more of @mizushibart ’s au bc im having fun

You don’t tell the boys when you start dating. The fear of being endlessly teased at dating a citizen. But you needed something, someone, to get away from all the guns and violence for a while.

The first date is a flop. A guy who was up his own ass and thought he was the best thing in the world.

The second went a bit better. The guy was interested but there just wasn’t a spark there for you.

The third guy had you thinking this whole internet dating thing was worth it. He said the right things; complimented your hair, was interested in your life and job.

Then things started to get weird. He was too nice. You just got that vibe.

Then. A sip of your drink.

Funny. You hadn’t remembered drinking that much. The room started to spin. His hand grabbed onto your slightly tighter. “How about we get out of here, huh?”

Danger.

“I-uh. Let me go to the bathroom first.”

“Alright gorgeous. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Fuck. You were trapped. Like a deer in the headlights.

You stumbled your way to the bathroom. The walls were spinning. You locked the bathroom door and stared at yourself in the mirror…only there were three of you.

Cold water did nothing until BANG. The door rattled. “Let me in sweetheart.”

Shrinking into the corner you pull out your phone. You weren’t sure who’s name you clicked on, the screen blurring too much.

“Hello?” Price’s voice swam in and out of your mind. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it.

“I-I need help.”

He’d waste no time, out the door and in his truck before he could even ask you for your location.

When he got there, heaven help the man who dared hurt one of his team

Only for Ghost to show up as your buyer.

He stares down Price, annoyance abound on the parts of his face that are showing. He did, in fact, intend to kidnap you, but the captain’s gone and thrown a wrench in his plans.

Price is aware of Ghost’s intentions too. He turns a blind eye to the lieutenant’s unsavory activities because it doesn’t affect how he performs his job. But Price needs to make it clear that he can’t have this one.

Earlier, Price had insisted on pretending he’s your husband, so he slings his arm around you and tucks you against his chest.

“How much were you charging for this again, sweetheart? Forty quid? Better make it fifty.”

And that’s how Ghost leaves the meeting with an air fryer and no bird to go with it, fifty pounds poorer.

john likes to think he domesticated you, but it's really the other way around. you pout as you rub his shoulders and he does anything you ask. including semi retirement. it wasn't on the cards until you came along. you knew exactly what buttons to press to get anything you wanted from him.

simon saw the way johnny bent his knee to your every whim. called him a pathetic mutt when he saw him buried between your thighs. "not a pathetic mutt," you said, smoothing johnny's hair back. "just knows what's best for him."

simon rolled his eyes, but he found himself watching you and johnny more and more. a pretty smile, a batt of your eyelashes, and he was ready to fall at your feet, too.

kyle was the smart one of the group, clearly. he watched with an amused smile as you had everybody else dancing around you, doing anything you wanted. he wasn't going to break so easily.

he raised his eyebrow at you as john passed you a cup of tea. he kissed your head and sat down with the newspaper as johnny threw a blanket over you. simon hadn't made an appearance yet, but he'd be all over you once he did.

"enjoying yourself, sweet?" kyle asked, entirely too amused.

simon walked in just in time for you to pass your steaming cup of tea to him. he took it and took a sip (you enjoyed the same amount of sugar in your tea: entirely too much).

"maybe i am," you said as you sauntered over to kyle. slipping onto his lap, you wound your arms around his neck. "c'mon, kyle," you said with a pout, nails scratching against his scalp. "don't you think you'd be happier if you just gave in?"

"saying you don't like the challenge, hon?" he asked, hands on your hips.

"i love one." you went to kiss him, just about held back. torture for him, but kyle knew it was torture for you, too. he was willing to keep this up as long as you were. you may have domesticated the others, but kyle wasn't going to let you domesticate him.

Simon Riley who finds himself going out of his way to make sure he gets to at least have a glance of you, once a day, waiting around after handing in paperwork, knowing you'll walk by, heading on your lunch break.

Simon Riley who stares sharply out of his office at 6pm, watching as you get to your car in the car park and drive off.

Simon Riley who convinces himself that it's a protective thing. Like seeing something to weak that it can't fend for itself, and keeping an eye on it, whenever possible.

Simon Riley who ends up mentioning it to the therapist when coming back from an open and having to get cleared by medical. Explaining that the entire time he was on that mission, he thought of you, and your stupid face, and your stupid personality and your even stupider smile.

Simon Riley who only receives a shocked look from the therapist, which pisses him off, causing him to leave. But the therapist can't be blamed, I mean, come on, the Ghost? Having feelings for someone? Completely unheard of. Not that he had managed to even tell Ghost.

Simon Riley who keeps to himself over the next week or so (more so than usual), only to go out with his team to the pub at the end of the week and has to watch Soap painfully chat up some poor lass, trying to get her attention.

Simon Riley who has to hold back a scoff as he watches Soap vy for the lass, wanting her to at least glance in his direction so he could amp up the charm.

Simon Riley who damn near cracks his glass from sheer strength when he realises what's been happening to him

And you find out new little things about him to obsess over every other day, it seems. You sit perched on his lap one evening, studying the bump on his nose like it's fine art. You trace over it gently with a fingertip and ask him about how he got it, how bad the break hurt, if he sees himself without or without it when he pictures himself in his head.

"Don't waste time picturing this ugly mug at all when I could be thinking about you," he answers.

You laugh like it's a line, but he hopes you know it's the truth.

Sometimes it’s the veins in his arms — you learn them with that same soft touch, sliding slowly up his forearm and up to his bicep and back again. Sometimes it’s the freckles that dot his shoulders.

Other times you latch onto things he says, little turns of phrase or stories that slip out when he’s wrapped around you in bed on a lazy Sunday morning.

It makes him feel seen in a way that, at least at first, is a bit uncomfortable, especially as a man who has spent most of his life trying not to be perceived. When you look at him, sometimes it’s like you’re seeing straight through, cutting past the skin and the scars to the mess that lies beneath, and it’s unnerving. It’s unsettling, how much attention you pay to every last bit of him.

But as time goes on, he comes to crave it.

Because he sees you, too.

He sees the subtle little smile when you learn something new about him, and that faint haze over your eyes when your fingers go over him, cataloging every curve and every dip. The admiration in your expression is clear, every single time, and it breaks something inside him and builds him back up all at once.

How perfectly your hand slots in his, with no care as you laugh loudly (and proudly) to something he'd said.

That you don't stutter, hesitate, second guess even for moment when you're saying with a smile that melts his heart, “He's my boyfriend.”

You who tell him how ‘sexy’ he is, how you touch his scars and name them constellations.

How his acne aren't ugly to you but something you take care—talking to a dermatologist friend, who's a friend of a friend, and again easy confession, “Yeah my boyfriend has them... forehead, tell something in my budget...uh, uh, what's the spelling again?”

You who listen to him talk about various parts of bike, because he doesn't know poetry or Shakespeare.

Everyone who you care about knows his name, knows he's your man. They call him when you don't pick up, busy following a recipe step by step.

Because everyone knows it's him you have chosen.

Him.

Before he knows it, you've rearranged half of the living room and are drilling a mount into the wall for the new TV. If he wasn't going to do it, than you would.