Hello! Here’s my official introduction and navigation area.
I like to write mostly for CoD, mainly F/GN!Reader and for Sgt. Keegan Russ, my requests are open if you’re ever interested in that! I'm also a big fan of Sleep Token so there's gonna be a lot of fics just based on their songs/lyrics.
I am also just getting back into writing (haven’t in years) so this is mostly practice for me :)
NAVIGATION
KEEGAN P. RUSS
ʅ The Scent of the Past: light angst, ‘what could’ve been’, unspoken feelings.
ʅ Mask: drabble, didn’t realise that was yours whoops, Keegan’s sweet about it, super short fic
ʅ Swirling Warm Lights and Pools of Blue: one shot, friends to lovers, party but it's not hype on you or his end, maybe slightly yearning undertones idk, kissing
Rare night at base and Keegan's stealing your goddamn drink but then you're both on the balcony and he's saying things that make you think you drank more than you did
WORDCOUNT: 1.4k
TAGS: Friends to lovers, tipsy, party, more vibes then plot (cus it's me that's all i really write), pretty stars and balcony scene, keegan's more social than usual
A/N: first post in several months kinda nervous,, hope you guys like this one, not sure about my characterisation of Keegan here but we ball
You lean back on the counter absent mindedly, nursing a drink in your hand, the golden hue turning orange in the warm lighting.
It's a rare day for everyone, a celebration party thoughtfully put together after a major mission ending in success--commander said it would be good for morale, you think he's right.
There's laughing somewhere in the other room, you don't think too much of it but it sparks some warmth in your chest. Everyone's a little tipsy at this point, soldiers mingling or re-enacting some weird funny situation to each other, there's music drumming in the background, and for once the air doesn't feel heavy.
"How long are you gonna keep staring down your drink?" Keegan says beside you, he's close, you notice and apparently appearing from no where,
"For as long as i need to" you laugh, looking up at him, he's dressed more casually. Puffy jacket, jeans, mask off, and his short hair ruffled, you're not sure when you last saw him out of combat gear.
"Well I say you're done" He takes the glass from you, taking a sip, you can see him evaluating it.
"Rude" you huff, you're a bit tipsy at this point, still put together but enough to just let loose a little, contrary to when you first arrived and felt like a fish out of water--duty? You don't remember anymore.
He raises a brow at the drink itself "When did we get money for champagne?" you only shrug in response,
"Probably some old stock saved for events," you murmur "When did you get here anyway?" you recall not seeing any sign of him at all for a solid two hours.
"Uh just now" he tilts his head before taking another sip of your drink,
"Is that why you're stealing my drink?" you narrow your eyes though make no move to snatch your glass back.
He darts his tongue out, licking the excess champagne off his lips--you can't help but glance at the movement but quickly bring your focus back to his eyes
"It's called borrowing and you're sharing" he smirks and if you weren't tipsy you might've been annoyed
"Well you lazy bum the champagne table is right there" you gesture to the table quite literally across the room, he follows the gesture with his eyes barely sparing said table a glance before looking back at you.
"In my defense, i didn't see it, aaaand i wanted to talk to you" he raises his hands your drink still cupped in his other hand and you roll your eyes snatching it back and setting it on the counter behind you.
"Okay well how are you enjoying the party so far Russ" you say a small grin pulling at your lips, no doubt you felt a little flattered by that.
"Well seems like a party to me" he shrugs and you fight back a snort
"I wouldn't pin you as someone who knows anything about parties"
He raises a brow at this, you can practically see the offense bloom on his face as if you'd personally walked across the room to deliver a slap to his face.
"Rude" he huffs and crosses his arms looking elsewhere.
Maybe it's the atmosphere but you've never thought Keegan to act so childish? It brings a laugh blooming out of you, tossing your head back with it.
"Stop pouting," you punch him lightly on the bicep, he does before sighing
"I'm gonna check out and familiarise myself with the party" he brings a hand up to ruffle your hair before walking off into the crowd, you send him a two finger salute before picking your drink up and finishing it off.
You feel warm, the lights feel as though they're blurring together in a pleasant way, tonight is a good night, you conclude--though your energy for socialising is nearly fully depleted so you walk yourself to the balcony.
You swing the door open, stepping out. The air is chilly, you didn't realise how stuffy it felt inside and the stars are so so pretty at this base.
You lean on the railing humming to yourself and just enjoying the night. And for a while you're alone before you hear the door behind you open, the sound from inside briefly seeping out. You don't look towards the sound somehow knowing who it is already.
A hand finds it's way on your back a gentle voice following soon after "You okay?" it's soft and has an edge of concern to it,
"Mhm, great actually" you murmur head tilting to look at him, he looks pretty in this light, his eyes taking on a deeper tone--you could drown in them you think.
"Had me worried" he chuckles, his shoulder is touching yours hand still spreading warmth on your back.
Keegan let's a soft exhale out turning his back to the railing and leaning on it, his arms crossing. He looks towards the stars and you watch him, you miss the warmth of his hand.
"Why're you out here?" you ask inquisitively, he turns his head toward you a look flashing across his eyes as he meets yours, but it leaves as soon as you notice it.
"Think i familiarised myself enough in there, you?" he says smoothly
"I'm out of social energy" you simply say and he raises a brow
"Should i be out of your hair then?" he tilts his head to the side, and you only shake your head,
"Just don't expect a good conversation out of me" you say lowering your head onto your crossed arms on the railing.
Comfortable silence goes on for some time, just soaking up the company of each other under the twinkling stars. The party inside is still going strong, the echo of laughter making it's way out to both of you.
"Do you not wanna go mingle?" you blink slowly as you watch him watch the stars, he lowers his gaze to you incredulous
"Mingle? Pshh i'm perfectly content out here with a pretty girl" he laughs, it makes you dizzy,
Then you blink, once, twice, mind circling back to the end of his sentence. You don't remember drinking that much, but you feel a flush of warmth and you're sure it's not from the alcohol.
Yeah the guy you've been silently into for so long just called you pretty that's gotta be some drunk delusion and you're spinning straight into believing it actually happened.
You swallow, your mouth feels dry all of the sudden, you watch him, scrutinise even but there's no sign of change.
"Are you drunk?" you ask and he scoffs before full body turning to you
"If you think a few sips of champagne can get me drunk you're seriously underestimating me"
You raise your head, to look at him properly--from your view he's totally not drunk in any sense.
A few beats of silence pass for before he shifts his weight,
"You know, you scared the hell out of me on that mission" he mutters eyes averted.
Yeah you scared the shit out of yourself too when you almost blew up, you think.
"Really?" you say not even realising he was aware of that debacle,
"One moment you're on comms like usual and next it's kaboom and silence, no shit i was worried" he looks at you pointedly and you flush slightly out of embarrassment.
"Please don't do that again" he says lowly, eyes steeling into something you wouldn't know how to name, you feel like squirming under his gaze.
"I'll try" you breathe out, feeling a bit of whiplash from the shift,
He raises a hand to your cheek, thumb under your eye. You swallow, eyes on his and he looks like he's memorising every feature on your face, like if he ran his eyes over you enough nothing bad could possibly ever happen to your existence.
"Keegan?" you say softly, his eyes dart down to your lips
"Can i?" his voice is rough but somehow gentle and you can only nod, speechless under his gaze.
He kisses you, slowly, it's tentative, and his lips are slightly rough against yours, you place a hand on his chest another snaking around his neck.
His hand on your face moves to the nape of your neck sliding into your hair, mouth parting against yours to kiss you deeper as he places his other hand on your waist.
You feel lightheaded when his tongue slides against yours, heartbeat thumping in your ears before you break away panting eyes half lidded.
You've got so many questions but you hear him chuckle and break into a laugh and you can't help but join in, breathless in the moment
"To think i wasn't planning on going to this party" he smiles pressing his forehead onto yours.
You giggle before stealing another kiss from him "I've gotta be so drunk" you mutter
"No, you're perfect" he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
In case you couldn't tell......yes I drew him again. Sarge Keegan. But Idk I hope you can see the resemblance even just a little bit. I did change his hair style and make him look younger, probably around 25/27 imagine in his early sergeant year? But gah daymn his eyes are so freaking hard to draw!
Fvk I feel frustrated. Here is the comparison of Brian Bloom reference photo with my drawing side by side.
Keegan P. Russ x GN!Reader
After a setback on a recon mission, you and Keegan find shelter in an abandoned cabin—where you find a reminder of your past and your once blooming relationship with him. Before ODIN struck and ripped it away.
WORDCOUNT: 4.3k
WARNINGS: Near death situations, self-doubt, no real resolution, canon typical violence, thoughts of slightly gory themes
A/N: Guys i was so sleep deprived writing this, please excuse any mistakes, and weird formatting
It was supposed to be a simple recon mission, scout the area, get intel, and get out. This… however was not simple; you take in sharp breaths as a bullet whizzes past your ear, as you run desperately for cover. The visibility was shit, it was the middle of winter and you weren't expecting an enemy sniper to have been perched anywhere near your recon zone since it was supposed to be the "safer" side.
Your mission partner, Keegan was on the other side of the fucking forest, it was supposed to be a quick sweep for both of you but with this sniper knowing your whereabouts there would surely be soldiers patrolling through the area soon enough.
You were always cautious, something Keegan had drilled into you the moment you entered base, that was the only reason you weren't dead in the snow right now, having glimpsed the glint of the sniper on your own perch right before you were shot at, Keegan would always emphasize the fact that enemies could be anywhere and damn it he was right, you'd have cursed him out if your lungs weren't burning with effort as you run through the snowy terrain.
Finally, you come upon a mound of dirt half your height, it almost looked like a den but whatever its purpose was didn't matter right now, so without hesitation you skid to a stop ducking quickly, pressing your back against it.
"Got a sniper on me, taking cover by a den" you huff to the comms, catching your breath, there's a few seconds before you hear a crackle, your earpiece coming to life, before you hear Keegan's voice
"co–don–enga—".
You furrow your brows trying to make out the words, but to no use, it was too broken up. "Hello? Keegan!?" you try again hoping it was just a momentary glitch, but there was only silence on the other end, nothing but your pulse hammering in your ears.
You were a moment too close to death, if you make a single wrong move you're out, but you can't stay here, not when your location is compromised and you have no way of reaching your teammate.
In front of you there were a series of mostly disconnected trees before the tree line gets thicker, if you were fast and smart enough you'd be able to run deeper into the forest and lose the sniper.
You crouch, bracing your hands on the dirt behind you. A deep inhale, followed by a push off the ground, and you practically launch yourself forward into a sprint, weaving through the trees in hopes of throwing the sniper's aim off.
Right as you pass the first two trees a bullet lodges itself into the ground right behind you, your ears ring, your breath hitches, and your lungs burn, but you keep running. The closer you get to the tree line the worse the pit in your stomach gets as the bullets come to nearly hitting their mark every weighted step.
Ironically enough, you thought that if it had been Keegan behind that scope you'd have been dead before you made it to any sort of cover—your line of thought quickly snaps when a bullet hits a tree that had been next to you the wood splintering and breaking, it would've gone straight through your skull if you had just been more to the left… Focus. Just like you were taught, just like Keegan would instruct you to.
After what nearly felt like an eternity of running and weaving through trees you finally make it past the initial tree line, though you don't stop for what feels like several minutes until all you can see are frost covered trees is when you finally feel safe enough to collapse under one.
You take a shaky breath, attempting to steady yourself before trying the comms again,
"Keegan?" you say shakily, adrenaline still pumping through your veins
"Kid? Sitrep now." You hear his voice over the line, it had an edge of worry to it, you could practically feel him tense up,
"Lost the sniper, I'm deep into the forest now, requesting rendezvous." you say, glancing at your shaking hand.
It had been a while since you entered the military and got good enough to be welcomed into the Ghosts, you never quite got over how fragile your body really was, how a singular shot could have you lying on a slab in a morgue–if you were even lucky enough for that.
Your chain of thought breaks when Keegan's voice crackles over the intercom,
"Copy, keep low yeah? I'm heading back to where we originally split"
"I'll be there" You stand up opting to cut through the forest and back to the point, your head running with thoughts about the mission, you'd have to lay low for a day or so grabbing the scraps of intel you can, they'd surely be on high alert but you could still finish it, though this small setback would've made it harder.
You'd usually beat yourself up over small things like this, this time was no exception. You felt inadequate next to the rest of the Ghosts, even though you knew they'd never think that of you. But you needed to be able to stand tall next to them, especially next to him.
Soon enough you make it to the point, cautiously looking around before stepping out into the small clearing, not a few seconds later you see Keegan's form emerge and a sigh of relief leaves your lips.
"They're already patrolling" he huffs looking over you for any injuries,
"But I found this abandoned cabin 'round the edge of the forest, we could hole up there for the time being," he says signaling to the direction of the cabin, you assume.
"Right" you sigh, feeling a pang of disappointment with yourself, you shouldn't have been spotted by that sniper, shouldn't have been spotted at all—
"Don't worry about it yeah? You're alive and that's what matters" your thoughts are broken by Keegan, reassuring, a warm hand on your shoulder, and soft eyes.
You press your lips to a thin smile "Yeah, let's head to that cabin?"
he simply nods in response moving to walk back to the direction he came from, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you were there.
"So everything clear on your end?" you ask, as you walk through the forest,
"Yeah, basically" he responds taking a turn
"Basically?" you tilt your head, and he nods and takes another look over his shoulder.
"You know I've got your six right?" you furrow your brows,
"I know, just making sure you're here with me." he simply says, you raise a brow confused but just shrug it off continuing the walk
"Okay.."
Soon enough you both reach the cabin, a bit dilapidated, clearly hasn't seen a soul in a while but still standing. Keegan walks up the patio, opening the door for you, as you walk in you murmur a small thanks before looking around,
"I cleared it when I first found it but I'll resweep the perimeter" he says his tone a little more relaxed than before,
You could feel his eyes on your form but you ignore it opting instead for a nod "I'll come with" you turn to look at him,
instead he shakes his head "No, you stay here. Want you to just relax a little"
He takes a hold of your shoulders guiding you to the living room and sitting you down on the couch,
"Got it?" he was being gentle but firm, blue eyes piercing yours,
"I can help" you protest voice low,
You can see his eye twitch before he sighs "Just sit still, you almost got shot down and i want the peace of mind it won't happen right now"
You're ready to fire back but you bite your tongue, realizing you haven't really shaken your nerves off
"Fine", he leans back taking his hands off your shoulders
"Atta girl" before walking off, you simply shake your head
"Be safe!" you call out before hearing the door shut.
With not much to do you decide to just look around the place, see if there's anything interesting lying around. Maybe the owner had quite the personality? Or perhaps they were just a boring loner living in the middle of nowhere. You open a few cupboards in the kitchen, spotting a bag of coffee beans slightly concealed in shadow.
You grab it to examine, it was almost empty—about four shots of espresso left you'd wager. The scent was strong and it was starting to bring you back somewhere you hadn't revisited since your life completely flipped.
When you were a barista before you were a soldier, in a local coffee shop. The place was quaint but cozy, walls painted with vines, vases of flowers on the available surfaces, and dark oak furniture. You knew the owner, Jill she was your mother's friend and you figured it'd be nice to help around her shop, and you did enjoy it, it felt comfortably warm most days, the customers were usually polite, days were predictable but comfortable, and you had something to do on the side.
You missed it, days back then were so simple. The coffee shop was actually where you had met Keegan, it was a slower day and you were mostly lounging behind the counter, perking up whenever a customer would enter to take their order, you knew most of the people coming in, they were regulars and at that point you'd memorized their orders as if they were your own.
The bell eventually rang and you stood up straight ready to greet the customer, but your brain short circuits for a moment when you see a tall, rugged, stranger walking up to the counter, dark grey cargo pants, and a fitted black tee, but his eyes… gosh you've never seen eyes so pretty.
You have to will yourself to function again, blinking and tearing your gaze away—worried thoughts of staring too much flooding your brain before you properly look up with a smile,
"Welcome! What can I get for you?" you say politely.
He looks at the menu overhead,
"Afternoon," he greets eyes narrowing at the menu before settling on your face,
You almost shortcircuit again from his voice
"What would you recommend? Sorry, not really into coffee all that much" he asks a slight tilt to his head, his expression sheepish.
You clear your throat "How about a Spanish latte? It's sweet enough but not overbearingly" You smile warmly
He nods "Sure,"
You tap his order into your screen before pausing,
"Oh would you like that hot or iced?" you notice he pauses a moment to think, weight shifting, he didn't seem used to all of this
"I'll leave that up to you" he finally says before his eyes start to wander the interior of the shop,
"Finally, I'll need your name" you say looking at him expectantly.
He clears his throat, head snapping back to you "Keegan" you nod before grabbing a cup and writing his name on the side.
After paying he simply walks off to a corner of the cafe, and you get to work making the best Spanish latte you've ever done, just before serving it you decide to write a cute little note right under where you scribbled his name 'Hope you like it!' nothing too crazy, just something cute and hopeful.
"Spanish latte for Keegan!" you call out placing the drink on the serving counter then turning to grab a straw, you bite back a yelp when you see him in front of you grabbing the cup not even seconds after you turn away
"Thanks" he hums,
You hold out the straw in response, still wide eyed; he takes it slowly with a tilt to his head, and you sputter out a 'Have a good day!' in hopes of seeming unbothered so you could get the scraps of your dignity back.
That's how you first met him—awkward, yes, but recalling it now it was rather endearing. He showed up again the day after, looking a little less unsure of himself, you greeted him with a warm smile hoping he had forgotten how flustered you were.
"Hey, I'll get that Spanish latte again?" you brighten up at that, already tapping his order into the screen
"I take it you liked it?" you beam,
He chuckles, a small shake to his head,
"Yeah, it was pleasant actually."
You inwardly praise yourself "I'm glad, thought you seemed like the type," you say, lips curling into a grin.
He raises a brow "I seem like the type?" he mutters his tone incredulous
You can't help but laugh "Yeah, don't ask me why"
And he simply shakes his head. "Fine, whatever the barista says I suppose".
You shrug before ringing him up.
Like clockwork your weekly routine started including him, his visits to the cafe were frequent and every time he'd order your conversations would get just a little longer. It was entirely pleasant, you bounced off each other rather well and it helped that he was always thoughtful, keeping in mind small details about you and making sure he never did anything you didn't like.
By the first month, you started expecting his visits as part of your daily routine, feeling a little happier behind the counter on the days you knew he'd visit. Things continued as normal for one more week until his visits abruptly stopped, you were confused the first day; maybe he was just busy and he'd come tomorrow. But he didn't, and you felt even stranger.
Sure, maybe it was a little silly that you were allowing a customer to influence your mood based on his visits but you couldn't help but feel a little down about it, he was after all someone that had become part of your routine, and you liked your routine unchanging.
Eventually, you shrugged it off, customers come and go, and this one was no different; your job was simply to make drinks and serve them. So you continued with your previous routine, greeting the regulars, making their usual, ringing them up, and going back to lounging.
Now and then you'd tend to the flowers, watering them or replacing them when they began to wilt. So when you clocked in that day you didn't expect anything different from the last two months. It was early morning, the first batch of customers would be coming in soon so you were prepping the espresso machine while humming a soft tune under your breath as you checked the water pressure, you were about to walk off to the back room when you heard the bell ring, your head instinctively snapping to the door.
You see a familiar figure walk to the counter, you pause before walking to the register, a strange feeling was coiling in your chest.
"Hey," he said a small wave accompanying his greeting, you stared at him, his hair was much much shorter and he looked a lot more tired, you wondered where he was for those two months but you pushed those thoughts down
"Hi" you simply say in response your lips curling into a small polite smile, you shifted your weight tearing your gaze away and settling it on the screen below you.
"Spanish Latte?" You ask already tapping in the order,
"Yeah" he says, he seemed unsure of how to place himself, weight shifting, eyes flitting about.
"I haven't seen you in a while… how've you been?" you ask looking up at him, you kept your tone polite, even though you felt a little strange you were also a little overjoyed seeing him again, and you weren't sure what to make of that.
His eyes landed on you, his expression softening
"Yeah sorry about that, didn't realize I'd be gone for so long," he said sheepishly, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.
"But I've been alright, hope you have been too" You couldn't help but crack a smile at that, a genuine one.
"I've been well, thank you." You hum just like that, you found yourself talking to him again as though the routine had never gone.
He came in early that day you thought maybe he did it so you'd have the time to talk because he invited you over to his table; saying something along the lines of 'there won't be anyone for a while so you might as well sit down with me.' You didn't wanna pry about his two month long absence, not wanting to be weird or anything—but you didn't have to, he told you the moment you sat down.
You learned that he was military, he was deployed for the two months he was absent, and god did you feel a little embarrassed being so bothered about it.
"Damn I missed having this" he quipped taking a sip of his drink.
"Yeah I bet, what do you even get out there?" you chuckle, leaning forward slightly,
He paused thinking for a moment "Shit." he deadpans
And you can’t help yourself from giggling.
Before he left that day you exchanged contacts, something along the lines of "So you know when I'll be gone" You smiled in response feeling warmed by the gesture.
Days like that continued, he'd come earlier or when it'd be quieter, you'd chat over coffee, and at some point, you had told him your schedule and you'd start eating out together on your breaks, nothing fancy–just a few stalls, you found out he was really into burgers so you'd frequent local burger stands, going through different ones each time.
And that's how you found yourself with him, a whiteboard in hand while he had a marker, ranking all the spots you've been at,
"Keegan that is so wrong!" you protest when he puts one of your favorites as the seventh,
"What? It's objectively right" he raises his hands
"They were great! I say top 3 at least" you protest rolling your eyes with a grimace, he raises a brow clearly unimpressed
"Yeah let's not get ahead of ourselves"
You groan in response and he smirks
"Objectively I'm right and you're being very biased" he hums his tone matter-of-fact,
You twitch, the sudden urge to smack him over the head with the whiteboard overtaking you, but instead you breathe a controlled exhale.
"Plus you order all the weird shit" he then says grinning and you swing.
About a year passes and your friendship with Keegan remains a constant, you had gotten closer over the months he would be around to the point where you couldn't remember when you didn't know him.
There'd be certain months where he'd be away but you didn't mind, there'd always be steady communication, he made sure of it. But his absences would stretch longer as his deployments would get longer, luckily he was home these days so you were expecting him like usual, having already prepared a cup of his usual, minutes before his entrance.
Right on time the bell chimes, the door swinging open as Keegan walks in, flowers in hand; it wasn't really a bouquet, no, but it was a handful of unarranged blooms and you couldn't help but raise a brow in question.
"Hey kid," he greets and you nod in acknowledgment, your eyes trained on the flowers,
"Flowers?" you tilt your head,
"Noticed the flowers beside you were starting to wilt." he explains "Figured I'd save you a trip".
Your eyebrows raise in surprise, pink dusting your cheeks in fluster. It really wasn't anything like that but you couldn't help the feeling that immediately surfaced in your chest,
"Oh. Thank you" you say sheepishly and he nods,
"If you want I can help you with them-" he offers gesturing, but you swiftly decline
"No, no, just do your usual thing. It's already nice you brought them to me" you let out a laugh reaching to grab them, he lets you take them eyes following the movement,
"Right" he nods towards the flowers ,
"Can i watch you arrange them then? I'm curious how the whole thing goes" he says leaning a little on the counter.
"Okay" you nod in response, grabbing the vase of wilted flowers.
You chuckle unsure of what the sudden interest in the arrangement was, it's not like this was the first time you did it with him around and he didn't seem too interested in it in the past.
From that day on his visits felt different, stolen glances, fingers brushing your own just a little too long, all that stuff that drove your mind to pieces in the attempt to decipher.
You were sat thinking hard about it when you feel a poke at your side.
"You're spacing out" he says softly,
You blink, eyes snapping to his,
"Sorry, I'm a little tired" you murmur, brushing it off
His brows furrow "You didn't sleep last night?" he asks a slight tilt to his head
"I did but I don't know, just feeling tired" you explain shrugging it off,
“You're a bad liar" he notes taking a sip of his drink.
You groan placing your hands over your face. You hear him chuckle, amused, before you feel your chair get pulled closer, the sound scathing your ears,
"What are you-?" you furrow your brows snapping your head to look at him, only to have your breath catch in your throat, he was close. Too close. Just inches away from your face
"C'mon there's only ten minutes left of your break and I wanna talk to you, not stare at you spacing out" he says pointedly,
"Is this necessary?" you mutter eyes narrowing,
"Well you're paying attention now aren't ya?" he says accompanying his statement with a flick to your forehead, you can only grumble in response.
You shake your head, the memory dissolving and instead being replaced by the feeling of the weight of the coffee bag still in your hands. The labels were mostly worn off, the scent still lingered but it didn't have the warmth you associated with it.
You sigh setting the bag down to look out the window. White, purely white snow and trees; completely unlike what you were used to, you can't help the pang in your chest as the coldness seeps into your bones, the snow was getting heavier and Keegan still wasn't back and you were getting just a little worried, you decide to just crash on the couch for the time being, seek warmth and what not instead of freezing in the kitchen.
You never would've imagined your life turning out like this, things seemed like they were going so well before they were ripped away from your grasp, you had made sure to leave claw marks; even though it hurt, even as your fingers bled.
It was supposed to be a normal day in the cafe, everything started fine, customers streaming in, orders being sent out, your best friend Keegan pestering you.
And it was pleasant, you were on break and idly chatting with him when hell broke loose, the earth beneath you caving and reconstructing, the world around you shaking.
Keegan immediately taking your hand and leading you out, you barely made sense of what was happening around you–screams, explosions, your very life being upended.
He led you through the hellscape your beloved town had become. Through collapsing houses and infrastructure he led you through them. Grip on yours never wavering as your mind was on the edge of breaking with the world around you–by the time you had gotten to relative safety and your senses came back your hand felt bruised.
Keegan had gripped onto you so tightly the entire time and the only thing you could do was cry into his arms as he whispered reassurances in your ears, hands carding through your hair in an attempt to comfort.
You wince at the memory, a bitter taste in your mouth surfacing, you swallow it down. You could revisit those memories all you want and tell yourself that there was something blooming in your friendship, but that didn't matter because ODIN trampled it before anything could ever come of it.
In the following years after, Keegan became your lifeline, he taught you everything you knew and helped you through everything he could, helped you transition from your life then to what it was now, you felt as though you owed everything to him.
You sigh, fluttering your eyes shut just as you hear the front door open, you perk up seeing Keegan walk through the door.
"Fucking blizzard out there" he huffs shutting the door as you bound up to him,
"I was just getting worried" you look over him, gear speckled in snow, and you gently brush it off his shoulders,
"Hey, you told me to be safe so I did" he chuckles rather dryly,
You press your lips into a thin smile before shaking your head
"ha-ha, I'm guessing it's clear out there?"
"We can rest for a little," he murmurs, bringing a hand up to your hair and smoothing it before glancing out the window
"Not like we have a choice"
The wind and snow were picking up and you shrug, walking back to the living room, Keegan follows shortly after, shedding most of his outer gear as he makes it to the couch. You sit down and he mirrors you doing the same thing,
"You ever wonder what our life would be like if ODIN didn't happen?" you ask softly,
he pauses for a beat, looking at you in thought,
"Well we wouldn't be in this shitty cabin, I probably would've taken us somewhere nicer" and you can only nod,
he scoots closer placing his head on your shoulder and you hum lowering your head onto his.
In the morning right as you two get ready to leave, you take a visit to the kitchen–taking the coffee beans off the counter savoring the smell for a few moments before tucking it into the back of the cupboard where you had found it, where it had belonged.
You didn't have the luxury of wishful thinking anymore so you'll walk away...But maybe in another world, another time, things could've gone differently.
You loved a good conversation, and all you wanted was to hear him talk.
WORDCOUNT: 2.4k
WARNINGS: light mentions of injury and tragedy, stale bread
A/N: I very lightly based Logan on Neil Perry from dps writing this, also sorry for weird pacing did not have a lot of steam for this unfortunately
The air is crisp, sun just having risen to its peak. It’s been endless days of briefing, training, and meetings. You being pulled and tossed around by different units and papers—Logan’s not any better, you haven’t seen him in days which isn’t the most unusual for your team, but you were on your own personal mission with him.
One that needed you to see him more frequently. You just wanted him to talk, spark a proper conversation instead of him just listening and looking as you spoke.
You’re well known in the base for being easy to get along with, to talk to—and it’s fitting, you like conversing, learning about people, all the things that made them excited, the pieces and facets of them that made the kaleidoscope they were.
And Logan… well you haven’t gotten a sound out of him at all. But he seemed interesting and there was something strangely welcoming about him, like a magnetised line from you to him.
Could be the delusion, or you could be totally onto something.
It also helped that he never pulled away from you, never showed a sign of discomfort, just silent curiosity.
And so you’re walking through the halls and into the lounge room, you see him sat on a couch elbows loosely set on his thighs, mask off.
Logan see’s you almost immediately, he’d pin himself as observant and aware but the way his eyes would fix themselves on you made him feel a little uneasy.
Uneasy in a way that you seemingly had no walls that kept him out, uneasy because he didn’t mind your presence—and most of all the fact he moved immediately to make space for you.
You grin and plop yourself onto the space beside him,
“I saw a bird today, it was blue” you hum, something mundane even a little childish.
Logan glances, his brow slightly raising.
“It landed on the fences, i haven’t seen any birds recently but crows and sparrows” you lean further into the couch and he mindlessly follows your movement.
You smile a little at that.
You talk for a while, about anything and everything. He listened quietly, but he stayed the entire time, sometimes looking at you intently the other anywhere else.
The next few days were a blur, you saw him around more and you would talk—well to him.
Today was at the makeshift training room, mats were laid across. From what you could see Logan had just finished a set, his back was turned to you a towel strewn on his shoulder, skin glistening with sweat, and breathing heavy.
You’d arrived just moments ago, unsure about approaching him so you stare for a little.
Logan’s standing still, hands on his hips and eyes on the weights beneath him, and his skin prickles; it wasn’t the shirt uncomfortably slick on his skin, wasn’t the slight ache in his muscle, it was something familiar something that scared and enthralled him all at once—pulling him to look, to see, to engage.
You walk closer, steps quiet and slow.
“Hello” your voice came out soft, tentative; looking for any sign that he’d be okay to be spoken to.
He faced you immediately, maybe too fast?
Your thoughts are racing before you can even register a slow blink from him and the way his stance relaxes ever so slightly.
“I ate bread today” you say reflexively, words spilling fast in a clumsy attempt to keep his attention and not weird him out.
He tilts his head.
You bite your cheek, feeling embarrassment already looming over you.
“It tasted like cardboard” you stumble a word out, you’re about to quit and run off like a mouse.
“Mhm?” He sounded, something between confused and amused. He was.
You perk up almost immediately, eyes widening and lips parting.
The first sign of conversational life you’ve gotten from him, not just that there was a feeling in your chest. Satisfaction and curiosity mixed into swirling excitement.
Logan’s voice was on the deeper side, and had a warmth to it—you wanted to hear more.
You finally blink, shifting your weight “You need a spotter?” you tilt your head, and he only nods.
For some time after that you couldn’t get anything else out of him but sounds, but it was enough to make you feel even slightly accomplished.
He wasn’t too sure about you at first, well he knew about you for sure—your name was always spoken warmly, he didn’t understand. To him your presence felt like a dip in ice cold water but after some time the water warmed, and your name started tasting sweet on his tongue.
And when your presence started to feel like a natural part of his day he knew something was shifting in him.
“I’m not sure if i like the way the mask looks on me” you murmur, walking steadily beside Logan on the way to a briefing, your fingers playing with the edge of it.
“I like it” He says softly, accompanied with a side long glance.
You stop in your tracks, looking at him dumb founded and he keeps walking leisurely like nothing happened. You jog catching up to his side, looking between him and the floor.
“I didn’t know you could do that” You comment, bewildered.
He only shrugs in response, opening the door and gesturing for you to go in, wordlessly you follow a slight roll to your eyes at his nonchalance.
You could barely focus on the brief, with his voice echoing in your mind, a feeling of excitement swirling in your gut.
He wasn’t blind to it, he could see how giddy you got just from hearing him say anything—wasn’t sure what to make of it but he definitely understood why people said what they said about you. It was easy to be around you, and easier even to talk.
The fact it made you buzz was maybe an added benefit he thought.
And he guesses that’s how he found himself seek you out the moment the heli landed back to base, a soft gentle knock on your door in the dead of night. He saw Hesh send him a questioning look at the tarmac, Riley tilted his head—his ears flopping, and he only shrugged in response before petting Riley then stumbling off.
He wasn’t sure how he found himself here, in front of your door practically twiddling his thumbs. The walk from here to where he came from felt like a splotch of colour in his peripheral.
Something about that mission had struck him deeply, a chord he didn’t know was still there—a settlement freshly decimated by the federation, the carnage he saw was familiar but what bothered him were the many faces of people displaced and hopeless.
He was used to seeing soldiers, allies or not on the missions. But civilian families he hadn’t seen in some time—it made everything feel hopeless, all the fighting, the missions, the endless violence.
For once he was thankful you weren’t on that mission with him, he would’ve hated to see your spark dimmed even slightly he thought.
It all settled badly in his conscious, made him feel wilted and worn.
You open the door, slowly, hesitantly before swinging it open when you realise who it is.
“Logan? Hello” you chirp, you notice the slump in shoulder, the look in his eyes and you move to the side ushering him inside, he follows wordlessly.
Your room is softly lit by a lamp, the window by your bed wide open a light breeze blowing through every now and then. You sit him on the edge of your bed, and you plop down beside him.
“Everything okay?” you say tentatively,
He breathes out, visibly deflating and your brows furrow. He takes his mask off, placing it on his lap before looking at you.
“Yeah, i think so” he sighs and you shift, scooting slightly closer to him.
“Want me to talk about something?” You suggest in which he nods, the slightest movement.
And so you do, you talk about small things that happened recently, how you felt about joining the team. You were mid sentence when he spoke, voice cutting through yours.
“I like when you speak about you.” he hums, and your head snaps to look at him—he looks soft in this light, shadows falling just right on his features and you can’t help but stare.
“I think i’ve told you a lot about myself” you murmur distracted, he nods in response a slight quirk up to the corner of his lips.
“So you wanna hear about me?” he muses, and suddenly things feel different, his mood just a bit lighter than before.
You nod slowly, unsure of putting him in a position that could make him uncomfortable but at the same time the curiosity slamming onto you full force.
Logan adjusts himself, further into the bed, back on the wall just by the windowsill and beside the end of your bed—you follow suit right beside him, the wind lightly tousling the crown of your hair.
You can see him thinking, weighing something in his mind before he finally speaks, his voice is low like he was telling a secret.
“I used to go fishing with Hesh, well he used to go fishing and i’d hand him the bait” He chuckles, a low breathy sound.
“I was around 9 and i sat at the docks, handing him bait and i’d just sit there watching the water ripple” He looks down at the mask, playing with the hem of it.
“I was too scared to catch the fish, not scared of them but hurting them i guess” he explains and you tuck your knees to yourself, setting your head on top.
“Kind of ironic I ended up as a soldier” he chuckles dryly and you look to the lamp.
This was the first time you’ve heard him speak so much, although it felt bittersweet in a way, he was talking but at the same time you didn’t feel excited about it…just worried, clearly whatever happened in that mission shook him enough to stumble to your door and open up.
“I think you’re still a pretty gentle person” you mutter, looking at him.
He scoffs, pressing his head to the wall swallowing, “I don’t know.”
“I do,” he gives you a side long glance, before breathing a laugh out shaking his head.
“Okay” he relents and you beam in response.
The night continues quietly, Logan leaving your company soon after.
“Thanks, for letting me in” He says softly and you beam,
“of course, goodnight Logan”
“Goodnight” he smiles, and you feel your heart flutter.
After that night you didn’t see him for a few weeks, both of you being caught up with work —to your disappointment, just as a conversation was really held and tides felt like they were changing life got in the way.
And lately things have been bad, things were going wrong and you had too much to worry about, you couldn’t even spare a thought to think about Logan with all that was happening.
Mission after mission, you’d come back wrung, tired, and hopeless.
Bruises dotted your skin, cuts bandaged only to get reopened on the next task. On the little down time you had you’d find yourself on a small hilltop just beside the base; an oak tree standing atop it, the greenery every so slightly overgrown.
You would lie underneath the branches finding some sort of solace and today was no different, the sun having set way below the horizon hours ago. One thing about the war was that it had significantly reduced light pollution so the stars were bright and visible.
“I was told i could find you here” you spring up, steadying yourself with your hands on the grass,
“Logan!” You gasp, he sends soft smile your way before coming up beside you and sitting down
“I didn’t know you were back”
“I just got here” he hums.
And that’s when you notice, dishevelled hair, the mask hanging on his belt, and pieces of gear still strapped on.
“Should i be flattered you came here immediately?” you joke,
“If you want to” he replies, a grin plastered on his lips.
You roll your eyes, leaning back onto the trunk, your gaze draws up to the branches and the stars behind them, they looked intertwined and you were fixated on the image they made.
A comfortable silence falls for a few moments, his warmth beside you—you didn’t notice how close he had sat to you.
”How’ve you been?” He asks, cutting through the quiet
“Horrible” you sigh, you recap him the past few weeks and he listens intently the whole time; your eyes are on the stars, his were on you.
“And then! After all that the meals are still shit” you grumble, pulling weeds from the ground,
He chuckles, “To the point you’d take eating the grass here?”
You look at him, brows furrowed eyes narrowed “Real funny Walker”
He laughs, and for the first time in a while he feels comfortable and right. Nothing demanded his immediate attention, he didn’t have to be rigidly aware of everything around him, or what he was doing, and he could finally listen to you talk again.
He liked it, a lot—you a lot. He realised it a week into not seeing you, the fact he missed your voice and presence.
The moment he got to the base he went looking for you, asked around, even had Riley scent you out til he found you on the hilltop.
And here you are rambling about how you found this place, and the tea you found in an abandoned mall, the squirrel that attacked you, and the cloud that you thought looked like him when he cuts you off
“Can i kiss you?” He throws it out so casually it would’ve missed your radar, but you catch it, the words bouncing in your head.
You stop talking head snapping to look at him and you stare wide eyed, the cogs in your brain turning before you nod, slowly.
He quirks a small smile, “Use your words, pretty”
“You… can kiss me” it comes out soft, too slow and too transparent and oh god you’re probably so red and-
His lips are on yours, soft, gentle, and right.
His scent engulfs you further into the kiss, his hand coming to rest on the side of your face, and he’s so warm, and it’s so intoxicating.
At some point he breaks it, forehead on yours his breath fanning your lips, and he flashes a grin.
✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: Task Force 141 [Captain price - Captain MacTavish - Simon Riley - Gary 'roach' Sanderson] /Delta Force [Sandman] /US Army rangers [James Ramirez - Cpl. Dunn].
✧ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Romantic/ X F! Reader!
✧ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Safe!
𝙏𝘼𝙎𝙆 𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘾𝙀 141
Captain Price
Price doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. He feels deeply, but he doesn’t express emotions through words. His love comes through in action, loyalty, and presence.
"I don’t say things I don’t mean. If I say I’ve got you, That mean damn sure I do."
He might not be emotionally fluent, but he’s self-aware. If he’s with you, it’s because he’s thought it through — he doesn’t do casual or reckless in relationships.
His Way of Handling a Relationship is Protective, Steady, Private
Price is a protector, first and foremost. If he loves you, your safety and peace of mind become part of his internal mission. But he's not controlling — he respects strength. He just watches your back, always.
He values loyalty and expects the same. He’s not the jealous type — but if someone crosses a line, he’ll make it known with quiet intensity. You’ll never have to guess where you stand with him — he’ll show you through consistent actions, not sweet talk.
He can fiercely private. What happens between you two stays between you two.
His voice is calm and gravelly, rarely raised. He’s blunt, but never cruel. If you’re upset, he doesn’t try to fix everything — he listens, quietly, and grounds you.
"I can’t take the storm away, Love. But I’ll sit in it with you."
"Wasn’t planning on falling for anyone. You’ve mucked that up."
Classic dates in classic places with him.
A low-lit, old English pub — wood-paneled walls, crackling fireplace.
He Orders A whiskey neat or a pint of ale. For you? He learns your usual fast, but always asks anyway.
"You’re good for the quiet bits, y’know that?"
He’s not showy, but he watches you — really listens. He doesn't talk much about himself unless you ask, but when he does, it’s honest.
He never flirts like a player — more like a man who knows what he wants and isn’t interested in games.
He can emotionally withdraw under stress — not because he’s cold, but because he’s trying to protect you from the weight he carries.
He’s hyper-responsible, which can make him distant when his focus shifts to duty.
You’ll have to break through his walls slowly — but once you’re in, you’re in for good.
Captain MacTavish
Soap isn’t the kind of man to chase softness. He’s lived most of his life in hostile territory — physically and emotionally — but if he lets you in, you’re not temporary.
Soap is expressive in a way that Price isn’t — he shows affection freely through teasing, touch, and closeness. But he’s not careless with it. If he’s serious about you, you’ll know.
If he is in, He is all in, No mocking up.
MacTavish is emotionally available, even if he masks it with humor. He notices when you’re off — even if you haven’t said a word.
"Talk tae me. I’d rather hear what’s in yer head than guess."
He’s not afraid of your emotions. He’s been through too much to be scared of vulnerability.
You won’t hear big romantic speeches from him. Not unless he’s two pints in and feeling nostalgic. He doesn’t fall in love like it’s poetry. He falls like it’s fact — fast, irrevocable, with no safety net.
He's got that warm, gravelly Scottish tone. Even when he’s joking, there’s weight behind his voice.
"Yer late. Thought I’d have tae come drag ye out the flat. Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve dragged, mind you.”
He teases, yes — that dry humor is his way of saying he’s comfortable.
He’s protective, not possessive. There’s a line. And he respects it. He lets you breathe. But when something threatens what’s his, he turns steel.
“If anyone lays a finger on ye, they’ll be leavin’ with fewer than they came in with.”
And when the world burns, he’s the kind of man who’d shield you with his own body, not for glory, but because he couldn’t imagine it any other way.
He has thing thing, Writing Notes like "Out for run, If not back in 30 sec, Avenge me"
Brush your hair behind your ear without thinking. He kisses like he means it — firm, lingering, like he’s trying to remember what your lips feel like because he knows he might have to go again soon.
He’ll hold you longer than necessary when he returns from the field. Bury his face in your shoulder for a beat.
In arguments, He is so stubborn If he thinks he's right, he’ll dig in. His pride is a battlefield of its own. But when he realizes he’s wrong? He’s quiet at first.
“Still a pain in the arse sometimes. But so’m I. So... call it even?”
He is all about fancy restaurants, Not everytime and sometimes, He would like it if you ask or suggest.
He once got a little bit different, Both of you at the shooting range, You will fire rounds, And when the clip click empty, He says
“Not bad, hen. Could use ye on my six next time. I’ll put in a word.”
Other days, it’s old pubs. Brick walls, loud laughter, whisky with too much bite. He leans close to you over the table, the low amber light flickering in his eyes.
“Ye look good in this light. Bit dangerous, even. Lucky I’m trained tae handle that sort o’ thing.”
And on the rare quiet night at home? He’s in joggers, cooking something he half-burnt because he got distracted telling a story. You end up on the couch with a bottle between you and his arm resting behind your shoulders. Close, but never crowding. He lets you lean in first.
Roach Sanderson
He’s not intense like Ghost or bold like Soap. What you get with Roach is warmth and the gentleman.
The kind of man you don’t realize is falling for you until one day he’s at your door, Smiling genuinely.
He’s gentle — in tone, in touch, in how he handles people. That doesn’t mean he’s soft. He’s a soldier — a damn good one. But with you? He lowers the volume. Slows down.
He’s thoughtful with his words — not because he’s shy, but because he means what he says.
“Let me know if you need anything, alright?”
“Hey! That looks good on you.”
He can be a candlelight-dinner guy, He will google Like a curious man, He will practice cooking something he has never done, Just to surprise you.
He likes Hikes dates with packed lunches where he points out weird birds or cool rock formations
Sitting on the roof, sipping something warm while he plays music from a little speaker.
And when he laughs — it’s the kind that softens his face. The kind that makes you forget there’s a world beyond the two of you for just a moment.
He doesn’t like being away for long. Deployments eat at him. He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep, but when he gets a chance to talk to you? He makes it count.
“I don’t know where we’ll end up. But I know where I want to be. That’s not a question anymore.”
And when he returns? He does sweeps you off your feet. He pulls you into a hug that lasts long, breathes you in like you’re air after a warzone, and finally whispers
“Missed this. Missed you.”
He’s touch-oriented, A hand on your back when you walk together. Knees touching when you sit on the couch.
He kisses like someone who believes in quiet permanence — slow, grounding, not rushed.
He likes resting his head on your chest when he’s exhausted. Not because he’s needy — but because he trusts you enough to be vulnerable like that. It calms him.
when he wraps his arms around you? You feel all the strength of a soldier — but none of the sharpness.
His love is like Being loved by someone who never needs the room’s attention — only yours.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Simon Riley doesn’t fall in love the same way others do.
He doesn’t ask for it. Doesn’t expect it. Hell — he’s half-convinced he doesn't deserve it.
Simon isn’t one for softness — not because he’s cold, but because softness was a luxury he unlearned to survive. His whole life’s been about closing doors, keeping people at a distance. It’s safer that way — for him and for you.
So when Simon falls in love, it’s not with fireworks. It is when trust slowly built, and walls gradually lowered. You don’t get the whole of him at once. You get pieces — offered carefully, like a man laying out weapons for you to inspect, one by one.
Simon’s voice is dry, low, and deliberate. And when he does speak, his words land with weight, and you feel them.
He teases you with this dry, sardonic edge — a little smirk under the mask, you just know it.
“You get lost on the way to the couch, love? Or just fancy starin’ at me all night?”
He’s Simon to you. Not just the mask. Not just the Ghost. The man underneath — bruised, loyal, and trying his damn hardest to be worthy of the one person he let in.
“I’m not perfect. Not even close. But I’m yours, love. All the broken bits too.”
He doesn’t let you see the weight often. But it’s there. One night, after a mission, you find him sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, mask half off, rubbing at his temples. Asking him if there is something wrong.
“You ever look at someone through a scope… and wonder if they had someone waitin’ at home too?”
You sit beside him, and he doesn’t move for a while. Did not answer him, He just looked at you, Blankly, But his blue eyes peircing something valuable.
And when he is too in love with you “You make it bearable. The noise. The shit I carry. Just… don’t leave, yeah?”
He would not mind with fancy restaurants or clubs, But he is Actually not a fan of crowded places or too many eyes.
Late-night drives where he lets you pick the music or talk with him while he silently watches the road, hand resting on your thigh.
A walk through quiet streets, The firing range, where he gently adjusts your grip and grins (just barely) when you outshoot him.
Sometimes, he’ll cook — badly. Eggs that are half-burned, toast too dry. You’ll tease him and he’ll grumble,
“Oi, I can clear a room in thirty seconds, I’m not meant to be Gordon bloody Ramsay.” (is gordon ramsey in cod timelines?) But he tries. Because you’re worth the effort.
He is a bit handsy in public, Palm on your lower back when you pass. Forehead kisses when he arrived you to your place, Holding you to his chest like a shield — like he can keep every bad thing in the world out if he just pulls you close enough.
He’s not possessive, but he is protective. he knows where you are without looking. If someone gets too close? He steps between — calm, wordless, but lethal underneath.
And when he’s feeling safe? You might catch him with his mask off, half-asleep on the couch, head on your lap. No words — just peace.
𝘿𝙀𝙇𝙏𝘼 𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘾𝙀
SANDMAN
Sandman has this kind of gravity that draws you in — not because he demands attention, but because he commands it. With just a look. A word. The stillness in how he carries himself.
Dating Sandman isn’t fast. It builds like something meant to last And that’s exactly how he treats it: like something worth building right.
He doesn't come at you with charm or sweet talk. At first, you might even wonder if he's into you at all.
He is steady and slow to open up, but when he does, it's ironclad.
He believes in commitment, loyalty, and showing up — not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard. He’s not the guy who runs when things get messy.
He respects independence — maybe because he's had to survive on his own for so long. But when he’s with you, it’s like a home he doesn’t have to protect.
He would try extravagant restaurants. A tucked-away bar with dim lighting and old jazz on the speakers — not because he’s a jazz guy, but because it gives you room to talk without yelling.
A drive out into the hills, engine quieting under a starry sky, where the silence isn’t awkward. “C’mon. Let’s go for a ride.”
His way of speaking is sharp, dry, and always with a little edge of sarcasm. He’s not verbose, but what he says lands hard. His tone's low and steady.
He locks in, Into talking with you, with listening to you.
“Look at you, fancy. Wearing shoes without holes today, big promotion?”
He likes when you’re sarcastic back. He doesn’t want coddling. He wants someone sharp — not because he can’t handle softness, but because he needs someone who understands how much he’s seen without needing it explained.
He doesn’t talk about the war. Not unless he really trusts you. And even then, it’s brief.
He's not emotionally blocked. He's just emotionally disciplined. Years of compartmentalizing for survival. But he’ll be there when you need him. No hesitation. You call, he shows up. No questions, no complaints.
He doesn’t yell. Ever. If you’re arguing, he just gets quiet. Steely. Controlled.
“You done?”
Not passive-aggressive just intentional. He doesn’t waste words on emotional flailing. But he’ll listen if you're honest. He respects clarity, not drama.
He does not mind affection in public, Hand holder or just sitting together — Brushing your hair out of your face when you talk or just looking, Without even thinking hand behind your back while walking.
He’s not big on PDA, he’ll quietly step close. His hand finds your hip, pulling you subtly into his space, and he kisses you — not long, but firm.
Right before he leaves for a dangerous op, he won’t make a speech. He just steps close, tilts your chin up, and kisses you like he’s trying to burn the feeling into memory. His other hand settles at the small of your back, pressing you against him. The kiss lingers — not rushed, but not leisurely either — just enough to leave you breathless.
When he pulls away, his forehead rests on yours. “I’ll be back. Don’t doubt it.”
At home, He’s warm. Physical, but not in a performative way. His touch is protective — hands around your waist when you're cooking, or pulling you close to him on the couch while watching some old film, He always prefer this time when you just rest your head on his chest.
𝙐𝙎 𝘼𝙍𝙈𝙔 𝙍𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎
CPL. DUNN
Dating Dunn means you'll laugh even on your worst days. He’s the guy who’ll crack a joke mid-argument just to break the tension — not because he’s not taking it seriously, but because he hates when things feel heavy and unresolved.
"Look, if you wanted someone normal, you probably shouldn’t have gone for the guy who once gave CPR while yelling about how he’s not licensed for this crap."
He’s a soldier, sure — but drop him in a weird social setting, or ask him to explain how he feels, and he short-circuits a little. Not in a dangerous way — more like a guy who doesn’t know how to not be on edge, even when the moment doesn’t call for it.
He’ll joke when you’re upset, but not to dismiss you. He’s trying to pull you back to ground level. And when joking doesn’t work, he drops the act. Holds your face in his hands. Looks you right in the eye. He might fumble for the right words, but he’s there.
Dunn has that East Coast or maybe Midwest American inflection — not country, but definitely American. Cusses a little too often. Talks fast when he’s emotional. Will absolutely make some smartass remark even in heartfelt moments — it’s just how he processes.
“I love you. I mean it. I’m not just sayin’ that ‘cause I got shot at today… though I did. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. But still dude. You matter.”
He’s got no taste for fancy wine or clubs. But a dimly lit dive bar where the jukebox still works and the fries are greasy? That’s Dunn’s sanctuary. He’ll try to teach you pool, fail miserably, then blame it on the "shitty chalk."
“Nah, I let you win. For morale purposes.”
To dunn, Burger Town is a prime date spot. The same one from his deployment days — just without the Russians shelling it this time.
He orders for both of you without asking because “trust me, I know the menu like the back of my hand.” Then he points at the laminated tray paper and starts giving mock “battle briefings” about which burger is superior.
Half the date is him making ridiculous analogies about fast food and firefights. The other half is him leaning back in the booth, one arm along the seat, listening while you talk about your day.
When your fries show up, he ahem and steals exactly two. Always two. “Just testing Yknow.”
He’s protective. Not possessive. He worries when you’re out late, texts dumb stuff like "yo you alive?"
If you’re sick, he’s surprisingly gentle. Knows how to check vitals, dress wounds, keep you hydrated. That medic training didn’t leave him — and when it’s someone he loves? He’s relentless.
“Hey, c’mon. Sit up. Drink this. I am not lettin’ you go down from a damn flu.”
He doesn't always tell you when something's wrong. Sometimes he hides it under jokes. Other times he pulls away, thinking he’s "doing you a favor."
If Dunn isn’t working or out with you, he’s at home in a T-shirt and worn sweatpants, watching TV and providing “commentary” on whatever’s on — from sports to cooking shows. He’ll insist you sit next to him.
He’s a smirker when it comes to kissing. Sometimes it’s playful — like you’ll be mid-argument, and he’ll lean forward with a “yeah, okay” and just kiss you until you forget what you were even saying.
Other times, it’s slower. When the night’s winding down and the noise is gone, he’ll pull you closer, let his forehead rest against yours for a second like he’s grounding himself, and then kiss you like he’s letting go of every bad thing he’s ever seen.
He’s big on hand placement — thumb at your jaw, fingers at the back of your neck, or one arm around your waist pulling you against him. And after? He always mutters something dumb just to keep from looking too serious.
JAMES RAMIREZ
He’s got that soldier’s presence — upright posture, sharp eyes, that mix of readiness and ease like he’s always scanning the room but never looking tense about it.
With you, he’s not trying to play the part of a hero or the untouchable tough guy. He’s confident, yes, but not in a way that steamrolls over people. And when it comes to you, he’s careful — not cautious like he’s afraid, but deliberate like he knows exactly what you mean to him.
Loves challenging you, at racing to the car, at who can guess the other’s order at a restaurant. When you win, he smiles like he planned it. When he wins, you hear about it for days.
James talks like he means every word. Straightforward. No filler. His humor’s quick and a little biting, but never cruel. When he teases you, it’s warm, like he’s letting you in on something.
“That’s my girl, knew you’d keep up.”
Date spots..Burger town.
It’s not a joke with him — he genuinely loves it. There’s a comfort in a greasy paper bag and a corner booth, just the two of you laughing while the smell of fries hangs in the air.
He doesn’t hesitate. When James wants to kiss you, he does — steady, sure, like he’s claiming the moment. Sometimes he’ll cup your jaw and tilt your chin up; other times he’ll just grab you by the waist and pull you in.
He kisses like he talks — direct, no wasted time — but there’s always that gentleness underneath. His lips linger just long enough that you feel it even after he pulls away.
And he’s got this habit of kissing you mid-laughter. Something about catching you off-guard, lips brushing yours before you can finish your sentence, makes him grin shyly.
Ramirez isn’t afraid of PDA. If you’re walking together, his arm’s around your shoulders without hesitation. At crosswalks, he’ll rest a hand at the small of your back, not just to guide you but because he likes keeping you close. In the middle of a conversation, he might lean in and press a quick kiss to your temple or your cheek — nothing showy, just enough to make you feel claimed and cared for.
When you’re together, there’s a rhythm to his affection. He’ll crack jokes, tease you, talk about the dumb things he and the guys got into during training.
At home, James loosens up. He’ll sneak up behind you, hands at your hips, lips brushing your neck. He’ll spin you around mid-task, kiss you like he’s got nowhere else to be.
“Didn’t think I’d get this. Not after everything. But… yeah. I’m glad it’s you.”
Ghosts, 141, bonus!Konig & Horangi
(did not proof read this im sorry)
Ghosts
Elias Walker: Grunts heavily and tenses mainly his forearms, but aside from that handles it pretty well, didn't need to be lowered to the mat and was pretty chill afterwards.
Gabriel T. Rorke: Goes for the pepper spray instead of the taser, spends a solid minute huffing and puffing in the field as he tries to bear the fact his eyelids are burning and there's too much yelling around him, Elias laughs at his extra few days of suffering and he's pissed.
Thomas A. Merrick: "MOTHERFUCKER" Very loudly as the pins latch on and send the initial shocks, spasms the whole time he's lowered onto the mat—lets out the biggest sigh when it stops.
Ajax: Yells LOUD then completely freezes as he gets lowered onto the mat like a popsicle by his laughing teammates.
Keegan P. Russ: Doesn't make a sound, just goes stiff as a board while his face scrunches up and stays stood. Once the five seconds are over goes a little limp, mutters a "Fuck, that sucked"
Kick: Did not make any noise, just tensed up like hell and involuntarily threw his head back so quick he got cramps after.
David "Hesh" Walker: A loud throaty yelp, had to be lowered on the mat cause he leaned forward the moment the pins latched on and proceeded to Michael Jackson dip down.
Logan Walker: Got paralysed so bad he couldn't even move his face, muscles, or vocal chords, so his face remained the same while he went down like a statue. Cue teammates and instructors asking him if he's dead while he's on the mat recovering.
141
John Price: Heavy grunt, didn't get lowered on the mat and took it like a champ. Calves cramped for weeks afterwards.
Simon "Ghost" Riley: Whole body tensed, and his fingers twitched and spasmed, the only sound that came out was a sharp exhale like he got punched in the gut.
Gary "Roach" Sanderson: Pained grunts and groans , got lowered on the mat and ended up splayed there for a good minute like a crime scene body outline.
Johnny "Soap" Mactavish: Literally yowled, then groaned so loudly on the way down people thought he was gonna start vomiting. After getting his bearings, jumped up and swiped his forehead "I'd say i did pretty grand" with a small nod.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick: Sharp exhale, followed by a slurred curse, and his boots repeatedly grazing the ground as his legs spasmed while being lowered onto the mat. When it was over, sat up on the mat and silently contemplated his choices, brows tightly furrowed.
Bonus, KorTac duo
Konig: Let out a small yelp, teammates tried to guide him down, except he was too heavy so they nearly went down with him, so he falls with an unceremonious 'BLAP' sound while stiff as a board.
Horangi: Tried really hard to be quiet, ended up sounding like he was crying with the way his breathing pattern went the way it does when you're sobbing. Preferred to stay still on the mat in hopes of disappearing.
You’re tired, you can feel it deep in your bones, it feels like molasses stuck seeping in your muscles, weighing every step on concrete, and making everything feel greyer. But there’s a mission and a job to be done so you’re hauling yourself to get ready.
Pulling gear on, fastening straps and buckles, a robotic sequence you’ve gone through more times than you can count.
And finally the mask, you swipe it off the table, pulling it over your head and fixing it to your features, a soft sigh escaping you before moving on.
So you’re in the empty brief room, earlier than everyone and waiting, leg drumming and jaw setting, you shift your posture letting a breath out when Keegan practically bull dozes through the door—hinges thrown wide, you jump a little from the sudden entrance, gaze locking onto him.
His eyes are ever so slightly frenzied, scanning, hair mussed, and head turning every possible direction.
You blink, slowly, bleary from the lack of sleep muddled with curiosity.
“Have you seen my—“ he looks at you, eyes locking onto you, well, the mask on you.
“Think you have something of mine, sweetheart” he says pointedly, not accusing, not mad, just a slight breath of relief and amusement on his lips.
“My bad” you sigh.
Sorry this is short and basically giving nothing, just wanted to get something written and out to hopefully combat the writers block 😔
My dog is sleeping behind me, and the constant urge to look back at him constantly grips at me, even though i know he's there, and that he's safe.
How could anyone ever fault Orpheus for looking back just to see Eurydice?
