Simon Riley who becomes the most loving, attentive, domestic husband when his wifey is pregnant with their kid.
Johnny would make fun of him over all the different dessert recipes Simon would have spread all over his desk. Different sheets full of ingredients and steps to follow so that once he is back home, he can cook one for ____.
Although he has always been aware of his lover’s sweet tooth, he was definitely not aware of how that craving for sugar would intensify to an extreme once she got pregnant.
So he had to learn how to be good at baking. Had to waste a bunch of food only to get good enough to satisfy the hungry little bean monster inside that lovely womb.
His first attempts had to be shared with the rest of his team. They would all fuck around, joking about how the scariest bastard among them had become a mama hen just for that little babe.
Simon didn’t give a shit. After all, it was all for ____ and the baby growing inside her womb. His family.
So fuck them all, grown-ass soldiers. He would do everything to take care of his growing family, and there was not a single bit of shame about that.
.𖥔 ┈┈┈ .・. ┈┈┈ 𖥔.
I loved the scenario so much I felt like doing it a fanart jsjsjs Thx for reading !! <3
He eats what’s there. Always has. Doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask for changes, doesn’t send things back. It’s habit more than choice. You don’t risk being difficult. You don’t draw attention.
Still, you notice patterns.
Mushrooms always left on the edge of the plate. Picked out carefully. Passed to someone else if he can. Never mentioned.
So when you take him out; actual date, low lights, menu longer than a briefing, he orders without thinking.
And when the plate arrives, it’s full of them.
You see it immediately. The pause. The way his fork hesitates, then moves anyway.
He’s about to eat one.
You stop him with two fingers around his wrist. Light pressure.
“Simon.”
He looks at you. “It’s fine.”
“No,” you say quietly. “You don’t like those.”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”
It does to you.
You flag the waiter, calm and polite. “Sorry, could we get this remade without mushrooms? He asked for it that way.”
Simon goes still.
When the plate is taken away, he leans closer, voice low. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“I know,” you say. “I wanted to.”
That’s it. No speech. No explanation.
Just that.
When the new dish comes, he eats more easily. Slower. Comfortable.
At some point he glances at you, expression softer than usual.
“…no one’s done that before,” he admits.
You don’t make it heavy. You just smile. “You’re allowed to have preferences.”
He nods once.
But something settles in his chest.
Because for the first time, someone noticed what he avoided, and chose to protect it without making a scene.
based on that one thing you reposted: Simon Riley manhandling reader all over the place. Picking them up, throwing them over his shoulder, moving them slightly; just picking them up and replacing them where it’s convenient for him all the while not thinking about it until they’re fucking and he’s doing the same thing. (Sorry if this prompt sucks I don’t normally do this sort of thing 😭)
I need you to know how feral this made me. Please never leave
warnings: can be read as plus-size/curvy reader but not explicitly stated. Simon’s a bit of a perv but in a sweet romantic way. p in v, oral (f!recieving), free use themes if you squint
Simon Riley doesn’t have much exposure to soft things.
His uniform is scratchy, his fatigues aren’t much better. The cotton of his mask is rough against his face, worn and pillied from years of wear. The sheets on base barely have a thread count and the pillows could handle some fresh stuffing.
He’s adapted to it, forgotten what moisturized hands and fabric softener washed clothes feel like.
Then he meets you and suddenly his world has a warm vignette.
You soften his life with delicate touches. He gains a heating pad for his shoulders, conditioner for his brittle hair, and a duvet too fluffy to store.
Then there’s you. You with gentle curves, uncalloused hands, plush thighs and a little extra in all the right places. You’re the softest thing he’s ever touched.
It makes him hard as a fucking rock.
He always wants his hands on you, a reminder of the sweet side of his life. A palm curved over your ribs is grounding. Four fingers in your back pocket keeps him sane. A hand resting over your stomach drives him crazy.
You, always willing, always warm and soft and keening into his touch, it’s your fault he gets so greedy.
It becomes more than just touches.
Out to drinks and you sit down next to him? No.
He’s lifting you over onto his lap, why should he have to settle for a hand on your thigh when he can wrap his arms around your waist? Why should any other man think he can sit down next to you, this sends a clear message. Taken.
Cooking in the kitchen, hips swaying to whatever musics playing in your head? No.
You find the cold counter beneath your thighs, moved so fast you still feel the heat of the stove on your chest. All so he can take your place stirring whatever’s in the pot. Muttering something under his breath about the flame being too high.
Standing in front of the sink while you do your makeup in the morning? No.
Simon still needs to brush his teeth, and why should he bother with saying ‘excuse me’ if he can just pick you up under your arm pits and move you to the side. Much more effective.
He’s always preferred a hands on approach. At least that’s what he tells you.
The truth? Knowing he can touch you, move you, manhandle you so easily has him chubbing up in his pants. The fact that you just let him? Flashing a sweet smile after as if you’re thanking him for it? It’s enough for him to start leaking.
It becomes second nature.
Simon picking you up in a bridal carry on the way home the pub, wordlessly scooping you up whenever he’s decided you’re done walking in those heels.
Simon appearing behind you whenever you’re struggling to reach something, grabbing you by the hips and lifting you to it rather than getting it himself.
Simon taking you by the ankle and pulling you to the edge of the bed, all the down until you ass threatens to fall off. Positioning you perfectly for him to kneel on the floor and throw a leg over each shoulder.
Simon rolling you onto your side early in the morning, pulling you back to his chest and then lifting your leg over his hip. Only to rest inside you, throbbing, hard and half asleep as he locks you in place with an arm over your waist.
Simon holding you against him when he rolls onto his back. Your legs tangled with his as he lifts your hips and rolls them back down over his length. Treating you like a glorified toy, setting the pace and not even having to fuck up into you.
Simon grabbing your cheeks in his hand and smushing them together until your lips pucker. He turns your head until he can kiss them, sloppily biting at them while keeping his grip iron clad.
Simon moving his hand over your throat, applying just pressure to tell you that you’re not moving unless he wants you too.
a man barges into your home, bleeding and desperate, demanding sanctuary. in return he promises your safety, dragging you across the continent to outrun the people who are after him. the more you begin to understand him, however, the gentler he turns out to be.
cw—she/her afab reader, blood death & violence, civilian reader, possessive/protective simon, soft dom simon, mentioned/brief somnophilia, sort-of hostage situation, soft simon, enemies to friends to lovers, murder, kidnapping, mild torture (slapping, interrogating, bound wrists), morally grey 141
taglist closed
prey - scrapped scene
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Summary: A change in procedure around base causes you to spiral as your world comes crashing down. There's only one way out of this and it starts with telling the truth.
A/N: Honestly, I'd been inspired by a few series (Standard Emergency Protocol and Pantry Solutions) I've read those and it caused me to want to write my own A/B/O COD AU, so I started this as a sort of funny fic awhile ago. I'm haven't entirely plotted out the whole story, but I have some ideas for the first few chapters. I was finally inspired to finish and post it because @cringeycookies liked the snippet I posted in a wip tag game. So thanks to everyone who inspired me, and a special thank you to @penelopepine for helping me with the dialogue and Price's reaction as I try to begin writing for them.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," the nurse responds, "we're no longer authorized to refill suppressants of any kinds for any purpose." With a push of the empty orange pill bottle back across the counter in your direction, she offers you an ugly forced smile.
"Is there really nothing we can do?!" You complain incredulously, "Nothing at all? What am I supposed to do with this?!" Taking the emptied bottle into your hands, you stare at the nurse with widened eyes and a wild look.
"There is no 'we'..." she rolls her eyes in response, focus returning to the papers before her. "But if you insist, you can always bring it up with your CO, or the Base Commander." She scribbles something out on the page, but you can hardly focus when your world is virtually crumbling apart around you. "Now if you don't mind, some of us actually have work to do around here."
Still stunned, you can't help the way your breathing picks up as your heart begins to race. About a month ago now there was a base-wide meeting where they'd finally cracked down and implemented a new program the government is trying out: OPP. The Omega Pack Plan. While it's uncommon for Omegas to even be recruited into the military to begin with, such a thing does exist. Regardless, the Base Commander gathered everyone in the Auditorium for a presentation to talk about the new program and how the army would implement it into the troops. Luckily, considering you're on an elite Task Force, it doesn't apply to you. At least... it didn't.
"What the hell is this?!" You yell, tossing the orange bottle in his direction.
He'd heard the stomps all the way down the hall and smelled you coming, so he's neither surprised by your appearance, nor startled by the toss of the bottle. John swiftly catches it in his hand as he looks up at you. "What?" He inquires, finally glancing down to examine what he's caught. "A pill bottle?"
"Captain, it's empty! They won't refill it- I can-"
A groan tumbles past his lips as he drags a hand down his beard. "Look, Panther-" referring to you by your callsign, interesting move. "There's nothing I can do, it's over my head now. I wish I could do something, but I can't." Sitting back in his leather chair, Price places the bottle on the desk; a faint rap of the plastic hitting the wood is the only sound between you momentarily before you hurriedly shut the door.
Panic begins to flood your system as you're not sure how to handle this. It's your turn to freak out. You know how this goes, you know the story now; ever since they'd implemented and dispersed the Omegas into the troops, they'd started implementing them into the Task Forces, and now they have to do so with the One Four One. Fingers curling in and out of shapes as you try to process your next move, you speak before you can even begin to plan what you're going to tell him.
"I- I'm- I..." You're pacing his office now, the heavy gaze of your Captain upon you as you try to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. The thing is, you're usually good with pressure- really good. It's your job to be good. It's just... this is different. This is your life, your livelihood at stake, the livelihood of all your future generations to come.
A sigh resounds throughout the office before you hear the low timbre of his voice. "Dove," he calls out with a gentle tone, "I want you to take a deep breath for me. Alright?" With the calm and even sound of your Captain's voice and the assured look on his face, you comply. Exhaling the last of your breath, you close your eyes and focus in on the deep intake of air through your nose. With the parting of your lips you slowly release it before giving yourself a moment.
When you open your eyes he gestures to the seat before his desk, though you know he won't take offense if you decline. Hesitant, one hand finds its way to the other, wrapping around your arm as you listen to him speak. "Now, can you explain what has you in this state? I assure you that there's nothing that can't be dealt with." You want to trust him, you know him--John Price--your Captain. He's always had your back, always made sure you felt comfortable in the Taskforce, always made an effort to check on you after things got rough.
You nod. Licking your lips, you search his blue eyes as you tentatively take the seat across him.
"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it, alright? I can guarantee you that unless you're trying to tell me you're an Omega, nothing you say is going to shock me that warrants the amount of panic you're putting yourself through," Price chuckles. He's obviously joking, trying to break the tension with humor. Lips drawn upward into a small smile, the Captain stares at you expectantly.
"What if I am?" You whisper, eyes unable to tear from his visage as you try and gauge his reaction. Unexpectedly, silence fills the space between you and feels deafening in the small space. The growing comfort of his office these couple of months now feels like a cage you're forced to stay in, under watch, as you stare down your superior on the brink of a battle to the death. And that's what you do. His blue eyes bore into yours, skeptically shifting between your left and right as he seems to try and get a read on you.
All of the sudden you jump at the smack of his hands hitting the desk in front of him. He laughs at you.
He's laughing at you.
And you're sitting there with your guts spilled out, dread eating away at the pit in your stomach... and he's laughing. It feels like forever is passing you by as you stare at him in shock, this moment between the two of you frozen in time as nothing else persists.
"I understand what this was now," Price explains, still chuckling to himself as he shakes his head. There's a warm smile on his face that feels eerie considering the dire context of the situation at hand. "You got me! I fully believed you for a second there, too."
Eyebrows furrowing in dark realization, you can't help but stare at him wildly. "Wha-" You begin to question him and his line of thinking, but he cuts you off.
"This was all a prank, right? The bottle, the hysterics- you really outdid yourself, Sergeant." Leaning back in his chair, he props his ankle up on his other knee. "Because let me tell you, this was good. Better than anything Soap's cooked up in awhile. Did you come up with it yourself?" There's a cheeky grin on his lips. "Ah, I know you did."
Lips opening and closing like a fish out of water, you sit in the armchair across from him pale with a dazed look across your face. He doesn't actually think that this was...
"Well, with your little triumph in your pocket, I say we get back to work, yeah? I've got some new leads from MI6 that've just popped in." With that, the man stands from his desk and rounds it. "Garrick should be back around Tea. I'll see you in the Command Station then," he informs you. It's then that he passes by, a genial clap on your shoulder while he's at it.
Left stunned in silence, you can't help but grit your teeth, consequentially pronouncing your jaw as anger ebbs through your bloodstream. Breath getting heavier, you can't help but loathe the meeting tonight. Your Captain might be satisfied with the conversation, but all you feel is discouraged. He's abandoned you, left you alone in his office with a humiliating sense of betrayal and shattered trust. Almost like you hadn't just told him your biggest secret at all.
Punching the standard heavy punching bag hanging in front of you, you grunt, ignoring the pain that gnaws at your knuckles underneath the reusable hand wraps. Sweat builds on your brow as you continue to unleash your pent up anger on the gym’s equipment. How could he?! When had you ever pulled anything even similar to this? Never! And the fact that you’ve only been on the team for a handful of months only exacerbates the abandonment you’re feeling right now. He’s your Captain! Regardless of your feelings or the situation at hand, isn’t he supposed to be there for you? He’d promised from the get go to help you with whatever you need, and now the one time you go to him for aid it backfires in your face and leaves you without any sort of solution going forward aside from straight up telling the whole team the flat out truth, and God forbid! You can’t even begin to fathom how that’d go.
A pent up and frustrated yell almost akin to something of a growl emanates from you as you tear into another round of swift jabs and punches. Regardless of the situation at hand, you’ve been trying to build up your upper body’s strength and letting out the anger you’d accumulated over this morning’s events seemed like a perfect opportunity to let loose.
The stretches and treadmill routine didn’t take a lot out of you, but the weights, and now the punching bag definitely is starting to take its toll. Sweat beads at your forehead in rivulets that drip down the sides of your neck, down your scalp past your neck and between your shoulder blades. Tank top soaked in sweat, you breathe hard as your heart pumps rapidly in your chest. You would’ve wound up here at some point or another tonight, but the Captain’s discourteous response certainly led to an earlier workout time.
While others sparsely litter the gym’s floor, you pay them no mind and vice versa. It’s not uncommon for soldiers to be found blowing off steam or aiming to beat their highest reps on the weights. Yet, this gym is reserved for higher standing members of the Force, the gym on the far side of the base where there are less people, offices, and considering the regular army men train in the bigger gym closer to their quarters, it’s mostly other higher ranked officers in here.
“Captain’s lookin’ for ya,” Markowski, another Sergeant that you’d come to befriend on base announces from the doorway, having poked his head in after leaving a few minutes earlier. He belongs to a different Task Force.
A groan tumbles out of you as you realize it’s already that time. Just as the door clicks shut, your phone chimes loudly with the alarm you’d set earlier going off. A few quick swipes of your fingers, you turn the alarm off and unlock the device, seeing a number of messages flood your notifications.
Kyle: You hear they’ve bumped up the timeline? 😯
Johnny: “ https://Tiktok/Shattered.Rat567 ” Had me rollin’ 🤣👏🏻 Gotta check it, Bonnie
Simon: You coming to the meeting or not? 🤨
Johnny: Where r u? You’re usually first here 👀 Cap’s getting peeved, watch out
Not looking forward to the inevitable mess of a meeting before you, you don’t bother rushing to join the men. With a wash of your face in the women’s locker room, a speedy bathroom break, and a grab of the items you’d brought with you, you’re heading for the Command Station.
With the time Price set the meeting, you won't get to eat dinner till afterward. You'd be lying if you said you weren't annoyed by this entire situation, your agitation from neglecting your hunger earlier has certainly come to bite you in the backside.
While you don’t have time to respond to their texts, having set the alarm with only enough time to get back to your team’s Command ‘station’ albeit more like your headquarters before heading out. Speed-walking through the orderly halls with a haste perfectly common around here, you navigate with a well practiced knowledge. Though you’ve only been here coming up on six months soon, you’re well acquainted with this part of the base.
Rounding the corner, you’re in the hall, close. Yet, the worry of being late lingers in the back of your mind and adds another layer of annoyance on top of your residual anger buried deep down from this morning’s situation. You’d inevitably come up with your solution. It’s not one you like… but it’s the only logical option. Another turn and you’re striding into the big garage-like room.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Sergeant,” Price calls out to you. Lifting his eyes from the map laid out across your station's table, he glares in your direction.
“What took you so long?” Soap snaps, his brows slightly furrowed as he stares at you from the opposite side of the table, hands lazily wrapped around his vest’s straps.
A look at your watch tells you that you’re not even late, the meeting doesn’t officially start for another minute! But you are usually waiting on them. He’s got you there.
“Yeah, you’re usually the first one here. It’s not like you,” Gaz whispers under his breath as you sidle up alongside Ghost, Gaz standing diagonal to you right beside Price at the head of the table.
“Focus,” Ghost orders the men, his hands tucked in his hoodie’s pocket. You don’t fail to notice the way he subtly takes a step further away from you as soon as they start talking again. Price goes back to talking plans as Gaz is questioning the circumstances of the information the Captain had acquired earlier when he’d had to leave the office.
“Which is exactly why-”
A heavy exhale on your behalf leaves the men frozen as their eyes drift back to you. “Do you have something you’d like to say, Panther?” The Captain questions. Jaw clenched, you tear your eyes from the map they’d settled on.
“We’ve got a big problem,” you announce, cutting off the Captain as you finally raise your gaze to meet Price’s slightly widened blue eyes.
“Well, if you see something that needs changin’ then let’s hear it,” he responds. A ‘hmph’ follows as he crosses his arms over his chest and sits his weight back onto his heels.
“It’s not about the op,” you correct him. Tilting your head side to side you attempt to crack the kinks in your neck while standing a little straighter to appear more engaged and serious.
“And it’s more important than this? What we’re doin’ right now?” Soap questions, his hands dropping to rest on the table as he looms over it, eyeing you with frustration obvious in his irises.
“What is it?” Gaz asks, a quirk of his eyebrow garnering your attention for a split-second. He’s genuinely asking, and there doesn’t seem to be a hostility in his scent as he turns his attention to you. Then there’s Ghost, who you don’t even need to look at to feel his heavy gaze on you, waiting expectantly.
“Actually, it is,” you argue with Soap, anger beginning to boil in your belly, the frustration and angst having been left to simmer all afternoon. “I can’t believe you didn’t take me seriously when I came to you earlier,” you turn your anger on Price. He looks taken aback by the outburst, something you’re not known for.
“Dove,” he calls calmly, hands out in an attempt to pacify.
“Don’t-” you bark, starting to raise your voice without realizing it. “I came to you in confidance! Trusting you when you said you’d be there to help me if I ever needed it! How could you?” Gritting your teeth, you don’t realize how hard you’re breathing as your chest heaves with anger.
“Woah, woah-” Gaz sputters, “What-” holding his hands out to try and diffuse the argument.
“I let myself be vulnerable-” You continue to shout.
“Isn’t this something that shoul-” Soap attempts to dissuade, backing down as he puts his hands out.
“-and tell you the truth, and-” you’re lunging for him across the table. You’re held back by a massive hand on your shoulder. “You laugh in my face?! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
You're suddenly pulled back, off your feet, and shoved into a metal chair that'd been nearby. Your Lieutenant is hovering over you, his cold eyes now tinged with a spark of anger as they bore into you scrutinizingly. There's the sound of commotion behind him, multiple voices overlapping, yet you can't see anything with that utter giant in front of you!
“Does anyone wanna explain what the bloody hell is goin’ on here?” Ghost snaps. It's only then when the man steps aside that you can see where everyone is. With both of you in your respective corners, you simply glare at the Captain from over your crossed arms out in front of you.
“Are you bleedin’ kidding me, ya Scally?” Price grunts as he shrugs Gaz’ hand off his shoulder. “You’re still on about it! When w-"
"That doesn't explain what happened, Cap," Gaz interrupts, stopping him from going off and getting them nowhere.
He groans, running a hand over his face once more before composing himself. Everyone waits for an explanation—you too—he’d been the first to speak, and you’re curious to hear what he comes up with. “She came into my office, bloody cryin’, tossing me a pill bottle, muttering about, saying she’s a-”
You don’t dare let him finish, not wanting him to be the one to finally say it, exposing your truth to the team. "Omega. I’m an Omega, ” you finish his sentence. While you’re scared to meet their faces, you take a deep breath and force yourself to do so.
"Christ," Price curses, fingers coming up to pinch the skin between his brows as he hangs his head.
Ghost's stoicism is nothing unordinary, and in fact, is somewhat a comfort considering you'd expected nothing less from him.
Gaz looks stunned for a moment, eyes flitting about the other’s faces before the serious look on his face morphs. Lips slowly drawing upward, you shouldn’t be surprised when he starts laughing. "Yeah right," Garrick teases, "and I'm actually the Prime Minister."
Yet, it's not just him. The uproarious laughter from your right only adds fuel to the already burning flame as the two other Sergeants laugh like idiots. All as if it's some poor joke with no consequences to anyone's life, and yet... it's the truth. At the end of the day, it doesn't change anything. At the end of the day, your life is still in jeopardy and they're treating it like some joke. Unable to form any sort of retort, you simply blink; stuck in a stupor raw, stung, and with a dumb look on your face.
Soap, rounding the table slaps Gaz on the back, his face flushed red from laughing so hard. "Yer makin' my stomach hurt. God," he eggs the other on between his dying chuckles and attempting to catch his breath.
"You're really just gonna stand there and laugh?!" You finally burst. Anger surely must be coming off your scent in waves, but you don't care. Standing from the chair, you don't flinch as Ghost swipes his arm out in front of you in case you were going for the Captain again. There will be no physical altercation on his watch.
"She already pulled this on me earlier, mind you, and now what? You're trying to pull it over on the lads' too, eh?" Price goads you.
"And I was telling the truth! You're the one who said I was joking," you point out. The volume of your voice is lost on you, partially blinded by the fury bleeding out.
"I suppose you never did admit to it being a prank," Price reasons, fingers grazing his beard as he runs them over it repeatedly in thought. "But how do you expect us to believe that when you clearly smell of a Beta?"
"Even on the battlefield, after everything we've been through-" Gaz starts.
"After yer all sweaty from a workout, too. I think we'd notice, Pan," Johnny argues, illuminating a legitimate point of consideration.
"Oh please," you mutter quietly to yourself. Shaking your head, you can't believe they're really all being this daft right now. "Like you have heard of those Scent Spritzers.”
There are various perfumes on the market specifically designed to alter one’s scent. Most use it smell like an Alpha when they’re not, or an Omega when they’re wanting to seduce an Alpha when going out. But Omegas posing as Betas was rarely heard of. You’re more than sure it happens more frequently than people know of, they just haven’t been caught. And in your line of work? It’s scarce. People are thoroughly vetted, but… you’d been on suppressants for a long, long time. And a Beta perfume only perfected your hiding.
“Did you forget we’re Alphas, love? We’d be able to smell you across the room if you were,” Gaz taunts. There’s a puff of his chest that makes his cockiness even more annoying than usual.
"You really want to be an Omega? Dumb yourself down to some weak fragile thing?” Johnny jokes, nudging Gaz’ arm as he shakes his head.
“A doll who can get whoever she wants? Want to be nothing more than good for knockin' up and popping out pups?” Gaz adds on.
“Are you serious right now?” You test, seething under your skin as your hands ball up into fists. “How could you say that?!”
“It’s what people say,” Ghost comments.
“Nobody would want that and you’re out here lying about it,” Johnny pokes.
“We’re only trying to point out the flaws in your little rouse, Pan,” Gaz says, a smile lighting up his features as he crosses his arms over his chest.
"And what if I was lying, hm? Would that change anything you just said to me? How you feel about Omegas?" You scoff.
“This isn’t about your designation,” Price finally speaks. Fingers still weaved into his beard, his blue eyes lift to meet yours. “I see what this is about now, but there's nothin' to worry about, Dove.” Your Captain takes on a softer tone and all of the sudden you feel yourself start to get emotional as a twinge of sadness, of the hurt bleeding through upon understanding makes you feel seen.
“I know it's intimidating, the thought of having your first unmedicated heat, but we have medics here. It's natural. Heats, ruts, we all have them. And, hey... at least you're not an Omega, right?" Whatever relief you’d momentarily experienced sinks back down in your gut with the speed of a rollercoaster drop. It’s as silent as a stakeout, the only sound being people’s breathing. And the lack of yours.
It takes a moment to gather yourself, everyone’s eyes on you with the serious topic change. While sex and the downsides to a designation are something discussed with the boys, you’d often been left out. And to your comfort. "You know what? I can’t do this,” you retort. Backing from the group, you toss your hands up. “I guess you'll just have to wait and see," you bite back. With a whip of your hair over your shoulder, you head for the door.
The room is silent once more as everyone gawks. You’d never reacted in such a manner, had an outburst like that… this is… certainly different, and something they’re not at all used to.
“It’s because they took away her suppressants today,” Price explains. It might not have been something the group should be privileged to know. A private matter, really… but with the way you acted? He felt the men deserve an explanation, at least.
“That makes sense,” Gaz responds quietly, eyes still on the door you’d gone through.
“That’s no excuse,” Johnny counters, arms crossing over his chest with a scowl on his lips.
"Well... that went better than I thought,” Ghost comments with a shrug. “Back to the plan? We can fill her in later.”
My take on ghost x food insecurity reader. Plus anxiety. The whole can't do it for myself, but someone else needs the thing. Suddenly, I'm superhuman.
Retired ghost whose therapist told him to talk to at least one person a day, only the phone tower is down, so he can't call any of the boys like normal, and he doesn't know anyone who lives nearby.
Ghost who views self-care as missions. He is not about to fail a mission. So he does what he has seen in movies and "makes too much food" to have a reason to talk to the neighbor that he saw when he first moved in.
Only when the neighbor opens the door, they look like they have lost 40 pounds since the last time he saw them. Only when they open the door, their eyes never meet his. A flicker of an emotion he can't name but recognizes from his own youth passes over his neighbor's face.
He leaves after having his daily conversation and giving them the container of food with a whole new mission. He knows from experience that even if someone is starving, they'll deny help, seeing it as pity. So the next day, he goes to IKEA and buys a bedframe. Atrocious and too complicated for his taste, but whatever serves its purpose. He may or may not have hidden some pieces to make it harder to put together.
He knocks on the neighbor's door, doing his best to act embarrassed, explaining that he needs someone with a gentler touch to try to put it together because military instructions are much different, and that he'll treat them to dinner as thanks. He manages to stretch the bed thing for three days. Feeding his neighbor and sending them home with his suspiciously new-looking Tupperware.
Then he needed help with furniture in the living room. Before long, his once bare apartment is fully furnished, and he's having the neighbor pick out decorations lest his friends tease him when they visit. Then he simply can't figure out this recipe. Could you help him? Oh, it's meant for a family meal. Here, take a few containers home? Oh, you want to thank me. How about you make this (high-end food) for me? Of course, I'll supply the ingredients, just come over after you get off work tomorrow.
Now, Neighbor and Ghost have dinner at his house together every day. Ghost makes sure the neighbor gets plenty of nutrients and nice foods. Ghost realizes one day that he's living in a home instead of a crash pad with a beautiful person in his kitchen, and he just blue screens because what? The? Hell? Did? He? Do?
They seem content with the situation, even happy. They never questioned his mask or anything. He had been viewing this as a mission, and suddenly, he was too close to the sun.
Then the neighbor falls asleep on his couch. Since when did he have a fancy couch? He leans down to wake them up, but he feels the heat through their clothes as he touches their shoulder. They are delirious when he wakes them, but he manages to get them to drink some water and take some cold meds. He ends up taking them to his bedroom and putting them in the bed.
He hovers all night, checking on their fever and staring around his house, his home. He's never had a home. Not like this. Not something his own that's not at risk 24/7. He needed his neighbor. This was because of his neighbor.
The next morning, when you are crying, missing work and bills, while actively throwing up. He curses, then offers to pay, then fumbles when he realizes how that sounds. Before blurting out that it was just because he didn't want you to feel pressured to move in with him. Fumbles again, realizing he didn't get the chance to offer, and promptly facepalms.
But his neighbor smiles for the first time since getting sick and goes, "I'd like that too." You spend the next week too sick to take care of yourself and just never leave.
Simon sends a picture of a ring in his hand, you cooking with your back to him in the background, to the 141 group chat, followed by "Is it too soon?" Not a single one of them knows who you are. This results in them preparing an intervention because What? The? Hell? Did? He? Do? Is this person using him? He has an impressive retirement.
Soap managed to get a plane ticket first and heads to where he knows Ghost lives. He's alarmed when you open the door. Even more so when you recognize him. "Oh, you must be Johnny! Simon will be so happy to see you! He's on a grocery run, but come in." Then you lead him to the couch. Since when does Ghost believe in couches? Soap can't help but look around. He sees pictures on the wall of him and the team. You sit down in what's clearly your spot on the end of the couch, like you've always been there, and start telling him about how well Simon is doing. How He's been going to every therapy session and took up cooking as a hobby, and started different little self-improvement goals each week. You seem so proud. Soap is just flabbergasted because you seem nice enough, but how did you even meet Ghost? He grills Simon about it while you're cooking dinner.
He can't say if that's a particularly healthy relationship, so dependent on each other, but you're both taking better care of yourselves and each other together than if you were apart. He reports his findings to the others who are getting on their respective flights.
imagine joining the 141 and you’re basically Domino from Deadpool 2. They have seen you escape death by the skin of your teeth with a smile on your face and a happy ‘whoop’.
Soap has quite literally watched a bullet fly past your ear, not even nicking it, just for you to twirl and land a perfect headshot
