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ceruleanchillin · 7 months

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141 x American Reader

141 x American Fem!Reader

Note -

I was trying to do some quick scenarios and got caught up. I still have yet to figure out how to get in and get out with my writing.

I had to do some research to see if they had a PX (The Exchange) in the UK, and they do! They even have a Charley’s.

I need so much more practice until I'm more confident in these characters (and their accents...)😩

Simon:

Boston wasn’t terrible in Simon’s eyes, but he would still rather be home. He wasn’t really on leave, he had business on behalf of the task force with some American contacts. However, it was a lot of downtime and waiting, and it was twisting his head around to be working and resting so frequently together. He liked most things separate, easier that way.

He’d certainly been in worse places to wait in. Worse safe houses, more unfamiliar environments where his anti-social quirks made trouble, no chance at a decent pub like the one he’d taken to frequenting a few blocks from the safe house.

He was approaching the very same pub at the moment. Mind racing to mentally prepare for his next briefing with Price and Laswell. He didn’t have much, the contacts seemed to be dragging their feet, and Simon was in a daily battle not to just go gather the intel himself and be done with it.

He went to pull the door, but through the glass, saw you behind the counter. That was strange, you worked on weekends. He knew, because once he connected his increased heartbeat and uncomfortably hot cheeks to you, he started avoiding the place.

It may have been the most authentic pub he’d encountered in America so far, but you were the prettiest woman he’d ever seen, and only one of these things made him sweat like he was back in basic.

He started to back away, but you’d seen him through the age-warped glass and were waving him in.

“You stupid pint-addict bastard.” he muttered, unnecessarily triple checking to make sure his mask was in place.

He’d honored his promise to Price, and kept to a half mask instead of his usual balaclava. At first he was tense, short when spoken to, and constantly running a hand through his hair to momentarily shield his face. The half mask helped, but not much. It just reminded him he wasn’t where he felt he should be. He wasn’t the one to play the diplomat

However, on your first meeting, you’d complimented the contrast between his eyelashes and his dark eyes. Between that, and you pouring his Guinness at an angle, the right way, he’d had to clear his throat twice before he felt it was safe to respond. He couldn’t remember what he said, his ears had rung like a flashbang went off too close.

It must have been smooth, because you ducked your head and quickly turned so he couldn’t see you grin. Too slow, for all the vistas and colorful fabrics he’d seen in his travels, your smile had taken the prize.

“Hey! Saved your seat!” you called out over the din, pointing to the rounded corner of the bar where there was only stool and a column to block him from most patrons. “Even though I shouldn’t have. You’ve been avoiding me, and don’t deny it. My co-workers have no filter.”

He winced, you’d caught him red handed. “Not avoiding you. Just working.”

“At avoiding me.” you stuck your tongue out at him.

It was surprisingly packed for a weekday, and as he got closer to the bar, he noticed there was some sort of event going on. Drink specials, a pool tournament, and calls to tourists. He cursed, and considered how fast he could down his drink and fake a work call.

“Sit.” you pinned him with a look. “I need another sane adult around me, now.”

“Sane?” he snorted. “You’ve got the wrong bloke in mind.”

“Yeah? You wanna go up against the kid who’s pledging and has been wearing that chicken suit for two weeks, or the “actress” who keeps switching characters with every drink?” You raised an eyebrow, pointing out your subjects without a care about looking rude.

“I wanna get on the first thing flying or floating out of here.”

“Take me with you, or I’ll steal your passport.” you slid the Guinness towards him, before leaning on your elbows, and closing some of the distance between you.

Simon had been tortured, beaten, and had given his fair share of the same back. He’d stared hardened terrorists in the eyes and made them back down every time. It was pretty silly of him, and he certainly felt it, to falter under your gaze, and yet he did.

His fingers danced around the bottom of the glass, letting the drink settle, before he lowered his mask and took a big sip. “You don’t have to bribe me love, just say the word and we’re gone.”

He wasn’t often embarrassed. Sometimes, Johnny made him cringe, but he was usually too removed from a situation, and the people in it, to allow for such an emotion. He’d long stopped caring about the looks he, as a masked behemoth, received and whatever thoughts were behind the eyes on him.

Of course, he couldn’t do that with you. He didn’t want to, but he literally couldn’t anyways. So he had to sit there, heat rising to his cheeks, and a mental mantra of ‘shoot me’ ringing through his head on a loop.

To his barely noticeable relief, your gaze somehow grew warmer, a smile spreading across your pretty face. “I’m holding you to that Si. You don’t get to blame the alcohol either, you’ve barely touched your drink.”

It was comfortably quiet between the two of you after that. You returned to work as your co-workers got less and less professional. Things got crazier, but it did allow for him to be mostly ignored in his corner, which he was thankful for. He felt for you though.

He had to play bouncer once when a guy got behind the bar, thinking you denied his number because you couldn’t hear him.

The look in your eyes as you sought distance made Simon act purely on instinct. His speed, size, and training ended the situation quickly. You’d given a relieved exhale of air, and ran a hand down his arm before you ran off to respond to a glass crisis. It occurred to him right then how far he’d go for you. As far as he would for his team, whom he considered something around the range of family.

It frightened him that he’d only known you a few weeks, yet your connection had gotten him this far, but there was nowhere to run from the truth internally. If there was, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

By closing, he was the last customer, and he’d offered to stay while you close up. It wasn’t the first time.

“You better.” you grinned, wiping down the bar.

He started to help you by turning the chairs up on to the tables, and junking miscellaneous trash. He laughed when he heard you shouting about how someone got vomit on the ceiling in the bathroom.

“Fuck it lovie, make the layabouts earn their keep tomorrow.” he called out in response.

He was deep in thought about where he was and what he was doing when he turned and saw you standing by him. You got the rare jump on him.

“Don’t think I’m crazy, or do, because maybe I am. I know you were joking earlier, but I really wish you weren’t.” you threw the formerly white rag in your hand in the trash, smiling, but your eyes held the same vulnerability he always felt around you.

He blinked owlishly, processing your words before standing up to his full height. “I wasn’t joking.”

—

Kyle:

You’re a party girl to your core, but you can’t help it. You run your own bath products company, and it’s hard work. No one should blame you for playing hard to match.

Gaz certainly didn’t blame you, in fact, your vibrant social media is what drew him in. He’d been constantly checking his phone on base, to the annoyance of his partner-in-crime Soap when their pranks and game time started to lack, because Gaz had to check what your new post alert was about.

It took him a minute, but he figured out your page was what Gaz was looking at (and so secretive about). He figured it out when Gaz started watching your live streams, and became so engrossed, Price would have to literally clap him on the back to get him on task.

Soap knew he could forget any plans made if you started a live.

Damnit, he wanted to know who was stealing one of his best mates.

Once he saw you in full, and not glancing around Gaz’s big head, he got it. You were beautiful, vibrant, obviously in the city’s in-crowd. You would’ve fit in perfectly with him and his mates as far as your ability to sniff out a good time went. He couldn’t be mad at you anymore, and it wasn’t just because he had a minor crush on you himself, he knew his friend was gone, and decided to help him out.

He swiped Gaz’s phone and sent him on a wild goose chase so he’d have time to act. Soap put everything he had into that first message, though it wasn’t until after he sent it, he realized it was full of Scots lingo, and he cringed trying to clean it up in the following message. He realized he’d made it worse, and the DM thread looked like a tweaker got hold of the phone.

“What are you doing?” Gaz sounded both panicked and furious, causing Soap to freeze in real time.

“Uh.., I needed…to order food?”

“Bruv, with my phone?!”

“I…also..wanted to find out where you got..that hat.”

Gaz blinked at him, with an expression that clearly asked if Soap’s last brain cell had finally found a better job.

“You were there with me, it was at The Exchange. Give me my phone.”

Soap instinctively yanked the phone out of reach. “Uh, well..wait.”

Gaz’s eyes widened, voice rising. “Mate, hand the phone over or-“

The DM message notification rang out loud enough to silence Gaz immediately. His eyes somehow got wider, his lips forming a tight line.

Soap’s eyes mirrored his own, and his fight or flight instinct was triggered. “I swear…I did this for ye, not to ye this time. Ye cannae be mad about it.”

A beat passed, and Soap tried to ease the incoming meltdown a little more.

“I may have messed the introduction up a little, but I bet she went for the follow up.”

Gaz said nothing, opting instead to lunge for the device. Soap, confused and thinking Gaz was going to strike him, wasn’t fast enough, and though he outmatched Gaz in muscle, said man still took him down.

“Who are you messaging?!”

They rolled, and Soap tried to simultaneously keep Gaz from punching him, while he kept the phone stretched away from them. Another *ding* rang out, and Gaz glanced up to see a notification that contained your user name, and that you had responded. He assumed twice.

He felt his heart drop out of his ass, his eyes locking with Soap’s.

His next punch struck like a snake, fast and quick to Soap’s throat. Said man’s eyes crossed up, and Gaz took the time to try and grab the phone. He was surprised to find Soap’s grip as tight as ever.

“I’ll hand it over when ye promise not to blow up!”

“I promise to crack your chest!”

They continued to roll on the floor, Soap getting his second-wind after Gaz’s threat. Gaz, driven by what he knew had to be the biggest embarrassment of his life coming his way, and Soap by the need to explain his attempt at a good deed.

Two polished boots came into view and a sharp bark of “Knock it the fuck off!” ended the tussle immediately.

Both men sat up, hair and clothing askew, chests heaving with adrenaline.

“What the hell is going on here?” John Price’s infamous gravel inflection hit the both of them, stiffening their spines pole straight.

Nothing came out though. It wasn’t exactly a thing you wanted to tell your captain. Both assumed he thought social media was the Yahoo homepage anyways.

He looked between them, neither meeting his gaze. “Right. Hand it over then.”

Gaz choked. On what, he couldn’t say, probably his dwindling pride. “Just uh…a little sport Captain.”

Soap glanced between them before his blue eyes settled on Price. “Yeah. What’s it gonna be Cap? Run laps, scrub latrines, we’ll take the worst.”

“Don’t worry about that, that’s a given and then some. The phone MacTavish.”

John Price rarely had to demand anything a second time, and neither Soap nor Gaz wanted to be responsible for making him do it a third. Soap gave him an apologetic side glance as he handed over the phone. Gaz cringed, feeling like a kid in class again, getting busted for swapping gross drawings of teachers.

“One of you, open it.” Price held the phone out between the two of them. Gaz sighed and input the code locking down the device.

Price pulled the phone back, and, much too efficiently for Gaz’s taste, began swiping.

Price’s eyes scanned back and forth, and Gaz had to assume he was reading what he still hadn’t had a chance to.

After a beat, Price looked up in disbelief. “All this over a posh little beauty queen? Do you two want the one-four-one to be synonymous with a joke?”

Gaz would serve the mole-people through infinity if it meant they’d make the ground swallow him up right there. How his day had advanced to this was beyond him.

“Captain-“

Price turned to him, brows raised. “You better be glad she likes you and it wasn’t a total waste, or I’d rent you out to the circus like the clowns you two are.”

Gaz stepped back on one foot, his head snapping in disbelief. “Wait..she wha-“

“So it worked then yeah?!” Soap grinned, a breathy laugh supporting his exclamation before quickly straightening up. “I mean, I knew that it would. That’s why I did it.”

“It worked in spite of you spike strip.” Price tossed the phone to Gaz as Soap ran a hand over his treasured mohawk, pouting at the dig. “For whatever reason, that pretty little thing is interested in him.”

Hearing Price confirm your response was positive didn’t make it any easier to believe than the first time he heard it. He had yet to read whatever his dumbass friend sent your way, but…you liked it?

Gaz brought the phone to his face, and started to open the app so he could finally see for himself.

“I don’t think so.” Price warned with a sharp shake of his head. “That goes in your locker, now, and the two of you meet me out on the track.”

Gaz and Soap both hung their heads.

“Hopefully she comes to her senses by the time you’re able to even hold that thing again, let alone use it.”

“Yes sir.” Gaz locked the phone again, but he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

You must’ve looked at his page, and no matter what crazy thing Soap had sent you, you liked him.

That knowledge carried him through so many laps on the track he vomited up things he swore he hadn’t eaten since he was 5, scrubbing bunks and latrines on his hands and knees until a hole opened in his pants over one knee, and endless up-downs until he and Soap had to literally pull each other up and help each other down.

When he finally collapsed in the locker room later, swearing he’d make it to the shower before he even thought of climbing in bed, he managed to dig his phone out of his locker first.

He was suddenly nervous, you were so gorgeous to him, and if your response was some pitying virtual head pat, he’d jump in front of the next Humvee he saw.

Then again, it was Price who said you liked him, and the man had no reason to or interest in making him feel better about the matter.

He unlocked the phone and quickly opened the app before he lost his nerve.

You: ‘Um excuse me???’

He winced.

You: ‘Oh wait, I checked out your page. You’re from the UK? I didn’t know what you were saying😅. I still kinda don’t, but now I don’t think you’re creepy…you’re actually pretty cute. Thanks for your service.😘🫡’

His heartbeat sped up, and all his aches and bodily gripes were forgotten as he leaned forward on the bench. You had all his attention, and you quite possibly didn’t mind that.

He smirked, proud of his carefully curated page and the body his job helped him maintain. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how silly he was for worrying. Of course you had some interest in him, he could match your energy with ease.

He opened the keyboard ready to respond when all his short-lived bravado fell down around him. What the fuck was he supposed to say back?

—————

Johnny:

It made the two of you somewhat uncomfortable when you thought about how much chance it took for you guys to meet. The thought of not being together felt more foreign than you two ever had to each other. Johnny chose not to dwell on it, accepting how lucky he was often overshadowed the thought.

Your best friend since college was getting married, and you were not only maid of honor, but the wedding planner. Scotland was the homeland of your friend, and you knew on a good day she missed it with her whole heart.

You did your best to incorporate her culture and her friends and family abroad into the ceremony.

This, it turned out, included her brother’s best friend John “Soap” MacTavish, who was also a family friend.

“Is Soap a um…traditional Scottish name?” you’d asked, holding up the name list she’d given you, and thinking your friend was setting you up for a joke.

“He was Johnny for years, but he came back from his dream job, built like a house, and was like ‘They call me Soap now.’.” she deepened her accent and voice to mock what you assumed he sounded like. “Don’t pay it any mind, he’s still our Johnny.”

So John “They call me Soap now” MacTavish was sent an invitation too. What you did not expect was her family to come into the country as quickly as they did. You still had a few weeks of planning, and from the moment they flooded her townhome, you were swept into their familial hurricane.

They couldn’t have been sweeter to you, but they all had input. You were overwhelmed within 30 minutes of being with them, despite your friend reeling them in repeatedly.

Johnny became your touchstone when, based on his energetic introduction, you expected him to be part of the chaos.

As you took notes and suggestions, he was the one who translated when the accents got too thick, or they slipped into Scots.

Someone got a little too aggressive with their suggestion, or talked over you? Johnny was calling out over the din and restoring the closest thing to order that he could.

His helpfulness didn’t end that evening. He became your living official Scotland handbook.

The work you’d dreaded being added on top of what you already had to do found a partial home on his shoulders. Every choice you brought before your friend and her family received loud approval, and Johnny refused your credit every time. Claiming it was your beautiful, quick, and organized mind making the magic happen.

He was at your place bright and early every morning, the two of you forgetting you were virtually strangers who’d been thousands of miles apart the majority of your lives.

In the process of planning and arranging, you showed Johnny your neck of the woods, and the culture in Atlanta. He was fascinated by everything and you’d never been happier, having his complete and utter interest.

He loved your accent, he loved how friendly the people in the mom and pop places you took him to were, he loved how proud you were to be a Georgia girl.

He would always be a proud son of Scotland, so he got it.

“You’re really eatin’ the third one now?!” you laughed watching Johnny go through his third hot chicken sandwich. “Boy, you’re crazy!”

“And well fed too yeah.” he grinned around the huge bite he’d taken. “I’d punch Ghost square in the back of his head if they’d bring a Hattie B’s to Scotland. Of course, I’d have to stand on a stool.”

“Ghost?” you raised an eyebrow, swallowing the fry you’d been chewing.

“Oh yeah, my best mate in the service. He’s like a fuckin’ tree….if trees hit really hard and were just generally terrifying.”

Your eyes widened. “You’re in the service, that’s so cool. Is that the dream job?”

His eyes widened, his chest puffing out in pride at your words. “I am, youngest member to make it into my unit too. Got lucky with a pretty good team.”

“That where you get the name Soap? What is that about by the way?”

He stopped chewing, swallowing hard. Visions of what his nickname referred to came to mind, and he felt like a wall was coming between the two of you. He wasn’t ashamed of his career, or most of the things he’d done to maintain it, but it’d been nice to almost be a civilian again. He hadn’t been just John or Johnny in a long time.

The distance from home, and the crush he wasn’t even going to pretend he didn’t have, helping the fantasy.

“Yeah.”

You senses the tone change, and started to withdraw your curiosity. “We can drop it.”

“Nah, it’s not a bad thing Bonnie, it’s just…” he furrowed his brow in thought, and you resisted the hard urge to touch him. “This is the first leave I’ve had in…maybe ever that I don’t feel a thin wall ‘tween me and my people. It’s just nice for a little bit.”

“Say less.” You pushed your seasoned fries towards him, snorting at his excited expression. “Let’s talk about how much I love it when you call me Bonnie instead.”

He choked, and your small hands found his back, pounding on what felt like a stone wall. “Jesus hen, you can’t just drop somethin’ like that when a man’s mid swallow.”

You brushed your hand over the back of his neck as you retracted it back to your person. Lowering your voice to a soft decibel. “I like when you call me that too.”

——

John Price:

How he’d let himself be talked into a cruise of all things, John would never know.

….

That wasn’t true.

The pretty American office worker flagged him down when he went in for his briefing with the higher ups. She looked distressed, and John could feel that protective nature of his rear up in his chest and stiffen his spine. Before he could even register that he’d spoken, he’d told her whatever his help could provide, it was hers.

She’d flustered at that, tucking some hair behind her ear, and gave a sheepish smile. Her reaction sent a shock of pride from his brain to his cock.

She explained how she and a friend group back home had made plans for a week-long cruise out of Florida. She’d been looking forward to it, missing her home country, and having planned it out very carefully in the group chat. Then, earlier that week, it was brought to the light that one of the girls slept with the husband of another one.

Sides were taken, she was attacked for being out of the country and unaware of the nuanced changes in the group, and then all the girls pulled out, essentially leaving her holding four tickets and the shreds of a perfect vacation.

That was you. A mess who’d been arguing with the travel agency, trying to wrangle all of your friends, and figure out how you wound up wasting several thousand dollars at that point.

John just stood there, like a coat rack with a bucket hat on top. Stiff, and unsure of what to do, say, or even what expression he should school his shocked features into.

He stood there long enough for you to become embarrassed and wave him off and return to your desk.

“I’m so sorry I bothered you. God, you’re a Captain! It’s just, my momma and daddy have been on me from the beginning about how much of waste a trip like this is…‘girl why would you spend that much to float in the ocean with a bunch of strangers, you can borrow our boat and fish in the lake for free’.” you trailed off, realizing you were rambling and shoved your face in your hands.

He thought you were adorable. Most days, he wanted to find the nearest surface and have you on it, only to be embarrassed that at his age, he was thinking like a teenager.

However, right then you were just plain adorable, accent in full swing because you were upset. John knew you were from somewhere in the southern US. Louisiana? Texas?

He approached your desk, hands splayed as he leaned his weight forward. “Love, it’s not a problem. I’m just not sure what I can do about it…aside from hunting down the husband and siccing Laswell on the other girl.”

You gave a full belly laugh. “That could work.”

He grinned, sitting on the edge of the desk, deciding he wanted more of the laugh and soon.

You quieted and started fiddling with a pen that’d been nearby. “But seriously…I would never ask you this if I thought I had other options. It’s just…you’re the person I’ve gotten closest to so far here, and um..I spent so much on those tickets. I even saved from my first paycheck into this last one..”

Your words were coming out fast and close, but John could pick them out. Admitting he was closer to you than anyone in the country warmed him so much, he didn’t care if the next words out of your mouth were asking him to reimburse you. He couldn’t imagine what else you could ask for, but at that point he’d do it.

“Do you mind filling in those spots for me with your team? It’s a perfect amount of tickets, and then I won’t be all alone, and it won’t be a waste, and just ugh! I need you to save my ass Captain Price.” you looked up at him with wide pleading eyes.

For a fraction of second, Price wondered if you knew what you did to him, and that you could use that look to take over the mind of a weapon western governments spent a small fortune to train.

Then your request hit him like a train. You wanted him, and the adult nursery school he’d wrangled into the formation of the 141 to crash your vacation? Your sanity was up for debate.

“At any given time I’m working with half a shared brain cell between two muppets, and their long-suffering murder pet. I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

“Oh.”

“In fact, their jackets read like the instructions for taking care of a Gremlin. No cruises is pretty high up there.” John tried to humor his way out of the suggestion until he caught sight of your face.

You looked so disappointed, but then your expression shifted to one he couldn’t quite read.

“But you’d be there wouldn’t you?” wide pleading eyes just for him, trained on him.

He flushed, reluctantly stepping around what may have been the flirtatious tactic. “Spending my leave pulling duty as a zoo keeper.”

“Work on your tan then Casper, I’m worried about you. You’d disappear in a snow storm.” You switched up your tactic again, hoping to amuse him into helping.

Price gave a full-belly laugh of his own, the kind he’d rarely even consider letting out at work. “Negging me isn’t going to work love, I’d stick with begging.”

“Damn.” John watched you rise up again, slipping around your desk in heels he couldn’t stare at too long if he wanted to remain professional. “John Price, I swear if you don’t say yes after this, I don’t care where you are on this base I will find you. There, I will salt your coffee and unravel your cigars.”

You inhaled.“Johncanyouandtherestofthe141takethesdamnticketsbeforeIsnap?”

John pretended to think, enjoying watching you literally squirm from the corner of his eye. Despite the jokes, John wasn’t truly an old man, but you did make him feel much younger than he was and he liked it.

He liked the tiny carefree moments he spent with you throughout the day, and he supposed that’d be nice for one sunny week.

“I’ll toss it to the lads, see what they say, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Meaning you’re going to make them do it.”

“Precisely.”

——-

As he stood before his men, he cursed his gentlemanly nature when faced with a woman in need. Well, if he was being entirely honest, he wasn’t being gentlemanly, and maybe this was what he deserved.

It wasn’t chivalry alone, it was pure, unadulterated thirst. He wanted you the way a very hungry man wanted a woman, and he was thinly veiling it behind a tip of the top hat and cane.

Gaz and Soap made him feel like the 141 father the higher ups teased him about being. They reacted as though daddy came home with a promise of DisneyLand.

“The last time you told us to pack, I was picking small snakes out of my pack for over an hour. Gotta say, I want this to be a habit Captain.” Gaz was grinning, phone already in hand as he searched for vacation clothes.

“Yeah. Didn’t expect this when I woke up this mornin’. You’re not tryin’ to infringe on my prank brand right sir?”

Ghost reacted as predicted. Posture stiff, arms crossed, and his eyes doing all the talking. They said a number of ways Price should die, an even greater number of ways he could go fuck himself, and that he’d try whatever he could to get out of it.

“You’re not getting out of it.” Price dashed that dream immediately, but he’d let him fantasize about killing him all cruise long if it helped.

“Why would you want to L.T.?” Soap looked up from where he’d been trying to add items he wanted into Gaz’s cart. “Mud in yer boots, or bikinis and a pint? Pretty hard choice.”

“I don’t wanna see you in a bikini, mate.” Gaz quipped, a grunt leaving him when Soap punched his shoulder.

Price ignored that, and interrupted on the off chance that Ghost would entertain Soap with an answer. “Everyone’s going, It’s one week and you’ve all seen worse. You will be on time, you will behave and represent this unit accordingly, and by god you will all be gracious for the opportunity.”

The last line was meant specifically for Ghost.

Said man smirked behind the mask, tiny details revealed this if you knew what to look for. “Don’t worry sir, I’ll be on my best behavior for your pretty little office bird.”

Price swallowed hard, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as he counted to ten, and ignored Soap and Gaz’s aggressive inquiries. He was definitely being punished.

#141 x reader #cod #cod x reader #Simon Ghost Riley x Reader #Kyle Gaz Garrick x Reader #John Soap MacTavish x Reader #John Price x Reader #Soap x reader #Ghost x reader #cod mw2 #141 #Call of Duty #kyle gaz garrick #John Price #Simon Ghost Riley #Simon Riley

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bruhstation · 2 months

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steam team's seniors during their baby years

A friend group so weird and toxic to people they dislike it could rival It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia’s. They're not immune to the "I came to Sodor to avoid my problems and wanted a fresh start" trope many Sudrians also follow

Edward Pettigrew

Age: 31 as of 1984

A kind, friendly NWR railwayman who didn’t mind a lot of things and was popular amongst younger folks for his looks and demeanor. He likes showing newbies the ropes of the NWR and Sodor as a whole because he just loves infodumping. Despite being made fun of by some railwaymen for his “weirdness”, Edward worked hard and was known as the jack-of-all-trades by his peers, usually treating younger and newer railwaymen to drinks after work to get them accustomed to Sodor (he did this to Henry, then Gordon, then James). Originally from the village of Pezë in Tirana, Albania, 1940s. Due to his beginnings in a small rural village and the Albanian government’s censorship of outside influences and heavy restriction of traveling outside the country, Edward’s hunger for knowledge about the world grew more and more. His family had connections to the Lëvizja Nacional-Çlirimtare and Edward’s particularly bright and good at talking, so he became a diplomat to travel outside Albania – a step into his plans of learning more about the world. After landing himself in the United Kingdom and studying everything he wanted, he believes it’s still not enough. He found out about an island infamous for its supernatural occurrences and cases of people missing just off the coast of the UK – Sodor. Being the curious man he is, he discarded everything that’s needed for the LNÇ to locate him and landed on Sodor, gorging himself with every mystery the island has to offer. Impulsive? Yes. But for the first time, Edward felt true freedom. However, Edward got too curious and nosy and became a casualty in an accident fueled by supernatural hysteria related to Lady of the Legend and was transported around 40 years into the future, landing in 1983 with his memories all over the place. Despite losing his sense of self and having no idea what he is, his thirst for knowledge still lives on inside his head. His cheerfulness, amicability, and kindness are extensions he formed to make up for the hole inside his heart. Edward does love his friends, but he believes that if he can withhold information from them and make them all live in blissful ignorance, they can be truly happy – this all stems from his fear of exceeding his limits and being discarded (which he later copes by being a typical wise friendly old man in 1999). He often sees visages of Lady in his dreams.

Gordon J. Gresley

Age: 26 as of 1984

Joined after Henry. Looked like he was fresh out of a funeral. A young hotshot who was more polite, quiet, and reserved compared to his 1999 counterpart. Gordon started out as an apprentice fireman for the Wild Nor’Wester’s previous driver. He treated his arrival on Sodor as a desperate last resort to escape his issues and grief and pitifully believed he was “lumped with the social pariahs in the boonies”, but he’s gotten better and believed that this is where he can truly outshine everyone, much to the annoyance and chagrin of his seniors. Gordon acts like he knows what he’s doing in order to build up his image as someone who’s dependable and strong and revels in small basks of limelight. However, he was constantly uncomfortable with how Edward treated accidents as normal due to their survivors being in tip-top shape the next day and how Henry is so distrustful of and odd about everything and everyone and sweats 24/7, but he’s been masking and convincing himself that he’s not like the rest of them. He’s normal. He’s normal! Let’s all hold hands. Don’t be fooled by his sad face. Young Gordon can be arrogant and think he knows everything for being a youngin.

Henry Stanier

Age: 27 as of 1984

Joined after Edward, so he’s quite close to him. Gordon’s “senior” by 6 months. He’s always, ALWAYS scared endlessly about anything “out of the ordinary” and beats himself up over it, much to his own disgust. Henry had a deep rooted hatred and jealousy towards his peers for pitying him after a coworker revealed to other railwaymen that he’s narcoleptic without his permission. He’s been masking his disabilities despite it being detrimental for his well-being, but as long as people treated him “normally”, Henry would endure (dreadfully). He did this especially with Gordon, the newest addition to the Northwestern Railway at the time, because he didn’t want anyone else to treat him differently when they find out about his health issues. As an extention, Henry developed a vitriol towards Gordon too – he’s particularly jealous about how he’s so “ungrateful” of everything’s given to him like his fair looks, clothes, and position as the to-be face of the Wild Nor’Wester. They did become friends though despite the process not being easy. It’s okay. They became besties that were mean to old nosy folks. Initially wanted to pursue arts, but due to circumstances from his past related to his health and paranoia fueled by his past failures and “jinxes”, he came to Sodor as a half-hearted last resort to get a job. He wasn’t hopeful of having anyone respect him for who he is, but things do get better, much to his surprise.

James A. Hughes

Age: 25 as of 1989

Joined the NWR 5 years after Edward did. At that point, Gordon already discarded his GNR Green look and went for the blue attire (minus the big coat). Flaunts his beauty almost at any given time, especially when someone mildly complimented him. He’s more of a nerd (word used loosely because he acts like a know-it-all when he actually has no idea what he’s doing) compared to his canon, 1999 counterpart. James came to Sodor for a fresh start and believed he deserves more than what he’s given. He thinks he’s so tough and hard as nails – in fact it became his source of hubris because he gets into accidents and was scolded by his seniors for being so vain and stubborn. He doesn’t want to get dirty, he doesn’t want to shovel coal, he doesn’t want to get wet from the washdown suds – he only wants the good out of the work and doesn’t want to accept the “bad” sides as well, so James was branded as the “problem kid” of the NWR by older folks. James, who can’t handle harsh criticism and labels well, grow even more distant with them. He primarily hangs out with the RWS trio because they seem to understand his situation and the feeling of being “outcasted” (despite Gordon’s annoyance at his boastfulness).

#thomas the tank engine #thomas and friends #ttte edward #ttte gordon #ttte henry #ttte james #casa tidmouth #senjart #ngl using the phrase ‘’steam team’’ for cstm make me frown because it makes the main cast sound normal or closer #when it cant be more far from the truth in cstm #young edward's rockin the persona protagonist default expression #can you tell I had fun coloring gordon's piece #ALSO can you tell that young gordon is significantly thinner here #and henry too.#james looks like a handsome woman. a bokukko if you will #(well technically he CAN be a woman whenever he wants to be but you get me.)#when james joined gordon already got his blue uniform (minus the coat) but I HAVE to draw greendon SO. SOOOOOOO

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gloomwitchwrites · 2 months

Text

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, jealous / protective / possessive Simon, rough kissing, arguments, angst, TF141 shenanigans

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Part Ten of Ink & Needle

Soap, Gaz, and Price come for a visit. At a local pub, Simon notices you are sitting with a stranger. An argument ensues. Things get heated.

Chapter Nine // Chapter Eleven

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Simon leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, sighing heavily. The rolling chair groans a protest. The thing is so old it’s a miracle that it hasn’t collapsed under Simon’s weight. He’s been meaning to replace it—it’s not like he doesn’t have the money—but there are so many other things going on in Simon’s life that he keeps putting it off.

His work laptop is open on the desk in front of him, the bright glow of the screen showing him the thousands of emails sitting in his inbox. Being on the cover of UK Ink is a tremendous honor, but it’s also becoming its own sort of creeping horror. Figuring out which inquiries are genuine, and which are just people seeking attention, is taking a tremendous toll on his personal time.

Every day, more and more emails clog his inbox. It’s likely that as he starts deleting them, more will suddenly appear, popping forth from the hidden depths of whatever server it’s connected to. Plenty of the emails are straight spam with a few consisting of people sending unsolicited nudes. Those go straight into the trash folder. The only naked body Simon wants to see is yours.

Many of the emails are people seeking to book appointments with him for tattoos and piercings. While a good chunk of the emails come from citizens of England, plenty more are from people all over the world. International inquires are a good thing, but those appointments have to be booked around flights and trips. There is also no guarantee that those people will actually show, which is why Simon has started to double-book in some places, or set forth a non-refundable fee for securing a time and date.

He's only one person, and the pressure of that is starting to creep up on him. Simon is going to have to hire more people. At least one additional person at minimum. Even if all they do is answer emails all day and book appointments, Simon will take it. Sitting on this fucking chair in between clients is exhausting.

Through all of that, there are also publications (both large and small) seeking their own interviews with the masked tattoo artist knows as ‘Ghost.’ Some are local to the region while others are international, reaching an even wider audience. For each inquiry, Simon is grateful. To see his work—his art—be appreciated to such a large degree is a great point of accomplishment for him.

It's not like Simon’s work during his time with the military. That is different. That was work. That was blood and metal and dirt. Tattooing doesn’t feel like work to Simon. It is freeing. It is creative. It is the release of a muscle after a long tension.

Tattooing is a distinctive sort of freedom. A place for Simon to lose himself in, to enjoy life again, to find comfort in a craft that doesn’t involve destruction.

But Simon is also distracted. Not because he’s stressed or anxious or concerned or even from the number of emails piling in. Simon is distracted because you were in his arms last night. You were sitting at his kitchen table. You ate the food he made. He distinctly remembers your soft smile as you gazed at his sketches.

Sure, Simon was making dinner, but he was keeping an eye on you the whole time. He noticed every expression on your face as your gaze admired each sketch. He noticed the way you held every piece of paper with tenderness, as if all of them were sacred and special to you. It was after, when the two of you talked, that Simon sensed hesitation.

He questioned you about Cambridge and Evie. You were not entirely honest, not that Simon believes that you lied, but he knows there is more you haven’t told him. Whether you don’t want to tell him or are hesitant to do so is still uncertain. What Simon wants, more than anything, is for you to feel safe enough with him to tell him everything. Simon desires your sharp edges. He wants to know how he can help smooth them, to ease all the worries in your head, to remove some of those burdens.

Which is why he asked you to come to bed with him. He thought that maybe if he kissed you for a bit, you might soften, and that is all he wanted. But then he had you under him, opening for him, and Simon’s control was close to shattering like thin glass under pressure. Your fingers found him, and Simon would have given anything to stay in that bed and make you understand just how much he desires you.

The glowing screen of the laptop and the sight of you sighing in pleasure beneath him keeps colliding with each other. It keeps melding, melting together only to break apart before meeting again.

The current email opened on the laptop screen is gibberish. No matter how many times Simon attempts to read it, your face appears there instead. Then, Simon’s mind drifts off to dream of your seeking fingers, and how perfectly they wrapped around him.

Simon pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. He needs to fucking focus. He will see you again, and when he does, he is going to fucking enjoy it. The two of you are taking that date. The two of you are going to get away for a while. When that happens, Simon will make you his in all ways.

Exhaling loudly, Simon drops his hand from his face to rub at the back of his neck. He rolls it slightly, popping some of the tension out of the joints. He leans forward a bit and manages to focus on the email.

Spam. Fucking spam.

Simon hits the little rubbish icon and watches the email blink out of existence. His gaze returns to the little blue number next to ‘Inbox’ and immediately shudders.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, wanting nothing more than to shut the laptop and pretend they don’t exist for a while.

Out of the corner of his eye, Simon spies the front door of the shop opening. He turns his head to the left to see if it’s his final customer. Instead, he’s greeted by an annoyingly overenthusiastic Scotsman.

“Lt!”

“Gotta stop calling me that, Johnny,” sighs Simon loudly, as if getting out of his chair is a major hassle. Simon comes to his full height, hands on his hips as John MacTavish bursts through the door.

On his heels are Captain John Price and Kyle Garrick.

“Simon,” nods Price in greeting.

Kyle gives Simon a little playful salute before immediately heading for Bravo. The German Shepard goes up on his back legs. Kyle seizes the dog’s front paws in his hands, the two of them doing a little dance in the middle of the shop.

The moment Simon steps away from the chair, MacTavish is on him, throwing his massive arms around Simon’s middle in a hug.

“You’re bloody crushing me, Johnny.”

MacTavish squeezes him a bit tighter in response. When he let’s go, he grabs hold of Simon’s shoulders, shaking them slightly. “Fucking look at this place.” MacTavish glances around like he’s never seen it before.

“You’ve been here,” deadpans Simon. “Hasn’t changed.”

“But it has, Lt. You’re on the cover of a magazine.” MacTavish smirks and drops his hands from Simon’s shoulders. He then promptly punches Simon lightly in his upper arm. “We’re in the presence of a celebrity.”

“Hardly,” mutters Simon, but he’s smiling behind the balaclava.

Price presents his hand, and he and Simon grasp forearms. “Good to see you, Simon. Been a while.”

“It has,” replies Simon.

Johnny leans toward Simon and cups the side of his mouth like he’s an old hen about to drop a piece of juicy gossip. When he speaks, it’s just a projected whisper that everyone can hear clearly. “Captain bought up a bunch of magazines and handed them out to everyone on base.”

“Soap,” barks Price.

MacTavish holds up his hands, and then points at Price with one finger, jabbing it in the captain’s direction. “Just proud of you,” whispers MacTavish.

Simon simply nods but he’s grinning like an idiot behind the balaclava. Price glances in Simon’s direction and shrugs apathetically, not denying or confirming.

Glancing over Price’s shoulder, Simon frowns slightly. Bravo has his front paws on Kyle’s shoulders as he aggressively scratches the dog’s sides. Bravo’s tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth, hanging down toward the floor as the dog pants happily.

“Get down, Bravo,” sighs Simon, indicating with a quick nod of his head.

Bravo sucks his tongue back into his mouth, ears drooping slightly with disappointment. Kyle pats Bravo’s side and removes the dog’s massive paws from his shoulders, gently guiding the German Shepard back down to all fours.

On the phone, Johnny said they’d stop by on Saturday. It’s Saturday. Fairly late on a Saturday, with a final customer still expected to walk through the door, but they are here, just as promised.

Kyle strides up and clasps Simon’s shoulder. “Place looks good.”

“Hasn’t changed,” remarks Simon for a second time.

“Saw you on the cover of UK Ink,” continues Kyle. “Didn’t know until this guy started handing them out on base.” He tips his head in Price’s direction.

Price sighs heavily but says nothing.

“Big deal,” finishes Kyle.

“Congrats, Lt.” MacTavish grins and Simon cannot help but feed into their praise.

It is a big deal. This one interview, this one award, is pushing him beyond the scope of his vision. In forced retirement, Simon expected to fly under the radar, to enjoy himself while he created art. He never expected his work to be recognized internationally.

“Sign my copy yet?” asks Johnny.

Simon backtracks to his desk, picking up the copy MacTavish sent him in the post. Lifting it up, Simon brings it over to Soap, smacking him in the chest with it. Johnny whistles and holds it with both hands in reverence.

“She’s a fucking beauty, Simon.” Johnny places one hand over his heart. “You’ve honored me.”

“Piss off,” mutters Simon as Kyle expertly snatches the magazine from Johnny’s hand. He opens it up, flipping through the pages, side-stepping every attempt by Johnny to seize it back.

“Did we come at a good time?” asks Price as he and Simon watch the two idiots playfully bicker over the magazine.

Simon shrugs. “I have one more customer. Free after that.”

Price nods and grips Simon’s shoulder. “We have lots to talk about.”

There is a slight twitch in Price’s clenched jaw that puts Simon on edge. He isn’t sure if he should press Price and try to wrangle an answer out of him, or let it go and see what happens.

“Shit,” says MacTavish, drawing Price and Simon’s attention to him. “Nearly forgot.” He extends an arm to Kyle, making a “give it to me” gesture with his hand. Kyle, with a sly smirk, unzips the front of his windbreaker. Reaching inside, he presents a manila envelope.

Johnny takes it and then offers it to Simon. “Thought I’d give this to you in person. You know, instead of over the phone. Or email.”

Simon takes it, instantly feeling the heft and thickness to it. Opening the tab, Simon slides his hand inside, removing the thick stack of papers.

“It’s everything I could find on her,” continues Johnny. “Where she went to school. Social medias. Every person she’s possibly dated.”

Tucking the manila envelope under his arm, Simon starts sorting through the information. A copy of your birth certificate, school records from elementary to high school, recent phone records. There is even a list of every restaurant or fast-food place you ordered from over the last five years with a credit card.

Simon flips past another page and freezes. His head snaps up, a growl sitting in the back of his throat. “You included her fucking banking information, Johnny.”

MacTavish shrugs dismissively. “I was thorough.”

“Thorough?” mimics Simon. “Fucking hell.” Simon returns everything to the envelope and places it on his desk next to his laptop.

Simon will have to shred it all after he looks through it. But only after he takes a look. He did ask Johnny to find what out what he could. While it is a major invasion of privacy, a more primal part of Simon reassures him that he’s doing the right thing. He needs to be able to protect you, and these are just tools in his arsenal to maintain your safety.

“She’s pretty, Simon,” says Price.

“You told them?” asks Simon, turning his attention to Johnny.

The Scotsman’s cheeks redden slightly. “He bullied the information out of me.”

Kyle leans in and drapes his arm over Soap’s shoulders. “Price told him he’d put him on inventory for a month if he didn’t spill.”

“Wanted to see this beauty for myself,” grumbles Price, glancing at Simon. “Give you a hard time.” He winks. “She yours yet?”

She yours yet?

There is a double-meaning there. While Simon’s instinct is to say “yes,” he also knows that that isn’t entirely true. The two of you haven’t verbally confirmed what this thing is. Simon has only just now asked you on a proper date.

Can Simon call you his?

The possessive, protective part of him shakes its ownership of you in its fist. But Simon isn’t impulsive, at least not all the time. With you, the need to react is strong, but Simon also understands that Price is asking in a more traditional way.

Licking his lips, Simon forms an answer. “She will be.”

Price nods. “Good man.” He glances briefly at Kyle and Johnny before returning his gaze to Simon. “Mind if we stick around?”

Simon shakes his head.

“We’ll help you clean,” adds Johnny.

“Will we?” asks Kyle slowly, eyebrows rising slightly as he turns on Soap.

Johnny blatantly ignores him and keeps his gaze locked on Simon. “You call the shots. Isn’t that right, Lt?”

That’s when Simon’s final client of the evening finally walks through the door. Simon doesn’t have a chance to answer. The customer is a bit bewildered by the small crowd, but the guys know to make themselves scarce. They head over to the couch, lingering in the waiting area with Bravo, chatting quietly as Simon escorts the newcomer into the tattoo chair.

Bravo moves from Johnny to Kyle to Price to Johnny again, seeking attention as Simon sets to work. The tattoo isn’t complicated, and Simon completes in about forty-five minutes. The guy is in and out in an hour.

When the four of them are standing outside in front of the shop, Simon pushes up his balaclava and lights a cigarette. It’s warm for autumn, the leather jacket he wears already making him run a little hot.

“We’ve got an upcoming mission we want your thoughts on,” says Price. “Need somewhere quiet we can go and talk.”

An upcoming mission? That’s not entirely unusual. Price has reached out to Simon on multiple occasions post-retirement to ask him for advice or to dig around in his head. But never—never—has Price and the rest of the team showed up to talk to him a group or in person.

There’s something else going on.

Clutching the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, Simon opens his mouth, exhaling smoke, intending to suggest a few places.

But before anything comes out of his mouth, Price shots him a look. “Not that fucking pub with the old folks.”

“No one will bother us,” replies Simon dryly. It’s true. It’s why he goes to Dancing Faun every Sunday. And Ben will close up for the public but stay open for just the four them. They won’t be bothered, and they will have as much time as they need.

“You might be an old man at heart, Simon, but I’m not getting harassed by older women whose husbands have been dead for years.”

Kyle bursts out laughing before promptly covering his mouth.

“Don’t like the attention, Captain?” teases Johnny.

Price points at each of them individually. “Fuck off. All of you.”

There are only a few places they could go on a Saturday night where they won’t be disturbed. Sighing, Simon rattles off a couple within walking distance. The four of them debate until Price becomes so annoyed with their continuous back-and-forth that he abruptly selects for all of them.

The walk over is quick, and the four of them enter the dimly lit pub. It’s one of only a handful of places that serves food late. It’s also on a side street away from the main road. Traffic is light, and the interior isn’t crowded. Simon is starving, and he’d appreciate a full belly with a whiskey or two before he starts talking about things he’d rather forget.

Finding a dark corner, they settle in at a four top. Kyle and Simon settle in the booth, facing the pub while Price and Johnny take the seats across from them. Simon settles into the cushioned seat, contentment sliding into his bones. He’s at peace, even if the coming conversation might be messy. He’s with people he cares about, and tomorrow, he’s off.

Tomorrow, he can go see you. Maybe. If you’re not busy. The two of you can talk about that date, maybe go for a walk and then lunch? Simon just wants to spend time with you, and tomorrow is the perfect day to do it.

Simon shifts in his seat, leaning his crossed arms on the edge of the table, glancing out across the pub. His gaze travels over every person, his old habits from the military coming to the surface. Recognizing exits and looking for suspicious behavior is as natural as breathing. But everyone around them is minding their own business. They’re either sitting by themselves or with others, not glancing Simon’s way at all.

He does one finally sweep, and that is when his gaze falls upon two people sitting at a high top together near the very back of the pub. Of the two, Simon notices the man first. He has dark hair, possibly brown but it’s difficult to say with the low light. Slightly older than Simon by a few years, and the bloke is wearing an impeccably made suit. It’s odd for a place like this. It stands out.

Simon doesn’t like the man’s demeanor either. It’s…smarmy. Pretentious. Like he not only believes that he’s better than everyone else in this establishment, but that they should all know it. The way he sits in the high-backed stool is off too. It’s relaxed and yet completely on edge.

Simon frowns, gaze panning to the woman the man is talking to.

Everything suddenly goes cold within him. Arctic. The room has become a meat freezer and Simon is just a piece of dangling meat.

Because that is you, and you’re sitting next to a man Simon doesn’t recognize.

You are here, alone with a man Simon doesn’t know.

A bright, blindingly hot sensation roars to life in Simon’s chest. It wraps around and between his ribs, seizing him in a vice-grip. Against this heat, the iciness melts off of him, dripping to the ground to pool under his boots.

“Simon?” asks Soap, the middle of his brow creasing with concern. “What are you—fuck. Is that her?”

It doesn’t fucking matter who this guy might be or what he might mean to you. Simon is going to crack his fucking skull open.

“That’s her,” murmurs Simon, the low growl previously lodged in his throat coming up suddenly.

Price leans back in his chair, one arm draped over the top, glancing to where everyone else is looking. “Want me to take him out to the alley? Give him some fresh bruises?”

Simon’s hands form into fists. He starts to stand but Kyle and Soap grab onto him, shoving him back down into the booth. “Relax, Lt,” soothes Johnny. “Might be nothing.”

You haven’t noticed Simon yet. You’re too busy looking at this man—this stranger. Turned slightly to the side, your gaze wouldn’t fall across Simon unless you purposefully scanned the room. The worst part is that Simon has no idea if you’re enjoying yourself or not. There is a blankness on your face that Simon loathes.

Do want to be here? Do want to be talking to this man that Simon doesn’t know? And why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t you say anything? Is there someone else Simon needs to worry about? Does he have competition?

Silently, Simon begs for you to turn in his direction, even if it’s only a bit.

This unknown variable, this stain of a man, reaches out. With red-drenched horror, Simon watches as he places that very hand on the top of your thigh.

All Simon sees is blood.

This bastard is going to lose that fucking hand. And then he’ll lose his goddamn head.

Simon bolts up out of his seat again but Kyle and Johnny are right there, grabbing onto him, wrangling him back down into his seat.

“Let me go,” snarls Simon through clenched teeth.

“You’re gonna cause a fucking scene if we do that,” hisses Kyle, shoving downward on Simon’s shoulders.

Why are you letting him touch you? Why, when just yesterday you were beneath Simon, seeking him with your fingers, begging for him, are you allowing this?

But you’re not allowing it. You didn’t give this man permission.

Within seconds of the man’s hand connecting with your thigh, your gaze turns downward, lips curling back into a disgusted snarl. You twist your body enough for his hand to fall away, and a flare of pride swells in Simon’s chest.

You didn’t want this man’s touch. Which makes Simon momentarily happy before it all comes crashing down. This man touched you. Without your consent. And that makes Simon angrier than if you had wanted it.

Simon craves blood. He needs his knuckles drenched with it. For it to sit between his teeth. To taste it on his tongue.

“Who the fuck is that?” asks Kyle.

“I don’t know,” growls Simon, wanting to take off and punch the guy right out of his fucking chair.

With the removal of his hand, the guy’s smug smile drops. He bares his teeth, starts speaking to you in a way that Simon immediately dislikes. Sure, Simon cannot hear what the man is saying to you, but from the look on his face and body language, it’s nothing nice. He is angry, and you’re clearly upset. Simon wants this to end, to go up to the guy and throttle him, to whisk you off and make you forget all this unpleasantness.

But Kyle and Johnny keep him seated. They won’t let go, which means Simon will have to literally fight them to get to you.

Small pieces of the conversation start to make its way over to the table.

“Archie.”

“Estate.”

Simon frowns, hears something that sounds like “pregnancy” and immediately rethinks everything. Does this have something to do with your friend? The husband is dead, but is this someone the husband knew? Is it a relative?

And does that matter to Simon?

No. He still plans on knocking the man’s teeth out.

Simon only catches a few additional words here and there, but then he hears three that make his blood boil.

“You fucking whore.”

Simon knows that Johnny, Kyle, and Price all hear it too because their gazes move away from Simon and to the man at the table. Soap and Kyle’s hands fall away from Simon’s arms, giving him permission.

Pushing up from his seat, Simon steps around Johnny and strides toward the high-top table. Your back is to Simon from this position, but that doesn’t matter. Simon has his sights set on this wanker who needs to learn some proper fucking manners.

The man notices Simon first, his angered expression turning away from you and switching to Simon. It slips slightly, the faintest bit of fear sliding across the man’s features as he realizes Simon is aiming for him. Simon inhales, falling effortlessly into Ghost, allowing the phantom inside himself to seek out its need for blood.

But with his removed attention comes your own turning. A wanting to know what it is he’s looking at. When your gaze falls upon Simon, Ghost deflates, softens, giving way to confusion. All the emotions passing over your face nearly stop Simon’s forward momentum.

Your own anger gives way to sudden panic, then switches quickly to irritation, further compounded by confusion. It’s likely that you didn’t expect Simon to be at the same place. And while Simon wants to turn to you and give you reassurance, he’s too fucking focused on this asshole you’re sitting with.

Simon decides not to address you. Instead, Simon turns on this thickheaded prat. “What did you fucking call her?”

The man’s lip curls. “Mind your own business.” Immediately, Simon notes the man’s accent. It speaks to social status and aristocracy.

Simon steps closer. “Repeat what you said. Out loud. Want to make sure I heard you right.”

“Simon,” you hiss, desperation leaking into your tone.

Your guest turns on you, anger flaring anew in his gaze. “You know this…man?” He says man like he wants to say animal.

“He’s—” you begin, but Simon interrupts.

“Direct your questions to me,” growls Simon, placing himself between you and this stranger.

“Simon. Please.” You tug on Simon’s leather jacket but he shrugs you off. His attention is completely on this asshole.

“Are you with him?” The man’s gaze flicks from Simon to you.

“Adam—”

“I thought we could have a civil conversation—”

“What’s civil about calling her a whore.” Simon’s voice rises slightly as the raging tide of fury boils within him like a thunderstorm.

Adam’s face grows bright red. He turns on Simon. “Do you know who I am?”

Simon could give a fuck. He could be the fucking King and Simon would still punch the piss out of him for speaking to you that way.

Price shoves himself between Simon and Adam, keeping his back to Simon, creating a barrier. “Let me help you to your car.”

Price isn’t doing this to be nice. He’s doing this so the police aren’t called.

Adam stands but isn’t nearly as tall as Price. “If you put your hands on me—”

“Deal with me or him. Your choice.”

Adam straightens his shoulders and tugs on the front of his suit, smoothing out the wrinkles.

Fucking prick.

He glances over Price’s shoulder at you. “This isn’t over. You’ll hear from the family solicitor.”

“Let’s go,” mutters Soap, caging the guy in, forcing him to move away from Simon. Kyle trails after them.

Price turns around, facing Simon directly. “We’ll stop by another day. You deal with your woman.” He squeezes Simon’s shoulder before following out after them.

Simon watches Price leave, and then he’s seeking you out, expecting you to be thankful.

But you’re not. Your anger is palpable.

Simon needs to fucking fix this. “You’re coming home with me,” is the first thing out of his mouth. It’s a command. Not an ask. And his tone is rough, nearly raspy.

Your eyes widen slightly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you whisper.

Simon draws back, startled. “You okay with him speaking to you like that?”

You huff, and get up from your chair, collecting your coat and purse. “You don’t know anything, Simon. You have no idea who that is and why we were even talking in the first place.” Shoving past him, you start for the door.

“Fuck,” mutters Simon, following after you.

His legs are longer, and he catches up to you easily. Before you make it to the pub’s exit, Simon inserts himself in your path, blocking your attempt to flee.

“Move.”

“No.”

“You’re making a scene, Simon.”

He glances up, notices everyone looking on with varying degrees of interest. Some confused. Others concerned. Sighing, Simon reaches back and pushes open the door, stepping aside for you to exit.

Once the two of you are outside on the street, Simom grabs you by the forearm, pulling you in the opposite direction.

“Let me go,” you snap.

“We’re going to talk.”

“Fuck off, Simon.” You yank your arm out of his grip. Something is forming on the tip of your tongue. Simon sees it in the way your lip quivers. But you don’t. Instead, you sigh heavily and wave him off like you’re tired of it all.

Turning, you try to cross the street, but Simon is already snagging your arm again, yanking you away as a car zooms by.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

“Then give me some fucking space.”

“No.”

You release an exasperated breath and try to circumvent him. Again, Simon steps into your path. The two of you keep moving like this down the street. Every attempt you make only puts you closer to him.

Simon is herding you on purpose, pushing you closer and closer to his flat. He wants some goddamn answers, no matter how mad you are with him. And he doesn’t understand why you’re upset in the first place.

When the two of you are outside his shop, Simon indicates the exterior door that leads to his flat.

“Get inside,” he demands.

“Don’t order me around.”

“Inside,” repeats Simon, shoving the key into the lock, opening the door, revealing the hallway that connects the shop to his flat.

You stare between him and the open doorway. Your chest is heaving, and fuck—you look so beautiful right now even though Simon can tell you’d really love to hit him.

The tips of his fingers itch to just push you inside and shut the door, but he doesn’t need to. You make the decision for him, heading inside. Simon follows, and as the door shuts, you’re already moving like a bolt of lightning, walking fast enough to create a significant amount of distance.

No. Fuck that.

With a few massive steps, Simon is on you. He grabs the front of your throat, yanks you back against his chest, pushing your face toward his. The balaclava is already up, already in place, and his lips connect with yours.

At first, Simon can sense the tension but then you melt into him as his other hand slides to your front, pressing low on your belly, pushing your ass into his groin. Your own arm slides up, drapes over his neck in such a loving way that Simon momentarily forgets all his anger.

The two of you hang like this, suspending, but you come back to reality, yanking yourself out of his grip, almost violently.

“You can’t distract me with kisses, Simon.”

“Want to test that?” asks Simon, reflexively reaching for your waist.

You allow him to touch you, to draw you back into him, but your arms are crossed over your chest defensively. “You don’t know,” you murmur. “It’s—it’s too much and you don’t know. You don’t understand, Simon.”

“Then help me understand,” he says softly.

You shake your head and there are real tears there in your eyes. Simon hates it. He wants to take them all away.

“You’re not my husband, Simon. You’re not even my boyfriend. I shouldn’t burden you with any of this.”

You will not push him away. Simon won’t allow it. The two of you are in this together, and he needs to know.

“I care about you.” Now Simon is the one shaking his head. “Don’t tell me what I can’t handle.” His hands draw upward, cradling the sides of your face. “We’re going up to my flat. You’re going to talk. I’m going to listen. Okay?”

One tear rolls off the corner of your eye, trailing downward to kiss his palm.

“Okay?” he repeats.

“Okay,” you reply.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @lialacleaf @theshrikeandcanary @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @creamwhxre @pearljamislife @wrathofcats @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppixie @cinnabeanz @berarenado @rogerrhqpsody @c0pernicus @josephquinnschesthair @corvusmorte @saoirse06 @therealbloom @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @knight4xmas @jupiternighties @darling006 @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @carma-fanficaddict @enarien @xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project

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iblameashley · 2 months

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Dating Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Civilian | Male | Gay

Content: Headcanons, Gay stuff, First dates, Budding relationship, Pre-relationship, Alcohol use, Mixed emotions, Military stuff, Guns, etc.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | Male

!!!SFW!!!

Note: This is kind of an in between of short-story and bullet point dating headcanons. I've wanted to write this for a while, but lacked motivation to go full story mode... sorry! Also, I do not know UK Gun Laws or how Gun Ranges work there, so just... go with the flow, OK?

It happened weeks ago; Simon stared down at his phone with a sense of dread, though you'd never have known just looking at him. He didn't even know why he had agreed to download this fucking app to begin with, though as usual it was at Soap and Gaz's insistence... and pestering. All he had wanted was some quiet on his day off, not to be harassed by yet another chatty man looking to suck his dick in an alley.

Sighing, he scrolled to the message that had just come in – a handsome young lad with a wide smile and kind eyes. It had started innocently enough, the usual pleasantries first, briefs answers after, and the long wait to see how long it would take to either receive a dick-pic or have a request for one.

Neither happened. In fact, the lad had actually carried on a decent conversation over the course the last few weeks, inquiring about hobbies and interests, career and what he was looking for. But then the lad had asked that they meet up on the upcoming weekend.

It's ironic that Ghost decided to ghost the poor lad. He didn't block him – frankly, he didn't know how – he simply didn't respond and closed the app. It was for the best, at least that's what he told himself, though he had blatantly lied to Gaz and Soap when asked how it was going, claiming all he could find was horny men looking for a quick hookup. Not that Gaz or Soap understood why that was a problem; they assumed Ghost getting laid couldn't make him worse.

But then they found out he lied, a casual glance at his phone when a message came in, and then another, asking about the date and apologizing if he had offended Simon.

Its rare that anyone could corner Ghost, but that's just what Soap and Gaz did, hounding their commanding officer until he ran out of excuses.

“Ye owe the lad an explanation.” Soap chided him, a finger pointed in his face.

“Agreed, you can't leave the lad hanging!” Gaz chimed in with a disgruntled look on his face.

So Simon agreed to apologize and reply to the poor lad, and even agreed to a date. He was ready for this, he knew he was charming and could flirt with the best of em', he just had no need to before. He simply wasn't interesting in dating.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Cuppa

Simon: He felt nervous for this date, in many ways it felt like a blind date since he had only ever seen your face in a few pictures. He dressed nicely (Button-down, fitted jeans, boots and some cologne was dabbed behind his ears where the mask hooked), He was confident, pleasant, charming and funny throughout the date. But he saw the way you looked at him with every passing question and answer and was beginning to think this was a mistake. You weren't compatible... but why did that bother him?

You: You arrived early and found a nice little table at the cafe to wait for Simon. To say you were surprised by the giant of a man who appeared would be an understatement. As you both settled in and ordered drinks, you attempted to dive right into it. Your talk walk halting and awkward as Simon dodged most questions about himself with grunts, shrugs or one-word answers. His insistence on using terrible puns and dad-jokes made it more difficult to get to know him. It was frustrating, to say the least, but you persisted. He did at least ask some questions about you, which eased things, but you knew that if this was all he was willing to give, it would be difficult to go on more dates, let alone start a relationship.

Movie and Dinner

Simon: Of course Simon would agree to a movie date followed by dinner. It meant that he got to sit in silence and darkness for about two hours, and then could have a bite to eat after where you would likely do a majority of the talking. He had already tried his best on the first date, it was up to you to pick up the slack this time. The movie went fine for the most part, except when you grabbed his arm during a jump-scare that made him roll his eyes.

Over dinner, he picked away at the curry on his plate while you discussed the movie. He was surprised by your review of the movie and its themes and found himself agreeing with you on many points. Maybe you weren't such a terrible date after all. He decided to pay for dinner, despite your protests.

You: It was stupid of you to choose a thriller for a movie date, but you really wanted to see the movie and no one else would go with you. Since Simon agreed, you made it a date and added dinner after. Thank the good Lord it was dark in the theatre; you turned bright red at the jump scare and felt bad for grabbing Simon's arm. You felt the way he tensed, but were too embarrassed to apologize to him.

Dinner went much better and Simon actually became more engaging as you discussed the movie and its plot. He seemed to enjoy your nerding out and even cracked a small smile.

As dinner came to an end, you thanked him for the (genuinely) enjoyable night and get ready to pay, since the date was your suggestion. Simon wouldn't allow it and ended up paying regardless. Maybe this lumbering, awkward man wasn't so bad after all.

Pub Trivia

Simon: Simon's intelligence isn't limited to Military knowledge, so he decided to take you to a pub trivia night, though he couldn't understand why he had this continued desire to impress you. You. Just some civilian who had taken an interest in him.

In between the rounds and pints, he started to talk to you about his mates Gaz and Soap who gave him the idea for this date. You'd like them, he was sure, but it was too early for you to be meeting his friends, he was sure to remind you.

You: You couldn't deny the Simon was an encyclopedia of general knowledge, his brain was like a sponge, it seemed. He had filled in the sheets of answers rather quickly each round, but you got the chance to flex your brain full of useless pop culture knowledge in the last few rounds.

What really entertained you though, was that the drunker this man got, the more he was willing to open up to you... you should have got him pissed sooner. You laughed when he reminded you it was too early to meet his friends, despite never asking to. This man was ridiculous and in its own way, it was endearing.

Aquarium

Simon: He had agreed to a date with you a few weeks prior but had to cancel due to deployment. He promised he'd take you out when he got back, but by the time the mission was over and he returned to base he didn't want to do the obstacle course. You surprised him when you offered a less energy-intensive option, and here he was at the aquarium now.

As you two strolled leisurely through the dark hallways of glass staring at a multitude of sea creates, Simon found himself actually relaxing; something he was unaccustomed to after a long mission. You stood unreasonably close, but he allowed it, figuring you were uncomfortable with all the other people wandering close by.

A brief stop at the aquarium cafeteria (for an unimpressive meal that would have made the mess hall staff on base look like Michelin Star chefs), filled the both of you up enough to know you'd make it to dinner and something more satisfying.

You managed to convince Simon to take a walk through the gift shop, and ended up buying him a pack of face masks with a shark-teeth pattern on them. He was surprised and delighted, though he wouldn't admit that to you.

You: Your heart sank when Simon tried to cancel the date - but you also understood he just came back from deployment. Maybe you were getting to know him better between the dates and texting, but you could feel his exhaustion, so you offered an alternative; a stroll through the aquarium.

It was rather cold in the building and you found yourself drifting towards Simon... that's how it started anyway. He smelled good too, and you felt comfortable with him. You desperately wanted to hold his hand, but figured that was a boundary too far for right now.

You treated him to food in the cafeteria, swallowing it hard and trying to hide your dissatisfaction with the offerings while he ate everything on his plate with his usual impassive face.

There was no plan to buy anything from the gift shop, you just liked wandering them to see what was there... but the sight of the face masks was too good to pass up. Simon always showed up to a date in a mask, and only took it off when eating, drinking or for a quick smoke. So it seemed fitting and perfect get these shark-print ones for him. You thought you could see a smile under his current mask as you handed them to him.

Shooting Range

Simon: Simon was absolutely intent on showing off his sharpshooting skills to you. It was the closest thing to 'giddy' that he allowed himself to feel as he drove you to the range. Simon is an expert in his field, matched only by sparingly few men - and several good women too.

But there was also a feeling of caution and anxiety as you both signed in and got your gear ready. Simon watched like a hawk as you eyed the guns over before making a few selections. A Glock 17, Mossberg 500 and M4 Carbine... Interesting selections.

This was as handsy as Simon had ever been with someone, ensuring that your safety gear was secure and that you followed instructions to the letter. He was already hesitant about this activity to begin with, but you seemed genuinely interested.

Simon ensured that you paid close attention, and that he assisted you with aiming as well as stood close by as you fired. What he wasn't expecting was your proficiency with the Mossberg. You each took turns firing at targets, and to no surprise to either of you, Simon was the winner... though there were no winners, it was all in good fun. But if there were, Simon would have won.

You: You chose the Glock because it had always fascinated you, the Mossberg because you grew up in the country and were familiar with similar shotguns and the Carbine because it seemed the most military of the selection.

You couldn't stop the thrill that ran through you as Simon checked all your gear and guns, ensuring everything was secure and safeties were on before going straight into his lecture about gun safety. You listened to him speak with confidence and authority, happy to see him in his element. You wanted to make sure you gave him and the guns the respect they deserved and did everything he said without question - or at least with very little question.

Your heart raced as Simon kept close. You knew very little about guns overall, but the way he pressed himself against you to help you aim, the calm voice he spoke in as he guided you, the feeling of his hand on your back as he stepped away to let you take the shot. You were melting with happiness.

The biggest thrill was when you fired the Mossberg several times. The look on Simon's face was priceless as you expertly handled the shotgun and even gave him a run for his money with your accuracy, but that was a secret to share another time.

You gracefully conceded your defeat to the expert in front of you, but couldn't help but notice what might have been pride in his look as he reviewed your targets one last time.

Cooking Class(es)

Simon: It's not that Simon is bad at cooking - he's really not - but he didn't have the opportunity to flex his skill often, and he had a select few dishes that he excelled at. So when you suggested this date, he was a bit apprehensive.

But Simon was a man used to following orders - usually - and listened intently to everything that was explained to him, so he settled in at the table next to you and took charge.

He needed a bowl? You had it for him already. Needed something washed? It was already done and drying. Missing ingredient? Nope, on your left. Simon appreciated your own attentiveness to the task, and how you made it go so much more smoothly.

And then the dessert section came up, and Simon floundered. Hard. Main courses aren't a challenge for him, but Simon doesn't bake. Not for a lack of interest, but a lack of time usually.

You picked up the slack though, and he reluctantly ceded control to you, letting you guide him in making the Zeppole.

Simon's demeanour softened as the class came to an end and you both sat there sampling the homemade ravioli, a glass of wine and eventually the Zeppole.

Before you parted ways, you gave Simon a tight hug, demanding he return it otherwise you weren't letting go. Simon decided to simply return the hug instead of forcing you off him.... not because he actually liked the hug from you.

You: Simon seemed to be taking this class very seriously from the moment he arrived. He stood in a typical rigid manner while listening and nodding along as instructions were given. The only thing missing was a few 'Yes sir!' replies.

The man made a complete mess though, and you found yourself quickly cleaning up after him in an attempt to keep up with his pace. But even still, you had fun. You got him the things you both needed for the meal, made sure the table was tidy and even engaged in some small talk.

It took everything in you to not laugh out loud as you say the panic in Simon's eyes as he read the instructions for the dessert. It was like he was reading a completely different language and, after a few failed starts, you took over and guided him.

As the class came to an end, and you could both indulge in the meal you created together. You clinked your wine glass against his and took a bite of the ravioli that was mostly his handiwork. It was good! Dessert wasn't too bad either and Simon gave a contented smile as he ate the last of the Zeppole.

You both relaxed on a nearby bench after the class for a few minutes, letting the meal settle in your stomachs before Simon explained he needed to get back to base. You stood up to say your goodbyes, but noticed how he lingered. How he hovered over you; closer than you were accustomed to from him. Taking the chance, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around his waist and lowered your head into the crook of his neck. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, and you begin to worry you misread the situation; joking that you weren't going to let go until he reciprocated, and gently his hands found their way to your backside and pulled you into the best hug you've ever had. Simon held on longer than you did, though you never truly let go until his hands fell to his sides.

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simonrillleyyysss · 7 months

Note

do you have any other headcanons for any of the cod boys (ghost, soap, price, gaz) just curious!❤️

༉‧₊˚.GENERAL HC

most of these r taken from my tiktok, so pls don’t expect them to be very fancy :(

;;’GAZ

this guy is a football fanatic! supports manunited with his life(ick) suprisingly good at footie too!!

he’s really good at baking and cooking, his best(and really only) delicacy are his fucking BOMB omelettes. and scones. he’s really good at baking scones.

listens to uk drill and rave, stereotypical roadman, hip hop too

likes turtlenecks but they annoy him

skincare routine! it has almost 10 steps, spends so much on his care items

had/HAS his ear pierced, doesn’t admit it

first job was at a sports direct.

says innit unironically

could be an olympic swimmer

;;’PRICE

carries a worlds best teacher mug aroujd the lunchroom, doesn’t know why or how he got it

he really likes the airplane neck comforter things; the guys buy him some for christmas :)

sandals and socks are his goto summer combo! dresses like a dad ;p

if it’s not him driving, he’ll hang onto the lil handle things and complain they can’t drive

rlly good at making toast??? it’s never burned. always made perfectly.

favourite show is call the midwife (if he’s feeling cheeky, he’ll watch the office)

if you use a vape near him, he’ll loudly declare ‘that’s for wussies!’

listens to nickleback

maths nerd

;;’SOAP

punk teen phase

big rock nerd, likes punkrock and punk pop, sum41,dead kennedys, blink-182,good charlotte etc

lactose intolerant(punishes himself and eats dairy anyways)

had a bowlcut phase as a kid…

really good at linedancing for some reason??

had an eyebrow slit during his edgy phase, suits him

really good at tree climbing! is like a squirrel sometimes lol

often needs floortime, just holds your hand and lays on the carpet; letting you brush his hawk back

scared of golemn from LOTR

his laptop is covered in doggy stickers, will help and let you choose and pick new stickers out to cover the free spaces

love language is quality time, elaboration; he loves being around u, always holding your hand, going shopping?? bring him along! jog?? bring him along!! if HES going somewhere?? go along with him! it makes him feel giddy knowing that he has someone there with him

he really likes spicy food

has a bull terrier dog named setanta

;;’GHOST

checks behind the showercurtain when he goes into a bathroom, very paranoid

he complains that redbull tastes like piss, but will drink it anyways

i think that he has a buzzcut, easy to manage and doesn’t think it makes him look any less appealing, pretty intimidating look

isn’t buff, is athletic but beefy—keeps his weight and just bulks himself out

he’s really good at chess, he’s like young sheldon but for a bunch of figures on a board, very calculated

very superstitious, if you open an umbrella inside the house ur literally getting kicked out or scolded for a while

paranoid AAFFFFF, covers mirrors at night and has to keep his eyes open when he washes his face

has a black cat even though he’s superstitious

gets u socks for christmas.

METALLHEADDD but likes dad music too.cannibal corpse, goregasm, clittorape also oasis,ac/dc, wheatus

gives u a goodluck card for ur birthday with £10 inside :))

doesn’t wear his mask outside of work, he separates his home life and work life, wouldn’t like to bring work issues home

love language is acts of service, need to grab something? he’ll get it, can’t reach the cabinet? sure, he’ll do it. ohh, need ur shirt ironed?? consider it done!

everything for now, was gonna include nsfw but maybe next time 😜

#ghost x reader #soap mactavish x reader #spotify #ghost smut #dilf ghost #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost imagine #könig x reader #ghost is babygirl #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod #kyle garrick #kyle gaz smut #captain price smut #john price #captain price #price smut #price cod

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drdemonprince · 2 months

Note

something im kind of connecting the dots to re: your posts about shaming people who don’t wear masks…in ‘20 and ‘21 I spent a lot of time posting shaming instagram stories telling people they needed to mask, and i yelled at family until i was blue in the face bc they weren’t masking, having big weddings, etc. and it really created a rift (obviously) in my relationships. I’ve also spent a lot of time and energy in the past 4 or so years telling people that it’s not possible to be an ally to trans people if they still engage in any media created by jk rowling. Especially given that her anti trans manifesto has been cited in anti trans legislation in the uk, she says that she assumes that anyone who continues to engage with Harry Potter media approves of her transphobia, etc the list goes on. And yet i still see my friends going to the wizarding world of Harry Potter, marathoning the movies with their friends, going to see the new movies in theaters, and so on. Obviously my aggressive shaming posts and conversations (which have alienated a lot of people) aren’t doing jack shit. Your mask shame posts made me realize that it probably wasn’t right of me to do that. But I don’t see how I can stand up for what I believe in and show people that it’s not okay to keep doing this shit AND play nice and not create trouble. Do you have any thoughts?

Thanks for this great question and for sharing your experiences.

I think when we shame, part of it is a grappling with our own powerlessness. It feels terrible to confront that no matter how much we care, and no matter how much we plead, we cannot make another person take action. When people we love or rely on won't hear our pleas and won't take action, it wounds us so deeply, and it makes sense we react in anger or seek to shame them hoping it will make them care. But it isn't effective.

I think one of the first steps is accepting our powerlessness as individuals. We have to stop expecting ourselves to somehow persuade people to change their behavior and views, when all the research indicates that such change is rare, slow, and very hard, and cannot be accomplished on a person who does not already want to be influenced. We have to sit in the humility of not being able to make others care, and take time to grieve how badly it hurts. Our understandable and huge hurt feelings need to be processed. many of us have a powerful need to express our rage and have it witnessed by others who understand.

From there, we have to think very strategically about what kind of collective work we can do that will shift social norms, facilitate the behavior we want to see, and fight for systemic changes that will actually address the root issues.

This may be things like passing out masks at protests. Joining a local mutual aid fund to contribute to the expenses of people who are quarantining. Protesting an event space to make them institute a masking policy. Unionizing with our coworkers to demand paid sick leave. Shoplifting tests and redistributing them to people in need. Terrorizing the business leaders who dragged us all back into the office. Sharing the wastewater data. Asking loved ones about their COVID mitigation decisions in a sincere way. Organizing outdoor events for our communities. Paying for a buddy's vaccine.

There are countless ways for us to be plugged into an active community that is larger than us. The work is humble, and ongoing, and what you do personally will never be enough on its own, and you must accept that in order to believe that it does not have to be. We are in this together.

In short, I think the tough emotional realities of feeling disrespected and not cared for much be addressed by finding community with people who do care and will give us room to voice our outrage. And then we have to work together to create the circumstances that allow real systemic change to germinate.

Right now, people conflate that emotional need to express rage with the political need to take action. And what feels cathartic to do or say is not necessarily what's persuasive. There has to be room for both.

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faust-the-enjoyer · 3 days

Text

Anonymous asked: Adoptive!dad!simon x adopted!kid!reader but it starts off with the reader being a foster kid whos lowkey kinda scared of simon

You Remember the First Time You Called Him "Dad"

Tags/warnings: gn!reader, kid!reader (mid teens), foster!father!simon turned into adoptive!dad!simon, sfw, familial, mentions of the military, mentions of therapy, mentions of mental health issues, implicit mentions of child murder, uk foster care system, a bit of angst, fluff, crying.

A/n: aaaaaaaah i loooved writing this!!! I did my research to write it too!!! Hope you like it anon!

-Divider by (@/saradika-graphics)!

After being discharged from the military due to his mental health, Simon got monthly compensation from the military, and started working as a butcher again, all while going to therapy at the same time. Since he's pretty much done from working as a soldier, he had to find other things to do, he had to learn to help himself, and find purpose, find a new life for himself.

After going to therapy for a good couple of months and being on medication, he found that his life became...repetitive and dull in a way. It's the same thing over and over again, work, therapy, and the times that he went out with his old teammates didn't change things that much, considering they were on missions on many occasions, dating didn't help either, that didn't work out, he's not one for that.

He'd talk about it with his therapist, he'd talk about with his friends, and he'd get a lot of advises, but none that appealed to him. He didn't know what to do, but sometimes, he'd see one of his co-workers at the butchery with his kid sometimes, seeing couples and single parents out with their own as well, and it all just reminded him of his nephew, that poor kid, Joseph. Although it opens up old wounds that never healed, he did think it over, and even asked his therapist for advice over it, and he finally decided to foster a kid after months of thinking about it and considering it.

He wanted to do a short-fostering plan, just in case it doesn't work out for whatever reason. The application took a couple of months in order for him to become a foster parent, but he didn't mind, he worked on his mental health at the time, and even cleaned out a room in his apartment for the kid that'll be there. After making an inquiry at a local foster care agency, and after a social worker visited him and the process took place, he was given some parenting training, and finally matched up with a kid to take care of, that is, you.

Your first meeting was with him and your two's social worker in a small restaurant, he was a big guy, piercing brown eyes, some scars here and there, and a black surgical mask that he took off when he sat down and started talking to you. He was just a bit scary, just a bit though.

After the social worker introduced you two, Simon took the initiative and started talking to you. "R/N, you can just call me Simon, alright?", he asked in a calm tone, and you nodded, it made sense since you two just met, and he really just wants you to be comfortable. After you two chatted a little and he paid for the meal, the social worker walked you two to his car, and talked to you, you were more than willing to stay with him if that meant some stability in your life, even if he was a little scary, so you agreed to stay with him, and he agreed to foster you, and you said your goodbyes to the social worker.

You didn't want to sit in the front passenger seat, this was all too new to you, and Simon didn't make it any better either, all broody and quiet, with that somewhat harsh look on his face, though he doesn't mean to seem like this at all, he really just wants you to feel safe around him, so he lets you get into the backseat and sees you put your little bag of belongings on the seat next to you, "Put your seatbelt on R/N.", and that you do. Five minutes into the drive and he starts talking.

"So, your school's pretty close to where we will, and to be honest with you kid, I'd prefer to drive you every day there, but tell me, what do you prefer?", he asks, eyes on the road, he'd prefer to drive you because it's safer, and he honestly hopes you just choose that, "...I...ok, um, I don't wanna take the bus, so...", you trail off, you can't even talk about what you want, let alone address him by his first name. He lets out a sigh of relief, "Car it is then.". The rest of the drive is filled with him questioning you on the meals you like, and inquiring you about your hobbies.

As the days passed, you two slowly warmed up to each other, and his kindness would show; in the first couple of days of you settling in, he took you shopping, giving you a certain amount of money and telling to buy whatever clothes you needed, he also encouraged you to buy that plushie you had your eye on but didn't openly say you wanted because you're "too old" for it. He'd ask you to cook dinner with him as way as to spend time with you, letting you chop all the vegetables with your not-too sharp knife, and letting you add them and the spices into the pot.

Hell, it would even extend to other things as well, he wouldn't hug you unless you gave him the green light, nor would he enter your room without knocking or asking for your permission first. And in the first week of picking you up from school, he asked if you if anyone was bothering you, and if you made or already have any friends, if you needed any school supplies, or if you wanted a packed lunch. On the first weekend you stayed at his apartment, he ended asking Johnny to borrow that old gaming set he doesn't use anymore just so you (and him) can play on it.

But you were still scared a little, this new environment was too comfortable, too quiet, your mind kept telling you that something was wrong, when you knew there wasn't. Week by week, your fear would slowly melt away, though it was quite slow, yet the social worker was quite delighted during the check-ups that happened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One night after brushing your teeth and getting into bed, it started raining, that was fine, relaxing even, until you were deeply asleep and got frighteningly woken up by the loud thunder, heart throbbing, body shaky, you needed water, you needed to calm down. You went into the kitchen, heavy breathing echoing throughout the room, you were so shaken up that you accidentally broke the glass of water you were trying to get out of the cabinet, shattering the glass all over the floor, and prompting Simon to wake up and run to the kitchen, only to find you shaking above the broken glass and breathing heavily, you looked like you were on the verge of tears from how overwhelmed you felt.

He carefully walked up to you quickly, "R/N? You alright? Did you step on the glass?", you look up at him, and the waterworks are on, he can't say anything to you in this state and he knows it, so all he does is usher you into a tight hug. "Shh...shh...it's alright, you're not hurt, you're fine kid...", after calming you down, he sits you on the couch and hands you a cup of water, covering you with a blanket and patting your head, "You can tell me what happened, I won't be mad, I promise.", he sighs, he doesn't know what happened, but he wants you to feel safe in this moment and just breath.

You drink from your cup and set it on the coffee table, breathing in and out, "I was just sleeping, but the thunder woke me up and I just...", "You got scared kid?", you nod, eyes still tired from having your sleep interrupted in such a horrifying manner. It's still thundering loudly outside. He sighs, "Alright, tell you what, since you don't have any school tomorrow, how 'bout you sleep on the couch, and I sit near you, yeah? How does that sound?", you think it over, at least he'll be there if you wake up scared again, "Ok.", he gets up and sits on the armchair next to the couch, letting you lay there and get comfy with the blanket and couch pillow. As you slowly close and rest your eyes, you suddenly open them wide, "Wait...you'll sleep on the chair?", "Yeah, what, you've never done that before?", he lets out a small chuckle, you smile a little and put your head back onto the pillow. After you fell asleep, he got up and quietly cleaned up the broken glass in the kitchen, then returned and sat back down, slowly falling asleep too.

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As the months passed, you fell into the routine that you two had, it was a calm one, a comforting one that made your worries disappear. He tried his best to be a father to you, a parental figure to you. He'd pat away any creases in your school uniform, make you lunch boxes, and openly told you to rant to him about school and your friends, about what you wanted to do and be in the future. He wanted to know more about you, and if you ever had any issues, you knew to come to him for help, and you did. He never shamed you for it, never made fun of you, he always helped you out, even if your problem seemed "trivial".

He wanted to know what you liked to do, where you liked to eat. On some weekends after you'd do your homework, he'd take you to a small amusement park then to try a new restaurant, and once he even let you have that sundae you've always wanted to try. On some weekdays, he'd help you with your homework after dinner, telling you how proud he was of you, and after, you'd help him with the dishes. He gave you a monthly allowance ever since you started living with him, letting you buy whatever you wanted (within reason), and you wanted to help him with the house, so you started doing some chores, it was perfect, cozy, loving, what you've both wanted. What he offered and gave you was what every child deserves and should have, you both know that, but neither of you ever had that.

You found someone you can lovingly call your parent, and he found a kid he could proudly say was his. It's been a good year since he fostered you, and now he's sat on your bed, talking to you, "R/N, I...would you like me to adopt you? It's possible you know, just some paperwork, I've just...been thinking it over.", your eyes glimmer with joy and content, and a smile is painted on your lips, "Yes!". A man of his word, after discussing it with the social worker and getting the paperwork done, he ended up adopting you out of the foster care system, now having you as his child, permanently. You were so happy, so so so happy.

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A couple of days after the adoption process was done, you sat next to him on the couch as he was reading the newspaper. "Simon.", "Hm?", "Can I call you "dad"?", his eyes widen a little, and he has to hold back some of his emotions, or else he'll cry in front of you, "Yeah, yeah can call me "dad" if you want to kid.", he lets out a small chuckle, ruffling your hair. You laugh, "Thanks dad.", it's a much more comfortable term than his first name, one that suits him.

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Gaz: So how's everything with the kid?

Simon: Dead good, they're happy.

Gaz: I told you you'd be a good father, you didn't need to worry so much man.

---------------------------------------------------

He sets his phone down and looks at you studying for your exams in the living room, a small content smile on his face. He's glad that he can start anew, and he's glad that he's able to give you what he never had; stability, and a loving parent.

#faust speaks #cod x reader #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty x reader

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minihotdog · 6 months

Text

A Diamond in the Rough

Summary: The surviving recruits move on to graduation. While the other grads get to see their families for the first time in months, y/n stands alone.

a/n: *shrugs*

c/w: little to no proofreading

w/c: 5k

***

“What about him?” Laswell points to the photo of a blond young man. His face is stern, his buzzcut making him appear juvenile as his dark uniform contrasts with the blue, white, and red of the UK flag draped behind him.

Cpt. Price hums softly, examining the photo.

“He’s got grit. Talks too much for his own good.”

“Oh?” Laswell looks at the captain, waiting for him to clarify.

“Almost failed the interrogation. Can’t have that liability on the force, can we?”

“Absolutely not.” She nods in agreement.

Price crosses his arms, looking over Laswell’s shoulder as her fingers ghost over the various photos. All young and determined faces. When the occasion that he could look for new members came around he’d sometimes wonder what was said of him when his photo sat on the desks of the men who had forged him into the SAS. The young man he was before a new reality aged him, adding a new wrinkle with every deployment and mission. He’d had a fire burning inside him. It still burned even now, maybe brighter or hotter, but wielded skillfully with experience.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen her before.” Laswell pulls him from his thoughts to a photo of a young woman, her hair pulled into a tight, neat bun, her lips pulled into almost a straight line and her eyes appearing dazed as if she wasn’t fully present. Laswell’s eyebrows furrow as she looks at her companion.

“Ah, Y/N Y/L/N. The little shadow.” He laughs silently. “Didn’t like attention very much.”

“No one should like attention from the instructors,” Laswell states matter-of-factly.

“She’s smart, quick, passed physically and mentally.”

“Interrogation?”

“Passed.”

“So what’s her catch?” She stands up straight, now crossing her arms.

“Didn’t build rapport with other recruits. In a team, she disappears.”

“And alone?”

“Brilliant.”

“I think with a good mentor she could learn to play well with others, don’t you think?”

She slides the photo to the side, looking back with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m inclined to agree, but it won’t be easy. Can’t break something already broken down.”

“But you can teach.”

***

“... So once again, congratulations to all of you young men and women who stand before me today. Your strength and resilience sought you through til the end. You are the future and now protectors. Protectors of freedom and countless lives who, even unknowingly, look to you for your sacrifice and strength.” An applause erupts from the crowd watching over the dozen or so graduates standing stiff at attention.

“I hope you all celebrate with your families, who have waited eagerly these difficult six months to see what has become of their sons and daughters. Families may now approach their graduates.”

The open space was filled with footsteps, murmurs, and cries of happiness. Each graduate reuniting with their loved ones. Everyone had now begun scrambling off to celebrate.

Y/N now stood alone, still facing the podium. Quiet whispers came from the few that were still on the outskirts of the tarmac about the last standing graduate. “You can’t tap her out. It has to be family.” She hears a boy scold his parents.

The clouds that lingered overhead now turned a dark grey and a mist began to fall. At this point, if she walked off, no one would have tried to stop her in the name of tradition. Any passerby would feel too much pity to do so. But she continued to stand. Feeling the raindrops run down her face, masking her silent tears dropping just the same.

A figure appeared in her peripheral vision. His eyes continue facing forward, the point of focus lost in a blur. She made out an umbrella and camo fatigues. He continued on his path to her, stopping only a few feet away.

She’d seen the man before. He’d attended the training, watching over as the recruits were battered, covered in dirt, or even bloody. He was the bearded man, always donning a boonie hat, who she’d once caught looking at her as she clutched her bleeding nose after being placed against a recruit twice her size in what was supposed to be a friendly sparing match.

He plucked his cigar from his lips as he eyed her in such a pathetic state, still standing proudly, on the outside, at least.

“Y/L/N, your family couldn’t make it?” His low growly voice nearly gets drowned out as the rain falls harder.

“Don’t have one, sir.” Her voice almost croaks.

“S’that right?” He murmurs to himself, bringing his cigar to his lips. He glances away for a moment as he blows the smoke out of his lungs.

“Corporal, I’m Captain Price. I’ve been watching you for the last six months. Before you submitted your application, you earned a medal for identifying what could’ve been a crippling data leak. Which, inadvertently, protected me and my team.” He points at her with his now stubby cigar, “You’ve got potential. And I'm willing to bet on it. Join my task force.” His words came out more like an order rather than a proposal.

“Or what?”

“Or stand out here in the rain… You’ll have a family of your own in us. Your choice.”

Her eyes scan his face suspiciously. He senses her reluctance and his head tilts, a soft smile pulls at the corner of his lips.

“Alright, I’ll join you.”

His smile grows and his bushy mustache hides his upper lip. He steps closer, the umbrella now shielding you from the freezing rain.

“I hope you’re ready to do some real work.”

#John price #captain john price #captain price #kate laswell #laswell cod #cod fanfic #cod drabble #task force 141 #call of duty fanfic #myfic

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neutronice · 1 year

Text

Timid Yuuri? I Think Not!

I can’t tell if this is an unpopular opinion or not, because even 6+ years later, the Yuri on Ice fandom is rich and wonderful. It’s a fandom where there seems to be something for everyone.

But one thing I do see a lot of, and at least if @rikeijo‘s takes are correct (and given her translations, I believe them), there is a rabid subset of YOI that firmly stand in the uke!Yuuri and seme!Victor camp, to such a degree that there was backlash about seeing long-haired young Victor because it did not fit the mold of perfect masculine boyfriend assertive Victor and soft feminine timid Yuuri.

Which... <points to canon> Yuuri has something to say about that.

When we first meet Yuuri, he’s a ball of anxiety and self-doubt. He’s had a horrific debut at the GPF, and his dog has died.

Yet, his first encounter with Victor Nikiforov, his idol, is him turning away from an offer of a commemorative photo. Turning down and walking away are already not behaviors of someone who is timid. Ashamed and depressed that his idol didn’t even seem to recognize him as a competitor? Yes. Timid and uke? Nope.

I often wonder if the timidity idea came from the other first encounter, yes, that one. Naked-and-confident Victor in the onsen declaring himself Yuuri’s coach. Yuuri shell-shocked and overly accommodating. On top of that, Yuuri lets Yurio bulldoze him, lets Victor set the terms of the Onsen on Ice, and goes along with it all with nary a complaint.

At least at the beginning, we know Yuuri thinks of Victor as a god. We see him do a dogeza for being late, see him flustered with the touch and attention that Victor gives him, see the way his face goes moony each time Victor speaks.

And then... as Victor is telling Yuuri to remember sometime how it felt being with a lover, Yuuri reacted like this:

Yup. That is the face he made as he shouted “huh?!” at Victor, before he came back to himself and apologized profusely. That “huh?!” is not timid.

Personally, I think this Yuuri, the “huh?!” Yuuri is the real one, sliding behind the mask of deference because his idol is coaching him, scared that Victor might lose interest and abandon him.

And from that “huh?!” moment onward, we get more and more of the real Yuuri.

We get eye rolls when Victor changes into a suit for the regional competition.

We get full on insubordination when Victor says to cut some of his quads.

We get battle-mode Yuuri letting Victor apply his lip balm.

And it all goes downhill from there.

In Beijing, Yuuri scolded Victor for interrupting his interview to talk food. He refused the food that would turn his stomach (as well as the alcohol), and finally... when Victor totally fumbled on coaching Yuuri through his panic attack, Yuuri... unleashed.

(gif source here)

You know who acted like the experienced and assertive one after this conversation? I’ll give you one hint. It wasn’t Victor.

Yes, Victor absolutely was the one who initiated that kiss. But even Yuuri’s reaction to it (after the initial shock of kissing Victor on live TV) was “oh!”

Yet, these moments are not even the cream of the crop. There is one moment that stands above them all. Yes, I am referring to the tie.

Victor is hamming it up for the audience in Russia. He is not paying all of his attention to Yuuri. Yuuri takes issue with this.

There is nothing timid or uke about that tie tug. That is the type of tie tug that awakened something in Victor Nikiforov (if it had not already been awakened by his gorgeous chaos goblin boyfriend already.)

This is not to say that Yuuri has no shy and tender moments, he absolutely does. This is not to say that Victor is actually the uke, he absolutely is not.

This is just to say that the thing about Yuuri and Victor that make them compelling and wonderful is that they cannot be fit into obvious little boxes like uke and seme.

It’s what is so wonderful about Victor and Yuuri. That we can imagine them in whatever configuration we want to, and it works!

It means that I cannot wait for Ice Adolescence, with that soft and sweet Victor. Because Yuuri Katsuki was not an uke seeking a seme, he was nuanced and confident and sweet and chaotic, and absolutely perfect for Victor Nikiforov.

#yoi meta #yoimeta #victuuri #viktuuri #yuuri katsuki is not timid

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mouschiwrites · 6 months

Note

Heyyy ich loveee your Wirtin sm and i would love to See a Kai x Reader story so like they are sitting on a house or something and they both don’t know who they are like u don’t know that the red ninja is Kai uk?

Anyways so Kai is telling about the girl in school he has a crush on and that would be y/n but he doesn’t know that he is telling her and in School they are like enemies so y/n would never ever think that it would be Kai telleing her . And like they often meet as Nina’s but don’t know their idenetie so they kept going to see eacht other and they got reallyyy close and y/n got even close with the other ninjas and they know Kai likes her at then at some mission y/n got hurt and Kai is saving her and then he like know who she is idk if it makes sense but after that like at the next day or something then they meet at the spot they always met and he tells her who he is and then they like fall in love 😻

I would love that 😍😍

Ooh yess!! This gave me miraculous ladybug vibes! :D

Word count: 1.6k

Ninjago - Falling for the Mysterious Red Ninja

You were on the rooftop with the red ninja. That’s all you knew him by; you didn’t know his name, nor did you know what he looked like under his mask. And he knew no more about you; beyond your f/c mask, you were a stranger.

Despite this, you got along pretty well. Fighting crime together is apparently a pretty good bonding activity. The long periods of peace between crimes permitted you to speak with each other; get to know each other, joke around, whatever you fancied in the moment.

Tonight, you somehow got on the topic of love.

“There’s this girl at my school,” the red ninja was telling you, “who I’ve got a huge crush on.” You could see the tops of his cheeks through the mask, and they turned pink as he spoke.

“She’s really cool. Spunky. We like to argue.”

“Like to argue?” You giggled.

“Well, I like it. I like seeing her get all passionate. Man, you should hear her insults—they’d make an old woman faint!”

“She sounds like a riot.”

“Oh, she is. She’s pretty, too… h/c hair, e/c eyes…”

He was interrupted by the blaring noise of an alarm down the street. Springing to your feet, you abandoned the conversation and rushed into action.

You didn’t get to continue your discussion. As soon as the cops came to collect the crooks, the red ninja saluted you and sprung away into the darkness, and you went home.

Pulling off your mask, you stared at yourself in the mirror. H/c hair, e/c eyes…

“Wait a second…” You leaned in, pursing your lips. “But he couldn’t have been talking about me. He doesn’t know what color my hair is.”

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was you that he was talking about. The mere thought made your heart flutter. Though you hesitated to admit it, you had developed a little crush on the red-masked hero. His charming personality was just enough to win you over, but your genuine conversations made him beyond alluring to you. And perhaps that air of mystery about him was another quality that attracted you.

You could’ve spent the whole night mooning over the thought of him liking you back, but you had school in the morning, so you forced yourself to catch a few hours of sleep.

The next day, your face twisted in disgust when you boarded the bus to find all the seats but one filled. The single empty seat was right next to Kai, the boy you hated more than anything in the world.

“Starting the day off on the wrong foot, I suppose,” Kai grumbled as you plopped down next to him.

“Shut up before I cram your pencils where pencils are not meant to go.”

“Yikes! Not even 9 AM and she’s already plotting to kill me!”

You gave him a harsh elbow to the side, which finally shut him up. Finally, you had the quiet you needed to think about last night.

Those reddish brown eyes gazing at the moon, the stars reflecting in them like freckles of light, the breeze carrying the scent of fast food joints from the street up to the rooftops… the way his smooth voice talked, enchanted, about this mystery girl… This mystery girl that you hoped, prayed, was you.

Lost in your daydreams, you didn’t notice the pair of reddish brown eyes next to you, quietly admiring your thoughtful expression.

Nighttime couldn’t come quick enough. You waited on the rooftop where you always met the red ninja, but he was certainly taking his time. You tapped the tips of your feet together impatiently.

“F/c!” A familiar voice—not the one you were waiting for—came from behind you.

You whirled around, smiling under your mask. “Zappy!”

“The others are taking care of a gang fight a couple blocks over. Wanna patrol with me while they finish up?”

“You know I do.”

The blue ninja was another close friend of yours. Not quite as close as the red ninja, but you’d still call him a good friend. It was strange, the way you befriended these masked heroes without knowing a single thing about the people under those brightly colored masks.

It would be several more nights before you’d see the red ninja again. Though you appreciated your time with the other ninjas, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t anxious to see him again. Somehow he always managed to be off on a different mission, leaving you with another colored ninja for the night.

Your dissatisfaction was exacerbated by a certain pig at school. Seeing Kai every day was like a punishment; as if being deprived from your red-clad crush wasn’t enough. Your luck really seemed to turn for the worse when you were assigned to work together on a group project.

“Just let me do my part, and I’ll leave you to do yours.”

“Can’t you do my part, too?”

“What, are you gonna be too busy desperately flirting with every female you can find?”

“I’ll have you know that I am not desperate. There’s only one girl I’ve got my eye on.”

“Eugh, spare me the details. I pray for her, whoever she is. Poor girl.”

“And I pray for whoever you have a crush on, if there’s anyone so unlucky in this world.”

Your cheeks reddened a little as the image of the red ninja flashed in your mind.

“Wait, do you actually have a crush on someone?”

“No! Shut up!”

You buried your nose in your textbook, trying to hide your darkening face. Through the pages you couldn’t see the crestfallen expression of your partner.

So you really liked someone… He should’ve seen it coming. You were a stunner; you could get anyone you wanted. Of course you’d set your eyes on someone. You probably had full intentions of asking them out, too. Kai sighed, following your lead and burying his nose in his textbook. The words were like abstract symbols to him; he was falling too deep into despair to comprehend them.

He was grateful to be back out on the streets, taking his frustrations out on hooligans who deserved it. His anger fuelled him; he ran faster, jumped higher, punched harder, all in an effort to drain the rage of knowing his love had eyes for another.

He barely noticed you joining him. You had noticed him fighting a gang in an alleyway, and, perceiving that he was far outnumbered, decided to jump in. I’m like his knight in shining armor, you thought with a smirk. The smile diminished as you realized that he wasn’t even paying attention to you.

This upset you a little. Weeks of not seeing you, and this is how he acts?

You were distracted. The man you were fighting pulled a knife out and slashed at your face. You dodged, but not quick enough to completely avoid the attack. You let out an anguished yelp. Luckily it wasn’t enough to knock you over; you bounced back and downed the assailant in a single blow to the head.

You were bleeding. You could feel the fabric of your mask growing wet and sticking to your face. You touched your cheek, wincing as your fingers brushed over the cut.

“Woah, that looks bad.”

“So now you notice me,” you chuckled, turning to face the red ninja.

“Sorry, I was… preoccupied. Here, sit down. I have some gauze in my first-aid pouch.”

You resisted, but the thought of having his hands gently touch your face was irresistible. You slumped down against the wall of the alleyway. He crouched down before you, examining the wound with those brown eyes you adored so much.

He moved his hands towards your face, but hesitated. “I… I’ll need to take off your mask.”

Your heart pounded. Was it time? Was now the moment you’d reveal your identity to him? As the questions swirled in your head, your hands seemed to move on their own. You pulled off your mask.

His eyes went wide. He was frozen there, crouched before you, hands halfway between you both, for a solid few seconds. Then, you heard him whisper, barely audible through his mask: “Y/n?”

You could feel the enchanted look in your eyes extinguish. Did he know you? Did you know him?

Before you could voice your questions, he ripped off his own mask.

“Kai?!”

“I’m… actually really glad you’re the f/c ninja. I don’t think our connection at school is exactly romantic.” Seeing your baffled expression, he elaborated rather bashfully. “Uh, you know that girl I was telling you about a while ago? That girl is Y/n. You.”

You chewed your lip. “You know how I kind of implied that I had a crush? Well, that crush is the red ninja.”

“Me,” Kai breathed, a smile spreading on his lips.

You always hated that smile, but this time there was something different about it. You cocked your head, bringing a hand up to hold his cheek. There was a certain quality to his face, a face you spent years of your academic life hating, that now seemed irresistible. You moved your hand to the back of his neck and pulled him in.

The kiss was tender and gentle, but short. Kai pulled away first. You were about to ask what happened when you noticed the splotch of blood on his cheek.

You laughed, wiping the blood off with your thumb. Kai placed his hand atop yours, kissing your knuckles before returning your hand to your side.

“Now let me patch you up, my flower.”

Thank you for this fun request, anon! And thank you for reading! <33

(divider by saradika)

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago x reader #kai smith #kai smith x reader #kai x reader #kai ninjago

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pabsterthelobster · 11 months

Text

The "Ascended" Spidersonas

For the third volume of Spider-Verse comics that came out in 2019, the concept of the "Spidersona" that was popularized by the release of the animated film Into the Spider-Verse was acknowledged by way of integrating three different Spidersonas each issue into the comic multiverse through short character profiles at the end of each issue. The former half of these 18 characters would even show up in the final issue of the run in person, with Sun-Spider getting some particularly special treatment afterwards.

Spidersona hero names are bolded and real names (if avaliable) are in parentheses.

Issue 1

Spider-Requiem (Polymnia Swan) of Earth-98117: Created by Cotton Valent from Thailand, Ms. Swan, named after the Greek Muse of Dance, hides her scarred face with her mask and uses her webs to control handmade puppets in combat.

Spinster of Earth-93191: Made by Antonio Demico of France with a design inspired by both the French Revolution and the original Madame Web, the Spinster can generate webs from her prehensile hair which she can then use to spy on conversation like a

V of Earth-43890: As written by V-0-3 from Poland, V is a robotic Spider who lives in Kyoto in the year 2177 who fights crime both physically and digitally, being able to connect herself to the internet to stop cybercrimes.

Issue 2

Spidair of Earth-91202: As written by Dice Shimi of France, Spidair was bitten by a spider from a space laborabtory and possesses thick skin that protects him from extreme temperature immunity as well as the ability to glow brightly to blind enemies.

Sea-Spider of Earth-19192: Being able to breathe underwater and wielding a hook and grappling pistols, the sona provided by the UK's James Gifford is a Spanish nobleman who sails the seas aboard his ship the Aracne.

Spider-Sting of Earth-38418: As explained by Tori Apiradee, Spider-Sting's powers are more acidic in nature, with webs that can erode concrete and bricks.

Issue 3

Sun-Spider (Charlotte "Charlie" Webber) of Earth-20023: Considered the breakout hit of these sonas, Dayna Broder's Sun-Spider has Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, which makes her hyper-flexible at the cost of needing to use crutches and a wheelchair for stability. She has received her own dedicated story in Edge of the Spider-Verse as well as a vocal cameo in Across the Spider-Verse.

Garden-Spider (Petunia Parker) of Earth-71925: After being shrunken down in size, Petunia tends to her garden, swinging from the flowers like they were skyscrapers to fight against villainous insects like the Aphid. Her creator is Alyssa Ragni of the US.

White Widow (Venice Doadi) of Earth-23233: Carly Henson describes this sona as coming from a future timeline, possessing the ability to secrete toxins from her bare skin, which she coats both her webs and clawed fingers with.

#spider-requiem #polymnia swan #spinster #v (spidersona)#spidair #sea-spider #spider-sting #sun-spider #charlotte webber #garden-spider #petunia parker #white widow #venice doadi #spidersona #spider-verse #spider-man #marvel

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gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot · 4 months

Text

Chapter 12 Nemo dat quot non habet (No one gives what they do not have) - Benidorm part 3

Next, Cartagena

Warnings: Smut and I'm sure lots of typos that I missed

Taglist: @glitterypirateduck @letsreadallday @jamesrifftapes @sofasoap @mmyrrhh

Previous / Masterlist / Next

‘‘Was that Price? Did anything happen?’’ Johnny’s voice sounded concerned when Simon hung up the phone, but the sly grin on the scarred lips of the Lieutenant made him relax right away and smile. ‘‘Shit, what did’yae do?’’

‘‘Exploding cigar’’ Simon chuckled, grabbing his glass of beer to take a sip, face mask hooked under his chin and the hood of his hoodie covering his head and most of his face, leaning back in the chair. Like always, it was too small for him, but he felt so satisfied and content in that moment that he didn’t care.

They were sitting at what Christine had called a chiringuito, which seemed to be a bar next to the beach, with good food and sometimes music. It was right by the building where they were staying, at the apartment that they had rented even before leaving the UK, not trusting the CIA arrangements in the slightest.

And in spite of all, as both men observed the girls having a good time, dancing… life was good. Gabi’s laughter could be heard over the music as she twirled following Christine’s guide. There were plenty of people dancing, and the music was at times too loud, but life was good.

‘‘Yer an awful piece of shite’’ Johnny was laughing, imagining Price’s face, and Simon just grinned, his dark brown eyes following Christine and Gabi as they danced. Carefree, duty forgotten for the moment. Even though she was wearing her face mask after finishing dinner, Christine seemed to be laughing and enjoying herself. Gabi was beaming too, as they both danced to the music, whatever it was.

‘‘He put glitter in my gloves, it’s fair payback’’ Simon justified himself, shrugging, still grinning, and Johnny just burst into laughter. The girls were making their way back to the table, chatting among themselves, and he straightened up a bit in his chair, looking for the blue that he wanted to see.

‘‘Eeeeh, guapa (Hey beautiful)’’ Someone slurred from the neighbouring table, and both him and Johnny tensed up. Simon covered his lower face again with the face mask, turning to look at a small group of men that had been ogling and trying to chat women up the whole time they had been there. When Gabi had gone to the toilet they had tried to talk to her, but she had ignored them. When Christine had gone to the bar counter to order food and drinks, one of them asked her something that she plainly ignored when she came back.

It seemed they still hadn’t got enough rejection to get the clue.

‘‘Eh, cabrón (Hey motherfucker)’’ Johnny called out to them in his broken Spanish, grabbing Gabi’s waist to pull her onto his lap. ‘‘Mi novia, cállate (My girlfriend, shut up)’’

Christine sat calmly beside Simon, in silence, trying to avoid looking at the other table. Slowly, he threw his arm around the back of her chair as usual, waiting for what he knew was coming next.

‘‘¿Y esa qué, es tuya también? (And what about that one, is she yours too?)’’ Another of the men laughed, pointing at Christine, but his face dropped when Simon leaned in, his dark eyes as unforgiving and stern as ever. His arm fell slightly between the back of the chair and her body, and his enormous hand came to rest on her waist, dragging her closer.

‘‘No’’ Ghost answered coldly, with the low, gravelly voice that promised nothing good would happen if they continued on that path. ‘‘Es mía (She’s mine)’’

He felt her body melt into his side, but he kept staring until the men turned around and decided to pay attention elsewhere. Gabi was cooing something in Johnny’s ear, but his friend was looking at him, with a smile half amused and half surprised.

‘‘Ye bastard, ye speak Spanish!’’ He laughed, slapping his shoulder and making Gabi bounce on his lap with his laughter. ‘‘But you told Alejandro in Las Almas…’’

‘‘I said nothing in Las Almas’’ Simon corrected, leaning back in his chair again, but bringing discreetely Christine’s body back with him, reluctant to let go. If he had to act like an alpha male to the whole fucking bar, so be it, as long as she was left alone. ‘‘You told Alejandro you didn’t speak Spanish. I said nothing’’

‘‘Oooh, yer an asshole’’ Johnny was still laughing heartily. ‘‘All those times Ale and Rudy were talking in Spanish in front of us ye understood everything’’

‘‘Not everything’’ Simon admitted, and then looked down at Christine, to find her blue eyes on him. ‘‘I don’t really speak it, only understand part of it’’

She nodded slowly, but seemed lost in thought. Gabi decided in that moment to speak up.

‘‘Johnny and I are going to visit a couple of bars before going back to the apartment, do you want to come?’’

‘‘No’’ Both Simon and Christine answered at the same time, and looked at each other for a second before she added. ‘‘I prefer to go back to the apartment, to be honest. I’m drained’’

‘‘Not interested in going clubbing’’

‘‘Yer loss’’ Johnny grinned, standing up with Gabi in his arms, and kissed her before setting her down on her feet. Then, he bent down to kiss Christine’s covered cheek. ‘‘Behave yerselves, don’t do anything ah wouldn’t’’

‘‘Get lost, you wanker’’ She laughed, and waved them goodbye as they left the bar, holding hands.

Even with the loud music and the chattering of the other patrons around them, the silence between them was deafening.

‘‘When did you learn Spanish?’’ Christine looked up at him, and for a second she saw something in his eyes that made her doubt and regret her question. A flash of pain, or maybe anger, and amusement.

‘‘In another life, lovie’’ Simon answered, gently, and with his free hand brushed back a strand of her hair. ‘‘I’ll tell you about it sometime’’

‘‘Does it… have to do with that story you said you’d tell me…?’’ She almost leaned into his touch, her eyes closing, and he smiled under his mask.

‘‘It does’’ Looking around, he decided he had had enough human interaction for the day. ‘‘What do you say we go back to the apartment and watch something on the telly? A movie, or whatever. While those two are whoring around’’

‘‘Don’t say it like that’’ Christine laughed, standing up, and smiled down at him. ‘‘But I like the idea of watching a movie. I hope the sofa is more comfortable than the one in the common room’’

Simon grunted his approval as he stood up, watching with satisfaction how the men in the neighbouring table cowered when they saw his size. Sometimes, being that big was an advantage. With his hand on the small of her back, barely touching her, he guided her out.

The building door was close enough to not really have time to talk about anything, and when they took the stairs up instead of the lift, as always, they kept their comfortable silence. The apartment came with two copies of the keys, one that was in Gabi’s possession, and the other Christine used to open the door.

Maybe it was not as luxurious as the CIA apartment had pretended to be, but the apartment they chose looked cozier. With two bedrooms, one bathroom, an open plan kitchen connected to the living room, and a balcony with a great view of the beach and the sea. There were faint noises coming from the neighbouring apartments.

‘‘I’m going to have a shower first’’ Christine commented, going to the bedroom the girls had claimed, the one with the king size bed, to grab her toilet bag. The other had two single beds, and Johnny and Simon had flipped a coin to choose. ‘‘I forgot how hot this part of the country is. It’ll get worse when we go south’’

‘‘Take your time. I’ll shower after you’’ Simon sat down on the sofa and turned the tv on, trying, hard, not to allow his mind to wander. She flashed him a smile when she walked past him to the bathroom and closed the door. A couple of minutes later, he heard the shower working.

He had managed to half distract himself with a metalworking contest when his phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from Johnny.

In case ye need some, condoms are in my bag. Cheers!

And the twat added a winking emoji and an aubergine. Simon felt tempted to write something snarky back, but decided to just ignore the text and return the phone to his pocket, seething. Only to find that his jeans were more strained than normal, and his cock was fucking hard out of nowhere.

He looked at his crotch, half amused and half affronted, and tried to get more comfortable on the sofa so he could… No, not working. The noise of the water coming from the bathroom made his mind start wandering, and wandering, and… He tried to focus on the metalworking episode.

In the shower, Christine was having her own problems trying to distract herself, but to no avail. It had started with her wishing he had showered before, because in that case she’d be able to smell him, right? Because that wasn’t creepy or pathetic at all.

And one thing led to another, and now there she was, biting the inside of her hand, her back against the wall, and her index finger rubbing slow, soft circles over her throbbing clit. There’s my girl. Es mía (She’s mine). Because I don’t fucking know what I would do without you either.

Christine bit back a low whimper, with her head hanging low to avoid water in her eyes, trying to imagine his voice praising her. His hands on her skin, his fingers inside her. Lovie. She really didn’t enjoy her own fingers inside her because it never felt good enough. But just thinking about one of his long, thick digits, toying with her folds, slowly sliding inside of her…

I will ruin you

Her eyes snapped open, and she bit down hard enough on her hand to mark her teeth. But she forced herself to continue rubbing her clit in small circles, thinking about Simon’s voice, about his broad shoulders, his big hands, his strong arms…

No one will want you after I’m finished with you, whore

Simon’s wide back, Simon’s dark eyes that equally undressed her and made her feel safe, Simon’s dirty blonde or light brown hair, she couldn’t decide on the colour but she was dying to tangle her fingers in it, Simon’s mouth, with that big scar that crossed his lips and the smaller ones around it, and the scars on his chin and jaw…

Who would want a marked bitch like you

Simon’s hot tongue between her legs, teasing her clit and plunging deep inside her, Simon’s meaty hips between her legs while he pinned her down somewhere, wherever, Simon’s cock, that made her mouth water just by fantasizing about it, Simon’s strong thighs that she was dying to ride…

Christine slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, too far gone for the voices in her head to ruin her this time, not this time, with Simon’s voice in her ears and the warmth of his forehead still on her forehead and…

She moaned his name. Like a whore. Like a desperate virgin. But she moaned his name as she came, harder than she had managed to come in the latest months, feeling hot water streaming down her cheeks. Salty water.

‘‘All yours’’

Simon looked up at her, startled, and for a moment, his eyes widened and his throat went dry as sandpaper.

Christine was standing there, smiling, with her hair still damp from the shower, wearing… pyjama shorts and a black t-shirt that looked enormous on her.

His t-shirt.

‘‘Where did you get that?’’ He grunted, smiling, standing up from the sofa, and she shrugged while sitting down exactly where he had been, curling up on the seat.

‘‘Mysteries of the universe’’

Simon hesitated, looking down at her and her smile. She seemed… happy. For what, he had no clue, but it warmed his heart.

‘‘We’ll talk about this later’’ He threatened mockingly, and she stuck her tongue out at him. He almost didn’t leave, but he did, before she noticed the growing strain in his jeans.

And the second he stepped into the still damp bathroom and closed the door, he felt it. Smelled it.

Her scent, everywhere. The sweet, faint scent of cherries that accompanied her whenever they weren’t deployed. He grunted while undressing, his hard cock springing free from his boxers and standing at attention, too heavy to really reach his stomach.

Inside of the shower, the scent was worse. Or better. He couldn’t decide as he washed his hair and then tried to focus on rinsing the sweat off his body, but the insistent weight between his thighs was making it difficult.

Before he knew it, his hand was around his shaft, his fingers tracing the vein on the underside, and he gritted his teeth. Her scent was making him go crazy, and as he slowly thrusted his hips forward, into his closed fist, he tried to imagine it was her hand. Her long, slender fingers around him, her body against his back, her tits pressed against his flesh, her lips on his scars.

Simon braced himself on the wall, using his forearm and dropping his forehead on the cool tiles of the shower, with a low grunt. What he wouldn’t give to shake his hesitance. What he wouldn’t give to feel her body against his, like in that goddamn dream that had made him cum in his sleep like a schoolboy.

He tried to imagine her lips wrapped around him, but his fantasy soon turned into something softer, more intimate. Her hand wrapped around his cock, and his hand guiding hers, while they kissed until their tongues hurt. Her pretty little moans, like the moan she had let out a couple of months ago in the gym while lifting weights and that had almost made him cum right there. Her giggles, like when she laughed at his jokes.

Her beautiful breasts, her thighs, God her thighs, what he wouldn’t give to have those thighs around his waist, or around his neck while getting drunk on her taste and fucking her with his tongue until she was a babbling mess underneath him.

Her voice telling him…

Simon had to bite his own arm when he suddenly came, embarrassingly soon but hard, spurting ropes of cum all over his hand and the shower wall. He growled her name.

God, what he wouldn’t give to not be afraid.

When he returned to the living room, Christine seemed engrossed on something on the TV, and when he sat down beside her, she almost jumped and fumbled with the remote to change channels.

‘‘What were you watching?’’ Simon asked, curious, trying to grab the remote and change back, but she kept it out of his reach, blushing.

‘‘Nothing! Something stupid I used to like when I was a kid’’

‘‘Well, let’s watch that’’ He shrugged, still trying to get the remote, and she hesitated.

‘‘Only if you answer something first’’

He stopped immediately and looked at her, expecting her question, but she seemed to hesitate even more. Until she sighed and looked right into his eyes.

‘‘Did you mean it?’’ When he just stared, without understanding, Christine explained further. ‘‘What you said to those idiots in the bar’’

Es mía (She’s mine). Simon’s shoulders relaxed, and his gaze softened.

‘‘I did’’

She smiled. He was still wearing a face mask, but she got rid of hers right at the door, as always, when they came back from the bar.

‘‘Ladyhawke’’ She whispered, giving him the remote, and he changed the channel back to what she was watching before, choosing the option to watch it from the start, in English. ‘‘It’s… my favourite movie since I was a kid’’

Simon smiled and raised an arm, a bit doubtful of his bold move. But she immediately moved closer, and he let his forearm rest on her shoulders as she made herself comfortable against his side.

‘‘Then I’m sure I’ll love it’’

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justrainandcoffee · 16 days

Text

The Wandering Jew (Alfie Solomons x fem!OC)

"Welcome to end of the World", Alfie said.

Alfie x Rose Masterlist

Summary: It was like an apocalyptic movie. First it wasn't that bad, or that was people thought, until it was that bad. Rose landed in London with the idea of returning home a week and a half later, but few days after that, the PM decided to close everything. His flight was cancelled and getting a new one was an impossible mission. The world is facing a new era and she's there trapped in an Inn, in a distant city with a complete stranger and his dog.

Warnings: Just topics related to covid-19.

Words: 2K. || I'm rewriting the first chapters I posted last year. I changed several things and I'm happier now. You can find the rest of their modern story here.

Series masterlist.

18th March 2020.

The world was starting to panic because of the new virus created in China. Or maybe it was a sick bat that, like a domino effect, caused thousands of deaths already. China was closed, countries around it, too. Italy was collapsing slowly and the WHO already declared that this new virus, called COVID-19, was a pandemic.

Yet, millions of people continued with their lives as always. Working, going to classes, visiting friends or relatives and others, like Rose, were travelling.

Born in London in 1988, Rose Coldwell was returning to her city after eight years living in New York where she moved with her mother and two brothers. She received an important job offer back then and the money was beneficial for the four of them. Louis, her youngest brother went to high school and Samuel, the second brother, begun to study law in a good college there. Now the youngest was studying architecture and Samuel was part of a law firm in Manhattan.

Rose, on the other hand, ran her own fashion blog and had a small business. Nothing too extraordinary, but something that made her happy. After several years of sending mails and filling out forms to be part of any international fashion event and equal numbers of rejections, she sent a mail to be part of an international convention there in London and she was accepted. 2020, it was going to be an unforgettable year, she thought.

And she was right… but the reasons were going to be quite different.

The plane landed and she felt she was returning home like the prodigal son, or daughter. Not even once since she left the country she returned there and it was a pleasant feeling to be back on her land.

Some people around her in the airport were walking fast avoiding the multitude. Some were wearing masks, some not. A woman wearing one was offering alcohol to sanitize people's hands. An old man sneezed and caused several disgusted faces from people around him.

'Probably he's just allergic,' she thought.

While she was waiting for her baggage, she checked her phone. Her mother called her several times and also one of her brothers. She ignored them for now, once she was in her bedroom, she'd be able to call them.

"I think he needs to close everything."

Rose heard two men talking near her, one already had his suitcase, but the other not.

"Johnson already denied that, Luke. We're safe, he said."

"And you believe him?" the one named Luke, asked. "Give the virus a couple of days and we're doom, Fred."

Rose's heart started to beat fast. The fact that she was on the other side of the ocean away from her family, suddenly terrified her. But she shooed those thoughts from her mind. The UK under a strict lockdown sounded ridiculous.

The Wandering Jew was an Inn that opened its doors in 2017. The most popular in all Candem Town and its surroundings. Rated by its guests with five stars in websites like booking.com and full of positive feedback.

The Wandering Jew had over 60 rooms and five of them were almost a suite. Not like a the ones you would find in the most expensive hotels, but still quite elegant.

But most of all, The Wandering Jew had a man named Alfie Solomons, the owner.

Alfie bought the building, that was about to be demolished, in 2016 and hired people to reconstruct it. From engineers and architects to construction workers. One and a half years later, it was finished it. It costed him several thousands pounds but it was worth and he was happy with it.

His apartment was above the Inn, so he never really left that place, except to walk his dog and closest friend: Cyril. Every late afternoon it was common to see both of them walking out the Inn to go to a park and spend an hour or two there.

During the day, while Alfie was behind the reception counter, Cyril usually was sleeping next to his feet or greeting some guests.

And that was exactly what Cyril did that 18th of March.

The reception was empty in that moment, most of the guests were out visiting some places and few others were sleeping or at least they were in their bedrooms. Cyril had been chewing his favourite tennis ball, when he heard a taxi and he stood up quickly. The dog ran towards the glass door and spied from there. Alfie barely paid attention to him.

Cyril was excited. He didn't know her, but the dog was still happy. He could smell her as soon as she left the taxi and now that he could see her, his tail was wagging faster than before. His excitement caused to Alfie to finally raise his eyes from the newspaper and put attention to Cyril who was now hopping.

Alfie saw Rose for the first time while she was pushing the glass door with her body. In one hand she had her baggage and in the other her phone. She was speaking with someone and was clearly upset. And had every reason to be mad. The one on the other side of the line, was a bastard whose only purpose in his life was to harass her. No matter how many times she blocked him, he always get a new number to call her.

"Go and fuck yourself, dickhead!"

Alfie was amused, without no doubts that was the best entrance ever. And a very pretty one.

He saw her sliding her phone in her pocket and then watching at Cyril who seemed to be more than happy after she petted him gently. Cyril ran towards Alfie and barked at him.

"Did you see her? Did you?" He seemed to say.

"Calm down, boy," Alfie said to the animal and then he looked at her who was already in front of him at the reception counter. "I'm sorry, he's usually quieter."

"Don't worry, he's nice! And I love dogs." Rose smiled at him and he did the same. "I booked for a room online, two weeks ago. Coldwell is my last name," she told him.

After giving him her ID, and while he was checking the information she paid attention to the place. She had already seen several photos online and she liked it but the Inn was really nice. The paintings on the walls were warm and several represented the sea. A plant over the counter called Wandering Jew, like the Inn itself, captured her attention. Her mother used to have that kind of plans when they lived in London. She asked herself if the Inn's name was because of those plants or there was another reason.

"Everything is okay, Ms. Coldwell," he said giving her ID back and also a key "Room 44. Welcome and I hope you enjoy your days here."

"Thanks! I will!"

"Every room has a phone that communicates directly with this one," he said pointing at a black one over the counter, "if you need anything you can call me... us. Call us."

Rose chuckled and nodded "Thanks…"

"Alfred. Alfie."

"Thanks, Alfie."

Two days later, the 20th of March, it was obvious that things were out of control. Hospitals were saturated, the numbers of sick people were increasing, flights become to be a necessity and there weren't enough planes. Countries like Italy, Greece and France were collapsing under the virus. And several of them closed their frontiers. Boris Johnson had already a rope around his neck but he refused to start a quarantine yet.

"No, I'm not admitting new guests," Alfie said to the person who called the Inn "I'm sorry."

His right hand, Ollie, was next to him. Both of them were waiting news from the government but there was nothing except empty words and promises about a bright future.

The convention were Rose had to go was cancelled because the organisers were sick and it was suspended. And in top of that she received an email saying that her original flight to return home was cancelled. The company gave her the money back but they didn't say anything about a reschedule.

She returned to the Inn that afternoon only to see in the TV that was in the reception, that there were riots everywhere. Demanding a lockdown, demanding more medical assistance and some demanded Johnson's and the Queen's heads.

Both men, Rose and an old woman were paying attention to the BBC journalist who was in front of one of the hospitals.

"Welcome to the end of the world," Alfie commented.

He wasn't that wrong.

The night of the 22th of March, it was chaotic. Finally the lockdown was imminent and some people was already leaving the Inn. Ollie, who worked the night shift, was giving them their money back for the days that they couldn't stay. That night Rose didn't sleep. She tried to get a flight and she could hear her mother's voice in her head "you should listen to me."

And yes, Mary Coldwell was right but it was too late now for any regrets. Rose needed to return with her family, the thing was how.

The next morning it was officially confirmed the beginning of the quarantine. Alfie again behind the counter, was attending the remaining guests who were living the Inn. Including those who refused to leave. One particular woman was complaining about the lockdown and she was basically blaming Alfie because of that.

Alfie was trying to remain calmed but this Karen wasn't making things easy.

"You can't expelled me like that. I paid for my bedroom for three weeks and I've been here for only one. I want to stay here for three weeks!"

"But you can't. You can go to 10 Downing Street and talk with the Prime Minister about your holidays, if you want. I'm just a citizen following these new rules, ma'am. Pick up your belongings and get in your car and return home. Stay there until the Quarantine is over."

Rose was sitting on one of the armchairs at the reception. Phone in hand, refreshing the airlines website every two seconds, but not avail. Everything was collapsed and there wasn't any flights. The news showed people sleeping on floors and she knew that was her fate and she was really upset. So hearing that woman was ending with her patience.

"I'm going to sue you, you'll see! And you're going to regret it! This is a complete nonsense! There's no such thing as a virus!! It's the media! And the left and…"

"Shut the fuck up, for once! Fuck!"

Both Alfie and the woman stared at Rose who was frowning. The first one smiled, but the woman seemed offended.

"I didn't pay to be insultated!"

"I'm doing this for free," Rose replied.

Gasping, the woman warned Alfie with a lawyer one last time and left the Inn, according to her, to search a better place to stay. She found none.

The rest of the guests left the Inn without drama and by 4pm only Rose remained there. From all the guests that The Wandering Jew had there at the moment, she was the only one living in United States, the rest were all over Britain. In consequence, the only one having problems was Rose.

"Any luck?" Alfie asked watching her with her phone still in hand.

"No. Not really. My brother is trying to help from his home but he's not having luck either."

"You can stay here for tonight if you want," Alfie said.

"I was planning to go to the airport and stay there."

"Sleeping on the cold tiles in middle of a pandemic? I'm sorry but it sounds risky."

"But…"

"I hanged the sign. For everyone here, the Inn is closed. Don't worry."

"Just for tonight, I promise," she said.

Alfie agreed.

"Just tonight."

How wrong both of them were.

#alfie solomons #alfie x rose #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons x ofc #tom hardy #peaky blinders #modern au #the wandering jew

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reelovesfictionalmen · 8 months

Text

SFW headcanons for Simon "Ghost" Riley

This is based on a female reader I wrote in this blurb. Reader is in her mid to late 30's. Ghost is about 29.

Cross posted to my Ao3.

A for Adorable

What small habit/feature/quirk do they find especially endearing about the other?

He thinks it's cute when you chew on your bottom lip when you're concentrating.

He also likes how you call every dog you see a "puppy".

The thing he finds the most endearing is the way you care for the people you work with and your friends by making sure they stay hydrated and eat regularly.

B for Bargain

How will they go about getting their way when they’re disagreeing?

Is a sulker. Will sulk the house down. If the two of you are alone he will pout and give you the silent treatment but, he will eventually agree to disagree and apologise for being childish.

C for Communication

What is their love language?

Acts of service.

Knows how you like your morning hot drink and will always have it made or in the process of being made when you finally crawl out of bed.

Like you, he reminds you to drink plenty of water and eat properly. Likes to eat his meals on base with you if he can. It gives him comfort to know you are eating well.

D for Devoted

How do they show each other they’re serious about the relationship?

Sleeping in the same bed as you with or without his mask. Letting you touch his and explore his face. It's baring his soul to you.

Having a part of his body touching you when you are in public. Fraternization is against the rules in the military but he likes to have a part of his body touching you if you are in public around the base. Be it his knee, thigh or shoulder.

In civilian public he will hold your hand the entire time you two are out unless it's not practical. He'll replace the hand holding with touches to your back or arm.

E for Enchanted

What was the first thing about the other that caught their eye?

How small you were, how you could fit in the smallest places and how fast you moved. He knows it's part of your job to sneak into places and get info or place cameras but he was actually amazed at how proficient you were at these things.

One time in the gym he watched you race someone up the climbing wall and you were at the top when the other was only half way.

F for Flirty

How do/did they flirt with each other?

He uses terrible pickup lines. On purpose of course. He knows you love his shitty jokes and actually googled bad pickup lines.

"Your middle name must be Gillette. Because you're the best a man can get"

"Something must be wrong with my phone…it doesn’t have your number in it"

"Do you work at Subway? ‘Cause you just gave me a foot-long"

"Is your name Earl Grey? Because you look like a hot-tea"

G for Gentle

How do they comfort each other if one has had a bad day?

When he has a bad day he likes to sit on a chair, pull you between his parted legs and wrap his arms around your waist, bury his face in your tummy while you stroke his hair and whisper comforting things to him.

When you're having a bad day he lays on the bed with you and pulls you into his arms so that you can bury your face in his chest. He will pepper your head and forehead with kisses while stroking your back.

H for Hot

What outfit/look is their favorite on the other?

Leggings, fluffy socks and an oversized (hopefully his) tshirt. Just your around the house relaxing wear.

He also loves seeing you in shorts and your cute floral tops in the summer. He was surprised when he first spent time with you outside of work and saw how cute and girly your wardrobe was. On base, even when not actually on duty or going to the pub you wore plain gender neutral clothing.

I for Intimate

What was their first real date like?

The two of you went to a nice pub, got a meal (in the uk and other countries you can get good meals at pubs like steak and stuff) and a few drinks. You talked about random things like other patrons in the pub, how the food was, things about where you both lived. He asked a lot of questions about what serving in the military in your country was like out of sheer curiosity.

Afterwards the two of you walked hand in hand and kept talking about silly small talk things but it wasn't awkward. It was comfortable and you both felt happy.

J for Jealous

Is either of them jealous? How do they show and handle it?

He's not really jealous except for one thing and it's not like you'd think.

He's envious of the friendship you and Price have, how much Price knows about you and things that Price has experienced with you over the years. That Price has seen you at your best and your worst.

He wishes he knew you that well, he wishes he had been there through times when you were injured or sad so he could take care of you.

K for Karma

How do they apologize to each other?

Flowers. It's old fashioned but it suits him to a T. The two of you rarely find yourselves in a situation where either of you have to apologise to each other but when he's in the wrong he will buy you some flowers.

Luckily for him you love flowers.

L for Lust

What feature/habit do they find most enticing about the other?

Your size. You are smaller than him by a whole foot. When he has you in his lap you may get poked in the backside or thigh if you are sitting sideways. He's sorry he cant help it.

Also your boobs. He's a titty man.

M for Memory

What is their favorite memory together?

He thinks it's stupid but his favourite memory is of a time when you were both in danger.

On a mission just the two of you, he got knocked out. When he came too you had literally dragged him to a car, somehow gotten him inside, driven you both somewhere safe and tended to both of your wounds before he woke up.

The inner and physical strength you displayed (not that he was awake to see it) was just so god damned impressive.

N for Normal

What do their typical day together look like? Routines, schedules, habits?

When you guys are staying together off base and off duty you usually go for a run in the morning together, shower together (sometimes theres some heavy petting), have breakfast, do some chores or errands. You usually have lunch together too and go to the gym in the afternoon. Then you come home, cook dinner together and spend the rest of the evening relaxing in each others company.

When on base you usually have your own jobs to do if not on a mission. You usually eat all your meals together if possible. Sometimes you manage to train together or be in the gym at the same time as each other. As fraternization is against the rules in the military you tend to not interact with each other outside of team mate expected things.

O for Obvious

What things do either do in public to show they’re together?

The two of you try really hard not to show anything when working. But 141 knows, they had thought something was going on between the two of you but nothing concrete until one time at the pub, Soap had caught the two of you holding hands under the table and GASPED so loud "I BLOODY KNEW IT".

They all keep your secret because they're your bro's.

Price, your dearest bestie, did give Ghost the "if you do anything to hurt her nobody will find your body" talk

P for Peace

When are they most relaxed together?

Laying in bed cuddling in the morning. He likes watching you wake up and stretch in the morning. You're especially cute when groggy.

Having a sunday roast together is especially relaxing. It's very domestic and something he misses from his childhood. It was one of the few normal things he had in his home life.

Q for Quiet

What can they do together without talking?

Reading, doing paperwork, gardening or yard work. It's easy to find a companionable silence around you. He finds it comforting.

R for Romantic

What kind of gifts do they give each other?

Flowers. Even if you're not mad at him he likes to give you flowers. Even if he picked it from the side of the road or it was hanging over someones fence. He regularly will hand you a flower from somewhere. Your home is full of vases of flowers from him that you have dried out to keep.

Special occasions like birthdays and christmas he gets you jewelry. Nothing excessive, usually something delicate and unassuming.

Did you comment on how you thought some daisy shaped earrings were super cute, he'll find a nice pair and buy it for you for a special occasion.

You give meals and practical gifts.

Your first christmas together you gifted him a really nice power drill set. You had remembered him mentioning his had fucked out. He teared up when he opened it tbh. Nobody in his life, since his mum, had ever paid attention to things he said or got him gifts like this.

He hugged you so tight and smothered you with kisses.

S for Sleep

What position do they sleep in if/when they sleep together?

The two of you usually start with him on his back and you resting your head on his chest. However as the night progresses you end up turning away from each other and sleeping that way.

Sometimes the other wakes up in the middle of the night and decides to spoon the other.

You two always cuddle in the morning though.

T for Thoughtful

What little things do they do for each other?

He's always making you cups of coffee and tea. Will never let you do the dishes.

Sometimes you make scones and little sandwiches and have afternoon tea together. It reminds him of his nan.

You like to take off his boots and socks after a long day and give him a foot rub. He gets achy feet.

U for Unity

What kind of wedding ceremony would/did they have?

Very small. A small chapel in the British countryside with only the people you trust the most. There will be a reception at a fancy pub afterwards where the two of you pay the tab for whatever food and drink thats ordered.

Honeymoon would probably be somewhere where nobody knows any of you, where you're strangers to the world and can be normal every day people.

V for Vibrant

What do they do or say that will make the other one smile without fail?

When you use lame pickuplines on each other. The lamer the better.

W for Whisper

What nicknames or compliments do they use the most?

From him: "Lovie, Sweets, Sweetheart"

From you: "Sugarplum, Baby, my love"

You always tell him how cute he is or how brave, he doesn't get how he could be cute but he likes when you tell him he's cute. A blush will always dust his cheeks

He always tells you how amazing you are. How sweet and lovely you are. How he cant believe he's so lucky to have you.

X for XOXO

What was their first kiss like?

Before you two kissed on the lips he liked to kiss the top of your hand. Still does.

Chaste and shy. You were more nervous than he was. Being you have little experience in romance. He took the lead. It was soft, gentle and perfect.

Y for Yearn

What do they do when they’re away from each other?

He goes over old text messages or looks at photos in his phone.

You hug a pillow when you sleep wishing it was him.

Z for Zoom

What is their favorite picture of each other or them together?

A picture Gaz took of you sitting in his lap at a BBQ at prices. He has his arm around your waist, your leaning back into him and whispering something he cant remember into his ear. He keeps it in a frame on his dressing table.

Yours is a picture of him at the beach in swim trunks, flip flops and a hat. He's lounging under an umbrella on a towel so very relaxed and at peace.

BONUS:

Æ for Æve - Eternity

How do they picture their old age together?

The two of you living in your own home, married, several pets, growing your own food and being happy with hobbies.

Ø for Øde - Desolate

Where do/would they live together?

The two of you have a place in a country village in the UK. When you two retire you move to your home country and have a nice little cottage there.

�� for Åte - Bait

How did they meet/start dating?

Met when Price had you join 141 when he needed someone who specialised getting in and out of places without being noticed. You are very sneaky.

#simon ghost riley x reader #female reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #mw2 x reader

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