#Regulator gaz

[recomandarefirma]

Cum să economisești inteligent?

În contextul creșterii constante a prețurilor la combustibili, tot mai mulți proprietari de afaceri și gospodării caută soluții eficiente pentru a reduce costurile energetice. O opțiune din ce în ce mai populară este utilizarea unui rezervor GPL (gaz petrolier lichefiat).

Această alegere nu doar că ajută la economii semnificative pe termen lung, dar aduce și numeroase alte beneficii în ceea ce privește sustenabilitatea și eficiența energetică.

Costuri reduse la combustibil

Una dintre principalele atracții ale trecerii la GPL este economisirea financiară. Prețul GPL-ului este, de obicei, mai scăzut comparativ cu alte tipuri de combustibili fosili, cum ar fi benzina sau motorina. Prin instalarea unui rezervor GPL de la Statie-GPL.ro, puteți cumpăra gazul în cantități mari, beneficiind astfel de prețuri mai avantajoase și de posibilitatea de a evita fluctuațiile de pe piață.

Eficiență energetică ridicată

GPL-ul are o eficiență energetică superioară altor combustibili, ceea ce înseamnă că pentru aceeași cantitate de gaz, obțineți mai multă energie utilă. Această eficiență contribuie nu doar la economii, ci și la reducerea emisiilor de carbon, făcând GPL-ul o opțiune mai prietenoasă cu mediul.

Independență energetică

Un rezervor GPL vă oferă o independență energetică sporită. Nu mai depindeți de rețelele de alimentare publice și puteți gestiona stocurile de combustibil după propriile nevoi. Acest aspect este deosebit de important în zonele izolate sau în aplicațiile industriale, unde continuitatea furnizării este esențială.

Flexibilitate în utilizare

Rezervoarele GPL sunt disponibile într-o varietate de dimensiuni și specificații, permițându-vă să alegeți varianta potrivită pentru nevoile afacerii sau gospodăriei dumneavoastră.

De la bazine GPL mici pentru uz casnic, până la rezervoare de mari dimensiuni pentru aplicații industriale, GPL-ul poate alimenta diverse tipuri de echipamente și instalații, inclusiv încălzitoare, aragazuri, centrale termice și chiar vehicule.

Soluție sustenabilă și prietenoasă cu mediul

Spre deosebire de alți combustibili, GPL-ul arde mai curat, producând mai puține emisii nocive și contribuind la reducerea amprentei de carbon. Prin trecerea la un rezervor GPL, nu doar că economisiți bani, dar faceți și o alegere responsabilă pentru mediu.

Instalare și intreținere simplă

Instalarea unui rezervor GPL este un proces relativ simplu, iar întreținerea acestuia este minimă. Cu condiția respectării normelor de siguranță și efectuării inspecțiilor periodice, rezervoarele GPL sunt fiabile și au o durată lungă de viață. Acest lucru înseamnă că veți beneficia de economii constante, fără să vă faceți griji cu privire la costuri mari de întreținere.

Siguranță și fiabilitate

Rezervoarele GPL moderne sunt dotate cu numeroase sisteme de siguranță, inclusiv supape de suprapresiune și sisteme de detecție a scurgerilor, care asigură o funcționare în condiții optime.

Alegerea unui rezervor GPL de la un furnizor de încredere, cum este Statie-GPL.ro vă garantează produse conforme cu cele mai stricte standarde europene de siguranță și calitate.

Rezervor GPL | Statie-GPL.ro

Economii pe termen lung

Investiția inițială într-un rezervor GPL poate părea considerabilă, dar economiile pe termen lung sunt semnificative.

Alegerea unui rezervor de calitate nu doar că vă reduce costurile, dar vă oferă și siguranța unei surse fiabile de energie. Explorează acum ofertele disponibile și transformă modul în care consumi energie!

[sgt-tombstone]

Thinking about the 141 attending a formal military event—some high ranking officer getting a medal or retiring or some such; Johnny isn’t paying much attention—but their attendance is required (normally when shit like this happens, the 141 either is already out of the country on assignment or can quickly arrange to be).

Unfortunately, formal attendance means that regulations suddenly matter a bit more: dress uniforms, hair cuts, the whole nine yards. For Gaz, none of it is an issue; his default state is well within regs. For Ghost it just means taking his mask off, which he submits to with little fuss or fanfare. He doesn’t even really need to shave or cut his hair because he keeps both pretty short under his mask anyway. Price refuses to cut his sideburns or moustache and somehow gets away with it because… he’s Price and even the higher-ups who care about that kind of thing are willing to make an exception for Price.

Soap, though… Soap has to shave. He might be the youngest candidate to pass SAS selection, but that’s not enough to make the brass turn a blind eye to his carefully curated hairstyle and stubble, both horrendously out of regulation. His mohawk gets cut short, not short enough to stop being a mohawk altogether, but short enough to pass it off as a less conspicuous styling. His face, though, gets shaved completely clean. He complains about it the entire time, even though he’s alone in his bathroom, ranting to his own reflection in the mirror, and the moment he steps out, Ghost and Gaz absolutely lose it laughing, having to hold on to each other for support.

They petition Price to change Johnny’s callsign to “Babyface” and maintain for months that Price was this close to agreeing (the only reason he refused is because he knew that it would get shortened to “Baby” and he didn’t want to give Ghost an official way to flirt with his boyfriend over comms)

[saintrosalyn]

Thinkin about Ghost writing to his personal jailbird. It started as his 'good deed.' A dumbass idea Gaz came up with to get them out of the house in-between deployments. It felt a little odd to try and be a good influence. A soldier, known for their rules and regulations, penpals with those who lack discipline. It was Price who liked to train little birdies to do tricks, not him. Then he saw your mugshot.

It escalated from letters to phone calls to taking a trip cross country to sit across from you. You were a shit actress. Batting your eyelashes and whispering promises of butterfly kisses and blowjobs once you were a free woman. He knew your game. Milk 'em of his money, let your soldier boyfriend use his connections to pull some strings. As soon as you were free you'd fly the coop.

But Simon was brought up by meaner things than you and if his old man taught him anything it was how to clip a bird of her wings.

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: mentions of violence and death (ofc), blood Next >>

John Price stood at a round table, leading the mission brief for the team’s upcoming operation. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz sat around the table in various positions. Soap with his boots kicked up onto the table, chair tilted back; Gaz leaned forward onto the table, his forearms on the surface; Ghost leaned back against his chair, arms crossed over his chest. Soap and Gaz wore their regulation tan t-shirts and camo pants, while Ghost was clad in a black long-sleeve and his standard skull balaclava.

“So if we’re stormin’ the building, we’re all accounted for,” Soap pointed out, clicking the pen between his fingers. “We need a sniper.”

“Called in a favor with a good friend, who should have been here–”

“Ten minutes ago,” a strong but mellow voice cut in as a figure turned through the doorway. “I know, sorry John. Got a bit caught up with my room assignment. Tried to put me on the other side of base.”

A woman came into view, offering her hand out to John. They firmly grasped each other’s forearms in a quick shake. Soap and Gaz both had only slightly surprised expressions. Not at the fact that their sniper was female; they’d worked with plenty of fierce women during their time in Task Force 141.

The fact that she did not look the part.

She wore a massively oversized black sweatshirt that brushed her thighs and dark blue skinny jeans, her hair loose down her back. Must’ve just got off a plane, Soap thought to himself, looking her up and down. Her stance showed her confidence, feet shoulder-width apart as she faced the team with a bright smile (one not often found in their field of work) and glowing skin. She wasn’t necessarily small, more average height, but her attire dwarfed her frame. 

“Thank you for joining us, Captain,” Price nodded at her. “This is Freyja. American Special Forces, sniper, undercover ops. She’s been briefed and will be joining us temporarily for the op. She comes highly recommended and outranks all of you, so I’d suggest you be on your best behavior.”

The woman jabbed Price with her elbow, rolling her eyes, much to Soap’s surprise. He barely suppressed the laugh that bubbled in his chest, unable to help the small choking laugh that escaped. Ghost glared at him and he quickly piped down.

“Thanks, John, but I think I’ll be fine. Glad to be of use.”

“Happy to have you. Let me know if you need anything while you’re here. I’ll leave you to it, get acquainted. We leave at 0400 hours. We’ll be infiltrating in daylight; prepare accordingly.”

“Aye, Captain,” Soap nodded once and saluted him, setting his chair back down as he rose. He watched John pat her shoulder on his way out, sharing what seemed like a knowing look, before finally departing to his quarters. Interesting.

Soap was the first to cross the room, taking her hand in a firm grip. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain. Sergeant John Mactavish,” he introduced, shaking her hand. He noted her equally firm grip and the cool metal of a wedding band pressing into his palm. Her skin was calloused yet soft, not as rough as his own. 

“Soap, right? Heard a lot about you.”

“Aye. Good things I hope?"

“Mostly.”

A boisterous laugh left him, so loud you’d think the room shook. Soap heard Gaz gag on his water before breaking into a choked wheeze. The other man approached, shaking her hand as well. “Kyle Garrick, call me Gaz.”

Her hands found their way into the pockets of her sweatshirt.

“So, Freyja… like the–?”

A gentle, airy giggle floated into his ears. What a lovely sound. “Yes, like the goddess. I know, my husband’s idea.”

Soap groaned, his head lolling back in faux agony as he pressed a hand to his chest. “You’re breakin’ my heart, lass. Was hopin’ ya didn’t have one’a those. He in the service?”

“He is, but you wouldn’t know him. Keeps a pretty low profile,” she shrugged, keeping her eyes on the two men in front of her.

”D’ya think I could take him?”

”Probably not.”

Neither Soap nor Gaz noticed the way Ghost’s mask twitched slightly, evidence of the smirk that pulled at his lips. But she knew his microexpressions like the back of her hand, even out of the corner of her eye. The Scot remembered Ghost’s presence suddenly and waved his hand in his direction. He hadn’t made any move to greet the newcomer and hadn’t spoken during the entire brief.

“Steamin’ Jesus, Ghost, you heard the man. Be nice to the lady!”

Ghost grunted, keeping his arms folded on his chest. “Captain.”

“Lieutenant.”

The two stared at each other, her brow quirked. As the seconds passed, the interaction became increasingly awkward for everyone else in the room. Even the thickest person on the planet could have sensed the tension. Unable to take the silence any longer, Gaz stepped in to attempt to relieve some tension. “You two worked together before?”

“You could say that,” Ghost stated as he rose from his chair. “A word, Freyja?”

Her tongue poked at the inside of her cheek and she squinted at him. It was almost comical, the height difference between the two. Typically, Soap would have made a snarky quip, if not for the vicious look in her eyes. He wouldn’t say it out loud to him, but the scowl rivaled his lieutenant‘s. Finally, she spoke, “Excuse us, gentlemen. I’ll see you in the morning. You know where to find me in the meantime.”

“G’night, Cap,” Soap nodded and moved to the side, allowing her to pass to the door. Ghost didn’t spare them another glance as he followed behind her. The two men stood silently until they heard a door slam shut up the hall. Soap snapped his gaze to Gaz and found him already looking with wide eyes.

“What was that about?”

Soap shrugged noncommittally. “Not a clue. Bad history? Ghost’s no’ exactly skilled in manners.” He went to head to his room when he noticed a military-issue duffel where Freyja had been standing, an American flag patch on the side. He bent down and slung it over his shoulder. “Left her stuff. I’m gonna drop it by ‘for hittin’ the hay. See ya in the mornin’.”

They went their separate ways, Gaz disappearing to the armory to stock up for the mission. Soap approached the only spare room in their wing and rapped his knuckles against the door. He waited for a few beats to no response and repeated the motion.

Nothing.

Soap’s brows furrowed when he heard what sounded like a muffled argument from the next door up, labeled “Lt. Riley”. Soap should have just left her duffel in front of her door and continued on his way to his bedroom, and gone to bed.

But no, he just had to snoop.

He crept toward the door, still holding the bag as he pressed his ear to the hollow wood. They clearly knew each other, but Ghost hadn’t seemed happy to see her. He felt a bit guilty spying on his lieutenant, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He heard Ghost’s deep voice first.

“We had a deal. You’re supposed to be on leave, and Price knows that. I have half a mind to wring his fucking neck–”

“John didn’t ask me to be here, I volunteered–”

“Cut the shit, Y/N. I’m not daft. He has no place calling you in without asking me first.”

“I don’t take orders from you, Simon!”

Simon? Just how familiar were they with each other?

“Oh, I’m well aware. I just figured that when your husband asks you to stay home, you'd listen! How silly of me!”

So he knows her husband. Interesting. 

“That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“You want to talk about fair? You went around my back to my Captain. I’d say anything’s fair play at this point.” Heavy boots crossed the floor. “This isn’t just about you anymore. You’re not my superior, you’re–”

Soap shuffled his feet, he realized too late how loud the noise was in the empty hallway, and the voices suddenly stopped. He knocked in an attempt to recover, quickly stepping back from the door before it opened. The woman appeared, now in a too-big band tee, her dog tags resting on her chest. “Hi, Johnny,” she greeted, her tone significantly warmer than it had been a moment ago. 

He didn’t remember mentioning his preference for the name, but he couldn’t find a reason to comment on it then. “You, uh, left ya bag. Wanted to drop it off, figured you’d be here.”

“Oh, my bad. Thanks, I appreciate it.” He transferred her possessions to her. The bag that appeared standard when he carried it looked huge compared to her frame. The added weight did not phase her. “We have an early morning. I’m heading to bed.”

Ghost moved from his spot near the bed on the other side of the room. “Frey–”

She held a hand up, sending another chilling glare in his direction. Soap was impressed when Ghost didn’t even blink at the look. “Enough, Lieutenant. That’s an order.” He didn’t miss the eyes behind the skeleton glowering or how the fabric near his mouth shifted. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he growled through clenched teeth. 

She brushed by Soap, readjusting the bag on her shoulder as she stormed to her room, somehow gracefully maintaining her posture. Before he could turn back to question Ghost, the door swung shut in his face.

Real polite.

~*~

“Alpha-One, in position.”

“Copy that, one. Alpha-Two, in position.”

“Bravo?” Soap’s partner looked over his shoulder at the white light flashing at them in the distance. There was a muffled choking sound and a swallow, followed by a sniffle. “Freyja?”

“Sorry. Multiple armed guards. Two snipers at the east and west sides of the targets.” Her voice, while calm, sounded tired and a bit drained. As if she could sense the unspoken question, she came through their headsets again. “Little sick this morning. I’m fine.”

Ghost's jaw set and he rolled his shoulders, blinking a few times to focus. Soap noticed the motion and covered the mic on his headset. “You a’right, Lt.?” he asked, his voice concerned with his brows furrowed. 

Ghost ignored him. “Can you get a visual inside?”

“Negative. Windows are blocked in both buildings. You’re going blind.”

“What’s the call, ma’am?” Gaz’s voice.

“This is Price’s op. I’m just here for support.”

“Ghost?” Price this time. 

Ghost audibly sighed, his irritation at the situation clear. Soap wondered how bad their last encounter could have been for the usually collected man in front of him to be so disheveled. Soap looked over at the lieutenant, who had turned his attention back to the opening in the wall between them. “Bravo, hold your position. Understood?”

“Affirmative.”

“Alpha-One, move in on your target on my command.” Ghost clicked off his mic and slid the chamber back on his pistol, doing one final check.

Soap took the opportunity to follow up on his unanswered concern. “Ghost, you good? Seem tense. Something going on with the lass?”

“Shut up, Sergeant.” He reached up to click his headset back on. “Freyja cleared hot to engage.”

“Standby.” A beat passed, then another, until the suppressed shot of a sniper rifle rang through their headsets, followed by the bolt being pulled back and pushed forward. Another shot. “Clean hit. Snipers down.”

“Copy. Alpha-One, move in. Keep it quiet,” Ghost commanded, signaling Soap forward with a tilt of his head.

She watched Ghost and Soap move swiftly around structures and cars forward to their target. Her gaze periodically adjusted between them and Alpha-One, Gaz and Price. Soap’s accent was low in her ear. “Approaching target. Engaging two hostiles.”

The pair dispatched the guards with ease, the same as the other team up the road.

“Be advised, I have no eyes inside,” she reminded the group, surveying the surrounding area as both teams entered the building.

“Roger. Breaching.”

On their frequency, angry shouts and gunfire had her writing uncomfortably in her spot. She didn’t like not having a solid visual of her team; it made her feel helpless. The audio of the scene inside wasn’t helping her nerves (or nausea) much, either. The sniper was almost lost in her thoughts when she caught movement at the edge of her scope up the street.

Reinforcements.

“Ghost, engaging incoming hostiles. You might want to bug out,” she suggested, taking several shots at the armed men back-to-back. “Alpha-One, sound off.”

“Heard. Intel acquired,” Price acknowledged. “Clearing out.”

“Alpha-Two, how copy?”

The radio crackled once before Soap came through. “Copy, I’ve lost visual on Ghost. Got separated in the firefight,” he grunted, still firing shots inside the building. “‘M gonna have to squirt.”

Something wasn’t right. “Ghost, how copy?”

Silence.

“Lieutenant, what’s your status?”

Her skin crawled at the repeated silence. “Fuck.” She took a deep breath and pulled her knees underneath her body, her stomach suddenly stilling, nausea disappearing. “Abandoning post.” Her voice pierced through their radios with urgency. She abandoned her rifle and made her way down from her perch.

“Absolutely not. We’re converging at the meeting point now.” Price cursed under his breath as she brandished her sidearm and sprinted towards Ghost’s last location. “Stand down, Bravo, that’s an order!” The captain commanded, rough and authoritative.

“All due respect, Price, get bent.”

Price and Gaz watched helplessly as she disappeared into the structure, Soap approaching them from their flank. “The absolute balls on that one, aye?” he snickered, eyeballing Price. He didn’t even flinch, expression hard as steel as he rubbed his face. He hadn’t seen his captain that stressed in quite a while. Maybe not the time for jokes…

The blood-curdling screams Soap heard would scare any man straight. It sounded like a horror movie slaughterhouse over their comms, whether it was caused by Ghost or Freyja he didn’t know. He did know it was her voice that said Ghost’s name and assumed the distant, heated mumbling was Ghost. He must have lost his headset if they couldn’t hear him clearly, and what they were hearing was whatever her comms picked up. “Shut the fuck up and move. If you were fine, I wouldn’t be here, Lieutenant. You can thank me later,” she snapped, sounding eerily similar to a stereotypical angry wife. There’s no way she cleared out that entire convoy on her own…

Right?

Moments later, without any other gunfire, the pair emerged. Ghost was indeed missing his headset, while Freyja trudged in front of him, taking long steps to cross the street. Her helmet was gone, and her hair had come loose. Gun in one hand, a familiar black combat knife in the other, dripping blood. Strands of hair clung to her face, coated in dark red, along with her hands, bare arms, and vest. Soap’s eyes blew wide. “Steamin’ bloody Jesus, did she–?”

Price hummed and nodded beside him. In the same breath, she stumbled over to a car and gripped the door handle, dumping her stomach on the dusty road. Soap and Gaz moved to help, but Price stopped them with a single grunt. Ghost was immediately on her, expertly sweeping her hair into one hand as he pulled her earpiece out, cutting off their audio. One of her hands grabbed his vest for support while his other hand rested on her back.

“Well, that’s unusual,” Soap chimed, his head cocked to the side as he watched the display.

“Quit starin’ and load up. I doubt that’s the last of those reinforcements.” Price waved at them, catching Ghost’s attention and pointing to an approaching Heli, waving his hand in a “roll out” motion.

~*~

The ride back to base in the heli was one of the most awkward experiences of Soap’s life; not a word was spoken during the short trip. Ghost pulled a rag out of his vest and silently handed it to Freyja to wipe some blood from her face; she passed him the blade she had carried, and he finally placed its familiarity when Ghost tucked it into the empty holster at his hip. She looked utterly drained now that they were in close quarters. In another shocking moment, she rested her head on Ghost’s shoulder, and he didn’t move to shove her off.

What the fuck?

At the base, Ghost dropped her off at the medical bay before storming into the meeting room where the team had gathered to debrief. “You’re a dead man, Price,” he barked, finger jabbed at him as his skull plate skittered across the table when he threw it. “You fuckin’ knew–”

“Simon, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t “Simon” me. Sorry’s not gonna cut it, Captain! If she’s hurt–”

“I didn’t think she would compromise herself that easily.”

Ghost barked a dry, humorless laugh as he pointed in the general direction of the infirmary. “Of course, she’s bloody compromised! She’s my fuckin’ wife, you git!” he snarled, teeth viciously bared as he ripped off his mask.

“Hell’s fuckin’ bells…”

“Bloody hell…”

He was too angry (and, frankly, scared for his wife’s health) to acknowledge their audience. “This is exactly why I told you not to call her. I can’t focus if I’m worried about her safety right now. She’s supposed to be safe at home, resting, not running into a bloody warzone, for God’s sake!” 

“She was told not to leave her post–”

“When has she ever obeyed a direct order?”

Silence fell over the group, Price effectively losing the argument. Neither Sergeant wanted to find themselves on the other end of Ghost’s rage. They had no envy for Price and dared not get between them. No envy at all. On the other hand, Soap had so many questions. Since where was Ghost married? When did he have the time for a wife? And an American at that? How long had he been keeping her a secret?

“Simon.”

Four heads whipped to the soft voice across the room, finding the woman of the hour standing in the doorway. A superficial cut on her forehead had been taped up, her face clear of blood. Soap and Gaz stared at her in disbelief, jaws dropped as they looked from her to Ghost and back again. She chuckled at their expressions but didn’t move to approach them. “Captain Riley. Lovely to meet you both, officially,” she reintroduced herself, a slight smirk on her lips. She finally met her husband’s gaze, her expression softened at his bare face, save for the black paint.

He curled two fingers at her, one arm crossed over his chest. “C’mere. Now,” he ordered her, though his tone had little bite to it.

Even only knowing the sniper for such little time, Soap was outright shocked at the display. Flabbergasted by her obedience when she immediately strode to the spot next to him, barely leaving any space between their chests. It didn’t seem like her. He was obviously wrong, considering what he’d just witnessed. 

Ghost took a deep breath as he peered down at her, examining her visible skin for injuries. “I’m right pissed at you, love,” he muttered, allowing her to loop a finger in his belt loop.

She smiled up at him, her admiration clear now that the sergeants had been let in on the secret. “I know.”

“Don’t give me that look.” The man sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes. He knew he couldn’t hold his ground with that smile of hers. He dropped a gloved hand to rest on her lower belly, rubbing the spot with his thumb. “You alright?”

She placed her hand on top of his and bobbed her head. Her familiar glow from the night before had returned.

“I’d like an apology.”

“And I’d like a parade in my honor. Oh, and a good ol’ fashioned fu–”

“Oi, better watch that fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

“You love my mouth.”

“Tha’ I do. Just not right now, sweetheart.”

Soap couldn’t take it anymore. “Steamin’ blood Jesus L.t., are you…flirting?”

“Shamelessly,” she giggled, never once tearing her eyes away from the man towering over her.

Ghost rolled his eyes again, his other hand slipping into its home on the side of her neck. “You’re done. I mean it. And if you call her again, I walk,” he threatened, turning his head to address Price directly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Ghost, she held her own just fine,” Soap interjected from his chair. “Hen took out an entire squad practically single-handedly, plus the convoy before she went in after ya. I don’t see the problem.”

Realization dawned on Gaz suddenly, forcing him to his feet again. “You’re pregnant,” he exclaimed, both in shock and awe. “That’s why you were feeling sick. And the big clothes. You’re on maternity leave."

The lack of response from John and Freyja and how Ghost studied Gaz said everything they needed to know.

“No wonder you’ve been downright crabbit with her! Can’t say I blame ye, ‘s too dangerous out there to be mucking about with a little one in there.” Soap rose to his feet too, smiling like a cheeseball, ready to ruthlessly tease him. “How’d you manage that, Ghost? A bangin’ wife and a baby?”

“I know it’s been a while for you, Sarge–”

“Aw, away n’ bile yer heid!” the Scot barked, dismissing his lieutenant with a wave.

“English, MacTavish.”

“Sorry, sir, let me translate…Go fuck yourself.”

“Much better.”

He moved on from Ghost, addressing Freyja now. “I’ve so many questions! How long ‘ave you been together?” Soap leaned against the round table in front of them, his hands dragging across the shaved portion of his head.

“How old am I?” Ghost asked in a low, teasing timber.

Her upper lip tugged upwards as her hand wavered, indicating an estimate. “Five years, give or take.”

“Five years?! Son of the god-damn-devil, Lt! You’ve had a secret wife for five years–” He cut himself off with a gasp, his volume dropping to a brash whisper. “Does he take the mask off when you—”

“Tha’ll do, Johnny.”

Her bubbly laugh filled the room, and she swatted his tactical vest with her palm. “Si, don’t be an ass,” she warned, raising a brow at him. “Oh, John! I have pictures for you!” The woman let go of her husband and dug out folded ultrasound photos from her zipped pocket. She, Price, and Gaz moved to another corner of the room, gushing over the snapshots of her latest appointment before flying out, leaving Soap and Ghost alone by the meeting table.

A mischievous grin overtook Soap’s face. “An American, eh, Lt.? And she outranks you?”

“Not another word, Sergeant.”

A long pause stretched between them, although not long enough for Ghost’s liking.

“So… Goddess of love, beauty, and war,” he inquired, raising an eyebrow at the Brit, who threw him a questioning side-eye. Soap hummed. “Fitting.”

Soap almost gawked at the smirk (borderline smile) that Ghost bore as he watched his wife animatedly pour over her photos. “I’m well aware.” Another moment passed between them before Ghost fully turned to the other man. “Johnny?”

“Yeah, Ghost?"

“Flirt with my wife again, I’ll knock your teeth in."

"Noted, sir."

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[kruegerspillow]

thinking about simon who's absolutely gobsmacked after you'd risked your own life for his. he was stuck between awe and anger as he watched your hit figure.

[ALTERNATIVE ENDING HERE!]

MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE BENEATH THE CUT ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

Simon's heart stopped as soon as he heard the sudden gunshot. You'd gotten yourself in his way in order to prevent the bullet from going through your lieutenant. The corner of his eyes twitched before the screaming of soldiers snapped him out of his thoughts. Your blood splattered on Simon's uniform.

"Bloody 'ell, price! There are dozens of 'em. Call fo' fuckin' backup!" Gaz grunted out in the radio, annoyance dripping down his voice. Simon shouts out orders to his other teammates, his voice unwavering.

You groaned, shifting on the ground before you felt a pair of shaky arms wrapped around your figure, lifting you up with ease as your throat tightens. Simon's eyes pierced through yours, his mask hiding  the expression beneath them. He made his way to an isolated corner, while the sound of bullets wheezing past the both of you echoed.

"Ya wanna play hero now, huh?" His voice was filled with wrath, though lacked actual bite.

He placed you down, kneeling in front of you as you let out a pained grunt. His hand hovered over your body, feeling nearly unsure for the first time. Your eyes squeezed shut, and Simon felt his heart ache at the sight.

His shaky hand made its way to your cheeks, lifting your head so you could look up at him as he murmured words of encouragement that you couldn't seem to pick up. His other hand helped you exert pressure on the bleeding wound.

"Don't close your fuckin' eyes, ya hear me? Look at me. Look at me. Hey, that's an order." He whispered, his voice cracking as the world spun around you.

The hands that were once on your cheek made their way to the tourniquet in his vest. Fuck, Simon thought in his head.

The battlefield has no place for love. War won't stop just to let you see your loved ones once again. Simon knew that by keeping his 'no bullshit' facade. Yet, moments like this are the ones that the Ghost could not prevent. He hated how you made him soft, he hated the way his gaze lingered around your figure, he hated how your words had its way with him. But, now? This may or may not be the last time he'd be able to touch you, to feel your skin against his, to show you just how much he loves you, even though you would never understand the amount of love he has for you.

The screaming of soldiers died down as the hostiles retreated from the area. Simon wrapped the tourniquet around your leg, pausing for a moment.

"Breathe, yeah? This... this may sting a bit." Simon spoke up, and you nodded.

He tightened the tourniquet, causing you to nearly jerk. He softly shushed you, his eyes darting from your wound to your facial expression. Once he finished tightening it around your leg, his hands went to the radio.

"Bravo 0-7 to Bravo 0-6, we need evac immediately. Fuckin' hell this place has turned into a bloody massacre." Simon murmured.

"Got your coordinates, we'll be there in ten."

The atmosphere went quiet. Gaz and the other soldiers checked around the area for any hostels while Simon stayed by your side, his chest rising up and down in exhaustion. He quietly gathered his composure.

"Ghost..." Your weakened voice caught his attention.

His eyes softened as he watched you quietly, his hands falling to the side as he stayed kneeling on the ground. The stench of blood and gunpowder lingered around the both of you. Your breathing regulated, he noticed.

"Feelin' better, hero?"

"...Never felt better."

A small, muffled scoff left his lips. His eyes hovered around you, as if he was admiring you. The color of your eyes, the way your chest rose up and down. You met his gaze, noticing the familiar look in them. A swirl of emotions took over his mind.

He longs for the feeling of your touch— the feeling of your lips against his. He wished he could just pull you into a deep, passionate kiss that he had always hoped for; just to show you how much he loves you. Just to let you know that he'd only loved you from the start, just to prove to you that he is a human being capable of love—

But he can't.

You'll never realize just how much he needed you. You'll never notice the way his gaze lingers at you for far too long. You'll never notice the way his eyes soften at the sight of you. And, perhaps, you never will.

The sound of the helicopter filled the area, snapping him out of his trance. As Simon cleared his throat, he carefully lifted you up. Gaz's footsteps echoed through the building before his eyes shifted to Simon. He gestured for the both of you to get into the helicopter.

Simon stood up, carefully making his way out of the building with precise steps.

"Ghost?"

"... Yeah?"

" I, ahem..." you paused for a moment, "Thank you... for helpin' me back there."

Fuck, he felt his heart shattering into a million pieces.

kruegerspillow © 2024 ➵ do not feed my work into ai, repost or translate my work. Reblogs are much appreciated ୨ৎ

[sigh-tofm]

when you’re on your period…

… price

- offers you his big warm hand when you ask him to get the heating pad. will lie behind you all day, his hand warming your soft, bloated belly. whispers to you about this study he read that says that orgasms can alleviate period cramps. slides his hands down your panties when you agree to try. does not mind the blood.

- keeps track of all your hygiene products and makes sure everything is topped up. buys five menstrual cups because nobody has told him they are reusable.

- smiles and patiently gets out of your way when you get snappy with him. understands what pain does to people.

… gaz

- is as perceptive as his captain, but clingier. hovers a little by the bed and does not need to be asked to come lay with you.

- knows your needs and cravings better than yourself. makes sure you have sweet and salty snacks within reach. always keeps your water bottle filled and nearby. makes delicious dinner for you with leafy greens and other iron-rich foods.

- watches your comfort shows with you. laughs at all the right scenes. dries the tears on both of your faces when it’s sad. does not ever make you feel stupid for liking the shows that you like.

… soap

- gets you up and moving without making you feel rushed and forced. holds your hand while you walk and regulates himself to follow your tempo. stops whenever to watch the clouds or study a bird with you, or to let you squeeze his hand when a particularly nasty cramp gets to you.

- makes sure the bedroom has perfect conditions for you. opens the windows and puts the fan on to help you cool down, or gets an extra blanket if you’re too cold. changes the sheets if they feel too scratchy. will sleep on the floor if it means you’re more comfortable for it.

- readily offers to eat you out when you mention that orgasm study.

… ghost

- makes you tea. his knee jerk reaction when anything feels out of place is to make you tea. your nightstand accumulates tea mugs rapidly on your down days.

- dips into his own supply of heavy pain meds when your own don’t work. sits with you and strokes your hair until they kick in. lets you sleep once they do.

- showers with you, washes your hair for you and holds while you cry because you feel disgusting on your period. does not entirely understand it all. does not need to to be a supportive boyfriend.

[diejager]

I know I already sent you an ask but could I get something for monster!141? Specifically Dragon!Price? Sorry for asking again but I love price and your writing!

Dragon Heart

Pairing: Dragon!John Price x fem!reader

Cw: knot, breeding kink, creampie, smut, fluff, morning sex, implied somnophilia, slow sex, romantic sex, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.7k

You knew dragons ran hot, their bodies powered by the kindled fire in their hearts, breathing smoke and fire with every breath they took. European dragons were creatures synonymous with fire, the powerful blaze that humans coveted for warmth, protection and destruction, but Price was all but the latter with his ragtag group. You once thought that Soap - sweet, rambunctious Johnny - ran the hottest, his body exhuming heat in plumes of vapours, his body exhausting itself from rapid muscle growth. Now you knew better, nothing burned more than a dragon itself, his heart pulsing in powerful waves, warm and soothing, his body warmed by the will of fire that thrived within him. You felt it all, his body calling to yours, naked under the sheets of his bed, cradling his face between your arms after your nightly activities that would follow in the morning —a promise he whispered on your lips. 

You woke up to his soft kisses, severing his mark on your body just as his hands did on your wrists, and the rough scruff of his beard, tickling your cheek and throat as he moved down. He was hard between his thick thighs, the flushed head of his cock pushing inside you in a slow roll of his hips, your slick walls stretching around his girth. Price liked waking you up with slow and gentle sex, watching your eyes crack open while they rolled back and lips cracked open to let out a few sleepy mewls, feeling him fill you up. There was something in being woken up with Price inside of you on slow mornings, to feel the warmth of his body pressing you into the bed, soft sheets hugging you, and the heaviness of his cock, carving the shape of it inside you. 

Mornings like these were full of love and affection, unhurried pleasure and gentle caresses. Price - John, you called him behind closed doors - was a devoted lover, giving you much more than he received, finding pleasure in giving rather than receiving. He was a firm, but kind hand, soft but guiding, he took the reins and watched you unravel beneath him —much like a flower blooming, petals unfurling into the prettiest blossom he knew. Price was a strong lover, caring for you through anything with strong conviction, grounding in anything he ventured into, a strong hand reminding Ghost that you were here for him, a gentle hand grounding Gaz from his slight fears, a firm hand keeping Soap in check, and a protective hand holding you close. He was everything and nothing at the same time. He gave and never asked for more, taking what was given to him with a smile and warming eyes. 

While you liked the moments of shared animosity, clawing and biting at him, pressing him down on his desk and riding the life out of his cock, milking him for all his worth while he grasped and bucked into you, holding you captive under his burning gaze; you cherished these moments of domesticity, where he was neither captain nor were you his corporal. You weren’t restrained by duty or regulations, you simply held one another out of passion, one that had his heart soar and yours skip a beat. You loved him, you knew you did as much as he did, and he loved you so much that it hurt his old heart. He whispered your name, pressing his lips against yours, a soft and sensual act drawn out in lazy mornings and passionate gazes —he never failed to look you in the eyes when he expressed himself, telling you how much he cared and how much he would give for any one of you. 

“Love you, John,” you gasped, hips bucked up, searching for his cock to hit a certain spot inside of you, the gummy part of you that made you cry and mewl. “I love you.”

His kiss tasted like cigar and smoke, a woody taste similar to Ghost’s earthy bourbon, but Price’s was more powerful, a distinct taste of him. It laid heavy with love, it clung to you with such boiling joy that you smiled, eyes closed. Your fingers found his spine, the curve that went up to his singular wing, a vestige of an accident that left him crippled in the air, you pressed down, hitting a knot while he fucked into you at a steady pace. He groaned, his pace stuttering, jerkily bottoming out, his balls flush against your ass and his wild pubic hair scratching your throbbing clit. He shuddered and you knew he liked it, the relief it gave him when you pressed a certain knot in his back, the one that released tension and gave him more leeway to move about freely and without restraint. It was your way to give back when he wouldn’t take.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he rasped, brows furrowed and blinking away the daze you put him in, having his cock milked and his back popped felt amazing, the immediate relief painted on his face, “You’re a blessing.”

He felt like a blessing to you, his heart, his body, his mind, and everything about him was a blessing to you and his team. A gifting dragon to his hoard, keeping and protecting what belonged to him. Words wouldn’t be enough for you to show him how much you appreciate him, you used acts, favours and everything you had to show it to him. Whether it be a sudden kiss on his lips that brought a smile on his face, the skin under his eyes wrinkling from how happy he looked, or the massages you gave him, unwinding all the tension in his body after a hard mission, hearing his pleasured groan and his struggle to stay still, to stop himself from snatching you up and give you all the love he deemed you worthy of.

You murmured confessions, praises directed at his character rather than his duty, proclaiming little whispers of love. You raked your nails down his back, fleetingly touching the base of his tail, thick and robust, curled around your leg, holding it over his hip for deeper penetration, the rounded head of his cock kissing your cervix despite your prone position —a vanilla morning sex in missionary. Your hands slipped under his arm, roving over his hairy chest and pinching his perky nipples, rolling the rounded nubs between your thumb and index. You felt him twitch, a soft moan leaving his swollen lips, still kissing you with feverish need. His nipples were sensitive, especially in the mornings when his body reacted much more than at night, he’d succumb to your little tease, jerkily thrusting into you. Every drive of his cock thickened the ring of white around his cock, the ribbed girth of it catching the edge of your cunt when he pulled out, bringing you mind-numbing ecstasy. 

You could feel the coil in your core tightening, the unwinding pleasure that followed the first spasm, walls clinging onto him. You let out a shuddered breath, feeling the ribs rubbing your sweet spot and his leaky cock throb against your cervix. Slick oozed out of your hole with each thrust, the motion pushing out yesterday’s load, cream jostled out of you, squeezed around his shaft. 

“Touch yourself, sweetheart,” he groaned, bowing his head over your shoulders, his breath hot and mouth nipping at your skin, threatening to sink his teeth and mark you for the others to see, for them to strew in jealousy that he had you all night long and the following morning. He spoiled and cared for you. “I want to hear you moan.”

Moan, you did, thighs tensing when your fingers circled your swollen clit, rolling the twitching nerve in rapid motions. You breathed laboriously, panting and gasping into his ear, mewling his name with teary and burning eyes, rolling back from pleasure and the thin veil of grey smoke that rose from his lips. It smelled like cedar, a smoky incense mixed with the natural scent of cedar and his strong cigars, a soothing and bitter smell. It drove you off the edge, his smell, his warmth, his body, and his voice sent you careening over the precipice of your pleasure, an explosive fire blinding you in white light, stars dancing around your sight as you clung to him. Your walls gripped in him a vice, clenching down on his cock and hand stuttering on your clit, the bundle of nerves sensitive and slick. 

He was sloppy, growling out praises, telling you how good you were for coming for him, confessing how he lived to bring you over the brink of relief and much farther, and mumbling how he’d ruin himself for you. It was wet and messy, he came with a single buck, snapping into you, his green-tinted balls slapping your ass wetly, and bottoming out, his knot catching and inflating with a deep groan. Hot cum filled you, ropes of potent semen shooting out of his red tip, engorged and throbbing against your gummy cervix. You felt like you’d bloat from how much he was spewing, imagining the bump of cock and cum under your skin, poking out in an erotic sight.

His back slumped over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you towards him, face pressed under his chin and his wing covering you. You listened to his purr, a low sound meant to comfort you after sex or any other straining activity —similarly to a cat showing its joy and pleasure. Price always cuddled you while waiting out his knot, pressing his burning body against yours and spoiling you with words and kisses. His knot comfortably seated inside of you, keeping his load from going to waste, preventing his fertility from leaking out of you like the faucet-like jet of his tip, he murmured into your hair, nosing the few strands that clung to your forehead and kissed you deeply. You kissed back, fingers carding through his beard and bushy hair, nails scratching his scalp, being careful of his sensitive horns. 

“We have the day off, darling,” Price smiled conspiringly, blazing, amber eyes brimming with mirth, “Reckon we stay in bed a while longer?”

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-222 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @virginalsacrifice @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @kaelysia @mixplara @notspiders

[darlingwriter]

💫🎀 with Ghost? Like he gets all tipsy and lovey. I honestly see this man as a lovesick puppy once you give him a lil bit of attention

Also if you’re keeping track of anons can I be 🧃anon?

a/n: okay first of all you're absolutely correct and you should say it. secondly, i've never had to track anons before and i'm actually so honoured! you can totally be 🧃 anon! 💗

fic: gn!reader x simon "ghost" riley tags: fluff warnings: none wordcount: under 1k

Strictly speaking, you and Simon really aren’t supposed to be sharing quarters. You’re definitely violating at least a dozen regulations by spending almost every night in his bed. Then again, not many people are willing to argue with a six-foot-three man in a skull mask, so strictly speaking has never really been an issue.

No, the only issue is that it’s almost ten and he’s not back from drinks with Soap and Gaz yet and you’re deeply regretting not going with him because, as it turns out, hanging out in this apartment all by yourself is, big surprise, actually pretty fucking boring.

It feels like a millennium passes by in the confines of the white walls before you at last hear a familiar knock at the door.

Setting down your book, you unfold yourself from the nest of blankets and pillows on the couch, already mourning the loss of warmth as you shuffle across a cold hardwood floor to let the lieutenant in, one quilt still wrapped loosely around your shoulders, trailing behind you as you reach for the latch.

Simon’s pulling you into a hug almost the second you open the door, burying a fabric-covered face against your hair.

“You’re late,” you mumble into his chest, in an unsuccessful attempt to sound scolding.

“I know, ‘m sorry, lovely, cab took fuckin’ forever.” He shoves the door shut behind him. Leans back against it. “Ended up standin’ in the rain for ‘bout an hour.” He strips off a damp jacket. Pulls off his mask, revealing stubble and scars and a smile. “Missed you th’ whole time.”

“Sappy bastard.”

“Mmph.” The scent of bourbon whiskey still lingers on his skin, warm and a little smokey. He wraps the blanket — which has been slowly slipping off over the course of the exchange — back around you. “You like it.” You scoff and roll your eyes, and he cups your face with his hands and grins. “You’re cute.”

“You’re drunk,” you protest through squished cheeks.

“M’right, though.” He chuckles. Pulls you close again. Sinks down onto the couch, and you’re pulled down with him, his thick arms wrapped around you protectively as he rests his chin atop your head.

“Simon.”

“Lovely.”

“Breathing.”

“Not important,” he murmurs.

You sigh in defeat. Melt into the embrace. “You’re warm.” The words are muffled against his neck. Simon hums in acknowledgement. Presses a soft kiss against your temple.

“You too, lovely.”

[a66-1]

I NEED DRUNK SIMON DRABBLE OR SMTH ALL OKAY BUT I NEED DRUNK SIMON AAAAAAA

thx in advance 😈

(btw ur rules and regulations link isn’t working)

- HalloHello

thank you king for the idea and for the heads up

I accidentally privated the post so it'll be working right after this.

ANYWAYS

Drunk! Simon x Not so drunk! Reader

TW: Very drunk Simon. I think that's it

A/N: fangirling really hard rn

semi-proofread

You stayed up a little later becasue Simon said he'd be home soon, on a little drinking night with his buddies. He's usually good with controlling himself while drinking, but after missions? Man gets shitfaced and is all hugs and kisses and I love yous.

He's a sweetheart when drunk. Not to say he's not always a sweetheart, but when he has no inhibitions and is actually calm and not tense, he's a big old baby. His inner child really plays out.

You hear Gaz pull into your driveway, as he's usually the designated driver for the after mission drinks. You open your door to say hi to Simon but..

You see Gaz get out of the car with Simon. You open your door, waving. Simon doesn't wave back, and Gaz laughes quickly. He brings him up to the steps, and helps Simon walk up the stairs to your front door.

"Hey, darling. I'm handing you your.. Uh.. Very... Drunk boyfriend." Gaz holds back a hard laugh when Simon, his big self, stumbles forward to lean half his weight on you. You support yourself on the door confused.

"How-What-When--" You look for words but they fail you. Gaz shrugs.

"Even we don't know. Johnny told him to slow down, but.." Gaz gestures to the mess Simon is, and tips his head.

"Don't mean to leave you with him, but I got to drop off Price. Just.. Update me, yeah? I don't know why he'd drink so much," Gaz gives you a nice smile, and walks back to his car to drive off. You take Simon's hand, and try to lead him in. Simon laughs softly, a laugh you rarely hear, and he kisses your face a few times.

He gets in the house, just to crumple to the entrys mudroom seat, and leans back back into some of his own work shoes.

"Oh my, ya'... Y'r such a sore for sight eyes.." He mumbles. You tilt your head, in an 'excuse me' motion. He shakes his head, before trying to stand, and falling back.

"No no, love, a-a sight for sore eyes.. Yea' a sight.." He sighs, "I wish I had a girlfriend tha' wa-was like ya'.."

You snicker, covering your mouth. You manage to get him to the couch, and then your bed, taking off his sweaty shirt and changing his jeans to PJ pants.

"'F I ev'r 'ad a girl, 'd wan' her like ya'.." His words seemed to decline in coherence as he got more tired. You nodded slightly, smiling crookedly.

"Like me, you say? Why's that?" You kiss his temple, and he smiles warmly. His smile is the prettiest you've seen, and you love when he's even slightly drunk because he flashes it so much more.

"'M safe with ya'.. Why wouldn't I wan' a girl like ya'," he smiles, and takes your hand, and holds it.. Like a baby. His big ass hand is wrapped around your thumb.

You softly rub his scalp, as he moves himself onto your chest. You have the TV playing, watching your favorite show. Simon is mumbling.. Something, your sure, but he's just putty in your hands. Imagine: a big burly man, drunk, and infatuated in his girlfriend (but he apparently doesn't know) like a small school boy. It's adorable seeing him defenseless for once, relaxed shoulders, and his gaze is just as strong as he gazes up at you. You peck his forehead, and rub the bridge of his previously broken nose.

"Hey, Si, guess what?" You smile softly, your hand holding his jaw. He hums and tilts his head. "Did you know that I'm actually your girlfriend?"

He stares dumbfounded for a moment, before shaking his head.

"Can't be, mm... Y'r too pretty for me." He kisses your palm, and smiles.

"I promise. 2 years strong, honey." You kiss his lips softly, smiling at his cluelessness. His hands grip the sides of your shirt, looking up at you. He doesn't believe you, crazily, he's still got his insecurities.

"No no, ya'... Ya' shouldn't be.. Wasting Y'r time.." You shush him with another kiss, before his head falls onto his chest. He sighs.

"Wasting my time? Si, honey, I love spending my time on you." You kiss the crown of his head, and scratch his head. He mumbles more incoherent thoughts. He's lights out very quickly, and you follow suit a few minutes later.

The morning comes, and so does a very hungover Simon. He groans, sitting up, and wiping his jaw harshly. You were awake, on your phone when you feel him shift.

"Oh, hey baby." You smiled, and out your phone down. He groans, and nuzzles into your neck, complaining about how his head hurts.

"I know, I know. I got some advil for you." You grab the bottle from the side table, and feed him 2.

"God.. I'm.. Was I..?" He rubs his eyes and gives up, seeking comfort in your arms. Your rub his head some more, and move your fingers to rub his temples.

"You gotta stop drinking so hard, baby." You whisper, "I know you don't do it often, but.. Are the mornings worth it?"

He nods, to your surprise, and leans into your hands. "Mm.. Yeah.. It's worth it.. Cuz'.. Ya' rub my head and kiss me and.. Mm... Hug me.."

You kiss his head, and shake your own.

"Next time, just ask okay?" You get a nod as a response from him. He whispers a thank you into your neck, before drifting off to sleep until 1, like usual.

ahh this was so cute to write and I fell asleep writing it so. thats why I'm posting it in the morning.

by babes!!

-a661

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Beneath the Shadows

Pairings: Poly 141 x shepherd’s daughter! Medic! reader

Warnings: Character injuries, Forbidden Romance, Spice

Authors Note: I love yall, enjoy!

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The scent of antiseptic filled the med tent, a mix of blood and metal laced with tension. You, as the head medic, had become accustomed to the chaos of the battlefield, patching up the bodies of soldiers who risked their lives daily. But nothing could have prepared you for the sight of them—Task Force 141, wounded and barely holding on, brought back from a mission gone terribly wrong. Your father’s squad, his most trusted men, and the very soldiers he had banned from being near you in any personal way.

Task Force 141 had always been more than just a team—they were a unit, bound together by trust, camaraderie, and the intense experiences that only those on the battlefield could understand. Their connection had grown over time, transforming from friendship into something deeper, a bond that went far beyond what any military regulation could define. Soap, Ghost, Price, and Gaz shared more than just missions; they shared a life, a relationship forged in the fires of combat and kept secret in the shadows of duty. They were already each other’s in every way that mattered, an unspoken understanding between them that their love, though unconventional, was unwavering.

And yet, as you laid eyes on them, Soap’s broad frame slumped against the door, Price’s commanding figure catching his breath, Gaz wincing in pain, and Ghost—silent as ever, blood seeping through the fabric of his gear—you felt something stir deep inside you. You’d always been drawn to them, in ways you knew you shouldn’t.

“Let me help you,” you said, your voice steady though your heart raced.

“Do your worst, lass,” Soap replied, his voice laced with a cocky grin despite the deep wound in his shoulder.

You couldn’t help but smile back, but the danger of what you were doing weighed heavily on your mind. General Shepard had always made it clear: his daughter was off-limits. He had issued threats before, warning that anyone who even looked at you the wrong way would be dealt with. But even Shepard couldn’t control everything—not the chemistry, not the quiet looks you exchanged with the men of 141 when your father wasn’t watching.

They were all tough, hardened soldiers, but here, in the confines of the med tent, they were vulnerable. And something about that pulled you in closer, even as you worked to patch them up.

The room was dimly lit, and you found yourself alone with them after hours of frantic stitching and disinfecting wounds. Ghost sat still, his mask hiding most of his face, but you could feel the weight of his gaze as you worked on his arm. His voice was quiet, almost soft beneath the rasp.

“You should be careful, y’know. We aren’t supposed to get this close.”

You knew the truth in his words, but the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers and the way he shifted ever so slightly towards you made it hard to think straight. You bit your lip, trying to focus, but the weight of his presence was intoxicating.

“I’m just doing my job,” you replied, though it felt like a half-truth. You could feel his breath, warm against your wrist as you adjusted the bandage. Every movement was calculated, but there was something undeniably electric in the air between you. It wasn’t the first time.

His gloved hand reached up, just brushing your waist, so lightly that you almost missed it. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

You swallowed, your pulse quickening as you glanced over at the others. Price had dozed off in the corner, exhaustion overtaking him, and Gaz had his eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly, though you doubted he was asleep. Only Soap seemed to notice, his sharp blue eyes flicking toward you and Ghost.

“I think we’re the ones in danger, mate,” Soap muttered under his breath, the teasing note in his voice enough to make you flush.

The next few days were a blur of stitching wounds, checking vitals, and avoiding your father’s looming presence as much as possible. The men healed quickly—quicker than you expected—but as they grew stronger, the tension between all of you only thickened. Each stolen glance, every accidental touch, felt heavier, more charged.

One evening, you found yourself alone with Soap. His shoulder had healed enough that he could move around freely, though you still insisted on checking his bandages. His humor had never dulled, but tonight there was something else in his eyes—something darker, deeper.

“You know,” Soap said, his voice a low rumble, “you’re always takin’ care of us, patching us up. But who’s patching you up, lass?”

The question caught you off guard. You stilled, your fingers resting against his bare shoulder. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the rough texture of scars mapping his muscles. He had always been charming, playful, but there was something different now—an edge to his voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t need patching up,” you whispered, but even you didn’t believe it.

Soap’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the world outside the tent didn’t exist. No war, no mission, no rules. Just you and him.

“You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath. “But your father…”

You froze, torn between the pull of his words and the reality of the situation. You’d wanted this too, but Shepard’s shadow hung over every thought, every action. If anyone found out…

Soap’s thumb moved to your lips, and you leaned into the touch despite yourself. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, but the tension in his voice told you he didn’t want to hear that.

“I can’t…” you whispered back, though your resolve was fading with every heartbeat.

The forbidden encounters didn’t end there. Price was more cautious, keeping his distance, but his gaze lingered on you longer than it should have. He was the leader, after all—the one who would bear the brunt of your father’s wrath if things went too far. But that didn’t stop him from finding you late one night, after the others had gone to sleep.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he cornered you outside the tent. The night air was cool against your skin, but his proximity made it hard to breathe.

“You don’t have to say it,” you replied, trying to maintain some sense of professionalism, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

Price’s hand came up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your lips. “I’m saying it because I care,” he growled, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly. “If he finds out…”

“I know,” you whispered, your resolve crumbling as your lips met his in a heated kiss. His mouth was demanding, urgent, as if he knew this could be the only moment you would ever have. The taste of whiskey lingered on his breath, mingling with the scent of smoke and leather, and you melted into him, every thought of consequence slipping away.

It wasn’t long before everything started to unravel. The tension had grown too thick, too palpable, and the others noticed. Gaz, who had always been the quiet observer, finally cornered you one afternoon, his eyes filled with both understanding and frustration.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he said, though there was no anger in his voice—only concern.

“I don’t have a choice,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

But you knew the truth. You did have a choice. You could stop. You could pull away from all of them, follow the rules, and return to your father’s world of safety and order. But the thought of losing them—Soap’s teasing grin, Ghost’s quiet strength, Price’s intensity, Gaz’s steady presence—was unbearable.

That night, when Ghost found you sitting alone outside the camp, he didn’t say a word. He simply sat beside you, the weight of his presence comforting in its silence. After a long while, he spoke, his voice barely audible beneath his mask.

“If you stay, you’ll have to choose.”

You looked at him, your heart aching. “I don’t want to choose.”

His gloved hand rested on yours, warm and steady. “You might not have a choice.”

In the end, you knew the truth. The path you were walking was dangerous, but it was the only one that felt real. You couldn’t imagine a life without them, even if it meant defying your father, breaking the rules, and risking everything.

You made your choice that night beneath the stars, your hand still resting in Ghost’s. It was a choice born not just of passion, but of something deeper—a connection that went beyond the battlefield, beyond the rules of war and family. And as you walked back into the camp, ready to face whatever consequences came your way, you knew one thing for certain:

You were no longer Shepard’s daughter, bound by his rules.

You were your own person.

And you were theirs.

Days passed, but the tension between you and the men of Task Force 141 never eased. Every touch, every shared glance only deepened the connection that had been growing since the moment you first patched them up. Despite General Shepard’s ever-watchful eye, the bond between you and the team had become undeniable.

It was Ghost who broke the silence first. One evening, long after the camp had quieted down and the shadows of night had draped themselves over the tents, he found you again. This time, there were no words exchanged, only a shared understanding. His hand slipped into yours beneath the stars, the cool leather of his gloves warm against your skin. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. He wasn’t alone this time. Soap, Price, and Gaz emerged from the darkness, standing together in solidarity.

“We’re done hiding,” Price said, his voice steady but filled with conviction. His eyes, dark and intense, locked with yours, and there was no hesitation in them. “We’ve been through hell and back, and we’re not letting this slip through our fingers because of a few orders.”

Soap grinned, that mischievous spark lighting up his eyes. “Aye, love. We’re not the kind to follow rules anyway.”

You felt your heart swell in your chest, the warmth of their presence, their resolve, surrounding you like a shield. They had always been fearless on the battlefield, but this—standing up against General Shepard, against the very regulations that bound them—was a risk none of you could ignore. Still, you knew you couldn’t walk away from them now, not when you’d seen what you could be together.

Ghost’s quiet voice broke the silence. “You’re one of us now.”

His words hit you like a wave, a confirmation of something you’d felt for a long time but had never dared to name. This wasn’t just some fleeting attraction. It was deeper, a bond forged not only in passion but in trust, respect, and the shared understanding that only came from fighting the same battles side by side.

You looked at each of them—Soap’s playful grin, Price’s steady gaze, Gaz’s soft smile, and Ghost’s silent strength—and you knew, without a doubt, that this was where you were meant to be. No matter the consequences.

The day came when General Shepard’s suspicions grew too strong to ignore. You had always been careful—each stolen kiss, each secret night spent in their arms was hidden away behind layers of duty and discipline—but Shepard wasn’t a fool. He knew his men, and he knew you.

When he finally confronted you, his voice was a growl, eyes blazing with fury. “I told them to stay away from you. I made it clear. How could you do this?”

But you didn’t flinch. For the first time, standing in front of your father, you felt no fear. The weight of his authority, his rank, meant nothing compared to the love you had found in the arms of Task Force 141. “Because I love them,” you said, your voice calm but unyielding. “And they love me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, but you held your ground. In the end, Shepard couldn’t bring himself to punish you or the men. The bond between you all was unbreakable, and not even his orders could tear it apart. He turned his back, bitter but resigned, knowing that some battles, even for a general, couldn’t be won.

In the weeks that followed, the shift in your relationship became impossible to hide, but it didn’t matter. The secrecy, the sneaking around—it was all over. You were theirs, and they were yours. The camp might have whispered, but no one dared say a word against you or Task Force 141. They were legends in their own right, and now, so were you.

You woke one morning to find yourself entangled in their arms, warmth surrounding you. Soap’s body pressed against your back, his arm slung lazily over your waist. On the other side, Ghost lay silent, his breath steady as he rested beside you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. Price sat at the edge of the bedroll, sipping his coffee as the early morning light filtered into the tent, while Gaz stirred sleepily beside him.

It was a strange, beautiful thing—the way you fit into their world, and they into yours. There was no need for words, no need for explanations. You were a part of them now, just as they were a part of you. The love between you wasn’t bound by convention or tradition, but it was real, and that was all that mattered.

And as you drifted back to sleep, surrounded by their warmth and the quiet strength of their presence, you knew one thing for certain: you were home.

Hope you enjoyed! Please like or reblog!- Midnight💜

[inbarfink]

There’s just something about the fact that Zim reads as So Autistic. Like, both in the sense that it’s easy to map his experiences as an alien secretly living on earth to Autistic experiences:

A lack of understanding of social cues and conventions

The Anxieties of feeling like you have to fit in some arbitrary social standards or Something Bad will happen

Unusual sensory sensitivities

Pickiness about food

General alienation

Even the whole ‘fully grown alien disguised as a human child but he’s so immature he basically acts like a child’ shtick can really resonate with a sort of Growing Up Autistic Feeling of… being both far too mature and childish for your age at the same time.

And also in the sense that even in the context of comparing him to other Irkens...

He has problems with volume control

And possibly audio processing

And definitely with emotional regulation

And is extremely impulsive 

And uses very unusual wordings and turn-of-phrases 

And experiences sensory overloads.

And these aren't even Alien Things. That's just Zim being Zim. So he can be read as a metaphor for being Autistic and also as just having the Irken Equivalent of Autism

AND ALSO

His human arch-enemy Dib also has SO MUCH AUTISM VIBES

Like being single-mindedly obsessed with a special interest from a young age

(The part where his interests alienate him from his peers at school and he only finds companionship with an assortment of fellow weirdos of various ages he met online is something I find especially relatable for my own experiences)

Also having problems with reading social cues 

And a tendency to rant and info-dump

AND ALSO ALSO 

There’s also Gaz

Who is ALSO single-mindedly obsessed with a singular subject

And it’s something that always gives her something to do with her hands

And avoid eye-contact 

Which she generally prefers to avoid

And also seems to dislike any sort of physical touch

And either expresses her emotions in a way that is terribly understated or overstated

And it could also apply to their dad too, who’s been obsessed with science stuff from a young age

And also doesn’t seem to do so well with social interactions

Outside of just, like, me looking back at my Autistic-but-unaware-of-it middle-school ass imprinting on this show and being like “oh yeah, That Makes Sense” - it’s also kinda darkly hilarious how this show is basically about two autistic boys who just fucking hate each other to death (plus one of the boys' extremely autistic and extremely dysfunctional family). I mean, in the real world Autistic Solidarity is so incredibly important, obviously. But Invader Zim, a show that was everything to me as a lil autistic teenager is all about that sweet sweet Autistic Hostility.

[snootlestheangel]

Here's one of the better ideas I've had in a hot minute that I forgot about for a couple of days (it appeared when I was trying to fall asleep and I thought about it so good I slept really hard and it disappeared until this morning)

Combining fantasy and modern day

Price, Soap, and Gaz are still the 141 and are still SAS and still highly skilled soldiers. It's still a modern military for them, and everything is just about the same.

The fantasy element comes with assassins.

There's a worldwide understanding basically that any country, place, person, what have you, can hire an assassin for whatever purpose. They're kind of an independent, neutral organization that regulates how much an individual should be making based on the task they're being asked to do (assassins but if they unionized)

But they're not called an assassin

They're Reapers.

Unnamed ghouls of darkness that leave behind a trail of bodies everywhere they go.

Its a dangerous job, one that's short lived and where one dies unknown and uncared for. It's why seniority ranks so high for Reapers, and usually the senior a Reaper, the more notorious they've become. The most notorious Reapers get named, not only by other Reapers, but by the world. But these are few and far between.

The most notorious was named Grimm. It's presumed he was the first Reaper and the most successful. He had a whopping thirty year long career, and an impressive number of confirmed kills.

Then there's Plague, War, Shadow, and Oni. *yall see the vision?*

All Reapers wear dark, more form fitting clothes. Perfect to blend in and move around undetected. The named ones get ornate masks, still made of dark colors to blend in, but an image that imprints on people that are lucky to survive.

But then there's Ghost. The only Reaper to wear white. The saying there is "when you're so good at your job, what's the point in following the dress code?"

He has a decent career now of ten years. In his early two years, he was the laughingstock of Reapers. A Reaper who wears white? Surely I'll see him coming!

But it's how he earned his name faster than any other named Reaper. After just two years, people quickly realized the white mask didn't make a difference. He was lethality personified. He was there and then he wasn't, like a ghost. There's definitely some play about ghosts always being portrayed as white sheets with holes in them.

But Reapers have a bit of power in their own to choose who they worked for, what they do, and for how much.

Reapers could place bids on anyone/thing asking for assistance from one of them. The actual bidding process is unknown to any organization that isn't a Reaper, and being bid on isn't always a good thing. Sometimes it means Reapers want to take YOU out, and they're competing to see who gets the honors. Seniority and notoriety gave bonus "points" to the bids, and named Reapers usually won everything they bid on because of those extra points gained: and usually just because of those extra points *wink wink*

Task Force 141 is stuck dealing with a massive terrorist network and they're having trouble taking out many of their targets.

So against what is considered ethical, they make the announcement they're looking for a Reaper.

And the bids started off high. Most Reapers only bid to be the one so they could see how high the numbers got.

Laswell is the one fortunate enough to inform the boys when the bid closes and they get their Reaper. It's an official message from an unknown origin, impossible to trace. It details how big of a deal this particular bid was for the Reapers, and Laswell shares it with the team.

Their Reaper won by a landslide, Laswell informs. She tells them how even just base bid points, excluding any seniority and notoriety points, the Reaper had outbid the next one by over a thousand points. The bonus points accumulated another 10,000.

And they're all sitting there in shock, cause holy shit, who would bid that high in the first place and who has that much in bonus points????

The message Laswell got?

"Congrats. Your bid broke records, with the winner's base bid being over a thousand points higher than the next. This excludes the ten thousand in points earned from seniority and notoriety. Ghost will dictate the price at his arrival. Best of luck."

A rather shocking way to learn that The Ghost had bid so high on their little team's efforts.

The reason he bid so high, you may be wondering?

Well he wasn't about to let any other Reaper work for his husband, now was he?

Of course, poor Soap MacTavish is in for a world of surprise when he learns his quiet husband Simon Riley is the most notorious Reaper to date.

I have a couple little sneak peek ideas brewing for anyone that wants to ask. I'm just gonna let this settle first 😁

[dovabunny]

Angsty Ghostsoap Idea of the Day - Not Soap anymore

Cw: angst, misunderstanding

Soap was so sure his heart was safe in Ghost's hands, his place was secure in the 141.

2 hours he stood there in the disciplinary hearing, listening as his every insecurity is turned on him.

Every thing he hated about himself, was self conscious about, or wishes was different is read out loud.

'Unprofessional. Insubordinate. Talks too much. Appearance not regulation. Too loud. Disruptive. Too familiar. Undisciplined.'

He fought back the tears.

'Too emotional'

He doesn't look up from the floor. Doesn't want to see Price and Laswell at the table with his old smug commander he thought he finally got away from.

He was wrong. He disobeyed a direct order to turn back and plant explosives to prevent the building from being used again.

The premise had been cleared 5x in the past 3 years of human traffickers. It was secure and by the docks. They were gonna come back. His suggestion was shot down but after what he saw in there.. he decided to do it anyway.

So yes, he was wrong. No, he doesn't regret it.

But then Ghost had yelled at him over the comms for all to hear. Calling him a danger, an idiot who can't listen, a liability.

Then he reported it to Price who wrote him up for it after shouting the same words.

Price didn't know it would be the third strike on his record.

💰Soap didn't see Price flinch as words he'd written were shot at Soap like bullets. They were taken out of context, and never meant to be used like this.

He sees the man tremble, sees his eyes glaze over. He could see this destroying his boy and he couldn't stop it.

💀 A firm hand settled on his leg and Ghost looks up at Gaz. He didn't even realize he made a motion to stand in his anger. He was beside himself. This was his fault - he did this to Johnny. The commander's vitriol as he dug into Soap's character felt like a knife to his chest.

This wasn't what he wanted! He had been so fkn terrified when Soap ignored him and ran back into a crumbling smugglers den alone to blow it up. It came from a place of overwhelming worry but all he knew was violence. So he snapped and hurt, just so Johnny won't ever do it again.

He told Price, had to. He knew Price had a soft spot for Soap and was also worried at how reckless he got. To show him how serious it was he wrote him up.

Not knowing there was a commander who had been waiting for a third strike on Soap's record.

Soap's punishment: 6 months off the task force stripped of his title as he was sent to undergo training with new recruits. To 'remind him how to conduct himself as a soldier'. All of it at a base away from the 141.

Price tried, he really did, Laswell too. It was helpless. They just had to wait it out.

6 months later Ghost, Gaz, and Prize stand excited on the tarmac awaiting their favourite Scott's return to the 141 and as Sargent. Gaz is excited to hear all the stories of Soap kicking his instructors' asses, Price hopes he slept well. Ghost just wants him close again.

The man who steps off the heli, however is not the Soap they were waiting for. He doesn't have a mowhak, or trademark t-shirt and jeans, confident swagger or beaming smile.

He walks upright, his gaze his fixed but distant, his hair buzzed to the roots dressed in full basic fatigues.

"... Johnny?" Ghost asks as if he isn't sure who this is.

"Captain Price, Lieutenant Riley. Sargent John MacTavish, reporting in."

"Welcome back son. Your room is how you left it." Price says slowly.

Soap nods and goes to walk off but is stopped by Gaz's hand on his shoulder.

"Soap? Are you okay, mate?"

He stopped, took a moment, then looked back at the three staring expectedly at him.

He was fixed now. Like they wanted.

"I'm not Soap anymore. My call sign has changed."

He takes off his dog tags and hands them over.

Sgt. John 'Hazard' MacTavish

[granddaughterogg]

So, you're the newest addition to Task Force 141 and you Make a Move on one of the boys. How will they react?

Johnny Soap MacTavish: With utter glee. "Took ya long enough, lass! Thought you'll never shoot your shot!" He'll announce with amusement. Our perky Scotsman is an absolute Sexpot - and he knows it. He is also a master of Living in the Moment aka Seizing the Day. Rules and regulations be damned. "So what do you say?" He'll ask, filling your personal space with all that muscle and clasping those strong hands around your waist. "Wanna go on a date first…" Johnny wiggles his painterly eyebrows. "...Or shall we skip to the good part?"

Ghost: When you confessed that you'd like to spend some time with him in private, he didn't seem thrilled. As is usual case with Ghost, he didn't seem like caring one way or another. All you got in the way of a reaction was his hand, holding the cigarette and now stilled halfway to his mouth. He threw you one of his Stares - Simon Riley's eyes are as beautiful as they are cryptic, you've never been able to read those dark peepers surrounded by white, seemingly frosted eyelashes of dizzying length. Then he muttered something under his breath and walked away. You didn't hear a word from him for the next three days, apart from work orders anyway. Disappointment and embarrassment tormented you in turns. You were silently cursing your big, reckless mouth. On the fourth day he approached you as if nothing had ever happened and said: "Allright". "Allright what, Sir?.." You asked, dumbfounded. "I agree. We should fuck."

Gaz: Oh, this beautiful boy. Out of the whole squad he's probably the one best adapted to Living in a Society. He reacts as any sensible man would: with a charming smile, a proud, joyful gleam in his eye, a trace of a blush almost. "Gosh, Private, really…Me? Well, girl, you got outstanding taste." "Don't I know it," you answer boldly. "Look, babe," he says in a hushed voice, coming closer and putting his hands on your shoulders, "Cap will rip my head off and piss in my neck if he finds out that I'm fooling around with a subordinate...so we're gonna have to be extra careful, 'kay? Can you promise me that?" You nod enthusiastically. This is so exciting!

Captain Price: So you like to live dangerously. There is no safe way that you can Put the Moves on your commander. You know that...right? On the other hand - if you're gonna break the rules, break them hard and break them for good. Tell him that you desire him. That you can't stop thinking about him. Pick a moment when the rest of the guys won't be within a kilometer radius. Say your line and look into those hard, cloudy sky-coloured eyes which have just grown big and round with shock. "Kid," says Price, his voice suddenly a little breathy, which is oh so hot: "Are you out of your goddamn mind?" "Only for you, Sir." Flutter those eyelashes. Come on, lay it on thick. It's been some time since anyone has thrown themselves at the old man. He will sigh the mother of all sighs, then drag one hand across his tired face. "I am you commanding officer." "That you are, Sir." He will come closer, both hands behind his back. Then he'll reach out and gently, oh, so gently touch your cheekbone. "You do realize tha' I could tell you to pack up and send your arse home?" His voice is very meticulously level, but you can feel the volcano bubbling underneath. "I do, Sir. But I just couldn't live a lie. I want you." That boldness will earn you another sigh - this time more ragged. He'll trace his finger over your upper lip, say: "Well fuck me sideways..." like a man who has just experienced a miracle - and then John Price will embrace you in a kiss, shameless, deep and hungry.

This man has been criminally touch starved. Congratulations, you'll have your hands full from now on. Not to mention your…other regions.

[kruegerspillow]

thinking about simon who's absolutely gobsmacked after you'd risked your own life for his. he was stuck between awe and anger as he watched your hit figure. [ALTERNATIVE ENDING]

MENTIONS OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE BENEATH THE CUT ᯓ ��𐭩

Simon's heart stopped as soon as he heard the sudden gunshot. You'd gotten yourself in his way in order to prevent the bullet that nearly went through your lieutenant. The corner of his eyes twitched before the screaming of soldiers snapped him out of his thoughts. Your blood splattered on Simon's uniform.

"Bloody 'ell, price! There are dozens of 'em. Call fo' fuckin' backup!" Gaz grunted out in the radio, annoyance dripping down his voice. Simon shouts out orders to his other teammates, his voice unwavering.

You groaned, shifting on the ground before you felt a pair of shaky arms wrapped around your figure, lifting you up with ease as your throat tightens. Simon's eyes pierced through yours, his mask hiding the expression beneath them. He made his way to an isolated corner, while the sound of bullets wheezing past the both of you echoed.

"Ya wanna play hero now, huh?" His voice was filled with wrath, though lacked actual bite.

He placed you down, kneeling in front of you as you let out a pained grunt. His hand hovered over your body, feeling nearly unsure for the first time. Your eyes squeezed shut, and Simon felt his heart ached at the sight.

His shaky hand made their way to your cheeks, lifting your head so you could look up at him as he murmur words of encouragement that you couldn't seem to pick up. His other hand helped you exert pressure on the bleeding wound.

"Don't close your fuckin' eyes, ya hear me? Look at me. Look at me. Hey, that's an order." He whispered, his voice cracking as the world spun around you.

The hands that was once on your cheek made its way to the tourniquet in his vest. Fuck, Simon thought in his head.

The battlefield has no place for love. War won't stop just to let you see your loved ones once again. Simon knew that by keeping his 'no bullshit' facade. Yet, moments like this are the ones that the Ghost could not prevent. He hated how you made him soft, he hated the way his gaze lingered around your figure, he hated how your words have its way with him. But, now? This may or may not be the last time he'd be able to touch you, to feel your skin against his, to let show you just how much he loves you, even though you would never understand the amount of love he has for you.

The screaming of soldiers died down as the hostiles retreated the area. Simon wrapped the tourniquet around your leg, pausing for a moment.

"Breathe, yeah? This... this may sting a bit." Simon spoke up, and you nodded.

He tightened the tourniquet, causing you to nearly jerk. He softly shushed you, his eyes darting from your wound to your facial expression. Once he finished tightening it, his hands went to the radio.

"Bravo 0-7 to Bravo 0-6, we need evac immediately. Fuckin' hell this place has turned into a bloody massacre." Simon murmured.

"Got your coordinates, we'll be there in ten."

The atmosphere went quiet. Gaz and the other soldiers checked around the area for any hostiles while Simon stayed by your side, his chest rising up and down in exhaustion. He quietly gathered his composure.

"Ghost..." Your weakened voice caught his attention.

His eyes softened as he watched you quietly, his hands falling to the side as he stayed kneeling on the ground. The stench of blood and gunpowder lingered around the both of you. Your breathing regulated, he noticed.

"Feelin' better, hero?"

"...Never felt better."

A small, muffled scoff left his lips. His eyes hovered around you, as if he was admiring you. The color of your eyes, the way your chest rose up and down. You met his gaze, noticing the familiar look in them. He paused for a moment, pondering his next move.

"Fuck, 'm sorry." He apologized.

His figure scrambled closer towards you before he lifted his mask up to the bridge of his nose. Your eyes widened before he desperately leaned in, hands shaking as he wrapped his arms around your waist softly.

His lips met yours, pulling you into a desperate kiss. His eyes squeezed shut beneath the mask. You returned the kiss, feeling his tongue begging for entrance. He devoured you fully, tasting every inch of you as his breathing turn ragged. Your hands went up to his chest, pushing him softly so he could breathe.

"Ghost, fuck, breathe." You breathed out, watching him gasp for air.

"Christ, I needed to do tha' fo' so long. I don't care if I get fuckin' punished by this damned military." He groaned out, his voice husky.

He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, careful not touch your wound as he breathed in your scent. His muscles relaxed before he pushed himself out of this trance. His hands hesitantly retreated from your body before he pulled his mask back down. The sound of the helicopter filled the area. He carefully lifted you up, hearing Gaz's footsteps before he gestured for the both of you to get into the helicopter.

He stood up, carefully making his way out of the building with precise steps.

"Ghost?"

"... Yeah?"

" I, ahem..." you paused for a moment, "Thank you."

He paused for a moment, thinking of a reply as the corner of his lips twitched into a small smile, though it was quickly washed away.

"... Don't mention it."

kruegerspillow © 2024 ➵ do not feed my work into ai, repost or translate my work. Reblogs are much appreciated ୨ৎ

[sickeninglyshoujo]

a/n: here's gaz my beloved, only one more part to this self-indulgent series left and thats koni. tagging @ahopelesspedantic as she wanted to know whether gaz was on the way

part 1: simon here

part 2: price here

part 3: soap here

masterlist here

buy me a ko-fi

warnings: pregnancy

word count: 1.7k

With Gaz it’s a surprise

You hadn’t discussed children before, hadn’t discussed much of the future. With Gaz, you often lived in the moment. In the day to day, ignoring his future deployment dates in favor of tomorrow’s dinner date where he promised you takeaway and reality tv. Neither of you minded that. Especially with the nature of Gaz’s job. 

You love Gaz the most when your legs are slung over his lap and hes commentating on the dumb military drama he insists on watching (“Tha’ bloke has the captain’s dick tickler.”) It feels so gently domestic it makes your heart hurt.

His face breaks into a grin when he sees you outside his door one rainy evening but it quickly falls when he sees your tear stained face. 

“Lovie what’s wrong?” And that’s all it takes to send you falling into his broad chest and clinging to him before he can even wrap his arms around you, stunned at your reaction. You rarely cried and even more rarely was it in front of him.

“G-Gaz I f-fucked up!”

“Lovie?” He can barely make out the words from where you mumble them into his a-shirt.

You couldn’t bear to look at his face, instead preferring to push yours into his chest. Even in your current state you relaxed into him and became boneless, he’d always made you feel so safe with his biceps wrapped around your shoulders.

“‘M pregnant, Gaz,” you pressed yourself further into him, hoping his chest would open up and you could climb inside of him and ignore what a mess you’d made of things, of this perfect thing you had with Kyle.

“What was that, Lovie I can barely hear you?” He tries to gently pull you from your burrow.

You couldn’t say it again. Instead you reached into your coat pocket and pulled out the tests. A handful of them. You didn’t think you’d ever chugged so much water and juice and soda before, having to generate enough pee for all of them. The thought of any more liquid passing your lips nearly making you want to retch.

Gaz looked at the brightly colored sticks in your hands with pluses and smiley faces and the word ‘Pregnant’ on them and you could see the wheels turning 

“I had to be sure before I told you that’s why there’s so many.”

“I’m gonna be a dad?”

You hadn’t even gotten to that thought yet, only that there was a tiny clump of cells somewhere inside of you and that Gaz had helped create it. You hadn’t been sure of how he’d take the news, only that you had to tell him and had driven to his apartment immediately to tell him. You hadn’t even considered that either you’d give birth to Gaz’s baby or…

“…yes”

“I’m gonna be a dad!” He pulled you back into his chest before lifting you off your feet and spinning you

Gaz took you out the next day to buy armfuls of pregnancy and baby books, beaming as the cashier rang up each one.

You began to spend your evenings with your head resting in Gaz’s lap as he read the baby books to you, scrolling aimlessly on your phone while he studied.

“Gaz you know you don’t need to read every baby book!”

“I have to, what if the baby quizzes me when they’re born!”

Has had your go-bag ready since week 20, packing it himself and surprising you one day when you found it on the ottoman in your bedroom.

You hadn’t recognized the sturdy black duffel and blanched when you saw it, thinking that this was finally his way of telling you he had reached his limit and was leaving you, that he couldn’t handle becoming a dad, that he hadn’t asked for any of this. Trembling fingers shook as you unzipped the duffel, hysterical giggles bursting out when you saw instead of his belongings neatly packed inside, were a tiny stack of colorful baby onesies and blankets folded to army regulations and nestled on top of sets of comfortable clothing for you as well.

“Lovie?” Gaz had been summoned by your giggling steadily rising in volume, and rounded the door to see you nearly in tears holding up a tiny and soft white onesie, “Lovie, is everything alright?” Concern painted his face making your tears of laughter fall harder.

Shopping for baby gear with Gaz is a treat. He stares at the car seat displays lining the wall, “Why would the car seat need to rotate? Isn’t the point that they stay still in them?”

You smack his arm, “It’s to make unloading them easier in the car!”

“Seems like an awfully stupid feature for it to cost $200 more than the one that doesn’t spin. Why does it have so many straps?”

“They’re supposed to keep the baby safe in case of a car crash by having more points of contact.”

“Seems rather stupid to plan for getting into a crash with a baby in the car.”

Gaz has gone from being your casual boyfriend with few strings attached to becoming a practical Mother Hen. He’s penciled every one of your appointments onto his calendar, taking leave on strategic weeks to ensure he makes the most important ones. He keeps a copy of the ultrasound in his breast pocket when he’s on duty, taking it out in the evenings he’s on base to look over the growing bundle, not noticing the creases and crinkles that were embedded in the thin paper.

When you enter labor he’s white as a ghost, but all business, gathering you and the baby bag, hustling you out the door and into his idling car. He breaks the speed limit on the way to the hospital and ignores your pleas to slow down, the contractions aren’t that close yet.

“Just gotta get there,” He keeps muttering to himself.

He lets you do the talking to the receptionist, lets the nurse wheel you through the hospital, close on her heels the entire time.

While you’re going through the routine medical history once you’re changed into a gown and settled into a bed, Kyle settles his forehead onto clasped palms.

“Kyle, it’ll be fine,” You coo at him, “Remember you were excited for this!”

“...Is it too late to use a condom?”

The nurse returns to the room because of your hysterical laughter bleeding all the way down the hall to the nurses station.

Kyle pointedly focuses on your face throughout the birth, petting back your hair from your face, not caring that its sticky and tangled from sweat.

“Hey there,” He coos at the baby bundled into your arms, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Kyle, he looks just like you,” You reach up and tug on his shirt collar, pulling him into a kiss, “Thank you.”

“For what , love?”

“For our baby.”

Kyle had gone from being a situationship to slotting himself into your life as a permanent fixture. He broke the lease on his apartment months before the baby was due and moved into yours. It warmed your heart to see his toothbrush in the cup next to yours, the satin pillowcase he gifted you when he realized you slept on cotton (“This is so much better for your hair and skin, lovie”), the empty mug from his tea he never rinsed and put into the washer and instead left in the sink.

You didn’t expect the matching red plaid christmas pajamas that Kyle bought you and the baby. You certainly didn’t expect him to also buy himself a set to match along with you and your son

“We have to make this memorable, it’s his first Christmas,” He explains trying to get the baby’s wiggling arms into the onesie.

“It’s our first Christmas too, you know!”

“Yeah, about that…The baby’s kind of your Christmas gift this year.”

You rolled your eyes, “Thanks Kyle, next year though I’d prefer a gift that doesn’t spit up on me when he hasn’t been burped.”

You hadn’t expected a gift from him as he had recently come home from a brief training stint on base. Regardless you bought some for your son (‘From Mom and Dad!’ penned onto them), excitedly watching as the near nine month old tear at the paper you had loosely draped over his presents. 

Kyle had already opened his gift from you, a fancy cologne that he’d gotten earlier in a trial size that you loved when he wore, nuzzling deeply into his neck to smell it each time.

“Love, is this a present for me or for you?” He quipped, kissing the corner of your smiling mouth.

“For my nose and for your love of attention more like.”

“Thank you, dove.”

“Guess its time for your real gift now,” Kyle said.

“I thought our son was my gift,” You poke him in the ribs.

“It’s nothing much, just something I’ve been meaning to give you for a while now.”

“Kyle?”

He pulls a small box wrapped in cheery red paper with a gold bow on top of it from his pocket.

He notes the confusion on your face as you tear gently at a flap in the wrapping, “You really didn’t have to get me anything, Kyle.”

“Yeah, I did,” He says as the velvet of the box is revealed.

“Kyle?” You turn to him from staring at the box, you watch as he gets up from where he’s lounged on the couch with an arm slung over the back to kneeling in front of you.

He takes the still unopened box from out of your hands and opens it for you, “I know we’re doing things a bit out of order, having the baby first, but love, I want to do this the right way for you. Will you marry me?”

“Kyle!” You finally manage.

“Love, please answer me, I’m beginning to think you only want me for my sperm.”

“Kyle, you idiot, of course! Yes!” Tears are flowing now and you can barely see through them as he slips the ring onto your finger.

a/n: reblogs and comments feed me. talk to me about cod dads