#mmvalentinesevent

[undercoverpena]

heyyyy! could I request Javier Peña for the #mmvalentinesevent with “I… thought I lost you” {14} and “Never do that again. Please” {15} from the injury prompts?? you do angst so well!

take me to yours

javier pena x f!reader (dea!agent)

warnings: reader gets injured, mention (brief) panic attack, post-injury panic. || wc: 3.8k || also, i’m dedicating this to @yeyinde who i know didn’t request this, but listens to me rant and rave about this man 🤍

A bead of sweat ran down his spine as time slowed to nothing.

It was the sound of her voice that made it. Birthed it. It doing a number of other things to him. His spine tensing as something twists. Sticking painfully into his abdomen—similar to the blade of a knife.

Hey, Javi. I’m real sorry to bother you, but something doesn’t feel right here. What? I don’t… I don’t know, it just doesn’t.

She never calls—not in the day. Not even when night kisses the city and he expects her.

Their conversations had started as fleeting. More said around breaths as hands explore fabric to unveil skin. Then they had grown into stolen moments, huddled in file rooms and down the side of buildings.

Now she had called him.

Not anyone else: him.

Anyone with you? No. I’m… I’m alone. Shit—my car. It won’t start. 

The sweat had begun building at the nape of his neck when Javi had heard her voice. A reaction flooding through him almost instantly—far too quickly.

Something he’d have to unpack later when he wasn’t under the watchful eye of Murphy or holding her voice in his hand. 

The bead had hung on for dear life, growing under the tension as he tapped Murphy, and stormed back to the car.  

I didn’t know who to call—and it’s you and me, right? Look— Fuck, Javi. I think they’ve seen me. Bonita—

Something strummed inside of him. It shifted, changed. All violent and unpredictable.

It played on his nerves and organs. It made his hand shake as he rammed the key into the hole, the engine roaring to life—ignoring the questionable stares from Murphy. 

All he focused on was the nervousness in her tone. 

The worry. 

The one he expects from others, but never from her. Not the woman who’d burned her lips against his, mixing tequila and whiskey as he pressed her back against brick; not the woman who raised her chin when someone talked down to her. 

The tone and the fact she’d called him.

I’m coming, Bonita. Alright?  What do I do, Javi? What do I do— Do not go into that house, Cariño. We’re coming, okay? We’re—

That same bead of sweat slid under his shirt collar when he saw the holes in her vehicle. The same ones he had heard being fired at her when the call went dead. How it had been accompanied by a gasp, the last noise he’d heard from her. 

The one which unlocked a fear he hadn’t known he even had for her.

His fingers gripped her truck door. His eyes taking in the phone discarded on the passenger side floor. A bullet firmly in the place keys once were. It lay in a pattern of shattered glass—all of the pieces twinkling under the bright sunlight. Appearing like stars which had fallen from the sky.

It was everywhere, shards that were dragged to the other door—the one half-open that Murphy stood at.

He can’t meet his eyes. Not yet.

Instead, he sweeps his gaze over the backseat does he spot her denim jacket. His stomach lurching.

He knows without thought it’s the same one she’d had on earlier. The one which had spent weeks hanging on the hook near his front door from a time when she’d “forgotten” it.

I’ll get it soon. Don’t worry, I’m not sneak moving in.

Now, it’s covered in the softest spray of drying red.

Complicated. That’s what she had said about them. When she’d been busy reapplying her lipstick in the bar’s bathroom. His fingers having zipped up his jeans, meeting her eyes in the dirty mirror. We’re complicated. You and me. 

He hadn’t argued then, and he didn’t now. 

The sweat had finally dripped. Followed by so much more. It all burning a path down under his shirt. 

His hand swipes across his jaw as he meets Murphy’s gaze—trying not to crack under it. Even as one thought loops continuously, almost making him fearful of even speaking:

Where is she, Murphy?

Images conjured, appearing one after the other. Her bent in odd places, her eyes devoid of life—her soul, her sparkle. 

The bead began its path down his shoulder blade until it finds a home at the base of his spine. Collecting with the others, his fingers brushing his hair back, following his partner's eyes to the house. The one with its door wide open, banging against the inside wall as the warm breezes swipes against it. 

The one he told her not to go in. He takes a breath. 

The two of them fall into a line—one practised and drilled into them from training. One the two of them do countless times as Murphy gestures and he follows.

Javi is too busy trying to banish the thoughts which threaten to boil him over. The ones where his mind conjures her in positions he’ll never be able to forget; holes in her he’ll never be able to fix. 

It takes more than one breath, but two, until he feels a semblance of calmness washing over him. 

It’s quiet, eerily so. Each time their sole hits a loose floorboard, they expect a sea of bullets. Ones which never come.

Not as they clear the hallway, moving into a room with matted chairs and dead bodies. Alcohol, copper and cigarettes staining the air, all sliding past the hair in his nose into his throat. 

He should be thankful she’s not amongst them. But, he’s not. Not as he sees scarlet red spreading across the rickety wooden floor, some even with handprints, some of it even on the walls.

That same pain twists in his stomach. The silence between the two agents remaining, thick and uncomfortable. A mist falling, something churning in him that he fears Murphy can feel too. 

I’m coming, Bonita. 

He meets Murphy’s eyes. The two swap the same hopeful sentiment: the blood won’t be hers.

The tip of his boot kicks at one of the men, and his heel slides the gun from the second—content they’re both bathing in their own blood. All very much disposed of, taken care of.

He’s set to move, to follow Murphy when Javi sees a third gun, one that’s like theirs. A dread ballooning, growing so large it almost consumes him.

“She could still—“

“Let’s clear the rooms.”

He doesn’t mean to snap—didn’t mean to spit the words at him like poison.

It’s just… his breath is all mattered and clinging to his throat. A thing inside of him unfurling. It spreads itself through him. It tries to drag him into darkness, tries to make the corners of his eyes see speckles of red. 

The cracks in his walls widen as he begins to unravel. All of the well-kept emotions suddenly not remaining in their cage, escaping in bursts from him until they’re all out, hammering away at his bones. 

It’s Murphy who suggests they split, taking the next few rooms. Be quicker to find her, won’t it?

He doesn’t argue—can’t, argue. Swallowing the thickness which is doubling with each passing moment. 

The shell of the house whistles in its emptiness as Javi scans for beautiful eyes and a kind smile.

He tries not to feel anything when he doesn’t. Tries not to linger on the fact that as every second pass, the likeness of him hearing her voice grows thinner. It burns into him, twisting something in his stomach as the first room he clears is spared of death. 

Gratitude—glee—almost escaping with a sigh as he moves to the second. 

The second is the sight of disaster, but he’s not sure of what kind or magnitude. 

The stench hits him first. The smell of torture, cigarettes and sex. The matted mattress in the corner is stained with things he only casts his eyes over, the body in the centre of the room demanding his attention. 

He spots several body-shaped holes in the plaster, ones he hates the realisation that they match her height and frame. He sees the smallest amount of drying blood on what hasn’t crumbled to the ground from the force, the contrast of the once-magnolia plaster stark against the dark floorboards. 

The man in the centre is more than dead. The hole in his neck had stopped leaking at some point, having begun to congeal against the floor and the man’s shoulder. More holes in his chest, stomach and thigh follow a similar pattern. 

Javi spots the knife—the culprit of what had done the damage. It’s lodged in the decaying skirting board on the opposite wall, likely kicked there through fury and fear. 

His mind sinks into itself. It pulled open drawers he’d rather keep closed, yanking out past reports and horrid tales, seeing it like a horrid mirage playing out across the dust and debris. A part of him having already carved out space for her, and yet—

She may not be around to fill it. 

We’re complicated. You and me.

Protocol recounts in the back of his head.

His fingers twitch at his side, needing to be busy.

He should go to the car, and call ahead. He should check out the wallets of the deceased, and see if they’ve done damage against Escobar—she’s done damage.

Javi does none of that.

Instead, he puts the safety on and sheathes his gun in the back of his jeans, fingertips sliding against his thumb as he stares at the dead man in the centre of the floor. 

He waits. His teeth return to peeling the skin from his lip. Suddenly busy recalling the ways he could have kept her safe. The main one being he shouldn’t have allowed her to leave his bed. His hand should have slid over her hip, slid his thigh between hers and married his lips to hers until they both forgot about alarm clocks and responsibilities.

The sight of her this morning is what he wants back. The way her eyes had smiled more than her lips. That her palm had pressed against his cheek, laughing at something he’d said. 

It’s why he doesn’t leave the room now. Not wanting to stumble across her bent in a broken way and devoid of any life behind her eyes.

Needing, almost praying, for Murphy’s voice to carry through the house. 

That tone—that particular voice which said she was breathing, that she hadn’t been taken from him too. 

“Javi?!”

His boots sound on the floorboards before his name has stopped echoing around the emptiness. Eyes taking in Murphy, him leaning against a doorframe, gun in his bulletproof, hands over his arms. He shoots a look, one that earns him a jut of his head.

“I’ll call ahead. Give you both a minute.”

“Yeah, sure. T-Thanks, Murphy.”

He pats him as he passes—his partner. The one who likely knows too much, but Javi suddenly cares that much about.

His focus on the room. The one with no scent. The room where the plaster is peeling and the floorboards groan under his soles.

Occasionally, speckled shimmers of sunlight dance over the room from the hole-bitten curtains. The cracked window blowing a warm breeze, sliding over the cobwebs and the creatures that likely hide inside the walls.

He sidesteps around the slanted wardrobe, eyes finding her in the corner—spine pressed against two walls. She looks so small, so unlike the person he’d bid goodbye to this morning.

Her knees to her chest, arms around her calves, chin resting. But, it’s her eyes he focuses on. How they’re blurred, lost—that she’s fractured and withered at the edges.

Her clothes splattered in red, splotches on her skin. None of it bothering her, she’s being haunted by a moment they’ve not let go of.

“Bonita?”

She blinks. It’s quick, the way she banishes her thoughts as she drinks him in.

Realisation dawning, covering her face and body language as though he’s the sun at the start of a new day.

Javi is slow as he coming down in front of her, knees protesting as he does so. Her shaky smile growing, wearily placed joy spreading across her features.  

“H-Hey, Peña—you came? I know. I know you said you would-d, but… I’m glad you did. Really glad. Didn’t know if you’d find me. Anyone would find-d me. You know? You do, know. I know—”

He cups her chin, swiping his thumb under it as she swallows. “Hey, look at me. There she is… Bonita, you’re in shock, ok—”

“I am?” 

It’s forced nature not meeting her eyes, choosing to nod instead. His eyes assess the cut above her head, noticing how it’s become tacky—somewhat healing in various shades of red and black. He turns her face, surprised she allows him to, watching her eyes slide from him to the space behind him. 

The minutes before their arrival trying to steal her from him, almost doing so until her palm plastered around his wrist, surprising him. 

“Had to sit down… just for a minute. So tired, and then I couldn’t… I couldn’t get up—“

“Cariño…” His thumb strokes her cheek, the one blooming in the bluest shades of a rainbow. “Hey, keep those eyes on me.” 

His hand tilts her face, spotting the slight swelling around her eye, her gaze blurring, altering. 

“You should see the other guy.” 

“I did. All three of them. You did good.” 

She swallows and it looks like it was harder to do than he cares to think about. “I-I did?” 

“You did, Bonita.”

Her eyes close, a second longer than they have been as her chest tries to rise and fall. “I channelled m-my inner P-Peña. What would P-Peña do? And h-he’d make sure they never g-got up-p… especially when…”

He should let go of her chin, and drop his hand back to his lap. He doesn’t. Just stares instead, taking in the flecks of her one good eye and the way her breath seems to be coming back to her. 

She places her hand on his arm. “I’m okay.” 

“You are.”

Biting the inside of her lip. “They’d spotted me.”

His heart slows, and almost stops. Just for a moment—so brief he could have ignored it, but he doesn’t. “I heard, Cariño.”

Not sure if he’ll ever be able to drink away the sound.  

“Thought… not him—not Escobar. But, someone… y’know? Important. That we could tick off. Red cross over their face. You know? You know, of course you do. But, I don’t think they was. Important, I mean?” Her lip trembles, the size of it sprouting the same as her eye. Tears welling up, sitting in her eyes as she furiously doesn’t let them fall. “Even for the way they… they really wanted to hur—kill me.” 

It drops, his stomach. Practically almost falls out of his ass into the floorboards.

We’re complicated. You and me. 

The fear he’d managed to stifle, darts through him again like wildfire. Scorching all the parts of him, fanning its vine-like fingers through him, tangling around organs as it flexes and tightens, making it hard to breathe. 

He acknowledges what it means—what she means to him.

He does.

Javi knows she isn’t just someone who has kept his bed warm or been there when he’s needed to fuck his frustration out; she’s not someone who he just looks for around the building. She’s—

“Where’s Murphy?” 

Her breathing suddenly difficult—challenging. Her hand slides under her blouse, eyes dilating, blurring before his eyes all over again.

All he can think is she shouldn’t have been here alone. Shouldn’t have been asked to come here without someone like him, like Murphy. 

“He’s outside. You good to walk?” 

She nods, just about. 

His brain latching, furiously clutching to the fact she’s alive—breathing.

He hadn’t lost her—she hadn’t been taken from him. Not yet. Something he hadn’t allowed himself to believe could be true when he’d seen her truck. When they’d walked in and heard nothing—not even the wheezes of someone’s last breath. 

You like her. He thinks. You like her, you like her, you like her. 

She’s taken to the ambulance the moment they exit the building.

It allowed him a horrid moment to take in the tips in her jeans, the way her once white blouse was stained to ruin. How she limped, ever so slightly—something he hadn’t noticed from near carrying her against him out of the building.

As soon as she was taken from him, he hated how far away she was. His hands lighting a cigarette, and then another. Able to speak clearly to those who asked him things.

But, it didn’t quiet his thoughts or calm his frayed edges. 

“Carrillo says he can handle the rest, you coming?”

There’s a look in Murphy’s eyes as he asks—all-knowing and cocky. He hates it—despises it. It feeling like a test.

Javi wants to roll it up and shove it down his partner’s neck. 

“Um, no. Think I’ll stick around here.”

Nodding, Murphy casts his cigarette down. “I called it.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Did. Look after her, yeah?”

He jostles under the slap of Murphy’s hand on his back, half-rolling his eyes as he tries to ignore the frustration building. The fact all of it, his feelings, are rising to the surface in thick bubbles. And he’s not able to keep a lid on it. Not the way he feels or how much he’s showing it. 

Me and you.

He lets his eyes find her again. 

Having tried not to let her out of his sight the moment the medic had taken her from him. She’d searched for him too, having been examined by the shut doors—desperately looking for him, calming when she seated at the edge of the ambulance having found him. She soothed him too, stopped the storm from taking over and rendering him more useless than he feels. 

It’s why he waits, and spends far too long avoiding going over until her head turns and shifts. The sight of it making him worry, panic.

Then he follows her line of sight, seeing the sheet-covered bodies, and his legs cut through the people and trucks until he’s standing before her. 

It pulls her back to him. Her eyes landing on him. An easier smile able to spread over her lips as she leans her head against the inside of the vehicle. 

“You causing trouble?” 

“Me? No. I leave that to you, Peña.” 

He placed his hand on his hip, foot up on the ambulance's step as she watches him. Takes him in as he does her.

The bruising has developed, spreading in thick shades which shouldn’t have ever touched her skin, never mind had the chance to blossom out over it. 

“You gotta go to the hospital?” 

Slowly, she leans her head against the side of the vehicle. “No. But, I can’t be alone, so I suggested this guy called Javier could keep an eye on me. Just has to make sure I don’t faint or pass out, vomit and something else, I kinda stopped listening.”

“Cariño.”

Her tongue sweeps out over her lips. “What? You don’t want to keep an eye on me, Javi?” 

More than fucking anything. 

Never wants to let her out of his sight again, if he could. Wants to press her body against his until no space remains, letting her breath fan out over his face and her heartbeat pelt against his ribs. 

“Javi…?”

Lifting his head, he meets her eyes. A more detailed conversation happens in the stare, one with words that fall with ease. Each is perfectly articulated, chosen and spoken which makes all of this easy. Not that she’s easy—not that the two of them are either. 

We’re complicated. You and me. 

They are complicated and messy, and brilliant. He knows it—feels it even. How complex it is that she even managed to get under his layers, weave herself into his life to the point he’s not sure if he could breathe as easily without her. 

He knows, on some distant level, he felt it more before today. That it had begun festering months ago, blooming into something sweeter and nicer than he’d ever allowed himself to have only once—if ever. 

“I… thought I lost you…”  

Slowly, her grin drops. Her lips spread out into a line—either in surprise at his confession, or at the truth of it. His words remaining, hanging, settling between them—not dancing up into the sky. 

Even as he heard them, he didn’t regret them. Even if it widened the gap in his carefully curated walls.

It takes a lot to render her silent, he’s learnt that. He’s found ways, but never with words. So, watching her mouth open and close is a sight to behold—somewhat waiting for a trophy he’s never sure will come. 

“Who’d annoy you if I went and died, Peña?”

“Knowing you, Bonita? You’d find some way to fuckin’ haunt me.”

It’s low, but it’s there—her laugh. It brushes through the air to his ears, both of them tuning in for it, needing it. It settles a part of him—one which hadn’t believed she was out of the woods. Somewhat expecting at any moment for her eyes to roll back into her head and her soul be whisked from him, without him having much say in it. 

“Javi… I should thank you. For coming for me.” 

It takes all of his self-control to not let the words he feels slide out. Seeing something in her eyes too. Something hidden, stuffed down. Something likely akin to how he’s feeling. 

“You called me, Cariño. I’ll always come.”

Her lips slide into a smile, one softer, more genuine, and his heart skips a beat at the sight of it. “Because it’s you and me, right?”

His chest tightens. A thought growing, mouldering—that he doesn’t deserve her, isn’t good enough. It rises like a tide, filling his throat as he watches her lean forward, easing herself down from the vehicle. He tries to force how he feels back down, swallowing back everything and anything—

And then her palm brushes his cheek, soft and innocent. 

“You’re coming to mine.” 

She bites the inside of her mouth, lips pulling tight, nodding firmly. “Okay.”

He rolls his head on his neck, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip as he shifts his weight. “Never… never do that again,” he whispers, just for her. “Please?”

“What?”

He finds her smirking. Knowingly. “Scare me. I—I can’t… I don’t think I can lose you.”

She moves closer, letting him see the pale strips against her wound—the one that the medic likely fought to stick on. He notices the flecks in her eyes again, almost sees the reflection of himself in how wide and beautiful they are. 

“Take me to yours, Javi.”

Nodding, he swipes his thumb across his bottom lip. 

#mmvalentinesevent #mm valentines event #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier peña narcos #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javi pena #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader

[undercoverpena]

Hi Jo! Love the idea of #mmvalentinesevent! Could I please request Ghost x Rain, and specifically Rain freaking out because Ghost was reckless and risked his life for a USB? Was that when Ghost fell in love? Happy Valentines xx

retrieve it.

simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (rain!reader)

an: a huge thank you to @ave661 for allowing me to use this beautiful image. i’d written the scene, seen the render, and it was like two worlds colliding in the most brilliant way. thank you, i adore you

wc: 1.6k | an: no warnings, little anxiety/worry. i changed the prompt a little, as i wanted to do them established already for v-day ♥️

It mirrors it. The mission that first made you realise you didn’t just admire him, but had feelings for your lieutenant.

It was the one that haunted your nightmares, more so now, than it had done at the time. The one which shattered your small world, making it hard to think of anything but him.

He almost became a ghost. A real one.

Something he knows, but won’t admit. Likely knowing there are more times than he can count where it’s been that close or worse.

And you should be listening as Price gives the rest of them a role, a part to play. You don’t hear him, don’t even take the file from the table. Everything was the same, anyway.

You’re with Soap. You’re the one staring down the scope—you’re the one protecting his six. You’re drowning, dazed…

Words are simply circling, but not sinking in. Your nose heightened to his deodorant suddenly, to the way his skin smells when you’re nose is pressed against his chest. You’re not even close to him. But your body reaches for him, clings to him—attempting to smother the building worry:

People aren’t that lucky.

He’d walked from it last time—fire whipping around him, scorch marks having kissed his clothes and exposed skin. It’s not that you ever focus on, but the minute that felt like an hour when he wasn’t responding. When his radio crackled, and you realised that you liked him—that you cared, that you—

You’re panicking a whole metre away from him. No way close enough for him to tell. But he does. His eyes lock with yours under the balaclava, digging his pupils into your skin: I’m here, I’m here.

But for how long?

They all tease Soap for being the first to rush into danger, to throw himself on the grenade. But, Simon isn’t that different. He’s more methodical, having likely come to a calculated conclusion rather than reactionary, but he still throws himself against danger. His isn’t to be a hero, but to pay a due—one he doesn’t even owe.

It’s why you keep replaying Price’s words from minutes ago—

We can’t fuck this. Ghost. You’ll b’going in alone, y’retrieve the USB…

Price knows he’ll do it. Knows without fucking question. It almost makes you a little mad at your captain.

Because Ghost will pull apart buildings, rip through people, and willingly throw himself into flames for the mission—for the cause.

It’s all you can think of. It’s all that plays in your mind. Untangling and tangling again, like a pair of headphones which have been in your pocket for too long.

“Meeting adjourn—“

You’re out of the room before anyone else. Your boots slamming and echoing down corridors, t-shirt suddenly too tight, belt too restrictive…

Panic.

That’s what you feel. It makes your arm throb, it makes the scars littered along your skin burn. It makes you want to claw—practically consuming you. Filling you from the ankles to your forehead, suffocating you, wrapping its hands around your heart and lungs as it squeezes and squeezes and—

You almost slam through the door. The one which leads to an empty room—a former office. A desk and a chair are all that remain as evidence that they belonged to someone once. A desk and chair you and Ghost have made use of when you truly need time alone—no interruptions, no risk of being caught.

You could seat yourself in the chair, but you slide onto the desk. Pushing your back against the jagged brick, letting your feet hang, moving them forwards and backwards.

Calming.

It works, sometimes. Roots you. You trying to keep yourself level-headed. Breathing in and out, trying to stuff it all down, and yet, you’re failing—badly. Mind tumbling, falling aimlessly through your neck, chest and stomach.

You can’t lose him.

It’s what builds inside of you, occasionally being drilled like a woodpecker against your skull. You had thought the same then, and didn’t—hadn’t. But, the helplessness never eased, even when he held you close. The emptiness you felt, when he entered the building, but took so long to come out.

That same emptiness has worsened over time, developed into something thicker and harder to ignore. It multiplies, in the same way, your feelings for him have.

Rain doesn’t wash away ghosts, but it falls similarly to how you have for him. Quickly, significantly. It sits on your chest when he stares at you in silence, when his calloused touch brushes over your cheek, softly, intimately.

None of them knows.

None of them would have even considered that you love him, and that he… feels something close to it. They don’t know. None of them understood the anger he felt when your arm was dislocated; none of them comprehended why anger had burst out of you when he was nearly shot because of shoddy intel.

They don’t know, because they don’t have it: a secret which erodes in your chest, one that makes it hard to think. You sigh, and then you hear it—footsteps, one’s which seem to slow your pulse back to a regular rhythm.

He always has that effect on you. The same as he always finds you.

It almost makes you wonder if he’s akin to a heat-seeking missile. Never missing, never too far away from locating you. You’d ask him, whether he had a sixth sense, but you’re not sure you can talk.

Ghost says nothing as he steps in, but he’s rolled his sleeves up. His ink and veins on show as he walks towards you in silence, the door meeting the frame the only thing to shatter the quiet.

Before he came to your home, Ghost stalked towards you. Since then, he walks. Each movement he does towards you is more rounded, less jagged.

“In and out.”

He says it so confidently you snort. He’s always confident—it’s Simon who isn’t.

Ghost is clinical, emotionless, and withdrawn—and rightly so, for the things he’s had to do. It’s Simon who can’t consider the possibility that someone is waiting for him—the former not allowing himself to consider he’s worth it.

“Rain.”

You lift your chin at your callsign, finding him standing in front of you. His bare hand slowly slid over your knee, your legs parting—just enough to let him move a little closer.

It’s gentle, almost confusingly so. The two of you rarely share these moments, the quiet ones, the ones where so much is said, but with eyes and softer gestures.

You focus on the scratch fabric of his trousers catching on your inner knees and thighs as he steps between your legs, nudging the desk you’re placed on.

He says nothing, and neither do you.

A flash of memories fluttering like the wings of butterflies: him at your one-person table, him in your bed—your sheets; him finding you in the showers, him bringing you a can of Coke… just because.

It’s his palm sliding up the outside of your thigh that makes you really meet his gaze. Not afraid or ashamed of the tears brewing in them, your lips parting, but the words don’t fall—don’t roll from your tongue…

I need you alive. I need you.

Your hands, though, take hold of his top—burning the words as hard as you can into the fabric, hoping he hears you. Not sure if you can spit them out. Even if your heart is bellowing it, furiously banging on your ribs to get him to hear you.

“It’s not like then.”

“No?” you murmur.

He shakes his head, silent, but direct.

“You’ll do anything to finish a mission.”

He nods, tracing a circle on your outer thigh, making your skin tingle. “I will.”

“You… you put yourself in danger, and… I admire it, fuck I love that about you, but…”

“I have you.”

You feel your brows furrow before you’re even sure you hear him. His words smothering the ones from Price—the ones which hadn’t dislodged for prayers or hopes. Only him.

He swallows, lifting his other hand to your cheek, holding your eyes on his. “I have you, and you like me alive.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, sharply. Nodding softly against his palm as he sighs.

“In and out.”

“In and out.”

He gives a curt nod, slowly lowering his forehead against yours, fingers strumming your thigh and your cheek.

“Plus, your scope will b’on me,” he gruffly whispers.

“I-It will.”

He strokes his thumb over your chin. “Then I’ll be fine.”

You hate his confidence, the pressure which falls in flecks onto your shoulders.

“No one I trust more to have my back, Rain.”

“You’re just saying that—”

He lifts his head, tilting your chin up, staring down into your soul through the blacks of your eyes. “Not to you. I never say… not to you, alright?”

You nod, rolling your lips as you sigh. Unsure whether you should say it, let the words kiss the air, until they fall from your tongue all the same—

“I love you alive, Simon.”

His eyes widen at the chance in word. The noticeable difference from like to love.

Your hands balling up against his clothing, his hand gripping your thigh. Perfection. That’s what you think as you hold on for as long as you both can, making sure he knows you mean them. Your words.

Then you feel it, his heart hammering more purposefully against your wrist, as you clutch onto him a little tighter.  

And then, he lifts the fabric from his chin, letting you see soft pink and stubble, before he kisses a reply against your lips, over and over again.

One which burns in all the right ways; one which you carry with you, as you make sure he’s safe as you stare down the scope.

#mmvalentinesevent #mm valentines event #simon ‘ghost’ riley #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #cod x reader #ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x rain #simon riley x reader #ghost cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x f!reader

[undercoverpena]

hi love! Can I use the prompt

“Visiting them at work, either with lunch, or just to spend the afternoon with them as they try to get things done. Whether they actually get things done, or thing devolve into flirting/romantic gestures is up to you.”

With Javier Peña?? I truly believe a women showing him love/affection would make him throw up lmao but still I crave it. thank you ❤️❤️

#mmvalentinesevent

lunch break.

javi peña x f!reader

an: i hope you don’t mind i changed it a smudge, thought this would be more him, and his counterpart. season one/two ish. i’ve been loose with details.

You don’t even need to let the door slam, his eyes find yours as soon as you're standing in the doorway.

The realisation dawning, spreading, making creases appear in his brow before they smooth out, eyes softening and filling with apologies. Ones that make the air—in the loud, busy room he works in—all the more thick and heavy.

His jawline is more prominent, jutting out. You've committed it to memory with both your fingers and mouth. The feel of it is still able to conjure on your lips—if you need them to.

Instead, you watch his eyes. How the beginning of an apology begins to form as they sweep over your frame. Not that you'll accept it.

Hastily lifting the brown bag, you move closer to his desk. You're quick to notice the new deeper shade of the circles under his eyes. How they're worse under the sepia lighting—even more so as he leans back, arms stretching behind his skull as he rolls his lips.

All you're focused on is how his top two buttons are undone. The thinnest spread of sweat blotting over his skin, making your mind summon memories that'll make you weak, when you want to make him pay.

“I… fuck. I was meant to meet you for lunch?”

Your brows rise playfully, walking closer to his desk, dumping the bag down on the edge as you shift your denim jacket from your shoulders. “You were meant to meet me for lunch.”

With one hand, you wheel Murphy’s free chair to his desk, plonking yourself down next to him. Letting the thin fabric of your sundress settle above your thighs—landing higher on your skin than it did when you’d been standing.

Perfect.

“I’m so—“

“Save it, Peña. I ordered for you, which don't thank me—I added everything you hate to it.”

He pulls your chair closer to him, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Thank you, cariño.”

You almost crack.

His name for you, the one which rolls from his lips like honey, the one he's scorched over and over again against your rib cage, lips and thighs.

“The only reason I’m here is because I want to embarrass you as much as you embarrassed me by standing me up?”

Swiping his tongue across his bottom lip, he follows it by sliding his thumb in the same pattern. Dark eyes studying, traipsing over your face—desperately trying not to let them descend to your bare collarbone.

“How badly am I going to pay for this?”

You smirk, pulling out one of the trays from the bag, shrugging lightly as you place one in front of him. Cautiously avoiding his files, papers and lit cigarette.

You feel it then, his palm on your leg. Heavy, tight—warm. It takes everything not to inhale. To let your skin go several degrees higher from the implications, from the knowledge of what it can do.

Nothing was innocent with Javi Peña. But then, he didn’t come round at all hours of the night because you were innocent either. It hadn't begun between you to begin with because you were irreproachable.

Smirking silently to yourself, you allow his fingers to dance up your thigh. Having already put a plan in motion.

It's why you don't demand his eyes back to you when they move back on the papers in front of him. You don't argue when he mutters that you’ll have all his attention in a minute. You already know you will when he realises.

Instead, you pop open your tray, silently watching the smoke from his cigarette swirl up into the lights, blending with the cloud that's likely been forming since the sun rose.

And you wait.

“Where’s Murphy?”

“Fuck if I know.”

You bite the corners of your cheek, watching him flip a page over, his hand rising a little more north on your leg.

It’s torture, waiting. Needing him to rise up, feel the crease of your thigh. To run his index finger over the place where cotton or lace should be—finding nothing but bare, beautiful skin.

You almost forget how to breathe as you wait.

The underwear you’d slid off in the car, sitting dormant in your jacket pocket. Knowing there’s nothing greater in this world than food, sex, wine and torturing him; than making him wait, and watching a man who is rarely ever told no, to be patient.

You bite into your food, spices exploding as you fight a groan. Not wanting to give yourself away—to showcase that you’re up to something as he draws patterns on your skin.

You just want him a little higher, wanting him to brush over the empty expanse where he’d only last night slid your underwear down with his teeth.

It’s tense. Almost unsure how you can swallow from the way your pulse thundered in your throat. It’s making you sweat. Your skin prickling with adrenaline, eyes fixated on his side profile—his handsome, fucking face.

For a second, you hold your breath as his fingers fan over your skin. You’re rendered useless when he pauses, head lifting half an inch, dark eyes staring at you from the corners.

“Cariño…”

You lick the sauce from your finger, dropping the remainder of your food into the tray, blanking your face as you hum.

“Did you… Did you forget something?”

Frowning, you lick your lips as you tilt your head, meeting his gaze. Skin warming under it—thighs desperate to push together under his burning gaze.

“Don't think so? I mean, there’s more sauce in the bag—“

He turns his chair quickly, wheels working with him as he pulls you close—yours almost colliding with his. But he's good, so good. Already having his leg slotting between yours as you’re pulled to face him.

“Not the sauce. Where are they?”

You bite your lip, letting the smirk show, the angelic facade falling as quickly as your dress would have done—if he had shown up. “Pocket.”

“Give them to me.”

Frowning, you trace your teeth with your tongue. Slowly shaking your head, smirk broadening, telling him enough without as much as speaking.

He grits his jaw, staring at you, not even caring for how brazen he’s being with letting his eyes roll over you. How they take you in, undressing you, reminding your muscles and bones how he feels when he’s against you.

It takes all of you not to brush the strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead. But if you do, he’ll kiss your pulse. He’ll coax you in, make you forget that he had you waiting for an hour.

You didn’t come here because you want to forgive him, you want him to repent. Want him on his knees, hands on the back of your thighs whispering prayers into the space between your thighs.

He must know. Must be able to tell. His eyes shifting, lips curling.

“I’m a fucking idiot.”

Leaning closer, your eyes flick to his lips. His perfect, parting lips. “Oh, I know." Your fingers press against them, pushing his head back gently. "Eat ya damn food, Peña.”

He drops his chin, staring up at you through his lashes, whispering, “There's something else I’d rather eat.”

You hum, smiling sweetly. “Oh, Javi, I know. But, that was dessert and you didn’t bother fucking showing up for the main. So.”

He eyes you, prodding his tongue into his cheek. "Alright, cariño."

Smirking, your eyes fall to his lap, noticing the prominent bulge, the one you'd caused as you, moved closer to his ear, lips ghosting over his skin. "Let this be a lesson to not stand me up again, Javi."

He tenses from head to toe, watching you as you lean forward to grab your tray. "You're a horrible woman."

Licking the sauce from your finger, you smile. "Oh, I know, querido."

#mm valentines event #mmvalentinesevent #javier peña x reader #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #javi peña x reader #narcos x reader #narcos javier x reader #javi peña x f!reader #javier peña narcos #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña #javi peña #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x dea!reader #javier pena imagine

[undercoverpena]

hi! Requesting something like these “On a whim, pulling your lover into an alley and pressing your lips firmly against theirs, getting lost in each other's touch while the streets bustle outside. “If we get caught kissing in a small, dark, kind of shady alleyway, it's on you."” For price please and thank you! I personally would love to feel this big man push me against a wall haha

#mmvalentinesevent

small, dark and kind of shady

john price x f!reader

It’s sudden. One minute the two of you are walking along the street.

Pretending, hand on his forearm, fingers dancing up and down a vein as the sun kisses your face.

The next you’re in an alleyway. The cool air cooling your skin, spine against firm brick, as the building casts you both in shadows.

His hand, large and calloused, captures your cheek. Pulling your eyes to him, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Feeling his knee between yours.

Did y’need to wear a dress? You said blend in—like a tourist. I am dressed like a tourist, John.

Recon. That's what he had said. The two of you to roam some cobbled European streets, take photos, and pretend to be a couple.

The latter being the easiest part of the whole thing.

Naturally, you weren't sure what recon needed to be collected on your face. Not when his fingers had wrapped around your elbow or when he had pulled you into the alleyway.

Less so now as he studies you, letting his eyes draw across every single part of your face. His eyes were almost hidden by the shadows, thankful his cap is backwards—not that you’d never find his eyes.

You always find them. Across rooms, across streets. A silent conversation is always able to be had through them.

Not that you care. The two of you rarely get a chance to do this, to watch, observe and admire. So many eyes on you both—the captain and his sergeant.

You almost speak, feeling yourself need to. But, you don’t want to shatter the moment. Snap whatever this is and whatever it could become.

Instead, you allow the cars driving over cobble and stone to disturb the peace at the other end of the alleyway. The entrance closest to you both has people peppering the air with languages you only partially understand.

But, no one notices the two of you.

The two people who should know better, but are acting like teenagers. Even with the clouds heavy above the two of you, threatening to spill and rain down on your plans for the day.

Making the task harder. Making the trip last longer. Again, you didn’t care much. The fake story of being a couple in Europe allowed you both to benefit from it. Allow you to lie with him undisturbed.

Meaning now, the lines are blurred. Allowing you to be lost in him, and he in you.

It makes you not want to go home. To return to base and go back to pretending.

You pull him closer by his jacket. The once-tan but now-a-worn-brown one. The one he’d put over your shoulders months ago, not saying a word as he did, side-eyeing you as you buried your cheeks against the lapels. The ones which you suspect had once been soft, but now were bobbled and overwashed.

His chin tilts, staring into your eyes like you have the answers to all his questions.

"If we get caught kissing in a small, dark, and kind of shady alleyway, it's on you, Captain."

"Won't get caught, love."

"Overconfidence, I like it."

He smirks, his low laugh brushing over your skin. The scent of his last cigar flowed in the little space between the two of you. One you wish would attach itself to your clothes, your skin, your bedsheets.

Merging and mingling with the scent he leaves on your skin. When his hand hooks your leg over his hips and calls you pretty, and good, and a bunch of other praises that make your cheeks and chest burn.

"You going to kiss me then, John?"

He strokes his thumb across your cheek, inhaling deeply, his eyes staring into yours. "Y’always in a rush."

“Have you seen yourself?”

His thumb brushes your cheek. “Enough.”

You grin, light and easily. One he pulls from you without trying—has done since this all began.

Licking your lips, you tilt your head. "If I was pissin' around with Soap, you'd rip me a new arsehole."

He chuckles, low and deep. The corners of his mouth twitch, the wired hair catching the limited light. His other hand slid under the hem of your dress, palm grasping your upper thigh.

"You're not wrong."

"Never am, am I, John?"

He shakes his head. "No, love."

Sighing, you roll your hips against his. Watching his throat, seeing how he swallows.

He tries to hide it. He fails at it like he did when he denied he didn’t want to fuck you that first time. The internal war he had with himself almost allowed you to walk out the door.

You’re thankful he lost to his better judgement. Even more glad that he’s changed his judgement, realising how worth it you are.

He presses his forehead against yours, seeing how his eyes have darkened—just enough to know that his original thoughts of a quick makeout were turning into something longer, something which would have you likely walking funny.

The loud sound of a bang is followed by a car horn blaring. But, neither of you pulls your gaze from the other. Not that he’d let you. His hand still holding your cheek in place.

Even if your pulse quickens—even if he feels it—your hand almost flexes to reach for something. Something you don’t even have on you—

“It’s alright, love. I’m here.”

“I know,” you whisper, hooking your finger inside the waistband of his jeans.

Stroking your touch lightly against his skin, hearing the noticeable inhale.

“That’s the problem.”

“I’m the problem, hmm?”

“Well, I’m not the one in charge, distracting the impressionable sergeant who has to collect intel…”

He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. The first indication you’re going to be warned, your thighs squeezing around his knee at the thought.

“Already got enough intel, love.”

“Oh? So, we’re what? Seeing the sights?”

“I am.”

Your skin warms. Eyes flicking down, never sure what to do with his praise, with his flattering words.

“Look at me.”

You do. You’d do anything he asked. “Still the problem?”

You nod lightly, watching him smirk. “If you kissed me, I’d reconsider though.”

He licks his lips, mumbling a fair, and then he crashes his mouth to yours.

Chapped lips against yours, filling you with warmth similar to the European sun on your skin. You whimper, the sound stolen by his tongue and his mouth.

Mostly, you let yourself feel how his hand keeps you close—so close, there's no space left. His lips burn words into you he hasn’t yet said. Your hand tugging his hips flush against yours. Wanting him. Needing him.

Even if you had him this morning. Even if you'd spent hours, when you should have been sleeping, getting your fill of him.

The two of you are like teenagers when the parents are away. Two people who are not scared of being caught.

Nothing like a captain and his sergeant.

Not that you care at all.

#mmvalentinesevent #mm valentines event #john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #john price cod #john price x female reader #cod price x reader #cod price #cod x reader

[undercoverpena]

Hi, Jo💜 for #mmvalentinesevent can i request back hugs with Ghost and Helen? Preferably something as simple when they're on their rarer days off and just doing their thing spending quality time with one another? If you're up for it, I'll leave the rest of the details up to you. 🫶

gimme your hand. your heart.

simon ghost riley x f!reader (helen!reader)

part of the #mmvalentinesevent || wc: 1k an: helen is her callsign. not her name.

Ghost likes her being next to him.

He's thought it for a while. Letting it thicken at the back of his throat, almost dripping from his tongue when she suggests going to her own room. He never says it, just tugs her close, a silent declaration.

Now, whenever time allows, she is here. Her room becoming a place she only goes when he isn't here and when the hours are ‘inconvenient’.

Sometimes, she goes there when it's been a really shit day. When she says she can’t people—her eyes glassy and her skin drained. If he's around, he always pulls her to his, let’s her lie in her usual place, in one of his t-shirts.

Ghost doesn’t see the point in her not sleeping in his room. The space she takes up is never used anyway. Even if heavy sleep pulls him under, he unconsciously doesn't move into it. Lets reality kiss the tips of his fingers when he wakes up and she’s not there—feeling cold when it should be warm, allowing himself a moment to miss her, before he stuffs the longing deep down.

He's thankful those days are few and far better. Just like he's grateful more of his days off duty line up with hers.

"You know," she says, taking his hand in hers. Her body pressed against his, mask forgotten, draped over the inside door handle. "You didn't have to injure yourself to have a day off with me."

"Didn't."

She squeezes his hand, watching his eyes as he grimaces. Bitch.

"It would hurt less if you moisturised the area. It stings because it's scabbing and your hands are as dry as sandpaper."

"Y'weren't complaining earlier."

She gives him a look before her body twists, turning her face from his—sliding from his hold as she grabs the bottle she always leaves.

"Wouldn't have hurt if you didn't fuckin' squeeze it, either," he adds.

She shoots him another look. He's getting good at understanding each one, each slight infliction of a brow or curl of her lip. Her hand holds the obnoxiously large bottle, the one that looks normally-sized in his own. The one which has found itself a permanent residence in his room, and not hers. Ghost is sure she'll never reach the bottom, even if she's always squeezing from it, covering her hands, arms and legs in it.

He doesn't hate it: the smell or the way it makes her skin feel. Liked how it felt when he pulled her close when he kissed his way from her fingers to her wrist to her elbows.

The noise of the contents spilling into her hand fill the space. It almost tugs a childish smirk from him—almost. He could always watch her do mundane things.

Watching her swirl a white pattern into her palm before gesturing for his hand. One he gives, all with a half-roll of his eyes.

"I think you're a masochist. Enjoy feeling the injuries from your latest adventure."

He says nothing, which only makes her smirk, all light and knowing—and more than enough to make his heart skip.

He lets her run the cream over his skin, over his fingers, bones and knuckles. But then, he lets her do so much that he'd never allow others to do.

It soaks in quickly, but her thumbs continue. Lightly applying pressure to his joints, to his muscles and ligaments. It's nice, different. Her eyes fixed on his skin, and his fixed on her.

She could stop his heart if she tried.

If she compelled him to, he'd stop it for her. Rip it out his goddamn chest and hand it to her. He'd show her all the places inside of him she's taken up—that he's willingly allowed her to carve as her own. Places he's longed thought would never be filled.

"Could do this more often..." Her eyes flick up to him, washing him in shades he'll never be able to name. "Massage you. Do something other than have you moaning my name."

Fuck, he wants to kiss her.

Smother his mouth over her fucking smirk and taste the words she's just said.

"Think you'd miss how good I make you feel, Helen."

She slows her touch, digging it deeper into the space between his index and thumb. "Your ego astounds me. It should be studied."

"I don't have an ego." He places his other hand over hers, feeling the leftover cream soak into his palm, "Just know what I'm good at."

She bites back a smirk. He can tell. Knows from the slight narrowing of her eyes and the way she dips her chin for a moment before she pretends she's defiant. If he touches her cheeks, he knows they'd be searing, likely soaked her underwear too, if he were to check.

"What? Getting scars..."

His tongue darts into his cheek as her hand lets go of him, kneeling up before stepping from her place on his bed.

It's fleeting, the urge to pull her back to him, crash his lips against her mouth, but he doesn't. Letting her go, hating the emptiness he feels sitting on the bed when she heads into his bathroom.

He stands because of it. Stands because he has to.

His eyes peer through the gap in the door, settling himself at the sight of her. Fingers twitching, ever so slightly until she turns, and smiles.

"What?"

"C'mere."

Her lips curl up, smiling, running her hand briefly over a towel before crossing to him. He turns her when she's in reach, her back to his chest, her little oof lost to the room as she melts into him. Just like he knew she would.

Slowly, he rests his chin on her head, sliding his arms around her waist, pulling her wrists close to her body. Taking in the scent of her hair, the way she hasn't moved—allowing him this.

"You're getting good at this. Hugging."

He digs his chin a little into her hair. "Shut up, Helen."

Her fingers brush over his, looping themselves in between his as she sighs. Not in annoyance, but more in content. Something he does himself a few minutes later.

"Thank you."

"What was that?" her head twisting, eyes looking up at him.

Sparkling, shining—like the stars do when the sky is dark and empty of everything else but them.

"Thank. You."

"For..."

Everything, he thinks. Instead, he turns his hand slightly in hers, and she smiles—softer, sweeter. "Y-you're welcome, Simon."

She motions to move, but he simply holds her tighter. His eyes looking at her, pleading almost—Don't make me fuckin' ask you to stay, Helen.

So she doesn't.

She just remains, back to his chest, head under his chin, fingers in between his.

#mmvalentinesevent #mm valentines event #simon riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #cod ghost x you #ghost x helen #simon x helen #simon 'ghost' riley #cod x reader

[undercoverpena]

happy valentine's day, jo ❤️ for the #mmvalentinesevent can i request "carding your fingers through your lover’s hair after a bad nightmare" with ghost and helen please? love you, babes!!

sometimes, i dream

simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader [helen!reader]

Some nights, he falls asleep dreaming of nothing.

In others, the black space behind his eyes comes alive with all the failings—the blood, the loss, the sights. Sometimes they’re accurate depictions, a flashback, a reminder; sometimes they’re heightened, a lie created by the fears he carries.

He never knows when they’ll come, when they’ll crash into him, and when they do…

Nightmares pull Ghost under. The mask he applies so perfectly is yanked from his face, leaving him exposed—leaving him with Simon.

Simon has scars that are different to the ones Ghost has. Ones that aren’t on skin level, but far beneath the surface.

They choke him. They force strangled noises passed his lips as the darkness wraps around his throat. It unfurls inside of him. Needing to wake, needing to escape—

“Simon…”

It drips into his ear, calls to him: her voice.

An outline of her stepping like the brightest light into the peripheral of his dream. It’s something, but not quite enough. Needing more, internally pleading with her.

Save me. Help me.

“Shh, Simon. I’m here.”

She’s more corporeal. Pushing through the shadows of his guilt, trying to reach him, desperately fighting against memories and failures and—

“Baby, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Her nails brush through his hair as he dances between dreams and being awake. He knows them so well. A feeling he treasures and craves.

Her fingers, those healing hands, push past his slightly-too-long hair. Likely feeling the damper parts from his nightmare. Her nails occasionally scrape against his scalp, cementing him here and not wherever his mind keeps trying to take him.

Ghost flicks his eyes open. His sight meeting darkness, but not the same type his mind had conjured. This darkness has familiar shapes and calming shadows. It has outlines that make him relax.

It’s why all he does is stare.

Finding her eyes, even in the dark of the night. Needing them, having them guide him back to normal breathing.

He should admit it—tell her—that the mere whisper of his name had yanked him free of his nightmares hands. That when she repeated it again, it unlodged the grip around his lungs; untangled the knot in his stomach, and allowed his heart to thump again.

But when she called him baby... when her beautiful lips let those four letters slip out into the air—it had pulled him back to her.

Pulled him from sandy deserts, where there were screams of people he could have saved and his palms soaked with blood that wasn't his.

It’s why he stares at her like she is the sun. Because she is his sun. She lights him, both his world and his skin. She spreads warmth, even amongst the places he never thought he’d feel it again. Her smile, similar to the sunniest of days—makes everything okay, even when it couldn’t be further from it.

She has cloudy days, thunderstorms and rain, too. He knows she does. Has pulled her from them and brought her close to him.

He guesses she's returning the favour. Pull him close to her, feeling his panicked breath on her chest until he soothes and coats her skin in quick thank yous.

He will, thank her. For now, he slides his hand over her forearm, squeezing—letting her know he’s back, he’s here. A silent gratitude, one she must hear loud and clear because she drops the softest, sweetest kiss to his brow.

“Would you still love me if I was a rock, Simon?”

And he feels it before he acknowledges it: a smile.

The way it spreads like wildfire across his face. The way his mind wants to articulate some sarcastic comment, letting go of the last tendrils of his nightmare with ease.

She’s good. He thinks quickly—almost tempted to slide his palm up and feel her smirk. Using distraction.

“I’d carry you in my pocket. Maybe throw you at Johnny when he’s pissin' me off.”

She laughs the most beautiful sound, one which lulls him without trying. “You wouldn’t need to aim, either. I’ll always find the spot to hurt him. Just for you.”

He grips her arm a little tighter, thumb brushing in swipes. “S’why you’re too good for me,” he whispers, the words barely kissing the air.

“One day you’ll believe we deserve one another.”

He snorts, imagining the smile she's wearing at his grunt.

He just feels the most comfortable silence fall over them. Enough to make him close his eyes as her head meets his shoulder. Warmth spreads over him as her skin touches his.

He’s almost not afraid to try and sleep again.

Not with her by his side, his lips brushing her forehead, his hand remaining on her forearm—rooting himself with her.

an: i know this was supposed to be sweet and romantic, @halfmoth-halfman so i hope this is okay that i took it a little… angstier. loves ♥️

#mm valentines event #mmvalentinesevent #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #simon x helen #ghost x helen #cod x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #simon 'ghost' riley x reader

[undercoverpena]

hi!! ive always loved your writing so much and i was hoping that for #mmvalentines event you’d be willing to write about ghost instinctively pressing his hands against helen’s cheek as she passionately rave, only for her to stop talking and gape, completely distracted by the lack of distance. (took this from the second promt list bc its so cute)

anyway i hope you have a really good valentines day and february and remember to stay hydrated and happy!!

just the softest touch

simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (helen!reader)

“—and then, they had the nerve to ask me what I knew, Simon? So, naturally I told them—“

He strips his gloves from his fingers, air rushing to brush over his skin. As each part meets it, he feels the hairs stand up, only half-listening as she continues.

She’s been talking for eleven minutes straight, showing no sign of stopping either. All he’d asked was what he’d missed since he’d been away—and apparently it had been a lot.

Not that he cares if she doesn’t stop talking for an hour. Ghost would never tire of her or her voice—even if it’s all he heard and nothing else.

But, there’s something extra special about Helen when she’s animated—when her voice is that pitch higher and her hands are doing wild gestures as she talks.

Passion.

It stands in the space between them. Thrumming and vibrating. Desperate to show him, and anyone else who will listen, how much she cares—how much she still cares. The bad, long days are forgotten in moments like this, and—if he lets himself—it makes him fall in love with her all over again.

“—but then, after they decided to look ashamed, I said—“

His heart is full of her. Crammed to the edges, the love he feels almost bursting out at the seams.

It’s something he never expected—never banked on. He’d lost so much already. Had it ripped from him. Purposefully taken from.

Simon hadn’t been sure if he could cope with another loss, but Ghost found her anyway. Let her see him, let her fingers brush over his skin all over again, and went back time and time again until Simon couldn’t breathe without her.

Slowly, he lifts his palms, pressing them to her cheeks as he feels her words as much as hears them. It’s the reason he feels them softly fade, wilting on her tongue as she looks up at him—eyes full of energy, as her mouth remains apart.

It must dawn on her how close they are because she blinks several times. Her eyes fixed on him, twinkling with the passion she’d just been laying into the air.

“Hi…”

“Hi, Helen.”

Fuck, he loves her. With all of his heart, his hopes and his dreams.

Turning her head, she presses a kiss to his wrist—soft, and sweet. “Sorry… I was, chewing your ear off again wasn’t I?”

“Don’t mind.”

Her brow arches, and he wants to press a kiss between to it to smooth it out. He doesn’t. Just runs his thumbs across her cheeks as her own hand's press against them.

“Yeah?” she whispers. “You sure?”

Almost afraid of saying it any louder.

He nods. “Carry on, Helen. Was enjoyin’ y’story.”

Her eyes twinkle lie, but her lips don’t say it. Smirking softly, before pressing another kiss to his wrist before continuing, his hands falling to his sides.

Ghost finds a spot to lean, to fold his arms and listen to her again. Smiling to himself behind the mask, thankful he gets another chance to listen to her—to hear her voice.

Not caring that his muscles ache or that bruises are blooming. Just wanting to hear her, to see her—to do both simultaneously as she occasionally shoots him that wicked smile.

The one which says she loves him, the one he can’t help but mirror, even behind black fabric.

#mmvalentinesevent #mm valentines event #cod ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x helen #simon x helen #ghost x reader #ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #ghost cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost riley #simon riley x reader

[undercoverpena]

hello love! for #mmvalentinesevent can i request soap and squid with the prompt "soft kisses on both cheeks and tip of the nose" or like soft kisses in general?? thank you!!!

softest kisses

johnny soap mactavish x f!reader

It erupts out of you both: the laughter.

The sound of it swirling, dancing and twirling around the room. It paints itself across your magnolia walls, making the room feel brighter, nicer—lovelier.

It makes the bulb not need to work as hard and even allows the evening sun to tuck itself away earlier.

You know it’s like this with him—easy and fun. But, it’s different off base. It’s different now the two of you are at ease, able to discard the weight of needing to be ready, and just allowing yourselves to be together. No one else, just the two of you.

It’s not strange that he’s here. That he belongs in the little place you call home, lying beside you on the bed you’re both sharing. The mattress does groan as the two of you lose it—almost as though it’s protesting joy.

But nothing can take it. No one can steal this. It’s yours and his. And, it’s nice, normal—a moment you’d clutch tightly to your chest forever. There’s no fear of it being snatched by orders or a call to fight.

Soap can make you laugh, and you can let him.

When he turns onto his side, eyes twinkling, sparkling—filling the space around you in nothing but cerulean and crystals—you hope he kisses you. Seals the moment with a kiss, and stamps it with further perfection.

Soap does something else. his hand taking hold of your chin, both of your laughter fading into large, relaxed grins as he hovers over you.

His eyes looking at you in that way again. The one where he’s trying to paint you, carve you, craft you in his mind exactly like this. It makes your whole body go warm, the grin spread a little more, the corners of your mouth beginning to ache.

“Will neva’ get ova how pretty y’are, Mar.”

“Oh, give over, Johnny.”

He shakes his head gently, grin sloping down into a relaxed, perfect smile. One which he’s thrown your way so often, now only realising it has always only been for you.

Never seeing it any other time. Not when Ghost is sarcastic and dry; not when Gaz spits out a joke that earns him a glare from Price.

This smile, the one you see right now, is all yours—crafted under the sea, danced along the sand for squids and Squid alone.

“One day, I’ll get yer t’see how pretty y’are.”

His lips descend, moving closer, your own waiting, ready to hook your leg over his hip and bring him even closer. Needing him flush, needing to feel him—

He kisses your cheek.

And then your other.

Your eyes narrowing as he smirks, hovering in sight before he kisses the tip of your nose.

It’s… cute, adorable—sweet. Your eyes find his, falling into the oceans in his eyes as his other hand cups your head, stroking your hairline softly, almost as gently as the kisses he’s laid on your skin.

You didn’t hate it. How intimate it was, how romantic. Your lips curl, not entirely sure if you’re ready to admit it.

“Soap… what the fuck was that?”

He grins, broader, eclipsing the one earlier as his cheeks turn rosy—likely warming up the room from how quickly they turn. “I… I don’t even kno’, just fancied it.”

Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you keep his hand on your chin. “Okay. Well, can you kiss me properly now?”

#mmvalentinesevent #mm valentines event #soap x reader #cod soap x f!reader #cod soap #cod soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #soap sunday #soap 🧼 #cod x reader #soap cod x reader #soap cod

[undercoverpena]

Hello lovely human!

since i am a part of mostly GhostXHelen, for #mmvalentinesevent i was wondering if i could request Simon and Helen but them at home having a good time in his big bed in Manchester that she loves so much? You might remember me from the previous ask when i asked if we would ever get that so... i was wondering if this would be a good opportunity to request it :') i fell into the domestic hole with the rest of people here it seems and i can't help myself, but if you rather not then it's totally okay ^w^

of course! i’m going to answer this more as bullet points — just because it’s more rambling thoughts than a plot, hope that’s okay ☺️

simon ghost riley x f!reader (helen!reader)

fluffy headcanons re: his super king bed

the first time he invites her to stay, he shows her where to put her bag. her body coming to a halt at the sight of it. because outside of plush hotel rooms, she’s never seen one that size. her eyes widening towards him, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his head. because simon owns a super king bed and has kept it a secret. it’s plush, the bedsheets as expensive as the mattress. there’s more pillows than she thought he’d own.

“you tested it out, the mattress?” “i’ve slept in it.” “but, have you tested it?” “no, helen. i’ve not fucked someone in my bed.”

they change that. over and over again. her muscles sagging into the mattress after her shower, damp hair against his pillows.

“it’s a nice bed.” “most expensive thing i’ve ever bought.”

she could believe it. the rest of his place minimal, not to the highest spec. his television in his living room good enough, but not the best. no console or gadgets, no expensive leather sofa, but a worn fabric one she suspects he’s always owned. but his bed…

he’d later tell her it’s all he wanted when he got off the plane. that if he wasn’t fighting for something, he wanted to be sleeping in something good. something which wouldn’t be willing to let him go with ease.

helen sleeps in more than he does. her body clock adjusting the moment her skin meets british air—his mattress has something to do with it. it hugging her, making all of the aches and pains feel less.

mostly, she can stretch out. even when he’s next to her. the space between them large, expansive. so when her leg stretches out as sleep lessens it’s hold, she’s not surprised she doesn’t brush against him. her arm able to fully extend, it taking a second for her lashes to lift, to see his side empty.

she almost rises, almost gets up to go find him. seek out coffee and something to eat, but it’s just so nice to not have anywhere pressing to be. to not feel the uncomfortableness of a cot or the springs of her base bed. the sheets soft, comfortable—fucking expensive. the pillows full of feathers…

so she doesn’t, she turns her head to the cold side, eyes growing heavy, and she lets sleep take her.

“i think you’re only with me for my bed.” “what gave you that idea,” she winks.

he’s used to waking up to space, but he’s not used to waking up to space and her. her face turned towards him on the pillow, peace etched into her features—his muscles relaxing at the sight of her.

since he was little, he’s never been able to fall back asleep once he’s awake. it takes hours, most of the day, before he could feel tired again. if she weren’t here, he’d get up, exercise, stretch—drink cups of coffee like they’re water.

instead, he slides across the mattress, feeling her warmth enveloping around him. she doesn’t even stir when he brushes his fingers over her cheek. but her leg does slide over his, the softest murmur leaving her lips. he doesn’t want to wake her, just wants to feel her—show himself the evidence that she’s really here.

his head lying back down on the pillow, palm pressed against her cheek as his thumbs draws the laziest lines. his eyes slowly closing, feeling sleep sliding it’s fingers over him, taking him back under. the softest smile on his face as he does.

#mm valentines event #mmvalentinesevent #ghost x helen #simon x helen #cod ghost x reader #simon ghost riley headcanons #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader

[undercoverpena]

You truly are too good to us, darlin. 😘 In regards to the #mmvalentinesevent, anything soft between Squid and Soap (especially with his hands). But please, do not feel obligated to do so. I still have to get caught up on your Squid fics, so I'll be more than satisfied for a while. Much love 💛

hands and stars

soap mactavish x f!reader (squid!reader)

warnings: written on phone ha! || wc: 1.1k

He likes the feel of her hands in his.

The way they feel smaller, more delicate. Yet, still so powerful. Soap had seen them disassemble and assemble a gun in record speed; he’d watch them shove men twice her size.

He’d also witnessed how gentle they could be, how they’d press against his cheek and make his pulse quicken. How they’d ball up lightly in his top as she slept, silencing any fears or doubts, ridding negative thoughts away.

When they entwine with his things make sense.

Just like it did when she kissed him down the side of the pub, when she held him close and told him it had always been him.

They had magic in them—her hands—he was sure of it. Not just for the way they make him feel, how they can get him groaning. No, it’s the way they vanish phantom pains and make his skin warm.

“What you doing?”

He smiles, soft—almost to the point it’s barely seen. “Shh, lass.”

He turns one of her hands over, placing his other hand over the top of hers. She feels soft, silken. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, feeling the evidence of scars and healed bones.

If he could, he’d never let go. He’d hold her hand in his until he was forced to part—sometimes, he was. When distance spread between them, miles and miles add into the hundreds.

Now, their backs are pressed against the building wall, fighting the shivers up their spine. The only bit of silence and peace they’ve been able to enjoy in several days.

She doesn’t roll her eyes, but he can tell she wants to. Her freehand pulling at the blanket haphazardly thrown over their legs. Creating the thinnest gap, just enough for the cold to creep in and peck at his legs.

“I hate this.”

“Me holdin’ y’hand?”

She smirks, resting her head on his shoulder, snuggling closer. “No. The fact it’s so cold I don’t even want to joke about fuckin’ you under the stars.”

“Aye… they’re pretty bloody stars, too.”

Turning her head, her eyes—with their own galaxy swirling within them—meet his. “Not as pretty as you.”

“Y’flatter me—“

“I’m trying to woo you.”

It blossoms slowly, his smile. Rids any evidence of a growing smirk, making his cold lips crack from how wide they spread.

“Already wooed, hen.”

He tightens his hold on her hand, squeezing it as he presses a kiss to her forehead. It’s sudden, the feeling of her cold skin against his lips. A huge temperature shift, having already been sure he knew what cold was until he felt it on her skin.

“Mar, y’freezing!”

“We’re sat outside looking at fuckin’ stars, Johnny. What did you expect?”

He lets go, swapping her hand for her waist, pulling her as flush as she can go, and tucking her head under his chin.

She’s perfect. He thinks it so often, but more so the way she fits into him like this. The stars are twinkling above him, but he just wants to stare at her—watch her. Each rise of her lips into one of her winning smirks, dissect each colour that makes up her eyes.

It didn’t creep up on him. He’d thrown open the door for her, let her in—allowed her to become home for him. Something he’s forever grateful he’s the same for her. Her sleepy whispers of him being her safe place, her home, her person.

When she’d first said them, they’d made him feel invincible. Until she sucker punched him in the jaw for being reckless, idiotic—and more words he tries to forget. The same as he chooses to erase how her eyes had sharpened, tears bubbling in the corners.

“You don’t get to make me fall in love with you, and then pull shit like that, MacTavish.”

Her hand slides up his chest, palm flush over his heart. He wonders if she feels it, the heavy thump that’s all for her.

“Y’do that a lot. Place y’hand there.”

It’s silent for a while, his eyes looking up—finding the brightest one, watching it shimmer and shine. Her fingers drawing a shape against his top, the fabric rubbing against his chest.

“I like feeling it—your heartbeat.” She lifts her head, staring into him. “Like having the evidence you’re alive.”

Words catch against his teeth, his throat suddenly dries. His own hand wanted to reach out, brush against her cheek and press a thousand I love you’s against her lips. Tell her he’s not leaving her, not now he’s got her—not after waiting so long to do so.

But, he gets lost in her eyes. Has done since he first got the chance to see them up close—had them be the first thing he sees when he wakes and the last thing at night.

He had always thought it’d be a smile he’d fall in love with, having always noticed them. Until he saw Squid’s eyes when she laughed—when they found him across a room and silenced every sound.

Blinking, he finds her staring. That knowing smile written over her face as if she knows what he’s thinking. She probably does, knowing Mari. Her fingers balled up over the space above his chest, as his own hand rose to take it, bringing it to his lips.

“Since you dragged us out there, you going to look at the stars at some point tonight?”

“Nah,” he whispers, pulling her hand back under the blanket. “Rather stare at the prettiest thing out ‘ere.”

She smirks, sinking down, finding her place under his arm and chin. “Didn’t realise there was a reflection out here.”

“Ay, give ova’ will yer.”

She laughs, until it fades into silence, quickly followed by the softest whisper: “Thank you... for tonight, Johnny.”

“Yer welcome, Squid.”

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, tightening his hold on her as they sit under the stars. Listening to her breathing soften, watching the condensation from it bleed into the air.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Mar.”

She shifts, ever so slightly. “Shh, baby.”

He smiles. One wider than he’s done for a while, pressing his grin to her hairline, feeling her relax—the most perfect feeling in the world.

#mmvalentinesevent #mm valentines event #soap mactavish x reader #cod soap x f!reader #cod soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #cod soap x you #soap cod #cod x reader #soap mctavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap 🧼 #soap squad

[undercoverpena]

mvtthewmurdvck’s valentines event.

so because someone asked if i was doing anything nice for valentines, i thought, i’d miss soap sunday and do a valentines event to say thank you in the only way i know how, by letting people send in requests for things they wanted to see. this is:

NOW CLOSED

✨ pls enjoy the fics below the cut! 🙌🏻

WRITTEN PIECES

gimme your heart. your hand. ghost x f!reader

retrieve it ghost x f!reader

hands and stars soap x f!reader

just the softest touch ghost x f!reader

softest kisses soap x f!readers

small, dark and kind of shady price x f!reader

lunch break javi peña x f!reader

sometimes, i dream ghost x f!reader

take me to yours javi peña x f!reader

headcanons

simon ghost riley x helen!reader king-size bed

#mm valentines event #mmvalentinesevent #cod soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap sunday #javier peña x reader