#we'll see Gaz next chapter

[ghouljams]

The Church of the Broken God (chapter 2)

Words: 5k Tags: Eventual John Price x reader, public masturbation, brainwashing, doublespeak, indoctrination, f!reader, passively suicidal ideation, self destructive habits, horrible bosses, depressed!reader, Cult Leader!Price Summary: Your life has been on a downward spiral for months. It's hard to find a real reason to keep going when everything you do seems to backfire. That is, until you get a flier for a meditation seminar that promises to fix all your problems.

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These women are… super nice. You don’t know why it puts you on edge. They’re not doing anything wrong. They buy each other drinks, compliment each other, they’re attentive listeners and laugh at every joke you make. You offer to buy a round, the same as they’ve been doing for you, and you’re not met with a rush to stop you. They look pleased, shoot off thanks and smile the same as they did for the other women. You feel like you’re doing the right thing, you don’t know why it makes your stomach squirm. Maybe you’re just not used to people doing nice things for you.

“You ok?” Nina asks, leaning over the table to frown at you, “you’ve gone all quiet.”

“Yeah, uh, I guess I’m just not used to crowds anymore.” You attempt to cover.

“It’s the compliments isn’t it?” Cassie jumps in, Nina waves her off.

“No, no!” You hold up your hands to defend yourself, “Those are really nice, you’re all really nice! I’m just not-”

“Used to it?” Nina finishes with a wince, “I wasn’t either, it was super awkward the first time I came out for drinks, you remember?”

“Oh my God so awkward, you were like a robot.” Cassie laughs, it takes some of the weight off your shoulders.

“But you get what you put out into the world, y’know? You give kindness, you get it in return, that’s what John says.” Nina nods, she crosses her arms and leans back against the booth. She feels serious, her jaw set and her brows drawn. “I was in a really dark place when I first took John’s class, it felt like I was living a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. My friends were drifting away, my fiance was cheating on me-” She shakes her head, you wince at how closely your situation matches, “-I was so bitter and it made me mean, I get why no one wanted to be around me.”

“Nina-” Cassie sighs, her sympathy obvious. Nina waves her off again, sitting forward to grab her drink.

“Whatever, it’s in the past now.” Nina mutters, your heart aches for her. You set a hand on her shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. She smiles at you. It feels… good. You can see yourself in her, your pain and suffering. It’s a weight that she carries the same as you. “Kyle really helped me a lot, Christ I owe him a whole bakery.”

“Nina!” Cassie squeals, shoving at her. Nina’s shoulder bumps against you, warm. Camaraderie. Did you forget what it was like to have friends? When was the last time you saw your own? The last time they laughed with each other, with you? “You’re so bad,” Cassie laughs.

“What? He’s hot!” Nina laughs back. You feel a little left out. Your stomach clenches.

“Sorry, who’s Kyle?” You ask, “Your boyfriend?”

“She wishes,” Cassie snorts into her drink. Nina shoves at her.

“He’s a counselor, life coach sort of guy.” Nina explains, “He has a class at the rec center on Wednesdays-” Claire’s phone pings “-honestly it’s worth going just to see him, God I wanna make a sandwich out of that man.”

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” Claire announces. You glance at the other women at the table. None of them move. Weird, you would have thought women this close would be biting at the bit to accompany her. You always used the buddy system with your friends. Especially at bars. In fact the other women at the table seem to ignore her, only acknowledging her enough to move out of the way. 

You guess there’s a black sheep in every friend group. You know the feeling. You tap your fingers against the table watching her retreat to the bathroom. You don’t have a good feeling about letting her go alone. Nina’s insistence on “putting kindness into the world” or whatever is running through your head and you just… you can’t let her be on the outskirts of the friend group alone. You’re not even really part of it, but everyone is being so nice- you won’t be the reason this girl is left out.

“Oh um, I’m gonna ask the bartender something,” You tell the girl on your left, shit what was her name “can you-?

“Sure!” She pushes herself out of the booth to let you out, quickly cozying up next to Nina when you vacate the spot. You glance at the table over your shoulder as you make your way towards the bar, then make a hard turn towards the bathrooms. No one’s paying attention to you, that’s good.

You push the bathroom door open, trying to be quiet in case Claire’s shy. You’ll just, uh, wash your hands and pretend you’re fixing your outfit when she comes out. Nothing weird about that. Totally normal thing that people do, and not like you’re waiting for her to come out of the stall so you can- What? Commiserate about being left out? Ugh, you don’t know why you even-

There’s a distinct, wet, noise coming from one of the stalls. A ‘shlick, shlick’ sound that you recognize all too easily. You catch the bathroom door to keep it from slamming and cover your mouth. Fingers sliding against a wet slit, a soft huff of a stifled moan, and the quiet low rumble of a man’s voice. Deep and throaty, she’s on the phone with someone, or listening to something. You can’t tell which, what you can tell is that Claire --the girl who had seemed almost too shy to ask you to join them--  is masturbating in a public bathroom. And you’re standing there listening. You’re not sure which is worse. It squirms like bile in your stomach, you’re intruding, you’re being a creep. Your own cunt clenches. 

A quiet whimper leaves Claire’s mouth and you rush back out of the bathroom. You catch the door a second time to make sure she doesn’t hear it slam, then you press yourself against it. You fan your face, try to get your breathing right, fix your face. Fix your damn face! You press your hands to your cheeks, and squeeze your eyes shut. Oh my God.

You make your way back to the table, doing your best to avoid looking at anyone. The girl who moved for you initially lights up when she sees you, hopping out of the booth and ushering you in. You feel a little awkward sliding into the middle with Nina, but you don’t want to cause a fuss with so many people watching you. Good lord do they all have to look at you? 

“Did the bartender have what you were looking for?” Nina asks. Your eyes dart to her.

“The- oh, uh, no. I was wondering if he had a phone charger.” You cover quickly.

“I have a power bank you can use,” Cassie offers. You open your mouth to turn her down before remembering that would blow your story out of the water.

“Sure.” You relent, forcing a smile onto your face. 

“No problem,” Cassie chirps, digging through her purse to tug a power bank and two different chargers free, “it feels good to do nice things for people, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” you agree absentmindedly, fussing with the charger and plugging your phone in. An alert for a non-branded charger pops up and you quickly dismiss it. 

The conversation moves on to other topics, but you hardly pay attention. Your eyes are glued to the bathroom door, waiting for Claire. When she does finally exit she looks the same as when she left. No ruddy cheeks, no guilty glances around, no rumpled shirt or anything that would give away what she was doing in the bathroom. You try not to narrow your eyes as they flick over her body. You don’t want to look like you’re checking her out, you just want proof that you heard what you heard.

“Welcome back,” Someone says, and Claire beams at them.

“Who’s buying the next round?” Claire asks.

You drift in and out of conversation. Someone offers to split an uber with you, apparently they live in the same building. You wonder how you never noticed them before, but they hug you before you get off the elevator.

“It was nice to connect with you,” She hums, “it feels nice being part of something, doesn’t it?”

You don’t get a chance to answer before the doors close.

-

Wednesday, you think, flipping through your phone while you brush your teeth. Nina said her life coach guy was on wednesdays right? Curious, you check the rec center’s website.

“For the Whole You!” The site banner reads in friendly font. You scroll down to their calendar. There’s a lot of pictures of people smiling, a pie chart of something, testimonials, blah blah blah. The calendar is easy to read at least. And packed. It looks like meditations happen every three days, you spot John’s name easily. Price, huh, that’s a cool last name. Wednesdays… 

You click on the only Kyle you see, and a page pops up with- Christ- one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. Kyle Garrick, life coach with a masters in psychology. That doesn’t sound too bad. You thought life coaches were just con men in ripped jeans, but this guy seems like he might actually know what he’s talking about. John’s name pops up again, a short anecdote from Kyle about serving with him. Huh. That’s kind of interesting you guess. 

You think back on the meditation lesson you’d attended, the power that John seemed to carry in simple actions, the musculature, the way he’d pinned you in place with a single tilt of his head. Military fits you guess. You click on his class and tap your fingers against the side of your phone as you think. The class has a helpful registration counter at the side, letting you know there’s one spot left for the wednesday evening class. It’s not like you have anything else going on, and it’ll fill your usual therapy slot. It’s twenty for a single class. That’s not too bad, less than therapy co-pays. You make an account on the site, begrudgingly signing up for their email list, and send twenty dollars into the void. 

You get an email from Kyle about an hour later as you’re scrolling through instagram, avoiding looking at the time. It feels pretty standard, welcoming a new person, attaching a survey on what you want to work on. You type out a few quick words promising you’ll get to it in the morning. Your email pings a few minutes later.

“You must be an insomniac, just tackle it now.” You narrow your eyes at the screen, “Might help you sleep to accomplish a task before bed.” 

What sort of weird logic- fine. You squint at the questionnaire, typing out your answers as best you can. Honest enough to get some advice but not honest enough to get sent to the hospital has always been your MO with these things. This one is sort of weird, but you’re exhausted, too sleep-addled to pay proper attention.

Are you lonely? Do you ever feel out of place? Do you have dreams where you act as someone else? Have you heard of the law of attraction? When someone says they feel “connected” to you, how does that make you feel?

Do you ever feel talked over?

Do you ever feel pushed out of conversations? Do you find it hard to accept yourself?

Are you on the path you want to be?

You rub your eyes, typing as best you can. 

Where do you see improvement for yourself?

Describe yourself in one negative word.

You type, and type. It feels never ending. Worse than the insomnia that keeps you up. It’s nearly two hours later when you finish. You send it off to Kyle without another thought, and snuggle down into your blankets. You’re so tired.

Your phone buzzes. You roll over to check it. Another email from Kyle.

“Thanks, this looks great! :)” You sigh. At least your work checks out. That’s good, you’re sure it’s just an auto-response, but you appreciate it nonetheless. Another message pops up. Your email alerting you to a new response in the chain.

“How long have you had trouble sleeping? I know a few good remedies.” You sigh, the screen hurts your eyes. You don’t know what inspires you to reply, why you don’t simply roll over to sleep. The attention is nice, you suppose.

“A few months. What’s your miracle cure?” You stare at your phone, let the blue light laser its way over your eyes. The screen dims, you tap it to keep your phone awake. To keep you awake. 

“Have you heard of sleep restriction therapy?”

-

Your morning has never felt more miserable. You barely slept and you had to upgrade your usual tea to an instant coffee. You’re nursing the brown sludge that you managed to scrape together from the break room’s limited stores when your least favorite manager swings by your cubicle.

“Did you finish the reports I asked for?” Kevin asks. You do your best to keep your face neutral as you sip your scalding caffeine.

“I told you they’d take me until the end of the day.” You remind him, “It’s nine in the morning.” Nevermind that he’s swinging into the office a full hour late, but you know for a fact that you promised the updated numbers by five today. You have the email to prove it.

“Oh,” Kevin makes a face, his teeth grit as he exhales through them, “I was really hoping you’d work on them last night.”

“Outside of work hours.” You confirm, trying not to sound too much like you’re questioning his less than sound judgement.

Kevin sighs your name with a shake of his head, “You know you’re not going to get very far in this company if you don’t care about your work.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, inhaling as much coffee vapor as you can stomach. It does nothing to calm you down. You can’t be expected to deal with this level of bullshit on practically zero sleep. Maybe you should look into that sleep therapy Kyle sent you, you really can’t keep living like this.

“I care about my work Kevin,” You tell him with as much of a smile as you can manage, “I’ll have the reports to you as soon as possible.”

“Atta-girl,” Kevin praises, snapping his finger to hit you with a nauseating pair of finger guns before moseying back to his office.

If you thought reporting him to HR would do anything you might consider it. As it stands you’ve already tried that twice and gotten nowhere. It just made him more dedicated to making your work life hell. Crazy how they always talk about retaliation in the “Hostile work environment” training videos, but no one seems to give a shit about it when it’s happening to you.

You spend the next two hours swearing at the mess of spreadsheets that Kevin emailed you yesterday. If he’d bothered to clean any of the sheets up it would’ve made your life a hell of a lot easier. You don’t even want to think about how many cells could’ve been saved if he knew how to use just one function. You can feel the start of a migraine pressing against the back of your eyes by the time your stomach is starting to growl at you about lunch.

You glance away from your monitor to rub your eyes, try to get some of the blurry tilt out of them. Your bag sits on the desk next to you, deliriously empty. Fuck.

Fuck that’s right, you’d decided to skip packing a lunch this morning because you were running late for your train. 

With a heavy sigh you check your lunch options just as your phone pings.

It’s an unknown number, weird.

You swipe the message open to delete it and pause.

“Hey, it’s Nina! I saw you work near me and was wondering if you’d want to grab lunch?”

You blink at your phone screen. How the hell would she know where you work?

Your sluggish brain clicks away as your stomach churns nervously. You guess Cassie works at the rec center, she’d see applications that come through, membership stuff. Maybe Cassie gave it to her? Nina was the one who suggested you sign up for Kyle’s class, maybe Cassie wanted to, you don’t know, spread the good news of your signing up?

Your head throbs.

You’re not really operating at 100% right now, you’re not sure you want to interact with someone who seems to have their life together.

“My treat?” Nina double texts you.

Alright, you can pretend to be a human being for free lunch.

You’re almost relieved to see Nina has a little darkness under her eyes, purple sleeplessness that she’s tried to hide with concealer. It makes you feel a little better for your own sluggish brain to think that she might be tired too. 

“I know this is probably totally weird,” She laughs when you greet her with a raised hand, “You’re probably like, oh my god this bitch is a stalker, how does she know where I work?”

“I figure Cassie gave it to you, because I signed up for your favorite class.” You yawn, as she nods.

“That’s smart,” She says nothing about your second yawn, “wouldn’t have been my first thought.” You hum, before deciding a verbal answer is friendlier.

“Yeah, I mean it seemed sort of weird, but you don’t strike me as the stalker type.”

“Tell my ex-fiance that,” Nina says with an eye roll, “ask to share your location one time- of course I was right to be a stalker but…”

You snort and she positively beams at you. You have to squint to avoid blinding yourself in the sunshine of it. She links her arm with yours and tugs you along to walk with her. You do your best not to tug your arm out from her hold, not used to being touched so casually.

“So what are you in the mood for?” She asks, leading you down the street.

“I’m not picky,” You tell her, trying to be easy. You could really go for something warm right now, you think you might be coming down with something.

“You look exhausted,” Nina coos sympathetically, “Maybe you should go home instead. Rest.”

You rub your eye with the heel of your hand and shake your head. “I’ve got a lot to get done today.”

“Surely your boss won’t mind you taking some sick time?” She sounds so sincere, you feel bad when you bark out a laugh. Nina frowns, “One of those, huh?” You sigh, letting yourself feel the heaviness in your limbs like a sick indulgence.

“Just a few more hours,” You assure her, “Then I can go home and sleep.”

“Let’s get something good in you before then.” Nina nods to herself.

Nina orders for you and sets a steaming bowl of rice and saucy vegetables in front of you. It smells heavenly, like ginger and coconut, and there’s little crispy bits of something sprinkled on top. She has a salad, and shakes it vigorously in front of her while you mix up the yellow curry and rice. Even just the thought of the food’s warm steam settling in your stomach energizes you. You glance at Nina and she’s got her head bowed. 

You-

Pause. 

A little awkward in the face of what must be prayer. You’re not quite sure if you’re supposed to start without her, or if that’s rude. You don’t know the protocol for this. After a moment she raises her head and blinks at you.

“Oh my gosh, were you waiting for me?” She asks, scandalized. You nod, unsure what to do with your hands. You settle on spooning a heap of curry and rice into your mouth. You figure that’s fine since she’s done. “That’s really sweet of you,” She smiles. She doesn’t give you any indication if this was the right thing to do. You stare at your bowl and chew.

“I was going to invite you to hang at the rec center after work,” Nina starts, waving her fork with a sigh, “but I don’t want you to push yourself if you’re exhausted.”

“Do people hang out at the rec center?” You question, trying to remember if you saw other people there when you went yesterday. It had seemed fairly empty, almost abandoned, but maybe you’d been too focused on getting to your class to notice anything else. The class was full, so there must have been other people hanging around.

“Of course,” Nina gives you a look like you’re crazy for asking, “like all the time. It’s a nice spot just to chill and see people. John doesn’t mind us hanging around.”

John. That was the meditation instructor’s name, wasn’t it? It’s pretty common, you doubt it’s the same guy. Why would an instructor mind if people hung around anyway? Cassie had pointed you towards a lounge area last night so there must be more of those to steal for chatting.

“The meditation instructor?” You ask dumbly. It’s not the question you want to ask, but it’s the only thing that sticks on your tongue. Nina hums her assent.

“He runs the place.” She explains, “he’s super nice, really cares about bringing people together, building community, connections.”

She says the word like it means something: connections. It sticks in your sluggish mind, but doesn’t raise any red flags.

“Sounds like a good guy.” You shove another bite into your mouth.

“He is.” Nina tells you. Tells you, like she’s demanding you try and disagree with her.

You blink. There’s a coldness to her face, there and gone. She smiles, and tucks into her salad.

Maybe she’s got a thing for him. You make a note not to say anything bad about him to her.

He seemed nice, good looking, she could do worse.

You suppress a shiver at the memory of his hands on you, pushing you forward and pulling you back like it was the most natural thing in the world. His touch is the first you’ve had in a long time that didn’t make you cringe and want to squirm away. Actually his class was the most relaxed you’ve been in, well, ever and the short nap you’d taken was probably the best sleep you’d had in months. You’d almost be willing to give up on going straight home after work if you knew John was going to be at the rec center, maybe you could slip in another meditation workshop?

You want to ask Nina about it, but you also don’t want to give her the wrong idea. If she does have a crush on the guy, it’s probably not great to ask too many questions about John if you want to stay in her good graces. 

“Right,” You try, “yeah his class was great, and I’m, uh, looking forward to Kyle’s class too.” Not your best subject change, but Kyle’s name makes Nina light up.

“Oh yeah, you’re going to love it!” She assures you.

“Yeah, I- yeah,” The attitude shift has you a little stunned, your molasses thoughts stick to your tongue as you try to collect them, “He sent me this huge questionnaire last night, it was really, um, in depth?” You try to remember one of the questions but wading through your mind is difficult with so little sleep.

“Well,” Nina stabs her fork into her salad, you flinch at each punctuating crunch of lettuce, “he has to get to know you, silly, so he can help you.” You stir your curry in jerking motions, for something to occupy your hands. “You can’t pull yourself out of a hole,” Nina tells you with a blank smile, “someone has to throw you a rope.”

-

You were almost happy to get back to work. Kevin chewed you out about taking too long a lunch, and you were probably going to get an ulcer from all the tylenol you took, but you were happy getting away from Nina. She’d chatted your ear off about Kyle and somehow didn’t answer a single one of your questions about him. Not that you had any chance to get a word in edgewise. You couldn’t handle the perky tone in her voice by the time your lunch ended. At least you didn’t have to pay for your own food.

You manage to get Kevin his spreadsheets before five. You still leave the office late and thankless.

You doze on the train home, your head tugging at your neck each time the doors opened, and you barely make it into your house before you’re collapsing on the couch. 

Yeah, you couldn’t have made it to the rec center like this.

You startle awake when your ass starts vibrating. You blearily fumble for your phone  and swipe at the screen, turning off your “call Baby” alarm. You should really delete that.

You toss your phone on the coffee table with a sigh and turn onto your back to stare at the ceiling fan. Ten. You slept for a good couple hours. You’re starving.

And you’re not going to be able to sleep tonight because of this nap.

Great.

-

You consider canceling your registration for Kyle’s class as you sit on the train heading to the rec center. You could just go home. You sort of want to go home, but Cassie had called you this afternoon to confirm your registration and she’d sounded so sad when you’d asked about canceling that you just couldn’t. Also you were pretty sure it was too late to get your money back. So here you were.

At least the rec center is busier than Monday. Cassie had told you the Wednesday meditation was full, maybe this is their busy day. You see people coming in and out, and look for a familiar face in the crowd. You’re hoping to see one of the women you met Monday, but instead your eyes lock on slightly less familiar icy blues.

John smiles at you across the street, and glances both ways before jogging across. You paint on a smile for him, and try not to look like you were avoiding going inside.

“Waiting for someone?” He asks in lieu of greeting. You keep your eyes on his, the creases at the corners of his eyes deepen a little as you stare. 

“No, just-” You search for a normal time killing activity, “-people watching.” John hums and steps to stand beside you. The space he takes up feels enormous, like a black hole sucking up your attention, despite the way he crosses his arms over his chest. You peek at the bulge of his bicep against the dark shirt he’s wearing, the stiff fabric stretching to accommodate more man that it was made for. You would’ve expected him in the same comfortable yoga clothes as he was wearing Monday, but this feels more formal. He’s wearing slacks. And oxfords. 

“It’s intimidating,” He tells you out of the blue after a moment of silence. Your eyes dart to his face, and your confusion must be all too clear because he chuckles. The deep throaty noise of it makes your stomach clench. “Letting people help,” He fills in, “choosing peace.”

You make a face.

And John touches you.

His hand slides, big and warm, over your back. His fingers spread wide and he leans into your space like he might pull you closer, except you suddenly feel rooted in place. Fear shoots through you, anxiety punctuating your breaths unnecessarily. You fix your face quickly, tamp down the surge of adrenaline that makes you want to run. John isn’t doing anything but looking at you, his smile the same placid thing even as his brows twitch in concern.

“Sorry,” You find yourself apologizing, trying to unlock some of the stiffness in your shoulders, “I’m not used to people touching me.”

“It’s a natural response,” John doesn’t move his hand, his thumb rubs against your back and you feel the unnatural drag of your shirt against your skin like sandpaper, “You’re trying to protect yourself. Silly little thing that people have gotten into their heads these days, that everyone’s out to get them.” He tips his head, and you’re hit with a wave of claustrophobia, the open air seems to sink into you until you’re a single focus point in a tiny void. “Doesn’t that feel awful?” 

His words feel like they’re sinking into you, echoing every thought that bounces through your tensed musculature. It feels awful, you feel like a cornered gazelle, like a lame wildebeest, like a fly trapped in a spider’s net. 

You feel almost pleading the way you must be looking at him. Humiliated to react like this to something so simple.

He smiles brighter and his hand leaves you, you suck in a breath and feel your lungs ache, “That’s why it’s so important to pick apart that distrust, humans are social creatures, made to be connected to each other. All from the same warm pool, yeah?”

You nod. John nods his head towards the rec center.

“Let me walk you in, you’re here for Gaz’s class right?”

“No, um, Kyle’s.” You correct.

“Ah,” John laughs, his hand reappears on the small of your back, pushing you forward, “old habit, that’s what we called him in the SAS. You’ll like him, not as touchy as me.” He pulls his hand away with a small apologetic smile, “force of habit.”

“It’s fine,” it’s not, “Everyone around here is so friendly, I just have to get used to it.”

John hums, “Already untangling the web, good girl.”

Your stomach clenches pleasantly. You can see why Nina likes him.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 14: The Aftermath

Summary: Your heat is over, now all that's left to do is heal.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Price x Gaz

Word Count: 5100 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, handjobs, heat cycles, mating cycles, brief medical stuff, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, fluff, angst, nightmares, PTSD

A/N: Surprise!! Got this one done super early because I kind of just want to move forward with this fic and get to more exciting things so enjoy this bonus chapter. This weekend's update might come a day late, we'll see. Not entirely happy with this one, but it's really just setting up the next part so...yeah. Enjoy!!

Want early access to chapters, as well as other bonus content? Consider supporting me on Patreon.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

(Gif found on Google)

A rumbling purr vibrates in your chest. It’s a purr of contentment, of satisfaction. You’re warm, not like you had been nine days ago when your heat started, though. This is a comfortable warmth, a cozy warmth. You’re under blankets in your nest, pressed against a bare chest. You trail your fingers along smooth skin until you hit a familiar scar slicing through the skin, right below his clavicle. 

“Got that one outside a bar in Manchester.” 

You pause in your movements, tilting your head to look up at John. He’s staring down at you, his own fingers starting to trace a pattern on your back. 

“Was years ago. Some bloke was getting rowdy inside. Pulled him out to try and talk him down, and he pulled a knife on me.” 

“I can imagine what you did in response.” You murmur, laying your head back on his chest. 

John huffs out a laugh. “Left him with a couple missing teeth, and quite the dent in his head.” He smooths a hand over your side. “You feeling alright?” 

You hum in response. Your eyes feel dry and puffy from crying, and you’re terribly thirsty. You’re beginning to feel the ache in your body again, the steady pulse of pain between your legs starting up. “Hurting again.” You murmur, smacking your lips. “Kinda feels like I swallowed sand too.” 

“Almost time for another muscle relaxer.” He says, glancing at his phone before grabbing an electrolyte bottle from the nightstand. 

You push yourself up to sit, joints cracking as you go. You let out a quiet whimper at the ache in your body, eyes filling up with tears again. 

“Easy.” John tries to soothe you, brushing the hair from your face. “You’re alright.” 

“Sorry.” You sniffle, taking the electrolyte bottle. “It’s embarrassing.” 

“It’s not. It’s just a natural part of coming down from a heat.” John says as you gulp down the contents of the bottle. 

“My mom cried after her heats.” You say, putting the cap back on the electrolyte bottle. “I heard her once, when I was like seven or eight. My dad had picked us up from the care center on base. I wanted to see my mom, but their bedroom door was closed. I could hear her inside, crying alone. My dad scolded me, sent me back down the hall when he saw me. It never felt right to me, that she was in there alone like that, but maybe things are different when you have pups.” 

“I don’t think it was right.” John says as you lay back down against his side. He’s tense, limbs stiff even as his arm wraps around your back. 

“There were a lot of things my dad did that I questioned.” You say absentmindedly, tracing circles on John’s stomach to try and calm him. “Maybe it was just that inner part of me that knew I’d be an omega that made me notice it more. My brothers never said anything, but then again, they all presented as alphas.” You shift against John’s side, tucking your head so he can’t see your face. “Maybe I was just unlucky.” 

He grunts, squeezing your shoulder gently. “You can’t control what nature decides.” 

“Can’t control a lot of things.” You say quietly as he tightens his hold around you. “Suppose I am lucky in one regard.” 

“What’s that?” He asks. 

You shift yourself so you’re facing him, tears sliding down your cheeks again. “You’re a really good alpha.” 

He pulls you against his chest again, pressing your face into his neck. “I don’t know if I’d call myself that.” He says, gently stroking your hair. “Just treating you the way you deserve to be treated.” 

“You treat me like I’m a human being.” You sniffle, wetting his skin as you cry. “That’s better than I’ve been treated since I presented.” 

You don’t see the way his brow furrows, the frown tugging at his lips at your words. You do feel the way he tenses for a moment, arms clenching around you before he relaxes again, a quiet purr rumbling through his chest as he soothes you. 

“I haven’t left your side since your heat started.” He says, taking your hand in his. 

“Really?” You ask, brows pinching a bit at his confession. 

He hums. “Except to use the bathroom.” 

“You must be sick of me by now.” You say. 

“Never.” He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re my sweet little omega. Could never get sick of you.” 

You let out a soft purring noise, the sound slipping through your lips before you even realize it. Your eyes widen and you push yourself up out of Price’s neck in surprise. “I’ve never made that noise before.” 

Price smiles softly at you, reaching up to stroke your cheek. “Just means you’re happy.” 

“Hmm.” You lay yourself back down against his chest, resting your ear over his heart. You suppose you are happy. 

Or, at the very least, content.

Standing hurts. 

Your legs feel a bit like jelly and your muscles ache deeply. It’s been almost five days since your heat ended, and yet you still feel like you just ran a marathon with no training beforehand. You know part of it is that you’ve been laid up for almost a week, but after that kind of physical exertion, you needed rest. You had only gotten up to stumble to the bathroom a handful of times, leaning heavily on John to avoid straining your muscles anymore than they already were. 

You should get up and start moving now, though. It will help with the stiffness, you know, and you should get the blood flowing at least a little. 

You’re also starting to go a bit stir crazy cooped up in your room all the time. You can only rearrange your nest so many ways, and you’ve even started to kick John out of the nest, opting to cuddle with your giant bear instead. 

You've showered, finally feeling properly clean for the first time in almost two weeks. You dress yourself, opting for the loosest clothes you own, and forgoing underwear. You’re not sure you can handle anything too tight on your skin yet. 

“Ready?” John asks, standing near the door. 

You nod, putting on your slippers as he opens the door. Arms wrap around you as soon as you step out into the hallway, your feet leaving the floor. 

“She lives!” Johnny exclaims, spinning you around. 

You grunt at the impact of the excited Scotsman, but wrap your arms around him anyway, taking in his citrusy scent. You have missed him, not realizing how boring life would be without him until now. You’ve even missed Ghost a bit, his looming presence making the world seem a little less big. 

“Easy, Johnny.” Ghost scolds the overjoyed beta. “She’s still breakable.” 

“Sorry, kitten.” Johnny says, immediately setting you back on your feet and loosening his grip around you. “Missed ye, is all.” 

“I missed you too.” You smile up at him. 

“Thought ye might never be comin’ out of that room.” He says. “Thought I might have tae go in and save ye.” 

You smirk. “You almost had to. Was starting to feel a bit stir crazy in there.” 

He grins playfully at you. “Well, yer more than welcome to spend the night elsewhere if yer sick of bein’ cooped up.”

“She's definitely not going to be doing any of that for a while.” John says, stepping up behind you. “R&R is the only thing on her schedule right now.” 

Johnny pouts. “But what if I just want tae cuddle?”

“Since when do you ‘just cuddle’?” Ghost asks. 

“I can just cuddle.” Johnny pulls you against his chest again, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “I'll do it for our ‘mega. I’ll prove it right now.” Johnny pulls away from you, steering you towards the rec room. 

“I’ll keep an eye on them.” Ghost says to Price, giving him a look before turning on his heel, following you and Johnny to the rec room. 

Johnny flops down on the couch, pulling you into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around you. You lean against his chest, breathing in his scent again. It’s refreshing, after being stuck in a room with the same scents. You could never grow tired of Price’s scent, but when it’s all you’ve been able to smell for an extended period, you start to get tired of it. You remember nearly tackling Kyle in an attempt to get a whiff of his scent, but the sting of scent blockers had nearly brought you to tears again. 

You let out a quiet sound as Johnny tilts his head, letting you breathe in his scent directly from the source. You start to purr quietly, nose pressed against his throat. An answering rumble begins in his own chest, his arms tightening even more around you. 

“Smell good.” You murmur, your lips brushing his skin. Goosebumps erupt across his neck, a shudder trailing down his spine. 

“Easy, mutt.” Ghost grumbles from the chair beside the couch, his eyes on you and Johnny. 

“Cannae help it.” Johnny almost whines, trying to ease you away from his neck. He grips your chin as your head lolls, a drowsy smile forming on your face as you blink up at him. “Christ, yer gettin’ scent drunk.” 

“Missed you.” You murmur, your brain quieting to a soft buzz as you lean your head on his shoulder, listening to the quiet rumble in his chest. 

“Missed you too.” He says, his hand dropping from your face. His fingers ghost over the mark on your shoulder, making you twitch in his arms. “Cannae believe yer officially part of the pack. Seems like just yesterday ye were arriving, all shy and timid. Now look at ye. Purring away on my lap with Price’s mark on yer shoulder.” 

Your cheeks warm at his words, a reminder of just how quickly things have changed. It’s only been almost seven weeks since you arrived in their lives. How quickly things have happened, how quickly things have changed. Though, you suppose things could have happened faster. You’re lucky they gave you so much time to adjust. Many alphas would have started the process as soon as you were in their sights. 

They’re not like that, though. They’ve turned your beliefs on their head and changed your perspective entirely. Alphas can be good and caring and don’t just always take what they want. 

You sniffle as tears pool in your eyes again, Johnny looking away from the TV to stare at you.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He asks, sounding worried. 

“Nothing.” You say, pressing your face against his shoulder. “I’m just crying cause I’m happy.” 

“I know, this is probably the last thing you want to be doing right now.” Dr. Keller says from the end of the exam table. “But, unfortunately, it is necessary.” 

You’re silently glad for the numbing spray, the pressure still enough to make you wince, but you can’t even imagine the kind of pain you’d be in if you weren’t numb. You wonder how many omegas have to go through this without it, how many are subjected to the horror without any sort of pain relief. 

“And we’re done.” She says, pulling away. “Everything looks good, no tearing or other injuries.” She pulls her gloves off, John helping you lower your legs from the stirrups. “Though, I’d suggest abstaining from any rigorous physical activity for at least another week.” 

Your face warms at the implication of her words. You’re not sure you’d want to anyway, at least not for a while. Aside from the soreness, after six days of near non-stop...activity, you might shrivel up and die if you see a naked man again anytime soon. 

“Do you feel up to chatting today, or would you rather go back to bed?” Dr. Keller asks as John helps you sit up. “Won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t want to.” 

You think about it for a moment, chewing on your lip before you answer. “We can talk.” 

She nods, smiling. “Aright. Take your time, I’ll be in my office when you’re ready.” 

She leaves the room, leaving you and John alone. You move slowly as you get dressed, still a bit sore and stiff. John walks you to the door, wrapping his arms around you before you can enter, pulling you against his chest. 

“Call me, if you need anything.” He says. 

You nod, staring up at him before you lift yourself onto your toes to kiss him. He purrs quietly when your lips touch his, his arms tightening around you for a moment before you pull back, staring up into his eyes for a moment before you turn away, heading into Dr. Keller’s office. 

You take your usual seat, silently grateful for how comfortable the chair is as you sit down. You’ve been avoiding sitting as much as possible, having spent the last few days lounging in bed with John and occasionally Gaz. 

“Comfortable?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You nod. “Yeah. Think this is the most comfortable chair I’ve ever sat in.” 

“Good.” Dr. Keller smiles. “You tell me if you get uncomfortable or if you want to end early, alright?” 

You nod again. “Yeah.” 

She nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “So, how are you feeling, aside from the discomfort? Your first heat with your pack, being claimed, that’s a lot all at once.” 

“It is a lot.” You acknowledge, picking at your sweatpants. “I’m still...I don’t know, processing it, I guess? It’s...a big step, but it was always going to happen. That’s why I’m here, right? To be their omega, to be part of their pack.” 

“That is true.” Dr. Keller agrees. “As much as I could say about it, you are right. This was the end goal of this entire experiment. But, how do you feel about it? Are you relieved that it’s over?” 

“Yeah.” You answer. “I’m glad that it’s over, that it’s done with. I...guess I feel lucky too.” You chew on your lip nervously. 

“In what way?” Dr. Keller asks. 

“John’s a...good alpha. I think I knew that before, but...he took care of me. He didn’t hurt me, he’s never forced me into anything.” A small smile tugs at your lips. “They’re all good pack members. Even Ghost.” 

“Good.” Dr. Keller smiles. “I’m glad you feel that way. John is a fantastic alpha. He cares a lot about you and your wellbeing.” 

“He treats me like I’m more than just my status. I feel like...like I’m a person again. Not just something that can serve others. I used to think that's just what omegas were supposed to do. At the institute, that's what we were taught. How to serve. But, I can see now how we do so much more than that.”

Dr. Keller practically beams at you. “That’s great! That’s so great that you’re beginning to discover your place in their pack. I think it will get easier, now that you’re official.” She nods towards your shoulder where your claiming mark now sits. 

You fight the urge to reach up and touch it, curling your fingers around the fabric of your sweatpants instead. It doesn't hurt anymore, other than slight soreness if you lay on that shoulder after a while. The scabs are beginning to come off, revealing the scar that will decorate your skin for the rest of your life, showing proof of your place in Price’s pack as his omega. 

“Do you feel different, being a claimed omega now?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You do feel different. Not just because you're a claimed omega now. There's something else, a sort of connection now that you've never experienced, even with your family. You don't know how to describe it, except for a slight buzzing in the back of your brain that only seems to quiet when you're near John. You don't really notice it until you think about it, and then you can't get it quiet until you're near John again. 

“Yeah.” You finally answer, trying to ignore the buzzing feeling in your brain. 

“The bond,” Dr. Keller says with a grin. “Hard to describe, so I've heard. I've also heard it lessens in intensity with time. Has anything else changed? Any feelings?” 

You shrug. “I guess I feel...better about being here. It’s still not ideal but...I feel happier.” 

“Yeah? Good.” Dr. Keller writes something down. “That makes me glad to hear. You’re getting along with everyone?” 

You nod. “Yeah. I’ve been getting closer to Kyle and Johnny. I know they’ll want to progress our relationships after I’ve healed a bit.” 

“Is that something you want?” 

You nod. It is something you want. Kyle has already seen you in your most vulnerable state, and you know Johnny has been anxiously awaiting his time. You’d even consider getting closer to Ghost, though, that would be entirely up to him and what he wants. You know getting closer to Johnny will inevitably force you and Ghost closer, but you won’t push the alpha’s boundaries. 

That will only end poorly for everyone. 

John is awake instantly as soon as the knock comes at the door. He calls for them to enter, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he stares blearily at the computer screen in front of him. Simon’s giant form approaches the desk, sinking into the chair across from him. 

“Getting caught up?” Simon asks, looking him over. 

John nods. “Slow progress. Hard being out of commission for six days.” 

“Well, you didn’t miss much excitement. Laswell called a couple times. Kyle talked to her.” 

“That’s what he said.” John leans back in his chair. “Checking up on our girl.” 

“Sent over some things that might interest you as well.” 

“I see that.” John says, glancing at the email in his inbox. One of several hundred unread emails. 

“You look tired.” 

“Think I’m getting old, Simon.” John says, running a hand over his face. “I don't remember things being this rough, coming out of it.” 

“I’ve heard purebreds are different.” 

John gives him a look. “Thank you for holding down the fort.”

Simon shrugs. “Things are going to get difficult now.”

“We have a job to do, above everything else. That was something we knew from the start.” John says. 

“Things were different then.” Simon says. “It's going to be a struggle.”

“We knew that too.” 

“I'm not talking about the omega.” Simon's voice lowers, taking on the low rumble of Ghost. “I'm talking about you.”

John's back stiffens as he stares at his Lieutenant. “This doesn't change anything.”

“It changes everything.” Simon stands from his seat. “Just how much, we won't know until we're in it.” He turns, making his way towards the door. 

“You think you're immune?” John says, making him pause by the door. 

“No. But I've been keeping my distance for a reason.” He turns the handle on the door, turning to look back at John. “One of us has to have a clear head.”

John watches as the door closes, something tickling in the back of his mind. He sighs as he sinks back in his seat, eyes moving to the computer screen and his hundreds of unread emails. 

He closes the browser, shutting down the computer, staring at the screen until the hum of harddrive quiets. His skin is prickling now, thinking back on Simon's words. Of course things have changed. It would be no different had they added a fifth person to the team. He knows leaving will be hard, but they have a job, a duty to perform. That always comes first above all. 

Can he make it come first after this? 

He remembers how different things had felt after he claimed Kyle. His decisions became safer, but his actions became riskier to ensure Kyle's safety. It wasn't that he doubted Kyle's abilities. He knows Kyle is more than capable of taking care of himself. That's why he's on the team. It was his instincts needing to protect his pack, to ensure his beta's safety. 

What is he going to do now that there's an omega involved? 

You won't be going with them, you won't be in the field, but they'll have to leave you behind. It could be weeks before they'd see you again, if they see you again. 

The thought has a sick feeling churning in his stomach. 

Maybe Simon is right. 

Maybe things have changed too much. 

John rises from his seat, his joints cracking. He stretches, groaning quietly at the ache still present in his muscles. It's faded for the most part, but he can still feel it if he's immobile for too long. It's not the worst pain he's ever felt, but it's hard to think of a time he's felt worse. 

Maybe he is getting too old for this. 

He pauses outside Kyle's door, staring down at the knob. He feels bad for what Kyle had to go through the last almost two weeks. He knows it's a natural part of pack life, a natural role for betas, but he still feels guilty. 

“Everything alright?” Kyle's voice breaks through his thoughts. The door is open now. Kyle standing there in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. 

He hadn't even noticed the door open. 

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “It's nothing. I don't want to bother you.”

“You're not bothering me.” Kyle gives him a worried look. “Just got out of the shower. You can come in, if you want.”

His feet are moving before he even thinks about it, Kyle closing the door behind him. He sinks down into Kyle's desk chair with a heavy sigh. 

“What's on your mind?” Kyle asks, grabbing the jar of coconut oil off his dresser. 

“Too much.” John answers, looking up at him as he approaches. “Everything's going to change now.” 

“Yeah,” Kyle says, setting the jar on his desk before scooping some out. “Things change all the time. We learn and adapt to them. That's what we do.” 

John watches him rub the oil on his face and neck, watching the movements of his hands. He's right. Always the voice of reason and logic. They were trained to adapt to anything. It was their job. They had adapted to your presence easily enough, they could adapt to this new development too. 

It would take time, but they could do it. 

“You're right.” He says, staring at Kyle's glistening skin. He wants to be the one to rub the oil onto his perfect skin, feel the softness of it under his hands. “Thank you. Thank you for everything. You've been a great help through this.” He stops Kyle from grabbing more coconut oil, grabbing some himself. “I owe you a lot for neglecting you these last couple weeks.”

“You weren't neglecting me.” Kyle says, giving him a small smile as John starts rubbing the oil over his shoulders. “You were taking care of our omega.” 

A satisfied growl rumbles through John’s chest at his choice of words. “Now let me take care of you.” 

Kyle’s breath stutters as John moves behind him, rubbing oil onto his back before moving to his chest. His fingers brush over Kyle’s nipples teasingly, pulling a quiet groan from the younger beta’s lips. John leans against his back, slipping his hands down lower, feeling the ridges of his muscles pulled taught from John’s touch. His lips press a soft kiss to the claiming mark on Kyle’s neck, Kyle’s head falling back against John’s shoulder. John growls in approval at the submissive position, his fingers trailing the waistband of Kyle’s sweatpants. 

John gathers more coconut oil on his hand before he slips them under Kyle’s pants, spreading the soft oil across his skin. He’d chosen to forgo briefs under his sweatpants, Price’s hand brushing against Kyle’s half hard cock. 

“Fuck...” Kyle breathes, arching into John’s touch. 

“How many times did you jerk off to the sound of us this last week?” John asks, wrapping his hand around Kyle’s cock. 

“At first I didn’t,” Kyle says, pressing his hips into John’s hand. “Was too focused on making sure nothing went wrong. But then...” He lets out a moan as John begins jerking his cock. “Then I couldn’t take it anymore. The mental image of you two together, the sounds she was making...” Kyle lets out a groan, squeezing his eyes shut as John brushes his thumb over the head of his cock. 

“Wanted to be in there with us, huh?” John asks, hooking his thumbs over the waistband of Kyle’s sweatpants, tugging them down so they drop around his ankles. “Did you imagine yourself right in the middle, taking my cock while she takes yours? Or did you imagine yourself taking my cock while our sweet omega sits on your face?” 

Kyle lets out a moan, his arms reaching back to grip John’s hips as his legs shake with pleasure. John continues to stroke his cock, pressing a gentle kiss to Kyle’s shoulder. 

“We can make that a reality.” John says, squeezing Kyle’s cock, earning a sweet moan in response. “I’ll show you all the places to touch that get her riled up. I’ll show you just how she likes it, how to get her legs shaking around your head.” 

Kyle’s nails bite into his skin, but he doesn’t care as he continues to jerk his cock, getting him closer and closer to the edge. Price drags his thumb over the tip, spreading precum on his skin. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Price growls in his ear, pumping his cock faster. “Want to know what she feels like wrapped around your cock?” His teeth nip at Kyle’s ear, his beta’s lips parted as he moans loudly. “Want to know what she tastes like?” 

“Fuck...yes!” Kyle almost whines, hips jerking as he cums, spurting all over John’s hand. “Yes, yes, yes!” 

John works him through his orgasm, continuing to lazily jerk his cock as Kyle twitches in his hold. He presses his nose against Kyle’s throat, inhaling the intoxicating mix of sweat, coconut oil, and his natural briney scent. He presses a soft kiss against his mark, finally stopping his movements to allow Kyle to recover. 

“Good boy.” He praises his beta, wrapping an arm around him to help him to his bed. 

“You really mean it?” Kyle asks as he drops onto the mattress, catching his breath. 

“We’ll have to ask her, of course.” John grabs Kyle’s sweatpants, cleaning off his hand before tossing them in the hamper. He moves back to Kyle’s bed, joining his beta. “But if she’s up for it, then so am I.” 

You’re warm. The ice pack pressed against your forehead does little to soothe the burning under your skin. You’re thirsty, the two empty plastic bottles on your nightstand were not enough to ease the dryness in your mouth. 

Hands shift the ice pack, pressing it against your cheek. Your mother is there, seated next to your bed diligently. She’s crying, tears sliding down her cheeks, quiet sniffles breaking the silence in the house. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, bringing your hand to her lips. “I’m so sorry,” She apologizes, as if it’s her fault, as if she brought this onto you. 

She gasps quietly as the door opens, her back stiffening as your father enters. His face is stern, mouth almost twisted with disgust as he stares at you. It feels wrong, having him invade your space. If you’d had the energy, perhaps you would have been brave enough to protest his presence. 

“Come on.” His voice is gruff, worn down from years of smoking and yelling. “Get up.” 

“No, please-” Your mother attempts to reason with him, but he won’t have it. 

“Shut up.” He snaps at her, and she has no choice but to sit back and be silent. His voice has something tingling in the back of your neck, almost like a warning. There’s nothing you can do, though. You’re far too weak. 

He moves to the side of your bed, grabbing your arm and pulling you up from the comfort of your blankets. The ice pack falls from your head, your skin prickling with warmth almost like it hadn’t been there in the first place. Your brain is sluggish as you try to comprehend what’s happening, your legs giving out as you’re forced upright. You can’t get your body to work, you can’t even force yourself to behave. You want to crawl back under your blankets and lay there for the rest of eternity. 

You whine as you’re dragged from your room, knees knocking on the floor as you attempt to get your feet under you to ease the pain in your shoulder. Your father drags you into the living room, two people you don’t recognize standing next to the front door. 

“Please, please don’t do this!” Your mother pleads with him, right on his heels as he drops you in a heap in front of them. 

“Enough.” Your father snaps at her, looking down at you with disgust. “She’s no daughter of mine.” 

You blink up at him, the words registering through the haze. Tears gather in your eyes as you stare up at your parents, your siblings watching tensely from the living room as the scene unfolds before them. 

“No, no!” You cry as hands close around your arms, lifting you from the floor. “Mama!” You scream, trying to fight them as you’re pulled from your home, your safe space, your family, your pack. 

The last thing you see as the cool air outside washes over your feverish skin is your mother’s grief stricken face before the door closes, locking you out forever. 

You wake falling from bed. You hit the floor with a thud, gasping for breath. You slap your hands over your mouth before the sob can tear from your lips, not wanting to wake the others. You’re shaking, your heart thudding in your chest as tears slip down your cheeks, sliding over your fingers as they squeeze over your mouth, desperately muffling the sound. 

You hold your breath, forcing the pain and the panic and the grief back in. You can’t have these memories coming back to the surface, not now. Not when good things are finally starting to happen. Not when you’ve finally started to gain a glimmer of hope that things might turn out alright for you. You can’t ruin things now. 

You can’t let them see how broken you really are. 

NEXT ->

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[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter One - The Perfect Gift

Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N (Reader is an OC), Kidnapping, Stalking, Drugging, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Threats (open-ended), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real.

~3.2k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

"I told ye, she's perfect," Soap said, eyes on the window across the street. They could see you puttering around your living room, wearing a pretty flower print dress as you tidied up. "Good with bairns too, met her when I was pickin' up the niece and nephew from school. She was workin' for some rich family, an' they let her go because the wife found a pair of her knickers in her husband's briefcase." He snickered. He'd been the one to put them there, although, in his opinion, he’d been pushing the bounds for a long while anyway. Sure he’d essentially cast you adrift, jobless and with no one looking out for you, but, well, they were looking after you now, weren’t they? So it wasn’t all that bad.

"Good job, pup," Ghost said fondly, ruffling Johnny's hair. "Captain's gonna love 'er."

"How do you lads want to play it?" Gaz asked. "Could go in tonight. Won’t take much to knock her out, pack up her things, take her to the cabin. Get her nice and situated for when Price gets back."

"No point in waitin', is there?" Ghost asked. "Nice she's on the ground floor. Makes takin' 'er things easier. I'll go round 'n' check the windows in a bit. Should wait till after midnight. Don't want to be spotted by the neighbours."

"No' much risk o' tha'," Soap said. "Knocked over a bunch of bins last I was here and the cunts didna even turn on a light. Just the bonnie thing worryin’ while the rest of ‘em sleep sound."

Gaz lit a cigarette, nodding thoughtfully. "Small apartment too. Is there much to move?"

Soap shook his head. "Nah, no' much. Sweet girl lives simply. I told ye, she's perfect for the captain. He'll be able to spoil the fuck out of her, once she's broken in, aye?"

"Know 'e'll like that. Man needs a wife to dote on. ‘e’s been goin’ a bit crazy, all alone. An' 'e can train'er up nice."

"Think he might share?" Gaz asked wistfully, exhaling a stream of thin smoke as he sighed. "Nice soft girl like that-- Plenty to go around."

Ghost laughed. "Thought we'd 'ave trouble gettin' Johnny to keep 'is 'ands to 'imself, and you're the one droolin'."

"Scuse me for having eyes, mate. Just think she looks sweet."

"We'll get to see first 'and soon.” Ghost clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on lads. Let's get ready."

You wake up on the hard metal floor of a moving vehicle, your pounding head cradled in someone's hands. That's what you notice first, and the thumbs rubbing circles against your neck soothingly.

It has the opposite effect. Your eyes fly open.

“Hi, bonnie,” a somewhat familiar face grins down at you, blue eyes smiling, but too intense, glittering in the low light that filters in from the windows at the front of the truck. “How’s yer head?”

You grimace, trying to make sense of what’s going on around you. The back of the van seems to be filled with boxes. “Aren’t you Finn and Rory’s uncle?”

“Aw, ye remember me? Knew ye were a sweetheart.”

You try to sit up, but Johnny puts a strong hand on your shoulder and keeps you where you are. Your head feels too heavy to try and fight him, your muscles weak. “What’s going on?” you ask. “What— Is this a kidnapping?”

“Tha’s an ugly word, bonnie. We’re doin’ ye a favour, really. Settin’ ye up with someone respectable. Captain’ll take good care of ye.” He pats your cheek. “Whyna get back to sleep? Still a ways to go, aye?”

Maybe it’s just a bad, weird dream. You do feel foggy, like you’re not fully attached to your body, and keeping your eyes open is a struggle. You’ll wake up back in your own bed, and have a funny story to tell if you ever bump into Johnny again. He’s definitely too nice to be a kidnapper, right? Like, people don’t really do that sort of thing. It has to be a dream.

“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes close again.

As you suspected, you wake up again in bed. The headache’s receded some, and there’s warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. You bury your face into the pillows, and then bolt upright. The pillow smells weird, like sweet tobacco and spice, and you don’t get morning sun in your bedroom. The window faces a brick wall across a narrow alley.

The room you’re in now is not your room. It’s sparsely furnished, just a dresser under the window and the bed you’re tucked into, and two doors, one that’s clearly a closet, and one that must lead out into the rest of the… house? Judging by the sound of birdsong outside, you’re out of the city.

You pad to the window and look out. There’s a van in the driveway, and three men carrying things in. One of them looks up and spots you in the window, waving cheerfully.

Not a dream. Fear grips you, ice sliding down your spine, shards settling in your stomach, needling and uncomfortable. Your sinuses prickle like you’re about to cry, but no tears come. You’re too dehydrated to summon them. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been out— It’s fully daylight outside, but you have no idea what time. A second look around the room finds a digital clock sitting on the nightstand, 3:05 glaring back at you in red.

There’s a knock on the door, and it pushes open. The man who walks in is handsome, smiling at you so beautifully that your automatic response is to try and smile back, although you feel that it’s flimsy, unsure. There’s no chance that this man is here to help you, but you at least hope he’s not here to hurt you either.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks. His voice is as pleasant as his face is, smooth and cheerful, although it makes you wary about him on principle. “You hungry?”

You shake your head. It’s not true, but you can’t trust that there wouldn’t be drugs in anything they give you.

“Well, come on downstairs, hm? Get some water at least. Maybe a tea?”

Your stomach churns. “I might be sick,” you manage to squeak out. He quickly ushers you out into the hall and into a bathroom. You don’t make it to the toilet, but you do manage to make it to the sink. If you had a little more fire in you, you might have tried to vomit bile onto the pretty man’s shoes, but it’s hard to shake the instinct to be good, not to make any trouble, to hope that they’ll just let you go. You’re not even sure what they want. You have no family to ransom, you don’t have any money to speak of, you’re just a fat little ex-nanny still paying off an English Literature degree from a second-rate college.

You turn on the sink to wash away the sick, and rinse your mouth out. Your hands start shaking when you realize your toothbrush is sitting in the holder next to the sink, like it belongs there. Your makeup bag is sitting on the counter too, and when you look down, you realize you’re standing on your own bathmat, taken from your home and arranged here, as if effects from your own house are supposed to make you feel comfortable. You look at your reflection in the mirror, and then at the man still standing in the doorway, his brown eyes all concern, as if he wasn’t party to a fucking nightmare.

You straighten up, gripping the counter to steady yourself. “What the hell is this?” you ask, trying to inject some authority into your quaking voice. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“I’m Gaz. Nice to meet you. Johnny had lots of nice things to say about you.”

So that hadn’t been a dream either. You look around the room desperately, looking for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon, but Gaz seems to know exactly what you’re doing, and he steps into your space quickly to grab your hands.

“None of that. Come on. You’ll feel better after a tea, yeah? Then you can get ready to meet the captain.”

He leads you downstairs. Questions spin around your head, but you’re not sure if it’s worth asking. Gaz only bothered to respond to one of the three you’ve asked so far, and it wasn’t the one that you were most interested in an answer to. So you stay quiet instead, taking in the layout of the big room. A front door and a back door, and windows that look out onto a forest on one side of the property, and more forest on the other side, beyond a large cleared space with a neat garden and a few fruit trees. There’s a second building that you can just see the corner of from the kitchen window, more likely a garage than a neighbour.

Gaz backs you up against the counter and leans down slightly, his hands gripping your thighs. You panic, the touch surprising you, and slap him across the face. The sharp sound makes you freeze, like it wasn’t you that had done it. He takes advantage of your surprise to shove you up onto the counter and grab both your hands with one of his, all the friendliness draining our of his eyes in an instant as he points a scolding finger at you. You feel like you’ve done something naughty that you’re not fully aware of the implications of yet, a badly trained dog or a child. “I’m going to let that one slide, because I understand that this is a big change for you. But you’re not going to like what happens if you try that again, understood?”

You nod quickly, your own eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry,” you say, the instinct for appeasement rearing it’s skittish little head.

And then the smile returns, as pretty as before, storm clouds blowing away as though they’d never been there to begin with. “It’s alright, doll. Just don’t do it again. And definitely don’t try that attitude on with the captain.” He taps the pointing finger against your nose playfully, and lets your hands drop back into your lap.

The rules seem simple enough. Be good and sweet, and get friendly faces in return, to a degree. No matter how cooperative you are, you doubt they’re going to let you go home. Fighting back means consequences, and you’re not sure how far those consequences will extend. If you’re too much trouble, it’s not a stretch to imagine that they’ll just kill you outright and try again with a meeker woman. You don’t yet know if death would be the more preferable outcome.

You pull your sweater down over your thighs. The black zip-up hoodie isn’t yours (the word Riley is stitched onto the front of it), but it’s big, and even though it smells faintly of cigarettes, it affords you at least a little modesty and comfort, more than the tank top and the sleep-shorts you’re wearing underneath do. Riley must be the third man. Was he the captain? Or was there a fourth one somewhere?

Johnny comes through the door carrying your suitcases, and he grins widely when he sees you, the charming, boyish one that you’d thought was handsome before. It’s only unnerving now. “Didja have a good sleep, bonnie?”

“You drugged me,” you accuse.

“Weel, of course. You were no’ goan ta come all peaceable, and LT wouldna be patient if ye were cryin’ the whole way here.” He trots upstairs, and you can hear him drop the bags with a thump, before he’s clattering back down the steps and leaning against the counter next to you. “How’d’ye like yer new home, bonnie? S’a nice place, aye? Better than tha’ little shoebox back in the city.”

“I like my apartment,” you protest.

“Psh, ye’d say tha’. Puttin’ on a brave face since yer such a good girl. But it wasna verra safe, was it? No’ a single neighbour paid us any mind while we were loadin’ up yer things. No’ a good place for a single girl, aye?” He reaches out and puts a big hand on your knee, squeezing lightly. “Now ye’ll be taken care of, like ye should be.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of.”

“Nonsense. Ye’ll be glad, once ye get used to things. Already looks real homey in here, don’t ye think?” He gestures at the living room.

You twist to look, and your stomach sinks. Your throw pillows are on the couch, one of the afghans you crocheted hanging over the back of it. You recognize the titles of your books on the shelves. These men were nothing if not thorough, surgically removing your entire life and transplanting it to this house in the woods, with it’s wood panel walls and big, overstuffed leather couches.

He continues blithely, like he’s not delivering some of the most horrifying news you’ve ever heard. “Most of your furniture’s in the garage, ye can sort tha’ out with Price, aye? But we brought all yer clothes and decorations and whatnot in. Figure ye should wear tha’ pretty black sundress, an’ those long stockin’s with the clippy belt, ye ken the one? Cap’ll like those.”

They’d been through all your things. If you had anything left to throw up, you might’ve again. Gaz sets a glass of water on the counter next to you. “How d’you take your tea, doll?”

“Milk, two sugars,” Johnny answers for you. “Our sweet lass has a sweet tooth, aye?”

“How do you know that?” You can hear the quiver in your voice, and it doesn’t slip by either of them.

“Come oan, hen, ye ken I didna jus’ pick ye off the street. Did my research. Wouldna pick just anyone for the captain.”

“When he said he’d found the perfect girl, we didn’t believe him at first,” Gaz says, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen while the tea steeps. “But Ghost and I knew he was right, soon as we saw you.” He nods at the glass. “Drink your water. You haven’t had anything since last night.”

“Is it drugged?” you ask flatly.

“No, want ye awake for when Price gets here. Yer a real cute thing asleep, but we want him ta hear yer pretty voice and see that smile, aye?” Johnny reaches past you and picks up the glass of water, taking a big swig to demonstrate it’s harmlessness.

You take a careful sip when he hands it back to you, and then another, resisting the urge to just gulp the whole thing down. The door opens again, and the biggest man you’ve seen in your life walks in, wearing a black t-shirt and a mask with the jaw of a skull printed on it, pulled up over the lower half of his face. He looks at you dispassionately, and then at Gaz and Johnny. “What the ‘ell have you two muppets been sayin’ to the poor thing?” he asks, his voice rumbling like an avalanche. “She looks like she’s gonna faint.”

“Figure she’s just peaky,” Gaz says defensively. “I’m making her tea.”

The big guy swats Johnny’s hand away from your knee impatiently, and cages you in against the counter, one huge arm on either side of you. “How’re you feelin’ bird? Be honest.”

“Terrified,” you admit.

He chuckles. “Sensible, considerin’. But you don’t need to worry, olright? No one’s gonna hurt you, so long as you’re good. And you want to be good, don’t you, bird?”

You nod. You’d thought Gaz and Johnny were big, but this one’s huge, broad and tall and even scarier. It’s clear why they started off introducing themselves to you in the order they did. If this man had been the first thing you’d seen after waking up you probably would have gone into hysterics.

“Use your words, pet.”

“I want to be good,” you say obediently, because you don’t see any other options, at least for the moment.

“Good girl,” he says, and there’s the slightest hint of a smile in his dark eyes.

Somehow, this is the most comforting thing that you’ve experienced all day. You won’t be hurt if you’re good, and you are being good.

He pushes back from the counter slightly, giving you more space, takes the mug of tea from Gaz, and hands it off to you. “Small sips,” he instructs. “And maybe a biscuit, if you think you can keep it down.”

“Are you the captain?” you ask nervously, gripping the mug with two hands.

“Hm? No. ‘e’s still about an hour out. I’m Simon. Ghost to these two.” He fishes an open package of biscuits out of the cupboard and sets them next to you. “Once you finish your tea, we’ll get you ready. Want to make a good first impression, right bird?”

“Not really,” you admit. “I’d like to go home.”

He laughs, at least finding your honesty amusing. “That won’t be ‘appenin’. If Price dun’t want you, I’ll keep you myself. But I’ll tell you right now, you’ll like Price better. If you’re good for him, he’ll be real good to you, understood?”

You bite your tongue. It won’t do you any good to point out that a man that would accept a person as a gift is probably not capable of being good to anyone. Good is subjective, and the three men in front of you are lunatics. Their captain probably has the slightest bit stronger a grasp on his sanity, or a consistent moral code, if not a particularly righteous one. So you just keep your mouth shut, and drink your tea, and eat two chocolate digestives while Gaz and Johnny start collecting things to make dinner.

As soon as you set your empty mug to the side Ghost pops you down from the counter and ushers you upstairs with a big hand placed a little too low on your back. He tells you what to wear (down to the lingerie), but blessedly doesn’t insist on watching you get dressed. He does sit on the edge of the tub and watch you put on makeup, however, requesting red lipstick and winged eyeliner. Your hands are still a little shaky, but you manage to do as he asks. His eyes smile at you just a little when you’re obedient. You feel pathetic for not making a fuss, but you’re not sure what you can possibly do, except something stupid that will make them angry enough to hurt you.

He helps you into a pair of strappy red heels that had been languishing in the back of your closet before they dug everything out, and straightens the seam of your stockings, running his big hands up your calves. It’s like you’re a doll, dressed just how he wants, something to look pretty and say less than nothing, a gift for some other man you’ve never met to keep on a shelf.

Or worse, to play with.

You hear Johnny and Gaz greet someone downstairs, their voices loud and excited, and your heart skips nervously.

Ghost rises to his feet, smiling so big you can see it even with the mask. “Wait right here, pet,” he says firmly, leaving you sitting on the edge of the bed while he goes off to greet his captain. “Want to introduce you proper.”

So you sit, and you wait, shaking and nervous, for what feels like eternity, until you hear Simon’s surprisingly light footfalls on the stairs again. He offers you a hand, and hoists you over his shoulder as soon as you’re on your feet, carrying you down into the living room.

“We all pitched in,” Gaz says, as casually as if he meant throwing in five dollars for a card. “But she was Soap’s idea.”

“Picked ‘er out special, Cap,” Johnny says. “She’s perfect for ye.”

“She?” an unfamiliar voice asks. “Don’t tell me you got me a dog.”

“Better than that, skipper.” Ghost laughs as he circles around the couch, and drops you carefully into the man’s lap, stepping into line with the other two. “We got you a wife.”

I've been low-key thinking about this concept since I read ohbo-ohno's Don't Leave Me Locked in Your Heart a while back (If you haven't read and you like a good dark fic, you should click that link, you may enjoy it). I think getting someone a person as a gift, or being given as a gift, rather, is a fun fucked up fantasy to explore. I'm not entirely sure where I'll take this but I promise to put in content warnings. Let me know if I miss something, I don't want anyone to be surprised by what they find!

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[lvlyghost]

In the Midst of War: III

PAIRINGS: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Shadow!Reader

SUMMARY: Home is no longer where it used to be. Left with no one else you wonder who your friends and foes are.

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

TW: blood, descriptions of wounds, an old friend shows up. feelings! attempted fluff. mind the english🐸!

A/N: this GIF is my new fixation and i will not stop posting it in a long time so be advised 🤩 things are hitting the fan next chapter💗as usual thx for reading 🍁🩵

Masterlist✨Masterpost

"𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔?"

Heavy boots, a ragged breathing caused by adrenaline and the sound of his heart thumping inside his ears, those are the things that Ghost can hear as he approaches the white van. Price shouts behind him but he can't make out what he's saying.

The blood... crimson blood that spills from her wounds is frightening. He's a man accustomed to witness horrible things. Seen the worst the world had to offer. Experienced in the flesh what evil can do to a human being. And simply because the woman that he holds in his arms is supposed to be his enemy that didn't mean he wanted to see her bleed out to death. Especially when they learned the truth.

Ghost had a moral code. Things he never wanted to see people go through despite being consequential to their own decisions. She had decided to join the army. She had decided to join the Shadow Company. It was bound to happen. Still it was hard for him.

That very moral code was to not hurt women nor children under any circumstances, and may God —if it even existed— help him when he'd have no other choice.

"Open the fucking door!" He yells, accent becoming more prominent; the door instantly sliding open, readjusting her near dead body in his arms to get them inside. "Gaz, give me everything you have." He commands the Sergeant, who's quick to open his medical pouches as well as the first aid kit they had loaded just in case someone needed it. The eyes of the woman flutter shut and then open slightly again, drifting back and forth between consciousness and the arms of the reaper. Ghost barks again at Gaz, so he helps him undoing the straps of her vest so he can check the wound properly.

"There's another one on her leg, Lt." he points out, moving around him as much as he can with the vehicle moving. With no time to waste he rips the lower part of his shirt, long and wide enough for his Sergeant to work. "Tourniquet , now." Gaz nods, at the harsh and cold commands of his superior. He then turns, lifting her shirt to inspect the wound. The bullet is still lodged inside her stomach, he notices sucking in a sharp breath; part of Ghost wonders who could've been the one who shot her? What if it was him? Taking the disinfectant from the kit he poured a generous amount on her wound. Her face scrunched, lips pouting and a low whine leaves her mouth. "Sorry about that, kid." He muttered, before pressing down on her wound every single gauze he found only to slowly start tainting red. He knew well she couldn't hear him her mind far away from where she physically was.

"We're back." one of the Vaqueros announced, as the van comes to an abrupt stop.

"We need to get her to the helo as soon as possible. She's lost too much blood." Price orders.

The three men get down, military doctors rush to them.

"We'll take it from here." One of them declares, patting Ghost on the shoulder, he nearly growls.

"Let's go. This isn't finished yet."

So Price dragged him in the opposite direction where they were taking her. He didn't know if she'll make it. But that was everything they'd do for her.

-

Stepping out of the room, showered and changed into comfortable sporting clothes you look around for Ghost. The safe house is silent. Deadly silent.

You wonder if he's even here, and you wonder if escaping would be a good idea. But as for now this was everything you had, at least a bed to sleep and a roof above your head. Sighing you walk to the kitchen just to find it as empty as the rest of the rooms.

The chilly air of late November causes your skin to erupt in goosebumps the moment you step outside, the backyard stretches farther away in the distance and as if on cue, the tall broad form of the Lieutenant appears walking through massive pines, wearing nothing but the jacket and his mask.

Ghost gradually stops when his eyes land on you standing still right outside the back door, arms crossed over your chest to protect you from the weather. He remains silent for a long minute before taking another

step closer.

"All set. Come with me." He orders you.

Biting on your lower lip, stopping your mouth from saying something you'll regret.

"Are you always this bossy?" Despite not liking his tone you oblige and begin to follow as he turns on his heels. If your question annoys him he doesn't let it show in fact he ignores you completely. "Where are we going, Ghost?"

Suddenly a wave of fear washes over you, steps faltering, hands shaking ever so slightly. What if this was it? The end of everything. You didn't want to believe Ghost could kill you like you were nothing you just don't do that to someone you've taken care of for the past month. Why bothering? Why tending to your wounds and worrying for your wellbeing, even if he was forced to do it. You wanted to believe that at least he didn't hate you. Not the way he hated your former Commander. You thought something had changed between the two. He had seemed more relaxed around you; like he somehow had lowered his defenses around you.

"Silence." he hushes you in a low mutter. "M'not gonna kill you if that's what you're worried about."

His words are cold and measured, as if he doesn't want to be here at all and the feeling, the knowledge that you're a burden to him makes your heart ache. A tiny pang of sadness that that's all you've ever been. All you could ever hope to be. So you ball your clench your hands, head hanging low when the so familiar lump in your throat becomes unbearable.

Both of you make it to a clearing, birds faintly chirping on the horizon. The sun no longer greets you, a storm announces itself with heavy clouds appearing in the sky above.

And then you're not alone. Another person stands in the middle. Hands clasped behind. Your heart skips a beat.

The only person that cares enough to save you. Blonde hair in a low tight bun.

Kate turns around, eyes going wide when she finally sees you. She's about to say something but words die because you're practically running to her, ignoring Ghost's warnings on being careful.

A smile appears on her face when you finally hug her and tears roll down your cheeks.

"What took you so long?" You sniffle. Kate's arms hold you tighter.

"I came as soon as I could. Forgive me, Vesper."

Shaking your head you try to stop the tears. It's honestly humiliating but she's known you since you joined the military. Kate Laswell was the closest thing you had to a family just like Graves. "I hope Lieutenant Riley has been good to you."

You huff, making her chuckle.

"He's taken care of me. For that I am grateful."

So now you knew more about him.

Riley.

Better than just a callsign. And it suited him.

Ghost stands a few feet away, despite this being a secure area he can't afford himself to relax. He can still hear everything you say to each other.

He can hear you crying on her shoulder and bloody hell if that didn't made him feel all sorts of distressed. It was a rare thing. Something he wouldn't have thought when he first scooped you up back on that forgotten highway.

But he guesses that happens when you spend too much time with someone you were supposed to look after. It didn't help that just last night you had asked him to stay the night in your room. All kinds of wrong.

Although he had refused he could sense what was happening and he needed to stop it. Getting attached wasn't part of the plan, and it would end terribly.

Deep in his thoughts he misses the look you send him.

"He really is something else." You murmur to Kate who keeps you know at arms length. "If it wasn't for you, I'm sure they'd have killed me." A sad smile appears on your lips.

"Let's not think about what happened darling, but rather what's gonna happen, yeah? Things have taken... a turn. No, hear me out." She says, interrupting you with a soft smile. "You're not alone. Never have been." Another quick glance at Ghost confirms the both of you that he's heard you.

"You know I don't like it when you say mysterious things, Kate." She sighs, giving you another hug although this one isn't as long as the first.

"Trust me. That's all I'm asking, and hey..." he levels you with a serious look. "Ghost may seem frightening but he's a good man." A low confession that doesn't reach his ears. Your cheeks turn red and you don't know why, leaving you mortified when she notices.

"Yeah..." you mumble.

"I don't have much more time. There's matters that require my attention but you'll hear from me again sooner than you think."

-

"What's that stance?" He gruffly asks as he stands next to you, eyes sliding up and down your body. His arms are tightly crossed over his broad chest. You turn to look up to him and away from the scope of your sniper rifle, blinking rapidly not understanding the disapproving look in his brown eyes.

"Uh, this is how I shoot Ghost." You answer like it was obvious what you were doing. You notice the way he furrow his brows beneath the balaclava.

"Bloody Christ." He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He comes behind you. "Widen your stance." He kicks one of your foot so it slides along the dirty soil.

Yelping you lose balance for a second before he steadies you with a strong hand to your waist.

"Hey! What was that about?"

Ghost tilts his head eyes narrowing.

"That stance was utter shite. Your legs were not separated enough, you'd get knocked down easily by a waft of air."

"I've been doing it like this forever."

"Well you've been doing it wrong."

"But that's..." squinting your eyes you stare at him, fuming. "My legs are not as long as yours, they're like five damn kilometers long." Ghost snorts. "What's so funny?"

"Shocked you know what a kilometer is." Shaking your head you decide to ignore him and readjust the grip on the rifle. "One of his best soldiers, I heard." He points out. He returns to his spot next to you, trying not to think of how you felt under his touch.

"You've never seen someone like me, Lieutenant Riley."

Ghost freezes, heart skipping a beat at the way you say his name. It's soft and endearing. He watches you closely, you're focused on the target one eye closed and the other fixed on the green bottle.

Breathing slowly and steadily, the exact moment when the sky rumbles you press the trigger. The bullet sound echoes through the lone forest as it hits the target, sending birds flying away from their nests. A wide grin makes its way to your lips, turning to look a Ghost who remains silent merely watching the near-perfect shot, the average size bottle shattered in a thousands pieces.

"Bullseye." you comment in a casual tone. "Your turn."

Offering him the rifle you stare at each other for a long time before he shakes his head, refusing to take it.

"Mine's better." Unfazed by his refusal you wait as he goes to the black duffel bag that he previously placed on an old wooden table. He takes out his preferred weapon. Your was... lethal, but his own, the sheer size and way it was customized for him left you speechless. You even doubted you'd be able to hold it still. "And just so you know." coming back to where he was, Ghost readies himself but not before taking off his leather jacket. Only left with his black hoodie he offers you the jacket, eyes serious. Hesitating for a second before grabbing it and putting it on, it smells like him. It's soft and warm around your body. "We're going out tomorrow."

His body prepares to take the recoil of the gun. Yet another perfect shot is made that day; body barely moving, barely flinching when he fires. You hold your breath at the sound of shattering glass and then everything goes silent. Ghost turns to look you in the face, the way his clothes hang around your body swallowing you whole. A sight he finds himself liking too much for his own bloody good.

"Taking me out on a date I see." His lips twitch although you can't see it. "Where to?" You ask rolling your eyes.

Laying down the weapon he motions you to follow him back inside, he'd clean up afterwards.

"Your first mission. Laswell wants you back asap." The air gets stuck in your throat. "Don't look at me like that. We could use a good soldier. And don't worry too much. I'm coming with."

Teaming up with Ghost was the last thing you thought would happen in your lifetime, even if you had before needlessly to say not directly. For all you knew, they considered you a hostile for your connections with the Shadow Company. But your commander was off the equation. Gone forever.

With a final glance to your way he starts to cook dinner for two so you join him.

Your new life starts now.

-

"When does this end, Laswell?" He asks her, it's not that he doesn't want to be around the girl. That is exactly why he's desperate to put an end to this, enjoying her company wasn't a part of the plan.

She breathes the cool air, and tries to calm him.

"Don't tell me you've grown to care about her, Lieutenant."

Ghost doesn't answer but the CIA agent notices the way his shoulders tense.

Part 4

[fluorescentbalaclava]

training season's over

Chapter 5: R&R

Summary:

R&R, military slang for rest and recuperation (also rest and relaxation, rest and recreation, or rest and rehabilitation)

TF141/female reader

spy reader, forced bonding, slow burn, slow build, militar inaccuracies, sugestive language, language, canon typical violence, second chance, domestic fluff, enemies to friends, becoming buddies, they can't help but check you out

previous: chapter four "C.R.O.W."

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"Shouldn't you get a secretary for this?" You asked as you put her another paper through the shredder, watching the thin lines of paper fall into a bin underneath.

"I have four secretaries, and two of them happen to be busy yelling at rookies while other is away," Price said, as he passed you yet another block of paper to be destroyed. "I talked to your parents this morning."

"Fair enough," you said as you divided the big block into smaller groups of paper, not wanting to get the paper shredder stuck...again. You lifted your gaze to watch Price, curiosity spiked. He had his back turned at you, going through archives searching for old files to destroy and fill its drawers with updated and more useful intel. "Did you?"

" They're moving back to their house today, we concluded that they're not in immediate danger, but we'll keep them on watch, just in case. Sent help, so don't worry." He said as he looked through a folder to see if the papers were worth keeping.

"Yeah, they texted me this morning, thanks for that...who did you send, though?"

"Ghost." He said as he threw the files to the floor, amongst other useless paper.

"Why?" You couldn't help the sceptical tone slip from your mouth.

"Believe it or not, he is very good with families,” he said picking up the files he threw on the floor, putting it next to you on the very large piles of archives for you to run through the machine.

"Your mom renewed her invitation for us, you know?" Price said with a hint of tease, making you smile softly in amusement.

"We will see about that" You answered, running more paper through the machine, getting it stuck.

Despite your avoidant tendencies, it would be nice to be back home, at least for one night. A voice in the back of your brain made you think you didn’t deserve to go back there, your tainted hands would just ruin everything they touch. “Sei nicht albern, maus.” König said once to you, just before giving you the number of his therapist, “The things we’ve seen, sooner or later get to your head. You should talk to someone about it.”

You’ve learned to push the thoughts away, most of the time at least. But frequently talking to your family was something you still couldn’t get around. Baby steps.

Another reason to keep pushing that invitation was that your relationship with your colleagues was still a work in progress.

At first it was trying to get the trust of a stray cat, they could come closer, observing you, trying to figure you out, but one sudden movement to reach out and it would flee and disappear. You were sitting on the couch of the common room. It was cozy enough, a big couch where you were curled up with a cup of tea, and two one-seater sofas in each end, a coffee table in front of you, and behind it the television where you were currently watching the Great British Bake Off, as you did every Tuesday. Behind you, a small kitchenette with a metal dining table and five chairs. As if we ever sat all together there.

The first time Gaz approached you he stood behind you, looking at the TV in silence.

"What are they baking?" He asked after a few minutes of silently watching how the contestants ran through the kitchen.

"Devil's food cake" You answered before taking another sip.

"Oh, nice." He said, before becoming silent again. A few more minutes passed, as he remained stood behind you, watching someone struggle with their ganache.

"Uh...do you want to join?" You said quietly, looking up at him from over your shoulder, moving your legs off the sofa to give him space. When he heard your voice, he seemed to snap out of the trance caused by the amateur bakers.

"Oh, no, no. Don't worry, I have things to do. Thanks anyway." He said taking a last look at the TV before leaving the room. Damn it.

However, over the following days bumping into him became a common occurrence. He would hold the punching bag for you, and vice versa, while making small talk.

"Do you want tea?" You heard behind you, your attention switched from the explanation of the new recipe to the man behind you, you were in the same position as last week.

"Yes, sure. Chamomile, please," you answered, before turning back at the TV, slightly taken aback by the sudden offering. But then you reminded yourself: They're your team, you have to get comfortable with each other, otherwise the next few years will be hell and you'll have to move into the infirmary to hear someone talk to you more than two sentences. Then you went back to the cat logic. You had to wait for them to approach, not the other way around, or they will pull away as they don't fully trust you yet.

Back in KorTac, you would have considered König somehow close to you, or so you thought, as you seemed to be his main target for long excited speeches about bombs, and you also opened about your feelings, when they became too overwhelming, and he was surprisingly understanding, sharing a bit of his experience on the matter. Calisto was nice too, a bit posh sure, but she had great and expensive taste for both military equipment and clothes and---

"Here's your cuppa" You were snapped of your thoughts as Gaz passed you a warm mug. You moved your legs off the couch, just to test the waters, and to your surprise he did sit on the other edge of the couch this time. "What are they baking today?"

"Thanks, Gaz" You said before eyeing the mug that said ‘DEATH BEFORE DECAF’ with a very silly drawing of a grim reaper, making you smirk slightly before looking up at him and then the TV again. "They're doing pavlova.”

"Pavlova was always a bit too sweet for me" Gaz replied, taking a sip of his own tea, his mug had a yellow sign that had ‘I cause safety briefs’ written on it. Making small talk? Nice.

"Yeah, well, they're making a lemon one, so I think the sourness balances the sweetness a bit." Am I really at a military base talking about pavlova?

"Do you bake?" He looked at you for a brief moment before looking back at the TV.

"Oh, fuck no" You answered chuckling, taking a small sip of the hot brew. You let the flowery scented vapour fill your nostrils, feeling the warm liquid going down your throat, before adding. "I always end up messing the measurements and it comes out edible but a bit off. Do you?"

"Not at all. It's precise work, like disarming a bomb. I would rather disarm the bomb, though." He said, in a slightly playful tone, amused at your reply. "Why do you always watch this then?"

“It's fun, and besides it's an easy watch to distract yourself a bit," you said shrugging, still watching the TV. Helps me not to think.

“Good point," he said before going back to a slightly more comfortable silence than the usual one. And you had to admit, it was nice to have company next to you.

-

"Are ye fuckin' her?" Soap suddenly said, loudly enough to make other tables turn around, making Gaz choke on a piece of broccoli.

"What?! No!" Gaz answered, sounding like the thought didn't even cross his mind.

It did actually, once, when you were leaving the gym and you took off your oversized shirt throwing it over your shoulder, standing only in a sports bra and drying the sweat from your neck with a small towel. But this wasn’t the time or place to admit that.

Ghost and Price were sitting next to them, eating silently, looking at the exchange. A glimpse of amusement in Price's eyes.

"Then why are ye with her all the time now?" Soap said in the same accusatory, pointing at him with his fork.

"I'm not! We just train sometimes and watch TV on Tuesdays, that's hardly all the time" He answered with a shrug before taking another bite from his lunch. After some more contemplation, and still under the judgemental gaze of Soap, he added. "Besides she's nice. A bit brutal, though. Should see how she punches the bag sometimes, sounds like a gunshot.”

"Kid's fine, just need a bit of guidance" Price quipped in, still looked amused at the exchange. “And you can’t do that if you don’t talk to her.”

-

It was cold around you, the frozen breeze seemed to go straight through the heavy layers of clothes and gear, your throat getting dry and sore. You looked around only to see a dark and humid cell, you tried to move your arms, but the coldness was so intense they were numb. Suddenly the heavy metal door opened, and a figure walked in. You tried to talk but no words came out, your mouth so dry it felt incapable of muttering anything. He's saying something, you can't figure out what. The figure towers over you, the light coming from behind him covering his face with shadows. When he lifts a hand, you notice he's holding a gun, with a quick movement he lowers it harshly against your forehead.

You wake up with a gasp, your hand moving quickly to your head to cover the place where he hit you, only to find an old scar on your scalp, covered by your hair. Your movements are a bit clumsy and erratic as you look around. Dark and cold, but not a cell...close enough.

You're agitated as you look around, recognizing the place as your room in the barracks, you see the couple of decorations you pulled out, closed boxes pilling on a corner, the dim light of your lava lamp. As you sit up in your bed, you notice that at some point of the night your weighted blanket fell from your bed, as you got too warm, and your unconscious brain decided to kick it off. Your heart rate went down slightly, but the feeling of alertness wasn't wearing off. You lazily stood up, still feeling slightly on edge, put on your slippers, and walked to the common room.

Soap on the other hand, had to double check if he wasn’t hallucinating when he saw a girl, with her hair down and messy as if she just woke up, fleece and fluffy pyjama pants with a heart pattern and a matching top walking to the kettle turning it in on. He even stopped chewing on his biscuits to focus on her, as you were taking deep breaths with your hands on the counter. The lights were off except for a lamp next to the TV that was always on.

"Lass?" He said confused, sitting on the dining table on the other side of the room, making you jump at the sound.

"Bloody hell!" You said letting out a shaky breath, hands gripping the kitchen counter as you turned to him.

"Jesus Christ, calm down, it’s just me,” he said furrowing his brows, raising both of his hands in surrender.

"I just woke up and you scared the shit out of me." You huffed a deep breath, massaging your neck in an attempt to sooth your nerves. Soap could tell from the moment you walked in how tense you were, and he tried to approach it as casually as he could.

"Midnight snack or nightmares?" He asked with a mouthful as he stared back at you.

"The latter" You answered in a mix of resignation and tiredness, as your hand went up and started tracing the scar on your scalp. The kettle stopped. "Tea?",

"Well, welcome to the club. I think no one here slept eight hours straight in ages" he said putting another biscuit in his mouth. "Coffee."

"No, it's late. I will make you a chamomile" you said in a groggy tone, not leaving room to discuss.

"Whatever you say, ma'am" he said with a chuckle in return, but didn't complain.

He tried, he swore he did…but as you stretched to grab the mugs from the cabinet, he couldn’t help his eyes from trailing down to your body. Not that he hasn’t looked before, he wasn’t blind after all, and you usually walked to you room in a white undershirt and your tactic pants, fresh off the shower after training. But the loose uniform didn’t do you justice. His glance trailed down from the way your top stuck to your waist, and how your fluffy pants hugged your hips…and when he caught a glimpse of a tattoo on your lower back, made his jaw drop lightly, his eyes were glued on it. But he quickly snapped out of his daze when you turned around, making him quickly look away.

You walked back to the table with the two hot brews, sitting across Soap on the table and passing one mug to him. He looked at the cup, lifted it up and sniffed the vapour coming out of it.

"Smells nice. What is this for?"

"It helps you sleep and calm down" you said before taking a sip, looking up at him.

"Sounds useful" he said taking a sip first, visibly processing if he liked the taste, before taking another more generous one. He put the mug down, handling you the package of biscuits, Rich Tea. "Want one?"

"Aren't those Ghost's?" You asked hesitantly grabbing the package, looking at him narrowing your eyes.

"Nah, bought them myself" He said shrugging, and that was enough for you to grab one, the idea of a sweet treat too tempting to pass. "Ah! You ate one. Now you are an accomplice to theft, and you can't tell Ghost."

"Should have known, you never buy anything" You answered playfully rolling your eyes but grabbing another one anyway. Damage is already done. "Gaz always says you steal his coffee."

"Well, yeah, but Gaz just scolds me and never does anything. If LT knows I found his stash he'll use me as a target practice" he said taking another sip, to swallow the biscuit he had in his mouth. Once his mouth was empty again, he added in a soft tone. "So…"

"So?" You replied in a confused tone.

"Warming up to us, bonnie?" He leaned back on his chair, with a grin. Something in his attitude made you both roll your eyes but smile.

"Guess you could say that.”

                                                                                      -

"So, this is what you watch all the time?" Soap said in a confused, sitting next to Gaz on the other end of the couch. "Why is that bloke crying?"

"He did the macaronage wrong, so his macarons came out hollow, crumbly and have no feet" Gaz answered focused on the show rather than in Johnny.

"The fuck are you talking about?" Gaz groaned at Soap still-going questions, making you chuckle.

"He didn't mix the batter enough, so they came out wrong." He replied in a frustrated tone.

"You bake?" Soap asked him again.

"No, but if you shut up and pay attention you would know they literally explain it at the beginning of the show."

"Oh no, don't start over" You mumbled in a concerned tone, seeing the contestant leave the failed batch aside and grabbing the remaining ingredients and starting to mix them again.

"Well, he has to at least try, the others will look terrible when he serves them" Gaz answered, now in a softer tone, leaning back on the couch.

"Yeah, but there's no way he's going to get them in time, he has to do the batter all over, let them sit, put them in the oven..."

"You bake, bonnie?" Soap piped in again, looking at you over Gaz.

"Uh, no."

"Why are we watching this then?" Soap said again, sinking again on the couch, returning his attention to the TV, where some were already finishing the macarons for their presentations. "Those look good though, wonder what they taste like."

"Never had them?" Gaz answered to him, furrowing his brows, to which Soap shook his head. You kept quiet, never really tried them either. "We should go to the town and get some."

You just kept watching the show, assuming they were just speaking between themselves. This situation happened before, people would make plans next to you, you would just play dumb.

"Aye, we should, I have to get more deodorant too" Soap said, and he looked over Gaz at you again, and you were surprised when you heard him add, "You can go out of the base if you're with us, right?"

"Technically yes, you just have to tell the Captain first," You tried your best to contain your excitement at the possibility of being out again, to walk around other people that weren't soldiers, to visit shops, to breathe another kind of air.

"Don't worry about that, will promise him to get you home at nine" he said in a playful tone, with a grin.

"We'll show you around" Gaz said with a smile, and a probably harder than intended pat on your back. "We will get you your own mug too."

"Can I pick it?" You said making obvious you're glancing judgementally at Gaz ‘I cause safety briefs’ mug and at Soap ‘MAD SCOTTISH BASTARD’ mug.

“It's tradition that your superior officers pick it for you, in this case, us” Kyle replied with a grin, matching Soap. You smiled but looked at them suspiciously.

“You’re making that up.” You said narrowing your eyes while looking between them.

“Dead serious” Soap said, lifting his mug. “Ye think I would have picked this?”

“Yes” You answered without thinking.

“Wrong. I wanted the highland cow one.” He then added, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Shh! They’re judging now.” Kyle said, leaning in, his body like a wall between Soap and you, as your attention quickly returned to the TV.

As you heard them both loudly arguing with the decision of the judges, you thought to yourself that being in jail wouldn’t be this entertaining.

next chapter: chapter six "Contact"

taglist: @no-lessthan3

if you like it leave me some kudos or suggestions on ao3! <3

[a-b-riddle]

Hi pookie! Hope you're doing well 💛

I came to say that I love your writing, the poly 141 piece is just so good and angsty in a way that makes me anxiously wait for the next parts. It's so satisfying to see a baddie reader who tries to prioritise herself, but also is a human and deals with emotions that results in not always the most reasonable actions. Love it!

But... While I found your blog through that piece, I found another COD masterpiece in your masterlist and I just have to give it the love it deserves.

You won my heart with Kyle & his Love because firstly there's too little fics about Gaz, our boy should get the recognition he deserves. Second it so good in showing d/s dynamics. I've seen too many pieces that reduce it to just sex and while I love reading smut (and the way you write it is also amazing), but seeing the boundaries and the whole talk about the using safe words is tier top.

So yeah, here's my ramble and I hope that maybe we'll get to see a little more of your thoughts about dom Gaz 💛 take care of yourself pookie!

I am SO glad you mentioned the lack of Gaz.

So I do mention later on why Kyle did what he did. I understand that someone people have preferences to the 141 with a specific character but it’s hella fucking sus to write about John, Simon, Johnny, Alejandro, Alex Keller, Valeria, Rudy, Roach, König (FUCKING GRAVES) but not Kyle motherfucking Garrick? Or having 141 poly but Kyle isn’t involved.

I mean…. Come on.

Anyway, end rant. I love Kyle’s redemption chapter. All of them have a pretty good arc I think.

[annaphoenix1994]

Violence and Timing

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

Soap recognized the distress in Ghost's - Simon's - voice recalling the orders, his worry about Kiera clear with every word that left his mouth. Soap was worried too - worried about how all of this would play out, hoping and praying to his belief that they would all be rescued without complications.

Soap and Thompson continued through the town, subtly clearing out the scattered AQ's that were left to guard the space they had taken over, a strong gust of desert sand scattering with the wind, easily covering their tracks.

As well as the enemy's.

"I've got your six, Sergeant." Thompson whispered after they'd taken out an AQ standing on guard. 

"Copy that," Soap sighed, removing a throwing knife from the sheath on his vest. "Two AQ's up ahead. We can make quick work of 'em." 

"Rog. I'll take right, you take the other." 

"Aye." Soap nodded, crouching alongside Thompson as they got into position, nodding at each other before making their move. "Dropped 'em,"

In a fluid motion, three more AQ soldiers were terminated on cue before Soap and Thompson continued forward towards the designated area. 

Making quick work with the rest of the AQ's guarding the container, Ghost took the last shot that concluded the extermination in order to proceed towards the convoy. With a loud screech of the hinges, the container door revealing nearly two dozen people crammed inside - Teeter being among them, her eyes widening at the sight of her protector. Baby. 

"B-Baby!" She gasped. "Out of my way, please! Move!" She made her way through the crowd, rushing into Soap's arms, both irritated at the bulk of Soap's tactical vest keeping their chests from flushing against each other. "Where've you been, huh? Why ain't you been here sooner?"

"Trust me, babe, I've been desperate." He replied, pressing a needy kiss to the base of her neck.

"Prolly ain't as desperate as me," She grumbled. "Give me a gun. We're gettin' K and that other woman back." 

"Not so fast," Soap said, grasping her shoulders. "Not that simple."

"It is that simple. They did bad things-"

"To you?"

"No," Teeter shook her head. "To her and a lot of other girls," She frowned. "We can't tell Simon." 

Soap huffed before pressing the engage button on his comm,

"Come on, let's go."

"Wh-What about the rest of 'em?" 

"I have a group of Marines coming to take them to a secure area," Thompson spoke up. "Including you."

Teeter scoffed, "Oh, I don't think so. I ain't bein' left behind. Not no more." 

"I don't think you have much of a choice." 

"Whatever choice I got, I ain't stayin' here. I'm going with him." She raised her voice, Soap raising his brows and shrugging his shoulders at Thompson. 

"What she says goes."

"Nice to see you again." Price nodded, his free hand clamping down on his hat to prevent it from flying off at the extreme gusts of wind created by the helicopter blades. 

Teeter nodded, covering her ears, "That sounds good!" She shouted, unable to read his lips and assuming he was asking if she wanted an MRE.

Price furrowed his brows and nodded, unable to compile a response before Soap helped her into the helicopter, urgent to ensure she was safely strapped to the seat. Ghost and Thompson entered last, Ghost nodding at Price and Gaz while he clutched his weapon. "Nik!" Price shouted.

"Where to?" 

»»-------¤-------««

"Gaz, you stay in the heli on overwatch. We'll work our way up the line."

"Roger that. Let's thin the herd and get them back."

"W-What about me? I'll shoot these dunes if you need an extra gun." Teeter offered.

I don't know if I could trust her with an M4 without her killing everything in her path, Ghost thought to himself.

"You should stay here." 

"Yeah, should, but I ain't willin' to stay and watch," She scoffed. "I'm ready to fight if you need a fight." 

"I don't think it's a good idea." Ghost added. 

"You should know I ain't full of good ideas," She shrugged, regaining her balance to present herself to Price. "Please, sir. I-I'm good with any gun and can fight like any man. I want to get Kiera back as the rest of us do. She'd do it for me." 

Price sighed, glancing at both Ghost and Soap, watching the Scot subtly nod, knowing she was perfectly capable of handling herself. "That she would, love, but she also has authority in situations like this. I don't want a civilian getting in the line of fire, especially with AQ." 

"Then you shouldn't have let me on this chopper, sir. Please, I'll get one of 'em hard hats and put on a vest. I'm ready." 

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you." I already can't fathom the thought of something happening to Kiera on my watch and I'll be damned if I'd let it happen again.

Teeter huffed, a frown splaying across her face as she walked to sit on the bench of the chopper, Soap cupping the back of her head before he walked to the exit door of the helicopter, Ghost alongside him as they exited the unit with Price.

"Hey, old man." 

"Farah," Price smiled. "Thanks for the assist."

"We share a common enemy."

"And a friend in need. Are you ready?"

"All set. See you down the road." Farah nodded.

"Cover your ears." Gaz nodded towards Teeter, watching her nod before she did as directed, flinching when Gaz pulled the trigger, the echo from the M4's fire filling the cabin of the helicopter.

Bullets rang throughout the desert air as Farah's team as well as Price and his men made quick work on multiple AQ vehicles with the assistance from Gaz in the helicopter. Out of curiosity, Teeter steadily made her way to the opened exit door to view the carnage below her, her eyes frantically searching for Soap, seeing that he and Ghost were now on a platform-bed semi with Price, the vehicle moving up into the convoy. That's a long way down if we fall...

Out of nervousness, she gripped the safety harness to remind herself that she wouldn't be falling without a serious blow. "Teeter! Stand back. They're firing RPGs at us." Gaz shouted.

"W-What's that?"

"Something you don't want to be in the way for. Get back and hold on!" 

Just as Teeter nodded to follow Gaz's direction, the helicopter jolted upwards followed by a near complete rollover, causing both Teeter and Gaz to fall out of the helicopter, the sound of Teeter's scream causing Soap to nearly get himself shot for losing focus. "Fucking Christ!" 

"Hold on to me!" Gaz grunted, keeping her close to him to keep her from getting hit by a car as their heads were dangling dangerously within a few feet from the concrete. 

"Fuck! What do I do?!" She cried, closing her eyes before feeling the after affects from an inferno against her face. "Give me a gun!" 

"Well, I would if I didn't drop it!" He grunted, feeling his waist for his holster that housed his pistol, ensuring it was loaded before taking rapid shots towards the next closest AQ vehicle.

"Teeter, reach to my belt and get another clip. Running low on ammo." 

"O-Okay!" 

"Guess you have no choice but to be in the fight now!" 

"If our lives weren't on the line right now, I'd say this was fun!" She scoffed, gripping the rope to keep herself upright as she handed Gaz the new clip. "Hey! Flatbed truck coming up fast. Four in the back. Should he get us over it, and we cut ourselves free?"

"Working on that plan," Gaz grunted, desperately trying to steady his breathing to fire as accurately as possible. 

"I'm cutting us loose. Hang on!" 

"I ain't got much choice!" 

With a harsh thud, both Teeter and Gaz landed on top of the convoy's truck, Gaz making quick work to take control of the vehicle, instructing Teeter to climb into the cab on the passenger side. "Looks like they left us a little gift!" She snickered, pulling the Kastov from the floorboard. 

"Do you even know how to use that thing?" 

"Never shot one of these, but I know how to shoot a gun. Ye aim it and pull the trigger, ain't that hard. There's a whole bag of mags here too, we're ready to light it up." 

"Soap is going to kill me." 

"Hey, it ain't like ye made me fall with you. Besides, baby thinks it's hot to see me all wriled up. He won't be able to get enough." 

"Bloody hell," Gaz scoffed, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. "I'll take your word for it. Get that vest from the backseat and helmet. They'll give you some type of protection. 

"Fuck!" Soap shouted aloud, crouching down to reload his weapon while Ghost kept watch on his six.

"Jump, Teeter!" Soap shouted, extending his arm for her to grasp onto before Gaz made his leap, ensuring that she went first. 

"Baby, I ain't a frog!" 

Ghost breathed a chuckle.

"You are today! Move!" 

He caught her by her elbow, pulling her to safety before Gaz did the same.

"Good to see you two in one piece," Price sighed. "Gaz, take the grenade launcher. Teeter, stay low and keep your head down."

"Sweet heat, Captain. What's the word?"

"We're getting close to Kiera and Laswell, so they're changing tactics."

"How so?" 

"We were chasing them, now they're gonna chase us."

"Let 'em try, sir. Let 'em bloody try."

Price pointed, "Check rear - it's Farah."

"Gang's all here. Let's bring this home!"

"Captain! Al Qatala's coming back this way - they'll try to box us in!"

"Not if we can help it! Here they come! Farah, watch it!" 

With excessive firepower and force, the convoy eventually moved to be offroad, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. With another quarter hour of intense gunfighting as well as shooting off a missile launcher and bomb drones, the black SUV was in sight. Ghost's grip tightened on his M4 before he jumped down from the cargo truck, both he and Soap peering to the right for cover while Price and Farah went to the left, Gaz being the first to make it to the SUV and opening the door after the gunfire seized. 

Gaz stood back as Kate held the last AQ in a chokehold, refusing to loosen her grip as she held a personal grudge against him, tears blurring her vision as she acted out of pure rage, Price's pleas of letting him go so that he could finish it sounded as if she were underwater. "Kate! Move!"

"No! He's mine!" She grunted. 

Kiera managed to open the door on the opposite side, distraught of the events that happened as well as being dehydrated. She fell to her side on the dirt below, her mind racing as well as begging to be idle. Her knees curled towards her chest as she forced herself to steady her breathing. She failed to hear the heavy boot steps approaching her, a gentle hand grasping her shoulder and gently rolling her to her back before that same hand gently grasped her chin, his fingers splaying against her cheek. She didn't open her eyes to look at him, nor could she, but she knew it was Simon - knew by his gentle touch and radiating warmth through his gloves. 

She knew she was safe. 

"Kiera? Can you hear me?" 

She didn't respond. 

"Fucking hell," He grumbled, slinging his rifle around to his back before forcing his arm under her knees and one securing against her back. "We'll need a fucking medic." 

"I'm on it, L.T." Soap nodded, requesting assistance through his comm while he and Teeter followed Ghost onto the helicopter, frowning at how he didn't notice what all that happened. 

"Kate, it's over." Price assured her, his face flooding with concern at her anxiousness - something he had never seen before in their work together.

"It's a family reunion."

"Wouldn't miss it." Gaz commented. 

"Farah." 

"Nice moves, Laswell. Are you okay?"

"To say the least, but we're alive. That's what matters."

"Well, we're in Al Mazrah. We need to get somewhere safe - now. We'll have a medic on standby." 

»»-------¤-------««

Simon clasped his balaclava between his fingers, keeping a sharp gaze on Kiera as she began to regain her composure and bearings, continuously wondering how and why she ended up on a helicopter. "Simon?" 

"I'm here, love," He assured her, patting the top of her thigh. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure? I thought we had just said our goodbyes? You know - to go home?" 

"That you were, but that was two days ago. Unfortunate things happened, but you're safe now. We have a medic waiting for you and Laswell." 

"What happened?"

He sighed, "I'll tell you later. For now, just worry about trying to relax until we land." 

He couldn't find himself to tell her what he visibly saw, his heart breaking at the thought. He saw the forced rip in the groin of her trousers, his anger boiling at the thought of someone taking advantage of her - again. I failed to keep a promise to her. 

He immediately began to blame himself for it.

»»-------¤-------««

Once at the base, it would be compared as an act of congress to get Simon away from Kiera. He stayed with her the entire time she was in the medic's tent, supplying her with water every time she asked for it. 

"Good news," The medic sighed, entering the tent. "Babies are just fine. No blunt trauma to her abdomen. I could only do a normal ultrasound, but both heartbeats are there." 

"Thank God." Simon breathed, looking over to see Kiera's eyes flutter shut as she still fought exhaustion. 

"Uhm, there's something I need to inform you about-"

"Not here," Simon cut him off. "Tell me outside. I don't want her to get anxious."

In a way, Simon knew what the medic was going to say, but he also gave himself the benefit of the doubt that his diagnosis would be something that potentially wouldn't affect her mentality. 

Either way, he didn't want her to hear it if it was true. 

"Okay. This way."

Once outside, Simon crossed his arms over his armored chest. "According to multiple witnesses as well as my diagnosis, I-I'm afraid to inform you that I found blunt force to her-" 

"Are you implying that she was assaulted?" 

The medic nodded, a frown plastering on his face. 

Simon turned his back to him, his breathing shallow through his nose as his hands combed through his hair, his fingers twining with each other, seeing red as the nearby truck looked like a desirable target for a fierce thrust of his fist. "God-fucking-dammit!" He shouted. 

"It's likely that she doesn't remember-"

"Oh, she'll remember," Simon scoffed. "She may not remember it now, but she will. Every bit of it." 

"I understand, Sir. We've arranged a flight back to the States to a base where she will be flown back home." 

"H-How did you come up with this conclusion?" He asked, desperate to find a way for it to not be true. 

"I'm afraid I shouldn't go into explicit detail for your sake, Sir. She wasn't the only one I had to investigate this way unfortunately."

"I need to know," He huffed. "But I'm not going to ask her."

He nodded, removing his clipboard to present his report as well as external photos for a criminal investigation if needed. 

Simon hesitated before he took the clipboard, sighing as he reviewed the report, his knuckles turning white under his gloves. 

Deep bruises on her hips, tearing of her anal cavity, nylon burns against her thighs, and prominent bruising around her neck and shoulders. There was more than one who did this to her. "I know this is a lot to look at-"

"Bloody right," He grumbled. "I don't know if I can stay and watch her leave again." 

"They might grant you three days of leave for a case such as this. However, given the time it'll take for you to return to the States, your three days will be up by the time you got there."

"I don't care. As long as I know she's safe." 

"I can speak to your Captain. He'll come to you with the decision." 

"Thanks." 

"I'll give you and her some space. I'm...I'm sorry-"

Simon didn't respond. Instead, he retreated into the tent that housed Kiera, taking a seat by her side as she slept, unaware that Simon's presence woke her up. "Simon?" 

"I'm here, love. I'm not going anywhere." 

"When are we going home?" 

"Soon. I promise."

[ficmashup]

A Date

Summary: You join TF141 after something happened on your last deployment. They take you in and while it takes some time, you find yourself warming up to them, and them to you. Perhaps especially to the Captain.

A/N: These two are such idiots, I love them. I'm already feeling the itch to make this ten parts and I'm trying to resist (not really) so we'll see! I know what I want to happen next, but we'll see how many chapters it takes to get there. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Some SA references if you squint, crass language.

Word Count: 3.1k

Feral Masterlist

My foot taps insistently on the floor as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’ve changed clothes five times and while each outfit has irritated me in some way, nothing makes me more frustrated than the fact that I’ve changed clothes five times. It’s so unlike me. But there’s no protocol for going on a date with your captain. There’s fucking protocol to not date your captain. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” I take a deep breath, my gaze dropping to my phone for the dozenth time.

It’s been a couple days since Price stayed here and since we set a date to go out. Like actually go out.

The only people I can call are the people I absolutely do not want to know about this. Simon would either pretend not to care then tail us from my apartment or show up randomly wanting to meet my date. Soap would tease the hell out of me and keep bothering me until I told him who it is so he could do a background check. Gaz…he’s the wildcard. And it’s for that reason alone that I pick up the phone and call him.

The phone rings as I put it on speaker and set it on the dresser in front of me as I stare at the screen. “G? Hey!” His voice comes over and I smile a little at the instant warmth in his tone. The tapping of my foot slows.

“Gaz.” I greet him, then realize I have no clue what I’d like to say. “What are you doing?”

“I’m in the shops getting a few things for this weekend. You’re going to fucking love the dip I’m bringing.” I hear the soft shuffling of bags and more of my nerves ebb at his easygoing tone. We’re all gathering at Price’s to watch the game before we’re heading back to base this weekend. “You’re bringing something too, yeah?”

“You know I’m bringing dessert and I don’t want to hear a fucking word about it.” I bite and smile when I hear him chuckling.

“Thought your idea of dessert was sucking on a spoon of sugar, G. You know the whole point of watching the game is to eat chips and dip in front of a big tv, yeah? We don’t need dessert.”

“You need something sweet to cut the salt all of you are inhaling every second.”

“It’s a dip party.”

“It’s a football party and I’m making a dip.”

“A dessert dip? The fuck is it, a bowl of whipped cream?”

“I’ve seen you and Johnny race to finish containers of whipped cream, so don’t even try pretending you wouldn’t love that.” I’m grinning now and while a ball of nerves still remains heavy in my stomach, I no longer feel weighed down by it.

Gaz grunts over the phone. “Ugh, right. Nearly threw up after that.”

“Mmhmm.” I remember clearly, for some reason, I was suckered into rubbing both Gaz and Soap’s backs while they tried not to puke. “If you don’t want to try what I bring, then you don’t have to.” There’s a beat.

“No, I’ll try it.” He gives in almost instantly and I smirk while I walk into my kitchen, leaning against the counter while I stare at the door. A glance at the clock reveals that it’s nearly time and if there’s anything I can count on, it’s that John will be on schedule. “But did you need something, G? Or have you just missed my sweet voice?” Gaz asks and I hear some plastic crinkling as he no doubt piles chips into his shopping cart.

My lips press together for a moment as I consider what to say. “Just missed your voice, Kyle. Looking forward to trying whatever monstrosity of a dip you end up bringing.”

“Hm, careful, G. All those sweets are starting to rub off on you. That was almost sweet.”

“Fuck off.”

“Yeah, that’s more like it.”

“Bye, Gaz.”

“Later, G.”

I hang up and take a deep breath, feeling steady again before there’s a knock at the door. The zing of nerves flushes through my body and I don’t let myself think about it as I walk over and swing the door open without hesitation. My body instantly softens at the sight of Price in a white button down, pressed slacks, and a bouquet of roses. I’m struck dumb instantly.

My name falls off his lips, sweet as honey, and the way he looks me up and down makes me grateful that I finally chose a black dress. “You’re stunning.” He says it like a fact and I smile, pressing my lips together to keep from grinning like a fool as I welcome him inside. I definitely don’t let my eyes slide over his broad back and see how his pants fit his backside and thighs very nicely. “Wasn’t sure how you felt about flowers, so I figured I’d hedge my bets.” He places the beautiful bouquet on my kitchen counter while I grab a vase and I smile as I turn around to see him placing a small bag of my favored hard candies beside them.

“And you say that you’re not good at diplomacy.” I tease and earn a chuckle while I fill a vase with water.

“Don’t think many would accept flowers and candy in exchange for weapons or tac gear.” He lifts the bouquet and slides the already cut stems into the vase as I set it on the counter next to him.

“You never know. Something to try.” I smirk up at him while he smirks down at me and fuck, it’s been a long time since I’ve so easily had fun with someone. “You look really good.” I say it before I can think too hard about it and luckily, my head is blissfully quiet as his smile sweetens while those pretty blue eyes shine.

“Good thing too. Maybe I won’t look too outta place next to you.” He says and I blink before I lift my hand to flutter over my mouth to hide my wide smile. Fucking smooth talker. “Ready?” Price tilts his head towards the door and I nod, grabbing my small purse and sliding a few candies into it. He offers his arm and I take it with a little smile, feeling…well, like I’m going on an actual date.

The car ride is easy, nothing we haven’t done before, but the nerves creep back as we walk into a nice restaurant. Although it’s terribly sweet how John shifts and his hand slides over mine wrapped around his arm when he confirms the reservation. Maybe he’s as nervous as I am. “Is this your usual haunt for dates?” I ask him softly as we settle down at a table. Thankfully, it has a clear view of the doors.

John heaves a breath and shakes his head. “No. Thought that since we’re both a bit out of practice, going back to basics might be best.” He settles into his chair and there’s a small smile on my face as he looks around a bit, hands smoothing over his thighs. Somehow, him being nervous makes me less nervous. It means he cares as much as I do.

“Bet I can beat you there.” I challenge and he stills, quirking an eyebrow at me. “Two years. And a little longer if we’re talking a date with someone that matters.”

John half-smiles. “A year for me. Year and a half for anyone that mattered.” I hum, claiming my victory while his eyes sparkle with amusement just as the waiter comes by to take our drink orders. I take a small risk just to put him a little more at ease.

“An old-fashioned for him.” I order his favorite with a little smirk at the look he gives me.

He considers a moment while the waiter looks between us with a dubious expression. “Mojito to start, then white wine for dinner. Something sweet.” Price looks at me for approval and I nod, pressing my lips together to keep myself from grinning like a fool. The waiter takes this in and his bemused glance at us nearly makes me laugh as he walks away.

“Think we’re scaring the waiter.” My tone is light as my fingers glide over the silverware laid out on the table with the cloth napkin in my lap. At least I remembered a little about how to act in a place like this.

“He’ll recover.” John says without an ounce of concern and I try not to glow under his steady gaze. It feels surprisingly nice having all of his attention. I don’t mind being seen by him, never have.

My head tilts a little. “Do you enjoy scaring the general public?”

“Occasionally.” He leans forward a little and I copy him, unable to resist. “Although, I’m not the one who nearly knocked out some idiot in a bar.”

I smile at the memory. “He would have deserved it.”

Price nods without hesitation. “I almost regret not letting you. That happen often when you’re home?”

My head shakes as I fiddle with my glass of water, turning it in a slow circle. “I handle things a little differently here. My reaction there was due to being around a crowd of other military men who seem to always understand physical denials better than verbal. Something I’m sure you’re not unfamiliar with.” He sighs, but nods with reluctant acceptance. “I figured it was better to make my stance clear right away. At home, I’m a bit more lenient. More drinks thrown in people’s faces than fists.” The pads of my fingers tap against my glass as a thought occurs to me. “What’s your choice of deterrent?”

My question earns me a warm chuckle and brings the slightest of blushes to his cheeks. “Ah…most are chased off by a stern warning.” My smile widens a bit when he doesn’t deny being chased after. It’s not a surprise. In my clearly biased opinion, Price is a catch. Which makes it all the more puzzling that he’s on a date with me.

We order and conversation is easy as always. We veer away from the topic of work and speak more about our family life, what it was like for us growing up, and how we eventually decided to go into the military. It’s nice hearing him talk about himself for an extended period of time. I’m used to hearing him talk about plans, missions, and all with a firm tone with a goal in mind. Now, he’s relaxed and smiling and his tone is light. Even playful. I could listen to him talk all day.

“I don’t need dessert, John.” I insist, smiling ear to ear as he hands the dessert menu back to our waiter after already ordering me one. “I’m not going to eat it.”

“You’ll have at least one bite here, then eat it tomorrow.” He states and my head shakes while I swirl my wine around in my glass. It’s actually good. He chose well.

“Only if you have a bite too. You need more sugar in your life.” I say pointedly with laughter in my voice. His smile in return is warm and both of us have our elbows on the table as we lean towards each other.

“Good thing I have you then, sugar.” His eyes sparkle as my head ducks a moment, my face heating.

“Mm, good thing.” I return and fuck, he’s pretty when he smiles like that. All teasing and light and sweet. The dessert comes, the sweetest little thing they had on the menu, and we both take a bite as promised. I might have a few bites more before we finally walk out. The night is brisk and I pull my wrap tight around my shoulders, automatically leaning into Price’s warmth as I wrap my arm around his. He accepts me instantly and it’s easy to feel like a normal couple as we walk down the street towards his car.

“Should we think about what to tell the team or are we putting a pin in that for now?” I ask idly and Price sighs, the warm air from his lungs appearing as an amorphous shape in the cool air.

“As soon as we tell them, we’re going to hear about it for a while.”

“Weeks?”

“Months, if we’re lucky. Years, if we’re unlucky.”

I pull in a deep breath, shaking my head at the thought of the boys nagging us for so long. But it does make me happy to think about years spent with them and Price. “How about we talk about it over breakfast on Friday?” I suggest, my lips pressing together a moment as nerves swirl in my stomach. I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve asked a man out with varied success. But when I look back at Price, he just has a sweet smile on his face.

“Sounds good to me. Dinner tonight, lunch tomorrow, breakfast on Friday.” We reach the car and I raise a brow at him as he opens the passenger side door for me.

“Lunch tomorrow?” We hadn’t spoken about that yet.

He nods, a teasing glint in his eyes as he helps me up into the passenger seat. “Mmhmm. Sound good?” Good is a severe understatement, but I manage not to grin like an idiot while I nod.

“Sounds good.” I agree and that little glint grows brighter as he closes the door. I allow myself to lean my head back against the headrest as I smile as wide as I want, then compose myself as Price gets into the driver’s seat and takes me home. We both walk very slowly as we head up to my flat and I almost laugh at both of us acting like teenagers not wanting to say goodbye at the end of a date.

He sighs heavily as I unlock the door and I smirk at the sound. At least I don’t have to wonder if he had a good time. I push my door open and turn back around, leaning against the door frame. “Thank you for this.” My hands smooth down my dress as I look up at his handsome face and I’m glad he’s not wearing his usual hat pulled low over his face. I like that I get to see this side of him. “I had a really good time.”

“So did I. Thank you for letting me.” He says with a playful edge in his voice and I give him a look for the insinuation that I don’t often let anyone do anything for me. Despite it being absolutely true.

“And are you going to tell me where I’m letting you take me for lunch tomorrow?” I turn his words around on him and feel immense satisfaction as he smirks and leans against the doorframe opposite me.

“I’m going to show you a few of my favorite places around the city. It’ll be a bit more relaxed and we’ll be walking a bit, so comfortable shoes would be wise. I’ll come to pick you up at noon. Alright?” He tilts his head towards me slightly, waiting for me to agree, and I smile at his thoughtfulness as I nod.

“Alright.” I agree and we stall for another moment. We’ve reached a soft line tonight. Sure, he’s been in my apartment, ate my food, drank tea, slept in my guest room, but that was all while we were friends. He’s not getting invited inside after the first date. I cross my arms and he seems to realize the line a second afterward, smiling as he straightens and takes half a step away from my door.

“I…” He hesitates and my arms fall back to my sides as I wait for whatever he has to say. His pretty blue eyes are locked on mine with his lips parted and I raise a brow, silently telling him to go on. He takes a breath and turns his body back towards mine, but doesn’t move closer. “I’d like to kiss you, but I need you to tell me if that’s alright or not.” His voice is a touch lower and surprise trickles through me, then warmth.

I take a steadying breath before stepping towards him. “It’s okay. Just…slowly.” My eyes stay on his, my words frank and honest, just like we’ve always been with each other. He nods and leans down a bit, the only part of him touching me is a callused finger sliding under my chin to tilt my head for him. The barest touch sends electricity sparking through me.

I taste his breath first and the leftover sweetness from our last bite of dessert mixes with distinct, bitter scent of his cigars. It’s intoxicating and I hum ever so softly while my eyelids flutter. John murmurs my name before brushing his lips against mine for the first time. I stiffen out of instinct and he pulls back an inch before freezing, his eyes scanning my face. It takes a moment for me to relax and this time, I reach up and gingerly slide my hands through his beard as I get myself used to him. He sighs and I’m immediately comforted by the way he leans into my touch.

“Again.” I request, lightly scratching my dull nails over his beard without even thinking about it.

Price’s eyes widen for a moment, but he doesn’t hesitate to kiss me again. I focus on everything that makes Price, Price—the smell of his cigars, his trimmed beard, the way I can feel the tension in his hand as he tilts my chin up, doing everything he can not to touch me more because I haven’t asked for it yet, haven’t said it was okay. His lips are gentle against mine and the kiss is simple. Just a little pressure and the slightest taste of his breath once, twice, a third time before he pulls back and straightens.

Our hands fall away from one another and I rub my fingers together, still feeling the sensation of his beard under my fingertips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says in a low tone that I’ve never heard from him before and all I can do is nod. He smiles and I barely stop myself from reaching for him again as he walks down the hall and into the stairwell.

It’s only when I’m inside my apartment and leaning back against my locked door, fingers on my lips as they tingle, that I realize just how much trouble I’m in.

Taglist (I love all of you sm! <3 If anyone else wants to be tagged, lmk!)

@under-the-dirt @jj-ara33 @sorchateas @cherry-blosom-tree

@thriving-n-jiving @jinxxangel13 @emsstuff1 @missmidnight-writes @thereeallink @younggirlgenius @1wh4re1nova

[rascal-xo]

Living in the Shadows | CoD Series | Two

Pairing - TF141 x Female Reader (Callsign Dagger)

Romantic Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley × Female Reader

Series Warnings: Violence, SMUT, Language, ANGST, Gore, Smoking

Chapter Summary: You’ve met the 141, but your new mission pairing with a certain Lieutenant threatens hostility.

Part One: Here

As you approach a door marked with fading Arabic writing, Soap pushes it open, revealing a dimly lit space filled with anticipation. 2 figures are seated around a large table, their eyes focused on the holographic display projecting mission details.

"Captain, I found our special guest." Soap announces, gesturing towards you.

You enter the room, meeting the intense gazes of the iconic soldiers you've heard so much about. Captain Price, with his weathered face and piercing eyes, nods in acknowledgement. Gaz, a steadfast presence, offers you a warm nod. And then there's Ghost, the enigmatic figure shrouded in mystery, whose eyes seem to hold the weight of a thousand secrets.

"Good to see you, Sergeant. Take a seat." Price says, motioning to the empty seat at the table.

You oblige, settling into the chair next to Ghost. The room is filled with a charged silence, the anticipation almost palpable.

Captain Price clears his throat, his voice commanding the room's attention. "We have a critical mission coming up—a high-risk extraction operation deep in enemy territory. Our objective is to retrieve a high-value target who possesses crucial intelligence that could turn the tide of this conflict."

As the details of the mission unfold, you lean in, your focus unwavering. The complexity of the operation becomes apparent, with numerous potential threats and contingencies to consider.

"This mission requires specialized skills and adaptability." The captain begins to say. "From now until the time of the first leg of the mission, you all will be paired up for training."

Captain Price's words hang in the air, and you can sense the weight of the impending mission settling upon each member of the team. The room is filled with a mixture of anticipation and determination, as everyone absorbs the gravity of the task ahead.

As the briefing concludes, Captain Price looks around the table, his gaze meeting each team member's eyes with unwavering confidence. "We'll begin specialized training sessions immediately," he declares. "Ghost, Dagger, you two will be paired up due to your similar combat specialties."

You glance at Ghost, hoping to catch some indication of his thoughts. His eyes remain hidden behind the mask, his demeanor unreadable.

Over the following days, the training sessions intensify. You and Ghost are pushed to your limits, honing your skills in synchronization, stealth, and precision. Despite the grueling exercises, Ghost remains stoic, barely uttering a word. It's as if he operates in a world of his own, carrying his own burdens.

As you navigate obstacle courses, engage in close-quarters combat, and practice coordinated movements, you start to admire Ghost's prowess. His movements are swift and calculated, his instincts razor-sharp. There's no denying his skills, and you find yourself pushing harder to match his level of excellence.

However, Ghost's silence and occasional distant demeanor begin to wear on you. Over the various training courses you barely talk unless its strictly training based. You wonder if he truly respects your abilities or if he simply tolerates your presence.

During a break in your sparring session you notice Ghost, as usual, stands at a distance, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Frustration bubbles within you, and a determination to break through his silent façade takes hold.

Summoning your courage, you approach Ghost, still catching your breath from the activity before. "Ghost," you begin, your voice steady, "Am I doing something wrong?"

Ghost turns his head towards you, his eyes concealed behind the mask. His response is curt, yet tinged with an underlying sense of emotion. "You're doing fine, Sergeant."

His vague reply frustrates you, but you refuse to back down. The tension between you has become palpable, and you yearn for some form of understanding. Gathering your thoughts, you press further.

"If I'm gonna be going into the death zone with you, we might as well skip the awkward lack of pleasantries." You let out a dry laugh.

Ghost's masked face remains inscrutable as he meets your gaze. There's a flicker of surprise in his eyes at your directness, but he doesn't respond immediately. The weight of the silence settles heavily between you, and you can't help but wonder if you've overstepped some unspoken boundary.

After what feels like an eternity, Ghost finally speaks, his voice low and measured. "We're getting off task." His words hang in the air, leaving you slightly deflated. It's not the answer you were hoping for, but it's the only one he offers.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, realizing that Ghost's reserved nature might be more deeply ingrained than you initially thought.

With a tinge of disappointment, you decide to accept his response for what it is. You can't force someone to open up, especially not when the mission takes precedence. Ghost's skills and expertise are undeniable, and the team's success hinges on your ability to work together

if he won't talk, then neither will you, you decide as you take your stance on the sparring mat once again coming face to mask with him.

Main CoD Taglist: @pukbadger @fiveshelmet @myguiltypleasures21 @madamemelaninn @emmaadlerrichtofen1 @swissy23 @thatchickwiththecamera

Series Taglist: @glitterypirateduck @swissy23 @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @ner-dee @your-antares-universe @kittyoonsstuff @deadbranch @thriving-n-jiving

A/N: Hope you enjoyed chapter 2! Stories starting to establish itself so now I can get into all the fun action packed stuff :))

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Leave it to the land - Chapter 7

The world has ended, it's over—except some people can't seem to accept that. Those same people think the cure lies in people like you and your little sister. And they're willing to do anything to find it.

The road to safety is a long one, and you're about to learn that it isn't one you can walk alone.

Read it on ao3

Tag list: @elentiyaiswriting @sxnshinebxcky

"This wasn't part of the plan, Gaz."

Kyle rubs his hands over his face for the hundredth time but Ghost doesn't relent.

"You were meant to get on the inside and see if they were making any strides with research, not invite them all back to one of our fuckin' safe houses."

"Yeah, well things went a bit tits up, didn't they? It took them a while to warm up to me and then the place got overrun. But Ghost, listen-"

Kyle lowers his voice and takes a step to close the distance between them, which isn't hard— he’s got them crammed into what looks like a linen cupboard and it’s cramped enough as it is.

"They are making progress, alright? More than we were managing-"

"Easy to do when you don't care if the people you test on live or die," Ghost gripes.

"You don't think I know that?" Kyle shouts,then stops, taking a breath and visibly calming himself.

"I know how they do things isn't right, but our lot weren't getting anywhere, alright? Not for months." Kyle looks wild-eyed now and Ghost reaches out a hand, shaking his shoulder roughly. That seems to help, seems to ground him slightly. He takes a deep breath and looks steadily at Ghost

"He's not going to test on humans, Si. We were able to take enough of his samples and equipment and he's going to finish his work without all that. He's going to find a cure."

He looks at Ghost fiercely, as if daring him to disagree. Simon, looking down at him, feels pity for his friend. But he also feels ... something else.

"So … that's not why you told her and the kid to come here?"

The pain on Kyle's face is answer enough.

"I'd never do that, never. Fuck, Ghost."

He turns away, running his hands through his hair again. After a few minutes, he looks up, looking even more desperate than he did before.

"You believe me, don't you, mate?"

And he does. But then he looks up at the ceiling. You'd been convinced to hang around, at least for the night, and you'd silently accepted Kyle's offer that you and Dot take his room, while he slept on a sofa downstairs.

"I believe you, mate. I’m just not sure she's going to believe it, mate."

And Gaz' silence is evidence enough that he agrees.

“Everyone pitches in here. That's how it works, no exceptions.”

It's the guy from the roof, Jeremy. He speaks flatly, with dislike in every syllable. Ghost doesn't mind, he's well used to people not liking him.

Except, strangely enough, you don't seem to dislike him as much now. You'd sat next to him this morning, at breakfast,which had been served in one of the other barns, squeezing Dot between you and the wall. Neither of you spoke but it was still the most civil meal you'd had in your time together.

After breakfast, when the room had emptied, you'd been approached by Jeremy. He'd felt you tense up as soon as the man sat across from you, which made sense, considering his eye was still swollen from where you'd hit him. Ghost smirked under his mask—you really had got him good.

“If you're staying, we'll assign you a job, based on your skills. We're trying to get set up to be totally self-sufficient here—running water, vegetable gardens, livestock. And, of course, we need round the clock security.”

He glances at Ghost, then quickly away.

“Kyle's already told us about you—you've been assigned to help there. But you,”

He looks at you and his mouth twitches up at the sides cruelly.

“What can you do?”

You tense up even more, then tilt your chin up.

“You don't think I'm up for doing security? I'm pretty good at holding my own.”

You look at him pointedly and Ghost huffs out a laugh. Jeremy flushes.

“That was a fluke,” he hisses. “You came at me from the side, I wasn't even looking in your direction.”

“Good thing the tier fives always announce themselves before they attack, then,” you say sarcastically.

Jeremy stands up, slamming his hands down on the table. To your credit, you don't flinch, just crane your neck back to keep eye contact.

“You're on security.” He jabs a finger in Ghost's direction, without looking away from you.

“You're on kitchen duty. Food prep.”

He leans in close, face a few inches from yours.

“And don't forget that you're working to feed two.” His eyes flicker to Dot for a second, then back to you. You're rigid now. He taps his hands on the table again, lighter this time.

“No slacking. Kitchen in 10 minutes. You find Kyle.” He points at Ghost and walks off.

“Dick,” you mutter and when Ghost laughs again, you almost smile. Almost.

You don't find another opportunity to smile all day.

The woman in charge of running the kitchen, Maureen, informs you that, with their “new arrivals”, their numbers are at over 50, with meals for all of them being cooked in the kitchen in the main house. That means there’s a lot of work. For both of you.

She's nice enough, gives Dot a brownie and sits her at the table with some sheets of paper to draw.

“This is just for today, y’hear? There’s a bunch of other kids running around here for you to play with. Some folks run classes for them during the day too, to keep them outta my kitchen. But just today you can stay close to your mom.”

“She's not my mom.” That shouldn't hurt, when Dot says that but for some reason, it does. You laugh it off.

“I'm not that old, even if I feel it sometimes. And I think I am here to stay so put me to work!”

You're doing your best to have a can-do attitude and Maureen is nice enough not to laugh at you.

She’s a big talker, jabbering away as you work, you cutting vegetables while she hacks apart a chicken at the table behind you. As it goes, it takes a while for you to get a word in edgeways.

“So, what was this place? Before the visitors came, I mean.”

“Safehouse. For members of the wider 141.”

“141?” you ask.

“You know, your man's unit. Old unit now, I suppose.”

“My m-, you mean Ghost?”

She nods.

“He was an original member, of course. Causing quite the stir, having two members here, I don't mind tellin’ ya’. Plus, Kyle spoke very highly of you at the meeting this morning, from what I’ve heard.”

Your head is spinning.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to explain this to me like I'm five years old. Please.”

You hear her put her knife down and turn around to find her watching you carefully.

“You really don't know?”

You don't know what it is you're supposed to know, which amounts to the same thing, so you shake your head.

“Neither of them told you? Huh.” She appraises you again, pursing her lips, then strolls around the table to lean against it, arms folded.

“The 141 were a military unit before all this happened. They were called in to help control the situation, back when the outbreak happened, but by the time they got back from overseas, that was impossible.”

You nod, following so far.

“They travelled to the main testing centre, I'm assuming to get some idea of what was going on, and when they got there, they were asked to help secure the testing centres, which they did for a while.”

She stresses this last sentence, seeing your lip curl.

“After a while, they started to disagree with how things were bein’ run. What they were doing to the people there-”

You don't know if you imagine her glancing at your wrist, where your tattoo is just visible. You fold your own arms.

“Anyway, they cleared out and started a new programme, still focused on finding a cure, just with different … different methods, I guess you could say. Some a’ the doctors there went with ‘em and this original crowd weren't very happy about that. Don't reckon they'll be happy that we've got a few more on our side now too.”

She glances out the window suddenly.

“Probably for the best your man got here. I got a feelin’ people here are gearing up for a fight—somethin’s brewin’ alright.”

“Argyle isn't on our side. Your side,” you correct. “He's evil, pure and simple and if he's pretending otherwise, it's only because he thinks there's something in it for him.”

Maureen raises an eyebrow.

“People do change, y’know.”

“Not that much,” your retort.

She looks at you for another second, then nods.

“Well, you're entitled to your opinion. Lord knows, I won't try and change it. And if Kyle says you're a good’un, I'll take that to the bank. Good boy, he is. Good head on his shoulders.”

She looks sideways at you, suddenly shrewd.

“He, uh, he know about you and Ghost? Is that why y’all argued?”

You feel your face heating.

“There is no me and Ghost,” you splutter. “We met Ghost and he wanted to find Kyle—I was just … just showing him the way.”

It sounds pathetic even to your ears, but Maureen just hums.

“Whatever you say, darlin’. I sure as hell won't try and change your mind on that neither.”

Dinner is served in the same room as breakfast and you and Maureen are expected to serve it.

“We’d usually have more help but the other girl is sick today,” Maureen tells you in an undertone. “Once we're done here, you're done for the day. There's another crew that does cleanup.”

The last hour of your shift passes in a blur. You dole out bowls of food, keeping one eye on Dot. Maureen had parked her at a table of kids around her age but the whole time you watch her she doesn't say a word. You're not sure what’s worse: the idea of her becoming comfortable around people her own age, with all the risks that come with trusting strangers, or the idea of her not being comfortable with anyone, ever.

When you're done, you hover, not sure whether to pull her away so the two of you can sit alone or not. While you're deciding, you accidentally catch Kyle's eye. He's looking at you from across the room and when you meet his eyes, he makes a gesture, like he wants you to come over. You recognise the back of Ghost's head from where he sits across from him.

You turn your head away, just in time to see that Dot has started talking to a girl sitting next to her. You haven't seen her speak to a kid her own age in years.

You stare for a second more, then plop yourself down at the closest table to eat your dinner alone.

[halfmoth-halfman]

do you have any headcannons about designer dress you can disclose? every now and then i create some of my own, but it's great finding out about the "official" ones, like why did you choose canary as mc's moniker? are we going to find out more about laswell and price? maybe gaz's mom? she seems important... what about farah's relationship with john? and some tidbits as well, like why blue? why valeria's "day job" is fashion designer? sorry the questionnaire, any piece would be great! i'm just in awe with the whole ambience you've created. much love! xx

oh i’ve got plenty of headcanons. some i won’t go into too much detail about because it would dipping into spoiler territory, but here ya go:

gaz was a big momma's boy as a kid, and when she died so soon after his father it left him with a lot of big, confusing feelings for an 8-9 year old

he was angry at price for a long time after his parents' deaths and it wasn't until well into his teenage years that he started warming up to price

farah was adopted after gaz, when her parents were killed during price's and the 141's first go around with makarov when they were both building their "empires" (we'll go more into that in the next few chapters)

gaz and farah took to each other easily, often finding comfort in their similar struggles and complicated feelings for price

price does everything he can to help gaz and farah remember their parents, mostly out of respect and love for them and their parents, but also due to that quiet guilt that he's the reason their parents are gone

gaz goes back on forth on calling price dad, but always refers to farah as his sister

farah does not call price dad, it’s always either old man or price

farah does think of gaz as a brother, but can’t bring herself to actually call him that because it makes her think of hadir

farah and gaz are best friends through and through tho

price cannot visit their parents' graves with them, he doesn't feel he has a right to, and if he goes with one of them he’ll wait in the car until they’re done to go to the grave himself

price has talked about canary to gaz’s dad’s grave

i hc price's favorite color as blue in general, hence all the blue he puts his women in

there is a difference between the blues when he gets canary a dress vs when valeria makes her one

valeria's come in various shades of blue while price's are always the same shade of blue as his eyes

he is absolutely doing it as a way to mark his territory

graves loves his women in gold and jewels and designer, it's a way to show off his wealth and status and how much he spoils them

it's all part of a carefully put together show to make himself look good

makarov does not give a fuck about any of that

his women are on display as a way to taunt and tempt his enemies because they know better than to touch what's his and he drapes them in blood-colored fabric as warning

price had a playboy phase after his (amicable) divorce from kate and it only got worse when gaz’s parents died

he never loved or really cared for any of his significant others, knowing most were just after his money, status, or bragging rights - they used him and he used them as a stress relief

when gaz moved in to the manor, he tried a few short-lived relationships that never lasted more than a few months

he stopped completely when farah moved in

price tried dating once or twice when gaz and farah were older and things were more stable but it was never anything serious until canary

price has never been in love until canary

price, nik, and gaz's dad were bffs with farah's dad joining later, and nik loves gaz and farah like his own

at one point, shepherd was included in that little group

alex and farah had a romcom-esque meet-cute at a 141 gala where alex was a guest of kate's

alex fell first, farah fell harder

price, and the rest of the 141, are good friends with kate's wife, but they don't see her often since she's not involved in their business

kate tries to keep her wife separate from that side of her life for her own safety

roach, könig, and horangi live in a three-bedroom apartment because the third bedroom was originally ghost's

outside of soap, ghost is probably closest to roach and sees him as a younger brother

no one except ghost knows how old roach is, he changes the answer every time someone asks him

roach was not born mute, it happened during a bar fight where he shielded ghost from someone with a broken bottle

ale/val/rudy have known each other since they were kids

rudy always had feelings for alejandro but never said anything, content to be friends

alejandro and valeria dated first, they broke up when valeria and alejandro disagreed with how to run the vaqueros

alejandro and rudy started dating in that time, but rudy broke up with him when valeria came back and rudy felt like alejandro wasn't over her

it was a lot of drama and feelings being shoved down that culminated in one night of drinking, arguing about emotions, and eventually a threesome

the three have been together ever since

alejandro and rudy do not necessarily approve of what valeria does with her own business - she takes a very jason todd approach to it all (aka "you can't stop crime, but you can control it") - but she does get positive results so the arguments are few and far between

rudy is a doctor first and foremost, but he's always enjoyed cooking (something something cutting into meat the same way he'd cut into a body something something) and it was his own suggestion for him to be the club chef

valeria never intended to do fashion design, but she enjoys the finer things and has specific tastes for how she wants to look

since every tailor/designer she had hired eventually ended up disappointing her, she took up the job herself

running a club was nik's idea, and it took him a few months and a lot of badgering to convince price to go along with it

price agreed only because 13-year-old gaz mumbled that "it'd be kinda cool" one night at dinner

the singer position at the club was made specifically for farah because she found comfort singing songs her mother used to sing to her and hadir when they were little

on special occasions, soap will take over at the bar and alex will get on stage and play guitar alongside farah as she sings

soap was gaz’s friend that he introduced to the club and he became fast friends with everyone

eventually price hired him after recognizing how smart and perceptive soap was

soap is in his position for a reason, the guests are more than happy to ogle the handsome server with too many buttons undone and not notice that he's watching them back with a far sharper eye

soap and ghost were supposed to be a one-time thing meant for stress relief but ghost caught feelings and kept coming back

it took ghost ages to admit he cared for soap and when the realization hit, it scared the hell out of him but roach convinced him to talk it out with soap

soap is the only person ghost would ever disobey price for, but he would never admit that

alex gushes to gaz about farah nonstop and talks about how he knew he was going to marry her the moment they met

gaz was happy for them, but he never really got it...until he met tabby

nik sometimes gets too drunk and reminisces about his wife back home

no one knows if he actually has a wife, or where “back home” is, his stories are all the same, but the little details change every time

könig and horangi were together before they joined the 141, and könig moved in with roach and ghost completely unaware that they worked for price

the 141 refers to kortac as "könig's people" because it's a far more complicated system of contacts and connections that would take a week to describe

ghost’s entire spine pops when he gets out of bed in the morning, and it freaks soap out

roach was a track star in highschool

price has the highest kill count in the 141, soap and valeria have a not-so-friendly competition going for second place

canary got her nickname from her father

graves did have romantic feelings for canary at one point, but that quickly got overshadowed by his want for adler to recognize and approve of him

adler only approved canary and graves’s marriage because canary asked him to - the contract was his one condition for that approval

russell adler died two days after canary and graves got married

graves only has two preferences when it comes to his women: rich & powerful

price cares about his people, but it borders on a possessiveness that he keeps very well hidden

price has built a very strict set of rules about who his people kill and how far they can and cannot go

he will end business relationships if someone steps out of line

valeria has come close on several occasions

makarov does not care - he will kill men, women, children, old, young, pregnant, etc. blood is blood, it doesn't matter who it comes from

that’s not say price wouldn’t do what needs to be done to protect his people

price cares about family above all else, and he will go scorched earth on anyone who would dare to threaten or hurt them

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 5 - Wouldn't It Be Nice?

<<First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized Reader/OC, female Reader/OC, John introduces Doll to some normal people, Everyone learns new things about each other, Manipulation, PTSD, Doll has a tragic backstory, Doll is kinda sorta Catholic? Who knew (me I knew)

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above but honestly this chapter is pretty mild all considered.

Ghost, Soap and Gaz come back a few hours later with the blue sports car (a bit scratched up, but tail-light repaired) and a pick up truck that looks a lot like the one John had before, but a generation older, and green instead of gray. John speaks to them briefly before he coaxes you into the truck and drives off, promising that the others will be gone before you get back.

He drives a few miles down the road, and pulls up in front of a little farmhouse. It looks idyllic, children and a dog playing in the yard. Two people on the porch wave, and John hops out and circles around right quick to open your door and help you down.

The couple trots up to greet you both. "Who's this?" The woman asks, looking at you and beaming. "You finally introducing us to a girlfriend?"

"Doesn't feel like the right word, does it, doll?" John winks at you, like your circumstances are all just a funny little blip, nothing nefarious or terrifying about it.

"No, it doesn't," you agree, keeping your face carefully neutral. "I'm Dalisay. Nice to meet you, um, Melissa, right?" You stick your hand out and shake hers. There’s no sense in being rude to them, just because they know John. He’s probably smart enough to keep his old life, and his boys away from his new one as much as possible.

"The very same! We were a bit worried John was going to be an eternal bachelor. Nice to see he's found someone." She introduces her husband, Rob, and her kids, Hannah, Haley and Jackson, who are ten, seven and five, respectively.

"Do you want to see the puppies?" Haley asks, grabbing your hand. Jackson grabs the other one and they pull you along to the garage, not waiting for an answer. You very deliberately don’t look over your shoulder at John, because you’re fairly sure that he’ll be looking back at you with a sickeningly hopeful expression. His comments from last night still ring in your ears, and you’re not willing to indulge that foolish fantasy of his.

The puppies are in a play pen with high enough walls to contain them, but still allow their mother to hop in and out. She hops out to inspect you, sniffing your outstretched hands warily. Her tail starts to wag after a moment, and you give her a proper pat, smiling. The dog has soft ears and a silky, black and tan coat, but you're not sure what type of dog she is.

"What's her name?" you ask, kneeling down.

"Bonnie-bell," Hannah says. "And our other dog is Charaid."

"Proper Scottish names," you say. The kids all have a slight burr, and although Melissa sounds scouse, it's the first hint as to where you are.

"Da said we was gettin' too English, livin' in London," Haley says. "I like it better here anyway. Mum says maybe we can get some coos. "

"I grew up near Aberdeen," you say. "But I've lived in Manchester too long. Lost my accent."

"No' far off, then, aye? We're only about an hour and a bit south and west," Rob says, appearing at the open garage door to supervise. His stern face looks friendlier now that he knows you're not proper English. "Was worried John dragged some poor city girl out'f England to live out here."

You hum. "Well, I am something of a city girl now. Been in Manchester since I was seventeen."

"Weel, welcome home then," Rob says with a wink. "We'll get ye proper re-acclimated soon enough." He leans over and plucks a puppy out of the sleeping pile inside the pen, and hands it to you. The pup is at the age where its somewhere between looking like a potato and a proper dog, maybe six or seven weeks old. "Gordon setter, by the by," he says. "Good dogs."

"Cute too." You settle the puppy in your lap, petting its soft little head. Bonnie-bell licks your wrist and hops back into the pen to lay down next to the others.

"Ye want one? This girl's no' spoken for yet. John's been hemmin' and hawin' about it, but I figure he wouldna want ta leave ye home alone, neither."

"Oh, I'm not sure I'll be staying that long. I'm only here because there was an incident at my apartment and John wouldn't hear of me staying anywhere else." You're not certain why you're stretching the truth to fit around what he and his wife think is happening, but you have no idea what John would do if you did say something. Maybe he would laugh it off like you were making a joke, or maybe he would snap. You don't really think he would hurt these people, but there's a wide-eyed prey animal in the back of your mind that warns you to be cautious, to be careful.

"We'll talk about it," John says from behind you. You hadn't even noticed his approach, with the noise the kids had made when they dashed back outside. "I'm trying to convince her to stay."

"Ye've gotta buy her a ring, ye daft bastard," Rob says, laughing. "A good catholic girl isna goin' ta wait for you ta get yer head out'f yer arse."

"If you don't, I'll introduce her to some lads in town that will," Melissa threatens. "Pretty girl like her has better options than you, old man. Better make your move before she realizes it." She swats John on the arm playfully.

You laugh nervously, touching the little cross around your neck absently. The puppy in your lap seems to sense your discomfort, because she starts wiggling in your arms and trying to lick your chin, little tail wagging. John kneels down beside you so he can pet the puppy too, eyes creased with a smile. "Is that it, doll? You need me to buy you a ring?"

"John," you say warningly. "We don't need to talk about this right now."

"No, I suppose you've had a rough morning. I'll try again later."

"You're impossible."

"Think you might kind of like that about me," he says.

"Not remotely. I think you're an awful, stubborn man," you tell him. Your voice comes out softer and sweeter than you intend, like you don't really mean it, even though it's true. The smile around his eyes grows deeper.

"I am." He picks up the puppy and holds her up in front of his face. "What do you think, girl?" he asks. The little dog's tail wags furiously, and she answers with a high pitched yip. And then she endears herself to you by trying to bite John’s nose. He looks stunned for a moment, but he grins when you start laughing. “Guess we’re all in agreement then,” he says, setting her down in the pen and standing up.

You accept his hand up, and quickly put a little distance between the two of you, before he anchors you to his side with a solid arm, or tries to reel you in close for a kiss. Rob and Melissa invite you in for a cup of tea, and somehow you end up sitting at a dining room table that’s obviously mostly used for crafts, and handed a piece of blank printer paper by Haley, and told by Jackson that you should draw dragons with them. The walls of the dining room are filled with tacked up juvenile masterpieces— Dragons seem to be a particular fixation of Jackson’s, whereas Hannah and Haley have more varied portfolios.

John stands leaning in the door to the kitchen, talking to Rob and Melissa quietly enough that you can’t quite pick up his words over the children’s chatter. You hate him a little for this, dangling Rob and Melissa’s idyllic little life in front of you. The implication is obvious. We could have this, his blue eyes seem to say when you look his way. Wouldn’t that be nice?

It’s frustrating, and confusing. You want to keep him at arms length for your own safety, but he’s already doing his best to roll right past your doubts and better judgment, like they’re just silly barriers between now and the future he’s dreamed up for the two of you.

And worse, you do want it.

“Didn’t know you were an artist,” he says on the drive back. Jackson had been so excited about the dragon that you drew for him that he’d shown his parents and John.

“There’s a long list of things you don’t know about me,” you say.

"For now. We'll get there, sweetheart."

You hum, looking out the window. Spending time with the Stuarts has you wistful and homesick for something you can't get back. Days like this, you'd usually pour yourself a glass of wine, look through your family photo albums and have a good cry before going to bed early. It's been a while since it's caught up with you like this, but you'd always been reliant on your routine, burying grief in structure and familiarity. "Do we need to?"

"I'd like to."

"I'm not going to be what you want me to be."

John drums his fingers against the steering wheel. "What is it that you think I want?"

"Some little housewife. Someone soft and sweet to come home to."

"You seem plenty soft and sweet to me."

You sigh, pulling your arms around yourself. "I'm not consistent. I don't know what Johnny told you I was like, but he only knows me from work. I'm not like that all the time."

"I don't expect you to be."

"You say that now, but you'll change your mind."

"I'm not stupid enough to change my mind based on a bad day or two, doll. You're allowed to be upset. I wouldn't blame you if you spend the next week slamming doors and snapping at me. I'm still going to like you." He puts a hand on your knee and squeezes gently. Men like him shouldn't be allowed to have such attractive hands, and you shouldn't be attracted to hands like his, scarred knuckles, a few fingers broken and healed crooked. You know he's killed people, know it would be so easy for him to kill you. It turns your stomach that you feel any kind of desire for him at all.

Men like him are no different than the ones that killed your parents. Dealing death is not a noble trade, there's nothing honourable about exporting violence.

You push his hand away, and keep your eyes trained on the window.

He sighs, but he doesn't press the issue, just clicks on the radio to fill the silence.

When you get back to his house he sets you up in a cozy room down the hall from the more open main space where the kitchen is, an office of some kind with a couple of arm chairs and a desk with a clunky looking laptop set on top. The room smells kind of smoky, but you're just glad to have a door you can close while he "moves some things around". He opens the laptop up so you can watch something, but you just curl up in one of the armchairs and fall asleep.

When you wake, the door is open, one of your blankets is draped over you, and there's a mug of tea sitting on the desk, alongside a couple biscuits. You uncurl, your muscles stiff and joints cracking from not moving for too long, and pick up the tea. It's cold, like it had been left a while ago, but you drink it anyway, and eat the biscuits. There's a note underneath, explaining that John had run out to the shops, and that he'd be back by 18:00. You shake your head, and check the time on the laptop. 18:00 exactly.

Military habits must die hard. You imagine he’s usually prompt too, so you wander out into the main room, and put the clean dishes in the rack away. You realize that the living room side has been rearranged, condensed to a slightly smaller footprint, with some open space left by the far corner behind the bigger couch. The smaller leather sofa has been replaced with the little red love-seat from your apartment, and your T.V. is sitting on it’s familiar perch on the refinished credenza that you’d painted twining vines and little red flowers up the side of. You’d found it on by the curb on the Kinsey’s street a few years ago, and your friend Ripley had bused over and helped you carry it all the way back to your apartment.

You’re not sure you like seeing more of your things merging into John’s house, like any of it belongs there when you still want to insist that you’ll be leaving soon. You hate him for being presumptuous, but you can’t help but think it’s sweet, too, that he makes space for you so readily, that he’ll happily include your painted flowers and colourful blankets and bright red couch into space that was all his just twenty four hours ago. That he would leave you tea and biscuits for when you woke up, that he would tuck a blanket around you while you slept. You’re not used to someone wanting to take care of you, and it feels strange.

Strange, but nice too.

You glance at the clock on the wall, realizing that it’s twenty past six, and John still isn’t back. It’s getting darker out there, the sun nearly setting, and as much as you try to tell yourself that you’re not worried, it’s hard to deny the stab of relief when you finally see the truck's lights pull up the wooded drive.

You slip on your trainers and step outside as he parks. He grins at you around a lit cigar as he hops out. “Did you miss me, doll?” he asks, insufferably smug.

“Your note said you’d be back at six,” you say lamely. “I just wasn’t sure if you’re usually on time.”

“Usually am. Got caught talking to Wells, down on the corner. Seems someone drove right through his fence last night. Teenagers, like as not. I’m goin’ to help him fix it tomorrow.”

“Oh.” You grimace. He must know it was really you. “Sorry about that.”

“No harm. By the sounds of it, you’re quite the driver. Soap said you nearly ran him off the road. That what they teach these days?”

“Defensive driving is well and good, but offensive driving gets you the last good spot in the lot,” you say.

He laughs out loud at that, and leans over to pick up a big paper bag from the passenger side. “Here, can you take this in while I grab the groceries?”

You take the bag (which is slightly greasy and smells like curry), and shift it to one hip. “Can I take anything else?”

He nods and hands you a second paper bag, this one with two wine bottles inside. “Wasn’t sure if you liked red or white, so I got both.”

You settle the bags in your arms and turn to walk away. “Bad time to tell you I like rosé hm?” you tease, glancing over your shoulder.

“Terrible timing. But that’s alright. One more thing, doll.”

You turn back toward him, and he’s right there. One big hand cups your jaw and then his lips are on yours, pressing a kiss that tastes like smoke against you. You stand frozen, holding onto your cargo for dear life, too surprised to do anything. It’s just as well, because in that moment you’re not sure if you’d slap him or pull him closer.

He pulls away without trying to deepen the kiss, which is a relief. You’re certain that you’d drop dinner and the wine.

“John, that wasn’t fair.” Your feet are still frozen in place, and his hand is still on your cheek, his fingers threaded into your hair.

His eyes practically sparkle. He’s entirely too pleased with himself. “Not fair because I kissed you, or not fair because I stopped before we got to the best part?”

Your cheeks flame hot, and you pray that he can’t feel it. “You can’t just— You’re impossible.” It takes concentrated effort to take ordinary, measured steps to the door instead of running. The effect he has on you is apparently very obvious. He never would have tried it if he didn’t know you were teetering on the edge of giving in already.

Boundaries need to be set-- Set and followed-- before you can really even contemplate letting this get any further. Unchecked, you have no doubt that John will have you underneath him in a matter of days. Once that happens you know he'll never let you go, and you'll never have peace of mind if you don't really get to know him first. You know he's not as good as he makes himself out to be, but you suspect he's a better man than your deepest fears might whisper to you. He's genuine about his wants, but that's not enough. You need to know him before you can trust him.

You set your packages down on the table and turn to open the door wide for John as he carries a tote full of groceries into the house. “Thanks, doll.”

The paper bag rips when you open it to pull take-out containers out, setting them on the table neatly. "John, can we talk?" You ask, glancing at him as he stows things in the fridge.

"Course, doll. What's on your mind?"

Nerves threaten to choke you, so you take a steadying breath, in and out, trying to quiet the sea of dread that pitches back and forth in your stomach. “You can’t just take what you want from me. Not if you’re serious about wanting this to be something. I’m afraid of you, John, and I’m not going to fight you. If you push me, I’ll fold, and I’ll hate you for it.”

He pauses, holding a box halfway lifted to the cupboard. It takes a moment before he moves again, setting the box on the shelf slowly. The silence is palpable in the room, settling across both of you like a thick blanket of snow. You fold the ripped takeout bag flat, nervous, the crinkle of heavy paper hardly breaking through the rush of blood in your ears, the panic that grips you by the throat. It’s as though the admission has given your body the chance to catch up with everything that’s happened in the last two days.

You’d been drugged and taken from your home, you’d been handed off to someone you didn’t know, with no clear indication if you’re free to leave or not, you’ve been picked up and manhandled and shot at.

Darkness flickers in the corners of your vision. All you can hear is the pounding of your own heart, the sick, dizzying drums of war, and high pitched ringing like a flat-lining hospital monitor, and screaming, and the rapid burst of machine gun fire. No. The screaming you hear is just in your head, the gunshots aren’t real, they can’t be. It’s not happening, it’s over, it’s been over for a decade, you’re safe.

Except you’re not safe.

Hands land on your shoulders. You lash out, fists striking something solid, knocking the hands away. You have to get away, you have to hide until it goes quiet again. Arms wrap around you in a tight hug, stilling your thrashing limbs and bringing you down to the floor gently.

“Doll! Dalisay, sweetheart, you’re alright, come back.” The voice has authority. You know that voice. It rumbles, shaking loose memory. “Come on, love, breathe slow. You’re okay.” You breathe in, warm spice and tobacco smoke, not burning petrol, not scorched flesh. You’re kneeling on the floor, and John is holding you tight, thighs bracketing yours.

The fight melts out of your limbs.

You’re not safe, but you’re not in danger either. John loosens his hold on you and cups your face, his worried face eclipsing all else. “Doll, where’d you go?” he asks. “What happened?”

“Panic attack,” you lie, because that’s easier to say than My parents were killed in a terrorist attack while we were visiting London ten years ago and sometimes I get so stressed out that I forget it’s not still happening. “I’m fine, I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t a panic attack, doll. Worked with Simon long enough to recognize PTSD. You were somewhere else.”

It’s hard to imagine that Ghost is as fallible, as human as you are, but you suppose there’s no shortage of opportunities for even the the biggest, toughest military men to to wade hip deep in trauma. The worst day of your life would be just another mission for them. The worst day of their lives would probably kill you outright.

"Yeah, I guess it was," you admit haltingly. "Everything just caught up with me. I won't let it happen again."

He shakes his head. "Did I set it off? I need to know— I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

"No, it's not like that. It’s just stress. It's been building since I got here."

"I guess that's what you meant in the truck, huh?"

You nod weakly. "I don't think I can explain it any better right now. But maybe tomorrow."

"Alright." John sighs, some of the tension in his shoulders releasing. " I don't want you to be afraid of me, doll."

"Then you're going to have to give me time, and space. I need to know what kind of man you are. And you should get to know who I am too.” There’s a wrinkle in his shirt, so you fixate on that rather than look right at him, smoothing it out with your fingers. “Let’s worry about becoming friends, for now. And then we can see if there’s something more.”

He doesn’t like that, you can tell by the way he pulls his hands back, reluctant to let go of you. But still, he nods, and smiles ruefully after a moment. “Guess I’m not as patient as I think I am. Too eager to get to the good part.”

You laugh lightly, the sound shaky from frayed nerves. “John, if we can be kind to each other, and come to an understanding, then it’s all the good part. You can’t build the things you want on foundations like this and hold it all together with sheer force of will.”

“You sure about that?" he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "I’ve heard I’m pretty stubborn.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his. You still feel unsettled, your heart still pounding, your stomach still roiling with anxiety. The emotion in those blue eyes is something you can't identify, something fathomless that strikes you with a foreign kind of fear, the kind that's shot through with hope that you shouldn't feel.

“You don’t know me too well yet, John,” you say gently, “but so am I.”

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[ghostssweetgirl]

crazy over you ~ simon ghost riley x reader slow burn/enemies to lovers

description: y/n gets transferred to task force 141 and quickly becomes friends with soap and gaz, but her and ghost "hate" each other for the first part.

warnings: mentions of violence and death (duh), alcohol intake, smoking (at some point), nsfw (at some point), subtle flirting with soap. i'm new to writing? so don't expect this to be the greatest. this is not in line with the game campaigns or missions. the only characters i included are y/n, soap, gaz, price, & ghost. i have no knowledge of the military this is just creativity

disclaimer: i do not own modern warfare or any of its characters.

chapters: next [alone] last

A/N - short chapter, sorry! I know you guys might be mad at me for the last chapter! It'll be alright 😋

--

It's been a long week. No one has visited you lately, either. The nurses have been busy, so they've been behind on your pain medicine schedule. This is definitely the worst pain you've felt, so much that you come to tears every day over it. Of course, on top of that, Simon "breaking it off" helped your tears flow heavier. Seriously? All of that. You just had sex, and he's done? You really couldn't believe it. You played with the necklace he gave you all the time thinking of him. 

Finally, some knocks fall upon the door. The nurse walks in, "Hey, sweetie. Got your meds, and you have some visitors. Aww, sweetie." She notices your tears. "It'll be alright."

"Yeah, right," you scoff, taking the pill with the cup of water she handed you.

"You have some visitors today!" she smiles. "Shall I welcome them in?"

"I guess... Wait, who is it?"

"Two guys, I'm assuming from your force?" 

"I guess..." you lean back, still playing with the necklace. 

"I'll leave you guys be..." she walks out, leaving the door open for them to come in. In walks Soap and Gaz, both sighing when they see you.

Soap walks up, kneeling down beside your bed, noticing your teary eyes. "What's wrong, lass?"

You shrug, a ball of fire catching in your throat as you try to hold back the tears. You manage to choke out, "Every fucking thing."

He frowns and grabs your shaking hand from the necklace, "Hey... 'S alright, y/n. Yer tough, y'know."

"Yeah, right," you snorted. "Haven't proved myself one fucking bit. You guys probably think I'm shit at this job. Maybe I shouldn't have transferred here."

"Tha' sin bullshit," he laughed. 

"Hey, we're proud of you, y/n," Gaz chimed in. 

"Thanks, I guess," you sniffled, wiping your tears.

Soap sat up, patted your shoulders and sucked in a breath. "L.T. may act like he doesn't care, but deep down he does, lass..."

"Oh, yeah, right... He already let me know how it is, it's alright," you shrugged, bursting into tears again.

Soap and Gaz look at each other confused, but don't add to the pain. They don't want to push you any further. 

"We hope you feel better, Diamond," Gaz smiles at you. "We'll leave you alone for now, we'll be visiting between missions. Sorry it took so long to visit you."

"No worries, guys," you smiled weakly. "Do better than me."

--

For two more weeks, you're alone, still. Besides quick visits with Soap, Gaz and rare visits from the captain, you're stuck in the hell you call your mind, alone. 

The nurses tell you that you'll be transferred to on-base medics soon, but they said that last week, and the week before. Honestly, you didn't care right now. As long as you were away from him. 

[the-pan-ace-writings]

Prologue

Mind Over Badger

hello! 

This is the beginning of what will hopefully be a series. I have tried my best to plan this out so it doesn't seem like it's wandering. It's very likely that if youre reading this that I have several if not all chapters written. That being said I would love input and will potentially change the trajectory of this fic. This is very much going to be about family and while I'm not the biggest romance writer ideally I'd like to write in soap ghost badger? 

I will try my very best to keep the description of badger racially ambiguous, especially since I ended up writing in he/ him pronouns. I feel like we dont get alot of male reader fiction and I would like to add to that. 

And finally I would like to preface that I do intend on just following Badger hopefully in a third person perspective but I suppose we'll see how that goes as I write. 

Thank you so much and please enjoy this prologue. And if anyone had better title ideas let me know! &lt;3

First Next Masterlist AO3

Kate Laswell and Captain John Price sat in a quiet corner of a café, other customers paid them no mind as they softly bickered.

Laswell leaned forwards trying to emphasize her point in an attempt to keep Price from walking away. “Zakhaev wants Barkov’s throne” It caught his attention, turning back into settling in his seat and set his hands in front of him.

“I almost buried him in Pripyat… with MacMillan”

Laswell shook her head, a small frown steeling her face. “That was the Father. This is the son, ‘Victor’.”

“Lovely Family.”

“They Are big fans of Hadir’s.”

“Well that would explain why he’s still alive.”

“They're going to get him out.”

Price leaned forwards face almost giddy as he knows this is his in

  “Then give me what I need…”

Laswell stared and his face completely unreadable although bordering on exasperation as she dropped her hands down to the table with forgotten drinks and onto the file folder that contained the personnel files that Price had requested from General Shepherd. She shoved the file across the table and leaned back into her chair as she watched him almost smugly remove the files and smile. 

She let out a sigh and leaned back towards him as he started looking through the collection. 

“Who's your crew?”

Price grabbed the bottom file, lifting it up to inspect for a second before placing it down on the table for Laswell to see. A picture of a young man in basic fatigues and with close cropped hair, he had a slight smile just ghosting his face. 

“Sergeant Garrick.”

“Kyle?”

“They call him “Gaz”. He never said anything”

He pulled another. The picture on the file was of a stockier man, with broad shoulders also dressed in fatigues. His hair was cut into a mohawk which just barely had to be within regs. A scar broke though just under his lip but didn't interfere with his closed lip smile. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish, SAS. Sniper- Demolitions. Goes by “Soap”

“Why”

“That's classified” he smirked 

Price chuckled and pulled another file to the top, an unfamiliar name to Laswell was read over. It was of a man bigger than the last, again in the same fatigues this one notably crisper around the collar, there was no smile on his face. His nose was crooked slightly and a scar ran over the bridge. His hair was pulled back and braided tightly and intricately into what likely led to a bun, he had a beard that was neatly trimmed into regulation length. He looked like a stern man. 

“He goes by “Badger”, His sister “Otter” dubbed him couldn't figure out why, close combat specialist”

The last file Price tossed down onto the table, it was missing a picture.

“There he is…Simon Riley”

“There’s no picture” 

“Never”

Price picked up the files again tucking them away. He leaned over with a cheeky smile egging Laswell into getting her approval. 

“Now the rest. That's need to know.m Unless we got a deal”\

She shook her head before letting up 

“What are you calling this task force?”

“1-4-1.”

First Next Masterlist AO3

[hisaacswrites]

Bake Room in Your Heart for Me? Chapter 4

Summary:

When Simon first interviewed for The Great British Baking Show, he hadn’t expected anything to come of it. He certainly didn’t expect to win. Despite the chaos it brought to his life, he couldn’t really complain. It landed him the best job he could ask for and a close circle of friends who actually seemed to enjoy his company. It also led him to his biggest fan, one John MacTavish, who’s determined to win him over one baked good at a time. — Or, The baking AU that no one asked for

← Chapter 3 】 ⦿ Chapter 4 ⦿ 【 Chapter 5 →

☆ Read on AO3

【 Chapter Specific Warnings: - 【 Notes: Apologies for the delay, but Bake Room in Your Heart for Me is now entirely outlined! You'll see that the chapter count has been upped to 13 for that perfect baker's dozen. Unbeta'd, as always, so forgive anything that slipped through the cracks! Now that I have this entire work outlined, I'm hoping updates should be a bit more frequent. We'll see if time cooperates.

Bake Room in Your Heart for Me? Masterlist ⦿ CoD Library ⦿ Hayden Isaacs Library

🍰 Chapter 4

The kitchen was quiet as Simon finishes with the last of the pans, only the metallic clink of them hitting the sides of the sink and the white noise of running water filling the space. It was miserably rainy and windy outside, so much so that not even the promised warmth of good drinks and pastries could tempt customers into the cafe. That meant it had been quiet and slow all day, though Simon had refused to vocalize that out loud lest he jinx it, so he had let Alejandro and Rudy leave a bit early to get a head start on their weekend. 

The extra work was minimal, and, honestly, Simon didn't really mind. Sometimes it was nice to be alone in his element. No need to carry on idle conversation, direct anyone, or even think, just falling back into a blissfully empty mind and muscle memory led by the rhythm of softly rumbling thunder.

Setting the final pan into the drying rack, Simon assessed the kitchen, satisfied to see it sparkling clean and ready for a fresh start the next morning. Wiping his hands on the towel tucked in his apron, he mentally consulted his to-do list. Cafe 141 was meant to be open for a few more hours, but all that was left for him to do was tidy up the front display cases and restock the shelves with the last of their goods for the day. Once that was done, Simon figured he could relax for the rest of his shift, start planning for next week's baked goods, and maybe even start thinking about some new seasonal recipes to experiment with.

First thing first though: cleaning and restocking. Approaching the kitchen's door to the cafe, Simon looked through the window to gauge what state of disarray the shelves were in and how much product he would need to restock them. The cafe looked like a ghost town, the warm lighting appearing especially moody against the dark skies outside. The display case didn't look too chaotic, thankfully, and the shelves were still relatively full. It looked like they would have extra pastries left over at the end of the day... Simon mentally added stopping by the shelter to donate the excess to his to-do list.

As his eyes swept over the end of the counter, Simon realized the cafe wasn't entirely empty. Gaz was leaning against the countertop, wiping it down with a rag as he spoke to a familiar mohawked man.

Soap.

Without thinking about it, Simon ducked his head down from the small window, hoping that he hadn't been seen. His heart started racing and he stood there, tall frame awkwardly crouched behind the door, for a few moments to settle his sudden nerves. Rising slowly, Simon peeked back through the window.

Gaz and Soap were still chatting as Gaz cleaned up, the Scottish man gesticulating wildly all the while. Gaz was reluctantly smiling at something his friend said and Soap grinned in victory, radiating smugness even in a separate room. Simon felt the tips of his ears warm as Soap's teeth gleamed in the low light, contrasting against his tan skin impishly. It was cute, Simon noted, the playful mischievousness in his grin, the pleased crescents his eyes formed, the way well-worn laugh lines creased the corners of his mouth—

Simon moved away from the door, willing the flush away from his cheeks. He didn't know how to act around Soap, feeling completely adrift in an unknown sea. The other man was kind, if a bit awkward (though who was Simon to judge others on their level of awkwardness? He was awkward personified). He was also sweet and attractive in a way that Simon couldn't describe. Just the thought of being around Soap again made him nervous, which was ridiculous considering the situations he had faced down in his military service.

Fighting the urge to peek through the window one more time, Simon turned to gather up his supplies. It would be no big deal, he tried to convince himself. Gaz would be talking to Soap, keeping him distracted while Simon quietly cleaned the cases and refilled them. They wouldn't even notice he was there and he'd be back in the kitchen before they knew it.

Cleaning rags tucked into his apron pocket and carefully holding a small tray of pastries in his hands, Simon took a deep breath before gently shouldering the kitchen door open.

Gaz heard the door open from behind him but paid little mind to it, continuing to tell Soap about a particularly obnoxious Ken of a customer that had stopped by a few days ago. He was scrubbing at a stubborn coffee stain on the counter as he spoke, only pausing to look up when Soap didn't respond for an oddly lengthy amount of time. He was looking over Gaz's shoulder, but his blue eyes didn't have the telltale glaze to them that signaled when the Scot had zoned out.

Gaz didn't even try to recapture his attention, instead looking over his shoulder at the object of his single-minded focus. He couldn't help snorting or the amused quirk of his lips. It was Ghost. Of course it was. Cafe 141's hulking head baker was wiping at the interior of one of the display cases with a damp rag, seemingly oblivious to his spectators. From the subtle tensing of Ghost's grip and the way that he angled his body, however, Gaz knew that Ghost was aware he was being watched. And was that a blush peeking over the top edge of his medical mask? Oh, how perfect...

Smile widening into a teasing smirk, Gaz turned back to Soap. His best friend was obvious in his little crush on Ghost and it looked like the attraction was reciprocated. Never let it be said that Gaz wasn't the best wingman.

Gaz snapped his fingers in front of Soap's face, reveling in the embarrassed way his focus jolted back over. He didn't even wait for Soap to try and defend himself, grinning at Soap with way too many teeth as he said, "Seems like you've found something a bit more interesting, mate."

Red burst across Soap's cheeks and he spluttered out an excuse, but Gaz just shook his head and laughed. "I'll head to the back and give you some alone time, 'lright? Make sure you turn on the rizz before you talk to him."

"Gaz." Soap whisper-hissed in panic, lunging for the barista's wrist before he could walk away, "No, dinnae! What dae I even say to him? He must think I'm a feckin' moron."

Gaz was ready for another round of teasing, but a look at Soap's face had him sobering up. Usually charismatic and suave, Soap looked worried and at a complete loss. "Hey," Gaz said softly, catching the Scot's wide-eyed gaze. "It's just Ghost, alright? Take a deep breath and be yourself. Just talk to him. You got this."

Soap could only nod, his grip on Gaz's wrist loosening until the other man turned to walk away. "I'm heading to the back to make sure we've got the coffee and tea for next week," He called over his shoulder to Soap, loud enough for Ghost to hear while not being obvious about it. "Keep yourself occupied and don't burn the place down." 

And with that, Gaz headed to the stock room disappearing through the hallway door, leaving Soap alone.

With Simon.

Soap sucked in a breath, trying to be quiet as he attempted to calm his racing pulse. Sat at a barstool at the counter as he was, he could see Simon methodically cleaning the display shelves out of his peripherals. As the other man swept up spilled frosting and jam from the glass, Soap couldn't help but admire his form.

Simon was tall and broad, imposingly so, but not in an intimidating way. No, in the privacy of his own mind, Soap could admit that Simon's size gave him a feeling of... safety. Of someone solid to lean on, of an all-consuming embrace, of comforting strength to weather any storm. It was honestly one of the first things he had noticed about the man over a year ago when he first saw him on the Great British Baking Show. A massive mountain of a man that had the most gentle, reverent touch for baked goods. Soap had become obsessed, watching and rewatching Simon's season just to see the man in his element. And now, seeing him in person? Well, the telly screen didn't hold a candle to him.

Chestnut brown hair with an endearing wave to it that never seemed to lie flat. Rich, dark brown eyes that looked almost black at first glance, but gleamed like gold in the light. Thick forearms with a fine coating of hair on them, strong and able. Wide, long-fingered hands that moved with a precise deftness that had Soap's mouth dry. And his lips— Simon's mouth was covered by a mask more often than not, but the glimpses that Soap had sneaked? Slightly chapped lips, the skin constantly worried by anxious teeth, that were surprisingly plush looking and far too tempting.

In Soap's professional artistic (and not at all biased) opinion, Simon was gorgeous. But Soap knew that he was more than just a pretty face. While speaking on the show, Simon had come off as quite reserved, but Soap had seen glimpses of a thoughtful and caring man underneath the prickly shell. And now, getting to see him in a more natural setting, Soap coveted all the moments he found Simon in with his walls lowered. How he wanted to see more, learn more. To be invited to look behind the broody wall and know the carefully guarded man within.

But in order to do that, Soap would actually have to talk to him.

Just the thought had him veering towards an internal crisis. It seemed like every time Simon was in his vicinity, Soap lost the ability to act like a functioning person, much to his embarrassment. Despite Gaz's words, Soap couldn't help but start mentally planning their conversation. He couldn't afford to put his foot in his mouth again — his self esteem would never survive it. After a few moments of mustering his courage, disguised as strategizing, Soap slid from his barstool and walked over to Simon.

Simon continued to clean the display case, oblivious to Soap's inner turmoil. He had felt the Scot's eyes on him, increasingly so when Gaz had gone to the back, but he had a job to do (and he was never the best at small talk), so he continued to wipe the last of the crumbs with a damp cloth. While it may have looked like he was entirely focused on his task, his military training had him tracking Soap's movements as he walked over, so it didn't startle him when Soap suddenly spoke up.

"Good tae see you again, Simon," He drawled with a grin, leaning against the display in a charming manner.

"Afternoon," Simon greeted quietly, straightening up from where he had crouched to reach inside the case. Despite Soap's loose postured, he carried an air of nervousness about him. Surely Simon wasn't actually that intimidating?

"I wanted tae apologize for being awkward as all hell. I dinnae ken what's been wrong with me but I swear tha' I am a functioning person and not some—", Soap gesticulated widely as he fumbled for the words, "Some primitive pod person who dinnae ken how to behave themselves. I ahm civilized."

His eyes had been jumping around, nervously avoiding Simon while he spoke, and it was only once his apology trailed off that he had the courage to look back at the quiet man. Simon wasn't even looking at him, instead, his gaze was focused downwards. Soap internally preened for a moment, thinking that he was checking him out, only to realize that Simon was looking at his hands.

Which, odd, but everyone had their favorite features he supposed, except—

Except Simon was looking at his hands where he was leaning against the display case.

The glass display case.

The glass display case that Simon had just cleaned.

Soap jumped back as if burnt, hurrying to apologize once more. "Feckin' hell, I'm so sorry! I ken ye just cleaned tha', 'n Ah wasnae even thinking, lemme just-" He pulled at the sleeve of his jumper, wiping frantically at the handprints he had left on the glass, ever mindful of Simon's stare as he only made the oily smears worse.

"Shite, I can clean tha' if ye have a spare rag? Or I can just..." Simon was still quiet, his dark eyes flitting back between the handprints and Soap's face. Soap deflated, considering that perhaps it would be best for him to retreat, even if it was with his hypothetical tail between his legs. "I'll just... head back over there 'n wait fer Gaz. Get outta yer hair 'n stop making more work for ye."

Heart in his stomach, Soap turned to leave.

"Two-" There was a clearing of a throat, "Two cakes are on a shelf,"

Soap's brow furrowed, and he turned back to Simon, barely noticing that the man waas nervously fiddling with a corner of his apron with thick fingers. "Go on,"

"One cake leaves, and the other says to himself, 'Just a bunch of desserters these days.'"

An awkward silence dropped between the two, Soap staring incredulously at Simon while Simon looked anywhere but at Soap. When the silence stretched almost too long, Simon looked at Soap out of the corner of his eye.

"'S a little bit of baking humour," Simon rasped quietly, the barest hint of pink peeking above his medical mask.

Soap finally barked out a laugh, breaking the tension with his customary grin. "Aye," He agreed as he stepped back towards Simon and the display case, seizing the offered olive branch with both hands. "Very little,"

With the ice broken, the conversation seemed to unfold easily, naturally, akin to dough finally given the breathing room to rise. It was nothing deep, nothing substantial, but it was perfect in allowing the two men to get comfortable with each other.

Soap was a chatterbox, always had been, and Simon seemed quiet and reserved. Soap was worried that he was potentially overwhelming him, or that his tangential rambles were a bit too much, but Simon actually seemed to be listening to him, offering grunts and short responses occasionally. It may have been nothing to some people, but to Soap it meant quite a lot. He had a history of being "too much" for people, of being too loud, too "hyper", too eclectic in his conversation topics. So for Simon to be actively listening and engaging him? It made Soap's chest warm.

So, it was really no surprise for him to sheepishly divulge a secret he'd been keeping close to his chest around Simon. "I, uh... Actually watched ye on The Great British Baking Show." He ran a nervous hand through his mohawk, tugging at the long strands. "Yer season is my favorite; watched it so many times that I think I can tell all yer jokes by heart,"

Simon nearly dropped the tart he had been restocking the display case with. Multiple people had told him they found him endearing in the show, but he still struggled with seeing himself as anything other than awkward and standoffish. Habit makes him want to read into Soap's admission, but the other man came off disarmingly sincere. Still, Simon couldn't help but downplay and deflect.

"Well, I had plenty of material to work with with some of those bakes. 'Nd they had to keep someone around for comedic relief."

Soap snorted, seeing right through the deflection. "Aye, right, ye won the season based on your dad jokes alone." He quipped, revelling in the blush that peeked over Simon's mask and his scowling eyebrows. "Cannae say yer jokes weren't some of my favorite parts, but yer bakes... Ye made some amazing stuff and it's no wonder ye won. I dinnae ken if there was one thing ye made that didn't look absolutely delicious."

Soap was delighted to see the flush erupt higher onto Simon's cheeks and onto his ears. The quiet man was determinately avoiding Soap's gaze, grumbling something under his breath as he finished restocking the display case. 

"Thanks," He grunted, setting down his empty tray before glancing up at Soap through golden brown lashes. Usually he'd leave it at that, but something about the lively Scot just made him want to... try. 

"You're probably the expert by now," Simon continued, focusing on cleaning the crumbs and frosting from his hands with his rag, "With how often you've been stopping by the cafe and such."

"Not exactly," Soap countered quickly, "Dinnae get me wrong, I've tried everything ye've had on the menu at least once, but there was one thing that ye made on the show that I haven't been in for that I've been dyin' tae try."

Soap's eyes took on a bright gleam as if imagining this mysterious pastry, and Simon couldn't help but snort under his breath. He was absolutely ridiculous. Simon tried not to find it endearing.

"Well, what was it?"

"Er, good question. Uh, it was lemony and had a weird name, mile faux or somethin'-"

"Mille feuille," Simon corrected seamlessly, remembering the stacked puff pastry dessert. Of all his bakes during the show, he had actually been quite pleased with that one and the handshake it had earned him.

"That's the one!" Soap's voice rose with excitement. "It looked pure magic, I'm telling ye. I love lemons 'n' with that blueberry sauce ye made? Jesus wept, I've been aching for a taste since I saw it."

Simon's mind raced, thinking over the recipe and its difficulty. "I actually haven't made it for the cafe yet," he said slowly, "But maybe it'll show up on the menu soon."

He hadn't actually meant to say that last bit, the words escaping his lips before he could even think about them, but Simon couldn't regret them when he saw Soap perk up as if his birthday had come early.

"Really? If ye make them, Simon, I swear tae ye that I'll buy out the entire tray just for myself. I'll come in first thing and buy every batch throughout the day, amnae even joking."

Simon laughed, his first unhindered one in a long while, fully believing Soap's words. He had already made it this far without things catching fire in his face and Soap seemed receptive to his... "charms", so what harm would a little more harmless flirting be near the end of his shift?

"I make no promises, Soap. You'll just have to come back to see me to find out if I do."

Soap grinned at him, smaller and softer than his previous ones. "Aye," He agreed. There was a lull then, a peaceful sort of quiet between the two as Soap watched Simon gather up his things to bring back to the kitchen.

"John."

Simon blinked at the non sequitur, brows furrowing in confusion.

"My name," Soap rushed to say, "Soap is my nickname, had it forever an' everyone calls me that, but John- My name is John."

Simon smiled, knowing that Soa- John wouldn't be able to see it behind his mask but unable to help himself.

"If those mille feuille do make an appearance sometime next week, I suppose they'll have your name all over them, Johnny."

[ksiondzkanexkiii]

MAYBE YOU'RE NOT A BAD PERSON | John Price

find a story on Tumblr/Wattpad/Neobook

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

,,The first flight by plane"

Chapter twenty-seven soon

Chapter twenty-five

- So here's the deal - the captain started talking his voice was serious he wanted to give a speech on the next plans he and Gaz have to carry out but this time he has to take the teenage girl with him because he won't have anyone to leave her with and he doesn't really want to leave her with Riverstream - I have to arrange something in Amsterdam -.

- Mission? - the teenage girl interjected she was sitting opposite him on the armchair they shared a wooden table made of dark oak, on which stood a mug with tea for the captain and orange juice for Jinx - Cool - she muttered even the captain did not answer that this is what missions are all about

- Yes well I have missions to do - he shrugged his shoulders - But first you'll go back to school catch up, you won't be at the end of the school year because I'm taking you with me - he confessed, he spoke calmly almost imitated Seeley when he questioned her however the captain's voice was more hoarse than Booth's - After the grades we'll leave by then you have to pass everything - he instructed her

- Sure Captain - she rolled her eyes, hearing his instructions of course she will listen. She doesn't want to risk an argument, after which she might regret opening up to the captain at all and saying her real name or whatever. However, one thought kept her thinking - What if I don't pass? -

She asked suddenly the captain expected any answer, but not this one he was not prepared for such a question and John Price is famous for preparing for any eventuality - Good. That's not the question I was expecting," muttered the captain, "If you don't pass then the next class you will be repeating that class," he said in line with the school's expectations after students fail to pass to the next class. The captain thought Jinx was too smart and stubborn not to pass to the next class

- I was more concerned with how you would take it," she muttered under her breath, playing with her fingers

The captain snorted under his breath - First of all, don't mumble under your breath - Price rested his elbows on his knees leaning forward to get a better look at the teenager to see if it's a concern that she had bad grades and won't correct it in three weeks or if it's about something else - If you don't pass I won't be angry. It happens to everyone," he confessed

 - Even you? - she asked quietly under her breath - Have you ever failed to pass to the next class? - she corrected her question looking at him with the same penetrating eyes

- No - Almost immediately he denied it, however, he screwed up his face letting out a heavy breath through his nose - I studied well only a few times I had a crisis in which I almost did not pass, but every time I succeeded - he added after a while sending a smile to the teenager - so I believe that you will also succeed - he added.

The teenager only nodded, taking the mug from the table to take a big sip as she thought intensely, her grades were not bad so she didn't have to worry about anything, but she was worried that a bunch of midterms and tests would fall on her head after two weeks of absence due to grief she hadn't experienced much. Maybe for the fact that she hadn't known Ava and Eric as long as Isolde, Aria or Noah however, she knew it would be sadder and emptier without them, but there was nothing she could do to change that

The only thing she could do was hold her head high and go on with her life, or at least try as far as she could.

- Can you handle it? - asked the captain seeing her thoughtful face, the teenager nodded her head at which the captain sent her that characteristic smile of his in the shape of a "v" - That's good, tomorrow you go to school so get ready - he instructed her, himself getting up to return to the continuation of his routine, which he had planned for today.

The mission was to gather information in the world's most smuggled place, Amsterdam. Simple raids nothing more. Enter, gather information optionally silence a few targets and leave unnoticed

- I'll try," the teen sighed, and her shoulders slumped as she thought about how much she would have to earn to pass the next class. At the thought of it, she was already getting uncomfortable and feeling tired

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

 - Look who finally showed up! - exclaimed Aria as she saw her red-haired friend enter through the main doors of the school, she cheered loudly enough for Isolde and Noah to lift their heads from their books to see what had excited Aria enough to jump up sitting on a pouffe

Isolde smiled when she saw Jinx, "I didn't expect you to come back to school after that," she muttered, her smile dimming for a moment when she wanted to mention the fire but refrained. Only Noah sat there with a grimace clearly not happy that Anoana returned to school

- I didn't expect to be back either," muttered the teenager as she threw her heavy backpack to the ground and sat down next to Pallastride, looking at each friend in turn, assessing their appearance

Noah hadn't changed much, however, the black bags under his eyes spoke of his trouble sleeping even if he wouldn't admit it, however, he continued to be himself it hadn't changed come on he had become a little grumpier and grumpier. Aria's eyes no longer shone as brightly as they did when the two Rodriguezes were alive she was more dim, but she continued to smile although it was no longer as wide a smile as it was then

The death of the siblings affected everyone especially Aria's smile and disturbed Noah's peaceful sleep. Only Isolde looked as if it didn't move her like Jinx did, or she hid her pain so as not to cry in front of the audience fearing triggers or whatever, Anoana suppressed her pain because that's how she was taught.

That any pain needs to be suppressed to gather strength for revenge or to gather strength for other crimes however, the freckled teenager had her quiet dream to be able to have a person around whom she can freely express herself and cry and scream when something bad happens. However, Jinx thought it was the most distant dream that would never come true just like sailing around the world with her little sailing ship without stopping at ports or other sea stops.

She had her little trial when she tried to perform this , "small" feat and the temporary mother she acquired when she was in the cartel supported her and not what Kay taught her how to sail like a professional. She took lessons from him she was stubborn that he would teach her because he had accomplished it

David Henry Kay sailed around the world without mooring

So it was obvious that Jinx, then seven years old, would latch on to him like a turnip to a dog's tail to teach her everything. When everyone thought she was ready at the age of eleven she was ready to realize her dream however little Jinx then screwed everything up

She turned off the alarm that alerted of approaching ships and went to sleep, she was awakened by a loud and unpleasant sound of metal rubbing and Pink rocked unsteadily on the reins, the whole cabin was trashed almost immediately by the strong rocking of the sailing ship, when everything calmed down and she thought it was safe she looked out over the cabin to see the following

Fucking tanker

The Jeb tanker did not miss her almost ramming her. Fortunately for the then young Anoana that tanker missed her however not enough to avoid a collision, Pink's mast lay broken on the hull of the small pink sailing ship and the side of the ship was disgustingly scratched and scraped. At the time she did not know what to do she knew she had to go back however she did not want to let go of the attempt and let her , "mother" and David down

She called Kay the concerned man asked her to give her coordinates, which she did. But incorrectly. Dyslexia then overcame her by the immense stress that flowed through her, the digits changed places eventually David picked her up from the middle of the sea and took Pink and Anoana from the middle of the ocean took them safely home while giving her a reprimand for turning off the alarm

Since then she has not made another attempt to circumnavigate the globe, only crossing the Atlantic Ocean to get from Mexico to London, where she is now. She never thought her life would turn out this way

- Five pounds for thoughts? - whispered a British lady's voice in Anoana's ear she lifted her gaze from nothingness to look at Isolde who smiled at her by tilting her head. Noah and Aria were engaged in their conversation about final grades, Anoana reciprocated the smile by gently shaking her head finally letting out a quiet snort.

- I've been thinking about all this," the teen whispered, but loud enough for Isolde to hear her between the loud conversations of the other students in the hallway, where it was always noisy almost every bench was occupied by groups of students happy that not long summer vacation was almost counting down to them, "You know Eric and Ava... These things," she sighed looking at her joined hands under the table

Pallastrid was silent looking sympathetically at her freckled friend, she blew her blue bangs out of her eyes because they were falling into her eyes. She had to get that hair trimmed because it was already getting too long for her taste - Everyone is thinking about them," Isolde confessed, gently stroking the other teenager's shoulder in a gesture of consolation, "So everyone is supportive so tell me what's on your mind," she patted her shoulder to re-grab the pen she had been twirling between her fingers earlier

Anoana shrugged her shoulders - Have you been questioned by detectives too? - she asked, looking at Isolde who nodded - So you know them - she winked

- Rockford and Seeley were with me about six days after the fire," Pallastride explained, not looking at her friend, but at the notebook in front of her, quickly writing down the last things she wanted to write down so she could talk freely with Jinx and look at her blushing and freckled face - What's the matter with them? - she asked after a long moment of silence that enveloped them both in a strong hug. Both of them did not even notice the moment when Aria and Noah disappeared

- When the fire broke out I was in the kitchen talking to Eric and Ava.... - She interrupted her monologue, she couldn't collect herself after talking about it more. She could pretend to be tough, but sometimes she felt soft like a newborn plant - I smelled smoke I was worried about it, but Ava said it was the smoke machine breaking down again or missing that cartridge for making smoke or whatever it was - she explained slowly looking in front of her sometimes looking under the table to look at her hands she was playing with

Isolde listened to her patiently she knew the pain caused by traumas she had one herself it was hard for her to talk about her mother without crying or interrupting every third or second word. She was unable to open up two years after the death of her mother who died in a car accident, this happened when she was only seven and already her mother had left her. Her father endured the worst of it, but he did his best for little Isolda to grow up to be a good student and a good friend to everyone

Which he succeeded in doing

Jinx pinched herself at the root of her nose - The point is that I was in the kitchen with them," she said in short order, "And the detectives claim that the firemen found me in the living room barely alive," she explained, leaning back like an annoyed child to hit hard against the backrest of the bench she was sitting on, "I don't understand how I got there," she ran her hand through her red hair which was loose and reached her almost waist was gently curled. It was possible to guess that if she had straightened it, it would certainly reach beyond her waist maybe even reach her buttocks

- Maybe you went to check this machine, but you don't remember it because you passed out because of the smoke," muttered Isolde, trying to find some rational explanation that wasn't coming the more she thought, "Or you wanted to check for a fire," she added after a moment scratching the back of her head

- No that can't be it," sighed the teenager, "I didn't move anywhere, I was still sitting in my seat," she explained further, continuing to go along with her opinion, "I couldn't leave, I didn't know anyone at the party so I didn't go dancing, I didn't go to check the machine for that shitty smoke, because Ava and Eric were talking to me and I believed Ava that it was the machine playing pranks again and letting out stinky smoke -

Isolde crooked her head, her elbow was leaning against the back of the bench as she sat sideways on the bench to face Jinx. She rested her head on her hand and used her other hand to hold her leg to keep it from sliding off the bench seat - Do you really not remember why you were there? Maybe you were drunk and don't remember or it's because of stress or whatever," she suggested ideas hoping she would remember anything

Jinx, however, shook her head and her face was stony but there was an ounce of pain hidden deep within her blue irises. The pain of the death of Rodriguez, of Jack, the pain of losing this temporary , "mother" who had accepted her into the cartel however she had grown close to her, the pain for not having contact with David, the pain of not being able to fulfill at least one dream. All this was gathering inside her, waiting until she could burst into the most pitiful cry or the most aggressive attack

- I completely don't remember anything else," she muttered, every night she dreamt about how she fell from her chair and Eric and Ava were lying next to her unconscious and the fire suddenly explodes rapidly approaching them, she sighed heavily letting out a heavy sigh through her nose, "No matter how I try I can't remember -

- Did you tell the captain? - asked Isolde suddenly, Anoana did not expect this question the more so from the mouth of her friend. She raised her eyes to notice that the latter was sitting facing her and her head was resting on her hand - You said he was ex-military he knows how to deal with traumas maybe he can help you remember things you don't remember - explained Pallastride seeing Jinx's silent question

Anoana again shook her head - No, I didn't say anything to him - she muttered - I don't need his help and yours to remember - she confessed after a moment of awkward silence - I can manage on my own - she said.

- Try meditation - Isolde recommended, not caring about her friend's words, she continued sitting unmoved by Jinx's repulsion - Apparently it helps to remember things we don't remember - she explained, Pallastride had to be careful not to give out a scientific monologue - she knew that it could end with Jinx leaving looking for Aria and Noah to get away from the scientific monologue, although she usually listened although after a while she drifted off with her thoughts when Isolde said something she would never have thought could help

- Maybe I'll try, maybe I won't," she shrugged her shoulders and sighed heavily again, scratching her chin and looking in the opposite direction of Isolde, avoiding looking at Isolde's posture or looking into her eyes. "Forgive me for not helping much with the project," she muttered, wanting to change the subject.

- Forgiven, we got a good grade - Isolde sat up straight on the chair to pack her things and a pen in her bag, which she threw over her shoulder getting ready to leave - I'm going to look for Noah and Aria are you coming with me? - she suggested getting up from the bench to do what she said, which was to look for her friends

Jinx nodded taking her black backpack from the ground which she threw over one shoulder. They both moved towards the smoking room, which was behind the school betting that there they could find the two missing they were looking for - So meditation what? - asked the redhead thinking over Isolde's words - How is that supposed to help me? - she asked, wanting to get Isolde to talk to her

It may have been noisy in the corridor because of the many conversations of the students, who had to shout at each other to understand what they were saying, but Jinx would not have wanted Isolde to remain silent or for an awkward and nervous silence to form around them, which slowly encompassed them. Isolde did not expect Jinx to take her words seriously she looked over her shoulder to meet curious blue eyes that have the same question asked in them , "how is this going to help me?" or , "how do I find the answers".

- Our brain remembers everything it sees," she began to explain as they continued walking down the corridor, "In stressful situations, our consciousness may fade but it is recorded in our brain every shot we may have forgotten is further buried somewhere deep in our neurons," she said slowly and explained as best she could while avoiding scientific words so Jinx could understand

- What you don't remember before the fire outbreak continues to be in your brain only the factors make you think you don't remember," she said opening the door to let the redhead pass and then stepping outside the school herself to head to the right towards the back of the school, "Meditation will allow you to go deeper into your brain and remember the things you claim not to remember," she explained gesturing with her hands

- So you are saying that I actually remember everything only the trauma makes me think I don't remember? - Jinx grabbed Isolde's wrist to stop her and ask her if she understood correctly she was looking for a meaning that didn't seem to exist. The brown-haired merely nodded affirmatively while blowing out her dyed blue fringe that fell into her eyes

- More or less," she confirmed to her, she could see that she was looking for the meaning in what she said but she gave her time to make her understand everything as she should without giving her new clues on how she should think, "My dad deals with mythology as you know, because you study with him, but you can also meditate so if you find the meaning of what I said you can go to him for help," she suggested, shaking her hand for Jinx to let her go.

Anoana understood the hint and let go of her hand - Sure - she muttered quietly looking at the ground still searching for the right words to say them - I don't need help from your father in particular - she muttered after a while pinching herself at the base of her nose - I just need to think about a lot of things - she shrugged her shoulders turning her gaze to the side to see if anyone overheard old habits are hard to discard

- It still doesn't make sense to you does it? -

- Not a bit -.

Isolde laughed shaking her head, but said nothing more even Jinx gently laughed at this exchange of words however the thought of submitting to hypnosis began to weigh on the shoulders of the teenager she considered this choice at the same time she was afraid of what she might see there. If Pallastride is telling the truth and if indeed memories are blocked by trauma then why does she remember everything during her time in the cartel? During the time Garza raised her, so many thoughts were running through Jinx's head that she didn't know what she should think about it all and which path to take

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

- Have you ever flown in an airplane young one? - Asked Garrick looking at the teenager who was looking curiously through the windows at the airport, both of them were waiting behind the captain who was busy checking in his luggage and the teenager, exceptionally they had to fly on a civilian plane and not a military one as usual because of Jinx who had to fly with them. Her eyes were full of curiosity as she looked and assessed everything that passed by them

The captain woke the teenager early in the morning the day before telling her to pack everything she needed for no telling how long, the mission should theoretically only take three weeks however it usually didn't end up taking three weeks. He helped her pack everything she needed

Not only that, they flew exceptionally on a civilian plane, the captain wanted to be a week early because he wanted to let the teenager explore Amsterdam with him it's a nice break from the work he will have to do. He would have liked Jinx to have had a little break from school and get her thoughts away from Eric and Ava he guessed, because talking to her was becoming more and more difficult as she kept going into her thoughts however he didn't know that she still hadn't decided whether to dare try meditation or not.

She was afraid to talk to the captain about the subject because she didn't know what he would think about it

What if she scoffs at the idea? What if he doesn't support her?

Come to think of it, she didn't know that they were flying a week earlier because the captain wanted to do a more thorough reconnaissance she thought he wanted to spend time exploring with her. Maybe that was the case maybe not, she couldn't guess mixed thoughts she had about it

These questions kept killing the teenager from the inside the more intensely she thought - Jinx! - Called out Kyle when after more minutes she didn't answer him, Anoana almost jumped in place hearing Garrick's voice suddenly over her ear as the taller man looked at her closely with a raised eyebrow - Contact Jinx - he waved his hand in front of her eyes

She sent him a bored look - I listen to you all the time Garrick - She muttered pushing his hand away from her eyes - Where is Price? - She asked looking around, something is taking him a long time with this briefing. Garrick looked around and shrugged his shoulders the captain was still setting up the flight plan, since they were supposedly going to fly on a civilian plane however it was a private plane. It pays to have contacts like Laswell, but the sergeant doesn't have one yet.

- I don't know," muttered the sergeant sitting down more comfortably on a plastic chair, "sitting on those chairs was not the most comfortable," I asked, "Is this the first time you've flown on a plane? - he repeated his question looking at the red-haired teenager and his dark brown eyebrow raised and his lips formed a small smile he guessed that this was her first flight he guessed by how much Jinx was brimming with delight when she saw the iron birds

She tried to guess which one she would get into and tried to think of what it would be like to fly in a plane. She tore her nose away from the glass looking at the sergeant, "Yes," she replied her blue eyes quickly returned to the window looking at the machines taking off and landing through the reflection in the glass she watched the airport bustle with life

Kyle giggled turned his gaze away from the teenager to look around looking for John optionally searching for any danger that might threaten him, Jinx or other civilians staying at the London airport - Are you nervous? This is your first flight, how do you feel about it? - asked Garrick, pulling his phone out of his pocket

The teenager giggled again tearing her gaze away from the glass to get closer to Kyle and sit next to him. She shrugged her shoulders as she casually rocked her legs out of boredom, "I don't feel anything," she muttered, "I'm not stressed about the flight I'm more curious about what it's like," she added after a moment, looking over Gaz's shoulder to see what he was doing on his phone

- Oh really? - He almost scoffed - And aren't you afraid we'll crash? - he raised an eyebrow looking at her with a mischievous smile. The teenager sent him another bored look with an unspoken , "Really?" she patted him on the shoulder. It was around six in the morning she didn't have the energy to stress about the fact that they might be making for the ocean or anywhere else she hoped she could enjoy the view from the window unless the sergeant took the window seat first

- We won't crash, but the window seat is mine," she said in as stern a tone as she could muster while threatening him with her finger to listen to her words. Gaz merely giggled, pushing away her finger, which she poked into his shoulder

- Sure, Sure," he mocked her, "I'll be the first one to sit there," he sent her another mischievous look raising his eyebrows and quickly lowering them, his brown eyes spoke of the determination he had in him to accomplish the mission he had stated

Take the first seat at the window

“Behind him you’ll argue about who’s going to take the seat at the window, but know we’ve got the whole plane to ourselves,” said the captain’s voice out of nowhere, causing Jinx and Gaz to jump up without expecting the captain, who stood over them with a raised eyebrow—Gaz really? - The captain winked, seeing that he too was frightened

"Excuse me sir," Garrick muttered, trying to explain his behaviour, but it wasn't because of the teenager who intervened.

“You’re scary old man,” she smiled innocently when Price said it, only to roll her eyes when she heard her joke — “That gray hair is especially scary,” she whispered enough that Garrick heard her. The black sergeant had to squeeze his mouth into a narrow line so as not to giggle at the joke, but he didn't want to spoil the teenager's humour

They both thought the captain hadn’t heard it, but he gave them a look again, saying, “Really?” They both couldn’t stand and started laughing chaotically they couldn’t even catch their breath between giggles – We have to go on – their captain took his carry-on bag and the teenagers

"We're on our way, Captain," Gaz said as the three began to walk towards the last ticket check after him to board the plane. The teenager followed the captain and the sergeant followed her two muscular men made a delight at the airport especially the women whispered at their sight and the men looked at wondering how much time they had to spend in the gym

No one paid attention to the little girl walking between them as if she were covered in their bodies, but she did not complain.

The check-in on board the plane passed quickly, Anoana did not even blink and already rushed to the seat at the window Kyle did not even fight for that seat earlier conversation it was just jerking it was indifferent to him where he would sit but he wanted to establish a bond with the teenager finally they are condemned to each other for the next weeks.

They sat in their seats, Anoana by the window, Captain in the middle, Gaz by the corridor. They were the only ones on the plane, it was a small plane, but enough to fly over the North Sea and land in Amsterdam, it was a short flight because it lasted not a whole hour. Everyone settled down, the flight attendants checked all their seat belt buckles and began to explain what to do in case of an accident.

Jinx didn't listen too much, she kept looking out the window, listening in one ear maybe some of this information that the flight attendants were trying to convey was lost.

- Your first flight? “This time the captain asked, Jinx shrugged, hearing this question again from the other side of her mouth, but nodded in the affirmative, “You’ll like to see you,” purred the satisfied captain, waiting for the plane to start circling towards the runway. Kyle was already in his world as he put on earbuds to listen to music to relax during the flight to prepare for the clash with Al-Katali

All unguarded ports and canals are a smuggler's paradise, Laswell says, and he's damn right, the captain and sergeant have to prepare for anything they can find there. Iran's got a warship there so they've got to expect everything there. Their biggest target is a cell that's supposed to sail through and dock there in a week's time until then they have time to scout.

If they get their hands on something new, their stay in Amsterdam will be shortened, if not, three weeks will be planned in Amsterdam. Gaz hoped that they would find something interesting there but the captain had a different opinion, of course he wanted to find something but he was always afraid of what they might find in the smugglers Al-Katali knowing these bastards could smuggle everything right under the noses of the authorities and the military

He didn’t even know when they started. He thought of how the plane began to speed up and the teenager next to the captain held her breath as the metal bird began to pick up speed to bounce off the ground, the bearded man moved slightly on the chair to pull out the teddy bear from his pocket and pass it to Jinx.

Jinx did not expect to see her bear, much less in the hands of the captain, who held the plush bear very gently as if it were made of porcelain. The teenager looked at the teddy bear, which is very sentimental, not understanding where the man got it from

"As we were leaving, I noticed you didn't pack it," he explained as the teenager picked up the teddy bear. "I knew you'd be nervous about the flight, so I took it with me," he added, shrugging his arms as if it were nothing for him, but for Anoana it was a lot.

If Valeria saw that she still had that teddy bear, she would probably laugh sarcastically suggesting that Anoana throw that teddy bear away, because it’s too old to cuddle up to the Hug.

When Anoana looked at the window, she noticed how high they were, not even a minute or two passed, and they were already so high that the buildings were getting smaller and smaller and the street traffic was disappearing, only the delicate lights were rising higher and closer and closer the clouds were. The captain watched as Jinx looked at the landscape with such fascinated eyes, smiled gently it could have been a good trip and a good mission sensed in the bones that everything would go smoothly as it should.

The flight was supposed to be short, because it was supposed to last an hour and twelve minutes, maybe even shorter. Silence filled the cabin from time to time, flight attendants would come to ask if they could get something to eat or drink, but each time they refused because they didn’t feel hungry or thirsty. suddenly asked the teenager, surprising the captain and breaking the silence in the cabin

- In conversion? In a spiritual sense? – asked the captain, not quite understanding what the teenager wanted to ask, he removed the back of his head from the backrest so that he could look at the teenager who had been sitting next to him before his head was turned to the ceiling as he tried to fall asleep to get some sleep taken away from the check-in at the airport

“No,” Jinx shook her head. “Do you believe that people can change from bad to good, or vice versa, from good to bad,” she explained, her head resting on the back of her chair as she looked at him. The captain's look softened gently as he drifted off the sleepy remnants he didn't think too much about whether he believed people could change

"He believes in making decisions," he muttered after a moment, "Good or bad, it's hard to tell if the decision that was made was the right one," he continued, but Jinx didn't feel satisfied with the answers.

- You think I'm here because I made bad decisions? -

“You had to live through what you did when you were younger and living on the streets influenced your decisions,” Price interrupted his little monologue, sighing, trying to put the words together and give the teenager enough answers to satisfy her. “For you, it was the only decision and a good decision for others, it could have been a terrible decision and a bad one,” he shrugged, pausing.

How do you view bad decisions? Is this all the evil you're fighting? – she asked quietly, the captain could not now think of her questions later asked what she was talking about now he wondered how to answer her

"If I have to choose between one evil or another, I'd rather not choose at all," replied the captain, the teenager smiling softly as she heard these words, writing them down in her memory, silence filling their conversation, which stopped as they both had to think about further words.

- Why are you asking Anoan? He asked quietly, and spoke her name even more quietly, so Garrick’s ears could not hear it, even through his headphones. Kyle's headphones were not any good gently heard how his music played, because the headphones pierced listening to very interesting metal or Rock, Jinx could not distinguish these two genres from each other or maybe the same and the same?

She sighed heavily as she looked at the teddy bear on her lap – I wonder what Laswell saw in me that she had found that I could change – she mumbled at last, looking up at the bearded man next to her – I don’t even know if I can change, it seems some habits can’t be thrown – she shrugged her shoulders as if it were nothing to her, but her thoughts were louder than she thought

The captain smiled softly and compassionately as he looked at the teenager's dislocation he knew all too well that many of the recruits he had to set up had this thought. Even from himself he had the same thoughts as a teenager at that moment. Now he knew that the whole socialization was going in the right direction and the teenager wanted to rehabilitate himself

“You’re already changing Jinx,” he assured her, “You’re friends with Isolde with Noah and Aria,” he began to explain what he meant, that he was already changing. “I hear you used to be more closed in yourself, you didn’t tell anyone about your real name, but you told me about your name, you’re starting to open up to people and new possibilities.”

He interrupted his monologue to see Jinx smiling softly, “Why are you thinking about that, Jinx?” – he asked again, this time using her book – “What’s on your mind?” he asked, hoping that the teenager would answer, but she shook her head as if she were punishing herself.

“He wants to have a cause or deed or proof to the devil whatever you want to call it,” she cursed quietly. “I mean, he wants to have something that I can draw a thick line on the cartel story,” she finally explained, spitting out the thoughts that were going through her head.

The captain smiled knowing that he had done a good job doing little in his mind, but he tapped himself on the shoulder. He knew that the teenager was doing it of her own volition and within five days of arriving at his apartment her thoughts began to change and it was slow to open up because after a few months, maybe even a year, she opened up and told him her name while getting traumatized by the fire.

But it was an accident

But he was proud of the teenager, but they still hadn't reached the point where the government itself would say that it was the right time to release her into society. This time will probably come when Anoana will be eighteen, but it's only a year or two from now that the captain still didn't know when her birthday would be. She didn’t know herself, so that was the problem.

“You’ll find this reason,” he muttered, “Probably sooner than you look you’ll find something you can turn away from the cartel and forget about them.” He smiled at her to calm her nerves and thoughts, reached out his hand and moved the teddy bear closer to her heart.

It looked like he wanted to reassure a five-year-old child who was afraid to fly, but it was meant to be a gesture of comfort or support. A bit strange, however, it worked in its own twisted way, the whole Trio was approaching Amsterdam – Get some sleep to get to the hotel – he ordered her to sit down again to turn her eyes to the ceiling to try to sleep again.

The teenager nodded her head obediently following his command, closed her eyes to sail off into the land of dreams. The hotel had a reserved hour from the airport to get there only the next day the military got them a car to move around. Nobody knew what was going on in the White House.

It's like everything's boiling over Hassan Zyani's stolen rockets.