#a question for the missus; asks

[mrs-scarecrow]

I wanna see Hunter Emma and survivor Emma meet.

The showdown of the century!!

[stellewriites]

do u think butch simon would have like a single helix done or something like something he got roped into doing with soap and gaz maybe?

anon i have literally talked about this exact thing with moon (@incorporealmoon ) a lil while back!! 💗 we discussed si having an industrial piercing just bc he’d want to prove he could deal with the arduous healing so i can imagine that’s the one he got roped into doing with the boys lmaoo

drunken night out, soaps getting a dodgy ‘funny’ tat at 2am last minute like they’re in ibiza and not just on a weekend away to watch footie in london, gaz is getting her eyebrow done and they call si a chicken when he says no to joining in at first - and he’s drunk enough to take that personally. thinks why tf not and gets it pierced

i also think that once he’s done one he’d maybe look at a few others that are more therapeutic. maybe tries a daith or tragus to reduce his migraines and the like

[chuluoyi]

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

- sylus x reader

you and your lover are hailed and feared, but who would have guessed that behind closed doors, both of you are just that — lovers?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, making out, fluff, comfort, period cramps, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), loosely based on sylus' secret times: midnight warmth & exclusive care!

note: very self-indulgent bye pls don't look at me :') this fic is a companion to assassin!reader series (strictly (un)professional and jealousy incarnate)

“Who’s ther— lord! Missus! What happened to you!?”

On a rainy night, you staggered into the base, drenched and covered with dirt. Your steps were unsteady as you made your way through the front door, and the first person to see you, Luke, was so shocked by the sight that he rushed to your side.

“Kieran! Call Boss!” he shouted to his twin, who immediately sprinted off to find him, steadying you. “Are you injured?”

“No,” you hissed, wincing as you clutched your abdomen. “Let go, I’m fine—” But before you could finish, you missed a step and—

—fell into Luke's arms.

In that very instant, Luke genuinely feared for his life. He squeaked and stammered, incoherent sounds escaping him, because oh lord— if Boss sees me ever touching his woman—

“What are you doing?”

And there came his nightmare. Sylus’ deep voice cut through like a blade, marking the arrival of doomsday itself.

“B-Boss! It isn’t what it looks like!” Luke quivered, desperately trying to explain himself.

However, Sylus paid him no mind and exhaled sharply, immediately moving over to pull you out of Luke’s grasp. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you insisted, pulling away from him while staggering. “I’m not wounded or anything. Just... I just need a bath, please.”

Sylus eyed you from top to bottom. You had just been out for a reconnaissance, and yet you looked as though you had been through a tornado and back. Disheveled, your dress was smeared with mud and dirt, and even grime clung to your hair.

“Did you fall into a sewer or something?” he questioned, and he knew he had hit a nerve when you shot him a glare.

But you spared him no answer, walking away with labored breaths and a hand pressed against your lower belly. It was clear you were in pain, and the sight tugged at him as he followed you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his concern growing. “What hurts?”

“You don’t have to fuss over me—” your breath hitched, feeling exhausted, and ashamed all at once. “Just my period, nothing much,” you murmured in a quieter voice so the twins wouldn’t hear.

As you reached the stairs to the second floor, you felt like collapsing. Did you really have to climb these stairs, too?

As if reading your mind, Sylus let out a sigh, but you nearly squealed when he lifted you into his arms.

“You’ll get dirty!” you rebuked, even as he took large strides up the stairs. “Sylus!”

“Just hold onto me.” He shot you a pointed look. “You can’t even walk without gasping for air, and you still want to climb the stairs? You’ll end up rolling and breaking your back.”

Despite your protests, your lover immediately brought you to his bathroom and sat you down on the sink. He turned the hot water on and then faced you.

“So? What did you get yourself into?” he asked, his red eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction. “You were fine, and you didn’t face anyone.”

You pressed your eyes shut, leaning against the wall, resigned to explain. “Fell into mud. Totally idiotic, I know, but my cramps started right before, so…”

“I don’t recall you experiencing this before. What brought this on?”

You met his gaze indignantly, retorting, “Well, a certain someone banged me so hard last night, and I got my period right after.”

It was quite unexpected, but still answered his concern. So, to that, Sylus snorted and tousled your hair, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Ah, sorry, I guess?”

You pursed your lips, aware of how unapologetic he was. He smirked and added, “Now that I’m dirty too... I suppose we’ll have to take a bath together.”

“Are you mad? Do you want to get covered in my blood?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why not—”

“No,” you retorted firmly, clearly irked. “You take the bath after me, and that’s final.”

. . .

“Put your arm around my neck,” Sylus commanded when you both emerged from the bath and already dressed in silk bathrobes. You complied, and he swiftly lifted you into a princess carry, bringing you to the bed.

Despite yourself, your heart fluttered at his action. He set you down gently, and the moment your back met the soft surface, you relished it and let out an involuntary moan. “Ahh...”

Your voice was soft and sultry, though tinged with a hint of pain. Sylus placed his hand gently on your face. “Your cheeks are warm,” he noted. “And you still look pale.”

"Mmm," you mumbled, suddenly the total fatigue catching up to you as you leaned into his touch. Seeing you so pliant like this seemed to flip a switch inside him, and he immediately settled next to you and placed his huge hand on your lower belly, pressing down on it.

“What are you doing?” you frowned.

“I’m giving you a massage,” he replied. “Stop squirming. I’m trying to pamper you here.”

“You don’t have to…”

“My woman is in enough pain that she doesn’t talk back to me. It’s feels off.”

“...actually, you suck. You’re too rough.”

Taking your whine into account, he adjusted his touch, softening his pressure. "How is it? Better?"

You didn’t immediately reply, indulging in the warm sensation, letting out a sigh as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Mm... Yeah, it feels good now. Don’t stop…”

There was something quietly erotic about watching you, usually so defiant, surrender to his touch like this. Sylus felt a deep, protective satisfaction as he continued his gentle ministrations—

But after a while...

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pulling you closer as he buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of the bath foam you had just shared. “Mmm…”

You were caught off-guard and shivered at his breath tickling your skin, eyes fluttering open. “Sylus…” you murmured, a mix of protest and surprise in your voice.

But he didn’t pull away, his lips lingering against your skin, his gaze fixed on your bare neck, whispering, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Then, when he suddenly nibbled on your neck, you jolted awake. The gentle bite on your sensitive skin sent another shiver down your spine, stirring a mix of warmth that made your pulse race.

But he didn't stop there, as Sylus trailed your neck with a series of kisses and wet sucks, his breath hot against your skin. Soon, the only sounds filling the room were his quiet sighs and the soft noises of his lips as he continued to bite and pepper kisses on your skin, over and over.

“Ngh…” Each touch left you almost breathless, and the heat between you growing with every passing moment, making your toes curl and you moan softly by his ear.

“Hold me,” he gruffly whispered, and as if bewitched, you clung to his shoulders. He let out a husky chuckle. “Not too hard, or you won't be able to sleep later.”

“And whose fault would that be?” you quipped, entangling your legs with his, savoring the warmth of his body against yours.

“I’ve spoiled you rotten, haven’t I... sweetie?” he murmured amidst kisses, his tone laced with intrigue and his burgundy eyes flashing with a glint. “Just let me have my fill for a while.”

If you had a mirror, you’d see the hickeys forming on your neck, but instead of fighting him, you pulled him closer, letting out breathy moans freely and massaging his scalp as if urging him to go further.

“Naughty vixen—you are,” Sylus rasped deliciously in your ear, thick with desire and restraint as his grip on you tightened. “Tempting me, knowing full well I can’t do anything to you…”

A low giggle slipped from your lips. “Unfortunately… I learn from the best.”

Hard to get, snarky, taunting... You were the bane of his existence, and yet Sylus wouldn't have it another way. Your defiance and teasing only deepened his affection, making every challenge you presented feel like an irresistible part of what drew him to you.

He knew when his patience was on the verge of snapping, so to end it, he sucked hard on your shoulder one last time, making sure to leave another mark there. The squelching sound reverberated through both of you, before he pulled away and planted a firm kiss on your forehead, a gesture of both dominance and fondness for you.

“Now sleep,” he grounded out. “Your body has been through enough.”

“Mngh...” you whined, curling into him in contentment, your head nestled against his toned chest where you could feel his strong, steady heartbeat. “Really unfair...”

“You're going to feel better soon...” he sighed, one hand soothing your back and the other resting on your waist. “And as soon as you do...”

A wicked grin curved his lips.

“I'll pick up where I left off.”

[readwritealldayallnight]

When Gaz walks into the bases common room, his goal for making his third cup of tea of the day is diverted when he catches sight of Soap’s expression across the room.

The Scot looks absolutely befuddled, eyes wide and sitting slack-jawed across from his Lieutenant. Gaz walks over to the men, catching the very end of Ghost telling his companion to ‘piss off’.

“Alright?” He asks the lads, raising a brow in question.

“Ye oughta hear the shite LT’s tryin’ to convince me of over here!” Soap is all too eager to inform his friend. Ghost grunts, leaning further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes as far back as he can, as if to tell the Sergeant in front of him ‘this is why I don’t tell you anything’.

Because that’s almost exactly what Ghost is thinking at that moment. He’d just entered the common room when he’d spotted the back of an all too familiar head, fiddling and distracted with the microwave.

When he’d walked up behind the younger man and echoed his call sign out in greeting, his mask hid the smug smirk that appeared at the jump Soap gave, uttering a loud “Shit!” in surprise.

Soap went on to complain about how he was apparently attempting to jumpstart his heart, drawling on about how the Lieutenant was always sneaking up on people like this, moving quiet as a Ghost.

“My missus says the same thing.” The masked man had mentioned casually, as if his chest hadn’t automatically puffed out in pride, standing up a little straighter at the mention of his girl.

“She says you’re too quiet? Aye, LT, think a lot o’ couples have complaints of the sorts in bed ya see-”

“Shut it, you prick.” Ghost quickly shut him down, ending that line of thought. “She says I walk too quietly in the flat. Accidentally scaring her all the time, poor thing.”

At that, Soap’s eyebrows had shot sky high, keen to hear more about the big bad Ghost’s life of apparent domestic bliss, turning him into an absolute sap.

Ghost wouldn’t normally volunteer information about his personal life. But he just loves you so much. And now that he’s not only thinking about you because he is all the time, but also talking about you, his mouth didn’t seem to want to stop talking about you.

“She put her foot down with me recently.” He’d added with a deep chuckle.

“She did what?” Soap had asked bewildered.

“She called it ‘putting her foot down’. I walked up behind her when she was doin’ dishes. Poor bird didn’t hear me and dropped somethin’.”

“Oh, no! Simon! That’s my favourite mug!!” You’d cried out, watching your most treasured ceramic shattering on the tile floor of the kitchen, spreading every which way across the room.

“M’sorry lovie. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He’d sheepishly responded, reaching to turn off the running faucet. He’d grabbed the dish towel and gave it to you to dry your hands, lifted you by the waist and set you on the counter with ease, not wanting you to get hurt with your bare feet. He’d turned, already in search of a broom and dust pan.

“Again. You mean I’m sorry for scaring you again.” You had corrected him, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t take it anymore Simon. You don’t need to be stealthy at home, my love, you can make noise when you walk. In fact I need you to make noise when you walk at home!”

Simon had nodded along, diligently sweeping up every piece of your ruined mug.

“I’ll try harder sweetheart. I promise.” He’d offered, dumping the remnants into the bin before he’d walked up to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as yours slid around his shoulders.

The very next weekend he’d taken you to a local pottery painting class to make up for the lost mug, as well as you telling him off (because yeah, that was what Simon considered you putting your foot down with him, and he never wanted it to happen again if he could help it).

Ghost finds himself grinning further under his mask at the memory however, of how cute you looked as you tried to raise your voice at him, laying down the law in your shared home.

“And so what’d ya tell her?” Soap asked, curious to know how his Lieutenant had reacted, but more so if the man would even reply or rather would tell him to fuck off.

“I didn’t tell her anythin’.” Simon had uttered. “Did as my missus asked me to do, and that was the end of the story. Well, s’pose I did I tell her I’d look into mug making classes or whatever.”

“…”

“You what?!”

[ink-n-shadow]

currently having thoughts about the 141 having a team dinner at john’s house during one of their breaks, forgetting that he hasn’t really told them that he was married.

so imagine their shock when the door swings open and you’re standing there, apron around your waist and flour sprinkled across your cheeks and clothes. “c’mon in, boys! you can leave your boots at the door by john’s. i’m just finishing up the mash” and just as their brains begin firing and the questions begin forming on their tongues, you’re disappearing down the hall and presumably toward the kitchen, leaving the three of them dumbfounded and toeing off their boots obediently.

kyle’s finally the first one to ask the meek question of “so, how’d ya meet the missus, cap’n?” while all of you are halfway through dinner, plates half full and drinks half empty. none of them miss the giggle you let out or the way one of your eyebrows raises as your hand reaches to pinch at john’s cheek.

“y’ never told ‘em how we met? do they even know how i was your captain first? where else did you learn all you know now, baby?”

[partiallysame]

Price's lil wife Shenanigans

Thank you @goatgoesmbe for this idea

"And for any argument really. Even silly stuff how Price jokingly tutted when you heat your tea in microwave like- he would gladly make a new one, you have a kettle

Without question, the others immediately take your side and defend your microwaved tea. Despite Price knowing full well they used to mock people who do that. They would just go 180° with their opinion for you."

The tea thing yes yes yes. During a helicopter ride or something all geared up, Gaz leaned over to ask how The (their) Missus was and Price muttered that he found out you make your tea in the microwave when he’s not around to do it. All of them audibly groaned, Ghost clutching his lil brit heart at the idea. What are you? a monster? Tea without a kettle? That's the behavior of a true criminal. Untilll they were all over at the house again and they watched you place your cup into the microwave to heat it up and Price is rubbing his face in his hands. 

“Woman for christ’s sake the kettle is right there.”

“Ya but this is faster and it tastes the same.” Price turns to his men looking for back up because No. No it does not taste the same. Their captain is staring at them, but behind him is you. Staring so sweetly. Genuinely confused as to why its such a big deal. 

“Think it tastes good both ways.” Garrick is the first to speak up.

“Maybe even better when you get your tea faster.” Soap adds. The men slowly stepping closer to you and away from Price.

“I always make my tea that way. Not a big deal cap’n” Ghost’s final addition is the nail in Price’s coffin. Turning to see your smug ass face, surrounded by his men. Traitors. Absolute traitors. 

The next time they’re at the base and Riley goes to make tea, pulling the kettle out of the cupboard, Price snatches it aways. 

“No No Lieutenant. Make it like you always do. In. the. Fucking. Microwave.” Standing arms crossed waiting for Ghost to have some sort of comeback. His eyes darting to Soap and Gaz, knowing that if he makes his tea in the kettle they would snitch to you for sure. Fuck. Worth it tho.

[lxvvie]

Your relationship with Simon is... shocking to say the least. Well, it is to others. Not to you.

Your dynamic suits you both.

When folks meet the Missus™, no one expects a chainsmoking, tattoo-having, mountain of a man who looks through people more than he does at them and doesn't speak unless he absolutely has to.

He knows how to sew? "Yes, he does," is what you answer, pride in your voice. He learned that and so much more from his girls in the knitting group. In fact, he's on his way there right now.

He made your lunch? "Yeah, he did," is what you say mid-chew, "want some?"

He keeps house? "...Uh... yes?" you answer as if your coworkers asked the dumbest question you've ever heard. And what a damn fine job he does. It's not like you're incapable of it but Simon's homemaking skills are to be commended. Credits his mum.

They don't see what you see, though. They don't see the teddy bear under all that armor, how he makes you laugh, how you make him laugh, and how you hold and love each other as if it were the very first time.

But it's okay, they don't have to understand your relationship.

You and Simon do and that's all that matters.

[bunny-jpeg]

baby showers & bright ideas

simon "ghost" riley

cw: smut/pwp, rough sex, breeding kink, baby fever, doggy style, unprotected sex (duh), size difference/kink

love the fic? leave a comment! really love the fic? suggest your own!

congratulations captain john price. he found himself a missus and now they were having a baby. mrs. price was practically glowing with her pregnancy even if she was waddling around a little. heavy price brat at her hips. price had a hand on her back and helped her whenever he could, he was a doting husband.

while simon enjoyed the food and the drinks, it was nothing compared to the pit in his stomach. why couldn't his missus' sprout a little belly like that? a nice riley babe in your soft womb, wouldn't that be a dream? it all came to a head when he overheard garrick's wife ask when you and simon were having a baby. he saw your got red before you shooed away the question.

the answer was simple, tonight. you were going to make a baby tonight.

being misses riley was no easy feat. simon riley was all scarring inside and out, even his scarred hand on your soft, unblemished thigh was such a contrast. from the scar that ran down his lip to the one that ran across his hip, he needed a tough woman.

but, you were quite far from tough. at least physically, you couldn't even hurt a spider. he watched you move it out the window of your apartment and into a flower box. you were pretty tiddies and a squishy tummy. wide hips and soft smiles. plush in a way that simon could get lost in. the kind of woman that he could bully his cock into, to make a proper mama.

once you got home from the baby shower, simon was on you like a shadow. his hands on your hips as he guided you to the bedroom, barely giving you time to get your sandals off. his erection strained in his blue jeans as he bent you over the bed with your face against the mattress and you ass leveled his his cock.

"there she is." he said as he ran his hand across your pussy over your skirt, "there's my girl." he said in a low grumble of a voice. it reverberated in your brain as you felt all sense leave out your ears.

you clung to the covers as he took your skirt off, and your pretty daffodil coloured panties. you only let go of the covers to let simon get your shirt and bra off of you. you looked over your shoulder at him once you were nude and could feel his hungry brown eyes on you. you squirmed a little bit with your breasts rubbed against the covers which only excited you more.

simon got out of his clothes. you heard the rustle of his belt hitting the ground and saw his shirt being thrown to the head of the bed. your husband was soon naked and his cock was pressed up against you and your hips were pushed up.

"pretty thing. pretty girl." he said. he was just so much more bigger than you, he made you feel so small even when the blunt head of his cock was pressed up against your tight cunt, "you'll look pretty with a baby at your hip. already got the body to have babies, not some twig. a proper woman to have my babies." he sank into your pussy and your back arched with the feeling. the stretch of his length inside of you.

"si." you whimpered.

"i saw ya at the baby shower. how could i not. if price's girl wasn't so heavily pregnant, everyone would be lookin' at ya. bein' a little helper to the price's, bein' a good girl." he said, "ya know all about bein' good. i couldn't take my eyes off of ya. especially with the cut of that sundress. why haven't i seen it before?"

you whimpered, "i wanted to save it for a special occasion. no time felt right except for today."

"your fat tits could barely be kept in it. not quite right for a baby shower. unless you were hopin' to walk away with more than just a gift bag. i bet ya were a little jealous. seein' how the captain treats his wife." simon's voice was honey on your brain. it made you feel hot all over and a little hazy in the brain.

"mmm, si."

"i got ya, always do. that's what a husband does. he provides. but, ya gotta do me a favour, beautiful. get pregnant, let me get you pregnant." his started to pick up the pace and you groaned loudly. you could feel the rattle in your soul from the intensity of his pace.

everything from euphoric and hot, you felt good in the best way you could use that term. it was a heat that could be felt in the tips of your fingers and the tips of your toes. you moaned and panted against your soft bedding.

simon pressed your hips further up, almost holding you up against him as he thrusted in and out of you. such a powerful man, no matter the size, you were easily picked up by your hulking mass of a husband. he was a strong brick wall, and you were delicate like a bed of flowers.

eventually simon got you fully onto the bed with him standing at the end with his cock still inside of you. he worked himself against you and you felt the thump of pleasure in your body. you felt his cock nudge against some of your softest parts and you panted wildly.

"so pretty." he said, "only get more pretty when you're carryin' my kid around. i promise i'll be there every step of the way. my woman won't go without." he could imagine you with the baby weight at your hips, and eventually the chunky riley baby at your hip while you worked through the house.

that was his dream. a nice house, a soft wife, a couple of kids in the yard. it was a simple life, but simon yearned for it. eat dinner, put the kids to bed, show his missus' some lovin'. he continued to rut against you while he leaned over you and wrapped his strong arms around your middle. letting his cock nudge against your cervix, a friendly greeting. a promise that he was gonna keep that cunt warm.

"please, si." you couldn't deny it. his words were hot and you were feeling flustered at the baby shower. you could feel the pull to have a baby, and it was good that you and your hubby were on the same page.

you blushed against the covers, he was still so smitten with you. he loved every curve and mole. he loved every inch of soft skin against his calloused hands. you could hear him panting for you, wanting you more than anything. you whimpered a little bit from the feeling of his cock hitting against all the right spots.

simon knew how to drive you mad with a sexual heat.

his heavy thrusts went to your head and before you knew it, you were panting like an animal in heat with your back arched like a good girl. a good wife.

"yeah, you'll keep my belly and my cock warm, huh? that's what a good missus' does. takin' care of her hubby and the kids he gave her." he felt your cunt clench around his cock. that got you excited. he continued to rut against you until you tensed up under him during climax.

you clawed at the covers a little as the pleasure hit you. your eyes rolled back a little and your husband continued to fuck you. he moved you against his cock and watched your back. a few more thrusts after your climax as simon was finishing as well.

"that's it, that's it. good girl. good girl." he purred lowly, "a good missus riley." the words made you shudder. he felt the heat under his skin. he felt alive.

but it wasn't long before his body craved for more. while he pulled out of you, he got onto the bed and between your legs. his cock gleamed with your wetness, but still painfully hard. he needed more.

after all, he needed to make sure it all took.

-

"there's my missus." simon said with his voice filled with love. he strong arms wrapped around you swollen middle and his nose up against your shoulder, "pretty as always."

this was your second pregnancy in two years, and your firstborn, a baby girl was sound asleep in her playpen while you cooked breakfast for you and simon. you looked like a proper wife, a good wife.

maybe it was a bit of an overkill to have two babies so close together, but simon couldn't help himself. it didn't help that you only got hotter when you were being such a good mama to his daughter. his large hands roamed your swollen middle. a few more months and you'll be having a boy.

"not feeling too pretty." you yawned. you tilted your head up and simon leaned down a little to kiss you square on the lips, "why don't you go check on our little peanut and i'll plate our food."

"of course, love." anything for his wife.

your little family felt complete, that was until simon got a itch to have baby number three. <3

[the-raindeer-king]

Price and Simon are the type of guys to use their partner as an excuse to get out of social situations.

Like Johnny trying to convince Simon to go to the bar after work? Sorry, can't, he's got plans with his love.

Does he actually have plans with you? No, you're probably just at home watching TV. But Simon would much rather spend the evening with you, watching shitty TV.

Price will use you as an excuse to go home early. They just barely got to the pub an hour ago, and he's already over it. There's a rowdy group of guys at the bar, and Price already had a headache walking in.

So when he gets a text from you, asking how it's going, he takes it as a sign. He tells the others he's got to go, the missus/husband needs him at home.

And you're not going to question why he came home early with take out. A quiet night at home together is far more favorable anyway.

[lovifie]

Price had a young girlfriend and did not tell anybody until he decided to get married...

He probably didn't tell them until the night before the wedding…He asked them to come over for a little celebration and everyone expected a middle-aged woman. But when they saw a girl in her mid-20s opening the door with Price they were shocked

Soap probably even asked if she's his stepdaughter LOL

Hey, love!! 💗💗

I wrote you a little something...

I hope you like it 💗

❤️Mr. & Mrs. Price❤️

Fluff | Sugestive | 1547 words | Back to Masterlist

They were having a pint at a pub close to base when he told them. 

“I'm getting married next Saturday, you have the weekend free, so drop by so I can introduce you to the missus.”

Now, Ghost wasn't surprised he didn't know about his captain having a girlfriend, let alone a relationship serious enough to talk about marriage. What surprised Ghost was that neither Soap nor Gaz knew about it. 

“Married?!” Gaz asked, loud enough to make some people turn their heads. 

Price furrows his eyebrow, surprised by the reaction as if he had just told them about what he's having from breakfast. 

“I didnae ken ye had a pretty bird waiting for ye at home, Captain!” Soap says, just as loud.

“Yeah, I have for a couple of years now.” Price simply answers, shrugging his shoulders as he takes a sip.

“A couple of years?!” The three men ask in unison like a bad comedic joke. 

A chain of questions starts to unravel, curiosity for the mysterious woman pouring out; but Price waves his hand shutting them up. “No point in that, you are meeting her this weekend, easier that way”

They begrudgingly agree, keeping to themselves the mental image of the possible woman. She must be around Price's age, so between 40 and 50 years old; knowing how little the man likes to go out they probably met at work so she must be military too. Stern woman. 

Price tells them that is something minor, the close family and a bunch of friends; that they can join at the reception at his house and to dress nicely. 

“No ghost mask.” He chastises the man pointing at him. “I don't want work involved, alright?”

During the week until the wedding, they keep thinking about her, about how she must look like, her personality, her age, her eye colour.

“What do you think she'll look like?”

“In my mind, she's like Laswell… but being into men.”

And out of every possibility and different mental image, the last thing they expected was the pretty thing that opened the door for them on Saturday. 

Pretty little thing, around 25 years old, with the kindest smile on her face even when looking at the three giants on her doorframe, flowy white dress, little hair strands framing her cute face with the rest of it gathered up in an intricate updo in the back hold together with shiny pins and a silky bow. 

“Oh, you must be John's friends.” You say, voice sweet as an angel. “Please, come in, don't just stand there. I'm gonna go get him, be back in a second”

You step back, holding the door open for them, inviting them in and once inside you close the door, walking past them to reach their captain who is looking in the opposite direction, talking to somebody else.

“That must be the stepdaughter… right?” Soap asks what all of them are thinking. 

They stare as you walk up to Price, placing your hand on his lower back making him turn to look at you; a wide smile appearing immediately. He leans forward, his arm moving behind your shoulder and his hand keeping your jaw in place as he kisses you. 

Lips crashing against yours, closing his eyes and letting his tongue into your mouth tasting the champagne you were drinking just a moment ago. A passionate, sloppy kiss that would make a maiden blush at the impropriety of it even for the newlyweds.

“Mate, I sure fucking hope she's not.” Gaz answers after a moment.

The two of you finally pull back, telling Price about his friends arriving and he looks behind you to see them. He smiles, not as wide as when he looked at you, and gives you a quick peck before walking to the door. 

“Welcome, lads. Thank you for coming.” He says simply, crossing his arms and looking proud. You appear from behind him, hand resting on his arm slightly leaning to his side.

“Do you want anything to drink? To eat?” You ask softly, love pouring out of Price's eyes as he looks down on you. 

“I'll help you.” Ghost says, a curl of his lips you could identify as a smile if you wanted to. And once the captain is left with the sergeants, the attack starts. 

“How does an old churl like you manages to get a pretty thing like her?”

“Where do you even meet a doll like her?”

“How many years have you exactly been dating for?”

Ghost clears his throat when he turns around the corner on his way back, with you chirping on his side about how happy you are to finally meet them. He has a more natural smile on his face now, clearly infected with your enthusiasm. 

Price finally introduces you to them, exchanging everyone's name. You hug both the sergeants and shake Ghost's hand, the man glad that you made the observation of his lack of appreciation towards body contact. 

After a little chat, you excuse yourself; promising to get back in a while wanting to talk to your own friends still waiting around the room. It leaves Price on his own and that's when he tells the nosy men how he met you. 

You were his neighbour, sharing half the walls of the old flat he house to live in before moving in together. How he introduced himself to you one day when he saw you leaving your house, how he told you he was military so you wouldn't freak out if you saw him in the middle of the night or suddenly disappeared for months, how after a specially long deployment he got back and you dropped by hours later with a bunch of tupperwares with homemade food “I assumed you would be tired, it's nothing special but I'll save you the hustle of cooking”, about how he had wanted to marry you ever since, how he gave you the tupperwares back one by one so he had more reasons to talk to you, how he finally asked you out with the last one and how after that it all was easy between you two.

The four of them swiftly move to sit down on the kitchen table, Price still telling them everything about you and the relationship. Ghost is just as invested as the other two, trying to play it off as polite interest. Slowly and smoothly people leave the house as the day goes by, the sun having set a couple of hours ago; and you walk into the kitchen, sitting on Price's lap with a sigh. 

“I know it isn't proper of a good host, but these shoes are killing me.” You announce looking at the three men as you bend down and take them off, a sigh of comfort leaving your mouth as you lean back on Price. “I'm also sure you have endurance worse than some stinky feet.” You joke with a tiny chuckle making them smile. 

“Everyone gone, darling?” Price asks, his hands resting on your lap as you nod smiling. He looks up to the boys as he says. “Better to tidy up then”

“Jonathan Price, don't be rude!” You exclaim looking at him. “They are your friends and there are more than enough rooms for them if they want to spend the night. They have been drinking too!”

“Mrs. Price.” John says with a teasing tone, standing up and helping you stand. “Talk to me for a second, love.”

Price bends down to pick your shoes up, holding your hand to walk you to the living room. They hear the two of you whispering back and forth, then silence and lastly the unmistakable sound of kisses. They peak behind the door, managing to see you sitting in the backrest of the sofa with Price standing between your legs, grinding his hips against yours. You moan softly against his lips, before pulling back and whispering something they can't make out; Price pulls back as well and they sit back on their chairs. 

Price walks in just a second later. “Lads… thank you for coming, I'll see you when I'm back from the honeymoon, now… OUT!” He barks the last word making Soap chuckle as they all finish their drink in a gulp and start to walk out of the house, congratulating Price on the marriage and walking out one by one; meanwhile, you remain completely out of sight for them.

“They gone?” You ask for the top of the stairs, looking at Price with a smile. 

“Yep.” Price says locking the door.

“You didn't have to kick them out like that, though.” You say cocking your head with a smile.

“Oh, yes, I did.” He says, turning around to start to walk up the stairs. 

“Why? Afraid they might join?” You say winking at him, making him laugh before he throws you over his shoulder making you shriek.

“Wouldn't you like that, you little minx!” He jokes, landing a smack on your asscheek. 

You gasp dramatically holding onto his clothes. “It's Mrs. Price to you, young man.”

He chuckles, making your body shake, before he throws you down on the bed; him instantly crawling on top of you. 

“Who's your husband, darling?”

“You, Mr. Price.”

A bit more of this

[mrs-scarecrow]

"Miss Emma! I didn't expect you to... Ah, I-I shouldn't pry... Here, take this sweater, as a welcome to the hunter's side." ┏(┏へ●●)へ＜

It's alright... I know it's--strange to see me like this.

I do ap-appreciate the warm welcome-!

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (4)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Ewan wants to clear things up about the night out and his mystery companion, and the reader gets another surprise in LA. Will the two finally have their first date or will something get in the way once more?

Ewan's publicist Donna has never had any issue with her client before. Always present and accounted for, on time for whatever interview, photoshoot or audition he has booked for the day.

But she hasn't been able to get a hold of him in the past two days, which is worrying her to no end, because he is set to meet with a major casting director in New York some time in the coming week.

Donna may have a clue as to why. It's only been two days as well since the pub incident, when The Sun ran a story speculating on Ewan's lovelife - the exact kind of thing he's always been trying to avoid.

It had taken a life of its own, with fans taking it upon themselves to track down every clue of the girl on the internet. Her instagram. Her relation to the cast - apparently she is a cousin of Luke and Elliott. Even the marketing agency where she works. Louise, a 26-year old graphic designer, admittedly harbours a crush on Ewan, and when she heard that her cousins were hanging out with him at a pub nearby, she almost immediately invited herself and her friends over.

But that's all, according to Ewan. After talking to Luke, memories of the night came rushing back to him.

Stumbling out in the alley to send you that voice message. Rejoining the boys to see that they've got new company. Being introduced to Louise, with Tom joking that he should be careful with the missus. Wouldn't want her - you - to think that he's flirting with anyone else.

Even though that's exactly what happened. Not the flirting, per se. Not from Ewan's side, at least. Louise had been brazen with admiration, barely leaving his side the rest of the night. Asking him a bunch of probing questions he had neither the interest nor the patience to answer.

They had all thought the pub was safe from prying eyes. No one approached them for anything, not even a single look of recognition followed by the question, “Are you that guy from House of the Dragon?” Unfortunately, it only takes one rat for a headline to surface. Ewan Mitchell’s mystery girl has been the talk of the fandom and Donna has been trying hard to quell the rumours. 

Such is the nasty nature of the business, as she knows Ewan has quickly learned.

She dials him again, and to her surprise, the call actually patches through.

Her client's throaty voice is heard on the other line, "Hey, Donna, sorry if I've missed your calls."

"It's alright, it's alright, Ewan," Donna stammers. "Just glad to hear from you. Where are you? I've managed to do some damage control about those rumours and - "

"Oh, I'm in LA. I just landed about an hour ago," Ewan responds casually, not mirroring the stress in Donna's tone. Has he gotten over the fuss so easily?

"LA? You know your meeting is not till next week, right? And it's in New York. It's very, very important that you don't miss it, Ewan."

"And I won't," Ewan affirms, laughing dryly to console his worried publicist. "I just need to see about something over here."

Someone, he thinks. He's got his priorities straight.

"Work-related?" Donna asks, curious.

"Uhhhm," Ewan dithers, but decides against telling her about you. Not just yet. "Just visiting a friend. I'll stay here for a while then fly out to New York, don't worry."

"Okay, just keep in touch, alright? I'll send more details about the meeting soon."

"Sure thing. Thank you, Donna."

"Talk soon, Ewan. Take care of yourself."

Donna feels a huge sense of relief wash over her when the call ends, knowing the whereabouts of one of her biggest clients. But why LA? Perhaps Ewan just needed some time off after the flurry of annoying headlines put out in the UK.

Or maybe he's visiting with a friend? Who is stateside right now? Fabien's filming in Philly. The rest of the boys are still in England. But then...

Her thoughts land on the one thing - the one person - that would make him fly out on such short notice. Without giving thought to anything else, especially after the speculation on his romantic life.

Ewan's never been one to share about personal affairs, not even to his close-knit team, but no matter how reclusive he is, no one can deny the way he looks at you. The way he lights up when you're brought up in conversation. The number of times he had excused himself from their meetings to make a call, standing in the corner with a permanent smile etched on his face.

Oh, Donna knows now just who he is in LA for.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Like inevitable spectres haunting someone of his profession, Ewan noticed the papparazzi snapping away as he arrived in LA.

He told no one he would be coming, so it must be an automatic thing in the city. The photogs are always scurrying in the periphery, ready to catch anyone of note, no matter the degree of fame or notoriety.

If you were keeping up with such news, you would know he is in the city.

But according to your assistant Clara, who was kind enough to inform him of your schedule, you are still finishing up on another day of rehearsals for your upcoming rom-com. Ewan checked in the same hotel as you, planning to seek you out as soon as you arrive back from work.

He hasn't spoken to you since the voicemail, and since those false news broke out. Not that he can blame you - wouldn't anyone be suspicious of a drunken confession made by a guy who was allegedly in the company of another girl?

He hates it, being subject to all of this. This nonsense that is keeping you from him, not even worth any consequence.

But he will deal with the blows. As long as he sets things right with you. As long he gets you in the end.

He settles in his suite, getting ready to meet with you once more. He showers, shaves, tousles his hair. He even checks whether he smells decent after all of that - once, twice, and another time. Being nervous to stand in front of a crowd is one thing; it's a whole other conundrum for him finally see you again.

Maybe the crowds are more manageable, and it baffles him to realise so. He can put on a persona, be the actor, and disappear inside himself as the cameras flash bright enough for him to disassociate.

But not with you. He wants to show you everything that he is, who he truly is, and it scares him. There is no team to help him get ready now. It's all him, just Ewan.

Clad in his trusty black jeans and a comfortable hoodie of the same dark colour, he looks in the mirror one last time after receiving a text from Clara that you've arrived at the hotel about half an hour ago.

He contemplates opening the bottle of bourbon from the minibar and taking a shot of liquid courage - something to help him get his explanation ready. Just so he wouldn't stammer in front of you.

Just so you he can make you see, without any error or trace of doubt, that he meant every word in that voicemail, no matter how embarrassing it might have sounded.

He decides against it, imagining the wrinkling of your nose as you catch a whiff of the alcohol. It's cute when you do it, and he adores it so dearly, but he knows that it isn't the right moment.

He rights himself, rolls his shoulders, and he's out the door.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Jacob trails you inside your hotel suite, laughing at some shared remark about the scenes you rehearsed for the day.

They were emotionally demanding and even after tossing around ideas for hours, the two of you were unable to achieve a satisfying approach to the scenes.

Which is why he had proposed practicing well into the evening, and you found yourselves heading back to your suite together. He has his own house in LA, but your hotel just happened to be closer to the rehearsal studio.

"Care for a drink?" you asked him.

"Why the hell not?" he immediately assents in that easy, Aussie drawl. "We might need it for this shite."

You laugh in agreement, "Indeed. I've got some canned gin and tonics if that's alright.. or beer... or whiskey... " you trail off as you study the contents of your fridge.

"G and t, please, mate," he settles down on the couch, legs stretching in front of him. "We were so unproductive today. I just could not get that line right."

"Tell me about it." You hand him his drink, and he clinks it with yours with a mumbled cheers. "It was me who can't land the right tone," you say. "I mean, is my character supposed to be confused in that moment? Or angry? Or sad?"

"Or all of 'em." he shrugs. "Tricky, isn't it?"

You hurriedly fetch your script from a table, getting right down to it. "So for the first scene in the third act..."

Moments later, with cans of gin and tonic discarded on the coffee table, you and Jacob sit with legs crossed on the couch facing each other. Scripts in hand, you go through the lines over and over, with only seemingly minor tweaks each time. To an actor though, even just the slightest change of pitch or expression makes all the difference.

"Is that better? I think we almost got it," you say after a read-through.

"Yeah, so much better," he grins, holding his hand up for a high-five. Just as your hands smack in the air, another sound echoes faintly from the door.

"Someone's knocking?" Jacob asks. "You expecting anybody? Room service or anything?"

"No," you shake your head, trying to think of whether your assistant or publicist said anything about dropping by. "Maybe it's just housekeeping?"

"I'll get it," Jacob states, already padding his way to the door.

A beat later, you hear Jacob loudly exclaim, "Ewan, mate! It's good to see you!"

Ewan? A shiver runs up your spine. Craning your neck to get a view of a doorway, you catch sight of him, half-obscured by Jacob's tall frame.

Confused, surprised, and feeling some other emotion you can't pinpoint, you head over to greet him.

"How are you doing?" Jacob greets, shaking Ewan's hand, oblivious to the poorly hidden distaste in his eyes.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Ewan finds himself asking Jacob, a bit rudely, just as you ask him the same.

"What are you doing here?" you mirror his question at the exact same time.

"Oh!" Jacob breathes out a laugh, "Well, I'll go first. We were just practicing lines."

"In her room? Isn't it a bit late for rehearsal? I thought you're supposed to be off work." Ewan asks, and it sounds like an accusation. He starts to feel all kinds of uneasy - were the twins right about life imitating art?

You narrow your eyes at him. "We decided to continue running lines after rehearsal. There's a scene we can't get right. It's quite tricky - "

"Just the two of you? Alone, here?" Ewan tilts his head, gesturing towards the room like it's some forbidden place.

Jacob shakes his head, smile steady on his lips. If he's caught on to how Ewan must be feeling, he doesn't let it affect him. He gives you a look, as if to check your reaction, and you give him a reassuring shrug.

Ewan does not overlook this exchange. He clenches his jaw, irate from the assumptions popping up in his mind. Before he forgets his manners, he says, "Excuse me, I just... wasn't expecting... I just wanted to speak to you."

"I didn't even know you were in LA," you say, before moving aside to usher him in. "But I'm glad you are, of course. Come join us - "

He nods, making his way to the seating area, where he spies the discarded cans of alcohol and dog-eared scripts. Maybe he should have taken that bloody shot after all.

He laughs joylessly to himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, you guys. I just flew in today, and I must have been exhausted from the flight."

"Hey, no worries, mate," Jacob says. "You know what, I'll be on my way. Give you time to catch up and all." He picks up his own tattered script then gives you a kiss on the cheek, bidding you with a, "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night, sweetheart."

If looks could kill, and if his dear mother hadn't raised him right, he would have incinerated Jacob in that moment.

He is snapped out of his thoughts when Jacob claps him on the shoulder, "Great to see you again, mate. Have a good night, eh?"

Ewan knows he's being ridiculous. There's nothing wrong with two friends and co-stars spending some time alone to rehearse. Besides, last he heard, you were adamant that you and Jacob are just friends.

So why is he being so irrational? Why does the idea of you spending more time than necessary with Jacob, possibly falling for him, bother him so much?

Ewan realises that this is what jealousy must feel like.

He's had career envy before. Another actor landing a role he vied for. Someone else getting the praise he deserves.

But nothing like this. It's petty and possessive.

He wants you to just be his.

You stand in front of him once more after you walk Jacob out of the suite.

"Hey," you say, smiling weakly.

"Hi, darling."

Both of you want to do more. Say more. Usually you would greet each other with a hug and a kiss on a cheek, his hands lingering on your forearms even after you pull away, but the air is thick with tension.

You look at him with those bright, expecting eyes of yours, and Ewan just wants to cave in and make a sloppy confession. But not after that voicemail, no. He's determined to do this right. Words not slurred, head clear.

"So I got your voicemail," you finally say, smiling coyly. "That was... something."

"Hmm," he can't help but mirror your smile, as always. "It was, wasn't it?"

"I understand," you continue, taking a step closer, "if you were drunk. We all say things when we're off it that we maybe don't mean - "

"But darling, I meant every word," he says, way too quickly.

You laugh, the sound of it erasing whatever apprehension remained in him. "Do you even remember what you said?"

"I do," he counters, moving even closer to you. Another step and he'd be able to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you to him. "At least, some of - no - most of it."

"Oh yeah?" you ask cheekily, aided by the effect of gin. He still has your heart racing, but a part of you now knows that the feeling is mutual. "What did you say again?"

He sees that glint in your eye, and it causes him to smirk. "Why don't I make it simple for you, darling?" He closes the distance, one hand brushing the hair from your face.

"Okay," you swallow, getting lost in his blues.

"I missed you." He kisses your cheek. "I like you. A lot." He kisses the other. "And I, uh, I would like to take you on a date."

His eyes meet yours. His voice is steady, but you notice some nervousness in his gaze. How the tables have turned. You make Ewan Mitchell's heart go awry.

"Please, darling?" he timidly adds, the sentiment so sweet you want to blurt out yes immediately. Before you can, he's already leaned back, an explanation rushing out of his lips, "And... I'm not sure but you must have seen those headlines? They're not true, I swear. We were out drinking and - "

"I know, Ewan." You cut him off with a hand pressed gently on his chest but he keeps going.

" - some other people joined us. One of them being - "

"Luke and Elliott's cousin. I know. Elliott called and told me everything."

"Oh. He called you?" A huge sense of relief washes over him, better than any comfort he might have found in a shot or three of bourbon.

"Mhmm, he called me yesterday. So, you know, you didn't really have to fly out. I was about to call you eventually."

He smiles bashfully, eyes cast down as a blush spreads across his cheeks. Damn it, Elliott, you brilliant lad. He reminds himself to treat Elliott to a pint the next time he sees him.

"I still wanted to see you," Ewan maintains, pressing a kiss to your forehead and you're immediately enveloped by the familiar comfort of his scent. Surprisingly without the staple hint of cigarette smoke, due to his frantic scrubbing after the flight.

"I'm happy you're here," you say, wrapping your arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his chest. "And no offence to Louise or anything, but she needs to learn some boundaries with my - "

Ewan looks down at you fondly, squeezing your arms to prompt your next words, "Yeah, darling? Your what?"

"My - " you attempt to bury your face in his hoodie, but he keeps your gaze with a hand cupping your jaw. So you end up saving yourself with " - my Aemond."

"Hmm," he hums, lips curling, and it's so very Aemond of him it makes you feel warm all over. "Your Aemond.Your Ewan. I'm all yours, love."

The whole thing couldn't have gone any better, all things considered, and Ewan feels content to have gotten over his first brush with the rumour mill. What matters is right in front of him, and you know the truth.

"Are you staying in this hotel? How did you even know I was here?" You take his hand, guiding him over to the couch.

"Clara," is all Ewan says by way of explanation.

"Well, thank you, Clara," you declare. Ewan shuffles closer to you and rests his arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on your forehead again. The gesture is already becoming instinctive, providing the both of you with a sense of ease.

"Darling?"

"Yeah?" you respond absentmindedly, fingers toying with the soft fabric of his hoodie.

"Is that a yes?"

You exhale deeply. As if it wasn't clear enough already. "What do you think, handsome?"

"I don't know, angel. You tell me," he counters cheekily, his fingers playing with your hair as you playfully glare at him.

"What if I say no, baby?"

"Then I'll have to work hard to change your mind, princess."

"And how would you do that, honey?"

His gaze darkens, and something flashes across his blue eyes as he whispers intensely, "Use your imagination, bunny."

"Ri-right," you bite your lip, then shake your head to snap out of it. "We'll have to draw the line at bunny."

He laughs at your flustered state, pleased by the effect he has on you. "What's wrong with bunny?"

That elicits a groan out of you, but you smile anyway. "I already said yes, Ewan. Quit it with the bunny."

"Alright, beautiful," he relents, making you lean even closer against him.

The haze of gin after a long work day starts to subside and the rush of emotion is coming back to you. You find yourself gazing at Ewan in mild disbelief, in awe that he just confessed that he wants you.

Feeling antsy, you stand and pace around the room. You start tidying things, putting your scattered knick-knacks back in your handbag. If you sit with him any longer, you just might end up hurrying things through and jump his bones already, kiss him the next time he does that hmm.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask.

"No," he says smoothly. "I just need you." The words make you stop in your tracks. He still sits in the same position, looking at you with that undeniable desire in his eyes.

"Uhhhm," your mouth feels dry all of the sudden. Nothing his tongue past your lips can't fix, your intrusive thoughts barge right in. "So... the... the media rollout's still going on isn't it? Should we check and see?" You take your laptop and plop back down next to him. He doesn't miss a beat and cuddles against you once more, wrapping his arm around your tense frame.

"I think so, darling." The media rollout is how the interviews and promotional material filmed by the cast is being released gradually, on a weekly basis, after each new episode comes out.

A simple search on Youtube confirms it, and the first thing that popped up is the Where is The Lie? video you did for Elle.

It was slated for just Tom, Phia, and Ewan but your Blackwood character became such a fan-favourite that they asked you to join in. Not to mention the frenzy you and Ewan caused online with the initial interviews you did together.

"Shall we watch this?" Ewan offers, solely for the intent of seeing you in the video.

You click on it, and for the next 8 minutes or so, all you can take note of are the signs that had clearly already been there. The fans were on to something when they claimed that you and Ewan are a really good ship.

The video starts with a clip of Phia hitting her head on the overhead lamp when she stands, prompting her to uncontrollably giggle along with you and Tom. Ewan, being the exception, is beside himself with worry, and he appears to instinctively reach for your hand as you sit beside him.

"Huh," Ewan smiles, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

Tom is the first to be put on the hot seat, and he slowly recites the three statements he prepared. "Ewan, pay attention," Tom blurts out when he notices that Ewan kept sneaking glances at you. "Sure, I'm locked in," Ewan says right back, as you and Phia share a look.

"What were you looking at?" you ask playfully, poking him in the side. "You seem plenty distracted there."

He snorts at himself in the video, when he ends up smiling as he caught your eye. "It was your fault. You were distracting me."

"I was not!" you exclaim. "I thought you were just being competitive then."

Phia is next to have a go. She tells you of a Wifi repellent necklace, a wrestling career, and saving a squirrel from a drainpipe. "The Wifi thing sounds like something Ewan would have," Tom jokes. "Oh sure," you concur, "except that he'd actually keep it so he can watch films." Ewan smiles at your acute observation.

"I'd also keep it to stalk your Instagram," Ewan mumbles from beside you. "And you know, just stalk you in general."

"I'm sure you do, Mitchell," you respond casually, but your face warms up anyhow.

It's Ewan's turn, and as he sits on the hot seat, you see Tom and Phia casting a look at each other then at the two of you, a secret message shared between them. "I bet she will know the answer right away," Phia says. "Yeah, how do we know the two of you didn't conspire together?" Tom asks. "Are you kidding me, you guys?" you laugh at them, thinking how silly they were being, not knowing then that they were definitely on to something.

"Darling, you have to know this," Ewan tells you specifically as you all try to guess the answer. "Oh, darling!" Tom mouths to Phia, dramatically flipping nonexistent long hair over his shoulder. Phia laughs at his antics, before nudging you and saying, "Which one is it? Which is the lie? I trust you." You respond, "Why me? You two should know this too!"

"Because I wasn't trying to date them, my love," Ewan says, smiling at the screen.

"Oh, come on now." You crane your neck up to press a soft kiss against his cheek before turning your attention back to the video. So you don't notice the switch in Ewan's breathing. The jumps in his heartbeart. The way he subtly clears his throat to deal with his flustered state.

The video comes to a close after your turn and even at the very end, Ewan can be seen admiring you as you give the closing remarks with Phia.

Admiring you, as he does in the moment.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he says, when you turn to look at him.

"Thank you," you reply softly, your voice barely audible.

Some time passes with the two of you catching up, talking about your upcoming projects, his big meeting in New York - all the while his fingers trace patterns on your exposed skin, his arm wrapped around you snugly.

"Have you been keeping up with the show?" he asks.

"The last episode I saw fully was... the second one? I got pretty busy after that. How about you?"

"Oh," he looks down in thought, piquing your curiosity, "so you didn't get to see the third episode yet then?"

"No, not yet," you shake your head, "but I've seen some stuff here and there."

He hums again and he wants to ask, have you seen his stuff? There are around a dozen or so potential jokes at play here. He has an inkling to tell you to watch the episode so you can see just what you're in for. So you can see him and all he has to offer. He'd also fumble through a justification, as he had done in some interview, about the new studio they had filmed in being cold as a fridge freezer.

What to say? What to say? He picks at some lint on his jeans, smirking to himself.

"Yeah," you eventually giggle at his obvious hesitation. "I've only seen some of the episode. But what I've seen... is enough to make me jealous of Madame Sylvie."

He stiffens, throat suddenly dry, but one look at your smile does away with his concerns.

He soon finds himself laughing, a muffled, "Oh, darling," whispered lovingly against your hair.

"That was very brave of you, Ewan," you express sincerely.

"Thank you, love."

"So... just how cold was it in there?"

Your shared, unrestrained laughter echo throughout the room.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Your first date was meant to happen the following night, but such is the nature of the job that Ewan's schedule gets moved up all of a sudden.

Once the bigshot casting director in New York found out that Ewan is already stateside, he requested that the meeting be held at the earliest possible opportunity.

He calls you while you are in rehearsals, profusely apologizing and promising to fly back to LA in the next two days, right after his meeting is all sorted.

"It's okay, Ewan," you reassure him, genuinely understanding. "I will see you when you come back. Good luck, I know you're going to smash it, whatever opportunity this is!"

"Thank you, darling," he says, already wanting to have you back in his arms already, mentally kicking himself for not kissing you when he had about a hundred chances to do so. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," you respond, blushing silly with the phone pressed to your ear. "But it'll only be two days."

"Hmm, doesn't matter. I need to take you on our bloody date, darling. I've already taken so damn long."

"Don't worry," you say, "I've already seen you way more than I should before the first date."

"Wha - " a protest forms on his lips, but he gets your point right away. "Oh. Clever, darling."

"I know."

"But I'm planning to give you something that's just for you. That the whole world won't ever be privy to."

You swallow hard, your very being heating up at his insinuation. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Mitchell."

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

Bonus chapter!

Nocturnal file 🤫

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The cast's Where is The Lie? video is an actual thing! I hope yous got the reference!

Notice how the two nerve-wrecked shites didn't have their first proper kiss yet??? Will they ever?? 😩😩😩

Taglist is officially closed for this one. Please bookmark this series or the masterlist (or follow my page) to keep up with updates <3

I can't even overstate how mad all the love for this series has been! I'm always looking forward to hearing from you guys - suggestions, comments, complaints are always welcome!

See you in part five! (preview: something will happen in NY that might cause Ewan to question things!)

[leviathanleva]

Caffè Crema

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!FemReader]

After months of giving your all to a man you barely even knew, you're finally rewarded. He takes off his mask in front of you almost hesitantly and you're overjoyed. Still, you want to, need to know why and so despite your better judgement, you ask him only to receive a laugh in response.

“Wan’ed you to see what the father of yer kids looks like, Birdie.”

[5.1k words] [Slightly NSFW]

Chapter 3 "Powder"

Simon had expected tension when he’d relied to you the news that he was leaving on deployment soon. But no, you were as chipper as ever, rolling your sleeves instantly and beginning to prepare him for the journey while bombarding him with questions.

It was…different, in a good way. There was no guilt for having to abandon you to fulfill his duty. You were worried, that much was clear, but you didn’t let it bother you enough for him to have to figure out a way to comfort you before leaving.

He was grateful even if he didn’t show it, hoping that the crinkled skin in the corners of his eyes was enough of an indicator.

He stretched lazily on your small couch, feet tucked under your bum as per your usual arrangement, while you absentmindedly folded his freshly washed clothes back into his duffle bag. A random sports channel is playing on the telly, drowning out the silence while he watches you fuss with a shadow of a smile hidden under his mask.

A pile of dry laundry was splayed over the armrest you were leaning against and you plucked each piece with the utmost care, looking over it for any spots that the washing machine hadn’t been able to get rid of before laying into his bag.

“Is this a bullet hole?” You murmur to yourself while looking over a gray knitted blouse, particularly at the edge of one sleeve where the stitching was ruined. You run your thumb over the hole, brows furrowing as you inspect it, then turn to Ghost with a small frown. “There’s a bullet hole in this one. You wanna keep it?”

When he realizes your question is targeted at him, he blinks away the thoughts swirling in his head and shrugs.

“Keep i’, adds character.”

You snort, but fold it regardless and stuff it with the rest of his clothes.

A distant whistling erupts from the kitchen and you stand to dust off the lint from your sweats before scurrying to get the kettle. It doesn’t take long before you reemerge with two steaming mugs in each hand and set one before him on the coffee table. He grumbles out a thank you while sitting up and tugging his mouth free from his mask.

Back tea with milk, just how he likes it, piping hot in a mug big enough for him to comfortably wrap his hand around.

“Gonna make a real good missus.” Ghost murmurs out casually and picks up the mug before taking a prolonged sip and letting his eyelids close at the familiar flavor.

“Yeah? Well, you’d make an awful husband.” You joke, playing along with the innocent understanding that he’s joking and not trying to figure out how to get your ring size without making it obvious. You kick at his knee with your own, a playful smile tugging on your lips. “You never fight with me over anything. Even when I try new cooking recipes off the internet.”

He mulls over your words for a moment, eyes focused on his steaming beverage.

“Didn’ leave no marks on me las’ night. Can complain abou’ tha’.”

“Jesus Christ, Simon.” You gasp and sputter to place a palm over his mouth, thrusting yourself into him as he fights off your flailing hands with ease. “Don’t say such things!”

“Why no’? ‘m just ‘aving a fight with me wife is all.” His teasing doesn’t relent but he lets you press your weight on him and guide him down into the cushions of the sofa. There’s a rumble coming from his chest, a series of snorts as he watches you struggle to keep from becoming completely flustered.

“Oh my God, stop! Stop it!” you’re already a flushed mess, he can feel your face burning from his position beneath you as you fight your wrists free from his loose grip.

“Tryin’a mount me like you did las’ nigh’, Birdie?” His hands come to rest on your waist, the words slipping past him just before you press both your palms against his mouth with a doe-eyed look on your face. He holds you steady, a wolfish smirk making his canines peak beneath his upper lip.

For a moment he thinks your abashed state will hit its limit and you might faint right on the spot, what will the uneven breathing and shaky arms, flared nostrils and quivering bottom lip.

“Shut! Shhh. No more sinful talk. Awful man you are, I’ll never marry you.”

An empty threat that only makes his smirk grow as his chocolate browns twinkle up at you adoringly. It doesn’t cross his mind even for a second that you’re unaware of just how serious he is and how much planning has gone on inside his thick skull over the past few days.

It’s okay, you don’t need to fret over such things, all you need to do is say yes when he finds you a pretty enough ring.

“Gonna behave now, old dog?” You ask and hesitantly free his mouth before settling down on top of him and crossing your arms, a hint of a victorious aura to your puffed-out chest and twitchy smile.

He pats your bum ever so gently and sits up abruptly, causing you to slide into his lap. The power imbalance tips in his favor as soon as he’s looming over you, wide shoulders and muscly arms making you nearly disappear in his embrace. He bumps his nose into yours, head bent down to your level and tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

You swallow thickly, your heart leaping in your throat and staying there as he lingers just on the edge of kissing you. And he’s already pawing at the waistband of your bottoms, greedily trying to slip his thick fingers beyond and toward the comfortable warmth of your sex.

A shiver crawls up your spine and a pleasant tingle settles low in your tummy. Your head snaps towards the digital clock propped above the TV.

“Stop it.” You scold, push him away from sniffling at your neck like a curious wolf and again on his back before slipping out of his lap. “Greedy old dog. I have to go shopping or else you’ll be having fried air with a side of nothing.”

A displeased grumble reaches your ears as you make your way towards the bedroom, intent on changing. You scoff, roll your eyes at your roommate’s childish pouting. Flicking the lights on, you trudge towards your wardrobe, your shared wardrobe although shared was a very generous way of putting it. Aside from a pile of boxers and socks and the occasional black top, there wasn’t much of Simon’s attire.

You wondered if this was all he had while slipping into a pair of jeans, thought over the fact that he did look like a guy who’d be caught dead before going out clothing shopping. It was a sad realization, you made a mental note to buy him some more things when your next paycheck arrived or when he decided to leave another wad of cash on the kitchen counter and label it as rent money.

At least he had a toothbrush, even though with how used and abused it looked, you considered getting him a new one alongside other male toiletries like soap that didn’t smell like wildflowers and shampoo that was a bit less strawberry scented.

After donning a comfy hoodie and walking to the hallway to put on your shoes, you glance at him and see him molding into the couch while his stare is glued to the screen and his brow is visibly lowered in displeasure.

“You can either sulk or you can come with me and get your blood going.” You suggest and straighten up once you’d tied your laces. He didn’t budge, only gave you a side glance. So you try again, more softly this time. “I’d like the company.”

You bat your lashes at him prettily, toss him a girlish smile and coquettishly slip on your jacket and he’s just a man after all, he gets up and pats down his top before joining you.

Coaxing him to do anything was never difficult, all that was needed from you was to look weak and cute and like you’d yield the moment he lumbered over to you. You liked to think you were special and that he wouldn’t bend the knee to just anyone, but then again you hadn’t seen Simon interacting with other people.

Most of your time together, all of your time together, was spent within the confines of your home. Ghost wasn’t one for going out, he was selfish like that, liked you all to himself, and with your attention nowhere else to be set except for him and his needs. You didn’t mind, it was cute in a way. He was needy and touch-starved even if he refused to admit it aloud.

Poor old dog, you’d take good care of him.

Although while you were locking the front door and felt him hook a pinkie finger around yours and lead you down the stairs, you got to thinking. Maybe you were more of a dog than him. You were the one bowing your head to his every wish and did anything you could think of to please him. It was one of your greatest pleasures to slave over him because he’d been so tired and beaten down when you’d first kind of “adopted” him.

Then again, he’d sort of made you adopt him. He’d just brought his things over and hadn’t left. You were certain he would have if you’d just said something, but you never had, you hadn’t confronted him about any of the weird things he’d done so far. Maybe it was too late now or maybe he’d just bury himself between your legs and lap at you until you were near unconscious like the last time he had when you’d seemed displeased. Or maybe he’d actually disappear and never come back and even though you’d known him for a couple of months, something sinisterly painful jabbed at your heart at just the image.

No, this was fine. You were happy to have him. Right…?

The grocery store wasn’t too far away, you could get to it on foot easily. Although something felt off. As you walked down the street with Simon in tow, you noticed the quick, ridged glances you were receiving from people of all kinds of ages. Some of them even made the effort of walking out of your way or taking sharp turns to avoid the two of you.

It was an odd experience, one that also subtly tickled a particular pleasure gland in your brain.

Was this what having a scary dog privilege was like? If so, then you were having the time of your life.

If only people knew what an actual sweetheart your companion was, they’d double over laughing at their first assumptions. But they never would because Ghost was yours.

When you picked up a cart that required both your hands to steer, you felt a tug at your jeans and glanced down to see he had hooked one finger around the belt strap on your side. You offer him a soft snort and try to bite back the grin that was growing on your face.

The place was full as expected, newly stocked as well for the weekend shopping most customers did around your area.

As you made your way through the aisles you scolded yourself for not scribbling down a list of what you needed, then proceeded to pick up a good amount of garlic and onion because most dishes need one or both aplenty. Wouldn’t hurt to have more even if you already had some back home.

Slowly, but steadily, your cart begins to fill the more you walk around and your vision falls on something that you were running low on. Funnily enough, since your new roommate, you’d found yourself having to shop more than once a week. He had a ravenous appetite and you liked that about him, liked having someone there to enjoy your cooking.

Living alone was a blessing, but it did get lonely sometimes.

And before you’d just make something hasty and easy for yourself, too busy with work, too tired after work, or just too lazy and not seeing the appeal of treating yourself. But now, you had someone who depended on you and it felt exhilarating to prepare meals and have another mouth to feed. It didn’t matter to you that Ghost wasn’t big on verbal praises in regards to the food you made him or the care you put into him.

You were happy just having him contently lounging on your couch and stroking your thigh while you lay beside him.

“Milk, eggs, cheese, butter, Simon, you’re tugging too much.” You call back while sifting through the egg cartons and trying to find one that has all ten eggs intact. When the tugging didn’t relent and you received no answer, you turned back with the intent of scolding the silent giant. “Simon, I said you’re – ”

But it wasn’t Simon. He was on your opposite side, staring downward. You follow his gaze to find a little sprout of a being hooked to your jeans and looking up at you with just as much confusion.

Apparently, the toddler had seen your tall, dark, and handsome partner linked to you and with their guardian nowhere to be found, she’d done the same. A child’s mind will forever stay a mystery to you.

The child doesn’t look older than five or four, with large eyes and a small mouth that was shaking with uncertainty while she gawked up at you in a silent plea. The jacket she had on made her look like a walking square, her hands barely poked out of the sleeves. She’d be adorable if not for the tear-stained cheeks that immediately tugged at your heartstrings.

You shake off the shock that has stiffened your joints and push your cart away.

“Hey, there.” You coo gently, shoo both of their hands off your jeans before they end up pulling them off your hips, and kneel down to greet the poor thing that was already hiccupping with sobs. “Hey, little Darling. Where’s your mommy? Did you get lost?”

When the waterworks start again, you gently pet her back.

“There, there. Let it out, it’s okay.”

You curse yourself for not packing any tissues in your bag and wipe the tears off her chubby cheeks with your thumbs.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart.” You soothe, glance up at Ghost to see him standing there silently and watching the encounter unravel with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Typical guy. “Can you tell me your name? Your mommy’s name?”

“Julie.” Was the choppy, nasally answer you receive as the toddle clumsily wipes the snot in the sleeve of her jacket.

“Is that your name or your mommy’s name?” You ask while unzipping her jacket enough to get it off her mouth and find it coated in a sheen of saliva.

Tissues, wet wipes, freaking toilet paper, you would have liked to have something to wipe the poor thing clean, but of course when you needed your supplies most, nothing but your wallet and chewing gum were in your bag.

“My name is Julie. Mommy’s name is Mommy.”

You would have giggled at that answer if Julie wasn’t pouring out her little heart’s sorrow in front of you. Instead, you nod with an okay and rise to face Ghost while resting your hands on your hips. From what you can see around you, nobody is looking around frantically for a lost toddler so you sigh and run a hand over your hair, thinking.

“Might have to take her to reception and make an announcement. Or the mom might already be there.” You say and give the hulking behemoth a once over before cocking your head to the side. “I’ve got the cart. You mind taking her?”

You take a step back, but by the uneasy looks both of them are giving you, it dawns on you that playing mediator was your next step before taking the child along.

“It’s okay.” You give Julie a warm smile, eyes moving between her and Ghost while he also squats down, a foot away from you as not the scare the little thing. “This is Simon. He’s really nice, I promise. He’s my best friend, in fact, he won’t hurt you. Promise.”

It takes some more convincing on your part before the toddler agrees to be picked up by your companion, but once he’d set her on his shoulders to scan the area for her parents, she seemed as cheerful as a cherub. Apparently, she’d never been held that high off the ground before, it was a whole new experience for her, and by the way Simon supported her back with a hand larger than her head and the gentle shine in his eyes, you could tell he wasn’t having too bad of a time either.

You make your way towards the reception desk, accompanied by a symphony of kiddish giggles, your grocery shopping left on the back burner until you relieve yourselves of your new bundle of joy.

Squeals would come from Julie every so often as she fidgeted around on Simon’s shoulders, her pudgy hands splayed in his dirty blond locks or tugging gently on his ears. It suited him being in charge of a little one, the fatherly appeal caused a pleasant knot to tighten in your chest and you tried to wipe the wide grin off your lips, but you just couldn’t.

“Hi, good evening.” You call out to the staff on the other end of the wide reception desk, thankfully catching their attention just before they turned their back on you. “Hi…We found this little girl in the dairy aisle, haven’t been able to find her parents. Would you be able to make an announcement maybe?” You lean in and lower your voice, glancing back briefly to see Julie preoccupied with giggling while toying with Simon’s free hand to hear. “We don’t know the names of the parents. I tried asking but…no dice. Her name is Julie.”

It takes less than ten minutes of you hanging about the reception after the announcement was made, while Ghost entertains the lively toddler, for you to see a flushed woman hurrying your way with her purse clutched under her arm.

You straighten up and adjust your jacket before taking a few small steps forward.

“Oh thank God. Julie!” The mother you presume, presses a hand to her chest when she sees her baby girl atop your roommate’s shoulders. “Thank goodness.”

She surges forward before plucking her child from Ghost’s hand and squishing her to her cheek with a relieved expression softening her earlier strained features. You guess Julie would have been just as vocally ecstatic if her face wasn’t immediately squished to her mom’s neck. You watch her flail for a bit before being maneuvered on her side so she can say a thank you.

“Thank you so much! I turned around for a second and – ”

“ – It’s not a problem.” You chirp back, waving your hands to hopefully dismiss the built-up anxiety that had the mother’s eyes still as wide as saucers. A polite smile adorns your lips, your gestures open and stance friendly to ease the poor woman before she suffers a heart attack at your feet.

“I hope she didn’t give you any trouble.” She says while smoothing out her daughter’s hair lovingly and pressing a feverish kiss to her forehead, earning a giggle in response. Then she extends a hand towards you, which you shake with pleasure. “She can be a bit of a handful. My name is Lily, by the way. I’m sorry to have to meet like this.”

“No trouble at all, ma'am.” You nod, let her shake Simon’s hand as well while you give her your name, and toss a fleeting glare at your loving roommate for not offering his. “We’re happy to help. Nice to meet you.”

“Thank you again, bless you. Say thank you, Julie.” Lily urges and gently grabs Julie’s arm before waving it at both of you. She turns then, readjusts the toddler in her arms, and offers you one last farewell before walking away. “Have a good evening and thank you.”

Despite both the distance and the chatty surge of people around you, you can hear Lily scolding her daughter under her breath before returning to the cart she’d abandoned. It all makes you laugh, especially hearing the muffled mumbles of protest as Julie stares at you and Ghost over her mother’s shoulder.

You wave at her one last time before fetching your discarded grocery cart and rolling it to Simon’s side.

“Didn’t know you were so good with kids.” There’s a teasing note to your tone as you glance at him from under your lashes, hiding a smirk behind the collar of your jacket.

You take the lead, slowly making your way back between the aisles while skimming around for any products you might have skipped past the first time.

“Didn’t eithe’.” He says softly as if the whole situation was the most foreign thing he’d ever witnessed. As if this had been the first time he’d held a toddler, it was heartwarming to feel the thought behind his absentminded voice.

“You’d make a great dad one day.” You hum and poke at his side with your elbow to make him look down at you only to beam up at him.

He’s silent for a while as you stop by the stacks of instant ramen, eyes never leaving yours as his head tilts to one side.

“Tha’ so?”

“Absolutely.” You respond with confidence before breaking your heartfelt eye contact to pick out a packet of noodles for rainy days when you don’t feel like cooking. “Maybe I’ll get to be the Godmother.”

You miss the way he arches an eyebrow at your statement as if you’d said the most blatantly inaccurate thing ever. You miss the way his chocolate brows fall down to your belly where they stay for a suspicious amount of time while he thinks over how nice it would be for you to go shopping with a wee one fussing about in your cart.

For the rest of your stay in the grocery store, Simon was noticeably more touchy. Instead of hooking himself to your jeans, he had a hand pressed to your lower back, thumb rubbing circles into your jacket, hard enough for you to feel. You didn’t question it, thinking his good mood was probably due to your encounter with Julie earlier, the toddler did boost his spirits up after all. He persisted while you were making your way home, holding the groceries in one hand while keeping his other on you.

Nothing seemed out of normal to you while you were outside besides him being a little needier than usual. You didn’t ask about it and didn’t tease him either, instead, you were trying to figure out what to cook up tomorrow because you had all the time you could wish for since it was Saturday. Then again, you had other chores to tend to. There was the washing up, hoovering, dusting.

But as soon as you twisted your key in the lock and stepped inside your now-shared apartment, he had you practically pinned against the wall. Grabby hands were fumbling to get your jacket off while you kicked off your shoes and spat mewling protests against the bulk of his shoulder.

Between getting you and himself undressed, you managed to slip out of his grip and pattered to the kitchen hurriedly, groceries in hand. You barely managed to set them on the table before Ghost twirled you around in his arms like you weighed nothing and bent you over the counter.

“Simon!” You hiss back and fuss to get yourself free. “What’s gotten you so riled up all of a sudden?” You feel a prominent bulge press against the soft curve of your ass and squeal. “Darling, please! At least take me to the bedroom first.”

A “tsk” comes from behind you and you’re about to yap at him that that’s no way to respond to the person who’ll be making him breakfast tomorrow, but the air is knocked out of your lungs as you’re picked up with ease and flopped over his shoulder like a potato sack.

“Simon!” You thump a weak fist against his back as he carries you down the hallway and it still makes you laugh that he needs to duck past your kitchen door, despite the situation. “Talk to me, Darling? Please? Not that I mind, but I need to put the groceries in the fridge and – ”

He tosses you on the bed and crawls on top of you, the mattress dipping under his weight. There’s a certain flare to his eyes as he stares you down and you feel a lump form in your throat before you force it down and coo up at him.

“Wanna tell me what’s been going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You try to squirm away but only end up with his erection lodged between your thighs and his body weight locking you down against the sheets. A moan slips past your lips before you cup his cheeks and run your thumbs over his eyebrows to ease the tension that’s built up there.

“Tell me, please?” You urge while getting comfortable beneath him and swatting away the hand he has toying with the button of your jeans. You lock your legs around his thick waist and pull him a little closer. “Please?”

He doesn’t respond right away, apparently smacking his hand off you thrust him into a spree of thoughts. You wait patiently, one hand scratching at his scalp tenderly while the other stays on his cheek. He looks away from you after a while, something you don’t quite comprehend darkening his moment of contemplation as he mulls over a decision you can only guess at.

His earlier desperation has all but vanished, leaving you absolutely confused.

“Si…Darling.”

You don’t expect him to turn back to you with pain glistening in those brown orbs you like so much before he props himself up on one elbow. Don’t expect the uneven movements of his hand as he slowly, timidly takes one of the black bands holding his mask in place and unfurls it from his ear before taking the little slip off entirely. He places it by your head and adjusts himself on both elbows, a thin-lipped frown tugging the corners of his mouth down as he watches avidly for your reaction.

A pang of guilt surges through you because of how long you’d been silently staring back at him in the darkness of your room. The street lamps illuminate the walls, illuminate his bare face as well.

His. Bare. Face.

The one he’d been hiding since you’d first met, the one you hadn’t seen even when you’d seen the rest of him stark naked whenever you made love. It doesn’t register at first, that you can see his whole face, that he’d finally let you see all of him.

Then your chest flourishes, it feels like exploding in a heap of budding flowers and a breathless laugh leaves your lips, one of joy, of an achievement long overdue, finally accomplished.

You hesitantly cup his cheeks again, this time feeling the light stubble grazing your soft skin.

“Hey…” You manage out, fighting to kick away the surprise and give him the love he deserves for taking such a step forward. “Hey, handsome old dog.”

Your tender expression forces him to halt his breathing altogether before he buries himself in the safety of your neck, breathing you in slowly, the familiar scent calming his strained nerves. You feel the muscles on his back ripple under your touch as you run your hand over his form tenderly, feel his chest expand with every strictly controlled breath he takes.

“Hey…” He murmurs back, greeting muffled into your skin as you rest a trembling hand against the back of his head and sink your fingers into his short hair.

You hadn’t even paid attention to the scars littering his battle-honed skin, they’d been the last thing on your mind as you’d taken him in. He was ruggedly charming, uniquely handsome, it boggled you why he so fiercely hid his face when there was nothing wrong with him. But that was a discussion for another day, you pushed down your bubbling questions and just let the moment consume you.

You feel his lips move against your neck as he swallows, and nuzzle your cheek against his crown lovingly before closing your eyes with a sigh. He relents when you nudge him with your nose to lift his head before pressing a kiss to his nose, then his cheeks, his chin and forehead before finally planting your lips on his. His desperation to remove your bottoms returns then and he’s back at toying with your button and zipper.

You let him take off your jeans while you tug at his jacket, leaving it to pool on the floor before he eases himself out of his blouse and nestles back above you. Your feet come to rest on his strong calves, hands in his hair and glazing over his back as he loses himself in your skin, nipping incessantly at your collarbone while silently asking for you to take off your top and let him feast on more than just your neck.

And as always, you’re pliant when he’s finally caught you under his bulk. You push him off enough to discard the article of clothing before letting yourself fall back into the sheets, mewling happily while he laps at your flesh like a man starved.

A heat pools in your loins, one you try to soothe by pushing your hips up into his and earning yourself a choked growl that makes you quiver with excitement.

But a question keeps nagging at you no matter how heated you become and how low his insatiable lips travel down your body. You hum when his nose nudges the hem of your panties and you stop him before he can pull them off and descend on your gathering slick.

“So…” You begin through a strained voice and glance down at him, finding his eyes already locked on you. Your mouth goes dry, throat tightening, but you force yourself to ask. You need to know, if nothing else, at least this. “What’s the occasion?”

He laughs at your hesitation, a deep, rumbling laugh choir that should come from the monsters in your childhood fairytales, not the man about to stuff his face between your thighs.

“Wan’ed you to see what the father of yer kids looks like, Birdie.”

<<< Chapter 2

Chapter 4 >>>

Masterlist

[undiscovered-horizon]

[It’s considered good etiquette to ask a man about his wife’s wellbeing. Except if the man in question is Dracule Mihawk.]

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Garp hates having to call Mihawk, mainly because of the warlord's attitude. Used to the usual "yes, sir!" of the Marines, a man with his own will and agenda is not something he entirely knows how to navigate. Especially since both of them know that the World Government needs the warlords more than they need the bureaucracy. And that doesn't exactly help in exercising power.

His attempts at diplomacy have burst into flames each time and today isn't going to be much different:

"How’s the missus?" Garp asks in the nicest tone he can force although he's aware that Mihawk knows how much the vice admiral hates asking for Dracule's assistance.

Mihawk only scoffs. "Are you calling just to spoil my mood or is there another reason for your impertinence?"

"I was just trying to-"

"Don't," he cuts him off in a stern voice. "If you have business with me, speak fast. If you're interested in my wife, I know where you live, Garp. I'd suggest losing your unwelcome nosiness before you lose something else."

Little did Garp know at the time but his little question was possibly the worst strategy he could think of. Dracule Mihawk is not like most men and the mere mention of his wife by acquaintances only enrages him. Work and private life do not ever mix. And he'll be damned if someone tries to breach that, even in the form of a courtesy. Therefore, the rest of the call was filled with openly insulting answers that were bold even for Mihawk. A veiled threat or two also found their way into their rather tense conversation.

You know he's done with Garp when he lets out a frustrated grunt. Sometimes you wonder if this grumpy, forever dissatisfied version of him is the only side of Mihawk his acquaintances know. Maybe he really is two men in the form of one.

He's sitting at his desk, thinking about something and not bothering to get up for now. Considering the fact that his hat is lying on the table and not on his head, Mihawk is probably not planning on going out anytime soon. Then again, judging by his spoiled mood, his homestay is a blessing for the first poor sods that would cross his path.

In slow steps, you stroll to his side, letting your hand brush through his hair. He doesn't say anything, only leans his head further towards you. The thing about Mihawk is that he loved to reject and decline but he never does so to you. No, in your case it's the opposite - he revels in allowing you whatever you want.

So intimidating and combative, yet soft and looking for intimacy. Truly, two men with the face of one.

"My mother used to say that each grey hair is one thing we worry about," you say quietly. "At this rate, love, your whole head will be white by noon."

"Your mother also says that milk goes sour because gnomes piss in it," he retorts. Yes, your mother and her strange folk beliefs... She's probably the only person Mihawk can force himself to be nice to despite his dislike.

His response earns a hearty laugh from you. Clear as day, you can see his posture relax as he listens to the music of your happiness. If he even thinks about the possibility of Garp or any other of his acquaintances hearing it, he might just get furious again.

"Well, nobody's perfect," you say between chuckles.

Then, Mihawk gently grabs your hand and lowers it to his face. With softness and passion that hardly befits a man of his infamy, he kisses the inside of your hand. "You seem to be doing so effortlessly."

[rainydayathogwarts]

Bloody quills and teary eyes - George weasley x potter!reader

summary: george comforts you after your first detention with umbridge wc: 0.7k+

George tapped his foot on the floor in front of him tirelessly, his homework lain untouched on the table. Fred and Ron played a quiet game of chess, with the occasional comment thrown, and Hermione’s face was dug in a book. You and Harry? Well, the Potter siblings just always seemed to be in detention, and today was no different. The portrait to the common room swung open and Harry walked in, quick footsteps beelining him straight to his dorm giving away his poor mood. George looked back and forth between the closing portrait and your brother, wondering where you had to be. 

Ginny trudged down the stairs, footsteps attracting Ron’s attention. While Ron was turning away from her and back to the game, he caught sight of George, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“You alright George?” He asked, pulling Fred’s attention from the game. “Yeah. She said she’d meet me back here after detention but Harry just came back alone.” Ginny plopped down on the couch next to him, offering him a candy. He declined. “She being the missus?” Ginny asked, chewing slowly. George nodded. “She’s by the Black Lake. I could see her from the window in my dorm.” She explained, watching her brother’s reaction carefully. The Black Lake was never a positive place to be on a cold, dark afternoon, and especially not after a detention. George stood up, ready to come find you when the portrait swung open once more.

Your focus was solely on that awful Umbridge woman’s face. If you could turn around right now, you’d go and beat her up, but unfortunately your stronger hand seemed to be injured. You thought sitting by the Black Lake would help you calm down, and momentarily, it had, allowing you to shed a few silent tears. But the second you began your trek back to the common room, your blood boiled with anger once more. Through teary eyes, you found your path up to your dorm, slamming the door shut behind you before slumping down on the floor against your bed. You brought your hands to your face, and immediately, your chest wracked with a painful sob.

George stared at the corner you disappeared behind from where he was stood, hearing the loud slam of your door all the way down to the common room. “How awful was that detention?” Questioned Hermione, a concerned look on her face. George ignored her, following you up to your dorm. He gently knocked on your door three times, listening for your call to come in, but it never came. Instead, he received a “Go away!” and he felt his heart break on the spot, hearing the pain in your voice.

“My love? You sound hurt, please let me comfort you.” George begged softly, resting his head against the door. He didn’t get a response, only hearing more sobs from the other side of the door, and he let himself in. “Oh sweetheart…” He started, immediately sitting down next to you and bringing you into a hug. You let George hold you close to his chest, and you cradled your hand close to yours, feeling the painful throb left by the evil witch’s blood quill. “I didn’t even check on Harry.” You cried when your sobs began to subside, wiping your tears away. “Why do you need to check on him, what happened?” You pulled away from George’s hug, meeting his eyes for the first time that night. You almost didn’t have the courage to tell him. You swallowed harshly, putting your hand up to show him the dried blood on your hand spelling out ‘I must not question authority.’ George gasped, carefully bringing your hand in his. He hand his thumb over a patch of skin where you’d desperately tried wiping your blood off, leaving a red tint to your skin.

“That bitch. I’ll tell Professor McGonagall tomorrow, she’ll do something.” He said, bringing you in a hug again. “Don’t listen to that bitch anyway. Questioning authority is what makes you stand out. Everyone just goes along with what people tell them to do, but you? You make rules of your own.” He told you. “Is that why you like me? Because I’m a rule breaker?” But you suppose you shouldn’t have asked that question because George went off telling you about all the reasons he loved you, and the last thing you heard before you fell asleep was “And one day I’m going to marry you for those reasons.”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe

[crsssie]

office hours - professor!simon riley x professor!reader

"Professor Riley, do you—"

You look up from your laptop, head tilted as you poke at Simon. He doesn't react, knocked in your lap with his legs kicked up over the other arm of the couch, and you sigh.

You offer a sorry smile to the student. "Sorry, sweetheart. He seems knocked out. Did you have a question about class?"

"He offered office hours for almost everything... So I was wondering if he could... um, give me a little help with which faculty is better than others in our department?"

"Oh, yeah he'd be more of help than me." You sigh, poking at him again. "If he'd wake up. He's quite the boulder."

"Shall I come in some other time?"

"Did he confirm your office hours?"

"He did."

"Then it's his fault. I'm supposed to be out by now, but you know." You nudge at Simon, earning a grunt and a 'five more minutes'.

"Don't call 911." You move your laptop to the side, pinch Simon's nose, and cover his mouth. You wait a handful of seconds before he reaches up at your eyes with his thumbs. You dodge out of the way as panic flashes in his eyes.

"I told you not to—" He looks to the side, catching the student. "Oh, I'm so." He sits up as you swing your legs from the couch to put your slippers on. "So sorry. The nap was supposed to be five minutes."

You wave bye to the student as you skip out, and Simon resumes his position on his chair. "You needed recommendations with classes?"

"..." The student pauses to stare at Simon. "Was that the wife?"

"Don't worry about it." He mumbles. "Yeah, that was my missus. Keep it on the low."

"Safe with me." She grins. "I wanted to gossip about faculty."

"That's so inappropriate—" He sighs, reaching for his glasses and into his drawer. "Just give me a second. Which classes did you want to take?"

He's sure to close your forgotten laptop and leave it on your desk for you. He'd have to check his phone later to see if you're asking if he wants some coffee.

Well, not that people would really know who you are. He hopes.