🍟 Fries 🍟

MDNI I'm not really a writer but I love supporting everyone's else's writing🫶

[fries-pls]

🍟‼️Masterlist‼️🍟

(I figure I’ll make a small master list just in case I end up posting more fics, and so the couple that I have posted are easy to find!!!)

Call of Duty

Run and hide…or don’t

Wolf stuck in a bear trap

Illegal bars

Illegal Bars Pt. 2

[laswells-ashtray]

Kyle is a grown man who can behave in public, he's a soldier who has seen the worst humanity has to offer and fights to help.

He also cannot stop fucking laughing.

In Kyle's defence, Nikolai is also laughing and Price might not be making a noise but his shoulders are shaking. Ghost is watching with thinly veiled disapproval, to Kyle it reads as an outright cackle.

They're far from the loudest table in the pub, and quite frankly, the two women at their left side seem entertained with their antics. Kyle thinks they'd have a hard time convincing anyone in the room that they're military men.

There's a greasy onion ring wrapped around the ring finger of his left hand and there's an equally greasy, pale hand stroking his own. Johnny's giving it his best petted lip, big blue eyes wide and pleading.

"C'mon doll, marry me. A'll treat ye nicely, gie ye aw the wains ye want. Just let me put a ring oan it."

Kyle has never been one to run away from a bit, he thrives on improvisation. And Johnny's the best man for it.

"I can't, not after what you did. I know about him, I know everything. You dirty bastard."

Nikolai, a funnier man than most, offers the most dramatic gasp he's capable of and shoots the Scot a trult scathing look across the table. It takes all of Johnny's effort not to laugh.

"Darlin, he didnae mean oanyhin. He could suck a golfball through a hosepipe, bit he didnae mean oanyhin. It's you that's gettin the ring."

Kyle knows he's giggling like a toddler, but in his defence, they're a few drinks in and he hasn't had this much fun in weeks. With as much seriousness as he can muster, he pulls his hand free from Johnny's grip and takes a bite out of the onion ring.

"It's over, we're done."

Even Ghost laughs out right at the thud of Johnny's head hitting the table as the man howls.

[kanescrochet]

Simon Riley x Reader

Older!Simon x Younger!Reader

Johnny has always been the most overprotective brother in the world.

When you were kids, he'd threaten boys for stealing your crayons. By high school, he scared off anyone who looked at you for more than five seconds. Joining the military somehow made him worse.

"You date one of the lads," he'd warned you on your first day assigned to Task Force 141, "and I'll personally make sure your paperwork gets lost for the next ten years."

You laughed because you thought he was joking, He wasn't.

Which was unfortunate considering you'd already fallen for the one man Johnny would absolutely lose his mind over.

Simon Riley, Ghost.

The most intimidating soldier in the SAS.

The same man my brother respected more than almost anyone else.

The same man currently standing across the hangar pretending not to look at you.

Your relationship had been a secret for almost four months.

Not because you were ashamed.

Not because you weren't serious, Only because neither of you wanted to explain to Johnny why his little sister was dating his lieutenant.

You could practically hear the lecture already.

Actually, lecture was too gentle a word.

Execution seemed more accurate.

Price called everyone together for the morning briefing, and you slipped into your usual seat beside Gaz.

Simon stood near the front of the room with his arms folded, mask hiding any expression he might have had.

If anyone else looked at him, they'd see the same cold, unreadable Ghost everyone knew.

You saw the tiny tap of his fingers against his forearm.

Three slow taps.

Your silent good morning.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

Soap noticed immediately.

"What're you grinnin' at?"

"Nothing."

"Hm."

That suspicious little hum was becoming far too common.

Price began explaining your next assignment while you forced yourself to focus.

No looking at Simon.

No smiling, aefinitely no accidentally staring.

Simple enough.

Until Price asked you a question.

You answered without hesitation.

Before Price could respond, another voice spoke.

"She's right."

Simon.

Every head in the room turned toward him.

He almost never interrupted anyone.

Johnny raised an eyebrow.

"You're agreeing with my sister?"

Simon didn't even blink.

"She's correct."

"Oh."

Johnny looked oddly pleased.

"I've taught her well."

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.

Simon kept his eyes forward, but you caught the tiniest twitch beneath his mask.

He was smiling.

No one else would've noticed.

You always did.

[vikwritesshit]

a/n: this is a direct part 2 to patience.

cw: kidnapping/captivity, graphic depictions of self-harm, emotional manipulation/abuse, gaslighting, hurt/comfort but it's fucked up, lowk stockholm syndrome kind of, possessive/abusive behavior from aizawa, fem!reader

pt 3.

hate.

a week passes, and you still hate aizawa.

You hated Shouta Aizawa.

You were able to track that it had been about a week since Eraserhead had kidnapped you - a quick, brief exchange that still made your stomach twist. The high skylight above you was your only indication of the passing days, the analog clock on the wall doing little to ease your mind. Knowing it was 3 pm only made your heart ache worse - you should be at work right now. Instead, the cuff around your wrist had been exchanged for one around your ankle, chain long enough to keep you in the room with freedom to walk around. He had switched it out yesterday, as he finally decided you could be trusted not to try his life every time you saw him.

You had stopped physically fighting the pro after day three, when he pinned you to the bed for a long few minutes after an attempt at clawing his eyes out. One hand wrapping both of yours behind your back, the other gently - but firmly - keeping your head against the pillow. He hadn’t said anything, leaning over your sobbing form with a quiet anger. The silent threat was enough to stop your attempts at violence.

It didn’t matter much. Rage still flowed through you - a hot, boiling need under your skin to hurt him.

You had yet to eat anything he’d made for you, snapping at his fingers when he tried to feed you himself. Water was harder to ignore. You sipped from the cups he left by your bed, but only when you were certain he wasn’t around. Enough to keep you alive, but make him think you were abstaining. You still fought sleep, choosing small intervals of fitful rest over a full night.

Today - what you believed was the eighth day - you paced the small room, chain clinking against the concrete floor with every step. Three steps to the kitchenette in the corner from the bed, seven to cross back over to the bathroom, ten from the bed to the farthest the chain would reach - just a few feet from the way out. Your surroundings had been updated in the past few days - a rug, some books on a small stand, a potted plant you chose to give all your water to. All of it came from your apartment. Your home.

The familiarity of your belongings only sharpened the knife of loss - they all whispered the same thing; He was in your space for months. He knew you better than you realized.

Aizawa returned later that evening, the skylight an inky black. He carried a tray with warm tea, rice, and vegetables. His eyes scanned you immediately, noting the tension in your shoulders, the way you clenched your fists as you walked.

“You’re still refusing to eat properly,” he said, voice low and even as he set the tray down. “Your body is weakening. I can see it.”

You turned away, staring at the wall, “Good. Maybe I’ll fade away and you’ll have nothing left to control.”

He sighed, the sound heavy with something that almost sounded like sorrow, “That’s not what I want. I want you alive and healthy. Here with me, where I can keep you safe from everything out there.”

You turned back to him, face twisted in anger, “People will look for me. I’m sure they already are. It’s only a matter of time before they find-”

“No… they won’t find you.” He sounded almost remorseful as he spoke, a look of faux pain etching his features, “I’ve finalized the details. A sweet, innocent civilian - taken by a villain with a teleportation quirk while walking home from her shift. No evidence, no trail, no clues. A tragic story, really.” He spoke softly, eyes gentle as he gazed at you from his spot across the rug.

You felt tears welling in your eyes, spitting at him, “You’re a sick fucking freak!”

“I love you,” he countered. He made no move to get closer - planted by the nightstand as you cowered at the foot of the bed - but you could see his eye twitch. “Everything I’ve done for you has been out of love.”

You gestured around wildly, “This isn’t love, Eraserhead, this is-”

“Shouta.” He interrupted you calmly.

“Oh my god- Whatever! Fuck you, Shouta,” you sneered at him before throwing yourself on the bed like a child, covering yourself with the blanket. “Get out.”

Silence followed. You heard him sigh softly, the shuffle of carpet, and then the door - open, shut, lock.

You laid there in silence for what felt like hours, peering out to a dark room, lit only by the small night light he had installed. You felt weak, exhausted from dehydration and lack of food. You knew he didn’t like that - he wanted you healthy, he’d often say. As of now, your health was the one thing you could control.

Already deciding tonight was not one for sleep (that would be a victory for him), you took to pacing the room again. In the light of the small bulb plugged into the wall, your shadow stretched across the floor, long and imposing. It ended in the corner, the top of your head lined up with the edge of the kitchenette counter. A counter that was, perhaps, more dilapidated than Aizawa had planned for.

The sharp rock edge connecting to the wall had a chip in it. Not big at all, hardly enough to notice unless you were looking for it. But, you were. Looking for something, anything, to hurt him back.

You steeled yourself as you padded over to the counter, chain dragging across the floor behind you. The chip had created a sharp edge - sharper than the rest - on the counter. You rolled up the sleeves of the shirt he had given you, pressing your inner forearm to the sharp corner.

Just enough to hurt him.

You shoved the hem of the shirt in your mouth and pulled your arm back - fast - creating a gash from elbow to wrist. It was more than deep enough to bleed, the little red dots turning to rivers down your skin. The shirt muffled your cry enough to keep the door from slamming open.

You grabbed a spare shirt, wrapping it tightly around the wound. You weren’t trying to die, just prove that he didn’t have you on as tight of a leash as he thought.

You could feel your consciousness starting to slip as you sat back down on the bed, forearm cradled in your other hand. The sharp, throbbing pain felt negligible in your concrete prison, a reminder to survive, if anything. The bleeding had slowed to a dull flow - dehydration was on your side in this effort. Any faster, and you were sure you would’ve bled out to an unmanageable degree.

You laid down in the bed, pale and shaky, shirt pressed to your wound, and waited for morning to come.

~

Morning showed itself in the form of the skylight bleeding gray light across the concrete floor. Your arm throbbed in time with your heartbeat, the makeshift bandage stiff with dried blood. You hadn’t slept more than twenty fitful minutes at a stretch. Every time your eyes drifted shut, you jerked awake at the phantom sound of the door opening up.

The lock clicked. Real this time.

Aizawa stepped inside carrying a fresh tray - steaming miso soup, rice, grilled fish, and a small bowl of sliced fruit. His hair was tied back, capture weapon absent for once. He looked… rested. The sight made your stomach turn.

His eyes found the bloodied counter first, then straight to you. The bloodied shirt. The way you clutched your arm to your chest. For a fraction of a second, something raw flickered across his face - pain, maybe, or fury - but it smoothed into that calm, exhausted concern he always wore.

“You hurt yourself.” It wasn’t a question. He set the tray on the nightstand and crossed to the bed in three strides. You tried to scramble back, but the sudden movement sent black spots dancing across your vision.

“Don’t touch me,” you rasped, voice cracking from disuse and dehydration.

He ignored you. One large hand gently but inexorably pried your fingers away from the wound. The shirt fell open. The gash was ugly - jagged, still seeping sluggishly. His jaw tightened.

“This is what you do to yourself the moment I give you more freedom?” His voice was low, edging into anger. “I trusted you not to try anything reckless. And you repay that by trying to bleed out on my floor?”

“I wasn’t trying to die,” you spat, but the words sounded weak, even to you. “I just wanted- wanted you to feel something.”

His thumb brushed just beside the cut, feather-light, and you flinched hard enough that fresh blood welled up. He sighed, the sound heavy with something that sounded dangerously like sorrow.

“I feel everything you do, darling. Every tear. Every time you look at me like I’m a monster.” He reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a small first-aid kit you recognized from your own bathroom cabinet. “That’s why this hurts me more than it hurts you.”

You laughed - a broken, ugly sound, “You’re sick. You kidnapped me. You faked my death. I fucking hope it hurts.”

Aizawa didn’t answer right away. He worked in silence, cleaning the wound with careful, practiced hands. The antiseptic stung like fire, and his touch was so gentle it made your skin crawl. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter,

“Have I ever told you about the first night I saw you?”

You didn’t care - didn’t want to know. You didn’t move either, but he continued anyway.

“You were walking home in the rain. No umbrella. You stopped under an awning and laughed at your own bad luck. Just… laughed. Like the world hadn’t already tried to crush you a hundred times,” His fingers paused on the gauze. “I’d had a bad patrol. Lost a kid I couldn’t save. And there you were, soaked and smiling anyway. It was the first time in years… I felt something other than exhaustion.”

Tears burned your eyes. You felt emotion clawing up your throat. You hated how his voice wrapped around the memory, turning into something shared.

“I started watching to make sure you stayed safe. One night turned into weeks. I saw how hard you worked, how kind you were to people who didn’t deserve it. How you came home every night to an empty apartment and still tried to take care of yourself,” He taped the bandage securely, then cupped your cheek, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, intense, “You were breaking, little by little. The paranoia, the fear. I couldn’t watch it anymore.”

“So you made it worse,” you whispered. “You became the thing I was afraid of.”

His thumb stroked your cheekbone, “I became the only thing that can protect you. Out there, villains don’t care about your smile. Heroes burn out. Laws fail. But here-” He gestured to the room with his other hand, to your belongings carefully arranged around you. “Here, nothing touches you unless I allow it. Not even you.”

You tried to pull away, but he held firm, not painfully, just… inescapably.

“I know you hate me right now. That’s okay. Hate me. Scream at me. Hurt yourself if you need to,” His voice dropped, soft and devastating. “But every time you do, remember that I’m the one who will sit here and stitch you back together. I’m the one who will hold you through the nightmares you used to have alone. I’m the one who loves you enough to risk everything - my name and my career - just so you never have to be afraid again.”

A sob tore out of you before you could stop it. He pulled you against his chest without hesitation, one arm wrapping around your back, the other cradling your injured arm so it wouldn’t jostle. You wanted to shove him away. Your body wouldn’t obey. Exhaustion and blood loss and the sheer weight of his words pinned you in his hold.

“I don’t want this,” you cried into his shirt. “I want my life back.”

“Your old life was killing you slowly,” he murmured into your hair. “I know how lonely you were. How you wondered if anyone would notice if you just… stopped showing up. I noticed. I’ve always noticed.”

The words sank claws into your chest. Because some terrible, exhausted part of you recognized the truth in them. The late nights. The empty weekends. The way you’d joked with friends about your ‘mysterious stalker’ because admitting the fear felt safer than admitting the isolation.

Aizawa rocked you gently, like you were a child. “Eat for me. Please. I can’t stand seeing you waste away. If you get sick because of this…” His voice hitched - just enough to sound real. “I don’t know what I’d do. You’re all I have now, too.”

After a long minute, he guided a spoon of soup to your lips. You turned your head at first. He waited, patient as ever.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly. “Neither are you. We have time. All the time in the world for you to understand that this is love. The kind no one else could ever give you.”

Eventually, your cracked lips parted. The soup was warm, salty with tears you couldn’t stop crying. He fed you slowly, murmuring praise between each bite - “Good girl. That’s it. You’re doing so well for me.” - until the bowl was empty and your stomach ached from more than just emptiness.

When he laid you back down, he didn’t leave. Instead, he moved to the chair at the foot of the bed, eyes trained on you.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here. I won’t let anything happen to you. Not even yourself.”

You wanted to fight. You wanted to scream that this was still a cage, no matter how softly he lined it.

But, your body was done. Your mind was fracturing under the weight of his quiet certainty. As your eyes drifted shut, you felt his hand gently caress your chained ankle.

“I love you,” he said, a promise and a threat all at once. “Even when you hate me.”

You did hate him. You hated the structure - this bunker he’d put you in. You hated the food he cooked and the tea he made. You hated the way he brought items back from your old apartment like it would make you feel better about all this. You hated the way he’d talk about his day like you cared, like it mattered what villains he took down today when he had you chained up underground. You hated him for holding you when you cried, sobbed, about the loneliness clawing away at your bones.

You hated that as the weeks passed, you felt yourself giving in. You hated that you didn’t hate the way his chest felt against your head anymore. You hated that his voice sometimes, only sometimes, made you feel a little safer. You hated that you wanted him to stay every night, to sit in that damned chair while you slept.

You hated yourself most of all.

[vikwritesshit]

cw: this one's a LOT; stalking, breaking + entering, drugging, kidnapping, imprisonment, angst, emotional manipulation, panty theft mention, fem!reader let me know what i missed

pt 2.

patience.

aizawa loves you. it's too bad you can't see that yet.

Stalker.

Shouta didn’t like that word. You’d used it in passing, half-joking with a friend about how you felt like you were being watched - that you had a stalker. Just thinking about the word left a bad taste in the man’s mouth. He wasn’t stalking you. He was protecting you. He was yours just as much as you were his, even if you didn’t know it yet.

He’d been getting sloppy lately, too careless. Leaving your dresser drawer slightly open, not refolding your shirts after running his hands over the soft fabric, leaving windows unlocked that you swore you double-checked. Nothing like the precise break-ins he’d been completing for months. Quiet, brief moments in your apartment - whether you were there or not - where he’d update himself on your life. What new clothes you bought (he'd taken more than a few pairs of panties), or who you’d been texting recently (your phone password is very easy to guess, silly girl).

You were starting to notice his presence, he could tell - he wasn’t a passing feeling anymore, wasn’t just hairs on the back of your neck, or a strange notion you were being watched. Over time, he became a muddy footprint on your balcony after a particularly rainy week, a blanket tucked under your chin that wasn’t there when you fell asleep.

He could see you starting to crack over the weeks. More nights full of restless sleep, checking your six every few steps, installing a security system inside your apartment. Sometimes you swore you heard breathing outside your windows, or a creak of the floorboard when you took a shower. You’d chalked it all up to villain-induced paranoia - up until you found the broken security camera.

He had made quick work of it on his latest visit, dismantling it in silence as you slept. Left the discarded pieces on your kitchen table for you to wake up to, as a reminder - of what, you didn’t know. The police had told you without fingerprint evidence there was little they could do besides upping patrols in your neighborhood.

Regardless, you’d stopped sleeping entirely after that. Staying up all night, knife in your hand (cute, like that would stop him), pumping yourself full of caffeine and stress for almost two days. You weren’t being very good to yourself anymore. That was Shouta’s cue to step in fully.

He watched you - perched on a light pole in the dead of night - as you walked home. It was the third day of no sleep. You were starting to fray the edges; seeing shadows in your peripherals, drifting off as you stood in line for coffee, stumbling into work that afternoon like you’d been walking for days.

You had a late shift - he knew that, like he knew all your shifts - and hadn’t been able to head home until the clock on the wall read 11:37. Perfect for Aizawa; who thrived under the cover of night, who followed after you from the rooftops - just a quick flash of darkness cutting through the moonlight above your head.

You were almost home now. That was good. He could slip in through your window while you unlocked the door, be there to greet you when you walked into your bedroom. You would be scared of him at first, of course, but you’d realize in time that he was meant for you. You were meant for him.

Shouta Aizawa was a patient man. He could wait for you to realize your love for him. He knew all you needed was a little push.

~

You could feel eyes on you - you always could these days. The feeling made your skin crawl as you curled in on yourself, speed-walking home through the quiet, foggy night. The moon was full, lighting up the ground in front of you between street lights.

You felt exposed - too vulnerable with nothing but your work clothes and the items in your purse to keep you safe. What if, whoever was following you was here now? Watching you from behind an alleyway or a parked car, or right behind you-

You spun around, breathing heavily. Predictably, no one was behind you. You couldn’t even find another living thing in your line of sight. You shuddered anyways, turning back around to continue your trek home. Every step echoed off the ground, practically an invitation for evil.

By the time you reached your doorstep, you were sweating, tears brimming in your eyes. You fumbled with the key, missing the hole multiple times as you shook. Slamming the door behind you, the first thing you noticed was your lights. You always, always left the kitchen light on, ever since that aching feeling of being watched crept into your bones. It was not on. Instead, your apartment was completely dark, an eerie quiet settling in.

You moved slowly, cautiously to the kitchen - flipping on lights as you went - willing your now-socked feet to be silent on the creaking hardwood. By the grace of God, they obeyed, and you found yourself standing in front of your ajar bedroom door next - steak knife in hand.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared into the small window of darkness. What the hell could you do? If there really was someone in your apartment, they certainly knew you were home by now - they had to have heard the door slam. The lack of movement in the air made you nauseous.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, heart hammering so loudly you were sure it would give you away. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to call the police, to do anything but stand frozen in your own hallway. It didn’t matter - your legs wouldn’t move. The knife in your grip felt pathetic, useless. Slowly, with a trembling hand, you reached forward and pushed the bedroom door open just a little further, the hinges giving a soft, betraying creak.

Moonlight spilled across the floor from the window, cutting through the shadows. And there, sitting calmly on the edge of your bed like he belonged there, was a familiar figure - long dark hair, long scarf draped loosely around his neck, tired eyes already fixed on you.

…

“E-Eraserhead?” Somehow, you felt even more exposed in front of him than you did on the street.

His voice was rough and flat, a low pitch that you felt in your bones, “Hi, darling. You can call me Shouta.”

Darling? Something sharp in your gut twisted at his words, “Sh- W- What are you- …Why are you in my apartment?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, knife clutched in your hand like a lifeline.

“I’ve been watching you,” he spoke matter-of-factly, rising slowly from his spot on your bed. He didn’t move towards your way, just raised his palms in a gesture of peace, “I worry about you, dear.”

“I’m not- Don’t call me that,” you forced the words out, pointing the knife his way. “Please, just leave. I won’t- Nobody will know you were here. Please.” Your voice dropped to a whisper again at the end, the tip of the knife shaking.

You could see the corner of his mouth twitch in the low light, “I can’t do that… I got reckless, too eager,” he growled, “And let you know I was around.”

He stalked towards you, hands still raised. You backed away as he spoke, “You were doing so good without me. I almost thought I’d never have to step in. Then you stopped sleeping… all because of a broken camera?”

He slowly forced you out into the hall, the cool press of the wall against your back stopping you in your tracks. The knife stayed clutched in your fingers, more of a comfort for yourself than a threat to him.

Eraserhead continued, just a few feet away from you, “That was a reminder that all you need is me.”

“And you… called the cops.”

His words landed heavy between you. His jaw clenched - tired eyes narrowed.

“Eraserhead, please. I don’t- I don’t understand,” there were tears in your eyes threatening to fall, “...a reminder?”

The tension in his body wired itself deeper as he corrected you, one finger twitching, “Shouta.” He took a measured step towards you. “I left those pieces there to make you feel better.” One more move into your space. You tightened your grip on the knife. “You don’t need flimsy electronics to keep you safe, you have me.” Another, and he was close enough to touch. He kept his hands raised even still, eyeing the shake in your outstretched arm with disdain, “You’re afraid of me.”

“Of course I am!” He raised an eyebrow at your outburst, but said nothing. “You- You broke into my apartment! My stuff- you’re-”

You cut yourself off with a choked inhale, whimpering softly when you spoke again. He stayed stone-still and silent, eyeing you through fallen strands of hair.

“What do you even want with me?”

He sighed at your words, a weary sound - like you should’ve already known the answer, “I want nothing with you. I just want you, dear. The same way I know you want me.” His eyes flicked from yours to the window - where the sound of a siren passed.

You took the moment of his distraction to try and cut at him with your knife. One practiced hand shot out to grip your wrist, twisting in a way that forced you to drop the weapon. He kicked it away without looking, turning you around to press your face in the wall. He was rock-solid, warm and terrifying against your back.

You thrashed wildly, panic flooding every nerve as you tried to twist free, elbows jabbing back at him, legs kicking uselessly against the floor. A desperate, animal sound tore from your throat - half-scream, half-sob. “Eraser- Get off me! Let go-!”

Aizawa's grip only tightened, one arm banding across your chest like iron while the other fished something from the pocket of his belt. “Shouta,” he corrected calmly, voice low and steady against your ear, as if you were simply forgetting an important detail rather than fighting for your life. “You keep forgetting, darling. That’s alright. I’ll remind you as many times as it takes.”

You felt the sharp prick of a needle in your neck before you could even register his hand moving up from his belt. Cold liquid flooded your veins, spreading fast and heavy through your limbs. Your struggles slowed almost immediately - muscles turning to lead, vision blurring at the edges, “N-no… please… Sho- don’t-”

The attempt at his name on your lips drew a soft, approving hum from him, “There we go. Good girl.” He caught your collapsing body easily, scooping you up against his chest as the world tilted and faded. The last thing you registered was the brush of his scarf wrapping around you like a cocoon, the faint scent of him - black coffee, something minty, the night air - before everything went black.

~

When awareness trickled back in, it was slow and disorienting. Your head throbbed, your mouth was dry. The surface beneath you was soft - a bed, but not yours, though it did have your sheets. The air smelled different - colder, quieter. You tried to sit up, blinking away your headache, only to find your wrists loosely bound to the bedposts.

Panic clawed up your throat, but your body still felt heavy, sluggish from whatever he’d pumped into you. You tugged at the soft ropes binding your wrists to the bedposts, testing them. They held firm, but didn’t bite into your skin. Almost… considerate. Almost.

The room was sparse but familiar in the worst ways - your pillow under your head, a few of your clothes folded neatly on a chair in the corner. There was a nightstand next to you, a connecting bathroom, a small kitchenette in the corner. A chair at the foot of the bed.

But the walls were different - concrete, reinforced, no windows except a small skylight high above. A safehouse? Underground? The quiet pressed in like a weight.

Footsteps approached from beyond the half-open door. You froze.

Aizawa stepped inside carrying a glass of water and a small plate with what looked like rice and vegetables. He had changed into a plain shirt and sweatpants, hair tied back, eyes as tired as ever. He looked… domestic. Like this was normal.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly, setting the items on the nightstand. His voice carried that same low, steady tone that had haunted your nights for months. “The sedative should be wearing off.” He held the glass to your lips, “Drink this slowly.”

You turned your face away, heart hammering. “Don’t touch me.”

He sighed, but didn’t force the water on you. Instead, he set it aside, placing himself on the edge of the bed, close enough that you could smell the faint coffee on him again. His hand rested on the blanket near your ankle.

“I know this is frightening,” he murmured. “But, you weren’t taking care of yourself. Three days without sleep. You were going to collapse on the street if I waited any longer. This was necessary.”

“Necessary?” Your voice cracked. You yanked harder at the ropes, the bed creaking. “You broke into my home. You drugged me. Let me go, Eraserhead, please. I won’t tell anyone, I swear-”

“Shouta,” he corrected gently, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your damp forehead. You flinched, but there was nowhere to go. “And I told you. I can’t do that.”

The words hung between you. He watched you with that piercing, exhausted gaze - like he was cataloging every micro-expression, every tremor. Like he’d been doing it for months already.

“You can’t do this! What- What about your reputation? You’re a pro hero, if someone finds out-”

“Nobody will find out. Because, you won’t be getting out,” he spoke plainly, like he was telling you about the weather outside. “The sooner you understand that, the easier this will be.”

The finality of it stole the air from your lungs. You stared at him, tears spilling over now, hot and angry, “You’re insane. They’ll look for me. My job, my friends-”

“They’ll find nothing,” he said, voice unchanging. “A tragic disappearance. Villain attack, maybe. I’ve already handled the loose ends. Your security system logs, the camera pieces, the police reports… they lead nowhere useful.” He leaned in slightly, dark eyes softening in a way that made your stomach twist. “You’re safe here - with me. No more paranoia. No more nights wondering if someone’s watching. I am watching. And I’ll keep you safe the way no one else can.”

You sobbed, twisting against the bindings. Part of you still expected the hero - the Eraserhead from the news, the tired, principled man - to snap out of it. But the way he looked at you now was different than the TV. It was possessive. Like he’d been waiting years for this moment.

He let you cry for a while, simply sitting there, one hand eventually resting on your knee through the blanket. Not restraining. Just… there. When your sobs quieted into shaky breaths, he spoke again.

“I know you’re angry. Scared. You’ll fight me for a while. That’s alright,” His thumb brushed a slow circle against your leg. “I’ve waited this long. I can wait for you to see it too - that you belong here.”

He stood slowly, taking the time to release your dominant hand from its restraints, “Eat when you’re ready. I’ll be back to check on you soon. The ropes are only until you stop trying to hurt me. We’ll move to something gentler once you settle.”

Before he reached the door, he paused and glanced back. The faintest trace of a smile touched his lips - tired, but genuine.

“You’re home now. Rest, darling. I’ve got you.”

The door clicked shut behind him, the lock engaging with a soft, final sound. You were left in the quiet, wrist bound to your own familiar sheets, the weight of his words settling over you like his scarf had in the dark.

Outside, in the hallway, the hero leaned against the wall for a moment, eyes closing. He could still hear your muffled cries. It stung more than he expected. But, this was right. You needed him. And in time - weeks, months, however long - he would make sure you understood that you wanted him, too.

Shouta Aizawa was a patient man, after all.

[muddypolitics]

[OC] SOMEDAY A MORTICIAN GETS TO SUPERGLUE HIS LIPS SHUT, Seen in Cleveland

[yeagersss]

In all of his wretched years of existence, Sukuna was only touched by people who wanted to kill him, beat him or maim him.

And yet you—a woman he had taken as a wife out of sheer boredom—had the gall to lay your hand upon him.

It was nothing grand—just your warm, gentle hand resting on his bicep.

Yet Sukuna stiffened under your touch and felt his skin burn with a foreign feeling. You noticed the change in his demeanor and quickly pulled your hand away.

“I'm… I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't mean to touch you without permission.”

And after that, you never did it again.

But Sukuna couldn't forget about it. No matter how hard he tried—even letting his enemies cut off that same limb. But it was useless when he felt that same, warm tingling sensation when he grew it back.

Your touch was seared deeply into his skin.

He should be angry at you for doing this to him. He should kill you.

But instead, he craved. He craved your soft hands on his body again. He imagined you in ways he never dared to—what would it feel like to have your hands gently cradle his face? Would you be disgusted when your fingertips brushed against his deformed face? Or what would it feel like to have you here in his large futon—limbs tangled together, you pressed against him completely bare, letting his large hands freely explore your body and his stomach mouth nibble at your abdomen.

Sukuna's face twisted into an annoyed scowl as he squashed away those thoughts. He glared at the ceiling of his chambers—sleep eluding him.

Then his gaze lazily shifted towards the shoji doors that lead to the garden. They were rattling against the harsh winds of an oncoming storm.

And then he recalled that you were terrified of storms.

Sukuna closed his eyes, completely adamant on ignoring that small detail. But it kept nagging him in the back of his mind like a pounding headache again and again until he clicked his tongue and rose from his futon.

“Stupid, foolish woman.” He grumbled irritably as he left his chambers and made his way towards yours.

And when he reached it, he heard your soft whimpers and sniffles. The sudden hitch of your breath when there was a brilliant flash of lightning followed by defeaning thunder.

Sukuna tore open the shoji door, making you scramble up to sit on your futon in surprise.

“M-My lord?!” You hastily wiped away your tears. “What are you doing here?”

“Your incessant snivelling is disturbing the entire estate, woman.” He narrowed his eyes at the way your hands were trembling. “More than this wretched storm.”

Sukuna approached you, noting the look of fear in your eyes under his looming figure. Your mouth opened, ready to spew out some nonsense apology.

You looked so weak—so pathetic. He should really just kill you and be done with it.

But he found himself bending down and shoving away the covers of your futon.

“Move over.” He grunted.

You were frozen, staring at him dumbfounded.

“Huh…?”

“I won't repeat myself again. Move over.”

You quickly scooted to the other side of the futon as he slid in and made himself comfortable. In his eyes, you looked like a frightened, little rodent tucked away in the corner who gasped at another crash of thunder.

And yet, Sukuna merely rolled his eyes and grabbed your arm, pulling you down and pressing you firmly against his chest. Four arms wrapped around you, his nose pressed against your hair while his stomach mouth breathed against your own stomach.

Again, he felt it. The warmth when your hands were curled tightly into fists against his chest.

He resisted the urge to shiver.

The room was quiet, save for the howling and constant pattering from the wind and rain.

You were still shaking in his hold.

Sukuna frowned.

“Why are you still shaking?” His chest rumbled from his deep voice. “Do you really have anything to fear while being in my arms?”

Slowly, as if some realisation had dawned upon you, the trembling of your body lessened until it completely stopped.

“No… I don't.”

You relaxed in his hold, your fingers slowly uncurling, spreading out against his chest. Sukuna has never felt this much warmth. Not even his own divine flame could compare.

“Sleep.” He grunted out.

You were silent but then shifted slightly against his chest before mumbling.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Sukuna didn't reply.

You were about to lift your face up to look at him—to see what kind of expression he had on his face. But he merely placed a large hand on your head and kept you buried against his chest.

“Disobeying me again? I said sleep, wife.” His voice sounded strained.

And you eventually did—you relaxed and fell into deep sleep as if you weren't in the arms of the most dangerous sorcerer in Japan.

It was a few hours after when Sukuna followed suit. Not before listening to the sound of your soft snores or the way you twitched or snuggled deeper into his hold. His senses were engulfed with the scent of your favourite body oil—camellia.

Sukuna's treacherous thoughts betrayed him yet again as he decided that he… wouldn't mind staying like this with you more often.

And so the very next day, he promptly shifted you to his own chambers.

You didn't object at all and happily made yourself at home.

[pansylair]

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[elysianightsss]

Watching all the lightening strikes of the thunderstorm outside my window and thinking how Sunshine and Simon would be during a thunderstorm…

“Sunshine,” Simon groaned, “Come back to bed.”

“Yeah in a minute oh there’s another one Si!”

You had been stood at the large window with the curtains open for the last hour since you woke up and said “I smell rain.” And Simon had confirmed that there was a thunderstorm rolling in. The pressure had been building all day and of course he had been tracking it with the lightening tracker app on his phone.

Then the first lightening flash had lit up the sky and you were out of bed and at the window in seconds, before the thunder arrives.

He hears you cross the floor. He hears the curtains being pulled back. He does not open his eyes.

The second strike comes and you make a sound that is somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, delighted and involuntary.

"Sunshine.”

"Yeah in a minute ooooo, there's another one, Si, did you see that one?"

He has not seen that one. He is lying on his back with one arm over his face in the dark of the bedroom while his wife stands at the window in her pyjamas conducting a private love affair with a thunderstorm.

"Come back to bed."

"In a minute."

He opens one eye.

You are standing at the large window with both hands on the glass, your face turned up to the sky, lit intermittently by the lightning in a way that makes you look angelic.

He opens the other eye.

"Si," you breathe, "look at that one."

He looks. Through the window the sky splits white and enormous, the whole landscape thrown into a second of stark relief — the garden, the lavender, the fields beyond the fence — and then the dark comes back and two seconds later the thunder arrives, a low rolling thing that moves through the glass and into the floor and into his chest.

You turn to look at him with a smile, eyes bright and glassy.

"Come look," you say.

He should say no. He should say “it's two in the morning, sunshine, come back to bed.” He should say a great number of sensible things and none of them are going to make any difference whatsoever.

He gets up.

He crosses the room and he stands behind you, settling back against his chest, his arms coming around you, your hands covering his on the windowsill now.

Outside, the lightning is coming in intervals now, the thunder close enough that you feel it as much as hear it. The rain arrives properly, sheeting against the window, and you make that sound again, the delighted involuntary one.

"There," you say softly, as another strike splits the sky. “It’s so pretty Si.” You sigh, a happy lilt in your voice.

"Yeah,” he says. Into your hair.

He is not looking at the storm.

[rawme-price]

Something about alpha!141 becoming free use during omega!reader's heat....

After realizing just how exhausting keeping up with an SAS trained omega is alone, the team came to the agreement of simply...moving in to price's house for the two weeks surrounded the lead up and come down of your heat.

The paperwork comes with, of course, they all still have jobs to do while you're on heat leave. But if you decide to interrupt said paperwork to ride gaz all evening...then that's simply how it is.

An omega with free reign of the home, not confined to a nest...it only feels a little bit like you're hunting them for sport.

Sometimes you end up dragging ghost to the nest all day, sometimes you're hopping between all of them. If you beg real sweetly and push your scent, you can convince gaz and ghost to fuck eachother while you get off on the show.

With the combined efforts of all of them, they can barely scrape by your heat intact. It's fine...you'll repay them when their ruts sync up, after all.

[sheepispink]

Crush

rookie!reader x lt ghost in which you realise you dont know how to address these feelings for your lieutenant

no cw, fluff, romance , mentions of a stab wound, very silly and fluff.

a/n: this takes place after they kiss and rookie wants to address it but doesnt know how, but idk after that. It’s a silly chapter and also not completely proofread but it’s fluffy and soooo much romance i heard your call guys i deliver

Rookie Masterlist

——

“You like him, dont you?”

“No— it’s not like that!”

That’s what you’ve been telling yourselves for weeks now, especially after he had kissed your head just before leaving for a mission. There’s nothing casual about that— surely? You brushed it off, wallowed over it while he was gone, then tried to ignore it altogether when he came back and didn't act all that different to you at all. 

He was a lieutenant— you should’ve known there was absolutely no way, a rookie and a Lieutenant? Yeah, no chance.

So you’ve been forcing it down the back of your mind since, not letting your cheeks burn even for a second else you ruined a perfectly good relationship you already had with him. That’s right, you couldnt possibly afford to mistreat his kindness for something like that— he’d think you’re a freak for real this time and actually call HR. He had threatened already when you stupidly said he was hot but you refuse to regret that too much— you’re allowed to acknowledge a man’s attractiveness. A compliment if you will.

All your reservations came crashing down that fateful week of his injury, insecurities boiling up and making you threaten to leave. That wouldnt even be the worst thing, if he hadnt chosen that time to kiss you, and then you asked for more?!

“Why did I do that?!” You groan loudly, rolling over to hide your face in your pillow in hopes it’ll knock you out enough to forget all this. You kissed your Lieutenant and you have no idea what the hell you’re going to do about it— what the hell even are you meant to say?!

“Sir i just had romantic relations with can i eat breakfast with you and the team without my face burning up every five seconds?”

“Hey Lieutenant i just kissed, do you mind if i sleep in your bed and i get clammy and freeze up every five seconds like a right idiot?”

“Hi guy i just kissed, do you mind if we do it again?”

You groan louder this time, using your hands to push the pillow against your face because this really should be the death of you. How did you even get yourself here? 

“Poor method of killin’ yourself, bird. Recommend ya at least add some water first.”

You sit up immediately in horror to see him standing there in the doorway, stature sluggish from a trip out, duffel bag in his arms. As soon as he could walk again, he had to go down with the 141 somewhere, not that they made him do anything too strenuous. 

“What’s with the deer stare? I’m fine, promise.” He raises a brow at your terrified face. 

“Y-you’re early.” You eventually manage to squeak out. You’re not worried about his injuries this time— he was supposed to be back next week. And you were still figuring out what the hell you were gonna do.

“Thought it’d be a good surprise, or not? If you want to have a bath today you still can.” Surely he must’ve encroached upon some plan you previously had, but you just meekly shake your head.

“No, it’s okay. How long are you back for?”

“A while, wrapped up somethin’ big so nothing for a while.”

Shit.

—————————

“Sergeants want to watch a movie in the rec room, you comin?” He had just finished up in the shower when he got the text from them, apparently spontaneously deciding when they got a good deal on a takeaway too.

“Umm..” You’re playing a game on your phone, clearly having not even processed his question yet as you narrow your brows at the screen in concentration. 

“Hello? You lost in your pretty little head again?” He waves his hand in your face, effectively making you miss your attack and you quickly swat his hand away. “What is it?”

“Movie night, yes or no, love?”

“Depends, are you going?” You repeatedly tap the screen and yet the boss is still standing, what is this thing made of? 

“Yes, and they bought snacks. So that’s basically a yes from you, wash up and we’ll go.”

The game ends with a success on your end and you grin, letting it drop to your lap as you finally look up and register all the words he had just said to you. “Oh, sure, a movie night sounds good. I mean i’ll watch what— wait, what did you say before?”

“I said you’re lost in your pretty head again.” He repeats so casually like it didn't just rewire your entire brain chemistry. You watch as he tucks away some of the papers he was working on earlier, locking them in his draw before walking over to you. “You good, love?”

“Y-yeah, just deciding if i need to uh.. check my armoury or something, yeah..” You mumble out, quickly standing and heading into the bathroom with the soft slam of the door. You were not surviving tonight.

———————

You passed out on the couch almost immediately after that to save yourself from any more embarrassment. Except, now you couldn’t help but crave for even more of his attention like that.

It didn't hit you until a week later, in which you joined them on a mini operation of a sorts. Really you were just in charge of watching the cameras for them since the usual soldiers were all caught up on something. It all went smoothly, and you started the drive back to base except.. a storm had started thundering down and having the heating racked up caused the petrol to run out faster than planned. So you all stopped off at a petrol station in the dead of night, the rain still pattering down as you and the sergeants rushed in. 

“Not always safe in there, i’ll be outside, okay?” Simon mumbles, following you to the woman's cubicle, and you sleepily nod knowing that some creeps liked to linger in these places.

Thankfully you had no such troubles, and it was even actually clean! You grin to yourself as you wash your hands, already thinking about the bag of m&ms you were just about to buy for the way back.

“All done!” You hum as you step out and he stands from where he was leaning against the wall. 

“Gotta grab some stuff first, car’s acting up a bit.” He starts walking and you follow, watching him look at a rack of engine oil and coolants. Truly you probably would be able to help, but you’re kind of tired right now so you just leave him to it. Instead you over the top of the aisles, noticing the lack of anyone around. Johnny’s mohawk seems to peek out near the fridges, along with Kyle’s cap, but that’s it apart from the cashier. 

You turn your attention back to Simon again whose picked up one of the coolants, looking it over at rhe details. His other hand hangs useless at his side but with his gloves off for once— and yours cold from the rain— you can't help but stare at it a bit too longingly. Before you can really think twice about it, you lightly tap your hand against his, before gently slipping your palm against his. He glances at you for a moment, but you keep your gaze stuck to the floor, half expecting him to pull away with a roll of his eyes.

Instead, his fingers lock your hand in place, pulling you along to the next aisle with him as you let a smile spread across your face. His hand warms the chill in your body, making even your face start to feel warm too. “What d’ya want?” He’s pulled you into the chocolate section, mandatory for any late night drive.

“M&Ms please.” You squeeze his hand as you crouch to look at the offers on the bottom shelves. “Reckon we have to get some sour gummies too.”

He nods, and then cocks his head towards the bag of wafer rolls and you practically look at him with stars in your eyes. You grab all of them, his hand still in yours as he heads to the counter. It’s even harder to push down the rising warmth as the cashier smiles at your romantic display despite the late hour. Maybe Simon was just doing this just to make you seem more normal, just like the cash he fishes out his pocket and places on the counter. Cover the tracks, right?

You notice Kyle’s hood as he stands by the door, waiting for you too and embarassed, try to pull your hand away from Simon. Unfortunately for you, he just squeezes it tighter, giving you a knowing look. “Wha’s wrong? Eager to hold it before, why not now?”

“Simon!” You hiss and he chuckles, waiting until the very last moment to finally let you go, making you grumble at him.

“Price said the weather will clear up in a bit, then we can call Laswell and share some info.” Kyle hums as he walks beside you two to the car. He pauses for a second, and then a cheeky smile lifts across his face. “Lt, I’m gonna take your place in the front, you can take the middle seat.”

You don't even get a say in the matter as you’re immediately squashed against the window, the weight of him constant beside you. The car starts moving again, snacks open and pass around, and then just as he passes you the chocolates his arm settles around your head. Just resting there, like a personal pillow. 

“Uh.. rookie?”

You snap out of your thoughts, looking up to see Kyle staring right at you. “Y-yeah?”

“Just was gonna ask to have some but you look a little too comfortable there.” He teases, a smirk rising on his lips before you shake your head adamantly, practically shoving the chocolates in his hands.

“I’m being squashed. It’s all your fault for sitting upfront.”

—————

It’s been a few days since, and thankfully he’d been so caught up in other work he forgot to even address that at all. Wait, were you supposed to be the one to address it? Did it need addressing?

Regardless, he’d been called out for another mission and so a few days spans into two whole weeks. Usually you were fine with him being gone, so why did your chest ache every time you saw his neatly folded sheets? It got to the point you had to mess them up, sleep in his bed for one night even if it killed you more laying there without him warm beside you. 

All of a sudden, you were noticing his abscense everywhere. The lack of his stupid alarm that made you groan into your pillow, none of his clothes hanging to dry in the bathroom, the bathroom always available for you to use. And yeah, you had friends you could hang around and often did while he was here, but there was something so incredibly lonely about returning to a quiet room with not even a sign of him there. Not even one of his spare masks hanging off his chair.

Even when you got pissed off at a cocky soldier, said somethings you probably shouldn't have and had gotten glared at by a superior, his office door was still locked shut. You couldnt even go in there and get scolded by him. 

You officially cant take it anymore after another week goes by with absolutely no news at all; it’s not like you exactly had an outlet to get information from either. So you sulked, and spent your evenings sitting on his desk chair, on his bed, maybe even wearing the old hoodie he had chucked out months ago.

“Wait! Are you seriously throwing that out?”

“Well.. it’s too small for me. Nothing i can do about it unfortunately.”

“Can I have it?” He raised a brow at the time, but you knew how soft they were from the odd chance you were sorting a muddled laundry pile. It was really good quality, better than you could ever splurge on. 

“I mean.. my title’s faded anyway.” He had shrugged it off, leaving the room before you even got a chance to slide it on yourself.

It was warm, so warm, and even though it’d been a while you could still make out the one cologne he swears by. You made a few small adjustments so it’d fit better, damn men’s clothes and sometimes fitting weirdly, but now it swallowed you perfectly.

Something startled you awake tonight, making you wearily blink as you roll over to check your small clock. Only twelve am, it wasnt even that late. Must be the foxes mating again. You groan at the thought of their noises all night, before trying to fall back asleep again. Except you cant, at all. You toss and turn and toss and turn to absolutely no avail. What frustrates you even more is than when you roll back over, his bed is still as empty as ever. 

Even better, you totally forgot to refill your water bottle before knocking out. So now you have to get out of the warm covers, grab your shoes and water bottle and walk the three whole minutes to the rec room. You suddenly stop right outside, seeing light peeking out from the crack beneath. Only you and the rest of them had the key, or well that was what you were told. Maybe that CIA agent had come by?  

Laswell you think.. or maybe not. You’re too tired to care, what are they gonna do, sue you?

You push the door open, immediately freezing in place. Simon is stepping towards the counter, stripped down from his gear and clearly having recently returned. His hair is still damp from a hot shower, a few streaks of black still smudged around his eyes. Worst of all, his hand is hanging wrong, and you can see the way his shirt doesn't sit on his arm as well as it should.

It makes tears prick in your eyes, because regardless it is still him, and he’s here after what? A month? A whole four weeks, thirty or so days away? 

You barely make out more than a squeak before the door swings shut behind you, the soft sound of your slippers pattering against the floor. Then out comes his immediate huff, the air forced out of his lungs when you suddenly throw yourself against him. 

“Love—“

“It’s been a whole month! A month! And you come back now— randomly- and you didn't even wake me up!” You curse him, contradicting your arms that are tight around his middle as you hug him with all your might, utterly determined to take everything you’ve missed for months.

“Though you were sleepin’. It’s late, bird.” He chuckles at your angry words before his uninjured arm strokes down your hair.

“So is this like..?” Johnny is the first to break the silence, and it’s only then that you realise the other three had been settling down on the couch when you barrelled into Simon.

Quickly, you scramble back, completely awake now as you frantically glance between Simon and Kyle’s phone that had been directly pointed at you too. “I- i— he’s injured! I wanted to make sure he’s okay!”

“So you arent wearing his hoodie right now?”

Now that you had stepped back, the sight of you was all Simon could focus on. Your hair tousled and tucked beneath the hood, eyes drowsy and slippers tucked on beneath your cozy pajama bottoms. Of course, his hoodie swallowing your upper half, his surname written across your back and front. 

You swallow hard, would he get angry at you for being so careless. What if he didn't want them to know about your relationship? What if this wasnt even a relationship?!

“I didn't even know you had that..” He mutters, making you blink back towards him whilst desperately trying to defend yourself. For once in your life he genuinely looks somewhat speechless, just staring at you.

“Well?” Kyle is pushing, you know it from the cheeky smirk across his lips that you want to let your fist collide with. 

“She’s mine.” Simon says, leaning down to kiss your lips right before them, not even a care in the world. You’re speechless because you thought he wouldn't be as shameless as that and clearly the sergeants have similar thoughts from how they immediately shut up aswell.

Price finally breaks the silence with a fake scoff.  “I thought I was in charge of soldiers, not a bunch of teenagers.” He directs the last bit towards the Sergeants who still have their jaw gaping in disbelief.

“You knew about this, didn't you?” Kyle huffs, offended and Johnny nods in tandem.

“Simon- stop!”

You groan, wiping your cheek with your sleeve after he presses another kiss to your cheek, practically smacking his lips on purpose to piss off the other two.

“Just showing my love for you.”

You all give him practically the exact same look, and you’re positive that if someone had their thermal scope on you they’d see a fiery red and you’d encourage them to take the shot.

“Y’want tea, bird?” He pulls away to attend to the kettle that just finished boiling— of course, he did.

“Hot chocolate, extra sugar.” You grumble which he only chuckle at, pulling out the bag of marshmallows from the cupboard.

“Ye know ye cant go out with us anymore, right?” Johnny suddenly says, arms crossed over his chest and giving you a look like he came straight out of mean girls.

“What?” You raise a brow and Kyle dramatically nods along, turning away from you to grab himself a mug for his cuppa. 

“Our pub nights are for the single people, not the ones lipsing our friend.”

“He’s the one lipsing me!” You argue, unsure if they were really joking. The single thing was supposed to be a joke, right? “You cant kick me out!”

“Well, we’ll consider your place with one condition.” 

Johnny adds, snatching your hot chocolate before Simon can hand it to you to take much more than a sip, earning him a glare. His lips lick off the whipped cream coating his top lip, chocolate sticking to the bottom one as you steal it back. “You gotta introduce us to some of your friends. Your nurse one is a real bonnie lass…”

“No way!” You shake your head adamantly, not because you dont want your friends to be happy, you really do. But these two..

“You dont even wash your hands before you eat sometimes! And who knows how often you even clean your clothes.”

“Oh come on, Lt wears one bloody mask, he probably stinks.”

“Why’re you complaining at me? Every time we go out, Kyle gets asked for his number at least twice.”

As you direct your squabbling to Kyle, Simon hands Price his own steaming mug which he takes gratefully. “So, you finally told ‘er then?”

Simon grunts in return, even as he chooses to sit right next to Price, knees touching him as he watches you point a finger right at Kyle and argue. “When I got injured.” He reluctantly says, pausing to take a long sip of the tea. “She got really upset— said she was only burdening me ‘cause she doesn’t have experience like i do.”

Price chuckles at his words, since it was a situation he could imagine fairly quickly with you who wore your emotions more openly than the rest of them. He was glad that Simon had you, the Lieutenant had worked hard for too long without a reward, and of course the sergeants got a taste of normalcy when they interacted with you. 

“I want front row seats at the wedding, son.” He pats Simon firmly on his shoulder, already having finished his drink and now standing to place it in the sink. It was time to get some sleep too.

Simon doesn't roll his eyes at the implication, nor does he even grumble at the teasing tone. Price had a habit of getting what he wanted, and this time he couldnt deny this request.

————

“I can’t believe you got hurt and you’re just walking around no problem. I mean, is it not kind of fun complaining?” You raise a brow at the thought, knowing the hard way how much his stab wound hurt. 

“Reckon Price would laugh in my face if I asked him for a day off.” He grunts and you snort, because you know he totally would. Not because he wouldn't give him one, but more so the fact the Lieutenant would have to be joking to ask for that.

He steps out of the bathroom, caught immediately on the sight of you sitting against the pillows of his bed. You’re picking at the insignia on his shirt, a simplified version of the taskforce symbol, as you wait for him to come and join you. But the fact is that you look gorgeous dressed in his clothes, the way they seem to make you just glow from their dull colour. 

“Sorry for keeping you up.” He mumbles, turning off the mainlight and shrouding the room in darkness. He pats the bed first, making sure he wont squash you as he slides beneath the covers. The duvets move as you do the same, until your hand finds his uninjured arm and soon enough you’re clinging on.

“If i knew you’d be back, i would’ve waited.”

You huff, and he knows you’ll get annoyed tomorrow that he didn't give you better updates. It’s not his fault he prefers surprises. The both of you fall silent for a moment as you readjust, you curling into his side as his arm settles behind your head— his bicep a very comfortable pillow.

“Cant believe i almost didn't see you in my hoodie.” He grumbles suddenly, and you groan, feeling your cheeks warm all over again.

“I told you i didn't mean to! It was my last sleep shirt.”

“Doesnt matter, it’s a bloody sight.” You feel his lips press against your cheek again, a silent reassurance. 

“Si?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” His hand rubs your waist gently, the warmth of him radiating so hot it makes you melt even further. You cant believe you almost missed out on this tonight.

“Think i got a crush on you.”

That makes a laugh rumble through his chest and your hand that lays across it, the breath he exhales blowing the top of your head. “I must be bloody whipped then, huh?” You feel him relax properly now, making your smile only grow knowing you’re the sole reason for that. 

“You gotta say if you like me back.” You feign annoyance and he huffs properly this time, kissing your head. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

He feels your finger stutter against his chest, like you froze up just from the confession, before your nose pushes into him as you hide your face. 

“I love you too, Si.”

——————————-

Rookie Masterlist Buy me a coffee!

OH MY DAYS I ACTUALLY DID FLUFF FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A HOTTTT MINUTE now i need someone to get brutally injured so the scales are balanced

Also the taglist is now unfortunately closed because i have 2 and im scared im gonna get like attacked for tagging too many yk

taglist:

@ninniesontheglass3 @yummyzenaku @lavenderloss @yofshiw @heyitsniki18 @kupids-arrow @pythonmoth @ghostslollipop @shadowpandas @leena12 @buckysjuicyplums @silcry @i-just-like-to-read @sans-chara @bbmgirll @peepawpricexhat @aishidunno @cacklebot @mims900 @echo9821 @evie-119 @tvnile @mrtonystark @slutforslashersx @mxrgodsstuff @witchling17 @wowtheuniverse @jessjessmarvelandhp @tiredpuppup @cchnnbhxhchchc @missj609 @cece2608 @underrated-jellygirl @blushmimi @ehwuhwruowg @yindoesstuff @just-lilita @antonellavanella @imjustaprettyyprincess @oh-buttercup @justmexfranzi @mayy16007 @diorsvnz @sillychronicles101 @muraaaaaa @just-pure-trash @ilse235 @jessalynjones1989 @ririerm

[sheepispink]

@anonymouse1807 @witchybeloved @orkwardx0 @darkredlynx @anothergojostan @fadocahiii @l0v3po1s0n @hypertail @sgt-artemis-owl-riley @twoandahalfdimes @supaturtl3 @aubrea-19 @bi-witch-bxtch @letstryagaintomorrow @tiamobella123 @kee-0-kee @moonlightriverwalker @alexinarcadia @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @crystal-star36 @jadedjoker777 @celleryxo @pixiu-palindrome @smarvolo @pistolprinc3ss @fries-pls @ameliaekins @datdonkeydude @yarn-mony

[6eons]

Widow → Simon Riley [3]

tags: fem!mercenary!reader. forced proximity. descriptions of domestic violence. maternal!laswell

w/c: 4k

a/n: kate's wife makes an appearance and bc she is unnamed, i gave her one :D

<< previously on widow ! || ao3 ♡

If Soap thought getting Ghost out was hard, he had it coming when it came to you. He would knock on your door for minutes, begging for a sign of life so that you could accompany him to sparring. He even would taunt you through the door, that maybe because he was much larger than you, you were scared that he'd take you down. He started to question Gaz's memory, even asking Price what room he had assigned you to. This went on for a few days and Soap maybe wondered if you'd died, pounding a little bit harder, as if that would make you rise from the dead.

Soap decides he's had enough and he's going to get Price to check in on your room. He waves a greeting in passing to Gaz who's coming from medical after an accident from a sparring session, with Ghost he presumes. Gaz is sporting a forming bruise at his jawline and holding an ice pack to the side of his head.

Pushing his way through Price's door, Soap is all but expecting you there. You're sitting quietly, flipping through manila folders while Price types away at his laptop. You barely acknowledge him as he clears his throat, instead catching the attention of his captain.

"Bonnie," Soap is surprised to see you. Today, you're actually dressed to fit in on base - fitted Under Armour athletic shirt with cargo pants and combat boots that give you a few inches, not as many as the heels did though. You have on armbands, which tells Soap that you've already worked out or are planning to. "You avoidin' me or somethin?" he leans against the doorframe. Price peeks up from his laptop raising an eyebrow at the Scot. Soap is suddenly scrambling to push himself into the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Hm?" you pause your reading, looking up at Soap. "Sorry sergeant, you talkin' to me?"

"Yeah, I've gone by your room the past few days and you haven't answered."

"Oh, right," you use a paperclip to press the edges of the page you'd left off on before shutting the manila folder. "I've not been staying on base, I've been stayin' in a flat with Laswell." Soap looks to his captain in disbelief.

"You could have bloody told me that," he sends an accusatory look to Price. Price pauses his typing to put his hands up in defense while Soap moves his eyes to you. "I came in 'ere yesterday askin what room ye were assigned to!"

"S'not my fault y'weren't specific."

"Why aren't you stayin' on base? You've a cozy room I reckon. An' you'll be safe, not too far from Gaz an' I. Ghost too, if you sprint." Soap slightly fibs about the last one, knowing Ghost's room is damn near on the other side of the building. And honestly, if you were to catch Ghost on a bad day, he might be the one you need a safe space from. But he's right in that your room would have been around the corner from Gaz's and his'. "Fancy a workout, we've also got a pretty nice gym."

"Kinda defeats the whole 'no attachment' thing if I'm neighbors with you guys, no?" you shrug.

"You're taking this thing pretty seriously." Soap makes the observation under his breath, but you hear him nonetheless. "We're just coworkers, bonnie, can't blame us for wantin to get to know you." you let out a hum of disapproval.

"You and Kyle have sisters," you lift the stack of manila folders, revealing you were studying up on them. "Think there's a psychological study out there from Stanford that implies that you both'd get attached to me pretty quickly."

"Yeah, an' I'm pretty sure getting attached to coworkers is part of the job, s'natural." he was very content with the friendships he formed along the way; it was a miracle he got Ghost to crack and he wasn't about to let you slip through his fingers either.

"So is losing your coworkers," this causes Johnny to frown at the thought. "Also, part of the job."

"If y'ask me, tha's a pretty stupid reason to deprive yerself of friends." Soap says truthfully.

"I do my job and go, that's how this works."

"Yeah, but you work with Laswell, right? This ain't the first an' only time you'll be workin' with us."

"Listen kiddos, I don't mean to interrupt this sweet conversation, but I've got a meeting." your eyes meet Price's and he's proper shoo'ing you out of his office with his hand. You grab the folders, tight-lipped as you approach Soap. "Ah," Price tuts disapprovingly. "Those stay. Confidential and all, you can read them after I'm done here. I'll give you a call." you spare a glance to the captain, shaking your head at him as you drop the manila folders on the couch adjacent to his desk. He gives you a nod before you leave his office, Soap shutting it behind himself before running after you.

"Ey, we're not done!" Soap exclaims as he catches up to you.

"John MacTavish," you repeat the name you'd seen on his folder. "You go by Johnny?"

"No' really, just by my folks at home an' Ghost." you nod your head at his response.

"Your documents doesn't say it, so forgive me if I'm wrong- Your sister... She's not a Jane, is she?" your question immediately perks Soap up, confirming your thoughts. "Dated some loser named David." Soap grabs your forearm, turning you around.

"The hell do you know about David?" he's immediately sizing you up at the mention of his sister's ex.

He distinctly remembers Jane talking about how mentally draining he was; he was controlling and would guilt trip her into not going to visit her own brother. David never physically put his hands on Jane, but he threatened it. He was manipulative and everything that came along with it; on one occasion, he'd planted fake screenshots in her camera roll to justify him slashing her tires. And when Soap had visited last Christmas, he found that Jane was free of him.

"I know that I took care of him." your eyes harden when you turn your gaze to look down where his hand grasps over your skin. Loosening his grip, he keeps his eyes pressed to yours - he doesn't release you, not seeming impressed with your answer. "Soap, please don't tell me you need me to explain my side hustle again." that makes Soap release you.

"Right. Sorry, I should've known." Soap clears his throat before offering another apology.

"She's happier now, I've heard." heard, seen - it didn't matter that your source was her Reddit account where she'd confessed to feeling like a weight was lifted from her shoulder.

"Yeah, loads. Thanks to you," since being formally on their team, you never seized to amaze Soap. He already saw you as some sort of hero, but you helped someone so personal to him. "Y'know, you can't tell me these things and expect me to be okay with you wanting to be distant coworkers."

"Right, should've expected that. Not good at conversation, just needed to pull the topic of conversation away." you huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you turn the corner of the corridor. "Maybe if I kick your ass, you'll change your mind?"

"You know, you're more similar to Ghost than I imagined. Y'should remember that if you ever change your mind about the 'friend' thing," Soap comments, dodging a group of soldiers roughhousing in the hallway. "Have doubts you could take me down bonnie, 've been at your door asking nearly all week."

"You say that now... Just wait til you see what I did to Sergeant Gaz."

"You did that?" he doesn't believe you. He's looking at you up and down again, reminding you that you're smaller than they are. Like you can read his mind, you roll your eyes in response.

"Oi. You having more body mass than me means nothing."

"Only one way to find out."

"You fancy beating up my sergeants?" Captain Price saunters into his office with a bag in hand. Following him in are the aforementioned sergeants and Ghost. You look up from your homework, putting the cap on the highlighter you'd fished out from Price's desk.

"Did I beat them up or did they put themselves in the position to be beaten up?" your hands come up in defense, eyes narrowing and smiling at Soap's busted lip. Gaz's flowering bruise has turned into a dark purple, though come tomorrow you know it'll have specks of yellow hugging the purple. "Had all the time in the world to tap out."

"Something tells me you don't play fair." Ghost comments, taking a seat next to Gaz on the couch.

"You're right, I don't." you scoot your chair so that Price could pass by behind you to his own chair. "But their cases were special, so I made an exception." you begin to push the papers scattered all over Price's desk back into its original folder. You organize the stack while standing up.

"Where y'going?" Soap questions, hearing shuffling from your side of Price's desk.

"It's getting late so I should probably head back."

"Nonsense," Price calls out. "It's Friday." he says as if that should mean anything to you. "We eat dinner together and switch off who provides it. You've got next week." Price tosses you a paper bag. You catch it swiftly, opening it to reveal what looks like a sandwich wrapped in parchment. "Call it part of the team-bonding experience."

"You guys are not going to let me be lonely, are you?" you ask, and there's clamor amongst the men in the room with you. You can make out Ghost saying something along the lines of 'well if it were up to me...' and you don't expect anything less. You thank Price who only gives you a nod in acknowledgement.

"You can keep doing what you're doing. We'll just be here." Gaz tosses a paper bag to Soap before carrying two to the couch, one for him and one for Ghost presumably.

"What are you doing?" Soap's chair on the other end of Price's desk is suddenly beside you, shoulder pressed against yours. This guy could learn a thing or two about personal space. His fingers are spreading your paperwork across the end of the table. And privacy. "Studying us?" the tips of his finger graze over your highlight marks on Gaz's paperwork.

"Yeah, apparently."

"Y'know, if you have one of these for yourself, it might get me off your back for a few days." Soap is still pressed into your side. He's so close, you can hear his jaw move as he chews. If you didn't already feel bad for putting him on his ass, you'd shove him away. So you tolerate him as a silent apology for kicking his ass earlier.

"I could probably get Laswell to send over a revised one." from beside you, you can see Soap put his fist up in some sort of victory. "But I'm not sure how good it'll do you, might be smaller than Ghost's." consider his joy short-lived, as his wrist shrinks down and a scowl plays at his lips.

You've seen what Laswell's put in your personnel file; she's not authorized to have one of you, but when it comes to you, you can expect all bets to be off. Birth certificate and a few (of many) cases you helped her with, of course a lot of involvement had to be redacted. Kate had to include your involvement with one of the biggest crime organizations in the US, that much couldn't be avoided - the CIA did allow for redactions to be made though, strings that she pulled that only strengthened your allegiance to her.

You were willing to do the dirty work for her if it meant she could keep the closet that held your skeletons padlocked, tucked away, and sunken somewhere at the bottom of an ocean.

Your thoughts are interrupted by laughing. Your ears perk up as the man beside you shares the events from earlier. How he was able to pin you for a few seconds, Gaz protests and says he’s over exaggerating, it was half a second. You eat silently as Soap tries to describe what it was that you did to him, only he can’t even put it into words. As he tries to explain, Gaz cuts in with agreement, since your swift moves were similar in how his head smacked against the ground.

From beside Gaz, you can’t help but notice Ghost’s eyes already on you. You don’t remember his personnel file mentioning anything about a staring problem, though you can’t say you’re surprised. And he’s not surprised either when you hold his gaze. Pretty brown eyes. They’re softer when you’re not pissing him off. His balaclava is pulled up to his nose so he could eat and you realize you preferred the surgical face mask he wore when you first encountered him because you could see more of him. From his paperwork, you understood why he was more private when it came to his appearance and personal life.

Your eyes leave him first. You don’t even know if he’s silently celebrating his win because you engage in Gaz’s and Soap’s conversation. They’re a very talkative bunch, these two are, and you wonder how they fair during missions where they don’t have to be as quiet. You and Simon chime in when it matters, which isn’t all that often since Soap would rather speak over you guys anyway.

The night draws in before you know it. Too deep in your homework, you fail to notice Gaz and Soap trickling out, picking up the rubbish for Price on the way out. Price lets out a huff, closing his laptop before turning to you.

“I reckon it’s too late to get you back to Laswell at this hour.” he states firmly. You furrow your brows and look at the clock hanging above Price’s doorway and surely, it’s almost 2300. “Very well, you can continue this tomorrow. I’ll have Ghost escort you back to your quarters.”

Oh, right. Him.

Your eyes trail toward him and he’s already looking at you, elbow rested on the arm of the couch, his chin planted in the palm of his hand. His eyes look heavy and yet he doesn’t look tired.

“Bout time.” Ghost’s voice gravels deeply, it almost tickles your ears.

“No one said you had to wait for me.”

“Pretty sure my captain just did.” Ghost is already standing with a stretch from sitting too long. He also knows how men can be sometimes and if some of the soldiers see a bird like you wandering around, it might not end pretty. He might not like you, but he’s not a complete monster. You mutter a good night to Price before following Ghost out.

The silence is thick, the only thing cutting into it are Ghost’s heavy boots on the ground. You remembered him being quieter. The walk isn’t very far, which tells you Ghost’s walk back to his room will be much longer. Before you can tell him thank you, he’s already got his hand up.

“Get some rest, you’ll need it.” he’s demanding it almost.

“For what?”

“Taking you to the shooting range. I’ll see you at 0400.”

Your mind is hazy, blurring what your nightly routine would normally look like. Somewhere along brushing your teeth and changing into more comfortable clothes, you lost yourself in bed. Nothing outstanding, just a stiff bed that you needed to remember to bring extra blankets for extra plush. For the later nights of your extended stay, of course.

Slumber took you faster than you could recall and unfortunately, its end was quicker, sneaking up on you while your defense was down.

“Wow, you really are shite at this.” Ghost comments truthfully. Normally, he reserved this sort of honesty to his teammates, his boys who he knew could handle his candor. But it was you, so he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to tell you how he really felt. “Stance shite, angle shite. You might be blind in one eye, however you’re bloody good at rollin’ em.” he clocks you before you even realize. Ghost takes a few steps forward and suddenly you can feel the warmth radiating off his body.

Contrary to popular belief, he’s not as cold as his heart is giving off. His hand is suddenly at the center of your back, pressing so you tilt your body the way he needs you to. His other hand is hooked under your jaw, guiding your head against the scope so you can see better. Once he’s got your head in the correct positioning, his hand drops to your arm angle it in a more comfortable spot. You don’t even realize he’s holding his breath until he exhales sharply. He’s avoiding inhaling your scent, probably because it smells better than his balaclava and the last thing he needs to be thinking about is burying his face in the fabric of your shirt.

“Holy shit, I did it.” you whisper to yourself and you don’t even notice his warmth missing from your side.

“Hey, how ‘bout that, you finally marked something we can see.” Ghost says. The bullet hole wasn’t anywhere near the head by any means, it didn’t even touch the body of the silhouette, just barely nicking the edge of the paper. “Again, without my help.” you shoot again the bullet cleanly goes through the paper shoulder.

Ghost makes a mental note of how quick of a learner you are. After a few more shots, he moves you to a different location where a draft can be present and instead of still targets, there’s moving ones. He remains on standby, just far enough to not feel your body heat but enough to where he can get a good idea of which target you’re aiming for. Unfortunately for him, that means the scent of your body lotion and shampoo fills his lungs like they're meant for attacking his internal organs. He finds himself audibly laughing when you lick your finger and stick it in the air to feel what direction the draft is coming from before adjusting your angle. His fingers tingle, yearning to reach out and adjust your positioning once more even if it is spot on.

You clip your first shot through the neck.

Ghost doesn’t celebrate with you. He's quiet, beside you at a respectable distance, focusing on how his hands burn and his head dizzies.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" the voice of Evelyn Laswell is on the other end of your call. There's a lightness to her voice and you know she expected to hear from you, maybe sooner even.

"Well, seeing as our operations are being held up, I'm getting a little stir crazy," you reply back and you earn a laugh from her. "Need you to give me access to The Web."

The Web was a digital database Evelyn and yourself had come up with, Kate Laswell's only involvement being the name of the database. Fitting for someone called Widow, she would say. It could pull reports and news articles about victims of domestic disturbances. It also pulled from online forums, keying in on specific phrases that could give you an idea on if someone was being abused.

While Kate wasn't super involved in your adventures of The Web, she did check it from time to time when she had the freedom from work to do so. Especially when it involved you needing a pardon.

"Thought you were going to be in and out of there." Evelyn hums, noting the IOU between you and her wife. You can hear her fingers running across her keyboard in the background. You stare at the night sky while you peer out your window from the room you've taken lodging in from Kate's flat. It was under Evelyn's maiden name to serve as an extra layer of protection, giving you enough privacy to stow away.

"Yeah, it was supposed to be." you puff through your cheeks, rubbing your hand over your face. "Then it became personal."

"You and personal? That's quite the picture, ain't it?" you can hear Eve smiling to herself. "I know it's classified, so I won't ask. If it's personal, then I must say - you've got this handled. You're strong and you've got Kate and I in your corner."

"Thanks Evelyn." you say quietly, but enough for her to hear.

"There you go, you should have full access to The Web. I've approved of the IP over there, so the missus can view it if she needs as well." On your bed, your laptop chirping back to life.

"Not sure if she will, but I'll mention it to her." typing away on your laptop, you use your admin privileges to access the database and render a scan of Hereford and anything within a 6 hour drive; a luxury you didn't have in the States since England was smaller than the US. "She's got her hands tied with this team here."

"141? John Price's team?"

"Yeah, you know 'em?" you question with a quirk of your eyebrow even if she can't see you.

"I've had dinner with John Price a few times. Once with the rest of the boys." Evelyn says. "They're lovely boys." you hum in recognition.

"They're alright."

"I think they'd be a good influence on you, nice little bunch."

“I don’t need any distractions.” you bit out sharply, same tone that you used with Kate when she said the same thing. You hear Evelyn sigh deeply.

“Not a distraction. A nice group of friends, lord knows you need one.”

“I don't even know them. And you know why I can't do that.” you shake your head. "And besides, I thought you and Kate were my friends."

“And you and I both know that’s not a real reason to keep yourself from making real friends. If Kate trusts them, that should be enough for you.” That admission lands harder than you'd like. The silence that fills the air is enough for her to know that it did too. It doesn’t help that your first instinct is to abandon this mission. "Plus, Kate and I don't count."

The desire is there, pushed so far back in your mind and Evelyn & Soap’s words keep reigniting the thought, the longing for connection. Healthy distance will keep you, collectively, safe.

It didn’t stop you from thinking about your observations of the group here. Soap’s warm personality, he was persistent to a fault; his friendliness radiated off of him as if it was his purpose on earth. Or Gaz’s thoughtfulness, how if the conversation didn’t involve you, he was quietly dipping his head to find a way to include you, even if you didn’t mind just listening. Price tries to take on a paternal figure, and maybe it’s because he was the captain of the team; he was always making sure you knew you had him at your disposal for whatever resources you needed. Plus if he wasn’t feeding you, he was reminding you to feed yourself. The broody lieutenant was another story...

You were used to people hearing that you didn’t want to get close and they just left you alone, not wanting to push their luck with the help. No one was ever eager for your company the way Soap was, though it didn’t stop a few soldiers from making unwanted passes at you - you promptly kicked their asses for it too. And on the other side of the scale, no one ever really took it personal and decided to further push you away for it. If you could ruffle his feathers so he would push you away, that was the only way you could feel fulfilled with the distance. There was something more there; you could tell it amused him to have you bite back.

Distance was healthy.

a/n: trying to get stuff up before my bday on sunday eeee lskdjfdskf

taglist: @daisyandherlovess

[6eons]

Widow → Simon Riley [2]

tags: fem!mercenary!reader. forced proximity. alcohol consumption. tension cus ghost's got trust issues & u love getting under his skin. mentions of domestic violence and murder. military inaccuracies.

w/c: 3,6k

a/n: i did want to reiterate that "widow" is ur callsign ! otherwise i'd have tagged this as an x oc fic. hope that clears things up! mwah.

<< previously on widow ! || ao3 ♡

Soap's wish had come true.

It was hard for others within your group to not look at you. You definitely didn’t belong to any task force of theirs, no uniform, no patch. A black dress that seemed to fit snug on you, hugging you in all the right places and thigh high heels - who the hell worked in this business in heels?

Pretty thing you were, hanging around the likes of these big, dangerous men who’ve seen more blood than you can imagine. That’s what the other soldiers on base thought. Though, you’d love to see their faces contort in fear and surprise if you’d told them whatever they thought of these men beside you, make it ten times worse when it came to the thought of you.

Part of your charm came from how unassuming you looked, how you were able to lure in men thinking they could have a chance with a beautiful looking woman who’d normally be out of their league — only for them to perish painfully and disappear without a single trace, a trade in for their sins.

“What’s your poison?” Gaz’s foot lightly kicks yours as the waitress perched at the table blinks at you with her little notebook out. Her eyes never reached the men at the table, but she seemed entirely fine with locking eyes with you and you could feel how much comfort your presence brought her.

“Espresso martini, please,” you send the girl a warm smile. She scribbles in her notebook and mumbles about how the appetizers Soap had ordered would be out shortly. You let your eyes linger on the fleeting woman before turning your gaze back to men sitting at the booth.

“How long have you been doing this for?” Soap asks, taking a sip of his water.

“Long time.”

“She’s just as bad as Ghost,” groans Soap in disbelief, earning a laugh from Gaz and a grumble from Ghost.

“Okay well,” you can’t help but snort at his reaction. “As a kid, I was beating up bullies on the playground. My protective instincts developed at a very young age, I suppose. I was 14, I think, when I had a neighbor who would put his hands on his girlfriend. My parents would tell me to cover my ears and I’d be safe, but who was going to make sure she was safe? If my cowardly parents weren’t going to do anything about it, then of course I would. Took a few months to muster up the courage and it killed me, knowing I was letting her suffer longer than she needed to, but I did it. She wasn’t home that night but I did my part.”

“Jeez,” Soap mumbles under his breath, but you hear it. “Y’dinnae get caught?”

“No. Girlfriend told the police he was always very forgetful, and so they didn’t have any reason to believe his carbon monoxide poisoning had anything to do with foul play.”

“I don’t wanna be that guy, just trying to be logical, but were the cops ever called on him? How did you know you had to kill him to save her?” Gaz asks honestly. You knew he didn’t mean any harm by it either with the innocence in his tone.

“I’ll never trust the justice system to do right by us. The only way an abuser can’t abuse another is if they’re dead.”

The three silently agreed with you. You'd nicked a nerve with Soap, knowing his sister had her fair shares of messed up blokes.

“Is that how you learned how to fight?” Gaz questions, leaning forward as if it were a secret. “Taking down abusive neighbors?”

“No.” you inhale sharply. “Signed myself up for boot camp the second I turned 17. I couldn’t live with my parents knowing they’d idly be bystanders, if I was serious about changing the world this way, I needed to commit to making sure I could really protect myself.”

“You’re like a real life superhero, you know that?” Soap was grinning ear to ear. Which earned a soft smile from you.

“Why do you have a preference to work alone?” Gaz’s voice is low. Sure, it was the pub on base, but it was you and he respected that you were more confidential. Similar to his lieutenant that you sat next to.

“Keeps both parties from getting attached,” you answered honestly. You used to do teams, used to assist other militaries and task forces regularly. But it got to a point where you were sick of feeling survivor’s guilt. You were tired of mourning people who should have lived longer lives, but because of the nature of your work, you knew it was dumb of you to have the expectation that your former allies should live long lasting lives.

Your waitress returns with a tray of drinks pressed against her stomach. She passes out the drinks before giving a curt nod at your thank you. The four of you clink your glasses, 2 beers, a whiskey on the rocks, and an espresso martini, before Gaz and Soap get into discussion about the footie match that’s playing on the TV hanging over yours and Ghost’s heads.

"How's your head lieutenant?" you look to your side, letting your lips wrap around the rim of your glass, taking a little sip. He's already looking at you, as if waiting for a threat to break out of you at any moment. He was right to be weary of you. His mask is slightly lifted just above his nose, just so he can drink.

"You don't have to call me lieutenant, m’not your lieutenant,” he retorts with a sip of his bourbon. “Head’s fine, don’t have a concussion or nothin’.”

“I know, it’s out of respect.” you can’t stop your eyes from narrowing at him. He feels a bit off, a bit on edge.

“Respect?” you can’t stop barely make out the way his eyebrows lift from under his mask. “You barely know me, you don’t need to respect me.”

“It’s not about respecting you,” narrowed eyes slowly move into a rolled pair of eyes. You weren't even meaning to sound rude, but if he wanted to dish it, he could take it too. “It’s out of respect for what you do. You’ve never been called Lieutenant by people outside your task force?” you can see his jaw shift.

“Yeah LT, why’re we pickin’ fights with our new friend, I don’t understand…” Soap interjects softly, earning him a narrow-eyed glance from Ghost.

“She’s not our friend,” Ghost retorts with a scowl, lifting his glass to take another sip. “You’d do good to listen to what she says and not get attached.”

“Is there a problem?” you can’t help but feel like this aimless animosity is due to an underlying factor. You ignore the extra pairs of eyes that look towards your table, body turned to face the lieutenant.

Ghost looks like he wants to say something. Like he wants to tell you that you're the problem, that Laswell didn't need to call you in to help with this mission; in fact, you could have the mission if it meant him and his team could be rid of you. You can see the way his eyes flicker over your facial features, studying you. He doesn’t trust you. He knows you know it. And he hates that you don't cower away in fear or insecurity over his distaste over you. He might've been good at intimidating other coworkers, but not you. With the way you held his gaze, tongue in your cheek with a single corner of your lips curved upward, he could tell you were eating it up. After all, negative press was still press at the end of the day.

“No,” he wishes he didn’t see your cheeky smile. “There’s no problem.” he really regrets not sending you on your merry way 40 stories down because he wouldn’t be feeling this blistering, boiling lava in the pit of his stomach. The two boys sitting across from you and Ghost share a look of concern — maybe it’s best to keep you two separated, just in case you rip each other’s heads off.

You let out a hum of content, not ripping your eyes from him - no, not until he blinks first. He seems to catch your drift, having his fair share of stare downs to assert dominance. He grimaces when you lift your glass to your lips and he can’t help but flicker his eyes down towards the plump of your lips, watching as your throat tenses up with every gulp of your cocktail. Even when you notice Soap and Gaz’s conversation slowly trail off because they notice how eerily quiet the pair in front of them are, you don’t peel your eyes from Ghost’s.

Ghost’s eyes are dark and intense. Like they’re piercing the skin near your eyes and he’s itching to get under the surface to hopefully find your brain matter and swim through it and absorb all the information and dirt he could about you — just to justify his distaste for you, not that he felt the need to justify it to anyone. No one could change his mind or question him. He just didn’t care for the fact that no one else on the task force seemed to be reserved over you, no, they were all thrilled you’d be assisting the team after swiping their mission right from under their noses.

Your eyes are in similar fashion, intense but not as dark and jaded the lieutenant in front of you may look. You had this edge in your eyes that told him you didn’t care if he didn’t like you and that you’d love to make it worse. If it made him push you away, then there would be nothing for you to get attached to, right?

Ghost was first to break contact, only because the waitress returns with a tray full of fried foods. Appetizers, courtesy of Johnny MacTavish. The table seemed a bit lively after that though Gaz still kept a close eye on you two. You listened as the three chattered about; it was mostly Soap and Gaz speaking and Ghost would offer a grunt or two, maybe a one-worded response if the topic of conversation entertained him enough.

Even with Simon stealing glances at you, you managed to loosen up and learn a little bit more about your new allies. Your eyes would briefly lock with his brown ones, and pretty brown eyes they were. When he didn’t rip his gaze from you, you sent him a wink, immediately making him turn his head to face Soap., scowl under his mask as if you’d burned him

Laswell sits in a zoom call with her translator, working on each document. Her screen is pulled up on the projector just so she didn’t have to fumble around with the HDMI when everyone stumbled in. Ghost, Price, and Soap sit in the presentation room, having arrived early while Gaz showed you where you’d be temporarily staying. Even after your protests, Price insisted that you had a place that was close by and not some AirBnb by base, it wouldn’t be safe for you with the sensitivity of the current mission.

“Ey LT, wha’s goin’ on with you and Widow?” Soap can’t help but ask. He didn’t want to admit that he was concerned for your safety. Or maybe he was concerned for Simon’s safety?… Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

“Jus’ don’t want you getting attached.”

“Y'said that already.”

“Yeah, well it’ll be easier for you to get over it if she decides to leave you behind or stab you in the back for whatever it is she’s here for. She can do it all herself, she says, so there’s nothing stopping her from using you as collateral damage.” Ghost speaks, almost like was speaking from experience. Maybe he was.

"Quite the assumption Simon," Price can't help but scold his very judgmental lieutenant. The thought crossed the captain's mind as well, but with the agreement you and Laswell had in place, he knew you couldn't be a bad apple. A part of Price expected Simon to realize that part, but he knew where his trust issues stemmed from. "She's got the same goals as us, no need to have your guard up."

"Right and I'm supposed to be utterly ecstatic that someone who’s newly assisting us already knows who we're up against."

"Ghost," Price rubs the palm of his hand over his face. "If a secret weapon is being offered and distributed all around the world to different leaders, we're all in danger. No one is being spared from the war that would break out. We need all the allies we can get."

"Widow was around when The Don was working on the first prototype for this serum." Laswell pointed out, trying to rest any of Ghost's concerns. "Adonis DeMarco's father, also named Adonis, believed he had perfected the serum and to prove it, he used the serum on himself as the ultimate test. She was able to put him down before he could cause mass destruction to Jersey.“

“Clearly, she didn’t do a good enough job,” Ghost says under his breath, earning a light shove from Soap.

“You’ve never had this much to say about someone new.” Price comments, pointing out how differently Ghost was acting. “Or anyone for that matter.” he narrows his eyes to the masked man who only deadpans back.

“My apologies Captain, s’pose m’just tired.” Ghost answers half truthfully. It was true that he did not sleep on the heli ride back, however, he was not someone who got much sleep anyway.

The door to the presentation room swings open and Gaz is following you in. He sits next to Soap, leaving the option for you to sit besides him or his ever so welcoming lieutenant. You chose the latter, even pressing your arm against Ghost’s, smiling when you heard him grunt. His manspread of his legs made it impossible for you to have any leg room, so you roughly nudged his thigh with your knee, causing him to shift slightly so you’d have some room. It didn’t stop him from manspreading as much as he could and you were fine having to deal with his thigh pressed against yours.

“Y’coulda picked any other seat in this room, yea?” Ghost’s voice grumbles low so only you could hear.

“Am I annoying you?”

“Bit of an understatement, I’d say.”

“Then I’m right where I wanna be,” you smile a smile makes his stomach turn. He might argue out of disgust, but he’d never admit the flutters that stir in him are unbeknownst to him. “No one’s stopping you from moving.” Ghost quietly scoffs, deciding the conversation is over.

“Alright team,” Laswell lets out a hefty sigh, ending her zoom call before flipping through the slideshows. “First successful test subject of the new variant: Vincenzo Rossi-DeMarco, Adonis’ brother-in-law.”

“That’s the man we saw,” Soap comments, looking over to you and Ghost. “Bugger should’ve been dead, he took a nasty fall 40 stories down. ‘nd then he just stood up and walked it off, left a hole in the pavement, he did!”

A document on the screen flashed, noting the symptoms Vince had gone through. Increased muscle mass, regenerative abilities*, increased stamina, enhanced immune system, increased strength.

"Regenerative abilities, the hell's tha' mean?" you hear from beside you.

"Self-heal over time." you answer before Kate can.

“Explains why he could take a few shots and not bat an eye,” Gaz responds, nodding his head. “If he’s regenerating from bullet wounds and falling from a building, we're gonna need a lot more than our artillery to take down this guy.”

“What’s the asterisk up there mean?” Price lifts his arm, pointing up to the projector. Laswell scrolls down and there’s a clause in italics.

“Unable to meet the requirements of the perfected serum, meaning what? What the hell’s a perfected serum?” Gaz questioned. Remembering that Gaz was absent from her first explanation, Laswell glances at you, you give her a nod and she explains once more.

“15 years ago, Adonis’ father began the Super Soldier project. He perfected the serum, testing it on himself so that buyers from around the world could see what he created. If he could use it on himself, more people would trust him.“ Laswell’s fingers typed away, bringing up the original mission report, a small photo of Adonis the First and a younger you appeared to cover over redacted parts of the report. “The serum will enhance key personality traits, not just physical. Adonis was a very destructive man, he became extremely violent and in an intense frenzy, Adonis murderer his wife and eldest daughter. He was stuck mourning them with a monstrous rage growing, he made plans to destroy all of Jersey to lay his family to rest.”

A few more clicks and a newspaper article popped up covering the story how Astoria and Amora DeMarco were found brutally beaten with Adonis nowhere to be found. You feel Ghost tense up beside you. You almost miss it with how subtle it was, though you don’t think you’d have noticed it if you weren’t sitting so close to him.

“Our free agent,” Laswell calls you by your name with a small smile and you can’t help but dip your head at her, “was able to put a stop to him after several tries and months. Adonis’ regenerative abilities was a rough bump to get over, even with a tank, Adonis was able to recover over time and come back.”

“Jesus,” Soap mutters before turning to look at you over Ghost’s body. “How’d you bloody manage to do that?”

“Violently.” Price pats your back, acceptingly.

“Right so, Vince doesn’t regenerate as quick, so he should be easier to fight.” Gaz states the obvious.

“Affirmative,” you reply with a curt nod. “Remember, the serum's only enhanced him. It didn’t train him how to throw knives or fight proper. He’s just a big meat head.”

“So, Adonis the First made only one perfect serum and used it on himself? Didn’t write the formula down anywhere for his family to take over the business?” Soap questions, eyebrow cocking up. He found it hard to believe, but if Adonis shared the same intelligence as Vince then that would explain it.

“To be fair, he didn’t think anyone would kill him.” Laswell responds with a shrug. “His own reports state that he also should have had increased lifespan. Probably thought he could live a few more decades before having to pass down the recipe.”

The meeting continues on with documents showing failed test subjects, bodies who rejected the serum or subjects who got too mouthy and rebellious. All dead before the serum could properly manifest in their bodies.

“This brings us to our first order of operation as a full team.” Laswell clasps her hands together.

Not part of your team, you want to say but you hold back.

“We need to head back to the States to recon the labs these are being made at. It could be anywhere between Pennsylvania, New York, and New Jersey. Worst case scenario, it’s being made elsewhere but with how crucial this is to their family, I would have a hard time believing it’s far from home.”

“I feel like we need to skip a few steps,” you interject loudly, catching Laswell’s attention. “They already know we’re trying to take them down. Hell, we have a sample of the serum, so there’s no way they aren’t on high alert already. Plus, Donnie knows it’s me, he will do everything he can to make sure I’m dead.”

“She’s right,” Price nods in agreement, acknowledging you by name and not your callsign. “We need a different plan if we’re going for minimal casualties. Laying low for a bit and letting them think you ran off with the serum wouldn’t do much harm, especially if we’re waiting for their defenses to drop.”

"We wore masks." Soap adds to the conversation with a nod. "And they didn't even catch that we had someone on overwatch, so the only one they'd probably be expecting is her." he rolls his head towards you. Laswell hums with a nod.

"Might be a good idea to sharpen your skills on the scope Widow, might need you on overwatch to keep you distant." your eye twitches at that.

"I'd be more useful hands on Laswell, you know this." you respond and she gives you a knowing look.

"You're more useful alive." though she knows you don't have an issue with that.

“Fuckin' hell,” you mumble.

“You not a good of a shot as you think you are?” Ghost says lowly. It’s meant to be a jab.

“Seeing as I don’t think I’m a great shot at all, yeah.”

“Did fine in Jersey.”

“Of course I did, it was close quarters lieutenant, that’s my specialty. I might be more useful to you all if I just showed up on Donnie’s doorstep with my hands up in surrender.”

“I mean, if it rids us of you, m’not opposed to that.” earns him a kick to his boot, he lets out a low chuckle. Similar to the one from earlier. You didn’t think something so sweet could come out of him.

“Think that’s a decent idea, though we should still lay low. If The Don thinks Jersey’s full of undercovers, they might slow down their operations themselves. Gives us a bit of time for team bonding exercises,” Price nudges Ghost into you. Ghost wants to roll his eyes, which he does when Price isn’t looking. You move to kick his boot again, but he shifts where it rests last second.

“Now boys, before I dismiss you off to your living quarters,” Price turns around with a wide grin on his lips. “Post op reports.” this earns collective groans from Gaz and Soap. Ghost doesn’t look satisfied, when does he ever, but he’s not going to complain.

a/n: hi cuties:3 sorry this took so long - i got a little insecure and after slamming my head against the wall hard enough to concuss myself, i've recovered enough to come to the conclusion that this is ok to post + next on widow ! >>

[6eons]

Widow → Simon Riley

After following cold leads and long nights in safe houses, 'Ghost' finds him and his team zeroing in on a capture that would impact his mission. And after much struggle, another fork in the road seems to derail his efforts. A pretty little fork in the road who doesn't understand the concept of a team.

tags: fem!mercenary!reader. forced proximity. violence. probably inaccurate combat cus i watch too many action movies and my ego says i could do that.

w/c: 5,4k

a/n: this doesn’t follow the plot of the MW games :p ngl i imagined reader to be like an ada wong, black cat-esque entity - beautiful badass gorls that i want to kiss, mwah mwah mwah.

[ Trenton, New Jersey, United States of America ]

“Rooftop clear, ye?” Ghost had voiced over comms for reassurance. Gaz had squinted, one eye shut, scanning over the roof once more over before confirming with the lieutenant. Garrick couldn’t help but flash a glance over this shoulder with this feeling that the door he had locked wasn’t actually locked. He had a bad feeling, though, it wasn’t like he could share that intel just based off of feelings.

Soap and Ghost pressed their sides up against the wall, holding a cross at the doorway. As Soap was working on breaking the lock, the plain black masked man was scanning the room, ensuring the room was safe for them to be inhabiting.

“Gaz, we need a scan of the room before entry,” Ghost had pressed on the radio pressed to the side of his chest. Once he’s heard the click from the door, Soap and Ghost had shared a look, nodding at one another.

“Alright, behind the door, there should be one man holding point. It doesn’t look like he’s even noticed the door unlocking,” Gaz voices, sniper scanning across the room. Soap couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the sound of the rookie recruit manning the door. Such an important, pivotal job given to some daft soldier. “Two more near the east window, I’ve got eyes on both. Should be clear for entry.”

The walls were made of glass, it made it easy for Gaz to give accurate information to his team. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel like this capture was too easy. His eyes averted away from the target for just a moment, enough time for one of the men manning the east window to disappear without him noticing. The second man had noticed the lack of presence of his teammate, peering around the room growing weary of if their objective had been compromised. A silent mutter through his comms, wondering about backup had gone unnoticed.

It was at this moment that Ghost and Soap had done a count down, bursting into the room, nailing the man watching the door while the other took down the partner-less man by the window. The masked man’s eyes searched for the second man, only to be surprised with a metal ‘click’ as a cylindrical handheld bottle rolled into the room. Before the lieutenant had time to react, smoke had filled the room. Ghost had ordered Soap to hold his breath as long as he could as they split up to find a free space to breathe, or until the gas had cleared.

“Gaz, do we have your copy?” Ghost was the first to inhale a little bit of the gas bomb, holding in a cough, stuffing his face into his elbow as his mohawk’d friend had found shelter in a nearby room, under an office desk.

The misty cloud didn’t relent, not even on Gaz’s end. The very door he’d been worried about remained locked as he breathed in the fumes of the gas, trapped in the room he deemed safe to patrol.

Their overwatch had been compromised.

Once the gas had sunk into the flooring, silence had filled the air. Soap had carefully peered out from under his hiding spot, hoping to find the eyes of his masked lieutenant. Without the extra pairs of eyes on scope, the pair were practically blind; the threat of more gas and smoke grenades still something to consider.

With the scraps Soap had managed to craft a makeshift mine of his own. Once new voices had reached the room, he did a double peek, backhand tossing the bomb he'd crafted over the desk he was propped under. The sound of the explosion was enough for both Ghost and Soap to take point and firing rapidly at the new threats that had made their way to the floor.

“Where the hell’s Gaz gotten up to?” Soap mutters under his breath. He momentarily tucks himself behind a pillar, his thumb pressing against the button to open up comms once more. “Ey Gaz, y’alright?” Soap’s eyes instinctively scan towards the glass that separated himself from the roaring wind of the night, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of the glimmering light that a scope’s reflection would give off. He blinks a few times, a black blur swooping by quickly — so quickly in fact, he didn’t even pay any mind to it, feeling more concerned about their eyes instinctively scan towards the sky being MIA.

Soap peers over the crevice of the pillar he'd previously taken cover behind. His ears twitches when he realizes another wave of enemies would soon meet him and Ghost. They were outnumbered, and without Gaz's intel, he wasn't sure by how much.

"LT, there's more comin' up the stairwell. I can't verify how many, but there's more than a few." he shares a glance with Ghost. They were too close for this to slip through their fingers; they were too close to die just right before the finish line. The only thing they had hope for was for Gaz to stop taking the piss and return to his post now. Or maybe he'd reach out to the Captain for extra reinforcements to weasel them out of this poorly turn of events.

Before Ghost could line up a backup plan, Soap had pushed from his hiding spot hands up in surrender, his gun stashed back into its holster. Ghost had cursed under his breath, forced to follow in Soap's suit, knowing with just him, he'd surely have a bloody defeat without any backup.

The newly armed men that had arrived, split up into the room, a good handful aiming in on their guns, making sure that any sudden movements would not go unpunished. A burly man, bigger than the both of them, pushed passed the armed men. He was the only one not in tactical gear. Maybe he was the man at the top calling all the shots. He didn't utter a word and with the jut of his chin, a few of the armored men behind Soap and Ghost scrambled behind them, restraining the surrendering soldiers with rope. With a forceful shove, they were down on their knees. Definitely a powerful man.

"Who do you work for? State your business," the big man had a thick accent that seemed different than the rest of the men there. Though, visually speaking, he didn't seem to fit in with them in that department either. He was engaging in a stare down with the lieutenant; Ghost's eyes dull, not even amused or fearful at the position they were in. Their captor accepting defeat before his eyes trailed down to their tactical gear.

Ghost's eyes didn't leave their capturer. Though, that didn't mean he missed a sneaky little thing quickly zip down from the ceiling, yanking an armed man from his position. The movement was swift and the man didn't even make a noise. What was concerning was how the surrounding men didn't even feel the air in the room shift. Amateurs, these guys were; he was in disbelief this was who Soap surrendered to - something he'd be sure to give him an earful about.

Just as quickly as you disappeared, you'd reappeared, snatching up another outlier. A quick snap of his neck after you'd tugged him up into the ceiling, farther away from the men so they wouldn't hear.

"Okay, you don't want to talk? We'll get you to talk." the big man picked up an office chair, tossing it at the glass, shattering it causing a gust of wind to push into the office space. He harshly snatches the back of Ghost's neck, dragging him to the broken window like he weighed nothing. Ghost's knees hit the floor, broken shards of glass digging through his cargo pants. Just as Ghost's eyes never left his captor, his captor's eyes stayed glued to Soap's as he pushes Ghost's upper half through the newly formed hole in the glass, dangling Ghost over the edge. "49 stories up, you think he'd splatter over the pavement? Before or after he feels all his bones break?"

"Alright, I'll talk," Soap silently prayed to no god in particular. It was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, right? He'd never let his lieutenant's demise be because of him, not if he had a choice. The burly man tugs Ghost back, hand still gripping the back of his neck. "We're here for the drugs." this causes the corner of the burly man's lips to tug upwards.

"That's what they all say." he comments, not entirely surprised at all. "They all leave in body bags, though, they're never in small groups like this." he squints his eyes, peering around the room. It's like he didn't even notice how several of his men had disappeared; it's not like the stiff armed men had even looked around either, whether it be from lack of permission or not, they were just as clueless as the meathead in front of the window. "I am interested in how you two were able to singlehandedly get through the security we have in place. Who the hell are you?"

Two... He thinks it's just Ghost and Soap.

Burly man's eyes scanned over Ghost and Soap, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. The silence didn't help, nothing really gave away much about who they were with, the 141 operatives opting for a stealthier set of gear. When Soap didn't say anything, he dangled Ghost's body out of the broken window again.

"We’re undercovers," Soap is quick to spit out, a lie of course, though he doesn't sound convincing. He doesn't miss the way his captor's eyes glint with interest. Makes sense why only the two of them were able to damn near shake down their operations.

"Soap." Ghost grits through his teeth as a warning to stop talking. Ghost was more than willing to die for the cause as long as the rest of the team remained safe. However, Soap wasn’t seeing what Ghost was seeing — disappearing soldiers one by one and they were all none the wiser. The man behind Ghost smacks him in the back of the head with a gun, ushering him to not speak unless he’s asked to.

"Ah, stubborn one, you are." the burly man taps his finger at the back of Ghost's neck. "Maybe I can get this one to squeal another way." he pulls Ghost back, giving him a shove to the side, repositioning him away from the window before he gestured for his men to deliver him the Scot. After Soap's been pushed towards the capturer, it was only a matter of time for Soap to be in his lieutenant's position, held over the edge of the broken window of the skyscraper they'd snuck into.

It was at this moment that the man keeping Soap from falling to his doom had realized... The 14 men he'd entered the room with was narrowed down to 6. Perhaps his sadistic thoughts of making the lieutenant watch his own sergeant die had clouded his judgement.

"What the hell are you playing at?" the man grits through his teeth, eyes shooting daggers into Ghost's. "There's more of you, how many?" A question neither Ghost or Soap had the answer to, considering their 3rd man was nowhere to be found. He didn't wait as long for an answer this time, impatiently scared that something wasn't right. He releases his grip on Soap, letting him fall forward out the window, rushing to leave the premise with Ghost, maybe as a bargaining chip; He didn't need two of those.

Before Ghost can shout, the sound of a 'thwip' fills his ears and his eyes land on you - tight-fitted black dress, also not in armored gear. A holster adorned across your chest with one around your hip to match it. You'd shot a grapple gun out the window Soap was free falling from, diving in after him.

Someone with a trained eye could not miss this. And it didn't appear that these guys were, considering they were scrambling to get Ghost up on his feet.

"Lieutenant, I have eyes on your floor." Gaz's voice fills Ghost's earpiece and he's never been more relieved. A single bullet penetrates the man behind Ghost, the one trying to force him up. Ghost is still meters away, facing the window when he sees you fling yourself through the window, thighs wrapped around his sergeant, tossing him across the floor. "Who the hell is that?" Gaz manages to question as you tuck your grapple gun away, but it becomes less of a concern when you yank Soap's gun opening fire. You're helping them, that part evident to Ghost but clears up with Gaz.

"Stay down," you demanded, heel digging in Soap's back, no time to spare to release him from his ropes. Ghost follows suit, allowing him to plant himself in the ground as Gaz helps you take out the assailants. "Good boy." you're quick to murmur, not sparing him a glance.

"Shit," Gaz's gun clicks, realizing he needs to reload. "Reloading, stay down if you can." he's comming to the boys. As if they had a choice.

"Untie me," Ghost requests to you. You're reaching out to abide by his request but a stray bullet is shot in between you two, causing you to tuck back in.

Gaz is able to help you take out two more men before his gun jams, a string of curse words leaving his mouth as he unloads his clip. And before you can get around to untying the men on the ground, the big burly man roars, the shout almost startling you as he's barreling towards you. You point your borrowed gun towards him, a click notifying you that you were out of bullets too.

You chuck the gun towards your attacker, much to Johnny's dismay, trying to get a bit of distance between you two. The big man crashes into a couple of office booths as you swiftly move out of the way. You're able to shoot your grapple to grab onto the vest of one of the few remaining armored men. Using the retractability to reel yourself into him, your fist comes into contact with his jaw. A satisfyingly nasty crunch under your knuckles causes Ghost to smirk under his mask.

A knife that didn't come from either of your holsters but the inside of your thigh high boot is hurled into the man standing beside Soap, lodging into an artery in his neck. Soap is able to sit himself up, less threats around made him a little more confident to be up. With his arms bound to his back, he twists his body towards the man you'd just killed so his hands could grip at the knife. He's able to extract the knife from the corpse, twisting his wrist upward to start cutting through the rope.

"You sure your rooftop guy's a good shot?" your voice softly questioned to the masked man. A grunt of approval was all the answer you needed. Not that you had a reason to trust him. Of course he was a good shot, that's exactly why he was on overwatch, Price's golden boy.

"Vince, you're a lot bigger than last time." so the big, burly man had a name. You were just buying time, noticing the man on the roof's shots had come to a stop. "Donnie like the gift I left?" the bald man's face contorts into seething anger.

"You do not get to speak of the Don." he grits before charging at you once more.

A whir of your trusty grapple pulled you up, and you quickly perched yourself on top of Vince's shoulders, gloved hands wrapping around his thick neck. The big man gasped, inhaling nothing as you held him in a secure chokehold. His hands move up to try to grab you to pitch you onto the ground but your heels had dug into his shoulder blades probably breaking skin. You brace yourself for impact as the man under you tries crashing into any obstacle around him to try and get you off.

The wind that pushes your hair from your face makes you realize that Vince is stumbling towards the broken window. He, like Ghost, was willing to die for the cause of his team. He's happy to hurdle you both out the window to paint the concrete with you, a symbol of his honor to his family.

"Come on Gaz," Soap mutters under his breath as he feels the rope loosening behind him. He rotates his wrists to make more room in the ropes as he wiggles himself free from his restraints. Soap makes his way to Ghost, snipping the rope that bound his lieutenant together. His lack of weapon, that you so carelessly threw earlier, does not give him the confidence to help. "LT-"

"On it," Ghost is quick on his feet, drawing his weapon. He fires a few shots in Vince's back, shooting one in his leg. No matter how good of a shot Ghost was, he was not going to risk taking out the woman who'd been their saving grace. As a last ditch effort, the man underneath you tightens his hands on your ankles as he falls forward.

Soap jumps forward to grab onto your hand, your hands disappearing from the burly man's throat. Thankfully enough, the man you’d choked out loosened his grip on your legs to grab at his bullet wounds. Soap and Ghost pull you from the edge of the window, Soap kicking shards of glass away so he could gently set you down.

Soap opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by a mechanical beeping. Your heels click as you make your way towards one of the computers your flash drive had been occupying. It was on a desk tucked in the corner of the room, seemingly safe from the damage you'd partaken in afflicting. With a few clacks on the keyboard, you ripped out the drive.

Also stashed under the desk was a briefcase. Your thumb flicked the buckle, lifting open the lid. Bags of blue pebbles lined the inside, they resembled what the bottom of a fishtank looked like. Your fingers brushed against the plastic bag, like you were in deep thought.

"Hey that looks like-" Soap's thoughts are cut off by you slamming the case shut, locking it up. The drugs Price had set them out on a mission to hunt for.

"I can't let you take that." Ghost takes a step in front of you, hands gripping his gun in front of him.

"I reckon you think you're going to pry this out of my hands, yeah?" your lips curl upwards in a grin. You tuck the flash drive in the holster of your hip. "Oh, but I did so much work getting this." you feigned a pout. Ghost didn't lower his gun.

"Drop the briefcase, you're interfering with military affairs." Ghost wasn't sure why he was so intrigued by the glimmer in your eyes. You were being held at gun point and yet you didn't seem at all phased. The glint in your irises was almost as if you were challenging him, daring him to shoot you. Maybe he should chuck you back out the window, since that was the closest thing he'd seen that was comparable to panic.

What Ghost didn't see was your sleight of hand, pulling a smoke bomb from your holster as you tucked away your intel. The metal ring was wrapped around your finger, the handheld device sitting at the back of your hand. You raised your hands up, eyes locking onto his. He was much taller now that he wasn't on his knees or face down planted at your feet. A familiar click causes his ears to twitch and the same damn grenade from before had fallen to your feet, causing a burst of smoke to fill the room.

Ghost’s fingers pulls the trigger where you once were, the bullet shooting through the lifting fog to momentarily reveal that the space you’d taken up was now vacant. Soap coughed and that was enough for Ghost to kick the smoke bomb away.

You'd disappeared long before the smoke had died down.

Gaz's gun was still jammed, so even if he did see where you'd faded towards, it wasn't like he could shoot you down. This was bad. The mission had been turned upside down and the small opening they had was gone as quickly as it opened up.

Ghost's body moved back towards the hole in the window, where he'd assume you would have made your escape. As utterly pissed as he was at this waste of time, his mind seemed to wonder more about you. The way you moved, the way you were sort of a shit shooter, but your hand-to-hand combat wasn't bad at all. Who were you?

"LT, we've got another problem." Soap's shoulder brushes against Ghost's. Ghost's eyes follow where Soap's was... Down where you would have been if it weren’t for him and Soap.

The man called Vince's body was nowhere to be seen. A large trickle of blood lay where he should have been.

Ghost could only look out into the night, questioning your escape. You couldn’t be very far…

No body armor, yet you were unscathed, like your body repelled bullets. High heels that click and yet you seemed to move with stealth that replicated a creature of the night.

[ Herefordshire, England, United Kingdom ]

After a frustrated phone call with Price, the boys were happy they were going back to base. They were exhausted of this case already. Dead end after dead end. Nothing successful came from this mission.

"Price says Laswell's got something." Ghost sits back in the heli. He's sure the two boys are already falling asleep, the helicopter seeming to be more comfortable than the wet, musty safehouses they'd been camped out in for the last two weeks.

He wondered if their captain would be disappointed with them. This small, lightwork of a mission should have been easy. It shouldn't have taken them more than a week and it did. He tried not to dwell on his failures too much, knowing that he could only prove it to his team that this was just a bump in the road and whatever Laswell’s got, he’ll be taking it and leading everyone to success this time around.

Once they’d touched base, the sun was peeking out from the trees. Ghost questioned Gaz about what had happened on the rooftop. He needed the information to fill out his post op report to present to the captain. Gaz had confirmed that he too had fallen victim to a chemical trap that seemingly made him pass out on the roof. He apologized profusely, explaining that maybe they’d have their assets had he shared with everyone this eerie feeling he had. He felt at fault for not being able to have their backs as he usually would.

“No bother,” Ghost murmurs lowly, giving Gaz a pat on the back. “We all were lacking this time’round. Nothing we can’t make up for next one.” he said hopefully.

“Welcome back gentlemen,” Price approaches the three men. “Hope the ride home wasn’t too rough.” he notes how Soap straightens his back, his hand brushing against the covered skin where someone’s foot would have been.

“Was fine. Ready for a nap.” Soap grunts, a few bones pop as he rolls his shoulders.

“Post op, medical, and naps are gonna have to wait, we’ve got a meeting with Laswell in 15,” Price checks his watch. “She arrived this morning with a new lead.”

The four men walked together across base together toward the presentation room. With the time they had to spare, they’d made a pit stop in the mess hall. Teas, coffees, and protein bars were shared amongst them.

“Think it’s too early to start drinkin’?” the Scot wipes his hand over his face, though he’s not even sure if it’s what he wanted. Jetlag, lack of sleep, and this shite mission all just catching up to him, making him a bit delirious.

Maybe they should have hit the bar instead. Nothing could have prepared the three men to find you, seated next to Laswell leaned over the damn briefcase from just 12 hours ago.

“What the hell is she doing here?” Gaz’s yawn was immediately punched out of his lungs and he suddenly felt wide awake. “What is going on?” you glanced at the men you’d encountered the night prior, before sharing a look with Laswell in confusion? Surprise? Or both.

“You’ve met?” Laswell cocks an eyebrow to you. You were not super detailed in your report back to her, though the detail of these men were irrelevant to you; they didn’t stop you from getting your job done.

“Well yeah, we’ve bloody met,” Soap lunges forward and Ghost grips the back of his vest. “She’s the one that stole the asset from us.”

“Stole?” you pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes at the man with the mohawk. “I don’t believe it was ever in your possession. I don’t think any of you knew what the hell you were looking for, calling them ‘drugs’.”

“Hey, we saved you,” Soap aggressively pointed his finger in your direction.

“I hardly needed saving.” you rolled your eyes, fully confident and capable in your ability to have recovered from your entanglement with Vince. “And I remember it me saving your ass, twice if you’re hellbent in keeping score.”

“Laswell, can you tell me why an operative of yours intercepted our mission?”

“Well, since last I had heard you guys were still at the safehouse, waiting on information, I called in an IOU. I had no idea you boys were moving in on the case, I apologize.” Laswell nodded her head sympathetically.

“You should have notified me of the change of plans.” Price chides Laswell.

“I’m sorry sir, that’s my fault,” your sheepish voice comes out, softer than you’d spoken to any of the men beside him. “Laswell gave me the case yesterday, said it had to do with The Don. I told her I’d look into it.”

Was that a fucking humble brag, Ghost thinks.

“You got the case yesterday?” Price questions. You nod your head. “And you got it done same day?” when you shrug, Price can’t help but nod his head back at you. “Efficient. CIA?” he pushes curiously. Maybe he’d snatch you from Laswell when this was all done. If Soap didn’t rip your head off. If he could.

“Mercenary,” Laswell answers for you. “She’s a free agent. But get in line, I’ve been trying to get her for years.” she pokes at Price, knowing that look in his eyes. That doesn’t stop Price from planning out an offer to you.

“Alright everyone, let’s take a seat.” Price rubs his hands together. “And play nice.” his eyes flicker from Soap and Ghost.

You take a seat next to Ghost- well, closest to him but there’s a few empty chairs between you two. With a few clicks, Laswell’s screen is being displayed on the projector. The information you’d extracted from the computer last night.

“The Don, the name of a mafia that scatters over New Jersey, New York, and Philadelphia. Ran by Adonis DeMarco.” a photograph of a suave-looking olive-toned man is displayed, his suit seems to be made from the finest of satins, tailored only by the best of the best. “He’s been working with some underground pharmaceutical manufacturers to create something dangerous. He doesn’t aim for this to be a street drug, he wants big spenders lining up for it.”

Redacted scanned images of files pop up on the screen. Laswell clicks through each slide, but pauses in between to make note of the handwritten scribbles on the paperwork. Mostly in Italian.

You’d seen enough to worry you. Chewing on the dead skin on your lips, you were perched forward in your chair, elbows resting on your knees as your eyes analyzed each scanned image, as much as you could at least with how fast things were moving along.

“Super soldiers.” you mumble to yourself. Laswell’s ears perk up as she calls your name, looking directly at you.

“He’s developed a serum to create super soldiers and is trying to auction them off to world leaders, for their wars.”

"You read Italian?" Price asks, though his eyes don't fall on you, instead they fall on Laswell; he can't be convinced that you were an agent she'd been working with for years with how many surprises that had surfaced.

Laswell's already lifted up the blue bag in the air, staring off like she's in thought. She looks at you for a split second before back to the bag that she's already locking up in the briefcase.

"I'm gonna get someone to translate these files and we can reconvene." Laswell takes a deep inhale, and before you can open your mouth to offer her help she stops you with a call of your name. "As easier as that would be, I do think this is a great time to get to kiss and make up with your new allies."

That does you in.

Your eyes harden and your jaw clenches, sparing a glance over to the three stooges that were already looking at you.

You never worked well with others, nor did you like following other people's commands like they were law. It was the whole reason why you weren't tied down to a team. You did your jobs alone and you did a damn good job at it, so the need for allies? Hardly seemed necessary, especially if they were just going to slow you down.

"Why don't you work for the CIA?" Gaz questions curiously. He's walking beside you, while you follow Ghost and Soap who are not very discreetly talking about you. Leading you throughout the base, lazily giving you a tour of the place so they can get back to their business.

"Too many rules, I suppose. And it also means I have to trust a team." you answer truthfully.

"Trust a team? Like you don't really like to trust people?" Gaz's eyebrow shoots up.

"It's not that I don't like it. I can get the job done, I don't really see a reason to add more bodies in the mix."

"Something tells me that's not always true."

"I did your 2 week job in less than 24 hours," you scoff at Gaz. "I don't think you have a foot to stand on with that one." Gaz playfully reaches over his chest, as if you've wounded him. "Sensitive topic, I'm sorry."

"Why do you work with Laswell so much? She said years, right?"

"She pulls strings for me, gets me pardons. And in return, I get her anything she needs on a silver platter. She looks good and I fly under the radar."

"And what exactly would you need pardons for?" Soap inquiries, revealing that he'd definitely been eavesdropping. He sat dangerously on the line of innocently curious and genuinely sussing you out, maybe because he wanted to have a reason to dislike you.

"Eesh, can't a girl have hobbies?" you respond ever so ominous.

"Why does Laswell call you 'Widow'?" Gaz waves to another soldier walking by.

"I kill men. For fun." you don't miss the low chuckle that comes from the tall, broody man in front of you. "At least, that's what Laswell would tell you."

"So y'don't kill men for fun?"

"Bad men," you corrected with a tsk. "I do my due diligence in protecting people who can't protect themselves."

"And Laswell protects you." Soap purses his lips, almost as if this is what's making or breaking his judgement on you. Soap finds your hobbies to be quite chivalrous. "Alright, I'm considering offering you a clean slate for that one lass."

"Oh? That's so generous of you," a little grin making its way to your face as Soap turns while he remains next to his lieutenant, extending an arm out to you for a formal introduction.

You're still unconvinced about this team, though you don't really have a choice. You and the 141 wanted the same thing; you were sure that if they couldn't pull their own weight, you'd do whatever it took to get the job done yourself.

a/n: is this dumb be honest .. u know what at least i can be free from my shackles that is called writer's block and write abt somethin else (hopefully) hope u enjoyed nonetheless. srry there isn't much interaction between you and simon, this is mostly to try and set up the storyline. + next on widow>>

[rawme-price]

Thinking about dog shifter!reader who, when little, would lie in your mothers lap during slow evenings and simply enjoy the peace she brought you

Of course, that was back when you were a pup, small and soft and easy to love.

Nowadays, you're nothing anyone wants to cuddle. A giant anatolian shepherd, you can remember clearly the day your mom told you the weight was too much, and you'd simply have to curl by her feet. Age has changed you just as war has.

No one wants to hold you, too big and awkward to fit in anyone's lap.

That is, until you meet ghost, your new lieutenant. A giant of a man, even in your human form he easily outclasses you. Of course, ghost has worked with plenty of shifters before, killed plenty too, he knows exactly how to read your body language.

Meaning it almost takes you off guard after a bad mission when he drops a heavy hand on the back of your neck like he's scruffing a pup, grunting "with me, runt."

"Go on, shift." He orders you in the recroom he just locked that you're pretty sure he shouldn't have keys for. Maybe you see him a bit as a pack leader, so you shift without asking why.

Only for him to bodily haul you onto his lap, entire couch sagging with the weight of you both. He doesn't groan about how big you are, or how your claws dig into his jeans.

He only cards two hands into your fur and gently scratches until you let your mind really sink into it.

Because for ghost, you aren't too big. Your ugly parts, your neevous habits, all of you. He can handle it if you'd just let him.

[x-strwbrry]

pathetic little secrets

♡ simon ghost riley x virgin!female reader ♡ 18+

words count: 6k

You didn't mean to bring it up. Hell, you didn't even mean to think about it. It was just that the air in the safe house was too thick, the silence between you and Simon was too heavy, and the bottle of whiskey you'd been nursing had made your tongue loose and your filter non-existent.

You were perched on the edge of the rickety bed while he leaned against the wall, cleaning his rifle with the methodical focus of a saint polishing a relic. The only light was a single naked bulb, casting a jaundiced glow and carving his face into a landscape of harsh shadows.

The conversation had been about nothing. Mission fatigue, the shitty food, the way the rain sounded like nails on the tin roof. Then, you'd made a joke. A stupid, clumsy joke about a fellow soldier who couldn't keep it in his pants.

"Man's a walking liability," you slurred, a little too loudly. "Thinks with his dick, gets himself into all kinds of trouble."

Simon just grunted, his eyes never leaving the barrel of his gun. But you, feeling the warm, reckless burn of the whiskey, pushed on.

"At least he's getting some, I guess. Not like some of us are dying over here."

That got his attention. His head lifted, his dark eyes pinning you in place. "That what's on your mind, Sergeant? Dying for a shag?"

The way he said it, so casual, so dismissive, should have made you shut your mouth. Instead, it acted like gasoline on a fire. "Maybe," you retorted, trying for bravado and landing somewhere in the vicinity of pathetic. "What's it to you, anyway?"

He set the rifle down with deliberate slowness, the clatter of metal on wood sounding like a gunshot in the small room. He pushed off the wall and crossed the space in two long strides. He was a tower of muscle and barely contained violence, and you were suddenly aware of how small the bed was and how close he was.

"You sound like a bloody teenager," he rumbled, his voice low and dark. "It's just a fuck. It's not a holy grail."

And that's when it happened. The words tumbled out, a drunken, shameful confession that you couldn't claw back even if you tried. "Well, maybe I wouldn't know, would I?"

The air in the room changed, going from thick with tension to frozen solid. Simon stared at you, his expression unreadable, but you saw the flicker of surprise, the slow-dawning realization, and the subtle shift in his posture.

"Say that again," he commanded, his voice quiet, cutting through the whiskey haze.

You shook your head, a wave of intense heat rushing to your face, your stomach twisting with a mortification so acute you thought you might be sick. "Forget it," you mumbled, trying to look anywhere but at him.

He crouched down in front of you, bringing his face level with yours. His gloved hand reached out, tipping your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. Those eyes were searching, dissecting you.

"You're a virgin." It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, delivered with a kind of breathless awe that was somehow worse than mockery.

"Shut up," you hissed, trying to jerk your head away, but his grip was firm. The shame was a living thing inside you, clawing at your throat. You felt exposed and raw, like he'd peeled back your skin and found something soft underneath.

He let go of your chin, but he didn't move away. He just stared, his mind clearly working behind those dark eyes. You expected him to laugh, to call you a kid, or to tell you to get the fuck over it. Instead, he said something that shattered you completely.

"You want me to fuck you."

It wasn't a question either. It was the most terrifying, exhilarating statement you'd ever heard. Your denial was automatic, a knee-jerk reaction to the unbearable vulnerability. "No! I didn't say that. I just..." You trailed off, because what could you say? You did. You wanted it so badly it hurt. You wanted him. The terrifying, scarred, lethal man who now knew your most private secret.

His lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. It wasn't mocking; it was hungry. "You're a shit liar," he murmured. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made your skin pebble. "Is that why you've been lookin' at me like a lost puppy? Hoping I'd bend you over and show you the ropes?"

The crude, direct language sent a jolt straight to your core. You squeezed your thighs together, a pathetic attempt to relieve the sudden, throbbing ache. "Fuck you, Simon," you whispered, but it sounded weak and breathless.

"That's the idea, sweetheart."

So it had started as a joke, a stupid, whiskey-fueled slip-up that you'd both tried to bury under layers of snark and forced professionalism. For a few days, it was like a bizarre, unspoken truce. He didn't mention it, and you tried to pretend you hadn't basically offered up your virginity on a silver platter. You trained harder, kept your head down, and avoided his eyes like they were the abyss.

But the world had shifted on its axis, and you couldn't unsee it.

You started noticing things. The way his t-shirt stretched across his chest when he reached for a high shelf, the fabric straining over the solid muscle of his shoulders. The way his tactical gloves creaked when he balled his fists. The scent of him that seemed to linger in the air long after he'd left a room.

His eyes were the worst. Before, his stares had been assessing and analytical. Now, they were heavy, weighted with a new kind of intent. You'd feel them on you during a briefing, a heated, lingering sweep from your boots to your face that made your breath catch and your cunt throb. He was looking at you like he was picturing you naked, and the constant, low-level humiliation of your secret acted as a toxic aphrodisiac.

He was harder on you, too. His critiques in the field were more cutting, his expectations higher. He'd push you during PT until your lungs burned and your muscles screamed, his voice a low, relentless bark in your ear. "Again, Sergeant. Is that all you've got?" It felt like a punishment, or maybe a test, and every time you pushed through it, you felt a flicker of pride, followed by the hot rush of imagining what he'd do to you if you really impressed him.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter, a wire vibrating at a frequency only you and he could feel. It was only a matter of time before it snapped.

It was a normal enough afternoon. The whole team was sprawled in the common room, the low hum of the TV and Price's cigar smoke filling the space. Johnny was recounting some wild story about a bar fight in Prague, his voice boisterous and animated. You were trying to laugh, trying to be normal, but all you could feel was Simon's presence on the other side of the room. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a beer bottle in his hand. He wasn't looking at you, he was looking at Johnny, but you could feel his attention like a physical touch.

Then Johnny, the glorious, oblivious bastard, said something that twisted the knife.

"Aye, but you know what it's like, Si," he said, grinning. "Sometimes you just gotta get in there, get the job done, no matter how tight the fit is. Am I right?"

A beat of silence. Your heart stopped. Simon's eyes, slow and deliberate, slid from Johnny to you. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah, Johnny," he said, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that seemed to be directed only at you. "Sometimes you just have to be patient. Make sure they're ready before you... make your move."

Johnny laughed, clapping Gaz on the back. "See? The man's a poet."

But you weren't hearing it. Your blood was roaring in your ears. He was going to tell them. The paranoia, the toxic cocktail of shame and fear, exploded in your chest. He was going to expose you, right here, in front of everyone. He'd tell them you were some pathetic virgin who'd begged for it, and they'd all laugh, and you'd have to leave the task force.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood up, your movements sharp and jerky. "I need some air," you mumbled, not meeting anyone's eyes.

You didn't make it two steps before Simon's voice stopped you. "Sergeant. A word."

Your stomach dropped. You turned to see him pushing off the wall, his expression unreadable. He mystic jerked his head towards the hallway. "Now."

The others were already back to their conversation, but you felt their curious glances as you followed him out of the room and down the hall, your boots feeling heavier with every step. He pushed open the door to his quarters and you followed him inside, the door clicking shut behind you with a terrifying finality.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you hissed, the words tearing out of you the second the door was closed. "Are you going to tell them? Just get it over with and humiliate me, you bastard!"

He turned to face you, his eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. "Tell them? What the hell are you on about?"

"Don't play dumb!" you shot back, your voice cracking. "You're going to tell them I'm a... that I'm... that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing!"

His face softened just a fraction. The anger bled out of him, replaced by something that looked uncomfortably like pity. "Jesus," he muttered, running a hand over his masked face. "I'm not going to tell them anything. That's your business, not mine."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?" you demanded, your breath catching in your throat. "Why are you always fucking looking at me?"

"Because you're driving me fucking insane," he ground out, taking a step towards you. "I'm trying to give you space, trying to be a fuckin' gentleman, and you're over here thinking I'm about to announce your sexual history to the whole squad?"

The sheer absurdity of it, the relief mixed with the lingering fear, was too much. The words you'd been holding back for weeks finally burst free. "Just fuck me and get it over with!" you blurted out, the words sounding pathetic even to your own ears. "Just do it so I can stop thinking about it!"

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling with a deep, controlled breath. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Then he spoke, his voice quiet, cold, and utterly commanding.

"No."

Your heart plummeted. "What?"

"I said no." He took another step closer, crowding you, his presence overwhelming.

You stammered, your brain short-circuiting. "I-I don't understand. You... you want to, don't you?"

His eyes flashed, a dark fire igniting in their depths. "Wanting to and fucking you are two different things, Sergeant. I'm not going to take your virginity because you're having a fuckin' panic attack. You'll wait."

"Wait?"

"You'll wait until you're sure. Until you can ask me properly." His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back up, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "And you'll ask me in my bed, after everyone's asleep. Then, and only then, I'll consider it."

The shift in power was dizzying. He wasn't rejecting you; he was setting the terms. And God help you, you wanted to agree to every single one.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He tilted his head, a gesture of both command and curiosity. "Okay, what?" His gaze was piercing, demanding.

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The old shame was there, but it was being drowned out by a new, more powerful feeling: a desperate, clawing need to please him. You sank to your knees on the cold, hard floor of his room, the movement feeling both shameful and right. You looked up at him, your heart pounding against your ribs.

"Please, Simon," you whispered, the words barely audible. "Please... fuck me."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, visible even around the mask. He reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a surprising tenderness.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Now get up and go back to the others. Act normal. I'll see you later."

You didn't remember much of the rest of the evening. You sat through the briefing, you ate dinner, you even managed a few stilted laughs at Johnny's jokes. But all of it was a blur, the background noise to the roaring in your head. You were going to Simon's room tonight. The thought was a live wire in your stomach, sparking terror and anticipation in equal measure.

Hours later, the base was quiet. The hallway was deserted, the only light coming from the red glow of the emergency exit signs. You moved like a ghost, your bare feet silent on the linoleum as you made your way to his door. You didn't knock. You just turned the handle and slipped inside.

He was waiting for you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his mask illuminated by the single lamp on his bedside table. He'd taken off his tac vest, leaving him in just a tight-fitting black t-shirt and his cargo pants. He looked human, and terrifyingly sexy.

"Lock the door," he said, his voice soft but firm.

You did, the click of the lock sounding like a gunshot. You turned back to him, your body thrumming with nervous energy. And then you noticed the room. It was different. The usually stark, military-neat space was softened. The bed had clean, crisp sheets on it. And there were candles, a few simple tea lights flickering on the windowsill and the dresser, casting a warm, gentle glow over the room.

"You... lit candles," you said, your voice small.

"I wanted you to be comfortable," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He patted the space on the bed next to him. "Come here."

You went, your legs feeling unsteady. You sat down, a careful distance between you, your hands twisting in your lap. He didn't rush you. He just watched you, his dark eyes patient.

"You don't have to do this," he said quietly. "If you've changed your mind"

"I haven't," you said, a little too quickly. "I want this. I want... you."

He nodded slowly. "Good." He reached out and took one of your restless hands, his grip warm and steady. "We'll go slow. We'll go as slow as you need. And you tell me to stop if you want to stop. Understand?"

You nodded, your throat tight. "I understand."

He leaned in, and for the first time, you thought he was going to kiss you. But he just pressed his forehead against yours, a gesture so unexpectedly tender it made your eyes sting. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin.

"Relax," he murmured. "Let me take care of you."

Then he did kiss you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It was slow, soft, exploring. His lips were warm and firm against yours, and the fact that you could feel them, that the mask didn't cover them, made it incredibly intimate. You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping out to taste you. He tasted like mint and the faint, bitter hint of coffee, and it was the most intoxicating thing you'd ever experienced.

You kissed him back with a clumsy, desperate enthusiasm, your hands coming up to clutch at his t-shirt. He let you, his own hands moving to your waist, guiding you. He pulled you closer, until you were half in his lap, and you could feel the solid, hard plane of his chest against yours.

"Simon," you breathed against his lips, his name a prayer on your tongue.

"Shhh," he soothed, his hands sliding under your shirt. His fingers were calloused, rough against the soft skin of your back, and you shivered at the sensation. "Just feel."

He kissed his way down your jaw, to your neck, his lips and tongue tracing a path that made you arch into him. He pulled your shirt over your head, his eyes drinking in the sight of you in your simple cotton bra. He reached around and unhooked it with practiced ease, letting it fall away.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he groaned, his hands coming up to cover your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The praise, so sincere, so raw, sent a bolt of heat straight to you. You'd been so focused on your own inexperience, you hadn't considered that he might actually want this, want you, with the same desperate hunger.

He laid you back on the bed, his body hovering over yours, and continued his exploration. He kissed every inch of your exposed skin, his touch reverent. He was taking his time, so much time, working you up with a maddening slowness that had you writhing beneath him.

He started kissing your tits, his mouth hot and wet as he closed his lips around one nipple, flicking it with his tongue. The sensation was electric. And in your head, the old, ugly thought surfaced: He's done this a hundred times. He knows exactly what he's doing, and you're just another body in his bed. The thought made you squirm, a mix of jealousy and insecurity twisting your gut.

He must have felt the change in you, because he pulled back, his eyes searching your face. "What is it?" he asked. "Talk to me."

"I just..." you couldn't say it. It was too embarrassing. But he just waited, his gaze patient and unwavering. "I just... I know you've done this before. With people who know what they're doing."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Yeah, I have," he said, his voice a low, dark rumble. "And do you know what I've learned?" He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I've learned that nothing is hotter than watching someone fall apart for the first time. I've learned that I fucking love being the one to make it happen."

He moved down your body, his hands hooking into the waistband of your pants. "I'm going to eat your pussy now," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And you're going to let me hear every single sound you make. No holding back. Understand?"

You nodded, your breath coming in short, shallow pants. He pulled your pants and underwear down in one go, leaving you completely bare to him. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them apart. He looked up at you, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly lowered his head.

The first touch of his tongue on your cunt was like a lightning strike. You cried out, your hands flying to his hair, your back arching off the bed. He groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

"Fuck, you're wet," he rasped, his tongue lapping at you with long, slow strokes. "So fuckin' wet for me."

He ate you out with a devastating skill, his tongue finding your clit with unerring accuracy, circling and sucking until you were a whimpering, moaning mess. You could feel his spit mixing with your own slickness, the obscene, wet sounds filling the room.

While he worked, his hands found yours, his fingers lacing through yours, pinning them to the mattress on either side of your hips. It was an anchor, a connection in the midst of the overwhelming pleasure. He held your gaze, letting you watch him, his eyes dark with lust as he showed you exactly what his tongue was doing to your swollen, aching clit.

"Tell me how it feels," he commanded, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Talk to me."

"It feels... so good," you gasped, your nails digging into the backs of his hands. "Your tongue... fuck, Simon, don't stop."

His grip on your hands tightened, a silent acknowledgment of your plea. Your pussy was burning, a deep, throbbing ache that demanded more. You felt a fullness in your belly, a tightening coil of pleasure that was wound so tight it was almost painful.

He slid a finger inside you, then another, curling them just right. The stretch was intense, a dull burn that quickly melted into pleasure. He was watching your face, reading your every reaction, ensuring you were with him every step of the way.

"You're taking my fingers so well," he praised, his voice thick with arousal. "Look at that. So fuckin' tight." He pumped his fingers in and out of his mouth, his tongue still working your clit.

The dirty talk, the sight of him between your legs, the feel of his fingers and tongue, it was too much. The coil in your belly snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave. You came with a loud, broken moan, your thighs clamping around his head as he worked you through it, drawing out every last shatter of pleasure.

He finally released you, crawling back up your body and kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. You could feel his erection, a hard thick line pressing against your thigh, and you were suddenly desperate to feel it, to feel Ghost.

You reached down, your hand palming his cock through his pants. He hissed, his hips jerking involuntarily. You wanted to make him feel as good as he'd made you feel. You wanted to show him how desperate you really were.

You pushed at his shoulders, surprising him. He let you roll him over, until you were straddling his thighs. You quickly undid his belt and fly, freeing his cock. It was even more intimidating up close, long, thick, and flushed dark red at the tip. A bead of pre glistened there, and you leaned down, licking it off on a whim.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. "Show me," you whispered. "Show me how you like it."

His eyes snapped open, dark with lust. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it slowly from base to tip. "Like this," he said, his voice strained. "Spit on it."

You did, your saliva glistening on the head. He used it as lube, his fist moving in a smooth, steady rhythm. You watched, utterly mesmerized, as he pleasured himself.

"Your turn," he grunted.

You replaced his hand with yours, your grip tentative at first. You mimicked his movements, and he let out a low, encouraging sound. "Yeah, just like that, love. Tighter. Squeeze the head when you get to the top."

You followed his instructions, your confidence growing with every groan you elicited from him. He was leaking steadily now, his pre-cum making your hand slick.

You leaned down and flicked your tongue over the head again, tasting the bitter saltiness of him. He twitched in your hand, a guttural sound escaping his lips. Emboldened, you took him into your mouth, just the tip at first, swirling your tongue around him. The taste, the feel of him on your tongue, the power of having this strong, dangerous man at your mercy, it was intoxicating.

"Jesus, fuck," he gasped, his hand flying to your hair, not to guide you, but just to hold on. "You're gonna make me come, you little minx."

You smiled around his cock, a surge of feminine pride washing over you. You cupped his balls, rolling them gently in your hand, marveling at the weight of them. You even ran your fingers through the coarse, dark hair at the base of his cock, finding the fact that he was unshaven, so naturally and undeniably male, incredibly hot.

"Christ, stop looking at me like that," he groaned. "You're gonna make me blow my load before I even get inside you."

You pulled off him with a wet pop, grinning. "Sorry."

"You're not," he said, sitting up and kissing you hard. He flipped you over again, pinning you beneath him.

He reached over to the bedside table, grabbing a condom and ripping it open. He rolled it on with practiced efficiency, his eyes never leaving yours. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against you.

"Last chance," he said, his voice serious. "Tell me to stop."

"Don't you dare," you breathed, your legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer.

He pushed forward, slowly, so slowly, the stretch immense. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders. It burned, but it was a good burn, a sign of the connection you were making. He paused, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.

"You're doin' so good," he murmured, his voice strained. "So fuckin' good. Just breathe."

You did, and as you did, he slid in deeper, inch by incredible inch, until he was seated fully inside you. The feeling of fullness was absolute, overwhelming. He was so deep, so much a part of you, it brought tears to your eyes.

He kissed them away, his lips gentle. "You okay?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, unable to speak. He started to move, his thrusts shallow and slow. He held your hand, his fingers interlaced with yours, anchoring you as he began to fuck you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It wasn't frantic or rough. It was deep, intimate, and devastatingly slow. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, his lips worshipping your body as his cock worshipped your cunt.

You could tell he was holding back, his body trembling with the effort of not pounding into you. His thrusts were angled perfectly, stimulating a spot inside you that you didn't even know existed. The pressure built again, a slow, rising tide of pleasure that was even more intense than the first.

"That's it," he panted in your ear. "I can feel you gettin' tighter. Are you gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna come all over me?"

His words, combined with the relentless, perfect pressure, sent you over the edge again. You came with a silent cry, your inner walls clenching around him, your body shaking with the force of it.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his rhythm finally faltering. "I can feel you comin'. So fuckin' hot. So goddamn perfect." He slammed into you once, twice, three more times, and then he was coming with a hoarse shout, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled the condom.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight a welcome, heavy blanket. You lay there, tangled together, your breathing slowly syncing up as you came down from the high. After a long moment, he rolled off you, disposing of the condom before pulling you back into his chest.

You were silent, your mind reeling. You felt different. Changed. The shame, the insecurity, it was all gone, replaced by a deep, bone-deep satisfaction.

Simon pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Stay," he murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.

You didn't need to be asked twice. You cuddled closer, your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. In the morning, things would be different. But for tonight, in the warm, candlelit glow of his room, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

The only thing more shocking than the fact that you'd just lost your virginity to Simon 'Ghost' Riley was the realization that you wanted to do it again. And again.

The first few days after were a weird, hazy blur. You moved through your training exercises on autopilot, your body aching in places you didn't know could ache. A deep, pleasant soreness that was a constant, throbbing reminder of the way he'd felt inside you, the way he'd held you, the sounds he'd made. Every time you caught sight of him across the compound, a dark, imposing figure against the grey concrete, a jolt of heat would shoot straight to your core.

You expected things to be awkward. You'd braced yourself for smirks from Johnny or a pointed, knowing look from Gaz. But there was nothing. Simon was the consummate professional on the field, his commands sharp, his demeanor as unreadable as ever. If anything, he was a little more distant, a little more controlled, as if he was holding himself back with a supreme effort. And Johnny just thought you were hungover.

That first night back in the safety of your own room, you'd slid your hand into your panties and touched yourself, trying to replicate the devastating pleasure he'd given you. It was useless. Your own fingers were a poor substitute for the thick, insistent stretch of his cock, the expert roll of his hips. You came, but it was a hollow, fleeting thing, and it only made you miss him more.

It took three days of this simmering tension before you snapped. You were in the gym, pounding away your frustration on the treadmill, when he walked in. He was wearing a tight-fitting black tank top and sweatpants, his hair damp from a shower. He didn't look at you, just gave a curt nod and headed for the weights. But you saw the way his jaw ticked, the way his hands flexed at his sides.

You hit the stop button on the treadmill, the machine's whine cutting through the quiet hum of the room. "My room," you said, your voice sounding more confident than you felt. "Ten minutes."

He didn't even turn around. "I have a briefing."

"You'll be quick," you retorted, a sharp heat rising in your chest. You saw his shoulders shake with a silent, dark laugh before he gave you a single, sharp nod.

You were waiting for him, your heart pounding when your door creaked open. He slipped inside, closing and locking it behind him with the same quiet efficiency he did everything. He didn't say a word. He just crossed the room, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.

It wasn't sweet or slow this time. It was a kiss born of days of frustrated denial. His tongue was in your mouth immediately, claiming, possessing, and you met him with equal desperation. You clawed at his tank top, pulling it over his head, and he did the same to yours, his hands rough and impatient on your skin.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you," he growled against your lips, backing you towards the bed. "About this tight little body. About how you felt squeezing my cock."

His filthy words sent a rush of wetness between your thighs. You whimpered, your hands scrambling for the button of his pants. He shoved his trousers down, kicking them away, and then he was on you again, his naked, scarred chest pressing you into the mattress. He was already hard, his cock heavy against your stomach.

Si was tearing at your pants, and you lifted your hips to help him, kicking them away along with your panties. He was between your thighs in a second, his cock nudging at your entrance. You felt the tear of a condom packet and you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

"Don't," you said, your voice breathless.

He stilled, his eyes searching yours. "You sure?"

"I'm on the pill," you rushed out. "And I trust you. I just... I need to feel all of you. Please, Simon."

He stared at you for a long, tense moment, something raw and vulnerable flashing in his eyes. Then he crushed his mouth to yours, the condom forgotten. He pushed into you in one long, smooth stroke, and the sensation was overwhelming. No thin barrier, just the hot, silky feel of him, every vein, every ridge. He was so deep, so impossibly deep, you could feel him everywhere.

"Fuck," you gasped, your head falling back. "You feel so good."

He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours, the bed creaking in protest. "You feel like fuckin' heaven," he gritted out, his face buried in your neck. "So wet, so bloody tight for me."

You wanted more. You needed to be in control, to set the pace, to take what you needed. You pushed against his chest, and he let you roll him over with surprising ease. You straddled his hips, his cock still buried deep inside you, and braced your hands on his chest.

The sight of him below you was breathtaking. His chest was heaving, his muscles tensed, his eyes fixed on you with a burning intensity. And his mask, it had shifted slightly during the tussle, riding low on his nose, revealing more of his face than you'd ever seen. The sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the scar there. He looked wild, untamed.

You started to move, rising and falling on his cock, setting a rhythm that had you both moaning. His hands found your hips, then slid down to grip your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh as he guided you, helping you take him deeper.

"Simon," you panted, your head lolling back. "I can't... I can't stop thinking about you. You've done this to me. I'm obsessed."

His grip on your ass tightened, his eyes blazing. "Yeah?" he rasped, his voice strained. "Tell me what you're thinking about, sweetheart."

"Thinking about how full you make me," you whimpered, feeling another orgasm coil low in your belly. "How you stretch me so good. Si, please... please don't stop filling me up."

That was what broke him. With a groan, he sat up, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you to his chest. His mouth was on your neck, sucking and biting as he drove up into you, meeting your downward thrusts with powerful, desperate strokes of his own.

His mask was pushed down further, and you turned your head, your lips finding the corner of his mouth, kissing the scarred skin there. "You feel so good, LT," you whispered in his ear. "So fuckin' good inside me."

He came with a roar, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside you, the hot, thick flood of his cum triggering your own release. You came with a silent scream, your whole body clenching around him, milking him for every last drop. You collapsed against his chest, both of you slick with sweat, trembling with the aftershocks.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held each other, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He was still inside you, softening but not gone, a warm, comforting presence. He reached up and gently adjusted his mask, pulling it back into place. The intimacy of the gesture, the quiet trust it implied, made your heart ache.

"Now you stay the night," you murmured into his neck, not a question, but a statement.

He didn't answer. He just held you tighter, and that was answer enough. You knew, with a certainty that this was no longer just about getting rid of your virginity. This was something else entirely.

And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you realized you were in way deeper than you'd ever planned to be.

[khloelovesanime]

Holy shit this is so good I wish I could give it a kudos and a big fat kiss ❤️🥹

[kammazi]

katsuki is not known to be someone to be late, if anything, he’s always early. however, today was not one of those days as you were woken up by the his attempt at being quiet while rushing to get dressed.

the ruffle and clank of his costume had you straining your neck over your shoulder to peek at what was going on. his arms were lifted as he tugged something over his head, biceps straining as your view of his perfectly chiseled body was quickly concealed.

you let out a slight groan as you roll your body over, head resting on your arms. “you okay?” he huffed as he lifted one of his gauntlets, eyes locked on yours as he tugged it on. “yeah -shit, woke up late” you sat up a bit faster now, knowing how katsuki’s typical morning routine has been officially scrapped. you take a look at the clock, ‘5:34’. “ouu shit”

he rolled his eyes slightly before practically lunging towards you, a long kiss landing on your lips. his hand rests on your cheek, savouring the taste as even though he is late, he would never leave without one. his job is one with unexpected twists after all, good and bad.

after pulling away he stands up, grabbing his phone and other essentials. “sorry for waking you sweets, i’ll make it up to you.” you smile and shake your head. “it’s my day off, don’t worry. now go, and call me later if you can ok?” with a curt nod and no more words, he bolts out the door, the click of the lock echoing around the apartment.

you sigh and take another look at the clock. “just a little more..” and you flop back onto the bed, dozing off in seconds.

eventually 9am rolls around and you decide it’s time to do just about anything to try and make this day productive. and perhaps also because your stomach was making some loud noises at one point.

after a shower, you do something quick with your hair and anything else in your routine that you like to do whenever you have the time.

finally, breakfast. you stand in front of the fridge, pulling it open and- oh. oh well that wasn’t very good. you reach into the fridge and pull out what was meant to be katsuki’s lunch. meant to be because he obviously forgot it. the carefully crafted lunch that you took your sweet time making last night and was going to surprise him with before he left.

you look at the sad box sitting in your hands. if you were to be honest, you felt too lazy to go all the way to the agency just to hand it to him.. but his lunch was in an hour, and again, it’s not like you have anything better to do. so after putting on some cute summer dress that made you look pretty damn good, you marched outside and drove your ass all the way to that overbearing sky scraping building.

you step out of the car with a huff from the strenuous heat, and walk through the huge doors of the agency. navigating through the building that you have visited more times than you can count still isn’t the easiest but eventually you make it to the top floor, stepping out the elevator with the lunchbox held in your hand.

the first thing that hits you are the stares. heroes and other personnel passing you by with that look in their eyes, glances over the shoulder once they thought they were far enough. you feel a little shiver of nerves as you walk past and down the hall.

you hope katsuki was in a good mood by the way the morning had went but as you check your watch you notice his break was going to start any minute now. the thought of seeing him already melts away any of your worries.

you lean against the wall outside of one of the meeting rooms as you can hear the loud but composed voice of your fiancé leading whatever conversation you had no interest in. just as you were about to check the time on your watch, you can feel it before you look up.

right in front of you was what looked like to be one of the office workers that occupied one of the many desks in the building. he looked you up and down, his greasy strands of hair falling in front of his eyes as he takes his sweet time observing you shamelessly.

you don’t do anything except throw him a disgusted grimace that has his grin dropping and leg slowly pushing off of the wall and-

the door next to you clicks open and people begin to pour out. your eyes are still glancing to look for the man to make sure he wouldn’t jumpscare you after the crowd disperses. “sweets?what are you doing here?” you snap your eyes to meet those dark crimson ones. he scans you from head to toe before taking in a subtle deep breath. “you really love to test me, especially at work huh.” you smile and lean up to peck his cheek. he chases your lips until his land on yours.

as you pull away, you finally lift up the reason your here and hand it to him. “i made you lunch last night but well- y’know. so i brought it to you as a little surprise.” he gives you a small smile as he takes the box, his other arm wrapping around your waist. “damn, you better prepare yourself when i get back. for this-” he lifts the box, “-and that damn dress. i can see those old fucks staring. i’ll deal with them later” he grips your waist just that little bit tighter, hand dropping that little bit lower.

he lands a kiss on the crown of your head before pulling away. “you heading back now?” you nod and look up at him. “yeah, i have a show i want to finish and i might start dinner.” he grimaces “maybe wait till i get back yeah?” you roll your eyes at his response. “a little trust from your side would be nice you know?” his face doesn’t change. “whatever i’m leaving now. the amount of testosterone in this damn building is pissing me off”

you start to walk away as you hear his subtle chuckle. “your ass looks good” you shoot him a look before disappearing in the elevator.

and after he makes sure you’re gone and out of earshot, he sets the box gently to the side. his footsteps almost inaudible as he approaches the end of the hall and goes around the corner.

there squats the greasy office worker, phone up and in hand. camera open and gallery full. his breathing slows.

“so.. you can either lose everything you have and hold dear, or have the shit beaten out of you until you land in a hospital bed. your pick fuck face.”

i hate this lmao