#Soap needs to care for someone and Ghost needs to be cared for

[lemonwrap]

Soap who has always been a little too much vs Ghost who has always needed a little too much

[taskforce420]

the other woman. simon 'ghost' riley.

unbeknownst to most, simon riley can be a stubborn and blind man. which is why he can- irritate you sometimes.

you and simon had been together for just over a year, everything was going well- a couple hiccups here and there, but nothing serious- that was until a new nurse had arrived at the base. naomi, her name was, she was a sweet girl, a freckled red head, with a confident attitude. sure, she was a good nurse, always lending a hand whenever someone needed it, but she was a barrack bunny. always willing to get a quick shag in with a soldier whenever possible. you never cared about her actions, that was until you noticed simon had been leaving your room every couple of nights to go out with her.

sure, he never lied, he never hid it, but he didn't realise how badly it effected you, he didn't realise he was falling right into her trap.

"'aye sweetheart, going out with naomi t'night. that ok?" simon spoke, walking towards you, pulling a shirt over his head. he smiled beneath his balaclava as he saw you sat on the bed, concentrating deeply on the book that rested in your lap.

you sighed to yourself, you tried to figure out how to bring up the topic of him and the nurse without making it awkward and coming across as if you were angry at him.

closing the book, you leaned forward towards him. "si, do you have to go tonight?" he stopped in his tracks as he looked over at you, studying your face. he was confused.

what's wrong with going out with naomi? its just a bar..shes just a friend.

"well..i don't have to, but id like to..what's wrong with her?" you couldn't believe he didn't know naomi's intentions. for an observant man, he had absolutely no idea, maybe its because he only has eyes for you; he doesn't pay attention to other women. only seeing them as friends.

you played with the corners of the book you were reading. "baby, i don't...appreciate you goin' out with her. you know what she's like, simon." he stopped what he's doing, looking at you for a moment. completely dumbfounded.

"aye?" is all he said. he sat down on the edge of the bed, looking into those eyes he fell so in love with. "i don't understand" no shit

you put your book down and sat up completely, able to talk to him properly. "for a man who has- how many years in the army- you can't see that a woman is trying to get into your pants? naomi is known for sleeping around, soap told me everything, and she's trying to do the same with you"

he stayed silent for a lot longer than what you expected.

"oh."

he spoke, before taking his phone out of his pocket and what looked like- searching for naomi's contact. you watched with furrowed brows, that's all he can say? oh?

new nurse -> edit profile -> block -> delete number

your mouth fell slightly agape as he completely removed naomi from his phone within in an instant, he chucked his phone back on the side and turned to you. he felt horrible, how dare he make his woman feel like that. he loved you so dearly, there was no need for another woman to enter his life. he had you and laswell, and as far as he was concerned that's all he needed.

"so, what do you want for dinner?" he said, removing his slightly fancier clothes and balaclava, which he is more then happy to remove in front of you. the smile that crept its way onto your lips was unbelievable, you let out a small giggle and replied softly with a,

"you.."

[kkusuka]

more roommate simon!

i love the idea that simon thinks he's super open and available with his emotions and reader thinking he's really cold and disinterested. is he ooc? yeah. do i care? no. if you want cannon ghost, play the game!

simon riley doesn't know when you became so important to him.

the only reason he even put out the ad for a roommate was because his landlord though he'd moved out while he was away and he'd rather have some bird in his place than deal with that again.

you were just so easy; showing up to the coffee shop (where you requested to have your first meeting just in case he was some crazy murderer) face flushed, strands of hair all over the place, and sweater a mess; rushing to explain how you got sprayed by a sprinkler on your walk over then chased by a dog. and just as you repeat sorry for the 30th time simon thinks he's in love. you're officially his roommate 30 minutes later.

but it's so out of character for him. he hasn't been around anything other than hard ass military men since he was a teenager. fuck, he's killed hundreds of men in his line of work, tortured thousands more. (he doesn't like to think that that's why he's so drawn to you. that you're so different from who he has to be, someone he's been for so long, that being around you lets him breathe. that he feels like he can actually sit and enjoy his moments away from the field in your tiny manchester apartment.)

he thinks it actually started with the decorations.

the small trinkets you let around the common spaces when he was away. it starts with your room obviously; fairy lights above your bed that spills light into the hallway when he comes home in the early morning hours, paintings on the wall that eventually flow over into the living room, the small plants in your window sill that you ask him to water one day after you leave for work.

then the dinner table suddenly has checkerboard placemats and a vase of flowers that change with the season. and his run-down couch has decorative pillows and a throw blanket (both words he learned from you when he questions what the fuck is on his couch). then the bathroom in the hallway gets a new soap stand, and a mat is placed at your front door, next to the shoe organizer and coat rack.

so he starts buying things too; the penguin plushie in the supermarket window, the vase that matches the curtains in the living room, and a small skull magnet to rest on the face of your fridge.

and before simon knows it his dreary, cold apartment actually looks lived in. and instead of coming home to a dark hallway and an empty fridge, your flower lamp is on, some random show from the 90s is playing, and there's food on the table.

he gets to know you more than he thought he would; he knows what foods you don't like, the books you're reading and the ones you refuse to read again, and even that dick from work he promises to take care of if he bothers you again (it's evident that you think it's a joke and not something that he would genuinely do but simon doesn't think he's ever been more serious).

but he never lets you know too much about him, you don't need to know about it and the less you find out the better.

then came dinners, actual dinner not just him showing up while you already had food ready. you would ask if he wanted whatever you had made ( 'i'm already making food and i normally don't eat is all anyway, so i might as well share' ). so suddenly he was spending his nights at your table with a homecooked meal and simon doesn't think he could ever let this go.

then he gets sent away again, for way longer this time. he makes sure to update his paperwork, changes his emergency contact, your name swirled onto the spouse line. you were probably as close as he'll ever get to one and if you're there they'll tell you if anything happens to him faster. he doesn't want to think of how nice your first name looks with his last name. and you'll probably never even know, simon's never gotten that injured before and he doesn't plan on it now.

months in the heat of the middle east return him to hard shell of a man he was. coming home caked in dirt, blood speckled on his clothes; he doesn't want you to see him like this, he doesn't want you to know this version of him. and for the first time he regrets letting you come into his life.

you are home when he gets back, 2:30 in the morning and every light is off, he opens your door to make sure. you're asleep, not shocking, cuddled into the giant octopus you won at an arcade. he tries not to move, he just wants to look at you for a little bit.

he wakes up the next morning to breakfast and a new pair of combat boots. he's only home for a week this time, not that he's ever home for longer than a month, and he tries to soak up all of your time. you complain about your car, he's on it. the heater started being testy, that's fine he'll take care of it. he's going grocery shopping with you, he watching that weird hospital show, and he enjoys his time in domestic bliss before getting thrown back into some random country.

somehow that all led him here. laying in a hospital bed with two bullets lodged in his shoulder with you sitting in some shitty chair pulled as close to the bed as you could.

"so uh, i'm mrs. riley now?"

"yeah, ya are. 'av been for a while."

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ ex-friend with benefits simon 'ghost' riley & friend with benefits johnny 'soap' mactavish - 01

𝖼𝗐 : 𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ㅤㅤㅤ collection - prev ⋆ next

simon hated how thin the walls of the barracks were. he hated the way he could hear your moans through the wall, hated the fact that it wasn't him getting those sounds out of you. but at the same time, he was the only one to blame.

from the moment you arrived on base, simon had his eyes on you—the cute new medic. he had been happily surprised when you told him you were not looking for anything serious; he wasn’t either. being military was complicated enough, no need to add a relationship into the mix. but it didn’t mean you two couldn’t have a bit of fun together, right?

at first, it was perfect. you spent your days patching up messy privates and bold sergeants, getting shouted at by your superior because you were not fast enough or you were being too nice. at the end of the day, you just needed simon to take control. he was not a selfish lover at all, always making sure you were well taken care of before he went for his own pleasure. after that, you'd be on your way to your own dorm, legs shaking a little. and it worked well, you didn't think you needed more.

simon didn't talk much. he listened when you ranted, but he always cut you off by kissing you or manhandling you onto his bed. that’s where you spent most of your time with him: his bed. and when you were done, he'd send you on your way. it didn't bother you; you weren't looking for commitment.

only one thing bothered you: he was hiding you. sure, you were not together, but he made sure his teammates didn't know he was rocking your world almost every night when you were on base. when you asked him why, it turned into a big argument—too big for just a situationship—so you had left his room without trying to talk him out of his misplaced anger. you thought you'd leave him be for a few days, and then you'd be back to normal. working on yourself, you accepted the fact that his team didn’t know about your arrangement. it didn’t matter.

it came as a shock when you made your way to his dorm, a couple days later, and stumbled upon one of the sergeants from another task force making her way out of simon's room on wobbling legs—a sight that reminded you of your own walks of shame. you had barged into his room, not caring that he might be naked, and demanded explanations.

"ya weren't 'round, needed a bit o' fun," was all he had said, shirtless and smoking a cigarette at his window. he didn't even look at you. it was like he knew you would be coming.

you weren't around? you had been working because two idiots decided to have a knife fight, leaving you with a lot of stitches and paperwork.

and it's not as if you were both back home; you were staying at the same fucking barracks.

on your way back to your room, you walked straight into johnny mactavish. and johnny being johnny, he flirted with you. and with you being hurt and humiliated, it worked. it didn't help that johnny was extremely good-looking and very friendly. hell, simon didn't even let you see his face.

now that you were having the same fun with someone who wasn't ashamed of you, you realized that it did pain you that simon wouldn't even dare look your way if he was with the 141. not only did johnny look at you, but he shamelessly flirted with you in front of whoever was around, calling you "his bonnie," even though he knew you were not official. it felt good.

so this was how you ended up in johnny's bed. to be honest, you were feeling petty, so you were being loud, not even trying to quiet your moans a little. every time you had sex with simon, his hands were always somehow muffling your moans. but johnny? oh, johnny thrived on hearing every single noise you made. and you thrived knowing simon was hearing it all on the other side of the wall. at first, you had been shy, expecting johnny to want to hide you the same way simon did, but you couldn't have been more wrong.

he stopped everything, looking up from between your legs with a bit of concern. "doesnae feel guid?" he asked. and after you assured him that it did, in deed, feel really good, he added, "then dinnae get shy on me, bonnie. want tae hear ye," a cocky smirk plastered on his lips. and you swore he had never been that attractive.

well, maybe he had been more attractive when, after you two were done, he cuddled you, begging you to stay the night. another thing you'd never imagined simon doing. it was easy with johnny. it wasn't just sex. he'd take you out to eat junk food, you'd go to the movies next to the base, and then you'd go back and have your fun. you even heard him talk about you with gaz. and you'd talk about him with your colleagues.

when simon was a shadow, johnny was the sun—his presence impossible to conceal.

the problem was that johnny still had no bloody idea that simon had been there first. every time johnny mentioned your name, simon's mood would shift. he'd snap more often, telling johnny to shut up—something that wasn’t new, given johnny's tendency to talk a lot. what was new, however, was the tone. normally, when he was fed up with johnny running his mouth, simon would adopt a light, almost joking tone. but now? it was pure anger and frustration.

"whit got yer panties in a twist, L.T.?" johnny had asked one time, too fed up with simon's behavior. "maybe ye should find yerself a little birdie to ease yer nerves, ye know?" simon's reaction was immediate. he got up so quickly his chair fell back. johnny could see the way his lieutenant's breathing had picked up, his knuckles white as if he were about to hit soap. but he did no such thing. he just left. communication had never been simon's strong suit.

as johnny watched him leave, he knew he had gone too far. but, god, how could you both think he was that dumb? his room was just next to simon's. he had heard you all those times. he had seen you leaving simon's room. he had seen simon take another girl back. he knew.

johnny just decided that if simon was too dumb to treat a sweet little birdie like a goddess, he wouldn't be caught dead doing the same thing. johnny worshiped, that was what he did. and if someone hurt the things he liked, he attacked.

he was dead set on making you forget everything about his lieutenant. what was it they said?

finders keepers, losers weepers.

[spurbleu]

to me it’s an inherent truth that ghost is socially “ugly”

scars that are uneven and pucker skin because he had hastily sewn lacerations together. burn scars on his back and hands, with skin that wrinkles like haphazard gills across his abdomen. blonde hair gene that makes his eyelashes and eyebrows near invisible. a crooked, broken nose that hardly works unless he brings whatever smells right to his nostrils.

and it wasn’t a sob story. he’s wasn’t insecure because to him it really isn’t all that important. at the end of the day the body he’s been put in sleeps, eats, and kills. fucks good, if it feels like it. that’s all he’s ever needed.

it’s not until you come into the picture, domestically enough, that he does start to care.

starts small, like checking if there was anything in his teeth, or smoothing out that one hair that likes to plant itself over his forehead.

the trivial, small details that furrow in between his ironed apathy.

then, insecurity blooms. found where one scar begins and the next ends. he stops lingering at the mirror, and wears thicker clothes because “london’s fuckin’ freezin”. keeps his eyes trained ahead when you shop downtown, so he doesn’t catch a glimpse of himself next to you in the store windows.

doesn’t realize how bad it had gotten until you, who had picked up on his lack of subtly and libido, asked him to take a bath.

with you.

and suddenly he’s rendered a quiet, awkward bastard in your flat bathroom, that is much too small for him.

you run the water to a boil and put relaxing salts in while he strips. he sits down with his mouth in a firm line because what the fuck is he supposed to say when his bird massages shampoo into his hair and hums a song that isn’t his favorite but becomes one when she kisses his cheek while at the chorus.

watches with wavering interest as bubbles form from the soap and the water begins to cool. hasn’t said a word since you started the strange routine that makes him feel raw and vulnerable in a way that he characterizes as childish.

“you’re so handsome, si.”

you’re swiping lotion onto his face. he hadn’t even realized you’d been staring.

“what?”

you laugh and swipe a thumb under his crooked nose, over the cleft lip. fingers trace the scar that runs up his cheek.

you hold his ugly in your hands. and you find him…handsome. he’s seen a liar and you can’t be one for the life of you. it disturbs him, that whatever comes from you lips isn’t just a compliment, but an observation.

what a foreign thing, to be given someone’s truth so easily.

the room gets quiet aside from the foam whispers and sputter of water when his legs shift.

“I said,” you kiss him gently, “I think you’re handsome.”

the apathy to his appearance never returns. however, the harshness is retired for however long you continue to hold him.

he will be whatever you want him to, and if that means he’s handsome, then a good place to start is believing you when you tell him so.

[writersdrug]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of man who:

In your shared home, always sits with his legs spread. Manspreading king. Adores it when you cross your arms and give him a disapproving look, saying there's no room for you. "Course there is, luv. Jus' sit between my thighs."

Refuses to let you do simple tasks around the house, like making tea, folding his underwear, or putting away the dishes. One might think it's a sweet, husbandly gesture - but he's just super picky. You made tea in the microwave once, and now you're banned from ever touching his tea stash. Likes his underwear folded in a specific way, and you don't understand the importance of it. He got tired of you stuffing his underwear in his drawer, so now he folds it himself. And the dishes? Couldn't stand how you put them away. "There's no rhyme or reason to 'em." "I didn't think there had to be, Si-" "Just gimme the damn bowl." Fewer chores? You aren't complaining.

Looks like he's always on edge - and he is, kinda. When he's out with you, he can't help but be alert and watchful, and extremely protective of you. You've tried to get him to loosen up - it's the supermarket, what could happen? - but have just come to accept it as his nature. Plus, you get that giddy feeling when you see other men look straight down at the floor, avoiding Simon's stare as the two of you pass.

Is the grumpiest, poutiest, and most indignant man ever when he gets sick. Doesn't want you doting on him in case you catch whatever he has. But, wait - where are you going? "Get your ass back in this bed - 'm cold." Grumbles like a child when you force him to let you get up to grab him soup, tea, or medicine. And no, he doesn't care how sick he is, he's not wearing that stupid, floppy ice pack hat.

Brings Johnny over unannounced, and you've grown used to it. The moment you hear that Scottish yapping out the front door as the key unlocks, you grab a third plate for dinner - he insists you don't need to feed him, but you always make extra for Simon's lunch the next day regardless, and the last time he'd said that, he ended up grabbing an extra fork and picking from Simon's plate. Which, of course, had Simon up at 1 am making instant ramen because he was still hungry, but didn't have the heart to ask you to make him a decent meal. So, yes, Johnny would be fed.

Loves spoiling you on your birthday. What is a man if not someone who spoils his partner rotten? Orders in food from your favorite bakery, sets all your presents neat and nice on the table (the excellent wrapping job done by yours truly, Gaz), flower petals sprinkled on the ground and the table top (also Gaz's idea), and a seat on his lap so for you while you open your presents. Loves watching your face light up, and each little "you remembered?!" fall from your lips as you open each gift. Scoffs and shifts in his seat. "I's not that much of a fuss, luv..." as you squeal excitedly, but you know he's biting back a proud smile. The blush, he can't even attempt to hide.

Is somehow a magnet for your young nephews. Every time he comes along to your sister's place, he's either making conversation with her husband in the living room, or he's interrogated and cornered by her two sons. And, lord help him, he doesn't understand it either. He'd always expected kids to look at him like a monster, but, especially with these two, that was never the case. They'd ask him for stories about "being in war" - half of the time, he'd make up some not-too-gory adventure, sparing them the details of real war. The rest of the time, he'd talk about "Soap, my mate who blows everything up." And they'd listen with wide eyes and jaws on the floor.

Has scared you unintentionally, more than too many times. He'd come home at three in the morning from a mission, and all he wanted was to quietly peel his dirty uniform off and slip into bed with you. His main intention was to avoid waking you up, because you'd force him to shower before joining you in bed - and he was too tired for that. However, you'd been rounding the corner, up for your 3 am glass of water - you screamed as you saw the hulking, dark figure by the front door, launching your phone at him. He'd caught it effortlessly and shoved it into his back pocket. "What've I told ya 'bout using the bat?" "I was just getting water!" "I coulda been anyone." "Well you're not." "Missed ya, luvie." "Missed you too- but you're grimy. Go take a-" "No." He grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests as he hauled you back to bed.

[halfgirl-halfdolll]

You always try so hard to hide when something's bothering you. You're so careful not to let your phone unlocked and out in the open, you try not to let your eyes unfocus as you think about whatever's bothering you; you work so hard to keep being productive despite your sorrows.

But they know you better than yourself, doll.

They see how your shoulders tense up whenever you leave Price's office and how you're always so wary of your surroundings, looking this and that way, waiting behind walls to avoid certain people. You can't hide your fears from them. Not from them. Not from the ones who were placed in this godforsaken world to protect you no matter what.

Figuring things out is easy. There's a reason they're a special task force. Swooping your phone from you is as easy as stealing candy from a little kid, and so is unlocking your phone (you need to be more careful about your passwords, love. Really? Your childhood's dog birthday? That's like basic information for them).

And when you come back to the room, flustered, fretting over your phone, it's there: on Price's desk, as if it was untouched. They hide the anger caused by their discoveries behind clenched jaws and hardened eyes and wait until you leave to begin discussing their plan of action (it's cute how you still look at each one of them to make sure they didn't see a thing).

Love, why didn't you tell them? Why did they have to search through your messages to find the reason behind your sadness? Don't you trust them? They're your guard dogs, doll, why don't you just order them to maul and gnaw and rip to shreds whenever you need?

It took them breaking into your phone to find out about the Sergeant who's been messaging you. They could read the suspicion behind your words as you accused him of pranking you after he asked you out.

Pranking you? Pranking?

They read the following messages, where he admitted to his lies – it was a bet, he said. Some friends had bet a good amount of money that he wouldn't be courageous enough to ask you out and then stand you up. He then had the gall to thank you for believing his words and going to the date. For dressing up "weirdly" and being delusional enough to think someone like him would be interested in you.

"just an advice: putting lipstick on a pig doesn't work lmao thanks for guaranteeing me the money tho" he had said.

Seeing red wasn't enough to describe how they felt.

Soap could barely stay still. He leaned his weight on one foot and then the other, itching to run as fast as he could until he found the bastards that dared to insult his bonnie. He needed to feel their bones giving out as he punched them into a bloody pulp. He needed to scream, to let you know that you were too good for all of those scumbags, that he and his mates were the only ones who could appreciate you, touch you with the reverence and devotion that you deserved.

Gaz felt like he failed you. The sourness of his anger mingled with the bitterness of his sorrow. He swore he could taste his emotions on his tongue. He always makes sure to tell how beautiful he thinks you are, how lovely your uniqueness is to him – his little porcelain doll he wished he could place on a shelf. To think some random man managed to hurt you and disrespect you under his watch... it was unbelievable. He would spend a lifetime spoiling you until you forgot about it. After he sunk his teeth into those men throats and ripped them apart, of course.

Ghost was the other side of Soap's coin. But while the Scotsman wanted to seek and destroy as quickly as they do in action, Ghost wanted cruelty. He wanted to take it slow, deliberate. One fingernail for every tear they made you shed. One bone snapped in half for every second you suffered due to their disrespect. If it depended on him, they would only live up until the clouds that covered your sun cleared up. There would be no surrendering, no mercy. You deserve thorough revenge, lovie. And only the muzzle that Price puts on his rabid snout can hold Ghost back.

Price wondered why you didn't tell them about this... incident. Why? Are you trying to defend those poor excuses for men despite how terribly they disrespected you? No, that can't be it. You're their angel, but he knows you aren't some punching bag. Are you afraid they'd agree with those bastards? At that, Price has to laugh. You're so smart, love, but so so blind. You still can't see how they could sell their soul to you, if you became a devil. You still can't see how they'd kneel down on nails and pray to you if you became a saint. After Price pulls a few strings and manages to get that scum dishonorably discharged, he and his muppets would have to work really hard on making sure you know you're the only thing that matters.

[gloomwitchwrites]

How about some silliness.....reader/you is superrr drunk from a night out with friends or high from anesthesia and the guys are trying to take care of them and we are all like "get your hands off me or my husband will kick you ass!" Or "omg you're so hot are you single??"...and they are just dying laughing like "I am your husband!"

I just watched one too many tik toks of this 😂🤣

Oh, I love this. I don't think I've actually seen these videos before (at least on TT) but I do know what you're talking about. Maybe I've seen it more in other media? Like movies and television? Anyway, I understand what you're asking for, so I hope you enjoy what I've cooked up!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, established relationship, fluff, mild alcohol use, shenanigans due to drunkenness & anesthesia

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John stands beside you on the passenger side of the car. The car door is open, and all you need to do is slide inside. Instead, you’re arguing with him, insisting that you can get in yourself, and that you don’t need help.

“You just had surgery,” chides John.

“Minor surgery,” you correct.

“It’s still surgery.” John sighs, and then places his hand on your back. “Let me help you.”

“Hands off, sir. You’re not my husband.”

John does not move his hand. “I don’t remember us getting a divorce, love.”

You wave him off and John snorts. “He’ll kick your ass,” you insist. “Punch you right in the nose.”

John’s stern demeanor cracks, dissolving into a wide smile and a soft chuckle. He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m your bloody husband. You’re stuck with me. Forever.”

“I’m serious,” you say. Turning, you attempt to jab him in the chest with your finger. Everything tilts, and you only hit air.

John sighs, exasperated. “Get in the car, love.”

“No,” you groan, pushing at his chest. You surrender to him, allowing John to help you into the front passenger seat.

“I hope you remember this after the drugs wear off.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

You’ve been out with your friends all evening, and you have no idea what times it is. It’s dark, and you didn’t leave until the bar closed, forcing you to make an exit. Someone called for a car, and you all piled in, dropping each of off one by one.

As you enter the dark bedroom, you kick off your shoes, slightly stumbling to turn on the bedside light. You turn it on, and immediately wince. Vision swimming, you rub at your eyes, and then notice the massive lump in your bed.

“Turn off the bloody light, will you?” mumbles Johnny.

A devious plan forms in your head.

You climb onto the bed, crawling toward him. Noticing, Johnny turns toward you, eyes dreary with sleep.

“What?” he asks just before you flop your entire body onto him.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” he deadpans.

You wiggle over him, pressing the tip of your nose against his. “You seeing anyone, handsome?”

Johnny arches an eyebrow. “Did you hit your head or something? I am your husband.”

“Lucky me.”

Johnny blows raspberries. With one good shove, he flips you onto your back on your side of the bed.

“Go to bed. You’re drunk.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Your liquor-addled brain tells you to do it.

Across the bar is danger, the kind you want to play with—to sink your teeth into. Why resist temptation when it’s clear that the masked man across the bar can’t seem to take his eyes off you? Every time you glance in his direction, his gaze is focused and intense, daring you to approach him.

Which is exactly what you do.

He follows your every step, even if there is a slight sway in the way you walk. As you approach, he leans back in his chair, legs widening as if in welcome. It’s easy to reach out, to place your hand on his shoulder, to straddle his thighs, and stare into his eyes.

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” you slur. “Plan on going home with anyone?”

“I am,” the masked man replies.

“And who might that be?”

“My wife.”

You turn in his lap, looking around at all the other patrons in the bar. “Don’t see her.”

“Course you don’t,” he chuckles. “Because she’s sitting in my lap.”

You blink. “Is she?”

“You’re my wife,” he whispers.

“I am…aren’t I?”

He shakes his head. “I’m cutting you off.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

The alcohol is an enabler. You shouldn’t have had as many drinks as you did, but this is a party, and you’re not the one driving.

Why not have a bit of fun?

“Hi.”

Kyle arches an eyebrow. “Hi,” he replies, drawing out the greeting in slight confusion.

You cozy up next to him, shoulder brushing against shoulder.

“So,” you begin, head tilting toward him like you’re about to whisper all your secrets. “I’m going to be a bit bold…”

“Go on.”

“But I think you’re cute. Wanted to know if you’re seeing anyone.”

Kyle’s single raised eyebrow becomes two. There’s a long pause, so long that you notice the absence of conversation.

Kyle’s confusion cracks, becoming a wide smile, followed by his adorable, familiar laughter. “You’re taking the piss, love.”

“I’m not joking.”

He laughs harder, clutching his chest like he can’t breathe.

“I’m your husband,” he manages to say between wheezing breaths.

“I know,” you reply. “Just checking to make sure you’re still loyal.”

He waves his hand in the air before him. “You’ve had enough. Give me that.” He plucks your beverage right out of your hands.

“Excuse me,” you protest, but Kyle is already downing it.

[istitchedmymindbacktomybody]

Here's another fantastic soapghost fic!

This one's in Ghost's pov

"He’ll bare his soul, humiliation and all, just so Soap can look at it."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45670570

This soapghost fic was sooooo good

Mind the major character death tag - trust me, TRUST ME

It's worth it in the end, I PROMISE

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55405042?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false

[cherie-doll]

COD men and they've accidentally hurt their SO? Either physically (like they accidentally stepped on their foot) or misspoke and accidentally insulted their SO?

i would like to apologize for how long it's taking me to get through asks and just updating in general, i wanna SCREAMMM

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: They Accidentally Hurt You

≻ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

He came back home tired and so out of his mind he wasn't really giving you much attention, normally he would be basking in your presence quietly, having you sitting on his lap as he was just glad to be back with you

This time however, it seemed like he wasn't really taking you into account when he didn't listen to what you were saying, greeted you only with a small kiss and went straight to bed, you were left feeling hurt because you had told him you had food ready for him and he didn't seem to hear you and went to sleep

Swallowing your feelings, you went to go clean up and put away his boots left by the door and his other belongings

It wasn't until tomorrow that he noticed you were too quiet and upon realizing what he did apologized for accidentally pushing you away, he knew that him being tired wasn't going to cut it for hurting you, he should've valued what you had prepared for him and so he wouldn't stop telling you how good of a partner you are and how lucky he was to have someone like you he could come home to

Ghost

You're used to his personality and though he may seem a little distant at times it's not because he doesn't love you or you're growing apart, it's just because he still needs time to himself, he enjoys having alone time

Still, because of what he's gone through, although he's put most of it behind and in the past it resurfaces at times, it takes him by surprise too when he unintentionally pulls back harshly against your outstretched hand placed on his arm, it was meant to be comforting but it took you by surprise

His eyes widened seeing your hurt expression and how quickly you tried to hide it as your hand retreat and you turning to leave, without really thinking, he held you back by your arm and without so much as a word leaving his lips, asked you to stay next to him

He did need you, and he had to learn some way or another that he needed to stop preventing the people who cared for him from being there for him at his worst and ugliest moments, it was sort of an apology

Soap

You two play fight so much that it's not unusual for one of you to get hurt during it, once he managed to actually hurt your arm when trying to wrestle you, after taking you to the doctor and being told you had to rest that arm, he had to remind himself every so often that you were hurt and he couldn't play rough

You've rarely managed to hurt him seriously so he forgets rather quickly about your injury and accidentally hurts that same arm again when wanting to pull you towards him, saw you wince in pain and remembered

Apologized like a million times and even offered to "kiss the pain away" by placing little kisses all over your arm and face too, you could only sit there and let him kiss to his heart's content until the guilt in him eased up a bit

Decided it'd be better to not play roughly with you anymore, even after you got better he didn't initiate it anymore unless you did and even then he always let you have the upper hand, he preferred you winning and poking at him rather than making you get hurt again because of his playfulness

Gaz

He's so gentle and careful around you to make sure he doesn't misspeak or hurt you that you wonder how he ever made it in his line of work, he's like an angel for you whereas with anyone else he doesn't like he'll ignore

So, imagine the shame he feels for making you cry, he caught you eating a whole jar of nutella with bread late at night in the pantry and when he told you that it'd be better to stop before it made you feel sick, you burst out in tears, taken aback, he didn't know what to do

He hadn't ever gotten this reaction from you over something so small, turns out you had just started your period and eating the pain of cramps away was the comfort you needed, ofc once he figured that out he kept going "oh, im sorry sweetheart, so sorry my love" as many times as he needed until you calmed down

He'd rather die than ever even think of making you get so upset you cry, he made sure you were okay after that and even offered to go buy anything else you needed or wanted

Roach

I feel like it'd be very difficult for this guy to hurt you seriously to the point you're in tears, instead he might apologize for anything that MIGHT hurt you, whether that be physically or emotionally

Mostly emotionally though, he's afraid that something he says might sound wrong simply because when he's around you he has no filter, but that might have only been in the first stages of your relationship when he was still somewhat insecure around you and would apologize or ask before doing anything

Now, you two are so in sync with one another's thoughts that it's hard to misspeak or be misunderstood, that's the beauty of your relationship :)

If anything you might have more slip ups than he does

Alejandro

Might accidentally hurt you with too much affection, is that a thing? More like overloading you with it

Yes, he looks for any opportunity to show you his love, for example, every morning that he's home he likes to surprise you with breakfast, he even likes to feed you

Except once, he didn't know how hot the food still was and when he scooped it up to place it into your mouth you burned yourself, he jumped and gave you water to get over the painful sensation that sort of ruined your taste that day

You forgave him because he was only trying to be a sweet bf :( by making you a breakfast you could look forward to trying but instead you didn't enjoy it properly because he didn't think to blow on your food before making you taste it

Rudy

Rodolfo has the habit of silently appearing behind you while you're getting ready in front of the mirror, he doesn't do it to scare you he just likes watching you do your routine

It's usually a problem at night though... when it's dark and you only like having one light on to be able to see your face and so the rest around you is darkness and out of that darkness a face emerges and it nearly scares you to death

You usually flinch and accidentally hit your hand or arm against the counter or kitchen sink, this time you hit your elbow on the corner of the counter and you could only suffer silently in pain as he held your arm and stuttered over his words trying to apologize

He'll have to be more careful about approaching you from behind since you're often in your own world and don't see him coming lol

Phillip Graves

Whenever he's doing some sort of job around the house that requires the use of tools like a hammer, nails or a power drill, he always warns you beforehand and tells you stay away, but he has the habit of discarding unused nails on the ground and then forgetting where he's dropped them

It's obvious someone was going to step on one and get hurt eventually, he assumed he had cleaned up all them though, and even if you had shoes on it would still have gone through your shoe sole and pierced into your skin

As soon as he heard you gasp in pain he got off the ladder so fast he nearly fell off and rushed to you, he cursed himself for being so careless, this wasn't a job site, he had to be careful

He cleaned you up pretty well but still took you to the doctor's just in case, those nails he used were found in the shed and he didn't want to take any chances, but he made sure to be cautious when working inside the house

Makarov

Was trying to teach you how you'd react in a situation where you needed to defend yourself, he wanted to teach you to be able to handle anything in case something prevented him from being there to protect you, so this simulation was supposed to prepare you

He accidentally used too much force when you weren't prepared and elbowed you in the chest, it knocked the wind out of you and had you doubling over in pain, he panicked and held you by your shoulders while you caught your breath, his heart nearly stopped seeing your eyes widen when he hit you

He made sure you were okay and decided to leave it at that for the day, he insisted you sit for a while until you caught your breath, but it got him thinking what you'd do if someone else who wasn't him hurt you because they actually had bad intentions, he wouldn't always be there to soothe your pain

All this ran through his mind as you repeatedly called out to him while he rubbed your shoulders on the couch

Keegan

You two often start playful arguments which can and sometimes do escalate into full-blown verbal arguments, it's a strange way both of you can say whatever is needed to be said and also blow off some steam

Once, when an argument did get too heated, he accidentally dropped a plate and it shattered, the tiny fragments flying everywhere, some of which were embedded into your skin, you screamed in pain and that's when he stopped

He was by your side in an instant, forgetting his anger and instead worrying about you, he kept cursing under his breath and believed it was his fault for getting too upset, you didn't deserve to get hurt, he didn't meant for it to happen

He bit his lip and kept quiet as he worked to get all the pieces out and clean you as best as he could, afterwards he mumbled an apology and instead took you to bed where he let you decide whether you wanted to let him sleep beside you too or if you were still mad you'd rather him take the couch in the living room

König

He can't help it, it's not his intention to hurt you, but he forgets how big he is sometimes when wanting to show you affection, especially when he's overjoyed to see you

And it's not like him to warn you in advance so you'll just turn around to see this huge blurb coming at you and you barely have time to brace yourself, sometimes it leads to you accidentally hitting your head on something or feeling sore from the weight of him on top of you, and he looks so comfortable resting on top of you that you feel bad when you have to tell him to move

Raises his head and looks at you in confusion, tilting as he stares at you that it makes you want to shut up and just let your entire body go numb

But it's like his brain fully loads and the realization that he's crushing you sets in he gets off of you so quickly and anxiously asks if he hurt you, won't stop checking you over until you laugh and say that you're fine, then lies at the foot of the bed like a dog now with the worry always in the back of his head as a reminder to be more careful

Horangi

Like his callsign indicates, he pretends to be a tiger sneaking up behind you at times, he loves seeing your reaction when you're distracted on your phone or didn't know Horangi was even home

It's quite a surprise when you're at piece, folding laundry or tidying up and you feel big hands wrapping around you from behind and a deep voice smugly going "boo"

You dropped the laundry basket on your feet and it hurt your toes, if it weren't for Horangi being behind you, he would've also been hopping around in pain

He found it amusing and laughed but helped you pick up the laundry that was scattered on the floor as a way of him making it up to you

And you'll get back at him soon...

Nikto

You're sort of used to him being a little rough with you but he still forgets just how big and heavy his hands really are, like he'll want to tap your shoulder or back and accidentally lay his hand with too much force on you that it feels like a heavy blow

He doesn't notice until you react and then he's like "??", visibly confused because he doesn't know what happened and it's not until you tell him that he will quietly apologize

He doesn't realize that when he's home he can relax on his grip or hold, and it often happens when he's sleeping in bed with you, he still has the habit of when he's deployed to have a big pillow he can just hold close to him, drape a leg over or just smush his face in, and when he's home that pillow becomes... you

The desperation that you awaken with when you feel as if you were suffocating and can't move, you practically have to yell for him to wake up from his deep sleep and ease his grip, you sit up and put an actual pillow in your place and he just goes right back to sleep, doesn't even realize what he's done lol

[beloveds-embrace]

(poly 141 x fem reader) | Part One

The first thing John notices when he wakes up is warmth.

Not the dry, stifling heat of the hellhole they’d been trapped in, not the sharp burn of pain flaring beneath his ribs, but something softer, something familiar. A small hand curled over his own. The scent of clean linens mixed with something gentler, something yours.

He breathes in slowly, cracking his eyes open against the dim light filtering through the hospital room. The steady beep of monitors hums in the background, grounding him, but it’s you that he focuses on.

You’re slumped over in a chair beside his bed, forehead resting against his arm, your hand wrapped lightly around his own. Even in sleep, you hold on, fingers curled just enough to keep contact.

John exhales, letting his eyes roam over you.

You look exhausted, and it makes his heart ache.

Dark circles smudge beneath your eyes, your lips pressed into a faint frown even in unconsciousness. Your clothes are rumpled, the same ones you must have worn for days. The sight makes something in his chest twist again, a sharp pang of guilt cutting through the haze of medication.

He wants to reach for you, to trace his fingers over your knuckles and murmur your name until you wake, but he doesn’t. He lets you rest, lets you breathe. He knows you need it.

Because Christ, you must have been worried sick. He knows you, knows how much you worry for them on a good day even on the simplest of missions- and he still doesn’t know how long they’d been gone.

The memories are still blurry, slipping through his mind in broken fragments. Pain. Restraints. The weight of his men against him, Ghost half-conscious, Soap fevered and delirious, Gaz barely breathing.

And then-

He remembers you.

A shadow slipping through the chaos. A whisper-soft touch against his face. Hands steady and sure as they undid his restraints, coaxing him back to awareness.

It had to be a dream.

You weren’t trained for that. You weren’t meant for war, for blood, for the brutality of what they endured. You were their sweetheart, their delicate thing, the soft reprieve from the violence that defined their lives. He would rip apart everything in this world if it meant keeping you safe, sound and happy and far, far away from any violence.

So it couldn’t have been you.

It must have been an extraction team. That’s what had happened. Someone must have come for them, gotten them out. That was the only explanation, and the drugs must’ve messed up his mind enough he was seeing you.

But still-

He watches you now, the tension lingering in your features, the way your fingers tighten around his even in sleep, and something gnaws at the edges of his mind.

You had been there, hadn’t you?

The thought makes his head swim, exhaustion weighing heavy on him again, but he keeps his fingers tangled with yours, grip loose but unrelenting. He doesn’t want to let go.

Because for all the horror, for all the pain, for all the hell they’d been through-

You’re here.

Tired. Stressed. But here. And that’s all that matters.

For now, anyways.

The others then wake slowly, one by one.

Johnny first, groggy and confused, grumbling about how sore he is as you smooth a hand over his forehead. Kyle next, blinking against the light, his voice rough when he murmurs your name. Simon takes the longest, his body slow to rouse, but his first instinct is to reach for you, even before he fully opens his eyes.

In return, you are relentless in your care. You fuss over them, checking their bandages with the nurses’ help, brushing your fingers through their hair, whispering soft reassurances. You press ice chips to dry lips, adjust pillows, and coax them into drinking water.

When Johnny complains about the bland hospital food, you leave the room for an hour and a half and come back with something warm and homemade, tucking a spoon into his hand with a firm, eat.

When Kyle shifts restlessly, unable to get comfortable, you climb up onto his bed without hesitation, settling beside him so he can lean against you, your fingers threading through his curls gently and carefully until he sighs and relaxes.

When Simon wakes with a sharp inhale, eyes darting wildly as if expecting restraints, you’re already there, climbing onto the edge of his bed and murmuring soft reassurances into his ear, grounding him with the steady press of your body against his.

When John struggles to sit up, wincing against the pull of stitches, you scowl and press a hand against his chest, forcing him to lie back down.

“You’re pushing yourself too much,” You scold, brow furrowed in concern, arms crossed, your foot tapping on the ground. “You need to rest.”

“I’ve rested enough, love.” He rasps, voice still heavy with sleep, but he doesn’t fight you when you adjust the blankets over him.

You shake your head, lips pressing into a thin line. “Not nearly enough. Please, John.”

The worry in your voice is palpable, thick with something deeper, something almost frantic. John notices the way your fingers tremble slightly when you tuck them under the blankets, the way your shoulders remain tense, as if bracing for something unseen.

He reaches for your hand, squeezing gently. “We’re okay, love.”

Your throat bobs. You nod, but don’t speak, gaze fixed on where your fingers curl around his.

John doesn’t push.

You’ll talk when you’re ready. But for now, you keep your hands busy and full just tending to them.

Anything to keep from thinking about what comes next. What has to come next.

You smooth down the blankets over John’s chest constantly, brushing your fingers over the fabric as if that alone can shield him from the pain still lurking beneath. You press cool compresses to Kyle’s forehead when the medication isn’t enough to dull the ache. You help Johnny sit up when he needs to, spooning broth past his split lip, murmuring praise between each swallow. You lace your fingers with Simon’s when he stirs in his sleep, rubbing slow circles over his knuckles, grounding him even as you feel yourself slipping away.

You do it because they need it; because you need it, too. Because if you let yourself sit still for too long, you’ll remember the blood.

The fear- not of the blood, never, but for them; the way you had to drag them out of that hellhole with your own hands, because no one else would.

Because no one else cared enough to try.

And if you think too long about that- about how close it was and about what could have happened-

About what should have happened if you had listened to the same authorities who dismissed your pleas-

It will eat you alive.

So you focus and pour everything into them. Because as much as you love them and as much as your heart aches at the sight of their bruises, the bandages wrapped tight around their ribs, the exhaustion that weighs heavy on them-

There is still something unfinished, but not for long. Something you have to do:

Shepherd still lives and breathes the same air as them, and and you can’t allow that.

Not after what he did. Not after what he almost took from you.

Not after the endless, screaming nights you spent scouring every lead, chasing every whisper, tearing apart the world with your bare hands just to find them.

So you wait.

You tend. You soothe. You pretend. Because right now, they need you soft; They need gentle hands and quiet reassurances. They need your warmth, your care, your unwavering devotion, the one constant in all of this.

They need to believe that you are exactly the same as you were before and that nothing has changed. That you haven’t changed and reversed.

But soon-

Shepherd will never see it coming. You are keeping a bullet just for him, but he will never see it coming.

In the meantime, you don’t sleep much.

You pretend to, curling up in the chair beside John’s bed, but he knows better.

Your breathing is too shallow, never quite settling into the slow, even rhythm of true rest. Your body remains tense, shoulders stiff, fingers twitching slightly even in stillness, as if your mind is running too fast for your limbs to fully relax.

You’re thinking- plotting.

John doesn’t know what about- not yet, at the very least. But he watches you in the quiet moments, when you think no one is looking, and he sees it. The way your gaze lingers somewhere unseen, sharp and unfaltering, like you’re tracking something just beyond his reach. The way your jaw tightens in fleeting moments, your fingers flexing unconsciously before you school yourself back into softness. The way you breathe, slow and measured, as if bracing.

And it worries him.

He knows the woman who smiles at him across the kitchen table, all warmth and sleepy affection. He knows the woman who hums under her breath when she’s focused, who soothes them with gentle hands, who kisses his temple and tells him to be safe before every mission.

He knows you.

But this- this quiet, this edge-

It’s not you.

Not the way he’s always known you. And that thought lingers, gnawing at the edges of his mind as exhaustion pulls him under. Because something has changed, something has happened- something is different. And he doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know if it’s something you’ll tell him, or if it’s something you’ll try to carry alone.

And that- that- is what worries him.

Because he can see it in the way your hands still against the blanket you’ve been adjusting for the past ten minutes. He can see it in the way you chew the inside of your cheek, in the way your eyes flicker toward the door as if you’re already thinking about what’s waiting beyond it.

You’re planning something, and you won’t tell him what, and he worries so much for you, for their beloved.

But whatever it is, whatever it takes, he will be beside you even if he doesn’t understand it.

Even if it aches, knowing you are carrying something too heavy for soft hands alone.

Because he trusts you, loves you, and he will not let you bear it alone.

Part Three

[homeofthelonelywriter]

“I’m starting to worry, Cap.” Price and you both stood in the common room kitchen and watched as Simon brewed his umpteenth coffee of the day. Something which was alarming in of its own. But the fact that the Brit refused to even touch coffee unless he was seriously tired, added to the worry that was brewing in your guts. But the captain seemed less worried. “It’s Simon. He’ll be alright.” With those, words, he left the room, probably going back to his office to take care of some paperwork. Seemingly the only thing any of you had been doing ever since you got back from the last mission.

A few hours later, you approached Soap, worry etched onto your face. “He hasn’t slept for days. We have to do something.” Soap, who barely looked up from whatever file he was working on, shrugged. “He does that sometimes. You’ll get used to it.” With a deep sigh, you turned to look at Simon, who was staring at the same page, he had been looking at for the last twenty minutes.

Gaz was your last hope. He had to be at least a little bit worried. But no. “Hey, do you have any idea what we can do about Ghost?” He too just shrugged, glancing at his lieutenant. “At some point, he’ll just collapse and sleep it off. Don’t worry.” You groaned in frustration after he left. How could they all be so nonchalant about this. Yes, of course, you knew that Simon struggled with insomnia. It’s something he told you when he first opened up to you after he had found you wandering around after you had a nightmare and couldn’t go back to sleep. But you had never seen it get so bad.

You spent the whole day, trying to think of something you could do until you remembered something someone close to you had said. Nervous, but determined, you quickly searched for Simon, finding him in the common room with the others. He looked terrible, which only strengthened your resolve, but did nothing against the nerves bubbling in your gut.

Without a word, you grabbed his hand and dragged him to his room. He barely put up a fight, only once asking what you were doing, but quickly relenting when you told him to just trust you. Once inside his room, you quickly laid down on his bed and pulled him on top of you, gently cradling him against your chest. “Sleep, I’ll be right here when you wake up, okay?” At first, he was stiff as a board, but slowly he relaxed, even cuddled into you, wrapping his own arms around your waist as his head rested against your chest. And before you knew it, he was asleep, softly snoring. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, gently letting your fingers scratch his scalp.

What you didn’t expect, was for this to become a regular occurrence. “The only way I can fall asleep now, love”, or something like that.

Alternative Ending:

Pissed off at everyones disregard, you decided to take it into your own hands and within a few hours you had everything you needed. That night, as everyone sat in the common room, watching some cheesy movie Soap had picked out, you asked the boys if they wanted a drink, and all of them said yes, even if you only cared if Simon said yes. So, you disappeared into the kitchen and fixed everyone their favorites, adding a little surprise to Simon’s.

Back in the common room, you handed everyone their glasses, before you plopped down next to your victim target. After watching him sip the amber-colored liquid for a few minutes, you fully turned to him. “Are you enjoying your drink?” His hand, which was just pulling the glass away from his lips again, halted as he glanced at you, confusion and suspicion in his eyes. Silence filled the space between the two of you for a few moments before he cleared his throat. “Have you poisoned me?”

You chuckled dryly, dismissively waving your hands. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just a mild sedative, enjoy your rest.” Just in time, his eyelids started to droop and you quickly took the glass from him, placing it on the couch table. A moment later, he slowly fell towards you and you caught him, gently laying him down on the couch. After you made sure he looked comfortable and tugged a blanket in around him, you turned back to the TV, now noticing that the other three were staring at you with wide eyes.

“What? None of you wanted to help me. And don’t think I won’t do the same to you lot if you go around not sleeping for days, you hear me?” Gaz and Price immediately raised their hands and nodded obediently. Soap, on the other hand, started cackling, until you shushed him.

After the movie was over, you sent the boys to their rooms, while you stayed sitting on the floor next to the couch, keeping watch over the sleeping Simon. The sun was starting to rise when his eyes blinked open and you smiled softly. “Hey there.” He frowned. “You drugged me.” You shrugged, reaching out to push strands of his hair out of his eyes. “Had to. Would do it again.” Simon slowly nodded.

“You stayed here all night?” You nodded, your hand slowly drifting to his cheek. “Had to make sure you were alright.” He mirrored your nod, closing his eyes, while just enjoying your attention. “Can you get the good stuff next time?” You giggled. “Sure. But for now, let’s get you to your actual bed.” The moment you got to your feet, a sharp tug on your hand sent you into Simon’s arms, who just wrapped you up in a hug, twisting until he was lying with his head on your chest. “Nah. Let’s stay here.” Almost automatically, your fingers started to comb through his hair as you smiled to yourself. “Alright.” You both quickly drifted off to sleep.

Without your knowledge, Simon put the pictures the others took when they found you two, as his phone background and even kept a printed out version on himself at all times.

A/N: Just some nice little fluff! Hope you liked it! The alternative ending is based on this incorrect quote from @metallictastinglifesupportliquid. Also, let me know if you want to be on the perma taglist! Just say if you want all of COD or specific characters. Although I mostly post Ghost.

@dravenskye @herefor-tojis-tits @lucienofthelakes

[circe69]

"had to get it in, couldn't wait around!" - s.r. x reader

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ who is it? simon "ghost" riley x you

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ what is it? enemies always fuck better, right? you hate him, or so you thought...

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ cws: unprotected p in v, angry simon turned soft, huge d!ck, knife play kinda? ass play, heavy make out. word count: 2.4k

<3

"what the fuck was that about?"

you stomped into an empty, abandoned conference room and stood at the end of a long table, with one masked man sitting at the other end. your arms crossed themselves across your chest, and you popped a hip out to the side as you waited for his answer.

simon motherfucking riley was your arch nemesis. someone you didn't trust, never agreed with, and certainly never wanted to work with. but the world isn't fair. it keeps spinning even when you despise someone, and captain price couldn't care less about your feelings towards simon when it came to the thousands of lives you were saving every mission.

usually, if you're in a group, you don't dare speak to simon this way. you only nod your head at his commands and walk away, hoping that he's receiving the millions of telepathic "fuck you's" you put out somewhere into the universe. but now, you're alone, and there is no better time than the present to tell your lieutenant off.

"if you need to blow some steam, i suggest going for a few boxing rounds w' soap. he's always looking for-" he paused whatever ministrations he was writing on a file and looked up at you slowly, "an easy opponent."

you huff and smirk out of pure anger as you briskly round the table, making your way over to him. "I'm not here to fucking play around, lieutenant, I'm here to let you know I'm pissed because you gave everybody else an assignment overseas next month except for me." you paused and let his eyes meet yours as your strong volume turned into a whisper. "I've worked just as hard, if not fucking harder than the rest of these task force fuckers, and we both know I'd be a good shot out there."

when it comes to you giving your superior a piece of your mind, simon usually submits completely. he never fires back, to everyone else's surprise, and he always allows you to use him, so to speak, to yell at him and get everything out of your system before entering the world again.

but not today.

simon slowly stood up from his chair, keeping eye contact with you as he expanded to almost double your size in every factor possible.

the seconds felt like years as his eyes bore down into yours. your heart rate was doubling every time one of you blinked, and you had to tense every single muscle in your body just to remain stagnant in position. the silence was deafening, and as the seconds passed, you remembered everything you've seen this man do, every corpse he's thrown to the side like a piece of garbage in his way, every knife rusted and wasted because it's been buried deep in the jaw of his enemies, and the eyes that have seen all of this from the first person perspective, are staring right into your-

SLAM.

simons hand comes down onto the wooden table with the force of 10 men, it sounds like, and you couldn't do anything but jump. you flinch. you fucking flinch and it feels like you're waving a white flag.

His gloved fingers reach out to your chin and tug you by the jaw, forcing your face inches away from his, "I have fuckin' had it with your attitude. you can act like a bitch all you fucking want to price, to gaz, and I sure as fuck don't care about how you treat soap. but to me," he squeezes your chin to reinstate your obedience before drifting his hand to rest on your neck, "to me, you either respect me or don't say shit at all. so get used to swallowing your words around here from now on, cause there won't be anywhere else for them to fucking go but down your own throat."

coincidentally, you do swallow. hard and slow, and simons eyes watch and feel your neck bobbing as you begin to shake just slightly under his pressure. as he squeezes, a small squeak releases itself from your lips and you mentally kick yourself for it, knowing that's just what he wants. because once you let yourself go to the stormy waters that is simon riley, you'll never be the same again. he'll make sure of it.

"you say yes sir." his low voice whispered into the empty room, your face somewhere even closer than before, every minute that passes you move an inch. you still can't open your mouth, you're suffering from shell shock and there's no mercy to be found in the eyes of your shooter.

simon pulls out a blade from his thigh holster and presses it to your side, "say. it. now." he yells even louder. you feel the sharp sting of the metal start to break through the cotton of your shirt and tease your skin. a tear breaks free from your eyes, and you are completely gone. you're done for. absolutely dead in every sense but the physical.

"yes sir." you whisper, finally freeing yourself from some kind of paralysis. you feel the blade crash onto the table, as well as the sweet release of your neck from his hand. an extra wave of oxygen that you didn't know you were missing flowed though you in small gasps.

simon said nothing as he walked straight past you, out of the door, slamming it behind him. he left you, his knife, and a part of your soul, there in that room.

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

it had been a few days since simon had blown any ounce of relationship between the two of you into ash and dust, and you can't tell if the looks simon gives you now are filled with rage or just empty. empty meanings, empty promises, because he just doesn't care. but ever since he's made it clear with you that he is not to be messed with, you've unfortunately want him more.

simon riley is a fucking apex predator, and in the past, you've just been standing there, petting him, taunting him, and expecting nothing to happen. well now, you not only expect it, you fucking want it. you dream about all the things he could do to you. but all the things he hasn't said just prove that he couldn't care less.

that night, the only news channel your small tv offers called for rain, a lot of it, mixed with thunderstorms and lightning. as you dry your hair off with a towel, you walk to your window and look outside. your stomach churns at the sight of the angry clouds heading your way. you absolutely despise thunderstorms, and you prefer for a long night because there is no way you would be getting any sleep.

"fuck." you whisper to yourself as it starts to drizzle.

you try to ignore it as you kick off your slippers and get under your soft covers, pulling your duvet all the way up to your ears to try to mute the sound. it was now raining harder, and occasional sparks of electricity lit up your room from the sky, so you tossed and turn all night until you finally fell asleep.

it wasn't until hours later that a large boom of thunder shook you awake. you sat up immediately in a panic, gasping for air and looking around you as if you were expecting anything, something to explain the sound. tears started rolling down your face not only in fear, but in frustration also. you were so upset and so tired. you needed something, someone. just to tell you it was going to be okay. you slipped out of bed with a shaky hand clutching a necklace around your neck as you opened the door of your room and walked out.

the cold air of the hallway caused your skin to raise up into goosebumps and your nipples to pebble through your thin tank top, and even as you crossed your arms over yourself, it wasn't enough.

you headed straight for a door right down the hall. one with a name on the wood that you never thought you would go to in need in a million years. but you didn't know what to do.

your small knuckles rapped on the door, right underneath a nameplate.

simon "ghost" riley

you hear heavy footsteps and several locks unfastening before the door swings open.

a maskless man appears, with no shirt, and a large hand rubbing the side of his face. he was no doubt asleep before this. his eyes squinted as he leaned against the doorframe, trying to adjust to the light. your jaw hung slightly agape at the sight of him, so human. so disgustingly human who's done such non-humane things.

his eyes swept over your face as he noticed the tear stained cheeks, reddened from lack of sleep and continued down your body, down your full teardrop breasts, across your bare stomach, your sweatpants that hung loosely off your hips, and no words were spoken as he grabbed you by both forearms and drug you inside his room.

you gasped as he moved you backwards towards his bed, his much larger and comfier bed, and you no longer had any reason to stop him as he drug you under the covers with him. you couldn't believe him as he snuck in close to you, silently, as if it were normal.

it wasn’t until you felt an arm come up to rest upon your hip, and the floodgates opened. you couldn’t stop tears from rolling down your eyes. you were so confused, so scared, so fucking tired. small whimpers and gasps of breath continued.

“shhh.” came from simon’s mouth as he pulled you closer and softly squeezed your hip.

“you hate me” you whispered back, sobbing louder.

“hm-mm, no.”

“yes, you fucking hate me and you’ve just pulled me into your bed,” you start whining louder as your hands reach up to cover your face.

simon’s eyes slowly opened to look into yours before swatting your ass ,”quit crying n' go to sleep.”

you only responded with smaller, shorter intakes of breath and sniffles.

“y’hear me?” he patted your ass where he had slapped it before.

you nodded and whispered, “yes sir.”

a growl tore threw simon’s mouth as he looked up at the bedroom ceiling before throwing his forearm over his eyes, “fuckin’ hell.”

this time it’s you who reaches out, as you place a small palm on his bicep. he flinches at the touch before sighing,

“c’mere puppy.”

you slowly crawl on top of simon, placing both hands on his arms before allowing your head to fall between his neck and shoulder. a warmth slithered through you as you relaxed into him, and as his hand slowly caressed and squeezed the fat of your ass, the warmth exceeded just below your navel.

you made the mistake of squirming, and he noticed.

he clicked his tongue against his teeth while pulling you closer, “stay still.”

“i-i’m trying to get comfortable-"

"well stop." he interrupted, "just relax."

the wind outside howled, as simon's breath and yours intertwined through the space between you. and just like the storms outside, simon was the most unexpected thing to ever exist. he was trying hard to not scare you off, to be gentle, even though every thing in him contradicts that. but you know better. you know that he is gentle somewhere behind that mask.

you squirmed again, "simon I just don't know what to do." you leaned up to look at him. and there it was, the look that he only gave you, the small and desperate iris' just begging for some kind of affection. even without much light, you could still see him grasping at the frays for you. seconds of intense eye contact went by for simon broke the silence,

"just kiss m'then."

you gasped, sitting back a centimeter, but then nodded. and leaned into his touch. into him.

the kiss was soft and delicate, your lips and his just barely overlapping as you took in his woodsy smell, pine and maple, but that was all it took to pull a groan from simon.

more, more, is all he thought as he grabbed you by the hips and prodded his tongue against your lips. you smiled at the action, and without hesitation, opened up for him completely.

it was nothing but violent, raw, and urgent, the way simon kissed you. you moaned into his mouth as he smacked the fat of your ass, "all it took," he mumbled, "all it took was a little tongue for you to shut the fuck up."

you whined at the loss of contact as simon struggled to pull your pants down, but it disintegrated as he swiped a finger between your thighs, "fuck." simon whispered at the wetness pooling from your sex. "how many times have I yelled at you and gotten you wet?" he said, as he flipped you both around so you were now in your back, head smushing the soft pillow.

you groaned as he discarded his sweatpants and boxers, leaving his cock to spring out against his stomach. "how many times, baby?" he asked again, "you think about me hurting you when you play with this pretty pussy?" his index reached out to circle your clit a few times.

you couldn't help it, your body was betraying you in real time as your walls fluttered around nothing. "yes, yes I think about it, I think about you all the time simon." your babbles spilled out of you like water, and simon was lapping it up.

he chuckled, "don't even n'to prep you, you're a fuckin' faucet, sweetheart." his lengthy cock, with precut oozing out of the tip, was begging to be inside you, begging to fill you up. as he grabbed his length and positioned himself to your weeping hole, he looked you in the eyes, "y'want this?"

your eyes met his and for a second, you felt some sort of fire igniting deep within you, why was he even asking? why did it feel like the monster he is was softening for you?

you grabbed his hip and thrusted yourself, notching the tip of him inside your walls. "yes, I fucking want this, simon."

he chuckled as he watched him disappear inside you, inch by inch, every fucking centimeter felt like a year lived without you. he needed to make up for it, because the one woman that he couldn't stand just happened to be the woman he couldn't live without.

[quarterlifekitty]

Love the trope of Price mentally constructing a nursery in every home and apartment he’s ever known, in the house of everyone he’s ever dated— it’s the first thing he thinks of (right after where on his body he’s gonna tattoo their name).

He has his dream nursery memorized. It’s his mind palace. He wants cream yellow walls, because his baby is going to be the sun, the same way his wife is his moon, with the away she has over his heart of the sea. He wants an accent wall with wallpaper in a classic motif— the kind they use in pediatricians offices, to be honest. Building blocks, fluffy clouds, circus animals.

John loves tradition, generational passings on, well-crafted things that can last centuries if cared for well enough. He wants his nursery furniture, all of the stuff in his house, really— to be solid wood, handmade (he promises that he’ll make the bulk of it himself, the rest antique). He’d rather die than buy a brand new house without any history. No craftsmanship, all straight lines and 90 degree angles, no consideration to what makes a home feel like home.

Despite being such a trusted member of the team, he knows precious little about your home life. Fine by him— your past is your own, he has no right to it. One day, as you’re about to pack up for leave around the holidays, you ask to speak to him as a friend, rather than a captain.

It’s well known that Price doesn’t have the family he’s dreamed of. An old war dog, bridges burned with the ex wife from his youth, he doesn’t hold out a lot of hope. Maybe in the next lifetime, it will be different. He’ll have that yellow nursery.

You tell him, with an astonishing amount of composure, that your parents passed away almost a year ago. They’ve left the care of the family home to you. It’s quite an undertaking— large, as it used to host all manner of aunt and uncle and cousin generations ago. But now, people are in the spirit of moving far away. Old wounds and grudges, new opportunities. Your parents had their own issues conceiving— leaving you an only child.

Gaz has his family to go home to, so does Soap. No one knows what Ghost does, but everyone suspects he follows Soap home for the holidays. Price has been invited time and time again, but always politely refuses. He doesn’t want to be reminded of the dream out of his reach.

But you tell him this will be your first holiday alone in the house, and that you need him. You don’t know if you can bear the silence for the season. Not to mention all of the upkeep you’re behind on. He figures it’s as good a place to be as any, and he’s the type who needs his hands busy to find any peace.

He falls in love with your old place. Sure, the bannisters could do with being refinished, a bit of carpeting could come up, a few fixtures are spotty— but it’s a beautiful place. Still very much full of love and warmth, the traces of you and your little family are everywhere. In the tarnished silver picture frames, the fraying knitted potholders, the penciled in height markings at the kitchen door.

On the tour, he’s stopped dead in his tracks at one open door. Faded yellow walls, slats of chestnut. A crib.

You explain to him that it used to be your nursery. It had been your mother’s, too, and many more. They kept it perfectly in tact when you’d grown up and moved into another room, hoping that they’d give you a little sibling. The day never came. You’re wondering yourself what to do with it— your career hasn’t left you with much time or appetite for romance. There’s a stinging sadness dripping from your words like lemon juice. You admit that you suspect this family, once monumental, will end with you— the house passed to someone who will strip off the carved filigrees of the stair railing, throw white paint over all of the walls, and put grey vinyl over the hardwood. That is, if they don’t just tear it down. Land could be divided up into a few new apartment units.

You’re barely listening to yourself talk— just ambling along, as if you haven’t just revealed to John Price what his life’s been leading up to all this time.

[bratbio]

thinking about roommate!ghost, because I need him to see him slightly happy, and in a nice domestic slice-of-life because he deserves it.

and how he puts up a craigslist ad for a roommate, he's gone too much to actually care for the flat---price put him up to it to get one, the flat not the roommate, because everything be damned if he had one of the other's hear he needs something; someone like that.

he's quick to the point about it--how much the rent will be, their room, the commons room where they'll both reside, how there's only one bathroom, where the kitchen is small.

no pets allowed, no people over without telling him---the whole nine yards, which in his opinion is completely fair.

and lucky him---this pretty little thing shows up at his doorstep.

she's a cute little thing, teetering on their feet as they await for him to open the door, and when it does swing open---he sees how her eyes widen just the slightest amount with how his frame fills in the doorway. he's all but blocking her, and don't forget the fact he's wearing his mask---forgot to take it off, sometimes he's just too comfortable with it.

but she's not even put off by it, just a smile up his way, a cock of her head to the side, adjusting the strap on her back, as she nods at him. "Hi, Simon, right?" and her voice is the sweetest thing he's heard---or maybe he's been with the boys too long, too much of Soap's snoring in his ear.

he grunts, nods his head, "Come in," voice gravel-like, low and sees how she steps in without an ounce of fear in her, slips past him and he could smell the perfume she has---something warm and comforting, his eyes half-lidded watching her back as she's already eyeing the bare living room.

the door shuts with a soft click, already wondering what she'll look like in the morning.

edit: the next part!

[munsonsmixtapes]

Sunshine

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Simon just can’t stop talking about his fiancé.

cw: mention of alcohol, anxiety, and pregnancy

The club is packed when Simon and his friends show up. If he’s being honest, he didn’t even want to come, being dragged out of the house because they all claimed that he spends too much time with you. He doesn’t think so, though. He spends the perfect amount with you in his mind. And he makes plenty of time for his friends so he doesn’t see what the problem is.

He feels eyes on him as he pushes through all the dancing bodies and it makes him feel gross being checked out like that. This always happens and even though he tells them that he has a fiancé, they don’t seem to get the hint. It’s gotten to the point where he got his own ring to get the point across-well, that and the fact that he just wanted one because he loves the idea of being connected to you in that way.

Simon gets to the bar and orders a beer, letting out a sigh as he resists the urge to text you. He knows something will be said and he doesn't want to be teased about it. He’s convinced that everyone is just jealous and doesn’t care that they roll their eyes whenever he mentions you. He’s just a man in love and he doesn’t see why that’s his fault.

Once his drink is set on the bar, he takes a sip before turning to his friends. His mind immediately goes back to the night he met you. You were working at the bar down the street from where he lived at the time and the second he laid eyes on you, he immediately had to know your name.

“You know, y/n is a bartender,” he speaks up, smiling down at his beer bottle.

“Here we go,” Soap replies with a roll of his eyes. He acts like he’s annoyed, but he’s actually secretly very happy for Simon and the fact that he was finally able to find someone he loved enough to settle down with.

“That’s what, ten mentions of her in the last hour?” Gaz laughs and Soap and Price join in, teasing Simon yet again. “The man is obsessed.”

“Oh, he’s just in love,” Price corrects, clapping Simon on the shoulder. He’s always been very supportive of your relationship and has even offered to officiate the wedding. “You’ll all feel the same way when you finally settle down.”

Simon can’t help but smile at the defense Price is making. They’ve gotten very close over the years, Price being someone that Simon looks up to. He’s the one Simon goes to for any problem he’s having, the one he talked to before he proposed to you.

He doesn’t care about his friends’ teasing, though. He knows they don’t really mean anything by it, they’re just messing around. He knows that they really are happy for him otherwise they wouldn’t have agreed to be his groomsmen. They just like to pick on him because they see him like a brother. It’s the way they show him love without actually saying the words.

He takes his phone out of the pocket of his jacket to check the time and smiles at his lockscreen-it’s a photo of the two of you, grinning at the screen as you hold up a sonogram, tears in your eyes.

He didn’t want to go tonight because he was worried about you and the baby but you forced him to go, insisting that you’d be okay and now that he’s here, he’s worried like he always is.

He misses you and his unborn daughter, wishes he was with you right now, his hand resting on your bump and you both snuggling up on the couch, watching that stupid reality show that he claims to hate but secretly loves.

Simon just worries and that’s why he feels like he needs to be around you 24/7. He’s read more parenting books than he can count and even though your daughter has been as healthy as can be at every scan, he knows that the knot in his stomach won’t go away until he’s holding her in his arms.

He sips on his beer, zoning in and out of the conversation with his friends, bringing you up any chance he gets even though he knows they’re all done with him, making him take a shot every time he mentions you. He’s already up to two in the last five minutes. That’s got to be a record of some sort.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he’s quick to answer it when he sees your name and photo flash on the screen. He moves to a spot that’s more quiet when he puts the phone up to his ear, plugging his other one with his finger so he can hear you better.

His heart is racing and he just knows something is wrong. It’s gotta be. Why else would you be calling? He knows it’s just his anxiety and waits for you to speak before he can panic.

“Hey sunshine,” he greets, grinning so widely just by hearing your voice on the other line. And when he hears the reason why you’ve called, he almost falls to his knees, letting out a sound of pure joy as the line goes dead.

He’s shoving his phone back into his pocket as he races back over to his friends, so excited to tell them the news. That he’s gotta go to the hospital and he’s gotta do it now.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” is all he says before they’re all making a beeline for the door, all looking forward to seeing the little nugget, just knowing that she’s going to be spoiled rotten between the four of them. Yeah, that little girl is going to be so lucky.