notathingjustthere

[notathingjustthere]

Zombie Task force 141 x immune!Reader head cannons

Warnings: possible gore (We are talking about zombies here), corpses, Language (Cussing), sfw (I am a minor), fluff, Reader is gender neutral.

Context/backstory: The zombie apocalypse started few months ago. You were just a citizen, but not just any citizen, you were one of the very few who were immune to the Virus. You were being hunted by people who wanted to you use to find the cure to the virus, but that meant the cost of your life. There had to be a better way to get the cure. Right? Lasswell later found you, she was one of the very few soldiers left unaffected in the British military. Lasswell needed your help. The whole task force was infected but by down miracle can still work. They just need someone to keep them grounded. Someone human who could take few bite or scratches. But you had no military experience, you only somewhat knew how to use a pistol and a knife thanks to the apocalypse. You were currently being escorted to an old run down base by two masked soldiers who were infected as well. You could tell by how they made groans and gurgling sounds and couldn’t take their eyes off you . You could’ve sworn you saw drool drip down from their masks. You could already see the silhouette of the task force. They have been waiting for you.

Soap: Soap was the most unstable of the group. As much as he didn’t want to bite or hurt you there has been a few close calls. Especially if you drew blood. You always kept your skin covered as much as you could around Soap. You would borrow any of the team’s old oversized uniforms and covered your arms, legs, and neck with it. Soap couldn’t help but be a bit possessive of you. Wither it be because of his urges to eat you or that you’re the only human who ever treated him and the others like people and not monsters. Whenever you were close to other zombie soldiers, Soap would tightly hold your hand the whole time. Price constantly has to remind Soap that you’re capable of taking care of yourself and to stop acting like your body guard 24/7 but he just can’t help himself. Enjoy an over protective, walking Scottish Corpse looming over you.

Ghost: Ghost was the first one of the team to be infected when the virus first broke out. He attempted to cut his jaw off to prevent himself from biting anyone before he turned but it was already too late. Soap found Ghost gurgling and groaning as he was feasting off the remains of another soldier. To Soap’s horror and relief that he also found Ghost…crying? Ghost was still conscious, somewhat at least. The team took him back to get studied and maybe even cured but that wasn’t the case. Ghost had starved himself for weeks, refusing to eat another human being again but when Soap came to check on him. Ghost lost it and bit into Soap. When you first arrived Ghost did his best to distance himself from you. He was already a distant person to begin with but he also didn’t want to hurt you like he did to Soap, despite Soap already have forgiven him multiple times. But you just kept getting closer, somehow breaking down his walls with your affection and that sweet smile of yours. That Damm smile.

Gaz: The last to be infected. He couldn’t bear to leave his team behind, even if they were zombies. Gaz stayed with them as long as he could. Trying to keep the team sane and stop them from eating everything like you are now, but one mission Gaz got bit by an enemy soldier and it was all over. Gaz is the least decomposed compared to the others, he looked the most human. Which meant he’d accompany you when going into places with People. Gaz is a bit more in control than Soap or Ghost but sometimes his mouth can’t help but water being surrounded by people. He wore a balaclava mask to somewhat muffle his senses, but thankfully you were always there to keep him grounded. Gaz tends to silently scowl or snarl when someone gets too close to you. It felt like instinct to him to keep everyone and thing away from you. Even himself sometimes, but it’s hard to when you’re always holding his hand or leaning on him.

Price: The most in control. Price sacrificed himself to save Gaz from a horde of zombies which explained his more mauled looking state compared to the others. He’s the one that bandages you up when you get wounded because the others would either go berserk or drool all over you. He acts the most human and even still smokes from his cigars which looks hilarious because when he exhales smoke will leave every cut or hole in his body. How can he smoke with rotting lungs? We’ll never know. Despite having the most self control, Price can slip up sometimes but it’s very, very rare. One time he was bandaging your bloody wrist up when you look over and see him licking and sucking the blood off your wrist.

Y/N: “Uh, captain?”

Price: “Mmm?”

Y/N: “Your doing the-uh…thing again.”

Price: wha-….Ah fucking hell….

[notathingjustthere]

Which one of ur yanderes take care of you way too much that it's suffocating to you <3333

oh boy.

geto and gojo from the golden girl yan au are suffocating in ways that'd make your sanity wane. separate, they're semi-tolerable. heavy emphasis on semi. geto hides his obsessive tendencies better but gojo barely bothers.

geto's self-aware enough to know you won't appreciate your privacy/autonomy being blatantly violated. he's careful, always gauging your body language to see what he can and can't get away with. he paints himself as the more reasonable one (which gojo finds funny, considering geto's need for control exceeds his). geto eases you into this new reality of their heavy involvement in your life. it's gradual, starting off with him casually asking where you were or who you were with.

the way he phrases and times his questions won't have you thinking twice about offering the information up. should you ever hesitate, your instinct swearing that something's just off, he can handle that too. he'll get quiet, almost solemn. geto professes to knowing it's a bit much and apologizes. the last thing he'd ever want to do is make you uncomfortable, he'll say. you're dear to him and he doesn't know what he'd do if anything happened to you. by the end of the spiel, guilt festers in your chest for doubting his intentions.

then there's gojo.

he's always finding excuses to be in your vicinity, soaking up all your attention like a sponge. from his perspective, there's no point in you talking to anyone besides him, geto, and shoko. nanami and haibara are on thin ice but he can tolerate them, so long as your interactions remain short. gojo ramps up his obnoxiousness to a blinding degree, ensuring yours eyes never wander from him. he's always draping himself over you, cracking jokes, prodding for reactions, or otherwise invading your personal space. shoko made an apt comparison, likening him to a parasite 'that doesn't know when to stop feeding.'

while his fussing over you might seem melodramatic, he's very in tune to your emotions and overall wellbeing. you couldn't hide anything from him if you tried, he knows you like the back of his hand. it never hit how observant he is until he picks up on something troubling you before you were aware of it yourself.

they both see how easily exploitable your kind disposition is. hell, it's how they're able to get away with half the things they do. the world would devour your sweet qualities, spitting out whatever pieces of you remain. certainly, your naïveté could be taken advantage of, but, ironically enough, in 'protecting' you from this, they're participating in what they've set out to prevent. they both kinda know it too. ultimately, their greed outweighs any guilt they might feel for monopolizing your attention.

[notathingjustthere]

being called simon's work wife by johnny is all fun and games til you start spotting the man you've never formally met in the corner of your eye.

imagine being told by a pig-headed superior to make yourself useful and go get him some coffee only to immediately start apologizing, words spilling out of his pathetic mouth like water because your johnny-proclaimed husband's looming right behind you in guard dog mode.

you mumble out a thank you, even though you're not sure what for and he just tugs your name tag.

no one talks to my wife like that.

(forget about trying to clarify that it's work wife, he's got selective hearing.)

i think it's cute til it's not. til you're at a bar, drunk, and he shows up and takes you home. you wake up in a bed that smells of gunpowder and carbolic soap, in a shirt 3x your size and a pair of oversized sweats. when you check your phone, your friend's text reads, your husband is a scary man.

(there's a fucking ring on your finger, too.)

[notathingjustthere]

johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

-

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

-

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

-

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

[notathingjustthere]

The Next of Kin

Summary: Simon needed to update his contact information, as dodgy as he was for giving everyone even a glimpse of his private life, he did so. Who would have ever thought that it would become handy after an injury left him high on painkillers and needy for his girls back home. Character: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Reader. OC Daughter (Cassandra "Cassie" Riley). John Price. Word Count: 1,615 Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Injuries. Drug Consumption. Slight Angst. Mostly fluff.

Masterlist || Request are Open

It was the annual checkup in the base, something that Simon had dreaded the most knowing what it entails. Not only was his current and past injuries being monitored but he was all too certain about the wacky doctor would also make an appearance to check on his mental state. It wasn’t a fun time as any of his other team mates point it out to be.

“Should we update your emergency contact, Lieutenant Riley?” The nurse had inquired dealing with his medical records.

A part of him wanted to say no, but remembering what was waiting for him home, he could not allow himself to break his wife’s heart as well as his own daughter if the time ever comes that he dies in the middle of battle. He would want to ensure if ever that was to happen, you would know and hope that you would move on.

“Yes,” He agreed accepting the clipboard and pen handed to him.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he wrote your name and your number under his emergency contacts.

His handwriting was decent and readable at best, chicken scratch at worst as Johnny had eloquently pointed out during reports. But there was this special care with the way he wrote your first name and his last name that you were more than happy to take as soon as you married all those years ago. Your number was ingrained to his brain as he wrote it, having forced himself to memorize in the event he didn’t have his personal phone with him and simply a burner phone for missions.

What truly took him a second to write was the blank space dedicated to his relationship with you. No one knew he was in a relationship, nor did anyone know about his marriage. It took him a full two minutes before he found himself slowly opening the flood gates of his personal life that he had tried his best to hide from the world.

“Never knew you were married, Lieutenant.”

“Never planned on letting anyone know about it.” He spoke honestly, the cold demeanor and tone enough to stop the conversation from going further about his personal life.

Little did Simon know that the upcoming mission would lead to him having to make use of the emergency contact.

~

When you had begun your relationship with one Simon Riley, you had always accepted that he would always be gone for uncertain amounts of months in a year, you had accepted that part of him. How mission would always mean the world was a little safer from the dangers of man. You accepted all the big and small flaws that came with Simon and even in your eventual marriage and the birth of your daughter, you had come to accept the danger that would come in missions that would place him badly bruised or beaten beyond repair. You would always be there to tend to each and every single wounds and be the shoulder for him to cry on when he was good and ready.

But nothing could have ever prepared you for another unknown call coming from your phone. You’ve always expected it to be your husband, checking up on you before the mission begins like he always does. But the voice of an unknown man was the last thing you would have expected.

He called himself John Price and you know the man from your husband’s few conversations when he talks about the people he works with. You had feared for the worst as soon as he had explained that your husband has just gotten out of surgery after a mission. A few broken bones and a superficial gunshot wound. But it was enough to worry you as Simon himself has been asking for you as soon as he was out of surgery and in lucid consciousness.

On most days you were calm and collected, but it was the panic of seeing the worse of your husband that had you carrying your two year old and a baby bag towards your car with a mission. The Captain had asked if you could possibly have someone come get him but you know no one else better to check up on him but yourself and your daughter that was all the more excited about being in the car.

The travel was rather long and rather tedious knowing you and your husband had agreed to live away from the city and away from any dangers that may come to you and the baby while he was gone. You had appreciated the distance, the peaceful tranquility that came with being away from the bustle and noise of the city but not this time. It had meant a longer journey and a more hectic one since the base was all the way across the other side.

Once you had arrived to the base, all eyes were on you. Many eyes had lingered on you when they heard your last name. You know for a fact that your husband’s name and reputation beholds him, but you never knew nor did you ever try to question to what extent. It unnerved you more was how avoidant everyone had been of you aside from one of the soldiers tasked with bringing you and your daughter to your husband.

Outside the infirmary room was a rugged man. The man exudes an air or control and intensity and rugged strength, but not as much as your husband did. His posture was upright, suggesting discipline and years of military training. Dressed in an all too familiar tactical gear, he gives off a no-nonsense vibe that immediately commands attention.

“Ma’am, my name is John Price.” The man introduced the moment he caught sight of you.

You spoke your name and your daughter that was surprisingly all too mum in the whole situation, you were surprised that she wasn’t crying at being in an unfamiliar environment like she usually was.

“It is best to assume that you two are Simon’s wife and daughter, I presume?” He inquired.

You took a moment to think if it was alright to agree with his statement. Knowing your husband and the array of precaution he had come to give you, you were uncertain if you could trust the man with such a fact.

“Yes.” You spoke, dealing with the consequence later as there was something more important that needed your attention. “How’s he doing?” You inquired wanting to change the subject now.

“Stable. A little loopy from the drugs, but he’ll make a fast recovery.”

You nodded, hesitation of asking if you would be allowed to see him now in his state.

“He was looking for you.” He opened the door for you and you were welcomed with your husband in bed with his mask still on.

“Dada!” Your daughter squealed upon the sight of your husband groggy still.

You watched as his head turned to look at you and your daughter.

“Love…” He grunted wincing at the pain that you were certain that was coming in full force now.

“I’m here, Baby.” You whispered approaching him, cupping his cheeks gently. “Me and Cassie are here.” You assured trying your best to hide the tears that were fighting to fall at the sight of him.

~

When Simon Riley had opened his eyes, the first thing that he had come to notice was the pain that surrounded his entire body. The next thing that he noticed was the warmth that wrapped around his calloused hand.

Turning his head he saw the most beautiful sight that he had the fortune of seeing in his life. His wife and daughter. The more pressing matter was the fact that you were asleep in an all too familiar uncomfortable plastic chair with one hand on him, and your other arm held onto your baby sleeping on your chest.

“Baby…” He grunted harsher than he intended.

Slowly blinking away, your eyes immediately turned down towards your daughter before your eyes met his own.

“How are you holding up?” You inquired immediately, trying your best not to wake your sleeping daughter still cradled snuggly on your chest.

“Like a bitch.” He muttered appreciating being able to swear with his daughter still asleep. “But I’ll live.”

“I’m glad.” You sighed, rubbing his hand tenderly. “I was so worried about you when your boss called me. I thought something worse has happened.” You whispered.

“I didn’t really want to worry you—or have you see me like this.” He muttered.

“I know.” You nodded gently letting go of his hand to cup his cheeks that still was covered with his mask. “But I’m still as glad to be here right now knowing you’re alright. Me and Cassie get to see you’re alright.”

At the mention of your daughter, Simon noticed his daughter begin to get fussy from your chest. Gently pushing himself up until he sat on his bed much to your protest, he took your now crying daughter into his arms, gently laying her onto his chest and how quick she was sated in his warmth.

“Daddy’s here, Angel. I’m here.” He began to whisper, pulling off his balaclava to kiss his daughter onto top of her head. “I’m not going soon for a while. I promise.”

He has yet to tell you about the doctor’s insistence that he takes a few months off. It would be something he would tell when you get home. Once he finishes up with the paper works, he’ll let you know of the good news. For now, all that’s important was he had you and his daughter here with him, even in his most vulnerable state.

[notathingjustthere]

I'm just imagining helping Gaz upgrade the firewalls on the personal tech of the 141, and accidentally catching glimpses of their search history.

Like, it's not like you're actively trying to look. But the program you're updating has to check all of the websites/servers the 141 has been perusing. If anything is compromised you need to know, Laswell needs to be informed, etc.

Despite his name, Soap's history is bar far the dirtiest and most extensive. His searches consist of pretty much everything that a normal weirdo guy would look up. You're able to ignore most of it but you notice he'd cleared part of his browser data at some point and well...you couldn't help yourself. You check and immediately regret it.

public airsoft fuck

gun tongue fucking

military boot cock stepping

You can't bear to see any more so you delete the rest of his search data for him and move on.

Gaz's search history is surprisingly very normal. You almost snort at how much of a difference it is compared to Soap's. You also come to the realization that he probably already cleared and deleted his history. Then you also realize he probably knows you're looking at everyone's history and probably chose to leave these behind. You feel your face grow hot as you glance down the very short list.

best friends bestfriend blowjob

next door neighbor anal

massage porn

You huff and keep going, next is Price. You breathe a sigh of relief, he only has a couple searches and none of them have demeaning expletives in them. You spare them a passing glance.

Paddling adult film

Thigh high models

You raise a brow. Thigh high models, you could understand, but "paddling"? Like...spanking? With a paddle? You swallow thickly and shake your head. The shibari makes you wince too. Figuring out your Captain was into rope bondage and spanking was too much knowledge for one person.

Shibari classes near me

And, just like you'd expected, Ghost had no search history. You breathe a sigh of relief and do a sweep of the rest of his phone. Nothing. No recently viewed caches, cookies, pictures, or anything. The phone was so well taken care of it might as well have been brand new. You went back to the main browsing page, but before you could close out the app, you notice the page has a bookmark. You open up the bookmark tab and low and behold, there's two links. They look shady but you check them out anyway.

The first one is a cam site. The host of the channel is offline, but judging by their many saved livestreams, they're very active. You decide to turn back, but a very specific thumbnail catches your eye. It's the cammer, but with their mouth stuffed full of a random man's cock. It wouldn't have stopped you in your tracks if a) the man's leg tattoo didn't look so familiar and b) if the cammer didn't look suspiciously like you.

You immediately clear all of the data on the phone, essentially factory resetting it. When Gaz comes back into the tech closet you shove at his chest. He just chuckles and shrugs.

You're never doing this again.

[notathingjustthere]

🥺🥹 ahhhhh this is beyond cutetete my heart😭😭😭

Dad!Simon who insisted you go on the vacation, because of course he can handle his baby girl and his six year old (almost six, but Ollie rounds up)

Simon who knew he had it in the bag....

for about two hours

Simon who made bagels for dinner; wassss this close 🤏to making Ollie eat dirt because WHAT DO YOU MEAN you don't like bagels now you were begging for them in the store!

Simon who made it about forty hours before he gave him and called Johnny

Simon who had no idea why Ollie was being so gosh darn annoying

Simon who had previously made a bet with Price that he wouldn't need help so therefore he would rather die than call Price even though Ollie idolizes his 'grandfather'

''s Johnny, missed ya but leave a message at the lil' beep."

"John MacTavish I swear to god if you don' call me back in ten minutes I will personally post thos' pictures of ya in Afgan."

two minutes later-

"ya know that's a real low blow-"

"I need you to take Oliver to th' park- Tessie isn't goin to sleep with him 'roun."

"Call the capn, he's closer to ya."

"I will not do that."

"Ugh, fine- lemme tell my girl then'll be there in twenty."

Simon who told Oliver to behave for his uncle and then happily sent them away- which finally he would be able to put the exhausted newborn to sleep

Simon was finally able to doze off on the sofa, the baby happily snoozing away on his chest and everything seemed perfect with the world

"MISTER RILEY UNCLE JOHNNY IS IS-HES-" The thundering slam of the door being swung open not only woke up Simon but the baby who aptly began to sob to the sudden change of pace, Oliver however did not care "UNCLE JOHNNY SUCKS."

Uncle Johnny told Ollie not to kick the ball into the river

Simon who is flabbergasted because even Johnny looked shook to his core, sure they had been at the park for about five hours but like-???

John MacTavish...brought down .... by Simon's six year old

Simon who, after ten minutes of the baby screaming for their mother and refusing to take their bottle with disgruntled wails of pain and Ollie so tired he can't think straight so he's also a sobbing and angry disaster and Johnny's just standing there by the door waiting for answers and everything is so loud-

"Capn?"

"Oh! Hi, sweetheart," John's wife answered the landline and he could hear her voice call for her husband, "Hi, how are you and lil' ones?"

Simon looked at Ollie who was currently in time out for stealing his sisters binkie for the tenth time, "Not great."

"O-"

"Simon." Price's voice cut in and it took about five seconds to get everything account for, "Ya already called Johnny right?"

"Yessir."

"Did you try Kyle?"

"No sir, he's on his honeymoon."

'"Ah-that's right, that's right."

Silence

"Sir I would like your help."

"Ha! Knew it! Alrighty, missus and I'll be there in...i dunno- you boys hungry? She made that-honey whatcha make?" indistinct conversation, "Ma'am said it didn't matter, she'll bring it anyway. Forty minutes?"

Simon looked at Johnny, who was on 'keep ollie in said time out' picking up the kid whenever he would try and run off. "Can you make it twenty, sir?"

Simon and Johnny who, out of habit, stood at attention as soon at the captain let himself into the house

Simon who looked a bit worse for wear, even with his non existant sleep scheulde in the military he had never looked so fatigued

Simon who had the baby out of his arms by Price's wife within two minutes of them being there

Simon who loves his son, he loves him (internal mantra) but he is making him look bad to his captain so the little twerp better get his act together.

"Riley."

"Yessir."

"How long is your block?"

"Two kilometers around."

"Two laps."

faltering silence through the house, Simon stared at the captain as he helped Ollie tie his sneakers by the door. The silence did mean Tessie had finally fallen asleep but he was- "I'm sorry?"

"Two laps, you, Johnny, and Oliver." Price looked to the kid, who looked more angry at the world than anything else, "Go. Dinner will be ready when you get back."

Simon was about to argue but Ollie beat him to it, "I don't want to run."

"You don't want to run?"

Oliver seemed a bit taken back, "No. So I'm not going to."

"Okay. You can clean the entire house- including your sisters nappy's, for a week, yeah?"

A pause.

"Fine, i'll go on the stupid run."

Simon who might as well be walking with the pace Oliver chose to keep

Johnny who took off sprinting because lord knew that man was starving and Mrs. Price's food was heaven on earth

Simon who sat down on the side of the road when the little guy was out of breath

Simon that mostly ran in silence until Ollie broke it

"Why did mom leave?"

huh?

"What?"

"Mom she-she just...she left us, wh-"

"Whoa-whoa whoa, mum didn't leave-mum didn't leave us wh-whoa, Olls," he had collapsed to his knee when the boy started to speak just to look at him in the eyes and he tried to read the boys expression, "Mum would never leave you, she loves you so much."

"Then where did she go?? Why didn't she say goodbye?"

"She's with her friends, and her flight left 'fore you woke up, Olls. Laddie, she wouldn't leave you."

Simon who had called you, even though there was time difference as everyone was sitting down to eat dinner

"oh...wow the gang's back together," You grumble as you rub your eyes, having been dead asleep, only for the camera angle to change suddenly and it was just a close up angle of your son's face, "Hi baby."

"Mom guess what Uncle Johnny did."

"EY, LET'S NOT TELL YER MOM BOUT THAT."

"Hey mom?" The boy was easily distracted and then looked down at the phone again.

"Yeah baby?"

"Never go on away again, dad said so."

You stay silent for a moment, blinking, because in all three years you and Simon had been together Ollie had never referred to him as 'dad' or anything remotely close. "Your...right, yeah-I'm pretty bored here anyway."

Simon, who was fine with you going on little getaways just not anymore how dare you try and leave him alone

"You sure it's okay if I stay a few more days?"

With a short laugh he looks over the living room, where Johnny and Olls were fast asleep watching some cartoon he didn't know the name of while John and His wife had chosen to stay in the guest room for the night. It would hell if you stayed for a few more days.

"Of course, luv, I got the boys an' Tessie needs to learn who they are anyway."

"I guess. Okay, the ride is here. I love you."

"I love you more."

(annnnway that's it <333 any comments you wanna leave or anything like that makes my day!)

[notathingjustthere]

Call Of Duty

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle & His Love

Captain John Price

John & his Sweetheart

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Poly141!

A Simple (Mis) Understanding

Can't stop thinking about....

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

[notathingjustthere]

Im both happy she cussed him tf out even my mouth dropped like tf you supposed to say back to that? 😭 but now I’m sad cause damn I’m sorry you’ve felt like this 😭😭😭 they don’t deserve you 🥺

Part Four

Can't stop thinking about reader losing her cool.

"So we're closed, John." You said, trying to be cordial.

"Is that all you have to fucking say?" He practically growled before huffing. A humorless chuckle rumbling out of his chest. "I suppose not since you won't respond to any of us."

"Don't do that." You said taking a step back. Trying to create some distance between you and him. John would never physically hurt you. That much you knew.

"What?" He asked. His voice rising as he stepped closer to you. "Be angry that you pulled that shit and then left? Stopped talking to us. Changed your fucking locks. Last thing we even knew about you was that you got on a fucking plane and left. Even your friends wouldn't tell us anything besides that you were okay." "Which considering this came out of bloody nowhere, I find it highly unlikely that you are in any way 'okay'."

You took a deep breath. You wouldn't be intimidated. You wouldn't clam up. You wouldn't cry. You won't go back on your decision. You will be cordial and polite and not unleash everything you want to.

"I understand you might be upset, but it's for the best. It wasn't working out and I wanted to end on somewhat good terms. I would appreciate it if you lowered your voice and stopped speaking to me in that way." You could barely recognize your voice. It sounded so scripted. So robotic. But it was something you had been telling yourself. Excuses you had been telling yourself.

Because if you told yourself the truth. The picture you would paint would tell a different story. It wouldn't highlight the fact that John spoke to you like he was one of your men or that Johnny had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. It wouldn't show what a flake Kyle was or that Simon was well and truly a mean-spirited person.

It would show how you weren't worth it. Four possible men. Four possibilities of happily ever after and none of them chose you. That no one ever did and no one ever would. You weren't worth it. You weren't loveable.

It wasn't right, but it was what the voices had been telling you late in the night. When you would crawl into your cold bed. The silence of the room not filled with John's steady breathing or the sound of Kyle's heartbeat as you laid you head on his chest. The absence of Johnny's occasional snoring or whatever Simon was watching playing in the background of your dreams.

In the void, all your dark thoughts came back at you.

"Upset?" He asked, his voice still louder than you would have liked. "An understatement considering the stunt you pulled."

"You think it was a stunt?"

"So Johnny thought with his dick and didn't plan things out. You should have told him instead of crying to Simon and then pulling this shit." "Christ, I knew you were still young, but I didn't take you for that immature."

"You know what?" "I'm done." "I am so fucking sick of making excuses for you all." "You want to act like I'm the immature one, John?" "You are 35-year-old man who cannot separate his work from his work like. You have continuously talked to and down to me like I am one of your men, only to turn around and always blame your shitty fucking attitude on work. I get that your job is stressful, but I did not sign up to be your verbal fucking punching bag."

"And this come and fucking go incident with Johnny. It has been a consistent issue with him coming over just to fuck. I've asked him for that last six months that 'hey, we've been seeing each other for a year and a half, I would love to meet your family' and suddenly the dates stop. He doesn't ask to see me until after 7 PM. He brings food occasionally, fucks me and leaves. Sometimes before I even wake up."

"And the only reason Kyle is the person I am the least pissed off with is because I haven't even seen him." You took a step closer, not noticing how the anger in John's eyes had softened. "I have not seen Kyle in weeks, to no fault of my own. I stopped reaching out to make dinner plans after the third time he canceled on a date night when I was either on my way or already at the restaurant."

"And Simon?" You scoffed. "Well, it doesn't really matter. After all, as he said I get mine. You all make me cum which is supposed to magically erase how shitty you've all been as partners. It's supposed to erase the nights I've cried myself to sleep debating on whether or not there was something wrong with me. How I'm not good enough to meet anyone else in your lives like some dirty fucking secret. How none of you can even bother to pencil me for a group dinner so I can tell you a publishing house picked up my book. How at some point you all stopped caring or maybe never did."

You took a breath. Blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay.

You wouldn't cry. You wouldn't cry.

"As Simon said it best, I should have known that spreading my legs wouldn’t end with one of you putting a ring on your finger.”

For once, John was silent. Unsure of what to say. An apology starting to form at the tip of his tongue before realizing 'sorry' wouldn't cut it. Not this time.

Had he really been that sharp with you? He knew that there were times he had gotten short, but he almost always apologized immediately after. If not at the very moment he took in your crest-fallen face, then definitely later. But he almost always told you he was sorry. Didn't he?

"So as I said," you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "I'm closed. We're done. Now get out." Your face held no sadness. Even though your eyes were nearly full to the brim with unshed tears, you weren't sad.

You were finally angry.

[notathingjustthere]

Part Three

Warning: If you don't like Taylor Swift, you're not gonna like this chapter that much, homie. But So Long, London is so fitting for this drabble series. (I guess a series since it's longer than a drabble at this point)

Can’t stop thinking about reader just trying to move on

You had to remind yourself several times not to check in with the guys. It had almost become second nature doing something big like this. But going to another country…

Not that they would care. You told yourself. It was for the best that way.

The expo went better than you expected. You didn’t believe that there would be a line out the door of eager readers wanting to read your book, but you got a decent amount. More than a few told you they couldn’t wait to read it. Several asking for photos and asking questions on any future books, a spin-off or even continuing the series.

When one a particular large group of girls your age asked for a group photo, you could have cried. They were had found each other in an online book club. You had given them your book several months ago. All copies signed with a note thanking them for taking the time to read what you had poured your heart into.

You had spent a large chunk of your free time talking to them. Bonding more so as women than over your book.

"Have you listened to Taylor's new album?"

It had only been out for two days and you had been able to avoid it like the plague. You didn't need to even listen to 'So Long, London' to know it would fucking gut you. So you would enjoy your time in the states. Save the listening experience for when you were packing up their stuff.

They had posted and tagged you before continuing on with the rest of the expo. You had reposted the photo to your own social media. Or at least one attached to the pen name you had crafted. You only had twelve thousand instagram followers, but it was something.

The first day was much like the second. You had attended several Q & A sessions with a panel of more experienced authors and managed to go to a few meet and greets. Before you knew it, it was time to pack up shop.

The agent the publishing house had assigned to you had stuck with you for most of the day. You were able to pick her brain a bit about new ideas for possible future plot lines and her thoughts. Overall, the trip was great.

Not only were you able to make great connections and take a lot back home with you to reference, but for a few days you forgot what waited for you back home. Or rather what wasn't waiting for you.

By the time your plane landed back in London you could barely hold yourself up. You left the expo, went straight to the hotel to shower, pack and head to the airport.

Your flight was delayed. Your luggage was taking forever to get onto the belt. It was only seven, but fuck if you weren’t ready to just call it a day. Tomorrow you would have to start again. Opening up the shop. Coming back to an empty flat. Maybe start gathering up the items the boys had left behind.

Should you give them in separate boxes or just one giant one and let them sort it out themselves? It was easy to discern whose sweatshirt and t-shirts belonged to who, but when it got to things like socks and chargers...

Yeah.

They could sort it themselves.

You could drop it off at Kyle's when you knew he would be at the gym. He was good at avoiding you anyway.

It wasn't until you stood in your apartment did it hit you.

You were alone.

For the first time in over a year you couldn't call one of them over to soothe that ache of loneliness.

For the first time in over a year, you had to relearn how to handle just being alone.

You usually showered at night. Washing away the grime of the day before settling into bed. But today was a new chapter. You woke up wanting to start it on a good note. Plus you went straight to bed after getting home so you still had a bit of airport funk on you.

It had been a week. One official since you had sent that text nailing the coffin shut. You had touched base with your friends who didn't bat an eye at you dating four men at once. They liked them, even if Simon scared them. You didn't give them the details of the breakup or the cause. You were pretty private in your problems and if you wanted relationship advice, you would seek an unbiased unopinion.

You had a good group of friends, but the moment you told them that you were well and truly heartbroken, they would insist the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Something you were nowhere near ready for.

So you needed to look like you had your shit together. You put on a dress that was feminine and, most importantly, comfy as fuck. An A-line floral frock paired with a light sweater and some white trainers. You knew a few of your friends would be stopping by for tea so you need to look like you were taking the separation well. Even if you were barely holding it together.

With makeup and perfume on, you started the early morning stroll to your shop.

You loved openings. Starting up the register and selecting the playlist for today. Picking out the essential oil to put in the diffuser even though you mostly stuck with a lavender and vanilla blend during the spring months.

For the morning you stuck with a Taylor Swift Instrumental playlist you had found initially for studying, but you liked the peaceful feeling it brought. Even when it covered the most gut wrenching songs.

You had started to collect the online orders that had accumulated over the last week. Sending out the e-mails alerting to your patrons that their orders were ready for pick up. Luckily you weren't set to receive a delivery until tomorrow.

It was eight and everything was set. Although not many people came to a bookstore at eight in the morning, it really didn't bother you opening up that early considering you were the only employee that was on the payroll. It gave you the possibility of making money, but mostly you spent the morning reading or writing.

You flipped the sign over from CLOSED to OPEN. Ready to start take on the day.

You had turned the kettle on in the back room when your friends had stopped by around lunch. You always said it was just tea, but you always had an array of snacks on standby for you all to munch on.

Meredith was complaining about what a dick the new client at the law firm was being. An absolute slime who had been married to his wife for almost twenty-five years before he decided to fuck his twenty-two year old assistant.

Tabitha didn't want to talk about work. To her, her career in tech was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do and left when she was done.

You talked about the expo and how your book. Although neither of them really read, they had promised that they would read your book. You didn't hold your breath. They had reposted your posts as well as making ones of their owns in celebration of you. Words of praise about your dedication and hard work.

You realized that even though they couldn't give you the support you needed as readers, they supported you blindly. You could have written absolute garbage, but they would still support you.

You talked about how many people liked your book and wanted pictures and to sign their copies.

Then came the question you had been rehearsing since you had texted them a week ago. They both shared a look before Meredith finally asked.

"How are you holding up?" You gave a half-smile and a shrug. So perfectly rehearsed in your head you were ready to deliver your lies lines.

"I'm fine," you lied. "It was just fading so there isn't much of a difference, I guess." Not necessarily a lie. "We just wanted different things and were on different paths in life." Not a lie. "It's for the best." You weren't sure if that last one was a lie or not just yet.

They both shared a passing look before returning their gazes back to you. "You know you can come to us about this stuff." Tabitha's hand reached across the table, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It wasn't going to work out." You added. "Situations like that don't and I should have known better."

"A situation?" Meredith asked. "When have you ever called it a situation?"

"It always was one."

"I love you enough to call bullshit." She raised her eyebrow at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "You loved them and you need to stop pretending this is easy."

"You're a divorce lawyer, Mere," You reminded. "You see marriages fall apart every day."

"I do. I get to see from across the table how a woman is still willing to take her cheating arse of a husband back. So the fact that you went from on cloud nine with all of them to not even talking about the break up is concerning to say the least."

"Tabitha," you looked at your only ally left. "A little back up would be nice."

"I'm with her on this one." She confirmed. "You loved them. Not that I cared, but if you weren't talking about books or the shop, you were talking about them. What you did, where you went. How they fucked you."

"I think I'll miss that part the most." Mere sighed. "I lived vicariously through you."

"You know you could actually date people." Tabitha suggested.

"I'd rather live with chronic carpal tunnel than a man." You almost choked on your tea. If you were wearing pearls you would have used the comedic relief of clutching them to break the awkwardness of the current topic of conversation.

"That should be put on a t-shirt." You suggested

"I wouldn't mind it on a welcome mat to be honest." Tabitha added.

"But in all seriousness, cut this bullshit." Meredith gave you an sympathetic smile. "We're here. Good, bad and ugly."

You returned her smile. "I know."

You had closed up shop for the evening. Your lunch had gone longer than expected so now you were left doing the dishes and clean up during closing. You were setting the last cup on the drying rack when you heard the front door chime.

Shit.

You must have forgotten to lock the door when you turned the sign.

“I’m sorry!” You apologized, making your way out of the back break area and to the front of the store. “We’re-”

“Closed.” He said, locking the door behind him. “I saw the sign.”

[notathingjustthere]

Part 2

Can't stop thinking about reader finally cutting them loose.

For three days there was nothing but radio silence. In those three days you had told yourself that it was a grace period. Time for Simon to cool off and realize how much of a bastard he was for saying all those things he obviously didn't mean. Johnny coming back over with a bouquet of flowers and endless apologies and cuddles.

Simon didn't apologize for his harsh words.

Johnny didn't call you later, as promised.

For three days you jumped at every single notification, silently hoping it was one of them. Any of them.

But it wasn't.

And you, unfortunately, got the answer to the question you had been asking yourself for months.

Did they still want this?

The answer was clear.

You didn't let their unofficial dismissal get to you. You still had shit to do. A life to get on to. A book signing to go to.

Jesus.

A book signing. A book you wrote. A book that was being published and released the day of the expo. You weren't expecting a huge line because this was your debut novel, but with the help of some ARC readers who had took to social media, there had been a bit of a storm brewing.

You had listened to John when he had mentioned writing under an alias. Don't know how crazy people are out there. They'd do anything to get close to you, Dove. Just better to protect yourself where you can. You almost hated yourself for listening to him now. Now you would just have to keep writing under your pen name.

You were getting ready to close up shop early when your phone finally pinged.

Kyle.

Fuck.

Of course it was Kyle. The one who hadn't treated you like you were constantly bothering him. Not the one who made you feel guilty for agreeing to your arrangement. Nor was he the one who fucked you and left you. No. He was just the one who just wasn't there.

Maybe that was just as bad.

What are you up to today?

That was it. Almost two weeks of radio silence and that's all he had to say? It just added more evidence that you were making the right call in ending this now. It had already carried on for too long.

You had two things on your to-do list and you wouldn't let Kyle's sudden reappearance deter you.

E-mail the publisher back.

Change the locks.

You didn't have the strength to face them again. If they groveled, it would be too easy to take them back. One against four wasn't much of a fair fight. And if they didn't care to fight for you... you don't know if you could survive it. Coming face-to-face with the proof that it didn't bother them to give you up even though it was killing you.

No. Cutting it off completely was the best thing to do.

So you didn't respond.

You left Kyle's text unanswered as you e-mailed the publisher back that everything was set for your flight on tomorrow morning. You would spend Thursday adjusting to the time difference and Friday you would rest up before the expo this weekend. She assured you that you would need to rest up your writing hand. Whatever that means.

You left Kyle read as you closed up shop several hours earlier than usual. You needed to drop off the bank deposit before you started on task number two.

You didn't bothering responding to Johnny when he had texted you when you were leaving the hardware store, purchase in hand. Asking if you were free Friday. Promising dinner. 'In or out. Your choice.'

It was almost second nature when you got home to pull up your phone. Ready to text one of them to see which one of them could come over and help.

Fixing a leaky sink? Nothing Johnny hasn't seen before. Need help moving furniture? John won't mind when you change your several times on what should go where. Kyle would always come in with take out the moment you mentioned you were hungry and whenever you felt like going for a walk when it was a bit too late in the evening, Simon was the first to volunteer as your personal guard dog.

But asking them to come and change the very lock you planned on using to keep them out seemed... counter productive, if not downright petty.

You were almost done with the lock when your phone sounded off. Only this time it wasn't a text. Someone was calling you.

You almost faltered when John's name came on your screen.

Fuck.

That almost got you.

You almost answered it.

Almost.

You clicked on the 'Sorry, I can't talk right now. Options, before finishing up your work.

And just like that, you were done. No help needed. You had changed the lock. Even adding on a deadbolt. Replacing the flimsy chain Simon had taunted you about. If someone wanted to get in here, that wouldn't stop them.

Well, now you didn't need to hear it anymore.

Not that you would really hear it again...

Your flight was in twelve hours. Although that seemed an ample amount of time you hadn't even begun to pack. You had luckily narrowed your outfits down, but now was the task of folding it nicely into your suitcase rather than just stuffing it in there.

On my way. We need to talk.

It was too late for talking. Three days too late. Several months too late.

The last message sent was four weeks ago. A new Thai place had opened up close to your apartment that you were wanting to try. All of them had given you excuses.

Not my taste, Dove.

Cannae do it tonight. Next weekend? Next weekend didn't happen either.

I can do tomorrow. Kyle ended up bailing. You forget the excuse he used.

Simon hadn't even bothered to reply.

The final nail in the coffin of your relationship. Almost two years wasted with nothing, but a broken heart to show for it. And the worst part is, they had all chipped away at your heart, leaving you to deal with the final blow that would shatter it.

Im sorry. I can’t do this with you anymore. wish you all the best.

Your fingers made quick work in blocking their numbers. It was best. If they wanted to reach you, they couldn't. On the other side of the coin, if they didn't care to reply, you wouldn't spend countless hours crying over the fact that none of them had been affected the same way you had.

You would deal with getting them their belongings that they had left behind another time. You had big things, great things happening for you. You were cutting your loses. You were cutting them loose.

You just hoped you didn’t regret it.

[notathingjustthere]

Awwwwww wait this is so cute😭😭😭😭😭

My favorite thing about Simon Riley (at least how he is in my head ya know) is that he's either on top of it like he knows you better than anyone else-

It was just a regular Friday night, you had been out with some friends and probably drank a bit too much for anyone's comfort, so with a sigh of defeat you called your boyfriend (who you had pinkie promised you wouldn't need to call, because you are a mature, well adjusted, adult) It was late but not very so the phone only rang once before he picked up.

"Good evenin princess."

"Si?" your voice was a bit rasped and the lingering sob in the back of your throat didn't help your case, a cryer is what your friends called your more drunken state, "I...Lil too much."

A pause and you hear the jingle of his keys, "Ten minutes. Stay on the phone with me, yeah?"

"Mkay, is' cold outside."

"Why are you outside, baby?"

"Ji-Jill got an uber- said-said I couldn't come. an-and the bar sai-said I can't go back inside...they were so mean."

"Fuckin Jillian-" You hear him mutter and then his voice goes back to its regular level, "Baby I want you to go back to the bar and tell them that I'm gonna be there to pick you up in a minute, is's snowin out here."

A short pause, "And I know the guy at the door scares you but I need you to be my strong girl and go back inside, yeah?"

Or its just, he's oblivious until the very end-

You were currently running a hundred-and-two fever, your muscles ached and everything in you screamed at you to sit down and take a nap. However, your boyfriend just got back from deployment and you were determined to make sure everything was perfect for him. And, thus far, it was- you put on some makeup to make yourself look alive and you just resigned to not speaking a lot, or eating. He didn't seem to notice, about forty hours back into being home and everything was perfect! Aside from the lingering feeling you may just drop dead at any moment.

So at that moment, you sat on the sofa with him, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, your hot skin covered by your hoodie and the hood of it pulled over to hide your face as you had aptly nuzzled into his side. You felt like death.

Yet in Simon's mind he thought you were just being a blushing school girl, excited about his return and a bit flustered by it. Until he dipped his head down to press a kiss against your forehead.

"The fuck?" He muttered as he moved his hand to your forehead and tugged down the hood to look at you, "Why're so hot?"

You gulp down and shrug your shoulders, "Jus little sick. 'M okay."

"Girly- your skin is burnin up." "Okay?" "How...have you bee' sick this 'tire time?"

"Really feel fine-"

"Lair."

A pause and you look down, "Only little bit."

(annnyway thats it <333 comments and all that jazz make my day)

[notathingjustthere]

Ahhhhhhhh thank goodness 😭😭 awww poor soul not wanting Simon to leave 😔🥺

Honestly felt for price whenever Simon almost stepped outta line like I get but you were warned mf . This was great read absolutely loved it

Bring Her Home | Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Summary: For once, everything was going right in his life. Now it's all gone to hell, and he'll be damned is he's not the one to fix things.

“Absolutely not.”

Simon’s path to the transport is interrupted with a firm hand on his shoulder. Price, geared up, gives him a pointed look.

“You’re not coming.”

“She’s my wife—”

“I know.”

“I figured this out. I found the place, I tracked her down, and she’s waiting for me.”

“We’ll get her, Simon,” he says softly. “But I need you to stay here.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Price sighs as the Bravo and Delta teams start boarding. Soap and Gaz linger and wait for their direct superiors.

“Make it an order,” Simon insists, knowing it’ll go his way. “As my captain, order me to stay back.”

Price hesitates. He can’t do that to him. He wants to, he has to—but he can’t. He lets go of his shoulder. “You make one irrational decision and you’re done. You listen to me, do you understand? One person gets hurt or compromised because of you and there’ll be consequences.”

“Yes, sir.”

And then they join Gaz and Soap in boarding the transport. Simon’s been fidgety all day. He wants to feel relieved that they finally know where you are, but he has no idea the state you’ll be in when he finds you. If he finds you. No, when he finds you. 

He’ll find you. You’ll be fine. Maybe some cuts and scrapes but that’s all. He’ll find you, he’ll get you out, you’ll be examined quickly and cleared to go, you’ll both go home and continue on like nothing ever happened.

He’s not that naïve.

He, of all people, knows exactly what you could be going through. And it makes him want to claw his eyes out thinking that all the things that happened to him could be happening to you.

“Listen up!”

Every soldier in the transport lifts their head and tunes in when Price calls for their attention. He stands alongside Captain Lopez of Delta team.

“The Konni Group covered themselves up well,” Price starts. “They didn’t want us to know this was them, so we can assume they’re not anticipating us showing up at their front door. That said, they’re planning something we’re unaware of. They took one of our own two and a half months ago and have been completely off the grid since. That doesn’t happen unless they want us vulnerable, so you keep your eyes peeled.”

“There’s a chance this has to do with one of their captains, Igor Petrov,” Lopez chimes in. “We tracked him down and locked him up earlier this year. They may want him back and were looking for leverage when they infiltrated.”

Simon’s neck twitches at the thought of you being considered “leverage” in a fight that has nothing to do with you.

“Our two main objectives are gathering intel and hostage rescue,” Lopez continues. “Delta Team, you’re with me. We’re going in first and clearing as much of the area as we can for Bravo, who are locating the hostage.”

“Bravo, we move when we’re cleared to move,” Price says, eyeing Simon. “Getting in and especially getting out, we wait for Delta to give us the all clear.”

What if you’re dying? What if you’re bleeding out? What if there’s no time to wait?

Price is waiting for acknowledgement, so Simon nods his head once.

“Sit tight, boys,” Lopez says. “ETA is two hours.” 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Simon’s never been more fidgety in his life. He can see the warehouse from where Bravo team stands idly by, waiting for the signal from Delta that it’s safe to move in. You’re in there, and all he can do is stand around and wait while gunshots and screams of fear and pain and anger sound from every direction.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, the sounds die down. There’s still a shot here and there but it gets noticeably quieter.

“Delta 0-6 to all Bravo,” Lopez says over the comms. “You’re clear for entry.”

“Let’s go, boys,” Price leads the way.

Simon, Gaz, Soap and the rest of their team follow after him, making it across the clearing and into the building safely while a few Delta stragglers who hadn’t followed their team inside cover them. Once inside, they break off in the teams Price had laid out on their way over. Price leads Gaz, Soap, Simon and a few others as they begin breaking into rooms and searching them for any sign of you.

They have to take down a few Konni in the process, none of whom are willing to give up your whereabouts. It worries Simon that they won’t talk—it could mean that there’s no point, that they’re looking for a dead body at this point.

He won’t let himself dwell on that.

Gunshots pick up in the distance and Simon tries to see what’s going on, but they’re far away from the action.

“Keep with it, Ghost,” Price warns him. “We have a plan.”

He begrudgingly shakes off the urge to follow any sign of danger and make sure you’re not caught in the middle. They continue through the maze of the warehouse—room after room, long hallway after long hallway. Finally they come to a corridor with lines of rooms on each side. This looks much more promising.

Price and Simon take the rooms on the right while Gaz and Soap take the ones of the left. The rest of their team divides themselves between the two cohorts, doing most of the dirty work like knocking down doors and doing the initial clearing. The closer they get to the end of the corridor, the more Simon loses hope. 

Where are you?

“Ghost!”

He spins at Gaz’s voice and finds him and Soap standing before a room with their weapons drawn. A few other soldiers push in to clear but when they’re out of the way, he can see you. He doesn’t think, he just runs forward. But Price stops him with an arm across his chest.

“Let them clear it,” he demands. “What did I tell you?”

Simon can barely hear him, because you’re there. You’re splayed out on the ground in ratty clothes on the other side of the room, looking like a shell of yourself and he can’t tell if you’re awake. He can’t tell if you’re breathing. He can’t tell if you know he's here now.

His chest heaves and he can feel his nose sting. How long does it take to clear a room? He grabs on to Price’s wrist. He thought he’d push him away but he grips him like he needs to ground himself.

“Clear!”

Finally.

He surges between Soap and Gaz as he sprints across the room to kneel at your side. You’re not awake. Your skin is dull and bruised and bloody. Your clothes are stained. Simon’s hands hover over your fragile body.

“Oh, god,” he panics. “Oh, god.”

He needs to wake you up. He needs to know if you’re breathing. He leans in closer and gently turns your head toward him, cradling your face in his hands.

“Lovie, it’s me,” he urges. “It’s me, wake up. You’re all good now, we’re going home.”

Nothing. Gunshots pick up again in the distance.

“Baby, wake up,” he says, louder. He shakes you as softly as he can. When you don’t respond he lowers his right hand to check your pulse. It’s there. When he takes his glove off and puts his finger under your nose he can feel your breaths. 

He exhales shakily, only slightly relieved. He needs you to wake up. He needs to hear your voice. He needs to get you out of here. He calls your name over and over, telling you that you’re safe, that he found you, and finally you start to come to. You grunt, and Simon takes off his mask when your eyes start to open.

“Hi, lovie,” he cries, trying to smile but only feeling the urge to cry as you make eye contact.

“Simon,” your voice is so broken, so thick. But he hears you all the same. “You found me.”

“I did, I found you,” he nods, smoothing your hair down.

“I wanna go home.”

“I know,” he croaks. He looks up at Price. “We need to go.”

He’s already called for Kate and requested immediate MedEvac.

“Not yet!” Lopez calls over the comms. “Boatload of Konni just showed up. You’re not clear.”

Simon’s stomach turns as he looks back down at you. Your eyes are squeezed closed and you’re starting to writhe. “Everything hurts.”

“Tell me where,” he says, trying to stay composed. He’s falling apart watching you suffer and all he wants to do after being apart for so long is tuck you under his chin and run away so no one can ever find or hurt you again.

“Ev-everywh-where,” you sob.

“Ghost, her leg,” Soap says.

Simon looks from your face down to your lower half and sees one of your feet slightly turned the wrong way. He lets Soap get close enough to gently grab your pant leg and push it upward until you groan and twitch and he tells him to stop.

“Tibia looks broken,” Soap says as he moves back and crouches down on your other side.

“Price,” Simon urges.

“They’re working on it,” the captain responds.

“Hey trouble,” Soap gently grabs your attention, speaking to you like it’s just another day. “Can you tell us anything else that hurts?”

You weep, one hand clinging to Simon’s wrist as he continues to hold your face. “M-my arm.”

“This one?” Soap points to the one lying still at his knees.

You nod, tears streaming down your face and unable to keep your eyes open.

“I’m gonna look t’see if I can help, okay?”

“Okay,” your scared tone makes Simon want to curl in on himself and he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. Soap reaches for your shoulder first, but you flinch as soon as his fingers make contact.

“Okay, it’s okay,” he says. “Can you move it at all?”

You shake your head.

He touches your shoulder again and you flinch, again. Simon reaches over you to push him away. “Stop it.”

“I think ’s dislocated,” he explains. “I can fix it.”

“Don’t touch her,” Simon warns.

“Ghost, she’s in pain.”

“She’s in more pain when you touch ‘er, don’t.”

“Simon, let him do it,” Price says. “It has to be done, might as well be now.”

“He’s not a medic.”

“We all know how to relocate a shoulder.”

But she’ll scream.

“Listen lass,” Soap catches your attention again. “Your shoulder’s out, but I can correct it. Just give me the word. It’ll hurt more for a second and then you’ll feel better.”

You sob, but you nod. “Yes please.”

“I need something for her to bite down on,” Soap says to the group.

“Get something to muffle her scream,” Price suggests.

“Jesus,” Simon cries. He leans down until his forehead is pressed against yours. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry.”

You sob against him but your fingers dig into his hair. He’s here. He found you. He’s real. Too soon he’s being nudged out of the way so Soap can urgently but politely stuff a clean rag in your mouth.

“Look at Simon, lass.”

You do. You squeeze his hand as tightly as you can and focus on him until white hot pain shoots through your side and you scream until your throat is raw. Simon comes down to your level immediately, whispering into your ear that it’s over, that you were so good. You cry as he takes the rag from your mouth.

“Bravo team, you’re clear to move,” Lopez says.

“MedEvac on the way,” Kate says.

“Let’s get you home,” Simon says. “You tell me if you’re in too much pain, yeah?”

You nod and he leans down to properly kiss you.

“I love you so much.”

You sob wetly, feeling so much gratitude for the man before you. He found you. He saved you. He’s bringing you home. “Thank you, Simon.”

He kisses you again before pulling on his mask and gently lifting you into his arms. “You ready to get the hell outta ‘ere?”

You just tuck your face into his neck, keeping your sore arm close to your chest and not looking at your mangled leg.

“Let’s go, lovie.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Waiting for you to wake up feels like longer than it took to find you. Above all else, he wants to be grateful that you’re resting, safe in a hospital bed and being looked after by a medical team. He is grateful for that, but more than that, he’s desperate for you to wake up.

You’re broken. He didn’t want to hear how those bastards left you for him, but he had to. He already saw most of it, but hearing the details—learning what lurked beneath the surface—was worse than going through it himself.

When you stir, he gets up from his seat beside your bed and leans over you protectively. He lets you come to on your own, and you smile softly (tiredly) when you see him.

“You found me.”

“I found you,” he nods.

“It wasn’t a dream?”

“It wasn’t a dream.”

“You promise?”

He takes off his facemask and leans down to brush his nose against yours. “I promise, I’m right here.”

“Good,” you say through wobbly lips.

Simon shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have left you that day.”

“Si,” you say, voice breaking.

“I shouldn’t have left. They were waiting for me to leave.”

“You didn’t know,” you say. You’re trying to be strong for him, but it’s hard not to think back to the hell you went through simply because you were vulnerable without Simon home for 20 minutes. But it’s not his fault.

“I still shouldn’t have left, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything that happened to you, but I’m gonna help you through this, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

You sniffle. “I don’t feel fine.”

“You’re not supposed to. Not for a while. But one day you will, I swear. And I’ll be here the whole time.”

You run your fingers along his cheek before softly pulling him in by his chin for a kiss. When you part, you turn your head to cough a few times, feeling how raw your throat is. Simon hears the roughness and jumps into action, turning away and heading for the glass of water on the far table.

“Don’t go.”

He pauses, his heart skipping a beat. You sound just like you did in every nightmare he’s had since the day you were taken. But this isn’t a nightmare. This is real. He’s awake and you’re here, reaching for him because he finally found you and you don’t want to be apart. He snags the glass of water and turns back around, lowering himself onto your bed beside your hip and helping you sip.

“I’m not going anywhere, lovie. I promise.”

[notathingjustthere]

I gotta say that nightmare might haunt my dreams tonight 😭 it fells so gloomy I love it. Poor Simon will hopefully find these people and get some damn sleep

Bring Her Home | Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Summary: For once, everything was going right in his life. Now it's all gone to hell, and he'll be damned is he's not the one to fix things.

“Don’t go.”

He jumps and turns to the front door at the end of the main hallway, and there you stand. How did you get past him without making a sound? You’re in your sweats now, and your face is blank. Your eyes are dead as you stare your husband down. Simon’s chest constricts, knowing something must be wrong but not knowing—

No, he thinks. Not again.

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, lovie,” he shakes his head, his voice wobbly. “I promise.”

“You’re lying. You left.”

“I didn’t know,” he urges. “I didn’t know what was gonna happen.”

“But you know now. So why are you trying to leave again? Why are you letting this happen to me?”

“I’m not, I—” He tries to take a step toward you but his feet are glued to the ground. He looks down at them and tries again, but nothing happens. “I… I…”

“I hear them coming,” you weep. “I hear them outside but I can’t find my phone to call you. I can’t find my phone. I can’t call you and tell you to come back.”

“No, no, no,” he mumbles to himself, hands pressing down on his ears so he doesn’t have to hear this. “Stop.”

“They’re banging on the door. Please, god, please, where is my phone?”

Simon squeezes his eyes shut and presses harder against his ears. He needs to wake up, he needs this to be over. He can’t watch you be taken or die in front of him again. He bangs on his head, trying to get himself to wake up.

“SIMON!”

He can’t resist looking up at you when you scream his name like that, and, for only a split second, he sees you looking at him for help while an unidentified man holds a shotgun to your head before a shot rings out and he’s gasping into his dark bedroom like he’s been underwater for too long.

“Fuck!” He cries, throwing himself out of bed and stumbling into the bathroom to throw cold water on his face. It takes him a while to get his breathing under control, and then he heads back out to grab his phone and check the time.

3:24 a.m. He slept for an hour.

He’s really started to feel it over the last couple weeks. The adrenaline he’s been running on since you were taken is finally starting to fade and he really does need to sleep, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but he thinks it’s the house. Being where you were, using the same stairs you were forced down, the same door you were forced through—it’s messing with his head.

He can’t leave your home. It would feel like leaving you. But he can’t keep falling asleep in front of a computer screen. He can’t keep zoning out while he’s trying to make progress. He can���t fail you again.

So he bites the bullet, packs his necessities, and calls Price at this ungodly hour to tell him he needs a private room in the barracks. He’s there an hour later, ready to try again and let his body rest and recharge for another long day of doing everything in his power to get you back.

The bed isn’t as comfortable, the room doesn’t smell like you, and he feels disconnected, but he can sleep. And he does. For a bit.

“Don’t go.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He’s decided to set everything he’s done so far aside and come at this with fresh eyes. He pretends like this only happened yesterday, like it was just yesterday that you came home, kissed him, touched him, insulted his cooking skills, and went upstairs to change. What’s the first thing he’d need to do to track you down?

Hours later he feels like he’s on the same path he’s always been on. He’s checked in with the same people he’s been checking in with for months, asked them about the same things, told them to do the same things. Price gave him all the same warnings.

But something has to be missing. You couldn’t have just vanished.

“Time t’go home, LT.”

He ignores Soap, continuing to watch the only existing surveillance footage of the van he knows you were thrown into.

Your ring camera only caught about a fourth of the vehicle pulling into view across the street before it was shot and rendered useless. No plate was visible, so it took a while but the team eventually tracked down a match via surveillance a few miles from your neighbourhood. But it’s only visible for a couple seconds and there are no plates or visible markings. Whoever it was, was off the grid.

That’s why Simon’s now rewatching that one clip in sections zoomed in as much as possible. There has to be something.

“Ghost—”

“You don’t give the orders, Sergeant.”

Soap sighs and walks further into the room until he’s standing behind Simon’s chair and watching what he’s doing. “You’re driving yourself mad.”

“I’m well past mad. You can stay or go, but keep your mouth shut if you stay.”

Soap rolls his eyes and grabs a nearby chair, sitting by and watching his lieutenant work. Time goes by slowly and Soap feels like he could draw the scene they’re rewatching frame by frame from memory at this point—put all the zoomed in pieces together. Simon’s only about halfway across the width of the clip, working his way from the top edge to the bottom. 

In the few seconds the clip lasts, the van creeps out from behind the car in front of it to make a turn onto the perpendicular road. The clip doesn’t get the whole turn, just the creeping mainly. Currently, Simon’s zoomed in on the stagnant car that the van passes. The van itself is barely visible, and Soap’s about the point that out when Simon’s face suddenly surges toward the screen.

“Did you see that?”

“What?” Soap asks, watching the grainy black and white clip repeat itself.

“Right there,” Simon points his gloved finger at the side-view mirror of the stagnant car. Johnny watches and notices that part of the van was caught in the mirror’s reflection as it passed behind it. 

Pausing the clip at that part, Simon takes a screenshot and opens the image. Soap watches as he adjusts the brightness, contrast, sharpness, and so on and so forth until there’s something visible. Something concrete. Something they missed. Something sewn onto the arm of the driver’s uniform. Something important.

Soap’s eyes widen as he leans in closer to make sure what he’s seeing is real. It is.

“That’s the Konni patch.”

And they have their first lead.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“You know, that’ll burn if you don’t stir it enough.”

Simon lifts his head and turns from where he was hunched over one of your recipe books, surprised to see you home already. You look like you always do after work—hair a little frizzier than it was in the morning, eyes a little more tired, but smile and glow as bright as always. You’re leaning against the kitchen entryway, letting the wall hold your head up for you as you give him a smirk. 

He quickly looks back at the pot of boiling potatoes, whole milk, and water and decides it will survive 30 more seconds without a stir so he can properly greet you. He meets you in the entryway and wraps his arms around your waist as he presses his lips to yours.

“You’re home early,” he says.

You quirk your head with your arms around his neck. “It’s 5:30.”

He frowns and turns around to check the clock. You’re right. “Cooking really takes up a lotta time.”

You laugh and try to detach yourself from him but he tightens his hold. You look up in confusion. “You okay?”

“I’m coming to get you.”

You frown. “What?”

Simon presses his forehead to yours. “I know who has you now, and I’m coming to get you.”

Your hands slowly tighten into fists, grasping his shirt. Your eyes turn scared. When Simon blinks, you’re bruised and bloody again. “I want to go home.”

“I know,” he nods. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long but I’m coming now, and I’m taking you home.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

You begin to shake. “I hear them coming.”

He squeezes his eyes closed and grabs the back of your head to tuck you into his chest. “Don’t do this again.”

“They’re coming, Simon. You’re not here.”

“Please,” he begs.

The door is kicked in and you’re torn from his arms. “SIMON!”

“No!” He yells.

This time when the door is slammed shut and he wakes up, he doesn’t let his nightmare get the best of him. Because today is the day.

It’s time to bring you home.

[notathingjustthere]

Should have seen my face when the scene switched outta no where. (acting like I did not read the summary) Thank goodness I see a part two my heart sank at the ending in angst I just woke up and don’t have the heart to digest that yet lmfaoo 😭😭😭. Anyway I’m really enjoying this plot 😭

Bring Her Home | Part 1

Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Summary: For once, everything was going right in his life. Now it's all gone to hell, and he'll be damned if he's not the one to fix things.

“You know, that’ll burn if you don’t stir it enough.”

Simon lifts his head and turns from where he was hunched over one of your recipe books, surprised to see you home already. You look like you always do after work—hair a little frizzier than it was in the morning, eyes a little more tired, but smile and glow as bright as always. You’re leaning against the kitchen entryway, letting the wall hold your head up for you as you give him a smirk. 

He quickly looks back at the pot of boiling potatoes, whole milk, and water and decides it will survive 30 more seconds without a stir so he can properly greet you. He meets you in the entryway and wraps his arms around your waist as he presses his lips to yours.

“You’re home early,” he says.

You quirk your head with your arms around his neck. “It’s 5:30.”

He frowns and turns around to check the clock. You’re right. “Cooking really takes up a lotta time.”

You laugh and detach yourself from him so you can observe what he’s been doing. “It does when you don’t know how to cook.”

“I know how to cook. Had to keep myself fed on deployments.”

“You get MREs,” you point out, picking up the wooden spoon and stirring what eventually will become mashed potatoes.

“Have you ever eaten any of those? There’s a reason they’re called ‘Meals Rarely Edible.’”

“Right so when you’re in the middle of nowhere not doing your top-secret task force shit and saving the world, you’re cooking yourself a five-course meal?”

He rolls his eyes and nudges you away from the stove. “Get out of ‘ere, not supposed to see any of this till it’s ready.”

“And when will that be? Midnight?”

“Get out,” he nudges you again but with more intention and you laugh as you make your way out of the kitchen and to the stairs.

“Love hearing that on our anniversary.”

“Come back in an hour,” he calls, getting back to work.

Simon’s happy he was able to take some time off, and he won’t soon forget how happy you were when he told you. Things are quiet right now anyway, so even though he’s been on duty he’s just been on base helping with training mainly. He hasn’t been deployed in a while, but he didn’t want to take any chances with your anniversary coming up. So he put some of his banked days to good use.

Married three years. Together for six. It still feels like a dream to him—one that he could wake up from at any minute. Knowing that, he hasn’t let any moment go to waste. The beginning was rocky, because he couldn’t imagine his life—Simon "Ghost" Riley’s life—taking a major turn like that after running into a clumsy little thing at the grocery store (because he does cook for himself). He tried to avoid it, actually. Because why would he, of all people, deserve someone like you?

But there you were, time and time again, sifting through apples, reaching for your favourite cookies on the top shelf, and almost dropping everything you grabbed from the frozen aisle because it was all too cold for your delicate fingers.

He couldn’t avoid you anymore, and now you’re his entire world.

He’s almost completely done with dinner. He just needs to quickly make the brownies, which can bake while you eat. Everything’s going according to plan (maybe a tiny bit behind schedule) until he sees a nearly-empty bag of cocoa powder in the cupboard.

Damn it, he thinks. He swore he checked for all the ingredients three times before he went to pick up what was missing. You can’t not have brownies, so he’ll have to run out quickly. Making sure the stove and oven are off and all the food is covered to stay warm, he runs to the bottom of the stairs.

“Oi, lovie, I gotta run to the store to grab summat. I’ll be back in 20 minutes.”

“Don’t go.”

He jumps and turns to the front door at the end of the main hallway, and there you stand. How did you get past him without making a sound? You’re in your sweats now, and your face is blank. Your eyes are dead as you stare your husband down. Simon’s chest constricts, knowing something must be wrong but not knowing what it is.

He takes a step toward you. “What’s going on, baby, you okay?”

“Don’t leave.”

Your voice matches your expression—blank, empty. “I—”

“You know what’ll happen when you leave,” you warn.

His breathing picks up, feeling the familiar ball of fear and disdain form in his stomach. 

“You know what happened when you left.”

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes as if to reset his mind. But when he opens them, everything is different. Different, but familiar.

The stair bannister is broken. There are dents in the drywall along the front hallway. The welcome mat is in disarray. Blood stains the floor and part of the front door frame in the shape of a handprint—a small, delicate handprint. 

And then there’s you.

You’re covered in blood and bruised with matted hair in tangles and torn clothes. And your face is no longer blank. You’re terrified.

“You know what happened when you left!” You repeat. “You know what happened when you left!”

He presses his fist to his chest and sobs, drawing in a shaky breath. The door suddenly swings open violently and a herd of men in full military gear and covered faces rush in, grabbing you and hauling you out of your home.

“SIMON!”

You try to fight back while Simon breaks into a sprint, but he doesn’t move an inch while you’re getting further and further away by the second. When the door slams shut and he loses sight of you completely, his body finally decides it’s time to wake up.

He’s sweating, panting, and crying all at once as he’s torn from sleep and met with the darkness of your shared bedroom. He’s barely slept in the two months since you were taken but every time he does, he’s forced to relive the last time he saw you.

He’ll never forget coming home with that damn cocoa powder and seeing the front door kicked in. He didn’t have a weapon, he didn’t have a plan, he didn’t have a rational thought in his head. He just needed to get in and make sure you were safe, but the state of your home made it clear that he was too late.

You were gone. And no one’s been able to track you down.

In a way, Simon’s thankful for the nightmare he just had. It was tame compared to the others. This time you were beaten and bloody, but alive. Other times you were just dead, cut to pieces, executed, held down and assaulted—all before Simon’s eyes. He doesn’t know what really happened to you. He wasn’t there, and there are no leads. So his mind fills in the blanks for him.

It’s 5:00 a.m., and it’s as good a time as any to head to base and put his intelligence training to use. It’s gotten him nowhere since you were taken, but it’s better than sitting around and doing nothing despite how many people have tried to stop him from helping.

He goes through the motions, numb to the world around him until he’s pulling his mask over his face in the front seat of his car and walking into the building. His mind is sharp and clear, ready to do anything to find you and bring you home.

“You’re supposed to be at home.”

Price is waiting for him near the front entrance like he always is. And he greets him the same way he always does. Simon continues on. “Last place I want to be.”

“You’re too close to this, Simon. You know that.”

“S’been two months.”

“And we’re working on it, but I need clear-headed people on this and you’re not one of them.”

He stops and turns around to face him. “I’m working harder than anyone else you’ve assigned to this case.”

“You’re here 18 hours a day staring at a screen. You’re not eating, you’re not sleeping. You’re in no shape to be analyzing intelligence and taking action or giving out orders. You’re too close.”

“Tha’s the thing, ’m not close. No one’s close. No one has any idea where she is and we could be too late. So let me do my job ‘n find my wife.”

Price doesn’t say anything else and he doesn’t follow him when he turns around. His head is clear. He’s focused. He wants this more than anyone else also trying to track you down. He’s the best man for the job. And he will find you.

He will.

He’ll find you.

He’ll bring you home.

He will. He will. He will.

[notathingjustthere]

ayo hold up… what if multiple yanderes were after the same darling during the purge? is that even possible? or are there rules in place so that a darling can only be hunted by one yandere? like, whichever yandere pays the most or proves themselves through purge office’s checks?

and if it IS possible… are the yanderes given a heads up? like “hey btw other yanderes are after them. good luck lol”. god imagine the chaos. poor darling lmao

Yes, multiple yanderes can put a claim on one darling! The darling would just receive multiple red letters (government announcement of a claim).

Yanderes aren’t notified that their darling has several claims, however, because that would be too beneficial for them. The darling has to have a fighting chance, after all. Also I imagine that if a Pathetic Shrimp of a yandere heard that their darling has several claims, they would be tempted to break the law and kidnap them early.

Celebrities have to notify their mail carriers or else they’ll receive an influx of thousands of red letters.

I like to think that yanderes can send a love letter with the red envelope, so Darlings can try and figure out who’s after them. If caught during the Purge, that job switches to the yandere so they know who to kill. I bet the victorious yandere also frames their letter as a trophy, or stuffs a rival’s letter into the mouth of their decapitated head.

[notathingjustthere]

[Rambling Something in Few Sentences - Angst version]

TF141*Reader, I promise there will be a fluff version I promise. I know I love to make these men suffer esp Simon Riley I just can’t help 😖

Hey everyone fluff version is out omg :D

Price

“May I have the pleasure to dance with you, Love?”

“Of course, John.” He watched your glistening eyes contained endless love for him.

...

“May I have the pleasure to dance with you, love?”

“...”

He watches your photo, lights up a cigar, starts the music on his player, and sways to the music alone in the house that used to ring with your laughter.

Soap

“Stop drawing me, Johnny, you already have tons of sketches of me, draw something else!”

“Journal is for the beautiful things, aye? how can I not draw when the prettiest lass is beside me?”

...

“Why I never see you draw people? Soap?”

“Because the most beautiful person doesn’t exist now, there’s no meaning to draw people anymore.”

Gaz

“Hey babe, time to get up for breakfast!” He yelled from the dining room, only to hear your hoarse and languid voice coming from the bedroom.

“ten more... minutes... come wake me up... “ He smiled to your response, and took a look at the clock, reminding himself to go find you later.

...

“Babe, time for breakfast!”

“...”

“Shit” He stares at the breakfast for two people placing on the table, curses under his breath.

“always remembered to wake you up 10 minutes later, always forget you aren’t here anymore.”

Ghost

“Talking to a doll is fucking stupid.”

“Hey, it’s a daily ritual for good luck, okay?” He stood there, huffed out a laugh when you gave the shark plushie a kiss. “Bye sharkie, wish me luck, We’ll be home soon!”

...

“Hi, sharkie.” He wakes up when the sunlight pours into the room, and what he sees first is the shark plushie lying beside him.

Brushing his teeth, brewing a morning tea for himself, he comes back to the bedroom one more time before he leaves the house.

“Bye sharkie, wish me luck, I’ll be back soon, yeah?”

The necklace you used to wear after he gifted to you now is secured around the shark’s body, reflecting the sunlight and shining when he speaks softly to it, as if answering him for the sharkie, and you.