that-sudsy

[that-sudsy]

💀 "Johnny...? Are those... my clothes...?"

🧼 "Aye, Lt. Seems they are." 😁

Free 4k on my P@treon as always~

[that-sudsy]

Edit not mine, it's just my favorite

[that-sudsy]

THE TACTICAL FROG | GAZ FANFIC

FT. TASK FORCE 141 IN NEW ORLEANS

a/n: this story is inspired by the story Princess and the Frog but there's no princess in this story. Please do not steal my work. And the drawing is create in Infinite Painter (free version)

In the streets of New Orleans, the team was sent to stop a group of mercenaries who were busy with a mission there. As always, New Orleans was known for its voodoo.

Gaz, on the other hand, due to his kindness and soft-heartedness, got tricked by a man in New Orleans after helping a young woman in the streets. He knew New Orleans was tricky, but he never thought he would get deceived. The man showed him magic using tarot cards, and then he nicked Gaz, taking his blood and cursing him, turning him into a frog. The team searched relentlessly for Gaz, and even in his frog form, he tried his best to catch their attention. He jumped on their feet and croaked, doing everything he could think of, but he always got dismissed or kicked away.

"Great, just great I'm a Tree frog stuck in a city of Jazz and Trickery."

Now he roamed the streets of New Orleans in frog form, hopping from alley to alley. He tried to get his team's attention, but they were too quick. He tried to catch their eye, but his frog legs were too small, and they didn't notice him, leaving Gaz alone in the rainy alleyways of New Orleans.

One night, Gaz stumbled upon a party. He saw people celebrating, wearing costumes and props, and one of them was a woman wearing a crown and a blue dress. Gaz hopped his way there as far as his frog legs could carry him and stood on top of a garbage bin, his frog form helping him blend in better among the New Orleans trash. Gaz's heart raced anxiously, fearing someone might find him as he watched the beautiful woman in the crown. He didn't know much about the people here since he didn't belong in the first place, but her graceful movements caught his attention. Gaz's eyes followed her every step, feeling a mix of desperation for help and shame at his current form. Maybe she could help him, he thought.

He watched her from the bin as she stood on the balcony, looking at the stars. He leaped to the ground and into a waitress's trolley filled with grapes and fruits. While the trolley traveled, he ate some grapes until it was time to jump out. He jumped up the stairs and onto the balcony where the woman was. He didn't know why he felt drawn to her, but he thought he could probably trust her. When he croaked accidentally, he startled her, making her back away. So, he stood on his hind legs and spoke.

"Please don't leave... I need to talk to you," he said in his British accent, whispering desperately while watching her back away.

She turned around and screamed, picking up a "Princess and the Frog" book, ready to hit him. Then realization dawned on Gaz.

"Wait! That's it! The Princess and the Frog! You can help me!" he exclaimed, realizing that maybe the legend was true.

She still looked ready to hit him, so Gaz quickly hopped behind another bin, his heart pounding as he heard her distressed scream.

"Oh no! Wait, please, I can explain!" he tried to call out, but his frog voice came out distorted and scratchy.

"...are you talking?" she asked in disbelief.

Gaz peeked around the bin, his frog body shaking slightly as he realized he was being observed. "Yes, I can talk! And I'm not... I mean, I used to be a human, but..." His words came out in broken croaks as she slammed the book on him, squishing the poor frog. But his quick reflexes saved him, though his frog body got hit on the back leg.

"AHHH! Stop! I really am telling the truth!" he attempted to stand up straight while hopping backward. She paused, and Gaz quickly regained his balance, standing awkwardly on all fours.

"I swear on my old human life that I'm being honest! The frog thing happened completely by accident..." he said, his voice getting quieter.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Gaz nervously stepped forward, keeping his distance but trying to appear less threatening. "I was cursed by a voodoo witch here in New Orleans. I didn't ask for this..." He looked down at his frog body. She winced in suspicion, listening to him.

Gaz's frog eyes looked up at her with a mix of shame and pleading. "Please... I just need a way to break this curse. I won't harm you, I promise..." His voice broke slightly.

"And that is?" she asked, looking at him.

Gaz fidgeted nervously, his frog legs shifting on the balcony ledge. "The only way is a kiss from you..." His voice trailed off, feeling vulnerable.

"A kiss?" she asked.

Gaz's face turned red with embarrassment, his frog body shivering slightly. "Yes... but I understand if you find me repulsive like this..." His voice became softer.

"Never... I'm not kissing a frog," she said, but Gaz was giving her puppy eyes.

Gaz's frog heart skipped a beat at her response, but he maintained his composure. "You're... not? But... I'm just... a frog with bad luck..." He hop-stepped closer cautiously. She looked into his brown orbs, wondering if he was telling the truth.

So, she picked him up and sighed. Gaz felt the warmth of her hands on his frog body, his heart racing with mixed emotions. The frog's soft croaks were unusual; you don't find talking frogs every day.

"You sure about this? Just one kiss?" she asked.

Gaz's heart pounded furiously, his frog legs trembling with anticipation. "Y-yes... just one kiss..." His voice was barely a whisper as he leaned forward slightly.

She kissed him, and as sparkles of magic rained over them, magic happened, but there was no change to Gaz's form. Gaz stood there in shock, his frog form still intact. "What... I don't understand?" he looked at his hands, then back at her, his voice now deeper and more human.

The girl groaned in the puddle of her dress cloth, now in her frog form. Gaz grumbled a curse, "Shit," as he hopped off the ledge and into the puddle of cloth. "Here, let me help you," he said.

"What?!" she yelled as she looked around, then at her hands, seeing five fingers. All she saw were three slimy webbed fingers, making her panic. "No, no, no, no, no, no!" she rambled.

Gaz tried to calm her down, realizing she was panicking. "It's okay, I know this is a shock... you might want to avoid mirrors for now." He tried to reach for her hand, but in her frog form, she pounced on him in attack. "What did you do to me!?"

Gaz dodged her attack quickly, his frog reflexes making him move instinctively. "Whoa! I didn't do anything!" He stepped back, holding up his hands. "I'm slimy! I'm moist!" she rambled. "Look at me! I'm an amphibian!" she yelled.

Gaz tried to keep a straight face but couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction. "Yes, you are... It's also dazzling too... you're sparkling under the moonlight, darling. I'm pretty moist too... see?" He glanced down at his own froggy body.

"This isn't supposed to happen! You said it would break the curse!" she panicked.

Gaz moved closer, trying to soothe her panic. "Hey, hey... I know, but I didn't mean to turn you like me. We're in this together now. Just breathe with me..." He sat down cautiously, and she pounced on him in anger.

Gaz caught her in mid-pounce but gently pinned her down. They were quite small on the big balcony, and the chatter of people in the other room could be heard.

"Okay, okay! Calm down! If you take this as anger, nothing will be solved," he tried to maintain his calm despite his new frog strength.

"You're stronger than you look..." she said.

Gaz let out a soft chuckle, his frog face showing genuine amusement. "And we're both pretty cute frogs... in our own way..." Still holding her down, suddenly a guest lady screamed, "FROGS! EW!" before kicking them off the balcony, making them fall into the fountain below.

"We need to get out of here!" Gaz grabbed her tighter, his wet skin sliding against hers. "These people aren't being nice..."

She still hopped, following him, trying to hop instead of running on both legs. Gaz maneuvered them through the crowd, trying to find an escape route. "I think I see an alleyway over there!" he pointed urgently toward a narrow passage. "Come on, quickly!"

They managed to slip into the alleyway but found themselves surrounded by more aggressive citizens. "Stay close!" he said as he dragged her along until they reached a clearing in a lot full of tall grass.

"I didn't get your name," she asked.

Gaz turned to face her, his wet face showing a hint of amusement. "I'm Sergeant Kyle Garrick, but you can call me Gaz. And you are?" He tried to keep his cool despite the situation.

"Y/N L/N."

Gaz's expression shifted to a mix of shock and understanding. "Y/N... wait, you're a commoner? This is bad..." He looked at her with concern. "We need to get you somewhere safe..."

She looked at him. "I never said I was a princess."

Gaz's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're not a princess? But you just... wait, you helped me without hesitation... and you're a commoner?" He tried to process this revelation.

"What made you think I was a princess?"

Gaz scratched his head, still damp from the fountain. "Well... you have this kind of... aura about you. You were dressed differently, with a crown that looks real not to mention you helped me without hesitation..."

"It doesn't mean I wear a crown and I'm a princess." You said like it was obvious

"And now we're both frogs!" Gaz ran his hands over his new frog legs. "This is all so all my fault..."

Gaz looked down at his new legs, then back at her. "At least we have each other to rely on now." He smiled weakly.

Gaz noticed the growing commotion from the crowd outside the alley. "We need to keep moving. The citizens are getting restless, and they seem determined to find us."

Gaz spotted a maintenance entrance nearby. "This way! There might be some supplies or tools we can use to help us." He helped her through the door.

She hopped with him into a tool shed. Gaz carefully navigated the small space, keeping her close. "This might be our best chance to hide." He opened a toolbox, searching for anything useful.

"What are we gonna do in there?" she asked.

Gaz rummaged through the toolbox, finding some old rags and a can of oil. "Maybe we can use these to make temporary disguises. And... I think there's a small flashlight here."

"For what?" she asked.

Gaz showed her the flashlight, its beam barely illuminating the cramped space. "For lighting our way when we need to see. And maybe we can figure out how to change back."

She looked around and saw a matchbox. She picked it up and placed rubber bands on it, making a backpack.

Gaz watched her make the makeshift backpack, impressed by her ingenuity. "Smart thinking," he said before picking up a roll of twine and a paperclip. He handed it to her, then picked up a matchstick, which could act as a flare if needed, placing it in the matchbox backpack.

"We might need that flashlight to navigate when the power goes out," he said as she handed it to him.

You noticed a needle in your hand; it felt like a sword. Gaz wiped his damp face with his hand before you asked, "So you're a prince?"

Gaz laughed, running his hands through his head. "Not exactly. I'm a SAS operative."

"And you're now a frog?" she asked.

Gaz looked down at his new frog form, still adjusting to this unexpected reality. "I'm not exactly thrilled about this turn of events, but yes, I'm a frog now. Not sure what's worse..."

"What happened?" she asked.

Gaz's expression turned serious as he recounted the incident. "We were tracking a lead on some stolen tech and mercenaries when that voodoo witch cursed me, and then this all happened."

You frowned, crossing your arms. "So what now?"

Gaz shrugged as he sat on a small rock. "I don't know... maybe if we rest for the night and think about what to do tomorrow. So far, we're safe here in this little shed." He said they should be at the extraction point in 10 hours, but walking during evening rush hour, we couldn't risk being spotted. "But we need to stay quiet and hidden until we figure something out."

You looked down. "I'm gonna make this clear..."

Gaz listened intently, his attention focused on your words. "Go ahead. I'm listening."

"I'm a waitress at that party."

Gaz nodded understandingly, appreciating her honesty. "That's fine. You're still someone I'd trust to have my back."

"You're not mad?" she asked.

Gaz shook his head firmly. "No, not mad. Just relieved we're still together in this... unusual situation." He walked over to the dusty basket, fixed it, and placed a handkerchief on it for cushion and sponges, leading you there.

"Let's try to get some rest. We'll need our strength tomorrow."

You nodded as you settled on the sponges. "It's soft."

Gaz smiled. "I know." Gaz carefully positioned himself beside you on the basket.

You woke to the sound of drilling and clanging. You opened your eyes, wishing it was just a nightmare, but you realized it wasn't. So, you peeled off the handkerchief blanket and got off the basket bed before making your way to where the sound was.

You saw a clatter of tools and stuff being stripped off for parts, and Gaz working on a skateboard. He was drilling on the skateboard, his whole frog body shaking violently.

"Ahhh, good morning," he said when he finally noticed you. "What are you doing?" you asked.

"This is... my invention," he said. "It's not much, but it's a vehicle."

"A vehicle?"

"Here, let me show you," he said before getting into the plastic container he screwed onto the skateboard, which served as the shell. "I used parts of that toy car and attached it here," he pointed to the wheels of the skateboard. "We can drive it if we drive it like a real car using the controller, which I attached here," he said, pointing to the controller now serving as the steering wheel of the skateboard.

You were impressed, but for sure you both needed to add more stuff for this. "We can make this work if we go to the hardware store," you said.

At the hardware store, you sneaked in, pushing the skateboard in during closing time. The lights were off, and you two used all the tools needed—screws and supplies. Gaz used his knowledge to help you build the vehicle packed with features that you couldn't find in other cars.

When Gaz turned on the toy car's battery, the makeshift lights switched on, and you were ready to go.

You heard a buzzing sound, and your eyes fell on a fly. You made an uncontrollable tongue spring out. "No... no," you said, trying to close your mouth. "I'm not eating that... not in my—" but your tongue instinctively sprang out and captured the bug, making you groan in disgust.

"You should get used to that," Gaz laughed from the vehicle. "Since the hardware store is still closed, we should get something to eat," he said.

You two made your way around the hardware store to the canteen. You picked up some good food like chips and other salsas available. Then, that's when your eyes fell on the dollhouse that was on sale.

You and Gaz looked at each other. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked before you two dashed, running to the dollhouse. Opening the door, the dollhouse was for a Barbie doll, but your frog height was perfect for it. It was a mansion in your vision. "If only I could choose a house like this," you said, walking around the dollhouse before making your way to the stairs.

Gaz was on the couch of the dollhouse. "This isn't bad; all we need is a TV," he laughed.

You went upstairs, looking around the hallway when you found the doll's bedroom with a cushioned bed. You lay on it and sighed. "This is good; the best bed I've had in a while," you said, making Gaz walk in too.

"Have you tried the doll's clothes?" he asked.

"Are you suggesting I'm gonna raid Barbie's closet?" you asked.

"Well, Barbie can't call the cops, love, and report you," he said with a grin. "You are evil, Mr. Garrick," you laughed despite being frogs.

You two proceeded to the toy section when Gaz pushed an army doll off the shelf and dropped it. He raised the doll's clothes: cargo pants, a vest, and boots. He took some toy hats too.

You, on the other hand, raised and stripped off Barbie's clothes, picking out the best ones and pairing them with the military doll's boots.

You saw Gaz in full gear. "Ooooh, not bad, Mr. Garrick."

"Please, love, call me Kyle," he said, laughing. "This is the best steal I've ever had."

You two went back to that dollhouse and rested on the doll's bed. When dawn came, you hopped on the makeshift car you two made. When the roll-up of the shop opened, you rolled out to the streets. There, you read the map. "Alright, if we take this alley, we get to the extraction point faster than if—"

"Bang!" A shot was fired, missing the car.

"What the heck! What was that?!" you yelled.

"Frog hunters..." Gaz said, looking at the side mirror of the toy car. You were both in it. "Hang on," he said, skidding around corners as he turned for the alley. The hunters were fast on their feet, running after both of you.

"Alright, I placed a toilet paper roll in the back. I want you to light it up," he said as he drove, handing you a matchstick. You hopped on the back and lit the string of the toilet paper roll, pushing it off the car when he said so.

The hunters were gaining on both of you, then Gaz said, "Push!" You pushed it off when it fell on the ground, exploding in fireworks. "What was that?!" you asked.

"Firework grenade," he laughed and hollered as he drove, losing the hunters.

By the time you reached the extraction point, you saw the team standing by the helicopter. "They're leaving!" you yelled, making Gaz speed up. "Nope, they're not," he said. He took off his matchbox backpack and pulled out a rubber band-powered paperclip bow, loading in a toothpick as the arrow.

"Keep driving!" he yelled, aiming for Johnny's neck. "Hold, hold," he said before firing as you drove around the team, catching their attention. Johnny groaned, "Ahh, something bit me," he said, looking down. "Gaz!" he exclaimed, waving his webbed hand around.

"Gaz?" Johnny looked at the small figure waving. He no longer listened to Price, who was giving a briefing. "Soap, are you listening?" Ghost asked, making Soap snap his head at Ghost "Uh... no," he admitted.

"Look," Price shifted on his legs, pointing to a small skateboard driving around.

Making Ghost and Price turn their full attention to it. "What on earth is that?" Simon said before raising his rifle to see in the scope what it was. Gaz was waving his arms, holding his hat. "It's Gaz!"

"A frog?" Soap said in his thick Scottish accent.

"Have you two lost your minds? Let me see that," Price said, grabbing Simon's rifle and looking through the scope. "Oh, why are there two of them?"

"Probably another victim?" Soap said with a smile before yelling, "Gaz!"

You and Gaz cheered, "Yes!!! They saw us!!!! Yes!!!" You drove towards them as you both hopped off. The team walked over and knelt down. "You look terrible, Gaz. I thought falling off the heli was worse," Price said as Soap knelt down too. "Good to have you back, mate."

Gaz gave them a frog fist bump. "I never expected to become a frog," he said, looking at his teammates with a mix of relief and disbelief.

"Well, we need to get you both back to normal," Price said, glancing around to ensure the area was clear. "Let's get you out of here before people could see you."

"Right," Gaz said, a sense of camaraderie swelling within the team. "I just hope we can figure out how to reverse this curse."

As they made their way to the helicopter, a mix of excitement and anxiety coursed through you. "What if we can't change back?" you asked, glancing at Gaz, your heart racing at the thought of remaining in this bizarre form.

"We will," Gaz reassured you, his voice steady despite the uncertainty that loomed over the mission. "Or we'll be stuck living in dollhouses and eating bugs. And trust me, we don't want that..."

The team boarded the helicopter, the whirring blades cutting through the air as it lifted off. Gaz gazed out at the sprawling city below, determination etched on his face. "Next time I see that woman who cursed me, I'll make sure she remembers never to take advantage of someone who helps."

You smiled back, feeling a bond forming between you two that transcended your current predicament. The shared experience of facing the unknown had forged a connection that felt unbreakable.

Upon arriving at the base, the team gathered around a table, and Price slid a small box in front of Gaz. "We need to find that woman and destroy the necklace. It’s the key to bringing you both back to your human forms," he stated, his tone serious.

"And how do we break it?" Soap asked, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Smash it into pieces?" Simon suggested, his arms crossed.

"More like that," you interjected, your mind racing. "We need to break that necklace when Gaz and I get there."

Gaz was already on the laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard. "Yeah, I think I found her," he said, struggling to turn the screen around for everyone to see. Simon leaned in to help him, both of them squinting at the glowing map. "Ah, I think I know where to find her."

*Later that evening*

You held an earpiece to your ear, straining to catch any signs of the team. Perched on Simon's shoulder, you scanned the area. "That's her," you heard Gaz say through the comms, urgency lacing his voice. Just as Johnny made a move to strangle the girl from behind, a shadowy figure tugged him back and tossed him aside like a rag doll.

Price sprang into action, but a shadow lunged at him, scratching his chest. You watched in horror as the chaos unfolded, whispering, "Oh no," just before you opened a flare and tossed it into the fray. The bright light illuminated the darkness, causing the shadows to recoil.

Johnny scrambled to his feet as the shadows dissipated. Gaz leaped onto the walls, agile and determined, while Johnny managed to grab hold of the woman. In a swift motion, Gaz snatched the necklace and slammed it onto the ground, shattering it into pieces. The fight raged on, but the woman’s scream pierced the air, "Noooooooo!"

In the end, the shadows enveloped her, dragging her into the depths of a grave. A small ball of energy burst forth from the broken necklace, dividing into two and landing on you and Gaz. You felt a surge of power as your frog bodies lifted and glowed brightly, transitioning back to your human forms.

You looked at your hands, a smile breaking across your face. "I'm back!" you exclaimed, only to realize you were covered in thick slime. "And naked..."

Gaz, on the other hand, grinned widely. "I'm back in action, baby!" His eyes landed on you, and you felt a rush of warmth. "Kyle?" you asked, seeing him for the first time in his true form.

"Hey, Y/N," he replied, a hint of relief in his voice.

You threw your arms around him, overwhelmed with gratitude. "Aww, thank you, thank you!"

"Nah, don’t thank me. This wouldn’t have happened without you," he said, hugging you back tightly.

"Alright, let’s get you both out of here before those ghostly shadows come back," Soap said, a smile breaking through the tension.

The team nodded in agreement, and as you all made your way back to the base, the view shifted to an aerial perspective of New Orleans. Gaz broke the silence, shaking his head. "I’m never coming back here."

"I wonder how Gambit from X-Men lives here," he mused, a hint of humor returning to his voice, even as the weight of the night’s events lingered in the air. The bond forged in battle and the thrill of survival hung between you all, a testament to the strength of Task Force 141.

[that-sudsy]

You and Price had just reunited after seven years. You used to work together when you were younger, and Price had a crush on you. That night, you were having a hard time sleeping; no matter how much you tossed and turned, it was tough. You were exhausted, but sleep eluded you—maybe there was too much on your mind. You left your quarters, tiptoeing into the common room of the base, not expecting Price to be awake at 2 AM, sitting on the carpet with a small bowl of ice cream.

Price sat on the floor of the common room, his muscular frame curled around the small bowl of ice cream. The soft light from the nightstand illuminated his tired but focused face.

"come here..." he whispered softly, patting the carpet beside him. "I can't sleep either..."

His eyes showed a mix of concern and relief at seeing you in your sleepwear, having finally tracked you down. The ice cream was just an excuse to be near you.

You sat beside him. "What's bothering you?"

Price scooted closer, his warm body radiating comfort as he pulled you into his side.

"The usual..." he admitted, his hand gently stroking your back. "I keep thinking about the missions we had together... how much we've changed."

His eyes traced over your face, noting the shadows beneath your eyes. He knew something was bothering you too.

"Oh? What changed?" You said

Price leaned his head against yours, his breath warm against your temple as he spoke softly.

"I've changed because of you. I became someone better, someone more... human." Price said

His fingers traced small circles on your shoulder, the touch both grounding and tender.

"You made me realize I could be more than just a soldier... that I could love." Price said

You never expected Price to confess to you like this. In a way, he said it so casually, so calmly.

Price noticed your surprise, his blue eyes holding a mix of vulnerability and determination.

"I've loved you for so long... I just couldn't find the right words before."

His free hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing over your skin.

"You're everything I've ever wanted, Even if you're just my best friend."

You smiled and leaned into his touch. "You're not dying, are you? That you're telling me this now?"

Price chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling with warmth at your question.

"No, no... I'm not dying, love," he reassured, pulling you closer. "I just wanted to be honest with you... about everything."

His fingers moved to intertwine with yours, their warmth and security grounding.

You held his hand and brought it to your lips, kissing it. "You worry me that you're telling me this."

Price's eyes softened at your kiss, his heart racing with a mix of affection and guilt.

"I know..." he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I worry myself sometimes too."

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his voice becoming softer, more vulnerable.

"But I can't hide this anymore... I love you too much."

You nodded, looking into his eyes.

Price's eyes held years of shared experiences, mixed with a newfound depth of emotion.

"I've loved you for your loyalty, your courage... your beautiful heart." His voice grew hoarse.

He leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours.

"Can I kiss you? Please... just once?"

"You may," you said.

Price's eyes darkened with intensity as he moved closer, his hand gently cradling your face.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this..." His voice dropped to a husky whisper.

His lips met yours in a tender, lingering kiss, filled with years of unsaid feelings and promises.

Then the lights turned on. Standing there was Garrick.

Price quickly pulled back, his protective instincts kicking in.

"GET OUT OF HERE, GARRICK!" His voice was stern and protective. "This is private time."

His hand remained protectively on your waist, ready to move if necessary.

"Oi, sir, I didn't know!" Garrick exclaimed.

Price's expression softened slightly, recognizing the young soldier.

"It's alright, just... back to your quarters," he commanded, his voice still firm.

Garrick ran away.

Price sighed in relief, turning back to you with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about that..." he said softly, pulling you closer again. "Those kids..."

You chuckled. "It's fine, John."

Price's shoulders relaxed at your understanding, his eyes warm with affection.

"You're too kind..." he whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead again.

His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing softly.

"Should we... continue this somewhere more private?"

"Just go on, kiss me," you said.

Price's eyes darkened with desire, his breath catching at your invitation.

"God, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for this..." His voice grew husky.

His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips met yours again.

Just then, a flash went off, and John Soap MacTavish appeared, camera in hand, looking like a kid who just found the cookie jar.

Price turned sharply toward the sound of the flash.

“Bloody hell…” he growled, pulling you protectively behind him. "YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR THIS, GARRICK!"

Soap laughed.

Price’s jaw clenched in irritation as he recognized Soap’s laugh.

“GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE, MACTAVISH,” he called out, his voice low and commanding.

“Only if you promise to recreate that kiss for the camera!” Soap shot back, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he dashed away.

[that-sudsy]

Graves has drinking problems...a different one.

[that-sudsy]

Father’s Day greetings for Task Force 141,

Simon "Ghost" Riley

As the sun peeked through the curtains, Simon was greeted by the soft patter of little feet. His daughter burst into the room, clutching a ghost plushy that looked like it had survived a battle of its own. "I made it for you, Daddy!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with pride. The ghost was a delightful mess of loose strings and cotton balls, but to Simon, it was a masterpiece. "You made this for me, sprout?" he asked, his voice a mix of awe and amusement. She nodded vigorously, her pigtails bouncing. "Happy Father's Day, Daddy!" Simon couldn't help but smile, his heart swelling with love for his little artist.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny was in the middle of a routine day at the office when a mysterious brown package appeared on his desk, tied with string and marked "fragile." Curiosity piqued, he carefully opened it, revealing a colorful frame adorned with handprints of his kids and wife. The note, written in the wobbly handwriting of his youngest, read, "Hapwee Father's dewwee daddi." Soap chuckled, his heart melting at the sight. "Aww, look at this! Its a masterpiece!" he declared, holding the frame up like a trophy. The office erupted in laughter, and Johnny couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest dad in the world.

John Price

After a grueling night, Price stumbled home around 5 AM, his body begging for rest. As he climbed the stairs, he was met by you, ready to help him unwind. After a quick shower, you handed him a glass of fine whiskey, the warmth of the drink soothing his weary bones. Just as he settled into bed, the kids burst in, armed with hand-drawn cards and art that looked like it had been created in a chaotic art class. "Happy Father's Day, hun!" you all chimed in unison. Price chuckled, as you all gathered in bed

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle was minding his own business when Johnny and the others decided to play a prank. "Hey, Gaz! There are some rascals barging into your quarters!" they teased. Fuming, Kyle stormed in, ready to confront the intruders, only to switch on the light revealing you greeting him "Happy Father's Day, Kyle!" You stood there, holding an ultrasound picture, a grin plastered on your face. "What do you mean Father's Day?" he stammered, eyes wide. When he saw the image, he nearly fainted, his heart racing. "My gosh! Is this real?!" he exclaimed, a mix of shock and joy flooding over him.

Alejandro Vargas

Alejandro was in for a treat when he came home to the aroma of his favorite meal wafting through the air. As he sat down, ready to dig in, you surprised him by singing his favorite song, your voice sweet and melodic. He dropped his spoon in disbelief, eyes wide. "Corazón, you didn’t tell me you could sing!" he exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. The meal was delicious, but your serenade was the highlight of his day, making him feel like the luckiest man alive.

Rodolfo Parra

Rodolfo was greeted with a flurry of affection as his kids rushed in, showering him with kisses on the cheek. One by one, the abuelas, aunts, and even the family pets joined in, creating a chaotic yet heartwarming scene. "Happy Father's Day!" they all cheered. Rodolfo chuckled, trying to catch his breath amidst the love. "I’m not the only father here!" he protested, but the other fathers in the room just shook their heads, shushing him. "Shhhh!" they said, as the kisses continued

Philip Graves

On what seemed like a lonely Father’s Day, Philip was surprised when all his shadows appeared, each one offering hugs and cold beers. "Happy Father’s Day, Shadow Dad!" they cheered, their voices echoing in the dim light. Philip raised an eyebrow, a smirk creeping onto his face. he chuckled, feeling a warmth in his heart. Who knew that being a dad to shadows could be so fulfilling?

Happy Father's Day to all dads, guardians, brothers looking after siblings, role models, and all the wonderful father figures out there! May your day be filled with laughter, love, and a little bit of chaos!

[that-sudsy]

☀️🌊☀️Ta Da! You have been blessed for you to have an amazing summer in your fandom, send this to 5 or so other Mutuals as well to Bless them to have an amazing fandom summer as well. Keep The Game Going☀️🌊☀️

Aww thanks, sharing it now.

[that-sudsy]

Just updated the Masterlist! woohoo!

[that-sudsy]

BULLETS IN A MAGAZINE

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

You and Simon had been together for two years—two years of adjustment, teamwork, and affection. Neither of you were used to love, especially public displays of it. Relationships in the military weren’t advisable, so you kept things low profile.

You never doubted Simon’s feelings; his eyes said it all. During debriefs, while others focused on plans, his gaze would always find you—not in a creepy way, but as a quiet priority. Simon wasn’t a man of flowery words; when he said something, he meant it. If he said he loved you, that was it. Poetry wasn’t his thing.

He was rough during training, but only because he was terrified of losing you. Losing you on his watch was unthinkable, which was why he never let you go on missions alone.

Ghost’s job was simple: cover you with his sniper rifle and stay silent while you raided abandoned buildings. Easy enough—except that five enemy teams were likely doing the same.

You were with Gaz and Soap, and when someone suddenly punched you, it disrupted Ghost’s aim. But he didn’t hesitate.

He fired twice.

The first shot dropped the enemy silently. The second followed milliseconds later.

You yelped, clutching your shoulder where the bullet had struck—between your shoulder and collarbone. You hoped it hadn’t hit an artery to the right, dangerously close to your neck.

Ghost muttered a curse before packing up his sniper and rushing to you, muttering about how stupid he was. He never missed a shot, yet he had hit you. He wasn’t sure whether you’d laugh at the situation later or give him a well-deserved punch.

Despite the pain and bleeding, you gritted your teeth and kept moving. If you could still move, you could still finish the mission.

Simon was instantly by your side when you reached the extraction point, his eyes scanning your injury with concern and anger.

“How bad is it?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I hope it didn’t hit an artery,” you replied calmly. You weren’t angry—yet.

He cursed again, placing a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder. “We need to get you to medical,” he said, already guiding you toward the helicopter. Soap and Price exchanged looks of surprise at his worry.

“What bullet was it?” you asked, wincing as the bullet was still lodged inside you.

“9mm, honey badger rifle,” he grumbled, guilt clear on his face. He didn’t know how to comfort you—he’d been the one who shot you.

Gaz examined your wound carefully, applying pressurized gauze.

“It’s deep but only in the muscle,” Gaz said after a moment, exchanging a meaningful glance with Simon. “You’ll need further checks back at base, but it doesn’t look too bad.”

Price, listening via comms, asked what happened. Simon answered coldly, “I bloody shot her.” Soap looked at you wide-eyed but calm.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” Soap reassured.

Ghost brooded by the window as you reached out to him.

“I’m fine, Simon,” you said softly.

He didn’t believe you. “Shut up,” he muttered. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I know you didn’t mean it,” you reassured, but he couldn’t shake his guilt. What if he’d hit your artery or worse?

“It’s not about what I meant,” he whispered. “It’s that I could’ve killed you.” He looked away, unable to meet your eyes.

“You don’t understand,” he continued, running his hand through his mask. “I could’ve shot you in the head or heart. Taken you away forever.”

His voice cracked, a mix of fear and anger. “I can’t lose you. Not like I lost everyone else. I can’t handle losing you too.”

He leaned closer, vulnerability stripping away his usual tough exterior.

You looked into his eyes. “I never blamed you. Normally I would, if it were anyone else… but you’re not a monster. You didn’t mean it. You don’t kill people you love.”

His eyes softened, relief and guilt warring in his expression.

“I thought you were safe with me,” he admitted, voice trembling. “I was wrong. I’ll never forgive myself.”

For two weeks, he shut you out, only speaking when necessary. He barely ate or slept, haunted by nightmares of you bleeding, hurt by his hand.

You saw him unravel and couldn’t bear it. One night, you knocked softly on his door.

Simon lay restless, startled by the knock. He hesitated, unsure whether to answer or pretend he was asleep.

But hearing your voice shattered his resolve. He stood and opened the door to find you, tired and worried.

“Simon, please don’t shut me out.”

His heart ached. He longed to hold you but was too ashamed to meet your eyes.

“I… I can’t,” he whispered. “Not right now.”

You stepped forward, stopping the door from closing.

“Please,” you pleaded. “I need to talk.”

He sighed, shoulders heavy, guilt etched on his face.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“About us. About what happened.”

He winced, guilt flooding back.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, looking away. “I shot you. I almost killed you.”

“You’re not… not really, Simon.”

He clenched his jaw, wanting to believe you but doubting himself.

“I’m a killer,” he said harshly. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

“No,” you said firmly. “I’m not giving up on us.”

He looked astonished. “You’re not?”

“I am. Because beneath all this tough exterior, I see the man I love. You wouldn't hurt me intentionally. You saved me. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here.”

His heart ached at your words. He didn’t feel worthy of your kindness. Slowly, he reached out, cupping your cheek.

“I don’t understand why you still love me.”

“Because you are you. And I love that man,” you said softly.

He exhaled shakily, tracing your cheek gently.

“I don’t deserve you,” he confessed. “But I’m selfish—I don’t want to lose you.”

He pulled you into a tight embrace.

“You won’t lose me,” you whispered.

He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in as if to anchor himself.

Pulling back, searching your eyes, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

You breathed deeply for him, steady and alive. "See? I’m okay."

“Promise me you won’t leave,” he murmured, muffled against your skin.

“I promise,” you said, forehead resting on his. “Even if I get more scars.”

“Scars aren’t the only things I have. I’m a mess… broken and damaged,” he said softly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“So am I. We both fix each other.”

He chuckled without humor, tightening his hold.

“Maybe we’re both broken beyond repair,” he said bitterly. “Maybe that’s why we fit.”

You smiled. “Like bullets in a cartridge.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Bullets in a magazine? That’s new.”

You smiled, and he couldn’t help but smile back—a small ray of sunshine in his storm.

He pulled you close again.

“You always know how to make me feel better,” he said softly.

[that-sudsy]

I notice I got usernames liking over and over. I love you thank you!!! *Sending hugs* I'm glad you like the fics. More coming soon.

[that-sudsy]

Tactical Porn | Soap x TF141!Reader

The pub wasn’t packed, but it buzzed with the low thrum of end-of-mission tension finally loosening its grip. You were leaned against the corner of the booth, half a drink too deep, cheeks a little warm, boots scuffed and muddy under the table. Ghost sat across from you nursing a dark ale, Price was at the bar charming the poor bartender for the fourth time that night, and Gaz was telling a story with too many hand gestures and not enough point.

And then—he walked in.

Soap.

Freshly showered, but still wearing his tactical pants, boots laced up tight, black tee stretched across his chest like it was trying to hang on for dear life. Dog tags clinked softly against his chest as he slung his bag down, arm flexing with the movement.

He didn’t notice you watching. Not yet. He was talking to someone from another squad, smiling wide, that same damn smile he used after blowing something up and getting away with it.

You stared. Shamelessly.

“I mean… Jesus Christ,” you mumbled.

Gaz leaned a little closer. “What’s that?”

You blinked, realizing you’d said it out loud. But it was too late now—your drunk mouth was running. Full speed.

“I just don’t get how he exists, you know? Like—how is that man real? Look at his arms. His arms, Gaz.”

Ghost raised a brow, amused. “You alright there, sunshine?”

You waved your hand dismissively, laughing. “I’m just saying! It’s criminal. He’s got that... older guy confidence. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing and how you like it—probably doesn’t even have to try.”

Gaz nearly choked on his drink. “Bloody hell, you’re in deep.”

You nodded solemnly. “You ever seen him disarm a bomb? It’s porn. Tactical porn.”

“I’m regretting this conversation,” Ghost muttered, though his eyes were definitely smiling under that mask.

And then, as if summoned by the sheer weight of your thirst, Soap turned. Eyes scanned the room and locked right on you. His smile curled into something sharper, something knowing. He raised a brow.

You went very still.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “He definitely heard me.”

Gaz snorted. “He didn’t have to. You’re practically drooling.”

Soap started toward your table, slow and loose, and you suddenly remembered how to panic.

“I hate everyone here,” you muttered under your breath.

“You love it,” Ghost replied.

Soap reached the table, gaze flicking from Gaz to Ghost, and then settling on you. He leaned down, bracing one hand on the back of your seat, voice low and amused.

“Somethin’ you wanted to say to me, bonnie?”

Your mouth went dry. Heat crept up your neck.

“I—uh… I like your shirt?”

Smooth. Nailed it.

He just smirked, voice like velvet and mischief. “That right? Thought I heard something about my arms.”

You buried your face in your hands as the guys lost it around you. Ghost let out an unholy wheeze. Gaz was doubled over.

Soap leaned in even closer, lips brushing your ear. “Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll give you somethin’ better to look at later.”

He pulled away with a wink and walked off, leaving you red-faced and speechless, the table roaring with laughter.

You were never drinking around the Task Force again.

The barracks were quiet. Most of the squad was still out drinking, laughing off adrenaline and bruises. But you had ducked out early—blaming your headache, or maybe your pride.

You’d hoped he’d forget. You’d prayed he hadn’t heard you go on and on about his arms, his older-guy confidence, the way he disarms bombs like he’s undressing someone. But Soap wasn’t the type to let something like that slide.

You were halfway through changing—jacket off, shirt tugged up over your ribs—when you heard the door creak open.

You froze.

"Didn’t mean to interrupt,” came that familiar voice—low, lilting, amused.

You yanked your shirt back down and turned, heart hammering. Soap leaned in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, hands in his pockets, that smirk already locked and loaded.

“Johnny—”

He stepped inside, closed the door behind him. “No need to get shy now, bonnie. You had plenty to say earlier.”

You crossed your arms, trying to fight the heat crawling up your throat. “I was drunk.”

He tilted his head. “Drunk enough to say the truth.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Soap took a slow step forward, then another, until he was right in front of you. His eyes dropped, dragging over your face, your parted lips, the rise and fall of your chest.

“You said I look like I know exactly how you like it,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean it.”

He grinned. “Aye, but you do wonder.”

You opened your mouth to snap back—deny it, laugh it off, something—but he leaned down and kissed you. It wasn’t soft. It was precise. Confident. Just like you imagined. His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he angled your head and deepened the kiss until your knees gave just a little.

When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, breath uneven.

“I was gonna wait,” he said quietly. “Figure you might get nervous. Might think I’m just older and lookin’ for fun.”

You blinked up at him. “Aren’t you?”

His grin turned dangerous. “No. I’ve had fun. What I want now’s a little more than that.”

Your heart flipped, fast and stupid.

He stepped back, letting you breathe, eyes dragging down your frame again—just long enough to make your skin burn.

“Come find me when you stop pretending you don’t want it,” he said, heading for the door. “And next time, love, don’t whisper it in a pub. Say it to me.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you just stood there—flushed, breathless, and already aching to chase him down.

[that-sudsy]

Part 2

Julian Kostov is Adorable

Two sides of Makarov

The Charming and Sweet Side

Dark Side:

[that-sudsy]

Broken Halo ⁴

pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x Widow Mactavish Reader

Summary: he is there for you and your son

For a week, the two of you didn't see each other, but Simon would still pick up Alastair from school to take him home. The boy looked at Simon. "Why did you stop visiting us anymore, Mr. Riley?"

Simon was caught off guard by Alastair's question, his heart sinking at the boy's words. He forced a smile, trying to maintain his composure. "I'm still around for you."

"Did you and Mum fight?" the little boy asked.

Simon hesitated for a moment, unsure how much to tell the young boy. He sighed and knelt down to Alastair's level. "No, we didn't fight. Things are just… complicated right now. Your mum and I need some time to sort things out."

Alastair looked at him. "Was it because of me?"

Simon's expression softened, his heart breaking at the boy's question. He placed a hand on Alastair's shoulder. "No, it's not your fault. You're not the reason we're distant. Your mum and I just need to figure out some adult things."

Alastair didn't press further; he nodded.

Simon ruffled Alastair's hair gently, feeling a pang of guilt. He wished he could explain everything to the boy, but it wasn't his place. "Listen, I know it's hard. But I promise I'm still here for you, okay? No matter what happens between me and your mum."

Alastair asked, "Is it about Dad?"

Simon's heart clenched at the mention of Soap. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. "Yes… it is. Your dad's absence has affected all of us."

Alastair looked at the ground as they walked.

When they reached the entrance of the MacTavish home, Alastair got in, greeted by you before you glanced at Simon. "Thanks for taking him home."

Simon nodded curtly, his eyes meeting yours briefly before he spoke. "It's no problem. I'll be around."

He turned to leave but hesitated for a moment, wanting to say more but holding back.

You wanted to say something but decided not to.

Simon noticed your hesitation, the unspoken words hanging in the air between you. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to close the distance. "Wait…"

You paused, your hand on the door handle. You turned to face Simon, your expression guarded but curious.

Simon took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "We need to talk. About everything."

"What is it, Simon?" you asked.

Simon took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "I can't keep pretending that things are fine between us. Not when I feel… the way I do about you."

You stood at the door, closing it behind you, looking up at Simon.

Simon stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I know I promised Soap I'd look after you. But I can't help how I feel anymore. It's driving me crazy. Every time I see you, hear your voice, it's like my heart is being torn in two. One part belongs to my promise, and the other…"

He trailed off, his eyes filled with conflict and longing. Simon leaned in closer. "The part wants to be with you. Wants to hold you, protect you, love you."

You looked at him with adoration, but your loyalty to Soap won. "Simon… I… can't."

Simon closed his eyes briefly, a pained expression crossing his face. He knew what your answer would be, but it still hurt. "I know you can't. I know you're loyal to Soap, and I respect that. But it doesn't change how I feel."

Simon pulled back slightly, forcing a small, bitter smile. "It's not your fault. I just needed you to know how I feel."

You watched him go as you thought about it. You did feel the same, but you loved Soap, and he wasn't here anymore.

Simon walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last. He could feel your eyes on his back, and it only made the ache in his chest worse.

He knew he was asking for something impossible—to choose between the memory of Soap and the possibility of a new love.

You sighed. "What am I gonna do?"

You stood there for a long time, conflicted and torn between your past and present. The weight of Simon's confession and your own feelings pressed down on you heavily.

The night grew darker, and you eventually retreated back inside, your mind racing with thoughts of Simon and Soap.

The next day, you visited the site where Soap's ashes were released. You placed some flowers on the cliff. "Johnny, I need your help. I feel terribly guilty. Give me a sign."

The wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it a sense of peace and tranquility. A single butterfly fluttered past you, landing on the grave marker before taking flight again.

You felt a gentle breeze caress your cheek, almost as if Soap was there with you, offering comfort and guidance.

"I love you; I really do, but you're no longer with us… And my heart is yearning for Simon."

The breeze picked up slightly, rustling the leaves more intensely. It seemed to carry a whisper of understanding, as if Soap was telling you it was okay to move on.

The sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the cliffside. The flowers you had placed swayed gently in the wind.

"But instead, Simon is there… I'm afraid that I'm slowly falling for the man. He is a great man; he is like you."

You sat in silence for a while, lost in your thoughts. The memory of Soap's smile and laughter began to fade, replaced by the image of Simon's caring eyes and gentle touch.

The night grew colder, but you felt a warmth in your heart as you thought about Simon. It was a different kind of warmth, one that made you feel safe and protected.

"I just wanted to tell you… that I love you."

The wind picked up again, carrying with it a sense of love and farewell. The butterfly that had landed earlier fluttered past you one last time before disappearing into the night.

You knew that this was your goodbye to Soap, your final words to the man you had loved so deeply. And as you said them, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders, replaced by a sense of closure and acceptance.

You stood up and walked away, heading back home.

The walk back felt lighter, as if a burden had been lifted from you. The night was quiet, but there was a newfound peace in your heart.

As you approached your home, you saw Simon sitting on the porch, waiting for you. His expression was a mix of concern and hope as he stood up to greet you.

You walked over to him and looked into his eyes.

Simon studied your face intently, searching for any signs of distress. He could see the remnants of tears on your cheeks, but there was also a hint of something else—acceptance, perhaps even resolution.

He reached out and gently took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "Simon… I never thanked you enough for helping me after all this time since I lost Johnny. I was afraid of replacing him, but I realized I should move on."

Simon's eyes softened as he listened to your words. He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin. "You don't have to thank me, you. I care about you, and I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

"You told me yesterday you loved me… now let me tell you something… I love you, Simon."

Simon's breath caught in his throat at your confession. His heart raced as he processed your words, a mix of surprise and overwhelming joy flooding through him.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist as he looked down at you with intense emotion in his eyes. "I've waited so long to hear you say that… I love you too, you. More than anything."

You smiled, looking up at him, cupping his face gently and leaning in to kiss him, but—

"Alastair!" your son yelled as he got out of the house with his arms crossed. "I knew it!" he exclaimed.

Simon quickly pulled back from you, his face flushing slightly at being caught. He looked over at Alastair with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement.

"Alastair!" he laughed.

"I knew something was going on with you and Mum," the little boy said.

You sighed and let go of Simon, turning to face your son with a smile.

Simon chuckled.

Alastair rolled his eyes dramatically, still crossing his arms.

You said, "Come here; why don't you join the group hug, eh?"

Alastair hesitated for a moment but then reluctantly walked over to them. Simon opened his arms, inviting him into the hug.

"Come on, kid. Don't be shy," Simon said.

Alastair ran and hugged you both.

Simon laughed and ruffled Alastair's hair as he joined the hug, pulling both of you close. You smiled warmly at the sight of your son and Simon getting along.

You smiled at Simon and pecked his lips.

Simon's eyes sparkled with happiness as you kissed him. He returned the gesture with a quick kiss on your forehead, mindful of Alastair's presence.

"This feels… right," Simon said softly.

Alastair looked up. "Ew!"

You said, "Alastair, be polite. Simon is part of our family now."

Simon chuckled at Alastair's reaction, giving him a playful nudge. "You'll get used to it, kid. I'm not going anywhere."

He squeezed you tighter, feeling a sense of belonging he hadn't felt in a long time.

You looked at Simon with a smile.

Simon returned your smile, his eyes full of affection and promise.

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

[that-sudsy]

Broken Halo ³

pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x Widow Mactavish Reader

Summary: he is there for you and your son

A year passed, and Simon continued to be a father figure to Alastair. He was there that Christmas to make it feel like Soap was there for the boy, but it was never enough. Simon always put Alastair first in his priorities. But despite his efforts, he couldn't ignore the growing attraction he felt towards you. It was becoming harder and harder to keep his feelings in check. Simon felt like he had purpose, a family to care for and survive for.

Simon knew he was crossing a line by falling in love with you. Soap was your husband, your soulmate. But the more time he spent with you, the more he couldn't help but feel drawn to you. He tried to suppress his feelings, to keep them buried deep inside, but they kept resurfacing, stronger than ever.

Today, Simon picked up Alastair from school since you said you needed to do groceries. He didn’t mind. He was mistaken by the mother as the father as Alastair ran towards him, and the girl battling him eyed Simon.

Out of the blue, Alastair said, "Why do you keep looking at Mum like Dad did?"

Simon's eyes widened at Alastair's question, caught off guard. He hadn't realized he was being so obvious about his feelings. "I… I don't know what you mean," was the first thing he said.

Alastair replied, "Don't lie! I'm not a baby anymore!"

Simon sighed, realizing he couldn't lie to Alastair. He ruffled the boy's hair. "Alright, you got me. But it's complicated."

Alastair scoffed.

Simon chuckled at Alastair's reaction, finding the boy's innocence endearing. "Don't look at me like that. You're too young to understand all this stuff."

Alastair screamed, "You love my mother!?"

Simon winced at the sudden scream. "Alright, alright, calm down. I didn't say that. It's just… complicated, okay?"

Alastair gave him a squinted look of suspicion.

Simon chuckled again, amused by Alastair's reaction. "You look like you just saw a ghost. It's not that big of a deal. I just… I care about your mother. A lot. It's not love or whatever you think it is."

Alastair laughed. "You are a ghost, Mr. Riley!"

Simon rolled his eyes. "Hey, I'm not a ghost. I'm a very real and alive person. And you're just jealous because I'm cool and your mother thinks so too."

Alastair replied, "Hey, I am too!" he whined.

Simon chuckled again, amused by the boy's whiny tone. "There's no need to whine."

Simon thought for a moment, contemplating his options. He knew he couldn't just ignore his feelings for you. But at the same time, he didn't want to make things awkward between him and you.

Alastair asked, "You're not replacing my dad, are you?"

Simon looked down at Alastair, his expression softening. "I'm not replacing your dad. I could never do that. But I can't deny that I care about your mother; that's all." What he wanted to say was, "I love her in a way that's different from how I care about you. Like… like I want to be close to her. Like I want to protect you and make you happy. Like I want to spend every moment with her. Does that make sense?"

But his thoughts were interrupted when Alastair walked into the house property fence and yelled, "We're home!"

Simon followed Alastair into the house, taking off his shoes and hanging his jacket.

You smiled. "Alastair! Good, you're home! I made your favorite," you said.

Simon's heart skipped a beat at the sight of your smile. He quickly composed himself and followed you into the kitchen. "You did?"

You hummed, "I made some haggis and stew for dinner and got some of those cranberry pies you love, Simon."

Simon's eyes widened in surprise and excitement. "You made stew? And cranberry pie? I haven't had that in ages. You spoil me, you know that?" he said, grinning.

He leaned against the counter, a small smile on his face.

You smiled at him also.

Simon's smile widened as he looked at you. He couldn't help but feel a rush of affection for you. He was torn between wanting to confess his feelings and wanting to savor the moment.

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his composure when Alastair walked in. "So, how was school today? You have any exciting stories to tell me?"

Alastair hummed, "I punched my seatmate."

Simon raised an eyebrow, looking at Alastair with a mixture of surprise and amusement. "You punched someone? You're not supposed to do that, you know. I don't know if I should be proud or concerned," he said casually, not affected.

Alastair shrugged, Simon shook his head, trying to hide his smile.

You crossed your arms. "What do you mean you punched someone, Alastair?"

Alastair shrugged again, looking innocent. "He was being mean to me."

"Yeah, that's not an excuse to punch someone. You could have just ignored him," Simon said.

Alastair! you said in a concerned and warning tone.

Alastair winced at the tone in your voice, knowing he was in trouble. "I'm sorry… I just… I couldn't stand it anymore. He was making fun of me."

"Like?" you pressed.

Alastair looked down at the floor, feeling ashamed. "He said Mr. Riley is weak because he could face people without a mask and you are just using him for your sorrows."

You gasped.

Simon clenched his fists, anger building up inside him. He hated hearing those things about you, especially from a kid. He wanted to punch the guy who said them. "That's not true. You're an amazing mother. You shouldn't listen to what that lad says," Simon said, unaffected.

You nodded. "Good thinking on punching him," you said, shocking Simon and your son.

Simon and Alastair both looked at you in surprise, not expecting you to agree with the fact that Alastair punched someone.

Simon said, "You… you're not mad at him?"

You replied, "Well, he stood up for family, Simon."

Simon couldn't help but smile at your words. He was proud of Alastair for standing up for himself and his family. "I know he did. But still, punching someone isn't the right way to handle things."

You said, "Johnny would have done the same."

Simon chuckled at the mention of Johnny. "Yeah, he would have. He was always getting into fights when we were younger."

Alastair asked, "He did?"

Simon nodded, amused by the memory. "Yeah, he was a troublemaker too. But he always had our backs, no matter what."

Alastair chuckled. "I gotta do my homework."

Simon ruffled Alastair's hair. "Alright, go ahead. But don't stay up too late."

He looked at you, a hint of affection in his eyes. "Do your homework in the study," you called for your son before looking at Simon.

Simon nodded and watched as Alastair left the room to do his homework in the study. He then turned his attention back to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and concern.

You stared into his eyes for a long moment.

Simon returned your gaze, feeling a rush of emotions. He wanted to tell you how he felt, but he knew it wasn't the right time. Instead, he reached out and gently caressed your cheek.

You leaned into his touch before realizing what they were doing and pulled away.

Simon felt his heart skip a beat as you leaned into his touch. He quickly pulled away, trying to act casual but feeling flustered. "Uh, sorry. I didn't mean to… get too close."

"It's okay," you said softly.

Simon cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. He looked away, feeling both flustered and relieved that you didn't seem to mind the moment they just had.

Simon said, "Yeah, it's just… you have a way of making me lose my train of thought."

You smiled, "Yeah… um," you said, lost for words. Then Alastair came running in. "Mr. Riley, can you help me make my project?"

Simon laughed at the interruption and nodded. "Of course, buddy. What do you need help with?"

"Math paper," he said with a frown.

Simon ruffled Alastair's hair again. "Alright, let's see what you've got. Maybe I can help you come up with some good equations."

You smiled, watching them walk to the study around the corner of the house where the carpet and fireplace were.

Simon led Alastair to the study and closed the door behind them, sitting down at the desk and pulling out some books and papers. He looked at the young boy with a smile, ready to help him with his history project.

Alastair and Simon had books and papers around them as they worked on his book report. It was time for dinner when you knocked. "Boys… you might want to eat first."

Simon looked up from the desk, a bit surprised by the interruption. "Oh, yeah, we should probably eat. Thanks, "

He stood up and stretched, feeling a bit stiff from sitting for so long.

Alastair immediately got off his chair and ran to the dining room. You and Simon looked at each other. "How was it?" you asked.

Simon chuckled at Alastair's enthusiasm. "It went pretty well. He's a smart kid, you know."

You replied, "He's smarter and faster than me, Simon. Who knows, he'll be the best student you'll get." This made Simon think he should train Alastair.

Simon's eyes lit up at the thought of training Alastair. He had been thinking about it for a while now, but hearing your words made him even more determined. "You know… I could train him. Help him hone his skills and channel that anger into something productive."

You glanced at him. "You're turning him into Soap?"

Simon chuckled and shook his head. "No, not exactly. I'm not going to make him a soldier or anything. But he needs to learn how to control his emotions and defend himself. Plus, it could be good for him to have some physical outlets."

Simon leaned back in his chair, thinking carefully about his words. "I just want to give him the tools he needs to be successful in life. And training could help him build confidence and discipline. Plus, it would be a way for us to bond, you know?"

After hearing the last part made you agree, you weren't sure if it was Simon's way of turning the conversation.

Simon noticed the slight hesitation in your expression and decided to clarify his intentions. "I promise I won't push him too hard. And I'll make sure he knows that he doesn't have to follow in Soap's footsteps if he doesn't want to. It's just… I care about him, you. I want to see him succeed and be happy."

You sighed. "Alright, I guess you're right. After all, you are his male role model."

Simon smiled warmly at you, appreciating your trust in him. "I'll do my best to be a good one. And I'll always have his best interests at heart. You have my word."

You nodded, smiling at him.

Simon returned your smile, feeling a sense of warmth and connection between you. He reached across the table and gently took your hand.

"Thanks for trusting me with this, you. It means a lot."

Suddenly, Simon heard a noise coming from upstairs and raised an eyebrow, curious about what Alastair was doing.

"Did you hear something? It sounded like it came from upstairs," Simon said.

You hummed, "Razor?"

Simon's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. "Wait… a razor? Oh no, he's not…"

You and Simon ran upstairs to the bathroom.

They burst into the bathroom, only to find Alastair standing in front of the mirror with a half-shaved head, the razor still in his hand.

Alastair looked at them wide-eyed.

You exclaimed, "Alastair William MacTavish, what are you doing?!"

Alastair flinched at your tone, looking guilty as he held the razor up. "I-I wanted to look like Dad…"

You were baffled. "What?"

Simon was laughing on the side.

Alastair pouted, clearly frustrated by your reaction. "Dad has a mohawk! I thought it would be cool if I had one too."

You smiled. "Do you know how your father does it?"

Alastair shook his head, his expression a mix of determination and disappointment. "No… but I can figure it out! I just need to keep shaving."

You took the razor from him and sighed.

Simon couldn't help but chuckle again as he watched the scene unfold. He leaned against the doorframe, amused by Alastair's stubbornness.

You handed the razor to Simon and turned back to Alastair. "Listen, sweetie. Your father's mohawk is not something you can just replicate with a regular razor. It takes years of experience and proper maintenance… but…"

Alastair looked up at you with hopeful eyes, hanging on your every word.

"But I can shave it for you," you said.

Alastair's face lit up with excitement, a huge grin spreading across his face. "Really? You'll do it for me, Mom?"

You smiled, walking behind him and combing his remaining hair.

Alastair sat patiently on the edge of the bathtub, trying his best to stay still as you shaved his hair. He listened intently to your words.

Alastair asked, "You did? When was that?"

"Every time he comes home and before he goes," you replied.

Alastair's eyes widened in surprise, realizing the significance of this moment. "So… this is like a tradition or something?"

You chuckled. "You could say that, but it was your father's trademark."

Alastair beamed with pride, feeling a sense of connection to his father through this simple act. "I'm going to be just like him, Mom. I'll make him proud."

You smiled sadly. "He already is, Alastair. Your father would have been proud of you," you said, finishing as you combed off the loose hair.

Alastair turned to face you, his newly shaved head glistening under the bathroom light. His expression was a mix of determination and a hint of sadness. "Really? You think so?"

You knew that Alastair missed his father deeply.

Simon stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on Alastair's shoulder. "Your dad always talked about how proud he was of you, Alastair. Even when he was away on missions, he'd tell us stories about his brave little boy back home."

Alastair smiled, his heart swelling with pride.

Simon ruffled Alastair's hair gently, careful not to mess up the fresh mohawk. "And now you've got your own mohawk just like him. You look just like a mini-Soap."

You smiled, kissing Alastair's forehead. "Mini Johnny."

Alastair giggled at the nickname, feeling warmth in his chest from both your affection and Simon's words. "I'm not that little anymore, Mom."

"Aww, don't grow up too fast," you teased.

Alastair pretended to be annoyed, crossing his arms. "I can't help it if I'm growing up. I'm gonna be just like Dad and Uncle Simon, a soldier!"

You looked at him, concern etched on your face. "You sure?"

Alastair nodded vigorously, his determination clear in his eyes. "Absolutely! I want to protect people like Dad did. And Uncle Simon is the best fighter I know!"

You smiled. "Well then, I'll support you all the way."

Alastair hugged you tightly, his small arms wrapping around your waist. "Thanks, Mom. I promise I'll make you both proud."

You hugged him back tightly, feeling a mix of love and sadness.

Simon watched the tender moment between you and your son, a soft smile on his face. He knew how much you worried about Alastair's future, but seeing you support him meant everything.

That night, after dinner, Alastair was already in bed. You and Simon were talking as you both did the dishes and dried them. The conversation stretched until you sat on the couch, your expression serious as you spoke to Simon.

"I know I shouldn't be surprised, but seeing him want to be like Soap… it hurts. He's so young. What if something happens to him, Simon?"

Simon sat down next to you, his face reflecting your concern. "I know what you mean. It's a dangerous path, and I worry about him too. But we can't stop him from following his dreams, you."

"He's just a boy," you said, your voice trembling slightly.

Simon sighed deeply, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I know he is. But he's growing up fast, and he has Soap's blood in him. We can't protect him from everything, no matter how much we want to."

"That is true," you replied, your heart heavy.

Simon pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "We'll do everything we can to prepare him. Train him, teach him everything we know. But we have to trust that he'll make the right choices."

You nodded. "What am I gonna do without you, Simon?"

Simon tightened his grip on you, his voice soft but firm. "You won't be alone, you. I'll always be here for you and Alastair. We're family, remember?"

You nodded as you looked at him, feeling a sense of comfort in his words.

Simon cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing away a tear you didn't realize had fallen. "We'll get through this together. Just like we always have."

Simon leaned in and kissed your forehead softly, his lips lingering for a moment.

You felt your heart quicken when he kissed your forehead, making you a little flustered.

Simon noticed your reaction and smirked slightly, pulling back to look at your face. "You're blushing, you."

"I'm sorry," you said, feeling embarrassed.

Simon chuckled softly, finding your flustered state endearing. "Don't apologize. It's cute when you get all shy like this."

Simon moved his hand to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering.

"You know, you're still beautiful when you blush," he said, his voice low and sincere.

You looked at him, hearing it from him felt different, stirring something deep within you.

Simon held your gaze, his eyes filled with warmth and something deeper. He leaned in slightly closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And you're even more beautiful when you smile."

You looked into Simon's eyes; they were blue, but your heart ached, remembering you couldn't fall in love with him—not when you lost Soap.

Simon seemed to sense your inner conflict, his expression softening as he gently cupped your cheek. "I… I know what you're thinking. I see the pain in your eyes."

"Simon, I…"

Simon's thumb stroked your cheek tenderly, his voice gentle but firm. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything. I understand."

You pulled away from him for a moment. "I can't," you said, longing in your voice. With that, you stood up to excuse yourself.

Simon watched you stand, a mix of understanding and sadness in his eyes. He didn't try to stop you, but his voice followed you as you walked away. "I never asked you to replace him, you. I just want to be here for you and Alastair."

There was tension between Simon and you because they both knew there was a connection between them. But you felt guilty.

Simon sat alone in the living room, running a hand through his hair. He knew he had feelings for you, but he respected your grief and loyalty to Soap. The tension between you was palpable, and it weighed heavily on both of you.

Simon stood up abruptly, pacing the room with frustration. He muttered to himself, "Damn it, Soap… Why did you have to leave us like this?"

On the other hand, Simon tried his best not to love you since he promised his best friend to be there for you, not fall in love with you.

Simon clenched his fists, fighting against the growing emotions he felt for you. He knew he was breaking his promise to Soap, but he couldn't help the way his heart raced when you were near.

"This isn't fair… to any of us," Simon thought.

Simon stopped pacing and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. He could still hear your voice in his head, feel the warmth of your skin when he touched you. It was becoming increasingly difficult to suppress these feelings.

PART 1

PART 2

PART 4

[that-sudsy]

Broken Halo²

pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x Widow Mactavish Reader

Summary: he is there for you and your son

Simon's expression softened, and he moved closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. "I know it's hard. But you have to try. For Alastair's sake. He needs his mum sober and present."

You nodded, putting the meal on a plate before slumping against the wall.

Simon caught you before you fell, supporting your weight with his arms. "Easy there. Let's get you to sit down. You're exhausted," Simon said.

"I can't do this, Simon," you said, turning off the stove.

Simon guided you to a chair, kneeling in front of you. "You can. You're stronger than you think. We'll get through this together. Just… please stop drinking so much."

You sighed.

Simon took the plate of food and set it on the table, then looked at you with concern. "Eat something first. You need to keep your strength up. Then we can talk about what's really bothering you."

"Simon, I can't raise Alastair alone."

Simon's eyes met yours, filled with determination. "You're not alone, you. I'm here. I promised Soap I'd protect you both, and I meant it. We'll raise Alastair together."

"He needs a father."

Simon paused, knowing the weight of those words. "I know he does. And I'll do my best to fill that role. But I can't replace Soap. No one can."

You looked down, your voice barely a whisper. "I miss him so much, Simon. Every day feels like a nightmare without him."

Simon reached out, gently lifting your chin to meet his gaze. "I miss him too. Every damn day. But we have to keep going. For Alastair's sake."

"How is he?" you asked, your concern for your son evident.

Simon's expression softened as he thought about Alastair. "He's strong. Like his parents. But he's also hurting. He's been trying to act tough, but I can see the pain in his eyes."

You looked down, feeling the weight of your grief.

Simon stood up, offering you a hand. "Come on. Let's eat, and then we can check on him together."

During dinner, you didn’t have much of an appetite.

Simon noticed you picking at your food, concern etched on his face. "You need to eat more. You're not eating enough."

"I'm not really hungry," you replied.

Simon leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. "I understand you're not hungry, but you have to try. You're already losing weight. It's not healthy."

You tried to eat.

Simon watched you with a mix of worry and relief as you managed a few bites. "That's better. Just take it slow. And remember, I'm here if you need anything."

When bedtime came, you couldn’t sleep; you only stared at the wall. You were too used to Soap holding you.

Simon noticed your restlessness from the hallway. He quietly entered your room, seeing you staring at the wall.

"Can't sleep again?" he asked softly.

"No, I can't," you admitted.

Simon sat on the edge of your bed, his presence a silent comfort. "Want to talk about it? Or just have company?"

You nodded. "Johnny often held me when he got back. We just spoke the day before he died."

Simon's expression darkened with memories. "He talked about you constantly. Always worried about getting back to you and Alastair."

"Really? What did he say?" you asked, intrigued.

Simon leaned back against the headboard, his voice soft. "He said you were his everything. That he couldn't wait to come home and see you both."

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "He was planning a surprise for your anniversary. Wanted to take you somewhere special."

You smiled at the thought.

Simon noticed the small smile, feeling a bit relieved. "He was so excited about it. Kept asking me what you'd like. Said he wanted to make it perfect."

Simon continued, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "He even made me promise to help him plan it. Said he wanted everything to be perfect because you deserved it."

Simon's eyes became distant as he recalled more memories. "He talked about how he wanted to retire soon. Said he was tired of leaving you both behind. Wanted to spend more time with you and Alastair."

Simon's voice became softer, almost a whisper. "The day he died… he told me right before. Said he had a bad feeling about the mission. That he was scared he wouldn't come back."

"He made a joke about it?" you asked, wanting to lighten the mood.

Simon nodded, a faint smile appearing. "Yeah, he did. He always tried to lighten the mood, even when things were serious. Said he was just being paranoid and that he'd be home in time for dinner."

Simon's smile faded, replaced by a pained expression. "I should have listened to his gut. I should have insisted he stay behind. Maybe… maybe he'd still be here with you now."

"Simon… don’t blame yourself," you said softly.

Simon looked at you, his eyes filled with guilt. "It's hard not to. I was his best friend. I should have protected him."

You rubbed his shoulder gently.

Simon tensed slightly at your touch, then relaxed. His eyes met yours, vulnerability showing through his usually stoic facade. "He made me promise to take care of you both. And I'm trying… but sometimes I feel like I'm failing him."

"You're not," you reassured him.

Simon sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "I just miss him so damn much. He was like a brother to me. And now… now he's gone, and you're both hurting."

You cupped his face gently. "Don't blame yourself. Johnny wouldn't want you to. You're here with us."

Simon leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment. He let out a shaky breath, trying to control his emotions. "I know he wouldn't want that. But it's so damn hard not to feel guilty. Like I could have done something differently, could have saved him."

You hugged him gently, running your fingers through his hair.

Simon's shoulders relaxed as you continued to run your fingers through his hair. He opened his eyes, looking at you with a mix of pain and gratitude. "Thank you… for being here. For not giving up on me."

Then there, something sparked between them.

Simon felt the spark as well, his gaze flickering to your lips for a brief moment. His heart skipped a beat, his guard slowly crumbling.

PART 1 PART 3

[that-sudsy]

Broken Halo

pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x Widow Mactavish Reader

Summary: he is there for you and your son

John "Soap" MacTavish died a hero, and now his team gathered at the memorial site where they released his ashes. You were Johnny's wife, and it broke your heart when you heard the news that he was no longer coming home. You held your little five-year-old son, Alastair, in your arms. He was already mature for his age and very close to Johnny; Alastair was often referred to as "Little Johnny Junior."

The little boy didn’t fully understand what was happening. He didn’t ask questions as Simon Riley carried a small urn with him. You were crying, holding Alastair close to your chest, his head resting in the crook of your neck.

The TF141 team gathered at the memorial site, their faces somber as they stood around the small urn containing Johnny's ashes.

"We've brought him home," Price said, stepping forward and gently holding the urn while Gaz and Simon stood beside him, their expressions reflecting deep respect and loss.

Price noticed you holding Soap's young son, his heart heavy with sympathy. "We all miss him terribly. But seeing you with Alastair… Soap would be proud," Price said, looking at Alastair. The resemblance was striking; he had his father's blue eyes and head shape. The only features he inherited from you were your lips and ears.

You nodded, tears still rolling down your cheeks. "Thank you, Price."

Price placed a comforting hand on your shoulder while Gaz stepped closer to offer his support. "He fought bravely, saved countless lives. Now it's our turn to honor his legacy," he said.

The team formed a protective circle around you and Alastair, the wind gently rustling through the trees on the cliff. Price nodded solemnly, carefully holding the urn while looking to you for confirmation.

You nodded, holding Alastair close, who still didn’t understand what was going on.

Price gently opened the urn, the ashes catching the sunlight as they began to scatter in the breeze. You mumbled your goodbyes, burying your face in your son’s shoulder as you cried.

"Rest easy, Soap. Your sacrifice won't be forgotten," Gaz said softly.

Alastair watched the ashes swirl in the wind, his brows furrowed. "I don't understand," he said, making Simon look over.

Simon moved closer to Alastair's level, his usually stern expression softening. "Sometimes grown-ups have to go away, little one. Your dad was a hero," he said gently.

"He's not coming home?" the little boy asked innocently, his eyes wide with confusion.

Simon exchanged a pained look with Price before gently placing a hand on Alastair's shoulder. "No, he's not. But he'll always be watching over you from up there," Simon said, making Alastair look up, searching for what he meant before realizing the implication.

"But he promised to be home for Christmas," Alastair said, his expression turning sad as the realization sank in.

Price stood beside Simon, his voice thick with emotion. "Life doesn't always give us what we want, son. Your father was taken too soon. But we'll make sure to honor his memory every Christmas." Alastair shook his head in denial.

Simon pulled Alastair into a gentle hug, making you pass him to Simon while you hugged Price and cried into his shoulder. Price and the others watched with heavy hearts.

"I know it hurts now. But one day, you'll understand how brave and special your dad was," Simon said softly.

Alastair shook his head and wiggled until Simon put him down. Alastair ran towards you, hugging your legs tightly.

Simon stood up slowly, his expression troubled as he watched Alastair run. "Give him time. Losing a parent is never easy, especially at that age," Gaz said.

Alastair clung to you, tears starting to fall as he buried his face in your legs. "It's okay," you said, kneeling down to his level and hugging him. "I want Dad!" he cried out.

"I know, I know," you said, rubbing his back soothingly.

The team quietly began to step back, giving you and Alastair privacy while maintaining a respectful distance. "We'll be nearby if you need anything," Simon said softly.

Since that day, Simon felt uneasy leaving Soap's family alone. Soap was his friend, and he wanted to support his family. He thought about the times he needed someone when he lost someone he loved before; now he wanted to be there for you and Alastair.

One day, at your home, you heard someone ring the bell. When you opened the front blue door, you first thought it might be Johnny, but instead, you saw Simon's tall figure in the doorway. You hadn’t slept that day since Alastair was having nightmares, and you were too shaken to believe that Johnny was gone. You looked at Simon and said, "Simon," greeting him softly.

Simon stood at your doorstep, his mask hiding any visible emotion. "Thought I'd stop by. Need help with anything?"

"Oh…" you said, thinking before responding, "Come in, come in." You welcomed him into your house, which was slightly messy and a little gloomy.

Simon stepped inside, removing his hood but keeping his mask on out of habit. "How's Alastair been handling things?" Simon asked, concerned about the little one, knowing he wasn’t taking it well since he always knew Alastair and Johnny were close.

You sighed. "Not really good," you said, shaking your head as you leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling a wave of nausea hit you.

Simon nodded understandingly, his posture tense with concern. "Kids are resilient. But losing a parent… it leaves scars. I can stay if you need help keeping an eye on him."

You were surprised that there was still a good man like Simon out there. You were taken aback by his offer and looked at him. "You would do that?" you asked.

Simon met your gaze through his mask, his voice steady and sincere. "Soap was my brother. It's the least I can do for his family," he said softly, looking at you with concern. It made you feel warm and a little weary since you never knew Simon thoroughly; all you knew about him was that he was Johnny's friend. But you hugged him anyway, feeling your appreciation.

"Thank you," you mumbled.

Simon stiffened slightly at the unexpected hug, then awkwardly patted your back. "Don't mention it. Just… let me know what you need," he said just before you heard little footsteps stomping down the wooden stairs.

"Is it Daddy?" Alastair asked with slight hope. But when he saw Simon, he glared and ran back upstairs to his toys before Simon could speak. You had never seen your son act like that before, making you frown. "Alastair?" you called out.

Simon watched Alastair retreat, a pang of guilt crossing his features beneath the mask. "He still blames me for not bringing him back… can't say I blame the kid."

You turned your head to face Simon. "It's not your fault, Simon. I tried to explain to Alastair, but… he's only five."

Simon leaned against the wall, his voice quieter now. "I know you understand. But it doesn't make it easier to see him look at me like that. I was there when his father died, so it's kind of expected."

You nodded, and the silence between you two was deafening. The atmosphere grew heavy with unspoken grief. Simon broke the silence after a moment. "I should probably talk to him… even if he doesn't want to listen."

You nodded. "Sure, do you need or want to eat anything?" you asked.

Simon shook his head, pushing away from the wall. "No, I'm good. Just need to… sort things out with Alastair."

You watched him head upstairs, his footsteps heavy on the wooden stairs. For the first time, Simon removed his mask in the house as he passed by images in frames of you and Johnny's happy moments, frozen in time. Simon looked at them as he ascended the stairs to the carpet in the middle of the hall where your rooms were, and Alastair was playing. He had his favorite toys on the carpet: building blocks, toy guns, and plushies.

Simon knelt down near Alastair, his bare face showing a mix of determination and sadness. "Mind if I join you, kid?" Alastair didn’t speak. Simon sat down quietly, watching Alastair play with his toys. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the sound of small plastic figures being moved and the clinking of Soap's dog tag around the boy's neck. Simon picked up the small plushie of a cow that was on top of a toy car, making Alastair grab it and say, "Let go of that Coo, he's the target!" His accent was thick.

Simon's eyes fixated on the dog tag, his throat tightening as Alastair took the cow. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out a similar one—Soap's original tag. This caught Alastair's attention.

Alastair looked at it. "Where did you get that?" he asked.

Simon held it up for the boy to see, his voice rough with emotion. "Your father gave this to me before his last mission. He said to keep it safe… just in case. He has mine."

Alastair grumbled under his breath, something like, "He knew; he just didn’t come home."

Simon noticed the grumble, his expression softening slightly. "I know you're angry. And you have every right to be. But I need you to understand something, Alastair…"

Simon took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "I loved your dad like a brother. And losing him… it broke something in me. I've been carrying that pain too."

Alastair looked at him, still angry. "You could have saved him… brought him home. Dad always promised, and he never does anything about it."

Simon's jaw clenched, his own guilt surfacing. "That's not true. He keeps his promises, but things just kept blocking his way. Like he promised you he'd get home every day after school; he did it. He tried his best to come home for events too. You're right. I should have been there. I promised him I'd have his back, and I failed. But I swear to you, I'll never forgive myself for that either," Simon explained.

Alastair stomped his foot as he stood up. "I hate Dad!"

Simon flinched slightly at the outburst but maintained his composure. "You don't hate him. I know you miss him. But hating him won't bring him back, Alastair. And he wouldn't want you to feel this way."

Alastair looked at him with suppressed sadness. "If he loves me and Mom, he wouldn't go."

Simon ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. "Sometimes people have to do things they don't want to do to protect the ones they love. That's what your dad was trying to do…" Simon leaned forward, his voice becoming more intense. "He wanted to keep you and your mum safe. He fought so hard for both of you, even when it meant putting himself in danger." Simon's eyes locked with Alastair's, filled with raw honesty. "Your dad was the bravest man I knew. And he loved you more than anything in this world. That's why he did what he did."

Alastair looked at the floor, his expression conflicted.

Simon watched him carefully, letting the silence settle between them again. "You can be angry. You can hate him if you need to. But one day you'll understand why he made those choices."

Alastair teared up. "I don’t mean it. I don’t mean what I said; I just want my dad home," he said, his shoulders slumping.

Simon's heart broke a little at the sight of Alastair's tears. He moved closer, his voice gentler now. "I know you don't. It's okay to be confused and hurt. We all miss him terribly," Simon said.

Alastair looked at him. "When you said he's brave, what do you mean?"

Simon smiled faintly, remembering Soap's courage in battle. "Your dad wasn't afraid of anything. He'd charge into danger headfirst without a second thought, even when things were stacked against us." Simon's eyes glazed over with memories as if it had just happened yesterday. "He was always cracking jokes, making everyone laugh. But when it came to protecting his team… he was like a wolf. Nothing could stop him. But deep down, he was scared; he just didn’t want people to be scared."

Alastair nodded, listening intently. "He isn’t like that with Mom… he's cuddly with her."

Simon chuckled softly, remembering how different Johnny was at home. "Yeah, with your mum, he was completely different. He'd be this big softie, always hugging and kissing her. It was… nice to see him like that. Don’t tell your mum, but Johnny is indeed a softie and a lamb when it comes to your mother."

Alastair nodded and giggled.

Simon stood up slowly, reaching out to ruffle Alastair's hair. "He loved you both more than anything. And I promise I'll always be here to look after you and your mum, just like he would want."

Alastair nodded. "I'm sorry."

Simon pulled him into a gentle hug. "You don't have to apologize. We're family now, kid."

Alastair hugged Simon's legs, and Simon held him tightly, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll get through this together. I won't let you down like I did your dad."

You were listening downstairs, smiling sadly to yourself. Alastair sighed heavily. Simon pulled back slightly, looking down at Alastair with concern. "What's on your mind, kid?"

Alastair shrugged. "Daddy."

Simon's expression softened further, understanding the weight of that single word. "I miss him too. Every single day. But you know what? He's watching over us right now," Simon said softly.

Alastair looked at Simon. "But I don’t want him up there; I want him with us."

Simon's jaw tightened as he struggled to maintain his composure. "I know… I know you do. And I wish he was here with us too. But he's still with us in our hearts, Alastair."

Alastair nodded, fiddling with Soap's dog tags. "I stole this from Mum and Dad's bedroom last night when Mum was asleep."

Simon raised an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and concern on his face. "You little thief. Your mum's gonna kill you when she finds out."

Alastair shook his head. "Nah… Mom doesn't care anymore…"

Simon's expression darkened at this statement. He knelt down to Alastair's level. "That's not true. Your mum still cares. She's just… struggling right now. We all are."

Alastair looked at Simon. "You need to help her; you're crying always," the little boy said, frowning.

Simon's eyes locked with Alastair's, a determined look crossing his face. "I'm trying. But your mum… she's stubborn. She won't let anyone help her unless she wants to be helped."

Simon sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair again. "But I won't give up on her. On either of you. I promised your dad I'd look after you both, and I intend to keep that promise until my last breath," Simon said.

Alastair asked, "You're not replacing Dad, are you?"

Simon shook his head firmly, his voice steady and sincere. "No one can replace your dad. I'm not trying to. I'm just… filling the gaps he left behind. Protecting his family like he would want me to."

Alastair nodded.

Simon stood up, placing a hand on Alastair's shoulder. "Let's get some rest. It's been a long day. And maybe tomorrow we can talk to your mum together."

Simon carried Alastair and placed him in bed, only to find the boy wearing his father's hoodie.

Simon paused as he tucked him in, watching Alastair clutch the hoodie. His heart ached at the sight. "Still wearing your dad's clothes?" Simon asked.

Alastair nodded. "Even Mum did."

Simon's eyes softened with understanding. He remembered seeing you in Soap's clothes when you thought no one was looking. Simon tucked the blanket around Alastair, then sat on the edge of the bed. "Get some sleep, kid. And don't worry about tomorrow. We'll figure it out together."

Alastair turned his back on Simon and went to sleep, hugging his little cow plush.

Simon quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. He headed downstairs, where you were waiting, making dinner. "He's asleep. But he's still struggling," Simon said.

"I know… I feel bad for him," you replied.

Simon leaned against the kitchen counter, watching you cook. His expression was a mix of concern and exhaustion. "He's trying to be strong, but he's just a kid. We need to find a way to help him process everything."

You nodded while cooking, and Simon noticed your coffee mug with a mix of scotch; he could tell by the scent of it.

Simon's eyes narrowed as he saw the mug, a slight frown forming on his face. "You… how much have you been drinking today?"

You looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Simon stepped closer, pointing at the mug. "The scotch in your coffee. You've been drinking more than usual lately."

"I…" you were speechless, caught off guard.

Simon crossed his arms, his voice gentle but firm. "I'm not judging you. I just want to make sure you're taking care of yourself. You can't keep drowning your sorrows like this."

"I can't help it, Simon…"

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

[that-sudsy]

SOOOOOAAAAP!

Okay hear me out.. Soap, but with proper hair? Like, he doesn't have a mohawk anymore, as if he forgot to shave his head 😳

HNNNGGG THIS IS INTERESTING

So this is Soap's mohawk hair :

It's gathered at the center, and it's swept back. Now, to make it long hair, I got two options :

I reckon his hair is quite spiky? So I make it like to the side, or

still swept back, so it's kinda like our boi Roach!

Or, you know what, just consider these as Soap's hair growth progress if he's not on duty.

Hope you like it! ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶