#literally just john's name if that counts

[mothsintherain]

"ORTHUR" and "mahtin" give off the same vibes to me and it's funny. like if your name is jo(h)n you're contractually obligated to say your (boy)friend's name a little silly

[ittybittyfanblog]

Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe)

Summary: There were orders for your abduction. You were made to be the bait by a rival gang to get to the elusive head of Onychinus. Sylus doesn’t take it too well. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: mc x sylus, fem!reader x sylus (use of she/her pronouns), depictions of violence (it gets a little graphic), reader gets abducted and injured, strong language, protective!sylus, he’s a little unhinged here, self-indulgent! A/N: I can’t believe this game pulled me out of a three-year creative rut LMAO. I’ve been doing fanarts, now I’m writing again?? The power these pixelated men hold over me, man.  Anyway, enjoy!  This version of Sylus is probably a little OOC idk idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It was close to midnight, and you're being followed.

On your six, a stocky man in an unassuming dark suit has been tailing you since you left the dingy bodega a little over a mile away from your apartment for about, three? five minutes– no, maybe even longer.

Shit, you mouth silently. Sloppy. You should’ve noticed him sooner, and the two other lackeys now closing in from up ahead. They’re armed too, if the hands hidden inside their jackets were any indication.

As if things aren't looking bad enough, you’ve decided tonight would be the perfect night to go weaponless, deciding against bringing your handgun with you since it was supposed to just be a quick run to the store for supplies. Namely, the late-night cravings sort of supply.

You clutch the wrinkled paper bag containing your coveted jalapeño Cheetos tightly.

This is what greed does to you, a mocking voice echoes in your head. Since when did your inner voice of reason sound masculine and oh-so-familiar? 

Exhaling quietly, you try to calm the rising beat of your heart and appear to be clueless of your surroundings. Walk at a normal pace. Look unaware of the men with the intention to… What even was this? An ambush? Good, old, regular robbery? No, it doesn’t seem like they were in it for something that insignificant. They wouldn’t even bother to be this cautious if it were. 

But then, what were they here for? The dangers you were more familiar with are of the monstrous kind in the literal sense of the word; entities that you face on a daily basis as a Deepspace hunter. Not the regular threats posed by mankind – which in this particular situation, suddenly feels more foreboding.

While racking your brain for ideas on how to slip away from their sight without escalating the situation, you fail to notice a fourth person hidden behind the dumpster inside the narrow alleyway on your left until you feel the cold, hard edge of a pistol gun hit your temple.  

With a shout, your hand shoots up in an attempt to yank the gun away from the hand holding it but the sudden burst of pain from the impact has left you feeling dizzy and off-kilter. The moment you throw your fists up to block your face, heavy fists strike you directly in a flurry of hits, colliding with your forearm and your unguarded ribs.

You let out a pained grunt as you stagger backwards, trying your hardest to keep yourself from falling back on your ass and ward off the next incoming attack. 

A sinister laugh alerts you of the others, now surrounding you in a circle. Shit!

You hastily shift your legs into a crouching position, bracing yourself as you attempt to sidestep the one in front of you before making a run for it. You spring into action, but before you can even take another step, an arm shoots out and coils tightly around your neck like a noose. A cloth that reeks of something distinct is slapped over your mouth and nose, rendering you unable to do anything but struggle. 

“Now, now– the boss wants her in one piece, John,” The stocky man, who’s apparently larger and more jacked up-close, pipes up. John tightens the limb circling your throat, preventing you from breathing, before slightly loosening his grip. 

 “I’d advise you from struggling too much, sweetheart. But if you insist on making this harder for yourself,” the man talking suddenly grins, revealing rows of crooked, silver teeth. “He ain’t said nothin’ about a couple of bruises.” 

You give him your dirtiest glare, trying to pull away from the death grip the burly man called John had on you, but you feel your muscles slowly becoming heavier and your vision starting to blur. 

Ch-chloroform?

You make a muffled shout, a scurry that earns you a heavy hit on the stomach, one last futile move to free yourself, but the inevitable effect of the potent substance starts to overpower you. 

“After all, we need to make sure that the big bad boss of Onychinus actually comes for his bitch, don’t we?”

Rendered completely useless, the men start to make quick work to restrain your arms and legs in a hogtie before carrying you down the street, to a shaded corner where a large, gray van is parked.

The barn doors open, and you’re tossed in carelessly to the back, landing painfully on the cold, hard floor. An involuntary whimper escapes your lips, feeling like one big bruise; splotches of red and blue start to form like a violent watercolor on your skin. 

The engine revs. Before completely losing consciousness, you think you hear a faint caw.

The car drives off the beaten path, into the night, leaving not a trace of evidence of what transpired mere minutes ago aside from a discarded brown paper bag and a deflated bag of chips. 

-

-

-

From a distance, flying towards the hazy skyline, a mechanical bird crows a bad omen. 

_____

In the dead of the night, the head of Onychinus sits as a spectator; a towering presence at the head of a table inside a private room, obscured in plain sight, in an unremarkable establishment far east of Linkon City. 

Unassuming as it may be, the room’s occupants are men of great renown, both in influence and notoriety. The CEO of a chain business in Azure Square, a regional manager of a well-known bank in Linkon, the head of a weapons trade representing a faction in the N109 zone… All held significant power, all held ulterior motives.

A meeting of minds; the type held only in the secrecy of the night, gone in the break of dawn. 

Sylus has half the mind to listen in on the droning exchange of fake pleasantries and plastic smiles as the men deal trades in nature that of weapons and favors. A number of hungry, beady eyes cast him furtive glances, fearful yet devout. Some cautious in the hope of earning his approval. 

“–the package will be en route to the agreed-upon address by the end of the week,” a stout man in spectacles finishes off, clearing his throat. Beads of sweat start to form at the back of his neck as red eyes bore into his, assessing. Deliberating. “O-or if Richard’s able to give me the go-ahead in advance, I’ll make sure it arrives by Friday,” a gulp–then, “sir.” 

All in reverence. 

He hums, his switchblade dancing idly in his hand, deliberately stretching the tension that hangs heavy in the air. He delights in this power to unsettle, savoring the authority that his mere presence commands—a demand for absolute deference. 

“Make it half that time, will you, Raymond?” Sylus responds amicably, not as a question. The man, Raymond, sputters. 

“That won’t be pos–” Sylus tilts his head, eyes shifting into something more dangerous. “Please, I’ll try to cut the time shorter but there won’t be any assurances.” 

The pale-haired man sighs in acquiescence. “I guess that will have to do.” Raymond lets out an exhale of relief, but catches his breath as Sylus continues, “Any later than Wednesday, and I’ll come to claim it personally.” 

Raymond, more nerves than man, starts to blabber something in response–but stops when something black suddenly appears in a blaze of dark energy, near the shoulder of the intimidating man he’s trying to appeal to. 

Sylus raises a hand, and a large crow lands on his pointer finger. 

He caws, once. Twice. And shows a projection. 

The inhospitably cold room suddenly went glacial. 

All conversation halts to a stop as an overwhelmingly suffocating aura starts to emanate from the man–no, the being at the head of the table, making all that are in the vicinity freeze in fear. 

The devil posing as the leader of Onychinus abruptly stands up, and Raymond thinks, Oh I’m going to die here.

Without a word, the man disappears in a Stygian haze.

_

Five minutes later, only after they felt like death was no longer looming over their heads, did anyone dare to move a muscle.

_____

Your head hurts, and your mouth tastes of rust. 

Having been awake for longer than your captors were aware of – two (?) of which bickering near a barred slate of metal that you assume is the door after taking a quick peek from beneath the mess of hair concealing your face – you try to get your bearings together without arousing the suspicion of your present audience. 

“–bet it’s gonna take a while ‘fore that guy arrives. You think she’s enough to get him to show his face?” 

“Damned if I know. In any case, we got a pretty, li’l plaything on our hands,” a snort. “Make her worth the effort.” 

Where were you? From what it looks like, you’ve been transported into a nondescript underground bunker of sorts, dank with a hint of mildew and rot in the air; a rumbling air vent on your left masking any noise that escaped your mouth when you woke up. The area is poorly lit, save for the flickering bulb hanging precariously above your head as your main source of light – good for casting shadows to hide your bruised face, bad for the pounding headache you’re pretty sure is a concussion. And with your back seemingly close to a wall, you arrive at the conclusion that there are no other entryways, no way to leave, but the guarded door in front of you. 

In short, you have no idea where you are. 

Fuck–this is bad, you swear to yourself internally, trying to control the rising panic swelling up your chest. You never thought your nightcap would lead to this mess. Nobody knows about your current predicament, and it’ll take more than a day before your absence raises any alarms, so right now, you’re on your own. 

Think, think! What can you do?

What can you do? You have nothing on you, nothing you can use as a makeshift weapon to defend yourself with, and your hands are tightly bound behind your back by a thick, heavily twined rope with no give. The situation is slowly turning bleaker by the second, and it isn’t even your fault that you’re here in the first place! You were made a pawn, a mere bait in this messed-up dick-measuring contest between a crazy, sadistic, self-proclaimed head honcho and Onychinus’s own crazy, sadistic–

Wait a minute. Sylus. 

You send a strong prayer to anyone above that’s listening, and an angry telepathic shout for good measure to the one who’s unaware of his involvement – but nonetheless the source of your ruined night – in this attempt at kidnapping a perfectly law-abiding citizen of Linkon.

Sylus, as much as I hate your unfortunate tendency to stalk me through means that, honestly? Eludes the hell out of me, I really, REALLY hope that you’ve been keeping tabs toni–

“Hey, boss! I think this one’s awake!”

Fuck. No use pretending anymore. 

You hear heavy footsteps from outside the room before the corroded metal door swings open to reveal a large man, easily standing above six feet, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and an unsettling smile. His arms are covered in tattoos– overlapping, almost undecipherable. A gnarly scar runs from the side of his mouth to just above his brow bone; his right eye a cloudy gray, most likely a morbid souvenir from the sustained injury.

His functional eye zeroes in on your pitiful form, and his smile widens into a hostile grin. 

“Well, well. It seems like our esteemed guest is finally ready to join in the fun,” His voice sounds like gravel, with a mocking intonation. “I hope my men weren't too rough with you on the way here.” 

You let out a breath through your teeth, blinking a few times to try and rid the blurring in your vision. You have to bide your time– “Why am I here? What do you want from me?” 

The man cocks his head to the side, smile still in place. “I assume you already know. But I’ll indulge you your little questions, why not?”

He crosses the space separating the two of you with just a few, languid steps before he’s in front of you. He leans forward, brushing the messy locks of hair – dried with blood – away from your face in a deceptively calm manner. “The devil needs to pay his dues, but it’s been rather difficult to get a hold of him, you see,” he sighs in exaggerated disappointment. ”I intend to collect, so I waited patiently for the right moment, for an opening. For an opportunity. 

And here, the opportunity presents herself.” 

You sneer, moving your head back to let your hair fall from his creepy hold. “I’ve no clue what you’re talking about, mister, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong idea.”

He barks out a laugh before gripping your chin tightly between his fingers. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you. Maybe we can find a better use for it.” 

You feel it before you hear it. 

“Perhaps not.” 

Something vicious saturates the air, something intense and terrifying and wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and some sort of primordial response deep within your brain is telling you to get away from it.

But then, the paralyzing fear melts away to something akin to hope when you realize the source of this new disturbance.

Relief washes over you when familiar ink-and-red tendrils materialize behind the man in front of you. The dark wisps dissipate like smoke as soon as it comes and in place, your savior – sporting an expression that could only be described as downright murderous – stands before you, all six feet of unadulterated rage.

Several things happened so fast, it was almost simultaneous.

A cacophony of shouts came loudest from the two men who had been on guard duty but screams also echoed from outside the room. You saw flashes of red, twin laughter, and blood spurting from the necks of the now headless guards, and then a symphony of bullets and a lot of things breaking rang across the room. 

Suddenly– 

Deafening silence. As if something has put an abrupt stop to the noise. 

Amidst all the chaos, the scarred man in front of you had no time to make a move before savage whips of crackling energy engulfed him, leaving only his head free from the smothering darkness. 

His expression betrays something wild and manic as he tries twisting around to look at the figure behind him. “You–”

Sylus pays no mind to the breathing, dead fool – lower than dirt on his feet, with the nerve to harm what is most precious to him – as he keeps his gaze solely on you; his eyes darting up and down as if taking inventory of all the bruises and scrapes you sustained from the abduction. 

You meet his eyes. “You came.” 

An indecipherable look passes his face, gone as quickly as it came. ���A little too late. I apologize.” 

You weakly huff out a chuckle, wanting to shake your head but decide against it lest it aggravates your concussion. A prickling sensation, then the rope around your wrists falls off with a quiet thud. 

“Luke. Kieran.” 

“Everything’s all accounted for, boss,” Kieran announces, suddenly appearing beside your right, along with Luke who’s on your left. Both look no worse for wear.

 The latter gives you a sympathetic look. “Oh, man. They got you good, little crow.” 

“Caught me off-guard, s’all,” you insist half-heartedly. 

A sigh. “Transport her directly back to base. Attend to her critical injuries once you arrive, and keep her awake. I’ll handle the rest once I get back,” Sylus instructs the twins in a tone that brooks no argument.

They nod in sync and start making a move to carry you out, but you protest.

“Wait, you’re staying behind?” For some reason, the thought of being separated from him, even for a short amount of time, makes you feel ill. Well, worse than your current state at least. 

Sanguine eyes soften when he hears the tremble in your voice. The offending man in front of you, reduced into something less threatening than a cowering dog in comparison to your rescuer, is forcibly pushed aside to make room for Sylus as he steps closer. 

He crouches low so that you’re looking down on him instead of up. One large hand covers both of yours, mindfully avoiding the fresh rope burns on your wrists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the unmarred part of your skin. 

“This will be quick, sweetie. I’ll be back by your side before you know it,” he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “I swear to you.”

You swallow, but nodded reluctantly. “Come home soon.” 

“I will.”

With that, you let yourself be carried out of the claustrophobic space you were confined to, into a larger room littered with unmoving bodies that you're frankly too tired to care about at the moment, up three (rickety) flights of stairs where you exit into what looks like the inside of an empty shipping container, before finally, finally getting out. 

A gust of salty wind hits you and you ask, “Are we near the docks?” 

“Yeah,” Kieran answers, carefully putting you down on the backseat of Sylus’ car. “Mephisto trailed after the van they stuffed you in before reporting back to the boss. We followed soon after.” 

Luke frowns as he inserts the key in the ignition. “We weren’t aware that they had eyes on you for a while now. An oversight on our part, won’t happen again,” he assures you. “Gotta give them props for that, at least.” 

Kieran, now getting in the passenger side of the vehicle, shoots him a look. 

“Anyway, we’re glad we got to you before they did anything… worse,” Kieran continues, then winces in a show of mock sympathy. “Can’t say the same to that fucker back inside. Haven’t felt Sylus’ bloodlust this strong in a long while.” 

You try to focus on their words, but you feel yourself nodding off as the remaining adrenaline slowly leaves your body. You know you should feel more worried about what the two were insinuating, but your mouth still tastes like you swallowed a bunch of coins and you just want a soft bed to sleep in for an entire day. Or three. 

“Oi, no sleeping. Doctor’s orders,” A snapping finger in front of your face forces you awake. 

You blink your tired eyes open in an attempt to stay lucid, the pulsing pain in your head becoming more prominent as soon as the threat of danger has passed. 

“This is gonna be a long night,” you sigh, wishing that Sylus will keep his word and be quick about… whatever he’s planning to do with your abductor. 

–––––

There hasn’t been much left of the man who proclaims to be the new head of an arms syndicate Sylus had dealt with in the past. He recalls the history of his relationship with the cartel being less than cordial, but nothing that would warrant his ire. Except for tonight.

He usually doesn’t leave a trace when doling out punishments; no, not anymore. Not in recent years. He prefers to be efficient about his killings, dissipating any evidence in thin air after reducing them into fine paste, rather than make a big show out of it. Quick and precise.

Except today… Someone had the arrogance, the absolute audacity to steal directly from the dragon’s nest.

The contents of which have always been kept in strict confidentiality. What is known, only chosen individuals bound to secrecy are privy to, and a lot of people would kill for. 

But unbeknownst to anyone else but its owner, only one thing in this hoard of secrets truly matters to the dragon. One solitary treasure alone he would burn planets for – and someone has tried to steal it.

Harm. the treasure. To get to him. 

It seems as if the new bloods needed a reminder of who, exactly, they’re stealing from. 

One who dwells deep within the underbelly of the cities both monster and men inhabit, that even the most heinous of sinners seeking solace in the dark, are afraid of. 

And what retribution tastes like to those who are foolish enough to bite more than what they can chew.

The poor soul unfortunate enough to be the first one to discover the carnage will witness that what was left of the man that had wronged the Onychinus kingpin is stuck on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of a basement where the treasure was held captive. They will find that the man’s innards are deliberately hung in a haphazard fashion, in all corners of the room like bloody, sinewy tinsel. 

And the centerpiece of this bloodbath is none other than the man’s decapitated head, forcibly attached to the hanging light in the middle of the room. A bulb crudely drilled past his cranium, while blood dripped down the floor in slow, ominous rivulets. 

They will understand in dawning horror that the one responsible for this... gross butchery, has left the head swinging. That the man’s mouth will forever remain agape in an eternal scream to immortalize the exact moment he realizes the gravity of his sin.   

Yes, Sylus is more than glad to remind them. 

_____

You arrive a quarter past four AM. 

Barely taking a step past the foyer, the twins immediately whisk you inside to perform an ‘emergency patch-up.’ Luke’s words, not yours.

“We’re your personal CNA while waiting for the head nurse to take over,” he explains cheerfully, wrapping another layer of gauze around your wrist. You hiss when Kieran dabs a cotton ball on the gash on your temple, peroxide fizzing as it comes in contact with the dried-up blood. Muttering out a “sorry!” Kieran does quick work in cleaning the injury and covering the affected area.

In no time at all, all visible wounds are bandaged and disinfected. The worst of your head wound had to be stitched up, but other than that, nothing seems to require immediate medical attention. There’s nothing left for you to do but to bear the aches that came along with the bruises – especially on your tender midriff – and to pop a tylenol for your throbbing headache.

You offer them a sincere, “Thanks. No, really.” before they leave you in Sylus’ room, after multiple reminders to “not sleep before the attending nurse arrives for the final diagnosis.” 

(You think they might have enjoyed playing caretaker a little too much.) 

With a lot more effort than you care to admit, you painstakingly remove your bloodstained clothes until you're down to your underwear, before draping yourself in a large, red, silk robe. A hot shower sounds heavenly to your sore muscles, but the soft mattress is calling to you more so you head straight to bed. 

With nothing else to occupy yourself with, you prop your head on a mountain of pillows – to keep yourself relatively upright – and let out a sigh. 

Tonight had been a shitshow. All you wanted was something to snack on while you binge through the last season of the show you were watching back at your apartment; you never thought a late-night run to the store just a few blocks away would result in… this. If not for Sylus’ intervention, you’re sure you'd be leaving with a lot more than a couple of scrapes. If not worse.

You're lost in your own thoughts when short, successive raps on the door catch your attention. It swings open before you have the chance to pipe out a, “come in!”

Speak of the devil.

Sylus enters the room, not a hair out of place. You notice that he’s changed into a casual, brown sweater and a pair of dark-washed jeans. His eyes meet yours, tightly-controlled expression relaxing as he crosses the room towards the side of your bed, wasting no time. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Still pretty sore, but Luke and Kieran already handled the worst of my injuries,” you answer, making a move to sit up. Sylus tuts disapprovingly, gentle as he puts a hand on your chest to prevent you from moving any further. He sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle you. Once fully settled, he let out a deep sigh.

“You had me worried for a moment there, kitten.” He admits, a slightly rough edge to his voice as emotion seeps into it. He regards you intently, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re here, safe. 

Your hand reaches out towards his face. Without missing a beat, he leans in to nuzzle your palm, eyes closing shut. He reminds you of a big wolf, unbridled fire simmering beneath the surface, yet tame in the presence of his handler. 

“I’m fine now, thanks to you,” you assure him with a lopsided smile. “Give my thanks to Mephisto, as well. Tell him he gets a pass on the stalking this time.” 

Sylus opens his eyes, a hint of amusement and something else you can’t identify flickering through. “Oh, sweetie. You’ll be lucky if that bird gives you the privacy to bathe alone after tonight,” he jokes. 

He’s joking. Right?

You eye him for a moment before deciding to let it go. You're too tired to argue.

Instead, you cautiously ask a question you aren’t sure you even want the answer to. “What happened after we left?” 

Sylus expression doesn’t change except for the upward tick on the corner of his mouth; the same peculiar glint in his eyes coming across a little stronger. “They won’t be bothering you anymore. You don’t need to worry about anyone coming for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

He hums. “Do you really want to know?”

You stare at him, and he stares back at you placidly. 

You purse your lips and look away. “Maybe not.” 

Sylus breathes out a laugh. He gently grasps your chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding your head to meet his gaze once more. A softer look on his face, inching closer to yours.

Your heartbeat slightly picks up. In your vulnerable state, you feel a welling desire to bare your feelings to the man in front of you. You want to tell him how relieved you felt when you saw him in that cursed basement, how he was able to quell your fears with just his presence alone the moment he appeared in a familiar haze of black and red. Like your own, personal, vindictive guardian. 

Instead, you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his. 

Sylus groans quietly, a hand cupping your face as he leans closer to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of contentment from being this close to him. You feel, more than you see, how his taut body loses the remaining tension from the events that transpired just mere hours ago, how he finally relaxes as he loses himself in you.

Very carefully, he eases you further down, cradling your head with one hand until it rests on a pillow. His lips drift to the corner of your mouth, trailing soft kisses up to the apples of your cheeks, your forehead, then to your nose. 

He pulls back slightly, chuckling when you make a sound of discontent. When you open your eyes, you see him looking at you– half-lidded and tender. 

In a low voice, he instructs, “Rest. You need it.”

The feeling of exhaustion pulls you in, but before you surrender to it, you remind Sylus, “I’m not that fragile, you know. You don’t have to worry too much.” You poke his cheek and he catches the offending digit to bite it affectionately. “I’ll be up and running in no time.”

He doesn't speak for a minute, considering your words. His mouth sets into a thin line before letting out a sigh.

“And if you get hurt again? What then?" He whispers so quietly, seeming as if he's talking to himself.

"I'll get hurt again, that's for sure," You tell him, matter-of-factly. "But really, that’s just an occupational hazard. I’m sure you realize."

“Love — what a terrible, little thing,” he muses, half-forlornly, half in jest. "I’d rip this cold heart out and throw it in flames if I could.”

While speaking, his hand finds its way into the tangles of your hair, gently running his fingers through the strands in a lulling manner. His lips landing on the crown of your head softly. Reverently.

You hum sleepily.

“Of course you would, Sy.”

_____

“You’ll be glad to know that the artifact you had your eye on back at the auction will be arriving this Wednesday.” 

“Huh? But I thought it was already sold to someone else?”

Sylus shrugs. “I made a counteroffer.” 

“You didn’t have to. I told you it was fine.” 

“I know. But I also recall a certain someone telling me how much they wished they had placed a bid on it on our way back,” he pinches your cheek fondly. “Don’t worry about it, kitten. It’s yours.”

“Oh. Well– thank you,” you yawn in response, leaning your head to rest against his palm.

His thumb strokes your cheek. “Anything for you.”

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Catch My Breath

The first kiss.

Set in Christmas Eve 2022, after the events of Call of Duty Modern Warfare II.

Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Charlotte “Jade” Le Jardin (OC), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Eleanor "Ladybug" Graham (OC) Characters : Simon "Ghost" Riley, Charlotte "Jade" Le Jardin (OC), Captain John Price, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Eleanor "Ladybug" Graham (OC), Alejandro Vargas Word Count : ~ 9600 Warning : Fluff with a slight bit of angst, a touch of hurt/comfort, and good ol’ cursings.

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Dont forget to come to cpt prices house today.’

You : ‘Of course not. I’m still at the orphanage for christmas gifts exchange. As soon as I'm done I'll be there :)’

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Good’

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Gaz is making some bangin biscuits and scones’

Jade smiled at her phone as she chatted with Soap. Her mouth already watering from imagining the taste of Gaz’s cooking on her tongue. According to Soap’s and Ladybug’s testimony, his chocolate biscuits were second to none.

You : ‘Wouldn't miss it even if I die.’

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Alright. See ya.’

She bit her lip. There's one more question she wanted to ask though. She contemplated asking Soap this or not. 

Her thumbs moved across the screen slowly. 

You : ‘Is Ghost coming?’

When Soap had invited her to the dinner five days prior, all Jade could think about was whether or not Ghost would be joining. Their one week together in Las Almas made her feel… something. Something really, really good. Something she hadn’t felt in what felt like an eternity. He earned a friend in Alejandro, Rudy, Soap, and Ghost, especially, whom she’d thought of as a real piece of work back in Verdansk. Oh, how foolish she was. 

He was the best part about Las Almas. 

Dammit. What was she thinking?!

By the end of Chicago, after they eliminated Hassan, Ghost and Jade had traded phone numbers. Jade had his numbers and named it “💀💢 Beanpole 💀💢”, after the nickname she gave to him before they knew each other’s name. They haven’t texted at all. Ghost wasn’t the kind to text first, that much was clear to everyone who knew him. And neither was Jade. In fact, she didn’t know what to text him first. A “hi”? A… 

What else? 

What do people text each other when they’re trying to get to know each other? She had no goddamn clue. Well, she knew what to text when she wanted to get intel from an unassuming target, but she didn’t want intel from Ghost. 

She just wanted to know if he was okay, if he was fine, if the gash on his shoulder was healing well. Because of course, in her 29 years of life, a serious romance wasn’t a luxury that she could afford in her line of work in MI6. She took that lesson from her parents who literally had to ‘die’ first in order to even start. The point is, none of them texted first. They’re just another series of numbers in their contact list. 

An animation of dots showed up, indicating that Soap was typing. 

He’d typed for a few seconds before the animation stopped for a moment, and then started typing again. He must be changing his response. 

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘If there's food he should be there.’

Oh? ‘... should be there’. That meant Ghost was not with Soap at the moment, and he didn’t know whether or not Ghost would be coming along. A week in Las Almas was enough for Jade to know that Ghost had grown closer to Soap as a friend-brother figure. The fact that Soap might not know his whereabouts was not a surprise, though. He’s the Ghost after all. 

But she couldn’t help but think, where was he? 

What did Soap type?

“Chacha! Can you help me a bit here? We're about to start the event!” 

Jade looked up from her phone, her ginger hair falling on her shoulders as she tucked her phone back in her pocket, swiftly walking over to one of her co-workers, Esther, an elderly soft-looking lady who volunteered for the orphanage - her former orphanage. This place held a lot of bittersweet memories, and it made her who she was. 

Her legs brought her to one of the high ladders leaning onto one of the walls of the dining hall. She took many mistletoes from the decoration boxes and swiftly climbed the ladder, hanging the vegetation one by one with ease. 

“Do we need this many mistletoes?” Jade asked while her hands worked. “At this point we’re gonna kiss someone by accident.”

“Of course not, what are you talkin’ about?!” Esther’s loud laugh almost broke Jade’s ears. “It’s Christmas, Chacha. The church had an overflow of mistletoes from the donations. If there's a day where we can add as many mistletoes as we can, it’s now. Let's call the kids over.” 

“Alright. Let's start this shall we?” 

—

The sound of Jade’s boots rang throughout the pavement as she hurried over to Price’s house. She travelled by public transportation from Surrey as she didn't have a car with her (plus she’s not much for driving safely - fake driving licence and… all that). She looked down at her watch to see 7 PM as the cold night finally settled. Each of her breaths turned to clouds in the air, shivering as she didn't have her outer jacket with her right now. She’s never one to be unprepared, but after one of the kids got too excited about getting a Lego toy and spilt a whole glass of apple juice onto her jacket, Jade had to fight through the cold with her trusty turtleneck and only one layer of thin knitted jacket as an outer, clutching the soaked coat close to her chest.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of walking, Jade reached the front of Price's house, immediately knocking on the wooden door three times. She looked up at the massive three-story building made out of bricks, that had a good space in the front yard. The building looked old like a family heirloom, but she could tell that it was pretty much taken care of. There’s a pair of trees that had shed all their leaves for the winter and had a decent amount of vegetation on either side of the doors.  

Jade looked back at the front yard. There were three cars parked in front, and she assumed that one of them belonged to Price, the other two should belong to either Gaz’s, Soap’s, or Ghost’s. 

The wooden door opened. She expected Price as the owner of the house to welcome her, instead, it was Eleanor, Gaz’s very own Ladybug who immediately screeched on top of her head. “JAAAADEEE!!! You’ve finally arrived!” The medic bursted out of the door hugging her figure so tight Jade might’ve folded. A beautiful burgundy sweater around a tan shirt wrapped her figure perfectly, and of course, with her wavy dirty blonde hair tied on the back with the ribbon Gaz gave her, worn out as it could be.

“Hey Lady! I miss you so much!!” The ginger greeted warmly all the while trying her best to stay balanced on her feet or else she’d fall five steps down to the ground on her back. As Lady pulled away, she gave room for Jade to step inside the warm house, taking a glance at Jade’s look. 

“Whoa. You only wear two layers? You’re shivering!” 

“Yeah. Apple juice all over my jacket, but don’t mind it.” She chuckled as she took off her jacket and coat to hang them on a standing coat hanger on the side of the door, “Have the others arrived?”

“You’re the last one. I came early with Kyle to bake the cookies and help Price with the food. Soap came second bringing sacks of snacks and drinks, and Ghost had just arrived before you, about 45 minutes ago.”

That caught Jade’s attention, her heart beat a little faster just at the mention of his name. “Just? Isn’t the Captain’s invitation at 5 PM?” 

 “Yeah. It looked like he was coming back from somewhere though.” 

Somewhere?

Lady’s eyes half blinked, looking at her teasingly. “...Am I sensing something here?”

“What? No. No. It's just that he’s um… usually an on-time kind of man.” Jade tried her best to act indifferent, looking away from her to observe the doorway decorations.

“Oh really? I see, I see.” Ladybug nodded, “Because I might have heard some stuff from Kyle~” 

Jade’s eyes opened wide at the statement, her mind already racing at the thought of what Gaz had said to his girlfriend. “What did he sa–”

 “There’s me trusty Ginger!”

A voice which she could identify from a mile away as Soap’s, called to her. Donning the green military-issued sweater above his uniform, which he rolled to the elbow, he walked in both women’s directions with a chocolate biscuit in hand. 

“Well hello there, Ocean Eyes.” Jade softly hugged Soap’s ever-bulky body while he patted her back several times. “How's your arm? Healing well?” She remembered how Soap got shot by Graves in Las Almas and how both of them, along with Ghost, had to survive the Shadow’s manhunt in the city. Even in Chicago he had to force through it. 

“You’re one to talk. How's your side?” Soap pointed at her left side while munching through his biscuit.

“You got hit?! Where?!” Ladybug, who’d been in Urzikstan to help Farah and Alex for nearly a year after Barkov’s demise, hadn't been updated much about Las Almas. Looked like Gaz left that tiny little detail. 

“She did get hit.” 

“No! No no. I didn't get hit per se. We were… breaking into the Las Almas prison to free Alejandro and the Vaqueros - a little bullet missed my hip, but it did leave a teeny tiny graze.” Jade made a little gesture with her thumb and index fingers.

“It wasn't.” Soap retorted, which made Ladybug look even more concerned. “You almost fell from the prison walls during our escape and LT had to catch you and carry yo–”

“ANYWAY.” Jade tried to dismiss the conversation away from Ladybug’s growing unease. “It was quite literally us four against a thousand. So we had our own hits. It was a month ago, right? I literally walked my way here! See? Now. Where's the man of the house?”

“Thought you want to camp in that doorway.” Price's gravelly voice called from the living room, his head peaking out from one of the walls. “Come in and close that damned door will ya? The forecast said it’s going to rain snow unless you muppets want to shovel the snow.” 

With Jade closing the door, they all walked together towards the interior of the house, where the warmth from the fireplace radiated throughout the room cozily. And holy shit. The word ‘family heirloom’ could perfectly describe the house. Some of the furniture looked like it was carved specifically for the house, soft carpets covered some parts of the wooden floor, and portraits of whom she assumed as the former Prices hung on the walls. The exterior of the house didn’t do the property justice at all. Soap had said that this was the Captain’s own house which he’d left mostly abandoned since he resided in Herefordshire. She wouldn’t lie, if Price turned out to be a secret old money she wouldn’t be surprised. 

Jade’s eyes found Gaz at the kitchen island wearing the same exact outfit as Soap and Price, but with an apron around his waist while he pulled out another batch of chocolate cookies from the oven. Gaz noticed her presence when Ladybug approached him and pointed her way. “Oh, Jade! Come here and eat the salmon. You’re not allergic to fish aren’t you?” This sight of Gaz was pretty surprising for her. He seemed more cheerful and open around Ladybug, contrasting to his serious demeanour in the field. It was refreshing, to say the least.

Jade put down her bag on one of the sofas where Price sat on the edge of it, shuffling a deck of cards in his hands skilfully. “Nope, no allergies. Have all of you eaten yet? Sorry I’m late.” 

“We have, and apparently my Ladybug over here is a vacuum cleaner of food.” Gaz was replied with an elbow to the rib by his partner. 

Taking her own plate of baked salmon, Jade watched from just enough distance as Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ladybug played a game of poker on the desk. The atmosphere was tense from the rivalry but hearty at the same time, their laughs filled the room as Price caught Soap hiding a card on his sleeves, which resulted in a 50 push-up penalty for the Scot. Apart from the chaos, Jade couldn’t help but find herself trying to find that one particular big man. 

The memories of sharing sleepless nights together on the rooftops of Fuerzas Especiales base rushed down her mind. Those moments made up the few moments of peace that they could muster up from the chaos of Las Almas. Just the both of them, the night sky, two cups of tea, and the lights from the city of souls. All those times they spent together completely with his mask on. Only when he decided to take off his mask in front of the 141 and Vaqueros did she ever see his face. 

She’s good with faces. That’s an absolute requirement for her job. That image of his face was ingrained in her brain. How the black paints surrounded his surprisingly soft eyes, how the sun reflected his whiskey brown eyes and light eyelashes, the scars on his cheeks from wearing the mask, and his strong jaw. 

Jade only wished she could enjoy the actual sight of it once more. 

The former MI6 turned her head a number of times, making up blueprints of Price’s residency inside her mind. This house didn’t have a rooftop, and from the looks of it, all the bedrooms are located on the upper floors. Ghost likes looking out at the scenery, so he might’ve gone upstairs, broke into one of the many bedrooms and looked out on of the balconies as he sipped on a cup of tea. Considering how Ghost was, he’d break into his captain’s house without anyone knowing about it just fine. 

All the while the others were playing, Jade finished her plate of grilled salmon and found her way towards the kitchen sink to wash the dishes. She came the latest, the least she could do was helping cleaning the kitchen area. That task came to a halt when her phone vibrated. She was confused at first, but when her eyes read ‘Col. Vargas 🤠’ on the screen, Jade immediately accepted the video call. 

“Hola, Coronel! Como estas?”

“Hola, Compa! Muy bien, muy bien.” Alejandro's gravelly voice greeted her excitedly as his video showed on Jade’s screen. She could tell that the sun was still up in Mexico judging by the light on his face. He looks like he’s standing just outside his family’s house. Quite rare to see the colonel in other attire than his military ones, but as Jade saw his blue shirt tucked inside his blue jeans, she couldn’t help the snicker that came out of her mouth. She remembered that Alejandro had revealed to her privately that he had two beautiful daughters who lived in Mexico City with their maternal grandparents. “I’m in Mexico City with my family to celebrate Christmas. We’re about to head to church for the Christmas Eve sermon.” Alejandro continued in Spanish, but something caught his eye. “Wait, Jade. Where are you? Is that Soap?”

Jade lifted the phone above her head to help him see the place clearly, “Yes, that’s Soap, Captain Price, Gaz, and that’s Eleanor, Gaz’s girlfriend.” She said in his language. Her fingers pointed at each soldier as they slammed their cards on the table, chaos ensuing in the middle of them. “This is Captain Price's house in London. He invited us all for dinner, and now that it’s done, they’re playing poker, aggressively.”

Now it’s Alejandro’s turn to laugh. “I’m assuming they’re on their second bottle of whatever alcohol they’re consuming.”

“Yep. Looks like Captain Price is richer than he lets on. He has 4 bottles of wine from the 1800s! Can you believe it?!” 

Jade and Alejandro continued their video call, sitting in her former position on the sofa. Despite Soap’s slight dislike that they were conversing in Spanish as he couldn’t understand what they were talking about, Jade kept on going. Jade learned that Rudy stayed in Las Almas to rebuild and restore the city after the Shadows wreaked havoc, encouraging Alejandro to leave the city and unite with his family. 

“So. Onto the most important topic…” Alejandro’s voice sounded deeper and his eyebrows lifted. Jade had learned after a thrilling week working together that those were a sign that he was onto something cheeky. “Where’s the Ghost?” 

Again, Jade’s heart beat faster at the mention of his name, and her stomach grew warmer. Damn it. “Um, I don’t know where he is. He is here somewhere in Price’s house, but… I haven’t seen him yet.”

“He’s there? Have you tried the rooftops?”

“This house doesn’t have a rooftop. It does have a lot of rooms with balconies, though. But I didn’t see any open window from the outside.” Her head started to look side to side, “ I don’t know if this house has a back or side entrance, he might be somewh– Alejandro!!” Jade stopped when she realized that Alejandro was laughing his belly off. 

“You’re looking for him too, don’t you?” The colonel guffawed. “Aaah, You should’ve seen your face when you were explaining where he is to me.”

“That’s–” 

“Look. I wished you luck with him back in Las Almas. It’s only natural that I asked for ‘updates’!”

“Keep fighting the good fight, hermano.”  “To the bitter end, my brother.” Soap handshook the Mexican colonel and sergeant as they were about to leave Las Almas. He then turned around and tapped Ghost’s shoulders twice, heading towards the rear end of the aircraft to unite with Price and Gaz. The lieutenant though, stood still on the tarmac a few steps behind Jade.  “Good luck amigos y amiga.” Jade hugged Rudy warmly, tapping her back a few times before holding out her hand to handshake Alejandro. Instead of a handshake, Jade saw a wide grin on Alejandro’s face and opened his arms wide, indicating that he was waiting for a hug as well. “Come here, Hermana!” Jade chuckled, expecting that a handshake wouldn’t be enough for the Mexican. She obliged by stepping forward and warped her arms around Alejandro’s figure.  What Jade didn’t see though, was how Ghost’s body tensed slightly behind her. Alejandro sneakily observed the man’s movement, looking visibly uncomfortable. No matter how skilled Ghost was at appearing as still as he could, Alejandro could see that this skill of his just disappeared when he was in Jade’s presence. Before Alejandro let go, he lowered his voice and spoke to Jade’s ear. “Que te vaya bien con el fantasma.” ‘Good luck with the Ghost.’ Jade blushed profusely when she translated that sentence in her mind, stepping away from the hug to punch his shoulder lightly “ey!!” She looked over to his side, finding that Rodolfo was also grinning ear to ear.  “I mean it, Jade.” Alejandro spoke in Spanish, tilting his head as a sign that he was serious. Jade’s head nodded in surrender a few times. As much as they wanted to converse more, her job wasn’t over yet. Her legs started to walk backwards, “Gracias, Alejandro, Rudy. Cuidate.”   Alejandro observed as she turned around, finding Ghost’s waiting figure right in front of her. She then tapped his chest plate once, jogging her way towards Price, Gaz, and Soap on the aircraft. That sight made the colonel scoff, glancing at Rudy, who looked as amused as he was. Just as Ghost was about to turn around as well to join his teammates, Alejandro called to his name. “Ghost!”  The lieutenant turned around.  “No te pierdas carnal!” “A huevo!”

“The both of you have forced me and Rudy to watch a telenovela the entire time! Please tell me that you’ve at least done something together after Chicago.”

“We traded numbers…” She said nervously.

“And then? Did he text first?”

Jade grimaced, expecting that Alejandro wouldn’t react well to her next response. “We… haven’t texted at all.”

“NO MAMEEESSS!!” Ale facepalmed on the video call like he just watched the Mexican national football team fail to score a goal in a World Cup match. “Ghost… I swear… you need to do better.” 

Jade stood up and walked over to the kitchen aisle yet again and put her phone on a leaning position on the wall, hoping that Alejandro’s shout of despair didn’t reach the other soldiers. “Well– what if he doesn’t want to continue this… whatever’s going on between us?” she grabbed a white mug and a cocoa mix, putting in 3 spoons of the choco powder inside. “You’ve seen how he is. I don’t want to hope too much.” Jade confessed to the colonel, pouring hot water on the mug and stirring the contents with a spoon until the sweet aroma hit her nose.

“Oh you don’t know that yet, right?” Ale replied, “Do you want to have a relationship with him?”

A relationship with Ghost? 

That sounded crazy to say, but if she's being honest with herself, yes. Yes, she did. 

“Yeah…” She started to walk towards the hallway on the side of the kitchen with the warm mug. The walkway looked narrow and led to the rear side of the house. She guessed that if this conversation was prolonged, they were going to need a place where Soap wasn’t shouting his lungs off. Her green eyes looked to the end of the room, where a wooden door similar to the front door was present in front of her. A back door perhaps?

“Okay. Now one of you needs to start. Ghost clearly isn’t starting because he’s a stupid, bad man. But maybe you can convince him that you’re worth his time.”

Worth his time? “How?” 

“Start by finding him.”

The former MI6 walked towards the back door and glanced over the glass parts where the outer side of the house was visible. Just then, she registered a man with a large frame, sitting on the stairs of the back porch. He wore the same attire as the rest of the SAS members - their military uniform covered with a military-issued sweater, and layered further with a familiar black jacket that she’d seen before in Chicago. The man had a mask over his head, but she could see that it was currently lifted up as he took a sip of what she assumed was bourbon. 

That’s definitely Ghost.

“Jade? What happened?” Alejandro asked curiously as she stopped speaking earlier.

“I found him.” She muttered.

Alejandro’s lips curved, slowly forming a smile. 

“The floor is yours, Jade.”

—

*5 hours earlier*

Johnny : 'LT. You’re coming, right?'

Ghost looked down at his phone, staring at the message that Johnny had sent him, not planning to text anything back. 

He hated Christmas. No, he didn’t hate decors, the bright lights, the red, green, and white that coloured the streets and buildings around him. No, he’s not petty like that. He’s indifferent to it. 

What he hated was how the month of December always reminded him of the darkest part of his life. 

He lowered his phone and tucked it inside his pocket, going back to the sight of his family’s gravestones right in front of him. His mother, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew. 

Ghost remembered the blood; the foul stench hitting his nose as he stood frozen, witnessing the lifeless bodies of his family – all surrounded by the colourful lights of red, green, and blue from the Christmas tree that they were decorating. If only he realized sooner that his enemies wouldn’t settle with torturing him. If only he wasn’t so naive and thought that his battles were done as soon as he was home. How wrong he was. 

How fucking wrong he was. 

Ghost’s tears had dried out a long time ago. Every Christmas Eve he always visited their graves. He’d cry for the first three years, but now he’d settle with staring at the stones, not a word coming out of his mouth. Just him, alone with that memory.

His phone vibrated again. Johnny’s still messaging him about the dinner at Price’s house. Ghost closed his eyes in annoyance and sighed, taking his phone and turning it on to find a few messages.

Johnny : ‘Captain said not to disturb you during Christmas week’

Johnny : ‘Idk what you’re doing now’

Johnny : ‘but I hope you’re enjoying yourself’

Ghost moved his thumb on the keyboard screen, wanting to text Johnny that he was not coming and to stop messaging him. 

Johnny : ‘Also’

Johnny : ‘Jade’s coming’

His thumb paused right above the send key. 

Fuck. 

Why did his heart beat faster suddenly? What was this warmth in his stomach? His memories of his family’s death disappeared, and suddenly all the moments with Jade came down rushing through his mind. 

The moment when they met – where they shot at each other in Verdansk, leaving a permanent mark on his left ear – The sleepless nights in Las Almas, the meaningless conversations, their moments in battle together. How beautiful she was when she kept her calm during pressing and stressful situations, the grace in her movements…

Fuck. 

Fucking hell.

Ghost had read Price’s invitation two weeks before in their group chat. He already made up his mind from the beginning that he wasn’t coming. He never really enjoyed parties or any form of gathering at all. That’s how he’d been living for three decades of his life. Why did that one mention of her name from Johnny instantly change his resolve just like that? 

He didn’t reply to Johnny at all, only leaving the two blue check marks indicating that he’d read Johnny’s messages. 

And that… was how Ghost ended up sitting on Price’s back porch. The crescent moon was high in the sky. Little bits of snow started to fall down alongside the windy weather. For the first time of the day, he had his skull-painted balaclava up to his nose in order to take a sip from his glass of bourbon. 

When he had arrived at Price’s front yard with his sedan, Ghost saw the amused surprise in Price, Gaz, and Lady’s faces, but he also took a glimpse of Johnny’s smirk on his lips. The sergeant now knew the way to his heart, and it infuriated him. God damn him.

The sun was already long gone by that time, and he could see that the others were already in the midst of eating their dinner. 

He’d sneakily taken a glance around Price’s luxurious house.

No Jade yet. 

Ghost had conversed for a while with Price, took his own plate of baked salmon, poured himself a glass of bourbon, and excused himself to the back door. For an hour and a half, he sat right there, slowly sipping on his alcohol. Just as he thought that she wasn’t coming and that Johnny had lied to him, the wooden door behind his back opened.

He turned around and found the woman herself.

Jade. 

Her ginger hair was braided like usual, but stopped on the back of her head, letting the long hair run freely down her back and shoulders. The deep red turtleneck which usually looked out of place in warm weather such as Las Almas currently fitted perfectly on her figure. A green pair of wide pants hung from her hip, letting the fabric run freely downwards instead of wrapping around her legs like the jeans he’s used to seeing her wearing during their mission together.

Ghost caught her green eyes, reflected by the moonlight, and he could easily tell that she wore some sort of makeup. What the name was he couldn’t bother to remember, but she looked… beautiful.

His heart was already beating pretty fast from the alcohol, but now it’s going even faster, and don’t even start about the butterflies that were flying rampant inside his stomach right now. 

She only stared at him, her breaths turning to cloud along with the vapour from the cocoa mug she was holding. For a few seconds, they stayed like that, until Jade finally started.

“Why aren't you inside? It's cold.”

Can you miss someone’s voice? Apparently you can, judging by the unexplainable sense of relief that washed over him after he heard her voice. The last time he heard her voice was back in Chicago, a month ago. He then turned around again, facing Price's plain backyard to try hiding any signs from his exposed mouth that she might read. The former MI6 had this scary skill to read every body language of any person. Sure, he had a mask up to his nose, but he wouldn’t take any chances.

“I don't like parties.” He replied.

“It's cold.” 

“Better than whatever's going inside. And I have my friend right here to keep me warm.” He slightly lifted the bourbon glass, shaking it slightly to make the content swirl.

Jade hummed. She observed his glass and noticed the alcohol. For all their nights in Las Almas, Ghost always drank tea, never alcohol. Of course, they were in active duty, so drinking liquor could cost them so much, but he'd said himself that he pretty rarely drinks, since Ghost had confessed that he liked being in control of what he did. She wondered why he was drinking, but she let it go. Instead, Jade stepped two stairs down, and sat beside Ghost’s left, drinking her own cup of hot chocolate.

“Why are you here?” Now it's Ghost’s turn to start. 

She wondered how to answer that. If she's being honest, the answer would be ‘to be with you’, but she deleted that response in her mind.

“I… don't really like parties.”

“…You don't look the type.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s ‘my’ type?”

Ghost took another sip from the glass, “Likes being around people. Gets your energy from a communal space.”

The former MI6 scoffed. “Fooled you right there. Maybe it’s just me, but being around people automatically sets me in observation mode. Don’t get me wrong, I like people. It’s just tiring.”

“Hm.”

Another few seconds of silence, before she continued. “What about you? Why are you here?”

“Gets noisy inside, especially if Johnny's starting to lose his grip on reality.” Ghost immediately answered, almost like he expected Jade to ask him that. “He’s a screamer.”

“Hey how's your graze wound? It's healing well right?

Jade suddenly asked, which surprised Ghost. He glanced at Jade, finding the woman herself looking straight into his brown eyes. He should admit, her face so close to his caught him off-guard, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, creating a cloud in the air. Ghost then took a sip from his glass again before answering. “Yeah. I changed the dressing every once in a while. It's just a scab now. “ To be honest, he kind of forgot about the wound on his right shoulder. It was disgustingly painful during their time in Las Almas and Chicago considering how he must carry the chestplate and his gears on that shoulder. The memory of Jade tending to that wound of his at the safehouse came rushing down his brain.

“Okay, that's a relief then. Just make sure you don't scratch it or it'll open again.”

“I know the drill, Midget, I’m not a kid. This isn't my first rodeo. What about you?”

“Wh-what about me?”

“Your hip.”

The former MI6 sucked both of her lips between her teeth. “It’s fine.”

“Fine how?”

Jade now looked at Ghost’s brown eyes, intensely gazing at her own. He wasn’t taking ‘It’s fine’ as an answer. He was always an intense person. She suddenly remembered the feeling of being safe in his hands when he carried her towards the van, arms under her shoulder and knees when she couldn’t bear the pain in her hip any longer. 

How Ghost had slept the whole night, in a sitting position on a chair beside her bed in the safehouse with his mask on, staying right by her side.

“Oi. Midget. I’m asking you.”

That snapped her out of her thoughts. “Huh? Yeah! It’s a bit itchy at times, but I can manage. It’s healing well.”

That answer seemed to finally satisfy him. “Hm.”

Jade went back to her hot chocolate, but Ghost didn’t leave her. He could see her shivering a little bit in the cold. The tip of her nose and ears had turned rosy.

“You cold?”

“Hm? No! No, not at all. Why?"

“You're shivering. And where's your jacket? A single layer of sweater won't help with this fucking weather.”

“Well– About that. I was at the orphanage for Christmas gift trading earlier before coming here. One of the kids got… too excited and spilt apple juice all over my jacket, so I had to take it off.” She admitted. 

“What, you're gonna freeze yourself to death here? It's 1 degree out.”

“I don't want to be insiiiide.” Jade whined, almost childish. A sight Ghost would never admit he found cute.

“Your survival instincts are out of the damn window. I thought you were a seasoned MI6 black agent.” Somehow he found more ways to ridicule her.

The ginger scowled, pouting her lips before standing up “…Whatever, I'm going inside”

“Fuckin’ hell– stay. Stay here. Sit back down.” Ghost’s swift hand grabbed her forearm a bit too harshly, prompting her to balance her hand as a drop of her hot chocolate spilt out to the white snow below. 

“Why? You want me to freeze to death?” Regardless, she sat back down, closer to his body now.

“You're the only company I've got that isn't annoying. So stay here.” Ghost unexpectedly moved his arms to take off his black jacket, revealing his green sweater underneath, and much to Jade’s surprise, his arms loomed over her and rested the dark clothing around her shoulders. Her bewilderment failed to hide itself when his hand patted her shoulder a couple of times to set it in place. “There. Better?”

Wow. It’s… warm. And most importantly, It’s his warmth. 

One of her hands left the warm mug, softly tracing her fingers along the hem of the jacket to tuck it closer to her chest. “...Better.”

Shit. Ghost didn’t know the sight of Jade beneath his jacket would create more butterflies to fly like bees inside his stomach. In an attempt to suppress it, he sighed, leaning back and closed his eyes to take a deep breath. 

…before he opened his eyes, finding a mistletoe hanging right above them, placed neatly. And purposefully. It’s like a damned grenade trap. “…Fuckin’ hell…”

“STOP SWEARING!!” Jade exclaimed, annoyed at his shortage of vocabulary. “You've said those words twice in the same mi– What are you looking at…?” Jade looked at Ghost, who was leaning back while his head hung backwards on his neck. 

She looked up as well, finding the mistletoe that made him swear. “…oh, blimey.” There was not a single Christmas decoration on the back side of the house but this one. Price was a person who had a high attention to detail, but Christmas decoration was not one of them. Heck, he barely decorated the house at all. That thing was hung far too strategically.

Both Ghost and Jade were thinking of the same thing.

Soap. 

Ghost sighed, “Just ignore it.” 

“But it's bad luck though.” Jade thoughtlessly said.

“You don't really believe that, do you.”

“Well I don't! It's hanging vegetation. Still, I'm saying it could be true.” Her hands gestured at the mistletoe above her.

“What, you want a kiss?”

The woman gasped, almost offendedly. “HUH? KISS YOU??”

“Who else is underneath this fucking mistletoe?” 

She joked, trying desperately to hide her panic at the thought of kissing him. “A ghost.”

“Fucking funny. Also what's with you? It's just one kiss.”

Jade stopped speaking. Her eyes widened as she pursed her lips. “Um…. I just don't…”

Confusion fell down Ghost’s half-masked expression, quickly reading her reaction, until he got to the conclusion. “...Don't fucking tell me you haven't had your first kiss yet.” 

When he saw how Jade couldn’t respond anymore, Ghost pinched his forehead.“Bloody hell... Then why did you say you want it?!”

“I NEVER SAID I WANT IT??? I just said that the bad luck thingy could be true!”

“Well fuck us for five hundred years then!” 

“DAMMIT– OKAY!! KISS ME!”

Those words perplexed him, not realizing that he was practically glaring at her that his eyes might come out of its socket. The ever-present black paint around his eyes didn’t help to ease the tension either. Jade herself didn’t know which thunder slapped her that she said those words. She wasn’t the kind of person to just spout things without thinking of the consequences first. 

Ghost observed Jade’s face, trying to read her expression, to see whether or not she was joking or serious. Because in the deepest part of his heart, he’d hoped that she was joking. But even deeper, he hoped that she wasn’t. “…you don't mean that.”

Jade wondered if her mouth had disconnected from her brain. What she was saying came out literally the opposite of what her instincts were. “You heard me. You can kiss me. Just a peck though.” What was she thinking? This was NOT what she wanted to say. Or was it? “How many women have you kissed?” Aaand now she’s prying onto his past? Great job, Jade. 

He used to be young, that’s for sure. Despite his father and brother mocking him and his mother for it, he used to go to school and met a few women during his learning days. Only two of them, though, and that was all before he got into military. He didn’t know what commitment was back in the day, and his ‘girlfriends’ didn’t know that either. “...a few.” 

“Were they experienced?”

“Probably so.” 

Okay, so he had some experience. That somehow made her feel easy. “Well… I have zero experience on the act. So… be gentle, okay?”

“…Fine.“ Ghost breathed as he put down his almost-empty glass on the stone staircase behind him, finding Jade doing the same. 

The coldness of the wind prickled her skin, making her realize that this was not a dream. He’s about to kiss her, and it’s from a mistletoe. Out of nowhere, she remembered the overflow of mistletoe that the orphanage received earlier. Could that be a sign? Either way, she snapped back to her current state, where Ghost was visibly looking at her lips, and that sight made her heart drum twice the speed. At this point, she might explode. “Okay. So… what do I do? Do I tilt my head a little, or do I open my lips just a little bit? Should I lean in to kiss you too?  Or like–”

“Just. Stay. Still.” Ghost shut her up before she could blabber more.

“Okay okay okay”. 

Jade watched Ghost secure his mask up to his nose, revealing his mouth. When she glanced at his lips, Jade could see a tinge of red on his cheek, but she could dismiss that as a reaction to the cold or from the alcohol he was drinking. When he leaned in slowly, Jade could see him so close, the closest he's ever been to her. His eyelashes were longer than she's ever realised, fluttering against his skin, the little healed scars on his face–

Jade sucked her lips into her teeth, "WAIT WAIT WAIT." Making the man flinch and pull away in confusion.

 "What?! Do you wanna do this or not?!" Ghost exclaimed.

"I do, I do! It's my first time! Just–”

“I said all you need to do is stay. Still.”

“I've never done this before, literally! I'm 29 and I've never kissed someone!”

Ghost fell silent as Jade hid her face on her palm.

“…I have never fallen for anyone before.” She confessed. “I wanted my first kiss to be with the one and only, and now… “ Her hands wildly gestured to the mistletoe above them, “someone happened to put a mistletoe right above us.”

Jade was a lot of things. A formidable fighter, a dependable ally, a brave operator who’d jump from a cliff with you, a spawn of the devil herself when she does her thing. However, at that moment, Ghost didn’t see any of those at all. All she saw was a vulnerable woman, curled up in a ball because she couldn’t fathom the concept of a single kiss.  

After a few moments of him letting her collect her thoughts, Ghost muttered, “…Jade, if you're not ready, then we can just pretend that it doesn't exist. You don't have to.”

“You know what?” She tapped both of her knees with a considerable force, like she just made up her mind about something. “I gotta start somewhere right? Besides, when I finally kiss my man, I need to work on my kissing game.”

Ghost couldn’t help the scoff out his mouth. And… ‘her man’, huh? That could be a dream. “'Kissing game'?”

“Yes! Gotta…know what it feels like, at least?”

Ghost observed her expressions yet again. The woman in front of her was looking at him like she’s about to surrender her life to his hands. What, was he about to shoot an apple above her head? To him this was just a kiss after all.

Or was it?

Jade wasn’t his girlfriends during his younger days. She’s an extraordinary woman like no other. 

“…Okay. Look. We're gonna do this slowly. I will do all the work while you can just stay there. Does that work with you?” Ghost started, looking at Jade in the eyes.

She put on the bravest face she could muster up and proceeded with a nod.

“Say it.” The deep timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine, because of course, it wasn’t enough for him. 

“Okay, Ghost.”

“Good. Close your eyes, Jade. Just calm down. Trust me.

As she closed her eyes, she breathed the cold winter air deeply before letting them out. Now that her vision was no more, her other senses had heightened. The sharp cold air stabbing her skin, the smell of hot cocoa on her hands, the faint scent of something that could only come from Ghost's jacket wrapped around her shoulders. 

For a good amount of time, she didn't feel anything other than her surroundings. Jade was expecting something on her lips. Anything from the man that was sitting right in front of her, but none came. She was about to open her eyes and call his name, until something touched her chin, lightly lifting her head to face upwards. And just then, Jade finally felt a soft, tender kiss on her forehead. His lips stayed there only for a second before they parted with her skin, yet it felt like she longed for it for more than eternity. No one has ever laid their lips on her skin before. No one. 

What she was expecting was something on her lips, not her forehead, so when Jade was about to open her eyelids, again, he stopped her by putting his fingers on her left cheek, tenderly sliding them from her rosy cheek to the back of her ear, taking the stray strands of her red hair with them. The hands that killed, that murdered many so more could live, were gingerly touching her face with an unexpected amount of softness. She didn’t know his hands were capable of doing such delicate movements, and neither did he. 

Before she could register what was happening, she felt him getting close again, and for the second time, her expectation betrayed her when Ghost kissed her cheek, just right under her eye. The kiss lasted longer than the one on her forehead, yet Jade couldn’t find any reason to complain. If anything, she wanted his lips to stay on her cheek longer than that. To feel him closer, to feel him more. 

Ghost’s fingers moved on backwards from behind her ear, going through the wilds of her undone hair and finding its place on the back of her head. Heart racing, Jade was expecting another kiss that was not in the designated place. However, when his deep, raspy voice softly said to her, “I’m going to kiss you now.”, she found herself giddy with her eyes closed. Part of her wanted to open her eyes and see what was going on right in front of her, but the other part stood strong against it, not wanting to ruin the moment. 

So when she felt him closing in, Jade gave all control over to him. She relaxed herself, letting Ghost gently pull her head closer to his, to at last, close the distance between their lips.

 It was the softest, slowest kiss possible, filled with unsureness on her part, yet with a sense of certainty and confidence from him, and because of that, Jade let him do his part, leading the kiss to the point that it was enjoyable and… lovely. 

The kiss lasted for only a mere 5 seconds at most, but it felt like hours. Ghost reluctantly pulled back and saw that Jade had already opened her green eyes. Her face was painted with shyness and shock, a pleasant one, as she saw that Ghost had removed his mask entirely, his face right in front of hers, his brown hair still a bit dishevelled from removing his balaclava.

Jade was a heavily trained warrior and an exceptionally skilled individual who stayed calm in times of distress and emergency on the battlefield, a force to be reckoned with, and could be an absolute menace when she wanted to be. Now, seeing the same woman like this – dazed, wide-eyed, a blushing mess, and taken aback by a simple kiss – The sight made him smile softly. 

If only she'd known how long he'd wanted to do that to her.

Palm still resting on the side of her neck, he asked her, “How was that for a first time?”

Jade looked like a robot losing its ability to function. There were no words in her brain to respond to his question. Scratch that. It looked like she didn’t even register what his question was. 

Seeing her so flabbergasted made him let out a deep chuckle. “Midget. I’m talking to you.”

That bastardized nickname snapped her out of her thoughts, making her blink rapidly, seemingly trying to sort her jumbled brain. Jade looked at the man who just claimed her first kiss right in his dark, brown eyes. 

He’s still right in front of her, face looking at her delightfully with a sweet smile, not like the usual dark, ready-to-kill gaze. It’s almost like looking at a different person entirely. 

“Uh… Umm–” Jade couldn’t form words.

Another chuckle, “You okay?”

"...this is a weird request, but" A pause, "Can you… do that again?"

Never in a thousand lifetimes, he would ever expect that answer from her. "...You want me to kiss you again?"

"Yeah. Can you do that?" She spoke with a low voice. "Please?"

His eyes opened wide at her request. Confused, but amazed at the same time. Did that request mean she liked it? Her expressions said that she did, though. Or did she just want to make sure? Nevertheless, Ghost decided to oblige and leaned in again to kiss her. 

Jade closed her eyes again and felt his lips against hers for the second time that night. His kiss was as soft and as tender as the first time. This one, though, she decided to take in the feeling of his rough lips, the way he tilted his head to fit hers, the way his large hand lightly pulled her in and softly kissed her. All the sensations she felt from his actions became ecstasy.

Her hands lifted their way up to find Ghost's cheeks. Jade could swear she heard a small gasp from the man. Fingers gliding along the side of his face, she could feel his stubbles grazing her skin. It was such a surreal sensation, to think that this is the face of the man who got branded as a ghost, a myth, who wears the mask to hide who he is. Right now, she's having her palm on the skin of his face, and he allowed her to. 

No one had touched the skin on his face in years. No one ever managed to get their hands on his face save for enemies who sought to kill him and punched his mask before meeting their demise with his knife. The only form of touch he remembered was of his father, who was all but loving.

With the tip of her thumb, Jade traced the scars on his face. Her warm hands instantly built a gentle fire on his skin. The feeling of such a tender touch was almost like meeting a stranger to him. But if it's a stranger, why did he find himself missing it so much? Why did he yearn for it so? Her touch ignited a warmth that he never knew he needed. 

At that time, the woman he was kissing felt more like home than anything and anyone ever did. He felt like he could just melt right there and then. Here Ghost thought that he was the one kissing her, but now it was like she was the one casting some sort of magic spell on him. 

Soon, their hands moved, Jade’s hands left his cheeks and found his wrist who was holding the back of her head. He almost forgot the feeling of someone’s hand on his own, but before he knew it, he felt her other hand grasping his sweater, right above his heart, crumpling the cloth. As they went on, he couldn’t just stay still anymore. Ghost’s other hand also found its way to her back, lightly pressing on her. He wanted her closer, he needed her close.

Ghost snapped himself out of his thoughts and pulled back, catching Jade off guard. 

The both of them looked into each other's eyes as they caught their breaths, not noticing that they'd been kissing for the last minute. Faces extremely red from racing hearts and rushing blood, clouds of cold air escaping their mouth from the cold, for a moment they thought they knew this was just because of a single mistletoe, yet deep down, they knew this was something more. 

Not hearing anything from one another, Ghost took his hand back from her neck and waist as Jade parted her hands from him to her lips with her hands. 

The man spoke first, "You need more?"

"Yes– I mean– No! That was enough." Words stumbled their way out of her mouth. "Uh… So… that happened. I just had my first kiss."

Ghost couldn't help the smile, "I just stole your first kiss."

"No. You didn't steal it." She denied, "If anything, I'm glad you are my first kiss."

Hearing those words, Ghost could feel his heart racing again, the world suddenly felt warmer. 

"I'm sorry you have to kiss me, though. You've always hated me." Jade continued with a laugh.

"Who says I hate you?" 

That made her look at him, and what she saw was the most gentle face she'd ever seen him. Again, she didn't know he was capable of that expression. "If I hated you, I wouldn't ask you to stay, wouldn't I?" 

That's a true statement. "You're right. So we're past the "stay away from me" phase now?" 

"Our first meeting was in Verdansk. Situation was out of control and we were off to a bad start." He explained, "And we just kissed. We're way past that now."

Smiling, Jade pursed her lips before saying, "So… are we still friends?" 

"Friends?" He glanced at her.

"Yep."

"Friends then." Confirmed Ghost. 

"Who just kissed each other."

"Because someone hung a fucking mistletoe on the back porch." He retorted while gesturing to the decoration above them. 

The woman laughed out loud before looking at the man, who was also having a chuckle of his own. 

That's the first time she heard him – saw him – this happy. Had he always been this… handsome? She'd only looked at his face once before, which was when he revealed himself to the team in the Los Vaqueros safehouse in Las Almas, and then, never again.

But if this was what Jade could see beneath the mask – his happy face, the crows feet on the corners of his eyes, the corners of his lips turning upwards, and the fact that she just learned that he had shallow dimples when smiling – then she wished the mask could just disappear. Forever.

Because after this… he would  put on that mask again. 

This might be the last time she saw him without the mask.

When would she see him without it again?

Out of nowhere, some unexplainable force of will inside her made Jade lean in and left a peck on Ghost's cheek. 

The SAS lieutenant instantly looked at the woman, flabbergasted. 

Jade herself gasped loudly, covering her face in disbelief of her own action. She couldn't see it, but in his eyes, her face was as red as her hair.

Why did she do that? What made her do that?!

They swore it was the most deafening silence in their lives. Both of them stayed like that for a good 10 seconds, seemingly trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened.

"Oh my God… OH MY GOD. I’M SORRY. I’M SORRY!” Jade uttered in absolute panic.

Ghost stayed still in silence, his eyes wide open glaring at hers. 

Oh shit. Shit shit shit. He’s mad. HE’S MAD. 

“It– It's freezing! I'm going inside!" Jade scrambled to stand up, taking the cocoa mug with her and went to the doorway, before remembering that she still had Ghost's jacket on her shoulder. 

"Ja- Lottie! Wait–" He was about to stand up to follow her, but his words got cut by his jacket flying straight to his face. When he removed the clothing, she'd already disappeared into the merry party inside. 

Touching the part where Jade kissed him, Ghost slowly stared back at the falling snow in front of the porch. He hadn't worn his jacket yet, and somehow he didn't feel cold at all.

It's so hot. 

It's too hot. 

He buried his face in his palms, before running them through his brown hair. She didn't have to do that, didn't she? There was a mistletoe, they kissed because of it, and that was it, right? 

Then what was that peck for? There wasn't any obligation involved that required her to kiss him again. 

Ghost could feel his heart pumping blood faster than it ever did, faster than when he was on the battlefield, faster than when he ran laps every day. Butterflies were rushing deep inside his stomach, flying all around his insides like it just wanted to break out of his body.

He didn't know why, but if the kiss and her touch were a gentle fire that built slowly, that little peck felt like he just got struck by a damn thunder. 

Violently.

And yet, he was so happy about that little peck - weirdly more so than the kiss - Too fucking happy. 

Ghost grasped the sweater right above his heart before muttering to himself, 

"Fuckin’ hell…" 

Jade didn't melt his cold heart. 

She set it on fire. 

—

Price couldn’t believe the situation he was in.

His sergeants, Kyle and Soap, along with Ladybug, leaning on the back door of his house, looking at Ghost and Jade kissing at his back porch. Fucking spectacular.

“See, Gaz?! I told you–”

“SHUT UP Mate they’re gonna hear your loud arse.” Gaz nudged the drunken Scot’s rib to silence him. 

Nevertheless, the plan worked. Gaz and Ladybug was the provider of the decorations since Price didn’t have any Christmas Decorations in this house in London. When Soap arrived with a mischievous look on his face and told the couple about “Operation Red Skull”, they were automatically IN on it. 

And who would’ve fucking guessed? They made his house a home ground for matchmaking, and they succeeded. They weren’t his best subordinates for nothing after all.

Suddenly, Price heard a loud gasp from the three in front of him. His captain persona suddenly kicked in and stepped forward, shoving both of his sergeants to see the situation clearly.

There they saw Jade and Ghost, looking at each other, with Jade’s face looking like she was absolutely shocked. 

“Oh my God… did she just sneak another kiss to him?!” Ladybug exclaimed with a whispering voice.

“FUCK! I didn’t have a clear visual.” Gaz followed.

“I think it was just a peck to his cheek??” Soap added.

“Everyone fall back!” Price commanded, and just like muscle memory, they all scrambled back to the living room, taking their respective deck of poker cards and sat around the messy table to pretend like they were still playing.

Soon after, Jade herself opened the back door with a face that none of them had ever seen before – a combination of shock and embarrassment.

“Jade? You okay?” Lady twisted her body to see Jade.

The former MI6 nodded uncontrollably like a shaking head doll. “Huh? Yeah. Yeah yeah, I’m okay.”

Gaz and Soap were covering their mouths with their deck of cards, unable to hide their smiles. It looked like they were about to break into a massive laughter any second now.

What broke it was Captain Price, who suddenly asked Jade,

“Really? What’s that black spot on your nose, then?”

---

YEEEHHEHEEHEHHHEHE. Sorry for the long wait! Thank you for reading! Hope y'all enjoyed it! (❁´◡`❁)

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated <3

[ghostandsoap]

Call Signs

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! “Gecko” Reader (Ft. John “Soap” MacTavish)

Tags: Angst. Gunshot wound. Blood loss. Shock. Hypothermia. Major injury. Mentions of death. 

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: So I’m not totally sure how accurate some of this is. Also, I’m not sure if parts of this are canon? Read with caution LOL. 

“Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

Military call signs. Clever, crafty, and specific to the person they’re associated with. 

There was one main, golden rule when it came to call signs: don’t complain about your own call sign, or else they’ll give you something worse.

Yours wasn’t exactly one that you were thrilled with in the beginning. It wasn’t as badass as you would’ve liked. If you had been given the opportunity to choose, you would’ve chosen something a little more…tough. But once the name stuck, you were stuck with it. You didn’t dare let even a single word of distaste fall from your mouth. If anybody caught wind of you complaining about it, they’d give you something to really complain about.

Over the years, you had heard some good ones — some more creative than others. Depending on the person, sometimes it was easy to tell the reason behind their given name — other times, not so much. You had some friends that you still didn’t know the reason why they were given their call sign.

For example, Soap was just Soap.  

In the time that you had known him, you had begged Soap to tell you where his call sign came from. You had even rattled and poked at Captain Price a bit to get him to give it up. But both of them always gave you the same answer.  

It’s classified. 

With that answer, you refused to tell anyone the reason behind your own call sign. If they weren’t going to tell you about theirs, then you weren’t telling them about yours. It was only fair, you weren’t telling anybody. Nobody knew. 

Well…nobody except–

“Gecko. This is Ghost. How copy?” The syrupy-thick voice seeped through your ear that was still ringing from gunfire. 

You were cold – miserably cold. You were chilled all the way to the bone to the point where your skin was numb to the touch. The sound of rain registered with you. The sky was pouring buckets, which explained why you were so freezing. There was no telling how long you had been passed out and exposed to the elements. Not a single part of you was dry, despite all your layers underneath and over. 

There was pain somewhere. Your groggy state made it difficult to figure out exactly where you were hurt. To be honest, it hurt just about everywhere. A searing sensation settled in your side, but it was migrating all over. Based on the large red spot leaking through that area, you had a really good idea then of what it was.

“Gecko, do you copy?” Another voice spoke that you knew to belong to Soap.

His voice sounded a million miles away, even though it was literally right in your ear. When your eyes opened, you were eye-level with the ground. You were met with a harsh pavement underneath you, muscles trembling with exhaustion and low temperatures. It took a few seconds for your vision to clear, and it took even more effort for you to raise yourself up even to make it onto your elbows. 

When you were able to take a glance around, it wasn’t any less unsettling. The slick streets of Las Almas weren’t very pleasant in the dead of night. Even worse, you didn’t know where Soap and Ghost were. 

It all came flooding back to you. Graves turned on the team. He tried to kill all of you. You, Ghost, and Soap managed to split up and narrowly escape. It was chaos, the kind that shaved about 15 years off of your life.

“C’mon. Where are you, Gecko?” Ghost asked in an aggravated, yet worried way. 

His question was more out loud and to himself more than anything, but it occurred to you that it probably would be nice for him to hear you.

“I’m here,” You groaned, throat dry and scratchy. “Just barely.”

“Oh shit. You’re alive!” Soap replied, and you swear you could feel Ghost relax from wherever he was. 

“What’s your status?” Ghost demanded.

You were not telling Ghost that you were hurt if you could help it. It was certainly against protocol, but you didn’t need Ghost getting all worked up when the three of you needed to find one another and get the hell out of there. You knew how he could get whenever you were hurt.

“Where are you both?” You rolled onto your knees, ungracefully managing to get on your feet.

You felt any and all blood rush from your face, an overwhelming feeling of nausea taking over your stomach. The bleeding in your side was definitely a problem. You stripped your outer jacket off, wrapping it around your waist and tying it as tight as you could possibly stand it. It wasn’t like the jacket was useful any other way, considering it was soaked.

“No fuckin’ idea. I’m in and out of these shops,” Soap grumbled. “I’m soakin’ wet.”

“Me too,” You managed to laugh, but it came out as more of a struggled exhale. “Ghost, what’s your location?” 

“The church. Soap’s finding his way here,” Ghost said. “What’s your status, Gecko?”

You knew he’d ask again. He always knew when you had dodged a question.

“Just a little rattled,” You lied. “Where’s the church?”

“It’s in the square. Navigate through the shops, they’ll lead you there,” Soap said. “Stay sharp. Shadows are everywhere.”

Survival mode has kicked in for you. You had one objective.

Find Ghost. Don’t get killed. 

“Will do. Ghost, I’m coming to you.” You announced, beginning to take the first few steps to get yourself moving. 

There was a brief moment of silence before he answered – and he gave an answer that you knew had Soap raising a brow.

“Please be safe.” 

A shudder vibrated down your back, and it wasn’t from the bitter cold rain. 

Being involved with Ghost was…complicated. It was a forbidden love in a lot of ways. There was a certain disapproval when it came to 2 members dating within the force. It caused drama sometimes, tension other times. Not to mention, it would be painfully awkward for everybody else if the two of you were to break up. 

But the connection was undeniable. It astounded you just how in touch you felt with him. He did everything he could to protect you, to make you feel safe in an otherwise dangerous world. He spent every spare moment with you. He spilled all of his most pressing thoughts to you, knowing his words of vulnerability were safe with you. Talking to him was easy, spending time with him was easier.

Loving him was easiest of all.

Despite your likeness toward each other, it was a mutual understanding that no one was to know. Ghost didn’t fancy all the teasing, and you wanted at least one part of your life to be private. In front of others, you were Gecko and Ghost. When alone, you were Simon and [Y/N]. 

In a lot of ways, the secretive aspect of it was fun. You liked sneaking around with Ghost in the late hours of the night, tip-toeing around sleeping comrades in an attempt at a moment to yourselves. The nonchalant glances…the discreet, yet lingering touches…the whispers of words of affection. It was all something you couldn’t help but get a kick out of. Anybody in their right mind would find it even a little bit entertaining.

But in all honesty, suspicions from the rest were becoming more and more. 

Price had known immediately. Not even three days after you and Simon decided to give it a try, he could sense that something was different. He couldn’t really explain it. He could just see it in Ghost’s behavior that he was preoccupied with something…someone else. Something that had been sprouting for a long time was now beginning to blossom in front of the captain’s very eyes. Price was a respectful man. He wasn’t one to get in the way of something that wasn’t his business. He kept an eye on the situation here and there, more for a status update than anything. 

It took Gaz about four months. He suspected nothing in the beginning. He managed to miss all the signs at first. Who could blame him? He didn’t know he was supposed to even be looking for them. He didn’t catch any real changes in behavior or attitude. In all honesty, if he hadn’t witnessed it with his very eyes – he might’ve never known. It had been a quick gesture. So quick that Gaz might’ve been able to convince himself that he was mistaken if it hadn’t been so blatantly clear.

Gaz had passed by a bit quicker than he normally would, catching a quick glimpse inside the room he hadn’t planned on entering. What he saw was a kiss being planted on the cheek of Ghost’s mask, and a light laugh from the man as you did so. Gaz had stopped dead in his tracks, stunned at what he had seen. He was tempted to turn around and question you, but he knew better. Gaz figured if he hadn’t been told outright, then it probably wasn’t for him to know. He kept it in the back of his mind, however, and after that, he began noticing everything.

And as for Soap, the poor lad had yet to connect the dots. He had heard some chatter here and there about Gecko and Ghost “getting it on.” Soap didn’t believe it. He hadn’t seen it or heard it for himself, so in his mind, the rumors were null. That didn’t mean that Soap didn’t like the idea of his lieutenant and one of his closest friends seeing each other. He entertained the thought here and there. He supposed that Gecko and Ghost had a nice ring to it, and it was something that he liked to snicker about. Overall, Soap didn’t think about it too much. There was no way that “LT” and the infamous Gecko were together. Almost a year into it, and John MacTavish was oblivious.

It hadn’t taken you long to develop feelings for Ghost. Suddenly, you were worried about where he was and him getting hurt more often than not. This was one hell of a career to be in when you were an anxious worrier. This job had changed for you. Before, there was no fear of living or dying. It was just you. It was all you. But when there was someone else in the cards?

That changed things. That really changed things.

That seemed to be the only fight that you and Ghost ever had. It was always the same one. One of you fell ill or became injured, it was due to defying an order, the other was scared to death that something worse could’ve happened, and most of all – you both wished that the other would be more careful. 

“Careful” was a funny word in this business. No matter how careful you were, that didn’t automatically make you safe. 

Roaming the streets of Las Almas while lethargic, unarmed, and bleeding was a definite reminder of that. You followed Soap’s advice, weaving in and out of the stores and getting whatever supplies you could get your hands on. A homemade weapon was better than no weapon, in your mind. Avoiding any and all Shadows was your main goal. There was no chance of you getting out of that alive, if this bullet lodged in your side didn’t kill you first. You hoped that Soap had made it to the church by now. It made you feel better to know that they were together.

The rain showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. You figured it was fine. It wasn’t like you could get any more wet than you already were. It at least made enough noise to conceal your footsteps, which you didn’t have much control over due to the splitting pain in your core. 

You just had to get to the church. Get to the church, get out of here, and get patched up. You’d be fine. You’d survived worse. You weren’t going to-

There was a flash of white over your vision. While brief, it was enough to startle you to a complete halt. You staggered out of the coffee shop, leaning against the back door for support. This was bad. This was really bad. 

“Ghost…” You squeaked.

Breathing suddenly became overly difficult. Every gulp of air was a struggle to get the next one. There was a significant wobble in your knees as you stumbled into the nearest alley for cover, knowing your legs were close to giving out. It was notably colder in the space between the two buildings, but the feeling of your soul being slowly sucked back into the universe made that seem minor. 

“Talk to me. Where are you?” Ghost asked.

That was when you collapsed, landing on the wet ground with a thud. A whimper escaped from your throat at the impact. Clutching your wounded side was all you knew to do. Your jacket used as a makeshift way of putting pressure on it was proving ineffective. 

“The alleyway,” You strained.  “Left of the coffee shop.”

Ghost and Soap both heard the trouble in your voice. Ghost had only heard that tone once before — and it was when something was really, really wrong. 

“What’s your status now?” Soap questioned.

Lying was no good to you now. They were going to know one way or the other.

“I’m down,” You swallowed. “Must’ve been hit at some point when we got away.” 

There was no way you were making it to the church. You were as good as gone as long as there was still a bullet in your torso. Bleeding out in the streets of a run-down town in Mexico wasn’t how you had envisioned going out. That was a conversation you had held with Soap more than once. Everybody had their preferred way of dying. You had always hoped that you’d meet your demise in a more memorable way. Maybe in a missile explosion or getting ejected from a helicopter in a hot pursuit.

Dying alone was the part and the possibility that always scared you the most.

This wasn’t what you had in mind. Bleeding to death by yourself in an alleyway in the middle of a run-down town in Mexico wasn’t what you had wished for. You knew the day would come…and the day had finally come.

But not if Ghost could help it.

“I’m coming to get you, Gecko. Don’t move,” Ghost remarked sternly, and you could hear that he was on the move. “Soap, we’ll meet you at the church.”

“Copy.” Soap confirmed.

“N-no,” You coughed. “Ghost, don’t leave your location if you’re secure.” 

“None of us are secure. I’m not leaving you,” Ghost said sternly. “Stay where you are. I’m on my way.” 

Arguing with Ghost was usually a lost cause. When Ghost was set on something, he was surely going to stick with it. It was a waiting game now, and it was one of the most helpless feelings to know that you were relying on somebody else to save your ass. You knew that Ghost would be there in half the time that it probably should’ve taken him, but when you’re dying, the minutes feel like eternity. 

This wasn’t the first time that you had been in situations like this. Everybody had their fair shares of “I almost died” stories. But this was different for you. This was the closest you had ever been to not living to tell this story. 

Panicking was most definitely not the way to handle this situation. Very rarely was panicking ever helpful in a dire, critical scenario like this. It was the most eerie feeling – literally feeling yourself dying. The blood loss was becoming less, but only because you were running out of blood to lose. Your heart was beating slower and slower by the second. Breathing was now a voluntary action. As the adrenaline wore off and the reality of the situation set in, your anxiety crept over you and infiltrated any room for collectedness that you had left. 

“G-Ghost.” You sighed, a layer of tears pricking at the base of your lashes.

Ghost heard the near sob in your words, putting an even faster pep in his step. 

“Almost there, Gecko. What’s wrong?” 

“I’m…I’m scared.” You admitted, hot tears mixing with the fresh rain water on your cheeks.

Ghost’s heart shattered into a million pieces, catapulting into every vessel near it like the strongest of shrapnel. He couldn’t stand the thought of you alone and scared. 

“I know. Just keep talking to me and Soap,” He breathed, trying to stay calm for you. “I’m coming, G.”

‘G’ was a nickname inside of a nickname. Ghost only used it sparingly, and it was usually when he was trying to be supportive or sympathetic without giving your secret romantic endeavor away.  

It felt silly to say. Generally speaking, you didn’t really have the right to be afraid. It was the pure passion for your job and your own willingness that put you in dangerous situations. It was your own free will, your own decision that you made the same choice on every single time. It was one thing to be scared when you ended up here accidentally. It was another when it was a consequence of your choices and actions. Courage and strength were supposed to be your strong suits. They were the characteristics that you were supposed to fall back on every time.

Yet here you were. Scared to death of dying – something that you had thought about and been preparing for since you started this gig.

“Simon, I-I…I don’t want to d-”

“It’s ‘cause I clean house quickly.” Soap’s voice echoed in one ear and out the other, suddenly and abruptly.

What? 

Even in a near unconscious-like state, you were still well aware of how that needed some clarification.

“S-say again?” You stuttered, the corners of your vision beginning to go foggy. 

“Soap. ‘Cause I clean house and buildings with speed ‘n accuracy,” Soap repeated. “That’s why they call me Soap.”

Soap!

It made so much sense. You were almost embarrassed that you didn’t think of that yourself. You knew it was Soap’s way of distracting you – keeping your mind off of dying. 

“That’s a good one,” You nearly wheezed. “Thought it was because you were a bath man.” 

“Thanks for that image. Won’t be able to unsee that one,” Ghost piped up. “Almost there, Gecko. Hang on for me, yeah?” 

Ghost’s voice was strained as if he were running. Using every ounce of speed and stamina that he had to get you as fast as possible. He couldn’t lose you like this.

He refused to lose you like this. 

“It’s because I’m quick on my feet, and because I can scale a building faster than anybody.” You croaked.

“Ah. That’s why they call you Gecko?” Soap chuckled, and you could hear the amusement in his words.

“Came up with that one myself.” Ghost smirked.

“Some people might even say geckos are kind of cute.” You joked, but didn’t quite have the energy to laugh.

“I’d agree with that,” Ghost countered, and you could sense Soap’s internal confusion from forever away. “I have a visual on Gecko. Almost at the church, Soap?” 

“Affirmative, Lt. Meet you there.” 

Sure enough, Ghost appeared from seemingly nowhere, like a sent guardian angel. Your vision had tunneled, so you couldn’t see much out of your peripherals. He had never seen you so weak and close to going out on him. His eyes behind the mask were wide and dark, focused on getting you out alive.

“Nice to see you, Lieutenant.” You shivered.

“Glad you’re not a goner,” He returned, removing the glove from his right hand and pressing his fingers against your cheek. “Shit. You’re freezing.”

“How bad do I look?” You slurred, and you fought to keep your eyeballs from rolling back into your head. 

“Probably not as bad as you feel. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Ghost said, working quickly to get himself arranged to carry you.

“Did you see any Shadows on the way?” You gulped, eyelids beginning to flutter. 

“They’re everywhere. We need to get going,” Ghost scooped you up effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing and weren’t dripping wet through multiple layers. “C’mon, love. Let’s get you out of here.”

The journey from the ground to up into Ghost’s arms felt like an airplane takeoff. You were close to slipping out of consciousness.

“We’ll get to Soap and get a vehicle out of here,” Ghost explained, readjusting his arm underneath your knees. “You’re going to be fine, Gecko.”

“G-Guess I wasn’t quick enough this time, huh?” You gave the faintest grin, and Ghost couldn’t help but laugh at your stupid joke.

“Shut up.” 

There was relief in knowing that you were with Ghost. Your chances of dying hadn’t changed, but if you were going to die, this was a better way of going out. 

The fog in your vision became thicker and thicker until you couldn’t see or hear a thing. The darkness surrounded you, sucking you deeper and deeper into nothingness.

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡                                     

The next time your eyes opened, you weren’t met with the dim streets of Las Almas. There was no smell of rain or taste of blood and sweat. The smell this time was sterile air and cheap (but clean) bedsheets. You couldn’t taste anything due to the worst case of cottonmouth that you had ever experienced. The beeping music of an EKG reader and distant chatter was the real giveaway. 

The muscles in your legs were stiff, mainly because you hadn’t moved them in so long. A grunt was all you could manage as you shifted, a new type of discomfort erupting where you had been shot. It was all wrapped up now (professionally and medically wrapped), clean and taken care of. There was an IV in each arm, one administering fluids and the other what you could only imagine to be some kind of pain medication. The white walls and tan floors were weirdly comforting…a sign to let you know that you were safe for now. 

The best sights of all were the ones seated to the left of your bed.

Ghost’s arms were crossed, ankles crossed over each other, and his head lowered and his breathing steady. His outer skull mask was nowhere to be seen, but his balaclava was clinging to his face as always. 

Soap was also snoozing, but less peacefully and quietly. His head was tilted back as far as it possibly could go, his arms draped at his sides, legs stretched all the way out, and snoring so loud that you were surprised you hadn’t already heard it.

You were gentle as you called to Ghost, considering he didn’t always react calmly when being woken up.

“Hey…” You rasped with a dry throat. “Ghost.”

His eyes snapped open, flickering up to you instantly. A monumental wave of relief visibly crashed over him, filling his veins and relaxing his heart.

“You’re awake,” He leaned closer, taking your hand into his. “You’re okay.”

“What…how long has it been?” You asked, bits of your memory coming back to you.

“A few days…four I think, ” He answered with a nod. “How do you feel?”

Honestly, you weren’t sure. Physically you felt terrible, but better than when you were dying of shock, cold, and blood loss. Mentally you felt fuzzy and groggy from being out so long. Emotionally…well, only time would tell.

“Like shit.” You admitted.

“Not surprised.” He grinned under his face covering. 

There were a few beats of silence. You took a few glances around, getting familiar with your new setting. Ghost, though, never took his eyes off of you. They were a light shade of red, and even his balaclava couldn’t hide the dark circles under them.

“Have you slept at all?” You asked, knowing good and well he hadn’t left your side.

“A little bit here and there,” He said, motioning his free hand towards Soap. “This is the most sleep Soap’s gotten this whole time. He’s been out for about 30 minutes.”

Soap was indeed out like a light. You couldn’t imagine how tired the two of them were. There was another stretch of silence. This one lasted longer and was much more tense. This wasn’t an easy encounter. How were you supposed to act when you had barely scraped by with your life?

“Simon?” 

“Yeah, love?”

“How close was it?”

Simon stared for a moment. No formation of an answer to your question occurred for a second or two. He didn’t like that question. He had avoided thinking about it until now. Ghost knew that he’d have to do his own mentality check in with himself in a few days. He had almost lost the most important person in his life…he’d need to deal with that. 

“Too close.” 

Another silence. Another silent thank you that you were here to see another day.

“You were…hypothermic, in shock. You lost a lot of blood before and during surgery,” He said. “Doc said if it had been any later getting you help-”

“Hey,” A groggy voice piped in, unaware that he was interrupting. “Gecko’s up.”

Soap’s eyes were just as bloodshot as Ghost’s, but Soap’s personality was wide awake.

“Happy to see you again, Sergeant. My apologies for being absent from our reunion at the church.” You grinned.

“Yeah, yeah. Left us to do double the work,” Soap chuckled. “Feels weird callin’ you Gecko now that I know where it comes from.”

“Soap doesn’t have the same ring to it, I have to say.” You fired back. 

“Agh, I’m crushed. Right in my pride!” He shrieked. 

The three of you shared a soft laugh. Nothing like Soap’s comedic relief to break the tension. You felt okay. This was just one of those things. One of the things that you signed up for with this job. It didn’t make it any less unnerving, but now you felt like you could really move on from this. 

And you were thankful that you had lived to tell the story. 

There was a sudden itch in your throat. An annoying tickle that reminded you that you hadn’t had a physical sip of water in four days. 

“Do you think that I could get some water?” You wondered aloud, nearly choking on your own words from the parched feeling.

Ghost hadn’t left your side when you were knocked out, and he surely wasn’t leaving now that you were awake.

“Johnny, could you-”

“Yep! On it.” He scurried out and down the hall without another word. 

That left you and Ghost. The man that saved your life by risking his own to come back for you. You didn’t even want to think about what you would’ve done if Ghost had gotten killed at your expense. At least you would’ve died together, but that hardly sounded right or fair. Ghost deserved so much more. 

“You scared me.” Ghost confessed, not even hiding the worry in his voice. 

“I know…I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, doll. Just…” He sighed. “Just really thought that I had lost you this time.” 

There wasn’t anything you could say to make him feel better. You knew that because you had been in his shoes. His head wasn’t in the best place. You knew that even better. But if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that you loved him more than anybody else ever could.

“Thanks for coming back for me.” You whispered, a sudden set of tears slipping down your cheeks.

Ghost raised his balaclava. The material stopped just under his nose, his bare lips coming to press a kiss to the back of your hand. He made a solemn swear to himself in that moment that he’d never take you for granted again. He’d never get too comfortable with having you around and at his disposal.

Because fate was far too cruel for that.

“Always.” 

[fandom-oneshots-etc]

✨ Dropping by to request literally anything sherlock x reader - would love something with awkward idiots in love ✨

🍄 Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

🍄 Genre: Fluff

🍄 Summary: When Sherlock goes off on a frantic tangent, John knows exactly who to call, the idiot in love with him...

🍄 Word Count: 2084

🍄 Abbreviations: N/A

🍄 Warnings: N/A

🍄 Note: I hope this is what you were looking for Anon! :)

“What’s he doing this time?” you answered the phone as John’s name appeared. You had become so accustomed to the calls at all odd hours of the day, usually all pertaining to your high-functioning sociopath of a friend, Sherlock. Odd hours like the one now.

You had just sat down in your cloud chair, kindle in hand ready to read the next chapter of your gripping (b/g) when the phone had pinged, angrily vibrating against the coffee table-top. A puff of air had moved the stray hairs touching your face as you instantly recognized the personalized ring tone you had installed. You knew that John wouldn’t call you unless it was at least a code blue, blue-in-the-face blue. A colour code the two of you had created to describe the different moods of Sherlock Holmes.

“I’m so sorry-” You rolled your eyes with a little smile. “He’s just off on one. He solved the case, you know the one with the woman and the suitcases? He’s been off the walls since then. Can’t get him to settle, he’s talking about renovating the flat, knocking walls down for more ‘thinking space’. I think Mrs Hudson’s threatened to evict him already,” You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips at the thought of the sweet old woman threatening your tall friend, knowing very well that she’d mean every word. You could already picture the offended horror on Sherlock’s face at her threats.

“I’m on my way,” you reassured before hanging up the phone and pushing yourself out of the comfortable chair. Slipping your kindle into your bag, you grabbed your keys from the hook and turned off the lights. You didn’t bother changing out of your night clothes,, instead your threw a long coat over your pajamas and slipped on your trainers before heading out of the flat. You weren’t exactly keen on the idea of getting a cab this late at night, but you preferred that over walking the streets alone in the dark.

Thankfully, Baker Street was only a few roads away and the journey was nice and short with the lack of traffic at this time of night. Looking up at 221B you could see tat it was one of the only lights on in the street. You slipped the spare key out of your bag and unlocked the door to 221B.

Mrs Hudson reached the bottom of the stairs in an angry flurry huffing as she passed, a few rushed ‘oh dear’s escaping her lips as she passed you, only briefly making eye contact as she scurried back into her flat, red-faced. Taking that as your cue, you started up the stairs to the flat, fully expecting to see the flat in complete disarray, and you weren’t disappointed.

The papers from the now-closed case were still strewn across the flat, stuck to the walls, laid out on the desk, tucked under the tea cups on the small side table. The tea cups, several sat on the desk untouched and probably growing a few types of fungus that Sherlock could happily describe for you. The pillows from the sofa were thrown about the flat as Sherlock stood on the sofa, feet buried in the sofa cushions and tape measure I hand as he stretched it across the wall in front of him, a HB pencil clenched between his teeth.

“Thank God you’re here!” John poked his head out of the kitchen as if weary of the man in the living room. He gestured for you to step into the kitchen, with a final glance at the tall consulting detective, you slipped into the kitchen.

“How long has he been like this?” you asked, setting your bag down on the cluttered kitchen table. Piles and piles of old experiments were stacked tall, filling up almost the entire surface of the table and from the darkening black patch by one of the chairs you had no doubt that Sherlock had blown something up today, yet another thing to add to the list of problems for you and John.

“A couple of hours now, I stupidly thought that solving the case would change his mood, but it only seemed to make him more antsy for another one-” He sighed. “Sorry it’s so late, I know you usually sit down and read about now. I didn’t want to bother you but with Mrs Hudson threatening eviction I thought it best not to wait.” You smiled at your friend and shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s been a while since he’s been like this so it was expected sooner or later. Better sort him out before Mrs Hudson really does chuck him out.” The two of you chuckle at the thought of a homeless Sherlock, it’s not really a sight either of you can imagine fully. But you had no doubt that his homeless network would really find him the best spots in London to squat.

“You don’t mind if I take a quick walk do you? I’ve been cooped up in here for a few hours trying to sort him out, just need bit of fresh air.” You shook your head and hurried John out of the kitchen door and down the stairwell. You knew it would be easier to deal with Sherlock without John around anyway. Not that John was a problem, but with Sherlock like this and his habit of making unsavory comments without fully thinking of the consequences, it would be easier than having a row start between the two flat mates.

You paused for a moment and brushed your finger against the black mark on the table top and inspected the pad of your finger. That’ll come off with some polish, you decided. Stepping back out of the kitchen and into the living room, your eyes zeroed in on the consulting detective who had now abandoned the tape measure and was gently knocking against the wall looking for a hollow sounding area.

“No.” You spoke clearly, catching the attention of the detective who had yet to notice you. Spinning on his heels, his eyes flashed at you wide and adorable. It kind of reminded you of a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. His mouth started to open but you shut him down quickly. “No,” You gave him a stern look. “That wall has all of the major electricity lines and one of the main water pipes. No.”

“There’s no way you could possibly know that just from looking at the wall-” Sherlock argued.

“No I couldn’t. I know because I had to get the schematics for the flat after you started shooting the walls because you were banned from in-person cases and blew the power out in this side of London,” You reminded. “An event that Mycroft still calls ‘The Great COVID Blackout’.” Sherlock’s nose scrunched at the mention of his brother. “Now, are you going to sit down or am I going to have to use that self-defense training program you insisted I go on to incapacitate you?” You could almost see the cogs turning in his head as his eyes narrowed at you, trying to deduce if you were serious or not. Your unwavering stance must have given him his answer as he slowly stepped down from the sofa and settled his feet back on the floor calmly.

“Why are you here?” You were very rarely offended by Sherlock’s blunt words, it just wasn’t worth the energy when you also knew that he rarely meant it to come across in that way. “No, don’t answer that. You’re here in your night clothes, your kindle is tucked in your bag and your hair is done up which means it’s late- John called you. Why?”

“Probably because his roommate was threatened with eviction after planning to renovate their rented flat and set the landlady off.” “Mrs Hudson wouldn’t evict me. She still owes me for getting her husband executed.”

“Favours do expire Sherlock. They have their limits.” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Really?” You nod. “Oh. Well John wouldn’t let her evict me.” “Have you been experimenting today?” You think back to the two mugs settled on the kitchen counter, one sporting a brownish green sludge at the bottom.

“Yes, why- Oh.”

“Right come on,” You clapped your hands, moving towards him and grabbing one of his hands to pull him over to his chair. You ignored the sounds of protest from Sherlock as you settled on the chair and tugged on his arm. “Sit down,” you instructed. Sherlock sighed and complied, dropping onto the floor and crossing his legs underneath him. You grabbed the TV remote and switched it on. “What should we watch? Bones or Criminal Minds?” you pondered.

“Why do we have to watch a crime show? They’re always so inaccurate-” You flick the TV onto an episode of Criminal Minds. “Look, the killer’s using tape- what about finger prints? They don’t need to study his behaviour, just find the prints-” You smiled softly, fiddling with a few strands of Sherlock’s curly hair in your lap as he rattled on about the mistakes of the Unsub and the BAU team.

It was around an hour later that John returned to the flat. Pushing open the front door of 221, he was relieved to hear nothing. The light under Mrs Hudson’s door was now off, meaning she had slipped into bed, no longer tormented by her tenant’s renovation plans. The light on the landing let off a soft glow as John started up to the flat. A heavy wave of relief swept through him as he noticed the lack of banging, drilling, sawing or any construction noises at all. You had managed to talk him out of it for now. He reached the top of the stairs and could hear the muffled sounds of the TV in the flat. Stepping into the kitchen he could see that the place was still a pig sty but at least there wasn’t any knocked down walls or partially constructed extensions. The mess could be dealt with in the morning.

As he turned the corner and peeked - still a little cautiously into the living room - a soft smile graced his face. Your back was pressed against one of the arms of Sherlock’s chair, your legs swung over the opposite side. Sherlock’s was still perched on the floor with his legs crossed, his head dropped back against your stomach, with your right hand resting on top. Your fingers rhythmically threading through his curly brown locks, soothingly. John flicked his eyes up to the TV screen to see an episode of Criminal Minds playing, Sherlock’s face scrunched in distaste as he watched the team profile the murderer. Your other hand held your kindle tightly, your fingers set comfortably around the flower pop socket on the back as you occasionally flicked the pages with your thumb.

John couldn’t help but watch in awe for a moment. No one he knew had ever been able to soothe Sherlock in the way that you could. Not him, not Mrs Hudson and certainly not his brother, not even his parents had this calming effect that you had. He wondered if Sherlock would ever confess to the effect you had on him, or explain why you had such an effect on him. John knew the reason, Mrs Hudson knew the reason… did Sherlock? Did you?

You were always just as oblivious as Sherlock. John had mentioned to you once or twice about how you effected the consulting detective, but you couldn’t see it. You wouldn’t admit to the effect you so clearly had on him nor would you confess to the butterflies that whirled in your stomach whenever you were this close to him.

You caught John’s eye and must’ve made an educated guess of what he was thinking as you rolled your eyes and shook your heads. Deciding that now was probably not the time to bring up the obvious pink elephant that shared the living room with the three of you, John mouthed a ‘thank you’ to you and you nodded, letting out a quiet yawn. He bidded a quick farewell to the pair of you before shuffling out of the kitchen and upstairs to his room. On his way up the stairs, he couldn’t help but wonder how long the two of you would remain oblivious.

As he reached the top of the staircase he paused and chuckled. Lovesick idiots.

[thebeesatemyknees]

141 with a gf who has been cheated on in the past and it kind of destroyed her confidence?? Like just how they would prove themselves as true and how they would go about a relationship with her. Love your writing, friend!!!! <3

141 with a (fem)partner who's been cheated on in the past

Some headcanons about things that Simon Ghost Riley, John Price, Kyle Gaz Garrick and Johnny Soap MacTavish do to reassure you after learning that your previous partner/s cheated on you.

Word count: 1k || No warnings. || Reader: FEM reader. Pronouns "you", but feminine terms used ("missus, girl, lady") [I could make a gender neutral version too if anyone would want it!]

Simon Riley, who, half joking half serious, reminds you that he’s a difficult bastard to get close to. So you don’t have to worry. I mean, look how much time it took you to make him open up and let you become part of his life. He has a hard time openly admitting how he feels about you and how he only has place for you in his heart and mind. So instead, he jokes that you’re the only person on this planet, crazy enough to approach him. Though sometimes, when you have late night conversations, he admits in a hushed voice, that as much as he enjoyed the solitary life, leaving it behind for a lifetime with you was the best decision he's ever made.

Although he prefers to avoid crowded places, he starts taking you to pubs more often to prove that he’s right about being unapproachable. It also gives you a reason to dress up all pretty, so he can shamelessly compliment you and tease you about wanting to show you off.

If someone is silly enough to walk up to you two and try chatting him up, he immediately cuts it short, not even trying to be polite – “No, we’re alright. We’re busy.” And if they’re persistent, he uses his “Lieutenant Ghost” voice on them – “You’re interrupting my date. With my girl.” He keeps his hand on you for the rest of the night.

He asks you if he should get your name tattooed on his arm and you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But he is dead serious. Have you seen his tattoos? Not to be judgemental, but… He wouldn’t mind tattooing your name on himself once he thinks you’re the one.

John Price, who relies on communication. He asks you to talk to him whenever something feels wrong – whether it’s caused by your thoughts or something he’s done. But he doesn’t just wait for you to bring the issue up either. He’s a true leader and he’s very observant. Sometimes he notices the heavy thoughts starting to cloud your mind before you can even cotton on. He’s also really good at reading between the lines. If you ever do that self-sabotaging thing, where you ask his opinion about other women on the street or on the internet, he immediately gives you a stern look and, without even looking at the lass you’re pointing at, gives you a lengthy pep talk. Why would he even need to form an opinion about another woman’s appearance, when he only cares about you? 

He’s got the patience of a saint when it comes to you. He’s told you what he feels towards you and how you are the only one for him many times already. And he would repeat himself, over and over again. Until he loses his voice.

If he got approached by someone and offered a drink, while you’re hanging out in a pub, he would point towards you and say “I’m alright, but you can buy my lady a drink if you insist,” with a cocky smile on his face.

Kyle Garrick, who attacks you with “I love you”-s and compliments whenever you start doubting yourself. Literally. Won’t let you finish your self-derogatory comments, even if they’re well hidden in what you’re saying. Starts yelling ILYs from afar. Then once he gets closer, he grabs you and holds you close, repeating it against your ear until you laugh from the sensation. But he doesn’t ignore your worries. He often sits you down so that the two of you can have a conversation about your feelings, your boundaries, behaviours and things he can do to assure you of his loyalty.

He has pictures of you everywhere and he’s proud to show you off. There are polaroids of you alone and both of you together in his wallet, in his car’s sun visor, in the pocket of his uniform. You’re his phone’s wallpaper. He posts pictures of you on social media. Obviously, he does all that while making sure it won’t affect your safety. And as for him bragging about you, you probably learnt about that from Price. What you don’t know though, is that he went out of his way to introduce you to his captain in hopes of Price telling you how often he talks about you. And only you.

If someone tried to chat him up while he’s with you, he would give them the nastiest, most offended glare possible. He looks at them, at you, at them, at you… He throws a simple “Uhh, no thank you,” while he grabs your hand and pulls it to his chest, using it to ground himself. Before the person can even turn away, he’s looking at you with a “can you believe this shit” stare. He gets upset for the both of you.

Johnny MacTavish, who’s physically glued to you.While off duty, he doesn't give you much space for doubts or anxieties cuz he follows you everywhere. You’re going to run some errands? He’s coming with you. He’s going to run some errands? Can you please come with him…? One time, when you went to the toilet in the middle of the night, you found him sitting half-awake on the floor next to the bathroom door. Later, he can’t even explain why he did it. He wasn’t even fully conscious. It was pure instinct – you go, he follows.

He takes you to buy matching rings. You can take your relationship at your own pace, but others don’t have to know it. He’s more than happy to pretend to be already married to you. Especially when he’s deployed away from home. And when he comes back, he proudly shows you a tan line on his ring finger, proving he’s been wearing it the whole time.

If someone approaches him and offers him a drink, he scoffs and tells them that HIS MISSUS can buy him his drinks just fine, thank you very much. If you’re there with him, he turns to you and, before the person can walk away, he starts playfully flirting with you, saying you can take him home if you buy him a drink. If you’re for some reason not there, he immediately calls you (or at least texts you if he’s with the lads) and proudly tells you about how clever his response was.

I hope that some loose headcanons like these are alright.

Also, if this happened to you – I'm really sorry and I wish you all the best! And if anyone needs to hear it: remember, the fault is never in the person who got cheated on but the one who cheats. Screw them. You deserve to be treated kindly.

[the-californicationist]

he cleans up nice

Captain John Price has a medal ceremony and you help him get ready for his big event.

Warning: face fucking, domination/submission, literal boot-licking

The desire to breathe was overriding your ability to stay still. Because his cock was so thick, and because he shoved it deep enough to block your airway, you were losing control of your movements, your body writhing and squirming to free itself, tears running down your face as your system tried whatever it could to force you to take a breath. The tiles were slippery and cold on your shins as you shifted your weight, desperate to get oxygen into your lungs. He moved his hand from your jaw to the back of your head and held you snugly there, shushing you,

“Shh, baby. Count to ten for me. That’s it. Be good for me, alright?”

You nodded as much as his grip allowed and moved forward, nuzzling the dense hair around the base of his cock, lapping your tongue around his edges, moaning loudly and feeling the vibrations through your mouth. Hot, slick drool escaped the corner of your lip and ran down his skin. Your throat began to clench on its own, gagging with panic. 

John pulled himself from you quickly, making loud sticky noises as he did, your body gasping for air as it recovered. 

“Deep breath, sweetheart. So good. You did so good for me, you know that? Such a beautiful little slag, hm? Loves that cock.”

Without much hesitation, he fed himself back into your swollen mouth. You instinctively tried to push him back, begging with your bloodshot eyes for mercy, and he looked down with his brow furrowed,

“Uh, oh. It’s big, innit? That throat feels so fuckin’ brilliant. Lemme feel it, baby. Just wanna feel it again. Fuck, yes!”

John thrust his cock in and out of your mouth fully for three or four pounding strokes, head thrown back in joyous agony, leaking precome onto your tongue, salty-sweet and warm. 

He’d put you in the shower without the water on, playing with your nipples and kissing your neck at first, just sweet as a first love’s touch, but he had other plans. 

Kissing turned to licking. Licking turned to teeth, and with them he’d subdued you, not allowing you to come but keeping you dripping, drawing out more and more of your fluid onto his hands, smearing it onto your lips and thighs, eating it off of his hands.

By the time he even allowed you to fall to your knees, you were practically begging to taste him, mewling and whining, your hands constantly fondling his growing length, eager like an addict. 

And now, here you were, bruised and swollen, pink from your struggle, full of his hardness and sore from his challenging girth. He smiled down at you,

“Let me hear your screams. Scream my name around that cock. You look so hot when your mouth is full of me. Bloody hell, look at that.”

“Mmh?” You made an attempt, struggling to keep your eyes open you were so drunk from his power. 

“Oh, fuck. Again,” he groaned, bucking forward uncontrollably. 

“Mmhn! Mmhn, mmm,” you poured gasoline on his fire.

“Fuuuuuckkin’ hell. You wanna taste my come?”

“Mm hm,” you nodded, playing with your swaying breasts as he fucked your face against his hands. 

“So goddamn pretty. Fuck -” John rutted forward, almost losing his balance as he spilled himself into your mouth, filling your cheeks with his melting saltiness. Cruelly, he forced himself back down, making you swallow him in order to have access to the air again. 

“John!” You gasped as he released you, sitting on the tile beside you, panting just as hard as you were. 

He chuckled darkly, jerking his softening cock in slow movements,

“C’mere, love. Clean me up with that tongue of yours.”

You bent forward, awkward against the biting tile, trying to lick the stray come on his shaft and balls, dutiful and diligent. 

“Mmm, good girl. You’re so damn pretty when you’ve got my come on your lips like that. Gonna make me late for my speech.”

Captain John Price was receiving a Medal of Honor tonight, and Laswell had to threaten him with trainee duty in order for him to agree to attend. It was more meaningless “chest candy” - as Soap liked to call it - and he couldn’t have cared less. 

“Can’t wait to see you all dressed up. You know how much I like you in that uniform, babe,” you kissed his neck chastely, begging for attention again, needy and wet from your work. 

“Wish we could just stay in. I can smell your needy little cunt from here, and I wanna fill you up,” he stole your mouth to kiss and suck on your lips, not caring if he was covering you in spit and tasting his own come. 

“Come on,” he said, breaking away for a moment, “Shower with me so I can play with you, baby.”

He helped you up and turned on the steaming water. It sprayed over your skin and made you dizzy from its heat. John held you in his arms and rubbed you down with soap, smearing it all over your breasts and plucking at your nipples indulgently. 

You felt sparks rush through your core, and you struggled to form a coherent thought. Under his heavy control, you found yourself pliant and exceedingly needy. 

“John, please. I need…please?”

“You need to come, don’t you? Is that what you’re beggin’ me for?”

“Yes,” you nuzzled against him, canting your hips shamelessly, presenting yourself to him like you were in heat, “Can you help me, please?”

“Sweet girl, so desperate, hm?”

John kissed your neck through the stream of hot water and sank his thick fingers deep into your pussy, thrusting in and out, curling his fingertips to press into your walls. His thumb drew languid circles around your clit as you trembled in his grasp, screaming and nearly crying from the searing pleasure. 

“That’s it, baby. Use my hand to get off. Just like that. My pretty fucking slut, so good for me.”

“John - ah, fuck…” you lost your breath and gasped. The sensations rolled through you like a storm, lightning and thunder rumbling in your belly, flinging you into his chest to be crushed into his huge, looming frame. 

He cradled you as you recovered, washing your hair and his, kissing you when and how he wanted, touching you when and how he wanted, claiming you as he saw fit. You surrendered to him, fully under his thrall. Price helped towel you off, and he braided your hair reverently. 

You remained fully naked, but you began to help him dress for his event. His SAS dress uniform was black with a red stripe down the leg, a red sash, and a white belt. You zipped the fly of his pants and buttoned it together, making sure it sat exactly right on his waist. You helped him button his jacket, each one of the gold buttons slipping into the soft holes easily. 

The silver belt buckle slipped into its socket, clicking securely into place. His huge shoulders and wide chest stretched the expensive fabric and swelled beneath it. 

One by one, he held each of his medals in his hand, and you knew what was coming next. 

“Go on, baby. Shine them up for me," He held the medal out to you and you licked your tongue across it, behaving as if the sharp stars were the soft head of his cock. Each time you finished your work, he allowed you to pin the medal to his chest, making sure each one was straight and true. Then, it began again. With each new medal, Price breathed harder and harder, his voice becoming strained as he praised you,

“Such a good fuckin’ girl. Fuck…”

When you were through with the chest candy, you pinned his spaulders and his sash. The silk felt cool to the touch. It clipped at his waist and you knelt between his knees as he sat, lifting his foot for you to put on his socks. He put his boots on, but waited for you to tie them. You laced his boots with experienced precision and looked up to admire your work. 

He smiled down at you, glittering in his uniform, looking like a king,

“Thank you, baby. You take such good care of me. My sweet girl. You have one job left, you know…”

You nodded, blushing. You bent down on the ground and licked the edges of his boots, tasting the leather and smelling the oil on the laces. He pet your head and kissed your cheek when you finished, comforting you,

“You better be ready when I get back, baby. I’m not finished with that gorgeous mouth.”

[l0v3tast3]

the pervy older bf konig was amazing, pleaseee can we get one for price!! on my knees begging cos damn the konig one hit the spot mammm

god i love john price so fucking much. he makes my daddy issues go off the damn charts and his voice?!?!?! good god (*♡∀♡) also uwu tysm ily anon i hope you like this!!! <33

✎ tags: mdni! nsft, f!reader, age gap (r is 18, john is late 30's), body worship, semi-public s3x, car s3x, mirror s3x, he fucks you while you're on the phone with your mom, dirty talk, abuse of pet names, edging, overstimulation, tiny bit of dacryphilia, some fluff, john is basically your sugar daddy

✎ word count: 1.6k (not proofread)

masterlist | requests are open!

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!john who wouldn't take his hands off of you even if there was a gun to his head. you're just so soft and full of youth, it makes him feel a little bit younger too. he's obsessed with smoothing his hands and his lips over every inch of your skin, always taking his sweet time with you, always making sure to worship every bit of you before he presses your thighs to your chest.

✧ ˖ ° he doesn't take for granted what you give him; he makes sure to thank you in the best way he knows how. it's after a lavish dinner and a stroll along a beautiful river that involves him buying you flowers and chocolate from vendors open late. john always means to end the night with just a kiss, opening your door for you and leaning against the car to watch you walk down the street back to your house (you make him park a few houses down so your parents don't see him). somehow the drive always ends with the car parked in some inconspicuous spot so he can fuck you in the backseat, because you insisted that you couldn't stay at his house overnight without your parents asking too many questions.

✧ ˖ ° despite your disapproving whines and squirms, john still takes it slow while he has you laying in the back of his car. he does it mostly because he loves how your legs shake when he builds your orgasm slow, but also because he knows that your parents will call you to check in soon. sure enough, while he's got two fingers buried knuckle deep in you and his mouth latched around one your nipples, the buzzing tune of your ringtone sounds from your bag on the floor. you barely notice it until his mouth pops off your breast and his fingers nearly slow to a halt, and he's holding up your phone for it. "answer it, love. don't want to make them worry, right?"

✧ ˖ ° when you have the phone in your weak grasp he presses the answer button and sinks back down, grinning while he hears you stutter out your greeting. he picks up the pace again, curling his fingers into the spot that makes your hips jerk. your hand is pressed into your mouth as you try to listen to what your mom is saying. her bleating practically becomes white noise when john's tongue licks a stripe from your hole to your clit and starts laving across it. you manage to spout out that you'll be home soon, you and your friends lost track of time, and john makes sure the call is actually ended when you throw it onto the floor again before he finally makes you cum.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!john who absolutely loves fucking you in front of literally any reflective surface. bedroom mirror, bathroom mirror, entryway mirror, windows, the tv, anything will suffice if he can see your pretty tits bouncing while he fucks into you from behind. it's high on his (long) list of his favorite ways to have you.

✧ ˖ ° if you're standing up, he'll use one hand to keep your hips lifted high enough to line up with his, the other wrapped around your neck and partially holding your jaw to keep you looking at yourself. "look at how pretty you are, darling, don't y'see how beautiful you are? say it, love, tell me how pretty y'are. c'mon, know you can do it." when you try to avert your eyes in embarrassment he'll use the hand on your throat to press you into his chest, slowing his hips until he's dragging his thick cock back and forth across all the spots that make your brain go haywire. "you know the rules, darling, won't let you cum until y'say it. well? don't start being a brat now. we both know how that goes, don't we?"

✧ ˖ ° it's also a semi-regular occurrence for john to bring you shopping at higher-end stores and fuck you in the secluded dressing rooms. he sits and tells you how gorgeous you look in each pretty dress and outfit you try on, always doing a little spin for him that makes his dick twitch in his too-tight pants. after a particularly short sundress or skirt he follows you into your fitting room, feeling you up before you even get the chance to squeak about how he's not supposed to be in here with you. john loves watching you scratch at his arms as he holds you up to fuck you, one hand shoving his middle and ring fingers to keep you quiet. it's addicting how quickly he can make you forget that you could be caught by someone at any moment.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!john who might as well shine an actual spotlight on you when he brings you with to formal military events that he's "required" to attend (you always overhear about people skipping out when you're there). he tells you not to worry about buying a dress for it, and when you show up to his home you find he spent probably hundreds on a dress, heels, and all-matching jewelry, all matching your favorite style and colors. and he does it every time you go to an event, always buying you new things; not to mention the matching set of lingerie he gets you for each outfit.

✧ ˖ ° john makes sure to always wear a coat long enough to cover his straining cock when you squeeze his hand or press yourself closer to him when he brings you with. he knows you're nervous, never straying from his side and always glancing to make sure he was still next to you, but of course he wouldn't let you go even if you wanted to. there was always a hand on your back or waist or holding yours, kissing yours knuckles in between brief chats with other officials and soldiers.

✧ ˖ ° the way you cling to him while he introduces you to everyone he makes small talk with for a few minutes makes him so eager to leave already, to finally get home and rip off your dress (you've learned by now that he doesn't care how much he spent on it just to destroy it). just you being dependent on him made both john's heart and cock swell; you were so adorable with your puppy eyes looking up to him for what to do next.

✧ ˖ ° john wants nothing more than for you to rely on him and to trust him enough to take the reins for you. that especially applied to your sex life, of course. "there y'go, sweetheart, that's my girl. just let me handle it all. all you have to do is lay here all pretty and take my cock. i'll go slow, sweetheart, don't worry. i know you're still sensitive, but you can cum for me one more time, can't you? oh, don't whine, love, i know you can do it, just one more for me. you feel so good around me when you cum, don't you want to feel good too?"

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!john who is obsessed with making you cum. he only uses the threat of edging you as a way to get you to say or do whatever dirty thing he wants; the rest of the time, he prefers you to be a blabbering, overstimulated mess. he's known (by you) to spend hours going down on you, switching between his mouth and fingers when either gets tired. when you tug at his hair and try to push him away, you always get "jus' one more f'me, darling, know y'can," and a quick kiss to your thigh before he's right back at it.

✧ ˖ ° the sight of you trembling and twitching from the overload of pleasure he gives your little body is just the most satisfying sight in the world to john. after sating his near-constant hunger for your sweet cunt, he'll crawl up to hover over you and press kisses across your face, gently wiping away the trails of tears that escaped during his mouth's endless assault. "y'with me again, love?" he asks softly, pressing little kisses to your swollen lips until you start returning them. the moment is sweet and slow before he's pressing his cock into your tight hole, pushing deeper and deeper until his fat tip is kissing your cervix.

✧ ˖ ° john doesn't give you enough time for your nerves to calm down before he's thrusting into you; the gasps and whines and tiny pleas that stumble out about needing a break. "but i already gave you one darling, just now, remember? shit- so fuckin' tight, even after i spent so long workin' y'open- hah, don't try to squirm away, princess, just take it- fuuuck-" he groans. john's calloused hands collect your smaller ones to intertwine his fingers with yours and hold them above your head, nose-to-nose with you as he coos down at you about how well you're doing for him.

✧ ˖ ° every time he gets you into his bed (or yours, or any bed, really) you know you're in for a long night. john will fuck you until you're about to pass out. he lives for pushing your limits, finding new tricks to get you to cum faster or harder for him, molding you to his cock and drilling it into your head that he's ruined you for any other man.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hand Necklace (2 of 4)

John Price x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: possessive!Price, jealous!Price, vaginal fingering, biting, marking, dirty talk, rough kissing, established relationship

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

A hand necklace is a reminder that you belong to him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // hand necklace masterlist

Events are not your thing.

You know how and when to smile. You know all the right things to say. But it is draining. Utterly exhausting. You do it for John but sometimes you wish you could stay home and wrap yourself up in bed instead.

When you and John first became involved, you didn’t think the military would have so many fucking events. It’s too many people to smile at and make small talk with. It’s too many forced smiles and people you don’t know shaking your hand when John introduces you.

And now you’ve been abandoned.

Abandoned might be too dramatic of a word, but that is what this feels like. Someone higher than John on the ladder pulled him away, jokingly reassuring you that they’d bring him back to you shortly. But it’s been nearly twenty minutes, and this absence has left John’s spot beside you vacant. It allows others to slither into his territory, to try and fill that role while he’s not around.

It’s not a false fear. It’s happened before. Once, the interaction was so bad, John punched the guy in the face, splattering you and the people standing around with the man’s blood.

“Lovely dress. Looks good on you.” You glance away from staring out across the banquet hall and turn toward the masculine voice.

You don’t know this man, even though his face is vaguely familiar. Did you meet him tonight? Did John introduce him at some point in the evening? It’s hard to say. You’ve meet so many people that their names and faces are all blurring together.

It’s also possible that you’ve met this guy before at another event. John doesn’t like to ever go alone, insistent on dragging you along with him to each function he’s forced to attend.

“Thank you,” you reply hesitantly, your gaze tracking the subtle movements of his face.

He’s smirking in a way that instantly puts you on edge. His pupils are enlarged and his cheeks are rosy like he’s had one too many drinks. This stranger is likely a bit older than you but not close to John’s age.

“Where’s Captain Price?” he asks, glancing around like he’s trying to find John. But he’s not. The asshole uses this as an opportunity to step closer into your space.

You frown, ready to bolt. Until you realize you’re backed into a literal corner.

Fuck.

“I was just about to go look for him. Excuse me,” you say through gritted teeth, attempting to step around this intruder. You’re trying to be polite, mostly for John’s benefit. The people here are his coworkers, and you don’t want to make a bad impression.

“Now, hold on.” He grabs hold of your forearm and tugs a little too roughly.

You stumble into him, nearly spilling your glass of champagne. It puts you dangerously close to an intimate position and your cheeks flame with anger.

Fuck this guy.

Your gaze narrows. “Please, let go—”

“You don’t need to go looking for him,” he says, completely ignoring you. “A man shouldn’t leave a beautiful woman like you alone. Someone might try to take his place.”

You scoff. “Excuse me?”

The guy shrugs as if this is acceptable behavior. “Someone could slip in. Take his place.”

Your grip on your champagne is close to snapping the stem of the glass. “You—”

A shadow appears across the stranger’s face. His gaze shifts to a point behind you, and immediately pales.

“Is there a problem here?” comes a familiar, masculine voice from over your shoulder.

Your shoulders relax, all annoyance leaving you instantly.

The man shakes his head. “Uh. No. Captain. Price. Sir.” He swallows and backs away, turning on his heel and running off like a kicked dog.

You spin around, only to find yourself dangerously close to John’s chest. Your lips part, mouth opening to tell him how happy you are to see him. But there is anger all over his face, and while you know you’ve done nothing wrong, and his anger is for that piece of shit, it still startles you.

Before you have the chance to ease his worry, John snatches the champagne glass from your hand and sets it on the nearby table.

“I am drinking that.”

John ignores you, grabbing your upper arm, and tugging you against him to whisk you away from the room as quickly as possible. He glances over his shoulder, checking the room. Then, he ushers you down a side hallway before turning left into another connecting hallway.

The noise from the party is distant. Far away.

“John—” you protest, and still, he ignores you.

Instead, John turns you around, pressing you against the wall. Your hands go up to rest against the wall, palms flat to keep you stable.

The moment you’re in position, John slides his hand to the front of your throat and wraps his fingers around your neck. He bends you back enough that your lips are just inches from his.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks.

“You,” you reply in a whisper.

“Fucking right, love.” His mouth comes down on yours in a harsh, passionate kiss. There is nothing sweet about it. This kiss is wanton and possessive. An act of ownership.

John pulls back enough to speak against your lips. “I don’t like when people touch what’s mine.” The hand not on your throat slides over your hip and starts to gather your dress up in its fist. “I think some reminders are in order.” Your dress is almost up around your hips when John manages to get underneath it.

“I’m going to start here.” John’s fingers slip under the fabric of your underwear. “By fucking you with my fingers. Have you come all over them.” He parts your pussy, teasing your clit with a few well-placed swirls that already has your cunt clenching.

John’s lips fall away from yours to trace over your jaw, past your throat, and down to your exposed shoulder. “And while I fuck your pretty pussy, your skin will know my teeth.” He gently bites down on the spot just below where his hand squeezes your throat. Then he sucks it sharply into his mouth, turning the gentle nibble into pain mixed with pleasure. He releases his hold, your skin bouncing back into place, buzzing with a throbbing ache.

“You’re mine to mark, and everyone out there is going to fucking know it when I’m done.”

His middle finger pushes in, seeking your warmth.

“This is a promise,” murmurs Price as he begins to pump that finger in and out of you. “That you’re taking my cock later.”

“Fuck. Oh—fuck. John.”

“That’s right, love. Say my name.” John moves to a different spot along your exposed skin, biting and sucking until the spot blooms with a harsh mark. He inserts a second finger, moving steadily, almost leisurely in the way he fucks your pussy with his fingers and brings blossoming sharp pleasure-pain across your skin.

The base of his palm rubs against your clit, and you whimper. Your response earns you a little squeeze of his hand around your throat.

“Quiet. Someone will hear. And I don’t want anyone else knowing how lovely you sound.”

You answer with a soft whine as John switches between pumping in and out of your pussy, and nipping at your skin. While there is an undertone of gentleness, everything about this is a bit harsh, a bit feral, like John is doing this more for him than for you.

Which is fine, because the palm of his hand against your clit is making your head spiral into oblivion.

“That man will never know your touch. Or what your cunt tastes like,” murmurs John against your skin. “Those are only for me, love. Just me.”

You agree with a repressed moan, only to inhale sharply when John presses against your clit in just the way you need.

“Gonna show me how you come all over my fingers?” asks John, squeezing your throat a bit tighter.

You nod frantically, whispering a needy, “please.”

John’s smile unfurls over your skin. He kisses one sore spot softly, and then begins fucking your pussy in earnest, moving his fingers and palm in perfect rhythm with each other until you’re biting down on your bottom lip trying to hold back the sounds threatening to erupt from up your throat.

Keeping control on your body is its own kind of pleasure. You’re following John’s instruction, and he revels in it, murmuring soft praises as your pussy clenches around his fingers and your thighs quiver.

“That’s it,” he coos, helping you through it.

Your entire body seizes, and then you’re melting, knees giving out, but John is right there to catch you. That hand necklace disappears, easing up to stroke down your back only to wrap around the front of your waist.

“Good to go back out there?” he ask.

“No.” You shake your head. Try to swallow. “I—can’t go out there.”

“What do you want?”

“Home,” you answer, licking your lips, turning your head to gaze at John.

John smirks. “We have to walk across the banquet hall to leave.”

“What!” You turn as much as you can and John’s smile is smug.

“If home is what you want. Then it’s home we will go. But first, you’re gonna show off these pretty little marks, yeah? Make sure everyone knows that you’re off-limits. All mine.”

You nod, swallowing down all the nervousness. You belong to John, just as he belongs to you.

He winks and then helps you off the wall. “Let’s go.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @wrathofcats @keiva1000 @pertinentpostmortem @enfppixie @bbyfimmie @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @tiredmetalenthusiast

[python333]

your writing is literally the best in the cod fandom. we need more injured reader angst. it's too good

don't breathe — python333

— — — —

synopsis [reader] gets buried alive after refusing to give intel to enemy soldiers and *slips up and writes reader almost dying again* oops how did that happen haha

relationships platonic!price & gn!reader.

characters cap. john price.

word count 2.7k

warnings suffocation [reader], just generally really depressing thoughts, near death??, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note aww tysm :(( dont say its the best im gonna get a complex LMAO but i appreciate it!! and yes i agree injured reader angst ftw :3 i present to you: reader gets very injured and theres a lot of angst and its basically just you suffering for a good 3/4 of the fic while the last quarter has the actual comfort!

“Hello?” You try again, your voice cracking and your tone as desperate as it can get, “Please, God, say someone can hear me.” 

You’ve been trapped in a casket for about five minutes now—at least, you woke up five minutes ago. God knows how long you’ve been stuck in the stupid thing, but realistically, it’s probably been much longer than five minutes.

The last thing you remember from before you were buried is being in the interrogation room of some small terrorist group’s facility, one you and the others were led to believe was abandoned weeks ago. 

Unfortunately, whoever gave you the information must’ve either had incredibly outdated information or was setting you all up for failure, because the facility was very much not abandoned and was instead full of enemy soldiers.

You all had already gotten into the building before you knew that, because of course you all had to be in the same spot at the same time—practically sitting ducks for the enemy—and of course you all had to be clueless about the possibly hundreds of people in the facility until it was too late. 

As far as you know, everyone managed to escape. Everyone but you. They didn’t mean to leave you behind, of course they didn’t, they were more focused on just booking it out of the facility. However, because of that, you were now stuck—you assume—several feet underground in a casket that has a limited amount of oxygen that drops every time you take a breath. 

You let out the breath you’re currently holding and suck in another deep breath, holding it as you think. Your strategy of holding your breath until you no longer could mostly worked, but it wouldn’t for long, you knew that soon you’d suffocate in all of the carbon dioxide gathering in the enclosed casket.

You don’t know how long you’d been unconscious in the casket, breathing in oxygen carelessly in your slumber, which made the whole situation worse. You didn’t even know how much time you had left. 

You hate to waste your breath checking your comms, but the enemy soldiers had accidentally left your earpiece in your ear—the small device apparently going undetected under their radar—and you wanted to make the most of it. You move your arm from your side and press onto the PTT button on your earpiece, wincing a little at how cramped the casket was.

“Does anybody copy?” You ask again, staring up at the almost pitch black space above you, “I repeat, does anybody copy?” 

It’s a vain attempt at contacting your team, really. You don’t know if they’re thinking about you, if the signal is going through, if they even have their earpieces on—you know nothing, and that terrifies you because you really don’t want to die right now but there’s literally nothing else you can do besides helplessly talk into your earpiece, not knowing if anyone’s listening. 

Your lungs start to burn and you let out the breath you were holding, taking another deep breath and beginning to hold that one. The air feels… thick. It’s starting to get harder to breathe, and you know you shouldn’t panic but you can’t help the few worried thoughts that come to the forefront of your mind. 

What am I going to do when I run out of oxygen and the only thing left for me to breathe in are my own discarded breaths? What will I do when all there is to do is suffocate? Am I going to try, in one last desperate attempt, to break out of the casket, or am I going to just lay here and die? Will my team try to find me, or will they forget about me? Have they already forgotten about me? 

Before you can listen to any more of those depressing thoughts, a voice comes from your earpiece. 

“H—lo? [c/n]?” It’s hard to tell with the static and the cuts in between the words, but you think it’s Price talking. 

“Price?” You ask immediately, all thoughts of preserving your breath forgotten. “Holy shit, you can hear me?” 

“Je—s— whe—e—” He cuts out for a moment and your stomach drops when all you can hear is static for a moment. 

“You’re— You’re cutting out, Captain, what did you say?” 

“Wher— —re you?” It takes you a moment to realize what he’s saying, your mind working much slower than it usually does, but once you do you shake your head negatively despite him not being there to see you. 

“I don’t— I don’t know,” You respond, taking a deep breath before adding on, “I think I’m underground, I just know I’m in a casket and it’s getting harder to breathe and—” 

“Okay, o—y,” You hear Price’s voice crackle, his voice becoming more distant and sounding almost muffled to you, “Sa— —ur bre—th, I’ll try to g—t some—e to track your— —tion.” 

With the constant cutting out of his words and the distortion of his tone, you can barely register or process what he’s saying, and that only panics you more but you refuse to let your emotions get the better of you even in the state of disorientation you’re in, so you keep holding your breath. 

A minute later, Price’s voice crackles through your earpiece again. 

“Okay, we’ve got your loc—tion,” Price’s voice sounds… oddly far away, “We can—” 

His voice slowly becomes muffled, and you release the breath you were holding without realizing it, slowly blinking up at the ceiling of the casket. A sort of haze falls over your mind and you can barely even hear Price anymore before you suddenly snap back to reality and hear his now much clearer voice loud in your ear. 

“[c/n]? [c/n], are you still there?” You recognize his tone now, and you’re just a little shocked at the sheer amount of worry in it. 

“Haven’t moved an inch,” You breathe out, before lying, “You cut out for a second for me, sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, “I said we got your loc—tion and we’re hea—g out th— —w. It’s not t— far away from where —e alre—dy are, we’re ba—ely three clicks away.” 

“… Clicks?” You ask, your eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Yes, clicks,” Price replies, sounding concerned, before hesitantly asking, “… You know what those are, right?” 

“I don’t—” You struggle to find words for a moment before you speak again, your own voice starting to sound distant, “I don’t think so?”

“What do y—u mean you don’t thi— —o?” Price asks, his voice sounding freakishly close, “Are you okay?” 

“No, yeah, I’m fine,” You lie through your teeth, not wanting to worry Price further, “I just… how far away are you?” 

“Just ab—t two cli—ks now,” Price says, before pausing and clarifying, “Two kilometers.” 

Two kilometers… how far is that? “And that’s… is that far, or?” 

“No, it’s not too far. It’s just a mi—te away, we didn’t ge— —o far before Laswell got your loc—tion,” Price tells you, “We’ll be there soon, ok—y? We’ll get y— —ut of there.” 

“A minute—” You cough and feel tears pricking at your eyes from how hard it is to take another breath, “A minute?” 

“Yes, a minute— [c/n], are you okay?” Price asks again, before laughing nervously, “You know what a minute is, do— —ou?” 

“...” You struggle to answer the question, thinking long and hard for a few seconds before hesitantly answering, “… Yeah, I do, sorry. It’s sixty seconds.” 

“Why’d it take you so long to answer?” 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry, I—” You take a few shallow breaths, and feel a headache start to build up, “How far away are you guys?” 

“We’re alm—t there,” Price promises you, “The heli’s ab—t to l—nd, and we’ll dig you up, and—” 

Why is it so cold? Price’s voice cuts off and when he stops talking you realize that you’re shivering. You ball your fists up and can’t even feel your nails digging into your palms, your hands having gone numb from the cold, and realizing that makes you discover that your lips feel numb too. 

Your ears start to ring and you feel that uncomfortable pins and needles feeling in your hands, the sensation slowly traveling up your arms, making you both wanting to peel off your own skin and also grateful that you can at least feel something besides the cold.

In the midst of your thinking, you hear muffled thumping coming from above you—whoever buried you couldn’t have buried you anything below six feet. 

“—llo? [c/n]? Are you still there?” 

You bring your hand up, the movement slow and sluggish, and you try to search around the side of your face for your earpiece. You eventually find it and when you do you press against it until you feel the PTT button being pushed. 

“Still here,” You confirm breathlessly, coughing again as you take a few more shallow breaths, “I think I’m running out of— of… what’s the fuckin’ air that you can breath in, it starts with an o…” 

“… Oxygen?”

“Oxygen, yeah,” You slowly blink up at the ceiling of the casket, “There’s— I think— I don’t… I think… I think I’m gonna pass out, Captain.” 

“[c/n], don’t you fucking dare,” Price growls, “You stay awake, I swear to fucking god.” 

“I can’t—” You take a few more shallow breaths, before coughing, the tears escaping your eyes reaching the corners of your mouth. 

You can hear Price briefly talk with someone else, his voice the most serious you’ve ever heard it, before he talks directly to you again, “How much longer do you think you have before you run out of oxygen?” 

It takes you a moment to register the question, but when you do, you answer, “Uh… I don’t— I think… maybe a few more minutes? I can’t tell, it’s just hard to breathe, I can’t…” 

“Okay, okay,” Price softly says, gusts of wind blowing into his mic as he talks, “Give me a second, okay? We’re almost there, kid, we’ll— we’ll be there in just a minute, we just passed over you, I just need you to stay awake.” 

“In a minute,” You repeat to yourself, before taking a deep breath, hoping that you have enough oxygen to make it out of this casket because you really don’t want to die here, not when there’s help just a minute away. 

After what you assume is a minute or two, instead of thumping, you hear something cut into the dirt above you. The sound, however, is heavily muffled, so muffled to the point where you don’t know if you’re hallucinating or not.

Is that a symptom of CO2 poisoning? Hallucinations? You lay still in the casket and can’t help but release the breath you’d only just taken, the ringing in your ears starting up again and growing louder faster than they had before. 

Your entire body is numb, your chest is heavy, and you can feel a sort of fog fall over your mind. You can distantly hear Price yelling through your earpiece, but you can’t find it in yourself to respond, instead simply laying there, your blinking starting to slow down before it eventually stops, leaving your eyes closed. 

— 

For a moment, you think you died and went to heaven, which would be weird, considering all the things you’ve done in your life. Not saying you’d go to hell, just saying God would probably hesitate for a second before letting you in through the pearly gates. 

You blink awake, slowly but surely, and the first thing you realize is that you can feel things again. You tilt your head down to the bump under the white bed sheets laid on top of you, and squeeze your hand into a ball, watching the bump move and feeling your fingers dig into your oddly sore palms.

You let out a sigh of relief and pull your hand out from the sheets, bringing it up to your face and feeling the oxygen mask that’s been placed over your mouth and nose.

“Don’t mess with that,” You hear a voice say to your right. You turn your head and see a very tired Captain Price, dark eyebags hanging under his eyes and arms crossed, his hands having a white knuckle grip on either one of his elbows. 

“…” You don’t say anything, instead you simply stare at him until he sighs and gets up from his seat. You watch silently as he leans over your bed and bends down, before pausing, and then quickly snaking his hands under your back to pull you up just enough for him to properly hug you. 

You reach up with shaky hands and tentatively hug him back, not nearly as tightly—not that you don’t want to, but you physically can’t with how weak your arms are right now—but with just as much sincere affection. You can feel Price’s beard rubbing against your neck and hear his small sniffles as he embraces you tightly. 

Maybe it’s his sniffling, or the way you can finally feel warmth for the first time in what feels like forever, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s holding you with so much care and affection that it almost makes you burst at the seams, whatever it is, it causes you to tear up as well. 

Those tears quickly become sobs that bubble up in your throat and crawl their way out of it, forcing you to tuck your head into the crook of Price’s neck and muffle your sobs in it, muttering a small ‘sorry’ after each one. 

After each ‘sorry’, Price responds with, “It’s okay, let it out, sweetheart, you’re okay,” and those reassuring words only make you cry more because God, you didn’t even think he’d find you, yet here he is, letting you cry into his neck and is reassuring you after every apology that it’s okay. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” You mumble a litany of apologies into Price’s neck, your breath stuttering and hitching as you try to hold back your sobs. Price only shushes you and rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture, bringing his head up to kiss the top of your head. 

He tucks your head under his chin, “Don’t apologize, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

And fuck, you know it’s just words, but it only makes you cry more. 

Your sobs eventually stop, leaving you hiccuping against Price’s neck, silently crying as he continues to rub your back. 

“I thought you died,” He whispers, his hand stuttering on your back, “I thought you died and I was going to dig up your dead body, when you didn’t answer me.”

You stay silent, letting him continue, “I thought you were dead when we dug you up and needed to feel your heartbeat for myself to confirm that you were still alive.” 

He pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’ve been here ever since they put you in here. I haven’t slept, I’ve just stayed here, waiting for you to wake up so I could tell you that I—”

He chokes up for a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing, “I’m sorry for not even thinking to drag you out of the facility with me when we all ran out. You were— you were right there, and I couldn’t just grab your arm and take you with me, I just had to leave you behind and I—” 

“You watched me while I was asleep?” You ask quietly, your eyebrows drawing together. 

Price pauses and pulls his chin off of your head, and pulls you away from his neck so he can properly give you the most incredulous look he can pull, before saying, “I’m pouring my heart out to you and apologizing for practically leaving you for dead, and that’s what you’re worried about?” 

“Well, I’m not worried, I’m just—” You shrug, not knowing how to explain it. Price sighs and chuckles quietly before tucking your head back under his chin. 

“You’re insufferable,” He mumbles, sniffling a bit. 

“… I forgive you, by the way,” You say after a moment of silence, “I didn’t really blame you in the first place.” 

“You had the right to.” 

“Sure I did.” 

“But you didn’t blame me.”

“Right.” “…” Price stays silent for a moment before pressing another soft kiss to the top of your head and saying quietly, “You should blame me.” 

“Maybe,” You mumble back, “But I won’t.” 

Later, maybe an hour later, if the others see you asleep in Price’s arms while he keeps your head tucked under his chin and rubs your back affectionately—no they don’t.

[jointherebellion215]

Birdie

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: A rare night out in London has Bucky coming to terms with his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: mechanic!reader, songbird!reader, female!reader, she/her pronouns used, drinking culture, cursing, mutual pining, moderate bouts of denial, insecurities, women supporting women because it's what we deserve, let's pretend that The Old Therebefore is an ancient Appalachian folk song in this universe, maybe she's a Mary Sue idgaf, I just wanted to write something happy so LET ME LIVE, WWII era, there's no Y/N but reader has the nickname "Birdie"

A/N: Yeah, I'm obsessed with Masters of the Air. I had to write something for my mans before the creative procrastination literally killed me. Please leave a like, comment, or even a reblog if you're so inclined :)

You can read my OC version of this story on AO3!

Songs Mentioned in This Fic:

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters

G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer

The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, don't copy my writing without explicit permission. That includes you, you AI sonuvabitch.

Your heels clicked on the cobblestone streets, turning into the pub you’d heard so much about. You were out celebrating a very rare weekend off. The Brass had somehow allowed you and twenty other mechanics from base two days leave, so you took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to London.

Your two best girlfriends from base were with you. Teresa was one of the toughest nurses you’d ever come across. She could give you a wide grin, crinkles around her hazel eyes, and reset a broken bone without breaking a sweat. It helps that she was already working towards becoming a nurse back in New Mexico, the war just sped along that process. You had bonded over your love of books, giving each other recommendations almost weekly.

You’d met Irene on the boat to England. She puked on your shoes almost thirty minutes exactly after leaving the port in New York. You gave a small grin, offering her a handkerchief and a piece of ginger candy and the rest was history. Finding out that she was a fellow mechanic was the icing on the cake. Coming in at a whopping five foot two, the spritely blonde could easily be found in a crowd with her loud Appalachian accent.

It seemed almost like fate for the three of you to have found each other. Being some of the few women on base naturally made you close, but you were closer with Irene and Teresa than any of the others. That’s not to say that you weren’t friends with any of the men, because you were. Friendly. 

All three of you were dressed to the nines, in contradiction to your everyday work wear. You all got ready together in your hotel room, giggling while you applied makeup here, spritzed some perfume there. You all felt confident and were ready to have a good time. You spotted some familiar faces and made your way over towards them, your friends linked arm-in-arm with you. Lemmons was the first to greet you.

Of the fifty men on the ground crew, Sgt. Ken Lemmons was the most welcoming of them all. From the get-go, he didn’t care if you were a man or woman. He just wanted to know that you were capable. You were sure he had to go through some hazing because of his age, which probably changed his perspective on gatekeeping the job. This made earning and maintaining respect a lot easier for the women on your crew. We all came over with the same goal, it was better for all if we just helped each other out.

“Hey Birdie! Nice to see you out and about.”

Ah, the famed nickname. You tend to hum and sing under your breath when elbow-deep in a project. It helps you pass the time and clear your mind. Of course, the rest of the ground crew quickly caught on to this habit of yours, which quickly earned you the nickname “Birdie”. You, of course, never sing solo in public, so this confuses anyone who’s not around you while you’re working. But the name stuck, so here you are. Birdie.

Chairs are quickly cleared for you and your friends, which you all graciously take. You go up to buy some drinks, knowing what your friends like, and quickly return with your drinks of choice. Conversation flows, laughs are shared, and a few drinking games are played over the next hours. Teresa soon speaks up on a topic you’d been hoping to avoid.

“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”

You shrug and look into your drink, “Dunno. Why does it matter?”

Irene, the ever supportive best friend that she is, backs up Teresa. “What do you mean ‘why’? This is your chance to finally make a move!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quickly deny, taking another sip.

An unladylike snort leaves Irene, “My ass! You and Major Egan have been making googly eyes at each other when you think the other’s not looking for months. I’m saying it’s time for you to perk your tits up, buck on over and ride that—!” You slam your drink on the table, pressing your hand over Irene’s mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Are you insane?” You whisper harshly, looking around to make sure no one overheard you. You seem to be in the clear, which makes you calm down a bit. Irene pushes off your hand, takes a swig of her drink, and consults the person who started this whole conversation.

“Am I wrong?” You look to Teresa, who cringes slightly in agreement.

You gape at the pair of them. Normally, you were the median between the two girls who had vastly differing opinions. But this is what made them come to a consensus? Unbelievable.

“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t want to.” You start, which makes your friends nod encouragingly at you. “It’s just that… Is he really as interested as you think he is?”

They both groan and slump against each other, like they’d just run a marathon. Teresa sits up, scooching your chair in closer so that the three of you were in a private triangle, cut off from the rest of the group.

“Let’s look at the facts here, okay?” Teresa starts to tick off a finger with each point she and Irene make. But you seem to always have a rebuttal at the ready.

“He brings you coffee every morning.”

“I thought he does that for everyone.”

“He constantly fixes his hair when you’re around.”

“He takes care of his appearance!”

“He walks you to the mess hall every day for dinner.”

“We just happen to be going the same way. And we happen to have the same dinner schedule.”

“He read The Hobbit when you said how much you loved it.”

“He’s an adventurous guy, it’s an adventurous book, what’s not to like about it?”

“You two literally will walk and talk outside alone for hours.”

“A man can’t have a stimulating conversation with a woman?”

“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”

“Hey! They’re not all dumb. Like, the one with the goose and the—”

“Point proven. Anyways! He has your picture in the inside pocket of his jacket.”

That one stops you in your tracks. You brain tries to justify this meaning but comes up blank.

“He…” You struggle with an excuse. “He…” Your best friends give victorious smirks in your direction.

“He… likes the extra padding in his jacket?” You stutter over what is possibly the most pathetic, sorry excuse you could have ever come up with.

“When are you gonna admit to yourself that he likes you? Like, actually truly likes you?” 

You gave a sad sigh, letting the insecurity you were feeling deep down come to the surface. “I just… He’s just so…” You had stomped down your feelings for so long that it was becoming hard to articulate what exactly you’re feeling.

“He just seems so unreal. Like, of everyone he could have chosen, why me? I mean, I know I’m great. But you’ve seen the other girls on base. They’re all so beautiful, smart, classy… and none of them are covered in engine oil ninety percent of the time.” You looked down at your hands, specks of grease and oil peeking out from beneath your nail beds. It seems like it would never completely wash out, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You hadn’t even painted your nails for this weekend, knowing it would be money wasted come Monday morning when you’re back on the clock.

Teresa and Irene share a look that you don’t see, then come forward and grab each of your hands. 

“The words you just used to describe those girls. All of that is you, Birdie. That and more. You being a mechanic doesn’t make you any less of a woman, and to hell with anyone else who thinks otherwise.”  You nodded in agreement, Irene’s words of encouragement slowly washing away your anxieties.

Teresa spoke up next, “You deserve someone who will rearrange the stars and the whole night sky for you. And I’m more than willing to bet that Major Egan is up for the job.” 

“Besides, none of that 'unreal' stuff. At the end of the day, John Egan is nothing more than a man. If he can’t look past his nose and his d—" You gave a squeak to cover up the vulgar word Irene was about to blurt in public. She rolled her eyes fondly and continued.

“If he can’t see what you’re worth and make the effort to treat you a hundred times better than that? That’s on him. Not you. You know what you deserve, and you deserve everything you want. Absolutely everything.”

You sniffed, happy tears coming to your eyes. You brought your best friends in for a hug, thanking them profusely. 

“Don’t sweat it,” Teresa grins into your shoulder “every girl needs to be pulled out of her well sometime.”

You pull back from the hug, grabbing your glass and tipping your head back, finishing the rest of your drink. “Even if he’s not gonna be here, let’s have a ball!” Your girlfriends cheer as the three of you go to the bar for refills.

One drink turns into two, which turns into a few more, and suddenly you’re buzzed. Your group are having a rambunctious time, Irene dancing by the local piano player. Once Irene looks over to you, she stops and whispers in the player’s ear. He nods, then starts a new tune. Irene starts up her voice, walking over to you and Teresa, encouraging you to join her. 

The alcohol has loosened you up enough that you don’t feel the nausea you usually associate with being perceived, so you join in the harmonies you and your friends have practiced in your bunks at night.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

Soon the whole pub was jumping and dancing along to the tune as you brought a new vibe to the pub. It was like a spark that started an entirely new night and everyone was eager to go on forever.

One song turns into an entire set, which ends with a full rendition of G.I. Jive, which had everyone singing along. It was a magical moment; made you feel like you were a part of something important.

Irene sidles up to you, giving you a hug. She says in your ear,

“I think it’s time to slow it down a bit. How about you sing that song I taught you.”

She means an old Appalachian folk song that’s been in her family for generations. You had heard her sing it one night and immediately loved the dark, but strong nature of the lyrics. It was an honor to learn it from her. 

“I don’t know, it’s your family’s song and…”

“And I can’t think of anyone better to sing it to these soldiers.” You gave each other a look, her slight eyebrow raise gave you the courage to nod in acceptance. She smiled, hugging you again, her voice yelled out to the crowd. 

“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”

The announcement is met with raucous applause, Irene and Teresa shoving you towards a dodgy looking table. Crank offers a hand up, which you take gratefully. As you find your bearings on the tabletop, you quickly spin around and find all eyes on you. 

The crackling energy in the air seemed to simmer, the fast-beating hearts of the pubgoers recognizing a moment to acknowledge you. Nausea starts to make an appearance, but a deep breath quells the sensation within you for the time being.

You take another deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

You close your eyes, open your mouth, and sing.

Meanwhile…. 

Majors Gale Cleven and John Egan walk down the familiar street, one eager to catch up with his fellow countrymen’s alcohol intake, the other just happy to spend time with his friends. They were arriving later to the festivities due to being caught up in filling out reports. By far the worst part of having a higher rank was the paperwork.

“It’s pretty quiet.” Buck acknowledges. “They’re usually rowdier by this point.”

Bucky sniffs, shrugging off the concern. “Ah, it’s probably nothing.” 

As the two men approach the pub, they find that a crowd has formed. Soldiers, civilians, RAF, USAAF, old, young— people had obviously stopped to watch whatever was going on. It was dead silent, save for a voice singing. Was there a radio show on or something?

A familiar face peeks out at them from the crowd, DeMarco quickly waving them over. 

Bucky is quick to question, “Hey, what’s going on?” but is immediately shushed by nearby crowd members. Buck cringes in apology, despite not being the one to disturb the peace. His best friend, ever unshaken by the opinion of strangers, carries on.

DeMarco leans in, whispering, “Your girl’s taking us all to church.”

“My girl..?” Bucky’s nose scrunches in confusion. He makes space through the crowd and quickly makes sense of DeMarco’s words. It was you.

I’ll catch you up

When I’ve emptied my cup

When I’ve worn out my friends

When I’ve burned out both ends

Standing on a tabletop, watchful eyes sat all around you like baby ducks flocking to their mama. You were captivating everyone with each note and word that flows from your mouth. Damn, you've got a set of pipes— a voice that belongs on the radio, in concert halls, on Hollywood records. He had no idea.

His little Birdie.

“Wow.” Buck mutters in awe from behind him, and Bucky couldn’t be more in agreement.

When I’m pure like a dove

When I’ve learned how to love

He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were closed. Like she needed to concentrate on each and every breath she took, every single movement her body made, before letting them out in an angelic melody.

As if by divine intervention, her eyes pop open and lock on his as she belts “how to love” 

It could’ve been an eternity, for all he knows, the amount of time that they spent locked in each other’s gaze. The world pauses around them, everything frozen. Her eyes were already the kind to knock a man clean off his feet with a single gaze, but he thinks- for a brief moment- that his heart completely stops beating.

John Clarence Egan would swear every day from then on, until his dying breath, that the course of his life was altered in that very moment. He knew how it would continue from then on, and how it would end. How he wanted it to end.

Then the world starts back up and carries on.

Right here in the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

Her final hums are joined by a short blonde woman who stands nearby, another face he recognizes from base. 

The applause that picks up after the end of the song is near deafening. The star of the hour gives a shy smile, a quick curtsy and is given a hand to step down from the table.

Everyone soon starts mingling, the normal chatter of the bar returning. But Bucky is stuck in his spot, dumbfounded. In all the conversations you’d had together, somehow this never came up. He should’ve put two and two together, as he recalls overhearing your hums one morning as he made his daily coffee delivery to you. But you had been caught off guard, so much so that you tripped off the ladder you stood on and fell. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in to catch you before any serious injuries occurred. 

Remembering the sensation of his hands on your waist and thighs, face just inches from yours, sent his brain into a tailspin. That’s not even considering just how damn cute you were when, after a beat, you turned away from him and playfully mourned the cups of coffee that were splattered all over the hardstand.

“John. John?” A hand waving in front of his face knocks him out of his reverie. He blinks once, twice. Then looks to his best friend.

His voice comes out uncharacteristically weak in response, to which he then clears his throat and corrects. “Yes—yeah?” He pops the collar of his sheepskin jacket to try and hide the rampant red of his ears that signals the heat radiating from them.

Buck just shakes his head and gives him a knowing smile. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Egan. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“See what day?” Bucky starts to consciously return to his body, leaning on the bar.

“The day when a girl finally knocks you on your ass. I knew you had a thing for her, but that?” He points to his face and motions to indicate where they had just been standing. “That’s something else. That’s something real.”

Bucky gives another shrug in response, to which Buck throws back an unconvinced frown. He turns his head to gaze over the pub patrons and is distracted by you once again. Any denial he was about to spout immediately dies in his mouth when you lock eyes with him again and give him a dazzling smile. The world starts to fade away again.

His heart pumps faster in his chest at the sight. Damnit. He sighs, telling his best friend the truth he’s been privately wrestling with for a while now, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“I know, Buck. I know.”

Bucky smiles back at you and is elated when your face lights up. You give him a wave.

“She kinda snuck up on me.”

[vampzzi]

TRAINED OUT

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Captain John price x Keegan P Russ x "Soap" MacTavish x Konig x Female reader

cw: this all consensual, running a train, creampie, tit fucking, blowjobs, choking, hair pulling, blood kink, rough sex, cervix kissing, awkward sex positions that took me too long to figure out how to write, Dacryphilia, cum drinking, cumming on body, just really messy sex, porn without plot, consented recording, anal fingering, anal sex with prep, vaginal sex, pussy slapping

author's note : thank you for 100+ followers, enjoy this mess of a post while I push myself into exam week. post will be more distant cause of exam week

TAGLIST (just ask to be added!!) : @antishadow2021 @banana-gurl20-blog

MALE VERSION ! . . . .

The camera light flickered as Keegan held the phone, the light flashing red showing that it was recording as you looked up at the camera and looked away nervously. When Soap mentioned something about a train, you didn’t think it would be this many people. 

You held your finger up and counted..Ghost, Keegan, Soap and Konig. Price was briefly mentioned but you didn’t know how much you could take before he could get to you. 

Alright..Soap turned his back to you and held a smile as you nervously smiled back and did a stiff wave as cleared his throat. “You’ve got a long way ahead of you, but before we get to it.” He paused.

 “Are you clean? Like any STD’s orr” chiming in before he could finish “If I had an STD, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have agreed. That’d be cruel and evil.” He only nodded at your response “Anyways, who do you want to go first?” You haven’t thought of that yet, Keegan only held on the phone and kept it rolling.

He seemed uneasy but calm, his icy blue eyes burning into yours as you broke eye contact with him and looked at your options. “Keegan.” He clutched onto the phone with a tight grip as he tensed up and relaxed, trying to keep his composure. “Alright then.” 

He out stretched his arm  as Keegan walked up to him and placed the phone  in his hand. It honestly made you wonder what would people think if this is what the Task 141 does in their freetime, “training”. 

 Keegan literally had no fucking idea how he got convinced to do this, this is something he’d think about and immediately say “nope” or “pass”.  He had experience it’s just he felt vulnerable in this situation, this felt way more than intimate and he couldn’t put his finger on this feeling.

“Say..instead of 1 person, how about you pick one more Name.” Soap spoke as you chuckled and pointed without even thinking “Ghost.” He was expecting to be last if he was honest with himself but that quite surprised him. Ghost and Keegan sat on the bed as you sandwiched yourself between the two big men as you felt smaller. 

They were both insanely strong and good looking, your breathing was heavy as you looked around. Keegan shoved what little bit of dignity he had inside him and kissed you as you submitted in the kiss. Ghost hands snaking around your waist as the skull part of his mask dug into your skin as he rested on your shoulder, he wasn’t going to lift his mask in front of all these people.

Now if it was you, it would be completely different. But he still did it anyway as he placed kisses on your neck as you mewled out. He nibbed and dragged his teeth from the atlas of your neck to your collarbone, repeating the motion as he bit down harder and harder each time. 

Each time, it would strike moans out of you as Keegan’s tongue explored the wet cavern of your mouth, tongues meshing with each other while your vision doubled, the feeling of you being disassociated from your body had you pushing yourself into the men. 

The feeling of your blood trickling your neck along with the feeling of Ghost’s warm tongue licking up the evidence as you pulled away from Keegan to breathe. As they both looked at you, pupils blown with lust, hair in a different state than a few minutes ago. 

You were completely out of it and they were too as Ghost raised his head from your shoulder and smirked as your blood was at the corner of his mouth, the metallic smell held a trance over you. Keegan helped you lay back as your head laid over the edge of the bed and your bottoms were pulled off as well as your garments, the room was actually colder than you thought it was as the coolness washed over your warm pussy.

Keegan's hands trailed down your waist and over your mound to your wet folds while Ghost was focused on the belt of his pants, he really should have taken all these unnecessary belts off just like when he took his gear off before getting here. Freeing himself from the decades worth of belts, he pulls his pants down as you can see bulge in his boxers as you almost salivate at the sight.

Your other partner on the other hand is already heavy against your folds, rubbing up and down against your cunt as he smears your juices over his heavy cock. Ghost pulls his boxers down and takes his cock out and strokes it as he smirks “Open wide, pretty girl..” he coos as you open your mouth and he slowly pulls into your mouth as you take every inch.

He’s still pushing into your mouth until he pushes through the tight squeeze and settles inside your throat while you’re to the base of his cock. Face against his shaved pelvis , as Ghost holds a taunting smirk on his face “pretty slut taking what’s giving to her..” he says under his breath, Keegan is more busy thrusting into your cunt as he pushes inside and you jolt forward. 

Choking on Ghost’s cock as he groans out at the feeling, they both thrust at the same time but not the same pace. Ghost is calling you a bitch,whore while also keeping it warm while Keegan is grunting and pulsing inside you as he cusses and whines about how tight you are. 

The roughness and whininess from them has your head spinning. You can only take what your given while Ghost fucks your throat throughly, your pretty sure you have a bulge in your throat from Ghost big size while he fucks your face at a pace, you’re not sure how he’s lasting so long at. 

It doesn’t help how Keegan is fucking you and hitting your sweet spots along with your cervix while flicking your clit and pressing down on it, even applying a slap to it as your eyes are watering and your letting out choked sobs and moans. Konig and Price watch closely as you get your holes stuffed and fucked, the pushing back and fourth from the men cause of their harsh unwavering paces. 

No signs of stopping as Keegan can sweat drip down his back and the side of his forehead as he can feel his cock about to explode, as he edges himself to keep going as that doesn’t go as planned as he pulls out and cums all over your cunt, you moan around Ghost’s cock as he’s still fighting his own denied orgasm. 

He holds you close and paints your throat white, the warm fluid filling your mouth as you gulp it down as it’s the best you’ve ever had. He pulls out of your mouth as some cum drips out and onto the floor as you pant out and the men collect their clothing and move out the way.

 “Hm, you lasted longer than I expected,” Soap muttered out. “Guess it our turn Konig” Soap passes the camera back to Keegan. Konig uncrosses his arm and stops leaning on the wall as Soap and Konig walk up to you as you sit up. 

Soap took off his shirt and completely stripped himself but his boxer as he laid down “Come here Name”. 

Soap says as you move over to her and he grabs you by your hips and helps you into a kneeling position as he has you spread your legs a bit more, you help him get his boxers off and he lets out a light hearted laugh “eager, aren't we?” he teased as you rolled your eyes and examined his girth and size.

Not as thick as Ghost or Keegan but he made up for it with his length, “C..Can I?” you breathe out and “Course you can darling.” you slowly sink your pussy down on his cock as he moans out, slapping your ass as you yelp. 

“Fuck, you are tight!” Soap says as you hit the base of him as you feel Konig’s warm hands on your ass as he’s pouring lube on your puckering hole and circling it. Sinking his fingers into it as you focus on the two mixed pleasures as you feel like you’re gonna go cross eyed soon.

Once Konig deems you’re prepared enough, his cock is at your hole. He only says one thing before pushing into you “I hope you’re for this.” The bass and growl in his body has your body shaking as he pushes inside as you dip your nails into Soap’s chest, The way they’re both deep inside of you just like the previous two has you wondering how they don’t have partners. 

They don’t go in Unison like Keegan and Ghost would, they’re fucking brutual. Both moving at fast pace that has you slapping against the base of Soap with loud noises as Konig slaps your ass and holds onto it while fucking into you and Soap is just thrusting into you with a fucking rough pace as he keeps kissing your spots. 

You could pass out from all this if you really wanted to, but you didn’t want too, Konig grabbed you by the Neck and held onto your neck as you choked out a moan as he turned your head to kiss him, while he thrusted into you and Soap gave a few harsh thrusts that had you bouncing upward. The recording was going for a while but they kept at it, you didn’t think you’d get creampied by both Konig and Soap but they blew inside of you with loud cursing as Konig held you by your neck with a low growl while Soap was completely out of it.

The room was reeked of sex, cum and sweat. But hey it bought you guys all together in the end as you laid on the bed and your chest heaved up and down. Soap was of course gonna take care of you as this was his silly little idea as he held a rag and helped clean off the cum while Ghost helped you with clothes and Konig helped with your hair and Keegan gave you words of praise. This was definitely going in your diary as the best moment of your fucking life.

* BONUS !! Price <33

While everyone went with Soap to get you things to help clean up the door opened and Price walked in and smiled down at you. “Well, looks like you had fun” you chuckled and sat up. “You could say that”. “Do you mind if I?” he lifted his hands defensively and you clicked your tongue “I don’t mind, in fact I welcome it” bringing a smile to his face. 

He walked up to you and unzipped his pants, pulling his boxers down along with his pants and laying his cock against the soft of your breast. You squished them as he nestled between them and sighed out “Ready?” Price said and you made eye contact with him “Ready than I’II ever be.” He thrusted between your boobs with a rough pace as the tip kissed your lips as you snuck your tongue and applied a kitten lick to the head as he bit his lip.

“Fuck..Do that again” he said as you repeated the kitten licks to his head before taking the tip in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it and licking in the slit while he thrust between your soft breast as he gasped and grunted as he rutted against your mouth to take more of his cock.

He was pulsing as you could feel how much warmer his cock was as he pulled away and came on your tits, opening your mouth as some hit your tongue and face. “You’re fuckin messy, but I love my girls messy” Price said before the door opened to the others returning back.

“Looks like Price is here” Soap says “How about a round 2 but with price?” “sounds like a plan.”

[storydays]

Brozone Random Headcannons

So I've seen the Trolls Band Together 3 times and counting and it was so good! So to get back in the groove, and after having some kind words come my way from multiple people, I really appreciate you guys! I'm gonna try a new writing style. Now remember, these are simply my opinions :)

SPOILERS AHEAD!

John Dory:

*Okay, so it is canon that Branch is 24 in the Trolls 3, which makes John Dory about 44.

*Nickname(s): JD, John

Fav color: Aquamarine and Green

Pronouns: He/Him (He supports, but is comfortable as himself)

He also gives me aromantic vibes, because like throughout the movie, he was really nonchalant when the romance bits came up, however subtle they are, he didn't give a damn lol.

JD is giving big Aries vibe with how confident he can be, pretty cheerful, and gets frustrated by tiny details, and unnecessary interruptions.

Bruce:

Bruce is the second oldest at 40

BIG Scorpio vibes!! He's strong (Y'all, have y'all seen how easily he lifted Branch when they first met) and hella independent. He was the first to question John Dory before their show, he was even hesitant to leave Vaycay Island before he sang with his brothers.

Nickname(s): Brucie, I feel like Brandy calls him that to mess with him or when she wants something. His brothers' (mostly John Dory and Clay), call him that to make fun of him as well.

Fav Color: White

DO NOT TOUCH THIS MAN'S HAIR!!!!! He will sic his kids on you and show no mercy.

Pronouns: He/Him (He's a huge ally, but he's also proud of himself.)

He loves experimenting and competing in the kitchen with Brandi, forces his brothers to try their food, and chooses whose food is going on the specials board.

Clay:

Clay is giving major middle-sibling vibes: at 35 years old.

Pronouns: He/They

Clay is non-binary and wears androgynous clothing but prefers their sweater romper and wristbands.

Nickname(s): Claybo (Viva calls him this to playfully annoy him), Clayton (Bruce and JD called him that as a kid, usually copying their mothers and grandma when they would scold him; but now call him that when he's overworked himself and they have to physically drag him to bed to rest.

Fav color: Green it was pretty obvious in the movie bc originally it was yellow when we first met him as a teen, but then we meet him later and it's green, and their whole outfit is green.

Def a Gemini! They're such a playful Troll, despite how serious he may act. But as he stated before, put some respect on his name bc they're a licensed CPA, fool!

Clay's favorite snack combo is:

Fries and a vanilla milkshake! He loves dipping the salty fries in the sweet vanilla.

They talk in their sleep, mostly about tax evasion and hot chocolate?

Hates doing their hair, Viva has to wait until he's sleeping for her to brush his tangles out.

Floyd:

Floyd is the second youngest at 32

He's such a Pisces! He's so empathetic, compassionate, and oh, so sensitive.

Pronouns: He/Him

He and Clay definitely go all out for Pride (Bc Trolls are literally all spectrums of the rainbow! We learned that in Trolls 2! It'd be impossible NOT to have a big party for Pride), and drag their brothers and are literally so hype at the whole event and crashes MEGA hard the next morning and sleeps for a good 12 hours.

Floyd remained friends with Veneer because, c'mon they were vibing. He could see Veneer wanted someone to see him, so he convinced the Mount Rageous police to let the twins out for Pride.

Had a long talk with Velvet and helped her to see the error of her ways, and she began to be nicer to Veneer and listen to him.

Fav color is Black. He knows he slays the Rock Troll look.

I'm gonna settle this once and for all: Floyd is gay. The one earring in his right ear is a shout-out to his voice actor who is an openly gay singer.

Nickname(s): Flo (I feel like Branch couldn't pronounce Floyd's name yet when he was just learning to talk, so he called him Flo and it stuck.) Floydie (when his brothers tease him about his crush that he refuses to name.)

The hair in his face is like a comfort thing for him. He knows his hair is soft, and when he's bored, he plays with it, and twirls it around his fingers.

Floyd definitely has a collection of journals, from his songwriting to venting his feelings, and even (poorly drawn) doodles of his family.

Branch:

He is the youngest at 24 as stated earlier.

Pronouns: He/Him

Fav color: Midnight blue like his hair

This dude is hella smart; like has a super high IQ, but is super chill about it.

He and Poppy are that meme: Tired X Energetic on a level 10!

Nickname: Branchifer (Poppy calls him that when she's calling him out on his attitude or when she's about to start teasing him.)

Def an Aquarius: highly intellectual, creative, and likes to join in on social interactions when it's on his time. Poppy learned the hard way why she shouldn't force him to join in.

Similar to Floyd, he was a bunch of notebooks filled with songs he'd written.

Branch is shy when it comes to family PDA, like if his brothers were to group hug him, or if they tried to mother him, and gets especially prickly when they baby-talk him in front of others.

This dude is the prince of sarcasm, clearly picking that trait up from all his brothers. Like bro, why are you so sarcastic?!

Is undeniably the most sarcastic of the brothers. (His nieces and nephews start to pick up on that, much to Bruce's horror. Brandi thinks it's hilarious.)

Doesn't really like kids, but absolutely adores his nephew Bruce Jr ( I mean he loves them all, but has a soft spot for that boy.) Bruce Jr is autistic and nonverbal and struggles to communicate. I believe he uses TSL (Troll Sign Language), and when Branch learns this, he starts signing fluently with his nephew, surprising everyone, especially Bruce Jr, because not many people can sign so fluently, but then Branch explains, that he learned when he was younger because you could go deaf at any moment and it's such a useful skill.

Bruce Jr shows Branch his blueprints that he's made and honestly, if they wanted to, they could take over the world.

That's all for now! Let me know what you guys think!

A big shout out to @vacayisland appreciate you! This one’s for you 🥰

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 1: The Mission

Book Summary: John "Soap" MacTavish has hated you since the very first day you arrived on base and joined their Task Force. You argue all the time, and one day, it pushes Captain Price to his absolute limit. He sends you both away to an isolated cabin in the woods for a week in hopes you can put aside your differences and bond. Will it work? Or will you two just end up hating each other even more?

This is a slow burn enemies to lovers fan fiction featuring Soap and you, the reader.

Word Count: 5,585

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Soap is mean, like really mean, smut later to come, rough smut, lots of swearing, violence, descriptive, blood, angst, fluff, slow burn, (more to come as I write)

A/N: Just a reposting of my story on Wattpad to help generate attention for it! Please go give it some love if you’re liking it so far. My user name is Emily7love or just look up the title.

Master List | Next ->

Bitter Allies • Part 1

"Bravo 7-1, this is Bravo 0-7, give me a sit rep on your position, over."

Soap is currently kneeling in some brush, staring at the small military camp in front of him when the radio call comes through. Despite the fact that he'd most likely need to be adjusting the volume up soon on his ear piece, he still turns it down a little for now.

"This is Bravo 7-1, I've been in position. Waiting on 7-4 to move her ass." He all but growls back to Ghost. His hand tenses on his rifle at even saying those numbers. Bravo 7-4.

You were Bravo 7-4. Also known as (y/n) "States" (l/n). The all too grumpy Sergeant by the callsign Bravo 7-1 was John "Soap" MacTavish. Also known as the biggest pain in your ass since you joined up with Captain Price's Task Force about six months ago.

Now anyone who knew Soap would be shocked to hear you say that you thought he was literally the worst and most insufferable human being to ever stain the Earth. To everyone else, Soap was a funny, charismatic, rather easy-going, and quite friendly guy. Everyone loved Soap. He was the golden boy of the Task Force, of the entire base. People were just naturally drawn to him, and his warm personality.

You can't say you blame people for being shocked when they learn just how much you can't stand him. Cause all those things about Soap were true. He was funny, and friendly, and relaxed, and just a great guy to be around. He was all those things when he wasn't around you. The second you stepped into the picture, his amused grin turned into a stiff scowl. His sparkling eyes turned hard. His relaxed posture turned rigid.

Yeah, John "Soap" MacTavish hated you. And you hated him.

Why did he hate you? You weren't entirely sure. It just seemed like it has always been that way since day one.

You transferred into the Task Force at the request of Captain Price himself. Originally, you had been stationed at a military base in the United States, where you were from. Then one day your commanding officer called you into his office and told you that you'd been given a new assignment. You would be working with a British Task Force across the pond for the next year. A group of four SAS men. If things worked out, then you'd be staying there indefinitely.

You'd been thrilled at the news. You didn't join the military only for the benefits and the opportunity to serve, but for the opportunity to travel and to potentially live somewhere else in the world. Getting to be that while also being SAS was the dream. You worked so hard to get to where you were today. Sleepless nights of studying, hard days of working out and trying to improve and hone your skills, and now it was finally happening. You were being sent off to a new base and a new team. And not just any team, an elite task force. You'd finally been selected.

You met the whole team day one of your arrival. The first person you met was Captain John Price. He was a friendly but very stern man. The no nonsense type of guy. He gave you a tour of the base, and showed you to the female barracks. Once you were semi-settled in (all your belongings piled into your room) you went to meet the other members of your new Task Force.

Price introduced you to each teammate. They'd all been in his office by the time you and Price showed up. Two had been seated, and one was standing despite there being enough chairs. That had been Soap.

"Alright you lot, here she is. This is (y/n) (l/n). Straight from across the pond." Price introduced you. "(Y/n), these are boys of the 141. This is Sergeant Kyle Garrick."

"You can also call me Gaz." Kyle fills in, giving you a nod and a handshake. "It's nice to have someone from the States joining us." He was the one responsible for your callsign being States.

"This is your Lieutenant. Simon Riley. He goes strictly by Ghost." Price continues. Ghost doesn't make a move to shake your hand. He just stayed quiet. Didn't even give you a nod of any kind. Quite intimidating coming from a guy wearing a skull over his face. "And lastly, this is-"

"Soap." The man barks out before Price can say anything. You remember hearing Price sigh before finishing his sentence. "Sergeant John MacTavish."

"You can call me Soap though. Nothing else." His voice was harsh, and carried a tone of warning. If you to call him by anything else other than his callsign, there were going to be harsh consequences.

His arms were folded across his chest, and he'd glared at you during the whole introduction. It made you so nervous, the reactions you got from both Soap and Ghost. Price assured you later though that they would come around. They just needed to warm up to you. He'd been 50% correct.

At the time, Ghost had been the most terrifying of three, and the one you worried you wouldn't be able to connect with (boy had you been foolish). At the time though, Soap had at least said something to you. Ghost never said a word or even acknowledged you. And when Ghost did talk to you, it was always in a gruff voice like you were annoying him. But over time, you came to realize that was just who Ghost was. It wasn't anything personal. He was like that with literally everyone. It was rare to catch him laughing or to hear his gruff voice become lighter.

Soap, on the other hand, also spoke to you the way Ghost did, but he only used that tone with you. He was so cheery and light when speaking with the guys. Even with strangers, his voice may have been slightly more gruff, but never as harsh as when he spoke to you.

His personality was vastly different around the others as well. Whereas he could joke, laugh, and relax around them, he was the opposite around you. You thought for a moment that maybe he was sexiest and just didn't like women, though every woman he spoke to around base, he was the kindest and most respectful guy.

Now six months later, not much had changed. Soap still spoke to you in a gruff voice. He still scowled when you entered a room. He still glared at you any time he needed to look at you. He had gotten more "comfortable" around you. But really that just meat he was far more comfortable with insulting you directly. From the way you shoot to the way you eat, he could find anything to gripe about. And eventually, you decided that if he was going to be difficult, then you'd return the favor.

The first time you insulted him back, he looked shocked, then just flat out angry. Your encounters went from quiet insults being thrown back and forth and dirty looks to all out yelling at each other. Never physical fights, but Soap had punched a hole in the wall during one particularly bad argument.

The others couldn't stand you fighting. Gaz would do everything in his power to keep you separated and distracted from each other so you wouldn't start. Ghost tried to never be involved, but he would sometimes break up the fights by using his scary lieutenant voice and sending you both to different parts of the base to cool off. Price... he got the most upset. He was normally so calm under pressure but hearing you and Soap bicker pushed him to the limit. He'd yell at you both until he turned red and then normally punish you by making you do extra cleaning, harder workouts, or something else just as labor intensive.

You lost count of how many times you'd been in his office with Soap, getting reprimanded on your behavior. One of the worst had been when Soap actively tried to get you kicked off the team while you were sitting right there.

"She is a right pain in the arse, Price! I didn't even start it this time!" He claims, doing everything he could not to look at you.

"Oh blow it out your ass, Soap. You were giving me a look."

"Then don't fucking look at me." Soap growls through his teeth.

Price slams his fist onto the table, making you both jump a little and halt your bickering for a moment. "Can you two shut the hell up? It's just constant with you. I have had a headache for five fucking days cause of you idiots. What is it going to take for you two to get along?"

Soap is quick with his answer. "All this could be solved if you just deported her little ass back to the US. Seriously Price, she's caused nothing but trouble since she got here."

"I am right here, Soap." You huff out a laugh, not too shocked he'd say something like that though.

"I wish you weren't." He throws back, making Price intervene again.

"Enough! She's not going anywhere, Soap. Whether you like it or not, she brings in a skill set we are missing in this team."

"Like hell she doesn't! We can find someone else." He argues, earning a glare from Price.

"She is staying. I signed a contract that she stays for a year. If we break that, we lose our funding, our reputation, and a whole lot more." Price says, making Soap cross his arms and sit back in his chair.

"So after however many months she has left, we can get rid of her?"

"You'll be lucky if I keep you once your contract expires!" He shouts at Soap, which shuts the Scot up. Sighing, Price continues. "I will reassess at the end of year once States' contract has expired." He says more calmly, which makes your heart sink and Soap smirk.

You were dismissed then, but Price had you stay back. Probably to keep you and Soap from walking with each other, but he also has a few words for you. He reassured you that you were doing great. That you truly did bring a lot to their team and that he was happy to have you there.

"Are you going to send me back at the end of the year?" You'd asked him before you left, looking over your shoulder by the door while he stayed seated at his desk.

"Don't worry about that now, States. But know, I like having you here, and remember, it takes both of to sign the renewal contract."

That gave you hope. Price most likely would want to keep you, but he was also going to leave it up to you to decide whether or not you wanted to stay. At the same time, if things continued the way they were, it wasn't going to be good for team morale. If Price had to pick between you and Soap, you were sure he'd pick Soap. He'd been with the team longer and knew them far better than you did. This was your dream though. Being SAS. It could take years before you got another team. You liked Price, Ghost and Gaz. Could you live with Soap?

That meeting was only three weeks ago. You'd been with the Task Force for almost six months. Halfway through.

Your current mission landed you in Naryn, Kyrgyzsta. You were hunting down a military leader, General Azamat, who was accused of doing an illegal arms deal with Russia. Photos and weeks of gathering intel suggested he was guilty and currently at this military base in Naryn.

This was purely a stealth mission first. You and Soap were tasked with infiltrating the small military base while Ghost provided overwatch. There were three security stations. One on the East, what Soap was in position for, the South, the one you were headed towards now, and the West, where you and Soap would meet to take out the last one.

The East and South stations were backup generators and needed to be taken out first before the main one to the South was. That way you kept the element of surprise and didn't need to worry about the backups going online. After that, your troops would push in and secure the base, capture the military leader, and you could all go home.

Soap had given the update on his position, saying he was where he needed to be, about two minutes ago. Two fucking minutes ago. And he was already griping that you weren't to your position yet. His words rang in your ear through your comm earpiece.

"This is Bravo 7-1, I've been in position. Waiting on 7-4 to move her ass."

"Calm down, I'm almost fucking there. Don't be so impatient." You growl back. "Seriously Ghost, how do you even deal with him?"

"Haad yer wheesht." Soap growls at you, some Scottish slang you don't understand. No doubt he was telling you to shut the fuck up or something along those lines.

"Either speaking fucking English or don't speak, MacTavish." You bark, voice getting a little too loud for a stealth mission. Even if you weren't too close to the camp yet, there could be patrols you needed to be mindful of.

"How about you fucking learn about other's cultures and then we wouldn't have this problem. And don't call me MacTavish."

"I do know about other's cultures! I just don't care to know about the one that you came from." You throw back before Ghost gets involved.

"Shut it. Now. Not another word. Fuck's sake." You could practically see Ghost shaking his head. "States, how long till you're in position?" Ghost asks, directing attention back to the mission.

"Give me two minutes."

"Bloody fucking Jesus." You hear Soap mummer through the comms.

You take a deep breath to try and focus your energy back on your current tasks. Soap was not going to get in your head and mess this up for you. For anyone else, he would have stayed quiet. In fact, it probably wouldn't have even bothered him.

"Hold up, 7-4." You hear Ghost say to you after about 30 seconds of creeping your way to your position. "You've got a small patrol further up from your position. Just over the hill. Two men, I don't see anyone else. When you're in range, get a good shot of one, and I'll dump the other for you."

"On it. Thanks Ghost." You whisper back, readying your rifle and trying to be as silent as you can while you approach the men.

"You telling me it's gonna be even longer now." Soap complains, making you roll your eyes.

"I'm sorry your side didn't have rough terrain or anyone to fight off, Soap." You tell him sarcastically. "Some of us didn't get the easy baby route to take."

"I'll have you know I took down two fucking patrols all by myself while I made my way over here. And I didn't have Ghost's help to do it either."

"Fuck you." You growl at him.

"What did I bloody fucking say?" Ghost growls, his lieutenant voice coming out. You curse yourself as you let it happen again. Just ignore the Scot and focus on what's ahead.

"In position, Ghost. I see them. Clear sight on both, your call."

Ghost does the quick calculations in his head as he prepares his shot, trying to determine which of the two men he had a better chance of taking out. "The one with the flashlight is mine. Dump is mate. In three, two..."

You both took the shot, Ghost pulling his trigger just a millisecond before you to account for the distance. He landed a clean headshot while your first bullet landed more in the shoulder of your guy. You took a quick second shot, which finished the job with another headshot.

"He's down. Clean shots. Though try for the head first next time." Ghost quips. There was no malice in his words. Just Ghost joking around to ease tension. Soap clearly needed to take lessons from Ghost on how to tell a joke without being a total ass about it.

"Noted. Thanks for the advice, 0-7." You banter back, earning a scowl and an eye roll from Soap.

"Less talking, more getting to where you're supposed to be." Soap cuts in, ending the fun you'd been having with Ghost.

"Don't get your skirt in a knot. I'm in position." You huff, pulling out your binoculars and scouting the area. Despite this base housing a military leader, and having two back up generators, they really didn't have much security. No walls, no floodlights. Just a few patrols outside. They weren't expecting trouble.

"It's a bloody kilt. Not a skirt." Soap seethes, his jaw clenched. At this rate, he wasn't going to be able to finish this mission. Everything about you was just pure annoyance to him.

"Yeah whatever you want to tell yourse-"

"Are you two going to be able to finish this mission or am I going to have to pull you both from it?" Ghost barks over the comms, clearly fed up now.

You feel your face flush hot in embarrassment. Ghost has never threatened to remove you from a mission before. You've always been good and reliable. You can't fail and have it on your record that you were pulled from a mission due to not being able to get along with others. That was a death sentence for your career with the SAS.

"No, sir. Sorry, 0-7." You apologize, not hearing anything from Soap's end. He was probably pouting and internally cursing you for getting him in trouble, even though this was all his fault. "Going to head out for the South station. Bravo 7-4 going dark." You turn your radio from the public channel between you three to a private one used only for emergencies. At least now you wouldn't be able to hear Soap for a little bit.

Soap hears your radio beep once, signaling to him you'd disconnected for a moment while you advance towards your target goal. Once you had, he huffs and takes a moment to squeeze his eyes shut and collect himself.

"I can't fucking stand her, Ghost." He complains to his friend. "Why the hell did Price ever think it was a good idea to put us together on a mission?" He looked out into the field, making out the little shadow of you making your way slowly to the base.

"She's part of the team, Soap. Price has his reasons. Just focus on the mission and make it work." Ghost replies, not offering too much help aside from stating the obvious and putting Soap's mind back in the field. "Better get going. Your path is clear right now."

Soap sighs heavily and stretches out his neck a bit by tilting his ears toward each shoulder. One side pops a little, only relieving a little tension. "Alright. Bravo 7-1 going dark." He clicks his radio to the private channel and begins to make his way to the East backup generator's building.

By the time Soap reaches his building, you are already working your way inside the South building thanks to the small head start you got. You stick to the shadows as much as you can, thoughts wandering to Soap from time to time. Wondering if he's cleared his building already or if he ran into trouble. Then again, if it was really bad, he could have contacted you or Ghost and there would have been alarms going off. And as much as you hated him, you had to admit he was really good at this kind of stuff. Sweeping through a place and clearing it out. Quick and clean. Of course he'd never ever hear you utter any praises directed at him.

Your building wasn't too heavily guarded. You assumed most of their men were either asleep in the barracks, standing guard of where the military leader was staying, or off patrolling areas they deemed more important than the backup generators. The main building to the West would have most of their patrols since it was the more important building. That was the reason you and Soap needed to work on clearing it together.

You managed to clear your building fairly quickly with only one close call. One guard had seen you shoot someone else, but you managed to take them out before they could radio for backup, and no one seemed to have heard him yell. Once cleared, you plugged in the flash drive and uploaded the virus it contained to make the generator go offline.

You bring a hand to your radio and speak into it. "This is Bravo 7-4, generator down, South building secure. I repeat, generator down. Heading to the West building to the rendezvous now." You begin to head out the way you came in as Ghost speaks to you over the comms.

"This is Bravo 0-7. Confirm. You're all clear." Ghost responds.

"You got a sit rep on our precious Bravo 7-1?" You ask, forgetting to switch over from the private channel. You duck behind some ammo boxes and sneak along them, not expecting to get an answer from Soap. You expected him to be busy still and not on the public channel that you thought you were on. Before Ghost can answer, 7-1 graces you with a response.

"States, shut your fucking mouth and switch your radio over to public. How the hell did you get selected when you can't even use a damn radio." He snarls, making you pause. Soap's words always kinda stung a bit, but some more than others.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I not allowed to have a sit rep on you?" You ask, ignoring your slip up of being in the wrong channel.

"No." He answers flatly, making you sigh and roll your eyes. So much for working as a team. "And switch-"

You switched over while he was mid sentence, not wanting to hear his grating voice anymore. You were getting a little worn down at this point. It wasn't like you enjoyed arguing with Soap as much as you did. It was exhausting. Being out in the field where you were already stressed was making it a lot worse.

"He's almost done." Ghost answers you, keeping you updated since Soap clearly wasn't going to. "Just head to the rendezvous, States."

You grumble softly but do as you are told. You mutter a "copy" into your radio before slowly and carefully making your way to the rendezvous. You hear a soft beep shortly after, signaling Soap had reconnected to the public channel. You try to avoid using your radio after that, even skipping check-ins since it seemed that Soap was going to make any use of your radio an unpleasant experience. Though eventually you do need to give an update that you were at the rendezvous, that way Soap wouldn't shoot you.

You move to the side of a building and crouch down. "Bravo 7-4 approaching rendezvous." You sigh to yourself before adding, "Bravo 7-1, please let me know when you are on your way."

"I'm already here. Look to your bloody right 7-4." You look almost directly to your right, which is met with an annoyed sigh. "Not that far. Back to your.. straight.. just- Fucks sake, by the crates!"

"You're not giving me good directions!" You silently yell back, still looking for him.

"By the crates! The only crates in the area! I'm practically in the open."

You see him then. His stupidly handsome face turned into a scowl and his piercing blue eyes glaring at you. He was not in the open, only his head poking up from the crates. You sent the same look right back to him and make your way over, looking around and making sure the way was clear so you wouldn't compromise your position. He was kind enough to at least raise his gun and cover you as you made your way over. Once behind the crates, back pressed to them, he relaxes his position and ducks behind them with you.

"States, look at me," Soap says, his voice deep and gravely. The only tone he ever seemed to use with you. "I want this done clean and easy. No fuck ups. You're going to follow my lead and stay out of my way. And I don't want to hear a single word from you unless it's mission related. You got that?" He lectures you.

You are so, so tempted to roll your eyes at him. He was talking to you like you were a marine fresh off selection. Not a five year veteran who was selected for an elite special forces team. He didn't even outrank you by that much. Not enough to make a real difference. The only thing he had up on you was experience and maybe two years in age.

You're silent for a long moment, glaring at him until he repeats himself a little.

"Do you understand?" He annunciates each word, and you swallow down the choice of words you had for him. This wasn't the time or place for that. You were in the middle of a mission that could go belly up and turn dangerous. You didn't need to be fighting the sergeant on this.

"You got it." You say tightly, mustering up all the strength you possessed not to say more than that to him.

Soap seemed surprised you agreed so easily, but he eyes you suspiciously for a moment before nodding. "Good." He nods before reaching for his radio. "Bravo 0-7, this is 7-1. Going in. Rest of the troops be ready in five minutes and wait for the signal."

"Copy, 7-1." Ghost confirms. "Be warned, I see multiple troops in the vicinity of the West security building. Some men have different uniforms. They look to be General Azamat's men. He could be in there."

You furrow your brows at that. You were expecting a lot of troops in that area, but the military leader you were after wasn't supposed to be in there. There was a bunker in the middle of the camp that he was supposed to be in. It wasn't going to be a significant change the mission though. It just meant your job had become a lot harder. More men to clear out without raising alarm.

"This is Bravo 7-4, 0-7 what's the best way in?" You ask, refusing to look at Soap. You saw his head turn to look at you from the corner of your eye.

"If you wanna come home looking like Swiss cheese I'd go with the front door. Around the back might be your best shot, but I can't get a clear view from my area." Ghost informs you.

"Can you reposition and-"

"No." Soap immediately cuts you off, making you glance to him. "We don't have time for a reposition. We need to move before they realize their backup generators have been breached."

"You just don't like it cause it was my idea." You accuse, watching as Soap visibly becomes agitated.

"I don't like it cause it's a bloody stupid idea!" Soap says through clenched teeth. He was getting right in your face. You were about to tell him off until Ghost's voice filled your left ear.

"Soap's right. There's no time. Head to the back and make due with that entry point. We'll go loud if we need to."

Soap wore a smug look as Ghost sided with him. You despised it. "See? Told you it was a stupid idea." He reiterates, still way too close for comfort.

Your anger flared, and you shoved him back with a forearm to his chest. He reacted instantly, grabbing your arm and flinging it away as if it had burned him. The movement was so quick, it surprised you a bit, and all you can do is stare at him with wide eyes.

"Touch me again, and you're going to regret ever signing up for the military," he growled, his finger jabbing the air between you before standing up and storming off without attracting too much attention.

You're left stunned for a moment, though you're not sure how you thought he was going to react to you pushing him. Within a matter of seconds, you gather yourself, reminding yourself that you were still in enemy territory and needed to focus. With a reluctant sigh, you followed after him.

You managed to make your way to the back of the West Building with Soap without too many complications. The most you needed to really do was duck behind some parked trucks as a military jeep rolled by. It exited the compound, likely heading out to meet a patrol for a shift change.

You and Soap didn't say a single word to each other the whole way. For a stealth mission, that was preferable. However, you could feel the tension between you and Soap. Disdain was radiating off him, and you didn't want to get too close to him in fear he was going to blow up at any second.

There's a line up of vehicles that serve as your cover for the time being as you sneak along one side of them. Suddenly, you nearly collide with Soap when he abruptly raises his hand, signaling you to stop. There's a group of four men all standing in a small circle, talking and smoking together. They're isolated from other groups but taking out a group of four could be very difficult to do.

Soap takes a few steps back, waving for you to back up as well. "We can't take that group out by ourselves, we're going to have to go around." He tells you in a hushed voice as you attempt to peak around him to get a good view of the targets blocking your path.

"It's only four. We can both take out two." You suggest, but, just like all your other ideas, Soap is fast to shut that one down too.

"Not a chance. You suck at hitting multiple headshots." He accuses.

That makes your blood begin to boil. You were not the God awful shot he made you out to be. In fact, back on your base in the US, you were considered to be one of the better shooters.

"I don't suck at making headshots." You glare, making him huff at you.

"Oh really? You missed the one earlier. Ghost managed to hit it from hundreds of meters away, and you bloody miss from a few feet. Your aim is absolute dog shite, States. I'm not going to have you mess up this entire mission cause you think you're better than you are."

His voice was harsh, as always, and his glare was biting. You felt your eyes burn as tears formed, but you refused to let Soap see you cry. He'd only roll his eyes and call you a baby. Crying would only give him more reasons to think you didn't belong here, that you weren't as good as the rest of them.

There were so many things you wanted to say to him in that moment, but you couldn't. The words got caught in your throat, and you feared that if you opened your mouth, a sob would escape. All you could do was look away and clench your jaw, masking your hurt feelings as anger instead.

Soap seems to take your silence as you submitting. "Come on. We'll go around that way."

He was motioning to a camp-like area that seemed mostly deserted, though there were probably men sleeping in the multiple tents that were set up. Along with the tents, there was some campfires and some small boxes of what looked to be filled with MREs.

As Soap quickly moved to the new area to bypass the group of men, you glanced back at them. You knew you could land those headshots. If Ghost had been with you, you would have taken them down already. You were tired of Soap thinking you were inferior and wanted to prove him wrong so badly. You knew you could land those headshots...

Raising your rifle slowly, you lined up the shot for the first target and mentally mapped out the sequence. One on the right, then left, then back right, and then back left. A simple zig-zag pattern. Easy enough.

Right as you're about to pull the trigger, you hear Soap's voice crackle through the comms. His voice was deep and full of warning and venom. 

"Don't you fucking dare, States."

But you dared. You wanted more than anything to prove him wrong. You slowly exhaled and pulled the trigger.

[lovethetasteofnothing]

Halloween headcanons - TF 141 + Valeria + Farah

includes: valeria garza, farah karim, kate laswell, simon "ghost" riley, captain john price, johnny "soap" mactavish, kyle "gaz" garrick

gn!reader, except for Laswell x fem!reader (argue w the wall), female pet names

warnings: horny behaviour if you squint, like very little; mentioned consumption of alcohol; mentions of violence (light); the rest is pure fluff

word count: 2.4k words, roughly 350 per character

Valeria Garza

you asked her to go Halloween shopping since you wanted to decorate

got everything you laid eyes on

you had to stop her from buying three plastic skeletons because you joked about having an army of them in your backyard as decorations

she'll use her enemies bodies instead

doesn't let you put out candy on the porch, the last thing she needs is little kids coming up to her door and being loud

buys you bags of candy instead

regrets it because you get a sugar rush after eating a whole bowl

now she has a hyperactive toddler running around, spewing out random facts she found on YouTube

would make you try Mexican candy, definitely sneaks something spicy in there if your spice tolerance isn't high

"Que pasa? Can't handle the heat, muñequita?"

you hold a grudge for the rest of the night (she'll make you forget about it when she gets you in bed dw)

refuses to dress up, will punish you if you try and get a costume on her

will fold if you ask her to have matching costumes with her, still won't do it because she's "a grown woman"

takes candid photos of you in your cute little costume tho, she'll probably make one of them her background if she figures out how to

forces her men to dress up in whatever you want just to entertain you, they don't dare complain about it

the guards at your door are now dressed in Eminem and Christina Aguilera (don't ask me why)

will force you to have a scary movie marathon with her

laughs at you when you get scared and cling to her, literally calls you a crybaby and bullies you for being a scaredy cat

will snuggle you and kiss your forehead afterwards

"it's okay, mi vida, I'll protect you"

ordered her personal chef to make you Halloween themed cookies

practically folds when she sees your reaction

you get another sugar rush and she regrets everything (worth seeing your cute face and hearing your happy squeal)

Farah Karim

will plan your matching couple costumes since june

helps you thrift/craft yours and constantly compliments how you look in it

would definitely buy a ton of candy to give out to little kids trick-or-treating

is so happy when she sees their little costumes, practically heals her inner child

she has baby fever now, you have to remind her she can't get you pregnant

is searching up adoption details at 3 am after you fall asleep

helps you decorate, would definitely let you decorate since August just to see your cute face light up

adds more decorations every time she sees something you'd like and buys it

you made her watch Halloween movies with you

she judges everyone's decisions and logic

starts spewing an escape plan 5 times better and doesn't stop until she finishes it

is confused when you flinch at the scary scenes since she had seen it coming from a mile away

not surprised when you try to make sweet treats but you pull out questionable goop out of the oven

"i told you that's too much butter"

helps (pushes you to the side and only lets you crack an egg) you make an edible batch instead

lets you decorate them, you manage to make two piping bags explode before she takes over again

she hides the cookies before you get a sugar rush and/or a tummy ache

is confused as to how you found them and got both a sugar rush and a tummy ache

scolds you like a mom before taking care of you

you fall asleep in her arms on the couch, Friday the 13th playing in the background

she tucks you in bed and kisses your forehead before going to look up how to adopt a devil child

Kate Laswell x fem!reader

isn't the biggest fan of Halloween but she'd play along with you, she just wants to see you enjoying yourself

mom!Laswell would dress up at your request so you guys can have family costumes, melts at how cute you and your kid/s look together

but if it is just you and her she'd refuse

similar to Valeria, she says she's too old to dress up in silly costumes

the slightest hint of a smirk on her lips if you decided to wear a sexy costume before she rolls her eyes

proud mom smile while she takes candids of you in your cute little outfit, handing out candy to kids

so concerned when she hears about carving pumpkins

keeps a very very sharp eye on you, she doesn't want to go to the ER on halloween

helps you out when you get stuck, groans and pushes through if she starts struggling with it too

a sigh of relief leaves her lips when you finish your arts and crafts project

"it looks scary, darling" no it doesn't, but who is she to tell you that and ruin your fun

pulls out the old decorations box from the attic and helps you buy new stuff too, makes the plan on how to decorate

brings you to the halloween themed party TF 141 is holding so you can be chaotic with them while she drinks with Price

if she doesn't feel like it she'd just stay at home with you, watching you hand out candy to kids and cracking little jokes

her heart melts

refuses to let you watch horror movies, the last time you did she had to sing you a lullaby until you fell asleep

every day for a week; she also had to buy a night light because you got a random fear of the dark afterwards

you made her check the closet too

also limits your candy intake, would steal a few from your pile every once in a while and shrug when you frowned at her

candy corn enjoyer, also licorice fan

has you wrapped up in her arms, a blanket over the both of you while she tells you scary stories/ stories from her missions instead

Simon "Ghost" Riley

doesn't need a costume, he's dressing up as himself, the mask is scary enough as is

or he'd just take off the mask and say he's dressed up as Simon Riley, you call him a party pooper

you dress up as him just because you can

doesn't know if he should be upset or flattered, he's crying in his head at how cute you look with his oversized clothes and old balaclava

that's now his favorite balaclava

swaps out his mask for a balaclava so you guys can call yourselves Ghost Team

stares at you when you carve pumpkins with his throwing knives, you're lucky you're his favorite person

pries them out of your hands before you dull the blades and he has to work with oddly shaped spoons on missions

stands concerningly still on the porch and scares little kids when they come to knock on your door (like those decorations that move yk)

lets you hand out candy and coo at the little kids while he watches from the hallway (he thinks he's sneaky, he's not)

he now too has baby fever

will not mention it but you can notice him inching closer until he stands right behind you while you give out the candy, his hand wrapped around your waist

you both finish the leftover candy while watching scary movies

he feels like a little kid again, would never fess up about it being healing for him

picks out your favorite candy and gives it to you subtly, literally just makes a little pile of it in the middle while he eats the rest

would complain about you decorating since the beginning of september

has beef with a random skeleton you put up

"he's looking at me funny, luv"

picks you up while you decorate and can't reach a spot

he'd deal with the electrical decorations for you

you make him try a pumpkin spice latte

he tries so hard to be nice about it before saying he had enough sugar for the whole year

"this is milk and sugar with an idea of what coffee is supposed to be like"

cleans up the candy wrappers after you crash, takes a sneaky picture of you sleeping with his balaclava on

takes it off gently because you'd manage to suffocate in it, before tucking you in

Captain John Price

rakes up the leaves in the yard while you decorate the outside

he has to do it again because you insist on jumping in the piles and destroying his hard work

makes you help him gather the leaves again "to teach you a lesson", you never learn

picks the leaves out of your hair and dusts you off (all smiley when he notices you were wearing his flannel jacket)

doesn't want to dress up so you say that he's already wearing a capybara costume everyday

you have to explain what a capybara is

proud dad face when he sees you wearing your costume

makes you do a twirl and takes so many pictures of you so he can keep them and look at them when on mission

helps you hand out candy to the little demons

gets upset when a kid calls him 'grandpa', you have to spend at least 15 minutes telling him that he's a dilf not that old and still very attractive

dad face™ when he sees you giggling and playing around with the little kids, needs one of his own with you now

kinda sad that his job makes it so hard for him to have a cute little family with you

falls asleep on the couch while you give out candy, probably sitting up too, a bowl of candy in his lap

plays it off by saying he was just taking a little rest, you call him 'grandpa' again to tease him

doesn't notice you had been stealing candy throughout the whole night, managing to eat about an entire bag by the end of the day

holds you in his arms and tries to contain your sugar rush

you kick him where the sun don't rise on accident and that's when he lets you get your wiggles out, poor pop

you apologize by bringing him a drink and cuddling him for the rest of the night, consistently saying "sorry" every five minutes or so

"it's alright, darlin' "

you offer to share the leftover candy with him as a peace offering, pop is now a puddle

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

definitely has a dorky costume and makes you match with him

you and him have a competition about who has the better costume, he only lets you win because you're cute

still thinks his is better but he wants cuddles tonight and can't risk it

finds dumb decorations when you go shopping with him and when you tell him to put them back he sneaks them into the basket like a little kid

you wake up with the decorations in front of your eyes at the cash register and have to pay for them now

he insists on coming up with the most horrendous decorating schemes ever known to man, you follow some of them because he's sulking atp

tries to convince you to have some kind of small explosion "for effect", you turn it down because you don't want to get sued

frowns when kids get his costume wrong, chases them (playfully ofc) around to teach them a lesson

definitely scares you with every occasion he gets, you'd literally turn the corner and he'd just jump at you

you make him watch the actually scary movies because you're a horror enthusiast

"pff i've seen worse on the field" before clinging to your arm like the scaredy cat he is

carves pumpkins with you, oddly skilled at it

he helps you when your knife gets stuck in the pumpkin and your hand hurts from trying to dislodge it

blows up his pumpkin afterwards

takes couple pics with you, the sillier the better. they're his lockscreen now, will brag about them when he goes back to work

he'd try and go trick or treating before you tell him he's too old to do that

you spend the rest of the night on the couch, finishing off the leftover candy, the both of you hyperactive

would fight you because he likes the same candy as you, he wins and steals all of it

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

you make him dress up as spider man (that one mission in MW 2019), he's on board after a bit of convincing

only accepts because you promise to be his MJ

does the spider man kiss thing with you and takes pics, definitely brags about how easy it is for him to hang like that after all of those heli crashes

does whatever TikTok trend is popular at that time with you, tries to get it perfect so you can show it off to your friends afterwards

helps you choose decorations when you're being indecisive, also buys little things he thinks you'd like to add in the meantime

he'd 100% untangle the string lights while you put them up (also keeping an eye on the chair you're standing on so you don't fall)

you do actually lose your balance but he's quick on his feet and catches you, the most cocky smirk on his lips while you're blushing and your heart is beating so fast it might explode

he'd scare you too, just so he can make fun of you. also pulls random pranks on you and hides the decorations just so you can whine and complain to him

"I told you to stop being such a ditz, love" with the most loverboy grin on his face

you send him on a last minute errand to buy candy because the two of you only got your favorite kinds and you decided to hoard them for later

compliant boy, also buys you a fall themed drink on his way back

his hand is constantly around your waist or around your shoulders while handing out candy

would ask kids what they're dressed up as and gives the ones with cool costumes extra candy

you scold him for being unfair

you both decided to do a childhood halloween movie marathon, makes you feel like you're a little kid again

trades candy with you, tries to bribe you with cuddles to give him more of yours

cuddlebug!gaz who lets you fall asleep on his lap while he watches the rest of the movie (he stole the rest of your candy, your fault for letting your guard down)

[soapybutt17]

Labour pt.1

Summary:A mission has gone sideways, you find your husband compromised alongside Gaz and because of it you were tasked with handling most of the mess that came after. What you didn’t expect was to be chewed out and spat on by one Philip Grave. Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Philipp Graves. Simon "Ghost" Riley, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish. OC Children (Joey, Katherine). Price's mother (Beatrice Price). Word Count: 2,160 Chapter Warnings: Misogynism. Sexism. Graves is being a complete peace of shit here. Angst. Reader is literally breaking down here. Only hurt no comfort until the second part. John is being a little bit of a POS here. Author's Note: Song Inspo is this

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part II

You tried you best, you truly did but it was not easy to keep a straight face as you were notified that both your husband and Gaz were compromised because of wrong intel. It was hard not to scream at Laswell because it was her intel that left your husband wounded and barely awake as the doctors were tending to his and Gaz’s wound. It was even harder to reassure both Ghost and Soap that everything would be alright even if it wouldn’t be.

“What the fuck happened?”

No, this was actually the hardest for you as you stared at the obnoxiously arrogant bastard of a man named Philip Graves. He was blaming everyone else but himself. His shadows all nodding along with his rant while you sat in the meeting room. You kept silent. You wanted to wait until he let out all of his steam before you began. But it doesn’t seem like he was stopping any time soon.

“We followed Laswell’s Intel. Someone might have caught wind of it and attacked first.” It was Ghost that decided to cut the ranting.

It’s been a long and far too tedious mission for everyone and it’s coming close to a year now since you and your husband have returned back home. Close to a year since you’ve actually seen your son and daughter and missing out on most of their milestones because of it. You were at your breaking point and men blaming you want not helping in the matter.

“Laswell’s intel was perfect it was the execution your team made that ruined the mission.”

You took a deep breath as the anger grew ten folds because of the man.

“Are you done?” You inquired knowing it was time to talk since the conversation was going nowhere.

As the man shuts up, surprised even with your calm tone even with the stress of the failed mission. You gave both Ghost and Soap a warning look. It was all they needed from you to know you could deal with this.

“The intel was perfect a day or two before we headed out for the mission. No one here would realize that their movement and plans would change.” You explained. “We will do our best to fix this.”

“I don’t fucking need you to do your best to fix this!” Graves spat slamming his hand on top of the table that separated the two of you. “I want you to fucking do your job! Or has motherhood and becoming Price’s wife turned you into an incompetent soldier?”

You blinked, genuinely taken aback by the man’s words. In the years since you and your husband had finally allowed everyone to know about your relationship and marriage, never once had anyone say something as malicious as the man did in front of you.

“I am the best soldier before I became a wife or a mother.” You spat raising from your chair to look at the man straight in his eyes. “Do not use my family for your sick plan to hurt me, Commander. You are not the one in control of this mission, you are merely a pawn that we will more than happily discard once the mission is over.”

“Then act like it.” He spat.

You cracked your neck counting to ten trying to calm the bubbling anger fighting to come out. You still had your resentment and apprehension for having Graves participate in the mission. More than just how he and Shepard has betrayed your team back in Las Almas, you never truly trusted a man that had openly admitted that a woman like you did not truly fit in the military. This moment has cemented it.

The meeting was eventually dismissed and you made a beeline towards your husband’s office—rather, your temporary office while you handle most of the paper works while he was unavailable. You had ensured that the door was locked before the first line of tears had fallen from your eyes.

It was frustrating, to have everything you had worked on since an early age and every single sacrificed you had to make for the family you had created with your husband to be wasted by such words. You were reduced to just being your husband’s wife and the mother of his children. You were not acknowledged as the Lieutenant that had spearheaded in Makarov’s capture all those years ago, not acknowledged as the best sniper in your generation, not acknowledged as the best medic of the team. You were nothing more than a woman that served her husband and children.

Your phone dinged and the sight of your mother-in-law sending you a video of your son taking his first step further broke you as you fell to your knees and wept. Everything was falling apart all at once and you didn’t know how to navigate everything on your plate without being questioned.

~

The moment John had opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of his beautiful wife sitting beside where he laid. You were buried deeply in what he assumed were the mission report.

The first thing he had noticed about you were your puffy eyes that weren’t just from the lack of sleep but for tears that he was uncertain what had caused it. Even in the pain that came from his wounded shoulder, his moved his arm gingerly and held onto your hand taking you by surprise.

“John!” You gasped placing the paper work you were signing on the opposite chair that was your impromptu table while you stayed with him. “How are you holding up?”

“Alive so that’s good news.” He tried to minimize what had happened. “How long was I out?”

“A week now.” You answered looking at the clock above the bed. “Do you want me to call the doctor?”

He shook his head, not wanting to deal with a doctor just yet. His time with his own wife was more important than having to deal with the coats.

“What happened while I was out?” He inquired knowing it was better to know what was wrong than having himself second guess and annoy you.

“Mission was completed with the few hiccups with what happened to you.” You began with a sigh. “Had to do the debriefing with Graves and Shepard while making sure to keep Soap and Ghost in a tight leash and stop them from lashing out.”

John tried to decipher the deeper meaning from your words. There was something more you weren’t telling him. It was always like this with you, you always try to minimize what hardship that rested on your shoulders even the lashing that was thrown at your direction at the expense of your own feelings.

“What happened?” He repeated hoping it was enough to have you telling him the truth.

“Nothing you needed to worry about, Captain.” You avoided but how you called him Captain when it was just the two of you.

John tried. He truly tried not to worry but even after he was discharged from the infirmary and he continued on with what you had left off from his paper works he noticed the distance that had wedged itself between the two of you.

No longer did you try to stay in his office longer than you usually did. You didn’t even try to approach him unless there was someone else present. Yes, he truly did try not to worry but it was hard when he knew something was certainly wrong.

“What happened during the debriefing?” John couldn’t help himself any longer and the first opportunity that he had caught sight of both Soap and Ghost without you present he took his chance.

He watched the shared look between the duo.

“Still hasn’t told you what happened?” Soap inquired.

“I wouldn’t ask if she had, would I?” John quipped right back.

“Just some misogynistic bullshit being spewed by Graves.” Ghost was quick to end the to and fro that was evidently happen when it comes to Soap.

“Thank you.” John nodded and a plan was already formed in his head for what needed to be done.

~

“My darlings.” You couldn’t help but almost be in tears at the sight of your children in the airport with your mother-in-law.

With the mission over and done with, you and your husband were finally allowed to be home for the next few months—more so with your husband still recovering from his injuries.

You had wrapped your three year old and nearly one year old into your arms peppering them with kisses as your husband greeted his mother. You took a good look at them, so pained by how grown they were in the seven months of not being able to see them.

“Mama!” Your son, Joey mumbled at you with his small hands gripping onto the collar of your shirt.

You heard your husband grunt, bemused by the fact that your son’s first word was you instead of him. Turning to your mother-in-law, Beatrice, you gave her a quick hug appreciating her help with keeping the fort up for you and your husband. You owed her a good vacation with your father-in-law.

“Hope John would be alright now that he’s back. You know how he is with injuries.”

You peered at your husband that was forced by the doctor to wear a sling for the next few weeks while his shoulder heals. You definitely know how much of a baby the man could be every single time he’s injured. He would do anything but rest and heal. You just hope your children could keep him busy for the mean time.

“I’ll deal with him, Mum.” You reassured her with a smile. “Now, what don’t we go and treat you and Dad to some boogie five star dinner like we promised?” You inquired earning a peck from your mother-in-law in the cheek.

Eventually after dinner with your family, you had drove your husband and children back to your home. John had been becoming moodier as the minute passed, with the pain finally kicking in. Now you had to deal with three children that were getting uncomfortable being confined in the care for more than an hour.

Your patience was already laying thin with your husband not helping with your children crying at the backseat. With your children both in the confinements of their car seats and not being able to move as much, they were no help to your growing fouler mood. Your husband was silent in all of this, living in his own world dealing with his own discomfort for having to deal with the bullet hole to his shoulders and his refusal to drink painkiller to deal with it.

“John, the kids. Please.” You finally spoke, hoping he could finally take the hint.

“What do you want me to do?” He snipped and your felt your blood boil and ready to snap and before you could even do, the sudden ring of his phone interrupted you.

He moved slightly from his seat beside you to pull his phone up and immediately answered a call from Laswell, disregarding your request to keep the kids quiet and talked to the woman with your children crying in the background.

Once again, you felt so alone in this situation. It felt so unfair. So fucking unfair to you having to deal with both children, hoping and praying that bribing them with ice cream or sweets would appease them both, but it only made things worse and John demanding you to shut them up was enough for you to stop the car in the middle of the road.

Without another word, you turned the car off, unbuckling your belt and leaving the car slamming the door shut finally silencing both your husband and children.

In the middle of the deserted road, with the cold breeze of the midnight skies you screamed at the top of your lungs. You punched the closes tree that you could see. Punched the fucking trunk over and over as everything you had bottled up has finally overflowed and you were genuinely worried if you were finally going through a psychotic breathe because of it.

In your screams and punch, you halted as the wetness finally fell against your cheeks. You were truly losing your sanity as you sobbed over and over again for everything you had to deal with in the base and mission. Graves’ words that were meant to belittle your incompetence as a soldier dug through your heart more than you had ever thought it would.

You were tired. Just so tired.

When you could barely feel the tears falling anymore, you let out one last pained scream before finally wiping your tears and making your way back into the car. The silence in the car was a relief as you turned the car back on and continued driving.

“Darling…”

“Don’t, John. Just fucking don’t.”