Simon Riley and reader/oc - no relationship, apocalypse
"A mutt. Course."
You woke up to a gun in your face and a man dressed for the cold you were trying the escape.
You were a mutant—animal people born and turned when the apocalypse first started. Most were identifiable as a certain animal or multiple, you weren't one of them. Tall ears with short fur, a long and tapered tail with fur just as short. You were digitigrade too, your paws reminiscent of a raccoon's. So you were odd to say the least.
It had been about 6 years since mutants turned up and people got sick. The sickness crazed people, making them willing to kill whatever was near. People called the sick zombies. They weren't actually dead, not yet anyways, but they mind as well be. Many made parallels between the sickness and mutants, though no one is sure what truly came first. Some were born as mutts though those kids weren’t around much, others were transformed. From what little knowledge is spread, mutants came from the same sickness, but it was a different strain.
Now the world was more dangerous because of the healthy, not the sick. So you traveled. You’d been travelling for the last 2 years at least, but it’s not like you stayed long anywhere in the last 6 years. It was getting colder with each day now, and you had been on the hunt for a new town, one you could get some better clothes in and eventually find a hole to hide in for the winter.
This hunt lead you through the forest surrounding the previous city you’d been in…what happened there is not something you don’t want to remember, so your moving on. As you’ve been travelling through this forest, you tried your best to hide your tracks, but something that wants to you hunt you will find a way no matter how hard you try. Which finally lead back to this moment. Early morning with the sun just kissing the sky, you stayed dead still as you stared at the man, taking in his tactical gear and the brown camo—you wouldn’t be surprised if he had white camo for the winter too, he was well kitted out.
“Hands out—slowly” He demanded as you complied, not that there was many other options. You slowly pulled you hands out of your sleeping bag, holding your palms out beside you head.
“I’m not feral.” You stated, hoping to calm then man’s grip on his gun.
“Don’t care wether you are. Still someone in my territory.”
“Your territory?” You looked around for any markers, you didn’t remember passing a fence, or any tree ties. “Was I supposed to smell it or something?” It was stupid, you were stupid while in danger. But only in the mouthy way, you could take it seriously as long as you shut up.
“What? No. What are you doing out here?”
“Travelling through.” You stated, slowly testing the waters of sitting up, which it seems you were allowed to do.
“To where?” Simon adjusted his hands on the shot gun, making sure he followed your head as you sat up.
“Whatever’s past. Just looking for a town.”
“Then you’re going in the wrong direction, there’s a city south east of here. You’d find towns by following roads, not going through forests”
“Following roads kills. And I’m leaving that city, I know I’m walking away from it.”
Simon was quiet for a moment as he digested your words. He kept his gun trained on you when he finally spoke. “You’d leave the city this close to winter? What are you running from?”
“Who says I’m running from anything? Maybe the city is just already raided and there’s no use for me to stay.”
“The city will always provide even six years later. No one would leave when it’s already getting colder.” He corrected. It seems you weren’t going to fool him.
You sighed, his gun didn’t scare you, you’d honestly be happy if he pulled that trigger. It would mean you are free from this hell called living. “So what then? What if I’m running from something? I won’t tell you the details so you mind as well shoot.”
“You running from people? That’s all I can think a mutt has to be scared of. Can’t get sick after all.”
“Some of us can. And getting eaten alive it getting eaten alive. It’s not the sick that kills it’s the blood loss.”
“You’re not answering.”
“Then shoot”
They were both quiet after that. Simon looked you up and down, and then motioned for you to stand. “Slowly”
You complied and got out of your sleeping bag, always keeping one of your hands up until you full stood and raised both of them. It seemed to both Simon that he had to look up at you.
“What’s it to you if I’m running from shit?” You asked.
“It matters cause you could bring others out here. I enjoy my peace so I’d much rather keep others far away from me.” Simon explained, his finger moved off the trigger to rest on the guard instead. One small sept in the right direction.
“Well I can get very, very, far away from you if you let me.”
“I don’t trust you alone either.” He stated, his eyes doing another analyzing sweep.
Okay, so he was gonna be the difficult type. You looked down at your bag laid next to your ‘bed’. There’s a gun in there, but this guy would surely shoot before you get it… so you did the next craziness and stupidest thing. Grab the bag and run.
“Ohh ho ho, you’re stupid.” Simon muttered, running after you.
I’ll probably have more to add onto this eventually. I just do not have the magic creative juices everyone else seems to have for this yet. I’m trying though. Writing feels fun and I know it’s good for me, I just struggle a lot with thinking of an initial concept and how to continue that further.
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Johnny showing you where you both would be living on the highest point of the highlands, nothing but open vast of green and distant clashes of waves brushing up amongst the hills rocky foundation. the small cottage covered in moss and gorgeous little sprouted (almost wilted) tulips on each side of the cute home, a run down truck parked along the right side of homely cottage and a few straying sheep fanning across the distance from the acute house.
he tells you he's sorry that it's not much to look or live in/at, but you shriek in such glee, jumping up and down on your cute feet merrily as you take in the cute little home you'll be sharing with your adoring husband, immediately attaching yourself onto him.
"It's perfect Johnny! I love it! it's so cute and perfect for us!" you spring with such excitement, the brighten glimmer of joy and enthrallment elating the retired military mans heart in his chest, holding you against his firm body.
"The view is amazing! the quiet and peace it gives! the endless greenery! ugh! I'm so in love with it! ooh! ooh! we can even grow a garden around the house too to add some color too, J!" you perk up thrillingly in the comfort and wamrth of his embrace, he chuckles, enthusiastically too as he nuzzles against your adoring cheek.
"Wha'ever my bonnie wants! glad ye' love it hen!"
and you're both basking in the brisk breezes wafting through the gentle air, twirling and laughing optimistically about your future together settled on this content hill.
part two for Big cats Hybryd Platonic!YandereTask141 × Hybrid cat Reader pretty please?
ok just so everyone knows i lost track of what im writting so if theres something you want me to update feel free to let me know
Platonic yandere big cat 141 x ragdoll cat reader
i had this written out hours ago but my computer glitched out and i lost everything for this and my other au's also Kyle and Johnny are just based off too clingy dude friends i had as a teenager because idk in this setting clingy teenage boy fits them, more so Johnny then Kyle im gonna make Kyle a bit more sadistic i think idk
also the toilet thing is completely self indulgent but please let me know if you guys used to do the same thing
P1 P2(your here) P3
ok second day at work your prepared you know exactly what tasks you have and you run thru your day plan as you grab a sandwich out of your bag putting it in the fridge, yesterday you forgot to make Johnny his snack as is written on your task list, a mistake that will not be repeated despite your confusion as to why this is your task, you've also sorted thru 2026-2025 so today you take on 2024 and any new files you have plenty of photos of Pandora to get out of anymore dinner plans, it's perfect you will not fail
or atleast thats what you think as you feel a warm body hunch over you from behind you look up to see Johnny looking down at you with fond eyes "hello sir, do you need anything?"
"you didn't eat all your dinner last night" he seems to be lecturing you but that fond look in his eyes hardens as he looks at the documents your going over he picks them up before you can grab them back he holds them over your head looking thru them as you try to jump up and grab them "ah no need to do these Kyle will take care of them"
he throws the files over your head to Kyle who grabs them and stuffs them into his gym bag, you try to walk over to him to get it back but Johnny grabs the back of your neck and pushes you back towards Ghosts office him and Kyle work together to bully you inside pushing you to and from until Johnny can lock the door Kyle keeping a firm hand on your neck as you look around
you've never been inside Ghosts office before and it is not at all what you expected, you expected a barely decorated office fitting a man of his rank and attitude, now yes he has a desk but in the corner is a circle bed piled with clothes and blankets, you make eye contact with ghost who is sitting at his desk he looks at you then the boys pushing you but looks back down at his work a sign he will not be helping you
your pushed towards the bed barely given a chance to object before being pushed down and squashed against Johnny's chest Kyle gets ready to pounce onto the bed but Ghost calls out to him
"what's that Kyle?"
Kyle looks down at the paper work Johnny snatched off of you and holds it up "just some files the kitty was working on" Ghost grunts and holds out his hand opening and closing it in a silent 'gimmie' gesture to which Kyle responds by uncerimoniously throwing the files at him and pouncing on the bed knocking the air from your lungs causing to Johnny growl at him, he just huffs and rolls off of you but still keeping you pinned to Johnny's side as they both purr you reach your breaking point when Kyle begins licking your ear you look up at Ghost who is now half way thru your paperwork he seems like the only reasonable one left
"uhm boss?, can you help me out please?"
"relax cub, their just grooming you" he grunts out not lifting his eyes from your work, traitor, you thought he'd tell them to cut it out whats the point of him being so broody and strict if he can't even let you do your job, now your just stuck here until you can catch price, he will let you out! this is a major hr violation, you just gotta wait for price, just wait, a little longer...
you can't do this
you twist onto your back and kick your feet into Kyles chest kicking him off you again you hop up and out the door before Johnny can grab you only a hand grabs onto the collar of your shirt pulling you back, you look up to see Ghost who does not look pleased, you keep wriggling until as Kyle and Johnny creep up but a voice carrying absolute authority makes all four of you freeze
"the actual fuck is going on here!?" Price, oh thank fuck, Ghosts grip on your shirt loosens as Price approaches a growl rumbling lowly in his chest "y/n leave, but don't go far i'll catch up with you later" you scramble away and to the first place you think of the womens rest room you get inside walking to a stall and closing the toilet lid you sit down locking the store and take a moment to think
this is childish, retreating to the toilet, you can't help that it makes you feel safe it was the best place to go when your parents would fight as a kid only room with a lock and all that
you sit there taking deep breathes for what seems like hours but is probably only a few minutes before you hear the bathroom door open and close the sound of footsteps aproaching but instead of opening a stall you hear the creak of weight leaning against your stall
"you in there kid?" what the fuck price? is he even allowed in here? probably not right?
"uhm yea" you literally don't know what to say in this situation
"im real sorry about the boys, they jumped the gun you are just really resembling a kitten is all"
you can't help your curiosity "explain, now" usually you'd never dare speak to your boss in that tone but your really fucking tired
"your a house cat, smaller then us, fluffier then us, and you always smell like milk for some reason and it really doesn't help your case" godamnit your can't help that your a milk fiend do not put dairy near you it will not survive "listen i can't make the boys competely stop manhandling you, but they've promised to not interrupt your work" small miracles you suppose
"uhm sir, is it alright if i take the rest of the day off?"
"sure kid, go right home, get some rest, and you can come back in the morning bright eyed and bushy tailed" you wait until he leaves before you dare renter the 141's part of base to recollect your things and awkward run-walk your way to your car once you get home you plop in some blood worms for your girl Pandora and face plant on your bed forgetting to eat
if you guys like this you should totally read my werewolf au (here) (platonic(12 parts))
in this au reader is a teenage werewolf living with their new human foster father Nikolai trying to avoid being pulled into the clingy pack hanging around town
or my cat shifter au (here) (platonic(2 parts))
in this au we've got another teen reader this time homeless cat shifter reader travels town from town trying to survive as a kitten before she gets rudely adopted by a main coon cat shifter and his weird family
(shifter is different to hybrid in this au some people can turn into a certain animal but when human they do not carry physical animal traits at all unlike this fic where they have ears and a tail)
Pairings: Ghost/f!reader, Soap/f!reader.
Summary: Johnny's got himself a girl and Simon wants to make her his.
Contents and cws: unprotected PIV, jealousy, sadistic fantasies, accidental voyeurism, getting caught in the act. This one's actually romantic, which surprised me... Idk if I missed something - if so let me know.
BETA read by the amazing @rottin-gflesh, once again giving me great pointers especially on the dialogue and accents! Go follow and read all her fantastic fics at AO3!!!
Simon can already hear it while he still has a full flight of stairs left to go. Muffled through the reinforced front door he had installed on what used to be his own flat - and Christ, you’d think that door was thick enough, but no... there’s that voice of yours, breaking into a near falsetto.
Can’t make out the words over the sound of the neighbour’s music and his own heavy footfalls on the worn stairs, but he doesn’t need to. Can tell by the pitch of your voice what it’ll be saying by this point - just a steady babble of “oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny…”
Maybe some curses thrown in, maybe some blaspheming.
Johnny always reduces you to that near the end and Simon really, really hopes you’re getting near the end. Probably no chance you’ll be done by the time he’s unlocking the door… Johnny wants to be walked in on. Of course he does. That’d just make his whole week.
Simon sighs. He feels a headache coming on . They’ve gotten a lot more frequent since this arrangement started - who could’ve guessed? Sharing a flat with a teammate made sense on paper, but whatever the pros column had been filled with, none of them seem worth this enormous bloody con.
You. The pretty little thing Johnny’s managed to dupe, who now practically lives with the two of them, no doubt picking Johnny’s socks off the floor and bringing him his cuppa with a smile, you’re that stuck on the bastard. Being much too sweet to him - when you’re not too busy getting railed to the point of screaming, that is.
He unlocks the door without bothering to be quiet about it, but of course the two of you are too loud to hear him. Would be too loud to hear him even if he arrived playing a fucking tuba by shoving a live cat through it. And the sight that greets Simon stops him in his tracks, just for a couple heartbeats - and those heartbeats stumble over each other, slamming against his ribs.
It’s a small flat, no proper hallway, so the front door has clear sight lines to the living room. He sees the sofa. Sees you, bent over the arm of it, tits spilling out of your dress while Johnny fucks you so hard, the heavy piece of furniture has probably moved a scooted few inches to the left since you started. Scraped scores into the hardwood.
You’re still practically screaming - “oh, Johnny, p-please, please, I’m so close…” - and Simon snaps out of it long enough to close the door behind him. Bad enough only he has to hear and see this. Then he goes right back to staring, falling into it like a trance, his massive boots rooted to the floor, his clothes feeling hotter and more suffocating by the second. It’s winter out and you’ve fogged up the windows. And Simon’s staring. It can’t be helped.
That pretty face, twisted in pleasure he wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t seen it. Lips swollen where you’ve bitten them, maybe back fifteen-twenty minutes ago before Johnny sweet-talked you, “go ahead and scream, bonnie. The big bastard’s out for once - let’s make the most of it, eh?”
Make up smeared, like you’ve been crying. Johnny won’t fucking shut up about what a soft mouth you’ve got - was that how he made you cry? Choking you with his cock?
Simon tries not to picture it. Doesn’t need to fucking picture anything now, does he, to get hard - you’re right there, five footsteps away, pretty little face twisted up like you’re halfway to heaven, speared on his mate’s cock.
Worst part is, Simon knows none of it’s fake. Why would you fake that look of ecstasy? Simon can see your face from this angle - Johnny can’t. Johnny’s not even trying to. Too busy staring slack jawed down at where he’s fucking into you, where you’re creaming around him no doubt, like he can’t decide what he likes the sight of better, his cock or your cunt.
Your cunt, your soft, tight little cunt. Simon’s seen the pictures. Didn’t want to, but Johnny sends your nudes on to anyone dumb enough to still open his texts, and since they bloody live together Simon gets ambushed by them much too often. Tells himself he’s just making sure that this time it isn’t something actually important for once, even if his thumbs shake as he opens them.
Pretty little cunt, glistening wet, clit swollen in a way that, just like the expression you’re wearing now, can’t be faked. Dripping with cum…
Will be dripping with it again any second, if Johnny’s erratic rhythm and his fucking loud moans are anything to go by. It’s like the man is scared if he doesn’t make constant noise, he’ll cease to exist. In bed, it’s worse than ever - endless talking at the start, filthy and mean, and then by this point just moans and half phrases. Like now.
“Ah, fuck, bonnie.”
“Squeezin’ so tight, ye’ll pinch it off.”
“Stop squirmin’, you can take more.”
If he fucks his bird in the forest and none of his mates hear it, did he really fuck her?
And your expression is so sweet, frowning even as you whimper and cry out, like it pains you on some level. Embarrasses you. Damn well should embarrass you to be reduced to this by a dog like MacTavish. Fuck, it raises his spleen. He only wishes that was all it raised.
Simon clears his throat, loud and rattling, and has the satisfaction of watching you nearly jump out of your skin, yelp, tugging your dress back up and slipping away from Johnny like a fish.
“Oh god, I-I’m so sorry!” You squeak, sounding oh so sweet when you’re embarrassed.
Johnny catches up much too slowly and Simon sees the pleased little smirk on his pleasure-drunk face before he can force it into a look of sheepish chagrin. So fucking fake. Why don’t you ever see through him?
“Sorry, mate. Thought ye said ye’d be back tomorrow.”
“Never said any such thing,” Simon says with a voice so thick with annoyance he can feel it in his chest rather than hear it. He tosses his keys onto the table in the hallway, watches with impassive eyes how you scramble to correct your clothes.
“Get off the sofa. Match is on.”
“I’m so sorry,” you manage again and Simon almost feels bad for doing this to you - you look completely mortified, eyes big and pleading, struggling to speak, no doubt torn between the urge to pin it all on your good for nothing boyfriend (although pinning it on him makes it sound like it would be a cop-out rather than the truth) or wanting to shield him from Simon’s very justified irritation.
“He… I… we shouldn’t have, Simon. I’m sorry.”
His name sounds too good coming from you, always does. But especially now, in that high pitched, breathless little tone. Goes straight to his cock, that does - makes it twitch, and he shifts his weight on his feet, flexing his hands. “’S not your fault, sweetheart. It's muggins over there.”
“So melodramatic,” Johnny says half under his breath, but clearly meaning to be heard. He hikes up his jeans - commando, of course, filthy bugger - all lazy, like it’s not worth the bother of doing them up properly when they’ll just come off again in minutes anyway. “We put a towel down.”
Simon growls. “Any mess you make, I’m grindin’ your nose in it.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Lt.” Johnny winks, smacks your still bare arse and nods towards his bedroom. Your bedroom. “Come on, pretty lassie. Let’s finish what we started, aye? I’ll gie ye something to blush about.”
You duck out of the room quickly, following behind him like a puppy, devoted and wobbly-legged, and Simon dares to hope it’s shame that makes you rush like that and not eagerness.
Christ. He’s getting played by Johnny, reacting exactly how he wants him to react, and he can’t hide it from a man who knows him better than most. He doesn’t fucking miss how Johnny’s eyes dart down to check if he’s hard. Thankfully, his winter coat has him covered there and it’s a little bit satisfying to see the disappointment flicker across that smug, flushed face.
The door clicks shut behind the two of you and Simon still hasn’t moved an inch. Just stares at the indents on the sofa from your knees as they slowly re-inflate and flatten out. The shimmer of slick and precum between them, sinking into the cheap fabric. Then down to the towel, abandoned on the floor.
With an effort, Simon forces himself to snap out of it, shrugs out of his coat and pulls off his scarf and hat, leaves them on the coat rack he installed (tall enough you have to jump to get your coats and jackets down - god, it looks cute.)
He bundles up like the invisible man during winter, the only time of year when he can get away with being nearly fully hidden without raising too much suspicion. He hates mandatory leave. Loves winter - parts of it, anyway. He pulls off his gloves and massages his hands, the damage in his knuckles making him feel like he’s got arthritis already.
Then goes to put away his shopping. Breaks away a can from the six pack, tugs his mask down and downs half, foamy and warm and unpleasant, standing by the cluttered sink. The sink Johnny promised - unprompted, too - would be empty and clean before Simon came back. Before he came back, today, to watch the match. Bastard timed this perfectly, didn’t he?
Simon’s heard you mid fuck more times than he can count by now. In the shower (giggling, “Jesus, you’re strong. Won’t you get tired, lifting me like this?” Then nothing but wordless whimpers).
In the kitchen, probably bent over this sink, right here where he’s standing now (“‘m still swollen, Johnny, please don’t,” then “please,” then “oh god, oh god, please don’t stop”)
And of course, through the wall of his bedroom at all fucking hours. That one’s the worst because Johnny’s headboard faces that same wall. And you’re so sweet when you know Simon’s home, whimpering and whining instead of crying out, trying to keep yourself quiet. (“He’ll hear me.” And Johnny’s low laugh, “let him. He’s heard worse.” Doubtful.)
You shove pillows behind that headboard to keep it from knocking into the plaster. Too lost to it to notice when those pillows get knocked loose and slide to the floor. (“P-please, Johnny, can’t come again, ‘s too much, hurts…”)
Simon flat out refuses to touch himself to the sounds of you, doesn’t want to give Johnny that win. It’d be too weak, fucking his own fist in time with how Johnny fucks into your cunt. Instead, usually, he waits until you’re quiet, just talking or laughing. Lifts himself out of his boxers already hard, precum smeared on his stomach and gluing his treasure trail to his pale skin.
Strokes himself slow with one of your lacy little panties, staring down at how the pink fabric parts and pulls around his leaking head. It’s just one little way to get you back, picturing how the weak, old washing machine he keeps meaning to replace probably won’t clear all his come from the fabric. It’ll sit right next to that little cunt, grind up inside you when you move.
And when you touch yourself through them, your pretty little fingers will press it, press him in deeper.
Shouldn’t want to get you back. He’s got nothing to blame you for, does he? It’s not your fault that you’ve got shit taste in men - most women do, or it’d be curtains for the whole human race. Another reason to regret it, then.
Not your fault, so he shouldn’t want to pin you down, tear off your clothes and make you cry for every time he’s had to listen. Kiss you when you apologise, tell you he forgives you. Would forgive anything you ever did, if you’d just be his.
Simon’s hand tightens on the beer can and then he sighs, straightens himself up and walks into the sitting room. Cracks a window - doesn’t want to have to smell sex in the thick, damp air. Sits on the other end of the sofa, turns on the telly. Lets his hand rest where you knelt, lies to himself that the spot is still warm.
It’s been three months since you and Johnny started dating. He shouldn’t call it dating, though, really - Johnny doesn’t take you out on dates, just keeps you here and under him. “Why go out? You’ve got me and a warm bed. Everything else, we’ll order in. Come on, bonnie, let’s cuddle.”
Yeah, right. ’Cuddle’. Johnny only seems to stop rutting when he’s passed out from exhaustion. That’s probably the main appeal.
Three months since you and Johnny got together and in that time you’ve practically moved in, one little step at a time. Simon remembers how shy you looked when you asked his permission to use half a shelf in the bathroom cabinet.
“I don’t have to. Actually, forget I asked.”
“Don’t be stupid. ‘S all Johnny’s shit in there, anyway - bin ‘alf of it. He won’t notice.”
Now you have your own shelf in the fridge too - it’s unofficial, but Simon doesn’t touch it. You eat real food, at least compared to Johnny’s microwave meals and his own batch-cooked, under-seasoned chicken and rice. Vegetables in the freezer, the same mixed bag, nuked just long enough to thaw.
You cook for Johnny every now and then and it smells like heaven every time. If you were his girl, would he ever let you cook for him?
Yeah, right - let you cook for him, then make you leave the room so you don’t have to see him cover up the hole in his cheek, making sure the half chewed mouthfuls don’t spill out the side... not gonna happen. Couldn’t happen, not with a girl like you.
You practically live here and he ought to charge you for utilities, at least, but Simon… he hates to admit it, but he likes having you around, even if it hurts. Autosadism is what that is. He likes hearing you sing in the shower. Likes sitting by you on the sofa on the nights when neither of you can sleep, the flicker of the TV playing across your pretty face.
“Snooker again, is it?”
“John Higgins versus Judd Trump.”
Your voice had turned teasing that night, two weeks ago. “Are those names supposed to mean something to me?”
“They will in a minute, once you see ‘em play.”
Ten minutes later, you’d been nodding. Fair enough, it is a boring game to most. Simon had waited until you were too deep asleep to notice him moving, and his hands had shook as he draped his hoodie over your shoulders. Big enough to be a blanket on you, with just your bare feet peeking out as you curled up contentedly. Little hand reaching out to pull the warm fabric closer. Nuzzling into his scent like a cat.
He wishes you were a non-human animal and wouldn’t judge his looks. You’ve never asked to see what’s underneath the mask and he's not sure he wants to know whether that’s because you’re too polite or too apprehensive. Either way, you’d regret seeing it. He still does, every time he has to shave or brush his teeth.
No, you can use all the hot water and triple their electricity bill, he’ll never care. You can run past the kitchen in nothing but a towel. You can show him what he’s missing a thousand times over, and he’ll just watch and sigh and leave you be. God, but he’s a sucker.
He can hear you again now, a little giggle, then a pained groan of residual embarrassment. No doubt trying to talk Johnny out of picking up your tryst where you’d left off.
He can hear Johnny’s low rumble of a voice, and he’ll never be able to fathom how that man can be so persuasive to someone as smart as you. Whatever he’s saying, he’s talking you into it successfully.
Five minutes later Simon hears the rhythmic complaints from that long-suffering mattress. You’re keeping it down, just soft little whimpers. His mind supplies the rest - the begging, the pleading, the moans that sometimes sound so close to sobs.
He turns the telly up but still can’t understand what the announcer’s are saying. His ears and eyes and hands are all for you.
Caretaker! John Price x Reader x Poly!Task Force 141
@screechizdabestcat
Part one
Part Two
As it turned out, training was quite intensive. But you're just a cute little civilian. How could you have guessed that ten minutes after arrangements were agreed, you would have your knees to your shoulders as you were held against Gaz's chest and John showed the boys how to eat you out.
"The trick is, lads," John swallowed and replaced his mouth with his hand for half a second as he gave the others instructions. "She's a delicate thing. Doesn't like to get sticky or messy. So when needed, you have to hold her tight to keep from squirming, and always have fresh sheets ready for every night, or she won't sleep right."
You could barely hear him, and you would have guessed that the others were focusing even less than you were with the lewd sounds your cunt was making. But a glance to your right told you Johnny was feverishly taking notes in a little book while he strained against his zipper. Ghost's knuckles were white as he gripped the back of the aptly named "cuck chair," but his eyes were clear as he nodded along to John's explanation.
"She's not so keen on just fingers. Greedy little thing prefers a mouth or something bigger. Only use fingers in combination with other stimuli." He punctuated his point by leaning in and sucking your tit into his mouth.
You threw your head against Gaz's chest, and he leaned down to kiss your hair. "Such a pretty princess, eh? So nice to us muppets to let us make 'er happy."
John hummed his agreement before he let go of your nipple, a string of spit still connecting his lips to your skin.
"She a fan of toys, cap'n? Or just the real thing?" Johnny looked up from his writing with a furrowed brow.
John kissed his way down your tummy as he responded, open the closet door and you'll have your answer. But we'll get to that next week." He finally found his way back to his happy place, pressing a sweet kiss to your clit before sucking it into his mouth as his fingers continued their steady stroking.
You choked on a whimper as you got closer to where you wanted to be, nails digging into Gaz's forearm that held your legs against your chest.
As he watched you get closer, John sped up and went from lazy suckling to a deep suction that had you coming out of your skin. As you broke, his fingers stroked a little rougher, and his grip tightened to keep you in place. After a moment, he slowed down and rose up to kiss your lips.
"Perfect girl," he whispered, then looked up at Gaz, "Well done, Sergeant. Kept 'er good and still for me. She locks up somethin' fierce when she comes, doesn't she?"
Gaz cleared his throat, but his words still came out strangled, "Yes, sir."
He let your legs fall on either side of John and moved his hands to grip your hips, almost begging you not to move, even though the demonstration was over.
"Just one, Price?" Ghost spoke up from his corner.
Your partner grunted. "She can come twice in a row, but it's rare. Good to keep up your work until you know she's settled, just in case."
You looked away. It was something you were insecure about, not being able to come as much as other women. Especially with the care that John put into your pleasure.
A rough hand gripped your chin and pulled you into a short but deep kiss. His eyes were so expressive when he looked at you. His crow's feet crinkled, and his gaze stayed steady on you.
"Don't worry. She's not often done with just once. She just needs a few minutes for her body to get back to square one. Gives us enough time for the next bit of the lesson."
You nodded, not sure what was coming but excited and trusting. You leaned up and kissed Gaz on the Jaw. "Thank you for your help, Kyle."
He closed his eyes and whimpered. "Anytime, love." You felt your lips curl into a cruel smirk at the state he was in because of you.
"Since you boys did so good listening and watching the first go around, Simon, you sit against the headboard. Gaz and Soap, you can help each other out so long as you pay attention. I feel like you aren't focused on the missus, and I'll send you straight back to the barracks tonight, you hear?"
Everyone affirmed his orders, and Gaz and Soap met each other in a vicious kiss as Ghost settled down where you had just been. He was fully clothed, but a bit disheveled. His shirt had come untucked, and his belt had come loose. His chest shook as he took slow, controlled breaths to ready himself.
"Atta boy." John squeezed your hip. "Alright, love, how do you feel about helping Simon?"
If you were a cartoon, your eyes would have sparkled. You nodded emphatically and moved between Ghost's knees.
All the boys looked on with mild confusion. They hadn't expected that you would do any reciprocating. They were giddy at the thought of getting to pull those beautiful reactions from your body and had each other for getting themselves off if needed. With the way Price had described taking care of you, they just assumed they would be doing all the work.
"That's a girl." John rubbed your back as you lay down between Ghost's thighs and tugged at his shirt until he pulled it off. Your feet kicked in the air behind you as you began kissing his stomach. John rubbed your back as you settled in. "She gets a bit mopey if she doesn't get to give back. No matter how much you tell 'er it's fine, she will make it hell for you if she doesn't get 'er way."
As you nibbled on Ghost's stomach, your hands undid the belt buckle and unzipped his pants. You huffed when you realized his boxers were still in the way and tugged them down, perhaps a bit harsher than you should have. The deep inhale above you and the shudder under your lips, told you not to worry about it. This was for you, not him, after all.
"Bleedin' Jesus," Johnny breathed out in disbelief. His hand was down Kyle's pants and wrapped around his cock, squeezing tightly as he realized that you were actually about to suck his lieutenant's dick. Kyle didn't mind, though. Johnny's grip was the only thing stopping him from coming at the sight of you looking at Simon's dick like it was ice cream on a Texas summer's day.
You trailed a feather-light touch along his shaft just to get the barest feel of velvet on your fingertips. You grinned, kissing the tip. He cursed above you and rubbed a hand down his face over his mask, but you didn't notice. You gripped him by the base and leaned in til your nose was pressed to his pubic bone, right over his happy trail, and took a deep inhale.
"Christ above," Kyle reached for Johnny's dick and bent down to swallow it whole, taking him by surprise. Watching you enjoy the taste of it made him fucking ravenous. Price had been so thoughtful to let them help each other out while they watched.
Taking your time, you gave a languid lick up the shaft, then wrapped your lips around his head to swirl your tongue around the tip. You were rewarded with that perfect salty tang and a stutter in Ghost's hips as he struggled not to buck up into your mouth. He breathed heavily through his nose.
"Give 'er a second to get to know your cock. She likes to know what she's dealing with before she starts working."
You moved your focus to his balls, massive, velvet soft, and he smelled so good. You licked a line up the seam of his sack, and he twitched violently. So he was a balls man. Good to know. Lucky for him, you were an avid proponent of giving generous attention to every part of your partner's genitalia.
Deciding you'd had enough fun to start the real job, you finally wrapped your lips around his tip and hollowed your cheeks.
"He meet your requirements, love?" John stroked the back of your head, and you hummed. You would have to show him the depth of your appreciation soon.
Bless him, Ghost tried to lie still and submit himself to your whims, and for the most part, he was a doll. A few minutes into giving him the head of his life, you looked up and regarded him. At times, it was easy to forget that there was a person attached to your favorite toy.
He was shivering, the poor baby. All two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle jolted and melted beneath your ministrations. He kept one hand clasped over his eyes while the mask covered the rest of his face, the fabric blowing and hollowing at his labored breaths. His other hand was fisted in the sheets by his hip. It had much better things to do than wrinkle your linens.
You took pity on him, removing one hand from his base and gently taking his wrist. Your neck was cold, so you brought his hand to the back of your neck. He took the hint easily and gripped the back of your throat in a vice. You smiled as you gave a few more kisses to his shaft. Your jaw was starting to ache, and you wanted a proper taste.
While your left kept stroking at a steady pace, your right hand slid down to cradle his sack. Right as he started seizing, you took him down your throat as deep as you could and stroked his taint with your middle finger as you massaged him.
Not even a trained pornstar could have kept quiet at that. He groaned and whined as he painted your throat with his cum, finally giving you the complex taste that his precum had hinted at.
In the corner of the room, you heard similar sounds from Soap and Gaz. You hoped that their appreciation for the show meant that they would volunteer to be your oral fixation next time.
"What a perfect little thing," John whispered in your ear. "If you can survive that, boys, you'll be just fine taking care of her."
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cw: domestic bliss in rural Wales, fluff, disabled!y/n
wc: 1,669
an: I've been blasting through this fic and im loving it honestly though I might rename it lol.
The looks of shock and horror on their faces was startling, honestly. It was funny watching their military brains trying to rationalize this new information. The shortest man was the first one to break the silence. “Yer WHAT???”
I doubled over laughing. Tears beaded up at the corners of my eyes and my cheeks hurt. Oisín ran over to check on me as I rested my hands on my knees, using them as support. Attempting to contain myself, I stood up only to lean on Simon in laughter at the Scotsman’s confused expression. The two men, one tall with friendly mutton chops the other shorter and dark-skinned, stood back a ways hiding their smiles. Simon stood staring at the bewildered man, exasperated. Quelling my giggles, I wipe the tears from my eyes.
“Ah, Johnny, did we break ye?” I giggle.
He blinked, “How'd you know ma name?”
I can hardly hold back the laughter that wants to come tumbling out of the back of my throat. “We can tell based off yer awful haircut.”
“WHAT!” Johnny yells, while Price and Gaz roared with laughter behind him. Simon had told me all about them. Aside from the classified and gory bits, he'd told me how Gaz was the only one with his head on straight. How Price had practically been born with a lit cigar in his mouth, and all about Johnny's horrific haircut.
Giggling a bit I walk over to him and pull him into a tight hug, “We're so glad to finally meet ye.”
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆
Soap had been shocked to see Ghost let someone take his mask off, let alone kiss him. Her willingness to laugh hard and throw jabs at him after just meeting him, made his head spin. She was so… bubbly. Especially compared to the hulking curmudgeon she had for a husband. He wondered how they got along well enough to be married. What he hadn't expected was for her to walk over and give him a crushing hug. She'd squeezed him tightly just under the ribs and he felt his spine align in ways it hadn't in years. Johnny was hit with a wave of smells when she'd pulled him in. At first it was nothing but barn smells; hay, feed, manure, and so on. But once he'd gotten past that- it was patchouli, clean linen, and eucalyptus.
As soon as she'd come, she left to go hug his fellow officers. Price had tried to just give her a handshake but she pushed it away with a “Ah, no. We hug ‘round here.” Gaz didn't get by unscathed either; everyone could hear the pop of his lower back when she'd hugged him. Taking a step back she looked over to Ghost. “Simon, would you have the lads set up with a bed? We've got chores to finish before suppers’ made.”
“Alrigh’ don't push y'self, lovie.” Ghost mumbled into her hair as he walked back towards the car.
Leading them back to the house, they opened the trunk of the car and grabbed their things. Ghost brought them up to the concrete porch and unlocked the front door. On the porch was an old rocking chair with a small table set to the side. The front door was solid oak and had brass finishings. There was a cast iron boot jack shaped like a beetle sitting on the floor next to it. Just inside the door was a shoe rack with a few pairs of shoes on it. “Take yer boots off at the door, ya numpties.” Ghost huffs using the boot jack and sets his boots on the rack.
Johnny, Price, and Kyle rush to do the same as the two large terriers try to run in too. Ghost tuts at the dogs, telling them to wipe their feet- which they do, on the coir doormthat at. Kyle laughs at their manners before leading the other two into the house.
The entry way opened into the living room. A green vintage couch sat in the center with a matching wingback chair set to the side. There was a small wicker basket sitting next to the chair, a crochet hook peeking from the lid. The TV sat across from the couch, on top of an antique cherry wood chest of drawers. A glass coffee table was placed between the couch and dresser. Everything in the house was from the 70s at the latest, most of them being from the Edwardian era. Sean and Aoife took up the entire couch just by lying down.
Price smiled seeing all of the old trinkets and touches around the house. The kitchen had a wood stove from the turn of the century, with ceramic burner covers. All of the floors were the original hard wood, clearly well loved and cared for over the years. Every vent had a cast iron cover or brass one that had patinated over time. As they were led up the stairs he noticed the dust corners attached to each step. The whole house seemed to be one large time capsule. Everything was original or replaced as the years went on. The three of them could tell that Y/N truly cared for this house.
“Tha’ door there is the watercloset. If you need towels, that pocket door has ‘em.” Ghost pointed at the door with a push plate above the handle. Going down the hallway, he continues, “The door on the left has one bed, and the one on the righ’ has two of ‘em. I'll leave it to you how ye wanna divvy it.”
Gaz nodded, curly. “What about that one?” He said pointing at a yellow door at the end of the corridor.
The taller man's lip twitched in a grimace. “Don’t... tha’ one's the missus’.” Walking past them he walks to the top of the stairs. “Take your time, and settle in. Supper should be in about an hour.” With that, he walks down the stairs to settle downstairs.
Johnny, Kyle, and Price all look at each other before opening the door with two beds first. Inside were two twin beds set about a metre apart, beautifully made and ready for guests. Both beds had matching duvets with yellow and blue Rococo floral patterns. There were three pillows on each bed that had pillowcases to match the duvet along with a navy blue bed skirt. At the back of the room was a large porthole that had already been opened to let in the fresh air. Across from the beds were two matching walnut armoires, with a small mirror on each. “Christ. That’s…bloody lovely.” Price breathed.
”Did we want to see behind door two?” Gaz chuckled.
“Aye.” Johnny said, reaching for the door across the hall.
Creaking open, the door revealed a full size bed with a beautiful bedspread. This one was clad in all lavender Rococo with deep purple accents. All five of the pillows were dressed in matching pillowcases. Another porthole window sat cracked open to air it out from the back of the room. A mid century armchair was angled to take in the view of the paddocks and farmland behind the house. Near the door stood an antique wardrobe with brass handles facing the window. It was quickly decided that Soap and Gaz would take the twin room, much to the chagrin of their captain.
As the two sergeants unpacked their duffles they began conversing between themselves.
“How long do ye think they’ve been wed?” Johnny said, packing his rolled socks into a drawer.
Kyle shook his head as he refolded the shirts that had been mussed up in the car ride. “Couldn’t say. What I want to know is, how did they afford this house? The place feels like it came from a storybook.”
“Aye.” His hands paused their organizing, resting over the lip of the drawer. “D’ye suppose tha’ this is Ghost’s home from childhood?”
The taller man scrunched his nose, “No, no way. He’d have burned the place to the ground if it was. Also, he’s a Manc anyway.”
Their conversation trailed off as they finished packing the drawers with their belongings. Just in time for Y/N to yell up the stairwell that supper was finished. Walking down the creaking stairs, Johnny looked at the photos hanging on the wall. One was of the couple enjoying sunshine out in the garden, she was wearing a large sunhat mid-laugh with her hands wrist deep in the soil. Her husband’s hand was the only thing in frame as it smudged dirt on her cheek. Another photo captured the couple on their wedding day, standing in front of the Registry Office. The woman stood in a short white dress and matching fascinator hat, grinning so hard that her eyes were barely visible. Her husband stood in an all black suit, one hand on his wife’s lower back and the other in his pocket. He looked… happy.
At the bottom of the stairs, Oisìn stood barking at them and wagging his tail happily. The hairless dog jumped up on Johnny’s shoulder, using his leg as a springboard. “Shite!” Gaz yelped, leaning away from the dog’s face.
“Sorry, Sinny likes to be involved in everything.” Y/N laughed reaching up to take the small dog off his shoulder. “Come along, we got dinner on the table. We hope ye like tacos!”
The short woman had a messenger bag hanging across her body. She had changed from her shirt and shorts into a new t-shirt over a skirt that brushed the floor. As she carried the dog over to the TV stand, she pulled on one of the handles. It revealed that the “drawers” were actually a cabinet, concealing a large dog kennel. Bending over to set the little terrier in it, her shirt rode up to reveal a slender tube running from the bag towards her chest. Price's brows furrow at that little detail before ushering his men towards the kitchen. “Come on ya muppets, eat before it goes cold.”
Herding dog!reader who had join the team due to the fact the last few missions had- well, gone south a little to fast. No one ever got to the pick up zone in time- not their own fault, just to many variables being added in and having to make sure they, well, don’t die.
So you were brought in to help with that, once the pick up was in route, you went out to get everybody there- whether by force or not. Like when Soap had gotten separated and somewhat refused to get going just due to the fact he was “on a roll”, you dipped you head, and just hard stared at him.
Just stood there, big ol eyes glued to him, not moving even with him fire flying past you. Was safe to say Soap followed quick after that.
That was the whole thing, if someone was unable to get to the pick up zone in time due to whatever the case was, you’d go sniff em out, then stare at them for long enough till they eventually come with you- which never takes long.
However, no one was informed that you’d also be doing this on base. Like the time you gave Gaz the herd stare, just to have him give up his chips. Or Soap when he sat on your side of the couch in the rec room and wanted him to move.
Though Price and Ghost are really affected by this. You’re only able to do this to price a handful of time, usually when he’s so tired that he just gives in- but only when the thing you want is reasonable. Ghost- well it just doesn’t work on Ghost.
Every time you do try it on him, he stares back at you with even more intensity. And he wins that starring contest.
I have come to the quick and embarrassing realisation that this is not a x reader fic, and more of a own character fic. I think it's okay, during my old times we would imagine ourselves in the place of the main character anyway. Bring back the old ways. The quotes at the start are my favourite thing.
-> Not proof read, grammatical mistakes and bits of logic may be present.
Simon Ghost Riley x fem!character
CHAPTER 3
“Are you going to answer my questions, or do I have to whack you with a stick until delicious candy surprises fall out?” Molly Harper
She been at the lookout two whole months now, enjoying the peace it offered to her. She was driving to town almost every Saturday, visiting the dinner mostly, talking with Rachel, while she filled her thermos with coffee, always on the house, and always offended when Calliope tried to pay her for it.
It took two whole months for her, to finally take Liam’s advice, in a very boring afternoon, by fiddling with the radio, changing the frequencies, listening, and changing again. For a good hour she just kept doing that, almost lost in her thoughts, when a voice snapped her out from it.
“Bravo 0-7, moving closer” A rough British accent echoed in her little fire lookout, making Calliope straighten her back.
Bravo 0-7? What is that?
She thought to herself before another voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Bravo 7-1, target been located” another voice, this time sounding more like a Scotsman, echoed in her lookout.
She frowned her eyebrows, confused but continuing to listen.
“Bravo 7-1, its Bravo 0-6, target update” Another British man spoke, this time rougher, older.
“Bravo 7-1 to Bravo 0-6, target mobilised, moving to exfil” The Scotsman answered and then something clicked in her head.
The military? Here?
Calliope thought to herself, shocked. She never really met or interacted with military men her whole life, hell, she was almost completely parallel with it. But she stayed silent, stayed on the frequency quiet, listening in, waiting for more conversation. And she waited for what almost felt an hour before she heard the older voice again.
“Good job, Soap” he said before continuing “Give the target to the exfil team and meet me, Ghost and Gaz at the safe house” the man continued.
“Roger that, Price” the Scotsman said, Soap, before the radio went silent again.
So, the Scotsman goes by Soap, and the older British man is Price, seems to be leading them, who is the other British man? Ghost? Or Gaz?
Calliope thought, trying to place a name on the voice. Wondering how close they were to her, what the military was doing here, in the middle of nowhere.
She sat for the rest of the night, listening to the radio, catching glimpses of conversation between those four men before she guessed they arrived at the lookout, the radio going silent.
And without realising, she fell asleep, and when the morning arrived, waking up a few minutes before her alarm rang through the entire lookout, she got up, starting her small but peaceful morning routine.
And that’s how the rest of her days went by now, with a new hobby, if you could call it that, sneaking in her daily routine, which was listening to the radio, at the frequency she found the military men.
In those few days she realised they are the Special Air Forces, that Price was the Captain, and Soap with Gaz are Sergeant, and the other one being a Lieutenant. She was also able to understand their personalities a bit too.
Captain Price didn’t talk that much, although was still joking sometimes through the radio, but mostly leading and encouraging the team.
Sergeant Soap, the Scotsman, was full of jokes, most of the time cracking and trying to fill the silence, to what she believes was during the missions.
Sergeant Gaz mostly laughed or supported Soap with other small jokes but was quieter.
Lieutenant Ghost was the quietest one, mostly leading the team, Calliope guessed, when Price wasn’t around. Laughing rarely laughing much at the jokes over the radio but had his own unique moments where he would crack some, mostly dad jokes.
And then one day, the guilt captured Calliope, feeling bad she was eavesdropping on military radio, being on their frequency without them knowing, listening to them joke, and do their missions together. The thought not leaving Calliope, feeling with each day passing that the guilt was swallowing her even more, to the point she started losing sleep.
That’s how she really ended in a predicament, speaking on the radio, to the Task Force 141. Well, couldn’t really call it speaking.
“Hello” she started anxiously “I don’t know who you are, or what you really doing” Calliope continued, with a little white lie, because she knew their names, and she knew that they were the Special Air Forces “but I have been picking up your radio frequency” another lie “and you should change it or secure it, I don’t know” she finished before muting her mic, feeling the way her heart was almost exploding in her chest, feeling its beating in her head.
And there was a silence, for a few minutes there was a silence, making Calliope feeling maybe she wasn’t heard, or they left already, not knowing if she should feel happy, they didn’t hear her, or she would have to muster the courage again, the next time she hears them.
She is violently brought to reality by a rough British voice, making her stare at the radio.
“Who are you?” A voice she couldn’t mistake, not for how long she been eavesdropping on their frequency. A cold, serious voice, that made you feel small without seeing its owner, Ghost.
Calliope suddenly feels the world collapse around her, and in all honestly, she never thought what would happen after her little speech to them. That they would thank her and send their regards, securing their frequency? Or would do that without saying anything, making her realise later that they disappeared completely? Or maybe that they could find her and throw her in a prison for eavesdropping on the SAS.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK.
Panic settled in her, looking around through the fire lookout windows like they already know where she is, like she already has a big fat red cross on her forehead, marking the point. She is shaken violently, again, to reality by the same voice.
“I repeat, who are you?” This time Ghost asked, sounding more impatient at the silence he was receiving from the other end.
“A civilian” she said fast, pressing her mic button before pressing it off again, before she even realised. And then it hit her, why was she so sure that they would believe her? For all they know she could be a terrorist listening to their radio for the past few days, planning an attack on them.
No, that’s absurd, right?
She thought to herself.
“That’s not a good answer, try again” The same voice, Ghost, came back, making her frown at the radio.
The fuck you mean it’s not.
She thought to herself annoyed.
“Yes, the hell it is” she said angrily in the radio, before she turned her mic off again, panicked.
Oh, you are so stupid, why are you arguing with the military. Stop it.
She then heard a scoff through the radio. “Do you know who you speaking with? The Special Forces” Ghost answered back, coldly.
Special Forces my ass.
“I just wanted to help” started Calliope, a bit more chilled, with less anger and fire in her voice “your radio not been secured for days” finished, thinking for a second that maybe this will end here.
“For days? You been listening to us for days?” Ghost said hurriedly, before a silence fell.
Fuck, she was so stupid, Calliope stop with this.
She begged herself, not knowing how she was able to dig an even deeper grave, when she heard the radio again, with muffle voices in the background.
“Where are you located?” the voice came as a command from Ghost.
Fuck, no, hold on, this is not good at all.
“Doesn’t matter” she hissed back, still not sure why she was putting an attitude with the Special Forces, maybe she truly had a death wish that she was trying so hard to reach.
And maybe she thought she was safe, that they wouldn’t be able to reach her, hell they have nothing on her, not her name, location, anything.
But Calliope didn’t know that the Task Force 141 were hunting for fun terrorists’ organizations, grasping for clues where there are none, creating leads and clues bringing them to their final destination.
“We will find you” Ghost said coldly in the radio before she heard it turned off.
It wasn’t a if they will find Calliope.
It was a when they would find Calliope, in her fire lookout, scared.
After posting the Chapter 01 out of the 5? or 6? chapters I have written back in August of 2025, I have realised that Ghost only makes his appearance in Chapter 03. Repeated disclaimer, I have not proof read the chapters so be ware of: grammar mistakes and any logic bits missing.
Simon Ghost Riley x fem!reader
CHAPTER 2
“Sometimes it just feels really, really wonderful to be alive.” Doug Couplan
She woke up to her alarm, grunting and picking the phone still half asleep, before shutting the alarm down by instinct, not needing to open her eyes to know where the button was on her screen. And she stayed with her eyes closed and phone in her hand a few more minutes, before she pushed herself up from the bed, being already late to her first shift by a few minutes, although nobody was timing her.
She got up, and did her morning routine, slowly, trying to adjust to the drastic change, having no running water and having to use it from a basin, was something she wasn’t used to.
And then she changed her clothes. Really, she didn’t have to do that, nobody would see her, but she felt more productive in something other than pyjamas. She chose black cargo pants, with a white t-shirt and pulled a hoodie over, in green, with big letters that wrote ‘YALE’ on her chest. Putting some socks on, she lingered for a few seconds if she should wear the snickers, deciding that she will opt for the slippers for inside. Her purple fluffy slippers, one of the not so many things she brought from her ‘old life’.
She then left the room, being met with a cold air of the morning, but not getting down, but sitting at the all-round balcony of the fire lookout, on a chair, with her binoculars and hand, and just examining the territory.
After an hour, she felt the cold crept in, ushing her to go back inside. She didn’t turn the generator right away, thinking she will get naturally warm, and although she did slightly, she was still too cold for her liking, turning the generator on for a bit till it warmed up the not so big room before turning it off.
She then performed the rest of her duties, writing a report about the weather changes during her shift, performed routine checks on the equipment provided, which she should be doing daily.
And her day went by, a weird feeling not allowing her to fully relax, unused to the new routine.
And that’s how her days went by, till the two-week mark hit up, and she got over the radio an information that the helo will arrive in 15 minutes with her supplies: water, gas, generators, and other stuff she didn’t remember.
She was anxious, it’s the first time this is happening, and she didn’t know how the interaction would be going, or the entire process. Surely it wasn’t long, and hopefully she wouldn’t have to do much of anything.
When the helicopter arrived, she got down from the fire lookout, greeting with a half-energised wave, and a small ‘Hello’.
The pilot got out and looked at her, smiled and waved back.
“You are the new one aren’t you” He said looking at her “Nice to meet you, I am Liam” he said extending his hand, her accepting and shaking softly, remind her the interaction with Samuel.
“Calliope” she said back before putting her hands back in her cardigan pockets.
“How’s been the two weeks here?” he asked while he was getting stuff out of the helicopter, carrying it into the storage room.
“Not as bad as I thought, love the quietness” she said looking at him carry the stuff.
“Have you had any chance dropping at the town? It’s pretty nice, can get provisions there, and other stuff to help you not die of boredom” He joked looking at her shortly before continuing to carry the gas cylinders.
“No, not really” she said before she realised, she needed to go there, her food supplies running low, and to browse the shops “You familiar with the town? Anything I should be aware of?”
He stopped carrying the stuff, and looked at her “Not really, the locals are nice” he said taking some time to think “If you up for stories and just talking, they are always happy for new faces they can talk the ears off.” He laughs “There are not a lot of new people, so they get excited when someone new appears”
He started walking to the helo, before getting in and saying his goodbyes, he told her “Y’know, you can shuffle the radio frequencies, not just for reporting, might be able to just pick up radios for other people you can chat up with” he said before waving a goodbye and flying out, leaving Calliope surprised.
In the two weeks she was here she didn’t really think of the ways she could use the radio. Heck, maybe if he didn’t tell her about it, she would have never found out she could do that. She shook her head, before she got up at the fire lookout, taking her keys, wallet and a few bags, she got down, getting into her car.
Starting the engine, she drove the car out on the small rode forest road, that wasn’t the smoothest, but she was happy she sold her previous car, having a SUV for the city, to a 4x4, something suited for the rough roads more.
Keep looking at the map, making sure she was on the right road to the town, after almost two hours, she arrived, slowing down a bit more, looking around her at the little houses and shops, before she noticed the little shops. She parked her car making sure it wouldn’t bother anybody, although she didn’t see any other cars so far on the roads, she took her wallet and bags and closed the car with a beep.
It was a Saturday, and she saw a few people walking around, chatting, feeling so much emptier than the Metropolitan City she was living in, where the weekends always were filled with so many people that you barely had space to walk on the sidewalks.
She stopped in front of a shop which sold food, entering it, greeted by a woman in her 40s, she guessed. She smiled back before she diverted her attention at the products, the range a lot smaller than in the city, but she wasn’t really complaining.
“The fresh products are from here” The lady suddenly voiced “You the new fire lookout?” followed by an immediate question, curious.
Calliope turned around looking at the woman. “M’yeah, started two weeks ago” answered when she got closer to the woman, who was also the cashier, starting to ring her products, while Calliope was putting them in her bags.
“How you like it? I heard you are the daughter of Parker Merritt?” the woman asked gently, but Calliope felt her heart miss a beat, not used to talk about her dad, at all. She nodded her head without saying anything, continuing to bag her produce.
The lady had a ‘Ooh’ escape her mouth before continuing “Then you sure would like it. Parker used to come every weekend in the town, not for produce as much as chatting with people. He used to say it can get pretty lonely up there” She continued while Calliope felt tense not noticing it “Oh, excuse me, I forgot to introduce myself, I am Eliana” the woman said, realising she hasn’t introduced herself yet.
“Calliope” the young brunette said back, giving a half smile to the woman while she nodded, like she knew her name already, and she probably did, and after she said the total of her little shopping spree. Calliope opening her wallet and giving the cash in with a few cents, putting it back in her pocket before saying goodbye and taking the produce back to her car.
She breathed in and exhaled, not expecting to meet someone here who knew her dad, although he was the previous fire lookout here, she never thought they would know him like that, or her.
After closing the car again, she looked around for other shops, curious what else she could buy while she is in town, trying to remember if she needed anything, and then she opened the door of a what seemed at first glance, supply store. It had from some DIY and construction items to office like pens and pencils with notebooks and other small items.
And then she noticed at the back books. The store was also selling books, and at a closure look she saw CDs and some Vinyl, although old ones. She then saw an old man, well, heard him, snoring on a chair, near the cashier desk, assuming he was the owner of the store.
She straightened her back, continuing to look around, deciding to buy a diary and a few pens and pencils, settling on a a5 diary, that was from black faux leather, although the choice wasn’t that big, so she shrugged her shoulders slightly before taking it to the cashier. Which was asleep.
Fuck
She didn’t want to wake up the man, feeling bad, but she also was scared she might startle him, so she started calling him out in almost a whisper.
“Uh, sir?”
“Sir, can I uh” she tried to ask, but closing her mouth.
“Sir” she said a bit louder.
Didn’t work either
“Sir, hello?” this time she said quite a bit louder. The old man jumping slightly before waking up, confused, before finding the source of the voice: Calliope.
“Oh yes, sorry, sorry” he said getting up hurriedly before calculating her total.
“It’s fine, I am sorry for waking you up” she said slightly embarrassed.
“No-no-no” he said back “I fell asleep, it’s my fault” he said with a smile.
She then thanked him after paying for her items, before leaving, saying sorry again. On her way back to the car, she noticed across the street a little dinner.
Castor Dinner
She read mentally the name, before crossing the street, looking left and right although there are no cars to be seen yet, apart from hers.
When she entered the dinner, she got greeted with the smell of food, mixed with coffee and relaxing jazz music. The woman at the counter shot her eyes up at the newcomer, signalling excited with her hand to come to her, which Calliope obliged.
“Oh my God, you are the new one, aren’t you? The news travel fast in a small town like this, y’know.” She said while pouring coffee in a cup to Calliope, without even asking her, although she didn’t mind, taking the cup in her hands, blowing with her mouth some cold air on the hot coffee.
“So, I heard” Calliope said slightly amused before sipping her coffee and then looking at the woman.
“I am Rachel, this is my family’s dinner” Rachel exclaiming excitingly “Here, have this” she continued handing Calliope a thermos, her taking it not registering yet what was happening.
“It’s hot coffee, if you want any when your back at the fire lookout” explained Rachel when she saw Calliope looking puzzled at the thermos, before she even started trying to refuse it, Rachel was already protesting “No, take it, its on the house, just come back whenever you want to get more hot coffee, don’t worry about it”.
Calliope continued looking puzzled at the thermos and then Rachel, processing this sudden one-way exchange.
“Thank you” Calliope muttered thankful to the ginger haired woman across the counter, before setting it aside, making a mental note to not forget it when she would leave.
“No worries, darlin’.” Rachel smiled, before putting her hands together on the counter looking at Calliope, to which the brunette gave her a questioning look, unsure if she wants something or that’s just how Rachel is.
“So, how’s the fire lookout? Everything going well? Do you need any help with anything? Questions?” Rachel blurted at a rapid rate that Calliope had to quickly adjust to understand.
Calliope chuckles, for the first time in her life she sees someone so full of life, so energised that is almost contagious. “I like it, still have to get used to it but, not bad” Calliope said, finishing her cup of coffee, before putting it down, and when she noticed Rachel wanting to pour more, she shook her head. “No-no, it’s fine, I don’t need more, I won’t be able to fall asleep” she said amused, looking at Rachel with a smile.
Before leaving, Calliope took her wallet wanting to pay Rachel to which Rachel almost barked at her, in a friendly but lecturing tone “Girl, I told you it’s on the house, hide that wallet before you offend me” blurted half-serious and half-jokingly, to which Calliope awkwardly put her wallet back into her pocket, feeling slightly bad for the free coffee she got.
“Thank you” Calliope muttered before leaving with her new filled coffee thermos and the little diary with the pens and pencils she bought, walking to her car, smiling.
Fuck that energy is contagious.
She thought to herself, a euphoria surrounding her to the car.
The drive back to her new home felt good, and in a good while, Calliope couldn’t stop smiling, feeling alive.
Randomly found on my computer tucket in a folder, so decided to post it for the funnies and giggles. Haven't proof read it, or anything, so there is probably a lot of grammatical mistakes and other logical bits missing, but it is what it is.
Written in August of 2025.
Simon Ghost Riley x fem!Reader
“Damn it, how will I ever get out of this labyrinth!” Simon Bolivar
She didn’t know exactly what pushed her to accept the offer. Maybe it was the constant monotonic routine she developed, stuck in a limbo where she felt with no escape, no progress, or future, albeit the new so-called career, wasn’t that different. But she needed that change, to escape the limbo, the labyrinth she couldn’t crack, to breath fresh air. Literally.
At twenty-three, she found herself at the funeral of her dad, ex-fire lookout, dying in an unfortunate accident, falling off a cliff, edge giving up under his legs, falling to his death, found later by some hikers. God knows how the wildlife wasn’t there first, picking at his dead body that was already mutilated from the fall.
A few weeks after that, she was contacted, giving the opportunity to be the next one to work at the fire lookout, and she wanted to decline. God, she thought it was insanity they offered her to work near her father’s death place, but she didn’t decline, she told them she would think about it, give it some thought, thinking that after a week she would decline the offer.
She had a good job, a nine to five to be honest, working as a Software Developer, from home, amazing benefits with a salary that allowed her to live more than comfortably, and yet, she felt stuck to the same routine, trapped, with no ability or control in escaping it, each day becoming more depressing, creeping in as an uninvited guest in her life, and then refusing to leave.
From a week, it transformed into two, then three, then a month, a few, until one day she decided that she had nothing to lose really, and emailed them back, wanting to accept the job offer, much lower pay, benefits not as good, but it’s something she felt she could do to escape the labyrinth.
She started selling most of her stuff.
Why?
She didn’t know, because she could come back, realising that maybe a fire lookout is not a job for her, and search for her old life back, or maybe she thought that she didn’t need to carry items of her old life with her, in a new chapter of her life. Wanting a clean slate, or at least as clean and fresh she could get.
She then started gathering items, little things that the job didn’t provide, like puzzles and crosswords she would use to spend her free time, books, anything really.
And then there she was, in her car, at now twenty-four, less than an hour from the fire lookout.
When she arrived, she saw a man waiting. He was maybe in his mid-60s, sitting on a bench near the fire lookout, dressed warmly, with an old brown leather jacket above his black fleece hoodie, and green cargo pants.
While she got out of the car, he got up as well, walking to her before stopping a few steps away.
“I reckon you are Calliope” he said more as a statement than a question, not that there would be anybody purposefully coming to the fire lookout unless you got a job here.
She nodded, murmuring a ‘Hello’, feeling slightly uncomfortable, still unsure of her choice. And he smiled at her warmly, like he knew what she was thinking.
“Samuel” he continued after her little hello, reaching out his hand to her, and when she reached hers with a slight hesitation, he shacked it softly before letting go.
“This is your new home” joked, trying to ease the atmosphere a bit, pointing at the white building behind him.
It was a roughly a 120 feet white tall building, having stairs going around it reaching the top, which extended in all four parts a few feet away, with big windows all around, and the American Flag on a Pole.
Patriotism never dying - she thought to herself
At the base of the fire lookout there was a door, which she hadn’t noticed at first, until the man pointed to it.
“That’s where most of your supplies will be, generators too, water, almost everything, you will find out soon that the top doesn’t have that much room to store everything you want” half joking before continuing “your duties are pretty simple, you will also find a few papers at the top with everything listed, you will also find a phone book there with contact details, including mine, in case of emergency, or just questions, don’t be afraid to ask” He says looking at her.
“There is a small town an hour and forty minutes away, they have a few shops that you can stock up food with, and other limited necessities. Every 2 weeks there will be a helicopter that brings water, generators, and any maintenance that needs to be done”
He explained a few more details before he finally stopped and asked her if she is confused about anything or has any other questions.
“No, I think I am good” She spoke up, smiling. And not long after that she was left alone, having the opportunity to settle in.
After a few hours she was able to bring her stuff up, some left down in the storage room below.
She plopped on the bed exhausted, the drive been long, hell, she been mentally drained since she accepted the job, everyday questions if it was the best decision she could make.
She didn’t know.
After what felt like 20 minutes, she got up, grabbing the papers from the round table which also served as a map of the area with a compass, with her duties and responsibilities.
It wasn’t a lot, she felt like those duties are simple, allowing her a lot of leisure during duty hours, on paper those being from 6am till 6pm, in reality, it was 24/7, as she would still have to scan the area for fire and everything else.
She sighed and placed the papers inside the drawers of a desk. The fire lookout wasn’t the biggest.
Definitely bigger than a flat in New York City. – she thought slightly amused
She had a single bed in a corner of the fire lookout room, with a desk at the end of the bed, with drawers, and a radio station. She had a sink, which really didn’t have running water, she would have to throw the used water whenever the container below got filled.
Or smelled
Following a small gas stove, using a gas cylinder from under, and a microwave on a small table near, which must be hooked to a generator outside the fire lookout.
The centre piece of the lookout was the round table, where she found initially the papers, which had a mad built-in of the area, with a compass, used to help her identify the coordinates of a fire.
There was also a big wooden drawer, where she stored her clothes, followed by a medium sized bookcase, that she stored her books and other bits.
The man told her she wouldn’t be able to shower, well, she can, but it’s different from back home. She would have to use a sponge, and a water basin for her hair.
8:49pm
She read from a small round clock attached to the wall beside her bed, unsure of what really, she should be doing after settling in. She didn’t feel confident enough yet to stroll for a walk around the woods, unsure she would really remember the way back, or feared the wildlife she could encounter, especially at night.
So, she opted to stay in, changing out of her clothes into pyjamas, and picking a random book she brought in to read, before she fell asleep. Heck, at 6am her shift starts, so she needs to sleep early.
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“I niver said I wis yer laddie, hen,” Johnny huffed as he leaned against his locker. Arms folded over his chest.
Red hot heat made your face flush. How could he be so stubborn? “We’ve been together for over a year, Johnny!” when all he did was shrug, you snapped at him, “fine. Then maybe I’ll go with Clery to dinner on Saturday.”
“Dinnae ye daur,” his nose scrunched. Lips pressed together. When you held his gaze in a stand off, he snarled, “ye ken hoo I feel aboot ye. I’m juist no giud with words, hen.”
“Then what are we, Johnny? Because if you aren’t my boyfriend, then I don’t see why I can’t go explore what else there is to offer,” you said, trying to get under his skin. And you knew it was working.
“Because, Y/N, ye ken I’m aff tae the military soon. Whit’s the point o’ pittin a label on it? It’s juist gaun tae hurt us both. Juist, ken ye’er my lass an I dinnae hae another ane. Is that no enough?” his voice dropped. Uncharacteristically vulnerable.
You looked up at him through your lashes, a pout still on your lips. “I know I’m your girl, but I want everyone to know you’re mine back. If you really feel like that about me, does a label make a difference? It’s going to hurt anyway. This way at least, I can say I miss my boyfriend instead of my situationship.”
“Ye ken juist whit tae say tae get tae me, dinnae ye?” he gruffed, unfolding his arms to wrap them around your waist. A small smile tugged up the corners of your lips. He mirrored that. “Fine, ye win. Ye’er right.”
“As always,” you chirped, making him chuckle.
“It disnae matter. Even if I dinnae ca’ ye my lassie, it’s gaun tae hurt tae leave ye. At least if ye’er afficially mine, I can boast aboot ye e’en when I dinnae get tae see ye,” he said, brushing hair from your face.
The smile on your face widened. “John Mactavish apologizing to me? I must be dreaming.”
A low chuckle rumbled up from his throat as he held you loosely. “So, ye forgie me for bein sic a numpty noo, richt?”
“I guess,” you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Ye guess? Weel, I guess maybe I deserve that,” he chuckled, running his nose along the side bridge of yours. “I mean it though, lass. Nae matter whit, I’m gaun tae miss ye like I’ve gaun daft. Ye’er my lassie. Ye ken I hae feelings for ye. Dinnae mae me act all aw soppy. Ye ken that’s no me, but ken they’re there.”
“I know,” you said softly, unable to help but smile up softly at him. “I do like you a lot too, Johnny. I’m glad that we’re together now, and who knows? Maybe we can figure out a way for us to work even after this. Like I said, you’re just going into the military. You’re not dying.”
Soap thought of that as he laid on the cold concrete floor, bleeding out from the gunshot to his head. If he hadn’t jerked his head at the last second, he would already be dead. Even still, he didn’t know how much time he had left. Price was shouting for backup. Pressing torn cloth to Soap’s wound.
His weak fingers found his dogtags, tugging them out of his shirt. An old silver ring, twisted and deformed from the decade of rubbing it whenever he was nervous, hung from it. He rubbed it again. Your initials intertwined with his had long since been rubbed off, but he could still convince himself he could feel the engraving even though he couldn’t see it. The last gift you gave him after he finished Basic. Before he broke your heart. Before he told you that he couldn’t do this, because he wanted to focus on his career. Wanted to focus on the military.
The last time he saw you was you standing there by the doors of the hall they held the graduation ceremony in, looking like a dream in that green dress he loved you in, tears trickling down your face as you tried not to break down completely.
He told himself he was doing the right thing. That one day, he would be good enough to come back to you. To have something to offer you. Instead, he was going to bleed out here. Never having gotten to apologize to you. Never having gotten to see you one more time.
“Captain,” Soap rasped, his other hand grabbing Price’s. “I need ye tae mak a caw for me.”
“What?” Price gruffed, hearing Ghost and Gaz finally making their way to them.
“I need ye tae mak a caw for me.”
“No, no you’ll be fine and you can make the call yourself.”
“Naw, naw whit if I Dinnae mak it? I hae tae tell her that I’m sorry, Captain. That I never stoppit lovin her. Please, Captain. Please. Afore I cannae open ma damn mooth,” Soap’s voice was nearly breaking. Spots dancing at the corners of his vision.
Price swallowed the lump in his throat, fishing out his phone. “What’s the number?”
Soap rattled it off as Ghost called for an extraction and a medic. Gaz was trying to help Price slow the blood. The dying Scot paid them no attention. He was praying to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore that you hadn’t changed your number in all these years.
“Hello?” your sweet voice chirped out curiously.
A sob nearly escaped his throat, but he choked it down. “Hen? Is that really you?”
The silence stretched so long that Soap was afraid you hung up. Then, the words came out confused. Hurt. Unsure. “Johnny, is that you?”
“Aye lass. Aye, it’s me. Please, dinnae hing up. Just let me hear yer voice.”
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Thinking about Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick being an absolute softie outside the military. That man will 100% cater to your every need whether it's making your morning coffee or knowing ̶t̶h̶e ̶p̶o̶s̶i̶t̶i̶o̶n ̶y̶o̶u ̶̶l̶̶i̶̶k̶e ̶t̶o ̶g̶e̶t ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶e̶d ̶t̶h̶e ̶b̶e̶s̶t
He'll wake up earlier than you just to make sure you get a proper breakfast unlike the black coffee & apple you feed yourself everyday before going to work. He's definitely a good cook, although not any Michelin five star dishes but that man knows what to feed his girlfriend.
Also when he's actively deployed the man will make sure his phone has automated messages, since he's a tech expert I best believe he'll make sure to prepare voice mails just in case you decide to call him mid ops.
Word Count: 81 (Yes I know she teeny just a scene that popped in my head lol)
You're at the bar, up on the stage doing karaoke
"BABY!"
Head thrown back
"Where the hell is my husband?"
Eyes closed as you continue to sing your heart out
"What is taking him so long?"
Hand coming to your chest dramatically
"To find me-e-e."
You now lean forward, hand flying from your chest as you belt out
"OH BABY!!"
Ghost, your husband of many years, shakes his head while watching your theatrics from the crowd. Still amused at your flamboyancy.
A/N: Firstly, as always thank you for reading my fics and putting up with my terrible spelling/grammar. I know it's a teeny fic. This is just something that popped up in my head and I felt the need to share.
Knight!Ghost making his squire, you, suck his cock in exchange for keeping your identity a secret.
Your knees ache from the hard ground, but this is the first time today that you aren’t forced to stand. Simon has taken to smacking you on the head or wrenching your shoulder back when he finds you stalling along his cock. There’s a trail of bruises along your right arm from his thick hands. Now, those same hands are tracing the shell of your ear and along your nape, as he grunts and sighs under your ministrations.
“Never had a noble lady,” he says in between heavy breaths that hit your scalp like fire.
If your mouth wasn’t otherwise busy, you might tell him that he still doesn’t “have” a noble lady. You are just a squire, one who still fumbles with the straps of his breastplate every morning. As if reading your thoughts, Ghost tugs you further along his cock, until your nose just about hits the thatch of curly blonde hairs along his pelvis. You whimper, a rivulet of drool escaping down your chin.
It’s not as if your education on the matter has been comprehensive, but you now believe the pain that your maids whispered about. The damn thing feels like it’s in your chest. Your legs tremble as you imagine him trying to fit it between your legs.
But you won’t find out. You won’t. Come morning, you will work twice as hard at your duties, and the infamous Ghost will tire of your company, or, with better luck, forget about this night entirely.
You make the mistake of looking up at him, only to find that his eyes have never left you. He’s hunched over, his right cheekbone still swollen from a brawl this morning. His pupils have almost completely swallowed the iris, leaving a sliver the color of deer-hide. Something ignites in your stomach.
“Should’ve known just by your mouth.”
You drop your gaze, but he grips your nape fiercely, forcing you to look at him.
“Such a pretty thing. Made for teacakes and prayer, I bet.”
His free hand tracing the river of saliva along your chin.
“Or stolen kisses -ah- from some spoiled princeling?”
You whine, the reverberations of which cause him to let out a growl that trickles down your spine. As he rocks you back and forth on his length, your hands tear at the seams of his breeches. The warmth in your stomach and below becomes unbearable.
He catches you rubbing your thighs together and chuckles, “I’ll take your prayers from now on.”
Your mouth tightens around him. Instinctively, your tongue brushes against a vein on the underside of his length. The sound that echoes in your ears is depraved, like an animal dying. Heat fills your mouth. The taste is bitter, but the hand on your nape tightens, keeping you where you are.
It is a few seconds before you swallow, heat searing your gullet. He is apparently satisfied by this. He releases your neck and you fall backwards on the dirt floor.
“Miserable little attempt, I’ll give you that.”
The words itch at your chest. You forget yourself enough to fix him a glare. Normally, he’d grab your shoulder for that. He doesn’t this time. His eyes gleam.
“Another lesson I’ve been remiss in. We’ll get you trained proper soon enough.”
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You recently learned that roses are England's national flower, but what you did know is that different colours of roses have different meanings. White roses, for instance, represent innocence and spirituality. No wonder why you haven't gotten those in years. The red rose Ghost handed you yesterday sits in a glass filled with water on your windowsill. You doubt that he knows that red roses stand for love and passion. If he were to find out you're sure that he would hurl it out of the window, glass and all. You don't know if you should find that amusing or depressing. Perhaps you should tell him, just to see his reaction. Despite his best efforts to send the paparazzi wild with gossip for the next week about the rose in your window. No one has seemed to notice. Not that you are complaining. The paparazzi have moved on from Grace and have instead fixed their eyes on another one of your cousins. They are speculating whether or not he is suffering from a drug addiction. You can confidently say that he most certainly is. You would like to believe that he is smart enough to not get caught. But unfortunately for all of you, James is not. You once saw him snorting a line of, what you can only assume was cocaine, off the top of a bench in a public park. If anything you are surprised that the paparazzi haven't caught on sooner.
However, if there is something that you should know about your aunt and her husband it is that they are freakishly good at covering up mishaps. And when you say "freakishly good", you mean it. They have managed to keep the addictions and scandals produced by their three out of four children under wraps for many years now. You only know about them because, well, their mother is your mother's sister after all. Like every relationship between siblings, you assume anyway since you wouldn't know, has it's ups and downs. A couple of years ago it was quite strained. It was around the time when Grace outed your secrets to the press. Your mum was furious with her which is understandable but Grace's mother defended her. You really can't blame her. Even at that age Grace was more, well, graceful than her siblings. They got into trouble even at that age. So obviously Mary, your aunt, could not believe that her sweet child Grace had done such a thing. Eventually the conflict settled and they forgot about it, more or less. Because if you are anything like your mother that conflict will never fully leave her head. It will always gnaw at the back of her mind any time her sister annoys her. But in all honesty, what do you know?
Rain hammers against the windows in the living room, creating dull taps against the glass. The room is cold despite the fact that it is summer. The stone walls do little to keep out the cold. It seeps in through every minuscule crack it can find. Whether it is in the stone itself or in between them does not matter, it is all the same to the cold air. It strives to chill anyone or anything in its path, which in this case is you. Goosebumps spread over your skin despite the sweater you're wearing. You desperately miss the warmth of your bed. But alas you must remain here. Queen's orders.
Everything in here is yellow. From the sofas and armchairs to the paintings on the walls. Everything except the carpet that is red with patterns stretching across it in all sorts of colours. From the roof hangs a massive chandler. It shouldn't be surprising. You are in the palace after all. Royalty are not exactly known for minimalism. The crystals in the chandler would refract the sunlight passing in through the window. Casting rainbows all over the room. If it was sunny, that is. But now in the rain the crystals, having no light to refract, they are simply dull shards. Clinking every once in a while when a small gust of wind sends them flying in to one another.
You brought a book, intending to read it. But never the less it lays discarded next to you on the sofa. You look to the golden rimmed clock on the wall. You have been staring of into space for the last thirty minutes. It is not surprising. Your best guess is that Gaz who is standing against the wall behind you have done the same. Ghost would not have done the same. No, he would have been watching you like a hawk. Trying to see if he could sense what you were thinking. Trying to decipher your way of thinking, your being and your mind. You wouldn't even try to stop him. You don't think you would be able to even if you wanted to. He has a way of getting under your skin. Not just in the sense of being irritating. He slithers in under your skin like a parasite. You have no idea he's in there. Not until it's too late. Not until he is so deeply lodged that it is impossible to get him out. Wrapped around your vital organs so tightly that any attempt to get him out would result in fatal injuries. So he stays put. Making your skin tight, suffocating you from the inside, and the only thing you can do is let it happen. Completely and utterly powerless. It seems like you are the only one who feels it. The only one who feels unsettled by his gaze. But you have seen the other side of it too. The side with warmth in his eyes and a smile on his face. You don't know which side is his real one. If there even is a real side. Perhaps both of them fit somewhere within him. You'll probably never know. You're not sure you want to know.
As if your thoughts summoned him the door behind you opens. You are sure it is him. The footsteps against the wooden floor and then the carpet to silent to be anyone else. You remain seated. If it were your mother her flats, despite the rather soft sole, would make sharp thuds against the floor. She always walks with determination and it shines through in the sound of her footsteps. So the only person it could be, is Ghost. Price stomps to much, despite being a soldier. Or perhaps having been a soldier. They are bodyguards nowadays.
"The Queen wishes to speak to you," Ghost announces from behind you. You stand from the sofa and turn towards him. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his balaclava clad face. One would think that you would be used to it by now. He has been your bodyguard for at least a month now. But alas, you are not. His brown eyes pierce your instantly. He stands there, unmoving. Legs shoulder width apart. Arms by his sides, but not relaxed. As tense as ever. You nod and move towards the open door. His eyes follow you all the way to the door, up until you turn around and shut the door behind you.
Your mothers office is a mix of dark browns and reds. The mahogany desk fitting perfectly in with the rest of the puzzle. So does your mother. Her dark brown hair almost identical to the wood panels on the walls. Her burgundy dress tying everything together. She looks up at you as you pull the door shut. Smiling in the way that is reserved for you and your father. The smile when she is your, and not The Queen of England. You take a seat on one of the two chairs in front of her desk. The left one, to be precise. Price stands towards the right corner of the room. Ever alert and observant. His hands crossed in front of him. His blue eyes focused on you. His beard curved in a smile. You smile back.
"About Saturday..." Your mother begins, her voice calm and steady.
"I don't want to talk about it," You interrupt. You can feel Price itching to but in with something along the lines of "It's good to talk about it, you need and outlet, yada, yada". But your mother doesn't push it. Saturday would be an uncomfortable conversation to have. For more than one reason. You would not like to admit to spending half of your night feet to feet with your bodyguard. Being carried to bed by him. You'd prefer to be spared from the lecture that would follow that conversation. You have heard enough about romantic involvement with ones bodyguard to last a lifetime. Not that whatever you are doing is romantic, of course. You and Ghost's relationship might not be strictly professional, but it is not romantic. Besides, wouldn't it aid his job? Knowing things about you. Not everything can be read in a file. You assume that is the case anyway.
"We still need to go over some things," your mother replies. You nod.
"I want to make it absolutely clear that the Baker family won't be invited here again under any circumstances," she continues. Her eyes on yours. You nod again. That's apparently all you can do today.
"The President on the other hand." She begins."Will have to be back. Our countries are in an agreement which is vital for the safety of both of us. The current unstable state of the world requires both strong connections and strong allies. I hope you understand."
"I do," You reply. You may not be queen, but you don't have to be a genius to understand that this was not a large sacrifice to make. Come on, it's a bruised hand, not nuclear weapons. In the end you are only the faces of the country, not the actual decision-makers. And honestly, thank god for that. Imagine your cousins having to make life and death decisions affecting millions of people. That would be the reason for World War 3 breaking out.
"Is there anything else you wish to speak to me about," your mother asks. You don't know if that is because she knows something about Saturday evening you haven't told her, or if she is just being polite. You shake your head none the less. She smiles again and you stand up to leave.
"Hey, Sweetheart!" You turn around halfway to the door.
"I love you," your mum continues.
"I love you too," You reply and walk out the door.
Gaz disappeared from his spot against the wall sometime during your short conversation. No doubt temporarily released from his duties by Ghost whom, rather surprisingly, sits on the sofa. He sits opposite to where you sat. His head angled downwards in front of him. He doesn't rise when you enter. Apparently today is a day of surprises.
"You're getting sloppy," you say as you sit down on the sofa, crossing your legs and arms. Ghost glances up at you. Shifting his focus from your book, 1984 by George Orwell to be precise, which he holds in his hands.
"An interesting read," he replies. Ignoring your comment, not that you're surprised.
"I'd argue that it's a well suited read, given the circumstances." He nods and puts it aside. His eyes lingering just a second longer on the cover.
• • •
Your arms shake beneath you. Elbows digging in to the yoga mat, and in turn the rock-hard floor, making them ache. The timer on your phone chimes and you flop on to the floor. It feels like ages since you last worked out. It was ages since you last worked out. You prefer to train undisturbed in your backyard. Going on runs through the woods, and going for a swim in the cold lake. Your private security just securing the perimeter, occasionally walking through the house but most likely just walking around it. Keeping their eyes and ears out for any intruders. What they do not do is watch and follow your every move. Constantly shadowing you. Your own personal stalkers.
Your phone buzzes next to you. Eddies name flashing on the screen. You sit up and open her message.
"Want to add some fire to your late teenage rebellion?" Her message reads.
"What do you have in mind?" You text back.
"Seeing as I'm in town and you seem to be in desperate need of some time away from the palace...A girls night at the pub! Does 9:00 sound good?" She replies. You stare at it. Sneaking out is not the safest move. If your mother were to find out she would be furious. But you could really use a break from the palace. Well, not the palace itself. More so its prying eyes and constant surveillance. The constant presence of another person who watches and judges and reports every word, every motion, every step you take and where you take it.
"Okay. I'll be there." you hit send.
Two knocks raps against your door. You switch your phone off before you have time to think and call out:
"Come in!"
The door creaks open behind you. You turn around to the thuds of boots against the hard floor. It is none other than your personal stalker, Ghost. You don't know who else you would be expecting. His brown eyes quickly moves over everything in your room. From your bed on the left to the sofas on the right. Always searching and securing everything. No matter how many times he steps foot in a room. Then they settle on you. Your light blue leggings and t-shirt suddenly feels a lot tighter.
"Dinner will be served in 30 minutes. Your presence is expected," he states looking down at you on the floor.
"Okay." You pause for a second."Will my mum be there," you ask. You have had one too many awkwardly silent dinners with just you and your father, and your bodyguards of course. You're not sure you can stand another one.
"Unless World War 3 breaks out in the next thirty minutes, yes," he replies. His awful attempt at a joke still manages to get a snort out of you.
More roommate dynamic with Simon but he walks in on you and Soap (gasp)
Part 1 blurb
-
“Ye sure he ain’t gonna be home till later?”
“Yes Johnny, do you wanna read the text again?” You giggle into the kiss when he presses his lips against yours and grab onto his collar, dragging him down the hall into your room. You nudge the door shut with your hip and now it was his turn to paw at you, grabbing fistfuls of cotton as he pulls your shirt off and lets you push him backwards onto the bed.
You straddle his lap and kiss him again, pulling a low growl out of his throat when you tug at his now messy mohawk. His hands run up your back, fingers slipping underneath your bra straps allowing him to push them off your shoulders. You were both too occupied to hear the front door open or hear Simon’s heavy footsteps coming closer down the hall.
“Oi do y’wanna go to-“ he swings the door open and all three of you freeze. Simon stares at you and Soap, and you stare right back. “What the fuck is going on?”
You fix your bra and scramble to get your shirt back on, quickly getting off of Soap. “I thought you were gonna be home late?”
“Change of plans.” His eyes flicker from you and over to Soap who was still on the bed and he steps into the room, getting more angry than he already was when Soap stifles a laugh. He grabs the man by the arm and drags him out until they’re out on the porch.
“What the fuck, Soap?” He whisper yells, glancing inside to make sure you weren’t listening.
“What? She’s the one who called me, who am I deny tha’ little bird of yers?”
Simon sighs, dragging his hands down his face. “That’s not th’point, she’s my roommate. Y’can’t just do that.”
Soap just shrugs and opens the door to go back inside. “She’s a grown woman, lass can decide for herself.” He leaves Simon on the porch as he disappears back into your room. A few moments later, he walks back out with his keys and punches Simon’s arm lightly as a farewell.
Simon goes back inside and you’re in the kitchen watching him like you’d just committed some sort of crime for trying to get with his friend. But Simon didn’t look mad, just conflicted. He paces around the living room, stopping to look at you a couple times before shaking his head and pacing again. It was making you restless, teeth gnawing at your lower lip.
“Spit it out, Si.”
“It should be me, not him.” He blurts out, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “I mean think about it, we’ve been living together for over a year now, we pretty much know everything about each other, we just…” he pauses and vaguely motions between the two of you. “Work.”
You stare at him, absolutely gutted at his whole spiel. “Simon,” you sigh deeply and put your hands over your cheeks. “I don’t- oh Si, I don’t see you that way.”
You see the light in his eyes dim and he looks back at you like a kid who just got his candy smashed in front of him. He mumbles out a quiet ‘oh’ and nods slowly before retreating to his room. You stand in the kitchen feeling a terrible weight on your chest, almost tearing up not because you rejected him but because of the look on his face when you did.
In his room, Simon’s sitting on the bed deep in thought. Could he win you over? Probably not, if he couldn’t do it thus far. Should he tell Soap to ghost you and keep you away from him? No, that would be too mean. So he had no choice but to just wait it out.
Wait it out as he saw Soap’s car in the driveway every weekend. Wait it out when you told him you’d be gone for a week because you were going to Scotland. Wait it out when you started coming to pub nights only to hook yourself onto Soap’s arm and go home with him instead. Simon was miserable, watching the woman he spent so much time with and spent so much time thinking about fawning over his best mate.
Soap didn’t know about Simon’s feelings toward you, Simon would rather die than tell him. He just had to wait and watch as weeks turned to months and then you moved out and those months turned to years. Wait and watch as Soap pulled out a velvet box from his pocket to show the team what he was proposing with.
Wait and watch as he stood beside Soap and you came down the aisle looking more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. His heart broke a little more every time he saw you but if it wasn’t gonna be him, at least it was Johnny.
