simon becomes very protective of you, he tends to hold his breath when he lets go of your leash, watching you bolt inside of an abandoned house to search. he finds his hand resting between your ears most of the time, giving you treats even when you are just sitting close when he trains.
simon almost said no, almost, but when soap said something about hitting a bar your tail started wagging, you loved people and praises, and bars meant people who would want to pet you. it felt weird to walk besides someone that wasn’t simon, it felt weird to not feel him tug your leash, the vest around your body preventing you from running off, it felt wrong to not have a leash on.
when you push inside of the bar, the music and chatter fill your ears, they go down and press into your head to protect them from the fuzz. a small pat on your lower back makes you keep walking, "heel" simon whispers near your ear as he walks past, your feet start moving before you can process what he said, your body close to his as you made it to the table where the others sat at. his hand pats the side of his thigh, “sit” he points at the chair besides him, you sit down, your tail wagging against the leg of your chair.
“jesus, give ‘em a break, we ain’t are relaxing” soap says with a big smile, he has seen how simon can get with you, his jaw clenches below his plain black balaclava, his eyes drifting back to you. “go on, relax” his voice is low, it carries that authority he never leaves behind, yet, your brain doesn’t register it as a command, he sees the small tilt in your head, how your ears perk up slightly. from the other side of the table, you can hear the faint laugh of soap, he is having the best night watching you two.
simons eyes never leave yours, “for fucks sake, sure” he mumbles under his breath. “fetch” he says in the same tone he uses in the field, serious, you feel a shiver run down your spine. “cold beer, biggest one they have and whatever you want, go” as soon as simon says go you stand up, walking towards the bar, your tail wagging so hard it accidentally bumps into people on the way there.
once you get back with two drinks, simon stares at you and points at the chair, you sit down. “good pup” he whispers once you are sat besides him, “we need to work on your own decision making, yeah? out of the leash, you do wha’ever you want, yeah? speak” your small nod turns into a quiet yes, sir, it defeats the whole purpose of what simon wants to do, which he doesn’t really want to, he likes how you cling to him everywhere, he likes you on the leash, waiting for commands, smiling when getting praised, he just hates how teasing johnny gets at times. “okay! let’s go” after a few drinks johnny is dragging out of your chair and into the bar, away from simon, you want to protest, to sit back down, to tell him that you don’t have permission. “we ain’t working, relax” he says, and you try to remember how simon said you can make your own decisions. after ordering a round of shots of tequila, johnny is nowhere to be found.
“hey, i like your jacket, do you come here often?” a deep voice makes your head turn, your tail slowly moving to hide between your legs. “no… thank you” the guy smiles at your answer, he is nice, he talks about his job, asks about what you are doing there, how is the night going, normal small talk. until he buys you a drink. before you can even touch the cold glass in the bar a familiar voice makes you stop, that voice, that tone. “leave it” simon has said that many times, it’s a simple command, to let go of whatever you are holding onto, your hand jerks back.
his hand pats the side of his thigh twice, still staring at the guy trying to flirt with you. “he ain’t friendly, you should always ask owners before trying to pet dogs” one of simons big hands grabs the end of your belt and drag you out of the bar, he thinks seriously about making you wear a leash next time, or not going out at all.
“stay, sit” your knees drop to the ground, he stands tall besides his truck. “you called me a dog” you mumble out, it makes him raise a brow. “you were acting like one, no good puppy, no good pet when you wag your tail at anyone that gives ya’ attention” you shake your head, you weren’t wagging your tail at that guy, never, but before you can speak simon grabs your jaw, his fingers digging into your soft cheeks. “i didn’t say speak, forget about making your own decisions, it seems like you can’t take good ones, is that why they gave you to me, so you can be handled”
you fumble with the length of the cloth, tossing the lose cotton dress over your head. arms popping out the short sleeves as the rest of the night dress drapes down your body.
light violet fabric printed with small flowers was definitely not what simon riley intended to see. he stops, large shoulders slumping as he understands.
no chance he was getting a lay... but may as well give it a shot. fuck it.
"..luv, wots wi' the granny jammies?"
"its called a night gown si'," you step out from the closet. waltzing past him in search of your silk eye mask. "and its obviously for sleeping."
simons frowns, eyes shifting into that large puppy look he insists he doesnt have. alas, you ignore him. puffy slippers gliding over wood whilst you leave your man high and dry. his pants already tight just from anticipation alone, figuring the night was dedicated to mingling bodies and messy hair. expecting ruined sheets and a glowing girl the following morning.
i mean, your night routine makes you glow too. but simons heads were screaming for something, hazing his vision with swimming lust.
hes quickly beside you before youre even able to fix your pillows to your liking. "no. not tonight," youre quicker to shut him down.
"didn' even get t'say anythin'."
"it's obvious." you raise a brow at his peeking boner. a thick blush creeps over his neck, eyes crinkling with amuesment. immediately are you swatting away large hands that try to pry at the sleeves of your gown. "simon! quit acting like a teenager,"
"lovie please, jus' ah quickie?" he nearly whines. thick voice tinged at its edges. simon hated quickies. always left him more pent up than if he had nothing at all.
"you know the drill. night gown means no pound town." you dismiss him with another wave. "go jerk off in the shower or something."
knight!simon who's assigned as your personal royal guard after years serving in the king's guard. he's notorious throughout the castle for his loyalty, silence, and for his helment, which he is never seen without. everyone seems terrified of him, only making the pit in your stomach worsen when your father announces he'll be assigned to protect you.
he approaches after the ceremony and, to your surprise, drops to one knee before you.
"i will protect you with my life, my lady." heat creeps up your cheeks.
knight!simon who's suddenly everywhere. one step behind you during your daily walks, standing at your side during court, waiting outside the dining room. even at night, he's stationed outside your bedroom door, stoic as a sentinel while the rest of the castle sleeps.
eventually, you grow tired of the silence trailing behind you everywhere.
"is it true you never take off that helmet or is that all just castle gossip?"
to your surprise, he answers almost immediately, his voice rough from hours without speaking.
"aye. it's true, my lady."
you tilt your head, suddenly finding your new guard far more interesting than you'd expected.
knight!simon who follows you to the library day after day, listening while you ramble about whichever novel you've buried yourself in that week. he tells himself he's only listening because it's his duty to remain attentive, but before long he's genuinely invested in your stories, having to straighten back into perfect posture whenever anyone wanders into the library unexpectedly.
knight!simon who notices your loneliness long before anyone else does.
he realizes you linger in the gardens longer than necessary because no one comes looking for you. that you spend entire afternoons in the library because books make better company than the court. that the only person you really get to speak to anymore is him.
knight!simon who slowly grows fond of you over the passing months.
he makes sure you never leave without your coat when winter settles over the kingdom, carries your books from one wing of the castle to the other without you ever asking, keeps an especially close watch of the corridor outside your bedroom whenever he notices the sound of your bath running.
maybe one day he's bold enough to bring you a book he'd heard you mention weeks ago. another day, a flower from the royal gardens somehow finds its way onto your windowsill. sometimes he gets bold enough to speak a little too honestly, but only when the two of you are alone.
"you look lovely today, my lady."
he only says it because he loves the smile it earns him. he's grateful for the helmet hiding the way his eyes threaten to linger on you.
knight!simon who refuses to call you by your name. he may be your guard, your confidant, perhaps even your closest friend, but you're still the princess. one day you'll marry a nobleman. when that happens, he'll stand in polished armor at your wedding, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, and swear to protect you while watching another man promise to love you.
knight!simon who bites his tongue until it bleeds every time your father speaks of suitors.
princess!reader who doesn't truly dwell on the nature of your bond with your knight until the day a persistent noble corners you during a banquet, refusing to take the hint. simon is between the two of you before you can even think, one gauntleted hand planted firmly against the noble's chest as he forces him back without a single word.
after that, it's impossible not to see him differently. the broad shoulders beneath his armor. the easy confidence. the relentless devotion. the way he'd sworn to lay down his life for yours without ever asking for anything in return.
princess!reader who never looked at your knight quite the same after that day.
princess!reader who replays that moment over and over each night in your head, remembering the way he forced the noble away with a strength as quiet as it was commanding.
princess!reader whose thoughts wander a little too far one night, the years of aching loneliness shifting into a quiet, burning desire for the man just outside your door.
knight!simon who shifts uncomfortably in his armor one night, the metal suddenly growing far too tight around the groin, as your soft moans and sighs drift through the heavy wooden door, his name barely more than a whisper on your lips.
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a/n: first time trying headcanons instead of a oneshot. do we hate this. did i do it.
also as an aside, i redesigned my acct a little bit, so hopefully it's easier to navigate now. have a good day guys :)
Prices sister reader x tf 141 plus Laswell (aka oblivious reader with flirty 141) Part 2 Part 1
You spent the rest of the day baking. Honestly you weren't sure what they liked so you just decided to make a variety of cupcakes. You wanted to deliver it on the same day, but by the time you finished making all of the cupcakes, Price was already home from work. He noticed the cupcakes but didn't ask about it. It wasn't the first time you've made a big batch of desserts to bring to people. So instead you went the next day, you spent the morning getting ready, showering, doing your hair, even wearing a simple yet nice outfit.
When you showed up they weren't in the front area like last time. Honestly it was hard to see where you were going holding two huge containers of cupcakes, you didn't even notice Ghost in the corner. And you only saw him when he grabbed the containers from you “I got it luv” he spoke to you softly, and before you could even say thank you he was yelling for Gaz. Ghost turned back to you “who are these for luv?” you looked a little confused while replying “you guys, it seemed like you guys wanted some yesterday” Gaz came from behind Ghost, wrapping an arm around your side “oh that’s so sweet of you darling” and Gaz held your hand the entire time while leading you to a room, Ghost following behind you guys.
Laswell and Soap were in the room, but no Price. They both smirked when they saw you “missed me already bonnie?” Ghost placed the containers on the desk “they brought cupcakes for us” Soap gasped “oh thank you bonnie” “must’ve been thinking about us last night” Gaz added. Soap seemed to notice how close Gaz was to you and pulled him away from you and towards the cupcakes. Soap and Gaz opened up the containers with Ghost watching from behind, but Laswell's eyes were entirely on you. You pointed to the cupcakes with a little pout, you made them for her too, she came closer, almost whispering in your ear “what did you make for me doll?” you shyly told her how you made cupcakes and really wanted her to try them.
Laswell squeezed past the guys, grabbing two cupcakes, she handed one to you and carefully watched you eat it. She stared the whole time, getting closer to whip extra icing off your mouth before shamelessly licking it off her fingers. You looked at her with wide eyes but before you could say anything Price walked in, he immediately shooed Laswell away from you even though he didn't see what she was just doing. Laswell just sat down, staring at you while she ate her cupcake. Price turned to you, asking why you were here and you simply explained you were delivering some cupcakes, Price couldn't even be mad at you.
Soap turned around, two cupcakes in his hands “bet you put lots of love in these, didn’t you bonnie?” you happily smiled and nodded “you put anything else in here, maybe something more like-” Soap didn't get to finish because Price smacked the back of his head. Price was too busy watching Soap and Laswell to notice Ghost shamelessly staring you up and down, eyes lingering on certain areas. Gaz was the most respectful, kept his comments light and not too sexual, Price even let him walk you back to your car, which was a huge mistake cause Gaz gave you his number and a kiss on the cheek. And by the time you get back home, he’s already sent you like three pick up lines and you're in a group chat with all of them except Price.
Kissing the brick before I throw it I promise I just think about this a lot and want to share the angst because I listened to too much of the cure by Olivia Rodrigo
What if Soap faked his death to go on an undercover op that lasted like a year and none of 141 knows he’s still alive. Ghost is heartbroken over never telling Johnny that he loved him and then a couple months after Soap leaves, a new soldier is picked up for 141 and knowing how it feels to lose the one you love, you and Ghost bond over it and eventually you get close and either begin a relationship or you’re about to confess when surprise Soap is back and you have to watch heartbroken as the man you love is reunited with the one he loves too and it’s not you. And you realize it’ll never be you and if you happen to have slipped a letter under your Lieutenant’s door confessing your feelings before or after Soap returns and he doesn’t see it until you’re captured on their next op because you and Johnny had been separated and you decided to give him room to escape because you couldn’t stand the idea of Ghost losing Soap over again and this time it would have been your fault and you wouldn’t survive knowing that. Then whoopsies Simon finds your letter and reads it after returning once you’ve been captured. And owie he didn’t realize how you felt and how it must have made you feel when Soap came back.
simon loves a few things, good weed and good sex. the man’s obsessed with these two. and somehow he always has money to buy a good, high quality weed, and you always ask him where he gets so much money but he never tells you.
because every time you ask a little too much, he distracts you. one second you’re talking and next second he holds your legs up to get deeper inside you. so you are never capable to think straight around this man. he doesn’t let you. simon riley is an interesting man, you always think. there is something mysterious about him, because despite how close you two are, you hardly know anything about him.
but what you do know is that he is really good at multitasking. because even now as your tired eyes looked up at his broad frame, he still left you in awe at how casually he smoked his joint while he rearranged your guts. his big palm was really warm against the skin of your calves that he held with just a single hand. the smoke left his nostrils slowly as he thrusted slowly into you. his gaze was piercing, intense enough to send shiver down your spine. the corner of his lips pulled up in a crooked smile.
“what’re you lookin’ at, want a drag?” he asked, and the mocking in his tone was obvious in the way he tilted his head to the side. he didn’t offer you the joint, however, despite your nod and your expectation. so your only choice was to sit up as carefully as possible as to not have him slip out from you.
you leaned on your hands, taking a deep breath as you felt him deeper with the new angle. “simon,” you managed to mumble “please.” to your surprise, it was enough for him to lean forward and hold the joint to your parted lips. the drag you took was deep, to make sure it was enough to cloud your mind more, and before you could exhale the smoke, his lips were already on yours. white clouds surrounded you both as they escaped from between your lips. it circled you both, as simon held your face with his free hand, pressing you against him more.
— a. n. heyyy, so…tumblr wouldn’t let me post haha……..idk wtf was that. but i can finally do it!!!
somewhere between simon arriving home with a face like fucking thunder, the realisation your doorframes and walls weren't going to withstand that level of slamming, and your house not falling apart under the weight of simon's bad day, you've ended up on your knees between his spread thighs whilst he sprawls on the couch. he's got his t-shirt tucked under his chin, his sweatpants yanked down to mid thigh, and the low light from the lamp catches across the scars littering his skin.
his cock is already heavy and warm in your hand, the head flushed dark, vein on the underside pulsing slightly as he throbs against your palm.
you're slow at first, gentle. long pulls from base to tip, thumb sweeping over the slit to catch the bead of precum and drag it down the shaft.
"fuckin' 'ell petal." it's a breath more than real words, tension seeping from his frame with every soft drag of your hand. "what did i do to deserve you?"
you grin up at him, "absolutely nothing. but i've got to preserve the infrastructure of our house somehow, babe."
you twist your wrist on the upstroke the way he likes, watching as his hips jerk lightly up into your fist. a low sound leaves him - half groan, half sigh - and you smile again, more to yourself this time.
that's the sound of a man relaxing inch by inch.
you lean in and replace your hand with your mouth.
simon hisses through his teeth as wet heat closes around the head. you suck gently, swirl your tongue, sink lower; taking him until the corners of your mouth start to ache.
he cups your jaw with one hand, looking down at you with brown eyes half hidden beneath heavy lids, mouth slightly parted. his thumb brushes your cheekbone softly.
as you drag the flat your tongue over the sensitive spot on the underside of his head, then hollow your cheeks and suck again, he groans.
"love. yer so good to me. please - fuck - keep goin'."
you roll your eyes, no intention of stopping.
(but it's nice to hear him beg a little.)
you bob up and down, flick your tongue. every time you let the head of his cock breach the back of your throat he makes a soft, overwhelmed noise that makes your heartbeat flutter in your cunt. his thighs tense under your palms, his fingers tighten on your jaw - but he doesn't try and take over. he's just taking it; lost in this, in you.
when you finally ease off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connects your lower lip to the tip of his cock. he’s swollen, shiny with spit, precum leaking over his head. you nuzzle lower instead of going back to the head, licking a broad stripe over his balls before sucking one into your mouth.
simon’s whole body jerks.
“oh - fuck - pet.” his eyes roll back, free hand fkying to his throbbing cock, wrapping his fingers tight, stroking himself messily whilst suck and lap at his sack. you can feel how close he is from the way he tighten in your mouth, the helpless little jerks of his hips into his own fist.
"gonna - fuck - gonna come, pet." he warns, voice cracking at the edges. "want it on yer face? tell me if-"
you just look up at him, mouth full, eyes glassy and nod.
that’s all it takes.
he comes with a broken sound that starts in his chest; thick ropes painting your cheeks, the tip of your nose, dripping down your skin.
he strokes himself through it, eyes locked on you like you’re the only thing in the world, the only thing worth an iota of attention in the entire universe.
when the last tremor leaves him he sinks back, pulls you with him against his heaving chest, thumb gently wiping away a speck of cum that's landed just a little too close to your eye.
"jesus, petal. that felt… fuckin’ incredible.” he murmurs against your temple, “yer fuckin' incredible."
he kisses the corner of your mouth, and you tuck your face against his shoulder, satisfied that the integrity of your house is secured and simon's mouth is actually curved upwards again.
brain bugs moving and i just imagined captain price making you suck him off in front of all of the boys because that's where you learn how to be obedient boys.
tw: fuckass john price, boot rutting, being tied up, he's basically make her rut his boot in front of the boys and making her such his dick at the same time, he's mean. i like it like that ig
you don't know how you ended up on the floor, thighs trembling with want and pant pooling around you ankles, not even fully off, and hands tied behind your back with his belt, while you gushed through your knickers. eyes practically rolled back when his fingers dragged through your hair.
you were aware of the uncomfortable silence that the men worked around you with, your team mates basically.
your captain is a vile man, who knew how to put his subordinates back to their place. and perhaps a little too well now that you find yourself in this position.
between his legs, whimpering each time he thrusts his hips up, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. you wouldn't have thought that early this morning, that missing out on one paper work would lead him to fuck your mouth in front of all the men.
but then again it's captain, he's a mean fuck to you. never this mean, never so humiliating. perhaps mean in the sense he has you bouncing on his cock with the door unlocked, threatening that someone might walk in and see you getting off his cock.
rumours, he said, about how you worked up through the ranks just because you were such a slut.
but he knows that you're not like such, he knows it too well. losing your virginity to him, letting him have you whatever way, because it's your captain.
you need to be good for him.
it's humiliating, some of the embarrassment sits backs at your head, eyes teary because of it. but your brain gets fuzzy overtime as you try to make sense of it all when suddenly he presses the head of his boot to your soaking panties.
a squeak, that is mostly silence due to the fact your mouth is filled with him, the hairy happy trail over his pudgy belly rubbing against your nose as he forces you to stay still. you can smell the cigar he smokes, along with sweat and something musky that's making it harder for you to understand anything at all.
"come on doll," he encourages, let you hump at his boot a little, brain going mush when pleasure starts to build with each eventual shock as you grind yourself against him.
you can hear the way everything gets eerily silent, vision too blurry with tears of pleasure to actually make out what's happening around you. all you can feel is how your captain's hands caress your head and push you further down into him.
until he's cumming into your mouth, warm and salty that makes you choke and pull back a little, but he's hold you there, encouraging you even to still rut against his boot and get off.
it's a dirty sight, your panties sticking to your cunt and sticky slick over his boots shining. but there is this dull pleasure, knowing your team mates are watching you, perhaps the captain would allowed them to have you like such.
and you're still rutting, when he pulls himself out of your mouth, strings of spit dangling and you swallowing air.
you soon find yourself whining into his mouth, a kiss, aggressive as it can be, him mumbling about you being such a sweetheart, such an obedient bitch for him. until you're crying into his mouth, orgasm pooling into your under belly and hands curling up behind your back, where they are tied.
You're practically asleep by the time Simon takes you from the water and sets you on the counter to dry you off in a massive towel.
Wrung out, hollowed out, exhausted. The kind of tired that strips you of any ability to be a functioning human. Just a bag of bones with a heartbeat. Crying helped in some ways, left you with that empty feeling that comes after but it also brought back the headache. At least you're too tired to really care.
Simon steadily dries you off with gentle squeezes. When shivers starts up in your shoulders from sitting in the cool room with wet hair and underwear, he steps a little closer to the counter. Heat comes off him like a furnace. You think you can even feel it on your face like you're sitting too close to a lit fireplace.
He dries your hair as best he can but you've surrendered to the fact that you're probably going to be sleeping with wet hair. When he's deemed you dry, he wraps the towel around your shoulders like a cape to keep what warmth you have close to you.
"Do you want to try walking?" he asks. "At least on the one leg?"
Your sore, crusty eyes open and look up at him. Eyes a warm brown in the low lighting from between the opening of a balaclava. You let this man wash your hair and you've never even seen his face.
You nod.
He wraps an arm around your waist and lifts you from the counter. You set your weight on your good leg and the feeling of solid ground under your feet is a treasured one. Simon stands on the side of your broken-but-I-guess-not leg. You grab the back of his hoodie while his arm stays a sturdy band around you.
You would've fallen straight on your face if Simon weren't bearing nearly all of your weight during the first hop you take. But with him there, there's no chance of you not staying upright. His massive paw of a hand spans your entire damn torso from tit to hip bone, acting as a brace itself. He doesn't rush you, goes only at the pace you set. Every time you move forward he's right where you need him to be.
The pathetic little shuffling you can manage eventually brings you out of the bathroom. The light shines into the rest of the bed room, giving you some idea of where the furniture is. As you get closer to the dark mass that is the bed, Simon just lifts you up the little way left and sits you on the bed proper. The bed is high up, your feet dangle even when the mattress adjusts to the introduction of your weight.
Simon reaches over to a lamp on the bedside table, fullly illuminating the room. You grab the edges of the towel that started to fall off you and wrap it tighter around your body, the chill of the room starting to get to you.
Simon goes over to a chest of drawers and starts pulling out clothes from their neatly folded spaces. He tosses them on the bed next to you; black sweatpants and a dark blue t shirt.
"Here, these'll do for now."
He strides to the bathroom to turn off the light. He stops at the window and checks it, adjusting the curtain to cover just a centimeter more. Then he turns to you one last time.
"Catch some rest, I'll come get you in the morning." He goes to the door leading out of the room and rests his hand on the doorknob. Looks back at you again. "I'm just down the hall. I'll hear you if you need me." Then he leaves.
You listen to the latch bolt catch the strike box, closing you in the room. The house is silent. Even though there are three other people living here, if you hadn't seen them with your own eyes you would've thought the house was empty. You let the silence buzz in your ears for a moment.
You look down at the clothes. Letting the towel drop on the floor, you pick up the shirt. If this is Kyle's room then these must be his clothes. You feel odd just wearing them without asking, but Simon was the one who gave them to you and you will otherwise be naked if you don't. You'll just put the blame on him if you get in trouble for it.
Peeling off your soggy sports bra is a relief, as is the feeling of putting on the baggy, clean shirt. You do the same to your underwear and drop both of them on the towel on the ground. The sweatpants are big and almost make you feel like you're drowning in them. You roll up the waistband so they don't just slip off in your sleep.
The bed itself is rather bare. A simple bedspread and a single pillow. It's probably the biggest bed you've ever been on, however. So big it feels like its own little continent when you lay down.
You don't look, can't bear to look, but you can't help but reach a hand down to your newly freed leg. Your touch hurts, your skin almost feeling like the aftermath of road rash. Carefully, you start to bend your knee and only get so far until a sickening pang squelches from the joint, shooting up your leg into your hip and settling in your lower back. It's so sudden the only noise you can make is a choked gasp, turning your face into the pillow to stop from making too much noise.
Breathing through it, you let your leg straighten out again. It may not be in a thousand pieces anymore, but you won't consider your leg to be totally fixed. It still doesn't explain the state of it currently from its previous state before.
You can't think about it. Don't want to think about it. Your body feels like a separate entity from yourself, a stranger you're conjoined to without a chance of freedom. Unrecognizable, even just from the feeling of it.
You reach over and turn the lamp off. Darkness swallows the room, transforming it into something you don't need a body to be a part of. A darkness so complete you can't tell the difference between your eyes being open or closed. Fatigue drags you down into a dead, dreamless sleep.
ex!husband Robby who's using your kids as an excuse to see you. Especially your youngest son, Ben.
He'll randomly text you through the day that he forgot to put his asthma inhaler in his backpack, so he'll just quickly drop it off.
But the inhaler was already in kids backpack. Turns out he just wanted five minutes with you on your porch, with coffee he bought from that shop you like, hoping you'll ask him how his shift went.
Then he's handing you three brand new boxes of Ben's medicine, saying it's just in case, winking at you. Those stupid, sad puppy eyes looking hopeful, but you still love them so much no matter what.
Price sighs, finally setting his pen down. His hand rubs over his eyes, then drags down his face.
"Can't help you if you don't talk to me, Johnny." He glances up, finding the Scotsman's eyes.
The younger man crosses his arms, feet shoulder width apart. Always a bit too proud to say everything he's thinking outright. Or maybe just holding out to torture Price a bit longer. Probably the latter.
"At least sit down. All you ever do nowadays is stand there." Price gestures defeatedly to the chair across his desk.
Soap does not sit.
Instead he tilts his head, seemingly listening for something. Then closes his eyes. Price sighs and leans back, closing his eyes too. It's this dance they've done—been doing—whenever Ghost is out on a mission. Specifically missions that Price isn't particularly inclined to send Ghost on.
Price waits, then there he is, Soap right in his ear. "You shouldn'ave waited."
Price sighs. "I know."
"Should 'ave let me kill him—"
"—when we had the chance. I know."
Soap is silent for a moment. Then he places an icy palm on Price's shoulder, running it up and down. Then up to his cheek. Price opens his eyes. Soap's face takes up most of his vision now, forehead pressed to forehead.
His legs straddle Price's. As close as he can be. Just fatigues and a t-shirt, already untucked. His eyes are closed, mouth just slightly ajar. Like he's waiting for Price to make a move.
"He'll be back. Like always." Soap finally says, voice low, almost sarcastic.
"I know."
"Like a loyal mutt. We're ye mad when he started comin' to my call?"
Price lets out a little huff. "He's yours, Johnny. I know that."
Soap hums with delight. "But it's yoo he'll die for. Then what? Kyle would happily—"
"No." Price growls.
"—roll over if you ask. Why not now? Save us all the bother."
"Get out, Sergeant."
Soap is quiet for a moment. Cold palm still against Price's cheek. He frowns, considering this. Eyes still closed. Then he pats Price's cheek.
"I'll be around, Sir."
Price grits his teeth and exhales, squinting his eyes closed once more. He rubs his face with both hands until the burn dissolves.
When he opens them again, Soap is gone.
Price glances up at the clock on his wall. 0300. Ghost won't report for another three hours. He should sleep.
With a groan he stands, not bothering to turn off the desk lamp. Kicks off his boots. And finds his way to the sofa across the room.
He lay there for a while in the quiet dark. Waiting for sleep to take him. When he closes his eyes it's Soap's eyes he sees, angry. Always so angry. Piercing and inescapable. Waiting for Price. Always waiting on Price.
Sleep comes, eventually. And they'll do this all again tomorrow.
this is an idea i've had in my brain for sooo long! just thought i'd put this out there. kind of interested in turning this into a thing?? give me y'alls thoughts please!!
BRENDON PARK who hasn't dated in a while. last time he did was when he bumped into a girl at a coffee shop a couple years ago. nothing serious came from it. they both ended it amicable before putting any labels, and since then, brendon didn't demonstrate any interest in dating.
BRENDON PARK who had friends from med school living in the east coast area. all of them had long-time girlfriends, fiancées, or wives with their perfect children. they always joked about brendon being the token bachelor, but he never took any serious offense to it. they meant it endearingly.
BRENDON PARK who's closest friend had shared with him about a friend of his girlfriend who was also the token bachelorette of her friend group. over a couple of beers, his buddy continued to find ways to persuade him back into the dating scene, specifically, to go on one date with this mystery woman.
BRENDON PARK who considered the offer for a week. he didn't feel any desperation to settle down into a domestic life, but he had his mom and dad to consider. every holiday together, they'd remind him they weren't getting younger and they at least wanted to live to see brendon marry an amazing women. so he texted his friend about the mystery woman, finally agreeing to one date.
BRENDON PARK who made the reservation to a new restaurant in town. all his friend told him was that you were a physical medicine & rehabilitation doctor. he didn't even send a photo of you, wanting to keep some air of mystery in brendon's life. so he sat there waiting at the table until a well dressed and smiley girl came in—you.
BRENDON PARK who was immediately drawn into your friendly personality. you were in a dress, not too fancy, but long enough to be elegant for every day use. his buddy had described you as the perfect opposite to him. from the way you smiled to the waiter and at him--he saw exactly what his friend meant.
BRENDON PARK who was rustier than he thought. all his friends considered him effortlessly charming, but sitting across from you, he found himself breaking a sweat. you were effortless with your stories and questions. he often found himself stalling before responding, too mesmerized by the cute, expectant smile on your face.
BRENDON PARK who didn't realize two hours had passed once the two of you finished desert. you had initiated the end of the night and brendon felt disappointment. he didn't want to go back to him lonely life; and although the two of you could sit for hours, engrossed in conversation, he was worried he hadn't made the best impression of himself. he had chuckled a couple times, wasn't as smiley as you, and he had picked up the check (which was the most redeeming gesture he could come up with to try and persuade without an illuminating personality).
BRENDON PARK who interchanged numbers with you before the two of you went your separate ways outside the restaurant. you left looking satisfied, but brendon still wasn't sure what to think. he stared obsessively at your contact page, debating how soon was too soon to set up a date.
BRENDON PARK who chickened out from sending a text, practically ghosting you for five days. when his buddy checked in about the date, brendon played it cool, while deep down he was dying to know what you thought of him. had he ruined his chances on one date alone?
BRENDON PARK who walked out of a surgery and into his office almost a week after the date to find a new message: i've been thinking about last week. how do you feel about a round two? ;)
Depressed!Reader who assumes Park will drop them like it’s hot the moment they’re out of treatment.
Instead, Brendon gets clingier.
Breakfasts on sundays at the diner near your place. On Wednesdays, Brendon would walk around the park with you before he had to clock into his night shift. Fridays, if he wasn’t on call, dinner to a new restaurant. Just the two of you. Brendon pays, always. Picks you up, drops you off and even walks you the short distance from the car, up the walkway and to the front door.
“Goodnight.” Brendon would nod, and you’d mirror his movements.
Depressed!Reader who keeps Park the Shark on read.
It irks Brendon to no end when people blow up his phone with useless messages, but he irritates him even more is when you don’t respond after four back-to-back texts and two phone calls. He’s worried, and he takes it out on the poor intern who accidentally stepped on his foot during a surgery.
Finally, after eight hours of sawing at bones and imagining having to check your room for your body— Brendon finally has time to check his phone. He doesn’t blink, or even breath as he takes in the photo you sent him.
You’re on a hike somewhere, hair wild and smile wide as you squint at the camera.
His phone vibrates with another message, and he stumbles to open it.
I feel like ghost is the type of guy you need to sneak supplements into his food to get him to take them. Kinda like disguising meds as a treat for dogs.
Quite literally the only thing keeping ghost out of medical were the sandwiches you'd make him Tuesday and Thursday.
An Italian sub, loaded with freshly toasted cheese and meats. In between the lettuce, little vitamins and supplements. Without fail, ghost is too busy scarfing down his food without much chewing to notice the pills you added.
Until he starts leaving bits on the plate, telling you he already ate earlier. For once, you're glad that ghost is actually listening to his body instead of forcing himself to overeat.
Thing about ghost is he's the biggest gossip, but no one knows.
He has no interest in bonding with anyone on base, so he mostly keeps to himself. That, paired with the fact he's naturally stealthy, means people don't pay attention to him before spilling their secrets all over the floor.
Ghost has been witness to many phonecalls, arguments, shared rumors. He keeps every bit og information tucked into his front pocket.
Until he meets you, price's kid. In some bar you doesn't frequent, dragged out for your father's bi-yearly socialization so he can still convince himself he's a good dad.
A good dad who is currently on the other side of the bar from you, chatting up some woman who could be your older sister. You sneer at the display, lean closer to ghost to whisper "you know he's been divorced five times?"
To your shock, ghost happily adds "you know two of those were secretaries he met on base? One of them 'cause he got her pregnant."
"No!" You gasp, turn fully to ghost almost too gleefully. No one ever wants to shit-talk your dad. "Seriously? Is that the one who tried to kill him?"
"Mhmmm," ghost nods along. He takes one of the greasy chips from your plate but you don't mind because he points to garrick whom you've met twice before "last one caught him an' garrick snoggin in her own bed."
"Seriously!?" You whisper-shout, too damn happy.
You, the kid who stubbornly says no more than a single word when talking to any of prices friends, can't seem to shut up that night. You and ghost bond for hours exchanging gossip and bitching about others. He learns all about your professors and you learn about government secrets only to gossip about the people involved.
Your dad ends up taking that pretty lady home and forgetting about you, so you and ghost go back to his place to watch movies and pass out.
He's the closest thing you've had to a friend in years, which would be pathetic if it weren't for how nice it feels.
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