#lets say Bonnie did this

[8balldoodles]

Listen what if. What if mihawk got de-aged or soemthing and zosan forced temp parents

[qtboni]

╰﹒ 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒 !

PAIRING: Ooc!Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

OVERVIEW: He lashes out on you + very dismissive over your efforts for him :((

C/W: Angst, no comfort (see p2 for comfort!), mentions of toxic behavior (bcz words), offensive languages, depictions of mental health struggles (anxiety, but js tiny amount). [ fanart credits : ave661 on tumblr ]

W/C: 1.1k bubs

Simon had been going through a lot lately, and you could tell it was taking a toll on him. He had been working overtime at work, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes every time he came home.

You want to do something special for him, something to lift his spirits up.

The air was charged with anticipation as Simon stepped through the door, making you want to burst out of happiness.

You had been eagerly awaiting his arrival, eager to show him what you'd been working on all day. You had been so excited to do something special for him, and you had gone the extra mile to make this night perfect!

The air, still thick with tension, Simon walked through the hallway. He'd had a long, hard day at work, and the last thing he wanted was to deal with anything else.

Price had been nagging him more than usual on the mission. Simon was tired and just wanted to rest, but Price's constant barrage of questions and commands was starting to get on his nerves.

He tried his best to keep his cool, but he couldn't help feeling a little bit frustrated. Despite his best efforts, he managed to keep his emotions in check and focus on the task at hand.

After the mission was over, Simon was relieved to finally have a moment to himself. He just wanted to rest and have a good night, but there you were, being a nuisance to him.

You could see the weariness in his eyes, as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He shrugged off your attempts to engage him, not wanting to deal with the small talk.

As Simon dropped his collection of his military wears in the near cabinet, you approached him, your heart still pounding with excitement.

"Simon," you said, your voice trembling and a cheeky smile forming on your lips. "I've been working on a special surprise for you all day. I made your favorite snacks, decorated the living room, and even picked out a movie I know you'll love! I just wanted to make tonight special."

Simon looked up at you, his expression unreadable. "What?" he asked, his tone sharp and exhaustion palpable in his voice.

Despite his attitude, you pushed forward, eager to show him the cozy living room setup you'd created.

"Ta da!" you exclaimed, gesturing to the cozy space. "I wanted to make our movie night extra special tonight, so I went all out."

You'd decorated it with fairy lights, set out the popcorn and drinks, and made sure the couch was nice and toasty with a mountain of blankets.

"I just wanted to do something special for you," you added, your voice light and upbeat.

Simon's expression fell. He looked at the setup as if it were an annoyance, and you felt your feelings going down the drain.

You tried to hide your disappointment though and put on a cheerful smile, but it was hard to hide the hurt in your eyes. "What's wrong?" you asked hesitantly.

Simon shook his head, and for the first time, you saw the signs of his stress and turmoil. His lips were thin, his brow furrowed, and you could tell that he was struggling just to keep it all together.

"I can't take on one more thing right now," he said, his voice rising with frustration. "I'm exhausted. I can't deal with this right now."

You felt a lump form in your throat as you realized the full extent of your mistake.

"I..."

Your heart sank.

You couldn't believe you hadn't realized how tired he looked, how haggard and stressed. You had been so caught up in your excitement that you had missed the signs, the signals that he couldn't take on any more.

You had been so eager to do something nice for him, and in doing so, you had only added to his burden.

A tense silence fell over the room, and you could feel the tension rising between you. You wanted to comfort him, to make things right, but you didn't know how.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to do something nice for you."

As you stood there in silence, your heart racing and tears swimming in your eyes, he finally spoke.

"Well, don't," he snapped, his irritation evident in his tone. "I can take care of myself. And I didn't ask for any of these."

You watch as he points to the decorated living room. Your efforts. Your hopes of having a good night of movies with him.

You felt the tears spill over and course down your cheeks.

"I didn't mean to make things worse for you," you said, your voice trembling. "I just wanted to do something nice for you, to lift your spirits. I didn't realize..."

Simon sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I appreciate the effort, really I do. It's just..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. "Can you just stop being a bother? I can't take on anything else right now. I'm already stretched so thin, and I can't..."

You felt your chest tighten at his words.

You had always known that Simon was a hard worker, but you had never truly appreciated the toll it took on him. You had always been there to support him, to lift him up when he was feeling low, and you had always assumed that he would do the same for you.

At that moment, you realized that you had been asking too much of him. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes and the slump of his shoulders.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your voice barely above a whisper, you managed to say, "I... I understand. I shouldn't have pushed you like that."

You could feel the hurt in your chest, like a physical pain that made it hard to breathe.

“Stop being a bother.”

The tears were already falling down your face, and your heart ached with the weight of your mistakes. It was just a reminder of how much you loved him and how desperately you wanted to be with him.

Simon didn't utter another word, just nodded his head, but his silence spoke volumes. An oppressive and heavy sense of unease permeated the air, leaving no doubt that there was nothing else to be said.

You stood there, feeling numb and defeated as you watched him leave to the bedroom.

You had learned a difficult lesson that night, and one that you would never forget. The road to happiness was not always smooth, and sometimes, even the people we love the most can hurt us without meaning to.

Tears filled your eyes over and over again as you realized how much your effort was taken for granted.

In that moment, you didn't understand why he was being so cruel to you, especially when you had put so much thought into making him happy.

All you wanted was to see Simon smile.

A/N: okay.. well.. he was an ass.. HELP simon pookie why would u do this to us? :(( we even made you popcorns and and even bought you your favorite drinks :(( we had to even ask ur best bud soap what kind of movies you like :(( we did so much for you :(( but it's okay ig. . . as long as you can have your rest. . . and well. . . goodnight :((

lmk if you guys need a part 2 cuz i be crying in my sleep

EDIT! part 2 is posted !!

[morganadismay]

genuinely every time i think a little too hard about bbc merlin and its politics (+ the implications irt colonialism, the british empire, queerness, revolution and religion) and it gives me a frustrated headache, i start being plagued by soothing visions of black sails. i don't know if there's another show that is so directly opposite to bbc merlin (from the quality and writing itself to the way it tackles the themes above, the way it tackles the concept of monstrosity and shame, the way it tackles ... everything) but if you ever need to like. detox. please do yourself a favour and watch it. it also has the craziest dyke drama on television with no exaggeration

[puhpandas]

I miss u fnaf fandom I miss people having new interesting stuff to talk about like we did with SB and ruin and a large alive fanart and fanfic community and not ok this game had no comprehensible plot and this games plot was already revealed 2 years ago and its still like 6 months or more until it comes out

[girlwiththegreenhat]

never thought i would see kitt start beating the honest to god Shit out of somebody but you know what? good for him. thats what you get for making him ATTACK his BOYFRIEND !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[unproduciblesmackdown]

i mean this amongst the material where we were Ever supposed to be at all on the same page about axe & wendy's nightmare quasiromance including that it was after the vicious pettiness stalking & relationship sabotaging from axe that we got the warmest & fuzziest rather than wendy finally reaching a breaking point, or know that it's not great if prince goes around taking advantage of young employees his kid's age but we would never disrespect that person by calling them a victim and also we can't even think too badly of him until he outright confirms (rudely!) he feels entitled, and then we also will actually do nothing about this save for eventually saying actually it looks bad if his wife also has sex outside the marriage, which would defy his entitlement

[skauni]

Can’t stop thinking about Soap calling himself ‘Uncle Johnny’ around your kids but they consider him a dad because that’s how he acts:

When your friend John MacTavish found out that your boyfriend dumped you after you got pregnant, he was right by your side for all of it. Saying “Dunnae worry, Bonny. Uncle Johnny’s gonna help with the wee bairns.”

And he did. He was there the whole pregnancy, even went as far as moving in so you could rest and he could keep an eye on you.

When you went into labor, he was there. He was there for everything. From the birth of your twins, Aster and Cody, to the sleepless nights after, he was there. You even heard him in the middle of the night telling them “Dunnae worry wee ones, Uncle Johnny’s here. Nothin’ t’fear.” And you loved how dedicated he was to helping you.

When the boys got old enough to talk, you were unfortunate enough to witness the fact that they spoke their first words in Scottish accents. Just like John. It wasn’t bad, it just meant you had a hard time understanding them is all.

When you couldn’t watch them, he would. Saying “Let Uncle Johnny watch the wee lads.”

But, as soon as the boys called him ‘Dad’ for the first time, he looked at you eagerly and said “I suppose Uncle Johnny is becoming the Papa of these wee lads, aye Bonny?” He said to you. You blushed at the comment and looked away in flustered embarrassment.

[sky-is-the-limit]

How Task Force 141 would react to you placing your hand on their upper thigh in public:

Captain Price:

This 40 year old man wouldn’t let you get away with a stunt like that in public. The moment your hand is on his upper thigh, he’d firmly place his own over yours, squeezing it just enough to warn you. "Behave." He’d say quietly, eyes locking with yours to make sure the message lands. If you were cheeky enough to push your luck and keep going, he wouldn’t bother with more words.

Instead, he’d order you up, his voice firm as he tells you to get to the car while he takes care of the bill. The drive wouldn’t last long before he’d pull over somewhere secluded, roughly bending you over the bonnet. "Thought you’d act up, did ya?" He’d mutter, hands already on your hips, ready to teach you a lesson you wouldn’t forget.

✰✰✰✰

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Kyle would notice your hand sliding onto his thigh but he’d stay still, just to see how far you’d take it in the dark of the movie theatre. He’d pretend he didn’t feel it, keeping his eyes on the screen but he’d be holding back a grin. As your hand moves higher, closer to his growing bulge, his patience then would snap. He’d grab your wrist suddenly, leaning in close to whisper, "Fine, then. If you're so brave, let’s finish it here."

Without waiting for your answer, he’d drag you to the dirty bathroom, pushing you into a stall. "You wanna act like a dirty girl? Then you get treated like one." He’d say, motioning you to kneel on the filthy floor just to make sure you understood the consequences of teasing him like that.

✰✰✰✰

John "Soap" MacTavish:

Johnny would light up like a Christmas tree. The moment your hand rests on his thigh, he’d lean back with a grin, his legs spreading just a bit wider to invite you in. "Aye, don’t stop now.." He’d whisper, clearly enjoying the game. He’d egg you on, guiding your hand even higher, fully aware of the risk of being caught in the middle of the cafe.

If you hesitated, he wouldn’t let you off easy and his own hand would find its way between your legs under the table, not caring who might see. "Guess we’re giving ‘em a show today, bonnie."

✰✰✰✰

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

There's no beating around the bush with this man. He would catch on immediately and wouldn’t let you get away with it. He’d grab your wrist before you could move further and give you a knowing look. ''You’re not doing that here.'' He’d say, his expression serious.

He’d tease you a bit, asking if the three times he had you earlier weren’t enough and calling you greedy. ''Be good until I finish my whiskey, then we'll sort you out.'' He’d promise. You’d know to behave, or else he’d make sure you’d regret it but only when he decided it was time.

[heedthetenofwands]

ghost x (lowkey unhinged) sunshine f!reader

suggestive nsfw (but non-explicit)

His girl was the sweetest thing. Smile as bright as the sun and you looked at him like he’d hung the stars and the moon. Coming home to you was always the highlight of his day.

But something was amiss ever since a week ago.

He had come back from base, a day of planning for the next mission and cleaning up from the last, and his heart yearned to be at home with you. Stepping through the front door, he was ready to hear his bird chirping his name and telling him about the day. But the house was silent, the lights were off, and he couldn’t hear a thing.

He waited a moment before calling out your name. It was only when he walked up the stairs to the bedroom that he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed. Your back was to the door.

“Love?” He called to you. You turned your head back to see him before standing up and making your way around the bed to smile and greet him. You hug him tightly, a bit firmer than usual and he had to brace his core a little in surprise. You let go and look at him with an innocent smile.

“Did you have a good day?” You asked.

“It was OK, better now.” He replies. You continue staring at him, almost in contemplation and, without blinking, kiss his cheek and move out of the room.

Alarms bells are ringing.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"There's something wrong." He confesses to them at drinks after work a couple days later. "She's angry."

"Your bonnie? She doesnae seem ta have a malicious bone in 'er. I'm sure it'll pass." Soap says.

Ghost grunts dismissively. "Never been this long."

Gaz hums in thought, "Did you forget a date?"

Ghost stays quiet but Gaz doesn't miss the confused stare. He clarifies, "Birds care about 'em. 1st anniversary, birthdays, the milestones. Can fall through the cracks if you're not careful though."

Ghost replies, "Maybe." In his mind, he's already running his fingers through their calendar.

Price cuts through, "Why not just ask 'er?" Straight to the point, as Ghost expected.

He leans back, "Rather not." Ghost knows he's hiding the real answer. What do I do if I can't fix it?

Price looks at him, assesses him and sees right through him. But before he can press further, Ghost hears his phone buzz. He pulls it out of his pocket and after reading the message from you, grumbles a quiet 'fuck' that draws the attention of his team. They lean over to catch a glimpse of the message.

The screen showed previous conversations between the lieutenant and his girl, you sending him your texts with smiley faces, hearts or emoticons with every message. That is, until your latest one which read:

Love: pick up bread on your way home.

The team winced at the cold tone.

"Good luck, mate."

"Warning ya, bakery closes earlier than usual today."

"You're fucked."

Ghost glares at them all before standing up and leaving.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The rest of the week had followed similarly with you just not acting like you're usual self.

That Friday it was your turn to pick a film to watch, where you would usually put on a cheesy rom-com or a tense-filled drama, that night it was a R18 horror movie. Ghost did not utter a single complaint when you put it on. Or move an inch when you lay your head on his chest and smiled at a scene where a cheating husband and his mistress get sliced in two.

Where you two would usually stay in bed together to bask the warm glow of a slow Sunday morning, instead, Simon woke alone. He called your phone again and again until you came home a couple hours later. You ignored his questions. Fearing the worst, he let it go.

And the bite of your finger nails into his skin got stronger and stronger every night as you two lay in bed. It was as is if you were clutching or branding onto him with all your might.

It was later that week, that Simon decided to was time to ask. Time to confront the dissonance that was ringing louder and louder in his ears whenever you touched him, looked at him and smiled at him.

He was going to do it. Right after dinner, he was going to do it.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Ghost, in fact, did nothing after dinner because as soon as you had gathered up the plates. You had returned with a cake.

You brought it to the table. “I know how much you love my desserts, Si. It's been forever since I've made one so I thought I would make your favourite today." You sit down before adding, "I've changed it up a bit, too. New ingredient and whatever.”

Ghost stills at that. “What’s the ingredient, darling?” He says as casually, as he could. Cyanide? Arsenic?

You smile sweetly at him, “It’s a surprise Si, where’s the fun in knowing before tasting it?”

“Right.” He replies, hesitantly.

You start cutting a slice, and place it on his plate before sitting down and waiting for him.

He takes the fork. "You're not hungry, love?"

You shake your head, "I want to see your reaction."

There's a moment where Ghost is trying to remember the poison hotline contact number so he could ring it after his 'taste test' but he finally breaks.

“Nope, can’t do this anymore.” He says.

“Can’t do what, Simon?” You asked with faux concern. You stand up and come to his side of the table to face him. “What’s wrong, baby? You're going to love it.”

“Did I forget an anniversary? Your birthday?” He thought aloud. He doubted it, but he must have done something wrong. He reaches for your arms and gently pulls you to stand in front of him, he holds your hands and bows his head before you. “Tell me love, have I been neglecting you? Spending too much time at work? You can tell me.”

You gently remove your hands from his hold, moving one hand to cup his cheek and the other to tilt his chin so he could meet your gaze. At first, he leans into the gentle palm of your hand but the cold look in your eye with that small smile of your lips makes him freeze.

“Don’t bullshit me, Riley.” Your voice cuts through the candlelit room. He has to fight to not let this do something to him. It gets worse when you use both of your hands to cup his jaw and force his head upwards to meet your gaze. “I found a second phone when I was sorting the laundry. There was a message from another woman. Asking if you would be coming over that night. What a greedy fucker you are.” He has to fight any sound that may escape from his lips at seeing you speak so harsh. “You listen to me, Simon.” His eyes widen as you close the distance of your face to his and your lips are so close. He wants to kiss you. “I will fucking kill her.”

Ghost had no idea what was happening, mind moving too fast and too slow all at once. All he could do was focus on his sweetheart's voice. You stand upright, move closer to Ghost, forcing him to spread his thighs so you can stand between them and press his face to your form, stroking the back of his head, his shoulders, his back as if to soothe and comfort. “I am yours. You made it so. And now, you are mine too."

He can't help the chills running down his spine as he laid his head against your body and felt the presses of your touch. You tell him, “All you need to do is give me her name and where I can find her. And after tonight, we can forget all about this, my love. If you work hard enough, I will forgive you. And in time, I will ask you what deficit I had to make you think you can replace me."

You sigh, "I gave you all week to confess, but you have no shame do you?"

Finally, Ghost's mind seems to catch up, "Wait, wait, sweetheart I don't have a second phone." At that, you tighten the hand in his hair, grabbing a good chunk of the back of his head. He whines at the sensation, "I swear, love." But you do not yield.

His mind is racing.

A second phone?

And finally, he realises. "Sweetheart, wait. It's Johnny's. He mentioned that he lost his phone, the idiot must've dropped in my gym bag. That's why you found it."

Your body stills. "Are you sure, Si?"

While you stay still, Ghost only wraps his arms around you, nestling his face against the warmth of your body and your hesitance. He pleads, "On my life. Call him, darling. Please."

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

A phone call later, you confirm that Soap indeed dropped his phone, and was seeing the woman you saw in the notifactions. With a sinking feeling, you return to the kitchen table.

"Si, I'm so sorry." You tell him, tears already brimming your water line. "I should've just asked you-" Before you can say another word, Ghost had already stood up and embraced you. You sink against him.

You should have never doubted a starving dog.

Ghost smiles as he releases you from his hold, "You still want dessert?" He looks back at the cake.

You only giggle, "Yes, let's eat. Not that one though." You ignore Ghost's questioning gaze as you walk to the fridge, humming a small tune, and then pull out another identitical cake. You set it on the table, smiling innocently as the blood drains from Ghost's face. "Let's eat, Si."

[criminalamnesia]

Hiii!! I hope you're doing well :))

I just loveee the traitor series. Do you plan on making a part 5 or more?

thank you! here’s part five :)

the other parts can be found in my COD masterlist, which is here

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

I’ll proofread later :))

you stormed out of the gym, eyesight blurry from hot tears. you weren’t crying because you were sad— no. you were furious. furious at how simon was so fucking stubborn. at how he thought he was in the right.

droplets of blood marked your footsteps as you made your way back to the infirmary. you weren’t particularly anxious to be yelled at by the doctor, but getting it over with as soon as possible was ideal.

“bonnie, y’alrigh’?”

soap. you hadn’t even seen him, so lost in your thoughts. you blinked away tears and ignored the scot, continuing to make your way down the hall in silence.

the sound of hurried footsteps was unmistakable behind you. soap wasn’t taking silence for an answer, apparently.

“bonnie, please—” he began, the drawl of his voice catapulting your mind to the past. to better days.

days when soap had patched you up after a fight, his fingers nimble as he stitched up a cut in your thigh.

“s’it hurt?” he spoke, voice gravelly because of his hushed tone.

you shook your head. your head was tilted back, eyes staring up at the ceiling but not truly seeing. you were worried sick— you and soap were the only ones who’d made it to the safe house so far. the others should’ve beaten you there, and now they were over an hour late.

“bonnie, ‘m sure they’re alrigh’,” he told you, poking the needle through skin. you barely felt it, too hyped up on fear and adrenaline.

“they should’ve beaten us here, y’know that—” you began, but he tutted, quickly cutting you off.

“cannae think like tha’, bonnie. they’ll be here any second, aye?”

he stops his stitching, his face tilting up and away from your leg. you faintly register the feeling of his eyes on you.

you felt lost— floating in sea of numbness. your mind is mulling over the millions of possibilities— possibilities in which they never return.

you’d never felt this way before, and the five of you had endured far worse.

the only thing that was different this time was the fact that you and simon were together. you’d never explicitly told the rest of the task force, but they knew.

johnny knew why you were so worked up. he understood.

he reaches a hand up, his dirtied fingers lightly tilting your chin down so you’re face to face.

“y’there?” he asks, his hand dropping from your chin. he moves to squeeze one of your hands, pulling you back down to the ground.

you give a small nod, fingers moving to intertwine with his. he smiles— not his usual playful expression, but a true, grateful, relieved smile.

“im here,” you tell him. he releases your hand, pulling away from your skin, giving your hand a light pat before fully retreating.

“‘m almost finished, yeah? then I’ll go lookin’—”

“no need.”

it’s kyle, breathing heavily as he shuffles into the room. price and ghost are right on his heels, the three men making the room feel much smaller than it did a moment ago.

“you two good?” kyle asks, a small frown on his lips as he takes note of your bloodied leg.

you nod, your eyes flitting from gaz, to price, to simon— who is now moving towards you. he crouches down so he’s eye level with you. you meet his gaze, and although he doesn’t say it, you know what he’s thinking.

he’s relieved, and it’s a deeper relief than usual. it’s heavier, more profound, because he’s started to let you in. you’re more than teammates now, and it doesn’t truly hit ghost until this moment.

“im good,” you tell him quietly. he nods, glances down at where johnny is tying off your stitches.

johnny must notice ghost’s stare, because he breaks his focus and looks up at his lieutenant with a cheeky smirk.

“no worries, LT. made sure to do ma best work,” he grins and shoots the other man a wink, to which ghost grunts, unamused.

the heavy weight of a palm on your shoulder breaks you from the memory. you move without thinking, bloodied fist swinging as you whirl around to attack whoever laid a hand on you.

then you remember— soap.

johnny narrowly dodges your assault, his eyes widened as your fist barely clips him.

“steamin’ jesus!” he speaks, throwing his hands up in surrender and taking a step back from you.

“i was jus’ tryin’ to make sure ya were alrigh’! yer bleedin’, bonnie.”

you blink as you slowly escape your stupor. you’d completely lost yourself in the memory, and you didn’t know why.

probably because your brain was trying to comfort itself the only way it knew how— by seeking comfort from the people closest to you.

old habits, right?

old fucking habits.

“don’t touch me,” you seethe, eyes narrowing as you glare at the scot. he frowns, bites his lip, but doesn’t say anything.

like a kicked puppy. you can’t help but feel sympathetic before you wrestle that feeling back down. he wasn’t sympathetic for you— why should you be for him?

you look at him for a moment longer, taking in his appearance. he looks fine, and that angers you just the slightest bit more.

“look, i— i ken we really messed up, and sorry cannae fix tha’, but please, bonnie. a’least let us try—”

“I don’t owe you anything, mactavish.” you told him, gaze cold as you met his eyes. “and you’re right, sorry can’t fix it. nothing can fix it; so, stop trying.” you step forward, raising a hand as you point a finger into his chest.

“the four of you need to leave me the fuck alone. frankly, I couldn’t care less about how the four of you feel. about how he feels. you did what you did, believed what you believed, and now you have to live with that.”

johnny’s frown deepens as his eyes glance down at the finger you’ve got digging into his sternum.

“you deserve to feel like shit,” you tell him. “and anything you feel— how sorry you are— just know that I suffered a hundred times more in that chair, locked up in that room. so the next time you wanna watch me from outside the infirmary, or you wanna put your fucking hands on me,” your jaw is clenched, fire licking at your veins as you speak to him.

“remember what you did. remember that nothing can fix it. remember that you’re dead to me— all of you are— and that I never would’ve let that happen to any of you.”

“and I hope it hurts like hell, mactavish. I hope it eats you alive, and that you never find peace because you don’t deserve it.”

you drop your hand, your eyes still on his.

“and I hope you tell the rest of them I said that. especially him.”

you turn then, take a steadying breath, and keep walking.

soap watches you go without another word.

“that was stupid,” the doctor chastises you, her lips pressed into a thin line as she examines your knuckles.

“you blatantly went against my one rule for you. I shouldn’t have even let you out of bed, but you’re too damn stubborn! so I thought I’d give you some grace, but there you go— leaving my iv pole in the hall. bloodying your knuckles. I should let one of the newbies patch you up,” she grumbles, her gloved hands cool against your skin.

over the time you’d spent in the infirmary, you and the doctor had formed an odd bond. it was almost as if you were friends, but she always kept things strictly professional.

but you’d catch her giving you sad glances sometimes. you knew she was upset for you, angry for you, but she would never speak on it. that was okay with you.

it was enough to know that someone was on your side.

“sorry, doc. it’s not like it was planned,” you tell her, and her eyes flick up to meet yours. the look on your face told her everything she needed to know.

she didn’t push the topic. instead, she finished patching you up in silence. wrapping your knuckles in bandages, she gave them one last once-over before sending you on your way.

“kicking me out?” you asked her, raising your eyebrows.

she nodded, her eyes scanning the chart in her hands.

“if you’re okay enough to throw a punch, i think you’re okay enough to return to your quarters. unless you want to stay,” she says, and its unspoken, but you know what she’s implying.

unless you want to stay behind that door, guarded from the 141. unless you don’t want to go back to your quarters and see it as you’d left it before they’d tied you up.

unless it would be too painful to leave.

you shook your head. “im good. thank you, doc. really.”

the doctor gave a small smile and nodded. “of course. you’re due back in a week for a check up, alright? I need to check on those bruises and mending bones.”

you nod and give her a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “wouldn’t miss it.”

she bids you goodbye before turning and disappearing behind a white curtain. you inhale deeply before heading for the door.

when you step into the hallway, it’s quiet. you pass through base with relative ease, quickly slipping past anyone you come across in the halls.

you don’t see any of the 141, and you’re grateful. you couldn’t handle another interaction with them today— and you didn’t know how much longer you could remain civil.

once you reached your door, you pushed into the dusty darkness of the room. it’d been a while since you’d been in here, and although you were glad to finally be free of the smell and sounds of the infirmary, you weren’t particularly happy to be back in this room.

this room, which was down the hall from the rest of the 141.

this room, which held memorabilia of your time with your team.

this room, which you swore still smelled like simon.

you grit your teeth, willing yourself to stop thinking about him. he was fucking everywhere, and you were starting to believe you’d never be free of him and the 141.

your memories. your pain. your scars. no matter how much you healed and moved on from what happened, it would always be there in the back of your mind. it would sneak up on you when you least expected it; it would haunt your dreams at night.

it would leave you waking up screaming for mercy.

it would keep you untrusting for the years to come.

you flicked on the light and scanned the room. it had been upended, clothes strewn across the floor and picture frames shattered.

in the midst of it all, a vase of long dead flowers sits atop your desk.

there’s a little note hanging off the vase. against your better judgement, you reach for it. the paper feels scratchy against your fingers, and the scribbled pencil inside seems the tiniest bit faded.

your eyes scan the note.

‘You were right.

Hope you can understand.’

— sr

you pick up the vase and throw it against the wall. glass shatters. dead flowers fall to the floor.

your knees give out and you crumple to the floor, sitting amidst reminders of once was.

you let yourself cry for the first time in a while.

[rookiesbookies]

The boys catch their ladies reading smut, originally this had the books I was basing this on in them but I hadn't got the time to read the books so I remove the book titles and authors. I hope you enjoy <3

Price: Yeah, she’s younger than him. This book is like 100% just breeding kinks. So she was reading this book about a man breeding his young woman and being super obsessive and clinging… while sitting in their living room… with her fuzzy, super obsessive, newlywed husband. “What are ya readin love?” He said, swiftly snatching the book from her grasp as he sat down on the couch next to her. He kicked his feet up on the couch and laid so his back was against her shins under the blanket she was bundled in. “Nothing important! But you really should give it back!” She panicked, reaching for it. “Holy bloody Jesus, love. This is a casual read for you?” “... yeah.” He wiggled his eyebrows while looking up to see her. She put a hand in his face and took her book back. “You almost made me lose my page.”

Soap: Being bent over and defiled by a hot Scotsman in a kilt? Oh hell yeah. How could you refuse?

“Jesus, Bonnie, why are ye readin about this shit when ya could get the real thing with me?” He chuckled, flipping through the book she had poorly hidden in her nightstand. “My kilt is in the closet, give me less than 10 minutes to get me socks and straps on and I’ll rock yer world harder than some words on a page ever could. You’ll see, donnae worry.”

He did indeed rock your world harder than pages ever good.

You claim and cry that you want to finish it for the plot, he says you can only read “that filth” when he’s away on deployment.

Says its a waste if you have a real heavy, hairy, and thick Scotsman at your disposal on the daily.

Ghost: Reading a story about a man whose face was painted like death and has charm that causes hormonal riots? Sounds exactly like her Simon. She lay on their shared bed as he packed up for their walk to the park. Her legs kicked up in the air as she read. 

He raised an eyebrow at what could have her so giddy so he effortlessly snatched the book and was met with a nasty surprise when he looked over the words. “Take it you’d rather stay home than go to the park,” he mumbled with a smirk before bending down to kneel in front of her now with a red face. 

“No- no I think a walk in the park will be fine.” She nervously chuckled.

Konig: Hot giant caveman dragging a woman away to have his way with her? Basic Konig when he comes back from missions.

Grabbing his sweet girl and pulling her into the dark cave that is their bedroom, only letting either out once he’s had his way with her and showing her just how much he’s missed her.

His face was red flushed as he read over her shoulder though.

“Oh meine gut, Schatz."

The scream she let out even made him fall back.

“Don’t scare me like that!”

He pressed a kiss to her temple in apology. 

“This book made me horny, can we fuck?” She asked straight up, knowing Konig preferred her blunt. She didn’t need to ask him twice.

Gaz Hot british guy? Her standards were so low for her choices in literature as long as it was someone she could imagine her Kyle as. Hmmm easy.

So when she was leading her walk with her audio book in her headphones she was more than busy. When he got a hold of one of her airpods while at the gym and she forgot he had the other one, he looked over at her with wide eyes. He texted her, “I didn’t realize you were interested in being folded like that.”

[ghostedbunnie]

little things with tf141

little domestic moments I find oddly charming about each of the members.

warnings: suggestive

SIMON: he believes he forgot how to simply be. after every messed up thing in his life, he doesn't know how to not think four steps ahead in every situation. he still double checks the windows and doors before going to bed and sleeps so light that a feather fluttering to the ground would get his attention.

but most of the tension in his muscles leaves when you are around. he sits with his thighs spread far apart on the couch, watching a movie you like even though he couldn't care less about it. what he does care about is pulling you in between his legs when you bring popcorn for your little movie night, the hold on your middle almost makes you drop the bowl. you scold him, like you would a misbehaving pet and he only responds with a grunt that you feel through your back as you it's flush to his chest.

PRICE: the biggest handyman there ever was. his pride would take the biggest hit if you needed to call someone else. some other man. usually he won't even let you know he did anything, you'll just end up piecing the information together when the light in the garage works after months of you putting it off because it's high up and you get dizzy trying to reach it or when the stair that always creaked under your foot stops making noise after you mention how it drives you crazy to him.

when you bring it up to him, he only shrugs with a satisfied smile. "i don't do it for a reward, honey." but his words don't match the glint in his eyes, like he is gonna eat you up for dinner later.

JOHNNY: very much gives off the vibes of a velcro dog. wherever you are, he is. he is always right behind you or in your way and he is absolutely shameless about it. if you're baking he sticks to your back with his head on your shoulder, occasionally nibbling at your neck or nuzzling his stubble into it for a sliver of your attention when you tell him it's ticklish. when you are taking a shower at night he is either brushing his teeth right next to the shower curtain or slipping inside because "c'mon bonnie, cannae argue wit' savin' water." as if he doesn't let the water run while he inevitably bends you over to ravage you.

GAZ: brings you flowers at least once a week when he's not deployed. always says he doesn't need a reason to give his girl flowers. at this point every time he passes by a flower shop he thinks of you and since he's been doing it for a while he has the flower language down to a t. so much so he enjoys having you realize what each of these flowers mean especially when it clicks that he used to give you flowers even before when you were only childhood friends. every time he would drop by your house after coming back from deployment he would hand you a tulip with a soft smile and mess up your hair.

his smile only widens when he sees you google the meaning of tulips in flower language. hopeless love.

[shotmrmiller]

I like to think that Simon has no game. He's large, he's unapproachable, his stare alone scares away the women. Which was totally fine, until one day, he saw you as Johnny's screensaver on his phone. He was entranced, mesmerized. He's seen more than enough beautiful women on the orange youtube (his hand being his only source of relief for years) but there was something different about you. Maybe it was the tender smile you had on your face, or maybe it was how you glowed with happiness.

Or your eyes. Your eyes twinkled with affection, you looked at the camera with love. Love. That's it.

He can't remember the last time someone aimed a fond look his way. And whenever he stares at your photo, it looks like you're lovingly gazing back at him— and it gets him fucking hard.

Johnny once left his phone behind, for whatever reason, and Simon waited a solid minute, (60) seconds, before he picked it up, and took out his own phone to take a picture of you.

Simon wanked himself raw that night, his thick cum splattering over his screen, over your face. His refractory period that night was nonexistent.

And when Johnny one day was on the phone with you? When Johnny said, "Simon's here too, hen. Say hello." The way your melodic voice said his name? His cock was achingly hard within seconds, and he shifted around uncomfortably, willing for it to disappear.

It didn't. Simon walked with a wide gait, legs stiff, straight to the nearest bathroom and took himself in his hand. He gripped his long, thick length tight, and when he closed his eyes, he squeezed even harder, almost painfully. His tip was an angry red, from how tight he held himself, and that's how snug he imagined your undoubtedly pretty pussy would be around him.

He had to clench his jaw— grit his teeth hard, to keep the pathetic whimpers from escaping. Simon leaked pre-cum like a juvenile, stringy like egg whites, all over his knuckles and he hadn't even started pumping yet.

When someone knocked on the door, the snarl he let out was feral, a "Fuck off" so nasty, no one disturbed him again until he came with his head tilted back, and the vision of you riding him behind his closed eyes.

And then in the comfort of his own quarters, he pulled up your picture again— a blurry, too zoomed-in photo of a photo, and rut into one of his pillows, again imagining it was you. He thought of you on your back, legs open invitingly and waiting for him to fill you. He imagined the delicious moans you'd breathe out in his ear, your nails digging into the expanse of his broad, scarred back. He imagined your walls fluttering around him, the tell-tale sign of your upcoming climax, and you'd squeeze him so bloody tight when you finally did come, he'd move to pull out because there's no way he's not finishing with you. But you, you'd wrap your legs around his waist, and cross your ankles— effectively keeping him inside of you.

He'd cum on the spot, because you were effectively giving him your permission to finish inside. You'd rhythmically clench your walls to milk him dry, to take all of his seed.

And when his warped, fucked mind imagined you whispering an 'I love you' on his lips, he actually came, and he whimpered.

Simon's hips stuttered as his cock twitched and spasmed, spurting thick globs of cum all over his pillow, his bed. His breath came in shaky pants, his heart slamming against his ribcage.

After he stopped shaking, and was able to move his limbs, he cleaned his mess up shamefully, the post-nut clarity hitting hard, and as he switched bedsheets, he saw his phone light up with a notification.

Bonnie just sent this picture. Doesn't she look cute?

It was you holding a cup of iced coffee, and what stood out to him the most was your brightly colored nails.

He touched himself to the thought of those manicured hands wrapped around his cock, as you took him in your mouth 10 minutes later.

this was my inspo for this simon

@pieckyghost i really only have porn on my mind :( pussy on my mind, tighter than a headband.

[beloveds-embrace]

https://www.tumblr.com/beloveds-embrace/769747896273862656/im-sorry-did-you-say-neglected-omega?source=share

You can't just drop that bomb on us. I feels like I should sue u for emotional damage

I very kindly request some fluff with this 🙏🙏

Can i be 🦋 anon? Pretty pretty please

if i got sued for emotional damage each time I fear i’d have to declare bankruptcy 😭 but ne ways, here you go 🦋 anon! <3

The room still smells faintly of a sour, lonely heat, even weeks later. No matter how many times Gaz scrubs the floors or Price washes the sheets (when you are not there yourself, with your own permission because for all that you wanted to just… keep them away, you had no strength or will to clean the room. That was the only inch you were willing to give), the scent lingers- a sharp reminder of everything they let happen.

Everything they let you go through alone.

They’re careful around you now. Slow. Quiet. Desperate not to spook you, not to push you any further away than they already have. But the distance is unbearable. It feels like walking on glass, and no matter how hard they try to reach you, you stay just out of reach.

So they simply try harder.

Price leaves things outside your door- practical, thoughtful things. Your favorite snacks, warm socks, a thermos of tea that stays hot for hours. Quiet gestures that let you know he’s paying attention. Sometimes he sits outside your room, low voice rumbling through the wood as he tells you about his day. Nothing important, just pieces of himself- things he’s never given anyone else.

Soap is softer, but more desperate.

He leaves drawings, slips them under your door like little apologies. Sketches of you smiling, of the pack piled together, happy and whole. There’s always a note attached.

I’m sorry, bonnie.

Please let me fix this.

And then one day, he spots one of them taped to your wall.

It’s small, but it’s something. It’s enough to lighten his heart just a little, giving him a sliver of hope.

Gaz doesn’t say much, but he does.

He cooks for you, warm homemade meals left outside your door. He waits, heart twisting every time the plate is left untouched. But then one morning, the food is gone, and he has to duck into an empty room so no one sees his reaction. He’d been so stressed seeing you thinner than he remembered, not eating as much as you should’ve, but he feels so, so much better when the plates he leaves you are cleared- eaten, and not just picked at.

Ghost doesn’t know how to fix this with words, so he doesn’t try. .

Instead, he sharpens your knives. Fixes the drafty window. Reinforces your bedframe even if all he wants is for you to return to them, to their nest. Leaves a scarf that smells like him. Little things, pieces of himself, pieces of his devotion.

Because even if you never let him close again, he needs you to know

He’s not leaving. He almost doubts himself, lets his fears cloud his judgement, until he sees the scarf around your neck one day.

It’s slow. God, it’s so slow, but they persist and don’t give up. Never even consider it for one precious second, not when it’s you they could lose.

But one night, Price finds you in the kitchen wearing his jacket.

You freeze when you see him, and for a second, he thinks you’ll run.

You stay.

“…It’s late.” You whisper, shuffling your feet. He smells your hesitance, your worries and fears, and hopes the distance he keeps soothes you. The thought of you feeling like that because of him… it leaves the taste of ash coating his throat.

“So it is.”

And yet, you don’t leave. You don’t push him away, or pull back when he slowly walks closer towards you. You just look at him, eyes tired and sad and-

It’s not forgiveness, when you let him gently caress the back of his hand against your cheeks.

But it’s a start.

[puhpandas]

as someone who isnt super excited for sotm for certain reasons I am really glad that like. it's clear that since ruin theyve been setting up for carnival and sotm IS carnival. so now that carnival is finally coming out, afterwards theyll be moving on to other plotlines since the main villain stuff is sorted out

I'm just rlly happy to finally see a clear direction for how the story is gonna be playing out with like "okay these games were leading up to this so after this will be open possibilites" instead of like. absolutely no info about each upcoming game and being left guessing before it releases and just having to wait and see what's in it and if anything you're looking forward to will be in it

it feels like they have a plan and a solid direction for what they're trying to do and after carnival releases thatll be all that buildup coming to fruition. & we already know from the Scott interview that theres another release 'beyond sotm' that's 'super exciting' so maybe thatll be focusing on another big currently untouched (which is basically all of them) plotline, or even the big campaign game that dawko has been calling security breach 2

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

if the military wanted you to have a wife, they'd issue you one. Soap's heard that saying once or twice.

and here you are. claiming to be his... issuance.

you tilt your head. "you don't remember signing up for the program?"

no. no, he doesn't. his eyes dart down to your lips for a fraction of a second before returning to your eyes. he'd remember that. more to the point, he'd remember whatever he did to deserve this. he looks you up and down again, disbelief and desire flashing across his face, and not in equal measure.

you’re like if someone wrung the starry slurry of thoughts constituting what makes a perfect woman directly from his brain matter, let it ferment and clarify like honey wine, put marriage papers in her hand, and dressed her in a… in a fucking… are those stockings stretching up under your skirt?

hell’s bells. you’re one part girl next door, one part muse—the one his hand can never quite shape on the page to match what’s in his head��and several shades of his favorite porn star. an old-fashioned pin-up doll in the flesh.

"you're not John MacTavish, then," you say, peering down at the papers in your hand with a small frown. "so sorry to bother you—"

“no, hold on.” he takes a step closer. “i’m him, aye. but the program...” the application questionnaire. filling it out was nothing more than a drunken bet with Gaz, but yes, he dimly remembers it. doesn't recall turning it in, but maybe he was drunker than he thought. “it's real?"

“completely real. i was selected for you based on the preferences you specified,” you tell him. you shift the clipboard into your other arm, pleasant smile turning into a frown. "but i couldn't possibly ask you to sign a marriage certificate sponsored by a program you don't even remember applying for."

oh, that is rich. you don’t seem to see the humor here. it’s absurd. have you not seen yourself? he'd be daft to pass on someone as bonnie as you.

not to mention you seem more than a little disappointed at the idea of being turned down. that fuels his ego even more.

 "you're sayin' you're a part of that military partnership program, aye? and you were handpicked as my spouse based on a few questions?"

you helpfully produce a copy of his responses in pink triplicate. sure enough, he recognizes his own drunken scrawl.

none of the questions have anything to do his preferences looks-wise. career aspirations, communication preferences, hobbies, his ideal saturday night. his sleeping habits. this is a psychological profile. CIA shite, as Gaz would say.

he doubts his drunken self read more than a few lines of this paperwork while he was constructing his dream girl in the survey blanks.

as he studies the page a little too closely, your small frown turns into a frustrated scowl. "john? um, i mean."

it instantly pulls his eyes back to your lips.

you twirl a strand of hair around your finger. "it’s nice to meet you,” you say in a tone that makes it clear what you’re really saying is ‘hey, stud, i'm looking forward to the honeymoon.’

that’s your attempt, at least. but Soap sees more than you mean to show. the way you play that card--the way you twirl your damn hair--is the clumsiest, most blatant attempt to flirt. somehow, that's what catches him off-guard the most. It makes his heart squeeze. god, are you nervous? you?

he runs over the back of his teeth in the split second before his signature lazy smirk slides back across his face. "happy you got paired up with a bloke like me?"

he hands the paperwork back to you. you take it back with great relief and nestle it securely into the crook of your elbow. you’re certain he didn’t sign every single blank he was supposed to, but he won’t remember that. you’ll check the signature lines later and forge his handwriting to finish it.

you smile prettily at him. then you make it a little more coy. you should be bashful--he's handsome. "i'm lucky. you're special forces. i’m a nobody, really. if you want, you could try filing for a spouse upgrade. if you want a really good fiancée..."

“fiancée." Soap rolls the word around his tongue. "is that what i should call you?”

"well. you saw my name on the paperwork," you point out. you know very well he didn't.

before he can ask any more questions, you press a chaste kiss to his cheek and pull away, walking down the hall with documents in tow. his gaze is heavy on your back.

the documents in your arm are real enough. Soap really did complete that questionnaire, just like how he remembers. getting the application turned in is what required a little creative effort.

but as long as nobody looks too closely at the military ID photocopied in the application file, they won't notice that the mostly-obscured face of the soldier who turned the application in doesn't look much like Soap at all.

...

more Soap / masterlist