msilwrites

[msilwrites]

Has anybody seen this majestic work of art yet???!!! omg!!! SIMOOONNNN!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

.ɟʅǝsɹnoʎ oʇ ʇᴉ dǝǝʞ ʻǝɯ ǝʌoʅ noʎ ɟI

Another piece of Ghost, hope I did him justice. Would really like to see more art of him with his canon hair color, so I guess I'll make it myself lol.

Images under the cut.

Song;

[msilwrites]

The Catfish

Catfish! Reader, Depressed! Reader, Dead Inside! Reader, Maladaptive Day Dreamer! Reader, Sad! Reader, Unemployed! Reader, Shy! Reader, Morally Grey! Reader, Yandere! Price, Yandere! John Price, Obsessive, Price, Obsessive! John Price,

A/N: I’ve seen a lot of morally grey Y/N OCs out there, and I thought, why not take it further? Let’s push the limits. Let’s get into the darker side, where the lines blur and nothing’s ever as simple as it seems.

----------

Your life feels like it’s at a standstill—unemployed, or simply watching opportunities slip through your fingers, to depress, too weak, to down to go for it. Every day blurs into the next, doom-scrolling through social media, drowning in the curated lives of others, trying to ignore the quiet ache of dissatisfaction.

Books are your escape. A mix of romance and dark, Machiavellian stories fills your time, each one offering a temporary reprieve from the monotony and gloom. Instagram reels and TikToks flood your feed, booktok recommendations mixing with relationship advice, until one thought lingers—why not try a dating app? Not for love. Not even for a real date. Just for something. Attention, validation—some small proof that you still exist.

Dating isn’t new to you, nor are dating apps. But right now, you don’t have the energy to take a new picture, to present yourself in the best possible way. Instead, you pick an older photo—one with just the right lighting, the right angle, something that has an air of mystery. With a few subtle edits—smoother skin, slightly sharpened features—it becomes something almost... unreal. Perfect in a way you aren’t. Unrecognisable enough to be safe.

You swipe. Browse. And then—you see him.

John Price.

Something about him makes you pause. Maybe it’s the rough-edged charm, the mix of gruff and steady. On impulse, you swipe right. When it’s a match, you hesitate before messaging first—but when you do, the conversation flows effortlessly. You pretend to be someone else, someone confident, intriguing. And for the first time in a long time, you feel that way too.

Days turn into weeks. Weeks into months. You talk every night, each message pulling you deeper into something you can’t control. You never planned for it to last this long. Never expected to enjoy it. And then he asks—Let’s take this off the app. Let’s talk properly.

Panic coils in your chest. Giving him your number is out of the question—it would expose too much, make you traceable. Instead, you suggest a messaging app that keeps your identity hidden. He agrees. The illusion remains intact.

And still, it grows. You’re not just talking anymore. You’re something. His words make your heart race. His voice, the rare times he sends recordings, leaves you breathless. It’s intoxicating. Dangerous. Because eventually, he asks the one thing you can’t give.

Let’s meet.

Excuses become your shield. You’re busy. Traveling. Something came up. You deflect, redirect, anything to avoid the inevitable. But you can’t do this forever. And deep down, you know it.

So you end it.

A long, heartfelt message—apologies wrapped in regret, a quiet confession that you just can’t. That it was never meant to go this far. That he deserves better. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you block him. On the dating app. On the messenger. Everywhere.

Your heart aches. Not just because you liked him, but because you’ll never know what could have been. Because you destroyed something that wasn’t even real in the first place.

But what you don’t know—what you can’t know—is that John Price isn’t the kind of man who lets things go.

----------

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t have known—was that John Price wasn’t just some “government employee.”

He didn’t put specifics on his profile. No mention of his career. You assumed, based on his dry responses and the absence of bragging, that he was just another pencil-pusher, a bureaucrat with a good-looking face, one who maybe dealt with spreadsheets and red tape. Easy to dismiss. He didn’t seem like someone who could leave an impact.

But you were wrong.

John Price is SAS. Trained to track. To hunt. His mind, to never let go.

The moment you broke things off, he didn’t disappear. He didn’t move on. He didn’t even give you the satisfaction of feeling like you were in control of the situation.

John’s mind doesn’t work like yours. He doesn’t take “no” for an answer.

You thought he’d accept the closure. That you’d get away clean, hidden behind the veil of your catfishing persona. But for him, that’s just the beginning.

In your mind, you justified it all. Surely, you weren’t the only one in line. After all, he’s good-looking, charming, and probably has a queue of women eager to talk to him. He’s the type of man who can have his pick—you’re just a small fry in the grand scheme of things. You told yourself he’d forget about you, move on to someone more real, someone better. This was just a pseudo-relationship, something that never had the chance to be anything more. So why wouldn’t you end it before it got any deeper? Before you could get attached, before he could hurt you with his inevitable disinterest?

It was easier this way, right? He’d find someone else, someone who wasn’t hiding behind a heavily modified picture—unrecognizable, almost perfect—and a name no one would ever associate with the real you. You, the woman who couldn’t even look herself in the mirror anymore without feeling shame. And you—you would never have to face the sting of rejection, the disgust in his eyes, the cold way he would scold you for deceiving him.

You convinced yourself it was the safest route, the only way to keep your heart intact.

But in the back of your mind, there was always the nagging thought: What if he doesn’t forget about you?

You laugh at the thought, shaking your head as if it’s some absurd notion. As if? You mutter to yourself before closing the app, tossing your phone onto the bed. It bounces once, twice, before settling. You let out a long sigh, then close your eyes, willing yourself to relax. A nap sounds nice, maybe just for a few hours—long enough to shake off the weight of the situation.

----------

When he doesn’t hear back from you, when he notices the blocks on the dating app and the messaging app, something in him shifts. He becomes methodical, patient—like a predator picking up a fresh trail.

And he knows how to find you.

He starts with the smallest things. The little details in your conversations—the places you mentioned, the books you read, the music you listened to. He’s tracking. Not just your words, but your habits. Your likes. Your interests. Each clue that could lead him to you, like a breadcrumb trail you unknowingly left behind.

He’s not in a rush. This isn’t a chase; it’s a hunt.

The longer he watches, the clearer it becomes: You’re not just a fleeting encounter. You’re the one. The puzzle he must solve. He knows he has to get close, to get past the walls you’ve built.

And he’s willing to do whatever it takes.

----------

John began his hunt, a quiet, patient pursuit that would leave no stone unturned.

The nickname you had chosen for the dating app—so unique, so personal—was the first clue. It wasn’t just something random, he realized. It was a key to something deeper, something hidden just beneath the surface.

He traced it. The path it led him on was winding, but it was clear and deliberate. Your image, that photo you’d used, caught his eye next. He zoomed in, examining every detail. The way the light hit your face, the angle, the soft texture of the background. It wasn’t just a casual snapshot. It was deliberate, curated. There was something about it that felt... polished.

Then, his eyes locked onto it.

The Royal College of Music. The concert hall.

It was a place he recognised immediately, and for a split second, he allowed himself a small, knowing smirk. You had been there, seated in that hall. The way you looked, so poised, so perfect, in the middle of that sea of sound, it was no accident. Your friend must’ve taken the picture. But even in that moment, you seemed so out of reach, so untouchable.

But that wouldn’t stop him.

He pushed forward, searching for more. Minutes later, his screen lit up with a new discovery—a Spotify playlist. The name was the same as your nickname, and when he clicked on it, the songs flooded in. The same songs you’d mentioned in passing. Those little details you’d carelessly slipped into conversation, thinking they were nothing.

It wasn’t coincidence.

John leaned back, his pulse steady, as he took it all in. It was a breadcrumb trail, and you had unwittingly left the map for him to follow.

And then, something clicked.

The playlist. The songs. The name.

He typed it into his search bar, just to see. Just to see what else would come up.

Your LinkedIn.

His heart skipped a beat. This was it. The final piece.

John leaned forward, fingers moving rapidly as he clicked through. There you were, full name now revealed, a neat professional profile staring back at him. Every detail lined up—your job, your education, even your location.

You were closer than he thought.

He smiled to himself, leaning back in his chair, the thrill of the chase finally rushing through him.

You were no longer hiding. No longer just a name behind a pretty picture. You were real.

And now, he knew exactly who you were.

This wasn't over. Far from it.

It was just the beginning.

----------

You almost didn’t go out tonight.

It had been so easy to just sink into routine—doom-scrolling through your phone, putting off responsibilities, ignoring the world beyond your bedroom. But your friends had insisted. An orchestra performance. You always loved instrumental music. It was one of the few things that could lift your mood, transport you somewhere else.

So, you dragged yourself up and went through the long, tedious process of making yourself presentable—no, more than presentable. Polished. Together. A mask, really, but one you were good at wearing.

The skincare routine, the precise trim of your brows, the careful shaving. Contouring, blending, soft touches of highlight and color to shape the face you wanted the world to see. It was muscle memory now, an exhausting ritual that took time, patience, and just the right amount of self-delusion.

When you finally looked in the mirror, the transformation was complete.

You almost looked like her—the woman in the picture you had used on the app. The confident, successful version of yourself. Not the girl stuck in limbo, unemployed, wasting time. No one would know the difference.

And for tonight, you could pretend, too.

----------

The pub near the concert hall was quiet, barely a handful of patrons scattered across the space. You were early, too early, and your friends hadn’t arrived yet. No sense in standing outside in the cold, so you slipped inside, ordered a pint, and made your way to one of the empty booths near the back.

The first sip was soothing, grounding. You exhaled, letting yourself settle into the moment, allowing the warm buzz of the pub to wrap around you.

And then—

A shadow passed over your table.

Someone slid into the seat across from you, smooth, unhurried. Not a stranger looking for an empty spot. No, this was deliberate.

You barely had time to react before a deep, familiar voice cut through the space between you.

"Hello, Birdie."

Your blood ran cold.

John Price.

He was sitting right there, across from you, arms resting casually on the table, watching you like he had all the time in the world.

Your stomach flipped, your throat tightening. A slow, creeping dread spread through your limbs, pinning you to your seat. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t know who you are.

But he did.

And from the way his lips curled into something almost—pleased—as if he had been waiting for this moment.

For you.

A/N: Wooo!! Maybe I’ll write the next part when the inspiration hits? I’d love to hear what you guys think though! If you have any suggestions, feel free to share—I’m open to ideas! 😊

[msilwrites]

❤️❤️❤️🥰🥰🥰🥰🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰❤️❤️❤️❤️

"how long have you been standing there?"

[msilwrites]

Ghost if he shows his face, or if he's a merc !! (LOL!!) Series: Secret Level: Crossfire (Season 1, Episode 7)

Farah (Claudia) is in it too, as, Laylah!!

If any of you get to watch it, you should watch his fight scene!! WOOOHOOO!!!!!!

Takes after his Captain he does!

[msilwrites]

Size Doesn't Matter-Just Ask Johnny and Roach (Simon 'Ghost' Fic)

Gamekeeper! Reader, Groundskeeper! Reader, Ex-MI5! Reader, Stalker! Reader, Naughty! Ghost, Naughty! Simon, Stalker! Reader, Menace! Reader, Devil Woman! Reader! Possessive! Reader, Protective! Reader, Sunshine! Reader, Shy! Reader, Introvert! Reader,

Click here for Part 1 | This is Part 2

A/N: This story features the same Y/N (that’s YOU!!) from How I met your Mother, Midnight Snack Mystery, The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That?, and The Mystery of Ghost's Better Half. And is the sequel to 'The Petite Mystery'. Genre: Comedy / Fluff

Summary: Johnny and Roach’s nosy curiosity lands them in hot water when they discover that their LT’s "Sweet little bird” is neither as sweet nor as little as they assumed. What starts as a simple interrogation spirals into chaos when Captain Price tries to step in, only to become another “guest” in her workshop. With everyone questioning how their LT ended up with someone so terrifyingly competent, the day quickly devolves into a mix of panic, laughs, and begrudging admiration. Chaos indeed ensues.

Warning: This is a long, funny, hostage, situation. Also, do not read when hungry

----------

Johnny and Roach woke hours later, groggy and blinking against the harsh glare of fluorescent lights. Their heads throbbed as they took in their surroundings: a workshop-like room filled with tools, jars of strange substances, and shelves that looked more suited to a mad scientist than a cozy home.

Both men were tied to metal chairs, hands bound behind their backs and legs secured to the base. Roach gave an experimental tug at his bindings, while Johnny just groaned, squinting at the faint outline of someone standing across the room.

"Well, well, well," came a voice, smooth but sharp, with an authority that made both men freeze. "Look who’s awake."

Johnny blinked hard, trying to focus on the figure. It was her—the woman they’d been tailing. She leaned casually against the workbench, arms crossed, her face partially hidden behind a mask. Her posture was relaxed, but there was something unnervingly deliberate about her presence.

"Don’t bother trying to wriggle free," she said, a hint of sarcasm in her tone. "Even if you did, you’d still be stuck in my house, and trust me—you’re not getting out until we’ve had a nice little chat."

Johnny groaned again, his accent thick as his temper flared. “Wha’s this? Who the hell are ye? An’ what—what in the bloody hell’s goin’ on?” His words were slurred, and he blinked owlishly, as though his brain was still buffering.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Who I am isn’t really the issue here. You, on the other hand, have a lot of explaining to do."

Johnny’s mind was still catching up, but his temper—his Scottish temper—was coming through loud and clear. He clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling up as he took stock of the situation. “Aye, well, ye’ve got a real bloody charming way of treatin’ guests, lass,” he snapped, his accent cutting sharper with each word. “Ye don’t think yer messin’ with the wrong two folk, do ye? This some kind of joke? What the hell’s yer game here? 'Cause I don’t ken what ye think you’re—”

She cut him off with a low, humorless laugh, stepping closer, her movements smooth and calculated. "Game?" she echoed, her words now rolling in a thick Scottish brogue that stopped him mid-rant. She leaned in just enough to make him feel the weight of her presence, even through the mask. “Ye think this is a game, laddie? Ach, ye dinnae ken a bloody thing. Yer tied tae a chair in my house, so maybe keep yer yap shut till I’m done askin’ questions, aye?”

Johnny blinked, her shift in accent throwing him completely off guard. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His brain was trying to piece things together, but her sudden shift was like a punch to the gut.

Her piercing gaze flicked between the two of them, unimpressed. “Now then,” she said, stepping back and crossing her arms as she studied them both. “Let’s hear it. What are ye two doin’, pokin’ yer noses where they don’t belong? Or d’ye need me tae loosen yer tongues fer ye?”

Johnny’s jaw dropped, and for a moment, he could only stare at her. Then, the words tumbled out before he could stop them: “Wait... ye’re Scottish?”

Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes narrowed slightly. "Aye,” she said flatly, her tone daring him to say more. “An’?”

Johnny blinked again, scrambling to find the right words. “Yer... Scottish?” he repeated, still trying to process.

“Aye,” she said again, her patience clearly wearing thin. “What of it, lad?”

Johnny gawked, his mind spinning. Finally, he managed, “Yer accent—it’s... ach, I dunno—ye’re just—”

“Just what?” she cut in sharply, the edge in her voice making him shrink back in his seat. “Go on, laddie. Say it. Finish yer thought.”

He clamped his mouth shut, swallowing hard as her glare bore into him. “Nothin’,” he muttered, his eyes darting nervously to Roach, who was still too dazed to bail him out.

“Good,” she said, her tone curt as she crouched to his eye level, her voice dropping lower. “Now, since ye seem tae have plenty tae say, here’s what’s gonna happen. Ye’re gonna tell me why ye’ve been sneakin’ aboot, or I’ll make ye talk. And trust me, Johnny boy,” she added, her brogue thick and sharp as a blade, “ye really dinnae want me tae make ye talk.”

Johnny swallowed again, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Roach, still bleary, muttered under his breath, “We’re so dead.”

Her lips curled into a wry smile. "Dead?" she echoed, her voice light but carrying an unmistakable weight. “Ach, if I wanted ye dead, ye’d already be six feet under. Now then,” she straightened, her hands resting on her hips. “Are ye gonna talk, or do I need tae get creative?”

Johnny looked helplessly at Roach, then back at her. For the first time in his life, Johnny was well and truly at a loss for words.

--------- Interogation Begins

---------- Not THE MOHAWK!!

The air in the room felt tense as Johnny and Roach sat back-to-back, bound to their chairs. Y/N circled them slowly, the hum of a buzzing clipper in her hand making Johnny’s neck prickle with dread.

“Right, lads,” she began, her voice silky but sharp, her Scottish lilt thickening with every word. “Ye dinnae want tae cooperate? Fine. Let’s see how brave ye are when yer precious mohawk gets a wee trim.”

Johnny’s eyes widened. “Naw, naw, ye wouldn’t dare! The hawk’s sacred!” He tried to twist his head around but couldn’t see her. Roach craned his neck, trying to get a look too, but all he could see was Johnny’s panicked face.

The clipper buzzed louder as Y/N leaned in, her breath just behind Johnny’s ear. “Sacred, ye say? Let’s make a wee offering tae the gods, then.” She let the clipper glide gently over his head, careful not to touch, and tilted her phone discreetly to emit the buzzing sound.

Johnny froze as he heard the distinct zzzzrrrt of hair being shaved off. He squeezed his eyes shut, his voice cracking. “Please, lass! No! Anything but the hawk! It’s me identity!”

“Oh, aye,” Y/N said with mock sympathy, holding up a small clump of fur she’d smuggled in from the nature reserve earlier. With a theatrical flourish, she let it flutter past Johnny’s eyes.

Johnny let out a wail. “My hair! Roach, do somethin’!”

Roach, already sweating, stammered, his voice sharp with panic. “Mate, I… I think we’re buggered! She’s mad, proper mad!”

“Aye, I am mad,” Y/N said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “An’ if ye think I’ll stop at the hawk, ye’ve got another thing comin’. Next, I’ll be carving little hearts into yer mate’s eyebrows.”

“No! Not the brows!” Roach yelped.

Johnny whimpered, gripping the edges of his chair. “Fine! Fine, I’ll talk! Just stop, for the love of—stop!”

Y/N tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “Talk, then. What’s yer name?”

Johnny gulped, his pride warring with his terror. “It’s Johnny. Johnny Mac—” He hesitated.

The clipper buzzed closer to his temple, and another tuft of fur fell into view. “Mac what?” Y/N pressed, her tone as sharp as the blade she wasn’t actually using.

“Mactavish!” Johnny finally blurted out, his voice cracking. “John ‘Soap’ Mactavish! There! Ye happy now, ye devil woman?”

Y/N straightened up, letting out a low, satisfied hum as she clicked off her phone. “Soap, eh? Funny. Ye’re more like a wee bairn covered in bubbles the way ye’re greetin’.”

Roach let out a shaky laugh, but it quickly died as Y/N turned her gaze to him, her tone suddenly cool and clipped. “An’ you, laddie,” she said, her smile sly. “Feelin’ brave, or shall I see how much hair ye’ve got tae spare?”

Roach immediately tensed, eyes wide. “N-nope! I’m good! Absolutely good!”

Johnny groaned, his head sagging forward. “She’s a bloody menace,” he muttered, glaring at the clumps of what he thought was his hair on the ground.

Y/N smirked, leaning in to pat Johnny’s shoulder. “A menace? Aye. But at least I’m a thorough one.”

----------

Not THE EYEBROWS!!

Y/N shifted her attention to Roach, who sat frozen, his face pale and slick with sweat. She leaned in close, waving the buzzing clippers ominously near his face. “Yer turn, laddie ,” she said. “Tell me what I want tae know, or these pretty brows of yours are getting a wee makeover.”

Roach flinched, instinctively trying to lean back, but the bindings held him firm. “Eyebrows? You—you wouldn’t dare!” he stammered, his voice quaking. “That’s bloody barbaric!”

“Barbaric?” Y/N repeated, tilting her head with a mock pout. “Barbaric’s dragging me intae this mess in the first place, innit? So, aye, I think barbarism’s fair game.” She casually clicked the clippers on again, the hum sending a jolt straight to Roach’s nerves.

“Wait, wait!” Roach panicked, words spilling from his mouth. “Gary! Gary Sanderson! Call sign’s Roach! There, I said it! No need for funny business with my eyebrows!”

Y/N grinned, her tone light and satisfied. “Gary ‘Roach’ Sanderson, eh? Lovely name.” She stepped back, setting the clippers aside with a theatrical flourish. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Johnny groaned, his head still hung low. “Roach, ye coward! I held out longer!”

“Held out longer?” Roach shot back indignantly. “Mate, you folded like a lawn chair at the first buzz!”

Before their bickering could escalate, Y/N pulled a compact mirror out of her pocket, flicked it open with a little flair, and held it up in front of Johnny. His reflection stared back at him, his mohawk completely intact and untouched. She tilted the mirror just enough to angle it toward Roach as well.

Johnny blinked, his hand instinctively jerking toward his head before realizing he couldn’t move. “Wait… it’s still there? My hawk’s safe?” His voice cracked with emotion, his lip wobbling slightly.

Roach let out a long sigh of relief, his whole body relaxing. “Bloody hell, thank God.”

“Safe, aye,” Y/N said, her voice syrupy sweet. “For now.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. “Then whose hair is that on the floor, eh?”

Y/N’s smile turned cold, her tone dropping to something darker, more menacing. She held up her phone and flicked to a picture—a tuft of fur strewn over leaves, unmistakably from something once alive. “Oh, that? Just a wee bit of fur from a creature I culled meself. Needed to make space in its den.”

The room fell silent.

Johnny’s jaw dropped, his face draining of color. “A… creature?”

Roach visibly shuddered, his eyes darting toward the tufts of fur scattered on the floor. “What kind of creature?”

Y/N’s grin widened, and she leaned in just enough for her shadow to loom over them both. “The kind that doesn’t like uninvited guests sniffin’ around its territory. Ye’d best keep that in mind.”

The two men exchanged a look, both visibly rattled. Johnny swallowed hard. “Roach, mate, we’re proper buggered, aren’t we?”

“Completely,” Roach muttered, his voice barely a whisper. ---------

The Bagpipe Barrage

Y/N leaned against the wall, her phone in hand, scrolling with a thoughtful expression. “Right then, lads,” she said, her voice deceptively calm, “where ye from? Who sent ye?”

Johnny and Roach exchanged wary glances, the air thick with tension. Neither man spoke, both visibly uncomfortable under her penetrating gaze.

Without missing a beat, Y/N connected her phone to the small Bluetooth speaker on the nearby table. “Well, if yer no’ going to talk, I suppose I’ll have to make things a little more... persuasive.” She tapped a few keys on her phone, and within moments, the first few notes of an off-tune bagpipe rendition of Scotland the Brave hit the air—discordant, grating, and completely out of time. It sounded like the bagpipes were being played by someone wildly panicked, possibly being chased by a herd of cows.

Johnny recoiled, his face twisted in horror. “What the bloody hell is that?! That’s nae music—that’s pure torture!”

Y/N raised the volume slightly, her smile widening as the screeching pipes blared louder. “Oh, ye’ll come to love it, Johnny. Trust me, it’s very… authentic.”

Roach’s face drained of color as he frantically pulled at the ropes binding his wrists. “Make it stop! I’ve heard cats fighting in the alley sound better than this!”

Y/N glanced over at him with an almost fond expression. “Aye, well, if you think that’s bad, ye’re in for a real treat, lad.” She leaned in, her tone dripping with amusement. “Now, let’s try this again. Where are ye from? Who sent ye?”

Johnny clenched his jaw, refusing to budge, though his eyes betrayed the panic beginning to set in.

Roach was visibly breaking. “Y/N, please, please turn it off! I cannae take it!” His voice cracked, the sound mixing with the relentless drone of the bagpipes.

Y/N clicked the volume up again, letting the off-key melody blast through the room. “No can do, lads. Not until ye answer me. Who sent ye, and who do ye work for?”

Johnny bit his lip, eyes welling up with frustration. “I—I’m nae tellin’ ye anything! No matter what this is, I’m not breakin’!”

Roach, now teary-eyed, started to mumble under his breath. “I can’t… it’s too much… please make it stop…!"

Johnny’s face twisted with anger and defeat, but the sheer force of the bagpipes was getting to him. Finally, with a ragged breath, he snapped, “Fine! I’ll tell ye! Just turn off the bloody music!”

Y/N grinned, lowering the volume slightly, giving them a sliver of hope. “There we go, Johnny. Was that so hard?”

Johnny gritted his teeth, his resolve crumbling. “I—no, I won’t say! I won’t betray my team!”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the volume cranking up again. “Fair enough. Let’s see how long yer will lasts, then.”

Johnny’s eyes were wild with panic now, and Roach was visibly sweating, his breathing shallow. “Bloody hell, make it stop! Please, I can’t take it anymore!”

The music looped again, each rendition of the bagpipes scraping more against their nerves than before. Johnny and Roach were shaking, eyes pleading for mercy.

Y/N waited. Silent. Watching.

When their cries became unbearable, she cut the volume down just enough to let them catch their breath. “So, who sent ye?” she asked again, her voice casual, almost bored.

Johnny looked at Roach, both of them defeated. “I… I can’t…”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the volume edging slightly higher.

Roach let out a strangled sob. “Johnny, just bloody talk already! I can’t take it anymore! Please, lady, have mercy!”

She smirked, lowering the volume just enough for them to catch their breaths. “Mercy’s earned, Roach. Now, spill it.”

But they both clamped up again, realizing their mistake, and the bagpipes blared back to full strength.

The room descended into chaos—Johnny trying to hum over the noise, Roach muttering a string of British curses under his breath, and Y/N standing serenely, watching them squirm with the patience of a saint.

Her voice cut through the cacophony once more, calm but firm. “We’ve got all day, lads. It’s yer eardrums, not mine.”

Johnny whimpered, his voice barely audible over the screeching bagpipes. “Roach… mate… we’re not gettin’ out o’ this, are we?”

“No,” Roach croaked. “We’re bloody doomed.”

----------

The Call

The silence in the room stretched out, the bagpipes still blaring, filling the space with a relentless screech. Johnny and Roach were both trembling now, caught between fear and exhaustion. Y/N, having momentarily paused her torment, watched them with a mixture of amusement and patience. She was prepared to wait them out.

Then, a sudden sound broke through the chaos—a phone vibrating against the floor. Y/N raised an eyebrow and walked over to Johnny, who froze as she reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone. She glanced at the caller ID. “‘Coin,’ and a bag of money emoji?” Y/N chuckled darkly. “That’s how yer boss is listed? Cunning, I’ll give him that.” She tapped the screen, setting the phone to speaker mode.

Johnny’s eyes widened in horror, and Roach’s breath caught in his throat.

“Where the hell are you two?” the gruff voice on the other end demanded. “And can you pick up something for me before you head back to base?”

Johnny and Roach both screamed, their voices desperate and panicked. “Captain! HELP! They’ve got us! They’ve—”

“Hold up.” The voice on the phone cut through the room, and Y/N held up a finger, silencing the two men before they could speak more.

Y/N's smirk never wavered as she turned to face Johnny and Roach. The phone still on speaker, she made her voice as cold and threatening as possible.

"Listen here, Captain," she began, her tone casual yet lethal. "I’ve got your men in my custody. And if you're not willing to cooperate, they'll stay here, and we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other... in ways I'm sure you won't enjoy."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, but then Price's voice cracked through, sharp and unwavering. "Who the hell are you? What have you done to my men?"

Y/N's grin widened, as she leaned back, enjoying every second of this power play. "I'm the one asking questions here, Captain," she said, her tone taking on a mocking edge. "So how about you start answering, or I'll just keep your lads here a little longer. Let’s see how long their loyalty lasts, shall we?"

There was a growl of frustration from the other end, and then a deep, threatening voice responded, each word laced with menace. “You have no idea who you're dealing with. Release my men now, or I’ll come for you. And when I do, you’ll regret every second of this.”

Y/N chuckled darkly, her voice dripping with taunting amusement. “Oh, I’ll be waiting for you, Captain. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

She ended the call with a swipe of her finger and turned slowly to face Johnny and Roach. Their faces were pale, eyes wide with fear, as they sat frozen in their chairs, the tension in the room thick and suffocating.

Johnny's eyes darted from the phone to her, his voice hoarse with disbelief. “Who the bloody hell are you to threaten our Captain?”

Roach swallowed hard, his hands still bound, his breath shallow. "You're... you're playing with fire, lass." His voice trembled, and it was clear his fear was genuine.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, a cruel smile curling at the corner of her lips. "That was just a warning, lads," she said, stepping closer, her voice lowering to a cold whisper. "But trust me, it’s not over yet."

The room fell silent, both men exchanging a look that spoke volumes—resignation, fear, and the dawning realization that they were in way over their heads.

----------

Their Roommate

Y/N stood, her hands resting casually on her hips as she surveyed Johnny and Roach, still tied to their chairs, their faces pale and anxious. "While we wait for yer Captain to come find ye," she said, her voice light, "I thought I’d introduce ye to yer new roommate."

Johnny looked at her, his brow furrowed. “What the hell are ye talking about now?”

With a smirk, Y/N walked over to a nearby table, lifting a large, glass terrarium and placing it gently on the surface in front of them. Inside, a massive stag beetle crawled lazily across the rocks, its dark wings shimmering under the light.

“Meet yer new roommate,” Y/N announced, her eyes glinting with amusement. "This here is... well, I haven’t named her yet, but we’ll get to that. She’s lovely, and she’s going to be living with ye for a while. Unless ye talk, of course. Then ye might be free."

Roach’s eyes immediately widened, and he recoiled in his chair as though the beetle could leap straight out at him. “What the hell is that for?” he demanded, his voice high-pitched with panic.

Y/N tilted her head innocently, reaching into the terrarium with care and picking up the beetle by hand. She held it in front of them, her expression almost maternal. “Ye’re Roach, aye? Thought ye’d feel at home wi' yer wee cousin here.”

Roach shook his head vigorously, his eyes never leaving the beetle. “That thing’s not my cousin!”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her smile growing wicked. “Maybe nae, but imagine this sittin' on yer knee if ye dinnae start talkin’.” She held the beetle just inches from Roach’s knee, her gaze unwavering.

With that, she turned to Johnny. “Now, Johnny, meet yer new roommate.”

Johnny's eyes followed the beetle, his face draining of color. He stared at the dark, glossy creature in Y/N’s hand, his throat tightening. “Bloody hell!” he shouted, his face twisted in pure horror.

Roach pulled his chair back, wide-eyed and pale. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Y/N chuckled, thoroughly enjoying their reactions. "Now, now, lads. Be polite to yer new roommate." She raised the beetle and hovered it near Johnny’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to be rude now, would we?”

Johnny let out a high-pitched whine, squirming in his chair. "Get that bloody thing away from me!"

Y/N smirked, lowering it just enough to brush the beetle’s legs against his arm. Johnny recoiled, eyes wide, and she saw a tear escape down his cheek.

“Oh, look at ye, Johnny. Big tough soldier, crying over a little bug,” she teased, before turning her attention to Roach. “Roach, ye sure yer nae related to this fine specimen here? Ye’re acting like ye’ve never met family before.”

Roach clenched his jaw, his face white as a sheet. “That’s not my cousin, lass. And if ye don’t take that bloody thing away from me, I’ll—”

Before he could finish, Y/N, with a calm and almost affectionate expression, placed the beetle gently on his leg. His entire body froze, and his voice caught in his throat.

"Get it off! GET IT OFF!" Roach yelled, his entire body trembling as he tried to shake it off without success.

Johnny’s cries grew more frantic as he watched. "Oh, gosh, I can’t handle this! I cannae deal with this bloody thing!"

Y/N scolded them both, but it was playful, almost like she was talking to children. "Honestly, ye two, the way ye’re carrying on, it’s like ye’ve never had a wee beetle on yer leg before. She’s just sayin’ hello. Show a bit of respect."

She lifted the beetle off Roach’s leg and placed it carefully back into the terrarium, watching as both men finally relaxed—though their faces were still riddled with fear and disgust.

“You two really need to be nicer to her,” she said, putting a hand on the terrarium lid as if it was her own child. “She’s got feelings, ye know. Can’t just treat her like that.”

As the beetle was carefully placed back into the terrarium, Johnny and Roach were both trembling, their faces a mixture of fear and embarrassment. Roach’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his body stiff with the lingering dread of having the beetle on his leg. Johnny, on the other hand, was trying to save face but failing miserably as a tear rolled down his cheek.

Y/N couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle at the sight of the two grown men, both reduced to blubbering wrecks over a harmless beetle.

“Well, well,” Y/N said, her voice firm, though she tried to hide her amusement. “I’ve seen tough soldiers face down enemies, endure harsh conditions, and survive bloody battles, but a tiny beetle on your leg? That’s what breaks you?” She shook her head, her eyes narrowing playfully. “And here I thought you two were men of honor.”

She crossed her arms and gave them a mock disapproving look. “Now, I’m not one to condone bullying, but that was downright cruel. Do you have any idea how it feels to be ridiculed by a couple of grown men, just because I’ve got a harmless little tenant?” She motioned to the beetle with a dramatic flourish. “You should be ashamed, both of you. Apologize to her.”

Johnny and Roach exchanged confused glances, unsure if she was serious or not.

"Bloody hell," Johnny mumbled, still shaken but now confused.

Roach hesitated, then awkwardly muttered, “Sorry… to the beetle?”

Johnny sniffed, still visibly shaken. "You’re bloody insane, lass. That thing’s not natural.”

Roach nodded, still pale. “I’m going to have nightmares about that thing crawlin’ on me forever.”

Y/N sighed dramatically, pretending to consider their plight for a moment. “Aye, well, that’s a shame. But if ye’ll behave, I’ll let ye off the hook... for now.” She glanced at the clock on the wall, her eyes widening in realization. "Speaking of hooks... it’s lunch time. I’ve got a few things to prepare for my little friend here," she gestured to the beetle with a nod.

Johnny and Roach blinked in confusion, their hunger starting to make itself known. “Lunch?” Johnny asked, his stomach growling loudly in protest.

"Aye," Y/N said, "For the beetle, obviously. She’ll need her greens." She gave the beetle a wink. “And for you two as well," she added, her voice softening just enough to let them know she wasn’t entirely without mercy. "Even captives need to eat."

Roach shot Johnny a look, his face a picture of disbelief. “She’s actually cookin’ for the beetle?”

Johnny shrugged, his stomach growling again. “I’m just really hoping there’s somethin’ in it for us too, yeah?”

Y/N smiled sweetly, a touch of mock sincerity in her voice. "Of course, lads. I’ll whip up somethin' nice for ye too. Can’t have my lovely guests starvin', can I?"

With that, she turned and headed for the door. “I’ll be back soon,” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, the beetle’s a sociable creature, she’ll keep ye company.”

Johnny and Roach looked at each other, their stomachs growling in unison as they both realized just how hungry they were. “Do you think she’s actually going to feed us?” Roach asked, his voice laced with desperation.

“I dunno,” Johnny muttered, rubbing his stomach. “But I bloody hope so.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, the two men slumped in their chairs, the silence of the room only interrupted by the occasional sound of the beetle skittering around in its terrarium. The tension had eased, but their rumbling stomachs reminded them that their fate still rested in Y/N’s hands—along with their new roommate’s.

----------

Lunchbreak

When Y/N finally returned with their lunch, Johnny and Roach eyed their plates warily. The smell was pleasant enough—hearty stew with fresh bread—but their eyes flicked back to the beetle's terrarium, as if expecting some hidden, sinister ingredient.

Y/N set the plates down in front of them with a casual smile. “Eat up, lads. No beetles in the stew, I promise.”

Johnny frowned, eyeing the food like it might jump out and bite him. “Right. No beetles, but... what else is in here?”

Roach followed his gaze, clearly trying to find some hidden clue in the stew. “Aye, somethin’ smells off, don’t it?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Are you both really that paranoid? I’m not playin’ with your food.” She scolded them with a raised finger. “I don’t mess around with meals. If I wanted to torture you, I’d make you eat your words instead.”

Johnny and Roach exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unconvinced but too hungry to argue. Y/N stood over them, hands on her hips, watching as they hesitantly began to pick at their food.

She wasn’t about to let them off the hook so easily. With a sharp, “Aye, enough of this,” she knelt down and began untying their feet from the chair before moving to loosen the knot on their hands.

“Oi,” Roach said cautiously, shifting in his seat. “What’re ye doing now?”

Y/N shot him a stern look, her patience wearing thin. “Behave,” she warned, her tone sharp. “I’ve been kind enough to loosen the knot on your hands, but let me make one thing clear—if either of you tries anything, I’ll tie you up so tight you’ll never get out. And trust me, it won’t be pretty.”

Johnny swallowed nervously, his mouth still tingling from the spices in the food. “We’re just... just eatin’. No funny business, promise.”

With practiced efficiency, Y/N retied the rope around their feet in a more complicated knot, one that allowed just enough movement for them to sit comfortably but would take forever to undo. Then she tied their hands behind their backs in an intricate knot, loosening it just enough so they could maneuver their forks but not enough to free themselves.

She stood back, smirking at her handiwork. “There. Now you can eat properly, but don’t even think about trying to escape. If you do, I’ll make sure it’s the last time you think you can get one over on me.”

Johnny and Roach exchanged uneasy glances before turning their attention to their plates, shifting uncomfortably in their chairs. Though reluctant at first, hunger eventually won out. They dug into the food cautiously, glancing at her every so often, as if expecting some hidden trick.

Y/N, arms crossed, watched them with mild amusement. “That’s better,” she muttered.

Y/N dusted off her hands and headed for the door, muttering as she left, “Need to get that broth right... been boiling for an hour already. Can’t let it overdo itself now, can we?” She paused at the doorway, turning back to Johnny and Roach with a pointed look. “Behave. I’ll be right back. If I hear even a peep out of either of you, you’ll regret it.”

With that, she disappeared down the hallway, her faint muttering about the seafood boil trailing after her. “Onions, garlic, bay leaves... aye, needs a bit more kick. Maybe some lemon...”

Johnny and Roach stayed quiet for a moment, their gazes flicking toward the doorway to make sure she was truly gone. Finally, after a few more cautious bites of the meal in front of him, Roach glanced at Johnny and broke the silence.

“I mean... it’s actually not bad. This is... pretty good, actually,” he admitted, though his voice was low as if he feared she might still overhear.

Johnny, mid-chew, gave a reluctant nod. “Aye... not bad at all,” he mumbled, though his pride made him hesitate to sound too impressed. He swallowed and leaned back slightly, his gaze thoughtful. “I can see why the Lt. eats like a bloody king. Lucky bastard.”

Roach snorted softly, shaking his head. “No wonder he’s so smug all the time. Homemade food like this on deployment? Meanwhile, we’re stuck choking down MREs that taste like cardboard.”

Johnny smirked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s this? Jealous, are ye? Wantin’ a lady to whip up gourmet meals for ye?”

Roach shrugged with a lopsided grin. “Can you blame me? Food like this... I wouldn’t say no.”

Johnny chuckled and leaned in slightly, his grin turning mischievous. “Aye, careful what you wish for, mate. You sure you’d want a woman like her? She’s got our Lt. whipped, guaranteed.”

Roach blinked, his grin faltering as he considered that. “Whipped? You serious?”

Before Johnny could respond, a shadow fell over the doorway. They both froze mid-bite as Y/N reappeared, her expression unreadable and her hands occupied with a bright red crawfish, dangling by its tail.

“Whose whipped?” she asked, her tone deceptively sweet as her sharp eyes flicked between the two of them.

Johnny and Roach immediately stiffened, their forks hovering mid-air. They exchanged a panicked glance, but neither dared to speak.

Y/N cocked an eyebrow and let the crawfish dangle ominously close to Johnny’s face. “Well? Cat got your tongue?”

Johnny gulped audibly. “Er... no one’s whipped. N-not a soul. Isn’t that right, Roach?”

“Uh, aye!” Roach blurted, nodding far too enthusiastically. “Not a word about anyone being whipped. Just... uh... appreciating your... culinary expertise.”

Y/N hummed in mock agreement, lowering the crawfish. “Good. Because if the idea of being ‘whipped’ scares you so much, maybe it’s time you learned how to cook for yourselves.” She shot them a pointed look before walking over to a nearby drawer, opening it with a sharp clink.

The sound of her pulling out a large Serbian chef knife drew their eyes immediately. The blade was thick, gleaming under the light with a menacing edge that seemed sharp enough to cleave through anything in its path.

She inspected the blade casually, her back turned to them, as if she hadn’t just sent a shiver down their spines. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, her voice light but her movements deliberate, “I’ve got some prep work to finish.”

Johnny and Roach sat frozen, exchanging wide-eyed glances as she walked out, the knife in one hand and the crawfish in the other. The door swung shut behind her, leaving them in tense silence.

After a long pause, Johnny let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair. “We’re still alive, aye?” he muttered, as if needing confirmation.

Roach nodded hesitantly, swallowing hard. “Aye... but I think I’d rather face the Lt. in a mood than her in the kitchen.”

Johnny chuckled weakly, glancing toward the doorway. “Same here, mate. Same here.”

----------

Next on the menu?

Y/N returned, this time wearing gloves smeared with faint traces of whatever she’d been chopping. Her steps were calm and unhurried, but there was something unnerving about the way her gloved fingers curled around the edge of the plates. Without a word, she collected their dishes, her movements efficient and eerily precise. A stray crawfish claw dangled from the edge of one plate, the hard shell glinting like some sort of ominous trophy.

Johnny and Roach stared at it, swallowing hard.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” she said casually, her tone at odds with the unsettling imagery. She turned on her heel, heading for the door. “The stock needs attention. It won’t cook itself.”

The door creaked shut behind her, leaving the two men in an uneasy silence once more.

Roach broke the quiet first, his voice hushed but edged with genuine concern. “Why does it feel like she’s cooking us next?”

Johnny shifted uncomfortably in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mate, don’t even joke about that.” He gestured toward the doorway with a flick of his head. “You saw how she handled that crawfish. Do you really want to find out what she could do to us? Just... don’t mention anything that’ll get her attention. Please. I like bein’ out of the pot, aye?”

Roach nodded quickly, his eyes darting to the doorway, half-expecting her to reappear. “Right. Good point.”

They both sat stiffly in their chairs, trying not to make a sound, hearts pounding with the irrational but persistent thought that they were dangerously close to becoming part of the menu. The lingering smell of the food reminded them just how grateful they were that it hadn’t been them in the pot—or at least, not yet. Hopefully, never!

----------

Captain Price to the Rescue?

After lunch, Y/N strode back into the ‘interrogation’ room, her movements calm but purposeful, and sat down across from Johnny and Roach, resuming where she’d left off.

Her voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Why the hell were you even following me?”

Johnny and Roach exchanged nervous glances, their faces pale. They couldn’t admit the truth—not that they were their Lt.’s men, her partner’s men, and had just been nosy and curious. It was too embarrassing. So, they said nothing.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, clearly unimpressed by their silence. Before she could press them again, there was a sudden, deafening crash.

The front door of the cottage exploded inward, splinters flying in every direction.

Y/N’s eyes snapped to the sound, just in time to hear an enraged bellow.

“JOHNNY! ROACH! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

Johnny and Roach jerked in their seats like startled rabbits.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Johnny screeched, his eyes wide with panic. “IT’S HIM!”

Roach was no better, his voice climbing an octave. “HELP! CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN PRICE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HELP!”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Oh, look at that. Your boss actually came looking for you. I’m touched.”

From the front of the house, Price’s voice boomed again, shaking the walls. “Where are you two? I’ll bloody find you!”

The sound of heavy boots hitting the floorboards echoed ominously as Price stormed through the house.

Johnny and Roach, already panicked, began shouting in unison.

“CAPTAIN, HELP! IT’S A TRAP! BE CAREFUL! SHE’S LOST IT!”

Price’s voice rumbled closer. “What the bloody hell are you two on about?!”

Roach whimpered. “She’s gonna cook us next!”

Johnny, still screaming, added, “WE’RE TIED UP LIKE BLOODY PUDDINGS!”

Price’s footsteps grew louder, and his grumbling was now accompanied by muttered curses. “Bloody pudding? What’s wrong with you two? Can hear you from the front door!”

Finally, Price kicked open the door to the room, his sharp blue eyes taking in the bizarre sight before him: Johnny and Roach tied to chairs, squirming like worms, and Y/N sitting in the corner, arms crossed, an infuriating smirk plastered on her face.

Price blinked, his voice flat with disbelief. “What in the actual hell is this?” He gestured vaguely at the scene. “You two... let her do this to you?”

Before they could explain, Johnny and Roach screamed again.

“DON’T COME ANY CLOSER! SHE’S GOT SPRAY!”

Price frowned, confused. “Spray?”

“THE SAME BLOODY SPRAY SHE USED TO KNOCK US OUT!” Roach added, his voice cracking.

Price paused, staring at Y/N, who raised an eyebrow and leaned forward slightly, clearly enjoying herself.

Price crossed his arms. “You two seriously think I’m gonna fall for that?”

Y/N’s smirk widened. “Oh, I figured you wouldn’t. That’s why I’ve got something better.”

She reached behind her chair, her movements swift and deliberate, and grabbed a rifle dart gun. Before Price could react, she fired.

The dart hit his knee with a thunk.

“Bloody—” Price growled, yanking the dart out and glaring at her.

She fired again, this time hitting his neck.

“OH, BLOODY HELL!” Johnny and Roach screamed in unison, wriggling in their chairs as if they could escape whatever fate awaited their captain.

Price ripped the second dart out, snarling. “Woman, what the hell are you—”

He stopped mid-sentence, swaying unsteadily. The room tilted, his balance suddenly off. Gritting his teeth, Price dropped to one knee, staring up at her with fire in his eyes.

“What did you do to me, woman?!” he growled, his voice thick with anger and something else—drowsiness.

Y/N walked toward him slowly, the dart gun still in her hand, her expression eerily calm. “Oh, don’t worry, Captain,” she said, her voice light and almost cheerful. “It’s just a tranquilizer. I use it on wild boars.”

Her smile turned sinister as Price’s vision blurred. That was the last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him whole.

----------

A New Hostage!

Y/N grunted as she dragged Captain Price’s unconscious form across the room, muttering to herself. “Bloody hell, you’re heavy! What do they feed you soldiers? Bricks?!” She propped him up on a chair with a huff, shaking her head. “This is ridiculous. I should be done prepping food by now!”

Johnny and Roach sat stiffly in their chairs, wide-eyed and helpless as they watched her wrestle the Captain’s limp form like a sack of potatoes.

Roach leaned toward Johnny and whispered, his voice trembling, “Who the hell is this woman?”

Johnny didn’t take his eyes off her. “I don’t know, mate, but she’s mental. Proper mental.”

Roach gulped. “How did we end up here? She’s got Price, for goodness’s sake. Price!”

Johnny shook his head slowly. “Simon’s birdie, huh? I thought she’d be a sweet lass. You know, one of those quiet types. Maybe she bakes.”

Roach’s eyes darted nervously to the dart gun still slung over her shoulder. “Bakes?! Johnny, she tranquilized the Captain. With wild boar darts! Bakes?! Are you daft?”

Johnny shrugged, his voice quiet. “I don’t know what I thought. But it sure as hell wasn’t this.”

They both fell silent as Y/N crouched in front of Price, adjusting the ropes with practiced ease. She tied a firm knot, tugged on it to test its strength, and then stood back to admire her work.

“Alright,” she said cheerfully, dusting off her hands. “That’ll hold him until he wakes up.” She turned to Johnny and Roach, her tone casual, as if she hadn’t just restrained their Captain like a Christmas ham. “I need to get back to my food prep. I’ll check on you lot later.”

Johnny’s panic finally broke through. “What the hell did you do to our Captain?!”

Y/N waved a dismissive hand, already halfway to the door. “Oh, nothing. He’s fine! He’ll be awake in an hour. Or so. Probably.”

“Probably?!” Roach squeaked, his voice rising in pitch.

Y/N turned to them with an exasperated sigh. “I said he’s fine. It’s just a tranquilizer, not poison. Relax, will you?”

With that, she exited the room, leaving the two soldiers to stew in their rising panic.

Johnny leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Mate,” he said, his voice hollow. “We’ve messed with the wrong woman.”

Roach nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the door she’d just walked through. “Yeah. And now we’re in her house. Tied to chairs. Watching her hold the Captain hostage. What the hell do we do now?”

Johnny let out a shaky breath. “Pray, mate. Just pray.”

---------- The Morrigan

Captain Price groaned, blinking groggily as he came to his senses. His head throbbed, and his arms were firmly tied to the chair, rendering him utterly immobile. The familiar smell of seafood chowder and garlic bread wafted through the room, and his stomach gave a loud, rumbling protest.

Johnny and Roach were sitting across from him, completely unfazed, digging into their bowls with gusto as though they weren’t in the middle of being held hostage.

Price scowled at them. “How the hell are you two still eating like that? All three of us are bloody hostages, and you’re sitting there like it’s a bloody picnic!”

Johnny, not missing a beat, took another bite of his chowder. “She gets offended if we don’t eat, Cap.”

Roach nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “Yeah, mate. She insists on it. Said it’s bad manners not to finish what’s on your plate.”

Price stared at them in disbelief, then rolled his eyes. “You two are unbelievable. Getting bribed with food. Bloody greedy gluttons.”

Johnny shot him a look, eyebrows raised. “Oh, come on, Cap. You’re the same! Remember when you demanded a fruit from the fruit baskets that Ghost and Gaz brought home after that last deployment? Oh, and the chocolate. Don’t forget the chocolate.”

Price’s face reddened, and he opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get a word out, the door swung open. Y/N walked in, holding a steaming bowl of seafood chowder and a freshly baked garlic bread loaf in one hand, her smile as unsettling as ever.

“Dinner time, Captain,” she chirped, her smile practically stretching ear to ear. “Hope you’re hungry!”

She put the bowl down next to Johnny and Roach and then stopped in front of Price. She stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment, her eyes gleaming with something not quite right.

Price, feeling the heat of her gaze, grunted. “What?”

“Well,” she began slowly, “I don’t trust you, Captain. I’m not sure I should let you eat.”

Price’s jaw dropped. “Oi! Woman! Why do Johnny and Roach get to eat then?”

Y/N shrugged, her creepy smile not faltering. “Well, I’m afraid the moment I loosen your binds, you’ll try to fight me. And, I’m just a small, poor, ‘harmless’ woman. I can’t risk that.”

At the word “harmless,” Price, Johnny, and Roach all rolled their eyes in unison. Price opened his mouth to protest.

“Harmless? After what you did? You call yourself that?!” Price barked, incredulous.

Y/N chuckled darkly. She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a syringe with a sinister smile plastered on her face. “Well, Captain, since I don’t trust you, I thought about cutting the veins in your ankles to stop you from walking. But I don’t like making a mess, so I figured I’d just inject you with this. Numbs your legs for a couple of hours. Maybe.”

At the sight of the syringe, Johnny and Roach went pale, their eyes darting nervously between Y/N and each other.

Before anyone could say another word, the front door swung open, and Simon's deep, raspy voice called out from the living room. “Birdie!! I got the salmon you wanted! And the veggies!!”

Simon entered the kitchen, slipping off his boots and replacing them with his indoor slippers. He carried a wrapped salmon and vegetables, exactly as Y/N had instructed.

“Oh!! And I ran into Kyle!! Since you're making seafood boil, I figured the whole pot is a lot, so I invited him to join!” Simon added casually, with Kyle nervously trailing behind, holding a case of beer.

“Birdie? Where are you, love?” Simon called out, clearly not expecting the scene unfolding before him.

“GHOST!!! HELP!!!! SHE'S MENTAL!!! MENTAL, I TELL YOU!!!” Roach screamed, his voice pitched higher than usual.

Johnny joined in, his voice almost breaking. “LT!!! HEEELLLPPP!!!”

Simon’s brows furrowed at the chaos, and he looked at Kyle, who was now standing awkwardly by the door, trying to understand what was happening. Simon sighed deeply.

Kyle, for his part, was unsure whether to be concerned or amused. He took a step into the kitchen, then another, eyeing the situation with mounting confusion. “Uh... I brought beer?” he offered weakly, looking between the trio of tied-up soldiers and Simon, who seemed less concerned than he should be.

Simon looked at the scene for a few beats, then glanced at Y/N. “Birdie? What the hell is going on here?”

Y/N just smiled, her hands on her hips. “Oh, you know, just a little dinner prep. They were helping me out. Tied up, of course.”

“Helping?!” Johnny gasped, his face turning pale. “You’ve lost it, woman!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Y/N said sweetly, “You’re just getting a bit of ‘quiet time.’”

Simon’s eyes darted between his tied-up squad and his ‘birdie,’ clearly confused by the bizarre situation. After a few moments of stunned silence, he rubbed his temples. “Right. What exactly is going on here?”

Johnny, Roach, and Price all looked at each other, then in unison, shouted, “She’s mental!”

Simon grinned widely, his eyes glinting with a mischievous spark. “Well, that’s one of her attractive traits, mate!” he said, pointing a thumb at Y/N.

The three tied-up soldiers groaned in unison, rolling their eyes. Price, trying to avoid a full-blown headache, muttered under his breath, “Simon, you’re in too deep, mate.”

Simon chuckled heartily, unaffected by the collective groans of his squad. “Nah, mate. You just wait until you get to know her better. She’s bloody great fun!” He turned back to Y/N, clearly ready for an explanation. “But seriously, birdie, what happened here?”

Y/N flashed a sweet smile, completely unfazed by the chaos. “Well,” she began, clearly enjoying herself, “it all started when Johnny and Roach followed me around the market, sneaking around like suspicious men. I thought they were enemies trying to spy on me, they followed me into my vehicle!! I was going to interrogate them about who sent them and what they were after.”

She pointed at Price, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “And then, I caught their boss. The big guy. This Captain Price!”

Simon blinked, his face turning a little confused. “Wait, what? You think my squad was spying on you?”

Y/N nodded, her expression serious. “I had to make sure they weren’t after me. You can never be too careful, right?”

Johnny, Roach, and Price all exchanged weary looks. Johnny shrugged. “She’s got a point. We did follow her into the car...”

Roach groaned. “Yeah, we were just out looking for a pint and lunch, and then we saw Simon’s birdie. Next thing we know, we’re being accused of being bloody spies!" He sighed dramatically. "Alright, fine, we were being nosy!!” he admits begrudgingly

Simon raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward the tied-up trio. “Right, so these are my teammates. Johnny and Roach, they’re just nosy as hell, always sticking their noses where they shouldn’t be. And Captain Price here? Well, he just got caught up in all this mess. He’s innocent.”

Y/N wasn’t having it. She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you sure about that? They could be spies or double agents! You never know.”

Simon snorted. “Spies? Double agents? Goodness, birdie, they’re just bloody nosy!”

Y/N pouted, pointing her finger at Price. “But he’s the boss! He could be involved in something shady! You never know, Simon. Just look at what happened with your previous team before.” She lowered her voice dramatically, adding, “You can’t be too careful.”

Kyle, who had been standing in the doorway this whole time, chimed in with a grin. “Captain Price is a good man. As for Johnny and Roach, they’re... well, they’re okay. Just a bit nosy, that’s all.”

Y/N blinked, her face going from suspicion to shock as she processed what Kyle had said. She slowly turned to Johnny and Roach, her eyes widening with realization. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I had no idea!”

Johnny and Roach stared back, their faces as deadpan as ever. “You’re sorry now?” Roach muttered dryly.

Johnny crossed his arms. “Well, thanks for the hospitality.”

Y/N, now flustered and horrified by her own actions, started to apologize profusely. “I didn’t mean to—oh gosh, I’m so sorry! I’m not usually like this! I swear! I thought you were bad guys!”

Price, still tied up, finally cracked a grin. “Well, now you know, love. We’re just a bunch of idiots who can’t even follow a simple market trip.”

Y/N started babbling, her face turning a deep shade of red. “I promise, I’m not like this! I just... I wanted to protect myself! I didn’t want to end up like—” She froze, catching herself awkwardly.

“Like what?” Simon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Like... like... them...” she trailed off, her eyes shifting nervously. The awkwardness hung in the air like a fog, and the tension was palpable. Y/N let out a small, frustrated sigh before continuing, her voice a little quieter. “And... I wanted to protect you, Simon. I thought... after interrogating them, I’d eliminate them, and then... their boss.” She gave an awkward, forced laugh, trying to shake off the gravity of her words.

Captain Price, still tied up and listening intently, interrupted with a deadpan expression. “Oi, I’m just right here, woman!”

Everyone paused, staring at him. Y/N blinked, her face turning an even deeper shade of red as she fumbled for words.

“I—uh, I didn’t mean you, Captain! You’re... you're fine!” she stammered, trying to backtrack.

Simon sighed, his expression softening slightly. Captain Price and Kyle exchanged looks, both of them quickly catching on to what Y/N was implying.

The squad, in unison, all said, “Ohhhh...” in realization.

Y/N’s face flushed with embarrassment as she quickly tried to change the subject. “Anyway, I’m sure we’ve had enough of my crazy ideas for one day!” she said, her hands flailing around in panic.

Captain Price, still tied to the chair, growled from his seat. “Oi, what about me, then? Johnny and Roach get food, but I’m stuck here like some bloody hostage? Where’s my dinner?” Price just sighs and muttered, “Bloody hell, I’m was about to get murdered by a mental woman and I haven’t even had dinner yet...”

Y/N facepalmed, her apology now morphing into full-blown panic. “I swear, this never happens to me! I’m usually really good at this... well, not this, but you know—being careful and suspicious!” She started to untie Price, clearly flustered.

Captain Price was not having it, though. “And I want that syringe you were planning on stabbing me with, and your bloody hunting rifle!” he demanded, his voice loud with mock indignation.

Y/N, clearly rattled, nervously dug around in her apron pocket and handed over the syringe, though she nearly jabbed him with it in the process. “It’s just... a little something to numb your legs, I swear it’s safe!” she said quickly, voice wavering.

Price's eyes widened, and he flinched as the syringe came dangerously close to his face. “Bloody hell, that thing almost stabbed me! And give me the rifle!”

Y/N froze, looking incredibly guilty. “I... I can’t give you the rifle,” she said, voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s, uh... property of my workplace.”

Captain Price narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You, a small, "harmless woman", did all this? With that rifle and... and this?” He gestured to the entire situation, still trying to process how he ended up tied up in a chair with a syringe so close to his throat.

Y/N blinked, tears welling up in her eyes as her guilty face contorted into an apologetic expression. “I’m so sorry!” She sniffled, throwing herself into Simon’s arms, clearly distressed. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far, I swear!”

Simon, unbothered as always, playfully scolded Price. “Oi, Captain! You’re being harsh on my birdie,” he said, ruffling Y/N’s hair affectionately, who clung to him like a lifeline.

Kyle, who’d been quietly observing the whole mess, smiled and sighed. “Captain Price, be nice.”

“What?! I have the right to know what kind of mental person I’m dealing with here!” Price fired back, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Well, the only thing I can tell you, Captain, is that she was my previous Case Officer,” Kyle said, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “And I think you’ve heard of the The Morrigan of MI5, right?”

Price’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I’ve heard of them. All I know is that they retired. No longer in active duty.”

Kyle gave a short nod in Y/N's direction. “Well, Captain, meet 'The Morrigan'.”

Captain Price’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped in complete realization. “No bloody way.”

Y/N gave him an awkward, apologetic look, her face turning crimson. “Uhhmmm… hello…” she offered with a nervous little wave.

Price just sat there, utterly dumbfounded, blinking as he processed the bombshell revelation. The room went silent for a beat—until Simon burst into laughter.

“See? Told you my birdie’s got a bit of bite!” Simon teased, squeezing Y/N’s shoulder with a proud grin, while she covered her face with her hands, groaning in embarrassment.

Kyle looked at Price, his grin barely hidden. “Guess you didn’t expect that, did you, Cap?”

Price leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his hair, horrified. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, staring at Y/N like she was a wild animal that had somehow escaped its cage. “I’ve had a run-in with The Morrigan of MI5... and I was about to get murdered by her if you two hadn’t shown up on time.” He paused, shaking his head. “Fuuuucckkk.”

Johnny and Roach, standing to the side and clearly confused, looked at each other before turning to Price.

“What happened now, Captain?” Johnny asked.

Price glanced at them, his face pale. “You ate the meal she made, didn’t you?” His voice was dripping with dread. “I think I need to send you both to the hospital.”

Johnny frowned, confused. “Hospital? Why?”

“Oh no, Captain,” Roach chimed in. “She doesn’t mess with food.”

“Aye, she’s been feeding us since lunch!” Johnny added. “We’re still alive, nothing’s happened to us!"

Y/N threw her hands up, clearly exasperated. “Exactly! I don’t mess with food! If I wanted to harm you, I’d have done it directly—like I said, I’d inject you with syringes or something.”

Price groaned, rubbing his temples. “Lads, you don’t get it. This is The Morrigan of MI5. Right in front of you. She’s a bloody poisoner!” His voice rose slightly with every word, his face showing equal parts horror and disbelief.

Johnny and Roach froze, their eyes darting toward Y/N.

“Ohhh...” they said in unison, realization dawning on their faces as everything clicked into place—the spray, the syringe, the fact they’d both been knocked out cold earlier.

“Yeah,” Roach muttered, his face pale. “Makes sense now. She did knock us out with that spray.”

Johnny nodded slowly. “Aye, and the syringe...” He shuddered slightly, giving Y/N a wary glance.

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “For the last time, I don’t mess with food!”

Simon, thoroughly amused, chuckled as he leaned back against the counter. “Don’t worry, lads. If my birdie wanted to kill you, you’d already be six feet under. Trust me, she doesn’t miss.”

“Not helping, Simon!” Y/N snapped, glaring at him as Johnny and Roach edged slightly farther away from her, their paranoia clearly growing.

Price slumped in his chair, muttering under his breath. “I just wanted dinner, not a bloody heart attack...”

----------

A Hearty Meal

To Kyle’s absolute amusement, dinner was in full swing. Simon and Y/N worked in tandem, pouring the contents of the enormous seafood boil pot directly onto the middle of the table. The colorful mountain of food spilled out like a culinary treasure chest: large, bright red crawfish, plump prawns, glistening salmon chunks, tender clams, juicy slices of chopped sausage, perfectly cooked potatoes, and sweet, caramelized carrots—all steaming and coated in a fragrant garlic butter sauce that filled the air.

“Bloody hell,” Johnny muttered, his eyes wide as he ogled the spread like it was some rare artifact. “That’s a feast fit for a King... or a hungry Scotsman.”

Price, seated at the head of the table like some weary monarch after battle, raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “More like a last meal, knowing what I just found out,” he grumbled, casting a wary glance at Y/N.

“Oi!” Y/N snapped, brandishing the garlic butter brush like a weapon. “For the last time, I don’t mess with food! You lot are exhausting!”

“Sure, lass,” Johnny chimed in with a mischievous grin. “But just in case, I’ll have Roach take the first bite.” He shoved a spoon into Roach’s hand, earning an indignant glare from his teammate.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Kyle muttered, rolling his eyes. He leaned forward, grabbed a crawfish, and expertly cracked it open, popping the meat into his mouth. “See? Perfectly fine. Bloody delicious, actually.”

Johnny and Roach exchanged a look, then immediately started piling their plates with prawns, crawfish, and sausage, following Kyle’s lead.

Meanwhile, Captain Price sat frozen, still staring at Y/N in disbelief.

“You all right there, Cap?” Kyle asked, grinning as he grabbed a prawn. “You’re looking a bit peaky.”

Price blinked, snapping out of his daze. “Just... processing, that’s all,” he muttered.

Kyle laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve got nothing to process, sir. You’re overthinking it. You know, this reminds me of my station in the Middle East. Remember that big leak at MI5 and MI6? The one that almost cost us a dozen agents and operatives?”

Price frowned, his fork hovering midair. “Yeah, I remember. That was chaos. Took weeks to get everything back under control.”

Kyle nodded, cracking another crawfish shell with practiced ease. “Well, she’s the reason it didn’t get worse. The Morrigan of MI5? She personally coordinated the operation that saved everyone—and even prevented it from leaking to the media. Could’ve been an international disaster if she hadn’t stepped in.” He popped a piece of sausage into his mouth and gestured toward Y/N.

Price’s eyes widened, his fork frozen mid-air. “I still can’t believe it,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “This unassuming woman—you—is The Morrigan. And MacMillan trusted you enough to follow your lead? My mentor, the man who doesn’t trust anyone?”

Y/N arched an eyebrow at him, narrowing her eyes as she spread butter on the next batch of garlic bread. “Sorry I don’t look like James Bond material, Captain,” she said dryly, sliding the tray into the oven. “But we all know operations aren’t glamorous like those bloody James Bond films. No fancy tuxedos, no martinis shaken or stirred—just sweat, dirt, and a lot of paperwork afterward.”

Simon let out a low chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “She’s got a point, Cap. Can’t exactly look dashing in a firefight, can you?”

Price sighed, rubbing his temple as the corner of his mouth twitched. “Still doesn’t change the fact that MacMillan trusted her. I just... can’t wrap my head around it. I mean, look at her—she’s so unassuming. Petite, even. And then there’s us lot—giants by comparison.” He gestured vaguely at himself, Simon, and the rest of the team.

Y/N snorted, setting a pitcher of iced tea on the counter with a cheeky grin. “Aye, I might be small, Captain, but let’s not forget—you, Johnny, and Roach still ended up as my hostages.”

Simon and Kyle burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the room. Kyle nearly choked on his drink, and Simon grinned, ruffling Y/N’s hair fondly. “That’s my birdie,” he said with a chuckle.

Y/N shot a playful look at Captain Price. “Captain, instead of still trying to figure out who I am, why don’t you just eat? You were complaining to me earlier about why I didn’t feed you, but only fed Johnny and Roach.”

Price huffed, clearly still trying to process everything. “Just having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that the woman who nearly gave me a heart attack earlier is the same one MacMillan trusted with his operations.” He sighed dramatically. “Fine, I’ll eat! I’ll just eat,” he muttered, digging into the seafood boil with surprising enthusiasm, the flavors catching him off guard. Before long, he was enjoying it more than he thought he would.

“Cap,” Johnny said through a mouthful of crawfish, “if she wanted us dead, she wouldn’t bother with poison. She’d just snap her fingers and make it happen. Or, y’know, spray us again.”

Roach laughed, reaching for another piece of bread. “Aye, and this garlic bread’s worth trusting her, if you ask me.”

Kyle grinned as he cracked another crawfish shell. “And Cap, if she really wanted to get rid of us, Simon’d be out cold already—he’s been sneaking bites of her cooking since we sat down.”

Simon smiled, clearly unbothered as he continued eating with satisfaction.

Price groaned, leaning his head back against the chair. “Bloody hell. I need a drink.”

----------

The Takeaways

Y/N felt a pang of guilt as she packed takeaway boxes, filling them with the leftovers: seafood chowder, shortbread she’d baked earlier, slices of pie, and more of the seafood boil. She tucked in an extra serving for Kyle as well, her own small way of making up for the earlier mess. Once everything was packed and the food was neatly stacked into bags, she carried them outside, walking with the group to the vehicle.

Captain Price, Johnny, and Roach were ready to leave, their heads still spinning from the earlier revelations. Price had driven himself here, and now, as he climbed into the driver’s seat of his truck, Y/N felt a sudden rush of guilt again. She paused, a strange look crossing her face, before she moved towards him.

With a gentle but firm hand, she pulled Captain Price out of the driver’s seat, despite her small frame. He shot her a puzzled glance, but before he could say anything, she reached up to the dashboard and yanked the liquid air freshener attached to the aircon.

“Sorry, Captain,” she said sheepishly, “it’s actually poison. I placed this earlier when I thought you were still my enemy. After I planned to let you go, this would’ve done its job.”

Johnny and Roach froze, their eyes wide, sweat trickling down their foreheads as they suddenly realized what had almost happened. Captain Price’s mouth hung agape, his face frozen in a mixture of shock and fear.

Kyle let out a hearty laugh. “Do you still doubt that she’s The Morrigan, Captain?!”

Simon burst into uncontrollable laughter, unable to stop himself, clutching his stomach in amusement.

Price sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. “Unbelievable…” His voice was a mix of disbelief and exhaustion, still processing the fact that this small, unassuming woman—who had just made them all dinner—was none other than The Morrigan. A woman feared and respected across MI5, MI6, and Special Ops—the entire intelligence and special operations community. He could hardly wrap his head around it, his mind still struggling to connect the dots. There was little known about her beyond her callsign, and most of what was, had been redacted. All he knew was that she was a ghost, a shadow in the field, and now, she was standing right in front of him.

Y/N, a little embarrassed by the whole situation, scratched the back of her neck. “Don’t worry, Captain! The food I packed for you isn’t poisoned! I hope you enjoy it!!”

Simon continued laughing in the background, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

As Price shook his head in disbelief, his 4x4 rumbled to life, and Gaz, Johnny and Roach climbed inside, still processing everything. The vehicle pulled out of Simon’s cottage compound, disappearing down the road.

----------

His Goddess

As Captain Price drove them back to the base, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, Kyle couldn't help but notice the still-shocked expression on the Captain's face. The earlier revelation had clearly rattled him.

"Alright, Cap?" Kyle said, glancing over with a smirk.

Captain Price navigated the winding road back to the base, Kyle couldn’t help but notice that the Captain was still in a state of shock. Price’s mind clearly hadn’t settled on everything that had just happened. After a few moments of silence, the Captain spoke, his voice still tinged with disbelief.

“Alright, Kyle… how did you know who 'The Morrigan' was? Her face, for Christ’s sake. That was blacked out—redacted from every file.”

Kyle leaned back in his seat, taking a deep breath as he glanced out the window, the dimming light casting shadows across his face. “It was when she came to rescue us. We were in a tight spot, surrounded. The cover story she came up with? One of the most ridiculous plans I’d ever heard, but effective as hell. It worked, especially given the circumstances. She radioed in to confirm the extraction, and that’s when she said her name—'This is The Morrigan.' That’s when it all clicked.” He paused, reflecting. “She’s known for planning ops like nobody else—strategic, methodical. A real grandmaster at it.” Kyle gave a small smirk. “Not many know her face.”

Price nodded, absorbing the information. He gripped the wheel a little tighter, still processing. “I see,” he muttered, his eyes on the road. “I just didn’t expect her to look like that. Petite... like she couldn’t harm a fly.” His voice was almost incredulous.

Johnny, from the backseat, couldn’t resist. “Well, Captain, guess we’ve learned today that size and looks don’t mean a damn thing when it comes to being dangerous.”

Roach snickered, adding, “Aye, she might be small, but she’s got a bite that’ll make you wish you were never born.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Don’t you think they’re a good match?”

Price chuckled, his eyes glinting with a knowing look. “Aye, I can see it now. Quite fitting, actually. I get why Simon loves her. It makes sense.”

Kyle’s grin deepened, his voice taking on a more thoughtful, almost poetic quality.

“Yeah, if Ghost is the Grim Reaper, then she’s The Morrigan—his Goddess.”

Price glanced at him, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Hell, you’re not wrong. They make one hell of a pair.”

Johnny leaned forward from the backseat, nodding in agreement. “Aye, Death and His Goddess, now that’s a match made in... well, whatever’s beyond.”

Roach chuckled, adding his own twist. “Couldn’t put it better. The Goddess of Death and Death her Reaper. Perfect balance of chaos and control.”

Price let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Bloody hell... they really do.”

----------- An Investigation

By the time Captain Price reached the base, the drive had given him plenty of time to process everything. He was still reeling from what he'd learned, but that wasn’t going to stop him from getting answers. His mind still on the tiny, dangerous woman he’d just encountered.

After everyone got out of the 4x4 and decided to retreat to their own quarters, there was a collective yawn from Johnny, Roach, and Gaz, as they all called it a night. It had been a long, exhausting, and somewhat terrifying day. Captain Price waved them off, his own mind still turning over the events.

Once inside his quarters, he glanced at the clock, realizing it was still a little early in Washington, D.C. A quick thought crossed his mind—if anyone knew anything about "The Morrigan," it would be Laswell.

He grabbed his comms and dialed in. It rang once, twice, before the line clicked on.

“Hi, good evening, Laswell,” Price said, his voice a little more cautious than usual. “Do you know anything about ‘The Morrigan’?”

A/N: About YOU!! (Y/N) being Ghost’s Goddess, sounds nice, doesn’t it? You’re the Goddess “The Morrigan,” and Simon—Death, the Reaper. Such a perfect match!!! I hope you all enjoyed the chaos and comedy in this one! Apologies for the late update—I had to do a bit of research and juggle some work,Thanks for your patience and for reading! 💀✨

P.S. I might write another one, who knows? A little short continuity here and there once I get the right idea, but for now, nothing planned. I’ll post if I do though!

[msilwrites]

More Trouble (Johnny 'Soap' Fic) - Two

Whatever size/colour/ethnicity you are, you are hot in Johnny's Eyes! Reader, Soap is smitten with you! Reader, Agent! Reader, Reboot! Johnny, Reboot! Soap, but he is Captain! Soap (Now!!), Captain! Johnny, Captain! Soap, Fuckboi! Soap, Manwhore! Soap, Judgemental! Johnny, Judgemental! Soap, Shameless! Soap, Cocky! Soap, Bastard! Soap

Soap x Reader , Soap x Y/N , Click here for Part 1 | This is Part 2 | Part 3 ( In Progress)

NSFW

Genre: Drama/Comedy/ with some Smut MDNI Summary:

After you disappeared on Johnny following that passionate night, you quickly realized you had forgotten your bracelet at his place. A few hours later, you called him to retrieve it, but Johnny had other plans. He playfully suggested that he would hold onto the bracelet until you met him again, turning the situation into a flirtatious game.

Despite your initial resistance, you found yourself falling back into his arms. What started as a simple arrangement to get your bracelet back evolved into a weekend ritual where you and Johnny would meet, the passion between you undeniable. However, as the weeks turned into months, the relationship became more complicated. Pregnancy scares and arguments began to surface, and you realized that you wanted more than just a physical connection.

You found yourself falling in love with Johnny, but you knew he wouldn't take you seriously. The emotional turmoil and the realization that you deserved more led you to decide to move on. Unfortunately, Johnny refused to let you go, his obsession growing more intense with each passing day. Good luck escaping him, Birdie—because he won’t let you slip away so easily! In fact, he won't let you escape at all.

A/N:

This is the continuation of Trouble, featuring our sunshine Captain Johnny Soap MacTavish—who just so happens to be a little obsessed with you! Buckle up for the whirlwind, the chaos, and the sizzling tension. Enjoy! 💙

----------

Johnny's lounging at home, the bracelet dangling from his fingers, when his phone rings. The caller ID shows an unknown number, piquing his curiosity. He answers, his voice casual but guarded.

"Hello?"

It's you—your voice cool and businesslike, but he can sense the underlying tension.

"Hey, it’s me. I need my bracelet back."

Johnny's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He smirks, leaning back in his chair, the realization dawning on him that it's you on the other end of the line. "Oh, now you remember me, Birdie. Thought you’d flown off for good."

You sigh softly, trying to keep your composure. "Look, I spent a lot on that bracelet. It’s not sentimental—it’s expensive. Just... I need it back."

Johnny's grin widens, a mix of amusement and satisfaction playing on his lips. "Expensive, eh? Then I reckon I’m holdin’ onto it ‘til you meet me again. Fair trade, don’t you think?"

There's a pause as you bite your lip, trying to think of a way out. "Can’t you just mail it to me? Or drop it off somewhere neutral?"

Johnny's tone turns playful but firm, hinting at his hurt pride. "You disappeared on me, lass. Think I’m lettin’ you off that easy? Not a chance. You want it, you come get it."

----------

Reluctantly, you agree to meet at a quiet café. As you walk in, Johnny's cheeky grin throws you off. He's leaning back in his chair, the bracelet dangling teasingly from his fingers.

"There’s my runaway Birdie. Fancy seein’ you again."

You roll your eyes, trying to keep your cool. "I’m just here for the bracelet, MacTavish."

Johnny's grin widens. "And here I thought you missed me."

The banter escalates, the chemistry sparking just as strong as before. You reach for the bracelet, but Johnny pulls it back, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Not so fast," he says, his voice low and commanding. Before you can react, he grabs your wrist and pulls you onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping around you. You can feel the heat of his body, the firmness of his muscles, and the unmistakable bulge pressing against you. "You can’t just waltz back in, get what you want, and leave. What’s the rush, eh? Sit with me a while."

Your breath hitches as you feel his breath on your neck, his lips brushing against your ear. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, and you can't help but melt into his embrace. The chemistry between you is undeniable, and you know you're in for more than just a simple meeting.

Reluctantly, you agree to stay. The conversation flows, and before you know it, you're back at Johnny's place. The passion reignites, and this time, Johnny is determined not to let you slip away.

----------

"You think you can keep runnin’, but I’ve got news for you, Birdie. You’re not just walkin’ out on me this time."

The air between you is electric as Johnny's words hang heavy with promise. His eyes lock onto yours, a mix of determination and desire burning in their depths. You can feel the tug of his strong arms, the warmth of his body pressing against yours, and the unmistakable connection that pulls you closer.

As you find yourselves back at Johnny's place, the tension that had been building all day finally snaps. His hands roam over your body, both gentle and demanding, exploring every curve and contour. You can feel his breath hot on your skin, his lips trailing kisses that leave you breathless and wanting more.

"You drive me crazy, Birdie," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I can't get enough of you."

You smile, your fingers tracing the muscles of his chest. "You're not so bad yourself, MacTavish."

His eyes darken with desire as he begins to undress you, his touch deliberate and teasing. You help him, your hands trembling with anticipation. His shirt comes off next, revealing his sculpted body, and you can't help but admire how sexy he looks.

"Like what you see?" he asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Very much," you reply, your voice barely a whisper.

With a swift movement, Johnny scoops you up, swinging you effortlessly onto his broad shoulders. You let out a surprised laugh as he carries you to the bedroom, his strong arms holding you securely. He throws you onto the bed, and before you can react, he's on top of you, using his strength and weight to pin you down.

"You're not going anywhere, Birdie," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "Not this time."

Your breath hitches as you feel his body press against yours, the heat between you intensifying. His lips find yours in a passionate kiss, and you lose yourself in the sensation, the world outside fading away. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word feels like a claim, a promise that this time, things will be different.

The passion between you is intense, a dance of give and take, of pleasure and need. His hands explore your body, his touch both gentle and demanding, driving you wild with desire. You arch against him, your body responding to his every touch, your moans filling the room.

Afterward, as you lie tangled together, Johnny reaches for the bracelet. His fingers brush against your skin as he carefully places it back on your wrist. The gesture feels intimate, almost like a claim, solidifying your connection even if neither of you admits it yet.

"There you go, Bonnie," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "This belongs on you. Just like you belong here with me."

You tease him about finally giving it back, but the smile on his lips and the warmth in his eyes tell a different story. "You just can't resist keeping me close, can you?" you whisper, your voice soft with contentment.

Johnny's grin widens, and he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "Never, Bonnie. You're mine now."

And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, a mix of emotions swirls within you. You feel safe, protected by his strong embrace, yet there's a lingering uncertainty. You wonder if Johnny will take you seriously, if this connection is more than just physical. His presence is comforting, his touch electrifying, but the future feels uncertain, leaving you with a sense of both belonging and fear.

----------

The Weekend 'Tradition'

From that night on, you both fell into an unspoken routine. You’d show up at his place on Fridays, and by Saturday morning, Johnny would be in the kitchen cooking breakfast with a self-satisfied smirk.

Your weekends were a heady mix of passion and playful arguments. He’d tease you about your high-maintenance tastes, calling you “Princess” just to watch you scowl, while you rolled your eyes at his cocky charm.

“You think you’re God’s gift, don’t you?” you muttered one morning, pulling the sheet up around your bare chest.

Johnny, still shirtless and looking entirely too smug, leaned back against the headboard. “Aye. And judging by last night, I’d say I’m right.”

You threw a pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly, laughing.

But it wasn’t just the physical chemistry that kept you coming back to each other. You texted during the week—playful, flirty exchanges that Johnny looked forward to more than he cared to admit. Sometimes, you’d send him a picture of your lunch, and he’d reply with something ridiculous like, “Ye know that’s not real food, right? Come over, and I’ll make you a proper meal.”

It was easy, fun, and thrillingly uncomplicated. At least, that’s what Johnny thought.

----------

The Pregnancy Scare

One weekend, you didn’t show up on time. Johnny waited, pacing his flat, his phone clutched in his hand as he debated whether to call you.

When you finally texted, it wasn’t your usual sarcastic remark or teasing quip. It was a simple, cryptic message: We need to talk.

Johnny’s heart sank. Never good, that.

When you arrived, you looked unusually tense, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself. Johnny greeted you with his usual cheeky grin, but it faltered when you didn’t immediately snap back at him.

“Alright, Birdie?” he asked, his tone softening.

You hesitated, then blurted it out: “I might be pregnant.”

Johnny froze. For a moment, the words didn’t register. Then his brain caught up, and he blinked at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“You... what?”

“I’m late,” you said quickly, your voice uncharacteristically quiet. “It’s probably nothing, but I thought you should know.”

Johnny stared at you, his mind racing. Then, to your utter shock, he grinned. “Well, I guess I’d better brush up on my lullabies.”

You gawked at him. “Johnny, this isn’t a joke—”

“I’m not jokin’,” he interrupted, his tone sincere. He reached out, taking your hand in his. “Birdie, whatever happens, I’ve got you, alright? We’ll figure it out.”

For once, you didn’t have a snarky response. You just stared at him, a mix of disbelief and something softer in your eyes.

----------

Making Johnny Jealous

Johnny lay sprawled on the bed, his chest rising and falling with slow breaths, a lazy grin on his face. The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft golden streaks across his skin. He watched you from where he lay, his head propped up on one arm.

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your dress—simple, elegant, and far too classy for someone who had just spent the night tangled in his sheets. You smoothed your hair, adding a touch of lipstick to your already swollen lips.

Johnny smirked, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep. “What’s the rush, Birdie? Cannae stay for breakfast? I make a mean fry-up.”

You didn’t even glance at him, focused on slipping your earrings in. “Tempting, but I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Johnny’s grin faltered, a faint furrow forming between his brows. “Somewhere more important than me?”

Finally, you turned to look at him, your tone casual—too casual. “I’ve got a date. Don’t want to be late.”

For a moment, Johnny froze. His brain scrambled to process your words, replaying them like a scratched record. “A... a date?” His voice cracked slightly at the word.

You nodded, your expression calm, like you hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on him. “Yeah, you know, dinner, conversation, maybe something long-term if it works out. People do that, Johnny.”

Johnny sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist, his hands bracing on the mattress as if to steady himself. “Wait a minute. You’re tellin’ me you’re goin’ on a bloody date right after... after—” He gestured wildly to the bed, his face a mix of disbelief and irritation.

You shrugged, picking up your clutch. “We’re not in a relationship. You said it yourself—we’re just having fun, right? No strings.”

Johnny’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with possessiveness. “Aye, I said no strings, but that was before I claimed you as mine. You think you can just walk away from that? From us?”

Your brow arched, defiant. “Johnny, this isn’t about ownership. I’m looking for stability, for something serious. You’re... well...” You gestured to him—shirtless, rumpled, and indignant in his bed. “You’re great in bed, but this? This isn’t long-term material.”

Johnny let out a sharp laugh, though it lacked any humor. “So what? You’re just gonna find some rich tosser to settle down with? That’s your plan?”

You crossed your arms, your tone firm. “If he’s stable and can offer me the kind of life I want, then yes. That’s the plan.”

Johnny swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing in one fluid motion. His broad frame towered over you, his frustration palpable. “Stable? Birdie, you think I cannae give you that? What, you think I’m just some daft squaddie who can’t keep up with you?”

You tilted your chin up, meeting his fiery gaze with your own. “Johnny, I don’t even know what you do. You disappear for weeks without a word, you show up out of nowhere, and you expect me to believe you can offer stability?”

His lips twitched into a smirk, despite the tension. “Maybe I like keepin’ you on your toes. Keeps things excitin’, eh? But that doesn’t mean you can just go shaggin’ whoever you want. We had an arrangement, Birdie. You’re mine, and that means something.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him to grab your coat. “This is exactly what I mean. You’re not serious, Johnny. And I don’t have time to wait for you to figure out what you want. You can’t have it both ways—claiming me as yours and then acting like I’m just some casual fling.”

As you headed for the door, Johnny caught your wrist, his grip firm but not harsh. His voice softened, the anger giving way to something more vulnerable. “Birdie... you cannae just leave. Not like this. Not after...” He trailed off, searching your face for any sign of hesitation.

You looked at him, your resolve unwavering. “I’m not leaving, Johnny. I’m just... moving on.”

As much as you hated to admit it, the date was actually just with your girl friends. You were spending time with them, and you were pissed with Johnny and the way he treats you sometimes—claiming and being possessive, but acting casual with your relationship. You just wanted to piss him off, to make him feel a fraction of the frustration you felt. You think of this as you walk out of his house, your heels clicking sharply on the pavement, your mind a whirlwind of anger and determination.

He let you go, watching as you walked out the door, the sound of your heels echoing down the hall. For a moment, he stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Then, with a determined glint in his eye, he muttered to himself, “We’ll see about that, Birdie. You can run, but I’m not lettin’ you go that easy.”

----------

An Unexpected Return

It was a Saturday morning, and Johnny was sprawled on the bed, a cocky grin plastered across his face as you slipped into your jeans. The sheets were tangled around his waist, and he looked entirely too pleased with himself, his bare chest rising and falling lazily.

Much to Johnny's delight, you had come back after your last heated exchange. Despite your initial anger and frustration, you found yourself drawn back to him, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you. You had resumed your weekend sex sessions, each encounter more intense and passionate than the last.

“So, Birdie,” he drawled, propping himself up on an elbow, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “How’d that wee date of yours go, then? Hope the poor lad didn’t bore you to death.”

You shot him a sharp look over your shoulder as you zipped up your jeans. “None of your business.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he teased, his grin widening. “You’re not gonna tell me he didn’t measure up, are you? Not everyone can, y’know.” His voice dropped an octave, dripping with smug confidence.

Your lips curled into a smirk as you sauntered back toward the bed, leaning down just enough to grab your shirt from the floor. “Let’s just say,” you murmured, your tone sweet as honey, “you’re a lot better at talking than you are at listening, Johnny.”

Before he could fire back, you tugged your shirt over your head and turned to leave. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head, entirely unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

----------

A Dance of Tension

The weekends continued as usual, your "situationship" a tangled web of passion and unspoken tension. Every time Johnny teased you about your "dates," you put him firmly back in his place—often quite literally. The truth was, it wasn't a real date; it was just a simple outing with friends, meant to make Johnny jealous. And while it had worked, his teasing only increased, fueling the fire between you.

Despite your search for a man who could offer stability, you found yourself continually drawn back to Johnny. The magnetic pull between you was undeniable, and the passion you shared was intoxicating.

“Tell me, Birdie,” Johnny groaned one night, his hands gripping your hips as you rode him with deliberate, punishing control. “Did he kiss you like this?”

You rolled your eyes, smirking as you leaned forward, your hands splayed against his chest. “No,” you whispered against his ear, your voice laced with mockery. “He was a gentleman. Something you’ll never be.”

“Good,” Johnny rasped, his grip tightening. “’Cause I’d hate to have to ruin him for you.”

You laughed, low and wicked, but your heart wasn’t in it. “Don’t worry, Johnny. Once I find the right guy, someone stable who can give me the life I want, I’ll stop coming back to you.”

Johnny's eyes flashed with anger, and he gripped your waist tighter, pistoning his pelvis up roughly. “You think you can just walk away from this?” he growled, his voice thick with desire and frustration. “You think any other man can make you feel like this?”

You laughed again, your head tilted back as you reveled in the sensation. “Maybe not,” you admitted, your voice breathy. “But I need more than just passion, Johnny. I need stability.”

Johnny's grip on your waist became almost bruising, his movements more urgent. “You’re mine, Bonnie,” he rasped, his voice dark and possessive. “No other man is going to have you. You’ll always come back to me, no matter how hard you try to fight it.”

The intensity of his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of fear and exhilaration. The line between passion and pain was blurring, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep up the facade. You were falling for him, and it terrified you.

----------

End of the Line

One night, it all comes to a head.

Your chest aches as you watch Johnny stride out of the bathroom, his damp hair sticking to his forehead and a towel slung low on his hips. It's impossible not to take in the sight of him, all taut muscle and raw masculinity, the very image of temptation. For a split second, you waver, your mind screaming at you to rethink everything.

You're sitting on the edge of his bed, fully dressed, your hands clasped tightly in your lap. Johnny, fresh out of the shower, runs a towel through his damp hair as he walks into the room. He frowns when he sees your expression.

“Birdie?” he asks, his voice softer than usual. “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath, refusing to meet his eyes. “I can’t do this anymore, Johnny.”

His grin falters. He steps further into the room, water still glistening on his skin. “What are you on about, lass? We’re fine. You were just in my bed an hour ago, screaming my name, far as I recall.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you don’t back down. “This isn’t fine. It’s messy and complicated, and it’s not going anywhere.”

Johnny frowns, his hands resting on his hips. The towel shifts slightly, which isn’t helping your focus. “What’s brought this on, then? Thought you were happy.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Happy? Johnny, I’m not even sure what this is. We’re not in a relationship, but we’re not just hooking up either. And the pregnancy scare—”

“That turned out to be nothing,” he interrupts quickly, though his tone is softer now, almost pleading.

“It wasn’t ‘nothing’ to me,” you snap, your voice rising. “It made me realize how dangerous this is. I can’t keep doing this with you.”

You steel yourself, gripping the strap of your purse tightly. You aren’t going to let him or your feelings pull you back in. Not this time.

Johnny’s piercing blue eyes lock onto yours, his brows furrowing in anger and confusion. “So that’s it, then?” His voice is sharp, almost accusing. “You’re just walking away like none of this meant anything to you?”

Your heart clenches painfully, but you refuse to show it. “Don’t you dare,” you shoot back, your voice low and trembling. “Don’t you turn this on me. This isn’t about what it meant to me, Johnny. It’s about what it doesn’t mean to you.”

He scoffs, running a hand through his wet hair in frustration. “What the hell are you on about? We were fine, Birdie. You were happy, weren’t you? I mean, we had a good thing going.”

“Good thing?” you echo, your voice breaking with bitter incredulity. “Johnny, this—” you gesture between the two of you, your hand trembling, “—this was never about me. It was about convenience. A convenient warm body on the weekends, someone to text when you were bored. But you don’t know me, not really. And that’s not enough for me. Not anymore.”

He takes a step closer, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “That’s bullshit. You knew what this was, and now you’re acting like I’m some kind of villain for it?”

“No, you’re not a villain,” you say, your voice softening for a brief moment before hardening again. “But you’re not what I need, either. I want stability. Someone who knows me beyond the bedroom, who loves me for more than just... this.” You motion vaguely toward yourself, your voice faltering. “And that’s not you.”

“Why not?” he asks, his voice rising again. “You want stability? Fine. I’ll give you that. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you. Be my girlfriend.”

You shake your head, your eyes glistening now. “It’s not that simple. You don’t know anything about me beyond what you’ve made up in your head. I can’t live like this—weekend after weekend, never knowing where you stand, what you’re thinking, or even what you do for a living half the time.”

“And whose fault is that?” he shoots back. “You’ve been keeping me at arm’s length since the start. What the hell am I supposed to think?”

He scoffs, his pride prickling. “You’re one to talk. I don’t even know what you do. You flit about in your fancy clothes, disappearing whenever it suits you, acting like a bloody princess or—”

“Or what?” you cut in, your eyes narrowing.

He hesitates, but his temper gets the better of him. “Or like some high-end escort.”

Your lips curl into a wicked smirk, though your heart clenches at the insult. “You really think I’m a princess and an escort? Sounds like I’m doing pretty well for myself, then.”

“Don’t start,” he warns, his tone low and tight.

“Why not?” you shoot back, tilting your head defiantly. “Does it bother you, Johnny? That I might have standards? That I like nice things? God forbid a woman treats herself without a man assuming the worst.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, save it,” you interrupt, holding up a hand. “I know what you think of me, and I’ve let you think it because it doesn’t matter. But now you’re using it against me? Classy, Johnny. Really classy.”

“Think whatever you want,” you say, your voice hardening again. “It doesn’t matter. I’m done, Johnny.”

Johnny’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing. “So that’s what this is about? You’ve got some other bloke lined up, some stable life you think’s gonna make you happy?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral, already tired of this. “It’s not about someone else. It’s about me. I won’t be your convenient distraction forever, Johnny. I can’t.”

His laugh is harsh, bitter. “Aye, sure. You’re so bloody noble, aren’t you? Princess, or whatever you are. Or maybe you’re just a high-end escort who thinks she’s too good for me now, huh?” His words are cutting, his tone venomous. “Who the hell’s gonna love a materialistic, spoiled brat like you? Or a—” he bit back the rest of the sentence, but the damage was already done.

Your chest constricts at his words, the sting of them worse than you had expected. You inhale sharply, trying to hold back tears as you force yourself to look at him. “Thank you,” you say quietly, your voice trembling but steady enough to convey the weight of your decision. “Thank you for helping me solidify my decision, Johnny.”

You grab your purse, pausing only for a moment before shaking your head. “And don’t worry,” you add, your tone soft but firm. “I won’t come crying to you. I’ll be happy somewhere with someone who’ll actually love me.”

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, but you don’t wait for his response. You turn on your heel, walking out of his flat with your head held high, even as your heart feels like it’s shattering with every step.

Johnny stands there in stunned silence, the tension in the air suffocating. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving him alone in the quiet chaos of his living room. For the first time, he feels the true weight of your absence, and it burns in a way he can’t ignore.

----------

Johnny’s Obsession

Johnny had never felt so restless in his life. He’d called you first, dozens of times, but all he got was the droning, detached tone of your voicemail. He messaged you after that, small apologies mixed with clumsy, rambling texts about how you should talk things through. But all you did was leave him on read. No replies. No acknowledgment. Just silence.

Then one day, when he tried calling you again, the line didn’t even ring. Instead, he was met with a sharp, cold message: The number you have dialed has been blocked or is no longer in service.

“Blocked?” Johnny muttered, staring at his phone in disbelief. His blood boiled, and his chest ached.

Fine. If you didn’t want to talk, he’d find you another way.

----------

Johnny Tracks You

Using what little intel he had, Johnny began digging. He didn’t need much—a phone number, a sliver of information, and the skills drilled into him from his time in the SAS were enough to get him started. But the deeper he went, the more roadblocks he hit. Your number led him nowhere—it was registered under a nondescript corporate account with no personal ties. No home address. No employment history.

It didn’t make sense.

“Who the hell are you?” he muttered, staring at the screen. His instincts buzzed, a gut feeling that there was more to you than you let on.

Before he could dig deeper, his team was called up for deployment. A quick, high-priority mission that demanded all his focus. But even in the thick of the action, during quiet moments between the chaos, his thoughts drifted back to you. To the way you smirked at him. The way you felt in his arms. The way you walked out of his life.

When Johnny finally returned, worn but eager to resume his search, he tried everything—new tactics, calling in favors—but came up empty again. It was as if your entire life had been scrubbed clean.

And that only made him more suspicious.

----------

The Briefing Begins

Roach’s palms were sweaty as he glanced around the room, double-checking every detail of the briefing materials. He straightened the projector slide one last time before glancing nervously at the glass window of the door.

“Relax, mate,” one of his teammates chuckled. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

If only, Roach thought bitterly. He wasn’t worried about a ghost—he was worried about Johnny.

The undercover agent, the one briefing the team today, was none other than Johnny’s “birdie.” Or, ex-birdie, technically. Roach had heard all about your situationship—the whirlwind sex, the late-night phone calls, and then the crash-and-burn breakup. Johnny had been moody ever since, which was saying something for the usually upbeat captain.

Now you were here, standing at the front of the room in a smart casual suit that hugged your figure in all the right places. You exuded confidence, your sharp eyes scanning the room as you prepared to deliver your findings. Roach could barely look at you without cringing.

“Let’s just get through this without any incidents,” Roach muttered under his breath.

It didn’t help that their Lieutenant Colonel, Ghost, had mentioned General MacMillan was visiting today. The brass was here, watching their every move, which meant the team had to be on their best behavior. And if Johnny showed up and saw you? Roach didn’t even want to imagine the chaos that would ensue.

----------

Tension in the Room

The briefing began without a hitch, much to Roach’s relief. Johnny was nowhere to be seen, and you were professional, concise, and sharp as ever. Still, Roach couldn’t help sneaking glances at the door every few minutes, half-expecting Johnny to burst in.

But the door stayed shut.

After the briefing, Roach offered to walk you to your car, hoping to usher you out before Johnny caught wind of your presence. You smiled, grateful for the gesture, and began packing up your things.

That’s when the door creaked open.

Roach froze, his stomach sinking as Johnny leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his blue eyes locked on you like a hawk spotting prey. He wore his casual gear, a simple black t-shirt clinging to his chest, his dog tags glinting faintly under the harsh lighting.

“Well, well,” Johnny drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’ve we got here, Roach? Thought I wasn’t needed for this one.”

Your hands froze mid-motion, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. Slowly, you turned to face him, your expression a mix of shock and wariness.

“Johnny?,” you said, your voice steady despite the tension crackling in the room.

“Birdie,” Johnny shot back, the nickname a loaded reminder of what you once had.

Roach gulped, glancing between the two of you like a trapped animal. “Uh, I was just—”

“Leavin’,” Johnny cut in, his gaze never leaving yours.

Roach hesitated, but the intensity in Johnny’s eyes made it clear that sticking around wasn’t an option. With a sheepish nod, he mumbled something about catching up later and bolted for the door.

Now it was just the two of you.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Johnny said, his tone casual, but his eyes betrayed him. There was a storm brewing behind them, a mix of hurt, anger, and something deeper he wasn’t ready to name.

“I could say the same,” you replied, squaring your shoulders. You refused to let him intimidate you, even as your heart pounded in your chest.

Johnny stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Blocking me. Wiping your tracks clean. You’re real good at disappearing, I’ll give you that.”

Your jaw tightened, but you kept your voice calm. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” he challenged, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “You think you can just walk out of my life and act like none of it mattered? Like I don’t matter?”

“It’s not about that,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “This is my job, Johnny. My life. And you don’t get to interfere with it.”

“Your job,” he repeated bitterly. “And what job is that exactly? Playing dress-up? Whispering secrets to the lads? Or are you still trying to convince me you’re just some posh bird who likes slumming it with soldiers?”

Your eyes flashed with anger, but you bit back your retort, unwilling to let him bait you.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” you said quietly, brushing past him toward the door.

But before you could leave, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist—not forcefully, but enough to stop you in your tracks. The air between you was electric, charged with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

“You think you can just walk away from this?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

You looked up at him, your gaze steady despite the tears threatening to form. “I already did.”

The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife as Johnny’s hand tightened on your wrist, pulling you back just enough to stop you from leaving. You froze, your lips pressed into a thin line as you turned to face him again.

“Johnny,” you warned, your voice low.

But he didn’t back down. His blue eyes were blazing, frustration and hurt pouring out of him in waves. “You’re not just walking out of here. Not like this.”

“Oh, like you get a say in it now?” you shot back, your tone sharp. You tried to pull your wrist free, but he held firm—not hurting you, just making it clear he wasn’t letting go.

“You didn’t even tell me, did you?” Johnny said, his voice rising slightly. “What you do. What you really are.”

Your jaw clenched, and you rolled your eyes, letting out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, now you care? It didn’t matter before, did it? Whether I was some spoiled brat, a high-end escort, or just your convenient shag. You never took me seriously anyway.”

“That’s not true,” he snapped, his Scottish accent thick with emotion. “Don’t twist this, Birdie. It does matter—because it’s you.”

You laughed again, bitter and humorless, and reached for your bag. “Well, congratulations, Johnny. Now you know I’m not some high-end prostitute. Feel better about yourself? Good. Now I have to go.”

But before you could take a step, Johnny grabbed your other arm, holding you in place. “You’re not walking out on me again!”

“Oi, mate—don’t!” Roach’s voice broke through the tension as he stepped forward, hands raised cautiously. “She’s a bloody agent, Johnny. You can’t just grab her like that.”

Johnny shot him a glare that could have turned stone to dust. “Stay out of it, Roach.”

Roach hesitated, his eyes darting between the two of you and the door. His heart was racing. If anyone else—especially Ghost or General MacMillan—walked in now, you were all screwed.

“I’m just saying, maybe don’t manhandle the lady in front of the brass!” Roach pleaded.

You looked between Johnny and Roach, your expression one of equal parts disbelief and fury. “Let me go, Johnny,” you said firmly, your voice quieter but no less intense.

He didn’t let go. “Not until we sort this.”

“Sort what?” you hissed, your voice rising now. “There’s nothing to sort, Johnny. I told you what I wanted. Stability. A partner. Someone who could love me for who I am—not just what I can give them. And you—you made it bloody clear that you weren’t that man!”

Johnny’s face twisted, his grip loosening just slightly. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, it’s not fair?” you spat, your eyes flashing with anger. “You called me a materialistic brat! A spoiled princess! You assumed the worst of me at every turn. And now, what? Now it’s not fair because you’re realizing you might have been wrong? Too little, too late, Johnny!”

His voice dropped, quieter but no less intense. “You don’t get it. It’s you. None of that other crap matters—it’s just you.”

You stared at him, your chest heaving, your own emotions threatening to spill over. For a moment, it looked like you might say something, but then you shook your head, pulling your arms free.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling but steady. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to chase me now that I’m gone. You had your chance, Johnny. And you blew it.”

You turned to leave, but Johnny’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“You think I don’t care?” he called after you. “You think I don’t bloody care about you? You’re in my head, Birdie. Every damn day. Every damn night. You’ve been there since the moment I met you, and you’re still there now, even when I try to bloody forget you.”

You froze, your back still to him, your fingers clutching the strap of your bag tightly.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” Johnny admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “With you. With how I feel. But don’t you dare tell me I don’t care.”

For a moment, the room was completely silent. Even the lads watching from a distance—wide-eyed and barely breathing—didn’t dare move. Roach was sweating bullets, praying to every deity he could think of that Ghost and General MacMillan wouldn’t come around the corner.

Finally, you turned to face him, your expression unreadable. “You need to figure out what you want, Johnny,” you said softly. “But don’t do it for me. Do it for yourself.”

And with that, you walked past him, your heels clicking against the floor, leaving Johnny standing there, staring after you like a man who’d just lost the only thing that mattered.

You barely made it two steps before Johnny grabbed your arm again, this time more firmly, spinning you back toward him. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was resolute, his determination blazing in those blue eyes of his.

“No, you’re not walking away from me again,” he said, his voice low but sharp with emotion. “We’re not done.”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, your lips parting in shock and frustration. “Johnny, let go of me,” you said, your tone icy.

“Not until we talk about this,” he shot back, his accent thick with frustration. “You don’t get to just walk out and decide what this is without giving me a bloody say!”

“This?” You laughed bitterly, throwing your free hand toward him in a dramatic gesture. “You didn’t care about ‘this’ when you were calling me names! When you assumed the worst of me, when you made me feel like I was nothing more than a warm body to keep your bed warm!”

“I never thought that!” he snapped, stepping closer, his grip still firm on your arm. “And I never said you were nothin’, Birdie. I never meant—”

“Oh, don’t you dare backtrack now!” you interrupted, your voice rising. “You made it clear what you thought of me. Some spoiled princess, some materialistic brat, some… high-end escort, as you so eloquently put it!” Your words dripped with venom, and Johnny winced as if each one was a physical blow.

“I was angry!” he said, his voice louder now. “I said shite I didn’t mean, alright? But you—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You drive me mad! You make me feel things I can’t bloody make sense of, and I don’t know how to handle it!”

You yanked your arm free, glaring at him, your chest rising and falling as your emotions boiled over. “So you insult me instead? You reduce me to a caricature of everything I’m not because you can’t figure out your own damn feelings?”

His hands balled into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. “Because I didn’t think you’d bloody stay!”

That stopped you. You blinked, your brows furrowing as his words hung in the air between you.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw the vulnerability in his eyes, the cracks in his armor that he was finally letting you see.

“But you stayed,” he continued, his voice almost a whisper. “And I didn’t know what to do with that. I didn’t know how to keep you, so I unknowingly pushed you away.”

Your throat tightened, and you had to fight back the sting of tears. “Johnny…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry for every bloody thing I said, for every way I hurt you. But don’t walk away from me now. Don’t leave me like this, Birdie. Please.”

For a moment, you faltered. The sincerity in his voice, the raw emotion in his eyes—it was everything you’d wanted from him, everything you’d begged for silently in your head.

But before you could respond, there was a loud ahem behind you.

Both of you froze, slowly turning your heads toward the sound. Standing just a few feet away, with arms crossed and brows raised, was Ghost. Beside him stood General MacMillan, looking equally bewildered. And flanking them? Ghost’s two teenage daughters, Tommy and Bubby.

The room fell utterly silent except for the muffled sound of someone snickering in the background.

Roach, standing off to the side, looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. His face was pale, beads of sweat forming on his temple as he glanced nervously between Ghost and the arguing pair.

“Oh no,” Roach mumbled under his breath.

Ghost cleared his throat again, slower this time. “I think,” he said, his tone clipped but calm, “you two need to get a room.”

A/N: Well, folks, it seems Johnny and his Birdie (You, Y/N) turned their lives into Soap’s very own 'soap opera' (PUN INTENDED!!)—and they performed it live for the brass, Ghost’s teenage daughters (one of whom now has the receipts), and a very flustered Roach, who looked like he might just melt into a puddle of secondhand embarrassment. General MacMillan? He was just trying to enjoy the drama without choking on the tension.

Stay tuned for Part 3, where we’ll see if Johnny can salvage his soap opera debut… or if Ghost locks him in a cupboard to rethink all his life choices. 👀

[msilwrites]

Trouble - ( Johnny 'Soap' Fic)

Hot, whatever size/colour/ethnicity you are, you are hot in Johnny's Eyes! Reader, Soap is smitten with you! Reader, Agent! Reader, Reboot! Johnny, Reboot! Soap, but he is Captain! Soap (Now!!), Captain! Johnny, Captain! Soap, Fuckboi! Soap, Manwhore! Soap, Judgemental! Johnny, Judgemental! Soap, Shameless! Soap, Cocky! Soap

Soap x Reader , Soap x Y/N ,

Edit: This is Part 1 | Click here for Part 2 | Part 3 ( In Progress)

Summary: Captain Johnny Soap MacTavish never believed in love at first sight—until he saw you at the pub. A vision of confidence, beauty, and allure, you had his attention from the moment you walked in. But Johnny, ever the impulsive Scotsman, couldn’t help jumping to the wrong conclusion. He misjudged you, mistaking your grace and poise for the airs of a spoiled rich princess or, worse, the temptations of a high-end escort.

Yet, even as he wrestled with his assumptions, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting you—craving you. His fascination with you became a stubborn obsession, and Johnny MacTavish was never one to back down from a challenge. No matter how many mistakes he made or how far you tried to run, he was determined to prove one thing: you were meant to be his, no matter what it took.

A/N:

FIRST—

This story is part of the Midnight Snack Mystery and Papa Bear Material universe. (If you’re Ghost or Price’s wife, feel free to identify as whichever one you are—this is your world too!)

The character in this story is still You (Y/N), but that is only if you identify as Soap’s “birdie,”!!

Soap’s already been promoted to Captain here, so feel free to enjoy that new title. Actually, everyone’s been promoted. Yep, Soap survived Makarov’s shot to the head—deal with it, that’s our canon now! (In this universe!! Lol!!)

Enjoy Soap’s audacity and the smutty goodness ahead!

Genre: Comedy / Smut

Warning : SMUT, MDNI! and Soap's audacity

----------

Soap leaned against the pool table, cue stick in hand, half-heartedly watching the game. The pub was lively as always, but his attention kept wandering. Roach lined up his shot, muttering something about taking his time, while Gaz leaned on the wall, spinning a cue in his hand like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Soap’s eyes drifted to the booth in the corner, where Price sat with Mrs. Price, sharing a crawfish boil with Ghost and Mrs. Riley. The sight would’ve been unthinkable a few years ago. Ghost—Ghost—was married now, cracking shells and laughing softly at something his missus said. And Price? The man who’d had nothing but the job his entire career was now semi-retired, director of SpecGru, and properly tied down.

Gaz was engaged, for goodness’s sake. And even bloody Roach, who swore he’d “die a free man,” had found a girl.

Soap huffed, lining up his shot but not really seeing it. “Look at ‘em,” he muttered, his accent thick with irritation. “Big, scary bastards all soft now ‘cause they’ve got a lass at home. Gaz, Ghost, Price—bloody hell, even Roach. What’s the world comin’ to?”

Gaz chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Maybe the problem isn’t them, mate. Maybe it’s you.”

Soap snorted. “Aye, right. Next thing I know, you’ll be tellin’ me tae go pick out curtains.”

Roach laughed, sinking his shot. “Don’t worry, Johnny. You’ll catch up. Eventually.”

Soap grumbled, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but grimace, thinking about the path that got him here. “Catch up,” he muttered. “More like they bloody dragged me up.”

When Price stepped back, and Ghost finally accepted promotions to Captain, then Major, and eventually Lieutenant Colonel—shocker of the century—the entire team dynamic shifted. Ghost, the man who’d spent his whole career avoiding a desk, settled down and took on a higher rank just before getting married. Meanwhile, Price transitioned from Captain to Director of SpecGru, semi-retired and making it look effortless.

And then there was Soap. They wouldn’t leave him alone, dragging the whole squad up to higher posts and hauling Johnny along with them, whether he liked it or not. Price and Ghost had pushed him—no, threatened him—into Sandhurst. His Lt. Col had personally shoved him into the officer training program, with Price backing it up and General MacMillan himself throwing in his weight.

The memory made him scowl. He could still hear Ghost’s dry tone, clear as day: “Get yer act together, Johnny. We’re not leavin’ you behind.”

Soap sighed. He didn’t mind being Captain, not really, but the way they’d strong-armed him into it still stung. Especially now, watching the lot of them with their missuses, their lives looking settled and... content.

They’d gone from being his squadmates to practically running the show—Price as Director, Ghost as a Lieutenant Colonel—and it was like they’d made it their mission to drag their Sergeant up the ranks with them. Now here he was: Captain MacTavish, earning more money than ever and still too stingy to spend it on anything but his motorbike, cheap pints, and the occasional takeaway.

Not that he couldn’t afford a girlfriend now—hell, he could’ve afforded one when he was a Sergeant—but back then, he’d been more about quick flings and less about commitment. Now? Now he didn’t even have that. Just the ghost of his own damn jealousy watching his mates turn into family men.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but damn it, he envied them. Even Ghost, who’d been the least likely candidate for settling down, had found someone who could see past the mask—literally and figuratively. Price, Roach, Gaz—they all had someone. And Soap? He was still here, drinking cheap beer and pretending it didn’t bother him.

Then the pub door opened, and all thoughts scattered.

She walked in like she owned the place. Her wavy hair caught the dim light, and the way she moved—confident, smooth—drew his eye immediately. The corset top she wore hugged her figure in ways that made his pulse hitch, the sweetheart neckline daring him to look too long. Flare jeans accentuated her curves, her slingback heels clicking softly on the floor.

Soap froze, his cue stick forgotten. She looked expensive. The gold earrings glinted as she turned her head, catching the light like they had something to say, and that bracelet—that bracelet—he’d seen it before on women who liked their champagne vintage and their shoes handmade. Even her hair, styled but not fussy, screamed class. She didn’t just walk into the room; she owned it, every measured step deliberate, every soft click of her heels loud enough to turn heads.

“Christ,” Soap muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Roach, quick to notice, smirked. “What’s the matter, Johnny? You look like you’ve seen a goddess”

Soap flicked him a sharp look. “Shut it.”

But Roach wasn’t one to let it go. “Lost yer nerve, have ye? Go on, Captain. Talk to her.”

Soap’s eyes drifted back to her. The corset top, the jeans, the way she held herself—confident, but not in a way that begged for attention. No, she was the kind who knew she didn’t have to. He tried to peg her. A spoiled rich girl slumming it? Or maybe... Christ, was she an escort? High-class, no doubt, but still... The bracelet gave him pause. Women with money wore those; women who liked to make sure you knew they had money.

Gaz straightened from his lean, his sharp eyes cutting toward the woman. Something flickered across his face—a flash of recognition that vanished almost as quickly as it came. He didn’t speak, but Soap noticed the subtle shift in his demeanour. Gaz wasn’t just watching her; he was clocking her, analysing.

“Forget it,” Gaz said at last, his tone even.

Soap frowned. “Forget what?”

Gaz rolled his shoulders, leaning on his cue stick. “She’s not your type, Johnny. Way outta your league.”

Soap’s brow furrowed. “What d’ye mean by that?”

Gaz shrugged, giving him a knowing smirk. “Look at her. Probably costs more than you’d ever spend on a date.”

Roach barked out a laugh, slapping the table. “He’s right, you know. You’re tight as a drum, Johnny. You’d ask her to split the bill on a pint!”

Soap turned, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Oh, aye? Tight, am I? And who’s the one always payin’ for your rounds, eh?”

Roach’s grin only widened. “Doesn’t mean you’re takin’ her home, mate.”

Gaz chuckled, still leaning on his cue stick. “Don’t get yourself into trouble, Captain.” His tone was light, but there was an edge to it, almost a warning.

Soap huffed, his gaze drawn back to the bar where she now stood, her fingers brushing the counter as she ordered a drink. Trouble, eh? Maybe they were right. She probably was trouble—the kind you couldn’t walk away from. But something about her made it hard to care.

His grip tightened on the cue stick. He tilted his head, gaze fixed on her like he was sizing up an opponent. “Aye, maybe I do like trouble,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth pulling into a grin.

With that, Soap set the cue stick down, adjusted his jacket, and strode toward the bar.

Kyle groaned under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as Soap walked away, clearly on a mission. “Ah, shite,” he muttered, his accent laced with frustration.

Roach, still grinning like a man who’d just lit a fuse, turned to him. “What? He’ll thank me for it later. Might loosen him up, y’know? Johnny’s been too wound up lately. Could do with a lass to set him straight.”

Kyle jabbed a finger in the direction of the bar, where the woman stood, her poised demeanor giving nothing away. He leaned in closer to Roach, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “She’s workin’, mate.”

Roach furrowed his brows, confused. “Workin’? Like, you mean…?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, a sly grin creeping back onto his face. “Well, that’s perfect, then. Johnny gets his fun, spends a bit of that paycheck, and maybe he won’t be so bloody tight. Win-win, aye?”

Kyle slapped a hand to his forehead, exhaling like a man dealing with a hopeless case. “No, you idiot! Not that kind of workin’. She’s an informant. Undercover. Probably collectin’ intel, and if Johnny gets involved, he could blow her cover.”

Roach blinked, processing. “Wait. Hang on a sec.” He glanced back at the woman, squinting as he gave her a proper look. “She does look a bit familiar... Is she a regular here or somethin’?”

Kyle tilted his head toward her, his voice dropping even lower. “No, mate. We’ve worked with her info before. Think about it. The reports on that arms deal a few months back? That was hers. She’s good at what she does, but Johnny swaggerin’ over there like it’s a bloody Tinder date isn’t gonna help.”

Roach’s eyes widened, realization dawning. “Ohhh.” He glanced at Soap, who was now halfway to the bar, his confident stride making it clear he wasn’t about to change course. “Should we, uh… I dunno, drag him back here before he makes a right fool of himself?”

Kyle folded his arms, his expression a mix of resignation and exasperation. “At the right moment,” he said, his tone heavy with experience. His eyes tracked Soap’s progress as the Captain closed in on the woman. “Knowing Johnny, he’ll need to stick his foot in it first.”

----------

Soap reached the bar with his signature swagger, his broad grin in place as he sidled up next to her. “Evenin’, lass. What’s a woman like you doin’ in a place like this? Slummin’ it, are we?”

She glanced at him, then raised an eyebrow with a sly smile. “Slummin’ it? Bold of you to say that. Even bolder to approach me.”

Soap chuckled, clearly unbothered. “I’ve got plenty of boldness to spare, love.”

Soap leaned in, still wearing that cocky grin. “Johnny MacTavish, by the way. And you are...?”

She shot him a look, the smile still playing on her lips. “Name’s not your business,” she said, voice light but teasing. “But you may call me whatever you like.”

Soap couldn’t help but chuckle at her tone. “Oh, I’ll keep that in mind, love.”

He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes with mock curiosity. “So, what’s a lass like you doin’ in a place like this? Surely this isn’t your usual haunt?”

She arched a brow, meeting his gaze with a challenge in her eyes. “Why can’t I be here? Have a pint like the rest of ‘em?”

Soap smirked, giving her the once-over. “You look a little too posh for this joint. I’m guessin’... rich spoiled brat, or a high-class escort?”

Her smile didn’t fade. Instead, she leaned in, her voice smooth and cutting. “Bold of you to say. Maybe I am, but if I am, either way... you can’t afford me.”

----------

Back at the pool table, Gaz and Roach were barely holding it together. They exchanged amused looks, stifling their laughter, as they whispered among themselves, not wanting Johnny to catch on.

Roach shot a smirk at Gaz. “Bloody hell, Johnny’s got no shame.”

Gaz snickered quietly. “Aye, but she’s givin’ him a run for his money, isn’t she?”

----------

Soap’s grin only grew wider, his voice low and teasing. “Well, if you’re that expensive, love, I reckon I could afford you for a night, but you’ll be getting more than just a view. How about I show you how wild a Highlander can get? I promise you, it’ll be... less polished, but a whole lot more memorable.”

She glanced up at him, and despite the heels, she was still dwarfed by his towering figure. His broad shoulders, the way his muscles moved under his shirt—it was all there, every inch of him commanding attention. And those blue eyes. Electric. Like they could strip her bare with just one look. He wasn’t just good-looking; he was the type of man you wouldn’t say no to if you were brave enough.

Her lips curled into a smile, and she leaned in just enough to make sure he caught her next words. “Bold of you to think I’d be interested in that... But go on, keep talking. I’m listening.”

Soap chuckled, loving the fire in her eyes. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more where that came from, love. Just say the word, and we’ll see if I can’t show you a wild side you’ve never even dreamed of.”

She arched a brow, her smile teasing, but the way her eyes held his made it clear she wasn’t backing down. “You really think you can handle someone like me?”

“Love,” he said with a smirk, his voice thick with the accent of his roots, “I’ve handled far worse. And I don’t back down from a challenge.”

She met his gaze, her own confidence matching his as she spoke again. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that... after you buy me a drink first.”

Soap leaned in, ordering her drink with a wink. “Whatever you like, love. It’s on me.”

The bartender returned shortly with two drinks, placing them on the bar with a polite nod. Soap slid one toward her with a confident grin, his eyes never leaving hers.

She took the glass, her fingers brushing against his. “Cheers,” she said smoothly, her voice almost a purr. Soap raised his glass in response, clinking it lightly with hers before taking a long sip.

----------

Meanwhile, not far from the bar, at the booth where Ghost and Price sat with their wives, the scene was unfolding just as expected.

Mrs. Riley, ever the character, popped a piece of fresh crawdad meat into her mouth, chewing with evident enjoyment as if she were snacking on popcorn. Mrs. Price took a slow, thoughtful sip from her pint, clearly entertained by the situation unfolding before them.

Price, leaning back slightly, gave Ghost a sideways glance. “What do you reckon, Simon? Is Johnny gonna manage to take this lass home, or is he gonna make a right fool of himself?”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange intently. “Aye, he’s got the charm for it, but we all know how Johnny is. He either gets what he wants, or he trips over his own feet trying.”

Price chuckled softly, eyeing Soap with a knowing look. “I’d say he’s got no chance of walking away from this without a few bruises to his ego. But, then again, she’s holding her own pretty well, eh?”

Mrs. Riley looked up from her seafood, her eyes twinkling as she smirked. “You both bettin’ on Johnny? I reckon she’ll either take him for a ride... or leave him in the dust.”

Ghost gave a small nod, glancing at Soap as he chatted up the lady. “Looks like the lady’s a tough one.” He turned to Price. “Should we step in? Drag Johnny back to the table before he makes a fool of himself—or worse, ruins her night?”

Mrs. Price, always one to watch the drama unfold, leaned in a little closer, eyes fixed on Soap and the woman at the bar. “Let ‘em be. It’s too entertaining watchin’ Johnny try and work his so-called 'charm.'”

Price chuckled quietly, raising his pint in a small toast. “Aye, you’re right. If she’s handling him this well, she’s got him wrapped around her finger already.”

----------

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “And if I am a spoiled rich princess, what would you say then?”

Johnny’s grin spread even wider. He leaned in a little, his voice low and mischievous. “Well, if that’s the case... I’d say I’m the wildest adventure you’ll ever have. The kind you’ll never forget.”

She giggled, shaking her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You might just be all talk, though.”

Johnny sighed dramatically, then chuckled, leaning back in his seat with a playful challenge in his tone. “Ah, well then, lass... you could always come with me and find out for yourself.”

She leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing his ear. “And what if you disappoint me?” she asked, voice dripping with playful skepticism. “What do I get? I’m not doing the walk of shame in the morning, am I?”

Johnny gave a theatrical sigh, his grin never fading. “Well, if I disappoint you, I’ll make it up to you with breakfast in bed. But either way—disappointed or not—I’ll pamper you in the morning, love. You’ll be spoiled.”

She smiled, the thought of a leisurely morning in bed tempting her. Truth be told, it had been a while since she'd gotten laid, and this handsome MacTavish stranger seemed like just the thing she needed. A little adventure, some fun, and maybe a good night to get her back into the swing of things.

Single? Definitely. Needed to mingle? Absolutely. And well, if she was going to enjoy herself tonight, why not with a bloke who could keep up with her banter? A laugh, a good time, and possibly more? She could certainly get on board with that.

“I like the sound of that,” she said, her smile growing as she slid her fingers around her drink. “Might just take you up on that offer...”

She raised an eyebrow, a sly grin playing on her lips. “What if you’re a serial killer, though? I mean, with that mohawk and your good looks, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Johnny chuckled, his usual confidence not faltering. “Serial killer, huh? Well, I promise you, love, I’m no murderer.”

But she didn’t let up. “I don’t know... that mohawk's a bit suspicious. Still, I gotta admit, it suits you. You’re still handsome despite it.”

Johnny blinked in surprise, then a sheepish grin tugged at the corners of his lips. Did she just—? No one had ever dared to compliment him like that before, especially after the whole “wild man” routine.

"Well... thanks," he muttered, a little flustered now.

She grinned wickedly. “You're welcome, handsome. But seriously, how can I be sure you're not one bad night away from chopping me up and turning me into stew?”

Johnny let out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to shake off the awkwardness. “Alright, alright, what can I do to prove I’m not some serial killer, then? You wanna see my ID or something?”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully for a moment, before smirking. “Yeah, actually, that sounds good. Hand it over.”

Johnny dug into his pocket, pulling out his driver’s license. He handed it to her, and in a quick motion, she snatched it from his hand, raised her phone, and snapped a photo.

Johnny’s brows furrowed. “What are you doing?”

She smirked, showing him the screen. “Sending this to a trusted friend. You know, in case something happens to me tonight. They’ll know exactly who to look for.”

Johnny’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s... smart,” he said, nodding appreciatively.

She then snapped another photo, this time of him, and he raised an eyebrow. “What’s that for? Sending it too?”

She shook her head with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Nah, not sending this one. I’m keeping it for myself.”

Johnny blinked, his heart skipping a beat as he realized she was serious. “For yourself, eh?”

She winked at him, the playful spark in her gaze undeniable. “Oh, yeah. It’s not every day I get to keep a picture of a handsome guy like you.”

Now, Johnny was definitely blushing. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, but the warmth creeping into his cheeks betrayed him. “Well, I suppose that’s fair enough.”

She took a sip of her drink, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Seems like you’re finally caught off guard, MacTavish.”

He let out a chuckle, shrugging. “You’re not making it easy, love.”

After a brief pause, they both finished off their pints, the air between them charged with flirtation. She set her empty glass down first, a playful glint in her eyes. “Well, looks like we’ve both had our fun for tonight.”

Johnny followed suit, his own glass hitting the counter with a soft clink. “Aye, reckon so. What do you say, we call it a night? I’ve had enough of this place... might be time for something... less crowded.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile. “Sounds like a plan, MacTavish. Lead the way.”

They both stood, an unspoken agreement between them. Johnny offered her a confident smile as they headed toward the door, ready to take the night wherever it would lead.

As Johnny and the woman stood up to leave, Gaz and Roach exchanged glances. They made half-hearted moves as if they were about to stand up and stop him—an awkward, wordless attempt to intervene. But as Johnny turned around and caught their gaze, his usual cocky grin faltered just a fraction.

His eyes narrowed, and he shot them a look that could melt stone. The boys, momentarily caught off guard by the intensity of his glare, quickly backed down. They sat back down in their booth, giving him a silent, almost apologetic shrug, their faces filled with that familiar "we tried" expression.

Price and Ghost shared a similar moment of hesitation, both standing up as if to offer some sort of assistance, but seeing the look on Johnny’s face made them rethink. They sat back down, shaking their heads with a knowing chuckle.

Without another word, Johnny placed his hand possessively around her small, curvy waist, guiding her out the door. She glanced up at him with a smirk, enjoying the rush of walking out with him, feeling his confidence radiate off him like an aura.

They stepped into the cool night air, the warmth of the pub already fading as they made their way down the street. Johnny’s hand never left her waist, his grip firm, and she couldn’t help but feel a thrill from how he held her close.

Gaz glanced at Roach, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief. “I’m kinda worried for Johnny…”

Roach snorted, rolling his eyes. “Aye, worried he might actually get lucky tonight?”

Gaz shrugged. “More like worried he’ll be too embarrassed to show his face tomorrow.”

Roach chuckled, shaking his head. “Either way, it’s gonna be bloody entertaining.”

----------

SMUT here....

They decide to go to Johnny's flat instead, entering the front door laughing and kissing. The kissing turns passionate, clothes start flying off in every direction, and before she knows it, she's swung over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Johnny, put me down!" she laughs, playfully smacking his back as he carries her to his room.

"Not a chance, love," he grins, giving her a light smack on the bum. "You're mine now."

As they tumble onto the bed, she can't help but appreciate the view. Johnny MacTavish might be a cocky bastard, but he's got the body to back it up. And as for his... equipment... well, let's just say she's impressed.

"Bloody hell, Johnny," she murmurs, her eyes widening as she gets a glimpse of what's to come. "That's... that's not going to fit."

Johnny chuckles, a wicked glint in his eye. "Don't worry, love. I’ll try to be gentle.”

And true to his word, he doesn't rush things. He takes his time, worshipping every inch of her body. He's surprisingly patient, which she wouldn't have guessed from his usual demeanour. He starts by kissing her deeply, his hands exploring her curves with a gentle but firm touch.

He moves down to her neck, planting soft kisses that make her shiver. His hands find her large, soft breasts, squeezing and caressing them until she's gasping with pleasure. He takes his time, sucking and nipping at her nipples, making her arch her back in response.

"Johnny..." she moans, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Aye, love?" he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

He continues his descent, his lips trailing down her stomach, his fingers expertly rubbing her clitoris. She gasps and writhes beneath him, the sensation almost too much to bear. He takes his time, building her up, his touch both fierce and gentle.

When he finally reaches her most sensitive spot, he doesn't hesitate. He dives in, his tongue licking and teasing her until she's on the brink of ecstasy. He sucks and nips, his fingers working in tandem with his mouth, driving her wild with pleasure.

"Johnny... you're... you're actually quite good at this," she admits, a laugh escaping her lips.

Johnny grins, looking up at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, I do aim to please, Birdie."

He intensifies his efforts, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers moving in rhythm. She can't take it anymore. Her body convulses, her hips bucking against his mouth as she cums hard, a wave of pleasure crashing over her. She tries to push him away, the sensation too intense, but he holds her firmly, riding out her orgasm with her.

Her body arches, her breath coming in heavy pants. She shakes and squeaks, the sounds escaping her lips a mix of pleasure and desperation. Johnny finds it hot and cute, his grip on her tightening as he continues to lick and suck, drawing out every last tremor of her climax.

"Johnny... oh gosh, Johnny..." she gasps, her body finally relaxing as the waves of pleasure subside.

Johnny looks up at her, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That's just the beginning, Bonnie," he says, his voice husky with desire.

The room fills with the sounds of their passion—laughter, moans, and the occasional playful smack. Johnny might be a "wild Highlander"(what he claimed), but he's also surprisingly tender, his touch both fierce and gentle.

"Johnny, please..." she whispers, her voice desperate.

He grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Alright, Bonnie. Let's give it another go."

He moves down her body again, his tongue and lips tracing a path of fire. He licks and sucks at her clitoris, his fingers teasing her entrance until she's soaking wet and begging for more.

She looks at him, her eyes filled with desire. "Johnny, let me please you too," she says, her voice husky. "I want to reward you."

Johnny's eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn't hesitate. He flips them over, positioning himself so that they're in a sixty-nine, his mouth hovering over her pussy, her lips inches from his cock.

He dives back in, his tongue licking and sucking at her clitoris, his fingers working their magic. She takes him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around his length, her hands gripping his shaft. They move in sync, each trying to outdo the other, their moans and gasps filling the room.

What shocks him is how she takes his full length, deep throating him despite the struggle. She's so into him, her enthusiasm driving him wild. He doesn't want to disappoint, so he gives as good as he gets, his tongue and fingers working feverishly to bring her to the brink again.

The competition is unspoken but intense. They're both determined to make the other cum first, their bodies writhing and bucking against each other. The room is filled with the sounds of their pleasure, their moans and gasps echoing off the walls.

Johnny can feel his own orgasm building, his body tensing as she sucks and tugs at him. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers moving in rhythm with her mouth.

She's close too, her body trembling, her moans growing more desperate. They're both on the edge, their bodies coiling tighter and tighter.

With a final, intense suck, she sends him over the edge. He cums hard, his body convulsing as she swallows every last drop. At the same time, he sends her crashing over the edge, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

They collapse together, breathless and satisfied, their bodies still entwined. Johnny looks up at her, a grin spreading across his face.

"Well, Bonnie," he says, his voice husky. "That was... incredible."

She smiles back at him, her eyes shining with satisfaction. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

He pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her. "And I promise, Birdie, that was just the beginning."

----------

Seeing that she was already prepped and soaking wet, Soap kisses her passionately, pinning her down on the bed. He leans back, admiring his handiwork. She's sweaty, her skin glistening beautifully, her petite but voluptuous frame a sight to behold. Her beautiful face, framed by messy hair, makes her look even sexier. He couldn't help but want her more.

Slowly, he enters her, and she gasps, sighing at how large he is and how tight it feels. Soap holds her waist, his thumb reaching across her swollen clit, rubbing it gently as he moves deeper inside her.

"Oh gosh, Johnny..." she moans, her fingers digging into his shoulders. The sensation of him filling her is almost too much to bear, but she wants more. She wraps her legs around him, pulling him deeper.

Johnny groans, his eyes locked on hers as he begins to move. He starts slowly, giving her time to adjust, his thumb circling her clit in rhythm with his movements. Her moans grow louder, her body arching to meet his every thrust.

"You feel so good, Bonnie," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

She can feel the tension building again, her body coiling tighter with each thrust. Johnny's movements become more urgent, his hips driving into her with a fierce intensity. He leans down, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue mirroring the movements of his body.

The room fills with the sounds of their passion—moans, gasps, and the occasional playful smack. Johnny's relentless, his body moving in perfect harmony with hers. She can feel every inch of him, every powerful thrust driving her closer to the edge.

"Johnny... I'm close..." she gasps, her voice breathless.

He increases his pace, his thrusts becoming more powerful. "Come for me, Birdie," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "Let me feel you."

With a final, deep thrust, she shatters, her body convulsing with pleasure. He follows soon after, his own release washing over him. They collapse together, breathless and satisfied, their bodies still entwined.

Johnny looks down at her, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That was... incredible," he says, his voice husky with desire.

She smiles back at him, her eyes shining with satisfaction. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

He pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her. "And I promise, Bonnie, that was just the beginning."

----------

Johnny wasn't done yet. He guided her through a night of endless pleasure, each position driving her to new heights of ecstasy. She came hard, shaking and even squirting, which he found incredibly hot. By the end, they were both overstimulated, but it was worth every moment.

First, he positioned her on all fours, her head buried in the pillow. He mounted her from behind, his body pressing down on hers, just the way she liked it. He rubbed against her, his nose nuzzling her neck, inhaling her scent. He grabbed her chin, turning her face to kiss her deeply as he moved in and out of her. The sensation was intense, her moans muffled by the pillow.

Next, he lay behind her, his pelvis moving in a fast, pistoning motion. His hard length drove in and out of her, his fingers expertly rubbing her clitoris. She could only gasp and whine, her body trembling as his strong arms held her waist. Soon, her legs began to shake, her toes curling as she came hard, squirting. Johnny continued to rub her clit and piston into her, drawing out every last tremor of her orgasm.

They moved to the floor, the chair, against the wall—each position more intense than the last. She came hard every time, her body convulsing with pleasure. When it was finally time for him to cum, she begged for them to do it together. She asked him to cum inside her, assuring him she was on contraceptives. Johnny liked the idea, feeling her so deeply.

And so they did. They came together, gasping, shaking, and panting. Her body writhed beneath him, and he let out a primal growl, shuddering and releasing inside her. They collapsed onto the bed, breathless, her smiling weakly, and him smiling back at her, cupping her face.

"Bonnie," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're incredible."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with contentment. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

They lay there, entwined, their bodies still tingling with the aftermath of their passionate night. Johnny pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her, feeling a connection he hadn't expected.

"That was... something else," she whispered, her voice soft.

Johnny chuckled, his chest rumbling against her. "Aye, it was. And Bonnie, there's more where that came from."

She smiled, her eyes fluttering closed as she drifted off to sleep, safe and content in his arms. Johnny held her tightly, a sense of peace washing over him.

----------

Johnny woke up the next morning, his eyes fluttering open to catch his Birdie trying to slip out from under his large arms. He playfully tightened his grip, pulling her back to him with a low chuckle.

"Where do you think you're going, Bonnie?" he murmured, his voice still husky from sleep.

She giggled, turning to face him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Nowhere, it seems."

They shared a passionate kiss, their bodies already responding to each other's touch. Johnny couldn't get enough of her. He rolled her onto her back, his hands exploring her curves as he moved inside her once again. Their lovemaking was slow and intense, each touch and kiss building the tension between them.

After another round in bed, Johnny scooped her up and carried her to the shower. The hot water cascaded over their bodies as he pressed her against the tiles, his hands roaming over her slick skin. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he entered her again. The steam filled the room, their moans echoing off the walls as they lost themselves in each other.

Johnny couldn't believe how much this girl was driving him crazy. She was sexy, beautiful, cute, petite, and voluptuous—everything he could want. They eventually stepped out of the shower, their bodies still tingling with pleasure. Johnny dried her off gently, his touch lingering on her skin.

They slowly got dressed, Johnny unable to keep his hands off her. He found himself forgetting that they weren't a couple, his actions more intimate than he'd ever been with a one-night stand. He carried her back to the bed, asking her to wait while he made breakfast.

Humming quietly to himself, Johnny headed to the kitchen. He cooked with a sense of contentment, the scent of bacon and eggs filling the air. When he returned upstairs with a tray of food, he found the bedroom empty, the window leading to the outdoor fire escape wide open.

He stood there for a moment, his brows furrowing in confusion. For a moment, he thought everything had been a hallucination. Had the head injury from Makarov's shot, years ago, affected him more than he thought? He had survived it and gone through therapy, and meds, but this felt too real to be a hallucination.

His eyes fell on the bracelet she had left behind, a tangible reminder that she had been there. Johnny picked up the bracelet, a mix of relief and determination washing over him. He felt a possessive urge, slightly offended that she had run away after such an incredible night. He swore he'd find his Birdie, but then he remembered—he had forgotten to ask her name or any information about her.

Well, he'd find a way. Johnny was never one to back down from a challenge, and this was no exception. He'd find her, no matter what it took.

A/N:

Oh no, Y/N, looks like Johnny’s offended you ran off after everything that went down. But don't worry—he’s not the type to let things slide. He swears to find you, and he’s not going to rest until he does. So, you might have left in a hurry, but Johnny's on your trail now, and he’s determined to get answers… and maybe a little more. 😏

What will happen when he catches up with you? Well, let’s just say, the chase is about to get real interesting. Stick around to see how Johnny handles getting his Birdie back.

Edit: On to the next chapter!! -------->

[msilwrites]

The Petite Mystery (Simon 'Ghost' Fic)

Gamekeeper! Reader, Groundskeeper! Reader, Ex-MI5! Reader, Stalker! Reader, Naughty! Ghost, Naughty! Simon, Stalker! Reader, Possessive! Reader, Sunshine! Reader, Shy! Reader, Introvert! Reader, Crazy! Reader, Scary! Reader.

This is Part 1 | Click here for Part 2

A/N: This is the same Y/N (You!!!) as How I Met Your Mother, The Mystery of Ghost's Better Half, The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That, and Midnight Snack Mystery.

This story takes place after The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That? if you’re following the chronological order, but you can absolutely read it as a stand-alone.

Genre: Fluff/Comedy

Summary: Johnny and Roach are itchy curious about who you are and how such a sweet little bird like you ended up with their scary, intimidating LT. Well, they’re about to find out that they should have never judged a sweet little bird, because you’re far from what you look like.

----------

The deployment prep area buzzed with its usual efficiency—soldiers hauling gear, vehicles lining up, and the distant hum of engines echoing in the crisp air. Johnny and Roach stood near the corner of the base parking lot, waiting for Price to finish his last-minute briefing. Both of them had sharp eyes for details, and they weren’t about to miss anything unusual.

That’s when they spotted Simon’s 4x4 rolling into the lot.

The vehicle came to a stop, but instead of Simon stepping out of the driver’s seat, the passenger door opened, and he climbed out.

“Wait,” Johnny muttered, nudging Roach. “He’s not driving?”

Roach’s brow furrowed. “What, the LT’s gone full posh now? Got himself a chauffeur now?”

Johnny snorted. “Next, he’ll be showing up with a monocle and a cravat.”

They both chuckled, but their amusement quickly turned to wide-eyed astonishment as Simon walked around to the driver’s side. He opened the door with a casualness that seemed oddly out of character for their no-nonsense LT. A petite figure emerged, laughing softly as Simon gently helped her out of the seat.

What happened next left Johnny and Roach gaping. Simon’s back was turned to them, his broad frame blocking most of their view, and the open door of the 4x4 shielded the rest. But even from their angle, they could see the unmistakable tenderness in his posture. Simon leaned in, pulling down his face mask, and his movements—the slight dip of his head, the way his shoulders hunched protectively—made it clear what was happening.

“Is he…?” Johnny whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Kissing someone,” Roach finished, equally stunned.

“Bloody hell,” Johnny murmured, staring.

The faint sound of laughter, soft and feminine, floated toward them, confirming what they were witnessing. Simon seemed to envelop her entirely, his towering frame making her look impossibly small.

“Did you see how tiny she is?” Roach asked, his voice dazed. “He looked like he was shielding a baby bird.”

Johnny let out a breathy laugh. “Looked like he could tuck her in his pocket. And kissing her like he’s bloody starved for it.”

Simon straightened slightly, his hand lingering on the doorframe as if reluctant to step away. Whatever words passed between them were too quiet for Johnny and Roach to catch, but the affection in his tone was unmistakable.

After a few moments, Simon gently helped her back into the driver’s seat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before stepping back and closing the door. He gave the roof of the 4x4 a quick pat, then watched as the vehicle drove off toward the base exit.

The two men stood frozen, watching as Simon turned on his heel and strode toward the tarmac with his familiar stoic demeanor, mask firmly back in place.

Johnny broke the silence first. “Did we just witness that?”

Roach shook his head, still staring at the now-empty parking space. “Don’t even say it. I’m trying to process. Tell me that wasn’t a hallucination.”

“Our LT,” Johnny said, the words barely leaving his mouth, “was just sweet on someone. Like… proper sweet.”

Roach nodded slowly, his brain struggling to reconcile the image. “And we didn’t even get a picture.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Johnny said, shaking his head. “You know he’d just say we photoshopped it.”

The two of them exchanged glances, their curiosity burning brighter than ever.

Johnny’s mind was already working overtime. “We’re finding out who she is,” he declared.

“Obviously,” Roach agreed, his eyes still fixed on where the vehicle had been. “No way we’re letting this go.”

They turned toward the tarmac, watching as Simon joined Price and the others, his usual stoic aura firmly back in place. But Johnny and Roach weren’t fooled. They’d seen a side of their LT that no one else had, and they weren’t about to let this mystery go unsolved.

---------- After deployment, on the military aircraft, about to fly back to British soil.

The cabin was filled with the usual hum of the aircraft’s engines, the steady rhythm of soldiers settling in for the long flight back. Simon entered the plane, carrying a basket of exotic fruits, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the dullness of the military plane. He made his way down the narrow aisle, stepping over bags and equipment, before settling into a seat. With practiced ease, he fastened his seatbelt, leaned back in the seat, and closed his eyes, clearly planning to get a few minutes of rest before they took off.

Johnny and Roach exchanged a quick, confused glance. Their Lieutenant was carrying a basket of fruits—fruits that only grew in the region they’d just come from. It was as if Simon had stopped trying to hide it anymore. It was obvious.

“What the hell is going on?” Johnny muttered under his breath, keeping his voice low so Simon wouldn’t overhear. “Is he just gonna parade it around now?”

Roach shrugged, eyes still locked on Simon, his expression a mix of surprise and suspicion. “No way he’s just... casually bringing that back. It's for someone, right? His... his missus, maybe?”

Johnny’s lips twisted into a grin. “Aye, but how do we get him to say it?”

“Let’s find out,” Roach whispered, already scheming.

Kyle, sitting a few seats away, just smirked. He’d known for ages, and it wasn’t a surprise to him. But he wasn’t going to spoil the fun. With a small chuckle, he closed his eyes, settling in for a nap.

Simon’s eyes flickered open briefly, noticing the basket on his lap had drawn attention. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Price seemed to be considering something for a moment, then finally broke the silence.

“Bit selfish of you, bringing that back here,” Price remarked casually, his tone teasing. “You know, I wouldn’t mind a bit of that.” He gave a lazy, playful glance at Simon’s basket. He'd had those fruits all over the region, loved them, and now he was cursing himself for not grabbing a few to take home.

Simon leaned back in his seat, eyes still closed, but the smirk on his face was evident. “You had plenty of time, Price. Should’ve grabbed some when we were out there.”

Price grunted in response, his gaze fixed on the basket. “It’s different now. You’ve got a whole basket of them. I’m just asking for a piece, not the whole lot.”

Simon raised an eyebrow, a low chuckle escaping him. “Oh, I see how it is. Now you want a piece of my stash. What, did you forget your own sweets?” He gestured to the pile of candy he’d handed over earlier. “I already gave you my stash. Should’ve thought ahead and grabbed some fruit while we were there, mate.”

Price leaned forward, not ready to give up. “It’s not the same. I’m asking for fruit now, not your sugary rubbish.” He eyed the basket like a man on the verge of begging. “Come on, just a piece. Please?”

Simon’s grin widened. “You could always just buy it back home, Captain. Probably cost you three times the price, though. You can try to see if they’ve got any bargains?”

Price scowled, but his resolve was clear. “Seriously, Simon, that’s a lot of fruit. Even if you share it with your birdie, that’s still a lot.” He didn’t hesitate to blurt it out, already suspicious that Simon had a significant other. No need to wait for confirmation.

Simon laughed and shook his head, thoroughly amused by Price’s bluntness. He thought the Captain looked like the Lorax with that big scowl and puffed-up chest, all angry and demanding. It was cute in a weird way, especially with his overgrown, untrimmed beard that he hadn’t had time to tidy up during the mission.

Johnny and Roach were stunned. Simon didn’t deny it. It was like he’d just confirmed everything with a shrug and a smile. But verbal confirmation was always best, and they were already brainstorming ways to get Simon to admit it later.

Simon’s gaze flickered over to Price, an amused glint in his eyes. “If not, what then?”

Price’s jaw tightened, and with a wry smile, he leaned in closer. “If not, I’ll make you do sit-ups, drills, or whatever else I can think of. You’ll regret it, believe me.”

Simon’s laugh was low and genuine. “Well, don’t want to be stuck doing drills with you, do I?” He grabbed a piece of fruit and tossed it to Price. “Here. Happy now?”

Price grinned triumphantly. “Finally.”

Johnny and Roach exchanged looks, silently agreeing on one thing: Simon had made the right call. Once their captain got into a bad mood, he was a different animal. Price would probably hunt down the next poor soul who crossed his path after dealing with Simon. Whoever that was—good luck.

“How about you, Kyle?” Price asked, his gaze shifting to Kyle. “I saw you bring in a box of fruit as well.”

Kyle was already trying to nap, his eyes closed and his head tilted toward the window. But when Price called him out, he froze, his body stiffening slightly. He opened his mouth to respond, then quickly shut it, clearly caught off guard. Instead, he let out a quiet, exaggerated sigh and shifted in his seat, trying to make it look like he was deeply asleep, as if he were too tired to respond, or simply not interested.

Price raised an eyebrow. “Really, Kyle? You think you’re fooling anyone?”

But Kyle didn’t budge. His breathing slowed, and he gave the most dramatic, exaggerated snore he could muster, clearly hoping the whole thing would blow over.

Simon chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s too late, mate. You’re caught.”

Price just smirked, his patience wearing thin. “I’m not even going to ask how you managed to get those. But, come on, you can share too. You’ve got the stash, now let’s see it.”

Kyle continued to snore, utterly silent, not letting the act of pretending to sleep falter for a second. His breathing remained steady, but the slight twitch in his hand betrayed him—he was definitely still listening.

----------

The next day at base, the routine was the same. Papers were shuffled, reports filed, and the hum of normalcy settled in. Johnny and Roach sat at their desks, casting occasional glances at their lieutenant. They were still confused.

How had this stoic, cold man—so steady and unreadable—managed to land someone so sweet and petite? A lass who packed him those nice lunches and sent homemade treats during deployments? It didn’t add up, and the curiosity gnawed at them.

Johnny leaned back in his chair, staring at Simon as if the answer was somehow written in his actions. “I still don’t get it,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Roach sighed, leaning over the desk and giving his partner a look. “You think he’s going to tell us? Not a chance. He’ll just keep it to himself, like he always does.”

Both of them went quiet, their curiosity lingering in the air.

"Can’t believe it though," Johnny murmured, almost to himself. “He’s so... not the type, y’know?”

Roach grinned, eyes glinting with amusement. “That’s the mystery of it, mate. You never know with him.”

Just as Johnny and Roach were stewing in their curiosity, Kyle walked into the room, holding a neatly bound stack of papers in one hand and a ripe piece of fruit in the other. The fragrant, sweet aroma wafted into the air, making its presence known before he even reached Simon’s desk.

“Lieutenant,” Kyle started, placing the papers in front of Simon. “Here’s the mission report.”

Simon glanced up, giving the papers a quick look before nodding. “Thank you, Sergeant Garrick,” he said in his usual steady, even tone.

But before Kyle could even think about biting into his fruit—or worse, escaping the room—Captain Price appeared in the doorway. His eyes scanned the room quickly, narrowing when they landed on Kyle. The Captain’s gaze dropped pointedly to the fruit in his hand.

Kyle froze, swallowing hard. “Ah, Captain,” he said, trying for casual but sounding like a man caught red-handed.

Price marched forward, his steps deliberate and unwavering. The sweet aroma of the fruit seemed to guide him like a bloodhound, and Kyle looked down at his lunch like it was a ticking time bomb.

“You’re holding out on me, Sergeant,” Price announced, his tone mock-accusatory but with a glint of hunger in his eyes.

Kyle stiffened, clutching the fruit closer to his chest as though it were a priceless artifact. “It’s my lunch, Captain,” he said, attempting a firm tone. But the slight wobble in his voice betrayed his nerves.

Price crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly, his gaze sharpening with exaggerated seriousness. “Lunch, is it? Good choice, Sergeant. Can’t fault a man for appreciating the finer things.” His tone was playful, but there was an undeniable glint of determination in his eyes, making Kyle swallow hard.

With a nod toward the fruit, Price pressed on. “I seem to recall you bringing back a whole box of those from deployment. Kept it quiet, didn’t you? Even pretended to sleep on the plane to avoid sharing. Clever, Garrick. Gotta respect the effort.”

Kyle darted a quick look at Simon, silently pleading for backup. Simon, who was leaning against his desk, flipping through the mission report, finally looked up. His eyes glinted with amusement as he met the Captain’s stare. “Captain,” he drawled, clearly enjoying the chance to tease, “you had your chance back at the market. Should’ve stocked up while you were there.”

Price’s gaze narrowed as it shifted to Simon. “You’re welcome to stay out of this, Lieutenant,” he said with mock gravity, his tone carrying a faint threat. “Unless you’d like me to pencil in some extra drills to keep you occupied?”

Simon held his ground, but instead of smirking, he simply glanced back down at the report in his hands, feigning indifference. “Fair enough, Captain. You’re on your own, Garrick.”

Kyle’s shoulders slumped, his last hope dashed. Price took a deliberate step closer, his tone dropping to something almost conspiratorial. “You’re holding out on me, Sergeant,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Just one piece. That’s all I’m asking. Seems fair, doesn’t it?”

Kyle stammered, clutching the fruit even tighter. “It’s… it’s not much, sir. Barely enough for me.”

Price leaned in, his grin turning mischievous. “Tell you what, Sergeant. Hand over just one, and I won’t bring up the little ‘incident’ with the coffee machine last month.”

Kyle’s eyes widened in alarm. “That wasn’t my fault! The machine—”

“Or,” Price interrupted smoothly, raising a brow, “I could make it an order.”

Kyle groaned, realizing he’d been cornered. With an overdramatic sigh of defeat, he reluctantly handed over a single fruit. “Fine. Take it. But just one.”

Price grinned triumphantly, holding the fruit aloft like it was some grand prize. “Good lad. See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Simon, still at his desk, glanced up briefly, his tone light. “You’ve got a real talent for persuasion, Captain.”

Taking a slow, deliberate bite of the fruit, Price hummed with exaggerated delight, savoring it as though it were the rarest delicacy. “Persuasion? No, Simon. I just appreciate good food—and I know when someone’s holding out.”

Kyle dropped into a chair, muttering under his breath, “What was I thinking, coming here? Should’ve known better.”

Simon glanced up from his paperwork, an amused glint in his eyes. “You know, the Captain had been hunting you down the moment you disappeared as soon as we landed,” he said casually. “Couldn't get a piece of that fruit stash of yours. Figured you were hiding it somewhere.”

Kyle groaned. “I’ve been eating in private this whole time. Guess I let my guard down.”

Simon chuckled, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Well, now he knows. Might want to find a new hiding spot, mate.”

Johnny and Roach didn’t miss a beat, swooping in the moment Kyle walked out of the office. “Oi, Gaz,” Johnny called with a grin, “next time, stash your lunch better—or eat it where the Captain can’t sniff it out.”

Roach snickered. “Yeah, mate. You’re lucky he didn’t take the whole box.”

Kyle groaned again, clutching his remaining fruit protectively. “You all can’t be serious. I’ve got to eat in peace, for once.”

Johnny gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Lesson learned, eh? Now go finish your lunch before he decides he’s still hungry.”

As Kyle trudged off, muttering about finding a secure bunker to eat in, Johnny and Roach shared a knowing laugh.

----------

The sun was beginning its slow descent when Johnny and Roach found themselves heading outside the base camp, making their way to the entrance checkpoint. It had been a long day of drills, and both were looking forward to some downtime. Roach was talking about the latest gossip circulating the camp, but Johnny’s attention was diverted by a familiar sight.

A black 4x4 rumbled by the entrance, its engine humming with authority. Johnny squinted, recognizing the vehicle instantly—it was their LT's .

But it wasn’t the vehicle that caught their attention. As the 4x4 slowed to a stop near the gate, they saw the figure in the driver’s seat. A petite woman with an adorable, almost innocent look about her. She had that civilian air to her, the kind of vibe that screamed ‘not military,’ but in a way that made her seem even more out of place next to Simon.

Johnny’s eyes flicked over to Roach, who had already stopped talking and was watching intently, his expression a mix of curiosity and calculation.

"Did you get a good look?" Johnny muttered under his breath, not taking his eyes off the woman.

Roach nodded slowly, his gaze narrowing as he scrutinized her. “Yeah, I did. She’s the one. LT’s lass. No mistake.”

The vehicle's engine cut off, and they saw Simon open the passenger side door, climbing in with his usual intimidating grace. As the door shut, the 4x4 began to roll away, heading toward the exit.

Johnny leaned back, still processing. “She didn’t look like what I expected.”

Roach snorted. “Did you think she’d be in military fatigues or something? Probably just got off work like the rest of us.”

“True,” Johnny replied, his voice thoughtful. "Didn't expect that she was some civilian, did you?”

Roach shook his head, a half-grin forming. “Nah. She had that look, didn’t she? Like she couldn't hurt a fly?”

Johnny chuckled. "Haha! Yes! It made me think though….”

The two shared a laugh as they leaned against the wall, lighting up their smokes.

“Man, though,” Johnny continued, taking a drag. “How did our intimidating, stoic Lieutenant bag that sweet little thing? I mean, look at her—she looks like she’s never been near a battlefield.”

Roach exhaled a puff of smoke, grinning. “You reckon he bullied her into it? Like, maybe he just stared at her until she gave in.”

“Definitely,” Johnny said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “He probably hit her with that cold, ‘You will date me, or I’ll make your life hell,’ routine. Gotta be how he roped her in.”

Roach snorted. “Poor lass didn’t stand a chance.”

Johnny leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “Or maybe he just showed up at her work one day—just, boom, there he is. Glaring, all ‘You’re coming with me,’ like the bad guy in one of those old action movies.”

Roach slapped his knee, laughing. “She must’ve been terrified! Imagine being told to ‘sit still and don’t ask questions,’ and then—bam—he drags you off to dinner or something.”

“Could’ve happened like that,” Johnny mused. “Or, y’know, maybe he just used that whole ‘I’m Ghost and you have to listen to me’ thing until she cracked.”

The two of them burst into laughter, shaking their heads at the ridiculous idea of Simon using his ‘charm’ to win over someone so sweet-looking.

“Poor lass, though,” Johnny said with a smirk, taking another drag of his smoke. “Bet she had no clue what she was signing up for.”

Roach nodded sagely. “Nah, she’s probably in too deep now. You don’t mess with a man like the 'Ghost' .”

They stood there for a moment longer, finishing their smokes, both of them unable to shake the thought of Simon’s mysterious partner. Whatever the story was, they were getting more and more curious to find out.

----------

Johnny and Roach were out of camp, taking advantage of their rare weekend off. They wandered through the small town, talking about nothing in particular—just enjoying the freedom of being away from base. Their plan was simple: grab a bite to eat and then head for a pint or two at the local pub. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets as they strolled, the sounds of chatter and the hum of passing cars filling the air. It was late morning, the perfect time for a leisurely brunch as they wandered through the town, talking about nothing in particular—just enjoying the rare freedom of being off base. The plan was simple: grab a bite to eat and then head for a pint or two at the local pub.

The market stalls lined the street, colorful and brimming with fresh produce, meats, and all sorts of wares. Johnny had his eye on a butcher's display, already imagining a steak to go with their planned pints, when something caught his eye. He stopped dead in his tracks, and Roach, who had been walking ahead, followed Johnny’s gaze.

There, just a few stalls over, was a petite woman pulling a tiny metal cart behind her. The cart was filled with an assortment of veggies, fruits, and wrapped meats, likely picked from various stalls. She moved from stand to stand, carefully inspecting the goods, her head slightly tilted as she seemed to weigh her options. The first thing that hit Johnny was the face mask she wore, one of those simple, cloth coverings that obscured half her face—but even with only half of it visible, Johnny knew exactly who she was.

Roach’s eyebrows shot up, and without saying a word, both of them instinctively glanced at each other. Johnny felt a surge of curiosity wash over him. How the hell did she end up here, out of the base, in the middle of this town, looking so... ordinary? So normal.

“Is that…?” Johnny began, his voice low.

“No way,” Roach muttered, squinting at her as if to convince himself that it wasn’t who they both knew it was.

It had to be her. There was something about her—something unmistakable even through the mask. Her petite frame, the easy way she moved, pulling the cart with practiced ease, was familiar. But what really stood out was her style. The clothes she wore were simple yet chic—loose-fitting, utilitarian in a way that reminded Johnny of their LT’s own aesthetic. The muted tones, the comfort over formality, yet still looking put-together—practical but dapper. They both instantly recognized it. It was as though she had stepped out of Simon’s world but was just far enough removed to make her seem… normal.

“Yup, that’s her,” Roach said, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Johnny could only nod, his mind racing. She looked so out of place, yet so very in-place at the same time. There was no mistaking it—this was definitely their LT's lass. They had no idea what she was doing here, but the fact that she was casually strolling through a market, shopping like any other civilian, made Johnny’s curiosity spike.

Without much thought, they both started walking slowly, following her at a safe distance, making sure to stay hidden in the crowd. Johnny didn’t know why, but something about this moment felt like they were seeing a side of their LT that nobody was supposed to see. They had to know more.

Her movements were casual, unbothered by the bustle of people around her. Johnny’s eyes kept flicking between her and Roach, who mirrored his thoughts with a look of mild disbelief.

Johnny and Roach trailed behind her, maintaining a discreet distance, but neither could shake the growing sense of disbelief. There she was—Simon’s mysterious partner, moving through the market with an ease that felt both normal and unsettling. As they drifted along, their curiosity deepened with every step.

Her cart was nearly full now, a careful selection of wrapped packages of meat, freshly picked vegetables, and fruits—lots of them. More than enough for someone so petite. Johnny’s eyes flicked over the contents, each item making more sense the longer he stared. The cuts of meat were well-chosen, and the fruits were nothing short of gourmet—clearly handpicked. It was like she had a very specific plan for what she was buying.

And then it clicked.

Everything in her cart, from the meats to the produce, seemed chosen not just for her, but for their LT as well. It struck Johnny—this woman wasn’t just shopping for herself. She was choosing what would likely end up in their LT’s meals. It made him wonder—he’d never thought Simon as the kind of guy who’d spend his time picking out fruit at a market. But this woman, this ‘sweet little bird,’ was the one who made sure their LT’s meals were as meticulous as his work. There was no way Simon—so focused, so disciplined—was wasting time on something like this. So, how the hell had he bagged someone like her?

Johnny's gaze shifted back to Roach, who was eyeing the cart too, clearly processing the same thoughts.

"How the hell did he...?" Roach muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

Johnny let out a low whistle. “I don’t know, mate. But there’s no way she’s just...normal.” His voice had a mixture of awe and confusion. What was she thinking, being with someone like Simon—the feared 'Ghost'? How had she ended up with him?

They continued to follow her, neither of them willing to be the first to give up on figuring out what the hell was going on with Simon and this woman.

As they rounded another corner, Y/N, seemingly unaware of the men tailing her, made a sudden turn into a quieter alleyway. Johnny and Roach exchanged a quick glance, then hurried to catch up, trying to keep their steps light. But it didn’t take long for Johnny to feel something was off.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he watched her movements become more deliberate, more aware, as if she was setting up a trap.

Too late.

Before either of them could react, Y/N slipped into a side street, vanishing around the corner. Johnny and Roach hurried their pace, rounding the corner just in time to see her reach the back of an old 4x4 Defender—her vehicle.

“Bloody hell,” Johnny hissed, now acutely aware that they had made a mistake. She was aware.

It wasn’t long before Y/N, her back still turned to them, paused. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and then—bam—she whirled around with a speed that took both men by surprise. A small plastic bottle hissed in the air, and before either of them could react, the world went black.

The spray hit them both in the face at once—sharp, acrid—and in seconds, they were on the ground, their bodies heavy and unresponsive.

Y/N stepped back, eyeing them with cold precision. Her breath was steady as she wiped her hands with a wet tissue on her side, almost as if she had done this a thousand times before. Without a second thought, she opened the back of the Defender and tossed them in, like they were sacks of potatoes. The weight of their bodies made it a bit more challenging than usual, but she didn’t seem to mind.

After all, she was no stranger to the art of subtlety—and incapacitation.

A/N: Oh no!! You (Y/N) incapacitated and caught Johnny and Roach!! 😱 This is what happens to nosy people!! 🤭 Wondering what’s in store for them as you interrogate them? Well, stay tuned, because this is just the beginning! 😈 What happens next? I’ll reveal all in the next part—coming soon!! 😜

Edit: Here is the next part --------->

[msilwrites]

The Mystery of Ghost's Better Half (Simon 'Ghost' Fic)

Gamekeeper! Reader, Groundskeeper! Reader, Ex-MI5! Reader, Stalker! Reader, Naughty! Ghost, Naughty! Simon, Stalker! Reader, Possessive! Reader, Sunshine! Reader, Shy! Reader, Introvert! Reader

A/N: This story features the same Y/N (that’s YOU!!) from How I met your Mother, Midnight Snack Mystery and The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That?

You’ll notice I’ve kept physical descriptions and most of your aesthetic to a minimum—no name, race, or colour—because I want you, the reader, to be able to fully immerse yourself in the story. Imagine it’s you!

That said, I’ve crafted your background and bio to be absolutely awesome. Let’s be real—you deserve to be as amazing as the characters you’re sharing the story with! 💪

For those curious about the timeline, this story takes place WAY before both The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That? and Midnight Snack Mystery. and after How I Met Your Mother. I’ll be putting together a proper timeline for all the chaos soon—stay tuned! Genre: Comedy/Fluff

Summary: Set almost a year into your relationship with Ghost, a casual supermarket run takes an unexpected turn when you bump into Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick—who also happens to be your former subordinate. As stories unfold and secrets unravel, Ghost discovers there's more to your past than you've let on... and you learn he’s been keeping a few surprises of his own. What starts as a mundane errand turns into a hilariously revealing chapter in your lives together. Some Terms to take note of;

RAF: Royal Air Force – The air force branch of the British Armed Forces, responsible for aerial defense and operations.

UAV: Unmanned Aerial Vehicle – A drone or remote-controlled aircraft used for surveillance, reconnaissance, and sometimes combat, without a pilot onboard.

MI5: Military Intelligence, Section 5 – The British domestic counter-intelligence and security agency, primarily focused on national security, including counter-terrorism and espionage.

SAS: Special Air Service – A special forces regiment of the British Army, known for its expertise in counter-terrorism, hostage rescue, and covert operations.

SBS: Special Boat Service – The Royal Navy’s counterpart to the SAS, specializing in amphibious and maritime operations, including counter-terrorism, reconnaissance, and hostage rescue. RMP: Royal Military Police – The military police branch of the British Army, responsible for maintaining discipline, investigating crimes within the military, and providing security for military operations.

SRR: Special Reconnaissance Regiment – A special forces regiment of the British Army, specializing in covert reconnaissance, surveillance, and intelligence gathering.

MI6: Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) – The British foreign intelligence service, responsible for collecting intelligence from outside the UK, mainly focusing on espionage, counter-intelligence, and security issues abroad.

SCO19/CTSFO: Specialist Crime and Operations/Counter Terrorism Specialist Firearms Officers – A unit of the Metropolitan Police Service responsible for handling counter-terrorism operations and armed responses to incidents involving firearms or other serious threats.

Case Officer – A role within intelligence agencies, such as MI5 or MI6, where the officer is responsible for managing agents or assets, gathering intelligence, and overseeing operations involving covert operations and surveillance.

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The supermarket buzzed with quiet chatter and the soft clatter of carts. Simon pushed their trolley with one hand, the other draped over Y/N’s shoulder. Both wore masks—not because they were hiding from the world but because they were both introverts who preferred to keep their faces to themselves.

“Why do we always look like we’re about to rob the place?” Y/N muttered under her breath, glancing at their reflection in the freezer doors.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Simon replied, his voice dry. “You’d be the worst getaway driver. Too many stops for snacks.”

“Bold words for someone who insisted on two different types of biscuits last week.”

He smirked behind his mask, steering them toward the drinks aisle. “Tea,” he said. “Running low.”

She chuckled softly. “Heaven forbid we face a morning without tea.”

They rounded a corner when a familiar voice stopped them in their tracks.

“LT?”

Simon glanced up sharply to see Kyle Garrick standing a few feet away, looking equal parts amused and bewildered.

“Garrick,” Simon greeted, nodding in acknowledgment.

Kyle closed the distance, clapping Simon’s shoulder in a friendly grip before offering the traditional handshake-bump. “Didn’t think I’d ever catch you out here, sir, in a domesticated way!”

Simon rolled his eyes but let a smirk slip through. “Everyone’s got to eat, mate. Even me.”

Kyle chuckled, but his attention drifted to Y/N, and his expression froze. His eyes widened in disbelief. “No bloody way.”

Y/N blinked, tilting her head. “Kyle?”

“Ma’am!” Kyle’s grin split wide as he snapped a playful salute before pulling her into a hug. “It’s really you!”

Y/N laughed softly, hugging him back. “Look at you, all grown up and out of trouble.”

Simon stood off to the side, arms crossed and brow raised. “Ma’am?” he echoed, his tone skeptical but sharp.

Kyle stepped back from the hug, hands raised as if to placate him. “Relax, LT. Not nicking Mrs Riley.”

“I’m not yet—” Y/N started, only for Simon to cut in.

“She will be,” Simon said matter-of-factly, his voice laced with quiet authority.

Kyle chuckled, shooting Y/N a knowing look. “Fair enough. But seriously, LT, you’ve bagged yourself a legend.” He gestured to Y/N. “This woman was my case officer back when I was just starting out. Pulled me and my team out of more fires than I care to count.”

Y/N winced. “Kyle, don’t.”

But Kyle continued undeterred. “She’s the reason I got placed with the CTSFOs before Price found me. Without her, I wouldn’t be where I am now.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed slightly, the edge in his tone unmistakable. “That so?”

Kyle nodded earnestly. “She didn’t just handle the logistics—she made sure we got in and out in one piece. Always had a knack for knowing when to pull us before things got messy.”

“Kyle,” Y/N interrupted, raising a hand. “Enough. You’re making me sound like a bloody action figure.”

Kyle grinned, sheepish but unapologetic. “Sorry, ma’am.” He turned to Simon, adding, “Go easy on her, LT. She’s earned it. And don’t worry—I won’t tell the lads.”

“Good,” Simon said curtly, his tone clipped but not unkind. “I’ll interrogate her myself. Now, get on with your shopping, Garrick.”

Kyle saluted again, grinning. “Aye, sir.” He turned back to Y/N with a softer look. “We’ll catch up one day, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said with a faint smile. “Take care, Kyle.”

As Kyle walked off, Simon’s amber eyes fixed on her, curiosity and amusement dancing in their depths. “So,” he drawled, “you’re a legend, are you?”

She groaned, pushing the trolley forward. “Don’t start.”

Simon followed, his tone low and teasing. “You’re my Mrs Riley, and yet I’m only hearing this from Garrick? What else are you hiding, love?”

She sighed, glancing over her shoulder. “Plenty.”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “We’ll sort that later. For now, let’s stock up. Wouldn’t want to run out of biscuits again.”

Y/N muttered something under her breath but let him guide the trolley forward, knowing full well that “later” was going to be anything but quiet.

----------

Back at Simon’s house, the rustle of grocery bags filled the quiet kitchen as Y/N started unpacking their haul. Simon leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his amber eyes fixed on her with that signature intensity she found equal parts alluring and irritating.

“So,” he began, voice low and calm, “how exactly do you know Kyle?”

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes as she pulled out a loaf of bread and a jar of honey. “He’s just a kid I looked after, that’s all.”

Simon arched a brow. “Looked after? He was going on about saving lives. Sounds a bit more than babysitting, love.”

She set the bread down and shot him a look. “It’s not worth mentioning. Besides, you never asked.”

His brow shot higher, and a hint of amusement flickered in his gaze. “Never asked, huh?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, focusing on the next bag. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hi, I used to babysit rookie agents and soldiers when they couldn’t keep themselves out of trouble’? Bit of a conversation killer, don’t you think?”

Simon snorted, stepping forward to help as she tried—and failed—to push a box of tea onto the top shelf. His hand brushed hers as he easily slid it into place. “Funny how you leave out that you were apparently some kind of mastermind,” he said, his tone casual but teasing.

She rolled her eyes, but a faint smile tugged at her lips. Then she turned the tables. “I heard Kyle call you ‘LT.’ And since he’s SAS, that means you’re SAS, too, yeah?”

Simon smirked, pulling another bag closer. “And here I thought you knew everything about me.”

“All you told me is you were RAF,” she countered, her arms crossed now. “Are you really going to act smug about not mentioning that detail?”

He set a box of biscuits on the counter and leaned in slightly, his voice dropping an octave. “You never asked. How was I supposed to tell you?”

She snorted, trying to brush past him to grab more groceries, but he moved faster, blocking her path with his broad frame. His eyes glittered with mischief. “Anything else you’ve been keeping from me? Or do I have to wait for Garrick to fill me in again?”

She tilted her head up, glaring playfully. “Oh, I’m sure there’s plenty you don’t know about me.”

“Plenty?” he repeated, feigning surprise. “Should I be worried?”

“Maybe,” she teased, pushing at his chest lightly. “You’ll find out eventually—if you’re lucky.”

Simon caught her wrist, his grip firm but gentle, and pulled her closer. The corner of his mouth curled into a smirk. “Lucky, am I?”

“You might be,” she replied, her tone breezy but her pulse quickening as his thumb brushed her wrist.

“Guess I’ll have to keep asking then,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble. “Can’t have my Mrs. Riley keeping secrets from me.”

“I’m not—” she started, but he cut her off with a soft kiss, the groceries temporarily forgotten as his teasing turned into something much more serious.

When they broke apart, her breath hitched, and she quipped, “You’re still putting away the rest of those groceries.”

He chuckled, leaning back slightly but not letting her go. “Fair enough. But don’t think you’re off the hook, love. We’ll have another chat about Garrick soon enough.”

“You know, we don’t have to wait until later,” she teased, “might as well start the ‘interrogation’ now.” She raised a brow at him. “But fair’s fair. For every question about me, I get to ask you one. Deal?”

Simon grinned. “Deal.” His voice was steady, but there was an undeniable edge of anticipation as he leaned in, clearly ready for his next round of questioning.

“How do you know Sergeant Garrick?” Simon asked again, now that the gauntlet had been thrown down.

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes flickering briefly to the side before she met his gaze. “I was a Case Officer for MI5,” she began, her voice steady but with a note of something deeper. “I worked with MI6, the SAS, SBS and SCO19/CTSFO. Gaz was stationed in the Middle East during a critical operation. There was a leak within MI6 that affected MI5, and I had to pull his team out at the last minute.” (A/N: Gaz working in the middle east is actually canon material, you can find it in his bio)

Simon didn’t interrupt, his curiosity piqued.

“Garrick was just starting out, but he was good,” she continued. “His team was in real danger. I saved them—kept them from walking into a shitstorm that would’ve cost them their lives.” She paused, her expression clouding slightly, as if remembering the tension of those moments.

“Fuck,” Simon muttered, clearly impressed. “You really didn’t mention any of that.”

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You never asked.”

Simon was about to speak again when Y/N raised a finger. “Now, my turn. Is that why you’d disappear for weeks before we got together? You were deployed?”

Simon’s jaw tightened slightly, but his expression remained calm. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly, “that’s why.”

Y/N nodded, her lips pursed as she processed that. “I thought so.”

Simon let out a soft breath, the air around them suddenly heavier. “Your turn now. How did you end up in the military?”

Her eyes flickered for a moment before she spoke, the story tumbling out with the quiet weight of years gone by.

“I left home at eighteen,” she said, her voice low but clear. “Got into a bad relationship... ran off again when I realized what a mess I’d gotten into. Ended up in Scotland, working at a distillery as an apprentice brewer.” She sighed, the memory bittersweet. “I was happy, for a while. But then my ex found me. Kept harassing me, threatening everyone around me. I had to leave, for my own safety and everyone else’s.”

She paused for a moment, her gaze distant, before continuing.

“For a while, I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I had nothing left. But then, one day, I saw a recruitment ad for the RAF. I remembered a colleague I’d worked with at the distillery. He’d always said I had some kind of observational ability that might make me good in the military.” She gave him a dry smile. “I guess I thought, 'why not?' Free food, free place to sleep, and some semblance of security. Plus, they offered sponsored education, which was a bonus. And then there was the therapy—” she hesitated for a moment, her voice softening. “That helped. More than I thought it would. It gave me the space to sort myself out, to stop feeling like I was constantly looking over my shoulder.”

She glanced at Simon, her expression resolute. “I’d had enough of running. Joining the military taught me how to defend myself—and fight back when I needed to.”

Simon’s eyes softened as he listened. She wasn’t finished yet, though.

“I joined the RAF first as an infantry soldier,” she explained, her tone matter-of-fact. “Did a few tours overseas, got some solid experience under my belt, and eventually took an opportunity to upskill as a UAV pilot.” She paused, the faintest smile tugging at her lips as she recounted the progression.

“After that, I transitioned to the RMP and later the SRR. Both roles had me deployed for more tours, sharpening different skill sets along the way,” she continued, her gaze steady. “Eventually, MI5 took notice and recruited me.”

She sighed, leaning back slightly as if the weight of those years momentarily settled on her shoulders. “Stayed there for more than a decade, till they told me to retire. Ran into Kyle during all that, though. Didn’t think I’d see him again, but here we are.”

Simon was quiet for a long moment, processing everything she had just revealed. His eyes never left hers.

“You really know how to keep a secret,” he murmured, clearly impressed—and maybe a little surprised.

“When were you planning to tell me?” he asked after a beat, tilting his head slightly. “Were you ever planning to tell me? Or were you just hoping I’d find and figure it all out?”

Y/N leaned against the counter, crossing her arms with a sigh. “I was just hoping you’d figure it out,” she admitted with a soft laugh, her tone tinged with playful exasperation. “Accept me and my crazy head.” She paused before adding, “To be fair, though, you wouldn’t have believed me even if I told you! I mean, look at me, Simon!” She gestured to herself dramatically, as if presenting a case in court.

Simon’s lips twitched into a sly grin, his gaze sweeping over her as he let out a low chuckle. “Alright, you’ve got a point,” he admitted, amusement lacing his voice. “Small, unassuming, and, dare I say it, bloody adorable. Not exactly what springs to mind when you think of MI5, yeah?”

Her jaw dropped slightly, though her grin remained firmly in place. “Excuse me? Did you just—”

He stepped closer, cutting her off with a laugh. “It’s a compliment,” he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But yeah, unless someone like Kyle spilled the beans, I’d probably still be clueless.”

Simon closed the distance between them, his smirk softening as he looked at her. “Oh, and since I did find and figure it out,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, “let me just say—your ‘crazy head’ might actually be my favorite thing about you.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her lips as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close in a firm embrace. He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, the faint scratch of his stubble brushing against her skin and drawing another burst of laughter.

“Simon, that tickles!” she protested, trying to squirm away, but his grip only tightened.

“Good,” he murmured into her hair, his deep chuckle vibrating against her cheek.

As the laughter subsided, she tilted her head, her expression suddenly thoughtful. “Alright, my turn,” she began, her voice carrying a teasing edge. “Why didn’t you ever mention you were in the SAS?”

Simon’s grip loosened just enough for him to lean back and meet her gaze. His expression shifted, the humour giving way to something more serious. “It’s not exactly something you drop into casual conversation,” he replied. “Most of it’s classified, anyway.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking in amusement. “Oh, so it’s alright for you to keep secrets, but when I do it, it’s a problem?”

Simon let out a low chuckle, conceding with a nod. “Touché.”

But then his gaze softened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly choosing his words carefully. “Truth is… I was afraid.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Afraid of what?”

“That you might run off,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “If you knew I was SAS, I thought… I thought you might see the risks, the danger, and decide it wasn’t worth it. And I wanted you too much to risk losing you like that.”

Her brows knit together, her expression softening, but before she could speak, he continued.

“And then there was the other fear,” he added, glancing away briefly. “That you might… I don’t know… only be with me because of what I do. You know how it goes—there’s always someone sniffing around, looking for the ‘glamour’ of it, wanting to brag about dating a ‘hero’ or whatever rubbish they’ve built up in their heads.” His tone held a mix of frustration and vulnerability. “Didn’t want to be someone’s bloody trophy.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing.

Simon frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, Simon,” she said between giggles, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “You’re telling me that was your big worry? That I’d only be with you because of your job?” She grinned, giving him a playful jab to the chest. “Mate, I dated you because you’re hot. And, let’s be honest…” She leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I couldn’t resist the free show you were giving me at the reserve.”

Simon’s brows rose, a sly smirk creeping onto his face. “Free show, eh? So you’re finally admitting it? All that time you denied it, called me full of myself—and here we are. Caught you, you cheeky little bird.”

“You, lugging those sacks around, all sweaty and brooding?” She waggled her eyebrows at him, her grin downright wicked. “Honestly, Simon, who needs an OnlyFans subscription to some bloke when I could just hide behind a tree at the reserve and watch the free show? I might’ve been pretending to work, but really, I was just enjoying the live performance.” She gave him a cheeky shrug. “So don’t get it twisted, mate—I’m only here ‘cause I fancied you.”

Simon let out a bark of laughter, his initial frown dissolving completely. “You’re an absolute menace,” he said, shaking his head as he pulled her into his arms. “But I guess it’s a good thing I was giving you a free show, eh? Saved you from wasting good money on some bloke online who charges for access.” His smirk turned downright wicked as he added, “Though now that I think about it, I probably should’ve started charging you admission—could’ve made a tidy profit. Maybe even a subscription service, just for you.”

“And what’s your mode of payment, then?” she asked, her tone dripping with mock curiosity, eyes gleaming mischievously.

Simon raised a brow, his lips curling into a sly grin. “Oh, I think you know,” he teased, his voice low and playful. “This show is exclusive to you, love. No one else gets the ‘personal, one-on-one access.’” He leaned in slightly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “As for payment? A bit of affection, maybe. A kiss here and there. And, of course, the occasional batch of those baked goods you make. Can’t say no to those.”

She didn’t hesitate. With a gleeful laugh, she jumped on him, her legs wrapping around his waist as his strong arms instinctively caught her, hands gripping her thighs to hold her securely. She grinned wickedly, leaning in close and playfully nipping at his jawline.

“Rawr, rawr!” she growled, nipping and biting at his cheek with exaggerated ferocity. “Good! Because you’re all mine!”

Simon barked out a laugh, his hold tightening as he steadied her against him. “You’re mental,” he teased, his voice filled with warmth and amusement. “Utterly bonkers, but yeah... all yours.”

Her triumphant giggle filled the room as she adjusted her arms around his shoulders, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes.

Simon’s smirk softened, his gaze steady on hers. “You’re trouble, y’know that? The kind that sneaks in and takes over before you even realize it.”

“Trouble?” she echoed with a playful scoff, tilting her head. “You love it. Admit it.”

“Maybe I do,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face with a tenderness that made her heart flutter. “Maybe it’s the kind of trouble I’ve been needing.”

Her grin turned victorious as she tightened her arms around his shoulders, pulling herself closer. “Good, because you’re stuck with me. No take-backs, no loopholes, and absolutely no chance of escape. You’ve been claimed, Riley.” She gave him a mock-serious glare, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And I’ll make sure you’re glad for it.”

Simon chuckled softly, shaking his head as he gazed at her. “You’re completely off your trolley,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

What Simon didn’t realize, though, was that he’d only scratched the surface of who he’d fallen for. Sure, she’d hinted at her “crazy head” and shared just enough to keep him on his toes, but the full truth? That was a different story. As he was soon to find out, being with her wasn’t just about late-night tea debates and cheeky banter—it came with a side of secrets, surprises, and the occasional “how in the hell did you even know that?” moment. Poor bloke thought he’d seen it all. Spoiler: He hadn’t.

A/N Please Read: Hi, everyone! The inspiration for the character bio of You (Y/N) actually comes from Nathan Muir in the film Spy Game and Charles Heller from the book The Amateur (soon to have a film adaptation starring Rami Malek!). I chose these influences because of their unconventional approach to operations, leaning heavily into psychological warfare and intricate strategizing. I found it fascinating that I couldn’t resist putting it into Y/N’s backstory.

As for the next part of this story in chronological order, it’s actually The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That. However, these stories can stand alone if that’s how you prefer to read them! For those who want to follow the timeline, I’ll include a “Next Part” link below to guide you.

Hope you enjoyed this one! Cheers! 💀✨

Next part --------->

[msilwrites]

I love the Butcher! Ghost/ Butcher! Simon!!

prime cuts 🥩🔪

[msilwrites]

OMG!!!! WWWWHHHYYY IS THIS SO CUTE!!!! GHOST AND THE RESTS AT TOTZ!!!!

Coming soon to a theatre near you...

[msilwrites]

The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That? (Simon 'Ghost' Fic)

Sassy! Ghost, Sassy! Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Sassy! Simon Riley, Stylish! Ghost, Dapper! Ghost, Domestic! Ghost, Domestic Goddess! Ghost Genre: Comedy

A/N: Same Y/N (Which is You! :D) from How I Met Your Mother? and Midnight Snack Mystery! This one’s all about the lads at the base figuring out the mystery of why their LT. suddenly looks like he stepped out of a posh catalogue. Spoiler: It’s not as complicated as they think—Simon’s just got a good woman (YOU!!) behind him making sure he’s looking his best. But when it comes to teasing, it’s a whole different ball game, and the lads are getting a taste of their own medicine. Enjoy the banter, because it’s all being thrown right back at Johnny and Roach!

Summary: As Simon's partner, you’ve taken on the unofficial role of his personal stylist—dressing him, picking out his clothes, and making sure he’s always looking sharp. The lads at base start to notice the transformation, and they can’t help but poke fun at their LT, who now looks like he’s stepped straight out of a Zegna/Uniqlo/MUJI catalog. They can’t quite figure out what's going on, but they’re determined to crack the case of why their tough, no-nonsense Ghost has suddenly become the poster boy for high fashion—and, more amusingly, started baking, flower arranging, and fully embracing his inner domestic goddess. But Simon? He’s perfectly comfortable in his masculinity, and no amount of teasing is going to ruffle his feathers. In fact, he’s got the perfect comebacks for every jab, turning it all back on Johnny and Roach—leaving them in stitches as they try (and fail) to get under his skin.

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It all started with a haircut. Not the usual military buzz or the "I couldn’t care less" trim they were used to seeing, but something deliberate—a sharp undercut with just enough length on top to sweep back neatly. The kind of cut that suggested time spent in front of a mirror, not the usual wake-up-and-throw-on-a-mask routine they associated with Simon. That was the first clue.

Then came the glasses. These weren’t the standard-issue, utilitarian frames meant for reading classified reports or aiming downrange. No, these had sleek black frames, with lenses that darkened automatically in bright light. Practical? Sure. But also stylish—the kind of stylish that made Soap and Roach exchange looks the moment they first noticed them.

And the hoodie Simon used to wear on endless rotation? Gone. Replaced by a knitted beanie that somehow managed to suit him. Sometimes it was dark green, other times navy blue, charcoal, or black. Even the ever-present balaclava he used to wear religiously underneath his hoodie had disappeared. In its place, he’d adopted other ways to cover his face—a sleek black surgical mask, occasionally printed with a faint skull design. Paired with those transforming glasses, which doubled as reading glasses, the whole look naturally drew attention to the hair underneath—the very hair that started their suspicions in the first place.

Price noticed too. He didn’t say much, just raised an eyebrow now and then, his sharp gaze taking everything in. Kyle, of course, already knew the full story. But he wasn’t the type to share someone else’s secrets, so he stayed quiet, leaving Simon to decide when—and if—to let the cat out of the bag.

But Soap and Roach? Patience wasn’t exactly their strong suit.

The clues just kept piling up. Take his boots, for example. Those scuffed military-issued clunkers he used to wear without a second thought? Replaced. Was that a pair of full-grain leather, dark brown Doc Martens the other day? And hold on—were those reddish-brown Derby boots last week? They’d exchanged a quick glance, equal parts impressed and suspicious.

Then there were the trousers. Gone were the tired, faded jeans that had been his off-duty staple for as long as they’d known him. Now it was joggers on some days—still practical, but clearly high-end—and fitted chinos, khakis, wool, or even linen trousers on others. Twill made a regular appearance too, all in a careful rotation of muted tones: black, navy, charcoal, and an occasional deep green. It wasn’t just the variety that threw them; the cuts were sharp, tailored just enough to make it obvious they weren't just off the rack. They were chosen so well, it might as well have been. It was, frankly, unsettling. Simon Ghost Riley had gone from “whatever fits” to looking like he’d just stepped out of a bloody catalog.

And the hoodie? Either styled differently or swapped out entirely, paired with pieces that screamed effortless style in a way that definitely wasn’t effortless. It was only a matter of time before Johnny cracked, unable to keep the teasing at bay.

"What the bloody hell, LT? You hire a stylist or summat?" he blurted, a wide grin plastered across his face.

Roach, standing off to the side, stared expectantly, arms crossed, waiting for some kind of reaction. Captain Price, ever the one for a bit of amusement, arched an eyebrow and waited too, clearly curious. Kyle, however, had a different approach—he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, a smirk tugging at his lips. He already knew the answer, but he wasn’t about to spoil Simon’s fun.

Simon, as usual, didn’t flinch. His answer came out in that trademark raspy, nonchalant tone. "It’s called a magazine, Johnny."

Johnny and Roach exchanged looks, clearly unimpressed. Roach let out an exaggerated sigh, "A bloody magazine, Simon? Right. And I suppose next you’ll be telling us you’ve picked up a proper skincare routine, yeah?"

Simon didn’t even bat an eye. "Actually, I do," he said, his voice dry as ever. "‘The Ordinary,’ if you must know. It’s decent, keeps the skin smooth, and softens scars too. Might even help with those ones you’ve got under your eyes, Roach."

Roach’s face twisted in mock horror. "Wait, you’re telling me you’ve gone and started doing all that face mask, serum nonsense now? You’ve officially become a bloody beauty guru, mate."

Simon smirked. "Could be worse, I could be slapping on cucumbers and calling it a 'spa day,' eh?"

Roach shook his head, muttering, "I swear, you’re becoming like Kyle. Into all this skincare bollocks now."

Simon’s eyes flickered towards Kyle, who was quietly observing the scene with a small grin. He didn’t miss a beat. "Well, at least Kyle’s got good taste. Besides, better a smooth face than looking like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards, Roach."

Kyle chuckled, adding, "He’s not wrong, mate." Roach rolled his eyes dramatically. "This is just bloody brilliant. The whole team’s turning into a bunch of bloody posh lads, I swear."

Johnny rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, here we go. What’s next, LT? You getting a bloody personal shopper? Or did you pick up some new hobbies like yoga or bloody knitting?"

Simon just looked at them, unfazed, and shrugged. "Not yoga," he muttered, taking a sip of his drink. "More like running, hiking—stuff that actually gets the heart pumping." He paused, eyes narrowing playfully. "I’ve picked up embroidery as a hobby now. And, uh... flower arranging."

Roach froze, eyes wide. "Flower arranging?!" he spluttered, utterly dumbfounded. "What in the actual hell, Ghost? You’re out there on Ops, dodging bullets, and then you come home to stick flowers in a vase? Are you serious?"

Johnny burst into laughter, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, this is brilliant. The 'Ghost' , now picking daisies like a bloody florist." He wiped a tear from his eye, trying to calm down. "Next thing we know, you’ll be hosting a garden party for the lads."

Kyle, who had been quietly listening, was now laughing hysterically, clutching his stomach.

Simon, completely unfazed, took another sip of his drink. "It’s a lot more relaxing than you think," he said dryly. "You two should try it sometime. Might help with all that anger you’ve got pent up."

Johnny’s expression darkened, and he slammed a hand on the table. "Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?!" he snapped, clearly annoyed. "I ain’t got anger issues!"

Simon leaned back in his chair, a knowing look in his eyes. "See what I mean?" he said coolly, his voice laced with dry amusement.

Johnny’s jaw tightened, and he shot Simon a glare, clearly more annoyed than ever. "You’re pushin' it, LT."

Kyle and Price both chuckled in the background, not saying anything, but clearly enjoying the exchange. Roach, who had been holding back his laughter, finally lost it, nearly choking on his drink. "Mate, you've definitely got a temper," Roach laughed, nudging Johnny. "I don’t care what you say, you're wound up tighter than a drum."

Johnny shot him a death glare. "You wanna say that again?" he growled, clearly not finding the humour in it.

Simon raised a brow, unfazed, clearly enjoying annoying Johnny. "It’s all right, Johnny. We can’t all be as zen as me," he said coolly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Johnny sighed heavily, knowing that if he lost his temper again, he'd be playing right into Simon's hands. He clenched his fists briefly, trying to keep his cool.

Kyle and Price chuckled quietly in the background, very much enjoying the back-and-forth. Johnny shot them a glare, but they didn’t back off, their grins widening. Finally, Johnny turned back to Simon, raising a finger in exasperation. "You know what? I can’t even keep up. You and Kyle, you’re both turning into bloody high maintenance. What’s next? Face masks, spa days? Gonna start wearing silk pyjamas instead of camo?"

Kyle burst into more laughter, clearly enjoying Johnny’s frustration.

Simon’s lips curled into a smirk. "I can’t help it if I like to look after myself," he said coolly, his tone laced with sarcasm. "You lot should try it sometime."

Johnny groaned, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Don’t start with that. You two are like the bloody dynamic duo of luxury now."

Roach grinned, shaking his head. "What happened to the hard-as-nails lads we knew?"

Price, who’d been quietly observing the whole exchange, finally spoke up, amused. "Aye, keep it up, Johnny. The man’s still got his edge, don’t worry."

Kyle, still chuckling, chimed in, "Yeah, Johnny, Ghost still got that edge. Don’t worry about it."

Johnny’s eyes narrowed. "Oh, right, now you’re both ganging up on me, are you? Just because you and LT have turned into a couple of posh lads, now you’re clearly siding with him!"

Kyle raised his hands, feigning innocence. "Oi, I’m not siding with anyone. I’m just enjoying the banter," he said with a grin. "And for the record, Price isn't 'posh'—he’s bloody Captain Price. But Ghost? Still got that edge. You don’t lose that after a few bloody flower arrangements."

Johnny groaned, rolling his eyes. "You're all useless."

Roach laughed, shaking his head. "Bloody hell, Johnny, you’re just jealous 'cause they look good, aren’t ya? Posh lads clean up right nice."

Johnny whipped his head towards Roach, eyes narrowing. "Oh, so you planning on being one of them now, Roach? Gonna start sprucing up, get yourself a bloody silk robe?"

Simon laughed under his mask, clearly enjoying the chaos he’d caused.

Roach raised his hands in mock defense. "Oi, don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm just saying, they look sharp."

Johnny scoffed, his voice dripping with frustration. "Yeah, well, I don’t need to look like I’m about to sign up for fine dining classes to get the job done, mate."

Roach grinned, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. "Maybe you should give it a go, Johnny. Could use a bit of refinement."

"Refinement?" Johnny snapped, now fully turning on Roach. "I’ll tell you what I need, mate—someone to knock some sense into you."

Roach raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I think you’re lacking refinement, Johnny. Don’t know if that’s your temper or your manners, but something’s definitely missing."

Johnny's face flushed with annoyance. "You think I’m lacking refinement? Look at you, mate, wearing a smile like you're a bloody tea butler."

Roach chuckled. "Oi, you’re the one who’s about to blow a fuse over it. Maybe I should suggest you try a bloody spa day for that anger problem."

Johnny’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Spa day?" he repeated, as if the very idea offended him. "I don’t need a spa day, Roach, I need a bloody escape from you lot."

He paused, shooting a pointed look at Roach, "Spa day, yeah? Maybe I’ll sit in a mud bath with cucumber slices on my eyes, calm me right down—while I think about how I’m gonna throw you in one."

Roach grinned wider. "Oh, I reckon you'd benefit from it, Johnny. All that anger you’ve got pent up? A nice, warm soak might do wonders. Hell, I’ll even join you. We could make it a bloody spa day bonding session."

Johnny shot Roach a glare, his temper flaring. "You’re really taking the piss now, aren’t you? You wanna go to a spa with me? You and me, surrounded by candles and scented oils? You bloody trying to get me to join the soft-lad club or something?"

Roach just shrugged, unfazed. "Hey, I'm just trying to help. Might even get you a nice lavender-scented massage while I’m at it."

Johnny clenched his jaw, struggling to keep his cool. "If you think I'm getting a bloody massage with you, Roach, you’re out of your mind. I'll take you to a pub, buy you a pint, and let you cool your head down the proper way."

Captain Price, clearly entertained by the back-and-forth, finally chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Stand down, Mctavish, Sanderson, please, don't start a bloody pub brawl over a trip to the spa."

Kyle and Simon couldn't hold back their quiet chuckles at the Captain's comment, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Price, still smirking, added, "Although, Johnny, you might actually benefit from it."

Johnny's eyes went wide, and he snapped. "Oh, for the love of—!"

The team burst into laughter, and even Price gave a low chuckle at Johnny’s reaction. Roach slapped his knee, trying to stifle his amusement, while Kyle wiped away a tear. Johnny, now thoroughly flustered, shot them all a death stare, but the laughter didn’t stop.

"Not helping, Price," Johnny muttered, but there was no denying the grin creeping onto his face despite the playful roast.

----------

During Deployment.

The team was deployed on a covert operation, deep in enemy territory. The quiet hum of the comms filled their ears as they moved through the dense terrain. Simon’s mask had clearly evolved since the last time they’d been in the field—no longer the rough, stitched-together skull it once was. This new version looked more refined, almost sleek, the skull etched with sharper, cleaner lines. It wasn’t just a simple piece of fabric anymore; it had depth. The 3D skull design made it look more menacing, almost as if it had been custom-crafted for maximum intimidation.

Johnny, who had been giving Simon a hard time the whole mission about his ‘high-maintenance’ look, couldn’t resist another jab.

"Oi, LT," Johnny’s voice came through the comms, the hint of a smirk in his tone. "What is this now? You hired someone to redesign your mask? Looks like you’re auditioning for a bloody fashion show."

Simon’s voice came through, dry and unbothered. "It's called 3D printing and fabric glue, Johnny. You should try it sometime. Might improve your style."

The silence over comms was deafening for a moment as the rest of the team heard Simon’s response loud and clear. Roach snickered in the background, and Price let out a quiet chuckle.

Johnny, clearly annoyed, grumbled into his mic. "Bloody hell, don’t start with the tech talk. I can barely keep up with your bloody mask upgrades."

But Simon was already back on track, unaffected. "You just focus on keeping up with the mission, Johnny. Leave the aesthetics to the professionals."

As the team continued their watch, the occasional chuckles from the comms echoed, but it was clear: Johnny wasn’t winning this round.

The truth behind Simon's mask wasn’t as complicated as Johnny might have thought. It wasn’t some random upgrade or designer piece—it was all thanks to Simon’s love. Sweet, sweet love. She had taken the time to 3D print, back stitch, and fabric-glue the skull head onto the balaclava, making it look far more refined and menacing than before. She’d made several of them, so Simon didn’t have to wear the same one all the time. The way she had 3D-drawn the skull made it seem almost alive, a sharp, intimidating look that Simon couldn’t get enough of. He loved it.

The evening came, and after the usual MREs, the team settled down to relax. As they unwrapped their meals and poked fun at the blandness of the pre-packaged food, everyone was caught off guard when Simon, usually the quiet one, reached into the pocket of his bag and pulled out a mix of dried fruit, candies, and confectionary, all wrapped up in a single bag.

He unrolled a toffee caramel-flavored sweet, casually lifting his mask just above his mouth, popping the candy in with a satisfied look.

The team stared at him, taken aback by the sudden indulgence. Kyle, however, wasn’t fazed. He had his own homemade stash of treats, happily consuming his goodies on the side, clearly uninterested in sharing.

Johnny couldn’t hold back his disbelief. "Wait a bloody minute, LT," he said, eyeing the bag of sweets. "You’ve got all this—caramels, dried fruit candy—and we’re stuck with MRE desserts that taste like cardboard. And Gaz has his own little stash, too, but he’s off in his corner like some sneaky, stingy bastard, not sharing with anyone. Where the hell did you get all that, huh?"

Simon glanced at him, his tone as dry as ever. "It’s called baking and confectionary making, Johnny."

At that, Johnny and Roach exchanged a glance, grinning like a pair of wolves who’d just spotted their prey. They could already tell this was their opening.

"Ah, so you’ve gone soft now, eh?" Johnny said with a mock gasp, leaning in. "What’s next? You baking cakes, wearing an apron, putting strawberries on top like some bloody pastry chef?"

Roach smirked, picking up on the game. "Yeah, maybe a little tea party for the lads next, LT? You can serve us biscuits and jam while we talk about our feelings."

"Or maybe we’ll all sit around, and you’ll teach us how to frost cupcakes with your fancy icing tips. I can already see it now—‘Here’s a batch of skull cupcakes, topped with ribbons and flowers. Really adds that tough guy flair, yeah? 'Who’s the hardest in the bakery' vibe.'"

Simon raised an eyebrow, his voice low and measured as he looked Johnny up and down. "You know, Johnny, I’d offer to teach you, but it’s clear you’d eat the icing before you even knew how to pipe it."

Johnny flushed, his jaw tightening as the rest of the lads snickered.

Simon then turned to Roach, his tone dry but sharp as ever. " And Feelings, Roach? Last I checked, I’m a pastry maker now, not a bloody shrink. You want to cry about your feelings? Book an appointment with someone who’s trained in making grown men weep. But don’t do it over my desserts—if you’re sniffling and snotting everywhere, you’ll miss the flavor entirely."

Roach burst out laughing, throwing up his hands. "Fair enough, LT. No tears near the baked goods. Got it."

Simon unwrapped another piece of candy, this time a marshmallow coated in smooth chocolate. He popped it into his mouth without a care in the world, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting over his lips. The sight was almost smug, though Simon, true to form, paid no attention to the reactions of the others.

Johnny and Roach exchanged a long, drawn-out sigh, their eyes drifting toward Simon’s carefully sealed bag of treats. The temptation was practically carved into their expressions, as plain as day. Neither of them bothered to mask the silent scheming that was clearly going on—both biding their time for the perfect chance to pilfer something from Simon’s stash.

Price, meanwhile, had been quietly grimacing in the background, his irritation thinly veiled. Between Kyle off in the distance munching on his private stash of homemade snacks and Simon now indulging in sweets without so much as a glance in anyone’s direction, it was becoming too much. With a pointed clearing of his throat, he finally broke the silence.

Price cleared his throat, stepping in before Johnny and Roach’s plotting could escalate further. “Alright, Ghost,” he said, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow. “Give me a piece, yeah? You don’t have to share with those two.”

Johnny and Roach immediately protested in unison, their indignation loud and theatrical.

“Oi, why not us?” Johnny exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “What makes you so bloody special?”

Roach nodded in agreement, pointing an accusing finger at Price. “Yeah, We’ve been suffering through these MREs just as much as you!”

Price ignored their complaints entirely, keeping his eyes locked on Simon with a faint smirk. “C’mon, Ghost. Just one. For your captain.”

Simon tilted his head slightly, his voice as dry as ever. “Or else?”

Price’s smirk stretched into a full grin. “Or else, I’ll have you scrubbing all the pots and pans after Johnny’s cooking. And trust me, after the mess he made last time, those little pots and pans are practically welded together from the burnt food.”

Johnny immediately shot up from his seat, face reddening. “Oi! What’s that supposed to mean, huh? My cooking’s perfectly fine!”

Price didn’t even look at him, keeping his eyes locked on Simon. “It’s your call, Lieutenant.”

Simon raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I’ll happily scrub. I’ve always wanted to experience the horror of Johnny’s cooking firsthand.”

Johnny’s face turned a shade redder, his annoyance evident. “You two are bloody awful, you know that? You’re both on my list for this!” He crossed his arms, glaring at both Simon and Price. Roach, in the background, was laughing hard, clearly enjoying the show.

Simon, however, still wasn’t fazed. As much as possible, he really didn’t want to share. Those pastries were a rare treat—something he’d made with his partner, and in a world full of MREs that tasted like cardboard, those sweets were one of the few things that felt remotely normal. He wasn’t keen on giving them up, not for anything. But if Price pushed him, Simon would fold. After all, he could always make more, but for now, he’d enjoy every last crumb of his stash.

Price huffed, clearly not getting what he wanted. “Alright, Ghost,” he said, uncrossing his arms. “If you’re not gonna share, then I guess I’ll have you do some sit-ups. See how long you last, yeah?”

Simon raised an eyebrow at Price's suggestion. "Sit-ups? You trying to kill me, Price?" He smirked, eyeing the sealed bag of treats. “Tell you what—save me from physical exhaustion, and I’ll give you three pieces.”

Without missing a beat, Simon tore open the bag and handed the sweets over to Price with a resigned, yet amused look. "There you go, Captain. Enjoy the sweets... before I’m forced into a bloody workout."

Price, satisfied with his victory, sauntered back to his seat. He eagerly unwrapped the confectionery, popping a piece into his mouth with a grin. He chewed slowly, clearly enjoying it, savoring the sweetness.

Johnny and Roach, arms crossed, stood off to the side, both narrowing their eyes at their captain with obvious irritation. Johnny's lips were pressed into a thin line, and Roach let out a frustrated huff. They were both seething, but neither dared to make another move.

As they fumed, Gaz strolled back in, having just finished his own share of treats. He quickly glanced around before hastily shoving his stash into his bag, attempting to keep his own little stash under wraps. His eyes flicked nervously between Johnny and Roach, knowing exactly how this game was about to play out. Gaz had learned from experience that whenever food was involved, those two couldn’t resist stirring the pot. Johnny’s temper was always on the edge, and Roach’s humor was sharp enough to keep things uncomfortable. Gaz quickly stashed his treats away, hoping to avoid being the next target of their banter. ----------

As Simon and Price gathered their things, preparing to leave their watch and head back to camp, Simon reached into his vest pocket. With a practiced flick, he unwrapped the last of his pastries, the soft rustling of the paper catching Price’s attention. The Captain narrowed his eyes, studying Simon closely as he popped the treat into his mouth.

“Got any more of those, Ghost?” Price asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and barely-contained frustration.

Simon looked at the last pastry in his hand, then met Price’s gaze. “Last one, Captain,” he replied, offering a small shrug.

Price groaned, clearly irritated. “Bloody hell, you’ve got me all worked up for nothing.” He didn’t bother hiding his bad mood. Simon could see the shift in him—the tight jaw, the way his brows furrowed. Captain Price in a bad mood was a whole different animal.

Simon chuckled quietly, reaching for the last pastry in his vest pocket before finishing it off. "Tell you what," he said with a grin. "When we get back to camp, you can have the rest of my stash. I’ll just make more for myself when we’re back on home."

Price, still irritated from earlier, gave Simon a side-eye as he followed. "Good," he muttered with a nod, clearly pleased by the promise of more treats.

But when they finally reached camp, they were greeted by chaos.

Johnny and Roach were already at Simon’s stash, both of them hunched over the sealed bag, shoving and laughing like a couple of kids. Their movements were erratic, each one trying to outmaneuver the other in a ridiculous game of who could grab the most. The bag was half-open, with bits of wrappers spilling out onto the ground, and both of them were clearly struggling to keep their hands off the rest of the sweets.

Simon sighed deeply, watching the two fight over the remaining pieces. His arms crossed, looking resigned to the chaos unfolding before him. He had known it was coming.

Price, on the other hand, looked furious. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened as he watched Johnny elbow Roach in the ribs to grab another pastry. “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” Price muttered, clearly losing his patience. “How much sugar can two grown men stuff in their faces?”

Johnny let out a triumphant laugh as he held a piece of pastry aloft, dangling it just out of Roach’s reach. "Sorry, Roach, this one’s mine!" he grinned, eyes dancing with mischief.

Roach responded by shoving Johnny to the ground, grabbing the piece, and popping it into his mouth with a self-satisfied smirk. "Told you, mate, this one’s mine now!"

Simon shook his head, arms crossed, watching the ridiculous scene unfold. "And this is why I couldn’t bring more back," he said to Price, a smirk tugging at his lips. "See how they act with it? Can you imagine if I’d brought extra?"

Price didn’t even answer. Instead, his eyes locked onto the mess in front of him, and he marched straight toward Johnny and Roach. Both of them froze when they saw him coming, instantly on high alert. Price reached into the bag and yanked it away from Johnny's grasp, the movement swift and unforgiving.

Johnny and Roach stood there for a moment, completely silent, as Price looked down into the bag. His eyes scanned it quickly before his face twisted into a scowl. There, in the middle of the wrappers, was one lone pastry—no more, nothing else.

Price's jaw clenched. "Are you bloody kidding me?" he growled, his temper flaring. "This is what you’ve left me with?"

Johnny and Roach exchanged nervous glances, suddenly very aware of the storm they’d just unleashed.

Johnny gulped. "Sorry, Captain. We didn’t think—"

“You didn’t think? That’s the bloody problem!” Price cut him off, stepping closer. His voice dropped to a dangerous low.

Roach’s face went pale, and Johnny instinctively took a step back, clearly regretting the situation. The Captain’s bad mood was enough to freeze the air around them, and right now, they were square in the line of fire.

Price didn’t give them a chance to recover. “Now get moving!” he snapped. “Both of you—laps. Around the whole damn camp. I don’t care if it’s a hundred degrees, you’ll run ‘til I say otherwise. And if you stop, I’ll add more.”

Johnny and Roach exchanged worried glances, but neither of them dared to argue. They hurried to start running, the weight of Price’s gaze heavy on their backs.

Simon watched, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He gave Price a sidelong glance, who now looked like a man who’d had a weight lifted off his shoulders, but still clearly pissed off.

Price shook his head, watching Johnny and Roach running their laps around the camp, both of them visibly regretting their decision. The Captain turned his attention to the bag, now completely emptied except for the lone remaining pastry. With a sigh, he unwrapped it, popping it into his mouth with satisfaction, despite the sour mood that still clung to him.

His gaze then shifted to Kyle, who had been standing off to the side, laughing at the commotion. Price raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. He knew Gaz had a stash of his own.

“Oi, Kyle,” Price called out, his tone casual but commanding. “You got anything hidden away in there?”

Gaz, knowing exactly what was coming, shrugged with a grin. “I might,” he said, reaching into his bag. He didn’t put up a fight, just casually pulled out his own stash of treats and handed it over. "Here, Captain. Take it. Wouldn’t want to end up running laps with Johnny and Roach."

Price took the bag from Gaz without hesitation, nodding in approval. “Good call,” he muttered, already unwrapping a pastry. Gaz wasn’t wrong—they were about to head out in an hour anyway, no point in exhausting himself with the other two.

----------

As the plane touched down on the runway at camp, the familiar hum of the engines winding down as they came to a stop, Simon exhaled in relief. The long deployment was finally over, and home was just ahead.

He made his way off the plane, nodding to his team as they began unloading gear, and headed straight for his 4x4. The familiar surroundings of camp didn’t need to come into view—they were home now.

Pulling into the driveway, Simon got out of the vehicle and made his way inside. The door swung open as he entered, and he could hear the faint clink of pots and pans from the kitchen. His smile stretched as he walked towards the source of the sound.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he didn’t hesitate for a second. He wrapped his partner up in a tight hug, the weight of the past weeks melting away the moment her arms were around him. The comfort of her, the warmth of home—nothing else had ever quite compared.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, cupping her face and pressing a soft kiss to her lips, letting the simple pleasure of being home linger.

“Hey, love,” he said, his voice low, “missed you.”

She smiled up at him, eyes twinkling with affection, before asking with a teasing tone, “How was the deployment? Everything all right? Anything you want adding to the stash, or need more of anything?”

Simon shook his head, shrugging. “Nah, it’s all good. The stash is perfect, love. But…” He paused, a cheeky glint appearing in his eyes. “I could do with something extra next time.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Oh? What’s that?”

He grinned, leaning in a little closer. “You know that ginger candy you make? The one with the proper kick to it?”

“Yeah?” she replied, looking at him curiously. “What about it?”

Simon’s grin widened, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Make sure there’s a bit of that in the stash next time. Just enough to get up Johnny and Roach’s noses when they help themselves. They’ll never know what hit ‘em. A proper surprise.”

She let out a laugh at the thought. “You are evil.”

“Only when it’s deserved, love,” Simon smirked, already picturing the chaos it would cause when Johnny and Roach got a taste of the ginger burn.

A/N: Well, I hope this gave you a good laugh and you enjoyed it in some way! I’m thinking about writing another one-shot for the same Y/N (Which is still You! Lol!)—maybe a continuation, but that depends on if inspiration strikes me again. 😂 Cheers, and thanks for reading!

[msilwrites]

I like, but you know he gives me Oliver Jackson-Cohen vibes too??!! (Especially, after watching the film 'Jackdaw') Anyone? agree and disagree? someone please talk to me, lol!!

second version of Ghost unmasked, this time i stay close to his (reboot) actor Samuel Roukin, next up i wanna done him in some casual clothes - the parka, the sunglasses, the jeans, the trainers - dress up for punch ups  first unmasked version (x)

[msilwrites]

John Price's Home

✨ John Price’s Home - My Sims 4 Take 🎮

Hi, everyone! 👋 Remember how I mentioned in the A/N of my last chapter that the house described was inspired by @eleu22's moodboard for John Price’s home? Well, I loved it so much that I had to try my hand at bringing it to life—in The Sims 4! 😂

For those who might not remember, the A/N was from Chapter 11 of my Papa Bear Material story. It’s the chapter where John brings you to his home for the first time to spend the weekend together as a couple. That chapter was such a special turning point in their relationship, and I wanted to make sure the house really captured the warmth, cosiness, and charm of John’s character.

Whilst reading this, I want you to imagine John Price taking you here 😈—his home, his space, his rules. Just picture it: the cozy fireplace crackling, the scent of whisky lingering in the air, and that intense look he gives when it’s just the two of you. Go on, let your mind wander to the things he’d do… because trust me, he’s thought about it too.

This is my interpretation of what Captain Price’s home might look like, from the cozy interior to the overall vibe. I was inspired by @eleu22's vision—their moodboard really hit the spot! While I agreed with much of their design, I also put my own spin on it, tweaking it to suit how I imagine the Captain’s space.(So it’s more “inspired by” than a full recreation!)

Here’s a breakdown of what you’ll see:

📍 Structure - So, let’s start with the foundation of the place. The floors are a mix of old vintage tiles and polished hardwood—well-maintained and perfectly worn in with years of use, especially after John renovated the place. The walls? They’re made of rustic stone and sturdy brick, well-structured and kept in excellent condition. Captain Price inherited the house from his grandparents, and during his renovations, he made sure to preserve its warmth and charm while adding his own personal touch. You can almost feel the history and legacy of his family in every corner, a tribute to the generations that have lived here.

📍 Living Room - Warm, inviting, and just the right amount of rugged charm—because you know Price would keep it comfortable but not overly fancy. He has a cast iron fireplace installed underneath the original one, something he added during renovations for practicality and efficiency. The room is filled with old furniture, lots of books, and pictures of his late family, reflecting a deep sense of nostalgia. Price inherited his cottage from his grandparents, who originally owned the place. He lives somewhere around Kingston or Richmond—not too far from Central London but close enough to enjoy the woodland charm of the outskirts.

There’s also a door in the living room that leads directly to the garden outdoor area, adding a touch of tranquillity to the cosy space.

On the other end of the room, you’ll find a collection of vinyl records, a player, and an amplifier. I can absolutely see Captain Price brooding on the couch over his plans with a whisky or bourbon in hand, maybe even smoking one of his nice cigars, as he listens to Annie Lennox’s “Money Can’t Buy It” or something from Tears for Fears, The Police, Sting, Duran Duran, John Waite, or Spandau Ballet classics. And when he’s feeling especially emo or introspective, maybe even some modern ones like Adele or Hozier.

Duran Duran’s “Come Undone” or “Ordinary World,” and Sting’s “Fields of Gold” or “Shape of My Heart” would absolutely be on his playlist when he’s in one of those pensive moods. (And yes, Adele and Hozier have vinyls of their albums, and oh boy, they sound so good!) 😍

📍 Kitchen - Functional and homey, with a touch of practicality that screams "This man cooks bacon in a cast-iron skillet." It’s a rustic space filled with lots of old items, including his grandparents' porcelain plates, some newer ones, and a vintage stove. There’s even a little porcelain chicken figurine that’s been there for ages—he finds it cute, so it’s staying. At the centre is a wooden counter island, usually covered in food, seasonings, garnishes, and maybe a bottle of whisky or two. This man makes a proper snack.

📍 Dining Room - The dining room exudes rustic charm, with another iron cast fireplace that doubles as an oven, perfect for cooking and grilling. Above the fireplace, a collection of herbs hangs, adding a fresh, earthy touch to the room. On the left side of the fireplace, there’s a sturdy hutch or cabinet, stocked with all sorts of fine spirits and selected wines. Next to it is a well-stocked drink cart, ready for any occasion.

On the counter, a cheese dome sits, showcasing a selection of his favourite cheeses, because this man is absolutely obsessed with cheese. Under the cabinet, there’s a collection of different glasses for various types of alcohol. Two framed vintage posters hang on the wall—one detailing British cheeses and the other offering basic cheese knowledge, both adding a touch of humour and character to the space.

An old chandelier hangs above the center of the room, casting a warm, soft light, completing the intimate, cozy atmosphere.

📍 Bedroom - A simple but intimate space that feels like a retreat after long missions. The room features a cosy, old queen-size bed with vintage charm. At each end of the bed, there’s an old end table. One holds a book and a tray of water, while the other has a tablet, probably for late-night reading or catching up on work. A dresser sits nearby, topped with a vase of fresh flowers and an old replica painting of a famous artwork. At the foot of the bed is a comfy ottoman, perfect for kicking back after a long day, and an old chair is positioned beside the bed, as if ready for quiet moments of reflection. A large window lets in plenty of sunlight, warming up the room with natural light and creating the perfect atmosphere for relaxation.

📍 Study - The door to Captain Price’s study is cleverly disguised as a bookshelf. It’s the perfect example of understated secrecy—who would’ve guessed that behind the shelves of books lies one of his most brooding spaces? A place for the Captain to retreat and get even more pensive.

Against one wall, there’s a shelf where his most precious drinks and cigars are kept, along with a stash of biscuits and cookies (because, yes, he’s got a sweet tooth—don’t let the gruff exterior fool you). All of this is strictly for his own enjoyment, mind you—no sharing.

His main desk, made of dark wood, is set up with the kind of tech Simon—his favourite, and let’s face it, only tech-savvy lieutenant—would be proud of. Simon installed a desktop computer, added extra memory and a camera for his calls, and even set him up with a high-quality mic. He even picked out a nice pair of headphones for those brooding music sessions, where Captain Price likes to sip whisky, smoke cigars, and disappear into his thoughts. And just for extra fun, Simon also set up his music app account. (Yes, Captain Price still insists on listening to his vinyls downstairs, but hey, he’s trying with the tech stuff.)

In the corner, there’s a telescope pointed toward the window. When the Captain wants to look at the stars (or brood about something—again), he’s got a perfect view. This too was set up by Simon. Why Simon? Well, because he's Captain Price’s favourite lieutenant, of course—or, more accurately, his favourite IT support. Remember that time in the game when Kyle asked, “Why can’t it be you instead of me going in?” when they were about to assault a location? Price just casually responded with, “That’s why they call me Captain and you Sergeant.” Same deal with Simon—though in this case, Simon got a nice haul of rare whisky, bourbon, cheeses, and, naturally, cookies, all for setting up tech in one go. And when Price calls him in for IT support, Simon always tries to act like he’s somewhere else, hiding from the task, but we all know he secretly enjoys it (and the perks, obviously).

Books. There are lots of books on the tall bookshelf, as the Captain likes to read—mostly military thrillers, obviously, but don’t be surprised to find a few spy novels by John le Carré or Frederick Forsyth hidden in there. The shelf isn’t just limited to that genre, though. You’ll also find a collection of cookbooks (because, yes, Price can cook!), fishing guides, gardening books, and even some on carpentry—because he’s always been handy with his hands. Atop the bookshelf sits a vintage typewriter in a glass case—his grandparents’ typewriter, which he keeps as a display piece. It’s a touch of nostalgia, a little piece of his past that he can’t quite let go of.

Next to the bookshelf is a small study table with his laptop. This is where the Captain taps away at his keyboard, writing stories in his downtime. (Who knew, right? Captain Price, aspiring writer, channeling his inner Andy McNab.) Maybe one day, when he’s feeling confident, he’ll share a manuscript with someone—just don’t expect it to be anytime soon.

📍 Garden/Outdoor Area - Lush, peaceful, and perfect for a man who appreciates some fresh air and quiet moments. It’s filled with trees, shrubs, and greenery, and there’s even a small stretch of the River Thames running behind the property—a little slice of tranquility amidst the chaos of life.

I had so much fun building this and imagining every little detail. I hope you enjoy this peek into what I think John Price’s home might look like—Sims 4 style! Let me know your thoughts, and if you’ve got your own interpretations, I’d love to see them! And if you’d like me to do one for another character, drop your suggestions in the comments below! 🏡✨

[msilwrites]

OH NO, I can no longer unsee this 😭😭😭😭🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 it's gonna haunt my dreams!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭🤣🤣🤣😭😭😭

I don't know who to look at, like, Ghost just standing like a moron, Soap twerk getting cut out, Price amazing foot work or Gaz goofy ass dancing, like.

Can I join your boyband, please?

I just found this on twitter, on @/mohawkmactavish, an like, there is so much going on.

[msilwrites]

Papa Bear Material Ch 11 (Captain Price Fic) - The First Time (SMUT, MDNI) Chapter 1   Chapter 1 (Shorter Version) 

Chapter 2  Chapter 3   Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6   Chapter 7   Chapter 8  Chapter 9 Chapter 10

@darkangel4121@teenagellamaangel@madzzz0797@callsignferal@marmaladespread02 @poohkie90 @wizzdot @kurt-cockaine @massivescissorsthingperson @madsothree @azkza @noonespecial475 @jaeirwin14 and to everyone else I wasn’t able to tag (I tried typing the username it would not give the line that its tagged which makes me also unable to tag you (Waaah!!)) —thank you so much for sticking with me and reading along! Your support means a lot, and it’s been awesome seeing some of you follow along from the beginning. 💕 This chapter can absolutely be read as a standalone, as the dynamic between the characters has already been established and is pretty clear by now. So, feel free to dive right into this one without worry—everything you need to know about their relationship is already pretty obvious! 😉

A/N: After the Captain has finally wrapped you around his finger, you’ve been exclusively dating for months. And now? You’ve fallen hard. John? Well, he's just as bad—if not worse. Possessive, protective, delightfully ridiculous in his affection, and utterly smitten with you. When he asks you to be his partner, you can’t help but say yes. It’s everything you’ve been waiting for—for him to make it official.

And let’s be real; you know what that means, right? The intimacy? Oh, it came in full force. And let's just say, Captain Price? He didn’t hold back. He shocked you—in the best way possible—with everything he is... and everything he’s about to show you. 😏🔥

This is the last chapter for this series—this part—because the Captain has officially won you over and now he’s taking you! Woohoo! Saving the best for last, of course.

Smut warning: MDNI!

Moving forward, the story will continue as one-shots, but don’t worry—I’ll put together a masterpost to help you follow the timeline easily. So, you can jump in and out whenever you’d like!

(If you’re feeling a bit impatient and want to skip ahead to the action, go ahead and scroll down to the steamy bits—no judgment here! But just a heads-up, I wrote this with a slow build-up on purpose. I wanted the tension to simmer and the moment to hit just right when it finally comes together. So, if you stick with the pacing, I promise the payoff will be worth it. Oh, and the sex scene? It’s a little long, so there’s plenty to dive into when you get there. 😏)

----------

The question came unexpectedly, just as you were both enjoying dinner at a cosy restaurant, the low hum of conversation around you blending with the clink of glasses. You were sipping on a bottle of beer when he turned to you, that familiar smitten smile dancing on his lips, his blue eyes filled with warmth and mischief. He leaned back slightly in his chair, the edge of his voice taking on a teasing, raspy tone.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” he began, clearly amused by whatever thought had crossed his mind, “you seem to like me enough—well, at least I think so, or you wouldn’t keep showing up, right?” He grinned, clearly proud of himself. “What do you say, love? Want to make this official with me?”

You nearly choked on your beer, laughter bubbling up from your chest as you tried to steady the bottle. “You really think I’d keep showing up if I didn’t like you?” you teased, eyes sparkling with amusement.

He raised an eyebrow, that playful glint in his eyes deepening. “I dunno, maybe it’s the eye candy,” he said with a cheeky grin. “I mean, no need to go to a gallery for a muse when you’ve got this walking, talking masterpiece right here. Makes life so much easier, don’t you think?”

That audacity. The sheer confidence of this man had you laughing so hard, you almost spat out your beer. You shook your head, trying to suppress your laughter, but his smug expression only made it worse.

“Alright, alright,” you said, finally catching your breath. “Yes, John. Let’s make this relationship official.”

He grinned wider, and there it was—that satisfied look of a man who knew he’d just won the best prize.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He said with a wink, his voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone. “You’re mine now, love. Officially.”

And with that, the evening felt a little sweeter, the air between you two charged with something more than just the fun of the moment. It was a promise.

---------

He walked you home that night, his arm draped comfortably over your shoulders, his imposing frame radiating warmth as he guided you toward your flat. You, in turn, wrapped your arm around his waist, savouring the familiar sensation of his solid presence beside you. His grin was wide and easy, matching the relaxed rhythm of your steps.

When you reached the elevator, your heart quickened. You’d both been dancing around this moment for a while now, and you could feel the tension building between you. But as you reached your door, he kissed you. Deeply. The kind of kiss that left your knees weak and your breath ragged. His lips were hungry, but there was a restraint, a subtle control in his touch that kept you both from going further.

He pulled back, his breath heavy but steady as he looked at you, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Not yet,” he said softly, his voice thick with understanding. “Not now. I want to make sure you're ready first, not rushing anything.” His tone was warm, full of consideration. He wasn’t forcing anything; he was waiting for you, knowing that when the moment came, it would be worth the patience.

You could hear the quiet confidence in his words, and despite the heat simmering between you, it felt right. He was taking his time, respecting the space between you, and you couldn’t help but admire him even more for it.

He kissed your hand gently before turning toward the elevator lobby, leaving your flat’s hallway behind. You stood there for a moment, sighing dreamily as the warmth of the evening lingered, then stepped back inside your place, unable to shake the smile from your face.

----------

By the weekend, something had shifted. Everything was official now, and it showed. John had dropped the restraint he’d been holding onto, and instead, he was... well, touchier. He couldn’t seem to stop stealing kisses, and his hands wandered with a confidence that had you laughing and batting him away. He didn’t even try to hide how much he enjoyed it. You weren’t complaining—you’d been ready for this.

When he took you back to his house, it felt like stepping into a warm hug. His place had this easy charm to it—clean but lived-in, with a cosy, rustic feel that made you want to sink right in. For someone with his background, it was unexpected. It felt like a safe little hideaway, just the two of you.

(John Price's Cottage Home) As you crossed the threshold, something in the air shifted. You didn’t need him to say it—you already knew exactly where this was going.

John crouched by the cast-iron fireplace, carefully arranging the logs before striking a match and coaxing the flames to life. The warm glow began to spill into the room, softening the edges of the rustic space and wrapping it in a golden comfort.

“Do you want tea?” he asked, glancing back at you. His voice was calm, grounding, as if sensing the nerves bubbling just beneath your surface. “Make yourself comfortable,” he added with a nod toward the cosy furniture.

“Sure, thank you,” you replied, offering him a small smile as you settled into the plush armchair.

It was the first time you’d been here as his partner. John had brought you to his home before, but this time was different—more intimate, more charged. You couldn’t ignore the tension thrumming quietly between you. You knew what was likely to come next, and the thought sent a cascade of conflicting emotions through you.

Sex.

Your fingers fidgeted lightly against the fabric of the chair. Could he really live up to it? You doubted it, not because of him but because of your own tangled past. You’d set your expectations low—safer that way. If you were honest, you weren’t sure you even remembered how to be truly intimate with someone anymore.

Technically, you were a virgin. All you’d ever allowed yourself was the illusion of closeness: keeping everything surface-level and out of fear. Fear of pregnancy, fear of repercussions from a family whose religious rigidity had been unyielding. The price for any perceived misstep back then would have been severe, and so you’d crafted an armour of restraint and avoidance. Even in those early, misguided attempts to hold onto love through sex, you’d only found pain—used, abused, and left to pick up the pieces of your battered self-esteem.

Eventually, you reached a breaking point. Therapy helped you heal and gave you the strength to start over. Since then, you chose celibacy, locking that part of your life away. It had been over a decade now, so long that you barely remembered what it felt like to be touched or to let go. Did it even feel good back then? Did it ever feel right? The memories had faded, becoming more distant over time.

Now, sitting here, a small chuckle escaped you—a mixture of nerves and disbelief. It wasn’t just the emotional weight of it all; you weren’t even sure if you’d remember how to be good at it. Could you even keep up? you thought with a wry smile.

A plan started to form in the back of your mind, simple and safe: focus on him. Maybe you’d just rely on what you did know—pleasure him with your mouth and your hands. Throw in a bit of creativity and a little showmanship, and it might be enough to let the moment pass without diving too deeply into uncharted waters. You tried to reassure yourself, though the thought of your jaw aching afterward wasn’t exactly comforting.

The fire crackled softly in the background, filling the quiet space between your thoughts. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel that John would see through it all—that he’d sense there was more to this moment than you were letting on.

"Love?" A deep, raspy voice, accompanied by strong hands on your shoulder, pulled you from your thoughts. You looked up to find John, holding a steaming cup of tea.

"Ah, yes, thank you, John..." you smiled.

He made his way around and settled on the couch next to the armchair where you sat.

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small sample bottle of whisky—one you’d bottled yourself. The amber liquid swirled inside as you handed it to John with a playful smile. “Thought you might like to try this,” you said, your eyes glinting.

John raised an eyebrow, eyeing the bottle. “You’ve got good taste when it comes to spirits, don’t you?” He sounded impressed. “Glad to have an expert—and a collector—around. When did you start drinking like this?”

You chuckled, accepting the compliment with a grin. “Funny story… I was about twenty, maybe twenty-one. A friend from my SCO19 unit gave me this small bottle as a gift. I didn’t know much about whisky back then. I was just happy to get a gift.”

John leaned in, waiting for the rest of the story.

“I caught a nasty cold, sore throat, the works,” you went on, laughing at the memory. “I was miserable, sitting in my flat with this bottle. Didn’t think much of it, so I took a sip. And, well…” You paused for effect. “It was like drinking smoke. I ended up coughing up phlegm like I was trying to hack up my lungs.”

John burst into laughter, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, that’s one way to start.”

You shrugged, still smiling. “Yeah, not the usual introduction to whisky, but hey, it worked.”

You quickly added, “Sorry for the gross story,” though you were still laughing.

John laughed harder, his deep chuckle filling the room. “I didn’t expect that, but I like it.”

The laughter faded, leaving a comfortable silence. The tension had lifted, and it felt like the two of you were settling into a new, easier kind of closeness.

The conversation shifted towards dinner, and John glanced over with a raised eyebrow. "So, where do you want to go for dinner tonight?"

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "Dinner? We just had lunch, John. Shouldn’t we be talking about other things?"

John’s lips curled into a playful smirk as he arched an eyebrow. "Other things, like what? Teatime? Aye, we could do that. So, what do you want for tea, Y/N?"

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head in amusement. "No, I meant... what were we supposed to do?"

John’s expression softened, his teasing gaze giving way to something warmer. "Not when you’re not comfortable yet," he said gently, but with a firmness that made you pause.

You shook your head, a confident smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "But I am!" you protested, your voice carrying more certainty now. "I came here ready. I’ve had myself medically checked out," you added, locking eyes with him. "I even bought different sizes of condoms, just in case."

John’s laughter erupted, deep and genuine, his eyes glinting with admiration—and something darker. "Bloody hell, you really came prepared," he said, his voice low, a trace of amusement mixed with a hint of something more intense.

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. "Would you prefer to be underprepared?" you teased, arching a brow.

John grinned, his body leaning in closer as the air between you thickened with a palpable heat. "No, love. But I didn’t think you’d be so... thorough," he chuckled, his hand brushing against yours in a subtle but deliberate gesture.

You met his gaze with a sly smile, daring him without a word. "You’ve got to be ready for anything, right?"

He nodded in agreement, a knowing look in his eyes. "Aye, absolutely," he said, his voice low. Then, with a playful glint, he suddenly pointed off to the side. "Oh, look, Y/N. Do you see that?"

You followed his gaze instinctively, but before you could register what he was pointing at, John closed the distance between you in an instant. You barely had time to react before his hands cupped your face, his touch warm and surprisingly tender. His lips met yours, soft and gentle, a kiss that was more like a quiet promise than anything urgent.

John pulled back just enough to press another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then one to your cheek, and another to your forehead. Each kiss was light, teasing, and sweet—nothing charged, just the quiet rhythm of affection that left you breathless in the best way.

You didn’t need to say anything; the moment felt perfect as it was, a gentle connection that spoke louder than words ever could.

You set your tea cup down with a playful smile, then swatted John lightly, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Before he could react, you shove him onto the couch nearby, sliding over to straddle him with a grin.

John chuckled, his hands resting on your hips as you both leaned in, kissing and teasing each other with soft nips and playful murmurs. The air between you both was warm, charged with a kind of lazy intimacy.

Pulling back slightly, John smirked, his eyes full of amusement. “We could spend the whole afternoon like this, you know. I wouldn’t mind.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I mind,” you teased, and without warning, you pulled your turtleneck sweater over your head, revealing the black camisole underneath.

Your camisole followed next, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. Your curves revealed in a way that catches John off guard. He's always seen you in loose, shapeless clothes—who knew what you were hiding underneath? Your full figure surprises him, and there's a flicker of appreciation in his eyes.

You then begin working on his shirt, gradually unbuttoning it and pushing the material away to expose his sexy muscular physique. His skin is dotted with tattoos and scars, each telling a tale you want to learn more about. You lean back slightly, taking a moment to admire the view before continuing. Your fingers work on his belt, unbuckling it, then move to his pants, unbuttoning them with a deliberate slowness that makes the air between you crackle with tension.

Suddenly, John's large hands grip your wrists, his touch firm yet gentle. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asks, his voice laced with concern and a hint of something more.

You nod, a playful grin spreading across your face. You quickly slip his belt out of its loops, throwing it aside, then unzip his pants and draw them down.

His erection is clearly visible as it presses up against his boxer's material. You swallow as you take in the scene and realize how enormous he is. You have a brief moment of uncertainty as you consider how you're going to swallow him, but you immediately dismiss it. You can't help but laugh at the thought, and a few jaw aches are a minor price to pay. What better way to get a sore jaw than this?

John laughs, delight and excitement shining in his eyes. He teases, "I never really thought of you as aggressive," pointing to the way you've taken control and stripped him with such ease and confidence.

You slowly pull down his boxers, revealing his full thickness and length. You pause, your eyes lingering longer than you intended. His size, now fully exposed, is a vision of raw, masculine beauty—a 'monster' cock, thick, throbbing, veiny, and incredibly long. It's even longer than your head. Can this really fit in your mouth? You shake off the thought, determined to push through.

"John, sit up," you command, pulling him up. He obeys quickly, and you guide him to lean back against the backrest of the couch.

"Y/N, you don't have to do this if you—" he starts, seeing the hesitation in your eyes. But you silence him, sliding off the couch and kneeling in front of him. You grip his massive cock with your small hands, beginning to lick the tip while tugging and playing with his large balls.

He tilts his head back and groans, savoring the sensation and pleasure you're giving him. But you're not done yet.

You lift your breasts, wrapping his cock between them, and press them tightly together. The friction as you move your breasts up and down against his length, combined with your licking, nipping, and sucking, drives him wild. All he can do is watch you, grit his teeth, groan, and breathe heavily, completely at your mercy.

Wanting to push it further, you attempt to deep throat him, starting with half of his thick length already down your throat. Damn, he's big. You begin a steady bobbing motion, gradually taking him deeper and deeper. He tries to push you away, not wanting you to struggle, but you swat his hand aside, determined. Finally, you manage to take him fully, your mouth moving up and down his length slowly at first. Your mouth, jaw, and throat adjust to the stretch, and you pick up the pace.

John is a gasping, groaning mess, watching you intently. He restrains himself, his hand gently holding your hair as he gazes at your face, completely enthralled by the incredible blowjob you're giving him.

You feel his cock twitch in your throat, a sign he's close. Your eyes lock onto his as you continue to pleasure him, unyielding.

"Wait... wait... Y/N, stop, or I might just cum..." he pleads, trying to push you away, his hands gripping your shoulders.

But you're stubborn and relentless. You want to see this sexy man come undone.

You increase your speed, bobbing up and down his length, taking him deep into your throat. He can't push you off—the pleasure and your determination make it impossible.

"Y/N, wait... stop, I'm gonna cum soon if you keep this up..." he struggles to say, but you persist, unwavering.

He grips the nearby throw pillow with one hand, the other tangled in your hair. His hips buck uncontrollably against your mouth. With a primal groan, he climaxes, releasing down your throat. You swallow every drop, willingly. He gasps, catching his breath from the intense blowjob.

You release him with a pop, strings of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock. You lick your lips, a satisfied smirk playing on your face. "You're such a tasty treat, John," you purr.

He sharply sighs, still writhing and catching his breath, his gaze fixed on you.

You lean your head against his muscular thighs, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you gaze at John. He's sweaty and panting, his glistening muscles defining every contour of his body. It's a sight that's incredibly sexy to you.

You wish you could do more, but you know you've done your job well. You've given John immense pleasure, brought him to orgasm, and swallowed every drop. That should be enough to leave him spent, at least for a while.

But you're wrong. The moment John's eyes meet yours again, his strong arms lift you from your knees, pinning you down on the couch. He kisses you passionately, a bruising kiss that leaves you breathless. His hands knead your soft, full breasts, sending waves of pleasure through you. He trails kisses down your cheeks, jaw, neck, and collarbone, lingering on your breasts, nipping and licking like a man starved.

He swiftly unzips your midi skirt, pulling it down and tossing it aside along with the rest of your clothes, leaving you in just your leggings. In his haste, he accidentally tears them as he slips them off you.

"John!" you protest.

"I'm sorry, love, I'll get you another one," he murmurs, before capturing your lips again. He then hooks his fingers into your panties, sliding them down your legs to reveal your damp, eager core. A grin spreads across his face as he takes in the sight. You gulp, anticipating what's to come.

He buries his face between your legs, his tongue, mouth, and fingers working expertly on your clitoris. The sensation is overwhelming, and you melt in no time, panting and biting down on the nearby throw pillow to ground yourself as pleasure consumes you. John feasts on you like a hungry man, his tongue circling and flicking your clit with precision. He curves a finger inside you, pressing firmly against your G-spot, intensifying the sensation. The dual stimulation is almost too much to bear. You try to squirm away, the pleasure bordering on overwhelming, but John's strong grasp on your hips keeps you firmly in place. You have no choice but to surrender to the intense waves of ecstasy crashing over you, your body trembling with each skilled touch.

Your hips start to buck involuntarily against John's face, your body writhing as you lose control, soaring towards your climax.

"Joh-John... I'm... I'm gonna cum..." you manage to gasp out.

"Mmmm, then cum," he rasps against your clitoris, the vibration of his voice sending another jolt of pleasure through you.

You've never been eaten like this before—every sensitive spot attacked with precision. Pleasure and heat spread throughout your body, building to an intensity you can barely contain. You shake and buck uncontrollably faster against his face, your body on the verge of explosion.

John sits up, his tongue lapping at the juices around his mouth, his stare dark and laced with desire and longing. You bite your lip, unsure of how to react to the erotic display of him savoring your taste like it's the most delicious thing he's ever had. Your eyes widen as you notice he's hard again, his glistening cock erect and ready. You can't believe he's recovered so quickly after the intense release from the deep throat you gave him earlier.

"Now, I'm going to have you," he growls, his voice thick with lust.

Before you can even respond, he effortlessly swings you over his broad shoulder and carries you upstairs to his bedroom, your surprised gasps filling the air. He throws you onto his bed, your laughter echoing as he kicks the door closed. Grinning, he climbs on top of you, his imposing muscular frame covering yours.

He peppers sweet kisses on your cheek, the corners of your mouth, your jaw, and your neck, moving back and forth as his large hand plays with your breast, squeezing and kneading. He whispers dirty sweet nothings in your ear, "You taste so fucking good, love. I can't wait to be inside you, feeling you clench around me."

"J-John, can you get the lube downstairs?" you struggle to let out.

"Hmmm? What for? We can make you nice and wet naturally," he teases, his fingers finding your sensitive, swollen clitoris, circling it gently.

"Aaah!" you squeak, swatting his arm away, still sensitive and giggling. You turn your back to him, pressing against his chest and closing your legs. John, not having any of it, pulls you by the waist and kisses your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

"John, come on, we're gonna need that lube..." you ask again, as he continues his ministrations.

"What for? I'll just make you wetter, hmmm?" he teases, nipping the skin below your earlobe, a sensitive spot that makes you giggle and turn back around to swat him.

"John," you say, lighthearted but a little exasperated. "Listen to me... I am technically a virgin... I know you're already in the mood, and wouldn't want to waste time prepping to pop my cherry." You laugh, comfortable sharing this with him because he's proven himself to be a safe and trustworthy partner.

"What do you mean?" he asks, looking at you with a mix of shock and curiosity. The revelation that his partner is technically virgin, despite the incredible blowjob and the intimate moments you shared downstairs, catches him off guard.

"I need that lube, so you can have a good time while you take me at my back entrance... and yes, I mean anally. My back isn't exactly 'virgin'..." you admit sheepishly.

John gets up and stares at you intensely after that revelation, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. The thought of you giving this part of yourself to him, of being the first to have you completely, makes him feel primal. His face darkens with desire as he leans back in and kisses you passionately.

He whispers, "This pussy is mine, love. Mine to take, mine to pleasure, mine to claim. I'll be your first, your last, and your only. I'll make sure of it."

"You look so fucking beautiful, love, all undone like this. I can't wait to finally take you. I'll keep getting you wet until the sheets are soaked and you're ready to take me."

"Don't be silly, John, just take the lube downstairs," you say, struggling and gasping as he pleasures you with his large, long digits. "You're horny, no need to take your time."

He grins, his eyes gleaming with lust and admiration. "Watch me, love. Seeing you like this, losing yourself, is such a beautiful thing. I'll make sure you enjoy every second of it."

John pleasures you relentlessly, his fingers expertly rubbing your swollen clitoris in a slow circular motion before increasing the speed as you near climax. His other hand plays with your breast, squeezing and rubbing your nipple, adding to the pleasure and making you writhe. When you cum, he alternates, inserting two fingers into your entrance and curling them to find your sensitive spot, while his thumb rubs your clitoris again, pushing you further. You end up squirting and writhing against him, gasping and squeaking. John loves the display and repeats the process, playing you like an instrument, attacking your most sensitive spots repeatedly and relentlessly. Your body writhes, your eyes roll back, and your tongue lolls out.

"John... please... just fuck me..." you pant, overstimulated.

"Mmmm... let's get you wetter..." he whispers naughtily, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine.

"What do you mean wetter? My legs are wet, I've soaked the sheets! Ahhhh!!" you gasp.

John maneuvers you to face him and pushes you back down onto the duvet, taking in the sight of your sweaty, panting body. He bites his lip, the sight of you dripping with sweat and desire is incredibly sexy. He can't help but lean down and capture your lips in a long, passionate kiss. He trails his mouth from the corner of your lips to your cheeks, to your jaw, neck, collarbone, chest, and then to your breasts, where he sucks and nips at both nipples, squeezing them playfully. He continues down to your abdomen and then slides down to your wet, soaking core, where he playfully kisses your swollen clitoris.

Your eyes, which had been closed, open wide as you are overstimulated and sensitive. You quickly move your body and hips away from John's face.

"No, John, I just came!!" you protest, struggling to move backward against the duvet.

But John pulls your legs back to him and begins eating you out once again, his hands playing with your breasts. In a few seconds, you are a gasping, writhing mess, squirming against the duvet, your hips moving against John's mouth. You can't hold eye contact long with John, who is below, looking at you, watching your reaction as he eats you out. His blue eyes are too intense for you, knowing you'll cum again fast if you look long enough. The sensation is overwhelming, and you lose yourself in the pleasure, your body trembling with each skilled touch.

You feel the pressure building again, your body tensing as John's tongue and fingers work their magic. You can't hold back any longer, your body convulsing as another orgasm rips through you. You cry out, your voice a mix of pleasure and desperation.

"John!! Please, just take me, please!!" you beg, your body shaking with the force of your release. Your pleas are urgent, your need for him overwhelming. The intensity of your orgasm leaves you breathless, your body limp and satisfied, yet craving more of him.

John's gaze travels from your face down to your core, a playful grin spreading across his lips. "Hmmm? Still not wet enough..." he says cheekily, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"John!!" you let out, in protest. " Either let me have a moment, or I might just pass out," you say, your voice a mix of desperation and playfulness.

"Hmmm, I think you can take a few more... you know, before you pass out," he says playfully, teasing you with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

You sigh exasperatedly and grab a nearby pillow, throwing it at John. He catches it with a laugh and leans in to pepper your face with kisses, making you giggle despite your frustration.

His playful demeanor shifts as he grasps your chin gently but firmly, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. His other hand finds your breast, squeezing and teasing your nipple, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You gasp into his mouth, but the sound is silenced by his tongue exploring yours, claiming every inch of you.

John's pelvis presses against your wet, sensitive core, his hard cock rubbing against you with a deliberate, tantalizing rhythm. The sensation is overwhelming, and you can't help but let out a soft moan, muffled by his relentless kiss. Your body responds instinctively, arching against him, craving more of his touch.

His kiss deepens, his tongue dancing with yours in a primal, hungry dance. His hand on your breast continues its torturous teasing, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You can feel the heat building between your legs, your body aching for more.

John's cock rubs against your clitoris with increasing urgency, the friction sending waves of ecstasy through your body. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate to feel more of him. Your hips move in sync with his, your body begging for the release only he can provide.

You break the kiss, panting and gasping for air, your eyes locked onto his. The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming, a mix of lust, desire, and something deeper, something primal.

"Please, John, just fuck me already..." you beg weakly, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

John gives you a playful look, as if reconsidering. "Hmmm, but you're not wet enough yet," he teases, his voice laced with mischief.

You sigh exasperatedly, "Please, John, I need you..."

He sighs softly and leans down for a tender kiss before positioning the tip of his cock at your entrance. Slowly, he begins to sheath himself inside you. His length is thick and long, and he moves with careful consideration, worried about hurting you. You gasp at the slight, sharp stretching pain, despite your wetness, as he pushes in slowly.

He is trying to be considerate, knowing it's technically your first time being taken vaginally.

"Tell me if it's painful, I'll stop..." he murmurs, his voice filled with concern.

"Just push forward, John! Don't mind me," you say, gritting your teeth, your hands gripping his arms tightly, not letting him move back.

He slowly pushes in, his thumb rubbing your clitoris in slow circular motions to alleviate some of the pain. The dual sensation of his cock filling you and his thumb on your clitoris sends waves of pleasure through your body, mixing with the slight discomfort.

"John, no, mmmphh, don't rub, no, no, aaaahhh!!" you cry out, coming undone again, your legs shaking as his length moves a few inches deeper. "Jooohhnnn..." you whine, swatting his arm, but he chuckles and leans down for another kiss, moving deeper and deeper.

When he is finally all the way in, deep inside you, stretching you out, you gasp and pant, the sensation overwhelming. It's tight even for him, despite your wetness. John refuses to move, allowing you to get used to his size. He continues to rub your clitoris repeatedly, making you cum again, your body writhing beneath him as you adjust to his size stretching you out.

After a while, with a kiss, he pulls his pelvis back, his length retracting from your walls, only to push forward again, making you gasp. Your body is prepped and completely ready, the sensation of him moving inside you sending waves of pleasure through every nerve.

And so, he finally takes you, relentlessly, passionately. His pelvis moves tirelessly, his hips thrusting to please you. Your moans are muffled by his kisses, his weight pressing against you as he slides in and out of your warm, tight walls.

A knot forms in your womb, a pleasure unlike anything you've ever felt, building stronger and stronger. "J-John..." you struggle to let out, feeling yourself soar towards a powerful climax, something you've never experienced before.

John increases his speed, both his hands cupping your cheeks, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. His blue eyes, intense and filled with desire, make you weak in the knees and send a surge of pleasure through your stomach. You feel as if you're about to explode.

"You feel so fucking good, love," he growls, his voice low and husky. "Your tight little pussy is gripping me so perfectly. I want to feel you come all over my cock."

The pleasure builds up in your body, intensifying with each thrust. You can feel the heat spreading through your core, your muscles tensing as you climb higher and higher. John's relentless pace sends you spiraling, your body writhing beneath him, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your eyes roll back, your chest heaving as you surrender to the overwhelming sensation. You squirm against John, your hips bucking wildly, meeting his every thrust. The room fills with the sound of your moans and the wet, slapping noise of your bodies coming together.

John leans down, capturing your mouth in a passionate, searing kiss. He swallows your panting breaths, his tongue dancing with yours, claiming every gasp and moan. His hands grip your cheeks, holding you firmly as he kisses you deeply, his body moving in sync with yours.

Your orgasm crashes over you, waves of ecstasy pulsing through your body. You cry out into his mouth, your voice muffled by his kiss. Your body convulses, your inner walls clenching around his cock, gripping him tightly as you ride out your climax.

John groans, the sensation of your orgasm pushing him to the edge. He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your ear. "Fuck, love, you feel incredible," he rasps, his voice thick with lust. He continues to move, his hips thrusting, drawing out your pleasure, prolonging your ecstasy.

Your body shakes, your nerves tingling with the intensity of your release. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his back, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, his own release imminent.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming—a mix of lust, desire, and something deeper, something primal. You can see the strain in his face, the effort it takes for him to hold back, to make this moment last.

"John..." you whisper, your voice breathless, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You reach up, cupping his face, your thumbs brushing against his cheeks. You can feel the tension in his jaw, the heat of his skin.

He leans into your touch, his eyes softening slightly. "You're so beautiful, love," he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder and adoration. He kisses you again, softly this time, his lips gentle against yours.

As your orgasm subsides, John slows his movements, allowing your body to recover from the intense pleasure. He continues to press soft, gentle kisses to your lips, your cheeks, and your forehead, his touch tender and caring.

"Shh, love, just relax," he murmurs, his voice filled with warmth and affection. He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers tracing the contours of your cheek. "You're so beautiful, you know that?" he whispers, his eyes locked onto yours, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Your body begins to relax, your muscles uncoiling as you bask in the afterglow of your climax. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close, your breaths coming in sync. His body is still pressed against yours, his cock still inside you, but he remains still, allowing you to set the pace.

He peppers sweet kisses on your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders, his lips gentle against your skin. You can feel his heart beating against your chest, the steady rhythm soothing and comforting. His hands roam your body, not with urgency, but with reverence, tracing the curves of your hips, your waist, your breasts.

"That was... incredible," you whisper, your voice breathless, your body still tingling with the remnants of your ecstasy.

After a few minutes of breathing time, you feel ready for more. You pull back slightly, your eyes meeting his. "John," you whisper, your voice filled with renewed desire. "I want you to cum too. I want to feel you."

He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. A soft smile plays on his lips, and then he's kissing you again, his body beginning to move with yours once more.

The passion between you reignites, and John begins to move his pelvis again, sliding in and out of you at a steady pace. He peppers your face with tender kisses, his lips gentle against your skin. Your eyes flutter closed, your hands wrapped tightly around him, holding him close as you lose yourself in the sensation.

There's no hurry in his movements, no rushed desperation. Instead, he takes his time, savoring you, cherishing every moment. His thrusts are deep and deliberate, each one sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. He kisses your lips, your cheeks, your forehead, his touch tender and loving.

Your body responds to his, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. You can feel the pleasure building again, your muscles tensing as you climb higher and higher. His cock fills you completely, stretching you, the sensation intense and overwhelming.

He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your ear. "You feel so good, love," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I want to feel you come with me."

Your body shivers at his words, your nerves tingling with anticipation. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, his own release imminent. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, desperate to feel him come undone.

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. Your bodies move together, the room filled with the sound of your panting breaths and the wet, slapping noise of your bodies coming together. The pleasure builds and builds, your body tensing, your muscles coiling tightly.

"John," you gasp, your voice a breathless whisper. "I'm so close..."

He leans back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming, a mix of lust, desire, and something deeper, something primal.

John maintains a steady, slightly increased pace, his movements deliberate and controlled. His forehead rests against yours, his lips capturing yours in a deep, passionate kiss. As he retracts, he whispers sweet nothings against your lips, his voice a low, husky murmur.

"I want to feel you come undone, love," he breathes, his pelvis continuing to move in a rhythm that sends waves of pleasure through your body. "Let go with me."

Your body responds to his every touch, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. You're close, just as you said earlier, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, your toes curling with anticipation. The sensation is overwhelming, your muscles tensing as you climb higher and higher.

"John... John!!! Joohn!!!" you cry out, your voice a breathless, desperate plea as you reach your climax. Your body convulses, writhing against him, your inner walls clenching around his cock. The intensity of your orgasm sends shivers down your spine, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

John follows soon after, a primal growl escaping his lips as he releases inside you. His lips and head press against your cheek, inhaling your scent, kissing and nipping your skin. His body shudders with the force of his own climax, his breath hot against your ear.

You both pant heavily, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts pounding in unison. John's weight presses against you, his body still covering yours. He holds your waist firmly, and in a fluid motion, flips you both over, so that you're now lying on top of him, his body supporting yours.

The room is filled with the sound of your breathing, the air thick with the scent of your combined arousal. You lie there, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your shared climax, your limbs entwined, feeling deeply connected to each other.

----------

You wake up that evening, your body deliciously sore and sated after spending the entire afternoon making love. After that intense climax, you both went for another round just half an hour later. This time, John's restraint was gone, his movements more urgent and passionate.

You climaxed repeatedly, each time more intense than the last, your body writhing and squirting with each wave of pleasure. The duvet beneath you was soaked, showing just how intense your shared passion had been. John, with a hint of sadistic pleasure, loved watching you lose yourself completely.

This continued until you both reached your final, explosive climax. Exhausted and overwhelmed, you passed out almost immediately, your body limp but deeply satisfied. The room is quiet now, the air still thick with the scent of your combined arousal, as you lie there, basking in the afterglow of your shared ecstasy.

John lies asleep beside you, his breath deep and even. You can't help but smile softly as you take in his peaceful form. Gently, you slip out of his warm embrace and the cocoon of the duvet, the cool air of the room prickling your skin. The evening sky outside is a canvas of purple, orange, and blue, painting a serene backdrop to your movements.

Your body aches pleasantly as you make your way out of the room, each step a reminder of the passionate hours spent with John. The house is quiet, the air chilled with the winter season. You gather your discarded clothes, a small smile playing on your lips as you see the state of them—a torn camisole strap, leggings, and knickers strewn aside in the heat of the moment.

Careful not to wake John, you tiptoe downstairs to the first-floor bathroom. The warm spray of the shower is a welcome relief, washing away the remnants of your passionate encounter. As you clean yourself, you notice the marks John left on your body—little reminders of his intensity. You sigh, a mix of exasperation and satisfaction, thankful for the concealing layers of winter clothing.

Your thoughts drift back to your first time with John. The memory of the pleasure sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but smile at the recollection. Finishing your shower, you step out, dry off, and slip into comfortable loose pants and a cozy turtleneck sweater.

Feeling refreshed and content, you make your way to John's rustic kitchen, ready to prepare a warm dinner to cap off the perfect day.

As you're cooking dinner, you hear hurried footsteps followed by John's voice calling out for you.

"Mmm? I'm in the kitchen, John!" you respond, hearing his sigh of relief.

A few seconds later, he enters the kitchen, his eyes softening as he sees you. He walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. He inhales deeply, taking in your fresh scent, his breath warm against your neck.

"I thought you ran away," he murmurs, a hint of concern in his voice.

You turn slightly to look at him, a playful smile on your lips. "Why would I run away? It's freezing outside, and thanks to you, my legs are weak and sore. I can barely walk, let alone make a run for it."

He chuckles, his grip tightening around you. "Well, maybe you finally realized I'm too much to handle and decided to make a run for the hills. Can't say I blame you; I can be a lot."

You grin, poking him playfully in the chest. "You're right about that. I'm completely worn out, thanks to you."

He laughs, a teasing glint in his eyes. "And yet, I plan to subject you to it all over again. But first," he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "dinner smells amazing. Almost as good as you."

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile. "Well, you need to freshen up first. I won't have you eating dinner naked."

He leans in, his voice a low rumble. "Who says I need clothes to enjoy a good meal?"

You sigh exasperatedly, turning off the stove. "Out, John. You're not allowed in the kitchen until you're fresh and dressed." You playfully push him out, laughing as he feigns protest.

Later, John returns, freshly showered and dressed, finding the dining table already set with care. He helps you put the finishing touches on the meal, his hands brushing yours as you work together in a comfortable rhythm. The room fills with the warmth of the food and the soft glow of each other's company.

Dinner is a cozy affair, the clinking of glasses and the hum of quiet conversation creating an intimate atmosphere. After the meal, you both clean up the plates and utensils side by side, the simple domesticity of the moment bringing a contented smile to his face.

As the evening wears on, John's earlier promise lingers in the air. With a playful smirk, he takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom. True to his word, he subjects you to another round of intense pleasure, leaving you both breathless and deeply satisfied. You collapse into each other's arms, the world outside forgotten, as you laugh softly and say, "Well, I guess I can handle a little too much after all."

John grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Challenge accepted. Let's see how much you can really handle." And with that, he pulls you close, ready for another round. A/N:

Sorry for the delay, everyone! I know this chapter took a while, but I wanted to make sure it came out just right. It’s been through its fair share of rewrites, but I hope the end result is worth it!

This is the final chapter for this series. The story will continue in the form of one-shots moving forward, but don’t worry—I’ll be putting together a masterpost to help you follow the timeline.

And, of course, I hope you enjoyed your first time with the Captain! (HAHAHAHA!!) Now go hydrate or something—you’ve earned it. 😏

Also, a quick shoutout: the house described in this chapter is inspired by @eleu22's moodboard for John Price’s home. I saw it, loved it, agreed with it, and then tried to create a house and an interior based on that using The Sims 4. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! 🎮✨

[msilwrites]

Happy Holiday's Cheers 🍻🍻🍻🍻🍻

Let's all have a good time !!

Hi everyone, happy holidays! On my way to dinner, a song came on the radio that instantly took me back to my younger days. I thought I’d share it with you—it’s Janet Jackson’s upbeat classic, “Escapade.” If you get a chance, give it a listen—it’s such a feel-good vibe!