#simone garland

[princesssarisa]

Have you visited all these celebrity graves? I've obviously visited some of them – several I visited just today – but not all.

Maybe next time I come to LA, I should visit Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills for the first time, and see Debbie Reynolds and Carrie Fisher's tomb and Judith Barsi's grave, among others.

[non4ry]

hi guys the new merch stuff is here! i’m selling extras on my shop right now :) everything is in limited stock and will be shipped out shortly! I’m trying to sell everything and get them all sent out so maybe go check it out <3. Mutuals DM me for a discount code!!!

[havenfanrewatch]

s02e12 - Sins of the Fathers

A gravedigging Trouble brings back dead fathers of various kinds with messages for their sons and followers. The Rev and Simon try to talk Duke into following his father's footsteps in killing people, and Garland tells Nathan that Audrey is too important to Haven for Nathan to fall in love with her.

Nathan tells Audrey about the fight with Duke that triggered his Trouble, and Audrey challenges the Teagues on the secrets they've been keeping from her

Audrey accepts a dinner invitation from Nathan, offering to cook him pancakes and tell him all about what happened with Lucy, but when he arrives at her place ... she's gone.

Finding Duke's necklace there, Nathan assumes he's responsible and charges round there to confront him. Duke insists he doesn't know anything about it, but as they fight we see Nathan's new tattoo. They point guns at each other, and the episode ends with the sound of a gunshot ...

[ruthmedia2]

BLINK TWICE (15)

BLINK TWICE (15) Director: Zoë Kravitz Runtime 102 min Cast: Naomi Ackie, Channing Tatum, Christian Slater, Simon Rex, Adria Arjona, Kyle MacLachlan, Geena Davis, Alia Shawkat Synopsis: When tech billionaire Slater King (Channing Tatum) meets cocktail waitress Frida (Naomi Ackie) at his fundraising gala, sparks fly. He invites her to join him and his friends on a dream vacation on his private…

[bi-writes]

Is it possible for Simon's MOB request him to dress up as Ghost for Halloween? and of course she will wear whatever Simon want her to

But if you don't want to bring Ghost into MOB's universe, just skip this. We completely understand 😉

it's about time, huh?

mail-order bride (18+)

when simon comes home after a long two weeks away, he's pleasantly surprised by what waits for him. there's carved pumpkins lined up on the porch ascending up the steps, and there's candles lit inside, making them flicker. along the porch railing, there's garlands with orange lights, and there's a black feathered wreath on the door. simon smiles under his mask, even wider once he sees the cats staring at him from the window. their tails are swishing, and he waves at them before putting the key into the door and coming inside.

it smells like pine. there's candles on everywhere, making the entire living room glow a soft orange.

all the throw pillows are different. they've been changed. they are made of velvet and linen, with some of them having fall prints on them like black cats and pumpkins and autumn-colored checkers. there's pumpkin motifs and leaves everywhere, like all the colors everywhere have been changed to browns, reds, and sage greens. you poke your head out from behind the fridge, smiling as you see simon by the door, taking off his boots and jacket. he showered before coming back from work; you can tell because he's not wearing the skull balaclava, and he has regular clothes on.

"hey," you greet him softly, waving. "you're in early."

"couldn't wait," simon murmurs. "had to come see my girls."

you snort, rolling your eyes, but you shut the fridge before coming into the living room. you wrap your arms around his neck easily, tugging him close as you snatch his mask off and kiss him softly.

"i missed you, simon," you whisper between kisses, and he wraps those big arms around you tight, cradling the back of your head as he kisses you back.

"i missed ya more."

you giggle when he picks you up a little, turning you in a little circle before setting you back down. it baffles you how easily he takes your weight; barely even grunts, just smooths his hands down your thighs and picks you up with that wicked, crooked smile.

"loved wot ya did wit' the house, luv," simon adds, chuckling low. your eyes light up, and you look around, beaming at the cozy couch you've made up with the new blankets and pillows you had bought. you giggle, looking back at him, cupping his cheeks to bring him closer to you.

"the kettle's on. why don't i make you some tea? we have so much to catch up on," you coo, and simon blushes, easily, and you giggle when he tries to look away. "simon!"

he slips a hand up your skirt to stop your laughing. you gasp, your breath caught in your throat, and simon hums as he kisses along your jaw, chapped lips sucking at the skin until you're liquid in his arms.

"mmm...a cuppa sounds nice, baby," simon chuckles in your ear, and you nod, pulling away slowly. he squeezes your ass gently before letting you go, kissing under your ear before he collapses onto the couch, sinking into it. he grabs one of the thick new blankets thrown over it, and you come into the room a few minutes later with his mug of tea and a big smile on your face. "oh, ya didn't have ta do tha'...i-i meant--"

"i know what you meant, simon," you say softly, setting it down next to him. "i wanted to, okay?"

he smiles a little, nodding, and then he reaches for your hand to pull you into his lap.

"okay, hafta catch up, luv," simon sighs. "tell me wot happened while i was gone. want ta know everythin'."

you shrug, leaning back against his chest.

"did a lot of shopping," you tell him. "a lot. sorry about the bills, simon."

"don't worry about the bills," he says firmly, and you smile a little when he takes your hands and squeezes them gently. "tell me more."

"i bought mostly stuff for the house," you smile. "all the halloween stuff. i left a few pumpkins for us though. that we can do together."

"mmm. i'd like tha'."

"and i bought...some halloween costumes," you finish, looking over your shoulder at him. he raises a brow, grinning, and he tilts his head to the side.

"you wanna dress up, tha' it, luv?"

"well...i bought a lot of costumes for me," you continue. "i...i was hoping...that..."

simon nudges you a little. you swallow, squeezing his hands, and he kisses your shoulder gently.

"well...i was hoping you could put on your..." you clear your throat, "i mean...you could be...ghost...and i-i could be--"

"ya want me ta wear my mask?" simon asks, leaning in a little. he puts his face into the crook of your shoulder, and you shiver a little. "want me to be ghost...not simon...tha' it, baby?"

you can't meet his eyes. you shrink a little in his lap, and he buries his face further, sucking gently on the curve of your jaw.

"woteva ya want, swee'eart," simon mutters. "can have woteva ya want."

"simon--" you gasp, arching your back, and he wraps a strong arm around your middle and holds you against him.

"shhh--" simon quiets you. "'s olright. why don't ya wait 'ere for me, aye? sit right there, lookin' so pretty..." he wraps a big hand around your throat, holding you there, squeezing gently. "why don't ya sit there, and i'll go put somethin' on, and we can practice?"

"p-practice?"

"tha's right," simon licks his lips. "got to see if our costumes will look nice together, don't we? got to make sure we match."

"y-yeah..."

"will ya wait 'ere, swee'eart? wait right 'ere for me?"

"yes. yeah. yes, simon." you're breathless, shaking practically, and simon tucks you against the couch before grabbing his bag and heading into the bedroom. he gives you a wink before the door shuts, and you put a hand over your chest and breathe deeply as you settle there.

your husband never fails to make your head spin. he occupies your every thought; the way he loves, the manner in which he takes care of you, the insatiable look in his eyes whenever his eyes are on you. never in your life have you ever been more at the center of someone else's world. never in your life has every word that leaves your mouth been so akin to some kind of revered gospel.

everything you say matters. nothing that you do can be wrong. nothing that you feel is ever dismissed, nothing that you want is ever not given to you, everything in your life is sunshine and rainbows and fuck, he's so fucking hot--

your brain goes fuzzy when the bedroom door opens again. it's someone you don't recognize, not really.

even when you've visited him on base, he somehow still maintains himself as simon in your presence. when you look into those eyes, you always recognize them. they are soft, they are kind, they are the ones you have always known.

whoever stands in front of you isn't someone you've met yet. he's taller, somehow. maybe it's the way he stands. feet spread apart in those steel-toed boots, cargos snug around his massive legs. your eyes start low, taking in the holsters that are positively squeezing his big thighs to his waist. mmm, his solid middle. that place that never gives, that feels full and warm when you've fed him a nice meal, now he uses it as his own personal armor. he wears a windbreaker under his tact vest, but he's pushed the sleeves up to his elbow, his tattoos on display. they've never looked so right on him until now. you follow the line of his chest to his face.

his face. his second skin. you've seen this mask before, that dirty skull that he never washes properly that frames his eyes, making him sunken and dead. he's smeared eye-black on under it, and his eyes are voids. they sink, the whites barely peeking through, and as you look at him, really look at him, you don't recognize what you see.

he's so big. he's never looked bigger. he takes up the entirety of the doorway, and you shift on the couch as you take in all of him this way.

it's like seeing someone new. it's like being married to two different men. it's simon, surely, somewhere under there, but whoever you're in the presence of isn't simon.

"hmm..." you giggle nervously, standing up. he narrows his eyes a little, flexing his hands in and out of fists, and you point to the bedroom behind him. "i'm...i'm gonna go get the costumes i bought. and...and we can pick one for me."

he blinks, but he says nothing. he walks slow, past you, and you hold his eyes as he does, and he holds yours. you turn to keep eye contact as he takes a seat on the couch, spreading his legs wide, resting his hands on his thighs. you swallow, nervous under his intense stare, and you hurry towards the bedroom to fish the costumes out of the closet.

you look at yourself in the mirror. you look frazzled. your entire body feels hot, too hot, and your palms are clammy. you wipe your face gently before going back into the living room, where ghost is waiting exactly where you left him.

it looks like he hasn't moved an inch.

you hold up a few of the hangers, showing off the outfits on them.

"o-okay, i got a few. some of them are...kind of dumb," you laugh nervously. you hold up a stupid nurse outfit. it's a short little dress that would show off your thighs and way too much cleavage, and ghost considers it for a few long moments before he shakes his head. you clear your throat, nodding. "yeah, this one was dumb."

you toss it aside, holding up another one. it's a fitted bodysuit with a matching witch's hat, and ghost shakes his head at this one as well. you toss it aside to show him the next. he turns down every single one. little red riding hood. alice in wonderland. even the cute little corset angel dress that you really thought would work.

you play with your fingers nervously, looking at the costumes that you've tossed over a chair. you frown a little, curling your toes, the picture of quietly frustrated as you think about what to say next. ghost sits there, unbothered, staring at you as if he's waiting for something. he blinks slow.

"i-i don't understand what you want," you whisper. "i...i thought you'd like at least one of them, i mean..." you run a hand over your face, shrugging. "what do you want me to wear, nothing? i--"

ghost tilts his head to the side, making your breath catch in your throat.

what do you want me to wear, nothing?

your lips part, and you take a few deep breaths. nothing. he wants you to wear nothing. simon--well, simon would say differently. simon would tell you to wear whatever you wanted. he'd tell you that you would look beautiful in every single one, and you think maybe he'd ask you to wear the nurse outfit just to be cheeky.

not ghost. ghost doesn't like the theatrics. ghost doesn't care for the game. he doesn't chase, everything he wants comes to him, or he makes it come to him. everything he desires ends up between his teeth, and that includes the woman that's wearing his fucking ring standing in front of him.

you take a timid step forward. he narrows his eyes under the mask, watching curiously, and when you make your way between his legs, he stares up at you, right into your eyes. you smile.

"you might be a ghost, but you're still my husband," you say softly. "so will you do the honors for me?"

ghost hums lowly. he reaches for you, gripping the base of your shirt, and he lifts it over your head with ease. he tugs your shorts down along with your panties as you unclasp your bra, and finally you see the flicker of something in those eyes when your tits fall in his line of sight.

there's a man under it all, as much as he would like to pretend like there isn't.

you lean over, putting your hands on either side of him on the back of the couch before straddling him. he grunts as you sit down, his hands finding your waist, and you lean forward enough to press your forehead to his.

ghost, like your simon, is insatiable. as soon as he has you this close, his hands are wandering. gloved hands slide up your slides and cup your tits, thumbs smoothing over your nipples until they're puckered and hard. once he's satisfied that you're shuddering enough, his hands fall to your thighs, spreading them apart even more before he grips both sides of your ass and squeezes, spreading them apart. the tease of his thumb over your ass makes your brain restart, and if he wasn't wearing the mask, you have a feeling you'd seek a sickening grin come over his face.

your mouth falls open, short breaths leaving you, and your eyes flutter closed when his hand slips between your thighs and cups you, big palm swallowing your folds as he puts two fingers to your clit and makes a nasty squelch as he moves them in firm circles.

"olready so wet..."

you squeak with surprise when he flips you over. your back slams against his chest, and it arches away from him as he plants your heels on either side of his thighs and wraps an arm around your middle to hold you against him.

"oh--ha--"

you reach back and grip the back of his neck for support as he puts his hand back where it belongs. two gloved fingers move in achingly slow circles through your folds, but like a teasing shit, he only skims your clit every so often. he leans in, humming against your ear, and he smacks his lips under the mask as he watches from over your shoulder.

"is it time?" he rasps against your cheek. "mmm...y'r husband neglects ya, huh?"

"w-what? no..."

"'s olright," ghost huffs. "i know. even pretty girls need to get fucked, tha's the truth, innit?"

"nnghh--"

"even sweet, pretty girls deserve a firm hand. don't hafta be so gentle...ya don't want gentle, aye? not wot ya need."

"just need you," you whine, and he paws at your tits hard as he sinks two fingers into you, right down to the last knuckle. you cry with relief, bucking your hips up against his hand, and he shushes you, shaking his head. ghost is simon's nasty alter ego, and you just want more and more and more of it.

"relax," he chuckles. fuck, he's so smug, it's infuriating and appealing all the same. "just need ta get ya nice and soft...need ya to open up fer me. won't be easy, takin' me."

like always with your husband, the one thing that is easy is not thinking at all. you sink, relaxing into his grip until there is no resistance from you. you don't have to have any thoughts when it comes to him. you can just be in the moment. you can float on this plane of nonexistence, this place that is just for you where you can just be and enjoy and think of nothing but how good you feel at this exact moment. he's got such big fingers--they curl, petting your insides, coaxing you to make all sorts of soft, pretty noises that just make him more desperate. he's hard against your ass; he chubbed up as soon as you sat in his lap, but now it's an unmistakable feeling.

he is everything you have ever wanted. he is more than you deserve. for your entire life, nothing has ever felt more precious. nothing has ever been more special. no one in the entire world has ever been so pervasive and demanding and thoughtful and wonderful, and you love him so much, you think you might die if you don't have him--

"i know," his voice brings you back. you're crying, tears wetting your face. you're shivering, holding onto him, babbling nonsense that sounds a lot like i love you and please and more. "i know, baby--it's so good, innit? feels so good, look at ya...look at ya, 's oll mine, 's mine, everythin' tha' y'are is mine."

everything you are is mine. skin, bone, and all.

"i'm gonna--no!" you seize when his fingers leave you. you miss them, turning around in his lap, cupping his cheeks, shaking your head, desperate desperate desperate. "don't take it from me, don't--!"

he hums. deep within his chest, something you feel trickling up his throat as your hands slide down his neck. you paw at the tactical vest, pulling on the straps, but ghost is something you cannot move. he's rigid, solid. nothing about him gives. even hard, pressed up against your cunt, he loses no control.

"gonna be good?" he asks. "hmm? gonna be good, and let me take care o' this, aye? can't 'ave ya coming on my fingers, swee'eart. first time ya come tonight, 's gonna be on my cock, y'hear tha'? say you hear me."

"i hear you--"

"tha's good, good, i like tha', like when ya do wot i ask. 's easy, innit? easy ta do wot i tell ya."

you can see those eyes. you're in love with those eyes. it doesn't matter how much he paints around them or how many layers he covers his face with, you will never forget them. you will know them when you close your eyes for the last time, and you will know them when you are born again, and you will spend eternity looking for them until you find the ones you know belong to you.

simon will wear a million faces, and you will know each and every one of them, just like you know this one, even the one you can't see.

simon makes other men so inferior. ghost makes them infinitely obsolete.

"so pretty, i've got such a pretty wife," ghost mutters. "did good, didn't i? gettin' myself such a nice girl. a messy girl." you're drooling as he lifts his hips, undoing his jeans with one wet, gloved hand. the zipper comes down, and your eyes fall as you watch him shove the denim just below his balls. "fuck--so full, baby, huh? won't last if y'keep lookin' at me tha' way, close y'r mouth."

you giggle a little. it escapes you without you even thinking, and when ghost tilts his head to the side, you're caught in it. he's about to fuck you for the very first time. he's about to eat, like he's never eaten before. you're about to lose your fucking mind, that's for certain, and nothing about it scares you.

simon might not be here right now, but ghost still knows what you are to him. he's going to take care of you. he loves you.

you cradle his head when he turns you in his lap. you clutch onto the back of his mask, lowering yourself in his arms as you press your lips to his over the mask. your shuddering breaths make him groan, and he hisses when you use one hand to slip his cock between your thighs, rocking your hips to coat him in slick. the bulbous head catches between your ass, and you lick over his jaw as you draw your hips back, meeting his eyes again.

you never want to know another man. even if they take him from you, even if someone manages to put a bullet in him, you'll never be with anyone else. this is it, the end all be all.

"not supposed t'think," ghost tells you. "y'r too pretty t'think."

your lashes flutter, and he grins under the mask.

"just the tip?" he teases. you press your forehead to his, shaking a little, and you nod your head. you take it nice and slow. he hitches you high up on his lap, on your knees, and you're a whimpering mess when he pushes the fat tip inside of you. you rock your hips, feeding yourself more, and ghost leans his head back when he feels you squeezing and squeezing and squeezing as you take just a little more of him, little by little. "don't need ta work ya open when y'r cunt's beggin' for it, innit?"

you squeeze his broad shoulders, leaning all your weight on him as you sit down on his cock. both of you groan, finally one, and you push his mask up to seal a kiss as you feel him throbbing as he touches deep.

"i love you so much," you whisper between kisses, "but i've been waiting t-too long for this."

"don't worry," ghost mutters. "there'll be time f'nice 'n sweet later. i know wot y'need."

and fuck, he certainly does.

ghost has you propped up underneath him when he fucks you for the first time. he shoved a few pillows under your hips, and the angle has your eyes in the back of your head as he indulges himself. when he puts a gloved hand low on your tummy and presses, you see it--fuck, it's good.

he's hitting that spot again and again now. the groans that slip out, the ones he can't control, have you squeezing his cock every time he meets your hips, and he has to grab onto your thighs to keep you from shaking yourself too hard. his balls are heavy, fat, smacking against your ass with a wet sound that's making it hard to focus. you go in and out, and every time that skull mask comes into your vision again, you feel a new wave of shudders make it's way down your spine, curling your toes.

"tha's it, love--" ghost praises. "ughh, knew ya'd be so good f'me. knew ya'd take it like this. open up--yeah, yeah--fuck--" he spits into his glove, nasty, and when he thumbs at your clit, you mewl. your back nearly lifts off the couch and the pillows you rest on, but ghost just cackles, pressing you back down, his palm a nice weight on your tummy as he pushes down again just right and-- "oh--fuck--there it is..."

your orgasm is unlike any other you've ever had. for a split second, the world is nothing but stars. your vision hazes, white spots dancing, and when you blink back to consciousness, ghost has slowed his hips, his hands gripping your hips as he watches the mess between your legs quickly wet his cargos. he hums low, eyes wild, and he keeps fucking up into you suddenly, a bit quicker, renewed vigor.

"want anotha one," ghost hisses, and you babble as you try and tell him i-i can't, never been able to--but he's still going, still running his big thumb in nice circles, and when he draws your legs up and over his shoulders and leans his weight on you, you cry with relief when something softer but just as lovely hits you head-on. ghost gets down onto his elbows, faltering, and when you feel his cum spurt, you shake at how good it feels to be surrounded by your husband, inside and out, the start of him and end of you blurred between tangled limbs and shared breaths and the wedding band you can feel him wearing underneath his gloved hand as he intertwines your fingers and squeezes.

your body is liquid. it seeps back into the couch, melding to the cushions underneath you, and you smile up at your husband as he smooths his hands over your face and chuckles low and breathless.

"y'r so beautiful," he murmurs, and you tell him the same, because it's true. you touch your nose to his, breathing him in, and when you laugh, he asks you what it is.

"i just..." you laugh again. "hmm...why did we wait so long?"

you laugh together, soft and quiet, and when you kiss him, he's gentle. he sits up enough to throw his gear off, the tact vest falling to the floor, and you toss his mask behind you so you can scratch at his short hair and kiss his cheeks.

"so..." you bite your lip, and he gives you all his attention.

"wot is it, baby?"

"you...wanna go again?"

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

“Babe? I’m home.” Simon called out as he trudged through the front door. It had been an exhausting week, and Simon wanted nothing more than to relax with you for the remainder of the weekend.

“Babe?” He called out again, huffing when he didn’t receive your usual cheerful reply.

He made his way into the living room, stopping dead in his tracks upon the sight that greeted him. Your shared living room was littered with holiday decorations- ranging from garlands lining the fireplace, custom make stockings hanging from the mantles, to a bright green fir tree standing tall in the corner of the room.

A small smile made its way to Simon’s lips as he took in the room. He’d not had his home decorated for the holidays for as long as he could remember.

His eyes drifted to the couch, finding you tucked around your German Shepard Riley, with one of Simon’s hoodies engulfing your frame as you slept.

Simon’s heart fluttered at the sight as a small chuckle escaped his lips. He moved to cover you with one of the blankets on the couch, before planting a soft kiss to your temple.

He made his way into the kitchen, stopping when he found something on the table that caught his eye. It was a small ornament, and upon closer inspection, it was a photo of the three of you, Simon, you and Riley taken last holiday season- and the inscription on the bottom read “The Riley’s 2023”

He twirled the ornament around between his fingers, the smile from before not leaving his lips- his heart feeling more full than it had in years. He finally, finally had a family of his own.

For once, Simon Riley found himself excited for the holidays.

[quarterlifekitty]

You know the praise/degrading chart you made? So stay with me now kitty, stay with me bestie

Slapping Ghost in the face while riding him, holding his chin with force BUT praising him for it

I think he would cum & discover things about himself at the same time

I’m with you bestie we are holding hands rn

cw: slapping, breath play/choking, violent imagery/threats (I made reader kinda fuckin crazy lol)

Ghost is no stranger to the sting of your palm on his cheek. He tells you not to go easy on him, and you don’t— sometimes his vision nearly goes white. Between that and your hand on his throat and your cunt strangling his cock, he’s somewhere in the precipice between this world and the next.

“Don’t fuckin’ pass out on me, Simon. You wanna be good for me, don’t you? You’re always so good for me.” You let go of his neck when the thrum of his pulse in his ears gets so loud that his eyelids flutter.

“Wann’ be good,” he grunts, a surprising propensity for human speech considering he feels like a beast beneath downpour, near drowning in his own rancid pit— that fetid, pulsing mound of weakness beneath his sternum begging for love.

Your fingers trail up the column of his throat to grab his chin, forcing his attention on your face.

“You’re not just good anymore, Simon. Not when you’re with me. You’re perfect. If any other man tried to come near me, tried to fuck me with their raw cock, I’d gore them. Guts turned to garland.”

And he knows you would.

The roiling tempest burns beneath the weak skin of his belly when you speed up.

“You’re perfect and I want you inside of me all the time. You fit me perfectly. I want your everything, god— I love you. Cum right now, cum inside my pussy please you beautiful fucking man—“

He cums so hard he feels like he’s gonna throw up. You follow close after, grinding against him harshly until he can feel the squeeze of your insides on his sensitive cock.

When you lay next to him a few moments later, skin sticky and hot, he’s staring at the ceiling like it owes him money. Since when do his hardest orgasms come from feeling loved?

[beloveds-embrace]

I just recently got into CoD and learning all the story’s and characters, and I absolutely love your Roomemate 141 Series!

I can’t help but think of the holiday season with them, decorating with the boys (John is always happy to help, and doesn’t mind if you tell him to adjust a garland or a wreath a million times, just as long as your happy in the end, he thinks anyway you decorate makes their home look great) or going out shopping (Kyle definitely seems the type to jump at the offer to accompany you, keeping an eye out at all the things you pick up and put down to add to his shopping list to gift to you) or (-if you celebrate Christmas,) going to pick out a tree with the boys?

Johnny is trying to convince you to get the biggest fullest tree after all you should have the absolute best for the holidays…and don’t forget when your decorating it, everyone helps even if you just buy some cheap ornaments for this year because the boys don’t have any particular special ornaments (You picked out a special ornament for each of the boys to give them on Christmas…so it won’t be cheap ornaments on the tree for long…) AND when it’s time to put the Star or Angel or whatever tree topper on the tree, Simon is all the happier to be the one to lift you up to the top so you can put the finishing touch on the tree.

(And don’t think about one of the boys putting up a mistletoe in the hallway that you always walk through so now all of them are trying to get caught underneath it with you… 👀)

Waitt omg this so cute 😭 holiday decorationing means the decor tyrant that you are is fully out and thriving but in all honesty, John doesn’t mind. He loves the boys but Kyle is the one one of them with any sense of home styling but they just never have enough time to shop. But here you are, excited to decorate the space even more than you’ve already done and who is John to even think about saying no? … even if he’s sure the fairy lights are centered, love.

Said fairy lights that you got while shopping with Kyle, who leaves your side for a while and when he returns, he’s brought all your favorite candles and snacks that have run out. Also he 100% has access to your amazon or whatever wishlist so he knows what to get you for Christmas, and still would’ve known what to get even without that wishlist because he’s always so focused on you, your likes and dislikes and what catches your eyes.

Also yes johnny absolutely does try to get the biggest tree 😭 you have to remind him that you live in an apartment and if he really wants that tree then you’d need to take a wall and maybe a good chunk of the ceiling out 💀 he still does manage to convince you to buy a relatively big tree, and rewards you with making his mom’s secret hot chocolate recipe that will have you all cozy and cuddly against his side on the couch <3

Also. Ornament painting with them 🥹 just a fun little activity to have some special ornaments to hang on the tree, and you don’t even notice you are sitting on Simon’s lap while you two are painting. When it’s time to decorate the tree, it’s a group effort that ends with Simon just easily picking you up to place the star/angel on the top. The excited look on your face was absolutely worth it.

And not only do they hang up the misteltoe, they’ll be carrying it and holding it up above whenever they manage to lololol trust that Christmas is only made better with lotsss of kisses <33

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Home for the Holidays

Pairing: Poly!141 x Reader

Warnings:Fluff

Authors Note:I hope you enjoy!

Word Count:1.1k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Christmas Eve

The snow had started falling early that morning, blanketing the world outside in pristine white. You’d spent the entire day buzzing around the house, determined to make everything perfect. A large tree stood proudly in the corner of the living room, its branches dripping with ornaments and twinkling lights. Pine-scented candles flickered on the mantle, where red stockings hung with each of their names stitched into the fabric—“Captain Price,” “Soap,” “Gaz,” and “Ghost.”

The kitchen smelled divine—gingerbread cookies cooling on a rack, a roast in the oven, and a pot of mulled wine simmering on the stove. You wiped your hands on your apron, glancing at the clock.

They’d be here any minute.

You didn’t know how you’d managed to convince Price to keep this a surprise from the others. But the idea of all four of them walking through the door together, with no worries about missions or danger, warmed you to your core.

The sound of tires crunching on snow pulled you from your thoughts. You peeked out the window and smiled at the sight of their car pulling into the driveway.

The front door opened with a gust of cold air, boots stomping as four familiar figures trudged inside. Price, of course, was first—his ever-present hat slightly askew, snow clinging to his coat. His sharp eyes softened as they landed on you.

“Look at this,” he murmured, taking in the festive decorations. “Feels like I’ve stepped into bloody Christmas card.”

“Leave your boots by the door,” you instructed, barely suppressing a grin.

Soap barreled in next, shaking snow from his hair like an overgrown dog. “Lass! What’s all this, then?” he asked, gesturing to the garlands draped along the banister.

Gaz followed close behind, holding a bag full of gifts. “I told her she’d go all out,” he said, his warm brown eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Looks cozy,” Ghost muttered, his deep voice rumbling as he stepped inside last. His black mask stood out against the soft colors of the room, but his eyes lingered on the decorations with quiet appreciation.

You wrapped your arms around Price first, letting the warmth of his embrace seep into you. “Welcome home,” you said softly.

One by one, you hugged them all—Soap lifting you off your feet with a laugh, Gaz squeezing you tightly, and Ghost standing still as you slipped your arms around his waist. He didn’t hug back, but his gloved hand brushed against your shoulder in an almost imperceptible gesture of affection.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Price said, his gaze sweeping over the cozy scene.

“It’s been a long year,” you replied. “You all deserve a real Christmas.”

That Evening

After dinner, the boys gravitated toward the living room. Soap plopped onto the floor, his ridiculous light-up sweater blinking obnoxiously. “Right, who’s ready to lose to me at cards?”

“Dream on,” Gaz shot back, shuffling the deck.

Price leaned back on the couch, sipping mulled wine with a rare smile. Ghost sat at the edge of the fireplace, carefully inspecting the stockings you’d hung. You joined him, holding up a small snowflake ornament.

“Help me hang this?” you asked.

His eyes flicked to yours. “You want me to decorate?”

“I want you to help,” you said, nudging him lightly.

With a faint sigh, he took the ornament, his large hands almost comically careful as he hooked it onto the tree.

“Front and center,” you instructed. “It’s my favorite.”

He stepped back, tilting his head slightly. “Looks good.”

“Thanks, Simon.”

The moment was interrupted by Soap waving a sprig of mistletoe above his head. “Oi! What’s this? Mistletoe?”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything, Gaz snagged it from him.

“If anyone’s getting kisses, it’s us,” he teased, holding it over you instead.

“You’re all ridiculous,” you muttered, but you indulged them. You pressed a quick kiss to Gaz’s cheek, ruffled Soap’s hair, and gave Price a fond peck on the forehead. When you reached Ghost, you hesitated.

He didn’t move as you leaned up, brushing your lips against the edge of his mask. His eyes softened, and you swore you saw the hint of a smile beneath the fabric.

Christmas Morning

The next morning, you woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of muffled voices. Wrapping a blanket around yourself, you wandered into the living room to find the boys sitting around the tree.

“Morning,” Price greeted, his voice low and warm. He patted the space next to him on the couch, and you snuggled in beside him.

“What are you doing up so early?” you asked, stifling a yawn.

Soap held up a small wrapped box. “We wanted to give you this.”

You blinked. “For me?”

“Open it,” Gaz urged, practically bouncing with excitement.

Inside the box was a delicate silver necklace, the charm shaped like a snowflake. You traced the smooth edges with your fingers, your heart swelling.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“It’s from all of us,” Ghost said, his voice unusually soft. “Something to remind you… that you’re the glue that holds us together.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you looked around at them—Price’s steady warmth, Soap’s boyish grin, Gaz’s twinkling eyes, and Ghost’s quiet presence.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted.

Price leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Just say you’ll stick around.”

“Always,” you promised.

As the snow continued to fall outside, the five of you sat together by the fire, sharing stories and laughter. For the first time in a long time, the world felt safe, warm, and full of love.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[sserpente]

Bite Me (HAPPY HALLOWEEN! 🎃)

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! I’m dressed as a kitten tonight because…well. ;) This year's Halloween Imagine simply had to go to Sylus.

Words: 2029 Warnings: semi-public smut, biting

“Pleeeeeease?” You drew the word out, putting on your best puppy face. Sylus was a hard one to convince. But if there was one opportunity to spend time with him in public, with your friends, it was Halloween.

Tara and Simone had invited you to a party on the 31st, a costume party you desperately wanted to go to with Sylus. It would be the perfect chance for him to dress up and remain undetected. Besides, the idea of dancing with him, grinding against him on the dance floor surrounded by strobe lights and fog…it was on occasion you both knew would lead to sex sooner or later.

“No, kitten. You go and have fun with your friends. I’m not the type to play dress up and get drunk on cheap party alcohol.”

But Sylus was a tough nut to crack. He really wasn’t the type for parties like that, you knew him well enough by now to know that. Still, you’d hoped he’d make an exception for you. After all, it was Halloween! The best time of the year!

The connection of the video call wavered for a moment.

“Sylus, pleeeease? You don’t have to do anything crazy. How about we just smear some fake blood all over you? Then you can say you’re dressed as a serial killer. That should do it!”

“A serial killer? That’s what you think would suit me?” He didn’t sound offended, instead he gave you a low chuckle. “Go to bed, kitten. I still have work to do and you will complain to me in the morning that I kept you awake.”

“Well, you are keeping me awake! Just say yes and I can go to sleep peacefully!”

“No. Good night, sweetie. Sweet dreams.”

He hung up before you could prepare a comeback. You growled. Damn it. But for what it was worth…at the very least, Sylus had just given you the perfect idea for your Halloween costume this year.

You were a little irritated when you got ready for the party the following evening. Applying your make-up meticulously, you eyed your outfit. A black bodysuit, a black skirt, black tights, high boots you normally wore for hunting, glued-on fake whiskers, and adorable cat ears made you absolutely certain that Sylus would have loved your costume of choice.

As you drew on a little button nose with your eyeliner, you debated whether you should send him a picture. But he didn’t deserve that, really, right? You could respect him not wanting to go to a party with you but you couldn’t help but feel bitter he’d turned you down regardless. He knew you loved Halloween!

You sighed, glancing down when a message from Tara popped up on your phone.

Are you ready, friend? We’re outside!

You nodded at your reflection. You were ready. With or without Sylus. Tara’s friend would drive you tonight so you could drink. And you were just on time too, arriving just before midnight.

The building where the party took place was decorated brilliantly. There were spiderwebs in the corners, garlands and pumpkin string lights lining the walls, and orange and purple strobe lights illuminating the dance floor. Fog wrapped around the ankles of the people dancing.

Pumpkins with spooky faces carved into them laughed at your face, and the selection of snacks and drinks was phenomenal. The bass of the music reverberated in your chest the more you mixed in with the crowd, with Tara holding your hand so she wouldn’t lose you.

You went with a Dracula shot for your first drink—vodka and cranberry juice—before hitting the dance floor. It’s just that someone was missing for this to be truly fun. God damn it.

You didn’t want to be one of those girls who couldn’t enjoy themselves without their boyfriend anymore. You could and you would. Still, it was alright to wish Sylus was here, right?

With a sigh, you nodded when Tara gestured she would get another drink and kept on spinning around on the dance floor—and rolled your eyes when a stranger placed his hands on your waist from behind.

“Go away! I have a boyf—” You flipped around only to be met with a very familiar figure. Your heart skipped a beat. Sylus.

“Sy-Sky! You…you’re here!”

“And you look absolutely ravishing. My kitten is a kitten. How adorable.”

Heat crept up your cheeks. Sylus didn’t exactly look bad either. A small trickle of blood decorated the right corner of his mouth, and his black shirt wasn’t buttoned up all the way. A pair of fake fangs completed the look when he flashed you a mischievous grin.

“You…you’re a vampire!”

“Let’s just say our conversation inspired me. Besides, I wasn’t keen on the idea of smearing fake blood all over myself.”

Oh, but I would have loved to roam my hands all over your bare chest, Sylus. You cleared your throat.

“But…you’re here! I thought you didn’t want to come…”

“I changed my mind. You seemed rather upset when I declined.”

You smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Tara returned with your drinks before you could say anything else. You passed the one she handed you on to Sylus and leaned against him, careful not to smudge your makeup on his shirt and ruin it.

“Oh hello! Sky, right? Lovely to see you again! So you’re a vampire?” Tara began.

“And you. I am indeed. And you’re a…”

“A werewolf-zombie-witch!”

You chuckled. “Tara couldn’t decide which of the three she wanted to do so she combined all three of them.”

“I see. Very creative.”

“I’m sure you two want some alone time. Here, take my drink, I’ll meet you later!” She left with a wink before you could protest—not that you had any. You all but longed to throw yourself into Sylus’s arms. Which you immediately did as soon as she was out of sight.

“Kitten, you’re going to spill our drinks.” But instead of pushing you away, his arms wrapped around you even tighter.

“Let’s get rid of them then.” You downed your little cocktail way too fast for it to be healthy and put the plastic cup on a nearby snack table. Sylus took his time with his drink before doing the same though. You almost started tapping your foot impatiently—and you were certain he was doing this on purpose because the amused expression on his face spoke volumes.

God, he looked so handsome tonight. Your mind drifted back to that conversation you’d had with him, back when he’d taken you to this old castle and you’d slept in front of the fireplace. You’d told him he resembled a vampire…and right now, you wanted him to bite you so badly you could already feel yourself getting wet. Fuck.

“Dance with me!”

“Are you tipsy already?”

“That first shot was strong. And I had two glasses of wine prior to coming here so… probably yes.”

He shook his head, smirking.

“Now dance with me!”

“So demanding, kitten.” Sylus wrapped his arm around your waist and flung you around so your back was pressed against his chest. He moved you both to the rhythm of the music, his face buried in your neck.

“That’s a new perfume,” he muttered.

“Should the fact that you can tell concern me?”

“You tell me, kitten.”

You grinned and kept on dancing, your behind grinding against his crotch in the process. Again, and again and again…for what felt like an eternity, ignoring the rest of the crowd as if you two were the only one who existed.

“I can’t guarantee anything if you keep rubbing yourself against me like that, kitten,” he murmured with a start.

“Maybe that’s the plan,” you whispered back.

Sylus’s gaze darkened. Challenge accepted. He didn’t need to say it out loud. Still, you were unprepared for when he wrapped his hand around your wrist with a start and dragged you out of the main room into the hallway, crimson eyes darting around in an attempt to find...somewhere private, assumingly.

You laughed, the sound echoing through the building. Out here, the music was duller, the bass more bearable. Your eyes were ringing from the noise inside and you registered a little too late what was happening when Sylus tried for a broom closet and pulled you inside without any forewarning.

“That’s not very romantic!”

He huffed a laugh. “Romantic is for when we get home and I can make love to you in my bed. Be glad we’re gonna be here for a while longer or else I would have ripped those clothes off of you already. This…will have to suffice.”

With but one swift motion, he hooked his index fingers under your tights and pants and pulled them down to your knees before you lifting you up and against the wall, forcing your legs apart to accommodate his body.

You bit your lower lip, your pussy pulsing with need.

“S-Sylus,” you choked out, “c-condom?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, kitten. I have some with me.”

Your breathing was heavy by the time he nestled with his belt and eventually, freed his erection. You understood now why he’d been so eager to drag you off now. He was hard. He was struggling to roll the condom over his length while refusing to let you down. But as soon as he managed…you did not receive a forewarning before he buried himself inside you to the hilt, growling against your neck.

“F-fuck, Sylus!”

His hand came up to press against your mouth, keeping you from making a sound. “Quiet, kitten. We don’t want anyone to hear us, now do we?”

“T-the music is t-too loud a-anyway…” you said, muffled because of his palm.

Sylus chuckled, his lips ghosting over your neck as he thrust up into you, hitting your sweet spots with every single stroke.

But instead of giving you a hickey like he normally did (and then watching your reflection in the mirror afterward, smug and amused as you tried to cover it up with make-up when you had to get back to work)…he bit down on your neck. Hard.

Whatever fangs he was using, they held onto dear life as if he’d superglued them on. They were pointy, painful…but not painful enough to seriously cause you any distress. If anything… fuck, this was so hot…

You moaned, throwing your head back to give him better access. At this point, you didn’t even care if he drew blood. Would he drink it? If he broke the skin and a few droplets sneaked their way past his lips?

Sylus fucked you like the filthy girl you were being, teasing and riling him up like that, and much to your luck, it had worked. He knew. Of course he knew. This man was always in control, and you would be lying if you claimed you did not love it.

“Sylus…” You repeated his name over and over again against his mouth as if it were a prayer that would bring you salvation. It would. Oh, it would…for with every single thrust, you felt yourself creeping closer and closer to an annihilating abyss of pleasure. If you hadn’t been pressed up against the wall, legs wrapped around his hips, your knees would long have given in.

“I’m…I’m gonna come…” you whispered out of breath.

Sylus released your neck, the wound pulsing with a dull pain as he licked over it with relish and then released your mouth to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. His strokes grew more frantic, more eager. And it drove you straight over the edge.

You came with a grunt, moaning into his mouth. Pleasure rippled through you as you squeezed around his cock repeatedly, triggering his own release.

Sylus’s heavy breathing turned into a carnal groan as he came, his length jerking against your slick walls gripping him tightly. He slumped against you once he came down from his high, cradling you in his arms.

“Sylus…”

“Yes, kitten?”

“Take me home?” There was no way you were going to return to the dance floor. Not after this. Oh god…

He chuckled. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

[pearlprincess02]

1st house synastry playlist

mirrored vibes - 1st house synastry (playlist) / inner planets / asteroids

for when their jupiter is in your first house:

"good vibrations" - the beach boys / "happy" - pharrell williams / "ain't no mountain high enough" - marvin gaye & tammi terrell / "beautiful day" - U2 / "can't stop the feeling!" - justin timberlake /

for when your jupiter is in their first house:

"higher love" - steve winwood / "you raise me up" - josh groban / "firework" - katy perry / "can't hold us" - macklemore & ryan lewis / "hey soul sister" - train /

for when their saturn is in your first house:

"beautiful boy (darling boy)" - john lennon / "diamonds" - rihanna / "the scientist" - coldplay / "stronger (what doesn't kill you)" - kelly clarkson / "i will survive" - gloria gaynor /

for when your saturn is in their first house:

"the sound of silence" - simon & garfunkel / "say you won't let go" - james arthur / "someone you loved" - lewis capaldi / "best song ever" - one direction / "i'll stand by you" - the pretenders /

for when their uranus is in your first house:

"like a prayer" - madonna / "rebel yell" - billy idol / "electric feel" - mgmt / "blue suede shoes" - elvis presley / "don't stop believin'" - journey

for when your uranus is in their first house:

"power" - kanye west / "walking on sunshine" - katrina & the waves / "changes" - david bowie / "born this way" - lady gaga / "run the world (girls)" - beyoncé /

for when their neptune is in your first house:

"wish you were here" - pink floyd / "clair de lune" - claude debussy / "dreams" - fleetwood mac / "across the universe" - the beatles / "my immortal" - evanescence /

for when your neptune is in their first house:

"連れてって 連れてって" - dreams come true / "what the world needs now is love" - andra day / "imagine" - john lennon / "somewhere over the rainbow" - judy garland / "chasing pavements" - adele /

for when their pluto is in your first house:

"before he cheats" - carrie underwood / "runnin' on empty" - jackson browne / "carry on wayward son" - kansas / "holocene" - bon iver / "decode" - paramore /

for when your pluto is in their first house:

"secret" - the pierces / "heartbreaker" - pat benatar / "higher love" - kygo & whitney houston / "gives you hell" - all time low / "story of us" - taylor swift /

@pearlprincess02

main masterlist

[cookiedoughmeagain]

I just re-watched 'Sins of the Fathers' and noticed/remembered there is (probably*) time for Nathan to get the tattoo done within that episode. And that got me thinking and that ended up as a fic;

* timelines in Haven are never very clear to me, but it seems like all the drama with the ghost Trouble and the Rev, Garland and Simon happens the day before Audrey and Nathan's date. So there's a whole day there when he could have got it done, and the fic looks at why he might have felt the need to do that.

Either way it doesn't really look good for Nathan. If it was a response to finding Audrey missing then he's wasting time he could be looking for her by sitting in a tattoo artist's chair. And if he got it done before that he's just put way too much thought into the idea he might have to kill Duke to save her, on the basis of very little evidence.

[hotvintagepoll]

this is a poll for a movie that doesn't exist.

It is vintage times. The powers that be have decided to again remake the classic vampire novel Dracula for the screen. in an amazing show of inter-studio solidarity, Hollywood’s most elite hotties are up for the starring roles. the producers know whoever they cast will greatly impact the genre, quality, and tone of the finished film, so they are turning to their wisest voices for guidance.

you are the new casting director for this star-studded epic. choose your players wisely.

Previously cast:

Jonathan Harker—Jimmy Stewart

The Old Woman—Martita Hunt

Count Dracula—Gloria Holden

Mina Murray—Setsuko Hara

Lucy Westenra—Judy Garland

The Three Voluptuous Women—Betty Grable, Marilyn Monroe, and Lauren Bacall

Dr. Jack Seward—Vincent Price

Quincey P. Morris—Toshiro Mifune

Arthur Holmwood—Sidney Poitier

R.M. Renfield—Conrad Veidt

[questforgalas]

Storm Blue Eyes and A Scottish Brogue: Reasons Simon Riley Came Back to Life

For @daredaredoodles!! Happy Ghoapmas!!! Here is some very oblivious and very yearny Ghost for you!! Oh, did I mention lots of fluff? :) I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!!

Thank you @forsaire for hosting!!!!

Ao3 link

Summary: It was supposed to be a holiday season like all of the others - nights filled with reports, and a base haunted by a Ghost while everyone wandered home. Three knocks on Simon's door change those plans entirely.

Words: 5K

No CWs, just tooth-rotting fluff and Gaz so done with these two

It was supposed to be quiet tonight. An intimate date between Simon, the desk in his room, and the pile of reports that magically remain the same height regardless of how many hours are put towards them (a detail Captain Price never misses). Does Simon happen to write a little slower to aid that magical spell so that he has a proper excuse when Price inevitably comes knocking on his door and asks why he hasn’t filed for leave again this December? Possibly, but that little detail belongs between Simon and the twenty minutes during which he contemplates which words to use instead of “infiltrate” and “detonation”. 

He should have known nothing ever goes according to plan. Three familiar knocks rapping against the door certainly proved that right.

Cut to Soap MacTavish standing on the other side, a smile curling his lips and azure eyes all the brighter against the navy jumper wrapping across his broad chest. Words were said, something about a night out which made sense since Soap wore dark jeans that seemed made specifically to torture Simon, and there was a glint in Soap’s eye not dissimilar to a child’s on Christmas morning. 

Ah, so, Price was picking up the tab. 

As Soap stands in the hall, punctuating his pitch to coach the lieutenant out of his room with perfectly placed smiles and a wink or two anyone else would find gratuitous but Simon found infuriatingly endearing, Simon swaps his hoodie for a black jumper, grabs his jacket, and has the door locked just as Soap says, “‘nd it’s not tha team without ma favorite lieutenant.” 

The calendars say “December”, but the unseasonably warm air makes the jacket hanging over Simon’s arm feel like overkill, making him contemplate turning around and throwing it through the door, but instead he rolls up the sleeves of his jumper. In the corner of his eye, he sees Soap watch as the fabric folds back and reveals Simon’s forearms - corded with muscle, covered in scars, one completely inked over. 

Simon wanted to tell himself that the way Soap ogled at the skin didn’t make his own feel a size too small. He wanted to tell himself the way Soap’s Adam's apple bobbed and the dusting of pink at the tip of his ears didn’t match his own. He wanted to tell himself he wouldn’t tuck this moment away safely in the gilded chest labeled “Moments He Can Pretend” that he stored in the safe recesses of his heart. 

He wanted to tell himself all of that, but unfortunately, that would make Simon a liar. 

Soap rambles on about some combination of some chemicals that Simon doesn’t understand a lick of - he’s just happy he remembers to nod at points that seem right for it - and they walk side by side through Hereford. 

“What fresh hell is this,” Simon mutters, the revelry from the pub greeting their ears when they’re still a block away. 

“Don’t fret, Lt.” Soap nudges him with his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s just ol’ Gerry with tha music up because he finally accepted he cannae hear for shit.” 

It was, in fact, not Gerry with the music up. 

The Green Pony quite literally glows on the corner. Green garland lit with soft, white lights frames every window, and electric candles flicker at the streets. Two wreaths adorned with a red ribbon bow hang on the dark wood doors, and through the windows, matching garland and lights line the entirety of the bar. A large tree pulls it all together, lighting up the far corner much to the chagrin of some patrons looking for a secluded corner away from the crowd. 

They shoulder their way through the entry and are immediately sucked into the chaos that is the Green Pony operating over capacity. Behind the bar, Gerry, the owner, a man who Simon is convinced was born in this pub, slings pints and jabs faster than any of the youngsters helping alongside him, and when he catches sight of the two men, he throws a lazy salute and points in the direction of their usual table. They break through the crowd, and the sight of Captain Price and Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick greets them at their usual booth. 

“Well fuck me,” Gaz says as they approach. “Good to see ya Ghost, but you just lost me 20 quid.” 

“Pay up,” Soap holds out his hand as he scoots in besides the other sergeant. Gaz grumbles something about “unfair advantages” as he fishes out his wallet, and hidden under a black medical mask, a smile pulls at the corner of Ghost’s lips. A terrible bet by Gaz, really. Might as well be the title of Simon’s memoir: 

Storm Blue Eyes and A Scottish Brogue: Reasons Simon Riley Could Never Say No.

 Gaz of all people should know this, and Simon’s pretty sure Soap does do. 

Simon settles in next to Price who silently nods in a way of greeting, but Simon doesn’t miss the way his mouth curls up in a smile around the lip of his glass. “Never become predictable, Sergeant. Easier to kill that way,” Simon offers. Two pints sit unclaimed on the table. Simon grabs one while nudging the other towards Soap. “‘nd have some respect. I’m worth at least 40 quid.” 

“Sound advice, sir.” Gaz tips his glass to Simon then takes a strong swig. 

The rounds disappear and reappear over and over. The older patrons begin to make their way home, thinning the crowd some but not enough to avoid Simon’s shoulder - large enough to breach the end of the booth - becoming a human bumper now and again. Someone’s hijacked the jukebox, and Mariah Carey’s been serenading them about Christmas for the past twenty minutes. Price said his goodbyes a round ago, but not before assuring “Yes, sergeants, the tab will still be open,” and he threw that look to Simon that said “They’re your circus now”. 

Now, Gaz sits at the table, chocolate eyes glassy under the lights, and a finger absentmindedly circles his pint. A dopey smile sits on his lips, and every few minutes he mumbles along to Mariah before she drowns in the din of the crowd. A word hasn’t been spoken between them since Price left - an understood respect by Gaz who knows Simon’s need for silence as much as Soap’s need to fill the air - and Simon wishes he could enjoy it. He wishes he could give Gaz that much. Instead, a dainty hand attached to a brunette he faintly recognizes from base is demanding all of his attention. 

Moments ago, Soap delivered their newest round with a thunk, earning a curse or two from Gaz who saved his pint just in time, but instead of sliding into the space next to Simon - a space he occupied as soon as Price said his goodbyes - he grabbed his pint and beelined to the bar. There, a brunette waited. They were familiar, that Simon was sure of, and Soap kept flashing that smile that Simon was desperate to be turned on him. 

And then the hand. The hand gripped Soap’s bicep, gave it a squeeze, and a laugh, airy and bright followed. The hand remained. That smile flashed brighter. 

Simon hated that hand.

She was pretty enough. Glossy hair, high cheekbones, an ass Simon assumed would be appreciated by the right eyes. Eyes that weren’t azure blue and rivaled the bays of Islay. Any eyes except those. 

The hand slides from Soap’s bicep and cups his elbow. Simon’s knuckles have gone white. He really hated that hand. 

“Ghost, mate,” Simon hears from across the table. “Bruv, that glass is about to lose whatever battle ya’ve picked against it.” Simon tears his gaze away from that hand and sets it on Garrick who, bless him, doesn’t flinch. “Mind tellin’ me what that poor glass has done to you?”

“Don’t know what you’re on ‘bout,” Simon answers and sets his eyes back on that hand that’s smartly retreated back to its owner. Lucky her, she gets to keep it. 

For now. 

Soap’s pint is forgotten on the bartop, he says something to the brunette, and the cute crease that appears when the Scot is trying to puzzle out an equation is between his brows. Simon adores that crease. His hands itch to smooth it out and fight whatever has caused it. 

He misses the questioning look on Gaz’s face and when he follows Simon’s gaze. He misses when the sergeant puts two and two together, but what he doesn’t miss is the sigh that’s pulled from Gaz’s chest and the thunk of the sergeant’s forehead against the thick, wooden table. 

“Ya’ve got to be bloody kiddin’ me.” Stunned, Simon watches as Gaz thunks his head one, two, three more times, then snaps back up. His face is nothing but anguish. “Talk to him.” 

“What?” Simon smartly replies. 

“Talk. To. Him.” Gaz accompanies each word with a thump of his pint as if hammering them into the wood would hammer them into Simon’s confused brain. 

“Talk to who?”

“Bloody ‘ell!” Simon thinks Gaz is being a bit overdramatic, what with throwing his hands in the air and acting as if Simon is the densest person in this pub. Problem is, Simon has no idea what he’s supposed to be grasping. The sergeant rubs a hand down his face, and once he’s collected himself, the stare he throws at Simon pins him to the booth. “Talk to Soap. I’m beggin’ you, Ghost. Talk to him, and save us all from havin’ to keep watching you two dance around each other like a bunch of school boys who don’t know what a crush is.” 

The words make sense. Well, they make sense that they’re words, and they’re going in one ear. But not all of them are processing and some of them are going right out the other ear leaving a jumbled tangle of words like “Soap” and “you two” and “crush” that are rattling around in the empty space of Simon’s mind. Yes, it makes sense that Garrick just said something, but the implications are mad enough that he has half a mind to order him to a psych evaluation at once. 

“Might’ve finally lost it, Garrick. Imaginin’ things now.” It’s really all he can muster past his lead laden tongue. 

Crushing on Soap, well, that was as easy as breathing. But crushing is too trivial a word, wasn’t it? Crushing was what you did on the schoolyard when the brain hadn’t learned the words that threatened to burst from your heart. Crushing was soft glances across a room and sheepish smiles dripping with honeyed words. Crushing wasn’t a deep seeded trust that you’d make it home alive as long as that one person was beside you. Crushing wasn’t intimate knowledge of a body learned in the lowlight of safehouses while rough hands guided needles through skin. Crushing wasn’t hushed confessions in the dark as you accepted your mortality.

No, Simon did not have a crush on Soap MacTavish, because a crush was too simple. A tapestry of moments woven from a tarmac to now - the bar lights catching the hidden caramel strands of Soap’s mohawk - blanketed along Simon’s very being, and no longer could he ignore that his British heart had a Scottish flag planted firmly in place. 

And because life loves to remind Simon that he is not a man destined for gentle touches and even gentler words, he watches as the brunette grasps Soap around the forearm and leads him out of the pub. “Told ya,” the words taste more bitter than he intended. “Imaginin’ things.” 

Gaz tracks the pair through the crowd. “I’m the best interrogator on the team,” he says. Simon’s brow shoots up, and he’s about to question what the hell that has anything to do with this when Gaz holds up his hand and continues. “I’m the best interrogator on this team. I can read body language at a level that, often, I wish I couldn’t. The amount of people’s secrets that they don’t even know but I know is a burden I’m cursed to carry.” Pint abandoned and a finger getting closer and closer to Simon’s chest, Gaz continues. “I don’t know what the hell ‘appened in Las Almas…well I do, I read the report, but I mean between you two. I noticed it the moment we stepped into Ale’s safehouse, and it’s only gotten worse since. We, the 141, are a team. Price and I are teammates. You and I are teammates. Johnny an-”

“He doesn’t want anyone callin’ ‘im Johnny.” Amusement dances across Gaz’s eyes, and Simon knows he fell into his trap. 

“Exactly. Anyone except?” Gaz takes Simon’s glare as confirmation. “All I’m sayin’ is, Soap and you? You’re more than teammates, Ghost. You’re the best in the world - as much as I ‘ate to admit it - not because of hours of training together or years of missions. It’s like you two are one soul, it’s absolutely mad to watch. And it’s not just on missions either. Ya both have a starin’ problem, that’s for sure. Though neither of you would know because it’s always when the other isn’t lookin’.”

“We - what?” Simon can’t fit Gaz’s words into his understanding of his relationship with Soap. 

“The heart eyes? At each other?” Gaz flutters his lashes, and Christ, it actually gets a chuckle out of Ghost, as annoyed as he is. “Ya’d think for someone whose eyes are the only part of his body he shows, you’d be better at schooling them, but I swear I’ve seen those lines at the corners actually melt whenever Soap walks into the room.” 

Oh, Gaz is proper teasing now, and Simon wants to smack the smirk right off of his face. He wants to tell him he’s delusional and that he can’t accept the image Gaz is spinning because it means taking the feelings he keeps packed away in that gilded chest in the safe corner of his heart and laying them all out there. Yet, the denial never comes, and instead, he feels his traitorous mouth curl up.

Is that…relief easing his chest? 

Gaz’s face softens. “Remember the first thing ya told me when I joined the team?” 

“Our job doesn’t guarantee tomorrow,” Simon says automatically. “Take the good moments while ya can. Don’t know ‘ow many ya’ll have.” 

“Maybe time to start takin’ your own advice, huh?” 

“Who’s advice we takin’?”

Gaz and Simon jump at the new voice, both reflexes fast enough to keep the pints from spilling over. Simon peers up, and his heart stutters. There stands Soap with cheeks rosy from the cold, and Simon has well and truly lost it because he desperately wants to loop his arm around Soap’s waist and tuck him into his side to keep him warm. 

“Just Ghost’s words of wisdom,” Gaz supplies easily. 

“Ah, only an eejit wouldn’t listen to the Ghost.” Soap stares down at the table, and he clears his throat before he continues. “Actually, Lt. I - I was hopin’ I could pull ye away?” He rubs the back of his neck, and the red on his cheeks spreads to the tips of his ears. “Unless ye don’t want to! Dinnae me - mean to interrupt, probably discussin’ something - never mind I…”

“Relax, Sergeant.” At the sound of Simon’s voice, Soap’s shoulders drop and his breaths come easier. He meets Simon’s gaze, and Simon has never seen this look in those storm blue eyes. Timid. Unsure. Bashful? “Was just finishin’ up. Garrick, ya good?” 

Gaz waves him off. “Out of ‘ere. Your dark cloud is bringin’ down the festive mood.” He throws them a wink and stands from the table, smoothing out his jumper as he eyes six feet of muscles and a jawline that could break glass leaning on the bartop. Instead of walking around them, Gaz cuts right between Simon and Soap, and just before he steps away, he leans into Simon’s ear. “Talk to him.”

The hour hasn’t cooled the air so Simon and Soap opt to wander through Hereford instead of hailing a cab. Simon blames the beer and Gaz’s words buzzing in his ears, but he feels attuned to every one of Soap’s footfalls and every sway of his arms. The street is empty, plenty of room to stroll, yet the two of them walk with barely a hair between them. A tug Simon will always follow, and maybe Gaz hasn’t completely lost it, because Soap does too. 

But because Simon can never make things easy for himself, he says “Where’s the brunette?” 

Soap looks at him, face scrunched and that crease is between his brows. It would be so simple to reach out and gently smooth his thumb along it. “Wha’ brunette?” Soap asks because he can never make it easy for Simon, either. 

“The brunette at the pub. Seemed…cozy.” If a sniper took him out, Simon wouldn’t complain. 

“Cozy?” An incredulous laugh circles around the word. He’s really going to make Simon spell it out. 

“Ya. Cozy. Thought, well, -” Simon picks at the nonexistent lint on his sweater. “Thought she was makin’ good company.” 

Soap is silent, and it’s making Simon’s skin crawl. He focuses on his steps, one in front of the other. He creates a new mission right then: get back to base, say goodnight to Soap, and not emerge from his room until everyone has left for the holidays. He has rations hidden in his desk, he can make it until then. 

“Oh, Simon,” Soap says softly between them. 

They don’t speak for the rest of the walk, but there’s a spring in Soap’s step, and whatever millimeter of space that had existed between them is eaten up entirely by the Scot. When they arrive on base, Simon prepares his goodbye, ready to go down his hall while Soap goes down his, but when he turns to depart, Soap grabs his wrist and guides Simon with him. 

They arrive at Soap’s private room. The Scot jumbles his keys, nearly dropping them on the ground, and struggles to get them into the keyhole. Simon thinks to point out that the process would probably be easier if Soap just let go of his wrist, but call him weak because that touch is more intimate than any stitch Soap has put in his body. 

Finally, the lock turns, Soap pushes open the door, swiftly kicks it closed, and the two of them stand in the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table. 

He’s been in Soap’s room plenty of times before, but this, this moment is different. A delicate thing Simon could almost hold in his hand, and he hopes that door never opens again. Hopes that they can stand here away from the responsibilities and the enemy bullets and bask in the warmth of this thing between them. This thing that Simon prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that he’s no longer imagining and is ready to stop ignoring. Since the pub he’s felt exposed, as if every emotion he’s tried to hide away for the better part of a year is now written across his skin for a pair of azure eyes to read. As he spies the rapid rise and fall of Soap’s chest, he thinks he’s not the only one.

Words sit on his tongue, but just before they tumble from his lips, he pulls them back. He’s pictured this moment 1000 different times and 100 different ways. None of it practiced. He has to get this right. He takes a breath. He has to figure out a way to tell Soap that if he wants to take the plunge, Simon is on the ledge with him, but he also wants to leave the door open so that if he’s misread everything, nothing needs to change between the two of them. The jumper is beginning to cling to his back.

But it’s Soap who speaks first. “I got ye somethin.” 

“Ya got me somethin’?” Simon repeats back.

“Aye. It’s - one second.” Soap steps around him and rifles through his jacket. When he straightens, a dark rectangle is in his hands. He holds it out to Simon who has lost all function of his arms and stares at the object. 

“What is it?” 

“A present.” 

“A present?” 

“Holy ‘ell, Simon. Yes! A present! Ye know what a present is, aye?” 

Simon is only more confused by the answer. Soap shoves the rectangle into his chest, and Simon’s brain catches up fast enough to wrap his hands around the object that he now realizes is a thick, wooden box. 

“For me?” Seems his brain hasn’t moved past two word sentences though. 

Soap rolls his eyes and his hands plant his hips. “Yes, it’s for you. It’s what I was talkin’ to Heather about.” 

“Heather?” Christ, Simon needs his brain to wake up. 

“Aye, Heather. The lass at the pub. She helped me get this.” 

“So, ya weren’t -” Simon feels his ears burn. “Ya weren’t…flirting?” 

Soap’s eyes widen for half a second, and then he tries to hide a startled chuckle with a cough as he looks down. Simon’s pretty sure he hears “Fuckin bampot” mixed in there. When Soap looks back up, he seems shy, almost embarrassed, cheeks back to that pink that’s starting to drive Simon wild. “No, Lt. Heather gets handsy after some pints, but I wasn’t flirtin’ with her.” Azure blue locks him in place. “I had someone else in mind for that.” 

Bloody hell. Simon’s first instinct is to retreat. Flirting wasn’t wholly a new thing between them. They’d lost comms privileges on more than a few missions with Price - Gaz never had the power to pull the plug though he always made his grievances known - but it was all coy, innocent, dangling off the edge of friendly banter. None of it was ever so brazen, so laid out in the open. But here was Soap, taking the first step, leaving a small part of himself bare, waiting to see what Simon would do with it. 

“You didn’t have to,” Simon says, holding up the box.

“I wanted to.” It sounds so simple coming from those lips. 

Simon’s jacket joins Soap’s, and he holds the box in both hands. What he mistook for black is actually a deep, rich mahogany polished by an expert hand. The box easily lays in his palms, and he’s acutely aware of Soap watching him as he lifts the lid. Simon’s breath catches.

The inside is lined by a black silk, and nestled in the middle lies the most beautiful knife he has ever seen. He can tell that the blade is of the best steel, a straight spine across the top meets a point sharp enough to tear through his toughest gloves. He runs his thumb along the edge to the heel and revels at the ease with which it knicks his skin. 

Where the blade is all wicked grace, the handle is a work of art. Stunning black onyx catches the light as Simon delicately lifts it from the box. At first glance, it’s smooth, but when he rubs the stone with his thumb, he catches other carvings. He moves to the bedside table, and when he holds it under the lamplight, Simon nearly drops the knife. 

Sapphire blue and rich hazel streak through the black stone, tangling together perfectly. Simon turns the handle. On one side is a blue bar of soap. It matches a doodle Simon has seen on scraps of paper left in briefing rooms and napkins in the mess and on the corners of his reports when a certain sergeant comes to visit. He flips it, and on the other side is a hazel ghost. Another doodle Simon has spied on the pages of a journal kept close to that same sergeant’s heart.  

“Do ye like it?” Soap shifts on his feet. He’s rubbing the back of his neck again, and Simon fights back a laugh. 

The absurdity of it all, that Soap could be nervous right now. 

No. Not Soap. Not anymore. 

Johnny. His Johnny. He’s always been his, from the tarmac to now as Simon stares, gobsmacked, at this immortalization of them in stone. At this declaration of every intention and feeling and dream Simon’s been too afraid of. Johnny’s blue streaking through the darkness, dancing perfectly with Simon’s hazel. Ghost and Soap always side by side. He decides right then that he’s done tucking the feelings away in that gilded chest. He’s done with moments that live only in his fantasies. He’s done pretending he’s ok with it being just Ghost and Soap forever and that he hasn’t craved Simon and Johnny. 

So yes, it is absolutely absurd  that Johnny could be nervous right now.

“Heather’s da used tae be in tha service ‘nd makes these custom now. I ken you’re picky about the blades. Think I drove ‘er up the wall goin’ back ‘nd forth makin’ sure it was the best -” Johnny is rambling, and he’s looking everywhere except at Simon. If he was, he would have seen Simon reverently place the knife back in the box. He would’ve seen Simon rip the medical mask off of his face, and he would’ve seen Simon eat the space between them in two strides. If he was, he would’ve been ready when Simon cupped his face, and crashed their lips together. 

Simon has no idea what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how to do soft and gentle. He doesn’t know how to exist in a space where there’s acknowledged interest that’s so much heavier than a tumble in a bed. He doesn’t know how Johnny MacTavish, full of joy and thunder and blazing glory, found his way into Simon’s endless darkness. But Johnny kisses him back and grips his jumper, and Simon’s heart is no longer his own. 

“Hi,” Johnny says once they catch their breath, and Simon can feel the smile against his lips. 

“Johnny,” Simon mumbles, and it sounds like a prayer. He pulls Johnny closer and feels the strong muscles of his arms circle around Simon’s waist. He cradles Johnny’s face, thumb softly rubbing against the stubble on his cheek, and he leans in again. This, Simon thinks, is his own personal version of heaven. 

They’re pressed together now, chest to chest, and Simon is certain he’d be fine dying right here. 

“How long?” Johnny asks, and he leans into the palm of Simon’s hand. 

“Fishin’ for compliments, Sergeant? B’neath you.” There’s a swift slap on his shoulder. Simon nuzzles into the crook of Johnny’s neck to hide his smile.

“Awa’ an bile yer heid.” There’s no bite in the words. “How long?” 

“Las Almas,” Simon admits against his skin. “The way you looked at the rig when the missile ‘it. I couldn’t look away from you. Still haven’t been able to.” He pulls back just enough to rest their foreheads together. “And when I saw Graves bullet ‘it…well, not even Price would’ve been able to keep me from huntin’ him down.” 

“Hells bells, Simon. That was over a year ago!” 

Simon ignores the outburst and kisses a rough, uneven scar barely hidden within the sergeant’s hairline. Johnny’s newest, only a couple weeks old “But then Makarov -” It takes a moment to fight past the lump in his throat. The arms around his waist tighten.

“In the hospital, I promised meself - “ Johnny turns his face into Simon’s neck, “that if I made it out, if I got one more shot, I was done runnin’ from ye.” He pulls back, freeing one hand and brings it up to cup Simon’s cheek. “While I lay in that bloody bed, all I could think was, ‘Ye didn’t get tae tell him. Ye didn’t get tae tell him, and now he’ll never know.’ So let me tell ye now.” Johnny cups beneath Simon’s jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. “I love ye, Simon Riley. In this life and the next, I will always love ye. God help any sorry soul that ever tries to take ye from me, because I will burn this world tae tha ground until I find ye. I don’t know how long this life is willin’ to give us, but I’ll take whatever it’s generous with as long as it’s with ye.” 

And well, Simon isn’t quite sure what to do with that. 

There’s a jumble of emotions rattling around in his heart threatening to spill into his gut if he thinks too hard about it. He’s aware that Johnny is staring at him, adoration and patience swimming in stormy blue, and his hand is softly carding through the curls at Simon’s nape. He remembers Johnny back on that tarmac - nearly two years ago now - brash and cocky and willing, and wonders what would have happened if he’d known how his fate was written, how his own heart was on the line. If he had known on that first mission what that annoying sergeant would come to mean to him, what would he have done? Would he have kept Johnny at arm’s length, protecting him from the jagged mess that is Simon’s darkness? Standing there, basking in the glow that is his Johnny, he doesn’t think so. He doesn’t think he could have. 

Simon threads a hand in the back of Johnny’s mohawk - it’s beginning to flirt with deregulation - and snakes the other around his waist. “Take the good moments,” he mutters in the space between them. 

“Aye,” Soap says, smile bright in the lowlight. “Take the good moments.” 

So, they spend the evening trading lazy kisses and honeyed words. At some point, boots are forgotten and jumpers join a pile in the corner. They tumble into bed, legs tangled, and even as sleep takes them, not an inch of space is allowed. Johnny’s breaths fan across Simon’s chest, deep, content. Sleep is pulling at Simon’s lashes, but he fights it a little longer. In his last moment of consciousness, he grazes a finger along Johnny’s hairline, catching on the rough scar, and he thinks the memoir needs a title change: 

Storm Blue Eyes and A Scottish Brogue: Reasons Simon Riley Came Back to Life. 

And in the morning, there’s a folder waiting on Price’s desk. He sips his coffee, picks it up, and smiles at the familiar weight. When he flips it open, there’s simply a location: Glasgow. 

“Merry Christmas, Simon,” Price says and watches a jeep pull out of the base.

Johnny is singing Mariah at the top of his lungs, and Simon doesn’t remember the last time he was this content. The mask is forgotten on the desk in his room, and a new knife is tucked by his side. They turn onto the highway, Glasgow waiting, and Soap lays his hand out between them. 

Simon can feel it, the wispy end of a filament stretching between them. The past collisions and the future moments. He can see it, that future laying on the other side. That future full of lazy kisses and even lazier mornings. Of days together, never questioning if the other walks through the door. Of Christmases in Scotland and maybe a cabin one day, too. For now, they have to make due with stitches in safehouses and easy touches in helis. Stolen kisses in private rooms and hidden words between the commands. 

For now, he reaches over and takes Johnny’s hand.

[gulliblelemon]

Christmas Drabble

I wanted to write something about their first Christmas together, but didn’t have enough ideas to do it justice. So I just wrote this little drabble instead 🎄

The panic building in Wille’s chest is familiar, but luckily so is the warm hand in his.

“We can leave whenever you want,” Simon whispers.

“Promise?”

The answer is a gentle squeeze and a smile.

Doors open and they’re ushered past gigantic Christmas trees, beautiful garlands and glowing candles.

Simon leans close. “This isn’t our Christmas,” he says. “Remember, we’re having ours tomorrow. They can’t take that away.”

“Can I stay in my pyjamas?” Wille says, tugging his collar.

“Absolutely.” Then Simon leans closer. “Or even better. Nothing at all.”

Perhaps Wille can tolerate one more Christmas at the palace.

[a-wolfs-bad-moon-rising]

Mistletoe Kisses

(Ft. Ghost, Soap, Price, Keegan, and Konig)

~~~~

Hello WolfPak! I decided to write a cute sappy Christmas drabble for the delicious 141 members! Let's all have a great end to the year! 😊🎄

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"He won't do it." Soap deadpans. I grumble at him.

"He might!"

"Nope."

"But wha-"

"Nope."

"Can't I-"

"Nope."

"Soap is great!"

"Nope...ah what the hell? Damn savage (Y/N)." Soap chuckles.

"Hmph you had it coming."

"Eh maybe so, but yer in over yer head. Ghost'll never give ye a kiss under tha Mistletoe."

"It's worth a shot trying!" I implore. Soap shrugs with a smile.

"What aboot that big Ole burly bastard screams holiday sediment?"

I slump my shoulders.

"Aye don't worry lass. He still loves ya." He says. Ghost comes in.

"What in 'ell is goin on ere?" He asks looking between me and Soap.

"Will you kiss me under the mistletoe?" I plead interlocking my fingers. I bounce on my toes in anticipation. Ghost looks puzzled for a moment before giving me a quick "No."

I slouch and Soap laughs.

"Sorry lassie. Told ya he wouldn't do it."

I glare at him and flip him off. Ghost glares at Soap. He then looks at me and his eyes soften slightly.

"Do you really want it love?" He asks. I bounce on my toes again and nod my head eagerly.

"So much!" Ghost sighs and beckons me over to him. A Mistletoe sits above him tangled in garland. I giddily prance over to him and stand in front of him.

"This is because Johnny boy said I wouldn't." He says gruffly. I laugh.

"I'll take it!" I say with glee. Carefully, as carefully as he did with our first kiss, he wraps of his arms around my back, his strong bicep squeezing me. His other hand goes under my chin. He gently pulls my closer, my chest pressing against his. He tilts my head and strokes my chin with his thumb. He's being so tender I almost believe this isn't really about spite.

Ghost stares at my eyes a moment and then gently leans down. His soft lips touch me so carefully. I close my eyes and melt into it. I put my hands on his chest and kiss him back. His lips move against mine gently and I smile into the kiss. He gives me one more peck before pulling away.

He doesn't let go and keeps looking in my eyes.

"Damn LT way to put one on er." Soap laughs. Ghost groans and looks at him.

"Fuck off MacTavish." He says and Iaugh. I bring my hand up and caress his face. He looks back at me.

"I love you Si."

"I love you too."

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

I stare out the window as the flurry of snow billows down and stacks on the ground. The once green grass and dirt, now covered in blankets of white puffy snow.

I touch the window pane and shiver at the cold. It's so beautiful outside. I love this time of year.

"Oi (Y/N)!" Gaz calls to me. I snap my head and look at him.

"Yes?"

"Few of us are goin fer a drink. Wanna come?" He asks. I blush and nod. I'm a little shy and I always felt I flew under the 141 members radars. But here is one of them asking me to come for a drink. He grins and beckons me to follow. I walk behind him.

"Who all is going?"

"Eh me, LT, Price, Keegan, and Ole Johnny boy." He says. I flush and feel my heart best quickly. Gaz smiles with his back to me. Unbeknownst to me, I didn't know a few members knew my feelings for Soap. The way I'd blush or stutter around him. They're all pretty observant men.

At the bar I sit between Price and Gaz. I feel swallowed up by the two large men beside me. I quietly sip my drink. Subconsciously I keep stealing glances at Soap. Gaz notices and nudges me.

"You should shoot yer shot ye know." He says. I blush a deep red.

"W-what?!" I stutter. He laughs.

"Come on take a chance with Ole Soap. You never know he may like ya back."

I shake my head. "N-no I couldn't....what would I even say to him???" I babble. Gaz chuckles and looks at Soap. He notices he's under the Mistletoe.

"Ask im for a kiss. Tis the season after all."

I blush and shake my head. "I could never!" I sigh and sadly put my head in my hand knowing I'm too shy for my own good. Price kicks back his beer and eyes Soap.

"Better make a move quick before that girl does."

My head snaps up and I see a girl approaching Soap. I clench my fists. "Oh hell no!" I jump up and make my way to him. I step in front of the girl who huff and tap Soap on the shoulder. He turns and faces me questioningly. He gives me a lopsided smile, eyes sparkling.

"Yea lass?"

I fidget and struggle with words. I start to stutter.

"Relax lass use yer words. I can barely hear ya." He says with a chuckle. I blush violently and take a breath. I point up to the Mistletoe. Soap's neck cranes upwards and his smile shifts into a smirk when he sees what I'm pointing at.

"Ah a Mistletoe init?" He asks. His eyes find me and I nod sheepishly.

"Want me to give ya one do ya?" He asks. I squeak and nod. He chuckles and pulls me jn close, the proximity startling me and making me look away. He tilts my chin up.

"Ah ah eyes on me lassie. I wanna enjoy this." He says. I gulp and look at him. Ever so carefully he leans forward. I close my eyes. Instead he kisses the corners of my lips and my eyes shoot open. I look at him stunned and he gives a heart laugh.

"What's wrong lassie? Not the kiss you wanted?"

"SOAP!" I yelp and he laughs harder. Then quietly says.

"Don't worry lassie just wanted ta tease ya."

He smiles before kissing me for real this time. His lips soft against mine and my eyes close. I hear clapping and whistles as he leans me back and holds my body tight. I kiss back and bring my hand up to touch his face. Before he pulls away he bites my lower lip and I yelp.

He chuckles again the asshole.

"How was that lassie?" He asks wrapping his arm around my waist and following me to the bar. I gulp and nod furiously. He nuzzles me.

Gaz is giving me a cheeky grin when we get back.

"Who knew we just had to make you jealous to get you to do it?" He laughs

"SHUT UP!"

Captian John Price

Captian John Price of the Task Force 141. A tough, rugged, military man. Well respected with a reputation that precedes him.

He definitely is in his element when he's got a weapon in his hand. Giving orders and overseeing missions.

He's definitely not in his element when it's Christmas time and he's stuck Christmas shopping with me. He knows I'll need help carrying bags and also just doesn't want me going alone with all the craziness that happens during the holidays. He really is a good man. I can't deny the attraction that happened between us. We've only been dating a few months but he has been the perfect gentleman. Very old fashioned and down to earth.

Anyway, Price, with his big burly arms, is carrying my bags, gifts for the other taks force members, while I carried my gift for him. He didn't complain though, just walked beside me and took anymore bags of things I decided to pick up. I hold onto his bicep as we walk through the town square.

He sneezes and I look at him. "Cold love?" I ask. He shakes his head.

"No....damn snow gettin in my beard. Ticklin my nose." He scrunches his nose for relief. His arms retrained by the carefully wrapped packages. I giggle and lean up brushing his beard with my hand.

He blows out air and smiles.

"Thanks love" He says.

"Always."I say. Price notices up ahead a Mistletoe hanging from one of the arches on the buildings and he gets an idea. Unfortunately I did too and I keep walking while Price is trying to get my attention. I see a pretty Christmas tree I wanna take a picture of. I pull out my phone and go to it.

"Love..."

"Love.."

"Dammit woman turn around." Price laughs

I stop in my tracks and face him. "Hmmm?" I look at him with my head cocked. He sets the bags down and signals me over. I step toward him.

"What's up love?"

He pulls me into him and holds my hands to his chest. His beard shifts as he smiles down at me and my heart flutters. I love it when he looks at me like that.

He dips down to kiss me. My eyes widen surprised but I don't complain. I kiss him back, our lips moving lovingly against each other. His arms tighten around me and I grip his shirt. He pulls back and kisses my cheek, then my lips again and stands his full height.

I giggle.

"What was that?"

He smiles at me and points up.

"Jus feelin Christmasy is all love " He says. My eyes look up and I register the Mistletoe. I smile.

"Oh my John Price you're a precious man." I say. He chuckles and picks up my bags again.

"Cmon love let's get you something hot to drink, you're about to freeze over." I giggle and pick up his present.

"Lead the way.....Oh John! Konig would love that!" I say pointing to a shop window. He only groans but follows me.

Keegan Russ

I pull into the Cafe. I double check my phone to ensure this was the right place. My windshield wipers are still going, hitting the snowflakes as they land on my windshield.

I confirm the address and sigh. My heart is beating fast and I try and calm my nerves. It's just a date a simple date at a coffee shop. I tell myself. Well......with Keegan. My face flushes at the thought. I can't believe he actually asked me out. He's more reserved but one day after work he came up to me and asked me out.

I was do excited and here I sit in my car trying to compose myself and stop worrying about

"AHHHH!" I shriek as someone startles me and taps my window. I look and see Keegan who gives me a friendly wave. I quickly turn off my car and step out. My heated car was a contrast the the freezing cold outside. I shiver and rub my arms.

"Hey Keeg!" I say

"Hey (Y/N), scared ya didn't I?" He says amused. I blush.

"Only a bit." I with my fingers. He rolls his eyes and smiles.

"Sure that's why all the colors drained from your face isn't it?" He chuckles. I whack him on the arm.

"Oh knock it off Russ." I laugh and he leads me inside the coffee shop.

"Yes ma'am." He says holding the door for me while I duck under his arm. We go to counter and order hot chocolate. Keegan swears it's the best he's ever had. We sit down in a cozy booth and I warm my hands on my mug and blow on the steam. I take a sip and Keegan's eyes watch me carefully. The velvety chocolate enters my mouth and it's bliss. I hum in content and look at Keegan.

"It's amazing."

"I was hoping you'd like it." He says and holds my hand. I smile at him and take another drink to hide my blush. We talk about ourselves and who we are outside of work. Me and Keegan have a lot more in common than I thought.

"I'm really glad you asked me out Keegan."

"Oh believe me it was my pleasure (Y/N)." He says.

"I didn't know we had so much in common you're so quiet usually."

He chuckles. "I am but I've been wanting to ask you out for a while. I always thought you were beautiful." I blush at his words

He stares at the window and notices a Mistletoe window sticker and he smiles mischievously. I don't notice yet because I'm still drinking my cocoa. I finally catch his eyes.

"Hmm?"

He leans forward, his hand coming up and touching my neck. I shiver under his touch. His eyes never leave mine.

"Can I?" He asks. Speechless I only nod.

He presses his lips against mine and sigh contently. He thumb strokes my cheek gently and he tilts his head for a new angle. Our lips move together and I can taste the chocolate and mint from his cocoa.

His other hand squeezes mine and I push more against the table. Carefully he pulls away his face still close to mine. He brings my hand to his lips and places a gentle kiss to my knuckles.

"You're beautiful." He says. I giggle.

"You're too sweet Keegan."

"Does this mean you'll go out with me again?" He asks. I smile and nod.

"Absolutely."

Konig

Konig was a quiet man. Though big, scary, and intimidating, he definitely had a soft side. A side that he showed me. Though we're not technically dating I guess.

We've been on a few dates and we both seem to really like each other and I'm just waiting for him to make a move. I'd love more than anything if we were official. Especially during the holidays. We have done a lot of couple like things already but, it's not the same when I refer to him as my friend or date.

I'm not surprised when he asks me to be his date for the base Christmas party. Of course I agreed and when the day came I took time getting ready. It was a more formal event and I put on a dress. I was applying some light makeup when Konig knocked at my door. I opened it and for a moment his stoic resolve broke and he looked over my figure.

"Vow liebling. You look....gorgeous." He says. I pull at the side of my dress.

"You really think so?" I ask him and he nods enthusiastically.

"I know so. I cannot vait to show you off." He tells me and offers me his arm. I take his feeling his strong bicep underneath his jacket. He leads me down the hall, through the building to the ballroom. We're greeted by warm twinkling Christmas lights that adorn the windows and arches. I stare in awe and look at the gorgeous Christmas tree at the end of the room.

Soft music is playing and before anything else, Konig pulls me along and stands in front of me on the dance floor. He smiles down at me and places his hands on my waist. He makes me feel so small but I love it. I put my hands on his shoulders and we dance around happily. He spins me effortlessly as of I weigh nothing. He dips me and I toss my head back laughing. He chuckles pulling me up against his strong chest.

I look deep into his eyes. Yes. This is what falling in love feels like. We finish our dance and we notice a photographer taking pictures of couples.

"Come on Liebling let's get something to remember this day." He says and leads me to the photographer.

We pose together and a few pictures are snapped. Across the room I hear.

"Come on Konig kiss her." I look and see the other 141 members calling to us. We look at them puzzled and they point up. We both look up and see the Mistletoe on the ceiling. I blush but look at Konig with a smile.

"Do you.....?" I start asking and he nods.

He dips me and gives me the deepest kiss he could muster up. I hear applause but I focus on Konig and how passionate he's kissing me. His lips feel so good against mine molding onto my mouth like a perfect fit. His hands squeeze my waist and I grip his neck harder.

He stands us up and the clapping ceases. We both have pink dusted on our faces and I giggle happily.

"Schatz?" He asks and I look at him.

"Yes Konig?"

"Vill you be mine?" He asks me. My eyes widen.

"Y-you mean????" I stutter and he nods before kissing me again.

"Yes leibling I'm crazy about you. I've just been vaiting for the best time to ask you." He admits.

I hug him tightly.

"Yes Konig I'd love to." We share another kiss before the 141 starts heckling us to get a room.

~~~~

(Wolf): There! What do you guys think??

(Ghost, Soap, Price, Keegan, and Konig look over my work)

(Ghost): Well written for what it is

(Wolf): what does THAT mean?

(Soap): why are you so jealous in mine lass?

(Wolf): it's just what I thought of!

(Price): I liked mine

(Wolf): Thank you Price.

(Price): Maybe just change-

(Wolf): Oh KNOCK IT OFF

(Keegan): I prefer coffee too cocoa

(Wolf): *wailing* come on I put a lot of effort into this!!!

(Konig): I liked them all Liebling, well done

(Wolf): Thank you Konig you're always so nice to me.