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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

Callouses on his gentle hands was absolutely adorable! It kept making me thing of a continuation of the sorts where some years pass and the reader actually enlisted in the military earning the code name Bird too without Price having any knowledge. Only to show up when he's a captain maybe even to be part of 141 or something important.

Idk if this is a possible request as I don't want to bother you but it would be amazing if there was some well timed banter and just generally happy.

Again your writing is so good it leaves me speechless I love it so much! 👁️〰️👁️

Calluses and Milky Scars

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: It's been years since you've seen or heard from John and yet you still can't get him out of your head. But can a chance meeting rekindle old emotions? (18+)

Word Count: 16.1k

Warnings: Angst, typical violence & gore, talks of human trafficking, vulgar language, eventual fluff, banter, smut, honestly I think I wrote switch!Price without even realizing it, p in v sex, fingering, teasing, breeding kink, etc.

A/N: Imma be honest I hate the first part of this duology - it was one of my earlier works - so I made this as standalone as possible. So if you don't wanna read the first part (please don't) you can still understand this one just fine by itself. (this is also an excuse for more smut practice). Anyway, enjoy! Part 1

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

They only saw the glint of a blade, the metal reflecting the light of a mist-filled night back into the whites of their eyes. You could see the result of your form in their terror-stricken visages as, one after one, they succumbed to the ministrations of your unyielding determination.

You had forgotten when the act of taking a life had become so easy for you. It was as natural as breathing, now. Elementary. Your fingers could pull a trigger just as fast as they would raise for a handshake or a wave. There was little need to be shy about it – your days as a victim were far behind you, and ‘Bird’ was nothing more than a callsign uttered under hushed breaths. Said behind back alleys by Human Traffickers with fear-slick eyes.

It was no longer uttered in a deep British accent, the word making your skin tingle and cheeks heat. No matter how much you longed for it to be.

You were a Captain in the military now. Working hand-in-hand with the CIA under the direction of a certain Kate Laswell. You even commanded your own Squad that specializes in getting others out of the very situation you had been in years ago with no mercy or hesitation.

Revenge, you decided, was most likely why this was easy for you.

You enjoyed it.

“Perimeter clear, Captain,” Wren speaks into your earpiece as you step over the bodies at your feet, boots splashing through puddles of blood so starkly contrasting the grass it makes you smirk.

“Move up.” A balaclava covers your face, and sweat dribbles down your brow before you blink it out of your eye.

Around your chest, the M4A1 sits with its familiar weight, and you wipe the life-fluid from your crude combat knife before sheathing it at your thigh. You had taken out three stragglers at the South End of the current Targets territory, your blood singing sweetly in your veins at the prospect of finally crossing another name off your list.

“Eagle,” Your voice bounces off trees and low shrubs, and you continue forward as your fingers press the button on the old-issue radio. There were better versions nowadays, and you got teased for still using the ancient one you have currently strapped to your chest, but it was sentimental to you. An old friend had given it to you for safekeeping a long time ago…How many years now was it since you had seen or heard from John Price? Ten? Fifteen? Who could really tell, anyhow? Time moved quickly, and you ran through it even quicker.

Your sharp eyes flick out over the view as you exit the brush, standing on the top of a large ridge – a series of warehouses lit up with large spotlights below your perch makes you frown.

“Let’s get this started then, shall we?” You mutter, shifting your feet and rolling your shoulders. “Blackout in 3.”

“Roger that, Ma’am.”

You watch the guards walking like obsidian ants below, your predatory gaze missing nothing – you spot the mannerisms fairly quickly; who limps, who favors their left over their right. Who’s sleeping on the job. A first victim was almost immediately chosen as you tilt your head and feel the chilled breeze on your visible skin. Your Unit knows the procedures you’ve ingrained into them and they’re watching just as closely and predatory as you are.

All four, including you, are stationed in a circle around the area, with Eagle, the man with the sniper rifle, taking point far off into the trees on a higher portion of the topography. Three seconds of prep time come and go quickly. And so do the lights.

A series of muffled pops and a shattering of glass break the night into chaos, and then the illumination goes out entirely. The area is plunged into an inky darkness of your own command – you revel in it. And then the screams begin.

“Take ‘em.” You mutter through the open channel, and your feet then propel you forward, dodging trees and jumping downed branches as you skid down the slope. Your heart beats with adrenaline, the hunt making your nerves twitch.

In your grip, you ready your weapon, flicking off the safety as shots begin to ring out over the land. Eagle was taking off the ones he could, but if you had to guess, Shrike was already in the fray, letting her face get bloody from the close quarters she favored. You only hoped the woman wouldn’t go overboard this time. Thrush was usually the one to help keep her head on, but the man was across the territory with his own hostiles to wipe the board of.

You fire at the first shadow with a light finger, watching it drop and pivoting to pull the trigger at two more before they knew what was happening – too panicked by the sudden assault seemingly out of nowhere.

“Shrike,” Your voice wafts over the buzzing line, “mind yourself. I don’t need you put on Suspended Leave again.”

“Don’t worry, Ma’am,” Thrush’s light voice meets your ears as you take cover behind a vehicle directly in front of one of the warehouses, “I’m making my way to her now.”

“Ah, Fuck off, Thrush!” Shrike growls, and there’s a distinct sound of someone’s gurgling last breath in the background. It makes you let out a huff of demented laughter. “I know the limits!”

“I don’t think she knows the limits, Ma’am,” Eagle grunts over the call, and a shot sizzles past your head and takes out a charging man that was making his way to your hunched and hidden form. “I really don’t.”

Rushing forward out of your cover, you chuckle breathlessly as Wren’s dignified voice pipes in.

“I’m making my way to the main building and getting set to download the data. Target’s nowhere to be seen, Captain.” Your lips thin under the fabric and you grunt, feeling a bullet graze your bicep. Ducking in an instant, you set your feet and fire, running past before the sound of the body slamming to the ground behind you can reach your ears. A burning heat enters your arm, but you barely acknowledge it.

“Eagle, cover her until I get there.”

“Affirm.”

“Shrike, Thrush, report. How’s the other warehouse lookin'?” Your body skids across the ground, and your hand connects with the warehouse you needed to clear before making your way to Wren and the Mainframe.

Half of the Op was data retrieval, and the other was taking out a human trafficker only named in his file as Buck – bastard’s been running for a long time, and you needed to leave him a bloody mess before he kept his ‘business’ going. Laswell only sent in your Squad because she knew you could get it done with an efficiency no one else could. Nearly a perfect success rate got the attention of people worldwide; your waiting list was long of the places the CIA wanted to send you and your team.

But you didn’t care, as long as your own list was getting checked off they could fly your ass to Antarctica for all it mattered.

“Our warehouse is cleared out. Must not have expected us…they were running around with their heads chopped off.”

Shrike snickers. “Just like chickens.”

“Good. Join up with Wren and make sure she can get the download completed. Copy?” You grasp the large metal handle and growl, locking your arms and pushing with all of your strength. The weight makes your thighs shake, but you only open it enough for you to slip inside, gun at the ready as breaths puff from your mouth.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Boots shuffle over the concrete floor, and your ears twitch in the quiet darkness at the crunch of stray gravel underfoot. Your finger shifts slowly to the trigger, glaring into the nothingness.

It was silent.

You heard it then, like a spike to the heart – the panicked breathing; the sounds of shaking lungs and grasping hands. Sounds all so familiar it made you pause, mind for an instant blanking at the implications.

There were people here. Drowning in fear.

You could see them in the corners, scores of bodies piled on top of one another to find some semblance of comfort. Their eyes wink in the moonlight of a single window in the roof, and the stench nearly makes you want to gag. Blinking, you lower your gun, feet shifting to stand straight like a statue; heart racing. These people weren’t supposed to be here, and already vicious comparisons to your own rescue by a certain man a long time ago invade your mind. Calluses seem to burn your hands under your gloves, and a gentle imaginary prod at an injury on your forehead makes the milky scar ache.

He readies the wipe in one of his hands, the other coming up to your jaw. When you tense he freezes, but as soon as the hesitance leaks away from you like a wave, the slow motion returns to his limbs; his fingers come to grab at your chin, gently holding your head in place. When you place more weight into his hold and release a deep-chested sigh of content he quirks a dark eyebrow.

“This might sting, Doll,” John whispers.

“That’s alright,” You mutter back, staring into his beautiful eyes as the wipe comes into view in the side of your vision. “Not your fault.”

He only releases a puff of air from his lips before adding the smallest amount of pressure to your forehead, running the wipe over the red and swollen flesh.

Taking a deep breath one of your hands goes to your radio stiffly. Eagle needed to know about this so he could send a message to Laswell – get an immediate Medical Evac for these people.

In your hyper-focussed state, memories you wished would stay away rear their head; infect your intuition and common sense. You missed the click of the safety until the barrel of the pistol was level with the back of your head. Freezing, your fingers tense over the device, your body going rigid and muscles tight as the people in the corners gasp and cry out into the night.

A panting man stands behind you and you feel his hands shaking as the barrel digs into the balaclava’s fabric.

Well, that’s unexpected.

“Show me your hands,” He breathes heavily, and you feel his puff of air echo out over the open space. Tinged with fear. Dripping with adrenaline.

Your lips pull back into a steady, hidden, smirk, head tilting as your hands slowly drift from your radio and let your weapon hang from its strap around your chest; feeling it bounce off the various packs and supplies you carry with pride. They splay beside your head, fingers lazily loose and leather gloves squealing into the night.

Selene herself holds her silver breath, the winds sucked down into Hades as Cerberus breaks sinner’s bones with his savage jaws and blood-slick teeth. It was silent.

Born and bred to violence, there truly wasn’t a better place for you to be than in the CIA. This was Hell, but you could play that black-clad ruler’s game just the same. You’d been dodging him for years.

“T-toss your gun to the floor.”

“You know that won’t matter.” You look behind you, side-eyeing that shaking would-be threat. Phobos lives in his very being. Coward. Pathetic. Red-hot anger lights your nerves, iris narrowing to black slits. This thing – he was little more than an entitled boy in a man’s body. Using others for his gain just like others had used you. This was your Target.

This was Buck.

“So this is the one who made an empire on the suffering of innocents.” You mumble, unafraid and unbothered with a scoff. “I really expected more than a man who plays with his food.”

Yes, the adrenaline was running in your veins; you were human. It was natural. But the way the wailing birds rampaged in your chest wasn’t – you should be afraid, not angry. Not enraged to the point you were shaking; fingers twitching for your knife. For spilled blood to coat the earth.

Phobos was this man’s ruler, but that Fear God’s father was Ares. And Ares was yours.

“I…I said drop your fucking weapon you bitch–!”

Your opposite hand knocks Buck’s wrist to the side and your body twists. In a single fraction of a second between the loud misfire that hits the floor and the ringing in your ears, the knife at your thigh finds purchase in his pliable neck. Crimson sprays over your eyes; staining the balaclava as your body falls to the ground as you jam the blade deeper – all the way to the crossguard.

Buck grumbles wetly from under you, hands coming to weakly grasp at your arms and attempt to pry your unyielding body from him. His grip is as strong as a child’s, and as blood spurts from his mouth and entry wound, you slap your free hand over his face and twist the knife. Strangling the hilt in your grasp, you viciously jerk your limb, sending the edge sliding over his neck; cutting tendons and arteries. Creating a red-lipped smile from ear to ear that explodes with gore.

Buck was already dead before the puddle over the ground grew an inch in diameter.

Ripping your weapon out, you shove your boot into his chest and push off, stumbling to your feet as you stare down wide-eyed. Your digits shake, but the flickering of your gaze goes from the dead eyes to the open mouth of the corpse. Flicking your wrist, you splatter more blood on the floor to rid some of it from your blade before sheathing it.

Gripping your radio, you speak clearly into the line.

“Eagle this is the Captain – get in contact with Laswell immediately. Civvies in the far South warehouse. Ask for Medical Evac.”

Say to bring only women, you want to growl but refrain. That was impossible to manage.

You stare at them now, the innocents, and see your own path reflected in the many colors and the feral glints in their irises. In the way their bodies huddle like cats with their backs flared. If life had been different, would you still be in a situation like this – waiting for your own John Price to break you out? It was a difficult question. Far more challenging to answer than why the body behind you was staining the concrete with blood and tears.

…What would have happened if he had never kneeled down before you that day? Offered you his hand stained with calluses and gunpowder residue?

You blink at the thin bodies, gaze flowing to each and every one in turn. With a slow motion you begin forward, hands at your sides and visible; you draw the memory to you. The one you think of often.

You had stayed there in fear, curled up in the corner, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Until John.

“Ma’am,” He had said, kneeling on one leg while his hands clutched his M16 to his chest, the muzzle still smoking, “I’m Lieutenant John Price in Command of Unit Bravo. You’re safe now.”

Unit Bravo? Safe? You had wondered, looking up at the man with confusion. How can I be safe?

Nonetheless, when he offered you a hand, you had taken it, looking in awe at how gently he gripped your limb in his own; John’s limb completely swallowed yours and yet held you like delicate glass.

You stopped before a woman far too young to be in a situation like this and kneeled. She watched you with a shaking body, the others curling away in fear. They didn’t know you, and so they feared you. Taking a breath, your hand raises, and the woman’s eyes are laser-focused on your form.

I should make myself smaller, you think. And so you do.

The fabric is sweat-heavy; laden with dirt and other substances, but you grasp it without hesitation and peel it off of you. It sits in your hand with the weight of the past in the thick polyester threads. Swallowing down saliva at the breeze that hits your face, you watch the lady blink at you, her gaze filled with confusion.

An easy smile comes to your face; if they hadn't just seen you murder a man, they would not believe you to be the same person. Yours was not the face of a killer – of someone who twists the knife deep and revels in death. It was soft beside the scar above your eyebrow, easy to look at. Innocent.

A simple Bird, no. A vulture perhaps suited you better, if they were to get into specifics.

You clear your throat and they all flinch.

“Ma’am,” Your voice carries. Again, not the voice of a monster. But even Ares marries a beauty. Could you not be a spawn of them? Beautiful and utterly bloodied by the rules of war? Oh, yes, that’s what you were, you had to be. Nothing else would make any sense. But they gravitate to you nonetheless – war and love often go hand in hand. Especially when one killed the ruler of their torment. “I’m the Captain of Raptor Squad. You can call me Bird, if you want. It’s alright. We’re gonna get you out of here and get you some help, okay? You’re safe now.”

The woman can’t help but nod sheepishly.

Who says no to an offspring of Gods themselves?

—

The helicopter ride back was silent, with everyone tired and covered in more blood, dirt, and sweat than they can recall. Buck’s body was stuffed into a black bag and sitting in the walkway at your feet – you needed it for positive identification back on Base. You had shuffled back into the balaclava, taking comfort in the security and anonymity it lent. Below, your eyes watch the word whizz past, one foot limply hanging off the side thousands of feet above the ground; you swish it back and forth like a child and allow yourself to think.

You had joined the military only a few years after John had rescued you – much against the wishes of your therapist, but seeing as you were of sound mind, it wasn’t that difficult to enlist. The brown-haired Brit had sent you letters for the first three months after you had left the Base you had been recovering at and then, inexplicably, they had stopped. No letters, no contact. The radio – along with you – was too far away to get a signal; that was how it ended.

Not with a kiss or a soldier’s goodbye, just nothing. Silence.

But you never held it against him. Perhaps, you reasoned and partially believed, he was already dead. At the end of the day, he had been a great motivator for you, and over the years your fists and skills had propelled you to top ranks. Laswell had been in contact soon after you had been promoted to Lieutenant and Raptor Squad had been formed when you had chosen the most violent and perfect bastards to join it.

From there it was win after win and the CIA soon counted this team as one of the most lethal in its roster. You’ve been all over the world.

More than I could imagine I would become in a concrete corner and locked in a cage.

Your eyes watched the expanse of forest outside, but there was still something missing. Why had John just…stopped? It was the one question you could never answer.

Did I really not matter to him at all? Around your vest, your fingers twitch as the helicopter bounces on airwaves. Blue eyes still haunted you – the ones that held silver starlight hostage. How they used to soften with care when they looked down at you. John shouldn’t have mattered this much to you.

Why can’t I just let go of him?

You bite at your hidden lip with sharp teeth, peeling back the skin as Wren shifts in her seat beside you. She speaks into the comms to avoid yelling over the drowning sound of helo blades and you lock your eyes on her form.

“You might want to look at the info I retrieved from the Target’s mainframe, Captain. Didn’t Laswell mention she had a separate Task Force going after someone named Casilda Kalpana? She’s mentioned in this file.” Wren hands you her tablet, and you hold it in one of your hands as your hard eyes slim down the screen, taking in compiled sources.

Casilida Kalpana was on your list of Targets to take care of, but Laswell had given the job to another Task Force – designated TF-141 – for the small difference that this woman had ties to multiple terror organizations. Raptor Squad was no stranger to that, but Kate had also stated that the Captain of that group had been incredibly instant on taking it himself.

Your head tilts in memory.

“Kate, I’m not understanding why you think we can’t handle it.” You huff, shaking your head with an exasperated expression. “It’s no different than anything we’ve done before.”

“I have no problem with you participating, but the Captain pulled in a favor. Said he ‘felt obligated’ or something like that.” You pull a face, and Laswell glares at you from behind her desk. “Bird, I really don’t have the time to argue today – I’m stuck with stacks of papers because Keller decided to get himself lost again.”

“I’m not trying to argue, Kate.” Holding up your hands you chuckle and roll your eyes. “The only thing that matters is that the Target ends up six feet under at the end of the day. You know what it means to me.”

The Agent looks up from her papers and pauses for a moment, a pen placed between her digits, and her eyes soften around the gray edges.

“I can personally assure you, Captain, that this Task Force will see it done…Now hurry up and get ready for your own mission – I hear South America is warmer than usual this time of year. Pack a cold drink.”

The words in the file make your stomach churn; leading to your eyes widening. You flip the tablet back to Wren and radio Eagle who’s blankly watching Shrike and Thrush play rock-paper-scissors across from you.

“Eagle,” the man’s head snaps to you and he blinks, “Patch through to Laswell. Tell her to gather Task Force 141 in the meeting room on Base and wait for me. Under no circumstances should they be allowed to leave on the Op for the HVT Casilda Kalpana. We’ve got vital intel.”

Eagle nods and gets to work on a secure call to Kate, as you turn to Wren, clapping her on the shoulder and leaning close to speak into her ear over the noise.

“Good work, Sergeant. Get all that transferred onto a flash drive for me, yeah?”

“On it, Ma’am.”

This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? You sigh deeply, tilting your head back as the sun starts to slowly rise over the land, bathing it in an orange glow that spreads out like fire. The large Cargo plane following behind the Helicopter would carry the innocent victims of Buck back to Base, and you fight the urge to get in contact with the pilot's headset to ask how it was going for them. It was hard to not get attached – especially when you knew what was probably going through their fear-stricken brains.

Left wondering in silence, your fingers pick at themselves over your gloves, peeling at frayed threads and durable fabric. As the minutes stretch into hours, you lift a hand and run a digit over your scar, caressing the skin as the forest pulls back and buildings emerge. Turbulence overtakes the helicopter, and your hand grabs the net on the side of the wall to steady yourself as the descent begins.

Settling your nerves, you wait until the ‘all good’ from the cockpit before you hop out, signaling with your finger for your Squad to follow close behind. Someone else would come and grab the body bag – it wasn’t your problem anymore. Your feet pound the Tarmac, and you can’t help the look you send up to the sky, watching the cargo plane on the horizon as it comes closer. Frowning under your covering, you re-focus.

I need to stop thinking about it – I always get like this with civvies.

It was hard not to. You only wanted to bring them the same comfort that John had brought you.

God, stop fucking thinking about him! His phantom haunts your every step like the two of you were Orpheus and Eurydice – only one of you wasn’t dead in the first place. One had left; abandoned you to the wolves. You had said you held no bad feelings towards the Brit but was that true? And if he was really dead, would you ever even know it?

Your feet carry you forward as the helicopter blades slice the air, making your clothes ruffle and shake under the combat vest and around your ankles.

The last time you had contact with the brown-haired man, you had been reading his letter in a free-of-charge home given to you until you could get on your feet and secure a job. John had been sent back to the UK on another assignment, leaving you a nervous wreck surrounded by people you didn’t know the intentions of. You had been excited to go to the mailbox at the time – even if being outside still made you nervous. Everything was just so big to you back then. When your fingers had opened the small metal box and found the white letter with the elegant script on top, you felt a smile rip open your face.

But the contents had been less than they usually were. Stiffer; formal in a way you had yet to associate with the man. He had always been nice to you. But maybe he had grown past that – you feared that thought.

“This’ll be my last letter for a while, Bird. I’m going Black. Make sure to remember to go outside and drink water for me, yeah?”

-Price

There had been the start of another sentence before it had been scribbled out and then had been it. No updates; no return address this time so you could write him back. And then you had bever received another letter until you had gotten fed up with your life going nowhere and enlisted. John Price had disappeared, and whether he was dead or halfway across the world you knew not.

He had been the only man you had trusted until Eagle and Thrush had become a part of your group. Still, even now, the opposite sex made you hesitant – you didn’t like being alone with a man you didn’t know. Your line of work didn’t help that notion, either.

“Bird,” Shrike’s voice brings you back, and your eyes slide to your side to look at the smaller woman. You hum in question. “What was in the file Wren downloaded? And who’s Task Force 141?”

“All in due time,” You mutter back, your hand opening the front door of the main building. No one was bothering to remove their gear or clean themselves – they all understood from the way you were walking faster that this was important. “And as for TF-141, I have no idea. Never met ‘em.”

Wren coughs, and Shike looks over as Thrush and Eagle listen silently, the former handing a cigarette over to the other.

“One-Four-One is a Multinational Special Operations Unit comprised of operatives from all over the globe. Much like what we do, but on an infinitely larger scale. I believe Laswell asked our Captain to join it a year ago…” Wren trials, not bothering to look up from her tablet where she still reads through files and other intel from the mission.

Thrush’s eyes widened.

“Holy shit, really? And you passed it up?”

“Obviously,” You snort, itching at your bicep where the bullet graze still sits in dried blood and dirt. You repress an annoyed hiss of pain. “Why do you think I’m still stuck here with you lot?”

“Awe,” Shrike coos, scrunching her nose, “She loves us.”

“Loves to hate us,” Eagle whispers. You send a half-serious glare as Wren chortles to herself.

“I can always ask Kate for the offer again.” A loud uproar makes people in the hallway turn and stare, and you laugh under your face-covering, chest light.

You all arrive at the meeting room door and you don’t bother knocking, shoving your way inside with Shrike still giggling behind you. There’s the presence of five others in the room, and one stands at the head of a large table, a blank projector behind her in dim lighting. You don’t bother looking at anyone else – still keeping that habit of being nervous around new people.

Laswell sighs as she looks you over, crossing her arms over her blouse.

“We're all here, Captain. What was so urgent that you had to show us?” You slip past her and head to the computer atop a wooden stand, hearing whispers and muttered comments as your groups disperse around the room. Heavy stares that peel back skin like batter nearly make you sweat. They were boring into you, making your heart race.

They’re waiting for us, you remind yourself.

“Wren.” You call steadily and a second later you’re catching a well-aimed flash drive without looking and plugging it into the computer.

Before touching anything else, your hands reach up and grasp the balaclava, tearing it off your head in one quick motion and hooking it onto your belt. It was rare for you to wear it on Base.

A sharp inhalation of breath makes your fingers over the keys pause, but you only blink and return to typing – pulling up file after file. The air in the room was already tense, but whatever had just happened was setting off alarm bells.

Who are these people? What just happened?

Nonetheless, you get to work and turn to Laswell with the intel on screen.

“You’re going after a useless player. Casilda Kalpana is only a pawn in a much larger scheme.” Kate’s eyes snap from one digitized document to another as you continue, staring at her and no one else with a blank expression. “If you had sent your Task Force, they would have died. They already knew you were coming.”

“Well,” a distinctly Scottish accent makes your fingers twitch, but still you don't look as a comment is said into the air, “I’d have to disagree with that, now, Hen.”

Blood and sweat stain your skin, and you’re covered in more of it down your gear. Your gloves are stiff with dried crimson and even the small amount of interaction you had on the computer left stains over the keys. But you still find the energy to roll your eyes.

“Can you fight off upwards of one hundred hostiles while trying to sneak through a city so inhabited that it's practically a human ant hill? No offense, but if you answer that with ‘yes’ you may need a psych eval done.”

There’s a pause before a small masculine snort echoes out.

“Shut your gob, Garrick.”

“Laswell,” you remain on topic and the woman looks at you with inquisitive eyes, “The only way forward with this is cutting the head off the snake. I say we go one above Kalpana and take out the ring leader.”

“Abel?” Kate’s eyebrows raise, “Bird we’ve been looking for him for years – I don’t know what you expect us to do with noth–”

Your finger hits a key, and the next document pops up.

“You can thank Wren for compiling the sources. Lots of emails to go through on the helicopter ride. Some not as fascinating as finding coordinates for a Target.”

“You can say that again,” said woman huffs from the back of the room, “you know how many kinky photos these people send to one another. Shit’s disgusting.”

The Scot speaks up again, “really? On a scale of how bad it was – one to ten, Bonnie.”

“Fifteen. I need my eyes bleached.”

There is a gaze that doesn’t leave you; it hadn't since you had walked through the door. It is hard and unrelenting. It does not falter or blink away.

It makes you nervous.

Sucking down a deep breath you try to focus on what everyone is saying, but it becomes more difficult with every second. Your hand reaches up to your head, scratching at your scar as the presence follows your actions.

Who is this? You wonder, but clench your jaw and listen to Laswell speak.

“--reliable is this source?”

Shrike answers from near the door, chuckling, “very, Ma’am. Rarely do these people sugarcoat things. Small brains, you understand?”

“...At the very least I need more than a location and a vague date. Bird,” your head turns slowly away from the floor, “can you give me a week?”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand.

“A week?” You frown, eyes narrowing at the blonde, “He could be off in the wind by then. Do you have any idea how much this guy runs – I’ve been tracking him down ever since I joined, Kate. This is the most I’ve gotten in that entire time.” Splaying out one of your hands for emphasis, everyone hangs off your words. “He’s the source of all of it. When you cut a snake up, the head can still bite, sure, but at least you know where not to step. Kill Abel now, and all of them are left bloody in the dirt. Ready to be picked off.”

Before the stoic agent can say anything, the radio on your chest sizzles to life and you forget about the hot eyes and the thick air.

The people from the warehouse.

Hand snapping up, you turn your head down into it, facing forward as your eyes stiffen.

“Cargo plane is clear for landing, Ma'am. Just thought I’d let the Squad know.”

“Thank you, Cadet. I’ll be there momentarily to help out…” You blink, “Try to make sure only female medics work on them but make do if you have to.”

“Copy that. I’ll spread the word.”

“Rog.” You don’t bother to take the USB from the computer before you turn away – they’ll all go over it while you see to the Civvies.

“How many this time?” Kate asks seriously as you slip past, her body pivoting to orient herself as you pass.

“Warehouse full.” You grunt, itching at your bicep and shuffling to the exit. “Less than last time.” The agent knew better than to try and stop you.

“That’s an old radio you’ve got.” The British accent makes you falter for a second; it was deep, aged like a fine wine that coated the vowels with clipped authority. Familiar for some reason, but you took no notice of it. “Must be one helluva long story, eh?”

“Very long,” You say as your nimble hand connects with the door, “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to tell it–”

Your body freezes as you send a quick glance to the voice’s owner; stance suddenly locked tighter than a bank vault as your optics find familiar blue eyes.

…John? There was suddenly a violent silence in your head, a sheet of white paper held in front of your brain to block it from firing.

He looked older, but then again, it had been years. Many years. But the build of his face hadn’t changed so much to a point you’d be unable to recognize those blue eyes. Oh, that blue. Like deep water and sea foam on a cold shore. Was it possible to know someone only by their eyes? You had to argue that, yes, you could. Because the man sitting down at the table, flanked by three others that all watch the interaction with confused eyes, is not the Lieutenant you remember.

The beard was new – shiny brunette like his hair under his bucket-hat-covered head – along with the stature. Before, Price had been large, sure, but now he was built like a bear. Your tense eyes slip over the tight compression shirt covering his arms, the bulk of his thighs as he shifts in his chair to stand up firmly. John clears his throat, and your face heats under the flesh, but upon the doorknob, your fingers strangle the metal. He was taller.

In your chest, the aggressive pounding of your heart rivals a cheetah.

What the fuck is he doing here? You can’t help but glare when the man frowns, his eyelids half-down in a studying look as his eyebrows push in. Like he was just as surprised as you were. Hesitant. But I’m not the one who disappeared. I’m not the one who made the other think they died.

When your face shifts to anger, John freezes, his hands coming up to cross and grip the collar of his beige combat vest looking about as awkward as he can. When you huff out a breath through your nose, his feet shuffle shoulder length apart. Ever the soldier – waiting for a lip-lashing. You watch the wrinkles on his forehead with growing hatred.

“Bird, I…”

Breathe.

“Well, this just keeps getting fucking better and better.” Without another glance, you wrench the door open and shoulder though, tossing it back with a decent enough force to make the wall rattle as you disappear down the hall.

But he won’t leave your thoughts. John Price. Alive. Here.

What kind of game was this?

Your hands are shaking at your sides when the door, already far down the hallway, opens quickly. But the feet are not heavy. Wren slides up next to you, her feet pumping. She doesn’t say anything, just walks next to you as your eyes shutter closed and you take a deep breath.

“You up for helping out in the med ward?” You force yourself to say, hoping to distract yourself as your face once more moves back to a picture of innocent calm.

How can he be here? Fuck…h-how? John was part of the 141 for this entire time? Did he know I was here? He couldn't have, no. But what if he did…

Why didn’t he say anything?

“I’m certainly more inclined to lead my abilities to the nurses, Captain. You’ll find no resistance from me.” You liked that about Wren. She never pried about things she knew you didn’t want to talk about.

“Good. They’ll need them.”

—

“John!” You laugh, hands coming up to your head where the Lieutenant had placed his beanie, the chill outside had made your nose hurt and your breath puff out in clouds.

Standing just outside the main exit of the medical ward, you grab the fabric as your face turns up to the tall man at your side. He had just shown up from a meeting, and the door closed behind his back as he locked his arms on his vest collar and set his feet shoulder length apart.

“Well now, what’re you doin’ out here?” It was rare for you to be out of the building – open places still scared you. “You alright?”

But you needed to think.

Stiffly smiling, you try to hide your running thoughts from the man who narrows his deep blues at you. He shifts closer, and you can feel his heat melt into you, making your shivering slow for a moment. He made all of it better.

John huffs.

“You’re about as easy to read as anyone, Bird. Go on, then.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” You play with your fingers, skin pulling tight. “I’m just overthinking everything.”

“You’re nervous.” He states, glancing ahead with a tilted head and a raised brow at no one.

Under your feet, the snow shrieks as you shuffle, looking to the ground and sighing deeply. There was no point in hiding anything from him and his damn hawk eyes.

“It’s just…I’ve missed so much, y’know?” Your teeth bite your lips as you feel his firm eyes on you, locked onto the side of your face and caressing your visage with their path. You blink out over the base, seeing everyone move from one place to another with a purpose in their steps. “I have no idea what I’ll do with myself all alone.”

Whispering out the last sentence, you look at the ground, lips in a line.

It’s a good while before the Lieutenant speaks, and he sighs deeply before he does. You don’t suppose he’s ever had to deal with something like this before. But he’s learning. All the others at Base and in Bravo Unit had been surprised that the two of you had formed such a tight bond in the limited time you had known each other. John Price wasn’t known to be the easiest person to speak to – especially when traumatized victims were on the other end. His stoic and quite confident attitude was the main deterrent, usually, but his hard eyes and face that rarely showed any emotion were a close second.

But to you, he was the nicest person you had ever spoken to. He never made fun, poked, or prodded, and he certainly didn’t act mean or bossy toward you. John was kind and warm; gentle when you got to know him.

And you quite liked his company.

John’s sigh puffs out over the air, and you grab the sides of his beanie and pull it farther over your head to cover your ears. You send him a curious glance and watch his fingers tighten, one eyelid creasing farther than the other when he looks at you in turn. Locking eyes, you can’t help the small smile that twitches your lips, liking the natural handsomeness of his face. You wonder what a full beard would look like over his cheek beside the current scratchy stubble that you had always known.

His eyes flick to your lips, and his teeth grind against each other for a moment before they snap back to your face.

“They’re sendin’ you out in three days, yeah?” John asks, scratching at his jaw with three fingers before settling his hands back into his vest.

“Yeah.” You affirm, smile turning to a frown. The man tenses minutely beside you before clearing his throat.

“Well, where they shippin’ you off to? Someplace nice I’d imagine. Heard somethin’ about bloody Oregon, but they wouldn’t give me much more than that.” You tilt your head at that, expression turning amused.

“You asked?”

“‘Course.” He raises a brow, and his eyes crinkle down at you. “You expect me not to?”

Face suddenly hotter than the sun, you blink rapidly, snapping your head to look out at the base once more. You may have imagined it, but John’s chest jerks in velvety chuckles you miss due to the ringing in your ears.

What was happening to you?

A small silence wraps its arms around you before you gather the ability to speak again.

“I think it was Washington, actually.”

“Hm, that it?” John frowns to himself, “Lots of people, Love. How are you feelin’ ‘bout it?”

“I don’t really get a choice,” you chuckle, licking your chapped lips as your pulse rises, “whoever has space was kind enough to offer it, how can I say no to that?”

“By tellin’ ‘em you don’t want to.” Price shuffles so he’s standing in front of you, blocking the people you were watching. He splays his hands at his sides and waits, blinking with a loose jaw. You nod an approval, though feel confused.

His hands go to rest on your arms, holding them incredibly light; barely applying pressure but you lean into him anyways. You enjoyed it when he touched you like this – the only person you would allow to do so besides nurses. Your tension softens into pliable clay when he watches you.

You could get lost in them, you knew, his eyes, if you stared for too long. There was an undeniable attraction to the man that you wanted to push away, but couldn��t help yourself. John was everything to you – he brought you books to read, sat with you as you ate in the cafeteria; he sat up with you when you radioed him about nightmares in the small hours of morning.

That memory made you giddy. Price would stay in his barracks – unable to leave because of curfew – but would speak to you over your shared channel. Use that soothing tone of his to make your eyes flicker back into slumber until he hears your soft breath over the line and sighs.

John’s throat releases a grunt, bringing you back to the present. He was staring at you softly, a small smile on his lips. You try not to suck in a soft breath. How long had you been staring at him?

“Focus, Bird.” You can’t stop the mute giggle on your tongue.

“Sorry.”

The Lieutenant's head tilts, and his usual expression shifts back. He studies your face, eyes sliding over to the bandages above your eyebrow.

“If you don’t wanna go, tell ‘em, okay? No one can force you to do anything.” He sighs. “I need you to understand that.”

“...Where else would I go?” You mutter, keeping your eyes locked. “It’s not like I have a home, John.”

His eyes snap away to look at the wall behind you, narrowing. The expression makes you grin, finding it funny when the man thinks so hard. John blinks, cycling back to stare at your lips.

The air heats and in your chest, you feel your heart beat just a tiny bit faster. Grumbling, Price peels back and releases you before his hands travel up to his beanie. He pushes it down farther, lightly ruffling your head in the process.

“Hey!” You huff, annoyed. Your hands flap above your head, shoving his digits away as his chest jumps in low chuckles. “Jerk.”

You shove the fabric from your eyes and beam.

“Couldn’t help myself, Love. Here, let me.” John’s hands find your chin, fingers so delicately, brushing the chilled flesh that immediately warms at his work. One limb stays, while the other goes to fix the position of the hat.

Sucking in a slow breath, you look up into his eyes and blink as he focuses on your head with a concentrated furrow in his brow. How did he always manage to make you feel safe? Take away your worries as if they had never existed? If there was one man on earth that could make all of this better, it was the one standing right in front of you.

It would always be John.

“Will you keep in touch?” You whisper, nervous for the answer, and his eyes momentarily snap to yours as his motion slows. A pause.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Hm, well then, I'll write ‘til you tell me to stop.”

—

The reports make you want to bash your own skill in. In the dim light of your office, you sit into the deep hours of the night in your chair, spare reading glasses on your nose to help you force away the blurriness from fatigue. You had spent the whole day with Wren in the medical ward helping the civvies get settled and the nurses with the workload. Such a large influx of patients had set them back for weeks, but it couldn't be helped. They weren’t the people to push anyone away – you knew that firsthand.

You were still in contact with a few nurses from your own stay all those years ago. Good people.

Swishing another of your signatures on a confidentiality document, you slide it to the side and stifle a yawn with the back of your hand before picking up the next file. Your fingers flick the manilla paper open to where you plan to write gruesome details into the blank lines of the sheets inside, and you just begin to let your ink bleed into the paper when your mind suddenly runs to a brown-haired Brit. Pausing, you blink sleepily before pulling the pen back and setting it on the table with a long sigh.

“Fucking hell.” A groan escapes your lips. This had been going on for hours. You’d try to start something and then the thoughts would get blocked by that damn man.

He was even more handsome than you remembered him. Lightly tapping the tabletop with your nails, you can’t deny the heat that had entered your body when you had seen John again. The coarse beard. The writhing muscle of his thighs paired with that tapered waist.

He had aged beautifully down to the very atoms of his makeup to a point it made your breath go thin; pupils widened in a primal display of need. It was pathetic. But the carnal attraction had always been there along with the normal crush. There was something you had learned a million times over – it was never going to be anyone else but John Price. Even so, it wasn’t for a lack of trying. You’d had plenty of boyfriends throughout the years – small flings that never lasted.

None made you feel as secure as the once Lieutenant’s simple presence had. Wren had told you in the med ward that he was a Captain just the same as you, now. Captain Johnathan Price. If anything, it made you mad that the title had a nice ring to it.

Your face twists into thinly-veiled annoyance. What gave him the right to come waltzing back? You thought he was fucking dead. Instead, you had been ghosted so bad you joined the goddamn military to help cope. Fuck, maybe your therapist had been right all along.

You’re just about to let off a spring of audible curses when a knock on your office door makes you flinch, eyes scrunching before sense finally finds you again.

Can’t I wallow in peace? You ask yourself, hoping Shrike hadn’t gotten into a fistfight at the local bar in town again. I swear I need to put Thrush on watch duty for that woman. Maybe Eagle’ll convince him for me.

“Come in.” You stand as the door opens slowly, hinges echoing out as you slide the reading glasses off your face and toss them down. “I swear if Shrike got suspended again I’m going to hit her over the head with the code-of-conduct manual.”

Snapping your fingers and cracking your neck, you huff when no one responds before turning to the door.

“What’s going–Oh.”

John stood in the doorway, wearing nothing more than a thick black cotton shirt that covered his large arms and hugged just the perfect amount over his triceps. It showcased his large shoulders before being tucked into his cargo pants. For once in your life, you think you’ve seen him without some sort of hat on his person.

Freezing, you stare wide-eyed at him. John frowns from where he lets the door automatically shut, nodding his head towards you firmly in greeting as your heart kickstarts. His large hands enter his pockets like some guilty teenager as you gape at him.

John clears his throat.

“Bird.”

“Get out.” You deadpan, not bothering to hear the man out. Price groans, head tilting to the side to glare at the wall as his jaw clenches.

“Love, would you let me explain–”

“No. Frankly, I’ve had enough adrenaline rushes for one day, you damn jerk. Now, get out of my office.” You begin making your way from around the table; pulse flying through every point in your body.

You can’t be here, John, you clench your fists, please, you can’t be here.

Annoyance sparks in those blues that you love to stare into, but all you do is go to stand right in front of the man with a violet frown that he mirrors.

“Bird.” He says again, setting his feet.

“John.” You raise a brow and cross your arms. The Brit growls, gaze flicking away with a heat to it before wafting back like fog over water.

“What’re you doing here?” He says slowly, trying to keep the peace between the two of you.

“Well,” under your arms, your hands shake, “what the hell do you think? Working the same as everyone else. Or at least I was trying until you showed up.”

“That’s not what I bloody fuckin’...” John trails off, closing his eyes before taking a deep breath and letting the tension in his shoulders loosen. His hands exit his pockets, and you stare as they splay by his waist. “Please, Love. I’m not trying to argue with you.”

“Arguing is the least of what you should be worried about.” Grumbling under your breath you lick your lips as his eyes lock with yours.

There was something there you couldn’t name, but it sat on the tip of your tongue – perhaps close to the emotions of guilt and horror that left the Brit’s jaw tight and his eyebrows constantly furrowed. Had he really never expected to see you again?

Yes. You figure with a heavy heart and a spark of hurt. Had you really been so discardable? In your mind, you had thought that you meant something to him. But maybe that was just another lie.

Letting out a scoff, you roll your eyes before looking away.

“Weren't really many options for me.” You concede a small portion of yourself if only to get him to leave so the way he makes your lungs sputter and face heat can cease. The others would make fun of you for this. A pointless crush on a man you hadn’t stopped thinking about for ages and held a great deal of resentment toward. When would the self-sabotage end with you? “Thought it was a better way to help others like me.”

You turn back and raise an expectant brow. “Happy now?”

John just continues to stare, lips thin and pulling under his beard hair as he raises a hand to itch at his jawline. A growl digs at your throat.

“John. Leave.” Not able to help yourself, you spit out, “if you wanted to quit talking to me all those years ago – you could have just told me instead of making me think you were fucking dead.”

The man’s head immediately flinches back, face scrunching in genuine confusion as his mouth parts. Under his shirt, you see his heart skip a beat.

“What are you sayin’ Bird? I never did anything fucken’ like that. What are you on about?” He shakes his head, “you stopped answering me.”

“The fuck are you saying? No, I didn’t!” Reeling back, you throw your hands above your head in a display of surrender; about to slink back to your desk and try to forget the heat of John’s body and the blaze of his eyes. “God, I give up on you and your stupid accent. I have reports to get done without your presence making me want to vomit.”

“Oh, my presence,” The Captain throws out a humorless chuckle that makes you want to cry. “Eh, you’re angry at me – you have every right to be, Love. I fucked up,” He growls, teeth gnashing, “But don’t fuckin’ lie to me. That is not what bloody happened – I never stopped writing you.”

“What the hell do you mean that’s not what happened?!” Your scream surprises you, with your voice bouncing off the wall like a demented banshee was in the room. You snap back around on quick feet and stalk over to the man. John’s eyes widen at the enraged tone and he blinks in shock as you continue, backing up a single step when you get in his face. “I waited and waited for you to send another letter – I waited months for nothing! Do you know how that felt, John? To-to go over in my head that maybe you never made it back from that Black Op at all? That you were dead somewhere in a fucking jungle or a desert or anywhere? I tried to get in contact with everyone, and nothing panned out. They wouldn’t tell me shit. So don’t stand there and say it never happened like that, because that is exactly how it happened!”

You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears are dripping down your chin, hitting the floor with muffled plops.

John is slack-jawed, eyebrows all the way up on his forehead and orbs stuck on you – on your obvious panic. His breath is heavy, and you feel it spread over your face from how close the two of you were; you had ended up pointing a finger right into the Captain’s peck. Under your harsh press, your flesh felt his pulse flying off the rails. Your nose scrunches as you sniffle, aggressively ripping your limb back to your side. Oh, but he had been so soft under you; his skin beneath that fabric reacting to your own by pulsing to life. John’s tongue wetted his lips.

Scoffing, you take a step back, but the man speaks before you can get far enough away. It was quiet, how he said the words, and his expression was one of genuine confusion and concern. His eyes were brighter than the moon – that gray space rock put to shame by the rolling beauty of his optics that reflect light far better than she ever could. Gentle Selene, how did it feel to be beaten by a man covered in more death and blood than anyone? Who’s skin is tough and callused so perfectly that a child of Ares wants to feel those fingers caress her in forbidden places. Oh, to be kissed and loved by him. To be worshiped like a god.

“What in the hell are you talking about?” It was nothing more than a gasp, and you see his fingers twitch to touch you; to hold you to him as if nothing had ever happened.

“John, I’m not repeating myself.” You sob down a breath, looking away and shrugging pathetically.

“Bird, listen to me. Eh, eh. I…I never stopped sending you letters, yeah?” Blinking, you turn back to him and frown dumbly, your eyes furiously dancing from one wrinkle of his forehead to another. A minute passes where you feel more tears drop to the floor.

“...What?” Confusion laces your eyes, “but I never got anymore after…”

You trail off, letting the sentence die as your heart does.

What does he mean he kept writing letters? I…I waited and I never got any. None of this made any sense, but the man in front of you was never one to lie. Ever.

John takes a step forward and you tense. He freezes, face hard and jaw set beneath his beard. You can tell he’s still confused – just as you are, but his attention is fully on you.

“Can I touch you?” He asks lowly, hands outstretched but never even grazing your shaking shock-filled form. His thick fingers are all separated, the digits lightly curled inwards to the palm. Those hands. Would they even feel the same as they did back then?

But did that matter? Neither of you was the same person anymore. Both of those people had been lost in the annals of history – their story was already over and done. The pages turned. Cover closed.

Those two kind people had died. They were buried together under the ground, bones turning bleach white and wrapped in vines; nothing more than a ghost of a dream.

“Bird?” John whispers, his head tilting down to look at you closer as his chin bumps his chest. His feet move carefully as his hips shift and you feel his body heat like a noose around your neck. Your resolve was slipping, but it had already been fraying when you had first laid eyes on this changeling – this person wearing the Lieutenant’s face and eyes.

John.

You nod without looking at his creased eyelids, and he slips you into his firm hold without a second thought.

“Oh, c’mere, Love.” Standing heavily, you breathe in a deep breath as your head meets his chest, body wound tight. How many times have you dreamed of this? Finding him again despite all of it? It felt…wrong.

You had been sure he was dead. How was he not dead?

“Little Bird, I’m so sorry.” Your eyes widen, and a sharp gasp is ripped from your mouth; lips instantly begin to shake and pull tight.

No, you want to scream, no don’t say that to me, John. Don’t do that to me.

But he mumbles it again into your hair as his hand cups the back of your skull, weakly swaying back and forth in this dim office surrounded by blood and death. His body is like a rock all around you, and as your arms rise to wrap around his waist, you hear his breath shutter down over your forehead; his lungs hitch.

“I thought you died.” You hate the whimper that gets muffled by his shirt as you nuzzle into it. Hate it with a burning passion. When was the last time you had let yourself break like this? Left staining someone's shirt with tears and muttering fears into their chest. But this wasn’t someone, this was John – John had promised you he would come back for you, always.

And so John just holds you tighter and kisses your forehead. He lets you cry. He makes you feel safe where no one else ever could.

The man – a triumphant Orpheus – keeps you close until you can breathe firmly again. Only then does he carefully peel back, and you catch a glimpse of his soft face. The face that you missed ogling as you walked beside him. His hands go to cup your cheeks, thumbs slipping to wipe away tears that clog your vision with his quick eyes falling to study your visage; you liked when John took care of you, even if you knew you could handle it yourself now.

He made everything better.

Peering into his eyes, you catalog the new aspects of his face as your breaths mingle, bodies close and intimate. He had more wrinkles than you remember, and his eyes were even more cold. John’s beard was perhaps the change you liked the most besides the nicely trimmed head hair.

“MacMillan.” He grunts out and you frown as he continues with a sigh. One of his arms goes to slither around your waist, pulling you even closer as if he couldn’t be separated for one more second. “He didn’t like that I was writing you, Love. Said I’d been too distracted. Must have stopped the letters from gettin’ out…bloody fucken’ bastard, he is.”

You hum, content for the first time in a long while. John’s chest moves against yours – pressing into it and making you ache with every fast puff of air. Noticing the rapid movement of his heart, you look deeply into his expression and find his pupils blown wide, a deep heat taking root around the room.

“If I had known, I would have found a way to give ‘em to you myself.” Your body tingles, and your fingers dig into his skin from around his waist as your noses nearly brush. He doesn’t pull back. “You know that, don’t you? I’d have hopped on the first damn plane – shown up on your doorstep. Gear and all.”

“Now, I would have paid to see that, Captain Price.” He purrs, and the vibrations of his chest make your eyelids flutter. “Standing on my porch like a husband who came home from war. Pity.”

Chuckling breathly, you can’t help but giggle back, leaning into his hold on your cheek. You don’t remember ever feeling this happy.

A moment of stolen breaths and wandering touches ensues; beating hearts that make muscles writhe and inner tensions reach a breaking point. Finally together again after so long apart – there were so many things to say to each other.

“Hm, Love?” John mutters as his nose bumps yours, making your head lightly tilt to the side to make his lips brush yours with every panted gasp. You lick your lips and accidentally slide your tongue against the side of the Brit's mouth; you watch his eyes darken with a smirk.

“Yes?” You wonder aloud, eyes hooded, and his gaze narrows on you – a blatant enticing accusation making John’s skin thrum with electricity.

“Can I kiss you?” A breathless grumble.

“Yes.”

Your lips meet with a clash of hellfire and a song of lust, sparks like jumping embers lighting across lit flesh. Digging into his waist, you enjoy the way John’s ribs flare with large lungs as his teeth clatter into yours, the way his grip on your face trails to your neck, digging and making you gasp into his mouth when he slightly presses into your pulse point.

He chuckles pridefully before reconnecting his face to yours, feeling your heart pound outside of your body. The two of you were so close to one another that it was nearly like you were trying to melt into one being – an amalgamation of calluses and milky scars; violence and unspoken words.

The both of you had been waiting for this for years. Ages.

A swipe of his tongue over your lips and suddenly your mouth is wide open, letting the muscle delve into you before retreating once more; leaving strings of saliva as you let him separate. Face hot and breath panting, you both stare at one another with swollen lips, red and bitten. There’s a small moment of quick inhalations and banging chests before your nails suddenly dig into the small of his back, dragging him forward once more as he heaves under your hold.

No need for talking, you could get everything you wanted to say across just by how you bite into his bottom lip, how your knee brushes his crotch and leaves him jolting into you. Groaning into your mouth.

John’s fingers kneed your flesh, every brush like a cattle prod. Without even realizing it, both of you had started to back up, your feet skimming the floor as one of your hands went out behind you to connect with the desk edge.

“Lift.” You mumble into his mouth, and not a second later the man’s large hands grope at your thighs, squeezing once before he effortlessly manhandles you upwards. Your legs spread and go to wrap around his waist, locking at the ankles and producing a deep churning in your gut.

When your backside lands on the desktop, your lips have traveled to lay nipping kisses on John’s neck and under his ear; hand now over his abs and dragging down while your nails leave him shivering. He grunts and clenches his jaw when you bite into his flesh, the delicious tickle of beard hair brushing your nose as you watch with feral satisfaction upon the flush on his complexion.

The Captain’s hands run up and down your hips fervently, mapping out the flesh above your loose sweatpants. Before long there’s the feeling of pressure forming above your core, a deep imprint of tented cargo pants leaving a familiar feeling of passion leaking out into your panties. The both of you were utterly addicted to the other.

“Eager?” You breathily wonder, teasing, leaving another hickey on John’s pulse point as he side-eyes you with blown pupils. Your gaze only catches a flicker of a smirk before his hands suddenly bore down into the skin of your thighs and his hips cant into your core.

Gasping out a moan, your fingers twist into his shirt, face falling onto his shoulder.

“J-jerk!” You keen, face hot, and mouth open to help you suck down air before he does the same motion again, liking how you look when his erection rubs the right spots. Shaking, you feel John leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on your skin, beard coarsely stimulating your already warm skin. Under his unrelenting hold, your legs quiver to try and move faster.

Smug bastard, he was enjoying this.

“Now, then, who’s eager?” A confident superiority was stuck to the tone like the slick was making your underwear stick to your slit. It felt dirty, but you liked when he talked like that – tried to use your words against you as his own pleasure was making him go slack-faced.

How would it feel to have him moving inside of you? Leaving you sobbing from pleasure as your shared release dripped over the floor and his veins caught your ridges just right?

Your back arches into him, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling as his hand presses into your tailbone to angle you upwards into him as he groans into your shoulder and stutters his animalistic pace. The feeling was unlike any other you had experienced; you could feel the electricity every time he stimulated your clit, leading to involuntary jerks on your part and thin breaths. There was barely time to suck down air over the lightheadedness.

“I-” Your voice cuts as cold wetness slides down your folds, and you shiver despite boiling. “I think you’re the one rutting into me like a bitch in heat, John.”

“Well, you’d be right,” he growls, and your fingers slide down his shirt before you can slip into his pants. The Brit sucks in a sharp breath and his other hand, once on your thigh, goes to slam onto the desktop in a quick motion when you play with the strap of his boxers. “Fuckin’ minx.”

You smirk, angling your head to the side to watch his normally stoic face begin to break when your nails trace the trail of hairs that lead down. Close but not close enough to where his cock strains violently; twitching as the telltale leak of precum stains his underwear and pants. You doubt your appearance down there is any better. Everything sticks to each other so tightly that you were slightly worried your desk would need a deep clean.

John’s eyes are closed tightly, teeth clenched tight when your nails trace circles along his prominent ‘V’ line while his abdominal muscles tighten to an attractive degree of internal yearning. Around his waist, your legs are vibrating with eagerness, your skin so sensitive it was like every nerve was being fired. Oh, you liked that look on his face more than anything.

“You’ve got to say it, Love.” You watch as his biceps tighten and strain, hand over your desk clenching into a fist behind you. Your hand dips lower in his boxers as your core begs for something to fill it – anything to make the cum drip out of you and give overstimulated aftershocks. Your other limb goes to pop the front button of his cargos as your sweaty face angles itself to connect your nose with the Captain’s larger one, smashing against it desperately. “Open your eyes, John. Tell me what you want me to do.”

Breathing over his visage, he flickers his eyes open with a small struggle and you almost moan at the heaviness of them as they gaze at you. He says nothing to you, but his digits at your tailbone leave their position to mirror your own actions. Your confidence stutters when John deftly pulls at the string and slips his rough pads under your panties, stopping on your body where you wait on his.

Your eyes slightly widen and your heart beats impossibly faster.

So that’s what this is…some kind of cat-and-mouse game? Alright.

The desk is uncomfortable under you, but you find you don’t even care anymore. Staring into John’s unblinking eyes you raise a brow.

“Not saying anything?”

“I’ll leave it to you. Do what you wish, Princess.” Your fingers experimentally skim to the base of his cock, playing with the hairs and feeling his fingers mirror, stopping just above your aching clit and barely touching you. This would be easier with the clothes off, less awkward angles if you would just fuck each other like you both desperately wanted. Raw and fast, no time to breathe before starting another round to make up for lost time until the two of you were too tired and sensitive to even rut into each other without passing out. But the two of you were too currently obsessed with battling wills – this was a game that made you even wetter, and him harder.

But, fuck, it physically hurt not to have his dick inside of you right now. Maybe a substitute could work?

Your fingers grip him inside his boxers, and before you can laugh at his throat-strangled moan of carnal pleasure, his own are delving into your drenched heat relentlessly.

“Fuck!” You whimper, hips jerking as your mouth falls open, eyes rolling back. He has the audacity to steal your laugh from you and throw it back as it puffs out over your cheeks.

When John feels the drowning wetness stemming from your slit and he curls his digits, he can’t help the vile smirk that infects his lips; a raised eyebrow, and a comment on his hot breath.

“All this for me, hm?” You don’t answer, too lost in the blue of his eyes and the sparks that emulate at having another living being pulsing over your tight walls.

“S-shut it.” Groaning, you pant trying to move your hips before he growls in front of you, making you pause as your hand around his cock twitches.

“None of that, now.” There was no amusement in his eyes, but a steel-like determination and a demented tilt of his head as his forehead connected with yours. “We’re gonna help each other, yeah? Make it a little game of who can get off first. Can you do that for me, Dear?”

Where has your confidence gone? Has it leaked out of you?

You whine as your eyes crinkle, desperate for something on your clit despite the feeling of being stuffed by two of John’s large fingers. John frowns, and his thumb hits the perfect bundle of nerves like he could read your mind. Writhing, you feel your eyes wet with pleasure-tears.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your mind is going so fast that it’s blank, only able to focus on John and how his hips sputter to try and fuck himself on your hand. He was just as needy as you were, skin flushed and muscles tight under his clothes.

“C’mon, Love.” He groans, nipping at your wet and red mouth and pulling at your lip as his calluses rub in small sparking circles, trying to get you to respond. Your hips careen forward to chase him. “Where’s my sweet Little Birdie gone, eh? She’s so wet for me, can’t have lost already. Listen, now, okay?”

He begins to fuck you with his fingers, moving painfully slow in and out, pushing and prodding as you moan and gasp when he runs over the tense walls. But you do listen – God, how couldn’t you?

“You hear that?” Your eyes widen and your hand tightens over his cock like a vice. Your own cunt was so soaked that every motion of John’s fingers made an obscene squelch, and your walls tighten in retaliation around him as he groans deeply, feet shoulder length apart. “There she is.”

You match his pace with your hand, collecting his precum at the tip and spreading it down the shaft as you both get each other off with fast breaths and locked eyes.

“T-that’s a girl.” John can’t help the way he moves faster, eager to release the strain on his balls, his fingers rapidly moving and thumb pressing tightly as you squeeze around him. “Fuck.” He growls, hunching over you and taking a peek down to where your sweatpants and panties strain to hold his hand inside as you work him. “Fuck,” he repeats, “such a lovely fuckin’ cunt of yours. Grippin’ my fingers like a damn noose, you are. Can’t wait to—”

A strangled whine breaks through his clenched teeth when you twist your hand, creating a rhythm of your own that makes sweat break out on John’s forehead.

“Bloody…” his head falls to your shoulder, where you lick and bite at the side of his ear with hard teeth, thighs burning as you jump every time his thumb weakly stutters over your clit. Your ankles dig into his tailbone.

“C’mon, John,” you gasp, sweat trailing your spine and soaking into your clothes as the sound of rabid slopping echoes off the walls along with loud moans and guttural grunts. “This is what you wanted, right?” He bites into your shoulder through your shirt.

The Brit was close, you could feel it in the fast careening of his hips; the way his dick in your soft hand was twitching and covered in just as much wetness as your splayed slit was, where John’s fingers continue to spread you violently wide. But his motions had faltered, but still, that tightening in your belly was there even as he slowed at his impending release. Your pleasure stemmed from seeing him lose it under the twist of your wrist and the lick of your tongue under his ear.

His groans were getting louder, body hunching in around you as the desk knocked into his knees.

“Little more,” you like the way his beard burns your neck flesh, how his body pulls you even tighter against him so you won’t take away his climax at the last second. “C’mon, let me feel it.” He gasps and twitches a whine stuck deep before it is expelled from his lungs as he shakes like a leaf against you.

He shoots his cum down to stain his boxers and cargo pants and you look down in a daze to look at the patch, but his locked fingers inside of you involuntarily curl all the way up, pressing into that spongy spot as you clit it pinched so tight your eyes widen. Before you can stop it, you're moaning out loudly and breathlessly, back arching and releasing just like that. Spazaming, it’s cutting through you like a knife, filthy stickiness coating John’s hand in a thick layer in an instant as your walls clench.

The both of you shake into one another, bodies coated and clothes wreaked – fingers and hands not willing to part from the other's wreaked pants.

Whining, you force your flicking eyes open and feel John breathing heavily into your neck. Sucking down fast breaths, you lick your lips and state, perhaps a little smugly, “I…I win.”

A panting moment of sweat-coated silence.

John starts laughing, deep bouts of shaking movements that make you follow. In the dim office atop a ruined desk, you both lean into one another, clean hands digging into the others’ clothes and hair. The lingering pleasure was addictive.

“Fucken’ hell…yeah, Love, guess you did.” The brown-haired man pulls back, and your hand falls from his cock and lands in your lap. You unlock your ankles and shiver when his fingers brush inside of you when he takes them out, teasingly running over your overstimulated clit and huffing, amused when you whimper pathetically and slap his hand away. Glaring, he smirks and you roll your eyes. Raising a brow as sweat falls from your nose, you shift over the wood and stare at John as his hidden emotions wash over you in the form of blue water.

You can’t really think that I’m done with you? You want to say.

“What do I get, then?” Your thighs twitch, legs still splayed around his wide hips. He frowns teasingly.

“What’s that?”

“I won, didn’t I?” Staring intensely, both of your hands go to hold you up behind you, leaning back so you can place weight on them. Already, your slit is aching again, your navel pounding as the room smells like sex and messy release. “I want a prize.”

“That how it works, then, Captain?” John sighs, crossing his arms and puffing his chest as your leg moves up and down his thigh, “You expect to be rewarded? Hm, you’re in the wrong profession, you are, Love.”

“No,” you smirk, “I’m not.”

Reaching, your fingers grasp the bottom of your shirt, feeling John’s eyes bore into your skin as you pull the article over your head and let it hit the floor. You hear his breath get shallow, and, disliking how the cum staining your lower body feels, you lift your hips and slide both your panties and sweats to your ankles with a quick motion.

Looking up at John, you smile innocently, only clothed in a bra.

“Take off my shoes for me?” His blue eyes are barely visible anymore, black already taking over as his piercing look stays on your shiny cunt like a dog with a bone. You see his breath get shallow and the hard-on under his clothes once more grow larger. “John?” Prompting him to move, you take one of your hands and spread your folds.

The man’s hands twitch, feet shuffling, but other than that he stays stone still until you speak once more, even if he’s almost physically vibrating at the sight of you.

“I’ll let you clean me up if you hurry up and get my clothes off.” His large hands snap to your laces, untying them expertly and pulling them from your feet so they clatter to the ground. The remaining fabric follows.

Giggling, your breath gets caught when John’s fingers trail up your ankle, his free hand going to lay firmly at your opposite knee. Using one of your hands you reach up and unclip your bra, slipping it off your shoulders. The reports on your desk are all most likely ruined – you’ll need to rewrite them tomorrow – but for right now you’re transfixed on the sight in front of you.

John looks into your eyes and utters, “you sure you know what you’re doin’ Sweetheart?”

“Take off your shirt.” You smile in return, your fingers going to slip into your eager cunt, still burning from John’s long-gone relentless digits. Your eyelids flutter at the fire. “And your pants. I wanna feel your muscles movin’ when your tongue cleans up my cum.”

His chest is heaving like a wounded animal, and you whine when you curl your own fingers in your heat, wishing it was John’s dick. Fuck, you needed him to hurry up already. Your digits couldn’t satisfy you as he could – when you had been stroking him you had marveled silently at the girth, the sizable veins that pulsed in your grip when you squeezed.

Watching like a hawk, John slowly moves and pulls off his shirt as you lazily fuck into your wet entrance. You spy his large pecs and nicely shaped waist as chiseled abs make your mouth water and lips part in soft puffs of breath. The coarse hair over him was the same shade as his beard, and you followed the trail with greedy eyes until it disappeared below his unbuttoned and stained pants.

Your chest gets just a little bit together; cunt tightening dangerously.

“You’re droolin’, lovely,” John smirks down at you, “careful now, don’t wanna finish on yourself. Just makin’ more of a mess for me, hm? Naughty.” He strips off his pants and boxers, kicking his boots off, and you stare wide-eyed at the spring of his dick, noticing the way it hits against his stomach with a molten red tip.

You would have gotten on your knees and sucked him off, but he beat you to it.

The Captain forsakes his own needs and does as he’s ordered – he kneels to the ground and levels his face where your cum stains your skin and nudges your fingers out of the way. He begins to lick along your thighs as your wet hand goes to slick his hair back, gripping the strands and observing the phenomena below you with a slack jaw.

Oh, hell.

He stares at you as he does it, cataloging the flesh that makes you jump and the places that leave you shaking with need. His tongue sucks and bites, but never goes where you want it to, instead, he just spreads your legs farther and makes comments as you grunt above him.

“Such a mess, Princess…I’ll have to take care of you.”

“That’s it, Love, fuck my face – try and get off. Good girl.”

“Fuckin’ delicious, that is, eh? Here, have a taste.”

You’re left a shaking mess by the time the remnants of your orgasm are traded for saliva, his muscle slurping up every droplet without complaint as his fingers leave bruises in your thighs from how tight he has to hold them to keep the limbs apart. This wasn’t going to plan for you.

Whining and whimpering, you ache for him, your lower body throbbing as more slick begins flowing. At this rate, he was going to suck you raw and leave beard burn all over your inner thighs.

“J-John,” you plead, disheveled as your hand grips his hair tighter, biting into the brown whisps. You were going to climax without him even entering you.

“Hm?” He groans out, licking a long stripe over your entrance but never sinking into it. Your body shivers and jolts, chasing that friction but he moves away too soon. You nearly sob. No, no, no. I can’t take it. “What is it, then?”

“Fuck me.” You feel the twist of his lips more than see it.

“Yeah? That what you want?”

“I swear to God, John–!” He stands so quickly that you yelp, legs wrapping behind him as his arms go around your backside and hike you into his hold.

Moaning loudly, you feel the press of his cock over your slit, whining and immediately trying to shift in his grip to attempt to slip him inside of you with a twisted face. But the Brit’s hand on the small of your back is tight, keeping you trapped against him.

“Not yet.” He growls in his ribcage, and you connect his forehead with yours and force yourself not to beg as he narrows his eyes at you. But you're not a fool, you can practically hear his cock trying to move against your heat; his thighs quivering. “Fuckin’ hell – you’re impatient. Your whole squad like that?”

“You’re a damn tease.” You huff, rubbing and pressing your nipples over his chest hair to stop the throbbing in them. “Ruder than I remember. Didn’t even let the girl suck you off.”

“Then you’re gonna hate what I do next.”

Your confusion bleeds into your expression as he situates himself in your desk chair, leaning back into it with a groan and squeezing you in his arms. His dick slaps at your backside when he lets you go and just stares. Furrowing your brow, he tilts his head down at you as your arms rest on his pecks, playing with the hair there and tracing scars.

“Go on.” The Brit prompts with a tilt of his head toward you, a nonchalant expression on his face that makes him look more like he used to – outwardly not caring but studying every move and twitch of your body.

He watches you like a wolf.

“What?” Questioning, your head pulls back as your legs fall limp at his sides to dangle above the floor.

He huffs. “You said you wanted your prize – take it, then.”

“...b-but…”

“Go on. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You glance down, utter exasperation showing on your face, “how am I supposed to…?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure that out, Love.” John’s hands go to sit on the armrests, fingers swishing as they hang off the ends. Your face burns, annoyance filtering into your veins as your eyelids crease.

Trying to prove a point, you stave off the awkwardness of the angle and shift upwards, using John’s broad shoulders as a way to lift yourself up. Taking a shallow breath, your breasts are shoved into his face when you free one of your hands, going to grasp him to line the joining up. You feel him distantly nipping at the supple flesh, his hands over the rests jerking as his legs open wider under you. When you grab him, he grunts, and your nails leave crescent marks on his skin as you clench your jaw as it rests on his head. Huffing, you jerk him off a few times to make his body writhe before, in one fell motion, letting yourself fall onto his dick.

You both let out sounds that are more animal than human, deep wails and keens that shake the office walls.

“Fuck, John,” you make noise like a damn porno, head slotted in his neck as you shake and jolt this way and that with rapid nerves that shoot down your arching spine.

He was tearing you open – ripping you apart with the spearhead that curves so deeply you struggle to breathe correctly. Jesus, was he in your throat? Gasping, you feel so full in such a unique way it leaves you addicted, your cunt so tight around John’s cock that the walls inside of you quiver with every small movement. When he gasps out breaths with his closed-tight eyes, you notice the way your body convulses, red-hot pleasure rocketing to your brain and pumping endorphins before clenching around him.

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit, I can feel his goddamn veins digging into me! Your small mewls of pleasure spill out even as you both stay still to adjust. Sex had never felt like this before.

John spasms, hands immediately snapping to your thighs to keep you there as he wheezes.

“Fuckin’....christ!” Blinking rapidly, you bite into John’s neck to ground yourself, hips rocking despite his pleas. “So tight. Squeezin’ my cock just perfect. Take it, Love. Fuck, c’mon, take it.”

Your slick and his precum make it easier, the wet squelching once more resuming at a faster pace than before. You release his skin, intent on chasing after the orgasm building around this man’s dick that hits every spot like it was target practice.

“John, feel so good,” you moan, breathing loudly as the Brit watches you take him like it was nothing.

“H-hell.” He groans long, hands helping you jump when your legs shake too violently every once and a while. He’ll have blood dripping from his shoulders from how hard you dig into him, but watching your cunt swallow him over and over again is payment enough as a ring of milky white forms at his base. “Look at you. Fuckin’ good girl. Keep it steady, now.”

“P-please,” you sob, eyes shiny as your walls ache – your needy clit was burning. John watches wide-eyed; blues boiling. “Clit. I need…”

Trailing off you connect your lips to his when one of his thumbs goes to your nerve bundle, quickly working at it in tight circles that molds your lips onto a silent scream. John whimpers when your pussy clamps, his senses all covered in you – your scent and how your tits bounce so beautifully – a second later he can’t help himself any longer.

His feet plant themselves to the floor, and he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth as his hips rapidly thrust, skin on skin the only sound above high moans and muffle pleas of release.

It was far past words anymore, just feral animals seeking an earth-shattering orgasm at the other’s hand. Drool was slipping down both of your lips, splattering down chests and cheeks as sloppy kisses miss marks.

So close. So close.

The snake was coiling, walls shaking and alternating between squeezing too tight and letting John hit as far into you as possible. You suddenly wail into his hot mouth, eyes rolling back when he angles his thrusts back towards himself as he slouches in the chair.

“There it is. Bloody bastard.” John hits it again, leaving you collapsing onto his chest as his hands go to wrap around your back, large arms using you to stay still as he pants ferally, eyes wild as they stare down at your blessed-out expression. Fuck, were you even able to speak anymore beyond whines and gasps? The clench of your pussy?

“Don’t worry, Love,” One thumb still plays with your overstimulated clit, making tears splatter his chest hair and get stuck as every sliver of skin that’s coated in sweat and joined slick. “I’ll make it up to you, yeah, I’ll fuck you proper later.”

Your eyes roll back, back arching into him. God, was this not fucking you properly? But then again, John was a gentleman at the end of the day – his idea of proper was probably a bed and a glass of water on the nightstand.

But this was so much better. The neediness of it, the emotional release besides the physical. John could fuck you anywhere at any time, as long as you got to hear him speak to you like that. Breathless, whiny like he never was and probably never will be outside the company of just you – even after being separated, you knew he was never one to do things like this.

“Tell me you’ll let me cum inside this cunt, eh, Love,” his accent is stronger as he gasps, raspy, with muted growls, before his head tilts back behind the chair’s backing. He speeds up until you were sure the chair was going to break in two, the material squealing. “Let me breed you like I always wanted to, yeah? Watch that spent cunt drown before I pump back in and stuff you full again. Please, Bird, let me…Let me…!”

You're about to lose it, hands raking down his chest and legs numb before you can gasp out a single sentence before the rope snaps.

“God, John, don’t…don’t let any go to waste.” You moan and slot your head under his jaw, feeling his beard bristles burn your nose when you finally let the snake strike.

Freezing, your lower body jolts as if connected to an electrical line, walls constricting around the foreign entity inside of you as it continues to chase its own high. One firm thrust, two sloppy ones, before a groan so loud you feel it reverberate in your heart enters the heavy air. There is an undeniable fullness to your womb that shoots deeply into your being, splattering your thighs and staining John’s abdomen. From there it’s small instinctual thrusts as your ringing ears twitch at the sound of cum dripping on the floor. Panting, you can’t help the fucked-out way your mouth parts to release a satisfactory sigh at the feeling of euphoria in your brain and cunt.

It felt like you were floating on air when John finally started rubbing a hand up and down your back, shaky fingers hard and sure as they trace old marks.

Still short of breath, the two of you revel in each other's company with palpitating hearts and half-lidded eyes. Still slotted under his jaw, the brown-haired man mutters softly.

“New?” As he taps a bullet wound on your right side that’s been healed for years now.

“Hm,” uttering softly with a hoarse voice, you smile weakly with warm cheeks, “old. Three years.”

“...I have a lot to catch up on, then, yeah?”

“Very much. But don’t worry, I’ll be patient.” He chuckles, making your form move with him. You take a deep breath, finally feeling yourself come back to earth, albeit on unsteady feet.

A good bout of calming silence forms before you speak through a haze of fatigue. It had to be late by now – incredibly late. Maybe just using the pullout bed would be better than doing the walk of shame back to your barracks. John could join you here, you decide internally.

“How did you know I’d even speak to you in the first place?” You ask as the man shifts under you, lightly lifting your black and blue thighs as you begin to whine quietly; he shushes you with a calm presence. Delicately pulling out, he lets his spent cock exit your red and swollen hole as more combined fluid falls from you to run over his hips and pool below. Resettling you, he brings a hand to the back of your head and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“The radio. You kept it.” You grin shakily, feeling him run his fingertips down your spine, finding more milky scars and caressing them with callused hands.

You’d have to tell him all of your stories later, and in turn, he’ll tell you his. There was a lot to learn, but this certainly wasn’t a bad spot to start. Nuzzling farther into his neck, you sigh dreamily as his pulse sings you to sleep like a lullaby. Before you drift off you whisper out a reply that leaves John shivering.

“...I guess I did, didn’t I?”

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @antigonusyuki, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @lora21, @330bpm-whiplash, @michirulol, @john-pricee, @cl0wncxre, @jade-jax, @anna-banana27, @lothiriel9, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @bespectacledhuman, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @wolfyland07, @shoe1412, @jaimiespn, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaut2029, @shmaptin, @levietc

(if anyone has any idea why some aren't working I would love to know lmao)

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eosincuffs · 5 months

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This drabble is my first writing piece, idk if I’ll make it into a fic. I started writing down some thoughts and an exposition for myself and then I was like, this might make a nice lil prologue. Idk tho im a virgin in this. So if what here’s and obligatory ‘pls leave me be, im learning ;-;’

Dishonourably discharged 141 quartet! (also this is an xReader thought I promise)

0.7k words

Their last mission was an unfortunate, grievous endeavour. A negotiation of high profile hostage releases in an abandoned multi-story factory which turned out to be a trap. Even if it cost the terrorist organisation the lives of extraordinarily important extortion-able victims the notorious 141 needed to be wiped at whatever costs, which meant sacrifices had to be made.

Only no-one, not even himself, expected Price to chuck the bomb-covered man off the ledge, 2 stories down to where the hostages were held. It was a split second decision made to save the lives of his men and deal with the consequences later. And deal with the consequences they did. The explosion ripped apart the lower floor indiscriminate of flesh or rusted steel. The old, battered building caved in on itself momentarily, engulfing everything within into a black hole of scrap, wire and human cadaver.

By some miracle, although festering with wounds and decorated with jutted broken bones like arrows out their skin, the 141 lived to tell the tale. Undoubtedly, this would get them discharged for “on the field injuries”. And yes, they were supposed to be medically discharged . It was disappointing that their military careers (their sole drive in life) was over, but, yes, they were supposed to get a fat pension, full healthcare coverage for immediate family, veteran discounts for everything from groceries to mortgages and awards for their sacrifices. They were supposed to live the rest of their lives relaxing, hunting, pursuing unfinished dreams and/or hobbies.

Except the son of one of the hostages rallied the other victim’s families together and incriminated Price for manslaughter. The boys weren’t about to throw their Captain under the bus, disputed the charge despite Price’s pleading, and got incriminated by association. It wasn’t fair, but they were never going to win a trial against a pack of multi-billionaires, no matter the accusation or its validity. There was one small mercy though; because of their connections in the military they were dishonourably discharged instead of imprisoned (and considering that blood and money turn the world, it would probably been for a lifetime). Their records and achievements were wiped, awards taken away. They were left unfit for any veteran benefits and with chronic pain and injuries as the final nail in the coffin, unwanted souvenirs from that god forsaken mission.

Overtaken with hatred and disappointment from both the traumatic event and the experience of their metaphysical lives ending the men unwillingly closed this chapter: abandoned, empty, changed.

Ghost much like his callsign disappeared in the first week after they split, no contact, no goodbye, no nothing.

Gaz went to live with his relatives, trying to figure out his next step.

Price hunkered down with a former military friend and his family.

Soap moved back into his elderly, struggling mother’s small cottage. It’s the reason he went into the military in the first place, to help support his family.

They all knew these were temporary arrangements. The army was their life; no branch or association would take them now, not with the bold, damning DD stamped on their papers. But very little quality employers wanted mentally traumatised men whose chronic and psychic pain rendered them unable to do blue collar work. Yet, non had the education or the drive to be employable in a more specialised, less physical sector.

Was this the end?

Maybe. But the sun shone on Soap’s meadow, illuminated his life and showed him a new way out. He was at the right place, at the right time and managed to bump into you. You really should have just kept walking. Taking pity on the blue-eyed puppy, kicked in the teeth over and over by life’s unforgiving boot should have been a noble act. But feed a dog once and it will keep coming back, and unfortunately, this one has a rabid pack.

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the-californicationist · 2 months

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La Media Naranja

This is a challenge fulfillment for the wonderful and singular @glitterypirateduck, the best COD curator on the internet! Ducks, I hope you enjoy my very first Alejandro fic.

Prompt: Do you trust me?

TW: female reader, vaginal sex, power dynamics, bad Spanish (I tried!)

You had been walking for the better part of the morning. The trees rustled as a stiff wind sailed over el Cerro el Sapo, the cold air tickling the branches of the mountain’s forest, making them rattle and shake. The swaying limbs reminded you of a million dancers, moving as one, waving to and fro, their boughs reaching for the cloudless, pale firmament.

It was nice to be exploring again. You were on a short leave with your team in Monterrey, and you had been convinced — perhaps strong-armed might be a better term — to go on a hike through Las Grutás de Garcia, an extensive cave system famous for its rock formations. The caves were only a few klicks away from the large car park, but hiking in the late winter had been interesting. There were no tourists, given that it was February, and you were mostly alone. Well, except for your guide.

When he had broken you away from the pack, he had done so on purpose. At the base of the mountain, before you had climbed so high, Alejandro had whistled loudly at the other men and hollered up the hill,

“¡Oye! Vamos a ver la octava maravilla.” Hey! We’re going to see the 8th Wonder.

“¿Con la novata?” With the newbie? Parra asked, a hint of something prying in his voice.

“¿Por qué no, cabrón?” Why not, asshole? Alejandro smiled so that Rudy could see his teeth, and although it wasn’t meant to sting, it certainly was a warning.

Parra didn’t respond to his colonel, but he made a face that seemed to communicate what it needed to. You weren’t sure what he meant, but you could make a guess.

Alejandro had been playing a dangerous game with you. You’d been sneaking around together behind your teammates’ backs, thinking you were being clever, but you weren’t. It was reckless, but you didn’t care. Spending time with him was like breathing; you needed it, and you needed it all the time.

Now, here you were, approaching the cave system, at least a few kilometers from another living soul. There were parts of the cave system that would be populated no matter what time of year it was, but your Alé knew the pathways the mountains kept hidden.

“¿Estás bien, Cebollita?” You okay, little onion? He asked you, helping you up a particularly tricky rock face.

You hated your callsign. When you were a rookie, you had been tasked with locating the drug cache of a well-known cartel leader who had just been apprehended. The entire compound you searched was empty, and there was only one storage room left that you hadn’t searched. You called your team over and opened the hold together. Except it wasn’t bags of cocaine behind the door; it was onions. Piles and piles of them. The stench was unbearable. You could still hear them laughing at you for making your “big discovery”. You’d been Cebbi, Cebolla, or Cellboita ever since.

“Don’t call me that. I told you —”

Alé, in the middle of helping you up the cliffside, stopped his assistance, leaving you dangling at his mercy. He cut his eyes down at you,

“Naranja, then?”

You stayed silent, and after he was sure his imaginary daggers had sunk into your heart, he pulled you the rest of the way up.

You sighed,

“I know what you think.”

“Oh,” spite dripped from his mouth, “¿Y qué es eso?” And what’s that?

You stopped hiking and put your hands on your hips, staring him down like a misbehaving child. He hung back, matching your combative stance.

"Alé, we can’t tell them. They’ll treat you differently. And me…”

You were in his arms before you knew what was happening. Your colonel was quick, striking like a snake, and he held you tightly to his sweaty chest, barely allowing your thin ribs room to breathe. His mouth was so close to yours, you could smell his breath: coffee and menthols.

“They already know. They laugh at us behind our backs because we are so obvious with this,” he lifted your chin and pressed your mouth to his.

You could feel his tongue slipping along the edge of your lip, teasing you and letting you taste his wet flesh. Alejandro’s kisses were so consuming. The rest of the world melted away and all that was left was the feeling of his jaw pressing yours open, forcing you to swallow his tongue.

Then, he left you, half-drunk with lust and uncertain about everything. But, that was what you liked about him. He was a carousel, spinning you round and round and round, letting you wrap your hands around his golden pillars, trying to find an escape and ending up trapped in his wild menagerie once more.

He marched on ahead, and you followed him into the mouth of an immense cave. It wasn’t until you were in the belly of the mountain that you realized how large the cavern was. The walls arched up in a ragged dome, dripping wet from condensation and water leaching from the porous sediment. It was cool, almost cold, and the darkness was dead silent. You walked around the edge, and a primal fear gripped you. What lurked there in the darkness? Something your ancestors had feared, perhaps? It was funny how your body knew when to be afraid. What a gift.

What else were you afraid of? Alejandro wanted to go public with your relationship, but sleeping with your commanding officer — and a colonel at that! — was the chisme to end all chisme. You’d never live it down. Your mother’s voice was in your head, screeching warnings about men and their power. You frowned thinking about how disappointed she would be in you, as if you had committed some sin.

“What is it, naranja? Las Grutás son maravillosas, ¿verdad?” The caves are wonderful, right? He smiled, peering up at the stalagmites jutting down from the ceiling, admiring nature’s skill.

“They are. I’m just thinking about you and me. What are we going to do, amor?”

He stood in front of you, his tanned face shadowed by the blackness of the cave, and the light that glinted on the little pools by the entrance dancing across his skin like tattoos that had come to life, moving and undulating in indecipherable patterns, making you dizzy.

He shook his head,

“I will do what you tell me to do. I may be your commander,” he brushed your hair behind your ear, “But, you are mine. If you don’t want to tell them, entonces me quedaré en silencio,” Then, I will be silent. He sighed, “Do you trust me?”

You knew he was telling the truth, and when you kissed him, it was a reward for his honesty.

You didn’t know what to do. He called you naranja, the other half of his orange, his missing piece. You believed him. You fit into each other like a key into its lock, and you knew that this was right. He loved you, and you loved him. But, your work would be unbearable. You thought about all of the looks and comments you’d get from the men, and it hurt you to your core.

Your commander felt your thoughts through your kiss, weakening against his mouth. He pulled away, telling you with his eyes that he would take care of everything. No preocupes, naranja. Soy yo.

Behind you, there was a flat rock, and you figured that was as clean a space as you were going to get. You sat down on it with him and let him tear away your shirt, button by button, watching your reactions the whole time. The cool air of the cave rushed across your chest, raising tiny bumps along your flesh. He saw them, and he pet them with the back of his hand so gently as if trying to make them disappear. Then, he pressed down into your bra cup and squeezed your breasts. Soft and rough, calm and wild. He was never just one way. There was always a mixture of angel and devil within him.

Alejandro bent down to take a nipple into his mouth. He nipped at your skin, licking it and sinking his teeth into you just enough to hurt but not enough to harm, covering you in his little love bites. You gasped, cupping his cheeks in your hands, feeling how his jaw worked against you, suckling at your tits and making you warm with his mouth.

“Alé…” You called to him with a whisper.

As if it was a demand, he stripped his shirt over his head, pulling it from his back. Your hands went to his broad chest, well-muscled and sinewy from years of climbing and fighting and riding through the mountains of northern México. You felt the hair that dusted his skin along his breastbone, and you ghosted your fingertips over his nipples, watching his breathing become labored as you did so.

He pulled you into his lap with an impatient hunger. Kissing your neck, his hands went to the round curve of your ass, squeezing and kneading it for his pleasure. You could feel his thumbs digging into the crease of your hips, pressing on your bones and sending electric, sparking signals to your core. You were already soaked for him, and your body recognized his desire like a dog knows the sound of its leash, ready to be walked, to be led on an adventure.

You felt his cock prod against your ass through his jeans. He was painfully hard, and you worked to free him. Alejandro, rabid as he was, pulled your pants down by your waistband and over the swell of your ass, jerking them down to your thighs just enough so that he had access to your warm hole. His hands were there in a moment, fumbling until he found you, and then, masterful.

His fingers dipped into you like an ink into a well, wetting himself to the knuckle. You didn’t need much coaxing. You were already soft for him, ready to take him inside of you, eager to coat him with your silkiness.

“Mi naranjita… Estás tan lista.” My little orange. You are so ready. He panted, his eyes hooded and dark, staring at you like you had betrayed him with your lust.

“Alé,” you kissed him, moving your loose lips across his mouth, “Tu verga, porfa… lo quiero.” Your cock, please. I want it.

With a little difficulty because of your position, he fisted himself, shaking his shaft free from his underwear. You put your hand between your legs from behind and helped guide him in gently, letting his drooling head rub your folds like a thumb in the center of a rose, rubbing back and forth over the dewy petals.

He was sighing in short, pained bursts as he pressed his way through you, and he looked as if he couldn’t believe what he was experiencing. His eyes widened, looking up into the ceiling of the cave with all of its natural splendor and otherworldly design, gazing up as if he would find Heaven, its gates wide open, giving him some sort of a justification for how his soul was being ripped from his chest.

Then, on purpose, you sank your weight into him, spearing yourself onto his cock, filling up your emptiness.

You gasped together.

“Mi vida,” he said, kissing you through his words.

You pressed your cheek against his cheek as you began to ride him, feeling him lift you up and press you down onto his length. The wet slapping sounds of skin on skin rattled through the cave, echoing on all the walls, filling up your senses.

“Más, más, más, papi.” More, more, more, daddy. You whined, whimpering in his ear.

Frustrated that he wasn’t in total control, Alé removed you from himself and laid your back on the flat rock. He cradled your head so you wouldn’t be hurt, and then he set himself to removing your shoes, his cock gleaming in the low light of the cave. Shucking off your pants, he set himself on the ledge and bent over your pussy, sucking your warm wet center with his lips and tongue, tasting himself there. You keened, moaning with ecstasy across the hollow emptiness.

When he was sated, your lover climbed over you and fit himself inside of you once more. The feeling of him pushing against your shivering muscles was addictive. That first kiss of his head on your hole was replaying itself in your mind as he sank inch after inch into you, growing thicker as he joined you in your body.

He was out of his mind now that he had you where he wanted you. He rutted into you, fervent and greedy, taking you to the edge and letting you ride there, almost at the breach of that static, spitting fuse, lighting you on fire.

“Let me come, Alé. Make me…” Just a little more and you’d get your wish.

“¿Por qué? Eres mío? Mi novia.” Why? Are you mine? My girl. It was almost a plea coming from your colonel. He was testing you, but you were done playing around.

“Dámelo.” Give it to me. You demanded, wrapping your hands around his neck and letting your nails dig themselves cruelly into his nape. It was enough to make him fuck you harder, and his tone turned vicious.

“Yo les diré. Sobre nosotros. Se los diré a todos.” I’ll tell them. About us. I’ll tell them all. He threatened darkly, letting his voice rumble through his teeth as he snarled at you, his hot breath scalding your neck before he sank his mouth down to kiss it.

He moved to your breasts, still exposed in your half-opened shirt, bouncing as he fucked you. His kisses were burning your spent nerves like a brand, and he took one of your nipples into his mouth and began to suckle from it deeply, moaning with satisfaction.

“Tell them,” you commanded quietly, ordering your colonel to make his dream come true.

That was the spark. He set you ablaze, and you tumbled over into your bliss, washed in wave after wave of a foaming, frothy orgasm. It bubbled over you, bursting up your legs and down your arms like uncorked champagne, tightening like a knot in your belly before slipping free inside of you.

You cried out to him, still clutching his throat in your hands. You weren’t aiming to choke him, but you had to hold on. Your body needed you to hold onto him, and Alejandro knew that need so well. He leaned into your grip, making himself vulnerable to you.

His eyes were staring right through you, watching you fall apart underneath him, making you scream as you clenched around him. Then, he shut his lids, wrenching them closed, furrowing his brow and he began to grunt louder and louder. In this moment, you felt like you had his life in your hands, almost like he had given it to you.

You told him, through a hoarse breath,

“Te amo, Alé.” I love you, Alé.

His eyes shot open at your admission, and he crashed through his own orgasm, spilling himself in your body. He coughed out a rumbling growl and a cascade of rhythmic moans, repetitive and satisfying.

As he came down from his high, he buried his head in your neck, rolling his forehead over you, nuzzling your throat, murmuring,

“Mi media naranja… mi naranjita.”

You felt his come slipping out of you as you sat up with him, feeling it pool between your legs. He held you to him, all messy and undone, breathing hard. He looked out through the archway window of the cave, and you followed his gaze. He was framed in the light of the sky’s glowing sun, pitch black on one cheek like a cut silhouette, darkened by the deep cave’s shadow, while his bronze cheek gleamed on the other side.

You let him kiss you again, to taste your own sweetness, and you held his hand. It fit into yours as if it was made for it.

AO3 Link

#amor a alejandro #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x you #alejandro vargas x female reader #call of duty #cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #call of duty fanfic #alejandro vargas x reader

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nocturnesmoon · 4 months

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Depraved Minds

Archaic Blood Masterlist: TF141 x Vampire!GN!Reader Callsign: Solis TW: Depicted torture, slight suicidal ideation(in like one sentence)

-You find out you're not the only one plagued by nightmares-

Sharp teeth sink into your leg, leaving you writhing and screaming in pain. You're not sure how long it's been, your sense of time long lost here. All you know is this has been going on for too long.

The werewolf releases your leg once again, having used you as a chew toy for more than half an hour now. Tears stream down your face, your breathing ragged and struggling. Your stomach rattling, you were hungry, so unbelievably hungry.

You had been good, you swore you had been good, you had done everything right, everything your master wanted and required of you. Was there a spot of dirt you had missed? A chore you had forgotten? You did everything perfectly just like how you were supposed to didn't you??

The wolf sinks its teeth into your ankle, making you cry out in pain once again. You knew it got off on it, sickly depraved mind coaxed into loving the sound of pain that its prey makes. It started pulling you around the room, dragging your matted hair over the concrete, and letting out depraved growls at your whimpers and begs of mercy.

It never worked, begging for mercy, there was no mercy to find within your master’s cold heart. The same reason he had turned you into the undead creature you were today was out of pure sadistic and malicious reasons.

There didn't even need to be a reason for the cruel punishments, they became a part of your life, and assured that the meaningful punishments were so much worse. You tried to breathe through the pain, trying to remember how you even ended up in here. Your master hadn't taken an interest in you lately, so why were you in here.

Well maybe that was why, because he hadn't given you enough of his sadistic attention that he just thought ah yes put them in the kennel with the dog to be a chew toy for a few weeks. You looked down at the overgrown dog, the werewolf that rarely ever got to turn back into its human form.

Truthfully you didn't blame them whoever they were, you're sure if they knew what they were doing they would be horrified right now, but when werewolves turn the human part of their brain often switch off. Not to mention if they stay in that form for too long, they start to forget what it's like to be human.

It was still chewing on your ankles as you breathed through pained whimpers and growls of misery. If only you could fight back, if only your brain wasn't turned off or put in pain every time you even so much as thought about disobeying a direct order from the being that made you.

The wolf let's go of your ankle, finally letting you breathe for more than 2 seconds. Though it doesn't take long before the lack of contact makes you suspicious. Just as you're about to go follow it with your eyes it appears right above you, sinking its teeth right into your neck.

You wake up in a cold sweat, a silent scream on your tongue muffled behind chattering teeth. Your chest feels burning hot, while your limbs feel frosty cold. Your breathing is quick and short, as if you've just run a marathon and your lungs are giving out. You can still feel the ghostly feel of a werewolf’s teeth chewing on your flesh.

You throw off your blanket, checking over your calves and ankles, the bite marks are still there, but no longer punctured and bleeding. They healed a long time ago, you could still remember the infection that almost took you out of this life, you almost wish it had.

A shiver runs through you, forcing you to buck forward in an attempt at catching your breath. You curl up, trying to find something to distract yourself with, but your mind is like an endless pit of unwanted memories.

You reach for your phone to check the time, 1 AM, you had only meant to take a short nap during the afternoon and then get up to do more work when the summer sun had set. You had grossly overslept, and any thought of doing work in a state like this only made your limbs quiver again.

It wouldn't do you any good to stay in bed here either way however, so you swung your legs over the edge and went to search for a pair of pajama shorts and a t-shirt you could wear. You doubted anyone would be awake right about now anyway, not like anyone would see you.

Fixing yourself up to be half decent you made your quest towards the kitchen, hoping to find a better cup you could sip some blood from. Oh, how you missed being able to digest proper foods again, once upon a time your stomach could take it in small amounts, but usually you'd end up throwing it up anyway.

The base is quiet this time of night, only the really dedicated, or more likely overworked people would still be up around now. The kitchen lights are off as expected when you saunter in, you could still feel the shake in your hands and the feeling of gnawing teeth against skin. There was even a limp in your left leg, the one that had been impaired the most back then, it weirded you out how your body reacted to those vivid memories, as if it didn't want to let go of the horrid things that plagued your dreams.

You never had to worry about anything like it happening again, worst case scenario you got captured in the field and put through torture at the hands of humans, but nothing like what your master would do to you.

You let out a sigh and lean against the counter, looking down at your hands to observe the slight shake in them. How many times did you have to get blood on them until it was enough? It didn't matter to dwell; the only way the military was letting you go was through brutal death. Even then they might find a way to resurrect you, because they aren't truly much better than anyone else.

The thoughts threaten to take over, reminiscing on all the horrible things you'd seen through history. Instead of letting it, you let your attention be captivated by the odd placement of a cup on the counter. The tea inside was still steaming, freshly made by the looks of it. Your brow furrows wondering who left it here.

Your question is quickly answered when someone does a fake cough to grab your attention.

You let out a squeak when your eyes land on the skull mask looming in the dark corner of the kitchen. You felt the anxiety still resting beneath the surface, make your limps stiffen, readying yourself for impact, but you're left with nothing.

"Your senses are getting duller" Ghost speaks quietly, emerging from the dark corner that completely hid his presence from you.

"I was just distracted," you defend yourself leaning back against the marble counter and crossing your arms over your chest. He went past you, giving you the look, which doesn't believe you before picking up his cup of tea.

"Clearly."

He reaches up to move the bottom half of his mask over his nose, allowing him to take a sip despite the tea still being steaming hot. He doesn't have much of a reaction, but you can tell in the way he stiffens that he regrets not waiting for it to cool down.

"Why are you up so late?" you ask after a brief moment of silence and intense staring. He seemed exhausted all things considered; you didn't doubt that he was still working despite the hour. He was ambitious to a fault, throwing himself into work and rarely allowing himself the rest he needed.

"Why are you?"

You let out a frustrated huff, not feeling like telling him that you were awoken by a petty nightmare and was now too rattled to stay in your own room. "Well, I was hoping to get some work done, you know I work better at night," you tell him.

"Oh, are you now," he sounded amused, and it only served to confuse you further. He was the joking type, having been subject to countless dad jokes, but you didn't understand where his humor was coming from in this situation.

"What?"

"You aren't exactly dressed for it love," his words mortify you, your gaze turning downwards to remind yourself that while nothing inappropriate was on, you were severely underdressed compared to Ghost who was still dressed for work.

He takes another sip of his tea, observing your reaction with soft chuckle. The tea had finally cooled down some, allowing him to take in more than a few sips at a time. "Why are you really up?" he asks, repeating his question, "Can't sleep?"

His voice takes a sympathetic turn, looking at you with slight concern. You let out an audible sigh, looking away from him to avoid his observant look. You could throw in another lie, tell him that you were just feeling too lazy to change, but he likely wouldn't appreciate the blatant lie, especially after everything you've been through with them all so far.

"Nightmares," you shrug hoping to play it off as not too serious, because in truth it really wasn't. Sure they were bloody terrifying and freakish to relieve traumatic memories every night, but they were just dreams.

He let out a hum in acknowledgement, nodding along and drinking his tea, when you decided to tell him that they plague you all too often, leaving you restless and tired despite sleeping for long periods.

"I'm sorry you have to deal with all that," he says in a quiet voice, "It's all too common in our line of work, and even then, you're quite the anomaly." He chuckles short and quiet, managing to get a small smile on your lips as well.

"Listen..." he started and put his empty cup down on the counter, "I was going to go take a nap, you can join me if you'd want to, better than being alone right now I think." You're quiet while you take in his request, pondering the options in your head before you'd give him a definite answer.

He's patient, letting you mull it over, giving you plenty of time to decline him, but you swear you notice a glint in his eyes when you nod your head yes. "Okay..." you're not sure what to expect but given the opportunity to not be alone at the moment in an unjudged space was too good to pass up.

Ghost cleans up what he's used to make the tea and then takes lead towards his room. It's bare, void of any personality except for a lamp on his nightstand that wasn't issued by the military. It was as you expected, knowing him to be overly professional sometimes and all too focused on work, he probably didn't spend a lot of time in making a space truly his.

You watch as he walks over to his dresser, beginning to undress and change into more comfortable wear for sleep. Meanwhile you make your way to the bed, stretching out on it and getting comfortable under the covers without much care. You could spend the next day being embarrassed over your actions, currently you needed the closeness and comfort.

It didn't take long for him to join you, sinking into the bed beside you with a deep sigh, finally able to relax his muscles and tense stances. You turned on your other side to face him, slightly shocked to see that he had fully removed his mask. Blonde locks against the pillow beneath his head, and scars covering his face all now on full display for you.

"I thought you said you slept with the mask on," you say through a quiet snicker, fighting the urge to reach out and gently touch his scars. You wonder how he got them, what horrors was subjected to him for him to end up with such horrific wounds. Was he plagued by it all too?

He chuckles quietly, barely any sound coming out but the smile on lips, the true smile, gives you life all on its own. "Got to fuck with you all sometimes don't I" he says keeping the smile for much longer than you'd expect him to.

His hand gently comes to up to gently rub a speck of dust away from your brow, his movements slow and careful in case you wanted to retreat. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks softly, both your voices turning to quiet whispers in the darkness.

You know what he's referring to, and in truth you've never really told anyone about it. It never occurred to you as a possibility, any level of friendship you've had over all these years has always felt too superficial, a part of you keeping yourself at an arm’s length from everyone.

And though you trust the 141 with your life, you don't know if you're quite ready to tell them the extent of it. Would they even understand it nor care? So, you quietly shook your head, letting your eyes fall to look anywhere but his face.

"I struggle with nightmares too," he tells you after a momentary quiet, "I know how it is, if you ever change your mind I'll listen, no matter when." You nod again, feeling a warmth in your chest at his words, right along with a wonder on what his own nightmares could be about.

You wondered what it would be like to share those dreams with him, maybe he would tell some of his own in turn. One day you likely would divulge some of your past, but for now, you could bask in the company that Ghost offered you and feel relaxed knowing you were safe here.

"Get some rest, I think you've overworked that brain of yours enough for now," he pats the side of your head in a gesture of affection before turning on his back to let out a deep sigh. You watch him as he closes his eyes, listen as his breaths slow, his heartrate resting just like his body as he falls into sleep.

You couldn't protect your own sleep, your own brain working against itself, but you could watch over him to make sure he got the uninterrupted sleep he so clearly needed. You'd do it for anyone of them, and you're sure they'd do it for you just as well.

"Goodnight Ghost."

Can always go for some nightmare comfort, might fuck around and make one of the guys find Solis halfway through a panic attack because of a nightmare one day-

As always if you all have some ideas, or scenarios to put Solis and the guys in, do send them, i love hearing what you guys are thinking about :))

#noctmoon fics #Archaic Blood #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #tf141 #tf141 x vampire!reader #tf141 x reader #gender neutral reader #x reader

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r00kaline · 1 month

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How would Overwatch characters have you saved in their phone?

Tanks:

*Roadhog- Probably first name basis when it comes to contact info, probably in big ass bold letters so he would see it better though.

*Reinhardt- Saves people as numbers in his phone, so you'd probably be the number of the next contact.

*Orisa- Your callsign with maybe ":)" at the end depending on how close you are.

*Sigma- Definitely a weird nickname of your actual name, something that he made up and went with, it's probably not even close to your actual name.

*Doomfist- The incorrect spelling of your name.

*Zarya- Russian nickname on what she thinks about you (Slavics understand what I mean).

*Junker Queen- Something about your physical traits which helps her identify who you are.

*Rammatra- Also probably just your name.

*Mauga- Emoji as your contact name.

Attackers:

*Genji- Your name spelled in Japanese to help him read it.

*Torbjorn- Either "Kid #whatever" or no name at all.

*Ashe- Probably a southern nickname like "Chick" or "That One".

*Echo- Saved as your real name with the initial at the end.

*Hanzo- Pretty much the same as Genji but your callsign.

*Junkrat- Maybe "Sheila" or like "The Special One", he has the weirdest contact names for people that make no sense to anyone but him.

*Mei- Your social media username.

*Pharah- Your full legal name with the initials and what not.

*Reaper- No contact name either, just a profile picture.

*Soldier 76- The country of your home flag.

*Sombra- "Amiga/o" and than your name.

*Symmetra- Your callsign with two emojis that she thinks match you.

*Tracer- A short nickname of your name in all caps and even an exclamation point.

*Widowmaker- Your name in her contacts is based off the color of your hair, somehow, it's a bit too accurate too. It can also be based off of a little detail about u like a specific spot with a birthmark or something.

Supports:

*Briggite- "The" and then how she views or thinks of you.

*Moira- "Little girl/boy" or smth like that.

*Zenyatta- Also your full name but spelled in weird ass initials.

*Ana- Probably a nickname she has for you, very short one but only uses it on contacts.

*Baptiste- An emoji that does not match your name whatsoever.

*Lucio- Your callsign with a smiley face.

*Mercy- Probably "Mein Freund" followed up with your name.

*Kiriko- An emoji of your spirit animal.

*Lifeweaver- Something that would correlate with your special ability so he can remember you easily.

Please request something in the comments with COD, OV2, or TF2, I am on a block and am currently trying to wrap up one smut for a friend that I'll post.

#overwatch #headcanon #overwatch 2 #ow2 #x reader

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year

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New Rules

Part 1 of You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader, Past! Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: You feel adrift and lost when your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw crashes and burns around your ears. As quickly as your relationship ended, you're not expecting to find something new as fast as you have. And especially not with Jake Seresin.

Disclaimer: Female!Reader

Warnings: Cheating, Cursing, Sex, Sexual Themes

The content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting taglist requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story. I do my best to portray adult relationships in this fic. Please do not interact with this story if you feel you are not ready to read about these themes.

Word Count: 5191

A/N: Without further ado, here is the first installment of the You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes Universe. I hope you all like it! This is going to be a relatively short three-part story which I've been calling the Before, During and After verse.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

Rain collects in pools on the metal deck in front of you, droplets skittering into the night. It's quiet, only you, the clouds of your breath, and the drumming of fat droplets as they spatter on the metal deck. The deck roils under you, rising and falling without rhyme or reason in the undulating waves. It’s storming where you are in the Pacific Ocean, not that you can place precisely what longitude and latitude the colossal naval carrier you’re perched on is at.

But you’re miles away from everything that hurt you and even further from everything you love. You’re officially alone. You might as well be a paper boat in a tempest, at the mercy of the sea. But, as lonely as you are, those feelings are the last on your mind. Your mind is hundreds of miles away, wrapped in the sun, the sand, and a calmer, sunnier sea, trapped in a dream that turned into a nightmare. You get jolted back into yourself when an arm nudges you, and a body sinks down next to you on the cold decking.

"Heya, Bitsie." He's amused. He's always so amused, southern drawl stretching every word, including the pet name he persists on calling you by. "Whatcha doin' out here? I don't know if you noticed, but it's cold and rainin'."

"I noticed." Your voice is dull. Two weeks since you've been on dry land. You feel like a stranger trapped in a body you don't know, with a face you barely recognize in the mirror. The first morning on the carrier, you'd nearly screamed at the sight, seeing your eyes in a face you couldn't, wouldn't recognize. It shows in your actions, too, you know. It feels like your authentic self has retreated like someone is playing at controlling your body like a video game character.

"Oh! I know what it is. You miss your Chicken, dontcha? I bet you wish you were huddled up under his wing right now. Well, if that's all, you should head inside and call ole' Roostie. I'm sure he'd jump for joy at hearing your voice and seeing your face."

Hearing someone say your boyfriend's callsign, even a teasing nickname for it, shouldn't fill you with dread, seeping as cold as ice through your veins. If only he was still your boyfriend.

"He's not my anything, Bagman." Your voice is barely audible over the thunder of rain across the deck. You're not even sure he can hear you over the din.

"What happened?" His voice is more subdued than you've ever heard it.

A flash of lightning rips through the sky, glinting off two pairs of shiny boots as they're stretched side by side next to each other. But you're spiraling, pulled into the undertow of everything that happened. The joy and pain of your latest failed relationship crash over you in unyielding waves as if you're adrift in the middle of the storm.

The dead-eye laser Lieutenant Miguel 'Fanboy' Garcia had encountered had nearly jeopardized the entirety of the Uranium mission. The Uranium mission would have failed without a stroke of near-divine luck. Everyone, from Admirals to the Secretary of the Navy, had decided unilaterally that something like that could not happen again. So you and your team, composed of mechanical engineers and computer scientists alike, had been shipped to Naval Air Station North Island to work with the squadron who’d run the Uranium Mission and improve the lasers, their targeting systems, and their software.

That was when you’d met Bradley Bradshaw, callsign Rooster for the first time. It was like you were in a fairy tale. A perfect ray of light had shone over his head, illuminating strands of his hair golden. You felt a breeze brush over your hot cheeks and heard bird songs. The two of you had just clicked. It was easy, talking to him, hanging out, flirting. You nearly hadn't believed it when he’d asked you out for the first time. Bradley Bradshaw? Wanting to go out on a date with you? Obviously, you had said yes.

It had been a whirlwind romance. Bradley was precisely what you had thought you wanted in a man. He was sweet and charming. He never ignored what you were saying and was your partner in every sense of the word. The sex? That was dynamite, too. You’d be the first to openly admit you weren’t sexually experienced. But Bradley had never once made you feel less in your relationship. He’d swept you off your feet, starting with your first date and then every day since. You’d gushed to your family on the East Coast about how much you loved him and thought he was the one.

Sure, maybe two months into a new relationship, your only adult one was too soon to be making those overtures, but you fell and fell hard. It sometimes felt like you had been skydiving; he was the only parachute in sight. You'd consoled yourself that at least he'd fallen for you, too. And at least with Bradley, you'd never have to explain why you were leaving on a mission or a deployment. He'd understand it, just as you would when it was his turn.

While your relationship with Bradley changed and evolved and deepened, you'd also come to enjoy working with the other pilots and WSOs on the squadron. Bob, Fanboy, Halo, and Harvard were all brilliant and helpful in pinpointing exactly where the lasers seemed to fail. Their pilots were great, too. Other than Rooster, you weren't quite as close with the other single-seater F-18 pilots.

Hangman, in particular, had been intent on rubbing you the wrong way. His laugh, his demeanor, everything about him had set you off. From the very first day, he'd been calling you Itsie Bitsie or Bits or something like it. And he'd never told you why either, no matter how much you pestered him. You'd given up after a while. He didn't mean it maliciously, and it pissed him off more if you ignored him.

It helped, too, that Rooster had pulled you aside one afternoon when Hangman was being particularly dickish, kissed you until your knees were weak, and whispered in your ear, "Don't worry about him, lovely. He's just trying to get your attention or get you in trouble. I've got your back. Whatever you need to do to get him to stop, I'll help. But, if you're a good girl and can withstand him when we get home tonight, I'll let you sit on my face until you scream and then fuck you until you're all filled up with my cum." That was the end of that conversation, and as your panties flooded, you'd quickly forgotten about Hangman.

As your team and the Daggers blended and became cohesive, all those personality clashes also eased. Hangman was great to work with when he wasn't acting like a dick, and you always laughed when talking to him. And well, you're only human. You liked the look in Bradley's eyes when Hangman made you laugh. He made you feel wanted when he looked at you like that. You could've sworn that he knew you would only ever go home with him.

The sex was incredibly intense when you'd been polite with Hangman, just enough to send Bradley's jealousy skyrocketing. One incident involving a screwdriver and you in mechanics overalls resulted in fogged windows on a scenic overpass just off base. That afternoon had been especially memorable since base police had rapped on the back window of the Bronco and gotten an eyeful. You had escaped with just a warning, thankfully.

Things changed going into the sixth month of your relationship, your eighth overall in Miramar. Bradley would act the same at work but habitually ignored you when you were at the Hard Deck. He was usually clingy and sweet, always keeping an arm around your waist or kissing your skin. The sudden distance, physical and emotional, had been jarring. By then, your team and his squadron were close friends, decompressing at the bar over copious amounts of alcohol, laughter, and inside jokes. Then there were the nights you’d made plans, and he’d stood you up, calling hours later with plausible excuses. In hindsight, you never should’ve given him the benefit of the doubt.

In your defense, things had been crazy with the announcement from Admirals Simpson, Mitchell, and Bates of a six-month mission testing out the new software for one pilot, one weapons system officer, and two members of your team, one with mechanical engineering expertise and the other software. The competition had ticked up, and tensions were high, at least for the aviators. The Pentagon selected who would go on the mission from your team and gave the names to the admirals. The Admirals kept the names close to the vest until they selected their pilot candidates. You'd chalked Bradley's exhaustion, frustration, and general downturn in mood to the pressures of being selected as the pilot for the mission.

If only you'd known the actual reason.

The Admirals announced the team on Friday afternoon, dismissing everyone afterward. You'd been selected as the software engineer, and one of your closest friends, Mara, was the mechanical engineer selected. Your team had cheered you both excitedly before the admirals called everyone back to order and announced the pilot going on the mission. You'd smiled reassuringly at Bradley, keeping your fingers crossed against your side in a silent plea for him to be selected.

"The pilot on this mission is Hangman. The WSO, Fanboy."

The words had rung out with a sickening finality. Your head had swiveled so fast to look at Bradley that you'd nearly given yourself whiplash. But no matter how you'd craned your neck, you couldn't find him. You’d battled through the celebrations and raced out to the parking lot, only to see exhaust plumes pouring from the Bronco as he drove away. You texted him, offering to come by his house off-base for combination victory sex for you and conciliatory sex for him and to talk about how your relationship would last while you were in the middle of the ocean for half a year. But he left you on read, and you'd assumed he wanted to lick his wounds in solitude. So you'd left it alone that night.

You'd messaged him on Saturday, wanting to make the most of any time you had left before you were trapped on an aircraft carrier with only Hangman, Fanboy, and Mara for company. He hadn't responded to those messages either. That had been when you'd started worrying. You'd talked yourself off the ledge of calling the police half a dozen times, imagining scenarios where he'd gotten injured or was drunk and then been injured. Or… or… or. You were half afraid he would think you were overly clingy if you'd called him. You'd slept uneasily that night, worrying about your boyfriend's health. Incommunicado wasn't his thing.

When you woke up the following day, you decided to go to his house. You had second-guessed your decision until 11 o'clock, not wanting to wake him after he'd been so tense for so many weeks. Bradley never slept well when he was stressed about something.

Everything looked alright as you pulled into the driveway behind the blue Bronco that was his pride and joy. He'd given you a spare key a couple of months into your relationship with an open invitation to join him in the house he'd inherited after his mom had passed away. He’d told you with a sheepish, sad, soft smile that it was too big a house for one person. It was an offer you'd taken advantage of before in your relationship, albeit after calling first. As you unlocked the door and stepped in, you'd rationalized that Bradley would be safe and sound if nastily hungover in his bed at the very moment.

The foyer was the same as it always had been, except for the stupidly sparkly and tall high heels sprawled across the floor. Bradley had always been a friendly guy. One of his friends probably crashed at his place. You'd felt for the poor girl looking at the shoes she'd been wearing the night before.

But if he had company, the house would be full of the smells of breakfast and coffee, with his favorite eighties playlist blaring from the kitchen. The house was absolutely silent as you trod up the stairs. You didn’t want to disturb him. You resolved to leave a note if he were sleeping. That resolve had fallen flat when you'd heard the breathy moans that spilled through the open bedroom door.

Your heart had cracked a little, then the denial set in. Maybe he'd been watching porn? It had been a weak excuse, even in your own head. You had crept forward breathlessly, and that's when your heart shattered into a thousand tiny shards. Shards that had cut into the softness of you. Shards that were still lodged in your chest. He was home, but you doubted the girl bouncing on his cock was a friend. She was gorgeous, with her head thrown back and perky tits jolting with each movement. She was thin and blonde, waspish, her hair long and dangling down her back as he grasped at the silken strands.

"Yeah, baby, come on, just like that." His voice was a hissed whisper, sweat dripping down his face as he mouthed at her skin, at her flushed pink nipples.

"Oh! BRADLEY!" She'd simpered and screamed, "Bet I give it better to you than your girlfriend ever can. Come on, baby! Oh! Oh! Oh! You give it to me so good. You’re so big!"

"God, yes! She's such a goody two shoes, Britney!"

The sound of flesh smacking wetly echoed through the room.

“She’d never even been fucked. Did you know that?” His curls were sweat-matted and falling into his eyes. It had been her hand that brushed them away. She’d laughed then, as something sick had pooled in your stomach.

“I had to teach her everything. I can’t believe I took a bet so far!”

Bradley had growled about how much he hated you, that a couple hundred bucks weren't worth six months playing pretend, and you couldn't stand there to hear anymore. If you were a bolder woman, you'd have burst in there and broken up with him on the spot. But instead, you'd driven away as fast as you could.

You'd broken up with Bradley Bradshaw in the parking lot of an In-n-Out hours later over a text message, passed along your affections to Britney, and called her a whore and him an asshole. In a genuinely vindictive turn, you’d told Bradley that Carole would’ve hated the man he grew up to be and then blocked his number.

"Bitsie! Hey, Bits!" Bagman sounds worried. "Are you back with me?"

You loll your head exhaustively to look into Hangman's sage-green eyes. He looks just as worried as he sounds.

"You're crying."

You lift your hand, touch your cheeks, and stare without comprehending at your tear-stained fingertips.

"What happened, Bitsie? You're usually as sunny as can be!"

"Sometimes," You choke out, "the sun gets hidden by a storm, and paper boats get ripped to shreds by the pounding waves."

He tugs you against his chest until your head is pressed over his heart. His hands rub your back, and that's when you let your pain and frustration out. You know it's probably not right, crying in his arms, but you can't help it. He's one of the only friends, or as close as you have to friends, on this miniature floating Naval city, and he somehow feels like home. What feels like hours later, you finally sit back, letting your hand thwap solidly against the metal you’d been resting against. But you don’t hear the sound or feel the harsh sting. A hand gently cradles your head instead.

“I’m okay, Seresin.” Your voice is all stuffy, your head fogged with the pressure in your sinuses after a good cry. It doesn’t feel right to call him by his callsign or the bastardization of it, not when you’ve just sobbed unflinchingly in his arms.

“If this is okay, darlin’, I don’t want to know what fantastic looks like.” He’s speaking so gently with you right now, proffering one of those typical mom pocket packs of tissues at you. Your smile is tremulous when you accept the tissue, turning your head away from him to honk into the feeble gauzy square like an elephant with rhinitis. You’re sure you look a sight when you turn back, eyes swollen and puffy, with the tip of your nose irritated like always when you’ve been crying and had to blow your nose. He’s still looking at you exactly how he was earlier, though, like a baby bird with a broken wing. Like you're some tiny precious thing that's injured and needs protection.

“You’ve cried now and done your best impression of a circus elephant.” You can’t help your watery giggle when he tweaks the tip of your nose.

“Do you want to tell me what’s happening with you and Bradshaw now?”

“I don’t know if I can.” Your voice is whisper-thin, and your vocal cords feel like you've gargled glass. "It hurts too much."

"I know, darlin'. I can see it in your face. Wouldn't it be nice to tell someone if it hurts badly? To share that burden?" He's trying to wheedle the information out of you. And you can feel your resolve wavering. But, in the months after the Uranium Mission, Jake and Bradley had become something akin to friends. They had set aside all of the rivalries they'd had before, and while they ragged on each other, it was friendly. Could you destroy that relationship so quickly?

"Jake. You and Bradley just got to a good place. I don't want to change your relationship with him."

"Darlin’, tell me. Remember, we're on a carrier far away from him for the next six months, give or take a couple of weeks." He's smiling softly at you. "I promise I won't punch him in the face when I see him next for whatever he did."

"How can you assume it was something he did?" You ask, tired of seeing all of your faults in technicolor. You don’t argue with him, though, childishly curling your fingers into your palm, leaving only your pinky out. "Pinky-swear on it."

He blinks his eyes at you a few times before twining your pinky with his own. After pumping it twice, like kids on a playground, he just holds your hand captive.

"There's your pinky promise, darlin’. You asked me why I could assume it was something he did?" He inhales deeply, chewing on his words before he continues. "I know because I've seen how you are when you're in love with someone. They're your whole focus when you're with them. While you were on Chicken's arm, he was all you focused on. I won’t say he consumed you because you paid attention to all of us. But there was something special about how you acted with him. When we were at the Hard Deck for drinks after work, it was like he was your True North. You always knew exactly where he was. You gave all of yourself to that relationship. He's the guy who leered happily at any piece of ass that walked by."

What does it say about you that someone with a reputation for being self-absorbed saw what you couldn't? You chuckle dryly before letting the whole tale spill, every salacious detail, including what Britney and Bradley had been saying about you in the bedroom. Your words finally run out as you stare at the clouds, tracing the lightning bolts as they zip through the ether. When you turn to look at him sometime after the last words have left your lips, he's glaring at the roiling sea off the deck. His jaw is clenched as the lightning makes his eyes shine golden.

"He dated you because of a bet? And then he cheated?" He sounds angry, angry, and shocked. "He's supposed to be the most decent guy in the squadron. I promise you, I didn't know about the bet. If he made it, it wasn't with me."

"Did he ever bring her around to you guys?" Did you know? You're not sure if you want to know. But you have to. How many of your friends, your colleagues, had seen Bradley Bradshaw make a mockery of you? Condoned his cheating and lying? Had they covered for him? Had Jake? Who made money on you and him?

"Darlin, I would've told you the minute I had known if he had brought her around. We all would have." His eyes seem so sincere and soft as he looks at you. You can see pity on his face. You know it is. But it feels so good. To have a shoulder to cry on, to have someone tell you you're valid for feeling the way you do.

"Her name seems familiar, though. I think she's one of the badge bunnies that always goes crazy when he plays the piano."

You have to laugh at that. The resulting sound is something insane choked out between sobs. Six months of a relationship and your complete devotion, love, care, and affection, not to mention your virginity, and he picked a badge bunny over you?

"I'm sorry, darlin'. He's a fool. C'mon." He's standing before you now, blocking the brunt of the pouring rain from drenching you. "It's wet," he wheedles, wiggling his fingers until you place your hand in his, "let's get you inside. A hot shower, something to eat and drink, and a good night's sleep. That's what you need right now. I'll help you think of what to do about Bradshaw tomorrow, ok?"

You let him drag you up and usher you through the deserted carrier hallways, stopping to shield you from prying eyes with his broad back at every intersection. You can only assume what the rumor mill onboard will say if anyone sees the two of you like this. His uniform is colored caramel, rain soaking every inch, and his boots squelch unpleasantly as he walks you to your quarters. He waits, eagle-eyed, at the door to your quarters until you let yourself in.

"Go shower, sweetheart. I'll do the same and bring you some food from the commissary."

"I thought it would have closed by now?" You ask, your voice pitched low since you know from experience that everything echoes in the belly of the ship.

"The Officer's Lounge never is. I have granola bars in my quarters. I'll bring you a few and a cup of coffee. Cream, no sugar, yeah?"

He smiles at you before turning on his heel and striding away. You go about your shower by rote but spend much longer than usual under the hot water. It's all quiet when you step out and dress in the warmest sweats and sweatshirt you've packed in your luggage.

When you open it, you're not expecting anything in front of your door, but there they are. A single hot paper cup of coffee, prepared just as you like it, and two granola bars, the good kind, with chocolate! You eat and drink quickly, feeling hungry and thirsty after your cathartic release. Sleep tugs at you, and the last thing on your mind is that while Jake Seresin may not look like it, he is a sweetheart on the inside.

You wake up the following morning feeling like the night before is a glorified dream. Did you really cry all over Jake Seresin the night before? On deck in the middle of a typhoon, no less? You feel good, really good. Bradley’s betrayal still hurts, but not as much as the night before. You’ve learned so much about yourself; as much as you miss him, you can admit that he is not forever material.

You’re finally starting to see the sun through the clouds mentally, and from what you can see out the portholes, it’s a beautiful day outside. You dress quickly in your uniform and meet Mara for breakfast in the commissary. Your morning is spent far away from the pilots, making final adjustments to the laser targeting system. It's lunchtime before you see Jake again. He's got a ridiculously cocky smile on his face and a pep in his step.

"Hey, ladies." He's oozing charm as he sits beside you, setting his tray next to yours. This afternoon's flight tests are going to be interesting. He looks like he’s in the mood to fly more recklessly than usual.

"How has your morning been?"

“Great! Mara and I finally have the laser targeting system ready for the first flight tests this afternoon.”

You can see the excitement in his eyes at the thought of flying and flying fast too. Mickey, who'd been following along behind his pilot for the mission, takes the seat next to Mara, and for a few minutes, it is just light-hearted chatter amongst the four of you as you talk about the test flight route and air conditions for the first test of the new systems. It's Jake, of course, who shatters the veneer of professionalism by slipping you a piece of paper. Scrawled on it in surprisingly neat cursive are four numbered points.

Don't pick up the phone. You know he's only calling when he's drunk and alone.

Don't let him in. You'll have to kick him out again.

Don't be his friend. You're only going to wake up in his bed in the morning.

If you're under him, you ain't getting over him.

You can't believe your own eyes. Do you laugh? Or do you cry? Jake Seresin just handed you a piece of paper quoting Dua Lipa's New Rules. Laughter ultimately wins out.

"Oh, my god." You've got your hand over your mouth, choking back laughter. Mickey grabs the paper from you, and it's only a few minutes before all three of you are laughing as Jake's cheeks redden with a blush. You take the note back and get yourself under control, using a napkin to blot the tears from under your eyes.

"What's this, Seresin?" You smile at him gently, knowing he meant well, and wasn't trying to make fun of you. He sheepishly runs his fingers through his hair.

"I called my sister and asked what she would do if she was in your shoes. She cursed me out for waking her up at 4 in the morning, laughed her ass off until her husband kicked her out of their bed, and then gave me that list. She said you'd probably know the song, but it was good advice."

You goggle at him, surprised at the vehement emotion in his voice. You don't notice you've been staring into his eyes until Mickey clears his throat from across the table. Mara and Mickey are smirking at you, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks at the knowing looks they’re giving you.

"Why're you giving her the rules from New Rules, Hangman?" You can hear the confusion in Mickey’s voice.

Jake glances at you, looking for your permission. Instead of letting him tell them what happened, you speak.

"Payback will probably email you about it sooner than later, so here it is. I broke up with Bradley the day we shipped out." You take a deep breath before you spill the rest of the story, albeit without the graphic details you'd told Jake in the middle of the night. Mickey looks disgusted, as does Mara.

Mickey broaches the topic first. "You haven't been yourself since we came on board. Hangman noticed and pulled the whole story out of you, didn't he?" You nod carefully, taken aback at the anger growing on both their faces.

"I didn't know." Mickey's vehement in his denial.

"I know, Micks. Jake told me that any of the Daggers would've told me if Britney had been sniffing around and they knew he was cheating."

"Yeah, we would have." He inhales forcefully. "Wait. Britney?!"

You nod, sure you'll never forget the sound of that girl's name pouring out of your boyfriend's mouth as he pleasured her like he was only supposed to pleasure you.

"Shit. I did meet her. He told me she was his cousin from San Francisco. She was supposedly in San Diego for a couple of weeks on vacation. Phoenix backed him up about the lie. She told me she'd met Britney when she and Rooster were in Pensacola for flight training together."

You're aching to sock Bradley in the jaw now. Jake is, too. You can see it in how he’s clenching his hands tight, knuckles growing pale with force. You’ve come to terms with Bradley's betrayal, at least a little. Natasha's betrayal, though? That cuts deep. She was your friend, you'd thought.

As expected of the military, there aren't many women on Naval Air Bases. You, Callie, Callie's wife Meg, Mara, and Natasha had connected fast, taking turns hosting girl's nights and spa weekends. You'd thought the five of you had each other's backs in the man's world you all worked in. Natasha obviously thought differently.

"Let us help you plan your revenge, yeah? We have six months on a ship to brainstorm ways to make him pay. And that list, it just might be the perfect starting point." Mara's got a devious look in her eyes that promises pain for Bradley Bradshaw.

"I'll brief Callie and Meg on the situation, too, with your permission. Meg will think of the perfect way for Trace to get her just desserts, too." At your nod and a weak smile, the four of you go on your way. The flight tests will involve all of your concentration, so you put the issue of Bradley Bradshaw in the back of your mind.

When the boys are up in the plane, and the two of you are analyzing all of the data from the instruments connected to the targeting system a couple of hours later, Mara asks you a question in sotto voce.

"Hey. I know it's probably too soon for this, but Seresin's always looked at you differently from other girls flocking to those flyboys when they're in uniform. When the time comes, and you're ready to move on, promise me you'll give him a chance? I don't think the Southern Gentleman thing is an act. He also pulled you out of your funk sooner than anyone else could have."

She's right. Jake had made you feel miles better; he'd let you cry and helped you smile afterward. He'd be so easy to love if your heart weren’t as tender as it is now. You vow then and there to keep yourself from falling for Jake fast and hard. That way means disaster, you know as much after recent experiences. You'd take this burgeoning something brewing between you slowly, if only for the sake of your heart.

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roosterforme · 1 year

Note

emily!! the smutfest is going to be the event of the year! huge congrats on the 4k - you are so deserving of it.

might i humbly request:

“I want to have my way with you.” + bondage with jake?

Here's some sweet dommy bondage Jake for you! I combined this with an ask from @callsign-honeybeewildfox2

Written for my Smutsational Smutfest!

Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down

The wedding was over, and you were stumbling back to the hotel room with Jake. You'd had a bit to drink, so he scooped you up carefully and carried you. His bowtie had been driving you wild all night, and you were so glad you'd discussed this ahead of time.

"Come here," he commanded. "I want to have my way with you."

You laughed and squealed as he caught you around the waist in his arms. You loosened his bowtie and pulled it free, placing a kiss to his lips. "Tie me up?" you asked, letting the black tie dangle between your fingers. Jake was quick to snatch it up and turn you so your back was to him.

He wrapped the fabric around your wrists and tied them tightly together behind your back. Then he bent you over and pulled up your dress. "You're mine now," he growled, and you moaned as he eased your underwear down your legs. "Let me see those eyes," he grunted as he stood. He reached around and grabbed your chin so you were looking at him over your shoulder.

"Yeah, baby," you agreed. "I'm all yours."

Then he fucked his cock into you, grabbing you by the hips. You were helpless to do much except moan his name as your cheek rubbed against the bedding. He went slow and steady, bottoming out and making you gasp.

"Say the word," he demanded. "Who am I?"

"Husband," you whined. "My husband."

"That's right," he praised, fucking you a little faster, his thighs slapping yours. "And who takes care of you?"

"You do! My husband!" You could feel the fabric of your pretty wedding dress all bunched up at your waist as he toyed with your clit. You were unsteady in your high heels, fighting to free your wrists, but enjoying being at his mercy.

"Fuck," Jake groaned. "I've got such a hot wife." He touched your body just right, using his fingers where you needed them. And when he squeezed your butt and started to pound you with uneven strokes, you came on his cock. "Good girl," he praised, filling you up with his cum.

Then he was lifting you onto the bed without untying your wrists; they were tucked underneath you as you looked up at him. "Jake," you whispered, as he kissed your forehead.

He carefully removed your shoes and kissed his way along your legs. Then he wiped up the mess of his cum and snuggled up next to you.

"Are you going to untie me?" you asked while he stroked your cheek.

"Not yet. Maybe after round two," he drawled with a grin. "I love you."

"I love you too, Jake," you promised, smiling as he kissed you. "And I think I'm ready for round two."

#4k smutsational smutfest #top gun smut #jake hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x reader

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josephquinnswhore · 1 year

Text

Mercy

Pairing: John “soap” McTavish x female reader.

Summary: a “simple” mission turns into a trap that endangers your life.

Word Count: 1.8k

Content Warning: typical cod violence, reader is badly hurt. Soft Johnny, confessions.

Note: Mercy is readers callsign. Written for my friend @sofasoap I hope you love it. Angst & fluff.

Everyone was on edge, the humidity of the jungle around you had you all silent-the weather dampening more than the trees and moist ground underneath your feet aching in your boots. Without a word of complaint from anyone, you knew everyone was tired and you didn’t want to escalate tension by lying and saying things would be fine, that they would be over soon when there was no indication of the fact. You hadn’t made it to base last night; you deciding as the Captain in charge of the 141 Task force appointed by John Price, it would be worth while staying put in your positions to follow intel to a location now 1 click away, gaining serious ground over the past few hours since before the sun had even risen.

Soap kept his pace beside you, being the one person you’d come closest to, you had tried to keep your distance. You were his higher up and he was a sergeant, but he had a way of picking at the pricks that held your walls up in a way that didn’t alarm you, over the months he had torn down your walls and you’d fallen for him, hard. You still kept a coolness with him around the others and they never seemed to question it. “Do ya think this is good intel?” His eyes are watching you when you turn to him, as he breaks the silence in the group. “Dunno soap, you know we’ve got to check to be thorough.” You lose your focus momentarily as you slip on a slick log, your legs falling in opposite directions, miraculously you catch yourself and you can’t help but hear soap and Gaz stifling a laugh. You let them have it, they were exhausted and you couldn’t care less if they laughed at your expense, they laughed. “Aye Captain don’t want to catch you falling for me again eh?” You rolled your eyes and tried to hide the hitch in your breath at his jest. “Eyes forward and mouth shut from this point on McTavish.” You deadpan, he nods once and accepts it, unmoving to his position beside you, walking silently.

The building was in terrible condition, rubble surrounds the outside of the building, outskirts filled with overgrown grass at least 3 feet long. The building had a hole in the roof and you knew there would be water damage to the interior which would weaken the structure of the building.

“Soap, I want you up on the hill with your sniper, you’ve got good eyes. Comm when you’re up there.” Soap nods, “aye Mercy.” Before jogging up the hill to his position. “In position Mercy.” Soap comms. “10-4.” You reply, ready to execute the rest of the plan. “Gaz you go with Ghost and sweep the outside of the building. Once it’s clear I’ll need you to cover me as I breach entry.” Gaz swings his rifle around to his chest and grasps it, “you got it Captain.” Ghost only nods. Gaz and Ghost go around each side of the building, two shots are fired. You walk around the left side, watching your step not to slip on debris, “all clear ready for entry on you, Mercy.” Ghost deadpans. You hold your rifle in front of you, scanning the area inside to make sure it’s empty. “Clear. Be prepared for fire regardless, don’t let your guard down. Look for anything that might resemble a hard drive.” Gaz goes to the left, looking underneath the staircase that led to the balcony, shuffling through rubbish. Ghost looks through the few desks with bulky desktop computers, you push through to the office. “Don’t like this Mercy, can’t see ya in there.” Soaps voice rings through your comms. “It’ll be a 5 minute job and we’ll be lucky to find anything. I’ve got Ghost and Gaz in here covering me.” There was a moment of silence as you shuffle through the garbage in the office desk, pulling the drawers out in attempts to find this hard drive. “I got a bad feelin about all of this. We don’t know nothin about who gave us the intel.”

You sigh, soap was right. You had no clue who gave you the intel, General Shephard sent it through to Price and you were sent to scope it out. “Affirmative, still have to check it out. You know what Shephard is like.” You crouch down and open the large drawers and shuffle through the paperwork, finding a small black hard drive plugged into a laptop. “Found the hard drive soap, see; simple.” Soap sighs, “aye, now get outta there.” As you’re reaching for the hard drive you laugh, “yes boss.” As soon as you pull the hard drive out of the slot, there’s a rumbling noise and a loud bang. Before you could think to react the walls around you come falling down, tumbling ontop of you, crushing your leg. “Captain!! You alright?” You cant respond to whoever is calling out. Your eyes are blurry, vision is doubling and there is a throbbing pain in the back of your head. Through your ears ringing you hear soap through the comms, “you got company, 10 armed men heading your way.” You groan in pain, your leg being brutally crushed by the weight of part of the rubble of the walls in your legs. “Fuck.” You grunt as you try to pull your legs free, to no avail. The gunshots are loud in your ears, hearing ghost scream, “get outta there Gaz.” Brings you back to consciousness momentarily, until you feel somethings trickling down your neck. Your fingers reach behind your head and you touch the liquid bringing it around to the front of your face to inspect it, blood. Your fingers were drenched in blood. Fuck.

You were starting to feel lightheaded and try to stay conscious, knowing the likelihood of you passing out secured your death. Between the blood loss and the pain of your legs being crushed you began to slip into unconsciousness. Eyes fluttering shut as you tried to fight it, not noticing how the gunfire had ceased and the three men had come rushing to your aid after not hearing from you, fearing the worst. Their fears coming true as you lie crushed under the rubble, blood pouring from the back of your head and your body limp. You don’t feel the pressure lifted once you’re free from the rubble, you don’t feel the men wrapping your head to attempt to stop the bleeding. You don’t hear soap picking up your body as he they call in for an emergency extraction. “Johnny.” You mutter weakly. You don’t hear the blades of the helicopter once you’re in, the chattering of men or the medics. All you hear before you pass out is, soap begging, “hold on lass.”

“You can’t sit here forever soap, go and get some rest son.” Price’s voice is the first thing you hear before you even open your eyes, then you hear beeping of a monitor connected to your body, and feel the heaviness of the chords connected to you and the needle in your arm attached to the drip. Your body feels numb and stiff, like you need to stretch, you can’t remember what happened or where you are, just that you feel groggy. Soap grunts at Price’s request, “ain’t goin nowhere till lass wakes up.”

Your eyes start to twitch under your eyelids, willing the strength to open them as they begin to flutter open. “She’s wakin up.” Soap gasps. His hand resting on yours gently as he sits upright on the chair beside your bed, water bottle in hand ready to give you a drink. You look around, blinking away the blurred vision, the bright lights not helping the cause. “Soap, Price.” You croak, soap jumps into action, holding thr water bottle to your lips, which you gratefully sip out of, clearing your throat of spit and ridding your mouth if it’s itchy dryness. “Captain, you’re back with us. Do you remember what happened?” Your eyebrows pinch together as you try to think, a headache forming at your efforts to remember; your brain coming up blank. “No, I don’t remember.” Price looks to Soap, “what’s the last thing you remember?” Price questions you. You turn to your friend, “we had stayed in the Forrest overnight checking out some intel. It’s just blank afterward until now.” Price grumbles, “it was an ambush, you were set up. General Shephard has betrayed us all.” You huff, “Shephard? Why would he do that?” Price runs a hand down his face, “he knew we were close to figuring out about the missiles, they were his.” You stop breathing for a minute before taking deep breaths. “Fucking backstabbing piece of shit.” You lie back down and rest your head on the pillow and groan, the medication wearing off by the minute. “Why am I in medical?” Soap was sitting on the edge of your seat, Price turns to him, “I’ll let soap explain. Better let everyone know you’re alright. They’ve all been worrying.” You nod to Price as he walks away, leaving you with Soap alone.

“You found the hard drive we were lookin for. The building collapsed and crushed your legs. Smashed ye head on the floor, split ye head open lass.” Soap runs his hands on his head and over his eyes before he looks at you, “didn’t think ye was gonna make it, seeing ye bleedin all over me like that.” You could see the tears threatening to spill, he attempts to turn away from you. You don’t allow it and reach to pull his hand to yours and rest it on the bed. “I’m here. You saved me.” Johnny scoffs as he stands up, “it shouldn’t have happened. I knew something was wrong.” You bit your lip, not knowing what to say, “I’m sorry.” Johnny huffs out a breath before turning to you, walks three steps to your bed, leans down and presses a harsh kiss to your lips, which you relax into, turning passionate within seconds. He pulls away and runs a hand through your hair and down your cheek. “Don’t scare me like that again lass. Can’t lose ya.” You smile at him, “promise you won’t lose me.” Johnny sits back on the chair beside you, “I wanna make this work, I want there to be an us, even if it’s just outside work.” Your heart is hammering in your chest and your breath catches in your throat. You shake your head, “I’m yours always Johnny.” He kisses your hand, “good. Now I can tell Gaz to stop giving you eyes.” You laugh and roll your eyes, “never took you for a jealous man Johnny.” He shakes his head, “not jealous lass, protective of what’s mine. You’ve always been mine.” The loving look in his eyes doesn’t go unmissed. “Yeah, suppose I have been.”

#cod #call of duty #Johnny McTavish #John McTavish x you #soap x you #soap x reader #call of duty fic #johnny mactavish x reader

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icarustypicalfall · 6 months

Text

HOLDING ON TO HEARTACHE p2

rodolfo parra x fem!reader

part 1 𓆩♡𓆪 MASTERPOST

SUMMARY: mere whispers on the brink of madness; where a sinful soul mends it's mistakes..

Reader's callsign: Leal

warnings: poetic? guilt, silent treatment, slight mentions of fire and injuries, COMFORT, proofread, pet names (amor)

apologies for the delay, i had some stuff on mind, hopefully a good start after the break, I kinda have mixed feelings about this one, but still, enjoy <3

“And yet i loved her more,

I e'er had loved before.” W.W

You left his quarters and made your way back to your own, consumed by agony and hurt.

The onslaught of emotions only intensified the pain, shattering your heart like a mighty hammer, reducing it to mere fragments.

It was difficult to put into words the surreal feeling that gripped your soul. It was almost as if the events were imprinted on your very being, like a haunting nightmare that refused to let you wake up. You almost swore this was a nightmare.

But, if it was so, you'd be already awake. Longed to be cradled in the arms of Rudy as he whispered sweet nothings to you.

But the harsh reality made it clear that this was not a mere figment of your brain.

You found yourself sitting on the thin mattress in your old humble room, your eyes aimlessly wandering over the modest furniture and worn sheets. Everything remained unchanged, as if the past few months had never even happened.

Once again, you felt like a rookie, a frightened infant amidst military veterans, questioning how you had ended up there in the first place.

In the weeks that followed, you avoided Rudy as if he were the plague. His bittersweet caramel eyes seemed to follow you everywhere, silently pleading for a chance to make amends. It was ironic, you thought, that it took a slap to jolt him into remembering your existence. But at what cost?

The pain in your wrist had already faded by the time you prepared yourself in the morning. However, the ache in your heart remained, a constant reminder of the harsh words hurled at you by the one person you believed you could be vulnerable with.

You chose silence.

You turned a blind eye to him, giving him a taste of his own medicine. It felt almost cruel, walking past him, brushing your shoulder against his as you evaded, almost succumbing to the sight of his imploring eyes.

In the chambers of his soul, a symphony played. His heart ached, a melody of longing conveyed.

His hurtful words echoed in his ears, tormenting him throughout the day. The throe of causing you pain was unbearable, surpassing any sin he could fathom. He prayed relentlessly, seeking forgiveness and mercy for his faults, as the suffocating emotions continued to torment his heart and senses.

Once a tough nut, he was now reduced to a pleading shell of his former self. Every time he caught sight of you, Rudy felt the weight of your indifference, the absence of conversation.

He became a ghost in your world.

A presence you denied and refused to acknowledge. He knew he didn't deserve your forgiveness, yet he pleaded for it every night, hoping against hope that redemption would find its way to his soul.

As if nothing existed between the two of you, you worked alongside each other on missions, sat together in debriefs, and even shed tears for fallen comrades. But, despite all that, you never had a proper conversation about what happened.

The night before the Vaqueros teamed up with the Brits and the Americans to catch Hassan, the soldiers were already asleep while you remained in the base, searching for your car keys. While your team went after their targets, you were assigned another side mission.

As you were about to leave, a familiar voice called out to you, pleadingly. It was Rudy, standing in the hallway, guiltily clutching his arm and looking at you.

Something inside you broke when your eyes met his. Instead of staying, however, you chose to run.

Again.

It almost felt like a cruel joke, two people in a hallway longing for each other's embrace, with pride and hurt witnessing their pain from a distance.

You treated him like a ghost, knowing all too well that Rudy had a fear of ghosts. Yet, you continued to treat him as if he were one. He stood there in the hallway, watching you leave, your perfume lingering in the air, adding to his pain. The words he wanted to say felt heavy on his tongue as he leaned against the wall, slowly sinking to the ground.

𓆩♡𓆪

Several days later, it was almost midnight and the Vaqueros were throwing a party. The recent events had been suffocating, and the soldiers deserved a moment to breathe. It was raining outside, and the old Spanish music filled the air as the soldiers shared drinks and laughed with light hearts.

You had just returned from your mission, unable to contact anyone due to confidentiality reasons. The slightly drunk Colonel, Alejandro, offered you a blanket to warm yourself and advised you to find Rudy. Thinking he might be unwell, you embarked on a search for him around the base. Just as you were about to give up, you spotted a figure sitting outside in the pouring rain.

Pushing open the sliding doors, you stepped into the small garden of the base. The scent of soil, rain, and purity filled the air. You joined Rudy on the ground, draping the blanket over his soaked shoulders and hair, and together you found solace in the silence, the distant sounds of shattering laughter and music barely audible.

Rudy was drunk, reeking of alcohol and burning fire. A deep cut on his temple made you frown, wondering what had happened to him. Your hand instinctively reached out to cup his face and inspect the wound. Instantly, he relaxed, looking down at his hands in his lap.

As if awakening from a drunken haze, he murmured your name like a devoted siren. Not your call sign, nor the code you were assigned, nor the rank you had earned.

It was silent tears at first, followed by trembling lips and averted gaze. He covered his face with his hands, whispering nonsensically.

Was this the moment for the heart-to-heart conversation you had both been avoiding for so long?

Peeking through his fingers, he looked at you before lamenting, "I'm sorry, amor... I never meant to hurt you like this." He sneezed before continuing, "I didn't treat you rightall this time... tonight... I was pulled from the fire, closer to death than life... If Alejandro hadn't saved me, I would have died in that house." He looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. "The only thing I could think about was you. Not being able to apologize to you would have been the worst punishment... It was already hell not being by your side, let alone knowing that I made you cry and suffer all this time..."

You pulled him into an embrace, tears streaming down your cheeks as you comforted him. "I should have been there for you. I'm sorry, amor... I am truly sorry."

You silenced him with a gentle kiss, your lips interlocking like puzzle pieces. He had longed for this moment, resting his forehead against yours as he wept.

"I will be better, I promise," he whispered between sobs. "Give me a second chance, amor... Please, it's all I want..."

"I can't lose you again"

kindly leave a comment, rebelog, like, anything, it motivates us to write more :3

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lethalchiralium · 1 year

Text

No More | [4] | Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

a/n: i went off the rails LMAO. (quick note: roos is not the toxic ex-boyfriend 🤍 he’s my baby. he’s my good time boy. there is extra drama/tea associated with him though, you’re just gonna have to wait 🥰) ptsd is a real thing people!

NOTE: Your 141 Callsign is Mercy. Your Top Gun Callsign is Reaper, you no longer go by that callsign.

word count: 6,3k (astounding!)

warnings: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Mentions of assault, trauma, vague allusions of domestic abuse (no one from 141!), cussing, medical attention/inaccuracies, mentions of blood, PTSD-induced nightmares.

summary: You really thought that sleep would do you good. You also thought that if you kept to yourself and did your job, Ghost would trust you more. Unfortunately, you take three steps back. Soap and Gaz are your therapy people, Cerby tries to help and Ghost tries his best to understand you.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

“You never listen to me!”

You heard the sound of drywall cracking right next to your ear, your heart pulsing in your ear as you felt those familiar yet unfamiliar hands against your throat - squeezing.

The feeling in your chest was one you never wanted to feel again, but you did now - it was betrayal of full trust in someone. You felt your hands move onto the ones gripping your throat, eyes unwilling to open because you knew you’d be face to face with your ex-boyfriend, Jake.

“You’re gonna pay attention, right now.”

Your eyes flew open then, the squeezing of your throat gone and your hands on the joystick of your jet. The comfort of your helmet blanketed your head, the screeching of alarms in your ear as you took huge breaths.

“Eject! Eject! Eject!”

Your hands reached down, grabbing the ejection handle and pulling. Pulling and pulling. Your hands flew back onto the joystick, sticking your head to the side to try and find somewhere flattish in the mountains to land.

You had only closed your eyes for one second before the scene changed again, a bright flashlight flashed into the store front you were hiding in. You could hear people yelling in a language you didn’t know, all you could feel were your hands on your pistol and how ice cold the ground felt against your back. Your breaths were taught like a string, strained and small. You couldn’t give up now, not when you had to get home to your family.

The door to the back room you were in slammed against the wall, a flashlight shined brightly in your face before everything went black.

You didn’t even recognize your bedroom when you jolted awake, launching yourself off of your bed and almost breaking your arm when you tumbled to the floor. You knew exactly where your gear was, you grabbed the knife out of its sheath and scrambled to the corner of your room. Your heartbeat was in your ears, your throat swollen, eyes wide and terror rumbled throughout your whole body. You couldn’t stop the loud sobs that left your throat, one hand clutched the knife while you buried your face into your elbow.

You felt like you were back in that store, rifle pressed against your forehead as you plead for your life in low whispers. You had said your feeble prayers, praying they’d find you years later - body decomposed and only bones left so your father and the man you loved wouldn’t have to ID you.

All you could feel was that fear and the certainty that you would become another casket to bury, if they sent anyone to find your body.

“Mercy. Hey, hey-“

You didn’t recognize Simon’s voice, your heartbeat in your ears as you pressed your entire back to the wall, knife held up as you looked up. As soon as you saw the painted skull of his balaclava, you launched forwards. The red tactical knife was held so tightly in your hand as you aimed it straight for his throat, his hands gripped your wrists and kept the knife inches from him. You’re not going to hurt me anymore, not anymore. It’s you or me.

“Mercy, it’s me-“ He grunted, you pushed every fiber of your weight onto the knife, plunging it another inch. Your knees were on either side of his hips, trapping him. He growled, bucking his hips and catching you off guard. Your grip loosened a little, your balance now thrown off as he twisted himself, throwing you onto your back. You screeched in surprise, raising your hand back and slashing his arm. The sting made him wince, watching as your head hit the floor hard. Blood began to drip on your shirt, the knife now pointed back at at his chest. His hand pressed your arm to your stomach, twisting it so you let go. You yelped in pain, and he moved forwards, his hand hit the hardwood beside your head hard.

And that sound right next to your ear made you flinch, made a flash of your ex-boyfriend appear instead of Simon’s masked face. You let out a breathless sob, panting as you felt control flood through your body. Your tear filled eyes fluttered, looking down and to how his free hand kept your wrist in a death grip.

You heard the knife clatter against the ground when it slipped from your torso; you watched blood drip down his tattooed arm.

“Y/N, you with me?”

You breathed out a sound of pain, agony - your eyes screwed shut as you felt nauseous. Chills ran down your back, yet you felt as if you were aflame. You had hurt him, you had hurt Simon. The one thing you promised you’d never hurt, one of the more stable relationships you’ve had in a long time. You felt like your last long term boyfriend then. Was this how it felt in the beginning for him? When he’d lay his fists on you when he was drunk, sobbing hysterically that he never meant to hurt you. Was this how Jake felt?

And how you had reacted was the same way you had years after with Rooster - him scaring you and you almost killing him out of fear.

You felt disgusting.

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” Your voice was hoarse, sobs leaving your lips as your chest shook. He sat back, his legs straddling your hips. He let go of your wrist, going to take your hand but you ripped it away.

“Love.”

Your gaze felt like the knife, ripping his skin open again. Agony held like a flame in them, flickering as tears rolled down the sides of your face. You dragged yourself backwards and out from under him, you moved until your back hit the wall again. Your eyes stayed on the blood that began to drip onto the floor before you buried your face into your knees when you pulled them to your chest.

“Nothin’ but a scratch.” He murmured, eyes watching as your body shook - no noise escaped your lips. He watched as you trembled like a terrified animal, he thought reaching out might push you off the edge. “Y/N, I’m fine.”

You moved your head to look at him, eyes full of tears. Your hand balled into a fist as you gazed back down at your arm. “I…I hurt…” You hiccuped. “I hurt you, Simon.”

He looked down at the blood on his arm, not even worried about it. His gaze fell back to yours. “Nothin’ you can’t fix.”

“I could’ve killed you.”

He clicked his tongue, moving to sit on his ass instead of his knees. He landed with a humorless thud, stretching his legs out to either side of you - still not touching you. “It would’ve been the best way to go.”

“Simon.” Your voice was dull, the warning in it barely there but he heard it.

He cleared his throat. “You were scared.”

“You won’t trust me now.”

Simon had worked hard to keep his halves separate now, keep Ghost detached from Simon so he couldn’t hurt you more with his defense mechanisms - yet, they’ve imprinted in your brain. He can’t erase that. And it wasn’t like saying it was doing the trick either; he didn’t know what to do.

He leaned to the side, pulling your vest from its discarded place on the floor and ripped off the first aid kit. He tossed it back and ripped open the kit, starting to treat the small wound. As soon as he finished wrapping the bandage around his arm, he whistled.

There was a loud thud as the door opened, Cerberus scurried across the hardwood floor and dove into you. Your arms were immediately around your dog, burying your face into his neck while Simon moved forward. Cerby was a good distraction because he placed his hand on your knee, then placing his other on your cheek. You froze, moving your head to look up at him. “Baby, you were scared.” His thumb drew circles on your knee.

“I still… hurt you.” You mumbled, Cerby licking your face. Your hands moved him away, he continued to lick you on your arm. I hurt the one person I love more than anything.

“And I’ll live. Not broken yet.” He whispered, showing off his new white bandage. “Now you’ll always be with me.” You broke into another fit of cries as the smile under his mask dropped instantly. “Oh shit, fuck, I didn’t-“

You buried your face into Cerby again, the dog made an awkward yap before looking to Ghost for help. He dropped the hand from your cheek, keeping his other on your knee. He stared at the dog, silently telling him stay there and be a good boy because he is royally fucking up.

“Why don’t blind guys skydive?”

You didn’t respond.

“Scares the shit out of their dogs.”

He hoped you would crack a smile, stop crying, anything that signaled you weren’t upset anymore. He had no idea what to do, so he continued.

“Why was the strawberry crying?”

Silence.

“He was in a jam.”

Your head moved a little, eyes locked with his. A smirk tugged at his lips, relief washed through his veins faster than any whiskey he’s had.

“Okay, two goldfish are in a tank.”

You blinked.

“One looks at the other and says, ‘You know how to drive this thing?’”

You just stared at him, which made him feel even worse.

“Little army humor.”

“Very little.” You muttered, eyes looking back to your dog, who was staring at you as well. He whined a little, his paw coming to set on your stomach. You pet his head a little before looking back at Simon. “I’m sorry.”

Simon shook his head, moving closer to you - all you did was stare at him through teary eyes. “You did what you trained to do. I’m proud to know that I don’t have to worry about someone killing you in your sleep.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It does for me.” He answered, moving his hand from your knee to your shoulder. “Come back to bed.”

“I won’t sleep.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“I-I can’t hurt you again.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line underneath his balaclava, hands moving to settle under your shoulders. He gently picked you up, letting you wrap your arms and legs around his torso before standing. He gently walked back to your messy bed, plucking you from his chest and placing you on the bed. Cerby made the risky move of setting his paw on the bed, to which Simon shooed him. The dog let out a loud whine in annoyance, going to sit next to your side of the bed. He settled his head on the sheets right next to your pillow, sniffing your face as you laid back down.

He moved to the other side of the bed, getting in and pulling the duvet up to your chin before tucking himself in. You kept your back to him, he could see how your body shook.

He placed his hand on your side. “I know that you’d never hurt me on purpose.”

Your hand settled on Cerby’s head, your dog whined a little before licking your nose just once.

“Just…” He swallowed the nervousness in his throat, unsure how to proceed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were protecting yourself, I shouldn’t have approached you.”

You scratched your dog’s ear, he gazed at you like you put the sun in the sky. Simon watched you from over your shoulder, yet he couldn’t see your face.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning.” He whispered, gently rubbing your side as he watched you until he couldn’t fend off sleep anymore.

—

It wasn’t normal for you to not be in the medical ward, Soap had remarked to Gaz. The two boys were looking for you, trying to settle a debate that Ghost wouldn’t input on. That and they were hiding from Price.

They had searched the base high and low, not wanting to end up at your office but that’s how their search ended - both men standing in front of your door, shuffling on their feet. They glanced at each other, neither wanting to knock since the last time they had a debate and knocked on your door, there was a certain Lieutenant in there.

“Sergeants.”

They whipped their heads around, seeing you standing in the hallway - a clipboard held to your chest, a salad container in the other hand and a hollow gaze in your eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gotten hurt again already, Soap.” You said, the men glanced at each other before back to you.

“No no, we just have a question, is all.” Gaz spoke first, turning to look behind him. “And to hide from Price.”

You rolled your eyes, approaching them. They moved away from the door, letting you unlock the door and push it open. Cerberus was quick to jump from your cot, skittering across the floor to Gaz, his third favorite person in the whole wide world. The dog yapped, tail wagging so hard that it kept hitting Soap’s shin, the Scot muttered words of annoyance before he moved out of the way. Gaz shut the door behind you three as you flipped on the various warm light lamps you had around the room.

“You lot came to annoy me?” You half-heartedly joked, going to settle in the shitty excuse of an office chair the military gave you. Cerberus had his paws on Gaz’s chest, tail still wagging a hundred miles an hour as Soap flopped onto your cot. “Or dodge chores?”

“Dodgin’ paperwork.” Soap groaned, moving to roll over so he laid on his stomach. Gaz was quick to sit in the seat across from you, Cerby pawed at him.

“That and we wanna know if Minecraft or Rainbow Six is better.” The Brit crossed his arms, glaring at Soap as your eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“You came to my office.”

“Yeh.” Soap.

“To ask me if Minecraft or Rainbow Six is a better video game?” You opened your salad container, pouring out the only good dressing the base had into it.

“Yes.” Gaz continued, you glanced at both of them before closing the lid of your salad and shaking it.

You shook your head too before setting your food down on your desk, your clipboard had been discarded on top of one of your filing cabinets. “Ghost put you up to checkin’ on me?”

The men looked at each other before looking to you, both confused. Gaz spoke. “What?”

“Just checking.” You answered, opening your salad and began to eat. You hadn’t talked to Simon this morning - in fact, you were gone by the time his alarm went off. You couldn’t face him.

“‘m not gettin’ in between another squabble.” Soap remarked, you rolled your eyes.

“Not a squabble.” You mocked him, opening your phone to check some emails from your subordinates. You read through rundowns of patient care, some patients being flown out of base into the city for surgical treatment due to an accidental misfire.

Silence then fell upon the room except for Cerby’s panting and the clink of his own tags as Gaz scratched his neck. You took a couple more bites of your salad before tossing the fork into the plastic container, taking your phone in both hands to respond to the email. You sent it, scrolling through another email before a text popped up on the top of your screen.

KEEGAN: Doing okay?

What is with everyone today?

YOU: Fine.

Another text popped up on the screen.

MAV: Hey honey, how are you?

You almost chucked your phone at the wall, but you slightly kept your composure as you sat back in your chair, nostrils flaring. Everything was getting on your nerves now.

YOU: Fine. What’s up?

MAV: Had a feeling you weren’t doing well. Just wanted to check on you

YOU: I’m fine.

Please Dad, for the love of all that is holy, fucking drop it.

MAV: Can I call you sometime today?

You wanted to bang your head against your desk and crack open your skull, let yourself bleed out because talking to your dad meant that he talked about Top Gun. When he talks about Top Gun, you can’t sleep for a week - not like you were gonna sleep anyway, guilt was eating you alive.

YOU: I’ll call you.

Another notification.

KEEGAN: Ghost told me about last night.

Of fucking course he did. He probably had to get advice on what to do with you. You bit your tongue before tossing your phone onto your desk, startling Gaz and Cerby - Soap was passed out on your cot.

“Sure you’re alright, Doc?”

You glanced at Gaz. “Peachy, Gazzy.”

The man in question whistled, “Sounds like someone’s gettin’ wrath sometime soon.”

“I’d say.” You mumbled, wiping your hand down your face. “You know, you can’t hide here forever. He’ll find out you hide here and then you’ll have to find somewhere else.”

Gaz groaned, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “If I have to look at one more signature line, think my head’ll explode.”

There came a knock at the door, Gaz shot straight up and bounded for the cot, slamming onto Soap’s sleeping body while you stood from your chair. You made enough noise by stomping to the door as Cerby whined loudly, yapping at Gaz on the cot while he tried to shush him.

You opened the door just a little, expecting to see Ghost, but it was Price. The man was strapped up in his gear, placing his boonie hat on his head as he said, “We’ve got a mission. And if you see the muppets,” He made a point to call over your head, “We’ve got to be on the tarmac in 20. Let’s go.”

“Thank you, Price.” You smiled, he looked back to you with a grin.

“You can’t hide them forever.”

You shrugged. “Was trying to get something out of it before I handed them over.”

“Good lad.” He nodded before walking away, you shut the door quickly and looking bat your friends.

Gaz’s hand was over Soap’s mouth, but he quickly retracted it and yelped, “You bit me!”

“You put yer hand near me mouth!” The Scot argued, Gaz immediately got up from their shared hiding spot to hold his hand out to you. You gently took it in your grasp.

Just a little bite, nothing more than marks but Gaz still said, “Test me for rabies.”

Soap burst out laughing, you gave him a quizzical look. “You’re gonna be fine, didn’t break skin.” You let go of his hand, Cerberus shoved his snout into Gaz’s bitten hand to sniff it.

“He bit me.”

“I heard.”

“Maybe ya deserved it!” The Scot spat, Gaz’s head whipped back to look at his friend, he almost looked as if he was going to tackle him.

You looked down at your watch. “Tick tock, boys. It matters if you’re on time or not, I’m sure you heard the captain.”

“Oh shit.” They both said, then scrambling out of your office - leaving the door open as they did. You immediately poked your head out into the hallway, calling after them, “If you’re not there in 10, I’m telling Price!”

You were in your gear in less than five minutes, your guns held in their holsters or strapped to your back. Your rucksack was on your back as you watched Cerberus make leaps and bounds towards his trainer - Price decided that the search and rescue dog would not be needed this time around.

Your hand was on your work phone, a secure line to other soldiers and fellow officers. You were walking down the side of the base, privates and sergeants rushing past as helicopters and planes were being prepared. It stung like a bullet to dial the number, but here you were - walking towards your team while talking to your father who you haven’t talked to in months. Great. You pressed the phone to your ear.

It only took a couple ring before you heard him pick up, “Captain Mitchell.”

It took just a moment for you to speak. “Hey, Mav.”

“Hey sweetheart!” You heard the familiar whoosh of a jet taking off in the background, your other hand held onto your rucksack strap a little tighter. “It’s good to hear your voice, bug.”

You didn’t know how to continue. You couldn’t talk to him about missions, and he knew nothing of the Task Force or your personal life anymore. Last he knew was that you and Rooster were splitting up. One goes to Korea, the other goes to the UK - both broken-hearted. Wingmen no more. “Uh, you too.”

“I asked to call at a bad time, then?” His voice was calming to you, it always has been. You knew that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, but he still hurt Rooster - and it was hard to pick just one side when you loved them both so much.

You noticed that Soap and Gaz were running across the tarmac, Soap staring at his watch as Gaz made the effort to get in front of him. A smile appeared on your lips. “I had a minute to spare.”

He chuckled on the line, you watched as Gaz tripped over his feet but still gracefully caught himself - Soap now in the lead as they rapidly approached the plane you were leisurely walking towards. “Well, it’s nothing special. Ice just wanted me to invite you to the Navy Ball this year.”

You chuckled. “If I’m even on break then, which I never am.”

“Oh, he’s already put in the request for you. Even said that he wants your Task Force to come too, your team has provided the Pacific Fleet with a lot and he wants to thank you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed - you were now halfway across the tarmac, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t say, he didn’t tell. He just wants to thank you in person.” He cleared his throat. “I’m trying to get Rooster to come, but you know how he is.”

Of course I know how he is. You ruined his self-esteem and derailed his life. Of course I know. I always remember, he’ll never let me forget it.

You were still confused. “You want him there?” You were getting closer to the plane, noticing that Alejandro was walking up the ramp with his things in tow. Still no Ghost.

“Of course I do.” He’s your dead best friend’s son, your godson. “Ice also asked for him.”

It was laughable, it really was. Rooster would rather wither up and die than be seen in the same room as Maverick. You recalled his exact words: Put a bullet in between my eyes if I’m within one hundred feet of Mav. Always the one for dramatics. “So you’re asking me to ask him?”

“…Maybe.”

“Jesus Christ.” You let go of the strap on your shoulder, that hand coming to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Get off your high horse and do it yourself.”

“He’s blocked me on everything.”

“And this isn’t grade school.” You commented, now walking up the ramp into the plane. “You’re his superior. Grow some balls and act like it.”

Your father laughed over the line. “Who raised you? Jesus.”

You rolled your eyes as you passed Alejandro - you felt his gaze burn your skin. You ignored it. “Tell him that I’ll do this one favor, and I’ll give him my answer when I return from my mission.”

“Thank you so much, Reaper.”

There it is, your Naval Aviation callsign that you haven’t been called in six years. Even after all this time, you still didn’t have the heart to tell your father that Reaper had died those three weeks in Ukraine. What emerged was someone with a lot less light in their heart. Mercy.

“Yup.” You had passed Soap and Gaz earlier, they were still arguing. You made your way to near the front of the plane, shucking off your rucksack. It landed on the webbed seat next to where you planned to sit, you settled yourself down and rested the side of your head against your pack.

“Look, I’ll let you go. Promise to call me when you get back, okay? Wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Even though he had made life-altering mistakes with your lifelong best friend, he was still cared for him. He cared a lot for you too, being his only daughter - it never mattered that he had adopted you, he raised you to be better than him and never without the quick, “Love you, bug.” Even if all else failed in life, he would never leave you. Your father loved you, and it was nice to know that he wouldn’t abandon you.

You nodded to yourself. “Okay.”

“I know you can’t say it since you’re probably leaving, but I love you, bug. Bye.”

The line went dead and you pulled the phone from your ear, shoving it into your vest before leaning your head back onto the frame of the plane.

You could’ve gone another three years without being called Reaper, you stared at the ceiling of the plane before closing your eyes. You hadn’t been Reaper in a very long time, you were synonymous with Mercy. You were Mercy, the 141’s medic - a Captain who listened to orders and obeyed.

Someone sat beside you, knee brushing against your right one. You didn’t even have to guess who it was, no one would to get near you due to your personal guard dog. You opened your eyes, looking to your right to see the familiar skull staring right at you. You looked down at his arm that settled on his lap, your hands reached for it. He then moved it over to you, allowing you to roll up his sleeve to see the white bandage. You began to unravel it, you had to see what you had done.

Guilt swallowed you whole as you looked at the cut, it was long and almost deep enough for stitches.

“Jesus, LT, whadya do now?” Your gaze looked up to Soap, both him and Gaz were staring at his arm.

You almost opened your mouth to speak, tell the truth, but Ghost was a step ahead of you. “Scared her last night, she was cooking.”

Your eyes darted up to Ghost, almost in disbelief. I haven’t cooked in a year. You then looked to Soap, deciding very quickly to roll with it. “Uh, yeah. Sliced him good.”

“That’s what you get for scaring a lady, hermano.” Alejandro called from closer to the back of the plane, you looked to him before you watched Price ascend the ramp. If only Alejandro knew. The Captain made his way towards Soap and Gaz, who pressed themselves against the wall of the plane to try to disappear. He sat his rucksack three seats down from them, diagonal to you on the left.

“Gentlemen and lady,” Price nodded to you as you looked back down at Ghost’s arm, beginning to retrieve some new bandages and cleaning wipe. “The information that the Ghost Squad had obtained is of upmost importance - we are heading back to see if the information they retrieved connects back to Makarov. The uranium plant being built needs to be destroyed regardless, it won’t be by us. If it has information pertaining to Makarov, we need it.”

All of the boys voiced their agreements, you did as well as you cleaned the slash and began to bandage it.

“Ghost will be leading the recon into the government building, we have to be in and out as quickly as possible. Alejandro and Soap will go with him, Mercy, Gaz, and I will be on look out and keeping the area secure.”

You kept your mouth shut. You knew it was most likely Price’s decision to keep you separated from Ghost, but it still stung the fresh wound you had opened in your chest. You didn’t even stop working on Ghost when Price spoke, you had just began to secure it with metal hooks and beige bandages when he dismissed everyone. The ramp had been raised when he spoke.

“It would’ve been fine.” Ghost murmured, you had finished it. You tugged down his sleeve and began to pack up your medical shears into your vest. “I am fine.”

“Wasn’t supposed to happen.”

He huffed a little. “I know. I was fine then, and I’m fine now. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

You just gave him a look, the look that made him know that you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He nodded then, at least he was sort of good at knowing. Good man. It was going to be a long flight.

—

Three hours in. Soap and Gaz had separated, evenly splitting some webbed seats so they could sleep on the flight laying down. Price had covered himself with his poncho liner, Alejandro laid on seats as well - if he moved half a foot forwards, he’d be hitting boots with Gaz. You and Ghost sat alone on the left side of the plane, still sitting upright. Your hand had found its way into Ghost’s gloved one, both of your hands held it as you laid your head on his shoulder. He hadn’t spoken since before take off, you assumed he was asleep.

At this point, you were getting close to it. Your eyes were drooping, you could feel the warmth of slumber claw at you - but you still couldn’t fall asleep. You gazed at your hands, one thumb threaded across the back of his glove. If you closed your eyes long enough, you could see the bright red painted end of the rifle, shoved in your face. If you kept them closed longer, you could see your jet on fire as you limped away. You kept your gaze on his hand, grounding you - because now you could taste that phantom blood in your mouth, taste the disgusting bread and rabbit you had to live off of.

Something came into your vision, you immediately recognized it. It was one of Simon’s knives, the handle facing towards you. You looked up to your boyfriend, he gazed back down at you with a clouded stare.

“What’s this?”

He moved the handle forward, tapping an empty knife sheath near your shoulder. “Missin’ one.”

You glanced down, one hand leaving his and pushing the knife away. “Don’t need it.”

“We’re not going to be together this time ‘round and I can’t-“ Ghost paused. You could see how he mentally backspaced, staring, “I need you to have it.”

He would have normally said that he couldn’t protect you since you were separated. You gave him a smile. “Thank you.” Thank you for trying. You took the knife in your hand, noting that the knife was not yours - but one of his. A set you had purchased him for your one year anniversary, three knives engraved with SR. Did it cost a pretty penny? Yes. Was it worth him worshipping you for a day straight afterwards? Absolutely.

The silver SR glittered in the dim light of the aircraft against the black knife it was engraved on; dusk had clawed its way into the sky so the cabin wasn’t as bright as before. You then moved to place his knife in the empty sheath, then looked back at him again.

“What had you so scared?” Simon’s voice was low, quiet. “‘Cause I know that this wasn’t you not knowing where you were. You knew where your knife was.” His free hand went forward and tapped his knife in your sheath, his hazel eyes dark. “You’re always safe with me.”

The hun of engine was all that was heard for a moment, a never-ending moment. The moonlight began to light the cabin, your eyes gazed to your fellow soldiers, all out cold. Even Price, you could see his steady breaths. The hand that held his pulled it to your chest, resting your chin upon his glove.

The little thought crossed your mind that you should go back to therapy, but you never felt better when you were there in that office. Clock ticking, fish tank bubbling - the therapist you didn’t care for asking every nitty gritty detail of what happened. Simon wasn’t like that, Simon isn’t like that. Simon cared about what you said, cared how it affected you - not like the therapist who made everything worse.

C’mon, just tell him. It can’t be that hard, right? One word after the other, and then he’ll know.

But then he’ll pity me. He will lose whatever trust he has in me and leave, throw me to the wolves. I could lose my job if I let it affect me.

I can’t keep digging this hole, I might never come out.

You pressed your cheek into his shoulder again, slumping your body against his as best you could. Your hands moved from the one of his you held, moving to hold onto his arm. His words came back into your mind, ‘No one has stuck around this long anyway, you won’t hurt me.’ You squeezed his bicep, closing your eyes. “I’ll tell you when we get back, okay?”

He hummed in agreement. You took a deep breath, trying to let sleep begin to pull you under again. You felt his hand gently pet your head, consciousness began to slip from your grasp.

—

The slam of a wooden door made you tremble, you pressed yourself farther against the wall underneath the table you were hiding under. You had counted your bullets that morning, only seven left - you had used your last magazine on the Russians who came thirteen days ago. You were praying whoever was checking houses would shoot you, put you out of your misery.

Your stomach twisted in anxiety and hunger, you hadn’t eaten in three days. The burn on your side was still throbbing, probably infected - the medical supplies you had when you crashed had burned with the jet. You had only what you could scavenge in this abandoned town, nothing but old alcohol and rags to care for a burn, multiple slashes and a bullet wound from escaping the Russians. The least these scavengers could do was put you down.

You prayed. A silent prayer that they would leave your body here, let the US Government find your bones and cremate them, like you had stated in your file. Hand them to your father, your godfather, your best friend slash lover at the moment. You knew Rooster would do what you wanted. Chuck your ashes from a carrier into the ocean, no funeral. You weren’t sure he could do it though.

You could hear muffled talking, shouting outside. You slowed your breathing, pressing your ear to the wall - praying that it wasn’t Russians. Footfalls squelched against mud next to the worn down house, you pressed your knees closer to your chest.

You didn’t even hear the footsteps in the house until they had entered the kitchen, your eyes flickered to the checkered tile as boots hit them softly. You could see the mud caked on the brown canvas boots, you felt your heart in your throat. You said a little prayer in your head. You weren’t religious by any means, but you still went to church with Rooster’s mom, Carole, every now and again. It wasn’t anything long, just something to say to keep your mind occupied from the angel of death that stood feet from you.

The table was thrown to the side, your immediately reaction was to point your pistol into the flashlight pointed at you - your finger was on the trigger, but before you could sound off a shot, the hand of whoever had found you grabbed the barrel of your pistol and forced it to the ceiling while you pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening, your ears began to ring like church bells as the flashlight then pointed down. Black spots in your vision made it hard for you to see, but you recognized the beige patch of the United Kingdom flag. Your eyes flickered upwards, meeting gazes with a man with a well kept mustache and bright blue eyes. The rifle of which the flashlight was attached to was dropped from his other hand, it swayed from its attachment on his vest. Your grip on your pistol loosened, the man pulled it from you and tossed it onto the floor.

“Y/N Mitchell?” He stated, he sounded like he recognized you but you knew he needed to confirm. UK Soldiers were allies, this man was most definitely Special Forces by the way he carried himself and how quickly he was able to evade being shot.

Your freezing and empty hand dug into your shirt, pulling out your dog tags and nodding, whispering, “Reaper.” You coughed, your throat swollen from infection and no use. “My callsign… is Reaper.”

The man nodded in confirmed, hand flying to his radio as he leaned in to speak. “Watcher 1, this is Bravo 0-6.”

You heard no sound from the radio, but a little buzz from his ear.

He kept his eye contact on you as he spoke, “Sight on Romeo Echo Alpha. Target is alive, I repeat. Callsign Reaper is alive. I need medical evac.”

His hand left the radio, he kneeled down to your level. He held out a hand, never breaking eye contact with you.

“Name’s Captain John Price, I’m here to take you home, soldier.”

———

comment for part five!! tumblr won’t let me tag more than 50 so i’m very upsetti spaghetti :(

———

i wasn’t able to tag everyone, i’m sorry!

@luhvbot @its-me-ya-boi-lisa @ladystarfishnut @chris3tom2pau1rdj @kat-nee @efsa-lks @angelsquidd @marytvirgin @medivalpersephone @ramadiiiisme @blueoorchid @guiltyconfessions @abbiesxox @lockleywife @nicomactavish @nose235678 @lumpypoll @multi-fandomlovers-world @holyfeck @thriving-n-jiving @kgive @simonsdoll @crazyfandomist @ryunniez @sofasoap @depressedacidtest @angelinathron @dindjarinsbby @kluhhsu @lazyperfectioniste @keiva1000 @jellyedkazoo @le0thely0n @1sam1 @lovecats123451 @erensonly @cielobgers @sunniiiiiiiiii @d1lf-luvr @thekuroinsomething @lake-145 @badpvn @guineapigzwei @qualitypudding @mariamorim28 @s0meth1ngs-n0t-r1ght @doodle-cat16 @5seastar @horniestbutterfly @allaboutirem0 @zechie-spams @zoraclover777 @joanne-uwu @miss-i-ship-it @merakiaes @multitargaryen @sweetybuzz25

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coyotesamachado · 2 years

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if it's worth your time - one.

Javy “Coyote” Machado x Female!Reader

“He’s my best friend,” you sigh, the love you have for him evident in your voice. Anyone with eyes can see that you and Bob are closer than close, so that doesn’t really answer his question. Coyote wonders if you’ve ever spoken about anyone else with the same adoration, and the tiniest spike of jealousy hits him. You can tell he’s waiting for more than that. You need to start letting your walls down with people who don’t already know you. These people are going to be your family, they’re going to be the people you’re going to have to fight beside, and perhaps die beside. It’s only fair that they have a chance to get to know you in the same manner you get to know them.

Gosh, I didn't think it would take me this long to get this out. But I love this story, and even if it takes me forever to finish it, I will. The next chapter is already underway, but I hope you enjoy this. Big thanks to my love @notroosterbradshaw and @devvbabyy for beta-ing, I really appreciate it.

callsign: Mercy, it will be explained at some point in this story.

WC: 1.4k

series warnings: eventual smut, swearing, drinking, reader is a mom!, 18+ only. More warnings in each chapter.

chapter warnings: nothing really, maybe eating.

series masterlist | my masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

High Control

He watches as your eyes close, and your head hits the back of the sofa you were sitting on. They’d been on early morning training for the last week, and it was catching up with you. Your daughter was still adjusting to a new house, a new daycare, and a new routine. It was a lot for her, as she reminded you with her constant tantrums when it came time for bed. It was hard, you had told her that over and over as you soothed her, rocking her back and forth while you rubbed circles on her back, trying to get her to sleep. You kind of wished you had someone who would do the same for you. All it would have taken would be a phone call to Bob, but he was on the same training you were, the same early mornings. There was no point in making his life more difficult for a little moment of comfort for yourself.

With the few moments of peace you get in the break room, you aim to get yourself in a little nanny nap before it’s your turn in the air. You pray that you’re one of the last in the air, knowing that you’ll have to stay back for those dreaded push-ups if you fail in your goal. You find it utterly ridiculous and completely on brand that these pilots would come up with a bet on their first day back, and it continues two years later.

Javy wonders what’s going through your head while you relax, but he pours you a cup of coffee, strong and black. He holds it out, gently wafting the smell of it to coax you from your stupor. Your eyes don’t open as the smell hits you and you can practically taste the coffee at the back of your throat.

“You better not be teasing me with that, because I will knock it out of your hands before you can move,” you threaten, eyes still shut.

“Nah, I got it for you,” Javy says, and you squint up at him. He’s looking at you with a genuine smile on his face, holding out the mug. You raise an eyebrow at him, considering him carefully.

“This doesn’t get you anything,” you say, taking the coffee anyway, “but thank you.”

There’s a small smile that pulls at the corner of your lips, and he grins back at you, like maybe he’s still achieved something.

The coffee continues over the next week, strong and black, exactly the way you like it. You wonder how he knew how you like your coffee, but you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not when your daughter is late to bed and early to rise, still unsure of herself in this new town. She doesn’t have her grandparents visiting her every day anymore, instead, there’s nightly zoom calls to them that result in you letting her stay up past her bedtime. You feel guilty that you’ve taken her away from everything and everyone she’s known for the last two years.

The following Monday, Coyote hands you a mug, a second for himself in his hands and takes a seat next to you.

“I’m curious about something, Mercy…” he begins, and you cringe wondering what’s about to come out of his mouth next. “What’s the deal with you and Bob?”

You breathe an internal sigh of relief. You love your daughter, you really do, but you don’t like fielding the questions that come when people inevitably find out about her. You don’t like talking about her father, you don’t like acknowledging that you’ve done the last two and a half years on your own. You don’t like the praise that sometimes follows because you don’t think you deserve it. Your parents do. Instead, you settle in with new people, let them get to know you before hitting them with the fact you have a daughter.

You know you should tell Coyote, if he’s serious about pursuing you, but you also expect him to get bored pretty quickly. That’s your justification, anyway.

And Jake trusts him, enough to call him his own best friend, so that tells you almost all that you need to know.

“He was there for me when I was at my lowest and so close to a dismissal, it wasn’t funny. He helped build me back up to this,” you say, gesturing down your body laid out in a relaxed manner on the sofa, ankles crossed on the floor. Coyote takes that as the permission you think you meant it to be, his eyes raking down your body and up again. He doesn’t even blink when you smirk at him, when his eyes finally catch your own.

“Any chance I can hear more about that?” he asks slowly before taking a sip of his coffee.

“That is not a story for a morning when we have to fly. Another time,” you promise, and you mean it too.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says, fixing you with a look that says he will ask you again.

You close your eyes again, holding the mug under your nose, effectively ending the conversation.

You walk into the ready room on Friday morning, weirdly refreshed from your daughter sleeping the night before, and not waking you up before the sun even breached the skyline. For two weeks now, Coyote has your coffee ready for you, and yeah, that first number has been sitting at the tip of your tongue for a few days now. But you stand by what you said that first day, coffee is not worthy of a number. You’re more impressed by the fact that it’s been two weeks and as far as you know Coyote hasn’t asked any of your teammates for your number, disregarding your own rules.

You see the two mugs on the bench and smile, but then you watch as Coyote reaches for the basket of muffins, pulling out the last chocolate one. You don’t realize that the choked off groan you hear is your own, nor that other people can hear you. But he turns around to look at you, muffin still in hand. It’s when you notice that everyone else in the room has turned to look at you that your face grows warm, and you look at the ground instead of Coyote.

You slink your way over the couch that still doesn’t have the impression of your butt yet, despite sitting in it every morning, waiting for the day to begin. You’re not surprised when Coyote puts down a mug on the little side table next to you, nor when he walks around the back of the sofa to sit next to you. You’re about to ask him for just a bite, one teeny tiny chocolate chip of the muffin when you catch a glimpse of it in your periphery. Next to your coffee.

You turn to look at him, the question written across your face.

“It sounded like you really wanted that muffin,” he says, voice still gruff with sleep. You smile softly, and pick it up, breaking it and offering half to him.

“Five,” you say with no explanation before taking a bite, letting the sugar and coffee wake you the rest of the way up.

He looks at you confused for a moment, but takes your offering, nonetheless. Then he realizes what you’ve just said, and his face breaks out into a grin that makes you want to spill the rest of your number.

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paradoxcase · 7 months

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Chapter 36 of Harrow the Ninth

I've spent most of Saturday entering 145 of my ~200 sims into a new family tree program, which is sort of like the mental equivalent of stimming, but I think it's time to take a break and do more Locked Tomb liveblog

The symbol on this chapter is, I gather, meant to be a Herald, or possibly something else that's resurrection-beast-adjacent. Also, we are at one week before the prologue, now, if we can trust these chronological notes

Harrow has an absolutely massive case of Former "Gifted Child" syndrome, but she's only 18

She's one week away from probably dying while fighting a resurrection beast and she's way more worried about who is betraying John. It's also interesting how she compares her various experiences to decide whether or not something was a hallucination

I kind of wonder if at some point she is going to come to the conclusion that BOE can perform resurrections, since she saw three apparently resurrected (based on her memories of them) people, who claimed to be with BOE, or if that would be too sacrilegious an idea for her

First of all, what does "G" stand for in "J. G."? If John has a cavalier, I'd expect it to be A.L., or possibly the soul of Earth, not someone whose name starts with G

Second of all, why do they have callsigns? The purpose of callsigns (at least in ham radio, anyway) is to uniquely identify each individual radio geek, communicate their position in the radio geek hierarchy (and thus what frequencies they have access to, etc.), identify where they are from, and be relatively short because Morse Code is pretty verbose. But they are communicating in spoken language here, there's no reason for them to use Morse Code or a similar system, so there's no reason for them to shorten their names. Also, if this really is meant to be English, enunciating single letters over radio in English is notoriously prone to miscommunication due to how similar a lot of letter names sound, and for the purpose of being clear while doing this the NATO phonetic alphabet was invented, if you're actually going to do a radio thing in spoken language, you should be saying "Juliet Golf" instead of "J. G.", etc. Anyway, in addition to all this, this system is not even guaranteed to create a unique callsign for each Lyctor, it happens that all of these are unique, but that's just an accident. Goddammit, this pisses me off and I'm not even a real radio geek, I was just raised by radio geeks

So I'm guessing the resurrection beast/herald fear aura is directly related to guilt over the indelible sin, which makes sense if they specifically pursue people who committed the indelible sin. I believe when they were discussing how BOE hunted down a herald in order to make it into herald bullets (which I now retroactively realize means that BOE must use guns) they said that it affected all necromancers, so I wonder if it's more generally about gaining power from death

Also "it knows what you did to its kin", maybe referring to John consuming the soul of Earth? Or locking it in the Tomb? I'm not sure anymore

I mean, I think the Body going away probably has to do with the resurrection beast and not with Harrow, but haha, poor Harrow

You know, I've heard non-Americans complain that saying "Not!" after a sentence in this way is an Americanism, so I'm surprised to see this here. Or maybe it's only here to emphasize how grating Mercy's lecture is?

Is this a reference to the "it's for a church, honey, next!!" lady?

I know this is supposed to be a "Mercy is not fun at parties" thing, but honestly I feel this

I was curious how far that actually was, it turns out that is 33 and a half astronomical units. Yeah, that's pretty far away

That 2,000 kilometers is a mere 1 2.5 millionth of the total distance of 5 billion kilometers, though. I would think just covering that whole distance in a reasonable amount of time would be harder? Supposedly they don't have access to the stele system out here

This is the "Sex Pal" moment of this book, isn't it? I have no actual idea if John is lying about the peanuts or not, but I love the idea of Mercy just fuming over this one peanut incident for a significant part of 10,000 years

Also, the way describes this fantasy exchange between her and John feels like a bible story to me. Is it just me?

Ok, so this is interesting, because Number One has been mentioned, which means that if the beasts are numbered according to the way the Houses are numbered, then Earth can't be the missing beast. Previously we had only heard about Two, Six, Seven, and Eight, now we are up to One, Two, Four, Six, Seven, and Eight, which leaves Three, Five, and Nine. John said at the beginning of the book that there were three left to defeat, one of which is obviously Seven, and I guess the remaining two are Three, Five, or Nine. I wonder if the beasts are instead numbered based on their order from the sun, which would make Earth Three? That would make Seven actually be Uranus, which does match up with the 50,000 kilometer in diameter number from earlier, but I thought the point of that number was that the resurrection beast was supposed to be bigger than the original planet?

Does north/east/south/west even have any meaning in space, or in the River, without the presence of a magnetic field? I mean, the resurrection beast is a planet, so it might have a magnetic field, but we've established that they will not be attacking its actual body

Is this actually some missing information about what the fuck Mercy's powers even have to do with the rest of the Eighth House, or is Augustine just saying things to be saying things?

I wonder if it actually turns out to be something different, seeing as John literally has no intel on it

Also, you definitely do believe in sin, like, I don't think the concept of sin is necessarily universal across all religions, but it's definitely a big part of this one, necrophilia has been mentioned as a sin, we also have the indelible sin, and Mayonnaise Uncle definitely seemed to feel like some things were sins back in Gideon the Ninth

#the locked tomb #harrow the ninth

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nocturnesmoon · 4 months

Text

Bloodied Nutrition

Archaic Blood Masterlist: TF141 x Vampire!GN!Reader Callsign: Solis

-You learn about human's horrible eating habits, and you want to help-

Nutrition as a vampire is a simpler struggle in your eternally long life. It doesn't get simpler than needing the blood of creatures you find in your path. The closest thing you'd get to maintaining a supposed balanced diet, would be to drink a good amount of blood every two weeks so you didn't go mad.

It had been so incredibly long since you'd have to worry yourself on the matter of food. Most of the time you didn't even notice it in passing anymore, you knew that humans would eat at certain times a day now, but you'd never cared for what exactly.

At least that was until the group of four men you found yourself inconveniently attached to.

You had never expected to find yourself so observant of other beings’ behavioral pattern until now, well unless they were a target for you to hunt. You'd very quickly found out in your observations that humans are quite horrible with the things they put in their body.

You try to make sense of it but come up short, they have so much technology now compared to when you were a meek child, why wouldn't they take advantage and eat healthy?

It wasn't that the 141 were too bad in their eating patterns, but it is not a one-time occurrence that you would find them chugging the nearest nutritional meal because they forgot to eat due to rough workdays, and only noticed once their stomach screamed at them.

After witnessing such a thing a few times from each of them, you feel an instinctual kick in your brain. A drive to make sure that they are well taken care of, you're older than them by a long shot, arguably wiser by experience, it shouldn't be a problem, right?

Well, turns out that since you were a kid, things have changed a lot in all worlds, culinary too.

You couldn't remember the last time you made a meal for the taste or to satiate hunger, and it had been well over a few hundred years since you'd touched anything cooking related. You had never needed to so why would you.

It was a weird world to set yourself back into, a lot of the tools were foreign to you, the techniques you found on the internet made no sense to you.

It's how you found yourself in this predicament, trying to cook pasta for them, or for someone at least.

It wasn't going exactly how you planned it, you aren't sure how you managed it but the pot is smoking and the pasta is burnt. You tried everything you could think of, and now you're resorting to staring it down and hoping to intimidate it into working….

That's not really working either.

You were starting to get sick of the smell that was in the kitchen, your nose wrinkled for what felt like the hundred time as you did your best to withstand it. You had really wanted to do this for them, to show some sort of affection or appreciation, and maybe you could get them to eat better. They were soldiers, they needed their strength.

"Solis!" the sound of his voice almost made you squeal in surprise, "What in the bloody hell are you doing?!"

Price quickly moved over to you, moving you to take a few steps back while he took the burnt food off the heat. His panicked expression said it all, and you couldn't help but feel a little anxious that you had done something horribly wrong.

The sound of Gaz's laughing made you turn your head, his grin wide as he rushed past you to open the window and let in some fresh air. You quickly moved out of view of the window, despite being later evening the sun was still going strong.

You hated summers with a passion, there was even less you could enjoy in comfort, the nights were so much shorter, and the heat was not merciful on your sensitive skin.

"Wait were you trying to cook?" Gaz asked, clearly intrigued by your pot of nightmares that Price had pushed into the sink.

You grimaced, taking another step back only to be met with a warm flat surface. The amount of times in your life you had been sneaked up on by humans were few and far between. Except when it came to Ghost, the number of times he's almost made you scream out in surprise was too many.

"Oh my god what are you all doing in here!" you yell out, whipping your body around to look into Ghost's inquiring eyes. He gave you a pat on the back, having gotten used to scaring you far quicker than you had to getting scared, and walked over to sit by the small table.

"Just finished up a meeting," Price answers you, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest.

You sigh and walk over to him, standing on his right and mimicking him out of habit, having to follow him around most missions it tended to carry over so you wouldn't get in trouble for whatever dumb reason.

You look towards Gaz who is taking way more interest in the burnt pasta than needed. While you appreciated his curiosity in most areas, you'd prefer it if it wasn't in your failures. "You know you could've just told us if you needed…pasta…" he says and looks towards you, clearly suppressing another chuckle.

"Well, it wasn't for me…" you mumble, you would've begun to explain if you attention wasn't diverted by a frantic Soap joining in on the small ensemble that's apparently now happening in this kitchen.

He completely brushed past all of your questions to go almost rip the fridge door off, and search for something to eat. "Oh lord finally," he grumbles as he rips the plastic off a granola bar and almost eats it in one bite.

"Not gonna savor it?" Gaz comments, clearly enjoying the chaos this evening.

"Oh, don't tell me that's the only thing you've eaten today," you ask him annoyed, hoping that this wasn't another situation of you catching him in that. It hadn't happened a lot, but a few times were still too many in your humble opinion.

His movements turn suspiciously slow, a guilty person caught in the act. He closes the fridge and slowly turns to look at you, chewing the granola bar done before speaking.

"Solis….listen…"

"Oh, for fucks-"

"No no, hey!" he exclaims, stopping your assumptions before they run wild, "Look I ate a big breakfast, and then I meant to eat lunch, but the mountain of paperwork and meetings kept me busy, it’s not my fault."

"What kind of person nearly works themselves to collapse, then eats a granola bar and calls it a day!" you push yourself away from the counter, getting closer to Soap in an attempt of enunciating your seriousness.

"Says the person who eats a rat and calls it a meal," he retorts defensively, making his way to the cabinets to get himself a glass.

The gasp you let out in response has everyone turning heads, and yours turned to ghost. "Ghost i told you that in confidence!" you hiss out with a pointed finger towards him.

"I didn't say shit."

Soap turns back towards you after he gets his glass of water, a grin on his lips at seeing your pouted expression. "I've seen ye chase the rats on base like a madman during the night," he takes a sip of his water, almost speaking down into it because of his own eagerness.

"Well…they…are just fun to chase okay…"

"Aye, rat exterminator," Soap says with a chuckle, almost choking on the water he was trying to down.

"You're like a cat you know that" Gaz comments in again, crossing his arms over his chest and mimicking his captain’s stoic stance that hasn't changed in an almost eerily long time.

"I am not!"

Price clears his throat, and you almost forget about the whole debacle when you see his smile, you've told him before how it's your weakness and he definitely uses it to his advantage. "Well i for one appreciate your cat like behavior, our rat problem has never been lower than since you arrived," he mentioned teasingly.

You groaned in response, rubbing your hands over your face and trying to contain your own embarrassment, the last thing you needed was to be known as the vampire who chases rats. Well, the more likely scenario would be that you would be known as a human who chases rats….which is arguably worse.

"God, would you all just eat better! Fucking hell." you huff out leaving the matter be and taking a seat next to Ghost.

It doesn’t take long for them clear out of the kitchen once again, with all 5 of you in there it gets stuffy rather fast for the small kitchen. Most of them only came in there for a small objective either way, and once they were sure you weren't gonna try to continue cooking your burnt pasta, they left you be.

Everyone except Gaz.

"Would you actually like to learn how to cook?" he asks curiously, looking at you with a tilted head. He had waited till the others left, leaving enough space for you and to do said cooking should you agree.

You contemplated it for a few moments, considering the options of it all. If Gaz had offered then he had time to teach you, and it could be useful. You doubted the others would mind if you cooked them something every now and then, and then you didn't have to complain about them forgetting to eat.

"Yeah okay…that'd be nice."

His brown eyes glints in excitement at the prospect of being able to teach you. "Good…I was about to get something cooking out here anyway, it would be a good opportunity," he says cheerily and starts rummaging around, getting the different tools and ingredients he needed while you watched him intently.

"Oh, wait is that what you do out here all the time?" you ask curiously and walk closer to him, seeing him bring out the ingredients for something that could turn into a pretty good soup.

"Yeah?" he asked back a little confused, "What did you think I was doing?" He places down a cutting board along with some red pepper and instructing you to cut it.

You looked at it a little skeptically, you were skilled with knives in your own opinion, but it wasn't often you were cutting up bell pepper. "I don't know…I kind of just thought you liked the kitchen," you mention, feeling heat rise in your cheeks at your own stupidity.

The hearty laughs he lets out warms both your face and your heart, even if it was at your expense, you were glad, he could enjoy himself in it. "Are you sure you were human once?" he asked teasingly, nudging your side before moving past you and getting a new pot out.

"Hey! it was a very different time back then," you say with a huff, wincing as you almost cut down into your finger, "I haven't had to pay attention to humans like that for a long time you know."

"Yeah, I bet" he chuckles, looking at you with a grin that brought out your own. You couldn't help but laugh at yourself too, it was all a bit ridiculous when you thought about it, but you did feel lucky to have someone like Gaz to help you along your way.

"C'mon, I’ll show you how to actually operate a stove."

I am actually very horrible at cooking and also very horrible at eating good, so this might be a little self projecting, but it's okay because aren't we all?

Right?

Right?!

Ahem anyways.

#Archaic Blood #NoctMoon Fics #tf141 x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #tf141 #tf141 x vampire!reader #vampire!reader #gn!reader #gender neutral!reader

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ofstoriesandstardust · 2 years

Text

blood of the covenant (natasha “phoenix” trace)

a/n: there is criminally not enough fics for our dear nat. so i finally decided to try my hand at writing for her. as a bisexual woman, knowing i probably won’t be able to come out to my parents is disheartening and upsetting because all i’ve ever wanted is acceptance. so i decided to write some found family/chosen family fluff with nat because that’s what the world needs. cool? cool.

(also: @a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all wrote a very awesome coming out fic with phoenix that if you like this, should go read. or even if you don’t like mine. anyways.)

summary: (bisexual!reader) growing up in a military family, you know what will happen if the Iron Daggers find out about your relationship to their fellow pilot. she doesn’t seem to agree with you on the certain doom you’re expecting.

callsign: Ace

main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist

warnings: discussion of past experiences with homophobia from family members, outing as retaliation, mentions of being disowned, swearing, dear god please have mercy i am so in love with natasha, bob is bisexual and i stand by this, he’s also the best friend, Mav is the resident father figure i don’t make the rules, is it obvious i have the flirting skills of a rock, i’m not labelling Nat’s sexuality because everyone has different opinions on it, idk if this is clear but it takes place post-suicide mission, i have no idea if I got Nat’s character right

word count: 3,904

The feeling of Nat lightly moving her fingertips up and down your arm, the steadiness of her chest rising and falling, the muted sounds of the TV playing, all were slowly lulling you to sleep. Natasha gently shifted under you and you hummed, peeking an eye open at her. “Baby?” She asked softly.

"Yeah?”

“How do- how do you feel about telling the team?” She asked and you glanced up at her. “About us?” You shifted, moving to look at her fully and she moved to an upright position, keeping her arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

“I mean, I don’t know, it freaks me out a little bit to be honest.”

“Why honey?” She asked, moving a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You shrugged.

“I know how military folks are, and I know that they aren’t gonna be supportive so- why-”

“Baby, it’s okay. We don’t have to tell them right now, not if you don’t want to. But I don’t think they’re gonna be mean about it.”

“Nat-”

“Just think about it okay?” You nodded, the look of pure love in her eyes overwhelming you. “I love you.” She whispered, placing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“I love you.”

You giggled at your girlfriend as she approached the showers in the locker room. “You’re gross.” You said as she set her stuff down.

“Yeah, Hangman left Bob and I out to dry again and it cost us the game and my not-having-to-do-200-pushups-in-95-degree-heat.” You snickered.

“When will he learn?” You teased, admiring how your girlfriend managed to be exceptionally pretty even while sweaty and disgusting. She shot you a smirk, moving towards you, despite the fact that you had just gotten out of the shower yourself. “Oh, no, no, Phoenix, you’ll get me all gross too.” You groaned as she moved towards you.

“Oh no, guess you’ll have to shower with me then.” She said smirking as she placed her hands on your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands found her waist as she slowly deepened the kiss. Sweat be damned, you couldn’t get enough of her.

“Jesus Christ, you two!” Halo yelled and you leaped away from Phoenix, heart beating against your chest.

“Sorry Halo.” Phoenix apologized, a laugh gracing her features. You felt nauseous and put a hand out against the tile of one of the showers to steady yourself. Halo was still covering her eyes, making Nat laugh harder. “You’re fine Halo, I promise I won’t go back to making out with my girlfriend. Least not while you’re here.”

“Last time I forget my stuff.” She grumbled, moving towards one of the showers. “Wait- girlfriend? The two of you are-”

“Halo, you can’t tell anyone.” You found yourself saying, a pit of ice forming in your stomach at the sheer horror of the thought.

“You let the wrong person find out then.”

“Halo, I’m serious.” You said firmly. “No one can find out.” A flash of hurt crossed Phoenix’s face but almost as quickly as it arrived, it was gone. Halo raised her hands in surrender.

“Fine, I can keep my mouth shut about this one. But maybe the two of you should consider keeping your hands off of each other in public if you don’t want people knowing.” You flipped her off as she snickered, disappearing back into the rest of the locker room. You turned back to your girlfriend, still feeling slightly nauseous. She shook her head and turned on the water to the shower.

“Nat.” You groaned, already feeling that she was angry with you. You were greeted with the shower curtain shutting in your face and you sighed as you moved back to your locker.

Maverick had decided to reward the team with a day of dogfight football, given the San Diego heat wave happening and per usual, it turned into a day of utter chaos. You sat off to the side with Bob after a few hours, sipping beer as you watched Rooster and Hangman stand in a very heated debate about who had actually scored the point for their team. “Nix is mad at you.” He said softly as you watch Phoenix pull Rooster away from Hangman.

“I know.” Bob was the only one on the team who knew your relationship and the WSO had been sworn to secrecy, only being told after confessing his own bisexuality to you and Nat late one night.

“Are you gonna fix it?”

“Explain to me how I’m gonna fix it Bob.”

“You could start by telling them.” Before he’d even finished his sentence, you were shaking your head. “Why are you so against telling them?”

“Because it’s not safe. Because I know how this ends.”

“How does it end?”

“With me losing my friends and the only decent father figure I’ve ever had and I can’t- I can’t go through that again.” Bob took a sip of his drink, studying you carefully.

“Your family isn’t supportive, are they?”

“I’m living in sin. This isn’t what’s expected of me and until I start acting like I’m supposed to, there’s no place for me among the greats.” You whispered, repeating the words your Dad had said the night he’d kicked you out and cut off contact.

“What are we girlies gossiping about?” Coyote asked, placing himself in between you and Bob and you startled. Bob rolled his eyes at Coyote as Hangman, Rooster, and Phoenix made their way over, Fanboy and Payback not far behind them. Halo was currently trying throw Fritz into the ocean while Harvard and Yale cheered her on. Omaha was nowhere to be found and if you had to guess, he was probably down the beach talking to some girl who’d caught his attention. If you turned just slightly, Maverick was stood on the porch of the Hard Deck talking to Penny.

“You done already?” Bob called out, choosing to ignore Coyote’s question.

“You quit like halfway through, man.” Coyote said.

“Who won?” You called, also ignoring Coyote. Coyote threw his hands up in the air in exasperation as he grabbed a beer from the cooler. Phoenix chuckled.

“No one. Hangman and Rooster kept forgetting they were on the same team.”

“Will there ever be a day where we can live with peace and harmony between the two of you?” You asked as the group arrived. “I mean, the bickering was entertaining for like, the first 5 minutes, but now the two of you just sound like an old married couple.” The two boys immediately began protesting at your words as Phoenix sat down next to you. You shot her a smile and she returned it. Things had been weird ever since Halo had found out about your relationship and although she’d kept her word, you knew keeping the relationship from the team was tearing at your relationship. Ignoring the two men who had now devolved to bickering with one another and a muttered agreement from the team about throwing them in the ocean, Payback and Fanboy sat down with the group.

“What were you and Bob chatting about up here?” Fanboy asked as he popped his beer open.

“Man, y’all are so nosy.” You muttered and Phoenix shot you a side glance.

“Ace, you keep so many secrets from us, you never tell us anything.” Coyote groaned and you raised your eyebrows.

“Hey Ace, is your Dad Admiral Frank Roberts?” Maverick called as he and Penny moved towards the group. “Penny thinks so but I think she’s wrong.” You slowly nodded.

“I didn’t know you’re from a military family.” Rooster said, clearly having lost interest in his argument with Hangman as he grabbed a beer of his own, sitting down in the sand with the rest of the group. You shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t talk to them.” You felt Nat’s eyes on you as the group turned to look at you.

“How come?” Coyote asked and you shrugged again, not loving all the attention.

“It’s complicated.” Rooster waved his hand, expecting you to continue and you shook your head.

“Nope, that’s all you’re getting Bradshaw.” Maverick made a face and almost gave half a laugh and you turned to look at him. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, I’ve just never had that great of experiences with your Dad.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.” He looked at you, studying for a minute.

“Well, despite that, you turned out pretty damn good kid.” Your cheeks burned, and you hoped everyone would think it was the beginning of a sunburn.

“Thanks Mav.” You whispered and he patted your shoulder. Maverick quickly changed the topic, telling a story from his early days as a pilot. Phoenix nudged your shoulder as you tried to blink back tears.

“You okay?” She whispered and you nodded, but quickly got up and walked away from the group. You couldn’t let them see you cry.

You stood in the kitchen of your apartment, quietly getting a glass of water. Natasha had come over that night but things had been awkward and she’d long since fallen asleep in your bed anyways. Your brain was too busy weighing the events of the day, the ghosts of your past, the dilemmas of the present, so no, sleep was not exactly an option. You hadn’t wanted to wake Natasha so you stood in the kitchen, arms keeping you upright against the sink as you looked out over your yard. After you had left the group, Bob had come and found you and urged to let Nat in, tell her about why you didn’t want to tell the team. She knew you didn’t talk to your family but not why. There was no reason to project onto her or upset her. It would merely cause problems.

But now this was causing problems. You knew that the two of you were at a standstill in your relationship and you knew, that on some level, Nat being able to be authentically herself with her friends was a top priority for her. And she couldn’t do that if she was in a relationship she was hiding. You swallowed, taking a sip of water as you thought about where the two of you would go from here. So lost in thought, you hadn’t heard your girlfriend come into the kitchen until her arms were wrapped around your waist and her head tucked up on your shoulder. “It’s late baby.” She muttered, still sleepy. “Why’re you up?” You shrugged.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Why baby?” She whispered and you thought about telling her the truth as you eyes burned with tears. You knew where this was headed.

“Are you going to break me up with me if we don’t tell them?” You whispered, keeping your attention on the garden. She startled up, blinking away the sleep on her face.

“Baby...”

“Answer the question.”

“Baby, I just wish you’d tell me why you don’t want them to know. Why you freaked out so bad when Halo found out.” You shook your head, moving away from her.

“You’re avoiding the question.” She sighed, biting her lip.

“Please don’t make me do this.” She whispered and you shook your head, trying to blink back the unshed tears.

“Nat, I can’t- I can’t tell them.” You said, the first few tears starting to fall. “I can’t.”

“Baby, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

“I love you Nat, I do, but I can’t lose my family again. I just finally got one.” She moved towards you and you didn’t stop her from wrapping her arms around your chest, bringing you to hers. Your head fell into the crook of her neck as you cried, shoulders heaving with sobs. She held you tightly, whispering soft nothings in your ears as you broke down. You chest ached with the pain of knowing you’d lose your second family over this, but also maybe that you’d lose Nat too. Being with you wasn’t easy, and you knew you gave the pilot a run for her money. Eventually, after what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, when it felt like you had no tears left to cry, you tried to pull away from Nat. She kept her grip firmly on your waist, not letting you go far.

“Darling, please tell me what’s going on. I’m worried about you.” She whispered, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“God, it’s so stupid.” You muttered, shaking your head.

“It’s not, sweetheart.” She assured and the use of the name she reserved for you and you only made your heart flutter, no matter the circumstances. You bit your lip, glancing away from her and reaching up to wipe away the remnants of your tears.

“Penny’s right, that my Dad is Admiral Frank Roberts. And he, uh, he’s very clear on how his children are expected to act. And uh, being bisexual is on the very long list of dishonorable ways to behave. According to him, it’s a sin and isn’t right, and below the standards we were raised. And, well, in my early 20′s, my sister and I were fighting about, god I don’t even remember what-” Your voice faltered as you thought back to the painful nigh that took everything from you.

The kitchen door slammed behind your sister and your heart sank. You knew what she was about to do and with a deep breath, you followed behind her. Your parents, who had been in the middle of eating dinner, paused, listening to her as she angrily told them she had something to tell them. You froze in the doorway, heart beating against your ribcage.

“(Y/N)’s bisexual. She’s got a girlfriend and everything.” Your sister spat and you briefly closed your eyes. You Dad dangerously lowered his fork to this plate, eyes narrowed.

“(Y/N), is this true?” He asked slowly, the venom clear in his eyes. You knew there was no point in lying, knew with one look through your phone, it would show the truth. You nodded slowly as your Dad rose from the table. He paused in front of you, dangerously close to your face. You willed yourself to remain firm, defiant. “You know how I feel about those kinds of people.” He hissed and you swallowed. “You know how I feel about my kids being associated with those kinds of people.” He took a step back. “You’re living in sin, what you’re doing. This isn’t what’s expected of you and as far as I’m concerned you are no daughter of mine. There is no place for people like you among the greats like me.”

“Dad-”

“You’re a disappointment and a disgrace to the Roberts name and legacy. You always will be.” You took a shallow breath as he took every shot at you that he could.

“Frank-” Your mom protested but he turned to her.

“Can you honestly say that that is the kid we raised?” He asked pointing to you. She shook her head slowly, a distance in her eyes. He turned back to you, anger radiating off of him.

“Get out of my house.”

“-well, to make a horrible story short, she outed me to my parents and my Dad disowned me.” Phoenix took in a sharp breath as you finished your sentence.

“Darling, I don’t-” She took a deep breath to steady herself and moved her hands up to grasp your face, forcing you to make eye contact with her. “Darling, there is nothing wrong with you, do you hear me? It’s not a sin, or dishonorable, or anything else that he might have said to you. You love who you love. You’re human. You’re so, so well-loved. By me, by Bob, by Mav, hell, even Hangman’s got a soft spot for you.” You snorted at that and she gave you a soft, albeit watery, chuckle. “I love you, and I’m so proud of you. I know your parents probably aren’t saying it. What your sister did, well-” She took a deep breath as a flicker of anger crossed her face. “Well, it was shitty and it was cruel and you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of that.” You nodded, feeling the tears once again crawl up your throat again, but this time for a different reason. “I’m proud of you and I wake up grateful every day that you chose me to stick out life with and I want to shout it from the rooftops and rub it in our friends faces every goddamn day.” You chuckled and she smiled, rubbing your cheekbone with one of her thumbs. “We don’t have to ever tell the team if you don’t want to but they’re not going to react they way you think they’re going to, the way your family did. And if anybody dared to speak to you that way, hell, I’d be getting in my F18 getting ready to take a dishonorable discharge for crushing them.” You let an outright laugh at that, a warm feeling settling in your chest. You nodded, pulling Nat into a hug.

“Thank you.” You murmured into her shoulder. You weren’t sure what you were thanking her for specifically but you wanted her to know how grateful you were she was there with you. As if hearing your thoughts, she pressed a soft kiss to your neck.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else baby.”

You took a deep breath as the two of you entered the Hard Deck, holding her hand. You had made the decision to tell the team tonight and you were willing to brave any reaction they had, so long as Phoenix was by your side. You appeared at the pool table, where everyone was located, minus Mav. Phoenix squeezed your hand gently as the two of you stopped and attention turned to the two of you. “Alright fuckers, listen up. Ace and I are dating and we love each other very much. If anybody has a problem this, you can take it up with me.” The table stared back at her in shock as you gripped onto her hand, sure your knuckles were going white.

“You all owe me so much money.” Rooster said finally, turning back to the group. Nat raised an eyebrow.

“Bradshaw, you bet on my relationship?”

“Oh, hell yeah. You two were not exactly subtle. We just placed bets on when you’d tell us.” Nat cocked her head as you spluttered.

“Halo, you promised!” The team looked over to her, curious.

“You knew?” Coyote asked incredulously. She shrugged her shoulders.

“I walked in on them making out.”

“But she was sworn to secrecy.” Phoenix reassured, watching as Rosoter’s eyes went wide.

“As was I.” Bob said from his seat on the side. The team swiveled to him.

“Trace, I can not believe you didn’t tell me!” Rooster exclaimed and she chuckled.

“Rooster, don’t blame her, it was my decision.” You protested as he stared in shock at Nat. After a few minutes, when the shock wore off, the table picked up it’s normal chatter as Bob hugged you.

“Proud of you Ace.” He whispered and you squeezed him.

“Thanks Bob.” You pulled away and glanced over to the bar, seeing Maverick talking to Penny.

“Does he know?” He asked and you shook your head. You took a deep breath and turned back to Phoenix.

“Hey, I’m gonna go talk to Maverick real quick.” She nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“I love you.” She whispered, and you smiled.

“I love you too.” You shook out your nerves as you walked over to the bar and towards Penny and Maverick. They smiled at you and you had to remind yourself that this was Maverick. “Hey Mav.” You said and he greeted you. “Could I possibly- could we go talk outside for a moment?” His eyes flickered over to Penny but he nodded. He grabbed his beer and the two you left the relatively busy Hard Deck and out to the beach. He sat down on the bench and you sat next to him, taking a deep breath. You felt his eyes watch you carefully as you fiddled with the rings on your hand.

“You okay, kiddo?” You shook your head, feeling on the verge of an anxiety attack. He shifted as his position went from casual to concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, nothing really, I’ve just- just got something to tell you and I’m scared.” He took a sip of his beer, nodding slowly.

“Well kid, I’m ready to hear it whenever you want to say it.”

“Um, well, okay, here goes nothing I guess. Um, I’m bisexual. Phoenix and I are dating, have been for the past few months.” He was silent for a minute.

“You worried I’m gonna get the two of you in trouble? Cause I won’t-” You cut him off with a shake of your head.

“No, um, it’s kind of embarrassing actually. Um, well, you’re kind of like my father figure, uhm, especially because I don’t talk to mine, and uh, well this is the reason why I don’t.” Maverick took in your words.

“I don’t think that’s embarrassing at all.” He said finally and you let out a watery laugh, not realizing you were close to tears. “I love you all, and yeah, I guess I’ve kind of taken on the role of Dad figure, haven’t I?” You nodded as he pulled you into a side-hug. “Kiddo, if we’re being honest, I’ve known about you and Phoenix since she ripped Coyote a new one for screwing you over during training.” You gave a small laugh and he shook your shoulders. “But, uh, being in the military for as long as I have, I’ve heard a thing or two about your Dad.”

“Oh yeah?” He grimaced, nodding.

“Yeah, you- you hear a thing or two about how he treats his kids too.” You looked over at Mav.

“Does, he- does he talk about what he did?” Mav nodded slowly.

“He’s very proud of how he treated you. And, uh, when I first met you, I thought ‘There’s no way this kid is his.’ Because Ace, you are an outstanding pilot and an even better woman and in no way compare to the vileness that is your father.” You sniffed.

“Thanks Mav.” He smiled at you.

“I love you kid, and I’m happy that you’re happy. I’m happy that Phoenix make you happy because you deserve it. And I know that the Navy loves to tout it’s diversity, but I also know you know how it really is. So thank you for trusting me with this, because I know it’s not easy.” Maverick squeezed your shoulder. “What the saying, blood is thicker than water?”

“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” You corrected and he laughed.

“Of course you know that. Anyways, my point is, you’ve got a pretty good group of friends in there, who really care about you and Trace. And, uh, your family might not have been supportive but they sure as hell will be.” You smiled, not realizing how badly you needed to hear those words.

“Thank you, Maverick. You really- really don’t understand how much this means to me.”

“Of course, kid. Your family’s always gonna be here for you. Never gonna lose them again.”

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