၄၃ DAN ၄၃

John Price never thought he could develop or discover a new kink at his age, however, life and you took it upon themselves to show him that he was wrong...

It all started because you had stopped hiding most of the time and he loved it, despite the meanness and cruel words that sometimes slipped out and the questionable or downright terrible actions you did, it actually amused him a little. He was madly in love with you. And with all his free time, one of the ways he showed it was by fixing up the house you two lived in and assembling things you asked him to even if he knew you would use those things at your next crime scene, that's how, by chance, the neighbor next door started chatting with him. The woman was a single mother, and when John saw her struggling with her poorly fitted door, he offered to fix the frame and the door quickly.

Fixing her door turned into helping her with the window that wouldn't close in the nursery, then the sink, then a swing set she couldn't put together...

“Do you want me to gouge your eyes out, bitch?”

John looked up from his work on the swing to look at your face. You never openly insulted anyone; that wasn't your usual strategy. The neighbor looked surprised because she was used to your cute and charming demeanor.

“What?”

“You heard me right, why are you taking up my man's time at your house?”

“John is just being nice...”

John, in question, was staring at you, confused because you didn't lose control, you didn't let your mask to slip like that, the darkness in your eyes was obvious, violent, and if looks could kill she would be tortured and dead now.

“You couldn't stay with either of your children's fathers, and you're not going to stay with my man either, bitch” You took a step closer and John finally noticed that in the hand behind your back you had one of those self-defense knives he gave you when he thought you were harmless and now you were planning to use it against the woman in the middle of the street.

“Princess” almost ran and grabbed your arm tight while subtly disarming you. “I'm sorry, love, let's go home, okay?”

John dragged you inside the house without looking at the woman, but you did speak.

“If I see you even looking at him, I'll gouge your eyes out, you slippery bitch!”

John closed the door and stood in front of the wood to block your way. You punched him in the chest, and before John could tell you to calm down, you were pointing a knife at his eye—he didn't know where you got another one—.

“Maybe I should gouge out your eyes, they're the most beautiful thing about you, no bitch will like you if you're blind” The air left John's lungs; technically he could have pushed you because he's a trained soldier and a man, you were ridiculously weak in comparison, yet he didn't move. “Or perhaps I should cut out your tongue, so you won't be able to speak to anyone anymore.”

You lowered the knife near his lips, and you were obviously at your most frantic and unstable moment, and maybe that shouldn't have seemed so hot to him, but it did...

“Or I'll cut off your fingers, so you can't help anyone, but I'll keep them, because they're mine, I love feeling them inside...”

“Princess...”

He swallowed audibly, though not with fear. The heat and his blood traveled directly downwards while you moved closer and pressed the knife against his neck.

“Or maybe I should just kill you... You think I can't, John? That's why you're acting so stupid? Talking to that bitch who clearly wants you for herself...” The pressure from the knife made a small, superficial cut as you said “I'll kill you, John. I'll do it slowly, and I'm going to skin you to keep it because it belongs to me, and who knows, maybe I'll eat the rest just because it's you... ”

He definitely shouldn't have been this hard, but he was. John couldn't help but raise his hand to your face and caress your cheek, marveling, breathless, and incredibly aroused.

“Let me redeem myself, princess…” He whispered longingly, his other hand sliding down towards your waist. “And kill me if I don't convince you...”

“Get started, John”

Just thinking about single mother!reader with a child on the autism spectrum and their neighbor Simon Ghost Riley, the big, scary man who lives next door and wears a skeleton balaclava and has a sleeve tattoo that includes many skulls and who of course was your daughter's new favorite person, the man didn't talk much and barely looked at her, although he listened to her, of course she adored him.

“The skull of most adults is composed of 22 bones fused by cranial sutures and is divided into the neurocranium and the viscerocranium.”

You were just listening while gardening, your daughter was sitting on the neighbor's porch, he was drinking tea and your daughter had her own little cup because apparently Simon's tea tastes better than yours and his cups don't feel awful in her hands.

“Elaborate it”

He sounded genuinely interested even though he only said two words; you had learned that they had apparently created a mutual understanding.

“The neurocranium region protects the brain, and the viscerocranium region forms the face and..."

God, the man had even installed (on his porch) a thing that resembled a sensory swing; she could spin around in it drinking tea and talking to Simon for hours about skulls and bones and tissues of the human body because that was your daughter's specific interest.

He was absolutely sweet, and every time you thanked him for being kind to her, he would just shrug and say: "I've met a lot of idiots, finally someone with a brain is refreshing."

That was their little routine, and eventually, when you ran out of the gardening excuse, you joined them to drink tea and listen to scientific facts about human bodies that your daughter learned and Simon's occasional contribution.

English isn't my first language, and the Scottish accent is even harder for me, sorry if there are any mistakes.

John MacTavish was part of the crew of the fearsome pirate John Price. He's one of the youngest members, but he had earned his place with his skill in improving cannons and his particular talent for finding the best hidden treasures.

Everyone thought he was crazy, but he was fine. Who on board wasn't?

What did it matter if the man had a kind of hammock hanging from the mast and could lower himself down using ropes to get closer to the water, as long as he didn't drown or brake his skull on the bow, everything would be fine, besides, every now and then he'd come back with some new mental map of where to go, and there was always gold in that direction, so everyone would turn around when they saw him swinging on the mast to get down.

Nobody knew that John MacTavish wasn't crazy, and that you were the one guiding him to the gold.

“Ye're shining today, bonnie” He told you with a smile as you swam around him “What did ye dae to yerself? Ye shine as bright as a star”

He could see you were just playing the pretty girl while you swam around him; not that you needed to, you were so beautiful it was suffocating. You were a mermaid, after all.

“Oh, I see it now, ye're wearing the necklace I gave ye.”

Johnny stretched out his hand and you finally came closer; he was able to touch your neck adorned with one of the gold necklaces from the last loot. You loved shiny things and he shared at least one with you each time; after all, you were the one who told him where to go.

"It's a special day and I didnae even know? I would have showered for ye, bonnie."

You moved even closer, touching his lips with yours. A deep, slow kiss that made John relax, while at the same time a feeling of finality overwhelmed him, as if it were about to end, as if he no longer had time. He pulled away from your kiss and looked into your eyes, you couldn't speak, because your voice might enchant John and make him drown; he had never heard your voice, but your kisses always tasted of something, this one tasted of goodbye.

“Are ye leaving me, bonnie?”

You shook your head, one of your finned hands went to his cheek.

“So my time has come?” he asked, and your nod was slight, but final.. “Oh, a didnae say goodbye to Cap, or to Ghost...”

The look you gave him was a little sad, but John smiled; he knew this was to be expected, he knew it ever since he decided to save your life in his village by killing the man who tried to impale you. You took care of him, you let him live, just as he did for you, but mermaids are predators at the end of the day, your love and care could not come without the hunger for him and a part of John liked the idea; he always liked the certainty that he would leave this life in your hands, and that you would eat his flesh, use his bones to adorn yourself, and a part of him would always live in you.

“Am sure they can live without ma goodbye.” He said casually. “But I want tae hear yer voice before, bonnie.”

John moved willingly into the water with you, placing his hands on your waist. He didn't make the effort to swim because you would hold him.

"Am ready” He whispered against your lips, gazing calmly into your eyes; there was no fear, only genuine, wholehearted surrender.

“I love you, Johnny”

Kyle Garrick always had a crush on you. Since you two were together in high school—not that he openly expressed it back then—he certainly wasn't the popular guy you had your eye on. And then he enlisted and you went on with your life, but deep down he always thought about you because you had left a mark on his mind and heart.

So when you both happened to meet while visiting your mothers (because your childhood homes were relatively close), Kyle didn't miss the opportunity to invite you for a drink. That turned into a coffee the next day and then going to a pub and it became almost a daily occurrence until you fell into being friends with benefits.

“When do you have to go?” You asked him while he ran his fingers along your bare spine.

"Don't know”

“I’m leaving next week… I’m going back to my travels, you know, I don’t like to stay put.”

“I know, you were always so free…”

He said it with a smile, but inside he was burning. He hated your freedom because that's what had left him behind in high school, and that's what was going to make you leave him behind again...

“Where will you go?”

“Australia, probably.”

Of course, of course you were going to choose the furthest place you could from this small city... Kyle's chest ached, but he was hiding it, his mind racing through all his options.

"Can't you stay a little longer?"

His question hung between you for a second, while you turned in bed to look at him and caressed his face with a soft smile as you shook your head.

“I've already stayed longer than I originally planned, I can't delay it."

"Okay, then we should properly say goodbye this week..." After his declaration, he kissed you and started another round.

For the next seven days, Kyle made it his mission to see you every day and devour you under the guise of saying goodbye and that you might never meet again... But beneath all that passion, he was a man with a real mission. You had told him you weren't on birth control, and he made sure that all the condoms you used that week were either punctured or slightly torn.

He said goodbye to you like a good friend at the airport and let you go to Australia. Three months later, when his mother gave him your number because you had apparently called her house because you had lost Kyle's number, he could taste victory.

“Kyle, I’m pregnant and it's yours, I'm sure.”

Intro — P1

W: mention of torture, violence, underage drinking.

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

He couldn't approach you; it was an unspoken order which he had been fulfilling for several days. Laswell was trying to extract information from you using a less violent method than Price, but Ghost knew you wouldn't talk. And Laswell also seemed to notice when she approached him during his smoking break.

"What d' you know about her?"

“She was MIA”

“You’re not stupid, Ghost.” Laswell gave him a sharp look because he clearly avoided answering.

“I didn't know she was with them. I looked for her, but there were only faint traces: at a train station, in the mountains, at an airport. I never found her... And she never contacted me either.”

They fell silent, and Ghost hoped the pain didn't creep into his words, because it hurt that you hadn't returned to him, it hurt that he hadn't found you sooner, before things got to this point where you're with the enemy and he's here, watching as his own mates want to tear you apart, as if you weren't everything to him.

“Do you think she’ll talk to you?”

Ghost looked at Laswell and there was a lump in his throat, he didn't want to be asked to hurt you, seeing you hurt was already enough.

“Negative”

“You’re going to talk to her” Laswell decided because that's how that woman was.

“Cap doesn't want me near her.”

“I don't see John around here, and Gaz is with him; they'll be back in a few days.”  Laswell placed the keys to your door in Ghost's hand. "You're not stupid, so don't do anything foolish, but talk to her."

She walked away, leaving the keys in his hand, and Ghost couldn't stop staring at them. Part of him wanted to tell her she couldn't trust him, not when it came to you, but he wanted to see you, he wanted answers, because the questions and his own assumptions were killing him.

He was soon at the door and opened it, though he hesitated for only a moment. Breathing deeply, his mask concealing his face and reactions, he entered into a silent room. And he looked at you properly for the first time in years; you were there tied to the chair and beaten. He vaguely remembered what you looked like the day he shot you in the leg himself, after Johnny's death, you had lost color, but not the fierceness in your eyes.

"It's your fault I'm here, good shot by the way, it hurt like hell."

You spoke first and something inside him sank; he had avoided thinking about the fact that he shot you, that he hurt you, about the possible consequences of that.

"With that aim, you could have shot my boss instead of me, bastard."

Something was pressing on his ribs and chest and he didn't even know what to say. It was true, he could have shot Makarov that day, but he wanted to stop you, he wanted you back.

“I wanted to stop you”

He told the truth and moved until his back was to the one-way mirror, but still within your field of vision. He said your real name, but you looked indifferent; you'd probably already noticed that they had information about you, so Ghost tried something different.

“Luv, I need ya to tell me what happened…”

He could see the slight recognition in your eyes and your brow furrowed a little, but instead of reacting like you had in the past, you stared at him and said.

“What? Hitting me didn't work, nor did that woman, so now you're going to manipulate me with kindness?” You snorted mockingly, “It's no surprise you guys always fail, you're fucking predictable.”

“I don’t want to manipulate you, I want to understand…”

“Fucking predictable, like I said”

“I’m not lying, I’m not going to ask you about Makarov, don’t tell me anything about that if you don’t want to. I want to understand what happened to you, luv...”

“Stop calling me that”

"Not until you tell me. I need to understand this, luv."

You shook your head and looked away from him, you seemed frustrated, annoyed by something he didn't quite understand. No matter how many times he kept asking, you just shut down completely, staring at a point on the wall and nothing else.

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋Yesterday﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

You two had been playing, the snow had left a thick layer and you had a board to slide down that you had just stolen from one of the neighbors. You had been sharing a bottle of liquor that you took from home, so both of you had red cheeks from the cold and the alcohol.

“Push me properly, Simon!”

“I’m pushing you properly.” He defended himself, but it wasn’t true; he wasn’t using his full strength.

“"You push like a girl! Even I push harder than you!"

He rolled his eyes, and of course he didn't like you calling him weak.

“Do you want me to push you hard? Fine, but don't cry afterwards.”

Simon didn't wait and pushed you down the small hill with all his might. You laughed heartily as you slid down the slope, but when you tried to stop, you couldn't. He had to watch almost in slow motion as you lost your balance, rolled awkwardly, and crashed headfirst into the trees.

“Bloody hell, luv!” He ran towards you and suddenly he no longer felt drunk, he was terrified. “Luv, are you okay? Luv, hey, look at me.”

You opened your eyes, disoriented for a second, and then you laughed.

“What did you call me?” He still seemed worried, but you were laughing a little, giddy. "Did you call me luv?"

"Are ya daft? You just hit your head, stop laughing!"

“You called me luv, I heard you.” You still had a giddy smile on your face and Simon was panicking, he didn't know if it was because of the accident or because you were teasing him about the affectionate nickname he had suddenly given you.

“Stop”

“Luv. You have to say it.”

And after that day, the nickname just went back and forth between you, first as a joke and then as something real...

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

He was staying at his Captain's house because, by John Price's standards, his flat was an infection hazard and he wasn't going to leave him there after surgery, and to be honest, he had a point, and Simon knew it; his flat was a dump, it's what you get when you're legally dead and don't have ID for a room contract. Not exactly a place to recover after you've been pierced with a rod and had your intestines stitched up.

But it still sounded more tempting to be healing alone in his flat from time to time. The first few weeks he was fine, getting used to you was easy, you were sweet and gentle and all you wanted was to take care of him. Besides, you constantly used that tone that made Simon's head fill with cotton every now and then, and that made him obey you and rest properly as you wanted him to do.

Simon had observed everything about you, how your lips curved when you were satisfied, how your eyebrows moved and your nose wrinkled slightly when something wasn't going your way, how good you looked in the mornings, in your old pajamas stained with paint and your hair in a cap to keep it from getting frizzy. At times, he almost felt you were his, tempted to kiss you, to take your hand, or to slip in beside you on the sofa and lean against you to sleep a little while you read...

But John Price returned from base and managed to shatter that false illusion he had created for himself. And it hurt, because you loved each other so much, it was obvious, it overflowed, and Simon felt almost suffocated. He had to constantly look away and go to the guest room because, besides the love between you two, there was desire; If it wasn't John with his hands groping your thighs or tits randomly, then it was you who gave him that kind of look that made both of you disappear into the room for a while.

It was suffocating, and all of this was pushing Simon into a downward spiral because it hurt to see something so perfect that wasn't his, but he was happy for the two of you; he never wished you to be separated.

“Is something wrong, Simon?” You pulled him from his thoughts, sitting down beside him on the long garden swing chair, he had been reading on autopilot for a while because he knew you two were inside the room.

“Negative”

“Are you sure, darling?”

Your voice was soft, and your hand guided him to lower the book so he could look at you. He felt a lump in his throat as his eyes met yours; there was so much he wanted to say, and he didn't know how to let it out. He shouldn't say it in the first place, because you would hate him, Price and you would hate him if you knew everything that happens to him.

Whatever you saw in his eyes made you smile gently, and you let it be, your hands gently taking the book away from his.

“D' you want me to read it to you?”

It's another fragment of this

Once John Price thought about the real you, it was hard to stop seeing hints which he previously ignored, but you were still his love, his princess, the one who accepted with a smile to host a dinner for John's former teammates who were free for a while.

And everything was perfect, you had insisted on cooking and setting the table and everything was perfect in John's eyes, Soap and Gaz joked that the old man hit the jackpot with you: young, successful, and a good cook to boot. But Ghost, John noticed that Simon Riley was bothering you deeply, without doing anything out of the ordinary for him, just the occasional dry comment that could be a joke or an attack, but you remained as you always were, pleasant and smiling, even though John could see the darkness forming in your eyes when you looked at Ghost.

When everyone had left and it was just the two of you cleaning the table, John tested the waters.

"And what did ya think of the lads?"

“They're nice, now I see why you appreciate them so much”

Your answer was correct, and John almost smiled and was satisfied with that, but he thought about the look you gave Ghost. He had investigated your past victims; none of them were related, but there were two he saw interacting with you, and you gave them that exact same look. It wasn't that the man was helpless or easy prey, but John didn't want him hurt, or you if you failed, because it was a possibility when your target was the damn Simon "Ghost" Riley.

"And what about Ghost?" You tilted your head as if you didn't know what he was talking about. John was forced to add a; “For many, Ghost is difficult to tolerate at first.”

“I wonder why...” your words sounded sarcastic, and John let a puffed-out smile escape his lips. “He’s your favorite”

John kept smiling but shook his head. “I don’t have favorites, princess.”

"Of course” You rolled your eyes and John tilted his head. Was that the reason for your dislike of Simon?

“I mean it, It's just that I've worked more years with Ghost, we went through some tough times together"

You just hummed, but John could see it now, see how your jaw clenched and your gaze turned cold, not annoyed, cold. The same look he had had to put on many times to make difficult decisions on missions, the difference was that for you it wasn't difficult, that was you, the rawest you.

“Princess, you can't do that...”

“What do you mean?” Your curious and relaxed voice did not match what John could see.

“You can't kill him.”

The silence tightened for a moment and you looked at him. John could almost hear how fast your mind was racing before you laughed, a high-pitched, amused laugh, as if you'd just heard the biggest load of nonsense.

“What are you talking about, love? Killing him? Isn't it a bit of an exaggeration? Did you see me? I can't even lift your weights, how am I supposed to kill anything?.”

John didn't laugh and stared at you, long enough for you to stop laughing and smiling, you were pretending to be confused, but John could see that you weren't feeling so in control anymore. The mask you wore all the time was wobbling.

“You can stop acting, princess.”

It only took a moment after he told you that, and you clearly realized he knew. Your face went from feigned confusion to a completely neutral expression, and your gaze was cold and fixed on John's eyes.

“So you know...” You didn't seem surprised, but your gaze didn't look as dangerous as the one you gave Ghost a while ago. “What are ya gonna do, John?”

He knew you were quickly calculating your chances an possibilities, so he left no room for doubt.

“I'm asking you not to kill Simon. Not Kyle or Johnny... I don't care about other people”

“You don’t care?” You tilted your head and John remained completely calm even as you approached; he wasn’t afraid of you, and there was still love and patience in his gaze. “I thought you were a hero, you did so much to help people before...”

“It was my job and this is different”

"How different?"

“It’s you, and you don’t kill en masse or for control,” he clarified, and maybe it was messed up, but there was the line he had once drawn in his mind. “One or two people a month, what does it matter? As long as it's not the lads, I don't care what you do.”

John had his eyes on yours, so dark, but it was a relief to see them, to see you like this; this was also you, not just the charming, bright, and peculiar one.  He sensed your desire to go against him, the only limit he was setting for you, and you wanted to push past it, but something made you sigh in the end.

"Fine, I won't lay a finger on any of your lads..."

He smiled and took your chin between his fingers.

“Good girl, I knew we could be on the same page.”

“I deserve a reward”

John chuckled because you managed to sound both cheeky and dead serious at the same time. “Oh, of course, princess”

Intro post. W: mention of torture and violence, angst, mourning

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Your interrogations were something Ghost hadn't participated in; in fact, he hadn't really participated in much of anything lately. Sure, he'd been around, but just like he was at Johnny's funeral, empty, numb, confused, trying to push reality away a little longer, as if not looking at you and not looking at Johnny's coffin would make it less real. He hadn't died, and you hadn't betrayed anyone....

The problem with hiding was that it doesn't last, it never does. And so he sat in the room next to the room you'd been locked in, a one-way mirror separating you, and he was in a corner staring at Price since he was talking about the lack of information you provided no matter how much he pressured. Ghost didn't need to see you to know you were beaten, hurt. Price never stopped until he had his answers... Ghost always thought it was necessary, but you hurt his conscience in a way that no one else ever did.

“We can leave her, let her go and see what she does, she’ll go back to Makarov.”

Ghost suggested it, his voice gruff and calm as always, as if it didn't matter. Gaz was the one who looked at him first.

“She shouldn’t leave here alive.”

He had never wanted to punch his sergeant and friend face so badly, but he held back. Gaz only hated you because you were the closest thing to Makarov they had at the base, and Makarov had killed Soap...  And he didn't know you as Ghost, nobody here did, only he knew who you were, where you came from... Although he didn't know how you'd ended up in the wrong side and it hurt, distrusting you was strange but he had to do so.

"There's no point in letting her go. She won't go with Makarov if she knows it will screw him over; she seems loyal."

Price's words was the final ones. Ghost clenched his jaw because damn it, he had wanted them to let you go so he could catch you himself and get the truth out of you about what happened because he couldn't believe you were on that side and that you haven't returned to him for years.

"So what are we going to do?" Gaz was the one who asked, looking at his Captain as if waiting for an order or something.

“We’re going to make her talk, no matter what it takes...” Price's gruff voice had never made Ghost's stomach churn before, but that only got worse when he looked at him. "Want to do the honors, Ghost?"

He clenched his jaw and stared at the man. It was one thing for him to have let the interrogations happen while he walked away, but to do it himself? To you? Ghost wanted to throw up just thinking about it. Maybe you hadn't been back to him for years, maybe you betrayed him, but so what? He didn't want to pull your teeth or drown you in ice water for that... But it was his damn job, and you were on the opposite side; he wanted answers, but he didn't want to hurt you.

The door opened in an abrupt interruption that drew Price and Gaz's attention to the woman entering instead of Ghost, who had never taken so long to respond a command. Laswell was the one who entered and it was strange that she had gone there instead of a video call, but when she put some papers on the table in front of Price, Ghost understood why.

“I got some information about her. There's no record of her in any database other than the SAS one”

Laswell finished speaking and looked towards Ghost, her gaze steady and demanding as she raised an eyebrow with a silent question, and he knew why. His name was listed as an emergency contact on those papers; your name was no longer on his file because he couldn't list someone who was legally MIA, but his name was still on your file. When Price and Gaz got to that part of the information, they also looked at him, frowning in a way that said they didn't appreciate him keeping quiet about the fact that he knew you.

Now he had a lot to explain and he was just tired and fed up with it all. He never thought he'd feel like this when you came back to him, but he had to keep moving with what he had, as always...

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋ Yesterday﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Simon was waiting for you as usual, he was leaning against the wall, you two were in different classrooms, but in the same year, so when he saw you coming with your ponytail half undone and a scratch on your face, he just tilted his head.

"Who did that to you?"

He didn't like seeing you bruised, or scratched, or anything, even when he knew that the ones you got at school were mostly because you hit first.

“Rosie”

You didn't stop and he followed you as usual, watching you readjust your ponytail.

“Ya should stop fighting...”

“And let them make fun of me? Nah, those bitches aren’t going to talk to me like I’m less than anyone else”

“But you only hurt yourself”

“It’s just a scratch, Simon.” You rolled your eyes at him, looking over your shoulder because he was one step behind.

“I don’t like it at all.”

“You don't like it when I fight?” You looked at him slowing down just to be by his side, and he had to look straight ahead to be able to tell the truth.

“No, when someone hurts you.”

Simon got no answer, nor a promise not to do it, but he saw your smile and felt the friendly push on his shoulder that you gave him with your own shoulder. And if after that your fights with other girls at school decreased, neither of you pointed it out...

﹋﹋﹋﹋❤︎.˳˳.❤︎﹋﹋﹋﹋

English is not my first language and this is my first time writing something like this. There will be inconsistencies regarding the military or the cannon (I'm new to the fandom and I haven't actually played the game). Slow updates.

John MacTavish was charming, to the point that everyone liked him; literally, there wasn't a single person in the town where he grew up who didn't like the MacTavish boy...Well, maybe there was one.

"I already told you to leave, my father hates you. Do you like being yelled at or what?"

You tried to tell him, but he just stared at you with that goofy grin, while you alternated between looking at him and keeping an eye out to see if your father left the house and came to the barn.

“Yer accent is as bonnie as ye are, so foreign”

"Did you even hear what I said?" You looked around in exasperation because that idiot didn't seem to understand. He exasperated you so much that you didn't even have time to blush.

“Aye, I heard ye, bonnie”

"Well, I don't think so, why are you still here? You're going to get us into trouble."

" 'Cause ye said yer Pa hates me. So ye don't? Ye fancy me too, didn't you? Jus' admit it."

His words were full of cheekiness as he approached you, and damn, that really made you blush and lose all your words.

“Am gonna kiss ye”

That was all the warning you received before his lips were on yours, although to be fair, you had the option to push him away before it happened. The only thing that interrupted the kiss was the curse your father let out from afar when he saw you two through the barn door; and the next thing that happened after your first kiss with Johnny was that your father chased him with a stick to hit him, but he managed to jump over the fence and run back to his parents' house.

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Years later, there was your father, arms crossed and glaring menacingly at Johnny as the man hugged him with a happy "Pa, it's good to see ye again"

“I’d rather you call me dog than Pa, you idiot.”

"Don't be so grumpy, Dad” You told him with a smile, hugging your father, who softened towards you as always. “Johnny is the father of your grandchildren after all, we’re not going to get rid of him.”

When you entered the house waddling with your pregnant belly, your father glanced sideways at Johnny, and when he grumbled, he didn't do it loudly enough for anyone but Johnny beside him to hear.

“I could still feed my pigs with you… Just wait until she doesn’t want you anymore.”

"Don't forget to eat your veggies, Simon.”

You talked to him like he was a damn kid and that sometimes made his head feel very soft just like the way you called him Simon, but you only did it because the names they use in the field are forbidden in your house.

"'m not a child."

You smiled gently at his protest and didn't add anything else because he did start eating his vegetables.

Simon had to force himself to stop staring at you, because damn it, that would be a problem. All that gentleness, all that warmth couldn't be his. You couldn't be his, not now, not ever, and he had to get that straight, because you weren't just any woman, no, you were his Captain's wife, the wife of the only older man Simon genuinely respected and cared for and he wasn't going to come between you and ruin your marriage, never, he couldn't even think of trying.

You were Price's wife, and you probably would be for the rest of your life, because you love him, so Simon just had to learn to be content with what he could have in life.

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

John "Soap" MacTavish is the kind of man people always turn to with any question; he's the most approachable despite his rank, friendly, and talkative. Everyone just seems to assume they can approach him and talk. But it was becoming a problem for him lately; he just didn't know how to tell everyone to fuck off and leave him alone because he had his own work to do without sounding rude.

So when someone entered his small office, for what seemed like the millionth time that day, while he was trying to finish the overdue reports Price had sent him to do, He simply couldn't control it and the words slipped through his mouth.

“Och, away an bile yer heid! I have work tae dae too; I dinnae want to answer questions from you eej...”

But his last insult was cut short when he saw you in the doorway, you, his sweet wife, standing there wearing the cardigan Johnny's mother gave you last year, and the jeans he loved to see you wearing.

“Well, I don't have any questions you can answer, Johnny”

Your voice made him involuntarily relax his shoulders and his face immediately changed to one of surprise.

“Ma bonnie missus, tae what do I owe this honor?”

His smile seemed easy now, and you smiled back, closing the door to the small office, and then walked towards him.

“Ghost said you looked tense and that I should come and fix you.”

“A cannae believe LT called you...”

Although Johnny wasn't complaining, especially not when you put the reports aside and started pulling home-cooked food out of the bag you had with you, his favorite food to be exact.

"Well, I would say he did the right thing."

"Aye"

You are something different, a beautiful thing that John Price met in the same building where he had to go for his therapy for his knee injury; you were a psychiatrist, or so the card you gave him said, he certainly didn't call to schedule a psychiatric appointment, but as the days passed, he got a date with you, and over the months the dates turned into a relationship.

You were a peculiar person “she's just an independent girl" John told his friends when he told them about you, but he himself knew that something wasn't quite right.

Sure, you're perfect, maybe a little too interested in medieval history, specifically the Inquisition and Vikings, but John likes your interesting and detailed facts about things he never bothered to learn. You were also very nice, John's neighbors adored you and so did his landlord (and God knows that man hates everyone). You're also perfectly loving, with such sweet caresses and words, although at times it all felt like a book John had already read, your beautiful eyes and the way you kiss fuck him completely clouded John's mind.

But then, in the second year of the relationship, when you were already living together in a new house, John was casually watching the news while waiting for you to get home from another specialization seminar, the news reports announced yet another victim of what police theorized was a serial killer, one who used updated methods reminiscent of the Holy Inquisition and who left tuberose flowers as signature.

John Price, the man who had collaborated on and created the plans to capture and eliminate some of the world's most dangerous criminals, finally mustered the brainpower to think about you: His beautiful girl, the one who spoke of historical facts about the Holy Inquisition not with academic interest, but with admiration, with shining eyes, the girl who, when someone bothered her, would smile meekly and walk away, suddenly her gaze turned cold and she breathed deeply as if holding something back. The one John could sometimes feel watching him sleep, and when he opened his eyes to see her, it seemed as if she was wearing a poorly placed mask as she gently told him to go back to sleep. The one who goes to 'specialization seminars' from time to time and comes back smelling like tuberoses.

“I'm back, John. I brought your favorites.”

Your sweet voice interrupted him; you had that same commercial smile on your lips as you held a box of his favorite miniature tarts and pastries for tea. John got up from the sofa and approached you, slowly observing you. Perfect clothes, makeup, hair, everything the same as this morning.

“¿What?”

He watched as you turned your head, as if trying to understand what he was doing, and oh... There it was. Beneath your ear, a small, very faded bloodstain; you had clearly washed it off before, and It might have gone unnoticed, but not by John because he knew what those stains looked like, he had had many of those bloodstains during his time at the army.

“What’s up, John?”

You asked again, as if uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze, and now John could see it; the mask you were wearing was wobbly just now, you weren't sure what was happening and that wasn't good.

So he placed his hand on your jaw, absently caressing where the stain was, and leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Did I already tell you today that you look beautiful?”

You chuckled. “Was that it? Is that why you were looking at me like I was a bug under a microscope?”

“I wasn’t doin' tha'. I was admiring you. No one has ever admired you, princess?”

You shook your head.

“I’ll do it more often”

“Please don't”

It was his turn to laugh softly, and he kissed your forehead once more. His girl was the city's most wanted serial killer, but she also brought him his favorite things randomly and she also looked at John as if he anchored her.

“Come on, princess, I’ll make you some tea and we’ll eat some of this together.”

Retired!John Price is a family man,  the designated driver for his children, but being at the beginning of the school break there wasn't much to do.

He had just arranged the new, larger sofa his missus had bought in the living room. She had given him some instructions before leaving, and he had followed them all. It was perfect, so now he was going to take a nap, a well-deserved rest for his aching muscles and joints.

And that's what I was trying to do, lying face down. Until he felt it, a fixed gaze a few centimeters from his face and a breath very close to his own nose, he only opened one eye lazily to see his toddler there.

“You need something, princess?”

The little girl, with the pacifier she should have given up long ago but that she still uses for her naps and the blanket that was her object of attachment, simply climbed onto the sofa and onto John's back. He grumbled softly about the weight on his back, but it was honestly comfortable once she was fully settled.

He didn't sleep for more than half an hour before he felt someone trying to push him aside and he groaned in his sleep before opening only one eye, tired and lazy.

“Make room for me, Pa” whispered his other princess, the teenager and he moved carefully to let her settle on the edge of the sofa, under his arm, careful not to wake the toddler on his back and went back to sleep.

It was only half an hour more before he felt another weight on his other side and back, he lifted his head to look and it was his son, the eldest, who had removed the cushions from sofa and he slid to John's side and back.

“Go to sleep” his son whispered to John, and if he weren’t so tired (and trapped between his three children) he would have told him that it was difficult to sleep when you are being crushed by three other human beings, but he went back to sleep anyway.

By the afternoon, when you returned from your swimming club, that was the first thing you saw: practically a pile of puppies on top of your husband. Your eldest son was pressed against the back of the sofa half his body is on top of John, and he's hugging the toddler who's on John's back. You second daughter's legs are tangled in one of John's, holding on like a monkey to a tree, but with John's arm as her pillow.

After taking a picture for your new wallpaper, John's eyes opened and obviously he hadn't been sound asleep for very long, but he had remained in that position.

“"Do you need help?" You asked with a smile, curing the corners of your mouth, because John would surely complain later of back pain, and probably several of his limbs were numb by now.

“Nah, let 'em sleep”

When Johnny died, besides the infinite emptiness in Ghost's chest, he had left behind a girlfriend heavly pregnant with triplets, because apparently Johnny had to make his problem everyone else's problem, and on a very big scale, even as he left the earthly plane. For the first few months—more than a year— Ghost was too overwhelmed, so he wasn't very useful at all. He had given up on missions, shut himself in his flat, and gradually stopped responding to Price or Kyle when they called.  So they planned an intervention.

And it actually worked, nothing healed Ghost's heart more than three pairs of chilling blue eyes, just like Johnny's, with the same energy but a much shrill voice that didn't ask, they demanded him to play with them, they made so much noise that Ghost didn't have time to hear his head.

That's how he ended up being the best uncle, the one who drove for Johnny's ex when one of the girls was sick and needed to go to the doctor in the middle of the night, the one who picked them up from school if she stayed to work late, the one who was there to teach them how to camp properly (because their mother didn't like camping, but Johnny used to love that), the one who answered some of the questions they had about Johnny as they grew up.

And of course, he ended up being the one who had to sit for two or three hours in the bleachers at the gymnastics school because the girls' mother had to work. The three excelled in different disciplines; Alisa was an artistic gymnast, Bonnie on the balance beam, and Maisie was the one who always had Ghost on the verge of an aneurysm (Johnny's character, no doubt), she practiced trampoline and uneven bars.

So it wasn't unusual to see Ghost walking all along the shore where parents were allowed because he had to make sure all the girls received his attention. But he couldn't help but stop where Maisie was practicing.

You, the new instructor who had arrived a month ago, were the reason. His eyes had been on you since you arrived; each day he couldn't help but let his gaze wander a little. Especially because of that tight clothing you wore, which accentuated every curve in a way that would make any man salivate -or maybe it was just him-. The only thing that took his eyes off you was Maisie, who was doing a few twists on the uneven bars and her hands slipped off the bar. There was no way you are going to be able to catch her, you were standing on the other side and you didn't look like you had the strength to grab a 9-year-old girl. Ghost moved in milliseconds, although he had retired from the field, his reaction times would always be those of a trained sniper.

He caught Maisie in the air as you jumped across the mats with the agility of a gymnast, but seconds too late because Ghost already had the girl safely in his grasp.

"Oh my goodness, that was close... Are you okay, Maisie?" Ghost placed on the ground.

“Yes, that’s fine, I knew he’d catch me. He’s my uncle, his name is Simon.”

Maisie was pointing at him, a wide grin and a mischievous glint in her eyes that Ghost knew a little too well. This girl really is a copy and paste of Johnny. He thought to himself as he glanced at you, You were looking at him too, and damn, you were prettier up close, because you wasn't very tall... It gave Ghost an idea of what you would look like on your knees for... No, he shouldn't think about that now.

"Oh, uhm. Thank you for your help, Mr. Simon."

“Just Simon, he's not an old man and he's not married eit...” Ghost covered Maisie's mouth because he would explode with embarrassment because of that girl.

But you chuckled, a sound so perfect that Ghost wanted to hear more of it.

"It's nothing, I couldn't let this girl break any bones."

“That's very nice...” you smiled, and it was such a beautiful smile, "Well, we should get back to training."

He let go of Maisie, who luckily didn't speak, but she gave Simon that look, that look that said: What are you waiting for? Do something!!!!

But he played dumb, as if he didn't see that and went for a stroll around Alisa and Bonnie's area.  And unfortunately for him, he didn't notice the plan Maisie and her friends had cooked up, so when Ghost magically returned, one of the girls was about to fall and although they weren't their responsibility, Ghost moved automatically to prevent them from falling or hitting themselves, always receiving a smile and a thanks from you.

By the end of the class, it was painfully obvious to Ghost that all these 9-year-old girls were conspiring with Maisie, and he knew beforehand that if he didn't do something, Maisie was going to keep pushing the boundaries the next class. So while the triplets went to change and get their things, he came over and started helping you to lift the mats.

“Oh, you don't need to help, I can do it myself.”

“It costs me nothing to help a beautiful woman like you...” Ghost wanted to hit himself and disappear after saying that; he could already hear Kyle an Price laughing at him if he told them what he said.

You also seemed to find it funny, because you let out a soft giggle that made him scratch the back of his neck and try to apologize immediately.

“I'm sorry, I... I... didn't meant...”

“It's okay.” you give him an amused smile and then added, almost teasingly.  “It was a good pick up line.”

Ghost grunted in embarrassed response, glancing up briefly, hoping his life would finally end right there, but he was never that lucky.

“I'm sorry if that was awkward...”

You seemed delighted with his embarrassment and he could feel the red color on his cheeks and ears.

“I meant it, big boy. That was a good one.” you looked at him, raising your eyebrows as if you were expecting something, but Ghost's brain wasn't working anymore; he didn't know if you was making fun of him or not, but he kind of liked it. “Now's supposed to be when you ask me out..."

Oh, you were laying him, no doubt about it. Ghost grunted, nodding briefly as his brain caught up. Damn you for being so pretty and tease on top of it.

“Ah... When is your day off?”

“On Sunday. We can meet at ‘Drive Brew Barista’ - it's by reservation, make one.”

Your tone decisively and with a smile, clearly enjoying yourself, while Ghost couldn't even think straight.

"Uh-uhm, yes, whatever you want, I'll take care of it."

“Perfect, see you, Simon...”

And with a wink and a mischievous smile, you grabbed all the mats and left, leaving Ghost stunned and absolutely hooked. You were going to be his downfall, he could feel it, he would either marry you or be traumatized and obsessed about you for life.

The triplets, of course, had left the locker room just in time and all the way to Johnny's ex's house. Ghost had to endure the three girls teasingly singing:

Part 2 of this

“Dove, stop doing that, I'm just trying to clean you up...”

Kyle was holding her ankle firmly since she tried to pull her leg away from him. He was trying to wipe off the dirt with a warm, damp cloth.

“You made a mess the last time I let you out...”

“Let me go...”

“I won’t do it until you’re clean, dove.”

“Let me go, Kyle.” She repeated, a slightly firmer request.

“And where are you going back to, dove?” He continued cleaning her calmly. “Your mother has already left, she finally left him, Wasn't that what you wanted? For her to leave your father, we achieved that, but I can't let you go back there... No. He'll hurt you"

Her eyes on Kyle held a complicated expression when he looked at her; she seemed conflicted, as if she wanted to scream at him while simultaneously feeling a sense of relief. There, those dual emotions were what he was looking for; they were what his Cap had told him about when he came to visit.

“I can't let him hurt you anymore, dove.” Kyle gently stroked her hair. “You are the most precious thing to me, I can no longer bear the harm he does to you, and neither should you. You're safe here, I'll take care of you...”

She sobbed softly, closing her eyes and pressing her lips together. “Oh, sweetheart...” Kyle cooed while he moved his beloved bird until he had her against his chest, sobbing. "It's okay, I'm here for you."

She tried to push him away but not hard enough, and he just kept comforting her until she gave in, gently stroking her back and hair, leaving kisses on her forehead, whispering sweet nothings.

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

It took a year for Kyle to get his precious bird where he wanted her, just a sweet thing, malleable and no longer trying to run away, she only shed tears when he was making her feel really good. They had moved from the village to a small cabin much further away and surrounded by nature.

“You did very well, Dove”

She smiled brightly, taking her eyes off the car driving away down the road and looking towards Kyle.

“Really?”

Kyle hummed, running his hand down her waist to her lower back, pulling her closer to him. “You did more than well, Dove, you were perfect. Price was impressed with you...”

“Why?”

“Because you're the best girl, so smart, you learned so fast.” Kyle stroked her beautiful hair, which had become softer with all the care he gave his beloved bird. “And because of everything you've done these past few months here, our house is beautiful because of you.”

She beamed as she received compliments; she hadn't really done much more than pick the flowers for the garden, do the decorations, and a few crafts, but Kyle knew his girl, as long as she was getting compliments she wouldn't cause a single problem and would continue pursuing more, because his dove always had a broken wing, always lacking, and he filled that void with himself and his compliments.; after all, Kyle hadn't just taken the idea from Captain Price, he'd observed it closely and improved the details, because the apprentice always surpasses the master and his obedient and perfect bird, in less than a year, willing to follow him anywhere, was the best example of that. He couldn't wait for Cap's next visit; Kyle would show him that he did far better than him, and he would do so by putting his bird all round and bright with the next generation of the Garrick surname.

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋