#simon host riley

[loadedberetta]

Berry baby🖤

I hope you're doing well and *remembering* to hydrate.

I was just talking with a friend and i find i slip into other languages expressions while I'm speaking or even typing - I'm a polyglot (I know a good few languages) including South African Sign Language. It certainly takes alot of people by surprise since it's not something I go around speaking about.

How would TF141 + Alex Kelle react with this given they never were explicitly told about this skillet before hand?

I hope you enjoy your festive season and find yourself surrounded by the most peace and happiness Love🥀

hi lovie!! (sipping on magnesium water as we speak!)

having dipped my toes in language learning too, I bow to you, polyglot friend~ holidays are hard, thank you for the encouragement, same goes to you! decided to turn them into drabbles, it was much fun, thank you for the req! alright, here is (my first req stuff ever)

141 + Alex react to: polyglot Reader

rating: M (language, light flirting?)

warnings: smoking, interrogation [military inaccuracies]

[series with random headcanons about specific situations (involving the reader) and how CoD characters would react to them; mostly the 141, but Alejandro and Rudy, Laswell, Farah, König, and others will make appearances too]

other parts: [tattoo] [pregnancy] [knife tricks] [drawing] [foreign language]

find me on ao3 // masterlist

Price

A small note was attached to your file that Price seems to have overlooked in the year and a half since you were under his command; in Laswell's handwriting, which John knew already from the countless similar notes she left for him throughout the years. Yet, this one stood out; sign language? And how many languages again? He made a mental note to ask you over grub the next day.

Breakfast was always fast; after first drill, but before the day really began. And always with your mates, switching languages with ease to accommodate new members and brothers passing through, just on transfer at the base.

Price always ate at a separate table, always. Sometimes alone, sometimes with some higher-ups. But this morning, he sat by your table, which opened up a seat for him. Everyone's body language shifted to accommodate him among you. He didn't speak, and the conversation between you and a temporary transfer settled back into a comfortable flow. His ears perked up to each sound he didn't seem to have heard from you, as they weren't part of the English phonemic system.

He himself muddled in French and some Arabic and harboured a basic understanding of Spanish since his time in Mexico, but your confidence and knowledge shone through the effortless speech. You and your speaking partner seemed to share a lighthearted conversation in a language he could only guess.

Soon, you let yourself notice his glances in your direction, often settling on your lips for short moments. Smiling to yourself, you finished your coffee as your deskmate excused themselves from the table, having emptied their tray.

Instead of turning to another group being taught foreign swearwords by a new recruit (to which you had to resist the urge to share your favourites), you lifted your gaze to meet Price's.

"Enjoying yourself, Captain?"

He chuckled, raspy.

"How did this never come up?" He asked without much sugarcoating.

"What exactly?" You chuckled.

"That you know about a dozen languages, including… South African Sign Language?"

A small smirk formed on your lips, proud of the recognition and attention to detail.

"I don't go around flaunting it." You stated plainly. "It's not even on my file, it's… just something I do, as a person; it's not for the military or anything."

"Hm." That was all he replied to that. "-but…"

"Yes?"

"Could be useful."

You could see he was pondering something.

"What if I told you I have a spot for you on officer training, hm? They're looking for… intelligence."

Ghost

( I cannot resist using this gif--)

Finding yourself behind a counter, taking orders from businessmen, assistants, and university students; not exactly how you imagined life in the big city. It was a second job of sorts, only part-time, as you couldn't squeeze in anything else besides the academy.

It was a busy morning, your shift covering the entirety of it before classes began that day. The line was only growing, and the other shiftie beside you was struggling; some foreigners complained about their order, and another pair of customers speaking a third language just rolled up to him, totally overwhelming him. Calling out a name for an order, you waved to the next in line (a sweet old immigrant lady, with whom only you could chat out of the whole team, easily overstepping the language barrier), and told her to just hang on for a moment.

You addressed the complaining couple in a well-mannered way, quickly sorted out their issue with a complimentary muffin and a cookie, and switched languages with ease, freeing your shiftie partner from the agony that was speaking any other language than English for him.

The rush died down just the slightest after a few more hectic minutes, and the shiftie went for a break when you noticed a familiar figure standing by the counter as you turned back with another order.

He gave your unit a few lessons this semester and remarked on your capabilities in strategy and urban warfare. You remembered him, and it seemed like he did too.

The usual balaclava he wore when instructing was replaced by just a black cloth mask hooked behind his ears, revealing a few more details about his face than you'd seen before.

"Sir." You addressed him, conveying you respected the civil setting, yet communicating your respect toward him considering your short but memorable history. "What can I get you?"

"Didn't know you were fluent in that many languages." He remarked after describing his simple order, making your cheeks heat up at a moment's notice.

"It's nothing, really…" You tried brushing his words off with words that came out shakier than you meant to sound.

"How many do you speak?" He asked with a small tilt of his head.

His eyes widened for a moment at your answer. "…and South African Sign Language."

A chuckle, something you'd never heard from before stuck in your ear for a good few seconds, drowned out by the milk frother.

"I don't do lesson plans, you know?"

"What?" You lightly shivered with excitement at the fact how interested he seemed in your knowledge.

"Would you mind, you know… Doing a lesson? Sign language is a valuable asset. I can give you some time next Friday."

"I…" You stuttered a bit at his proposition.

"Nothin' fancy, don't worry, darling. Just some basics."

"Alright…" You found yourself saying after a moment when the light ringing in your ears faded.

"Maybe even tell your story… I'd be interested for sure."

And with that, he grabbed his coffee from your hand, putting some coin on the counter with the other, and was out the door before you could say anything else.

Alex

He didn't talk. Not to ULF soldiers, and bravely (maybe stupidly) not even to Alex. Farah's request for you to get to the scene was… interesting. She stated her presence was required in another part of the country, and in her encrypted message, she explicitly voiced how your assistance might help ULF break the man.

So you came. Alex greeted you on the airstrip with a smile and a hug, his frame towering over yours.

"Alex, a pleasure to see you." You smirked as the two of you walked back to the nearest building.

"Can only say the same." His tone was warm and welcoming, a staple to him. "You hoping to crack our guy?" He asked you directly about the matter at hand. The small carrier that brought you here whirred into the air in the distance.

"Exactly."

"And how's that gonna go? We haven't even gotten a word out of him, let alone information."

"That's why I'm here now."

"The stage is yours." He opened the door of the large building to you and ushered you inside.

A few hours later, he stood by your side, as you tried to find a crack on the prisoner's tough shell. After many unsuccessful attempts, the tired captive let his head fall, a small curse leaving his lips. Your ears perked, and Alex could only watch the scene unfold in front of him.

In a language he only heard on the TV before maybe once, you asked the prisoner something, to which he immediately lifted his head in confusion. Pressing on, you visibly exerted yourself to gather as much as you could on the man before he would shut down again.

After a few exerting rounds of questions, you stood up abruptly, and nodded for Alex to come with you. Closing the door to the room, you turned to him, but he spoke up faster than you did.

"What is and where." He crossed his arms and awaited your answer with a bite to his lip.

"I don't know yet, but he talked about a car rigged with charges, but he's going to shut down soon, fuck…" You clicked your tongue, exhausted from the rusty pieces of knowledge forced to work in your brain at high speed.

"Hold on… He had a detonator on him when we apprehended him… Are you sure it's a car?" He backed away, looking as if he was about to bolt somewhere.

"White, small, local model." You shouted after him as he disappeared down the corridor.

You stepped back into the room and closed the door behind yourself.

A day later, you were there as Alex switched the trigger, and the car about a mile away from your position, deep in the desert blew to pieces as the two of you watched.

"How the hell did you know from a damn single word?"

"It's a local dialect, where I happened to have stayed for a while, it's not important…" You dismissed the seemingly unimportant detail with a wave of your hand.

"So we just happened to luck out on this one?" He chuckled and turned to you.

"Well, I could have tried about half a dozen more languages, but hey, if this one worked…?" You looked up at him, a small smile tugging the corner of your lips up.

"And Farah knew this?"

"Her hunches are never wrong." You shrugged.

"Yeah… You're right about that."

Gaz

You and Kyle bonded during selection. Both of you were younger than most of the cadets, and yet, somehow competed for top scores. It wasn't even a test of endurance, it was a test of who could beat the other. DS were amused by how easily you passed hurdles, just to be better than the other one, paying no attention to other competition.

And after that, the two of you became inseparable. Like people who'd known the other since childhood or had been good neighbours for years. Phone calls when oceans separated the two of you were very common, and sometimes you found eachother in inopportune situations; yet these calls only strengthened your friendship. Keeping each other company, and slowly growing to know more and more about the other.

It was a spur-of-the-moment trip, catching the first plane when you finally got your leave. A country you've only seen in books so far, but a language you'd already mastered.

Kyle called you when you were out on the first morning, trying to fetch food from a market.

"Good morning, Kyle." Your chin was visible in the frame of the phone, and the blue sky above you.

"Morning yourself, except it's the middle of the afternoon. Where are you?" He asked in a surprised tone, his face coming closer to the phone, trying to discern some landmarks around you, to no avail.

"In a market. Got on a plane yesterday, and--" You quipped, looking down at Kyle, who was visibly confused about your whereabouts.

"Jesus wept, bug, you're insane…" He shook his head, almost missing as you started haggling, faint voices breaking through the line.

He quieted down and leaned forward on his couch to listen. For a good minute, he couldn't understand a word you were saying, only listening to your voice flow, lips dancing in unique patterns. Soon, you held your quarry up to the camera, something bundled in white wax paper.

You sat down and finally positioned your phone to show your face and upper body, and a bit of the busy scenery behind you.

"You're a wizard, you know that?" He laughed and lounged back again.

"A party trick if you will. I know a few more." You shrugged, and bit into your breakfast.

"Few more?" Kyle repeated, chuckling in disbelief. "What else, like, sign language?"

"Actually…" You laughed, somewhere in the background a bell tolled distantly.

"No fucking way." Kyle licked his upper lip and looked away. "I thought I knew ya."

"There's always more to know, friend."

Soap

Sharing a room with Soap was… an experience. He was a sound sleeper, not causing much fuss at night, so you were content in that regard. The other departments, however, not much.

He was unruly, to say the least, and it took some time to get accustomed to his schedule. One of you being a morning shower type in opposition to the other being a night shower person caused some friction in the beginning, but like everything else, it settled after a while. After all, this was supposed to last only the three months the unit was stationed at this base.

You hadn't known eachother that well before, but that changed at around the one-month mark.

Having been given a few hours of phone time by Price days before for this afternoon, you set up to call your best friend, a few thousand miles setting the two of you apart. You haven't talked in way too long, and before you knew it, you'd already spent an hour talking and laughing over Facetime, phone propped against the metal grate by the foot of the bottom bunk, you sitting on the mattress.

You acknowledged Soap coming in a few times for his notebook, cigs, or to grab his coat from the back of the chair, but didn't pay it much attention, being so absorbed in the conversation with your favourite human on the other end of the line, confined to the little screen by the foot of your bed.

It was already dark outside, when Soap burst into the room, and put his finger to his lips, signalling you to be silent.

Looking down at your best friend "I need to be silent. Wait a bit."

To which they replied with an "Okay, I'll wait."

Soap flicked the light off, and a few moments later, a few people passed the room; you could hear the footsteps.

"Random inspection." He whispered as he climbed up into his bunk, trying to remain silent.

Praying your room wouldn't be chosen, as you were still in uniform instead of nightwear, you settled on your mattress too. An idea flashed through your head, and turning the brightness on your screen to high, you continued your conversation over Facetime in silence, your best friend quickly catching on to what happened, as you explained the situation in sign by the dim light.

A few minutes later, Soap climbed down from the bunk and switched the light on.

"Gaz texted, they moved on to the next building… what are ya up tae?"

He looked back at you, as you caught his glance too while signing.

"Sign. South African Sign Language. I'm talking to someone."

"Right…" He chuckled bemused, and headed out again, probably for a cig with some other delinquents, to which you shook your head with a smirk on your lips.

Later that night, when you settled to sleep for real on your back, his overgrown mohawk poked out followed by his head from above you, overlooking you on your bed.

"'eard you speakin' earlier… And that sign language too… So… Mind teachin' me some?"

(alright that's all, hope you liked it, goodnight)

[masteroffearshusband49020]

The need for that fictional character to be real and in your bed

[str4ngr]

i luv you guys.

i've gained so much support on this platform, and i never showed just how greatful i was. so here i am, doing an event for all 800 of you < 3

i literally love all of you guys so much and am so grateful that people read my work. muah muah muah

[ check here for request rules!! ]

[wildwoodshotelsystem-tm]

i am a depressy messy bitch-

Don't go back.-Ghost

Theys ain't right for you-Soap

i know but AAAAAAAH

Girl- Imma get you out on a motorcycle ride you need it -Ken

sobbing thanks kenji

[ka-freaking-boom]

Welcome To My Darkside

DID Ghost x Soap

Warnings: Blood and violence

_____

Ghost noticed how people flinched when he spoke or tensed when he walked into a room, everyone feared 'The Ghost'. They feared his cold demeanor, his skill with a weapon, his blank stare that just seemed to look right through you. 

But very few people knew the truth, the fact that the real threat wasn't his antisocial behavior but was actually his humanity, the part of him that wished to give back the cruelty that he had endured.

Simon was the bloodthirsty monster born from human cruelty that lived in his chest. Simon was the thing that emerged along with the rage, the itch to make something scream. Simon was an untamable, rabid dog that was all too eager to bite the hand that feeds, quick to meet even the smallest gesture of kindness with an open maw and violence. 

So Simon was hidden away behind impenetrable walls and a reinforced steel door, but Ghost could still feel him pacing the length of his cage, just waiting for the smallest hint of weakness to exploit in order to get free.

And his patience was rewarded when Soap --Johnny-- had been forced to dig his own grave under the brutal heat of sun after a mission gone horribly sideways, the various injures littering his body lazily oozing blood as he worked under the watchful eye of their captors. 

Ghost had three men flanking him, forcing him to remain on his knees and just watch as one of the men stepped forward with the command to stop and hand over the shovel. And Johnny, who was rebellious even now after the countless days of torture he'd endured, swung the blade of the shovel at the man's head, the metal connecting with his skull with a sharp crack.

The man crumpled to the ground as four men rushed forward to divest Soap of his makeshift weapon, the man's blood pouring out onto the dirt under his caved in head. 

Ghost felt a well of pride and had to surpress the urge to smile, since he was currently maskless, but all his mirth quickly melted into rage when the sound of the safety being flicked off a gun ringing out through the air before the muzzle of that very same gun was pointed directly at Soap's forehead.

Soap stopped struggling and held carefully still, the familiar burn of venom that followed a scorpions sting lighting up Ghost's limbs as Simon began to bodily throw himself at the door, snarling incoherent threats when Soap was corraled backward until he was standing at the edge of the hole he just dug.

The man was speaking but Ghost couldn't hear anything over the high pitched ringing in his ears, flashes of his own grave flitting across the forefront of his mind, and the hinges on the door keeping Simon contained gave with a deafening snap. 

So yes, Simon was a hidden part of Ghost, something so broken that it had lost all sense of purpose other than to survive. But survival had always meant being the bigger monster, it meant learning how to kill and how to carry the blood of both the innocent and the damned on his hands.

The price was Simon's kindness, his compassion, his ability to love in a way that wouldn't ruin whatever he touched. 

Which is why Ghost should have took heed of the warning signs of Simon's growing obsession with his Sergeant when he came back to himself caked in gore and viscera with Johnny's hand on his bare face, should have been worried by the soft look in Johnny's eyes, the vulnerable display of emotion out of place in a clearing with an empty grave and a number of mutilated bodies.

But by the time he'd realized what he'd stupidly let happen, any attempt at separation would've only resulted in bloodshed with Johnny potentially caught in the crossfire, and Ghost himself was in much too deep to do anything that would hurt Johnny.

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 10 / Ghost x Soap NerdAU

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

You didn't think I'd leave you in angst over the Christmas day, did you?

Previous chapter | AO3

The night is cold and damp; the light drizzle doesn’t warrant an umbrella, but it’s not very pleasant in any case. Ghost adjusts the collar of his coat to cover his neck better before shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he starts up the street towards his home. John walks next to him, seemingly unperturbed by the cold. Would stand to reason, Ghost thinks, if he grew up further up north and got through the SAS selection. It’s been years, yet it’s hard to forget—the harrowing trek to a bloody mountain with a time limit and in full gear.

“How’d you get your callsign?” Simon asks out of nowhere. He doesn’t mind the silence but can tell it’s not the same for John, who is probably still beating himself up for fucking up earlier. Simon's not a bastard; yes John hit a nerve back there but he didn't mean to. Simon is resilient, too, shrugging the hurt off as if it's nothing. He has no reason to sulk.

The Scott grabs the question like a lifeline. “At the end of the selection, actually. We were tasked to clean out several buildings to save the hostages. I’ve set the record. The overseeing officer said I’ve been as quick and efficient as a soap, and it kinda stuck.”

“It’s a good callsign,” Simon admits. It sounded ridiculous at first, so much so he was sure there had to be some embarrassing story behind it, as is the case with most callsigns. To earn it with skill is commendable.

“What about you? Ghost is probably the best I’ve ever heard,” Soap asks. Usually, Simon wouldn’t tell, but he supposes it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s no reason to uphold the mystery now.

“I’ve been buried alive,” Simon says, the tone of his voice casual, as if he was commenting on the weather.

John barks out a laugh, probably thinking Ghost’s pulling his leg. Once he realises that’s not the case, he sobers up. “Shit, man… that’s fucked up.”

“Guess it is,” Ghost shrugs. It’s been a long time since he was able to tell what’s fucked up or not. “Alright, we’re here,” Simon takes out keys and lets John inside, clicking the lights on before he leads him to the second floor.

Simon’s flat isn’t much, but it’s his home. As soon as they enter, there’s a blur of tabby fur, and before Simon can say anything, John is crouching and scratching Sgt. Stripey behind the ears. “So you’re Stripey. Nice to meet ye, lad,” John says to the cat with warm affection.

“Careful, or you’ll end up wrapped around his claw,” Ghost warns, hanging his coat and putting his shoes away.

“Too late.” John chuckles, standing up and handing Ghost his jacket to be hanged. “You know, I’d have pegged you for a dog person.”

“I don’t mind dogs; I just like cats better. Always clicked with the little fuckers, ever since I was a kid.” He has no idea why he is imparting so much to John. On the other hand, it’s not like he’s still part of the top secret Task Force. He can have friends now, tell them things about himself, and let them in.

“Guess I can imagine a wee Simon feeding the strays,” John admits as he goes further into the apartment, looking around, obviously compartmentalising everything he sees.

Simon doesn’t say anything because John’s words struck a tad too close to home.

Thankfully, John doesn’t notice. His attention is currently held by something else. “Steamin’ Jesus, what is that?!” Soap exclaims and points at Ghost’s rig, proudly sitting on the desk.

“My computer?” Ghost cocks an eyebrow.

“That?!” Soap almost squeals, which is halfway between ridiculous and adorable, in Ghost’s opinion. Soap comes closer, leaning in to inspect the machine up close. “What are these?” he traces the acrylic tubes with an index finger without actually touching anything.

“Liquid cooling.”

“A…what?” Soap’s eyes widen. “Thought electricity and water don’t mix well.”

“You sure you’re the explosives guy? I said liquid, not water. You could use water technically, but it’s not a very efficient coolant.”

“How do you even… ye ken… keep it in?”

“It’s a closed circuit, look,” Ghost comes closer, shoulder brushing against John’s as he points out the reservoir with a pump, “you have your coolant here, then it’s distributed throughout the system. First, it goes into the CPU because it’s higher up, so I can use gravity to help the pump later. There’s a copper heat plate pressed to the processor; inside it is something like a little maze, so the coolant doesn’t flow through too fast and can actually take away the heat. Once out of the maze, it goes into the intercooler; here,” he touches a big black cooler attached to the top of the rig. “The liquid cools here; it works exactly the same as old radiators and is then used here in the graphics card. The cooling cover works pretty similarly to the one for the CPU, only it’s larger. Once the liquid is out of the GPU, it’s cooled again, here,” he points to another intercooler, “and, lastly, it returns back to the reservoir.”

“But… that’s so complicated! And what if it spills? That can happen, can’t it?” Soap looks at him, and Ghost can’t help but notice the curious shade of blue in his eyes as it catches the warm light. Thankfully, the question asked is interesting enough for him to focus on.

“Sure, but the liquid is safe as long as you don’t drown your power supply in it. And it’s more efficient and much quieter. Let me show you,” without further ado, Ghosts wakes the PC up and fires up a benchmark. “You hear that?”

“Hear what?” Soap asks, confused.

“Exactly,” Ghost’s smile is all smugness, and John finds it kind of endearing.

Soap laughs as soon as he gets Ghost’s point. When he turns to Ghost next, a fond smile plays at his lips, and there are crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes. “Ye really like this stuff, huh?”

It takes Ghost a few seconds to respond, mainly because John’s sheer radiance nearly blinds him. “I do,” he rubs at the back of his neck, a nervous gesture because he feels exposed and a little embarrassed. Usually, that would be a bad thing, but in this instance, it feels different because he knows John wouldn’t laugh at him. They met in a video game. Ghost’s goofiness is safe with him.

“Sorry if that came out wrong. I just wanted tae say I’m impressed. I have no idea about any of this. Maybe you could teach me some stuff?”

“Make you my Padawan, you mean?” Ghost raises an eyebrow.

Soap smirks, unable to hold Ghost’s gaze any longer. “Yer such a nerd, Ghost,” he shakes his head, still smiling. It could’ve easily been read as an insult, yet the way Soap said it sounds more like a compliment. “But aye, make me your Padawan, Master Simon,” Soap says and bows before Ghost. That settles the matter.

Before they can open a new topic, Soap is caught off-guard by a yawn. Glancing at his wrist-watch, he’s both surprised and unsurprised by how late it is. Time flies by when you’re having fun, especially with a good company, but Soap has been on his feet for close to twenty hours now and the past week wasn’t much better. The exhaustion is catching up to him.

“Go take a shower if you want, it’ll take me a few minutes to get the couch ready,” Ghost says and nods to the piece of furniture in question.

Soap thinks for about three seconds. “You don’t need to, I can sleep on it as it is.”

“Nonsense,” Ghost rejects the idea with a finality that bars any further discussion.

Soap holds up his hands in surrender, gathers a few items from his bag and retreats to the bathroom.

Ghost spends several minutes figuring out his own piece of furniture. The thing is, he’s never needed the futon, only the sofa. After multiple failed attempts, he finally finds the right angle and amount of strength to pull and push until the bloody thing unfolds and rearranges itself.

Only now, he is faced with a different problem. Ghost doesn’t have an extra blanket and pillow, which he really should’ve thought about earlier. It’s not a difficult issue to solve. He takes a quilt from the couch and swaps it for his own blanket. The linens were changed two days ago, John should be fine with it. However, the pillow stays in Simon’s bed. If he were to use the small one from the living room, he would have a stiff neck for at least three days. Not worth it. He wouldn’t stand for John to be cold, but the pillow should be just a minor inconvenience for someone as young and fit as Soap.

Ghost quickly gets the futon ready and opens the window to let in some fresh air. It smells of rain and winter, Simon’s favourite combination if anyone ever asked.

John emerges from the bathroom, flushed and slightly damp, dressed in a plain khaki tee and black briefs. Ghost lingers on him, though not for too long. That would be rude and a little creepy, right?

“If you wake up before I do, feel free to check the fridge, make yourself a coffee or tea, everything’s in the kitchen,” Ghost instructs him. “Sergeant usually sleeps in bed with me, but maybe he’ll get curious.”

Soap blinks a few times at the last piece of information before he realises that Ghost is talking about his cat. Right. There was no way he would invite Soap into his bed like this. Not that Soap would want him to, right? They’re friends, and it would be too soon in any case. John realises Ghost is looking at him as if he expects Soap to say something.

“Aye, sure. Thank you again for having me.”

“Sure,” Ghost nods, “sleep well, Soap.”

“You too, Ghost.”

Simon retreats to the bedroom, leaving the doors slightly ajar for the cat.

[polakina]

chicago after dark

'scars do heal' chapter 7

pairing: captain price x reader

rating: explicit

outline: after negotiating with Valeria, the team sets out to Chicago to recover the missile. things go awry and the 141 is separated, leaving you and Price to navigate through a hostile city with no one but each other to watch your backs

warnings: getting into the good shit, smut, fluff, blood and gore, canon typical violence

requests are open! hope you enjoy, petals <3

masterlist II 'scars do heal' masterlist

II

Four days later.

“Just tell us where the missile is, Valeria!” Alejandro was growing tiresome of Valeria’s games. You had all been in this shipping container for hours now. Hours. Most of you had needed to step outside at times when it grew too hot to be in the room. Now you just resorted to keeping the door open to let a little air flow in.

You had resorted to sitting against the container’s interior facing Valeria, with Soap on your left. You fanned yourself with one had, fanning Soap occasionally when he nudged your leg with his arm.

“I told you…I don’t have it,” the woman sat in the same chair Hassan had sat in days earlier said, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “I can’t help you, Vargas.”

“Don’t-!” Alejandro stopped himself, hearing his voice raise several octaves and containing himself. “Don’t lie to me, Valeria. You have it. Hassan told us you do.”

“Oh, all chummy with Hassan now, are we?” She rolled her eyes. “Working together to get the missile back or something, huh? Then go fucking talk to him about it.” 

“He’s dead.” Valeria looked to you as you lifted your head. “And his last words were that you stole his missile straight out of his facility. So you can’t sit there and lie,” you stood up, Soap watching as you slowly made your way over to Valeria, crouching in front of her. “We’re in no fucking mood for games.” Nobody else spoke, everyone just had their eyes on you. Your tone felt dangerously low and calm. It felt even more dangerous than Alejandro’s shouts of anger. “Tell us where the missile is. Or this is gonna end really badly for you, Valeria.” she met your eye the entire time, her breathing calm and steady, but a pang of fear flashed in her eye for a split second when she registered the look on your face.

She took a second to find an answer. 

“He’s really dead?” She asked you, not casting a single look at any of the men in the room.

You nodded. “I killed him myself.”

Valeria cocked an eyebrow before looking around the room and back to you. “Chicago.” Alejandro stood up straight and everyone leaned forward as she continued. “My men took the missile to Chicago. We were never going to detonate it, we just wanted leverage on Hassan. He took my weapons, my equipment, killed some of my men. I wanted justice for that and for my people.”

“I understand that.” you said solemnly. “When we get the missile, we’ll give you the location to his main base.” Looking over to Price, you watched him nod once for approval before you turned back to Valeria. “When I was there, I saw a bunch of weapons stockpiled in one of the backrooms. Nothing that Hassan’s men had ever used, so I’m assuming it’s yours. You can go there, take back your stuff, whatever you want.”

“I give you the missile…you give me the facility?” Valeria was not expecting a negotiation out of this conversation. But she had no use for the missile anymore. If anything, it would put a target on her back from both government and other terrorist groups alike. She liked you. You were a woman of business. Just like her.

“Deal?” You cocked your head, holding out an outstretched palm. Valeria smirked slightly before taking your hand and shaking it firmly.

“Deal.”

You stood up and Alejandro motioned for Valeria to follow them out of the container. You all walked towards the briefing tent and Price quickened his steps to match your pace. “That was some good work back there, rook,” he muttered to you, quiet enough so no one else heard. “Good job.”

“Thank me when we actually find this missile,” you shrugged it off, keeping a watchful eye on Valeria. She agreed to help, sure. But you thought back to what Alejandro said; she’s sneaky. You didn’t trust her fully. But you trusted her morals for her people enough. 

“Hey,” Price’s hand brushed your arm, squeezing it gently. “You got us a lead. And a hell of a good one at that. Be happy with that for now.” He wasn’t wrong. This was a major breakthrough. You were one step closer to finishing this.

You fiddled with your fingers while Valeria gave the coordinates to the base where her men were holding the missile. It was a large industrial site with barbed fences and watch towers with spotlights on every fence corner. Valeria said she could send word ahead to let her men know that your team would be arriving so that none of you got shot on sight. Alejandro reluctantly agreed to let her contact them as long as he supervised the entire conversation.

-

“Okay,” Alejandro said as he exited the briefing tent where you and the team were sitting on various cargo boxes scattered across the floor. It had taken Valeria a while to get through to her men and you were already feeling dizzy from the shipping container, so you had stepped outside to light a cigarette. The rest of the team except Price joined a few minutes later. Price followed closely behind Alejandro. “We made contact. They’re expecting us. We should get going as soon as possible to make sure this is done quickly. What do you say, Captain?” He looked over to Price who already seemed as though he agreed.

“Let’s do it. I’ll speak to Graves, get us a helo to Chicago. You guys gear up. I’ll grab you when the helo’s fueled up and ready.” Price headed off to Graves’ tent where the Shadow Company had set up shop, to fill him in on the details.

You grabbed your gear from your room, changing your boots for your more comfortable, worn out boots. You went to the mirror, tying back your hair with a few strays framing your face. Splashing water on your face, you felt more awake than you had in months. It was probably the adrenaline coursing through your body. Your entire body felt alive, your hands shook, your head was racing. It was almost over.

Grabbing your vest, you headed to the helo pad where the boys were already waiting to board the helo. “Took your goddamn time, Nix,” Gaz smirked. “The fuck were you doing, braiding your hair?”

You rolled your eyes, moving to walk past him. “At least I got hair, Gaz,” you retorted as you slapped the back of his head playfully, boarding the helo. You heard the boys chuckle before following, whereas Gaz rubbed the back of his head and boarded last. He sat beside you, nudging your shoulder, you nudged him back harder, smiling.

“Alright boys, enough playing around, let’s get this shit done. And let’s do it fast,” Price stood at the cockpit to the large helo carrying you all, holding onto the framing above his head to steady his balance as the helo took off. “So when we get back drinks-”

“Drinks are on me,” the rest of the team echoed his words. The same words Price had been saying since the first day you arrived. You all smiled to one another and the helo carried you to their Chicago landing site.

-

Four hours was a long time to be cooped up in a metal shitbird with eight men. Soap hadn’t shut up since you’d left, singing little songs to himself from his home town. Ghost looked as though he was about to wrap his hands around his throat. Alejandro and Rodolfo found it very entertaining. Gaz was silent the whole time, you assumed he’d been trying to sleep but found no silence from Soap’s incessant garbling. 

You were going to be down to seven men at this rate. Soap was on his last warning from Ghost, but paid no attention to the man beside him. You smirked, leaning back and resting your head against the cold metal wall of the helo, praying that you would land soon.

Twenty or so minutes passed and Price came through on your headsets. “ETA two minutes. Get ready, guys, our mission will be over soon.” The headset connection crackled as Price clocked out of comms. You all grabbed your weapons and rose from your seats as the helo made its descent onto the designated helipad. You weren’t planning to use the weapons. But if worst came to worst, at least you were prepared.

The door dropped and you moved quickly out of the helo, Graves and Price following moments later. The pilot remained with the helo and the rest of you made your way to the entrance of the industrial site. You were greeted with three armed men, all bearing thick accents akin to Valeria’s.

“You must be the task force that our boss contacted us about,” the man in the center spoke for his team as he shook Price’s hand.

“That’s right. We’re here to collect that missile and take it with us,” Price nodded, eyeing the men either side who gripped their guns rather tightly. The center man nodded in acknowledgement and gestured for you to all follow him inside the facility.

“It’s pretty big, you sure you can transport it?”

“Our helo’s been equippned for transportation, it’ll be fine in our hands,” Graves pitched in, his tone rather cold. You squinted at him, suspicious of his attitude towards the people who were helping you. Sure he was a dick, but he could at least try to sound appreciative. 

“Okay. It’s this way, follow me.”

It all felt very easy. The missile was wheeled out carefully and secured in the transportation net that had been fitted to the underside of the helo to fly it safely to the detonation zone. The plan was to remotely detonate it from a safe distance in the middle of nowhere so it could never be used for malicious intent. So far it was all going to plan.

After securing the missile in place, Valeria’s men saw their job as complete and turned to Price. “So, our boss? Where is she?”

“Don’t worry, she’s fine. Once we’re back at our base, we’ll arrange transport for her to be brought here and then you can retrieve your equipment and whatever else you need from Hassan’s headquarters. The base is empty, no one with bother you there.”

Valeria’s men seemed grateful, smiling as they each shook Price’s hand in turn. After that, they retreated back to their site and you were all set to get back to the helo and go home.

“So, drinks are on you, huh Captain?” You asked, falling in step with Price and he shook his head, chuckling.

“Of course, I made a promise.”

Reaching the helo, you saw Graves communicating with someone on the radio, a rather grim look on his face. “Everything alright, Graves?” You cocked your head as he turned to your team slowly. His eyes were hooded and seemed darker than usual, his expression fixed in a scowled position. Something felt off. You held onto your gun a little tighter and you felt Price tense up beside you. 

“Oh, it’s all good,” his tone felt as though it was hiding something. You heard the whirring of helicopter blades in the sky, looking up you saw another Shadown Company helo hovering above you. You watched as ropes dropped to the floor in front of you adn the 141. Armed soldiers began to descend and the 141 looked to eachother in confusion. “Well, not for you. Sorry boys. A job’s a job, but mine was just a little different.” He boarded the helo carrying the missile and it ascended, while Shadow soldiers dropped to the floor. Your eyes widened as guns were pointed at the team. As quick as your reflexes were, they weren’t that quick. Thankfully, Price’s were.

“Guys! Go!” He shouted to his men and they scattered. Thankful you were close to him, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you over the edge of the helipad, dragging you both down to the icy water as bullets fired in your direction. You sucked in a gulp of air as you hit the water, pulling your body along the current until you were out of firing range and undetected. 

Surfacing, you heaved in a large breath, panting heavily as you looked around for Price. He also breached the water line before you grew too worried for fear that he may have died. “Price, you good?” You shouted over the loud crashing waves carrying you to shore.

“I think so, rook! You?”

“All good here, Cap.”

You both pulled yourselves to land, heaving your bodies out of the freezing water and into, somehow, colder Chicago air. The two of you shivered as you stood, looking back to the dock where the bullets couldn’t be heard anymore. Were the boys dead? Did they escape? You couldn’t even check comms to ask. Graves could be listening in on everything.

“Come on, rook,” Price patted your shoulder as he moved for the steps leading up to the street. “Let’s get out of sight before Graves or the company realise we’re still alive.” You followed behind Price, noticing after a few minutes how unsteady his walk was. From behind, you could see how one foot hit the ground harder than the other. Your eyes drifted to his waist. Price had one hand on his left side, holding pressure against it.

“Price…” you started, grabbing his right arm and spinning him around, concern painting your face. His face looked neutral, but you saw him wince slightly as he turned. “Did you get hit?”

“No,” he responded immediately, defensively. “Well, its more of a graze-” Before he could even finish the sentence, you were moving his left hand and lifting the soaked vest on his body. Blood coated his undershirt and your eyes widened in fear as you prepared for the worst. “Rook, it’s fine.”

“Shut up. It could be serious.” You didn’t even register that you were speaking to your Captain in that moment. You lifted his undershirt and saw a wound lashing across his waist. No bullet hole, just a nasty deep graze along his side. 

“See? Told you I’m not gonna die.”

“It could still get infected, Price. Come on, we need to get that taken care of,” you instructed while pulling his shirt and vest back down, grabbing his hand without thinking and making your way to the street. It was late and it was a weekday, there were barely any people out in the streets. You didn’t know Chicago well, but you knew it well enough to know there was a quiet motel nearby. “This way.” Pulling him along, you strode down the street to the motel. Price was perfectly capable of walking by himself, walking in step with you, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

-

Thank God someone put a waterproof pocket in this goddamn vest, or you would have been fucked. Paying the clerk for the night, you both made your way to your allocated room, double checking the locks after yourself. You were in the clear. For now.

Fuck knows where anyone else was, or whether they had even made it. But you couldn’t go back out there, not until Price was patched up. Looking around the room, you took note of the towels in the bathroom, grabbing a couple and placing them on the singular bed in the room. Checking the window before closing the curtains, you couldn’t see anyone on the street, or any of the back alleys in your line of sight.

Pulling your vest and jacket off your body, you were left in a plain black long sleeve with your tan pants and boots. It was fucking freezing. But you couldn’t stand around long, needed to fic Price up. Tossing your clothes over the radiator, you grabbed your wallet off the desk where you’d tossed it and picked up the room key.

“Okay, stay here. Do not touch that wound. I’m gonna grab some alcohol and some other stuff, I’ll be okay, okay?” You told Price as he sat on the edge of the bed beside the towels. He nodded, looking up at you. The graze hurt him more than he originally thought, you could see it in his eyes. 

“You going to be alright out there alone? I can come with, Graves could still be-”

“No, John. Stay here. I can move faster alone and the drug store is only down the road. Please just stay here.” He heard the slight desperation in your tone, and didn’t want to argue. So he complied, leaving you walk out and he began taking off his jacket and vest slowly while wincing from the shooting pain up his side.

You moved quickly, one hand on your radio strapped to your belt in case Price needed you. The both of you agreed to only use it in an emergency, and to use a closed frequency so it wouldn’t alert Graves. You hoped, anyway. Fuck knows what sort of hacking Graves could have done to get eyes and ears on all of you after his company would have told him that you’d gotten away. You could only hope the rest of the task force managed to get away too.

Keeping your eyes peeled for any non-friendlies, you made your way around the drugstore, grabbing some pills for the pain, along with a bottle of whiskey, clothes and some food. You had no idea how long you’d be stuck in Chicago, but you knew the task force had some connections here in the city. Hopefully tomorrow you could get in contact with them and get out of here and get a ride back to Las Almas. 

The cashier didn’t question your wet hair or clothes, or the blood on your hands. He was only young, probably a college student paying his way through education. But he did stare a few times, looking away quickly when you caught him the first couple of times. Still, he questioned nothing to your relief. After paying for your things, you gave the kid an extra fifty dollars to keep quiet in case any soldiers or police came into the area looking for a military soldier of your description. He looked at the bills with wide eyes, thanking you profusely and promising to keep his mouth shut.

Heading out of the store, you almost jumped as your radio started going off. “Nix? Nix, you there?” It was Ghost’s voice.

“Ghost?” You held the radio up closer so you could hear it, backing down a dark alley out of plain sight while you waited for an answer. “You’re okay? What about everyone else?”

“They’re fine. We found eachother after we got separated. Hiding out in the city right now. You escaped alone? Where’s Price?”

“He’s with me. Well, not right now. He got hit, nothing serious, but I left him in a safe place,” you stillw anted to stay vague in case anyone was listening in, but Ghost was just glad the both of you were alive. “I need to patch him up before we move to you guys.”

“Wherever you are, stay there tonight. Too risky moving right now. Price knows where our safehouse is in Chicago, its stockpiled with stuff and there’s a truck there so we can get on the road. Meet us at the safehouse tomorrow at ten, we can make our next move after than, alright?” You felt a weight lift off your chest as Ghost spoke. They were okay. And you had a plan.

“Okay, we’ll be there. Be safe, Ghost,” you said into the radio, your voice quieting as a couple walked past you, but they paid no mind.

“You too, Nix. Both of you.” The static faded, and you leaned against the brick wall of the side of the drug store while letting out a long exhale. Everything was going to be okay. But you needed to get back to Price and fix him before you did anything else. He needed to know about the rest of the team.

-

Price was still in the room, looking through his vest for something as you walked through the door, locking it behind you. He’d showered, from the lack of river stench, and the towel around his waist. The wound was on view for you to see, the blood no longer there but the graze still an ugly red tear in his side.

“How we doing, John?”

“Just peachy, rook,” he responded, looking over at you. He’d seen better days. He’d definitely seen worse though.

“Got in contact with Ghost,” your words made him stand up straight suddenly, which he slightly regretted as he clutched his side. “They’re okay, they’re all together. We’re meeting at the Chicago safehouse tomorrow at ten, Ghost said you knew where it was.” Price thought for a second before nodding. 

“I remember where it is. It’s a bit of a walk, which is why I didn’t want us going there tonight. We’d be too exposed for too long.”

You nodded, understanding. This was the closest place you could think of and you could lay low here for the time being.

“You used cash, right?” Price asked as he nodded towards the drugstore bag.

“Yeah, don’t worry. No one’s gonna tie us to it or find us. We’re safe for now.” Taking everything out of the bag, you handed him the pants and hoodie you’d picked up for him, you had to guess his size but you were fairly certain they’d fit. And they were comfortable, as were yours, which is all you’d wanted since dragging yourself out of that cold water. “Let me fix you up, then I’m going to shower. Feeling really shit since that swim.”

Price chuckled, “yeah you smell like shit too.” You rolled your eyes, throwing the pills at him which he managed to catch before they whacked him in the face.

“Shut up,” you breathed a laugh. Price went to the bathroom, changing his towel for the pants, leaving the hoodie draped over the desk chair. He came back out moments later, sitting on the edge of the bed. The pants seemed to fit him well, hanging loosely around his waist, but still fitting. You made your way over with the medical bandages, tape and alcohol, kneeling beside him to get a better look at the wound. “Now don’t move, because this is going to hurt.”

Price took the bottle of whiskey from your hands, twisting the cap off and taking a swig before handing it to you. “Yes, boss,” he joked. You soaked up the whiskey with one of the smaller towels you’d taken from the bathroom earlier, not warning him before pressing it against his side. He hissed through his clenched teeth as he gripped the edge of the bedsheet tightly. “Jesus fucking Christ, rook. A little warning would have been wonderful.”

You smirked slightly. “Don’t be a baby. You would have flinched away if I told you,” you said, looking up at him as he sat, practically leaning over you. “Besides, it’s payback for pulling me into the sea.”

“Saved your life though, didn’t I?”

“In the coldest way possible, yes.”

He chuckled again through the pain. “Okay, next time, I’ll leave your ass to get shot and save myself.”

“Hmm, you’d never do that,” you smiled, cleaning his wound with antiseptic and moving to grab the bandages. 

“You’re probably right,” he muttered quietly. “I could never leave you behind.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you ignored it. He was your Captain, of course he wouldn’t leave you behind. It’s just the same with any one of the guys in his task force. But still, something about it felt more personal. You felt a slight inkling that he wasn’t just talking about what happened at the dock. But you didn’t dwell on it too long, knowing that if you did it would probably gnaw at you for hours.

You wrapped the gauze and bandage around his wound, securing it with tape before leaning back, checking your handiwork. “How does that feel?”

“Feels good,” Price nodded, turning his waist to check the bandage wouldn’t come off. It was secured properly. “Thanks, Doc.”

“You’re very welcome,” you smiled up at him. “Now I’m going to shower, I feel gross.”

“You look-”

“Do not finish that sentence, John Price, or I’ll poke your bandage,” you pointed a finger at him, standing up as he laughed. You grabbed the clothes you had picked up for yourself, black sweatpants and a tank top, knowing you could just leave your jacket to dry and wear it tomorrow.

“Before you go, take off your clothes.”

Price’s words made you stop in your tracks. You looked at him over your shoulder. “Uh, what?” You could have said it without sounding so nervous, but your voice betrayed you.

“Sorry, let me rephrase that before it gets weird,” Price shook his head at himself. “There’s a laundrette downstairs. I’ll wash the clothes so they’re clean for tomorrow.” You didn’t know if it was relief washing over you, since a small part of you had kind of wished he had asked you to take off your clothes. Just under different circumstances.

“Oh, right,” you turned to him. “Good idea. Give me…give me a second.” You felt strange just taking off all your clothes in front of him so you thought you’d save yourself the embarrassment by doing it in the bathroom. Stripping yourself of all your clothes, leaving your boots by the bathroom door, you exited the room in a fresh towel and placed the bundle of damp clothes on the desk on top of his own.

“Go shower, get yourself warm. I’ll sort this out and I’ll be back soon, okay?” Price moved over to you and you looked up at him. You nodded, slightly nervous about Price being out in the open, as though you weren’t in the exact same situation not an hour ago. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I just…” you felt stupid for being this worried right now. “Want you to be safe, I guess.”

“Hey,” Price said softly, tipping your chin up with his finger as he had done back in your room all that time ago. “As sweet it is that you’re worried, I don’t think I’m going to get gunned down washing our clothes.”

“It’s a possibility, John,” you whispered your breath hitching as you felt him lean closer, his grip on your jaw a little tighter as he held you in place.

“Sure, but I’ll be back in one piece.” He kissed you softly, a hand on your waist to hold you close. You placed your hands on his bare chest, feeling his chest move up and down as he breathed. His skin felt warm to the touch. The kiss was short and fleeting, much to your dismay. “I promise.” He pecked your lips one last time before patting your waist, letting your jaw free from his hold.

-

The shower was such a warm welcome in contrast to the freezing Chicago air. You felt as though you could stay here forever. Cleaning your skin and hair from the ocean’s salty filth, you finally felt yourself again, smelling of vanilla from the complimentary shower products left on the side for you. Stepping out of the shower and being hit with cold air, you were quick to wrap a towel around your body, water droplets dropping from your hair down your body to the floor.

Drying your hair with a separate towel, you left it down to dry fully afterwards, still damp but not a complete sopping mess. Seeing yourself in the mirror, you told yourself you could seriously use some sleep. You looked as though you hadn’t slept in years, with only energy drinks and spite keeping you awake right now. It was not a good look. 

Putting on fresh clothes, you stepped into the main room. Price wasn’t back yet, but you expected that. Still, having Price not there with you set an uneasy feeling coursing within you. Being alone, you didn’t really know what to do with yourself. To keep yourself occupied, you sat yourself in a chair beside the window, eyeing the street for any shady movements. You saw nothing, but something still ate away at you. There were too many dark corners and alleyways, too many abandoned buildings that could be used for hideouts, too many places that soldiers could be hiding and watching.

It was easy to say that it was never a good idea for you to be left alone with your thoughts.

After a while, you heard the key lock into the door and your head whipped around to see Price walking in carrying a neatly folded pile of clothes. He locked the door behind him and set the clothes down on the desk. “How long have you been sat there?” He asked, smirking slightly as he looked at you curled up with a blanket around your legs.

“Um…I honestly have no idea,” you smiled. “I thought, like, twenty minutes. But I’m assuming it’s longer since you’re back already.”

“Yeah, I’ve been gone a while. See anything interesting outside that window?” He asked, pointing to the little slit in the blinds where you’d pulled them apart slightly to get a good view down the street.

“Nothing, really. Just some locals making their way home, I think.”

Price nodded, sitting on the bed beside your position in the chair. He looked over to the clock on the bedside table, seeing that it read eleven almost exactly. You still had quite a while until you needed to be at the safehouse, but it was on the other side of the city. The two of you would probably need to sleep soon since there was a long day ahead of you both.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Price questioned, practically seeing the cogs turning in your head as you gazed out of the window absentmindedly. 

“Just thinking…” you trailed off, too many thoughts running through your head.

“About?” He probed. Price didn’t want to push you for an answer, but there was something nagging at you and he was curious by nature.

“What we do when we get back.” You didn’t want to bring up Graves or anything that had happened, but it was bugging you and wouldn’t leave you alone. A distraction or something was something you needed right now, or else you weren’t going to sleep at all tonight. You just knew you’d be tossing and turning otherwise. “What we’re going to do about Graves, and what we tell Shepherd. There’s just…a lot to deal with.” Price didn’t say anything for a few moments, and you continued to look out the window with a watchful eye.

You felt the chair turning, Price holding onto either armrest and dragging the chair in a circle until you were facing him. Your inner thighs caged his legs between yours, and Price’s hands slid down from the arm rest onto the tops of your thighs. “Whatever we decide to do, we can figure it out tomorrow, okay?” He rubbed your thighs comfortingly. “Tonight let’s just-let’s just not think about it, yeah? Nothing we can do until morning.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you sighed, you put one of your hands over his while your other hand pinched the bridge of your nose. “I just gotta distract myself or something.”

Price’s fingers tightened around your thighs, digging gently into the flesh of your legs and grabbing your attention. “Rook, look at me.” He leaned forward until his face was merely inches from yours. You met his eye and tried to calm your breathing when you saw the devilish shimmer in his eyes. You failed with teh whole breathing thing, but you tried at least. “Let me be your distraction.”

He searched for any sign of discomfort and gave you a minute to say you didn’t want this before his hands gripped your hips and he pulled you into his lap. His hands roamed over your back, dipping under your shirt so his bare skin touched yours as he kissed you. This was different than the other times you had kissed. Those were soft, innocent, fleeting. Kisses in passing or kisses of comfort. This was passionate, setting a fire alight in you as his hands trailed to your ass and gripped the soft flesh there. 

One of your hands were on the back of his neck, holding him close, the other on his cheek. His beard tickled your palm and your cheeks as you kissed him with the same level of passion, the same level of fire. Your head grew so foggy with his lips on yours that you barely noticed the way he picked you up in his arms. You barely registered as your legs automatically wrapped around his waist.

But your brain clicked back into gear when you felt Price lay you onto the bed, his body hovering above yours. Holding himself up above you, Price’s lips moved to your neck, his kisses turning to lovebites as he pulled the sensitive skin above your pulse point between his teeth. Purple and red blemishes were left in his wake as his lips travelled further down.

The whimpers and the quiet moans that escaped past your lips only made Price want you more. The hardened evidence in his pants being proof enough.

“John…fuck,” you breathed as he nudged your legs further apart with his body as he made himself comfortable between them. You were watching him the whole time, and you watched as he looked up at you with hooded, lustful eyes as you said his name softly.

“What do you want, love?” His voice was low and quiet, calm and contained. But inside he was desperate for you. Dying to touch you and please you.

“Want you. Please,” you practically begged. If you weren’t so already enamoured with his kisses and his hands on you, you may have felt a sense of embarrassment. But right now you didn’t care. You couldn’t give a fuck what you sounded like.

But he loved it. The way you wanted him. The way you begged for him to touch you, to make you feel good. And that’s all he wanted to do for you. He was your distraction right now, after all. He had to live up to expectations.

Price kissed your lower stomach as he pulled down your sweatpants slowly. After removing your pants completely, he tossed them over his shoulder, not caring where they landed as his lips attached to your thighs. Biting, kissing, sucking the soft flesh in places that made you moan.

You felt his head move closer to the apex of your thighs, but what you felt more was the growing wetness in your panties. Price saw it too, smirking, knowing he was the one who did that to you. It felt as though a reset button was pushed in your body as he kissed your pussy over the thin, damp fabric of your underwear.

Letting your hand brush over the back of John’s head, you held it there to give a silent signal of exactly what you wanted. He knew what you were asking of him, and he was all too ready to give it to you, knowing he had beaten around it enough already.

John wasted no time, pulling your panties down much faster than he had with your sweatpants, diving into your cunt like a man starved. You gasped as his tongue licked a long stripe through your wet folds. His arms curling under your thighs and gripping your skin to keep your legs apart. Your free hand gripped the pillow you were laying on, your knuckles turning white as you fisted the soft fabric beside your head.

Words escaped you, your jaw slack as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently to send shockwaves through your body. Price learned your body quickly, where got the biggest reactions out of you, where you liked being touched and kissed the most, what he could do to you to bring you to the point of intense pleasure and exploit that needier and more wanting side of you.

“You taste so fucking good right now, doll,” he murmured against your cunt, his heavy breaths falling in step with your own. You whimpered at his words, and he smirked, realising how not only his touch and his tongue could pleasure you, but his words too. “Could stay between your thighs all night.”

You felt a knot tying itself in your stomach. Your thighs tensed and your breathing grew uneven and sped up slightly. “So why don’t you?” You asked, surprised by your own boldness. But Price liked it.

“Because, sweetheart, after I’m finished down here, I have other ways in mind to distract you.” 

Your stomach fluttered at his words, but your mind had no time to wander before his tongue had gently dipped inside your sopping hole. It made you gasp, feeling his tongue soon be replaced by his finger.

It was no secret that you hadn’t been in bed with anyone for a while. None of you had. The job took precedence, there was no time to play around. So all of these touches, all at once, it was overwhelming. But you loved it. Having your whole body and being in the hands of someone else. Of Price, at that. You could get seriously used to this.

Toes curling into the sheets, legs closing tightly around Price’s head as his fingers worked pure magic inside of you. They were thick, filling you so nicely, and precise as they pumped in and out of you with ease, his fingertips pressing against something devestatingly perfect inside of you.

You felt as the knot in your stomach coiled and tightened with every passing second. You were close, Price could feel it to. The way you breath laboured, how your eyes rolled into the back of your head, how your elgs began to shake uncontrollably. It only made him more determined, more focused on your pleasure.

His fingers curled deep within you, his tongue flicking your clit perfectly with every ministration. Your legs locked around his head like a vice as you cried out, pushign the crown of your head into the pillow. John’s name left your lips in a breathy moan as your orgasm overtook you. It flooded your veins with fire, your brain growing foggy and you began seeing stars. It ripped through you like a violent wave carrying overwhelming pleasure that you’d never felt before. But that didn’t stop Price. He didn’t leave your cunt until you were practically pushing his head away, whimpering at how sensitive he left your body feeling.

“Too much,” you whined, lifting your head to look down at him between your legs. His chim glistened with your juices, a grin on his face.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said gruffly, his voice low and wanting. “I got you.” He moved up your body slowly, leaving a trail of kisses up your stomach and your chest before reaching your lips. You moaned, tasting yourself on his tongue as it rolled around your own. Price shifted on top of you, his hardened dick grinding against your exposed cunt, pulling a quiet whimper from your throat.

“Please,” you breathed against his lips. You felt Price smirk as he kissed your cheek, his stubbled face brushing against yours.

“Use your words, love. Tell me what you want.”

Fuck, there it was again. His voice. It did something to you. It turned you on more than you realised a voice even could. Sure, when he raised his voice during interrogations or spoke quietly to the team during a mission, it sent shivers down your spine. But nothing at all compared to how your body reacted to this.

“Fuck me, please.” His lips covered yours once again in a passionate kiss before Price leaned back to undo the button on his pants. They were off quicker than you could blink before he was hovering over you once again.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he whispered in your ear, kissing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “How could I say no, hmm?”

You were already prepared for him, your cunt practically begging for his attention once again. But you still gasped as he pushed into you slowly. He filled you perfecfly, like a glove, and you couldn’t control the whimpers and moans that left your lips when he started fucking you.

Price started slow, easing in and out of youwhile his brain ran fuzzy with the feel of your warmth encasing his cock. His face stayed buried in your neck for a few minutes, attacking your skin with his kisses and his teeth, nipping and sucking to pull bruises and blemishes to the surface. He already felt like he could come right at this very moment, with the way you moaned his name, your voice wanton and desperate. He wanted this moment to last as long as possible. With your nails digging into his back and scratching long red lines down his skin, Price was hanging onto every fibre of his self control not to come too early. But when you whispered, begging for a faster pace, begging for him to fuck you harder, he couldn’t resist.

You could feel yourself near reaching another orgasm, fast approaching pleasure building within you. All the time with just yourself to relieve any stress or pleasure you, it felt so much better having someone else fuck you so good. Especially John.

He leaned up away from you, kissing you softly as he did. “Want me to fuck you harder, rookie?” Price smirked as he lifted your legs onto his shoulders, pulling your body closer to him, his cock thrusting inside you hard and making you moan.

“Don’t hold back,” you pleaded, and something sparked in his eye. He definitely was going to take your request and satisfy it. His thrusts were harder, deeper, hitting parts of you that even yourself hadn’t been able to reach. The new position made your head spin and your eyes roll. He’d practically pulled you onto his knees, your ass against his tensed thighs as he powered into you unrelenting. “Fuck, fuck fuck,” you managed to breathe out as you gripped the pillows above your head.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he gritted, fucking you hard, the sounds of squelching being the noly thing heard in the room besides your simultaneous heavy breathing. Your stomach coiled tight and your legs began to shake before you could even tell him you were close. He felt it before the words left your lips.

“Gonna…shit, gonna come, John,” you cried out, one hand gripping the pillow, your other hand digging half crescent shapes into his thigh, almost hard enough to make him bleed. But he didn’t stop, the pain in his thigh only made him fuck you faster.

You cried his name out loudly as you came, squeezing his cock hard inside you, flooding it with your release. It felt as though your orgasm went on forever, your legs shaking uncontrollably as John held them in palace, his fingertips burning bruises into your skin. Price’s orgasm followed not far after yours, releasing inside you and coating your walls in his seed. He released his hold on one of your legs, resting it back down on the bed and kissing your ankle of the leg still elevated. 

“Feel okay?” He asked, slightly out of breath as he let your leg rest down on the other side of him, reaching to brush the hair out of your face.

You could only nod, breathing heavily to fill your lungs with air once again. He smiled, leaning down and kissing you gently. “Good. Did that prove to be a good enough distraction?” He joked, chuckling.

You laughed along with him. “Even better than a distraction,” you said softly as he laid down beside you, pulling you close and wrapping his arm around your waist as you laid on his chest.

“Hopefully, not the only time we do that, huh rook?”

“Definitely not, Captain,” you managed to say before sleep overtook you. You didn’t realise how much it wiped out of you. 

He held you as you drifted into sleep, pressing a kiss to your forehead before closing his eyes, the dangers of the night leaving his mind as he fell asleep, your rhythmic breathing lulling him into slumber.

II

taglist:

@cumbermovels @lacunaanonymoused @greenpickledpickle

[ilikeyoualive]

Lore

Main Masterlist

No one knows what causes the phenomenon that had been classified as a 'Revenant', but in-depth studies have revealed evidence that Revenants had been human prior to their 'rebirth' as a creature of darkness.

What is known about Revenants is as follows:

Revenant’s eyes are completely black, and they also bleed shadow in full corporeal form. So, if you were to cut them, wisps of shadow would trickle from the wound. A Revenant’s host, on the other hand, bleeds black, their body infused with the Revenant.

Revenant's normally camouflage themselves as their host's shadow, hiding in plain sight.

It takes a constant flow of energy to maintain a Revenant's full corporeal form (ie: they look akin to a person), energy that the Revenant gets via their host, who has to drink a lot of water and eat enough for three full grown men. The younger the host is, the longer it takes for the host to become drained enough that the lack of energy becomes life-threatening.

Revenants are weaker during the day, though the weaker Revenants remain mostly dormant until dusk. The sunlight saps the Revenant of their energy, making them tired and lethargic. They can’t hold full form either, not without significantly draining their host’s energy reserve. So Revenants will generally stay in shadow form during the day unless there’s an emergency, such as a threat to their host.

The only way to kill a Revenant is to kill its host, since the host and Revenant are in a symbiotic relationship where the Revenant needs the host to help sustain it in return for the host gaining supernatural abilities. But be warned, host's can be very hard to kill since a Revenant can heal their host via direct contact with their host's skin.

The human body isn’t compatible with a Revenant, so the host has to make their body sustainable by getting six injections of a mystery concoction that’s murky white, the injections making their body change and adapt to prepare itself to house a Revenant.

The third injection is the PNR (Point of No Return), which means that the subject has to go through with the process because their body will start breaking down in order to build itself back up after the third injection. So, if the subject suddenly stops, then they’ll die without any chance of resurrection because their body still isn’t sustainable until the last injection.

The sixth and final injection kills the subject, which leaves their body open to habitation. Then, before rigor mortis sets in, one of the captured Revenant's will breach containment and go to the host to merge with them, essentially making them one entity with two consciousness's.

[thepixelmachine]

Looks like Johnny lost the sparring match, huh? Or maybe he’s winning?

(cropped, but should I release the full piece?)

[vanderlesbian]

dating simon riley means constant clinginess. large arms wrapped around your waist at any given moment, simon is most comfortable when he's holding you. after being away from a long mission, he'll find you wherever you are in your shared apartment and silently crawl into your arms like a puppy. he'll bury his face into the crook of your neck, slowly inhaling to bask in your scent that he missed more than anything. with an amused chuckle, you'll wrap your arms around his warm torso, gently rubbing his back. "no hello?" you'll tease, to which you always earn a content hum in response, along with simon's hold tightening ever so slightly.

dating simon riley means lots of playful teasing. if you make a typo in a text message, he'll begin spelling the word as your typo for the rest of the day. if you believed in a silly fact, he'd bring it up for the rest of your life. "this is like when you thought our blood was actually blue" he'd snicker, which would cause you to whine for him to stop and swat his arm.

dating simon riley means constantly being cared for. simon is a man who can do everything, or at least tries to. he somehow manages to get to all the chores before you do, which has ended in you reassuring him that you can handle it many, many times. when doing something potentially dangerous like standing on a ladder, handling a knife or using tools, simon will constantly glance in your direction to make sure something won't slip and injure you. like a spidey sense, he's quick to pull you away or come to your rescue if you're in a situation where you're about to hurt yourself. "you alright?" he'll mumble softly, dark eyes laced with worry that is a rare sight to be seen by anyone else.

dating simon riley means you have a second wardrobe. his large clothes are just too comfortable to resist, and he's often left searching the apartment for a shirt that you had placed amongst your own clothes. though, he makes no effort to steal them back from you, as seeing you in his tshirt, his boxers and his hoodie fills him with a loving possessiveness. he'll walk into the kitchen to see you turned away as you wash dishes, wearing one of his shirts as a short dress. managing to silently sneak behind you even with his bulky frame, he'll wrap his arms around you from behind and place a kiss against the nape of your neck. "you look so pretty in my shirt, love." he'll then purr into your ear.

dating simon riley means seeing a side of him that many never do. whether it be physically or personality wise, you see so much of simon that you can't remember the last time you referred to him as ghost. his large pointy nose, his dirty blonde hair that he always forgets to fix in the mornings, and his lopsided smile that appears when you tell the corniest of jokes are all things that many have never seen and never will. he speaks so softly to you; a low tone that you can feel reverberating in his chest when you lay against him. simon is kind, patient and vulnerable with you, and will mutter the words "i love you" against your lips, just loud enough for only you to hear.

dating simon riley means being friends with the rest of the 141. you were the one who wished to host hangouts at your apartment, wanting those closest to simon to like you. despite their intimidating demeanors, you quickly realized just how kind they were. they know just how important you are to simon, which is a rare feat in itself, so they would never treat you in an ill manner. soap will always refer to you as "the missus" when speaking to simon, which never fails to make you giggle when you overhear their conversations.

masterlist

[questioningmyexistence432]

'ᴏᴘᴘᴏʀᴛᴜɴɪᴛʏ.'

▣-▣-▣-▣-▣▣-▣-▣-▣-▣▣-▣-▣-▣-▣▣-▣-▣-▣-▣▣-▣-▣-▣-▣

having simon riley as a neighbour is like having a ghost next door sometimes - a little ironic considering his callsign before retirement but you don’t know anything about that. 

you’ve only seen him a few times and that’s in passing - a little nod of acknowledgment from him and a soft smile and wave from you. he relishes in it though - how someone so soothing to look at gives someone as rough around the edges as him that small amount of attention. he can see it though - he’s always been good at reading people. he can see how the gears turn in your head - how you quickly try to come up with some kind of conversation. but, he’s always gone before you can get your words out. 

the only time you can really hear any noise is when the man invites friends over - well, invite probably isn’t the word. they seem to come over unannounced and simon begrudgingly hosts them for the evening - always when there’s a football match on. you’ve connected the pattern there - not that it took much thought though considering the paper thin walls and a shouting scotsman on the other side. 

so, that was the routine between you two for weeks. it was nice - although, simon now had someone in his sights. someone he could look at and not touch - that’s how he saw the relationship between you two. 

he’d been lounging on the sofa of his apartment with an opened beer in his hand when he heard it - the sound of your complaints as you spoke to someone through your phone. paper thin walls did work out for something. he thought it over for a few seconds - mulling over the possibility of helping you out. ‘couldn’t hurt.’ - he decided while getting himself to his feet. 

he’d be helpful - even if it was for his own benefit as well as yours if the sound of you complaining was anything to go by. he knew he’d find an opportunity to sink his teeth in - one way or around. retirement provided him all the time in the world. he wasn’t one to pass up on a gift that was so nicely being presented to him - certainly, not one that involved his sweet neighbour.

[bunnys-kisses]

goin' for gold! (simon edition)

simon "ghost" riley

cw: smut/pwp, olympics fic, jealousy/possessive behaviour, simon hates the french (not really, but kinda), couch sex, cowgirl, big dick!simon, breast worship/play, hickies, naked!reader/clothed!simon

bunny says! reblogs, tags & comments feed the rabbit!

the summer olympics didn't matter until they did. while simon didn't care if the united kingdom won gold in things like track or fencing. he cared if they won in rugby or volleyball. but regardless, this was an england household. so why were you standing there in an oversized team france shirt.

"love." he said, not wanting to make accusations. he leaned forward in his spot on the couch, his elbows on his knees and his fingers interlocked. he raised his eyebrows, "what's that?"

you turned to look at him, you were standing nearby the couch. the word 'france' across your pretty tiddies. your pretty tiddies shouldn't say france. you asked, "what's what?"

he pointed towards your chest, "that... why is it team france, love? did you buy the wrong one. i know the colours are the same but, c'mon."

you pointed to the front of the shirt and smiled, "well, i'm cheering for france this year. since they're hosting! i always cheer for the team hosting the event." your smile was so pretty with your explanation for what you were doing.

he leaned back a little and placed a hand on his strong thigh, "lovie." he gave a small nod, "you know we're in england right? ya can't go around in that."

you nodded, "i know, si. that's why i'm wearing it in here." in reference to the home you both shared. you really weren't getting it. he watched you come over to him and sit down on his open lap. you cupped his face and smiled, "you don't mind do you?"

he chuckled and cupped your face. his eyes met yours, but his attention kept getting pulled to the garish shirt you wore. he sighed and replied, "of course i don't mind, but." he leaned in closer, his voice hot in your ear, "i think you'd look better without a shirt."

he couldn't help it, he felt a little jealous. france had you as a supporter for this years games? you should be cheering with simon on the couch. he'd even let you have some of his beer or even make you one of those sweet cocktails you loved so much. you should be in a different red, white and blue. the lines should criss-cross to make the flag of the united kingdom.

not france.

you poked your lover in the cheek, "you want to fuck while the opening ceremony is happening?" you giggled.

he reached for your soft hip and gave it a gentle squeeze, in reality he wanted to get you out of that shirt. he wanted it burned if he got his way. but he wouldn't say no to sex with you. he wasn't blind.

his pretty girl all snuggled in his lap as the opening ceremony was about to start. so he smiled and then took the bottom of that horrible t-shirt and yanked up.

you were in a flurry of giggles as you got up from his lap to give you a better ability to take your shorts off and then your underwear. you were soon naked, and simon had tossed your shirt somewhere on the floor. you smiled at the sight of him laid back in the couch and his hand around his leaky cock.

"excited for the games?" you asked as you got back onto his lap. you straddled his waist with your hands in the fabric of his shirt. your cunt painfully close to his erection.

taking simon's cock was a bit of a challenge. his cock was fat and his balls were heavy. when you first saw it, you couldn't fit it in your mouth. but years of dating have earned you enough courage to take it all.

you rubbed your slick pussy up against the tip before he took hold of your hips and sank you down on it. you moaned loudly from the stretch and gripped onto him tighter. you stomach leapt from the intrusion and you started to ride him.

the opening ceremony for the 2024 paris olympics has begun as you rocked your hips against simon. his cock snug in your tight pussy. you felt excitement race through you as you moved.

simon's attention were on your breasts now that they weren't advertising that stupid country. the french. ugh, he would've accepted almost any other country! why not ireland! or america? there were so many other countries! why france.

his hands then went to your pretty breasts once you established your pace. he grabbed at them and panted heavily. but soon touching with his hands wasn't enough and eventually he was kissing at them. which led to bite marks across the skin.

he wanted to see your nipples nice and bruised by the time he finished inside of you. he loved your breasts, doesn't matter if you were in a lace bra or a sports bra or no bra at all! he wanted to touch them, play with them, no matter the size!

the hickies grew darker the more his focused his attention onto the sweet flesh. he could feel your heartbeat under his teeth when he snuck bites further up your chest.

your hands were on his shoulders as you moved. "you feel so good, simon. ah!" you sounded so sweet. a sweet girl like you shouldn't be wearing the french flag! you were too pretty for that!

simon could feel the heat in his cheeks as he felt you rut against him with vigor. the heat reached to his ears and turned them pink as you rolled against him. simon continued to kiss and bite your breasts.

he loved marking you, he loved his hickies on your skin. he groaned against you and felt his cock twitch inside of you.

you kept up the pace, as the pleasure coursed through your body. you pushed the hair out of your face as you continued to move against him.

he praised you, murmurs against your warm breasts. he cupped them in his hands to give him a better angle to cover you in pretty pink and red marks. you were so beautiful.

the television kept playing as you humped against him. your cheeks felt hot all the way to your neck. you clawed at the back of his shirt as you bounced on him.

"my girl." he groaned.

"si!"

"i got ya, love. i got ya, forever." his eyes remained glued on your bouncing tits. he was mesmerized.

"si!" you whimpered as you really worked his cock. it all felt so good inside of you. you whined loudly when you orgasmed and held onto your lover's shoulders.

simon continued to sucked on your breasts. his teeth grazed across your nipples as he felt your cunt clench around his cock. as you slowed down, simon picked up the pace to reach his own orgasm.

his buried his face between your breasts and thrusted up into you rapidly. he felt them jiggle against his cheeks and soon he finished as well. you whimpered once more while he let out a low groan.

"that's it. that's it, love. so good for me." he panted as he slowed his pace.

soon after, you got off his lap and laid out on the couch, your head rested against his shoulder as you felt the lingering feeling of post orgasmic bliss. simon then wrapped an arm around you, keeping you close to him.

he showered you in kiss and love. you did look better without that horrible shirt on. plus, he loved the sight of your pretty breasts. no need to ruin it with a horrid country across 'em.

when he got you into bed to relax after the fucking you two had. simon went back to the living room and found your shirt on the floor. the bold letters of france glared at him. he turned off the television and grabbed the shirt before he tossed it in bottom of the trash in the kitchen.

you didn't need that, it was only right you'd be cheering for england. after all, they were going to blow those frenchies out of the water. the olympics didn't matter, until it did. <3

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

Secret Lovers

Simon "Ghost" Riley X F!Reader

Simon wasn’t someone who very willingly opened up to anyone, his teammates were no exception either, save for Price. It was always better to keep things quiet and let people assume what they pleased instead of trying to answer their questions. Better to remain mysterious than show your cards to the wrong person. a/n:this was originally started because of a snippet @thebeesatemyknees had written, thank you so much for letting me turn this into a full fic! I hope I was able to do it proper justice warnings:none, just tons of fluff Part 2

Simon wasn’t someone who very willingly opened up to anyone, his teammates were no exception either, save for Price. It was always better to keep things quiet and let people assume what they pleased instead of trying to answer their questions. Better to remain mysterious than show your cards to the wrong person. Johnny had badgered him from day one if he had a partner, going on and on about how much he loved his girlfriend. SImon wasn’t going to tell him anything, no matter what he’d keep his lips sealed.

Kyle was the next one to ask, though it was more in passing rather than a true and genuine question when he cornered the older man. They had been discussing mission details when the topic arose, did he have a next of kin? And if so, who would be the one to inform them if Ghost were to be KIA’d? He never asked Simon after that day, instead going on to different topics whether they had to do with the mission or what they wanted to eat. Kyle treated him like a friend, it was nice.

And John, well he knew all about Simon’s personal and very private life.

~~~

You were a new addition to the team, a medic that could stitch up a wound within a minute and get you back on the field within five. They were thankful to have you come around with them, helping stitch up a wound on Johnny’s arm, or cleaning up a gash on Kyle’s head. The only person who seemed to be a little wary around you was Simon, which both Johnny and Kyle felt odd. You fit in their group like the puzzle piece that was missing, and yet Simon acted as if he wanted nothing to do with you. Surely he’d warm up to you a little more, they were all sure of it.

“Thank you all for meeting me on such short notice. We’ve got word that an arms dealer is hosting a gala and we need to get more intel before we can swoop in.” Kate was a woman who took no shit and left no prisoners, she wasn’t going to risk this.

“Who do we want to send?” John was nervous, his men were trained for this, but putting them into a situation where they’d have to become someone else entirely? Nerve wracking.

“I was discussing it with Shepherd last night, and we’ve decided that Simon and Y/N will be going on this mission while the rest of you stake out the building.” All eyes suddenly shifted to Simon who looked calm as ever.

He’d forgone the mask for this mission briefing, knowing that only his teammates and Kate would be in the room with him. Knowing that you were going to be there made things a little more tense, could he handle something that dire?

“If you think that’s what’s best, I fully support the decision.” John wasn’t going to argue, Simon could be suave and charm the pants off of anyone if needed.

“Thank you, we’ll be heading out tomorrow and meeting up at the hotel. Promise me you’ll behave so no one suspects you, please.” Kate knew how much of a troublemaker that Johnny and Kyle could be, given the opportunity of course.

“I’ll make sure of it myself if need be, don’t you worry.” John smiled up at her, leaving Kate to wonder how much trouble there would be.

They would need to debrief you on the plane ride over, given that you weren’t even in the room with everyone. Having something like that just dumped on you with no time to prepare was the worst, how could they manage? Simon would just have John give you the rundown so he could worry about more important things, like how he’d have to act like the two of you were so desperately in love.

You would have an entire day to get comfortable in the hotel room, there would be a few people lingering so you’d get used to being stared at. Simon knew they’d mainly be staring at you, you were downright gorgeous. And with the clothes that had been picked out? A deep navy blue tux, with a pitch black button up and black silk tie. It perfectly matched the dress they’d picked out for you, a deep V down the front that left just enough to the imagination. The color matched his tux almost identically, the only difference was your dress was silk. 

“They’ve packed everything for you to do your own hair and makeup, we don’t want you to stand out too much, better to blend in.” It was the smartest idea, if you or Simon were to attract too much attention things would end badly.

“Yeah, Kate told me as much as she could, I made sure to pack my best heels.” You were nervous, it’d been so long since you’d been able to go out to something fancy.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” John knew you were smart and quick witted, but something about this mission unnerved him.

“I’m positive, Simon and I will get the intel and get out before anyone even notices we’re missing.” You were confident everything would go smoothly, Simon could be silent if needed.

John nodded at you, settling back into his seat as the plan began to descend down onto the tarmac below. Simon was staring at you from across the way, palms sweating slightly as the time drew closer to getting inside the hotel. Johnny was going to see how nervous he was and make comments, he was sure of it. The sound of tires squealing brought everyone’s attention to high alert. It was time to grab your things and head to the cars, you were driving over with Simon, leaving the other three to their own car.

It was mainly to not raise any suspicion, if you were seen driving with any man that wasn’t your husband word would spread before you managed to make it to the party. You were absentmindedly playing with your ring, twirling the obnoxiously large diamond with your other fingers. It was a habit you picked up whenever you tended to wear jewelry, though it was much better than picking at your cuticles.

“You feeling alright hun?” Simon glanced over at you, though his own nerves were shot, he wanted you to feel comfortable.

“A little nervous, but that’s to be expected considering the circumstances.” You kept twirling the ring, glancing between Simon and the road ahead of you.

Simon took a quick breath and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together without skipping a beat or taking his eyes off the road. You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face, you had been waiting to see how long it took before he finally felt comfortable around you. You’d need to practice around everyone else if you were going to look natural around a bunch of strangers. Everything was going to be just fine, you were sure of it.

John had set up everything in the hotel room, along with hanging up your dress and Simon’s tux to help steam out any wrinkles if needed. So far there was nothing to worry about, save for Soap acting like a little shit and pranking Simon and Kyle for the most part. You’d all settled in, changing into comfortable clothes and ordering food so that you wouldn’t have to leave. Simon was cleaning up the kitchen so he could sit down and enjoy dinner with you.

“Do you need any help?” You walked over to him, pressing your hand against his lower back.

“Nah, just need to finish cleaning this plate and we can eat.” Simon smiled at you, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Whatever you say.” You patted his back gently, heading over to the small kitchen table.

Johnny raised a brow at how you and Simon seemed to naturally work with one another, he didn’t want to raise any suspicion. Kyle on the other hand was ignoring him entirely, digging into his own meal and scrolling through his phone. Simon had finally finished, grabbing his plate of food and heading over to sit with you. He could faintly hear that you were both discussing the mission and going over your alias’ one last time.

“Simon, you need to wear your ring.” You’d gotten on his case the entire day, he kept taking it off complaining that it felt weird to wear it.

“I’ll wear it during the mission tomorrow.” Simon brough the fork to his mouth, focusing on his plate rather than your raised brow.

“You say that now, but when we end up leaving you’re going to forget it and then we’re going to have to drive all the way back because you won’t wear your ring.” You had put yours on right away, mainly because you were forgetful and didn’t want to end up forgetting it.

“Are you really going to make me wear the ring all night?” Simon’s expression would normally terrify a recruit, but you’d gotten used to it.

“If I want to make sure you have your ring on? Yes, I’m going to make you wear your ring until we get back on that plane and go back home.” You’d glue it on if need be, but Simon knew better than to disobey orders.

John chuckled to himself watching the two of you, it was a dynamic he hadn’t seen in quite a while and it was pretty funny to witness. Johnny on the other hand was now even more flabbergasted at the way you worked together. Why did you seem so comfortable arguing with a man who’d killed for less? This was something sinister and it unnerved him to no end, he’d get to the bottom of this.

You’d offered to clean up everyone’s dinner dishes, carefully cleaning any knives before laying them on a towel to be dried by Simon. He walked over to where you were, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull your bodies flush together. Johnny’s jaw dropped open as he slapped Kyle’s arm to get his attention. The playful bickering was one thing, but watching Simon the Ghost Riley be so affectionate? 

“Damn, he’s a good actor.” Kyle watched the way you and Simon began to sway gently, giggling at something he’d whispered into your ear.

“Scarily good, didn’t think he had it in ‘em.” Johnny shook his head, turning back towards the computer in front of him.

It wasn’t until the sound of someone kissing caught their attention once more. Simon had dipped you, lips pressed against yours as his arms wrapped around your waist. Johnny’s jaw dropped wide open, well if you weren’t together already that was surely going to change. You pressed your hands against Simon’s chest, laughing happily as you stared up at him.

“Cap, do ya think Lt and the medic are gonna get together after all this?” Johnny had high hopes, no one gets kissed the way Simon kissed you and simply part ways.

“What’re you talking about?” John barely lifted his gaze from the screen, typing up the pre mission notes to help catch up on them before.

“Simon’s practically tonguing the medic! He’s gonna woo her.” He waggled his brows at the older man, cackling when John rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yeah that’s not gonna happen.” John’s attention focused back on the task at hand.

Johnny’s laughing abruptly halted, what the hell had he meant that Simon wasn’t going to woo the medic, it was obvious! Clearly John had no idea what he was talking about, Johnny could see the little twinkle in your eye from across the room.

“Gaz, am I wrong or do ye think Ghost and medic are gonna end up together?” He was determined to get someone to agree with him.

“Oh, if they don’t I’m asking for her number for him.” Kyle may have had a slight crush on you, not that he’d ever admit it.

John sat upright in his chair, focusing on Johnny and Kyle who thought they were being more subtle than they actually were.

“Have you ever looked at their name tag by chance?” John wanted to see if the other two would finally catch on.

Both Johnny and Kyle shook their heads, neither of them had a reason to over analyze your name tag when they had injuries to be taken care of. He sighed softly to himself before glancing over to you and Simon. You were laughing at some bad joke Simon had whispered to you, a bright smile on his face.

“Her last name is Riley.” John watched as realization dawned on their faces.

You’d been married this entire time and no one, besides Price, was none the wiser. How the hell had you managed to keep it hidden from everyone? Then again Simon wasn’t the most overly friendly or affectionate when it came to anyone. You were his wife though, that was different! Surely you could bring out a different side of him, something that no one usually got to…of course.

“Would’ve been nice to know at least.” Johnny shrugged off his disappointment, this was a big thing to keep hidden away.

“It wasn’t my place to tell, just remember that.” John wanted to respect your privacy, it was the least he could do considering your line of work.

Johnny and Kyle understood why Price hadn’t admitted to questions about your relationship, but knowing the truth? It felt good. They watched the way you and Simon danced to the music playing from your phone. Simon’s arms were wrapped around your waist, pressing kisses all over your face as you tried to squirm away. It was a side of their teammate they’d never thought to see, and no one outside of this hotel room would ever get to see it.

At least, not until after the mission of course.

tagging: @gaylemonshark

[thegnomelord]

Okay fuck after reading @killerkillerkillher 's fic with demon Soap and Price, and angel Ghost and Gaz, it got my own brain worms multiplying (as if I don't have enough going on lol) so here's the au draft that's been rotting for a while lol.

So here's an idea for an au:

Reader is part of a small group of friends that are Ghost hunters/DIY exorcists (read: They're all drop out college students and the ghost hunting youtube channel's putting food on the table). Reader doesn't believe in the supernatural but the friends keep reader around because you're the group's 'ghost deterrent' because spirits GTFO when reader's near and reader thinks the friends are just bullshitting you.

Anyway the group are moving to a bumfuck town in the middle of nowhere where an old haunted house the reader's grandmother left is. Then their pos car breaks down an hour away from town. 'Luckily' the town's mechanic, Johnny, was just driving by and helps you lot out. And ain't he a handsome devil (emphasis on devil) thinking he can con a couple of young and dumb humans out of their souls. Soap's all hooded eyes and husky voice as he lures you away like a lamb to a supply closet, oil darkened hands sliding under your shirt and lips sucking dark hickeys into your throat.

He pulls away when you tug on his mohawk, raising his head until his lips are just inches from your own and you don't even notice him mutter a verbal contract, nor do you understand you've agreed to one when his lips crash on yours like he's drowning.

And Johnny's grinning into the kiss like a loon as he tries to take the soul of the stupid but hot mortal he's just met only to find out he... he can't. No matter how consuming his kisses are or how aroused both of you get your soul sits stubbornly in your chest and doesn't even budge.

When your friend bangs on the door and yells for you to "stop shagging every guy you meet!" you're forced to give an awkward goodbye and scurry away. And Soap's left completely bewildered and confused as fuck wondering what just happened and thinks he needs to tell Price.

Meanwhile, while your car's being fixed up, your friends drag you to the town's only pub that's run by a Simon Riley. He's an intimidating man without trying to be, but he doesn't immediately chase you out like some bar owners. He's quiet, listening to your friends chatter while cleaning a glass rough scarred hands, but the way he looks at you is... odd. Like you're an interesting bauble he's found on his gran's shelf.

He's there to catch you when you trip on a raised floorboard you swear wasn't there before. "Thanks, I owe you one." You say with a small awkward laugh, though for some reason it feels like him catching you had been an excuse to touch you.

"That so?" His thumb traces the dark hickeys across your throat, surprisingly soft, and you can feel your cheeks getting hot. "You let Johnny have fun with you?" His chuckle is rich like aged wine, fingers gently pressing down on a hickey; it feels possessive. "You'd let any old thing like me take from you, yeah?" There's something in his words that has a shiver running down your spine, though from apprehension or arousal you're not sure.

"Ye- eh, yeah." You don't know which question you're agreeing with, and you understand the weight of your words, quickly walking away from him before your friends can embarrass you by wolf whistling at you and him. And you completely forget to ask on how he knows it was the mechanic who gave you the hickeys.

With still some time to burn before sun sets you decide to visit the radio station in town, mainly because your friend swears on his life that those are always haunted or have some decrepit old host that knows all the gossip in town. And when you meet the man you had heard softly yet confidently talking on the radio? He's handsome, pretty brown eyes as enticing as his voice, and you're starting to sense a theme with you meeting all these very nice looking men.

But Kyle, or Gaz as he asks you to call him, is a wealth of knowledge to the point you're not sure where the gossip stops and some crumb of truth begins. He talks all the way into the night with you and your gang of amateur ghost hunters, and you see why he is the radio host because his voice is like the song of angels, silk soft on your ears and you feel like you could fall into the best sleep of your life from listening to him.

And all he wants from you in return for his knowledge? "Nothing much mate, just a small favor, I'm sure you'll manage." Kyle leans in and pecks your lips like he's sealing a promise, or a bargain, but that's just you being stupid after getting kissed by the second hot guy today, surely. Gaz already knows he can't just nab your soul, he has ears in every wall in this town, but at least he can put his own claim on you.

Day, for the most part, well spent you and your friends go to the house for a good night's rest. It isn't any good as you're woken up numerous times and by morning you have several broken vases and an exploded lightbulb — everything you explain away as the house being old as fuck, but your friends claim it to be the work of spirits — your friends drag you to the church on the hill at the asscrack of dawn.

And that's how you meet Father Johnathan Price. (Insert devil in church joke here)

He listens to your friends explain the situation, calm and collected, but you swear his eyes stay on you the entire time. "That's quite a predicament." Price hums, offering to bless you and your friends in hopes of protecting you from evil spirits.

You're the last to go, nearly jumping out of your skin when he grips your chin. "Relax my boy." Those words frazzle your brain enough for him to easily pull on your jaw until your mouth opens, his thumb almost playing with your bottom lip. The look in his eyes is dark, the air between you far heavier than it should be between you and a bloody priest. But Price doesn't see anything wrong with this, pressing a thumb down on your tongue and then putting a wafer on your tongue. "There you go, you are now blessed in the name of a lord. Now consume it, my boy."

You obey automatically. You're not quite sure if a communion wafer is supposed to taste so... weird, it has a coppery and peppery taste to it. Almost like spicy blood or something but that's just you being stupid again, especially as you can feel heat burning between your legs.

Sufficiently embarrassed about getting hard at a priest you give an awkward goodbye and leave, trying to fix your pants before your friends see your... problem.

Johnny appears by Price's side in a small flicker of flames and brimstone when you leave, confident smirk on his face. "Ooh, couldn't resist claiming a piece of him fer yourself?" He smirks, nudging Price on his side.

"I suppose he is more interesting than the usual rabble." Price hums, already imagining of how handsome you'd look laying naked on the altar, and how to get you to that point.

Congrats! Now you've got 4 hot dudes trying to take your soul :D

[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 3

2.9k | fluff To him, nothing existed outside the walls of his favourite flat (part 1) (part 4)

When was the last time Simon was this on edge about meeting someone? Probably when he first met his captain when he joined the SAS, about to take the CQB test.

What was he even nervous about this time? This was no first impression - he already scared you the first time you met. He was lucky you still wanted to talk to him after. If he were you, he probably would avoid the huge, grim-faced bloke with the horrible dad jokes.

That Sunday evening, wearing a crisp button down, he knocked on your door and waited. He had his sleeves rolled up his forearms, trimmed his scruff that morning, even put on some cologne, but as he stood there he realised he never explicitly stated this was a date.

Did he need to? He wanted it to be without having to say it. He knew assumptions were the leading cause of misunderstandings, but would you still want to go if it was?

You emerged from your flat with a sweet smile, wearing a cute dress and pretty heels, all dolled up for the evening. You looked like you were ready for a date. Was this a date?!

He blinked, the fabric of his shirt strained slightly across his chest as he breathed in. “You look lovely.”

Your smile widened. “Thanks. You look nice yourself.” Your gaze lingered, but he hoped not because you thought he was trying too hard.

In front of his car, he silently offered you his arm. He wasn’t even looking at you, but he heard your faint chuckle when you took it to walk up to the restaurant.

“I’ve got a reservation for 2 under Simon Riley,” he answered the young host.

“Mr. Riley…” He repeated as he went through the tablet. “I’m sorry, perhaps a different name?”

Simon pulled out his email confirmation.

The host squinted at the phone and upon realisation widened his eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. There must be a mistake on our end. Your name isn’t on the list.” He blinked. “We’re uh- we’re fully booked tonight.”

“Can you please check again? Or is there a way you can squeeze us in?”

The host winced, and at this point he reckoned it was more from scrutiny of his stare rather than the unfortunate error.

“I’m terribly sorry, but we’re booked solid, sir.” He swallowed. “May I let you know if something opens up?”

No, no, no. His first night out with you wasn’t going to be ruined. Did he have to intimidate someone into giving up their table? He knew he could.

“It’s okay, Simon, we can go elsewhere,” you reassured, your hand still on the crook of his arm.

No, he didn’t want to go anywhere else! He wanted this. You wanted this.

You thanked the host and led the defeated soldier out, rubbing his inked forearm. On the pavement, absolutely gutted, he turned to you, shoulders sagging.

“Hey, isn’t that famous taco shop nearby? Just down the street, I think?” You looked up at him. “Been meaning to try it. Do you like Mexican?”

It didn’t matter what he liked. “We can get anything you want.”

Your warm hand remained on him the short walk to the place. Unfortunately, it was packed, leaving no table left so you got the meal to-go. He felt terrible - you got all dolled up for his plans to go sideways, only ending up with tacos in the car.

You nudged him with your elbow. “Don’t look so sad, Simon. We can pretend this is round two, the late-night snack because the fancy dinner wasn’t filling enough.”

He glanced at you, your smile bright as you looked up the sky, your hair danced to your steps. He smiled to himself. At least the weather was nice, and most importantly, you were there. His for the evening.

“Oh, those are humongous!” you gasped, steps coming to an abrupt stop.

He followed your line of sight to the bright display of a tucked away cookie shop. You tugged on his hand as you made your way there. He chuckled lightly as you revelled in the selection, leaving with four hefty cookies roughly the size of his palm (which you fought him to pay for).

You beamed up at him when he took your hand which fitted perfectly in his. He wished the walk to the car was further so you didn’t have to let go so soon.

While dinner delighted you, Simon was trying his best to pretend the coriander in his mouth didn’t taste like soap. His eyes closed as he breathed in deeply.

“Simon, you should have told me you don’t like tacos.” You grimaced.

“At least you’re enjoying yours.”

“I am, but it’s no fun if you don’t! You eat each in two bites, and chew like you’re trying not to throw up.

“’m fine.” He’d had far worse in the field.

“You need to tell me if you don’t like something next time, okay?”

He hoped there would be a next time.

“Should we get you something else? You can’t tell me you’re full.”

He sighed and gave you a sheepish smile. “Maybe Chinese near the flat?”

You laughed. “You’ve got good taste.

While Simon got the takeaway, you headed to your flat. He figured he might as well get changed into more comfortable clothes to enjoy his dinner in, still annoyed by how the evening turned into another mediocre night in.

His mum popped out of his kitchen with a mug of steaming hot tea, grinning. “Si, the cookies are mint. You should have taken me there!”

Oh? You’d raved about them, but the two you saved were for his mum? Why did you have to be this kind? So generous, even after the lame evening.

When he made his way to yours, you’d left your door unlocked. You lounged on the couch, your hair still damp, watching a baking show.

“What’s this?” He sat next to you.

“Great British Bake Off. Have you seen?”

He shook his head. “Don’t watch a lot of TV.”

“The cookies put me in such a baking mood.”

He scarfed his meal down in silence, simply grateful this round didn’t taste funny.  When he was done, he brushed against your arm as he placed the empty takeaway box on the coffee table. He casually stretched his arm along the back of the couch, and you scooted closer, pressing against his muscled thigh. The couch didn’t feel so small anymore, but he needed it to be even smaller.

The steak dinner might have failed, but this wasn’t bad at all - staying in, enjoying your quiet company like this. Maybe you didn’t mind his presence after all.

While this sort of show was not his first pick at all, to his surprise, the calmness mesmerised him. Despite the tense nature of a competition, the show was serene and kindly. You were right - it was quite inspiring. Although he couldn’t help but laugh when the sweet Merry Berry earnestly said ‘soggy bottom’ when judging the contestants’ pies.

Simon peered at you. He’d never learnt to cook beyond turning things edible, let alone bake anything, but watching deft hands peeling, slicing, rolling and braiding was hypnotising to say the least. He wondered when you we’re going to bake again because he’d love to watch you and your delicate hands again.

Should he get the apples? Would you knock on his door with another pie if he did? If he could do it all again, he’d have leant in to kiss you instead of leaning against the doorframe to scare you.

When the episode came to an end, he excused himself for the night. It was later than the time he usually left, but losing a little sleep over your company was worth it.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask where you got your hoodies. They look so thick and comfortable.”

“They’re from this shop near the base. Would you like one?”

“I’d love that! Could you take one of mine for size reference?”

He nodded and you went to retrieve your hoodie from your room.

“Please don’t judge! It’s my favourite.”

With a small smile, he took the old and faded hoodie from you, knowing it had the most soul. “They’re the best when they’re worn, yeah?”

Back at base, Simon placed your possession carefully in his wardrobe. It felt oddly intimate to be trusted with your clothing, especially your favourite, like it didn’t belong in his cold and dark room. But as he lay in bed, he wondered why he didn’t kiss you on the cheek, or anywhere you allowed him, really.

He turned to his wardrobe. You wouldn’t mind terribly if he kept your hoodie on his bed, would you? He stifled a smile when he laid it next to his pillow. He thought of the movies you watched wearing said hoodie, the teas you sipped. He wondered if you’ve danced in it alone in your kitchen, and to which songs, and what you were cooking.

That night, in the silence he didn’t want to break, he sighed softly. Things could be alright after all.

While Simon had been busy that week, he could leave base on time that Friday and arranged dinner with you (and his mum too, of course). He even had some time to drop by the hoodie shop to get you one (you didn’t need to know he got the exact same one for himself), although he was a little gutted that he didn’t have an excuse to have your hoodie with him anymore.

He picked you up from work before driving to his mum. He was excited to present you the gift which sat in his backseat, but he figured he’d do it later at the end of the night at yours. You patted his forearm when you got in the car, and he just couldn’t look away from your smile. Your hands lay idle on your thighs during the drive and he itched to grab one. He prayed for a moment, an excuse, an opportunity.

But when he pulled up at the bakery, from the large window, his eyes narrowed at the scene in the usually peaceful shop. His mum stood behind the counter, hands clenched over her chest, next to an elderly man who was shouting at another man in front of the counter.

Rage flared in the lieutenant. He slammed his door shut and stormed into the shop, throwing the door against the wall.

The man in question turned at the interruption. It was the devil of Simon’s nightmares, Mr. Riley, eyes wide as he registered the sight of the livid 6ft 4 soldier. Simon strode across the room and took a huff of breath before pulling his fist back. The blow knocked his dad straight onto the floor.

“Simon!” his mum gasped.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he spat at his dad who cowered from him.

“I’m- I’m just trying to apologise. I know I was wrong for what I did.” He held his skinny hands up, as if they could protect him against his son’s wrath. “I’m a changed man, Simon.”

A changed man? Yeah, right.

“What you’ve done is unforgivable, and the least you can do is leave her alone,” he said through gritted teeth. He pulled his fist back again, and his dad closed his eyes in resignation.

“Si, no. He’s made enough of a scene.” His mum pulled him by the shoulder. “Come on, Si. Don’t get yourself in trouble for him.”

He heaved, pausing, but his fist didn’t relent. Still pulled back, like the string of a bow more than ready to snap, the tension in his arm aching. But he remembered you were there, witnessing everything, how the illusion that he was an ordinary man crumbled.

It was a rude awakening that even when the pain in his life was out of sight, he was still the Simon with all his baggage. That day, the disgrace clawed its way out of the ground like the undead. Because this, his history, was never dead to begin with. He was cursed with the shame of being related to such a man.

“You don’t want to find out what I’m going to do if I see your face again.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave her alone.” He held his trembling hand up, scooting backwards before scrambling out the door, bumping into you as you watched in stunned silence.

“Melanie, you can go,” the elderly man behind the counter said.

She let out a shaky breath and disappeared to the back before emerging back with her belongings.

The room was tense, and with a tight smile, you only nodded at who he assumed to be the owner of the bakery. You went to his mum, rubbing her arm as you led her out. Simon hadn’t said a word since, his fists in his pockets, telling himself to not run after his dad and bash his face in once and for all.

Though on the outside it looked business as usual with Simon, always quiet with an icy stare, he was seething at dinner. The meal didn’t taste any better than MRE as his fork stabbed the pieces of whatever-it-was on his plate.

His mum seemed unaffected too, chatting and laughing with you, patting your forearm. As if she’d expected it, like her husband was a sentence that haunted wherever she went, waiting to strike. Thankfully, you were nice enough to not ask anything about the incident, preventing the evening from being even more shameful.

While you went to your flat to settle in, Simon and his mum went to his.

“What did he do to you?” he asked as soon as the door closed.

She sighed softly. “He was grovelling, asking me to come back.”

“How did he even know you work there?”

“I’ve got no idea, Si. But he always finds a way to get what he wants.”

He stared at her, wondering what that meant - if she was folding. He looked away before letting out a deep breath, running his fingers through his overgrown blond hair.

“I’ve been thinking about it. I’m arranging a meeting with a divorce lawyer.”

His lips quirked into the tiniest smile. It was about time.

After a shower, Simon knocked on your door. You didn’t seem to lock it anymore when you were expecting him. From the couch, you looked over your shoulder with a smile.

“I figured it was an Earl Grey kind of night.”

You had the kettle on the table, next to two mugs – one empty.

His eyes flicked to you, standing by the couch. “You must be wondering what the fuck that was.”

“Oh, you don’t need to tell-“

“That was my dad. My mum came here to get away from him.”

You gave him a sympathetic nod, patting the seat next to you.

He dropped himself onto the couch. “He hasn’t been nice to my mum to say the least. Hasn’t been to any of us in fact.”

“Must have taken a lot of courage to walk away, leaving everything she’s ever known.”

He turned to you, brows raised. “She told you?”

“No, but it’s not hard to see. She’s got no one here except you. Something must have happened back home.” You paused. “I know it’s just… difficult to do two people’s work.”

His gaze stayed on you, watching how yours cast down. He didn’t know what possessed him, but he asked, “How do you deal with guilt?”

“Accept that sometimes it’s not your fault.” You scooted closer, your hand on his. “That sometimes there’s nothing you can do even when you desperately want to. That you’re not always the good guy in everyone’s story.”

He leaned into your shoulder, his nose brushing against the smooth skin of your neck as he let out a long sigh.

You wrapped your arms around him. “I told you I’ve only got my dad now. He kept forgiving my mum, but it just didn’t work when your heart’s not there. It might have not been my fault things fell apart, but I wanted to have a hand in rebuilding what’s left. I like to think we’ve been having a pretty good time.”

Simon could tell you were smiling from the climb of your voice.

“You’ve still got your mum. There are still nice things to be had.”

His thick arms slipped around your waist. The TV droned on as the last half of your tea went cold, but you didn’t let go, fingers running through the hair above the nape of his neck.

His shoulders were still heavy. His dad wasn’t out of their lives yet, but with you like this, it was easy to forget it all. That anything else existed outside your quiet flat – his favourite flat.

He sat back and pulled you to him, an arm around you. You put on another episode of GBBO and lay on his chest. As the both of you stayed wordless, he contemplated if he could let himself stay - the couch or the floor would be fine. He wouldn’t leave if you asked, but you didn’t.

Near midnight, he excused himself to his flat - his first time staying there since his mum came. At the door, he braved himself to kiss you on the cheek.

“See you at breakfast.”

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mangoguy @eve-lie @luvecarson @ghostslittlegf @gluttonybiscuits @jaguarthecat @nocturnalreader106 @devils-dares @sparrowgalaxy

[sexydoffyman]

Omg omg I loved that Ghost fluff post ♥️ hard to think of a request besides some sweet domestic headcannons for Simon and or Alejandro 🙏

FLUFF HEADCANONS

genre: fluff

characters: Simon Riley, Aleandro Vargas

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

Ghost is a very understanding and patient man. He rarely flips out and if when he does he calms down in an instant. But when all of that stress that he keeps inside has to get out, he seeks out only one person. It’s you. Only you can calm him down. Only when he lays in bed with you he truly relaxes.

If he comes back home from deployment and finds you asleep on the couch, with almost no strength he lays on the couch next to you. He can feel his heart beat. But more importantly, he can feel your heart beat. He knows that someone close to him is still alive. And that’s more than enough to calm him down.

He likes physical touch only when it’s done the correct way. Masaging his back no, scratching his back tho. Yes, he loves getting his back scratched. The only ones who know are you and Soap.

He could care less if he breaks something on accident, but if he breaks something or causes some sort of damage because he’s angry. He has to cool down for a while, feeling guilty.

Ge despises people who hurt animals. Even a cat getting a slight kick from a kid. He can’t handle it. If it doesn’t hurt the animal permanently he goes to scold whoever did it. And trust me, there’s nothing more scarier than a 6.4ft tall dude who is asking you, what in the fuck made you do it.

ALEJANDRO VARGAS

He is way too good with kids. When he’s off deployment he plays football with whichever kids come to the football field in Las Almas, destroying them instantly. Every time he walks in the streets of Las Almas little kiddos are hanging from his arms.

He likes “stereotypical feminine stuff” he likes dancing, drawing, sewing, arts and crafts in general.

He is a very active man when on duty, but very sleepy when he doesn’t have to get up. This man can sleep for 12 hours straight and still be tired when he wakes up. He likes cuddling. He likes it a whole lot. He doesn’t mind sleeping in one bit to stay in bed with you a little longer. It gets to the point where you have to pull him off of you.

Yes, he’s good with boys, but he’s also great with girls. When you bring your cousins or nieces over his magic starts magicing. He lets them paint his nails, he draws with them, he plays with their dolls. He just adores them.

A really great dancer. He once won a dancing show hosted by one of your family members. That’s also how he met you. He never says no to a dance. Never.