#codholiday2023

[milf-murdock]

Frozen (Ghost x Soap x 141!Reader)

Soap x Ghost x 141!Reader (Established Relationship/Established Throuple)

Summary: You, Ghost, and Soap were heading back to the safe house from a quick reconnaissance mission when you’re caught by a surprise ambush. Soap’s quick maneuvering saved your lives, but when you end up overboard in freezing waters, a whole new challenge presents itself.  Warnings: medical inaccuracies, I am clearly not a doctor and also not trained on what to do if you seriously are at risk of hypothermia. But getting naked and using the body heat of your two bulky lovers seems like a good place to start :-)  A/N: This was inspired by this scene in one of my favorite winter movies The Proposal!! I don’t know that it’s a “Christmas” movie, per say, but it’s snowy and wintery and I watch it every Christmas and @glitterypirateduck said that counts!!! So I’m also submitting this for their Holiday Challenge :) 

The speedboat was flying across the dark blue waters, bitter winds nipping at any exposed area of skin. A thick fog made navigating difficult, but you were in good hands as Soap lead the speedy vessel back towards the safe house. Perched on the cushion lining the back of the boat, you scooted closer to Ghost, both to escape the windchill and to hear him better, as you recapped what you’d seen. 

“We’ll need to put through a call to Price as soon as we’re back at the safe house,” Ghost stated, and you nodded in response, already mentally planning ahead to your next steps. With this intel, they’ll probably have you three hit the ground running by sunrise. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shot ringing through the air. 

“They fucking tailed us,” Soap shouted from the wheel as he turned the boat in a different direction in an attempt to shake the pursuers. “Couldn’t see ‘em through the fog.” 

Ghost operated on instinct—up on his feet, weapon in hand before the final ring of the shot even cleared out. He had three shots fired by the time you were on your feet as well, trying your best to stabilize as Soap gunned the engine, sending you flying even faster across the waves. 

The pursuers were finally close enough to clear the fog, their boat’s impressive speed rivaling your own’s. Unfortunately for them, this made the assailants easy targets. Their element of surprise was no match for your and Ghost’s impressive sharpshooting skills. You watched with satisfaction through your gun’s scope as the last man fell. Their boat came to a stop in the middle of the water, quickly disappearing as you sped away. 

Except they weren’t all dead. No, one final shot rang out, a literal shot in the dark from a dying man out into the open air. 

Catching everyone on board by surprise, Soap jerked the wheel to the right to swerve out of any potential line of fire. Still standing, untethered, and unprepared for any abrupt action, Ghost stumbled back before catching his footing, all 250+ pounds of pure muscle knocking into you. Between the momentum of the boat’s turn and the pure mass of Ghost’s body, you didn’t stand a chance. Before a single shout could leave your lips, you were toppling overboard and into the frozen ice water.

Ghost turned to help stabilize you, panicking at the empty space beside him before recognizing your frantic form in the water as the boat sped away. “Fuck!” Ghost shouted. “Turn it around, Johnny, we’ve gotta go back! She fell over!” 

Soap glanced back to see you floating in the water and his heart nearly stopped. 

“Steaming Jesus,” her muttered to himself, quickly yanking the steering wheel to the left, turning the boat around.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Simon cursed as Soap navigated the boat closer to your form. These waters were freezing and with the current windchill, they’d be racing thee clock to get you back to thee safe house. The boat slowed as they approached your figure, and Ghost leaned over the edge of the speeder, both arms extended to grab you. 

“Come ‘ere,” he muttered, both hands clasping around your extended wrists to help pull you up. The boat came to a stop and Soap scrambled over to help bring you aboard. 

You were shaking. All the many layers you were bundled up in soaked completely through. Both men helped drag your shaking form onto the bench, immediately discarding their own jackets to help cover you. 

“What the fuck happened?” Soap demanded roughly, an edge of panic in his voice that he just couldn’t control. 

“She fell out,” Ghost’s gruff response could barely be heard over the chattering of your teeth. 

“D-d-didn’t fall,” you gasped out. “P-p-pushed me.”

“You fucking pushed her?” Soap looked up at Ghost, equal parts rage and concern flickering in his blue eyes as he pulled you into his arms, pressing his body heat up against your freezing form. His hands frantically rubbed your arms, trying to generate heat with the friction. He glared up at Ghost, who was breaking into a medpack to pull out the emergency thermal blanket.

“I didn’t mean to, obviously,” Ghost grumbled as he tugged you back from Johnny’s form just enough to wrap you in the silver material. You shaking was uncontrollable at this point, the cold wind whipping at your already freezing extremities. “Fuck,” he uttered, taking in the blue hue forming just at the edge of your lips. “We gotta get her back to the safe house, now.” His tone was authoritative. This was quickly turning into a medical emergency. 

Soap nodded, heading back to the dashboard and getting the boat back in motion. Ghost took your shaking form into his arms. “I gotcha, darling, no worries. We’re gonna get you back safe and warm in no time.” He looked down to see you pressed against his chest, eyes fluttering closed. “Nuh uh, none of that, love,” he gently shook your shoulder. “Look at me, gotta stay awake.” Your eyes blinked rapidly as you tried to keep yourself awake. Ghost moved to brush a stray hair out of your face when he noticed it was nearly frozen solid. This is bad. Without a second thought, he had the balaclava up and over his face and in his hand. “Here love, need to put this on.” The exhaustion that gripped your body was too much; you couldn’t even put up a fight as Simon slid the warm material over your head, the soft fabric warming your frozen face. 

Ghost held your body close as Soap drove the boat to safety, pulling up to the dock just outside the safe house. It was a small, inconspicuous cabin in a fairly remote area. Soap gave the area a quick once-over, making sure the coast was clear, as Simon lifted you into his arms—no easy feat as the many layers you had on were completely soaked through.

“All clear,” Soap claimed, one eyebrow raised at Simon’s bare face. It wasn’t anything you two hadn’t seen before; after all, once the three of you were back home in your shared flat, the mask seldom made its appearance until you three were back on a mission. But to see it removed here was just a little surprising. 

“She needed it,” Simon stated matter of factly, brushing past Johnny and quickly heading into the warmth of the cabin. Johnny followed quickly behind, turning the triple locks on the door as soon as the three of you were inside. 

“We’ve gotta get her out of those clothes,” Johnny commented, side-stepping Simon as he headed straight towards the fireplace to get the fire going. 

Simon laid your form on the couch. At some point between the boat and the couch, your eyes had fallen shut, your breathing shallow. You were so still in his arms it set his heart hammering in his chest. 

“Fuck, darling” Simon muttered, unzipping your outer layers and pulling them off of you, his hands shaking slightly in desperation as he stripped the frozen fabrics from your body. He pulled your boots off, sliding the outer layer of pants. Hey stripped you down to your base layer, a tight pair of thermal pants and long sleeves. His mask still rested on your face. 

Having gotten the fire started, Johnny was pacing the floor by the couch, watching as Simon discarded layer by layer. 

“She’s not waking up,” Johnny’s voice was tinged with fear. “Simon, why isn’t she waking up?” 

Simon’s hands held your own, trying to warm the frozen digits. He looked up at Johnny. “Oi, look at me, love,” his own gentle tone a stark contrast to Johnny’s panicked one. Soap couldn’t take his eyes off of you. “Look. At. Me. Johnny.” Simon’s staccato words had the full commanding voice of a lieutenant. On instinct, Johnny’s eyes darted to Simon’s, unable to control his response to that tone. Simon saw the light sheen of tears in Johnny’s eyes—he always was the more sensitive of the two—and his heart squeezed with guilt. This was his fault. But he was going to fix it. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Simon’s voice left no room for arguing, no room for doubt. Johnny could only nod in response. 

“Tell me what to do.” Johnny raised one hand to trail across  your cheek, fingers grazing the soft fabric of the mask. 

“We need to get her to the bed,” Simon ordered, his years of training kicking in. He knew exactly the best way to warm you up. He nestled one arm under your shoulders and the other beneath your knees as he lifted you off the sofa, striding to the one bedroom in the tiny cabin. Johnny followed close behind, anxiously watching your unconscious form as Simon held you in his arms. 

“Take off your clothes,” Simon ordered as he set you on the bed, pulling off the last of your layers until you were completely bare. He gingerly removed the mask, setting it flat on the bedside table for it to dry out.

“Si, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Johnny asked, his brows furrowing in concern was he unbuttoned his pants. 

“Trust me, love,” Simon shot Johnny a look meant to soothe as he pulled his own shirt over his head. “The best way to warm her up is gonna be with our own body heat. Anything warmer and we risk sending her into shock.”

Once both men were fully stripped down, they carefully climbed into bed. Johnny was in his typical spot on the right side of the bed, and he tucked himself around your body. “Steamin’ blood Jesus,” he whispered. “She’s cold as fuckin ice.” He held you closer, pressing every available inch of his body against you, even going as far as pressing the underside of his feet up against yours. Once Johnny had you safe in his arms, Simon joined in, pressing up against your backside. He swore to himself as he powered through the initial cold shock and made sure to encompass as much of your bare skin under his warm body. 

They stayed like that are a long while, strong hands grazing up and down your body in an attempt to coax warmth back into you. They pressed kisses all along your bare skin, muttering sweet nothings to bring you back to reality. Simon and Johnny continued to exchange looks of concern as the next few hours passed at a glacial pace. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you came to, eyes blinking open as you groaned. 

Johnny was the first to jump in, relief flooding through him as you stirred. “Hey Bonnie, take it easy, take it easy, eh?” His strong hand was gentle against your bare chest, gently pressing you down as you tried to sit yourself up. 

“Fuck,” you muttered. “I feel like shit.” You screwed your eyes shut, letting the two men fuss over you. 

“I know, love,” this time it was Simon’s deep voice that had you opening your eyes once more. “I am so bloody sorry. S’all my fault.” The guilt in his voice was palpable and you knew he’d be carrying the weight of this instance for a while to come. 

“It was an accident,” you soothed, turning over to face him. You winced—your body ached and your movements were stiff. 

“S’okay, Simon,” you cooed, striving to ensure he could see the forgiveness in your eyes. “M’fine.”

“We’re just so glad you’re okay, lass,” Johnny pressed himself up against your back, trailing kisses down your neck and shoulder. “Gave us quite the scare.”

“‘Course I’m okay,” your words slurred a bit as your lids grew heavy, finding it harder and harder to keep sleep at bay. “I have you two.” 

“We will always take care of you, love,” Simon’s voice was firm, more of a promise to himself than anything. 

“Now rest,” Johnny ordered, pressing a final kiss to the back of your head. “Ye need it.” 

You were asleep before he even finished the words. 

The relief in the air was nearly palpable as both men finally exhaled the collective breath they’d been holding, knowing that you were going to be okay. 

“I’m so sorry, love,” Simon repeated, this time looking at Johnny. 

Johnny reached across your sleeping form to caress Simon’s cheek. “S’alright, dear. We managed.” He smiled down at you. “She’s alright.” 

Simon leaned over to press a kiss against Johnny’s waiting lips. 

“ I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love ye too.”

Masterlist ✧ Ask Box

[writeforfandoms]

Let It Snow

Find my John Price masterlist

This is for @glitterypirateduck winter challenge! I took inspiration from the song Let It Snow, because who wouldn't want to use this man as a source of warmth. Really.

John Price is your neighbor. Just your friendly neighbor. Nothing more.

At least, until the heat in your flat dies.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, sweetness overload, really this is all just cute and fluff.

Word count: 2.5k

You still weren't quite sure how you'd fallen into this thing with John Price. You'd moved in to the flat next to his, the shared wall between the two of you giving you only hints of his life. Mostly, there was silence. 

But sometimes there was the rumbling of a deep, lovely voice. Singing. The muted sounds of a TV. Music. 

The first time you talked to him, you were coming back from a date that had ended badly. You still weren't sure whether to be angry or upset, and had settled on some potent mixture of the two. 

John Price was standing outside, shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows, heedless of the chill of the evening. He nodded once to you, gaze sweeping over you. 

“Evening,” he greeted, neutral pleasant. 

“Hi.” You managed a smile. “Haven't had the chance to introduce myself yet.” You held out a hand to him, giving him your name. 

“John Price.” He shook your hand, firm but not painful. Quick. 

“Nice to finally meet you.” You glanced beyond him to your door, the temptation to cry rising as upset won over anger. “Hate to run, but…” 

“Of course.” He stepped back, out of the way. “Have a good night.” 

You bit your tongue to keep the bitter words trapped, simply nodding to him before stepping past him. Your hands only shook a little as you unlocked your door and stepped inside. 

You kept your emotions to yourself until you showered, hot as you could stand. Then you allowed yourself some release. 

After that, it became much more common to see him, at least when he was home. You passed him frequently when you came home, and once or twice he rescued you by getting the door when you had bags of groceries. 

The two of you circled each other, pleasant and friendly and not much else. 

Despite his charm, despite his kindness, despite his obvious good looks… you couldn't believe anything more. He was friendly, and that was all. He was neighborly, and that was all. 

Even if he was good-looking. Even if the way he looked at you made you both self-conscious and want to preen. Even if you developed a little crush on him despite your best intentions. 

And you held on to those thoughts all the way up until your heater broke. 

You stood in the middle of your flat, shivering, bundled up in layers and silently cursing the snow outside. And cursing the landlord, who promised he'd get the heater fixed… in a couple days. Three, or maybe four. But you'd be fine, right? 

Which left you seething and debating the merits of buying a space heater, if you could find one. It was late in the season, but maybe you'd be lucky… 

The knock on your door startled you, and you about jumped out of your skin. Who…? Frowning, you stepped forward slowly, hands trembling from the cold and nerves. 

John Price stood outside your door, arms crossed loosely in front of his chest. 

“John?” You blinked at him. “Can I help you?”

“Actually, might be able to help you.” He scratched at the hair on his jaw, brilliant blue eyes holding you captive as easily as breathing. “Heard something ‘bout your heater through the wall.”

You warmed, ducking your head briefly, even though you knew you had nothing to be ashamed of. “Ah. Heard that, huh?” You huffed a little laugh, shaking your head. “Sorry, I forget how thin these walls are sometimes.” 

“Don't fret,” John assured you. “I'd offer to take a crack at your heater but I might make it worse.” 

You smiled, torn between amusement and embarrassment. “It's fine, I think I'll just go find a space heater.” 

John paused, not moving from your doorway, one hand hooked at the collar of his shirt, gaze fixed on you. “Or,” he offered slowly, weighing each word as he spoke. “You can stay at mine.” 

You blinked. Twice. “...Beg pardon?” You must have misunderstood him. There was no way–

“I've got a second bedroom,” he said, shrugging, like it was nothing. Like it was that easy. “You're welcome to it. Be awful cold without heat.” 

You swallowed. That was… a lot. And far too generous. “I couldn't, that's too kind.” 

His lips quirked in a smile, the first real one you'd seen from him. “Yes you can,” he countered. “It's just a few days, yeah? Won't bother me, I wouldn't have offered otherwise.” 

You bit your lip, torn. It would be warmer to stay with him, and cheaper. “Are you sure?” 

“I'm sure.” He even nodded for emphasis, holding your gaze. 

“Okay.” You breathed in slowly. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” 

“Gather up whatever you need,” he said, something pleased in the tilt of his lips. “Just knock when you're ready.” 

“Thanks.” You waited until he stepped back and turned towards his own door to close your door.

Not that it helped at all with the temperature. 

Clenching your jaw and trying not to think about it, you grabbed a bag and some clothes. You weren't going to impose on him any more than necessary - you'd come back to shower and take care of your own things. And you'd be fine at work. 

Your first knock on the door was tentative, almost too soft. You shifted your weight from foot to foot, a little anxious. You knew enough about John Price to trust that he wasn't a crazy murderer, or anything like that. He'd always been friendly. 

You were mostly sure you could trust him. 

The door opened, warmth spilling out over your half-frozen fingers. John had shed his jacket, leaving him in a soft-looking shirt that clung to his chest in ways you tried not to notice. 

“C'mon in.” He stepped out of the way, ushering you in. You couldn't help but shiver as the warmth of his flat cocooned you, your skin tingling where it was exposed. “Bedroom's this way.” 

You followed him quietly, though you couldn't help but look around curiously. The flat was sparse but clean, walls mostly bare. Simple furniture in the main room, very little decoration. 

It felt a little impersonal… except for the book on the couch, the couple dishes in the sink. 

John led you back to the bedroom, nodding you inside. The bed was made up all in pale blue, with an extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed. Honestly, this was better hospitality than you'd gotten from some family members. 

“Thank you, really.” You paused in the doorway, still clutching your bag. 

He smiled again, easy as anything. “My pleasure. Get warmed up, I've got the kettle on.” 

You couldn't help but smile at his retreating back. He was too kind. 

It didn't take long to warm up enough to be comfortable, and you even shed a layer to be more comfortable. “Should I keep my shoes on?” You called from the doorway, uncertain. You couldn't recall if he'd been wearing any. 

“Nah, leave ‘em.” 

You kicked your shoes off but left your socks, padding out to the kitchen to a charmingly domestic scene. John stood with one hip leaned against the counter, mug in one big hand, another steaming gently in front of him. He was also wearing socks, thick gray ones.

“Got milk and sugar, if you'd like.” He nodded to the mug to be clear what he meant. 

“Thanks.” You fixed your cuppa and clutched it between your hands, fingers tingly-hot as they finally fully thawed. “Can I at least treat you to dinner?” 

He tipped his head down a little, smiling. “Won’t say no to that,” he murmured. 

Discussing food was surprisingly easy with him. He seemed happy to go along with whatever you wanted, although true to his word he didn't argue with you about paying. 

The first night passed easily, with bits of conversation between the two of you. You caught him looking at you more than once, something soft in his gaze. Like he couldn't believe you were here.

You warmed under that gentle gaze, the little embers you'd tried to smother in your heart catching and trying to grow. 

Two days passed in the same kind of ease. His flat was bigger than yours, and set up backwards as far as you were concerned. The second time you opened a door expecting the loo and got the linen closet you swore loudly. John just laughed at you, leading to a round of playful bickering. 

(“It's not my fault that this is all backwards!”

“Well perhaps if you looked before you opened the door you'd realize it was on the wrong side.”

“Perhaps if this place was oriented correctly I wouldn't have to.”) 

The two of you got along quite well, better than you'd expected. Better than you'd ever hoped. The ease with which the two of you conversed fanned the little flames secreted in your heart. 

The fourth morning was clear and cold, faint light coming through the window in your room. You dressed, even more glad to be in John's nice warm flat when a perfunctory look out the window showed snow still falling. 

“Morning,” John greeted you, flashing you a smile, hair still a little rumpled from sleep. You tried not to be charmed. 

(It didn't work, you were hopelessly charmed by him.) 

“Good morning.” You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. “How long have you been up?” 

“Couple hours. Tea?” 

You hummed your assent, though you drifted to the kitchen window to look outside. Snow drifted down in fat flakes, languidly coating the world in white. “How long has it been coming down?”

“Started in the middle of the night.” John pulled out the mug you were beginning to think of as yours. “Don't have to go anywhere today, do you?”

“Fortunately, no.” You shivered at the thought of having to go out in the cold. You kind of hated when it got this cold - the snow was pretty but ice made for treacherous commutes to work. “You?”

“No.” The mug clinked as he set it next to you. “Got everything I need here.” 

You turned, just catching the tail end of his teasing little smile as he stepped back. You blinked at him but didn't push, not quite sure if you wanted to know. 

Tea was perfect to keep you warm, and you settled near John. He shifted enough to press his knee to yours, and you just relaxed into it. 

He'd gotten you used to little touches over the last few days, and you didn't quite want to admit how much you loved it. 

“Care to make a day of it, then?”

You blinked at John, curious. “What do you have in mind?” 

“We could watch that movie you've been wanting to watch.” John's lips twitched in amusement. “More tea. Order in for lunch.” 

“You're going to spoil me,” you teased, although you were only half teasing. 

“Only if I'm doing it right.” He smirked, watching you as you ducked your head, fiddling with your mug. 

“You don't have to, you know.” You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, gripping your mug a little tighter so you wouldn't fidget with it. 

“What if I want to?” He tipped his head a little, watching you, blue eyes intense. 

You warmed under that look but resisted the urge to hide. “Well… that would be a different story.” 

Emboldened by your reaction, John moved closer, his thigh now pressed against the length of yours. “I'd like to spoil you for longer than just the few days it takes to get your heater fixed.” 

“Would you really?” You blinked at him, a little incredulous and a fair bit flattered. 

“I would.” One of his hands landed over yours, big and warm and calloused. “Would you let me?”

You swallowed. Part of you wanted to say yes, wanted to bask in the warmth of him, wanted to give in. But you were scared. There were so many things that could go wrong… 

“I don't know,” you whispered, your fingers curling under John's. “I could try.” 

“That's all I ask.” He leaned a little closer to you, so close he could probably feel the thump of your heart. “Just need to talk to me, hm? Tell me if anything is too much.” 

You nodded, swallowing, eyes wide as he held your gaze. “Okay.” 

“Good.” He backed off again, slowly pushing to his feet. “Go get the movie set up, I've got tea handled.” 

You blinked, feeling almost bereft as he stepped away. But you shook the feeling off, instead going to the couch to set up the movie. 

It only occurred to you long minutes later, when John brought your tea fixed how you liked, that you'd gotten very comfortable here very quickly. But so had John. He'd learned your preferences faster than you'd expected. 

“Warm enough?” He asked, voice a low purr as he settled next to you. 

“Yeah,” you answered, which was mostly true. Your feet were chilly, but that was manageable. 

He eyed you for a moment, and you had the feeling he knew exactly what you didn't say. But he didn't say a word, just grabbed a throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over your lap, fussing over you in a way totally foreign to you. 

Foreign… but nice. 

Halfway through the movie John paused it to discuss lunch. You ended up not ordering in - snow was coming down harder now, a thick coating of white obscuring streets and sidewalks. Neither of you wanted to go out, or force anyone else out. 

“We'll find something here,” you said with a shrug, unconcerned. “I've got food at mine, too.” 

John hummed, one arm settling around your waist. “Could do cheese toasties.” 

“Are you offering to cook for me?” You couldn't help your smile, or the way you leaned in closer to him. 

“Can’t make anything fancy,” he murmured, smile small but warm. “But I can do this.” 

That smile finally did you in. You kissed him. Nothing more than a brief press of your lips to his, just enough to feel the warmth and pressure, the gentle scratch of facial hair. He looked a little stunned when you pulled back… for all of two seconds. Before he kissed you again, one big hand cupping your cheek. 

“Is this okay?” He whispered when he pulled back, scant space between the two of you. 

“More than,” you assured him, hands resting against his chest. 

He hummed, the sound vibrating against your hands, and kissed you again. 

If this is what him spoiling you looked like… Well. You could get used to this. 

Even if it kept snowing like this. You weren't worried about being cold anymore. 

[shotmrmiller]

Happy trails, John.

A/N: I've been meaning to write the captain my captain but he's my holy grail—look but not touch even though I'd beg him to let me make him lonches at 4 am. Also, I watch Die Hard every Christmas because it IS a Christmas movie, argue with your demons. In response to @glitterypirateduck's prompt thing which inspired to me to write something cute and civilized.

“Just once, I’d like a regular, normal Christmas. Eggnog, a fucking Christmas tree, a little turkey. But no. It’s always ‘Die Hard’.”

“John, love. You’re being overdramatic. It’s just the holidays with my parents.” 

You rolled your eyes as you stuffed your clothes into the luggage bag, preparing for the trip.

“I know, love, but I wanted to spend a quiet Christmas with my wife— but no, the in-laws have to call with their ‘Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs…’ ", he said with a mocking lilt in his voice.

You snicker and say, “I promise we’ll leave as soon as it’s polite.” 

“Sure, sure, I go out and keep the world safe just so when I can get a little reprieve, it’s to not spend it alone with my wife. I’m feeling a little fuckin’ underappreciated.”

You closed the zipper on your bag and went over to the bathroom where John was grumbling his displeasure. Looping your arms around his waist, cheek to his shoulder blade you say, “It’s just Christmas, hun. We’ll have New Year's all to ourselves and we can even have the boys over to celebrate. I’ll even tell you what I got you for Christmas.”

That seems to distract him a bit, as he turns his head a tad with a curious tilt.

“I bought you a Lagavulin 16-year aged single malt scotch.”

His eyes warm with appreciation and he lets out a resigned sigh.

“Right, then. Let’s get this over with.”

Stepping out of the bathroom, you turn to look at the time. 

“Jesus Christ, John! We’re gonna need a miracle to get to the airport on time!”

You’re hastily grabbing your bags, yanking them off the bed and you see John on the phone.

“John! Get your bag—”

Suddenly, there are tires screeching outside on the driveway. John walks past you with his bag and picks up yours as well, before jerking his head at you towards the front door. 

“You wanted a miracle. I give you— The TaskForce 141”, John says, tossing the bags in the trunk of a truck that has Ghost, Johnny, and Gaz in it.

You don’t even care to question why they’re here— you just hop in the back seat immediately and buckle up.

John’s foot is barely inside the truck when it’s speeding off, tires screeching on the pavement. The entire drive has you almost nauseous with the jerky turns and harsh brakes. At a particularly abrasive step of the gas that has your neck jerking back towards the headrest of the seat, you turn towards John with a white-knuckle grip on the driver and passenger seat— you ask “Who’s driving this car? Stevie Wonder?!”

Johnny, sweet Johnny turns with a confused furrow on his brow and says, “Whad’ya mean, lass? It’s just L.T.” 

You’re at the airport in no time with the no-question illegal speed Ghost drove at, and you’re stumbling out of the vehicle with shaky legs. At least you made it.

Gaz grabs the bags from the trunk and places them on the floor but you’ve already run off to check in before it’s too late. John thanks Ghost for the help and after Johnny is rolling his window down— “I heard you’re going to America. To California, specifically.”

John grunts in annoyance at remembering the trip, and he sees Johnny grin cheekily at him before he says, “Yippy-ki-yay, motherfucker!”

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

Angsty winter Ghoap drabble (god help me)

***

“Aye, it’s alright little one, Da’s here,” Johnny coos at the little girl, who just gurgles in her cot, arms outstretched.  He reaches down to her and pulls her into his, her weight against his heart comforting, and Johnny can’t help but close his eyes, inhale, breathe.

Christmas is hard on Johnny, and the baby girl who settles easily against him, burrowing into her Da's chest, comforted by his familiar scent, is a reminder of why.

But…December is Johnny’s favourite month of the year. It’s Simon’s too.

Johnny sees him everwhere and in everything; the frozen pond on which they'd skate, the glittering lights of the tree that amuse the little one, makes her laugh her awkward baby laughs, the sound of the crackling fire that Simon would build every year. It's the sweetest torture.

Johnny tries his best to be happy for their little daughter's sake, it's her first birthday without one parent. Johnny builds snowmen with her, and makes her hot chocolate, and shows her the pretty lights on the big tree in the centre of town, but she's entirely like Simon in all the ways that matter. Even at just a year old, she can tell when her Da's not quite feeling it, and she wraps her tiny arms around his neck and falls asleep there.

Bedtime is the worst. Johnny hates bedtime. It's not the lack of heating that makes their bedroom the coldest room in the house. No, Johnny's convinced he's the one exuding the cold. It comes from the hollow place inside him, the walls of his heart that throb and ache with Simon's absence that he feels deep inside the marrow of his bones. During these nights that already feel like they don't end, Johnny finds that the silence deafens him.

Someone had to stay home with the wee one, and they'd both agreed that it would be Johnny.

And Johnny was proud of Simon. Insanely proud.

He'd found that sharing Simon with the 141 came easier to him than he would've expected, but neither of them had anticipated the first extension of Simon's deployment. Then the second. Then the third.

He's selfish.

His daughter misses her father.

He misses his husband.

And he feels the now-familiar hole in his chest throb.

***

His eyes never close, but morning comes anyway. He tries his hardest to force a smile on his face, prepares to play the part that his daughter requires of him.

It's Christmas morning.

He's not entirely surprised when his father greets him at his front door, telling him he has some last minute additions to make to the presents under the tree. Johnny's father spoils his little grand-daughter rotten, and Johnny doesn't mind at all.

He knows he misses Simon too, a man he'd accepted as his son all those years ago.

He busies himself by cleaning up after breakfast, but he is surprised to see his little daughter all dressed up in her out clothes. Complete with little skates in her grandfather's hands. She fusses, uses chubby hands to make clumsy little swipes and attempts to make a grab for it, but her grandfather just bounces her on his arm and boops her nose.

"Take 'er skatin,' son. She'll love it. Jus' like her Da."

Johnny figures there's nothing else left of his heart to break, so he does. He takes her skating.

The wind howls and whistles with a vengeance against their ears, but the wee one is distracted by the sight of the trees on their way - bright and glistening with snow and ice. Johnny's heart aches at the sight, wishing that Simon had been there to see what looks like one of the most beautiful Christmas mornings he's ever seen.

When he gets to the pond, the snow threatens to blind him, and he has to squint against it, briefly covering his eyes, but then Johnny he sees him.

Simon is there, skates strapped across his feet, gliding effortlessly on the frozen pond.

Johnny's hand goes automatically up to his chest in a movement of both shock and to soothe himself. He's imagined Simon before - sees him everywhere in December - but his hallucinations have never been so vivid before.

"Merry Christmas, Johnny," the ghost speaks, and Johnny swallows. Hard.

"Simon?"

"'M here, love."

When Simon's outstretched hand makes contact with Johnny's trembling fingers, it's gentle - sweet and warm and full of everything Johnny's been deprived of for months.

"For how long?" Johnny's whisper is pained, hating how much he needs to know. It's senseless and cruel to ruin the moment with the potential answer, but Johnny's always been the more selfish one.

Simon pulls him into his chest, and Johnny hears the sound he's missed most in the world. They cradle their daughter between them, and Simon places one hand on her back, while the other caresses Johnny's beard.

Simon steps forward to place his lips against Johnny's and whispers the words that he's wanted to say for years, the words that Johnny's wanted to hear for years.

"For always. It's over."

***

@glitterypirateduck: I listened to Winter Song by Sara Bareilles & Ingrid Michaelson too many times and then saw the ice skating fanart that valiants made and felt some angst winter thoughts rattling in my mind brain and LOST MY MIND IN THE PROCESS.

Bon apple tit!!!! No one ever look at me again!!!

[wallwriterstuff]

The Night Before Christmas ||John Price x Wife!Reader||

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, suggestive themes, John Price is his own damn warning. Christmas Eve preparation by parents.

Words: 2601

Taglist: For @glitterypirateduck 's CODHOLIDAY2023 challenge. Inspired by the song "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause" after a lifetime of watching my parents make Christmas magical for me...and annoyingly kissing every time they hear this song at Christmas. Thanks for that Mom and Dad.

Summary: On the night before Christmas, in John Price's house, a strange thumping is heard that is caused by his spouse. Or, when John finds out just how much of the magic in Christmas is created by his wife.

There’s a rumbling of jet engines plaguing his mind in the enveloping heat of a dry dessert. It’s almost suffocating, the way it presses on his chest, but there’s something mildly comforting about the familiarity of it. There’s a lull in the rhythm, a crack in the foundation. Soap’s laughter’s muffled but his smile’s bright, and the way Gaz’s eyes are twinkling makes him wonder what terrible joke Ghost has told now that he’s missed. Has he missed it? It’s difficult to tell here in the heat haze. He’s everywhere and nowhere, halfway between this world and somewhere new, somewhere undefined that his body knows but his mind hasn’t identified. It’s difficult to take a deep breath to try clear his head. He’s weighed down and weightless. He’s here and he’s gone. He’s lost and he’s found here among the family he’s chosen as the Earth shakes.

The boom is as garbled as trying to hear TV through static. The mortar strikes should be roaring, shattering his eardrums as much as the Earth but they’re not. He frowns, looking around. Why is no one running? Panicking? Another dull thud of what must be an enemy missile of some sort drowned out by the rumbling of those jet engines. He looks around in a daze. He can’t bring himself to feel even a twinge of fear. He just knows, instinctually, that there’s no danger here. The ground’s splitting and quaking beneath his feet but the smell of the Earth weeping for mercy through the fissures doesn’t come. Instead, it’s strong and clinical, almost like menthol. He inhales deeply, frown deepening as he gets closer to the crack in the Earth. Yeah…menthol. Another muffled thud and the gap is swallowing him whole, his team and the dessert all swirling away in a vortex of sand that the sandman retracts. He cannot sleep just yet. There’s work to be done.

Inhaling deeply, his nose stings at the strong smell of Vapo-rub. The tub still sits in his left hand while his right lingers on a small, rattling chest. Long lashes brush the apples of rosy red cheeks and his heart aches at the sight of his youngest, curled into his side in an effort to find respite from the flu that’s plagued him all week. Quietly, John clears his throat, lips smacking a bit to moisten his dry mouth. He gives himself a mental shake, removing his hand and carefully shifting himself off of the bed, old injuries aching and creaking as they always do when he’s given a moment of respite. He was barely home all of two days and he’s had the bedtime shift both nights, his children craving his attention now he’s finally, finally home. With a slight grimace, he cleans off the remnants of the foul smelling substance with a tissue from the nightstand, ensures that the nightlights are all turned on and slinks out of the room to let his son sleep.

He should find his own bed, he thinks. He can feel his own exhaustion in the marrow of his bones, a deep-seated kind of tiredness that robs him of more than just energy, but then he hears it again. The dull thud that roused him from his almost sleep is coming from downstairs, and adrenaline shoots through his veins like wildfire. It burns through that tiredness with whispers of ‘once more’, a drive to push through, fight back, obey every instinct hard-wired into his DNA that places survival above all else. He knows he locked the doors. Triple checked them like he does every night he’s home right before he put the kids to bed. Kids. You. Where are you? It’s automatic, no longer training or instinct but something more ingrained even than that, the way he searches room to room. Two fragments of his soul sleep soundly in their beds but you’re nowhere to be seen.

He's greased every hinge and secured every floorboard in this house. John knows exactly where to put his feet and how much weight to place on every individual board as he eases himself into the shadows. He greets every dark crevice like an old friend, one he knows intimately and has a depth of knowledge of that is unrivalled by any intruder in his home. The front door is closed, but the chain is off. His ears strain, that rhythmic clomping of clumsy boots making his brow furrow. Whoever it is is damn noisy, untrained even, perhaps even –

“What the bloody hell are you doin’?” he can’t help but snort, every muscles unwinding and the alarm bells in his mind fading in the face of his amusement. He settles it in his mind then and there. There’s no intruder, my wife’s just lost her marbles.

“Don’t, do that!” you hiss, hand clutched over your chest and foot raised, his boot dangling and far too big, in danger of falling onto the floorboards if you don’t take a step soon. John’s head tilts, a smirk twitching up his lips as he takes in the fake snow on the floor, the boot prints leading from the door into the living room.

“Since when did Santa wear combat boots?” he asks.

You scowl. “Since Mrs Clause had to throw her Doc’s away back in November...that’s why they’re on her Christmas list.”

He barely stifles his laughter, shoulders shaking as he rubs his finger under his nose. He knows better than to laugh at you right now as you continue to clomp towards the Christmas tree. He leans against the door frame, watching you navigate the sofa with keen eyes and folded arms. He can’t quite keep the grin from twitching his lips upwards as he drinks in the sight of you in his too big boots, Christmas pyjamas on and hair tied up, looking determined. There’s a peek of pink at the corner of your lips where your tongue pokes out in concentration as you try to keep your steps evenly spaced. That suffocating warmth is back and he recognises it for what it is now as he simply basks in the love you’ve woven into every inch of the house. It seeps into every grain of wood and is the stain lacquer finish of the laminate, holding the whole home together for him to return to. You’ve done it alone again, everything from presents to decorations and Grotto Visits. He can’t help his schedule but he wishes he’d been in on more of the magic you’ve woven that kept your little angels up until 10PM with unparalleled excitement.

“You could have asked for me to do that bit. Save you near breakin’ your neck in my boots.” He said. You sprinkle the last bit of fake snow down onto the floorboards and take a step, turning to look at him. John chuckles, crossing the room in three quick strides and scooping you up and away to the sofa. You grip him tight, the momentary shock of being airborne fading as you relax into his grip; trusting, always trusting. John won’t let you fall. He never has.

“I came up to, but you were asleep.” You teased. John huffed, kneeling before you and lifting your foot to his knee. His fingers made nimble work of the laces as he glanced up at you.

“Wasn’t,” his denial his half-hearted at best, “Was just restin’ my eyes.” He delicately slides his boot off your foot, setting it aside with much less reverence than he does your leg as he brings the other one up to untie next.

“Sure thing, cowboy.” You grin slyly. John looks up at you from under his brows, his focus half on the triple knot you’ve had to use to keep his work boots from sleeping off your feet. He chuckles a little as he picks it apart.

“Callin’ me a liar?” his query holds no bite to it. He slips the other boot free and lifts your leg, placing a delicate kiss to your calf. He feels the way your muscles tighten in response and he can’t help but smirk a little, does it again just to feel you respond to the touch of his lips on your skin.

“Liar? No. Big foot? Yes. How you walk in those things is beyond me.” You let your leg drop and shuffle forward. John’s left kneeling between your knees, his hands automatically finding purchase on your thighs, calloused thumbs caressing the smooth skin like it’s the safety on his rifle with a knowing, firm touch. A small smile creeps it’s way onto your lips, and John thinks that he could die happy this way, surrounded by you, kneeling at your altar. Hands cupping his cheeks, you gently rub your knuckles over the whiskers of his beard before leaning in to grant him the swiftest, sweetest of kisses.

Your eyes are bright, but there’s a small crease between them he smooths away with his thumb. John Price is nothing if not vigilant, and the only thing he knows better than the parts of his rifle are the planes of your body. Every minute twitch of a muscle and miniscule expression on your face is a well-read verse in the story of you. Your poetry in motion, and he won’t stand for your beauty being creased by worry and doubt.

“Stop worryin’ so much. Kids’ll be ecstatic to see Santa’s broken in.” He says.

“Broken in? John!”

“What? We don’t have a chimney so only logical explanation is that he’s shimmied the lock.” He grins up at you, letting you pull him to his feet with the most aghast expression on your face he thinks he’s ever seen. He swallows down his laughter because gods, you’re adorable and instead chooses to transfer his grip from your hands to your waist. “Joking, love, joking.” He assures you, stepping into your space and tilting your head up with his thumb and index finger. John doesn’t need to hear your forgiveness. He feels it in the way you let him chastely chase your lips until you push him back.

“We still have work to do cowboy.” You pat his chest and John huffs a bit, looking around the room. For the life of him he can’t fathom what else you could do to the place. Your shared house is cosy, decorated, loved. Fill it with anything else and he’s sure it’ll burst at the seams.

“Love, what could you possibly still have to do?” he looks down at you. You’ve got eyes like Christmas lights and are awash with the colours of them glittering on the tree, painted in stained glass colour like some Saint he knows he’s blessed to worship. The smell of fresh baked cookies and vanilla frosting is etched into your skin from your baking escapades with the kids today, soft and warm and inviting him to take a bite out of you.

“Presents. Had to hide them in the attic from certain sticky fingers. Can you get them down?” you ask.

John nods. “Alright. Anymore to be wrapped?”

“Ye of little faith. They’ve been wrapped since mid-November.” You scoff, crossing to the cookie plate and placing one in your mouth. As it melts on your tongue you hum in delight, and John frowns.

“Save one for me?”

“Sorry, Santa’s sent me for cookie quality control. Missed your chance.” There’s mirth shimmering in your eyes and cookie crumbs resting at the corner of your lips. John shakes his head as he slinks back upstairs, checking in habitually on his still sleeping angels before he pulls down the ladder to the attic. He’s got to admit he’s impressed at your tenacity. The bags are stuffed full. You’ve spoiled the little ones rotten. How you’ve done so much shopping and wrapping is beyond him, and he can’t quite figure out how you’ve managed to hide two very full bags in the attic on your own with two small children hanging off you while he was away. The Santa hat sitting nearby gives him pause. John knows he’s been a bit of a Grinch in the two days he’s been home. Something about coming home to a poorly babe and an overly prepared wife left little room for him to really get into the swing of the Christmas spirit. He endeavours to make a change.

Present bags retrieved, he slips back downstairs and pauses only to pluck a small sprig of mistletoe from the wreath at your front door. He triple checks he’s locked and chained the door once more. Force of habit. With your present bags resting in front of the tree he tugs on the Santa hat and waits patiently for you to return. There’s cookies missing and carrots with chunks eaten out of them in your efforts to make the children believe Santa really did come to see them, but he knows you can’t stand milk. He smiles slightly, knowing full well you’ll be pouring the milk back into the carton right about now.

When you return with the empty glass, you pause at the sight of him. John gives you a grin, lifting the sprig of mistletoe over his head.

“Someone’s on the nice list this year, deserved a special visit from the big man himself.” He offers you his free hand and you snicker slightly, eyes adoring and hand slipping into his. You let him pull you closer, and nothing feels better than his arm sliding around your waist. Now he’s really home. John leans in, eyes closing, and to his surprise there’s a strong smell of vanilla as you smear Christmas cookie onto his waiting lips with a giggle.

John blinks his eyes open in surprise, huffing a surprised laugh through his nose before he leans down and catches your mouth with his. He gives you no time to escape him or to clean off his mouth. It’s messy and it makes you squirm in his grip, but neither of you complain as you kiss and lick frosting away between you. His grip on you tightens, safe, inviting, hands sliding over the curves of you just to reassure himself your still here, still his. The best damn gift he ever did receive.  

When you pull back for air, John’s thumb swipes away the last little bit of frosting with a chuckle.

“Where did your mistletoe go?” you tilt your head at him and he unfurls his palm to show you. You take it from him with a hum, mischief dancing in your eyes.

“And just what are you planning on doing with that then?” He queries. Your eyebrows lift a bit.

“Think I know a better place for it.” You shrug. He feels your hands tugging at his belt, his eyes never leaving yours for a moment even as a smile twitches up his lips.

“I thought we only opened presents on Christmas morning?” he glances down to see the mistletoe hanging from his belt buckle. You giggle a bit, reaching into the bag just behind the sofa that has all your wrapping bits and pieces in . You place a sticky bow on your head and wiggle your eyebrows at him.

“I thought you were an advocate for bending the rules on occasion?” You teased, hips swaying as you slowly walk backwards towards the stairs. John chuckles, taking three quick strides towards you before he hoists you up and onto his hips. You don’t squeal. You know he won’t let you fall.

“Quick, before the kids catch Mommy kissing Santa Clause.”

“Underneath the mistletoe?”

“I believe that’s how the song goes.”

[random-thot-generator]

Where the Love Light Gleams

A 'LOVE THY FRENEMY' HOLIDAY ONE-SHOT

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

-

Summary: Simon comes home for Christmas.

Warnings/Tags: Angst, Comfort, Fluff, So. Much. Fluff., No use of Y/N

(Notes: Wrote this for @glitterypirateduck and her Christmas fic challenge. Merry Christmas, Ducky. Love you, my enabler! (((hugs)))

My inspiration was the song 'I'll Be Home for Christmas'. Thought it would be perfect for Ghost, since he has such a tragic association with Christmas Eve. Decided to give my favorite masked man a happy Christmas for a change. Oh, and there's a little musical accompaniment for the last scene in the fic. It's linked. It's how I imagined Fiona and Ned would sound when singing the song. Hope you all enjoy and happy holidays. May your love light always gleam.)

Word Count: 4.2K

[image via TENOR] [Skull Divider] [Mistletoe Divider] [Banners]

I'll be home for Christmas You can plan on me Please have snow and mistletoe And presents under the tree

Christmas Eve will find me Where the love light gleams I'll be home for Christmas If only in my dreams

— Kim Gannon and Walter Kent, 'I'll Be Home for Christmas'

-

Simon doesn't 'do' Christmas.

He's not told you why he doesn't celebrate the holiday, but it's something deep-rooted and painful, something he avoids speaking about or even acknowledging. You don't push; that's not the way to get Si to talk. You accept it as is and wait for it to come out in its own way, in its own time.

When you mention decorating for the holidays, he offers no comment. He usually likes to tease you about such things, seems to find it amusing how much you love decorating for each season and holiday, but Christmas is different. It pulls a dark shroud around him that leaves him brooding and quiet.

He doesn't gripe like he would when retrieving your boxed decorations from the attic, never utters a complaint when you ask him to help get the tree in its stand. Yet he doesn't linger once you begin to decorate it, instead taking himself off to the pub, returning hours later reeking of scotch.

When he announces a few days later that he's most likely going to be deployed over Christmas, you're not surprised; disappointed, yes, but not surprised. You don't ask if he volunteered for the assignment; you don't want to know.

"Sorry, doll," he mutters after giving you the news, then he takes himself off to his office and closes the door. You'd be more upset about it, but his apology is sincere, that invisible shroud hanging heavy on his shoulders and bowing his head.

When you follow him to the door a few days later to say your goodbyes, you hug him tight and whisper, "Going to miss you, Grumpy. I'll check in, alright? So, don't worry about me. Just... stay safe. Come home."

He clutches you to him, a ragged breath gusting past your ear. "Gonna miss you, too, doll."

You pull back and give him that crooked smile that makes his chest constrict. You watch him hitch up the duffel on his shoulder, adjust the mask on his face, then he nods to you and steps out the door. He gets about halfway down the walk before you call after him. He pauses, looks back.

"All my X's and O's, Grumpy."

He grunts, even though he feels like he's choking, his voice strained as he replies by rote, "Damn right, they're all mine."

You snort a laugh and shake your head.

He takes another moment to look at you, taking in the little smile on your face, leaning in his doorway, your arms crossed over your chest. You're dressed in one of his old hoodies and leggings, a pair of those ugly fuzzy socks on your feet, Christmas themed, of course. He burns the image into his brain before he turns and trudges through the gate, climbing into his truck and driving away without another backwards glance.

-

Simon spends two weeks on assignment but returns to base in plenty of time to go home for Christmas.

But he doesn't.

Simon surprises Price when he asks to be put on the duty roster over the holidays, the captain knowing that this would have been your first Christmas together as a couple, but he wisely refrains from commenting or asking questions. John knows why Simon doesn't celebrate Christmas; he had just been hoping that this year would be different for his lieutenant.

Simon doesn't call or text, too guilt-ridden to face you, but he reads each text you send, watches every video you share, his heart clenching every time you say his name and tell him you miss him. Because, Christ, he misses you, too. So bloody much.

It's two days before Christmas when Price stops by Simon's office and invites him out for a drink. The captain is leaving for Liverpool in the morning, yet he felt the need to give Simon this one last chance to change his mind about going home, hoping he can bring him 'round by getting him to talk about you. He knows Simon misses you, catches him looking at your photos on his phone, re-watching those videos you've sent, over and over again. The lad wants to go home to you, he's just too bloody stubborn to admit it.

They're strolling down the sidewalk to the King's Crown Pub in Hereford when something catches Simon's eye in a shop window, and Price suddenly finds himself walking alone. Stopping, he turns to see his lieutenant staring through the window, one gloved hand pressed to the glass. Curious, he retraces his steps to see what's captured the other man's attention. His brows climb up his forehead when he sees it's a collection of charm bracelets made of white-gold links, delicate little charms and colored beads dangling on display atop a dark green cloth of crushed velvet.

"Pretty," he comments, noting Simon's avid gaze.

"Look at tha' one charm," Simon murmurs, finger pointing. "It's a li'l stack o' books. See it?"

Price peers through the window, nodding, playing along. "They all got a theme, don't they? Like that one must be for a nurse, an' that one with the books is for a teacher. See the ruler and pencil? Even got a little apple," he says, pointing out the charm and chuckling.

It's a little white-gold apple set with the tiniest red gemstones. Simon's heart gives a flutter in his chest and his breath fogs the window as though it's just been punched out of his lungs. He remembers that you once told him that in literature, apples often symbolized knowledge.

But also love.

"Huh," Price grunts. "Says on the sign ya can choose the charms ya want. That's nice, innit? Makes it more personal."

That does it for Simon. He can see the shop is closed, but they're open tomorrow. If he gets there when they open, he can buy a bracelet and be on the road before lunch. It's a four-hour drive, but if all goes well, he should be home before you leave for the Christmas Eve party at the Dog. Hell, he might even go in for a few minutes, say hello to Ollie.

"Hey, Cap. I know it's late notice, but ya think I might—"

John grips Simon's shoulder, a pleased smile crinkling the corners of his blue eyes. "Say no more, lad. I'll take your name off the duty roster when we get back. Consider yourself on leave, effective tomorrow morning."

-

Simon returns to the jewelry shop as soon as it opens the next day, braving the horde of last-minute shoppers to purchase the bracelet. He spends nearly an hour going over all the different charms available, picking the ones that remind him most of you, but making sure to buy two apple charms, as well as a little skull charm that he couldn't resist.

The shop owner puts the bracelet in a slender, velvet box and wraps it in pretty foil paper, adding ribbons and a bow, before handing it over to him with a warm smile. Simon nods his thanks and tucks it safely inside his coat, heart beating faster as he makes his way back to his truck. He's nervous, he realizes, but that only makes his steps more determined. He's running a little late, but if he makes good time once he hits the M4, he should still get home before you leave for the party.

Once he's on the A417, he peers over at the diminutive gift in the passenger seat, and that nervous fluttering he's been feeling in his chest returns. He hopes you like the bracelet, hopes it makes you smile. He thinks you will like it, thinks you'll probably love it, in fact. He can't wait to put it on your wrist.

He's about an hour into the almost four-hour drive to Banfield when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out, glances down to see your name, but doesn't answer, though he wants to. He had decided he was going to surprise you and answering would give him away. So, instead, he waits until he gets the voicemail alert, then hits the play button, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Si! Was thinking about you, so decided to check in. I've been baking all day, getting ready for the Christmas Eve party at the Dog. Fi and Ollie said to tell you hi. Margie and the Gillys send their best, too. Oh! Guess what? Ned and some of his mates are going to be playing at the party. Ollie said they're really good... Anyway, I guess that's it for now. I miss you, Si. Take care of yourself and come home safe, yeah? All my X's and O's, Grumpy. Bye."

Simon's hand is trembling when he pulls the phone away from his ear. "Damn right, they're all mine," he mutters softly. An overwhelming feeling wells up inside him, a feeling so intense it prickles and stings at the backs of his eyes. He huffs a shaky breath and presses play again.

"Hey, Si! Was thinking about you, so decided to check in..."

-

An accident on the M4 delays his arrival, so by the time Simon turns onto his street, it's well past dark and he's well past irritated, or at least he is until he sees his rowhouse come into view. He parks at the curb and sits there, peering through the foggy windscreen, his dark eyes reflecting the lights decorating the front of his home.

Warm yellow string lights twinkle in the cold night air, wound through the bushes and outlining the door and windows. There's a large wreath hanging on the door that's lit up as well, its jaunty red bow slightly fluttering in the wind. It's as pretty as a Christmas card.

Simon sighs out a long breath and it feels like a weight is being lifted off his shoulders as he continues to stare at his house. That's my home, he thinks, our home, and is caught off guard by the revelation, because of the way it makes him feel.

Through the sitting room window, he can just make out the blinking of more Christmas lights, though it appears that the rest of the house is dark. He huffs and shakes his head. He's always griping at you for leaving appliances plugged in or the lights on, but this time, he's glad you did. Grabbing your gift from the passenger seat, he tucks it back into his coat and exits the truck, duffel slung over his shoulder.

That warmth he's grown accustomed to feeling when he returns home now, once more engulfs him again as he makes his way up the walk to the front door. Though he knows you're not at home, that you've already left for the party, he can still feel your presence in the glow of the lights, welcoming him home.

His comes to a halt when he steps through the door. The first thing that hits him is the sweet scent of baked cookies, with hints of orange, pine and warm spices to round out the smell. When he closes the door behind him, sleighbells jingle on the door handle, making him snort out a soft laugh, before he turns to take in the rest of the house.

You've not gone crazy with the decorating, though he told you to do whatever you liked. There are potted poinsettias in the entry, a bit of greenery gracing the door and window frames, pinecones and candles with sprigs of holly arranged on the entrance table. You kept it low-key. For him.

Yet it's the Christmas tree that makes him wince in regret. He had avoided looking at it before leaving, and how sorry he is that he did.

The tree glows in the darkness, drawing him further into the room. You had kept it simple with the decorations for the tree as well. There are strings of stale popcorn and dried cranberries draped over the branches. Carved wooden ornaments and glass baubles, worn from years of loving use, are suspended on thin loops of ribbon. A delicate, filigreed gold star tops the twinkling boughs. He sighs, bumping a wooden nutcracker figure with his index finger.

And then he spots his ornament.

It's a half-skull made of clay, formed to mimic his mask, but with a Santa hat on it, 'Simon' etched into the cranium in your neat script. It's obviously hand-made, though done so with care and skill, and he wonders how long it took you to make it. He can picture you sitting at the island in the kitchen, tongue caught between your teeth as you molded and shaped the air-dry clay with your deft little fingers.

When he strokes his thumb over the skull, he can feel that there's something also carved into the back of the ornament. Turning it over, he sees you've carved 'Grumpy' into the clay, then beneath it, 'All my X's and O's', and he laughs.

"Damn right, they're all mine, doll," he says, laughing to himself.

And if his laugh sounds a little choked, a little watery, there's no one's there to hear it but him.

-

The Dog is bustling, the villagers all come down to the local for Ollie's Christmas Eve party. Dear old Ned and his lads are set up in the back corner, playing a lively rendition of 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen', his long-suffering wife seated nearby, clapping along.

Ollie is behind the bar, resplendent in his Santa coat and hat, serving up pints of cider and winter ale, while Fiona and Margie supervise the tables laden with food. Pushing through the kitchen door, you side-step your boss with another tray of freshly baked sausage rolls, the smell of them drawing a drunken conga line into your wake.

"'Scuse me. Pardon," you repeat again and again as you wade through the crowd, tray held aloft.

Fiona takes the tray from you when you finally make your way over, placing it on the table before motioning you to join her off to the side. Placing an arm around your shoulders, she whispers, "Take a break, Dee. Ya've been runnin' yerself ragged since ya got here."

She's right. Staying busy keeps your mind occupied, distracts you from the lonely ache that's been plaguing you all day. You thought you had accepted Simon's absence, had resigned yourself to being alone for Christmas, but the feeling has only grown worse as the night's progressed. Still, you can't deny you're feeling a little frazzled, so you nod and pat her hand.

"Was planning on taking break, anyway. Just wanted to get those sausage rolls out first. This lot's eating them faster than I can make them."

Fi snorts a laugh. "Aye, so no need tryin' t'keep up with 'em. Go on, love. Get yerself a drink an' rest. Enjoy the party. Me an' Margie got it covered here."

You offer her a parting smile and head towards the bar, waving Ollie over as you squeeze in between two drunk blokes arguing about the proper ingredients for wassail.

"What can I get ya, sweetheart?" Ollie asks, leaning on the bar in front of you.

You were going to ask for cider, but what comes out of your mouth is, "Two fingers of Dewer's, please."

His eyes go soft and a little sad. "Sure, lass. Comin' right up."

You sigh, feeling like a lovesick eejit, pining after Simon when you know he'll be home in a few days. This is something that you need to get used to since this will no doubt be how you spend the rest of your Christmas holidays for the foreseeable future. In the grand scheme of things, this is nothing, really, less than nothing, so you need to just let it go. You'll be fine.

Ollie slides your drink over to you, watching as you take a sip and grimace. He'd laugh if it weren't so bloody heartbreaking. He can see you miss Simon like mad, and the old captain feels his palm itch with the need to box his greenie's damn ears. Sure, he understands why Simon doesn't celebrate Christmas, but you don't, and that's the rub of it. He should at least explain, help you understand.

"Ya doin' alright, love?"

You nod and plaster on a smile. "Yeah, just knackered after all that baking. I'll clean up in the back after my break."

Ollie waves you off. "Leave it. Ya've done enough. Go have a seat an' rest yer feet."

The room erupts in shouts and applause, distracting you both, as Ned and his band finish their song. Ale and cider go sloshing as several in the crowd lift their pints aloft in salute. There's a lull in the din as the band discusses what to play next, then Ned calls for Fiona to join them.

A genuine smile lights up your face when you see your bessie join Ned, the two of them whispering a moment before she nods then takes a calming breath. Not many know it, but Fiona sings like an angel, so this will be a rare treat for everyone.

The room grows quiet as Ned exchanges his fiddle for a guitar, then begins to pluck out the chords to 'I'll be home for Christmas'. The rest of the band sit back to give the pair center stage, letting the sound of the guitar resonate through the room as Ned begins to sing. When Fiona joins in, the room goes completely still.

"Christmas Eve will find me/ Where the love light gleams..."

And suddenly the tears are welling up, your chin wobbling, and you have to duck out of the room and down the hall into Ollie's office, before anyone sees you crying. You drop down into the chair in front of Ollie's desk, feeling so lonesome for Simon, you think your heart might break.

You're still sniffling, swiping at your face with the sleeve of your sweater when you hear the door open behind you, Ned and Fiona's harmonized voices filling the room.

"S-Sorry. Just needed a moment," you stammer out, peeking over your shoulder expecting to see Ollie or Margie standing in the doorway. Your breath hitches in your chest when you see Simon standing there, instead.

"Si?"

"Miss me, doll?"

A sob tears out of your throat as you launch yourself at him, his big arms wrapping around you and catching you up in a tight embrace, lifting you off your feet. "Bloody hell, I've missed ya, love. Had to come back," he tells you, his voice muffled by your neck.

Your hands are grasping his head, kissing him over the mask before he growls and strips it off his face, tossing it aside as he steps forward and kicks the door shut behind him. He doesn't hesitate before carrying forward, setting you on the edge of Ollie's desk as he kisses you with all the yearning and longing he's been feeling since he walked out his door three weeks ago.

You're clinging to him, desperate to feel his hands on you, his lips on you, just needing to feel him. His thumbs wipe away the tears still streaming down your cheeks as he cradles your head in his hands. "Don't cry, doll. Please don't cry," he mumbles against your lips, his own voice sounding haggard.

You sniff, a watery little laugh escaping. "Can't help it. I'm just so happy you're home."

You feel his lips smiling against yours. "Me, too, love," he whispers, leaving a lingering kiss on your lips before pulling away. "I... I got ya a present," he mutters, reaching inside his coat and removing the box. He hands it over, his dark gaze almost shy as he whispers, "Happy Christmas, doll."

Your eyes are wide and unblinking as you take the gift with trembling fingers, eyes darting over it before snapping up to meet his. "Si, you didn't have to—"

"Christ," he huffs, a soft smile turning up the corner of his mouth. "Shut yer gob an' jus' open it, ya bloody brat," he murmurs, lowering his head to bump his brow against yours.

Your smile is giddy as you peer into his eyes and nod, tearing into the paper, catching your bottom lip between your teeth before opening the slender box. You gasp when you do.

"Oh, Si..." you breathe out, fingertips lightly tracing over the individual charms. "It's beautiful. It's... perfect!"

You're positively beaming when you throw your arms around his neck again, hugging him with all your might. He rumbles out a laugh, hugging you back just as tight. "'M glad ya like it, doll. Knew I had t'get it fer ya as soon as I saw it."

You sigh, pulling away to peer down at the bracelet again, overwhelmed. "The charms. They're all the things that I love," you say softly, beyond touched. There are tiny cooking utensils, a rolling pin and little cookpot. A little stack of books, a tea pot, a cute little bookworm. Tiny garden tools, flowers. The skull makes you giggle, brushing an affectionate finger over it as you smile. And the apples, two of them, one set in red gems, the other in green. "I love this so much, Si."

"Want me to help put it on yer wrist fer ya?"

You nod eagerly, handing the box back to him. "Please."

His fingers shake a bit as he takes the bracelet from the box and drapes it over your wrist, his big fingers fumbling a bit before he finally attaches the clasp. He takes your hand by your fingertips, arching your wrist to see how it looks on you, smiling. "Lookit tha'. Knew it would look good on ya."

Your smile is so wide, your cheeks ache, unable to take your eyes off of it. "I love it, Si," you whisper, your eyes drifting up to meet his. "I love it. And I love—"

A sharp rap sounds at the door, cutting you off, and Simon thinks he might kill whoever is on the other side. He growls, bumping his head against yours in frustration. You sniff a little laugh and peck his lips before calling out, "Just a sec." You stroke his stubbled jaw. "Best get your mask," you whisper to him.

He's adjusting it on his face when you go to open the door, not surprised to see Ollie standing out in the hallway. "Sorry, Ol. Didn't mean to commandeer your office."

Ollie glances over your shoulder with a shrewd eye. "'S fine. Jus' wanted t'check on the two o' ya." Translation: 'Just wanted to make sure the two of you aren't shagging in my office. Again.'

Simon scoffs, reading between the lines as well. "Don't worry, Ol. We're fine. Still fully clothed, as ya can see. Jus' wanted t'give Dee her present. in private."

"Uh-huh," he grunts, dubious. Yet when you hold your wrist out to show him your bracelet, a proud smile creeps over the older man's face as he admires Simon's gift. "It's lovely, Dee," he tells you, giving Simon an approving nod. "Ya did well, son. Good lad."

Simon's near bursting with pride when he walks you back out into the bar room, eyes smiling above his mask as friends and neighbors come up to welcome him home and wish him a happy Christmas. He doesn't think once about leaving.

As he sits in one of the booths, an arm around your shoulders, relishing the feel of your warmth against his side, he peers out over the pub, takes in all the faces that have become familiar to him, his neighbors and friends, and, yeah, his family. It warms him from the inside out, seeing everyone gathered together, eating and drinking and laughing, the whole scene set aglow by hundreds of twinkling lights.

He hears you sigh and glances down to see you admiring your bracelet again, your face glowing with an inner light that warms him through and heats his blood. It's the same light that sees him through the hard battles, that leads him out of the darkness when he's lost, that will always guide him home.

He pulls you tighter against him, burying his mask in your hair to breathe you in. He thinks about that song Fi and Ned were singing when he entered the pub, that one line replaying in his head.

'Christmas Eve will find me/ Where the love light gleams...'

And he finally understands what the term 'love light' really means, because you're glowing with it.

And so is he.

-

[amongthe141]

The Gifts that keep on giving...Part 1

Summary: Head cannons for if reader was stuck with some Task Force 141 and KorTac men (With some surprises) for Christmas, what would be the best surprise gift to give them?...UGLY SWEATER EDITION

Challenge of: @glitterypirateduck CODHOLIDAY2023 (Yes I'm early but I have a lot of stuff I'm trying to do for this Challenge and really, who doesn't start celebrating the day after Thanksgiving...am I right?!?!).

See below for the movie inspiration for these head cannons for challenge :P

Captain John Price

Would blush when handed the present. Him being Captain and in charge knew you were up to something when you pleaded for him to allow an extra crate onboard. So when handed the soft pressed present the blush is part surprise and embarrassment that he didn't have a gift for you. He would take his time unwrapping it to only get that shit eating smile when he looked at it, immediately putting it on and pulling out a cigar to match the reindeer. You completely forgot that it wasn't the completed look and ran to grab the Santa Hat replacement for your dear Captain.

Simon Ghost Riley

You would be too nervous to watch him open up the present, because let's face it his big wondering brown eyes would just stare at you and would make your anxiety literally kill you before he would even open it should you have waited. But it was your eyes that couldn't leave him as he walked out of his corner room where you placed the simple present with a simple "Ghost" written on it sporting the sweater like it was nothing. As he walked by headed to where Johnny was shouting at him that his sweater was better than Ghosts and the lot of them, you believe you heard a little ghost whisper "Cheeky" along with a thanks.

Johnny Soap MacTavish

As soon as he saw you round the corner the inner child in him escalated his voice and excitement to mock level 10, thank goodness you weren't in a spot where it was imperative to remain silent. Sometimes his accent made words hard to understand but he was a rambling mess currently. He had the wrappings off and the sweater on in a heartbeat and he would go running around showing off his sweater to everyone and scolding their "ok" sweater choices before returning to you as he lifted you up off your feet for a hug. He would of course then bring out the secret booze he had for everyone for Christmas.

Kylie Gaz Garrick

Would be completely shell shocked silent as you slid the wrapped gift you made sure was perfectly wrapped for him. He would look at you then the gift a couple times before you told him to hurry up before you opened it for him. He wouldn't ruin the wrapping paper and you would sigh in utter suspense until he had the wrapping paper off the sweater perfectly. He would grin up at you uttering how perfect this was and later as the ugly sweater party died down would sit next to you as you shared a tablet watching Home Alone together.

Alex Keller

His extremely loud boisterous laugh would strip away the sudden fear that overcame you as you watched him open the present you thought was the perfect sweater for him. It was a sudden ping inside yourself that perhaps the ugly sweater you picked out was the wrong choice...too insensitive...perhaps too soon...which wasn't the case to your instant relief. You had been there to help Alex through his rehab and not once did Alex ever show of slowing down. It would become Alex's go to sweater for Christmas for years to come and also became a staple request that any actual Gingerbread cookies with missing legs were reserved for him and him alone.

Alejandro Vargas

It was well known that you and Alejandro had a thing for tacos. During your stay with his task force you were introduced to authentic and unbelievably flavorable tacos, much so that months later you had to beg him to coach you over Zoom on how to cook it since Taco Bell fell flat. "You ruined fastfood tacos for life now Ale, you owe me". At first he was confused why ugly sweaters were a thing but soon just shook his head laughing at you as he stripped off his shirt and put it on.

Jesus Chuy Ordaz

Chuy would be sitting silently laughing at Ale and what you just did to him until you plopped his present on his lap. He about rolled his eyes at you but stopped. Not like he would actually talk out loud because the guy is a silent guy but you knew he couldn't deny that ugly sweater was perfect for him. (You know a silent guy like that has a loud ass small dog waiting for him at home that also has a big attitude and is completely spoiled by him...fight me on this cannon I dare you).

Konig

You couldn't explain it but Konig's eyes got even wider underneath the hood when he took his sweater out of his Christmas bag. You and the big guy had been bonding over monster movies over Halloween holiday and you just had to continue the trend. You had your own sweater for the occasion, but you also showed Konig that you had one too of the same exact sweater because it literally was your favorite ugly sweater too. The next day you ordered him the T-Shirt version as you couldn't help but notice, and how police and quiet he was not to upset you, that he was burning up too much in the sweater version.

Horangi

Honestly, why wouldn't Horangi have a Tiger ugly Christmas Sweater (You know who you are you little 141 Monster AU writers). You didn't approve of his horrible gambling problems, but you couldn't help yourself from giving him a card game of blackjack to see which sweater he would end up with. Oh, believe me they both would have tigers in them, but they weren't as atrocious as the ugly one he lost to having. Not to mention you sewed in actual bells to jingle as he walked around on the wreath part. He actually deep down loved it because honestly tigers are the cats meow.

BONUS

Philip Graves

You thought to yourself, could there not be a more perfect sweater out there. And you were right, the man ate it up and wore it several times this Christmas and multitudes of Parties. You both loved and hated it but Christmas was about joy and giving. You did kindly have to decline his attempts at inviting you to go with him until you had to tell him off that you would have no choice but to return him if he asked again.

OOC BONUS

Frank Woods

@efingart I hope you enjoy this sweater as much as I do for Frank. Though of course nothing compares to his skin for Black Ops Cold War. If you know, you know...mistletoe!

SELFISH BONUS

Nikto

You knew he probably wouldn't get the reference but Nikto gladly wore your sweater along with the shiny black new knife that you had packaged with a red bow along with the sweater. You thought it was really cute how he walked around showing everyone the knife and how well it fit in your leg pocket for easy access and how the handle gripped nicely. It was more then the seldom one words he used or the growls and gruffs you usually got more of than most.

WRITERS BONUS

What I'd wear if I was the reader.

@glitterypirateduck I can't really place where my love for Ugly Sweaters came from BUT it's in one of my favorite KINDA Christmas holiday movies on the modern retelling of Pride and Prejudice.

[dragonbe-writing]

Let It Snow (x John Price)

Day 1 of @glitterypirateduck's December Challenge!

(it wouldn't be a college kid doing a challenge if the first day wasnt late LMFAO)

This is (obviously) inspired by the song, so it's all cute and sweet. John Price coming home for Christmas for some much needed cuddles. Gender neuteral reader/ no descriptive pronouns. Use of pet names (duh it's Price). Only about 500 words, but it's nice.

I'm using this challenege to push myself back into writing, but I am about to start finals so bear with me for this first week. Enjoy :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four months.

That’s how long John had been away. 

Four- miserable -months. 

Stuck in the desert, sand in every part of his being, sweating day in and day out. No rain, no relief. 

He’s fucking tired. He needs his love, and he needs them now. 

Yet he’s here, at the airport, looking at the list of delays and downright cancellations. There’s a snow storm brewing, causing some difficulty up in the air. He’s flown in worse, he figures, but he knows they're doing their job. 

His leg bounces sporadically. Another flight cancelled. Another group of people who won’t be home for Christmas. That won’t be him. It can’t be. 

He pulls his phone out, huffing as he entered his password. 

Still at the airport, love. Not looking great. 

God, he hates himself. If not for his stupid job, he’d be home with them. They’d be rambling about something that happened while he was gone, or maybe gossiping about a new tenant in their building. 

Another flight cancelled. This one, close to the area he was flying to. 

Shit. 

A vibration pulls him from his head, making him look down. 

That’s alright, baby. I just want you safe <3

He damn near growls. It’s not alright, and he knows it. But they're so sweet, they wouldn’t dare even give him the impression that they’re sad. But he knows. He can picture it in his head- his sweet thing curled up in their bed, alone, again, heartbroken that he’ll miss Christmas. 

Another flight cancelled. His flight. 

He can’t sit anymore. He stands angrily, bag slung over his shoulder as he marches for the exit. People move for him- who wouldn’t, he’s huge and pissed. He’s already on the phone by the time he’s outside the crowded, loud airport. 

“Nik? I need a favor.”

~~~

He doesn’t even take the elevator in their building. 

He practically ran up the four flights of stairs to get to their apartment. He’s knocking on the door before he knows it, already smiling to himself. He dropped his bag to the side. 

Seconds feel like hours, and he thinks for a second that something terrible happened. But then the door opens, and his love leaps into his arms. 

And he’s home. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he chuckles, burying his face in their neck and breathing in their scent. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too. Missed you so much,” they whisper to him. He can hear the tremble of their voice, and he knows they’ve been crying. “I thought your flight was canceled?”

“Didn’t really think I’d leave you alone for Christmas, would ya?” he spoke, his voice deep and relaxed. They laugh, and it’s the best present he’ll get all year. He carries them inside, sitting on the couch. The news is on the TV, talking about the snow, about all the flights canceled. He reaches over and grabs the remote, turning it off. 

“They said we’re supposed to get quite a bit,” they say, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes he adores. 

“It can snow all it wants, now. Hope it gets you out of work all month,” he smiles, kissing them softly. “Hope nothin’ bothers us.” 

“Merry Christmas, John.”

“Merry Christmas, love.”

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Mistletoe Mancandy Series Masterlist (MMSM lmao)

(i'm a fucking gremlin, I know. I despise that effing song with passion)

Here's the food <3 tagging the amazing master curator @glitterypirateduck

Captain John Price

Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Sergeant Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

Sergeant John 'Soap' Mactavish

Alex Keller

Nikolai

Colonel Yuri V. Volkov

Colonel Alejandro Vargas

Sergeant Major Rodolfo 'Rudy' Parra

Colonel König

Kim 'Horangi' Hong-jin

Russell Adler

Frank Woods

Alex Mason

Keegan P. Russ

Vladimir Makarov

Phillip Graves

Sgt. Christine 'Riot' Vega

[milf-murdock]

Baby, Please Come Home 

Simon “Ghost” Riley x female Reader

(Alternatively titled: Not the Good Bourbon!)

🎄 @glitterypirateduck’s December challenge

The snow’s coming down I’m watching it fall  Lots of people around Baby please come home  They're singing Deck The Halls But it's not like Christmas at all 'Cause I remember when you were here And all the fun we had last year pretty lights on the tree I'm watching them shine you should be here with me baby, please come home

A/N: I love this song and it was giving such pining energy and this entered my head and I just couldn't... let it goooo ❄️

It was Christmas Eve and from your spot on the sofa you could see the snowflakes falling just outside the window. The gentle blaze from the fireplace kept you nice and warm as you watched the steady stream pour from the sky. The fire warms your toes. The mug of hot cider spiced with rum warms your hands and your belly. The warm glow of the Christmas tree washes your shared flat in its soft hues, like a comforting embrace. 

It was perfect. With one glaring exception. 

Simon’s mission had run long. Again. 

You both knew it was a possibility. He had warned you that it was a complex mission—target on the move, long stakeouts, tricky extraction, the usual—though there was only so much he could say due to the confidential nature. But he had promised to be home from the holidays, his firm grip on your chin forcing you to look up at him as he made the vow. 

You thought back to that bittersweet goodbye. The familiar caress of Simon’s hand on your cheek. The sensation of his lips pressed against yours, as if he could kiss you hard enough to last through the next several weeks. The longing in your heart as you watched his body walk out the door. As a habit, Simon made sure to never look back; he knew that a final glance would make it damn near impossible to keep his feet moving. 

A crack of the fireplace brought you back to the present, and you took another sip of the spiked cider, the burn feeling good, grounding. It took the edge off the pain, just a tad. Just enough. 

Untangling yourself from the heavy knitted blanket, you made your way to the large window to get a better look at the falling snow. It never ceased to amaze you. Simon hated the snow, always complaining. You'd tease him endlessly about his Grinch-y behavior—he had to be the only man in the world who would complain about snow on Christmas Eve. 

You couldn’t help your smile, tinged with sadness. From your new vantage point you could spot a few kids playing in the snow down below. If you really focused, you could hear the distant familiar tune of Deck the Hells playing from a few doors down. And yet, despite the picturesque nature of the whole scene, it just didn’t feel like Christmas. Not really. 

“You should be here with me, Si,” you sighed into your mug, taking another sip.

“Please come home, baby.” You muttered out a solemn prayer to whoever may be listening, a plea to bring your man home safe. 

______________________________________________________________

Simon growled in frustration as he sat in the London traffic. The honks of the surrounding cars only added to his growing frustration. “For fucks sake, doesn’t anybody in this goddamn city know how to drive?” He pounded the dashboard in irritation. “It’s the bloody snow,” he grumbled, cursing the white flurries that flew all around the still cars. 

In the back of his mind, Simon knows how happy his love must be at the snow. You lived for this kind of thing, a Christmas Eve snow that most certainly ensured a white Christmas. As much as he hated the damn weather, it warmed his heart the way you would smile up at the sky and exclaim with all the excitement you could muster, “It’s snowing,  Si!” You could barely contain yourself. No matter how many years the two of you spent together in Britain’s chilly winter, you never seemed to grow tired of the phenomenon. Your childlike wonder of the world around you was just one of the many things Simon loved about you. 

Simon absently wondered if you were watching the same snow from the warmth and comfort of their shared home. He could see it so clearly: the wonder in your eyes, the curve of your lips, the way you practically glowed in the soft light. It warmed him from the inside out.

He just needed to get home to you. It had been a grueling and physically demanding mission, but his main motivation was being home, with you, for Christmas. He would do anything to make it happen. 

The cars started a snail like pace on the road again. “Fuckin’ finally,” he muttered, shifting into gear and beginning the steady route to his home, his love. 

______________________________________________________________

With a sigh that could rattle the ornaments on the tree, you slammed the power button on the remote, shutting off the telly. You loved a cheesy holiday movie as much as the next gal, but you just couldn’t take it—every love confession just grating on the raw nerves of your frayed heart. 

In an effort to keep yourself busy,  you reheated some more cider on the stovetop, popping by the bar cart to top off the glass. You eyed Simon’s good bourbon, silently debating. “Oh he’ll be livid if he finds out I mixed this with the cider,” you think to yourself. “Though,  s’pose he won’t be here to complain about it, will he?” With a shrug, you gave a healthy pour into your mug, before bringing the bottle to your lips and taking a swig. And another, for good measure. “That one’s for you, Si,” you muttered, trying not to sputter as the liquid burned its way to your belly, warming you from the inside out. You weren't usually this morose when Simon was gone, but something about the holiday season had you extra bitter. 

There was a thump outside the door, and you nearly dropped the bottle as you jumped. You didn’t dare let yourself hope as you started stalking your way to the door, heartbeat racing. The click of the lock echoed in the silent flat, and you stood there, waiting, heart in your throat, unable to move as the door opened towards you. 

Simon’s hulking frame filled the doorway, his blonde hair pointing every which way, a clear sign his mask was freshly pulled off. 

“Happy Christmas, love,” his low voice sounded like honey, and on instinct you felt the familiar pickling sensation of tears fill your eyes. 

You blinked. And then you were in motion, sprinting to close the gap before throwing your arms around Simon’s neck, trusting him to catch your racing form. 

Two strong arms folded around you, lifting you up off the ground, and Simon held you as close to his body as he could. Your familiar weight in his arms, his nostrils flooded with the smell of your perfume, and he could only think of one word, blaring in his mind like a neon sign: home. This was home. You were his home. 

“You’re home,” you muttered, pressing your face deeper into his neck, squeezing him closer. 

“Course I am. I promised ya, didn’t I?”  Simon quipped. 

Carefully setting you down on your own two feet, Simon did his best to steady you as you leaned up on your tip toes and finally brought your lips to his. 

Simon swore internally.

If you were home, then your lips were heaven. 

Simon wound one hand in your hair, pressing you even closer to him, the other hand trailing down to your supple hip. His tongue traced the edge of your lips, begging for access, which you were never one to deny. He drank in your kiss like a man dying of thirst, a familiar taste on his tongue. When the two of you finally came up for air, Simon couldn’t hold back his cheeky grin. 

“Babe, is that my good bourbon I taste?”

[brewed-pangolin]

In preparation for the December Challenge created by @glitterypirateduck, I decided to make a poll to get y'alls input on a certain debate. And your answers will decide the outcome of my fic. Because let's face it, this is a very hot topic this time of year.

So, here it is...

Cast your votes. Place your bets. And grab a glass. Because no matter what, it's going to be a very thirst quenching holiday season.

Much love. 💛

[kit-williams]

It's a wonderful life

@glitterypirateduck

So this was inspired by the movie it's a wonderful life of course. I nearly lost my husband to pancreatitis and during that time in the hospital to cope besides watching my at the time 4 month old I really got into the COD fandom. The premise for the character of Goblin is that she got iskaied and is now stuck in the COD universe while at the same time she's able to look at her phone and realizes that there's a copy of her back home. This is me expressing the fact that (Goblin) is the lingering feelings the fear I have while I've outwardly have had to move on.

Why it's a wonderful life is mainly due to the way he wished that he never existed, the alien feeling of seeing everything around you be normal except it's not. Plus for the Comfort at the end of the movie too.

tw: Suicidal thoughts, Hurt-Comfort

Simon didn't bother to close the door to his truck, or wait for the elevator, all he could think about was the last message Goblin had sent him. Do you think this is some horrible wish like in It's a wonderful life? Do you think if I jump off that bridge I'll just wake up.

He knew the pain of what was Christmas but she had been spiraling that drain he wasn't going to let her fall into it. He jammed the spare key he had into the lock and looked around the dark apartment. "Goblin." He said looking around with panic itching at the back of his throat as he went through her apartment. He was still in the window of helping her out if she decided to do something stupid.

He found her laying in the dark just looking at her phone. He could see the glow of the screen lighting up her tear stained face. "It will be his first Christmas tomorrow." Goblin just croaks out as she sits up and looks at him.

Simon just stands there silently as he can hear people and the loud laughter of a baby coming from her phone as she just gives a pained smile. Goblin had become more and more withdrawn which was expected from his perspective but he could tell she wasn't expecting it to hurt. His heavy footsteps guided him over to her bed and he sits down looking down at her. He takes a sniff of the air, "Have you been drinking?"

"Yeah..."

He looked at the can on the floor, "If I remember... you made the funniest face when we had you try it."

"Still tastes like piss." She chimes in.

"Come on sweetheart lets get some food in you." Simon says finally turning on the lights. Though he quickly goes to properly park his truck... he's not terribly surprised to find out she hasn't moved. Simon pulled on her arm watching her sit up as he helped her wobble to the kitchen. She hid her face on the counter sitting at a stool as her apartment still looked barely lived in... far more of a bachalor pad than anything really. But she was still hoping that she would go home.

He placed the plate of beef stirfry in front of her as she looked at it sadly. "I normally love Christmas... I love December... " She starts off softly, "It's when my family throws all of their parties." She smiled softly, "We back load a lot of it. We have two parties... an adult only party early December and then my Aunt's big Christmas Eve party. And I'm missing them..."

Simon leaned against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. He wasn't wearing his signature baklava, his rusty brown hair was visible as well as his warm brown eyes with his mouth covered by a black mask. "I know your background... but to go from a family that had probably 100 people related to each other to suddenly being by yourself..." Goblin said just picking at her food.

"What happened to me is something for me to deal with."

"But it's why I hate to complain around you. You've been through so much...."

"What has two legs and bleeds?" Simon asks seeing Goblin just start to smile, "Half a dog." He hears her tell tale snort. "There's the Goblin noise."

"Oh shut up Simon."

"Nah don't think you'd like that much." He watched her eat before he sighed softly, "Goblin." He watched her look over at him, "Maybe next year we can... decorate or do something. If I'm still here that is."

"Simon... you're still around in 2023... but if... if I'm still here by the time next Christmas rolls around... I'd like that." Simon could hear the pain in her voice at the thought of being here still but he couldn't stop the way his feet moved over to her as he pulled the smaller woman into a hug.

"Even if you don't I won't leave you behind...now finish up you're food." She looked at him curiously, "We're gonna drive around and look at Christmas lights."

And that got a smile on her face.

[siriusleee]

For @glitterypirateduck Call of Duty Christmas Special. Author's Note: For the holiday season, I wanted to write some things for some of my mutuals I've met the past year I've had my blog. This is for @gazs-blue-hat, who is one of the most supportive people I've ever met. Christmas Song: Last Christmas Premise: You need a date for your family's Christmas dinner. Johnny is willing to be it.

This is stupid. The dumbest idea you’d had in ages, but the thought of going home this Christmas to see your sister snuggled up on the couch with her long-term boyfriend while your mother regulated you to helping in the kitchen was enough to make you do something stupid. 

It had started with a Facebook post someone else made as a joke. “$100 bucks and I’ll go to your family Christmas and pretend to be your boyfriend. $150 and I’ll kiss you in front of everyone and compliment your mom.” You’d sent a screenshot to Johnny, something quick, hoping he’d send a joke to make you feel better about the upcoming shit show.

Christmas exploded around town - lights dripping from each tree, fake Santa’s climbing up trellises. And with it, your mood turned blacker each day. It seemed like every minute someone was messaging you for something new: don’t forget to dress up for the family Christmas photo, bring rolls, are you bringing anyone?, are you bringing anyone?, are you bringing anyone?.

The lowest moment was a phone call from your sister’s boyfriend. You answered the call at your desk, phone sandwiched between your shoulder and ear.

“What’s up?”

“Hey, I was wondering what your ring size is.”

Your fingers slow on your keyboard; through the speaker, you can hear the hustle and bustle of some shop. 

“I wear a size 8. Why?”

Silence. And then -

“I’m going to ask your sister to marry me at Christmas this year, and I know you guys are the same size. Don’t tell anyone?”

You had always liked your sister’s boyfriend, but at that moment you could have strangled him. Annoyed, you’d shoved yourself back from your desk, muttering something about taking a break. You slammed your phone down so hard, you were relatively sure that there was going to be a crack in the screen, but you were too bummed out to worry about it. 

Johnny found you at your post outside, an unlit cigarette held loosely in your fingers. 

“I thought you quit smoking, bird.”

His breath clouds around him, and he sits close enough to you that his knee rubs against yours. 

“I did. That’s why I’m just holding it.”

He winces at the tone in your voice, hand coming up to rest itself above his heart in mock hurt.

“Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?”

“Bug off Johnny.”

He knocks his knee into yours, hands tucked beneath his armpits to keep warm.

“Christmas dinner?”

Your shoes tap a maniacal pattern onto the concrete as you try to figure out how to say it all, without sounding so horrible.

“My sister’s boyfriend is going to ask her to marry her on Christmas.”

Johnny ‘hmms’, chewing on his chapped lips.

“You can always pay me like you said the other day.”

“Shut up Johnny.”

Three days later, after all the non-essentials had been sent home for Christmas dinner your phone buzzed; you glanced down at the screen from your perch on the couch, half expecting it to be another annoying family member. 

Your fingers tapped against the screen, trying to figure out a way to tell Johnny to knock it off, the joke’s not funny anymore. Instead, you find yourself tapping out the time and your address.

Smoothing the wrinkles from your skirt, you start to think that maybe Johnny was just screwing with you - that this is all some elaborate joke and you’ll have to do this all by yourself. Maybe Johnny’ll laugh about it when the two of you return to work in a few days, maybe-

A tentative knock on your front door breaks you from your near spiral. Before you can talk yourself out of the entire thing, you fling the door open. Johnny stands grinning at you, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. His mohawk is freshly touched up, and whatever cologne he put on rolls off of him in hypnotic waves. 

“You look nice,” you say, words falling flat and lame between the two of you. But Johnny doesn’t seem to mind as he holds his arm out to you. 

“You look nice too, birdie. You ready?”

Johnny opens the car door for you. You take the moment it takes for him to walk around to his door to peer at the inside of the car - fresh vacuum lines cover the floorboard, and a new Wintergreen scented tree hangs from the review mirror.

“So,” Johnny says, climbing into the driver's seat, “tell me everything I need to know.”

You describe everyone on the drive there: your Aunt Mary, your Uncle Gary, your cousin with the glass eye who gets upset if you stare too long; your sister and her boyfriend. You point out each turn for Johnny, and with each turn of the wheel, your mood grows brighter. 

Until Johnny pulls into your parent’s driveway, right behind your sister’s car. 

“Alright, Bonnie?”

“Yeah, let’s just do this.”

You don’t get to open your door before Johnny hops out, pulling your door open and holding out his hand for you. 

The front door opens to an explosion of people and Christmas music. Johnny is immediately taken in by your aunts, and he suffers through the pinched cheeks, and he doesn’t mind when your grandma kisses him on the cheek. By the time he makes it back around to you, there’s lipstick smudged on his cheek.

“They love you, Johnny,” you say, reaching up to wipe the red smudge away. “I’ll have to pay you extra I think.”

“You think they’ll let me take an extra plate home as a tip?”

“Of course they will.”

The two of you hide out in the corner, watching the little kids run around with their new toys; one of the boys shoves a Nerf gun into Johnny’s hand, and you see a flash of fear cross all the kid's face when Johnny racks it with extreme precision, but Johnny still lets all of them tackle him.

Your sister and her boyfriend stand on the opposite side of the room, refusing to take their hands off of each other. You do your best to ignore them, but there’s a clock inside you, ticking down the minutes until you know he’s going to drop down on one knee. 

After Johnny fights off all the kids and returns to you, red from laughter, you don’t stop him when he grabs you around the hips, pulling you into the dining room with him. You hear the titter of your mom and aunt as they fawn over Johnny behind the two of you. 

You almost pull away from him, until he stops you in the hallway, pointing upwards to where your mom tacked mistletoe on the ceiling. You feel the blush creep up your neck, and try to send him a message that this is way out of the agreement for the night. When he kisses you chastely on the lips, you don’t say anything, but you can feel the huge grin on your face. 

He rests his hand on your knee throughout dinner and listens intently when your grandfather talks about his days in the War. 

It’s more than you could have asked for. And after dinner, when all the adults start handing presents over to each other, you know it’s about to happen. You see your sister’s boyfriend fidget with something in his pocket, and your stomach twists. You try to focus on the music pouring in a little too loud from the speakers, the Wham! version of Last Christmas, but you can’t take your eyes off the two of them.

Johnny’s hand taps against your elbow, pulling your attention away from what’s going to be the end game of the night. He’s holding out a little box towards you, wrapped haphazardly. 

“Oh Johnny, you shouldn’t. I didn’t get you anything.”

His grin is crooked as he shoves it into your hands. 

“I didn’t ask you to get me anything, birdie. Anyway, it’s part of the pretending, isn’t it? Besides you can get me on my birthday.”

You unwrap the box, fingers sliding beneath the too much tape, to rip the paper away until it falls to the floor and all you’re left with is a black velvet box.

“Johnny this is not funny, you jerk.”

His grin is infectious as you open it up, a little silver pendant sits nestled in the velvet, an ‘S’ charm attached the the chain. 

“Can I?” Johnny asks, and you nod, holding the box out so that he can take the necklace out. 

He puts it around your neck, calloused fingers soft against your skin as he does the clasp. 

The room explodes in cheers around you; out of the corner of your eye you can see your now future-brother-in-law on his knee in front of your sister, but you stare at Johnny instead. 

The last lines of Last Christmas fade from the speakers, Johnny’s hand interlaces with your own and he tugs you closer. 

“I think I want to do this next year.”

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

for @glitterypirateduck December Challenge - COD HOLIDAY 2023

John Price x fem!OC

word count: 1.9K

Inspired by The Carpenters song of the same title

18+ Minors DNI (smut, P in V sex, cowgirl, fingering, hand jobs, dirty talk, and just the tiniest smattering of praise kink, creampie, unprotected sex)

A/N: this fic pulled me out of a writing slump (also thanks to a friend for cheering me up and listening to me ramble about ship stuff) so this is about as self indulgent and sickly sweet as it gets with me, sorry for giving anyone cavities!

smut under the cut:

It was Christmas Eve and London twinkled with light as flakes began to fall in the darkened sky. Rory was already set for a quiet Christmas this year, with John on a mission she’d be left to get through the holiday alone. She hadn’t even bothered to set up the tree this year, there wasn’t much point when it was just her.

The clicking of her heels along the pavement became quieter as the snow started to settle, the wind blowing wilder, a winter storm about to hit – she’d need to get inside soon. Thoughts of snuggling up on the couch with a hot toddy and It’s A Wonderful Life filled her head. Climbing the steps to her townhouse, her fingers started to burn with the freezing chill in the air. Her keys jingled in the lock like sleigh bells, and as the door creaked open she was surprised to find John there to help pull the coat from her shoulders. 

Her face lit up instantly at the sight of him, her eyes shining like starlight, her nose and cheeks pink and prickled by the frosty bite outside. “John? I thought we weren’t getting Christmas together this year?”

“And leave you all on your own?” His brows raised, creasing his forehead, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “I’d find some way of getting to see you, darlin’, you know that.”

She stepped into his warm embrace, pressing her shockingly cold hand to his cheek, but the soldier didn’t shiver, even as she stroked her thumb through his beard. His arms wrapping around her waist sent comforting tingles throughout her. “Father Christmas came early for me then, eh?”

He hummed, “That he did, love.” Giving her a wink, he leaned down and kissed her wind bitten lips. “Bloody hell, your lips are cold,” he mumbled as he continued to press his mouth against her. “Best get you warm.”

His strong arms squeezed her tighter, pressing her chest against him until she was bathed in the musk of his cologne and the rich smoky scent that clung to him from his cigars. Running her hands over his broad shoulders, she gripped at the thick knit of his sweater. “And how exactly are we going to go about doing that?” She asked with the cock of her brow.

“Why don’t you slip into something a little more comfortable,” he purred, his accent thick and gravelly, “and I’ll pour us the drinks.”

“Perfect idea.” She kissed him softly once more and then ran her thumb over his lower lip. 

Parting to slip off her shoes, suddenly shrinking in stature as her heels clunked against the hardwood floor, she walked further into the hall to head upstairs and change out of her work clothing. Passing the entrance to the living room, she noticed the tree in the middle of the room dressed in lights and ornaments. Rory turned to look over her shoulder at John, her lips curled into a grin. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” he said with a shrug, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Figured I should set the mood.”

“Did you get the good Scotch while you were at it too?”

“‘Course,” he smirked.

The smile spread on her face and she started to beam. “You really are the best present I could ask for.”

He bounced on his heels with a little puff of his chest and a thrust of his hips, his cheeks starting to glow pink with blush. “Go on now, don't keep me waiting.”

…

Coming downstairs, she found John adjusting the volume on the stereo and two glasses of whiskey poured for them, waiting. A soft haze of smoke from his cigar gave an almost dreamy appearance to the room only added to by the soft white lights of the tree.

Looking up from the media cabinet, the cigar hanging from his mouth glowing brighter as his eyes widened at the sight of her wearing one of his cable knit sweaters and nothing else, his throat bobbed. Swallowed heavily, John’s interest was piqued, despite the fact that she was practically swimming in the oversized top. 

Rory drew closer to him, and slipped her hand around one of the glasses. Taking a sip of the whiskey, the warmth spread throughout her and she licked her lips as she met his gaze, his eyes focused entirely on her mouth. “I hope you know I haven’t wrapped your gift yet. Wasn’t expecting you home.”

“Quite alright, love. There’s something else I’d rather unwrap first anyway.”

She chuckled quietly, fluttering her eyelashes at him as she took another sip of her drink. “Now, if I recall correctly you did say you were going to warm me up, didn’t you?”

“That I did.”

She placed her drink down and grabbed the bottom of his sweater, dragging him towards her. His arms snaked around her and he grabbed at her arse, fingers squeezing into the flesh of it as he leaned down to kiss her. Left to walk on tiptoes to keep their mouths from parting, Rory smiled against his lips, all too happy to have him back in her arms. Directing him towards the couch, she shoved him down into the overstuffed cushions and climbed up into his lap as if he were Santa and she was about to whisper all the gifts she wanted in his ear. 

His hands slid up her thighs, grabbing at her hips from under the sweater, quick to find nothing there below it – just as he had suspected. Squeezing at her soft, supple flesh, a low rumbling groan came from deep in his chest. 

“You missed me, my darling?” Rory asked, nuzzling her face in against the crook of his neck, placing tender kisses to it as she started to grind her hips against him. 

“You haven’t the faintest, love.” Pressing his nose into her hair, breathing in the scent of her, John’s eyes fluttered shut as she found just that right spot below his jaw to kiss. Pulling the cigar from his mouth, he rested it on the ashtray beside the couch, and leaned his head back. Yet more deep, rasping groans fell from him before his hand curled around her chin to bring her mouth back to his, kissing her deeply. 

Her hands moved to the button and fly of his jeans, deftly handling them before slipping her hand in past his boxers. Wrapping her fingers around his already hard cock, she stared into his steely blue eyes and started to stroke his length up and down. His shaft throbbed in her grip and his mouth fell open, another moan slipping past his defenses. “Jesus.”

“Well that’s hardly going to put you in the good books,” she teased before kissing him again. 

“I’ll take the lump of coal if I’ve got you.”

She combed her fingers through his hair, her focus set entirely on him. “Maybe if you squeeze it as hard as you are my arse you’ll get a diamond out of it.”

John’s eyes went wide as he huffed out a laugh. “Well then maybe I should show another part of you some attention, eh?”

Their mouths met in hungry kisses, his tongue sliding in past her lips, and all she could taste was whiskey and smoke. Kissing him harder as she continued to stroke him, John started to thrust his hips up towards her hand, fucking into her fist as one of his hands slipped between her thighs, his fingers delving into her folds. Wet and warm, she was already dripping with arousal, and the friction of his jeans against her mound was only making her drenched. Once his fingers found the bud of nerves at the apex of her thighs, rubbing against it and rutting into her hand with the same hunger, they both started to moan. 

“Need you right now, Rory,” he mumbled, rasping as he started to lose himself. 

He didn’t need to ask twice, she wanted it too. Shifting in his lap and lowering herself down on the girth of his cock, she gasped as he stretched her. Slowly settling as he filled her completely, barely able to fit him all inside of her.

“Christ,” John moaned as her tight walls fluttered around him.

“Well now you’re definitely not getting anything from Father Christmas.”

Laughing, Price took her face in his hands pulling her in for another passionate kiss, sucking on her lower lip until her mouth was red and plump, only pulling away for air. “This perfect little cunt is all I need,” he purred. “You spoil me enough.”

“I do love to spoil you,” she whispered against his mouth as she leaned in for another kiss. Her hips grinding against him, rotating, driving him in deeper. Her thighs lifting and falling, bouncing on his cock. Her arms draped over his shoulders and the back of the couch as she pressed herself tight against him, her forehead resting against his. The wet sounds of her cunt filling the room, loud enough to drown out the crackling of the fire. 

He held her tight against him, bucking up into her with some force, their breath panting in equal measure as they picked up the pace, being driven by that same passion for each other they always felt. 

Rory mewled, low and slow,  whimpering out his name over and over again as her hands clung to his chest, feeling the muscles shifting beneath her touch. 

“That’s it, darling. Come on, Rory. Come for me.”

Biting down on her lip, she started to fuck him harder. Faster. Desperation taking over as sweat started to form on her brow and she chased her high. His big hands traveled up her body under the sweater, cupping her breasts and squeezing them, pinching her nipples and making them stiff, that final push to cause her muscles to all start tightening. Her thighs shook as her velvet walls clamped down around him and she was brought to the very edge before having her whole body rocked by her orgasm. 

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” Price cooed as his hands wrapped around her once more and stroked the soft skin of her back. 

He continued to thrust into her, a slow rolling of his hips to meet her own, his rumbling timbre whispering words of praise into her neck as she rested against him and he pressed kisses to her smooth skin. 

Her arousal coated the inside of her thighs now and dripped down the length of his cock, allowing him to easily slide in and out of her, his thrusts lazy and slow like good morning sex, keeping her pinned to him, in no race to seek out his release. Rory moaned as he continued to stretch open her sensitive cunt. The dark, wiry pubic hair surrounding the base of his cock rubbing up against her clit as he pushed himself into her only added to her pleasure. 

The steady in and out, tender and loving, was the perfect way to bring in Christmas. Their mouths meeting in kisses as if there was mistletoe hung above them. Lovers lost in abandon. There was no denying Rory was warm now, their lovemaking easily heating up the entire house. 

Reaching his climax, John’s thrusts slowed down to a crawl, his hands wrapped up in her hair as he looked up at her with a warm smile on his face. “Merry Christmas, darlin’.”

“Merry Christmas, love.”

[sofasoap]

I LOVE a good fake dating trope *giggle*

“My cousin’s family is hosting. She’s not my favourite.” He laughed. “What’s your beef with her?” “She’s such a show-off,

seems everyone have one of those in the family...

“I just need to look good?” he teased.

just need to look sexy --- * sofa getting dragged away *

That time you saw Keegan on a run shirtless out your window you had to sit down.

*fanning myself *

. You were a pleasure to look at, and the fact that you were there in his apartment, letting him cook dinner for you, made him chew on his lip.

Oh this boy has it bad......

The next morning, as your (self-proclaimed) arm-candy for the day, Keegan did way more push ups than he needed to. He also managed to retrieve the cologne he hadn’t seen in at least a year.

gettiing ready for the not-a date-date/family gathering 🤭🤭

“I didn’t want to compare, but you’re the far better company. Far better looking too.”

that man is swooning hard in his mind right now.

“I am. I guess the honeymoon period wore off, that’s all,” she said with a shrug. “Anyway, for my birthday, he got me a Dyson Air Wrap gift set, but it’s so not in my colour.” She shook her head and continued to walk. “He should have known. How did he think I was going to like it?”

Oh I wanna slap this girl so hard on the face right now.

Keegan flashed you a smile when you entered the room to set the table for him. Making conversation with your dad and uncle, he looked like he fit right in.

This boy is really impressing everyone 🤭

He laughed, pressing your hand to his lips. “You better sober up fast, because I’ve been waiting too long.”

CONSENT. THATS VERY SEXY. I LOVE how he isn't taking advantage of her when she's tipsy!!!!!!

thank you for the lovely story!! :D

Neighbour Keegan Russ x reader

3.4k | fluff Fake dating on Christmas but wishing it wasn’t. Hey, where did the rest of the wine go?

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Keegan turned to you standing at the door of the laundry room.

He chuckled. “Likewise. Seems like everyone’s already gone for the holidays.”

“You’re not going home?”

He shook his head. “My break’s too short to make it worth the trip. You?”

“I’m flaking.” You tipped your basket into the machine next to him. “I’m gonna say I’m sick.”

“Oh, why?”

“My cousin’s family is hosting. She’s not my favourite.”

He laughed. “What’s your beef with her?”

“She’s such a show-off, won’t stop talking about her boyfriend and the fancy gifts she’s getting.” You inserted the coins into the machine with more force than needed. “And I think it’s finally getting to my mum, because she’s asking about my relationship status.”

“Well, if you need company…” he said, trying to not sound too hopeful. I’d love to spend some time with you.

You turned to him, brow raised. “Wait, you mean, you want to come with? Be my plus one?”

“That wasn’t- well, yeah. I can do that.” He shrugged. “If you want.”

This wasn’t the direction he was heading for. He was going to offer to spend Christmas together, maybe exchange gifts, but he surely wasn’t going to take that back. Anything for a chance with you.

“Really?”

He always enjoyed seeing your face brighten like that, despite never getting the chance to see it enough. When you moved in down the hall a few months back, he’d always found you cute, even managed to exchange numbers ‘in case you need anything’. But between deployments, he was lucky to even catch a glimpse of you once a week, leaving any possible advances towards you simply a fantasy to him.

But the opportunity presented itself that late Sunday morning and he wasn’t going to let it go.

“I don’t mind. Spending Christmas alone is depressing anyway.” He smiled. “What do I need? Wine, gifts?”

You shook your head. “Just show up, that’s all.”

“I just need to look good?” he teased.

You laughed. “I didn’t want to put it that way.”

“That’s alright. I know my place. You’re welcome to dress me up.”

“Okay.” You looked down at your basket. “I’ll text you when I get the details. See you next week.” And with that, you left, avoiding his gaze.

He was out of practice, but was he that out of practice that he came on too strong and scared you? He certainly didn’t mean to make it suggestive. This was going to end before it even started. He grimaced to himself.

This fake dating shenanigan was never going to work if you could barely look at your ‘boyfriend’. Dress him up? That time you saw Keegan on a run shirtless out your window you had to sit down.

But he was casual about the offer. Obviously it meant nothing to him, just something to do for the holidays - anything was better than celebrating alone. You didn’t have to make it weird.

It was just a lunch.

So when he asked if you wanted to have dinner at his place on the 24th, you didn’t know if you were supposed to be excited or not. But surely he was just being nice. He was nice.

He didn’t speak much (you wished he did though because his voice was divine), but he was always nice ever since you moved in, telling you to not hesitate to text if you needed anything. You knew he meant it, but between his tours, he was still a busy man you didn’t want to bother. Instead, you delivered home cooked meals after each deployment.

Maybe he was trying to return the favour.

When you said yes, well, Keegan couldn’t contain his excitement. He made a run to the fancy supermarket after work. He’d been told that women liked guys who cooked and he wasn’t horrible at it. It was his time to shine.

He welcomed you to his apartment with a smile. He hoped you didn’t judge the state of his kitchen too much. He had underestimated the effort required for said dinner, but the way you lit up made it all worth it.

“Would you like some wine?”

“No, thanks. I don’t really drink.”

He sat down, the dishes across the table. “Well, then your family is getting two bottles.”

“Please, you didn’t have to.”

“Are you sure I don’t have to try to impress them?” Isn’t that what boyfriends do?

“You’re doing more than enough coming tomorrow. My mum’s going to like you too much.” You let out a small laugh.

You too, I hope. He helped you to a serving of potato gratin. “I really don’t mind.”

“This is delicious. I didn’t know you’re such a great cook,” you said after a bite.

He smiled proudly. You didn’t need to know he persuaded (or coerced, who knows) the cook at base to coach him for the night.

Your eyes flicked back onto your plate, but his remained on you. You were a pleasure to look at, and the fact that you were there in his apartment, letting him cook dinner for you, made him chew on his lip.

Having usually only met in passing, he finally had the chance to ask more about you. And you smiled again when you talked about what you liked doing for fun, the passion oozing out of you. He could listen to you all night.

He wished he had dessert as a reason to keep you longer, but the conversation moved to the couch after you helped him clean up. He breathed a small sigh of relief, feeling like a boy clueless on how to keep their crush’s attention.

“What are you wearing tomorrow? I’ll pick something that goes with you.” He figured he was too bold the other day with his statement.

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I might as well pick your outfit while I’m here.”

Well, he didn’t expect that.

Keegan sat on his bed as you went through his wardrobe. How cheesy would it be if he were to pull out his guitar and serenade you? He, too, was told the ladies liked men who played the guitar. Why do you think he picked it up in high school?

“I can’t pick between these two.” You held up a maroon sweater and a dark green button down.

“I probably I shouldn’t be offering after such a huge dinner, but do you need me to put them on to see?”

You looked at him with a little glint in your eye as you laid the clothes next to him. “If you insist.”

Oh, he loved making you smile.

It was adorable how you quickly everted your gaze when he took his shirt off (he was hoping you’d look), but at least he enjoyed the attention you gave him when he was in said tops. You settled on the sweater and black jeans before excusing yourself for the night.

“We don’t need to take a cab tomorrow,” he said at your door. “I haven’t driven anyone in a civilian setting in a long time, but I can drive us.”

You laughed. “I can’t even begin to guess why you feel the need to tell me this, but I am not reassured at all.”

“People at work think I’m a bad driver, but I’ve never been in any accident.” He placed a hand over his chest. “I promise to keep you safe.”

“You better.”

The next morning, as your (self-proclaimed) arm-candy for the day, Keegan did way more push ups than he needed to. He also managed to retrieve the cologne he hadn’t seen in at least a year. He’d made it his mission to make sure taking him to your family was worth your while.

He fussed with the car audio. “Would you like any music?”

“I thought the etiquette is the driver gets to pick.” You strapped yourself in, the belt snug against your dark green top.

“Fair enough,” he said with an amused smile. He pulled off the lot as the familiar intro to Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High played.

“Oh, I like this song!”

“Sing with me.” He turned up the volume.

The both of you sang wholeheartedly, and he knew he shouldn’t be looking, but he had to see the smile on your face. You were rather quiet in the short interactions you had, but you’d opened up the night before, allowing your playful personality to shine. You were a steady stream of glee that didn’t drain him and he couldn’t get enough.

He should have made his move much sooner.

“You wanna tell me about your cousin’s infamous boyfriend?”

“They started dating in the summer. Bella couldn’t shut up about how he went to Ivy League and got his masters, how much he’s making and his fancy vacations.” You chuckled. “Well, the first time we met, she dropped her very expensive earring at the restaurant. The three of us looked for it under the table and then he said ‘threesome’ under his breath.”

Keegan bellowed a laugh, looking over to you. “What the hell?”

“I wish I was joking.” You shook your head. “I don’t think he intended to say it out loud because when I turned to him, he looked like he was about to piss himself. He never looked me in the eye the rest of the day.”

He stifled last of his laughs. “If I were him I’d have left. Forever.”

“She’s always smiling with him so I’m happy for her too, but he’s definitely not as cool as she painted him to be.”

“Wait, that’s who I’m up against? I don’t stand a chance. I should have got a fancier gift than wine.”

“I didn’t want to compare, but you’re the far better company. Far better looking too.”

He didn’t have to look at you to tell you were smiling. He hoped you meant that.

“So I have to stare at you a bit to sell it, right?”

You laughed. “Well, you don’t have to.”

“What if I can’t help it?”

“Then I guess I’ll have to stare back.”

“Should I- can I hold your hand?” He was glad he didn’t have to look at you because he wouldn’t dare to ask otherwise.

When you placed a hand on his forearm, he gripped it against his thigh. His heart raced.

And yours now too.

Keegan went far beyond the extra mile for this silly lunch, and what for? It only made it hard to dilute your hopefulness that this meant the slightest bit more than nothing.

A sliver of dread crept up. If your mum liked him too much, and you knew she would, she’d keep asking about him, and what would you say? You wouldn’t want to break her heart, but most importantly, you didn’t want to break yours. How were you going to say ‘we won’t be seeing each other anymore’ without your genuine disappointment bleeding through?

But you were a big girl. It was your petty idea to rub it in Bella’s face that you had a handsome and well-mannered plus one with a stupidly silky voice. You told yourself you’d worry about that after.

You turned to him. He’d styled his hair differently and shaved that morning, his light stubble accentuated his jaw. He smelt good – fresh and clean. His sweater was snug enough to outline his strong arms and chest. You hoped he didn’t mind you looking. Maybe you should have taken his offer to dress him up.

He had loosened his grip on you, thumb now stroking over your knuckles. He had pretty hands, his long fingers curled over the steering wheel. You entwined yours with his.

Despite the weather, your hand remained warm in his on the porch. You looked up at him, rocking on the balls of your feet, but his gentle smile and the squeeze to your hand slowed you down.

It was your first time being this close to him. His beautiful blue eyes twinkled in the sun. The eye-contact lingered.

“Coming!” A voice called from inside as footsteps approached.

“Show time,” he muttered close to your ear.

Bella couldn’t hide her surprise when she opened the door and you bit back a smirk.

“Hi, I’m Keegan. You must be Bella. Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand.

She blinked before taking it. She swallowed and took another second before turning to you. “I thought you were joking about bringing someone.”

He chuckled. “Well, here I am in the flesh. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all.” She stepped aside. “Please come in.”

He followed behind you as the three of you made your way past the kitchen. You hugged your mum and aunt before introducing him.

“From us. Thanks for having me, ma’am.” He handed your aunt the wines and gave your mum a squeeze.

You went to the dining room where your dad and Bella’s chatted. Keegan addressed them with sir and exchanged pleasantries before you followed Bella back to the kitchen. You didn’t miss how the table was only set for six.

She linked arms with you, eyes narrowed. “Not bad,” she muttered.

I know. “Ryan’s not joining?”

“We broke up last month.”

You stopped to look at her, brows furrowed. “No. What happened?” You genuinely thought they were going to last a while.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not sad about it.” Her manicured fingers squeezed your forearm.

“Are you… Sure you’re okay? You seemed happy with him.”

“I am. I guess the honeymoon period wore off, that’s all,” she said with a shrug. “Anyway, for my birthday, he got me a Dyson Air Wrap gift set, but it’s so not in my colour.” She shook her head and continued to walk. “He should have known. How did he think I was going to like it?”

You blinked. You’d appreciate even a quarter of a Dyson Air Wrap, but you knew it was another one of her humble brags. You let her have her moment.

Your mum laughed with her sister over tea. They didn’t get to see each other often and you thought it was worth the hassle of enduring Bella that day to see her like so. She gave you a pleased look and a thumbs up as you grabbed extra tableware and you had to stifle a giggle.

Keegan flashed you a smile when you entered the room to set the table for him. Making conversation with your dad and uncle, he looked like he fit right in.

Lunch began shortly and the chatter built as the wine poured. Keegan sat next to you and helped you with the food before himself. He put his hand over yours when you mouthed ‘thanks’.

“I heard you moved to a new apartment? How’s it been?” your aunt asked.

“I did. I love it there.” You turned to Keegan. “Actually, that’s how we met. He’s my neighbour.”

She cooed. “How sweet! Looks like you settled right in then.”

“How big is your apartment? Mine is huge. It’s such a pain to clean,” Bella said offhandedly.

You blinked. Your aunt turned to her with furrowed brows.

“How’s the new job, kid?” your dad asked. “I hope better than the last.”

Before you could answer, Bella interjected. “Oh, did I tell you I’m getting promoted next month? They’re giving me my own office too.”

The table fell silent. After a beat you said, “That’s great. I hope you like the new office.”

“How’s your new job? Tell us,” Keegan said.

You gave him a small smile before turning to your dad again.

After lunch, the seven of you moved to the living room for the gift exchange. Keegan didn’t leave your side, a hand on your knee as you unwrapped your gifts.

You got your parents a couple’s spa trip, a tea set and a board game for your aunt and uncle, and a perfume for Bella. In turn, you received a pretty charm bracelet from your parents and a nice pair of headphones from Bella’s. You gave each of them a squeeze for the gift.

As Keegan helped you put the bracelet on, you ignored Bella when she asked what brand it was, thankful she didn’t even comment on the perfume. You didn’t expect much from her, but you definitely didn’t expect the gift card to the hairdresser and the little note that it came with. Hopefully you can fix your hair <3

You froze and Keegan leaned over to read the card in your hand.

“I’m sorry, is there something wrong with her hair?” he narrowed his eyes at her.

She shrugged. “Oh, it’s just dry, that’s all.”

Your aunt gave her a disapproving look, but she wasn’t looking.

“I don’t think there’s anything that needs fixing,” he said firmly, his stare unwavering. “Her hair’s perfectly fine.”

Before Bella could respond, you excused yourself to the kitchen and your mum quickly followed.

“Oh, I’m sorry for making you come,” she said, stoking your back. “I know you two don’t really get along.”

“It’s not your fault, mum.” You frowned as you poured yourself a glass of wine and downed it. “She can say whatever she wants. I shouldn’t care what she thinks of my hair, or my apartment, or my job.”

“Maybe she’s a bit envious today. I mean, you’re the one with the nice boy with you.” She smiled playfully. “You should see the way she keeps stealing glances at him. Too bad he’s too busy staring at you to notice.”

You let out a small laugh.

“That’s my girl.” She gave you a hug. “I like that he stood up for you. It’s the only way my daughter deserves to be treated.”

You smiled against her shoulder and the both of you stayed in the embrace for a bit longer.

The living room was tense when you returned to your seat next to Keegan. He gave you a sympathetic look as he rubbed your arm. Bella didn’t meet your eyes, her arms crossed over her chest. She’d been told off by her mum, and it was hard for him to bite back his laugh.

Your aunt broke the silence by suggesting a few photos by the Christmas tree before you left. He volunteered, making sure you looked perfect in them.

You bade your goodbyes and once again gave your aunt a hug. You left the damned gift card on the couch and took Keegan’s arm to the car. He had noticed you were more smiley than before the incident.

You groaned when he drove off. “Now you know why I was going to bail.” You slumped over, looking out the window.

“I’m sorry about what happened."

“M’glad you’re with me. Would’a been pathetic going home alone and pissed.”

“But the rest of your family’s very nice. I actually had a nice time.”

”Yeah, but how much of that was fake?”

“What?” He took a quick glance at you.

“Y’know, the hand holding, standing up for me.”

“None. Nothing I did was fake.”

“You sure about that?”

He laughed. “Were you drinking? In the kitchen?”

“Well, yes,” you hesitated. “How’d you know?”

He pulled over and turned to you. “If I didn’t like you I wouldn’t have come.”

“Don’t joke around now.” Your eyes narrowed.

“I’m not.” He took your hand, lips quirked into a small smile. “Sometimes I linger around at my door so I can catch you, but I never do because I come home too late.”

Your frown remained and his heart raced as the silence ensued. Shit, he must have read the room wrong. How much of this would you remember?

“You should talk more,” you finally said. “Your voice is perfection, addicting,”

He let out a relieved chuckle, thumb grazing over your knuckles. “I sound that good?”

You shrugged, flashing him a playful smile.

“Can’t help thinking had I been more forward from the start, maybe I wouldn’t just be ‘someone you’re taking’ today.”

“There’s next year, no?”

He held your gaze. “If you were sober, I’d ask if I could kiss you.”

“Why not now?”

“I want you to remember, so I’ll wait until we get home.”

“That’s a shame, but at least the wine will make your driving somewhat bearable.”

He laughed, pressing your hand to his lips. “You better sober up fast, because I’ve been waiting too long.”

More Keegan: second chance on Tinder, werewolf AU

@glitterypirateduck @sofasoap @macravishedbymactavish @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @tiredmetalenthusiast @caramlizedtomatoes @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mysticslumber @tipsykeen

[kit-williams]

Masterlist

Hi decided to actually make a masterlist because it's probably for the best.

Things to know: I will write from a mainly female pov/perspective and it will for the most part be monogamous hetro relationships (in the terms of genitals) I won't do fxf or mxm or trans because that's not how I grew up and I'm god awful at writing homosexual sex (genderbend I can do) Another no: Adultry/cheating/spouse(or partner) thievery

Asks are open

Come buy me a coffee

Number of asks waiting to be answered: 15

My Ao3 (I havent updated a story on there since like 2016 I'm scared to even let ya'll see it but I might post the AU on there)

So I mainly write Halo, Runescape, and Warhammer 40k but here I've only been posting my Warhammer 40k and D&D au

So expect a lot of polls because it helps focus my ADHD ass

Also Fanart is ALWAYS allowed! Just Tag me!

PLACE WHERE YOU CAN ASK TO BE PUT ON TAG LIST

Poll Storage Pheromone Spray poll part 1 First kiss part 2 Pheromone Spray part 2 Husbandry lewdness poll First Kiss part 3 How to tag the lewd poll probably going with carnal bond Should momrad include skin tone WIP poll Help momrad focus on what to write Ones ready to be typed Adhd helper poll

WIPs

Warhammer 40k

The D&D AU

The Yandere Black Templar and Flesh Tearer

The Yandere Space Marine Masterlist

Story Vault until I know where to put these stories/how to categorize them

The boys and their darlings

This is not Canon mini masterlist

Primarchs masterlist

Pheromone Spray 1 2

Bonus Zul Spray

Song Inspiration

First Kiss 1 2 3

Typhus fleas 1 2

Baseline hitting on the darlings

Varial the insatiable

Lamenters devouring

Raven in the belfry

Child in the Eyrie

First Words Can Damn You

The black rut

Lucius the Eternal plus art

Warhammer Fantasy

Dangerous Druchii pending

Warhammer 40k & COD

The COD Integration mini-masterlist

Demon Prince/Bloodthirster Graves

The 40k au

How does Horangi spend the thrones? Horangi focused

Lieblings König focused

Spirit Halloween Ghost focused

Hey Kiddo Price focused

Where do babies come from reply

Hail to the King Black Templar König

Everyone is space elves

COD

The mud pit cope fic

Hot Chocolate cope fic König focused

Missing the Bairn cope fic Soap focused

Zombie cope fic Ghost focused

He scares me Nikto focused happens before the Soap one

It's a wonderful life CODHoliday2023 fic angst-comfort Ghost

Age hcs/boys ages

Random romantic thing I wrote

Tanz mit mir Regency Au songfic

Halo

Most of it is on my Ao3

Random

The eventual bringing over that one non con I wrote pending

I have to edit it

The #I wrote something for my tumblr can help too

Sentience base off of lancer but I really just like the Balor

Baby fluff

barn anon/Tales from the Barn/Space Marine Husbandry Sentience

I will rename this when I can sit and think of better titles for them

Space Marine Husbandry Sentience Plot Beats

Space Marine Husbandry Sentience Mini Master List

51 more Space Marine Husbandry Sentience & Tales from the Barn

Hey Look another Space Marine Husbandry Mini Masterlist

Golden Apotheosis

Birthdays

avoiding bonds and eye contact

Favorite Wretch

Dischorus and Caracuss

Sentience Lore: Warp Fuckery

Weight of the Worlds

Insanity seems to follow...

Party

Anrir Husbandry

Home for the Holiday

Reverse Husbandry AU

Reverse Husbandry Gabriel

Reverse Husbandry Headcanon

Reverse Husbandry Emperor

Sanguinius and Glitter

Gabriel and his sick human

Human Husbandry?

Primarchs in the reverse world

Gaius flees

Judgement from the Lord of Iron

Seeing things

Funny stuff/Fan art

Ovaries Stolen meme

Fan art by bispecsual

Blood Angel Gabriel meme

ZUL by moodymisty

Angron Post Surgery expression

Fan art by c-u-c-koo anon of Plague Witch

Apollo and Dodgeball

Plague Witch part 2 by c-u-c-koo anon

Apollo by greenarsonist

Aurora by greenarsonist

Marine Meat Monday Zul by moodymisty

Penelope and Peterbunbun by Egrets-not-regrets

Fluffuary

Fluffuary master list

Fluffuary rules

MerMay

Story list