to get you fitted for a new uniform. When you tried to insist that you could pay, Crewel insisted that it wasn't necessary, citing that he couldn't have any of his pups looking less than their best for the upcoming culture fair. When you tried to bring up the winter clothing he'd left you, he brushed off your thanks with a wave of his hand.

"We can find something more suitable to your style before your next winter." He insisted as he gently adjusted your tie. "I couldn't have one of my best freshmen freezing to death while I was gone, could I?"

Despite being caught up to the other students in your subjects, you still came by after class, more often to gossip over whatever meal Crewel had brought with him than to study. You told him about what happened over the winter break, and how the Octavinelle trio actually ended up helping you out. You told him about Ace and Deuce showing up after everything had been resolved, how they got there by train and boat and foot because they had been so worried about you. You kept him up to date about how your dorm, finally at least clean and presentable, had been offered up for the SDC group headquarters. He occasionally had gossip for you, making you swear not to spread anything around before he would tell you anything. It was usually student gossip that was being spread around anyways, some spat in Savanaclaw, an Ignihyde student locking down a portion of the school website to blast photos of another student doing something embarrassing, and so on. He wouldn't admit it to a soul in the world, not even you, but you were swiftly becoming his favorite. Remarkable grades for someone who didn't even know the Great Seven at the beginning of the school year, the admirable bravery and kindness it took to stop five overblots in their tracks, you were impressive. That feeling of pride in his chest eventually never left.

When the Ferrymen came to remove students and take them to Styx, when he heard two of his students were injured, he sprinted down to the nurses office, feeling a bit shameful in the amount of relief he felt that you were not in one of the beds. When you did show up to check on your friends, he patched up the few scrapes you did have and insisted you didn't do anything rash. He knew how much you'd grown to care for Grim, but you had to leave this to the faculty. He was already boiling with rage at the injuries Ace and Deuce had sustained, if Crowley wouldn't handle this, he'd figure out a way to handle it himself. He should've realized that would be your mindset as well. He was furious when he heard you'd gone off with Rook and Epel to find everyone that had been taken, but more than that, he was afraid. He was afraid you wouldn't come back, and all he could do was wait and watch. When you did eventually come back, Crewel had an entire lecture planned for you, explaining how reckless and irresponsible it was to go running off with Rook and Epel to find Styx like that, how you could've been injured or worse, how he expected better from you. You took it like a champ, fully expecting the lecture before you even went after Rook in the first place. But you were safe, everyone was safe, that's all that mattered to you. You could sit through one lecture. When Crewel finally ran out of steam, he stepped forward and put his hands on your shoulders, getting you to look back up at him.

"I'm glad you're safe, pup, but don't you even think of doing something like this ever again."

"Okay, Dad."

You both froze, but for different reasons. You couldn't believe you slipped up and called a teacher dad, you were extraordinarily embarrassed. Crewel on the other hand was putting a name to exactly what that feeling of pride in his chest is every time he sees you succeed. You may not be his by blood or by law, but you are his. He ruffled your hair and sent you away with an order to rest up after your adventure.

You still came by his office after school, raving about a good grade on a history test or complaining about Grim and Ace getting you and Deuce in trouble in Vargas's class. It felt much lighter than when you first joined him in his office at the beginning of the school year, you had been so tense back then. You eventually took to calling him Dad on occasion, mostly when you were teasing him about something or other. He'd never imagined himself as a father, but he supposed at some point he had decided you were his kid, even subconsciously. It was probably the day he'd decided to stop watching, as soon as he closed that distance in his mind, you became his child. He wouldn't admit it out loud to you, or anyone for that matter, but he did consider you to be his family at this point.

In the meantime, Crowley had been actually, finally, working on a way to send you home, mirrors now lining his office, portals in the frames to different places in Twisted Wonderland, a few that go beyond but not correctly. Not to your home. Crowley had confided in Crewel that he wasn't sure he was going to find you a way home before the end of the school year, not sure what to do with you since they couldn't keep you on campus. Crewel offered up his home in half a heartbeat, more than willing to keep watching over you over the summer should it come to that. They were discussing the logistics of it in Crowley's office when you came into the room, stepping off to the side by the wall when you realized they were speaking, waiting your turn. You were standing in front of a large, full body mirror that nearly reached the ceiling in height when the door slammed open again, shaking the walls, Riddle scolding Kalim for opening the door so recklessly as the rest of the Housewardens filed in behind them. They all got a front row seat to watch the large mirror at your back teeter back and forth for a second, then topple forward and on top of you before you could even realize to dive out of the way. The mirror shattered when it landed flat on the floor, no sign of you underneath. Despite that, Crewel ran to it, enlisting Leona to help him lift it, desperately hoping to find you injured but alive. Find you there. But the only thing below the frame were the splinters of glass, now just reflecting the room instead of a swirling portal.

You were gone.

Crewel nearly throttled Crowley to get any information about that portal that he could. All Crowley could provide was the number he'd written on the back of the frame, a three, and suggested there may be others with that number. Other mirrors had recognizable names on the back, Clock Town square, Fleur City waterways, Scalding Sands outskirts. A few also had numbers, three ones, a five, two busted mirrors with a four on the back and the word dangerous, two had apparently been so uninhabitable that he tossed the mirror out entirely. He explained that he wasn't sure where the numbered mirrors led, they were not familiar lands to him. The ones all led to the exact same spot in a field of flowers he'd never laid eyes on, nor had you upon bringing one back, the five led to the inside of a locked room with lettering inscribed in the walls that you didn't recognize from your world. Three had led to a bustling city street. Crowley had led you through it once during his investigations. You recognized the area, but it was wrong. The way you'd described it was that it looked like three major cities from your world had been mashed together, and the lettering on the signs was unlike anything you'd seen. It wasn't home, but it had given Crowley the idea that he'd been getting close. Crewel sent the Housewardens out of the office at the explanation, and no one argued with his tone, the group of them too shaken by watching their friend disappear before their eyes.

"Bring them back." Crewel snapped as soon as the door closed behind the students.

"I'm sure they're fine, Divus, they even said themselves that it was similar to their home--"

Crewel grabbed him by the lapels on his jacket and dragged him back over to the shattered remains of the mirror. "Similar is not good enough, Dire." He snarled at the man. "You swore you would send them home, not abandon them in another unfamiliar place. Now, it is my pup that is lost as a result of your negligence and you will bring them back here, or so help me, I will--!"

"Alright! Yes, I will work on getting another portal open to them, but it will take time." Crowley agreed, if only to soothe over Crewel's rage. "It took months to find something that resembled their home the first time, and I haven't managed it again."

"Then I guess you had better get started."

The waiting was by far the hardest part. Every day for the first two weeks he would stop by Crowley's office to make sure he was working towards getting you back and to see if there were any developments. There were none. He was there in that office every day he didn't have classes, trying desperately to open the right portal. He and Crowley had told the Housewardens not to say anything to anyone yet, not wanting to worry the friends Crewel had watched you make. After the first two weeks of waiting, they could no longer keep it from Grim. Surprisingly enough, after telling him the news, Grim decided to stick close to Crewel in his free time. He's quieter now that you're missing, knowing he can't do anything. And Crewel said nothing. Azul and Riddle offered Crowley their help in creating portals to try to bring you back, Crewel almost had to threaten him to let them help. Eventually, when news finally spread about the reason behind your disappearance, Malleus came by to offer his assistance as well. It had been four weeks at this point, the five of them working together had managed to open eight new portals to places they didn't recognize, getting rid of every portal that led to another place in Twisted Wonderland to make room for the portals to other worlds in case one of them led to you and they just didn't realize it yet.

The waiting was agonizing. Crewel would, more often than not, end up sleeping at his desk in his office after staying too late with Crowley making portals and having to stay up longer to grade assignments. His office felt so quiet without you inserting yourself every day, he'd gotten so used to grading papers while you talked to him about your day that it was now hard to focus on it in the silence. But he had a duty to all his other students. So he kept teaching, training his other pups correctly lest they stray in his absence. But even the students noticed the change. He was quicker to anger, more harsh in his grading which they didn't think was possible, less tolerant of even the smallest mistakes. Trein had to pull him aside one day, three weeks after, to tell him he needed to take a break, that students were confiding in him about Crewel's behavior. He knew how he was acting, he knew how exhausted he was, but how could he be expected to stop when he knew you were out there somewhere? His kid was missing somewhere so far out of reach that finding them was, at this point, down to a shot in the dark, how could he be expected to take a break?

Four weeks had gone by with no sign of the portal you'd gone through. Riddle had dropped his appearances down to just the weekends, Azul had stopped coming entirely while claiming that he had to focus on the Lounge, Malleus returned every day like clockwork to try to find his dearest friend, but even he was starting to lose hope. Crewel still spent every waking moment that he wasn't fulfilling his role as a teacher on finding you. He had to drag Crowley back into the search a few times, and they'd fought about it more than once. Crewel, exhausted from lack of sleep and daily accumulation of blot, would shout at Crowley for not caring nearly enough that one of the students was missing, not caring enough to put his all into finding them again, how it was just like him to think his problems were solved once you were out of reach. Crowley would argue back that he was doing all he could, but he couldn't drop everything to look for one student when there were hundreds more to look after. They were in the middle of one of their arguments when Riddle stepped out of one of the portals, a medium sized vanity mirror they'd hung on the wall.

"Excuse me, Headmaster?" Riddle called out, causing the men to stop shouting long enough to listen. "You said it was a city street corner, correct?"

"Neon lights and the smell of the ocean, yes." Crowley nodded, crossing his arms.

"I believe I found it."

The two men glanced at each other quickly, silently agreeing to set aside their differences for the moment, and rushed forward to the mirror, letting it pull them through to the other side. They stepped out and landed on a cracked sidewalk atop a hill, neon lights reflecting off the puddles on the road, cars rushing past. Looking back, it seemed their portal had manifested in the window of a shop, the display inside blocking anyone in the store from seeing them suddenly appear in the street.

"This is it." Crowley confirmed before turning to go back through the portal. "I'll go see about getting a search party together and we can--"

Crewel didn't wait for him to finish, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting your name down the street. There was barely any chance you stuck around on this road for four weeks, but he had to try. He didn't notice Crowley step through the portal again, and he paid no mind to the people watching him shouting your name like a mad man. He had to try. They'd found the connection, they'd come this far, you were within reach again, he couldn't just give up now. He wandered down the street, still shouting your name. The sun was setting on this unfamiliar world, he didn't want to risk not being able to find the portal home again for fear of not being able to lead you to it, but he couldn't just give up now. He ran a hand through his already messy hair in distress, eyes darting frantically around at the faces that were passing him by. Where would you have gone if you left? He didn't want to even entertain the idea of the worst having happened. The sun had disappeared below the horizon and his voice had gone hoarse from yelling when he heard it. He wasn't exactly sure what it was over the sounds of the cars rushing past and over the puddles in the road, but it made ears perk up. He looked around again, spinning around to try to find where it had come from when he heard it again, across the street. Your voice.

"Dad?!" You shouted over the rush of the cars, absolutely beaming when he finally made eye contact.

"Pup!" Crewel nearly collapsed in relief, he could feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"Hold on, I'm coming to you! Just stay there!" You shouted back, bouncing in place for a moment before disappearing into the crowd.

He felt the anxiety take hold again once he couldn't see you anymore, but you looked fine. Healthy, not injured, fed, even from a distance he could tell you were okay. He took his moment alone to thank the Sevens for that, if nothing else.

"How did you find me?!" You asked through a laugh as you emerged from the crowd and approached him.

You met his hug with equal fervor as he pulled you tight against him, the relief of having you within arms reach shattering any remaining decorum his sleep deprivation had left him with. He didn't hold you long, however, pulling you back by the shoulders to examine you. He was right. Healthy, not injured, not starving. A little dirty, bags under your eyes, but those could be fixed. You were safe, and that was all that mattered.

"We've been looking for you for weeks, Pup." He admitted, shoulders sagging under the weight of the relief. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm alright. I tried to get back through the portal but it must've closed behind me." You chuckled as you showed him your knuckles, cuts scabbed over now. "I got pissed off and punched it. I'm just glad I didn't get arrested for breaking the window, honestly."

"You and me both." Crewel shook his head, thinking it just like you. "The mirror shattered when it hit the floor, that's why you couldn't get back. You don't look like you've been sleeping in alleys, at least."

"No, I found a shelter to stay at, and I've been coming back here every day to wait for someone to come get me." You explained quickly. "I'm so glad you came."

"Of course I did." He sighed, putting a hand on top of your head. "I wasn't about to leave you here."

"Thanks Dad." You said quietly, stepping forward to hug him again. He held you close, rubbing your back as he did. "Can we go home now?"

"Yes, Pup. Let's go home."

Upon your return to Twisted Wonderland, while you were greeting Riddle and Malleus who had just been waiting for you to emerge, Crewel finally realized he could put words to the worry he was feeling during the waiting.

He didn't know how he was supposed to say good-bye to his child once Crowley finally found the right connection to send you home.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

[rosiehrs]

TWO STEPS BEHIND ✧ sophia laforteza

sophia laforteza x fem!reader

SUMMARY ⤻ in which sophia laforteza, praised for her all-round skills and leadership, is tasked with guiding the new trainee to catch up with the others. but as y/n l/n struggles to keep up, sophia can't help but see the girl as a burden holding her back from her own success – and with each misstep, her resentment grows.

CONTENTS ⤻ smau, set before dream academy, wlw, enemies to lovers (?), angst, crack, fluff, one-sided hate, sophia is a perfectionist, yn likes messing around

WARNINGS ⤻ strong language, dark jokes, suggestive themes, will add more!

FEATURING ⤻ katseye, trainees from dream academy (mainly marquise, emily and adéla), staff from popstar academy, keeho (p1harmony), le sserafim, more to come!

STATUS ⤻ planning NOTES – this will be very out of character for some idols in this smau, but it's fiction! please remember that! this is also based off of their time on dream academy and i switched some things around, so it's not accurate. i also mention manon's behaviour in the show, so plz do not hurt me bcs its all for shits and giggles and i <3 manon. enjoy! also this is the weirdest header ive made i APOLOGISE, i js got excited.

divider by @ anitalenia

PROFILES # rizing stars | gng4lyf CHAPTERS

01. jet lagged

02. soul healing

03. assigned

04. daily reminder

05. miracle worker

06. first eval

07. take over

08. smoke grass

9. they might sell

10. make out

11. moving out

12. moving in

13. cutest girl ever

14. no defense

15. kang hyewon

TAGLIST CLOSED! @ssamlovr @sunshinez4 @fruityg0rl @meganskiendielsbtc @falling-intoo-deep @arihiu @nyssalvr @1luvkarina @ssryv @vrtualstar @hazel-tanthamore22 @lafortezalover @yeetaberry127 @leeseulss @saysirhc @gtfoiydlyj @bbanghanni @c-yerim @chaesitonmyface @en-chantedtomeetyou @jellaaa @artrizzler19 @soobnotfound @yukianism @perfectsunlight @meizinisnumberone @linnnsworld @thepurin @goofymickeyr @kristalag @cassiespoiler @blushmimi @meiphobic @taikabui @cceanvvaves

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

not me doomposting about l*ona again

I pointed out in an older post that Leona seems to demonstrate a unique ability to unite others under a common cause. This is in spite of the lore stating that it's very difficult to get different kinds of beastmen to see eye-to-eye, so much so that Sunset Savanna's acting king, his older brother, has yet to really unify their people.

WELL.

***Spoilers for Leona's Nightmare Suit vignettes below the cut!***

A central theme to Leona's Nightmare Suit vignettes is figuring out what makes someone worthy of being "king". At the start, everyone is reminded of Jack Skellington's status as the "King of Halloween, which makes him the most important person in town. However, Leona's quick to point out that the title isn't what's important, but what one achieves is. He then expresses interest in what it is exactly that Jack Skellington does around here to earn his crown. His opinion of Jack isn’t that good; in the event story, Leona thinks Jack doesn’t pay attention and doubts that he can have deep thoughts. Jack describes his duties as making Halloween the scariest it can possibly be. He drives around in his buggy, walks his dog Zero through the local cemetery, studies and conducts experiments, and reviews the proposals from Halloween Town residents. An important part of his job is considering his people's ideas! But Leona thinks there could be a more efficient way to do this rather than having the king read the proposals one by one. We can see a divide between their ways of thinking; Jack is willing to hear individuals out whereas Leona is focused on efficiency. This is also reflected in how they assign tasks later in the vignettes. Jack has everyone going up one ladder to decorate, while Leona commands the witches to do this task, as its much faster for them to do on their brooms. I don't know if this was intentional, but the way Jack rules feels reminiscent to how Leona often describes his older brother, Farena/Falena. So often does Leona mention that Falena is too kind and cares too much for others, which impedes on the political and economic gains he could be making if he were just more focused on his goals. “[Falena] could just focus on the kingdom’s affairs–you know, his JOB–but nooo, he’s gotta be the caring big brother who’s nice to everybody." (If you want to read a more in-depth analysis of Falena vs Leona's priorities when it comes to ruling, please read this post.)

Leona claims that the qualifications for king around here are actually really simple--and yeah, maybe there's nothing more to his line than this, but considering that in his home country one's order of birth is also a strong determinant, a merit-based system like what's seen in Halloween Town probably is simpler to him. And that means it's his time to shine and be acknowledged when he wasn't successful at earning this recognition back home.

Now, what REALLY surprised me in these vignettes wasn't that Leona knows how to boss around his peers and put their strengths to use (for example, he tells Vil, who has an eye for detail, to look over the embroidery, and Idia, who is a science and math whiz, to handle difficult calculations). It's that Leona is also perfectly aware of the abilities of the Halloween Town residents--people he has only known for less than three days--and uses them and their skills well too. That's an insanely short amount of time to get to know an entire TOWN'S worth of people and what each of them are like... yet he just pulls it off effortlessly????? HUH... This earns him the praise of Dr. Finkelstein, the mayor, Jack, Sally, and Skully. Sally in particular highlights Leona's strengths very concisely, stating that he can accurately assess the situation and give appropriate directions on how to act in that situation. Skully adds that Leona technically doesn't move himself or do any of the dirty work, he's focused solely on giving orders. This makes him a "king" and a leader of equal standing as Jack Skellington. And then Skully--SKULLY, THE OBSESSED HALLOWEEN OTAKU THAT THINKS HALLOWEEN SHOULD BE A VERY SPECIFIC WAY--says that Halloween was made possible by not one, but two great kings this year. It just goes to show how much one can truly accomplish when not barred by a negative environment and a lack of social support.

One definition of "king" that is offered in these vignettes is "the one who can bring everyone together". That's certainly something that both Leona and Jack do, albeit in very different ways. But then, at the end of the Halloween Town segment of the vignettes, Leona acknowledges that "king" can be defined another way. He realizes that Jack is recognized as king not just because he's a leader, but because he's also needed and loved by the townspeople. This, too, is a "king". However, it seems that this is a definition that Leona somewhat looks down upon, as he basically apologizes to Jack for not thinking highly of him at first. Again, Leona prioritizes getting shit done, no matter what the cost of it may be--and even if it earns him the ire of others. This, as I said earlier, puts him in stark contrast to Jack, as well as his own older brother. But here and now, we have Leona finally seeing the strength that a different kind of ruling can have instead of always speaking so disparagingly about it. Even if it's just a little... it feels like he's growing and learning, doesn't it?

The vignettes end on flashing forward to Leona back at Savanaclaw dorm. A few of his freshmen students are goofing off right before magift/spelldrive practice is about to start. As soon as Leona shows up, the freshmen snap to attention and rush off to change for practice. Jack (Howl, not Skellington, lol) remarks that usually the other first years are so lazy, but their attitudes completely changed when their dorm leader appeared. Ruggie chimes in, saying that Leona keeps the entire dorm in line... THJBAEBVUFAEIYAFIOYBVADFILH ThEN HE CALLS THEIR KING THE BEST... AND JACK AGTREESS... WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SHUT THE FUCK UPAS ALREADY STOP POGINTONG OUT HE'S A AGOODFK leADER DFOR YOUE AEPEOPLE YADFJKHAFLIYVDGVYUADGVUEGAVN

In response to the praise, Leona says that simply scolding misbehaving students doesn't make you a king. If it were as simple as that, it would be a pretty cheap throne build only on flattery. The vignettes end with him telling everyone to move their asses to practice. lh WDBHFAIYOEAIYEIYF BUT TAHAT'S PRETY YMASSIVE FOR HS CHARACTER... These vignettes demonstrate that Leona's not fixated on the title of king, but what it means to truly "be" a king and leader. He doesn't value being called a "king" if he feels it's easily earned, he wants to prove himself worthy of it and earn that title through his talents. This all circles back to a thought I had a while ago: that what Leona is after isn't the literal seat of king, but all the things that come with it but was denied of in his childhood. Respect, admiration, recognition for his abilities.

And 💦 Leona doesn’t realize it yet (either that, or he’s in complete denial) but… He also fits that second definition of “king” 😭 He’s the type of person that gets things done (like what he believes should define a king) BUT GIS DORM MEMBERS ALL ALSO NEED AND LOVE HIM…

OOoogohoggoOGH... OTL I hate how well it comes together...

[fyuyushia]

Capture Target: You!

Jinwoo has now obtained weekly tasks. Today follows Jinwoo completing one of said tasks. Namely: Making a cinematic film about his shadows(specifically bears) to send to you.

Link to Masterlist

It started out simple.

After you initiated the first conversation, it just somehow went on and on. Despite already sharing everything(well, not everything-but it was a lot.) and more, somehow someway you still had so much more to talk about.

He didn't complain.

On the contrary, one could even say he enjoyed it. Past feelings aside, you were always a delightful company. You knew just the words to make anyone laugh, and you were easy to talk to.

So when Jinwoo found himself indulging in conversations unwarranted(shocker. The system didn't convince him.) through text messages and occasional memes sent by you, he didn't even bother to stop. You can't blame him.

(Even so, he tries to reason himself.)

Putting aside the fact that you were his first love. Putting aside the fact that you're a capture target. Putting aside the fact that he feels the urge to talk to you more even outside of the system's wing.

You were a good friend. The ideal one, even. (What ideal was he basing on? He doesn't know, but he assumes it's someone like you who gets him chuckling unceremoniously)

You couldn't(and so no one should) blame him for having fun talking to you. You understood him-somewhat-even if he's changed into the convoluted man he is today with a chamber of secrets too much for one man to hold.

You gave him a sense of normalcy. Like he was back to the times where he didn't have to worry much about anything but if here wrote the right answer in his assignment. You were normal.

He wasn't-but he wanted to be.

You were normal. You gave him the feeling he was normal. You were far from the hunter business, you were a chance to be just a normal guy with a slightly weird wingman.(if he could even call the system that) He appreciates that, and so he lingers.

He doesn't admit that too easily, though. And his reasons for approach are also not as simple as just that-but it made him all the more motivated to pursue this quest-this relationship.

Perhaps a bit too much. Without even realizing it, he's incorporated you in his day to day life. He's chatting you regularly-awfully often for a man who's supposed to be busy clearing dungeons left and right.

He checks your messages more often than he should. Often it's you who starts it, and often it's him waiting for you to start it. Reading through past threads for no particular reason other than interest.

You appeared and delivered. He appreciates that.

Jinwoo hums mindlessly, watching with the nonchalance everyone recognized to be his. He didn't even have to do much, his shadow soldiers were doing all the work for him. From slaying monsters to gathering them, mining ores to dissecting and collecting the parts that could still be used and sold.

Jinwoo had absolutely nothing to do. In other words, he was bored.

Now, normally, he would've relieved himself of this boredom by fighting as well. It was a logical option, and it helped prevent him from letting his skills rust and disappear. But today-surprisingly-he had other plans. Plans that didn't involve helping out in this entire charade.

No, instead, he whips out his phone. Opens it, and then scrolls through his contacts, he stops when he finds your name and presses it. Backreading on a few conversations he particularly enjoyed-enough to bother reading it again.

He's easy. Too easy. He doesn't even realize his own antics have made the people around him suspicious. He doesn't even notice he may have gotten too friendly with you that it makes him look like he's grown two heads.

He looks around, searching for inspiration regarding what he should do in the meantime. It would take quite a while before his shadow soldiers would finish up scourging this dungeon for all it's worth, might as well find something to do to clear time.

There's Beru grilling the soldiers for being too slow and demanding they go faster, there's Iron eagerly smashing the crystals with glee, there's Igris busying himself with taking out the cores of the now dead beasts, delicately scanning their insides, as if he was doing something domestic like sewing.

It was unsettling.

He looks away from the scene, searching for something more friendly. Eventually, his gaze lands on Tank.

The bear, busily taking care of his fellow kin eventually noticed the weight of his master's eyes on him. He turns around, finds Jinwoo staring, and gives him a small wave with his paw.

Jinwoo flinches slightly, not quite expecting that but gives the bear a small nod. Tank lets out a happy huff and reverts his attention to his fellow shadows.

Jinwoo follows Tank's gaze, mildly curious and finds two of the bears under his rule play fighting.

He watches with the faintest hint of amusement glinting within. A smile, and then a flash of recognition-akin to the way one would light up after remembering or getting a bright idea.

Right, come to think of it, he did have that quest-didn't he?

This seemed like a good material for that. You did mention you liked bears once. Well, specifically pandas-but they're a bear in general. They looked adorable he daresays. Enough to curry your favor. And you also mentioned being curious about his shadows-something you saw on tv once-and another time during the reunion party when he ran away all of a sudden.

A shadow soldier took his place then, and it just so happened to be a bear. Right, come to think of it you did mention they were cute back then-you might just really enjoy this picture.

He scrolls up for who knows how long, double checking to make sure if you really said it, and, sure enough, you did.

You:

By the way did you know when you suddenly left using whatever magic you had during the reunion party a bear took your place?

They were really cute.

They looked so confused

They were also colored darkly and had a weird texture

But they were cute

Hehe it left but not before letting me pet them

It was weird

I think it was a fever dream

Jinwoo:

Bear?

Did they glow blue?

You:

Well they were mostly dark but yes they did have this blue outline to them

It was weird

I thought it would kill me at first

But they're actually really nice

They seemed just as scared when they suddenly showed up

Do you think monsters can be nice too?

Jinwoo:

Oh

That might be my shadow

You:

You're a bear?

Jinwoo:

Huh

You:

Huh

Jinwoo:

I meant they're one of my summons

You:

Summon?

Jinwoo:

My ability.

As a hunter

You:

Oh. What?

But they seemed so

Idk

Aware!

Like they had their own sentience

Jinwoo:

They are sentient

You:

Oh

Oh what

Now I'm confused

Is this like

Pokemon

Digimon???

Jinwoo:

That's close enough

You like them?

You:

Oh

Woah wait

Hold on

That's rad

Are they aggressive...

Jinwoo:

They're tame unless provoked otherwise

You:

Oh

So

Can I

Hypothetically speaking

Pet them?

Jinwoo:

Sure-maybe.

You:

Hurraaah

Please let me I want toooo

He nods in approval. Sure enough, you did mention liking the bears of his shadow army. He looks at the pair of bears, this time they seemed to be sumo wrestling-except they kept violating rules one after another so it won't even be allowed to qualify as one either.

They were just duking it out.

But they're bears. They're cute. It's fine.

He looks at the shadows. Violent-but not enough to constantly bring tremor to the cave-like dungeon. Only sometimes. Pointing his phone at them, he takes a quick video-as per your request, as per his quest. He faintly remembers you asking him if he could send you a video of them being in their natural state. He delivers, of course he delivers-you're a friend.

And...

He looks in front of him. Specifically: the system window in front of him.

[Lvl 2. Friends (40% to reach the next stage)

♡ = 26%

Feeling: (Locked.)]

[You've reached 25%!

Romance Quest Interface Unlocked!]

[Quest: First love to maybe something more

Progress Path: Capture Target - (Name)

Current Stage: Level 2 - Friends (40% to reach the next stage)

♡ Affection Level: 26%

Feeling: [Locked]

Weekly Task:

1. Send {Capture Target} a photo/video of your shadow soldiers in "natural habitat"

Tip:  Make it cute! {Capture Target} enjoys cute bear related videos!

Status: Incomplete

Reward: +2 AP | +1000 XP | +1000 gold

2. Reply to {Capture Target}'s last message within 10 minutes

Tip: Showing they matter is always great!

Status: Incomplete

Reward: +0.5 AP | +100 XP

3. Pet shadow bear in front of {Capture Target}

Optional: Let {Capture Target} pet shadow bear

Tip: Showing them your delicate side will always result in a win!

Status: Locked | requires in-person interaction

Reward: +3 Affection Points | Unlock hidden dialogue branch.]

He wanted to move up his affinity too.

This system window was fairly new, only obtaining it once he reached 26%AP. He didn't even realize he was raising affection back then, all he knew was that you were an enjoyable person so he texted you frequently to the point he made it a habit. One could only imagine his surprise when the hologram suddenly showed up wearing a different skin and theme.

It was more cutesy than the usual one. Its sharp edges softened into curved ones, colored the color of love and decorated with all things lovely (flowers)

Jinwoo didn't understand why he had a customized window dedicated for romancing, but he decided to just roll with it—after all, did he have a choice?(He does—he can choose to back out of this quest. There's an option specifically for that. But he pretends it doesn't exist.)

Jinwoo had only obtained this new system fairly recently. He did get the chance to explore it yet, but its purpose seemed to work similarly with his normal system so he didn't have much trouble when it comes to understanding the its function. The only question he had was: why. But it's not like it could be answered by anyone so he's left to stir in his own curiosity.

Resigning to his fate, he looks at the weekly tasks and sees that the hint he gathered became officially embedded and out in the tip section of his task. With the system practically begging him to do this one act—he finally gave in to his whims.

He whips out his phone and opens his camera. Might as well get the job done quick while he had the chance, lest he risk getting the penalty for failing to do the weekly task.

Setting the camera, he points it towards Tank—who gave him what seemed like a thumbs up before moving it to the other shadows still trying to make the other topple in order to proclaim victory.

As Jinwoo films the video with the precision of a man who has spent more time fighting monsters than actually mastering modern technology. He zooms in on the bears, attempting to capture their chaotic wrestling.

His hands are steady, he's used to keeping his hand still and calm under worse situations, but the camera work, as he feared, leaves much to be desired.

The video shakes ever so slightly, and then suddenly a bear's paw unexpectedly smacks the screen as one of them rolls too close. He dodges with a sidestep, and the angle shifts in a way that only manages to show a blurry, overly dramatic shot of a bear's massive form in the background. Jinwoo blinks, trying to stabilize the phone.

Jinwoo finally ends the clip with a decisive press. He looks at the playback, and what he sees is nothing short of disappointing-it's messy and clearly not expertly choreographed. He deletes it immediately, there's no way he'd let you or anyone else see it for that matter.

He brings a hand up, carding his fingers through his hair. Breathing out a sigh, Jinwoo feels the smallest tinge of shame because of his own actions.

What is he even doing?

He pauses. Why is he putting so much effort into this again? It’s not like he needs to. But then again, you liked bears. And bears were easy. And you were a good friend—so he should return the favor you gave him(being a good company) and pay you back.

[Tip: Half hearted attempts to win {Capture Target}'s heart will result in AP being halved. Worse: reduced!]

Well now he's obligated to put some thought into it.

What the hell is with this plot convenient system forcing him to take action? (He clings to a chance to justify his own actions.)

He forms a glare(it's half hearted at best) as he stares at the pop up window with the kind that could make grown men quake in their boots.

With a half formed scowl and his phone in hand, he resumes his prior antics in the name of currying your favor.

Meanwhile, in the background, Jinho, having just finished strolling around the dungeon, finds Jinwoo doing(what he perceives)the unthinkable: take a video.

Jinho's mouth falls agape, question marks immediately occupying his thoughts as he watches his nonchalant, cool, unbothered, effortlessly intimidating with an air of mystery that makes him irresistible to the rest(especially for those looking for someone to fix) take a video.

Tank is growling, pointing to his bears and choreographing the shadow's movements like a director of a movie film.

With one big gulp of the nerves that bundled up in his throat, he forces it down and finally asks about the elephant in the room.

"Hyung?"

Jinwoo hums. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

Jinho narrows his eyes, suspicious and mildly concerned. He didn't recognize Jinwoo to be an avid photo taker(he's not-he has less than 30 images on his camera roll)so seeing him suddenly seem interested in capturing candid moments seemed odd.

"Taking a video." A video because a simple picture wouldn't be enough-they were doing something much more complicated to attempt for him to even capture in just a single photo.

"Why?"

"For a friend."

"Who?"

He looks at Jinho, contemplates what answer to give, and promptly settles with:

"You wouldn't know even if I told you." He says, as if keeping you a secret.

Now to Jinho-this immediately raised flags. Not because he hid your identity-he already knew his Hyung was a private man who kept his life to himself-but because he was filming a video(even if said video was amateur at best) to send to someone.

Of course, for someone with an overactive imagination like Jinho, this sudden act had him thinking. Really thinking. This whole situation is reeking with love—and love was a rare find on Jinwoo. At least, he thinks it is.

Wait, not really. He recalls the previous times he's caught his Hyung with girls. There was that one E-rank hunter girl—okay, no, maybe him having someone isn't so rare, but still, this is still something.

Jinho's jaws are wide agape, paired with his equally wide eyes, and then followed along surprised and very loudly gasping as his thoughts ran with a hundred dozen ideas which all boiled down to one thought:

Does Jinwoo have a lover?!

"Hyung, You've filming bears. For thirty minutes. Like this is some National Geographic special—! And for what? For who?”

"I told you, for a friend."

Jinho scoffs. "What kind of friend asks for a video of shadow bears going at each other's throats?!"

"The kind that likes bears."

Jinho runs a hand through his hair, distressed and in disbelief. "Hyung, be honest! Is this really just a friend?" He pauses. "Or are they the" wink wink "kind of friend?" Wink wink

Jinwoo grimaces, almost disgusted by the wink. "What do you mean? They're just a friend. A normal one."

Then Jinwoo pauses. Jinho holds his breath.

"But you're right. They're a normal person, I doubt they'd appreciate this much violence—even in bears."

He stops his video taking. One glance from Jinwoo to Tank was enough for Tank to get the memo. As the bear stands up and waddles over to the other bears, they communicate what his master's needs and immediately nods and gets to work.

"That's not the problem!" Jinho exclaims, but he gets ignored.

Jinho, meanwhile, swallows thickly. Shifting his gaze to Jinwoo, his expression is one of terror as he watches him video again. Only this time, he was walking around, acting like a professional videographer and passively encouraging the bears to keep going with that blank expression—with that certain face he makes sometimes whenever he does something incredibly mundane or normal. That blank faced enthusiasm that makes anyone automatically think he's innocent.

Jinho watches with a mix of horror and amusement—he doesn't even realize he's been staring for a while until Jinwoo finally presses stop and turn his attention to where he stood.

"What's wrong? Why're you spacing out?" He asks, as if he hasn't just spent almost half an hour recording the bears in their "natural habitat"(they were not. Their natural habitat included duking things out and fighting—not rolling around and playing cute as if they weren't twice a human's width and height, as if their claws and teeth weren't just at a monster's throat and making them bleed. Their natural habitat does NOT include them purring like overgrown cats—but it does include roaring loudly to the point of deafening to scare off enemies.)

"No. Nothing." Came Jinho's reply, eyes dead as he processes everything.

Jinwoo gives him one final look before shrugging and brushing him off. Placing his attention on his phone. He scans through his contacts, searching for your name (It doesn't take him long, he only ever saved a few people on his phone.) 

Tapping your account, his fingers nimbly send the 30 minute video consisting only of the bears containing their instinctive urges and being tame, and Beru attempting to sneak in only to be urged out of the video because he looked far too intimidating.

Jinwoo:

Sending 1 attached file...

Faile to send.

He frowns. Why can't he send it? He tries again, and then the second attempt becomes three, and three becomes four and all of them results in a failed sent.

He stares at his like it's the problem. Very accusingly—and he doesn't even realize it. His brows twitch, and his lips curl into a frown.

He tries again. Presses send with the aggression of a man annoyed and waits.

It fails.

"Hyung."

Jinwoo turns. "What?"

"There's no signal inside gates."

"Oh."

His message fails to send again, and this time, he sees the reason why. Right, he forgot about that. It's been too long since he brought a phone inside a dungeon the fact that there would be no service slipped out of his mind.

"Should I go outside, then?"

"Huh?"

"What?"

Jinwoo looks at Jinho, puzzled. Jinho looks at Jinwoo as if he just told him that he's leaving him alone to fend for himself in a ditch full of monsters. To be fair, it was very much similar to that.

"Are you going to leave me alone here?"

Jinwoo blinks. "My soldiers will be inside. You'll be safe."

Jinho looks at his shadows. Sure enough, there was an abundance of them at work excavating the dungeon.

"I mean, sure, but, do you have to go? Can't you just wait until we're finished here?!"

He blinks again. Jinho was right, he could simply wait until they were finished with this dungeon before finally sending the video.

But also, it's been more than 10 hours since he last talked to you—that's five hours past the usual time. What if your AP lowers because he's taking too long before talking to you again?

[Tip: AP will only go down after 72 hours of no contact!]

He ignores the pop up.

"I won't be long, I just have to send this before I forget."

"Is the video really that important, hyung?!"

He doesn't answer, only walk through the exit and bid him goodbye after telling Beru to take care of Jinho.

He waits for signal outside. Waiting for his video to finally send, he takes a moment to think of what to text alongside the video.

Jinwoo:

1 attachment uploaded

Thought you'd like this. They're not exactly bears, but they try.

He taps on the side of his phone, waiting for a reply. It doesn't take him long, fortunately, as only a minute after he sent the video, you're already putting him on read and typing a reply.

You:

Oh?

You really sent me a whole documentary of the bears 😭😭

Hold on hold on let me watch.

[Task: Send {Capture Target} a photo/video of your shadow soldiers in "natural habitat"

Status: Complete

♡ = 28.5% ( + 2 ) ( + 0.5) ]

Reward: +2 AP | +1000 XP | +1000 gold]

[Task: Reply to {Capture Target}'s last message within 10 minutes]

Status: Complete

Reward: +.5 AP | +100 XP]

You:

AWWW

ONE OF THEM ROLLED OVER THE OTHER LIKE TUMBLWEEDDD

SO CUTEEE

ALSO THE BIG BEAR WITH THE SCARRR

HE WAVED?! HE WAVED !!

THATS SO CUTE EEEK

I WANT TO PET THEM

THE BIG BEAR LOOKS LIKE HES DELIRECTING THEM LIKE A MOVIE DIRECTOR LMAOO

He lets out a laugh-quiet, short-but nonetheless real. It's not one of those socially mandated smiles. This one slips out before he even notices, tugging the corner of his lips upward as he stares at your messages.

His fingers type out a reply before he can think.

Jinwoo:

He is their manager. I think he just promoted himself to coach, though.

Next time, I’ll let you pet them in person. Deal?

He freezes for a moment, turning rigid. Hold on, was that too forward?

You:

Wait

You'd let me?

Really?!!?

Yes

Yes.

YES

Let me know when you can!

Don't back out now hehe

Jinwoo stares at your stream of texts, all a varying response essentially meaning yes. His sighs fondly, a small smile etched on his lips.

[Achievement unlocked!]

[Rizz'o'meter off the charts: "smoothly" ask {Capture Target} out on another date.]

Jinwoo nearly chokes in his own spit.

Date?!

He covers his lips with his palm, resting his head against it as he reads through the pop up.

"It's not a date." He grumbles, but there's no hiding the dash of red coating his cheek subtly.

Taglist: @blackcat-star @daiyanomochi @soft-dots @snowy-violet @kokominari @ssolarsystm @2dmenfr @baby-bread-in @awwwia @coffeeisbehindyou @rai-xxx @sanchann @ilovestarwholock218 @simpingpandas @smellysluna @tanspostsblog @sauerhundz @justanotherweeb666

[readwritealldayallnight]

A Stranger is a Friend You Haven’t Met Yet… (Part 2)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 5.5k words

(18+ mdni) warnings/tags: kinda barely enemies to lovers, tension, grinding, dry humping, finishing with clothes on, Ghost does not do feelings™️, mask stays on (for now)

Part 1 Part 3

‘Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst’.

That was something something you told yourself often, working as a woman in close contact with the military. Especially so when starting new assignments for the first time, landing on a new base, meeting new faces. More often than not the grand majority of those faces were men. Large, intimidating, burly men. Some of whom sometimes held certain feelings about a woman being brought in to work alongside them.

The first time you’d met Captain Price on yet another new base for yet another new assignment, shaking hands with the tall man, you’d once again repeated the familiar phrase to yourself. If only you could have known there was no real way to prepare for meeting the 141.

He walked you through numerous zig zagging hallway and corridors that made up the heart of the base, leading you towards the briefing room where you’d be meeting the rest of the task force your employer turned friend Laswell had assigned you to assist. Your work as a highly skilled translator meant that your unique credentials made you a vital asset to anyone you worked for. You were only a year out of finishing your degree when Laswell had scooped you up, seeing the potential in you.

As your mind shifted to her, you halted your steps, cursing yourself silently. You’d promised Laswell you would text her and let her know when you’d made it to your hotel safe last night. After the chaos of being left out in the dark, pouring rain at the wrong address following a 10 hour flight where they put your luggage on the wrong flight, being unable to find reception walking along a sketchy, desolate road in search of a way of calling a cab, being rescued by a large, mysterious, enticing stranger on a motorcycle, you’d forgotten to text Laswell before you crashed on the hotel bed that night.

It had equally slipped your mind the next morning when you woke up in a panic, only a few hours later due to the early start time of the briefing, shoving your still wet clothes into the questionable hotel dryer, hoping it would be good enough in time for your mad dash to the base. All this to say, the last 24 hours had left you frazzled, and you’d completely forgotten to get back to her.

“I’m so sorry Captain, I-”

“You’re welcome to call me Price, if you’d like. You’ll find we’re not always so formal ‘round here.” The older man replied, also pausing his foot steps so as to not leave you behind, offering a kind smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes.

“Price,” you corrected, offering him back the best smile you could muster up at that moment. “You’ll have to forgive me, I just need 60 seconds to contact Laswell, that’s all. I was supposed to-”

“Say no more.” He interrupts, holding his hands up as if in a display of mock surrender, taking one small step back towards the door to the briefing room. “If it’s Laswell, I don’t want to held responsible for upsettin’ her. Used up enough favours with her already to finally have her send you over our way.”

You offer him a genuine chuckle at that last comment, knowing that Kate is in fact more often than not bombarded with requests for your skills, and that the head of the 141 was one of those little birdies often chirping in her ear.

“I’ll give you a few minutes. Come in when you’re ready.” He kindly offers you before excusing himself into the briefing room. You take a steadying breath, pulling out your phone and quickly typing out a message to your friend, not wanting to cause a worse first impression than you might already be currently doing. The soft whoosh sound of your text being sent has barely touched your ears before you’re hiding your phone away, ready to get this show on the road.

Your hand is reaching out to twist the door handle, catching the tail end of Price’s deep voice telling someone that he’s “been tryin’ to get ahold of her for a long feckin’ time now.” before an excited Scottish accent adds “So it is a lass??”

‘Hope for the best, prepare for the worst’ you thought one last time before opening the door and walking in to meet the 141.

“Last time I checked, yes, I’m still a ‘lass’.”

To your utter surprise, the transition into working alongside the 141 had been the easiest, dare you even say, the most fun, you’ve had in a long, long time. Price is a kind and fair leader, always looking out for his teammates. You, Soap and Gaz have gotten along with ease from the get go, the Sergeants taking an immediate liking to you.

“Is it really 11?” Gaz had asked you during that very first briefing between the five of you, a playful smiling stretching across his young, handsome face. Soap was gazing at you beside him with equal, genuine curiosity across his features.

“Yes, it’s 11.” You confirmed for them, used to the question at this point. It was a fair question, and you knew that. It wasn’t every day that they met someone who was perfectly fluent in six languages, fairly fluent in 3, and knew enough to effectively translate in another 2 languages. Sometimes, if you stayed on with a team for long enough, you forgot how ‘odd’ your work was, seeing people’s reactions for the first time, raving about how they wish they had your ‘gift’.

In actuality, your knowledge felt like the furthest thing from a gift, some days. Your skills were the result of hard work, blood, sweat and tears. You’d been raised in a household where 3 languages were spoken on a daily basis, and so though you did have that advantage early on in life, when you chose your path after high school graduation and decided to learn more than the 3 you already knew, you’d dedicated more effort to your pursuits than you ever had before.

Discovering your love for learning languages, your nose was never not in a book. This is how one of your first every contracts gifted you with the nickname that stuck with you to this day. Though you weren’t technically military, only working with them, the call sign was deemed too perfect not to be yours. This was something Soap was very curious about upon meeting you, and wasn’t shy to hide it.

“And the wee call sign? How’d a sweet lass like you end up being called that?” He questioned, earning a sideways glance from his superior, who was beginning to open his mouth to probably scold him before you laughed and reassured him it was fine.

“I was just starting to study Russian when I’d landed on what would be my longest job at the time. And Russian is really hard to learn, let me tell you. 33 letters in their alphabet, I was working more so had less time to study, anyways I was just reading a lot, always had my nose in a book.” You explained to the men, a familiar story you’d recounted countless times now. “Eventually that got me the nickname bookworm, which over time got shortened to, what it is now… worm.”

“Ach, nowhere near as fun as I’d been hopin’.” The Scot huffs out as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Thought maybe you’da been forced to eat a worm at some point or-”

“Sergeant MacTavish!”

That first meeting had been a few weeks ago now, and you were pleasantly surprised at how well things were going. Well, almost everything. Because as kind as Price was, and as friendly as Soap was, and as inviting as Gaz was, those men only made up 3/4 of the task force. There was one other member of the 141, and the issue wasn’t that he’d been missing from that initial briefing, it was that he hadn’t said one goddamn word to you.

The entire time, the massive, intimidating, beast of a man sat in the corner of the room, eyes hidden by the shadows that the skull plated mask he wore cast over where his eyes should be, almost giving off the impression as if the figure behind were not alive. Price had introduced him as simply, Ghost, the Lieutenant. And that’s exactly what he was, a ghost hovering in the space, listening in on the stories that those alive and well were sharing around the table, never saying a word, never making a sound, never even moving.

It wasn’t until the briefing finally ended, Price explaining that he would show you towards the room that would now be yours for the indeterminate future, that you finally saw any sign of life from him, as he took no hesitation in standing to his feet and swiftly leaving the room, all without a word or look of acknowledgement in your direction.

“Don’t you be worryin’ yourself over him, wormie.” Soap had insisted one evening as he helped you spar in the gym. You were by no means a soldier, and were not expected to fight. However more and more often you work was requiring you to be on at the heart of the chaos, translating for your team on the spot in tense, increasingly dangerous situations. It was vital, no, necessary, to Price that they go over what sort of self defence you knew so that they could judge for themselves what was adequate and what needed improving before he deemed you fit to be defending yourself from more than your colleagues.

“It isn’t just you, he act this way with anyone new.” Gaz added as well from where he was stood on the edge of the mats, observing your progress (or the lack thereof rather). “Takes him time to warm up, ya see. He just doesn’t know ya yet.”

“He’s still warmin’ up to me, even now! If you’ll believe me, bonnie!” Soap had joked, wanting to squash your concerns.

The days dragged on however, and the Lieutenant’s behaviour became increasingly odd. He still would not speak to you, and so you never tried initiating contact, reading his message loud and clear. But there were times where you’d be holding multiple folders, if not boxes, of files and information on the way to a briefing, and you would run across none other than Ghost.

Rather than continuing to ignore your presence and continuing his way to the briefing room, he’d wordlessly pluck the items from your hands, carrying them in your place, pace quickening as if to leave you behind. Another time, you were practicing strapping on gear that you’d apparently be expected to wear at times depending on the climate and the situation, intent on heading straight to the gym afterwards to practice sparring, as per his idea to have you practice in actual equipment.

You knew Ghost was somewhere in the room as well, polishing some weapon or another, but you were focused on your task. That’s part of why you were so caught off guard when you stood up, thinking you’d finished gearing up correctly, and found your path to the door blocked suddenly by the Lieutenant’s immense frame taking up your line of sight.

You’d gasped in surprise at his unexpected closeness, finding your mouth gone dry when his large gloved hands reached out to your front, adjusting the straps of your tactical vest without a word. As quickly as he had appeared before you, he’d completed his task and disappeared, leaving you spinning from the interaction.

The next time, you were in the mess hall, standing awkwardly as you tried to leave a conversation but didn’t know how to do so politely. The young Sergeant had suddenly introduced himself to you as you were walking out, and the man had yet to take a single breath to allow you to speak and excuse yourself. Something apparently caught in his throat however, when he quickly clammed up, eyes going wide, gaze trained over your shoulder, before he suddenly had to be somewhere and dashed out of sight.

When you’d turned around, you’d barely caught enough of a glimpse, but you were certain it was Ghost you saw turning the corner, confusing you even further. You couldn’t make any sense of his behaviour, unsure of what to make of the situation. Things came to a head however, when Price decided it was time for the Lieutenant to begin handling your training.

Ghost casts a quick glance around the gym as he walks in, finding that he’s the first to arrive this morning, something he’s thankful for. He’s still not sure how he’s going to go about this. When Price had approached him, saying that he believed the sergeants were going too easy on you in your training and that he wanted him to take over, he knew he was not in any position to refuse.

After all, how was he meant to explain to his captain that he’d rather not be left alone with you. Not when he’d been trying to avoid you at every cost, realizing that out of the dark and the rain, wearing his usual Ghost mask that had been absent from his face the night he met you on his motorcycle, you hadn’t recognized him. And why would you? The only identifying feature you might remember from that night, was his voice, and he’d been making every effort to avoid speaking you thus far.

At first, he wasn’t sure why he was going to such lengths to avoid you, a complete 180 to the way he’d gone out of his way to help you previously. Deep down though, he knew why.

You’d called him a good man.

He’d gone back to base and touched himself, relieved himself, came all over his first like a damn teenager, all to the thought of you, the thought of your sweet voice calling him just that, a good man.

But you had only called him that because you didn’t know him, not really. Your idea of that hero riding in on a steel steed, saving you when you needed it, was not something he wanted to taint, to ruin, with the revelation that that man was actually him, the farthest thing from good there could ever be.

Realistically, he knew he couldn’t avoid you forever, not when you’d apparently be working together. God, what a shock that had been to see you stepping into the briefing room. His intention wasn’t to ignore you completely, at least not indefinitely. He only wanted to buy himself some time, give himself a chance to think of what he might say should you somehow recognize him. But then every time you were in his line of sight, the only thing he could think of was his exit strategy, how to get as far from you as possible.

And yet, even as the days turned into weeks, Simon’s avoidance of you couldn’t hide the growing affection that beginning to take form in the recesses of his heart. Any time he was within hearing range, his ears were tuned in to every word that left your mouth. When your back was turned to him, his eyes were following your every move. Even his own body was beginning to fight against his mind at times, taking initiative before he could realize that he was adjusting the straps to your tactical vest, the thought of you being in a high risk situation without being properly secured leaving a foul taste in his mouth, finding his hands relieving you of the load of whatever paperwork you were bringing to the briefing that day.

Or worse, he finds himself intimidating any man whose eyes land on your figure for a fraction of a second too long for his liking, or who has the balls to actually speak to you. Acting as though he had any right to act as your protector, to involve himself in your life like this without having ever even had the courtesy to speak to you. He really was going about this all wrong, wasn’t he?

Any further self destructive ideas Ghost might had come up with are instead cut short when he hears the hinges of the gym door squeaking open once more. His head swivels in the direction of the noise, eyes landing on none other than you. He’s seen you in your sparring sessions with the sergeants, seen you walk in full of energy, enthusiastic about proving your abilities and learning how to improve them. This morning however, you appear almost timid, trying to make yourself appear smaller as the loud thud of the door slamming shut behind you resonates out, only further emphasizing how alone you and Ghost are now.

He knows he has to be the one making you feel this way, and you aren’t without good reason. Clearing his throat, Ghost acknowledges he’s stalled as long as he can, if you’re going to recognize him, it’s just going to happen.

“Alright?” His deep, gravelly voice rings out in the space. You nearly jump in surprise but manage to school your expression. You wonder if his voice always sounds so rough, or if its a by product of the early morning hour. Whereas Soap and Gaz, ever the gentleman, had asked you what time you’d prefer to train, leading to late night sparring sessions, Price had informed you that Ghost would be meeting you in the gym before the sun had even come up. Damn military men and their early wake up times.

“I’m alright, yeah. How uh- how are you? Sir.” You reply, slowly stepping towards the training mats where Ghost is stood, muscular arms crossed over his huge chest. You tack on the ‘sir’ at the end, not wanting to get on his bad side before you even have a chance to begin training.

“Ghost will do.” He corrects you, ignoring your question otherwise. Ghost finds himself feeling antsy, almost out of his element, he doesn’t like that you’re messing with his head so much already. He’d rather get this over with. The less chit chat (and the less odds of you recognizing him by his voice), the better. “You ready?”

“Yes, I stretched before coming so, should be ready.” You answer him, finally stepping near enough that you’re within reaching distance of one another. Fuck, he’s suddenly extremely thankful you chose to do that before coming here, he’s not sure how he would’ve managed watching you bend over every which way to stretch.

“Right. Let’s see what the sergeants have taught you then.”

All in all, you’re actually not as bad as he might have expected, for someone who wasn’t a soldier. Obviously, he was going easier on you than he would’ve if it were Garrick or MacTavish he were sparring with, but he wasn’t completely letting you win either. You were fast on your feet, slippery in his grasps (maybe that’s why they should’ve named you worm), quick to think and to dodge his movements. He finds himself actually surprisingly quite pleased with you.

What he isn’t enjoying as much, or rather is probably enjoying too much and that’s the issue, are the fucking noises you keep making. Your small grunts of exertion, your puffs of breath drenched in effort, the groans you let out every time he lands a soft blow on you, not nearly as hard as he’d hit an enemy, but with enough force you knock the wind out of you each time. He’s also noticing the way the sweat drips down your neck, across your collarbone, sneaking into the heaving valley between your breasts.

There’s stirring happening in Ghost’s sweatpants and suddenly he needs this session to be over with sooner rather than later. He’s about to call it good enough for today when you open your pretty little mouth and say:

“Why are going easy me?” You’re panting, cheeks reddened with the blood pumping through you and his continues to gather somewhere it really shouldn’t be right now.

“What?” He grunts out, turning his back to you. He reaches a hand behind his neck with a towel, wiping at whatever sweaty skin his balaclava exposes.

“Look I’m not trying to pick a fight with you-” He’s cursing himself silently already at your words. “But not even Garrick or MacTavish treat me like I’m that weak. And they don’t have any issues with me being here.”

“Don’t have any issues with you.” He attempts to reply coolly, still not facing you, though he’s finding himself standing up straighter.

“With all due respect, that’s pure shit.” You retort. At this, he swings around to look at you, eyes narrowing. So she’s got some bite to her. “You’ve had an issue since I arrived, and that’s fine. I don’t need you to like me. But if you’re the one who’s apparently going to be training me now, I’d appreciate if you didn’t treat me like a kid. I’m here to do my job, and do it right. Can I expect the same from you, Lieutenant?”

If you were anyone else, he’d have you running laps around the entire base by now for talking back to him like this. Except you’re not anyone else, you’re you. And now you’re stepping closer to his space, this small thing daring to get into his face over him not training you hard enough? If harder is what you want, then harder is what you’ll get, little worm.

“You want me to go harder on you, s’that it?” He questions, taking the final step forward until your chests are now touching, and you’re having to crane your neck back to maintain eye contact. He’s close enough he sees you swallow at his question, but you don’t dare back down. Good girl. “Treat you like a big girl, s’that right?”

Suddenly struggling to find your voice, you manage what you hope is a confident nod. He’s never been so close to you before, and you’re noticing that the scent of him, even covered in sweat and likely morning breath behind his balaclava, is dizzying. Nearly intoxicating. He smells like a pure man, and you’re internally berating yourself to stay focused.

“Careful what ya wish for.” He says, barely allowing a second to pass before he’s suddenly throwing you onto the mat, flipping you onto your back, both of your hands pinned above your head in one of his large palms, his large, heavy body holding you in place underneath him, all in the blink of an eye. “What now, little worm? How are ya wrigglin’ your way out this?” He presses his mask covered mouth next to your ear, feeling a shiver go through your body at his words.

He’s careful to keep his now raging erection away from you, leaning his hips back but still pressing enough weight on you to keep you from budging. To your credit, you do try to get out from underneath him, but it’s a losing battle from the start, you’re no match for his size, especially with both hands above your head like this. Your cheeks are reddening in a mix of effort and embarrassment, and Ghost finds himself enjoying this view far too much.

“See, I was actually bein’ quite nice to ya,” He adds, barely tightening his grip on your hands, as if to remind you that he’s not even using his full strength with you. “But out there, wormie. They’re not gon’ be so kind-”

Whatever Ghost was going to say is cut off by a genuine, ragged gasp erupting from behind his mask. In your effort to free yourself, you’ve lifted your hips, unknowingly rubbing yourself against the bulge straining in the front of his sweatpants. Shocked by his reaction, you stay frozen in place, still pressed against what you can now tell is his throbbing member. And from what you can fell, it’s huge.

You’re momentarily caught off guard by his reaction to you. You weren’t exactly expecting… this. But his delicious, masculine odor is filling your nostrils, it feels as if every inch of you is pinned down by every inch of him, you can feel every twitch of his muscles and can practically count the steady beating of his heart through his cock pressing intro your thigh. And though you’ve always prided yourself on thinking first, acting second, you can’t exactly explain why you find yourself slowly beginning to rock your hips forward.

“This is you bein’ nice, Lieutenant?” You attempt to ask coyly, though you can’t hide the breathy way your voice comes across. Before you can pull your hips back anymore however, Ghost is suddenly releasing you from his grasp, standing to full height and dashing out of the room before you have a chance to even sit up.

Well, that went well.

The birds have only just begun to chirp when there’s a loud banging at your door early the next morning. You’re confused, prepared to tell whoever is on the other side of the door that it had better be a matter of life or death, when you come face to face with none other than a Ghost.

“What are-”

“If training starts at 0500, then you are to be in the gym at 0500. Understood?” His gravelly voice demands. A quick glance to your watch tells you it’s 3 minutes past 5 in the morning. You had been certain after yesterdays debacle that Ghost would never want to train with you again, assuming that he’d speak with Price about handing you back over to the sergeants somehow.

So why does the sight of this gigantic masked man standing in your doorway, so large he blocks most of the light coming in from the hall, someone who’s done nothing but piss you off so far, arriving in absolute insistence that you continue sparring together, have your thighs suddenly clenching together?

“I thought that-” You cut yourself off as you watch him tilt his head, almost as if daring you to finish that sentence. “Yes sir.”

“Get changed. You’ve got 60 seconds.” He informs you before reach to shut your door for you.

That’s how you find yourselves alone in the gym a short time later, training resuming. To his credit, Ghost does not go as easy on you this time as he did yesterday, genuinely challenging your abilities in self-defence and close quarters combat, teaching you moves that Soap and Gaz had apparently not considered necessary.

“If you’re ever in a situation where it’s your life on the line,” he had said between clenched teeth as he taught you to dodge his blows more effectively, as if the thought of you in actual danger enraged him enough to chip a tooth. “I want you doing anything necessary, to get out o’ there. Understood? You make it out.”

By the end of the session, Ghost himself is panting with exertion, the both of you having put in more energy than you would have, were you sparring with anyone else. You watch him, hands on his hips as he catches his breath, head tilted slightly to the ceiling, and you decide it’s as a good opportunity as any to try and catch him off guard, feeling confident in yourself.

Foolishly confident.

Before you even manage to land a finger on him, he’s flipping you into the very same position as you found yourselves in yesterday, you on your back with him above you, one of his hands pinning the both of yours above your head as his other is planted by your waist, warm breaths meeting in the middle.

“That, I never want to see you do again.”

“Was worth a try.”

“Was it?”

You slowly raise your hips, unsurprised when you make contact with his steel hard cock above you, teasingly rubbing yourself against his length.

“Maybe.” You whisper, eyes searching his glazed over expression. You find his pupils have darkened to the point they eclipse almost all colour, specks of black eye paint smudged around his eyes have caught onto his eyelashes. He’s so close to you, you’re able to make them out as blond. Something about being near enough to the mysterious, alluring Ghost to know that he’s blond under that mask causes the blush on your cheeks to darken further.

As caught up as you are in the obvious want you find behind his eyes, there’s something about them that almost, somehow seem familiar. As if you’ve looked into these eyes before, in a different place, a different context, a different time.

Any rational thoughts are cut off however, when you both hear and feel Ghost growl, the hand that was planted at your side now coming to sneak between your back and the floor, pulling your front somehow even closer to his muscular chest. There isn’t an inch of space between the two of you now, your heads falling beside each other, temple to temple, as his grip on the situation finally slips, his resolves breaks, and he begins to grind against you.

You let out a gasp, the feeling of his pulsing member rubbing against your centre, even with all the layers of clothing, is sinfully delicious. You suspect he’s feeling the same way, because his grip on your waist tightens, hips bucking already with more insistence. His grunts are music to your ears, as are the small moans and whimpers you let out into his neck. You’ve wrapped one leg behind him, widening your hips as far as they’ll allow, granting him as much access to your core as his large frame needs. Having released your hands to allow himself to explore the soft squeeze of your breasts through your workout shirt, your fingers in turn are roaming up and down his back, across his shoulders, fingers nails scratching at the fabric of his shirt.

Ghost knows he’s not going to last long. When he’d gone to get you this morning for your sparring session, he was determined not to let yesterday’s events get in the way of his professionalism. You were right, after all. You both had a job to do, and he would ensure you could do it right. He would sleep better at night anyways, knowing you were properly trained in how to defend yourself. Trained by him, and his hands. He hadn’t intended for the session to end the way yesterday’s had, with you laying beneath his raging erection on the sweaty training mats, though he wouldn’t lie and say he hadn’t hoped for it in some small part.

He knows he’s not going to last long because he’s finally, somehow, got you here underneath him, and your small sounds of pleasure are better than anything his twisted imagination could have ever conjured up. He shouldn’t take it any farther than this. This is already going too far, humping you into the ground of the gym fully clothed like a pair of teenagers who can’t keep their hands to themselves. But that’s exactly what you make him feel like though, isn’t it?

No, he won’t go farther than this, won’t allow himself to take more than this. This alone is more than he feels he deserves. God, how he wishes he could give you what you deserve though. Releasing your breasts from his continued groping, he snakes his hands down your stomach, meeting the hem of your pants, allowing his digits to slip beneath the band of your underwear, fingers instantly finding your pulsating clit between your soaked folds. Your moans only grow louder as he begins to quickly bring you closer to your peak, one of your hands coming to cover your mouth should anyone happen to be walking by.

It feels as if the two of you are caught in a raging storm, two inevitable waves colliding with one another in a fury likened only to mother nature’s doing. You’re both reaching your peaks together, tumbling over the edge into pure, mind numbing bliss, as you continue to hold onto one another, as though you’re life preservers in the sea, seeing each other through to the end of the end of the fall.

Ghost can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed at the fact that he’s cum in his pants. Not when he’s searing your blissed out expression into his mind forever. You’re both panting now, coming back to your senses, remembering your surroundings, as well as the fact that with the time that’s passed, it’s becoming increasingly likely for anyone to walk in.

Taking one last look at you, squeezing your side with what might just be affection, Ghost begrudgingly rolls himself off of you, coming to stand, readjusting the front of his now wet sweatpants. He turns himself around, extending a hand out to you, which you accept, allowing him to pull you up.

Only you don’t let go of his hand right away. Instead, you tighten your grip on his palm, pull him closer to you, narrowing your eyes at him, a cheeky smile spreading across your lips.

“So,” you say, licking your lips. “Same time tomorrow?”

Longest chapter ever and first time writing sort of smut! Feel like I’m earning my place on tumblr lol

Reader gets a call sign and a bit of a back story! Hope it wasn’t too long or boring to read, it’s literally only because I really wanted to justify naming reader as ‘worm’ because there is absolutely definitely without a question eventually going to be a chapter where worm is drunk and crying about how the boys are saying they wouldn’t love her if she turned into a worm thank you that is all

- M 🫶🏻

[ozzgin]

Yandere School Q&A

I've gotten some related asks and thought I'd put them in a cleaner format, so I don't spawn another round of screenshots from my inbox.

Ohhh how would yan school react if y/n got hurt somehow?? Also quick question is her parents also platonic yans for them? Thanks!! - Anonymous

It only makes sense that the staff of the school is yandere material, too. The students may rush to help and insist they've got it under control, but the school nurse will be quick to act. It's the chance of a lifetime, having you to himself, and for longer than the usual standard checkup. The curtains are pulled, and the "do not disturb" sign is flipped. Your injuries are not to be taken lightly. You'll need to spend all day under his supervision.

The parents and all relatives are indeed platonic yanderes! I thought it'd be a nice touch since I've never approached the trope before.

YAYAYAYYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAA MORE YANDERE SCHOOLLLLLL You’re amazing!!!!! (I had to ask to make sure I used the right your/you’re) also is the darling yandere gonna keep sabotaging y/n? - @femboybasil

The tying up incident was actually an exception to what I originally planned, haha. For most of the competitions, darling yandere will guide (Y/N) and aid them for a flawless win. That's the comedy of it: he's indirectly doing the yandere part while trying to be discreet enough as to not alert the other yanderes. Additionally, (Y/N) helps him with the darling tasks. Though that part is very much expected by everyone from school. The Daring Academy teachers are probably observing the activities, baffled. "Who the hell is that student? What skill...what obliviousness. They should've applied to us."

If you’re comfortable with this concept, (since it’s a school-based series I don’t know if the reader and yanderes are minors are not, if they are then you don’t have to write this.) but obviously the students of the Yandere Academy are going to need to learn how to tie up their darlings once they’ve been captured. Would you mind writing a little blurb about it since Reader is the unofficially assigned darling stand-in for their classes? - Anonymous

This is the ask I used for the tying up idea in Part 3! To answer your worries, all of my stories involve 18+ characters! Just wanted to clear it up for anyone in doubt. The school/academy setup is more of a college/university kind of institution. I do love a good high school setup, but not for self insert romance.

I’d imagine that there’s a drama class at the yandere school to help the students learn how to act and seem innocent. What if they put on a musical or something like Phantom of the Opera (because of course it would be that) and reader got the role of Christine or the equivalent. Imagine all the yanderes fighting for the role of their love interests to get the excuse to kiss them, and other yanderes trying to sabotage them as tactfully as possible to keep the show going, but replace the leads to be alongside reader. Think that may be something cool to add/write about? No pressure of course! - Anonymous

You know the whole thing is going to turn into a ninja survival shitshow. They had hoped to never cast (Y/N) in any role, for everyone's safety. And for the most part, (Y/N) thankfully never showed any interest in the drama club.

The supervising teacher held (Y/N)'s application form with trembling hands. It seems their little club had finally run out of luck.

Worst part: the school can't even rely on the teachers. They're just as desperate to see their cute little (Y/N) perform on stage. "Maybe this job is too overwhelming for one person, sensei..." they'll smugly tell the original supervisor. "We could divide some tasks. Someone else could train (Y/N), for example..."

ok here me out, what if there is like a field trip or sports festival kind of thing where the Yandere and Darling academy meet up. Basically where a Yandere and a darling are made to pair up to go through the numerous activities (maybe ones that test their yandere/darling skills) so reader decides to pair up with clumsy Yandere ( who is in Darling academy) much to the displeasure of Yandere classmate. Maybe like a battle of the the Yanderes? - Anonymous

This was a little trippy to read, because it came right after part 3, haha. Which I feel is basically the same plot. Though it would be interesting to see how it'd play out if the stranger was Reader's best friend instead.

Reader excitedly approaches Clumsy!Yandere and asks him to work together, to the dismay of all other students. They're enraged. You can see it plainly: their hands tremble, their jaws are clenched, their eyes have a psychotic glint. Poor Clumsy!Yandere is in constant shivers, unaware of the death stares. You're cheerfully guiding him around, his hand in yours, happy to see your friend again.

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽

VERSION IV.

(a/n: Hey everybody! Really sorry for not updating this week's been VERY hectic, but im back and ready to post new eps again 🙏 thanxx for your support ❤️)

WARNING!-none

wc: 1.1 k words

ALSO: tags-@ttheggrimrreaper ❤️ bear with me, ur episode is coming i swear

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

…11, Isagi Yoichi."

The icon of an unknown person appeared on the screens. Looking closely, you tried to recall if you had ever heard of him during your training, before realising you didn’t interact with the male species for months so you definitely can’t remember the boy.

‘Maybe someone mentioned him a few weeks ago?’

Heading to the assigned room and getting there, Anri immediately gave you a bunch of stuff while telling you about some of Ego’s newly adapted annoying habits. Minutes later, she finished her complaining and let you go you to find your new player.

Imagine being the manager of Isagi Yoichi, the heart of Blue Lock.

——————

Isagi Yoichi, with whom you immediately click moments after you first meet him, the conversations going surprisingly smooth. His attentive and kind nature made you much more talkative than usual, feeling lucky that you somehow managed to get a normal boy. The nightmares that tortured you for the past week, anxious about who you were gonna end up with were also nowhere to be found. Between the breaks of practice matches, Yoichi would always come to the benches, eager to continue your little chat from earlier, seemingly taking genuine interest in you. And when he had to go back to the field, you simply watched him in silence while quickly reading through his data sheet.

——————

•Isagi, who you notice that literally every day, during all the matches tends to think and analyze a lot, which surprised you a bit, didn’t expecting to get someone who actually thinks before he acts.

•In the first few days he would mostly keep his thoughts to himself and although he does share some of them regarding soccer with you, he still remains a mystery.

•Isagi, who has been really curious about you from the start, and because of that you two talked a lot. From telling him how you ended up in Blue Lock, to him being silly and secretly imitating some of his teammates for fun. He also shared his own goals and how he hoped to be a good player, so you wouldn’t have to deal with all his shit in the future.

•He's also the one who's been holding whichever team he’s been part of together since the beginning and has slowly but surely earned a reputation within the facility. That wasn’t the problem, but rather the fact that your player was known for his harsh words and slurs towards his opponents and for being a completely different person on the pitch instead of the usual respectful guy, making you worry a little.

•The cherry on top however is that he somehow always manages to piss off the biggest, most skilled, clearly not in the mood to be insulted type of players.

•Dealing with this is probably the hardest part of being his manager. Apart from that, you have a pretty normal, simple routine, compared to the others, because well…you don't have to do much other than the standard work schedule, since Isagi is just easy to deal with. He doesn’t break the rules, eats what he’s given and always gets up on time.

•This is usually how your days go until the unexpected U20 match announcement comes, which makes the boy much, much more motivated making you basically fight to be able to keep up with him. Your tasks suddenly also multiply, having to give more detailed reports to the boss, monitoring Yoichi’s food portions and supliments way too carefully all while trying to help him achieve the perfect built for the upcoming match, hoping he gets selected.

•Your secret stash of snacks that you keep hidden in your room specially for him is also prohibited to touch, knowing damn well if Ego or Anri notices the few more calories on his data list both of you will be punished.

“So no more sneaky sweets?”-he asked one night, to which you just nodded regretfully.

“Nooooooooo…”

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Isagi changes. A lot. You would say he has improved and currently still is at a frighteningly fast pace. From the very first match he plays with his ‘new’ team to way he thinks and acts is different. This probably earned him one of the best players title as of now.

•He recently also began to follow a stricter training plan, and although the few chocolate bars you secretly try to give him are reeeeaally tempting, he always rejects them, saying that when he feels like he deserves one, he will accept it, resulting in you having to eat all of them alone before they expire.

•Changing places, didn’t necessarily mean new teammates. Yet, the people in Blue Lock he was the closest with all chose different countries, only some of them going on the same path as Yoichi.

•Fortunately, he had no problem finding new and old friends to hang out with, so you thought at least you didn’t have to worry about that. Wrong. You should have.

•Because although Isagi may have gotten along with the Japanese players, the Germans were different. First you thought, maybe it was because of his duality while playing, but it seemed like his mere existence was a problem for specifically 2 German people. They were extremely bothered by him, the murderous look in their eye every time, made you try to keep your player away from them as much as possible.

•Isagi changing meant your nightly routine had to be adjusted as well. Instead of an hour, you now sat with him in front of the big monitors for 2, carefully analyzing his movements every second, papers full of notes and comments to discuss later.

•He also gained immense popularity all over the world with his goal against the U20 that day, receiving comments and praises from fans on a daily basis with them saying how humble and good he is. Yet, despite all this, for some reason he’s need to get a compliment or praise only from you, rises drastically.

•“I’m with you all day, you know me best. I’m just simply curious about your opinion!”

•He, with whom you focus quite a bit on learning the basics of the German language, yet somehow the pronunciation, even the rules have no place in the boy’s puzzle anymore. Still, he tries hard because talking to Bastard München fans and mocking Michael Kaiser in his own native language seems so tempting.

•Over time, you guys became much closer to each other, and even though he has thought about asking you out on a date, he still doesn’t do it because he’s afraid that if things don’t go well, you’ll quit and he simply wouldn’t risk it. You’re the best manager and if necessary, he will continue to try and see you as a friend, as long as you’ll be by his side until the end of his journey.

[lieutnt]

a commission for @chxrrylime

beta/alpha!male reader x omega!john price x omega!simon "ghost" riley summary: price and ghost help you with your first rut after your sudden change from a beta to an alpha. warnings: nsfw, minors dni. omegaverse, brief illness, threesome, knotting, creampies. sorry for the delay on this! had it like 80% written by saturday and then i had a time the next few days. i got carried away with the word count so oops.

Price was normally resistant to others being assigned to his task force, but when your file found its way on his desk curiosity got the better of him. Not just because you were a Beta, although that did help his willingness to accept you, but because you filled a hole in the team. Your skills and training had rounded out the task force, being a Beta was an added bonus. 

There was still lingering doubt in Price’s mind, but weeks after you had joined and Gaz went into heat you offered to help. You had been the perfect carer - staying with him the entire time and making sure he was fed, hydrated and happy. Afterwards Gaz had privately gushed about you to the rest of the 141, unable to think of a time when his heat had gone so smoothly. You had repeated the process with Soap and Price, both getting to experience your gentle touch first hand, and even Ghost had let you help him.

After months of working with the team Price had begun to notice some changes in your behaviour. You were more on edge when the 141 worked with other soldiers, hesitating to leave them alone if an Alpha was in the room. He picked up on you offering the others food from your own plate if they complained they were still hungry, despite the fact that you’d barely even finished half of yours. You even began developing a stronger scent, something different from when you had first joined.

Worry filled his mind when one day Gaz & Soap had barged into his office, panicking about how they couldn’t wake you. Once Price had joined them in running to your room he was immediately calling for a medic, your body covered in a sheen of sweat, barely responsive to their attempts at rousing you. They each took their turns pacing outside your room once you had been taken to a hospital, the doctor’s unsure what was happening to you. You had stayed like that for days, a fever wracking your body and unconscious as change forced its way through your veins.

Price had been elated when he received the phone call that you were awake, but once the 141 had gathered at the hospital they were ushered into a separate room before they could see you. A doctor was already waiting for them, a look of concern on her face. 

An Alpha. They couldn’t wrap their head around it, you had changed into an Alpha. The doctor had tried to explain how in very rare cases something like this can happen but they were too shocked to absorb anything she was explaining. Soap & Gaz appeared unbothered, more concerned with wanting to see you but one look between Price and Ghost and they knew they were thinking similarly.

Filing into your room they were hit with a wave of pheromones you didn’t know you were releasing, a deep down part of them stirring when your scent immediately turned relaxed at seeing them, Soap and Gaz not hesitating to give you hugs as Ghost lingered on the outside of the group while Price simply placed a hand on your shoulder, “It’s good to see you lad,” he said, attempting to bury the worry threading through his mind.

The doctors advised you be taken back to your home base so that’s what they did, alongside the thought that they’d have to explain certain things to you. You weren’t dumb - you knew how Alphas worked, but knowing and doing were two very different things. You had to rely on someone else telling you when you were stinking up the room with Alpha smell, or when you easily slipped back into your old routine except this time it appeared more like courting than caring, and Price and Ghost, as the most experienced, could see how your new heightened senses were weighing on you, struggling in the presence of four omegas.

—

Waking up you were confused at your state, your senses acting as if they had a personal vendetta against you, and you were even more confused when Gaz had taken one look at you and escorted you back to your room as if you were a scared animal, telling you to sit while he fetched Price. 15 minutes later Price and Ghost stepped through your door, shutting it behind them as Price sat next to you. “Do you know what’s happening lad?”

You didn’t know, brain struggling to conjure up any ideas without being distracted by the smell of omega. Swallowing heavily, you shook your head, “No sir.”

Ghost spoke up, “Think you’re going into rut.” He remained leaning against the wall, gaze locked on you.

Brows furrowing you used what brain power you had left to think it over. It matched with the experiences you had heard from other Alphas, but- “I don’t have anything prepared,” you mumbled, brain ticking with what would follow the next few days.

Price had a faint smile on his face, hand resting on your shoulder for reassurance. “We know, which is why, if you want, we think it’s our turn to help you.”

The air sharpened with arousal and you heard Ghost’s faint scoff of laughter, “Think he likes that idea, boss.”

Price’s hand slid from your shoulder to around the back of your neck, forcing you to turn your head and face him. “Only if you want,” he reiterated, thumb gently stroking the back of your neck.

Blood was already pooling south, your cock twitching in its confines at the idea of having them both underneath you. You didn’t realise you had been thinking about it for so long until Price briefly tightened his grip, bringing you back to the present. Nodding your head eagerly, your eyes flicked between Price and Ghost, “Please.”

—

Sinking into Ghost’s hole felt nothing short of heavenly, the warmth of his walls pulsing to ease your way in and steadily melting your brain, your mouth dropping open to release an airy moan once you were buried as deep as you could go. Just enough awareness was flickering behind your eyes to start slow, gently rocking your hips while Ghost adjusted to the stretch of your cock. 

Price was by your side, cautiously watching your movements to make sure you didn’t go too rough before Ghost was ready. As soon as your hips punched forwards unexpectedly Price was slanting his mouth against yours, distracting you from your impatience as Ghost grunted from the force. The smell of not one but two aroused omegas had your alpha preening, deepening the kiss with Price and lowly growling as your hand encased the back of his head to hold him close, only parting when Ghost began to roll his hips back and forth.

Your hands fell to Ghost’s hips, guiding his movements as each of your thrusts grew faster and harder until skin was slapping against skin, vision tunnelling as your pupils dilated, only focused on the omega around your cock and the breed, mate, instinct that was swirling in your mind.

Pushing Ghost down you surged over him, covering his body with yours as your teeth skated across his back, barely resisting the temptation to bite and mark him, to let the world know who he belonged to, whose bed he was warming. Price was by your side again, kissing at your neck and shushing your half-growls, attempting to soothe the possessive claim. His hands ran across your body, one stroking through your hair while the other never stopped moving, letting you know he was there.

Your pace never faltered, even as Ghost began warning you he was close, cock bobbing against his stomach at your thrusts while his moans grew faster and faster until his body seized, muscles trembling as he painted the bed under him with his release. Once out of the floating of his climax Ghost could feel the beginnings of your knot catching on his rim, the bulb steadily growing with each of your frantic thrusts as his knees buckled, sending him flat against the bed as the tension thrumming through your body finally snapped, knot punching its way past his rim and locking you together.

It was like a dam had burst, his insides flooded with your cum as your hips stuttered, a chest rattling growl crawling its way out of your throat. Despite the fact that you couldn’t thrust you instead grinded against Ghost, cock twitching with each pulse of cum that his fluttering walls milked from you. After a lifetime of minutely jerking your hips you finally slumped against Ghost, growls replaced with heavy breaths and a rumbling purr as you rolled to your side, bringing Ghost with you and hugging him to your chest. Burrowing your nose into the back of his neck your alpha was temporarily satiated at your scent mixing with Ghost’s.

Faintly, you heard Price speak up. “You ok Simon?”

Ghost was breathing as heavily as you, voice hoarse and dry, “Mhm, just-” he gasped almost silently as your hips twitched, knot tugging against his rim, “full,” he huffed, bearing his teeth as you began to grow restless.

Price’s attention quickly switched to you, hand wiping the sweat-coated hair off your forehead, “What’s the matter lad?” After attempting and failing to pull out of Ghost your hand hurried downwards, finger prodding at his tightened rim until it could push inside and separate you enough to pull your knot out. As much as you wanted to lean down and tongue your cum back into his hole your brain had other ideas, body surging up to Price and licking into his mouth while you pushed him onto his back, pupils blown wide.

Price watched curiously as you nipped down his throat and chest, “Gotta breed you,” you slurred, eyes half-lidded and cock hard and ready between your legs. He released a steadying breath, hole twitching at your eagerness.

His head rolled back on his shoulders as two of your fingers poked at his entrance, easily sliding in with the preparation you had done earlier and the mixture of his own slick. Before you could get too lost and overstimulate him and yourself Price pulled you back up to his lips with a hand in your hair, ignoring the noise of discontent you made and kissing you again, reaching down to align your tip with his hole. If it was another time and place he would’ve laughed at how easily you crumbled, but as your cock slipped inside him he groaned against your mouth, letting his body rock with your thrusts.

—

When Price and Ghost first emerged from your room once your rut was over Soap and Gaz tried their best to look unfazed, pointedly ignoring the way they were both stretching out sore muscles. “He ok?” Gaz asked, eyes attempting to search for you and noticing your absence.

Price nodded, “Just showering.”

Always the bolder of the two Soap couldn’t help but question, “How was it?” At Gaz’s pointed look he shrugged, “As if ye weren’t wonderin’.”

Price huffed amusingly, fingers scratching through his sideburns, “Think we’ll have our hands full with him.”

[platonicyanderereverie]

Can you write yan Childe, Capitano and Arle and a teen reader that they have to train because Tsarirsa sees potential in them to be the next harbinger? Tysm if you write this!

Thank you for your request‼️

Platonic yandere Childe,Capitano and Arlecchino with teen reader!

[Warnings!: none]

The tsaritsa herself had acknowledged your potential, potential tyat could fill in one of the empty seats of her soldiers...whether you chose to go along with it or not, you were personally tasked to one of the harbingers for further training.

Childe

Childe would take on the mantle with little to no protest. Honestly, it’s a good turnout for him—he has a sparring partner now! You’re a bit younger than he would like, but in a way, you remind him of his younger self.

He’s more than willing to spend hours trying to get you to be as versatile as possible. Just like him, he insists you know how to use as many weapons and techniques as possible when you’re training.

As time goes on, your spars and training with him become something he looks forward to dearly, so don’t disappoint him. He grows a tad protective, often “helping” you get patched up (in reality, he does all the work while you sit quietly and don’t protest) after duels.

Expect a good amount of little gifts too. He’s not above bragging about you to anyone who will listen—expect his siblings to know all about you before you’ve even met.

"Pretty good! Your form was a bit off near the end, but overall, a good improvement," he chuckles, his gloved hand finding its way to your hair.

"Tonia sent me some pastries. Let’s go enjoy them together, hm? You can’t become a Harbinger if you’re hungry all the time! Come on!"

Your boots dig into the snow as he rapidly drags you off. Even though he’s very upbeat about any improvement you make, he doesn’t seem willing to let go too soon.

---

Capitano

Capitano takes his assignment very seriously. He’s firm and intimidating at first, but the more time you spend with him, the more you realize how patient he can be with you.

Of course, being trained by the number one Harbinger himself comes with heavy expectations. Capitano is meticulous with what and how he teaches you. War tactics are a particular focus, and you often hear him ramble about them during training.

You’re sure to be exhausted by the end of each day, but if the captain deems your performance satisfactory, you’ll receive a grunt of approval.

The captain feels rather strange about the soft, weak spot you eventually carve into his cold, rotting chest. He maintains a firm exterior, but you’ll notice moments when he offers you advice that seems almost... personal.

Though he won’t show it, Capitano takes quiet pride in your progress. In his eyes, you are destined to become a great Harbinger—a worthy servant of the Tsaritsa alongside him. Do not disappoint.

"You did well," he grunts in his deep tone, the sound ringing smoothly in your ears as he gives your shoulder a small squeeze of approval.

"If you’re still feeling restless... you’re welcome to take a walk with me."

"Your improvement has been satisfactory. At this pace, you’ll serve the Tsaritsa well," he hums as you trail behind him. Despite your legs feeling numb from the cold air biting at your cheeks, you wonder if you’ll ever not feel overwhelmed by his immense presence.

---

Arlecchino

Arlecchino is arguably the most experienced in training someone for the position of Harbinger, given her work with Lyney in preparing him for the role of head of the House of the Hearth.

That being said, your initial interactions with her feel purely transactional. Her training covers a wide range of skills, and you’ll often be deployed on missions alongside other members of the Hearth.

Her evaluations are based on the results of these missions and the head-to-head fights she has with you, during which she carefully analyzes how you implement the tactics she has taught.

Since you’re training to work alongside her, expect words of caution and occasionally thinly veiled complaints about her colleagues.

She’ll be oddly pleased when you bond with the children of the Hearth, as communication and trust are key to her.

"Good. You were quick to dodge that. But remember, in a real fight, there will be no moments for hesitation," she says simply, her heels clicking against the ground as she approaches you.

"As a treat, how about you go aid Lyney and Lynette on a mission? It’s a simple one, really, and you can have the rest of the day to yourself afterward," she says, pausing beside you. Her fingers briefly tap your shoulder as she waits for your response.

[sgtslut69]

Cut Me Open and Leave Me for Death

Prologue

In the three years that you had been dating all four members of Task Force 141, there had been some rules established. There had to be when all five people in the relationship worked for the government, conducting top secret missions and working on classified information.

Within the first month of the relationship being made official, Price had made you promise to never, ever look into what they were doing, no matter what.

He wasn't dumb, he knew that, technically, if you really wanted to get into their mission briefs and assignments and mission reports, you were nothing more than a few keystrokes away at any time. You had very high security clearance, being a high-ranking cyber security officer.

And for three years, you kept that promise, accepting the long stretches of silence from the boys, accepting that you could loose one or all of them at any moment.

But it was moments like these, where you stood watching the helicopter carrying Price and Johnny take off, where you wanted nothing more than to break your promise to the boys, to be able to know what they were doing and where they were going.

To get into their comms systems and hear their voices and know that, even if they weren't necessarily safe, they were alive.

Instead, you pushed yourself further into Simons arms, turning to Gaz.

"We can make it four days right?"

He smiled at you, eyes warm as he took you in.

"Four days is nothing love." And you believed him. The five of you had been together for three years, and had survived much longer than four days.

So you pushed the feeling that this mission was going to be different down, following your boys inside, grabbing Gaz's hand to clutch in your own while you still could.

Two days later, you stood on the tarmac once again, kissing Gaz goodbye as he shipped off to wherever Price and Johnny were.

The feeling in your stomach was back, digging it's claws deeper into your stomach, tearing the lining as you once again pushed it down.

Turning in Ghosts arms, your grabbed his chin through the mask, forcing his eyes away from the helicopter carrying Gaz away and onto you.

"It's gonna be okay right?" And you tried your best to believe him as he squeezed your waist, and cut his eyes back towards the sky.

When Ghost got the call the next morning, you weren't surprised.

Your stomach ached as you stepped onto the tarmac, a bone deep feeling of dread spreading over you as you approached the helicopter, only to find Laswell talking to the pilot, waiting for Simon.

Her eyes were apologetic, but she didn't hesitate in whisking Simon away from you, shoving files into his hands and practically pulling him out of your arms when he returned to say his goodbyes.

The two of you stood in silence as the helicopter took off, neither of you willing to look away until it disappeared into the horizon.

You weren't waiting for placations or empty reassurances. You knew Laswell cared about your boys, and that she would do everything in her power to keep them safe.

You also knew, that once they left base, nothing short of their own skills and intervention from a higher power was keeping them safe.

You could feel her gaze on you, waiting for some type of reaction. But you were a soldier to, you would give her nothing.

Now, there was nothing for you to do but wait, and you had never been very good at that.

So you would distract yourself, throw all of your attention away from the fact that there was nothing waiting for you at the house and towards your work.

It was only when you didn't hear the familiar tread of Laswells boots behind you did you turn, finding Laswell staring in the direction Simon had disappeared into.

You wanted to ask what was different about this mission. Why did it kind of feel like you had just sent all of your boys off to die.

But you knew she wouldn't give you any answers that you would like.

"You bring them home Laswell. Or so help me god!"

[thewulf]

Breaking Point || Simon "Ghost" Riley

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

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

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

Word Count: 7.7k +

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[konansock]

Mod Update: Club & Business Activity Expanded - MORE Business update!

Happy Simming, Simmers! After Business and Hobbies released, I tested my mod in the new system and found more opportuny, as well as bugs to be fixed! So here's a major update to the mod.

Bug Fixes:

Various Text and Images were missing from the first version, they're fixed in this new and improved update.

Tend Stall now officially works as intended.

WooHoo Business:

Apparently this is one of the most anticipated feature of WooHoo Addon, but it wasn't working before, now it is.

The present activity WooHoo will still work with restrictions, for Simmers who just want customers to be intimate with their partners and sleep at a hotel.

New activity has been added: WooHoo with Small Business Employees (for customers) and WooHoo with Customers (for employees). You need to pair them up so customers have employees to ask for WooHoo. Don worry, they won't ask for WooHoo from random janitors who was only assigned the task 'Clean'!

They're now fully autonomous, and your small business even earns money from it! Charisma, Fitness and Romance skills affect the payout.

As customers, you can expect to check in your favorite small business for a casual WooHoo, too!

Photo Studio:

I always wanted a way for my Sims to pay some Simoleons and take their photos. You can sort of simulate it with the updated Photography activity.

Employees will Tend Tripod along with Photo Studios now, and taking pictures for customers with tripods now earns them Simoleons. It just does not display on the text. Photography skill and Fine Arts Degree affect the final payout.

As a customer, you can see the employees Tend Tripod. They're just cosmetics and don't actually matter. You just strike a pose with your Pose Player and select Ask for Photoshoot either from a Tripod or the Ticket Kiosk. Selecting the photographer affects your payout.

Self service as a customer now also cost you Simoleons.

Fashion Studio:

The Make-Up Chair and Wardrobe Pedestal is probably the ACTUAL most asked feature in this update. It's HERE!

Your can assign employees the task Tend Make-Up Chair and Tend Wardrobe Pedestal. This is necessary for customers to find a hairdresser/cloth designer.

For NPC Customers, once you choose the activity Be Styled or Be Outfitted, you can just let the Make-Up studio or Clothing studio work in the background, and you'll earn money from it. Fame and Fine Arts Degree affect the final payout.

However, manually Offer Make-Up/Hairstyle/Outfit will earn your Sims more Simoleons. Manually Offer to Update Appearance on Wardrobe Pedestal also earns your Sim money.

If you want to also earn money from Offer to Update Appearance interaction on Make-Up Chair, use this mod by LittleMsSam.

As a customer, you can choose any interaction on the Make-Up Chair and Wardrobe Pedestal, and you'll be styled/outfitted for a fee! Note that only Ask to Update Appearance lead your Sims to CAS and allow you to customize, the other interactions are random.

Tarot Reading:

Life and Death allowed us to open a Tarot business, but not as a customer? This is fixed in the mod.

Front Desk Assistant:

This is so random but some kind Simmer asked for this feature. Requires Get to Work though. While the Front Desk is tended, customers will be automatically welcomed, helping you a tiny bit in customer rating.

Grocery Shopping:

The Get to Work Lice Freezer now works with Small Business! Stock up with snacks, fizzy juice, harvestables and farm products, and watch your business grow into local Sims-mart!

Works with Brazenlouts' Produce stand, too!

As a customer, you can also purchase ingredients stored in the retail fridge.

Occult Training:

Occult Training now earns you money based on your rank and length of mentorship.

Note that Occult Training is very strict on customers, so this might not be a good idea for long-term business.

DOWNLOAD HERE

[miniwheat77]

Bunny. (Dark!141 x Reader)

*REPOST* (A comment if this reached your feed would be amazing.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, Gang bang, 141 being creepy and dark, Virgin!reader, reader being innocent, implied consent, oral sex (m&f receiving), coercion, drugs & alcohol, roofies, double penetration, unprotected sex, pure filth. (Sorry if I missed any.)

GET A WATER BEFORE YOU READ 🥵

You were excited to be chosen to be apart of Task Force 141.

You felt special because you know only the most skilled are chosen for the team.

Your first few weeks on the base was awesome. It was pretty hands on, missions every week. There was always something around every corner, but once Hassan had been eliminated, there wasn’t much to do other than your chores around the base. You did your fair share of research but there weren’t any new leads on the next target. It was boring and most of your time you spent inside your room on base.

You noticed that everyone was pretty quiet on base. They didn’t do much talking and they seemed to have this dark look in their eyes when they looked at you.

You ignored it and always made conversation with them anyways, not wanting any tension between you. You noticed sometimes they made jokes about you right in front of you, mostly about how innocent you are. You didn’t like that they made fun of you, but you always just laughed it off.

You did your best at being patient with them.

Sometimes you didn’t like what they had to say about other women on base or had previously been on it with them. They usually said pretty derogatory insults. Or gross ones you didn’t want to cause any trouble so you stayed quiet, usually just excusing yourself from the table. You didn’t want to hear it.

You sat at your desk in your assigned room. It was quiet. You were looking through a stack of paper, looking for any leads on a next target. A knock at your door brought you out of your thoughts, turning to look at the door. “Come in!” You called.

“Hey. We’re playing a drinking game. You want to play?” Gaz asks. “Uh.. I don’t know about that.” You laugh. Knowing that something like this probably wouldn’t go too well. He crosses his arms. “Oh come on.. don’t be such a prude.” He rolls his eyes. You sigh. You had a bad feeling about this. He continues to pressure you for a few minutes before you finally cave in. “Alright fine.” You stand up from your desk, following him out.

Everyone is already waiting. They have everything laid out on the table. It’s the large oak table in the meeting room. They’re all sitting around it. “Alright. We’re starting with one on one. You and Ghost will go against each other first.” You look confused. “Just so you’ll get used to it, yeah? You have to throw the penny into the shot glass while blindfolded, if you don’t make it, you have to drink. Whoever drinks all 5 shots first loses.” You nod your head. They pass you a blindfold, Gaz helps you tie it behind your head. The small shot glasses are lined up in front of you.

You don’t see that they never put a blindfold on Ghost.

Ghost takes the tiny vial of white crushed powder out of his pocket, he’d come prepared. This had been planned out for some time.

He taps the vial until it’s empty into the first shot glass, allowing you to go first. You miss the first shot, and they pass you the shot glass. Evil smiles playing at their lips. You had no idea what was about to happen. You tip it back, flinching at the taste of the liquor as it burns your throat. You miss all 5 of your shots and somehow, Ghost doesn’t miss one. You’re 5 shots in, feeling out of it. They catch up a little bit, taking shots here or there just to give themselves a little bit of liquid courage. “So. How long have you been in the military?” Soap asks. You smile. “Few years.” Your words are slurred and you’re almost exactly where they want you. “Yeah? You were on bases before this obviously. Got a favorite?” He asks. “Not really. Aside from this one.” You shrug. “Yeah?” He smirks. “You a barracks bunny Y/N?” He asks. “What’s that?” You ask, confused.

He laughs, he just can’t help it. “So innocent..” he mumbles. “It’s a girl who has sex with everyone on base.” He smirks. Your eyes go wide. “Oh.. no. No I’m not.”

“Hey, I’m not judging.” He laughs. “I’m not a… barracks bunny.” Your cheeks are on fire. “I’m just fucking with you darling, relax.” He places his hand on your thigh. “Here. Drink more. Loosen up.” You start to notice the amount of pressure they’re putting on you. “I don’t know. I think I’m done.” You laugh nervously. “Oh come on. Don’t be such a buzz kill.” He rolls his eyes. He convinces you to take another few shots, your face is hot and the heat between your legs is becoming too much to bear. You notice they’re passing around a joint.

When they offer it to you, you shake your head. “I don’t really think we should be doing this.” You breathe, going to stand up. You find it’s pretty hard to move. “All is good here. It’s my base after all.” Captain Price reassures you. You’re so close to where they need you.

After about an hour of passing around the joint, convincing you to take more and more shots of liquor. You’re ready.

“You ever met a barracks bunny before?” Soap asks. You shrug. “Heard rumors.” You giggle. “Yeah. Must be pretty fun I imagine. I mean.. getting to fuck that much in one day.” He smiles, tipping back a shot. “You ever fucked more than one person in a day Y/N?” He asks. You shake your head shyly. “No.. I’ve never had sex.” You mumble. “Why not?” He asks. “Religious?” He smirks. “Oh no.. it’s nothing to do with that. Just.. never crossed paths with the right person.” You shrug. “I was always bullied for being ugly in school too so..” you laugh. “Really?” Gaz gathers your attention. You nod your head. “Jesus.. that’s fucked up. And not true, you’re stunning.” He smiles, resting his hand on your thigh. “Oh.. thank you.” You smile. “Yeah, I’d fuck you.”

Your cheeks burn and you avoid his gaze. “Yeah I’d fuck you too.” Soap winks. You laugh, looking away from them. “Maybe you should let us.” Gaz lifts your chin to make you look at him. “W-what?” You ask. “Yeah. Maybe you could be our little barracks bunny hm?” He smiles. “I… I don’t know about that.” You breathe. “Oh come on.. we’ll take good care of you sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.” He moves himself closer to you. “I just.. I don’t know. I thought maybe I’d start slow for my first time.”

“We can start slow. Come on.” He tilts his head. You take in a deep breath as he takes your hand, helping you up. “Gaz.. I’m really not sure about this.” You swallow hard, your words are unstable and you’re unsteady on your feet as he lifts you up onto the wooden table. “Hey. Just relax alright?” He brushes your hair back behind your ear. You’re so far gone you can barely think straight. “Nothing to worry about. We’ll be real gentle with you.” He pushes you back by your chest gently. You’re tense as he reaches for the waistband of your pants. You can’t help but like the attention you’re getting from them. Maybe it’s the weed or liquor. Your blood feels hot in your veins, body warm and fuzzy as they surround you. “Fuck.. look at you.” Ghost mumbles. Running his fingers down your chest. You look up at him, the sweet look in your eyes has his stomach curling. It’s almost as if you have no idea what they’re about to do to you. The filthy things running through their heads, about to play out like a film.

“So pretty. Such a good girl.” Ghost mumbles. You close your eyes, biting your lip lightly as you relax into the table. He grasps the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head.

You’ll be the perfect bunny after this.

Gaz has your panties at your ankles and they’re drooling, like a pack of wild dogs. “Captain. She was your idea, get in here.” Gaz nods at his Captain.

John smiles, moving between Soap and Gaz. He moves himself up until his clothed crotch is pressed up against your bare pussy. He sighs. Running his hand over your chin. “You are pure sin my darling. So fucking pretty.” He breathes. He slides a finger into your mouth and you take it, sucking gently at it. He groans out. He pulls away from you, Unzipping his pants just enough to where he can free his cock. "Are you ready darling?" He asks. His cock is standing at attention. The tip is blushing red. Begging for release. He's huge. You don't know how he's supposed to fit. You're looking up at him, he can tell you're nervous. "It's alright. Relax for me okay?" You nod your head, resting on your arms.

Not only are you about to give your virginity to your captain, but your entire task force is watching. Waiting to be next up. A whimper leaves your lips when he glides his tip up through your folds. You’re dizzy, everything feels fuzzy.

Your reaction speed is off, only feeling the tightness from his cock after he’s already buried himself inside of you. You shift uncomfortably, whimpering and trying to slide your hips away from him. “Hey. You’ll get used to me. Calm down.” He soothes. He holds your hips steady. Another whine leaves your lips, tears filling up your eyes. Ghost is quick to soothe you, helping you lay back on the table. Soap is running his fingertips over your stomach, soothing your skin. Ghost cups your face, his warm breath on your face distracts you from the tearing you feel from your Captains massive cock. You weren’t ready but you would be. “Shhh. S’alright. Should start to feel good soon.” Ghost mumbles, kissing your tears away.

They’re evil. Devils standing around you, waiting to devour you whole. They’d had this planned from the start. They planned it all out. What they’d do to you, how they’d get you to give into them.

You’re starting to pant, your legs are numb but you can feel the pleasure of him sliding into your pussy. “Cmon, prop yourself up.” Ghost helps you. “Watch him. Watch him fuck your pussy.” You gasp out, clutching at the sides of the table as you see it. He’s slid his shirt up over his hips, and you can get a good look at the way he slides into you. Hands gripping at your hips. It’s intense. You tilt your head back, moaning out. Your brain is a blur, all you can think about is how good he feels. You wince when you feel something building, pushing your hips into him more. “F-feels weird.” You whimper. “S’alright. Just get used to it.” You whimper, holding yourself steady so that he can get the perfect angle. “Feels.. it feels- ah!” You cry out.

You soak your Captain’s jeans, and his eyes are wide.

You’re panting, pulling away from him. “I.. I’m sorry.” You whimper. He grasps your thighs, pulling you back down. “Fuck.. didn’t know you could do that.” He breathes.

Their eyes are blown wide with lust, cocks throbbing behind cargo pants and jeans. They all want a piece of you. They all want to make you squirt on them.

“Didn’t take long to make her do that Cap.” Gaz laughs. “Course not. I know exactly what girls like her like.” He smiles. You’re looking up at him, a look in your eyes they haven’t seen yet. Your chest is rising and falling with every deep breath you take. “Did you like that baby?” He asks. You nod your head lazily. He smiles, sliding himself back inside of you. Seeing your eyes close. You tilt your head back, moaning out at the way he fills you up. Eyes are burning into you, the tension in the room is thick. John is not as gentle as he was to start, thrusting into you with more force than before. It was clear you were going to be a wreck when they were finished with you. He’s got a tight grip on your thighs, head tilted back as you wrap so tight around him. “Fuck.. so fucking tight-“ he hisses. “Not going to last long with you darling.” He chuckles. You’re gripping the table hard, knuckles turning white. He lifts your legs up onto his shoulders and you cry out as he bottoms out, your lower stomach cramps up slightly from the new angle. “Ah- fuck!” He growls. He pulls out of you, pumping his cock fast with his hand. He pushes your legs apart slightly, finishing on your stomach with a groan. You tilt your head back, panting out. “Did so good.” Ghost mumbles, brushing your hair out of your face.

“Sit up.” He breathes. He helps you adjust yourself. You’re propped up on your hands and knees. Feet hooking over the edge of the table, ass on display for them all to see. “W-what now?” You breathe. “Just going to get you ready darling. Calm down.” He rests his gloved hand onto your back. He’s trying to soothe you. You hear what sounds like a cap clicking shut, turning to see Ghost putting lube on his aching cock. He’s massive.

Thank god your Captain stretched you a little bit.

“Cmere.” Ghost pulls you back into him. Pushing your back down until you’re low enough to be lined up with his cock. You feel him nudging at your ass, jumping away from him. Your reaction time is slow. “I- woah. I don’t think I’m ready for that-“ you breathe. “It’s okay.” He grasps your hips again, pulling you back. “Be a good girl and be still.”

“Ghost I-“

“Simon.” He growls. “Simon I don’t think I’m ready.” You whimper. “Relax. I won’t hurt you.” He breathes.

You suck in a sharp breath, feeling his bare fingers circling your tight hole, nudging into you deeper with each pump. At least he’d ditched his glove. You flinch away from his touch as he seeps deeper into you. You take in a deep breath. “S’alright. Doing so good lass.” Soap moves next to Simon, circling his fingers over your clit at an attempt to make you relax. It works and you relax into Johnny’s touch, body relaxing slightly. You make it easier on Simon as you relax, his fingers sliding easier into you. The feeling is foreign. It doesn’t hurt and it’s not bad. You relax into him more. Johnny keeps rubbing gentle circles over your clit. You’re a mess already.

You feel Simon’s cock nudging at your entrance and you’re nervous. He’s much bigger than his fingers. A whine leaves your lips when he pushes into you, cock burrowing deeper into your ass. The feeling is too much. You lean forward away from his aching cock, but he follows you with his hips, reaching forward to stop you and hold you still. “Relax into me.” He breathes. “Keep rubbing her clit Johnny.” He spits on the base of his cock, working himself deeper. Johnny does, keeps rubbing gentle circles into your clit so that you’ll relax more. You let out a mewl, the sensation was too much. “Halfway there darling. Just.. a little more.” He breathes. You’re clutching the table, whimpering with each small circle Johnny runs over your entrance. It’s so good. They’re pushing you so much. When your ass finally presses against Simon’s front, he groans out. You’ve taken him all of the way.

You whimper, moving your hips forward and back into his cock. “Oh fuck baby. You want it that bad huh?” He smirks. “Don’t worry. Me n Johnny are gonna fill you up real nice.” He breathes. You can’t say anything, your vision is blurry and you’ve got tears in your eyes but all you know is that whatever this is, it feels amazing. Simon lifts you up off of the table, Johnny moving to your front and grasping hold of you by your thighs. Sliding his cock into your pussy. You straddle Johnny and Simon still had his cock buried inside your ass.

You tilt your head back with a cry, so completely full of them.

Your eyes roll back when they slide out of you, starting to thrust themselves back into you. You’re a mess, can barely stay quiet as they fuck you. “Fuck.. you’re so tight.” Johnny growls. “Been waiting fucking months for this sweet pussy.” He chuckles, teeth gritted. “How does it feel hm?” He mumbles, lips right by your ear. “Went from a body count of 0 to 3 in just a few minutes Hm?” He taunts.

You’re sobbing. Hands are clutching Johnny’s shoulders and your body is shaking. You’ve absolutely soaked them both in your cum, unsure of where you even are anymore. You probably can’t even say your own name at this point. Everything is blurry and fuzzy, you can’t move your body anymore. They’re holding you exactly where they want you. You wrap your arms around Johnny’s neck, laying your head on his shoulder. “Can’t be done yet sweetheart.” He chuckles. “Gaz hasn’t had a go at you yet. You don’t want him to be deprived so you?”

You shake your head, looking over his shoulder at Gaz. He’s pumping his cock, you lock eyes with him. You lick your lips and he nearly cums right there. “Ah- getting tired.” Soap complains. “Here.” Ghost grabs hold of you. Johnny slides out of you and you whimper. “Relax.” Ghost smirks. He lays you onto the table, pushing your face into the cool wood. His hips are hammering against yours, thrusts getting sloppy. He’s close. “Oh yes- fuck I love fucking this tight ass of yours. So fucking good.” He growls. His hand slapping against your ass makes you want to jump forward but you can’t. A whimper leaves your lips, tightening down around Ghost. “Oh fuck- I’m going to cum.” He pants. “Fuck- oh fuck!” He gasps. His hips halt and you gasp, the foreign feeling of something flooding inside of you. You finally raise your head to look at him. His hands resting on your hips. Cock nestled inside of your ass.

He slides out of you, watching his filth spill back out of your hole. He smiles at the work he’d done. Soap is quick to flip you over, burying his cock back inside of you. “Just one more. And than you’re going to treat Kyle very well darling.” He smirks. You nod your head lazily. Johnny pinches your nipples, smiling at the way you cry out. “Fuckin tight pussy baby. Give me one more hm?” He smiles. He rubs circles over your clit with his thumb. A whine leaves your lips and you try to wiggle your hips away from him but he holds you still. You can feel another orgasm building. Right on the edge. You push his hand away from you, running circles over your own clit. You’re going quickly. “Yeah that’s a good girl.” He grips your hips, pounding into you. “You rub that little clit for me. Nice n fucking wet for my cock.” He tilts his head back, swallowing hard. His skin is sweaty and red and he’s right on the edge. Your moans are getting louder and more frequent. Your hand is moving quickly as you rub your clit. “Fuck yes!” He growls. Your eyes roll back, body lurching as you cum again. Soaking him completely. He holds you steady until you’re worn out, sliding out of you and finishing right on your stomach, just like his captain had.

He’s panting, and your eyes are droopy.

“You can’t sleep yet.” Soap tries to shake you awake. “It’s fine. I’ll get it out of her one way or another.” Gaz laughs. Soap nods his head.

“I’ll take her to her room, get her cleaned up.”

Gaz made sure to do a good job. You were already undressed so running a bath for you and using a small towel to clean your skin was easy. Washing your hair was a bit harder. You were out cold. He redressed you in one of his shirts, helping you into bed.

When the light just began to show through your window, he knew it was his turn.

You’re still out cold but he knew this would wake you.

His face buried between your thighs, tongue lapping at your entrance. Sucking your clit and flicking his tongue over your clit. You’re stirring in your sleep, moaning. Your eyes open and you’re still dazed, but you know whatever you’re feeling is amazing. You push your blanket back, whining out at the sight of him between your thighs. “Gaz?” You whimper. He draws himself away from you. “You still owe me princess.” He breathes, returning to devour you. “What do you want me to do?” You whine. Your pussy is sore, but he’s soothing you. “M’gonna fuck this pussy. Nice n slow.” He pulls away for a second, sucking your clit between his lips and drawing away from you. “Show you who you belong to.” He breathes. You nod your head. He sits up, his cock is throbbing hard.

He pushes his sweatpants down his legs, pumping his hard cock as he lines himself up with your entrance. “Actually..” he mumbles. Pulling away. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve gone hm? Get up.” You listen, standing up. He lays down. “Get up here. I’ll help you.” He mumbles. You nod your head, straddling his hips and sinking down onto his cock. Your thighs shiver at the size of him, a mewl leaving your lips. “Ah- too much.” You whimper. “You’ll get used to it. Ride my cock baby.” You nod your head, rocking your hips into him. You rest your hands on his chest, raising your hips off of him. He circles your clit with his fingers, he needs to cum soon. He’s been waiting all night for this, he’s not going to last long.

You’re rocking into him faster, moaning out. You’re enjoying yourself and that’s exactly what he wants. “Who do you belong to darling? Who’s barracks bunny are you?” He smirks. “Y-yours-“ you whimper. A sharp slap to your ass has you whimpering. “Wrong, who do you belong to? Who’s barracks bunny are you?”

“141.” You whine. “Hm? I didn’t hear you.” He breathes. “Task Force 141, I’m task force 141’s barracks bunny!” You cry. Your hips halt as you soak him, and he cries out, pushing your hips off of him as he finishes. “Shit!” He growls. Pumping his cock quickly, costing your ass in his cum.

You relax into him, panting.

He once again helps you clean up, but leaves you alone this time. You needed to rest.

While you were on base with them, you were always going to keep them busy.

[call-of-dookie]

Dear John,

BROKEN THINGS

PART 1 - John Price x Reader

Series Synopsis - Soap is killed in the mission to end Makarov, and in his death the men find out of a 'Secret Wife' Johnny had. While guilt of Soap's death was already eating at Price, the word of a widow strikes him even harder, and so he decided to seek out his wife and pay his dues for his fault in Soap's Death, and admit his guilt in aiding the broken woman before him.

"a break" is what John was told he needed. His job was complete with Makarov, and it left a stain on his heart. It was clear to everyone, laswell, what's left of task force 141, he wasn't handling his fuck up lightly, trudging the halls of base with a contemplating look and a dark aura surrounding him. It was his fault Johnny died. He chose not to kill Makarov when he had the chance, and now? One of his men was dead, one of the best of men at that, and in the sorrows of guilt for being responsible for Soaps death, John found himself slipping away.

He had spread Johnny's ashes in Scotland, the "home of his heart" Johnny claimed, and left his sadness on that bluff. Unfortunately, he has come to find out that sadness and guilt, are two completely different emotions. The silence of the mess hall, the silence of his men, and the Case Filing Meeting cracked his brain into a million shards, each a different emotion but with edges sharp as a blade, and covered in guilt.

"Alright boys, we've done this before, it's no different than any other time. You're each getting case files and filing the events of 'Makarov's Hunt', including Soaps death."

Laswell has been visiting the task force to complete there case filing and here it was. Every detail of the events leading up to, and soaps death itself were to be filed on paper, like taxes no one wants to pay. Details were to be discussed, evaluated, and jotted down for future reference, and to commence the death of 'John Soap MacTavish'.

In the case of a S.A.S. soldier dying, one who has been assigned to a Task Force, his information is purposely scarce. They are not to talk about personal relations, wives, husbands, family and children alike, in an attempt to protect their humanity.

Revealing such truths is forbidden for their family's safety, and their own, but once a soldier dies, it is his captains or subordinates responsibility to open their 'File of Humanity', as they call it, a manila folder containing all the soldier loves.

A tan-yellow folder slides across the table, reaching Price first. At the corner is written in Johnny's scribbly handwriting, "MacTavish Humanity" with a small doodle of a bar of soap sitting next to the ending. The sight of it let's a chuckle huff out of price, which quickly turns to dispair at the realization of what documents he's about to see. If there are any, marriage licenses, birth certificates, a list of living relatives and so much more.

The rest of the team gets a folder, each having an image of Johnny clipped to the left hand corner.

"Well...we all know what is about to happen, and how to handle it, yes? You will open the folder, read his service sheet first and fill out the information on your case filing. Once that commences, we will...discuss his death...personally", Laswell finishes.

So as on cue, the men open their folders to read the one pager of Johnny's enlistment, skills, and service before copying to their sheets.

The scene is painstakingly familiar for Price, deja vu of when Soaps file first came across his desk. He's a brilliant kid , 25 at the time and a specialist in demolitions and sniper, a unit for such a young man. He sports his usual mohawk as he did in that file years ago, and that shit eating grin on his face. Everything is as usual until they reach the bottom of the page. Service Sheets change slightly when added to 'Humanity Folders', now 3 small boxes are added to the bottom of the enlistment column.

Check 'YES' if you have children. [NO]

Check 'YES' if you are married. [YES]

No one has ever seen a man's face turn white that fast, expression dropping and eyes flooding black at the simple word 'yes'.

Check 'YES' if your spouse is living. [YES]

The air grew cold as of every body has read the exact same thing at once. 'Johnny, married?' they were all thinking. Not once had he mentioned this, not once had they seen a ring, but it unfortunately all adds up.

As much as Johnny loved his job, he was always the last to be on base, and the first to leave. Everytime they travelled somewhere outside of the UK he'd buy a small trinket, something without purpose but enough for the boys to notice. Even in Urzikstan the boys had seen him chatting with a small family, a mother and daughter whose father had been forced a slave by Russia during their battle for independence. Shortly after the men saw a small doll, the size of maybe 2 fingers tucked in his pocket, "A gift from the girl, traded her a drawing" he said with a smile. It came to a point that the men we're concerned he was just... touring the 141's battle grounds, but the fact that they had never seen any trinket since he got it starts to add up. Gifts. For a wife, at that.

Everyone's eyes met each other's as Price's theory seemed to be right, they had all read that at the same time. John "Soap" MacTavish died a married man, and instead of delivering their condolences to his wife, they spread his ashes in Scotland.

"Fucking hell" is what breaks the silence, a groan of dispair from Ghost. His eyes met Price picking up on the one dimension of darkness and guilt in his eyes.

"We spread his fucking ashes", Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick adds to the conversation. This one left Price with a hand on his head, tugging at his hair as he breathed shakily, sounding like a death rattle.

Laswell tapped the table lightly, getting John's attention from the other end of the table before their eyes meet.

"We know what we need to do."

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 1: The Mission

Book Summary: John "Soap" MacTavish has hated you since the very first day you arrived on base and joined their Task Force. You argue all the time, and one day, it pushes Captain Price to his absolute limit. He sends you both away to an isolated cabin in the woods for a week in hopes you can put aside your differences and bond. Will it work? Or will you two just end up hating each other even more?

This is a slow burn enemies to lovers fan fiction featuring Soap and you, the reader.

Word Count: 5,585

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Soap is mean, like really mean, smut later to come, rough smut, lots of swearing, violence, descriptive, blood, angst, fluff, slow burn, (more to come as I write)

A/N: Just a reposting of my story on Wattpad to help generate attention for it! Please go give it some love if you’re liking it so far. My user name is Emily7love or just look up the title.

Master List | Next ->

Bitter Allies • Part 1

"Bravo 7-1, this is Bravo 0-7, give me a sit rep on your position, over."

Soap is currently kneeling in some brush, staring at the small military camp in front of him when the radio call comes through. Despite the fact that he'd most likely need to be adjusting the volume up soon on his ear piece, he still turns it down a little for now.

"This is Bravo 7-1, I've been in position. Waiting on 7-4 to move her ass." He all but growls back to Ghost. His hand tenses on his rifle at even saying those numbers. Bravo 7-4.

You were Bravo 7-4. Also known as (y/n) "States" (l/n). The all too grumpy Sergeant by the callsign Bravo 7-1 was John "Soap" MacTavish. Also known as the biggest pain in your ass since you joined up with Captain Price's Task Force about six months ago.

Now anyone who knew Soap would be shocked to hear you say that you thought he was literally the worst and most insufferable human being to ever stain the Earth. To everyone else, Soap was a funny, charismatic, rather easy-going, and quite friendly guy. Everyone loved Soap. He was the golden boy of the Task Force, of the entire base. People were just naturally drawn to him, and his warm personality.

You can't say you blame people for being shocked when they learn just how much you can't stand him. Cause all those things about Soap were true. He was funny, and friendly, and relaxed, and just a great guy to be around. He was all those things when he wasn't around you. The second you stepped into the picture, his amused grin turned into a stiff scowl. His sparkling eyes turned hard. His relaxed posture turned rigid.

Yeah, John "Soap" MacTavish hated you. And you hated him.

Why did he hate you? You weren't entirely sure. It just seemed like it has always been that way since day one.

You transferred into the Task Force at the request of Captain Price himself. Originally, you had been stationed at a military base in the United States, where you were from. Then one day your commanding officer called you into his office and told you that you'd been given a new assignment. You would be working with a British Task Force across the pond for the next year. A group of four SAS men. If things worked out, then you'd be staying there indefinitely.

You'd been thrilled at the news. You didn't join the military only for the benefits and the opportunity to serve, but for the opportunity to travel and to potentially live somewhere else in the world. Getting to be that while also being SAS was the dream. You worked so hard to get to where you were today. Sleepless nights of studying, hard days of working out and trying to improve and hone your skills, and now it was finally happening. You were being sent off to a new base and a new team. And not just any team, an elite task force. You'd finally been selected.

You met the whole team day one of your arrival. The first person you met was Captain John Price. He was a friendly but very stern man. The no nonsense type of guy. He gave you a tour of the base, and showed you to the female barracks. Once you were semi-settled in (all your belongings piled into your room) you went to meet the other members of your new Task Force.

Price introduced you to each teammate. They'd all been in his office by the time you and Price showed up. Two had been seated, and one was standing despite there being enough chairs. That had been Soap.

"Alright you lot, here she is. This is (y/n) (l/n). Straight from across the pond." Price introduced you. "(Y/n), these are boys of the 141. This is Sergeant Kyle Garrick."

"You can also call me Gaz." Kyle fills in, giving you a nod and a handshake. "It's nice to have someone from the States joining us." He was the one responsible for your callsign being States.

"This is your Lieutenant. Simon Riley. He goes strictly by Ghost." Price continues. Ghost doesn't make a move to shake your hand. He just stayed quiet. Didn't even give you a nod of any kind. Quite intimidating coming from a guy wearing a skull over his face. "And lastly, this is-"

"Soap." The man barks out before Price can say anything. You remember hearing Price sigh before finishing his sentence. "Sergeant John MacTavish."

"You can call me Soap though. Nothing else." His voice was harsh, and carried a tone of warning. If you to call him by anything else other than his callsign, there were going to be harsh consequences.

His arms were folded across his chest, and he'd glared at you during the whole introduction. It made you so nervous, the reactions you got from both Soap and Ghost. Price assured you later though that they would come around. They just needed to warm up to you. He'd been 50% correct.

At the time, Ghost had been the most terrifying of three, and the one you worried you wouldn't be able to connect with (boy had you been foolish). At the time though, Soap had at least said something to you. Ghost never said a word or even acknowledged you. And when Ghost did talk to you, it was always in a gruff voice like you were annoying him. But over time, you came to realize that was just who Ghost was. It wasn't anything personal. He was like that with literally everyone. It was rare to catch him laughing or to hear his gruff voice become lighter.

Soap, on the other hand, also spoke to you the way Ghost did, but he only used that tone with you. He was so cheery and light when speaking with the guys. Even with strangers, his voice may have been slightly more gruff, but never as harsh as when he spoke to you.

His personality was vastly different around the others as well. Whereas he could joke, laugh, and relax around them, he was the opposite around you. You thought for a moment that maybe he was sexiest and just didn't like women, though every woman he spoke to around base, he was the kindest and most respectful guy.

Now six months later, not much had changed. Soap still spoke to you in a gruff voice. He still scowled when you entered a room. He still glared at you any time he needed to look at you. He had gotten more "comfortable" around you. But really that just meat he was far more comfortable with insulting you directly. From the way you shoot to the way you eat, he could find anything to gripe about. And eventually, you decided that if he was going to be difficult, then you'd return the favor.

The first time you insulted him back, he looked shocked, then just flat out angry. Your encounters went from quiet insults being thrown back and forth and dirty looks to all out yelling at each other. Never physical fights, but Soap had punched a hole in the wall during one particularly bad argument.

The others couldn't stand you fighting. Gaz would do everything in his power to keep you separated and distracted from each other so you wouldn't start. Ghost tried to never be involved, but he would sometimes break up the fights by using his scary lieutenant voice and sending you both to different parts of the base to cool off. Price... he got the most upset. He was normally so calm under pressure but hearing you and Soap bicker pushed him to the limit. He'd yell at you both until he turned red and then normally punish you by making you do extra cleaning, harder workouts, or something else just as labor intensive.

You lost count of how many times you'd been in his office with Soap, getting reprimanded on your behavior. One of the worst had been when Soap actively tried to get you kicked off the team while you were sitting right there.

"She is a right pain in the arse, Price! I didn't even start it this time!" He claims, doing everything he could not to look at you.

"Oh blow it out your ass, Soap. You were giving me a look."

"Then don't fucking look at me." Soap growls through his teeth.

Price slams his fist onto the table, making you both jump a little and halt your bickering for a moment. "Can you two shut the hell up? It's just constant with you. I have had a headache for five fucking days cause of you idiots. What is it going to take for you two to get along?"

Soap is quick with his answer. "All this could be solved if you just deported her little ass back to the US. Seriously Price, she's caused nothing but trouble since she got here."

"I am right here, Soap." You huff out a laugh, not too shocked he'd say something like that though.

"I wish you weren't." He throws back, making Price intervene again.

"Enough! She's not going anywhere, Soap. Whether you like it or not, she brings in a skill set we are missing in this team."

"Like hell she doesn't! We can find someone else." He argues, earning a glare from Price.

"She is staying. I signed a contract that she stays for a year. If we break that, we lose our funding, our reputation, and a whole lot more." Price says, making Soap cross his arms and sit back in his chair.

"So after however many months she has left, we can get rid of her?"

"You'll be lucky if I keep you once your contract expires!" He shouts at Soap, which shuts the Scot up. Sighing, Price continues. "I will reassess at the end of year once States' contract has expired." He says more calmly, which makes your heart sink and Soap smirk.

You were dismissed then, but Price had you stay back. Probably to keep you and Soap from walking with each other, but he also has a few words for you. He reassured you that you were doing great. That you truly did bring a lot to their team and that he was happy to have you there.

"Are you going to send me back at the end of the year?" You'd asked him before you left, looking over your shoulder by the door while he stayed seated at his desk.

"Don't worry about that now, States. But know, I like having you here, and remember, it takes both of to sign the renewal contract."

That gave you hope. Price most likely would want to keep you, but he was also going to leave it up to you to decide whether or not you wanted to stay. At the same time, if things continued the way they were, it wasn't going to be good for team morale. If Price had to pick between you and Soap, you were sure he'd pick Soap. He'd been with the team longer and knew them far better than you did. This was your dream though. Being SAS. It could take years before you got another team. You liked Price, Ghost and Gaz. Could you live with Soap?

That meeting was only three weeks ago. You'd been with the Task Force for almost six months. Halfway through.

Your current mission landed you in Naryn, Kyrgyzsta. You were hunting down a military leader, General Azamat, who was accused of doing an illegal arms deal with Russia. Photos and weeks of gathering intel suggested he was guilty and currently at this military base in Naryn.

This was purely a stealth mission first. You and Soap were tasked with infiltrating the small military base while Ghost provided overwatch. There were three security stations. One on the East, what Soap was in position for, the South, the one you were headed towards now, and the West, where you and Soap would meet to take out the last one.

The East and South stations were backup generators and needed to be taken out first before the main one to the South was. That way you kept the element of surprise and didn't need to worry about the backups going online. After that, your troops would push in and secure the base, capture the military leader, and you could all go home.

Soap had given the update on his position, saying he was where he needed to be, about two minutes ago. Two fucking minutes ago. And he was already griping that you weren't to your position yet. His words rang in your ear through your comm earpiece.

"This is Bravo 7-1, I've been in position. Waiting on 7-4 to move her ass."

"Calm down, I'm almost fucking there. Don't be so impatient." You growl back. "Seriously Ghost, how do you even deal with him?"

"Haad yer wheesht." Soap growls at you, some Scottish slang you don't understand. No doubt he was telling you to shut the fuck up or something along those lines.

"Either speaking fucking English or don't speak, MacTavish." You bark, voice getting a little too loud for a stealth mission. Even if you weren't too close to the camp yet, there could be patrols you needed to be mindful of.

"How about you fucking learn about other's cultures and then we wouldn't have this problem. And don't call me MacTavish."

"I do know about other's cultures! I just don't care to know about the one that you came from." You throw back before Ghost gets involved.

"Shut it. Now. Not another word. Fuck's sake." You could practically see Ghost shaking his head. "States, how long till you're in position?" Ghost asks, directing attention back to the mission.

"Give me two minutes."

"Bloody fucking Jesus." You hear Soap mummer through the comms.

You take a deep breath to try and focus your energy back on your current tasks. Soap was not going to get in your head and mess this up for you. For anyone else, he would have stayed quiet. In fact, it probably wouldn't have even bothered him.

"Hold up, 7-4." You hear Ghost say to you after about 30 seconds of creeping your way to your position. "You've got a small patrol further up from your position. Just over the hill. Two men, I don't see anyone else. When you're in range, get a good shot of one, and I'll dump the other for you."

"On it. Thanks Ghost." You whisper back, readying your rifle and trying to be as silent as you can while you approach the men.

"You telling me it's gonna be even longer now." Soap complains, making you roll your eyes.

"I'm sorry your side didn't have rough terrain or anyone to fight off, Soap." You tell him sarcastically. "Some of us didn't get the easy baby route to take."

"I'll have you know I took down two fucking patrols all by myself while I made my way over here. And I didn't have Ghost's help to do it either."

"Fuck you." You growl at him.

"What did I bloody fucking say?" Ghost growls, his lieutenant voice coming out. You curse yourself as you let it happen again. Just ignore the Scot and focus on what's ahead.

"In position, Ghost. I see them. Clear sight on both, your call."

Ghost does the quick calculations in his head as he prepares his shot, trying to determine which of the two men he had a better chance of taking out. "The one with the flashlight is mine. Dump is mate. In three, two..."

You both took the shot, Ghost pulling his trigger just a millisecond before you to account for the distance. He landed a clean headshot while your first bullet landed more in the shoulder of your guy. You took a quick second shot, which finished the job with another headshot.

"He's down. Clean shots. Though try for the head first next time." Ghost quips. There was no malice in his words. Just Ghost joking around to ease tension. Soap clearly needed to take lessons from Ghost on how to tell a joke without being a total ass about it.

"Noted. Thanks for the advice, 0-7." You banter back, earning a scowl and an eye roll from Soap.

"Less talking, more getting to where you're supposed to be." Soap cuts in, ending the fun you'd been having with Ghost.

"Don't get your skirt in a knot. I'm in position." You huff, pulling out your binoculars and scouting the area. Despite this base housing a military leader, and having two back up generators, they really didn't have much security. No walls, no floodlights. Just a few patrols outside. They weren't expecting trouble.

"It's a bloody kilt. Not a skirt." Soap seethes, his jaw clenched. At this rate, he wasn't going to be able to finish this mission. Everything about you was just pure annoyance to him.

"Yeah whatever you want to tell yourse-"

"Are you two going to be able to finish this mission or am I going to have to pull you both from it?" Ghost barks over the comms, clearly fed up now.

You feel your face flush hot in embarrassment. Ghost has never threatened to remove you from a mission before. You've always been good and reliable. You can't fail and have it on your record that you were pulled from a mission due to not being able to get along with others. That was a death sentence for your career with the SAS.

"No, sir. Sorry, 0-7." You apologize, not hearing anything from Soap's end. He was probably pouting and internally cursing you for getting him in trouble, even though this was all his fault. "Going to head out for the South station. Bravo 7-4 going dark." You turn your radio from the public channel between you three to a private one used only for emergencies. At least now you wouldn't be able to hear Soap for a little bit.

Soap hears your radio beep once, signaling to him you'd disconnected for a moment while you advance towards your target goal. Once you had, he huffs and takes a moment to squeeze his eyes shut and collect himself.

"I can't fucking stand her, Ghost." He complains to his friend. "Why the hell did Price ever think it was a good idea to put us together on a mission?" He looked out into the field, making out the little shadow of you making your way slowly to the base.

"She's part of the team, Soap. Price has his reasons. Just focus on the mission and make it work." Ghost replies, not offering too much help aside from stating the obvious and putting Soap's mind back in the field. "Better get going. Your path is clear right now."

Soap sighs heavily and stretches out his neck a bit by tilting his ears toward each shoulder. One side pops a little, only relieving a little tension. "Alright. Bravo 7-1 going dark." He clicks his radio to the private channel and begins to make his way to the East backup generator's building.

By the time Soap reaches his building, you are already working your way inside the South building thanks to the small head start you got. You stick to the shadows as much as you can, thoughts wandering to Soap from time to time. Wondering if he's cleared his building already or if he ran into trouble. Then again, if it was really bad, he could have contacted you or Ghost and there would have been alarms going off. And as much as you hated him, you had to admit he was really good at this kind of stuff. Sweeping through a place and clearing it out. Quick and clean. Of course he'd never ever hear you utter any praises directed at him.

Your building wasn't too heavily guarded. You assumed most of their men were either asleep in the barracks, standing guard of where the military leader was staying, or off patrolling areas they deemed more important than the backup generators. The main building to the West would have most of their patrols since it was the more important building. That was the reason you and Soap needed to work on clearing it together.

You managed to clear your building fairly quickly with only one close call. One guard had seen you shoot someone else, but you managed to take them out before they could radio for backup, and no one seemed to have heard him yell. Once cleared, you plugged in the flash drive and uploaded the virus it contained to make the generator go offline.

You bring a hand to your radio and speak into it. "This is Bravo 7-4, generator down, South building secure. I repeat, generator down. Heading to the West building to the rendezvous now." You begin to head out the way you came in as Ghost speaks to you over the comms.

"This is Bravo 0-7. Confirm. You're all clear." Ghost responds.

"You got a sit rep on our precious Bravo 7-1?" You ask, forgetting to switch over from the private channel. You duck behind some ammo boxes and sneak along them, not expecting to get an answer from Soap. You expected him to be busy still and not on the public channel that you thought you were on. Before Ghost can answer, 7-1 graces you with a response.

"States, shut your fucking mouth and switch your radio over to public. How the hell did you get selected when you can't even use a damn radio." He snarls, making you pause. Soap's words always kinda stung a bit, but some more than others.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I not allowed to have a sit rep on you?" You ask, ignoring your slip up of being in the wrong channel.

"No." He answers flatly, making you sigh and roll your eyes. So much for working as a team. "And switch-"

You switched over while he was mid sentence, not wanting to hear his grating voice anymore. You were getting a little worn down at this point. It wasn't like you enjoyed arguing with Soap as much as you did. It was exhausting. Being out in the field where you were already stressed was making it a lot worse.

"He's almost done." Ghost answers you, keeping you updated since Soap clearly wasn't going to. "Just head to the rendezvous, States."

You grumble softly but do as you are told. You mutter a "copy" into your radio before slowly and carefully making your way to the rendezvous. You hear a soft beep shortly after, signaling Soap had reconnected to the public channel. You try to avoid using your radio after that, even skipping check-ins since it seemed that Soap was going to make any use of your radio an unpleasant experience. Though eventually you do need to give an update that you were at the rendezvous, that way Soap wouldn't shoot you.

You move to the side of a building and crouch down. "Bravo 7-4 approaching rendezvous." You sigh to yourself before adding, "Bravo 7-1, please let me know when you are on your way."

"I'm already here. Look to your bloody right 7-4." You look almost directly to your right, which is met with an annoyed sigh. "Not that far. Back to your.. straight.. just- Fucks sake, by the crates!"

"You're not giving me good directions!" You silently yell back, still looking for him.

"By the crates! The only crates in the area! I'm practically in the open."

You see him then. His stupidly handsome face turned into a scowl and his piercing blue eyes glaring at you. He was not in the open, only his head poking up from the crates. You sent the same look right back to him and make your way over, looking around and making sure the way was clear so you wouldn't compromise your position. He was kind enough to at least raise his gun and cover you as you made your way over. Once behind the crates, back pressed to them, he relaxes his position and ducks behind them with you.

"States, look at me," Soap says, his voice deep and gravely. The only tone he ever seemed to use with you. "I want this done clean and easy. No fuck ups. You're going to follow my lead and stay out of my way. And I don't want to hear a single word from you unless it's mission related. You got that?" He lectures you.

You are so, so tempted to roll your eyes at him. He was talking to you like you were a marine fresh off selection. Not a five year veteran who was selected for an elite special forces team. He didn't even outrank you by that much. Not enough to make a real difference. The only thing he had up on you was experience and maybe two years in age.

You're silent for a long moment, glaring at him until he repeats himself a little.

"Do you understand?" He annunciates each word, and you swallow down the choice of words you had for him. This wasn't the time or place for that. You were in the middle of a mission that could go belly up and turn dangerous. You didn't need to be fighting the sergeant on this.

"You got it." You say tightly, mustering up all the strength you possessed not to say more than that to him.

Soap seemed surprised you agreed so easily, but he eyes you suspiciously for a moment before nodding. "Good." He nods before reaching for his radio. "Bravo 0-7, this is 7-1. Going in. Rest of the troops be ready in five minutes and wait for the signal."

"Copy, 7-1." Ghost confirms. "Be warned, I see multiple troops in the vicinity of the West security building. Some men have different uniforms. They look to be General Azamat's men. He could be in there."

You furrow your brows at that. You were expecting a lot of troops in that area, but the military leader you were after wasn't supposed to be in there. There was a bunker in the middle of the camp that he was supposed to be in. It wasn't going to be a significant change the mission though. It just meant your job had become a lot harder. More men to clear out without raising alarm.

"This is Bravo 7-4, 0-7 what's the best way in?" You ask, refusing to look at Soap. You saw his head turn to look at you from the corner of your eye.

"If you wanna come home looking like Swiss cheese I'd go with the front door. Around the back might be your best shot, but I can't get a clear view from my area." Ghost informs you.

"Can you reposition and-"

"No." Soap immediately cuts you off, making you glance to him. "We don't have time for a reposition. We need to move before they realize their backup generators have been breached."

"You just don't like it cause it was my idea." You accuse, watching as Soap visibly becomes agitated.

"I don't like it cause it's a bloody stupid idea!" Soap says through clenched teeth. He was getting right in your face. You were about to tell him off until Ghost's voice filled your left ear.

"Soap's right. There's no time. Head to the back and make due with that entry point. We'll go loud if we need to."

Soap wore a smug look as Ghost sided with him. You despised it. "See? Told you it was a stupid idea." He reiterates, still way too close for comfort.

Your anger flared, and you shoved him back with a forearm to his chest. He reacted instantly, grabbing your arm and flinging it away as if it had burned him. The movement was so quick, it surprised you a bit, and all you can do is stare at him with wide eyes.

"Touch me again, and you're going to regret ever signing up for the military," he growled, his finger jabbing the air between you before standing up and storming off without attracting too much attention.

You're left stunned for a moment, though you're not sure how you thought he was going to react to you pushing him. Within a matter of seconds, you gather yourself, reminding yourself that you were still in enemy territory and needed to focus. With a reluctant sigh, you followed after him.

You managed to make your way to the back of the West Building with Soap without too many complications. The most you needed to really do was duck behind some parked trucks as a military jeep rolled by. It exited the compound, likely heading out to meet a patrol for a shift change.

You and Soap didn't say a single word to each other the whole way. For a stealth mission, that was preferable. However, you could feel the tension between you and Soap. Disdain was radiating off him, and you didn't want to get too close to him in fear he was going to blow up at any second.

There's a line up of vehicles that serve as your cover for the time being as you sneak along one side of them. Suddenly, you nearly collide with Soap when he abruptly raises his hand, signaling you to stop. There's a group of four men all standing in a small circle, talking and smoking together. They're isolated from other groups but taking out a group of four could be very difficult to do.

Soap takes a few steps back, waving for you to back up as well. "We can't take that group out by ourselves, we're going to have to go around." He tells you in a hushed voice as you attempt to peak around him to get a good view of the targets blocking your path.

"It's only four. We can both take out two." You suggest, but, just like all your other ideas, Soap is fast to shut that one down too.

"Not a chance. You suck at hitting multiple headshots." He accuses.

That makes your blood begin to boil. You were not the God awful shot he made you out to be. In fact, back on your base in the US, you were considered to be one of the better shooters.

"I don't suck at making headshots." You glare, making him huff at you.

"Oh really? You missed the one earlier. Ghost managed to hit it from hundreds of meters away, and you bloody miss from a few feet. Your aim is absolute dog shite, States. I'm not going to have you mess up this entire mission cause you think you're better than you are."

His voice was harsh, as always, and his glare was biting. You felt your eyes burn as tears formed, but you refused to let Soap see you cry. He'd only roll his eyes and call you a baby. Crying would only give him more reasons to think you didn't belong here, that you weren't as good as the rest of them.

There were so many things you wanted to say to him in that moment, but you couldn't. The words got caught in your throat, and you feared that if you opened your mouth, a sob would escape. All you could do was look away and clench your jaw, masking your hurt feelings as anger instead.

Soap seems to take your silence as you submitting. "Come on. We'll go around that way."

He was motioning to a camp-like area that seemed mostly deserted, though there were probably men sleeping in the multiple tents that were set up. Along with the tents, there was some campfires and some small boxes of what looked to be filled with MREs.

As Soap quickly moved to the new area to bypass the group of men, you glanced back at them. You knew you could land those headshots. If Ghost had been with you, you would have taken them down already. You were tired of Soap thinking you were inferior and wanted to prove him wrong so badly. You knew you could land those headshots...

Raising your rifle slowly, you lined up the shot for the first target and mentally mapped out the sequence. One on the right, then left, then back right, and then back left. A simple zig-zag pattern. Easy enough.

Right as you're about to pull the trigger, you hear Soap's voice crackle through the comms. His voice was deep and full of warning and venom. 

"Don't you fucking dare, States."

But you dared. You wanted more than anything to prove him wrong. You slowly exhaled and pulled the trigger.