Ghost: Rode my bike and slept in an alleyway behind a bar.
Gaz: Checks out... (leaves the room)
Ghost: ...
Ghost: Want to know what I really did?
Soap: (immediately interested)
Soap: Yeah!
Ghost: (pulls out his phone)
Ghost: (shows picture of him having someone cuddled up next to him, both under a blanket, two switches in hand, both on the Stardew Valley logo screen)
Soap: (his smile falls immediately)
Soap: Wh—
Ghost: I played Stardew Valley with the missus.
Soap: The mi—?!
Ghost: Planted crops, went to the mines...
Ghost: (swipes through more pictures of them playing)
Soap: (stunned silence)
Ghost: Upgraded the house for the missus, made some town friends... (screenshots of more gameplay)
Soap: Wait—
Ghost: Even fishing. (shows a picture of him catching a legendary fish)
Ghost: The missus doesn't like fishing. (clicks his tongue) Caught them all though. (nods to himself)
Ghost: (smirks) Want to know why I'm telling you this?
Soap: (still stunned, but nods)
Ghost: Because nobody will believe you.
Ghost: (starts deleting all pictures in front of Soap)
Simon can’t see. Well he can but barely. It’s a miracle he can hit a target or even make it into the military in the first place.
He usually wore contacts first time you see his glasses sitting on his desk, you put them on and immediately get a headache. “Christ Simon, what is wrong with you?” You groan as you set them back down, rubbing at your temples.
Simon turns to look and his face immediately drops when he sees you put the glasses down. “You…y’think something’s wrong with me?” He asks quietly, clearing his throat quickly. “They’re my glasses, that’s all.” He huffs and tries to play it off but his tone made you stop, eyes meeting his. His body language made the 6’3 man look so tiny, so hurt. He looks down at the glasses then back at you before grabbing them off the desk and carelessly shoving them into a drawer.
“I ain’t got nothin’ wrong with me.”
“Si, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Doesn’t matter. Get out, I got shit t’do.” And with that he pushes you out of his room before slamming the door in your face. You stand there feeling a mix of guilt and mild annoyance. Meanwhile Simon was standing on the other side trying to fight back tears. He hated his glasses. Always had, growing up being teased for them wasn’t easy and now the only person whose approval he actually craved was asking if something was wrong with him? He was overthinking the whole thing, of course, but he was too paranoid to realize it. He assumed you really thought something was wrong and now you saw him the same way everyone else did. Flawed.
You try to talk to him over the next few days but he just stays silent, visibly deflating a little whenever you walked into the room. It was getting to a point where you were open getting on your knees and begging for forgiveness for whatever you did wrong. So you show up at his door and bang on it a few times.
You’re about to knock another time when he opens it, stiffening up as he looks down at you through the lenses. “What are y’doing here?” He asks gruffly, scrunching his nose to push them back up as they slid down his nose. Cute.
“I came to apologize. I didn’t mean to upset you and I’m sorry. I don’t think anything’s wrong with you, just wasn’t expecting the prescription to be so strong.”
“Yeah,” he shifts his weight awkwardly and for a moment you see him as a timid child just wanting to get out of this situation. “Come in.” He shuts the door behind you, adjusting his glasses again before telling you everything. The bullying, the jokes from his own family, how he finally felt safe with you but then what you said brought everything back.
“M’not mad at ya.” He shakes his head, forehead creasing as his brows knit together. “Was just hurt I guess.”
You nod and remain quiet for a few moments before closing the distance and hugging him. His body relaxes and he slowly hugs you back, only a little uncomfortable. “I like your glasses. They’re a bit impractical in the field and whatnot but they look good on you. Nothing to be ashamed of and again I’m really sorry.”
“Whatever. Don’t speak a word of this t’anyone, got it?”
simon ghost riley cleaning his guns on a late evening when the sun is dying behind the cityscape, veins flexing, scarred fingers careful but firm, dragging the mag out of his favourite handgun, a glock 17, and when he pushes in two thick fingers into the chamber to check it, you try not to combust (and fail) (he notices).
Summary: GOD MY MAN, MY LOVE, MY COWBOY… I'm going to fuck him hard, being the partner of this wild man.
Type: Romantic, Headcanon
Warning: Some NSFW, flirting, serious moments
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I think…I have a serious problem with older men 💔
Meeting you wasn't a coincidence. You were probably a civilian contact who helped Los Vaqueros, a tenacious journalist investigating a cartel, or even a colleague from another agency.
At first, he was protective and professionally distant. His work is dangerous, and he didn't want to drag you into it. But your courage, your intelligence, or your simple, persistent humanity melted him.
Rudy was the first to notice. He flashed smug smiles whenever Alejandro talked about you, until Ale finally admitted his feelings.
Alejandro loves having the back of his neck gently scratched as he falls asleep. It's a sensitive spot only you know about.
In Public/With Los Vaqueros: He's your Colonel Vargas. Firm voice, impeccable posture, a born leader. He gives you brief but intense looks, full of pride. He calls you by discreet nicknames like "my life" or "darling," but his tone is gentle and respectful.
In private, he transforms. The tension in his shoulders melts away. His laughter is more frequent and carefree. He's affectionate and physical, wrapping you in hugs from behind while you cook or playfully twirling your hair while watching a movie. Here, he's simply "Ale."
After the worst missions, the ones that leave a void in your eyes, he doesn't search for words.
He finds your hand and holds it firmly, sometimes for hours. It's in those silences that he needs you most, and you learn to read the weight of his head on your shoulders, the depth of his sigh.
Checking the locks isn't paranoia; it's a silent prayer for your safety. When he teaches you self-defense, his hands on yours to correct your stance are firm, but his voice is unusually soft. "Here, on the throat or the groin. Don't hesitate. Come back to me," he tells you, and in his eyes you see a soldier's greatest fear: not being able to be in two places at once.
He's not the snarling wolf, but the eagle pointing to its nest with a glance. When he comes close and his arm encircles you, it's not a chain, it's a living shield made of warmth and trust. At home, he teases you with a kiss on your temple: "Another one who surrendered to my treasure." She knows that what they have—the complicity in the kitchen, the quiet mornings—is an impregnable fortress that no one else could build.
Before leaving, without saying where, she leaves small letters or notes hidden away. One in the coffee jar ("So you'll remember me in the morning"), another in the car's glove compartment. They aren't goodbyes, they're promises to return.
However, he always respects you: In private, he jokes, "Looks like you had an admirer today," but he trusts you completely. He knows that no one could compete with what you two have.
Mornings are sacred. He's an early riser, but he stays in bed a few extra minutes to watch you sleep.
He drags you along to exercise with him, but it turns into a laugh session rather than a serious workout.
Beneath that serious exterior lies a dry and endearing sense of humor. He'll leave you notes with absurd tactical drawings or call you "soldier" when he asks you to fetch something. In the gym, if you laugh during exercises, he loses his temper and the session ends in a tickle war where the colonel is defeated without remorse.
He loves cooking together, especially traditional Mexican food. He teaches you his family's recipes, their "best-kept secrets."
At night, your head in his lap is his favorite place. While you read or watch TV, he strokes your hair and talks softly about everything and nothing.
Rudy is like your favorite brother-in-law. He plays pranks on both of you, but he's your greatest ally and the one who gives Alejandro a lecture about "making her happy or facing me."
At Los Vaqueros base, you're not a visitor; you're part of the ecosystem. The soldiers greet you with a genuine "Good morning, ma'am." They know that when you're around, "Colonel Vargas" fades a little, giving way to Alejandro, the man who smiles more easily and whose gaze softens. You're their human resupply point, their safe haven behind the lines. Rudy once summed it up: "You're the mission he'd fight for the hardest, because you're the one that reminds him why it's worth giving up the fight."
on my period and thinking and how husband!john price would be the type of man to indulge his gorgeous woman in retail therapy during this time of the month. (also thank you all for 800 followers, i'm so grateful for every single one of you and it makes my heart swell to know that you guys enjoy my blog & my writing ♡)
husband!john who takes you to victoria's secret on your period because he knows it's your favorite store. he sees the way you go to the mail and save the coupons they send you for later.
husband!john who furrows his eyebrows in frustration when you look up at him and ask, "how much can i spend?" with your pretty doe eyes. he scoffs at the question and dismisses it with a, "spend as much as you want, pretty girl" and a kiss on your cheek.
husband!john who surprisingly doesn't feel out of place at vs like most guys with their women. he thinks to himself that men like that are not men but little boys, immature and pathetic. he's by your side the whole time throughout the store, a hand on the small of your back as you look around. he thinks you'd look good in everything and voices his opinion about what would look good on you, but he lets you take the lead.
husband!john who licks his lips when you finally pick up the first thing you want: a blush pink babydoll nightgown. lace adorns the neckline, and all john can think about is seeing you in it and then right after stripping it off your body. when you ask him, "how is this?" all he can manage is an approving nod, a palm sliding down from his nose to his beard, scratching it to control his urge to take you right then and there.
husband!john who lets you scour the store without the need to carry any of the things you're about to buy, that's what he is here for anyway. you're already on your period and he needs you to be as comfortable as possible. when you offer a hand to carry the bag, he shakes his head, "i got it, baby. just keep shopping, okay?"
husband!john who sees the worry in your eyes at the register when you look at the total. you know that john lets you spend as much as your heart desires, but you always feel a little guilty. you're even more guilty because of your hormones so you tug the end of his shirt's sleeve and offer to put some things back to cut the total down a little but he shakes his head reassures you, "if my money isn't being spent on you, then consider it a waste." he holds your hand and squeezes it three times for "i love you" as he slides his card into the reader.
husband!john who drives to a food place after the shopping trip because he knows how dizzy shopping makes you sometimes and now your endless cravings add on to it. he feeds you with one hand while rubbing your stomach with the other, making sure that like always, you're as comfortable as possible.
(i literally love vs and i CANNOT WAIT to drain my man's bank account with weekly shopping trips because of it MWAHAHA)
A/n: So I'm back. Not for very long due to lack motivation. I feel like this episode is kinda repetitive with the words. This came to me while listening to the bridge of "Die with a Smile" and i just imagined the scene where you two reunite to be on the bridge. Very edit worthy scenarios. This is kinda a mini fic. School ends this week and lucky me, my birthday is the weekend.
It's said that when a person dies, they have seven minutes left when their brain is still active for one last time, flashing before them memories of when they were their happiest.
In a moment of acceptance came a will to refuse, and Simon felt the numbness after what seemed like an endless burning heat of hell.
It seemed like he was in a haze with the look in his eyes reflecting the burning building around him as he remained unable to move.
~
“Breathe, love. Just breathe with me,” he murmured, kneeling beside the bed, one hand wrapped around yours, the other smoothing damp hair from your face. His voice trembled even as he tried to be steady, calm—for you. But fear and awe danced in his eyes as he watched the woman he loved battle pain for the life they’d created.
The midwife was focused and firm, her voice cutting through the haze. “You’re almost there. One more push, sweetheart. One more.”
You shook your head at first, gasping, your body exhausted, bones trembling. Tears welled in your eyes. “I can’t— I can’t do it.”
The next hour was the most excruciating for you, but it was all worth it after getting to hold your child. On the other hand, your husband was struggling to process that he finally gets to hold his little one.
~
"Adadadada— dadada... mmmm" The baby stimming herself by calling Simon over and over, "Yes, bee?" he responded with a chuckle.
He'd never be tired of her sweet little voice, the little yawns accompanying her babbling. She giggled her little heart out as he rested for the night. There was no other way to sleep comfortably when home with his family.
~
"Daddy, don't leave yet, please? Mommy and I will miss you," His daughter sniffled..
"I wish I didn't have to, princess, but you understand why daddy has to work, right? So I can give you and mommy everything you've ever wanted and needed."
"But daddy.. we need you too.." she cried.
Simon's eyes darted to the fridge and the colorful magnets that displayed the pictures, the drawings.
From the moment she was born, until now.. until the end of time, he knows deep in his heart that she'll need him. They'll need him.
How could he ever have left this behind?
Just for a second, that's all it took for Ghost... well, Simon Riley to realize.
He still has a family, imagining your reaction, what about his daughter? And yet here he was..
Then, nothing...
Waking up to the scent of medication and the ache in his body was a feeling he had become accustomed to—a strange kind of nostalgia he wished he could avoid, but found himself reliving time and time again.
He was used to the medical attention at this point, nurses and doctors checking every hour until it was visiting hour. Price came in.
"You've been out for two weeks, lieutenant. Wife's been calling me none-stop since the day I informed her of your state"
Price understood the importance of stepping aside when Simon demanded to be booked on the earliest flight home. After all, nothing comes between man and his family.
...
Simon didn't care if his feet burned, the sharp pain in his ribs meant nothing but seeing you bolting towards him at that shitty airport squeezed his heart dry.
You held your daughter in your arms, not caring all that much who you bumped into after weeks of waiting for news on your husband. All that went through your head was "What if he died? What then?".
After receiving that call from Price, which he knew made you mad, he didn't call you until the last minute, when your husband's flight was already landing. You just rushed there, not caring if you were in your sweatpants or unbrushed hair, just held by a claw clip.
His world froze as he ran.. the sheer force of the two of you colliding in an embrace was almost enough to set you both off balance. Simon groaned, "Shit.." you apologized to him as you tried to pull you away but his grip just tightened..
"Si.." your voice cracked, "You stupid bastard, can't believe you'd just.. ugh.." you couldn't help yourself, the tears just made their way out into a sob.
Simon felt your hand pounding on his chest, his little girl crying with you, cherub face buried in her own pudgy hands.
This needs to end— family is the only support he has left, and he's causing them pain, constantly worrying them and leaving them to fend for themselves. He can't care for them the way he truly wants if he stays out of reach.
He has a fucking family, he's not have a proper one all his life and he almost died, he almost left them..
He hasn't lived a good life yet.
Maybe now is the time to finally, actually, be happy—the happiness he was deprived of all his life.
Price:
You probably won’t be able to get full matching fits with this man, but he’ll at least match colors. If you’re going to work with a brown jacket, so is he. Your jeans are blue? No way, so are his. What a coincidence. He’s not a flashy guy, so he’s not going to make a big deal out of it, but his subtlety is cute in its own right because he’s still putting in the effort. He waits until you’re dressed every morning before he picks out his outfit for the day.
Gaz:
Would twin with you whenever you like, especially date nights! Tops, bottoms, accessories, shoes — everything. He’ll go out of his way to plan your outfits ahead of time to make sure he gets every little detail perfect. Even if you’re not seeing each other all day, he’ll text you a picture of what he’s wearing or ask you to do the same so you can match. The only exception is if he’s on op, of course.
Soap:
This man is a jeans and tee-shirts kinda guy. A few hoodies grace his wardrobe, some gymwear, but nothing all that interesting. That being said, if you're out at the mall one day and he just so happens to see a set of matching rings, necklaces, bracelets... C'mon. You gotta get one, it's the least you can do as a couple-- aaaaaaand he bought all of them. The ones that look like dog tags, the minecraft mob ones, the fried eggs and bacon shaped one, the rose and daisy, the sword and axe -- every single one on the rack. Okay, and maybe one of those "I'm with stupid" and "I'm stupid" shirt sets.
Ghost:
He can't be assed to buy new clothes for himself. He will use the jame three shirts, jeans, cargos until there's holes in them and probably just sloppily sew them up himself. That being said, he has no issue with you buying clothes for him. He feels guilty for taking your money like that early in the reationship, but after a very long time of you assuring that you're more than happy to care for him in this way, he stops pressing the issue. He acts like he doesn't notice how similar his wardrobe becomes to yours. other than his usual navy blues and blacks for work clothes, his daily wear becomes almost identical to your preferred colorscheme. And if you wanna pick his outfits for him every morning? Who is he to deny his love such a simple pleasure?
