#this means the price of baked goods would go up

[leastrife]

Don’t think I’ll ever get over the fact that Kaz Brekker nearly shifted the economy of Ketterdam

Like if the crows managed to ruin all of Van Eck’s silos and taken out a large huge amount of the sugar supply. That’s not something that will go down anytime soon it would take years for sugar to go back to the price it was to match up with supply and demand.

This 17 year old kid who likes dogs and can never figure out how to talk to his crush. Kaz “I protect my investments” Brekker almost caused a complete disruption in the stock market and with how strongly Ketterdam is built on their economic system-

Please I need someone else who think economy is a really cool topic to understand just how much that’s insane. A 17 YEAR OLD NEARLY CAUSED A SHORTAGE OF A HIGH DEMNAD COMMODITY ITEM.

Kaz would go insane in America

[smuthospital]

⭐️Yandere Husband x reader⭐️

Premise: Your husband really wants kids, but you're not really all for the idea

Warning: Noncon, breeding, fem reader

Minors DNI

You prepared a cute little basket with bread, some homemade jam and a couple of sandwiches along with a delicious strawberry cake you baked just for today! You look up at the playground from where you're sitting, the breeze feeling just right. It's a beautiful day out. Kids playing, people walking their dogs, couples like yourself picnicking. You and your husband have been together for three years and married one. He's the sweetest man in the world and you couldn't feel luckier to be with him. Your mother introduced him to you. He was her close friend's son. His mother and yours just so happen to go to the same knitting class. Although his mother was of a higher class, your mother and his had a lot in common and hit it off right away. Your mother would have buried you six feet deep if you refused to see him, not that you would've. He's handsome, sweet and has a well-paying job. Of course, that's the side of him that he allows you to see.

He begged his mom to introduce you after he saw you sitting on your porch one day when he was picking his mother up from your house. You waved at him and smiled. His heart was about to pop out of his chest. Your beauty was nothing he'd ever even imagined before. Everything about you is perfect. Everything. He asked his mother about you as soon as he drove off. She was more than happy to tell him. She's quite fond of you and would choose you as a daughter-in-law over anyone else. She couldn't be happier that her beloved first son has shown interest in a jewel like you.

He couldn't help but fall even deeper in love when he got to meet with you. Your voice rings bells in his heart and your eyes speak to his soul. He knew from then on that you were made for each other. He would never admit it, but he's absolutely obsessed with you. He would prefer to say that he's in love with you. Dating was smooth. He quickly proposed as soon as an appropriate amount of time passed. It couldn't come soon enough to him. You're so sweet and understanding. So thoughtful and intelligent. You share interests and when you don't, you make the effort to try. So does he, of course. You're so perfect.

Once married, he was happy to go to work and come back to your loving embrace. He'd rather die than have you support yourself. Anything you want, anything you need is yours. You don't even have to ask, your husband is very observant. You might mention something in passing that he'll overhear. Something small, something you didn't even put a lot of focus into, but he'll remember. He'll remember and he'll get it for you as soon as possible. He'd do anything...and that means anything. If anyone made you cry, he'd comfort you...before beating them unconscious. Getting his hands dirty is a small price to pay for you. But dear god, if anyone dared to lay a finger on you... well...consider them gone. Consider them erased actually. Consider the fact that they won't be bothering anyone ever again. Consider people closely associated with them being severely injured.

He's a ray of sunshine. You love him and he loves you. He loves you very much. You've never had any serious arguments. The two of you got along so well that there weren't any disagreements, but there were, he'd just fold and let it go. The only problem is that now that you're married, he wants kids, but you're not ready. You've never been very good with kids. They make you anxious. The sticky fingers, their delicate little heads, the fact that they could become psychopaths if you don't raise them properly. Not to mention how expensive and time-consuming they are. You spend all that time and energy on them and get almost nothing in return. Don't even get you started on the effects it'll have on your body.

There's just too much that could go wrong and besides, you just font feel like you're mature enough to have a kid of your own when you still feel like one yourself. You're not ready to raise a human being. There's so much you want to do, want to explore and you can't do that with a baby. Your husband on the other hand is great with them. He's the eldest brother of six so he's used to taking care of kids. At birthday parties, you can find him carrying three kids at a time, one over his shoulders and two in his arms, even the older ones, which doesn't surprise you because he's built big and strong. Must've eaten his vegetables when he was a kid, you snicker, inwardly. Your husband pokes you every time he sees a cute video of a baby on his phone like a boy asking his parents for a puppy. "Just watch! Aren't they cute!? (Yyyy/nnnn)!" He sticks his phone in your face and makes you watch a bunch of videos. He has a severe case of baby fever.

You look over at your fiance. He's looking out at the swing set with a dreamy look on his face. A little boy is pushing his younger sister and they look like they're having a blast. You cringe, knowing your husband is gonna bring up the baby talk again when you get home. Just then, you feel a light tug on your dress and look over to see a little girl around the age of 4, wobbling on her feet, looking up at you. You at least try to be good with kids. "Hey, what are you doing?" You laugh nervously. You know you're in for it now. You can feel your husband's intense gaze on the back of your neck.

"...Mama said that if I'm good, I can have cake. I was good today, so can I have some,...please?" You look up to see a woman face palming and yelling at her daughter to come back and stop bothering the nice lady. You smile at her mother, letting her know it's okay. "Well you asked so very nicely, how can I say no?" You cut a small slice and plate it for her. You give her the plate, but she just looks up at you with puppy dog eyes. "I...I always let Mama feed me," she says as fiddles with her fingers nervously. So adorable. You look up at her mother, who seems to be busy dealing with one of her other kids and decide to give her a break. Although this is breaching your comfort zone, you just can't say no to that face.

You pick up a fork and begin feeding her. You just know your fiance has the most love-struck look on his face, if you were looking at him, you'd be able to see big hearts in his eyes. You peek over at him to see just that and roll your eyes. "Mm so yummy! Thank you miss!" She gets on her tippy toes and kisses you on the cheek. You must admit that was adorable, but your opinion remains firm. No kids. No way. You still have plenty more reasons not to have any so cuteness is not enough to sway you. The little girl waddles away back to her mom. You don't want to turn around. You sigh and look at your husband to see he is still swooning.

"Oh my god! That was beautiful. You be such a good mom!" He coos. You groan. "We talked about this so many times, honey. You know how I feel about kids," you pout, folding your arms. You could've sworn you saw his eyebrow twitch like he was upset. "You'd be great, I believe in you. I just know it," he beams. Oh, he's not mad. Must've been your imagination. You roll your eyes. He didn't listen to a word you said though. You love him so much, but he's a brick wall when it comes to things like this. He's been on your ass quite literally about kids ever since you got married. "I need more time," you say, looking away from his pouting face. He was a bit gloomy for the rest of your outing after that. Last night, you misplaced your birth control pack. You were worried about it, but you just brushed it off and decided to take two the next night when you do find them.

Soon, your picnic comes to an end and you head home. He's on you as soon as you shut the door, kissing you passionately. You return the gesture, hugging him close. "Don't take your birth control tonight," he whispers huskily in your ear. You stop and push his chest. He takes a step back and looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed. "We literally just talked about this! Respect that I don't want any dumb kids!" You shout. You expect him to apologize, to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness like he always does when he's in the wrong. Then he'd go and get you flowers, and cook for you, but this time, he looks down at you rage evident in his expression. He looks really pissed. You shrink in your spot. What?

"You're being ridiculous, (y/n)! It's time for you to grow up! You're old enough to be a responsible mother so stop acting like a child. I can support the both of you easily. You don't have to lift a fucking finger, just have my child already. I've been so fucking patient with you. My mother and yours have been asking us where their grandchild is. What the fuck do I tell them? I'm wondering too! I've been waiting for you to change your mind and be reasonable, but you're really getting on my nerves now," he grits his teeth as he finishes his sentence. Each sentence felt like a stab to your heart. He's never said such cruel words to you or even cruel words in general before. Your husband hasn't so much as insulted you. You never could've imagined your husband had this side to him.

He gripped your arm and began dragging you upstairs. "Hey! S-Stop! Stop it!" You cry, holding onto the stair rail. He looks back at you. That was the last fucking straw. You hear a loud clap and your head turned. Huh? Your cheek stings? Tears begin to well in your eyes as you hold your reddening cheek. He takes the time to pull you the rest of the way up and into the bedroom. He sets you on the bed and locks the door, taking his clothes off right there, his well-built figure casting a shadow over you. You begin sobbing in your place on the bed, covering your face with your hands. He walks over and gently hugs you, rubbing your back. You push at him, but he keeps you still pressed to his body. "Stop that," he whispers in your ear. His voice is commanding yet gentle, but you ignore him and continue fighting his hold. "That's it. I'm so tired of you acting like this. It's time you give me what I deserve, a family." He grips your dress and violently rips it off you, leaving you in your bra and panties. You've had sex before, but never like this. This is the first time your eyes held fear while looking at your husband.

He shoves you back onto the bed, climbing over you and trapping you beneath him, smiling. He traces a finger from your collar to the center of your bra, where it stills before ripping it off you. You know better than to scream so you whimper as he throws it to the side. He places a hand over your breast, squeezing it painfully. You grab his wrist, trying to pry it off. "You are gonna be a great mommy. Can't wait to watch these fill up with milk." His face takes on that dreamy look again. "Seeing you today in the park confirmed it. You're more than ready." You feel his cock rubbing your thigh. He yanks your panties down your legs, tossing them into the forgotten corner with his clothes and yours. With his other hand and rubs your pussy. You whine and struggle under him, but you know you're no match for him. He spreads your thighs open and lodges himself between them, his cock rubbing up and down your fold, taunting you. "I love you...so much," he says before slowly entering you. You are NOT having a fucking baby. You'll take your birth control and that'll be that. He smiles down at you, knowing what you're thinking and bucks his hips. He laughs like he knows something you don't, but the idea is completely lost on you.

He bottoms out, moaning as he does. He rubs the bulge in your stomach lovingly. "I want a big family, honey. Make me a daddy. Let me breed you," he says, rutting into you. Even though he's being so rough, it feels so damn good. He picks up your thighs and pressed them down beside your head, squishing your cervix with his cock. Your tongue rolls out your mouth as your eyes roll into the back of your skull. He kisses your neck and cheeks, giving you soft praise. "I knew you'd be good for me. Such a good little wife and soon to be mommy. You're gonna look so cute stuffed with our baby. God, I fucking love you," he chants as he rams into you again and again, your brain is far too clouded by the feeling of him spearing your guts to understand him.

You dig your nails into his back as continues bruising your poor cervix. You let out a choked whine. "It's ok, honey, you can cum. I'll allow it." As if on command, you do. He kisses your lips passionately, quickening his pace. Moans leave your mouth each time he pounds into you, the air and sound being forced from your lungs each time on impact.

His fists curled in the sheets, his eyes clenching. He slams his hips to yours, your body being forced farther before he grabs your hips and forces you back. He grunts as he cums deep inside you, your stomach filling to the brim with his seed. He sighs and kisses your cheek. You breathe heavily, waiting for him to get off, but he doesn't. He just starts going again like he didn't just fill your guts up.

"W-Whah?" You whine. "I need to make sure my seed takes, darling. We'll be doing this until I say we're done so don't complain now." You can tell by his tone that he's daring you to try something. You just clench your eyes and keep taking him. You're so bloated with cum. He's never been like this before, always stopping when you wanted to and treating you like porcelain. Now he's grabbing you and fucking into you like he's been holding back for years, which you now think he has. Your eyelids begin drooping after the sixth time he forced you to cum. You can't keep them open and he notices. "It's ok, take a nap. Warning, I'm not stopping. I guess I tired you out," he laughs.

You wake up to him hugging your back, spooning you. You look at your alarm clock. It's been hours and judging from the still-wet cum all over your thighs, he only stopped recently. You slowly and very carefully slip out of his hold and off the bed. You feel a soreness like never before in your stomach and almost fall to the floor. Oh god, your uterus. More cum slips out of you as you walk to your vanity. You open a couple of drawers where you think your birth control might be, but it's not there. Where could it be if not in your vanity!? You look around frantically, but you still can't find them! You begin looking everywhere. You check the bathroom cupboard, opening it slowly so it doesn't creak and wake up your crazy husband. It's not in there! You look down to see the crumpled package in the trash. You pick it up to see it empty. Every single slot, even the pink period pills. You begin tearing up as you see there are tiny white specs by the sink. No! He washed them away! How could he!? You clutch the sink as you stare at the empty package. You feel a presence creep up behind you. You look up in the mirror to see your husband right behind you, looking down at you with disdain.

"I knew you were going to take them after I told you not to so I got rid of them last night." He planned this!? "Let's go back to bed...Common," he says tiredly and grabs your arm, forcing you back into bed with him, your back to his chest. You feel his cock harden and you try to inch away, but he grabs your hips and rubs his cock up and down your folds before jamming it inside you until he bottoms out. You whimper with your hands over your mouth, knowing that if you annoyed him while he was tired, you'd get in real trouble. He lazily humps into you, rubbing your bulging tummy from behind you, his lips kissing your head. You pass out later from exhaustion.

You wake up to find him not in bed. You take the chance to get up and throw on a sweatshirt and sweats. You grab your wallet and sprint out of the room and down the stairs, ignoring the painful limp he gave you and the soreness in your poor tummy. Your wrist is caught mid-air..." Where the fuck do you think you're going, honey?" He asks, his sweet smile contrasting the bone-crushing grip he has your wrist in.

"O-Oh! Um...we...need-" He cuts you off in the middle of your lie, yanking your wrist and forcing you closer to him. "You were going to go kill our baby." You've never seen such darkness in his eyes. "Well, you can't. I won't allow it. The doors have new locks just for you, love. You're not going anywhere." He smiles down at you, that same handsome face you love, but now come to fear. You gulp as he leads you into the kitchen where he prepared a beautiful breakfast.

You soon accept what's to happen. Your husband is a loved man. Loved by all. His family, your family, his job, the community, everyone. Your husband is often described as charismatic, funny, helpful and friendly. If you told anyone of them what he's done to you, they'd call you a liar without hesitation or even better, take his side, agreeing that it's time you give him a child because it's your duty as his wife to do at least that for him. Be a little grateful for all he does. Providing for you and taking care of you. You'd rather keep your mouth shut. Nothing good can come of telling anyone. It only took a few days of brutal fucking till you woke up early in the morning feeling nauseous and ran to the bathroom, him hot on your tail, ready to hold your hair back as you emptied your stomach into the toilet. You sob as you hug your knees on the bathroom floor. He got on the floor with you, wiping your tears with his thumbs and holding your face. He smiles wide and hugs you tightly. "Yes! (Y/n)! I'm so proud of you! We're having a baby! I love you!"

Yandere husband with pregnant reader head cannons:

- You're allowed out of the house after a while of proving your obedience! Hooray! With the exception that he has to be there, of course. A man flirted with you a bit while you were shopping and your husband was within earshot. You still cringe when you remember the sound the man's nose made as your husband punched him. It took three security guards to get him off the guy.

- Your husband makes you eat so much! "Sit down and finish your food. You're eating for two, remember!? Or did you forget?"

- Paints the baby's room with non-toxic paint and will not let you help or hold anything. "No, it's too dangerous, (Y/n). Sit back down, I've got this, ok?"

- Spares no expense for you and the baby. Buys everything people recommend to him

- Watches youtube videos for things he needs to watch out for during your pregnancy

- Does pregnancy stretches with you and won't take no for an answer. "It's good for you and the baby so get to it! I'll do them with you so we look silly together!" You both still have a fun time.

- You once dropped a book on the floor and your husband burst through the wall to get to you, leaving a cartoon cutout of himself and all. "WHATHAPPENDAREYOUOK!?" He shouted all in one breath. You assured him that you were just fine and that you'd only dropped a book, but he still cradled you in his arms crying.

- Cooks all your meals and cuddles you every single night.

- You being pregnant does not mean he stops fucking you, no. He's just a lot more gentle with you.

- Has everything about your pregnancy and birth planned to the exact detail, even when you'll have the next one.

- He rubs his face against your tummy and kisses it, singing to the baby.

- Do you need to get up? "Here, take my arm...actually...I'll hold you!"

- He picks up the phone on the first ring...and you better too or he's racing home.

[chaosandmarigolds]

retirement!Simon who really doesn't know what to do with himself around the house

retirement!Simon who would go on his morning runs and try to keep consistent to a workout schedule

retirement!Simon who was so bored one day he called Price asking if there was anything he needed help with

retirement!Simon stared at the entrance of the school with a frown because when he asked the price for something to do he didn't mean help set up for bake sales..

retirement!Simon helping you get a box from a closet because A: why would you need to carry something that big and B: he could do is easily so...pretty obvious in his opinion

retirement!Simon who pretty much immediately noticed your stunning lack of wedding ring

retirement!Simon who started volunteering at the school regularly 'to help out price and his missus' as if it wasn't just to see your beaming face with a pre-k student on your hip

retirement!Simon would spend his days off thinking about the dates he had already planned for 't', how he would hold your hand right as you walked through the park, or how he would perfectly land the compliments from across the dinner table

retirement!Simon who ignores Price at the PTA meeting he was 'dragged' to as his buddy teases him as he borderline ogles at you from across the gymnasium

retirement!Simon who looks at you as if you lay the stars in the sky as you stand to inform the parents about the upcoming zoo trip, only to notice the small three-year-old boy clinging to your leg

retirement!Simon who will be figuring out more kid-friendly dates for you and him....perhaps the zoo is a good start

[quarterlifekitty]

cooking was mentioned but I kind of wonder how the cod men would react to reader bringing them cookies/some sort of pastry they know they like. Ive also had the idea of price getting turned on watching reader knead bread dough stuck in my head for some reason.. or ghost coming home to the smell of freshly baked pie (or something similarly wholesome) with blood still caked under his nails.... wrapping those large hands around my waist while i'm making the crust.. ughhh..sorry just- housewife reader who bakes treats and takes care of and dotes on a big military man and gets fucked senseless in return is so stuck in my head.

So I’m going to use this opportunity to speak gratuitously about Ghost’s relationship to food. Others have spoken of it at length before, but hopefully I will be able to add something new!

So we all know that Ghost did not have a happy childhood. He did not grow up in a secure home. He did not grow up with means. He was not nurtured, nor was he nourished. He enlisted at the first opportunity, and I think he nearly cried from being able to eat three, full meals a day that weren’t even that bad.

The next section of his life is a bit better in regards to eating, but not great. He knows where his next meal is coming from, and he doesn’t have to worry about there being enough to eat. He’s a grown man with a paycheck, he can buy food if he likes. But we all know the cafeteria food and MREs are demoralizing. They’re edible, but nothing more than that.

The first time he has leave, has to stare at the walls of his own empty studio and live for himself with the means to go grocery shopping as much as he likes— he’s at a total loss. No one ever taught him what he should be eating. No one ever showed him how to wash mushrooms. How to cut against the grain of a cut of beef. How to separate an egg yolk from the white. How to reduce a sauce. How to make sure scrambled eggs don’t overcook by taking the pan off of the heat.

So he starts very small. Eats like a college student. Lots of microwave shit. Works up to cooking himself some eggs. Almost moans at how good they are when it’s freshly cooked, on toast, and there’s no eggshell in it, and no one is yelling at him while he eats, he doesn’t have to hurry and get moving— it’s a really beautiful feeling he’s never gotten.

And maybe he had a neighbor at this time. Some older woman who noticed that the apartment that sat dormant most of the year had an occupant. One that still looked like a kid. Wore fatigues. Clearly didn’t have a family to go home to, if he was hanging around here on his shore time.

So she starts feeding him. Giving him a portion of what she makes for her own family. Casserole, cakes, stroganoff— anything. And Ghost will never forget that. The unparalleled joy of being given food from someone’s own home. Something they made. Something good. The food always tastes better when it isn’t mass produced. It always tastes better fresh. And it always tastes better when it was made by someone who cares.

The trajectory of his life and career don’t afford him much time. He spends most of his leave time cooking. Experimenting with recipes and learning. But that’s still such a small minority of his life.

When you, the fresh face in the 141 start bringing in food regularly, Gaz jokes that you’re buttering them up— trying to get in their good graces. You’re warned that Ghost is a hard won man. The truth is that no one has really tried home made lemon bars on him before. And they work like a charm.

Maybe a year or two later, you’ve gone on leave for maternity. You’re moved in together. It’s his first deployment without you working at his side. His first time coming home, and actually having someone to come home to.

And the house is alive. He can smell the currant and blueberry pie in the oven. You’re playing music in the kitchen. The house is so warm. There’s an unfolded blanket on the couch. The couch has a spaghetti stain on one of the arm rests.

And you. In loose pants and an even looser shirt with your bump visible. There’s blood under his nails. He smells like sweat and hot old dirt. But here you are, making the perfect nest for him. Not minding when he lays his head on your shoulder, embracing you from behind while you idly check the sauce simmering on the stove.

So are you getting fucked tonight? Baby, you’re getting fucked while that pie is on the cooling rack. You are getting railed after dinner and then you’re getting railed after dessert. And then you’re getting pounded in the shower and then he’s taking you in your fucking bed. And if you weren’t pregnant before, you definitely would be now.

[ceilidho]

prompt: ex special forces ghost working as a “travel companion for hire” and reader hires him because she’s too nervous to go solo travelling

-

It’s not the first time you’ve been somewhere on your own, but it’s the first time you’ve realized that maybe solo trips aren’t for you. 

It’s in Germany, three drinks in and stumbling back to your hotel room, paranoia gripping you every time you pass a dark alleyway or take a right onto a deserted street. It’s the man walking your way on the same side of the street that has you stuffing your hand into your purse, clammy fingers gripped tight around your keys. 

On the flight home, you’re wiped. Beat. Finally untethered from a week’s worth of anxiety slowly reaching a boiling point. You’ve traveled on your own before, but it’s the first time you can remember being acutely aware of your vulnerability. Granted, before this trip, it’s not like you’d traveled all that much on your own, especially outside of the country. 

Ghost comes as a recommendation from a friend of a friend. You’d hemmed and hawed about the whole ordeal the Monday after getting home from your trip—working the front desk at an auto-body shop means that there’s no shortage of people to talk to. The guy picking up his car (fender bender, a wicked crack down the front that’s since been fixed) listens to you gripe with an absent look on his face, but you’ve learned to tune those out. People will listen to you even in spite of their indifference when there’s nothing else to do. 

“Y’know, I know a guy that does stuff like that,” he says, cutting you off halfway through another half-baked rant about airline fares these days. Your mouth puckers into something quizzical. Tell me more, it says without saying. “Ex-special forces. Left because of some medical thing, I think. Dunno. Anyway, he’s been all over the world—built like a brick shithouse, that one—and last I heard he was, uh, renting out his services.”

“Services?” 

“Like, he’d go with you, hang back while you do your thing, but basically the muscle. There to back you up if someone fucks with you.”

You’re just fresh enough off your vacation (an entirely miserable week, lest you explain the whole thing all over again) to give him your number. He promises to put you in touch with the friend of a friend who’ll put you in touch with one Simon Riley. He then gives you shit about the price on his bill and you knock ten percent off begrudgingly because the piece of paper with your number written on it is still crumpled in his palm.

No good deed goes unpunished or whatever.

“He’s not actually in the country right now,” Laswell, the friend of a friend, explains over coffee, Biscoff cookies spread out on a little tea plate between the two of you. “Or the continent.”

“Where is he?”

“For the rest of the month? Indonesia. He’s supposed to be back on the ninth. Should I let him know that you’re interested in his services?”

It’s a toss up at first. The thought of sacrificing your dignity (he would be more or less your babysitter) for adventure is tricky. With the way the dates line up—when you plan on traveling and when he gets back to the UK—you also won’t have much time to make his acquaintance before setting off. 

But there are places you want to go, sites you have scribbled down in a pocket-sized notepad folded up in the inner lining of your backpack. So you give her your permission and promise to join her and her wife for dinner sometime (repayment, and also it’s only been a few months since you moved, so you currently have a dearth of friends in your life anyway). 

The first time you see him when he stops by your workplace, you can’t help the double take. It just doesn’t seem possible. You know from Laswell and the guy at the body shop that Ghost is ex-military, but you’d been expecting some buzz-cut, slightly smarmy army reserves guy, maybe six-foot and decently muscled. What you don’t expect is the tatted beast that’s near twice your size. Only the top half of his face is exposed, the rest hidden beneath a black mask; you think briefly of asking him about it, but chicken out under his withering stare.

He doesn’t seem impressed when he meets you. “What’s your list?”

“Um…just around Europe. I haven’t thought about it too much.”

He stares down at you. “You wanna hire me just to run around the continent?”

“I haven’t thought about it!”

“Well, best give it a think fast, doll. Haven’t got all day for you to figure it out.”

You do have to think fast. He doesn’t leave until you’ve spelled out exactly where you want to go, until he’s watched you book plane tickets over your shoulder, heavy at your back while sweat beads at the nape of your neck. He’s entirely too intimidating to be looming over you like that. 

You watch him whip out his phone and fire off a couple of texts; your phone pings with an email telling you that you’ve been reimbursed for his flight and when you protest, he brushes you off by saying that he’ll invoice you for everything at the end of your trip.

Then what was promised falls into place. Free of burden, free of anxiety or restless energy, new possibilities open up to you: countries where you don’t speak the language; countries where the sites you want to see are spread out across a wide enough area that it warrants having a man packed beside you in a too-small taxi, his thigh a hot line against yours; hiking trips through national parks, where you don’t feel like you might slip down a hill and twist your ankle, stuck without water or cell service. 

You only have two weeks worth of vacation, so you use them wisely. A week traveling across Switzerland and Austria, and then a week in Cairo to see the pyramids. 

Ghost hangs back most of the time while you traipse around and do your own thing. You can feel him at your back when you approach the stands where the local vendors have set up shop, perusing silver trinkets and jewelry, only returning to your side when someone stands too close to you. 

He fists a hand in a pickpocket’s shirt when they try for your purse, giving them a shake and sending them off. 

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you mutter in his direction as you watch the young man scurry away. Not sure if you’re blushing or sunburnt. 

“You hired me to deal with this shit my way. Don’t get mouthy now.”

You think it might be the former because while you might not be the best at reapplying sunscreen, Ghost has been gentle-parenting you this whole trip. He pulls you off into corners and growls down at you while squirting a dollop of sunscreen into the palm of his hand to spread across your face. You close your eyes when his rough hands trace over your face and breathe out heavily when he spins you around, big hands engulfing your shoulders and spreading down your back.

You don’t think it could get worse. It gets worse. 

He won’t spring for his own room. You stare at him in disbelief in the lobby of the two star hotel where you’ve booked a room with a single bed. There’s a vending machine in the corner of the lobby that only sells coke (all of the other buttons are broken). One of the ceiling lights flickers on and off, an ominous buzz filling the room. Ghost doesn’t so much as blink.

“You didn’t tell me—I didn’t know that was my job,” you rebuff, anxiety a fist in your throat. You’ve already asked the front desk for another room, but they’ve been sold out for weeks, the woman at the front desk informed you with no small amount of pity. It’s the busy season; even two-star hotels get booked up in the dog days of summer. 

He cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Never had to before. My job isn’t to book shit.”

“I sent you my itinerary.” 

“That’s not how I work, love. Where’s your room?” 

It’s nothing short of humiliating to have him follow you back to your shabby little hotel room. Your hands shake when you unlock the door, opening it to something no bigger than a closet. You’d purposefully gotten a smaller room than you usually would, anticipating the cost of Ghost's invoice at the end of your trip. No good deed goes unpunished. 

He ushers you into the room with a hand on your back, shutting the door behind him. You flick on the only light in the room, a bulbous thing hanging from the ceiling. No bedside lamp. 

When he settles on the end of the only twin bed in the room, the bedframe groans under his weight. Your hands are already clammy. He’s already making himself at home, unbuckling his belt with a single hand; it makes you almost dizzy to look over at him so you try desperately to avert your eyes.

“At least wait until I’m in the other room,” you hiss, rifling through your suitcase faster to get your clothes for after your shower. 

“Quit moping, love,” Ghost scolds, resting back on his elbows and toeing off his boots. “We’ll make it work. Just gonna have to get comfortable together.”

You scurry off to the bathroom with your pajamas clutched tight to your chest, paying no attention to the fact that he doesn’t sound as upset as you thought he might.

[sevs-corner]

Tf 141: Ghost and his marriage problems w/ you

part 1: Price | Masterlist here! | Inspo playlist here! Angst to comfort

Ghost is a man of few words, the comment of it being 'few and far between' used too often to describe him and his stand-off demeanor with you in public.

Though, he cares not for those things, only ever lending an ear for you only.

Yet you wished he did when manhandles a man that was only trying to talk to you about baked goods you were selling.

You slammed your front door closed after Simon went ahead inside and paced around the living room, before settling on a chair once he hears you stomp in.

"What the fuck was that Simon?"

You seethed, pissed off at how Simon was so quick to assume things, turning things to an eleven when it didn't to be-- making an issue at a situation you were very well handling yourself already.

"He got too close," he grunts with a shrug, "too suspicious for someone just 'asking' a question."

You rubbed your face roughly.

You think maybe he was emotionally and socially stunted but no, he was able to conduct himself just fine at his jobs and during missions-- what the fuck is he on right now?

"What kinda bullshit is that?" You scoffed at him and he huffs, leaning his elbows on his knees yet still making eye contact with you.

"You..." He starts but then breaks off, sighing and ruffling his hair.

Simon wanted to choose his words carefully. He couldn't say it was gut feeling that he gets when someone gets too close to hurt you.

As a soldier, he was trained to always be on his toes, and that type of behavior becomes hard to rub off when all he thinks of is protecting you whenever you guys go out.

He knows that no one knows how his face looks like out in public, but he is still scared-- haunted by the notion, or even the thought of you getting hurt as a means of revenge to get back at him.

He knows his records aren't clean and he isn't proud of some of the things he did either, but he knew it was worth it when the world could have its bits and pieces of peace from it-- especially if you were, and you still had that same gleaming smile whenever you greet him home.

So he tries to keep that all away, to keep the peace, and most importantly-- to keep you happy.

Even if that required him to be on guard 24/7, always wary of the things going on in your life and working double to make sure you were alright.

Even if it gets him the short end of the stick, getting the brunt of your anger.

"He..." he licks his dried out lips, "...he looked like he had ulterior motives, hun."

You stomp to him, hands grabbing his face as you stared down at him, eyes so pointed and open that there were unshed tears at the end of it.

"And who are you to be the judge of that?"

He bites his lip, sucking in a breath, and he just wants to speak--

"Because I've been onto him."

"...What-?"

You were breathless for a moment, letting go of Simon as he whispered words that made it cloudier-- made him more vague and so stubbornly confusing.

But when he doesn't reply for moments after that, you ask him what he meant by that. What he wants to mean by that-- because all these conjured up thoughts swirling in your head were doing no good for the position you were putting Simon in inside your head.

"Simon please..." you breathed out in resign, "...just tell me."

Yet he doesn't.

He sits there, ever so still.

And you think he's stuck like that if it wasn't for the constant soft crunching of his gloves as he grips and releases it.

If it weren't for his chest heaving up and down-- you would have thought you lost him.

"If you're not gonna talk, I'm leaving." You decided, having enough of working today and just... all of this with Simon.

You love him, you truly do, but him shutting himself like this is just so exhausting-- and you couldn't take another moment of it.

"Wait."

His voice rings loud enough from the doorway, where you already putting on your shoes, and you pause, letting him have a couple seconds to follow-up.

"...Its cold out, grab your coat."

You huff, slamming your shoes down again for the second time tonight. Luckily, there weren't your favorite pair, but they'd understand if its them dealing with as stubborn of a partner like Ghost right? You could only amusedly think so for a moment before going close to Ghost, glaring down at him while his face was turned downwards to the floor, no longer making eye-contact with you.

"'s that all you're gonna say to me?"

You ask again, giving him another chance, another out for him just to get it off his chest-- to just,

"FUCKING TALK SIMON!"

Your breaths are heavy and from the way Simon didn't even flinch nor move, you decided to forego that chance. To just leave and--

"He was stalking you."

You turn to him again, facing him with less intensity that you thought when you finally see him.

He's disgruntled, hair a mess, mask and gloves off, disheveled clothing-- face so scrunched with lines, you'd think he was carving the wrinkles on his face permanently.

You wait, nodding at him to continue-- not trusting your own voice at the moment to convince him to keep talking.

Simon breaths in deep.

He had no choice.

It was either he lets you leave him (and fuck him and everything he lives for if he just lets you do so without him even trying) or he talks, and shows... everything and risk you leaving either way.

If both ends at the same conclusion, fuck him for throwing caution to the wind and giving one last damn shot to keep you by his side.

"Remember when you got that weird text?" He starts off and once he sees you nod in confirmation, he continues. "Thought I should look into it."

"I told you it was just spam." You mutter and you see him shake his head, muttering a small- "not to me."

And you kept your mouth shut at that.

"Once I did," he gulps, "started seeing all the nasty shit he had on his computer and what he planned to do..." he paused, breath coming out steady.

"...once he got to you today."

You feel like a bucket of ice cold water just got splashed onto your face, your stomach dropping, your throat constricting.

"..what...?"

Was all you could manage before you see Simon stand, and you could finally see why people were scared of him, the elusive and ruthless man on the field-- the man they call Ghost.

Now you knew why he sat, why he also took the low ground with you, why he showed himself to be smaller than you because seeing him right now-- standing at his full height with a gaze you can no longer call familiar.

It was downright chilling to the bone.

"He was going to take you for himself." He growled, his emotions resurfacing once he saw the guy's search history and the not-so-elaborate plans he shared with a couple of mates on his messaging app. He had the receipts and he was going to fucking expose the guy if it weren't for your interference--.

No. He shouldn't think about it like that. You were worried for him. Yeah. You weren't disrupting anything, you were just looking out for him. That's it.

'Keep it down, Ghost.'

"If I didn't intervene," he grabs your jaw and forces you into his gaze, "I would've broken my promise to always protecting you."

This breaks the dam.

Simon, as much as he was an emotionally stunted man, meant every word he made to you in his vows.

And at the end of it all, he swore, he promised--

'Promise to protect you always.'

Was how he ended that, and how he slipped that band on your finger right now.

You felt so stupid.

Maybe it was you who were quick to assume such things of a man who would no thing to hurt you.

"Shh..." He holds you close, finally closing the distance he wanted to make ever since you guys got home. "I'm sorry."

He whispers onto your hair as one of his hands stroke it while the other was wrapped around your side.

His chin was on your head, and he just lets you sob onto him-- lets you say your apologies, but he doesn't take them.

It wasn't your fault. It was his.

And he wants to make amends.

Even if that ended up with you leaving, he'll still fulfill those vows he promised.

Because he swore it to the only person who accepted him for all that he is.

So, he'll try his best to make it work. For the both of you, or even just for your sake.

"Lovie," he mutters once your sobs turned to sniffles, "your smiles look better on you."

You huff, unable to stop the breath of a laugh from the sudden left hook of a compliment.

"I'm sorry Simon." You finally peel away from his chest to look at him and place your hands- more gently this time- on his heated cheeks.

He shakes his head-- "no, 's not you." He kisses your palms, trailing it higher until he reaches that golden metal on your finger, and his lips linger on there for moments before talking again.

"I should've told you," he admits, "just didn't want you to worry."

You immediately smacked him which made him slightly flinch at the sudden hit on his cheek.

"Dummy," you sniffle, "I still would-- whether you didn't or did."

You pout at him, "you know me Simon, I'll always worry."

He nods somberly.

"Just don't wanna add onto it." He pokes your forehead and you giggle.

"See, its already so big--"

"Shush!" You slapped away his hand this time and you could see a smile starting to grow on his lips.

"I'll remember that for next time." He promises, this time replacing his finger with forehead, tiredly connecting it to yours.

"Promise to tell me next time?"

"I promise."

"I'll worry with you instead."

He chuckles at this, relenting to your whims once more.

"You're gonna make my head bigger like yours then."

[lainsshop]

Dates With Him ౨ৎ

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship n probably more..

A/N: Another long work of mine, hope you like it cause.. I don’t know. If you have more date ideas please tell me and I’ll make sure to put them here!

Oh, God, you probably already know what type of dates this man will suggest..

Well, of course, it’s gonna be classy, fancy and jazzy! This man only knows the classic type of dates, the “proper” way of taking your partner to dates, according to him that is.

Lots of dancing! It could be anywhere! He doesn’t care if people are watching you, he could just break their limbs if the people around y’all criticize you guys, especially if they judge you.

Even if you suck at dancing he will teach you! Don’t worries, what type of partner will he be if he didn’t. But if you do know how to dance then that’s even better! You two are stealing the dance floor in seconds, I promise you.

Fancy restaurants. Not the white fancy or the bright fancy ones, oh, nuh uh.. I’m talking about the ones with warm dim lights, brown; pearl white; gold n red color palate, good scented candles, soft jazz playing in the background or maybe a live group/solo playing, the finest servings, etc etc..

Yea, those type of restaurants that need a reservation and have a big ass price but don’t worry, Alastor will pay for everything even if you insist on paying too he would just-

“Nonsense, my dear! What kind of gentleman will I be if I let you pay?” You were gonna insist again but you knew he would still pay for it at the end so you gave up.

You just feel kinda guilty cause he pays for almost always pays for everything when you two go out to eat and even on things you want, he likes to spoil you..? You could say that but I don’t really know.

Jazz clubs! Oh, you two will always and when I say always I mean alwaysssss go to jazz clubs! Even before you became official, you two will always go to a jazz venue at least once a month. It became a tradition between you two at this point.

If you haven’t listen to jazz before, oh, you’re on a ride, this man will talk about it and probably even more genres of his era. He would recommend you one artist and then two and like ten and- you get the deal.

Book reading. Now there’s time where Alastor or you.. or both of you like to just stay indoors so sometimes you guys just stay at the hotels library and read. Just enjoying your guys presence, the fire crackling and the soft music in the background.

And when you get tired, he would absolutely read to you while you put your head on his shoulder. (He’s voice is so &;&:&: like it could put me to sleep, okay?😭)

Cooking or Baking. Well, I don’t know if Alastor knows how to bake but I will assume he does. He loves to cook or bake with you! It’s probably his top 3 favorite dates to do with you like.. you literally can do it at any hour, in the mornings, evenings, nights and even midnights like wow there.

If you don’t know how to bake or cook, oh, he would absolutely love to teach you. If it comes out wrong, he would def laugh a bit.. but don’t worries, it’s your first time after all, right? It takes times to learn something new!

© LAINSSHOP 2024

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won't Let Go

Last House on the Right

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 1.1k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Post Apocalypse!AU, Single Mom!verse, pregnant reader, mentions of pregnancy related eating issues + vomiting, Reader's got some separation issues. Fair warning this is so half baked I haven't even decided what kind of apocalypse it is, but somehow Ive got a whole plotline regardless.Same pairing as my fic Blind Date

Next Chapter

You can’t believe your luck. 

You’re not sure what exactly it was about this house in the dead of night that had you so transfixed, but your intuition has paid off in spades. 

The area’s been abandoned, to your knowledge leaving you the sole inhabitant meandering around. 

Or maybe waddling would be a more apt description.

Fear and uncertainty of the outside hurry you along into the house. Most everyone- the survivors- has splintered off into groups. There’s no evidence of anyone still living here (admittedly it’s not like you’ve taken the time to check every room, but there are signs when a house is inhabited), but you luck out that the cabinets haven’t been picked over. 

It’s been entirely too long since your last meal, and it takes a good amount of restraint to not devour the can of ravioli too quickly. 

As much as you’re tempted, you know there’s a fine line between what will and won’t have you immediately throwing up in the sink- grazing seems to keep the worst of the upset down.

There’s no hospitals to jaunt off to if you end up dehydrated. Excessive vomiting is not ideal post end of days.

If you were in your right mind- not frightened, isolated, starving, cold- and not focusing on how the unheated chef boyardee might as well be a five star michelin meal for all you can think right now, you might have been paying more attention.

The sound of a safety clicking off behind you freezes your blood far more than the cold. That sound is deliberate. Whoever’s behind you- gun pointed at you- wants you to know they got the jump on you.

“Hands where I can see them,” the order is gruffly barked at you.

You feel stupid. Of course all of this was too convenient for you to simply be catching a break. It wasn’t exactly well lit and designed to draw you in- but you’re an animal caught in a trap regardless.

The fork clatters against the counter next to the can as you go to comply.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

You’re not much of a threat in your current condition. That much is obvious.

Time stopped having any sort of tangible meaning a while ago. You should know how many weeks you are, but the days run together fending for yourself and you just know that you’re close. There’s no hiding the swell of your belly.

The man at the doorway looks as gruff as he sounds. Your mind spins like a tire in mud to process everything in front of you in the poor moonlight. Military, that much is obvious. You’re not actually sure if that’s a good thing. Handsome from what you can see, though historically your type has been men who don’t have a weapon leveled at you.

The taciturn expression on his face falters when he spots your bump, but you’ve learned by now to not expect any sort of special treatment.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize immediately. “I-I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll leave, I swear.” 

He looks at you another moment before a look of resignation washes over him.

“Turn back around. Keep your hands up.” Oh God. Your mind immediately goes to the worst- That this man, for whatever reason, has decided that your infraction has signed your death warrant. That he can’t quite bring himself to fire on a pregnant woman staring him in the eyes, so the last thing you’re ever going to see is some tacky wallpaper and ugly cabinets.

You yelp when one of his hands finds the pistol on your hip. Holy shit you didn’t even hear him cross the room.

“Easy, love,” he soothes as he starts to frisk you for more weapons. “Not gonna hurt you. You have anything else on you?”

“A knife in my back pocket.” It doesn’t even occur to you to lie; putting yourself in his good graces is your only option and you can’t do that by lying.

His hands slip under your jacket, the hem oversized and hanging even with your arms up, making a wrong guess at the first pocket he checks before grabbing the knife out of the second one.

“Anyone going to come sniffing around looking for you?” A fair question, but one that sticks like a knife between your ribs.

The “No,” that escapes you is softer than you meant it to be, voice warbling as you try not to cry.

Hormones would have had you on the verge of tears at any given point, and that would have been before the end of the world and before your group abandoned you. You’re well entitled to your tears, you think, but try to stuff them back down anyway.

“You’re out here alone,” he grouses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you. The like this? is implied.

Your arms are still up, and they’re getting tired. Everything tires you out these days.

Like he can read your mind, he releases you with a “you can set your arms down now, love.”

“Thank you,” you’re in full fawn mode, turning to face him. While he’s clearly decided against killing you, you’ve been scared and alone for the past few days and you really don’t want to be separated from the only person who will give you the time of day right now. 

“Is there anyone else here? Other soldiers?” Your fate is sealed and lies in the soldier’s hands regardless of his answer.

Nothing with change, no matter what he says, but you think you’re less intimidated if it’s just the two of you. 

The world’s gone to hell in a handbasket, and yet you’ll never forget watching 28 days later when the line I promised them women was dropped.

“Got separated from my team.”

He turns away from you, gesturing to follow him out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

He’s limping.

You haven’t seen him move until now. You’re more an expert on busted hardware than busted body parts, you can’t tell if it’s a fresh injury that’s still healing, or an old one that’s set in place.

“They left you.” They left me, too.

“They didn’t leave me for dead, they think I am dead. Gonna take a bit more than that to get the job done, though.” 

You have no reason not to believe him. Despite having just met him, the man is like a living manifestation of everything masculinity is supposed to be- down to the surly attitude despite him herding you further into the house. It doesn’t take much to figure out that he’s tough as nails and sure why not flirt in death’s face that her last attempt wasn’t good enough?

You sit on the couch he points to, as he settles into the leather chair across from you.

“Christ what’d I’d do for a fucking smoke right now,” he mumbles, pawing at his chest absent mindedly on reflex.

You mean to sit stiff as a board, but your body is tired and the couch is surprisingly comfortable.

The soldier, however, sits like he owns the house. “And now for the question of what to do with you.”

[konpeitonom]

Whenever you have a second can we PLEASE get some Girl dad curly HCS? I feel like he'd be like Bandit from bluey as a father :)

- 🎺 anon

captain grant curly as your dad.

sfw— lowercase intended ^_^

fem reader—

requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^

notes; reader is quite young here, im assuming no older than 6th grade, but intended for maybe.. a 3rd-4th grader? lmk if you wanna see him as like a dad for a teen/young adult 🎺 anon!

— extra, extra kind to you when he has to leave you for long business trips. knows you absolutely hate it. i mean, he’s missing christmas! new years! maybe even your birthday! (i assume that once he’s a dad, he’ll avoid taking trips longer than a year- only if it’s possible)

— his heart breaks a little when you playfully punch at his chest, crying about how he’s leaving again. part of him wants to quit, but obviously he can’t..

— speaking of birthdays.. he would go through hell and back to make sure you get what you want (as long as it’s reasonably priced, of course) a sold out toy? he’s willing to buy it overpriced on some resale site. there’s no way his girl is going to be disappointed on her own birthday.

— goes all out. and does what you want. if you wanna invite your friends, have a sleepover? that’s fine by him. or if you’re a more introverted, quiet kid, just a small celebration with family is fine. maybe even a weekend trip. whatever it is you want, just say the word. makes up for past birthdays he’s missed!

— reunions are the best.. after a week of rest, he’ll be sure to spend all his time with you. he knows how much you missed him.

— helps you out with homework.. prepares snacks at the kitchen table. like your favorite fruits, some gummy bears. fidget toys to help you concentrate. he tries so hard to just not give you the answers, do your homework for you.. he doesn’t, but he’s tempted!

— takes you to/picks you up from school whenever possible. gets to know your teachers and stuff. very active in your education. his parents were great, but i assume weren’t too present within his school life (being in the wrong crowd, and stuff- jimmy being an example) so he makes sure you’re doing a-okay!

— he doesn’t wanna be the kind of dad that’s just work, work, work. it’s his job to take care of his girl too.. he’d feel a lot of guilt if his spouse was taking care of you more than 70% of the time anyway (if he was home). just because he provides financially, doesn’t excuse him from dad work.

— fights the urges to spoil you.. he’s not the richest, but he does have disposable income. and if it’s just gonna sit there in his bank account, why not spend some to make his girl happy? his spouse hates it, you're already spoiled enough as it is.

— very up to date with all your interests. he’d get sad though watching you move on to something more geared towards older kids, like.. you’re growing up so fast! and what a blessing it is to watch in real time..

— loves taking you on little dad-daughter dates. like a day out at the beach, or just at a park. one on one time is important! and he loves hearing all the gossip you have about your friends, school. he doesn’t wanna fit into the stereotype of dads knowing nothing that goes on in your everyday life.

— bakes with you once a week. usually a sunday. just a little treat for you, along with bonding time. if he’s busy, he’ll get you ice cream or a chocolate bar before he comes home. he tries to sneak in vegetables or some form of protein, but as you get older you call him out on that..

— avoids box mixes, likes to make things from scratch. sometimes shows you how to bake bread, and stuff. it’s a good life skill!

— keeps fit, we know this.. encourages you to run with him. he likes his alone time, but teaching you good habits come first and foremost! tries not to be too overbearing though.

— he used to place you on his chest and cuddle with you as watched tv together. as you got older he stopped as to not embarrass you, but he would shed a few tears if you ask to- or initiated it. seeing you grow up is just so sad for him! you’ll always be his little girl, even when you’re 50 and balding,

[iifishizzleii]

a 141!fanfic, except it’s told from the point of view of the reader’s best friend— you. like, actual you.

(pt. 2)

you, who sees neighbor!simon while walking the reader to their apartment late at night, catching simon as he steps out his apartment, locking the door and dressed to the nines in black and a balaclava, and you immediately drag reader into their apartment. you don’t even let them say hi to him because he’s a fucking behemoth dressed in “bitch what the FUCK” and with a hint of three “hell”s and four “naw”s. and there’s no way in hell you’re standing within ten feet of him without your mace. and when reader decides to bake him goodies anyways to be a ‘good neighbor’ despite your protests of “you think it’s cute until your fucking underwear is going missing when you do laundry and that guy is suddenly at every store and shop you go to”. (reader calls you an asshole for that, and you say you’re being realistic while holding back from putting cyanide in the brownie mix) and it ends up with neighbor!simon opening his door, eyes darting down to reader’s bashful smile and freshly baked goods, before widening a fraction when he sees you standing not too far behind with a metal bat behind your back.

you, who spots drunk!soap flirting with drunk reader at a bar and immediately whisks them away, arms wrapped around their sides like a mama bear carrying their cub. you ignore the pointed look the scottish man sends you, obviously annoyed at your interruption, so you flip him off and threatening to pin his dick to a wall if he so much as tries to follow you guys out. and when he persists, giving out his help to drag poor reader, intoxicated out of their mind, back to your car. so you start barking at him like how those girls would bark at unwanted attention from men in the tiktoks u see. and it shocks soap silent because one— he’s never been refused before. and two— he’s never been refused by a fucking bark. but he’s too flabbergasted (and drunk) to do much more than watch you toss reader into the passenger seat of your car and speed off. if he memorizes your license plate in that span of time, you don’t know that yet.

you, who’s visiting reader at the diner they work at. you’re sitting by yourself at one of the smaller booths— you don’t mind because you’re only there until reader gets off their shift so that you both can go hang out after. but, it’s five minutes before they can clock out when a man with skin the color of fresh soil and the roundest brown eyes knocks their drink on accident, a full pint of beer spraying all over the countertop. customer!gaz notices the spilt he caused, but only gives reader— who’d already changed out of uniform and had their bag slung over one shoulder— a glance and a quick smile before returning to his seemingly important conversation with a man in a boonie hat. and, that’s all it takes to get you rising from your seat and storming toward the scene, snagging a bunch of paper towels from your table and rushing over to help reader clean the mess up. you don’t care if you’re not supposed to— they’re off work, which means they shouldn’t be cleaning up after grown men who can’t spare their own mistakes a glance. and that’s exactly what you spit at both men, watching them both snap their heads at you as you loudly hiss, “you think you’re too fucking good to at least apologize for your mess? fucking dickeads”, then turning around to give reader a reassuring smile and helping finish in cleaning the mess. when customer!price begins to apologize and so does his companion, both looking equally apologetic, you only roll your eyes and guide reader out by the hand while also ignoring the way reader seemed to gush about both of the handsome men. as if they had conveniently forgotten about how it was their fault you both reeked of beer now.

you, who runs from hell and back to keep reader away from the 141 because they’re sketchy as fuck, even from a civilians standpoint. but, all that energy you put in redirecting their focus somewhere else, only puts it on an entirely unexpected target; you. like, actual you.

[thelibrarian1895]

Red Hood and bookstores

Red Hood aka Jason Todd is a crime/drug lord. This is established.

I would like to suggest that Jason launders the drug money almost exclusively through used bookstores he opens up throughout the poorest places in Gotham since it's not like he needs to make a profit with the stores so he can afford to do things like price used college textbooks at fifty cents a pop. They are open 24/7 because Jason understands the need to get the next book in a series at 3am when you've just finished the one you have. He also understands how it can be hard to find someplace warm to hang out in in the wee hours, especially when you're a kid dodging Gotham CPS aka basically human trafficking. Each one also has a tiny cafe area and employees are allowed unlimited coffee/tea/hot chocolate. Kids also learn that they can get the unsold baked goods for free when the goods are judged to be almost stale and thus unable to be sold. This is helpful to him since it means that he has a place to send the results of too much stress baking and if he has to bribe Tim into helping him deal with the ledgers of the stores all he has to do is promise Tim free drinks/snacks from any of the bookstores for a certain length of time as long as everything comes up clean in any audit that quarter. He'd go to Barbara but she's harder to bribe.

The bookshops are also useful because they are nice places for any of his goons to work when they want to get out of the goon life for whatever reason while they look for something more long term.

All of the bookstores have different names. Jason has gathered a number of favors from his family for, or was allowed to offer in place of a favor, the right to name one of the bookstores.

[thewriterg]

𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭...

pairing(s); john price x gn!reader, 141 x reader

summary; trying to find as most comfort as you could in your predicament youd do what any rational person would… bake, but it was a bit difficult when you had six foot rodents in your kitchen —flufftober day; 4—

word count; 1.0k+

warning(s); readers callsign is peach, papa price, small argument price just cares, fluff, kisses, pet names, and language

playlists; lover, you should’ve come over by Jeff Buckley

A/n:—GIFs; @madesh & @campesine-moved—

When you step towards the door you made sure to knock on the old wood in the rhythmic order agreed on so you wouldn’t be gunned down where you stood or dead before you had a chance to hit the floor

When the door creaked open a gun was put in your line of sight before it was took away so you were able to take a step into the old safe house immediately bombarded with questions as you put down the crate of goods down you body layered in a thin sheet of sweat under all of the clothes essentially tuning out your surroundings after being hyper aware for your hourlong journey

You stripped of one of Ghosts many balaclavas, Prices god awful bucket hat, Soaps pair of sunglasses, and Gazs too big gloves as you began tune back into the conversation that suddenly wasn’t as loud as it was while Price stood in front of you his voice demanding and gruff

“Where were you Peach? I won’t ask again don’t make me pull rank.” You sucked in a sharp breath using your fingers to crack your knuckles at your side before taking in another breath way smoother than the first before you responded

“I want to a market a few miles from here you wouldn’t have to worry so much if you read the note I left on the fridge” You responded voice void of emotion and it was Prices turn to suck in a a breath

“You could’ve been followed, someone spotted you and made the connection and use you as leverage, You had no backup! And no team!” The brunette that was beginning to grey began to get louder his voice carrying a pitch Price hated to yell at you anyone but you but right now it was one of those times where he had to be you captain rather than your lover

“I think you forgot I used to work alone. If it was one of the boys would you react like this please tell me!? We were running outta of food and safety percussion is that you don’t go out for the first 72 hours after locating in a safe house it’s been 96 excuse me for looking after my team Captain” With a snatching of the crate from its position on the floor you stormed through what you all deemed to be the living room with the harder than rocks couch and worn down wood coffee table making your way into the kitchen

Price ran a stressed hand through his hair before making his way out to the porch his boots thumping against the creaking hardwood floor as he went before lighting up a cigar

💌💌💌💌

There wasn’t much for you to work with in the kitchen it wasn’t the worst shelter you’d been in but it certainly wasn’t the best but you appreciated the small things lying around like an old cutting board, a small eating bowl, one stray pan and even a janky but working oven

You cut down on the apples with a little more force than needed using your combat knife as a kitchen utensils after you had washed it god knows how many times to rid of any… unwanted extras in your treat

“You need something Captain?” You questioned and John mentally grimaced at the title as you dumped a small bag of brown sugar over your cut fruit he knew after things like that you needed time but 40 minutes was all he could stand it was one of those rare situations he had to be your captain and your lover even though he strictly preferred being one or the other

“I wanted to apologize I didn’t mean to yell at you but, I need you to understand that that call was risky and not the safest route” The greying brunette stated his voice soft yet still had that gruff underlying accent

“Maybe so, but it’s deeper than that if it was anyone else you wouldn’t have reacted the same… You would’ve praised them for sharp thinking” You shook your head with a the twitch or your lips downward Price straightened up his stance now entering the kitchen fully

“Come one Peaches that’s not true, I would’ve reacted the same for any other it was a risky thing to do and I needed to call you out on it as your Captain the situation at hand just had a little more emotion involved” John just about pleaded for you to understand as you sighed stopping your motion of roughly mixing the apples and sugar together

“I just… want you to know that I don’t need protecting John I’m just as capable on my own than with anyone else” You mumbled turning to put the sugared fruit in the pan the burning eye on the stove giving it heat to cook down before a pair of arms wrapped around your waist eyes peering over your shoulder

“And I know you are, I never doubt you. I do however worry about you because I love you and care for your safety” His tone now matched yours your and he began to smile when you leaned back into him

“I know, I’m sorry for worrying you” You whispered and Price pressed a kiss to the crown of your head in response as you stirred the filling gently momentarily having a second to yourselves before the sound of whisper shouting made its way through the room

“We were wondering if you needed a hand?” Soap questioned bashfully Gaz standing at his side while Ghost stared at the the two from his position at the small dining table with the roll of his eyes

“Tempting boys but, we all know how that would work out” You playfully rolled your eyes and Price chuckled from beside you his heart warm in his chest even if you were younger than Soap and Ghost you still referred to all of them as “the boys”

“Oh come on, that was Soaps fault!” Gaz pleaded and you snickered as the Scott let out an offended noise before the pair began to bicker with one another of who did it as you smiled and giggled at the sight Price watched you with love in his eyes

The sight was as sweet as apple pie.

©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

[lialacleaf]

To Care For A Woman

Chapter 6

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not...

Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception, I'm sorry it's unedited… Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Simon was struggling for the days following his return. You could tell that he was trying his best not to be a stick in the mud.

He’d been spending an awful lot of time in his shed, and you’d seen two new furniture additions to the house since his return.

You’d tried to pull him out of his head, getting him to bake bread with you in the kitchen, but despite his outward smile you could tell he was drowning.

It all came to a head while you and Moonbeam were sitting on the carpet in front of the Christmas tree.

Simon came to stand in front of you, a somber look on his face, and your smile faltered.

“Do you wanna talk?” You asked softly, patting the space beside you. You noted the large, orange envelope in his hands, and the duffel bag on his shoulder, and you tilted your head questioningly. Surely he wasn’t going on a mission. You hoped Price had the good sense not to send him out right now.

“I did something wrong,” he began. “I…I fucked up y/n.” Your jaw went slack, and you stood to your feet. “I can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep lying to you.”

He held out the duffel bag, and you accepted it with a wary gaze, setting it on the coffee table beside you.

You opened it slowly, the zipper catching a few times, and tried not to wince at the smell of his sweaty gear.

He just stared at you, this most agonized expression you’d ever seen in his eyes. “Simon,” you began as you emptied out the contents of the bag, but you froze when your fingers met hard plastic.

You pulled the object out, staring into the familiar faceplate sewn into a balaclava. You held your breath for a moment, eyes flicking between him and the mask.

There was no Tommy. No Lieutenant Ghost. Only Simon Ghost Riley. Your husband.

“You…you were him. This whole time?” You asked, standing up at him. It made sense. Simon Riley was dead. He was a Ghost.

“I’m sorry. M’ so sorry. I just wanted to help, and you were begging me to do something, I didn’t know what else to do-“

“You lied to me,” you whispered, eyes narrowing at him. You’d always known that he’d married you out of pity, that he’d felt somehow responsible for your position, but you didn’t realize it was because he was there. “Why would you do that? Am…am I a joke to you? You hated me-“

“No,” he said firmly. “I loved you, I loved you for a long time.”

“Then why didn’t you say that? Why lead me to believe that you were two different people! You made me feel worthless that day in the mess, why would you do that?”

Simon flinched as you raised your voice. “I…I was wrong to do that. I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me from what, Simon?” You seethed.

He gulped. “From…Ghost.”

You punched the bridge of your nose. “What does that even mean?”

“Ghost isn’t a good person. He hurts people. He’s a stone-cold killer. He’s the worst part of me. You wouldn’t have been able to love Ghost,” his voice wavered, and you closed your eyes, biting your lip.

“I already loved Ghost,” you whispered, not daring to open your eyes. “You didn’t need to lie to me, Simon.”

He had tears in his eyes when you opened your own, and there was a bitter frown on his face. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah, I fucked this up. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he shook his head.

You frowned deeply, crossing your arms over your chest. Ghost was your husband. You had married Ghost, and he’d lied to you about it. “You always do this,” you mumbled angrily. “I spent three years working my ass off on that task force, and you sidelined me the entire fucking time, and now you’re telling me you loved me, but you wanted nothing to do with me, so you just…became a different person? A version of you that didn’t even exist anymore?”

Simon was silent for a moment, before a choked sob left his lips. “I didn’t think there was anything good left in me until you came along,” he began. Your eyes softened slightly at his words. “For the first time in a long time I felt like Simon wasn’t completely gone, and I thought maybe you could bring him back but…Simon isn’t strong enough to deal with all the shit that Ghost does. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better for you.”

He held out the envelope, and you accepted it with a wary glance at his tear stained face.

The deed to the property, the keys to the truck, and a substantial amount of cash sat nestled inside. “Simon?” You asked in a warning tone.

“You didn’t sign up for this. You married Simon, not Ghost, and I…I can’t be just Simon for you.”

You shook your head. “No,” you said, your eyes narrowing. “Oh hell no, you are not getting out of this that easily.”

He tilted his head at you in pure confusion, and you resisted the urge to slap him. “I don’t want your fucking house, or your car, or your money! I want you to fix this!” You seethed.

“I-I’m trying-“

“No. You made a mistake and you’re trying to run away from it because you’re afraid I won’t accept you if you’re not perfect! Get over yourself, Simon! I’m not perfect! I lied to my parents about my job, which sure as hell isn’t as bad as this mess, but it still wasn’t right.”

“You don’t want me to leave?” He asked softly, and you took a deep breath.

“No.”

“But you’re angry with me.”

“Fucking furious,” you agreed.

“I…don’t understand.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Simon. I just need you to be willing to stand beside me.”

You set his farewell package on the table, and took his hand in yours.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

“You can start by telling me how the hell you got into this Ghost mess, and then you can promise me you’re never gonna lie to me again,” you demanded.

Simon’s eyes locked with your own, and he felt his breath catch. There was a fire blazing in your eyes, and he realized that you, for as fragile and small as you were, you were nothing like his mother. You were strong, and resilient. You were powerful in your own, special way. And you were giving him a second chance.

“I’m so sorry,” he began. “I’m so, so sorry, y/n.” I did a terrible thing, I tricked you, and I never should have done that.”

You nodded in agreement, settling your hands on his shoulders. You were angry with him, and hurt by what he’d done, but you still loved him, and despite his actions, you didn’t doubt that he loved you. It was a sobering thought. The mighty Ghost, on his knees begging for a woman’s forgiveness.

“I was just a kid when I joined the army, I had to get out of my mum and dad’s house, he did awful things to us that I have no business making someone as good as you listen to,” he said. “My brother became an addict, and I had to leave for a while to get him straight. He got married, had a kid, and things were fine so I went back in, started doin’ private work, and then shit hit the fan. I was held hostage for months, and when I finally made it out they hunted me down…” he trailed off, his breathing going ragged as he recounted the events.

“They found your family,” you finished, gently stroking wet cheeks. He looked up at you in surprise, and you bit your lip. “I read the obituaries,” you explained.

“You knew?” He asked in disbelief, and you nodded. “And you didn’t figure it out?”

You frowned, looking at your feet as you were unable to meet his gaze. “I thought Tommy was Ghost,” you admitted, and Simon’s shoulders tensed beneath your fingers. You could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t like the thought of that one bit.

“Simon,” you said softly, bringing his attention back to you. “Promise me you’ll never lie to me,”

“I swear on my mum’s grave,” he rasped as you cupped his cheeks.

“Promise me you’re not gonna try to be someone you’re not.”

His lower lip twitched and his jaw clenched, but he nodded. “I promise.”

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and you pulled him against your chest as you buried your nose in his dirty blonde hair.

“They buried me alive,” he said all of a sudden, and you blinked in confusion.

“What?” You asked in horror.

“They buried me with another man’s body and I dug out with his jaw bone. That’s why they call me Ghost.”

You stared at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw, before blinking away your momentary lapse. “Is that why you don’t like sleeping under the blanket?” You asked.

He nodded like a scolded child and you let out a long sigh, squeezing him tightly. You were going to get this man into therapy if it was the last thing you did.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “I don’t deserve this.”

“That’s not how love works, Simon,” you said, brushing his hair away from his face. “And I’m still pretty mad at you,” you grumbled.

“I’ll take it,” he murmured against your shoulder. “Y/n,” he said softly, standing to his full height. “You can’t tell anyone who I am. Not your family or your friends-“

“I get it. It’s between you and me,” you said, and he nodded.

“You and me.”

AN: it’s not done yet I promise, plenty more to come~ you all thought she was gonna find out on her own~ SIKE~ the guilt was just gonna eat him alive until it broke him. You’ve been cordially invited to cry.

Tag list: Thanks for your support you guys!

@warenai @livynicole @ghostlythots @hilowhiho @mrmountainman @miamia89 @shiraya92 @crocodilefeet2707

@zzariyahchan @gaida-511 @misshoneypaper @soldierlass @dazaiscum @mockerycrow @kaysav608 @classygardencroissantcolor @innerskylover @kristalhi @hotaruteba @tzutology @sushiumex @l3xiluve @immajustlikeok

@iplayghoul @linoskitten11 @zollaris @whore-for-anime @migeuloharaslxt @blog-luvdance @embermdk @buttercupmuffins

@corpsebridenightamare @15382663884 @discowizard88 @strawberryjambrrread @lieblinqs

[ponyosmom35]

he's gone

Simon Ghost Riley x reader

synopsis: reader finds out that Simon passed when Price, Johnny, and Gaz show up at her house.

warnings: angst, death, PTSD, panic attack, crying, I'm so sorry

Link to master list:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

She holds her hose tightly in her hand as she sprays her blooming flowers with water. The sun was beginning to set and she felt at peace. Allowing her mind to wash away the stress of the day. The sunlight hits her face and she sighs, imaging that somewhere in the world, Simon was looking at the same beautiful sky. She recalled their conversation earlier that day, a small smile coming to her lips as she remembered his voice. 

She stood in the kitchen, intensely focused on her measuring cup as she attempted to fill it with the correct amount of water. She turns off the water after allowing it to reach ⅓ and carefully moves over to her mixing bowl. She dumps the water in and moves the mixer down, flipping the switch and watching as her kitchen aid whips the cake mix together. The loud noise drowns out the sound of her phone ringing and she carries on. A few minutes later she finishes putting the batter into a pan and throws it into the oven, hoping that a lemon cake would distract her from how much she missed Simon. She looks down at her small ragdoll kitten who plays with her feet and laughs, she picks him up and kisses his little face gently. Still deciding how she was gonna come clean about adopting a pet without permission. 

It had been two weeks since he’d gone. So far she’d been doing better than she expected, managing to keep herself quite busy all day. It was the nights that were the hardest. She struggled to sleep without him. She tried to pretend like her body pillow was the same, but nothing could beat the feeling of his arms wrapped around her. When she came across a post about the little guy needing a home, she volunteered without a second thought. 

He was quite good about calling, he would try to call every other day when in between missions. But as they got new intel he wouldn’t be able to reach out for several days at a time. This week she had not heard from him once. She knew he was going on their first mission.  She worried about him, she knew that he could handle himself, better than anyone in the world. 

She picks up her phone to set a timer when she realizes she’d missed his call. Her heart drops and she calls him back instantly. 

“Si?” she asks anxiously 

“Hi my love” 

“Oh thank god, I thought something may have happened. I’m so sorry I didn’t hear my phone I was baking and it was on silent” 

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t expect you to pick up every time I call”

“Of course I will” she says 

“How are you doing darling?”

“I’m doing good, I decided to bake a cake for whatever reason” she says staring at the mess of flower and egg shells on the counter.

Simon chuckles and leans back in his chair as he imagines her in the kitchen trying to bake. Tears fill his eyes and he attempts to keep his voice steady.

“Is my kitchen still standing?” he asks

“The kitchen smells wonderful thank you very much” she responds 

“What have you been up to this week? Catch me up” 

“I wanna talk about you, where have you been the past week? Are you any closer to coming home? How are you doing? How are the boys?” she says rapid firing her questions 

“We’re all good. But I don’t wanna talk about work, tell me about you distract me” 

She nods to herself, understanding that he didn’t want to talk about it, meaning that their mission didn’t go as planned. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“just talk to me baby, anything” 

“Well it’s been pretty gloomy today so I started reading a new book, it’s about grief. I’ve only read a few chapters but so far it’s been very reassuring and comforting to know that grief isn’t linear, you go through ups and downs just like anything else”

“That sounds wonderful love” 

“Yeah, so I’m gonna try and read for a few minutes everyday. Kylie and I have started a jazzercise class, you should see how awful I am. I can’t look at myself in the mirror because in my mind I’m absolutely killing it, but then I look at the mirror and it looks like i’m half dead” she laughs 

“I’d pay anything to see it” 

“Don’t worry, when you come home you’re gonna get a full performance” she promises, causing him to laugh. The lump in his throat is tightening as the tears fall down his cheeks. He runs his hands through his hair and covers the speaker as he sniffles. 

“I’m counting down the minutes” 

“Me too” she muses “so I think we should get a cat” 

“What?” he asks

“Let me rephrase that, I brought home a kitten last week”

“Did you now?” he chuckles 

“Before you freak out, he’s so cute and cuddly, he was abandoned and my friend found him but she couldn't take care of him, I just had to bring him home!” she defends herself 

“I’m not mad love, I’m glad you’ve got someone to keep you company. What's his name?”

“Junie”

“Why Junie?” 

“Because june is the month we met” she admits 

Simon puts the phone down and covers his face. His heart was crushing at her words. He receives a knock on the door, he wipes his eyes and picks the phone back up. “I love it”

“We’re about an hour out from departure, so I’m gonna have to let you go” he says slipping his mask over his face.

“Okay, please be safe”

“I love you more than anything in this world, take care of yourself okay?” 

“Of course Si, I love you too, call me as soon as you can”

“goodbye love” he says before hanging up the phone. 

She noticed his odd behavior that morning, but decided to let it go to prevent any unnecessary anxiety. She finishes watering the plants and turns off the hose. She walks to the steps and heads inside. She shuts the door, making sure to lock the door as well as placing the wood down to prevent it from being opened easily. She slips off her shoes and smiles at the sight of Junie sitting on the counter. She picks him up and holds him close. The sound of a knock at the door catches her attention. She wasn’t aware of any company. She walks over to the door and opens it to see John, Kyle, and Johnny. Her eyes travel to the British flag held in John’s hands and her smile falls.  

“John?” she asks as her brain struggles to process the situation. 

“y/n-”

“Don’t you dare” she warns holding her hand up to stop him “don’t” 

“He’s gone lass” Johnny says, his teary eyes meeting her own. She shakes her head and glares at him. 

“I just talked to him this morning” she refuses 

“Mission was local, went south and we barely got out. We came here as soon as we could” 

“What happened to him?” she asks, crossing her arms, clearly still in shock from the news.

“Can we come in?” John asks, she nods and leads them into the living room where they sit and she remains standing. 

“Tell me john” 

“Why don’t you sit down” he responds 

“I want to know what happened!” she demands 

“He was hit” Kyle says 

“Where?” she asks, Price shakes his head and stands up, moving over to her and placing the flag in her hands. She notices the tags placed neatly in the center of it and she reads his printed name. She looks up at him as tears fill her eyes. 

“He’s not gone, I just talked to him today! He was telling me not to burn the kitchen down -” she cuts herself off with a sob, and holds her hand to her mouth. “We’re getting married in four months”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, I-I wish I could’ve saved him” Price says gently

“Please don’t say that” she begs

“Is there anyone we can call for you?” he asks gently 

“Stop this john I can’t - I can’t” she says setting his things down on the table as she looks out of the window. Tears stream down her face as she attempts to control her breathing. 

“These are for you” Johnny says, handing her a bundle of letters, each of them addressed to her. There is a small box on the top of the pile. 

Her vision blurs at the sight of his handwriting. Her body becomes weak as two words loop in her mind. Her body falls to the floor as the voices of the three men fade away. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. The man she loved with every fiber of her being. Her Simon. Simon who nearly killed the person who disrespected her. Simon who held her when her sister died. Simon who saved her life. Simon, who built her a bookshelf, redid her entire deck and porch. Never again would he give her one of his bear hugs. She wouldn’t hear his beautiful laugh, or watch the way he separated his food to keep it from touching. No more early morning cuddles, kisses, silly arguments. How would she live without him? What she wouldn’t have given to hear his deep voice in that moment, telling her that it was going to be okay. He couldn't. He was gone. 

She was inconsolable, her heart wrenching sobs echoed through the house. Bringing tears to the eyes of the soldiers surrounding her. Johnny was at her side, holding her shaking body, trying his best to bring her even the smallest bit of comfort. He felt sick to his stomach watching her writhe in pain. 

John had called her parents and the trio waitied with her until they arrived. As soon as John opened the door, they recognized him from the day he brought the news about Emma. Her mother gasps and hurries into the house, seeing her daughter crumpled on the ground, agonizing sobs erupting from her lungs. She drops beside her and rubs her back. Her father shakes Johns hand and walks the soldiers to the door. John pulls him outside and informs him the the truth. 

“Sir, we need you to understand that the work we do is classified, in the eyes of the Government we do not exist unless we’re needed. With a job like this, comes sacrifices we have to make to protect the people we love”

“I’m not following? What sacrifices?” her father says, crossing his arms 

“If one of the people we’re investigating finds any bit of information about out lives or our loved ones then they’d be in danger”

“Are you telling me that my family isn’t safe?” 

“Officially I can’t tell you anything, but you need to know that we’re taking care of the situation, you’re family will be under 24/7 surveillance. You won’t even know they’re around” 

“Is it true then? Is Simon really gone? Man to man, is he gone?” her father asks, staring at Price. 

“For now” he responds “it’s imperative that y/n believes this”

“You’re asking me to lie to my daughter? Do you hear her in there? How can I-”

“Sacrifices, we all have to make them in order to keep our family safe. That’s all we’re doing here” Price shakes his hand and walks down the steps “take care of her, we’ll be checking in”

-

After hours of tossing and turning, crying until her lungs and throat burned she finally decides to get out of the warmth of her bed. A place she used to feel the most comfortable, now was empty. She rubs her hands over her face as her headache grows more intense, the lack of sleep already affecting her. Having woken up multiple times from nightmares, she willed herself to stay awake, to protect her fragile heart from the horror of her dreams. Everyday for the past week she’d been reminding herself that dreams are simply just a reflection of the mind, a way for her worries and fears to be shown. It wasn’t real. He wasn’t gone. This couldn’t be true. Simon wouldn't leave her. 

She moves into the bathroom and stares at herself in the mirror, she looks exhausted. The weight of Simon’s absence is evident on her face. Her face was puffy and her hair was tangled. A mixture of tears, saliva, and mucus coated her face. She wipes it off and sighs. Her lips trembling once more as her eyes fill with tears. She grips onto her hair as she tries to breath through her fourth panic attack in 24 hours. Memories of his hands running through her hair flash through her mind. A wave of nausea runs through her and she stares at it in disgust. He always loved her hair, he’d play with it absentmindedly. She was angry. How as she supposed to live with the hair he would kiss every morning, the hair he gripped when he kissed her passionately. She notices the scissors on the counter and grabs them, without hesitation she begins to cut strips of her hair off. She watches as her gorgeous strands fall, some in the sink, others landing on the ground. She sobs as she ruins her hair, unable to stop herself. After several minutes, she drops the scissors and stares at herself, the jagged strands unbalanced. She rushes to the toilet in a split second and empties her stomach violently. 

The sound causes her mother to rush into her room, she bursts through the door and spots her daughter laying against the toilet surrounded by her precious locks. “Oh honey”

-

please forgive me for this! omg I made myself cry. below is the link to when they reunite, I posted this a few months ago. If you wanna read that now, you are more than welcome I'll link it below, however there will be a few filler chapters in-between that I'll be posting!!!

You’re alive? (middle of MW3)

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/724654294153003008/youre-alive?source=share

love you all <3

[livelaughlovesubs]

Random HC W/ Rara

Okay, some time ago someone asked for Raphael crumbs… here you go my bae <33

There is no order cuz I just wrote it down as I pleased (btw, send me an ask again if it was supposed to be nsfw)

- He cries when he gets angry. You know what I mean? When you get so angry that you start crying. Yea, that’s him.

- probably used to chew on his nails/ pen a lot. Now he just chews on meat

- he fell down the stairs at least once. Yep. Even though he has wings. It’s almost worth a price don’t you think?

- gets irritated and confused if he learns new stuff, like:

“Wait, what do you mean the moon doesn’t shine on its own?? It’s literally shining right now!”

- I like to think he likes cuddles, or at least doesn’t mind it

- would dress up as Santa Claus for Christmas, if you asked him to

- bad at DIY stuff, like really bad with his hands (ops)

- if good at cooking and baking though, he loves food after all

- sleeps like a fucking stone, sometimes he’d shore too and its so annoying

- when he was a kid he definitely played in the dumpsters

- don’t ask, but he’d like the coquette trend

- likes drama, he has come to enjoy any kind of drama cuz of Gabriel and Michael

- the Typ to shower in the mornings, cuz Gabriel and Michael does it in the evening and he wanted to be special ✨ (just kidding he doesn’t want to wait for the others, he’d rather watch them fight over who gets into the shower first)

- question: does the seraphim’s share a bathroom/ shower too? Is it like a shared apartment?? (Should I write down bc about that?)

- love language is words of affirmation!! Cuz he never got any from his daddy!!

- and would try anything out for ya, just to hear he did a good job

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Ranking Call of Duty characters by how likely they are to be on The Great British Baking Show:

1. Simon

Out of the possible hobbies you could say Simon is likely to engage in, I’d say baking is pretty darn high up there. Not going to lie, it was a toss for who’d get 1st. It was either Kyle or Simon, but I settled on Simon because frankly, the tent just really fits his vibe. Slow, calm (maybe not calm- they actually seem pretty stressed), and just generally a happy place. Everyone is nice to everyone, and I think he really could flourish in that kind of environment. I think he’d stay pretty quiet, especially in front of a camera, but as time went on, he’d get a bit more comfortable. Frankly, I think he’d have a decent chance at winning too. And by the end of the first week, he’d easily become a fan favorite for his stupid jokes and guarded soft side.

2- Kyle

Definitely a baker, also definitely learned from his mom and wears a funny little apron when he does it. I don’t think you could necessarily say he’d win, but he’d put up a good fight. Winning wouldn’t be out of the question, but I think that some time around the middle or late middle of the competition, he’d end up biting off more than he could chew for one of his show stoppers or have an issue with baking time that would cost him the chance to move forward.

3- Kate

Aside from her being American, I’m going to lie, I couldn’t see her baking. To me, Laswell strikes me as the kind of person who can make a mean white wine reduction and cook you the best meal you’ve ever eaten, while also refusing to bake anything whatsoever. I like to head cannon that her wife can bake and Kate can cook- and neither of them is particularly interested in learning how to do the other. You know, if we were going to assign her a cooking show, I would say the non-professional version of Chopped. She’d dominate, period.

4- John

While I could see how you’d disagree with me on this point, I think Price’s attitude towards baking is minimal, at best. Somewhat similar to Kate, where he can definitely cook- just not bake. Although for John, it’s more out of a simple lack of interest. I also couldn’t see John on any sort of cooking competition show, even if it wasn’t one about baking. While I could see Kate somewhat enjoying the competitiveness and the spirit of the whole thing, I think John would just get annoyed. He probably hates to be rushed- any time he is cooking from scratch, he prefers to do so with plenty of time before the food needs to be ready. It’s just more of a leisurely experience for him, and being timed and judged for what he made would take any enjoyment he could’ve found right out.

5- Johnny

Johnny? No. No, he wouldn’t be on The Great British Baking Show- or anything like it. He’d be on Nailed It.

He’d be on Nailed It, and his performance on the show would single handedly be enough to spawn multiple memes and viral clips of the show, but also about half a dozen new rules that have to be put in place in the wake of his participation.