𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒖𝒄𝒆

𝒓𝒆𝒊 𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒖𝒄𝒆

[milkk--t]

welcome, expeditioners! call me rei ˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹ "tomorrow comes."

20s | she/they | mdni — this is an 18+ space!

multifandom. i breathe angst. video game + fictional character enthusiast. my upload schedule is as random as a dice roll. currently on hiatus.

->-> 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ->->

° blog & request rules

° codmw masterlist

° sideblog & fic recs: @lemonn--t

milkk--t © please don't repost, plagiarise, translate my work, nor use it to train AI.

[milkk--t]

𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

hello, expeditioners! i have (temporarily) returned from my slumber for a PSA.

life has been more hectic than i could have ever prepared for. what was meant to be a quick break promptly spiralled into a long hiatus.

during that time span, i haven't engaged in as much codmw content and moved on to other things. as a result, i've lost the passion i once had for the fandom. this means that all the codmw fics i had planned will be delayed indefinitely.

i really do apologise for the disappointment. i tend to work in bursts of energy that align with my motivation, which explains the consistent uploads back in august/september. now i just have a bunch of drafts (most of which are codmw fics) that would not see the light of day for some time.

the good news is that i like to keep a reservoir of drafts before completing and uploading them back-to-back, so somewhere in the future i would return with consistent uploads once more. don't worry, i won't completely abandon the unfinished stories i've written.

but for now, i don't have plans to write for codmw, nor become active on tumblr again anytime soon. i had intended to at least finish part 3 of if it pleases you and part 2 of black coffee, one sugar, but i just don't feel capable of doing so anymore. i'm very sorry to let everyone down.

perhaps i might write for other fandoms, but even that feels like a chore at the moment.

either way, i'd like to give a sincere thank you for those who have supported me and my work so far. it has been an absolute delight to contibute to this community.

tomorrow comes ˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹

signed,

rei

[milkk--t]

do you think you’ll make a third part to ‘if it pleases you?’ it’s so good i need my angsty john price back 💔

aaahhh i love it when people show interest in my fics like this mwah (｀；ω；´) <3

i don't want to make more promises i can't keep, so the quick answer is maybe.

i'm planning to write a part 3 at some point (which is why i haven't marked it as 'completed' yet on my masterlist), but i really do apologise because if it pleases you is not exactly on the top of my priority list right now :((

the story was meant to end there, so i haven't truly thought of how to continue the plot while also maintaining the same level of quality.

[etherealizzie]

social media au with ghost hunters!tf141 :D

except for i really just wanted to see what they did in their free time on tumblr when they aren't exploring abandoned ass places to post on their little youtube channel [area 141 <3]

<3 this was inspired by @milkk--t and this post !! go check it out cause it is SO STINKIN GOOD !!!

this is my mini celebration post for 100 followers! my dumbass hasn't edited in actual years so if this is sloppy? fucking forgive me, i just wanted to do something 'new' :>

ALL OF THESE PICTURES WERE FOUND ON PINTEREST !! pls dont steal any of my edits !! :(

.

.

.

simon riley.

the videographer of area 141, doesn't blast that shit on social media

not the forefront of the group, is not fucking scared of the places they go to at all, and does it more for fun

that's why the people love him though: he's mysterious

a tad more private than the other three

usually behind the camera bc gadgets are fucking hard

uses tumblr to scout out different photography areas but also posts his stuff

faceless, he's not that fucking daft on the internet

follows tags like #photography, #videography, and eats up any old architecture

──────────────────────────────────────────

john price.

the host of area 141

tends to pull the narrator voices for the team, loved for his goofy ass voices

a huge scaredy cat despite his age (late 30s in comparison to his late 20s teammates)

enjoys posting on his socials like it's all facebook with some cheesy ass captions

uses tumblr for using his dog named cash :)

tumblr is more of a creative space and mass reblog place for price

follows the hiking tag religiously, probably has reblogged almost everything related to hiking

outdoorsy ass tumblr (soap 100% helped with picking the pfp and the banner)

──────────────────────────────────────────

johnny mactavish.

cohost of area 141, the most clipped mf on the channel

cause he's a scaredy cat, bro jumps at a rustle

fan favorite for most unless you like mystery then it's simon

social media is his relief. he has a professional look for everything except tumblr

it's his quiet platform where he can just reblog shit he likes

he is SHIT POSTING, maybe an occasional joke about the show

other than that, his main is a public shitpost session

sometimes posts funny pictures he took with some dumbass caption

──────────────────────────────────────────

kyle garrick.

cohost/editor of area 141, helps simon with audio too

one of the more stoic ones, same as simon but more interactive with the locations they go to

loved for being the devil's advocate and scaring the shit out of soap whenever he gets the chance

he does not have social media separation whatsoever unless it's strictly professional

funny memes? reblog

posts updates on their trips on tumblr with some fuck ass photo of the crew

not too attached to social media but indulges in it because publicity

is a REBLOG MENACE!!! REBLOGS EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING!!!!

──────────────────────────────────────────

a/n: i needed to do something other than play video games so i... i hope chat enjoys what i've created so far :D pls.... feedback...... or anything............ papa loves u guys <3

[milkk--t]

CRIESSS THIS IS AMAZING

i'm cackling over the fact that soap and price are easily scared but still go ghost hunting, i would LOVE for this to be real and watch their vids

[milkk--t]

𝐭𝐟 𝟏𝟒𝟏'𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 (𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐀𝐔)

another bonus headcanon and more lore!! bokeh has been in my drafts for a month now, i still haven't been able to properly complete it (i'm sorry!) because writer's block is hot on my heels and summer break is ending (screaming and gagging, i don't want to go back). anyway, as i was writing the story, i mentioned the 141 boys exchanging instagram handles with reader, which led to the creation of this post (i had a lot of fun making these profiles). there are 5 easter eggs embedded here, can you find them all?

masterlist | read bokeh here | bonus hc #1

- 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 -

his profile is public, but he keeps it relatively discreet.

price would use facebook, but he's on IG to feel hip, especially since he's surrounded by youngins now that he's back in academia.

price likes the outdoors and posts about it quite a lot. he used to be part of this hiking group where he met kyle, who he still goes hiking with sometimes.

fishing dad™

he has a wordpress website where he links all his scientific publications and writes his thought pieces.

this man is a little ancient, so he prefers posting pictures and the occasional video over stories ("this account is for keeping memories. why would i want to post something that only lasts 24 hours?").

- 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 -

of course, ghost's profile is private.

this guy doesn't ever post his face on his socials. in fact, he rarely posts at all.

has a black german shepherd named cerberus who he left in his brother tommy's care since he moved for college (this man misses his good boy immensely).

ghost goes to the gym with johnny sometimes, as seen in his stories.

his explore page is definitely filled with cat & dog posts, compsci memes, cooking content and those cool visualised physics explanation videos.

- 𝐤𝐲𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 -

kyle's profile is public and he has garnered quite a number of followers, most likely because he has the ability to post in that distinct influencer aesthetic.

he didn't even mean to gain this level of popularity. it's just that he has good composition and photography skills to make his pictures pop.

(totally not because this man looks fine as fuck).

truthfully, he's more introverted IRL than what is seen on social media, particularly in the way his posts only feature himself/his close friends and never really a "social" setting.

goes hiking with price for well-needed nature resets.

- 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡 -

oh, this guy definitely has a public profile.

if you're wondering whether soap actually knows that many people, yes he does (i know someone like this IRL, it's insane, i could never).

posts memes and shenanigans on his story.

he actually gives good gym and workout tips. he will have his own protein shake brand one day, you'll see.

no, just because soap has a linktree doesn't mean he has an OF account (or does he? maybe he does...). it's where he links his tiktok, youtube, twitter, snapchat, tellonym, favourite charity, favourite protein powder company, etc.

basically, he's as active online as he is offline. how he manages to juggle all of that at once is beyond me.

𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲:

the instagram page is run by both staff and students.

i took inspo from several universities (i.e. harvard, oxford, sorbonne, copenhagen, toronto, groningen, zürich, UCL) when i came up with estelle.

lore-wise, it's on par with ivy league colleges, though the location of estelle is never explicitly stated.

estelle university has 8 faculties: science, social science, economics & business, law, arts & humanities, engineering, medicine, architecture.

there are roughly 150 departments and more than 250 study programmes across all degree levels at estelle.

milkk--t © please don't repost, plagiarise, translate my work, nor use it to train AI.

[benjaboyisatwink]

So, one time I was reblogging something and had a fun idea about stalker!Simon... i finally started it! It's probably not gonna be more than 2 parts, I just cut it bc it made more sense honestly. Anyways... I took a while to go around writing this huh

❀ EDIT: The original post I said I rebbloged that sparked this idea was this amazing fic by my lovely moot @milkk--t !! Please check it out, it's probably way more flushed out than my silly idea ;)

.𖥔 ݁ 🍯 Stalking! Mentions of stealing underwear and clothes, breaking into each other's places & taking unconsented(kinda) pictures ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Simon took a leave, a months long leave, one he wasn't exactly keen on taking, but Price was having none of it, and sent him off field for a long while, or else the lieutenant was going to be the reason Price is chewed by the administration.

So he was...off field. Which left him stranded. He had nothing to focus on, nothing to put his skills to use, to drown out the overwhelming silence of his flat. So he started walking, getting to know the city, going to different cafe's and random shops; which is how he found himself walking into this specific coffee shop.

He was just looking for a coffee to go and something to eat, but when he reached the counter, he hesitated. See, he may be closed off, but he knows a pretty thing when he sees it; even when said pretty thing's hair is messy, bags under their eyes and tense shoulders. But you smiled at him with a somewhat knowing look in your eyes that had him resisting the urge to ask if you understood the weight of the aching silence in his life, the deafening static that made him feel like he was going crazy.

He didn't, though. He just stared until you frowned, feeling his stomach twist at how adorable you looked frowning up at him, tilting your head and asking if he was okay. When he nodded dumbly and mumbled his order, he couldn't help but swoon a little at the giggle that left your pretty lips. Paying with a heavy tip and admiring the way your eyes when wide before you glanced up a him through your lashes.

"Do you have a name?"

You had asked softly, a little teasing, unable to resist it when this big ass man was acting like a shy schoolboy from ordering a black coffee and a pastry.

"Simon"

He grumbled. Not bothering to ask yours when he had already repeated it a million times over in his head the moment he saw it on your name tag. You nodded and went to making his coffee.

When you finished, he took it and sat on a table in a corner, watching out he corner of his eyes the way you'd flit around cleaning tables and making coffee and talking to customers. Something heavy and crazed nuzzling it's way to his chest as he looked at you.

You had locked onto him the moment he stared dumbly at you. Even more when you felt his gaze on you for the entirety of your shift (and your way back home). The feeling of his gaze and unwavering attention left you in a daze; weighting heaving in your stomach and pooling like molten lava in your tummy in a way that had you holding back on slipping into your work's bathroom and easing some of the tension off with your hand, but you didn't want him to know it yet, you let him think he was doing a great job at stalking you.

It was easy, easy knowing he'd be back in the coffee shop, easy warming up to him, letting him think you didn't know about how he'd walk you home (so romantic!) like a guard dog, making sure the shady men around didn't even glance at you. It was also easy giggling and asking in a sweet whisper for his surname, a simple.

"And this coffee is for Mr..?"

"Riley"

He had said, and you wrote it in the paper cup, commiting it to memory. It wasn't just important for when you looked into who he was later, but it also was important since now you could start deciding the important stuff, like if you'd take his last name, or he would take yours.

Then, it was smooth sailing. He'd come in every day, order the same things (safe for the days you talked about any other pastry or drink, where he'd immediately buy one of it for him), sit in a corner and watch you. And you'd start your own routine, search him up, find out who he is, what he does, where he lives. It was easy getting anything out of him; he thought you were so innocent and oblivious, he wasn't about to be doubting you when you still casually locked your door and went to sleep soundly despite the many times he slipped in at night.

You used the days you knew he was in your flat to ask for the day off and go to his place. Go over his documents, find out everything you could, map out his house (decide where your plants and furniture and decorations would go). You could make out the type of guy he was just for his house and documents, so after that it was just some careful threading and you got yourself his usual routine.

When he wasn't stalking you, you were stalking him. It was a fun cat and mouse game (a good story for your kids); you'd casually show up in the same grocery shop as him, then coincidentally be running at the same park he runs every morning, maybe even daring to wear some more skimpy running outfit just to feel the warmth of his stare on your body. He saw you everywhere, and when you were at the coffee shop, he always came back, every time his gaze was even more intense, like a visible force growing until it broke, and it left you giddy.

Simon was sure it was some kind of divine intervention. You were it for him, he was sure. He saw you everywhere, ever since that damned day on that random coffee shop where he first saw you and felt that crazed, horrible weight in his chest, he couldn't stay away. He knew he shouldn't, but he sat there and watched. Watched you move, watched you hum along to the music of the shop, clean tables, make coffees, talk and laugh to regulars, and the more he watched the more this dreadful feeling settled in him, he was almost in a haze as he followed you home, staring at your complex, physically restraining himself.

He hadn't planned on getting worse, see, it was just something to focus on when not on the field, it was easy, stalking, gathering intel info about you, keeping watch. He just went to the cafe, ate and drank some coffee, and followed escorted you to your flat.

But then you suddenly were everywhere, always just passing through, not even looking at him, not even noticing how he's always in the sidelines even when he's not the one going after you. Maybe once or twice you'd recognize him and wave before going your merry way, and he'd plant himself on the spot he was in an attempt to not follow you like some stray after you feed it once. Every time you were around, it was never quiet.

On the run at the park where he saw you in that tight, skimpy running outfit, it wasn't quiet in the way his mind was filled by the things he wanted to do to you. When he saw you at the grocery store, you were humming along to the song playing on the speakers. When he saw you at the bar when he was out with the others, you were laughing with your friends.

It wasn't quiet, it wasn't ecstatic that had his ears ringing and chest tightening and head full yet feeling hollow. No, it was full, you filled in, filled in the silence, the hollow, you were sound and warmth and presence and he needed it, needed you, just a little more, just enough he wouldn't go batshit crazy while out of the field.

So he broke in your apartment. So what? He wasn't going to rob you or anything. He actually was making sure you were safe, because he didn't want his pretty thing exposed to risks. He mapped it out, took note of the locks in the doors and windows, fantasized of having your trinkets fill in the empty spaces and hollows of his home rather than this simple flat you lived in, fantasized on you filling in that silence and void in his life he just so recently found out you can fill up.

But he didn't do anything wrong, he didn't touch you, never would, he's a gentleman despite everything, and he wouldn't want to risk losing the calming sound of your breathing at night just because he got too greedy. He settled on taking one of your underwear, he wouldn't touch you, but theres only so much he can do when seeing the type of clothes you use to sleep.

He'd make sure you were safe and all you had to do is stop the silence, that was it, it was enough for him, more than enough, he was sure, he told himself the same thing each time, even when he got bolder, when he'd trace your cheek while you slept, when he'd leave you new groceries so you didn't have to use of you low salary for it, when he at last left you bags with your favourite snacks and sweets, even if he knew you'd be paranoid when you saw them, he'd just be more careful, he was just trying to be good to you, thank you for helping him.

Simon Riley was the one for you. He was it, you were sure. He always tipped nicely, he was fun to talk to, made dumb jokes, listened to whatever others were talking about, was surprisingly caring when he wasn't keeping up his walls. Sure, you knew all that from desperately watching and listening to him on his bar nights with his task force coworkers, and sure, he'd always smile at little more to Johnny, Johnny is how he is saved on Simon's contacts, the scot with a mohawk was pretty fun too, and you understood while Simon liked his company.

Aswell as being a good man, he was attentive and protective, always walking you to your flat, always coming in to see you at work, always helping you sleep with his gentle caresses, not once touching you without consent, he really was a sweetheart! And when he started buying groceries for you? Buying any products of yours that was on the end and putting them right where they always were as if you wouldn't notice how adorable that is?

The final straw was when he bought a bag of your favourite snacks and sweets and let it on your counter after a particularly bad day. You couldn't help but let out a shaky sigh, it really felt so good to be cared for, and you were falling, hard. So, of course, you wanted to thank him!

Simon was once again staring at the photos he took of you on his phone, late into the night, unable to sleep, but the silence had begun to be too loud, so he put your playlist on his headphones and stared at the photos. That is, until a notification appeared. He frowned, his personal number doesn't usually gets wrong texts. He was about to block when he noticed what number it was. Your number, your number? Did you find out it was him? How did you find his number? Were you scared, were you going to cuss him out?

Hii! Just wanted to thank you for the snacks, it was sooo sweet of you!! How about I pay you back on a date? Next Friday you know I'm free. You pick me up here and we go to that restaurant you like! Xoxo!

He stares at the message, that sense of dread that had been building suddenly vanishing, and he can't help but laugh, shaking his head as he saves your number and stares at your smiling profile picture. Somehow, knowing it had been you who went through his office and who vanished with one of his shirts had him smiling.

"Bloody hell"

He murmured, already making reservations at his favourite restaurant and thinking of what to buy you tomorrow when he goes to see you at work.

[milkk--t]

i'm absolutely loving the unhinged vibes reader is giving!! part 2 whennnn

we love a stalker x stalker ship hehehehe

[milkk--t]

politely i don't think gaz would be a popular student on campus, in his major yes but he's too busy redoing his project from the ground up since his professor said they hated it and there is one week left until jury/critique and he's stuck in studio 😭😭 but he would be like that hallway crush you know that looks like they are having three crisis at once but somehow it works for them

his modeling skills are great tho, he has made like three sets of trees depending on which prof is leading the jury (many professors complain that store-bought trees are too detailed and it detracts from the architecture) that are so perfect like what do you mean you put tiny orange dots to mimic oranges

and whenever gaz trashes the model after jury is over and (if he likes it) has taken photos for his portfolio soap sobs like a baby over it (you put in all that work, time, sweat blood tears sleep??? to throw it away?? it looked so beautiful just let me keep it) and gaz is like it's four feet long and a foot tall there is no space to keep it in the apartment 😭 we are not keeping it

(i've burned my models before v cathartic)

<- arch major

no wait i actually really love this idea!! (T o T)

hallway crush would make a lot more sense than campus heartthrob now that i think about it (i'm gonna incorporate this into the headcanon). i don't see gaz as the most outspoken/extroverted person, so i like this more calm but internally stressed image of him where he doesn't actively try to meet new people, but wouldn't shy away from it either.

i initially based gaz off my friend's best friend who's an arch major. from what i've heard and seen, they're doing quite well for themself in terms of studies and college life despite the stress. they're part of their major's student organisation and i think they even went to study abroad at one point.

and in my mind, the students who study abroad for a semester/year fall under the "popular" category, at least based on my experience when i was doing my undergrad.

so putting two and two together, i just assumed a popular arch student wouldn't be too far-fetched? but i definitely didn't take into account just how busy they are since i'm not exactly familiar with what arch students actually do.

thank you so much for your input, anon <3 i hope you won't mind if i use this info for my future fics as well

[milkk--t]

𝐭𝐟 𝟏𝟒𝟏 𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

my hc of the 141 boys for my upcoming two-part fic: bokeh. heavily inspired by this incredible artwork by @sleepyconfusedpotato. hers is an original codmw headcanon, so i added my own codmw reboot twist for this one.

masterlist | read bokeh here | bonus hc #2

- 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 -

doctorate student (PhD) in international criminal law & criminal justice — faculty of law.

he's the type who gets things done and is always ready to bring the bad guys to justice (especially on an international scale, as it's his special interest). but at the same time, i also see him as an educative figure, like a teacher/mentor.

price has great leadership and communication skills, is good at strategic thinking, tough-minded and very efficient. i think those traits fit a law/criminology student well.

he's planning to become a professor so he can pass on the knowledge and experiences he has obtained in the past 13 years to the next generation (he's such a dad ughhh).

i'd like to think that he used to work as a criminal investigator before finding out that academia was his true calling.

he's also the type to often get burnout because he just gets so absorbed into his work/studies without knowing when to take a break. typical workaholic tendencies.

price is a bit up there in terms of age, so he doesn't party anymore. he does enjoy the occasional trip to the bar/pub to decompress and hang out with his mates, though.

- 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 -

graduate student (MSc) in cyber security and computer science [dual degree] — faculty of science.

this man is big brain—he's all about that strategic thinking, problem-solving, independence and precision. accompanied with his good pattern-recognition and level-headedness, ghost fits right into those tech majors.

he's pursuing a dual degree for no other reason than because he can (okay, flex).

ghost puts a lot of value in his personal space and independence, which makes teamwork a bit of a weakness for him, especially if his peers are less disciplined/logical than he is.

akin to price, i feel like he would be a perfectionist, which kind of slows his progress, as he's too focused on getting all the details right.

i think it's safe to say that ghost isn't the type to go out and party. he's just not a fan of crowds, especially full of inebriated people who can't keep their mouths shut and their hands to themselves.

he would consider going to parties if soap convinces him though.

- 𝐤𝐲𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 -

undergraduate student (BSc) in landscape architecture — faculty of architecture.

we can all agree that pretty boy kyle™ has great artistic sense and aesthetic sensitivity. he's also creative, innovative and attuned to people's emotions/needs, which makes him a great architect.

i'd like to think that gaz loves nature, hence his specialisation in landscape architecture.

i can also imagine that he would struggle with the detail-heavy bureaucracy (e.g. strict rules, permits, regulations) that is inherently tied to his major/field of work, as it would hinder with his creativity. he's never been the red tape kind of guy.

gaz is everyone's hallway crush and he's a member of the student organisation in his faculty.

while he's not a party animal like soap, he definitely wouldn't say no to letting loose with a good drink and good company (which is a bit more often than you'd think).

- 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡 -

undergraduate student (BSc) in marketing — faculty of economics & business.

you cannot tell me this man doesn't have charisma and people skills. in the campaign he easily broke down ghost's walls (aka the unapproachable man™) like it was nobody's business, he's just that good.

i think this major fits soap's profile because marketing students are all about networking, creativity, trend/brand awareness, good negotiation/persuasion skills and high energy.

i'd like to think he struggles the most with data analysis and long data reports, not because he's bad at it, but because it's so boring and repetitive.

in terms of college life, soap gives me the most frat boy vibes. he goes partying/clubbing once a week to go wild and get smashed (as in, to drink and fuck).

this guy is definitely a campus heartthrob. he's also the biggest gym rat—have you seen this man's muscles?

...𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬!

so in my fic they go to estelle university (it's an imaginary institution and the location is undisclosed).

since they're all doing different majors on different degree levels, i can't really explain how else they would be roommates, other than with soap and ghost knowing each other prior to the story, and the two deciding to share an apartment.

lo and behold, rent is horrendous in this economy, so soap puts out an ad for two more roommates.

price saw the ad first. because his stipends don't cover the full living costs + research resources for him to live alone, he takes up on it. he ends up being the one who recommends gaz to join them.

and bam! the 141 boys came to be (they call themselves that because they live in apartment 141).

as the oldest in the group with the highest education degree, price automatically becomes the leader/dad figure, keeping everyone in check and answering their questions about academia.

soap is probably the messiest roommate. however(!!), out of everyone, he's the most diligent when it comes to laundry because that was the one chore his mum designated to him back home.

ghost barely leaves his room—compsci things. surprisingly, he's the best cook in the whole apartment (and he cooks for all of them sometimes).

gaz is the one who makes their apartment look like a home because let's face it, none of the other guys have good interior design sense. as a creative person, he enjoys it, so it's a win-win for everyone.

milkk--t © please don't repost, plagiarise, translate my work, nor use it to train AI.

[milkk--t]

𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫

pairing: stalker!simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader synopsis: you thought you were just being paranoid, looking over your shoulder every time you walk home from the café after the closing shift. a movement here, a shadow there—a stalker, you concluded. but when strange things started happening inside your house, you knew you were not dealing with just any stalker. [wc: 3.9k]. note: i saw this prompt by @andromacheofappalachia and immediately though of ghost because that man has high potential to become unhinged. this took longer to write than i thought because i couldn't decide whether to use ghost's or reader's POV, so after going back and forth, i did both! turns out, i'm capable of writing happy(?) endings after all. tags: stalking; possessiveness; creepy behaviour; caring behaviour?; fluff?; coffee shop AU; break-in; mw3 spoilers; ex-military!ghost; unhinged!ghost; reader is a college student; age gap

masterlist

living in the big city—those words had always sounded enticing to you. but when you actually moved to go to college, you didn't expect city life to be this hectic. three months in and the glamour had worn off, revealing the ugliness beneath.

you lived in a dingy apartment near the local park, with a broken entrance door and flickering hallway light. yet you worked to the bone just to keep that roof over your head and put food on the table. still, it was home and you were determined to at least make it until graduation.

the coffee machine hissed angrily as you wiped sweat from your brow. your eyes were bloodshot because you were up late finishing an essay last night. three midterms were coming up, rent was due in two days and the morning rush had brought in a tsunami of caffeine-hungry customers.

your fingers trembled slightly as you packed another portafilter with mediocre coffee grounds. the double shift you took yesterday did a number on your muscles.

"large oat milk latte!" you called out, forcing a bit more brightness into your customer service voice. today was not your day and it was only getting started.

the sky was gloomy, as it usually was during the cold winter months. outside, the streets were wet from rain. shallow puddles on the ground splashed beneath people's shoes as they walked by. contrasting the cold hues, the café's warm lights shone from its windows, painting gold onto the damp pavement outside.

when the morning rush passed, you were finally able to breathe. you attempted to mend the broken vanilla syrup pump which was your colleague's doing when the door chime ringing caught your attention. another customer.

you fixed your messy hair and smoothed out the beige apron that you wore over your oversized sweater. a man walked inside the cosy café and you gave him a smile.

"hi, what can i get you?" you asked, keeping your voice warm despite the slight undertone of exhaustion.

you'd never seen this man before, he was definitely not one of the regulars. despite the large volume of customers and seeing new faces every day, there was just something very distinct about this one.

he was big—tall as he was buff. his head, mostly hidden under a grey beanie, showed tufts of blond hair that stuck out. though his face was mostly obscured beneath a black surgical mask, the man owned the most beautiful pair of deep-set brown eyes you'd ever seen. under the café lights, they almost looked like caramel candies.

and yet, they were also the most tired pair of eyes you'd seen all week, like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in days. there was just something about them that you likened to yourself, eliciting sympathy from you.

he mumbled his order, his voice rough and kinda hot, with a distinct manchester accent, "black coffee, one sugar. takeaway."

quick and simple.

"of course, coming right up."

you worked with swift hands, movements steady and habitual. your mind was too preoccupied with an internal debate—how can he look so attractive when i can't even see his face?—to notice that his gaze never strayed from you the entire time.

after making the coffee, you handed him his drink and threw in a free cookie. "on the house," you said calmly, before turning your attention to the next customer, who happened to be a regular. you greeted her warmly and soon got started on her usual.

why did i do that? you thought as you worked on making the next drink. you knew you were going to have to pay out of pocket for that, yet you still gave a random guy a free cookie.

perhaps it was those damn eyes or...

you didn't want to think too much about it, so you settled with a simple 'just because' and 'kindness begets kindness' to justify your spontaneous action.

the man paused for a second as he silently accepted the freebie, casting you a final, lingering glance before heading out the door.

the days blurred. your life was mostly made up of lectures, essays, some group projects, and of course, your job at the café. during off-peak hours, when your manager wasn't present, you would be hunched over at the table near the counter, studying in your free time. a packet of your favourite strawberry milk would always accompany you.

you noticed that the man from the other day had started showing up every now and then. a repeat customer was always great for business, so you gave yourself a pat on the back for giving him that cookie (which you assumed was the catalyst).

he always sat in the quiet corner by the window, alone. his order never varied either—black coffee, one sugar.

still, it was nothing out of the ordinary to you. the café gained and lost regulars all the time, and this man was no different. until two months later, when it was the third time this week that the man sat at the café, ordering nothing but his usual.

you moved towards his table. "can i get you anything else, sir?"

he met your gaze directly for the first time that day. "no, thank you."

nodding, you collected his empty cup with a smile.

"you're here a lot," you said, the words slipping out before professionalism could catch it. a warmth crept up your face. "sorry, that was—"

"i am," the man agreed, cutting off your embarrassment. "good place to think."

you nodded, clutching his empty cup and silently hoping you didn't offend him. "well, we appreciate the business."

later that day, your manager scolded you, something about the ice machine not working. you tried so hard to hold back words that might cost you this miserable job.

you were determined not to let a bad day at work ruin the rest of your evening, so you bought a small tub of ice cream on your way home. in your mind, you could already hear your mother's voice scolding you for eating ice cream in the middle of winter, but you didn't care. a sweet treat is a sweet treat.

tugging your hood lower, you picked up your pace as you walked towards your apartment building. it was late and the streets were quiet. luckily there were a handful of other pedestrians in the vicinity to ease your nerves. you were never the biggest fan of walking alone in the dark.

eventually, you couldn't shake the feeling that someone was staring at the back of your head. a glance over your shoulder showed nothing but shadows. how strange.

your hand dug into your pocket and grabbed your keys readily. as you passed the alley near the old laundromat, you could've sworn you saw movement for a split second. tall, broad—there and then gone again.

your building loomed ahead, the familiar cracked steps promising safety. the entrance door was still broken, so you were quickly able to bypass that. but that also meant that whoever was following you could too.

nearly running, you fumbled with the keys when you reached your front door, your fingers stiff and clumsy from the cold. paranoia crawled into your mind and the feeling that someone was out there became impossible to ignore.

finally your lock turned and you darted inside, slamming the door shut behind you before promptly locking it. your heart was racing in your chest and you tried your best to get rid of that uneasiness in your stomach.

silently, you pressed your ear against the door, trying to discern if there was actually someone that followed you home. no footsteps followed. no knock, nor voice. your peephole showed only an empty hallway.

with a sigh, you slowly backed away before taking off your jacket. everything was okay.

what you weren't aware of was the dark figure lingering at the end of the hallway outside your door, eyes fixed on where you had just disappeared into your apartment.

a few days later, it began.

you were still half-asleep with the taste of toothpaste clinging to your tongue, before freezing the second you saw a paper bag on your counter. you didn't remember putting it there and you definitely remembered locking your door last night.

apprehensive, you took a peek inside. there was a loaf of bread, fresh strawberries and the expensive tea you only let yourself buy on payday. there was no receipt and no explanation.

maybe i left it there, you tried to reason with yourself. maybe you bought it and you just forgot. stranger still, when you opened your fridge, you swore there were more things inside than yesterday.

the next week, it happened again. this time, the package was in your bathroom, arranged carefully beside the sink. it was an entire stock of your favourite skincare products that you so frugally used to make them last as long as possible.

that night you slept poorly, waking up every hour with the feeling that your apartment wasn't entirely yours anymore.

by the third time, you stopped trying to make excuses. you came home to find a cardboard box on your bed. inside was a soft blanket, a six-pack of your favourite strawberry milk and a book you'd mentioned wanting in passing to a customer at the café weeks ago.

suddenly, the air in your apartment felt different. every shadow in the corners seemed darker, like it was hiding something, someone. you found yourself checking behind the shower curtain, under the bed, inside the wardrobe.

absolutely nothing. it made you feel like you were slowly going crazy. when you turned off the light that night, the smell of cigarette smoke lingered faintly in the air.

within the same week, you had asked your landlord to change the lock of your apartment, but he didn't grant you permission, so you settled with installing a chain lock to your door.

it had been another long day. your wrists ached from scrubbing tables and your back was sore from standing on your feet for way too long.

rent was late again. you could go on and on about the disproportionate increase of living costs vs. minimum wage, but that wouldn't help the headache you were starting to feel.

by the time you stepped into your apartment, you allowed your mind and body to decompress. you tossed your bag onto the couch, letting out a long, tired sigh.

that's when you saw another brown paper bag sat neatly on your kitchen counter.

you hadn't gone shopping in a while, yet there it was. two fresh persimmons, a carton of eggs, even a loaf of sourdough from the bakery down the road (the one you couldn't afford anymore) and of course, your favourite strawberry milk drink.

the first and second time this had happened, you freaked out. now… you didn't know what to feel. you had reported it to the police the moment it became suspicious, but you were told that "without substantial evidence" they "aren't able to take any action", so you dropped it. cops were unreliable anyways.

in the beginning, you were unsettled and paranoid, as you should be.

but after months of feeling invisible, worn down by bills and loneliness, the thought of someone caring enough to notice what you liked and needed… it was warm and comforting.

besides, with money tight, the gestures seemed almost luxurious considering that you could barely afford most of these things anymore.

so you didn't tell anyone and kept quiet about the situation.

lieutenant simon riley thought he was fucked up in the head from the torture he went through all those years ago. but after the shit that happened with makarov and losing his best friend, he reached new lows.

unable to function properly in the military and therefore becoming 'useless' to the higher-ups, john price recommended an early retirement for him. it took a lot of convincing (and a physical altercation between him and the captain), but simon finally agreed to leave the military for his own good.

then it started with a singular cup of coffee. it was supposed to be a nothing day. just a quick trip to the nearest café for some bean water.

for some reason, simon had chosen to take the long way, with no real destination in mind. the streets were quiet and wet from rain under the pale winter sky. shallow puddles on the ground splashed beneath his boots as he walked.

his civilian life still felt… foreign. there was no hum of comms in his ear, no target to watch, nor the persistent feeling that his life was in imminent danger. this was new, but he was starting to get used to it.

the café he randomly picked was small, wedged between a laundromat and a shop with a flickering neon sign. warm light shone from its windows, bleeding onto the wet pavement. he stepped inside with no reason other than to escape the rain and grab a quick cup of caffeine.

you were stood behind the counter, hair a little messy, wearing a beige apron. there were dark circles under your tired eyes and simon guessed it was from long nights and too many shifts. typical city dweller—you wouldn't be the first overworked person he'd met that day.

yet when you caught his gaze, you smiled. a genuine smile, like you meant it. not the fake, dead-eyed customer service smile he grew accustomed to.

"hi, what can i get you?" you asked. he heard the fatigue in your voice, but still you tried to sound friendly.

"black coffee, one sugar. takeaway," simon muttered without much courtesy.

"of course, coming right up."

his eyes were glued on you as you worked.

after he paid and you handed him his drink, you suddenly added a cookie to his order. "on the house," you said, before another customer stepped forward to the counter.

simon was caught off-guard. people didn't just… give like that. not to strangers, let alone to intimidating men his size with a demeanour that screamed leave me the fuck alone. you just slid the cup across the counter along with the packaged cookie, your fingers brushing his.

something shifted in him. simon told himself it was nothing, that he'd forget you the second he stepped outside.

but that night, lying in bed, he kept replaying the sound of your laugh when you greeted the next customer and the way you'd added the cookie to his order for whatever reason.

in his world, it was rare to be looked at without suspicion or fear. it was rarer still for someone to see him and offer kindness anyway.

the next day, he found himself walking the same route. just in case. by the end of the week, he knew your schedule and near the end of the month, he stopped denying it.

you'd given him a cookie once and now he wanted everything.

it's been over a month and simon had become a regular at the café.

he watched from his corner table, steam rising from the untouched black coffee before him. his eyes tracked your movements through the reflection in the window, a habit from years of surveillance work that civilian life couldn't erase.

the dark circles under your eyes had deepened since yesterday, he noticed. your posture communicated exhaustion, but the smile you put on your face remained genuine, like you were intent on pushing through another day with a grin.

he'd been keeping an eye on you for a while now. first out of curiosity for the person who gave him a free snack. but eventually, he noticed the quiet determination that radiated from your hunched form as you studied textbooks during off-peak hours.

fascinating, he though to himself. he hadn't seen this kind of buoyancy in a person since johnny's passing since the military. something about that stubborn resilience had triggered his attention.

and attention, for simon, had always been a dangerous thing to give.

his fingers tapped a silent rhythm against the wooden tabletop, counting the time as you moved between tables. twenty-seven seconds since you last greeted a customer, nineteen since you took a breather when the manager wasn't looking.

he knew your schedule by heart now: monday and wednesday classes until 14:00, work until 20:30, tuesdays and thursdays in class until 17:00, friday double shifts at the café, weekends varied.

simon also knew you lived in the apartment near the local park, the one with a broken entrance door. he often stared at the window that faced the alley, curtains too thin to hide your silhouette studying late into the night.

he sipped on his now-lukewarm coffee, watching as your manager chewed you out (again) for something out of your control (again). your face remained blank, but simon caught the slight tremor in your hands and the way your jaw clenched in irritation.

"pathetic," he muttered under his breath, though whether that was directed at you, the manager or himself remained unclear. simon was a former special forces lieutenant who served for almost twenty years, yet here he sat, obsessing over a college student like some lovesick teenager.

but they aren't just any student, he tried to justify. they're... different.

simon followed you home that night, keeping to the shadows as you trudged through the downpour of rain. you didn't see him, you never did. even as you looked over your shoulder, sensing a disturbance.

he watched you fumble with three different keys before finally finding the right one and disappearing into the your apartment. the urge to follow you inside had been almost overwhelming. he wanted to see the private spaces where you existed when no one was watching, where you kept your socks, what your nightly routines were.

but the time was not right yet.

soon, he promised himself.

simon had observed you for neaarly two months now and frankly, the urge to break into your apartment was impossible to resist at this point. he'd spent nearly every night watching you through your bedroom window, imagining what your private space looked like.

after weeks of deliberation, he finally made a move.

the front door lock was laughable. one turn of his pick set and it gave with a soft click. simon slipped inside, shutting the door behind him quietly. this felt like the countless infiltration missions he went on in the past.

your apartment was small, nothing fancy. wallpaper peeled in the corners of your walls and the radiator pipes made little rattling noises. but it felt homey—cosy furniture and decoration, along with the overwhelming scent of you.

he stood there for a moment, taking it all in. he'd imagined this space a hundred times from the outside and now he could see it all.

simon moved carefully, eyes scanning over the living room. a second-hand couch stood in front of a small TV and on the coffee table was an unfinished cup of tea next to a stack of textbooks with sticky notes jutting from the edges.

in the kitchen, he checked the cupboards and noticed that there was barely enough food to last the week. a small crease formed between his eyebrows. i knew they weren't eating properly, he thought. that won't do.

he drifted into your bedroom last. the bed was unmade, your sweater was tossed over a chair and the faintest hint of your perfume clung to it.

without thinking, simon's touched the fabric and held it up to his face to take a long whiff. your scent stirred something deep inside him.

he didn't touch anything else. at least, not yet. tonight was about learning and mapping the space, much like the recon missions he used to go on.

before he left, he set a small paper bag on the kitchen counter, containing a loaf of fresh bread, strawberries and some nice tea.

simon locked the door behind him—you would never know he'd ever been there. but now that he crossed the threshold once, he knew it wouldn't be the last time.

after he first broke into your apartment, simon had been keeping an extra keen eye on you, trying to discern your reactions.

at first, he noticed how skittish you seemed, looking over your shoulder every now and then, as if you were waiting for something. he almost felt bad.

he knew that you contacted the police, but he also counted on the fact that law enforcement would not put investigating a supposed break-in incident on a random college student on their priority list.

at one point, you put a chain lock on your door, but of course, that didn't deter him from sending his packages. if he could pick locks and hack into complex security systems, a simple chain was definitely not stopping him.

no matter what you tried, you weren't going to get rid of simon that easily. he was a man on a mission, determined to take care of you.

a part of him said he was just trying to do something nice for the person he was interested in, but he couldn't exactly deny that the thrill of it all felt intoxicating. it became almost impossible for him not to break into your apartment at least once a week so he could watch you sleep in the dead hours of the night. he'd just stand there, looming over your bed, staring at your peaceful, slumbering face.

not creepy at all.

you knew you had a stalker at that point, though you weren't privy to the identity of said person. simon knew that you knew, and he knew that you weren't aware it was him. he still went to the café almost daily and nothing changed in the way you interacted with him, luckily.

then one day, as if you gave up, the prevention efforts stopped. it was quite bizarre how quickly you adapted.

that wasn't too difficult when you realised how much more comfortable life became. your fridge was never empty anymore and you rarely had to worry about doing the groceries.

you stopped double-checking whether you locked the door before bed and sometimes you even left the balcony door unlocked on purpose. i'm just too lazy, you found excuses for yourself. though, the guilty part of you knew exactly why you stopped being so vigilant.

the mysterious packages were no longer surprises. they became a part of your routine. hell, at times you'd even catch yourself tidying the apartment before you left for classes or work, arranging your living space so it looked welcoming.

simon noticed it too; breaking in barely took any effort now and your apartment felt a little cosier than when he first trespassed. he almost felt proud of himself, for being able to stalk you to this extent without getting into any legal trouble.

then one night, as he entered your home while you were asleep, he found a tupperware of homemade brownies on the kitchen counter. the post-it note attached to it read "thank you :)". this made simon raise an eyebrow in slight surprise.

it was as if you were thanking your fucking stalker for dropping off care packages at your apartment. the twisted thought nearly made him smile.

that was when he noticed a vacuum flask next to the plastic container, as well as another note:

black coffee, one sugar.

milkk--t © please don't repost, plagiarise, translate my work, nor use it to train AI.

[milkk--t]

->-> 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ->->

° mdni — this blog is not welcome to minors! please include your age on your blog.

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° practically all my fics are written with poc!reader in mind, but unless i explicitly use the poc!reader tag, reader's ethnicity/cultural background remains ambiguous.

° i'm open to creating tag lists, so just let me know if you'd like to be included.

° enjoy your stay <3

->-> 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ->->

° status: rq's are closed ˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹

° please be polite when requesting.

° please keep requests concise. refrain from requesting with more than 3-4 paragraphs or a reader with way too many details, i need a little space for improved creativity and writing quality.

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° content type:

yes, i'd love to write: sfw, nsfw, angst, fluff, romantic, platonic, f!reader, gn!reader, suggestive themes, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, suicidal/depressive themes, AUs, violence, torture. i'll take into consideration: gore, m!reader, pregnancy (very big maybe), parenting, infidelity. no, i'm not comfortable writing: smut, hateful content, real people (fictional characters only pls), hybrids, omegaverse, incest/fauxcest, stepcest.

° fandoms/characters:

codmw — price, soap, ghost, gaz, graves (maybe), könig.

bg3 — gale, wyll, halsin, astarion, gortash, dammon, rolan, zevlor, raphael (maybe).

expedition 33 — verso, gustav, renoir, monoco (maybe).

dispatch — robert, waterboy, sonar, phenomaman.

dbh — connor (rk800), markus, kamski, ralph, gavin (maybe).

valorant — chamber, yoru, omen, iso, sova, phoenix, brimstone, gekko, cypher.

hsr — jing yuan, gallagher, boothill, dr. ratio, jiaoqiu, phainon, mydei, anaxa, aventurine (maybe), screwllum, blade, welt (maybe), sampo, gepard, argenti, moze (maybe), sunday, luocha, dan heng (maybe).

[milkk--t]

𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x johnny "soap" mactavish x gn!reader synopsis: you don't know how it happened, but somehow you've caught the attention of two buff military men who don't mind the idea of sharing you and each other. but all good things must come to an end, right? [wc: 5.6k]. note: had i not seen the sun by hoyo-mix & chevy and isabella's lullaby from the promised neverland fed my heartache and therefore the inspo to write. this fic proved that i'm absolutely not allowed to write smut because wtf was that attempt. also, i'm allergic to happy endings. tags: mdni; fluff; angst; hurt/no comfort; major character death; grief; suggestive themes (mentions of beach/public sex); poly relationship

masterlist

joining the 141 had to be one of your best and most daunting achievements in life.

not only did you become part of one of the most elite task forces, but you also got to meet the people who you didn't realise would mean the world to you.

you could still remember the day you first joined the team a year ago. price was waiting for you by the hangar, his arms folded and boonie hat low over his brow. his presence alone made you steel your nerves.

he gave you a subtle nod when you approached. "you're here. good."

"wouldn't miss it for the world, sir," you replied politely.

price gestured towards the nearby doors. "come on, time for introductions."

inside, away form the glaring sun, the air was cooler. the base smelled faintly of oil, gunpowder and cheap instant coffee. the captain led you down a hallway and into the main briefing room, where two men stood by the whiteboard, deep in a quiet conversation.

one of them, a massive man in full tactical gear with a skull balaclava covering his face, turned first. his cold, unreadable eyes were hard to ignore. you knew exactly who this man was: ghost, the infamous one.

the other man, a little shorter but no less imposing, wore a cheeky smirk and had a certain wildness in his cerulean eyes that screamed trouble before he even opened his mouth. you wondered to yourself whether his mohawk violated military grooming standards. it probably did, but you didn't question it.

"gentlemen," price said. "this is our new addition. thought it was about time we get some proper brains in the team."

you offered them a firm nod and a slight smile. "good to meet you."

ghost gave a grunt in response. soap, however, tilted his head and gave you a slow once-over. not disrespectfully—it more curious than anything.

"you sure they're not lost?" the scot asked price, his eyebrow arched. "looks like a civvie wandered in."

you blinked, not sure whether to be offended or amused. you were clad in a crisp blouse and jeans. not the most military-esque outfit, you had to admit.

price chuckled in response. "don't let the face fool you, mactavish. they'll outshoot and outsmart you on your next mission if you're not careful."

this piqued soap's interest, as sniping was one of his specialties. he gave a short, impressed whistle. "that so?"

ghost still hadn't taken his assessing eyes off you. "what's your role?" he asked in a thick manchester accent.

"intel and support," you replied to the lieutenant. "tactical analysis, communications, coordination, all that good stuff. i don't really shoot unless i have to."

"shame," ghost muttered.

soap grinned at that. "don't mind him. he's like that with everyone. give it a week and he'll be barkin' at you like you've been mates for years."

the lieutenant sent soap a sharp glare. you gave a small, polite laugh, though your spine stayed straight and alert.

they were intimidating, both of them. one was masked and unreadable, the other unpredictable and loud. nothing quite like the people you were used to meeting.

price clapped your shoulder, startling you the slightest bit. "you'll settle in. these two just don't know how to make a good first impression."

you nodded in response, but your eyes wandered around the room a little, noticing a missing member of the 141.

"gaz is out on a mission right now," price answered your unvoiced question. "i'll introduce you when he returns."

with that, the captain left.

soap extended a hand after a pause, his grin softening. "john mactavish. but they call me soap."

you took his hand and shook it. "i've read your file."

"aye, have you now?" he leaned in slightly. "and? what do you think?"

"about?"

"me, of course," soap said with a smug look on his face. "quite impressive, am i right?"

behind him ghost muttered. "impressive how? like when you nearly blew your leg off or the time you tried to flirt with that belgian field agent using google translate?"

it was soap's turn to throw ghost a glare. and you, despite yourself, let out a laugh. just like that, the tension dissipated, albeit a little.

ghost still watched you closely, like he was trying to decipher a riddle. but even that felt a tad less hostile now, more curious.

soap then clapped your back a bit too hard and laughed. "welcome to the circus."

a few months passed and you quickly settled in the team like a puzzle piece. it didn't take long for you to feel at home with the boys. you grew particularly close with ghost and soap.

it was during a mission in kastovia when your bond strengthened.

snow fell in lazy spirals through the fog. the op had gone sideways twenty minutes ago. intel was late, extraction compromised and your three-man team was stuck halfway across a frozen industrial complex with enemy hostiles closing in fast.

you crouched behind a half-destroyed generator with your finger pressed against the comms button, trying to get through the static.

"bravo team, status?"

nothing. so you tried again.

"ghost, come in. do not make me hike through a death trap to babysit you two, i swear to god—"

finally, a crackle.

"bit busy at the moment," ghost's voice drawled through the radio, low and strained. "got a warm welcome from local militia. soap's pinned near the boiler room."

"and you?"

"about to be."

you let out a deep sigh. "where's your exit route?"

"cut off. they blocked the north corridor." ghost paused for a second. "thought we were clever, turns out they were cleverer."

"and no one thought to bring the comms specialist in before splitting up?" you retorted in exasperation. you didn't care to watch your tone around your superior at the moment. prior to the mission, you had specifically told them to stick together.

"didn't want to interrupt your little nap."

you used colourful language as you muttered under your breath, before you pulling your rifle tighter across your chest.

"alright, sit tight. i'm coming in."

ten minutes later, you slipped through the side entrance of the warehouse, heart thumping. you moved low and quiet, navigating from memory. you had studied the blueprints for days, after all. the boiler room was three corridors east in the basement level, but you could already hear the chaos before even reaching your destination.

there were gunfire and shouts. then soap.

"bit outnumbered here!" he barked through comms, voice gruff with strain. "any chance of a miracle?"

you skidded to a halt behind a stack of huge pipes. from your angle, you had a full view—the perfect spot for a makeshift overwatch. soap was crouched behind a crate, surrounded by enemies on three sides. his magazine was nearly empty. one hostile was sneaking along the catwalk above, right in soap's blind spot.

you didn't slow to think. swiftly, you moved and brought up your scope before taking a deep breath.

bang!

the man on the catwalk dropped like a sack of cement. then another, and another. the remaining gunmen turned in confusion, but it was too late. by the time ghost emerged from the smoke, blade slick with blood and eyes narrowed, most of them were already down.

soap looked up, panting. "steamin' jesus."

ghost scanned the floor, then tilted his head. "that you, rookie?"

you wanted to roll your eyes at the nickname. you weren't exactly new anymore, but still the latest addition to the team, so the alias just stuck. you emerged from the shadows, rifle lowered and looking rather annoyed.

"i told you not to split up," you reminded the two men firmly.

soap grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "knew you missed us."

"missed you?" you snorted. "i just like my job not ending in 'clean up your corpses.'"

ghost clapped your shoulder when you re-grouped, his grip firm and brief. "well done," he said quietly.

soap gave you a look as you made your way toward the evac point. "thanks for havin' our backs."

your chin tilted into the slightest nod. "no worries."

later that night, you were gathered in a small safehouse, bruised and exhausted. soap was laid stretched across his cot like a dead starfish. ghost sat with his back against the wall while cleaning a knife. you were sitting too, a mug of tea in your hand while your feet were tucked up on your cot.

you had saved their asses, but you weren't particularly ecstatic about it.

"so," soap said between sips from his water bottle, "you gonna start lording this over us now?"

"i haven't decided yet," you said mildly. "It depends on how annoying you are over the next 48 hours."

soap groaned. "we're never living this down, are we?"

"nah," ghost concurred quietly.

you then smiled to yourself, mirroring the lieutenant and leaning back against the cool wall. these idiots weren't just your colleagues anymore, they were your boys now. and it seemed like they knew that too.

the bond you three had only grew over time. it happened gradually, starting with fetching each other coffee and late-night talks about anything.

when a slight shift was felt in your dynamic, nothing was said about it at first.

but you couldn't ignore the way soap lingered longer during briefings, leaning close enough for your arm to almost brush his. or the way ghost started waiting in your room when you took showers.

you noticed the sexually charged subtle looks soap and ghost gave each other during missions, and you started sharing your rations with the boys when you knew they both liked the same biscuits.

then the lingering touches started. a hand on your lower back to guide you through a crowded outpost, a thigh brushing against yours under the briefing table.

something unspoken built between the three of you. it was friendship, yes, but it was also more. there just had to be.

then one night, the lines blurred.

the power had gone out at base again and you were curled up in ghost's room. it wasn't officially your quarters, but no one said anything about it anymore. you, soap, and ghost had made it a habit to visit each other's rooms often.

the bed wasn't large, but that didn't matter. ghost was half-sat, half-lying against the headboard with a pillow supporting his lower back and you were curled under his arm. your head was rested against his chest and your breaths synced in the stillness.

then the door opened. soap stood there, messy-haired and backlit by the hallway emergency lights, looking like he wasn't sure whether to step in or walk away.

"didnae ken you were both here," he said, his voice low.

"there's room," ghost murmured. there wasn't really, but you three would always make it work.

you looked up, sleepy-eyed and smiling. "c'mere."

so soap did.

it wasn't weird. or maybe it was to some, but it didn't feel wrong to you. soap sat beside you first, then settled down behind you, wrapping an arm lazily around your waist. ghost's hand slid around soap's shoulder. and just like that, you fit.

you lay there for a long time, in silence, breathing each other in. the cot creaked when one of you shifted, but no one moved to leave.

later that week, you decided you had enough of the tension.

you all sat on the roof, watching the sunrise cast a glow over the hangars. you were sipping on a cup of coffee, soap was sketching in his notebook and ghost just sat with his eyes on the horizon.

"you two know this isn't... just in our heads, right?" you brought up quietly, not looking at either of them.

"no," ghost replied, not blinking.

soap glanced at you and swallowed. "been thinkin' the same."

then you all looked at each other. there was no need for declarations or grand confession, just quiet understanding.

a couple months after making the relationship official, you three decided to move in together in glasgow. outside of base and missions, your flat was where you spent the most time together.

your home life was pleasantly domestic. you were sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, laptop resting on your thighs while you analysed satellite feeds for your upcoming op.

three steaming mugs of tea sat on the dinner table nearby. johnny's with more sugar than he should consume, simon's black as his tactical gear and yours with a dot of honey and a splash of whiskey.

"love, you're gonna fall off there," johnny warned from the stove where he was cooking what he generously called 'breakfast', if you could call overcooked sausages that.

you didn't look up from your screen, your fingers dancing across the keyboard as you cross-referenced intel on known arms dealers.

"i have impeccable balance, mactavish," you sassed, amusement evident in your voice.

then simon emerged from the shower, towel slung low around his hips and beads of water dotting his skin. scars mapped his torso like paint on a cancas. his mask was nowhere to be seen and the kitchen lighting made him seem a little younger... softer.

"christ, simon, a warning would've been appreciated," you muttered, though your eyes lingered appreciatively on the way drplets traced down his chest, disappearing beneath the towel's edge.

johnny snorted from his position at the stove, using the spatula to flip what you assumed was toast.

"you've seen him naked more times than i can count and you're still actin' like a teenager."

"oh, shut it," you gave him a sidelong glance. the fact that johnny was eyeing simon just as hungrily was not lost on you. finally, you closed your laptop and slid off the counter.

your made your way over to simon, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth where a rare smile was threatening to appear through his usual stoic expression.

simon's arm came around your waist automatically, pulling you against his damp skin. he smelled like the persimmon soap you'd bought together last month.

"morning, darling," he murmured. "you missed."

his voice was rough with sleep and affection. he then locked his lips with yours in a proper kiss, eliciting a soft, delighted sign from you.

johnny abandoned his station to wrap his arms around you both. his chin hooked over your shoulder as he pressed a kiss to simon's collarbone. simon returned the gesture by placing his lips against the scot's temple lovingly, before finally kissing him on the mouth as well.

the three of you fit together comfortably, with your frame tucked between their broad bodies. johnny's warmth radiated against your back while simon stood solid and assuring in front of you.

"you're burning the eggs," you pointed out, though you made no move to pull yourself away from the embrace.

"fuck the eggs," johnny mumbled into your neck, his stubble scratching pleasantly against your skin. "this is better."

simon's free hand found johnny's wrist, his thumb tracing over the pulse point there. it was a habit he developed during your early days together, when touch still felt like a luxury he didn't deserve. you and johnny were quick to dispel such notions from his head.

the morning light streamed through your kitchen window, catching the gold in simon's hair and turning johnny's cerulean eyes the colour of sea glass.

"we've got briefing at 1400," simon said quietly, though his grip on both of you tightened instead of loosening. reality always intruded eventually with deployments and the constant loom of danger that followed you like shadows.

you wriggled in their arms to press your palms flat against simon's chest. "that's hours away and i've already done the preliminary intel analysis."

your fingers traced the raised scar tissue over his heart, a souvenir from a particularly gruelling mission that you'd kissed a thousand times, trying to heal wounds that went deeper than flesh.

johnny's hands slipped under the hem of simon's old t-shirts that your wore as sleepwear. his calloused palms found your waist, his thumbs drawing lazy circles on your bare skin that made your breath hitch.

"plenty of time then," johnny murmured, his voice dropping to that gravelly register that never failed to send heat pooling low in your belly. his mouth found the sensitive spot on your neck, grazing his teeth just hard enough to make you arch into simon's chest.

you gasped softly as johnny pressed himself harder against your frame, slowly grinding his half-chub against the cleft of your ass. simon let out a low hum of approval before leaning in to kiss you again, his tongue pushing past the seam of your mouth. it seemed like last night's steamy encounter wasn't enough to satiate their hunger.

but then the smoke alarm chose that moment to shriek in protest, filling the flat with ear-splitting noise and interrupting the intimate moment.

simon cursed creatively under his breath as he reluctantly released you both, stalking toward the stove to deal with johnny's culinary catastrophe. the charred remains of breakfast sizzled angrily in the pan, beyond salvation.

"okay, that's it," you declared, pushing past both men to yank the pan off the burner and dump its contents into the bin. "we're ordering takeaway and you're both banned from cooking until further notice."

johnny pouted dramatically. "my cooking's not that bad."

when the three of you managed to get leave in july, you didn't hesitate going on a camping trip. the scottish wind carried the scent of salt and seaweed as you fed driftwood into the makeshift firepit, flames dancing against the golden sky.

the remote beach of achmelvich bay stretched endlessly before you, turquoise water that surprisingly looked more caribbean than highland. how the beach didn't seem to have any other visitors was beyond you. johnny came up with the idea of taking you and simon to this hidden gem.

said scot emerged from the water's edge, shaking droplets from his hair like an overgrown retriever. his swimming shorts clung to his muscular thighs as he jogged up the stretch of white sand, goosebumps rising on his skin despite the pleasant mid-summer warmth.

"fuckin' hell, that water's colder than simon's personality," he gasped, grabbing a towel from your scattered gear.

simon snorted from his position on the large picnic blanket in the sand, already nursing his second bottle of tennent's. the mask was long gone after he made sure you three were the only ones at the beach.

"you're the one who insisted on swimming," he pointed out, taking a long pull from his bottle. "could've told you the atlantic ocean doesn't give a fuck about your scottish blood."

that made you laugh. the sound carried across the empty beach as you settled next to the brit on the blanket. your shorts had ridden up you thighs but you made no effort to adjust it. not when simon's eyes tracked the movement with great interest.

"stop being babies, you two," you said, accepting the beer johnny offered. "it's beautiful out here. let's enjoy that."

and it was. the sun hung lower on the horizon now, shades of amber and rose joining the golden sky like a painting you didn't have words for. waves rolled against the shore in hypnotic rhythm, each one catching the dying light like scattered diamonds.

johnny collapsed beside you, dripping seawater onto the blanket. his shoulder pressed against yours as he popped the cap off his tennent's, the familiar hiss of carbonation mixing with the crackle of burning driftwood.

"aye, it's bonnie," he agreed, though his gaze lingered on your profile as you tilted your head back to drink. he couldn't look away when your throat moved as you swallowed. the firelight caught the soft curve where your neck met your shoulder, a place he'd explored with his mouth in the darkness of your shared bed.

"remember when we thought this was impossible?" you said softly, your voice nearly lost beneath the crash of waves. "can't believe we actually got leave."

johnny's hand found yours and interlaced your fingers together. his thumb brushed across you knuckles, a gesture that had become so familiar it happened unconsciously.

"we deserve it," he murmured in reply, leaning closer to rest his head against your shoulder.

"when's the last time we did this?" you asked, gesturing at the peaceful scene with your beer bottle. "just... existed without someone trying to kill us?"

simon's fingers found the hair at the nape of your neck, scratching gently in a way that always made you melt. "too fucking long."

it felt amazing to just sit here with your boyfriends, alone at the beach and away from the hecticness of military life. you wished things could stay like this forever.

but a nagging thought in the back of your mind ruined the moment. you were a month away from the biggest operation you'd been on yet. any outcome would be possible if you weren't careful enough.

with a sigh, you straightened up a little and turned to your right. johnny lifted his head from your shoulder and gave you a quizzical look. with a small smile, you leaned in to place a soft kiss to his lips, earning a sigh of approval. then you glanced to your left and kissed simon too.

"what's wrong, love?" he asked after you pulled away, confused by the hint of melancholy in your eyes. his hand slid down to the small of your back.

you shrugged. "just... feel like it," you replied, taking the time to study his scarred face in the golden light, before doing the same to johnny, burning their faces into your memory, just in case.

then another kiss, another touch. before you knew it, you found yourself tangled between the two men, bodies trembling with pleasure as you lost yourselves in the euphony of your combined moans and grunts. after what felt like a lifetime, stars exploded behind your eyes when the moment reached its peak.

"i love you both so much," you whispered breathlessly as fatigue slowly began to set in.

in the near future, you found yourself wishing you told them that more often.

it had been four weeks since that peaceful beach day.

the warehouse you were in reeked of rust and diesel fuel. shadows danced between shipping containers as you pressed your back against cold metal. your earpiece crackled with static.

"ghost, soap, do you copy?" you whispered into the mic, fingers tapping against your tablet's cracked screen. the intel was there, enough evidence to bring down the entire arms trafficking network. but the extraction point was compromised and you could hear boots echoing through the maze of containers.

static answered. you were alone.

your tactical training kicked in as you mapped the warehouse layout in your head, calculating angles and exit routes while uploading the critical data to multiple secure servers. the upload bar crawled forward.

60%... 64%... 70%...

footsteps grew closer and russian voices were heard, low and urgent. they knew you were here.

87%...

your hands trembled as you typed rapid-fire commands, establishing data streams. if you didn't make it out, this intelligence had to survive. three months of undercover ops, countless lives at stake and it all came down to this moment.

92%...

a shadow moved past your hiding spot, close enough that you could smell cigarette smoke and gunpowder. your glock felt heavy in your free hand, safety already off. you'd trained for this scenario a hundred times, but muscle memory felt different when death breathed down your neck.

the upload completed with a soft chime in your earpiece, the sound nearly deafening from the tension. you wanted to sigh in relief, but then—

"fucking found you, little rat," a gravelly voice said in accented english.

you spun, raising your weapon, but three red dots already painted your chest. the tablet slipped from your grip, clattering against concrete as you faced down the barrels of assault rifles. your mind raced through your options: dive left behind the forklift, try for the narrow gap between containers, or go down fighting.

then a crackle. your earpiece had reconnected and you could hear johnny's voice frantic voice calling your callsign. he hadn't heard a response from you while the signal was jammed.

you needed thirty more seconds for the coordinates to reach base and for air support to lock on to the targets. so you made your choice.

you spoke your callsign clearly into your mic to make your presence known, ignoring the weapons trained on you. "i have eyes on primary target, warehouse seven-alpha. coordinates uploading now."

the lead gunman's finger tightened on his trigger. "drop the fucking radio," he snarled.

your thumb found the emergency beacon on your vest. a final failsafe that would paint your location with a GPS signal strong enough for satellite tracking. the small device beeped once, sealing your fate but ensuring the mission's success.

"wait, what are you doing?" johnny demanded when he noticed your ping in the system.

simon was a little alarmed to hear a hostile through your comms, before putting two and two together, and realising what you were planning.

"love, you're making it out of here safe and sound," the lieutenant said gruffly. "that's an order."

that made you smile sadly.

"tell soap his aim is still shit," you said softly into comms, knowing johnny would hear the tremor in your voice, the goodbye hidden in familiar banter.

"don't you fucking dare..." you heard the scot warn you.

"and tell ghost—"

the first bullet caught you in the shoulder, pushing you backward against a container.

"no! no, no, no! were you shot?" johnny, you recognised. you'd never heard him so distraught before.

pain exploded through your chest like wildfire, but you continued even as warm blood soaked through your tactical vest.

"—t-tell ghost i fulfilled my duty," you said between laboured breaths, the concerned shouts from soap and ghost through your earpiece giving you a last moment of comfort.

"don't fucking say that," simon demanded. "we reacked your location, we'll come get you."

while his tone remained mostly even, there was no mistaking the panic in his words. your boys would be the last thing you heard. you would've preferred to hear their sweet nothings instead of their pained cries, but it was better than nothing.

"package... delivered..."

the second and third shot silenced you forever, but your beacon continued its steady pulse, guiding hellfire missiles toward the warehouse complex. in your final moments, you'd given your life to keep millions of others safe.

you had given the 141 all the intel they needed to dismantle the criminal network and complete the mission.

your body crumpled to the concrete floor, blood pooling beneath you as the warehouse erupted in chaos. the enemies scrambled for cover, shouting orders in panicked voices as the distant sound of incoming missiles grew louder.

miles away, johnny's anguished scream echoed when you stopped responding while his GPS signalled the imminent missiles headed for your location. simon's fist slammed into the nearest wall, leaving bloody knuckles.

they'd lost their anchor, their brilliant analyst who waa a valuable asset to the task force and a cherished lover of two spec operators.

the warehouse complex disappeared in a ball of orange flame, taking the arms dealers and their operation with it. mission accomplished... at a cost that would haunt the surviving members of the 141 for the rest of their lives.

johnny's fingers trembled as he pulled the dog tags from his pocket, the metal warm from his body heat despite the october chill. the engravings with your name, service number and blood type had worn a little smooth in places.

details that once meant everything now felt like cruel reminders of mortality.

the sight of your name etched on the headstone before him felt jarring. that darling name johnny and simon would utter with love, now served as a statement that you were no longer with them.

they never found your body. disintegrated in the explosion, they were told. it felt extremely unfair when they watched an empty casket being lowered into your grave.

simon stood beside him, a towering shadow against the grey sky. neither of them had spoken during the drive here, the weight of shared loss making words feel inadequate.

"they always said these fuckin' things were too loud," johnny whispered, letting the tags clink together. "complained they'd give away their position during night ops."

simon's jaw tightened and his scarred hands clenched at his sides. the big man who survived torture, betrayal and countless missions looked utterly broken standing in front of your grave.

"should've been me," he finally said, voice barely audible. "should've been me who died on that bloody mission."

johnny's head snapped up, anger flashing in his blue eyes. "don't you fuckin' dare, simon. they'd kick your arse for even thinking that."

the tags slipped from johnny's grip, landing with a soft thud on the damp earth. he dropped to his knees, pressing his palms against the cold ground.

"i can't lose you too," he choked out, the words meant both for you and the man standing behind him. "christ, simon, i can't do this without either of you."

simon's composure finally cracked and he sank down beside johnny, his large frame folding awkwardly as he placed a hesitant hand on the scot's shoulder.

they had both shared your love, your bed, your dreams of the future that would never come. and now they shared this suffocating emptiness of your absence.

the wind picked up, scattering autumn leaves across the graveyard. in the distance, a bugler played for another fallen soldier, the mournful notes carrying across the cemetery like a final farewell they never got to say.

johnny's shoulders shook as the melody washed over them, each note a reminder that this was the military: lives cut short in service to something larger than themselves. he'd heard that same tune at too many funerals, watched too many coffins disappear into the cold ground.

"they hated that song," simon said quietly, his voice rough with unshed tears. "said it was too bloody dramatic."

a broken laugh escaped johnny's throat. "remember when they tried to get the base band to play 'highway to hell' at mckay's funeral instead?"

for a moment, the memory lightened the crushing weight on their chests. you were always quite irreverent, challenging protocol with a dazzling smile.

simon picked up the fallen dog tags, running his thumb over the worn metal. "what happens now?" he asked, the question more solemn than he intended.

johnny wiped his teaey eyes with the back of his hand, leaving light streaks of dirt across his cheeks. "we keep goin'. because they'd haunt us both if we didn't."

the silence stretched, interrupted only by the distant sound of traffic beyond the cemetery gates. simon's grip tightened on the dog tags, the metal digging into his palm.

"they always said we were stronger together," he murmured, his voice carrying that familiar rasp that had once whispered you endearments in the dark. "the three of us against the world."

johnny's breath caught as he stared at the headstone, remembering lazy sunday mornings tangled in sheets.

your laugh echoing between their bodies, how you'd trace the scars on simon's chest while johnny made terrible jokes just to see you smile. the way you'd kiss them both goodnight, your lips tasting of mint tea and promises you'd all believed would be forever.

"two of us now," johnny said, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. "christ, how do we even begin to figure this out?"

simon stood slowly, his knees popping from the movement, before extending a hand to johnny. when their fingers touched both men felt the phantom of your presence in the space between them.

you had always been the bridge between their different worlds, the one who made their rough edges fit together seamlessly.

johnny allowed himself to be pulled upright, his hand staying in simon's. neither wanted to break the connection. the lieutenant leaned in to place a comforting kiss to johnny's brow.

"they made us better men," simon said, his thumb brushing across johnny's knuckles. "made us believe we deserved something good in this fucked up world."

his words made johnny's chest feel tight. he remembered your fierce protectiveness, how you'd patch their wounds with gentle hands while cursing their recklessness. the way you'd hold them both during nightmares, your steady heartbeat anchoring them to safety.

"we owe it to their memory," johnny declared in a whisper, his brogue thick with emotion. "to try. to not let this destroy what they built between us."

nodding, simon finally released the dog tags into johnny's palm. the metal felt heavy in the scot's hand, weighted with memories of their shared missions, love and pain.

milkk--t © please don't repost, plagiarise, translate my work, nor use it to train AI.

[milkk--t]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟐 (𝐩𝐭. 𝟐)

pairing: childhood bsf!johnny "soap" mactavish x gn!reader synopsis: on a summer holiday in spain, you and johnny made a pact to marry each other if neither of you were wed by age 30. you hold on to that promise tightly, but much to your dismay, you begin to drift apart. ten years after he left for the military, you receive a letter in the mail. it's a wedding invitation. to his wedding. and you? well, you're still in love with him. [wc: 5.4k]. note: there was never meant to be a part 2 but i refuse to upload more than 6k on a single post because that's too muchhhh. i totally didn't start crying towards the end of writing this damn fic. tags: angst; hurt/no comfort; mutual pining to one-sided pining; childhood pact; ghoap; moving on

masterlist | part 1

the tension from the day prior was soon forgotten. your families decided to go sightseeing in the city where cobbled streets of the old town were alive with sound. around you, you heard the clinking cutlery from restaurants, the bursts of laughter from other tourists and the distant rhythm of a street performer's guitar.

the sun was merciless overhead, but the narrow alleys offered some shade. the stone path beneath your feet radiated a warmth that made your legs feel like jelly.

johnny squinted up at a balcony draped in carnations, a drop of sweat trailing down his temple. "think i'm meltin'," he muttered.

"that's because you're wearing black. in spain. in july. just brilliant," you stifled a laugh next to him.

he made a face and tugged at the collar of his t-shirt. "black's cool."

you scoffed at the double meaning of his words. "not here, it's not."

ahead, your mum walked with a paper map she didn't really need. his mum stopped to take a photo of an old clock tower that probably looked better on a postcard and both your fathers discussed the latest news about their favourite football team. the adults were deep in conversation while the younger siblings trailed behind them, arguing over who'd get the last lemon soda.

you and johnny lagged behind, like always.

"i like this place," you said, slowing your stride to glance into a tiny ceramic shop. the display was cluttered with painted bowls, tiles and jugs, all in various shades of blue and saffron.

he glanced at you. your skin was glowing in the sun, sunglasses perched in your hair. looped around your wrist was a camera strap, a device you hadn't used yet on this walk in favour of taking in all the sights with your own eyes.

"it's nice," johnny agreed. you turned to him and he quickly looked away.

"poor idiot who didnae put sun cream on his ears," you snickered.

the boy groaned and covered his reddening ears with both hands. "dinnae remind me."

you weren't aware that it wasn't just the sun that turned his ears scarlet.

when you reached the plaza, you were in humorous conversation with your best friend. the plaza was a wide square flanked by old stone buildings and a fountain at its centre. your families were already heading toward a café with mismatched chairs and orange tablecloths.

"you want ice cream?" you asked, nudging him as you passed a little stand selling cones from a tiny freezer cart.

he nodded. an ice cream would do wonders in this heat. "sure. dunno what flavour though."

you squinted at the handwritten chalkboard. "they've got lemon, pistachio, mango…"

"mango," he said quickly, pointing.

"because I picked mango yesterday?" you smirked at him.

johnny shrugged, shameless. "yours was better."

after purchasing a cone for each of you, he took the dessert you handed him and your fingers brushed for a moment. neither of you mentioned the jolt of electricity.

you joined the others at the café, dropping into chairs opposite each other. you started chatting to his sister about the mosaic tiles you'd seen in one of the shops. he joined in eventually.

when you smiled at something his mum said, johnny found himself watching you all over again. the crinkle at the corner of your eyes, the curve of your lips. you tucked your leg under the other in your seat, completely relaxed in a way he never was anymore.

he took another bite of his melting ice cream.

the day passed by and the bungalow had gone quiet. outside the open window, there was the familiar chirp of cicadas.

it was warm, but the air had cooled down significantly. the occasional breeze gave your sweating skin some respite. somewhere down the corridor, the clink of plates being washed faded into nothing and a door clicked shut.

you sat on the window sill, your hair still a little damp from a late-evening shower. you stared up at the moon, pale and full behind the thin, drifting clouds. your fingers idly traced the condensation on your water glass.

behind you, the fan buzzed low, stirring the loose sheet on your bed. your suitcase was half-zipped and spilling out clothes. johnny's bed on the other side of the room was still unmade, as always.

you were sixteen and sharing a room because "you've always done it," your mums had insisted during the accommodation issue at the beginning of the holiday. too old to sleep in the same room as your parents, too young for a separate booking, too cool to join your siblings.

it hadn't felt too weird though—it was just like another summer.

you didn't hear the door creak open, but you felt the air shift as johnny walked in. his t-shirt was rumpled and his hair a sun-bleached mess. he held something behind his back, which made you raise an eyebrow in suspicion.

"if that's a bloody bug, i'm kicking you in the face."

johnny grinned. "even better."

he pulled out a large, cold brown bottle with a spanish label you couldn't quite read and gave it a little shake. "one liberated beer. courtesy of your dad's terrible hiding skills."

you laughed, sliding off the sill. "you're gonna get us grounded."

"aye, well, worth it."

he popped the cap with a quiet hiss and handed it to you first. you took a sip and pulled a face. "god, that's awful."

he took it back, smirking. "better than that aniseed poison my dad's obsessed with."

you couldn't disagree with him. for a while, you passed the bottle back and forth, slouched on the floor by the open window. legs stretched out, your heads tipped back against the wall and moonlight washing a pale gleam over the room.

everything seemed relaxed and just a little fuzzy around the edges. the alcohol was starting to kick in.

"so," you said after a while, gaze still fixed on the ceiling, "last summer before sixth year. that feels weird."

"aye," johnny replied. "feels fast."

"we'll be legal adults soon."

he pulled a face. "that's alarming."

you smiled a little at that. "you're really going to the army then?"

johnny took a long sip before handing you the bottle again. "never been more sure 'bout something."

you nodded, but didn't reply.

"and you? thinking of leaving?"

"scotland?" you shrugged. "maybe. i want to, but... i don't know." the thought of entering adulthood, starting fresh without johnny felt wrong.

there was another pause. your mind was filled with what if's of the future—what you'd do and who you'll end up with. suddenly, the presence of your best friend sitting next to you was the only thing you could feel.

then johnny tapped the side of the bottle with his thumb. "tell you what."

"hm?"

"if we're both still single at thirty…" he turned to you, a teasing glint in his eye. "we get married."

you blinked. "what?"

"dead serious."

his grin widened, crooked and too boyish to convince you that he was being solemn. "think about it. we already get on and we've seen each other at our worst."

"so, like… a backup plan? marrying your best friend instead of dying alone?" you raised an eyebrow.

"exactly. a failsafe. no sad lonely cat lives or dodgy dating apps."

a laugh left your lips, light and loose from the heat and the beer. "you're aff yer heid, mactavish."

"is that a yes?"

you eyed him, taking the beer bottle from his hand. "hmm. dunno, you're not really my type…"

he gasped in mock-offence. "i'm everyone's type."

"alright, alright. fine," you relented, laughing again, "if we're both single and sad and ancient at thirty, i'll marry you."

"deal."

you both shook on it, giggling like the kids you still kind of were. a small, silly pact. only half-serious.

maybe.

you leaned the side of your head against his shoulder without thinking and he didn't move.

the moonlight cast shadows across the floor. cicadas droned softly in the background and the curtains fluttered slightly as another night breeze passed by.

this was by far the best summer in your memory.

- 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑 -

a year passed by faster than you could have ever anticipated. the final school year was stressful, filled with preparing for the SQA exams and your university applications.

over the year, johnny had started to take serious training regimens and diets in preparation to joining the british army. you noticed how he grew a little stockier over the past seven months. he also told you about how he had tried to enroll in the SAS by lying about his age. his deception failed every single time.

the graduation party your friend group organised was an absolute blast. pizza, karaoke, photos and of course, alcohol. you had anticipated to shed a few tears, but you hadn't cried once. no, you always held back from crying.

at the venue, party streamers hung limp in the corners, while the smell of pepperoni and spiked fruit punch clung to the air. the high energy from earlier had died down a little, yet didn't completely dissipate just yet.

outside, the sky was soaked in lavender with streaks of gold. some of your friends were shouting across the car park as parents looked on with pride in their eyes.

you and johnny sat on the bonnet of you mum's car, feet up on the bumper and plastic cups of spiked punch in your hands. you both still wore your white shirts, now covered in scribbled good luck messages and doodled swear words from classmates.

most notably, johnny had don't get blown up! and good luck, soldier scrawled across his back in permanent marker, while london's not ready for you was written on your sleeve.

"i cannae feel my cheeks," johnny said, running a hand through his hair. "i've smiled too much today, it's unnatural."

you grinned. "should've taken more pictures."

"plenty did," he groaned. "gran's got a whole album already. she kept making me pose beside every bloody member of my family tree."

that made you laugh. "you have to admit, you'll miss this," you said, nudging his arm.

"maybe." he looked out over the emptying car park, the sky reflected on nearby windscreens. "won't miss the school assignments, though."

"no one will," you leaned back on your palms, exhaling slowly. "feels weird, doesn't it?"

he didn't need to ask what you meant. the idea of leaving and everything shifting had been heavy on your minds even before the graduation party.

you were off to london on a full scholarship—something you'd worked for tirelessly and with everything you had. johnny wasn't surprised you got it. you were always the clever one, the dreamer with backup plans.

he, on the other hand, went into an entirely different direction: the army, signed the papers weeks ago. basics started in september.

after years of walking shoulder-to-shoulder, your paths were finally diverging. you still hadn't had a proper conversation about that yet.

"we'll keep in touch though," you said after a moment, making sure to sound casual, like it wasn't even a question.

he glanced at you. "aye, we will."

"i mean, people say that, but i actually mean it." you swallowed, before taking a small sip from your drink to clear your throat. "you'll write, right? like, at least text. don't just vanish into radio silence."

"you'll be too busy in london drinking overpriced coffee and making posh friends," johnny retorted with zero bite in his tone.

you smiled. "still doesnae get you out of writing."

"i'll text every day if i can. we'll call once a week, unless you prefer letters," he said, voice lighter than he felt deep in his chest. "and if i don't, you've got full permission to kick me in the ribs next time we meet for christmas and hogmanay."

"deal."

you held out your hand and he shook it solemnly. it all felt stupidly formal, suddenly.

still, neither of you dared to bring up the tension that began to form. that this might be it—the last time you'd sit like this, side by side, sharing a comfortable silence together.

"y'know," you said quietly, "i think you'll be good at it."

"what? the army?" he blinked.

you nodded. "yeah. you've got that… steady thing. people follow you without realising it."

johnny wasn't sure what to say to that, so he said the only thing that felt safe.

"you'll be brilliant too. you're already halfway to being a genius, getting a scholarship to london and all."

you scoffed and bumped your shoulder against his. "thanks, i guess."

there was another comfortable silence. the sky was turning a deeper shade of purple and your gaze flicked towards to where your family members were still gathered inside the venue, purposefully giving you and johnny a moment of privacy.

"i'm kind of scared," you said suddenly, eyes fixed on the clouds now.

johnny gave you a look of slight concern. "of what?"

"not sure," you shrugged. "just… weird to think we'll be off doing all these things out there in the world, meeting all these new people. alone, without you there."

"you won't be alone though," he said, trying to sound relaxed, but his stomach just did a backflip.

you let out a soft huff of laughter. "you know what i mean."

the sky above was endless and your futures felt that way too.

- 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔 -

three years had passed in a blink of an eye. it didn't feel that long until you really thought about it.

since secondary school graduation, life had swept you into different rhythms. your routine mostly consisted of lectures, essays, midnight takeaways from that cheap kebab shop around the corner of your flat, as well as the occasional late-night clubbing.

his life, on the other hand, was more brutal. johnny had daily drills, raw blisters on his hands and feet, night manoeuvres in freezing rain and the sharp bark of commanding officers who could make a man shit his pants with one look.

london had become your second home. you quickly adjusted to that big city life. you studied relentlessly and even got roped into brexit protest marches. at the start of second year, you kissed people you didn't love in neon-lit pubs and cried in phone calls with your mum when the silence in your tiny flat felt too big.

still, you made proper friends who remind you to eat when deadlines swallowed you whole.

and as if that hadn't been hectic enough, you'd decided you were not done just yet. singapore called for a year of studying abroad. no, your scholarship did not cover the extra year. yes, you were in student debt for a while.

different continent, different environment—you fell in love with singaporean culture. there wasn't a day where you didn't enjoy the the street food and the feeling of adventure. you came back four months ago, but the southeast asian air still clung to you.

johnny, meanwhile, had disappeared into the military with that determined focus you had always admired. as promised, he'd texted and called, even written actual letters when he could.

apparently, they called him 'soap' in the army.

"what kinda fuckin' name is that?" you had asked him in between laughs over the phone. while you were aware that you couldn't exactly choose your alias in the military, this was just seemed hilariously ridiculous.

"oi! i'll have you know, that name's a bloody compliment," johnny retorted with that mock-indignant tone, before he went on a full-blown monologue to explain the story behind his name.

another story he told you was one where he'd nearly been disciplined for knocking out a military police officer and locking him inside his own patrol vehicle. you laughed so hard you had tears forming in your eyes.

now, it was christmas again, the third since you graduated. and just like always, you came home to scotland.

you were at you parent's house, with the fireplace crackling quietly, casting a flickering glow across the living room. your parents were upstairs, asleep. the whole house smelled of pine, cinnamon and roast. some old christmas special played on the TV, mostly ignored by you.

johnny sat cross-legged on the rug wearing a flannel shirt. he had a half-finished mince pie in one hand and a bottle of beer balanced beside him.

you were sat on the sofa, wearing the highland cow christmas jumper that johnny's late gran knitted you last year.

"do you ever stop eating?" you teased, nodding at the plate beside him—his third mince pie.

he gave you a look. "do you ever stop judging? i have muscle to build."

"fair," you snorted with an amused smile tugging at your lips. you missed his sass.

it had been four months since you'd been in the same room. four months since you stepped off the plane and found a voice message from him, gruff and fond: "hope you didn't forget the taste of haggis while you were off drinkin' bubble tea and meltin' in the sun."

now he was here and he looked older, sharper. his shoulders were broader and his jaw rough with a stubble, but he the same gleam in his cerulean eyes when he caught you staring.

"what?" he asked, mouth full.

"nothing," you replied a little too quickly. then after a slight pause, "...i missed this."

his mouth twitched at the corners. "same."

another comfortable silence settled between you, with the telly and johnny's spoon lightly scraping the plate as he ate being the only sources of noise in the room.

"so," you broke the silence, "was it worth almost getting court-martialled over some bloke with an ego problem?"

johnny huffed a short laugh when you brought up that time he almost faced disciplinary action. "he was a right prick. deserved worse, if i'm honest."

"still. you locked him in his own car."

"safely," he added with a grin. "seatbelt and everything. i'm nae beast."

you smiled, but it didn't quite reach your eyes. he didn't seem to notice.

"i swear, you're gonna get kicked out before you ever get promoted."

"promotion's already in the works, actually," he revealed, taking another swig of beer. "passed selection for a new role. might be deployed more often now."

your heart dipped at the thought, but you nodded. "that's great, johnny. congratulations."

"cheers." he turned to glance at you, smiling and oblivious. "and you? still got the travel bug?"

"i don't know, maybe. london's a bit grimmer now that i'm back. feels... dull."

"you're just used to having three hawker stalls per street," he teased. "bet you miss the food more than the people."

it felt nice that he remembered the details of your stories in singapore. you chuckled, but your chest tightened. because he was right and wrong. there were people you left behind, but it was him you missed the most.

and now, you weren't sure you recognised him completely. he was still johnny. but somehow... further away. not quite yours anymore.

he reached over and passed you his beer bottle. your fingers brushed and your breath caught. his didn't.

you took a sip, eyes drifting to the christmas tree across the room, lights blinking, time slipping. sharing beer like this reminded you of that summer night in spain four years ago.

god, has it really been four years now?

"you ever think about that pact we made?" you asked, trying your best to sound casual. "y'know, the one in spain…"

he laughed. a genuine, warm sound that you missed more than you thought. "still got what—ten years?"

"less," you corrected, eyes still on the tree. "you turn twenty-one in march."

"oh, aye." he tipped his head back, gazing up at the ceiling. "forgot we're ancient now."

you watched him, searching for something in his face. maybe nostalgia or hope. anything to indicate he still felt the same as you.

but there was none. just that same warmth he offered everyone he cared about.

"wouldn't make a terrible husband," he muttered, almost absent-mindedly. "though i snore like a bastard and i'd most likely be deployed in some desert."

"i'd wear earplugs," you said with a soft smile.

he grinned, but didn't meet your gaze. he just knocked back the last of the beer and set the bottle aside with a low clink.

"it's good, though," he added, voice casual. "us, still being friends like this. some folk drift apart."

you nodded and swallowed hard, feeling a deep ache bloom in your chest. "yeah. we're lucky."

and you were, in so many ways. johnny was getting promoted, you were a year away from obtaining your degree, and you two were still best friends.

but being there, sitting so close to him, yet feeling miles apart—you didn't feel lucky at all.

- ?? -

you weren't sure how much time had passed since the last time he called. well, technically you did know since you just had to look up your call history.

but the point was that you and johnny had gone from weekly calls, to maybe a text once a month to indicate that either of you were still alive, to nothing. the promise you both made to keep in touch slowly faded like stars in the sky during the break of dawn.

this was not a situation like when a tinder date suddenly ghosted you, or like a jumpscare in a horror film. no, this was slow and gradual and suffocating.

it started with a missed call, then a delayed reply, then rescheduled catch-ups and unanswered messages, until months would pass before you'd hear from him.

johnny [4 months ago, 1:17 a.m.]:

alive in poland. weather's shit. hope you're good.

you [4 months ago, 7:45 a.m.]:

good to hear from you. stay safe okay?

he didn't reply afterwards and you had long stopped double-texting, not wanting to come off as annoying. you were hurt by it of course, but eventually you brushed it off.

at first you convinced yourself it was just a phase. johnny was busy and so were you. he had field training and late-night missions you couldn't know about. your life was riddled with deadlines, job interviews and reports piling up on your desk.

you were both growing, changing—that's life.

to combat the burgeoning loneliness, you drowned yourself in work. days were packed with long hours at the office. next to that, you made new friends, dated new people and hooked up with strangers. but you missed the days where you'd cry on johnny's shoulder after a particularly painful break-up.

nothing felt right quite right anymore between you and johnny since that night at your parents' house.

a promotion had come and gone. your birthday passed with cake in the office. you were given polite congratulations and a generic bottle of prosecco.

you were happy for that, but unfortunately it also reminded you that you'd stopped receiving birthday wishes from him. you hadn't really expected him to remember. maybe he was just that busy and perhaps he'd send you a belated text later. part of you, stupidly, continued to hope.

but your phone remained silent. even for christmas, he hadn't come home lately.

"deployment," his mum had said. no details, of course. he was part of an elite task force now, so there wasn't much he could reveal about his activities and whereabouts.

you scrolled through your old messages sometimes. the ones from secondary school were particularly entertaining. you watched the way your conversations used to light up with sarcasm and inside jokes typed at 01:00 AM. it felt like reading letters from another life.

one evening as you were scrolling through your gallery on your phone, you came across a photo. an old one taken in the bungalow in spain: you, laughing on the terrace with a glass of lemonade in hand and johnny beside you, partially out of frame and making a stupid face.

you smiled. and then you cried.

not loudly, just soft sniffles and hiccups as you tried to soothe the quiet ache in your heart and a stinging tightness in your throat. you knew you were holding on for too long. he was slipping through your fingers because life was pulling you both in different directions.

you often wondered if he felt the same way you did. you weren't sure he even missed you at all.

- 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 -

you were twenty-eight now. but your tired eyes and quiet evenings spent alone with takeout and a glass of wine made you feel a decade older.

london had long lost its novelty, yet you stayed. you had roots in this city now—a job, a life. friends here knew you as the efficient and calm one. they didn't know about the boy from scotland, the one who still made your heart skip a beat and who you couldn't let go of.

it had been almost a year since you last heard from johnny. you followed each other on social media, but he rarely posted. you told yourself it was fine, that people grow up and grow apart. some things were meant to fade away.

still, you thought of him sometimes, especially on quiet days when you'd pass by the framed picture sitting on your bookshelf, of you and johnny at your secondary school graduation party.

that morning had been like any other. grey skies, you wearing the highland cow jumper and holding a mug of warm tea as you sat comfortably in your armchair.

you walked back from the letterbox like you always did, flipping through the usual mail: advertisements, the monthly newsletter from your alma mater, bills, a letter from your internet provider.

then you saw something unusual.

a cream-coloured envelope, thick paper and your full name in neat, black calligraphy. there was no return address. your thumb hesitated at the seal, a strange sense of unease wrapping around you. slowly, you peeled it open.

the card was simple, yet elegant. white with embossed edges and gold trimming. your eyes found the names instantly.

"sergeant john mactavish & lieutenant simon riley cordially invite you..."

you froze and the words blurred. for a while, you just stared at the card, blinking twice. your brain scrambled to catch up, to make sense of it.

johnny. married.

the world stopped turning and suddenly everything was muted. you read the names again to make sure.

johnny.

simon?

you didn't know him, not personally at least. perhaps you'd seen glances on his social media before. johnny stopped sharing pieces of his world a long time ago, so of course you wouldn't. a million questions ran through your mind.

how did they meet? how long were they dating for? is johnny in love with him? why didn't he mention anything about this to me before?

your fingers curled around the invitation as your stomach twisted. there was no note or personal message. just a line at the bottom: "we hope you can make it. — johnny & simon".

that was it. that was all you got. no catch-up or a warning. your best friend hadn't just moved on—he'd completely gone without notice.

you sank into your sofa, the envelope still in hand. you wanted to cry. tears formed but didn't spill. then came that persistent, hollow feeling in your chest. the one that had been building for years, one you'd been too stubborn to address properly.

suddenly, all you could hear was the echo of johnny's voice twelve years ago, half-drunk on cold beer during a warm summer night in spain: "if we're not married by thirty..."

you let out a slow, shaky breath.

well, you thought to yourself, guess he forgot.

or maybe he didn't. maybe he remembered and it just didn't mean the same to him anymore.

you scoffed at yourself. johnny did nothing wrong. the pact said if neither of you were married by thirty, not when. besides, there were still two years left. johnny broke no promises if it was never really a serious promise to begin with.

at least, that's what you told yourself from completely breaking down. either way, you had the answer now and it came in gold lettering.

the day of the wedding came rather quickly, considering you were counting down the literal hours.

you'd decided to reply to the RSVP because you knew you didn't want to miss johnny's happiest day. even if you weren't as close with your former best friend anymore, you would always, unconditionally be his.

the sky was a soft silver and the air held a heaviness that indicated rain, but held off for now. hints of blue peeked from behind patchy parts in the clouds, suggesting sunshine later in the day.

the venue was a castle located somewhere in the scottish highlands, quiet and removed, surrounded in mist and wildflowers. johnny's (extended) family estate, you'd heard.

it fit him. rough-edged but rather cosy, with laughter echoing down the corridors and whisky warming every corner. you arrived just before the ceremony began.

you hadn't exactly meant to cut it so close, but you were sat in the car for nearly fifteen minutes, hands clenched on the steering wheel, rehearsing how to smile and how to pretend this didn't split your heart down the middle.

you stepped into the small chapel and took a seat at the back, among friends and cousins you had missed over the years. the place was modest but lovingly dressed with white lilies and red roses, as well as silver and navy ribbons. it was simple yet elegant.

a quiet hush swept through the space as the pianist started to play. heads turned towards the door.

johnny made an appearance. no longer a boy, but a man in crisp dress blues. his medals were shining and his signature mohawk styled neatly. there was still that swagger in his step and that crooked half-grin, but his eyes were softer now, more matured. johnny took his place at the altar, fingers flexing nervously at his side.

then came simon, broad-shouldered and striking in his sharp suit. his scarred face was completely uncovered for the day. he looked surprisingly gentle for his stature as he walked down the aisle, his stride purposeful, gaze locked on johnny like there was no one else in the world.

you sat still, breath caught in your throat that now felt tight.

the priest commenced the ceremony. the couple exchanged rings and shared a knowing look like they've been through hell and back together.

johnny wiped away a tear and chuckled under his breath, bashful and glowing. then simon began his vows. he spoke plainly, his voice low but clear.

"you drive me mad most days," he said, lips twitching. "you leave your boots everywhere. you snore like a freight train. you steal the duvet. you leave crumbs on every single counter."

laughter rippled through the room.

"but you're also the reason i'm still here. you've saved my life more times than i can count—and not just in the field. and when you nearly didn't make it back from that mission last year, i remember thinking, if he dies now, i'll never get the chance to tell him properly."

the laughter faded and the room quieted, sensing the solemn tone in simon's voice.

"so i'm telling you now, in front of everyone. i love you, john mactavish. i love you more than i ever thought myself capable of, and i want to spend what time we've got left making sure you know that, every day."

a quiet sniffle came from the row ahead, some dabbed at their eyes at the emotional display. but you felt frozen, hollowed out.

you watched johnny smile at his husband-to-be. the way his eyes crinkled and how he reached out, his fingers brushing simon's hand.

and for a moment, all you could think of was spain.

the shared room, the bottle of beer, that stupid promise made under the moonlight, half-drunk and young and dreaming.

you should've said something then, years ago. but you hadn't and now here he was, up there, marrying someone else. someone he had chosen, fully and truly. your fingers tightened around the fabric of your clothes.

then johnny looked up. his eyes found yours across the room, just for a second. but in that second, you knew he saw it.

the sorrow and ache in your glassy eyes.

his own expression faltered for a split second. a flicker of something (regret? guilt?) crossed his face before he smoothed it out, offering you a tiny, respectful nod.

you nodded back with a shaky smile.

and then he turned back to simon, the man he loved and would marry.

the priest's voice echoed faintly: "if any person can show just cause why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony…"

complete and total silence followed, because you wouldn't— couldn't speak, even if your heart still belonged to him.

johnny had moved on and married the love of his life, while you wished to go back to the summer when you were both still sixteen.

milkk--t © please don't repost, plagiarise, translate my work, nor use it to train AI.

[milkk--t]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟐 (𝐩𝐭. 𝟏)

pairing: childhood bsf!johnny "soap" mactavish x gn!reader synopsis: johnny and you are inseparable; you practically grew up together, from being mischievous partners-in-crime in primary school to figuring out the complicated woes of puberty in secondary school. but as tension arises, you find it increasingly difficult to draw the line that separates friendship and something more. [wc: 4.2k] note: fics with dwindled friendships and ruined what if's are delicious (i love torturing myself). also, this was originally meant to be a 3k post, but the word count just kept going up?? part 2 will be up soon is up now! tags: angst; mutual pining; tension; childhood best friends; puberty; jealousy if you squint; unspoken feelings

masterlist | part 2

you and john mactavish were attached to the hip and everyone knew it. if people asked how you and johnny met, you'd say "oh, we sat next to each other in primary school—assigned seating. been best friends since."

outwardly, you didn't seem the rambunctious type like johnny was. you were a rather reserved child growing up, polite and quiet. for that reason, the teacher sat you next to him during class in hopes of mitigating the troublemaking johnny would no doubt cause.

but boy, was that a mistake on their part. the moment you two clicked, there never had been a more mischievous pair in the entire school. with johnny's influence, you two would get in all sorts of trouble together, and somehow you had gotten away with most of it.

there was that one time when you and johnny pulled a prank in primary 5 on poor mrs. barclay that, years later became a rather guilty, yet fond memory in your mind.

in your defence, mrs. barclay was a mean teacher who liked to pick on you students, so she deserved it.

- 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟒 -

the bell rang through the corridors of your primary school, something you two likened to a call of freedom. bolting out into the playground, you and johnny played on the monkey bars for a bit before he brought up yet another fun idea that school year. he took you closer to the school building's windows that peered into the hallway. gravel crunched under your scuffed shoes as you followed the scheming boy.

"see the chalkboard in ol' barclay's classroom?" johnny whispered, his eyes glinting with mischief as he pointed towards it through the window. "reckon we could turn it into a masterpiece before anyone notices."

your lips curled into a sly smirk, pulse quickening with the thrill of rebellion. if you got caught, it would mean detention or loss of privileges, but this just seemed irresistible.

"let's make it quick. what d'you have in mind, johnny?"

the boy rummaged through his pocket and pulled out a stubby piece of neon green chalk. "somethin' bloody brilliant. we draw mrs. barclay as a cartoon witch, broomstick and all!"

the idea tickled your nine-year-old brain. without a second thought, you snatched the chalk from his hands before darting indoors towards the empty classroom. johnny was hot on your heels, his stifled snickers egging you on. sneaking up to the chalkboard, your mind was already visualising the rebellious art.

better be fast. don't want mr. thomson catching us again, you thought. the old janitor had caught you and johnny in the middle of another bout of mischief before, resulting in a harsh reprimanding from your teacher and both your parents being called to the school.

your heart thumped like a war drum as you sketched the exaggerated outline of mrs. barclay's gaunt face and wild hair, adding a comically large witch hat for good measure.

johnny hovered beside you, keeping watch with a grin. "add some warts and make it proper ugly," he said, barely containing his glee as the took the chalk from your hand to contribute to the drawing.

he completed it by sketching a broomstick and scrawling mrs. barclay next to it, while you periodically scanned the hallway for any sign of movement.

"time's up, let's scarper!" johnny tugged at your sleeve after he was finished. the blackboard was now marked with a very unflattering piece of art that was clearly meant to bully, but you two seemed rather proud of your work.

then the sound of footsteps echoing through the hallway made johnny's frame jolt. his reflexes jumped in and he yanked on your arm hard, damn near dragging you as you two ran away. you barely managed to escape in time to round the corner before anyone could spot your guilty asses.

soon, you skidded to a stop by the window where you two had plotted earlier with a clear view into the classroom. peering in, your breath hitched when you saw mrs. barclay walk inside, her stiff posture exuding irritation even from behind. the old bat turned, her gaze landing on the crude masterpiece.

her face contorted into an expression of pure outrage and you had to bite your lip to stifle a cackle, clutching johnny's arm so tight your fingers dug into his skin. you two literally held on to each other as you fought the urge to burst into peals of laughter. johnny's shoulders shook with suppressed mirth, his breath tickling your ear as he silently wheezed, "bloody hell, looks like she's about to pop a vein, she is!"

mrs. barclay unleashed an infuriated screech, her pinched face turning beet red with fury. she then snatched up the blackboard eraser with a jerky motion. her bony hand trembled as if debating whether to obliterate the damned artwork or preserve it as evidence. at the last second, she froze, her beady eyes narrowing suspiciously towards the door.

your stomach dropped like a fucking stone. with a sharp gasp, you yanked johnny down beneath the window ledge, your knees sinking into the cool grass as you and johnny crouched in a tangled heap. you silently prayed old barclay didn't spot you.

she never did, and in the end you got away with it.

- 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟖 -

nearly four years later, at the tender age of twelve, you and johnny navigated the chaotic chapter of life called year two of secondary school.

puberty had struck you both—the changes in your bodies were quite obvious. johnny had shot up awkwardly tall, his voice cracked at the worst moments and his face showed hints of a stubble.

but despite the changes, your bond was as unbreakable as ever. by now, you had toned down the mischief and instead moved your focus on trying to figure out your identities in the world.

the corridor outside the school gym still smelled like sweat and old socks, and sunlight poured in through the high windows. physical education had just ended and your timetables have shifted into free period.

johnny was leaned against the lockers, arms folded, trying to look casual. his shirt stuck damp to his back and his fringe was still a mess from sprinting laps earlier.

across from him, you sat cross-legged on the bench, flicking through your jotter and humming some pop tune under your breath. your lips were moving the slightest bit, your brows furrowed, completely absorbed in something that wasn't him.

johnny had his eyes on you the entire time, deep in thought.

you'd always been there, hadn't you? since primary, when he shoved mud down callum fraser's shirt for calling you 'weird'.

yet things seemed different now.

he watched as you brushed back your hair, the movement strangely mesmerising. since when did that focused look on their face become so... attractive?

johnny never used to notice things like that. he never used to get this weird, tight feeling in his chest either.

"you've got something on your face," you said suddenly, looking up at him. that pulled him out of his stupor.

johnny startled slightly. "huh?"

you pointed your pen at his cheek. "dirt or summat. right there."

the boy scrubbed his face with the collar of his shirt, flushing a little. "that better?"

"hm... yeah," you squinted, before holding back a smirk. "you still look tragic, though."

your quip made johnny grin and roll his eyes. he took a seat on the bench next to you. "cheers. really do wonders for my confidence, you."

you smiled at him. it made your eyes twinkle and his stomach turn over. steamin' jesus, when did they start smiling like that?

he looked away, chewing the inside of his cheek. this was torture. you had started rambling about something, maybe homework or the upcoming maths test. but he wasn't listening—your voice had gone fuzzy in his ears.

the boy couldn't focus. all he could think about was how your knee was just barely brushing his and how he didn't want to move away in fear of ruining the moment.

"—nny. are you listening?" you asked, nudging him with a slight frown on your brows. "you alright? you've gone all quiet."

johnny cleared his throat. "aye. just... knackered."

that was a lie.

he could run another ten laps, easy. what he couldn't do was sit this close to you while pretending he didn't want to bury his face in your neck to inhale your scent.

"like i was saying," you continued, looking at him all serious. "you need to stop being so oblivious. i swear, katie has a crush on you."

"katie?" johnny blinked. "katie macleod?"

he would've laughed at your deadpan expression if it weren't for the topic at hand.

"aye, katie macleod. she sits behind you in maths and goes bright red every time you speak. you've honestly not noticed?"

he gave a half-shrug. "dunno. doesn't matter, does it?"

you gave him a look of confusion. "'course it does. you should care. you're not exactly invisible anymore, y'know."

johnny glanced at you, noticing how your eyes narrowed the slightest bit with that familiar concern you showed.

"i just… don't really think about that stuff," he muttered out an excuse, gaze dropping to the tiled floor. "not with folk like katie."

"why not?"

the boy hesitated. suddenly his throat felt tight, like the air had thickened. he could tell you now right now that he didn't want katie macleod, or any other girl batting her lashes at him. he only ever wanted you.

the school bell rang, signalling the end of your free period. it was time for social studies. you stood up from the bench and johnny already found himself missing the warmth of being near you.

he could tell you about the way you made his chest twist when you laughed, or how he'd memorised the stupid little crease between your eyebrows when you were concentrating. he could just say it all out loud.

but he didn't.

because if he did—if he confessed, and you didn't feel the same… everything would change.

standing up after you, he cleared his throat and forced a grin instead. "dunno. katie's alright, but she's not really my type."

your brow lifted, playful now. "oh? and what is your type, then?"

you turned and began to walk away from the gym with johnny falling into step beside you.

he paused to think before smirking faintly. "bossy, talks too much, constantly nags me about homework. probably got pen ink on their fingers right now."

you looked down at your hand and sure enough, blue smudge on you knuckle.

"har-har," you said dryly, rolling your eyes and jabbing his side. he must be messing with you. "cheeky."

but then you let out an amused huff of laughter and the moment passed.

johnny watched you turn and carry on walking towards the classroom. he followed silently, hands back in his pockets.

it would've been so easy to tell you the truth and get this tension over with. but you were the only thing in his life that made sense and he'd rather keep you, even if it wasn't in a romantic way, than risk not having you at all.

school had ended for the day. the bell had gone ages ago, but you always took your time leaving. neither of you liked the crowd at the gates nor the rush of noise as everyone scattered.

so you waited. loitered around the bike shed, chatting about nothing before setting off home the same way you always did: together, cutting through the playing field to the estate behind it.

the sun was lower now, casting long shadows across the grass. the late afternoon light made everything feel golden and quiet.

you swung your bag over your shoulder. "I swear, if i fail maths, i'm blaming mr. campbell and you."

johnny gave you a glance. "me? what'd i do?"

"you distracted me."

"by existing?"

you shot him a look, lips twitching with mirth. "yes, actually. and the fact that you keep badgering me for the bloody answers every three minutes."

he snorted. "cannae be arsed with maths. i'm takin' you down with me."

"oh, you wee ba—"

you paused. "you know, katie's good at math. if you'd just let katie tutor you, you'd have both passed and gotten a girlfriend by now."

"again with katie…" he groaned.

"i'm just saying! she's bonnie and smart, and she'd probably say yes if you asked her out."

you didn't tell him that katie had practically begged you to set her up with the boy.

johnny slowed his steps. the grass was slightly damp and the late september breeze brushed through the leaves. he looked down at his trainers and then at you.

you glanced back at your best friend, an earnest expression on your face. in truth, you genuinely wanted to help him by playing wingman after seeing how much attention he'd started to get from other students lately.

and yet...

how could they talk about other girls when i cannae stop thinking 'bout them? johnny thought to himself.

"i dinnae want katie," he said, more quietly than he meant to.

"but why?"

johnny shrugged and laughed under his breath. "dunno. dating s'not my thing, to be honest."

another lie.

you hummed, unconvinced. "you say that now, but wait till you fall. it'll hit you all at once."

he looked at you again as he shoved his hands into his pockets. too late, he replied in his head.

the way you said it made it seem like you had first-hand experience, but you both knew your love life was non-existent. in all fairness, you were quite well-read and the books on your shelf included the romance genre. despite that, you were still completely oblivious to johnny's feelings towards you.

you reached the edge of the field and stepped onto the pavement. it was quieter here, with just the occasional bark of a dog and the hum of a lawnmower in the distance.

"you coming over on sunday?" you asked when you reached the split in the road, your house one way, his the other. you both visited each other almost every weekend.

he nodded. "yeah, after church."

"alright, i'll set up mario kart. and no cheating this time."

the boy smirked, but his heart was sinking. "aye, we'll see."

you extended your hand and he did the same. your palms met in a high-five, followed by two fist-bumps using the side of your balled fists. it was the special handshake you both made a few years back.

"see you, johnny."

the way you said his name with that grin made his stomach feel all funny. and then you were gone, headed down the street back home. johnny stood there a second longer, watching you go.

you didn't know, didn't see.

and he didn't dare risk losing you just to say what was happening in his chest. so he turned, stuffed his hands into his pockets again and walked home alone.

you were still his best friend. still the same person who dared him to eat a worm when you were eight, who'd once punched another boy for stealing his game boy, the one who knew every single stupid inside joke you'd ever made.

but something had changed and it wasn't you.

that night, johnny kept tossing and turning in his bed, unable to fall asleep. he stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, his mind filled with thoughts of you.

your smile, the way you laughed and joked with him, your conversations that never felt judgemental and the way he never felt safer with anyone else. he wondered what it would be like if you felt the same about him, what it would feel like if he could hold you in his arms and kiss you.

sighing, johnny adjusted his pillow and closed his eyes, letting that fantasy lull him to sleep.

- 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎 -

johnny had managed to convince himself that his feelings for you were nothing more than adolescent confusion. the palpitating in his chest when you laughed had dulled to a manageable tickle and he'd thrown himself into football practice with renewed vigour. the boy discovered that distance was a surprisingly effective medicine.

then came maisie smith, a girl from your english class that you introduced to him. she was blonde, bubbly and blissfully uncomplicated. maisie giggled at his jokes and blushed when he walked her to class—a textbook secondary school girlfriend.

you were happy for him at first, often teasing the two when they seemed flustered in each other's presence. but somewhere along the way, things changed.

suddenly, you began to notice how charming your best friend's smile could be, how you couldn't take your eyes off him during his football matches. then your stomach started twisting whenever he pulled you into a friendly hug.

before you knew it, you spent sleepless nights thinking about johnny and what could have been.

it was unfair, you realised, how you developed feelings for him now that he had a girlfriend. it was never like this before, so why?

"you're different lately," you observed one afternoon as you stood in your usual spot by the school gates. your voice carried a note of confusion that johnny pretended not to notice.

"different how?" he asked, scrolling through his blackberry rather than meeting your eyes. maisie had messaged him three times in the last hour, each message punctuated with hearts that made him smile despite himself.

"i don't know... distant?" you shifted beside him, your school bag sliding off your shoulder before you adjusted the strap. "we used to walk home together every day and now you're always rushing off somewhere."

johnny's thumb hovered over maisie's latest message—a photo of her in the new dress she'd bought for their date tomorrow night. guilt twisted in his stomach as he glanced at you, noting the slight downturn of your mouth.

"maisie and i are going to the cinema tomorrow," he said, finally pocketing his phone. "she wants to see that new rom-com."

your expression flickered with something too quick for him to decipher. "right. maisie."

you knew you should be happy for him, but your stupid heart was making that more difficult every day. "you've been spending an awful lot of time with her lately."

"she's my girlfriend," johnny replied matter-of-factly, the word still quite foreign on his tongue. "that's what people do when they're dating."

"i know that," you snapped, then immediately softened your tone. "i just... i miss hanging out with you. remember when we used to revise for health class together? or when we'd play the xbox at your gran's?"

the accusation in your voice stung more than johnny expected. he'd been so focused on creating distance, on proving to himself that he could function without your constant presence, that he hadn't considered how it might affect you.

"we're still mates," he offered weakly.

you bit back another sharp remark, knowing you were being unfair. you were the one who pushed johnny to get with a girl and now you were complaining that he was no longer spending as much time with you.

"aye, i know," you sighed, forcing a small smile on your face. "sorry. s'pose i'm just agitated about the upcoming social studies test. i'll see you on monday."

your handshake felt a little lacklustre this time.

"have fun on your date, johnny."

as he watched your retreating figure, johnny felt something crack inside his chest. it was not the familiar ache of unrequited love, but something similar that he couldn't quite pinpoint. his phone buzzed again. it was maisie, asking what time he'd pick her up.

but for the first time since they'd started dating, johnny found his eyes lingering on you instead of the screen, wondering if some distances were too far to bridge back.

- 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟐 -

that barely-argument you had with johnny had blown over fairly quickly. you were still best friends. still hanging out together most times than not. you were just not as attached to the hip as you used to be. his weekends were spent visiting his cousin in the army more often than with you lately.

maisie and johnny had broken up a few weeks before his fifteenth birthday, but by that time, you were already dating someone else. it went on like that for a while: both you and johnny dating other people while deeper feelings for each other were kept tightly under wraps to protect the friendship you had.

frustratingly, neither of you knew about how the other felt.

the weather had warmed up and another school year came to a close. in two months, you and johnny would start your final year of secondary school.

to make the most of the summer, your and johnny's parents had decided you'd all go on a family trip together. both your families booked a flight and rented a nice bungalow in spain.

of course, there happened to be issues with accommodation that resulted in you and johnny sharing a room for the entirety of the holiday. you weren't sure whether to feel elated or mortified.

the spanish sun had started to dip, softening the sharp heat into a golden haze. the rented bungalow was surrounded by hills and palm trees, its terracotta roof baking under the sun. a low stone wall lined the edge of the pool and the water glittered like turquoise gems.

johnny lay stretched out on a lounger, still damp from swimming. his t-shirt clung to his chest and a towel was bunched beneath his head. his hair was slicked back and drying in messy clumps while his freckles stood out stronger now from a full week under the sun.

he looked up when you walked out barefoot from the bungalow, wearing a band tee and shorts that made johnny’s brain short-circuit for a solid three seconds before he looked away.

"everyone's gone to the market," you said with a heavy sigh, flopping onto the lounger next to his. "mum said they'll be back before dinner."

he nodded, and turned his eyes to the clouds overhead. "peace at last, then."

you chuckled. "yeah, until your dad comes back with another bottle of that weird aniseed stuff and tries to get everyone singing loch lomond again."

johnny smiled, but his chest felt tight. these moments of being alone with you used to be comforting. they still were, but sometimes your knee would brush his under the table, or you'd say his name in that soft, distracted voice and it would set his heart aflame all over again.

he swore you looked at him differently sometimes too. or maybe he was just imagining things.

you were both single once more. his last relationship was a short-lived thing with a girl from school who'd kissed with too much tongue and laughed when he mentioned his comic collection. yours, a breakup that had ended in vague texts and mutual avoidance.

but none of that had really mattered—you were still the one he wanted to talk to first thing in the morning. still the one he couldn't look at too long without forgetting how to think.

you turned your head to face him, propping your arm behind your head. "you've gone quiet again. sunstroke?"

johnny blinked and looked at you, squinting against the light. "nah."

"you sure? you're not being all mopey about olivia, are you?”

"what? christ, no," he snorted. "we lasted two weeks and she hated my music. told me slipknot was 'just noise.'" he pulled a mock-wounded face. "unforgivable, that."

that made you laugh—a delighted sound that made his heart lurch. "maybe she just had taste."

"oh, piss off."

you lapsed into silence again, with only the hum of distant cicadas and the soft slosh of water in the pool breaking it. a breeze drifted by, lifting the faint scent of sun cream and pine needles. sitting up, you shaded your eyes from the sun rays with your hand.

"you ever think about… like, when we're older?” you asked suddenly. "where we'll end up?"

johnny glanced at you, caught off guard by the unexpected question. "what, like jobs and all that?"

"yeah. life, y'know. who we'll be with, where we'll live." your voice was too casual for such a loaded query. you plucked at the hem of your shirt, not looking at your best friend.

johnny swallowed and his fingers twitched on the lounger's armrest. "aye," he said eventually. "sometimes. i mean, i already told you i want to enlist in the army."

you made a sound of acknowledgement.

he hesitated. "dunno. i just… hope you'll still be there."

your eyes met his, those gems of sapphire, and something passed between you two. something warm and fragile and terrifying.

then you blinked it away.

"'course i will be," you replied quickly, shifting a little. "don't be daft."

he nodded and looked away again, heart pounding like he'd nearly done something irreversible. you laid back down and he closed his eyes. the air between you buzzed like static once more, but as usual, neither of you addressed it.

milkk--t © please don't repost, plagiarise, translate my work, nor use it to train AI.

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Debrief 2 Author's Notes: This was super hard to write and not gonna lie maybe hard to read for some of yall so like please be careful. Probably safe after the lines Warnings: MDNI, Racism, Angst

Ghost was staring daggers at the back of the rookie’s head. How fucking dare he go after you? And in front of Ghost’s face? His stomach twists every time he thinks of Nikto’s question. Everyone is afraid of him… but not this rookie. Why?

He’ll find out soon enough. After Price is done gutting scolding the boy, Ghost will have turn. And so will Johnny and Kyle. Johnny was in the back of Price’s office with Ghost while Kyle was on his way.

“So, want to tell me what happened during training?” Price sneers. He sat forward in his chair, eyes burning with hatred.

Ghost nearly lunges at the rookie when the rookie just snorts in response. Ghost could tell that Price’s patience was withering by the second.

“I’d advise you to answer the question if you don’t want to be on toilet duty for the next month,” Price warns.

The rookie slouches in his chair and lets out an exasperated breath. “I know you’re doing this as a formality but you can drop the act. We’re on the same page.” Ghost cocks his head. What is this rookie on about?

“And what page is that?” Price thankfully asks for the whole room. The rookie leans towards Price.

“That this whole diversity initiative is just complete bullshit,” he admits like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Price’s eyes widen as the rookie keeps going and going on his whole anti-diversity spiel. Ghost’s and Soap’s body lock up.

Price clears his throat and asks, “and where did you get idea?”

“It’s pretty obvious. I mean none of you guys speak to them unless absolutely necessary. You never invite them to lunch or even the bar after missions. It’s clear none of you like them. I’ll admit I didn’t realize it until Lieutenant Ghost gave me a heads up.” Ghost feels his teammates’ eyes on him as soon as the rookie said his name.

Still looking at Ghost, Price asks what clue. And with glee, the rookie lets the three know how Ghost ripped your “dumb” gift in front of him and some other rookies while putting you in your place. Ghost feels his entire face go hot as he remembers the moment.

“And thank god he did because if I’m honest with you Captain, if I had to respect another one of them, I’d probably transferred by now and I know I’m not the only one,” the rookie jokes. While the rookie laughs, the 141 boys stay silent. None of them could believe what they were hearing. They didn’t realize how their actions looked like from the inside out.

Ghost felt his stomach churn. Fuck— is that why you asked him to accompany you with the rookies. Because— fuck. You turned to him for protection when actuality, he was the fucking reason you needed it.

Before this retched conversation could even continue, Kyle walks in. The rookie lets out a wicked laugh and quips, “Don’t worry Captain. Me and the boys will get rid of this one.” Kyle freezes, confused by the statement. Ghost’s entire body goes hot. He rushes towards the rookie and throws him to the floor. This ends now.

— — —

Ghost takes a deep breath before gently knocking at your office door. It’s time to make amends. And if amends can’t be made, he can at least be punished by your hand. He waits with bated breath as quick steps near the door.

“That was fa—,” you immediately stop. You straighten up your posture and roughly rub your eyes.

“Are you crying?” Ghost barks. He didn’t mean for it to come out so accusatory. Yes, he’s mad but not at you, never at you. Ghost takes a large step into your office and quickly closes the door.

Your jaw tightens at his sudden entry. You stop rubbing your eyes and stare straight in his eyes. “Might come as a surprise for you but we’re not all complete monst—.”

Ghost gently grasps your face in both hands and takes a sharp breath. “Please. Anyone but you.” Ghost knows he’s overstepping but he has to hold you at least once before you completely slip from his fingers. While wearing gloves, he gently rubs his thumbs over your cheeks and stares in your eyes with every ounce of admiration he has for you

You still. Your eyes widen in confusion. “Lieutenant, what’s going on?” Your gaze shift from his eyes to his hands on your face. They keep bouncing back and forth until they finally pause to his right hand as you catch Ghost’s skin peeking out between his pointer and middle finger.

“They’ll never bother you again, I promise,” he whispers. He knew you recognized the gloves. He knew you were reliving that moment in your head.

“Ghost?” you whisper. You look up at him, eyes shining with so many emotions. Anger, disbelief, betrayal… hope.

There’s still hope. Maybe Ghost can turn this around. Maybe Ghost can be the man you deserve. Maybe Ghost can be yours—

— your office door slams open, revealing a towering Nikto at the door frame. You immediately pull yourself out of Ghost’s grasp and lean against your desk. Ghost turns around and faces Nikto head on. The two giants stand still, facing one another, almost waiting for the other one to strike.

“Lieutenant, surprised to see you here,” Nikto states. He walks through the door and glides past Ghost. He makes his way to you and eagerly takes your side. Without a single care in the world, Nikto caresses your face and you immediately lean into his touch.

Ghost just stares on as the weight of his actions fell on him. Instead of protecting you, he threw you in the wolves. He pushed you away and pushed you in the arms of another monst— man.

“Lieutenant,” That breaks Ghost out of his trance. Nikto, with your head still in his hands, stares at Ghost and asks if he needed anything.

You.

Word Count: I’ll get to it

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[milkk--t]

i'm re-reading this amazing series and i think this has to be my fav chapter because??? nikto is so sweet xnsbxkjs we love non-verbal men showing affection but the angst with ghost ughhh i'm gonna pass out

[milkk--t]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐩𝐭. 𝟐)

pairing: john price x gn!reader synopsis: price knows he fucked up for not realising your feelings for him earlier. much to his horror and heartbreak, when he decides to make it up to you, you're already half-way to moving on. but... what about his feelings? [wc: 3k] note: this is part two of taking inspo from @hahaifolded's post. technically this could've been a singular fic, but i ran out of brain juice by the time i was itching to upload. also many thanks to those who commented and interacted with my previous post! it was very motivational, i appreciate you all <3 tags: angst; hurt/no comfort; people-pleaser!reader; you fell first but he fell too late; jealousy if you squint

masterlist | part 1

it had been a few days since you overheard soap and price's conversation about you. while it took some time, you eventually came to terms with your feelings about the situation.

initially, you were angry. a bit at price and a bit at yourself. it felt like betrayal to find out that price didn't think much of your efforts after you bent over backwards in hopes of gaining his affection.

but on the other hand, you knew it was completely on you for stupidly devoting yourself someone who didn't exactly owe you any reciprocation.

at least he had been gracious enough to thank you whenever you were being openly helpful, so it wasn't like he had it out for you or anything.

thus, you decided to move forward with your head held high and a mission to prioritise yourself for once.

the conversation with soap was almost like a revelation to price. after he told the sergeant that you were 'just admin', soap gave him a look of disbelief.

"what d'ya mean, cap?" the scot asked, his eyebrows furrowed. "you cannae say that. they're doing so much for the team and most of all you."

price looked slightly taken aback at his words and set down his pen on the desk. "me?"

"aye, you," soap confirmed with a firm nod. "you're the one they always prioritise when we ask them for help. they organise your mission files every day. that heart drawn on the drinks they bring every other morning? only yours, last time i checked."

"bloody hell..." price muttered, gradually recalling every small interaction he had with you the past few months. "i just thought they were doing their job."

"who else did you think kept your cigars and favourite tea restocked?" soap continued. "they're the one doing practically everything around here. you must be daft not to notice them half in love with you this whole time."

the captain briefly rubbed his face, still taking it all in. they fancy me? how? when?

"why the hell didn't you say anything sooner?" price groaned, kicking himself for overlooking your efforts.

"wasn't my place," soap replied with a slight shrug. "thought you knew."

by the time soap left the room, price was lost in his thoughts. regret gnawed at his conscience—he hoped he hadn't been too dismissive of you this entire time.

doesn't matter, he convinced himself. he'd show you his proper appreciation the next time you did something. so he waited for the right opportunity to speak to you about it.

little did he know that the chance would never come.

price sat at his desk, eyes flicking to the clock for the third time in fifteen minutes. the usual cup of perfectly brewed tea or coffee hadn't arrived that morning.

his brows furrowed as he went through disorganised mission reports, searching for the missing post-it notes that carried your helpful annotations.

strange, he thought as his fingers drummed against the surface of his desk. he had planned to acknowledge your efforts properly today. perhaps even invite you for a drink off-base.

but his door remained closed. no soft knocking that announced your arrival with neatly sorted intelligence briefs, nor the subtle re-organisation of his cluttered workspace when he stepped out for meetings.

nothing.

by afternoon, price found himself in the break room, standing before the coffee machine with uncharacteristic hesitation written on his face. it wasn't like he didn't know how to use the device, but there was a distinct difference in the taste of the coffee you made him compared to the ones he prepared himself.

which setting did they always use? ...did they even use the coffee machine at all?

the realisation that he'd never bothered to find out affected him more than expected.

today was just going all sorts of sideways for price. his inbox was filled with administrative queries that you usually filtered and his schedule became a jumbled mess without your quiet interventions. now he was having trouble making his damn coffee. the absence of the small comforts he had taken for granted left a strange emptiness he couldn't quite name.

where are they anyway? it's like they... disappeared all of a sudden.

"looking for something, sir?" ghost asked, silently walking up to the captain in the fashion of his moniker.

price startled slightly, not used to being caught off-guard. "just trying to figure out this bloody thing," he mumbled, jabbing buttons in growing frustration.

the coffee machine whirred to life and soon aromatic liquid began to drip into the mug waiting beneath the spout. ghost let out a grunt in reply, before pointing out that he thought it was you who usually handled something like this for him.

the sound of your name made price's jaw tighten. "yeah, well, seems they're occupied elsewhere today."

ghost leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. "funny thing about people. sometimes they stop giving when they realise no one notices."

that jab made price shoot him a sharp look. "something you want to say, lieutenant?"

"just that i've seen them pass by your office three times today. didn't stop once," ghost shrugged before pushing off the counter. "usually they never pass up on the opportunity to visit you."

fuck.

you realised that work became a lot less hectic when you stopped picking up the little tasks that made price's life more convenient. no longer did you screen his calls for bureaucratic nonsense, nor did you polish his medals before higher-ups came to visit anymore.

those useless things were never part of your contract anyway. paperwork was your main job and you should've stuck to just that.

you were in the middle of editing price's report that was just a tad too blunt for command's liking when you decided you needed a break from your screen. usually, you'd use the free time to run little errands for price, but now you actually have a moment to spare for anything else.

so you found yourself on your way to gaz's office to invite him for a coffee break together. by the time you walked through his doorway, the sergeant was looking a little miserable from sitting at his desk for so long. you remembered him mention before that he'd much rather be on the field than in an office.

"hey, gaz," you said as you walked up to his desk. he replied with a warm smile and a greeting of his own.

"looks like you could use a break. care to join me?"

"that sounds lovely, actually," gaz said, beginning to stand up. the hint of relief in his eyes was not lost on you. "been at it for four hours. think i would've gone mad if you didn't ask."

the two of you headed out into the hallway and walked towards the break room.

"you know, you're allowed to take a short break if it's been four hours," you reminded the sergeant.

gaz shrugged a little in reply. "i know. it's just... it doesn't feel right to stop working if you haven't exactly reached your productivity goal yet."

you knew that feeling all too well, so you didn't add on it. seemed like you and gaz had a bit more in common than what was on the surface.

arriving at the break room, you two made some coffee. there were a few other people there, so you both sat down at the table near the quiet corner of the room.

you stirred your caffeinated drink rather absentmindedly, watching as the creamer swirled into a caramel colour. it didn't take long for you two to fall into easy conversation.

"...so then the bloody idiot tries to convince me he's qualified for demolitions because he blew up his mum's microwave once," gaz recounted, his eyes crinkling with mirth.

a genuine laugh escaped your lips. it's been a while, you realised. "god, the recruits get more creative with their CVs every year."

"speaking of creative," gaz leaned forward, voice softening slightly. "what's with the sudden invitation? not that i'm complaining about decent company during break, but you're usually—"

"running price's errands?" you finished, smile faltering a little. with a sigh, you traced the rim of your mug with your thumb, avoiding gaz's perceptive gaze. "thought i'd spend time with people who actually see me."

gaz's eyebrows shot up. "trouble in paradise?"

his words made you grimace a little.

"there was never a paradise to begin with," you sighed with a shake of your head. "just realized i've been deluding myself."

you took a sip of your coffee, savouring the bitter aftertaste. "you know how many hours i spent reorganizing his mission files last month? seventeen. seventeen hours of my life i'll never get back and he didn't even notice."

gaz leaned back in his chair, studying you with newfound interest. "price isn't exactly the... appreciative type. man's got the emotional range of a brick wall. he kind of has to, i mean."

"i don't need a parade," you countered, fingers tightening around your mug. "just... acknowledgment that i exist beyond fetching his damn tea."

"fair enough," gaz nodded rather solemnly, before breaking into a playful grin. "though i must say, your coffee-making skills are exceptional. perhaps not entirely wasted talents."

groaning, you rolled your eyes in mock annoyance. but you felt the tension in your shoulders ease slightly. "careful, or i'll start bringing you biscuits and cupcakes too, and then where will your training regimen be?"

"worth the sacrifice," gaz declared dramatically, patting his stomach. your laughter mingled in the break room, transforming it momentarily into something warmer.

meanwhile, price stood before your empty desk, a frown of confusion creasing his brow. your computer was logged off, desk unusually tidy without the typical scatter of files you juggled for him and the boys.

the absence felt strangely wrong.

price checked his watch—14:47. from what he knew, you never took breaks this late in the afternoon.

a corporal who passed by with an armful of documents noticed price standing in your empty office and asked if he was looking for you.

the captain nodded curtly.

"try the break room, sir. saw them heading that way with sergeant garrick about ten minutes ago."

price grunted his thanks, an odd sensation settling in his gut as he strode down the corridor. then, the sound of laughter—your laughter—reached him before he rounded the corner. he slowed his pace, suddenly hesitant.

through the doorway, he saw you gesturing animatedly, your face lit up with a smile he suddenly realised he'd missed. gaz leaned forward, completely engaged, chuckling at whatever story you were telling.

"…and then he said, 'that's just you being scottish!'" you delivered the punchline, eyes shining with amusement as gaz tilted his head back in laughter.

price stood frozen in the doorway, struck by how at ease you appeared. have you always looked so enchanting?

your hands moved expressively as you spoke. a loose strand of hair fell over your eyes that you absentmindedly brushed back. it was like seeing a different person entirely.

the conversation halted abruptly when gaz spotted him, the mirth on his face replaced by a relaxed smile. "captain," he acknowledged with a nod.

your laughter died and your posture stiffened as you turned to face price. the warmth in your eyes cooled noticeably, replaced by polite detachment he now realized was a recent development. it made the captain's chest tighten unexplainably.

"sir," you greeted formally, straightening in your seat. "did you need something?"

the question hung in the air, loaded with unspoken meaning. where was the usual warm grin that graced your lips? the way your eyes lit up when you saw him? price cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how rarely he sought you out rather than summoning you to his office.

"just looking for sergeant sanderson's file," he replied, the excuse sounding hollow even to his own ears. "thought you might have it."

"i placed it on your desk when you had that meeting this morning, sir. top right corner, black folder, should be near your coffee mug," you replied with a small smile, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

he didn't have to know that you were trying your hardest not to let your pain show.

"i left a note."

price's jaw tightened. "must have missed it."

an awkward silence ensued, broken only by the soft hum of the vending machine in the corner. gaz glanced between you two, sensing tension in the air.

"well, i should get back to work," the sergeant announced, rising from his seat. he shot you a meaningful look. "thanks for the coffee break. same time tomorrow?"

the smile on your lips turned genuine. "looking forward to it, gaz."

price watched the exchange with an unfamiliar discomfort in his chest, akin to a mix of guilt and envy. as gaz brushed past him with a respectful nod, price gave a stiff one of his own in return. he remained rooted in place though.

"was there anything else, captain?" you asked, already gathering you empty mug and napkin, clearly preparing to leave.

"no," price replied gruffly. three seconds passed and he spoke again, "actually—"

but you had already turned away, washing your mug in the sink swiftly. "if you'll excuse me, i have a video call with laswell in five minutes."

price couldn't find anything else to say as he watched you walk past him with another rigid, polite smile. it made him feel hollow inside and he didn't like it one bit.

the next few weeks were quite grim for price's daily routine.

of course, you maintained impeccable professional standards. reports appeared on his desk on time, meetings were scheduled without conflict and administrative matters ran with clockwork efficiency. yet despite the excellence of your work, the soul had vanished from these interactions.

you made it clear that you were keeping your distance from him. as to what the reason behind that might've been, price was not exactly sure. but he was certain it had something to do with his lack of appreciation in the past somehow.

those coffee shop runs you went on? no more hearts were drawn on his cup. you were no longer there to remind him to take breaks and you kept every interaction with him as brief as possible. the distance you maintained cut deeper than price cared to admit. your demeanour wasn't necessarily cold, but definitely not as warm and bright as it used to be.

you, on the other hand, were keen to move on from your crush on the captain. hell, you never should've had such feelings for your superior in the first place—they only made things messy. you had found unexpected liberation in your new routine.

the hours once spent trying to catch price's attention were now replaced with genuine camaraderie. gaz's fun stories over lunch break and soap's humour during coffee runs—the sergeants saw you. truly saw you, beyond what services you could provide.

"you've got mactavish wrapped around your finger," gaz teased as the three of you walked through the hallway. "man's been singing your praises to the entire base after you salvaged that supply chain disaster."

that crisis from the other day surfaced in your memory as gaz mentioned it. you let out a laugh, a genuine one. "hardly. i just did what i could."

"and a fine damn job you did," soap remarked, giving you a friendly nudge with his elbow. "i was sure price was going to chew our heads off if it went pure sideways."

the scot pursed his lips when he noticed the slight change in your expression at the sound of the captain's name. he had an apology ready on the tip of his tongue, but you beat him to it.

"water under the bridge," you shrugged, determined to maintain your newfound peace.

much to your relief, the conversation then shifted to the fresh batch of recruits. soap lamented their abysmal fitness scores while gesturing dramatically as usual. you were mid-laugh when heavy footsteps approached from the other direction.

price's weathered boots came into your view before you could fully look up. his presence still commanded the hallway, but your heart rate no longer picked up at the sight of the him.

the three of you greeted the captain. he cleared his throat and met your gaze with those gorgeous blue eyes you used to swoon over. perhaps a part of you still did.

"do you have a moment?" price addressed you. "need you to look over some documents regarding another joint operation with the mexican special forces."

your eyes flickered between price and soap, a quick calculation going through your mind. the familiar weight of price's request brought you back to a few months prior when you would happily be at his beck and call just to hear a syllable of his praise. but now, something had shifted.

"i'm sorry, captain. but i already promised to help soap with his training evaluations this afternoon," you replied with an apologetic smile, your voice pleasant yet unmistakably firm. "as i'm just admin, i need to prioritize my workload efficiently. perhaps ghost could assist? he's familiar with the mexican operations, no?"

the words 'just admin' felt pointed, something you did on purpose. it was a subtle call-back that caused price's jaw to clench. you maintained eye contact with him a moment longer than necessary, silently communicating: yes, i heard you that day, and no, things between us wouldn't simply return to normal.

price's stomach twisted.

oh, fuck.

"i can have those documents processed by tomorrow morning at 08:00," you added, already turning back toward soap and gaz who tried not to get caught in the crossfire. "will that timeline work for your operational needs, captain?"

milkk--t © please don't repost, plagiarise, translate my work, nor use it to train AI.

[rawme-price]

141 with healer!reader, but the magic requires reader to feel their pain, right?

Youre a new medic sent from laswell, apparently you were borrowed out to teams when they had specially dangerous missions. After a close call with gaz nearly losing a leg—an effort that took three healers on base to fix—you transferred permanently to them.

Youre careful about how you explain your powers, "so long as youre alive and I can physically touch you, I can heal you. Keep detached limbs, growing new ones is difficult."

You leave it at that. You dont mention the fact you have to feel all the pain they would feel if they kept the wound. You dont mention the fact it depletes your energy so much. Like every medic, you have a martyr complex.

The first few months are simple. No one sustains any bad injuries. The second everyone's secured youre running a hand over their skin, hands glowing a soft orange as the skin stitches together. Youre a valuable member of the team. Not just as a healer but as a soldier. Its good to have another set of eyes and another set of hands to hold a gun. Efficiency tightens up, mistakes decrease. Its perfect.

Nevermind the fact you sleep almost all day when not on missions, or the fact price has seen you sneaking food from the kitchens late at night. Gaz swears youve been limping since healing soaps thigh wound, but you always act normal when others are around.

But its fine. You dont complain, and everyone gets home safe.

That is, until gaz takes a risk. He insisted on going in alone, said he could handle the minimal gaurds. Everything was fine, no signs of resistance as gaz stalked through pitch black hallways. From where youre sat in the underbrush you can see a dark van pull up to the compound. "Ghost, you spot that? Large van, east side."

"Negative. How many inside?" He grunts through comms. You shuffle over, crawling until you can just barely see a man ducking into an entrance.

"I only saw one. Could've been more before I moved. Gaz, I advise you retreat." You have a sinking feeling about this.

"Okay, ive got what we need. Im heading out- shit!"

"Gaz?! Gaz, are you there? Fuck! Soap, get him out now!" Price sounds frantic. there are gunshots coming from inside.

When soap comes stumbling out, gaz looks more like a corpse than a person. Tac vest soaked through with blood, eyes foggy and muscles weak. There's no time to waste, you throw gazs other arm over your shoulder and pressed a hand to his neck.

You nearly crumple from the severe pain that burns and shoots across your torso. Digging deep into your veins and twisting in agony. Its worse than anything you felt before. Every breath hurts to take but you keep pushing.

Your hands burn a sharp orange as they work. Your vision doubles when you rendezvous with ghost and price.

Ghost helps you lay gaz on the floor of the truck, cutting off his vest and shirt to see gaping bullet holes. You count six, all close range. Biting your tongue to stave of nausea, you place your hands back on gaz and bear down with healing.

Kyle will die if you dont fix this.

(Psst pt 2 here)

[milkk--t]

martyr complex is just people-pleaser on steroids, i live for the angst ughhh

[milkk--t]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐩𝐭. 𝟏)

pairing: john price x gn!reader synopsis: you're the 141's new administrative assistant who ends up falling for captain john price too fast and too hard. you bent over backwards in hopes of catching his attention and eventually, his affection. but then you realise you've just been wasting your time and energy on someone who won't reciprocate. [wc: 2.2k] note: this post by @hahaifolded had me in a chokehold and i couldn't resist creating an entirely new blog just so i can post my word vomit about it. halfway through writing i noticed i got too self-indulgent by how my insecurities bled into this fic (oops sorry). i wrote this with poc!reader in mind, but it's so subtle that i just kept the tags ambiguous. part 2 with price's pov will follow but i'm such a slow writer lol is up now! tags: angst; hurt/no comfort; people-pleaser!reader; one-sided pining; price is a little insensitive

masterlist | part 2

the past few months made it clear that 141's operations became increasingly dangerous and wrapped in more red tape than ever. at one point, captain john price found a literal tower of backlogged paperwork sat on his desk, waiting to be processed after another gruelling mission.

paperwork—such a menial yet tedious task, he thought.

in attempt to ease the burden off his shoulders, laswell assigned you as the task force's designated administrative assistant.

it was nerve-racking at first. though you had a couple years of military administration experience under your belt, being part of a special operations force was new territory. the first few days consisted mostly of polite and frankly awkward exchanges between you and the team (*cough* ghost), but the ice eventually melted.

it started off small: greetings with warm smiles, professional conversations shifting to casual topics, as well as playful jokes. the 141 were an interesting bunch—it wasn't too difficult to grow a connection with them after a couple of weeks.

before you realised it, you found yourself thinking about a certain captain more times in a day than you thought about what to eat for dinner. you noticed the way he looked out for his boys with genuine care, the way he easily commanded an entire room with his sexy deep voice and how he remained level-headed even in the most stressful situations.

not to mention how respectful and friendly he was with you and how he made you feel like you were part of the team.

there was just something about the way he carried himself that made you want to drop everything to please him. call it a desperate thirst for validation and acceptance, but you'd go above and beyond for the man.

you couldn't help it. sometimes you were just loyal to a fault without realising it.

while your main responsibility was to handle paperwork, you went out of your way to do some additional tasks that weren't necessarily written in your contract.

"morning, captain," you greeted him one day as you entered his office with a large paper cup in one hand and a manila folder in the other. "i thought you'd appreciate a fresh brew."

on your way to work, you had stopped by your local coffee shop to pick up some drinks for the boys. you recalled their preferred orders from past conversations and neatly wrote down their names on each respective cup before handing them out at base. the other three had already received their drinks (and thanked you), which only left the captain's.

you set down his cup on the desk in front of him, a cute little heart drawn next to his name. price looked up from his screen and gave you a smile, the one that slightly squished his cheeks and showed his crow's feet. "cheers, love."

that small gesture was enough to make your pulse quicken. you couldn't remember when his simple gratitude suddenly meant the world to you. with a friendly expression on your face, you presented the folder containing some documents.

"and here is the report you asked for yesterday."

you didn't tell him you worked overtime to finish it.

"ah, efficient as always," price noted with a nod of approval. "you can just put it over there. thanks again."

your infatuated mind was so caught up in his praise that you missed the way he immediately turned back to his laptop without much interest as you set the folder down on the desk.

still, you were quite cheerful that day, and coffee shop errands became a regular occurrence afterwards.

of course, in order not to make your crush on price too obvious, you would sometimes get the other boys their caffeinated drinks as well.

the clacking rhythm of the keyboard filled your office space as you diligently worked. your fingers danced nimbly over the plastic keys as strings of words formed on the screen in front of you.

then the sound of your name laced in a familiar scottish brogue pulled you out of your focus.

there soap stood in your open doorway, one hand on his hip while the other held the doorframe.

"sorry, you got a minute? i need your help with something," he said.

"of course," you nodded in reply and gestured for him to take a seat. "what's wrong?"

soap's lips curled into a sheepish smile as he dropped into the chair across from your desk. "i know this is becoming a bit of a habit, but i've been a wee behind on my paperwork again..."

you held back an amused grin at his words, eyeing him knowingly as he continued, "...so i was wondering if you could help—"

a knock was heard, interrupting soap's words. your gaze shifted towards the doorway once more, but this time you were met with the sight of price, stood there with his knuckles still poised against the open door.

"captain," you greeted him, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt. "what can i do for you?"

soap didn't miss the way your face lit up at the sight of price and how you unintentionally ignored the scot halfway through his request as price stepped inside the office space.

"is this a bad time?" he asked, glancing at the sergeant who turned his head around to look at the captain too. "mactavish, are you asking them to do clean up after you again? they've already got enough on their plate."

"aye, but i was hoping they wouldn't mind me squeezing in this one favour..."

"and i don't, i promise," you added to assure them both, shaking your head. hearing price acknowledge your workload sent warmth spreading through your chest. he noticed. he actually noticed.

you stood up and walked around your desk to take a few steps towards him to take the attention off poor soap. "how can i help you, sir?"

"need you to look over these deployment schedules," price revealed as he turned his gaze back to you. god, those gorgeous blue eyes. then you noticed the dark circles that shadowed them, evidence of another sleepless night spent planning operations.

your pulse quickened; he trusted you with these things. the chance to be helpful to price and stay in his good graces made your stomach flutter. "of course, captain. right away."

you reached for the manila folder that he handed over, your fingers brushing momentarily. the brief contact sent electricity up your arm, though you didn't notice that price seemed entirely unaffected.

soap's eyebrows shot up as he watched the exchange. this, and your immediate abandonment of his paperwork crisis. putting two and two together, soap got out of his seat and backed away with exaggerated surrender.

"well then," he chuckled. "i should probably get back to work myself."

you gave him an apologetic look, but he merely sent you a silent, teasing wink in return before he left the room. he knew about your little secret.

some more weeks passed. after a mission brief, the team was all gathered in the break room. you were passing by with another stack of mission reports in your hands, your fingers tracing the familiar scrawls of price's annotations on yellow post-it notes. you'd memorised every loop and dot by now and how his signature grew messier after long work days.

without realising it, you had halted by the doorway to watch the boys. soap noticed your presence and warmly invited you to join him and ghost, who were standing near the table while price and gaz made tea by the kitchen counter.

"hard at work, i see," soap remarked with his usual playful grin. you glanced down at the papers in your hands.

"i guess so," you replied with a smile. earlier that day, you had organised price's files by priority, restocked his cigar humidor and ensured his favourite tea was available in the break room. your small gestures went unnoticed, dissolved into the routine of military life.

as if on queue, you spotted price taking the box of said teabags from the cupboard, unaware that you were the one who put it there. his sleeves were rolled up, revealing hairy forearms marked with old scars and new bruises. those strong, muscular arms... you couldn't help but let your mind wander a little.

when price laughed at something gaz said, the sound carried to the other side of the room where you stood, making your heart stutter a little.

"you know," ghost gravelly voice made you jump, "staring won't make him notice faster."

warmth flooded your face. "i wasn't—"

"'course not," he deadpanned, masked face tilted slightly. "just saying, you sure put in a lot of effort for someone who doesn't really see you."

the lieutenant's words struck you like a physical blow. each millisecond that passed carving deeper into wounds you had been ignoring. your grip around the papers tightened, knuckles tensing as reality smacked you across the face. you didn't register the way soap nudged ghost in warning.

you had been running yourself ragged, staying late to help with price's backlog of work, memorising his food and drink preferences, ensuring his paperwork was pristine before it reached his desk, tidying up after him before clocking out that day. all those small acts of devotion with the hope to catch his attention.

yet nothing had changed. price wasn't any more pleasant to you than he was with the boys. your little gestures, at least the ones he noticed, received gratitude... but they were never reciprocated. it felt even more embarrassing when you realised that he didn't owe you any more than that.

only then did it dawn upon you that while you had looked at price with heart-eyes this entire time, he never really spared you a second glance.

even ghost knows... how pathetic am i? you thought to yourself, the notion twisting like a knife. then you shot soap a glare in silent accusation. he must've told ghost about your crush on price—how else would he have known of the things you did for the captain? unless you were just that obvious...

"fuck," you whispered, the profanity slipping out before you could stop it. ghost's observation had ripped away the comfortable delusion you made yourself believe.

"ghost didnae mean it like that," soap tried to soften the blow. but it was too late.

you shook your head, forcing a smile on your face. it looked more strained than anything. "no, he has a point, i... must've looked really stupid, huh?"

"don't say that... you could always try talking to him," the scot offered as he gave you a firm, sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"yeah, maybe."

you didn't get much work done that day, which was unusual since you were always on top of your game. price did not seem to notice that either.

perhaps you were just overthinking things. maybe you needed to change strategies and be more direct. be resilient and never give up halfway, right?

despite ghost's wake-up call, you felt a stubborn ember of hope flicker within you.

or maybe you were doing too much after all—it wouldn't be the first time. growing up, you've realised that sometimes you were loyal to a fault with no regard for your own well-being and individuality.

someone badmouthed your best friend? you were ready to defend them to hell and back, even if it ruined your own reputation. your crush had an issue with a particular someone? that person instantly became your enemy without question, even if it meant burning bridges with those around you.

that behaviour had toned down quite considerably over time, but sometimes you still felt like that kid in middle school who just wanted to be seen and heard.

hell, that used to be the only way you were seen and heard, even if it was just for brief moments.

so you decided to confront price and get it over with. you had rehearsed your confession in your mind a hundred times over by the time that you were making your way towards price's office.

when you arrived, you noticed that the door was ajar. stepping closer, you heard soap's voice from the other side. that was when you realised they were talking about you.

"they're really somethin', that one," the scot sang your praises, perhaps trying to make it up to you after the break room incident. "always on top of things, keeps us all in line. the team's better with them around."

a small smile crept onto your face, finding solace in the fact that your friend genuinely seemed to appreciate your presence in the team.

but price's reply completely shattered your soul.

"they're just admin, mactavish," his gruff voice reached your ears, "good at their job, sure. but let's not get carried away."

the words hit you harder than you thought. just admin. that was all you were to him. the ember of hope died, leaving only bitter ash.

you silently backed away as your eyes began to sting. your chest felt hollow and your limbs heavy. all those gestures, all that effort. they meant nothing to him.

fuck this, you thought. you wanted to laugh, or cry, you didn't know.

it always ended like this; no matter how much devotion you showed, they would never do the same for you. not once were you anyone's first choice. you were convenient and useful until you were no longer needed.

you had stupidly been content playing the devoted shadow, hoping your silent service would somehow translate into something more. but it was time to stop. no more pining for a man who saw you as nothing more than a glorified secretary.

without a sound, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving behind the shattered remnants of your infatuation with price.

milkk--t © please don't repost, plagiarise, translate my work, nor use it to train AI.